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shaarlslec · 1 year

Text

me and the devil

words: 4554

introduction/part 1 | part 2 | part 4 | part 5

warnings/notes: charles leclerc x reader, friends to enemies to lovers type of a thing, both of them being pricks, slight manipulation;

inspired by: Soap&Skin - Me And The Devil, The Neighborhood - Afraid, The Academic - Why Can’t We Be Friends?, lovelytheband - i like the way, The Wombats - Turn , Wallows - Pleaser

masterlist

“I came here because I–” Charles paused, backing two steps away from you. Fuck, even the idea of your bodies being departed just inches away drove Charles mad because he wanted for that space to not even exist in the first place, and yet he had to keep it cool around you – that what was he was advised, “Your war declaration impressed me.”

Summer break came and gone with you two not even exchanging a single text. There was no room for that anymore. You were at war now. At least, that is how Charles has put it in the words of his newest interview for GQ during the summer break.

“You have quite a tight gap between you and your teammate, and as far as everyone remembers it – that has not happened for you in the last two years. What changed within the team due to that? What has happened in between the two of you because as we all know it – you used to be Y/N mentor.” The interviewer dared to scoop; camera pointed to only Charles who was comfortably seating down nodding his head slowly as the words flooded the room.

“Mentor is a huge word to use here.” Charles has confidently responded, eyes piercing the camera as if he was talking to you and not an entire audience, “Y/N is an extremely talented driver, and I had the chance to watch that closely since the beginning of her racing career – and I am grateful for that.” Your teammate spoke with tensed back and shoulders, “The team priorities remined the same as they were at the beginning of the season – that is to win another championship, and to answer all of your questions,” Charles then paused, shortly inhaling the heavy air in the room as if you were there to witness the words, “I and Y/N are at war, and we will do our best for our mutual feelings to not scrouge the team’s priorities.” He added, eyes titling down at his shoes for a while to take another breather before glaring up at the interviewer again, “Next question.” He ended, almost demanding.

“He is a fucking child.” You muttered as you watched the interview next to your manager who basically forced you to watch the video, “How am I younger than him and yet the one to abstain herself from such comments?” You voiced with that burning aching feeling of your chest deepening as Charles’ heavy breaths stood as main remainders of the last time you saw each other back in the hotel room, “We are adults for God’s sake, not children playing Warzone.”

An amused side-eye came from your manager whose phone went back into their back pockets for their hands to fully lock on their torso, “Can I say something, Y/N?” They asked, waiting patiently for you to nod, “Charles angers you – and that is good.” They added, “That is if you keep it professional.”

Your eyes rolled, figuring out that you do really hate this phase. Does not sound like us, Charles’ voice reverberated in the back of your mind, “What if I do not?” You questioned, thinking about all the times in which you were almost ready to give up the whole professionalism into your being in front of him.

“You have to deal with the consequences of trying to beat the one you lose your mind for inside and outside the track.” They uttered, both of you knowing damn well that means trouble for the career you fought so much to pave.

“Enough about Charles.” You spoke, being the demanding one now, “Let me enjoy the last couple of days before I have to face him again, don’t mention him for this time being.” You added, and you could swear that you heard your manager saying “as if you don’t what that” underneath their breath.

You fought a paradox that was not only yours to bear, thoughtless of you to think that you were the only one tormented by the idea – Charles was too. Is just that Charles Leclerc had a different coping mechanism that you did. While you were trying to avoid anything online remotely linked to your teammate, Charles preferred to keep in-check your social media and to engage in every single conversation that you were mentioned in. No matter how cold and assertive he would have wanted to look when any questions about you was directed towards him, Charles enjoyed being put in such position. The Monegasque loved to be challenged, and what such thrill that you were the one to do it. You pushed him to strive for the better at the same time as you were alarming him.

“Does she bother you that much?” Arthur asked his brother watching Leclerc scrolling through your Instagram before dinner, “That you have to watch her every step even if you are not competing?” The youngest Leclerc had inquired in almost silence as he was careful of the others gathered at the family dinner to not hear them speak, “Kinda stalk-ish, if you ask me.” He then mocked, eyebrows playfully twitching up.

“Well, I did not ask you.” Charles replied as the phone was placed back in the pocket, “And yes, Y/N does bother me.” Your teammate declared, switching glare with his little brother who happened to be one of your closest friends within the sport. Yes, you had a thing for the Leclerc’s brothers.

“Then, let me be the first one to tell you that she will drive you insane.” Arthur amplified with a sharp look towards his brother who was confusedly staring back at him, “I know you two well enough to figure out who will be the one to snap first.” Arthur mumbled, and then the conversation got interrupted by the arrival of the food and the fuss that created around the table.

Charles weighted Arthur’s words. Arthur was quite right. Being that close in age with Arthur, you two grew up basically together through the junior leagues of F1. And yet, you were two steps ahead of the little Leclerc ever since the beginning. You got into F2, Arthur followed two years later despise the age gap and the relations the family had. You got into F1; Arthur struggled for another two years into F2 before making it into a midfield team alongside you who was already signed for Ferrari at that time. You were cunning, and both Leclerc were pretty much aware of that.

Charles has watched you being ahead of his brother throughout the years, and yet Arthur never quite lost his mind over you as Charles did. Arthur had always kept it calm, and your friendship was never affected by who scored the most points or who was the best amongst the two of you – why was it different for Charles?

Your teammate circulated around that question for the entirety of the dinner as everyone was trying to grab his attention with whatever question that ended up being answered by Arthur rather than Charles. He is stressed, don’t mind him. Arthur would say, trying to switch the focus from his brother to literally anything else.

Yes, Charles was extremely stressed out, but not over whatever people at the table thought that evening. It was not about the following races or even about winning the championship anymore – it was all about you and the way in which you bothered him that seemed to be very much very different from the way in which you made Arthur behave towards you.

Charles had enough time to pick his brains about this inquiry until the next time you saw each other (a couple of days down the road). You met him before practice for that weekend’s race due to your media duties. You two had to film a C2 challenge that consisted in who was the teammate that knew the other the best through answering questions about the other. You huffed as your colleagues showed you the question prompts. What were Charles’ favorite food, movie, ideal date, and celebrity crush. When did Charles won his first grand prix, what corner is his favorite out of the corners at Monza and so on. They also passed you a sheet with all the answers – and they did the same for Leclerc in other room.

“I don’t need this.” You both spoke, pushing the answer sheets away, “Most of these are wrong, anyway.” Charles and you added, glaring over your PR team.

The filming set was simple. Two chairs standing one in front of the other in the Ferrari’s garage. It was supposed to be like that, no big fuss or huge thing. You needed to show the people that were watching you that you still get along, that what happened before the summer break has no impact on you whatsoever. Those were the instructions you both received before entering the garage, now seating one in front of the other with cards gripped in both of your hands, not daring to look at each other now.

“Ok Charles, you can start.” Someone announced, and the cameras rolled. Charles begun with the introduction; eyes fixed on the camera before turning them on you. You almost flinched when Charles shifted his glare, and yet you knew that you needed to prove (to you mostly, and to him) that he was not moving you in any shape or form. Do not stand in my way. You gulped, the sweet tone that Charles was using was quite different from what he has portrayed back in the hotel room.

“We are here to find how much we know about each other.” Charles intoned, leaning back into his chair as he was piercing you, “Do you feel confident that you can win this too?” He asked, and that was for the very first time when he was addressing you after three long weeks.

You sustained the man’s glare, “How about we turn this into a speed-round?” You asked with an arched brow, “See whoever answers faster.” You teased, giving a side-eye to your managers and the team who was confused as for why you were changing the rules of the game but agreeing with your plead anyhow as soon as they heard an affirmative answer coming from Leclerc.

“Sure, why not. Five questions per person, half a minute for answers.” Charles confidently spoke, and you could swear you were the only one to see his small smile turning into a nifty smirk with the intention of intimidation.

Charles Leclerc was not intimating to you anymore as he was back in the days – it was the other way around now. You were the one who troubled him the most, and not vice-versa.

“Favorite dish?” Charles inquired, knocking his knee with the edges of the cards,

“Pasta, easy.” You immediately spoke as you slightly rolled your eyes, “But not anything that involves seafood in them, especially well-cocked shrimps.” You added, mimicking his pose as you relaxed your back in the chair as well.

Charles nodded proudly, and he kept doing that as long as the questions were asked, and your answers never fail to impress him and everyone around. You knew him, oh you knew him too well.

“My turn.” You declared, leaving the cards to fall on your knees as you crossed your arms at your chest, “Favorite spot to hang out after a race?” You inquired, not starting as easy as he did with the questions about himself.

“Trick question right from the start.” Charles laughed, “Depends on the city we are in – sometimes is some tiny hidden restaurants deep in the center of the city, and sometimes is up-hill somewhere.” He spoke, and you were not expecting him to remember all of that right from the start, “Also, when you are racing home – you always take the car and drive around the city for whole hours.” Charles replied, adding more to the answer perhaps for him to prove that he can beat you at this game as well or for you to know that he had as much attention as your stories at you had at his.

You nodded, “Very good, Leclerc.” You breathed before getting into the next questions that Charles answered in the same fashion as you did his – some of them even better.

The whole crew let you talk while your mangers were exchanging worried glances. That was the interaction of two people that are deeply interested in each other (the amount of effort you both put into remembering all those details about the other was insane). It was clear for them then, as it was for the whole team that you only pretend to despise each other. No person who hates the other could have known what their first childhood memory was or that they hate the taste of salted caramel cappuccinos. The game went on as a speed-round for a couple of minutes, until it was Charles’ turn again to ask you the questions.

“What is your relationship with my brother?” Charles suddenly inquired, and all eyes widened in the room (that type of question was nowhere on the cards).

Your eyes widened too, “Is this question about you or me?” You replied with a nervous laugh.

“It implicates us both.” He answered back, glare as sharp as a knife and voice steady as if he was almost scolding you.

“It implicates me and Arthur.” You spoke, hearing the cameraman shutting the camera down with a click as the atmosphere thickened between you and Charles, “If you are that curious – you should ask your brother then. I am sure you are closer with him that you are with me.” You muttered, wondering if it was jealousy you sensed in the tone of your teammate or simply new-found curiosity.

“You are the one in front of me now – I am asking you.” Charles fought back, but his intentions were cut shut by the Communications Manager.

“Ok guys, enough content for today.” She spoke with a little amused smile on her face, being one of many wondering what your answer is if this conversation continues any further but knowing that a scoop into your personal life would not be the best way to promote your relationship to the public, “Go take five, you two have other interviews to attend before the practice.”

“And for God’s sake,” Your manager interfered after a heavy breath, “Can you two behave for five whole minutes without attacking the other?” They asked, watching you already leaving your seat while Charles’ glare never budged from where you stood, “Y/N wait –” They rushed, following you out of the garage back into your motorhome.

“Why are you getting so worked up for?” They questioned you once they breathless caught you from behind, you were quicker than any normal person not only when driving but when you were walking too, “It was just a silly question—”

“Leclerc has no reason to be jealous.” You confessed, leaning your body on one of the walls, “Why does he act the way he does in front of other people too?” You inquired, temples pounding at the verges of your head, “Why does he care about my relationships with other drivers, have I ever asked him how well he gets along with other girls? No.” You vented; your manager perplexed shutting the door behind you two.

Charles stood from his chair after you left the room, everyone in the room was eyeing him. He adjusted his voice by coughing twice, “I guess we need to film the outro for the video some other day.” Charles simply said to your Communication Manager.

“There is no need, we will figure out something without you two in the same shoot.” She implied with furrowed brows, “But perhaps –” She paused, watching Leclerc position both of his hands at his hips, “Keep your cool in front of the cameras with Y/N, alright?”

“What do mean? Have I said something wrong?” Charles inquired, looking around the room for someone to back him up. Yet, no one did so.

“Not exactly Charles.” She answered, “But if looks could kill, you would have murdered Y/N right in front of us.”

Charles’ gulped his words before he could say something, the realization kicked in. Arthur was right – you were driving him insane. The worst part of all that? That everybody around you two was seeing that, and yet Charles acted clueless.

Focus was on the race on Sunday, after one successful qualifying session during which you got third place on the grid and Charles first. Yet, Charles had PU changes that pushed him five places back in the grid. You were ahead of him, and you were planning to keep it that way. No matter how much Charles managed to anger you outside the track, you had to take all of that and put in inside of it.

You had a good start, pushing Max on P2 and now you were chasing Russell. As you were not seeing Charles’ car in your mirrors, you kept your calm for half of the race when you took the opportunity to pass Russell too in a tight corner – exactly how Leclerc has taught you before.

It was a tough race for Charles, but a very good one for you. The minor PU changes seemed to not perform as well as the team expected on Charles’ car, so he struggled in P4 for most of the race.

It rarely happened for Charles not to be on the podium, and he needed that now more than ever for his own ego because your finish in P1 meant equality in points in the championship if he was not to pass Russell ahead of him. Xavi announced him that through the radio, while your race engineer spoke just these words to you: Y/N please abandon the fastest lap.

And yet, Russell was unyielding in P3 pissed by Max passing him five laps before the checked flag and you were angered by your team’s message. Leclerc must be in P4 still, you thought. With an open distance and a considerable gap between you and Max, you pushed all the limits of your body and that car to disobey the team’s orders without saying anything back to them as a reply.

You took P1 and you took the fastest lap of the race too. One point ahead of Charles Leclerc in the championship, and oh how much would that upset sweet little Charles.

The crowd was in awe for the second time in a row, and you were more than pleased to take the fourth trophy home for the season as well as you were thrilled to be asked how it feels to lead the championship for the first time through your F1 career before hopping on a well-deserved podium.

“What do you think your teammate has to say to this swift in points?” The Sky interviewer asked, and you would have wished for your punch to knock that man right then and there. It was your time to shine, yours and yours alone. And yet, of course – they had to ask about him, cause how can someone take the spotlight from their dearest champ?

You furrowed your eyebrows; the thought of Charles has not crossed your mind up until this stupid question. What managed to anger you now was not your teammate, but your foolish team orders. And yet, you had to give them what they wanted. Meaningless to say, you loved the chaos as much as Charles did especially during high rushes of adrenaline as now.

“As he declared – we are at war, aren’t we?” You giggled, whipping the sweat off your forehead with a smirk sprinkled on your wet face, “All of us are here to win.” You added, saved by the bell of timing as Max was asked to replace you.

Charles watched from the side, and within even his own surprise – a small smile split his face as the answer flew to the man’s ears.

Oh, the game is on.

Xavi went to apologize to Charles at the exact moment when the people in your team were hugging and congratulation you.

“I don’t need apologies, Xavi.” Charles spoke, eyes watching your every move as you went up to the podium, “I need solutions.” The Monegasque then declared, leaving the spot next to Xavi who he left wordless to go and wait for you in front of your motorhome. A warning for you seemed to not be enough, therefore Charles has decided to step up his game seeing that you did that on your own.

You were startled once you saw him at your door with his race suit half on and arms locked at his chest, “You again.” You almost sobbed beneath your gutted breath, “What do you want now?” You questioned, passing by him to open the door for him to follow you inside, another tantrum was not ideal to be witnessed by people passing, “You need to stop following me in such fashion – people might think that you are in love with me or something.” You teased, turning on your heel for now to watch him closely inches away from you as he stopped his steps right before your bodies could have tinged.

Charles said nothing to your remark. You rolled your eyes at his silence, “It is just a joke, you don’t even know how to joke anymore?” You continued, undressing from your racing suit as he was watching. Putting it half down just as him, you placed both of your hands on your hips with an annoyed look on your face, “Have you come here just to stare?” You wondered, Charles’ silence weighting as seconds passed by.

You huffed, “You are the one who did it first, Leclerc. Don’t pretend that I am the one who put us in such position.”

“Oh, so you have been watching me.” He promptly replied, your eyes rolling again as the grin on Charles’ face extended.

“Don’t gloat.” You spoke despite all the cravings inside of you that commanded wiping that man’s smile with a slap or a lock of mouths, “You are the one who has been stalking me on social media.” You replied, an immediate reaction on Charles’ face in the form of a twitched eyebrow and a nervous chuckle.

“I got my answer then.” Charles breathed, back now glued on one of your walls putting as much distance as he could in between the two of you, “You are that close with my brother so that he can rat me out to you.” He continued, one of his hands stretching the back of his neck.

Nervous, you made him nervous once again. You knew you would, and you were smart enough to figure out that the Leclerc brothers had been talking about you over the summer break for Arthur to send you a text saying What have you done to my brother that your name pops up first in his searches?

“What was with that question, anyway?” You asked with your shoulders tensed up, being impossible to fully relax all your body underneath the man’s gaze even after the race’s rush of adrenaline wore off, “You know that I and Arthur are friends, he was the one who introduced you to me.” You recollected, flashes of your first talk with Leclerc flickering in the back of your mind: when he was sweet, kind and caring, and when your crush on him started.

“I needed answers, Y/N.” Charles sighed, switching his weight from the back foot on the one standing closer to you as he made its way back into your space. Damn, Charles Leclerc was indecisive, “Why it is different for me than it is for Arthur when it comes to you.” He declared, hand up in the air now to touch your cheek.

You were startled at first, of course you were. Three weeks ago, Charles seemed to you like he could not even stand the idea of you touching his hand, and now his was on you. And yet, you caved in as his hand cupped your already rosy cheeks. No matter how much you would have liked to resist, your body told the story. He pulled your head up, close to his mouth. Oh, so damn close.

“Maybe because you are different people, and I and Arthur always have known where we stand.” You spoke, watching the little reddened spots that were still on Leclerc’s face from wearing the helmet, “You and I?” You added, touching the reddish line with the tips of your fingers, “We have yet to find out.” You continued, getting up on the edges of your foot to match Leclerc’ energy and to make the distance in between your lips to slowly fade away, “Too bad that we will not find that very soon.” You added, lips almost caressing before you snatched away from Charles, leaving him all hot and sweaty in front of you, “I know what you are doing, Charles.” You warned, steps away from him now.

“What am I doing?” Charles innocently and all confused spoke, arm hanging out around his body having none of you to touch anymore.

“You are trying to find my weak spot.” You explained with almost watery eyes, “That is you.” You acknowledged after a short breath, “You made me not care about you in the same way as I did before two years ago when you decided to play the devil card.” You continued with what were full-blown lies told to Charles in the most convincing tone, “You are not going to make me go easy on you for the remining races by making me fall in love with you, again.” You demanded as your heart broke, “Dare to touch me again when you really mean it.” You intoned, “Or do not touch me at all.”

Charles’ stare sharpened, “That is not what was I tryin—”

“Get out.” You managed to speak, “I need to change.” You lied, all you needed was a moment of peace caused by the turbulences of your heart jumping back and forth just as Charles’ steps towards you.

“Fine then.” Charles spoke, “If that is what you want.” He added, turning his back on you but not before throwing the following words behind his shoulder, “Just be aware that you are the one who is playing the devil card now – turning into me.”

Your eyes remined fixed on Charles’ back until he was out of your sight. When Charles did so, giving one last look over the shoulder – Charles’ hand went to his heart first before balancing around his body. Yes, you figured out your teammate’s plan. Charles came to find you to suede you, and yet the impact of his throbbing heart hurting within his chest was something he was not expecting to feel.

Charles needed another plan for him to not become the one who’s played by his own intentions, and yet what he saw inside your flaming eyes when your lips were so close to him aroused Charles’ entire body. Fuck, how could Charles had convinced you that part of him was really meaning it – that touching you was everything he needed, wanted, craved with or without his third title.

#all i need is the she felt first he felt harder trope #that's all #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc one shot #charles leclerc fic #charles leclerc #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 x you #f1 fiction #f1 x y/n #charles leclerc x y/n #charles leclerc x female reader #f1 x female reader

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mrs-monaghan · 2 months

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Hey shaz,

I definitely think that Jikook will be loud af when they get back from MS, or as loud as they can be. Major things will start adding up and making sense in our usual subtle (ISH) breadcrumb way.

But I suspect it'll be a new chapter for BTS, as a whole, on the relationship front. The boys are extremely successful, only getting older, and I think a lot of chapter 2 was them prepping the fandom to see them maturely as well. It's highly likely some of the guys are starting to think long-term both career-wise and family-wise (they're pretty young actually but the idol life moves FAST)

With how famous they are, though, (idols in general), it's so risky to make relationships public unless you're really serious. Read somewhere that they're pushed to keep things secret as much as possible unless it's like a marriage announcement? I'm curious, how do you think the guys will handle this? Cause they're known to break stereotypes and in a way, they could be tired of the airtight romance lock..they're not exactly teenagers sneaking around anymore

Take Taennie (or just Tae with any partner), all this time they had their reasons for keeping it on the down-low, and I suspect partially with the engagement shipping brings in for the company. But I feel like everyone's in new phase of their lives now, so idk if those reasons would still apply to push ships in 2025+ content.

Would love to hear what you think and if you guys know how older K-pop groups handled marriages and transitioning from that ''teenage/young adult, flirty image"?

I honestly believe BTS will be the ones to pave the way when it comes to normalising Idols having rlships. They start everything and others follow. I mean, watch other groups start enlisting together. Boracity did a video about how BTS paved the way

youtube

And then also these 2 videos about things BTS started and others followed.

youtube

So I can picture the dating thing going on this list. They've never been into fanservice much anyway to begin with and like u said, 2022 & 2023 was them reminding us they are adults. So high chances are when they come back they might be done pretending they don't use their private parts.

V was the first ever idol to somewhat publicly out his rlship. Yes, he later backtracked 🙄😒 but still, he will go down in History for having had the guts to do it in the first place. But damn this man has some shitty fans. Have y'all seen the reactions since the fri(end)s teaser came out? He may have the most fans out of all 7 but they are just horrible. Absolutely horrible. Jimin had so much support when he had a woman in his MV... Heck I don't even remember anyone giving JK shit for his female features but V.... gosh. Do these people even care about him?

Anyway. I digress.

Back to your question. I am not really a Kpop fan, just a BTS fan. So the only person I know is Taeyung. When we first found out Jimin was gonna do a song with him, people were calling him problematic. Turns out his only crime was getting married. That's literally his biggest scandal. Fucking SK, man. 🤦🏽‍♀️

This thing of idols treating fans as their girlfriends is super problematic. I imagine BTS realised that and stopped doing it the older they got. You bring up a good point; It's not just Jikook who will change when they get back, the other members too. Jikook will stop hiding, sure. But... I wonder which other members will do the same. Whatever the case, I'm all strapped in and ready for the ride.

#ask shaz #bts ask #bts #jikook #theory #theories

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bakubunny · 3 months

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Bunny! Happy 2k day!

3 things about Jazi:

I'm a chef turned teacher

I love horror movies

I am a 5'2 goblin queen with a 6'3 attitude 😅

Happy 2k day dearie! Enjoy your day! 😘

hi jazi! thanks so much. 🖤 i went back and forth on yours a bit, too, but here’s what i settled on.

your match: shota

you get the ins and outs of life as a teacher. sure, you teach very different things, but there are some universal truths about teaching as a whole that you relate on. sometimes you’ll be working side by side and one of you will *sigh* and not have to say anything because - whether it’s administrative nonsense, paperwork, students, whatever - you both get it.

i don’t see shota as a movie buff, but he doesn’t mind watching movies with you. they’re great opportunities for fooling around, anyway. usually he’s not phased by horror, but you learn that sometimes it’s better to ask about certain movies or topics first; he’s seen a lot in his career, and it’s taken a toll on him in some ways.

he’s not phased by your attitude one iota. 😂 he just shakes his head and grins when you act like you’re big and tough. sometimes he’ll play into it a little, others, he doesn’t have it and proves that he’s still the one who’s a foot taller than you and pretty damn strong.

#bunny’s 2k celebration #aizawa shouta

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roboticonography · 1 year

Text

One line, one fic

Tagged by the delightful @theawkwardterrier, @lavellenchanted, and @doctorhelena!

rules: pick any 10 of your fics, scroll somewhere to the mid point, pick a line, and share it! Then tag 10 people.

(I may have gone slightly over the "one line" specification.)

When the Day Appears (MCU, Steve/Peggy):

His body has been under the ocean and in outer space, has travelled across dimensions and between atoms, has harnessed magic and lightning, has experienced the universe in ways she can barely begin to grasp. But it has never known her body. Which doesn’t seem quite fair, objectively considered.

To Be Where You Are (MCU, Steve/Peggy):

Steve nodded sympathetically. “I understand. Did you shill war bonds dressed in a patriotic tube sock too?” Peggy looked startled, then gave a laugh. “I think that would have been more dignified, on the whole,” she said.

Except Perhaps in Spring (MCU, Steve/Peggy):

It was plain that someone, in the course of his life, had attempted to teach Steve how to foxtrot, and that he’d memorized the number and order of the steps without any grasp of the teamwork or spontaneity involved.

The Honeymoon Phase (MCU, Steve/Peggy)

“There’s something seriously wrong with me. It’s out of control. I can’t be in the same room with him for more than a minute before I’m dying to rip his clothes off.” “If it makes you feel better,” said Natasha, “most of the people in this room have had that thought about Steve at least once.”

All Day, Every Day (MCU, Steve/Peggy)

She was the same Peggy he’d glimpsed through the bullpen window on his first trip to this time. The girl he’d known during the war, with a shorter haircut, paler lipstick, and a few more smile lines. And something else—a steely self-possession that spoke to both age and experience. Even if they’d never met before, in any lifetime, it would have been instantly clear who was in charge of this situation. And it wasn’t him.

The Fixed Foot (MCU, Steve/Peggy)

He watches her use an ornate gold compact to reapply her lipstick, every edge crisp and perfect. He’s always wondered how she managed it, but it turns out it’s like everything else she does: precision and confidence, her tools of the trade.

By Design (MCU, Steve/Peggy)

Peggy answers the door in a brightly-printed day dress, with a glass of amber liquid already in her hand. “Oh, lovely,” she says, taking the wine and looking carefully at the label, as though she knows a damn thing. “Thank you.” “It’s a red,” Howard points out helpfully. “And you’re an ass,” she replies. “Come in.”

Flames We Never Lit (MCU, Steve/Peggy)

Peggy didn’t quite know why she was suddenly talking like a character in a Regency novel. She blamed the gin.

Ain't Love a Kick (MCU, Steve/Peggy)

Dugan, peering past him, remarks, “Knocking up the boss. That’s a smart career move. Wish I’d—” “Reconsider finishing that sentence,” says Steve, cordially.

No Other Man (MCU, Steve/Peggy)

“It’s comfortable. And it’s what I’m used to. I slept in something quite similar during the war. You lot were always causing trouble in the middle of the night, and I had to be able to get into my trousers at a moment’s notice. It isn’t all posh silk pajamas around here, you know.” “That’s fine by me. I like the idea of being able to get into your trousers at a moment’s notice.” Peggy is delighted. He’s never spoken to her that way before; she was beginning to wonder whether he was even capable of discussing sex without bursting into flames. “Likewise,” she tells him, with a wink.

This has been all over my dash this week, so tagging anyone who hasn't yet been tagged and who wants to do it!

#steggy #robofic

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diedbutterflies69 · 3 years

Text

Will you stay?- Bang Chan imagine.

Contains: friends to lovers au. , Divorce, smut, fluff, blindfolding, oral sex, explicit sexual stuff etc . Minors don't interact.

Never once on your life, you thought you could get your shit together and laugh genuinely at the worst in world. falling out of love is worse but it's even more worse if it's your it's not you who fell out of love. Married at 22 and the honeymoon phase hardly lasted for a year and by the age of 26 got yourself labelled as a woman who sabotaged her own marriage in thirst of money. Your ex husband was bitter about your success even before you got married. He thought as a woman, you just did bare minimum and got yourself a high positioned rank by sleeping with one of the rich rags. You tried hard enough to hold on to that rotten red string , but he had the scissors and just cut you off. You weren't willing to sacrifice your career just because of his Immature mindset, yes you loved him, but can't a women love her own hard achieved success more? That's the question you wished to ask everyone who pointed there fingers at you. After divorce you didn't feel pain just numbness. Your self-hatred coming more stronger than ever, even hating the job, you tried Saving since years, getting life on track seemed impossible and at the end just quitted. Moved out of the city just to move back to your home town, the root of your real pain. It wasn't really a town but rather a more flashy city, expensive shits which you were unable to afford in childhood but now it wasn't any big deal. Earth is round and sometimes precious people find you all by themselves. Your highschool friend, the only friend you had throughout your lifetime because of your anti social tactics.

Bang Chan, the social butterfly who almost knew every single student in whole school, he was the hottest guy you ever saw in your life and also the kindest. You had crush on him even before you both were friends, he was your senior,used to help you with those shitty math sums, crack jokes every now and then and scolded you whenever you procrastinated. He came to congratulate you even on your graduation day, even though there were many more students whom he met you were still glad atleast someone bought you a beautiful bouquet of tulips and bellflower. The last time you saw him was before you moved out in search of cheap collages without informing him, as you thought you were just one of many friends he had and won't ever notice someone like you existed.

But god, how much wrong you were.

You met Chan after almost 9 years in convince store and his reaction was almost priceless , like finding treasure. He was now more handsome, beautiful and god-like even after all this years his style of dressing didn't Changed much, he still looked like Kim Kardashian at 2021 met Gala. nevertheless his smile still had those healing properties with his Cresent moon eyes. He was absolutely stunning.

The first sentence he spoke after confirming your identity was 'I missed you' and then tons of lectures and questions . Knowing how narrow-minded you were he gasped dramatically. Cheesiest ways of saying how could I forget my best friend and so on. That day was probably the best day of your life and maybe even the day after years you really smiled. You both exchanged numbers and addresses and his home was just 10 minutes away from yours. Destiny indeed.

Now it's been over 7 months since you met Chan again and he never made you felt like you were just one of his 109 friends. Chan made you feel special, after knowing what kind of disaster you faced he was even more supporting of you, you both used to spend weekend together watching variety of shows and movies going to stargazing, best friend goals. After many years you knew even if Chan had many people to confide with he never really did. He was alone, just a night owl obsessed with work. You were happy. And he was happy too. Being just friends was enough for you, but not for him . He was slowly trying to find courage to confess his love to you. He liked you fuck from highschool days. He found you once randomly staring at him across the room and when you suddenly disappeared all his fantasies were scattered, he knew your dreams and was willing to help you with your every step. knowing how messed up your household was from your neighbours he felt guilty for not being able to give you happiness. He loved you, but was helded by his own insecurities.

Not anymore though, he wasn't the same coward who just stared at the love of his life from distance. Being the extra human he was, he bought you one of the most expensive restaurant of the whole country, man was loaded. After driving for almost 5 hours you both finally reached there .

Now a nervous Chan sitting infront of you. You being oblivious to the fact that he has a beautiful diamond ring and a confession to make. Chan handed you the menu card and every single dish had an extraordinary name, without much thought you placed the order.

"atleast tell me now, why are we here?" You asked the man infront of you who was behaving extra weird today, he looked sick and was occassionally asking you random questions.

"No reason, I was in mood for long drives and... You know have a nice meal" Chan said fidgeting with his fingers he was acting like a flustered high school guy it was clearly indicating that he was lying but you didn't really care, Chan was weird sometimes.

"Sounds fake, but okay. By the way you aren't sick right?" You asked Chan out of pure concern as he was sweating profusely even in an cold AC room.

"I am fine, just feeling a little hot. Don't worry", Chan said it was more like he was convincing himself that he was fine and shouldn't worry. He wasn't a teenager but a human with responsibilities who once again fell for someone out of his league, he used to think that and he still sees you as a literal goddess. While he was lost deep in his thoughts, the waiter came with food , and this was his opportunity to shoot his arrow. You both started eating and talked like being in paradise.

"did you liked anyone in highschool?", Chan asked you out of blue making you almost choke on food. The only person whom you liked throughout your highschool days was the guy sitting infront of you and you didn't really remembered much guys and the best answer was probably saying a lie with little truth.

"no one lol", you answered trying to sound chilled but since highschool crush topic was out you weren't able to keep your curiosity with yourself.

"What about you, liked someone?", You asked trying to sound nonchalant and not desperate and bitter.

This was the Exactly the conversation that Chan planned in his mind. And here started his way to either heaven or pit of rejection.

"I loved someone", Chan said and you this time you really choked from the depth of your heart, you thought Chan was anti romantic type of guy as he never talked about of his female friends with you or bragged about his non existent dating life. Trying again to not sound jealous or bitter you spoke again.

" Who was that lucky bit-- I mean girl yes girl? Who was she?", You asked, almost letting out the bitch loudly. You weren't sure but you saw Chan smiling cheekily, he was really getting old acting weird more and more everyday.

"Well... Someone from our school",Chan said and you swear you didn't made a disgusting face showing pure jealousy. The best human in your life and your first ever crush had crush on somebody, you didn't knew why you were feeling so fucking bitter but you weren't able to handle the curiosity anymore.

"Tell me her damn name", you asked Chan in a frustrating tone not being able to keep jealousy to yourself.

"Why you being angry", Chan asked followed by his small laugh.

"I am angry, just the food was a little spicy you answer me now, her name?", You answered Chan with your defenses up and still sticking with your previous question.

Chan in response got a little serious now,you thought he was being childish now, he wasn't a kid who was given a dare to name out his crush yet he was acting like one.

"You won't leave me right, I mean after I answer your question?", Chan asked you and you didn't knew what to say in response you were now a little sus about him.

"fine don't answer, keep secrets", you said and continued eating. The next thing Chan said made you now choke and die on food.

"I loved you and I still love you" Chan said looking down at the table head hanging down like his teenage self just confessed he watched porn infront of his parents. You were shocked, frozen and the your heartbeat 10x faster, you didn't knew how to react and tried to find humor in this extraordinary situation.

"Chan, you kidding right?", You asked Chan with a nervous smile on your face. Chan looked up at you , his eyes trying to find yours but you avoided the eye contact.

"I am serious, I liked you from HighSchool times, I saw you for the first time in library when you were looking at me, I swear you were so beautiful and even now after all this years after seeing you I can't, I can't help but fall for you all over again, sorry"

Chan confessed, his voice filled with sincerity and vulnerability his sentences were scattered here and there and incomplete explanation but still you understood everything he really poured his heart to you, you felt like crying even if you both weren't such stupid cowards back then, then today you won't have turned out a divorced women and Chan a guy who grew out lonely even if he had a world for him.

"What should I say Chan?", You asked Chan you were sounding like a girl whose bf told her to breakup even if the situation was exact opposite. Even if you love Chan , you didn't think about him reciprocating same feelings back to you. You were beyond insecure with your love emotions. One thing was sure you won't be able to love Chan without being a bundle on him. Your emotion Baggage was too big and you didn't want Chan to get his heart too with your stupid emotions.

"I love you and I will be really really good to you. Please try staying with me I will try really hard to earn space in your heart, please?" His confession was like literally begging. You weren't able to believe if he was real or not, if it was a dream that will end as soon as cruel morning comes, this felt like fantasy. Chan was a amazing man, he had everything money ,honour ,beauty a nice heart. He was like a character written by women so perfect so delicate yet strong, and he loves you this fact was enough for to lose your mind. but you thought you were a taint to his beauty, you were a character full of inferior complexes and a person too easy to dislike thats what illusion you made about yourself. A random extra in her own story.

"I will pay the bill, let's talk later", you said and walked away immediately to pay the bill leaving a clueless and disheartened human behind. Chan was able to see how you stopped yourself from saying love you too and throwing yourself in his arms. He wasn't same from HighSchool a guy who gets overwhelmed by his own emotions and gets unable to see others. He knew you had atleast a small space for him in your heart and to make a big room for himself he had to throw out all your insecurities and self hatred. He followed you like a lost puppy and he wanted to pay for food but you already did and now you were already out of restaurant searching for his car to get back.

Chan sitted beside you, without doing anything silence and awkward air surrounding you both.

"start the car", you said breaking down the silence, you were extremely worthless and trash as you made the only one person whom you love feel like nothing.

"Just answer me, will you try dating me please", Chan said his voice again passing draggers into your heart. Trying to form any logical explanation you spoke again.

"I am not looking for relationship right now, see Chan you are amazing, but I can't make you happy now and did you forgot that I am divorced, please understand" you said expressing your real insecurities and fear, fear of not being able to keep a man happy.

"you don't want relationship because you divorced that fucking trash of a man?", Chan asked he was getting frustrated you thought but he just wanted to make you happy and not deny what your heart wants.

"my mind isn't stable, I might just irritate you everytime with my mood, you will will get tired of me and leave me -- I don't want to be alone again I will die if you leave me", you confessed tears threatening to fall out of your eyes there wasn't any doubt that you loved Chan he filled the void in you in just months made you happy but you didn't wanted to just take and take and give nothing in return. Chan's hand found yours interlocking your fingers with so much delicateness that you might cry.

"you think so low of me, just stay by my side I will make you so happy that you will hardly get time to think about your past, trust me", Chan said his fingers slightly lifting your chin up to look into your eyes, you looked in his eyes filled with so much care and this was your last straw before breaking down in his arms.

"I love you, I love you so fuckin much, you were my first love my only friend, my everything, please-- please love me", you confessed tightening your arms around Chan, his scent making you feel safe and like home, his one caressing your hair and other wiping away the tears. Even though the scene was more like a dramatic clique scene whatever emotions you both felt was unexplainable.

"So you my girlfriend now hmm?"Chan asked you for first time in night his voice containing pure happiness and excitement.

"I have a sexy boyfriend", you said smiling from ear to ear against Chan's chest. The label boyfriend making your heart flutter, you didn't knew happiness like this can even exist.

"My love", Chan said his voice sweeter than honey, suddenly the night was more starry."now can we go home?" You asked Chan finally breaking the hug, reality hitted you now Home was 3- 4 hours away.

"I made a reservation in hotel, we gonna spend night there", Chan casually said making your heart jump out of your chest.

"pervert, you planned everything seriously", you said dramatically and giving him a playful digusting look.

"I booked two rooms", Chan said now starting the engine making you feel embarrassed. "Who is pervert now~" Chan said in air teasing you more.

The rest of the ride you both talked about anything and everything. Confessing how you used to find ways to always be in each others vision etc. Both of you finding a new thirsty side of each other. Nothing felt uncomfortable, it was happiness those inhumane laughs crazy tricks you both used to pull everything was heaven. After some time you both reached infront of a gaint hotel , it looked expensive af but regardless Chan knew how to waste money and you were tired of lecturing him about savings.

"let's go", Chan said removing your seatbelt and getting out of car to open the door for ya. He was being so cheesy gentleman and you were enjoying every minute.

"room 42 and 43" Chan said to the receptionist and she handed two keys to him. Thanking her then getting on elevator, you were a little disappointed that you weren't sharing room with Chan, yes you were pervert and total simp for Chan, he was too hot and your sexual drive was getting higher each passing second. The elevator doors opened and you got off. Chan handed you the room key and softly kissed your forehead, both you wished it was your lips.

"if you want anything, just knock okay?" Chan said in his lovely tone, I want you you internally screamed, nevertheless you gave him a nod and got inside that expensive room .

Starring at the ceiling while lying on the bed your mind was full of Chan, you knew he wasn't probably sleeping and was wasting time in watching random shit on internet and you were hungry, hungry for Chan, it wasn't your fault that Chan was so hot. Trying to fall asleep and fidgeting here to there you finally decided to knock on Chan's room door. A danger zone. You noticed how the door flunged open in less than few seconds.

"Hi" you said scratching back of your head and trying to think what next to say.

"Hi..?"Chan said being confused.

"there is cockroach in my room, let me stay with you" you said a clear white lie. Taking impulsive action were never good for you.Chan sighed before opening the door fully and signalling you to come. This was your happiest day ever.

"whY you lying", Chan asked you as you plopped yourself on sofa besides bed. He asked the sentence in a sarcastic way.

"Do you you wanna kiss me?", You asked Chan with a straight serious face catching him off-guard, you didn't wanted to waste more time, you wanted to do everything with Chan, yes fucking on first day of dating was a little too early but you fantasized about this gorgeous man since ages, in your eyes he looked total dom but his reaction to your question was making you doubt your thoughts.

"Are you sure", Chan asked you clearing his throat.

"Are you virgin?"you asked Chan, he was being too nervous.

"Obviously not"Chan answered you in duh tone, rolling his eyes. And it was getting awkward.

"The cockroach must have gone by now I should go, bye", you blabbered and got up ready to leave, you were about to open the door but Chan grabbed your hand and before you knew anything his hands were on your cheeks cupping them softly and his lips so close to yours, Chan's eyes were looking straight in your orbs , your heartbeat stronger than ever.

"Can I?", Chan asked your consent his thumb softly brushing against your lower lip. This man had totally made you insane, something stirred inside you. Chan was perfect he was everything you wished. You gave him a small nod and slowly his lips touched against yours, you wanted to cry, his lips felt so good, he didn't rushed his movements everything was happening in slow motion, he holded you with such a vulnerability like he was afraid that you will go, your hand reached his head, fingers moving through his soft locks. You felt his tongue inside your mouth , you felt a electricity run down your body when the kiss deepened.

We kiss again. The next kiss is the kind that breaks open the sky. It steals my breath and gives it back. It shows me that every other kiss I’ve had in my life has been wrong.

Breaking the kiss Reluctantly in need of air, Chan rested his forehead against yours. He was hot almost like burning, sweating.

"Why are you so nervous, Chan?", You asked Chan hugging him tightly clinging like the last leaf to the tree.

"I am scared, I just love you", He said engulfing you in his arms. And you Finally felt, what real love feels like.

"Love you too", you replied softly.

"Do you wanna continue..?"Chan asked you his tone little less scared.

"Off course", you said looking at him with smile, something inside you told it was okay to let out your freaky side infront of Chan. Chan smiled back and suddenly turned you around , the large bed infront of you.

"Lie down there",Chan whispered in your ears , his low register sending shivers down your spine. This was exactly how you pictured Chan to be, your inner submissive almost died. You followed Chan's word and laid on your back on the bed, now you were feeling like a virgin. His eyes roaming through the room in search of something.

"Are you okay with being blindfolded?", Chan asked you as he came back with the tie he wore today and was rolling it slightly in his palms, and you swear you never saw a man so hot in your entire life. Getting blindfolded was one of your unfulfilled kinks.

"ye- yes", you replied your tone filled with thrill and excitement. Chan came back to you standing near you, his hand softly cupped your cheeks , before bringing the tie to use it in sinistrous way tonight. The cloth felt strange to your eyes, his cologne smell hitting you and Chan caught your shy smile, His heart felt so fluffy. Tieing a comfortable knot Chan sat on bed near your waist. His hands slowly crept near your stomach leaving a direct lingering touch on the sensitive skin, eventually going upwards while giving a little squeeze to add stimulation, his hands reached your boobs, you didn't wore bra, and he wasn't surprised maybe your nipples perked up enough to get noticed, his middle and index finger Rolling your sensitive bundle of nerves, the blindfold making his every touch more intense, your breath was heavy you let out a suprised moan when Chan gropped your right boob in an erotic way, this sole action increasing your wetness down there you were getting impatient. You moaned his name a little loudly when his lips came in contact with your sensitive neck, sucking in a painful way, inorder to leave a hickey.

"Should I touch you here", Chan asked you as his hand reached to your area where you needed him to the most, hands going directly inside your panties ,but not touching he was a teaser.

"yes please", you moaned almost breathlessly too tired of intense foreplay. You just wanted Chan to rip off your clothes and fuck you till sunrise. Getting satisfaction with your answer Chan finally removed every clothing of your lower body, leaving you completely bare, all at his mercy. His finger moved up and down on your opening , the wetness making Chan easily slip his one finger deep inside you.

" my baby is so wet, because of who?", Chan asked you as his finger was moving slowly inside of you and thumb rubbing circles on the bundle of nerves.

"because of.. you", you admitted without any hesitation trying to grind yourself on his hand, begging for more.

"Good", Chan said and without saying anything he added another finger inside you moving a little faster inside your cunt, rubbing your walls with a little pressure, scissoring them inside you painfully and making way for a third finger too and by then you were a complete moaning mess, his fingers were pleasure yet torture the blindfold making your senses weak. Mind full of whatever Cham was giving you. Your legs were shaking sign of your orgasm approaching you, by one hand Chan holded your thighs tightly to their place fingers now moving more faster to make you reach the peak of pleasure.

"Chan.. I--I-I-- wanna cum please", you moaned your little squeaks and begs almost making Chan's cock cum right inside boxers. With some final thrust of his fingers, you cummed the hardest you could imagine, squeaky sounds coming as Chan was fingering you through your orgasm, you almost crying from overstimulation. Moaning his name like a chant.

"you did well",Chan praised you finally removing his fingers from you leaving you empty, but it won't have last wrong. Chan removed your blindfold , the bright lights hurting your eyes, you adjusted your vision and the image of Chan sucking his wet fingers coated with your liquid came directly in front of your eyes. Letting out a helpless whine.

Chan plopped himself on knees on either side of your thighs, finally letting his cock out, leaking with precum, and he was big, thick , you didn't thought he could get even hotter.

"Ready baby?", Chan asked you as he fully undressed himself as well as removing your top, your mind hazey . The scene which you pictured since highschool finally happening.

"yes", you replied Chan, he came down to kiss you passionately and slowly entering inside you. You moaned painfully, tears pulling your vision, it was a painful pleasure. Chan kissed away your tears and hand interlocking with yours after finally being fully inside you he started to move at slow pace.

"you feel so good Chan", almost screaming from pleasure, your whines were fuel to Chan's ego and he increased the pace. Body slapping sound filling the room, his groans were most sexy thing you ever heard. Again and again his tip hitting your deepest spots.

"I am close", you moaned out breathlessly, pleasure becaming too much to handle .you released around his cock, reaching the peak second time at night.

After giving a few more thrusts Chan cummed at your stomach, he was still sane enough to not curse you with kids while being lost in pleasure."I love you", he said as he settled beside you hugging you tightly. This was heaven.

"love you too", you said , your voice a little hoarse.

"by the way I forgot that I bought a ring to propose you", Chan said, realisation hitting him, that he forgot to say the long ass paragraph that he was supposed to say while sitting on one knee. You smiled at his guilty face.

"don't worry, propose me after having shower", you said heart filled with pure joy and happiness . Happiness of knowing that You love someone who will always love you back.

#skz smut #stray kids #stray kids smut #bangchan smut #skz chan smut #bang chan imagines #chan fluff #bangchan #skz chan x reader

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starshipsofstarlord · 3 years

Note

Hi🥰 Congrats on 2k!!! For your blurb night, can I request the reader taking sleeping pills while her and Tom were waiting for their flight and Tom decides to mess with her when they already landed, telling the reader that they missed their flight and stuff like that?

Resting up for the flight

Pairing | Tom Holland x reader

Summary | Based on the request

Warnings | use of sleeping tablets, cheeky Tom, references to sex

2K blurb masterlist

Quick link to my masterlist, if you’re interested in reading more of my crap 😬

“Don’t be one of those whities who claps when the plane lands, or as of right now, arrives.” You sighed, watching at Tom huffed at your reference, and glared with false betrayal towards you. The line that creased in the margin between his brows amused you, it showed the affect that you were having on him, to which was purposeful.

“Some days, i really hate that you were a fan before this arrangement.” He moved his finger in the space between the pair of you, hinting heavily at the secluded relationship that you were vouched in. It was true, you had been a supporting human within the base of his career audience, but you had no regrets throughout that phase, it had gotten you to where you were now; with Thomas Stanley Holland, the man that had once been a crush, and now, the infatuation was reciprocated, and more realistic.

“How are other days of this arrangement?” You sat up higher in your waiting area seat, looking him directly in the face with executing and wide eyes. “I mean, I’m sure there are a few benefits that I could easily take away, and forbid you from, with a simple word that has you aching to apologise for being so high and mighty about being a celebrity that I used to enjoy watching on a screen.”

“Used to?” He scoffs, shaking his head as he adjusts the cap on his head, leaning back further into the functional furniture of the aircraft. “So, if I believe that I am hearing you correct darling, no longer do you clench your thighs together when you see me through our television in that Spider-Man suit, nor do you take pleasure from seeing me when I get out of it either.”

“Nope.” A smirk covered your face, albeit accompanying your clear lies, that he saw through clearer than he could a window. But you saw this, as an opportunity. It would be easy to rile him up, and frustrate him for the rest of the three hour plane wait, leaving him lonely, and craving to irritate you in return, although, it would be impossible.

He watched your hands with laser eyes as you rifled through your hand bag, locating your pills that you had been permitted to have aboard the flight. To be more specific, they were sleeping pills, that would knock you out into a deep slumber, during the entirety of the time whilst the vehicle was in flight. “Night babe.”

The smirk remained, mocking him as you spilled a couple pills out into the palm of your hand, rolling them under your thumb as you sent him a wink, tossing the small medical pebbles into your mouth, as you reached for his water bottle, which aided in swallowing the tablets.

“Night dear.” Tom replied, as he watched you return the plastic and recyclable container that was filled with water, before your lashes fluttered inaudibly, resting on the beneath of your eyes, as you softly shook your head, before resting the side of it upon his shoulder, nuzzling into him, and inhaling his scent before sleep kidnapped you from consciousness.

A sigh left your lips, as you rubbed your cheek alongside the woollen texture of his black hoodie, feeling how his fingers toyed with the frontal strands of your hair. You could still smell his deodorant, it made you hum at the familiarity, and so the actor realised, that you must’ve forgotten of your attempts of burdening him with coupling annoyance.

“You awake baby?” His accent rendered through your ears, making your nod against him, alongside a small, and meek ‘yes’, that brought an adoring smile onto Tom’s face. “Good. I have to tell you something...”

His silence afterwards had you awakening from your deviant sluggishness, your lids peeling up as tucked into the crook of his elbow, glancing up at him with curious and crusty cornered eyes that had collected dust from your tiredness.

“Wait, what is it Tommy?” You licked your lips expectedly, the corners of your lips tugging up as he pressed a gentle and sweet kiss upon your forehead, retracting slightly, as his hand brushed upon the side of your face. “Tell me sweetie.”

“We um, you looked so pretty sleeping, and - we missed our flight...” instantly you tugged back to get a whole gaze over his face, a gasp pulling from your throat as you stared at him with utmost terror. You had to get home, if you did not, then your boss would be on your ass, and keeping hours of your pay check for your late arrival home.

“No.” You spoke, your lips rubbing together as your mind spiralled in a tornado of overthinking. “You should have woke me up Tom! We’re gonna have to buy new tickets, and who knows when they’ll be for. Next week probably, because they were booked for the holidays. I’m screwed, Waldorf is gonna fire me, and I need that damned promotion!”

Your hands raged in the air, grasping your head from shock as they shook frustratedly, your fingers pulling at your hair, as you glanced away from him, and towards the ground. “Maybe you shouldn’t have taken those tablets.” Tom muttered, his remark causing you to fill yourself up with rage, just as he wanted.

“So it’s my fault, because I was asleep? You were awake Tom, and -“ you stopped yourself from saying any more as your boyfriend began to cackle amusedly, covering his noir with his hand as you managed to hold up your glare on him. “And what are you laughing at Thomas?”

“Our flight is in twenty minutes.” He stated, smirking as you lightly kicked him and crossed your arms over the other. “Don’t pout, it’s hot, like really hot, but you’re not doing it for the reasons i want. And now, you aren’t even speaking to me, so that’s fun.”

“I can’t believe you made me feel bad.” You threw your hands up, exasperated by the situation, as you felt washed over with relief, knowing that the pair of you would return home on time, as expected.

“You felt bad? You sounded more like you were angry at me. I think you need to space out your emotions babe, it’s kinda difficult to decipher just how you are feeling.” In a sudden, you turned to him, sucking your cheeks in to compose an expression towards him, as your pupils focused harshly upon him.

“I think I’m going to take those benefits away...” Tom realised that he had messed up, and he was about to try and convince you that his joke was harmless, more so since you were going home, the place where he was eager to reap particular benefits of being with you.

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kinglazrus · 3 years

Text

Deep Wounds Ch. 1 - Who's to Blame?

Phic Phight | Next | AO3 | FFN

Submitted by @q-gorgeous: Identity reveal. Dash finds out Danny is Phantom. Could be swagger bishie or not, either or is okay.

Submitted by @aj-itated: Dash catches Danny changing after gym, and spots a huge (poorly stitched) wound on his side. Dash is now convinced Danny is either abused or part of a gang, and has no idea how to deal with either - or how to interact with Danny, now that he can't bully him.

Summary: Dash didn't mean to see it, not that it was his fault. If Danny didn't want anyone to notice the bloody mess on his side, then he shouldn't be checking his bandages in the middle of the boy's changing room. But it's too late, and Dash has no clue what to do now that he thinks Danny might be getting hurt at home.

Word count: 4253

“He’s gonna know.”

As Tucker's shadow falls over him, Danny starts, rudely yanked out of his daydream. The hand cradling his chin drops to his lap, fingers brushing the grass, and he fixes Tucker with a confused glare. "What?"

"You are super unsubtle," Tucker says. "He's gonna knooow."

Tucker and singsong aren’t two words Danny would normally use together, but it is the best way to describe the lyrical bounce in Tucker's voice as he drops onto the grass. Too bad his musical prowess seems limited to teasing jabs and not the screeching caterwaul Danny usually associates with Tucker and singing.

"What are you talking about?" Danny asks, his annoyance mounting.

"Oh, come on." Tucker leans back and sweeps his arm out to the field, motioning to the warm-up game some of their classmates are playing, which Danny had been watching fervently until he was interrupted. His gaze skims over the scuffle taking place over the ball, settles briefly on Dash lounging in front one of the nets, then goes back to Tucker.

"I don't know what you mean," Danny says.

"Tucker, be nice. Don't tease the oblivious," Sam cuts in. Sitting on Danny's left, she is flipping through a book rather than watches the scrimmage. How she got the book past Tetslaff, Danny has no idea. Magic, maybe. The more likely answer is that Tetsflaff saw it and just didn't care since Sam one of the best students in their class.

Danny could never get away with it, though. "Seriously. What are you guys talking about?"

"Oh, poor Danny." Tucker tsks and shakes his head. "In time, you, too, shall mature enough to understand your own emotions."

"I'm mature enough to ectoblast you in the face," Danny says.

"That is literally the exact opposite of mature."

"You're the exact opposite of mature."

"Game time!" Tetslaff's bellow cuts off what surely would have been a clever retort from Tucker. Her booming voice, powerful enough to challenge Danny's father's, echoes across the field and brings the scrimmage to a halt. At the far net, Dash rises to his feet and brushes the grass from his shorts.

"Captains!" Tetslaff calls. Valerie and Dash's hands shoot into the air, faster than anyone else's. Sam, still focused on her book, raises her hand half-heartedly, then lowers it to turn the page. No one else offers to be team captain, but Tetslaff doesn't seem to mind. This is how their classes usually go when they do team sports. "You know the drill. Pick your players, take your positions, and for heaven's sake, someone take Fenton."

Snickers break out through the class. Danny drops his face into his hands, muffling a groan against his palms.

He hates gym class for a lot of reasons. For one, sports aren't really his thing. He might be strong, thanks to his ghost half, but that doesn't make him any better at sports. Because of that, he's usually the last picked when it comes to games like soccer. And then there's Dash, who sucks sometimes, but he used to suck more. A lot more. He has mellowed out since freshman year, although he's not opposed to jostling Danny in the hallway now and then.

But the absolute worst thing about gym class is playing when he's injured; it doesn't happen often. Danny's been ghost fighting for nearly three years now, and he doesn't get hurt as much as he used to. Experience has wizened him up to the wonders of dodging. His enemies still get lucky sometimes, though, and last night, Technus got him good. Hacking and slashing isn't usually Technus' thing, but the rabid dishwasher the ghost sicked on Danny was damn good at it. He has the deep slash across his left side to show it.

It's healing well, but a wound like that needs more than a few hours before he is back in peak condition. Sam, whose house was closest after the fight, stitched Danny up as best as she could. Both she and Tucker had gotten good at that over the years, but for all Sam's skill, she was still just a high schooler who learned off YouTube tutorials. Before bed, Danny bound the wound tight, took a couple of Advil, and slept with an icepack slapped against his side.

It still hurts like hell, though.

A sharp whistle pierces Danny's thoughts. He winces at the noise, along with most of the class. Dash and Valerie, the victims of Tetslaff's ire, actually flinch.

"Baxter, Grey, stop bickering," Tetslaff says.

Caught up in his thoughts, Danny hadn't noticed their argument, but it's impossible to miss the tight anger in Valerie's crossed arms or the annoyance in Dash's glare.

"Baxter, Grey made her pick. Mr. Cheong goes with her." Tetslaff points at Kwan, then jerks her thumb toward Valerie. With a despondent sigh, Dash pats Kwan on the back, watching his best friend trudge to Valerie's team as if he was going to his grave.

"They're so dramatic," Danny says.

Tucker nods in agreement. "I know, right?"

Sam lowers her book to stare at them. "You cannot be serious."

"What did we say?" Danny asks.

Sam sighs and rolls her eyes but doesn't elaborate further.

Back on the field, Valerie gestures to the dwindling number of classmates yet to be claimed. "Your next pick," she says to Dash.

Dash scans the lineup, his gaze lingering on Danny for a few moments before skipping right over Tucker to Sam. "Manson, you're with me."

"Ugh, of course." Sam marks her page and passes the book to Danny. "You gonna be okay? How's your side?"

He holds back a grimace. "I'm good. I'll tell Tetslaff I'm sick or something so I can sit out."

Sam nods, satisfied, and joins Dash's team.

"Tucker!" Valerie calls.

"Good luck, dude." Tucker gently pats Danny's shoulder before stepping onto the field.

With his friends gone, and the rest of the class distracted by the team pick, Danny shuffles over to Tetslaff. "I don't really feel good. Can I sit out?"

Tetslaff looks him up and down. "You gonna throw up?"

"I don't know. Maybe?"

"You got a fever?" Before Danny can even answer, Tetslaff slaps her hand against his forehead. He flinches back, wanting nothing more than to peel her warm palm off his skin. She holds it there for a few seconds before finally drawing away. "No fever. got a doctor's note?"

"Uh... no? I've been at school all morning."

"If you feel like you're about to throw up, book it off the field. Otherwise, you're playing."

"But—"

"Fenton, do you really want to be the only kid in Casper High history to fail gym class?" Tetslaff asks.

The threat might have been more effective if Danny hadn't spent half his high school career one bad grade away from flunking out, but he doesn't have the energy to fight her on it. "Okay, Coach."

"That's the spirit! Now get out there and show me some hustle!" Tetslaff slaps Danny on the back. He bites back a cry of pain as he stumbles forward, one hand shooting to cradle his side. Tetslaff's hand, though broad, missed the actual injury, but the sheer impact made his bones rattle and his wound flair with pain.

"Okay," Danny mutters. Just stay out of Dash's way and move enough to escape Tetslaff ire. It can't be that hard. He presses a hand to his side, feeling the thick gauze through his shirt. Closing eyes so that no one sees them glow, he phases his palm through his shirt and ices over his injury. The numbing cold helps, somewhat, and it should hold up for the whole class.

"I can do this." He falters when he steps toward the field. It looks like Valerie and Dash finished picking their teams while he was busy with Tetslaff and the game is already underway. He hovers on the sideline, unsure where to go.

"Getting worked up already?" Valerie's voice startles him.

Danny flinches and twists toward her, sending a sharp twinge across his ribs. He hisses, regretting the sudden move, and squeezes his side once more.

"You okay?" Valerie asks.

"Just fine. Sorry, what did you say?"

"You look like you're stressed out already. It's just soccer."

Danny rolls his eyes and nudges her arm. "Sure. Tell me that when Dash's team is up by five and I have stop you from kicking his kneecaps in."

Valerie laughs, no denial falling from her lips. "Oh, please. We both know I'd go for the throat. You're with me, by the way."

"Oh, thank God."

"Don't kid yourself, Danny. We both know you'd love to be on Dash's team."

Danny's mind blanks for a moment, his cheeks growing hot against his will. "Uh... what? He literally used to beat me up every day."

"Keyword, 'used to.' And I never said you had good taste." Valerie shrugs. "Except for me, at least. But don't worry about it. Now come on; I want you on defence. You suck at scoring, but at least you can take a hit."

Danny hopes he doesn't need to.

—

No hits come his way, to Danny's immense relief. At least they are playing soccer and not football. Or floor hockey, God forbid. Danny's ankles still smart from the last time they played that. With soccer, there's not a whole lot of opportunity for Danny to get knocked around. Stuck on defence, he even has an excuse to hang back, hold off on all that "hustle" Tetslaff wanted to see. His teammates charge up and down the field, shouting and jeering as they fight over the ball, and Danny gets to trail behind, halfway between the throng and his team's net. He spends most of his time watching Dash. Purely so that he's ready if Dash decides to go after him, not for any other reasons.

"Suuure that's the reason," Tucker says when he notices Danny staring.

"It is!" Danny's protest falls on deaf ears.

Dash catches Danny's gaze more than once. Rather than looking away, Danny can't resist offering a shit-eating grin and a friendly wave every time. If he had any self-preservation skills, he would stop immediately. But there's a reason he's half-ghost now, and it's definitely not because of his critical thinking skills.

He manages to stay out of the action, for the most part, only rushing in when the ball comes close to him. Otherwise, Tucker and Elliot handle the rest. Tucker knowingly spares him the pain of ripping his stitches. Elliot, meanwhile, likes to swoop in at every opportunity to show Danny up. It might have gotten a rise out of Danny any other day, but right now, when his side throbs every time he takes a step, Elliot is welcome to do whatever he wants.

When they have class outside, Danny can't tell how much time is left. He guesses they are about halfway through, and nothing bad has happened yet. Maybe he can get through this, after all.

That's when he jinxes himself.

"Heads up!" Valerie's warning shout comes just in time. Danny ducks instinctively, hissing when his injury pulls. The soccer ball flies over his head, skimming the top of his hair. Then, Dash collides with Danny, his shoulder digging into Danny's side. He cries out as he goes sprawling, hands shooting to his side. It burns, searing across his ribs, almost as bad as when he first got the wound. The pain makes his head spin and his breath ragged.

He must blackout for a moment, because one second his face is pressed against the cool grass, and then suddenly he's staring up into Tetsalff's concerned face, Valerie, Sam, and Tucker hovering behind her.

"Deep breaths, Fenton," Tetslaff says.

It would be great advice if breathing didn't make his chest expand, and his chest expanding didn't make the gash on his side strain against the few stitches that hadn't popped when Dash rammed into him at full speed. What the hell. That was such a dick move.

"Okay, Fenton. You're out for the rest of the class. Go to the nurse if you need to," Tetslaff says.

He nods but makes no move to get up. He doesn't know if he can.

Tetslaff sees his plight, whether she understands the reason for it or not, and barks over her shoulder. "Baxter! Your fault, your problem. Help Fenton inside."

"We can take him," Tucker says. At the same time, Dash whines, "Come on, Coach. There's no way I hit him that hard."

Tetslaff sticks out an arm, holding Sam and Tucker back. "Get to it, Baxter."

Dash groans but relents and steps into Danny's field of view. Rather than kneeling, or doing anything actually helpful, he bends down a little and sticks out his hand.

Danny stares at it.

"Well? You're holding up the game, Fenton."

Danny almost gets up on his own, just to spite Dash, but the second he tries to lever himself up, his side screams, and Danny has to bite back another cry of pain. Reluctantly, he grabs Dash's hand. Dash hauls him upright, far from gentle, and sets Danny down on his feet. Dash starts forward, but Danny hangs back.

"Hurry up," Dash says.

"Just... hold on a second." Danny squeezes his eyes shuts and clamps his hands against his side. The pressure helps, a little. If he's bleeding, it'll at least hide the evidence. He really hopes he put enough gauze on the wound. He didn't exactly think he'd be dealing with this today when he wrapped it.

"Dude, we can take you," Tucker says. He and Sam haven't moved away. Even Valerie still hovers close by, giving Danny a concerned look over his friends' shoulders.

"Manson, you're team captain until Dash gets back. Foley." Tetslaff shakes her head. "Your grades aren't much better than Fenton's here. Let's go, back on the field. It's game time.

"But—"

"It's fine, guys." Danny tries to smile, but he is sure it comes out like a grimace instead. Neither of them look like they believe him.

"Ms. Tetslaff!" Valerie steps in front of the teacher. "Danny's on my team. I want to make sure he's okay. Kwan can take over as captain for me."

"Okay, fine. Now let's get back to the game, people!" Tetslaff puts a hand on Sam and Tucker's shoulder each and pushes them toward the field. Over her shoulder, Sam mouths "Thank you" at Valerie.

"Can we just hurry up?" Dash says. Before Danny is ready, Dash's hand clamps down his shoulder and starts driving him forward. Danny stumbles, nearly tripping over his own feet, and is forced to open his eyes or else go tumbling all over again. Valerie appears on his injured side, walking fast to keep up with Dash's pace.

"Are you okay?" she asks. She reaches toward Danny, but holds back, her gaze flitting down to the hand over his ribs.

"Yeah, totally fine. I, uh, got caught up in that ghost fight yesterday, got a little bruised," he says.

"You should have told Tetslaff. She would have let you sit out," Valerie says.

"Yeah, I should have." Too bad Danny hadn't thought of that lie before. And it wasn't even a lie, technically.

The walk to the gym doors feels much farther than it did at the start of class. Dash yanks the door open once they're close enough and deposits Danny on the nearest bench. "There, you're fine. Whatever."

"Don't be such a dick, Dash," Valerie says.

Danny wobbles, bracing himself against the wall as he sits down. While Valerie helps, grabbing his arm and keeping him steady, Dash doesn't make a move.

"Are you sure you're okay?" she asks.

"Yeah. I'm just gonna sit for a bit."

"If you say so." With one last concerned glance, Valerie leaves the gym.

Danny sits, one hand pressed against his side, feeling the deep, pulsing ache that won't leave. The ice he applied earlier hasn't faded yet, but if Danny's stitches are ripped as he suspects, a little numbing cold won't help for much longer.

Dash clears his throat, reminding Danny that he hasn't left yet.

"What?" Danny glares at him through half-lidded eyes.

"Sorry, or whatever. I thought you were gonna move, okay?"

"You sure sound sorry."

Dash bristles. "Whatever, Fenton. I was trying to be nice, but I guess I'll just fuck off then."

"Yeah, you do that."

Dash stomps out of the gym without looking back, slamming the door behind him. The bang echoes through the empty room. Alone at last, a whimper slips through Danny's lips. You would think that, over the years, he would get used to getting injured so much, learn to adjust to the pain. Whoever first said that was such a liar. It never stops hurting. Dizzying pain is dizzying pain no matter how often you experience it.

Danny sits for a few minutes, breathing slow and even, bracing himself for what he knows is coming. Peeling his hand away from his side, he checks his shirt. Faint pink splotches greet his eyes, not a lot, but enough to make him groan. He reaches under his shirt, slipping his fingers underneath the bandages, and probes the tender skin. His fingers come away slick and red.

"Shit." He applies a fresh coat of ice, enough to seal over the wound, and pushes himself off the bet, slick hand sliding against the wood. The entrance to the boys' changeroom lies only a few feet away, but it feels farther. He shuffles inside, bracing one hand against the wall. The hall leading in stretches for a good ten feet before cutting into a sharp right angle and opening into the main room.

The silence inside is just as oppressive as the quiet of the gym. Even though it's the middle of the school day, being here without the chatter of other boys as they change feels odd.

Danny lets himself slump onto the bench, breathing heavily

"I'm gonna kill Dash," he says to the empty room. But knowing his luck, Dash would come back as a ghost and haunt the hell out of him. It seems like the kind of asshole thing he would do

Danny fumbles for his bag, hooking his finger around the strap and dragging it close. It takes him a minute of digging to find his phone, which he stuffed inside at the start of class. He quickly checks the time. There are ten minutes left of class. More than enough time to check his side and get patched up before Tetslaff dismisses everyone to get changed.

The smart thing would be to go into one of the showers, make sure he has complete privacy, but he doesn't want to put in the effort of walking that far.

"It'll be fine," Danny says and gets to work

—

Dash doesn't return to the game. As the gym door slams beside him, he leans against the wall and stares down at his shoes. Outside, he looks composed, but in his head, his thoughts tumble about. He can't shake the image of Valerie's glare. Fenton couldn't take a hit, so what? It's not like Dash actually didanything. He's gotten Fenton a lot worse than that before. It's not his fault the guy was already banged up from some dumb ghost fight. Not his problem.

And yet, the pained cry as Dash bowled Danny over, the sight of his crumpled body on the grass... it makes Dash shudder.

"I apologized," he says. There's no one around to hear it, to justify him. He wonders what his therapist will say about this, if Dash bothers mentioning it at their next appointment.

Valerie's glare flashes through his mind again.

"Okay, fine!" He throws his arms up and shoves away from the wall. One quick moment to check on Danny, then he'll return to the game. He's only doing this so that his therapist doesn't give him that look on Monday; the look that isn't quite disappointed, because she could never be disappointed in one of her clients, but comes pretty damn close.

Dash only receives that look when he does something dumb, like shoving nerds in lockers or taking his anger out on someone else.

Dash eases the door to the gym back open and peeks inside. The bench he left Danny on is empty. A smear of red stands out against the pale wood. Dash creeps inside, closing the door quietly behind him. His heart sinks as he nears the bench, and comes to the unmistakable conclusion: blood.

Not my fault, Dash reminds himself. It does little in the way of reassurance. Walking briskly, he heads for the doors leading further into the school. If Danny is bleeding, he must have gone to the nurse. Which means he will be fine, but Dash needs to be sure.

A low groan stops him in his tracks.

For a moment, he thinks he imagined it, but then it comes again, accompanied by a pained hiss. The sound comes from the changing room. Holding his breath, he turns from the door and enters the changeroom.

Short, sharp breaths greet him, growing louder as he nears the main room. A shaky whimper cuts through, followed by a gasp.

Dash peeks around the corner. He sees Danny's shirt first, discarded on the bench. Next to it is a pile of wrappings. It looks like the ace bandages Dash uses whenever he gets a sprain, although he doesn't remember seeing Danny wearing any. And then, he looks to Danny himself and pales.

One arm drawn back, head tilted forward to see his side, Danny peels a stained gauze pad away from his bloody ribs. Suddenly, Dash can't breathe. His throat feels clogged. His heart hammers in his ear. The gash in Danny's side is easily the length of Dash's hand. It rips across his ribs and curves up toward his armpit, ending just under his arm. Dash doesn't know much about first aid, but the stitches holding the wound together look sloppy. They pull in different directions, turning what appears to be a clean cut into a wobbly mess. Around it, Danny's skin is stained red. Blood seeps between the stitches.

A few small drops slide down Danny's exposed skin as Dash watches, pooling briefly against the waistband of his gym shorts before they are absorbed

"Fuck," Dash whispers.

Danny jumps back, spinning mid-air to face Dash. In his horror, Dash doesn't think to question the impossibility of that action. Danny drops the gauze pad, which lands bloody side down on the floor, and clamps his arm down over the injury.

"What are you doing?" Danny's voice hitches, caught between an accusing growl and a startled squeak.

Dash gapes, mouth opening and closing as he searches for something to say. His mind comes up blank. "Danny, what... what the hell? What happened to you?"

Dash's voice seems to snap Danny out of his shock. All at once, his body goes rigid and his expression turns cold. "Get out."

"You need to go to the nurse!"

"DASH!" Danny bellows.

Dash stumbles back, falling against the wall. Tetslaff's laugh voice is loud. Jack Fenton's voice booms. But just now, Dash felt the floor shake under his feet. Danny's voice rumbled in Dash's chest, knocked him off his feet. The whole school must have heard it, they had to.

"I won't say it again. Get the hell out right now," Danny says.

Dash obeys. Whether it's out of fear or a genuine desire to follow Danny's will, he can't tell. He books it out of the changeroom, across the gym, and bursts outside, only to come face to face with Kwan and the rest of the class.

"Whoa!" Kwan reels back in surprise. "You missed the rest of the game. Val's team won."

"Oh, the game. Right." Dash takes a deep breath, struggling to get himself under control.

"So... you gonna let us in?"

Dash doesn't move.

"Get out of the way, Dash," Valerie says. Pushing to the front of the group, she tries to shove past him.

Dash leaps in front of her. "No!" He can't let anyone else see Danny.

"Dude, not cool. We want to check on Danny," Tucker says.

Dash wavers. Danny's friends have to know what's up with him, right? There is no way he could have stitched that up himself, not with how much struggle it took to even look at the injury. When Tucker and Sam slip by Dash, he makes no move to stop them. Their entrance opens the floodway, and soon enough everyone is pushing past Dash into the gym.

"Wait!" He latches on to Kwan's arm as his best friend passes.

"Did something happen?" Kwan asks.

Dash swallows, unsure how to answer. "Sort of?" Now isn't the right time to tell Kwan, though, not with their classmates around them, and the rest of their friends absent.

"Let's go get changed." Kwan pats Dash's shoulder and guides him forward. Every step closer to the change room, Dash's anxiety mounts. Danny reacted so poorly to one person finding him. Dash can only imagine what will happen—what stricken look Danny will wear—when half their class walks in on his shirtless and bloody.

Except, when they turn the corner into the change room proper, Danny isn't there. His stuff is gone, too. Tucker's crumpled gym shirt covers the spot where the gauze pad landed. There are no signs Danny was there at all.

#phic phight #phic phight 2021 #phanfic #phicc #dp fanfiction #danny phantom #danny phantom fanfiction #danny fenton #dash baxter #swagger bishie #danny/dash #deepwounds

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joshjacksons · 3 years

Text

Joshua Jackson interview with "Mr Porter" (2021)

Minutes before Mr Joshua Jackson joins me in a booth for a Friday afternoon drink at a vibey hotel bar in Santa Monica, he’s confronted by his past. Or rather, a woman in her early twenties who is binge-watching Dawson’s Creek, the teen show about a close-knit group of high-school friends coming of age in a sleepy American town, which made Jackson incredibly famous between 1998 and 2003. The series, which also made household names of Ms Michelle Williams and Ms Katie Holmes, went off air 18 years ago, but is now streaming on Netflix, to the bemusement of Jackson, who played lovable rogue Pacey Witter. “This girl was like, ‘Are you...?’ And I’m like, ‘Yes, I am. He got old. I’m sorry to break it to you,’” he says, before ordering an iced tea and a charcuterie board to tide him over until dinner time. “It always surprises me when young people say they’ve just got into Dawson’s Creek. I’m like, ‘Is it a costume drama to you? Do you feel like you’re watching a historical documentary?’”

The idea of a Friends-style reunion episode or a Sex And The City revival feels equally far-fetched to Canadian-born Jackson, now 43 and wearing it well in a pale green linen shirt and tailored linen trousers by Oliver Spencer that complement his fading brown hair and Cali-tanned skin.

“I don’t know why you’d want to [bring it back],” he says. “Nobody needs to know what those characters are doing in middle age. We left them in a nice place. Nobody needs to see that Pacey’s back hurts. I don’t think we need that update.”

And Jackson doesn’t need Dawson’s Creek. From Mr JJ Abrams’ sci-fi series Fringe (2008-2013) to the Golden Globe award-winning The Affair (2014-2019), from Ms Ava DuVernay’s ground-breaking true-crime drama When They See Us (2019) to the recent Ms Reese Witherspoon and Ms Kerry Washington-produced Little Fires Everywhere (2020), he has commanded the small screen – with a collection of dynamic and diverse work – ever since.

His latest role as Mr Christopher Duntsch, the Texas surgeon convicted of gross malpractice when 33 of his patients were left seriously injured after he operated on them and two of them died, in chilling Peacock crime drama Dr Death, is only stepping his career up another gear.

“I’ve never played anyone irredeemable before,” says Jackson, who is joined in the eight-part series (based on the 2018 Wondery podcast of the same name) by Messrs Christian Slater and Alec Baldwin. “He is charming, gregarious and has a high-level intellect, but he’s also a misogynist, probably a sociopath, certainly a narcissist and a complete incompetent who is incapable of seeing himself.”

If Duntsch is terrifying, then Jackson’s portrayal is even more so. The artist formerly known as Pacey is virtually unrecognisable (thanks to prosthetics) in the opening scene, but the real challenge for Jackson was allowing himself to view someone who is so “spectacularly evil” as a human being in order to walk in his shoes. “It’s a more damning portrayal of the man to make him into a human being, rather than just make him the bad guy,” he says. “He really believes he’s the hero, he’s the genius and that he’s the victim, so once I got past my own judgment, all the other things fell into place.”

Jackson might have his pick of stellar roles – and challenges – now, but it has not happened by accident. Take it from someone who has been in the business since landing his first job aged 14 in Disney’s live-action movie series The Mighty Ducks, opposite Brat Pack alumnus Mr Emilio Estevez.

“You try to make it look like it happens accidentally,” he says, “but there is no way to do this and not be ambitious. I’d say I’m extremely ambitious because I’ve been doing this cutthroat job for nearly 30 years. I’m in the pay-off phase of my career now. One of the benefits of surviving for as long as I have is you get to learn from your own mistakes.”

Such as? “I wouldn’t say, ‘I wish I hadn’t done that,’ because it all becomes bricks in a path, but [after Dawson’s Creek] I was not choosy enough about the things I was doing. You get stuck. You start trying to perform the performance you think people are hoping to see you do. I was so used to working all the time that I just worked all the time. There was definitely a conscious moment in my mid-twenties when I realised I wasn’t really enjoying the work that I was doing. My manager at the time just said, ‘Take a breath. You’re burnt out.’”

The turning point came in 2005, when Jackson was offered a role in the two-hander Mr David Mamet play A Life In The Theatre, opposite Sir Patrick Stewart. “God bless him, Patrick could have made my life miserable because I had no idea what I was doing, ” he says. “I hadn’t been on stage since I was a kid and now I was in the West End in over my head. But it reminded me that I actually enjoyed being an actor, that it’s not about the red carpet or travelling around the world. What I really enjoy is working on good material with good people.”

It’s no surprise Jackson’s time on Dawson’s Creek led to a career crisis. From the ages of 19 to 24, he lived with his fellow cast mates in Wilmington, North Carolina, filming day in, day out, in an arrangement he likens to college. “You get to the end and they’re like, ‘Here’s your degree. Go live now. You’re an adult. Go out into the world,’” he says.

But most graduates don’t have to deal with global fame. “It’s transitory. You’re only ever cool for a moment and then you become much less cool. I was always pretty dubious about flatterers,” he says, recalling a time he was stung in London in the mid-2000s. “I went on a date in Hyde Park with a woman whose name I will not use – she was socialite-famous – and she was acting completely bizarre, looking over her shoulder the whole time. I came to find out that she had hired a photographer to follow us through the park and gave a whole story to the tabloids about how I was going to meet her family.”

It was his growing fortune, rather than fame, that caused Jackson the most anxiety. “Suddenly, at 19 years old, I was making more in a week than most of my friends’ parents would make in a year,” he says. “It was lovely to have the money, but it was that feeling of nobody is worth that kind of money. You feel like a fraud and it took me a long time to forgive myself for not being the thing that I was perceived as.”

Born in Vancouver, but raised in Topanga, California, until he was eight (before moving back to Vancouver following his parents’ divorce), Jackson bought his childhood home in 2001 and lives in it today with his wife, British Queen & Slim actor Ms Jodie Turner-Smith, and their 15-month-old daughter.

“My father unfortunately was not a good father or a husband and exited the scene, but that house in Topanga was where everything felt simple, so it was a very healing thing for me to do,” he says. Fast-forward to 2021 and his baby daughter now sleeps in her father’s childhood bedroom. “There was a mural of a dragon on the wall in that room that I couldn’t believe was still there, years later. The owner [who sold him the house] said, ‘I knew it meant a lot to somebody and that they were going to come back for it some day.’”

Becoming a first-time parent during a pandemic sounds stressful, but it afforded Jackson months at home with his wife and child that his normal work schedule wouldn’t have allowed.

“I now recognise how perverse the way that we have set up our society is,” he says. “There is not a father I know who works a regular job who didn’t go back to the office a week later. It’s robbing that man of the opportunity to bond with his child and spend time with his partner.”

Despite his obvious career ambitions, fatherhood has changed Jackson’s priorities in “every possible way”, he says. “It’s 100 per cent changed how I approach my work and my life. That has been made so clear to me in this past year. For me to feel good about what I’m doing day to day, my family has to be the central focus.

“There are plenty of things left for me to do, but now the thing that gets me excited is experiencing the world through my daughter’s eyes. I can’t wait to take her scuba diving. I can’t wait to take her skiing. I can’t wait to read a great book with her. I’m not worried at all she’ll be a wallflower. She’s been a character from the word go.”

Jackson met Turner-Smith, 34, two days after his 40th birthday. He had been single since his 10-year relationship with German actress Ms Diane Kruger ended in 2016. “I was not looking to fall in love again or meet the mother of my child, but life has other plans for you,” he says.

The couple met at a party. Turner-Smith was wearing the same The Future Is Female Ejaculation T-shirt Ms Tessa Thompson’s character, Detroit, wears in the 2018 film Sorry To Bother You. “That’s what I used to break the ice. I shouted, ‘Detroit!’ across the room. Not the smoothest thing I’ve ever done, but it worked. We were pretty much inseparable from the word go. It was a whirlwind romance and I can tell my daughter I literally saw her mother across a room and thought, ‘I have to be next to this woman.’”

A self-confessed “useless” shopper, Jackson gives his wife full credit for his current wardrobe. He is jewellery-free, apart from a wedding band and a gold signet “JJ” ring on his little finger (a present from his wife), and discovered tailored sweatsuits (by Stampd and Reigning Champ) in the pandemic.

“Jodie has influence in the way that a wonderful wife encourages you, through love, to dress well. She was like, ‘We’re going to throw away all the sweatpants from your past and I’m going to get you some that actually make you look like an adult male and you will still feel comfortable around the house,’ and I’m like, ‘What an amazing idea!’ Who knew you could get sweatsuits that actually look good on your body?”

Jackson’s style has evolved, he says, “from slovenly teen to it’s-nice-when-your-clothes-actually-fit-you”. The penny dropped after he auditioned for his former co-star Estevez, who was directing the 2006 Mr Robert Kennedy biopic Bobby. He said to me, ‘You only got this job because I know you. You came in here to play a very well-put together 1960s political operative and you’re wearing jeans and a hoodie.’

“I had to grow up a little bit. We are very much raised in Canada to never, ever show off, so it took me a while to recognise it’s OK to look good when you go out.”

Still, when you’ve grown up in front of the camera, “every pimple literally documented”, and lived (very successfully) to tell the tale, you can probably be forgiven for the odd fashion faux pas.

“I wore a silk Ascot to an event once in Paris and I still have nightmares about it,” he says. “I looked like Fred from Scooby Doo, but you live and learn.”

#joshua jackson #interviews #jodie turner smith #dawson's creek #dr death #fringe #emilio estevez #mr porter #patrick stewart #michelle williams #katie holmes

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thisisaname-whatahappyname · 1 month

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sushi soucy did not need to pop off this hard ive been in shambles for two days now

#avarage #sushi soucy #and the thing is i know i couldve been better i know what supplies what work i couldve gotten wouldve lead mw to reach new heights #i just #didnt go for it #and now im falling behind #going from 2nd in the junior competitions to not even placing at all because while i improved i didn't improve enough #not like the others #and i knew what to do #i just didn't do it #i thought i would be fine with thise cause i was trying to turn my art into a direction i even end up didnt go for in that time frame #i used every excuse and payed the price #god its so hard to be good for your age especially when you know you couldve been good enough for the stage #and you watch as your whole damn career turns into a phase #vent #whoops

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lastbluetardis · 3 years

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Sacred New Beginnings (1/?)

Summary: James Noble thought he traded away his chance at love and a happy-ever-after when he signed a contract with a record label that turned him into an international celebrity. But a chance meeting in a dive bar may prove him wrong.

Ten x Rose AU, @doctorroseprompts

This Chapter: Teen, ~5500 words

Note: Er... surprise? This idea has been in my head for months but my brain took it and ran with it this weekend. I plotted the whole thing and am gonna try to update every weekend. I don’t anticipate this being more than like... 7-10 chapter? I’d love to keep it under 5 chapters but that might be trimming things down too much for my liking. Anyways, I really hope you enjoy this little story!

AO3

Flashing lights and shrieks of his name greet James the moment the back door to his armored car is opened. His head of security ducks out first and James can only see a mass of feet and legs but it’s more than enough to let him know it’s a heavier than usual crowd. Not surprising, considering the news of his latest break-up just dropped while he’d been flying back from a visit to America.

He slides out of the car, helped by hands that pull him as much as guide him through the throng. He ignores the shouts of his name—telling him to look left or right or up or down or every combination therein—and the barrage of questions and jokes that aren’t funny.

Was it you or him that ended it?

Three weeks, is that a new personal record?

Another notch in the bedpost, eh James?

Got another beau lined up yet?

If you’re looking for candidates, what do we have to do to get our names in the running?

“Ignore them,” he mutters to himself, too quietly for anyone except his security team to hear.

In answer, one of them gives his shoulder a reassuring squeeze as they reach his front door. Someone has already unlocked it for him and the darkness within is a blessing he’s all too willing to be shoved into. The cacophony muffles once the door shuts, and finally he’s alone, a rarity for him. If it’s not his security, it’s personal assistants and writers and producers and photographers and the paparazzi.

Or his lover of the month, as the papers have taken to calling his partners.

But nope, his home is empty and quiet and bloody freezing. A shiver ripples up his spine as he treads to the thermostat controller. Summer finally released its hold on London, and the muggy heat has been replaced with a damp chill that burrows down into his bones.

Several button-presses later, James hears the familiar clank of the radiator and he can smell the heating kick on. It’ll take a while for his house to warm up, so James keeps his peacoat on for the time being as he putters around his home, checking the fridge and the cabinets. As always, they’re well-stocked. He hasn’t had to do anything as mundane as grocery shopping in the five years since his YouTube channel full of acoustic covers of popular songs went viral and landed him a lucrative deal with a prestigious record label. Only in his wildest dreams had he expected to find fame and fortune in the hobby he loved so much—for it to have actually happened still took him by surprise, as though any minute he’d be told “it was fun while it lasted, but it’s time for you to leave wonderland now.”

Shaking his head of those thoughts, he goes to the antique dining table that can easily seat ten people, which is great for holidays or in-home meetings, but just plain depressing every other day of the year. A stack of mail has piled up, and he spends the next five minutes attempting to sort it before giving up and telling himself he’ll look at it in the morning, once he’s not quite as groggy—transatlantic flights always take it out of him.

Instead, he rootles around his fridge until he comes up with the necessary items to make himself a ham and cheese sandwich. With the prospect of food in front of him, James realizes he is starving. He shoves a whole slice of ham in his mouth while he assembles his pitiful meal, heaping on lettuce and sliced tomatoes as though that’s enough to negate the pile processed protein and greasy chips he layers in for crunch.

It’s tastier than any sandwich as a right to be, and he nearly makes himself a second one before catches sight of his phone screen and the slew of incoming notifications. His work is never finished, is it?

There are several texts from his publicist, Donna, welcoming him home and congratulating him on not making an arse of himself just by trying to walk up the front drive of his home. (To be fair, he felt entitled to channel his inner crotchety old man and tell reporters to get off his damn lawn if they encroached on his personal property.)

“Though some photos are surfacing of your trip to New York… Anything you need me to get ahead of?”

He rubs his fingers into his eyes, knowing she’s probably referring to his last night out in the city, where he went bar hopping until the wee hours of the morning to try to forget the text his subsequently-ex-boyfriend had sent him.

Thanks for everything, but I need to focus on my career. Cheers mate.

The career that James had kickstarted for him by introducing his rising actor boyfriend to several of his friends in the film industry, because James had been so damn desperate for affection that he’d once again let the wool get pulled in front of his eyes.

And so James had reached out to mates who lived in New York and they’d all gone out and acted half their age and had a wonderful time once James forgot about why he’d gone out in the first place.

But none of that now. Nope. No sir.

“Not that I’m aware of,” he replies. “Let me know if you catch wind of anything.”

Despite the fact that he only just got home and he’s jetlagged and still feeling the effects of his night out in New York, James can’t stay in his house right now. It’s so quiet that his brain is creating its own white noise. He can’t stand being in his head on a good day, and today is not a good day.

He grabs his keys and wallet and makes for the back of the house. His property is landlocked with the back gardens of other houses; the paps have learned the hard way that James is dead serious about protecting his neighbors’ privacy and will not hesitate to phone the police to arrest and sue anyone caught trespassing on private property to snag a photo of him. James hosts dinner for his neighbors several times a year and buys them gifts any chance he can to show his appreciation for their patience and tolerance.

In the dead of night, he slips out into his back garden, the crisp October air burning his lungs in the best way as he ducks his way through the neighborhood, his feet taking him far away from the crowd of reporters that are still stationed in front of his own home. Hopefully they’ll all have dispersed by the time he gets back. Perhaps he should have turned on music or a movie or something, made them think he was settled in for a lazy night in.

He wanders aimlessly for a while, enjoying this taste of freedom and trying to remember the days when he could leave out the front door of his flat without any fanfare.

It’s dark, and thick clouds obscure whichever moon phase they’re in, but the street lamps glow yellow on the damp pavement, lighting his way forward. A crisp autumn breeze ruffles his hair and the leaves, sending them tumbling around him and skittering across the residential street that’s so much quieter than the bustle of New York. It’s good to be home, though.

He arrives at a bus stop and catches one headed into the city proper. It’s no secret that James lives in London, and therefore the general population has gotten used to glimpsing him on the tube or walking on the street or frequenting pubs. He knows people snap quick photos of him, and he’s always happy to stop and pose for a selfie with respectful fans, but mostly he’s left alone when he’s out by himself like this.

Nevertheless, he hears the excited undertones of people trying to inconspicuously point him out to their oblivious friends. He keeps his head down, mindlessly opening and closing apps on his phone for something to do as he pretends he doesn’t notice them. He won’t be on the bus much longer anyway.

Several people get off the bus with him, including a group of teenage girls who are whispering heatedly among themselves. It’s almost funny, watching them debate amongst themselves before one of them approaches him.

She’s red-faced but determined as she blurts, “Can we get a photo?”

“Sure thing,” he says good-naturedly, inclining his head for them to come closer. “Need me to take it?” He holds out a lanky arm and flops it around a bit. “Got a longer reach than any of you.”

He’s certain one of the girls is about to start crying with joy as they all nestle into his side and hand him a new-model iPhone. Damn, it’s fancier than his own. When he was their age, he had an old flip phone that lost reception if he breathed on it wrong. It was a tank though—he’d dropped that thing hundreds of times, and nary a scratch.

“Do me a favor,” he says, handing the phone back to its owner, “and don’t ping our location if you post to social media, yeah? I appreciate it.”

“You’re my favorite person ever,” one of the girls squeaks.

His face splits into a grin and he tucks his hands into his pockets. “Is that so?”

The girls spend the next five minutes chatting with him about music and how they’ve been following him ever since his YouTube days. He listens and chimes in every now and then when they ask him a direct question, but he prefers being passive in exchanges like this, content to hear peoples’ stories. It makes him feel normal, if only for a little while.

Finally, they take their leave, and James turns in the opposite direction even though the destination he had in mind is down the street the girls had just taken. But he’s been burned far too many times by encounters with seemingly innocent fans, only for them to begin following him around and showing up outside his house to talk to him again. He makes a point of not drawing out public encounters with his fans.

He wanders down a street he’s vaguely familiar with, figuring he can backtrack in a couple blocks. The night is too beautiful for him to be upset about needing to take a detour.

Everything looks different in the dark, the glow of neon signs bathing everything in hues of greens and blues and pinks and yellows. Shops and restaurants are mostly shut up for the night, their windows dark or blinds drawn. Dingey motels with pay-by-the-hour rates are in full swing, as are the pubs that have a revolving door of people in varying states of intoxication.

Deep bass that he can feel all the way in his chest catches his attention, and he gets turned around a few times, but he eventually finds the establishment: Bad Wolf Brews. At first, he doesn’t think it’s open, and that he must be mistaken about where the music is coming from, but the heavy front oak door opens, and he realizes the glass on the door is tempered so that the interior lights don’t shine through. The music is clear and heavy and vibrating in his bones. He doesn’t think twice before catching the door before it closes and slipping inside.

The air is humid and smells of sweat and stale beer. Bodies are writhing and gyrating to the rhythm blasting through invisible speakers. The acoustics are phenomenal; none of the layers are lost and the sound quality is nearly as good as if he were listening to the record at home on his own stereo system.

The lights are low, and he’s sure he trips into a few people in the minute it takes for his eyes to adjust to the dimness, but finally, he’s at the bar. There are three open stools, and he claims one between a blonde woman and a red-haired man as he wonders what the hell this dive bar serves. He can see beer taps, but he’s more of a cocktail guy. He must look as lost as he feels, because the bartender hands him a menu that looks like it was hand-written and then photo-copied. It jives with the overall vibe of the pub.

The bartender checks in with him a minute later. James opens a tab and orders a sidecar sans sugar, and is pleasantly surprised by the quality. Not to make assumptions, but he’d figured an establishment such as this would have cheap liquor. If the alcohol in his drink is cheap, it’s well masked.

When he’s drained the last drop and about to signal for another, a hand rests on his shoulder. “Can I buy your next round?”

James looks up into the face of a stranger. It’s a woman with striking green eyes and a disheveled pixie cut. Judging by her crimson cheeks and glazed eyes, she’s three sheets to the wind. There’s buzzed, then there’s drunk, and then there’s plastered. He prefers not to let himself get to that last category, and by extension, he doesn’t really like to associate much with people who won’t remember the night come morning.

“Thanks, but I’m good,” he says with his most charming grin. “G’night.”

He has no idea if the woman knows who he is, but the way she shrugs and saunters to the gentleman sitting beside James, he doubts it.

He gets clumsily propositioned a few more times and always politely declines with a smile. So far, nobody here seems to recognize him and he is going to ride out this anonymity for as long as it’ll last. It has been too long since he’s been able to sit in a pub and drink quietly. Well, quietly, insofar as crazed fans or paparazzi aren’t harassing him—the music is loud enough that he’s sure to have ringing in his ears for a few hours once he gets home.

But he’s not really in any rush to get home, and so he orders his fourth cocktail before making his way to the loo. Alcohol goes right through him, and it’s nearly gotten him in trouble on tour a time or two.

There’s no line, but the loo is crowded, and he tries to ignore the double-takes as he stands in front of a urinal to take care of business. If he wakes up tomorrow morning to find that someone snapped a photo of him having a piss, he’s going to lose his goddamn mind.

Bladder tended to, James keeps his head ducked and shoulders his way back into the bar. His stool is unoccupied, and when he steps forward, he realizes why. A purse sits on it, seemingly reserving the seat but he can’t figure out for whom. He’s about to take the cocktail the bartender hands him and stand against the shadowed wall when someone picks up the purse.

It’s his blonde-haired stool mate. She flashes him a broad grin that lights up her entire face and squeezes something deep in his stomach.

“Saved your seat for ya,” she says with the ease and confidence of someone who’s known him his whole life.

“Thanks,” he manages through a suddenly dry mouth.

Feeling like an idiot for standing and gaping, he slips into his seat and downs half his new sidecar in one go. It’s as though the ice has been broken now, and she turns to him, her elbow on the counter and her cheek propped on her fist.

“Pretty sure you could outdrink a fish, mate,” she drawls, smiling again in that easy way that does too many strange things to his insides. “You’ve been knockin’ ‘em back for over an hour now.”

Has it really been that long? James checks his watch, and yup, it’s half past ten. The paps should be gone from his house by now, but he feels no draw to leave this place. The alcohol has left him pleasantly tipsy and warm, but he’s more drunk on the fantasy that he’s just a normal bloke having a nice night out in a newly-discovered dive bar.

“Fish don’t really drink though, do they? They absorb water through their gills via osmosis,” he replies, and he wants to bite his tongue off because what the fuck was that??

This woman, whatever her name is, doesn’t seem to mind his answer though, because her face scrunches in a giggle. His body is hot and throbbing with more than drink now, and he wants to hear that sound again but his brain has stopped working.

“Is that so different from you absorbin’ alcohol through your bloodstream?” she muses, finishing off whatever is in her short tumbler.

“Can I buy your next round?” he blurts rather than responding to her question, which he’s almost certain was rhetorical.

Her smile melts into something softer, something private and a little shy. “If you’d like.”

“I do.” He flags down the bartender and glances at his new companion expectantly.

“Gin and tonic,” she says. She thanks the bartender, then James when she takes her first sip. “I’m Rose, by the way.”

“James,” he says, feeling stupid because his face is plastered all over London, which likes to boast that it’s the home of international celeb James Noble. But wouldn’t he seem more of an arse if he just assumed this gorgeous woman knew who he was?

Nevertheless, his stomach sinks a bit when she snorts into her drink and says, “I thought it was you.”

“Yup, it’s me,” he forces, his voice flat. He hides his frown with his glass, knocking back the rest of his sidecar like it’s a shot. The room sways slightly with the violent motion of his head, and maybe he’s slightly drunker than he’d thought.

If Rose catches on to his sudden sour mood, she doesn’t mention it. “What brings you here to Bad Wolf?”

He shrugs and blows out a noisy breath. “I dunno. Went for a walk, ended up here.”

“Those are the best sort of adventures.” She hums wistfully. “Sometimes you find what you didn’t know you needed when you let yourself get lost.”

That observation is far too astute for his current state of mind, so instead he says, “Would you like to dance with me?”

Her eyes flicker across his face for a brief moment before she says, “Okay.”

He hops down from his stool, but Rose hesitates, clutching her purse and coat awkwardly. The bartender helpfully tells her to keep them on her stool, and he’ll keep an eye on it. Rose flashes him a grin that James would rather she flash at him, but he realizes that is utterly absurd, so he simply rests his coat on top of her things to better hide them from view. He then holds out his hand for her. Her palm is soft and warm against his as he leads her to the crowded dance floor.

They find space towards the back of the pub, hidden in the shadows of a hallway that states it’s closed off to patrons. And of course, of fucking course, right when he rests his hands on her hips to find the rhythm of the song, a new one comes on, and his own voice belts from the speakers.

“Fucking hell,” he mutters. He loves his music—he made it, after all—but he can’t help but feel pretentious and more than a little silly to dance to it like this.

Rose, however, grins and says, “Oh, come on, this is one of my favorites.”

She catches his hands where he’d loosened them at her waist and forces him to grab hold of her. She’s wearing high-waisted trousers and a top that leaves a sliver of her belly exposed. His thumb grazes the skin of her bare side, and it’s enough to send tingles through his body. Rose, meanwhile, slings her arms around his shoulders and begins to rock her hips from side to side in sync with the bass, embellishing the motions until she looks absolutely ridiculous but so, so beautiful.

He can’t help but grin and laugh, and he mirrors her movements until they’re both dancing like idiots to his music.

“This is how my baby brother dances,” she explains, bouncing up and down while twisting her hips. “We have regular dance parties together.”

“How old’s your brother?” he asks.

“Just turned four.”

He blinks, and blood rushes from his face. “And… and how old are you?”

“A perfectly legal twenty-four,” she drawls, reaching up to flick his nose. “You can start breathing again.”

Thank fuck.

“That’s quite the age gap.”

“My mum got remarried when I was nineteen,” Rose says with a shrug. “She and my stepdad didn’t waste much time.”

“Clearly,” he mutters under his breath.

“It does feel a bit like they’ve started over,” Rose confesses with a too-stiff shrug. “New family, new life, and I’m the interloper.

There is no way this vivacious woman in front of him could ever be considered an interloper, but before he can tell her that, she continues, “Mum does her best to assure me otherwise, but still. It’s hard to watch all the things Mum and Dad are able to do for Tony—that’s my brother, Tony—when Mum struggled so much as a single mum with me.”

“Your dad’s not in the picture?”

A sad smile pinches her face, and he regrets asking.

“No, I never knew him. He died when I was a baby.”

“I… I’m so sorry.” Well, he’s totally buggered this all up, hasn’t he? He wracks his brain on how to salvage the easy banter they’d had at the bar, but draws a blank.

Rose seems to realize they’ve lost the mood, but she breaks out into a lazy grin and says, “Since you seemed so opposed to dancing to your own music, it’ll please you to know a new song’s on. C’mon, show me your moves.”

He’s not going to look a gift horse in the mouth, and so he follows her lead, watching her dance her heart out until her cheeks are pink and her hair is damp with sweat. He’s sure he doesn’t look much better, since he can feel the perspiration beading down his back and beneath his arms, but he can’t bring himself to care. Tonight has been the most fun he’s had in a very long time. Clubbing in New York had been a lark, but he’s been swarmed by his American fans half the night, and had been busy drowning his latest heartbreak to fully enjoy it. But here, now, with Rose, it’s like he’s any other bloke in a pub, chatting up a pretty girl he wants to get to know.

Their bodies are wrapped around each other with the ease and grace of partners who have known each other for years, and he forgets that he has known Rose for all of a few hours. He never wants this night to end. He wants to cling to this fairytale and pretend that the clock isn’t about to strike the proverbial midnight.

But time marches on as always. The clock really does strike midnight, and the bartender begins to clear people out of his establishment. James is as exhausted as he is exhilarated, no longer drunk on booze but rather the company of Rose and the magic they made together by simply dancing the night away.

They head back to the bar to retrieve their coats and her purse, and to close out their tabs. James slides his credit card to the bartender and asks him to charge everyone’s tab to his card. If the bartender is surprised, he hides it well. A few minutes later, James is signing off on the receipt of purchase of several thousand pounds-worth of alcohol. His personal assistant is sure to be confused as hell when she wakes up to see the charge. He fires off a quick warning text to her so she doesn’t open up a fraudulent charge claim.

James salutes the bartender, knowing he’ll come back to this pub as often as he can until he’s found out and this place once again becomes somewhere that’s overrun with his fans.

The night is refreshingly cold when he and Rose emerge into it, a nice change after the stifling, sweaty heat of the bar. However, she hunches her shoulders against the chill, prompting him to wrap his arm around her waist and tug her into his side, all too eager to lend her some of his body heat.

“Can I walk you somewhere?” he asks, glancing around the street that is now full of the drunken patrons who’d been in the pub with them. They all disperse in different directions, stumbling home or to a different bar that is still open. “Or wait with you ‘til you catch a cab?”

“Yeah, sure,” she says, pulling up her phone to order a ride. She taps on the screen for a few quiet moments then says, “Done. Should be here in a few minutes.”

They descend into a slightly awkward silence that James wants to break, but he can’t think of anything clever to say. So he says nothing, and finally headlights wash over them, momentarily blinding them before a taxi pulls up.

“D’you wanna share?” she asks, opening the door to the back seat.

Is she as reluctant to leave him as he is to leave her? Or is she being polite and eco-friendly by ride sharing? Nevertheless, he nods and slides into the back seat beside her.

There is something incredibly intimate about sitting with Rose in the dark interior of the taxi, and he feels like he’s fifteen and wondering how to hold his date’s hand after a cheap night out at the cinemas. He fists his hands together, knotting his fingers until his knuckles pop.

The driver goes to the address Rose provides first, and all too soon they’ve arrived.

“I’ll cover the fare,” he says when she makes to hand over some bank notes to the diver. “It’d be my pleasure.”

She hesitates, but nods, then opens the door to climb out of the car. His pulse quickens as he watches her walk away with nothing but a, “Goodnight.”

“Can you wait just a minute?” he asks the driver.

“Meter’s still runnin’,” he grunts.

“That’s fine.”

James scrambles out of the taxi. “Hey, Rose?”

She turns back to face him, frowning.

“I… er… I had a great time tonight,” he says lamely, but her frown relaxes into a smile. “It was fun. With you. I had fun.”

“Yeah, me too,” she answers.

He licks his lips; his mouth is bone dry and his pulse pounds in his ears, making his vision throb with each frenzied beat.

“Do you… do you maybe wanna do it again some time? Hang out together? I… I’d really like to see you again,” he says, cursing his clumsy, fumbling words.

She scrutinizes him for a long moment, her expression indecipherable. His stomach sinks. Maybe this was a one-off, a story for her to tell her mates.

You’ll never guess who I met at the pub last night. James Noble! He paid for all my drinks and we danced like idiots.

He stews in his misery of doubt, and just when he’s about to tell her to forget about it, she slowly nods.

“Yeah, okay. I’d like that.”

“Really?” he asks, a hopeful edge creeping into his voice.

She laughs. “Really.”

“Brilliant!” James fumbles in his pocket for his phone, and he thrusts it at her. “Give me your number? I’ll text you. Or call.”

He rocks back and forth on his toes and heels, waiting for her to finish up with his phone. He has a sudden, potent bolt of panic that she’s snooping through his private messages or photographs for something to use against him to make a quick profit, but before that panic can take root, she hands his mobile back to him. It’s open to a new texting conversation.

From: 🌹 Bad Wolf Girl 🌹

Now I’ve got your number too 😉

He beams at the name she’s given to herself in his contacts, then he pockets his phone.

“I’ll see you later,” he says.

“You better,” she replies with that knee-weakening smile he’s grown to love over the course of the night. “See ya.”

“Bye.”

He stands there like a moron until she’s safely inside, then he turns back to the taxi and climbs in. The deserted streets streak by as the driver takes him to his neighborhood. He never gives his address though; he always chooses a destination a few streets away, just in case.

James generously tips the driver and bids him goodnight before slipping into the night to his home. He was right: the paparazzi are gone. There is no fanfare as he slips his key into the lock and lets himself into his house. It’s warm and cozy, but still too quiet for his liking.

Between the plane ride and his night out, he feels greasy and disgusting, and indulges in a hot shower before bed. He washes Rose’s scent off of his body, an intoxicating blend of jasmine and vanilla that’s as sweet as it is musky.

He’s groggy by the time he crawls into his giant, king-sized bed and burrows deep into his mounds of pillows and duvets. One of his ex-girlfriends once teased that he turns into the marshmallow man when he sleeps.

His sleep is deep and dreamless, and when he awakes with the sun the following morning, he feels more refreshed and invigorated than he ever remembers being. He’s got a full day of meetings with his songwriting team to brainstorm his next album, and he is ready.

But first, he checks his phone. There’s nothing from Rose, which makes him a little sad, but also nothing from his publicist, which is always a good sign. If ever she messages or calls him first thing in the morning, it always means there’s some sort of dumpster fire to put out. Usually a dumpster fire full of compromising photos of him.

He makes a point of not Googling himself, but he does occasionally check his social media pages for new posts about him, wanting to know when, where, and how his fans came across him in the wild. He easily finds the photo that he took with the group of teenage girls, and makes a point to like the original post and type a quick, “Nice to meet you all. Thanks for chatting with me last night - J” in the comments section. He snorts to himself as his comment blows up within seconds.

But other than some grainy photos of him riding the bus, he can’t find any other photos of himself. Nothing of him wandering the streets or drinking in the pub or even having a wee in the mens’ room. And best of all, there’s nothing of him and Rose. No photos of them dancing together or sharing a cab. If Rose has a social media account, it didn’t post any sneaky photos or bragging stories about dancing all night with James Noble.

He can’t quite believe it; he managed to have a fun night out drinking without it all being thrown back in his face the next morning. Within seconds, he’s grinning to himself and pulling up Rose’s contact information. It’s still in his phone, further proof that his night with her wasn’t some sort of jetlagged fever dream. She was real.

“Good morning. I hope you slept well. Thanks for last night.”

She responds almost instantly. Good morning to you too. I should be thanking you for paying my drink tab and taxi fare 😉 And for being an excellent dance partner.

“The pleasure was all mine, on all counts.” He sends that message, then types out a new one, “I’m gonna be in meetings all day (yes, I know it’s Sunday), so please don’t be discouraged if I don’t reply. But I’d really like to see you again. Want to do dinner or drinks or coffee or something?”

He doesn’t wait for an answer, needing to make himself presentable for when his driver picks him up in an hour. Yet he can’t help but check his phone every three seconds, until finally there’s a message from Rose.

Yeah, I’d like that. I work ‘til five most nights, but I’m free after that. Or we can wait ‘til the weekend.

With spirits lighter than they’ve been in months, James steps out of his house with a broad, stupid grin that the ever-present crowd of paparazzi are all too happy to photograph.

#ficandchips #dwfic #doctorroseprompts #doctor who #ten x rose #ten x rose au #james x rose #yet another iteration of james and rose lmao #romance #meet cute #light angst #musician au #my fic #sacred new beginnings

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jaskierswolf · 3 years

Text

Fuck Indeed - 1 of 4

Rating: E

Chapter WC: 2720

Summary: Jaskier scrolled through the terms and conditions of the website he was planning on selling his soul to. It seemed simple enough, and he really needed the money. His music career hadn’t exactly gotten off to a flying start and he was tired of sponging off his friends and they were, quite frankly, tired of him. He wasn’t sure how much longer he’d be allowed to sofa surf and he really needed his own space.

So, he was starting an OnlyFans account. - On AO3

CW (for whole story): 18+ only, anal sex, masturbation, exhibition kink, sex work, rimming, sex toys, talks of blow jobs, Geralt bottoms but it’s mentioned they switch, biting (but no blood), Jaskier wearing lingerie and makeup.

Jaskier scrolled through the terms and conditions of the website he was planning on selling his soul to. It seemed simple enough, and he really needed the money. His music career hadn’t exactly gotten off to a flying start and he was tired of sponging off his friends and they were, quite frankly, tired of him. He wasn’t sure how much longer he’d be allowed to sofa surf and he really needed his own space.

So, he was starting an OnlyFans account.

The only thing he was good at outside of his music and poetry was sex. So why not make some money off of it. He’d already done a shit ton of research on stats, marketing, and the types of audiences he was looking to attract… and yes that potentially meant that he’d spent more money than he could afford on subscriptions to porn but, well, it was an investment.

He was going to be good at this, nay, he was going to be fucking brilliant; pun intended.

He smirked as he clicked to register his account.

Phase one complete.

Phase two… commencing.

He quickly adjusted his photograph to the incredibly alluring photo he’d picked out. Essi had helped him stage a photoshoot after he’d promised to only film his videos when he was staying with Priscilla or Valdo. The photo showed him sitting backwards on a chair, stockings pulled up to his thighs and attached by turquoise lace garters. He was wearing a gorgeous matching lingerie set that was barely visible from behind the chair, a tease for the sort of content he would be putting out. He was also wearing a pair of killer heels.

Heels he absolutely couldn’t walk in yet, but they’d been so pretty and he’d always wanted to learn so he’d bought them on a whim, again more money that he didn’t have…. thank fuck for credit cards.

He wasn’t looking at the camera, his fringe covering his eyes, but he was clearly laughing at something, blood red lipstick staining his lips.

He was rather impressed with how it had turned out.

Now he just needed to get up some content. He glanced at the clock, he had probably missed the best time to post a video today, but he had a few photos from his shoot with Essi. He flicked through his camera roll until he found his second favourite, one where he was looking up just past the camera, eyes catching the light perfectly so they shone a sparkling bright blue.

Not to be narcissistic, but he looked fucking gorgeous.

He grinned and typed out a teasing caption to introduce himself, then hit post. Afterwards, he locked his phone and threw it across the room, not wanting to think about the comments and reactions.

He stared at it as it bounced on the mattress.

The only sounds were his breath and his heartbeat in his ears.

“Bollocks,” he muttered after what felt like a lifetime, and scrambled after his phone, unlocking it quickly with a few nimble taps of his finger.

If he spent the next two hours refreshing his page to see what people thought then… well, no one needed to know. It wasn’t an instant hit, but he was new and it was expected, and he was thrilled at the couple of messages he received and he already had a couple of subscribers.

He could do this, the fluttering anxiety in his stomach beginning to settle slightly as he repeated the words aloud a few times. He sighed heavily and decided to be productive. He still needed to set up his Twitter page and link it, perhaps an Instagram account as well, one that his parents didn’t have to know about, and fuck he needed to sleep.

His clock, glowing in the now dark of his room, was telling him more time had passed than he’d realised.

“Fuck,” he groaned.

He still needed to get to the studio early this morning. He’d practically begged the owner to let him record a demo, promising that it would be worth it, that he was good. Luckily for him, there had been a short break very early in the morning before any decent musician worth a damn was awake. He plugged his phone in to charge and made sure he put it down out of reach from the bed. He’d just wake up in the middle of the night and check it otherwise. He just needed to know he wasn’t terrible, was that really so bad?

“Come on, Jask,” he mumbled “you can check after you record your demo. It’s not that long.”

It felt like fucking forever.

Geralt was busy working at the garage when Yennefer messaged him. He huffed and pocketed his phone, giving his customer an apologetic hum before gesturing for them to continue. Yennefer hadn’t started the text with “Ciri!” so he could ignore it for now, that was their deal. He’d only check his texts from Yennefer at work if there was a problem with their daughter, but that never stopped her from trying. Yennefer got bored easily at work. Her mind was too brilliant and even working in a top law firm wasn’t enough to keep her mind from wondering, the monotony of paperwork getting the better of her.

It didn’t help that she had assistants to take care of the worst shit for her. Geralt wasn’t exactly sure what Yennefer did all day. He was pretty sure she just organised her minions and planned to take over the world, in between bothering him at work, of course.

He shook his head with a fond smile, as he watched the young blonde leave her precious Volkswagen Beetle behind. It was an old banged up thing, and she’d clearly bought it for the looks rather than practicality, and the engine had given out after only a month of her buying it.

“Kids,” he scoffed.

Business was business though, it brought in sorely needed cash.

Not as much as his other job… but that was a more lucrative role, one that only Yennefer knew about. He was careful to keep his face hidden, but so far he’d been lucky. No one else in his physical life knew about his OnlyFans account, probably because he was still just starting out. He’d only been at it a couple of months and he was, admittedly, not the best at having an online presence, which was why he’d begrudgingly asked Yennefer for her help.

- New kid on the block, he’s just your type.

Yennefer’s message read, blunt as ever. He rolled his eyes and clicked the link. Sure enough there was a photograph of a young brunet straddling a chair, wearing fucking lingerie. He swallowed, staring at the photograph just a little too long.

He growled and stuffed his phone back in his pocket. He should have known better than to open the link at work.

But that smile haunted him for the rest of the day, making every second drag, the world turning to a haze and every movement felt like he was wading through mud. He wanted to get home.

He wanted to know more about this Dandelion.

“Fuck,” he groaned, pressing his fingers to his forehead, hoping it would push the thoughts of the man from his mind.

It didn’t.

By the time he got back to his house he felt like he was on fire, his skin crawling, restless, burning. He showered as quickly as he could, just about managing to wash all the conditioner from his hair before stalking back to his room and firing up his laptop. He groaned as he finally had a chance to stalk Dandelion’s page.

The second photograph was even better than the first, bright blue eyes searing into his mind, and the smile of a fucking angel. He looked young, mid-twenties, only a few years younger than Geralt probably, and he was exactly the sort of man he would do well on this goddamn site. He looked charismatic, easy on the eye, definitely flirty judging by the cheeky grin on his face, and he was probably excellent at the marketing side of things.

Geralt glanced at his subscribers and cursed. Dandelion hadn’t even uploaded a video yet but his follower count was crawling up faster than Geralt’s ever had.

And that made him… angry?

Jealous perhaps, but there was a bitterness growing in his heart now.

He had to do better. He couldn’t allow this man to overtake him. He just couldn’t.

He growled and shut his laptop with a snap, pulling out his phone with more force than necessary. Yennefer would know what to do. She was good at this sort of thing. He just hoped that he didn’t need to explain himself. It was pathetic and irrational but… he wanted to win.

Jaskier stumbled upon the White Wolf’s page purely by accident. He’d been looking for inspiration before filming his first video. He knew what he wanted to film but he was tired and wasn’t really sure he was in the mood for it, so he began to scroll. He’d unsubscribed from a lot of accounts to save money but the silver-haired Adonis had caught his attention.

The leather strapped around his otherwise bare torso helped. Jaskier was weak for a man in leather.

Before he knew what he was doing, Jaskier was putting in his details to subscribe, sending off a silent apology to his bank account.

The White Wolf was the silent brooding type, never quite revealing his face, but that wasn’t uncommon. His long hair fell down past the man’s pecs, curling at the ends just above the black leather straps. Chest hairs trailed down the man’s torso, the photo cropped before revealing anything else. Jaskier let out a low whimper at the thought of what might be revealed.

He groaned and scrambled for his bottle of lube before letting out a curse.

He had a video to shoot.

He didn’t have time to jerk off to this god’s account. He grumbled and got changed into the turquoise lingerie from the photoshoot. He had decided to use the photos as a teaser for his first video, creating some continuity and helping to create a brand that he could build on. He hummed happily as he pulled up the stockings, they felt soft against his skin, bringing a fragility to his otherwise muscular frame.

Not quite as muscular as Wolf’s.

What wouldn’t he give to lick the lines of those abs?

Once he was dressed, he pulled out his makeup bag. He wasn’t quite as skilled with eyeliner as Essi yet so he settle for a smudged black look before adding the red to his lips. He gave himself a once over in the mirror, flashing a smile. It wasn’t perfect but it was only his first video. He’d get more practice as he worked. After one final check of the lighting in his room – well, his temporary room thanks to darling Priscilla – he made sure he had lube nearby. With shaking hands, he set up the camera and clicked record. He would edit both the start and the end of the video later.

He sighed and then let a seductive smile grace his lips as he winked at the camera, kneeling on the bed.

“Hello darling,” he purred in a low voice “I am so happy you could join me.”

He pictured the chiseled torso of his Wolf, mind filling in the blanks of his face, square jaw, soft warm brown eyes, perhaps stubble on his cheek. He felt the warmth of arousal pool in his core at that thought, his cock filling out in the lacy underwear. Definitely stubble then. He wanted to feel the scratch against his cheek, his neck… his arse.

His fingers had drifted down his chest and were toying with the hem of his panties without him even realising it. His eyes fluttered open as he remembered his audience.

“Oops,” he breathed “forgot where I was for a moment there, sweetheart. You don’t mind, do you?”

He paused.

It felt right.

God, he had no idea that he was doing, but the idea of people on the other end of that camera, watching him. Fuck, he hadn’t known he’d be into that. He palmed himself through the thin fabric, letting out a slightly exaggerated moan so the camera would pick it up.

He wondered if Wolf would see this, would he get hard watching Jaskier touching himself… would he touch his own cock?

Jaskier’s breath hitched and he bit his lip. He locked eyes with the camera as he let out a sigh. “I’ve just been feeling so lonely, it won’t take much tonight, just the thought of you.”

The words felt awkward, stunted but it was only his first video and blood was flowing away from his brain right now, making improv difficult. He’d need a script for next time.

“It’s my first video so I wanted to get dressed up, do you like it?” a pause “It feels so soft against my skin.”

His other hand reached up to stroke his nipples through the lace. He tilted his head back and rolled his hips forward to his cock brushed against his own hand, another moan escaping his lips, playing it up for the camera. “Shall I keep them on?” he asked the camera, voice huskier than he was expecting. Fuck this was affecting him more than he imagined.

He swallowed, and licked his lips, fingers pulling down his panties to reveal the tip of his cock already leaking onto the brightly coloured lace. “I might ruin them… but I think you’d like that…”

Would Wolf like that… watching Jaskier cum all over the pretty panties.

Jaskier whined, smearing the precum over his hand and then down the length of his cock under the lace. The touch sent waves of pleasure through his whole body, and he let out a low curse. His eyes fell shut as he slowly stroked himself, taking his time, teasing himself. He pictured his Wolf pulling the straps of his bra down off his shoulders, pressing kisses into his neck, biting on his shoulders as he touched him. God he really needed to watch his videos, if he could pull such vivid images of the man from just one photograph.

“Fuck, that feels so good…” he gasped, struggling to keep his movements slow. He forced his eyes open to look at the camera. He could only imagine how he looked right now, eyes dark, cheeks flushed, lips red from where he’d been biting them, one hand working on his cock, the other pinching at his nipples through sinfully see-through fabric.

“I want you to touch me so bad,” he gasped “would you fuck me, if I ask?”

He swallowed, imagining Wolf’s hands on his hips, pressing bruises into his skin… spreading his cheeks apart… fingers dripping with lube, ready to stretch him. He bit his lip again, almost hard enough to draw blood. He hadn’t noticed he was fucking into his own hand, thighs burning as he knelt on the fresh silk sheets. He was close, too close… not what he’d meant for this video but it was too late now… he couldn’t hold back.

He gripped his cock harder, stroking faster, the underwear pushed down by his efforts.

“I. I can’t…” he stammered through the haze “I need, please…”

He almost sobbed, begging his unseen audience. “Please.”

He pinched roughly on his nipple, the sharp pain tipping him over the edge, and he came all over his hand with a wordless cry.

He struggled not to collapse onto the bed, but he did rest back on his ankles as he gasped for breath. “Fuck,” he whispered hoarsely… surprised by the intensity of his orgasm. He glanced up at the camera with a smirk, flicking his tongue out to lick his lips. “Until next time, darling.”

He winked at the camera and then crawled forward so he could turn it off. Once that was done, he fell back on the bed with a contented sigh before remembering the state of his pants. He grimaced and reluctantly got up to go shower, the thought of the White Wolf still lingering in his mind.

________

Taglist (18+): @geraltrogerericduhautebellegarde @slythnerd @hailhailsatan @thecomfortofoldstorries @gelos @moonysourenza @frances-the-red @honeysuckletook @elliestormfound @sleepy-thief @artistsfuneral @kittynannygaming @stinastar @fontegagrilledcheese @baka-yu @anythinggoesfandoms @veritasrose @trickstermoose67 @nonegenderleftpain @kueble @justjess94 @kozkaboi @wherethewordsare Let me know if you want to be added for this story or in general!

#the witcher #geraskier #onlyfans au #enemies to lovers #geralt of rivia #Jaskier #geralt/jaskier #unrequited enemies #wolfie's witcher writing

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itsallyscorner · 4 years

Note

so, I was watching the video that came out today and I was thinking about a age gap seb x reader around his friends like Jessica or maybe chace? And they're just hanging out and they both have this lovesick look on their faces and when she leaves the room for some reason they don't waste any time addressing how in love she is with him, and sebs glad bc they were kinda wary of her at first?

Hiyaaa babes! This is my first request so woohoo🥳 Since you mentioned the video, I literally thought of the pictures that were released while they were filming 355, and now I can’t get the image of Seb in Paris because holy shit he looked good. So I’m gonna be using Jessica❤️

- This came out so long, I’m a sucker for background info and can’t get past writing a story without one💀 Enjoy!💜

💌.

Lovesick

You and Sebastian were unexpected. Literally the chances of you guys getting together were so off and you guys were at different times of your lives. He was in his late 30s, already living most of his life as a successful actor. While you were in your early 20s still in college working on your doctoral degree to become a Pharmacist (It was the only major I could think of atm because it’s the one I’m planing on lol.) You guys met at the cafe near your campus. You always went there every morning and would spot him drinking his morning coffee with his nose stuck in a new script he was reading. You two would sneak glances at each other, admiring each other from afar. Until one day when the cafe was fairly packed and you needed a place to sit. You spotted his familiar face and asked him if you could sit in the seat across from him. Obviously he agreed and you guys talked, getting to know each other the whole time. When it was time for you to leave for classes, you guys exchanged numbers and kept in touch.

Which brings us to today. You and Sebastian have been going strong for about a year now and were approaching your second year together. Though you two are as happy as can be and are still in the honeymoon phase (even after a year), the first few months of the relationship were quite rough. There was an obvious age gap between you two, it didn’t bother you two as much, but the public didn’t react too nicely about it. Your parents weren’t too fond of the idea of you dating an older man, but after getting to know him they knew his intentions with you were well. Same goes for your friends and family. When it came to his fans and the media finding about your relationship, that’s when it went to shit.

The media made Sebastian look like some creep who was going through a midlife crisis for dating someone much younger than him. A few “fans” even claimed that he were a “groomer” after pictures of you and him heavily making out on the street were released. These issues caused some bumps in the road for your relationship, though after many arguments, you two realized that the only opinions that mattered were each other’s.

Now you two were staying at a hotel in Paris. Sebastian was currently working on a big project, “The 355”, something he was very excited about. This was one of the first projects that he was really involved in, from script to screen, he played a pretty big role in this project.

You were typing up a report for your class when Sebastian entered the hotel room. He was still in his set clothes, a light blue shirt, dark jeans, and a pair of Chelsea boots. He approached the bed where you were typing and pressed a kiss to your temple.

“Hey sweetheart, how’s school going?” He greeted you as he settled himself on the bed, laying on his side.

“Meh, it’s going...but I finished my report on time. Now I just need to proofread it.” You smiled as you finished typing the last sentence of your report. When Sebastian discovered he was going to film in Paris, he immediately told you, knowing you’ve been dreaming of visiting Paris. Luckily for the both of you, your school allowed you to do online learning (it probably doesn’t work like that but just go with it) and you were able to tag along with him.

“I’m sure it’s prefect, you’re a great writer.” He complimented, you hummed in response. Turning to him you run your hand through his short hair making him lean into your touch. You loved his fluffy hair but the short hair was starting to grow on you.

Sebastian turned his head and pressed a kiss into your palm, stormy eyes gazing up at you.

“How has your day been?” You asked.

“It was good. We got through a good amount of scenes without messing up, so I’d say it was a successful day.” He answered. You smiled at his enthusiasm. Sebastian’s face always lit up when he was talking about a project and it was one of the things you admired most about him, his passion for his work.

“So, you’ve been cooped up in this damn hotel all day. Why don’t you come to dinner with me and the cast tonight? You’ve been waiting to visit Paris all your life and you haven’t even been outside this hotel for days.” He suggested. It was true, you haven’t done much but do school work, order room service, and binge watch shows on Netflix.

“Are you sure they’d want me to come? I might be intruding.” Honestly you were nervous to meet the rest of the cast. You’ve met Jessica a few times but they were brief and she seemed like she didn’t like you. Though that could just be your thoughts making you paranoid, you were still nervous to meet the people Seb worked with. You didn’t want them to think you were using him for money or to travel around the world because you weren’t. You loved Sebastian for himself, not the money and the fame, you could care less about all that.

But they were still Sebastian’s friends and you wanted to have a good first impression on them. You didn’t want them to think you were just some immature college girl who needed money to pay off her college funds.

Noticing you were drifting off, Sebastian pressed another kiss into your palm and grasps it. “You wouldn’t be intruding, Jessica actually suggested you come along.” He mentioned.

“Are you sure?”

“Positive, baby. Come on, let’s put this stuff away and get ready. We’re having dinner at the Eiffel Tower.”

“I— the Eiffel Tower?”

•

To say you were intimidated and scared shitless was an understatement. Here you were in the Eiffel Tower having dinner with some of the most talented women in Hollywood. Like seriously Jessica Chastain, Lupita Nyong’o, Penélope Cruz, and Diane Kruger. Of course Seb and Édgar Ramírez where there as well. Then there was you, NYC local college student. You didn’t wanna say you felt out of place, but you did. These were successful people who probably starred in some of the movies you watched growing up. Now you’re literally in the Eiffel fucking Tower having dinner with them.

Dinner was going smoothly, everyone was talking about the set, shared some funny stories, and you were keeping to yourself simply eating your steak. That was until the attention was brought to you.

“So (y/n), Sebastian mentioned you were in college, what are you studying?” Jessica asked. Everyone turned to you and you swear you felt like a deer in headlights. Seb nudged your thigh with his, a reassuring smile on his face.

“Yes I am! I’m actually taking a PharmD program at St. John Fisher to become a Pharmacist.” you answered.

“For your masters?” She followed up curiously, slightly leaning forward to you.

“No, for my doctoral degree.” You corrected her proudly. You didn’t want to come off as an ass, but you were proud of your work and you worked your ass off for it.

Everyone at the table was taken back by your response. Except Sebastian, who had a just as proud smile on his face. They knew you were in college but not studying something as serious as Pharmacy.

“St.John Fisher College? I had a cousin that went there, it’s a great college.” Lupita was the first to break the silence.

“So are you working in the field yet? For some experience?” Penélope chimed in. Sebastian snorted, “Oh she has experience, trust me.”

You chuckled as you softly smacked Seb’s bicep, “Well currently, I’m interning as a Pharmacy Tech at a hospital pharmacy. They’re thinking about making me a permanent one until I graduate so fingers crossed!”

As you answered all their questions about your personal life and your major, Sebastian couldn’t help but just admire you. Just like how you admired the way he talked about his projects, he admired the way you got lost in rambling about your soon career. The way your eyes lit up, how your hands moved while you talked, and that hint of a smile on your face. He absolutely adored every single thing about you.

Dinner continued, the last question for you about why you chose to do college in New York, which segwayed into a conversation about— well New York. As the others talked about their love for the city, Sebastian wrapped his arm around your shoulders. Your back was now pressed to his chest, both of you not listening to the conversation. You pressed a kiss to his arm and looked back at him.

“Hey you.” You hummed at him rubbing your thumb along his arm.

“Hi.” He gazed down at you with that smile that made his eyes crinkle. The moment was interrupted by your phone ringing. Quickly glancing at the contact ID, it was the hospital pharmacy you interned for.

“You should take that.” Seb whispered into your ear.

“No, Seb that’s rude. We’re at dinner, I’m sure it can wait.”

“I have a good feeling about this call, draga mea.” He coaxed you. Having a feeling that he might be right you excuse yourself from the table. When you’re gone the table goes quiet.

“Sebastian, you’ve got one hell of a girlfriend.” Penélope stated as the rest of the table agreed.

“She’s so smart! What the hell, a doctoral degree? Kudos to her because the amount of motivation I would need to even try!” Jessica followed up with an amazed look on her face.

“I think you guys are forgetting to mention how whipped they both are for each other! Those two were in their own world over there!” Lupita pointed out. The whole table laughed as Sebastian was turning red. Of course he was whipped, he knew he was.

“I love her guys, she’s, she’s something else. The spunk she has, her intelligence, she’s-,” Sebastian began to list but was cut off by Édgar, “Out of your league?”

The whole table burst into laughter as they agreed with Édgar. You were also coming back to the table after your call. Sebastian spotted you, eyes connecting to yours immediately.

“Everything alright?”

“They gave me the permanent job!”

draga mea - my darling

#ally’s requests #Sebastian Stan #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan headcanons #sebastian stan drabble #sebastian stan imagine #sebastian stan oneshot #marvel #mcu #avengers #bucky barnes drabble #bucky barnes x reader

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spade-riddles · 3 years

Text

"Adjusting Expectations" Post

This submission received a lot of responses and 120 notes, so I thought I would compile the comments here.

Anonymous said:

Adjusting expectations anon was so good. If their timetables are right and we do just need to be patient a little longer, can Kaylor please send us a sign? I guess it would be too loud to slip "adjusting expectations" into social media posts, but maybe they could both do something with playing cards? To show they are card sharks right now but they'll find their way home eventually? That would reassure people. And it would fly under the radar.

casuallycruel131313 said:

I agree with a lot of this but I think the main issue right now is that moral and ethical lines have been crossed and there's no coming back from that. In these post-Trumpian insurrectionist times it's unfathomable that they could continue the Kushner narrative I no longer care if or when they come out, I enjoy the music and I'm happy to observe from a distance because I'm interested from a PR/marketing point of view but my opinion of T &K as people has changed irrevocably and I don't see how they can clean the tarnish off.

@theprologues said:

Agree with most of not all if this but I would like to say as a Kaylor the toe Grammy stunt didn’t phase me. I was not crushed by that by any means. I just shrugged and honestly expected it. It was the attributing Betty and exile to him during the LPSS in November that bummed me out and really made me go...really?

rockcrow20 said:

Have to say I also agree with most of this.

I no longer have any expectations on anything changing any time soon and have not been surprised by the recent events its to be expected after everything over the years really

Nothing has really changed (bearding narrative wise) since I fell down the rabbit hole in 2017 (except that great night in nashville 2018 rep)

Honestly I can't say I am as invested anymore about them ever coming out as I was.

I think the wb/Joe thing was the last moment for me and the continual kushner connection just troubles me like many others.

I mean my kaylor motto for awhile now has been hope for the best but expect disappointment.

Low expectations = limited feelings of disappointment.

original-cypher said:

@rockcrow20 the WB was a breaking point for so many. You are absolutely right. There are just so ma'y contradictions that feel like absolute whiplash. (I know I seem to have been the only one experiencing that with Gorgeous but... that was a big one for me, too) But like. You go on a whole PR campaign about speaking up and standing up for yourself. You say you're capable and tired of men trying to take ownership of your success and profit off of your name. And you credit you literal damn work to a bloke? Bitch, 'consistency'? Look it up. It grossed me out. It would have felt iffy if I believed they were real. But since I wasn't born yesterday it just sent me the message "this is how far I'm willing to sacrifice my principles to not be queer".

rockcrow20 said:

@original-cypher exactly why it bothered me and I know alot us so much. Such mixed messaging of being a strong fighting for your rights female and then oh hey let me attribute some of my best work to my pr boyfriend and the pr pics where she is walking behind all the time like 🙄 The Betty thing that was big one for me too!

rainbowdaisy13 said:

This write up and the comments are spot on. I don’t have much to add other than like @original-cypher said, Miss Americana is tainted for me now and seems like at the very least, it was released too soon in the plan. I get we think they have had to pivot but man, that doc, and including her literally saying “gay rights make me me” at the end was such a false flag. To see her wax poetic about not taking shit from men anymore and then see her do the same old hetero weak woman song and dance routine with the WB shit for albums that are of her genius mind has been so disappointing. I still believe Kaylor is real and I hope they get a chance to show the world that. Karlie posting that cardigan pic in the woods before the folklore release cemented for me they are still together. Adding a baby makes me feel all kind of weird ethical things but I hope I live long enough to see it play out and wear my I Told You So shirt 😁

@kellykaylor said:

agree with your post... I dont care about toe stunts but what really pissed me of was hetwashing betty 🤮! beautiful post tho anon!!

roameroo said:

Totally agree with these all comments especially the strong messaging of MA only to turn around & pull that WB = my "bf" crap. I was disheartened by her mentioning him at the Grammy's only bc he's getting credit for sh*t he doesn't/didn't do. That is what irks me the most about this, giving him credit for her life's work.

always-the-last-word said:

Can I throw my pennies in the pool ?? Taylor will put out the big three first Fearless, RED then 1989 that should bring us to about August. This is where the excitement should begin. If Taylor preps and waits for National Coming Out day it's a no lose for her. Lover her money making machine will go through the roof !! If things go bad or good in the public eye she'll have REPUTATION Taylor's Version ready to release. It will be epic and she'll own it and be FREE.

@karlie-what-you-want said:

always-the-last-word I like this take a lot! I try not to be too optimistic but if she wanted to come out sooner rather than later, I think this plan would satisfy both business and PR needs (at least on Taylor’s end). Remains to be seen how Tay will help Karlie dig her way out of the mess they made together regarding the K*shners.

always-the-last-word said:

Always remember that Taylor has a PLAN. Some of her plans are year's old (easter eggs). Taylor's one and only LOVE is her music, everything else comes second. If KK wants to change and be with her full time she'll make moves around the same time frame. That's if she chooses to. In any event Tay will be open and own all her music. I've seen this film before and WE might not like the ending.

chosetherose said:

I’ve been going back and forth for a day trying to figure out what I wanted to say when I reblogged this post. I’m tired. I’m frustrated. I understand I’m owed nothing by Taylor or Karlie. I understand that circumstances out of their control have caused the girls to pivot over and over again.

But, the root of my frustration in the past months stems not from me battling with the trivial (e.g. pap walks, etc.) but with my personal principles. I fiercely believe credit should be given where it is earned and I uphold this in my career regularly. To see Taylor crediting Toe with her art was deeply disappointing. Watch the 1989 and folklore acceptance speeches back to back and tell me it doesn’t upset you. I believe the K******s have blood on their hands and that their actions during the pandemic have killed people. To see Karlie still associating with one of them disgusts me.

I can’t help but think back in frustration - Would you really fall from grace to touch her face? (And in the brilliant words of @9w1ft) But would you die for her in public? I go back and forth feeling like questions like this aren’t fair at all and thinking they are sort of valid. At this point, it sort of feels like Taylor would only fall from grace for her lover if all the stars and facets of her life aligned perfectly. But perfection like this does not happen. Such is life. So why am I here?

I do question why Spade left certain messages in their final days. I am still holding hope a fervent revolution exonerates everyone. I so desperately want Taylor to regain control of her masters or re-records. Maybe this is the plan they thought was best with multiple goals in mind (re-records, having a family, coming out of the closet one day etc). I’m trying to remain patient because Spade told us to trust her endless yearning. But WOW it is asking a lot of us at this point.

Anonymous said:

Despite being a pragmatist kaylor and oftentimes getting into arguments with fellow optimistic kaylors (owner of this blog included) I think it's quite unfair -at this point- to say to the optimists who have patiently sat through the worst kind of stunts with the most terrible kind of people (yes I'm talking about the Kushner's friend group too) that they should have seen it coming. Besides, if it weren't for the optimists we the cynicals would have burned this fandom down by now.

Anonymous said:

Even if we ignore that an insurrection happened partially because of the family karlie's still working for and getting paid from, she literally said before the pregnancy debacle unfolded that j*sh was her last client while talking about cutting hair and doing a cutting gesture. How should we have interpreted that? 😤That a year later she would be more stuck with the Kushners than ever? We don't wake up on day and decide to have unrealistic expectations. She feeds into them. 😠

Anonymous said:

I have no expectation of Taylor coming out anymore. Zero. None. I have no expectation of her dropping Toe or even of Kaylor publicly reuniting. It doesn't even matter that much anymore. But I - do - expect 1 thing. Karlie to drop and completely dissociate herself from the Kushners and this has nothing to do with kaylor. It was everything to do with me being unable to support a person who willfully assists (now using her baby too) and receives money from a family that has made so many suffer.

Anonymous said:

A quick word from an ex-kaylor (who will never become an anti). A year ago, when the Trumps were still in power and untouchable and there was no baby, I was excusing and turning a blind eye to many things Karlie did for the K*shners. Even that dinner in September. I had also made peace with the truth never being revealed. But a year later the Trumps are gone, Karlie is still on full stunting mode now with a baby in the mix, a baby that is already being used by the Kushners, and I've really run out of excuses. Now the only thing that could possibly keep me on board is if I knew there was a good chance that the full truth would come out, so that Karlie's inexplicable and honestly borderline immoral actions could eventually make sense. But as your sub said, this is an unrealistic expectation, thus I became an ex-kaylor and I'm not planning to come back even when they reunite. 😕

Anonymous said:

What baffles me is that Taylor has explicitly expressed her regret about not giving her lover the credit she deserves and her doubt whether fame is worth hiding her true love: "when I walked up to the podium, I think I forgot to say your name", "what's a lifetime of achievement, if I pushed you to the edge". But yet again she didn't do anything to change this. I didn't expect her to acknowledge Karlie, but a nod or at least not falsely crediting her beard would be a good start.

Anonymous said:

1🙁 Let me chime in re: "expectations". I'm one of the kaylors who ever since the pregnancy reveal was trying to tell everyone there's NO way she was gonna dump him soon after birth let alone before that. It would bring too much unnecessary attention and Jerk would have never agreed to something that would make him look like a bad guy/husband. For the exact same reasons, I was also saying there's no way he wasn't going to post about the baby. All the above against the popular opinion back then.

2🙁 So I agree that the day of the birth post was known to T, not the timing though. Simply bc Kushner-leaning outlets made sure to note that detail. If they wanted it to go unnoticed, why draw attention to it? That being said, kaylors would have been more patient with this mess, if Karlie hadn't gone overboard with her freedom "smoke signals" last summer and Tay's "insiders" hadn't been insinuating that the end is VERY near. Both of them SHOULD have known by then how we would react to these.

3🙁 So it's natural that everyone feels played and has no patience for any more bullshit. Another sore point is how Jerk AND the Kushner-Trump klan monopolize the baby news. This isn't just to make it realistic, it's an abuse of Kaylor's baby's name to garner good pr for the worst family in America, with Karlie's blessing. In order for her marriage and split to appear realistic she's putting a LIFETIME burden on her child's back. Unless you believe she's eventually gonna say Jerk isn't the dad.

4🙁 So "we’re in a position we should realistically have been able to see coming". But we did see it coming, that why some made these extreme scenarios, bc this is the worst possible outcome. "Good people try to make it work, even in bad relationships." Ultimately this isn't just a "bad rs". It's a horrific association that should have been resolved ages ago, not one to bring your child into, doom it to suffer a similar fate, and expect people to sit idly and watch. That's what frustrates most.

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sadoeuphemist · 3 years

Text

GHOST STORIES

“We can get some great establishing shots in the foyer,” says the ghost in Bransen’s body, pacing out the creaking floorboards, framing the clouded windows with his fingers. “Real spooky. Very atmospheric. But I’m telling ya, we gotta mic the attic.” It turns his head to the ceiling, as if sensing some invisible current, like a shark following its prey, and then turns his head to me, wearing his smile. “That’s where they died. That’s where all the ghosts are.”

I give him the thumbs up and I try to smile back.

It’s been three weeks since Missouri.

---

The footage is good. No, the footage is fantastic. Lately everything we try is pure fire. Bransen’s on the screen, lit an eerie green from night vision, his pupils luminous. He is speaking as he ducks under the rafters, his voice hushed, breathless, mesmerizing. The attic is filled with shapes, shadows that shift as I follow Bransen deeper in, utterly and unmistakably haunted. I turn up the background audio.

It’s nothing at first, static. But the longer I listen I start to hear whispers, voices formed by ambient noise. Feet creaking. Muffled shrieks. Sounds so soft you might almost manage to convince yourself you were imagining things. The words of ghosts, saying everything and nothing. Rorschach blots of white noise. Hissing. Screaming. Weeping. Mourning.

A hand touches my shoulder.

“See?” says the ghost in Bransen’s body. “What’d I tell you?”

---

“So,” says Dev, “what happened with the two of you in Missouri?”

Dev is Bransen’s boyfriend. Bransen’s been insisting that we socialize more outside of work, and so here we are making small talk in his apartment while Bransen’s gone to fetch the dessert. “He, uh, he hasn’t told you anything about it?” I say, hoping to probe for more details. “You, uh, haven’t seen the footage?”

“He’s been very vague,” says Dev, rolling his eyes. “Playing coy. ‘I just decided to start appreciating what I have,’ he says. Which is nice, but, y’know. There’s got to be more to it than that.” Dev drains his glass. “And the footage, no offense, but it’s all the same, ha ha. I’ve told him that myself. The two of you wandering around in the dark, bumbling, some noise happens off-camera and then you jerk around and nobody sees anything.” He leans over, smiling. “Just tell me the two of you didn’t have a torrid affair out there, and now he’s overcompensating out of guilt.”

“I -” I’d dropped the camera when it happened. Of course. The one time something undeniably supernatural had happened, and I’d panicked and blown it. “Trust me, it’s definitely not that.”

Dev laughs, and that’s when the lights go out. Bransen enters carrying a tray of Baked Alaska, blue flames dancing eerily on its surface. “Ta-da!”

“Oh my god!” says Dev, delighted. “You are too much!”

“Gotta get in my practice,” says the ghost in Bransen’s body, grinning, supremely pleased. He sets the Baked Alaska down and Dev stands and embraces him, and I want to say, Your boyfriend’s been possessed. There’s a spirit living in his body, puppeting him, wearing him like a glove. The person you loved isn’t in there anymore.

But they are both laughing, looking in each other’s eyes, and in that moment I don’t know if it would be the truth.

---

Our newest video is trending, over half a million hits on YouTube and counting. My inbox is blowing up. I’m shaking. We’ve never done anything half this big before in all the years we’ve been doing this. Everything we’ve dreamed of when we first started out is coming true.

This is how deals with the devil work, I think. You give up your soul, and you get everything you’ve ever wanted.

I go into the bathroom to wash my face, stare at myself in the mirror, and when I come out Bransen is standing over my laptop, looking at the tab I had open on exorcisms.

“Hey,” the ghost in Bransen’s body says, and clicks back over to our YouTube page. “Not bad, huh? Ya know, buddy, I think we might finally be getting somewhere.”

I take a breath and swallow. “Is he still alive in there?” I say.

The ghost in Bransen’s body smiles, shrugs, rubs the back of his head. “Alive, dead, kinda fuzzy categories, don’t you think? That’s kinda the premise of our little peep show, isn’t it?” It casually begins to walk towards me. “Nothing ever really dies. Nothing ever really ends.”

“You can’t -” I say. Missouri. The Auden Estate. Bransen writhing on the floor, eyes rolled up into his head, a thousand tongues shrieking from his mouth. The screaming. Screaming. Screaming. “He was a person! He -”

“I was a person,” the ghost interrupts. It looks up at me with Bransen’s eyes. “And let’s face it, I’m doing better with his life than he ever did.”

“He was ...” Fuck, why is this even a debate? Why did I never think to rehearse my arguments? “Okay, he used to be a jerk, sure,” I say, my voice shaky. “But he had it rough! This whole ghost hunter channel, this was his dream, and he put so much time and effort into it, and - and we just weren’t getting any viewers, and -“

“Weren’t getting any viewers,” the ghost in Bransen’s body says, glancing back at my laptop. “That little phase in our career is over know, thanks to me. Ya know what I think his problem was? Entitlement.” It spreads Bransen’s arms, boxing me in. “Just because he was alive he thought he deserved to be happy. Deserved to be successful. Waa-waa, just because my parents didn’t love me. Just because my career choices didn’t work out. I think that entitles me to be a sullen asshole, to yell at my partner, to stew in my own misery and be a generally awful person to be around!

“Everyone in the whole damn world is suffering!” says the ghost in Bransen’s body. “ Ya gotta have a Positive Mental Attitude! Appreciate what you’ve got! Treat each day like a new opportunity!” It leans in and I can feel its cold breath on my cheek. “Ya know what?” it says. “Life is fuckin’ wasted on the living.”

I am shaking, my knees unsteady underneath me, and it finally backs off, still smiling Bransen’s smile, and gently slaps me on the cheek. “Buddy, buddy, buddy. Keep your spirits up! We gotta upload something new, strike while the iron’s hot, take advantage of this momentum! C’mon, grab your camera. I’ve already scouted out our next location.”

It glances at my laptop as it leaves. “Oh, and that Latin shit? Sicut déficit fumus defíciant; sicut fluit cera a fácie ígnis?” It shakes Bransen’s head and laughs. “Nah, you gotta do better than that.”

---

“In 1926,” says the ghost in Bransen’s body, “all five members of the Coyder family were found murdered in their beds, all of them hacked apart with a butcher knife.” We are livestreaming, the abandoned farmstead behind him looming in the yellow grass, its windows dark, its face gray. He walks forward and I follow, the shot swaying with my footsteps like the opening to a horror movie, and I glance down at our viewer count and we are well into the thousands by now, and still rising. “Their killer was never found.”

He touches the doorknob and it creaks open into an empty house. “This is where they died,” the ghost in Bransen’s body says, and on his cue I pan across the dusty boards, the cobwebs, the empty bed frames as if they were still dripping red with blood, thousands of eyes upon us as if decades had not passed and the Coyders were dying still, screaming still, staggering with their guts hacked out; as if all the world was full of ghosts, watching and wanting and eternal.

#fiction #repost

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teenwolffanclub-me · 4 years

Text

Season 2, Episode 1: Omega (Part Two)

once again here’s the masterlist if you’re interested!

Pairing: Stiles x Psychic! Reader

Notes: lydia is finally back guys!! I’ve missed her sass the last few episodes & things are going to start heating up just bare with me for these first parts!

————————

I stared through the glass double doors in front of me, watching people go about their lives like it was just any other day. To them, it was. But for me, simply standing on this property was raising my anxiety.

I hadn’t been at the school since winter formal, when my life had gone from slightly complicated to completely fucked up. I felt ready yesterday, and this morning, and on the way here. Now that I was standing in front of the entrance, though, I was starting to doubt myself.

“You know what, it’s too soon.” I rolled my eyes at Stiles as he whipped around and gripped my shoulders before trying to walk me backward. “We should just turn around. Get you back in bed. Try again next week.”

I sighed and brushed his hands away. “I can’t be a hermit for the rest of my life.”

As much as I wanted to go back home, I couldn’t let myself hide from the world any longer. I’d have to live my life again eventually. Plus, I had a shit ton of late work piling up, because apparently being bitten by a werewolf isn’t a good enough excuse to miss school in Beacon Hills.

“No, of course not.” Stiles scoffed, twitching his eyes at me before glancing back to the school like it had personally offended him. “Just another week or two.”

I rolled my eyes again and brushed past him, feeling a sudden urge to just rip the band-aid off. I gripped one of the handles in front of me and threw the door open, instantly cringing at the loud noises that assaulted my ears.

I hesitated before the threshold, uncertainty clawing at the back of my mind. This place had forever changed for me. It held this energy now, like what happened to Lydia and I was permanently engrained in the walls. With a deep breath, I forced my legs to carry me inside.

I almost immediately froze, waiting for my presence here to set off some unknown supernatural terror. A gentle hand at my back had me releasing a long sigh, my shoulders relaxing slightly as nothing bad happened.

“You okay?” Stiles peered down at me, his eyes rounded with concern.

Part of me wished that he wouldn’t worry so much. He had a long list of things keeping him up at night, and I didn’t want to be one of them. I hated that he looked at me like I was going to fall off the deep end at any given moment. It obviously came from a caring place, but that didn’t make it sting any less.

I nodded, forcing my lips up into what I hoped was a believable smile. “I’m okay.”

————————

“Alright. It’s causing me severe mental anguish to say this, but Jackson’s right. What if the next body part she steals is from someone who’s alive?”

Scott’s head tilted in our direction from his seat in front of us, but he didn’t have a chance to respond as Mr. Harris sighed from behind his desk at the head of the classroom. “This is a pop quiz, Mr. Stilinski. If I hear your voice again, I may be tempted to give you detention for the rest of your high school career.”

Stiles pursed his lips from beside me, tapping his pencil on the surface of our table as he leaned back in his chair. He’d been trying to talk about something he overheard when spying on his dad—no surprise there—since we sat down a few minutes ago.

“Can you even do that?”

“There it is again.” Mr. Harris smirked, getting an unhealthy amount of satisfaction from messing with Stiles. “Your voice. Triggering the only impulse I’ve ever had to strike a student. Repeatedly. And violently. See you at three for detention.”

Stiles jaw ticked in frustration and he gaped up front in shock. I heard snickering from behind us, and turned to send a glare at Jackson and Danny. It didn’t seem to phase them as they continued laughing at his expense.

“You too, Mr. McCall?”

I spun back around to see Scott peering at us over his shoulder with a grimace just before he faced Mr. Harris again. “No, sir.”

I put my hand over Stiles’ reassuringly as it balled into a fist on top of our table. Our chemistry teacher has had it out for him since school started. There was no real reason, he just seemed to hate him with a burning passion. He always treated him unfairly, doing the same to anyone who dared come to his defense.

Although it wasn’t the most appropriate time to bring it up, we needed to talk about what he heard. Kate Argent’s liver had been “misplaced”, as he said, from her grave. And there was only one person we knew that could possibly do something like that.

It had to be Lydia.

As much as I didn’t want her to be a bloodthirsty monster, the news had restored my hope that she was at least alive. We still needed to find her before Allison’s family, though, which was proving frustratingly difficult.

“Dude. Your nose...” Danny’s concerned voice fluttered to my ears and I couldn’t help but glance behind me to see what was going on.

I watched as Jackson looked between his hand, which was covered in a thick, black liquid, and the paper on his table. My brows pinched in confusion at the sight. That didn’t look like normal blood. The closest thing I could compare it to was the disgusting ooze that came out of Scott when he was shot with a bullet covered in wolfsbane.

Jackson suddenly bolted from his chair, the metal legs scraping against the tiles loudly. He cupped his nose and ran out of the room, his eyes wide with panic.

“Mr. Whittemore!”

He didn’t look back once as he disappeared into the hallway. I faced forward slowly, utterly confused by what I just witnessed. My classmates seemed equally as concerned, but eventually went back to their quizzes at the request of Mr. Harris.

My eyes trailed back to the paper in front of me, my fingers tightening around my pencil. If I thought it was hard to concentrate before, now it was nearly impossible. Aside from the fact that I didn’t know how to do a single problem, my mind was racing with questions. I couldn’t help but think back to last month, when Jackson was acting incredibly strange.

I chewed on my bottom lip and glanced toward the door at the back of the room. It was taking all the willpower I had not to chase after him to see what was going on. I forced my attention back to the quiz in front of me, squinting at the unfamiliar numbers and symbols.

Scott suddenly turned to glance at me over his shoulder, and whispered harshly. “Why is your heart racing?”

My leg started bouncing anxiously as my gaze swept back to the door. Stiles perked up beside me at Scott’s voice, his eyes flickering around my face in question. He seemed to figure out exactly what I was thinking and put a hand on my arm gently.

“Y/N, just leave it alone.” His voice rose in a quiet plea.

It wasn’t that I actually cared what happened to Jackson. But that whole thing was weird as hell and I couldn’t shake the curiosity bubbling inside me. If there was another supernatural problem brewing, I wanted to know before it got out of hand.

After another moment of hesitation, I jerked to my feet, unable to fight the urge to leave. Stiles’ hand tightened around my arm and Mr. Harris peered up over the rim of his glasses from his desk. Scott, still turned around, shook his head quickly with wide eyes.

Normally, I wasn’t the type to ditch class, but I really felt like I needed to see what was going on. It had gone past usual curiosity and moved toward an uncontrollable impulse.

“Ms. Y/L/N, do you have something to share?” Mr. Harris crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair, seemingly amused by my interruption.

Before I knew what was happening, my legs were carrying me toward the hallway. Instantly, the room erupted with hushed whispers. I heard a chair scrape loudly against the tiled floor just as I passed through the doorway.

“Sit down, Mr. Stilinski! If another student leaves my class, I will not hesitate to...” I didn’t catch the end of Mr. Harris’s threat as I made my way down the hallway quickly.

I could only assume that Jackson would’ve gone into the nearest bathroom, which was just down the hall. As soon as I turned the corner, all the air rushed from my lungs as I rammed into a hard chest.

I staggered back with a wince, rubbing at my shoulder as it throbbed in protest. My eyes trailed up the leather jacket in front of me until they landed on one of the last faces I wanted to see right now. Or ever, honestly.

“God, what the hell are you doing here?” I breathed, narrowing my eyes suspiciously at none other than Derek Hale.

Nothing good had ever followed seeing him in places he shouldn’t be. And he definitely should not be here.

“Aren’t you supposed to be in class?” He quirked an eyebrow at me and crossed his arms over his broad chest.

I scoffed, his concern very much not appreciated. “Aren’t you supposed to be graduated?”

His lips pulled into a frown as his icy blue eyes trailed over me from head to toe and I took a moment to do the same. I hadn’t seen him since the night he killed Peter, but he didn’t look any different, despite moving up the werewolf food chain. When several seconds passed and he still hadn’t said anything, I stepped to the side to brush past him with a roll of my eyes.

He instantly moved into my path, blocking the doorway to the men’s bathroom in the process. “What do you think you’re doing?”

I glanced from him to the closed door, trying to think of a believable lie before I remembered that I didn’t owe him a damn thing. Including an explanation. “Checking on something.”

“Go to class.” He quipped, standing firmly in place.

“You do realize that I’m not a part of your pack, right?” I huffed out a humorless laugh, moving to walk around him again. “Just because you’re an alpha now doesn’t mean have any right to order me around.”

Somewhere along the way, I’d grown out of my fear of him. It didn’t really make sense, considering the fact that I watched him murder his own uncle only a few days ago, but here we were regardless.

He didn’t budge an inch, the corner of his lips twitching upward in amusement. “Who’s pack are you a part of, exactly?”

My jaw clenched at the unspoken meaning behind his words. It was something I’d been wrestling with since being bitten. I still didn’t know much about the supernatural world and all it’s rules. Was I in Scott’s pack? Or Peter’s?

I squared my shoulders and cleared my throat, trying to appear as self-assured as possible. While he was here, I may as well ask something else that had been weighing on my mind. “Speaking of being an alpha now...did you happen to gain any knowledge about how to reverse whatever your psychotic uncle did to me?”

“Sure you want me to answer that?” His eyes trailed over my face slowly, as if studying me. I raised my eyebrows expectantly, and he sighed. “You’d have to ask the one that bit you.”

My heart skipped a beat at his words. I sputtered silently for a few moments, panic quickly rising in my chest. He couldn’t possibly be insinuating that Peter was still alive, right? Right?

“What is that supposed to mean?” The question fell from my lips in a jumbled rush.

“When an alpha turns someone, they have a sort of...connection.” He drawled, as if this wasn’t life-altering, horrible information.

It was quite literally my worst fear at the moment to be connected in any way to Peter Hale. Not only did he royally fuck up my life by biting me, but he killed countless people along the way and somehow made Lydia disappear without a trace. All without a lick of remorse. He was evil in its purest form.

“Even after death?” I prodded, mostly wanting him to confirm that he was, in fact, six feet under.

“Especially after death.”

My eyes widened in alarm. What the hell did that mean? I parted my lips to bombard him with questions, but froze at the sound of an anxious voice from behind me.

“Y/N, what the hell are you doing?” I spun on my heel to see Stiles jogging toward me with his hands thrown up in exasperation. “You can’t just walk out of class. Mr. Harris is like seriously pissed.”

I just stared at him, waiting for a moment of realization that never came. “Didn’t you just do the same thing?”

“Well, that’s different. Because—you know what? Don’t go pointing fingers at me when you’re the one being weird. Why did you do that?”

“I was just talking to...” I turned, my brows furrowing as I saw that Derek was no longer standing behind me. I spun back around to face Stiles, stiffening at the look he was giving me. His lips were set in a firm line, his narrowed eyes slightly darkened with frustration.

“Y/N, you’re supposed to be...” He sighed, as if rethinking whatever he was about to say. “Just. Come on.”

He extended a hand out toward me, and I stole one last glance at the bathroom door behind me before taking it, not really wanting to leave my questions unanswered but having no other choice. I let him guide me back to our class, but made a mental note to keep an eye on Jackson from now on.

————————

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

I sighed into my locker, shoving the last of my books inside. “Yes, Allison. I’m still fine. Just like the last five times you asked.”

She sent me a sheepish smile and popped her own locker open, rummaging inside for a moment before pulling out a dress covered in a protective plastic.

While all of my friend’s concern was appreciated, it wasn’t helping with the whole trying to be a normal human thing.

“No, it was her aunt.” A hushed voice from across the hall had both of us turning to see what was going on.

Two girls stood against the lockers just a few feet away, and quickly averted their eyes when we made it obvious that we’d heard them.

“The one that murdered all those people?” One of the girls leaned toward her friend and failed at whispering again.

“You mean the crazy bitch that killed all those people? The fire, the animal attacks, it was all her.”

I let my eyes sweep back to Allison, and watched as she slammed her locker shut with a tight jaw. The local newspaper hadn’t been kind to the Argents once word of Kate’s death came out. The sheriff’s department easily connected her to the Hale fire, and immediately ran with the idea that she’d been the one going around killing people.

It was both convenient and utterly untrue, obviously. I’m sure that even in his grave, Peter was more than happy to let her take the fall for his atrocities.

“Are you kidding? I sit next to her in English!”

“Find a new seat...”

The two girls snickered and walked away, either painfully unaware of their surroundings or intentionally being huge bitches. I let out a sigh and turned back to Allison.

“Are you okay?” I let my eyes flicker over her face as she sagged against her locker, her dress held beneath crossed arms.

“Fine.” She sent me a tight lipped smile. “They’re right. My family is crazy. It just sucks that now the whole school knows it.”

This is exactly why I didn’t want everyone worrying about me. Each of my friends had their own shit weighing on them. Allison was grieving someone she knew didn’t deserve it, Scott was dealing with Derek being an alpha, and there wasn’t actually anything going on with Stiles, but he was always anxious anyway.

“Nice dress.” Both mine and Allison’s attention moved to the locker a few down from ours at the unexpected voice.

It was a boy I recognized, but didn’t know the name of. I’d seen him around the school plenty, but hadn’t really crossed paths with him much. His dark eyes swept over Allison from head to toe slowly, sending a uncomfortable prickle up my spine. He looked nice enough, but there was something off about him. I just couldn’t place it.

“Nice camera.” She smiled awkwardly, complimenting the device he held in one of his hands.

Oh right, that’s where I’d seen him. He was always walking around with that thing, taking pictures for the yearbook or something. She turned back to me and furrowed her brows, seemingly just as weirded out as I was. I shrugged one shoulder and we made our way toward the exit.

We had a funeral to get ready for.

————————

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

Okay, so. I may have forgotten about my detention.

My legs bounced anxiously as I stared at the clock across the room. Stiles let out a slow breath from beside me, his lips twisting angrily as we both counted down the seconds silently. Mr. Harris sat at the front of the room, grading our quizzes from this morning. He’d barely looked at us since we arrived almost an hour ago.

He’d barked the punishment at me when Stiles and I returned to class and honestly, I was surprised he didn’t have anything worse in mind. Not that this didn’t still suck. We were supposed to be going with Scott to Kate’s funeral, although we’d have to hide somewhere within the graveyard since it was for family only.

Time seemed to slow as the seconds ticked by. Stiles held his breath and brought his hands up to squeeze the sides of his face as finally, the clock struck four.

We both bolted upright, only to immediately freeze at Mr. Harris’ curt demand. “Sit.”

“Wha—it’s been an hour!” Stiles threw his hands up in exasperation.

“My detention’s an hour and a half.” The edge of his lips twitched into a smirk as if he got some kind of sick satisfaction from torturing his students.

“You can’t do that.” I huffed, my jaw clenching in frustration.

At this point, we were already running late. The funeral was supposed to start at four thirty and I wanted to talk to Allison beforehand. So much for that, apparently.

“Oh, but I can.” He quipped, his dark eyes dancing in delight as they jumped from me to Stiles. “You see, Stiles...since your father was so judicious in his dealings with me, I’ve decided to make you my personal project. You’re going to benefit from all that strict discipline has to offer.”

I glanced to my fuming boyfriend beside me, the anger rolling off of him almost tangible. His nostrils flared as he worked his jaw, eyes never leaving the man who was steadily moving toward being the worst teacher ever.

I’d nearly forgotten the role he played in connecting Kate to the Hale fire. He’d apparently gone on a date with her several years ago, and detailed how to commit arson and get away with it. Why that wasn’t a red flag for either of them was beyond me. He also ended up recognizing a necklace with their family symbol on it that further helped solidify her guilt.

Let’s just say that Stiles’ dad hadn’t been kind in his sentencing after Mr. Harris kept that piece of information to himself until the last minute.

His eyes narrowed at us as if we were the bane of his existence, despite the fact that he was the one keeping us here against our will. “Now, sit down before I decide to keep you here all night.”

———————

Stiles and I scrambled toward the tombstone Scott was hiding behind, moving quickly to remain undetected. Luckily for us, all the attention was on Allison and her parents. There was an excessive amount of reporters surrounding the cemetery, shouting and taking pictures.

We peered around our hiding place as the three of them stumbled their way through the thick crowd, dodging each question that was yelled in their faces.

“Who the hell is that?” Stiles whispered from beside me, gesturing toward an older man that was talking to that weird guy from school.

My brows furrowed as I watched him inspect a large camera, which I’m assuming he took from our classmate, before taking out the SIM card and snapping it in half. The guy threw his hands up angrily and snatched his camera back from the smug man. His eyes suddenly flickered our way and we all ducked down quickly.

“Definitely an Argent.” Scott muttered, looking troubled by the idea.

“Hey, you know, maybe they’re just here for the funeral. What if they’re the non-hunting side of the family? There could be non-hunting Argents. That’s possible, right?” Stiles tried to sound reassuring, but it was obvious that even he didn’t believe the words coming out of his mouth.

There were two men with the older guy, both flanking his sides with nasty scowls on their faces. They were intimidating as hell, even from our safe distance.

“I know what they are.” Scott sighed and glanced at us over his shoulder, his eyes clouded with worry. “They’re reinforcements.”

Before either of us could respond, Stiles’ dad appeared out of nowhere. My breath caught in my throat at the sight of him stalking toward us, his face hard with anger. He gripped Scott and Stiles by the collars of their jackets and hauled them to their feet with a jerk. I scrambled upright quickly, eyes wide with panic.

We seriously couldn’t do a damn thing—even support Allison—without being caught or almost killed.

“The three of you.” Mr. Stilinski bit out through clenched teeth, his harsh voice hushed as to not disrupt the service. “Unbelievable. Pick up my tie.”

He sent me a pointed glare and I grabbed the discarded material hastily. I quickly trailed behind them as he shoved the boys toward his car, which was parked just outside the cemetery. He wrenched the back door open and practically threw them inside. I followed suit wordlessly, chewing on my bottom lip as my heart raced with anxiety.

My shoulders stiffened as the car door slammed shut harshly. Scott huffed in frustration and let his head fall back onto the headrest behind him. I glanced between him and Stiles nervously, but felt myself relax—if only slightly—as I saw that neither of them looked all that upset. I guess they were used to this sort of thing, with how much trouble they’d gotten into throughout the years.

He would probably just give us a lecture and send us home. I hoped, anyway. If he was in a bad mood, we could easily end up at the station for the night.

Mr. Stilinski plopped into the front seat with a long sigh. The radio on his dash went off loudly, a quick string of muffled words filling the tense air of the car. He pulled it free quickly, his brows pinching as he spoke into it slowly. “I didn’t copy that. Did you say four one five Adam?”

“Disturbance in a car.” Stiles instantly whispered, eyes flickering between me and Scott.

My brows rose in surprise at the fact that he knew the meaning behind the obvious police code. Although, at this point, I shouldn’t have expected any less. It was clear that he’d spent his entire life beside his dad, whether he was aware or not. He’d eavesdropped and snooped his way into knowing way more than any civilian ever should.

“They were taking a heart attack victim to the hospital, but on the way something hit ‘em.” The strained voice came through the walkie-talkie more clearly this time.

“Hit the ambulance?” The Sheriff’s voice rose with concern, the sound instantly raising my anxiety. It couldn’t be a good sign if he was worried.

“Copy that.” Stiles perked up from beside me and leaned forward, as if that extra few inches would help him hear better. “I’m standing in front of it now. Something got inside the back. There’s blood everywhere...and I mean everywhere.”

My heart skipped a beat, my chest tightening as panic surged through me. I glanced at Scott, and saw that he was already staring at me with wide, anxious eyes. My gaze swept toward Stiles, but he was busy watching every one of his dad’s movements.

“Alright, unit four. What’s your twenty?” He sighed, a little tense but otherwise surprisingly unfazed by what he’d just heard.

“Route five and post. I swear I’ve never seen anything like this.” The deputy was clearly freaking out, making me feel ten times worse.

It only took a split second of hesitation for the three of us to know that we were on the same page. We had to get out of here. Now.

Scott and I popped the doors open and we all tumbled out, instantly running toward the tree line just outside the cemetery. Scott led us through the woods quickly, muttering something over his shoulder about the location being nearby.

Along the way, I tried bracing myself for whatever horror we were about to find. My mind raced with worst-case scenarios as I struggled to keep up with Scott’s quick pace. It could’ve been Lydia, or Derek, or maybe another supernatural creature we had yet to meet. No matter what, I knew it wasn’t going to be pretty.

After a few minutes, Scott suddenly froze mid-stride. Stiles and I clambered to a stop to avoid ramping into him. My chest heaved as I struggled to catch my breath, my eyes roaming over the scene before us quickly as I tried to piece together what I was seeing.

There was the ambulance, stopped on the side of the road just beyond the trees. A man lay on the gurney inside, covered from head to toe in blood. My stomach churned with disgust as I took in the grotesque scene. There was no way the poor guy was still alive. My heart hammered painfully in my chest as I searched the area for any signs of Lydia.

“God. What the hell is Lydia doing?” Stiles breathed from beside me, eyes wide with alarm.

“Okay, we don’t even know if it—” My attempt at defending her caught in my throat as something tentatively emerged from the trees up ahead.

I squinted through the darkness, not quite believing what was in front of me. Without hesitation, I bolted toward the road. The earth crunched behind me as Scott and Stiles raced to catch up. I briefly glanced at Sherriff Stilinski as his disapproving gaze fell on the boys and I, but continued my path to the trees on the other side of the road.

“Lydia?” I called, gaze flickering over her nude form. She walked stiffly toward us, both arms up covering her chest. My mind raced as I processed what I was seeing.

It was definitely Lydia. And she was in one piece. All at once, I felt a wave of relief wash over me, followed instantly by overwhelming dread. She may be alive, but that didn’t mean she was unharmed. She’d undoubtedly been permanently changed by Peter’s bite and her week long excursion in the woods.

She looked dazed as her wide, unfocused eyes roamed the area slowly. I could see her body trembling from here, and was honestly surprised that she hadn’t gotten hypothermia by now. At night, the temperatures had been dropping to the low forties.

Her strawberry blonde hair was matted and covered in dirt, twigs, and leaves, a sign of her living conditions for the past week. Miraculously, she didn’t seem to be injured in any way. Although, it was hard to tell what was beneath the thick layer of grime covering her skin.

“Lydia!” I shouted, hoping to get her attention as I slowly walked toward her.

Her eyes instantly snapped upward. It looked as if she was coming to for the first time since disappearing. Her eyes rounded before flooding with tears as she visibly fought to steady her breathing. Her lips quivered as she became more aware of all the eyes that were currently on her.

“Well,” She gasped, her arms twitching in a sort of tense shrug. “Is anyone going to get me a coat?”

Episode 1, Part One Episode 2

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