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lovedianagrey · 18 days

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hello!!do you have skk fic recs?

Introduction

Yes, I do. I’m sorry it took so long to give you a reply, but I wanted to give you a comprehensive list and was busy preparing for my last day in high school, and then I got a job 12 hours later, and then I traveled to New York for a couple Broadway workshops. But now that today’s been dealt with, I have my wonderful notes.

So here’s the gist of it. I have three focused reviews on some of my favorite Soukoku fanfics ever, but I felt like copy pasting it would kill you a little, so I’m going to use a simplified format that echoes what I once did for two other ships years ago.

Canon Space

Here I compiled four fanfics that take place in main canon spaces (so not BEAST). While I encourage you to read, I also ask you to make sure to check the tags of the actual work for any possible triggers. Furthermore, the styles these characters are written in, and the way they are portrayed, vary from writer to writer. Some are more “canon” based than others, but they all carry the essence of this ship. And if they don’t in your eyes, then you’re just reading a great novel with Japanese names.

i'll bleed out for you by StarshipDancer

Synopsis: After getting impaled together, basically dying in each others arms in a joint mission with the Port Mafia and the ADA, and getting brought back by Yosano, this shattered Soukoku is asked to go into hiding. In this time, things seem to start healing. But the impending call asking them to return to their positions in their groups haunts them, and when it arrives, things fall apart all over again.

Tags: Caretaking, PTSD, A Singularly Important Rat Is Present, Canon-Divergence, Post-Port Mafia Days, Love Confession, Pet Co-Parenting, Angst

Word Count: 71,848

Notes: Rattata is the best character. I remember reading this fanfic between the airport and my flight, and when chapter four ended, I had to board the plane, with my shaking hands and quiet sniffles. Please read this one.

If you kiss me (I might let it happen) by encsiimomo

Synopsis: Chuuya’s done watching this. Dazai’s literally dating a new girl every week. He dates based on who asks him first that Monday, he breaks up with them that Sunday, and it goes on again. And again. And again. It’s driving him insane. So he does the only thing he can think of to earn himself a break – He asks to date him for that week’s cycle. Dazai’s surprised. Chuuya’s exhausted. But once the sparks fly, they’re unable to be put out.

Tags: Canon Divergent & Kind of Canon Compliant, Dark Era, Smut, Mutual Pining, Light Angst, Silly

Word Count: 52,127

Notes: I loved this fic because it encapsulates a pretty carefree tone that isn’t associated with Dark Era. It’s pretty smutty, but it’s really lovely to read them. It’s not a reflection of what these characters canonically represent. And while it definitely stays as a loose interpretation of these characters, it keeps the essence that makes this ship so sharp and wonderful. I loved Oda’s appearances too, they made me laugh.

A Doll's House by Abyss_In_WonderLand_likes_sexy_cannibals

Summary: After coming to contact with an ability-powered artifact, Dazai and Chuuya are forced to work together to overcome the ability’s trials, and face the bubbling sentiments they keep trying so hard to ignore.

Tags: Teamwork, Ability Loss, Poisoning, Denial of Feelings, Confessions, Light Angst

Word Count: 45,288

Notes: While definitely not a character study, this fic goes and shows how wonderfully warm a Double Black fanfic can be. You’ll giggle in some moments, be entranced in others, and it’s just fun. This is for those that aren’t scouring for the angst. This was the first fic that sunk me into a skk fanfiction hunt all throughout the winter holidays.

On Deathless Feet by AbsoluteNegation

Synopsis: Chuuya always knows the monster can get out of control, but it doesn’t get any less surprising when Arahabaki powers through him. For a while though, it’d been comforting to know Dazai could always reign it in, make it go quiet. Because he did when they recently met, when they rose through the ranks, and at the brink of their end. But after years of disconnection, and the consistent waves of betrayal, is Chuuya capable of trusting him? And is Dazai capable of letting him?

Tags: Caretaking, Controlling Arahabaki, Port Mafia, Post-Port Mafia, Mistrust, Non-Linear Storytelling

Word Count: 71,848

Notes: This story is just breathtaking. The writing style is incredibly vast and detailed, which may seem scary when described, but it flows so easily when you read it. You cannot negate AbsoluteNegation’s incredible skill. The story takes place in an event where Chuuya loses control of Arahabaki in a Post-Port Mafia Soukoku time. But because of its non-linear style, one gets to understand their past experiences with each other in a manner that contextualizes and weighs in the events of their reunion.

Fanon Spaces

Before I begin, I’d like to note that there are so many AUs in this fandom, that I had to really search for the canon ones in my list. So understand that if you want more of these, I DEFINITELY have more of these. Also, again, while I encourage you to read, I also ask you to make sure to check the tags of the actual work for any possible triggers.

I’ll crown your inner child with laurel by acuteguwu

Synopsis: Chuuya has worked in a Michelin Star restaurant. So he really has no place in losing this cooking competition. But a sudden newcomer, who seemingly has no previous experience in the field, seems to want to tell him his bechamel sauce isn’t ready. And really, who does he think he is?

Tags: Chef Competition AU, Character Study, Slow Burn, Chuuya Is A Blunt Perfectionist, Dazai Is A Culinary Genius

Words: 197,090

Notes: I read this in two days, and I finished by waking up at four in the morning to finish up before going to a drag queen brunch. So really, my experience was incredible. You get to really know these characters, who are very themselves, and it’s lovely. Please read, it’s so worth it.

music for our funeral by itotypes

Synopsis: Dazai has always been lost on what exactly he wants to be. Chuuya knows exactly what he wants. Working with such incredible differences proves to be a difficult challenge, ending in at least a little bit of violence multiple times, but they make it work. Because their music sounds beautiful. Because they’re better geniuses beside the other. And maybe because once it started, they can’t seem to process this journey can ever end.

Tags: No Smut, Angst, 70s, Musicians!AU, Drug Abuse, References to Child Neglect, Lowkey Pretty Violent, Emotional Cheating (w/ Main Ship)

Word Count: 67,723

Notes: Look, there’s a whole genre of Soukoku music AUs. And I could tell you to read the famous “still, still, still” by icedlightroast, or the even more famous “I Was Screaming Your Name Through The Radio” by ElectricSplatter. Which really, they’re both INCREDIBLE fics that I think you should read (IWSYNTTR literally inspired me to try and write music, which led me to do an album for a school project, so I’m not kidding when I say they’re life changing), but I also know that these are famous fanfics that you can find in almost any big skk reader thread. So disregarding the following recommendation, I try to give you fanfics I found through a long scrolling process.

Everything or Nothing by Wellthathappened (Cataclysmic_Calamity)

Synopsis: Chuuya has never been able to experience much. So when he meets Dazai on the night of orientation, he lets himself explore. So as lips sink into his, and as he lets himself be free, Dazai lets him know how unimportant he is by walking away when kids walk in on them. Cut to a month later, they’re paired as roommates, Chuuya’s gotten what Dazai insists is a douchey boyfriend, and Dazai Osamu has to recognize it wasn’t true. It wasn’t a night’s fluke. He really, definitely isn’t straight.

Tags: College AU, Pinning, Chronic Illness, Creation & References Of Illegal Panini Rings, Confessions, Miscommunication, Past Sexual Abuse, Bad Parenting, Cute Dates, Dazai’s Really Rich

Word Count: 264,937

Notes: I recognize I just put in my notes that there’s no major point in recommending these big fanfics, but I just read this because the person that introduced me into the fandom in the first place really loves this one. And it’s incredible. Worth every moment. I laughed a lot, and cried a lot. It’s those pieces of work that resound with you that keep you engaged. This one builds off of that.

Inseparable by milwritescausewhynot

Synopsis: Dazai and Chuuya have been joined to the hip since day one. But they’re not best friends. Or enemies. Or, worst of all, lovers. They are, however, great at pranking each other. Until one goes close to dangerous, and things begin getting complicated afterwards.

Tags: High School AU, Pranks, Light Angst, Denial, Pining, Confessions, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Crazy Kouyou, Childhood Friends, No Smut

Word Count: 107,804

Notes: I hadn’t saved this one in my compilation, but I couldn’t not find it. This fic is so charming, and I most enjoy how the characters move through the story. You can feel the way they're in-tuned from the get go. Definitely recommend.

In Conclusion

Again, I’m sorry for such a late response. I’m literally falling asleep right now but I felt too guilty leaving this for tomorrow morning. If you have any questions, notes, or looking for something specific for your reading, we can talk about it.

Anyways, thanks for asking! Hope you love them, and sorry for any mistakes

#soukoku fanfiction #skk #dazai osamu #nakahara chuuya #soukoku #bsd #bungou stray dogs #fanfic recommendations #skk fanfiction #double black #bsd chuuya #bsd dazai

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geekygee01 · 10 months

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Won’t you be (mine) - Chapter 1- An Introduction

Series Masterlist

Pairing/s: Steve Harrington x Reader

Chapter Summary: After Nancy chooses Jonathan, Steve resigns himself to a life without love, until you walk through the doors of Family Video. He’s never felt this way about someone before, if this is what love feels like he never wants to let you go. There’s only one thing standing in his way, your fiancée.

Steve had first met you on a boring Wednesday afternoon. It had been another slow day at Family Video, made even worse by the fact that Steve had to open and somehow ended up needing to cover the closing shift too. Stupid Keith, all he could think about was finally clocking out of this nightmare. Although he'd just be leaving one nightmare for another, his cold and desolate home where he'd end up eating some shitty microwave meal whilst watching crappy reruns until he passes out. Only to rinse and repeat the process every other day, except Friday. On Friday night he will go on some unfulfilling date with a girl who's name he won't even remember in a weeks time.

This shift was meant to get better as Robin was scheduled to work the close with him, but all she had done since clocking in was complain about her day at school. There's only so much a person can listen to flute drama in a high school band before going insane.

"Are you even listening to me?!" Robins fingers wiggled right in Steve's face, jolting him out of his thoughts.

"Yes! Yes of course, Brenda is super annoying and can't even play the flute." Steve agreed with her points, trying to calm her down.

"Brenda plays the piccolo and that was the topic of conversation like five topics ago," she rolled her eyes at this so called 'best friend' "if you want me to shutup dingus just say so."

"What? No, I'm sorry, just a lot on my mind. I didn't mean to ignore you Robs."

"What's going on in that head of yours? Too many babes to keep track of?"

"Ha ha Robs, you know I'm not really into that serial dater scene anymore, I just want-"

"Yeah, yeah. You wanna meet your soulmate, I know. You say it every Monday and then come Friday you're off on another terrible date with the first pretty girl that gave you some attention," Robin sniped.

"Okay that may have happened in the past but this time I'm serious. I want a proper serious relationship with someone I could love, and I don't just mean the next pretty girl to walk through those doors-" Steve's rant was cut off by the little bell above the Family Video entrance signalling the arrival of a very pretty girl.

...

You rushed into Family Video, one arm weighed down by a bag of groceries and the other clutched some overdue movies. You walked up to the front desk and dropped your returns in front of a wide eyed employee. Even with the thud of cases in front of him he still didn't blink.

"Um, is he okay?" you asked the familiar female employee leaning on a counter next to him.

"Yeah, he's fine, he's just a dingus. Wait," she stretched herself out and kicked his shin, snapping him out of... well whatever was going on.

"HI!" he shouted "sorry, welcome to Family Video." His face flushed bright red which made you smile slightly, it was actually kind of adorable. "Um how can I help you?"

You glanced down at the movies you'd placed in front of him "I'd like to return these?"

"Right! Yes of course, you're returning these movies that you'd like to return," the girl by his side started laughing and he tried to subtly push her away.

"Yep that's right-" you glanced down at his name badge and froze. Steve? As in Steve Harrington? You tried to match this goofy video store employee with the asshole jock you went to school with, it's like some freaky body snatchers thing was going on. Was this the same guy? The badge didn't have a last name, but it had only been a year since he graduated and now that you thought about it he hadn't changed that much. Its surprising it took you that long to notice who he is, though its not like you ever really ran in the same circles. He probably didn't remember you either, if he ever even knew you to begin with. You wouldn't put it past King Steve to not even realise you existed, even if you did grow up in the same small town and share classes since first grade.

You were quick to empty those thoughts before your silence dragged on too long and got weird "that's right Steve," you smiled up at him and hope he didn't notice your weird lapse.

"Let's see, muppets, E.T and Scooby-doo which are... two days overdue," he looked up from the screen in front of him and you tried to hide your embarrassment,

"I know, I know. They were due Monday but between school and work and family drama it just completely slipped my mind, I am so sorry, how much in overdue fees do I owe?" you fiddled with the coins in your wallet and tried to avoid any form of eye contact.

"Uh, nothing at all. Yep it's a new policy, we don't charge late fees until after three days."

"Really?" you asked dubiously "Keith didn't mention anything about that when I rented them."

"Well that's Keith for you, very forgetful guy. Not sure why they put him in charge, it's a wonder this place is still running," Steve laughed awkwardly.

"Well I guess they must have impeccable employee Steve to thank for that," you smiled, still not completely convinced he was telling the truth. He tucked his hair and bashfully looked away.

"I don't know about all that," he deflected "are you looking to rent another movie?"

"Oh no not today, but I'll probably be back Friday," you smiled at the two workers and started heading for the door "I may just see you then."

It's only after you had left the store and the door had shut behind you that Steve whispered "can't wait."

...

You came back the following Friday to rent some films and Steve stumbled awkwardly through the entire interaction. His plans to flirt and charm had gone right out the window. He's not sure what happens when he's around you, it's like he's a different person.

He tried again the following Monday. And then Friday. And before he knew it it's been a month of seeing you twice a week and yet he's no closer to asking you on a date.

There's a tentative, easy friendship there and Steve enjoys getting to know you, but he just wants more. He wants more from the pretty girl with the great sense of humour. That finds his (and Robins) brand of awkward endearing instead of annoying. He's not sure how he never noticed you before, because to him you're perfect, but he's glad he's met you now.

"Today's the day," he announces "I'm going to do it."

"Do what?" Robin looks up from the magazine she's been flipping through.

"I'm going to ask out y/n."

Robin laughs and Steve is quick to scowl at her. "You've been saying that for weeks and yet you can barely get out one pick up line before blushing and stammering like a fool," Robin teases him.

"This time is different," he insists "now that we're friends it's easier to talk to her, which means it will be easier to flirt and then ask her out."

Robin just rolls her eyes and goes back to reading her magazine. Steve in turn rolls his eyes at her lack of faith and support.

Right on schedule you walk through the doors, sending a wave his and Robin's way. Steve is quick to wave back with a big smile. You briefly peruse the shelves before making your way to Steve, placing two movies down.

"The muppets and the Thing, bit of an odd combination," Steve smirks as he scans your films "you know I've heard The Thing can be quite creepy, might not want to watch it alone." he tries to subtly hint.

"Oh that's for my friend, he's been wanting me to watch it with him for a while and I've run out of excuses, so don't worry about little old me."

"That's great, wouldn't want you getting scared," Steve mumbled dejectedly, pushing your two films across the counter. But he's not backing out this time, you may not have picked up on his subtlety so he will just have to be more direct. "So listen, this might be weird or creepy and if it is you can totally ignore me and we can pretend this never happened-"

You can instantly see where this is headed and are quick to interrupt "I have a fiancee," he freezes and looks at you wide eyed "thank you for the films, now I need to get going because my daughter is a bit of a pyscho without her muppets fix." You quickly rush out of the store before things get too weird, or before you have to see Steve's crestfallen expression.

"A fiancee?" Steve mumbles to Robin, completely shocked "Wait! Daughter?!"

#stranger things #stranger things fanfic #stranger things reader #steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #reader insert #robin buckley #eddie munson

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anniebear-92 · 9 months

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The Adventures of An UA RA

Part One - Move In Week

Summary: You are a third year UA hero student who is also the RA for class 1 A's dorm. It's move in for the new students and you are there to greet the fresh faces to the new year! If only you knew the year you were in for...

Warnings: SFW, jokes, crack-headed energy etc. One joke alluding to an adult type object.

Info: College AU, UA is a university and all students are college ages (18+). Dorms have been in place for all ages from the beginning of the year in this AU.

Clutching the clipboard against your sweater, it brushes the embroidery of UAU, showing pride for the school you had attended for three years as of today. Now in your second year as a Residential Advisor the itch to meet your new students crawled up your back, a scratch you couldn't reach or get rid of no matter how hard you tried.

The students would be arriving any moment, their first week to work on moving in their belongings to their new room before classes would officially start next Monday. Hoping they were anything like your previous year students who had been almost angelic, this year could only serve to be even better! Right?

Checking the watch on your wrist it was a few minutes past when their homeroom teacher Mr. Aizawa stated they would be gathering at the building so you could direct them to their assigned rooms.

"Hello!"

Your gaze raised a bit startled to find a very bright blonde rushing towards you, rolling bag scuffing along the ground as he rushed over.

"Are you a student here?"

His eyes drug over your appearance as you cleared your throat and nodded.

"I am a Third year here. I'll be your Resident Advisor for this building. You'll hear more when we get everyone here though. Can I grab your name so I can mark you present?"

His face lit up like a light bulb, nodding furiously. "Denki! I'm Denki Kaminari."

Your pen scratched against the paper, marking the little box next to his name indicating he was present as a few others began trickling over. Taking their names as they arrived one by one, you found only a few had yet to arrive.

An Izuku Midorya, Mina Ashido and Occhaco Uraraka.

The students chatted amongst themselves, they were definitely a colorful bunch so far, especially a certain blonde haired student who had called you an extra and almost refused to give his name when asked for role call. After noting you were the RA for the building he finally gave in with heavy reluctance.

After a few more minutes a pink haired girl with matching skin tone came hustling up while carrying at least two bags over her shoulders while dragging along a large one with yet another bag sitting on top let you know she was indeed Mina Ashido. She was followed by a brunette girl with a bob and pink cheeks.

The only person missing was this Izuku Midoriya person. You raised a hand and decided it was time to go inside the dorm, knowing full well not everyone always shows up on the first day or they may have decided to rescind their attendance.

"Hello Everyone! Can I grab your attention?"

Your voice rang out over the courtyard, soon to be drowned out by the chatting of students introductions and laughter. Clearing your throat you tried again to no avail, even your claps to grab their attention like kindergarten, only had a few shoot you side eyed glances in confusion.

Having enough, with a deep sigh the air around began rushing slightly as it lifted you into the air, body feeling light as you hung a few feet off the ground.

"Over here! Yes... me here in the air, hello!"

Finally catching the crowd's attention and shock that you now floated in the air a few feet above them all turned with silence to give what you had been seeking.

Returning your feet to the ground gently, you gave them the most welcoming smile one could muster.

"Welcome everyone to a new year at UA! I am Y/N L/N and I will be your Residential Advisor here this year. If we can all gather our things we will go ahead and shuffle into the lobby so you can all get situated before I hand out room assignments."

Turning you shoved a key into the lock and pushed the doors wide open for the students to finally enter the building that would be their homes for the next few months of the school year. As the final student entered the silver doors a green haired boy came running up, breath coming quick from having ran his way up the walk. His bag clutched tightly to his chest he found you watching him with intrest.

"Are you my Izuku Midoriya?"

His freckled cheeks turned a bright red while a small squeak left his lips. "Yes... I'm Izuku Midoriya."

Shining him a smile you waved a hand to indicate for him to follow the others inside. His eyes averted from yours, ears pink as he shuffled inside quietly with his bag still tightly held in his arms.

Now in the lobby you watched as the students peeked around in interest of the common areas, couches and kitchenettes in the area.

Waiving them all over you asked they take a seat at the couches for your little orientation before providing them their room numbers so they can start moving their stuff inside.

Reintroducing yourself due to the late arrival, you indicated that you would be their go-to for the rest of the school year. Your office would be located on the fourth floor should they need your assistance, otherwise on their room assignment form would be a phone number they can call at any time to reach you.

You handed a stack of papers to a student with navy colored hair and spectacles that shined in the light. He handed out a paper to each person as you indicated rules that would need to be followed in order to remain in the dorms.

One of the male students in the rear you thought was called Sero raised his hand.

"Yes sir?"

He pointed to a line in the middle of the page with a long finger, "This says no quirk use... so we can't use our quirks in the dorms at all?"

You shook your head while raising your hand to the same posted rules on the wall. "No, this means that your quirks cannot be used in the harm of others or campus property. If you have a quirk that creates fire and you set something ablaze there will be consequences."

A student with dual colored hair nodded with a quiet, "Good to know."

You quirked a brow, probably best to get a list of quirks from this group.

The same student as before raised his hand again, "Yes sir? Again."

"So my quirk creates tape from my elbows? If I wanted to say, fix something with my tape can I do that?"

You shrugged with a slight nod, "Sure, I guess. Though I am here to call maintenance so if anything is broken you would want to report that to me so we can get it fixed properly. However knowing you have that quirk if I find someone taped to a wall or ceiling I'll be coming to your door."

He shrunk into his seat a bit with a look of disappointment. Glad that was nipped before it happened.

You finished out the rules, indicating girls were on one side, guys on the other. Any inappropriate conduct would not be tolerated, such as sneaking into the other gender's restrooms, stealing, destroying property etc.

A hand shot up and your eyes landed on the owner. The hand was tiny, almost like that of a small child, the boy attached was no larger. At first you had a conflict thought of was this kid even college age?

"Yes... uh, Mineta?"

He placed his hand down with a smile, "So there's not co-ed showers here?"

Your brows lowered a bit from your hairline and a head shake from you. "No this facility is not co-ed. If you are found in violation of these rules in particular, I take very seriously by the way, you will be removed from campus permenately."

He lowered his hand and eyes shot around to disapproving looks from any female who sat near him, including your own stern glare indicating you were serious about the words you spoke. The safety of your students was one of the most important things to you.

After all questions were quelled, No alcohol is not allowed, no you cannot blast your childhood rival just for breathing.. No not existing either. Now that you were done with your presentation it was time to lead the students to their rooms.

The group followed behind you as you led them up the stairs to the first floor, giving keys one by one to those whose rooms you passed and leaving them to unpack their bags. Making your way through each floor and giving another stern reminder to the small purple boy if you catch anyone violating rules there will be issues and he hurried inside his room with such haste.

The final floor which included your office you handed off the keys to each student and decided it was time to enter your own room. On the door your name was listed with "RA" afterwards, and a small blurb to please knock on your office door beside it during business hours.

Inside your room was already decorated with your own tastes, having been on campus for at least a full week prior to the students arriving to prepare. Lounging in your chair you closed your eyes. The first week was always the hardest, getting everyone settled in and used to living apart from their parents usually for the first time.

A knock at your door broke you from your comfort and you hopped from the soft surface. Opening the door you found yourself in front of a smiling redhead with hair sticking out of a bandana he had wrapped over his forehead.

"Hi! I'm Kirishima... I was just curious about our room rules about decorating?"

You smiled and waved at the door beside your room. "Sure, let's go into my office. I gave you a list of rules, did it not answer your question?"

He followed you like a lost puppy and shook his head, "Nah, I just wanted to hang a few exercise equipment from the ceiling. Wasn't sure of the rules regarding that." You swung the door to your little office open, the inside simply decorated with yet again your taste lining the walls and surfaces. A desk sat with a few comfortable looking chairs and you led him to one of them.

He took a seat as you rounded the desk and placed yourself into your rolling chair. "What kind of exercise equipment are you hanging? As long as it doesn't damage the structure of the room it should be fine."

He leaned back in the chair, one muscled arm sticking out of a cut off shirt wrapped around the rear of the other chair beside him. "Ah just a punching bag, maybe a chair later."

Cocking a brow at the chair his sharp toothed smile lit up his face and you leaned forward. "Kirishima, just a sitting chair right?"

His eyebrows furrowed and his smile slipped a bit in clear confusion, "Wait, what kind of other chair is there?"

Biting your lip to hide your smile at his innocence you shrugged, "Forget about it. Just a reminder UA does have multiple work out facilities on campus including a simple one in the basement of the dorm for your use."

His bright smile split his face once again, "Yeah, I saw that. I'm super excited to put them to use before classes start. So I'm cool to hang that punching bag?"

Nodding you watched as he stood and offered his fist out, bumping your own he offered a salute before turning to exit the office. "See you later RA, stay manly!"

Blinking in complete confusion on what he meant by that you shrugged and shook your head before pressing the button to your computer's monitor to fire it up. You were typing up a report to the class' teacher about how move in was going when yet another knock came at your door.

Lifting your eyes you found the bubblegum girl standing in your doorway. She had a smile on her lips that went all the way into her dark eyes.

"Hey! Got a sec?"

You nodded and indicated to one of the chairs, which she dropped into immediately.

"So I wanted to come over because we're going to be neighbors and I wanted to get to know you! Are you a student here? Or did you graduate?"

Giving her a polite smile you watched as she leaned forward and propped her chin against her fists as she watched you with interest.

"Yes, I am a third year student. I'll be graduating at the end of the school year and becoming a full fledged hero."

She gasped loudly, "You're a hero student?" Nodding to confirm her question she scooted her chair forward with a screech against the floor that had your eye twitching.

"Who do you work under?"

Chuckling you turned from your computer and leaned forward. "Ashido, right?"

She huffed and waived her hand, "No, No, Mina."

Eyes flipping from her for a second before trying again, "Sorry, Mina. Yes I will be your neighbor and senior here. I don't currently have a placement because I am your RA, I have to be on site for emergencies. I will have one later and one of you will most likely be placed as my back up for when I'm at the agency. I did work with Hawks last year though..."

She inhaled deeply and you already regretted this conversation as she prepared another squeal. "Oh Hawks? He's so hot, what was he like?"

Letting your head fall to stare at the floor you let out another laugh of incredulous origin.

"Don't you have a room to unpack?"

Her lip jutted in a pout and she sighed. "Yes I do, I just wanted to get to know you since we'll be next door!"

You shot her a smile and she mirrored immediately. "We have all year for that, so for now go ahead and get your stuff unpacked. Tonight we'll have a little mixer to get to know each other before classes start."

Shooting out of her chair she rushed out with a promise she'd see you there. Letting you head rest against the back of your chair with a loud sigh. So far this group was proving to be more hands on than last year. It had been some hours after you let the kids unpack that anyone had bothered you within the first day or two.

You computer chimed with the arrival of an email from the dorm's teacher Aizawa who resided in the teacher dorm on the first floor. It was a list of the students and their quirks so you knew how to prepare for each student's needs and prevention of dorm damage.

Reading along your eyes began widening in surprise with each name and quirk you took in. Fire and ice, tape, Acid, freaking explosions?

Pulling up a new email you drafted to building maintenance ordering extra fire extinguishers for your floors based on the explosive personality from the person whose quirk was literally that. Several other preventative items were placed in the body of the mail before hitting that send button.

This was going to be quite the year... you could already tell.

#College AU #MHA #BNHA #izuku midoriya #katsuki bakugo #mha crack #MHA imagine #RA Y/N #Mina ashido #MHA x Reader #mha bakugo

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player1064 · 2 months

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ok first of all love your stuff second of all gary getting all flustered about freddie flintoff in 'it's just not what's done' is one of my favourite things in any fic and i would adore it if you wrote anything more involving gary getting flustered about the big handsome cricket man if you ever got the chance

I! LOVE! GARY GETTING FLUSTERED OVER BIG HANDOME CRICKET MAN FREDDIE FLINTOFF!!!! his poor gay nerves can't handle it........ can you IMAGINE if beautiful twink (~96-99) Gary had met him I think he would probably have died.

ANYWAY this lil drabble is set in the same fic universe as 'it's just not what's done' just bc I like writing openly gay but still hopeless with men Gary... and him and Carra still fighting the inevitable friendship that is coming for them...

---

The first planning session each Monday is more of a ‘sit in a conference room eating breakfast and chatting about the weekend’s games’ than it is a serious broadcasting meeting. It’s an almost nice start to a long day of meetings and rehearsals and shooting.

When they call time the producers all scuttle off to go spin their idle chit-chat into an hour’s worth of television, and the ‘talent’ (or whatever Carragher’s classed as) have a couple of hours to kill before the next meeting.

Gary, of course, usually spends it working. He’s no idea what Carragher does, only that he leaves their dressing room blissfully undisturbed for the full two hours, which is all he really needs to know.

Except, today Carragher pauses on his way out and says “thought I might try out one of them classes they have at the gym, fancy joining?”

Gary looks around the (now empty) room for who he could possibly be talking to, because there’s no way it’s him. He scoffs. “Do I look like I go to the gym, Carragher?”

“You look like you should,” Carragher replies, and so now Gary has no choice but to go just to prove him wrong.

He changes into baggy shorts and a t-shirt that’s tighter than he remembers it being when he bought it, and follows Carragher into the fitness studio part of the on campus gym.

And immediately walks back out when he sees which of his other esteemed colleagues have decided to spend their Monday mornings doing fucking yoga, of all things.

“Carra!” he hears a cockney accent greet as he starts to speed walk away, “and was that Gary I saw with you a second ago – oi, Nev! D’you forget something, I think we’re meant to be starting soon.”

Gary reluctantly turns back around and pastes on a smile, tugging self-consciously at the hem of his shirt. “Alright, Jamie?” he says with a nod, then turns to look at the man beside him and manages to get out a single-syllable greeting of “Fred” without incident.

Carragher looks at him curiously, and he feels his stupid face heat up under the scrutiny.

“Just going to – just gonna head to my mat, then,” he says to a point on the wall behind Jamie and Freddie, and he hurries over to the furthest corner of the room possible.

Annoyingly, Carragher follows him.

“That was weird,” he says, voice hushed while the teacher walks up to the front and starts the introductions. “You’re weird, d’you know that?”

Gary tries to pay attention to what’s being said up front, but can’t help but frown and reply “dunno what you’re talkin’ about.”

Carragher leaves it, but a few minutes into the class the other Jamie and Freddie drag their mats closer and start up a continual stream of chatter that’s hard to ignore.

At one point, the teacher looks over to their corner and shushes them so harshly that Gary loses his concentration and stumbles a bit. He braces himself for a fall that doesn’t come, because there’s suddenly a warm hand on his elbow and – and, actually, maybe the fall would’ve been better. Less embarrassing, surely, than having to look up at Freddie fucking Flintoff and mumble a thanks, and then turning away just a fraction too quickly and stumbling again, this time right into the poor man’s bare chest, because of fucking course he has taken his fucking shirt off for a fucking yoga class, why the fuck wouldn’t he?

He's just about ready to melt into the floor in a puddle of shame when the teacher points at them and says “you four, out!”, and he and Carragher are ushered out of the room by a giggling Jamie and Freddie.

“Didn’t yous say in your autobiography, Neville, that you got kicked out of yoga in playing days?” Carragher asks blithely.

Freddie is still stood close enough to Gary that he can feel his body heat, so with effort he manages to quite admirably reply with a hum and a shrug.

“Christ, if I’d known yoga w’you two idiots was all it took to get ‘im to shut up I’d’ve done it a year ago,” teases Carragher

Jamie reaches an arm out to ruffle Gary’s hair. “Aw, poor Nev’s got a little crush on me, don’t he? Can’t ever keep his head on around all this perfection.”

If he hadn’t played for Liverpool, Gary would be tempted to call Jamie Redknapp a good friend. Carragher and Freddie both scoff and start teasing Jamie and his vanity, and Gary’s able to regain enough composure to take a step away from Freddie and join in.

“Not if you were the last man on earth, Redknapp,” he says, then internally cringes at how his voice comes out just a little too loud.

Freddie laughs, elbows Jamie in the side. “Think you’re the one wit’ crush, Jamie,” he says, glancing over to Gary and Carragher with a wink. “Every time we see ‘im it’s ‘ooh, Gary, tell me I’m pretty’, ‘Gary, look, my biceps are bigger’n Fred’s’ – which is bullshit, just by the way – ‘Gary, stop starin’ at Fred and come pay attention to me’.”

Carragher looks between Freddie and Jamie, then turns to Gary with a squint. Gary prays to whatever god might be listening for him not to open that big ugly Scouse mouth of his.

No such luck.

“The two a’yous do realise who you’re squabblin’ over, right? Gary Neville, Christ, ‘ave some self-respect. He’s not even the best lookin’ footballer in his own family.”

#redders is like. if someone has a crush on freddie and not me I WILL kill myself #but also. he sees Gary floundering and is like okay I know how to make this less awkward. im going to talk about how beautiful i am.#and it WORKS.#carraville #drabbles

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dragonsaffron · 10 months

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A Proper Introduction

This post has been sitting in my drafts for literal months at this point, but in response to the impending collapse of Twitter, I figured it was time to finally make a post about my writing so that I could start advertising on this platform.

So, hello, my name is Saffron (though some call me Becca). I am a autistic trans lesbian polyamorous dragonkin (she/they), and I’m a writer. As of right now, the bulk of my writing is available for free online. My main projects are my web novels, which I typically write two of at any given time, releasing chapters every other week on a regular schedule. The publicly available chapters of my novels are available in three places: you can read them on my Patreon (https://www.patreon.com/saffrondragon), on my wordpress page (https://beccawritesbooks.wordpress.com/) or on Scribblehub (https://www.scribblehub.com/profile/9163/saffrondragon/). Warning: Scribblehub is a free story hosting website, so although it has better support structures (bookmarking, ratings, etc) it is also full of weird hentai.

Like I said before, I have a Patreon. As of right now, there are two main benefits to being a patron of mine: at the lowest tier, you get early access to chapters of my books, usually between two and four chapters ahead of the free version depending on how well the writing is going at that time. There’s also a higher tier, which gives access to a collection of short stories I’ve written for Patreon (some of them smutty, others not), and the ability to vote on which short stories I will write next.

And now we get to the reason why I’ve been procrastinating writing this post for so long: now I have to try to summarize all of my various works! The Selene Series: Marcus Farrier is a physics graduate student who gets isekai’d to Selene, a steampunk world where humanity evolved to only have one sex. There, Marcus takes up the name “Emma”, and rapidly gets caught up in the chaotic and deadly politics of Selene, and begins having some revelations about their past, their gender, and how they got to Selene in the first place. The Selene series is actually my longest-running writing project, with four years and two-and-three-quarter books under my belt out of a planned four in total. Currently on hiatus, but I will return to it someday.

The Earthborn Emissary: Alex Sierra is living a normal life, with their girlfriend Miri and their best friend Quinn, until the day they fall ill, go into a coma, and wake up to discover that they’ve just emerged from their chrysalis. Alex is actually an Emissary, an insectoid alien from a species that has been driven to the brink of extinction by a genocide; now, their adoptive parents are going to have to take them into space in search of the other members of their species. My longest single book so far, and the closest thing I’ve come to writing what I would consider to be a “YA” novel. My most popular book, though I don’t quite know why. Currently completed, though I may write a sequel someday. The Chained Flame: My most recent and personal favorite of my novels. It’s a loosely-plotted dark fantasy story telling the life of Lindír, prince of the kingdom of Hvalheim, who was cursed at birth to have the body of a dragon. After growing up in the castle dungeons, Lindír finally finds his freedom, and ends up travelling the North as a wandering entertainer, a savage raider, a royal champion, and more. A very tragic book dealing heavily with the theme of traumatic upbringings. Also features a dragon protagonist who does not at any point become human, nor does he particularly want to. In-progress as of the writing of this post, but barely a week away from completion. I also have a couple of short stories posted, as well as two erotic Locked Tomb fanfics on my AO3 account. I generally post new chapters of my novels every second week, Selene updating on Thursdays and Chained Flame updating on Mondays.

So yeah, that’s what I do for a living! I’ll probably start making announcement posts for new chapters, both in public and on Patreon, as well as any Patreon exclusives, votes, or anything else writing-related that I’m doing. Indeed, I might be making some more posts later today, so keep an eye out for that. Thank you in advance to anyone who spreads the word, and extra thank you to anyone who actually goes the extra mile and starts supporting me. To all of my followers who aren’t interested in my writing, you can block the “becca writes books” tag, which will cover all of my writing-related posts.

#writers on tumblr #the selene saga #the earthborn emissary #the chained flame #becca writes books

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beauty-and-passion · 6 months

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FSS3 Episode 5: Just a simple story

Nothing than a simple confrontation in the night to have a good sleep.

Updates every Monday, Wednesday and Friday.

What is FFS3 - Introduction - Season 2 finale - previous episode - next episode

AO3 link for this episode

DISCLAIMER: As said in the introductory post, Fanders Sides Season 3 (season 2 finale included) could have triggering themes/scenes. Please keep that in mind before reading.

_______________________________

It’s the middle of the night, when Thomas suddenly wakes up. He glances at the window: the white light of the moon fills the room. Considering how high and bright it is, it’s probably very late.

He turns to the right and picks up his phone: three in the morning. It’s very late indeed.

When he lowers the phone, he sees Virgil staring at him one inch away from his face.

He jerks back with a strangled scream and asks Virgil what the heck is he doing, appearing just like this. He almost gave Thomas a heart attack!

Virgil doesn’t reply, but sits on the edge of the bed. He still glares at him.

Thomas asks what’s wrong and Virgil says it’s Thomas’ fault. He didn’t listen to Virgil’s advice. He promised to never let Janus or any of his friends stick around and then, not only he accepted Janus, but Remus too!

Virgil notices he raised his voice too much, so he puts both hands on his mouth and looks around. His eyes are huge, his movements quick and nervous. He tells himself everything is okay, no need to worry, everyone is asleep and he won’t call “him”.

Thomas asks what’s wrong and tries to calm Virgil down, but Virgil interrupts him. He thought that opening up to Thomas and telling him he was one of the Others would’ve made him feel better but nope, he doesn’t feel better in the slightest: his stomach is in knots, his mouth is dry and he can just blame himself, because everything has been a huge mistake from his side. He lowered his guard and not only Janus wriggled his way into Thomas’ life, but Remus too and now even Anger is out…

Thomas tries to calm him down again. He says he’s okay and things between them are okay too. In the past, knowing Virgil was one of the “dark Sides” would’ve upset him. But now, he’s starting to think that divisions between them have no real sense. Virgil was one of them? That’s fine. He trusts Virgil. He knows Virgil works with him now and not against him. He knows Remus cares in his own, weird ways and he knows that, when Remus is controlled and his ideas are filtered through Roman, he can even trust them. And he knows he can trust Janus too.

Virgil’s expression slowly shifts from hopeful, when Thomas talks about him, to skeptical when he talks about Remus, to scared when he talks about Janus. He immediately tells Thomas that no, he cannot trust Janus. He should never trust him. Janus is a manipulator, he knows things he purposely hid from Thomas. He did things he’s still hiding from him.

Thomas asks Virgil what is he talking about, but Virgil can’t tell him: some things are a secret and, when Janus wants, he can keep everyone’s mouth shut. His included.

Well, Thomas replies, but if I want to know something I can know it, right? So, he orders Virgil to tell him.

Before Virgil can talk, Janus appears near the bottom left corner of Thomas’ bed. He tells Thomas he should sleep and not ask for answers in the middle of the night. Thomas insists: he wants to know and he wants to know now. What did Janus do behind his back?

Janus gives a blaming look at Virgil and says he did nothing, but Thomas keeps looking at him, waiting for the truth.

Janus sighs, then he starts with a convoluted explanation about how everything gets much smaller and much more complicated, every time you look at the details. That’s why “the devil is in the details”: because it’s the perfect place where the smallest threads and rules can be bent and distorted. And if you look too much into it, you start to question your whole life. Has everything happened by chance or was it the result of reasoning? Was the change random or wanted? And what’s best for you? To know that or to live in blissful ignorance? Maybe, sometimes, the solution is ambivalent and denial is what connects them. Because the line between denial and knowledge is very thin and denial in itself can be considered a form of knowledge.

Thomas doesn’t understand a single thing, so he asks Janus to stop and just tell him what he did.

Janus takes another long breath and starts again. By now, Thomas knows that he’s not just Deceit.

Thomas nods.

And he knows Janus hides things, information and even Sides from his conscious mind.

Thomas nods again.

However, these hidden Sides are not unknown from the entirety of Thomas’ mind. Deep down, he has always been aware of their existence and he knows who they are. Just look at what happened today: you recognized a Side, despite never meeting him in person.

“Anger”, Thomas murmurs.

So, even though your conscious mind is not aware, you still know who your Sides are. However, they do not have permission to show up to you. And Janus, as their guardian, does not have permission to show them either. The only permission he got from the mind was to hide these Sides: that’s what the mind wanted and that’s what he did.

Okay…, Thomas replies, a bit worried. What went wrong, then?

Nothing went wrong, Janus answers. The system was perfect. It would’ve stayed the same forever, if I didn’t do anything.

Thomas’ worry becomes fear.

What did you do?, he asks.

Janus sighs again. Long ago, he realized that Thomas would never become an adult, if he didn’t acknowledge and accept all of his Sides. He needed to meet them, understand them and realize how useful they are.

But Thomas kept hiding them. He still didn’t want to deal with them. And so, Janus used a loophole.

Thomas is confused: what loophole? Wasn’t the system perfect?

Janus explains that, as guardian of the hidden Sides, he didn’t have any permission to show himself as well. He was a hidden Side too. So, when he tried to talk to Thomas face to face, he had to do it by using another Side’s appearance. Patton’s appearance.

So what happened when Thomas realized this guy wasn’t Patton and asked what was going on? What did the other Sides tell him?

Thomas reminds Roman’s words from CLGB: “You have to give us permission first”. His expression changes, as he starts to realize.

You gave me permission to show myself, Janus explains. And, since I was the guardian of the hidden Sides and a hidden Side myself, I used that permission as a pass and gave it to the Sides beneath me.

This is why Remus was free to introduce himself without permission. And this is why Anger did it too.

But that’s not all, Virgil adds immediately. Once they took the chance and showed themselves, they both strengthened their position, by making Thomas acknowledge their roles and existence. Remus even gave his name, so Thomas accepted his existence as a whole and now he’s free to do anything he wants.

And now that Thomas acknowledged Anger’s role, he gave him permission to do the same: now Anger can appear whenever he wants and do whatever he wants. He’s not bound to permission anymore.

And if Virgil was okay with Remus because, at the end of the day, he’s just a very gross Side, Anger is another thing entirely. He’s dangerous, impulsive and out of control. And Thomas just acknowledged his existence - and he did it without knowing what he was doing, because Janus let Anger introduce himself without Thomas’ approval!

Thomas is shocked. He looks at Janus and asks him why. Why doing this to him? This doesn’t help him at all! It just makes everything worse!

Janus leans forward, his voice gets softer while he asks Thomas to trust him. He knows what he’s doing and he knows it will be painful for Thomas. But he also knows this is all necessary, for Thomas’ growth, for his happiness and for his future.

But Virgil doesn’t buy it. He crosses his arms and tells Thomas to not trust his words. He should not make the same mistake Virgil did.

Janus’ gaze moves to Virgil. After all these years, the devil is still in the details, isn’t it? But Virgil cannot stop changes. Changes happen and will always happen. This is why Janus exists: to guide Thomas through them and protect him.

Protect him?, Virgil replies. How? By constantly lying and deceiving?

Janus snaps and accuses him to stop pretending he doesn’t know the importance of lies. They are not just false information, but means of protection. Lies are a way to save a conversation, spare other people’s feelings, keep good relationships. Sometimes, the truth is just too harsh and it needs to be softened with the help of a little lie. And Virgil knows that very well, considering he let Janus use lies for years.

It’s because he was desperate back then, Virgil admits. He thought he would’ve always been just a villain. He thought Thomas would never accept him like he accepted the Core Sides. He thought he had to work in the shadows forever, with Thomas’ scorn and hate as his only reward. And so, since Thomas would’ve never seen him as a good guy, he would’ve kept acting like a bad guy.

You weren’t a bad guy, Janus replies. You were a fighter, you were strong and you were honest. Now you’re the liar and you pretend to be better than you are.

That’s not what you said, when I told you I wanted to work with the Core Sides, Virgil says.

That’s not what you said either, Janus replies.

A silence falls between them, but it’s heavy and full of unspoken things. Thomas shifts his gaze from Virgil to Janus, but neither of them resumes talking.

In the end, Virgil gets up and just says he’s on his own side now. He works alone and, if necessary, he will protect Thomas from them all by himself.

But before he gets up and leaves, Thomas grabs him by his arm: he cannot leave, not like that! They clearly have something going on and he wants them to solve it now.

However, Virgil refuses. He says Thomas cannot order him to do this, because it doesn’t involve him at all.

Janus, on the other hand, says that it’s just a very simple story: Virgil asked him to leave and, once he did, he cut ties with them. All of them.

Thomas is very curious and opens his mouth to ask a question: Virgil takes advantage of that small distraction and leaves before Thomas can stop him. Thomas tries to call him back, but Virgil does not appear.

He turns to Janus, who is still sitting at the edge of his bed. He notices he’s quite stiff and his hands are balled into fists. He’s hiding some emotions and it’s clear the whole issue is not just “a simple story” as he said. But, before Thomas can console him somehow, Janus gets up, tucks him back into bed, tells him it’s late and that he should sleep.

The last thing Thomas sees is Janus getting up in the penumbra, wishing him goodnight and disappearing. Thomas is left alone, tired and confused.

_______________________________

END CARD

Janus is standing in front of a closed door: the spiderwebs identify it as the door of Virgil’s bedroom, so we know he is in Virgil’s room.

Janus says this is what growth leads to: no one can reach full knowledge of themselves, without going through some pain. That’s how life works, that’s how it has always been and will always be. Denying or opposing changes would just lead to more harm and pain.

He waits, but the door is still closed. He says he hopes Virgil will at least understand this. Then, he leaves.

Once he leaves, the camera shows us Virgil on the other side. His back is against the closed door, his arms are crossed and his expression shows anger and frustration: it’s clear he listened to everything Janus said.

However, once Janus leaves and silence falls on the other side of the door, Virgil’s expression shifts from anger to pain and he lets himself slide down. The last scene is him sitting on the ground, silently sobbing with his head hidden behind his hoodie.

_______________________________

AUTHOR’S NOTE

Soooo…

First of all, we had to talk about the moment Virgil revealed to Thomas he was “one of them”, because in canon they never addressed that anymore. It was time to close it.

Then, we have the first crumbs of information about the story between Virgil and Janus. This is something the fandom craves to see, so it needs time to be built. And I didn’t want to shove it in full into one episode only: it would be boring and bad, so here are the first bits of information and more will come along the way.

Also, references about Virgil’s past: yep, they will appear too. After all, Virgil’s drastic change from sarcastic bitch to his post-acceptance self is just too drastic to not require someone to address it. And now all dark Sides are here, so it’s unavoidable that Virgil’s past comes back to face him.

About the permission thing: if you read my analyses, you know that the whole idea is something I got from CLBG. But, honestly, that connects so many things and explains so many others… I couldn’t help but use it. It’s perfect to justify what Janus did, why and how. And it works in Virgil’s favor, because he said to not trust him and see?, he shouldn’t be trusted. It adds a bit of an additional obstacle - which is always necessary and fun ;)

( Support me on Ko-fi )

_______________________________

TAGLIST:

@royalprinceroman @reesiereads @mudpuddlenl@allmycrushesaredead @aquatedia@whatishappeningrightnow @effortiswhatmatters @bella-in-a-bag @doydoune @forever-third-wheeling @payte @hypnossanders @idontreallyknow24 @imcrushedbyarainbowoffical @patton-cake @hereissananxiousmess @purplebronzeandblue @cynicalandsarcastic @lost-in-thought-20 @andtheyreonfire

@riseofthewerewolf @rosesandlove44 @chewy-rubies @groaaaaan @arya-skywalker @csi-baker-street-babes @queen-of-all-things-snuggly

@dracayd-universe @starlightnyx @stubbornness-and-spite @averykedavra @joyrose-fandomer @mihaela-tbg @igonnatalknothing

@thatoneloudowl @grayson-22 @softangryfuckingdepressed @theotherella @boopypastaissalty @nevenastark @varthandiveturinn @roses-bubbles @cuter-on-the-inside @coldbookworm @snixxxsmythe @charmingcritter @analogical-mess @emphasis-on-the-oopsie @selfdestructivecat @yangwalkerao3

#sanders sides #fanders sides season 3 #fss3 #thomas sanders #virgil sanders #janus sanders #remus sanders #roman sanders #patton sanders #logan sanders #orange side

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galaxysgal · 2 years

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𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐄𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐬 𝐜𝟏: 𝐊𝐚𝐩𝐬𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐚

Kapsoura (Καψούρα) - noun - Crush, infatuation; intense passion; the heady romantic feelings at the start of a relationship

Pairing: professor!matt x gn!reader

Summary: You have a crush on your attractive, young ethics professor. Sometimes you feel like he feels the same.

Warnings: age gap (reader is of age), eventual smut, teacher/student relationship (consensual), slow burn, matty being adorable 🥰

A/N: moodboard by me :) extremely self indulgent professor au. matty has no super sense bc i just didnt feel like working that into the plot lmao- thank you to @drownedpoetess for beta'ing!! i put my soul into this fic yall im so excited to hand it off :))) enjoy !!

Wordcount: 2.9k

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Most students regret picking an 8am lecture, but not you. The Senior Interdisciplinary Ethics Seminar is a class you had been looking forward to ever since you were thrown into Introduction to Ethics as an elective your first year. You had all but begged your counselor to give you the class- it was a graduation requirement for Law and some other degrees, so as a Cinema and Television Arts major you hadn't exactly been at the top of the roster to get it. But you loved ethics, and by some act of god you got the class. You loved it from the first day. The content was deep and engaging, you didn't mind the hours, and the new professor was a major upgrade from the previous one.

Professor Murdock.

Young, witty, always there to lend a hand with a smile and a wise truth. His lectures captivate you- and not just because he is attractive. Although… that was definitely a factor. The way his hair sticks up at odd angles some mornings as he rushes in a minute before class with coffee in hand, the way his button ups stretch over his chest as he removes his blazer, the way he encourages your engagement in class discussions with a grin. All of it adds to this little schoolyard crush. A man some ten years older and infinitely more experienced than you, Professor Murdock is a force to be reckoned with. He is passionate about the subject, kind when you ask for help, knowledgeable when you need advice.

A crush. Like a little kid, getting butterflies in their stomach. That was all this was. A crush. But sometimes- sometimes you swear Professor Murdock notices you in the same way you notice him.

The sound of your name being called pulls you out of your little daydream and you see Professor Murdock leaning over your desk. "You've been awfully quiet today," he murmurs, "is everything alright?"

You see your reflection in his red tinted glasses, and past that his hazy brown eyes. "Yeah, I'm alright," you reply, breath catching as his hand brushes yours before reaching out to pat your shoulder. He almost lingers- almost- but seems to think better of it, pulling away and returning to his lecture.

"So, the moral desert. Who remembers what that is?" He leans on his desk, cane in hand, and waits for a response.

"The idea that if you're a good person, you deserve good things in return," you answer once the silence goes on for a little too long.

Professor Murdock grins, "good! Good, thank you. And what's the problem with that line of thinking?" Once again, the class is silent. "Come on guys I know it's early but you know this. So what's wrong with this reasoning. Anyone?" He pauses, waiting for someone to speak up, then calls your name.

"Your intentions aren't right. And after a while you're gonna get tired of it. The moral life isn't always easy."

"Yes, exactly… And it looks like that's time for today- Remember, I want your ideas for your ethical representation in media project submitted to me by the end of Monday's class please." Professor Murdock's voice is drowned out by the scraping of chairs as the class begins to dismiss itself. "If you want help solidifying your idea and the piece of media you want to examine will be offering a group study session of sorts, to brainstorm ideas and run them past me. I have faith in you guys, I can’t wait to see what you find. Enjoy your… weekend." He sighs, the room falling quiet once the students have filed out. He mutters something to himself, removing his glasses and leaning over his desk. His fingers search the clutter on his desk, until they clasp around his coffee cup. You get the feeling he believes he's alone.

"Professor Murdock?" you ask quietly.

He turns calmly, a hand running through his hair. Your name falls sweetly from his lips, "did you need something?" he asks after a moment's silence, and you flush, stumbling over your words.

"I- uh- I wanted to ask about the study session?"

His features light up, "of course! I'd love to have you. I'll be sending out an email later in the day with all the information you'll need, but it's gonna be out in the courtyard next to Belk."

"Oh, that's great- Belk is right next to my dorm. I'll see you then!" You turn to leave but he calls out after you one more time. "Yeah?" you reply.

There's a pause, his lips forming around words he wants to say but can't quite get out. "Thank you. For always participating in class- it helps a lot."

"Of course Professor Murdock," you respond. "I love your lectures, really."

He chuckles, "you don't know how much that means to me. I'm always trying to connect- to engage with my students- and it's hard sometimes. You make me feel like I haven't failed at that."

You're taken aback by this new information- Professor Murdock is one of the most engaging teachers you've had in all four years here. "Trust me, you're not failing," you reassure him.

His lips quirk up in a smile, and your stomach fills with butterflies. "Thank you. I'll see you tomorrow."

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You arrive at the courtyard ten minutes early to find Professor Murdock struggling to carry two coffees and tip tap his cane up the stairs at the same time. You call out to him and watch as he flushes a bit red with embarrassment. "Hey," he says with a chuckle. "You're early."

"Please, let me help you." You take the drinks from his hands, allowing him to find his own way up the little concrete steps that lead into the courtyard. Your eyes linger on his, his shirt tight over the expanse of his shoulders, jeans hugging the curve of his ass. When he turns around you feel like you've been caught and are thankful he can't actually see you staring.

"One of those is for you," he gestures vaguely to the coffee. "I don't want to play favorites but you were the only one who confirmed they'd be here… I figured I might as well make it worth your while."

You look at the cups in your hands and recognize one as your tried and true order, perfect down to the extra caramel. "How did you-"

He smiles. "I'm perceptive." There's something in the way his lips quirk upwards, the way he's absolutely still, almost staring at you. It's quiet. It's nice. "Come, sit down." He taps his cane against the nearest chair as two more students arrive.

Professor Murdock stays standing as your classmates begin to join you, seven total. He takes the time to hear out each of your project ideas, circling around the group until he comes to you.

"Let's hear it," he says with a smile. He leans against the table, towering over you a bit.

You aren't sure why you're nervous. Your heart is beating a little too fast for your liking, worried he might shoot down the idea you've become so excited about. You take a quiet breath to still yourself. "I was thinking I would do my presentation on the Ethics discussed in The Good Place," you tell him. "I know it's a pretty obvious answer but the show has a special place in my heart- I want to go deeper than the surface level, I want to take a look at the ethics that are shown rather than taught."

Above you Professor Murdock nods, contemplative. "You're a film major, right?"

"Yes sir," you respond, and you swear you see a gentle red creep onto his cheeks. "Cinema and Television Arts."

"Good, good. What area are you most interested in?"

"I'm honestly not sure, even after four years of doing it every aspect is still so captivating to me-" you try not to talk too fast as your excitement bubbles up in your throat. "It's just- it's all so important to the process."

You wait for his verdict.

"Under normal circumstances I'm not sure I would allow it, it seems like a bit of an easy out-" your heart drops- "but, I really think a student as thoughtful and engaged as yourself could really dive into the material and find the hidden gems."

You breathe a sigh of relief, "thank you so much- I promise I'll do it justice."

"I know you will," he says with a kind smile. "You're passionate about this, I can hear it in your voice. You'll do well." He reaches out, placing a hand on your shoulder. His thumb brushes the bare skin revealed by your loose collar and you shiver, praying to any god listening that he didn't pick up on that. "I know you'll make me proud."

You stay until the afternoon begins to dissolve into the evening, the sun casting a golden glow on the brick walls around you. Professor Murdock runs his fingers over his wristwatch and straightens, clapping his hands once to get everyone's attention. "Thank you guys so much for your hard work today, I loved hearing all of your ideas. Now go, enjoy your Saturday evening!"

You push your chair in, slowly gathering your things and packing them into your bag. When the others have left you turned to Professor Murdock. "Thank you for having this, it was really helpful," you say. "And, thank you for the coffee."

"Of course, I hope I didn't take up too much of your Saturday. There's still plenty of time for partying and whatnot-"

You cut him off with a genuine laugh, "No, no," you say, "don't worry. That's not really my scene."

He raises an eyebrow, "no?"

"What, didn't peg me as the quiet type?" you tease, feeling exhilarated.

"No, I didn't," Professor Murdock responds with one of those genuine, brilliant smiles of his. "You're so outspoken in class, I figured you'd be the life of the party."

"I can be when I want to be- but not today. My only plans are to grab some of the grilled chicken from the dining hall and head home to watch netflix in the dark," you tell him with a good natured chuckle.

His features lift at your words, "oh, I love the chicken. Care if I join you for dinner? I'd like to continue our conversation from before."

You feel your face flush. Moments like this are the ones that really make you wonder, is it basic kindness or something more? "I'd love that," you respond. "I'll take any reason to talk about film."

You get your food in to-go boxes and take the back stairs out to the outdoor seating. "Could you help me," Professor Murdock asks in the stairwell. "Up the stairs is one thing but down the stairs is another- especially when I can't hold on to anything," he raises the box in his hand.

You come to his side, looping your arm in his so he can put away his cane. He's so close to you, the smell of cologne and old books and musk filling your nose. His hand is warm where it holds on to your arm and you hope your heartbeat isn't as loud as it sounds in your own ears.

You lead him out to a table in the corner, noting how he doesn’t let go of your arm until he bumps into the chair, laughing softly. "Sorry-" you squeak out but he shakes his head, sitting down.

"Don't worry about it." You take a seat across from him, your eyes lingering momentarily as he licks his lips hungrily. "So, you were telling me about the aspects of filmmaking?"

"Yeah, yeah." You smile. "It's just so interesting to me, it's all one big collaborative process you know? Someone has an idea, and a writer takes that and turns it into a script, and that script goes into the hands of a director, and into the hands of the actors. They all put a piece of themselves into it." You pause, taking a bite of your chicken. A glance at Professor Murdock reveals he's listening intently. "Same goes for composers, editors, cinematographers- they all have a hand in it. All these people, they put their soul into the piece."

"Like art," he supplies.

"Like art," you parrot. "But even then, it's more than that. It's almost like it's- like it's alive. A living, breathing thing that's been touched by all these people, leaving their mark behind when they go."

Professor Murdock smiles, "I never thought of it like that..."

"Yeah! and then what really gets me is that- ultimately- they give it away, you know you can spend weeks, months, years, on a project and then you just hand it off to the viewer. And just like that it's out of your hands and into theirs. They decide what happens to it. It's terrifying and exhilarating- I love it."

He hums, "the film program here, you take your work to a festival in the spring right?"

"Yeah! I've worked on some of the projects- done some directing, acted a bit-"

"You act?" he asks, and the genuine curiosity in his voice makes your stomach twist with excitement and a bit of guilt. You should feel wrong for this, but there's just something about him.

"I used to do it a lot more, local theatre and stuff." You think fondly of the many productions you had been a part of back home. "I still do it sometimes just… not as much."

"And do you miss it?"

God, his questions are endless. But instead of it being an annoyance it just makes your heart melt even more. It's the gentle curiosity in his voice, the way he nods along, asks questions- he's really listening.

"A little… It's different though, with screen acting. I think I prefer the stage, and I prefer being behind the camera to being in front of it." You take a bite of your food, realizing you've barely touched it. You fight the urge to apologize for talking Professor Murdock's ear off.

"Ah," he leans back in his chair, the fading sunlight casting him in a warm glow and catching on his glasses. "More of a director?"

"Directing, writing," you muse. "I really do love it all. That's why I'm getting a theatre arts minor. It's a good pairing, opens up a lot of opportunities for me after I graduate." The dream was Hollywood, but you weren't quite sure you were ready for it. The east coast was your lifelong home.

"What are your plans for after graduation?"

"New York city," you reply. "Small time film productions, maybe some off broadway work. I'm actually taking a playwriting class right now, it really helped me to develop my script writing skills- to the point that I wrote the script for this year's main entry into the film festival."

"Oh, wow- multi-talented, I see." His grin is infectious. "I'm sorry for asking so many questions, but my curiosity gets the best of me. What's someone studying Cinema, Television and Theatre arts doing in an ethics class? I mean- you're clearly passionate about it, I can tell by our discussions in class. Is it just another one of your many, wonderful passions?"

You feel your heart quicken at his question but don't get the chance to answer as an automated voice rings from his phone, "Foggy. Foggy. Foggy. Foggy." Professor Murdock digs his phone out of his pocket, managing an apology as he fumbles to answer the call.

"Foggy, hey- yeah I'm at the dining hall. Hayes. Alright- alright buddy-" he laughs at something his friend says- "No problem. Bye." He ends the call and pushes his chair back, "I guess that's my cue."

You stand too, "you sure you'll make it home alright?" you ask.

He laughs, not condescending or offended, but friendly. "Thank you, but I'll be fine. That was my friend, he drives me home in the evenings."

"Oh," suddenly you feel ashamed for talking so long, it's nearly dark now. "Professor Murdock, I'm sorry if I kept you-"

"No need, I enjoyed our conversation." He reaches and you place your hand in his, a bit calloused but surprisingly warm. His other hand covers yours, cane tucked under his arm, "and please, call me Matt." Your face flushes and you trip over your words, but your good natured professor just gives you a kind smile.

A car pulls up in front of the dining hall, saving you from embarrassment. The passenger side window is rolled down and a man calls out, "hey, Matt! Come on, karaoke at Josie's!"

You giggle, "karaoke?"

"Maybe I'm multi-talented too." He drops your hand and immediately you miss the warmth it had provided. "Goodnight," he says with a smile, turning on his heel and calling out an exasperated "I'm coming, I'm coming," to his friend.

On the way back to your dorm you find a childlike spring in your step. It's all you can do not to squeal in delight as you fall into bed and pull out your phone to spill the gossip to your roommate.

And when you close your eyes you see him. That smile. You can't get it out of your head.

End.

@foxe @mushroomlupin @daremartyevil @letskeepthislo-ki @mothdruid @deadangeluniverse @anothersworld

#matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x you #matt murdock x y/n #daredevil #matt murdock #matt murdock imagine #mags writes #professor!matt #matt murdock <3 #my beloved my baby

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the-sound-of-her-wings · 2 years

Note

Can I please get a Matt Murdock fic with Only Us from DEH. Just real fluff like EXTREME. Please and thank you.

Hello! So this didn't turn out as fluffy as I hoped but it is still majorly fluffy! I hope you like it!

❀ Premise: You are a law librarian and you meet and get to know Matt through law library associated activities.

❀ Word Count: 1,918

❀ CW: Law Libraries, Flirting, Fluff

❀ Song: Only Us- Dear Evan Hansen

❀ Citrus Scale: Citrus

The Law Library in Hell’s Kitchen was usually empty, which irked your supervisor. She’d always talk to you about the good old days where the library was filled with lawyers, judges, law clerks, all researching law. They started to dwindle in the mid to late 2000s with the introduction and widespread use of online versions of the same books that filled this library. By now, there was almost no one left coming into law libraries to do legal research- except for the lawyers from Nelson, Murdock, and Page.

You were shocked when you heard the door open one October morning, only to look up and find a pair of lawyers.

“Welcome to Columbus Law Library. My name is Y/N, how may I help you?”

“Hi, y/n. I’m Foggy Nelson- this is Matt Murdock. Do you happen to have a subscription to Westlaw Edge?”

“We do maintain a singular subscription to Westlaw Edge, though both Westlaw and LexisNexis are available in print format.”

“That’s all we need. Do you happen to have a braille keyboard?” Matt asks.

“Give me just a moment.” You say, looking it up in your system, “We do. It appears to be in storage, so let me go grab it for you.”

When you return to the front with the keyboard, the two men have already made their way over to one of the three computers.

“Let me just get this set up for you- this might take a few minutes, I’m not sure the last time this keyboard was used.” You state, brushing past the two men and taking a seat in front of the computer. You spend the next 10 minutes struggling to get the old thing to finally connect. “Got it! Mr. Murdock, please feel free to test it out.”

You get out of the seat to let him slide in, which he manages to do fairly well on his own.

“Works fine. Thank you for setting this up, y/n” Matt states.

“Of course. Is there anything else you’ll need while your here?” You keep a professional manner but you can feel the heat in your cheeks.

“No, I think we got it. If you could let me know when the next pocket part comes in for New York Jurisprudence, 2d, I’d appreciate it” Foggy responds.

“Of course. I’ll let you know as soon as we get it in. Could I please get your-” Matt is handing you their business card before you can even finish your sentence. “Thank you, Mr. Murdock.”

“Just call me Matt.”

“Right. I’ll be at the front desk if either of you needs anything”

After that day, you only ever see the two of them come in separately. Foggy is on a set schedule: every Monday morning from nine to noon, he uses one of the computers to conduct legal research- and will occasionally look through the hardcover LexisNexis books to cross-reference for certain cases. Matt is much more sporadic. Sometimes you’ll see him five times a week- other times it will be a whole month before he comes back in. It’s always later in the day, about an hour or two before the library closes.

“Matt. It’s nice to see you. It’s been a while.” You state, seeing him come in.

“Nice to see you y/n. Foggy asked me to ask about a pocket part?” He approaches the front desk.

“Yup. It just came in this morning. I’ll make sure it’s out for him when he comes in on Monday.”

“Great. Thanks, y/n” As he begins to walk away, you notice a trickle of blood on the back of his neck.

“Matt- your bleeding.” You state. You take the boxes of tissues you keep behind the counter and begin to approach him.

“I am?” He doesn’t seem that concerned.

“You should sit down.” It’s less a suggestion and more a demand. You pull over a chair for him to sit in, and you kneel next to him to be able to get close enough to the bleed.

“Are you gonna tell me how this happened?” You ask, cleaning up the wound.

“I’m an alcoholic.” He states.

“The alcoholics I know don’t smell like antiseptic and copper.” You reply. You are close enough to smell his breath, which also betrays the fact he hasn’t had anything to drink in a while- let alone enough to be drunk. “And that doesn’t answer my question”

“I’m willing to bet you haven’t been around enough alcoholics to know that for certain” He responds, leaning into your touch

“I guess it shouldn’t be surprising that a boxer's son gets into fights, but I guess I was expecting a little more from a lawyer of your caliber” You respond, causing him to jerk away from you. “Guess I hit a nerve”

“How’d you know it was from a fight?” He’s stood up to get further distance from you

“I didn’t, until now.” You reply, standing up. “But that’s none of my business,” You place the bloody tissue in his hands, closing his fingers around it, “Unless you want it to be.”

“Does attorney-client privilege apply?” Matt jokes with a pained smile.

“It would if I actually sat on the bar” You respond.

After a short silence, Matt says, “I’ll be doing some research.”

“And I’ll be here if you need anything.”

The next time you see Foggy, you don’t bring it up. You just mention that yes, Matt had stopped in on Friday, and yes, you had told him to tell Foggy that the pocket part was in. No, you have no idea why Matt didn’t tell him. It would be another two weeks before you saw Matt again.

“Welcome back, Matt.” You say, without looking up from the book you are reading. It’s not like he could see you.

“Y/n. Any updates I should know about?”

“Nope. Nothing interesting going on, I’m afraid.” Matt and Foggy are always the most interesting part of your day when they decide to enter it.

A few minutes later, you hear Matt shout from the computers, “Y/n? Can you come here a second?”

You put a bookmark on the page you had been reading and get up to see what’s going on.

“Hi Matt, how can I help?” You ask, approaching where he is sitting.

“I think the servers are down.” He states.

“Do you mind if I scootch in next to you to get a better look at the screen?” You ask.

“Sure thing.” He moves over enough to allow you to sit down on the edge of the chair.

“Let’s take a look- yup. Looks like their servers are down. Routine maintenance.” You try to ignore the fact that your thighs are pressed up next to each other while you confirm the issue.

“Convenient.” He says sarcastically.

“I suppose you’ll need my help, then,” You state, getting out of your shared chair, “What kind of law were you researching?” You ask.

“Lemon law.” He responds.

“Oh, The sexiest kind of law.” You joke. As you make your way to the relevant area of the library, Matt follows you.

“Only for one of the sexiest lawyers.” Matt teases.

“Don’t push your luck. I’ll lock you in the library.”

“Is that a threat?”

“The man from that one episode of the Twilight Zone sure thought it was”

“He wasn’t blind and at the mercy of librarian” Matt points out.

“But he was surrounded by the one thing he needed without the ability to complete the task. Which would be you if I wasn’t here.” You respond, pulling the relevant materials out.

“I could always call Foggy.”

“But that wouldn’t be fun, would it?” You reply, now having a stack of about three books balanced on your right arm. Just then, you feel Matt’s hand in the small of your back, causing you to almost drop all three books.

“No, it wouldn’t” You walk like that to the nearest table, where you set the books down, and turn into Matt’s hand, causing it to now be on one of your hips.

“Now, as charming as you are” You state, slowly peeling his hand away from your body with your own before sitting down, “You did come here to research lemon law- not me.”

“Who says I can’t do both?” He’s got a cheeky grin on his face as he sits down next to you.

“So what legal question are you researching in particular in regards to lemon law?” You ignore the flirting for now.

“Are cars primarily used for personal purposes but also used for food delivery as part of a person's employment considered covered under the lemon law?” He responds.

“Spoken like a true lawyer. Let’s see…” Your hands brush as you open the text.

“Can I ask you something?” Matt says after you spend a few minutes trying to locate the right section of the law.

“I’m starting to think you’re not actually that interested in lemon law.” You tease, closing the book. “Go ahead.”

“Did you mean it when you said it the other week? That it was none of your business unless I wanted it to be?” You can see him searching for your hand, which you had put on top of the closed book. You move it so he can find it.

“Of course I did.” You say, as your hands intertwine.

“I think I want it to be your business. But I don’t know if it’ll change-” He breathes, “this.”

“I don’t think there’s anything that could change this.” You respond, releasing his hand and placing it against your face.

“You promise?” He asks, using his thumb to trace your lips.

“I promise” You state, his thumb still on your lips. They are soon replaced with his own, while both of his hands cup either side of your face. When he pulls away, you nuzzle your face into his right hand.

“Who knew lemon law could be so romantic” You joke, causing him to laugh.

“Can I walk you home?” He asks.

“Of course, you can.”

Matt is still very sporadic about visiting the law library, but he is very consistent about your dates, and always has an excuse if he needs to reschedule. You find out about a month after your first kiss the reason why Matt had come in injured that day, but it doesn’t change anything for you.

“Matt, I’m ready.” You shout from his bathroom, having just changed into something a little fancier. He’d booked a table at a restaurant not far from his apartment for the two of you.

“I’d say you look stunning..” He begins

“But I’d be lying.” You reply with a smile.

“You do smell very nice.” Matt gives an actual compliment.

“Thank you. And you look very handsome- though your tie could use some help” You reply, adjusting the tie around his neck.

“Y/n, are you sure this doesn’t change anything?” He asks as you make the final adjustments.

“You keep asking me that, Matt. It doesn’t- not for me. Does it change things for you?” You reply, pushing back some of his hair.

“No- It’s just. It changed a lot of things for other people in my life. Never for the better” He laments.

“I’m not them. I love you for who you are- all parts of you” You respond, placing a hand on his cheek.

He smiles, moving his face to kiss the palm of your hand.

“Is that enough reassurance?” You ask, removing your hand from his face.

“It is.”

#matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x you #matthew murdock x reader #matt murdock x y/n #matt murdock fluff #daredevil fluff #aspiring thanatologist writes #besties just so you are aware lemon law is about cars #not the citrus scale

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nebulablakemurphy · 3 years

Text

The Red Room

Summary: Meeting Yelena in the red room is the best and worse thing that’s ever happened to you. Warning: romantic Yelena x Fem!reader pairing and depictions of violence.

Those first weeks in the red room pass in a blur. You have one room. Just you. Meals are delivered like clockwork; no one speaks to you. Your only company being the television set that plays the same clips; morning, noon and night.

Until one day the lights flip on brightly above you and a woman enters. You squint up at her, “hello?”

“Hello.” She replies, “are you ready to get out of here?”

“Where will I go?” You wonder.

“Wherever I tell you.”

That is your first encounter with Madame B. When you were younger you thought her something of a savior. You know better now. Still when she calls for you, there’s no choice but to go.

You make your way down the long hall, florescent lights humming above you. Finally reaching the room you’ve been assigned; you grasp the door knob. Feeling the weight of the cool metal against your palm, with a steadying breath you turn it.

Inside is only Madame B and a girl. One you’ve only seen in passing, one of Dreykov’s favorites.

“Y/N, meet Yelena. She will be your partner from now on.” Madame B leads the introduction.

“Did something happened to Oksana?” Your brows pull together, voice small. Afraid to cross an unspoken boundary. She’s always been your partner.

“Oksana is no longer your concern.” The woman bites out. “Shake hands and prepare for your lesson.”

You nod, biting your tongue.

Lesson…

Sparring.

Dancing.

Captive simulations.

What will it be this time?

“Oksana is ok.” Yelena tells you, once the trainer is out of earshot.

“Good,” you whisper, holding your hand out to shake without another word.

“Is that why they kept you locked up so long? You don’t play well with others?” The blonde takes your hand, eyes narrowed into slits.

“I don’t play at all.” You inform her. Pleasing these people is your ticket out of here, and you will get out.

“Everybody plays, whether you want to or not.” Yelena tells you, letting your fingers slip from hers. “Just don’t get in my way.”

——————————————————————-

You don’t get in each other’s way. Somehow having Yelena as a combat partner is a lot less annoying than you anticipated.

Oksana is a better friend, but you aren’t here to make friends. You’re here to kill. Topple regimes from the inside out, Yelena helps you do that.

Your training with Yelena is different. Chipping away parts of you until you fit together seamlessly. From trust falls to synchronized attack plans, you name it you do it. Sometimes until you bleed.

One of your trainers, Ivan, has taken a liking to blind folded direction. Outside of captive simulations it is your least favorite team building activity.

You remind yourself to focus and breathe. In some ways guiding is worse than being guided. “Veer slightly to your right.”

Yelena lifts one bare foot, holding it airborne, allowing you to assess the placement of her next step. “Here?”

“Yeah,” you sigh, as she clears the bit of shattered glass. “That’s perfect.”

———————————————————————

Your first real assignment comes on Monday, June second.

“Come in, Miss American Pie. I have eyes on the target.” Yelena informs you through the ear piece.

“That’s still not my name, over. Stay high, I’m going down.” You reply, deploying your rope and riding it to the ground.

“Five ticks northwest and the package is yours.”

“Copy.” You follow her instruction, ducking away as a bullet shatters the window beside you. “Easy.” You chastise, in a hushed whisper.

“Sorry,” she apologizes half heartedly. The kill was necessary and she had a clean shot.

You spot your target, ready to turn onto the main street from the alleyway. You wrestle him to the ground, he puts up a good fight. Not good enough.

You wipe the blood from your hands before removing the usb drive from his breast coat pocket. “Just admit it,” you taunt, turning to the building Yelena is scoping from, “you’re proud of me.”

“Y/N!” Her tone is not playful at all.

What’s wrong? Before you get a chance to ask the man you’d assumed dead has his knife buried in your thigh.

You crumple to the ground as he prepares to strike again. In the time it takes to unholster your weapon a silent bullet reaches his temple from the sky.

You squint up at Yelena, watching her ride her teether down to the ground beside you. “Thanks.” You pant, inspecting the damage.

“That was sloppy,” she frowns, searching her pack for the midkit, then tearing open a package of gauze. “You always check the body, confirm the kill.”

“I know, I was stupid.” You gasp, feeling Yelena apply an obscene amount of pressure to your wound.

“We need to move to the extraction point, they can deal with you in medical.” Yelena rises, tossing your arm over her shoulder for support.

“It won’t happen again.” You promise, leaning heavily against her side.

“You’re right, it won’t. I have no idea what happens to me if you die.” She grumbles, somewhat bitterly.

———————————————————————

Interactions with Yelena are sparse after that. She doesn’t trust you. Only showing up for your lessons and leaving the moment they’re finished. You understand why she’s angry, you would be too.

According to your weekly rotation, today should be live target practice, however you are directed to a different room.

Once inside your eyes find the chair. You hate that chair. You hate this room. Nothing good ever happens here.

Slowly you move toward Yelena at the far wall.

“A little birdie told me that you’ve been holding back in combat lessons.” Ivan says, tapping a finger to his chin. “Why is that?”

You bite anxiously at the inside of your cheek.

“I said why is that?!”

You notice Yelena flinch from the corner of your eye. “It’s my fault,” you hold up a hand. “I took a hit on our last mission and my partner was being mindful of my injuries.”

“Oh I see.” He smirks, condescendingly. “You don’t want to hurt each other.”

“It would be counter productive to harm my partner.” Yelena points out. The red room drilled that into you.

“That is true.” His eyes dart between you. “But we can’t have you afraid of sparring together. Now can we?”

Your jaw ticks, awaiting the consequence.

“When’s the last time you girls ran a captive simulation?”

“Two weeks ago.” Yelena presents her left index finger to him for inspection. The nail just beginning to grow back.

Ivan hums, “When’s the last time you ran a captive simulation on each other?”

Your heart drops, all the blood running out of your face. Not for months.

“Hmm,” he wets his lips. “Who gets to play the captor first?”

Neither one of you volunteer.

“Belova,” he purrs. “Come choose your tools while Y/L/N straps herself into the chair.”

You don’t hesitate, it’ll be worse if you do. Tuning out his incessant chatter you find your seat. The metal chair sends a chill up your spine. Bending at the waist, you strap each ankle into a leather restraint, then your non dominant hand. Free hand waiting, curled around the arm rest.

Yelena kneels before you, her selections resting at your feet as she closes the final strap around your wrist. Your breath quickens.

“Fifteen minutes on the clock then you’ll switch.” Your spectator announces. “Make them count or we’ll start over.”

On autopilot Yelena reaches for the scalpel.

You don’t mean to scream…but eventually you do. You always do.

———————————————————————

Yelena knows your weaknesses and regularly exploits them to leave you face up on the floor during hand to hand combat sessions.

You used to resent her for it, but it made you strong. Stronger than you’ve ever been or hoped to be. The day you finally best her the room is filled with hushed whispers. Now you are ready.

You learn to move in harmony. The trainers ease up a bit and the other girls line up to watch you like an exhibit. You are two halves of a more perfect whole.

“Madame B, can I ask you something?” You say, fiddling with the hem of your shirt.

“Of course.” The older woman replies. “What is it?”

“Why was my training so different with Oksana?”

She leans in. “You were not brought here to be a partner to Oksana. She was standing in until we could be sure you were ready for a partner. Nothing more.”

“Was I brought here to be Yelena’s partner?” The question burns at the back of your throat.

“I understand the desire to seek meaning in these things. You hope to find your place in the world.”

You nod.

“But you have no place in the world,” the words cut like a knife. “What you do have is an opportunity to prove that you are not a waste of space, time, or resources. Come, let’s sit for debriefing.”

You wait in silence for Yelena to arrive, finally she does. Taking the seat beside you in the meeting room.

“In two days you will undergo the graduation ceremony, after which you are granted up to three days recovery time before you will be deployed to Moscow.” Madame B reviews the information, handing you each a folder of details.

“Enclosed you will find your identification cards and aliases. I suggest you take this time to familiarize yourselves. Tomorrow we will begin shooting photographs for the past two years of your lives. Report with several changes of clothing. Congratulations on this assignmet. It is a great honor.” Madame B dismisses you.

You open the file. ‘Katherine and Irena Reiner.’

“We’re sisters?” Yelena guesses.

Worse. “We’re married.”

“Even better.” She says under her breath, rising from the chair.

———————————————————————

Life in Moscow is different. Good. The neighbors are easy enough to convince. You play your parts to perfection.

The company you work for being the main focus. They have access to some sort of programming that Dreykov is desperate to get his hands on. You know better than to ask why.

Most mornings you get ready together, discussing the events of the previous day to prepare for the next.

“How come you only speak English?” Yelena wonders, turning off the steady spray of water from her shower and reaching out to grab a towel.

“I have a theory,” you reply, spitting excess toothpaste into the sink. “I think keeping me dependent on translation had more pros than cons.”

“They taught me.” She says, stepping onto the bath mat. “But I guess that’s different.”

You were brought in much older a majority of the other girls.

Your eyes meet in the mirror, seeing each other as if for the first time.

“I could teach you.” She offers, breaking the connection as she turns away.

“Yeah?” You pass the brush through your hair.

Yelena shrugs, “I have nothing better to do.”

“Just don’t teach me the wrong words to make me look stupid.” You arch a brow.

“It would be counter productive to harm my partner.”

Hours turn into days. Days into weeks and suddenly you stand on a blurred line. How much is she pretending? How much are you?

The two of you rest on opposite ends of the couch. Enjoying another round of prime time television.

“Yesterday I was talking to that girl in accounting.” Yelena pulls your attention from the picture.

“The blonde one?” You ask, tossing a piece of popcorn at her.

She attempts to catch it in her mouth. Having had more than a few drinks her coordination is lacking.

You smirk, when it falls into her lap.

“No Maggie.” She corrects you, finding the wayward piece and biting into it.

“Mmm.” You hum.

“Mmm? What do you mean, ‘mmm?’” Yelena’s brows pull together.

“Nothing,” you insist. “I was just acknowledging what you said.”

“You didn’t sound very happy about it. Did she do something to you?” Yelena demands, straightening her posture.

“No, she didn’t do anything. Anyway tell me what happened.”

“She’s worked there for a long time. I think she knows more than she says she does.”

“So are you gonna talk to her again? See if she’ll open up?” Yelena has that effect on people.

“I am married.” She rolls her eyes, flipping her left ring finger in place of the middle.

“Shut up.” You chuckle.

“I’m crazy about you, know you. Ever since we met in high school. You didn’t like me at first but you came around.” Yelena elaborates.

“I don’t remember seeing all that in our cover story.” You cock your head to the side.

“That was a shit story, I’m rewriting it.” She waves a hand.

“Tell me more.” Tell me everything.

———————————————————————

“Did you get milk?” You shout, peeking into the nearest paper bag.

“Was it on the list?” Yelena hollers back, from the front door, kicking it shut. Her arms full of groceries.

“I don’t remember,” you say, unpacking the head of lettuce and eggs.

“You made the list.” She scoffs, setting the rest of the haul on the floor.

A knock pulls your attention away from the food.

“Who is it?” You wonder.

“It’s me, George. From next door.” Your neighbor answers.

Yelena rolls her eyes, waving you out of the kitchen. It’s your turn to make small talk.

You step carefully around the produce to the main entrance. “Hey George.” You smile, swinging open the door, “what’s up?”

“Katherine!” He greets you. “Could I borrow Irena for a minute?”

“Is that lawnmower giving you trouble again?” You guess, leaning against the door frame.

“It’s running great actually. There’s something else I’m curious about though.”

“I can send her over after dinner.” You attempt to dismiss him.

“Aren’t you going to invite me in?” George moves his foot to prevent the door from closing, producing a pistol from his waistband.

“George!” Yelena waves, clearly oblivious.

“Irena,” he looks down at the gun, pointed at your chest, “we have much to discuss.”

“Clearly.” Yelena agrees, coming to join you on the threshold. “Are you going to tell me why you have my wife at gunpoint?”

“We should take this inside.”

“I’m good here.”

He presses the barrel against your skin through the fabric of your shirt. “You sure about that?”

“On second thought, I could go for a drink. Do you like scotch?” Yelena takes a step back, leaving room for him to enter the house.

“Who sent you?” George demands, guiding you into the kitchen.

“We also have brandy.” She says, expression unreadable.

“Who are you working for?” He asks a second time, adjusting his grip on the gun. “First one goes in her leg.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Yelena drawls. “But I’m going to warn you, if you hurt her, you die.”

“You have three seconds to give me a better answer,” the nuzzle of the gun sits flush against you upper thigh. “One, two-“

Yelena lunges, the gun firing into the floor when he’s knocked off balance.

George tosses her off as if she weighs nothing. You rush him, knocking the fire arm to the other side of the room. Your arms locked around his neck, flush to his back. He rams you back first into the china cabinet.

You fall away with a grunt.

“Now,” the man rights himself. Wiping away the blood from his split bottom lip with the back of his hand. “We’re going to have fun.”

Taking a fist full of your hair he begins pulling you toward the center of the room. You grab for a large shard of glass, slicing it over the back of this knee. He releases you, doubling over.

“I warned you.” Yelena snarls, stabbing her knife into his belly, making a straight line up to his sternum. “You thought you could use her to break me? They used to make me torture her! They used to make me-“ she breaks off, withdrawing her knife. Only to ram it in again and again.

George, if that was his real name, is long dead. A crimson puddle blooming on the floor. It doesn’t stop Yelena, hot, angry tears rolling past her cheeks.

“Yelena.” You say softly.

“They used to make me do it.” She repeats, the weight of the words crushing down on her.

Your arms envelope her from behind.

“No.” She sobs when she feels you there, holding exactly where it hurts.

“It’s ok.” You whisper against her ear.

The blood stained blade clatters to the ground. Her breathing ragged as both her hands find yours, squeezing tightly. Don’t let go.

“It’s ok.”

“No it’s not.” She cries, frantically shaking her head.

“I did it too.” As if she needs reminding. “They made me do it too.”

She allows you to stay curled around her, desperately trying to absorb some of that pain.

———————————————————————

Yelena’s drug of choice is alcohol, the spirits burn their way into her blood stream. Erasing all that she’s done.

“You want a glass?” She offers, setting the bottle of clear liquor down on the coffee table.

“No thanks.” You shake your head, hair still damp from the shower.

“Don’t be a hero,” she rolls her eyes as she takes a seat. The water had washed away any trace of George.

“Fine,” you take a long swig from the bottle in question.

“You’ll thank me later.” She tosses back a shot, sliding the strap of your pajama top down to assess the damage to your left shoulder. “It’s deep, going to need stitches. This is why we don’t go through china cabinets.” Yelena chastises, moving for the first aid kit.

“Yeah, not my finest moment.” You peek at her. “But it worked.”

“Mmm,” she hums, returning to her spot. Flipping open the white box and removing what she needs to stitch you up.

First she hits you with the antiseptic “сука!” Bitch.

“See,” you can hear the smile in her voice, “you are learning.”

You let out a pained laugh, “I guess I am. We need to call someone to clean this up.”

“Here,” she hands you her phone, blowing gently over you wound. “You take care of that, I take care of you.”

Your heart clenches at her words. But Yelena is your partner. That is all.

“Belova, do you have a status update?” A familiar voice answers after the first ring.

“Yeah, we need a cleanup.” You say matter of factly.

“Agent Y/L/N.” He greets you. “How many?”

“One.”

“For now,” The man remarks.

“You didn’t tell us we weren’t alone in this pursuit.” You purse your lips.

“There’s a reason we sent the best. I’ll put in for a clean up crew in the morning.”

“Let them know the body is in the bathtub.”

The goes dead.

The conversation distracts you well enough from the dull ache of the needle poking and pulling at your shoulder.

Carefully Yelena bandages the abused skin. Her finger tips running along the back of your arm.

“Thank you.” You whisper, relaxing into her touch.

Her lips ghost over your skin. “You’re welcome.”

Oh.

Slowly you turn, as if not to startle her. Yelena’s eyes find yours.

You move closer, tracing the line of her jaw. “Thank you,” you repeat.

She nods, still unsure.

“Of all the people I could’ve been stuck here with…I’m glad it was you.”

“You don’t have to say that.” She pulls your hand away gently.

“You’re right. I don’t have to say anything.“ You murmur, “But I want to… and it would be counter productive to harm my partner.”

“We can’t.” She knows it. You know it. “It will get in the way. They’ll kill us.”

“No.” You chuckle bitterly. “They’ll make us kill each other.”

“I wouldn’t do it,” Yelena insists.

“You won’t have a choice.” You point out. “Didn’t you hear about that stuff they started pumping into people?”

“Mind control.” Yelena replies in Russian.

“It’s only a matter of time.”

“Maybe we get out.”

“Maybe,” you smile sadly, “maybe we find each other.” In another life.

———————————————————————

Three days later Yelena comes home late. During your day off you were tasked with the more mundane tasks of running a household, but you suppose there are worse things. She finds you in the laundry room, drink already in hand. Her mouth set in a frown.

“What’s wrong?” You drop the piece of clothing back into the basket.

“I have it.” Yelena confesses.

You press your lips together, you knew this was coming. That information is the only reason you are here. “Did you contact them?”

“Not yet.”

“Are you going to?”

“You say that like I have a choice.” She stares down at her drink.

“I just meant-“

“I know what you meant.” Yelena knows you, better than anyone. The red room saw to that. “Do you want to stay one more night?”

“Do you?” You wonder.

“When I was a little girl…I didn’t have a chance to say goodbye.”

“In the morning,” you offer. Any longer and the risk will be too great. “We’ll go in the morning.”

She nods, taking in the room around her. “I wanted it to be real.”

“It was.” You choke down the lump in your throat.

———————————————————————

Your return to the red room is swift. No pat on the back or celebration to be had. Just two pawns, returning to their places on the board.

You’re separated from Yelena. Because your loyalties are to each other and that poses a threat. But what did they expect? They made you this way.

You are alone. Perhaps the most alone you’ve ever been. Or maybe you’d just forgotten that you could feel things. You remember now and wish you didn’t.

Like it or not she changed you. Knowing her had changed you, for better or for worse. After Yelena you were never the same.

Word of Oksana’s escape only fuels the need to chemically alter the minds of all agents. Beginning in order of importance.

Finding Yelena seated on the bench outside the physician’s office steals the breath from your lungs. To see her now is blatantly cruel and calculated.

Still you sit in the empty space beside her.

“Do you know where your orders are?” She asks.

“Yeah,” you nod, “Budapest. You?”

“Back to Moscow.” Yelena informs you.

You swallow hard, your pinkies skating past each other.

“Agent Y/L/N,” the doctor opens his door. You watch as another widow exits, she doesn’t look any different. Maybe the mind control drugs aren’t affective.

You steal one last glance at Yelena. Her eyes are desperate, ‘don’t go.’ Both of you knowing you can’t stay.

“Enjoy Moscow.” You whisper, moving reluctantly to your feet.

She tears her gaze away, unable to watch you leave. “I hear Budapest is beautiful.”

You hope so.

Wanna know what happens next? Check out chapter one of Miss American Pie! 💜

Yelena Belova Taglist: @captainwonderwidow

#yelena belova #yelena belova x reader #black widow #marvel fanfiction #black widow fanfiction #yelena belova fanfiction #yelena belova imagine #yelena belova x y/n #yelena belova x you #yelena belova x female reader #yelena black widow #miss american pie series #yelena belova one shot

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vivilove-jonsa · 3 years

Text

For Day 16 of the 31 Days of Jonsa -Trapped Together

(This fic will be expanded later on but I wanted to share what I had for the event. It won't be on ao3 until it's completed.)

Friday 6:32 PM

As a wedding planner, Sansa rarely works in the office this late especially on Fridays but there’s paperwork to see to today. Taxes. Bleh. How very unromantic.

Nevertheless, she’s here and doing it because she loves her little company - Lemoncakes & Lovers, where your Happily Ever After starts.

She’s already bid her three employees goodnight over an hour ago and there are no weddings for her to attend this weekend (for once). She’ll have a weekend free to enjoy whatever she wishes. Alone.

Sighing quietly at that thought, she hears some noise from the office space next to hers. A file cabinet slamming shut and the muffled sound of a phone ringing. He’s still here this late? Well, she supposes Heralds of Doom prefer long hours.

Jon Snow, Attorney at Law. But more specifically, he’s a divorce attorney.

Jon Snow who, when she’d been moving into her new little office space three months ago after working out of her home for over a year, had scoffed at her newly (and beautifully) painted sign on the lobby window advertising her services.

“I should probably add something to our sign for the future benefit of our new neighbor’s customers. ‘This is where you go when the Happily Ever After flops.’”

No, he hadn’t realized when he’d said it that she’d been standing right behind him and of course not everyone loves weddings like Sansa.

His partner, the very sweet Samwell Tarly and source of any building intel she’s accrued, had noticed her though and elbowed him in the ribs before turning to introduce themselves to their new neighbor on the fourteenth floor.

Mr. Snow, for his part, had looked away with a pained grimace the moment their eyes had met. He’d endured the introductions before muttering, ‘Good luck in your endeavor, Ms. Stark,’ and striding away.

She’s seen him walking past her window and giving it more than one sour glance since that day so she’s avoided Mr. Not-So-Sunny Snow and hopes none of the couples she arranges weddings for will ever have need of his services.

Oh, she’s no fool. She understands how these things go and is aware of the divorce rate. But Sansa hopes. Sometimes, that’s all we can do.

And no, she’s not been able to avoid him completely by any means. They often ride the elevator together on the mornings that she’s in the office.

Anytime they do ride together though, he’s always so tense. Their words are stilted and few, hers because Sansa has never known how to handle someone who apparently doesn’t like her and his because…well, clearly he doesn’t like her or her profession.

So, it really shouldn’t matter that she objectively finds Jon Snow handsome, should it? That’s just silliness on her part, probably part of her deep-seated desire to be liked by everyone. He’s obviously just a crusty, bitter old man in a thirty-something’s body…a rather cut thirty-something’s body judging by the times they’ve shared the elevator when he’s been coming or going from the gym.

Regardless, if Jon Snow enjoys spending his Friday nights watching wedded unions fall to pieces, that’s none of her business. She wouldn’t know what he enjoys and doubts she ever will.

7:18 PM

Jon lays his glasses aside to rub his tired eyes. The words in this brief are running together and he should probably call it a night but, with so few of his cases actually going to court anymore (it’s all usually procedural paperwork to file at most), he wants to be on top of everything come Monday. He hopes to win Walda every last dime she’s got coming her way from Mr. Bolton.

He hears the cleaning crew vacuuming down the hall and knows he should shove off since they’ll soon be done as well. But when you’ve got nothing but an empty flat and frozen dinner to go home to on a Friday night? He sighs and puts his glasses back on.

Ten minutes later, he hears a low thump through the wall and his ears perk up. That was next door, wasn’t it? Next door where Ms. Stark’s office is.

Surely, it’s not her. Probably just the cleaning crew. She gets here early like him but she’s usually out by 2PM, likely weighing the appeal of various venues or approving iced confections. Her job requires much less time in the office which is fine…and also a shame.

What’s more of a shame is you and poor first impressions though. He does seem to make those more often than he would like.

He hadn’t meant to insult her at all and certainly not before they’d even met. His bitterness with regards to the business of matrimony has nothing to do with her and he didn’t make his statement with the intent of dashing anyone else’s enthusiasm. I’m just awkward that way.

And when he’d turned around and seen her standing there? Not only did he feel like a heel but, damn, she was beautiful. He wishes he could’ve seen her eyes when they were likely bright with pride and pleasure at the sight of her new sign.

But instead, her eyes had been narrowed having caught his flippant remark. At that point, he’d withdrawn into himself (his favorite defense mechanism) and since then it’s plain she’d rather avoid him whenever possible so he gives her her space and nurses his regrets in silence.

He rises from his desk at the sound of another thump and draws closer to their shared wall. The air unit’s duct work connects their two office spaces and he can sometimes catch snatches of conversation when she’s meeting with a client, her sunny-sweet voice filtering through to seep into his bones.

She wouldn’t be meeting someone this late, would she? Well, she could be. People work and maybe can’t meet with a wedding planner during the usual business hours and he supposes her line of work already requires some flexibility when it comes to one’s hours.

He catches just a muffled word or two. It sounds like ‘love you.’ It is her. And of course, she loves someone. Sansa Stark would certainly love someone and whoever that lucky person is would obviously love her back. He hopes he never sees her sitting opposite him in this office or in divorce court.

A file cabinet closes next door and he hears the faint click of her heels. She’s leaving. He glances at the clock. He should really leave, too. He’s done all he can here tonight.

Besides, the building’s parking garage doesn’t give off the safest of vibes at any time of day and certainly not after dark. If he can catch the elevator with her, he can at least feel some measure of comfort knowing she made it safely to her vehicle.

And I can ride down with her.

He doesn’t care for riding elevators. In fact, he hates them. He would take the stairs but it’s a lot of floors and his pride feels pricked to admit he’s afraid of riding the contraption like normal people do.

At least if someone’s with me and we fall, I won’t die alone.

Yes, he’s a regular ray of sunshine.

7:39 PM

Sansa locks the main door to her office and peers down the silent, partially darkened hallway towards the elevator. Then, she looks the other way towards the law firm where Jon Snow works. Through their glass lobby windows, she can see it’s utterly dark in there so he’s likely left by now.

She’s never been here so late. She’d seen Pia with her mop just a little bit ago she’d swear but the whole crew appears to be done and gone.

An unwelcome shiver chases down her spine but it’s just an office building. Security’s still downstairs, right?

Or are they? It’s late on a Friday and this building doesn’t keep a night watchman to her knowledge.

She chides herself and those abysmal taxes for delaying her but determines to cast away her fears, stepping out with the click-clack of her heels to keep her company upon the marble floor. Her parents know she’s leaving work, that she’ll be coming to visit them tomorrow. She’s fine. She’s not afraid of a dark hallway or a parking garage. But to be smart, she pulls her phone back out of her purse and unlocks it.

It’s a long hallway and it seems to stretch eerily onward tonight but she’s fine. She’s here alone.

Wait…

She’s not here alone.

There’s the unmistakable sound of someone closing a door and walking down the hall behind her, several paces back but not too far back. Someone who sounds like a man from the echoes of their footfalls.

Just one of the guys on the cleaning crew. Turn around and wave.

But fear renders her hesitant to, a sickening dread of discovering something undesired and dangerous.

If it’s one of the guys on the crew, they’ll speak. She knows all their names and they’re always friendly with her.

No one speaks.

She picks up her pace a touch. She’s got long legs though she’s cursing her heels. She should’ve changed into the running shoes she keeps on hand if needed. No matter. She’s pretty quick.

But the footsteps behind her speed up to match her new pace.

Oh gods, oh gods, oh gods.

She reaches the elevator on the verge of hyperventilating. She hurriedly presses the button but how long will it take to get here? Not soon enough. Does she dart into the stairwell instead? Does she have any chance of outrunning this stranger if necessary? Why didn’t she take up kickboxing when Arya had asked if she wanted to join her? Why did she scoff at Robb’s pepper spray keychain he’d bought her when she moved out?

The familiar rumble of the elevator drawing nearer sends her fight and flight reflexes into overdrive. What if he gets on with her and then tries something? She’ll be trapped! There’s video cameras but, with no one manning them, what will that matter?

Weighing the wisdom of taking off one of her heels to wield as a weapon, she yelps when the elevator dings.

“Hold the door!” a gruff voice calls.

She spins at that sound and knows she must look a vision of terror when she spies…Jon Snow?

“Gods, it’s just you,” she huffs with more venom than intended.

He strides up next to her with his satchel over his shoulder. “Yeah…sorry to disappoint.”

His jacket’s over an arm with his shirtsleeves rolled up and why must he be so attractive when he dislikes her so?

She steps onto the elevator with him following, punches the button for G3 and realizes it would only be courteous to explain her tone from a few seconds ago. “Sorry. I heard someone behind me and it was dark. I guess I started to freak out a bit.” His eyebrows shoot upward. Now, he probably thinks she’s a paranoid scaredy-cat. “Sorry. What floor?”

“Same. G3. And I’m sorry if I gave you a scare, Ms. Stark. I didn’t mean to.”

“Sansa,” she says as the elevator doors close. “You can call me Sansa…if you want.” A completely unnecessary addition. He knows her first name but has chosen to call her Ms. Stark. It’s not like they’re friends or even business associates. In fact, they’re on the exact opposite side of their business in a sense.

“Right. Sansa. I remember your name.”

The elevator starts to descend and he’s glaring at the lighted floor buttons above the doors like he hates being here so much. He doesn’t encourage her to call him Jon either. It’s going to be a loooong elevator ride.

But secretly, she’s glad he’s going to the same level of the garage if nothing else. That place gives her the creeps sometimes and, while Jon doesn’t put her at ease with his demeanor, he doesn’t frighten her either. She’s known a few creeps and he’s not like them.

Just zone out until you reach the garage. Everyone does that in the elevator, don’t they? Zone out, get to your car and drive home. You don’t have to see him again until Monday at the very soonest and this whole embarrassing business of you freaking out can blow over.

Somewhere between ten and nine though, he clears his throat and drags her from of her zoning out. “Your name…it’s pretty.”

She blinks, her head whipping his way again. Did she just get a compliment? She’ll take it as one. “Thanks…Jon.”

He’s still staring at those lighted numbers above but she sees his lips quirking into a reluctant grin at the way she sort of sing-songed his name, a little grin he can’t quite suppress. It’s a fetching grin, a very fetching grin.

Something kind of warm and fluttery attacks her better senses and she finds herself wanting to chat with him. Probably a horrible idea. Just because he says her name is pretty doesn’t mean he likes her at all.

Still, she can’t resist turning towards him as they continue their descent, somewhere between five and four.

His head has just swiveled to meet her gaze when it happens - a horrendous, jolting shudder as the elevator comes to an abrupt halt!

7:42 PM

He reaches out for her and the wall both out of instinct with the jolt. He feels her hand closing around his wrist as the lights flicker off but they stay on their feet. She’d given a little screech and he’d bitten his tongue to strangle his own.

Did the power go out? Or is the elevator acting up? The cable about to snap and them about to plunge to their deaths?

“It’s alright, it’s alright,” he’s muttering though it’s for himself as much as her.

A loud buzzing sound like an alarm is followed by something metallic hitting the concrete pad several floors below them. What is happening?

We’re going to die, that’s what.

“Fuck, fuck.”

He hates elevators! Why didn’t he just start taking the stairs. He’s in shape. He’s never getting on one of these again.

You say as if you’re going to survive. It’s eight stories to the lowest level of the parking garage.

All those primal fears from childhood come sweeping over him; the fear of darkness, the fear of being trapped in this little box hanging by a thread, of falling to his death.

They’re twisted up with the memories of when he’d ride the elevator up to his father’s office, the smell of cloying cologne making the knot in his stomach that much worse and the stupid love songs spouting their lies playing over the speaker.

“Jon?”

“It’s alright, it’s alright,” he’s goes back to saying, wishing it were so.

But nothing’s alright. They’re trapped. They’ll die here. The building’s deserted on a Friday night and no one will know-

“It is alright, Jon. We’re going to be alright,” he hears her say softly through his panic and her hand slips into his, squeezing in a reassuring way. “It’s just a mechanical malfunction.”

“Shit, shit, shit.” He hates being afraid like this. He hates that she’s seeing him this afraid.

“I’m sure it’s nothing bad. We’ve not moved since the initial jolt. We’re okay.”

Then, as if in answer to her optimism, the emergency light comes on, a weak, yellow light but enough to cast away the darkness and banish a fraction of his terror.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

She’s a little shaky like he feels but she lets go of his hand and pushes the elevator emergency call button. Who will answer? He doesn’t know. When will they answer? He doesn’t know that either.

“Phones,” he manages to suggest.

“Oh right.”

He digs into his pocket. Hers is in her hand. Thank gods for cell phones. They’ll be fine.

“I’m not…I don’t have a signal.”

“Neither do I.” They’re in the interior of this old building where reception can get spotty. So much for fucking cell phones.

“I think we might be stuck here for a bit,” she says as calmly as she can manage and he admires that. Wishes he could be so calm…or at least fake it a little.

“I don’t like elevators,” he mutters.

“I’m not too fond of them either at the moment.”

Involuntarily, he smiles at that. She’s managed to make him smile, the wedding planner with the undoubtedly sunny outlook on life. “Sorry you’re stuck here with me.”

“Better than alone.” Gods, she’s right. He doesn’t know what he’d do if he was alone but he doesn’t think he’d be managing it well. She slides to the floor and slips her heels off. “May as well get comfortable.”

“Comfortable…yeah.”

He does the same as her, setting down his satchel before sliding down the opposite wall. He’s stuck on an elevator with the beautiful woman who doesn’t like him. He’s barely holding panic at bay. He’s anything but comfortable right now but at least they’re together.

#jonsa #31daysofjonsa #jonsa fic #jonsa fanfic #vivilove-jonsa fic

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togetherweflyhigh · 3 years

Text

Chronicles Of Owning A Hybrid| Chapter 1: Here You Are

Pairing: Ragdoll Hybrid! Yoongi x Owner! Female Reader

Genre: Hybrid AU, slow burn, eventual romance

Trigger Warnings: Brief mentions of past harassment/bullying, brief mentions of being gaslighted

W/C: 2.2k

A/N: So, I wrote something. This was very spontaneous of me but this is my first BTS and hybrid related fic. I very much have plans to have this as a small series. From short to long chapters. I have no idea how much this will be updated.

Comments and kudos are encouraged!

It wasn’t supposed to happen, truthfully.

You were asked by a friend to attend a consultation with them because they felt nervous about going in alone. They needed some support so, going with them was going to be fine. Because that’s all that was supposed to happen.

Now, here you were at your appointment, alone because you weren’t sure how to ask your friend since they were home still getting associated with their hybrid. Nobody knew you were here doing this. Reviewing over a cat hybrid- a Ragdoll- that was on his fourth strike.

Past families that adopted this hybrid before only saw the breed he was. A pretty Ragdoll cat. Not the human he mostly presented as. They thought that just because he was mixed with a Ragdoll meant he would be gentle, calm, and sociable. A known cat breed to be perfect with families. What they got was the complete opposite.

The most they seemed to be able to tell you was he’d been adopted four times already, the longest housing being six months. He was quiet and didn’t interact much with the other hybrids in the shelter. Mostly stayed in the same areas in the room they had for them. The way they spoke about him, made you think they were trying to discourage you from adoption. You couldn’t see what was so wrong with him even when they were describing him as distant and antisocial, overall unfriendly. It still didn’t make you rethink it for some reason. Something in you wanted to give him a place to call home after hearing all this.

---------------------

A few weeks went by with no word from the shelter. You were starting to think the extra shifts for the past month and a half at work for preparation were in vain. Perhaps they were being more cautious of his strikes and worried you would return him like all the others. If it was, for this reason, you really couldn’t blame them to be picky about who was to attempt adopting him next. You could only hope they cared so much for those in their care.

As you washed some dishes that had been a bit overdue, your phone rang. You weren’t quick to answer, at first, as hope had gone from high to low in the few weeks. Though, you still dried your hands-off because it could have been work. Who knew you’d be seeing the number you’d familiarize yourself with. Your heartbeat must have doubled as you stumbled over, sliding the answer button. “H-Hello?” You answered, cringing over your nervous voice. “This is Hope’s Shelter calling for (Y/N)(L/N), we were wondering if you were still interested in adopting?” The words felt like they were going through one ear and out the other. You weren’t all too sure what to expect when answering the call but hope had suddenly being reassured. “Yes, of course!” You answered almost too quickly. The eagerness felt as if it was spilling out of you at this point. “Great! Would Thursday be fine for you to come in?” It was currently Monday, another few days was nothing to wait for after these weeks. “That works out perfectly.”

After the short goodbyes were said, you stood there in your kitchen nearly dumbfounded. You were officially days away from adopting a hybrid. Suddenly, the mixed feeling of excitement and worry came over you. The first week was only filled with thoughts of not living in your apartment alone anymore. In the past, you had roommates. Some worked out just fine and others not so much. To the point, you never wanted to experience them again unless it was a close friend.

The second week was filled with doubts of if you even seemed worthy enough to take care of another, especially when the other couldn’t exactly take care of themselves. Hybrids didn’t have much freedom. They couldn’t go anywhere alone without their owners. Unless they were service hybrids, which there was a lot to go through to get them certified. They really couldn’t do anything and suddenly thinking about that, you realize how weird it’s going to be for someone to call or to even refer to you as their ‘owner’ will be.

There was no way in hell you could treat hybrids as a pet. They were way more human than human and capable of feelings of understanding, not at all saying normal animals weren’t capable of such. There were a few times you’d gone over to a friend’s house and they introduced you to their hybrid. Sure they had some traits of the animal they were mixed with, but they acted like their human part in front of you for the most part. This was nearly the only time you’d interacted with hybrids. So, the experience was on the low of how they truly acted behind closed doors.

-----------------------

The few days of waiting went by sluggishly. Mentally you had a list of things to do or things you thought you needed to do before Thursday. You went out and bought a few different types of clothes, not much as you had no idea of what he would like. Bought more food than you’d ever stocked your home with before, again, not knowing what he would like. There was so much you didn’t even know about him yet, not even his name.

Standing in front of the shelter, the weeks and days of waiting were finally over. The nerves and enthusiasm had mellowed out in the slow waiting days. Though, you couldn’t help feel a little nervous walking into the shelter.

Almost immediately, you were pulled into an office to go over some paperwork. It was nearly the same as papers to adopt a normal animal. It didn’t seem as strict since you didn’t need things for an animal. Though, you were surprised at how they didn’t seem so… disheartening towards you anymore.

Signing the papers felt unreal as the pen glided across the paper. You had officially adopted a hybrid.

---------------

Being a hybrid wasn’t all it was cut out to be, at least, not for Yoongi. Spending nearly all his life in the shelter. Maybe a year and a half were in actual homes. It was probably not even that if he was being honest with himself, but after the third home, he stopped counting the days and hoping.

The first time he was adopted, he was around ten years old, a little old for being adopted but nothing too bad. The family was looking for a hybrid around their twin son and daughter’s age, and Yoongi just happened to be two years younger than them. It was perfect they thought. It seemed like a happy family a month in but there was change. The children were constantly harassing him, pulling his ears and tail, pressured him to do things that would get the adults involved to the point of punishments.

It went on for months before they returned him, saying he was a deceiver and untameable. Yoongi was unsure of what they meant by this as it was their children who were the liars. Even when he told the caregivers of the time he had with them, it never seemed like they thought he was telling the truth either.

It was some years before Yoongi was adopted again. Age thirteen going on fourteen. He was adopted by a young couple. Must have been between the ages twenty-two to twenty-five. He never got around to asking because as soon as he was there he was brought back. The couple seemed to want to prove to themselves that they could take care of another breathing being. That is what he gathered by overhearing them a few times. All it did was tear them apart in the end over disagreements on how to take care of him.

The next two times were practically the same. One was lonely while the other was another person trying to prove something to themselves. Yoongi was done with these humans and their selfish ways. He didn’t want to attempt to get close with them anymore when he knew that they would return him like a replaceable item in the end.

Yet, another was trying to adopt him again. ‘I’m too old for this.’ He thought to himself when he was dragged into the office to be told someone was interested in him. Being twenty-five years old as a hybrid was considered old. Unadoptable. Plus he was on his fourth strike. A fifth- and by law- would mean he would have to be put to sleep.

The weeks dragged on because of him constantly denying to see through with this person’s desire to adopt him. It was an actual decision between life and death. He thought about it though. Would he rather be stuck in here? Wasting away inclosed in white walls or to live out in the world just a little bit longer, if the person would let him out that was.

-----------------

The introduction of you and the hybrid, who you now knew as Yoongi was, well, short and awkward. Was it to be expected? The short answer is yes. Yoongi seemed unfazed and distant right away which, in a way, you know he would be like this. The real question was, was he always going to be like this. You were new to each other, so feeling like strangers was going to be present for a while.

The taxi ride home was silent. Nothing but the sound of wheels on the pavement with random songs playing on the radio softly. You wanted to make some kind of conversation with Yoongi, you did, but with awkwardness still lingering heavily in the air, it was difficult to start with anything. It was interesting to spot his ears out of the corner of your eye, twitching ever so often.

The climb up the stairs was just as silent. Nothing but the taps of feet with some huffs from you nearly the top. No matter how many times you’d walked up these four flights of stairs, you were sure to always be out of breath before reaching your door.

By the time you reached your door, you were indeed out of breath, and with the last huff, you pulled out your key unlocking the door, pushing it open revealing the seemingly small apartment. “And home.” You spoke out as you began pulling your shoes off, placing them on a rack before slipping into house slippers. “Oh, here’s some slippers for you. If you want to wear them.” You already owned some for when you had guests but you went ahead and bought new ones specially for Yoongi. Looking at them now, they seemed a bit… small. Though it didn’t seem to matter as Yoongi slipped off the shoes the shelter provided and ignored the slippers.

“I have a room for you ready.” You spoke again after a moment of silence. Seems silence between you two was something you were going to have to get used to. Walking through the kitchen and living area- either side had a room the same size. Though the room to the right used to be your storage and office space, you were able to move things around in your room for your desk and got rid of some stuff you’ve been meaning to. Now the once-office turned back to a bedroom. It was pretty bare besides the matching wood bed and dresser you’d bought.

Moving aside to the doorframe, allowing Yoongi in the room to inspect it. His eyes never seemed to stop taking in things. His ears moved with him as he looked around and his tail was low as the tip curled to one side.

As he took in the new home, you took in his unique hair color. It was probably the Ragdoll genes but the contrast between his hair and the fur on his ears and tail were a bit different. His hair was silver-grey and as for the fur, it was a bit lighter in the same color. You wondered for a moment if his DNA was manipulative to make the animal features stand out more but you quickly shook the thought away. You didn’t want to make him uncomfortable even though it was just a thought.

“There’s some clothes in the dresser. I wasn’t sure what you like so, there are a few things in the dresser. Just for until we go shopping.” The response you got was nothing but an ‘mhm’. Yoongi seemed uninterested but curious about the clothes you’d gotten. He wanted to know if it was the type they would get him. Well-fitted ones that rubbed and itched all over. As he pulled them out, sure enough, there were the ones he knew he would find but as he kept pulling out and unfolding the clothes he found some that were baggy and much softer. Something about watching him digging through the clothes felt endearing and it showed on your face with a small smile on your lips.

As you turned away to allow him to have some privacy you wondered to yourself what Yoongi would want to have for dinner.

#min yoongi x reader #hybrid!yoongi x reader #hybrid!bts x reader #bts x reader #bts hybrid au #bts scenarios #bts reactions #bts au #min yoongi #yoongi x reader

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queenshelby · 3 years

Text

The Nanny (Part Three)

Featuring: Cillian Murphy x Virgin!Reader

Words: 6229

Warning: Smut, Age Gap

Requested: Yes

Tag List (Cillian Murphy):

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Sorting Things Out

In the last 24 hours, Cillian had been trying to unsuccessfully reach you, but you ignored his calls.

You were upset by what you saw and you had to concentrate on your university assignments and your upcoming play. It was too much for you to handle and the last thing you wanted was to experience emotional disappointment yet again.

You had a terrible track record with men and, whilst you expected Cillian to be different, perhaps you were wrong. Or weren’t you?

Tuesday afternoon you had theatre practice as usual and were rehearsing your play with Anita. The other two members of the cast, Darcy and Johnathan, had called in sick. This wasn’t unusual as, no doubt, they were making the most of Monday night’s happy hour at the local pub. Despite, Darcy really tried to avoid you since your last encounter and, if it wasn’t for his parents, he would have resigned from the play by now.

Just as you were practicing for the second part of the play, you saw a familiar face.

‘What are you doing here?’ you asked somewhat surprised to see Cillian as he approached the stage.

‘You’ve ignored my calls and messages for the past 24 hours. So, I just came to check on you to see whether everything was alright’ Cillian said quietly so that Anita couldn’t hear you.

‘Well, I am sure you know why I ignored your calls Cillian’ you said with a sigh.

‘I have got my suspicions but whatever you think you saw isn’t what it looked like Y/N. Can we talk somewhere in private please?’ Cillian asked as Anita’s eyes widened, trying to listen into your conversation.

You nodded and, just as you did, Anita approached you demanding an introduction.

You introduced Cillian to Anita quickly before excusing yourself in order to walk with Cillian to a quiet corner of the theatre hall.

‘Listen Y/N, I am sorry for having sent you away yesterday. The woman at my apartment was my ex and whilst I knew for the past few weeks that I am not going to give her a second chance after what she did, I only officially ended it yesterday. I thought that it would be the right thing to do before I get involved with you. Me and her just needed to talk, sort things out and if she would have known about me seeing you, she would have made things very difficult, believe me’ Cillian explained.

‘So why didn’t you just tell me that yesterday?’ you asked.

‘I suppose I didn’t want to worry you’ Cillian said.

‘I am sorry for getting upset Cilly. It’s just…you know what I’ve been through and I know how reluctant you are about us and the age gap between us. I thought that, perhaps, you changed your mind after Sunday night’ you said somewhat upset and worried about how he would react.

‘Why would I change my mind after having spent the night with you?’ Cillian asked curiously.

‘Because we didn’t sleep with each other’ you said nervously.

‘Y/N, we talked about this. I am quite happy to wait. I just love spending time with you, alright’ Cillian asked.

‘Alright. Sorry, I am just not used to having someone actually being patient with me and wanting to be with me at the same time’ you said shyly.

‘Perhaps you’ve just been unlucky with men’ Cillian chuckled before taking a pause. His comment made you laugh.

‘Do you want me to show you how much I want to be with you?’ Cillian asked, causing you to smile and answer with a shy nod.

‘Alright’ Cillian smirked before asking you how your relationship with Anita was noting that she was the only person left in the theatre with you.

‘She’s my best friend, why?’ you asked.

‘Do you trust her?’ Cillian asked.

‘Yes, but why are you asking?’ you asked.

‘Because she is watching us talk and I am about to do this’ Cillian smirked just before he leaned in and gave you a long and passionate kiss on your lips.

‘Well thanks, this will open up an awkward conversation now’ you said with a giggle as you observed Anita looking over to you in disbelieve.

‘You are welcome. See you tonight for dinner at my place? I will cook’ he said before shouting out ‘goodbye’ to Anita with a cheeky grin on his face.

‘Yes, see you later’ you said before giving him another kiss.

As you walked back towards the stage, you could see Anita waiting for you. Her face was full of questions.

‘You need to tell me everything, immediately’ she said before you could say anything at all.

‘There is nothing to tell Anita’ you said, your cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

‘He just kissed you, on the lips’ Anita said.

‘Yes, we are seeing each other’ you explained shyly.

‘Oh my god, seriously? Is this why you broke up with Darcy?’ Anita asked.

‘I broke up with Darcy because he was treating me badly. I met Cillian through the couple I am staying with and who I work for. Things just happened between us over the weekend. It wasn’t something either of us had contemplated’ you explained, knowing that this was just half of the truth. After all, you shared a kiss much earlier and you took a liking in Cillian the moment you met him.

‘Do they know? Does Darcy know?’ Anita asked.

‘No, and I would like it to stay that way for now. We are just working things out between us at the moment’ you said.

‘My lips are sealed Y/N. But, you do know that he’s in his 40s, right? It’s a fair age gap between you’ she asked.

‘I am aware and that’s why we both want to keep this between us for now’ you said before you demanded to change the topic.

You personally did not care about the age gap between you, but you knew that Cillian did.

Him kissing you in front of your friend was unexpected to you and certainly evidence that he was coming around.

Perhaps the age gap started to bother him less.

The Next Two Weeks

Over the next few weeks, you were busy rehearsing your play and managed well to keep your relationship with Cillian a secret.

You almost got caught once by Craig when Cillian came over for dinner one night after he avoided Craig and Ella for a little while. During his visit, you managed to steal a kiss from Cillian when no one was in the kitchen with you. Craig walked into the kitchen just after you did. It was a close call.

Other than that, it was smooth sailing for now.

Over the past two weeks, Cillian had also moved back into his house which was only a ten-minute walk from where you were living.

His ex fiancée had moved out as she couldn’t have maintained the repayments on the mortgage on her own and Cillian spent most of his free time redecorating the house, decluttering pretty much everything that belonged to his ex.

You visited him often and helped him with painting and some of the work. It was fun and you enjoyed his company.

You also managed to sleep over at his place a few nights per week, raising some suspicions with Craig and Ella.

You told them that you were staying with a friend to rehearse the play and they never minded since you were extremely reliable and helpful when it came to their children. After all, you were not required to work past 6pm but often chose to do so at your own accord. You enjoyed the children’s company.

Despite what you had told Craig and Ella, Craig believed that you were back with Darcy. But, this time around, you seemed much happier and he didn’t dare to question it.

But this wasn’t all he had noticed and thought about. He had his suspicions about Cillian’s behaviour as well.

On Thursday Night, the 23th of May, you had dinner with Craig, Ella and their children. Cillian was in Cork until the following day to see his parents and you spent a lot of time at home, listening to Craig’s wild theories about what his friend was up to.

‘So, are you guys going to the pub on Saturday Night for Cillian’s birthday?’ Ella asked.

‘Believe it or not, he said he’s busy’ Craig said with a chuckle.

‘Too busy to go to the pub on his birthday? That’s very strange’ Ella observed.

‘Apparently, yes’ Craig said, not knowing that Cillian asked you to spend the night with him instead.

‘He really needs to get out there especially after the break up’ Ella suggested.

‘I actually think he is seeing someone. He’s been rather busy and in unusually good mood. Despite, I did notice some long hair in the bathroom sink when I visited him the other day’ Craig laughed.

‘Are you a detective now Craig?’ you asked with a shy laugh.

‘And he didn’t tell you anything?’ Ella asked surprised, causing Craig to shake his head.

Craig and Ella’s mind ran through all of the single females they knew and they believed to be compatible with Cillian but, after some speculations between them, they finally put this matter to rest and changed the topic.

Little did they know that the person they were wanting to know about was sitting right in front of them.

Birthday Surprise

The following day, you had the day off and went shopping with Anita. You needed a birthday present for Cillian and had no idea what to get him.

After visiting several shops, you finally found what you were looking for. He loved music and had recently bought himself a new record player. You knew he was collection records and you found one that you thought he doesn’t already have and would appreciate. After all, it was by his favourite band.

‘So, you done?’ Anita asked after you bought the record and some wrapping paper.

‘Not quite. I need something to wear’ you said shyly.

‘Aren’t you just having dinner at his house?’ Anita asked.

‘Yes, but I am talking about lingerie’ you said with some embarrassment and, before you knew it, Anita dragged you into a well-known underwear shop.

‘How about this one?’ Anita asked as she pulled out some red lace panties made out of the tiniest bit of fabric.

‘Uhm, I don’t think so, thanks’ you said as you looked at it. It was rather trashy and you were after something more elegant.

In the end, Anita convinced you to purchase a set of black lace lingerie and matching stockings that were held up by a suspender.

The set was elegant, but yet sexy. It was just right for what you had planned.

As the evening of Cillian’s birthday approached, you were beginning to get rather nervous.

That night, you were determined to give yourself to him. All of you. It is what you wanted and you’ve been ready for a few days now to take this next step.

You arrived at Cillian’s house at 6pm with some take away from Cillian’s favourite Italian restaurant and his birthday present.

‘Happy Birthday’ you smiled as he opened the door and you gave him a gentle kiss.

‘Thank you…you look lovely’ Cillian observed as you walked inside and took off your coat, revealing your black and white satin wrap dress and high heels.

‘Thanks, I bought it just for you’ you winked. ‘Uhm, and this is for you’ you said with a warm smile as you handed him his present.

‘You know you didn’t have to get me anything, right. Just spending the evening with you is perfect’ Cillian said politely.

‘But I wanted to’ you said as you sat down on one of the bar stools at the side of the kitchen bench while Cillian opened his present.

He was impressed with your choice of album and confirmed that he did not already have this record. He was quick to put it on and you were happy that he liked it.

After listening to some music and enjoying some wine and Italian food, Cillian excused himself to have a shower after you managed to spill half of your glass of red wine onto his lap.

You were rather clumsy that evening and it was probably because of your nervousness. You knew what you wanted that night and it made your thoughts go crazy and your mind play tricks on you, causing you to not pay much attention to your surroundings.

Cillian suggested that you pick a movie to watch while he was in the shower and, whilst you agreed with his suggestion, you had other ideas.

Taking off your dress and putting your heels back on, you decided to wait for him in the living room while enjoying a bit more of your wine and changing the music to a playlist on your phone.

When Cillian returned from the bathroom in nothing but his black Calvin Kleins, his chin dropped at the sight of you, sitting on his white leather lounge almost suggestively wearing nothing but black lace lingerie.

‘Uhm…’ Cillian said, before taking a deep breath. ‘Did you find a movie?’ he asked politely, causing you to smile and shake your head.

‘I don’t think I want to watch a movie’ you said as you walked over to him before giving him a passionate kiss.

‘Alright, then what would you like to do instead?’ Cillian asked as your lips drifted apart.

‘Have sex with you’ you said shyly.

‘Didn’t we say that we would take things slow?’ Cillian asked.

‘Well, we’ve been seeing each other for almost two weeks now. Despite, it’s your birthday and that is what I had in mind to surprise you’ you grinned.

‘Y/N, listen, it doesn’t matter what day it is. I need you to want this and be sure about this, alright?’ Cillian said reassuringly.

‘I am sure Cillian. I want this and I want you. All of you. Please don’t make me have put this on for nothing’ you said as you looked down on yourself.

‘I didn’t quite prepare for this’ Cillian chuckled.

‘Prepare? You literally just came out of the shower’ you said with laughter.

‘I meant that I don’t have condoms’ Cillian chuckled.

‘Oh right…condoms, of course’ you said, your face turning flushed instantly while Cillian couldn’t help but laugh. This had become rather awkward but he adored your shyness.

‘Well, I am on the pill’ you said shyly knowing that it would be safe after recent conversations you had following your respective break ups.

‘Uhm, alright’ Cillian said somewhat nervously himself as he ran his hand over your cheek gently. He didn’t expect to find himself in a situation like this again at his age.

‘Well, let’s break in your new bed, shall we?’ you chuckled, causing Cillian to laugh and take your hand before walking with you to his bedroom.

After you entered it, you stood there in front of the large bed, holding each other's hands and looking deep into each other's eyes.

His lips met yours. You kissed lovingly, your tongues searching deep into each other's mouths while your hands were running over each other's bodies.

He was delicious and you leaned forward to plant little butterfly kisses on his warm skin.

Of course, you had seen Cillian bare chested and naked before, but somehow, the dim light of the room made him appear even more sexy than before. His freckled skin shone at you and his glorious smile radiated strength and confidence. You gasped at his sight, knowing what you were about to do. What had you done to deserve him?

As you were standing in front of his bed, facing him and gazing over his body, Cillian planted a kiss on your bare neck while his hands explored your curves and breasts.

‘You are so beautiful’ Cillian whispered. He was in awe of you and his eyes sparkled as he beheld your beauty.

In response to his comment, you fell against his chest, frantically covering his warm skin with kisses, running your fingertips over the swell of his muscles. His hand went to the back of your head. Emboldened, you took one of his nipples gently between your teeth and pulled lightly.

A strangled gasp sounded in his throat and, like a whore, you ran your hand over the front of his briefs, feeling his erect cock trapped behind the fabric. That proud bulge in between his legs looked simply delicious and you wanted to taste him again.

He stood and pulled you gently to him, holding you close, letting you feel his hardness as it pressed against your belly. Your arms slipped around his waist and down to his buttocks. You squeezed hard and pulled him tighter against you.

Boldly he swept you up and carried you round the side of the bed, effortlessly laying you down on the bed. You loved that wonderful feeling of weightlessness as he held you in his arms.

As you were lying on the bed, he hungrily crawled between your legs like an Iberian tiger stalking his prey, feasting his eyes on the prize beneath him. Lust was plastered across his face.

It was obvious to you that he wanted you. All of you. And you weren’t afraid, weren’t anxious, not even nervous. This is what you wanted, what you'd dreamed of. You were expectant and excited. This was the man who'd make you a woman and you were ready more than you'd ever been.

As he was hoovering over you, you pulled him deeper with your arms and legs, thrusting your sex up against his hardness.

As you did, you could feel the ridges of his cock through your panties and felt so good.

‘Easy’ he chuckled as you eagerly tried to grind against him.

‘I want you so badly Cillian’ you said, your eyes hungry and desperate.

‘And I want you too Y/N, but, this is your first time, so we need to take it slow, trust me’ Cillian said as he pushed himself up from you and reached between your breasts to unfasten your bra. You smiled as he'd spotted the clasp at the front, somehow that was very pleasing to you and you hadn't needed to show him.

Delicately he spread the two halves of the garment, as if opening a treasure cabinet. Despite the fact that he’s seen them before, flames lit up in his eyes as he exposed your naked breasts.

Your nipples throbbed as he caressed them gently with his tongue. The warmth of his mouth closed over each one in turn as he worshipped your body, driving a gasp from your lips at his touch. He placed soft kisses between your breasts, nuzzling their gentle swell, then lavished his attention again on your proud buds.

‘I am one lucky man to have such a beautiful woman with me right here’ he whispered again as your hands ran through his hair.

‘I think I am the lucky one Cilly’ you whispered as he began to move downwards, honouring you, revering you, brushing his lips over your abs and across the top edge of your panties. His breath was warm and gentle, his fingers so soft and caring. A visceral moan resounded through your body as your aching core demanded his touch.

Your hands were still buried in his hair as his warm lips brushed against the inside of your thighs, tantalisingly close, but yet so far from your centre. You longed for him to slide your panties down your hips, to reveal your most delicate flower. You were so wet for him.

You moaned a little in disappointment as he kissed his way back up your body. Was he having second thoughts?

He held his face above yours and you looked up into those deep blue eyes. Then his touch, so light, making you tingle all the more as he stroked you through the fabric of your lace panties.

A soft groan escaped your lips. You closed your eyes, pressing your head back into the pillow, flinging your arms out wide as you surrendered to him.

‘You like that?’ Cillian asked in his soft bass growl.

You nodded as he was teasing you, withdrawing his touch.

‘Yes…Please Cillian…please’ you moaned in response, longing his touch.

You lifted your hips, imploring him to reveal your nakedness and pressing your sex against his hand.

‘So impatient, aren’t we?’ Cillian said as he shuffled his body downwards again and, with a final, tender kiss on the waistband of your lace panties, he hooked his fingers behind the elastic and eased your panties over your hips.

He leant forwards and placed a gentle kiss just above your mound just as his fingers trailed over your sex.

In the next moment, you felt him take your slender hips in his powerful hands and a shiver ran through you as he blew across the moistened lips of your sex.

He reached forwards to plant a kiss on your mons. Your eyes closed as he parted your dripping labia, licking repeatedly upwards to your clit.

You could hear him spreading your wetness as he lapped across the entrance to your channel. You moaned in frustration, trying to capture his tongue and suck it inside you. You gasped with pleasure.

Faster and faster his tongue worked your sex, stoking the fire, fanning the flames inside.

‘You know I should really be doing this to you instead. After all, it’s your birthday’ you said in between moans as you buried your hands in his curls.

‘Trust me, I enjoy this very much’ Cillian said just before plunged his tongue back inside of you, causing you to buck your hips against him as he worked his magic.

The heat was rising inside you and driving your whimpers, your cries and your moans as the surging inside you prepared to blow.

You threw back your head and screamed, digging your fingers into his hair as your orgasm exploded over you. A thousand earthquakes thundered through you as he catapulted you to the stars. Blindly you clung to him, fighting to breathe.

‘I am waiting for this knock on the door from my neighbours’ Cillian chuckled as you were rather loud when you orgasmed.

‘I am really trying to stay quiet. Really. I promise’ you giggled as Cillian trailed kissed back up your body while you came down from your high.

‘I find that hard to believe’ Cillian smirked before his mouth met yours in a frenzy of passion.

You were wild as you kissed, driven by the taste of yourself on his tongue. His hands roamed over your body as he hoovered over you and you pressed back against him, brushing against his erect cock with your wet mound.

‘Cillian, please’ you panted. ‘I want you inside of me’ you said.

‘You are determined, aren’t you?’ Cillian chuckled, causing you to nod.

Just after you gave him the nod of reassurance he needed, he got rid of his briefs and you delicately closed your fingers around his length, stroking him gently.

Soft moans escaped him and a little drop of pre-cum had collected on his glans, then running down over your fingers.

You wanted to take him in your mouth, to feel his cock against the back of your throat, but your core was aching, screaming, demanding him.

After a few more strokes and passionate kisses, Cillian hoovered over you and spread your legs apart as he kneeled between them. His cock bobbed in front of him as he got into position. You couldn’t help it but look down in between you. He was so close and you bit your lip in anticipation.

Cillian’s hand reached between you as he lowered himself, lining himself up with your entrance.

‘Please’ you whispered. ‘I am ready’ you said as you looked at him.

He kissed you again and carefully, tentatively began to push forwards.

His bulbous head slowly eased into your channel, stretching you wide.

You winced as you could feel a sharp, stinging and pinching pain. You closed your eyes and gritted your teeth before taking some deep breaths. Above you, Cillian held still, very still, comforting you with the lightest kisses on your cheeks and forehead, tenderly stroking your hair.

You opened your eyes, noticing Cillian looking down at you, a loving concern in his eyes. You lifted your head, seeking the softness of his lips.

‘Are you OK?’ he asked, causing you to nod.

He smiled and kissed you again.

‘Do you want me to keep going?’ he asked as he noticed that you began to relax a bit more.

‘Yes, keep going’ you said before taking a deep breath and holding onto his shoulders.

‘Tell me if you want me to stop, alright?’ Cillian asked, causing you to nod.

Millimetre by millimetre he moved forwards, watching you closely, ready to stop in a heartbeat. It hurt, of course it hurt. Your virginity was not giving up without a fight. But that was a battle you were already winning as you knew this pain was soon to turn into pleasure.

After he entered you slowly, pushing past your hymen, you eventually felt him coming to rest against your mons. He was all the way inside.

The walls of your channel gripped him tightly, probing his shaft which felt so big and hard. He felt so good and euphoria soon erupted inside you. It was a wonderful feeling of completeness, a joining of your bodies.

You kissed for a long time - for how long, you know not, but Cillian would have held you for eternity, safe and secure in his embrace.

You looked up at his face, cradled in your hands - his eyes sparkled with love for you.

Eventually, as you adjusted to him inside of you, you nodded, pleading with him to begin to move. Then, as you felt the slow withdraw as his hips eased away, you pressed your forehead against his, curving your body upwards and inwards, as if to prevent him escaping from you.

Another kiss, this time on your forehead. He looked down at you, searching your eyes again for signs of pain - but there were none.

Slowly, very slowly he began to press, pushing forward again, invading your softness once more. Your back arched, calling him deeper as you stretched around him. You threw back your head, gasping in pleasure, my your sightless as your fingers clawed at his skin.

Suddenly he was all the way inside you, sheathed to the hilt, splitting you open as the two of you united.

He kissed you tenderly on the lips, but as he started to move away, you grabbed the back of his head and held him, pushing your tongue hungrily into his mouth. Surprised, he hesitated for a split second, then responded vigorously, gripping your face between his hands, as we lost ourselves in a whirlpool of passion.

Withdrawing again, pulling from you, lifting his hips as he slid away. Your core cried out in anguish, clutching in vain, desperate to hold him inside, gasping to receive him again. A third push, a little smoother, a little quicker, all the way in once more.

‘Oh god that feels so good’ you cried, delirious with pleasure.

Kisses, frantic kisses, endless kisses - on your cheeks, your forehead, your lips; Cillian' tenderness in that most masculine of acts. Your mouth searched blindly, your tongue thrusting against his as you tightly gripped the back of his head. Moans and whimpers emanated from your chest, words impossible, unfit to carry your emotions.

More thrusts - each time you arched your back as he filled you, a warm pleasure flooding through you.

He was slow, yet powerful, stretching you open as you surrendered to him. Above you the sinews of his body glistened lightly with perspiration, his muscles standing out strongly beneath his skin. His scent was raw, intoxicating - a testosterone-charged heat that drove you wilder still.

He pushed up away from you a little, straightening out his arms, so the two of you could crane your necks to see where you were joined. Entranced you watched as his cock slid from you, slick with your juices, then buried itself again. A hypnotic, mesmerising rhythm, lifting your soul from the bed where you lay, driving you to places never before seen. You flung your head backwards, surrendering yourself to pleasure, pain banished to the farthest corners of the earth as fire in your core burned ever brighter.

There was a change in Cillian too, as he responded to your moans. He'd been tentative, hesitant in those first few strokes, but now he was settling and letting his own visceral power take control. Beneath him you writhed with pleasure. He was dominant, in charge and in control. He began to increase his pace, driven onwards by the same urgent, primeval desire that commanded you.

‘Oh god yes don’t stop’ you hissed each time he thrusted into you, squealing and moaning in equal measure.

He brought his chest down again, crushing your nipples against his torso, binding you ever more tightly to him. The side of his head pressed against yours and you buried your face against his shoulder.

‘Oh god Cillian’ you moaned. You were so close.

Your body arched and the muscles of your tight walls clenched and spasmed around his hard cock as a great bubble of pleasure rose up within your core and your orgasm washed over you.

‘Fuck’ Cillian moaned at the sight of your pleasure. Your face and torso were flushed, your breath raspy, as you writhed beneath him and clawed at him while your body peaked again.

As your walls contracted around him one final time, a roar exploded from him as his body crested and he toppled over the edge. His cock throbbed and pulsed inside of you and you could feel him spill several steady streams of cum deep inside of you.

After he came down from his high, he collapsed on you gasping, trying to regain his breath.

‘Don't move, please, Cillian’ you said, your face still flushed with your excitement. You stroked his hair lovingly. ‘I like the way you feel inside me...’ you said.

‘I take it you're okay then?’ Cillian laughed softly, enjoying the little ebbing ripples from your tight walls against his cock. He smiled and kissed your lips softly.

‘Better than okay’ you answered, a look of wonder crossing her face. You never expected your first time to be so good and pleasurable.

‘Are you sore at all?’ he questioned with concern.

‘Not that I can feel. All I feel now is exhausted bliss’ you grinned.

‘You know, you are amazing in every way possible. Now I think you need to get some sleep, before I am tempted to do that all over again’ he chuckled as he gently pulled out of you.

‘I didn't think men could, I mean…’ your voice trailed off.

‘I guess it depends on the man and the situation. For me, there is nothing sexier than someone I am in love with lying naked beside me in satisfied bliss. With that, it’s hard to keep my hands off your beautiful and sexy body’ he smirked as he leaned forward to kiss your shoulder, his hand moving to your breast to fondle the nipple.

‘Did you just say that you are in love with me?’ you asked shyly.

‘Yes, I did. I know it’s early but, sometimes, if you know you know’ Cillian said before kissing you gently.

‘I am in love with you too Cillian. I’ve been feeling that way the moment I met you’ you said as your lips drifted apart.

‘Well, then I am a very lucky man’ Cillian smiled before trailing kisses down your neck again.

‘Keep that up, and I will demand a repeat performance’ you teased him, your face flushing at his words.

‘You will be sore tomorrow Y/N. It might be better to wait until…’ Cillian said and, just before he could finish his sentence, he found himself on his back with your head disappearing in between his thighs.

That night, you were lucky enough to experience another two orgasms before you finally decided to give Cillian some rest.

Eventually, after several more hours of passionate love making, you smiled without saying a word and snuggled up against him. You loved him, truly madly deeply and it was an absolute wonder to you that you have come that far in a such a small space of time. You sighed once in pleasure at holding him and being held, then slipped into contented oblivion.

The Morning After

The next morning, at around 8 am, the rising sun began to warm your skin through the ceiling window as you slowly start to stir. The birds began to chirp and chitter as the light reached across the bedroom in long hot streaks.

You felt extremely well rested and a little sore from the night before. It was warm beneath the thick doona lying next to Cillian and, with your eyes slowly opening to look next to you, you could see that he is still fast asleep.

You spooned behind him and wrapped your arms around his chest. He murmured gently as you nestled your face into his shoulder and kissed the curve of his neck. You were still naked and your skin was clammy with dried sweat from the night before.

Your nether regions tightened, throbbed, and tingled, thinking about Cillian being inside of you, making love to you. You rubbed your crotch against his soft ass and, as you did, he rolled his legs together. His eyes still closed. Your feet brush over and over and a low moan escaped his lips.

You carefully and gently grasped his already hard cock and began to move your hand up and down his shaft. He began to moan a little bit louder, causing you to pick up speed.

With his eyes still closed, he reached back with one hand and felt the curve of your body while you pressed your other arm against his stomach and hold onto him.

Finally, he opened his eyes and turned his face toward yours before pressing his lip against yours.

As your lips drifted apart, Cillian rolled on top of you. One knee bent and with his hands on your neck, he ran his tongue over your lips, teasing you.

You lift your hips to him and his erection glanced against your vulva while he kissed you deeply, so hard and all-consuming that you could barely catch your breath.

You folded your legs around his waist and, just like this, without words, he slid inside of you.

Your hands caressed his face as he entered you, causing you to moan loudly.

His thrusts were gentle but deep and you loved the feeling of him being inside of you.

You moved your hips in sync with his as his cock glided in and out of you over and over again.

Your moans soon became louder and your walls began to clench around him.

‘Oh god, Cillian please don’t stop’ you moaned as you could feel another orgasm coming on.

‘I am not intending to’ he barely managed to say as he continued to thrust in and out of you.

Within moments, you lost yourself in the pleasure of his cock slipping and thrusting in and out of you and your orgasm washed over you.

You were as loud as usual, sure to wake up the neighbours. But, your screams and moans sent Cillian over the edge as well and he filled you with more of his warm cum before he collapsed on top of you.

‘Hmm this was nice….good morning babe’ you smiled as Cillian carefully pulled out of you, which is when you both heard the doorbell ring.

‘I am telling you, it’s probably the neighbour with a noise complaint’ Cillian laughed.

‘Well, you better sort this out then yeah?’ you smirked as you watched Cillian put on his briefs and a t-shirt quickly as the doorbell rang a second time.

Cillian was quick to walk downstairs once his erection had finally come down, making you giggle.

‘Fuck, hey’ Cillian said as he opened the door and Craig greeted him.

‘Happy belated Birthday man’ Craig said as he handed Cillian a present and a bag of bagels.

‘Uhm, thanks’ Cillian said with some embarrassment as Craig walked inside.

As he walked into the living room, Craig was quick to notice your coat hanging up in the hallway. Your black dress and high heels were scattered through the living room and the two empty wine glasses were still sitting on the coffee table.

‘Oh shit man, you are having company?’ Craig asked, causing Cillian to nod and, just as he did, Craig noticed your keys on the kitchen counter.

‘Aren’t these Y/N’s keys?’ he asked, causing Cillian to nod with embarrassment and, as you overheard the conversation from upstairs, you joined Cillian and Craig in the living room.

‘Hi Craig’ you said nervously. Your cheeks were flushed and your hair was messy from your recent activities.

#cillian murphy #cillian murphy smut #Cillian Murphy x Reader #cillian murphy imagine #cillian murphy x y/n #cillian murphy x you

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beauty-and-passion · 6 months

Text

FSS3 Episode 2: Never enough

Welcome to the second episode of FSS3! Let's keep going with the character growth, these boys really deserve it.

Updates every Monday, Wednesday and Friday.

What is FFS3 - Introduction - Season 2 finale - previous episode - next episode

AO3 link for this episode

DISCLAIMER: As said in the introductory post, Fanders Sides Season 3 (season 2 finale included) could have triggering themes/scenes. Please keep that in mind before reading.

_______________________________

It’s the day of the audition for the hero’s role.

Thomas is behind the stage, waiting for his turn. Remus and Logan are on his sides, Virgil is behind them, biting his nails.

Remus is bouncing, excited and ready to go. Logan is giving Thomas the last bits of advice: it’s almost his turn, so he and Virgil are both quite nervous.

Remus shrugs: it’s okay, it will be a great performance!

Thomas reminds him that they should play the hero’s monologue, not the serial killer’s. Is Remus really ready for that?

Remus confirms, still with the same confidence: sure, he can perfectly do it. It won’t be so hard!

Before Thomas can express more doubts, someone calls his name, so he rushes on stage. Remus runs after him, Virgil and Logan follow and watch from a distance.

Thomas takes a long breath and starts with the monologue: the hero proclaims his past victories, talks about the enemies he already defeated, shows how strong and powerful he is and narrates about all the times he was in danger and, despite the difficulties, still won.

Remus recites the lines, accompanies every word with a movement, a pose, an expression. And everything he does, Thomas does it the same, by mimicking it to perfection.

Still, something isn’t working. Despite the perfect overlap between Thomas’ and Remus’ actions, voices and expressions, something is still missing.

Logan notices first: it’s not a bad performance, he says to Virgil, but it’s not the best performance. It’s not what Thomas can really do.

On stage, Remus seems to notice as well and his expression changes into a pensieve one: it’s clear he’s thinking of a solution, trying to find out what’s wrong.

And then, his eyes light up and he suddenly stops.

Thomas fumbles a bit, caught by surprise by the sudden lack of creativity. Still, he keeps reciting the monologue.

Logan intervenes and immediately runs on stage. He approaches Remus and asks him what’s wrong, to which Remus replies with just four words: “I am not enough”.

Logan is taken aback by this. He says this is preposterous: he’s doing a very good job, he’s helping Thomas! Sure, he never worked alongside Thomas like he’s doing now, but he’s not bad at all. He’s showing he can be useful. This is the only chance he has and will ever have to prove it. And Logan knows he can do it.

Remus shakes his head, so Logan insists: Remus is enough. He has the power of a Creativity. He’s clever, he’s resourceful. He can do anything he puts his mind into. And if he needs help, Logan will give him all the help he needs…

But Remus stops him: he knows he can do anything he wants, he says. When he said he wasn’t enough, he didn’t mean he’s not good. He meant that he’s not enough by himself.

Before Logan can reply, Remus asks him to take his place. Logan is confused and tries to say something, but Remus stops him again: they both know he’s a lot more than just logic. That’s his chance too. And without giving Logan time to reply, he just leaves.

Remus sinks and rises up again, this time in a field - the same one from the season 2 finale. He walks toward a cabin and, without knocking at the door, opens it.

Inside the cabin, there is just one table, one window and one sideboard with shelves. The table is full of things: fruits assembled to form a still life, a canvas with a charcoal sketch, powder colors, sprays, liquid colors, lacquers, flowers hanging from the ceiling, books piled up, scattered notes on a scrapbook and an opened journal.

Roman is there, standing in front of the table. As soon as he hears the door opening, he turns around. What is Remus doing here? Roman specifically asked for some time alone, why is his brother there? Shouldn’t he be helping Thomas?

Remus approaches his brother, then asks if Roman feels like him.

If Roman was annoyed before, he’s confused now. What does that mean?

Do you feel the same?, Remus insists. Do you feel ideas burning like a fire inside you? Do you feel them consuming your organs and throat, until you can do nothing but release them?

Roman looks at the table full of stuff, the tiny cabin full of things. He nods. He was thinking and reflecting on himself and the more he thought, the more ideas had. To the point, they were suffocating him and he couldn’t keep them hidden anymore.

So he asked for some time alone to… understand them. To experiment. To let them flow and see what he was able to do with them.

But still (and his expression turns into frustration) no matter what he starts doing, he can’t find a way to finish it. He lets the ideas flow, but then there’s always something missing. He ends them and he’s not satisfied. They’re not like he figured them in his mind. And he can’t pinpoint exactly what he’s doing wrong.

Remus looks at him, at his frustration, at the room full of stuff, at the half-finished projects. And then, he says Roman will never be enough for Thomas. His creativity will never be enough to cover all the needs Thomas has. He will always miss something. His ideas will always be unfinished.

He turns to Roman: he looks hurt, almost on the verge of tears.

But Remus keeps talking and says he will also never be enough. Even if Thomas won’t stifle him anymore, even if he accepts all of his ideas, Remus will never be enough. Even if Remus tries to change into something more family-friendly, he will never be good enough. He will always miss something.

While Remus talks, we see the situation on stage: Thomas is still fumbling a bit, while the monologue keeps going: the hero doesn’t sound too sure, while talking about his victories. His voice fades, while he asks himself if he was enough. Did he do everything he could to save those people? Did he do everything he could, to avoid more victims? Did he really do his best?

Logan looks around, searching for a solution. He cannot leave Thomas alone, so he asks Virgil to come on stage and help, but Virgil vehemently shakes his head and hides behind the stage.

Logan is left alone, while Thomas falls on his knees, still playing the monologue. Maybe, the hero says, he didn’t do everything he could. Maybe he wasn’t enough.

Silence falls and so Logan gets on his knees as well, mimicking Thomas’ pose. Then, he starts reciting the lines. He didn’t do his best, the hero says. He could’ve done better. He could’ve saved more lives. But without him, more lives would’ve been lost. Without him, more children would’ve lost their families. He wasn’t perfect, but he tried his best. He put his life on the line. He did what his heart told him to do.

Thoma tries to follow Logan’s words, but there isn’t a perfect overlap. His words and actions are a bit delayed. And Logan is still a bit stiffy in his poses, words and expressions.

We cut back to Remus. He’s still talking and he tells Roman that, no matter how hard they try, their ideas will always miss something. Roman cannot handle the full creative process by himself and Remus cannot do that either.

However… he says as he picks up the brushes and bends on the canvas. He puts colors on it, while still talking.

He and Roman will always be useless by themselves, he says. Always. Because they are two halves of a full Creativity. A gore-y, creepy, dark part and a stupid, dull, boring part.

(“Hey!”, Roman protests)

Remus leaves the canvas to the side and picks up a few flowers, to throw them on the scrapbook.

They are two halves, he insists while pressing them down. And they will always be incomplete by themselves, because they will miss what the other can do. Roman is good at exploring and refining ideas, but bad at making them. Remus is full of ideas, but not patient enough to develop them.

While he talks, he picks a few leaves, drips them in liquid color, then throws them on the journal.

By themselves, they will never make a masterpiece, he says and walks away, to show Roman the table full of projects. But together…

Roman approaches the table. The canvas is finished and his draft, which was so precise and elegant, is now colored in vibrant tones with a pop texture. The flowers in the scrapbook are not enclosed in the beautiful rectangles Roman made for them, but they sit between the words, as if words and leaves are one huge painting decorated by empty, embroidered frames.

While the journal was just elegant notes in black on white paper. But when Roman removes the leaves, he notices they left prints of colors, dots and splashes that light up the pages in a much funnier, more interesting way.

From that, the camera shows us Logan and Thomas on stage. While he keeps playing the monologue, Logan’s movements slowly become less rigid, his expressions soften, his words are much more fluid. And the delay between his actions and Thomas’ becomes less and less evident. We can finally see Thomas perfectly mimicking his words, actions and expressions. In a perfect overlap, we shift from Logan saying his lines, to Thomas finishing those same lines.

While we keep seeing them, the camera alternates to show us Roman turning to Remus. For 30 years of his life, he says, he saw Remus as something bad, because that was his way of thinking: everything that didn’t follow the concept of “hero = good” was automatically bad. So, Remus was bad too.

But once Roman realized he could be anything he wanted, that he could be a hero and a villain at the same time, he got struck by a realization: if he could be good and bad, then there was no need to divide between these two concepts. And so, there was no need to divide between Sides. There was no “us” vs “them” anymore. No more “good Sides” and “evil Sides”.

You were ashamed of yourself, Remus says.

I was, Roman admits. I still am. I still have a lot to learn. This is why I locked myself here and tried to create something: to prove I learned my lesson and was worthy of another chance. But nothing came out of these experiments, no idea was truly completed… until you came here.

Remus shows him a grin: some things never change, don’t they? He should always intervene, to save his brother’s ass.

Roman laughs. He asks Remus if he wants to try: would you like to do this together?

Remus offers his hand: let’s show what we can do, to that bunch of pussies out there.

Roman accepts his hand and we go back on the stage. Logan is steering Thomas into the final part of the monologue: the hero is aware of his past mistakes, he knows he could’ve done better. But he also knows he changed something. He made a difference. So, this time, he will use his experience as a lesson and face this new fight with a more mature mentality.

While Logan talks, Roman’s voice overlaps and reconnects with his last lines. Logan blinks, caught by surprise: he turns around, sees the two Creativities and exchanges a gaze with Remus. Remus nods and picks from Roman’s words, while walking on stage. Roman follows him, still reciting the lines. Remus continues, with a new action, new expressions.

Logan slowly retreats, while the two Creativities keep exchanging lines, shifting from one action to the other, their movements and expressions naturally flowing from one to the other.

And Thomas follows them both, mimicking their expressions, their gestures, their enthusiasm, into an ending full of hope and determination.

Thomas ends his monologue and, in the silent theater, he bows.

_______________________________

END CARD

Thomas returns home and everyone is excited: Roman and Remus are enthusiastic, Logan confirms it was an excellent performance, even Virgil is satisfied.

Thomas thanks them all very much: Logan and Virgil did a great job at keeping everything in line and the twins have been amazing! Gosh, he’s so happy Roman is back! But is it okay for Roman too? Does he need more time for himself?

Roman confirms everything is okay now. He got what he needed. He just has one tiny request: he wants to keep working together with his brother.

Virgil’s happy expression turns into worry. Thomas is a bit worried too, but also confused. Is he sure?

Yes, Roman confirms. Remus helped with the performance, so he wants to see what else his brother can do.

Remus takes that as a challenge: he’s full of ideas he wants to try.

Perfect, says Roman in the same defiant tone. Give them to me, I will make something good out of them.

With a huge grin, Remus confirms he can’t wait to see that.

Still, Virgil looks a bit worried. He asks Roman if he’s really really sure he wants to work with Remus. To which, Roman replies that yes, he’s sure. He wants to give him another chance.

From his side, Thomas says that if Roman is okay with that, he’s okay too. He trusts Roman and wants him to explore the concept of creativity as much as he wants. He knows Roman will make something great out of it.

Roman is very moved by this, he thanks Thomas with a grateful expression. Then, Thomas says goodbye to all of them and all the Sides sink.

Logan rises again in a bedroom, in front of Thomas’ degree certificate. A voice behind him says it sucks when someone doesn’t acknowledge your contributions, doesn’t it?

Logan turns around: Remus is sitting cross-legged on Thomas’ bed. He’s looking at him with the usual mischievous spark in his eyes.

Logan says Thomas thanked him, Remus replies that this wasn’t even remotely enough. Logan didn’t just “keep everything in line”: he gave Remus more time to talk with Roman and covered for both Creativities, by guiding Thomas through his monologue. He did something incredible. And Thomas should’ve acknowledged it.

Logan shrugs: he’s used to Thomas not recognizing his job.

Doesn’t it piss you?, Remus asks. Don’t you feel your blood boil?

Logan closes his hands into fists, purses his lips. Then, he turns around and apologizes to Remus: he did the same thing in WTIT, didn’t he? He didn’t acknowledge Remus’ contributions. He should’ve paid attention and helped him get his points through Thomas, instead of forcing Thomas to follow a plan he wasn’t interested in. Remus is useful and Logan knows it: he should’ve helped, instead of opposing him.

Remus says that the same goes for Logan: he is not just Thomas’ logical Side, he is a lot more than that. And Thomas needs him too.

Logan turns around and repeats he is just doing his job.

You can do a lot more, Remus insists. You can play a role in the creative process.

Logan shakes his head and says this is ridiculous. This is Remus’ and Roman’s field, not Logan’s.

Then, he quickly sinks and leaves Remus alone.

_______________________________

AUTHOR’S NOTE

Character growth! Logan starting to show what he can do! Closure of WTIT!

Logan never had a chance to prove how useful he is for the creative process, so I wanted to force him to show that. We all know logic plays a fundamental role in everything creative, but he never had a chance to truly show that. He needed it. And I also needed to establish his point of view about it at the moment, which is “I have nothing to do with that”. At least now we’re sure what his position is.

The twins needed a confrontation, but in order to have that, Roman should’ve reached a more mature understanding. He should’ve realized that the world isn’t just “black” or “white”. Only after that, he can really talk with his brother and offer him a collaboration.

Speaking of Remus, again, I wanted to show his cleverness. Remus. Is. Intelligent. He’s freaking clever. And if he was so clever during WTIT to understand Logan’s problem, why shouldn’t he be clever enough to understand his own problem?

And then, WTIT. Logan and Remus needed another moment post-WTIT. Not because Remus needed an apology, but because Logan needed to apologize for his own lack of intelligence. Just like Remus, he’s just too clever to not recognize what he did wrong.

(I just like these two being very clever, okay?)

( Support me on Ko-fi )

_______________________________

TAGLIST:

@riseofthewerewolf @rosesandlove44 @chewy-rubies @groaaaaan @arya-skywalker @csi-baker-street-babes @queen-of-all-things-snuggly

@dracayd-universe @starlightnyx @stubbornness-and-spite @averykedavra @joyrose-fandomer @mihaela-tbg @igonnatalknothing

#sanders sides #fanders sides season 3 #fss3 #remus sanders #roman sanders #logan sanders #virgil sanders #patton sanders #thomas sanders #janus sanders #orange side

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mrwinterr · 3 years

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Kissletoe

Pairing: College!Bucky Barnes AU x Female Reader

Summary: You’re not a fan of mistletoes. You think it’s an outdated Holiday tradition and an excuse for lovesick fools to steal a kiss. Unlucky for you, college parties are riddled with them this year and someone’s been trying to meet you under one all night.

Warnings: College shenanigans (no one cares in the real world). Smut 18+ (unprotected sex, vaginal penetration & fingering, oral [female receiving], handjob & attempted dirty talk/goofy sex?). Language. Mentions of drugs and alcohol. & bad Christmas pickup lines.

Title Inspiration: “Kissletoe” by 3OH!3

A/N: I’ve never been kissed under the mistletoe let alone attended a legit college party because I’ve been lame my whole life. 🔔 ‘Tis that season! 🎄 Happy Holidays, ya filthy, lovely readers! 🙋🏻‍♀️ Raise your hand if you’re on the naughty list this year! ❤️ Enjoy!

It’s the end of the college fall semester and for the majority of students, the only way to celebrate surviving finals week is to let loose and party, especially right before you’re all forced to go back home to visit family for the Holidays.

“Where do you think you’re going dressed like that?” You hear your friend and roommate Natasha ask.

You stop stuffing your belongings in a box and pause at her question to look down at your current attire - black leggings paired off with an oversized University college-style sweatshirt. You had your hair pulled up in a messy bun, your face clear of any make-up, and lastly your feet were clad in funky, fuzzy socks. This is what you normally wore inside the dorm around her, and you certainly didn’t need to dress to impress just to go home. What was she on about?

“Uh, home? Where else would I be going at the end of the semester?” You reply, an obvious answer.

“Don’t be a smartass,” she retorts, and is quick to follow up when she sees the knowing look on your face and mouth open to retaliate with an even sassy response, “and don’t even start!”

She knew you’d say something like you were exactly that, smart. You in fact had amazing grades and excelled in every course you’d enrolled in. You were confident that you’d aced your exams, so you’re not checking the portal every chance you could get to see if the professor had uploaded your grades yet.

“You’re not supposed to be leaving until Monday,” she reminded you.

“I know, but I mean, there’s no rule saying I had to stay here until then,” you clarify, continuing to pack up more of your things, “I’d rather much get a head start.”

“You’re that eager to get away from me, huh?” She says, feigning sadness.

“You’re the only thing I’m going to miss about college,” you assure her.

College was a different experience for everyone. It was an introduction to the real world. Some used it to start anew, to buckle down and make something of themselves, others used it as an extension to repeat four more years of high school.

You took your studies very seriously, especially if you wanted to maintain your scholarship. It was a known fact college wasn’t cheap and you were fortunate to be here on one. With all that aside, you still knew when to have some fun. After all, all work and no play, makes Jack a dull boy, right? You didn’t want to be that kind of person, you wanted to enjoy your college years, and luckily you had almost a polar opposite friend in Natasha to level you out.

“We just survived another week of finals,” she states, and grabbing your arms to stop you for just one second, “what better way to celebrate than partying?”

She sees the conflicted look in your eyes, and can tell you’re weighing out the pros and cons. There were a lot of cons: you’d be surrounded by tons of people, most of which were going to be drunk as fuck or high out of their minds on whatever substance was passed around and the threat of getting taken advantage of by some stranger. The pros? You had some steam to let off and this was a chance to gather and see some of your other friends before the Holiday break. ‘Tis the season, right?

“I guess you’re right,” you start, beginning to compromise, “why not? It’ll be like a little send off,” you decide, throwing in a shrug, and that was it.

“We’re college kids, it’s our right,” Natasha shrugs, before digging into one of your boxes and pulling out one of your cute dresses. You could always count on her to help look good too.

When you both take the short walk to the house, where tonight’s party would be taking place, you abruptly halt at the end of the front porch steps, breaking your locked arms with Natasha.

“Jesus, what’s wrong?” She curses lightly as she almost trips backwards.

“This house…” you start, taking a step back and look up to inspect it, squinting, as if that would do you any good in the dark.

“Yeah?” She asks, a little too impatient, obviously hiding something.

“It’s familiar,” you continue, still trying to find out why it was so. Usually, that wasn’t a good thing...

“Come on. What are you talking about? It’s just a house. Don’t think too much and have fun tonight!” She says, stomping back down the steps and grabbing your arm to drag you up towards the front door.

“I guess you’re right,” you say, giving up again. What were you so worried about?

“Aren’t I always?” She comments, and is, again, quick to shut you down when she sees you open your mouth. She presses her finger to the doorbell just as your mouth closes, and you both await the host.

You look off to the side and stare at the Greek letters tacked onto the wall. You knew you weren’t going to let it go on trying to find out why this house looked so familiar. Then, just when you’ve figured it out, your eyes widen in realization, the grip around your arm intertwined with Natasha’s tightens, feeling your attempt to slip away. The door swings open and the voice that booms out of the person, verifies your answer.

“Well, well, well...the weather outside sure is frightful, but this,” Bucky Barnes starts out singing before looking only in your direction, “oh, seeing you, is so delightful,” ending in a somewhat serious note.

“God, I hate winter,” you comment off to the side. It earns you a jab from Natasha, silently asking you to play nice.

He greets Natasha and easily lets her slip past him into the house. You call out her name, appalled that she left you alone with Bucky. Wasn’t that some rule? Never leave your friends alone at a Frat party.

“You look beautiful,” Bucky says sincerely when it’s just the two of you, to which you don’t respond, but roll your eyes. You didn’t come here to get seduced or hit on, but nonetheless shiver, and logically you could blame it on the cold weather and not the way that comment from him made you feel, then attempt to get inside the warm house.

"Excuse me,” he says, holding out his arms on either side of the door frames, blocking your entrance both ways, “where is my Christmas kiss?“ he asks, leaning in close to you.

“What the hell are you talking about?” You ask incredulously and back away. You owed him no such thing, but when you see the sly smirk on his lips, and his head signal for you to look up, you discover a traditional mistletoe hanging right above your heads.

Bringing your head back to its regular position, you look him dead in the eyes, “I’m not going to kiss you under the mistletoe, Barnes,” you scoff at his attempt to smooch you.

“Why not?” He presses, shuffling his weight from one leg onto the other, and before you can even give him an answer, you both hear your name being shouted from behind him. Bucky whips his head back and you do your best to look over his shoulder.

It came from your friend Wanda, who was excitedly waving you over to her. You smile and wave back at her, internally grateful that luck was on your side at this moment. Bucky turns back around and stares at you, wondering how to pick back up on your conversation, but when he doesn’t come up with anything, he sighs defeatedly, drops his arms and finally lets you in.

You make your way over to Wanda engulfing her with a huge hug. Natasha was close by, sipping on her drink. You’ll grill her later for leaving you alone with Bucky. She knew not to do that, but she did it at every chance she got. Now, you knew why she brought you to this specific house party.

“You weren’t planning on leaving without a proper farewell, were you?” Wanda asked worriedly. You immediately pieced together that Natasha had ratted you out on your attempt to leave campus and head back home early.

“It’s not forever, Wan,” you assure her. It was literally only for a few weeks, but while everyone would probably only be a few hours away from each other or a few states apart different, Wanda would be flying back to her home country to spend the Holidays with her family. You’ll admit, you could’ve been a little more considerate and sensitive.

“I’ll still miss you,” she says, the admission melting your heart, not even thinking about how the separation would be on others.

“She’s right, it’s not forever,” Natasha interjects, not allowing for any sad vibes on your last few hours of the semester together, “let’s make some memories tonight,” she says before handing you a drink.

Bucky, as hard as he tried to cover it up, rejoins his group of friends, Steve and Sam, sulking. He’d gotten you alone again, but failed, and he vowed to never give up. He had a crush on you, simple as that, but you were playing hard to get, and all this time spent on playing cat and mouse when you could be doing other things.

“Man, just save yourself from any further embarrassment and give up,” Sam tells him while also handing him a drink of his own, which Bucky accepts and quickly takes a swig from.

“Never,” he said, determined and slightly winces at the burn in his throat, his body almost warming in an instant, “I’m gonna get my Holiday kiss.”

“Why do you even care? You’re usually not one behind this Holiday shit,” he asks, looking around the crowded room.

“I’m not, but it gives me a reason to get close to her,” Bucky admits pathetically, staring into the red solo cup before taking the last swig, crushing it in his hand and air balling it to the trash.

“Dude!” Steve chastises him about adding onto the mess they’d have to clean afterwards, to which Bucky shrugs at.

“You can’t expect her to just kiss anyone under the mistletoe,” Steve reminds him. He knew it wasn't an easy conquest for any guy to gain your affection.

“I’ve been a good boy this year, alright, I’m gonna get her to see what she’s been looking for has been in front of her this whole time,” Bucky says trying not to sound or look as predatory as he watched you disappear into the kitchen with your friends.

You suppose the saying rules were meant to be broken, were taken a bit too literal by your friends, even college party rules because you’re left alone again. Wanda had abandoned the trio for some alone time with her boyfriend, who everyone dubbed Vision or Vis for short due to how outrageously innovative he was. Natasha decided to partake in a classic game of beer pong, something you incredibly sucked at, so there was no way she was going to recruit you as her partner nor were you interested in standing there awkwardly watching the game go on.

Surprisingly, the only place that seemed to be of a quiet enough spot to think was the backyard patio. You could see there was a fire lit and some other students scattered or sprawled on the grass. Quickening your pace, you manage to claim a vacant lawn chair next to the fire and hope you’d stay warm and at peace.

There you start to think that being in attendance tonight would’ve made no difference. Natasha was just good at persuading you into things. Call it peer pressure or whatever, but you put your faith and trust in her to not believe she’d ever steer you in the wrong direction, so why were you so bothered being here?

“You know, refusing to kiss someone under the mistletoe is bad luck,” you hear the voice of the reason why.

“I don’t believe in that bullshit,” you respond, watching as he plops down on the empty seat next to you.

“Really? Then why haven’t you been out on a date in so long?” he asks tauntingly.

“How would you know?” You ask a bit offended.

Why was he so concerned about your love life? You were never close with Bucky growing up and if anyone was of an impression you were, it was only because of Steve, who welcomed everyone, and that included you when you moved into the neighborhood when you were a little girl.

All throughout elementary school, until things started developing, puberty probably, it further separated you from Bucky. Steve blossomed a little later in life, so it helped solidify a good friendship with him, the same couldn’t be said for Bucky. You didn’t hate him, just got annoyed by his harmless teasing.

“I’ll have you know I have other priorities,” your attempt at an excuse was subtle, but you didn’t owe him an explanation anyways.

“Sure,” he says in a tone that suggests he didn’t believe you.

You watch as he lights up a cigarette, takes a small drag, and the cloud of smoke puffing out from his lips. He notices your stare and digs into his coat pocket, fishing out the pack before offering you one. You accept and pluck one out of the carton, he follows up with sticking out his lighter and you lean in closer to him to place the end of your stick against the flame.

You weren’t going to deny the relieving effect the nicotine had running through your body. College was stressful and while you weren’t one to abuse substances, a hit every now and then helped calm your nerves.

“So why is it you won’t kiss anyone under the mistletoe?” He asks, leaning back on the plastic chair, his head turning to the side, full attention on you.

He was enchanted by the girl, who grew up into a beautiful young woman, sitting next to him, slowly killing herself with every inhale and exhale of the cigarette between her lips, but you weren’t just attractive to Bucky, you were every bit incredible to him. You were smart, helpful, loyal to your friends and he was just misguided sometimes in life that led you to astray from him.

“It’s just an excuse for guys to steal a kiss from some poor girl...for lonely people to fake love,” you said almost bitterly.

Truth was, you had a bitter experience with a guy who’d led you on in high school after accidentally hearing that he could bet his friends he could get you to make out with him and he’d do so by using a mistletoe as a ruse.

Bucky detected some distaste in your response but decides not to interrogate you on it any further. There’d been a lot of growing up between the two of you since you’d both been estranged during your teenage years, and certain life events were missed on either party. So, where did you both stand in each other's lives now? You weren’t sure if you could call each other friends. It wasn’t easy to avoid Bucky, what with all the mutual friends and classes you shared, including the same street back home.

“I didn’t throw this party just to see everyone before they leave or to celebrate the end of finals,” he reveals, after several, somber minutes of silence, the cigarettes in your hands quickly burning out.

“Then why did you?” You ask curiously, meeting his gaze.

“To see you,” he simply admits. It was vague.

“How’d you even know I’d show up?” You quiz him.

“Because I begged Natasha to convince you,” he freely says, exposing his plan.

You were a smart person, but you couldn’t figure Bucky out. Why would he do that? Or for that matter, say something like that. What was his endgame here?

“Tis the fuckin’ season,” you comment offhand, getting up from the seat to leave. You stomp out your cigarette and prepare to head back inside and bid your farewells.

You’re just about to step through the threshold, when you feel a large hand wrap around your arm, halting you in place in the middle of the sliding screen door.

“Am I really that bad?” He inquires, and you know he’s not asking about just kissing him under the mistletoe anymore. Bucky always wore his heart on his sleeve, no matter how tough he appeared to be. It fooled a lot of people, sometimes you included, but in this moment, he seemed to genuinely be concerned about your perspective about him.

You were too grown to blame how the course of your relationship with Bucky had gone south on silly teenage phases. You knew it was much deeper than that, it was how sad it made you feel.

You’d harbored a small crush on him back then and it was cruel to see him grow into a handsome, charming guy and go out with other girls. He never showed an interest in you in the past and it was getting exhausting trying to get his attention, it was proving to be a distraction in your life, so it was then you’d vowed to focus on yourself and the life ahead of you, a life that didn’t revolve or involve Bucky.

However, a part of you, the risky and impulsive part of you, said you had less than a handful of months left before you were set to walk the stage and graduate. If you did what you were about to do, you could avoid Bucky for just one more semester, then you’d move far, far away and most likely never see him again. With a quick glance up, you give in to the idea of this side of you, lean in and plant your lips on Bucky’s soft ones.

Bucky is left dumbfounded, eyes still half closed when you pull away. He was shocked, caught off guard, and you by a totally different notion. You like him, you’ve always liked him.

It was a decent kiss if anyone would’ve caught it, at least you hoped it appeared it was, and that Bucky could convince you of it being so…

“You said kissing under the mistletoe is for lonely people to fake love...so then why do I feel so alive?” he asks you in a daze.

He doesn't succeed in convincing you.

How you’d both managed to move past that scene at the doorway without raising suspicion was beyond you two. The fact you both found a vacant room was an even more impressive feat at the moment.

“You better have locked that door,” you say, attempting to make it sound like a threat, but with you underneath him, you were anything but.

Shoes scattered along the pathway to the bed, his thick jacket following in suit. You’d managed to pull your lips back from his, but he couldn’t keep his off of yours as they trailed from the corner of your lips, along your jawline and down your neck. You feel his tongue drag just along your pulse, causing your hips to thrust up. You let out a moan at what you felt through his jeans and how he started sucking and nibbling over the spot he’d licked.

“Why? Don’t want everyone finding out how naughty you actually are?” He questions back teasingly with a cocky grin, and as he tugs at the sleeves of his unbuttoned shirt.

You don’t have a comeback for him, but instead you lightly shove him back and try to escape from underneath, hoping to get through to him and show you’re in fact serious. The last thing you wanted was for any of your friends to walk in on you two in the act.

“Relax!” He says, also sitting up and reaching out and pulling you back to him, “I locked it,” he assures, leaning in closer, “not even Santa will know what we’re doing,” then his lips reclaim yours, his tongue delving in your mouth. You’re once more on your back, lips locked and heavy. Had you known kissing Bucky was this good, you’d have kissed him earlier.

Bucky’s hands run up your thighs, snake their way underneath, you feel his fingers ghost over your scantily clad pussy. The tingling sensation causes the feeling in the pit of your stomach to brew.

“You want me to touch you?” He asks huskily while still pecking your lips.

“Yes,” you almost immediately answer, desperate for his touch.

“How bad?” Oh, he knows how bad, but he had so much fun watching you crumble.

“Bucky,” you start to whine.

“Tell me...how bad do you want me to touch you,” he repeats slowly.

“Fuck you,” you bite back. He was really going to make you say it, “I want you to touch me so bad...please, Bucky,” you quickly give in.

Bucky rewards you with a deep kiss as you feel him hook a finger on the thin slit of your panties and pull them to the side. He runs a long finger between your folds, and he pulls his lips away to inhale sharply.

“You’re so wet,” he states the obvious, bringing that same hand up to his lips to lick the pad of his thumb so he could start rubbing circles on your clit. You bite your lip and stare at him, he’s watching you carefully, loving how hard you’re trying to hold back.

“You want to be a good girl?” He asks, and you nod, “then don’t hold back. Stop fighting me, and I’ll make you come hard with just my fingers,” he bargains. You want to call him on his bluff, but he’s the one with the upper hand - literally. “But first…,” he starts, sitting up on his knees, hands back at his sides so he could scoot down lower on the bed, “...I want to taste this pussy,” his voice deep, and almost dangerous.

He pushes the end of your dress up, bunching it at the waist, to reveal your cute underwear. He pauses for a split second, “Holiyay indeed” he says to himself, reading the embezzled design on the front of your thong. You don’t even roll your eyes in annoyance anymore, because maybe if you kept quiet and submissive enough, you’ll finally get to come.

When he rids you of the garment, Bucky uses his fingers to spread your wet lips before running his tongue flat against it, only narrowing out when it reaches your clit. He spends a little more time at your there, circling it with his tongue, lightly kissing and sucking at it. His fingers start rubbing you, tracing the rim of the opening, while his mouth was still busy at work.

You're all but writhing from the buildup, your chest heaving up and down, stomach clenching tight from his doing, not prepared for when he inserts a finger inside your wet hole. You audibly gasped and reached a hand towards him, but he swats it away. You dare pick your head up to watch, and you’re met with his eyes, full of lust, looking up at you, but his mouth still latched onto your pussy. You can feel his finger slide in and out of you slowly, your mouth open displaying how good he’s making you feel.

In fact, it’s too good you’re not in control of your legs anymore as they kick and squirm at the feeling he’s bestowing on you, so he removes his finger away from you only to maneuver into a position where he could hook his arms under legs and basically slam your back down on the bed. You unconsciously start chanting his name, like a silent prayer for him to touch you down there again.

Your head is a little fuzzy, body on fire; you want to burst. Unable to pick up your head, you cast your eyes down on him just in time to see him spit on your already soaking cunt. You watch as he uses his fingers to spread the wetness all over before slipping two fingers inside of you.

The intrusion causes you to groan and back to arch, and you can’t help but grab at any part of the arm that his hand going to work on you, just making sure it doesn't go away until it gets the job done. He chuckles lightly at your eagerness with your hips bucking up at his palm.

“I promised I’d let you come, right?” He points out, which you nod fervently, loosen your grip and attempt to keep your hips at bay, so he could fulfill his promise. You feel his finger push in about knuckle-deep and curl inside, causing you to choke out a dry sob. You begin to bite your lip, hard, when he does it again and again.

Your hands are on autopilot, trying to heighten the pleasure your body was being coursed with, and they grab handfuls of your breasts, still confined in your dress. You squeeze and squish them together, anything to help you find that release sooner. Bucky’s gaze catches onto your moves and licks at his lips, the sight of your breasts threatening to spill out offers him a taste of what’s still yet to be unwrapped.

He speeds up his efforts, they’re proven efficient as you start clenching tight around his fingers, your arousal also coating the palm of his hand. He whispers tiny praises as you try to recover from the first orgasm. You swallow the lump in your throat and run your hands over your face, almost dazed and bewildered that Bucky was capable of pulling something like that out of you.

Your legs fall limp on the bed, the silence broken by Bucky, “such a sweet pussy,” he compliments, and you take a peek between your fingers to see his fingers pop out of his mouth from sucking his digits clean.

“Do you want to unwrap your gift?” He asks, crawling over to you. You manage to sit up, your body supported by your propped elbows, so Bucky is slightly hovering over you. You nod at his question and he brings one hand behind your head to swoop you in for a sweet kiss. You use both hands to hold his face in place to make the kiss last just a little longer.

Bucky reluctantly pulls away though so he could grab at the bunched fabric of your dress and pull it over your head, leaving you completely bare in front of him. He swears, eyes running over every part of you before sitting upright on his knees again.

You lean in and reach with both hands to unbuckle his belt, the clinking of metal sounding loud, button popping off in haste, and dragging the zipper down. You yank down at his fitted jeans to reveal the imprint of his hard cock under his boxer briefs. Fuck, he was big, that much you could see. You couldn’t keep your grabby hands away as you palm him through the fabric, his cock twitching at the indirect contact.

“Take it out,” he instructs, and you look up perilously at him, eyes begging him to confirm, “...it’s yours, baby girl,” and it was all the assurance you needed to peel his boxers down.

You wrap your hands around his length and start pumping him languidly. He was already hard and no doubt fully erect, but you immediately found how good it felt in your hands. With every pump, his pre-cum pools at the head, and with each trip your hands make up to the tip, they travel back down with the substance, effectively lathering him up and making him slick enough for an easy entry.

“I want to fuck you so bad,” he admits when you give his member an experimental squeeze, your fingers curl around him, the tips grazing along his balls.

Leaning in to place light kisses to his pecs, you look up at him, “well, you’ve been a good boy, so do it,” you say, hands retreating as you lie back down, “...fuck me, Bucky.”

Bucky lets out a low growl, kicks his bottoms away, and climbs back on top of you. He reaches down to grab his cock and starts running it up and down the length of your sex, causing your body to shudder. You could feel the ridges and just how hard he got before he slowly slid his cock inside. There’s a tiny sting on his entrance as his thick cock stretches your walls.

“Mmm, baby, it’s cold outside,” he starts playfully singing, “...but you, you’re so warm,” kissing your cheek, getting you to relax; not realizing you had held your breath trying to bear through the initial pain, “...and so wet,” he says pulling out with a lewd noise, before thrusting all the way back in, bottoming out.

He starts off sweet and slow, and while you liked that on some occasion, now wasn’t one of them. Bucky’s cock probed at your spot almost instantly and you found out you didn’t want to prolong the euphoric ending. His hands slip around your smaller frame, pulling your body up, closer to his, while his hips moved in waves crashing harder and harder into yours.

His face buried into the mattress next to your face, you hear his breathy moans, and you love that he doesn’t hold them back the slightest. Who didn’t like to hear how good the other person was making them feel, right? You grip and pull at his hair, while the other gabs at his buttocks, feeling it flex with each snap of his hips, and your legs tangled with his. Sweat that had built up on your bodies make the movements sloppy, muscles beginning to ache, both of you were about to peak.

“God, you feel so good,” he says, picking his head up, his hair matted and messy, he still looked sexy, “...you gonna come all over my cock now?” His words fuel you and your hips start driving into his, making him eat his own words, “fuck, baby, you’re gonna make me cum!”

“Yes, Bucky,” you coo, your hands gripping his sides, loving the feeling of his hard body, slick and warm to the touch, “...come,” you try coaxing him, but one particular thrust rips right through you and your walls start clenching him tighter than the fit.

You only finish the command when you’re riding the waves of the aftershock, “come on, Bucky, I want it...inside, please.” You definitely picked up on the fact that he liked to hear you beg and be specific with your wants.

Bucky soon stills, spurts of his hot cum splatter your walls that continue to flutter around his cock. His climax spreads warmth all over your lower body. Your limbs, both arms and legs, wrap around his exhausted body. He carefully drops his bodyweight on you, mindful of not suffocating you in the process.

When he’s regained regular breathing, using one of his hands, he reaches behind him in search of yours before interlocking your fingers and just holding it, you hold onto each other. Bucky picks up his head and stares at your hand in his, you follow his gaze and join him. They fit with one another perfectly, and even so, the light squeeze he gives it, lets you know it also felt right.

“Well, where have you two been?” Sam says loudly, announcing you and Bucky’s arrival, rejoining your group of friends. Wanda and Vision close to each other, his arm around her frame, Natasha standing in between Sam and Steve, a refilled cup in each of their hands.

“I have been trying to escape this crazed man all night,” you playfully exaggerate.

“And yet you’ve managed to keep failing,” Bucky chimes in smugly, a cute smirk running across his features. This unearthed feeling testing your willpower to keep up with appearance and show resistance.

“Yeah, no thanks to my so-called friends,” pinning the blame on the two females in the room. Wanda turns red, guilty and slightly awful for abandoning you, but Natasha has a different reaction. She’s got that knowing smile on her face. It’s small, but very strong.

You watch as her eyes divert to the ceiling, you follow her gaze and then when you both look back at each other, the smile on her face turns into a full-blown smirk. There’s a collective sound of “oh’s” from everyone, noting the mistletoe above you and Bucky.

Turning to Bucky, who looks like he doesn’t know what to do, just stands there staring at you, not knowing what to expect. You’re supposed to act like nothing happened or reveal anything to your friends just yet, so he mentally prepares for a rebuttal to your impending rejection or insult to kiss him. Nothing could’ve prepared him for what you do instead.

You place a hand on the back of his neck and pull him down to you and smash your lips together. Bucky’s hands immediately grab a hold of your hips, he’d have to get used to the lightheaded feeling when he’s close to you.

The kiss is slow and probably not appropriate to be deemed as a simple traditional mistletoe kiss, but you both can’t help it and continue to allow your lips to slide against one another’s before there’s a rise of cheers, whistling and howls around you, shattering the bubble.

When you pull apart, you reluctantly walk away from Bucky and head to where Natasha stood, steal the cup from her hand and finish off the remainder of her drink, all while staring straight at her. She knew. Only when you’re done with the last sip, you give her the same small, sly smile. There are no words exchanged, and none needed.

“Guess, you have been a good boy this year, Barnes,” Sam jokes, but regardless is proud of his friend.

“Third time's the charm,” Bucky says casually, shrugging like it was no big deal, as if he hadn’t been desperately chasing you all night. You shake your head at his silliness, but nonetheless smile at him, your heart skipping a bit.

Who knew what you’d been looking for was hanging underneath the doorway staring at you face-to-face this whole time?

A/N: I can confidently say, I used one of these Christmas puns as a pickup line on a guy recently and it worked in my favor! Shoot your shot but stay safe in more than one way; these are them trying times. Also, the underwear thing is a real design I saw while looking through Victoria’s Secret sales…lol.

🎁 Gift me a like, reblog, comment - anything, please! 🥺💖

#mrwinterr writes #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes fanfic #sebastian stan imagine #sebastian stan smut #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan fanfic #college!bucky barnes #college!bucky #college!au

476 notes · View notes

theasstour · 3 years

Photo

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐎𝐧𝐞𝐬 𝐋𝐞𝐟𝐭 𝐁𝐞𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐝.

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 𝟕.𝟓𝐤 𝐍𝐁: 𝐛𝐨𝐝𝐲 𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐞, 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐭 𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐚𝐠𝐞, 𝐝𝐫𝐮𝐠 𝐮𝐬𝐞, 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐩𝐲 𝐦𝐞𝐧

A/N: Thank you so much to everyone who reblogged and sent me an ask after last chapter ❣️ I might not have gotten through all the asks yet, but know that I see all of you and I appreciate you more than I will ever find the right words to articulate 🌟 Thank you for the kind words and for reminding me of how fun it is to post my stories on here! Love you sm sm sm 🥰

Tuesday, 4 November 2017

One of the worst things Y/N knew of was seeing someone she cared about go through something troubling. If she knew them well enough, it would be written out on their face and in their gestures, making it so that she could not ever look past it and pretend everything was alright. Her ability to read people, to understand their wants and to see when something was off, was something she had crafted over many years of being a people pleaser. Now, it came naturally to her to study a person’s way of acting, talking, being, and then make them happy accordingly.

She realised when she grew older that the reason she did this was so people would look past her body and like her for who she actually was. She hated herself sometimes for still giving in to this need to please people all the time. She hated the things it had made her do in the past, how she had bent herself over backwards for people who did not, and would never, give a single shit about her. Though she felt at home in her body, she felt content in it, these tendencies to constantly make up for how she looked, to make light of it or make people feel comfortable around her, still hung around. With absolutely everything she was, Y/N hated that part of herself. She did not have to make up for anything. What did she have to apologise for? For existing? It did not make sense to her, but it had made sense to those that bullied her in school and those skinny people whose worst fear was becoming fat. Y/N’s worst fear, because of this, was not being liked. She realised how it all connected now.

Y/N realised how this need to please people came into play as she was sitting in a seminar room with Hayden, Chloe, Thian, Annalise, and three others from the International Society that Annalise often went to. Annalise was whispering in Dutch to the other Dutch girl she had met, while the rest of the room was relatively silent. Hayden had put on some music to lighten the mood, but it was evident that they were unsatisfied and sad. They were eight people; a single game of Uno was being played in a room that had been made so that at least 20 people would show up. Hayden had bought five decks of Uno, only for the one they brought with them to London to be the one the group ended up using. Their eyes drifted to the door every so often, silently begging for anyone else to show up to what looked to be a disastrous start to their Uno Society.

After two hours, they had to get out of the seminar room and go back home. As they were cleaning up, Y/N walked over to Hayden and helped them put their Uno decks and everything else they brought, back in their bag.

“More people will show up next time,” Y/N assured them.

“You’re just saying that.”

“No, I genuinely think more people will show up at one point.”

Hayden smiled at Y/N, though it did not reach their eyes. “If we don’t have at least 15 people by the third meeting, this won’t be considered a society by Helmond standards and we won’t be allowed to meet on campus grounds.”

Y/N felt a small tinge of panic at that. This was not usually the society people would jump to be part of, it would take a little while for people to want to show up to an Uno Society on a Tuesday every fortnight.

“We can hope more people will come, but I doubt they will,” Hayden said.

“There aren’t a lot of people our age who play Uno, though,” Chloe said as Hayden and Y/N made their way to the door.

Y/N furrowed her brows at Chloe’s comment, but did not say a word.

“No, but I love Uno, and it’s a very social game. It’ll be fun if a lot of people show up, you know?” Hayden said, closing the door behind them before they walked down the corridor for the exit.

“Obviously, people just don’t know what they’re missing,” Thian chimed in, showing off his usually wide, happy beam. “It’s a great idea, Hay.”

“Really? It’s not bound to flop?” Hayden asked, scrunching up their nose as if they could not quite believe what Thian was saying.

“Of course not,” Annalise said.

“It’s a nice break from all the assignments,” Y/N said.

“By the way, speaking of assignments,” Chloe groaned. “Y/N, have you started on the Othello presentation yet?”

“You haven’t had the presentation yet?” Thian asked.

“No, different Introduction to English Studies seminar groups have presentations at different dates,” Chloe said. “Since Y/N and I are seminar group E, we have it last. Monday, 4th of December.”

“That’s still a while away, though,” Hayden pointed out. “You still got a month.”

“Yeah, but the presentation’s 40% of the final grade. I know I’ll ace the essay, but we only get to have a five-minute presentation on Othello.” Chloe rolled her eyes. “How am I supposed to talk about how Othello’s a sexist play in just five minutes?”

“Easy,” Thian said. “You talk about how it’s a sexist play for just five minutes. You love to talk, it’ll be easy peasy.”

“I love to gossip, this is entirely different,” Chloe complained.

“Not really,” Y/N said, cocking her head a little to the side as the group rounded a corner. “You’re essentially just gonna gossip about Othello and what’s wrong with him and the way Shakespeare wrote the play.”

Chloe stared at Y/N for a few seconds, pursing her lips as she thought. A grin spread out across her lips and she nudged Y/N’s shoulder. “You’re right.”

“It’s gonna be fine,” Annalise smiled.

“And by the time that happens, the Uno society will be history,” Hayden mumbled, making Thian pout his bottom lip and wrap an arm around Hayden’s shoulders. They all made their way back to Dinwiddy, Lancaster Complex, and Fleming Hall, three of the seven different campus accommodations. Dinwiddy was definitely of a bit better standard than Lancaster and Fleming, but Y/N was sure that, had she decided to live on campus, she would have gone for either Lancaster or Fleming like Annalise, Thian, and Hayden. She said goodbye to all of them and went on her way, walking back to Haggerston while talking to her parents on the phone. They always insisted she call them if she walked out alone at night, no matter how many people were around.

The shops she strolled by were starting to put up Christmas decorations and sales, making Y/N long for holiday. She just wanted a few days off uni. Though it was only the first year, the amount of work they were getting was ridiculous, and Y/N felt like she either spent most of her time in the library with her Literature gang, or at a café with Nathan, doing uni work. The fact that Christmas lights and decorations were already making an appearance, gave her some hope.

Getting to Orsman Road was no problem, and Y/N hung up with her parents when she reached the flat building. The mere thought of her bed made her knees buckle, she could not wait to be snuggled up in a blanket and watching the newest true crime series on Netflix. Once inside, she got her shoes and outwear off, then walked straight for the kitchen. She halted.

In a pair of worn-out black rugby shorts and a black hoodie, Harry stood pouring water into the kettle. The muscles in his legs flexed and unflexed as he moved, making it impossible to look away from his thighs. Y/N could not find the right words to express just how much she hated those tiny shorts. It was as if he knew exactly what he was doing. Except he didn’t. He was very much just trying to wear something comfortable at home and Y/N was ogling him. He looked up as she entered.

“Hi,” Y/N said, walking over to the fridge where she kept her oat and banana milk.

“Hi,” Harry answered, watching her as she walked before putting the kettle on. “Been out shagging old men?”

Y/N blinked a few times before looking over at Harry as he put a teabag into his mug. “You’re very obsessed with my sex life.”

“I’m just nosy.”

Y/N sighed, knowing this was true from experience, and went back to getting her milk out of the fridge. “No, I was at a society meeting. The first one, actually.”

“Oh?” She could see in her peripheral vision that he turned around to watch her. “What kind of society?”

“Uno.”

Silence settled in the kitchen, and Y/N could hear Nathan and Mason in the living room next door playing something on the PlayStation. Y/N could feel Harry continue to just look at her as she poured herself a glass of the oat and banana milk. It was not until the milk was back in the fridge and Y/N met his eyes, that Harry spoke again.

“Uno?”

“Like the card game.”

“That’s… a niche interest.”

She raised her eyebrows. “And you’re being judgemental.”

Harry’s eyes grew wide. “No, no, no! I-“ He stopped himself, taking a grip of the kettle and quickly pouring himself a cuppa before meeting Y/N’s eyes again, something frantic shining within his own. “It’s just a very specific interest and society.”

She raised one of her shoulders. “Which is what makes it so amazing.”

“Yes. Yes, of course,” Harry said quickly, gesturing at her with his hand as if he completely agreed. Y/N wanted to laugh at how fast he was talking, as if he was desperate for her to understand that he was not being judgemental. “How was it?”

“Barely anyone showed up,” Y/N explained, sipping her milk.

Harry frowned. “Really?”

“Yeah, and at least 15 people total have to show up for it to be considered a society, or else Hayden, my course mate, can’t continue hosting on campus grounds.” Y/N sighed, looking at the ground. “Basically, if Hayden doesn’t find, like, twelve more people to join within the next two times, we won’t have a society any longer.”

Harry opened his mouth as if to say something, but just then, the sound of quick footsteps could be heard, and then Nathan’s face appeared in the doorway. A grin spread out on his face as he met Y/N’s eyes.

“Thought I heard you come in!” he exclaimed. “We’re playing GTA, wanna come drive some people over?”

Y/N smiled at that, scrunching up her nose. “As appealing as that sounds, I’m gonna have to decline.”

Nathan pouted his lips and Harry stood watching quietly. “Why?” Nathan asked.

“Have an essay that I need to finish.”

Nathan sighed heavily. “Fine. Guess I’ll let you write that bloody essay.”

“Excuse you? ‘Let me’?” Y/N rolled her eyes and Nathan laughed. She gave him and then Harry a smile, making her way out of the kitchen.

“Have a good night,” she heard Harry say as she walked through the doorway. She gave him another smile before walking up the stairs and to her room. She quickly got out of her clothes and into loungewear, taking all her make-up off and finding a fluffy blanket she could sit under in bed as she started writing her Introduction to English Studies essay. She could hear the boys shouting and playing downstairs and drowned it out by putting her earbuds in and shutting them out.

She ended up reading academic articles and writing down an essay plan until she felt her eyelids get heavy a few hours later. Putting her laptop away and finishing her oat and banana milk, Y/N took her contacts off and started getting ready for bed. The door to the room beside hers opened and closed, she could hear Harry rummaging in his room, though the sound was not disturbing in any way. The only disturbing thing about it was the fact that it was Harry, but Y/N was learning to accept that. It had only taken her two months, but she was coming to terms with the fact that Harry Styles, an ex-good friend of hers and person she had sex with once, was living and sleeping in the room right next to hers.

Friday, 17 November 2017

The pizza at Domino’s was absolutely amazing, but working for them was anything but. This was only Y/N’s first shift, and she was already dreading her next. Not only would she be bringing home with her the memories of a horrible first day on her new job, but she would also be bringing the smell of greasy pizza. She would have to do a deep clean in the shower before going to bed, she was not rubbing that smell onto her bedsheets.

With some experience working for Pizza Express before, Y/N was already well-versed working for a pizza chain. Pizza Express had been her job from 15 until she moved off to uni at 19, which she knew was what must have given her this new job at Domino’s rather quickly. As much experience as she had working at Pizza Express serving people, she had never been the one to drive around delivering pizzas. After all, she had not gotten her license until sometime last year, so it had never been a possibility. However, in the job description for this position at Domino’s, it had clearly stated that Y/N would be working mostly as a delivery driver, something that sounded chill at first, until she realised she would have to go deliver pizza to people that would be anything but friendly. Or maybe a little too friendly. Because of her inexperience in this particular field of the job, she had another employer join her for her first shift.

Isla was very quiet, maybe even a little too quiet for Y/N’s taste. She would mostly just stare out the window, sometimes chime in to help Y/N pick a quicker route, or help her make out how much she owed the customer if they paid a few quid too many. Other than that, Isla did not really offer much conversation wise. Even when the two of them picked up the pizzas for their first drive, the first time they spent together, Isla did not say much.

“Have you worked here long?” Y/N asked, giving Isla a smile so she would know that she was actually asking out of curiosity and not because she felt obliged to.

“A year.”

Y/N nodded as she sat down behind the wheel, Isla sitting down in the passenger seat. “I worked in Pizza Express at home in Nottingham before I moved here. Dunno why, I’ve always preferred Domino’s to Pizza Express. Though, Zizzi is top tier.”

Isla only nodded slightly.

Y/N had waited for a response, but realising she would not be getting one, she started the Domino’s car and started driving in the direction out of the parking spot on the street beside the tiny restaurant on Homefield Street. Y/N almost drove right into the Domino’s mopeds that all stood on the spot in front of the car. She just knew that at one point, she would be driving one of those. She followed the instructions on the GPS, up Hoxton Street, in the direction of Lavender Grove. Without any radio on, the car was very quiet. Too quiet. It made Y/N break out in sweat.

“Do you drive around with deliveries often?” Y/N asked.

Isla shook her head. “No.”

Y/N whipped her head back in the direction of the street in front of her, trying to produce spit so she could nervously swallow. Her mouth was too dry. “You work by the till then?”

“Mostly.”

Y/N smiled. “That’s the best place to work, isn’t it? Don’t have to drive around, don’t have to actually make the food.”

Isla gave a feeble smile. “I suppose.”

God, all Y/N wanted as an okay day. All she wanted was for one single day to be alright.

Isla would twine a single piece of her brown, bushy hair around her finger sometimes, then put it behind her ear, only to go back to fidgeting with it. Y/N was unsure if she was nervous to be in a car with someone she did not know, or if she was just deep in thought. Y/N wanted to get to know Isla, to make a friend at her new workplace, but she did not want to harass Isla if it meant it would make her uncomfortable. It was clear that she did not like being this close to Y/N considering the two had never met before and would now be spending a good six hours together. Therefore, to not push away what she hoped to be a future mate, she only made occasional conversation and then left Isla mostly to herself. She could sense that was what her companion wanted most of all.

In a particularly dodgy part of Lea Bridge, Y/N was delivering three pizzas to what she knew even before knocking on the door, would be to a rather creepy encounter. The man that opened the door was bald with glassy eyes and a blue tee shirt tucked into his grey joggers. At the sight of Y/N, he grinned.

“Three pepperonis?” she asked, wondering if this man just really loved pepperoni pizzas or if he was hosting a party.

“That’s me, yeah.”

“Alright.” Y/N handed him the three pizzas just as another man emerged from behind him, and it was then that Y/N noticed the incredible stench of alcohol and cigarettes. Some 80s rock was playing from a stereo and there did not seem to be much light on inside the flat. Y/N suddenly felt very sick.

“You pre-paid,” she stated, more to reassure herself that she could just leave than to make them aware that she knew they did not have to go get any money to pay her. “Have a nice night.”

“Wouldn’t be nice if you didn’t stick around,” the bald one holding the pizzas said.

“Yeah, why don’t you come inside? Have a bite with us?” the other one offered. “You look like a hard-working girl, why don’t you take a few minutes off with us?”

Y/N could feel her heart begin to beat faster, her hands begin to sweat. “No, I have to get back to work,” she said, giving them a smile before walking off.

“Wait, we didn’t give you a tip!”

“Come back, love!”

Y/N tuned them out as she walked down the stairs, keeping an eye over her shoulder and her ears on alert as she made her way back to the car. Isla was sat on her phone when Y/N sat back down in the driver’s seat, putting her seatbelt on a little too fast and gripping the steering wheel harder than she had previously. She just wanted to get away from those men, she just wanted that shift to be over.

“You okay?” Isla asked. The first question she ever asked Y/N. First time she ever took initiative to start a conversation. Y/N really appreciated it in that moment.

“Yeah,” Y/N said, sighing heavily. “Just hate men.”

Isla must have understood what Y/N was talking about because she nodded, looking straight ahead at the road in front of them. “I’m sorry you met the worst type of customers on your first night.”

“Had to meet them at one point, though,” Y/N said.

“You shouldn’t have to meet them at all.”

Y/N felt that statement reverberate through the car, lay in the air between them for quite some time after it was said. She could not stop thinking about it as she drove to the next destination, feeling disgusted and angry. Had she stayed there a second longer, she would have had to resist the urge to knee them both in the space between their legs. This was just one of the stupid encounters that night, though the rest were more so on the scale of weird than disgusting. Like a man that was clearly high thanking Y/N for his frozen milk when he had ordered three Ben and Jerry’s, or a woman with her hair a mess, make-up completely destroyed, and just her dress robes on, snatching the pizza out of Y/N’s hand before hurrying back inside. It was a strange few hours, and as she drove the car back to Domino’s Homefield Street, Y/N felt absolutely drained of energy.

Walking home after her shift at 3:30am was next to torture, she just wanted to be in bed, cosy underneath the covers, and forget about the fact that she was working tomorrow night as well. Though the Hoxton Street was washed in the yellow lights from the streetlamps and the occasional car driving by, it was anything but empty. Drunk people were walking home from pubs, while others, like her, walked home from another nightshift, and some were just out for a night stroll. She walked without listening to music, not feeling comfortable with not being completely aware of her surroundings when it was dark out. Besides, she was so tired as well, listening to music would probably put her to sleep.

Orsman Road was completely deserted, only a few people walking home from The Stag’s Head passed her smelling of beer and cigarettes. This street was darker, smaller, and less busy than Hoxton Street, so Y/N opted to walk in the middle of the road instead of in the shadows. She felt less vulnerable that way. As she reached the flat building, she got her keys out of her purse and went to unlock the door.

“Fancy seeing you here.”

She jumped, keys falling onto the asphalt. Looking over her shoulder, she saw Harry standing there with the smuggest, most infuriating look on his face. God, how she wanted to slap him until his teeth fell out. While she contemplated how to physically hurt him, Harry bent down, picked up Y/N’s keys, and put them back in her hand.

“Don’t lose those,” he said. “50 quid to get a new pair.”

Y/N only narrowed her eyes, unlocking the door for them both and striding on to the next floor. After opening the door to the flat, she got her shoes off, and walked straight for the kitchen. She needed strawberries, especially after the shift she just had. The door closed behind Harry and she heard him lock it before taking his shoes and jacket off, too. As she turned around after closing the fridge door, Harry stood by the kettle, filling it up with water.

“Didn’t know you worked at Domino’s,” he said, looking over at her briefly, nodding at her black Domino’s fleece jacket before turning his attention back to the kettle.

“Just started.”

“How’re you finding it?” he asked.

Y/N sighed, leaning her hip against the counter. “Considering this was my first shift and I have to show up again to work another nightshift tomorrow…” She pursed her lips as if deep in thought. “I’d say shite.”

Harry laughed, stopping the tap. “Tea?”

“No, I bought myself some banana and oat milk from M&S earlier, I’ll just have that. Thank you, though.” She gestured at what she had placed on the counter while he was busy with the kettle.

Harry watched her as she got herself a glass for the milk. “Can’t for the life of me remember you being a Tory.”

Y/N laughed. “Oh, you don’t remember me hating the poor?” she said, putting on a posh accent, Harry could not hold back his own laughter. “Quite a big part of my personality, don’t know how you missed it. Now-“ She put the milk back in the fridge. “-If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go spend five weeks at my £1.000.000 18 century holiday house in Surrey.”

Harry’s laughter echoed through the kitchen as he put the kettle on, shaking his head at her. “No, but how’d you like your first shift? Anything like Pizza Express?”

Why the fuck did he remember that? Why did he have to remember everything? Bloody hell…

“Not for me. There were just a lot of creepy men, and some very dodgy neighbourhoods. I’m sure that’s not all there is to the job as a delivery driver, I’m sure I was just unlucky my first time, but I can’t really afford to quit unless I have a backup.”

Harry frowned at that. “If you don’t like it and you feel unsafe, you don’t have to continue doing it.”

She nodded her head. “No, I know, but it’s still the only job I could find and that I could get at the moment. I’ll apply to others later.”

Harry’s frown deepened, crossing his arms over his black, tee-shirt covered chest. No tattoos on display. She wondered why he only had tattoos on his chest and torso.

“Yeah, alright…” he said, voice a little darker than before. “But if you feel unsafe-“

“-Harry, I practiced capoeira when I was younger, remember?”

At that, as if he was slowly unveiling a memory he had not thought about in a little too long, Harry smiled. A small, fond smile that Y/N remembered from a previous life; a life with far less troubles, far less complications than this one.

“Of course I do.”

Not “yes”. Not just “I do”. “Of course”. He had said “of course”, as if remembering was a privilege. As if not remembering would be the strangest thing in the world. Y/N hated that this man did not forget a single thing. Never had, never would.

“Well,” she said, trying to act normal after that. “Well, I can hold my own.”

“Good to know,” Harry smiled, getting a teabag from his cupboard. As he turned his body and face away from her, she saw something glisten in the lights of the kitchen. Two earrings. Two gold earrings right next to one another. In his ear. Y/N would never admit to it out loud, the sight made her mouth salivate. “But I still think you should quit if you don’t like your work.”

Y/N opened the strawberry container and took one out, taking a bite. She needed to look away from Harry, away from his two earrings, and away from him because he was making some points. She knew where Harry was coming from, she really did, but she could not go on living in London, using money every single day, and not have an income. Until something better came along, this would be her job. “How’s the pub?”

“Alright,” Harry said, pouring hot water into his mug. “I’m having my last shift there December 15th.”

Y/N blinked. “You’re quitting?”

“Yeah, I’m starting a new job in January.”

She raised her eyebrows, meeting his gaze again. “Okay, good for you. What one?”

“Tattoo artist.”

He had to be fucking kidding at this point. Y/N had to do everything to keep her eye from twitching.

“Just got my tattoo license, so I’m ready to go come January.”

Y/N did not want to admit it. She could not admit it. She physically could not. But… everything about Harry… everything he did, everything he said… It all hit different. And it did not help that Y/N, who loved tattoos, getting them, having them on her body, and seeing them on someone else’s, was now made aware that Harry could legally give people tattoos. He was going to become a tattoo artist in January. Y/N wanted to eat chalk.

Harry just looked at her, studying her face. “You okay?”

She swallowed the strawberry bite she had just taken. “Fantastic.”

Harry raised his eyebrows. “Really?”

“Did you draw your own tattoos then?”

For the second time that night, Y/N was witness to Harry’s smug smile. He raised his cuppa, cocking his head a little to the side as he said, “You’ve seen my tattoos?”

Y/N wanted to die.

“You’ve been sneaking into my room to watch me sleep, that it?” Harry asked. “You’ve probably seen the tattoo I have by my crotch then, too-“

“-Oi!” Y/N narrowed her eyes at him. “Piss off. I saw them when you were wearing that low-neck top at Footprint.”

Harry took a sip of his tea. “If you say so.”

Y/N rolled her eyes and Harry laughed.

“It’s jokes, Y/N.”

“Good. I’m genuinely scared you think I fancy you.”

Harry smiled. “You mean you don’t? Really?”

She took a hold of her strawberries and milk. “Goodnight, wanker.”

“I’m a dreamboat, what about this-“ Harry gestured at himself, flexing his arm muscles that weren’t really there. “-Doesn’t give you the fanny flutters?”

“You’re disgusting.”

Harry laughed.

“I was just interested to know about your job as a tattoo artist ‘cause I love tattoos,” Y/N explained.

Harry’s eyes travelled down to Y/N’s hand where the ‘M’ was tattooed, it lingered there for a moment too long. For some unknown reason, a tingle started up in Y/N’s thumb, making its way up her arm and to her breasts, then her stomach. Slowly, he lifted his eyes to her ribs where he must have seen her ‘saudade’ tattoo. Though it was not visible right then, it seemed as if Harry was seeing it all the same, sensing it somehow. At last, his eyes met hers, and Y/N felt something in her throat stop working. The tingle that had laid in her stomach just seconds earlier exploded, slithering all throughout her body and making her hyper aware of how knowledgeable Harry was of the tattoos on her body; of her. He must have paid more attention to her than she thought he had. Something about that made it hard to breathe. Bloody hell, she hated how fucking fit he was. She hated how she reacted to his glance, to his attention.

“I can tell,” he said, voice a tinge darker than before.

She was surely about to explode. Blinking a few times, she held her strawberries up, nodding her head to Harry in a silent goodbye, then made her way towards the door.

“Oh, Y/N,” Harry said, making her look over her shoulder at him. “Do you want some Ginger Nuts? I’m having some with my tea-“

“-No thanks. Goodnight.” Y/N walked straight out of the door and to her room, needing to stick her head out her window to cool down in the Regent’s Canal breeze before sitting down in her bed again. How could he be considerate, respectful, smart, pretty, and sexy at the same time? Some otherworldly powers had truly been at work these last few years to make Harry Styles into everything Y/N was attracted to.

She did not even want him as a boyfriend, she never had, there had never been any romantic feelings between them before and there never would be, but he was just so… so… frustrating. In every single sense of the word. He was just… very attractive. Very pleasing to look at. Everything that got to Y/N. And Y/N wanted to scream at Harry for making it so hard to ignore him, and at herself for falling for it.

Wednesday, 29 November 2017

Y/N was originally going to travel home to Nottingham that Friday so she could stay home that weekend. She had not been home since September, and though they only had two weeks of uni left before Christmas break, she wanted to go home this weekend. She missed her parents terribly and wanted to see them so badly, she could simply not wait until Christmas. So, because it was the last Wednesday of the month, Y/N travelled back up to Nottingham.

Every last Wednesday of every month, Davi would invite all of his Brazilian family who had settled in Nottingham after he had, as well as Lottie’s parents, over for feijoada. Brazil has many region-specific dishes, yet the one that best translates into a nationwide dish is the beloved feijoada. The name stems from the word feijão, which is Portuguese for bean, and also the key ingredient of feijoada, which is essentially a bean stew mixed with beef and pork. Though, depending on what region of Brazil you are in, you will find different ingredients added to the feijoada.

In Rio de Janeiro and Minas Gerais, feijoada is almost always cooked with black beans, while in Bahia, red or brown beans are preferred. In Bahia and Sergipe, they also usually add extra vegetables to the feijoada such as plantain, kale, potatoes, carrots, cabbage, and pumpkin. However, in the rest of Brazil, feijoada is simply beans and meat with no additional vegetables. It is served with white rice, shredded kale with bits of fried bacon, crispy pork crackling, and slices of oranges that are meant to aid the digestion of the heavy meal. Which is what Y/N had grown up eating.

Typically, it is served at noon on Wednesdays and Saturdays, as this hearty meal is a thick mixture that will have you full in no time. The only activity Y/N would recommend after it, is bed and a good book. Maybe even a little nap. Their big family often used to eat it during the weekend as it meant more time spent with the family, more time spent chatting and being social, but Davi who worked in a bakery, had often worked Saturday and Sunday afternoons, meaning that it would fit best for the family to keep the tradition of hosting the meal on Wednesdays at Davi and Lottie’s house. Which was why Y/N was on her way home that Wednesday at the end of November.

Closing Vidas Secas by Graciliano Ramos that she had just been reading, Y/N got up from her seat to get off the train. Graciliano Ramos was Y/N’s favourite writer of all time. Though she loved English Literature and especially loved studying it, she always found his works to be better than most. He was the only modernist writer she could stand. São Bernardo was her favourite of his novels. A story about a man who, having been born poor, gets rich using any ruthless means he can and ends up utterly alone. It had stuck with Y/N her entire life. The main character’s ability to love others, his selfishness, and arrogance, make up one of the most complex characters of world literature, in Y/N’s opinion.

In the last chapter of São Bernardo when Paulo Honório reflects on his life alone at night, Y/N found some of the best few pages she had ever read. The closing words ‘I ruined my life stupidly’ express the agony of a man whom Y/N learned to despise throughout the book, but who, thanks to the mastery of the author, leads us with him through his tragic life choices towards self-destruction. Y/N got goosebumps just thinking about it.

Stepping off the train with her small bag and book under her arm, Y/N walked straight for the train station exit. She recognised her mother’s brown hair in a bun at the top of her head, a pair of colourful flare trousers on along with a white buffer jacket. Lottie jumped up and down at the sight of Y/N and ran for her daughter, throwing her arms around her in a tight embrace.

“My baby,” she said, kissing Y/N’s cheeks and forehead. “Oh, my Y/N.”

Y/N hugged her mother back, burying her face in her mother’s neck. She did not care that she could hear Vidas Secas fall into the tiled floor or that her bag would get dirty where it lay, all she cared about was her mother’s embrace and the smell of home around her. She was fluent in two languages, yet Y/N could not find a word that could quite capture how happy she was to be home just now.

“Okay, my dove,” Lotte said, taking Y/N’s bag off the floor. Y/N bent down and picked up her book, bringing it to her chest. “Let’s go home.”

The two of them walked out to the car park, and Lottie quickly started driving them in the direction of Y/N’s childhood home. The familiar ride and the familiar city outside the car windows made her relax, sinking far into the seat until she felt enveloped in safeness and contentment. It didn’t take them long to reach the semi-detached brick house, all their family members’ cars parked out front and visible in the windows overlooking the street. Y/N took her own bag this time, and her mother led the way up the stairs to the house so she could open the door for her.

There was no time for Y/N to go upstairs with her bag and book, because she was bombarded with hugs and kisses the second she stepped inside. Her grandfather, avô, her grandmother, avó, her papai’s two sisters and her aunties, tia Gilma and tia Lara, their husbands and her uncles, tio Jaren and uncle Finnley – who was British and had met Lara after she moved here -, and her seven cousins, or primos. They all came rushing to her, with her British grandmother and grandfather grinning and waiting for her to be done hugging and kissing everyone. Being with them and smelling feijoada everywhere, made Y/N almost tear up. Blimey, ever since moving away to University, she had become so incredibly sappy.

“Amorinzho!” came like a scream from the kitchen. Davi came out into the foyer with his apron still on and the biggest grin on his face. He threw his arms around Y/N. “Eu tenho saudade de você.”

She had missed him, too. So much. She felt safer, more at ease, almost more herself now that she was reunited with her parents close.

So, she told him that as she whispered, “Eu também senti sua falta,” back. Her papai hugged her a little tighter at that, grinning at her with tears in his eyes as he squeezed her shoulders.

“Y/N!” avó shouted from where she now sat in the living room, her grey hair in a long braid down her back and a big knitted cardigan wrapped tightly around her small frame. “Venha comer!”

“I’ll come eat in a second,” Y/N said. “I just need to put my bag in my room.”

“I’ll do that for you, my sausage,” Y/N’s grandfather said, stroking her cheek before he bent down and brought the bag with him up the stairs to her room. Since her mother had been an only child, her parents, Y/N’s grandparents, had always been very caring and constantly present as Y/N and Marcela had been their only grandchildren. Not that her avós had not been present, because they really had, her entire family had, but her grandparents’ life had no meaning if it were not for Lottie, Y/N and Marcela.

Y/N walked past all her family and to the kitchen where her papai stood making her a plate of feijoada. He handed it to her and she smiled at him before helping herself to some rice. Just then, Lottie walked into the kitchen as well, hugging Y/N from behind before she walked over to make her daughter something to drink. Silence stretched out in the kitchen as conversation started back up again in the living room, everyone talking about everything and nothing, in English and Portuguese. But, something that was unusual for her parents, they did not say a single thing. Though this might not be unusual for some, it was extremely unusual for someone who came from a generally very talkative family.

“Charlotte,” Davi said, looking over at Lottie. “We should…”

“Not yet.”

Y/N looked over her shoulder at her parents. “What?”

“We should tell her.”

“She just got home, Davi,” Lottie reasoned. “We can tell her later. Let her enjoy her feijoada.”

“No, what’s going on?” Y/N asked again, turning her body to face them now.

“No, amorinzha,” Davi said, squeezing Y/N’s shoulder. “Your mother is right; we can talk about it later. It’s not appropriate to do it now.”

“What’s going on? What’re you talking about?” Y/N looked at her papai, then at her mum, both of them sharing a look with one another that Y/N did not understand. Over the years, she had become a master at deciphering what her parents were discussing when they shared looks, though she never managed to quite understand the proper subject of discussion, she could detect the mood. She understood this was more of a serious matter.

“Tell me,” Y/N said, feeling her heart begin to beat a little harder, a little faster, the more time went by without any of them saying anything.

“Fine,” Lottie sighed. “Put your plate down first.”

Y/N did so reluctantly, not taking her eyes off of her parents. If it was serious enough for her mother to want her to put her food down so she would not drop her plate, then Y/N was on the fence if she even wanted to know what was going on or if she wanted to live in blissful ignorance of it.

“Your pai and I have decided to sell the cabin.”

Y/N’s heart stopped beating. Her body felt numb, the chatter in the living room deceased to exist as she just looked at her mother, and then at her papai. Her mum, and then pai. Suddenly, as if slapped with a brick, Y/N’s brain roared to life and her body came as hot as coal. She looked at her mother who had been the one to speak, her mouth falling open and shutting again as she continued to process what she had just been told.

“You’re… you’re going to sell the cabin?” Y/N asked them, just to be completely sure that what she heard was correct.

“Yes,” Davi answered.

“You’re selling the cabin?” She could not believe it.

“Y/N-“

“-You’re selling our Newport cabin? The one in Wales?” she asked again, her voice rising now. They did not have any other cabins, but Y/N just had to know she was not mistaken. They couldn’t… They couldn’t just…

“Y/N, we never go there anymore,” Lottie reasoned. “We want to spend the money we use on the cabin on something else, we don’t know what yet.”

“So, you’re just going to sell the cabin where your daughter was murdered?” Y/N asked, voice filled with so much rage she barely recognised herself when she spoke. “Where Marcela was most likely stabbed? You’re selling that cabin?”

“We’re never there because she was… she was killed…” Davi cleared his throat. “Spending time inside that cabin when we know what happened inside it, does not feel right.”

“No, selling it isn’t right,” Y/N said. “What if there’s more evidence inside? What if there’s somewhere they haven’t looked?”

“Baby, they have cleaned out the cabin and there’s nowhere they haven’t looked. There’s nothing more they can investigate,” Lottie explained. “We don’t want to own that cabin anymore.”

“Kit murdered Marcela in there,” Y/N said. “Her murderous ex-boyfriend is running around somewhere because no one investigated that cabin thoroughly enough.”

“Selling it doesn’t mean they are going to stop investigating Marcela’s case, amorzinho,” Davi pointed out.

“We don’t… We still don’t know if Kit did it,” Lottie mumbled. “It was most likely him, but there could have been someone else who killed Marcela, Y/N.”

“Marcela’s body hasn’t been found, there’s no trace of Kit’s blood or remains on that property. That murderer is on the loose, something inside that cabin can tell us he killed her, I am sure of it.”

“Y/N, Kit hasn’t been seen since the murder either. Maybe he was killed, too,” Lottie said.

“Mum, Kit was a rubbish person, why are you sticking up for him?” Y/N groaned, running her hands over her face.

“We decided, Y/N,” Davi mumbled, rubbing his daughter’s back. “It’s happening.”

That was all Y/N needed to hear. She took her plate in one hand and the glass with water her mother had made her in another, and she walked straight past everyone in the living room and up to her room. She felt like a child stomping past everyone like that, but she just needed to be with her thoughts. There was absolutely no way they were selling that cabin. Not that cabin. Y/N was sure there was evidence in there somewhere, the police and the investigators had just not looked thoroughly enough. That was all. And if they had done a shite job, well… that just meant Y/N had to do it for them. She had to go to that cabin and look for herself once and for all. After all, who else would? It did not seem like anyone cared anymore.

NEXT UPDATE: Sunday, 21th March, 9PM GMT!

Huge thanks to my AMAZING beta readers! 🏛️ @aileenacoustic 🏛️ @devil-in-bw-the-sheets 🏛️ @sunflowerstache 🏛️ @fromyourstrulyh 🏛️

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