#I never had any Bible studies. I went on studies. I got a study shoved off on me when I was eighteen because no one liked her | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

fan-goddess · 6 months

Note

Hello my love!! For your kinktober event, could I request modern!Aemond with religious guilt?? 👁️🫦👁️

Authors Note: Oooh I will definitely try for you baby! I don’t know much about the topic of religion due to me being raised in a non-religious household, but I will certainly try my best!

I’ve made merged Christianity and the religion of the seven together and I talk about religion a lot in this, but like I said I don’t know a lot about the topic, so if I get any certain terminology wrong or anything like that, please don’t hesitate to let me know so I can try and do my best to correct myself and add it into the one-shot! I will not be offended at all!

Warnings: Religious guilt, m masturbation, blasphemy, a lot of religious guilt, sort of religious trauma maybe???, lying to a priest, most likely incorrect quotes from the bible, I think I got Adam and eves story wrong on that last bit, (if I miss anything like I know I probably will or if just you want me to add anything let me know!”

Taglist: @valeskafics, @sofiyathecunt , @marvelgirl123 , @sylasthegrim, @mochi-rose, @humanpurposes, @watercolorskyy, @blue-serendipity, @omgbrcat

Please read the authors note before reading if you haven’t already!

Ever since Aemond could remember, it had been customary for him and his family to go to church every Sunday, without any arguments.

Each time Aegon, Helaena and himself would be dressed in their Sunday bests, which all held some variation of green in them, and greet the pastor with only pure respect.

His mother though also expected him and his siblings to go into the confession box, and confess their sins weekly to the pastor.

One time when Aemond was seven, he wanted an extra cookie after dinner, but his mother has said a firm no and told him off. However, ignoring his mothers advice, Aemond decided to climb onto the counter later that evening to sneak another from the tin, even when his mother said no.

When she found him, she smacked him three times on his rear with her hand for a punishment and when Sunday came about, she all shoved him inside the confession box, where he was forced to confess his sins to the man on the other side.

The moment stayed with him for years. It imbedded something inside of him. A fear of god. A fear of those sins the pastor would preach about confessing over.

That fear at the current moment seemed to be very directed at you. It had been years since the cookie incident, as he was a college boy now. A man even. Studying the philosophical and physical history of the world.

He thought they were safe subjects to pick to satisfy his ever hungry mind. Yet the safety vanishes when he locked eyes on you in a gorgeous light blue summer dress one innocent morning.

The straps were thinner than the dresses he’d seen before, and the one you wore went well above your knees, stopping closer to the middle of your upper thighs.

When you crossed your legs during class, Aemond had seen so much skin that he practically felt lightheaded at the sight, his fist curling so much his knuckles turned white from how tighty he clenched them.

He could feel the sinfulness of his thoughts curling up into one large glutinous monster begging for scraps.

The thoughts of being with you as a married couple do. Him coming home to you where you would greet him at the door, pregnant with his child. Taking you on his and your wedding night on the bed, naked as the day you were born.

It made his head spin dreadfully. As he’d never even spoken to you before that day, let alone noticed you. But maybe, maybe this was some sort of test by the seven? A temptation he must resist to prove himself faithful to what he believes.

The thought comes to him that night as he fucks his fist to the thought of you.

Aemond had never done so before. It never felt right thinking about the sinful women online who paraded their bodies for the world. Yet why did it feel so good when he thought of you?

The thought stayed with him constantly over the couple months. He’d see you in class. Now devoted to sitting behind you when possible to get a glimpse of you where you couldn’t see him.

Only his plan to stay in the dark didn’t go to plan. When one Sunday after church, and his family’s eating dinner together, he gets a text from an unknown number on his phone.

His eyebrow raised on its own in surprise, and as he texts asking who it, and gets an swift answer back not even a minute later, he can feel his heart practically going into cardiac arrest. Because it’s your name that responds to his question.

Aemond doesn’t answer your question though till early next morning. It had felt strange to text you that day. For him to talk to this temptation of his on a holy day. So he waited for it to turn 00:01 so the weighing on his conscious would leave him for now.

And when he saw your text the next morning agreeing on the time, the strange feeling that blooms in his chest gets pushed back as much as it could.

Yet the feeling only came back even quicker and harsher when he met you in the library that day.

His hands would find themselves clenching by his side whenever you folded your arms in annoyance, and his eyes would find themselves drawn to your accentuated boobs. His nails would dig into his palms so harshly a couple times Aemond felt as though he needed to check for fresh blood. Yet even if he did draw blood, he wouldn’t care. It was his penance for his sins.

When you finished the homework, he can remember the feeling of your body on his as you hugged him suddenly. Too shocked and surprised to even think about hugging you back. Not that he felt like he even deserved it in the first place.

“Thank you so much Aemond! I seriously was thinking I was gonna fail this on my own! How can I make it up?” You asked, looking up at with shining eyes.

“You don’t need to do anything for me. I was just being a good classmate.” Aemond learnt the hard way as a child to not bring up anything to do with religion when this sort of stuff came up.

“Are you sure? It doesn’t need to be big! You could make me give you another hug if you wanted? Or I could maybe bake you something? Seriously if you don’t want anything now I’ll probably end up doing all these things trying to make it up to you!” You beg, your eyes looking unusually stern at him.

He feels torn.

On the one hand, he feels as though if he took anything in return, he will be seen by the gods as being eager to be righteous. In the holy book, it was said "Be careful not to do your acts of righteousness' before men, to be seen by them.” There is always the possibility that this is one of your tests. Testing his willingness and eagerness for recognition from the gods.

But there is a sense of greed within him that urges for him to accept this temptation. A horrible greedy think that wants to take and take and take until there is nothing left.

It’s a horrible war inside of him. But in the end, the devil has his arm locked tightly.

“Fine. I’ll take a hug or something.” It’s said with so little emotion, and yet when he feels your arms around him the warmth in his chest reminds him of the flames of hell.

Where he belongs after what he did that night.

That night, Aemond held his erect cock in his hand and thrusted into it until his hot seed spilled all over his stomach. It felt sinful as when he was fondling himself, only images of you filled his head. The feeling of your warmth as you held him earlier that day fresh in his head as he couldn’t contain himself.

It felt so wrong afterwords, and yet whilst he was on the verge of cumming, the thought of you being there whilst he did this and helping him to complete himself was what sent him over the edge. And afterwards, the shame hit him hard.

He confessed it all when he went to confession that Sunday, and yet the pastor did little to help him achieve the advice he wanted. The penance in Aemonds mind was not enough.

Aemond remembers what he said to the man well. “Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It’s been one week since my last confession, and I have been lead to temptation. I have been thinking of a person who belongs not to the church, and I have been thinking of her sexually. The thoughts do not stop father, how do I make the temptations stop?”

“My son,” The priest began, “The sins you tell me of I have seen before. Please, tell this woman of your thoughts so you can confess to her of your challenge, and in the meantime, pray to the gods for forgiveness every night before then. Give thanks to the Lords and ladies for They are good.”

Aemond hated to respond and end this moment, but he couldn’t stop the automatic response. “Their mercy endures forever.”

“Your sins are forgiven. Go in peace.”

Aemond was not in peace, and if anything the war inside of him was as hardening as ever.

“Thanks be to the Gods…” Aemond murmurs before leaving and shutting the door behind him.

Aemond that night sins again. And again the next night, and even the night after that. Aemond fists his hard cock and cums to the thought of your body every night till his next confession, where Aemond for the first time in his life lies to his priest about his sins. He does not mention that he never talked to you about him fucking himself to the thought of you, even when the priest mentions it, asking Aemond whether he has asked for your forgiveness. The lie felt like tar on his tongue when he uttered yes.

Everything within him in fact felt like there was a war inside him, a war that raged between the good and the bad.

When he talks to you innocently enough asking if you wanted some more help with the subject, Aemond makes use of each syllable you say and how you say it to complete himself later that day.

It’s sinful, it’s wrong, and yet it feels so fucking right when he does it.

One night whilst Aemond reread his worn down bible, he got to the section of Adam and Eve and though with a sick thrill that he was Adam, and you were his Eve. He was living in innocent bliss whilst you tried to tempt him with your apple of sins.

Aemond reads the verse thoroughly, and in the place of Adam and Eves faces he sees his and your own. It’s a horrible thing, but he imagines the scenario of you tempting him under the apple tree while his hand is on his cock.

Your back is to the tree, and Aemond is taking what is his from you whilst you moan at the feeling. Him and you experiencing pleasure and desire for the first time in yours’ lives and you can’t get enough of it as you whine and moan for more.

He even imagines afterwards, when him and you wonder earth whilst your stomach is swollen with his babe. It’s what makes him spill himself all over his stomach and hand, and what makes him realise what a sinner he is.

He will never tell you, he will never tell his priest, and Aemond is certain he will never tell the Gods on what he has done. Yet he doesn’t have to, for the Gods are omnipresent and omniscient.

They already knows where he belongs.

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super-cosmic-library · 11 months

Text

Part 4

part 3, part 2, part 1, ao3

“His dad literally tried to shove me into a locker, Chris,” Eddie whined as he washed the rest of the homemade avocado facemask off his face. “He was such a cliché bully, it was boring. And Steve looks almost exactly like him, but somehow I’m turned on by him? Am I actually insane?”

Chrissy rolled her eyes. Eddie had been going on about Steve nonstop since they dropped him off. At first, it was cute to see her best friend all flustered by his crush, but after a nearly thirty-minute monologue about the guy’s ass while the two did their end-of-week skincare routines, she was ready to change the subject.

“You need a drink?” Chrissy hollered from the kitchen, taking a can of La Croix from the fridge for herself. It filled her with warmth every time she saw them in there. She knew Eddie kept those drinks in there just for her. Neither of the men who lived there drank the stuff.

“Yes, please. God, I’m famished.”

She grabbed an already open bag of blood and shut the door behind her.

She’d known her best friend was a vampire for a long time. She had kind of figured it out when they started hanging out her junior year and she’d realized he had been a senior since she began high school. She didn’t know what the teachers thought, but she’d reasoned that there was no way someone could go through senior year that many times and not just drop out altogether. There had to be a bigger reason.

She took Eddie’s favorite mug—a plain white one with the words “World’s Foxiest Grandma” written in black and a picture of Garfield in a curly grey wig, a green knit shaw, and pink readers on it—off the rack on the wall and poured it half full with blood. He never needed much more for a feeding.

She placed what little remained in the bag back in the fridge, then passed the mug over to Eddie as he entered the kitchen, fresh-faced and mischievous. Although, he almost always had a mischievous glint in his eye. It was a practically permanent fixture.

She cracked open her sparkling water as he took a long sip from his mug.

“Remind me to never skip feeding ever again,” he said, licking blood from his upper lip.

She shook her head, unimpressed that a man his age struggled with taking basic care of himself. “How you’ve been able to keep yourself alive for so long is beyond me.”

“Wayne.”

“You’re a grown-ass man, and you let your brother take care of you?” Chrissy didn’t get to swear at home or anywhere else her mom might hear of it, so she reveled in doing so in the privacy of the trailer.

“What can I say? My brother is my keeper, or whatever the fuck they teach in Sunday school.”

“The fact that you know that much is impressive,” she said, vaguely remembering something like that from her own years of Sunday morning bible classes.

“Excuse you, I read my Bible every day and go to church on Sundays.”

“I find that hard to believe. You’d burst into flames if you set foot in a church, and that’s not even because of the whole vampire thing. That’s just a you thing.”

Eddie grinned wickedly. “You flatter me.”

She gave his shoulder a good shove, and he cackled in response.

Eddie threw a bag of popcorn in the microwave and started rifling through the cabinets for any other junk foods that tickled his fancy. The first time they had a “girl’s night,” Chrissy had been amazed by the abundance of junk food the Munsons had. She knew people bought things like snack cakes and potato chips, otherwise, why would stores stock them? However, because her pantry had always been filled with dried fruits, rice cakes, and almonds for snacks, she thought that was how it was for everyone. This thought had only been reinforced by her friends on the squad having very similar pantries, at least from what she saw when she went to sleepovers and study sessions at their houses.

Her mother had spent years drilling into her head how bad junk food was for her health. Growing up, the only times she ever got to have dessert were when she went to her grandma’s house. Even then, it was only one oatmeal raisin cookie after dinner. She was never allowed to eat cake at her classmates’ birthday parties. She didn’t even get to eat ice cream–only frozen yogurt with fresh fruit toppings. And afterward, her mom would force her to go on runs with her to burn off the calories.

So when Eddie first started offering her snacks when she came over, she was hesitant, to say the least. Of course, she was worried about what would happen to her figure if she ate even a single Oreo. How could she not be, after being drilled on the dangers of processed foods? But more than that, she was scared of how her mother might react if she found out Chrissy had eaten something that contained trans fats. And she would know it, right? Her mom would be able to smell the high fructose corn syrup on her breath, right?

Chrissy about damn near had a panic attack the first time she accepted an Oatmeal Cream Pie from Eddie. It was made with oatmeal. It had it in the name! It should have been healthy, right? But her body had betrayed her after she finished half of it. It wasn’t used to eating something that had more than three ingredients listed on the package. So as her stomach cramped, all she could think about was how disappointed her mother would be.

Chrissy had contemplated going to the bathroom to force herself to throw up. She knew bulimia was dangerous, so she only did it on occasion and only when she had access to a toothbrush. However, she could make an exception. Especially, she felt as bad as she had.

She hadn’t realized she was crying until Eddie asked her what was wrong.

There was something about him that made her feel safe. Like she could be herself around him and talk without a filter, and he wouldn’t judge her or talk behind her back about it. It was something she noticed during their first interaction and the feeling only grew stronger the more they became friends.

That night, she’d broken down and confessed her tumultuous relationship with food–something she had never done aloud. Eddie had sat there silently and listened as she poured out her heart. All of the not gettings and the not wantings and all of the instant regrettings. It left her feeling exposed and scared, though not because of what his reaction to all of it might be but because of what these issues she struggled with might mean about her.

When she had finished, he’d tried his best to comfort her. He had tried to talk things out with her. It helped a little, but the problem was rooted so deep, it had taken months of patient encouragement and talking with Wayne about what an actual healthy diet could look like (and not the crap the women in her mom’s Facebook groups shared) to get to where she was now.

She knew she wasn’t “fixed.” She knew she would always struggle with food to some extent. But now she could eat a slice of veggie pizza for dinner and have Eddie-approved snacks and not have a meltdown afterward. After years of drowning in her mother’s trendy diets and daily exercise regimens, she finally felt like she could breathe.

Chrissy grabbed a bag of M&Ms and poured some into the metal popcorn bowl. If she left Eddie to do it, he would forget to put them in until after the popcorn, which meant they would lose precious time warming up under the heat of the popped kernels. And Chrissy liked them warm.

She padded over to the living room in her fuzzy penguin socks to connect her laptop to the Munsons’ shitty little TV and pull up YouTube.

“No, not this movie again,” Eddie groaned as the intro music to But I’m a Cheerleader filled the room.

“It’s a classic!” She gasped. “Do you hate classics?”

Eddie plopped down on the couch behind her, popcorn bowl resting in his lap. “Only when we’ve already watched them a million times.”

“It has not been a million times.” Chrissy sunk into the couch next to him.

The couch, like many other things in the Munson trailer, was much older than her. She would argue that those things were also much more well-loved than her, but that would start an unwinnable argument between the two of them.

It was one of those couches where the springs were kind of busted and the cushions could no longer keep their shape, so you felt like you were going to be swallowed up whenever you sat down. Then, when two people tried to sit on it, they would always end up tumbling to the center of the couch, all pressed up against each other.

The first time Chrissy ever visited the trailer, she made the mistake of trying to sit next to Eddie on it. She still swore (jokingly) that she had almost been crushed to death by him because of it.

Chrissy loved Eddie’s home because it was nothing like hers. Eddie and Wayne didn’t decorate to impress company as her mother had. They decorated with things that made them happy, like Wayne's hat and mug collections that were displayed along the ceiling of the living room or the framed and completed jigsaw puzzle hanging above Wayne’s sitting chair. It gave the place more character than the abstract paintings her mom had found at Home Goods. Ones that looked like they belonged in a hotel room rather than the house of a suburban family.

The Munsons’ furniture was practical and useful. The tables weren’t replaced because they were mismatched. The lamps were repaired when they broke. Pieces were thrifted and not in the way Chrissy’s mom “thrifted” things–by strolling through different discount stores or scrolling through Wayfair and Etsy. No, these things were found at Goodwill and the Salvation Army. Chrissy should know. When their box TV finally gave out, it was Chrissy and Eddie who spent all day scouring the local thrift stores in search of a new one–picking up clothes and other tchotchkes that caught their eyes and they went along.

The entire trailer was always clean; however, it was also constantly cluttered. This was primarily due to Eddie’s inability to focus on a single task, often setting things down the forgetting they existed. This led to half-painted minis and bottles of paint left on the coffee table. Campaign notes, unfinished homework assignments, and paper scraps of scribbled song lyrics stacked on the kitchen table. A can of hairspray sat next to the toaster. And dozens upon hundreds of guitar picks in the carpet, next to the kitchen sink, in the cupboards, on the bathtub ledge, behind the dryer, wedged between the couch cushions, and so many other places Chrissy couldn’t possibly begin to fathom. The space felt lived in. Unlike her own home, where unless the place was shining, sparkling, and spotless, it was considered a pigsty.

So, yeah, Chrissy preferred spending her time at her best friend’s home much more than she did at her own home.

As the montage of the campers “learning” traditional gender roles played, Chrissy pulled out her box of nail supplies. “What color this week.”

He took a contemplative sip from his mug. “I’m feeling blue.”

“Really?” She asked, setting aside the black nail polish she had been taking out for him. He usually only ever had his nails painted black. On one occasion, he wanted them blood red, but he spent the following days complaining about how bright they were until he finally picked all of the paint off.

“Yeah. Kinda want to switch things up.”

“And this has nothing to do with the blue sweater Steve wore tonight?”

“I am offended that you would accuse me of such behavior.”

“So it has nothing to do with Steve?”

“Absolutely not.” He plucked a midnight blue bottle of nail polish out of her carrying case. The color was so dark, it was nearly black, but there was a slight shimmer to it that one could tell it wasn’t. Maybe she had been wrong, she conceded.

She picked out a lime green color for herself and handed it to Eddie. The two slid down to sit on the floor, so they could use the coffee table to use as a workspace. Chrissy laid her hands palms down on a paper towel. Eddie uncapped the bottle and began to carefully brush the cool paint on her nails.

When they started doing each other’s nails, Chrissy had been surprised at how well Eddie was able to paint hers. Back when they were dating, whenever she asked Jason to help her with her left hand, he always bemoaned doing something so “girly” (his words). Then, he would do such a shit job at actually painting them, that most of the time she would have to scrub it off with nail polish remover and attempt to do it herself to slightly better results. Despite his attitude, she could tell that Jason had actually tried his best to help her out–his face twisting, tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth in concentration. It wasn’t some sort of attempt at weaponized incompetence, simply inexperience and shaky hands. Even though his complaining had made her feel small, she couldn’t fault him for not trying.

Eddie’s hands, by contrast, were meticulously still. She supposed it made sense due to all of the miniature Dungeons and Dragons figurines he enjoyed painting. He’d ensure the brush wasn’t overloaded with paint, then carefully apply each layer, swiping around her nail with his to collect any excess paint. Because he did this, her nails were always the ones to get painted first. That way, he wouldn’t get any brightly colored paint on his fresh dark nails.

“All joking aside, I’m glad that Steve was able to come tonight. He’s a fun guy. I like how he makes you light up.”

With his wild hair pulled up in a top bun, she was able to see his cheeks flush. “Shut up.”

“It’s true!” She laughed, careful not to jostle her hands. “I like seeing you happy.”

“Well, we should have him bring Buckley next time. How’s that sound, Chris?”

Chrissy turned tomato red. “I swear to god, Eddie.”

“What? What do you swear?” He challenged her.

“I’ll kill you.”

“Pfft,” he waved her off. “That’s an empty threat. You know I can’t die.”

“Then I’ll find a way to end you. Or maybe I’ll just lock you in a coffin and bury you alive. That way you’ll never get out.”

“Cold, Cunningham. Metal, but cold.”

“Thank you.” She grabbed a few pieces of popcorn with the hand Eddie hadn’t painted yet, and popped them in her mouth.

He watched her as she ate. He did that sometimes. It was a little strange, but she knew it came from a place of concern. He wanted to know that she was taking care of herself. Even though she sometimes wanted to shove his face away from her direction, she couldn’t fault him for worrying. She worried about him too.

She worried about what the people in their small-minded town would do if they found out what he was. She was well aware that people in her parents' circles believed with their whole hearts that things like demons and Halloween witches were real. She’d heard some of them rile themselves up by talking about burning witches alive like it was seventeenth-century Salem and not twenty-first-century Hawkins. She wasn’t sure what her parents thought of their friends' righteous rages, but the sheer fact of their keeping those friendships meant Chrissy had to sneak around if she wanted to be herself.

They didn’t know she was friends with Eddie Munson, let alone about their weekly girls’ nights. She let them think she was sleeping over at a teammate’s house. They didn’t know she was a lesbian, despite the rumors at school, or about the Tarot cards and crystals she kept under her bed. She knew that her parents loved her, even though they had a difficult time showing it. But she didn’t know if that love would change if they knew these things. She didn’t really want to know. She looked forward to the day she left for college and would be able to stop feeling like she was sneaking around all the time.

“Maybe we could invite Robin next time?” She said, timidly.

“Fuck yeah,” he pumped his fist in the air. “Mark my words, we are getting you a girlfriend.”

Chrissy giggled. She was really going to miss him when college started next fall.

Tag list:

@yourebuckingkiddingme @mickalaem @live-the-fangirl-life @mojowitchcraft @gregre369 @farfaras @loguine-linguine @spectrum-spectre @sidekick-hero @rozzieroos @steddieloverrr @hellion-child @ littlewildflowerkitten @ novacorpsrecruit @ rainbow-freckle @anaibis @ madigoround @ estrellami-1

#steddie #eddie munson #chrissy cunningham #platonic hellcheer #vampire eddie munson #Eddie Munson the boomer vampire

15 notes · View notes

maybe-your-left · 3 years

Note

ASK FRIDAY - CREATE A SCENARIO: roommates trope with Kylo

Due to some last minute room swapping and late registering Reader and Kylo end up in the same dorm but they're mad about it and hate each other (cue intense sexual tension)

Dorm room, Snowed in, evening time like 6

The heater/power has just gone out and Kylo knows a few ways to get warm...only if Readers up for it...

been working on this for FOREVER ANON.

I loved it!

Crushed

TW: NSFW, dirty talk, dom/sub vibes, exhibitionism, kinda fluff, Kylos not that nice and is an entitled man.

Oh yeah, you fuckin’ slut.

Yes-Yes-Yes!

‘M gonna cum all over your fucking tits.

You slapped the wall next to your bed, hard.

“Can you guys keep it down! It’s 1 in the morning!”

Muffled voices came through the paper-thin wall, sounding like bodies moving to the floor. Good, you thought, at least he will get rug burn from the shitty carpet, might keep him from fucking everything that moves.

A hard knock on the wall pulled you from that thought.

“Go read your fucking Bible! I’m trying to get my dick wet!”

“Please!”

“Why don’t you go get fucked!?”

Some giggled came through next, followed by more muffled whispering. You whined loudly, trying to ignore the sounds of him fucking whatever bimbo your dormmate had in his lair. Shoving your face into your pillow, muffling your tears and wails.

You turned on your TV, drowning out the final act of his performance. Fingers poised over your keyboard to file another noise complaint with the RA… not like they ever helped you. The last time they intervened they left with a black eye and broken nose, shrugging for you to sort it out yourselves.

A door slammed shut, you let out a sigh of relief.

At least he wasn’t a cuddler.

You climbed out of bed, tip-toeing to your door to take a peek of whatever slut found her way into his room this evening. The special lady was a new cinderella every fucking week, he didn’t even try to know their names. You heard him admit it once in class to his friends, saying he called them all ‘baby’ so he wouldn’t have to learn.

You peeked out the door, blinking from the harsh fluorescent lighting of your dingy dorm halls. The walls were a screaming white, yellowing from years of shoddy cleaning. You tried to clean your room when you first came to school, but it was too disgusting.

A non-smoking dorm, ha. Everyone smoked, especially your neighbor.

“Shouldn’t you be in bed creeper?”

You jumped at his voice, exhaling harshly through your nose. You steeled your features, caught red-handed looking for his latest prey. Crossing your arms defensively, not that there was anything to hide. You were in your ratty pj’s, they were on sale at Old Navy a few years ago and you never threw them away even though they barely fit anymore.

“If you’re so interested in being a cuck,” he grinned at you, flashing his crooked teeth, “I would love to have you over for an encore, I’m sure you’d love to watch me in action.”

“Buzz off, Ren.”

“Ooo, angry tonight,” he smirked, now stepping out of his door frame. You choked a little at his appearance, no shirt on, basketball shorts barely hanging off his hips. Dangerously low, seriously, if he took one wrong move they would be on the floor. His chest was covered in fresh scratch marks, no doubt from his latest victim, a sheen of sweat glistening under the lights.

Fuck, he was good-looking.

But he was terrible.

“Ahem,” he cleared his throat, daring you to stare back at him.

You gulped, caught again. You were better than that, you were just tired from being kept up since ten with his version of ‘love-making’.

“My eyes are up here cupcake,” he stepped forward. Pushing you back into your doorframe, almost inside your sanctuary. “If you ever decide you want to break your vow of chastity, I’m right next door.”

“Step away from me, Kylo.”

He cocked his brow, “I love when you’re mean, come on. Let’s see if kitty has claws.”

You bared your teeth, fists balling under your underarms, “Not even if you were the last man on Earth.”

He shrugged, backing away from you.

“Deal, bitch.”

You moved to shut your door on him, “Go away.”

“See you in class, bright and early.”

------

When you imagined leaving for college, it was different.

Saying goodbye to your parents, packing your car with whatever small valuables you owned. Determined to make a name for yourself all the way across the country, no friends or family, truly on your own. You imagined everything would be different, the dorm would be filled with new and friendly faces.

RA’s greeting you as you parked outside, giving you a tour and maybe a group lunch with all your floormates. Getting to know each other, maybe even going to some new-student orientation event they planned for the newbies.

Classes were smooth, acing all your major requirements. Professors were kind and ready to help you at any moment, letting your artistic vision flow through your body every morning with your 8 AM yoga class.

But no.

Instead, you registered late.

Your classes all at the worst times, bright and early.

Second rate dorm, COED even… smelly dudes between your single bedroom which would be better defined as a broom closet. Burping and fucking on both sides of you while you tried to study. Your major requirement classes were boring and filled with pretentious art students who thought they were the next Picasso.

Professors didn’t care if you lived or died, only focusing on the bell schedule because they couldn’t control what the freshmen did in their classes.

Your options for clubs were limited, either join a sport or a cult.

And worst of all.

Kylo Ren.

He was your neighbor, signed up late just like you. You actually arrived at the same time, he pushed you down on your ass in the lobby so he could be checked in first. Calling you a clumsy bitch, only for you both to be handed keys to the same floor. Right next to each other, sharing a flimsy wall.

On top of that, he was an art major like you.

And since he registered late, he was in almost every class.

Even yoga!

He took your mat the first day, leaving you in tears in the hallway. He apologized afterward, handing it back to you before storming off to be with his beefy upper-class friends. Any moment he could, Ren would humiliate you. Trying to push your buttons, whistling at you when you had to cross the hallway to the showers. Tripping you when you had your hands full, making fun of you for hanging out with your sparse group of friends.

And when he found out you were annoyed with him making noise, he latched onto it.

One week he decided to recite the entire Phantom of the Opera, just because you mentioned in class that you loved that play.

He did every part, even the musical scores, you could’ve sworn he did it with a megaphone on the wall, just to spite you.

Your parents told you ‘he just likes you, he’s a boy.’

No!

That’s not how people express feelings, at least not healthy people.

Your alarm clock blared on your nightstand, you didn’t sleep so it didn’t bother you. Letting out a heavy sigh of defeat, Ren ruined another night for you, a night you’d never get back. Of precious, precious sleep that you desperately deserved.

Slipping on some plum leggings and a sports bra. No one gave a fuck about your outfit in your early morning class, as long as you went with clothes on. You popped on your headphones, trying to drone out the noise of Ren’s music through the wall. He liked to blast some god-awful music every morning.

Today, it was an old Black Veil Brides album!

You made it out of the dining hall, snatching a muffin for breakfast. Smiling at some guys you knew, waving at your friend Rose as you stormed off to the gym. The cold chill of Winter biting at your nose, it was too cold to not wear a full outfit. But there was no time, with Ren keeping you up all night and classes back to back, you didn’t have time to fuck around with dressing up.

Ren ran in after you, laughing with his friends. Big nose all red from the frost, his hair looked frozen to his scalp, probably showered beforehand. You rolled out your mat, trying to stretch while he bragged about the pussy he got last night. Making a big show of your complaining, saying you were desperate to fuck him based on your whining.

You rolled your eyes when he planted next to you, “Good morning, you ran out in a hurry.”

“I didn’t want to be late,” you sneered, not giving him the time of day, still stretching your back into child's-pose.

“How are we supposed to walk together if you run away from me, cupcake?”

You scoffed, shooting him an icy glare. Despite him grinning at you like the happiest man on Earth, god, you needed to stop giving him a reaction. That would shut him up if you didn’t give him the attention he is clearly lacking from his parental figures.

“Good morning class,” your teacher greeted you calmly, “I hope you’re all doing well. As you all know, this next week is finals week, I’m offering makeup classes to those of you who need to make up some credit hours. We are also hosting some meditation if you need time to relax between classes.”

Next to you, Ren leaned towards your mat, setting his hand right behind your back. You didn’t have to open your eyes to know he was hovering. Ready to devour you like a piece of meat.

“Hey,” he chuckled.

You stayed quiet, pushing back into his arm so he would move. Ren stayed put, purring in your ear, “Did you sleep well?”

“Move off my mat, Ren.”

He smirked down at you, “You seem stressed, do you want me to help by fucking your brains out.”

You shot off your mat, effectively knocking him onto his back. Laughing loudly in a relatively silent room of students trying to center themselves. He grinned from the floor, hands up in the air in defense, “I’m just offering to help you, Jesus!”

“Just,” you pointed in his face, hair falling out of your ponytail. Everyone was staring at you, even your instructor. Shocked you were yelling, you barely spoke in class, at the scariest person in your class.

“Just, leave me alone.”

------

Ren avoided you for the rest of the week, mostly.

Still had his nightly fuck-more subdued though, you had on noise-canceling headphones to try and focus on studying. There were still so many classes to get to, and you wouldn’t be finished until the day before Winter break… you were desperate to get this over with.

You missed your family, the plane ticket itself cost you a whole month of meals.

Of course, you would do fine in your classes, it was just the motivation to get there. Every morning you glared at Ren when he greeted you in yoga, still standing next to you like a menacing shadow.

This morning was no different, only you skipped class to study in the library. Bundled up in your winter coat, long black scarf, hair in a lazy braid, and thermal leggings on. The wind had picked up last night, bringing on an ice storm that wasn’t expected until late next week. You walked on treacherous sidewalks, dodging all the other students who were seeking the warmth of the library.

You settled inside, sprawling your books and laptop on an old desk. Grabbing out a few sketch pads so you could finish up some pieces that were due in a couple hours. Most of your finals in art were ‘unconventional’ which meant the professor wanted to see what you were motivated to work on during the year.

For yours, you had decided to draw the people you saw on campus.

Studying their faces, mannerisms, languages while they were in an organic environment. It was a great piece, and one of your professors was very interested in showcasing it in a show. You were proud, it wasn’t large but it was important for you and you wanted it to be perfect before turning it in.

Your pastels were spread out, fingertips smudged and stained from charcoal, a few lines on your face and brow from forgetting about the streaks. There was this one person you couldn’t finish, it was one of your friends from last week. She was laughing and holding a drink, the expression wide and full of emotion but it was hard for you to capture without her being there.

But you steeled yourself, you weren’t leaving this spot until you finished her.

“You smudged that dude's face,” a low voice rumbled behind you. A finger pointing down at the top left corner, “Stop-don’t touch it.”

You moved to swat the hand away, not wanting some random guy to ruin your piece with their grubby fingers. Recentering yourself, he wasn’t smudged, he was just in the corner so it looked like it wasn’t finished… what did he know, anyway?

“You didn’t draw me?”

Now you stopped, why you didn’t recognize the timbre of his voice was ridiculous.

You let out a long sigh, “Please, don’t touch the canvas, Kylo. It’s not ready, yet.”

The chair that housed your backpack slid out next to you, your things tossed on the ground carelessly before Ren sat. You scooted away from him, he smelled like he just showered. Judging by his wet hair you were probably right… “What are you doing?”

He shrugged, fiddling with one of your notebooks. Flipping through pages carelessly, “I don’t know-you weren’t in yoga so.”

“So,” you gave him a weird look, “You stalked me to the library?”

“There’s no reason to go to yoga if I can’t bother you,” he flashed a smile, dropping it slightly when he saw you weren’t playing back with him.

Silence fell over you both, the only noises the heat kicking in around the scuffling of boots and shoes to face the weather again.

“I like your piece,” he gestured to your work, “For drawing, right?”

You nodded stiffly, not enjoying his friendly tone. Like he wasn’t your demon neighbor who made it his job to annoy you and had for the past four months of your life. Ren shifted again, now leaning on the table with his cheek resting on his forearm. Looking at you with wide eyes, you never took the time to look at his face.

He had very large eyes that betrayed his emotions. Swimming with flecks of auburn, gold, and some streaks of green, blinking slowly as he studied your canvas. You looked away from him, trying to ignore the urge to draw them, how his long lashes rivaled your own. How his skin was freckled with beauty marks, creases from frowning lined his forehead and nose. You could even make out his stubble, some pieces he must’ve missed the last time he shaved.

You went back to drawing, no longer focusing on it. Just trying to understand what was happening, your tormentor was a foot away from you. Breathing calmly like a cat laying in a patch of sun. Hunched over the edge, torso too long to rest like a normally proportioned human being, had he always been this big?

“Wanna get coffee before class?”

“Huh?”

You blinked slowly, not registering that he spoke to you.

Ren leaned off, letting out a big yawn and scratching the back of his neck.

Yes, definitely a cat.

“Do you want to get coffee,” he stared blankly, “Before we head to English?”

You looked down at your mess, then back up at him. Shaking your head softly, voice quiet as a mouse, “No-thank you.”

He exhaled harshly, “I’m not gonna burn you with it, it’s just coffee.”

“No, I’m fine,” you said firmer, “I wanna work on this some more.”

Ren stayed still, probably trying to think of a way to get you to agree with him. You had known him long enough to know he doesn’t like people disagreeing with him. Didn’t have to be a college graduate to see that the man had issues with control, hence terrorizing you all semester. You didn’t want to offer him an olive branch, because he was just doing it as a joke. Probably, waiting until you were calm around him to do something cruel.

You went back to drawing, listening to him get up and leave you. Mumbling something under his breath about ‘trying to be nice’ before walking out. You shook off the awkwardness, not willing to break down and let him do something nice for you, just because he didn’t ruin your final piece didn’t mean he wouldn’t do something in the future.

The day was still young.

------

Oddly enough, Ren didn’t bother you that evening.

Not even a door slam!

You almost thought he was dead, but you saw him in the hallway when you were walking to the bathroom. Wrapped in your robe, caddy in hand, he didn’t whistle or try to touch your ass like he normally did. Just a stale smile before closing himself back in his room.

Not to waste the precious quiet, you went to work packing your bags for your trip tomorrow. Deciding to do a quick load of laundry, your hall was almost empty, so no one would be down there while you waited.

Piling up your hamper, you threw your pj's and slippers on. Remembering to grab a blanket and your laptop so you could hang out down there while you waited.

Your friends back home were all excited to see you, ready to hear all about your time away. The boys you met, friends you made, classes, all that. So excited to get home and see your cat, Gremlin, he was all alone without you. Your mom sent you pictures earlier of him curled in your blankets, saying that he knew you were coming home soon.

Maybe next Fall you could get an apartment, you didn’t want to leave him for another year.

A washing machine door slammed shut next to you, causing you to jump from your perch atop your own. Faced with Ren, who was doing his laundry in his pjs, or his version of pjs. Giving you another tight-lipped smile before leaning against the far wall. Yawning loudly before sliding down the wall to sit on the floor.

You ignored him, turning back to your laptop that was playing a crime documentary. Texting some friends to keep your mind from wandering to Ren and why he was in such a mood.

“Are you leaving tomorrow?” Ren called from his wall.

You pretended to not hear him, refocusing on the documentary, there was something very interesting happening and you weren’t about to miss how they found the killer's shoe prints in the mud just because Ren was trying to talk to you.

Then something was thrown at you, and it smelled awful.

“Oh-my-god!”

You shot off the washing machine, throwing down the offending garment. Ren was laughing loudly, “Chill out! It was just an old shirt!”

“How old was it?!”

He smiled at you from the ground, propping an elbow on his kneecap. One leg stretched out on the tile, you tried to regain a sense of calm, he was just messing with you again. Just take some deep breaths… in-out-in

“Are you leaving tomorrow, after our final?”

You let out your deep breath, sitting back on the washer. “Yeah,” you paused your show since mister meanie wanted to have a tea party. “I have to get to the airport right after.”

He hummed, “Same.”

The washer beeped loudly, echoing in the otherwise empty room. Ren watched you hop off, fixing your shorts which definitely rode up too much. Trying to not flash him your underwear as you bent to move your clothes to a dryer. You cursed when a sock fell from your pile, great.

“How come we’ve never fucked?”

Now all your clothes were on the floor.

Along with Ren, who was staring at you like you were an art exhibit.

You dragged your clothes back to the washer. There was no way you were finishing now that they touched the dirty floor, no one cleaned down here and just because it looked clean didn’t mean-

A whistle, “You good over there?”

“Yup.”

“Okay,” you heard him stretch, popping his joints as he lifted off the floor. You could feel his breath on the back of your neck as he closed in. Almost touching you, no escape, “As I was saying, how come you’ve never let me steal your virginity?”

You scoffed, “I am not a virgin.”

Ren pressed into you, pushing you against the washer now. Grinding his hips into your own, you squirmed, trying to dispel every fantasy flooding your brain. Every night you spent listening to him through the wall, imagining just once that it was you. If he weren’t such a monster, you would have gladly laid on your back and let him do whatever he wanted.

“Nothing?”

You took a deep breath, placing both palms on the top of the washer. Biting your lip as you silently pleaded for him to let you go, but also continue. You could smell his cologne from this close, how it complimented him so well. Mixing in with his dark aura, you wanted nothing more than to spin around and…

Soon you were doing just that, but not on your own violation.

Ren had his hands grasping your hips, thumbs slipping under the fabric of your t-shirt to caress your soft skin. Lips capturing your own, you froze in his hold. Unsure of what to do, a part of you wanted to scream and smack him, but the other part loved the smell of his toothpaste.

He relaxed when you relaxed, your lips still awkwardly locked together. Not opening and allowing for more, but not moving away either. You stared at him, startled to see him looking back at you. Pulling back slightly, you watched his face chase yours. Bringing your lips together a few more times, kissing at the seam.

You felt his tongue flick for entry, trying to pry your mouth open so he could explore. When you didn’t move he finally huffed in annoyance, “I know it’s your first kiss, but you’re supposed to open your mouth.”

You groaned, bringing both hands to cradle his cheeks. There was no way he was going to make fun of you, he initiated this so.

Ren made a muffled noise when you pressed your lips back together. Probably of shock and surprise, because, no. This was not your first kiss, not even your fourth or fifth kiss. Working your tongue skillfully into his mouth, you moaned softly at his taste. Just like you imagined… not that you put much stock into this but… it was wonderful.

Bringing your fingers to the nape of his neck, tugging on his dark brown hair. Just like you always wanted to, whenever he walked past you with it tied in a bun you dreamt of tearing through it. Ren returned your affection in kind, his left hand moving to the small of your back. Fingers dancing under the waistband of your pajama bottoms.

You heard him swear when he felt the lace underneath, nestled between your cheeks. Ren slid a hand over the globes of your ass, moving his hips in time with his tongue. Tasting every inch of your mouth, even growling in approval when you sunk your teeth into his bottom lip.

Petting and groping each other against the washing machines, the sound of you swapping spit barely heard over the rumble of your clothes. Ren had gotten sick of grinding against your hip bone, pulling away from you for a moment. Shushing your pathetic whimpers, he hooked the hand not cupping your ass behind your left knee.

Hiking it over his hip, opening your legs up. Allowing him to assault your center with his straining erection, oh you could picture it now. How easy it would be to just let him slip inside you.

Right here, in the laundry room.

*Beep*

You pulled back roughly, barely able to unsuction your lips from Rens' own. A string of spit connecting your kiss-bitten lips, he looked at you with pleading eyes. Grinding himself against you harder, pulling a few soft mewls from your throat.

“I need to switch my clothes,” you croaked.

He nodded, shakily setting your limb back on the floor and backing away. You watched through your own lust-filled state as he trembled. Walking back to his far wall, a hand cupping his cock through his sweats. Your throat clicked as you took in a much-needed breath, doing what you said you would.

Setting them in the dryer, all the more aware of his eyes watching your every move.

Not sparing him a glance when you sat back on the washer.

Turning on your laptop once again to watch your crime documentary.

Ignoring the throbbing between your legs, his deep breaths, and your shaking limbs.

------

The TV’s at the airport all said the same thing, “Record snowfall this winter, right before the holidays! Experts say that we will be lucky to keep power until it passes. Our friends on the west coast are enjoying a white Christmas, while we’re stuck in the North Pole.”

All flights have been grounded until further notice.

Stuck.

You could barely make it back to your dorm without crashing.

Bursting into tears several times when you realized you wouldn’t be home until it was over. Wouldn't be able to safely leave your dorm room until it passed, leaving you utterly alone.

You had emailed your RA letting him know your bad luck, he let the staff know you’d be there so they would have food and water running still.

But other than that, this was your holiday.

You slipped on the walk up to your room, sobbing loudly in the halls as you clutched your luggage. No going home, no seeing your friends or family, no Christmas dinner, no personal shower, no Gremlin to sleep on your face.

Collapsing on your bed, curling yourself in the multitude of pillows and blankets that adorned it. The room had shitty heating, the entire building had shitty heating. The entire month of December you’d been freezing, and no amount of personal heaters could fix this kind of cold.

You drifted off to sleep after crying for a few hours, letting your parents know what was happening. Setting alerts for earlier flights, anything you could do to get home. You were so tired in fact, that you slept through a power outage. Leaving the entire building to shut down, no backup generators.

And no heat.

It wasn’t until you felt yourself being lifted that you woke up to the commotion.

Squirming in the kidnappers' arms, limbs aching from freezing for a time in your bedroom. The window must’ve cracked open because it was much colder than when you arrived. Your attacker didn’t let you go, growling in your ear to be still.

Dragging you out of the building, towards a car you didn’t notice when you pulled in. With the snow swirling all around, it was a miracle they could see their own vehicle. You were thrown in the front seat, followed by your luggage tossed in the back. You stayed still, every time you moved it hurt, hypothermia. Common in the New England storms if you were foolish enough to be outside…

You about passed out when the driver's side door opened, Ren climbed in. Looking just as frozen as you, slamming the door shut and mumbling something as he started his car. You could’ve cried when the engine turned, heat blasting between the both of you.

“Hands,” his teeth chattered, holding his own out. He nodded for you to do the same, grasping your pink fingers between his own and blowing on them. “Power went out,” Ren took a shallow breath, “I was leaving and I saw your car. You were almost frozen to your bed, the window broke.”

“Th-thank you-u-u.”

Ren cringed at your fingers, slowly gaining back their normal color. “I tried to grab everything I could, like your backpack and luggage. But we can’t stay there, we’ll fucking freeze.”

You nodded, tugging your hands away to curl into your chest. Thankful that Ren had enough sense to grab blankets, stuffing them in your lap from the backseat. You thought about grabbing your phone, but you could barely make a fist so it would do you no good.

“My plane g-g-got ground-d-ed.”

Ren shivered, nodding sharply, “Mine too, my mom got me a hotel room not far from here to stay until the storm passes. So, I’m taking us there.”

“Okay.”

You didn’t say anything else, not wanting to distract him from the treacherous roads. Thank god he had a Jeep, or else you would’ve died. You couldn’t see more than ten feet ahead, less than that when you were on the highway out of the city.

Ren kept mumbling things like it’s okay, I’m sorry, I know it's cold, whenever you shivered and took in sharp breaths. You must’ve been out for a while, to get this bad. A quick look at the clock in his car said you’d been asleep for three hours, who knows what would’ve happened if he hadn’t noticed your car…

He helped you out, more carried you, towards the check-in desk. Too worried you would pass out in the car if he left you for too long, the front desk lady was quick and sweet. Making sure to send up extra blankets and pillows to your suite. Ren had you walk up with him, so he wouldn’t have to carry you and the luggage on separate trips.

You clutched his hand like a child, tight enough for his knuckles to turn white. But he was so warm, it’s all you could think about. All you wanted was to be warm, nodding blindly to whatever Ren said to do.

Plug your phone in, check.

Let him talk to your mom, check.

Draw a bath for you, check.

Climb in the bath with you, double-check.

It wasn’t until you were defrosted in the clawfoot tub that you realized you were naked with him.

Rens chest against your back, holding you like his life depended on it. Judging by his shaking, you both were probably suffering from acute hypothermia. You had been silent for so long your voice spooked him a little, “Thank you.”

He hummed into your hair, which was sitting on top of your head in a messy bun. “Are you okay?”

You nodded slowly, “Can we go lay down?”

“Yeah,” Ren hastily got out of the tub, draining it and wrapping you in plush towels. You were still too cold to blush from your nakedness, not how you pictured this going. You imagined you would finally give into him on some drunken party night, barely remembering his reaction to seeing you nude.

But now he had seen you half-frozen, forced to cradle you back to life.

------

You squinted from your cocoon, greeted by a dimly lit room.

One spare lamp on a dingy-looking nightstand, well it wasn’t terrible. It was better than your nightstand in your dorm room… where was your dorm room anyway?

Something vibrated behind you, followed by a heavyweight sprawling against your back.

You held your breath, you were in a hotel.

With a stranger.

“Shit,” you whispered.

Okay, you could wiggle out of here. You took a moment to study the room, there was the lamp from before, and some curtains on a metal rod in the far corner. If you managed to get out without being detected you could knock out the assailant.

“You smell so good.”

More weight settled on you, now you were trapped. This bear was closing in, who knows what happened while you were asleep! All you could remember was falling asleep at your dorm after the upsetting trip to the airport, then being dragged away.

Your fingers burning when you tried to use them, being shoved in a car…

Kylo.

“Kylo?!”

“Mhm.”

You threw your arms up, successfully throwing him off you and the covers. Your limbs screaming at the sudden movement, you were still suffering from the cold. Next to you, curled in a ball, totally catlike, was Ren.

A sleepy smile gracing his lips, hands curled under his cheek, and legs moving towards his chest, Like a child under a blanket. You gasped when you saw he was naked, “Fuck!”

You were too.

“What the fuck, Ren!?”

“Stop yelling,” you watched his hand bat his nose like an animal, “Come back, you were warm.”

You huffed, flailing off the bed in search of your bags.

Memories flooding back to you, he took you here after saving your life.

The bath.

Ugh, bad time to remember your kiss the night before.

Ren sat up in bed, rubbing his eyes and blinking slowly. You flushed red when you looked between his legs, shit. How does he walk around with that? Is that why he has bad posture? You choked on your spit when he spread his legs out.

Sprawling completely on the mattress like he wasn’t in a room with a stranger.

“Snow hasn’t stopped,” Ren yawned, snapping a hand and pointing between his legs, “Come back.”

“I’m not doing anything until you have clothes on.”

He rolled his eyes, now looking you up and down. Focusing on your bare tits, swinging around with your erratic movements. You watched him lick his lips, wagging his eyebrows, “Come on, don’t you want to sit back on the bed?”

You shook your head, crouching down to your bag. Trying to not flash him more of your goods, but that didn’t work. Not with him leaning to the side of the bed to make a show of him peeping on you.

A wolfish grin splitting his face, “You have a nice ass.”

“Can you stop,” you huffed, tugging on some sweats you found.

Ren made a pouting noise when you stood, pushing his bottom lip out while you threaded your arms through a t-shirt. You shivered a little-it was still freezing in the room. Probably from the weather, it sounded like it got worse… hopefully this place would keep power.

You looked back at the bed, Ren was still manspreading. One of his large paws crawling towards his cock, watching you with the same smirk. He let out a soft sigh when he touched himself, eyes momentarily shutting in bliss.

“Do you have to do that with me here?”

He cracked an eye open, “Do you have to be that far away?”

You scoffed, moving to the corner of the room. Shivering since you were near the window, you plopped down in the cheap armchair. Ignoring the sounds of his fist gliding along his cock, you tucked your feet under your body. Humming a tune to ignore the arousal growing between your legs, there was no way you were caving to him.

What kind of man does that with a complete stranger present!?

More importantly, why was it turning you on?

“Come here,” he whistled, you spared a glance at him. Blushing profusely at the sight, his cock was now fully erect. Standing tall and proud, tip flushed almost purple from want. You quickly looked away, trying to swallow down the drool that gathered in your mouth.

What would happen if you gave in?

Not like it would hurt you… he looked so delicious.

“If I come over there, what's gonna happen,” you whispered, determined to stay put.

With a deep breath, the mattress groaned under his weight, probably leaning back to get comfortable. He seemed to love you being there, watching him, or trying not to. Ren made a small non-committal scoff, “Whatever you want to happen, baby.”

“Don’t call me that, you know my name.”

“Meow.”

Your head snapped towards him, met with his grin. “Come on-you really want me to do this by myself?” he waved his cock, fist tight around the base. You rolled your eyes, training your eyes to focus on the least attractive part about him.

You were coming up empty, all you could stare at was his cock.

The prominent vein along the underside thrumming in time with his heartbeat. You could practically feel it along your tongue, rigid and stiff. Slowly, you stood from the chair, met with a soft whine from Ren. Eying your hungrily as you sauntered over, you planted a knee in the mattress.

Between his legs, which were spread obscenely wide, he licked his lips in anticipation.

“If I help you, are you going to be nicer to me?”

He nodded, chest taking in sharp breaths. You slowly leaned back on your heels, stripping your top off, despite him seeing you naked earlier. Surprised when he bit his bottom lip, watching you play with your tits, rolling them in the palm of your hand. Just to make him squirm a bit, “I’ll be nicer, whatever you want.”

“I’m really cold still,” you spoke softly, making sure to lean in close enough to graze his lips with your own before pulling away, “Can you help warm me up?”

“Yes,” Ren's hands shot out, kneading your flesh a few times. Debating to grasp your tits or the small of your waist, like a kid in a candy store. So many options, but you didn’t want to wait. If you were doing this, it would be about you.

“Eat me out.”

He stilled, cocking a brow, “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” you exhaled on his neck, being sure to drag your kitty claws along his chest. Briefly grazing his nipples, savoring the way he gasped. “Eat me out, if you make me cum, I’ll let you fuck me. Like the desperate slut you are.”

Ren scowled for a moment, nudging your face from his neck. Eyes dancing across your face before capturing your lips, moaning softly in your mouth, “I can make you cum so hard you’ll never want another man again.”

You placed a soft kiss, rolling onto your back dramatically. Splaying your legs wide, “If that's true, why do you fuck a different girl every week?”

He growled at you, actually growled.

Hands no longer soft in their quest to memorize your skin, instead Ren pinned your legs hard enough for them to pop. Making you squeal from the stretch, “How fast do you think I can make you cum? Hm?”

Before you could answer, he dove in.

Lips wrapping around your clit and suckling fast, tongue flicking out every few seconds. You were already bucking up to meet him, but his firm hold kept you flush. While his tongue began to lap thick stripes along the seam of your pussy. Briefly hooking the tip into your entrance, both of you moaning when he tasted your wetness.

“Shit-Kylo!”

“Mm,” his voice vibrated against your clit, continuing his assault until you choked on your spit. You buried your fingers in his hair, keeping him in that right spot. “I’m so fucking close,” you cried out, pleading his name over and over and over.

“You know,” he popped off, smacking his lips that were glistening with your cum, “I’d rather you cum on my cock.”

“Wait-”

Ren flipped you onto your chest, yanking your hips into the air. You barely had time to take a breath before he shoved his cock inside you. His breath hitched as he sank to the hilt, you groaned at the stretch. Now this, this you could get used to.

He pulled out slowly, you heard him swear under his breath. Leaving just the tip of his cock inside and ramming his hips into yours. Pulling a loud scream from your lungs, Ren chuckled at that. Pumping his cock at a rough pace, “Shh-you’re going to upset our neighbors.”

You huffed, cheap shot, angling your hips a little so his cock would rub up against your front wall. Moaning when he picked up the pace, skin slapping skin. Ren leaned over your form, planting a hand on the headboard to keep it from knocking. You weakly lifted your head, clenching at the sight of his knuckles turning white.

All you could do was sit and take it, revealing in the bliss you’d denied yourself for four months.

-------

Ren dropped you both off at the airport two days later.

You spent three days together, fucking each other's brains out.

Choking on his cock while he was brushing his teeth, eating you out while you read through your newsfeed. Bouncing on his cock while he fed you breakfast, you didn’t need to change clothes the entire vacation.

But you wanted to go home and were thankful for the storm ending so you could head home. It was a little awkward, Ren wasn’t very excited about the snow stopping. It felt like he was trying to stall you leaving but reluctantly listened to your desire to fly home.

“Got everything?” he mumbled, hitching his backpack over his shoulder. The two of you were waiting in the TSA line, about to part ways to head home. You nodded, giving him a tight smile before stepping up on your own.

Ignoring the feeling of his eyes on the back of your head.

Both of you stood awkwardly after making it through, “Well-my gates over here,” you pointed behind you. Ren hummed in acknowledgment, kicking at the ground instead of looking at you.

“Thanks for letting me crash with you,” you tried again, still nothing.

You groaned, spinning on your heel. Back to being an asshole, you were kicking yourself for thinking he would be nicer. All he wanted was some pussy, and you willingly gave into him when you should’ve remained strong.

Your parents picked you up back at home, lots of tears and laughs were shared. Thankful that you made it home without freezing, your mom was grateful for your friend who saved your life. She wanted to call him and tell him how much she appreciated it but you shrugged it off, he was just being nice. He wasn’t your boyfriend or anything, you left out the part that he was the neighbor you always complained about.

Collapsing on your bed felt surreal like you would wake up and be back in the hotel room at any moment. It was odd not sleeping next to him, you had grown accustomed to his clingy arms. Circling you in the middle of the night when he thought you were dead asleep, smelling your hair before tucking you into his naked chest.

You tossed and turned all night, groaning when you were woken by your siblings to get up the next morning. Barely sleeping a wink, you resolved to take a nap later to try and not spoil your trip back home.

At breakfast, your mom yelled at you from the kitchen.

“Hey hon, someone’s calling you!”

“Just answer it,” you groaned through a mouthful of cereal. Briefly hearing your mother answer in a typical chipper tone, stalling mid-sentence before she yelled again, “It’s someone named Kyle?”

Shit, you shot to the kitchen.

Snatching the phone and escaping to the living room where no one was hiding.

“Kylo?”

Hey, didn’t think you’d answer.

“How’d you get my number?”

Took it while you were napping the other day, I knew you wouldn’t give it to me willingly.

You rolled your eyes, “Alright creeper, what’s up?”

Just wanted to talk or whatever, felt weird not to.

Silence.

Are you gonna let me buy you coffee when we are back?

“You were being serious about that?”

A scoff.

Yeah-or we could just fuck again if that’s all you want from this.

“Coffee sounds good.”

Cool. Cool.

It’s a date.

-------

TAGGING: @finn-ray-nal-beads @onlykyloscenes @candycanes19 @historyandfandoms50 @caelum-phyriina-vermillon @ghoulian13 @mrs-kylo-ren @millenialcatlady @relationshipwithmybed @dancingmicrobes @wayward-rose @contesa-lui-alucard @daydreamsofren @insufferablelust @ohdamnadamm @mariesackler @caillea @safarigirlsp @jalexunderthestars @shesakillerkween @glassythoughts @zimmermansbrat @not-the-teen-witch @jynzandtonic @roanniom @celestiasin @glassbxttless @cornmousequeen @driversmutbucket @blowthatpieceofjunk

#adamdriver #adam driver #kylo ren #anon asked #create a scenerio #modern kylo ren #college kylo ren #roomates trope

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fineastin · 3 years

Text

( nick robinson , twenty , cismale , he/him ) FIN EASTIN , don’t think that you have gotten off easy because i haven’t told the school that REDACTED . sweetie , no one can hide from me - not even a BROTHER of GAMMA. oh no, your secret is most certainly not safe with me. you know , i asked around about you & most people said that you reminded them of DANIEL DESARIO with FALLING BY HARRY STYLES playing in the background , that’s very interesting - i wonder how accurate they are.

sharpie scribbles on bar napkins, fallen branches on a dysfunctional family tree, thrifted jean jackets and converse worn years past their worth, a room decorated with emptied bottles, loose-leaf shoved to the bottom of a bag, heavy eyes that just can’t close.

yellow! i am dew, she/her, and i’ll be writing this messy of a human. before i jump into him, a little about me. i am 27 (omg, still unreal to write) and i’m a server-bartender. just got a lovely cat named monroe who i love. i’ve been rping for nearing a decade now, with brief hiatuses in there. excited to get started with all of you!

name: fin elijah eastin pronouns: he/him age: twenty birthday: march 1st zodiac sign: pisces hometown: cooperstown, new york major: journalism fraternity: gamma phi gamma clubs: school paper

“so you're numbin' the pain, stuck in your ways”

fin grew up in the suburbs of new york. it was kind of laughable how picturesque it was: white picket fence, businessman dad, homemaker mother who substitute taught and made mean chocolate chip cookies. there was even a dog, a mini schnauzer named mickey — an ode to his father’s favorite baseball player.

baseball. fin thinks that may have been his first moment of disappointment. not the homerun hitter his dad imagined cheering on from the stands. he wasn’t even bad, he was just fine. second disappointment had to have been his grades. a report card consisting of mostly c’s. studying never going anywhere aside headaches.

ALCOHOL / ADDICTION TW: there were definitely other disappointments in between but the big one started the first time fin got caught sneaking in through his bedroom window, drunk from a classmate’s party. the yelling was supposed to have been a lecture, a lesson, a reason not to do it again but fuck if fin didn’t want to wash away the words and the disappointment with a bottle. jack daniels did a good job of drowning out his father. liquor bottles were carefully selected and drained from the cupboard — fin knowing well enough to leave his mother’s grey goose alone — and refilled with water. money was stolen out of wallets. he needed to spike his soda at pizza night just to get through. that train of thought continued on and on until the water bottle in his math class smelled of straight smirnoff.

the summer before his junior year, his parents shipped him off to some summer camp. rehab in the woods. doctors with canoes. didn’t realize it then but that was fin’s last summer with his parents and he saw dr. haskell more than he saw marc and kathleen.

no parents in the picture, fin went to stay with his grandfather, george, in florida. a single, retiree, george spent most of his days donning a hawaiian shirt, walking the pier, and betting horses. he was almost like a roommate and less of a guardian. was it bad for fin to say that it was a breath of fresh air?

the last conversation fin had gotten to have with his dad, he’d promised to go to college. was meadowbank what marc eastin had in mind? likely not. but it had dorms, tuition payments, and after four years a degree. so promise kept... or on target to.

now he’s a sophomore ( behind one year academically ) and majoring in journalism. it’d nearly been business and then almost communications, but his advisor had suggested journalism. fin had always liked writing, though it was always more of a form of personal therapy. or maybe better put, a way to drain the thoughts from his head. pen to paper. screw the digital aspect of it. just wasn’t the same. and, hey, if it worked out maybe he could wind up doing some of those weird interviews he’s seen on youtube. imagine getting to ask keanu if he’s immortal to his face?

“and I know you've been hurting, think you deserve it”

currently has three tattoos. the first was a shrimp on his forearm, a piece from his favorite childhood book on his calf, and a drunken decision on his ribs.

against popular assumption, fin isn’t all that bad at math. now, let’s be clear, he was near going to pass calculus or score 100s on even his algebra tests without a cheat sheet but basics are pretty down pat. perhaps the whole buying and selling ounces and grams wasn’t for nothing... aside from a high.

“journals” on whatever loose piece of paper or paper-adjacent item is nearby. napkins, book pages, bibles pamphlets handed out by old ladies on campus: all wind up with chicken scratch sharpie brain dumps.

his room is a mess but at the very least his bed is nearly always made. it’s a small way he’s hoped to combat the bouts of insomnia. clean bed, maybe he wouldn’t have such a hard time fucking falling asleep. maybe the past and his thoughts and all the reasons he’s a screw up wouldn’t keep him up at night.

because he struggles to sleep, fin can often be found taking walks at odd hours of the night. and then asleep on a bench near the science building. which usually means an empty seat in his writing class. that participation grade is hurting.

enjoys breakfast more than any human anyone’s ever known.

his wardrobe is primarily thrifted and or *cough cough* stolen. he’s a big fan of shirts with strange slogans or proclaiming they’re the best grandpa. but worn jean jackets have become his main staple.

skateboards as a means to get around campus. capable of a few tricks under the right mind but fin’s always more the type to vibe down a slow and steady hill. that fleetwood mac, ocean spray guy essentially lived his dreams.

writes for the school paper, but tried to worm himself out of the basic sort of stories. he more tries to write stories about hidden gems on campus, interviews with quirky professors, following up on urban legends.

kinda anti-baseball.

will pet any dog he sees. fin is a fan of celebrating anyone’s birthday aside from his own. he usually prefers to gloss over it completely. he’s not worth the celebration.

when was the last time he checked his academic email? unknown.

okay been working on this over at least three episodes of freaks and geeks and i think this is all i got for now. if you have any questions, ask away! apologies for not listing connections ideas right now but i am very open to ideas and plotting!

#intro #bio #about #meadowbank.intro

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idkhyuck · 4 years

Text

21 DAYS OF CHRISTMAS WITH NCT

DAY 4 MARK *two days late.

MARK LEE x READER AU!

SUMMARY: what if Mark Lee was still that normal boy playing guitar in church. church boy!mark lee x reader have a prestigious Christmas eve duet in front of their entire church

tw// MENTIONS OF RELIGIOUS CELEBRATIONS IDK I DON’T WANNA HURT ANY ATHEISTS I LOVE Y’ALL TOO.

I sat through the sermon trying my hardest to pay attention but all that’s was on my mind was how good mark looked today. He walked in with his guitar, his hair damp from the snow, cheeks rosy from the snow. A literal Angel. The Choir and the Band were meeting after mass to discuss the Christmas masses coming up. If I was able to not pass out maybe I could ask mark out for a hot chocolate, not that I’ve failed the past 15 times I’ve tried to talk to him.

“Y/N I want you on to do O Holy Night this year.” The choir director said shocking me and everyone else in the room “You’ve grown so much this year, and you’ve earned it.” O Holy Night was the solo performance everyone fought for every Christmas. I never thought I would ever get a chance at it; I didn’t even put my name in the box of names the director put out.

“Really?” I asked.

“Yes, and Mark will accompany you.” He said, “I’ll over see a private practice every second day leading up until Christmas mass.” He said “Two weeks you guys can do it. Come get the music.” He motioned towards both of us. I walked up and picked up my sheets and turned to smile softly at mark, he returned my smile and I felt lightheaded. Oh, my goodness how am I supposed to survive. I went back to my seat and studied my music. This piece wasn’t easy, but I knew if I worked hard enough, I could pick it up easily, I just had to not be nervous around mark of in front of the crowd for that matter. Holy shit a solo on Christmas eve mass.

I was sitting in the Café down the road from the church, the snow lightly falling, the cold wind blowing the snow around wildly, I had my first practice with mark in a 20 minutes and my best friend was sitting across from me trying to calm me down.

“You’ve got this in the bag, you don’t even need to practice.” She said “you slayed practice today. Your voice is already warmed up, so it’ll come easy.” She said matter of factly sipping at her latte “You’re the best singer in our choir.” She said, “Mark is the best guitarist in the band.” She said “two God gifted people celebrating the birth of the lord on Christmas eve in song. Father may cry” she laughed. I shoved her and stood up and took a deep breath “I’ll be here waiting for you to come back.” I waved at her and grabbed my tea and made my way back to the church. Mark was getting out of his parents’ car when I pulled up

“hey partner.” He said smiling at me as he got his guitar out of the back of the car

“hey.” I said quietly. “you ready?” I asked as he waved goodbye to his dad.

“Lead the way.” He said pointing to the door, I opened the door and we made our way quietly down the stairs into basement of our church where all of our practices were held.

“hello! Right on time.” Our director said, “We’ll work on just running through it once.” He said “don’t’ worry about mistakes that’s what were here to fix.” He said, “We’re all friends here anyway.” He laughed and we both laughed nervously. Mark looked a little nervous like me, was he worried about this too. He took out his guitar and started tuning it and this is when I would warm up my voice, but I had actual choir practice not even an hour ago and a huge cup of tea. “okay, I’ll play the piano, mark join in when you feel ready. Y/N. start.” I took a deep breath and looked down the first few words quieter than I thought they would be “projection y/n. the church acoustics can only do so much.” He laughed “From the top.” He started again deep breath and this time it came out much louder and clearer. By the second verse I could hear mark start strumming at his guitar, my heart picked up and apparently so did my singing because “tempo guys keep it together ba ba ba, ba ba ba.” He said tapping the top of the piano, I didn’t dare look at mark, but I could feel his eyes on me. My voice was a bit strained as I got to “Fall on your knees” because I wasn’t breathing, and I could hear a few out of tune plinks from marks guitar “okay. Enough.” The choir director said, and Mark and I looked at each other. “it’s obvious we have some nerves here.” He said, “remember to breathe y/n and Mark remember the tempo, it’s not a race.” He said grabbing a metronome from the top of the piano “we’ll work on you first.” He said pointing to me. “you got a bit fast in the middle.” We went through the song a few times acapella and I could really feel it, this song was much harder than I thought it would be. “that’s enough for you today. Just harmonize with marks playing for the rest of the hour.” He said as he turned to mark. He helped mark figure out the best finger placements and they sat there strumming through the song so many times. My fingers were sore from just watching them. It was such a dream to see mark like this, he was wearing a hoodie, his hair pushed back. He was always dressed in the band clothes. He was so focused when he was playing, his face would scrunch when he messed up. He’d smile when he got through a piece. He looked so soft and huggable when he was playing. I still remember the first time he joined the band; I was 15 and had been in choir for a year now. He moved here with his family and was looking for somewhere to play so his family suggested the church band. We went to the same high school but never talked. The time we spent in church together was my favourite. It’s like he was different here and it connected us. When we graduated last year, I was worried he’d move away for college, but he was still here. Our parents actually talked a lot, we just never did mostly due to my awkwardness which has gotten progressively worse as we’ve aged.

Practice came to an end and we were packing up our things “you uh did great.” I heard behind me, I turned and blushed

“you too.” I said glancing up at him then down again.

“do you have a ride home?” he asked me as he put his picks away in the bag on the bench

“yeah, I’m actually meeting y/f/n at the café down the road for a bit.”

“ah, okay.” He said, “I’ll see you Thursday then.” He said putting on his hood and grabbing his stuff

“yeah.” I replied as I fumbled with my coat and then we both awkwardly made our way up the stairs. I was already halfway down the block when I heard

“hey wait.” I froze and turned to see mark rubbing the back of his head “can I get your number? Just in case we want to work on some things or whatever.” He said, “it’ll be easier.” He said running down the block to meet me

“oh, yeah, of course.” I said as he handed me his phone, I put my number in and “I’ll uh see you.” I said awkwardly doing a finger guns and turning. I wanted to die, I heard him giggle as I walked away. Crap, I didn’t get his number. I was mentally torn to shreds by time I got to the café and all My best friend could do was laugh at me.

The following Tuesday

“Okay! This is our last practice before the mass sunday.” The director said. “We’ve got to get it all together.” He said. I pretty much had the song down acapella. It was when we tried to piece it together that’d we’d mess up. Mark and I were not in heavenly harmony, and it made me sad. “I’ll see you guys sunday.” The choir director said. “Put in some practice and take care of your voice.” He said to me specifically. I walked home that evening worried beyond belief that we’d never get it. I was just finished dinner when my phone beeped, an unknown text came up

“y/n?”

“it’s mark.” Came in a second later, my heart picked up slightly

“Hey, what’s up?” I asked

“wanna meet for an extra practice?”

“right now?” I asked

“yeah. My bible study group just let out, I’m still at the church, come and I’ll let you in.” He said of course he took bible study, goodness I might love him.

“I’ll ask my parents.”

“I’ll drive you home after.” He said, my heart fluttered.

“okay. I’ll see you in a few.” I said I ran down the stairs and put on my coat and made my way towards the church, the snow was falling lightly and the cold bit at my nose as I ran down the road. I stood outside the church taking a few deep breaths and trying my best to remain calm. The door bust open and a few kids from the high school came out. I snuck in; I heard the guitar coming from inside the church. I walked in and saw him sitting there on the stool in front of him with his eyes closed he was playing through our piece with such concentration it was beautiful. I felt weird just standing there so I walked in slowly and sat in the pew in front row. The creaking of the pew scaring both him and I. I laughed and he placed his guitar down

“sorry, I didn’t hear you come in.”

“no worries. Those guys let me in.”

“k cool.” He said pulling his stool over to me “okay. So, I was thinking we could practice in here like it was an actual church day. Get a feel for how we’ll really sound.” He said pulling his hoodie sleeves up.

“that’s genius.” I said standing up

“okay. So you need to warm up or anything?” he asked

“I’m still pretty okay.” I said clearing my throat.

“okay. So I’ll count us. Stand right here.” He said tapping his foot in front of him. I moved over and awkwardly stood in front of him. he counted and started playing I came in right on que a little quiet. The empty pews kind of intimidating to look at my voice cracked

“you okay?” He asked, I turned and fiddled with my sleeves

“yeah, it’s just it’s pretty empty in here.” I laughed “and like I’m used to it being full and standing with the choir and idk I just feel really alone. And that sounds so stupid.” I said laughing awkwardly playing with my sleeve.

“no, I get it.” He said, “I’ve been kind of freaking out too.” He said, “I’ve never played solo before.”

“I’ve never sung a solo before.” I said

“we’ll technically we’re not solo.” He said smiling and looking down “We have each other.” He said quietly. “Here.” He said standing up “Look right at me.” He said grabbing my arms and standing me in front of him I couldn’t hide the blush that rose on my cheeks.

“okay.” I said looking up at him. his brown eyes so incredibly comforting and absolutely sparkly in the lights of the church. I counted us in and tried my best to maintain eye contact with him. I got so lost in marks eyes and the sound of the guitar playing that I didn’t have time to focus or worry that I hit the note easily. His eyes lit up; realization hit me

“OH MY GOD. OH, MY GOODNESS!” I said putting my hand over my mouth because I just used the lords name in vain in the church. He laughed at me then pulled me into a hug.

“YOU DID IT!” He said excitedly. I was frozen, it was such a new feeling being this close to him, The faint smell of his cologne? Soap? Shampoo? It was intoxicating His arms wrapped around me. He then realized what he was doing he let me go then held me at arms length. His eyes were lit up and his cheeks were blushing furiously. “sorry.” He said. I hoped to the good lord above he couldn’t hear my heart beating 100 miles per hour.

“it’s okay.” I said looking down. “Can we try that again?” I said “The signing. I mean.” I said stumbling over my words.

“Yeah. Of course.” He said sitting back on his stool with his guitar. “okay. I’m right here.” He said I nodded and then we played through the song 3 more times each time I gained more confidence; each time mark would put his arm around me or pat me in excitement. I wish I could be as comfortable with his as he seems to be with me. “I think we’ve pretty much got this.” He said looking at his watch “If we head out now I’ll buy you a hot chocolate in celebration.” He said standing up and gathering his things then straightening up to look at me “if you want.”

“that’d be nice.” I said walking to gather my music and my coat.

“k cool.” He said loading his backpack with his bible study stuff. “I’m parked on the side so watch it might be icy.” He said as he slipped on his coat. He grabbed his guitar case and we were off.

Once inside his car he cranked the heat and turned the radio to a Christmas station. He blew on his hands then grabbed the wheel as he backed out a bunch of papers fell from his dashboard

“sorry.” He said reaching for them touching my thigh in the process “sorry.” He said again “My homework.” He said. I reached down to pick up the papers out of reach from him. “I was studying before I went into the church.” He said as I passed them to him.

“What’s your major?” I asked him

“um I’m double majoring.” He said, “music and a writing degree.”

“oh wow! And you lead youth group.”

“I like to keep busy.” He said, “I work full time at my dad’s café too.” He said, “I’m saving so I can head out and travel and do music somewhere.” He said quietly “but what about you? What do you want to do?”

“me.” I said dreading this. He was a literal saint and I was halfway through my gap year unable to pick something to do about 5 minutes away from applying to the psychology major program just so I can do something “um. Well I’m taking a gap year.” I said, “I’m not sure what I want to do.” I said “all I’ve ever really done Is go to school, and work and church and choir.” I laughed “I don’t have many hobbies outside of choir.” I said

“well why not that?” he said

“me? Be a singer?” I laughed

“You’ve improved so much in just the two years I’ve known you.” He said

“I don’t know I never thought about it. I still feel like that scared little 15-year-old girl in the backrow every time I get up there.”

“you’re the O’ Holy night angel this year.” He said incredulously

“is that what were calling it now?” I asked

“only because it’s you.” He said. Oh, he’s getting brave

“oh.” I said hoping he couldn’t see my blush “that could be something to look into. Why do you want to do music?” I asked him

“I just really love writing, lyrics, poems, stories everything.” He said “And music is something I obviously love so why not do something I love. I’ve moved around quite a bit so like that’s kind of what kept me sane. I just really love it and just maybe one day I’ll have that same effect on some kid just like me. It’s stupid I guess.” He said, “but it’s what I wanna do so I’m trying my best.” He said

“Mark that’s incredible!” I said, “I’ll remember you when you’re out there performing to millions.” I said reaching out to put my hand on top of his. “do you have any music that you wrote?” I asked, “I’d love to hear it.” I said

“I’ll show you sometime.” He said as we pulled into the coffee drive thru. He placed the order and paid then we were off “you wanna go to like a karaoke room sometime?” He asked

“uh sure.” I said, “I’ve never been.”

“do you only sing church songs?” He asked side eyeing me jokingly

“no.” I said back “I’ve just never done much singing outside of church.”

“We’re gonna fix that.” He said picking up his phone “gimme an artist.”

“uh I don’t know.” I said panicking

“here.” He said passing me his phone “play me your favourite- non church- song to sing to.” He said I put on a Disney song. “now sing!” he said I started out quietly “it’s just me and you in the church.” He said and I couldn’t stop the smile that formed on my lips as I sung along to the song. “See.” He said smiling at me “singing is definitely your thing.” He said

“you really think so?” I asked him taking a sip of the hot chocolate, He nodded beside me as he turned the heat down

“i think it’d be a waste of talent NOT to pursue singing, the worst that’ll come of a music degree is you become a music teacher.” He said, “and even that isn’t a horrible gig.” He laughed

“thanks.” I said looking down. We pulled into my block “I’m this one right here.” I said “Thanks for the drink. And the ride. And the practice.” I said

“no problem.” He said, “See you Sunday Christmas angel.” He said I leaned over to kiss his cheek and that took his newfound confidence down a notch he sat there looking down with his cheeks blushing as I got out. I walked up my driveway, I turned to see him siting there his hand on his cheek.

Sunday morning Christmas eve mass #1

“you’ve got this.” Mark said to me as we walked into the church. Our parents not far behind us. Mark and I talked nonstop since our private practice on Thursday. We hung out yesterday at the café. He showed me all the cool things he was able to do within his study at the university. I hung out and listen to him as he did homework. We’re not dating but I could definitely see it going that way someday and that thought made me so happy. My mom surprised me with a dress for today I felt so bad to have to wear my choir robe over.

“you look beautiful!” out choir director said, “do not put that on.” He said, “you’ll stand centre today, We haven’t a moment to waste.” He said rushing me over to the risers. We ran through our warm and up and discussed the schedule for today. We had an hour between each mass. Soon the church was filling for the first mass, it was only the first mass but there was more than the Sunday usual already. I tried my best to keep my nerves are bay I looked at mark

“You and me baby.” He mouthed and I blushed and nodded. We opened with our normal hymns. I prayed really hard during mass for guidance into the new year as I thought more and more each day about pursuing music and mark. Soon it was time for me to sing my heart out for the first time today. Mark started into the song I and I stepped off the riser towards the front of the altar. I was really comfortable singing the song now. I looked out and saw my parents sitting right beside marks parents. Both our dads discreetly recording us our mothers beaming with pride. We finished the song looking into each others’ eyes. Father stood up clapping and all the other people started clapping.

“That was beautiful. Thank you, my children.” He said standing in between us his arms around us “two of our brightest stars with pure god given talent. Give them another hand.” He said we bowed and made our way back to our spots. The mass closed out and then We were free for an hour. I went over to mark unsure of what to do as people left. People were coming over to us and thanking us for the performance and praising us. One of the regulars -an older lady who used to bake cookies for Sunday school- came over to us

“you two are a beautiful couple. I can tell the lord has big plans for you guys, such angels.” she said as she shook both of out hands “may god bless you both.” He said We thanked her. Mark didn’t deny us being a couple, then again neither did I. did this mean anything? Idk. Soon my mom came over to hug me

“That was beautiful my darling.” She said, “And you.” She turned to mark offering him a hug “such talent.” She said as she pulled away. We made our way down to the basement where lunch was being served. My best friend and I sat on the stage singing Christmas carols with the Sunday school kids. Mark came over with his guitar and played for us. Mass started again the nerves were gone from me completely. After our performance father came over and held us again “That’s even better the second time.” He said, “I’m so blessed I get to hear these two perform 4 more times today.” He said as we walked back to our spots. More blessings and praises, more carols in the basement. It wasn’t until after the fourth mass that I started feeling tired and overwhelmed mark must have noticed

“wanna go for a drive?” he asked me as we followed the people out of the church

“yes.” I said. We grabbed our coats and not even 10 minutes later we were in the Tim Hortons parking lot me with a cup of tea him with a coffee and a cookie. “Thank you.” I said

“I was getting pretty tired.” He said, “you’re doing great, absolutely killing it.” He said

“I’m proud of us.” I laughed “I’m so tired oh my goodness.” I said leaning my head back.

“Me too.” He laughed “we’re killing it.”

“I swear father is gonna cry yet.” I laughed

“I’m surprised my mom hasn’t cried yet.” Mark said taking the final bite of his cookie.

“I’m just shocked they’re sitting through all the masses.”

“Can I be honest?” he asked looking at me “I blanked out these past two masses, I don’t know how father does it the same mass 6 times in one day, same sermon, Same songs.”

“same.” I said, “I’ve sat through it four times already and I’m certain I’ll never forget the readings.”

“Can I be honest again?” he asked turning towards me.

“yes.”

“all I’m really thinking about right now is kissing you. And I don’t know why I said that.” He said taking a big sip of his coffee his face blushing and looking anywhere but at me

“well kiss me then.” I said bringing his chin up, so his eyes met mine. He leaned across the console and held my face in his hands. They were a cold clammy, I was sure mine would be shaking if I didn’t have them balled into fists as I wrapped my arms around his neck. He looked down at me his eyes soft and sparkly as usual. His breath was warm on my face a mix of chocolate and coffee. I closed my eyes as I closed the gap between us. I still tasted the chocolate on his lips as we met, We moved soft and slow against each other, it’s been so long since I’ve been kissed and honestly the first time I’ve felt this way I wanted to kiss him more and longer and forever. His arms moved from my face to wrap around my sides I held him close to me by the back of his head. I wanted to run my fingers through the soft hairs that tickled at my fingers as we moved in unison. I had to pull away to catch a breath. I looked at him his eyes were lit up; his cheeks were flushed. His lips were red and covered in my gloss. Oh my god… he was beautiful. I pulled him back into me and kissed him again. He pulled back so I was leaning over the console and him, my phone was ringing in the distance we kept kissing his hands holding my up by my sides. My hands one around him in his hair on his chest holding myself up. It rang again. I pulled away this time and looked at it was my mom. We had 8 minutes to get back to the church.

“oh no.” He said looking at his phone.

“Go back through the drive through we’ll get them coffees too.” I said pulling his mirror down to look at myself, my face was just as flushed and my gloss was all over my face. I grabbed at the napkins and tried to clean up only to realize I didn’t have any to reapply because I left it at the church. Mark was busy ordering for coffee as I texted my mom where I was.

“Are you with mark?” She asked

“yeah.” I replied. No reply I couldn’t tell if that was good or back. We sped back to the church mark wiped off any remnants of lip gloss from his lips and carried the coffee in. The procession was lining up ready to go in when. We bowed and made our way to our respective spots. I could feel my best friends gaze on me as I smoothed out my dress to sit down. We made It through the service and found ourselves in the basement once again.

“one more.” Mark said sitting down beside me on the stage.

“one more.” I sighed taking a sip of my now cold tea. I looked at him and his hair was still standing up in the back I laughed “Your hair.” I said quietly. He blushed and started patting at the back of his head. My best friend came over

“I could not be prouder of you too.” She said sitting beside us.

“thanks.” I said

“Your parents were freaking the heck out when you two disappeared last mass, I thought father was gonna have an aneurysm when you were late”

“The line at Tim Horton’s was insane. I guess lots of people stop there after mass.” Mark lied

“I guess.” She said. We sat there talking about our Christmas plans a few more hours and we ‘d be home.

Midnight mass, Arguably the biggest most important mass in all the church year. Everyone and their mother show up to midnight mass even if it’s the only mass they go to all year. I tried not to let crowd get to me as the church filled. We had extra duty singing as the church filled. There were the little kids doing the nativity play out in the lobby, they’d come in and sit as the live nativity as mass went on. Mass started and I really paid attention again after tuning out the last few masses. Father was really giving his all. All the kids acting out the actions as the story of Jesus’ birth was told. It was my turn, I went and stood beside mark, I looked right at him as he played, I didn’t dare look out at he crowd. He smiled at me as we sang. This was the last time I’d sing this this year, so I really tried my best to give it my all. I hit the final note and my chest was heaving for air, Mark was smiling at me ear to ear, the church erupted in applause and father came over wiping at his eyes “The presence of the lord has been felt with you two here all day. Thank you.” He said I hugged mark and bit my cheek so I wouldn’t laugh. We bowed and wished everyone a Merry Christmas, we walked out of the church following the procession, Our lips meeting as we stood in the lobby kissing each other softly not caring who was watching.

#MARK LEE AU #MARK LEE X READER #CHURCH BOY!MARK #NCT 127 #SUPER M #MARK LEE CHRISTMAS

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liesyousoldme · 4 years

Note

2 🥺

the sentence for this prompt is “close the door” and this was originally going to be a part 1 and part 2 would be when they reunite as adults but i don’t know that i’ll ever get around to actually writing it?? so just imagine that after this they reunite as adults and live happily ever after

this is...angst city. warning for homophobia, internalized and externalized, including slurs. also this isn’t specifically movie verse so it’s bi!richie in case that needs to be a warning for anyone

anyway enjoy these 15 year olds not knowing how to handle emotions!!!!!

Richie was meandering. Helet his hands drag along the tops of weeds as he walked slowly down the path,kicking rocks as he saw them. He didn’t have shit to do and decided anafternoon reading comics in the clubhouse could cure his boredom, but while hewas making his way there, so close he could see the rock they placed on thehatch so they could easily find it, he heard noises behind him. Scuffling,shouting, loud and quick footsteps. Slower footsteps.

Just because Bowers wasgone didn’t mean a new batch of bullies didn’t pop up as quickly as he fell.

Through the trees he saw asmall figure running full speed toward him and he sprung into action, rushingtoward the clubhouse and opening the hatch. When Eddie made it to the clearinghis face was bright red, his hair sticking to his face and neck with sweat. Richieheld a finger up to his lips, a silent shush, and Eddie nodded, skidding to aslower pace and practically falling into the clubhouse.

“There are stairs, youknow,” Richie said helpfully, standing on the top step.

“Close the door, they’refucking right behind me!”

Richie pulled the doorshut and the clubhouse fell into darkness. They turned on some rigged lights,as Eddie collapsed onto the ground, arms and legs spread and panting.

“Where the fuck is he?” Avoice asked above him. Eddie jolted into a sitting position, eyes wide.

“He’s gotta be hiding,”another said. “He’s little but he ain’t that fast.”

“It’s not even worth it,man,” the first voice said. He was out of breath. Richie moved closer to Eddie,sitting next to him on the floor. Eddie scooted closer, pressing against Richie’sside and clutching his arm.

“Yeah it fuckin’ is,” theother boy argued. “Girly-boy was runnin’ his mouth all semester. I couldn’t doanything about it til now or I’d get kicked off the team but ain’t no team in summer.”

“I’m sure we’ll catch himanother day, dude. Are we gonna spend our day chasing a fucking fairy?”

Eddie let go of Richie’sarm suddenly, shoving himself toward the wall of the clubhouse. Richie squintedat him in the dim light. He had his knees brought up to his chest and his armswrapped tightly around them. His eyes were shut tight, his whole face pinchedwith it. The voices got farther away until they couldn’t hear them at all, andRichie kept watching Eddie, who hadn’t relaxed.

“They’re gone,” Richiesaid, breaking the silence. “Are you okay?”

Eddie sucked in a deepbreath and let it out slowly, then did it again. He opened his eyes; they werewet with unshed tears.

“Dude, what happened?”

Eddie laughed withouthumor, looking away. “Nothing.”

Richie frowned. “Uh, clearlyit’s not nothing, you just freaked out for no reason.”

“Leave me alone.”

He stood and walked to theback of the clubhouse, climbing into the hammock. He didn’t grab a comic likeusual, just crossed his arms over his chest and stared at the dirt ceiling.

Richie scoffed at hisbehavior and stood as well, picking a comic from their selection and then goingto the hammock. Over the two years that the losers had utilized the hammock,they’d come to a mutual agreement that rather than arguing about time limitsand taking turns, they could both easily fit and each get double the time. Itwas a perfect system, even if it usually led to one of them sticking a sockedfoot in the other’s face.

Just as Richie picked his footoff the ground to remove his shoe, Eddie growled, “Don’t.”

“What?”

“I said, don’t,” Eddiesaid angrily. “I’m using the fucking hammock right now. Stop being so touchywith me, I don’t want you all over me.”

Richie’s stomach plummeted.He was pretty positive he was about to throw up.

“Okay,” he said quietly.He turned and started walking to the hatch, afternoon of reading comics forgotten.“I’m gonna go.”

He barely made it to thefirst step before Eddie’s voice filled the clubhouse.

“I’m not fucking gay.”

Richie grabbed the railingof the stairs and squeezed until his knuckles were white.

“I never said you were,Eddie,” he answered as calmly as possible. The throwing up was stillpotentially on the table.

“It’s all anybody callsme. I’m a fag or a fairy or a girly-boy or littlesissyqueerboy.” He said it inone breath, one word, the way Bowers used to. It was the first mean name he’dever been called, and Richie knew how much Eddie hated it.

“Okay but… We don’t saythat shit,” Richie said. “Those guys don’t fucking matter, man. The losers knowyou’re… That you’re straight.”

He stepped away from thestairs, unclenching his hand and ignoring the pain from clutching the wood.

Eddie was sitting on theedge of the hammock, head in his hands and elbows on his knees. Richie couldsee the tension through his entire body, like he was ready to snap and explode.

“They call us that, too.”

“But you’re other things beforethat. Fucking Bucky Beaver or Four Eyes or something about how you never shutup. But it’s the only thing they call me. It’s the only thing they’ve evercalled me. It’s who I am. So don’t act like it’s the fucking same because it’snot. They call you gay because they’re trying to goad you; they call me gaybecause they think I actually am.”

“So? So fucking what ifthey think that? We’re all dealing with shit, we all get bullied! That’s why we’refucking losers!”

Eddie rolled his eyes andcrossed his arms over his chest again. Richie thought about just screaming atthe top of his lungs, something to get all the nervous tension out of his bodybecause this was too much, this conversation was going in a dangerous directionand he just wanted to run. But he couldn’t leave Eddie. He never acted likethis, they never actually argued, and his insides were turning inside out overthe fact that the one time they do it’s about being gay. He’d imagined this.This conversation was headed toward his worst fucking nightmare, a train onbroken tracks with no brakes, hurtling toward a cliff with nothing to softenthe blow at the bottom, just rocks, sharp and unrelenting.

He opened his mouth,because he was an idiot. “Eds, we’re all losers. The whole point is that we don’t…judge. You know? Everybody’s an outcast for some reason or another. We couldbully the fuck out of Bill for his stutter, or Ben for being fat, or Stan forbeing obsessed with birds, but we don’t. And I don’t think… If any of us… Uh.”

He swallowed thickly.

“If any of us had otherreasons that… you know, that other people would judge them for… I don’t thinkthe losers would do that. Right? We – if any of us were,” he blinked back thetears and cleared his throat, “gay, there wouldn’t – I mean, it wouldn’t bebad. Right?”

This was it. He was goingto puke everywhere, he was going to sob, he was going to rip his fucking hairout at the roots.

“I just said I’m notfucking gay, Richie!” Eddie yelled, face bright red.

“That’s not – I’m notsaying that!” He insisted, because he hadn’t been. “I’m saying, or like…Asking. The losers would be cool if one of us was gay, right? The answer isjust supposed to be yes, Eddie!”

“Well it’s not!”

The fight in him drainedimmediately, and he blinked quickly to keep from crying. He wouldn’t fuckingcry right now.

“It’s the same thing as adisease, like a – like, people just have to try to get better from it. Likewhen you get the flu or something and you have to cough up a bunch of stuff andblow your nose a million times. That stuff’s inside you and it’s gross and badso you have to get it out and then you get better, so no, it wouldn’t be cool.It would – we’d have to help whoever it was.”

He stared at Eddie, whohad stood and begun pacing. Richie was sure the words had come straight fromhis mother’s mouth, and he was sure that Sonia thought she was giving her soninstructions on how to save himself, not anyone else.

“That’s such fuckingbullshit,” he muttered, kicking the ground and watching minimal dirt sift intothe air. “Is that what your fucking mommy told you? She’s full of shit, Eddie!Just like your fucking inhaler is full of shit! You can’t fucking cough up yourgay feelings into a tissue and call it a goddamn day!”

“That’s not – it’s notliteral! It’s a fucking metaphor!”

“Then tell me, Eddie, howdo you get rid of it? Hmm?” His hands were shaking. “Because I’ve triedeverything I can fucking think of and it’s still here!”

Eddie seemed to stopbreathing, his brown eyes wide.

Richie felt like there wasa buzzing beneath his skin, like this had been waiting to burst out of him.

“Church? Prayer? I triedthat! Seventh grade, remember? I spent every fucking Wednesday at Bible studyand I went early on Sunday and stayed late and I prayed every stupid day andnothing! Girls? I made out with Lisa Prewitt! I fucking went down on LisaPrewitt! And I loved it! But guess what? It didn’t make me want to suck a dickany less!”

He was screaming but hecould barely hear himself over the blood rushing in his ears. There was nostopping the tears now, but it was okay because Eddie stood in the corner,shrinking in on himself. He was crying, too.

“Don’t tell me it’s thesame as getting rid of the flu. You’re so fucking gullible. Your mom just doesn’twant you to be fucking gay.”

They stared at each otherfrom across the clubhouse, both with tear tracks on their cheeks. He hated thesight of Eddie crying. He hated even more knowing he was the cause of it.

“This is a stupidargument,” Richie finally bit out, breaking their eye contact. “I didn’t – I wasn’ttrying to be mean, just… I’m pretty sure I just lost my best friend so you’llhave to excuse me for being a little emotionally volatile.”

Eddie didn’t mock his SATvocabulary like he usually did, instead just stayed standing in the corner,arms wrapped around himself like it was the only thing holding him together.

“Can you say something?”Richie said quietly.

Eddie cleared his throat. “Idon’t know what to say.”

Richie laughed hollowly.

“I mean, you could startwith whether you even want to be friends anymore.”

Eddie looked pained as hestepped out of the corner, only halfway across the room. Richie couldn’t lookat him.

“I don’t know,” he answeredin a quiet voice. Words had never sounded worse in Richie’s ears and he chokedon a sob.

“Okay,” he said, trying tosound normal when it was clear he was crying. He sniffled, taking large stridestoward the stairs. “I’m gonna go.”

Eddie didn’t stop him thistime.

When he got home a fewhours later, after finding a secluded spot in the barrens and crying everythingout, he found his parents sitting at the kitchen table. They told him thatwithin the month they would be living in California.

Richie, for the first timein his life, couldn’t wait to be a country away from Eddie.

#my fic #ek x rt #Anonymous

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rational-mastermind · 4 years

Text

It Doesn’t Hurt

Ch 3/5

It wasn’t that I was upset by it. Quite the opposite, really. But I hadn’t fully considered the possibility of any sort of relationship beyond friendly. With...anyone, actually. Let alone Siobhan. I’m no stranger to such things. Given the nature of my previous profession, some women thought of me as something mysterious and rogue-like, leaving those with neglectful husbands to be too hopeful that I would appeal to some absurd and romantic ideals they picked up from a paperback at the pharmacy. But now?

I honestly wasn’t sure. I felt like there were so many other things wrong right now, I just wouldn’t have the time, attention, or energy, to pursue such things. Not... in earnest.

I sighed and rubbed my eyes, being careful to mind the blackened one from yesterday. The swelling had noticeably gone down but it was still slightly purple and tender. Lovely.

I was ultimately stumped and over what? A stupid kiss! Like a child in the school yard. I couldn’t tell if I was acting more like a child, for getting so stupidly flustered, or like an old man, sitting here, thinking about relationships and taking things embarrassingly too seriously.

She was probably just being thankful. I mean, heaven knows, I didn’t have to waste an hour of my night to go walking around in the dark like a creep. It wasn’t anything more. And there probably really, shouldn’t ever be anything more than that.

‘I actually feel kinda safer with you around...’

The same warmth I felt the night before began to come back before suddenly being shoved away as my eyes had caught note of something horribly, horribly, wrong.

I hadn’t brought a fresh change of clothes in with me.

Because it’s formal, of course.

They were in my bedroom.

Siobhan was still sleeping when I took this shower.

Siobhan is asleep in my room where my only change of clothes are.

Hurriedly, I stopped the water and tried to listen carefully. I couldn’t hear anything stirring in the rest of the apartment. I dried off quickly and wrapped the towel around before making my way to the door. I still heard nothing. The only thing I could assume was that Siobhan was still asleep.

If such were the case, the only options I would have then is either wait for Siobhan to wake up and inform her of the situation, or slip in as quietly as I could to retrieve my suit and simply change in the closet. Somehow the latter sounded more appealing. Asking Siobhan to not look sounded silly in my head no matter how I phrased it and given my skills of evasion I figured it to be fairly easy to pull off.

That being said I carefully crept out of the bathroom and made my way to the bedroom. The door was fortunately only partially closed and when I looked within I could see Siobhan’s sleeping form. Easy. I snuck in and carefully rummaged through my drawers until I had the appropriate articles of clothing. I made my way to the closet, where my choice of waistcoats, ties, and overcoats hung, and carefully shut the door. Siobhan was still on the bed, fast asleep.

I got dressed in a timely fashion and stepped back out into the bedroom only to be mildly surprised and uneasy. The bed was empty. Aside from a light rustling in clothing I had been careful not to make any sort of noise that would warrant her waking up, but regardless, she hadn’t said anything either when leaving the bedroom. So likely whatever was the case, it wasn’t anything I should concern myself with. If there were questions I had fair enough answers. I stepped out into the apartment.

“Siobhan?” I called out.

“Morning Trilby.” came the reply beside me, on the couch.

I glanced over to find Siobhan curled up to one side, reading a book. She looked back.

“Good morning.” I nodded and tried to give a relaxed smile.. “Did you sleep any better?” “Yeah.” Siobhan nodded and smiled a little. “And you?”

“Well, better than some nights.” I shrugged.

I looked at her curiously. She wasn’t as cheerful and sunny and wasn’t entirely looking me in the eye either. I guessed she might just not have been a morning person, but to be sure I thought it better to ask.

“You alright? Something wrong?”

“Well.. I just uh.. Wanted to talk to you about something.. Something from last night.”

Instantly the kiss from last night flashed through my mind, with a sudden panic of ‘What if it wasn’t just a thank you?’ but I quickly tried to shake it off.

“What about last night?” I asked, entirely too innocent to be convincing.

I sat down on the couch. Siobhan was frowning at the floor a moment before holding up the book she was reading. A disapproving, confused scowl on her face. My heart dropped into my stomach as I stared at the cover.

“Something you wanna tell me?” she asked, holding up a hard copy of The Book of The Prince.

I froze, for a moment, glancing between her and the book, before carefully raising my hands in defense..

“It’s not what it looks like.”

“Oh, no shit? Really?” she asked, rightfully worried. “What is this?”

“Well..” I frowned, staring at the book, trying to carefully pick my next words. The last thing I wanted was Siobhan to suspect me of being an absolute looney. “...How much do you remember of Lenkmann? That- the man that stabbed me?”

“What, you mean other than he tied me up and tried to force us to be a sacrifice to some unholy abomination? That he was actually a part of some crackpot cult that was trying to summon that tall man that’s been haunting my nightmares for the last month?”

“Yes him. And yes, he was a part of an insane cult.” I cringed. “And...that was his book. His um.. Equivalent to a bible.”

Siobhan gave me a skeptical look and I realized a quicker explanation may have been in order.

“See, he claimed to be working in the same department as I did, so when he turned out to be a traitor, they cleaned it out and I picked up the book. I know that looks bad, but there is a reasoning to it.” I tried explaining. “He said I was a part of some prophecy and I wanted to see what it actually said. I don’t actually believe nor want to follow this insanity. But it already got me stabbed and you seriously hurt and scarred. I don’t know how big their organization is but heaven forbid I should let the same mistake happen again.”

“Yeah but see, that’s just a grand coincidence, isn’t it? That you two happen to work for some kind of ghost-fighting department, and his evil bible just happens to fall into your hands-”

“Siobhan, please don’t think I’d actually work for that mad man. You know me better than that.”

“No… I don’t.”

My blood became ice cold at the utter lack of trust and the distant tone that Siobhan spoke in. She was already skeptical and suspicious of me but I think what hurt worse of all was knowing that I couldn’t honestly blame her. I was always well guarded and kept myself at a distance. I didn’t often show my true thoughts, opinions, or feelings on any given subject. She shows up to my home and I have no personal artifacts, nothing special that speaks to any level about who I am as a person, other than books that study the supernatural and this one being about a horrifically dangerous and masochistic cult named The Blessed Agonies.

This book that, sadly, was normally sitting on the table next to my bed. The other morning, in my panic, it would’ve been knocked over and likely fell under the bed. She must’ve found it when we had come back in, last night.

“...What will it take for you to believe me?” I asked. “Because I could sit here and tell you who I do and don’t align with, but if I can’t convince you, what’s the point?”

“...Maybe you can start with who the hell employed you and that Claire woman to come looking through my store.” Siobhan frowned a little more. “Because honestly? It’s looking pretty bad for you otherwise. My biggest concern being, that, yeah, the guy mentioned something about you and a prophecy, but the sheer fact that my family’s name was dragged through it twice now is also pretty alarming.”

“I understand.” I explained. I sighed and rubbed my eyes. “I’m obviously not allowed to talk about it, but if you must know I work with the Ministry of Occultism. I wasn’t even allowed to share that much information with you, but if you’ll be more willing to listen-”

“So the great and infamous Trilby the Cat Burglar and gentleman thief, is working for the guv now?”

“Yes.”

“And so did that Lenkmann?”

“Yes. But he was actually a traitor.”

“So then how do I know you’re not?”

“Because you know I’m terrible at lying.” I offer shrugged. “..It’s… kind of true. You always catch me off guard and always manage to call me out.”

Siobhan looked at me for a moment, trying to gauge how sincere I really was being. I continued on.

”The only reason I kept that book was to try to study and understand what those crackpots were planning. I wanted to ensure no one was going to attempt kidnapping you or I, stabbing either of us, or worse, forcing us to partake in whatever absurd rituals their religion has. I… swear, Siobhan.. I swear on my life, I would never, ever want to be apart of this absurd cult. It’s dangerous and demented and I would ignore it entirely if they didn’t put our lives at risk and actually summoned a damn demon.”

After a long pause, Siobhan started to relax and believe what I had said.

“...That does sound more like you.. And to be fair, it would really suck if you were actually evil or something.” She smiled a little and stood up. “I mean, I was starting to really like you.”

“Please believe me…”

She thought for a moment before closing her eyes and setting the book aside.

“I do.” she finally said. “I’m sorry.. I just.. Got really scared seeing it last night.”

“I swear, I’m not a cultist.”

She nodded and looked back at me.

“Okay. I believe you.”

She walked to the kitchen, presumably to make breakfast, and left the book behind on the couch. I picked it up, looked at it, and simply put it away on a bookshelf, relieved that the tension was dropped. We had breakfast and went to the local library. I proceeded to find any and all information I could on the jailhouse and the chief of police, Brutus Ustyss. Siobhan had slipped away to do her own research.

Given the nature of paranormal investigation, I’m no stranger to resorting to a public library for more research. Sometimes it was genuinely disappointing to note just how little our world really understood or carried knowledge on any given subject. Other times, however, after clearing an entire shelf’s worth of books about history, blood, the undead, supernaturalism, curses, occultism, and other such ungodly things, I’d start to worry about anyone looking too closely at the spines, or why the library did carry so much. I had been careful of what all I would check out of any given library and yet still I noted the questionable and judging expressions of any librarian unfortunate enough to look more closely at what she stamped.

And now, in this case, it’s a matter of researching jails, prisons, death row, the police. All of my most favorite subjects. I knew I would eventually have to ask to see any microfilms about the specific year the jail closed. I was sitting at a table, a fair stack of books to one side and a notepad in front of me, trying not to go cross-eyed while reading about parliament's change of laws in the late 1700’s, when Siobhan sat down beside me with her own stack of books.

Most of which, when I glanced, were about antiques and archeology. A few others, including the one she was currently reading, however, was about the supernatural and ghosts. I recognized the one she was reading and leaned over to gently whisper.

“That one isn’t entirely accurate except for chapter 7. The rest is speculation based on fictional books.”

“No talking in the library.” A stern and elderly librarian snapped.

I couldn’t help the visible wince on my face which made Siobhan grin. She mouthed a quick thanks and began flipping through the pages.

I returned to mine. We read in silence for a while. I would glance back at her, she would glance at me. There wasn’t anything too noteworthy to glean from the books I read, other than that apparently things were pretty horrific for convicts in the 1700’s.

It’s almost surprising there weren’t more missions like this for the STP. But then again, there wasn’t anything too special or weird happening at the time anyway, so the likelihood of genuine paranormal activity happening around a prison wasn’t too great. Fortunately for me. I internally groaned at the thought of having to converse with these ghosts. It made me sick to think of the injustice some of them would’ve had to endure.

Suddenly I felt a tap on my arm and glanced over to see Siobhan gesturing for something to write with. She pointed to my pad and I complied, flipping to an empty page and handing it over.

Siobhan quickly jotted down her note and handed it back to me.

“𝐼 𝒹𝑜𝓃’𝓉 𝓊𝓃𝒹𝑒𝓇𝓈𝓉𝒶𝓃𝒹. 𝒲𝒽𝒶𝓉’𝓈 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓈 ‘𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓁𝓂’ 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒶𝓊𝓉𝒽𝑜𝓇 𝓇𝑒𝒻𝑒𝓇𝓈 𝓉𝑜?”

I tried to find a concise way to phrase it before jotting down my own answer.

“𝔚𝔢𝔩𝔩 𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔢 𝔞𝔯𝔢 𝔱𝔴𝔬 𝔴𝔬𝔯𝔩𝔡𝔰; 𝔬𝔲𝔯𝔰, 𝔴𝔥𝔦𝔠𝔥 𝔦𝔰 𝔱𝔥𝔢 ℜ𝔢𝔞𝔩𝔪 𝔬𝔣 𝔗𝔢𝔠𝔥𝔫𝔬𝔩𝔬𝔤𝔶, 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔱𝔥𝔢 ℜ𝔢𝔞𝔩𝔪 𝔬𝔣 𝔐𝔞𝔤𝔦𝔠. 𝔚𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔢 𝔴𝔢 𝔯𝔢𝔰𝔬𝔯𝔱 𝔱𝔬 𝔰𝔠𝔦𝔢𝔫𝔠𝔢 𝔱𝔬 𝔞𝔫𝔰𝔴𝔢𝔯 𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔮𝔲𝔢𝔰𝔱𝔦𝔬𝔫𝔰 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔢𝔵𝔭𝔩𝔬𝔯𝔢 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔲𝔫𝔦𝔳𝔢𝔯𝔰𝔢, 𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔦𝔯 𝔴𝔬𝔯𝔩𝔡 𝔯𝔢𝔩𝔦𝔢𝔰 𝔬𝔫 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔟𝔯𝔲𝔱𝔢 𝔰𝔱𝔯𝔢𝔫𝔤𝔱𝔥 𝔬𝔣 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔞𝔯𝔠𝔞𝔫𝔢; 𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔶 𝔯𝔢𝔩𝔶 𝔬𝔫 𝔪𝔞𝔤𝔦𝔠 𝔱𝔬 𝔰𝔬𝔩𝔳𝔢 𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔦𝔯 𝔭𝔯𝔬𝔟𝔩𝔢𝔪𝔰, 𝔢𝔰𝔰𝔢𝔫𝔱𝔦𝔞𝔩𝔩𝔶.”

Siobhan read my note, frowned, and jotted a reply with a slightly amused smile.

“𝒯𝓇𝒾𝓁𝒷𝓎, 𝐼 𝒸𝒶𝓃 𝒷𝒶𝓇𝑒𝓁𝓎 𝓇𝑒𝒶𝒹 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓈!”

I looked back and she was smiling at me and shaking her head in confusion. I rolled my eyes. Not a first time where I’ve had this problem. If we weren’t given computers and printers, I’m sure my higher-ups would also be furious with my penmanship. I tried again to make it easier to read.

“𝓣𝓱𝓮𝓻𝓮 𝓪𝓻𝓮 𝓽𝔀𝓸 𝔀𝓸𝓻𝓵𝓭𝓼; 𝓸𝓾𝓻𝓼, 𝔀𝓱𝓲𝓬𝓱 𝓲𝓼 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓡𝓮𝓪𝓵𝓶 𝓸𝓯 𝓣𝓮𝓬𝓱𝓷𝓸𝓵𝓸𝓰𝔂, 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓡𝓮𝓪𝓵𝓶 𝓸𝓯 𝓜𝓪𝓰𝓲𝓬. 𝓦𝓱𝓮𝓻𝓮 𝔀𝓮 𝓻𝓮𝓼𝓸𝓻𝓽 𝓽𝓸 𝓼𝓬𝓲𝓮𝓷𝓬𝓮 𝓽𝓸 𝓪𝓷𝓼𝔀𝓮𝓻 𝓸𝓾𝓻 𝓺𝓾𝓮𝓼𝓽𝓲𝓸𝓷𝓼 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓮𝔁𝓹𝓵𝓸𝓻𝓮 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓾𝓷𝓲𝓿𝓮𝓻𝓼𝓮, 𝓽𝓱𝓮𝓲𝓻 𝔀𝓸𝓻𝓵𝓭 𝓻𝓮𝓵𝓲𝓮𝓼 𝓸𝓷 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓫𝓻𝓾𝓽𝓮 𝓼𝓽𝓻𝓮𝓷𝓰𝓽𝓱 𝓸𝓯 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓪𝓻𝓬𝓪𝓷𝓮; 𝓽𝓱𝓮𝔂 𝓻𝓮𝓵𝔂 𝓸𝓷 𝓶𝓪𝓰𝓲𝓬 𝓽𝓸 𝓼𝓸𝓵𝓿𝓮 𝓽𝓱𝓮𝓲𝓻 𝓹𝓻𝓸𝓫𝓵𝓮𝓶𝓼, 𝓮𝓼𝓼𝓮𝓷𝓽𝓲𝓪𝓵𝓵𝔂.”

“𝐻𝑜𝓌 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒽𝑒𝓁𝓁 𝒹𝑜 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓌𝓇𝒾𝓉𝑒 𝓃𝑜𝓇𝓂𝒶𝓁𝓁𝓎? 𝐼𝓈𝓃’𝓉 𝒾𝓉 𝒽𝒶𝓇𝒹 𝓉𝑜 𝓊𝓃𝒹𝑒𝓇𝓈𝓉𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝑜𝓌𝓃 𝒽𝒶𝓃𝒹𝓌𝓇𝒾𝓉𝒾𝓃𝑔?”

“𝓘𝓯 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓽𝓱𝓲𝓷𝓴 𝓲𝓽’𝓼 𝓫𝓪𝓭 𝓷𝓸𝓻𝓶𝓪𝓵𝓵𝔂, 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝔀𝓸𝓾𝓵𝓭 𝓱𝓪𝓽𝓮 𝓽𝓸 𝓼𝓮𝓮 𝓡𝓾𝓼𝓼𝓲𝓪𝓷 𝓬𝓾𝓻𝓼𝓲𝓿𝓮, 𝓽𝓻𝓾𝓼𝓽 𝓶𝓮.”

“𝐼’𝓂 𝒶𝓁𝓂𝑜𝓈𝓉 𝓈𝒸𝒶𝓇𝑒𝒹 𝓉𝑜 𝒶𝓈𝓀 𝒽𝑜𝓌 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓌𝑜𝓊𝓁𝒹 𝓀𝓃𝑜𝓌 𝓌𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝑅𝓊𝓈𝓈𝒾𝒶𝓃 𝒸𝓊𝓇𝓈𝒾𝓋𝑒 𝓁𝑜𝑜𝓀𝓈 𝓁𝒾𝓀𝑒.”

“𝖂𝖊𝖑𝖑 𝖞𝖔𝖚 𝖘𝖊𝖊, 𝕸𝖘. 𝕺’𝕸𝖆𝖑𝖑𝖊𝖞, 𝕴’𝖒 𝖆𝖈𝖙𝖚𝖆𝖑𝖑𝖞 𝖆 𝕽𝖚𝖘𝖘𝖎𝖆𝖓 𝖘𝖕𝖞.”

Siobhan’s head whipped up to stare at me, wild-eyed with disbelief. It was a strain not to burst out laughing right then and there. She grinned as well, realizing the joke, and playfully smacked my shoulder with the notepad.

“Asshole.” she mouthed.

“Need help with anything else?”

“No. I think I get it now.”

I gave a nod of understanding and returned to my own reading. I eventually excused myself to a computer that allowed me to read microfilm, containing old newspaper clippings. I started looking through articles, hoping anything would stand out. Fortunately for me, I didn’t have to look very long to find some interesting headlines.

𝕮𝖍𝖎𝖊𝖋 𝖔𝖋 𝕻𝖔𝖑𝖎𝖈𝖊 𝖋𝖔𝖚𝖓𝖉 𝖉𝖊𝖆𝖉 𝖎𝖓 𝖏𝖆𝖎𝖑𝖍𝖔𝖚𝖘𝖊 𝕮𝖍𝖎𝖊𝖋 𝕭𝖗𝖚𝖙𝖚𝖘 𝖀𝖘𝖙𝖞𝖘𝖘 𝖇𝖗𝖚𝖙𝖆𝖑𝖑𝖞 𝖒𝖚𝖗𝖉𝖊𝖗𝖊𝖉 𝕰𝖙 𝖙𝖚 𝖇𝖗𝖚𝖙𝖚𝖘? 𝕮𝖍𝖎𝖊𝖋 𝖔𝖋 𝖕𝖔𝖑𝖎𝖈𝖊 𝖋𝖔𝖚𝖓𝖉 𝖉𝖊𝖆𝖉

I read through a few of the articles but they all had the same basic story.

Brutus J. Ustyss was a strict and seriously religious man and in charge of the prison that once resided where Siobhan’s shop stands now. He was a cruel chief, horribly beating any criminal within an inch of their life, if they stepped out of line. Sometimes worse. Cases of dead convicts often circled this man, but nothing a court of law could punish him for, especially given the primitive circumstances of law during the day and age. Brutus would even outright murder convicts days before their sentence in death row.

One day the prison found itself in need of a new chief of police, after discovering Brutus dead in Death Row. His fate no worse than what he’s given out, he was brutally assaulted and beaten to death, presumably by the convicts. His head was caved in and his ribs broken. He bled to death within a cell and was soon buried there. They didn’t discover the body until 3 days later.

A horrible, sickening pang settled in my stomach, reading through each detail of Brutus’ death. But despite my uneasiness and conflicted feelings of pity, one thing was definitely clear now; this was our ghost. Often times a ghost would haunt, in pursuit of finishing their job, and this was no exception. It was the only plausible explanation for the past deaths in the recent week. For the beating I took the other day. Brutus was still on the hunt for any lawbreakers.

Suddenly I felt a tap on my shoulder and nearly jumped out of my skin. I looked to find Siobhan standing behind me with an apologetic grin. She gave a questioning look and pointed at the computer. I took it as a means of asking if I had found anything interesting. I gave a nod and pulled out my pen and pad again.

“Brutus Ustyss is haunting your shop. He thinks he’s still in the prison. That’s why he attacked me the other day.”

Siobhan frowned a moment and took the pad to scribble back.

“Honestly? Not the security system I asked for.”

I scoffed a little at the joke, nodding.

“What now?”

“I’ll have to call Claire first, see if she’s even coming in today, then we’ll meet up at the shop and try to assess the situation.”

We both nodded, came back to our books grabbed what we needed, and checked out. I found the nearest payphone and called up Claire. When she picked up I was bombarded by a wall of noise and chatter. A very frustrated Claire answered.

“Hello?”

“Hello? Claire, it’s me, Trilby.”

“Oh hey.”

“Are you coming by later?”

“Oh geez, yes. Get me out of this house.” she sighed.

“...That bad?”

“Well gosh, where do I start?” was the only warning I had to hang up before Claire launched into her list of complaints. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, I love my family, I really do but oh my gosh! They come over and it’s like I never left! Mom starts yelling at me, telling me I need to start cleaning up more and that I shouldn’t wear the same thing every day and I wanna tell her, no, cause it’s my freaking house and I’ll wear whatever I want to. Dad is still boring everybody with his fishing trip stories and how his golf game has been going. My sister has already gotten into my wine, without permission, and has dominated my entire kitchen, and then you have her lazy ass husband who-”

While Claire was certainly going off on a rant, and while that would normally bore me, I decided to listen. I remembered the way she looked yesterday when I came to and figured at the very least, letting her vent would help. I offered sighs and hums and “really?”s in consolace to what was irritating her, until she finished with a sigh. “So that’s my entire morning..” she concluded. “What’s going on with you?” “Well I’ve narrowed the ghost down to the warden, Mr. Ustyss. His death was most notable and his violent tendencies are a perfect match to what’s been happening.” “Great! Now what about the rest?” “What... rest?”

“I mean the other ghosts I was picking up on in the basement.” Claire explained slowly. “...There was like, 10 or 20 of them, at least.” “Tw-tw-twenty?!” I sputtered, unable to mask my surprise.

“”It’s actually a miracle you weren’t killed on the spot.” Claire continued. “I don’t know how many, I’ll be honest, but honestly? This is BIG. I don’t think I’ve heard of so many ghosts occupying one store!”

“Then it must be Brutus who’s keeping them from harming anyone else.” I thought aloud. “He was known for keeping a very orderly and strict prison. Anyone who died there would’ve likely been added on as a hitman for him. Forced to do the dirty work of killing off other intruders, trespassers, thieves, or any criminals.”

“But that still leaves the problem of how to get rid of them all.”

“Well for a man of the law, perhaps he’ll listen to a couple of agents from the ministry?”

“You could try, but I don’t know how well that’ll work. I mean.. The ministry wasn’t exactly always a thing?”

“Granted, but it’s the best option we have.” I sighed and pinched the bridge of my nose, growing tired of these complications.

“Well, moving to a better topic, how’s Siobhan?”

“She’s alright. I haven’t scared her off yet.”

Claire chuckled.

“Oh lighten up Trilby. If I was reading her right yesterday, which I’m sure I was, she was very excited to see you.” Claire’s tone hinted to something more suggestive and I shook my head.

“I doubt she’d feel anything of the sort after this morning.”

“What happened?”

“Well I kind of did scare her this morning. You know that book Lenkmann had? About the Blessed Agonies?”

“Yeah? OH… Ohhh..” Claire began to fit the pieces together and sucked in a breath as though she’s been stung. “Oooh.. Yeah that doesn’t look good for you, does it?”

“She seems to have dropped the whole thing, but.. I don’t know.” I sighed. “I can’t seem to tell what she’s thinking. I used to be better at reading people the non-psychic way but I can’t make heads or tails out of her.”

“Well why should you care what she thinks about you? I mean.. You’re probably not gonna see her after this mission, right?”

All at once last night’s little peck came back to mind, under the sudden dismal gloom that settled over me. I had completely forgotten how flimsy of a meeting this really was. And I was so worried about making a fool of myself over her. I felt stupid and embarrassed and apparently I had been silent for too long, trying to process these things because Claire spoke up again, more cautious and tentative this time.

“..Or.. Did.. something happen?”

“What are you talking about? Nothing happened with Siobhan.” I said, a little too defensively.

“No, I mean, did something happen...to you?”

“No, Claire.” I was growing irritated at myself and her pressing questions. “I’m fine.”

“Aw Trilby-”

“Drop. It.” I hissed, my cheeks flushing momentarily. “Just… Drop it. We’re fine. Everything’s fine. Nothing is happening with me and Siobhan and after we’re done with this mission nothing ever will. Okay?”

“A-Alright. Sorry.”

“Sorry. I just.. Don’t want to deal with this right now.” I sighed. “So do I need to pick you up?”

“Nah, Chris picked me up yesterday and dropped me off at my car on his way to the airport.”

“Airport?”

“Yeah he’s taking a flight to the Bahamas.”

“To the-? What, he’s already on holiday?” I asked, bewildered.

“No no no. He’s on an assignment.”

“Wait.” I could start to feel my blood simmer. “So you’re telling me that Chris Quinn, the new guy? The one who signed on a couple of weeks ago, gets to fly out and fight paranormals while getting a tan, while I’m stuck here with a sadistic bastard?”

“Well you’d be surprised how many ghosts show up during the tourist seasons. All over the world, actually.”

“ALL OVER THE-? What??” my blood quickly boiled.

“What?” Claire asked in genuine confusion.

“Why the hell am I stuck here in bloody England while everyone else gets to galavant off playing tourists??”

“Well not EVERYONE goes out.”

“Yes, but I’m stuck with all the sadists and cultists!” I snapped.

“Ooooh.. Yeah, yikes.” Claire was audibly wincing. “Wait, yeah, you do always get the crappy job, don’t you?”

“Yes and I would very much like to know WHY.”

“Well probably because you ki-”

Claire immediately stopped in her tracks, but so did my previous building anger. My mind didn’t stop, however, and it quickly finished the sentence for her.

Whatever rage I was previously feeling suddenly settled into an icy cold chill around me as Claire began to apologize in rapid fire over the phone.

“I’ll see you at the shop.” I said through gritted teeth.

“No Trilby- Wait I didn’t mean to! I’m so-”

I hung up the phone and left the booth for my car. What she was about to say clung to me like a disgusting cologne that I couldn’t seem to wash off, and I began seething as it loomed over my head like an omen.

Because you killed AJ.

#chzo mythos #trilby somerset #siobhan o'malley #trilbhan #chris quinn #my writing #rational writing

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missantichrist · 5 years

Text

Genesis & the Nemesis pt.1

Michael Langdon x Reader

Word Count: 1.5k (oops sorry I got carried away)

Summary: You’re the archangel. Your whole life you’ve been told your purpose is to destroy the antichrist. Your best friend is Michael Langdon, and little do you know that he’s the one you need to destroy. When the time comes will you have it in you?

Warnings: None yet (there will be smut and violence in upcoming chapters though)

You grew up in a Christian household. You never really studied the bible or God. You believed in God, sure, you weren’t really exposed to much else. You would pray every night for the ones you loved, and you brought goodness and light everywhere you went. Your mother called you her little angel the moment you were born and the nickname stuck ever since. You never knew she meant it literally. Not until you went to church for the first time and all of God’s loyal followers flocked around you, they were drawn to you, to your light. You remember you were about eight years old when the prophecy was revealed. You were the archangel. The only one powerful enough to conquer the antichrist, who had supposedly already risen. It was your purpose, to destroy the antichrist. Conquer hate with love. Rid of evil with good. But you hated it. This prophecy, being the archangel. You wanted nothing more than to live a normal life, but it seemed that whenever one of the worshippers from the Christian church was within a 10 mile radius of you they couldn’t help but be drawn to you. All around you people were constantly asking you for help, and you helped them because, how could you say no? There were perks to being the archangel though, you had special abilities. You could heal wounds from the intensity of a paper cut to a life threatening gunshot wound and you yourself couldn’t be harmed, as if you were made of steel. But the most precious of your God-given gifts was your ability to not only bring life back into the living but you could also return their very souls, their very essence, to their being. Despite having all these people around you who showed you constant love and devotion, you found yourself to be very lonely, lost, and overwhelmed. How were you supposed to go about fulfilling the prophecy of the archangel? It’s not like God ever spoke to you and told you what to do. You were on your own. That was, until a woman named Miriam Mead and her son moved into your neighborhood.

It was dusk out and you had just spent the entire day blessing people’s newborn children at the local church. You were tired and had to clear your head, so you told your mother you were going to go for a brief walk in order to relax a little. You were just doing your regular lap around the neighborhood, listening to your music when you thought you heard someone calling out to you.

“Hey! Hey, hi!” There was a young boy you’d never seen before grinning wildly and waving to you. He had bright blue eyes and wavy blonde hair, and he was dressed in all black. You took out your headphones and walked up to him. “Hey, hi I’m your new neighbor, my name’s Michael, I just moved in with my Ms. Mead.” He was still beaming at you and he stuck his hand out for you to shake it.

“Michael, huh, like the angel?” You asked, expecting him to comment on your prophecy, which was very well known and whispered about within your religious community. His faced only scrunched up in confusion.

“What’s an angel?” He asked. This sparked your interest. If this boy was actually interested in being your friend and he knew nothing about the bible and didn’t go to church then maybe you could finally relax with someone who saw you as a normal person, and not just some stupid prophecy.

“Nevermind.” You smiled. “My name’s Y/N.” You said as you shook his hand.

You sat on the floor of Michael’s room playing a game of chess. He was insanely good at it. He won every time. “Checkmate.” He said as he moved his bishop across the board putting your king in check.

“Damn it Michael!” You exclaimed playfully as you shoved his shoulder.

“Look, it’s not my fault you’re terrible at chess.” He said teasingly.

“No I just play chess like a normal person. How’d you get so damn good at it?” You asked. Suddenly Michael went very silent. “Oh. Touchy subject. I’m sorry.” You said.

“No it’s, it’s fine. I’d just rather not talk about it.” He nodded.

“Hey, Michael, you never tell me anything about your childhood. You know you can always talk to me if you need to.” You said.

“I know. I trust you Y/N, I’d just rather not talk about that right now. And, to be fair, you never tell me anything about your childhood either.” He said.

“Yeah. Hectic times.” You laughed. “I guess we both had hellish childhoods.”

“You have no idea.” He chuckled.

“Oh yeah, try me.” You snorted. There was a long pause before Michael spoke again.

“Y/N?” He asked.

“Yeah Michael?”

“Can I show you something?” He asked.

“Of course.” You said.

“You have to promise not to say anything to anyone. Ok?” He asked. He seemed nervous.

“Ok Michael I promise.” You smiled. Michael stood up off of the ground and looked at you, with a slight pause he flexed his fingers the entire room started to shake, the glass from his bedroom window shattered, flying everywhere. It pierced his skin and he started to bleed. You of course were unharmed. Michael looked terrified, so worried about how you would react. He thought he’d scared you away.

“I-I’m sorry.” He said. “Sometimes I lose control. Please don’t be scared.” He said as he turned around and sat back down on the floor, waiting for you to just walk out and leave, burying his face in his hands. You kneeled beside him and grabbed his wrist, startling him.

“No. Don’t be sorry Michael.” You said as you placed your hand over his and closed your eyes, healing all of his wounds, the glass dislodging from his skin and the cuts closing up. He looked up at you with wide eyes.

“You…” He breathed.

“Yeah. I have powers too. They manifested when I was about 8 years old.” Michael was now brimming with excitement and wonder at finding someone like him.

“No way!” He exclaimed. “That’s when I noticed mine too!” You both laughed, feeling more comfortable with eachother than you had with anyone else in a long time. You had finally found a place where you wouldn’t be judged for being different, or for some biblical prophecy.

After you and Michael had shared your abilities with each other, you started to practice together as well. You’d meet at his house, your house, or just waltz around the neighborhood seeing how discrete you could be. It wasn’t long before Michael revealed that he and Ms. Mead were Satanists. This disturbed you because you knew the kind of stuff that went on in Satanic cults. You knew that sometimes they did human sacrifices. You tried to not let it get to you though because you had known Michael for a long time and if he was a danger to you it would have been revealed a long time ago. You trusted him. That was, until you learned he killed the butcher at your local corner store. You knew he used his magic to do it. You trusted him and believed it was an accident, after all, he did have a problem when it came to controlling his abilities. They often spiraled, became chaotic. That day was the last day you saw him. He was arrested. When you went to the local holding cell to visit him, he was gone and he had left a dead officer in his wake. It seemed as if he had just dropped off the face of the Earth.

You had lost your best friend, your only true friend. You sat secluded in your room alone for most of your time after he disappeared. You practiced your magic, expanded on your abilities. You learned how to move any object just by looking at it, teleport anywhere you wished and fully heal any injury effortlessly. You waited months for Michael to return, or at least give you some kind of message that he was still alive. You heard nothing from him until late one night Ms. Mead broke into your house, somehow eluded your mother and dragged you out to her car. She didn’t say a word and proceeded to press a chloroformed cloth to your face and stuff you in her trunk.

When you woke up, it was still dark out and Ms. Mead was standing over you. “What the fu-” you started you yell but were immediately shushed by Ms. Mead.

“Be quiet, and follow me.” She beckoned for you to follow her.

“And why should I follow you? You just kidnapped me! You drugged me and put me in your fucking trunk!” You yelled. Ms. Mead slapped you as a reminder to be quiet. Fear settled in your stomach. “Are you gonna kill me?” You asked.

“Believe me, if I was going to kill you I would’ve done it a long time ago.” She answered. You finally gave in and followed her. She led you to the back of a large cement building behind some brush. “And now we wait.” She said. You stood there with her for an awkward while in silence. After what felt like an eternity you saw a dark figure moving towards you. As it got closer you realized who it was. You could recognize those blonde curls anywhere.

“Michael?!?”

Tags: @ccodyfern @lvngdvns @wroteclassicaly @langdonfern @ritualmichael @lovelykhaleesiii @yourkingcodyfern @langdonsrapture @avesatanormalpeoplescareme @katiekitty261

#michael langdon x reader #michael langdon #michael langdon fic #ahs apocalypse #ahs8 #ahs #cody fern #reader x michael langdon #american horror story #langdon

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rickssoberjourney · 5 years

Text

Am I Ready to Surrender?

Like Bluto in the GIF I'm waving the white flag. I surrender! "To what?" you might be asking. Hard to say.

I've been fighting God for a very long time. But it wasn't always that way. I had a very emotionally intense "born again" experience during my senior year in high school. For five years or more, I considered myself to be a Christian who believed that the Bible was the inerrant Word of God. To me, if the Bible said it, I believed it LITERALLY...and that was final!

I sought God's will. I did all the crazy (read "immature") stuff that new Christians do. I prayed for parking spaces and to make that red light and I couldn't understand how God refused to honor my supplications. Imagine! The God of the Universe...the God that I worshipped...not doing what I asked! I reasoned that those things weren't really important and I chalked it up to my anthropomorphized god was just too busy. I accepted that...sort of.

I decided (notice I said, "I DECIDED") to become a minister. I didn't want to pastor a church or preach. I wanted to be a psychological counselor in the church. So, I applied to the University of San Diego for get a Religious Studies degree. USD is a Jesuit university and, if you know anything about the Caholic Orders, the Jesuits are the academics of the bunch.

I chose a Catholic university because they promised to let me grow in my own faith while the other schools (like Point Loma Nazarene University) were going to shove their religion down my throat with the goal of converting me to their faith. Nah. Not having any of that!

Of course, the radical thinking of the Jesuits bothered me, but I just dug my heels in and told myself that I wasn't going to listen to their teachings. I would simply put in my time, learn about the Bible, get a second major in psychology, and graduate. I wasn't having any of their theological mumbo jumbo.

Well one day in class, Father McDonald, a priest from Ireland with a brogue I could hardly understand said, "Scripture is a myth!" OMG!!!! I wanted to walk right out of class. I was really upset. Myth means "untrue," right?

But, somehow, I got it in my mind that I would listen to what the Jesuits had to teach me and I would use the brains that God gave me to weigh what they were teaching against my fundamentalist beliefs. That was a breakthrough of major proportions. It didn't end there.

By the time I graduated 4 years later, I was about 180 degrees away from my old fundamentalist self as I could get. It made sense to me that the Bible had been an oral history for centuries and that those stories had been passed down, family to family. I had no problem with the idea that the Old Testament was filled with stories, or "myth" is you will. The word "myth" simply came to mean something different.

Every religion from the ancient Greeks and Romans to the early Tribes of Judaism, to the Native American people, to modern-day Christians use myth to explain what we humans simply cannot understand.

I love the Native American story of how the stars got up into the sky. The Shaman explained that the Earth was dark and flat. The people wanted room to move around so they used tree branches to prop up the sky, poking holes in the firmament. Those stars were simply the sun shining through those holes.

So, I reasoned, if cultures had been telling stories to explain what they didn't understand, the early writers of the Bible probably did the same thing. Was it lying? No. The stories of Noah's Ark and Adam and Eve were simply that - stories. They were never meant to be taken literally and the ancients knew that.

I graduated, went to work as a youth pastor and Christian Education director for a large church in Scottsdale, Arizona. I spent over 12 years in various capacities in a number of churches from Arizona to California. But all during that time, something was happening to me.

For one, I was sturggling with the idea that I could be married with kids and be gay. I never felt that God hated me for that. I'm not sure why. And, as I struggled with my sexuality and what to do about it, my faith began to change as well.

The idea of a white-bearded humanoid that lived in the clouds just didn't cut it anymore for me. I began investigating other religions like Buddhism, Islam, and a variety of others. I came to realize that each of these schools of religious thought basically taught the same thing: loving God and my neighbor as myself. Self-sacrifing love.

I had one person tell me that was evidence that God existed. But, to my way of thinking, that just signaled that the human brain, no matter what culture, used the concept of god to explain life. It didn't convince me that there was a god.

Today, after coming out of the closet over 20 years ago and after experiencing everything from gay relationships, wanton sex, and even drug addiction, I find myself saying that I'm an athiest.

Really now...???

I'm a pretty introspetive person. I usually know why I do the things I do. There has always been this deep anger and resentment toward the god that I used to worship. And, in recovery, I have met that resentment in a different form.

I attend Alcoholics Anonymous meetings. I try to go every day. I learn a lot and I have found true support in those rooms. But, I have also found judgement and what appears to be passive-aggressive behavior on the part of my fellows.

How does that manifest itself? People that I know...people that I text with and am friends with on Facebook...will ignore my greetings. The look right through me as if I'm not there.

Resentment.

The same resentment that I feel toward the god I used to worship.

I'm savvy enough in the ways of psychology to know that when something bothers me that much, the problem is most likely mine. I can't possibly know why a person would behave like that but my codependent brain always takes it personally.

Jeeze! Where the hell does that leave me? Am I an athiest? An agnostic? Or, am I just acting like a spoiled brat who didn't get his way with God? I don't know that I have an answer for that just yet.

I do believe in my Higher Power...Icall it LOVE. I don't resent LOVE. But when I think about praying to God, that raises my hackles! When they say that Third-Step Prayer at meetings, it bugs the shit outta me! Oh, and just let someone decide to end the meeting with the Lord's Prayer and I get practically apopletic!

Why?

There's that resentment again. Someday, maybe I will discover where all that anger comes from. Maybe someday, if I stay open to the idea and to what my Higher Power has to teach me, I can put back together a realtionship with God of my understanding. A different God this time. One who loves me and nurtures me and wouldn't do anything to arouse such resentment in anyone let alone in me.

So, I quote the Book of Mark in the New Testament. A man approached Jesus, asking him to heal his son. Jesus asked, "Do you believe?" The man answered with gut wrenching honesty, "I believe...help me with my unbelief!"

So, that's where I'll leave it...

I believe...help me with my unbelief!

I surrender.

Amen

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buckyscrystalqueen · 6 years

Text

The Unexpected Protector: Part 1

Pairings: Negan x Reader

Warnings: Swearing, Abuse, Domestic Violence, (Not in this part and neither done by Negan or Reader), Little pinch of fluff.

Word Count: 3,373

A/N: HEED THE WARNINGS!!!!!! DON’T COME CRYING IF YOU DON’T!

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

“Just another Friday night, am I right?” Your childhood best friend, Jade, asked as she applied yet another unnecessary layer of lipstick to her bright red lips in your bathroom mirror. You shrugged as you tossed your eyeliner on the marble counter top.

“Don’t you ever feel like we need change?” You asked her as you grabbed your mascara.

“Sometimes.” She agreed as she smacked her lips together and pursed them out as far as she could. “But, then I remember that something different for us means either sitting at home and staring at a wall all day, or actually being cops wives. We’d have to go to those boring dinners and sit on committees and shit.” She shook her head and looked over at you as you pulled down the sides of your black, star covered, three-quarter length sleeve dress over your ass. “You and I aren’t meant to be on committees.”

“Valid point.” You said as you took a step back and flipped your long brown hair over your shoulders. With a small shrug, you pushed your DD cup breasts up a little more, and stepped into your black high heeled shoes. “Alright, let’s club it up.” Jade cheered, grabbed her bag off the counter, and followed you out of the bathroom into the master bedroom of your Park Avenue house on the Upper East Side.

The Sapphire was one of the most high end clubs Manhattan had ever seen, and after it opened, it was the only club you would go to. The exclusivity of it was enticing and with your social connections, and the fact that your most of the time, absent husband was the chief of police, you never had an issue getting in the front door. Just like every Friday and Saturday night you were there, the place was packed with bodies, and small wisps of weed smoke were visible momentarily in the dancing blue lights.

“Drink?” You called out to Jade as you lead her through the crowd toward the bar with her fingers gripped tight in yours. She nodded her head and danced along after you to the unnecessarily loud music. You huffed a laugh and shook your head at her as you pulled her the rest of the way to the bar under the off limits cat walk that circled the entire space. You ordered two cosmos and passed one off to your friend seconds before a fight broke out a few feet away from you.

“Watch!” Jade yelled as she pulled you into her side seconds before one of the guys in the fight slammed into the bar where you just were. You let out a small squeak and tried to curl into her as another large man was shoved backwards into you, nearly knocking you to the floor.

“Get ‘em out of here!” Someone yelled as Jade moved you off to the side out of the way.

“You OK?” She asked as she took the empty drink cup from your hand. You nodded and smiled at her.

“I’m fine. But I’m definitely not getting another drink.” She laughed in understanding as you pointed toward the dance floor where a few other friends were already dancing. “Let’s dance.”

——

Negan stood on the balcony outside of his office, watching the breathtakingly gorgeous woman take a slightly shaky step away from his bar toward the dance floor. His eyes barely darted over to the asshole that had slammed into you, who owed him a few hundred thousand dollars in gambling debts, and was being escorted out of the bar, before he found you again.

For the first time in his life, time stood still, and the room seemed to disappear as he watched the way your chest length, wavy hair bounced as you danced. Even in the dark club, your green eyes were the most stunning things he had ever seen until he saw your smile. He took a half step forward to the rail, gripped the metal tight, and he knew he needed to fuck you.

“Get her up here.” He growled to his right hand man, Big Sam, as he pointed down at you. “Girl in the stars.” The man nodded his head and ducked past him as he kept your eyes on you. He could feel himself growing impatient as Sam seemed to take his time making his way through the crowd to get to you.

He mumbled ‘come on’ under his breath as you looked away from your friend for a moment, before following Sam’s gesture to where Negan was standing, unseen, in the shadows. He let out a small sigh of relief when you told your friend you’d be back. He stepped back into his office and moved quickly to hide the gun that was on his desk. He poured two drinks and picked both glass tumblers up as Big Sam pulled open the office door and gestured you inside.

“Thank you, Sam.” He said with a smile as you stepped hesitantly into the surprisingly large room. “To make up for the one you lost.”

“I’m sorry?” You asked as you looked up at the well dressed man that was leaning against a large, mahogany desk.

“The drink my moronic employee spilled on the floor.” He said as he gestured to you with the glass. “My way of apologizing.”

“Well if that’s not first class service, I don’t know what is.” You said with a smile as you took a step toward him and took the glass from his long fingers. “Thank you, Mr…”

“Negan.” He said with a smile as he kept his brown eyes locked on yours. “Just Negan.” You returned his smile and nodded your head.

“(Y/N).” He gently tapped his glass against yours and took a sip before gesturing to the black, leather couch that ran along the side of the red painted walls.

“So, (Y/N), do you come here often?”

“Every Friday and Saturday night since you opened.” You told him as you pulled down your dress and sat down on the comfortable couch. “I take it you own the place?”

“I do.” He said with a slow nod as he sat back against the arm of the couch and rested his arm over the back. “One of fucking many in Manhattan that I own.”

“Well you’re not one to brag.” You teased with a small smile as you crossed your legs, and took a sip of your drink. He studied you for a moment, and wondered if you were going to make this easy or complicated for him.

“May I ask you something?” He questioned as he watched the tip of your tongue slide across your top lip. You gave him a subtle nod, and rested the glass on your thigh. “Do you know how fucking beautiful you are?” Your eyes went wide as you sat up a little straighter.

“Oh! Oh, I’m married.” You said as you showed him your left hand and the giant rock on your finger.

“For now.” He said with a shrug as he lifted his glass to his lips. “But that can change.” You shook your head and slowly stood up from the couch.

“I’m sorry, I think you have the wrong impression of me.” You muttered as you set your drink down on the table. You took a step back toward the door and thanked God when Negan didn’t move to get up. “I have to go.”

“Enjoy your night, (Y/N).” He said with a subtle tilt of his glass. He licked his bottom lip and chuckled to himself as you walked quickly out of the room to go back to your friends. “Sam!” He called out as he swirled the contents of his drink and drank it in one gulp. When his employee walked in, he gestured to the door as he got up off the couch. “Follow her. I wanna know fucking everything.”

~~~~~~~~~

“He propositioned you?” Jade whisper shouted as the two of you floated on rafts in the pool on the fifth floor of your ostentatious house the next morning. “Is that why you just up and left?” You shushed her loudly and glanced up at your husband, Christian, who was running on the treadmill in the glassed in gym that overlooked the pool. Not that he ever paid you any mind anymore unless he was pissed off at something at work. Then he took his anger out on you.

“Yes.” You said with a nod as you looked back over at her. “He told me I was beautiful and when I told him I was married, he just said for now.”

“Damn.” She said as she leaned back on her float. “You lucky bitch.”

“How am I lucky?” You hissed.

“Honey, do you know who that is?” You cocked your eyebrows at her and shook your head as she glanced up at Christian to make sure he was still paying attention to the TV. “That’s Negan… the Negan. He’s the head of the Mafia.”

“No!” You exclaimed with a shocked growl.

“Bible. How did you not know that?” You shrugged as she picked up her drink from the cup holder on the arm rest of her chair. “I hear he’s a good lay.”

“Stop.” You giggled as you carefully brushed your fingers through the water to turn yourself toward her more. “I’m married.”

“Yea, to that prick.” She said as she gestured to the raised part of the fifth floor with her eyes. “(Y/N)…”

“I know.” You sighed as you rested your arm on the arm rest and your cheek on your fingertips.

“Well, I’m gunna keep saying it until you listen. He’s got you all fucked up in the head, (Y/N). I don’t know why you’re still with him.”

“Jade, please.” You said as you picked your head up and looked over at her. “Just drop it?”

“No can do.” She said with a shake of her head. “Not until you get your head out of his ass.”

“(Y/N)?” You looked up at Christian almost fearfully as he grabbed his towel off a table by the door on his way out of gym. “I’ll be home late tonight.” You nodded at him as you sat up, and took your sunglasses off.

“Do you know what t…”

“Late.” He interrupted as he headed over to the elevator.

“Oh!” You breathed and nodded. “OK, baby. I love…” the rest of your sentence fell off as he stepped into the elevator without even looking back at you. “…you. He does that a lot, doesn’t he?” You asked as you looked over at Jade. She bobbed her head at you and shrugged.

“Every fucking day. But you don’t listen to me.”

“Shut up.” You growled as you dropped your sunglasses back down on your face.

“You should sleep with Negan.” She said as she got off the raft and sank down into the water. “Maybe it will get the stick out of your ass…”

“Let’s go shopping.” You said as you rolled off your raft toward the stairs. “I’m done with this conversation, Jade.”

“Fine. You win.” She groaned as she pushed the raft out of the way and followed you out of the pool. “For now. But this isn’t over!”

——

“Hey, boss?” Big Sam said as he stepped into Negan’s home office not even twelve hours after he had been sent to follow you. “You’re never gunna believe this.” Negan didn’t take his eyes off the books he was looking over.

“Make it quick.” He growled.

“Boss. That girl? She’s the wife of the Chief of Police.” Negan dropped his pen and looked up over his black rimmed glasses. A smile stretched across his face as he took off his glasses and leaned back in his chair.

“Well fuck me.” He chuckled as he rested his elbows on the arms of his chair, steepling his fingers in front of his chin. “This is an interesting fucking twist. Makes conquering her so much more fucking fun.”

“(Y/N) Wilson, formally (Y/L/N). She’s 31.” Sam said as he pulled up his notepad to read off the information he had found out about you so far. “Doesn’t work. She frequents Page Six on a regular basis with all the charity events and other social events she attends. She lives in a six story house on 76th and Park with douche bag Wilson and her little Pomeranian. Been married six years. She comes from family money and get this. Her net worth is 1.7 billion dollars.” Negan whistled and arched his eyebrows.

“Damn. What else you got?”

“Well.” Sam said as he took a seat in front of the desk. He sighed and flipped to the next page of his notebook with a shake of his head. “You’re not gunna like this boss.”

“Go on.” Negan said as he leaned forward to rest his arms on his desk.

“She’s in an abusive relationship. Cops have been called to her house seven times in the last four months but no arrests have been made. She’s been photographed a couple different times with black eyes…”

“The fuck?!” Negan shouted as he leapt to his feet; the need to add you to his list of conquests completely replaced by the need to save you. “He’s fucking beating her? I’ll kill that mother fucker.”

“Boss! He’s the chief of police.”

“I don’t give a fuck! Address.”

“Boss.” Sam tried as Negan grabbed his phone off the desk.

“Give me the fucking address unless you wanna fucking join him in the fucking bay!” He roared. His face started to tint red and the vein in his neck began to bulge in his fury so Sam instantly grabbed a pen off the table. He wrote the address down on a clean sheet of paper, which Negan snatched before the ink dried. “Get my fucking car.” He growled as he stormed out of the office on a mission.

——

“What are you doing, Chewie?” You cooed as you stepped over your small, brown, Pomeranian who was contently chewing on his kong toy in the middle of your closet floor. “Right in the middle of the floor, aren’t you?” You giggled as you stepped over him to put away clothes from your newest shopping trip and weed out old ones you didn’t wear to donate to charity like you did every few months. “Always in my way, baby boy. You always gotta be in my way, don’t you?”

“Ms. Wilson?” You looked toward the door of your closet with a smile as you tossed a few old nicer shirts onto the bench seat that ran along the middle of your long closet. You smiled at your maid, Mary, as she took a step into your closet. “You have a gentleman caller.”

“Did he give you a name?” You asked as you set the empty hangers in your hand down on the bench.

“He said it was Negan. He also said that you knew him.” You paused for a moment in your bedroom as Chewbacca jumped to his feet with the end of his toy in his mouth so he wouldn’t get left behind.

“Damn it.” You growled as you headed past the woman. “This is gunna be fun.” You stepped into the elevator and waited a second for her and your dog to follow you before pulling the old gate closed and hitting the garden floor button.

“I’m sorry, ma’am. He insisted.” Mary said nervously so you gave her a small smile.

“It’s alright, Mare.” You reassured as the elevator came to a stop on the first floor. She returned your smile and opened the gate for you. You gave her upper arm a gentle squeeze and stepped out into the small hallway that lead past the grand spiral staircase into the foyer.

“You got a nice place.” Negan said as he pushed off the front door frame and pulled a toothpick from between his lips.

“How did you find me?” You asked as you stopped in front of him and picked up Chewie.

“I have my fucking ways.” He said as his brown eyes dragged down your curvaceous figure in a pair of short cotton shorts and a plain black tank top, and back up to your green eyes. You cocked your eyebrow at him as he gestured into your house. “Gunna invite me in?” Your eyes narrowed and you shook your head.

“What do you want, Negan?”

“What, can’t a guy simply…”

“No.” You interrupted with a shake of your head. “No, you can’t show up here. Negan, you’re… you’re, you’re…”

“Go on.” He said with a chuckle as he put the toothpick back in his mouth.

“You’re a mob boss!” You hissed with a glance over your shoulder to make sure no one heard you, even though the only other person in your house at the moment was Mary, who you believed was back in the unnecessary formal dining room, dusting.

“And you’re the wife of the fucking police chief.” He said with a nod. “Why the fuck does that stop you from inviting me in? It’s only polite…”

“Negan.” You groaned as you shifted your wiggly puppy to your other arm.

“Is it back here?” He asked as he gestured down the hall. “Because I guess I’ll just let myself in…”

“Goddamn it.” You growled as you turned on your bare feet and stomped toward the stairs. “Fine, whatever.” You heard him chuckle as he followed you up the stairs to the second floor where your living room, library, and one of your two bars were. You set Chewie down at the top of the stairs and he instantly dropped the kong toy on the floor and ran into the living room to get a new toy. You sighed, grabbed the kong, and followed after him.

“Wow.” Negan said as he walked into the massive room that took up the whole front part of the second floor; nearly thirty feet wide by twenty feet across. “This is…”

“Yea.” You said with a nod as you gestured for him to take seat on the couch. “Way to big for just one person.”

“What about your husband?” He asked, causing you to realize what you said.

“Well, I meant two. It’s just… I…”

“Spend most of your time here alone since your fucking abusive dick bag of a husband spends more time at work than he does being a good fucking husband?” Your jaw dropped and your head whipped toward him as he leaned back against your couch as if it was something he did every day. “Yea.” He said softly with a nod. “I know about the fucking abuse. Like I said, I have my fucking ways.”

“He doesn’t do it anymore.” You whispered as you turned sideways on the chair you were in, and pulled your feet up on it for protection.

“Doesn’t fucking matter.” He said with a shake of his head. “He’s a piece of shit, scum bag, (Y/N), and you deserve better…”

“Don’t you think I know that?” You snapped as you looked over at him. “I get it, alright. You and Jade, both; it’s all I fucking hear anymore!” He cocked his eyebrow as you slammed your fist down on the arm rest of your chair. “I can’t fucking do a thing about it, OK? He’s a fucking cop. THE fucking cop. I’ve tried having him arrested for assault but that didn’t do shit. So I keep my fucking distance which, in a seven story house, is easy as fuck.”

“Then leave him.” He said as he leaned forward toward you.

“I can’t.” You said with a shake of your head. “I own this house, and I can’t kick him out of it. No judge in town will dare sign off on an eviction notice…”

“Then let me handle it.” You shook your head as tears welled in your eyes.

“You can’t.” You whispered. “No one can help me.”

“I can.” He said softly with a nod of his head. “I can help.” A few tears fell from from your eyes as you shook your head again.

“No, you can’t.”

Part 2

#Negan x Reader #The Unexpected Protector #Negan thirst squad #Negan's thirst squad

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themonkeycabal · 6 years

Text

Okay, so a million years ago I posted a snippet of a fic about the Garage, and how Darcy found that Howard stored some of Bucky’s things there.

And so here’s what was in Bucky’s trunk:

"Yay! Pin-up girls! I had my fingers crossed. Not disappointed." Darcy pushed the corner back of the poster on the inside lid, the tape giving way after 70 years. A blonde woman in short shorts and a red, faux military jacket, saluting the viewer and sitting seductively, yet demurely, on the wing of an airplane. "She looks patriotic."

"Doesn't she just." Bucky laughed and pulled out a bundle of cloth, wrapped in brown paper, a laundry stamp on the top. "Why the hell did Howard keep my laundry for 70 years?"

"I doubt he paid attention," Darcy said, lifting another little folded poster. "He just grabbed it all, shoved it into storage." This pin-up had her long and shapely legs kicked high, laying back on a beach in a very short sailor's uniform, looking over her shoulder. Darcy wolf-whistled and set it aside. "I say we frame these and put 'em on the walls here."

Bucky gave her a skeptical look and pulled out his old army cap, tossing it aside. Darcy grabbed it and put it on. It was big on her, but that just meant she could have it fashionably and rakishly cocked on her head. She was not above a little pin-up modeling. And Bucky definitely looked, his cheeks even went a little pink. Most adorable brainwashed assassin ever.

He pulled a green, battered notebook out of the trunk.

"What's that?"

"Sniper log."

"Cool." She snatched it out of his hand and flipped through the ballistics charts and messy scrawl of targeting calculations, while he shook his head. "What? I've got binders with my artillery worksheets."

"I used to think you were just yanking my chain about that."

"We've got computers for targeting, but dad made me learn how to do it by hand. Slide-rules, plotting wheels, and graph paper." She lowered her voice to mimic her father's, “'Because, Darcy, if we don't understand what the computer's doing, how can we make it better?' I might not be a sniper and a crack shot with a rifle, but I can hit a teacup from twenty miles away. So there."

"Sure, you'll take out the teacup, the building the teacup's in, and the building next to that. What did the teacup ever do to you?"

"I'm sure it had it coming."

She set aside his notebook and leaned over to dig out a Stars & Stripes paper, and something called Yank; which turned out to be another Army paper and not something more amusing. Boo.

"Why were you hoarding papers?"

"Two isn't a hoard. Somebody probably just shoved 'em in the locker when … you know, when they packed up. Like the laundry." He shrugged and pulled out a cylindrical, olive green can. "Your granddad, the idiot. Most of this is junk. Who wants an old scope case?"

"Rifle scope? Oh, me." She caught it when he tossed it her way. "Vintage military stuff."

"It's a beat up old case." He shook his head and pulled out another pack of laundry. "For cryin' out loud." Muttering to himself, he tossed that pack aside, too.

"Hey, clean clothes. Come on."

"They've been in a box for seventy years; there's nothing clean about them. It's just undershirts and socks or whatever." He shook his head and pulled out a long, flat, black box. "I can't believe he kept this stuff."

"What's that?"

"Think it had a bayonet. Empty. More junk for you to collect."

"Yay!" She cheered and caught the case when he threw that her way, too. "Honestly, whatever you don't want or need, we'll toss. I mean, I feel pretty sure I can find twenty other scope cans in storage somewhere."

"Yeah, and those will probably have their scopes in them."

"True. But none of them will be yours."

"So what?"

"Oh, Bucky." With an amused smile she patted his shoulder. "So old, so innocent. Wait until you read your own biography."

"My … what?"

"It's decent." As a history, the biography wasn't great, it really wasn't, but it wasn't horrible either. Pretty light, but at least not full of speculation or bullshit — there was one crap book about the Commandos published during the 80s that claimed he was a Nazi agent all along. She didn't remember the details, she'd only heard about it third hand, but his grandnephew sued with Howard's backing — maybe Peggy's, too.

Bucky Barnes was Captain America's best friend, but he wasn't Captain America, and he didn't garner the same attention or detailed study. However, there was a period, during the Vietnam-era, when Captain America wasn't so popular, and Bucky Barnes somehow became a weird counter-culture figure; a symbol of both friendship and youth sacrificed on the alter of state ambition. Boomers raged against their Greatest Generation parents by co-opting one of their heroes. She honestly had no clue how he'd feel about that.

Not great judging by the horrified look on his face.

"I don't want to ever see that," he said in a tone that was both serious and panicky.

"I swear I will never make you look at it." And she wouldn't. "Though," she continued thoughtfully, "Colonel Phillips wrote the definitive book on the Howling Commandos during the war. It's really good. Steve liked it. They made a movie based off it a dozen years ago or something like that. Not bad. The book's better, of course."

"You meet Phillips in '46?"

"No, sadly. He was in D.C. doing whatever retired Colonels do when they're still scowling and supervising spy organizations."

"Magazine pouch." He handed her the faded khaki holder. It clanked when she took it and she opened it to check the clips still inside. Empty, thankfully. She didn't want to deal with 70-year old munitions. "Canteen cover. Gun belt. I ditched this stuff when we got folded into the SSR."

"I've always noticed your uniform wasn't exactly uniform."

He considered that for a moment, then shrugged. "Maybe not, but since we weren't all even US Army, and then they stuck us in the SSR, what did it matter? Geez, we were going into battle with a guy dressed like the flag. Nobody had any room to complain."

"So touchy. It was a good look on you. Again with the stupid gratuitous buttons, but still. I think you should adopt the leather gaiters again." She leaned forward and peered in the trunk again. "Do you have any in here?"

"Probably not." He pulled out a thick book. "My bible."

That felt like a weighty subject she wasn't sure how to comment on, but she spotted an out and gratefully fell into the tendencies born of her DNA and cracked a joke.

"Is that your bible, or is this your bible?" Darcy reached past him and lifted out the booklet titled How To Get Along With Girls. That was so good, she almost couldn't talk past her amusement. "Oh honey. Did you need the help?"

Bucky sighed the sigh of a man who knew he was about to get shit and there was no way out. "One of the guys was a joker. I don't remember which one it was."

"I feel like this was a Morita gift."

Bucky smiled appreciatively, like he was relieved that she could know that, and nodded. "Probably. Should've given it to Steve."

"I think he could still use it," she laughed, and flipped through the book. "Oh, a quiz. Sort of. How to pick your right girl. 'Do you have similar tastes in most things?'"

"Yeah."

"Explosives, weapons, bar-keeping. Check, check, check. Next: Is she a good sport? Well, duh, yes."

Bucky snorted and pulled a card out of his actual bible. Darcy was trying not to snoop, and a bible seemed extra personal, but she peeked — a prayer card for a soldier. Oh, Bucky.

"'Is she a flirt? Does she make you jealous?" Darcy made a face at the book then made one at him. "I don't play that game. Besides, you do that all on your own."

"Mostly I'm teasing you."

"Only mostly. You've gotta get over the Steve thing."

He grumbled and pawed through a handful of loose odds and ends at the bottom of the trunk — buttons and boot laces and candy wrappers. "Next."

"'Does she tell lies? Do you mind?' Oh, that's a minefield. Spy! I'm a spy! Of course I lie! And I'm awesome at it. So, as a skill—"

"I appreciate it. And I don't think you've ever lied to me."

"No, I don't think so, either. Because that's not a great foundation for a friendship or partnership or whatever-this-is-ship. And, that's bitten me in the ass hard, in a not fun way. Oh, wait, when we met, I said my name was Stark."

"Not really a lie."

"I didn't feel like it was, but in the interests of being honest about lying." The next question sent her eyes rolling. "'Is she a nag?' Do I nag? Sometimes? I don't mean to nag. I think it's a boundaries thing. I blame my father. I'm working on that."

"You do it lightly, I guess. You push, and then you back off. So, that's not really nagging."

"You nag, too."

"Yeah. More stuff in common, huh?"

"'Is she quarrelsome?' You love it."

"You're not that kind of quarrelsome. One of our neighbors, Mrs … damn. I don't remember, she lived right next door. Steve might know. Anyway, boy, you could hear her laying into her husband a block away, about every damned thing under the sun. Then he'd bellow back and my ma'd pound on the wall for them to shut up."

"Fun."

"Yeah. So, you're not that sort."

"Glad to hear it. 'Has she tried to boss you?'"

Bucky laughed and shoved away from the trunk. And then he kept laughing. She scowled. "There's a little bit in parenthesis after that question — it says 'maybe you need a boss'. So there."

Bucky grabbed the book out of her hand and scanned down the list of questions a fellow ought to ask himself before giving in to that irrational monster called love.

"'Does she expect you to support her in a definite style?'"

"You'd better believe it, buddy."

"'Would she go to work if necessary?' Christ, could I stop her?"

"No, you couldn't." She sniffed at him and pulled another book out of his trunk. "My grandpa says idle hands are the devil's workshop."

"Your hands, definitely." He tossed the booklet into the trash box and she squawked in protest and scrambled to dig it out. "Gotta meet your other gramps. Sounds like a good guy."

Darcy took the booklet and put it into the save pile for Steve. "You'd like him, for sure. Steve says I talked him into going home with me for Thanksgiving that one time, but it was actually grandpa Jim. I wasn't getting anywhere, because he thought he was imposing for some reason. So I called grandpa and handed the phone to Steve. He was all 'Steve, son, I've got an extra fourteen pound turkey I won at a raffle. You don't want that to go to waste, do you?'"

"That would've done it," Bucky agreed.

"What's this?" She pulled out a leather case with a zipper across the top.

"Shaving kit."

Shaving razors and foam weren't the only thing in the kit, and she snickered as she pulled out a small cardboard box. "Condoms, Sgt. Barnes? Pharaoh brand. Oh la la."

He tried to snatch the box out of her hand but she moved quicker. Which would have impressed them both if she hadn't been laughing so hard at his mock pout, she really just tripped backwards out of his reach.

He rolled his eyes and threw the kit into the trash pile. "Hey, do you know how many damned health films we had to watch?"

"So many?"

"By the time we got to Europe, I was ready for the Nazis to shoot me."

Darcy kept laughing and tossed the box into the 'keep' pile.

"It's junk," he protested.

"It's vintage design. Somebody put a whole lot of effort into the illustrations on that box." A fellow in a pith helmet in front of the Pyramids with palm trees and a belly dancer. "That is a work of art. Like, you know exactly what's in it, but it's all classy and exotic, too." She patted his hand. "Way to be health conscious, soldier."

"You're a weird broad."

"That's true," she agreed. "So … French girls or English?"

"None of your damned business," he said, but he was chuckling with her, shaking his head and pulling a couple more books out of the locker.

He handed her one, and she thumbed through it, her skin rasping against the strange, pulpy paper. Just like every other industry, wartime rationing hit the publishers, too, lowering the quality of bindings and the paper itself. The spine cracked like a dry twig when she opened it, and the pages were decidedly yellow, but they weren't yet brittle, and the book was still legible.

"Raymond Chandler. Good choice."

Bucky's eyes lit up and he leaned towards her. "You like Chandler?"

"I love me some hard boiled fiction, Sergeant."

"Well, what do you know," he murmured, looking a little adoring.

She felt a touch breathless herself. "I bet you never saw 'The Big Sleep'. Classic. Humphrey Bogart, Lauren Bacall. We'll have to watch it."

"Sounds like a date."

"Sounds like it might be."

#my fic #run 'verse #darcy lewis #bucky barnes #fic snippet #btw that booklet is a real thing #fic bit

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kclenhartnovels · 6 years

Text

Second Chances

[Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four]

“What the fuck, man?” Fletcher fell off the couch at the puff of smoke and spray of cologne in his face that came as Razi's greeting.

The demon laughed, tossing him the rest of the bottle. “What? I thought it might help you set the mood with feathers.” He looked around the bunker with his hands on his hips and an unlit match balanced between his teeth. “Not exactly the romantic suite we had pictured you taking him to, but it'll work.”

Fletcher threw the cologne back at his head with a snarl. “I had to tell him I was in hiding, or he wouldn't have believed my sudden change of heart. Asshole.”

He caught the bottle before it hit the wall, tsking softly. “Temper, temper. I came to help.”

“I don't need your help. I know what I'm doing.”

Razi shrugged, sauntering around the couch at last. “Well, that's a highly debatable fact, kiddo. Adem sent me with the schematics for a few seals that should keep out any angelic prying eyes, and a few others that look enough like demonic seals that the little bird shouldn't think twice about them. But, we'll still be able to put our binoculars on and get a good view. So make sure you keep the show interesting, huh?”

Fletcher felt his claws itch, but he just curled his hands into loose fists. “What if I don't want you watching?”

“Why, you got something to hide?” Razi held up a piece of paper to the wall, going over the pattern with his hand and scorching it into the concrete behind. “You know we don't get the full cable package in Hell. Nothing else to do but watch our little soldiers do the good work.”

“Maybe you should try knitting.”

“You know what, fledgling? I like this sharp tongue you've found all of a sudden.” He pulled out another symbol, repeating the measure on a different wall. “Though you may want to watch who you try to stab with it. Could come back to bite you.”

Fletcher opened his mouth to reply, then had the breath knocked from him as Razi pushed him against one of the bookshelves, an arm over his throat and the smell of sulfur and lies in his face.

“Don't disappoint, Fletcher,” Razi said quietly, holding him in place even as Fletcher grabbed at his arms to try and catch a breath. “And don't lose your focus just because the bird's got some pretty blue eyes. You are to keep him distracted. Pull him from his work. By any means necessary. And if your sultry little swagger and your cock in his mouth don't do it, then you'd better find the willpower to use your claws.” He shoved three more papers into his hands. “Finish these. Do not disappoint.” He tapped him on the nose, then vanished.

Fletcher coughed from the heavy smoke and the relief on his neck, sinking against the bookshelf. The papers trembled in his hands, and he swore. He lit a cigarette. He took a breath. The cologne he threw in the trash, and he went about finishing the seals Razi had started. Despite the simmering anger and doubt in his chest, scorching the seals gave him something to focus on, and it was good practice for the demonic magic that had come with his wings and claws. He'd have to learn to do more than just light cigarettes eventually anyway, right?

He stepped back when he was finished, and was actually pleased at the symbols left behind. He had no idea which ones were angelic seals, or which were the false demonic ones, but they looked like what was on the paper and it certainly gave the bunker a sense of purpose other than someone's nervous hoarding. He plucked one of the books from the shelf, then flopped back down on the couch, one wing folded against the cushions, and the other draped over the edge and across the floor. The sun rose, and the sun set, and Fletcher half-dozed on the couch, dreaming of barstools filled with flappers and politicians, lips on his ear, a hand on his thigh, and the sound of ice clinking against glass.

“Fletcher?”

He heard Merrick's voice on the hazy coattails of dreams. Lips on his ear, a hand on his thigh, and the world tilting slowly as if his life rocked on a ship in harbor. A warm hand touched his arm.

“You awake?” Merrick asked, leaning over him, automatically checking for any signs of injuries on the demon.

Fletcher's eyes opened, blinking away the last clouds of sleep to see his angel so close to his face, wreathed in soft feathers and with a frown over those sea-blue eyes like he could hear the whistle of a coming storm. Did Merrick see it while he had slept? Could he still feel the smoke and betrayal that Razi left behind?

Or was it just the reek of the cologne still heavy in his nose?

“I'm awake,” he slurred, his wings stretching to give him room to move. “Sorry. Didn't hear you come.”

“I see you got the seals in place.” Merrick pulled back at last, going to inspect the scorched walls. “Must be working too, because while I was waiting for Abby to fall asleep I tried to check in on you, and I couldn't see anything. Nearly gave me a panic attack. I thought maybe someone had found you. These are demonic ones, here?”

Fletcher nodded, despite the knot curling in the pit of his stomach. “Yeah.”

“Where did you learn to do these?”

“I did some studying while I was still earning my wings in Hell. Guess I remembered more than I thought.” He swung his legs over the edge of the couch, watching Merrick's back. The slight roll in every step he took, the outline of muscles he could see through his shirt along his back, supporting those heavy white wings. White, flecked with gray like the pattern of rain on glass.

“You never know when things like that come in handy, huh?” Merrick looked over his shoulder, moving one wing out of the way to flash him a smile. “So no one found you here? No one bothered you?”

Fletcher shook his head. He could still feel the tightness of Razi's arm across his throat. “No, not at all. I read a few books. I slept. It was a nice change. Though, I could use a radio down here.”

“I could probably get you wi-fi,” Merrick teased, his smile widening. “It would keep you occupied for awhile. And help you catch up too, I think.”

“Catch up?”

The angel shrugged, leaning his back against the wall and folding his arms over his chest. His wings sprawled to either side of him. Fletcher watched the way the speckles on his feathers danced. He could see the bottom ink of a tattoo peeking out from Merrick's right sleeve. “Well, you haven't been out of Hell that long, have you?”

“Is it that obvious?”

“You don't look like someone who's comfortable with modern dress, for one thing,” he chuckled, nodding towards his suit coat. “I'm going to bring you a pair of jeans. Or better yet, sweatpants. And a phone with internet access. Maybe you'll even drop that little accent of yours.”

“I don't have an accent,” Fletcher argued, not sure if he felt more offended or flustered. “And I'm not the one who still walks like the ground is moving.”

Merrick laughed. “Look, I've lived twice, and I was on a ship both times. My feet don't know what to do on solid ground.”

“Lived twice?” he repeated. That didn't make any sense at all. When people died, they went to heaven or hell right away, right? That was kind of the whole point of the Bible, wasn't it? Saving the souls of the righteous. At least, that's what he had always heard from the preachers. The ones who were so quick to damn him. He could remember being fourteen years old, tied to the bed, dehydrated and feverish as the priest performed an exorcism while his mother sobbed for a cure, and his father stood against the wall, arms crossed and stone faced. Hell seemed tolerable.

“Yeah, and I keep getting threatened from my boss that he'll send my sorry ass back to earth to try a third time if I don't shape up.” For as heavy as the threat seemed, Merrick's voice was casual, and he rolled his eyes. “You've heard of purgatory, right? Well, it's pretty much Earth. They can't decide if you belong up or down? They send you back to try again. And again, sometimes. Though I'm not really looking to lose my wings now that I finally went north. Teremun is all talk anyway.” He paused, looking towards the bare lights thoughtfully. “And a dick.”

“I didn't know that was even possible,” Fletcher said quietly, but his thoughts were inward, the knot in his stomach turning into a burning ember. If he could have had another chance on Earth, then why did they decide he was so wicked as to go to Hell? He wasn't as bad as Razi, and certainly not as bad as Adem, or a hundred other demons he had met below. Sure, he had robbed and killed, but he had been surviving. He was doing what he had to, to escape a family that hated him for who he was, and to find a way to keep his stomach full and his head sheltered. If he had gone to Hell, were all those crooked cops there with him? Did his parents go there? Or did they get the second chances he didn't, all because of—because of what?

“Are you okay?” Merrick's easy smile had faded, and the angel took two steps towards him, hand outstretched.

“Not really.” He didn't want to admit that aloud, but his tongue seemed to be moving without him. His wings quivered. “I'm just...” His mouth groped for the word, trying to describe the feeling that burned in his gut, so hot it seemed ready to tear a hole and send him spilling onto the floor. “I just wish I knew what it took to get second chances.”

Merrick's hand touched his cheek, and his eyes found focus on the angel's face. The eyes that clouded with concern, the sea that rose and broke, searching for a way to cure the pain. Fletcher could feel the warmth of his palm, the gentle brush of fingers against his temple that seemed to for a moment clear the acrid smoke that filled his head. Fletcher thought about dark alleyways and kissing cops, about speakeasies and lips against his ear, about hands sliding down thighs in the back of smuggling trucks. He thought of the boiling sea, and second chances, and duty. Of Razi's arm across his throat. Of Merrick's hand on his face.

Fletcher closed the space between them, pressing his forehead against the angel's and closing his eyes. His lips ached. “I think I just need more time. And like you said—some time to get to know the world up here.”

“I'll get you everything you need,” Merrick promised. He pulled back breathlessly, and when he smiled, it didn't reach the troubled sea. “I'll be back tomorrow night.”

Fletcher blinked, and he was gone, leaving behind a single feather and the smell of saltwater.

Maybe second chances never came to cowards.

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#original fiction #abomination series #fletcher and merrick #angels and demons #writing #my poor child #fletcher honey #your gay is showing now too

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lovemesomesurveys · 3 years

Text

What is the closest book to you? Forgiving What You Can’t Forget by Lysa TerKeurst.

Are you reading it or someone else? I'm reading it. It’s the book for the Bible study I’m currently doing.

What is the most expensive thing you own that plays music? My MacBook.

Do you have any siblings? If so, what are their names? I have two brothers. Ever wear colored contacts? No, I've never worn any kind of contacts.

What color is your hair? Naturally, it’s dark brown, but I’ve been dyeing it red the past 6 years.

What kind of shoes do you have on? I'm not wearing any shoes.

Do you like watermelons more or cherries? Watermelon.

Do you like it when it rains? “I’m only happy when it rains, I’m only happy when it’s complicated.” Anyway, yes, I love when it rains.

What was the last thing you bought? My brother’s birthday gift and something for me.

Do you get cold easily? No, I get hot easily.

Do you have a job? Nope.

Do you own a dictionary? No. I just use Google if I need to look up a word.

Do you like to mow the yard? I’ve never done it. I don’t have any interest in doing it. It would be hard for me to do as well.

Besides your mouth, where is your favorite spot to get kissed? Neck.

Who was the last person you ate with? My mom.

Did you take a nap at all today? No, it’s only 12:45AM. I took a nap yesterday, though.

Who was the last member of the opposite sex you laid in a bed with? No one.

What color is your father’s car? Green.

Where’s the last place you wore a hoodie to? To my doctor’s office.

Are your nails painted any special color? They’re not painted at all. I haven’t painted them in years.

Give us your plans for the next three hours? Right now I’m doing surveys and listening to ASMR. In about an hour or so I’ll probably make my usual nightly bowl of ramen and catch up on some YouTube videos while I eat. Then I’ll go back to surveys and ASMR.

Can you live a day without TV? Yeah, easily.

Have you ever had a best friend who was of the opposite sex? Yes, a few.

Do you prefer broccoli or asparagus? Broccoli all the way. I don’t like asparagus.

Do you have any complaints about your life? “Hey, wait, I got a new complaint.”

Where was the last place you stayed over? A hotel last year.

Skim, 1%, 2%, or whole milk? None of those, I use vanilla almond or soy milk. Lately, I’ve been really into the Almond Breeze vanilla milk that has a hint of honey in it.

Are you reading any books right now? Yeah, I’m reading two: “Autumn’s Game” by Mary Stone and “Forgiving What You Can’t Forget” by Lysa TerKeurst.

Now what are you listening to? I’m still listening to ASMR.

Do you have any bug bites? Nope.

Do you have any flowers in your room? No.

Do you know anyone that owns horses? No.

When was the last time you used one of those temporary public toilets? Are you referring to a porta potty? Never.

Do you live anywhere with any interesting landmarks? Not in my city particularly, but yeah my state has a lot.

When you were little, did you ever go to feed the ducks? Yes. When I got older I learned you shouldn’t do that, though.

When was the last time you visited the zoo? Did you get to feed any of the animals? About 5 years ago, I think. I got to feed a giraffe, which was awesome.

Would you ever want to own one of those little teacup pigs? No.

Do you like the taste of champagne, or do you think it’s a bit overrated? I didn’t care for it.

Given the chance, would you take a trip into outer space? Nooo. Just the idea of outer space creeps me out. I can’t even look at pictures.

Have you seen any of the seven wonders of the world in person? No, sadly.

Do people ever try and start poke wars with you on Facebook? That hasn’t been a thing in over a decade.

What’s a restaurant that you won’t ever eat at again? This Mongolian BBQ place I used to love just because I can’t eat spicy food anymore. :(

Did you have your morning coffee this morning? Or do you not like coffee? I haven’t gone to bed, yet, but I absolutely will have my coffee after I get up later. That’s a given.

Do you ever let scary movies get to you, and end up scaring yourself? Nah, not anymore. I love ‘em.

Is there someone you know that is absolutely repulsive? No.

Are you tired from last night? I’m always tired.

Do you have over 400 songs on your iPod? Are all of your songs good? I definitely had more than 400 songs on my iPod. I couldn’t tell you the exact amount cause it’s been stored away and unused since like 2012, but yeah. Well yeah, they were all good to me hence why I had them on there.

Do you eat randomly, just whenever the hell you want? Yeah.

Did you have trouble getting up this morning? Like I said, I haven’t gone to bed yet. However, I always have a hard time getting up so I could just say yes to this question now.

What’s a few things that automatically make you go, “Awwwe”? My doggo just existing, basically. haha. Do you have soft hands? Do you like holding hands? My hands could use some moisturizer. And yes, but I get self-conscious because my hands get clammy a lot.

Have you ever burnt a food, and make the whole house smell gross? Yeah. Why does burnt popcorn smell so awful? You wouldn’t think something like that would have such a strong, gross smell. I know I’ve had that happen with some other microwave food, too.

If so, what was the food you burnt while cooking? ^^^

Wouldn’t it be awesome if you had your own personal jet pack? This reminds me of a random dream a friend of mine had several years ago (that I still remember for some reason) where she said I had a jet pack and used that to get around instead of my wheelchair, lol. Suuuuper random, but apparently it stuck with me all this time.

What’s your opinion on perfumes that are REALLY expensive? Do you like them? I mean, there’s some really nice smelling expensive ones for sure, but I just couldn’t bring myself to spend a ton of money on something like a perfume. Everyone has their thing and that’s fine, but that wasn’t one of mine. Name a thing that melts in your mouth that you love: Walkers shortbread cookies do when I dip them in my coffee. They’re so good. Do you like roasting marshmallows? Can you toast one perfectly? I do, but I haven’t had much experience doing so.

Have you ever burnt your tongue like REALLY bad? If so, what on? Yeah, with really hot coffee, really hot cheese on pizza, ramen that wasn’t cooled down enough, Pizza Rolls, Hot Pockets...

Do you like having random power naps now and then? I wouldn’t say I like them, but sometimes sleep just wins and I give into them. I just always feel groggy and more tired after a nap.

Is your hair soft? Do you ever brush it at work or school? Yeah. I used to carry a travel brush in my bag when I was in school and used it sometimes if needed.

What do you think about lip gloss? Do you ever wear lip gloss? I like how it looks, especially a tinted one, but I didn’t wear it often. It’s been a long time since I’ve worn lip gloss.

Are you currently worried about your parents finding out about something? No.

Don’t you hate it when your drink is too hot to drink? I want my coffee to be really hot, but yeah I get impatient ha.

What’s the coolest thing you’ve ever made in a metal/wood work class? I made a simple doll house. It was super basic, but still.

Do you like concerts? If so, do you like being in the mosh pit? Yesss. Concerts have such a cool energy and vibe. I love singing (shouting) along to the songs and just having a good time. It’s been over a decade since my last concert. :( And no, I never went in a mosh pit. That would not be my idea of a good time at all. I imagine getting claustrophobic, overheated, and hit and shoved.

Do you like a lot of dairy products? What’s one of your favorites? I love cheese. I’m lactose intolerant, but thankfully cheese doesn’t seem to bother me. I’ve actually read a lot of people who are lactose intolerant can handle cheese.

Have you ever “liked” two guy best friends at the same time? Yes.

Who can you trust more secrets with, a best guy friend or a best girl friend? It wouldn’t matter what gender they were.

Where are the best cinnamon buns made? Do you love cinnamon buns? Cinnabon from my experience. Mmm, that sounds so good right now.

Have you ever had a REALLY bad rug burn? Did someone drag you? No. Those look and sound so painful, ow.

Do you think pasta and salad go good together? What’s your favorite in mind? Spaghetti and salad do. I love mixing them together. I eat my spaghetti with ranch anyway, so it doesn’t bother me.

Do you like going go-karting in the summer? Do you floor it when driving? I’ve never been.

Did you like eating Happy Meals at Mcdonald's as a kid? Yeah. I remember how exciting it was to be able to get McDonald’s, haha. And if you were the kid who got to have McDonald’s for lunch at school, you were so envied.

You can go to any restaurant; what restaurant, and what do you order? Wingstop. I’d order my usual, boneless garlic parm and lemon pepper wings, fries with extra parm seasoning, and a couple sides of ranch.

Have you ever sat on the computer for more than 4 hours? Uh, countless times. Even longer than that.

Do you ever go on youtube and browse and look for new songs? No, I don’t use YouTube for that.

Do you have a brother who is quite the video game fanatic? He’s not a video game fanatic, but he has some favorites. Are you a video game lover? Whats your all time favorite video game? I wouldn’t say that, but there are those I like. Mario Bros anything, really. I was into this series called Life is Strange and Life is Strange 2 a few years ago. I’ve also been playing Animal Crossing: New Horizons on the Switch for the past year.

When your cat stares at you, do you stare back? I don’t have a cat, but I do that to my dog sometimes.

What grandparents are better, the ones on your mom's or dad's side? I was closer to my maternal grandparents, who sadly have both passed away, but I wouldn’t say either set of grandparents are better. I just had a different relationship with them. I have a good relationship with my paternal grandparents as well.

Do you like to have cake on your birthday? Which kind of cake in mind? Sometimes I’ll opt for cheesecake.

What is your absolute ALL time favorite song at the moment? I don’t have a current particular favorite at the moment. I haven’t been listening to music lately.

Do you like drinking Mochas? (Hot Chocolate and Coffee together): I like white chocolate mochas. Peppermint white chocolate mochas, especially.

Do you ever get random headaches? If so, why do you think the reason is? Yeah. *shrug* It’s just one of those things that happen.

Have you ever seen your mom cry? Is it hard for you to see your mom cry? Yes, several times. Anytime I’ve seen her cry it just hurt my heart and made me really upset, too.

Are you sick and tired, of being sick and tired? I really, really am.

What’s your favorite cereal? Did you ever eat the cereal Trix? All the sugary ones, basically. ha. And yes, I like Trix. Are you allergic to anything REALLY weird? Do you know someone who is? I’m allergic to tangerines, which seems pretty random. Do you like Oreo cookies? Or are chocolate chip ones better…? I like both, but my favorite cookies are sugar and shortbread.

Are you a fan of spicy foods? What’s the spiciest food ever in your opinion? I used to be back when I could eat spicy foods. I was obSESSED. I can’t have it anymore, though. :(

#personal #text #survey #surveys

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characteroulette · 6 years

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Also, as an added bonus, I wrote an actual scene for the "We Didn’t Need You" AU that I had fun with (because Jonathan), so here’s that, too

Dante knew even in childhood that he was meant to be alone. Whenever he tried to get his classmates to play with him, they were never interested in giants made of melting clay or trickster pixies who trapped the unsuspecting travellers in eternal dances. They wanted to play things like 'house', or re-enact bible stories, or play made up silly hero stories in which the monsters were always defeated and the heroes came out on top.

They didn't seem to understand that the monsters could have complexity to them, that they weren't just evil beings. And Dante never understood the appeal of pretending to be a family. (They could have their robot cats and pet dragons, but the fact that the Mama and Papa were so kind and loving with their babies just seemed like such a lie.)

He had a Mama and a Papa. He had a sibling sometimes. But, at the end of the day, Dante was always alone.

At some point, he just started preferring it that way.

Of all the new first years that came to their school that year, it was the frightened blond boy who caught Jonathan's interest. The kid got a single room, always ate alone at his own table, and seemed to be avoiding everyone else. An air of loneliness hung about the boy, yet it was a contented sort of loneliness. At least, if Jonathan was reading it right.

Honestly, despite never even interacting with this other boy, Jonathan felt a kinship with him.

Maybe that's what possessed him to sit down at the same table one day for lunch, completely unprompted.

The disturbance made the boy look up at Jonathan. A mixture of confusion and fear was in his eyes, which Jonathan now noted were red. Just as Niculaie and Damon's eyes were. After the initial surprise (and attempting to figure out what exactly he was supposed to do now that he'd made this impulsive decision), Jonathan held up a hand in greeting. "Hey."

The other boy nodded slowly in return. "Um. Hi."

His voice was quiet, unsure. Which was fair. Jonathan had invaded the other kid's space. Jonathan offered up a smile, shoving his hands into his lab coats' pockets. "I'm Jonathan. Nice to meet ya. Mind if I sit here for today?"

"Uh." The other boy bowed his head, staring resolutely at his tray of food. "I guess. I can't stop you. If you really want to." The more he spoke, the quieter he petered out by the end. And, perhaps because Jonathan was very aware of his own accent, he could hear the slightest bit of accent in the other boy's voice. "I'm, uh. Dante Vicario."

"Vicario." Jonathan sounded the name out shortly. It sounded familiar, but he couldn't quite place it. Perhaps he'd run it by Damon, that pompous rich boy knew the whole school. For better or worse. Jonathan half-smiled and turned back towards Vicario. "What electives you taking? Let me guess -- one of 'em's Study Hall, right?"

Vicario kept his head down, his expression mostly out of view. Jonathan waited a moment for Vicario to reply, realised he wasn't going to get one, then went about eating his own lunch. He'd sat there, it was up to him to make conversation. But it was also polite to give space when appropriate. And it didn't seem like Vicario was very keen on the whole talking thing.

Maybe Jonathan could try again during dinner. Or maybe even after hours. Vicario had that single room and all.

But no, no. That wasn't Jonathan, that wasn't how a nice, straight boy would make friends. And Jonathan was a normal, straight boy.

"Sitting here today, huh?"

Frank suddenly dropped his tray on the place beside Jonathan's, grinning mischievously as Vicario jumped at the sudden noise. Jonathan frowned in amusement at Frank. "Thought I'd get to know Vicario a bit. How about you?"

"Oh, you know." Frank sat down, cheery as usual. Despite Jonathan knowing exactly what Frank meant. Still, graceful as ever, Frank moved on by looking next at Vicario. "So. Would you rather fight a bear or a bunch of bees?"

Jonathan snorted, barely holding back his laughter. Another perfect opener from the genius kid himself. God, Jonathan was so glad Frank was able to be his roommate. Even if it meant he was reminded of William more than he'd like. Well, whatever. That ship had sailed. Now Jonathan just had to keep his head about him, to last until the end of the year. Then he'd be off to college and, hopefully, things would make more sense by that point.

Vicario dared to glance up at Frank, that mix of fear and confusion still in his eyes. They stared at each other a moment. At first, Jonathan wasn't sure which of them would speak first, if at all. Then Frank grinned brightly. "All right, easier question. What would your most essential item be if the world ended right now?"

Vicario perked up for just a second, an answer ready in his mind. But he paused, stopping himself. An awkward minute passed, in which Frank's smile fell and Vicario looked to be fighting with himself on something. Then, in a surprisingly swift motion, Vicario stood, grabbing his tray, and hurried off. Both Jonathan and Frank watched Vicario dump the whole tray in the trash, then leave the cafeteria completely. Jonathan wasn't sure Vicario had even touched any of it.

"Huh." Frank sunk back in his seat, looking as perplexed as Jonathan felt. "I didn't expect he'd run."

Jonathan hummed vaguely in reply. It may have been an impulsive decision, but this was turning out to be more intriguing than he'd expected.

Frank shrugged, then grinned up at Jonathan. "You gonna answer my question at least?"

Jonathan smirked, placing his hand heavily on top of Frank's head. Just enough to push Frank forward in his seat a little. "Hah, but you all ready know my answer."

"It could've changed, unlike your attitude."

Frank half-whined, half-laughed. The kid was such a good sport. As such, Jonathan relented, removing his hand and allowing Frank to sit upright again. "It's still my chem. set." As he answered, Jonathan leaned back in his seat enough to cross one leg over the other, staring off towards the exit to the cafeteria. "The chemicals come in handy. Never know when you'd need explosives or some medical supplies."

"Logical as ever, sir chemist." Frank attempted a posh, serious tone, but ended up giggling. Jonathan smiled along. Frank petered out, then gave a long, dramatic sigh. "I gotta go now, I only came over to talk for a bit."

Jonathan raised his eyebrows, intrigued. "Got plans?"

"Yeah, that Philips girl agreed to help me with some of my English stuff." Frank grinned as he stood and grabbed his tray, giddy as ever. After a moment, however, that giddiness turned into sheepishness. "I mean. Not that I don't think you'd be able to help me with that, too, just."

Jonathan shook his head in what he hoped was an encouraging, understanding sentiment. "Go make friends."

A bright child like Frank couldn't be bound to just his focused brother and someone as dour as Jonathan, lord knew. Frank seemed reassured, thankfully, perking right back up and grinning with confidence. "Thanks. See ya later, Jonathan."

They waved to one another in parting as Frank dashed off to sit with miss Paige Philips and her gang. Jonathan contented himself a minute with watching them all interact with one another, talking and laughing animatedly. They had the Wolf, his band mates, and van Helsing IV with them. Frank and the Fourth must've been new additions, as Jonathan didn't remember them being there last month. Or even last year for the Fourth. Damon was probably keeping closer tabs on them, being so hung up on that Philips girl.

Honestly, though. She wasn't that special, really. Her blonde hair might've been the only real stand out thing, as she insisted it was natural, but in every other respect she was normal. She had a lot of fight, she didn't take any bullshit, and besides that. Couldn't Damon tell she wasn't interested? Niculaie at the very least had to have mentioned it to Damon. Even Natasha or Aglaé had to have said something by this point. It'd been a whole year!

Speaking of, Niculaie, Damon, Natasha, and Aglaé (with Diane, Charon, and Gaëlle) all grouped over, sitting around Jonathan's table with their trays of lunch. Natasha gave a cheery greeting while Charon immediately engaged Diane and Gaëlle in a discussion that seemed like a continuation of an earlier topic. Aglaé, of course, had his nose buried in a book. Niculaie, oddly, smiled very gently at Jonathan. "You tend to smile so much more whenever you're speaking with Ernest."

Damon near cackled. "Kid should realise what a rare treat that is."

Jonathan levelled them both with his best uninterested expression, hoping to god his embarrassment wouldn't show through. "Whatever, Kingpin."

Damon really laughed at that while Niculaie frowned. How the two of them ever became friends and stayed that way, Jonathan would never understand. Even though, on the inside, he knew exactly how easily Damon could work his charms on someone. That show-off had been born lucky, a trait Jonathan certainly didn't share. But the jerk did make use of it to help out Niculaie when it mattered, so maybe Jonathan could ease up. Just a little.

An earlier thought came back to him and he decided in favour of pursuing it. "Hey, Asheford, humour me a moment. Why's the name 'Vicario' ring a bell?"

For a brief second, Damon's eyes went wide. Like he'd been caught off-guard. Even Niculaie's expression turned to shock in that moment and he turned to Damon in concern. Before Niculaie had a chance to say something, however, Damon recovered and smoothed himself out with a smirk. "Had a run-in with the Fireball, eh?"

"Is, um." Niculaie paused, a little too excited, and continued with much more calm. "How was he doing? Did you get to talk to him long?"

Jonathan, a little taken aback, frowned at them. "No, he. He barely told me his name before he bolted. Am I missing something here?"

"Dante Vicario is the son of Lietta and Caro Vicario." Aglaé, surprisingly, spoke up, drawing their attention. Aglaé didn't even look up from his book, turning a page idly as he continued. "The Vicario family are the founders and owners of the world's leading company in computer science research and development."

Damon sat back, satisfied. "Exactly."

Jonathan grimaced, a little in frustration and a lot in annoyance. "And how again does this relate to me knowing the name?"

"The Vicarios have been my family's clients for years." Damon waved a hand dismissively, his other arm crossed over his chest. "Maybe you heard your mom mention them or saw the name on one of her court documents."

Jonathan might've relented, might've agreed at that, but Niculaie's entire posture drooped in almost a guilty way and no, Jonathan wasn't about to buy that easy an explanation. There had to be a little more than just that. For the moment, though, he settled for nodding along and dropping it. Damon quickly moved the topic along to what they should do about the computers in the towers and Jonathan tuned him out, opting to watch the rest of the cafeteria.

Vicario never returned. Maybe that was a good thing.

#Momo writes stuff #Game Kids need their own tag #Dante #Jonathan #Frank #Damon #Niculaie #Aglaé #au: we didn't need you #I might as well tag that #Jonathan was a fun write holy shit #I wish I got to write him more for the main story

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