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imaginesmai · 4 years

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Tom Holland - This two-seat couch

I don’t know how I did it but I managed to post twice in a week and stop being dead to Tumblr. Don’t misundertand this with me being a funtional human being, I’m a still a piece of GaRBaGe💕

Plot: college!Tom has some feelings for you, and you have some feelings for you. Maybe, ‘some’ isn’t the way to describe it, more like ‘madly in love with my best friend’. Thank God though for those two-seat couch where knees brush.

Tom was no stranger to see the hours pass by in the clock at night. Whether it was because he had an important test he couldn’t understand or a party that ended when the sun came up, he was used to staying up to ungodly times at night. He already knew what every channel emitted when the moon appeared, and what were the few things that were worthy to see. What surprised him, though, was that you were still fighting to keep your eyes open for a little longer. He knew you too well, and you usually knocked out when the clock stroke twelve at the latest.

Always good on tests and getting up early rather than staying late, you were the good example he didn’t follow. Tom went to parties while you watched your favourite show before falling asleep, and you memorized things with just reading them once while he spent hours with no results. Still, years of college and friendship, of weird conversations between two polar opposites had brought you to that place together.

You were crammed onto Tom’s tiny two-seat couch, limbs tangled in positions that shouldn’t have been comfortable. Tom was side awake, hyper aware of every point where your bodies touch, but he was slack against the back of the couch, arm resting on the leg you had thrown over his pal. You’re leaning on the arm of the couch, other foot planted on the floor between his. Both of you watching TV, thinking about different things.

Still, you were paying far more attention to the show than Tom was, even if he proposed it. It was a terrible movie, but he knew you liked to laugh with them. As if you could read him, you cracked up laughing, and the sound brought a smile to the football player’s face.

“It’s the worst film I’ve ever seen for sure” your eyes shone with the TV lights. “You’re outstanding yourself lately”

“I’m trying my best to satisfy your horrific love for this movies, considering you’ve seen most of them already” Tom bit back, comfortable and, at the same time, on cloud nine. “Besides, it seems I finally found the perfect way of keeping you from falling asleep in the middle of our movie night”

“I don’t always fall asleep”

“Tell that to the permanent drool stain on my couch”

It didn’t matter if you laughed and punched his shoulder friendly, he knew you would be dropping soon. The movie night was a tradition already he didn’t even want to miss; every Sunday, when your parents dropped you off in the dorms, Tom would pick you up and you would spend the night with him, watching a crappy film. Then, next morning he would take you to your class. As he had his own apartment, you had more space there than in your small room.

Since you had met two years ago – first day of collage by getting paired up in a weird meeting game – you had formed a weird relationship that no one could really understand. To most, you weren’t the prettiest girl in the campus. To Tom, you were the best.

Fifteen minutes passed, and Tom was so immersed in his own head that he hardly registered your yawning. Another leg was thrown on his lap, and you moved so that you could rest your head on his shoulder. Tom gave the clock another glance, knowing you were minutes away from falling asleep. And damn if it wasn’t his favourite part of the day, watching you sleep against his shoulder.

“So that you don’t complain about the drool stain on your couch” you said, trying to keep your eyes open. Your hot breath hit Tom’s neck like a thousand needles, making him shiver. “Aren’t you tired?”

“I’m fine, but you can go to sleep” he assured you, lowering the TV volume. He brought you closer to him with his left arm, until you were nested against him. “Your bedtime was like five hours ago, darling”

“I don’t fall asleep that early” you scoffed, making yourself comfortable against him. “It’s you who fall asleep too late. That’s gonna bite you in the ass when you’re older”

From any other person, he would have taken it as an insult. While most of the people thought he spent the nights awake playing games or drinking, the majority of nights were spend trying to understand what the books he was studying were saying. Tom wasn’t ashamed of his dyslexia, but accepting it didn’t make it any easier. His roommates and friends tried not to talk about how Tom spent nights awake studying, or how most of his breakdowns involved not understanding what he had to study.

He was used to people ignoring he had dyslexia, so he had tried to ignore it too; until you found him one night in the library with misty eyes and head in hands, and you had helped him. Together, you discovered that he just needed someone to explain or read the things to him, and Tom had a boost on his grades.

So he just tickled your side at the comment, enjoying the soft whine that left your lips.

“You should go to bed” Tom smiled, ignoring completely the screams of the movie. “Tomorrow you’re gonna be complaining about neck ache”

“That’s just an excuse to have you massaging my shoulders”

“That’s what I am now? A massager prostitute?”

“You’re not that good, don’t get your hopes up” you said with your eyes closed. “But I have to agree with the second part”

“What – you think I’m a prostitute?”

“Well, kind of?” you opened one eye to look at him. “Come on, Tommy. You have slept with half of the girls in my dorm. Probably I’m the only one who hasn’t slept with you, actually”

That was the worst part about Tom’s college life. He was the football team’s captain, he lived with his best mate Harrison and could get the privilege to hold you while you two sat on the couch and you fell asleep on him. Then, as you walked out of your own paradise of Tom’s two pieces couch, you went to the mattress Tom had taken out for you and you slept besides him, on the floor. To him, it was the moment his little moment of happiness broke.

He could pretend all he wanted when you two sat together, watched a bad film and teased each other like friends did. But he wanted so desperately for it to be true; and it had a simple solution, telling you what he felt like and embracing his feelings like the man he was.

“I haven’t slept with everyone” he answered instead. “Your roommate – what was her name? Clare? Betty?”

“Lydia”

“Yeah, I haven’t slept with her” he swallowed down his annoyance. “And I can’t believe you think like that, you of all people! After inviting you to my own house to have a sleepover and let you eat pineapple pizza on my couch”

“God, don’t call it a sleepover like we’re teenage girls painting our nails with purpurin” you said laughing.

Tom really wanted to let it go, because he knew you hadn’t said it with bad intentions. The same way he teased you for going to bed early and reading too much, you could tease him for his way of living. It wasn’t as if it was a lie; he had slept with a few girls, he didn’t count, and he knew he was well liked among the dorms. If it had been any of his friends telling him that, he would have shoved them out of his way playfully and the problem had been solved.

But that you said it made him mad, because he didn’t want that image of himself for you. He wanted something better, something that, on his worst insecure nights, he thought he couldn’t achieve.

“And what’s wrong if I want to paint my nails? Will you stereotype me too for it, like you’re doing for sleeping with some girls?”

“Do you want to paint your nails?” you moved away from Tom, sleep slowly disappearing. “It was just a joke, if you want to paint your nails that’s fine. I can teach you”

“This is not about the nails!”

“Then what’s it about? Actually, what’s this?” you moved back to the other place in the couch, frowning at him.

“You telling me that I’m a prostitute?”

Since the moment you met Tom in that get to know each other activity, there hadn’t been any argument or disagreement. You were both total opposites, but you liked to think that way you compenetrated each other. Tom helped you to be more open and friendly, and was always there for you when your little dorm became too tiny. And when he had an test, he didn’t have to panic anymore because he wasn’t alone.

You weren’t even sure if it was an argument. You just knew that Tom was getting mad for something you had said and you didn’t know how to fix it. And if you were annoyed because you had had to move from your favourite place because of it, you didn’t say anything.

“I didn’t mean it, it was a joke”

“Yeah, it wasn’t” he scoffed. “It’s like – I can’t joke about you not going out or being a nerd, but you can joke about me being a prostitute?”

“I didn’t mean it, Tom!” you argued, louder than him. “Besides, it’s a lie? You’ve been with almost every girl I know”

“Could you stop repeating it?”

“Why, does the truth bother you?” the thought of him not denying it anymore led to you thinking about him with girls, and pretty girls with him, and you just being his friend. “Then stop doing it”

“Oh, of course!” he chuckled sarcastically. “I’ll stop just because you say so, because Y/N asked me to stay fucking virgin like her!”

Tom’s face was hit with the cushion so hard that his nose throbbed, at the same time someone in the movie died. A little ‘off’ left him as he threw the cushion away, rubbing the sore spot. That you were a virgin wasn’t something you shared with everyone, only with a few – and with Tom, after explaining that you weren’t comfortable hearing about what he did with some girls when he went out. It was low, and probably Tom shouldn’t have said it, but there was no turning back and now you were fully on your first argument as friends.

Friends, that should be more than that. Everyone saw how Tom was trailing behind you like a lost puppy when you walked through the corridors, and how you made time out of nothing to help him with his assignments. You were always the first one in the rows for his games, even if you hated loud places and crowds, and he always tried to keep up with the things you liked so he could make you happy. You were too blind to see it, the same way you were too blind to see you were arguing over a different feeling.

The two seat couch felt much longer now that Tom and you were angry, and your legs didn’t brush anymore.

“You’re an asshole”

“And a prostitute, it seems” Tom mumbled. “Something else you want to tell me?”

“It was a joke, Tom! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for it to hurt you – but yeah, you sleep with a lot of girls, I was stating that. Why do you have to be like this?”

“Be like what?”

“Ugh, a prick! You’re acting like the rest of college-players-boys”

“Oh my – yeah, of course Y/N! The queen of stereotypes! Anything else you want to tell me?”

“Fuck you, Tom. But – that’s probably offensive too, right?”

Tom didn’t answer, just went back to looking at the TV. Neither of you meant what you were saying, and truth was, it didn’t have any sense. He was mad because it had been months since he had been with a girl, because he preferred to spend his nights with you, texting or watching a bad film. He was angry because he hated the reminder of you just being friends, since it only made him think about how you could never be with a boy like him. You got outstanding in your tests, he barely passed if you didn’t help him. You were soft, nice and caring, and he was just an idiot.

You were mad because Tom had slept with girls that were you, and even if you got to hug in him the two seats couch on Sunday’s night, you didn’t wake up by his side in the morning. You were angry because he just couldn’t see how much you loved him and how much it hurt you to be just his friend for two years. He celebrated games, parties and small gatherings, and you barely celebrated your birthday anymore. He was popular, gorgeous and had a million dollars smile, and you were what the football team would call just an average girl.

It was silent for a while, all track of sleep having gone away. You pretended to look at the movie from different ends of the couch, pretended not wanting to go back to each other. Another ten minutes ran by and the clock hit one thirty in the morning. The next day, you would have to wake up soon to go to class, physically fighting Tom into going with you and not missing the first period. Part of your anger flew away when you thought about him waking up early just to take you to class even if he didn’t have to.

Eventually, you relaxed in your part of the two seats couch and you gave Tom a side glance; who was already looking at you. When you faced him, he talked.

“I’m sorry” he croaked out. “I didn’t mean any of that – I just… I’m sorry”

“I don’t think you’re a prostitute” you admitted, and Tom cracked into a smile. “Sorry, too. I don’t have any right to –“

“I really like you” he blurted out, before he could chicken out; already happening. “Like, really, really like you. More than a friend. And I’m sorry that I slept with so many girls, but I’m not longer that person. Because now I-I like you a lot, and I just want to be with you. So, yeah. I really like you”

When your mother told you that you had to go to bed early because nothing good could happen after midnight, you didn’t think she was talking about hallucinations. It took you a while to realize that Tom had really said that he really liked you. You had imagined something like ‘yeah, you didn’t have the right to call me that so go back to your room and we’ll talk in the morning’. If only you had known, you would have stayed past midnight the first time you met him.

“It’s okay if you don’t… like me back” Tom turned around and looked at the film, although you could see the glassy reflection of the lights on his eyes. “Just, thought you should know”

“No, I – just, I didn’t think you could like me” you too went back to looking at the TV, to make your own contribution to make the night even weirder. “I just, you know. You’re you, and I’m… me”

“I have the feeling that you’re not talking about you being a wonderful and brilliant person and me being kind of dumb, as I was thinking about” Tom muttered. “But that’s the only true that I know”

“You’re not dumb” you said. As if your body could move on it’s own, you were no longer on your end of the couch, but your ass was in the middle of the two seats. “You’re – you. And I really like you”

“We’re sounding like teenagers in a sleepover right now”

Tom had moved too, and you were again in your original positions; ignoring the free space in the small couch in favour of sitting together in the middle of it. Someone else died on the movie. It was, indeed, the worst one you had ever seen; about a group of friend who go into a trip to the mountains and find some killer sheep, that when kill someone they turn into another sheep. It was so, so ridiculous that you didn’t mind missing the ending for Tom.

His hand, that was big enough to cover your face, pulled you closer. He moved his face and your noses didn’t touch. You didn’t want to close your eyes, didn’t want to let the anxiety of giving your first kiss and doing it wrong. But it was Tom – who had a lucky pair of underwear, wore sock over his sweaters and had a blue teddy from his family that always slept with him.

You let him pull you closer as the last scream tow through the screen, making the moment even better. It was nothing like what you had imagined, and at the same time, it was. Tom was careful, not pushing you, just pressing his lips against yours and letting them dance on their own. His lips trapped your bottom one without any force, and he moved away after the shortest seconds of your life.

When you opened your eyes, the world wasn’t brighter and you didn’t feel any prettier than before; the only thing you felt was happy, and liked. And they were the best feelings you had ever felt.

“I’m not going to do anything you don’t want” Tom tried to assure you, his hand still on your cheeks and his breath on your lips. “We don’t – if you want your time, we can still be friends. I’ll wait, and –“

You moved once more to kiss him, that time crossing the line of the two seat couch of Tom’s apartment. His chuckle was swallowed as the credits rolled down the screen, and he finally grabbed and dragged you to his lap, where you were finally comfortable. Instead of going to your own mattress or sleeping in Tom’s bed, you fell asleep right there, in his two seat couch and wrapped around him.

Want to read more? Check out my side blog @imaginesmaimasterlists, where I keep all the masterlists! Feedback is always appreciated

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sevfanfic · 3 years

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A Touch in the Dark - Chapter 13: A Different Perspective

Word count: 1,964

(This first part is Irma’s POV)

A gurgling croak sounded overhead from a raven that soared high in the sky. The bird circled above a cluster of buildings before nose diving into a dark alley. The passage was narrow and cluttered with garbage. A cluster of dark feathers formed a swirling cloud as the shape of a woman emerged. Irma straightened her neatly tucked shirt and stepped out of the alleyway and into a bustling crowd of people. She approached the cold white edifice across the street. Her thin frame weaved between the pedestrians with ease, her face a mask of indifference. Her path led her through a heavy revolving door. The sound of her footsteps echoed sharply against the white walls of the entrance hall. She approached a closet at the end of the hall, inside stood tall shelves lined with assorted office supplies.

“Revelio.” She waved her wand in a small arch in front of her, the shelf began to tremble. A door revealed itself as if a mist was being blown away. Irma entered through the opening and proceeded into a dark corridor lit by dim blue hues emanating from large sconces.

“Mrs. King, you’re early. The Minister isn’t expecting you for another hour.” A short man with a stout frame seemed to emerge from the air.

“I will see him now,” Irma swiftly passed the man and continued speaking as he struggled to keep up with her pace, “where is he?”

“I must insist that you wait, he is in an important meeting and is not to be interrupted.” The man spoke rapidly, attempting, unsuccessfully, to stop the tall woman. Irma continued to make her way through the winding corridors of the Ministry of Magic. She mulled over the Minister's possible whereabouts and concluded he’d most likely be in his favorite conference room. Her determined footsteps could be heard from inside the room she was approaching.

“Ah, Mrs. King,” Kingsley Shacklebolt turned from his spot at the head of a grand table, “I will be done shortly. Please wait in my office.” He turned back to the circle of confused faces.

“It’s. Important.” The severe look in Irmas eyes sent a shiver of realization down the spine of the minister as he glanced at her again. He promptly stood and neared the silver haired woman.

“We shall resume this meeting when I return.”

The Minister’s office was furnished with cushioned chairs with large pillows and tall framed paintings. No windows meant the only light came from small lamps and candles. It was cozy and Irma’s frigid statuesque demeanor cut into the warmth. She reported her findings and spoke adamantly about further interrogating the newest professor of Hogwarts.

“She has the support of Severus Snape. We cannot trust either of them.” Irma spoke firmly.

“She has given us no reason to mistrust her,” Kingsley shook his head, “I agree we must keep an eye on her but there is no need to turn to extremes at this time.” He paused and then stood from his chair, “And as for Severus, he was given immunity and has proven his true loyalties.”

“We are to wait for the inevitable then?” Irma raised a brow, “you know what she’s capable of, Severus is also highly skilled.”

“I understand your concern, but we have no evidence to justify taking any action. We will watch them and the others.”

“Very well.” Irma gave a nod of defeat as she watched the man leave the room. She knew she couldn't go against orders but had a pang of uneasiness in the pit of her stomach. The Minister had put together a task force to track down any potential threats, such as witches or wizards with unexplainable powers. Irma King was named head of the force, a general of sorts. She was pitiless and calculating with a taste for authority.

Irma instructed two of her best practitioners to keep watch at Hogwarts. They were to report back with any new developments or interesting findings. The two, a witch and a wizard, were both animaguses so staying hidden was not an issue.

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“What if I were to substitute boom berry with powdered bone?” You picked up a few glass vials from the shelves against the back of Severus’ classroom. As you walked back to your table you noticed him standing over your bubbling cauldron.

“It’s possible that could work.” Severus turned to you as you approached him. You set the supplies down and began to measure out a gray powder. Severus watched you with a fond look in his eyes.

“You’re so pessimistic, Severus.” You grumbled sarcastically. It was late in the evening and the moonlight trickled in through a small window. The chilled air lingered with the faint smell of the potion you were working on. Severus placed a hand on the small of your back.

“Maybe you’re just too optimistic,” he whispered, “however, I do enjoy watching you experiment.” Severus spoke close to your ear in a husky voice that sent a shiver down your spine. You smirked and nudged him away playfully.

“Don’t patronize me.” The teasing lilt in your brought a smile to Severus’ face. He kissed your cheek softly and made his way back to his desk. He began to work on some grading. Occasionally he would look up at you and watch you concentrate. A small smile remained on his face as he worked.

The evening went on in silence, you focused on your potion and when you began to clean your area Severus got up to help. When you finished he walked with you back to your quarters.

“Would you like to see this new crimson asphodel I’ve been growing?” You asked Severus with a smile. He looked at you suspiciously and you pushed open your door.

“Does such a thing exist?” Severus watched you carefully.

“It might,” you giggled and took his hand, “but I definitely haven’t seen one.” You then pulled him through the doorway. He let you do this but then he took you into his arms and kissed you. When he pulled away from you he brought his hands to your cheeks. His thumb grazed against your bottom lip.

“If you want me to stay, all you have to do is ask.” He murmured. The warmth of voice brushed against your skin.

“It’s that easy, hm?” You pursed your lips.

“Yes.” Severus smiled and kissed you again intensely.

Severus woke before you. He ran his fingers lazily over the bare skin of your back, tracing small scars and worshiping the curves and dimples of your body. It was early in the morning, the sun had barely risen above the horizon. He watched the slow rise and fall of your breaths. He admired the mess your hair had become, having become fond of the unkempt look that you always woke up with. These moments gave him the most peace, he felt his heart swell with love. The softness of your skin reminded him of satin sheets. He moved closer and kissed your shoulder.

“Venus in her shell was never so lovely, and Diana in the forest never so graceful as my Lady when she strides through Paris.” Severus whispered in a low breathy voice, his lips hovered close to your skin. The verse resonated with him and he imagined holding you in his arms like this for an eternity. Your sleep was deep but the warmth against your shoulder pulled you closer to a wakeful state. You shifted towards Severus. His arm found its way around your waist.

“That was beautiful.” You groaned sleepily.

“I thought you were sleeping,” he moved a lock of hair from your face, “I said it because you’re beautiful.” The tenderness in his voice lulled you back to sleep with a small smile on your lips. He kissed your forehead and pulled you against his chest. With your cheek against his skin you listened to his heart beating rhythmically.

The winter swallowed the countryside and the students were preparing to leave for holiday. You cleaned your classroom and helped some of the younger Slytherins get their belongings together. You began spending most of your free time with Severus. One evening after most of the students left, you invited him to have dinner. You asked the elves for permission to use the large Hogwarts kitchen and set up to cook.

“Do you like Italian?” You asked while chopping a small onion.

“I suppose,” he replied, “I didn’t know you could cook.”

“It is one of my many talents, Professor.” You twirled the knife in your hand before dumping the onion in a hot saucepan. He followed your movements with a raised brow. When you finished cooking you handed Severus a plate and he smiled gratefully.

“Thank you.” He watched you fondly as you ate. Over dinner you two spoke about the visit from the Ministry. Severus expressed his distaste for their obvious lack of discretion and self-restraint.

“Maybe she just wanted to be thorough,” you spoke carefully.

“Doubtful,” Severus scoffed, “they’re watching us, that is how thorough they like to be.” He pushed his empty plate aside and took your hand in his. With an earnest look in his eyes, he brought your hand close and kissed your wrist. “Nonetheless, I will protect you. I promise.” He kissed your wrist again then pressed it against his chest just above his heart.

“And you call me a hopeless romantic.” The redness in your cheeks made your face warm and you smiled brightly. Afterwards, Severus helped you clean up the mess you had made. He walked beside you down one of the many shadowy corridors that you learned to memorize. You came upon his door first and he stopped.

“Would you like to join me for tea?”

You agreed and he invited you in. You sat at the small coffee table where you first had dinner together. It was lit by three small candles that rested upon a stack of books. Soon he brought two cups of hot tea and handed you one. He sat across from you, his index finger tapping relentlessly against the cup. You noticed this habit of tapping his finger occurred when he was nervous about something.

“Are you okay?” You asked between sips.

“Yes, I’m fine,” he looked down at his hands then slid them into his lap. He gazed down at the cup and then sighed softly.

“I need to tell you something.” Severus spoke up and you nodded for him to continue. You heard him tapping against his leg, then he went on, “You have shown me that happiness is attainable even with the darkest of pasts,” he looked into your eyes, wanting you to see that he was opening his heart to you, “It would make me even happier if you would grant me the privilege of being your partner, in this life and the next.”

You felt your heart flutter in your chest as you looked into Severus’ dark eyes. At that moment nothing else mattered, only how much you wanted to kiss him and tell him that you'd love nothing more than to be with him. Your movements were brisk as you stood and closed the distance between you two. He was quick to notice your movements and pushed away from the table creating a space for you which you gladly filled by straddling his lap. You then took his cheeks in your hands and pressed your lips against his. He grasped your waist and kissed you back passionately. You pulled away and admired the man who had stolen your heart.

“Is that a yes?”

“Yes.” you smiled and pressed your forehead to his. The smile on Severus’ face beamed and for the first time in his dreary life, he was genuinely happy.

TAGS: @ayamenimthiriel @marvelschriss @debiraquel @mitsuhkai @the-not-so-iconic @darkthought15 @rubym13 @4everflowercore @otherxstories @thottywithoutthebody @setsuna-meiou31

#severus #severus x you #severus snape #snape #snape fanfiction #snape x you #fanfic #snape love #severus x reader #snape x reader #severus fanfic #severus lives

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aquietwritingcorner · 3 years

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Sicktember Day 12: Faking it Word Count: 766 Author: aquietwritingcorner/realitybreakgirl Rating: K/G Characters: Denny Brosh + Siblings Warning: Summary: The twins claim they’re sick. Denny is not sure he believes it. Notes: Some headcanons for this: Denny’s mother died when he was seven. His father remarried when he was nine to a very lovely woman who loved Denny. When he was ten, his oldest sister was born. Other siblings followed. Approximately a year after the youngest brother was born, both his dad and his stepmom were killed in an accident. Denny was about 24 when this happened, already graduated from the academy. He assumed responsibility for his siblings and is working hard to support them. His siblings are as follows: Barbara (Barb) 15; Caitlyn, 12; The twins, Ainsley and Benjamin (Benji), 6; Fredrick (Freddy), 2 AO3 || ff.net

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Faking it

“Ohhh.”

Denny heard the groan and he waited.

“…OHHHH!”

Denny sighed.

He knew that groan. Or rather, he knew that type of groan. It was Benji, and it was a fake groan. Maybe if he waited—

“Ohhhhh.”

Denny hung his head.

“OHHHHH!”

And now Ainsley was in on it too.

“Deeeennnnny! Denny, I don’t feeeeeel gooood!”

Alright. He was going to have to deal with this.

Denny got up, half dressed in his uniform, and headed toward the twins’ room. He pushed open the door. Benji and Ainsley had gotten themselves in the same bed, and had the blankets pulled up. They had done their best to look absolutely miserable.

“What’s going on?” he asked as he got in here.

Benji looked at him, poking his bottom lip out. “I don’t feel good, Denny.”

“Oh, you don’t?” Denny asked. “What kind of don’t feel good?”

“I’m hot. And my tummy feels bad. Ainsley’s too.”

“Does it?”

“Yeah.” He pointed at the garbage can. “See?”

Denny had a feeling he was going to regret this, but he looked in anyway. Was that… oatmeal? With… yeah, he was pretty sure that was fish food in it. He’d give them points for creativity, at least.

“Well, that does look pretty disgusting. Do you think you’re running a fever?”

Benji nodded. “Yeah. Look.” Benji pulled a thermometer out from under the blankets—where, Denny was sure, he had been keeping it extra warm. Denny took it.

“I see. Any other symptoms.”

Benji nodded. “Show him your tongue, Ainsley.”

Ainsley opened her mouth, showing her tongue, which was blue. Denny caught sight of candy wrappers on the floor. Well, if Ainsley had a stomachache, it was probably real.

“And look—” Benji and Ainsley both held out their arms. Red dots covered them. Red dots that looked suspiciously like marker. A lot like the marker that he noticed sticking out from under the pillow.

“Ah, I see,” Denny said. He paused for a moment. What was going on at school that they would both want to miss? Or, more specifically, that Benji would want to miss but could talk Ainsley into missing as well? Wait—wasn’t their grade doing presentations today? That was probably it.

“Well,” Denny stood up, brushing his hands on his pants. “It seems like you really are sick. I guess there’s no choice but for you to say home.” He didn’t miss the look of excitement that passed between the twins. “Of course, I can’t leave you home alone. I bet Mrs. Cook could stay over.”

The excitement on their faces grew a bit uncertain.

“And if you’re really that sick at your stomach, well, then that means that you’ll need to only eat soup and applesauce, just in case.” He peeked at them. They looked less certain. “Too bad. There’s a festival this weekend I thought we could all go to. But you two probably won’t be up for it by then. Or at least won’t be up for all the food or the rides.”

Dismay crossed Ainsley’s face, and she almost said something, but Benji hushed her.

“And of course, there’s the presentations at school. I was going to take time off to come see you, but I guess they’ll have to reschedule. I probably can’t. Too bad. I was going to take you out for a treat afterward. But I guess that does mean I can cook dinner tonight, maybe one of my special recipes. I guess you two just won’t feel like—”

Benji threw back the covers.

“Never mind! I feel fine!”

“Yeah, me too!”

Denny eyed them. “Are you sure? I mean, there is that rash—”

“We, uh, forgot to wash off where were we drawing last night.”

“—and Ainsley’s blue tongue—”

“I just didn’t brush my teeth last night!”

“—and the thermometer—”

“Must be broken!”

“—and the throw up—”

“It was the cat!”

“Oh?” Denny said. “So, you’re not feeling bad?”

“No!”

“Nope!”

“Ah, well, okay then. Then I’ll go back to getting ready. Barb and Caitlyn will take you to school, but I’ll come in time for your presentation, alright?”

“Yeah!”

“Yes!”

With that reassurance, Denny left their room and went back to his to finish pulling on his boots and his uniform jacket. Kids were kids, but with five of them he was responsible for, he’d gotten pretty good at catching them fake it.

Besides, he did work in investigations.

Kids: 0. Denny: 14

It’d be interesting to see if they would ever be able to pull one over on him.

#sicktember2021 #Denny Brosh #Denny's Siblings #fma #Fullmetal Alchemist #fma fanfic #fullmetal alchemist fan fiction

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killrqueen7 · 4 years

Text

Fate and Other Fairy Tales

A Worstthrust fanfic for the BRCU (Brandon Rogers Cinematic Universe)

Summary: A look at the events of Blame The Hero from the perspective of two villains in love

This work is also on AO3!

Bryce Tankthrust was never an affectionate woman and would never pretend to be. Growing up in a single-parent household, and with that parent being a highly successful lawyer with a no-bullshit, no fuck-up's, and absolutely no weakness policy, she could count on one hand the times she'd received a hug from her mother and still have fingers left over.

Bryce's mother was a cunt, to put it nicely. She was cold and manipulative toward every human being in her life, including and especially to her own daughters.

She was Bryce's fucking hero.

When Bryce was 7 years old, she met Bobby Best. He was a frail child with a wild temper and possibly the most dysfunctional father-son relationship she'd ever witnessed in all her seven years. The boy was mercilessly teased in PE and despite her desperate need for social validation, she stood up for Bobby against those other brats. In the way that children do, they became friends almost immediately and both, feeling a new sense of companionship and understanding no one else had ever given them, developed an innocent crush on one another; formed by mutual ostracization and strengthened by the hot summer sun.

To this day, 40 years later, Bobby Best was the only person in the world Bryce Tankthrust had ever loved.

Their friendship lasted only 24 hours, but in that time, Bryce had the world in her hands. Bobby made her laugh until she cried and that night, they talked, secretly on the phone, for hours. Bobby looked at her like she put the sun in the sky and she would be lying if she said that didn't make her feel like the most important person in the world.

As they lay in the dewy grass that day, grinning at each other under that hot sun and discussing the philosophy of fate and their every decision bringing them together for this very moment, Bryce made a secret promise; to herself and to Bobby: I'm never going to let it go.

But like all good things in Bryce's young life, the joy and innocence of childhood was short-lived. It all came crashing down around her, when in a moment of pure devotion to her new and very best friend, she'd presented her own beating heart; freshly pulled from her ribcage and held aloft like the precious gift that it was.

Bobby Best, in an admittedly appropriate reaction to seeing such gore and carnage, lost his lunch all over it; tainting both her heart and her entire worldview. A chorus of laughter hammered at her skull; the teacher joining in the act of pushing Bryce Tankthrust to the extreme bottom of the totem pole. You did not come back from something like that.

Bryce's heart slipped from her slick, blood-soaked palm and landed on the hot asphalt below, breaking in two like some kind of dumbass metaphor. From where she knelt, it seemed as if glitter exploded from the damaged organ, scattered around it along with all of her joy and laughter. Every good and pure thing that made her who she was laid out on the ground at Bobby Best's feet and she was being ridiculed by the rest of their second grade P.E. class.

She only stared at it for a few seconds before standing in a rage and charging her teacher with the very knife she'd used to carve out her very soul. She plunged the blade into Mr. Best's gut several times before turning it on the rest of the class. Despite feeling woozy and weak, Bryce threatened the lot of them and fled, stomping on her stupid broken heart as she ran.

She never looked back, knowing that what she had with Bobby, as wonderful as it was, was over. She had to grow up now; love was for pawns and the easily manipulated. Now, she craved only power.

When she got home early, her mother didn't even question it or the red staining the front of her gym shirt. She simply received a glance and then her sister, that stupid, fussy little monster, began wailing again from upstairs.

"Bryce, will you see what your sister is crying about now? I need to make another phone call." Mrs. Brownstein picked up the landline and then turned her back on Bryce to signal the conversation was over. Helen was her responsibility until mom got off the phone.

Bryce quickly changed her shirt as little Helen cried, her little face wrinkling like an old lady's already. She never stopped when Bryce held her and Bryce was convinced that Helen just didn't like her. So much for girls sticking together. Bryce was alone now.

Oddly enough, she was okay with that.

"Hearts are a waste of time, " she explained to her sister as she sat criss-cross on the floor with her, Helen sitting up and looking around for something to chew on, "I'll teach you to ignore it. They're just stupid. We're better off with these." Bryce tapped the baby's forehead lightly and then smiled when the little one tilted her head toward the touch.

As Bobby sat in his cell, during the first few years of his sentence, all he felt was rage.

Rage at Bryce for killing his father and destroying any chance he would ever have of making him proud.

Rage at his father for treating him like a stranger in public and like garbage at home.

Rage at his mother for passing away and leaving him with someone who would never love him.

Rage at his classmates for ruthlessly teasing and abusing him.

And rage at himself for allowing all of that to happen.

Bobby swore, as soon as he got out, as soon as he was adopted by a family who actually wanted him, he would find Bryce Tankthrust – the catalyst for the single worst day of his life – and drive a stake through that empty cavity she called a chest.

Some say that there is a thin line between Hate and Love, and for Bobby, that line was nearly microscopic. There were days where he would close his eyes and imagine the sun on his face, the grass on his legs, and her hand in his.

There were nights where he would hear her laughter and see her grinning over at him from across the jungle gym.

All it took was one person to give him a chance. Maybe she did it out of pity or because she knew he would bend the knee and do anything she asked of him, but Bobby didn’t care then. It was the only shred of kindness anyone had ever shown him, regardless of ulterior motive.

“She was so profound.” He wrote out, tears welling in his eyes. “She was my everything.”

Bobby chewed at the eraser of his pencil and frowned at his own words. That was the Bryce he loved. The Bryce he wanted to remember. Except the memory of her rushing his father and driving a blade into his gut was glaring red and dangerous. Dare he admit that he was angry he hadn’t done it first?

No…despite everything, he missed his father. The man was a bastard, but Bobby was completely alone now. More alone than he’d been in his entire life, serving a sentence for a crime that he hadn’t even committed while the real killer roamed free; probably making other boys fall in love with her so she could fuck them over the same way…and never visit.

No, killing her gave him a purpose.

“One day, I will have my revenge on Bryce Tankthrust. She better sleep with one eye open because I’m getting out of here the second a family wants to adopt me.”

As Bryce scowled at the pink and red hearts decorating the walls of her office, the Elmer heart inside her chest grew more and more bitter. Ever since her ex-lover had given her the one gift she couldn’t send back…and then mysteriously “disappeared” after declaring her a, quote, “unlovable, cold-hearted cunt” she’d hated this holiday more than any other.

Baby vomit didn’t easily come out of linen and silk.

His name was Robert and he was…well, he was a baby. And then a toddler. Part of Bryce hated herself for being unable to love the child like the mothers she saw in public. She thought that it might all come together when she held him in her arms for the first time. It was the moment all mothers seemed to speak of with peace and longing, but Bryce felt little more than pride.

She’d made that. A little human with fantastic genes who would never want for anything. But she didn’t feel the tug in her chest or the connection that she was told about. Robert was a stranger to her; and she knew he could feel it.

Her son was well-behaved, it was true, but outside of operating within the same large home, their scheduled interactions were limited. When she had attempted to hold him; to feed him or whatever one did with an infant, he just cried. He wouldn’t stop until Bryce handed him off and that hadn’t changed.

So if she couldn’t even buy his love – with expensive toys, clothing, and food – who else would dare?

This year, like every year before, she hadn’t even received one lousy card. Not even from her precious little Elmer army.

She took their hearts, though. In a way, it was similar to receiving a Valentine several times a month, even if she did use them up and throw them away.

It wouldn’t hurt, she supposed, to hire a boyfriend this year. There were plenty of men who would bend to her every whim; some on speed-dial even, and it would be a charity. Bryce was a woman of authority and fortune and it was good, every now and then, to give to the less fortunate. For a service, of course. She wasn’t in the habit of giving free money.

How much could love be worth? Half a million?

Bobby paced the floor of his cell, chewing at his nails as he went over his evil plans once again. He was going to get back at the world for treating him like garbage, tossing him away, and forgetting about him. One day, they would all know the name Bobby Worst and know that it was he that brought about the end of their cruel world.

And Bryce would suffer with them. More if he could help it. He wanted to watch the life drain from her body and watch as that intelligent spark faded from her deep...chocolate eyes.

FUCK

Bobby slammed his palms against the iron bars and then tried flipping his bed. However, it was securely bolted down; something that had been done to it just a couple months after he was sentenced. He always seemed to forget that in the heat of the moment.

"Agggh it's not fair!" He cried out behind grit teeth and then sank down onto the floor.

And it wasn't. Why would he still be in love with the girl who had put him here and caused him so much pain? Why couldn't he just hate her like any normal person would?

"It's not fair," he muttered at himself, wrapping his arms around his knees and picking at a thread on his striped sleeve.

If Bryce still had a heart when she discovered that Bobby had escaped prison, it would have stopped for a moment.

It was front page news and she'd read it on a newspaper on her way into work. Bryce snatched the paper out of an old man's hands and quickly scanned the story with wild eyes.

"Shit!" The old man had gasped, "try me, bitch."

Instead, Bryce shoved the newspaper against his ugly yellow sweater-vest and stormed in to the elevator and then to her office, ignoring the whispers of her Elmer employees and the eyes of her little sister.

Bryce paced the floor and then stood at the window, looking down at the little ant-people below. Just when she was about to take a couple Xanax, the phone rang.

"Ms. Tankthrust? There's a man here insisting on adopting a baby. It's the persistent one."

Bryce nearly crushed the phone in her grip, but kept her voice even and authoritative. "Send him to the big room with the table-"

"The conference room?" The Elmer on the other end asked.

"Yes, whatever. Send him back. I'll deal with it." She slammed the phone down and then rubbed lightly at her chest. The surprise really had done some damage. She'd need a new one if she wanted to be convincing.

Bryce cracked her neck slightly and then went on a search for the fresh hearts, prepared to get this over with.

Then, she would decide what to do about Bobby Best.

When Bryce woke up, she was in a cell, lying atop a hard cot. Was this Hell? The last thing she remembered was looking down the barrel of a gun, held by a fucking baby. Baby Elmer; a name she'd decided to keep after stealing him from his true mother.

She didn't enjoy ripping a child from his mother's arms, but she'd been without a heart for nearly a month and it was a struggle to even get out of bed some mornings. She was weak, like a fourth stage cancer patient continuing to breathe out of spite.

In a way, that was exactly what she was living for.

By the time the first Elmer heart was ready, it had to be placed inside her chest cavity by Robert, who begged his nearly comatose mother to stay with him despite having been completely distant from him for most of his little life.

When the heart was shoved inside her chest, it was as if Bryce had done a bump of coke and drank 5 of her favorite double, half-sweet, non-fat caramel macchiato's.

However, she now felt as if she'd been run over by a truck...and then again as it backed over her lifeless corpse.

It felt so similar to the moment when Bobby lost his lunch all over her heart. That crushing, hollowed-out, desperate, clawing, pain.

"Hello!?" She called out, eyes desperately darting back and forth, taking in her surroundings, searching for weaknesses. "Hello, where am I?" She didn't want to sound vulnerable. Even now, she had to remain strong.

"Hello Bryce," the voice came suddenly from the dark, where a man with platinum hair and a bored expression peered at her from the other side of the bars.

"Hi, would you kindly explain what's happening here?" Bryce gave him her most "pleasant" grin; one that barely hid her confusion and boiling rage.

"I resurrected you," he answered, and suddenly, Bryce knew exactly who this man was, standing there, staring at her with only malice in his eyes and a sparkling notebook under his chin. “With this.”

At one time, he'd been her greatest creation; not because she loved him at all, but because this clone had a heart that would be compatible with her body. He was the first in a long line of Elmer clones who had all...reluctantly donated their very beating hearts.

"I'll be damned, is that my first Elmer?" Her voice sounded almost fond. To say they had a history would be the understatement of the century. "Glad to see you could walk again, and you said that me kneecapping you would ruin your dance career. Oh, how you screamed in pain."

It was true; the removal of an Elmer's heart did not entirely remove the person inside. Some of her creations still held an interest for things like nature, theater, and - god forbid - art. But whatever kept them silent and complacent was fine with Bryce, just as long as they showed up to work on time and made her filthy fucking rich.

Her first Elmer displayed the most personality and had the strongest heart of any Elmer she'd ever made concurrently. She let him keep it, in a rare moment of motherly kindness or whatever, however as he discovered his love of interpretive dance, she could see that the boy was...stifled. He assured her that he was completely devoted to her; "like a son to his mother" (she never put much stock on that) but had tried to run away just a couple of weeks later. To Broadway, or what have you.

When Bryce broke his knees, she felt nothing but vindication. He'd tried to outwit and out-manipulate her.

As Elmer cried in pain, for just a moment, she thought she'd felt something; almost like a vibration or a...tear somewhere in her chest. It was the first shimmer of empathy she'd had since she was seven and it made her nauseous.

That night, Bryce ordered an army of Elmer clones be made and with each subsequent heart she stole, that tiny twinge of emotion faded. She'd "breed" it out of them if she had to.

Bryce watched as hate flashed in Elmer's eyes, a sure sign that things were not good for her.

She was fucked, and not in the fun way.

After escaping prison, Bobby Worst did whatever the fuck he wanted to do. He fucked anything that walked...or crawled as well as various fruits and maybe some things that were not made to be fucked. Whatever, he'd put his dick in anything, because he was Bobby Worst; the absolute worst version of a human being he could ever conceive of. And he'd had a lot of time to think about that.

His diabolical plan was going to turn everyone into the worst versions of themselves. He would simply set off a nuclear bomb and whoever made it out alive would be just as fucked up and shitty as he'd felt for so many years.

And if everything went to plan, Bryce Tankthrust would be caught in the blast. If it didn't kill her, she would become soft, compassionate, and weak. The worst version of herself.

He could only hope she'd been lonely and miserable her entire life, but from the interviews he'd seen, she had more cash than several countries combined and she was never without a man who could dick her down. While he'd been stuck in a cell, pissed off and dreaming of revenge, Bryce had become the wealthiest and most powerful woman in the country, possibly the world.

She also mentioned that he was the skeleton in her closet and for a moment, it seemed like there was something behind her eyes. Regret? He'd replayed that moment again and again, pausing it on her face and searching for anything that said she thought about him.

Of course, she could have been talking about any "skeleton" in any prison (who knew how many men she’d fucked over). Was he really so foolish to believe she even remembered him? That he was so important for her to regret that day for most of her life?

Bobby grit his teeth as he stared at those cold brown eyes, nearly crushing the remote in his hand. "Suck! Swallow! Set up the computer! I have a message for the world."

Bryce hadn't seen the sunlight in so long. For days she was forced to kill herself and then was brought back only to do it again. She had died in every single way possible and she'd felt fear for the first time since she was a child.

She was strong until she no longer could be.

"No wait stop, Elmer, please, I can't take this anymore!" Her hand shook as she stretched it out to him, begging her tormentor for mercy though she knew she didn't deserve it and probably would not get it.

That audacity made her eldest Elmer pause, walking toward her with a glint in his eye so awful and so evil that she swore he'd adopted her own way of survival. He was enjoying this.

The momentary distraction - his anger and vindication - was all she needed to snatch the all-powerful "Shit book" and pen, snapping both of Elmer's twig legs once again with the flick of a wrist. Once again, her entire body vibrated with power; power over her enemy, the smallest taste of freedom.

Until she discovered that even godly notebooks of infinite power had a limited number of pages. Oh the things she could have used that book for.

Elmer had had his fun with her and now, they were going to execute her. As she stared down the barrel of the gun in her face, she refused to allow them to see anything. Regret, fear, hopelessness, grief; it all swirled inside her, but her eyes were glassy and cold.

She always thought that it might come to this, though she always imagined the person on the other end of that barrel would be him.

It said a lot of Bryce that she would be happier to have been killed by his hand than to never see him again.

She tried to picture his face, but the only reference she had of him was the smiling face of a seven year old boy and the one very blurry mugshot.

"Last words?" The Elmer holding the gun asked.

Bryce tilted her head back and gave him her brightest, winning smile. "Get fucked, shitbag."

"How eloquent." Elmer said with a stony resolve.

Yet, at the last moment, the door to her lonely cell slid open with a hiss and the execution was called off by the very Elmer who had ordered her death. For now.

So there she remained, wrists chained to the walls, waiting for days on days for whenever the world needed her.

They say solitary confinement can break even the strongest of minds, and she had definitely had her weak moments in that cell, wishing even for the torture to continue if it meant having any sort of human interaction.

With her head hung low, she closed her eyes and wondered how baby Elmer was doing in the care of that closeted nitwit, Sam, and his disturbed vampire of a roommate...god, that had to be 17 years ago now. Did he remember anything?

Briefly, her mind wandered to Robert. Her only living relative; her continued bloodline. What would he do with her companies? Her amassed fortune? Was he happy?

In her weakest moment, her mind was stuck on a replay of that day with Bobby Best. The last, beautiful time she'd ever felt anything. The horrible last moments she'd had with him; leaving him heartbroken and confused. She wondered if he ever thought about her, all alone in his prison cell, and if he was still angry with her. She wondered if there might have ever been a chance for them. If he might have broken this door down and slaughtered the Elmer army to save her if circumstances were different.

Bryce hissed as the stolen heart in her body gave a squeeze.

When Elmer rolled back into her cell, followed by a kid who couldn't be more than 29, explaining that the world had been blown to shit and he needed her help, she couldn't help but be amused. How dare he tell her what her purpose was? She knew exactly what she'd been put on this earth for and it wasn't to carry out some bastard's suicide mission. As soon as she was free, she was ripping his fucking heart out and eating it whole, right in front of him and any blonde bastard who tried to stop her.

But then he dropped the biggest "fuck you" yet.

It was Bobby. Bobby Best. Her Bobby.

Apparently, he was Bobby Worst now - an evil bastard who had escaped prison and done all sorts of mildly horrible things until he finally managed to end the world. Oh, and he was on his way to kill her.

Bryce's snarky smile dropped from her face, and with a force enough to drop a bear, ripped the chains from the wall and stormed out into the bunker.

Unfortunately, the heart in her chest had been long since shriveled and useless and she dropped like a bag of bricks, crying out with the pain. It had taken too much. She wouldn't make it. Not even to Bobby's feet. And she still needed to get that stupid time machine.

"I'm too weak," she explained, clutching at her chest. "I'm gonna need a new heart."

Elmer didn't believe her. "You need to Get. Up."

"I ain't gonna make it 20 yards outside this stupid bunker without dying." She tried to explain. Why would they weaken their only hope?

"Yeah, but what's 'bunker' mean, though?" The kid standing behind Elmer's wheelchair asked...was this guy serious?

"Shut. Up." Bryce demanded, slapping the floor with her palm. "I need a new heart and I want yours."

Elmer just looked bored. "You can have one of the other Elmers'."

"I want yours, Professor X, and I wanna watch it come out of your body." It was only fair. Sure, she'd been cruel to him, but she'd never killed him. Not this Elmer specifically. And he had killed her. Many times.

There was a loud knock on the heavy bunker door, the other Elmer clones announcing the obvious arrival of a guest and working to unlatch and open the door as Bryce and their eldest argued over the possession of his heart.

Time was growing slim. He would have to make a quick decision and that's what she was counting on.

The sudden burst of gunfire made Bryce jump and duck behind the chair. For a moment, everything was chaos. She didn't have time to stop and think about the voice she'd just heard. She knew it was him. Of course it was him. But she wasn't yet ready to face him. Didn't know if her weak heart could take it.

While Bobby descended upon Elmer in the chaos, Bryce and Blame - apparently that was the kid's name - slipped out of the door and she earned a pop in the nose for her troubles.

Sure, hearing Bobby's voice demanding to know where she was after years of wondering if he even remembered her was fucking her up a little bit. That, paired with the failing organ in her chest made her a little testy. A bit feral. And it didn't take much for her to snap at Blame about the hazmat suit he was complaining about wearing. When he offered her the Elmer heart in his hand, she latched onto it like a hungry widow spider did its prey, shoving it inside her chest with a shudder.

It wouldn't last long out there, but it was better than nothing.

Bryce was absolutely disgusted with the state of the world. The green assholes she’d met on the outside were even worse than she’d been rumored to be while she was the reigning CEO of multiple Fortune 500 companies. Even the low-income, tattooed heathen she was stuck with seemed like better company. If anyone wanted to know if she’d grown soft on the boy, they could eat a dick and choke on it.

But she did feel a bit bad when they stumbled across the bodies of his friends, giving him a moment alone with them to say his goodbye’s. They were all so young; probably just around her own son’s age. It was a shame, really.

As she roamed the Corn Hole Café, she could hear Blame speaking words of love to his friends and she wondered what it must feel like to lose someone like that, or to care if she did.

“Hey assholes!” Bryce’s head whipped around to the door so fast she rocked a bit in her heels. How the fuck did he find them?

“The lesbian..” She muttered to herself, suddenly regretting not killing her when she had the chance.

“Come out here with your hands up and we’ll fuck you with lube!” Bobby and his disgusting little henchmen laughed to themselves. What was it with villains and laughing like maniacs?

Rolling her eyes, Bryce made her way back over to Blame, stepping over bodies as she went, but the idiot had decided to antagonize the assholes outside instead of staying quiet and going over a plan.

There was a series of several gunshots and Blame ducked out of Suck’s line of fire, crawling quickly toward the time machine they’d come for in the first place.

Bryce knew what she had to do.

40 years imagining and going over this very moment were thrown directly out of the window. Fuck what Elmer said, this was her purpose. Bobby was her beginning and her end.

“Don’t hurt the boy, Bobby. It’s me you’re after, remember?” She slowly made her way out of the café, putting herself between Bobby and Blame, her hands raised in surrender. She wasn’t even going to try to fight this. “It’s me you nuked this entire fucking planet trying to destroy and yet, here I am, standing like a boner.”

Bobby actually looked…hurt, which was what she was afraid of. Those damn sad fucking eyes - until they filled with rage.

“Nothing ever goes my way!” He cried, every bit as much the pissed off seven-year-old he used to be.

“I got access to a time machine,” She bargained, gesturing over her shoulder, “We can go back and fix all this. Not just the apocalypse but…everything, Bobby.” She wanted that more than she’d ever wanted anything. Standing here, seeing him again, she realized that he was the piece missing from her life; his absence in her life the reason she was so miserable. She hadn’t realized just how fucking much she missed Bobby until he was right in front of her. All she wanted to do was go to him; maybe…hug him. It was all very confusing and uncomfortable.

Bobby was the one who got away and she had no one to blame but herself. But she had a chance to fix that. To keep him in her life and keep him out of prison. To have him forever.

“I’m sorry, Bryce.” He seemed to hesitate, bouncing on his feet like he did when he was anxious. Did he…have tears in his eyes? “But I waited forty goddamn years in prison for this fuckin’ moment, now I’m gonna skin you like a goddamn pig!”

Bryce was almost disappointed. Not surprised though; prison did awful things to the mind. Bobby was a child when he entered the system; and an innocent child at that. She was the reason he’d grown up that way and he’d had a long time to ruminate in his hate.

She sighed, the smile on her face waning with the ache she felt in her chest. A hollow, awful kind of pain. She knew exactly where this was going. They wouldn’t get a happy ending.

“Well shit, I figured as much.” She turned back toward the café where she’d heard the door creak open softly. “Get out of here now, Blame!”

“Yeah, but what about you, dawg?” How sweet. He was actually concerned about her safety. It would figure that she’d gain some attachment to humanity when she was prepared to leave it.

“This is my purpose,” she told him and then scooped up the rifle at her feet, pointing it directly at the green man in front of her. He had a knife. He planned to murder her and make it personal.

Bobby took a step back, brows furrowed, holding the knife out in front of him warily. He was terrified to admit that his feelings toward Bryce had never really changed. He had missed her and now here she was. Was he prepared to lose her again?

Would she do it? Would she use the gun on him? If her interviews were anything to go by, Bryce Tankthrust was an absolute force of power. She was not to be underestimated or to be fucked with. At this point, Bobby wasn’t sure what to expect.

There were gunshots from the café behind her, where the boy she’d been protecting had disappeared, but Bryce didn’t even flinch. Her focus was narrowed, and it was all on him. The force of it was crushing.

Could he do it? Could he actually take a knife to her?

Bryce’s hands tightened and then loosed on the rifle at least three times. No matter what she did, she could not make her finger tighten on that trigger. A heat bubbled up inside her and everything came rushing out all at once. “DAMMIT!” She cried in anguish, dropping the gun from Bobby’s face. “I can’t do it!”

She stared at the ground, ashamed of the guilt; the weakness she felt for Bobby. Even now.

“I thought I was heartless, but there still seems to be people I can’t bring myself to kill.” It didn’t matter what Bobby did to the world or even to her; she wouldn’t take the first shot.

Bobby let out a small breath of relief when Bryce dropped the nose of the rifle.

She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t hurt him.

It almost made him reconsider what he was about to do. It almost made him drop the knife and run to take her hand. To live out the rest of their days as the worst living couple in existence. Almost.

“Well then allow me,”

The next thing Bryce felt was the plunge of metal in her abdomen, and then three more just like it. And then heat, more intense than she could ever fathom. There was so much blood and so much pain. She was dying; she'd died enough times to know it immediately.

“You stupiiiiiiid cunt!” Bobby gloated, kneeling over her to laugh in her face. Bryce coughed with the pain, blood leaking from her parted lips. "You call yourself evil. You couldn’t even kill me and I’m a fucking terrorist!”

“You’re right,” Bryce sighed, meeting Bobby’s eyes. She was resigned to her fate now, but that didn’t mean she had to do it alone, “I just need a little push.” Bryce ripped the hazmat suit from her face and took a deep inhale of the radioactive oxygen around them. Immediately, her skin flushed a deep green, altering and corrupting her very cells, turning her into someone who could actually kill the love of her life.

Bryce lifted the blade from her stomach, watching as it slid out of her flesh covered in her blood. Bobby held her wrist the entire time, eyes wide and full of fear. He knew, as well, where this was going.

As Bobby screamed about the deep injustice of it all, Bryce plunged the blade into his torso; once, twice…and then four more times, crying out as if it was killing her too. The pain she felt was much more than just physical. It ripped at her insides and squeezed at her throat. She didn’t want this. No matter what Bobby did to her, she never wanted to hurt him. But to save this disgusting planet, she needed to bring down the very worst of the assholes inhabiting it.

Bryce rolled onto her back beside her childhood friend who was staring up at the smog-hidden sky above them as they both gasped and choked on their last remaining breaths. Bryce watched his face, wishing that he might reach out and take her hand in these final few moments.

“You know what’s crazy?” Bobby forced out between gasps. “Every decision we’ve ever made has led to this moment.”

Bryce felt herself relax into the grass as she laughed warmly. He remembered.

Bryce felt her heart give out when she heard Bobby take his last breath. Her eyes lost their focus and she imagined what life might have been had they been able to start over.

Bobby had once been the most important person in Bryce’s life. More than the son she’d named after him. More than her own living, breathing sister.

In another world, perhaps, Bryce would have taken Bobby’s hand and they would have run away together. They might have fallen in love; genuinely and immensely. She might have become the most powerful woman in the world – president, even – supported at every step by her super-hot, super-villain boyfriend.

In another world, maybe they’d have started a little evil family of their own – she’d always liked the name Delmar (would they even make good parents??). Maybe they’d have a wedding on the roof of a skyscraper and start their honeymoon by blowing some shit up.

Maybe they’d be happy.

And she’d never need to steal a heart again, because she’d already have one freely given.

Author’s Notes:

I realized after writing this that Helen and Bryce are not actually sisters in this universe but I can’t be bothered to change it. They are sisters in this fic, though it doesn’t really change the story. If you know Helen, growing up with Bryce Tankthrust as an older sister would explain a lot.

Bryce does have a son, mentioned only once and briefly. The biological father is unknown and he does not currently have a name. It doesn’t seem like he and Bryce are close. In my fic, I named him Robert (after Bobby T-T), BUT I have since decided that Delmar Lysol (from Brandon’s video, Family Friendly Halloween) could have only come from the loins and environment of these two fucked up assholes, so he’s their son...in another timeline.

This is NOT a healthy relationship (then again, is anyone healthy in the BRCU??) but Bryce and Bobby are villains for a reason. They’re assholes. To everyone. Everyone in this universe is an asshole (except for precious Sam, I do believe, though he has his moments)

#brandon rogers #worstthrust #my fic #bryce tankthrust #bobby worst #fanfiction #brcu #brandon rogers cinematic universe

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george-mackay-macfine · 4 years

Text

Brothers best-friend.

Requested

Synopsis: Y/N is Dean’s sister. George is Dean’s best friend. George has a crush on Y/N. Y/N has a crush on George...

Word Count: 2, 862

“What are they?” I lent over the couch and looked at the tickets in Dean’s hand.

“Golden ticket,” He flipped it over, “When we were filming 1917 George invented this for my birthday, it’s hidden someone and the person who finds it, either give it to the birthday boy or passes it to a friend,”

“What do you get if you find it?”

“You get to kiss the birthday boy,” He threw it on the couch beside him, “Don’t worry Y/N, you won’t have too, I’m sure June or Felicity will be hunting it all night,”

“They’re still after him are they?”

“Like bee’s to a hive,” I shuddered at the idea, “And they’re going to be all over him tonight.” He chuckled. “Any of your girls coming tonight?” By girls, I knew he meant the Facebook group Lennon and I with our friends Molly and Charlotte had created one night when we were drunk off tits, and now thousands of women across the world have joined it to talk boys, and issues women face,

“Nope, just Lennon,”

“Lennon’s coming?” I nodded my head, “You didn’t tell me that,”

“Didn’t think I needed too.” I laughed, “You know Dean… If you asked her out I’m sure she’d say yes,”

“Wouldn’t that be weird for you?”

“Would it make you happy?” Dean nodded, “Then that’s all I need.” I pushed off the couch to walk towards the stairs, stopping when I was at the bottom, “Hey Dean?”

“Yeah,”

“Just, don’t hurt Lennon okay, she really likes you…”

———————

“You told your brother I had a crush on him?” Lennon yelled at me as the music kicked in, we were still in my bedroom getting ready for the party when I’d told her about my confession to Dean. “Why would you do that?”

“Because he likes you too Len,”

“He what?”

“He. Likes. You. Too.” I spoke slowly, “He’s had a bloody crush on you the minute you stepped into our house when we were in second grade?”

“That was year’s ago,”

“Exactly, so how about tonight you two finally put me out of my misery, and talk about it.”

“You don’t mean talk do you?”

“No, but the idea of you two doing anything more than that really upsets my stomach and the mental pictures… I can’t.” Lennon cracked up, pushing me off the bed, I landed on the floor with a thud. “Hey,” Lennon rolled her eyes and rolled off, laying next to me.

“What about you and George?”

“Nothing’s going on,”

“So you’re going to forget what happened when they were filming?”

“For the tenth time, that was before I knew who he was and he was working with my brother.”

“But you guys did hook up,”

“Yes, and then when he showed up to set the next day it was extremely awkward,”

“But you still like him?”

“Does it matter? Besides he’s like… five years older than me,”

“He likes you Y/N!” She scoffed, “Beside’s ages is just a number,”

“Dean will never let anything happen,”

“Oh please, he can’t stop you.” She shrugged her shoulders, “And if he tries, I’ll distract him.”

“What if he’s just being friendly,”

“The way he basically strips you naked with his eyes every time he sees you tells me otherwise,”

“Lennon!” I gasped, “He does not.”

“Well, he will once he sees you tonight, that shirt, oh baby it’s just asking George’s hands to take it off,”

“Is it too much for a house party?” I looked down at the hot pink material covering my boobs, “I mean it is a halter top after all, and what if I’m the only girl this dressed up.”

“Baby girl, relax. You’re going to be fine.” She grabbed my hand. “Just breath,” I nodded, taking a deep breath, “Ready?”

“Yeah, let’s go.” We both stood from the ground off my bedroom and walked to the door, I grabbed the key and slipped it in my pocket, locking it behind me, Lennon raised her eyebrow at me, “I don’t want random’s having sex on my bed,”

“Fair enough,” She grabbed my hand and pulled me down the stairs, “See him?”

“No,”

“Y/N,” Someone called behind me, I turned seeing George walking towards me, “Ben and I have a question for you,” I smiled at my brother's friend Ben Hardy, who nodded in return,

“Sure what is it?”

“How was Heaven looking when you left it?”

“Really George,” the corners of his lips began to raise as he gave me a toothy smile, “It was fine,”

“Alway’s knew you were an Angel,” He pulled me into a hug laying a kiss in my hair,

“Happy Birthday,” I pulled away and moved back towards Lennon, “Have you seen my brother?”

“He was in the kitchen, do you want me to help you find him?” Behind George, I noticed Felicity and June, two of the girls who worked on 1917 making their way towards him,

“No, it’s okay,” I motioned behind him. “You look like you have some people to say hello too,” George turned to look behind him, nodding at the girls. “Have a good night George, and happy birthday again,” I went to grab Lennon’s hand to pull her off,

“Wait, Y/N.” George pulled me back to him, his lips quickly finding my ear, “Find me later, I miss hanging out with you,”

“Sure,” I pulled away again, “Now go say hello to your friends,” I smiled at him once again before going to Lennon’s side.

“Oh, he wants it bad,” She chuckled pulling my hand towards the kitchen where Dean was standing talking to some of their other friends. “What do I say to him?”

“I got you,” I walked up to Dean pulling Lennon behind me, smiling at the guys who turned to say hello to us,

“Dean, can you watch Lennon just while I go and find us a drink, there’s a guy here who won’t take no for an answer, and he’s being a creep,”

“Who is he?”

“Don’t worry about him, he’s drunk, can you just watch her while I get us a drink, please?”

“Course,” I pushed Lennon towards Dean who wrapped an arm around her waist, “You right Len?”

“Yeah, thanks Dean,”

“I’ll be back,”

“You gonna be right Y/N?” Dean called as I turned, I turned back, silently cursing my brother for being so caring.

“Yeah, I’ll be fine, beside’s George was in the living room so if he gives me any grief I’ll grab him,” I smiled making a quick exit. As I was passing the pot plant mum had put by the front door I noticed a shining gold ticket poking out from behind it, as quickly as I could I reached down and picked it up, folding it so it fits into the pocket of my jeans.

The party went on, and on, Dean and Lennon had finally left the group to speak about things and had returned hand in hand, a giant smile on each of their faces, I had been calculating George’s every move and had managed to hide from him for the rest of the night, while still managing to have fun. George’s friend Ben had kept me company most of the night, and even taken some joy in playing hide and go seek from him, and before I knew it the house was empty and it was just Dean, Lennon, George, Ben and myself packing everything up.

“You guy’s really don’t have to help,” I called across the yard to George and Ben as they helped pick up red cups. “Dean and I can do it,”

“Don’t be silly Y/N, we’re more than happy to help, aren’t we George,”

“Yeah,” George called back throwing another cup into his garbage bag.

“I can’t believe no one found the Golden Ticket.” Dean laughed as he emptied one of the tubs of ice onto the back lawn. “Look’s like George will be going to bed lonely tonight after.”

“He’s been doing that for years. He should be used to it by now.” Ben laughed across the lawn to Dean, I looked over to George who was still collecting cups in a giant rubbish bag.

“You guy’s wanna finish this then go get the food? I can help George pick up the cups.” I called to Dean and Lennon. Dean cheered while Lennon kicked the last tub over with her foot.

“I’ll go tell George and Ben.” She bounced inside, I looked to Dean shaking my head.

“That’ll be a fun walk.” I laughed walking to him before helping him pick up the now emptied tub. “Let’s put them on the deck.” We picked them all up and carried them to the back deck. Lennon, George and Ben following behind her,

“Please get extra this time Len, I’m sick of this one stealing all my fries.” I glared at George who rolled his eyes.

“Y/N…” My eyes narrowed. “We both know out of anyone you’re the fry thief, but I agree with her Len. Please get extra… We don’t need a repeat of Y/N falling off the back of the lounge… As funny as it was.”

“Excuse me, it was you who fell off the lounge,” I cried throwing an empty cup at his head.

“On it,” Lennon raced down the steps. “C’mon guys.”

“Wish us luck.” Dean laughed as he and Ben chased after her. I picked up one of the black garbage bags and started to fill it with red cups.

“Still no sign of the ticket?” George asked as he picked up his own bag, beginning at the other side of the porch.

“No,” Liar, Liar, “Sorry,” Pants on fire.

“Not meant to be I guess.” Yeah,

“George.”

“Yeah Y/N?” He looked over to me.

“Nothing,” I turned around. Picking up another cup. “Forget it.”

“No what is it?” This is it Y/N. Time to be brave.

“I’m an idiot.” Great start there, “I am an idiot who created a Facebook group where every day I see women post their stories about how they got the guy, or how they were brave today. Fuck, they post it basically every five minutes, theres a new story about a girl getting the guy she’s wanted for years.” You can do this. “But creating that group isn’t the reason I’m an idiot. I am an idiot because I’m breaking Dean’s cardinal rule, one that I’ve been breaking for a while now, but if I don’t do this, then I’m not being brave. I’m not being one of those girls.” I pulled the ticket out.

“Took you long enough.”

“What?”

“Ben saw you slip it into your pocket.”

“George, I…”

“You what?”

“I don’t want you to do this because of the ticket… I want you to do it because you want too.”

“What took you so long Y/N?”

“You knew?’’ He shrugged his shoulders.

“I hoped.” What are you doing to me George, He pushed away from the railing and walked over to me, each step more determined than the last. “Now,” He reached me. I took a step back, he took one closer until my back was flush with the bannister “Tell me” One arm went to the right of me, the other to my left. He had me trapped.“Why now?”

“Because every time I see you I forget how to breathe,” My voice came out breathless. “And maybe doing this will fix that,”

“We can only try,” He leant in closer, lips brushing my cheek. “And then if it doesn’t work, try again,” The lightest touch from this man was enough to send shivers through my whole body. “Wanted to do this since I met you,” He whispered, lips brushing underneath my ear this time. “Didn’t care if you were Dean’s sister, just knew I liked you” I couldn’t speak, only focus on my breathing. “Now I finally get you, to myself,” He kissed my jawline gently. “Tell me you want me too.” He didn’t have time to finish. I’d reached my hand around his neck, pulling him to me, the rest of his words lost against my mouth as he kisses me gently. But this wasn’t a time for gentle, my hands gripped in his shirt, his wrapped around my waist. My left hand left his shirt, running up to his hair knotting in it, pulling it. He groaned, low in his throat and then he was kissing me harder, with a vehement urgent need that it’d never felt before. He’s kissing me once, twice, three times. He’s everywhere making my head spin. “Up.” He groans lips leaving mine for a fraction of a second. “Y/N.” He speaks again. I understand what he wants, and I jump. He catches me with ease. My butt is placed on the bannister and his lips are on my neck.

“George,” His hand held my face as he kissed my jaw. “George, we have to stop.”

“No.” He whispered in my ear bitting it. “Don’t wanna.”

“Dean,” God. Why am I trying to stop him? “Dean will be home soon. We have to clean.”

“Fuck cleaning,” He groaned biting the skin of my neck, “Don’t care about it right now.”

“Oh fuck it,” I whispered bringing his lips back to mine, his tongue in my mouth, his hands gripping the skin of my waist tightly, keeping me steady, my legs wrapped around his waist.

“The fuck is going on here?” George and I stopped moving, my eyes snapping open at the sound of Dean’s voice. “You better not be kissing my sister, MacKay,” Dean raced up the porch steps, Lennon and Ben beside him,

“Dean, let it go,” Lennon grabbed his hand trying to pull him back, he flicked her off.

“My fucking sister,”

“Dean, I can explain,” I tried to move around George who held me steady,

“Don’t talk to me right now Y/N,” Dean shouted at me, I lowered my head, nodding. I knew Dean’s temper, and I knew when it was best not to mess with him.

“Don’t speak to her like that,” George shook his head, “It’s not her fault, just like it’s not your fault that you like Len,”

“Are you fucking serious, She’s a child, and you’re too old for her,”

“She’s a grown woman Dean, you’re the only one who keeps making her out to be a child.” George turned his body, keeping a protective stance between me and Dean. There was a silence for an unmistakable moment.

“Stop seeing her,”

“No,”

“What did you say?”

“I said no, Dean. I won’t stop seeing her, I’ve liked your sister since I first met her, BEFORE I knew she was your sister, and do you know how fucking irritating it is to pretend for months that I haven’t liked her? That she was nothing more than a friend?”

“What do you mean before?” Neither George or I answered, “What do you mean before?” He shouted,

“Dean, C’mon mate,” Ben tried, “Get your wallet, and let’s go.”

“No, not till they bloody tell me what’s happening.”

“They met before,” Lennon spoke for us when neither of us went to speak, “When Y/N and I arrived for the week when you were filming 1917, we went to that pub, and George was there with some of the other boys, you were doing that audition, and we started talking and they hit it off,”

“So you slept with her, and then didn’t tell me?”

“Nothing like that Dean,” George rolled his eyes, “Yeah, we met, and we kissed but you know what else, we talked, had a real conversation something I didn’t think was going to be possible, and then the bloody worst thing happened.” I grabbed George’s hand giving it a tight squeeze, “I walked onto set the next day and there you were ready to introduce me to your sister,”

“Dean…” I stopped as soon as he looked at me, I’d never seen him look so mad.

“You really like her?”

“Yeah mate, I do.” Dean pursed his lips and nodded his head,

“And you like him?”

“Yeah, I do Dean…A lot,”

“Then I suppose I can’t do anything about it, can I?” Dean stepped backwards, “Just don’t hurt her MacKay, or I’m going to fucking kill you,” Dean grabbed Lennon’s hand and pulled her off the deck, “Hardy, You’re paying for our food…”

“Alright then,” Ben called, following the pair off into the dark,

“Fucking wallet,” I heard Dean curse as they walked away from us, George turned around and looked at me, a coy smile on his face,

“Didn’t know you liked me that much,” He smirked pushing some of the hair off my face, “Good to know I’m desirable,”

“Oh shut up you tosser,” I laughed shoving him away from me, sadly though George was solid and he didn’t move, my shove only forced him to crash back into me.

“I meant what I said Y/N, I really do like you,” He whispered hands holding my wrists,

“I really do like you too, George,”

#george mackay #george mackay x reader #GeorgeMackay #George MacKay fanfic #George MacKay Imagine

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writethehousedown · 4 years

Text

storm. (Ninex) -- meggie

A/N: Welcome to the spring fling installment of “Meggie projects far too much of herself onto Nina West.” This is the teachers AU if you remember that one from waaaay back at Christmas. You don’t have to read that one first to understand this one, but if Ninex is your jam, why not give it a go?

Thank you as always to Mia for hand-holding and support and reminding me when I use words too many times. Love you big.

Come keep me company this week as I start distance teaching! I’m @janssports and I love all things Drag Race.

Out of all her coworkers, Nina would not have picked Monet to be the one who was afraid of thunderstorms.

Monet is so cool. So calm and collected all the time. It isn’t like her to be fazed by anything, let alone a little thunder and lightning on a Wednesday afternoon in April.

They’ve been dating since Christmas, officially a couple since Valentine’s Day, and Nina has to stop herself from telling Monet that she loves her at the end of every single one of their phone calls. She knows it; she’s absolutely certain of it, but she can’t be the one to bring it up, won’t be the one to embarrass herself by falling into that ridiculous (and true, who is she kidding) lesbian stereotype about falling too hard too fast.

Nina herself loves storm season almost as much as she loves Monet; she loves the electricity in the air, the way the clouds swirl and melt together into the most interesting shapes. Before she decided to become a teacher, she’d briefly entertained the idea of becoming a meteorologist, but that hadn’t lasted long.

(Mostly because Heather Marshall had teased her relentlessly after their career day presentations in the ninth grade.

“A meteorologist?” she’d scoffed. “With those thighs? Honey, they want their viewers to be able to actually see the radar screen.”

So Nina had ripped up her cue cards and bit her lip until it bled to keep the tears from spilling down her cheeks. If she’d been thinking straight, she realized later, Nina could have calmly explained that she hadn’t meant TV meteorologist anyway; she’d meant the ones who work in the labs crunching numbers and analyzing data and making predictions. But the damage to her frail self-worth was done, so she tucked away her meteorological dream next to the one where she was starring in her Broadway debut—discarded for the same reason—and told her career pathways teacher that she’d changed her mind because she just wasn’t that great at math.)

But she’d always retained a soft spot for the weather, especially in the spring when it turned volatile and delicious.

When late March and early April roll around, Nina throws open the curtains and hoists up the blinds to give her students (and herself) unfettered sight lines to the sky and whatever may develop from the storms.

The meteorologists have been up in arms about this day for at least the past week, going as far as to issue a Weather Alert Day two days ago and Nina feels the excitement bubbling just under her skin when she hears the first rumble of thunder just after nine.

She’s giving a test, which gives her a reason to wander about her room, watching for the tell-tale signs of cheating, but also allows for glances to the window, where the sky grows darker and darker with each passing class period.

At lunch, she can tell that Monet is on edge. Monet’s knee bounces nervously under the table with each crack of thunder and when the lights flicker, she actually jumps.

Nina’s practically giddy. Not for Monet’s uncomfortable state, but for the unpredictable weather raging outside.

Monet glances at her with a grimace. “Can you just. Like stop being so excited that we might die later?”

Nina places a hand on her chest. “Okay, first of all—dramatic; you’re not going to die. Secondly, have you always been this afraid of storms?”

“I’m not afraid, okay. And it’s not the storms.” Monet scoffs. “I can handle storms. It’s when there are predicted tornados; that worries me.”

Nina clicks her tongue and reaches across the table to take her girlfriend’s hand.

A few chairs down, Katya licks her finger and sticks it up by her head, like she’s testing the nonexistent wind.

“I wouldn’t worry, Monet,” Katya says breezily. “Doesn’t feel very stormy to me.”

The lights flicker again with the next clap of thunder.

Across from Nina, Monet whimpers.

***

It’s the middle of fifth period when it happens, and Nina’s stomach swoops uncomfortably because she knows what this means for everyone, but especially Monet.

Her phone buzzes in her pocket with the warning and the text from Monet comes through in tandem with the overhead announcement.

“Teachers, please escort students to the cafeteria at this time. Students, remain with your class at all times.”

Nina tells her students to leave their tests on the desks and grab only their phones, then she swings open her classroom door as the eerie sound of the tornado siren pierces through the din of the moving crowds. She’s just made sure the last of her students are out of the classroom when she glances down at her phone.

Monet: fuck this, nina

***

They seat their classes together in the cafeteria, and Monet’s eyes are wide and worried; she bites her lip as she counts heads to ensure all 24 of her students have made it to the cafeteria.

Nina goes through her roster as well, and they give their report to Ms. Visage when she comes by to collect their numbers. As soon as her students are settled, Nina takes a detailed glance around the cafeteria. A few of the girls are crying, but they seem to be clinging closely to their friends and cell phones. Still, Nina makes a mental note to check back with them right after she talks to Monet.

Monet has her back pressed against the cool cinder block wall and she’s tapping furiously on her phone screen.

“Hey,” Nina says quietly, sidling up beside her. She isn’t sure how to approach this sensitive topic.

“Stupid app won’t work on this piece of garbage,” Monet mutters, still tapping wildly. “I just wanted to look at the radar.” She looks up at Nina then, eyes full of panic and unshed tears, so Nina throws caution to the wind and embraces her.

“It’s okay. They’re turning the TVs on.”

And they are. Trixie is standing in front of the flat screen TV in the front of the cafeteria, looking for local weather coverage. Katya is watching both hers and Trixie’s class, entertaining the kids with stories or jokes or something else that only Katya can get away with. (She’ll have them all doing yoga before this is over if she gets her way.)

Monet sets her jaw and inhales deeply. “I fucking hate storms, Neens,” she whispers, grasping for Nina’s hand. “I know you like them and all, but… I just hate them.”

Nina nods. “I know. I’m sorry this is happening.”

Monet shakes her head. “Aren’t you even a little worried?”

Nina shrugs, just as the lights in the cafeteria flicker twice and then stay off.

There’s a collective gasp and someone screams and the emergency lights click on one at a time, casting the cafeteria in a pale yellow wash.

“What do you think that means?” one of the sophomores sitting at the table in front of them asks. Nina won’t have her until next year, but she already knows her name—it’s Jan, and she’s sweeter than spun sugar and always wears something purple. Nina has a reserved space in her heart for kids like that; kids who remind her of that girl who wanted to be a meteorologist or a Broadway sensation before her thighs got in the way of her dreams.

“It means it’s right over us,” the student body president, Brianna, says quietly, and shows Jan the radar on her phone. Her voice is quiet, almost silent so as not to raise alarm, but Nina knows Monet’s heard, because her face pales and her grip on Nina’s hand tightens. Outside the building, the wind thrashes violently and hail pounds the roof.

Monet is spiraling, of this much, Nina is positive. So without thinking about the consequences, without worrying about the kids or administration seeing, she pushes her girlfriend backwards into the small detention room, shuts the door to protect them from prying eyes, and grasps her face in her hands.

“It’s okay,” Nina mutters.

“But it’s not,” Monet practically wails. Then it’s too much and all the emotion she’s feeling spills onto her cheeks in fat, hot tears that Nina wants to kiss away. “It’s not, Nina. It’s right over us and the wind is blowing and it’s hailing and the kids are holding it together better than I am right now. How can you enjoy this shit? How does this not send you into a panic attack?”

Nina kisses her, gently, but firm, and tilts her chin up when she’s done. “You’re scared of storms.”

“Not really,” Monet says, wringing her hands nervously in front of her. “I’m afraid of dying before I get the chance to tell you that I’m, like, stupid in love with you.” Monet stops talking, blushes, then looks at the floor.

“So that’s not exactly how I wanted to tell you that,” Monet finally says, after a heavy moment of silence that’s punctuated only by the sounds of nature. “I really wanted it to be special and perfect. Like, candlelit and shit, over dinner with wine and… Christ, I don’t know. Perfect, I guess.”

The wind is still wailing, but it sounds like the hail has slackened a bit. Under it all is still the whine of tornado sirens, and Nina thinks this is absolutely the most perfect time she could have ever heard the most perfect phrase to come from the most perfect person’s perfect mouth.

Nina’s been trying hard not to smile like an idiot, but she doesn’t care, can’t force her face into something she doesn’t feel anymore.

Monet always says Nina’s a great liar with the exception of her face; she’s never able to control her expression enough to be really believable.

So she allows her smile to spread ear-to-ear and takes both of Monet’s hands, which still tremble, but maybe not from the storm anymore.

“I’m stupid in love with you, too, ‘Net,” she says. “And that was perfect. Trust me. However it happened, it was perfect because it was you, and I love you.”

Monet grins and presses a kiss to Nina’s lips. “I guess that’s a story we can tell people, huh? It only took imminent death and being locked in a cafeteria with 500 kids to get me to tell you that I’ve been in love with you since the very first day I saw you.”

“Speaking of…” Nina inclines her head to the door. “Look, I’d be happy sitting in here alone with you until the storm blows over, but there are 500 kids out there who might need some supervision.”

Monet wraps her arms around Nina’s waist and kisses her again. “Nah. Trixie and Katya are out there. Let them handle the kids for now. Right now, we get to be the obnoxious in-love lesbians that everyone adores.”

They kiss until the tornado sirens whine their last, and then emerge from the detention room with swollen lips and smudged lipstick when Principal Visage finally finally gives the all-clear.

Nina opens her window to the dim sunlight and smell of ozone when she gets back to her classroom.

There’s a robin perched in the oak tree across the courtyard from her room and it chirps. Nina smiles. Just another beautiful thing that survived the storm.

#rpdr fanfiction #ninex #trixya #monet x change #nina west #trixie mattel #katya zamolodchikova #jan sport #miz cracker #michelle visage #meggie #fluff #lesbian au #teacher au #spring fling week 2020 #day 1: storm #submission

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parkeraul · 5 years

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anatomy | oneshot

a/n: i don’t know what it is but i had this stuck in my phone’s notes and i’m going to give it a try lol. i got inspired by a post here on tumblr and another one on twitter (both different, both NOT what you’re thinking they are) and this is like... nerdy!shawn? college!shawn? student!shawn? idk read it to find it out. plus, this is a work of fiction, so the situations named in here aren’t exactly what happens in real life, my dudes. i don’t know if this is how it happens, i’m assuming stuff just to give them an atmosphere. all built up for shawn and reader’s relationship to go somewhere on this imagine. sorry in advance to any medical students lmao.

shawn x reader warnings: cursing, smut (?). words: 7.272

It’s nearly 10pm in a saturday when he knocks on her door with his free hand, holding his book in his other hand kind of nervously. She tiptoes downstairs, quickly knotting the strap around her robe to cover her recent showered body. Her mind goes confused, wondering who might be standing outside at this time. Peeking through the magic eye, she can barely recognise the tall figure standing in front of her door with what she figured out as a backpack hanging on his back and something under his tattooed arm. She wasn’t expecting anyone from college because the finals were still happening and she finally managed to get home after passing hers, so everyone else should probably be stuck in their houses half studying, half praying. When she saw his hand coming up to curl in a fist next to the wooden material, she flicked the keys to the side and made sure to hold the upper part of her robe, pulling the edges together to cover her breasts and collarbone. Opening the door, she meets him wearing a desperate expression on his flushed face. He sighs in relief before putting his shit together. “Shawn? What are you doing here?” She asks smiling insecurely, he doesn’t follow her though. “Thank God you’re home!” He vents and exhales heavily. “I know this is super weird and random, but I honestly don’t know who else to look for. I’m really sorry. God... I shouldn’t-“ “Spit it out, Mendes!” She giggles, opening the door a little bit more to show him somehow that she’s welcoming him. “You know you can count on me to something more than just having my veins available for you to train your blood-removal skills.” She winks and he smiles shyly, remembering how insecure he felt when first asking her to volunteer and be his pair to this class in specific.

They’ve become pretty close, always getting paired for the classes because they knew that they were responsible and worked greatly together – always hitting high grades even in the most difficult subjects. Medical school is hard already, so they’ve found in each other an easier way to go through it all by supporting each other since their class is filled with so many selfish people. Shawn and Y/N were rarely hanging out when not in college – but more than friends, they are also something like partners in crime. Although he had a very serious crush on her at first sight, he kept on doing his best to get rid of the feeling eventually, even though he knows he’s not 100% there, he thinks that he’s seen everything he could and his rational side is working constantly to make him get used to live next to her like a normal person would do (seeing her as a nice classmate who’s there for him, not someone who he wants to trace every single inch and experience his daydreams with). She finds him attractive, she can’t even lie. But she would never make a move considering how reserved he is, fearing that he might reject her right at first and never look at her face again. Things couldn’t get this awkward.

Y/N opens some space for Shawn to step inside her living room and gives him a gentle smile, always reassuring him wordlessly that he can feel comfortable in her presence to ask whatever he wanted to ask – she felt more than glad to solve his doubts, actually.

“I’m sorry for showing up so late and...” He finally sees that she’s wearing nothing but a black cotton robe and her hair is wet, clinging to her back. “Well, s-sorry for interrupting your s-shower, I-“ Shawn facepalms and rubs his forehead, trying to brush his nervousness off and find the right words to say. He doesn’t want to look like a creep. “Mendes, you’re rambling,” She warns him and closes the door, grabbing his stuff for him to have free hands to take off his coat and shoes. Knowing it, Shawn rapidly does it all before putting both hands together to wait for further instructions. “Stop apologising! You know I don’t care about it.” Shawn knows that Y/N doesn’t really give a shit about things that some other people would do. She always says that a body is a body: it’s not an object and that a body and sex should be seen as something natural, not something who demands silly and unnecessary jokes when you look at it. And considering the partnership they’ve been developing, she felt more comfortable to talk to him about these things without stuttering or feeling embarassed. If they wanted to build a professional career, they had to deal with bodies normally.

Maybe this is one of the reasons why they’ve never sat down to spill the tea about their secret little crushes. Shawn is a gentleman, of course, and that’s what keeps him fighting his willing to love on her like he never did with anyone else. He is misunderstanding her words, perhaps. She always talked to him about how much she hates when their classmates started joking and sexualizing human bodies like they were made for nothing more than sex. But that didn’t mean that she’s not into finding out how their touches can melt delightfully, because that’s been currently taking over her imaginations more often than she’d like it to – debating with her own mind how wrong is this, how awful it is of her to imagine Shawn maping her body with those intentions that she wishes her whole class could stop feeding. Maybe she had forgotten to say that, if they’re both agreeing on doing this, if their feelings are matching, then it’d be a whole another story (that she’d love to live intensely, thank you very much). This is such a hot mess.

She trails her way to the kitchen and he follows her before he can miss the sight of her. She points to the big island in the middle of her kitchen for him to sit as she places his book and backpack on top of it. “What’s going on, Shawnie Boy?” She asks while opening her fridge to look for something to eat to offer him. “Thank you for being way too nice, Y/N,” He chuckles to himself, also thanking the universe for crossing their ways. “I couldn’t pass Sally’s latest test and she’s going to eat me alive if I fuck up with the upcoming final exam.” Y/N grabs a box of grape juice to put on top of the island along with some Doritos she found on her cabinet. She thought he might probably want to sink down in unhealthy garbage to calm his damn nerves. “Sally is really unpredictable, isn’t she?” Y/N jokes and also grabs what’s left of her chocolate cake inside the oven to join the other stuff. “What was it about?” “Anatomy,” Shawn says unpleasantly, grabbing the glass that Y/N is giving him so he can pour some juice to himself. “Women’s body kind of anatomy, more specifically. It makes me wanna give up on this damn class.” He opens the box and starts filling his glass with the deep purple liquid. “You actually can’t. This subject is... How do they say? Obligatory.” She says, staring at him and finishing setting the island with tiny plates and forks. “See? I know I should be studying music or whatever doesn’t envolve vulvas and labias.” His tone expresses all of his disappointment. Shawn hates to fail and also hates the whole process of learning from his mistakes. He never allowed himself to fuck it up even though he had no previous knowledge to execute something perfectly for the first time. “Keep thinking like that and you’ll end up seeing your own hand for the rest of your life.” Y/N is effortlessly pushing him over the edge of his stress, but he knew she was only playing around so he pretended not to care that much. He thought of replying her as boldly as she’s doing, but when she leaned forwards a little bit to cut a piece of cake, he accidentally saw her skin underneath the dark fabric – almost getting the view of the swell of her breasts. He swallowed harshly, immediately searching for his book to find the pages that have been driving him insane over the past weeks. ‘It’s fine. This is fine. Everything’s okay.’ He quietly warns his own body. Shawn shakes his head and takes a generous sip of his juice and tries hard to blink and miss the view of her not even noticing what just happened and still trying to cut a perfect square to place on a plate. “I... Mm... Have been reading from page 45 to page 97 over and over again for two weeks straight and-“ He starts with difficulty and, as if it wasn’t hard enough for him now, she’s licking and sucking at her fork she used to set under her piece of cake to lift it up and off the tin while looking him deep in the eyes, waiting for him to conclude his first doubt of the night. She didn’t mean to seduce him on purpose, but if she only knew the way she is messing with his head right now, she’d probably do something much worse.

Shawn feels like cursing all the words he knows out loud.

He’s been managing to keep his first impressions controlled for years. Why is this shit coming up again like he’s seeing her for the first time in his life? His brain, always hungry for coherent answers, figured things out in a matter of seconds. When he understood it all, he came back to earth and denied his own instincts angrily. Hopefully, he would never ever need to explain this reason to anyone else.

“And?” Y/N snaps him back to reality, removing the fork out of her mouth and clicking her tongue to finish the small taste she had from the tiny crumbles that were glued to the steel. “And... I...” He keeps on turning the pages frantically, not wanting to waste time. Who knows that she wouldn’t get him lost between running to the closest bathroom to splash some water on his face and staying frozen in his seat to never get up again until he stops hardening against his sweatpants during this quick lack of words? “I c-couldn’t quite understand and memorize these parts and their functions.” Shawn fixes a single curl back to its place and then he points to the figure on his book. “Really?” She frowns. How a smart and handsome guy like Shawn can’t understand simple explanations about a vagina? “Why have you circled this so many times? You can barely see what it is.” She points to a messy grey sketch. “It’s the clitoris,” Shawn rolls his eyes and clears his throat before moving on. “Need to remind myself that this shit is killing me mercilessly with this stupid amount of nerve endings.” “You wish, Shawn,” Slicing her cake, she jokes and wraps her lips around the fork once again. Shawn can literally feel the palms of his hands sweating and he swears to God he could explode at anytime. Why anatomy of the reproductive system? Why not microbiology or pharmacology? He knew he should be a pro by now. “You better take notes about this little thing in particular if you want to pass or make a girl squirm under you.”

Can she stop? Great. Now he’s picturing it.

“Plus, I can guarantee you that, once you get to find where it is and how it works, you’ll wish you could reciprocate the merciless part everyday.”

This is not study. This is torture. Bad grades and bad thoughts. The “perfect” combo. Shawn gets his notebook and pencils out of his bag and works fast to find a blank page to start writing.

The time flies by with her careful explanations. Y/N might joke a lot with him but she knows when to talk seriously. She’s patient to describe every single detail and say things once more in a different way for him to see it all in a different way. She speaks; he writes and asks again. All happening in a loop and Shawn’s pretty surprised that the chills that were taking over his lower region were gone now. He’s been doing his best by looking down at the paper all the time, refusing to peek at her. “No! Nah-nah-nah...” She says and stretches her arm to grab the eraser next to him. He falls out of his concentration and reacts by traveling his eyes from her fingers to the expansion of her covered arm and finishing at her now exposed collarbone. The scent of her moisturizer escapes her robe to invade his nostrils. He can’t help but inhale deeply as she brings the eraser to rub the words he’d been writing. “What’s that on your clavicle?” Still studying her skin, he asks impulsively. Shit. She looks at him and then down at her own body. “Oh... This?” She sets the fabric to the side a little bit more, now almost showing her entire shoulder. Shawn feels like choking on his own air. “It’s just a little scar. Got it when trying to run away from my cousin once. Nails strong enough to mark me,” She remembers and giggles lowly. “Unfortunately not as cute as this one you have on your face.”

Shit. Shit, shit, shit, shit.

She just noticed that she revealed loudly one of her favourite things about him. For the first time in the night, he smiles. He feels his chest burning – still shyly – and she can’t take her eyes off his beautiful teeth, perfectly shaped and getting her missing the patterns of her breathing.

From there, the tension between them seemed to grow more and more and the emotions blooming up from this atmosphere were screaming louder than words, intensifying not only their desires but also the other feelings coming to their surface. It was like throwing alcohol in a bonfire. And it’s certain that the flames were getting higher and higher. They tried to focus one more time on whatever they were doing now (neither of them cared to understand exactly what it was), Shawn a lot more lost than her, already writing things that weren’t even about anatomy, he thought.

“Nope!” She says again. Erase, wipe the dust, explain again.

The clock is ticking.

“Shawn, no.” By now, he was finishing his third glass of grape juice and she had completely given up on her cake. Fork hitting the plate aggressively as she bends over the cold marble to repeat her actions. Shawn rubs his face and runs his fingers through his dark curls. Erase, wipe the dust, explain again.

“Jesus fucking Christ, what the hell are you doing?” If she was patient before, she’s not losing her shit for fucks sake. “Vulva is this external part, not the inside. The internal part is the vagina, down here in this entrance, see?” She’s pointing with his pencil and circling the spots with caution, because otherwise she might rip the page apart. Shawn drops his arms against the island and tilts his head to meet the hard surface, hitting his forehead and his sighs turns into a deep growl.

Erase, wipe the dust.

“God! Have you ever seen a pussy in your life?” He freezes in place and doesn’t get up, hoping she’s going somewhere else with this question. “Seriously! C’mere, I’ve got this kind of a plastic mould and you’ll touch this shit until the information gets inside your head somehow.” She stands in her feet and she knows that she’s being kinda rude. He doesn’t care, he knows he’s not going anywhere if she keeps on being all nice and shit but at the same time he’s so nervous that he wishes he could stay in that kitchen for the rest of his life until his problem goes away. “I don’t really-” His voice comes out muffled by the white marble under his face. “Mendes, you’re coming whether you want it or not!” She grabs his arm and pulls him off his seat. “I told you I’d help you and you know I won’t stop until I get my work done. Come on!” He seizes the last seconds where his face is still hidden to smile. He loves how much she cares about him now and it seems to vanish away all of her impulsive attitudes before. She just wants him to succeed and once she gets a goal inside her mind, she ain’t stopping until she makes it happen. Shawn gives up and she’s practically dragging him upstairs to her bedroom, steps punishing the degrees under her feet.

“Get yourself comfortable, I’m gonna find this thing.” She says as if he even could. Shawn falls in her bed while she turns the lights on and goes to her shelf, eyeing all the spaces where that mould could be hiding into. She tiptoes across her bedroom and checks every part of it like her life depends on it.

Wardrobe? No. Drawers? No. Desk? No. Under the bed? No. Bookshelf? No.

If the bedroom was even larger, she’d be running a marathon across it and the way she’s walking with powerful footsteps and picked up rhythm makes the hem of her robe swing and get loosened, sometimes showing the back of her thighs a little bit more and gradually exposing her chest. And if Shawn felt like dying before, now he’s sure that he’s floating between heaven and hell so quickly that he can’t do anything else but widen his eyes in desperation, fight his own mind and press down on her mattress for dear life. “You can’t think like that. She’s your friend, she’s not a piece of meat. Control your damn hormones.” He whispers to himself and closes his eyes. He doesn’t want her to think that he’s just another one of those stupid classmates of theirs or some kind of a weirdo who acts like he had never seen a semi-naked body before. Although that yes, he had never. Y/N might be cool about talking of sex and stuff, but he managed to just nod and agree. He never told her he was a virgin and something about the way she messes with him so easily makes him feel like organising a whole speech – in the most polite way ever – about how much he wants her to teach him everything: where to touch, how to touch and what to do to have her feeling not only relaxed in his presence but also pleased. If he only had the braveness, he’d be on his knees right now divided between begging for mercy or for a chance.

She closes the last drawer where she guessed the plastic cast could be inside of and turns around with her hands covering her mouth. Shawn looks at her concerned expression and concludes that she’s thinking, considering how fast her eyes are running across the room.

“Y/N, you don’t have to. It’s okay, I can find some other way...” Shawn tries to calm her and she tugs some strands, pulling them back and then dropping her arms down. She can’t think of anything else than this and she knows she might be taking a risk in here. She steps backwards to close her door and it gets Shawn frowning, gasping and blinking rapidly. What the hell is she doing?

If he could’ve only guessed that some dreams can come true sometimes...

“Mendes, don’t freak out, okay?” She looks at him worriedly and his grin is filled with doubts. He thought she was joking about his study routine or whatever happened a few seconds ago. But when he sees that her face ain’t changing to something more playful, he gulps once more. “You’re gonna have to do this in anyways in the final exam and, since you can’t even name things correctly, there’s no other way to do this. Tell me if you don’t wanna do this and I’ll stop.” She finishes and grabs the knot of her robe. In one fluid motion, she undoes it and the black fabric is pooling down around her feet. Right now she’s not thinking about her crush on him, she’s not trying to get him moaning her name. No. She’s trying to get anatomy inside his head because she’s been there before and she knows that, if he touches the wrong places, Sally is definitely not going to give him any other chances. There’s no dirty in here, there’s no seduction. She’s offering to a test just like she offered her veins once; or like when he let her feel his temperature and see if his throat was sore. “What are you doing? Y/N, seriously...” He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. “Cover up, you don’t need to do it for me.” “Is that what you want? I’ll do if you’re feeling awkward on doing this,” She reassures him and catches her robe from the floor. “But I want you to know that I’m okay with it. It’s totally up to you.” Shawn can feel his limbs turning into cold stones and his leg starts to shake uncontrollably. He feels like someone just threw a ball on fire to him and he knows he’s got the opportunity to put the fire down. He just doesn’t know how. “C-Can you... like...” He rubs his face, still not looking at her (who’s covering her front with the robe now) and tries to make a smart decision. “Get under your covers so I... can... t-touch you without looking at you?” “Is this going to make you feel more comfortable?” “Y-Yes.” “I’ll try to guide you then.”

An inconvenient silence takes over the place and it had never been so annoying. He gets up, turning his back to her and she goes under her blanket, trying to feel less unsuited. “Hold on. I’ll wash my hands before... you know...” “Second door to the right.”

A few minutes later, Shawn is back and not so afraid. She looks at him and sees that his hairline is wet, he might probably had splashed some water on his face before returning. “Are you okay?” She asks, feeling her chest heaving in concern. “I’m good,” He closes the door with his foot and keeps his hands in the air, away from any object. “Sure you wanna keep going? You don’t have to-” “I’m sure,” She nods and he sits at the end of the bed. “With that I’m even feeling like a real patient now.” She points at his hands with her chin and chuckles bending her knees. He follows her and giggles too. He can’t even believe how amazing she is, he feels like nothing in this world can gift her enough for being this good to him. “You can, like, start from my pubic bone and then you can say what you remember, you know?” She incentivates him. “When you get to touch those parts we were seeing down in there, you’ll tell me what it is and what is it for.” He nods and she shifts her body up closer to the headboard, making some space for him to come forward and slip one hand under the blanket. “Don’t you want me to wear gloves?” “I’m out of gloves in here but I don’t really mind.” She says and he’s just going with her flow. “Showed you my exams before the tests, so you also know that I don’t have anything you should worry about.” She’s giving him so many reasons to leave his nervousness behind that he’s feeling like he’d forgotten for a moment that, on top of it all, they’re still friends. They’re not strangers. They should count on each other and this is what she wants him to do, this is what he wants her to do. “Go on, I trust you.” Her sweet tone reaches his ears and he smiles at her, so happy to know that she’s there for him and, more than anything else, she sees in him a person that she can trust. It’s just priceless. “And I trust you,” Shawn responds and she smiles back at him, feeling more comfortable against her pillows. “Excuse me.” He asks before touching her and she nods in confirmation, allowing him to go on. Shawn knows that this is not his body, so he must have her approval and excuse to touch her. His palm is softly sliding along the expansion of her shin to her knee and inner thigh, looking her deep in the eyes, attentive to any sign that she’s not liking it so he can stop. He wants to show her that he doesn’t wanna hurt her or do something harmful, so he rubs his thumb from side to side, caressing her and showing that he’s being so careful. She looks at her own ceiling, trying to keep her breathing calm and remain herself that she suggested it, so she must stay true to her pure intentions and leave her dirty thoughts locked and forbidden. He reaches the spot she told him to look for. He stops moving when he gets there and waits for her to give him another permission. “What’re you touching?” She asks. Shawn gets it as a chastise and lifts his hand up, widening his eyes. She slips her arm under the blanket and places it back to where it was, making him gulp and miss a heartbeat. “I’m not asking you to leave, Mendes,” She laughs. “I’m asking you what’s this specific spot you’re touching right now. This is still a test.” His eyes are still wide as ever, comprehending her words and looking for the answer in his mind. “The pubic mound... Okay...” He answers more to himself and tries to remember the words she made him take notes about. “It’s... a fibroadipose tissue that stays on top of the bone and it divides into the labia majora on either side of the pudendal cleft.” “Very good,” She praises and he smiles, actually wanting to scream in happiness for answering correctly and in tension, because her words made his nerves sparkle somehow. ‘Just breathe’ he says to himself as a mantra. “You can feel it if you want to.” The tips of his fingers press lightly against it, choosing random spots to feel and then he lets go of it. He can read about it in the books where his gravity is going to be centered. “Should I keep going?” He asks. “Yes, please.”

Oh God, not please.

Both of them getting a type of disquietude after this word in particular. She didn’t mean to say it, she knows that ‘please’ doesn’t even fit correctly to the moment but somehow it escaped from her lips nearing a state of beg. She couldn’t let him know. This is still forbidden. He swallows harshly and moves down slowly, almost reaching his next stop.

“Okay, stop.” She says and he immediately stays still. “I’m gonna ask you something very embarassing but necessary.” “...Alright?!...” Shawn eyes her with concentration, trying to understand if he did something wrong at any point. “Lick your finger before touching this next spot,” Unable to look him in the eyes, she asks and covers her face. This makes him comfortable to remove his hand and lick his index finger before she can see him doing it. “You shouldn’t do this to your patients, but I’m very sensitive and when it’s all dry it might hurt a little.” “Okay,” He gets back to where he was before and sets his hand back down on her. “Was I here?” “Yup,” She says popping her ‘p’. “You can touch it now.” His touch is now wet and cold, making her shiver slightly and it glides easily. She removes her hands from her face but keeps her eyes shut to focus on not getting wetter than his finger. “Clitoris.” “Nope.” “No?” “Try to remember about the first time I yelled at you downstairs.” “Oh, alright.” He tilts his head down and laughs to himself. His finger is moving so delicately that it’s nearly tickling her heat. She shifts her ankles further just a little so she can see that flushy face of his, eyes now looking up as he tries to find a blank spot where his sight can help his imagination to picture what it looks like as he touches her. “Clitoral foreskin? Clitoral hood?” “Hood is better.” “Fine,” He grins. “It’s a mucocutaneous tissue that covers and protects the clitoris. It can fully cover the clit sometimes, but it also can just partly cover it.” “Thought you’d never get it right, not gonna lie.” She confesses and he moves his pretty greenish eyes to look at her, and she finally reciprocates. “Thought you trusted me!” It’s so good to interact as they typically do. It’s so good to feel more normal and less awkard. The two of them could now feel their bodies relaxing and free to get back to joking and playing. Nothing’s really planned for ages before acting, it’s just natural. This is what they were looking for. His cold calloused finger goes down shortly and she lets a sigh fly from her lips, instantly biting at her bottom one. She writhes sparsely, trying not to do what she’d normally do if they weren’t studying. “Clitoris? Is it here?” “M-hm.” “Erectile nub placed at the top of the vulva. It has around 8.000 nerve endings and blood supply. Would you mind if I see it?” She shakes her head in denial and grabs the cover up to reveal her lower half, making it rest on her stomach. Shawn takes his finger away for a moment to see the little nub and memorize where it is. He thinks he’d never seen something so beautiful in his life; he never thought it’d look this beautiful. Totally compelled, he licks his digit again and touches her clit, differently from before. Now, he’s softly drawing tiny circles around it and she accidentaly moans lowly. The tip of his finger is sliding so deliciously that she couldn’t even notice the time when she showed such weakness. “If you keep doing like this, you’re gonna turn me on and-” “How sensitive is it?” He cuts her off and, to be honest, he wasn’t even listening. All of his concentration got directed to her clit, now swelling under his control. “What?” “How sensitive is it? With so many nerve endings, it must be really delicate. Isn’t it?” She’s not quite understanding. Shouldn’t he know this already? Or was he one of those guys who never finds a clit during sex? “It’s sensitive enough to get me excited,” She warns but it’s not like he’s giving a single damn right now. “But if you press it hard, then it’ll hurt me bad. Like... you can add a little bit more of pressure...” And he immediately does, watching the way his finger works carefully but performing firmly now. She exhales strongly, trying so hard not to lose her shit. “A little bit more...” She demands and he obeys. Where is this going? She can’t answer herself now that this feels so good. His touch rounding her clit, sometimes going from side to side and he takes his time feeling all the extension of it. “Don’t go further than this, otherwise it’ll only harm me.” This amount of pressure was just perfect for her taste. Shawn doesn’t even know about this, but he keeps going and he even leans closer to see it better. Now there was no hell, it was just heaven. Heaven in the way her face contorts everytime he hits the center of her clit; heaven in the way her chest is moving up and down, trying not to lose the pattern of her respiration; heaven in the way her eyes squinted – but no completely – peeking at him with some struggle. He stops eyeing her heat, saving the last information he got from it and looks at her, eyes practically dark. “Let’s move on to-” “Can I put my mouth on it?” Her jaw falls. Such a question she didn’t know she needed to hear today. She knew she wanted to, but never knew she needed it so bad. “Are you asking to eat me out, Mendes?” For a minute there, she thinks she’s dreaming. Dreaming wildly. She promptly supports her body on her elbows and tosses her blanket away from her body. “I’m sorry. God, I’m sorry,” It’s like a force pushed him back to earth. He felt so intoxicated by her that his attention flew out to somewhere else. “I’m such a-” “Do it.” “What is it?” “Do it,” She insists. Can’t miss the chance, can’t have him going back now. Not now. “You want it?” He nods kind of desperately. “Then show me what you can do.” She tilts her head to the side and smirks at him. His mouth forms an ‘o’ shape. Jesus Christ, she can get him around her finger so easily that he feels lucky that he was the one to get her around his finger previously. But how is he supposed to do this? He decides to get started by kissing the inner part of her leg, planting wet kisses along her smooth skin and it feels so satisfying to have her skin exposing goosebumps under his touch. He’s getting closer and she sighs so sweetly that he’s hoping he’s doing the right thing. The scent of her is driving him crazy, he can’t wait to know the taste. “I-” He starts that old speech of explanation. He doesn’t want to but he feels like he needs to be honest with her and tell that he’s still a virgin. Lost and anxious to find himself. Find her. “I know. I’ll guide you, don’t you worry about that.” She’s just perfect. There’s no better definition inside his mind right now. He’s the opened book she loves to devour every single page of, absorbing the details and letting herself get immersed. She arranges her body on her bed to give him more space to lay down on his stomach and between her parted legs. When he finishes his trail of wet and hot kisses, she stands in one shoulder as her other arm goes to reach his brown curls that she loves so much. “You can kiss it first,” She directs him. “See what it feels like against your lips and oh,” She moans because he wasted no time on licking his lips and kissing her clit. “G-Get yourself used to it, take your time to adjust yourself, no need to hurry.” But she didn’t really mean that. She does need the hurry, ‘cause she might collapse from this torture at any second. Shawn tries the kissing, doing it from her clit and covering every inch of her lower lips then going back to the smaller ones. Over and over again, until he gets kinda bored. He wants to make her squirm like she said before in the kitchen. He wants to put his daydreams to a proof as quick as possible. “You’re so wet,” He notices and is unaware of the effect it had on her. Her glistening pussy is inviting him and he wants to live in this for the rest of his days. He knows he has no experience, but this time, he doesn’t wait. He sinks his head down on her and his tongue is flattening against her heat to lick a stripe from her entrance to her clit, covering her with his mouth in order not to miss a single inch. And fuck she tastes so fuckin’ good. Nothing compared to his imagination. “Oh my God,” Another moan slips out and she drops her head backwards, gotten my surprise. “That’s it...” He embraces her thighs and her ankles are now resting on his back. His head buries in her pussy and she returns to look at him. It’s the best view in the world. Cheeks flushed and eyes closed, looking so serene and enjoying the taste of her like he never did with anything else. Shawn pulls her hips closer to him, growing hungrier and obsessed with this moment. “Shawn!” She calls out and giggles, thinking that he’s also in the mood to play. Not now. “How hard can I suck you?” He pulls away, not going very far just to breathe and ask her. “Hard enough to show me how bad you want me, not hard like a crazy animal would probably do.” He groans against her heat and frowns in what he thinks it must be suffering. How can she get him so fragile to her? He feels his head spinning and she hasn’t even touched him back yet. “What are you doing to me?” Shawn whispers, thinking out loud. He drags his tongue up and down against her boldly, mixing the wetness of his tongue with her wetness and it’s slow, painfully slow. She tugs his hair when she feels that tingling sensation down on her entrance and it spurs him on to try his first suction. He does, giving her the best job he could do for the first time in his life. “Close your mouth a little and suck harder.” She recommends and he promptly does. His lips are wrapped around her bundle of nerves as he licks her before, tongue gliding in circles and he’s keeping his tongue relaxed, what makes her see stars with this pleasant sensation. It’s so smooth and so tender that she’s afraid she’s going to pass out from the pleasure. He tries sucking for the second time and earns the perfect reaction from her: toes curling, eyes rolling to the back of her head and she gasps, body giving up against the mattress. She feels her clit throbbing and the way he sucks it is pushing her over the edge. It’s wet, it’s warm and so precise. “Fuck Shawn, fuck!” Her lungs are supplicating for air and she makes a good effort to look down at him again – eyeing her through his eyelashes – and, although he’s still finding a way to please her, he knows he’s being good, so he gives her a devilish smile. “Keep doing like this, baby, don’t stop...” That’s it for him. He tries to suck her again. It’s long he’s deliberately repeating series of suctions, having her crying out in her bed and arching her back. He tests it harder and faster and her hands instantly fly to grab his curls. Her moans are gradually turning into frantic screams and she’s trembling. Shawn Mendes never imagined he could get his friend shaking hectically with his mouth on her heat, sucking and licking her with his whole body and soul. His member is so hard inside his sweatpants but he doesn’t care, as long as she’s enjoying it, then he didn’t need something more. And he thinks she looks impossibly prettier with her beautiful lips parted to free her whimpers, sometimes smirking down at him to tease him; hair getting messier than her body quivering and being stopped by his large hands, caressing the sides of her waist and traveling down to the sides of her bum and legs, holding them forcefully so she wouldn’t escape from his touch. “Shawn,” She gulps before moving on, throat dry from moaning uninterruptedly. “Pull away, I’m gonna come.” With her clit gently tugged between his plump red lips, he shakes his head from side to side in denial lazily and it’s a new sensation to her, so so so good that her vision gloes blurry. Shawn just revealed himself not only stubborn in his studies but also in bed, and she’s so eager to dominate him like this... He remembers about all the things they should be studying right now and maps her core to find her entrance with his index finger. Just as she taught him, he licks the digit and thrust it inside of her as soon as he finds it, bringing his mouth back to her clit to suck rapidly as his finger moves slowly. She fights back a loud scream, covering her mouth as she feels her pussy aching deliciously, searching for its release. “Can you take two?” Shawn feels her walls squeezing his finger and doubts that she can keep another one. “Yes, please.” She says through gritted teeth and it’s good to give this word the real meaning she wanted to give before. He pushes another finger into her and she moans once more, she doesn′t know how long she can wait. He thrusts the fingers so gingerly, not sure about what to do and what pace to pick. Was he hurting her? “You’re so tight...” He comments so innocently, he thought that it wouldn’t be this constricted. He starts to imagine how heavenly his cock would feel hugged by her dripping pussy. “Mendes,” She says under her breath. “I need you to go faster.” “Like this?” He picks up his rhythm shyly. “More.” His digits are covered in her juices and moving with ease. She feels that knot on her stomach tightening and about to explode. “More.” She begs and broken sobs are slipping past her lips. He goes deeper, fingers completely disappearing inside of her. “Right there! Oh, right there,” He finds her spot and her eyes roll to the back of her head once more, making Shawn dig the nails of his free hand into the skin of her thigh and suck at her bundle of nerves as fast as his fingers are working now. “Do it like this.” She can’t raise her hand right now to show due to her weakness but Shawn’s eyes are quick to find her fingers moving in a ‘come here’ motion and he immediately gives it to her. He can’t comprehend exactly where he’s taking her, but when she stops moaning and her legs starts shaking, he understands it. She’s feeling every inch of her core pulsating as her orgasm washes over her body and he can’t believe he just made her come. His fingers are slowing down and he pulls his mouth away, looking at her body coming down of her high. He removes his fingers slow and carefully and gives one last lick, catching what she released, and one last suck, her back arching for the last time. He waits for her to settle down and get back to her senses before doing anything else. And when she does, she glances at him and silently invites him to come closer. “You’ve done this before, haven’t you?” She taps his strong chest as he crawls over her, knees supported by the mattress under her parted thighs and upper half covering her front. He must be kidding. “Not really...” He vents, embarassed but glad that he provided her something nice. “But did... Did this just ruin what we have?” “I honestly couldn’t care less if it did,” She spits out and he fears her next words. “I couldn’t fucking wait to have you like this since the very first day we spoke.” “Would it be weird if I told you I feel the same way?” “Nope. But that’s something you can save for later,” She pulls him by the shirt and pecks his lips, savouring the taste of herself on his lips. “I wanna make you feel good first. What do you think about that?” “Glad you finally asked.”

#shawn mendes #shawn mendes fanfic #shawn mendes fanfics #shawn mendes imagine #shawn mendes imagines #shawn mendes blurb #shawn mendes blurbs #shawn mendes oneshot #shawn mendes masterlist #mine #ficsofmine #I NEED HOLY WATER AND I KNOW IT

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thewinedarksea · 4 years

Text

the asked-for coffee shop au.

tw: for the ink mage, who is himself a warning; mild abuse??; overly complicated starbucks orders; the girl, who is little knife, who is also a warning in her own right. my point is they’re all kind of awful, even in the pastel-y iteration of a coffee shop.

“Cinnamon shortbread latte. Three shots of espresso, raspberry whipped cream. Add some chocolate syrup, too, I don’t care how much. Venti.”

The voice is cool and flatly annoyed, rattling off the order with the air of someone who has done it a hundred times before and will do it a hundred times again, but they’d better not have to within the next three seconds or someone’s getting fired.

Not that they’ll have to. The girl writes down the order, accepts the handful of crumpled dollar bills passed wordlessly over the counter, and slides the cup down to the barista. She doesn’t look up, and the customer leaves without speaking again. In her peripheral she watches the long edge of their coat whip across the tiled floor, black and spotted with dust, until it vanishes from her sight, and then goes back to counting down in her head until the end of her shift.

————————

“Caramel macchiato. Almond milk, three shots of espresso, a pump of vanilla syrup. Venti.”

Two days later; same voice, same level annoyance. Same unnecessarily complicated order. It’s interesting enough that the girl deigns to glance up, and comes face to face with one of the prettiest men she’s ever seen: sharp cheekbones and large, dark eyes, framed by sweeping lashes. His hair is gathered into a messy bun, and red ink marks the left side of his face, stretching from the corner of his eye to just above his jaw. There’s a University-issue lanyard dangling around his neck.

He fishes a wad of dollar bills from one of the pockets of his coat; his fingers are long and slender, ink-smudged as the rest of him and cold where they brush against her skin. She takes them. Rings him up. Slides the cup down the counter with a flick of her wrist.

She spends the next few customers stealing glances in his direction as she writes down orders, watching the irritated way his fingers drum across the counter, the faint sneer of disdain as he plucks his drink from her coworker’s hand and stalks off to get a straw.

He sits in one of their corner booths and upends his bag onto the table. Papers fly in a snowstorm across the laminated surface.

Interesting. That’s what he is. The girl likes interesting—it helps stave off the boredom.

————————

His title, as far as she can find after a few hours spent googling ‘ink-covered asshole with no manners,’ is the Ink Mage, and he works in the University’s Theoretical Spellwork department. Some kind of prodigy in his field, concentrating in spell creation and sustainment, with the occasional foray into void studies and runes.

He has a .5 on ratemyprofessor—“for excessive hotness,” reads the sole non-zero rating. “at least you’ll be able to admire his cheekbones as he drives you down the path of suicide.”

Their shop does a steady enough business in University students coming in for caffeinated courage and to have a quiet place to cry for finals; the girl hasn’t seen any in a while, and she supposes now she knows why. That’s one mystery she didn’t care about solved, then.

Idly, she clicks through a few of his published articles, gets distracted by the flame wars he ignites in the comments, and then, bored, wanders off to stare at a wall and not do her chemistry homework.

————————

“Iced caffè americano. One espresso shot. Venti.”

“Vanilla latte. Soy milk, iced, two pumps of chocolate syrup. Venti.”

————————

They fall into a routine. The Ink Mage comes in Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays, rattles off a complicated order, and retreats to the corner booth and his piles upon piles of paper where he stays for several hours, scribbling and downing coffee and occasionally swearing violently.

After the fifth visit, she starts bringing his coffee to the booth after he orders it. After the tenth, she starts bringing refills every three hours, and a collection of napkins for him to write on because her manager complains when he starts writing on the walls and her manager’s voice is very, very irking. After the twentieth she settles into the booth across him during her break—she has to shift a stack of essays, all marked with red ink and scorched around the edges—and waits to see what he’ll do.

He ignores her for the entire thirty minutes, and then tells her to bring him a cake pop when she gets up to leave.

————————

Half the time the store can only afford to have one staff member working the counter, which means the girl ends up making a lot of the Ink Mage’s drinks. It’s a lesson in multitasking, and also the ingredients they have stashed in the various drawers and cubby holes.

The first time she fucks up his order he dumps the entire cup over her head. She has to make him a new one, free of charge, and then clean up the spill on the floor, iced mocha dripping down her neck all the while. When her manager yells at her later it’s all she can do to keep from rolling her eyes, or punching her, or setting the store on fire. She settles for staring blankly until she’s dismissed.

Patience. She’s learning it.

————————

“Java chip frappuccino. Five shots of espresso. Do you have a size larger than a venti? Forget it. Just double the order, both ventis. Extra whipped cream. I don’t care how much caramel syrup you add just add some.”

The Ink Mage looks harried: there’s five pens stuck in his bun, two with the caps off, and ink splatters his cheeks and trails down the curve of his neck in a ribbon of black. He’s thinner, too, the planes of his face even more pronounced than usual, and against the pallor of his skin the bruises around his eyes stand out like blood on snow.

Silently, the girl reaches for the cups.

————————

“My students are a bunch of soft, blubbering idiots who couldn’t tell the difference between a summoning rune and a summoner rune if I carved it into their foreheads.”

The girl makes a noise in the back of her throat, less sympathy than acknowledgement, and edges the blueberry scone she’d brought him a bit closer. The Ink Mage ignores it. Honestly, he may not even see it; he’s calmed somewhat with his double order and the refills she’s brought since then, but his eyes are still dark-rimmed, and another pen has made its way into the nest of his hair. Finals, it seems, take their toll even on him.

“No,” the Ink Mage continues, “No, I refuse to handhold a bunch of children through the finer parts of basic runal spellwork and grade their subpar garbage as if it means something, as if they will amount to anything more in their worthless, pathetic lives than to be the absolute dregs of human innovation. Honestly. If these little brats want me to read their drivel the least they could do is type in an interesting font.”

With deliberate care he gathers the entire stack of essays before him and, getting up, tips them into the trash can.

“There,” he says. “Problem solved.” Then he sits back down and picks up the scone. Her scone.

Warmth bubbles in the girl’s stomach and fizzes through her bloodstream. Not happiness, exactly, but maybe satisfaction. Contentment. Knowledge of a job well done.

————————

The days tick past. The register dings, dings again. The girl’s never bored on shift, now; if she’s not seeing the Ink Mage, she’s counting down to his visits, measuring the time in the bland orders and blander customers that fill the time in between.

On her breaks she comes to share the booth with him, bringing pastries and refills of whatever confection he’s ordered that day. Equations and theories and critiques of others’ works radiate out from him as he sits, a gangly black spider in the center of his web. He has no laptop (“useless technological drivel. It can be hacked”) and no pencils (“only idiots and Professor Miller need to erase their work”), and so his work is written on paper or dashed onto napkins in his tiny, cramped scrawl, ink weeping across it all.

The first time she undresses to find ink staining her own arms, she stares at the shower for thirty minutes before she can bear to step beneath the cold spray of water and wash it away.

————————

“Chai tea latte. No foam, skim milk, three pumps of caramel sauce. Venti.”

“Iced coffee. Ten pumps vanilla, five pumps hazelnut, eight pumps caramel, a splash of soy, light ice, double-blended. Venti."

————————

“Latte. Nonfat, two percent foam, three espresso shots, five pumps mocha,” the Ink Mage says on his fiftieth visit, and then, “What do you know about theoretical spellwork?”

She blinks at him. The back of her mind is still scrambling to figure out what the fuck ‘two percent foam’ means and how to make it a reality. “It’s theoretical,” she says after a stretching pause.

“Mm.”

He goes to sit at his usual booth. It feels like she’s failed, and her hands shake so badly she has to remake his drink three times over.

————————

“I read Zhang’s Animus Theory,” she tells him the following visit. The words rush out of her, too loud and too desperate in the hushed, coffee-fragrant air. She bites the inside of her cheek until she tastes blood to keep herself silent.

At her words the Ink Mage pauses, examining her with the level of intensity he typically reserves for judging the artistry of the caramel drizzle on his drinks. The girl has never noticed how blue his eyes are before—not black but indigo, like wet ink, or the deep, velvety centers of the flowers blooming on her windowsill.

“Animus is trash,” he says dismissively, and her heart does something strange and painful in her chest. “Chocolate chip frappuccino. Two pumps of every syrup you have, extra coffee whipped cream. Venti.”

————————

“Li. Whistler. Astre’s an idiot, but their theory is solid. Diaz is annoying, but accurate; Okada’s Synthesis is a good groundwork if you’re trying to break into incantational magics.” The Ink Mage frowns at her over the lip of his refill. “Are you writing this down, girl?”

“I’ll remember.”

She will. It’s his words, she thinks; his coffee order, his insults, the occasional tidbit of information he deigns to share with her, all of them creeping into the soft gray tissue of her brain and nesting there. Like maggots in the carcass of some strange animal, breeding new life.

————————

“Hazelnut macchiato. Four shots of espresso, extra whip, light ice. Venti.”

“Pumpkin spice latte. One shot of espresso, seven pumps pumpkin, light foam, light whip, light caramel drizzle. Venti.”

————————

On his seventy-second visit to the shop the Ink Mage pauses after he orders, frowning across the counter at her.

“Where do you go to school?”

She tells him, and his mouth curls with disgust.

“Transfer. Now.” When she doesn’t respond, merely cocking her head, birdlike, he rolls his eyes. “I need a new lab assistant—mine are useless.”

“I’m failing all of my classes.” There’s no way she can get in—it’s the University, after all. People would kill for a place. People do kill for a place.

The Ink Mage rolls his eyes again, harder. “Lab assistant. Mine.”

A good point, but:

“You don’t even know my name,” she feels compelled to point out.

“And?”

And—

Well. And nothing. And being the Ink Mage’s assistant sounds mildly more interesting than being a barista, and she likes the sound of the word ‘mine’ in his voice: cool, level, lips shaping the ‘m’ and tongue flicking sharp around the ‘e.’

She shrugs, and slides his cup down the counter with the ease of familiarity. “Okay.”

During her break she brings him an orange scone, a day old and slightly stale, and a fresh cup of matcha green tea (iced, heavy on the whipped cream). The booth is awash in papers; she has to shove a few stacks aside so that she can sit, curled up and small, in the seat across from him. Then she breaks out her beaten-up laptop and begins filling out the transfer application.

She skips over all the parts about personal information, statements. The only thing that matters is the name of the Ink Mage, bold and black, across the top of the form.

#this is The Nicest thing i've written for them which tells you something #little knife is: not drowned not broken not vocal chordless. see? Nicest #you asked for it anon!#my writing #misc #misc writing #*

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unfortunatelysirius · 5 years

Text

NURSE LUPIN // REMUS LUPIN [MARAUDERS ERA]

「 ❁ 」PROMPT 「 ❁ 」

It’s a regular day of classes, and you’re sick. Remus is going to get you healed, one way or another!

「 ❁ 」AUTHOR’S NOTE 「 ❁ 」

Over two thousand followers? What the fuck? That’s crazy. Please accept this one-shot as a token of my gratitude, and get ready… FOR A STRING OF IMAGINES! Will Chocolate Frogs / Love Notes be updated? How about Not Your Girlfriend? Stay tuned and send me positive messages in my inbox pls! I feel like my writing is garbage and sometimes I really don’t know if I should continue troubling you all with my garbage :’)

WHEN YOU CAME INTO BREAKFAST THAT MORNING, Remus Lupin knew something was wrong. Your face was pale, nearly white as a sheet, and Merlin, your eyes. Red and puffy, the space beneath them deeply purpled. The way you walked, all lethargic and clumsy, screamed I’m not feeling well. But when Remus asked…

“Oh, I’m fine.” And it might have taken all your energy, but just for Remus, you put on your most dazzling smile. So bright and happy, it felt like the sun had finally come to graze the Earth, gleaming at him all ablaze. For half a moment, Remus believed you.

But you didn’t eat your food. You didn’t join the banter, or attempt anymore smiles. You sat glumly, shoulders tucked inward. It was so bloody obvious, yet only to Remus, who knew all your ticks and mannerisms by heart. Just by watching you, he felt foolish for even momentarily thinking you were fine. That you didn’t need a visit to the Hospital Wing.

You were lying. This whole I’m alright act was just a farce.

Remus wanted to demand you go back to your dorm. Right in front of all your friends, ignoring the way you’d blush and fidget under their scrutiny. He didn’t like the way you kept coughing and sneezing, the way you looked a moment away from passing out. The redness in your nose, like all the red in your cheeks had been suctioned away, made it obvious to Remus that you had a cold, at the very least, but…

But…

There was a part, a very annoying part, of Remus that doubted. That was uncertain. Even after seeing it all for himself, he didn’t want to be suddenly, hopelessly wrong. He didn’t want to embarrass you all for nothing. This part, the part that made his Gryffindor pride squint in mortification, made Remus’s mouth stay shut.

And the group of you sat and laughed and ate, all until it was time for Potions.

On the walk there, you seemed fine. Your smile was less forced, and your legs functioned perfectly. You talked with Remus, telling him about the recent essay grade you got in History of Magic; boy, were you happy. Remus forgot all about his suspicions, caught in the way his heart swelled anytime he was around you.

Then, the inevitable happened.

When you and Remus reached the classroom and sat at your assigned seats beside one another, you fell into one of the longest, hardest coughing fits Remus had ever seen. It lasted several seconds, made everyone in the room twist and turn to see whoever it was that was hacking, and when it finally stopped, you looked even worse for the wear.

Your face was sweaty and ashen. The redness in your nose was gone, replaced by a ghostly sheen. And Merlin, you had to feel miserable. The sorry attempt for a smile you sent Remus afterward, to assure him you were fine, would even make a goblin wince.

“Y/N,” said Remus. His shoulder twitched, like he wanted to reach out a hand but rethought the action at the very last second—and all he could do was stare at you, anxious and worried. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” you croaked. “Something in the air, I guess.” A laugh bubbled out of your mouth. You obviously did it to convince Remus you were fine, thinking it would sound normal and not painful, but it did the opposite. Like your voice before, the laugh was nothing more than a croak, cracked with ripples and grated with gravel.

Remus’s brows drooped, cinching into a frown that spanned his entire face. And your own smile fell.

Why are you so set on lying? Remus wondered. This all made no visible sense to him; your actions were so unlike you. There’s nothing to be ashamed of in being sick.

“Y/N, what—”

Professor Slughorn walked out of his office, cutting off whatever it was that Remus was about to say. The man, a jolly smile beneath his whiskers, threw out an arm; he said, “We’ll be continuing our lesson on Draught of Peace. Take out your quills, make notes—there won’t be any brewing today!”

The room came alive with the sounds of students taking out their supplies. Maybe the same should have been said for Remus, but he was too preoccupied with looking in your direction, watching for any sudden changes in your mannerisms. It occurred to him, then; how could he be an attentive student when all that mattered to him was the way you were slumped over the tabletop, sniffling with your eyes droopy?

Trick question. He couldn’t.

Remus raised his hand. Professor Slughorn was turned, talking to another student, and damn it! The man wasn’t paying attention to this side of the room. Remus grew frustrated, and he opened his mouth to verbalize said frustration—

There was a loud screech, then a plopping sound as something hit the floor. Everyone flinched.

“What was that?” said the professor, glancing from one innocent face to the next. While searching for a source he caught Remus’s high-flying hand. “Oh, Mr. Lupin—what did you need?”

“Uh,” was all Remus could articulate. He glanced beside himself, wanting to get a good read on your face to know what amount of anger to expect later—but. Wait. Where did you go? Your seat was empty. “Y/N?”

Then Remus saw it. At first he was confused, wondering where you’d gone, assuming the worst, all before he’d glanced down and he saw the start of a human body. Oh Merlin, thought the boy, feeling his heart stumble and sputter. His eyes flickered from your Y/H/C hair to your soft, pallid skin, trailing until he found your eyes. Those beautiful Y/E/C eyes, the very ones that he loved so much, weren’t open. They were closed.

“Y/N L/N’s in the floor!” said Eric McLaggen. He hit Remus’s shoulder as he jet upwards, for a better angle, and damn if it didn’t take all of Remus’s will-power not to growl. “Is she dead?”

Remus glared at him. How daft could one person be? “She’s not dead!” he snapped. His inner wolf wanted to bear its fangs, evoke visible fear from the idiot, but… Y/N needed medical attention, now. “Professor, she needs to be taken to Madam Pomfrey.”

Professor Slughorn’s eyes were wide, like two eggs. He waved a hand. “O-Oh, of course,” said the man, looking relieved to have the problem immediately resolved. “The two of you are excused from today’s lessons, Mr. Lupin.”

“Thank you,” said Remus quickly. And another screech echoed throughout the room, as he pushed out of his seat. He dropped to his knees beside you. A nimble hand went to your hair-part, tracing its way down your temple then to your jaw, stopping at your chin. His eyes were now on your lips. They were a shade paler than usual, like the moisture had been sucked out of them completely. And there wasn’t a proper term for how pale your face had gone. Pale as a ghost? Ashen like a witch? No. Nothing compared.

Remus didn’t know the best way to pick you up. He was afraid he’d hit your head on the table, and then he’d have to wallow in self-pity for the rest of his sorry existence. She feels cold, thought Remus, as a hand went to cup the back of your head, another limb slithering around your backside. The rest of your body felt just as cold. What sort of ailment caused such a reaction—going hot, then cold? Going from red to white?

He shook his head. He helped your unconscious body up from the hard ground, ignoring the penetrating eyes of his classmates, their burning stares. They didn’t matter, not with you in his arms. Even as Slughorn watched from his position at his desk, as Eric McLaggen’s eyes drilled into the side of your slacken face, all Remus could think—all he could care about—was what Madam Pomfrey would say. What she’d diagnose you with. What she’d give you to help with the effects.

And Remus left.

It was hours later, when the sky had turned the color of nightshade, that you awoke.

You were confused. The room was alight with fluorescence, polka-dotted in different hues of white, brown, black, and blue, and beside you, a familiar sandy-haired bloke was slumped in a chair. This situation, it was strange. You couldn’t think of a reason for being here, unless you’d been knocked in the head by a Death Eater wannabe. Now that you thought about it, that didn’t seem so far from realistic…

“Y/N?” groaned from the chair. You jumped.

“Remus!” was your sorry excuse of a response. Like a squeak, really, and if the lights were dimmed, you surely could have been mistaken for a chipmunk. “I didn’t know you were awake.”

“You shouldn’t be awake.” Remus looked at you pointedly. He’d finally grasped consciousness, and the fatigue that normally plagued him had vanished. His concern for you made him more alert than usual. “Madam Pomfrey gave you something to help you sleep.”

You smiled sheepishly. “Oops?” When his expression remained deadpan, void of any amusement, you dropped the smile. Now you could be interrogative without guilt. “What exactly happened? Why am I in the Hospital Wing?”

“You don’t remember?” Remus looked surprised. “You were sick all morning before you fainted in Potions.”

The memories rushed back rapidly, faster than you could count them. Regardless, that tiny sliver of information was enough to make you blush in embarrassment. It was shameful you tried to hide your sickness, especially when you ended up making the situation much bigger than being truthful ever would have.

“I’m sorry,” you said. You didn’t even bother trying to keep the shame out of your voice. “I should have just come out and said I was sick… Merlin, how will I ever face Professor Slughorn? Or McLaggen?”

Remus, almost unknowingly, put his hand over yours. Your heart went aflutter with nerves, and the worst part of it all was how utterly calm Remus looked. Did he know the effect he had on you? Judging by that smug (read: unreadable) look on his face, he totally did. “I’ll be there. You won’t be alone,” he told you.

You hugged him. Nerves be damned, you hugged him! “You should be a nurse.” You giggled. Now that your ailment was miraculously (read, again: magically) cured, the rush of redness in your face could only be termed as a blush.

“A—nurse?” Remus blushed—not that you could see it. “No…”

“Nurse Lupin,” you said in a sing-song voice, squeezing him real tight. “Has a nice ring to it, huh?”

“Sh-Shut up, Y/N!”

Who wouldn’t want Remus Lupin as their designated medic?

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aeneidpdf · 4 years

Text

big sky country

chapter: 3/?

word count: 4.3k+

summary: they set out for Niagara Falls, and stop for lunch at Becket Quarry.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/24394804/chapters/59282086

They got through the checkout line quickly, and then they were back in the van- Pete in the back, Ray and Art in the middle seats, and Abraham and Collie up front. Abraham fiddled with his phone, pulling up the directions to Niagara Falls while Collie popped in the first of the Johnny Cash CDs that Pete had bought.

It was the American IV: The Man Comes Around album. Johnny Cash’s voice came over the speakers, saying: "And I heard, as it were, the noise of thunder. One of the four beasts saying, 'Come and see.' and I saw, and behold a white horse."

“Great,” Abraham said. “A song about judgement day to start our trip. That’s not a bad sign at all.”

“It’s just a song,” Ray said.

“Ray’s right,” Pete added, lazing in the back row. “No need to worry yourself, Abe. Geez, good thing it wasn’t God’s Gonna Cut You Down or we never would’ve gotten this thing off the ground.”

In the side mirror, Art could see a hint of a grimace on Abraham’s face, but Collie was laughing and asking him to start the directions. Over top of the music, came the canned voice of the maps app: “Turn right to merge onto Maine Turnpike toward I-95. In 55 miles, keep left on I-95 South.”

Collie whistled low through his teeth. “Shit. Fifty-five miles.”

“Better get a move on!” It was Pete, a shit-eating grin on his face. “Lot more where that came from.”

Collie didn’t answer that, and they pulled out of the parking lot and merged onto the Maine Turnpike. Art didn’t quite know what he thought about the song, but he felt like he was on Abraham’s side. He didn’t practice much now, but he was raised Baptist, and his family had been heavily involved in the church down home in Louisiana, until they moved. They’d found a new church when they moved up to Maine. Art had been baptized in Highland Lake, just a thirty minute drive out of Portland, when he was eleven.

He had stood in the water that came up nearly to his armpits, his clothing floating loose around him and the marshy bottom of the lake swirling and tugging at his feet. It was a bright hot day in early May, but the water was cold, and the look in the minister’s eyes was serious. Art had been scared then. He wanted to turn tail and run back to his mother. But his mother and father and aunt and uncle were watching with bated breath, and his siblings were waiting on the shore, their shoes and socks shucked off and tossed aside. They were watching him too, and waiting for their turn. He was the oldest now; he had to be brave.

Art had then been dunked under the water and he resisted the urge to thrash against the strong hands that held him. The lake water wrapped around him and engulfed him like a coffin. He was drowning. He had forgotten to take a breath before the minister submerged him, and now he was drowning. He thought of another body, rotting in standing water, and bubbles expelled from his mouth in a mad burst as he let out a soundless scream. Finally, he was hauled up by the collar of his starched white dress shirt, and he came up breathless and temporarily blinded by the sun, while his mother cheered hysterically on the shore.

Thinking of it now still made him feel like he was going to be sick.

Even more than religion though, his life was ruled by superstition.

Superstitions were as sure as summer storms and waves of summer heat rising up from the cracked and melted asphalt. The whole south was steeped in superstition, and the Baker family was no exception. Superstition worked its way into the practices and customs of every season. On New Year’s, they ate black-eyed peas and collard greens for good luck and money. In fact, that was what they ate nearly all year round, because that was what they could afford.

The Baker children went around town with dimes strung around their necks to ward off the devil, and whenever his mother opened a new loaf of bread, she threw the first end slice in the garbage. “To keep money comin’ our way,” she explained when Art asked about it. Art watched, forlorn and hungry, as she tossed the bread into the garbage. Money never seemed to come their way.

In the summer, when the alligators came out of hibernation and the humidity floated off the wetlands and settled heavily over everything, Art was warned about alligators climbing out of the bayou and slithering under his house. Those meant there would be a death in the family soon. Art always took the stairs up and down the porch two at a time, frantic to get away from the monster hiding under the house, waiting for the perfect moment to snap at his ankles and drag him under.

There weren’t any alligators in Maine, but Art still sometimes dreamed of one, lying in wait for him, red eyes glowing out of the darkness. He shuddered imperceptibly at the thought.

Would a song ruin their whole trip? No, but a part of him still felt apprehensive.

Outside the window, South Portland disappeared, and they were on the Maine Turnpike, heading south. The song had changed, and Hurt was playing now. Over the van’s speaker system, Johnny Cash’s voice sang: “What have I become, my sweetest friend? Everyone I know goes away in the end.” The guitar melody built behind his voice in a way that made Art’s chest tighten. It rose in a crescendo and then disappeared as the next verse began.

“Have any of you heard the original of this song?” Ray asked.

From behind them, Pete answered, “Yeah. Nine Inch Nails. It’s good, but, you know, it’s not this.”

“I’d be fucking pissed if I wrote a song and then found out Johnny Cash did a cover of it,” Collie said.

Abraham laughed in the passenger seat. “Of course you’d be pissed.”

“Well, yeah! You write a song about some personal shit, and then Johnny Cash comes along and sings it and makes it a hundred times better. How would you feel?”

He thought for a moment and shrugged. “Shit, yeah. I guess I’d be kinda mad too.”

“You guys are thinking about it the wrong way,” Art said. “Imagine getting a call that Johnny Cash wants to record your song? That’d be exciting. That’d be an honor.”

He could see Collie looking at him in the rearview mirror, his eyes creased with his smile. “I guess that’s right.” It made Art smile too, and duck his head.

“It’s a good thing you’re on this thing with us, Art,” Abraham said, twisting around in his seat to face him. “It’s a good thing at least one of us isn’t an asshole.”

“Hey!” Pete protested. “Ray’s not an asshole.”

Ray snorted, and said, “Thanks, Pete.” Abraham twisted back around in his seat. The song changed. Art looked back out the window.

///

In a half hour, approximately forty miles into their journey, they passed a sign saying that there was a toll plaza in four miles.

“Alright,” Collie said, turning the music down a few notches. “Who brought cash for tolls?” Silence answered him. Art had completely forgotten that they’d even need to pay tolls. “Jesus, nobody?”

“There’s a rest stop coming up on the right,” Abraham told him, reading the road signs as they zoomed past. “There’ll be an ATM there. We can take some cash out there.”

A couple miles down the road and they pulled into the rest stop. The parking lot was mostly empty as they all piled out of the minivan. The rest stop was a small building with a dramatically slanting roof and the front was mostly covered over with windows. Out front was a Smokey the Bear statue with a sign next to him proclaiming the fire danger in the area for today. The risk was low.

“I say we each take out $20,” Abraham suggested. “That should be good to start out, right?”

“I think so,” Ray said, looking like he was deep in thought. “After this, we’ve got a toll to get on the New Hampshire turnpike, and a shitton of them in Massachusetts. Once we’re west of New York, I have no clue.”

“Geez, you’re like a walking road map,” Pete said admiringly. Ray ducked his head. “We can spend whatever leftover cash we have on food and stuff.”

The group turned and headed towards the rest stop. Art followed, but Collie caught his arm and held him back. Art looked down at the hand and then into his friend’s face. Collie dropped his hand quickly.

“Art, if you want I can take out money for both of us,” he offered, his face flushed like he was embarrassed. “You don’t have to take out the $20 if you don’t want to.” Art heard the implication there. He meant: “if you can’t.”

Now it was Art’s turn to feel embarrassed. It brought him back to being a kid, and not being allowed to go to birthday parties because he couldn’t afford to rent the bowling shoes or the roller skates. It brought him back to eleventh grade, when they all got their driver’s licenses and started to go out to eat on the weekends and pass late nights crammed into diner booths. Pete had always pulled him aside and offered to pay his way for him. Pete always looked at him with a kind and earnest look in his eyes, and shame always rolled around in Art’s stomach like a hot coal.

He felt it now, rolling around in his stomach and pressing down on the back of his neck, forcing him to look down at his shoes. Collie was bouncing from one foot to the other, looking back at the rest stop every so often. The others were probably already crowded around the ATM, wondering what the hell was wrong with them.

“It’s alright, Collie. I can pay my own way. I have some money saved up,” he answered, finally looking back up at Collie. “Besides, it’s not like any of us have a ton of money.” Sickly he thought: there’s a big difference between being middle class and being poor. He knew that, and he knew Collie knew that. For a second, he thought Collie was going to say it, but mercifully, he didn’t. He just patted Art on the back, and the two of them walked across the parking lot to the rest stop.

///

Once they had finished at the rest stop, Collie had a modest stack of twenty dollar bills in his hand. The twisted the key in the ignition and the van rumbled to life. They pulled easily out onto the highway.

It was still only 9:30 in the morning, and the only traffic was huge semi-trucks carrying goods and produce across state lines. They rose up around the minivan on all sides, dwarfing it. Art figured the traffic would be heavier once they got closer to Boston. The route that Pete had devised had them driving within thirty miles of the city before veering off west into New York. Abraham’s phone estimated they wouldn’t reach Niagara Falls until 5:00 in the evening.

Their Johnny Cash CD had just restarted, and Abraham was shuffling through the other ones Pete had bought as Collie pulled up to the tollbooth. The toll only cost $3.00, and he handed the woman working in the booth a twenty with what looked like an apologetic smile. She gave him his change, the bar lifted, and they drove on.

“She probably thought I was a dick, paying with a twenty,” he mumbled to himself, sticking the change in his cup holder as he continued down I-95 South. Over the radio, Johnny Cash sang: “Whoever is unjust let him be unjust still. Whoever is righteous let him be righteous still. Whoever is filthy let him be filthy still. Listen to the words long written down, when the man comes around.” It was the song that had played when they first left the Target back in South Portland, the song that had made Abraham nervous. It made Art nervous, too. The upbeat guitar playing underneath it only served to remind him of his father, playing hymns on the back porch in Louisiana. The songs were always happy, but they said such horrible things.

He wondered if Abraham still thought the song was a bad sign. He wanted to ask him, but couldn’t bring himself to do it, in the car, in broad daylight. It seemed like the sort of thing where, if you admitted to it in the daylight, all the monsters and all the bad luck in the world would find you and strike you down. Better to say it in the dark, where you could hide. Art gulped- he guessed he was more superstitious than he thought.

Abraham ejected the CD, causing the music to cut out sharply. He put in the next CD, the American III: Solitary Man album. The first song on the album was I Won’t Back Down. A cover of a Tom Petty song. He noticed Collie was singing softly to himself. It made Art smile. He knew it was just the sort of song Collie would latch onto.

Ray had turned in his seat, and he and Pete had their heads together, putting their playlist together. Collie’s words in the Target that morning hadn’t deterred them.

“How much do y’all have so far?” Art asked, turning in his seat too to face them better.

“We’ve got like a hundred songs,” Ray answered. “All sorts of stuff.”

“Wow,” was Art’s only response.

“I think once we add a bit more we’ll be done,” Pete added. “We’re gonna be on the road for some ninety hours. Gotta be prepared.”

Art turned back around. Not for the first time, he wondered what exactly he had set into motion. Ninety hours on the road.

They crossed over a bridge, and beneath them the Piscataqua River lazed along. Some sailboats were gliding over the surface. Art wondered what it would be like, to lay on the deck on a sailboat, warming in the sun. Maybe his friends would be there too, casting their fishing lines over the side of the boat. Art decided that would be nice.

A sign posted on their right announced that they were entering New Hampshire.

“Look at that! We’re in New Hampshire!” he gasped out.

“New state!” Abe cheered, banging on the car dashboard.

“Maybe New Hampshire will be more to your liking, Parker,” Pete teased from the backseat.

Art was excited- it had been a long time since he’d crossed the Maine state line. They finished crossing the bridge, and the Maine Turnpike became the Blue Star Turnpike. The trip felt real in a way it hadn’t before. Art hadn’t left Maine since he was a kid, and now he was going to travel across the country. He looked around him, eagerly left and right, and took it all in.

After another twenty miles of driving, they came to another tollbooth. “Christ, again?” Collie exclaimed. “Fuck Maine, and fuck Maine’s roads.” They all laughed at his customary outburst.

“I think you mean New Hampshire?” Abe supplied.

“Yeah, fuck New Hampshire, too,” Collie grumbled.

“So… so far Parker hates 4% of states. Should we start placing bets on what that number’ll be by the end of the trip?” Pete asked.

Collie ignored him and gave the man at the tollbooth a few crumpled dollar bills. Then they were through.

“You really don’t know when to quit, do you?” Ray asked him fondly.

“Not at all,” Pete replied, and leaned back in his seat.

Art looked out the window.

///

They were in New Hampshire for only half an hour, and then they were crossing into Massachusetts. Another state to add to Art’s list. As they passed over the state line, Pete asked, in that fake earnest voice of his, “What do ya think of this one, Collie? Gonna add it to the list? Make it 6%?”

“You’re gonna get your stupid ass thrown out,” Art choked out between laughs.

“Art’s right, Pete. You’re getting yourself on my shit list,” Collie said.

“Who isn’t on your shit list?” Abraham asked.

“You know, Abe, you’re supposed to be on my side.”

“Hell, it’s fun to watch you get all red in the face.” Abraham grinned. Collie rolled his eyes but grinned too and kept on driving. They merged onto I-495 South, and then all the road signs began to point towards Boston.

“I was thinking we could stop and eat lunch around noon, and then switch drivers,” Pete said. His antagonistic streak seemed to be over, and he was back to examining the itinerary he’d put together for the trip.

“That sounds like a good idea,” Ray agreed.

“I like the sound of that,” Collie said.

“How you doin’ up there, Collie?” Art asked.

“Oh, I’m fine. Don’t worry about me,” he assured, rolling back his shoulders and stretching. “But I’ll be ready to switch two hours from now.”

///

They were mostly quiet after that, just singing along to the CD playing over the radio, until they were nearing Lawrence, Massachusetts. There was an exit leading onto I-93 South, which would take them into Boston.

“Collie, can we go to Boston?” Abraham asked, looking longingly out the window, as if he could see the city’s skyline from the highway, thirty miles away. “I’ve never been to Boston.”

“Who the fuck lives in Maine and hasn’t been to Boston?” Collie asked in disbelief. “I’m not even from here and I’ve fucking been to Boston.”

“Well, fuck you. I don’t have a car, dipshit,” Abe shot back.

“That’s a shitty excuse. Just take a Greyhound from Portland into Boston,” Collie replied. “You guys have been to Boston, right? Even you, Art?”

Ray and Pete nodded, but Art shook his head. “No, I’ve never been. Until this, I hadn’t even left Maine in like eight years.”

They all looked faintly surprised at this. “Jesus, what?” Collie asked incredulously. “I’ve failed the two of you as a friend,” he said to Art and Abraham. “Once we get back, I’m taking the two of you to Boston.”

Art liked the sound of that- exploring a new city with Abraham and Collie Parker. His world seemed so much bigger than it had this morning, so much bigger than his present in Maine and his past in Louisiana.

///

By the time noon rolled around, they were nearing Blandford, Massachusetts. Boston was over a hundred miles behind them. “Pull off here,” Abraham instructed, and Collie did, and they rolled into Blandford. The welcome sign said the population was 1,233.

“There’s a park around here that’s really pretty. We should eat there,” Ray said, looking intently at his phone screen. Collie asked for directions, and Ray gave them. After a few minutes of driving they pulled into the parking lot of Becket Quarry and Collie paid the parking attendant $10. They’d already spent nearly $20, and it had only been a few hours. That stack of twenties wasn’t stretching as far as Art thought it would.

They all got out of the van and crowded around the trunk, pulling sandwiches and water bottles out of the cooler Abraham had brought. Collie grabbed one of the packs of beef jerky out of a Target bag, and then they were locking up the van and heading down the trail.

It wasn’t a far walk to the quarry, and along the path and trees surrounded them, green and leafy and tall. They reached the end of the path, and came upon the quarry. It was beautiful- the surface of the water reflected the endless blue sky overhead, and large rock faces emerged from the water and towered over it, covered over with moss and bright green foliage. There were a few different groups sitting around the quarry, but it was mostly empty- plenty of room for them to spread out and eat their lunch.

Abraham climbed one of the smaller rock formations overlooking the water and set his water and sandwich down. “We should go swimming.”

The rest of the group looked eager, excited at the prospect, but Art hesitated. “How deep is it?” he asked.

“Well, it’s a quarry, so I think the most shallow spot will still be at least forty feet,” Ray answered.

“Forty feet,” Art repeated softly to himself. That was awfully deep. It would be easy to disappear in that water and never come up again. That old panic gripped him.

The rest of them were stripping down to their boxers to swim. Abraham dove in first, and then Pete jumped in, dragging Ray with him by his hands. Collie went next, doing a cannonball and splashing the three of them in the water.

Art wished he could follow, but he imagined jumping in and sinking down down down, away from the light. Instead he took off his shoes and socks and sat at the edge of the water, his legs under it up to his mid-calves. The water was cold, perfectly refreshing for a summer day.

A few feet away, Abraham was floating on his back, and Pete and Ray splashed at him, giggling to each other like conspirators. Collie was swimming laps around them, his tanned arms glinting in the sunlight. Show off, Art thought, and suppressed a secret smile.

It made Art happy to watch him, and it felt good to bask in the sun, to feel it on his arms and his legs. It was still early June, but the temperature must have climbed past eighty degrees. It had been humid in the forest, but by the water the air felt crisp and clean.

The sun flashed brilliantly off the surface of the water, casting his friends in a harsh glare. They looked like an old overexposed photograph, or a child’s crayon-colored dream come to life. This, he thought, is what summer is.

Collie noticed him sitting on the bank alone and swam over. “You coming in?” he asked. Art shook his head. “Can you not swim?”

“I can swim,” Art answered. “It’s just… it’s too deep.” He could only see a foot or two below the water’s surface. Below that, darkness straight down. He could see Collie’s arms as he tread water, but the rest of him was obscured by the quarry water. Pete, Ray, and Abraham were just floating heads, bobbing and laughing a dozen yards from shore.

“Oh.” Collie pushed his wet hair out of his face. “I get that.” He braced his hands on the rock and lifted himself up out of the water, sitting next to Art. Art’s shirt sleeve was wet from where Collie’s arm touched his.

“You don’t have to stop swimming on account of me,” he said softly.

“Oh, it’s not on account of you,” Collie answered. “We have to dry off and eat anyways. I don’t know about the rest of them, but I don’t want to drive around for another four hours in wet shorts.”

They sat in companionable silence for a minute, Collie kicking his legs and churning up water. The droplets seemed to catch fire in the afternoon sunlight. “What bothers you about the water?” Collie asked, looking over at him. The heat of Collie’s arm was still heavy against his arm, but neither of them moved away. Art’s face burned with the proximity.

“I can’t see the bottom. I can swim fine,” Art explained. “But I don’t like it when I can’t see the bottom.” He almost wanted to add that no one knew what was down there, lurking below the reach of the sun. But that was the stuff of nightmares, and he didn’t want to seem stupid.

“We’ll have to find you a swimming pool, then,” Collie replied.

Art fixed him with a look. “Are you making fun of me?”

“No, I’m not making fun of you. I’m trying to be nice. I don’t make fun of you, you know. At least not, like, seriously.” He had a faintly hurt look in his eyes, like this was something he really wanted to get across.

Art answered that look with a smile. “A swimming pool sounds nice, then.”

“Good,” Collie said simply. He got up and walked over to where his clothes were discarded, and started getting dressed. Art averted his eyes. He called out to the three in the water, “Come on and get out now! We gotta hit the road soon to keep on schedule!”

“Don’t be so lame!” Pete shouted back, in the middle of dunking Ray under the water. Ray pushed him away, laughing.

“Dumbass, it’s your schedule,” Collie answered, sitting back down and ripping open the pack of beef jerky. “Get over here and eat your sandwiches.” The three reluctantly swam over and pulled themselves out of water, instead eating their lunch and drying under the sun. Art left his perch on the edge of the rock and went to sit with them.

They ate their sandwiches and drank from their water bottles, warming themselves in the sun and keeping an eye on the time. When it hit 1:00 PM, Collie got up and said, “Time to go, guys. Pete, you’re driving.” He tossed the keys, and Pete caught them cleanly.

“Aye aye, captain.” Pete gave a mock salute and started getting dressed. “Ray can sit up front with me. We’ll debut our playlist.”

“Can’t wait,” Collie grumbled.

As they left, Art looked back at the quarry one more time, at the murky depths and the glare it cast on the rock formations surrounding it. Then, he turned around and followed his friends through the trees.

#the long walk #art baker #collie parker #bakerparker #my fic #big sky country au

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9uk · 5 years

Text

Let Me Stay Close To You : part 6

⌲ summary : you were finally free from the worst nightmare of your life in high school. the doors of college welcomed you with open arms, you were set on living your best life in here, away from the toxicity back at home. that shimmer of hope in restoring your life, was somehow effortlessly crushed by a tap on your shoulder. “Hey Y/N, why don’t you say we catch up for a moment?”

⌲ pairing : bully!jungkook x reader

⌲ word count : 5.6k

⌲ genre: angst

⌲ warnings : mentions of abuse, snakes

⌲ a/n : i’m so so sorry this is unedited and written at 4 am & i just wanna thank you guys for waiting and please give me all the feedback i need to improve so bad. idk sometimes i think my writing is little draggy but it is lacking lots of info as well, or maybe i don’t like to read long descriptions or something idk lol just tell me ur opinion.

part five > part six > epilogue

It is a feeling long gone but never forgotten.

It must be the most cruel joke of the year—Jeon Jungkook in the arms of Y/N.

He feels breathless, like the infinite darkness has consumed all the oxygen in his lungs, sucking every last bit of him out of his body like the blackhole. He hated it. He absolutely detested it.

The dark. It was something that reminded him of the times he hid in the corner of his bedroom, praying with bleeding lips —that he had bitten down onto so hard out of fear—and trembling hands, as he awaited the lashing he was going to receive.

He started to think that it was happening on a daily basis now, how at any point in time at night he father would bust into the room with a cane, his dark figure looming by his door and Jungkook would shudder away as the tears involuntarily slip from his eyes.

At 3 am, he would sit by his window and watch the moon with much resentment, silently as he sinks into the abyss of the night.

The deep cuts and harsh bruises on his body was painful. But nothing could compare to the betrayal he felt when he sees his mother happily chatting over tea with a friend—all this while, when he was locked up in a random room—almost getting beaten to death with a thick rod away in the late hours of the night.

Jungkook doesn’t care if he gets caught loitering in the open hallway like that, he had nothing to lose and was ready to risk it all if he was granted just one look of his loving mother.

He missed her a lot.

The quiet times he spent in the suffocating room made him think about how much he took her love for granted.

Was love supposed to be earned?

He didn’t know that love—something he thought was the warm embrace of his birth giver, the extra marshmallows she would pop into his hot chocolate, the peonies she picked and tucked into his hair, the voice as smooth as silk aiding him into a deep slumber—would too, consist of a unimaginable amount of lies after lies, betrayal at its finest, and the revelation of the ugly side of it all.

Her eyes fall onto his frail figure, one that has been tortured physically to a point of plain damage.

He was a hundred percent sure it was his mom—from the way she habitually blinks with her right eye a couple of times between normal blinks, from the way her fingers wrap around the entire teacup rather than the mini handle. Yet, instead of her eyes widening and growing with worry for her child being abused beyond the line of humanity—she furrows her brow, and her gaze turns into a glare, one he always faced when he picks on his vegetables, and she storms to him, grabbing him by the sleeve of his shirt, dragging him back to the room where he’d belonged.

She aggressively shoved at his shoulder, “You’d better dare not come out of here again. If father sees you, I don’t know what he will do to you. And I won’t be able to help you.” She wipes at her skirt, as if she had just laid her hands on a piece of garbage.

“Mommy!” He can’t help but cry out at her entire change in attitude towards him,

before her face contorts in disgust, slamming the wooden door in his face followed by a locking noise at the keyhole.

Jungkook refuses to believe what had just happened, so he screams as loud as he could, not caring about how piercing the shrills of his voice were—hoping that she would hear his expression of his misery through the seperation and feel at least a tinge of pity for him.

He sucks in a deep breath, tears successfully rolling down his face a waterfall, and he screams even louder if that was possible—he wants her to have his yells of plea engraved in the back of her head, appearing every so often to haunt her in her sleep and taint her with guilt. He wants his mother to snap back to her old self, the one who would be carefully placing bandaids over the tears on his skin.

Unfortunately, her footsteps fades into the distance, and she returns to teatime with her acquaintance, shredding all of her last bit of conscience for her son.

A piece of garbage he was.

Freedom shined like a butterfly crawling out if its cocoon bathing in fresh sunlight for the very first time.

Jungkook was released from his room like a convict when the grim news of the passing of his brother arrived to the household. He wasn’t even allowed to attend his biological brother’s funeral, like he was a bad omen or something of the sort.

During this period of time, he was frequently left alone in his room with his usual three meals and toys he grew bored of. The monster didn’t visit at night, for the grieving over his brother was too much to bear apparently. It gave him enough time for his injuries to heal, a skin forming over them barely covering anything except to provide protection against infections honestly.

However, after a several days pass the door unlocks and he trembles in pure terror. Was this his fate?

That there would be no end to the treatment his own family gave him, that he would have to spend all his birthdays along with his Ironman plushie as he sang himself to being an age older.

He prayed, for it was all he could do.

To his surprise, he never knew the bedroom door opening this time, was to a whole new world for him. Jungkook begin going to school, being able to eat meals at the main dining table, put his foot up on the couch if he wished, enjoy hot showers and roam freely—even out of the estate.

A unfamiliar yet eye-opening concept of life.

He wasn’t complaining.

His father remained cold as ice towards him and he couldn’t bother much about his mother, after seeing the way she left him to drown on his own in a pool of misery and despair. He was no longer desperate for parental love or attention, they ignored him but kept him in check when needed and he enjoyed life more than he could have ever imagined.

‘Study hard’ and ‘Take over the company’ were two phrases he heard a lot coming from both freaks and he just did as told, knowing how his grades would get him whatever he wanted now.

He didn’t even have to ask, and the poshest car or the latest limited edition pair of shoes would arrive at his doorstep.

His life seemed almost perfect now, except that he still hasn’t learnt how to sleep with the lights off.

And that is because he simply can’t. The absence of light would bring him back to those days where he tossed and turned with nightmares swirling in his mind, worries overtaking his pounding heart and his father showing up with a potential weapon in hand.

He doesn’t see his father often, assuming he is coped up at the office with work and his mother still endlessly mourning over the loss of his brother, finger tracing over his smiling features in his middle school portrait. The boy was long gone but never erased from his mother’s heart.

While he was at the brink of death and she did not even bat an eye.

He was smart—he just had to be obedient and he would get whatever he wanted, no more bad treatments anymore—he was now treated like a king. Sometimes he thinks that he owes his life to his brother.

It was like a sacrifice made to save him from his predicament.

A really, depressing and tragic sacrifice.

One that switched the initial plan of the Jeon Family and their business—one that his parents decided to use and groom Jungkook to become the heir.

One that made the girl stop visiting ever since.

One that changed the destinies of the two children who met at the company dinner.

Jungkook has never fallen asleep with the lights switched off before.

That is, until he did exactly so in your bedroom.

He is unable to comprehend how he actually managed to do just so, fall asleep peacefully in complete darkness. Nonetheless, he did wake up after a couple of hours breaking out in cold sweat with his arms clutched around your stiffening form.

Jungkook hates how the feeling of holding and pulling you close to him is so comforting in an unexplainable manner, and how you felt nothing less than home. Jungkook is beginning to doubt why the hell he started these petty grudges with you—when you were a fibre away from the woman he used to love wholeheartedly. Keyword : used to. However, it was a tad too late for regrets.

He was only left with two choices of compensation and reconciliation. They were undeniably difficult to carry out, especially having hurt someone to an extent that far it’s almost outrageous. He thinks what he has done in the past to you is absolutely unforgivable.

Because if he was asked to do the same for his father’s mistakes, there would be only one option.

“You’re back early today. No dates or parties to attend tonight?” You cheekily tease as Sooyoung walks through the front door.

A few moments later, she doesn’t reply as she settles her bag down onto the couch and toss the car keys onto the table.

There was resentment written all over her face, she looked annoyed and in an extremely bad mood. You decided to keep quiet, considering that it isn’t the best time to speak when she felt this way over god knows what.

Sooyoung fumbles around some clothes, before she is heading for the door again, completely ignoring your existence.

No, please just Jungkook ignoring me would suffice.

You couldn’t let this slide and worry about what you had done to offend her for the whole night.

Just as she slings her bag over her shoulders, you open your mouth again.

“Sooyoung-ah, where are you going?”

She barely even looks over her shoulder to face you, before replying, “To meet Seulgi and Wendy.”

She was brushing you off so casually.

You felt like this more than the number of fingers on both hands could count, when people offered you help after Jungkook threw your pencil case in the bin or poured your lunch over your papers, you would think there would be a chance in making proper friends with them and escape this cruel torment. It wasn’t until you tried to sit with them in lunch and the whole group of students suddenly went quiet, the feeling uncomfortable to beyond. It’s like your presence made them stop discussing about anything, they awkwardly scratched the back of their necks before hurriedly placing the food trays back and scurrying off to class, leaving you alone at the table.

It was silly of you to think that people have begun to accept you just because they offered you a piece of tissue paper.

That day, you looked at your food and watched the tear drops fall into the gravy.

And from then on, you never went down for lunch ever again.

You’re thinking about why you weren’t invited, especially when it was always the four of you, no more or less. You didn’t want to lose this precious bunch of friends, and you surely weren’t overthinking when you felt that they were leaving you out on purpose.

“Uh, I’m not invited?”

The words came out way more obnoxious than you had intended, it had an aftertaste of bitterness and spite. You regret it immediately as you witness her face fall even more, into an irritated frown.

“You want to be invited after what you did at the party?”

Kiss Taehyung? Scold Jungkook? What was it?

“What... I did at the party?” You genuinely question, scanning every small action or word you had done or said back then.

“Oh c’mon. Let’s quit playing dumb. You clearly knew how much Seulgi liked Taehyung and you had the audacity to make out with him?”

Your lips parted in shock. Sooyoung was clearly the one who suggested to go over and converse with Taehyung, as well as the one who left you alone with him.

Why was she being so pretentious about the whole situation?

Did she like him?

But you had to admit Seulgi totally slipped your mind when Taehyung wrapped his hand around the back of your neck and kissed you hard.

“I just-“ You try to explain yourself. Only to face a dead end.

It was your fault, and all the fingers were pointed at you right now. You exhaled, “My mind wasn’t in a clear state when that happened, and I just went with the flow, I really did not mean to hurt Seulgi or anything-“

Wow, you sounded even more pretentious than Sooyoung.

“Do you know how upset Seulgi got, when Taehyung was filling her up with details of how you practically threw yourself at him like a whore?” ‘And disappointed’ She mumbled softly to herself, but it wasn’t missed by your ear.

“I never knew behind this facade of obedience and innocence lied someone who was so sly and disloyal.”

Your friends felt betrayed.

You had no words to retaliate or argue with what Sooyoung had just said—because you think it’s true, you see yourself as that kind of a person too.

You ignored the fact that Sooyoung kept complimenting Taehyung right in your face, that nothing really happened between the both of you that night thanks to a certain someone, and that Taehyung deviously lied about you throwing yourself at him. It happened because of both parties’ consents and desires.

And despite all these facts that they never went to consider before labelling you as a whore, the damage has been done.

The true colours have been revealed.

She swipes her car keys off the countertop when you’re left speechless and guilty, heading out once more.

You felt like crying, but for some reason you couldn’t.

It was something you should have expected from the very start.

Losing the people you hold close to your heart was something you were beginning to get so used to. This felt worse, because you chose to hurt them.

People would comfort you by saying that it is unintentional and that you didn’t have the need to feel bad or upset, but you’re starting to feel like a monster yourself. You are rather thankful for your first ever friends after so long to leave your side, because it’s what an asshole like you deserves.

A new chance had already been granted to you, and yet just so easily and quickly—you screwed everything up. Maybe a person like you did not deserve to live a normal life.

You were meant to be alone, you always have been and you always will.

The loud slam of the wooden door is a finger snap to your face, and you realise why all those years you had shut yourself off from people—you don’t think you are able to handle the kind of pain that squeezes tightly at your heart and constricts your chest when they leave.

If people come and go so easily, you had might as well not let them enter at all. You think it saves a few more heartbreaks and opportunities of getting hurt.

Your whole body is stinging with numbness as your mind is nothing but a blank, you walk over to the coffee table—one which you and Sooyoung had shared the local pastries over a season of Friends for one too many a times—and ur heart clenches at that.

Sly and disloyal.

You don’t think you are able to forget those words that callously shot like daggers at you—for it was done by someone you loved and cherished a lot since you offered to share that damn kettle.

Picking up your wallet, you flip it open only to be met with the genuine smiles—something that the both of you often shared when you were younger.

The old photograph was taken in the middle of summer, when two carefree kids hung out at the beach with silly floats and fancy swimsuits, rainbow popsicles in their hands. The glaring sun light as seen in the picture reminded you of how your childhood was filled with nothing but fragrant flowers and fresh sunshine, that made one feel young, wild and free.

You never saw that sunlight again.

Instead, you choose to view the moon in the darkest shade of night now, admiring how celestial and full it looked—to replace the emptiness you felt in your heart. Junghyun is someone you would rarely forget, for the round shining whiteness in the sea of black was always there as a constant reminder of the boy who played a major part in your younger years.

“Look at the moon, if you ever feel sad. Then think about me,” Your best friend nudges your elbow with a playful quirk of his brow, he turns to look at your tear stained face with something close to adoration. “And always remember that no matter where I will be,”

“…I will always love you.”

You chuckle at how stupid you must sound, reciting something as small as a foolish promise between two kids to comfort yourself. You’re laughing and yet, the tears never seem to stop falling from your eyes.

The memories of that fateful day was sewn into your mind—the two of you were kicking water in the shallow pool, only for you to carelessly drop the Tamagotchi you have in hand into the water. Junghyun immediately dives in forgetting about any form of hesitation, fishing out your sinking device like a lifeguard. ‘It’s okay’ he says, ‘I’ll get you something even better.’ When your pet is glitched out and doesn’t respond to your commands anymore, you began wailing like the little brat you are. After he wipes your tears causing an unbearably cute pout is formed on your tiny features, he said those words you’d never thought you would cling onto for life. That night, it was the first time he ever asked for something from his parents.

Both adults were initially confused by the sudden request, but compiled to it anyway without further questions. And when Junghyun woke up to a brand new Nintendo DS placed on his study desk, his face gleamed with satisfaction.

There’s a knot forming in your throat and your lungs are deprived of air as you attempt to cease the relentless sobbing.

The illumination of the moon—for some reason—seems extraordinarily fluorescent tonight.

The anatomy project has long been finalised and submitted. The grades of it would even be released by the end of this week. It’s been over weeks since Jungkook and you have ever spoken a word to each other. Since the complicated yet warm hug had taken place between the both of you, you detached yourself from his body after your breath steadied and your mind clear of the drunken, built-up frustration—only muttering an excuse to hurriedly leave before he could say anything else to you.

You left him standing there feeling more peculiar than ever.

The hug, the party. You words slap him across the face once more as he recalls the exact thing you had said to him.

You were never more right.

He was this horrible, sick-minded and sadistic piece of trash—was he any better than the man who beat him to death on a daily basis?

Taehyung wasn’t the best for you, but he had no right to interrupt whatever was going on at that point in time between the both of you.

Simply because he wasn’t any better.

In fact, he feels like he’s much worse than his friend—who sticks his dick in every living thing—Jungkook is a dick himself.

At least Taehyung was nice without trying and he knew the correct things to say or do, even more so he knew how to control his emotions and temper. Maybe that’s how he gets all the girls hung up on him even after he uses them like rags of clothes.

Jungkook wasn’t good at any of that.

Properly communicating and interacting with people just wasn’t his forté.

If he’s angry, he lifts his hand. If he’s happy, he says things that cross the line. If he’s sad, he converts that to anger and resort to violence to shield that one bit of vulnerability from anyone, not wanting to seem weak at all.

That is why his circle of friends is small, and he feels like he doesn’t even truly know and understand any of them. But you? Damn, you knew his temper like the back of your hand, you’ve seen him in his angriest form, you’ve witnessed fear overcome every cell of him and undergo a panic attack, you’ve watched him on the brink of tears as he ventured through another nightmare—and yet, he knew nothing about you.

You would forever remain as this mysterious and unpredictable person to him—and that, never failed to make him feel exasperated by the overpowering need to explore every millimetre of you, inside out.

He was unable to identify your soft spots or pick on your weaknesses—you were typically unreactive to anything that he does.

The time he spent in college with you was nothing but an emotional rollercoaster, an absolute train-wreck.

In class, he wouldn’t even notice your presence for you snuck in five minutes late in a dark hoodie and black jeans, lurking in the corner of the lecture hall, before hastily leaving the second the lecturer ended the lesson.

He realises that you were becoming similar to the girl in high school, he notices that your group of friends at the cafeteria had one person missing and it was always you. He wonders if you have “left the squad” or aren’t on talking terms anymore. He wonders what had happened to cause the falling out between you and your friends. Or maybe you were just being yourself, avoiding contact with humans in general. Like a shadow, you loomed in the secret spaces, disappearing and reappearing as and when you wished.

It wasn’t until that day he roamed the streets around town, exploring the people and places a little with his giant camera. He felt like a tourist in a foreign country when he was actually studying and living on this land.

For him, everywhere felt foreign, even the posh villa (and many other more estates) he owned didn’t even feel like home. Nothing was close to the feeling of his mother’s fingers intertwined with his own—aforementioned lady long gone and burnt to ashes in the back of his mind.

Home—a feeling he cannot grasp despite the fountains of cash and power coming his way, the throne at the very top of JEON entertainment hungrily waiting for him to take over—Jungkook only felt it again after what seemed like decades, in your fucking bed, hugging you to sleep.

The thoughts of you are shaken away violently when he—whether by fate or luck— decides to enter a fast food restaurant wanting to grab some fries. Not only did he get the strips of potatoes he craved for, he also managed to spot you just behind the counter, eyes wide and brows raised. It was adorable to see how you acted like you didn’t notice him at all, clearing your throat and blindly meddling with the smoothie machine.

Jungkook simply snickers at your obvious reaction.

It was almost as if the sight of you effortlessly stuck a smile to his face.

The joint only had customers leaving one by one after dinner time, the queue to the cashier nonexistent and he made good use of that matter of fact.

He confidently strides up to you—acting like he didn’t recently get yelled at by you, then hugged you, and at the very same time get ditched by you—and you quickly whisper to one of your colleague’s ear, begging him to take Jungkook’s order for you. Judging by how you were speedily undoing your apron, he takes the hint and waits for a while before backtracking and joining you in the bathroom with a smirk plastered on his face.

He had you trapped and not even your shadow wouldn’t be able to escape this time.

“Hello.” He greets lowly with his palm of the wall and his legs crossed, taking up the whole doorway when you emerge from the cubicle.

“Oh my fuck-“ You jump and his heart does little somersaults.

“Long time no-“

“Is there something you need?” He is cut off short in the speed of light, your dumbass face looking unbothered to the point where it’s scary.

Your tone is dead and dull, lacking any sort of energy and emotion, but the prompt sounds snarky coming out of you.

Your gaze was in all directions other than in his, you seemed uninterested and distant.

He shrugs it away, before answering, “Yes actually. I will wait till you knock off.”

You want to argue and tell him that it’s a bad idea, and that he was the last person you want to see—but he spins to leave leaving you no choice.

Jungkook emitted a stench that leaks of a strong sense of dread and burning infuriation inside of you. The whole restaurant smells of Jungkook and you want to shun away from his incessant staring at your working form.

“Is that handsome dude your boyfriend?” Kihyun points to the culprit of your everlasting dread and the persistent sighs coming out of you with his chin and he pokes your side with a side of his lips curling upwards.

You squeak and smack his hand away, “Is not.”

He scoffs at the firm denying of yours and continues, since number of customers were at minimum and there was nothing much to do left with a quarter to closing.

“As if. Why the hell is waiting for you then?” You roll your eyes.

When he obtains silence, he proceeds to press at your buttons.

“To hold hands and smooch on the way home together!” He purposefully sings aloud for Jungkook to hear and you kick his butt trying to shut him up.

It’s a pity Kihyun is a young father of twins and the most fun and easygoing manager you could ever have. To tell the truth, he’s part of the reason why you’d stay working at this shitty place. You’d think he would make a great bestfriend if not for his age and family responsibilities. His personality also sadly resembled your late bestfriend a lot—funny, selfless and wise.

It was the first time you couldn’t even bear to clock out, because that would mean it was time to deal with Jungkook.

He excitedly leapt up from his seat, making his way to your side as you hooked your bag over your shoulder. It had been a long day of school and work, and Jungkook was there to extend it even more. Your shoulders visibly slouch at the thought.

Stepping out of the restaurant, Jungkook stood beside you with a takeaway in hand, looking like he’s been dying to ask you stuff. You didn’t feel like interacting with anybody though, just wanted to be on your bed as soon as possible after standing for what seemed like ages past the clock.

“Are you hungry?” He is looking at you with those big round eyes again, and you shift your gaze to the floor, afraid to meet his brown orbs.

What the fuck.

“I bought this for you.”

Your head shoot up, then flicked to the plastic bag he’s carrying with one hand.

No fucking way. Wasn’t that his supper or something?

“W-What.. you didn’t have to-“ He throws the bag of burger and fries into your hands without blinking and you struggle to catch it.

“It’s actually okay.” You couldn’t accept his kind gesture or some reverse psychology effect he was trying to make you feel.

The grumble in your stomach comes on cue, roaring louder than thunder.

You nervously laugh before helplessly stealing a fry from the bag, contradicting your earlier sentence.

“Great. Now you’ve accepted my offer, you have to answer three of my questions.” He shoots you a winning grin. You were already shoving the fifth fry into your mouth, munching away without any care in the world.

Fuck it, three questions it is. The fries tasted too damn good for you to give it back or run away from the golden crispy and fluffy treat.

Jungkook bites on his lips and contemplates for quite a while. Like the question was a hard one to raise. You tap at your feet in a bit of anticipation. Just a bit.

“Why does it seem like you’re avoiding me?” He finally gets it out.

It wasn’t just him, you had practically cut off all contact with any ape that was intelligent enough to speak and alienated yourself from this world. You wouldn’t even greet the birds in the morning like you always do, you just suffocated in the haze of self-pity and hatred.

“I’m just busy working.” You kept your words to minimal, not wanting Jungkook prying into your personal thoughts and feelings about yourself.

Lame excuse, that’s what Jungkook thinks of your short answer. But he is popping out his second question mark.

“Hmm, seems fair.” He fakes and cocks a brow up.

“Then what happened to you and Sooyoung or something,”

The fact that he remembers your friend’s name almost lets a chortle slip from your lips. Your expression remains stoic—you were a professional at concealing the display of your real emotions—and even though you’re pretty upset at how the topic of the friends you once had was raised after so long, you reply from the bottom of your heart, “I don’t want to be associated with anyone right now.”

It was the truth, and it wouldn’t hurt Sooyoung or you in any way.

He hums in understanding before, “Then... are you alright?”

You want to cry.

Why does Jungkook, number one asshat and jerk towards you your whole life, have to act so sweet and caring when you’re at your lowest? It makes your heart want to give in and succumb to him completely. You had rather die.

The affection and concern Jeon Jungkook is showing you is too much for you to handle, and you don’t know what to make that of.

Why does he even fucking care if you were okay or not?

You instantly turn on your heel—a copy of your actions back then when you first met Jungkook again—ready to escape the conversation and rush home—like you should have done ever since he stepped foot into your workplace. Jungkook has been recently making you feel things and all sorts of things—from the first time you bumped into him at a party, or when he laid over you and fell asleep like a baby, and embracing you after he made you cry— the last thing you want is to even feel anything.

It doesn’t take longer than a second before Jungkook is stomping towards your leaving form. He wasn’t going to be left hanging off a cliff by you, twice.

Being asked about your wellbeing was like mishandling an unpinned grenade, causing a spark in a room filled with methane and running through a minefield.

A wrong move and instead of exploding, you would vanish into thin air in a snap.

“What the fuck is up with you?” Jungkook grabs your arm in time to halt you and narrows his eyes sternly at you.

“One moment you’re cuddling with me, and then you’re scolding me, and another you’re hugging me back, and now you’re trying to run away from me.” The confrontation sounds like something that would happen within a couple and an inevitable blush grows on his cheeks as he tries to stay as fierce as ever.

You look surprised upon his rant, but there was no response.

You were at a loss of words until, “If you can answer this, then I won’t distance myself anymore.”

You’ve had enough, and closure is what you both needed most.

“What are we? We’re not friends, nor are we acting like enemies, and we’re not together either.”

You put the truth out in the open like a glass ball handled with butter fingers , exposed and fragile to touch.

“Maybe this is what it feels like when you go against, to try and change something that’s meant to be, what we’re meant to be forever–” His features softened and his grip loosens as the realisation dawns upon the two of you, allowing your hand to fall by your side.

You huff in a deep breath, sparing a brief moment to collect every thought and reach your conclusion.

“Bully and victim.”

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questingtheworld · 5 years

Text

Living The Fantasy - Chapter One

AO3 Link

Summary: Meeting royalty, falling in love, and living happy ever after were the things Hollywood movies were made of…or happened only to the Meghan Markle and Daniel Westling’s of the world. Rylie Martin was neither made for the silver screen nor one of the lucky one percent—that is, until a bachelor party entered the bar she worked at one fateful night. Even after a magical meeting and love in the air, Rylie knew getting that fairytale ending wouldn’t be easy. But nothing could have prepared her for what awaited her in Cordonia.

Pairing: Liam x MC

Chapter Title Inspiration: Say You Won't Let Go - James Arthur

Word Count: 10,769

A/N: I've only recently discovered Choices (where has it been all my life!) and TRR was my first book, and it has just completely captured my heart. So much so that I decided to try and expand on the universe that they gave us.

It will mostly be from Rylie's (MC) point of view, but I do plan on having some "intermission" chapters where I explore some "behind the scenes" moments from another character's POV. Warnings and tags to be added as the story continues.

Hope you enjoy reading this as much as I've enjoyed writing it!

* ~ * ~ *

Chapter One: I Met You in the Dark

I met you in the dark, you lit me up

You made me feel as though I was enough

As Rylie heaved two large bags of trash up so they weren’t dragging on the ground as she brought them to the dumpster, her mind wandered as it usually did when performing such glamorous tasks, especially when she was on her second of a back-to-back shift and was basically just running on fumes by that point.

Often her thoughts drifted to alternate universes where she was holding up a plate of decadent pastries instead of rancid garbage or wearing a form-flattering designer dress instead of an ill-fitting, alcohol-stained waitress uniform and pretend the pitter-patter of what she hoped weren’t rats were instead the footsteps of an elegant ballroom dance.

(Not that she even knew a single one, but hey, this was a fantasy, not reality. Speaking of reality, Rylie could distantly hear her co-worker Daniel’s yelp and tug on her arm, threatening to pull her from her daydream and back to the present where those sounds were rats. Not wanting to low-key freak out with him, Rylie delved deeper into her fictional other life.)

Maybe she could have a job where the words, “it’s five o’clock somewhere,” wasn’t a daily utterance, or maybe she could win the lottery and never have to work at all ever again. Or maybe, just maybe, she could be someone who was treated equally and with respect instead of--

“Hey! Rylie, Daniel, quit slacking off over there!”

--Well, that .

And she was so close to reaching the ‘prince charming’ and ‘happily ever after’ portion of her fantasy, too.

With a sigh, Rylie turned to face their manager, Kevin, as Daniel let go of her arm. “You told us to take out the garbage.” Rylie wasn’t usually the type to talk back to her bosses, but there was only so much belittling someone could take before they snapped and Rylie knew that her manager knew that he wouldn’t be able to replace her so easily if he fired her.

Unfortunately, her manager also knew that if she didn’t need the job so badly she would’ve quit by now, which always left him with the upper hand. “I didn’t expect you maggots to take it literally and throw yourselves out with it. Now I’m telling you to wait on the bachelor party that just rolled in. So chop chop!”

Forced to take the loss, Rylie bristled as Kevin smiled smugly before turning to head back into the bar.

“If bullying us is the only thing that makes him happy in life, I think we’re the ones winning in the long run, Rylie,” Daniel said in an attempt to placate her, and after a moment Rylie let out a long breath, expelling all her tension and anger.

“That’s true,” she conceded as they hurried to toss the remaining garbage bags into the dumpster. “That doesn’t make it right, but I’m not going to let him take up any more brain power. Let’s go check out the damage of this bachelor party.”

Heading back inside, the two of them peeked from around the corner of the Employee Only entrance at the back, eyeing the trio of males that waited at the front to be seated. A tanned man in a dark grey suit called out to Traci, one of the other waitresses, as she passed by with a pitcher of water for one of her tables.

“Waitress, there you are. We need your best table!” the man in the suit said.

“Forget the table,” one of the other men said, dressed on the complete opposite spectrum of his friend, with a button-opened long sleeve denim shirt over a plain white t-shirt and jeans. “Just bring us your whiskey, and lots of it.”

“Maybe the one in the suit is the one getting hitched?” Rylie theorized as she continued to peer out at them, watching as Traci assured them that someone would be out to seat them shortly and left to attend to her customers. Guessing what everyone’s story was for them to walk into a barely ‘Grade A’ bar was a thing they did to pass the time. “Do you think they’re bar-hopping, or that this is the pre-game?” she asked, turning to look back at Daniel to find that he was already looking at her with a sad puppy expression, hands clasped in the universal sign of begging. She could already guess what it was he was going to request of her. “Oh, no, Daniel…”

“Rylie, please take this one. I’ve got a date tonight, and I’ll never make it out of here in time…”

While it was only a group of three—smaller than the huge bachelor party they were expecting—alcohol always made things more unpredictable. “Why do I get all the rowdy tables?” Rylie half-complained, though she already knew she was going to do it for her friend.

“Because you’re a saint with a heart of gold and patience a mile wide?” Daniel buttered her up.

Rylie hummed noncommittally, but her poker face cracked as Daniel jutted out his bottom lip more and she threw her hands up in defeat. “Oh, you know I’ve got your back. It’s not like I’ve got anything better to do tonight…and they’re kinda hot…and the tips should be good…” Rylie listed, trying to make herself feel better about accepting and make Daniel feel less guilty for asking.

“Oh, thank you, thank you! I owe you one. You’re the best!” Daniel gushed as he hugged her, and she laughed and hugged him back.

“Just have enough fun for the both of us. I wanna hear all about it tomorrow!”

Unfortunately, their manager chose that exact moment to walk in on them. “Are you two still talking? I’ve seated them already. Now get over there before I dock your pay!”

Rolling her eyes as Kevin left again—maybe if they weren’t so short-staffed he wouldn’t have to do some actual work like seating customers, the horror!—Rylie waved bye to Daniel before straightening her uniform and plastering the friendliest smile she could muster as she walked over to where the party was seated, grabbing three menus as she went. Rylie bowed her head apologetically for interrupting their conversation; it sounded like they had some sort of European accent. “Hello, gentlemen!” she greeted as she placed menus down in front of them. “Sorry for the wait. My name’s Rylie and I’ll be taking care of you this evening.”

Before she could ask for their drink order, the third man that was in a crisp black shirt spoke first. “Waitress, steaks for the table.”

I have a name…and I just gave it to you! Rylie screamed internally, but her countenance betrayed nothing. It wasn’t like it was the first time she’d been defined solely as her occupation instead of as a person. She opened her mouth to respond, but the suspected-groom-to-be beat her to it.

“How about some filet mignon, medium rare and prepared with a béarnaise sauce?”

Does this man think he’s at a five-star restaurant? He was certainly dressed like it, but even she could appreciate someone who wanted to look good wherever they went. The smile remained on Rylie’s face despite her thoughts. “The closest thing we have to ‘filet mignon’ is the deluxe burger.”

Suit man made a face as if the word ‘burger’ itself was beneath him. “Dare I ask for your wine list?”

“We’ve got an excellent vintage house red…”

“ House red?! ”

“It also comes in white if that’s more to your taste.”

That only seemed to cause more terror in the man. “My taste ? Why, I never …”

“Sir, this is a Wendy’s,” Rylie said in a flat voice, unable to help herself when the man set it up so nicely. When silence followed instead of laughter, she shifted awkwardly. Tough crowd. She watched as the eyebrows of the man in the suit furrowed together, and she could already imagine him demanding for her manager and Kevin having the satisfaction of firing her. The man’s mouth opened, and Rylie held her breath.

“But…that’s not what the sign in front of this establishment said—”

A sharp gasp interrupted suit guy, and Rylie returned her gaze to the one in the black shirt. “Oh. My. God. I’ve read about this meme online but I never thought I’d witness it in person! Do me, do me!”

“Err…” That didn’t go the way she was expecting. It was a good thing, don’t get her wrong, but it was still throwing her for a loop. Who were these people and where did they come from? Rylie looked at denim dude, hoping he was the only sane one among them.

Denim man sighed as if wordlessly saying ‘this is why we can’t have nice things.’ “We’ll be fine with a bottle of whiskey...and four deluxe burgers.”

Rylie nodded, mentally taking down their order as she retrieved the unopened menus from the table but pausing when she realized he ordered one more than there were in their group. S he locked eyes with denim man to double check the quantity. “Four, sir?”

The man nodded behind her, and Rylie turned and came face to face with someone’s chest. “Oh!” Rylie let out in shock, taking a step back reflexively. Slowly, her eyes trailed up from the layered clothing (less formal than the suit man but more dressy than the other two), taking in his gel-styled black hair to his facial features that seemed Asian mixed with something before locking eyes with him. Whoa, he’s really cute.

“Sorry I’m late,” the newcomer apologized to his friends, though his gaze was still on her. “Thank you for your patience, Miss…?”

It took Rylie a moment to realize he was talking to her this time. “Uh, Rylie,” she answered less gracefully than she had hoped. Wonderful first impression there, Rylie.

The man smiled, though whether it was because he was being polite or because he actually found her sudden dimness adorable was unknown (Rylie’s inner voice was lamenting that it was the former). “Charmed to make your acquaintance, Rylie.”

“Trust me, the pleasure’s all mine,” Rylie replied dreamily before stiffening when her brain caught up to what her mouth said. “I mean, it’s nice to meet you.” Smooth recovery. “Let me go put your order in. Be right back!”

Fleeing the scene with what was left of her dignity, Rylie sped walked to the kitchen and put in their food order. She took a brief moment to knock her head against the wall a couple times for her embarrassing display before she took a deep breath and headed for the bar to get their drinks.

“Let’s see, whiskey, whiskey…” she murmured to herself as she looked over their stock of liquor. In her haste to leave before she made even more of a fool of herself in front of the bachelor party, she didn’t ask for what specific whiskey they wanted. What kind of whiskey people were they? Rylie discreetly glanced back at the bachelor party’s table, analyzing them. Bourbon seemed a little tame for them, but she believed the only one of the four who could handle a single malt scotch was the one in denim. Deciding it was best if they chose, Rylie picked up three different kinds and put them on a tray along with four empty glasses.

“Hello again, gentlemen,” Rylie greeted. “Your food’s in the works. I’ve got your drink order here, but since the type of whiskey wasn’t specified I figured you guys can pick your poison.”

“Poison? You’re asking us to choose how you’re going to kill us?” the tanned man gasped as he watched Rylie place three bottles of whiskey in the middle of the table before distributing glasses to everyone.

“It’s a figure of speech, Tariq,” denim man explained, eyeing the three bottles in turn before looking up at her. His expression was hard to read, but Rylie knew she was about to be tested. “What’re our choices?”

Rylie straightened under his gaze, firm and ready with no sign of weakness; if he thought he was the first man to question her knowledge of liquor when she literally worked in a bar he would be solely mistaken. “If this is your pre-game, or if you’re new to the world of whiskey, I recommend Four Roses. It’s smooth while having none of the bite of other whiskey.”

The man in black perked up at the term he didn’t recognize. “What’s a pre-game?”

“Like a pit stop before the real party begins,” Rylie answered with a wink before continuing. “If you’re feeling a little adventurous but don’t want to jump off the deep end quite yet, there’s Johnnie Walker. It’s a blended scotch and is a nice middle road between bourbon and a single malt whiskey, like the Macallan here. Choose this if you think you can handle a real kick to your taste buds.”

Rylie gave denim dude a look, who crossed his arms and nodded appreciatively; it looked like she passed.

“What would you go with?” the cute latecomer asked her.

She tapped Johnnie Walker. “It’s the best of both worlds. But it really depends on you—”

“We’ll take it!” the hyper man in black said before anyone else could say otherwise, though no one moved to object his decision.

“Excellent choice,” Rylie said dutifully, though she couldn’t suppress the tiny bit of pride that welled up inside her for the party to trust her word enough to go with her pick. After opening the bottle for them and filling their glasses three quarters of the way full, Rylie left the bottle in the middle of the table for them to refill at their leisure and collected the other two that weren’t chosen, placing them back on the tray. “If you’d like that on the rocks, let me know, though I do think it will dilute the taste.”

The latecomer smiled that million watt smile again. “No rocks, then.”

He could light up the world with that smile , Rylie thought wistfully. “I’ll be right back with your burgers.”

As Rylie walked back to the bar to return the other two bottles her manager suddenly appeared beside her. “Johnnie Walker, Rylie, really? Why didn’t you give them the Macallan when you know it costs more?” Kevin hissed at her.

“The customer chose,” Rylie said through gritted teeth as she kept a smile on her face on in case anyone was looking, “and haven’t you heard that the customer is always right?”

“I know for a fact that they asked for your opinion. You could’ve lied to sell the more expensive one. They clearly don’t know any better and they would’ve been too drunk by the end of the night to notice the bill.”

Her manager was actually the worst. Rylie pointedly refused to look at him or even give that ridiculous statement a response as she put the bottles away. A server’s word meant something to her, at least, and she wasn’t going to lie just to cheat the customer. It probably made her the worst employee in terms of selling unwanted things to customers but her integrity mattered more to her. It was another one of those things that probably should’ve gotten her fired a long time go…

“You’re just lucky that the price difference isn’t too much; less money I’m going to take out from your paycheck.”

…But then Kevin got back at her by doing things like that.

Rylie finally turned to face her manager as she clutched the now empty tray in her hand tightly. “You can’t do that!”

Kevin smirked at her. “I just did. Now you better grab their food before it gets cold and I’ll be forced to take their meal out of your paycheck too when they inevitably walk out.” He made a ‘shooing’ motion with his hand and Rylie had no choice but to do as he said, even if she was going to do it anyway.

The rest of the night was generally normal, with Kevin’s yelling at her and her co-workers normal background noise by now and the one sleazy man (there was always one) who was constantly calling her over for something just to keep her in his presence. Surprisingly, the bachelor party never got rowdy, though they certainly kept the rest of her shift interesting in the way the man in the black shirt was constantly trying to talk about pop culture with her and how Tariq (if she remembered what the one in denim called the one in the suit’s name was correctly) actually tried to eat his burger with a knife and fork.

“Can I get you guys anything else?” Rylie asked politely as she cleared the empty plates off of their table. She didn’t want to rush them but closing time was in a couple of minutes, and after spending 16 hours at work she was ready to book it out of there.

“Just a glass of water,” the man in denim asked as the cute latecomer slid out of the booth to let the one in black out; him and Rylie locked eyes and shared a smile as he sat back down.

“For the table?” she asked for clarification.

The latecomer looked down at his watch as he sat back down and frowned slightly before looking up at Tariq, who nodded. He sighed softly. “If it’s not too much trouble,” he said apologetically.

Well, there went her chances of leaving on time. Still, she couldn’t look at his handsome face and feel anything but a flutter in her heart. “Not at all.”

After delivering their water, Rylie started cleaning the rest of the tables so that she’d have less to do when the bachelor party was done. As she was finishing up wiping down the bar, she felt a tap on her shoulder and turned to see the man she had been eyeing all night. “Hey! Do you guys need a refill?”

The Asian man smiled. “Actually, I think we’re about ready to head out. I just wanted to thank you...and apologize. I know we kept you late, and my friends can be...demanding.”

Was that why he was frowning at his watch when I brought the water earlier? I thought they were running late for something. Did he know what time we closed? The possibility that that thought might’ve been true left her breathless at how thoughtful that would’ve been if it was. “Nothing I couldn’t handle,” Rylie assured him. She’d definitely handled worst tables than his before.

His eyes seemed to search her face for any hint of a lie before he smiled. “I got the feeling that you could take care of yourself.”

Rylie raised her eyebrows in surprise. “Oh, what gave it away?”

“I didn’t mean to offend. It’s just…your features are soft, but sometimes they betray your fiery spirit within,” he answered genuinely before his cheeks reddened and he cleared his throat. “Plus I can imagine it’s not easy to work here...”

“..And that’d require some backbone?” Rylie finished for him, laughing when he seemed even more embarrassed by his insinuation. Before her mind can catch up to her body, she reached out and placed a hand on his arm to comfort him, and she felt him relax under her touch. “I’m not mad, just curious as to what made you think that. You’re not wrong, and I do have a baby face; trips people up all the time.”

Realizing she was still holding onto him (it just felt so natural ), Rylie quickly let go and cleared her own throat. “It was kind of you to come over and apologize. It wasn’t necessary, but I appreciate it. If you guys are heading out now, I hope you guys enjoy the rest of the bachelor party!”

The man took another step forward as Rylie began to turn away to get back to work. “That wasn’t the only reason I came by. As… unnecessary as it may be in your opinion, I still have an invitation I’d wish to extend to you to make up for things. If you don’t have any other plans tonight, maybe I can buy you a drink. We’re about to go to a club.”

Well, this wasn’t how Rylie was expecting her night to go, but she certainly wasn’t complaining. Maybe taking the party table would reap more benefits than she originally thought. “Oh? Which one?”

“We were hoping you might have some advice about that,” he trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck. “We’re not from around here.”

Rylie smiled coyly before mimicking his earlier action by searching his face for a lie and saying, “I got the feeling that you guys weren’t native New Yorkers.”

The man realized what she was doing almost immediately and decided to play along in this sudden role reversal of theirs. “Oh, what gave it away?” he said, eyebrows raised.

A grin spread across Rylie’s face before she tried to school them into a more serious expression. “No offense but I’ve never met anyone quite like you since I’ve gotten to this city, and that’s a good thing, trust me. Plus the accents were a bit of a giveaway, though what really sold it was how your friends acted. No chill whatsoever.”

“No offense taken. I’ll humbly accept the first part as a compliment. As for the rest, we’re not exactly used to…all of this,” he waved his hand out vaguely in front of him.

“New York can be pretty overwhelming for those not used to a big city.” The man looked like he wanted to protest but decided against it, so Rylie continued. “Hmm, well, if you really want to let loose, I’ve heard Kismet is the hottest club in town at the moment.”

“That sounds perfect. I know the guys want to go crazy tonight! So, does that mean you’ll join us…?” he trailed off hopefully.

“Under one condition.”

“And what’s that?”

“You tell me your name. I’m not in the habit of leaving with complete strangers,” Rylie said with a smile.

The man winced slightly, and Rylie believed if he had less restraint he would’ve smacked a hand against his forehead. “Where are my manners? My name is Liam. I’ll introduce my friends once we’re outside.”

“Trust me, Liam, you have more manners in your pinky than most people do in their entire being. And that sounds like a plan! Just let me finish up here and I’ll meet you out front.”

“You’re too kind, Rylie,” Liam said, then bowed slightly before heading towards the exit.

“And you’re too modest!” Rylie called after him, cherishing the chuckle that she heard before she headed for their table to clear it. She noticed an envelope under their bill and read the neat note written on the front. “Thank you for your service tonight. This is your tip: open once you arrive safely home,” Rylie read aloud to herself before turning the sealed packet in her hands. It felt like it had some thickness to it, but it could’ve just been a bunch of dollar bills. Were they embarrassed? It wasn’t like it mattered, especially since it seemed like she was going to get a drink out of it.

“Who even puts tips in an envelope anyway?” Rylie asked herself. They continued to surprise her with their quirkiness. Shrugging, she stuffed the envelope in her apron pocket and quickly finished her closing duties before heading into the breakroom to change. I am so ready to get out of this uniform… Rylie thought as she began to change into a pair of dark denim skinny jeans, a chic berry purple short sleeved shirt that complimented the tone of her medium brown skin, and accessorized with a faux gold chain and black ankle boots.

Pulling at the hair tie that kept her hair up revealed that while the top half of her hair was a dark brown, from the middle down to the tips was a dark pink ombre colour, otherwise hidden by the way she had styled her up do. Rylie finger combed her hair, trying to get that sultry messy wave and parting it on her right side. With that done, she donned a black leather jacket and checked herself out in the mirror.

Perfect.

Grabbing her bag, Rylie clocked out, waved by to any of her lingering co-workers and avoided her manager like the plague as she made her way outside, finding Liam and his friends waiting for her.

The guy in denim was the first to notice her as he looked up from his phone, and he did a double take as he saw her approach. “Wow,” he breathed out as his eyes subtly raked up her form until he locked eyes with her.

“Wow?” Rylie repeated as she stopped in front of him.

“I...almost didn’t recognize you,” he tried to elaborate, still at a loss for words.

“That uniform wasn’t doing you justice,” Tariq agreed with denim man’s disjointed appraisal, also eyeing her with an approving gaze.

The one in the black shirt joined his friends in crowding her, unabashedly checking her out. “Yeah, the waitress is hot.”

Rylie let out a laugh, trying to figure out if she was amused, flattered, or upset by the attention and comments. They acted as if they had never seen a woman in skinny jeans before, and while it was really nice to be seen as attractive it was also a little objectifying.

Before she could decide, there were footsteps behind her, and she turned to see Liam giving his friends a stern look. “Ahem. Her name is Rylie, and I doubt she appreciates you talking about her like that.”

She hummed, unsure. “The jury’s still out on that one.”

Denim man bowed his head in silent apology, while Tariq looked taken aback as he seemed to be the whole night she was waiting on them. “Are we on trial?”

“Still a figure of speech, Tariq,” denim man said.

“I would appreciate being called by my name, though,” Rylie added, looking at Liam gratefully. “Thank you.”

“Right. Sorry, Rylie. I meant to say, you look lovely,” the one in the black shirt said sincerely, folding his right arm across his stomach and bending slightly at the hip rather regally before standing up and clapping his hands together. “Now let’s get this party going!”

“Before we go, I did promise to introduce you to everyone. This is Drake,” Liam named as he gestured towards the man in denim, “Maxwell,” the one in the black shirt gave a wave, “and Tariq,” Liam finished as he gave the one in the suit a pat on the shoulder.

Rylie gave a wave back to the group. “Nice to meet you all, officially.”

Drake crossed his arms, eyeing her with a more calculating look than before. “So she’s our tour guide now?”

Rylie frowned slightly. Well, isn’t he a ray of sunshine. Liam had made it sound like everyone was on board with her coming along. If that wasn’t the case she wasn’t going to insert herself into their bachelor party. “It’s okay, I can go. I can tell when I’m not wanted.”

“Please stay,” Liam beseeched her softly before facing Drake squarely. “Rylie was kind enough to agree to show us around. She’s doing us a favour, so play nice.”

The two of them held gazes for a while, having some sort of silent conversation before Drake looked away mumbling something that sounded like ‘masochist’. “Don’t go,” Drake sighed, running a hand through his hair. “We’d be grateful for your assistance.”

“Apology accepted,” Rylie said, smiling innocently when Drake’s head snapped towards her.

“I didn’t apologize—”

She began going up and down the balls of her feet and batting her eyes at him sweetly, beaming as Drake realized he couldn’t argue with her. With a grumble, he turned and walked away with Tariq and Maxwell following after him, the latter’s laugh reaching her ears.

“Well since the plan is still a go, I’ll just order us an Uber—” Rylie started as she pulled out her phone.

“Actually,” Liam said, gently placing a hand atop hers that was holding the phone, “we already have a ride.”

He motioned her forwards, and Rylie walked towards the direction the others had gone to see a limo waiting around the corner. “Wow,” Rylie said with a whistle. “You guys really went all out for this bachelor party, eh?”

She missed Liam’s grimace, only turning when his fingers lightly touched her elbow in order to get her attention. “The guys wouldn’t have it any other way. If you could tell me where the club is, I’ll inform the driver.”

After showing the driver the location from the map off her phone, Liam and Rylie climbed into the back with the others before the driver closed the door behind them and got into the front seat.

“So…” Rylie began a few minutes into the drive. “What made you guys choose New York for your bachelor party instead of like…Las Vegas?”

Drake frowned. “Too crowded.”

“Too hot.” Tariq needlessly adjusted his suit.

“Too tempting. We’d definitely get into some sort of trouble there,” Maxwell shivered as scenarios went through his head.

“‘ We ’?” Drake raised an eyebrow at him.

“You guys do seem the type that’ll somehow recreate ‘The Hangover’,” Rylie mused, tapping her chin thoughtfully.

“‘ You guys ’?” Drake repeated again, as if to stress that he wasn’t going to be sucked into their hypothetical mess.

Maxwell nodded at Rylie, ignoring Drake. “Right?! Besides, it was Liam’s idea to come to this city.”

Rylie moved her gaze to him, curious, and Liam chuckled good-naturedly. “I was afraid that what happens in Vegas may not stay in Vegas,” he half-joked. There was a moment of hesitation as he glanced at his friends before he leaned in towards Rylie slightly. “Besides, we never would have met if we hadn’t come to New York. Perhaps it’s—.”

“Kismet,” the driver announced as the limo slowed to a stop, and Rylie felt her face heat up at the perfect timing and double meaning of the word.

Liam seemed to flush as well, but his gaze was still steady on her as he whispered, “Took the words right out of my mouth.”

Rylie swallowed. “I never took you to be a pun guy,” she said, playing on how ‘pun’ and ‘fun’ sounded alike, and willed her heart to slow. She was not going to fall for someone she’d never see again. Don’t do it Rylie.

“It seems like we have that in common,” Liam observed as the door opened and his friends piled out. Liam got out as well before bending down to look at her, holding a hand out. “Shall we?”

Smiling, Rylie accepted his help out of the limo, and the group made their way to the back of the line into the club as the limo drove away to park until called upon again. It was perhaps only a ten minute wait, but she could hear snippets of Maxwell, Tariq and Drake going back and forth about ‘waiting’ and being able to ‘skip the line’ and something about ‘stop being babies’ the whole time.

Unsurprisingly to Rylie, once they got to the front of the line she was carded, as was Maxwell, and the group laughed as Tariq insisted that his ID be checked as well. As soon as they were inside, though, the guys immediately headed for the dance floor like the music was a siren song calling to them.

“Time to party!” Maxwell yelled as he shimmed to the middle of the action.

“No one wants to see your running man, Maxwell,” Drake teased as even he seemed to loosen up with the beat.

“You there! Who do we talk to for bottle service?” Tariq called out to a passing server.

“Yeah, sure, we’ll get a table for the group, you’re welcome!” Rylie called after them as Liam chuckled beside her.

“Thank you for bringing us here,” Liam said as they were seated at a table on the sidelines of the dance floor. “Looks like the guys are having fun already.”

There was something about how Liam said it that drew Rylie’s attention to him. He looked content, but it seemed that it was more out of his friends’ happiness than his own. She returned her gaze to his friends on the dance floor. “I bet you’re used to putting everyone else first.”

Liam turned towards her, startled. “And why would you say that?”

Rylie shrugged nonchalantly, but she chose her words carefully in case he took it the wrong way. “I can tell. I’m good at reading people.” She could see him patiently looking at her from the corner of her eye, expecting her to elaborate. She took a deep breath and plunged in. “You said ‘the guys are having fun’, which suggests that you don’t consider yourself a part of said group that’s having a blast. Plus, you are here instead of out there on the dance floor with them.” Rylie turned towards him, relieved that he didn’t seem upset by what she said. “So, forget about your friends for a minute. What about you ? Do you like it here?”

To her surprise, Liam actually gave her question some thought. “What I’m enjoying most is the company. And I believe I owe you a drink...So what’ll the lady have?”

Rylie gave him a look that said that she was not impressed by his deflection. “So that’s a no,” she answered directly for him, but smiled at the implication that she was a part of making it worthwhile for him. “But I’m glad I make up for it.” Rylie picked up the drink menu and looked through it. “Hmm, I think I’ll have a flaming cocktail.”

“Let’s make that two,” Liam said as he lifted a hand to signal for service.

A few minutes later their drinks were delivered, and Liam carefully handed Rylie a drink before picking up his own. “Careful. We’re playing with fire here…” Liam warned.

Part of Rylie wondered if Liam meant more than just the drinks, and figured she was overthinking things. “That’s what makes it fun!” Rylie said as she raised her glass. “To enjoying company.”

Liam smiled as he also lifted his glass. “Cheers.”

They clinked their glasses together before they both blew out the fire from their drinks and drank.

“Mmmm, this is good. Thank you, Liam. I guess this makes us even.”

Liam stilled for a moment before he looked down, thinking. “Hmm…you’re right. Now I’ll have to find some other excuse to get you to stay.”

Rylie felt her face heat up again and she reached over to place a hand on Liam’s knee so he’d see it and look up at her. “You don’t need an excuse. Turns out...I’m having fun. Clubs aren’t really my scene, and I thought I’d be dead tired after a 16 hour shift but you, and your friends…it’s like you give me energy, give me life.” She laughed at how cheesy that must’ve sounded, but it did finally make Liam look up at her. Her eyes sparkled with how in awe he was, inadvertently proving her point. “I guess there is something to having good company that could make anything better.”

“I’m very happy to hear that.” Liam laughed as Rylie tried to wave off his comment, squeezing the hand that was still on his knee. “Honestly. Well, not about you working for 16 hours, that seems…excessive, but…Hanging out with you is the most fun I’ve had this entire vacation.”

“Yikes! I mean, that’s sweet of you to say, but as amazing as I am I think that means you haven’t really been enjoying yourself very much if I’m the highlight of your trip.”

Liam let out a sigh, sitting back in his seat as he gently swirled his glass, contemplatively watching the liquid swish in a circular motion. “It’s been wonderful, but there’s something missing. I really wanted to do one thing in particular while I was here…”

“And what’s that?”

“It’s...well...” Liam laughed awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. Rylie remembered him doing it back at the bar, too; it seemed to be something he did when he was embarrassed. “You’re probably going to think it’s silly, but I’ve always wanted to see the Statue of Liberty...It wasn’t really in the guys’ plan, so we just never got around to it. And now it’s my last day here...I don’t mean to sound so ungrateful. It was thoughtful of my friends to throw me this bachelor party. They’ve done their best, but I’m not in the mood to celebrate.”

Rylie froze in shock as the entirety of what Liam had said hit her. She must’ve stayed that way for some time, because after a while Liam looked up from his drink and leaned forward in his seat towards her, a worried expression on his face. “Rylie?”

Rylie blinked and looked at him, attempting to smile. “Yeah, no, hi, I’m here. Sorry. There’s just… a lot to unpack in what you said. I…didn’t realize this is your bachelor party.” Aside from the fact that she had assumed the husband-to-be was Tariq, with the way Liam had been acting towards her she thought… But maybe it was all in my head. Still, she shouldn’t have been surprised; it should’ve been obvious that someone as great as Liam was already taken. Besides, she told herself not to fall for him, and now she had a really good reason not to.

Nothing’s changed.

The next time Rylie smiled, it was more genuine. “Congratulations.”

It was Liam’s turn to fail miserably at looking happy. “If you knew the whole story, you might not congratulate me so quickly.”

Rylie’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “Oh?”

“I actually don’t know who I’m going to marry yet...only that I’ll have to pick my fiancée by the end of the year.”

“Okay…” Rylie said slowly. “What does that even mean? This sounds like a cross between an arranged marriage and ‘The Bachelor’.”

Liam seemed to struggle internally over something before he said, “The truth is, Rylie...I’m the Crown Prince of Cordonia.”

Rylie choked on the drink she had just taken a sip of. “You’re a prince ?” she coughed out. “Am I being Punk’d right now?”

“I’m unsure of what a ‘Punk’d’ is but I can assure you that I’m telling you the truth.”

“Like you’ve been telling the truth up until now?” Rylie retorted, but her voice had less of a bite than it could have as she was distracted by the first part of what Liam had said. “But…it all makes sense now. The pop culture references and the wine, the way you guys act and the reaction to my clothes…all sort of fits with the sheltered court life, right? I believe you, Liam…if that is your real name,” Rylie joked lightly, a small smile on her face.

Liam let out a sigh of relief that she not only believed him, but wasn’t terribly mad at him, too. “It is, I promise.”

“Why didn’t you tell me? I mean, if you didn’t trust me or thought I was a threat you wouldn’t have invited me out with you guys in the first place. Or why tell me at all? You could’ve gone back to… Cordonia?” At Liam’s nod, Rylie continued, “And I would be none the wiser. Just…why?”

Liam clasped his hands together and looked down at them as he tried to find the words to explain. “I do trust you, which is crazy and scary and right all at once. That’s why I told you; I felt you deserved the truth, especially since you also put your trust in me by being here. As for why I wasn’t more upfront with you…” Liam moved his gaze back to her.

“I’m not normally allowed to go around without the Royal Guard, and I was only allowed out on the condition that I kept my identity a secret. But perhaps more than that, just for one day, I wanted to be free. I’m very aware that I have a duty to the monarchy. I’ve never known anything else.”

“Oh, Liam, I’m so sorry.” Rylie reached out and hugged him, burying her face in his shoulder as his arms wrapped around her. “Your secret is safe with me. I guess living the fairy tale life isn’t all it’s cracked up to be, huh?” As she pulled away, she gasped. “And I gravely underestimated you putting other people first; you literally put an entire country of people before yourself.”

Liam laughed softly. “Being royal isn’t as bad as I just made it sound, it’s just not as devoid of responsibilities or one party after another like people think it is. But I wouldn’t trade it in for anything in the world.”

“Spoken like a true prince,” Rylie teased.

Liam smiled. “But what about you? You could be anything, do anything. What drives you, Rylie?”

“Being a peasant is not a walk in the park either, or have you forgotten my 16 hour shift? But…I’m sort of doing what I want now, in a way. I want to see the world. Cover the earth before it covers me, you know?”

“Where have you been so far?”

“Here.” At Liam’s confused look, Rylie laughed. “You’re not the only one who isn’t a native New Yorker. I’m actually from Canada. I went to university here and then once I graduated I just…never left. I’m saving up, and one day I’m going to see everything. The Northern Lights, the Eiffel Tower, Machu Picchu…there’s so many different people to meet, different cultures to immerse myself in...”

The look Liam got sometimes when he looked at her was back again, like he couldn’t believe she was real. “That’s beautiful, Rylie.”

Suddenly, Maxwell’s voice drifted over to them from the dance floor, and they spotted the guys still out there, now mingling with the other club-goers. “Come on, Drake. Show off those moves!”

“Another bottle of champagne!” Tariq yelled. “Who knew we’d find a decent vintage here?”

“Looks like your friends are having fun,” Rylie commented.

“Good. I’m happy for them. They deserve to have fun... Tomorrow, it’s back to Cordonia for the start of the social season.” Liam looked about as somber as he sounded.

Rylie frowned. She had no idea what Cordonia’s social season consisted of, but she was pretty sure what Liam would be going through would be worse than his friends. After all, he was the one that seemed to have a deadline for a marriage to someone he didn’t even know yet. If anyone deserves to have fun on their final night of freedom, it’s Liam. And she was going to give it to him. A plan was already forming in her mind. “But it’s not tomorrow yet…”

It was almost as if Liam could hear that she was up to something from the tone of her voice. “What are you suggesting?” he asked, equal parts intrigued and dubious.

“You said you wanted to see the Statue of Liberty. Let’s do it! I know a place where we can catch a boat tour. Best view in town.”

“Right now?” Liam checked his wristwatch. “But it’s way past midnight. Won’t all the tours be closed?”

Rylie picked up her phone to also check the time. “Oh...right. I forgot how late it’s gotten.” She paused only for a second before she unlocked her phone and began texting someone. “In that case...you’re lucky I can cash in a favour.”

“A favour?” Liam repeated as she watched her work, noise chiming from her phone every few seconds. “And just like that, you can get us on a tour boat after midnight to see the Statue of Liberty?”

“Well, maybe a few favours, actually, but I have some friends who owe me. It won’t be easy, but I know this is important to you, so...” With a flourish of taps, Rylie lowered her phone and grinned at him. “Let’s go!”

Liam blinked and looked up as Rylie got to her feet. “Right now?” he said again, still thrown over the fact that she would go through all this trouble just for him.

“It’s only getting later every minute we wait. Besides,” Rylie glanced back at the dance floor and his friends who were still partying hard. “It looks like the guys are busy enough. I bet they won’t even notice you’re gone; they haven’t come by our table since we got here.”

Liam seemed to mull over that fact for a bit, but he couldn’t help the smile that spread across his face as he kept his eyes on her. “You’re not going to take no for an answer, are you?”

“Nope,” Rylie said, popping the ‘p’.

With a nod, Liam got to his feet. “Then I happily surrender to your demands.”

“Wait, really?” It was Rylie’s turn to be shocked as she looked up at him. She had hoped he would agree, but after hearing all the limitations he had she wasn’t sure he could.

Liam laughed at her surprised reaction. “Well, I will have to let the guys know that we’re going, but I can do that after we’ve already left. Besides, I’m finding it hard to say no to you, but even more than that, I’m finding that I don’t want to.”

Rylie’s heart swelled and she knew she was a goner no matter how much her brain was trying to tell her not to. Scratch that, everything’s changed. She was going to be heartbroken in the morning, but that was a problem for her future self. She was going to enjoy this moment right now until her proverbial carriage turned into a pumpkin. “Then let’s get going.”

After settling their tab, Rylie took Liam’s hand and led the way out of the club. “Now,” she started to explain as they walked, “we will have to take an Uber this time, but that’s only so that the limo’s free if your friends want to come get you. We’ll tell your driver where we’re going so he’ll know where to bring them.”

As they stopped by the curbside, Liam squeezed her hand. “Rylie, that’s so incredibly thoughtful of you.” Rylie shrugged as if it was nothing even though it meant so much to him.

“I’m not here to cause an international incident,” she teased. “Just let your driver know it’ll be at the corner of Old Fulton and Furman Street. I’ll order the Uber now.”

Not long after Liam had called to tell his driver the plan and texted his friends where he had gone and instructions on how to reach him, their Uber arrived and a short ride later they were getting out at the intersection she had mentioned. It was a short walk from there to the docks, the twinkling lights from Manhattan greeting them across the water from where they stood.

“…And here we wait,” Rylie said as she folded her arms atop the wooden railing that lined the docks.

Liam mimicked her movements as he stood beside her, his arms just a few inches from touching her own. “For?”

“For the magical boat I’ve summoned just for you.”

“No magic carpet tonight?”

“I’m afraid my monkey’s currently taking it for a joy ride.”

The two of them looked at each other and laughed, though while Rylie returned her gaze to the skyline Liam kept his eyes on her. “Not a bad view…” he murmured, tracing every line of her face as if to commit her vision to memory.

“Yeah, I like how—” Rylie stopped as she turned back towards Liam and found him still staring at her. “Oh, that’s so cheesy,” she teased.

Liam smiled, unashamed that he was caught looking. “Doesn’t make it any less true.”

Feeling a blush creep up her cheeks, Rylie elbowed him lightly. “I’d say the same but I feel like you hear that from enough people already. Don’t want your head getting too big for your crown.”

Liam laughed before he shrugged. “Perhaps, but it’s an empty compliment coming from them. I feel like it’d actually be true, actually mean something, if it came from you.”

Rylie swallowed. “Then…I think I have the best view in the whole city right now.” He smiled, and she thought she had gone blind for a second. “You could definitely light up all of New York with that smile for sure. I’ve been thinking that all night.”

It was Liam’s turn to blush, and he ducked his head down as he rubbed the back of his neck. “I…thank you, Rylie.”

“Y-yeah, of course, no problem.” Rylie cleared her throat before spinning around so that her back was leaning against the railing instead. “Now, I’m dying to know why you’re so eager to see the Statue of Liberty.”

He lifted his head to look at her again. “Can’t you guess?”

She knew what the Statue of Liberty was supposed to mean, and though she never thought it’d apply to him, it also did in the most basic way. “…Because she symbolizes freedom.”

Liam nodded before he looked out towards Manhattan. “Freedom is something that I’ve always wanted. But I’ve always known that my role would require me to give up much of what I desire.”

It was one thing to see this dilemma in movies, where it was only a speedbump in the overall story and things eventually all worked out by the end credits, but it was another to actually know someone in real life going through the exact same issues and not being able to just circumvent it as easily because real lives were at stake. Still, Rylie couldn’t help but wish there was something Liam could do about his situation. “But you’re the prince. Can’t you do what you want, at least some of the time?”

Liam let out a hollow laugh and shook his head. “As a member of the royal family, my actions reflect on my house and all of Cordonia. It’s something I’ve never been allowed to forget. No matter how badly I might want to.” He looked back at her for one long moment before turning away again.

Rylie’s heart ached for him. She hated seeing others in pain and not being able to help them. “Liam…”

She reached out to touch his arm, but before she could there was a loud blast of a horn. They both looked out across the water and noticed a tour boat pulling up.

“There’s our ride,” Rylie announced, glancing back at Liam to check if he was okay. He gave her a weak smile and a nod and she led them down the ramp to where the boat was waiting.

“Well aren’t you a sight for sore eyes,” the man tying the boat to shore said as he caught sight of Rylie.

Rylie grinned and gave him a tight hug. “Paul, long time no see! And Chris, miss you!” She waved at the captain who stood by the steering wheel, waving back. “Spending all your time out on the water instead of on land, it’s no wonder I never see you.”

“You only have yourself to blame for that. I wouldn’t even have this gig if it weren’t for you.”

“And soon we’ll have a boat thanks to you, too,” Chris yelled from the bridge.

“Really? They agreed to sell it to you guys? That’s fantastic!”

“Hell yeah! But we could be here ‘till the sun rises catching up, and that’s not what you’re here for.” Paul not-so-subtlety raised his eyebrows towards Liam.

“Ah, that’s right! Paul, Chris, this is Liam. Liam, Paul and Chris.” Rylie introduced, taking a step back as the men waved and shook hands and exchanged ‘nice to meet you’.

“You must be something special if Rylie’s going all out on a first date,” Paul commented as he moved to guide him on board but Liam waved him off, expertly getting on before turning to offer a hand to help Rylie.

“We’re not—”

“I’m not—”

Rylie and Liam looked at each other as they spoke at the same time before laughing.

“Well, he is special,” Rylie said as she took Liam’s hand and stepped onto the boat.

“You’re still too kind,” Liam insisted.

“And you’re still too modest,” Rylie countered, and Paul laughed at their antics.

“You two are so cute. Now, I would be a horrible tour operator if I didn’t offer commentary during our trip, if you are so inclined to accept.”

Liam and Rylie glanced at each other and she shrugged. “It’s your call.”

“The boat ride alone is already so much, I couldn’t possibly ask for more,” Liam declined politely.

“Besides, I didn’t cash in all my favours just to owe you one,” Rylie joked, trying to help Liam feel less guilty.

“It would’ve been on the house, thank you very much, but I can tell when people are trying to get rid of me for some alone time,” Paul winked before he clapped to signal Chris. “We’ll be heading off shortly, enjoy your trip!”

“Thank you,” Liam and Rylie chorused together even as Rylie rolled her eyes at the ‘alone time’ comment.

“Shall we?” she said to Liam before leading the way towards the starboard side of the ship where the Statue of Liberty would be seen.

As they settled into a spot and the boat began moving, Liam spoke. “As bad as this is going to sound, a part of me didn’t think you’d pull this off.”

Rylie laughed. It did sound a little bad, but she wasn’t too surprised. If she didn’t know herself she’d have thought the same thing. “Oh, savage! You just don’t know me very well.”

“You’re right,” Liam admitted earnestly, turning towards her, “But I’d like to fix that. You’re fascinating, Rylie. Why are you doing this for me?”

“You seemed like you needed it,” Rylie said simply, as if she hadn’t just moved heaven and earth to make sure he saw the Statue in the last few hours he had left in the country. But for her, it was that simple. Liam was someone in need, she had the means to help him, so she did.

“That’s... so sweet of you. To be honest, no one’s ever done anything like this for me before.”

“Really?” Rylie snorted. “Come on, you’re a prince. I bet people do things for you all the time.”

“I know what you’re thinking; I do get all the perks that come with being royalty. But it’s a lot like their compliments, given in hopes of getting something else in return because they see my crown before they see the person beneath it. No one’s ever seen me as just... me . No one’s ever listened to me the way you do. No one’s ever come up with a spur-of-the-moment plan to make my dreams come true.”

“Liam...how could I not see you? How can I not see the man who was first to call me by my name instead of by my job description? Or the man who personally came to apologize on behalf of his friends and then goes and puts said friends’ wants above his own at his own bachelor party? Those qualities are what makes you amazing, Liam, not your crown, and that’s someone who deserves happiness just like everyone else.”

“Rylie…”

“So, what else do you dream about? Maybe I can go two for two.”

Liam smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. He moved his gaze back towards the swirling mist around them. “Finding someone. Someone who can be the queen that Cordonia needs.”

“And...also someone you fall in love with, right?” Rylie added when it became obvious he wasn’t going to.

Liam was actively trying not to look at her now. “That’s never been part of the criteria that the Cordonian Council uses.”

“But that doesn’t mean you can’t have both, Liam.”

“...Love is one luxury I cannot afford, especially as a prince,” he whispered, so low that Rylie wasn’t even sure he had said anything.

Before she could ask him, they felt the boat slow down and the mists dramatically begin to part revealing the Statue of Liberty. Liam made a noise that suspiciously sounded like a gasp at the site of it, and Rylie found herself more captivated watching his reaction to that Statue than the Statue itself (and not only because she’d seen it thousands of times already). “So, what do you think?”

Liam’s eyes were alit with wonder. “ Magnificent. I’ve heard that art has meaning because of what it makes the viewer feel. Whether it’s ink splatters on a canvas or the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel, it only matters if it moves you.”

“And?”

“And right now, looking at this view with you, I feel like anything is possible.” He finally looked back at her, practically glowing from the inside out. “Thank you for this moment, Rylie. This feeling...this means more to me than you could ever know.”

“Liam…”

“I want you to know that I admire you. Your adventurous spirit. The way you follow your heart.”

It hurt to hear how resigned he sounded about his situation and she mourned how it sounded like he was saying goodbye not only to her, but to this part of him that was able to be free for just a few hours. A lack of privacy, a lack of freedom...being born royal came at such a high cost without the chance to decide if you even wanted it. But surely not being able to choose that one person you can be you with, having to kill a part of yourself to live that life...that was too much of a sacrifice.“You can live that way too.” Rylie hoped speaking it out into the universe would make it real.

Liam shook his head sadly. “If only. My whole life I’ve prepared myself to do what’s best for Cordonia.”

If this was the last moment Liam was going to have as a free man, it was going to end on a high note. “Well, we’re not in Cordonia now…”

Rylie looked up and locked eyes with him and Liam felt himself being drawn down towards her, helpless as he surrendered to her gravitational pull. There was only a moment of hesitation as their lips hovered over one another before they kissed deeply. Her hands clutched desperately to the front of his jacket as both of his hands cupped her face, one hand eventually drifting down to the small of her back to press her closer towards him as they continued to kiss.

As the need for oxygen began to make itself known Rylie pulled away, but Liam, unable or unwilling to part from her, stayed close by, leaning his forehead against hers as they both gasped for air.

“You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?” Liam said breathlessly, still recovering.

“I try,” Rylie said with just as much difficulty.

Liam closed his eyes and gently rubbed his nose against hers in an eskimo kiss. “I’m glad to have met you, Rylie,” he spoke against her lips. “I’ll never forget this night…”

Rylie gave him a small smile. “Even when you’re surrounded by beautiful women going on group dates to private beaches?”

“Especially then,” he promised before pulling back to look at her properly. “How did you…?”

“I did watch one season of ‘The Bachelor’; figured it was close enough to whatever you’ll be doing,” she joked.

Liam chuckled, wrapping an arm around her as she rested her head against his shoulder. He placed a kiss atop her head, and together they enjoyed the rest of the boat ride in comfortable silence, basking in each other’s company until they were once again back at shore.

“All right lovebirds! That concludes our tour. I hope you enjoyed the ride,” Paul said as the two of them approached him by the edge of the boat as he secured it to the docks.

“It was everything I could have ever dreamed of and more,” Liam praised, shaking his hand. “Thank you.”

“We really appreciate it,” Rylie started, but Paul raised a hand up to stop her from continuing.

“Don’t mention it. What’re friends for? Just don’t be a stranger no more!”

Rylie smiled at Paul before giving him another hug. “I won’t.”

After Liam climbed out of the boat he helped Rylie up, and with their hands intertwined they made their way through the docks and along the sidewalk towards the street.

“Liam!”

Ahead, at the corner where they had told the driver to drop the guys off, was Drake, who had both hands cupping his mouth to amplify his voice and was now lowering them as he saw he had grabbed their attention. Close behind him stood Maxwell, who raised a hand to wave. Tariq stood by the waiting limo, one hand braced against the side as he leaned on it.

Liam and Rylie waved back with their free hand before slowing to a stop a small distance away so they could have some privacy.

“Looks like your ride is here,” Rylie said.

“You mean our ride. We can drop you off—” At the shake of Rylie’s head, Liam stopped speaking.

“I think it’s best if we parted ways here,” she said as she let go of his hand, feeling empty and cold the moment she did.

“Rylie—”

“It’d be suspicious if I got dropped off by a limo in my neighbourhood.”

“Who’s going to see at this time of night?”

“New York’s the city that never sleeps, remember? Do you really want to risk it?”

Liam did, Rylie could tell from the look in his eyes, but she could also see the internal struggle going on in his head between the logic of her words and what his heart wanted to do. She pushed further, knowing it was in his best interest to let her go.

“I can handle myself, remember? Besides, I think you’ve got bigger things to worry about than me.”

“A prince can multi-task, you know.” Despite his argument Liam sighed, conceding as he always seemed to do with her. “But at the risk of me not only underestimating you yet again but also being called a liar, I trust you to get home safely.”

“You too.”

Liam nodded, knowing she meant Cordonia and not his hotel room.

“And I want you to know that I’m glad I met you too, Liam. I’ll never forget you .” Rylie couldn’t help but laugh at how she was mimicking the words he had told her on the boat, mirroring the way they had copied each other back at the bar. That felt like ages ago. At Liam’s small smile, she knew he was making the connection too. “And hey, if you televise your wedding like all the other popular royals do I will definitely tune in.”

That made Liam laugh, and he shook his head at her ability to do that even now. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Please tell your friends that it was nice meeting them.”

“I’m sure the feeling is mutual.”

“I dunno, Grumpy Cat might be a tough sell.”

Confused, Liam turned around at Rylie’s head nod to see Drake frowning at them now and he had to stifle another laugh. “I don’t think that nickname will help you.”

“I said what I said. Oh! Tell Maxwell I said that, he’ll be sad he missed it.”

“I will.” His smile faded, and he was somber once more. “Goodbye, Rylie.”

Rylie hated goodbyes so instead she said, “Take care, Liam.”

Liam bowed his head and made his way towards his friends. She waved as each of them got into the limo, lowering her hand to wrap her arms around herself as they drove away. She stood there until she could no longer see their taillights, just as a tower bell in the distance rang, signaling a new hour, the end of their fairytale night.

Rylie let out a breath she didn’t even realize she had been holding.

“I hope you find your happily ever after.”

#playchoices #the royal romance #trr #trr fanfic #trr mc #king liam #liam rhys #trr liam x mc #long post #marie writes #living the fantasy

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80steenmovie · 5 years

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Single: Part Two

Billy Hargrove x OC

Listen to ‘Single’

Read part one here

Part Two Summary: The heartbroken but hopeful girl and the broken but still breathing boy meet for the first time...

Word Count: 3,192

Warnings: none

A/N: Guess who’s back, back again. Single is back, tell a friend. But in all serious, I know it’s been eons since I updated this story. I can blame technology for that one. I feel good about the potential of this story and its characters and I hope at least one person enjoys reading it as much as I love writing it. Being as this is my first story I’ve posted on the interwebs, there’s bound to be a few rough spots and hiccups. I would greatly appreciate feedback of any sort, but please be gentle and kind. And last but not least I have to thank those of you who let me ramble about writer problems and feeling stuck and helping me sort through them, you’re the real mvp’s. Happy reading! 💜

The bell ringing above the entrance broke you out of your trance and the mystery boy was gone without a trace. You knew nothing about this enchanting stranger, not even his name or what a boy like him was doing in Hawkins. But you had already made it your mission to unravel the blonde haired angel.

“What has gotten into you?” Lexi broke in. “It looked like you were under some sort of hypnosis.”

Your gaze was quickly directed towards Lexi and you barely breathed out, “Who was that?”

The only response Lexi gave was a scoff and a readjustment with her back against the wall and her knees against her chest.

You softly sighed, “What?”

“He was just some random guy with a nice face. And now he’s gone, so why is it so important?” Lexi sneered.

“He wasn’t like any other guy. You yourself said that.”

“Okay, he’s uber hot, so what? Why do you care so much?” she asked rhetorically.

You dropped your head slightly and bounced your eyes around to avoid Lexi’s glare and mumbled, “I-I guess, I don’t know. Never mind.”

“I’m sorry that I’m the only one concerned about tonight and that I can’t assist you on your case of the hot mystery boy.” Lexi retorted.

“Lexi, you know I care about tonight, I just-”

She quickly scooted out of the booth and cut you off with a sharp bite, “Just forget it. I guess I’ll see you at the party tonight, or whatever.”

You knew something was deeply bothering Lexi, but could not decipher what it was. And at this point, there was no talking it out with her and making it all better. Lexi was stubborn, and it would be awhile before she admitted the true cause of her outburst. Nonetheless, you had to let her know somehow that you cared and would never purposely try to hurt your best friend.

“How are you going to get home?” You asked.

“I don’t know, walking is an option. I’ll figure something out.” She muttered with a harsh tone.

“That’s way too far to walk, please at least let me get you home.” You said glumly.

“Oh, now you care about me. Thanks, but I’ll pass.” Lexi snapped.

Without missing a beat, she turned on her heels and walked away from you, shoving the diner door open ringing the bell that was beginning to be a familiar and melancholic sound.

What was just breakfast and coffee with your best friend turned into misunderstandings and heavy hearts with no one but yourself.

But not for very long; the booth you were sitting at was the first next to the door and he saw everything from the parking lot. Your whimsical stare, your perplexing fixation on him, and the harsh words exchanged between you and Lexi that he didn’t need to hear to know. He now saw an innocent girl with a soft frown and a severed heart, her only company being a lukewarm cup of coffee. There were plenty of sad girls he came across that he would only to intend the pleasure the sadness out of. But when he saw you that didn’t even cross his mind and he felt a mar in his egocentric identity.

He opened the door of the blue Camaro to let in the brisk, fall air, hoping it would rid this new train of thought. To his dismay, it remained in tact and sharp in the front of his brain. It deeply frustrated him as to why he couldn’t understand this distant feeling. He could briefly recall that he had felt it only once before, a long time ago. But this detached memory surged through every bone in his body and it was forming a force he couldn’t fight with even the strongest fist.

Annoyed and slightly perturbed, he groaned and stomped his boots on the gravel. He took a final and drawn-out drag of his newly lit cigarette, hoping the nicotine would erase the thought from his head. The nicotine making no said difference and now wasting a perfectly good cigarette, he would normally be moved pick a fight with someone who breathed the wrong way.

About to get back into his car, he unintentionally caught a quick glance of you, not having moved at all from where he last left you. He slammed the door shut and put out his barely used cigarette on the ashtray on top of the garbage bin, subsiding from his usual habit of flicking it to the side without a care.

You were still staring down into your coffee cup and absentmindedly swirling a spoon around the perimeter and for once didn’t pay attention to the ringing bell. Lexi was far too stubborn to come back and make amends this quickly, and right now there was no else important enough to walk through that door that would be worth your time and energy.

A rich and smooth voice suddenly entered your wavelength and hummed, “Is this seat taken?”

You were slightly irritated at someone cutting into your self loathe time and only bothered to slowly raise your eyes to show your annoyance, which quickly faded into wonder and your head shot up when you realized who was standing in your presence.

Your body went into shock and had to adjust to realize the only dream you were in was the one standing directly in front of you. This wasn’t a daydream movie montage, this was your reality and you had to act fast.

You looked behind your shoulder wondering if there was someone hiding around the corner and snickering on your behalf. As much as you wanted to believe he was here because he wanted to be, your subconscious was telling you this was a practical joke. You hated the way embarrassment so easily colored your fair skin, and you could feel the temperature of your cheeks start to rise. No one was waiting around the corner to jump out and play the joker, just your fears getting the better of you once again.

You turned back around, for some reason half expecting him to not be there anymore, but he hadn’t moved an inch. Those sparkling baby blues were practically begging you to stare straight into them. But you did everything in your power to avoid making eye contact, afraid of what might happen if you did.

Trying your best to not catch his eye for more than a second, you spoke under your breath and tried not to stutter, “Oh, no. Um, it’s all yours.”

You averted your attention back to your coffee as he situated himself and slid into the booth with a light grunt. He folded his hands and put them on the table, striving to strike something out of you somehow, but to no avail.

He lowered his head and moved forward so that his face was inches away from yours.The smell of smoke billowed around him but he was close enough that you could make out his inviting scent. Fresh dew the morning after a bonfire in a pine and evergreen forest that seemed to radiate naturally from his skin. It took every ounce of your being to remain stagnant and calm. You could have easily played into his ocean eyes, before shifting forward to plant your lips on his, but you knew your patience would be a virtue.

He let out a heavy and exaggerated sigh and leaned back into his seat. Even though on the inside everything in your body was crying out to you to do something, anything, you remained despondent on the outside. You were curious as to what his purpose in sitting here with you and waiting for you to speak was, but tried to not give in too easily.

Here was a godly creature that should still be wrapped in warm bed sheets and catching up on beauty sleep. Yet here he was sitting in a sticky booth at Benny’s on a Saturday morning with a nobody like yourself. If not a practical joke, then what was it? What would motivate him to do such a thing?

He unfolded his hands and put them on the table to guide himself out of the booth and that was it, you thought. You just had your seven minutes in heaven and didn’t realize it till now, instantly regretting trying to play it cool and pretending to be someone you’re not.

That was until he took the spoon out of your hand and the cup of coffee out from under you, and you were forced to move back and look up. He was striding towards the counter, his backside facing you, and your calm demeanor was starting to wear thin. The Levi’s he wore hugged his body so perfectly, it was practically a sin. You were starting to think you were jealous of a pair of jeans, you had to laugh to yourself a little at how utterly ridiculous this thought was. You thought were better than that, but then he bent over the counter to talk to the waitress and you realized that maybe you’re not as innocent and pure as you would have liked to think. At first it seemed as surface level as a pre-pubescent grade school crush, but you were quickly realizing it was much more than that. Sure, there were butterflies in your stomach, a swarm of butterflies. But there were feelings in other parts of your body that you had never experienced before. And with your seventeenth birthday fast approaching, it was evident you were edging past the bloom of youth. These were strange and unfamiliar, scary and exciting feelings, and you were in uncharted territory without a map. The same feeling you had when he first entered the diner was beginning to resurface and your breaths were steadily getting deep and slow again.

The waitress behind the counter was significantly younger than the one that had served you and Lexi. You were too far away to hear what was being said, but in a way you didn’t want to know. The waitress moving out from behind him to look over his shoulder and smile at you was the only thing that alerted you to your habitual gaze. Your cheeks turned a light shade of pink and before you could fully erase it, he slowly turned his head to look back at you and sent you a small smirk. You shyly smiled back and turned your head towards the window to hide the huge grin on your face. The butterflies in your stomach were suddenly wistful and confident and if you opened your mouth they would fly out.

Only a few short moments later, he strides back towards the booth with a fresh, steaming cup of coffee. He carefully situates himself as not to spill and slides the coffee directly in front of you.

“Sugar?” He offered.

“Hmm?” You hummed in reply. “Oh! I mean...yes please.”

The simple offering of a confection for your coffee would be a passing thought, but with him it felt different and meaningful. Wanting to accept it as an affectionate pet name rather than a simple sweetener felt as if it were an automatic response. You let the hopeless romantic in you get the better of you, and could feel your cheeks getting warm. He dropped his head slightly to try and hide a tiny smirk but didn’t try very hard to conceal it for your sake.

He was still smirking and asked, “How many?”

“Just one.” You replied, accidentally catching his eye for a brief moment.

He dug his hand into his pocket, took out a singular sugar cube and reached out to hand it to you. When his rough fingertips brushed against your palm, something surged throughout your entire body and you stopped breathing for a brief span in time. You didn’t know what was happening, and felt momentarily paralyzed.

He noticed your change in body language and asked, “Hey, you alright?”

Your morning had been less than pleasant, and while only a few minutes ago you would have taken being alone over anything, right now his voice felt like a calm breeze and the only thing to get you out of your own head. Now you had the courage to lift up your head to meet his eyes and not avert them away. When your eyes locked with his, everything surrounding you didn’t suddenly stop, but seemed...stagnant. It was a dreamlike state, almost unconscious. Half awake, half asleep. Life was moving on around you, but none of it had any meaning. He was practically a stranger, but suddenly became the most important person in the world.

“Yeah, just...thinking. I guess.” You gave a small smile and forced laugh not wanting to elaborate on your thoughts.

Concealing your true feelings was a fight you never won, everything you felt may as well have been plastered across your forehead. And you knew this boy wasn’t anything less than smart.

He gave himself a moment for his words to gather and process, “What are you thinking about?” he questioned.

You were caught off guard by his question and grasped your coffee cup staring at it, grasping at your brain for the right words.

“Uhh, how to thank a kind stranger for bringing me a hot cup of coffee and sitting with a girl who was alone.” You answered while you rose your head back up to send him a tiny and genuine smile.

Looking down at his lap, he chuckled and ran his tongue against his top set of teeth. You almost could have sworn you saw a tinge of pink splashed across his cheekbones.

It seems your roles had reversed, as you kept your head up and put your elbows on the table and rested your chin on your fisted hands.

But like the flick of a switch, he rested his right arm on top of the booth and gave you a slight look up and down, “Let’s start with something simple. What’s your name sugar?” He practically purred.

“My name is Anna.” You replied softly.

“Just Anna?” He asked.

“For now.” You said confidently. “So who am I thanking?”

He lifted his hand from under the table and held it out to take yours. You returned the gesture and as he gently shakes your hand, he confidently says, “It’s Billy. Billy Hargrove.”

There it is again, that rush. His confidence quickly fades and you’re wondering if he felt the same thing.

You both proceed as if nothing changed inside yourselves, your eyes dart back and forth from the table to his eyes and you mutter, “Uhm, it’s nice to meet you Billy.”

You take a precarious sip of coffee and hum in pleasure at the it entering your bloodstream and warming you from the inside out. It was a simple cup of coffee, that anyone could make, but coming from him it somehow meant more.

“Thank you.” You said with a beaming but subtle smile.

You were only now getting a good look at his face and noticing how calming and inviting his blue eyes were, his subtle 5 o’clock shadow, pink tinted lips, and a fresh cut on his jawline. A face that you wanted to see more often but not get too used to.

He scrunched his face with a shrug and stated, “It’s nothing.”

With another sip of coffee you pondered the fear that he would be here and gone, it all seemed too good to be true.

“It’s not nothing to me. I might still be sitting here by myself with a cold cup of coffee if it weren’t for you.” You said slowly raising your head, and hoping he was still there.

He was. He shifted uncomfortably in the booth and cleared his throat and you were unsure of what he was about to say.

“I, uh saw your friend getting pissed at you then walking out.” He admitted while clearing his throat again.

You buried your face in your hands and let your hair fall in your face worried your cheeks were bright pink.

Billy lightly touched your forearm and said in a low voice, “Hey, I didn’t mean to embarrass you. I shouldn’t have brought it up, it was a dick move.”

You took your hands from your face and looked at his hand still on your arm then at his face and his expression was alert and forlorn. You slowly blinked your eyes, bringing attention to your long, dark eyelashes and matched his expression. Before he could get too good of a look at you, he whisked his hand away and returned to his previous stature with his arm resting on the booth.

“I should get going, my parents are probably waiting for me. Thank you again for the coffee. Bye, Billy.” You muttered as you prepared to make your way out of the diner. You felt this was your only option, but part of you was hoping and praying he would try and stop you, it wouldn’t take much.

You stood up from the booth and fumbled through your purse to find cash, and he reached out and grabbed your wrist.

“I took care of it. And you didn’t get to thank me properly. Sit, please.” He said, bobbing his head towards the booth.

You sat back in the booth and sighed, “Only because you said please.” “So what will it be?”

“Well, what does a sweet girl like you do on a Saturday night?” He grinned.

“Mmm, well probably taking a hot bath while reading a book. But I don’t suppose that’s what you had in mind.” You hummed and took a last sip of coffee with raised brows.

“You’re right, I’m more of a shower guy anyways. I guess we’ll have to do something else.” He said, keeping his gaze on you.

That remark sent a chill down your spine and made all the hair on your body stand up straight. There was an entire universe being created inside of you and it took everything to maintain your composure and pretend you were the same person Billy initially sat across from.

You tried to remain upright and calmly asked, “How does a party sound? Is that something we can agree on?”

“I could never say no to a party.” He hummed a few octaves lower than normal.

You took a napkin and a pen out of your purse and wrote down an address, “Pick me up here. Say at eight?” You inquired, your voice lifting.

“That sounds perfect. I’ll see you at 8...sugar.” He replied with a wink.

He folded the napkin, put it in his back pocket and walked away with a confident stride. You inhaled deeply and your chest rose. The tingling throughout your body caused your breath to hitch slightly before releasing a slow and steady breath out of your mouth. You felt a deep change, as if something had been awoken inside of you. This change had arisen from a sound, restful state and now it was alive and hungry.

Tag list: @hipsmcgee @xicarcalii @dacremontgomerylover @thoughstofaredhead @alexaaab (comment or send me an ask if you would like to be tagged!)

#stranger things #stranger things 2 #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things au #billy hargrove imagine #billy hargrove #billy hargrove x oc #billy hargrove fic #billy hargrove x rich girl #billy hargrove fanfiction #billy hargrove au #bh

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dyke3vader · 6 years

Text

It’s Fine

Requested: Yes - Janis from mean girls being jealous about someone flirting with the reader? Thank you! (anon)

Ship: Janis Ian x Fem! Reader

Warnings: Slight swearing, touchiness by an unwanted guest.

Note: I was gonna make these headcanons but I'm a sucker for Janice and lesbians, so here's a tiny fic :’)

Word Count: 1'889 words

“No, you're not hearing what I'm saying. Max is going to propose to Matt, my whole life depends on it.” Damien dramatically waved his hands, nearly hitting at least three different passing students.

“You're not hearing what I'm saying. I. Don't. Care. Wes and Isaac are superior anyways.” Janis mumbled, fiddling with her empty pudding cup. Damien gasped at Janis’ casual insult to his favorite couple.

“You take that back you-”

“Guys! Maybe we should find out what in the hell is going on with Charlie and Ryan before we debate on which couple is better?” You cried out while attempting to scoop out what little pudding was left in your sad, little cup. Lunches were something else nowadays. They were enjoyable sure, but exciting they were not. Ever since the plastics got their shit together for senior year, there's been nothing to moan about other than bad test grades and Broadway couples. You turned your head to look at Janis, who was staring out into nothingness, slowly crushing her empty pudding cup in her palm.

“God. I have no idea what the fuck is up with them.” Janis said just above a whisper, dropping the crushed container on her lunch tray.

“Well they're obviously back together but the important part is-” Damien sighed, pulling out his phone.

“What!” You yelped. “You can't just drop the ‘back together’ bomb on us and not explain your reasoning! I demand answers!” Janis laughed, finally coming out of her head to enjoy the conversation fully.

“No. I have no time for that.” Damien argued, viciously scrolling on his phone.

“Damien there's 25 minutes of lunch left.” Janice fired back while simultaneously creating a little tower of food garbage in the middle of the table. “That's plenty of time.” Janice smirked as she completed her tower, leaning back and prepping some little napkin balls to throw at her masterpiece.

“My Matx slideshow presentation is 30 minutes long, so actually, I don't have much time. I must prove a point.” Damien scrunched his face up, trying his best to add finishing touches to his presentation on the shitty Google Slides phone app.

Janis rolled her eyes and sprinkled her napkin spit balls on her trashy tower, wanting to save her little creation. You watched as she did it, becoming increasingly aware of little details you don't usually notice. You bit your lip and turned back to the empty plastic on your plate. Janis finished decorating and wiped her hands on her army jacket, turning to you.

“Yooooo” Janis flopped her arm over your shoulder, leaning most of her body weight on top of you. She began to talk, but you’ve already tuned her out. Not purposefully, your brain just kinda stopped functioning. Ever since you moved here, you thought you had your feelings under control. You told yourself ‘no more falling in love with girls who you have no chance with’. And you thought you'd be fine around Janis, because you have a type. The straight girl you'll never get. Not that you wanted it to be your type, but it wasn't your fault you always fell for the straight ones! Janis was always comfortable with contact, and you thought nothing of it. But over time she was just getting touchier and touchier. Then you realized that she wasn't getting touchier. You were just noticing it more. That made it even harder for you to keep your feelings under wraps. It just-

“(Y/N)? Helloooo, are you alive in there?” Janis knocked lightly on the side of your head, pulling you out of your head.

“Yeah, sorry. I didn’t sleep much last night…” You looked down and laugh nervously.

“Well I know what’ll make you feel better.” Janis sung, dragging out the last syllable. You raised your eyebrow at her. “Getting us some more pudding!”

“Janis. Oh. My. God. I am not getting you-”

“Please (Y/N), I’m begging you.”

“No.”

“I’ll pay for them.”

“No.”

“I’ll pay you extra!”

You narrow your eyes.

“How much?”

Janis fumbled around for her old leather wallet.

“I can give you… two one dollar bills.” She held up a fiver for the pudding and two ones.

“Deal.” You snatched up the money and stood, sliding out from the table. Janis laughed and let her arm go, letting it brush against your waist. You blushed and froze for a tenth of a second before moving on and bolting to the end of the lunch line. Taking a deep breath, you leaned against the vending machine and pulled out your phone. Damien looked up at a frustrated Janis.

“She’s bound to notice your advances sometime, Janis.” Damien sighed, still setting up his presentation.

“Damien. We’re lesbians. We’re oblivious.” Janis grumbled, tugging at a loose thread on her shorts.

“Then just ask her out!” Damien exclaimed, struggling with his phone.

“Damien! Lesbians! Oblivious but unwilling to make the first move.” Janis snapped. She threw her head back and groaned before collapsing onto to the table, head first.

“Uh, Janis.” Damien perked up and starting swatting at his friend’s arm.

“Hurlgh.”

“Seriously. Clayton. Ten o’clock.” Janis’ head snapped up, immediately zeroing in on the interaction that was about to happen between you and Clayton.

Back in the line, you were still scrolling. Half paying attention to the cafeteria and half paying attention to the latest spongebob meme. That was, until you felt a hand on your shoulder. You turned around to face the stranger and frowned when the hand stayed on your shoulder.

“(Y/N), hey!” You recognized him almost immediately. His name was Clayton, and he was in a couple of your classes. Grade twelve advanced functions and health care? Or was it kinesiology... All you knew was that it was something science based because he always pretends to ‘make love’ with the display skeleton. He wasn’t exactly… Your ideal… Acquaintance.

“Clayton. Hi.” You said shrugging off his hand and reluctantly turning off your phone. “What’s up?”

“Well you see, I know you’re new in town-” You cut him off.

“It’s been nine months. That’s not new.” You grind your teeth. You were not in the mood.

“-So I thought that you could be my date to Spring Fling, as it is your first school dance.” He took a step forward, obviously trying to get in your personal space. You tried to back away, but bumped into someone. You whipped your head around to see that the line still hadn’t moved and there were people right behind you. You couldn’t escape.

“C’mon, (Y/N). You’re hot. Do a guy a favour…” You felt a hand slide onto your waist. Your own hand flies down to grab it but Clayton’s other hand meets yours and grips your wrist hard. You let out a small noise of surprise.

“Hey!” You shout, then immediately regret it. Looking around the room, you bite your tongue. You didn’t want to make a scene.

“Listen. I’m not gonna take no for an answer. I always get what I want.” He started to move him thumb in soft circles on your hip as a ‘comforting’ gesture. You try to shimmy your wrist out of his grasp but he just held on tighter. “I always get what I want."

“U-uhm… Uh…” You stumbled, trying to form any words at all. You glanced at the room. Some people in the line were staring intensely or whispering at you, and you just couldn’t handle it. Could you reject him in front of other people? Could you reject him at all? Oh God he was staring right at you, you needed to make a choice and make a choice right then or-

S L A M

Okay maybe you didn’t need to make a choice at all, because all of a sudden a fist flew in between you and Clayton, slamming into the vending machine. Clayton froze, staring at the intruder’s army jacket covered arm. Wait… You’d recognize that army jacket anywhere. Is that-

“Move. Your. Hands.” Janis said in a shaky voice, her fist still implanted into the machine.

“What the-” Clayton yelled.

“I said move your fucking hands, dickweasel.” Janis screamed. Clayton immediately removed his limbs and bucked the fuck out of there. You bring your wrist towards yourself because shit he dug his fingernails in and you didn’t even notice. You clasp one shaking hand over another and before you can say anything to Janis, she removed her fist from the vending machine(revealing cracked glass is the shape of her fist) and wrapped an arm around you, walking you out of the cafeteria. The two of you stumble out of the overpacked room and ignore the whispers and shouts coming from behind you. Janis angrily stomps down the hallway, keeping you in close quarters.

“Janis… Where are we going?” You whispered, not wanting to pull the taller girl out of her inner monologue, which you were sure she was having.

“Nurse’s office.” Janis said shortly, beginning to shed her jacket.

“What, why are you-” You asked her, but was cut off when she shoved her jacket over your hunched torso and grabbed your shoulders, pulling you into her side. You look up to see Janis glaring down the hall at a pair of whispering freshman. You reached out your hands to pull the jacket tighter over your body and looked down at both pairs of your walking feet. Janis shifts your shoulders to turn down a couple halls and eventually pulls you into the small nurse’s office, which the nurse is never in and defeats the purpose of a nurse’s office in the first place. Janis transfers you from her arms onto the crappy office bed and begins to skim the room for medical resources. She grabbed some alcohol swabs and a big square band aid. Janis stopped moving for a minute and took a breath, biting the inside of her cheek before walking over to you and tossing the band aid package next to you on the bed.

“Wrist,” Janis held out her arm, waiting for you to give her your (slightly) injured limb. You did as instructed and winced when the other girl cleaned your wrist with the swab. Looking up, you found that janis was eerily straight-faced, and her lips were pursed.

“Janis, are you-” You started.

“I’m fine.” She replied, chucking the the rest of the swabs across the room in a random direction.

“Really-” You said. Janis began unwrapping the band aid.

“It’s fine!” She yelled, although she slid the band aid on your wrist gently.

“Hey! No! You don’t to yell at me like that!” You shout back. Janis stepped back a bit, surprised. “Did I do anything wrong!?”

“... No.” Janis said.

“Then why are you snapping at me?” You ask, lowering the volume your voice.

“I just… I don’t know how to handle my emotions…” Janis mumbled. “I hate Clayton. He’s a douchebag and you deserve more than what just happened.”

“Aw, Janis” You furrowed your brows.

“I’m not good with words…” Janis banged her head against the wall.

“Can you… Show me? Would that be easier?” You ask. Janis stomps her feet on the ground and spins in a circle, letting out a long noise of annoyance. You giggle and begin to say something, but before you can, Janis does something you never imagined she would do.

She kissed you.

#Janis x reader #Janis Ian x reader #Mean girls x reader #Mean Girls Musical #Mai Writes

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delicatelyhaunted · 5 years

Text

A thing about my asexuality

All the trigger warnings.

TW: rape, sex, emotional abuse, gaslighting, victim blaming, drugs, abortion

This is a very personal account and rather detailed. The most triggering, detailed section has large headers above and below for when it starts and when it ends. Reader beware. (That part is one paragraph)

Word count below cut: 2,734

Okay, so this is going to be more like a lot about me and my asexuality.

Asexuality comes in many forms. I am sex-repulsed and genitalia-repulsed.

Yes, I have a kid. We’re going to get to that.

Let me tell you the tale of when my sexual life began.

I was 14. I lived in a not so little town in Arkansas. My sister was off to college, and I had no idea that my mother was sabotaging my sisterly relationship. Granted, she’s 5 years older than me and like many teenagers, didn’t want to hang out with her bratty little sister. (Our grandmother spoiled the shit out of me while being very hateful and abusive to my older sister and our older brother. Seriously, it was fucked up, and I fully admit I was a rotten child.)

I was in 9th grade. In most of Arkansas, this is still this thing called “junior high”. You’re still earning credits for high school, and you’re still a freshman, but it’s like a mediation to get us prepped for the high school environment. The schools, jr high and high school were right next door to each other. We lived close enough to the schools that the buses, to be more time and fuel efficient, didn’t make stops in my neighborhood. This meant I walked to school. 8 minutes. It was an 8 minute walk. No big deal. I did this since the middle of 8th grade, when we moved there. Traffic from the schools was annoying as all get out, but I still got home right at 8 minutes if I didn’t stop at the park on the way home.

It was a miserably hot, September day, and I wore my usual apparel. A floaty knee-length skirt and some tee shirt. Probably had a smart-ass saying on it. Likely one of my sister’s hand me downs (that at that point, I really liked.) I was walking home from school, like normal, passing a yard that had some bushes near the sidewalk. They were tall grasses. I had my backpack up on both shoulders, as usual.

Nothing seemed out of the ordinary.

Until something yanked on my backpack. Hard. Like someone grabbed the handle at the top. I spun around, expecting one of my friends to be messing with me, telling me I forgot a binder or something.

Instead, I see a man’s chest. I was in the process of quickly looking up to his face when he grabbed both of my shoulder straps, from the front, and half-dragged, half-carried me into a garden shed.

I was raped.

Super triggering details in italics below

I was pinned down on my back, one arm ending up painfully twisted, and a dirty, gas stained rag was stuffed in my mouth. He pushed up my skirt and angrily tugged down my underwear. Somehow this disgusting man new my whole name and grunted it with each movement as he raped me. I was crying so hard from the confused of being forced into the shed and the pain of what he was doing, that I could barely make out anything more than a dark shirt and lightish brown hair, and that he was white.

Super triggering part is done

When he was done with me, he just....left the shed and headed toward some houses further down this side street. I hastily rearranged my clothes after ripping this rag out of my mouth that tasted like a lawnmower and I fled, back toward the tall grasses where I could see the sidewalk peeking through.

I managed to dart across the street, and into the park bathroom. I wiped my face, splashed cold water, and tried to flatten my hair. My thoughts raced. “What am I gonna do? Why did this happen to me? What did I do?”

I halfway ran home.

My mother didn’t even seem to notice anything was wrong.

I couldn’t tell her. I was “too ugly” to be raped. I would have been “saying that for attention.” “No one would ever believe” me. This is the garbage that rape culture feeds young girls and women alike. I never reported it. I got my revenge, but that’s not the point.

You see, I hadn’t done anything to provoke anyone. No rape victim ever does. But this story is about my asexuality, not about my rape.

Back to asexuality then. I was 14. I wasn’t sexual. I was focused on school, on working hard, getting perfect grades, and getting into college or university on grants and scholarships, like my sister had done. It was the only way for us to get there. We were dirt poor. I didn’t think about dating, or who’s hot, or having sex or anything. In fact, it confused me when other people my age did. I was a snotty little nerd who prided herself on being the Best Student and getting the Best Grades and being the teacher’s favorite, raising my hand for every question and knowing the answer. Annoying, right?

I never had a chance to explore my sexuality. I had been traumatized. It was going untreated and unspoken. No one knew what happened for nearly 9 years. When a boy at school was being a douchecanoe and actually grabbed my pussy, I lashed at his face with the keys I held like claws. Yeah, I’d seen that tip on the news, about carrying your keys between your clenched fingers. I missed his face, but barely. The other students laughed and thought I couldn’t take a joke.

“It’s not fucking funny, you immature assholes!”

I try not to be suspicious of him. He has never acted that way toward me before. I try to tell myself “it was coincidence. I just noticed those things more since I’d been attacked. It wasn’t someone he knew.” Because that would be utterly terrifying. But how did the guy know my name, and why was this kid suddenly acting this way toward me? It still nags at me, and I’m 27 now. I was 14 then.

But back to asexuality. Again. I never had a chance to explore. I was terrified. I was traumatized. I had PTSD that wouldn’t be named or acknowledged for several years. I was in attack mode every minute of every day. I didn’t sleep well. I had to force myself to eat. I ran home, on the other side of that street, and stayed away from tall grasses, or dense trees, because I was so afraid.

I was afraid of intimacy. I was afraid of anything more than hand-holding. I knew boys get horny when they start kissing, so I stayed away from that. I knew that society called girls liars and never blamed the boys. I knew all the blame lines.

I still dressed the same, weather permitting, because those were my clothes. I loved them. But I was afraid of relationships, of being alone with boys who expressed liking me at all. I was scared, and I became mean to push boys away. It worked.

I never had the chance to explore my sexuality. Not like a person who hadn’t been raped right after puberty.

I missed two menstrual cycles, and was terrified I was pregnant. So I talked to one of my “loser” friends, one of the outcasts, and got some cocktail of pills that it took a lot to pay for. I’m talking “I did 4 8-page book reports in a week” a lot. I took them, at home, at night, in my bed, so my mother wouldn’t know. So if anything happened, like throwing up or the abortion I took them for, I could clean myself up. Hopefully without her knowing.

And I did. I had never been so fucked up in my life. I was scared, and I was crying, and it wasn’t the trauma, it was the feeling of a cocktail of pills racing through my veins. I knew I was going to die. I knew I had taken too much, and it was going to kill me. And I prayed for that.

I started bleeding. I rushed into the bathroom and tried to clean it off. I wasn’t bleeding out, and it wasn’t my period. So I knew....I knew I was right. I had been pregnant. I stayed in the bathroom for hours. I eventually grabbed a couple maxi pads and went back into my bedroom. I was in pain, but the bleeding wasn’t any worse, but I honestly don’t remember if it was any lighter. I still wasn’t convinced the pills wouldn’t kill me.

I passed out, but I lived. Physically unscathed by my overdose-induced abortion.

Several years later, in a different school, in a different state entirely, I met this crazy ass bitch who would become my best friend. I eventually confided in her that I had been raped years earlier. She never seemed to doubt me.

When I was 18, I met a guy who manipulated me into being his personal sex doll. The first time, I willingly agreed, figuring he was attractive, he was into me, blahblahblah. I figured that I was okay about sex now, and that having sex was just a normal part of modern relationships. The first time with him was unpleasant. But I also knew his temper, so I lied. And then he pressured me over and over and over, and I was scared to say know. By then, my pokerface was wicked so he probably thought I was into it, or he didn’t really care. I kept not saying no because I didn’t want to see his temper unleashed on me.

Spoiler: That is not consensual sex, that is coercive rape. It was manipulation and indirect threat.

I snapped at his paranoia one day after he told me “the light from your stereo makes you so beautiful when you sleep (I lived on the 2nd level, with no back stairs, and he never slept at my apartment. Stalker-much?) and that if I don’t stop flirting with this guy at school he was gonna beat him to death. From this guy, that was a valid threat. And while I did have feelings for this potential victim, I gave up trying to date him and would merely talk to him and hug him, as I did with many friends in high school. My boyfriend at the time didn’t go to school with me, and admitted to having people watch me for him. Icing on the stalker cake.

So I dumped him. On the spot. He threatened to kill me, so I went to the cops. I was terrified all over again. At that point in my life, it wasn’t easy to scare me. But I was scared. He was arrested.

That was my unhealthy, initially willing introduction to sex. Even after the willing time, I wasn’t into it.

I did have some healthy, completely consensual sex with other boyfriends after that guy, even if the boyfriends turned out to be unhealthy assholes. I still wasn’t into sex!

When I was 23, my depression had gotten so bad I needed to see a doctor. I was diagnosed with sever major depressive disorder, “just short of a psych ward, because you aren’t actively suicidal” and severe chronic generalized anxiety disorder. She also said, “Insomnia is in here too, but since it’s a symptom of both and you seem to manage okay, we’ll leave it as a symptom.” Great. (Now I suspect it’s DSPS and not insomnia.)

Before I could get my prescription filled, I had to have at least one session with a therapist. Okay, no big deal. She was great. I wish I could have made it a regular thing. She let me talk, but guided the conversation. She confirmed my diagnosis as well as telling me (after a conversation about prescription drug abuse in my last high school) that I very likely also have ADD. “That drug doesn’t work that way unless you have ADD.” Which honestly, explains so much about my life.

And then she asked me if I have additional questions, since time was almost up.

“Yeah. I have a friend....she encouraged me to ask you about PTSD. Cause you see.....” I told her I was raped when I was 14. “....and my friend says I have a lot of the markers for it. Hypervigilance, heightened reflexes, the anxiety, trust issues....” I listed off a few more of what popped up when I looked it up online, but only the things that pertained to me. She asked me about a couple of the symptoms, how they existed in my life.

She told me, “You seem to have textbook PTSD.”

“Yeah but that’s a little too......perfect of a set of--”

“There is a textbook definition for a reason. It’s still valid if your symptoms match perfectly.

“But it was almost a decade ago...”

“It’s called post traumatic disorder. It doesn’t matter how many years after. It’s still after the trauma happened.”

So yeah, while I wasn’t officially diagnosed, I don’t think I was anyway, a licensed therapist confirmed during a session. Thank you friend, if you are reading this, because I would never have thought I had it, or spoken to a professional, if you hadn’t encouraged me to. Knowing I have PTSD helps a lot. And it’s thanks to you <3

Moving on, back to sexual relationships.

When I decided “yeah I don’t like sex” and decided to be upfront when the next boyfriend wanted to go there, he outright emotionally abused me. told me I was broken. Told me he loved me and he would do anything to be with me, but that I only agreed to sex because he wanted it, I was broken, damaged, a bitch, etc. This came with a lot of gaslighting, with me supposedly saying things I never said, or telling him something he said and him claiming he never said it and that I was hearing things. And he was good at it. I was losing my mind. I thought maybe I am hearing things, and I tried to change so much about myself because he was smart and talked about big things like science and we could talk politics without fighting, etc. My clothes, my hair, my makeup, my jewelry, my tone of voice, everything that made me me. My identity I worked so hard to sculpt.

I eventually got away from him. Guess what? I still don’t like sex.

He wasn’t the only one like that. A couple said they were going to do things to fix me.”

And I don’t like genitals. They’re gross to me. I don’t care that others like it, just keep it away from me. That goes for sex and genitals.

But to repeat myself. I never got to experiment with my sexuality like most people.

I was raped. No, I haven’t cried typing this, or had to stop since I started typing this. I can talk about it all day long because I’ve had supportive friends who have made that possible by taking me seriously. And no, my memory wasn’t repressed, which is a good thing, even though it’s been hard, because it never snuck up on me.

The true connection, though, is that my asexuality could very well be trauma based. I’m also aro, which could also be trauma based, due to the cycle of emotional abuse I’ve been through, cause clearly I suck at picking boyfriends.

TLDR; Whether my orientations are trauma based or not. It doesn’t matter. I am what I am, I have words for what I am (thank you tumblr) and it’s all still very valid.

And believe it or not, this is a shorter version. I could go on. But I won’t. Because it’s after midnight, I’m cold, and I want to sleep. The black cat keeps staring at me, curled up on my bed, waiting for me.

(Final note: That sister of mine? We have a great relationship now. We had to work to repair it, but I’m super glad we did. She is absolutely one of my best friends and biggest supporters. In fact, she follows my blogs and will be reading this after she wakes up and has time. This has more detail in it than she’s seen or heard before and I’m fully aware some of this will be new to her.)

#trigger warning #this is also why I am changing my name #it takes me back to that day every single time I hear it #tag edit to announce tumblr posted it on the wrong goddamned blog #i see desktop version hasnt fixed that -.-

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