#does my song shuffle reveal how old i am? | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ev-pierce-writes · 3 years

Text

Bolero

Javier PenaxReader pairing

Rating: Explicit (duh)

7.4 K

What starts as just a job as an informant quickly turns into an attraction to Agent Javier Peña.

Essentially what I think it's like to dance with Javi. Plus having sex.

If you want to listen to the song I picture them dancing to it's called Dos Gardenias by Buena Vista Social Club. I know it didn't come out until the 90s but I really don't care.

___

You didn't like this part of the job. Hated it, actually. Your feet hurt in your heels and the humidity was making you sweat. But tips were tips, even if it involved fake flirting with old men.

The music ended and José spun you into a dip as the small crowd clapped. José was an excellent dancer and he made for a good partner when it came time to actually perform for the guests, rather than try to drag them onto the dance floor. Most people assumed you were a couple you danced so in sync, but it wasn't like that.

He was a good friend though. He'd gotten you the job at the bistro, and for the small pain of three choreographed dances a night plus a few private salsas, you were paid handsomely. Of course, this wasn't your dream, performing in a smoky, humid bar for tourists and old handsy men. You would rather be on the stage as a professional, performing only for the people who could afford a ticket, not just a watered-down tequila. But work was work and money was money.

Now your least favorite part. You leaned an elbow on the bar, sweeping the crowd for whatever gringo looked the least gross. The manager insisted you interacted with the customers, reeling them in with a sexy pose and a few awkward steps on the dance floor. They tended to drink more when you did that, which was good for the bar, and you usually ended up with a couple of extra bills in your hand, which was good for you. So you complied.

An older, slightly less creepy-looking gentleman had caught your eye, and you were about to approach when you felt a gentle hand on your elbow.

"Mind teaching me a few of those steps you just did?" The music was starting up again with a bolero, your cue to find the dance floor, so you figured you'd comply with the request. Except when you looked into the face of the stranger who had spoken those words, you were taken aback. He was young, or at least younger than most of the men in here, and taller too. Shining from his tanned face were chocolatey brown eyes, surprisingly sincere and kind. His dark hair was combed into place, though a few stray curls peeked out from behind his ears and at the base of his neck.

"Sí, señor." The Spanish came out as a force of habit, though he had addressed you in English and a perfect American accent. Men liked it when you spoke Spanish, even if they couldn't understand. It gave them the impression that you were exotic. But the man half expected that from you. He'd been watching you most of the night, analyzing the way you moved, the way you beguiled the guests into a dance and then a drink, the way you controlled a man's mood with the flick of your hips and slide of your hand up his arm. The perfect skill set of a secret plant.

Without any hesitation, the man took your hand in his and led you into the crowd of dancing people. He placed his other on your hip, though he left a respectful distance between the two of you. It was uncharacteristic of the guests to do so; they generally felt they had some right to press up against you as they stumbled around.

But this man was different. He already knew the three-quarter timing. He seemed a bit tense, like he was having trouble letting loose, but he wasn't clumsy at all. "I don't think you need my instruction," you said.

The man smiled, his mustache curling up to reveal a single dimple on his smooth cheek.

"No, hermana, I don't."

Maybe there was some Latino in that tan after all. But his reply caught you off guard. You hoped pulling you onto the dance floor wasn't his attempt at flirting. You'd made a pact with yourself to never sleep with the guests, and so far you'd held true.

But he wasn't flirting, though he desperately wanted to. You were exactly the type of girl he'd pick up on a boring night, or pay to have sex with him and share your secrets. But tonight was strictly business.

"Do you work here every night?" he asked. It was a strangely specific question, though maybe he was hoping to see you again, you thought.

"Only Thursday, Friday, Saturday," you replied. The bistro only ever needed you on the busiest nights of the week, which was fine with you. Three days of work made you plenty of money, and then you had the rest of the week off. "Why? Are you already planning a second dance?"

The man ignored his question to ask another of his own. "Do you make a lot of money?"

His questions were starting to sound a bit bizarre and he wasn't answering yours either. Why did he care what you made?

"Unless you're planning on hiring me and paying me more, I don't see why you need to know." It wasn't good to be snappy with paying customers, but this enigma of a man didn't seem like the average customer to you. And instead of getting defensive at your tone, his mood shifted quickly and he laughed. A deep, throaty laugh, just as gravely and melodious as his voice. He liked your confidence and your attitude. But then he was back to business just as quickly.

The man led you towards the back of the dance floor, away from the crowd and the watchful eye of the bartender, a move that made you worry and caused you to doubt his intentions. His eyes had gone serious, a wrinkle of concentration between his eyebrows and crowding out the kindness.

"Actually, I would like to hire you."

You came to a stop in surprise but the man pulled you forward, urging you to continue dancing so as not to draw attention to the pair of you. He drew you closer so he could speak directly into your ear, forcing you to breathe in his scent with the proximity, cologne and cigarettes and the saltiness of a light sweat.

"You have a club or something?"

He didn't answer your question, just asked more of his own. "Do you know runs this place?"

You shrugged. "I think his name is Manuel, but I've only met him once."

"Keep an eye out for him, will you? See when he comes and goes, if he gets any shipments or deliveries. I'll pay you for providing information."

It was your turn to finally get some answers. "Who are you?"

"My name is Javier Peña." Javier spun you out before pulling you back into his chest.

"Well, Señor Peña, I don't know who you think I am, but I am not a spy and I don't give a damn about what my employer does. So why do you care what he does?"

"Let's just say the government has a special interest in your employer. But we'd like to keep this little piece of knowledge under wraps."

You eyed Javier suspiciously. Why would the government be interested in what your boss did with his bistro? And why would this man, Javier Peña, trust you to deliver secrets? But again, money was money. Little did you know, Javier Peña was aware of your lack of loyalty to anyone, as long as they were paying you, and he gambled on this fact to ease you into a deal.

"How much are you offering?"

"I'll double whatever you make now."

Double? Mierda. "Bueno, double it is. Not sure what you expect me to find, but I'll keep my eyes open."

That full smile returned, white teeth and all. "Un secreto, sí?"

You nodded in return as the song came to an end. Letting go of your waist, Javier pulled a pair of aviators from the deep vee of his shirt and slipped them on before handing you a business card from the back pocket of his jeans. He instructed you to call him if you saw anything, anything at all. Javier gave you a salute and turned to leave, though not before asking you one more question.

"And your name?"

Now is when you usually lied, telling whatever slimeball you'd just swayed into oblivion a made-up name, like Rosa or Maria. But something about this time was different. This time, you gave him your real name.

"Adiós, bailarina," he said with a grin.

"Adiós, Señor Peña." It wasn't until you were home that you noticed he'd slipped a small stack of bills into your pocket.

---

Standing in the living room of your apartment, you held the card Javier had given you almost a week ago. You hadn't been exactly sure what he was asking you to look out for. You rarely saw your boss anyway. But then tonight, as you'd arrived at work, a truck had been parked by the employee entrance of the bistro. Manuel was still nowhere to be found, but stacks upon stacks of boxes were being unloaded into the dry storage of the kitchen. And you had taken note of it all.

Finally, you picked up the phone off its cradle and dialed the number on the card, wrapping the thick cord around your fingers as it rang. A moment of silence, and then a deep voice spoke on the other end of the line.

"Javier Peña speaking." It sounded like he had just woken up, his voice softer than you remembered and groggy as well. It was a bit late, after midnight, but you figured this was something he wanted to hear sooner rather than later.

"Hola, Senior Peña, it's me from the bistro." Another silence, some shuffling, and was that a voice in the background? "Did I wake you?"

"No, not at all. What's up?"

"You wanted to know if Manuel had a shipment, right?"

"Yes, yes, what did you see?"

"Hm, I could tell you. Or I could get my mi dinero first."

Javier sighed on the other end. "Right, of course. How much do I owe you?"

"Let's see, including tips, I made 300 this week."

"Fine, 300 pesos it is. Where can I meet you?"

"You want to meet right now?"

Apparently, he did. You gave him the address to a twenty-four-hour diner you liked and he hung up, saying he'd meet you there. You gathered your purse, double-checking that the small handgun you carried for self-defense was still there. Not that you were worried the mysterious Javier Peña was someone to be scared of. But better safe than sorry.

Ten minutes later, you stepped out into the heat of the summer air. The darkness of night did little to reduce the temperature, but the humidity had dissipated enough that you rolled the windows of the car down and blasted your music into the silent night.

Though you were sure you looked a bit frazzled and worn out when you parked, Javier only noticed the flush on your cheeks and the curl of your windswept hair as he watched you step out of the car through the window of the diner. You hadn't bothered to change out of your dress and heels from work, which left little to the imagination in the way of your long legs and curved waist. When he'd first approached you last week, he'd been polite and reserved, only letting his hands fall where they were meant to in a dance. But tonight, the ruching of your dress at your hips called out to be touched. Javier knew it was all part of your job, but part of him wished you'd dressed up like that just for him. He shook his head. He shouldn't be thinking about you like this.

A little bell jingled over the door as you drifted into the warm restaurant.

Javier steadied his hands and composed his face, not wanting to reveal the true thoughts running through his mind as you plopped into the booth seat across from him. He looked ready to get down to business, but you were hungry and held up a hand to silence him before he could begin to speak. The waitress came and took your order, a burger and fries, before turning to Javier. He relented to whatever game you were playing and ordered as well in perfect Spanish.

"Where are you from?" you asked as the waitress left to place your orders.

"This little meeting isn't about me," Javier replied, sounding a bit preoccupied, distracted even. The top two buttons of his shirt were undone, exposing the smooth skin of his neck and chest, as if he'd dressed in a hurry.

"Eh, that's not very polite. Did I interrupt a little midnight date with your amorcita?" You were pretty sure that had been a woman's voice in the background when you called him earlier. His response, or lack thereof, told you everything you needed to know. Emboldened by his reaction, you continued on with your one-sided conversation.

"I love American food. Are burgers better in Texas? That is where you're from, no?"

The look of shock that flitted across Javier's face was enough to satisfy you and you leaned back in your seat with a smile. You tried your best not to show how pleased you were with his reaction, but your comment got you thinking about what he was like in bed. That was not a direction you needed your mind to wander, especially when it caused butterflies to flutter in your stomach.

"Okay, detective, I think that's enough. You want your money or not?" Though he acted annoyed, Javier was secretly impressed. What had given it away? His accent maybe?

"Sí, sí. Although I am a bit interested to know where my money is coming from."

"I told you. The government."

"You haven't really proven that to me though. Besides, what if you're trying to put my boss out of business? Then I'm out of a job. A good-paying job."

"I am trying to put your boss out of business." The withering look you gave Javier didn't put him off, though you wished it did. If looks could kill and all that. But it did provoke him to pull something from his back pocket and hold it up to your face. "DEA. You know what that is right?"

"Mierda, was it drugs in those boxes?" You couldn't help the shock that spread across your face.

"Maybe."

You pulled a notepad from your purse as the waitress returned with your food. In between bites, you read off of the notes you'd taken.

"I got to work at 4:30. The truck was already there. Manuel was not. Some men unloaded the boxes into the kitchen."

"How many."

"I don't know."

Javier raised his eyebrows. If he'd learned anything from this conversation it was that you were an observant person. He doubted that you hadn't bothered to count them. He had only to wait for you to continue on your own.

"Bueno, forty or so. This big," you indicated with your hands, about the size of the box the tomatoes came in.

"And it wasn't just food in there? You're sure it was something different than normal?"

"Come on, don't you trust me?"

"No," was his swift reply, though it was said with a smile.

"Alright, then. I looked in one. Not food, for sure."

Javier nodded in understanding and pulled a billfold from his back pocket, ready to hand over your cash.

"Espere, Señor, you think that's all I've got?" you said teasingly as you finished your fries and sucked the grease from your fingertips. "You really have no faith, dios mío."

Javier watched you intently, scrutinizing the way your tongue licked away the grease from your thumb. He took a deep breath that sounded like exasperation to you but was really meant to release an uncomfortable knot building in his stomach as he tried not to imagine what else your tongue could do.

"At 5:30, a woman named Victoria called looking for Manuel. No one answered the phone so I did. She left this message." You read directly from the notepad. "I like chocolate ice cream better than vanilla. Maybe you can take me to la heladería tomorrow."

"You're joking."

"Not at all. She said that," you said defensively. "Even gave me an address."

You ripped the paper from your notebook at handed it to Javier as he rubbed a hand along his strong jaw.

"So what are you going to do? Maybe a stakeout, arrest some people, wave your armas around?"

Javier rolled his eyes. "The DEA isn't all about stakeouts and guns. But no, we aren't going to do anything yet. There's no need to reveal our plant. And we don't want you to end up dead so don't get caught either."

"How reassuring. I'm glad the United States has me in their best interests," you deadpanned.

"Just keep doing what you're doing."

"Oh, so you want to see me again? Next time you can buy me a drink."

"Don't flatter yourself."

You laughed in response. Sure, this was all about money, but it was nice to have a real conversation with someone who was witty enough to keep up with your banter. But he was still too easy to tease and you took advantage of it. You liked the way his eyes narrowed and his brows creased when you got under his skin.

"You know, I'll just take it as a compliment that you're only paying me for information and not sex as well," you said as you stood, placing a couple of bills onto the table as a tip.

Javier groaned in frustration. Talking to you was like walking through a hailstorm of bullets. He was bound to get grazed no matter how careful he was. "Eh, mujer, give me a break, por favor."

And yet, despite his protests, Javier liked your sharp tongue. It intrigued him. Normally, he didn't care much about who his informants were or where they were from. But Javier was curious about you. You were smart, skilled, and good at influencing people to comply with your desires. And yet you spent your weekends on a sticky dance floor, performing for gringos like him.

The glittering smile you gave him as you left him sitting in the booth lit a small flame in his heart.

"Buenas noches, Señor Peña," you said to him as you left, almost out the door before he called your name. You turned back. "Qué pasa?"

"Javi. Just call me Javi."

---

Several weeks went by like this, with you calling Javier late at night to let him know what you'd seen. The check-ins came every Saturday, as the shipments had been consistent and seemed to run on a schedule. Eventually, you got comfortable enough to let Javier come to your apartment and exchange information for cash on your couch. You had no idea, but Javier was beginning to expect your calls, anticipating the ringing of his phone around midnight and hearing your voice on the other end.

But when you didn't check in one week, he began to worry. It was past one in the morning. Surely you would have called by now. Maybe he had missed it? There was no way; he'd sat next to the phone all night. So Javier did something he never did. He called you instead. When you didn't answer, he started to suspect something was wrong. Javier told himself to calm down, that you had probably just forgotten, or that maybe nothing of note had happened this week, or you were already asleep. But he couldn't get it out of his mind that something had gone wrong, that you'd been found out and someone had hurt you.

It was nearly two when you finally got home. For some reason, the Saturday crowd had been extra lively tonight, keeping you much later than you wanted. As soon as you unlocked the door and stepped into your apartment, you pulled off your heels and unzipped your dress, peeling it from your sticky body right there in the living room. You needed a shower and you needed to call Javier, but all you wanted was sleep. It could wait until morning.

At last, you were ready for bed, windows pushed open to let in a breeze, sheets turned down, and in nothing but your dressing gown, when a knock sounded at your door. Who would be up at this time of night and disturbing your peace?

Looking through the peephole, you were shocked to find the last person on earth you expected to be standing in the hallway of your apartment building.

"Javi?" you said in confusion as you opened the door. He was leaning against the door frame, one hand on his hip, as if trying to look relaxed but totally failing at it. On Javier's face were written lines of worry, but they relaxed at the sight of you. He breathed a sigh of relief.

"Oh, good, you're home. I was worried."

Maybe it was the exhaustion fogging your brain, but he sounded genuinely distressed. The normally confident, almost arrogant Javier had been replaced with someone entirely different. "Sí, of course I'm home, where else would I be?"

"Well, you didn't call. And then you didn't answer your phone. So I was worried something had happened." Javier had managed to miss the state of your dress, or lack thereof, when you had first opened the door. But now, he noticed you wore a cream-colored dressing gown and little else. One sleeve had slipped off your shoulder in your hurry to dress, revealing the lack of anything beneath.

Javier's breath hitched in his throat as he desperately tried to tear his eyes away from your shoulder. It was a just shoulder, for god's sake. It's not like you were standing naked in front of him. But then he was thinking about you naked and that was an even bigger problem.

For a whole month, Javier had gone without a woman in his bed and it wasn't until he saw you that he realized why. He wanted you, but in a way that was different from the way he wanted anyone else. He didn't want you for information or even a quick release, but something more intimate and intense. What was wrong with him? He had to leave before he said something he might regret. You were an informant, a contact, a player in this long game of chess, and nothing more.

"I'm gonna go," Javier said, finally looking away. He was acting strange, even your tired eyes could tell. He looked disheveled, the buttons of his salmon pink shirt left open at the top and half-tucked into his jeans. His hair was no longer combed flat, the way it usually was when you saw him. Instead, it stuck up in all manner of directions, curly and unruly. Javier rubbed the back of his head as he turned to go. You weren't sure what exactly compelled you, but you called out to him before he could leave.

"Do you want a drink?" So much for sleep.

Javier had been in your apartment plenty of times. So why did he suddenly not know what to do with himself? He stood stiffly in the living room, eyeing the discarded dress you hadn't picked up yet. When you handed him a glass of whiskey he barely noticed. His mind was clearly not in the apartment, though his body was. Finally, he sat on the couch, leaning his elbows on his knees, the glass balanced precariously in one hand.

Javier's thoughts drifted from one place to another, relief that you were fine, embarrassment for having thought that you weren't, bliss at your invitation inside, and then shame for having accepted.

"Do you mind if I smoke?" he asked.

"Only if you share," you replied, sitting next to him on the couch with your own drink. The pair of you sat like that for a while, in complete silence, passing a single cigarette back and forth. Javier had no way of knowing but your thoughts followed a similar path to his, a rollercoaster masked by a sense of calm.

Your fingertips lightly grazed his as Javier passed you the cigarette. He watched you take a long draw, pulling the smoke deep into your lungs and letting it numb the strange feeling inside you. You were hyper-aware of Javier's presence beside you, his shoulder and knee barely grazing yours, even though you stared straight ahead at the clock on the wall. Three in the morning, it read. Perhaps it was something about the early morning hours, or the dim light of your living room, the only source from the kitchen, but the next words out of your mouth were the most sincere you'd ever spoken to him.

"Are you alright, Javi?"

"Sí."

"You don't seem alright." His voice was too calm. "Is it work?"

"No."

"Friends? Family?"

"No."

You paused, pretending to contemplate for a moment.

"Ah, I know. No pretty girls to warm your bed?" You couldn't help it, falling back into teasing him like that. But he didn't want to talk and it was the only way to draw him out.

"It's disturbing how observant you are," Javier said. It wasn't a true answer, but it was answer enough. He sighed and put the cigarette out before placing his head in his hands. "We aren't friends, you know."

It was a strange comment, almost like he was trying to convince himself of the fact, not you.

"Wow. I should be offended. But for your sake, I'll pretend like I'm not."

"That's not what I mean," Javier tried to explain. "I mean-- I mean I shouldn't be doing this." He waved his hand around as if it indicated anything about what 'this' was. But you understood. He shouldn't be accepting drinks after midnight and sharing cigarettes in dimly lit apartments. It was unprofessional. Then again, everything about your relationship was unprofessional, even the work only parts.

It had taken you a while to admit to yourself that you were attracted to Javier. But when you actually started to look forward to Saturday night, to your conversations, even though they revolved around your work, that's when you knew. It was something in the way he looked when he was listening to you, his eyes holding contact with yours, eyebrows furrowed, hand on his chin, that made you think maybe he felt the same way. His hands, what was it about them? They were big and strong and you hadn't yet forgotten the way they had held onto your waist as you danced the night you met.

Dance. You knew how to communicate with that. It was second nature. Perhaps it would let you both open up. So you stood and moved to the record player. The space wasn't big enough to truly dance, but you kept plenty of records on hand to practice new choreography alone. You pulled out your favorite, a gift from José, and carefully placed down the needle.

"The bolero is danced in 3/4 time," you said, holding out your hand to Javier. "But I think you knew that already."

Javier seemed to understand and only hesitated a moment. The music swelled and he took your hand in one of his, the other finding its place on your back between your shoulder blades. There wasn't much space to move, but he led you through the steps anyway. Rock forward, step right, rock back, step left. Repeat. Tonight, Javier held you close, your hips and chests pressed against one another in a way that was much different from the first time you'd danced. He was more relaxed as well, allowing his hips to move in time with yours. Javier leaned his cheek against yours.

When you'd invited him in for a drink, Javier hadn't been sure what your intentions were. He still wasn't, though something in the way you let his fingertips glide up and down your spine as you danced gave him an idea.

And yet, he couldn't read you at all, though it seemed he could have no secrets around you. You had picked up instantly on his strange mood and though he hated to admit it, he liked the way you were persistent in trying to draw him out from his shell. He found you alluring. You were beautiful, yes, and he imagined as he fell asleep at night what you might look like under your tight dresses and this deliciously thin robe. But he also liked you, liked talking to you, liked being around you, liked your incesant teasing.

The song ended and the next one started up again, but neither of you moved away. Somehow so starved for physical contact, you were drunk on one another's touch, swaying gently in the dark. "We shouldn't--" Javier tried to speak but you interrupted him.

"Stop with the should or should not, Javi. It's too late for that."

"Why did you invite me in?" Javier figured it was worth asking, just to be sure.

"Why did you show up at my apartment, uninvited, in the middle of the night?"

"Fuck," Javier cursed under his breath. "I'm tired of this. Your half-answers, my unanswered questions, dancing, literally dancing, around whatever truth there is between us. I just want to know what you're thinking and it's impossible to tell."

You were taken aback. You had been so preoccupied deciphering Javier for yourself you'd forgotten he was probably trying to do the same with you. The look in his eyes was desperate, needy, and untamed.

The sensible thing to do would be to kick him out, to end it here because this wasn't right. It wasn't professional. And it was breaking your biggest rule: never sleep with the customer. But you were anything but sensible with a drink swirling around your veins.

You pushed Javier away gently, and he looked slightly crestfallen before he saw what you did next. The drink may have given you a boost of confidence, but this desire was all your own. With a gentle tug at the tie of your robe, you let it fall from your shoulders, the silk pooling at your feet as you stood bare before him. Javier was frozen in place, but then his eyes widened in surprise before raking up and down your body unabashedly.

"Well, I guess that's some type of answer," he whispered. The clock ticked on the wall, counting down the moments.

"Your move, Javi." Your words stoked the flame in his heart that you'd lit so many weeks ago. But his brain struggled to keep up, still in shock at the sudden sight of you naked for him and him alone. He wanted to take in every inch of you and ravish you all at the same time.

Javier reached out a hand, hesitating slightly as if unsure if you were real or just a golden vision before him. In the dim light from the kitchen, you seemed to glow, wild hair swept behind your shoulders, chest rising and falling with anticipation. Finally, Javier's fingers made contact with your skin, the back of his knuckles gently grazing the plane of your stomach. You trembled when he finally offered you his touch, goosebumps following the path of his hand as he moved up your body toward the curve of your breast. His thumb brushed across your nipple, causing you to gasp and nearly jump out of your skin. But his hand didn't linger, instead tracing the lines of your sternum to your collarbone and up your neck.

Javier's hand found its place on your cheek, his thumb sweeping across the ridge of your cheekbone. You closed your eyes softly, relishing in the sensation of his skin on yours. His hand was calloused but surprisingly smooth, as if worn by years of the same work. You turned your face toward his hand, pressing your lips to his palm.

You kept your eyes closed, expecting him to kiss you, your lips burning with apprehension. But the kiss didn't come, only the soft sounds of him moving and his hand leaving your face. You opened your eyes, worried he'd changed his mind and was leaving you there vulnerable to the world.

Instead, you found him kneeled before you, like a subject before his queen.

A shiver had run down Javier's spine when you'd kissed his palm as he pictured placing his own lips to yours. But something about the way you looked in that moment, ethereal, celestial, divine, forced him to his knees in worship. He wanted to taste every inch of you, learn every curve and crevasse of your body. You were just as beautiful--no, even more beautiful--than he'd imagined alone in his bed at night. And here you were, offering up that smooth skin, those thighs, those lips. And he would fucking worship you.

One hand found your waist, gripping gently but firmly to hold you in place. The other pulled a knee over his shoulder, causing you to stumble forward and forcing you to grab onto Javier for stability. But his hands held you firmly as his fingers sunk into the flesh of your ass, pulling you closer to his face, mouth sinking into you fluttering lips.

You gasped, fingers tangling into Javier's unruly hair and holding on tight, the sensation of his tongue against your clit making your legs go weak. A groan came from between your thighs, sending vibrations through your core and twisting your stomach into knots.

"Fuck, just like I imagined," Javier mumbled under his breath.

Like he'd imagined?

"You've pictured this?" you managed to ask between breaths. You could barely speak, the moans tumbling from your mouth leaving little oxygen in your lungs for anything else.

"Amor, you send me to sleep at night and wake me up in the morning."

Oh mierda, his tongue was continuing to swirl around your clit, leaving you unable to control your thoughts or your movements. Your hips shifted of their own accord, grinding against Javier's face as he ate you out. At some point, he would need to come up for air, but for now, he was perfectly content to suffocate between your captivating legs, drinking in your scent and swallowing the taste of you.

Javier was guiding you languidly toward your climax, savoring every shudder and twitch he pulled from you. The muscles of your pelvic floor seized and you let out a delirious moan. The tension that preceded your orgasm curled up through your stomach and into your lungs, drawing the strength from your limbs. Suddenly unable to hold up your upper half, let alone stabilize your legs, you slumped forward, chin hanging heavily against your chest, hands sliding down Javier's back and gripping the fabric of his shirt.

"Javi, please, I can't hold on." You needed to sit, lay down, anything, before you collapsed in ecstasy here in the living room. At your words, Javier picked up the pace, taking you from a gradual climb to a swift ascent. His acceleration told you everything you needed to know. Come for him, and he'd take you to the bedroom.

So you did, your orgasm shuddering through you at a staggering pace. It rushed through you, searing and urgent, and something told you this was only the beginning. A warm-up of sorts, leaving you unable to stand yet shivering for more. The last waves of your orgasm spread through you, Javier drinking them from you until your trembling subsided and your breathing came back to normal. He caught you as you eased back into your body, picking you up by the waist and slinging you over his shoulder. You giggled at the sudden change of perspective, now hanging upside down with an excellent view of Javier's ass.

"What are you doing?"

Javier didn't answer.

With a flop, you landed on the bed on your back. Javier stood over you, taking in the sight of you. Little did he know, you were doing the same, even though he was still fully clothed. You sat up on the edge of the bed and tugged at his shirt, pulling it from his tight jeans. Javier undid the buttons, letting out a soft groan as you took advantage of his proximity to palm the bulge in his pants. You wanted a taste.

His shirt now discarded, you worked at the button of Javier's jeans, placing a soft kiss on his stomach as you tugged them down. No underwear, why weren't you surprised? Javier's fingers curled into your hair, taking hold with a gentle yet solid grip as you freed his cock from confinement, precum leaking from the swollen head.

You looked up through your eyelashes, wanting to watch Javier's face as you swiped your tongue across the tip of his length, savoring the taste and earning a strangled moan from Javier's mouth. His eyes sunk shut and the image of you in the diner, licking the grease from your fingers danced behind his eyelids. He realized he was about to have that fantasy fulfilled, about to know exactly what your tongue could do.

The expression on Javier's face and his tightening hands in your hair made your stomach flutter. The absolute control you held over this man was ten times more satisfying than manipulating those men in the bistro because you were enjoying this too. Lightly, you dragged your tongue up his quivering cock, causing Javier to buck his hips and let out a hiss of dissatisfaction.

"Mierda, princesa, you gonna take me or just make me beg for it all night."

"You know I like to tease you, Javi." But the time for teasing was over. With one hand wrapped around him, you took him into your mouth, lowering your head as far as your gag reflex would let you. You began to move slowly, Javier's hands still in your hair and guiding your movements. Your other hand reached up and fondled his balls, pinching and massaging the tender skin. The sensation sent Javier hurtling toward the edge and he began to thrust into your mouth, matching your pace. It was good, too good. He was going to cum soon if you kept going.

Suddenly, Javier pulled away with a grunt, panting your name.

"Fuck, princesa, you're gonna finish me off fast like that." His voice was ragged with hunger. He wanted to taste you again, feel himself inside you as you came. "I'm not done with you yet."

Javier untangled his hands from your hair and placed them tenderly on your shoulders before pushing you back onto the bed again. He grabbed your ankles and hooked them over his shoulders, giving him full access to your cunt which was aching in anticipation of his cock, the size of which you had just fucked with your mouth.

You could feel the heat of him, so close, but Javier took his time, kissing his way down your thighs, nipping and sucking at your sensitive skin until your legs shook. And still, he didn't slip inside you, instead caressing the tenderness of your stomach with his mouth. He'd kissed all the way up your body, from the jut of your hip bones to the freckle below your bellybutton to the supple fullness of your breasts. Javier's attentions left you squirming under his touch, but he wasn't done. He wanted to taste every inch of your exposed skin, both salty and sweet under his tongue.

Suddenly, Javier's touch left your body and he flipped you over. You squealed at the abrupt movement, your face in the pillows and hands gripping the sheets. Behind you came the sound of a condom opening. And then you could feel Javier hovering above you, his cock teasing your entrance, one hand on your hip and the other in your hair. And then his voice spoke next to your ear.

"Are you ready, princesa?" Javier asked, his voice heady and ragged.

"Fuck me, Javi." That was all the invitation he needed. Without a moment's hesitation, Javier lined himself up with your entrance and slammed into you. Your gasp of surprise, and all the screams that followed, dissipated into the pillows, muting the sounds that you knew would have been heard by the neighbors otherwise.

Javier crashed into you again, stretching and filling you more with each thrust. He started slow, savoring the feeling of your walls clenching around him. The hand in your hair pulled your head back, releasing the sounds trapped in the pillow to mingle with Javier's moans. The hand at your waist wrapped around to find your clit, his calloused fingers teasing the delicate bud, and Javier leaned over to run his tongue up your spine, chasing the shivers he was causing.

The combination of sensations, his tongue on your skin, fingers on your clit, cock buried deep in your pussy, built you again toward orgasm. You rose up onto all fours, trying to find that angle you knew would hit your g-spot, and Javier seemed to understand. He began to thrust harder and faster, rushing toward the edge he had narrowly avoiding sailing over when his dick had been in your mouth. But this was better, so much better. Javier's untangled his hand from your hair and wrapped his arm around your chest, lifting you so you were on your knees and pressed flush against his back.

This was it, the perfect angle. A tumble of incoherent Spanish curses flew from your mouth as Javier reached up to squeeze your tit in his large hand.

"Fuck, Javi, right there," you mumbled in between breaths. "Don't stop, please don't stop."

"Cum for me, princesa," Javier growled into your ear. "I won't cum until you do."

Javier's tongue flicked along your neck and up toward your ear, where he nibbled lightly. He thrust, deep and strong, into your trembling pussy and you came, in a searing white light of ecstasy. You choked out your sounds of pleasure, unable to breathe properly. As your walls clenched around his cock, your orgasm rushing in waves against him, Javier could hold it no longer. With a groan, he fell apart, grunting your name over and over as his twitching member spasmed inside you.

The two of you held still for a moment, unwilling and unable to move. Finally, Javier slipped out of you, leaving you feeling cold and empty. It didn't last long, however. Javier laid on the bed and pulled you down with him, holding you close to his chest. You curled against him, relishing in the warmth of his skin against the cool breeze drifting in through the open window.

"I have to admit, this isn't how I thought my night would end," Javier said. You giggled, still high on the euphoria of your second orgasm. The dopamine that clouded your brain began to clear and you looked into Javier's face, the tension and worry absent and replaced with a languid look of satisfaction and pleasure.

And then you realized something that made you sit straight up in bed. "You bastard," you said accusingly, pointing a finger at Javier's chest. He dragged a hand across his face.

"Oh mierda, what did I do now?"

"You never even kissed me."

It was true. He hadn't. He'd been so preoccupied with tasting the rest of you he'd failed to do the one thing he actually desired most.

"Alright, that's a valid accusation," Javier said, dragging you back down and rolling on top of you, pinning you to the bed. "I am a bastard, a lucky one."

Finally, with one hand on your face and the other lacing his fingers in yours, Javier kissed you. A real, proper kiss, teeth scraping your bottom lip and tongue gliding along yours. He kissed you until he could hold his breath no longer and then came back for more, tasting of your orgasm and the shared cigarette. At last, he pulled away and buried his face in your neck.

You pulled the covers up and over the two of you. And then you wrapped your arms and legs around him, holding him to your chest as tightly as you could.

"Have any plans for tomorrow?" you asked.

Javier grinned into your shoulder. "Ready for round two already?"

"Only if we get to sleep in first."

"Anything for you, princesa."

#narcos #narcos fanfiction #javier pena #pedro pascal #"javi smut #javier pena x reader #I just want to dance with Javi is that too much to ask #reader #xreader

70 notes · View notes

isolemnlyswear · 3 years

Note

hello! can i request a modern marauder (you pick) x popstar!fem!reader (while they're still in hogwarts) to the song breathin by ariana grande as if it were the reader's song? <3 <3

breathin

a/n : this is the most specified request i've ever gotten, so it's kinda shitty ! i really have never wrote anything like this - at all - and i didn’t know if the reader was meant to be a muggle or not ????????? so i made them not one. bc you’re anon i cant ask you questions abt your request, so next time please specify!

continued a/n : wow, this is interesting. i dont like it, but !!! hope u enjoy????

warnings : swearing, bad writing

taglist : @oldschoolkiddo @amourtentiaa @anchoeritic @faeinorbit @tomriddleswifey @inks-and-jinx @jxsperhxle @punkrific @the-gazette-of-tea @krasivayadarling @orifortheweeknd @fallin-4-ya @incxndio @daisyyy2516 @hoe4cedricdiggory @vsawyer1989

Remus sighed, glaring at the raven-haired boy beside him.

“What, s’gonna be fun!” Sirius grins, and the lycanthrope who’s refuting him simply laughs.

“Fun? Your idea of fun is a packed concert - full of muggles, nonetheless - for this...popstar woman?” Remus says incredulously, and Sirius raises an eyebrow.

“Oh, ho, ho, this is not any popstar, Moony. Plus, what else are we gonna do over the summer? Sulk around at your parents’ house?” Sirius grins again, and Remus lets out a sigh.

“The latter I can agree with. But who is this girl, anyway?” Remus inquires, and Sirius reaches into his back pocket to acquire his phone. Although Hogwarts doesn't allow modern technology, both Sirius and Remus have their own each for the summers. With how phone-centered the modern world is, they couldn't not.

He swipes through to find a picture of you - one obtained from your Instagram, which has over four million followers - and holds it up to Remus.

“Merlin,” he breathes, eyes scanning the image.

You're wearing a brown leather dress, the shoulders poking up just barely. Your hair is framing your face, legs tucked under you in a half-crouch, and you're looking into the camera with lips perfectly parted. It was one you took for the shoot of your newest album, and a particular favorite of yours.

“Gorgeous, right? She’s really talented, as well.” Sirius grins, looking at his best friend, who is unresponsive, with eyes glued on the screen. “Moony?” he waves a hand over the brunette’s face, who snaps out of his trance.

“Hmm? Oh, yeah. Sure.” Remus says, blinking a few too many times.

“So, you up for it now?”

“Alright,” Remus replies, nodding at Sirius, who pumps his fists into the air with a grin.

“She's American, but doing a show in London in a few weeks,” Sirius informs, smiling.

“American, huh? How old is she?” Remus asks, settling back into the couch they're perched on.

“That's the best part. She's our age - just turned eighteen.” Sirius grins again, putting his phone away.

“Oh yeah? You say that like she'd notice us. Never gonna happen, Pads.” Remus smiles, shaking his head.

“Expect the unexpected, mon amie.”

---

You're fiddling anxiously with your fingers, hands out of use as someone else is doing your makeup, rather than yourself.

“Almost done, Miss L/N,” Madelyn, your makeup artist, says, brushing a soft highlighter over your cheekbones.

“Mads, I told you that you can call me Y/N. You only do my makeup every day,” you say, closing your eyes as the woman pats highlighter into your inner corner.

“And...” she mists your face with setting spray, “...Done!”

---

About four hours later, your back is facing the crowd that's piled into the venue, stage lights shut off as only the sounds of quiet murmurs and shuffling feet hit your ears.

And then, the lights come on with a thumping click, and you begin the routine that you've practiced time and time again.

The music to your first song, the least vocally challenging of the set, begins, and you turn around with a sway of your hips.

Holding the mic to your mouth, you begin a one-step, two-step rhythm, one that's second nature to you; your eyes survey the crowd, left hand reaching to flip your hair.

The tune changes, and the beat is faster, now, as the lights begin to flash and your voice, in a habitual fashion, changes to match. You stride out rhythmically to the center of the stage.

You crouch in a fluid movement, thankful for the coverage your outfit gives you. It's a black sparkling jumpsuit, bottoms being a high-waisted, glimmering fabric with two side flaps, connected at your stomach to a matching corset-like top.

After a few minutes of usual song/dance routines, followed by cheers from the crowd, you decide it's time for a crowd interaction. It's difficult, resisting the urge to pull out your wand and cast a silencing charm to get the group's attention, but you opt for speech, instead.

"Alright, alright, everybody," you say into the mic with a laugh, eyes scanning the crowd for someone to converse with.

There's one man - his ebony hair is swishing as he speaks - who's bouncing up and down like an eager dog, and you laugh.

"We all excited to be here? In London!" you say, garnering numerous cheers and screams from the group.

"I can tell you are." You walk over to the raven-haired boy, who's in front row, and crouch down. He'd previously cheered extremely loud, confirming his excitement.

The boy makes a loud whoop'ing noise, getting a laugh from his friend.

His friend.

You continue to speak, walking over to someone else, but now your eyes are glued on him.

He looks about your age, with beautifully disheveled sandy brown hair and chocolate eyes. He has numerous scars littering his face, some new and red, some older and whitening.

You can't help but wonder what the scars are from, and you feel a strange attachment to the boy, though you've never spoken before.

And after a while, it's time for your final song. About a thirds of the way through, at your favorite part, you meander back over to the boys.

You lean over, disguising your position as a simple concert move, but you're really staring into the brunette's eyes.

"You remind me of a time when things weren't so complicated." The words fall from your mouth effortlessly, and you're able to search the boy's eyes as you sing. There's a spark in them, a glimmer of light that pulls you in.

"All I need is to see your face." You sing, still singing almost directly to the brunette.

You need to see more of him, you suddenly think. And you continue to sing the song, but all that swims around in your brain is a plan. A plan to erase the mystery behind the boy.

The show comes to a close, but before everyone has left, you pull your manager aside.

"Hey, Martin, this- this is an odd request, but could you ask these two boys to come backstage? That sounds, um, interesting, but would y'mind-"

"What do they look like?" Martin interrupts you, and you sigh in relief.

"One has longer black hair, and the other... sorta sandy brown hair, and some scars on his face. Can you find them from that?"

"I'll try."

You nod and thank him, running backstage to your small lounge and bathroom to await your mysterious visitors, changing quickly into clothes that are more comfortable; a simple silk dress, in a y/f/c hue, and a sweater to go over it.

You fiddle with your wand in your hands, mentally berating yourself.

It was quite a reckless decision, really. It's not like you had a valid reason for inviting these people to such a VIP space such as this. Just because you feel some weird connection to one of them didn't mean you could disregard everything. These boys are probably muggles, and you are not. Merlin, you're getting shipped off to Scotland next year after being home-schooled by your magical parents for eighteen years - just in time for your last year of school -going to a boarding school called Hogwarts (which would be a PR nightmare, but your parents insisted you needed some 'real-life experience').

But amidst your train of thought, you hear a knock at your door - two taps, three taps, your manager's code that it's okay to open the door - and you shove your wand into your (enlarged via Engorgio charm) pocket.

You stride over to the door, fiddling with the hem of your sweater, and open it to see Martin.

"Here they are, Miss L/N." He steps to the side to reveal the two boys, the darker-haired male standing in front, and you refrain from gasping when he steps forward, allowing you full view of the other boy.

The scars on his face are glimmering in the light, and his eyes are warm, pulling you in with every glance. His hair is perfectly tousled, and he's tall, over six foot two, or so you'd guess.

"Come in," you say, stepping aside to allow them entrance. You nod to Martin, signalling him to leave, and he does so, shutting the door and leaving you with the pair.

"Holy shit," the raven-haired boy says, and you realize he's only slightly shorter, about an inch less.

You laugh slightly, gesturing for them to sit down.

"Why are we back here?" the shorter one says, and you smile. He's made himself comfortable, seemingly the more outgoing, but the other one is still standing awkwardly beside you.

"You can relax, I'm not interrogating you," you say, smiling at the taller boy, who seems to let out a breath. "Why don't you introduce yourselves, and then we can talk, okay?"

"I'm Sirius, Sirius Black." The boy runs a hand through his dark hair, grinning.

"Ah, like the constellation? Brightest star in the sky," you say, and he nods.

"I'm, um, Remus. Remus Lupin," the other boy says tentatively, offering a smile.

"Hi, Remus," you say, nodding. "I don't want to assume you know my name, I'm aware you're not American, but considering you're at this concert-"

"Of course, we know your name, we're British, not daft," Sirius says with a playful scoff, and you laugh. "You're Y/N."

"That I am," you say with a giggle, and Remus grins. Your heart stops for a moment, the world coming to a halt as his eyes meet yours.

Sirius clears his throat, and a blush spreads onto the apples of your cheeks. You gulp, looking down.

"So, you didn't answer my question," Sirius starts, tilting his head, but Remus kicks his shin.

"Pads, chill," he whispers, shaking his head. Sirius shakes his head, looking at you.

"It's fine, really. 'M not that interesting, no need to be uptight," you say, smiling again.

"I'd beg to differ," Remus breathes.

After what feels like no time at all, but is really three hours, you've gotten any and all formalities out of the way. Well, all but one - you're still unsure if they're muggles, and they don't know that you're a witch, either.

That is, until Remus gets up to go to the restroom, and something tumbles out of his pocket.

Your first thought is how did something that long fit in a jean pocket, but then you see what it is.

It's a wand, about ten inches, cypress wood, with a small bulb at the end of it. You gasp, and Remus goes pale, stumbling to pick it up.

"Is that-" you start, but Sirius cuts you off.

"It's nothing," he says quickly, but you shake your head.

"That's a wand," you say slowly, and Remus is wide-eyed, nervously fidgeting.

"It-"

"No, no, no," you say, reaching into the pocket of your sweater and pulling out your own. Sirius and Remus simultaneously gasp as you brandish it in your hands, and you grin.

"You're a witch?" Remus asks, jaw slack.

"You're a wizard?" you return, raising an eyebrow.

"Fuck yeah we are!" Sirius says, and you grin.

"What school?" Remus inquires, and you purse your lips.

"I was home-schooled, but this year - for my last one - I'm going to this school called Hogwarts? D'you know it?" you explain, garnering another gasp from the pair.

"That's where we go," Remus says, and your eyes light up.

"Really?!" you ask excitedly.

"Yeah! I guess you'll have some friends when you get there, at least," Remus assures, grinning.

"I bet Remus wishes you had a boyfriend to greet you," Sirius says, disguised with some coughs, and you blush. Remus kicks his friend in the shin again, and turns to you with a sigh.

"Sorry, he doesn't know what he's talking about," he says, and you raise an eyebrow.

"Does he not?" you ask flirtatiously, and it's Remus's turn to blush.

"Uh-"

"We'll just have to see, won't we?" you say with a mischievous grin, one returned by the sandy-haired boy in front of you.

#remus lupin x reader #wolfstar #sirius black x reader #remus lupin fanfiction #remus lupin #remus lupin fluff #marauders

101 notes · View notes

riversofmars · 3 years

Note

Sometimes 13 just poses as a student and attends rivers lectures.

Hellooo! I’ve been saving this prompt for a long time cause I love it so much and now finally did something exciting with it! This is actually a little collaboration I did with @serawalkerwrites. She keeps getting asked to write for DW and never has, so we decided to do a little thing together! Basically, we took turns writing paragraphs! She's written the River bits and I wrote for 13. Really fun thing to do because our styles are quite different but it worked :D Apart from the fact that she made me write in present tense which I hate lmao! Also, if you like American Horror Story or Ratched, check out her stuff!

Rating: Teen

Word Count: 2300

Read on AO3 or below

Like The First Time

“I might be younger and far prettier than the other Professors at this University, but that doesn't mean I don't expect the same level of good behaviour from my students,“ Professor River Song barks up the rows of lecture hall seating, slapping her papers on the desk. She tosses her bouncing curls of hair and brings her hands to her hips, watching the chatting students in the back row and waiting for them to take notice. That blonde girl seems to whispering at some speed, with enthusiastic hand gestures to boot. “That means you in the back row!“ She raises her voice again, finally getting the young blondes attention.

The Doctor hadn’t been able to stop herself. When River had started talking about the Venusian tomb she’d visited not long ago, it had been a perfect opportunity to tell the other students about the time she’d been invited to a funeral service there. It’s an incredibly stupid thing to do, of course. She isn’t meant to interact with anyone - as strictly speaking - she isn’t meant to be here. For a start she isn’t actually a student at Luna University; for another, she could very well be causing some damage to the fabric of space and time. Visiting her wife earlier in her timeline is risky… but she hasn’t been able to stay away. Sometimes, when the Doctor misses her a lot, she sits in on her lectures, right at the back. She knows River won’t recognise her and she never speaks to her… there’s no harm no foul is there? However, a slip up is bound to happen eventually.

Now, as she looks at River, who is shooting her piercing glare from the front of the auditorium, the Doctor realises she’s messed up. The Doctor looks left and right to the other students, hoping it’s one of them River is scolding.

“Yes you, don't act like I cant see you -“ River lifts her eyebrows at the petulant student. “Forget it, I’m not shouting at you from down here, stay behind after class. Then we’ll talk, and believe me you won’t like what I have to say.“ River rolls her eyes away, a taut huff tumbling from her lips to find her inner calm once again, before continuing. “Now where were we…“

The Doctor shrinks back in her seat, her neighbouring students giving her sympathetic smiles. Others just snicker and smirk. River has a reputation for strictness, no-one messes with her…The Doctor’s made a big mistake. She glances to the exit; she can still escape this situation. But if she does, she’ll never be able to come back. Perhaps it’s time to face her wife at last. She gnaws her bottom lip anxiously and tries her best to sit still for the remainder of the lecture.

As a shrill bell rings out, signalling the end of class and an end to the Doctors torture, River watches the troublemaker while she packs her things. Students rise to their feet, stuff their bags with books and file out in an eager swarm, heading into the midday sunshine. But not this student. She’s bouncing down the steps to the front, an epic grey coat and too-short trousers have her piquing River’s interest before they start talking. “Ah, good. At least you decided to be smart this time and not run-off out the doors. I would have found you,“ River informs the girl, whose swinging her arms and looking guilty. If this were any other circumstance, then River might have bought her a drink. But as it is, she's her student, however adorable she is. “Care to tell me what is so pressing you had to take time out of my lecture to talk about it?“

“Ah well, you know, the whole thing about the Venusian tomb, just brought back some memories to when I was learning Venusian aikido. There was this one time when I was invited to a funeral at one, which - you know - is a big deal for any outsider and…“ The Doctor starts rambling, unable to stop herself. A grin spreads across her features, hoping to entertain River with her story, as she had done so many times in the past. River always liked to listen to recounts of her adventures.

“Venusian Aikido?“ River folds her arms, skeptical. “They don’t teach that to just anyone. I happen to be a black belt myself.“

“Oh I know.“ The Doctor grins.

“It’s not on my resumé,“ River parries, her eyebrows lifting into an arch. “So someone told you. Perhaps at this funeral, you supposedly attended?“ River laughs doubting the girls claims. “No-one just gets invited to a Venusian funeral, or a wedding, or any kind of ceremony unless you’re a honoured noble. Which you clearly cannot be, no offence Sweetie but -“ River pauses. She stares at the blonde and her mismatched clothing, then bunches her lips. “What did you say your name was?“

The Doctor doesn’t answer immediately. This is it, the moment of truth. She could just tell her… surely there’s no harm in it. This is River Song after losing her parents in Manhattan, and before Darillium; there is no real reason to keep her identity from her. Apart from the fact that she isn't sure how she will react. They didn’t see each other for so long in between Manhattan and Darillium, enough for River to come to doubt if the Doctor had ever truly loved her. Her words still echo through the back of the Doctor’s mind now. The Doctor doesn’t and has never loved me. - But you are the woman who loves the Doctor. - Yes I am. I never denied it. But whoever said he loved me back? Those words still haunt the Doctor, even after spending 24 years with her in which she’d done everything she could to convince her of just the opposite.

“Jane Smith.“ The Doctor answers at last with a thin smile.

River lets out a loud chortle. “Jane Smith? Of course it is,“ River replies not believing her for a second. Who has the most standard name of all names like that? River postures a little, shuffles her papers around into a neat pile already thinking of the lunch that’s waiting for her in the refectory, because she's not getting any truth from this girl. “I don't recall your name on my student register; so…how about you tell me the truth.“ River hooks her bag over her shoulder and takes a long stride forward, claiming the podium as her space, the lecturer to the student. River examines her, because if she’s not her student, then who is she? All beautiful round eyes and choppy blonde hair, River certainly doesn't recognise her. Should she, recognise her? “Or you can come to my office and explain yourself there.“

“I uhh…“ The Doctor swallows hard. Of course she doesn’t believe her, people rarely do initially; but usually she can use her psychic paper to back up her identity. She knows River would see right through that if she tried it, so that isn’t an option. “Well, I’ve actually got somewhere else to be. A really very important…thing. A thing that can’t wait, so…it was really nice talking to you, brilliant lecture. Slightly exaggerated in some parts but - you know - got to keep the students engaged…“ Her eyes flick to the door. She’s parked her TARDIS in a supply closet, so it’s not far away.

“Are you calling my stories embellished?“ River trails after this Jane Smith towards the door, flabbergasted. She’s a bone fide time traveller, she knows her subject matter better than anyone in the known universe, except - “It’s not as though you can possible know better? How old are you anyway, twelve?“ She carries on trying to get under the girl’s skin, who is clearly hiding something. “Where on earth are you going? You realise that’s the closet.“

“Why are you following me?“ The Doctor had hoped to simply shake her but River seems to have different ideas. She doesn’t dare open the supply closet door, River would see the TARDIS and she would be done for. But where else could she possibly go? She looks around anxiously for a way out.

“Mmm it seems you might be trapped…“ River drops her voice to a knowing whisper. She smirks, delighting in watching the girl fret.

“I just… forgot which way I… uhh…“ The Doctor struggles for a response suddenly aware of how close River is getting to her. And that smirk… She knows it all too well. Like a lioness stalking her prey. She can’t even think of a credible lie to get her out of her predicament.

“Which way you meant to go?“ River bobs her finger on her lip pretending to think hard about it. “My office is this way, if you didn't get the hint earlier.“ River ghosts her hands over the girls hips, rubbing into her hipbones with her thumbs and sucking her lips and humming. “Jane Smith. I appreciate the code name. You can slip me your paper later, I’ll be sure to mark it up a grade, well, depending on your performance of course.“ River winks coyly.

“I…“ The Doctor’s mouth suddenly feels really dry, she can’t speak. Flirting and reading innuendo isn’t exactly her forte but River can’t possibly be more obvious with her advances. Is this what River is like when she isn’t around? The Doctor isn’t sure whether to be flattered or hurt. They’re not exactly exclusive but she doesn’t like her nose rubbed in it like this. But at the same time, perhaps this is an opportunity… She could be with River without having to reveal her identity… but is that something she wanted to do under false pretences?

“Good talk, come along!“ River grins and leads the way across the lecture hall to the staff door, and unlocks it with a quick key-twizzle, then presses the door open wide to wave ‚Jane‘ through. River uses the opportunity to loop her arm around Jane’s waist and scoops her in the right direction down the hall towards her office.

The Doctor doesn’t know what to do. Things are moving fast, River doesn’t even give her a chance to protest. Her hearts seem to skip their beats when River pulls her along.

Once inside, River tosses the door shut and wastes no time in pushing Jane against it, roaming her hands up and down her sides and snapping the elastic braces. “These are retro, but I can go with the flow, off they coooome…“ River sings as she yanks them off Jane’s shoulders, then the coat, and where is the edge of this t-shirt? River is keen to feel her hands up Jane’s abdomen, and the flush of her skin. River knows her hands are rough - years of archeological digs will do that to a girl - but Jane is young and sweet enough to need a little roughing up.

“River…“ The Doctor tries to protest, this was moving too fast. Her breath catches when River untucks her t-shirt. The Doctor is still getting used to this new body and she suddenly feels very hot.

“First names already? My my…“ River tosses her mane of hair out the way as she leans in to kiss Jane on the neck, biting her and enjoying teasing her far too much. “Sweetie you do give yourself away, even in this body,“ River tickles her teeth along the Doctor’s collarbone searching for the next spot to bite. “I mean, I like it darling, but give me a heads next time -“ River explores the Doctor’s petite body with enthusiasm. “My apparatus is your apparatus and all that, got to get my head around it.“

“You knew?!“ The Doctor blurts out and pushes her off, holds her at arms length. “And you just played along?!“ She’s breathless from River’s kisses but her outrage overshadows her arousal.

River unbuttons her shirt confidently, tearing the sides apart and presenting her body to the Doctor once again, even if it’s all new for the Doctor, River is still River. “Well what did you think? I do this with all my students, Jane Smith?“ She smiles a broad, proud River smile and holds her hands out for the Doctor to take. “I’m married, remember?“ Mutually exclusive is…a bit of stretch, there might be other husbands here and there, but there is only one Doctor. “So, wife, how about a little ride on the merry-go-round with this new body?“

The Doctor just stares at her for a moment. It’s been a while since Darillium but she still recalls every moment, and River is just as beautiful as she remembers. And just as much of a temptress. She bites her lip, suddenly feeling very insecure. It would be her first time in this body…and it’s her first time being a woman as far as she can remember. That’s a lot to be anxious about.

Softening the come-on, River takes the Doctors hands and steps closer to her, squeezing her hands in reassurance. “I knew it would happen eventually, a wife and not a husband. It’s okay, you know.“ River takes a deep breath, and kisses her wife properly for the first time. Her lips are thinner softer and taste of cinnamon, but she kisses back just like her husband did. Her Doctor. “I love you. This adorable new body is just a bonus,“ she says gently, then kisses her nose for extra effect.

The Doctor can’t help but chuckle as she looks up to her. This was new. She is shorter than her! Though only due to River’s ridiculously high heels.

“I love you, too.“ She whispers nuzzling into her crook of her neck as she wraps her arms around her. River smells exactly the way she remembers, like sunshine on a spring day. “I’ve missed you so much.“ She confesses.

#Doctor Who #fanfiction #collaboration #prompt #river song #thirteen #thirteenth doctor #river x thirteen #thirteen/river #space wives #teen #It's professor song to you #Jodie whittaker #Alex kingston #femslash #fluff #flirting #otp #yes this was the secret project lmao

69 notes · View notes

inkandpen22 · 3 years

Text

Shared Minds and Shared Souls (5/?)

Pairing: Spike x Female!Reader

Warnings: angst, swearing, depression, trauma, PTSD, some fluff

Word Count: 2.3k

Part Summary: After the hospital with Glory, Y/N falls into despair, unsure of whether or not the world around is real or Glory’s doing. Days go by and Spike grows frustrated as the Scooby Gang is lost on how to fix Y/N. So, he takes matters into his hands, doing everything in his power to bring her.

Masterlist

"Bloody fix her!" I hear Spike yell at the others in the kitchen.

I lay on the couch in the allusion version of the Summers's living room. All I can do is wait. Wait for the most-evil-big-bad to show up and take me away. I wait for this vision to end. Glory is messing with my head. I just know it. I'm still in her memories or worse, she dragged me down to Hell with her.

"We can't, not yet at least," the imaginary Willow explains, sounding defeated.

"We don't know the right spell, but we're not going to stop until we find it!" Tara assures, her tone carries a bit of hope in it.

"What exactly did Y/N see when she entered Glory's mind?" Giles questions. "Perhaps that will help us figure out a solution."

"Did she tell you anything, Spike?" The pretend Buffy inquires, her voice optimistic.

"No!" The vampire shouts again. "You saw her! She won't even look at me, at any of us, and you think she told me everything?!"

"Spike, we're just trying to help..." Willow mumbles, sounding mousey.

“Yeah, since when do you care about Y/N or anyone of us for that matter?” Xander insults.

“I don’t… ” Spike grumbles defensively. Then, he releases a deep sigh of frustration, “okay, look! The sooner Y/N is better, the sooner she can help with destroying Glory. Let’s pick up the pace here!”

There's a prolonged pause and the allusion of Dawnie appears entering the room from the kitchen. She approaches me cautiously. Starring blankly ahead at the distant wall, the allusion of Dawn kneels beside me on the floor.

"Hi Y/N," she mumbles, fiddling with the edge of her shirt nervously. "Do... Do you need anything? A glass of water? Some food? I... I can make anything you like!" She tells me with forced enthusiasm. "Oh, here!" She rises from her spot swiftly and reaches over me.

Startled, I scream and fly up from my laid position. She's going to hurt me! She's a demon! She's going to kill me! She's going to drag me back to that place! All of the fire, the screaming, the pain! The others comes running into the room, the vision of Spike leading them.

"I didn't mean to!" The fake Dawn urgently tells me, running to safety by Buffy. "I was just going to give her blanket!"

The allusion of Buffy comforts her, "I know, you're okay! It's not you're fault. Y/N's just really fragile at the moment. We can't touch her or get too close, otherwise we'll scare her."

Panicked, I shuffle my sight between all of them, waiting for one of them to charge at me. I curl up, bringing my legs close to my chest on the couch. Shaking, I can't find the words to speak. I'm afraid if I do they're retaliate and I'll be send back to the fiery place. The figure disguised as Spike approaches me steadily, his hands up as a sign of peace. I don't believe it, not for a second. He's trying to trick me!

He shushes softly, "it's okay Y/N. I'm not going to hurt you."

I cower away, scooting to the farthest side of the couch from him.

"You can also see people's energy. You can also see into people's minds, right?” He calmly moves closer until he's sat on the coffee table. “I want you to look into mine,” he instructs boldly, holding out his hand to me.

I shake my head rapidly in a panic. No, I can’t do it again, not after what happened! Beside, my magic doesn't work in Hell. No, I saw it before. When the roots were attacking me, nothing worked. He's testing me. He wants an excuse to damn me to Hell.

"I’ll focus only on the good memories! You told me that I can control what you see, right? If I remember that it’s all in my head and try hard enough! Let me prove to you that I’m really me and I’m not a threat to you!" The spirit disguised as Spike reasons. "Come on, use your powers, Love. Show yourself that I won't hurt you," he says in almost a plea.

I hesitate, afraid of the repercussion if I do as he asks. He could show me more traumatizing images. I want to believe he's the real, do more than anything! If it were really him, it would mean I'm safe and truly out of Glory's nightmare.

Buffy quietly steps forward to protest the idea. “Spike, I don’t think-”

“Just let her try for Christ’s sake!” He snaps, standing up to face everyone. Clearly, he’s hit his boiling point with all the bickering. “You all bloody act like she’s a goddamn porcelain baby and you’re afraid of dropping her. She’s the most powerful whatever-the-hell she is I’ve seen in my hundred and forty-eight years on this planet! Now, shut up!” He finishes, sitting back down on the table with a dramatic huff.

Calmly, he looks at me and requests again, “try it, Pet. I know you can do it,” he encourages softly.

Slowly, I meet him gaze. It’s the first time since the hospital I’ve look at anyone in the eye. I’ve been afraid that if I look, I’ll see the red eyes that frighten me more than I can bare to say. Instead, I’m meet with the familiar emeralds. They’re fake. They must be fake. They’re a part of the allusion.

“Please…” Spike adds almost inaudibly. He eyes peer at me, filled with what appears to be despair. Reaching out his hand again, he waits for me to take it.

I don’t feel threatening energy radiating from him, at least not directly. Then again, I don’t know how well the demons mask their intentions. My chest rises and plummets as my nerves and mind warn me not to do it. Yet, my gut is telling me to at least try. My heart is telling me to give him, the allusion, a chance.

Steadily I ease my shaky hand out to interlock with his own. Our hands meet and our fingers glides between each other. Gently, Spike rubs his thumb over my hand, doing his best to ease the shaking by squeezing it. He stares into my eyes and gives me a sharp nod of confidence. His features, however, express uncertainty and worry. I feel a surge of energy, the warning before the storm. I blink rapidly as the sensation of falling consumes me. Then, my vision goes black…

I’m sat in my mother’s old parlor on the rug as I read her my newest poem. She rests on the loveseat behind me, petting my head gently. I worry for her. Her health hasn’t been ideal in recent weeks. I read to her, knowing how much it makes her feel better. All I do when I can find a free moment, usually when she’s asleep during the daylight hours, is write more poetry in hopes that it heals her ailments.

“William, my love,” she groans, moving to sit up. She holds out her hand and swiftly I assist her. She mutters a ‘thank you,’ expressing a weak smile.

I peer up at my mother admiringly. I feel the fierce duty to protect her. She’s my whole world, I love no one more than her.

She caress my cheek, “you, my William, are my angel on this Earth. All I want, as my dying wish, is for you to be happy and settled.”

“I am happy, Mother,” I tell her, truly content. “There’s no other woman I need in my life than you.”

She grins, releasing a soft giggle. Oh how I long to hear her laugh. It reminds me of when she was healthy and thriving. Gently, she guides me to rest my head in her laps as I did when I was a child. Steadily, she brushes her fingers through my hair comfortingly. “Early one morning…” She starts to sing her lullaby to me. It’s our song. She’s been singing it to me since infancy. It’s brings me unparalleled peace. I adore her voice. I adore her. There’s no one else in the world I need but her.

With a jolt, like bringing dragged out to see by a strong wave, I’m back in the Summers’s living room. I gasp for air as I settle back into my body, my senses returning to me. The energy surge slowly leaving my bloodstream. Everyone’s eyes are on me, waiting for my words or at least a reaction in someway.

Spike looks at me eagerly, a faint bit of hope in his eyes. “Did it work?”

Silently, I slowly move off the couch, standing to my feet. Spike leaps up from his position, causing me to jump a little. He frowns, disappointment returning to his face. Wrapping my arms around my body safely, I turn and walk out of the room. As I head up the stairs, discussion erupts in the living room.

“What does this mean?” Xander questions urgently.

“Well, did it work?” Anya adds.

“Clearly it fucking didn’t!” Spike barks, followed by a thud and the sound of the coffee table dragging across the hardwood floor with a screech.

“Spike!” Buffy shouts, “that’s not going to help Y/N!”

“Screw this,” he curses, storming around downstairs. “I’m out of here! You lot aren’t going to do anything to help her! I’m going to find a way myself!” I hear the front door slam shut moments after.

_______________________

Days later and I continue to lay in my bed as I have since fake Spike’s attempted to fix me. Alone and silently, I wait for the black smoke-like figures to come haunt me. Sleep is nonexistent because every time I try all I see are those red eyes starring back at me. They wish to drain me cold and consume my soul. The allusions of Buffy, Joyce, and Dawn take turns checking on me. Joyce worries and Buffy tries to get me to eat. Dawnie begs for me to return to normal. What is normal? I can’t remember what I was like before. There’s nothing waiting for me but the Hell I saw. I’m not okay. I’m slipping into an abyss of darkness.

As night falls, the door to my room creaks open behind me, revealing a strip of light from the hall. Distant voices from downstairs linger in and I see someone cross in front of the light as they enter the room. I remain emotionless on my bed, facing the opposite wall. As a figure appears in my peripheral vision, I focus ahead blankly.

“Hello there, Love,” Spike whispers, squatting at my bedside.

I don’t react to his presence physically. Inside, I’m reaching out to him. I’m in a prison made up by my own mind.

Spike hasn’t seen me since the day after the hospital. When I left the living room and he stormed out, he never came back to be exact. Fake Buffy told me in passing while she was bringing me food that he went away for a few days. I didn’t ask, she just told me. She went by his crypt after he hadn’t come around, he wasn’t there. He left a note saying he’d be back.

“I won’t touch you, promise! Yo don’t have to worry about that,” he assures with a frown. “They say you haven’t eaten since…” he shakes his head, refusing to speak of that faithful day. “You need to eat Y/N. You look like you haven’t slept in days.”

He worries, they all worry. What will worrying get them? Why don’t they just put me out of my misery? When will this vision end?!

“Y/N!” He whispers my name harshly, not to alert the others downstairs. “Come on, Love, I know you’re in there somewhere! I don’t know exactly what Glory did to you or what you saw, but you have to fight this! It was another vision! It was only in your head! Dawnie, Buffy, Joyce, they need you…. I need you….” He barely says the last part, looking down at his hands.

I process his words, but everything is delayed. Time has been off since I awoke in the hospital or at least changed visions. In my head, time moves slower and the agony is more intense. I’ve missed Spike more than I care to admit, even if he’s not really here with me and it’s all in my head. I welcome the allusion.

Spike rises from his position with a sigh upon receiving no sort of reaction from me. “I heard of a guru in India who’s apparently dealt with this sort of things before while I was looking for help amongst the covens in New Orleans. I only came back to see if you’ve improved at all...” He moves to step away toward the door. “I’ll check back in before I leave for India,” he informs over his shoulder.

No, no he can’t leave me, not again! Please, don’t leave me. On impulse, I break free of my mental prison and grab Spike’s wrist. His head whips around as his attention lands on my hand. His eyes meet mine wide-eyed with amazement.

“Stay,” I struggle to speak for the first time in nearly over a week.

Spike places his hand over mine. He lowers to my level, knelling beside my bed. A bright smile of glee spreads across his face as relief relishes in his emerald eyes. He cautiously reaches up, cupping my face and I don’t cower away. I ponder the feeling of his touch, leaning into his palm. It makes me feel more alive than I have in days. When I don’t flinch away, he releases a soft chuckle of joy. Before we have the chance to talk, my vision goes black.

____________________________________________________

Masterlist

Tags: @it-was-all-a-beautiful-dream

@hexmancia

#spike #btvs #fanfic #spike x reader #dawn summers #buffy #buffy summers #buffy s5 #spike fanfic #spuffy #spike x buffy #btvs imgaine #btvs fanfic #william the bloody #buffy the vampire slayer #buffy the vampire slayer imagine

98 notes · View notes

asthmark · 4 years

Text

❝ comfortable ❞ l.mk

synopsis → “oh, i’m mark. mark lee.” he gives her a lop-sided grin, reminding you of a high school boy. the kind you would have a crush on.

word count → 3k

a/n → instead of admitting to the fact that this has been in my drafts since october what if i just said i was watching superm interviews and got inspired.. would anyone believe that??? anyway superm on the ellen show was a fever dream lol

your leg bounces nervously as your makeup artist touches up your look and you stare at the tv screen in anticipation. you were finally making your television debut. you knew you were blessed for the wonderful opportunity, especially for how new you were to the music industry.

you had started like nearly every other artist; posting covers on youtube. these were well received and gained a good amount of views and likes but your career really took off when you began creating original content. every time you would release a single, it would make it on the trending page thanks to your growing fanbase and exposure to the general public, who seemed to like you. soon enough, requests to interview you whether it be on radio, tv, or magazines were high and, thanks to your managers, you found yourself in los angeles, backstage in a studio, waiting for the ellen degeneres to introduce you to her live audience and thousands of viewers at home.

“don’t move so much, miss l/n,” the woman trying to apply your highlighter comments. “you’re smudging your makeup.”

you force yourself to sit still as you apologize. “sorry. pre-show jitters.”

the woman smiles, emphatically. “i understand, sweetheart. i would be nervous too.”

you’re quiet for a moment, debating if you should continue conversing with her. “can i be honest?”

she hums as she dabs a beauty blender into your cheek. “go ahead.”

“i am so nervous that i’ll mess up or say something stupid. the only thing close to an interview i’ve ever done was a q&a on my youtube channel. and at least i could edit stuff out then.” you huff. “if i make some kind of mistake on my tv debut, my career will be over before it even started.”

“well, think of it this way,” she says. “you went from a moderately popular youtube channel to the ellen show. that doesn’t happen for no reason. there are people out there who really admire you.”

you chuckle in disbelief. “it’s crazy to think about people actually wanting to see me. i still can't believe it.”

she giggles, softly. “they know there's something worth seeing.” at seeing your small smile, almost as if you were barely realizing your own star status, she laughs. “you seriously gotta wake up, girl. you’re famous!”

you smile at her, finding humor in her words. “thanks for the wake up call.”

you both direct your attention to the tv placed backstage that broadcasted what was happening on stage. you listen in to ellen’s monologue as she tells jokes and addresses current topics. before long, there’s a knock on the doorframe. you half expect a staff member to let you know that you’ll be on soon but instead you hear a quiet, “hello?”

you and your makeup artist both turn to the boy standing in the doorway. he's wearing a black jacket paired with dark, ripped jeans held up by a belt. he goes to bow, then remembers that korean etiquette does not apply and decides to wave as a greeting instead. you reciprocate the gesture. he stands with only one foot inside the room, almost as if he’s too polite to enter without being given the okay.

“did they send you to get your makeup done?” the woman who had done yours says.

he nods. “they said something about concealer and bb cream, i think?”

she smiles. “yeah, it’s basic stuff. come on in. what’s your name, dear?”

“oh, i’m mark. mark lee.” he gives her a lop-sided grin, reminding you of a high school boy. the kind you would have a crush on.

“well, mark lee, i’m lily. i’ll be doing your makeup, making sure you look pretty for the cameras.” she motions to you. “i'm just about done here so i’ll be right with you.”

“okay, thank you.” he shuffles in, his eyes glued to you and you hold his stare. he nods, a wordless greeting as he settles in next to you. in return, you throw up a peace sign and he smiles at your casual behavior.

“you know what? somebody used all the setting spray. i’ll be right back, i’m just going to steal some from my co-workers.” with that, lily darts out of the room.

it’s pure silence between the two of you until you spark conversation. “i didn't get to introduce myself but i'm y/n.”

“i know,” he responds, quickly. “i'm kind of a fan, actually. i mean, it’s practically impossible to not be. you’re all over the place. especially with the new single you dropped... which is a bop, by the way.”

you smile at his simply-worded praise. it was a nice switch up from the professional reviews you received from critics. “that’s so cute. i’m honored.” you miss the way mark’s ears turn slightly pink at your words. “but enough about me, what do you do, mark?”

“oh, me? i’m in the k-pop scene.”

you hum. “that’s a good genre to be in. which group?”

“right now i’m promoting with superm, it’s kind of like a side project. but originally, i’m in a band called nct.”

you lean forward at hearing the familiar name. “nct? as in, nct 127?”

mark’s eyes light up. “yeah! you know us?”

you nod, enthusiastically. “oh my god, yes! you collabed with ava, right?”

“we sure did. are you guys close?”

“i help her write lyrics sometimes.” you lower your voice down to a whisper for dramatic effect. “i wrote the chorus to ‘sweet but psycho’.”

the way mark’s jaw drops is almost comedic. “no way! that song got her famous, dude!” his lips curve into a playful smirk. “just because of that i’m gonna have to get you in the studio.”

you return the mischievous look. “is that a promise?”

“i’m back!” lily announces, giving mark no time to respond. she gives no warning as she spritzs you with the bottle she had gone to retrieve.

you cough, choking on the mist. “no heads up?”

“sorry, dear. you’re on in two minutes, no time to waste.”

you feel a chill go up your spine. it was finally time.

mark nudges your arm. “you okay?”

“a little nervous.” that proves to be the biggest understatement of all time because in reality your heart is doing somersaults.

“hey.” you stare at him, his brown eyes boring into you. “you’ll be fine. there’s nothing to worry about. you got this!”

you smile at his words of encouragement. he cared about you and you find that your heart is pounding for an entirely different reason now.

“i'll be here to cheer you on while you’re out there and i’ll be back when you’re done to tell you how amazing you did, okay?”

you nod.

“now get out there!”

“well, we have a great show for y’all today,” ellen says, clasping her hands together, having just finished her monologue. “i mean, it’s always great but the exciting thing is we have two musical guests today.”

the audience that cheered wildly is shown on screen. you almost forget about the knot in your stomach when you see some people in the crowd wearing shirts with the cover art and quoted lyrics of your last single.

“i see you guys are ready so, without further ado... let’s get started. our first guest is a soloist who has made quite a big name for herself in such a short period of time. she currently has three singles on the billboard charts, her most recent music video is number one trending on youtube, and she has a new ep coming out soon. here for her television debut, please welcome y/n l/n.”

you walk out from behind the stage, a huge smile on your face. the crowd screams and you wave to them until your hands become too occupied hugging the hostess who greets you with open arms and a proud smile. once the hype dies down and your entrance music fades out, you take a seat, opposite of ellen.

“how have you been y/n?”

“amazing,” you respond, letting your hands fall neatly in your lap.

“and why is that?”

you sigh, wistfully. “everything has been going so well for me lately. i mean, i feel like all these doors are opening up for me all of a sudden. i think i finally made it.”

“you’re just barely realizing that?” ellen exclaims.

you laugh, along with the audience. “kind of, yeah. it just all happened so fast.”

“is there an experience that comes to mind where you finally realized how famous you are?”

you try to think for a few moments before your eyes light up. “okay so, i was at a mcdonald’s like, last month and i went through the drive thru and ordered some nuggets and fries. so, i pull up to the window to pay and it’s around 2 a.m. so the cashier guy is super out of it, like he’s not even paying attention to me. finally, he goes to grab my card and he gets a good look at me and just freezes. like, full on shuts down. so i ask him if he’s okay and he nods so i try to hand him my card again but he goes, ‘no, you’re famous, you don’t have to pay’. and in that moment i just knew.”

“hold on, pause,” ellen announces, dramatically. “you’re telling me that you have been nominated as artist of the year, gained over ten million followers on social media and made your national television debut but the thing that really made you say ‘wow, i’m famous’ was a couple of chicken nuggets?”

“ellen, c’mon,” you begin, seriously. “it was a twenty piece.”

“oh, well, that changes everything,” she says, playing along with you, as the audience erupts into laughter.

the rest of the interview goes smoothly, running on jokes and sarcastic energy. you discuss your young age (thus resulting in some of your baby pictures finally being revealed to the world), millennial culture (the crowd went wild when you explained terms such as netflix and chill to ellen who claimed she didn’t understand yet her sly smirk said otherwise) and your upcoming ep (that you would be giving a sneak peek of later on in the show).

you continue chatting once the commercial break is announced and ellen showers you with praises, commenting how young talent never failed to amaze her, although it did make her feel old. you get to thank the hostess and tell her how much you appreciated her sweet words and the opportunity she had given you before the crew is dragging you backstage so you can prep for your upcoming performance.

you’re greeted by a “that was awesome!” and a high five one you get backstage.

you flash mark a full smile. “couldn’t have done it without my hype man.”

just then lily walks in to touch up your makeup.

“and my hype woman!”

she just rolls her eyes and chuckles as she reapplies gloss to your lips.

“seriously though, y/n. why did you have to be so perfect? the bar is all the way up here now.” to emphasize his point, mark raises his arm as high as it will go.

“hey, i only tried hard because you’re up next. you’re a hard act to beat, mark lee. i mean, you’re charismatic, charming, witty; basically every talk show host’s dream.”

he scoffs yet you see how he avoids your gaze, your compliments obviously flattering him to the extreme.

a staff member walks by, cutting your conversation short. “y/n, you’re back on in one. superm is on right after.”

you and mark turn back to each other, speaking the same two words at the same time.

“good luck.”

ellen introduces you again, only this time you hold a guitar and stand in front of a microphone once you’re back on the stage. you perform a never before heard song but judging by the roaring applause and standing ovation you receive by the end of it, it’s another successful hit.

you bask in the amazing response and then you’re ushered backstage for the last time. you catch sight of the staff placing more seats on the stage as you exit and you smile eagerly, knowing exactly what’s to come. you search the hallways for your new friend, hoping you can catch him before the show goes back on air. you’re almost about to give up when you hear your name being called.

you lock eyes with mark who stands a couple feet away, barely hidden from the audience’s view. even from where you stand you can tell he has a nervous smile on his face. you jog towards him and to your surprise, he envelops your figure without a second thought. in return, you tentatively wrap your arms around him.

“great job,” he murmurs, breath fanning your ear. “i really did cheer you on.”

“i’ll make sure to do the same.” you hesitantly pull away from his embrace, holding him at an arm’s length away. “go get ‘em.”

he gives you a determined nod and you watch him rush on stage, the audience’s wild cheering increasing. their energy didn’t fade once throughout the interview and just as you had suspected, mark was doing wonderfully. he clearly thrived in interviews; his awkward, boyish nature enchanting everyone in the studio, yourself included.

ellen crosses her legs and clears her throat. “so, i have to ask you something, you know, for the fans.”

the group leaned forward in anticipation, awaiting her next words.

“are any of you dating?”

the crowd released noises of amusement at hearing the very personal question. you can’t help but feel intrigued although you knew ellen has always been quite the invasive person. you watched as the seven boys looked around at each other, unsure what to say but before their silence can become suspiciously long, mark ends up taking the question.

“why are you always so curious about this, though?” he blurts.

the audience absolutely eats up his response, cheering at his bluntness. even you find it humorous, shoulders shaking with a chuckle. that’s definitely gonna become a meme, you think.

“it’s my job!” counters ellen. “why are you so defensive?”

the crowd is very responsive to ellen’s rebuttal, ‘ooh’ing in amusement.

mark’s silence only pushes the hostess to continue teasing him.

“does it maybe have anything to do with y/n?”

your smile drops. had she seen you two? you’re not sure why you feel so exposed; after all, you had just been talking.

ellen’s lips adorn a sly smile at mark’s stunned reaction. “you seemed to be getting very comfortable with each other backstage.”

the black haired male stumbles over his words before he gets a semi-coherent sentence out. “we just, um—we just met.”

“oh really? you two looked like you had known each other forever.”

mark chuckles breathlessly, eyes glued to his lap, obviously at a loss for words. ellen stares at him expectantly so he mutters, “i like making friends.”

ellen, the audience, and even some of the band members laugh at his response.

“well, i’m sure there’s a lot of fans out there that wish they were your ‘friend’.” her tone makes it clear she doesn’t buy his excuse but she prods him no further, instead turning to stare into the main camera. “when we get back superm will be performing their title track ‘jopping’. during the commercial break, please feel free to place your bets as to how long mark and y/n will remain ‘friends’.”

the camera pans to mark for a couple seconds; his ears are bright red and his cheeks are dusted light pink, his makeup doing nothing to help hide the blush. his eyes dart around, anxiously and then they cut to commercials.

you shake your head, smiling at the entire situation and just how big of a dork mark was.

you attentively watch superm’s two performances, eyes mostly glued to a certain rapper. you sit patiently in the makeup room, waiting for mark to return backstage so you can congratulate him but he never appears. you try to conceal your disappointment, even when lily enters the room, smiling brightly.

“well, the show’s over, doll.” she removes her makeup stained apron and glances at you as she places it on a nearby rack. “hey, why the long face?”

you stare at your reflection in the mirror, no longer bothering to hide your pout now that your frustration had been made known.

“you did great, if that’s what you’re worried about. just ask mark.”

“he left,” you mumble. “i thought i’d be able to catch him before he left and we could… i don’t know, talk a bit more? i just really—” you trail off.

“like him?” lily suggests, too loudly for your liking.

your head snaps towards her, eyes wide, only confirming your feelings.

“don’t worry, dear, you can say it. i won’t tell ellen,” she jokes.

you sigh and slump down in your seat. “yeah. i like him.”

“well, then, i have good news for you.”

you half-heartedly hum, allowing her to continue.

she waves a piece of crumpled paper in front of your face. you grab it from her, staring at it curiously.

“what’s this?”

she nods her head at it, encouraging you to find out for yourself. “open it and see.”

you obey, unfolding the tiny item. your eyes struggle to read the words inside but if you squint, they become clearer.

please call, me i would love to become closer ‘friends’.

(xxx) xxx-xxxx

it’s mark btw :)

you can’t contain your smile at the cute little note.

“he’s adorable,” you say, mostly to yourself but lily audibly agrees.

“he ran into me as he was leaving and begged me to deliver that message to you. which reminds me, i’m supposed to let you know that he wishes he could have stuck around but his schedule is ‘crazy tight’ so he had to ‘dip’. his words not mine.”

you nod, grin widening. “thanks, lily.”

“my pleasure. nothing like young love.”

you give her a glare although it’s all but threatening.

she folds her arms, teasingly. “so, are you going to give him a call or what?”

you’re sure she sees the phone in your hand and the way your fingers press the numbers on the keypad, excitedly but nevertheless, you decide to answer.

“i’d be crazy not to.”

345 notes · View notes

blueprint-han · 3 years

Text

pink cherry blossoms.

pairing: changbin x (gender neutral) reader.

genre: high school au ; fluff.

⇥ warnings: none, changbin is Y/N’s high school pen pal + bf + and she’s a foreign exchange student uwu. 🥰

word count: 1.4 K

⇥ disclaimer: this fiction does not aim to represent the activities of the real Seo Changbin, nor does it represent JYPE in any form. Events are pure fiction. ♡

type: drabble.

network tag: @stayverse @districtninewriters @inkidz + @sunoo-luvs

part of: the url drabble game; requested by @pinkchcn (requests for this are closed now!)

!!!; bold italics indicate Changbin’s letter.

↯ note: hhhhhh so the story for this comes from when I first read your url, I read it as “pink chicken” siudhyuegfw I’m so sorry if has a deeper meaning I by no means meant to mock it I swear. 😭 Hope you enjoy this blurb tho, this is in no way comparable to your awesome writing you queen but I tried. 😔 Happy reading! <33⇥ dawn.☀️

↯ note 2: Okay now that tumblr officially fucked with my self-esteem + the tags I am glad to announce that this is officially the worst fic ever Kai I’m so sorry I made you read this. 😭 I’ll go boo at myself now bye :(( ⇥ dawn.☀️

“Y/N-ah, you got mail.” Your roommate chimed in Japanese, throwing the envelope on top of your sleeping form. You groaned, shuffling under the mess of sheets. It was a Sunday, of all times! What reason did your friend find to wake you up early? You didn’t take the intrusion of sleep well.

“What?” Grubbily, you straightened up from the lower bunk of the bed, rubbing over your eyes as you squinted to look at your friend, who was silently giggling at the way your hair looked like a bird’s nest, all poofed up and sticking out in random places. “You got mail.” She repeated, tucking back her neatly combed hair behind her ear, before plopping a small parcel in front of you. “The letter was attached to this.”

“I know that.” You asked, throwing the blankets over your torso, snuggling into it’s warmth. “What could be so important that you had to wake me up for the mail?’ A soft huff from your lips and you rubbed over your eyes, trying to push away any remnants of sleep. “Couldn’t you have just left it on my table?” Shoving the envelope to the side.

“It’s from your boyfriend~” Your friend in a sing song voice, laughing when you lit up at the little admission. “Have fun reading it! I’m gonna go to the park. You need something?”

“Get me some cherry blossoms.” You stretched your limbs, any last signs of grubbiness gone with the wind. It was officially spring, which meant that the whole city was coated in pink, cherry blossoms of varying shades everywhere, and you loved the scenery they provided — especially from your balcony.

“Are you gonna send them to Changbin?” Your friend asked.

“Oh gosh, are you gonna keep asking me questions or are you gonna go?” Grabbing the pillow behind you, you chucked it at her head, laughing in victory when she was unable to dodge it.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” Your friend rolled her eyes. “See you later.”

Deciding it as a good time to get out of bed, you quickly brushed your teeth, washed your face and tied your hair into a braid before staring at the envelope strewn on the bed. Your two other roommates were both outside already — you could read the letter in peace.

Plopping yourself onto the soft mattress, you covered yourself with the blankets once again before turning the envelope in your hand. Your address was neatly written in his handwriting, followed by three hearts and one winky face. The drawings warmed your heart as you unwrapped the package that came along with it.

It took you a while, but you eventually had the box opened and the tore the envelope, revealing a small piece of paper that had been crookedly folded in half, as though in hurry. Knowing Changbin, you knew better than to just assume that the letter was short, because that man had the tiniest handwriting you’d ever seen — being his pen pal meant you’d have to basically become a human magnifying glass.

Grabbing your reading glasses, you let them hang over your nose as you squinted, trying to read the letter.

Dear Y/N,

Hi^^ hope you’re having a lovely time there, darling~ it’s been going quite okay here. >w< Binnie misses you a lot-

You bit your lip to stifle your laughter. The fact that he’d actually bothered to draw emojis and use aegyo in his letter made you melt in warmth. You sunk back into the plush cushions as you continued reading his letter.

-and I sure hope you’re missing me too okay !! >:( don’t forget about me !! Anyways, it’s starting to get cold over here and mom forces me to pull over that dusty jacket that only makes me sneeze. Honestly I wish you were here, I miss your cuddles :(( But how’s everything going on there? Are you eating properly? Are you getting sufficient sleep? You better or else I’m gonna revoke my cuddles and hugs when you get back here after two months !! Remember to eat, drink water and sleep well okay!! That’s an order!! Or else. >:(

By the time you reached this part of the letter, you were already melting at how adorably concerned he sounded, even through writing. Your giggles were taking no name to stop as you clutched your letter. Feeling the heat creep up to your cheeks as you sighed, in love. You loved how he could make you forget everything around you and drown in everything Seo Changbin, and Seo Changbin only.

Anyways, I sent something for you!! Open the package !! ^^ It reminded me of you so I hope you liked it.

You tilted your head to the side as you flipped the lid of the box open, looking at one of those customizable “summer greetings” card (which was weird, considering that he’d just said it was getting colder)… and, a chicken?

You scowled in confusion as you picked up the plastic object, examining it thoroughly i your hands. It was colored in the usual hues of a normal chicken, but it nonetheless confused you. It reminded you of one of those plastic toys Changbin’s niece owned — in fact, you were almost 85% sure it was his niece’s.

“This reminded him of me? What the hell!” You glanced at the letter with a pout on your face, eyes searching for answers. For some reasons, butterflies erupted in the pit of your stomach, producing a jittery sensation. Ignoring that, you continued reading, noticing a portion of the letter remaining.

Okay keukeukeukeu now that you’ve probably opened it you’re most likely confused and mad at me, and to that I say it was a prank :D That was’s Hyunae’s old toys keukeukeukeu hope you got fooled though. >:) Remove the cloth from the box and see what’s underneath now^^ Promise it’s not a chicken keukeukeuekeu >w<

You narrowed your eyes at the piece of paper, and then the box, noticing the cloth that seemed like it covered something underneath. Reaching out for it, you placed the box in your lap before holding your breath, gently taking the fabric out. You couldn’t be blamed for being nervous, okay? You just received a toy chicken as a souvenir from your boyfriend! A chicken, out of all things!

But, however, your suspicions were put to rest when the cloth was lifted. What you saw inside the box, was by far and most easily, one of the most beautiful gifts you’d ever received, and you felt a slight pang in your heart as your jaw dropped in awe.

It was a dark metal hairband, but the thing that was pretty about it was the tiny cherry blossoms that were arranged on top of it — just by looking at it, you could tell Changbin had spent hours making and coloring those clay flowers, let along moulding and placing them so perfectly. Small, shiny pearls placed in the centre of each flower shined in the light, and you internally swooned at hoe pretty it looked. Nothing could compare to anything you’d bought from the store, ever.

So this was his gift, huh?

“Wow,” You mumbled to yourself, gently and carefully sliding the headband onto your hair. It was heavy, but not that heavy and comfortable enough to wear frequently, you continued reading.

Aaaah i really hope you like it !! I spent about three days making this in craft class, and even the teacher said it came out well (also this reminded me of you please don’t be mad keukeukeuekue), I hope you like it darling !! ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ Remember to write back to me okay !! I love you !! take care darling, bye~

With love

your boyfriend Seo Changbin. ♡ ♡

You smiled when the letter ended, almost (almost) tearing up with how touched you were. Changbin had immense craftmanship indeed, but this by far, was one of the most beautiful pieces he’d ever made, let alone gifted to you.

“Wow, that’s pretty! Did Changbin send that?” You snapped up to look at your friend, who gazed at your headband in awe.

“Yeah!” Covering your mouth, you giggled. “Did you bring it?”

“Mhm,” Your friend carefully handed the delicate flower to you, and you quickly rushed to your cupboard, getting the little journal you’d made over the three months you were here. Once you sat back down on the bed after grabbing a pen, you opened the page titled ‘Spring’ and cautiously taped the cherry blossom onto the page, closing the book shit so it could be pressed into paper. After that it was the obvious, you quickly wrote him a note, smiling to yourself as you ran your hand across the flower crown you adorned on your head.

And of course, when Changbin opened the package two days later to receive the moderately fresh, pressed flower along with your stories and your note, a smile pulled at his lips in an instant.

↯ note: 🕯️ ignore me this is just a small prayer that tumblr doesn’t make me battle the tags yet again 🕯️ may the tumblr gods be in my favor at least this once ;-; 🕯️ ⇥ dawn.☀️

82 notes · View notes

quokkacore · 4 years

Text

LIBERALITY: starshine [oh sehun] (m)

part II of all your gods are fake

summary: sehun gives you what he can, but it’s never easy. you have to work for it as well, but effort pays off, and he rewards you so kindly.

pairing: freedomfighter!sehun x reader

genre: smut, angst, fluff, light horror towards the end?

warnings: language, descriptions of war, descriptions of cults, mentions of violence, shibari, thigh riding, handjobs, reader has nipple piercings, sensory deprivation (blindfolds and ties), seizures, knives

song rec: rosalia & ozuna - yo x ti, tu x mi ♡ taemin - never forever

word count: 4.3k

a/n: this was originally posted to my old writing blog on may 9th, 2020. if you would like to be on the taglist, pls send me an ask or a message! <3

masterlist

He was getting agitated. You could tell this much.

It was already bad enough that the meeting so far had lasted for over an hour and a half, but now the tension of the situation was finally settling in, as everyone realized that it was finally here.

The last stronghold. Or so they believed. Or so he believed.

The meeting was only for the highest ranking officials of the resistance, people who The Brotherhood knew they could trust—the plan was far too important to risk it falling into the hands of The Sect of Seven at the hands of double agents.

The plan that, if executed correctly, could turn the tides and cause the downfall of the Sect.

You watched, leaning against the wall as Junmyeon, leader of The Brotherhood and face of the resistance towered over the war table, talking about possible strategies to take the last major neutral city and also take control of the country.

The Sect of Seven had existed for years before the war began—its existence spanned across centuries, millenia, even; dating back to the year The Prophecy of Brothers Alike was first proclaimed in the late twelfth century, and remained strong even almost a whole century after The Great Collapse of 2050, when global society had collapsed due to war, famine and climate disasters.

Then the war broke out, some ten years ago, when the first two brothers of the Fated Fourteen first made themselves known, springing the Sect’s violent plans into action.

Since then, the resistance had been built up by The Brotherhood’s efforts, both capturing strategic cities and territories across North America. The Sect was based in the desert, with the Sanctuary based in what was once Los Angeles, their control spanning across what was western Mexico, the american south, and half of the northwest.

The resistance was based higher north, in the Citadel, which used to be Chicago, territories consisting of parts of southern Canada, the rockies, the northern midwest and what remained of the Peninsula of Yucatan. Places like Greenland, the southern east coast and northern canadian territories had either been destroyed during the collapse or had since been reclaimed by extreme climate and nature.

The only major territory that remained uncaptured by either sides, the place where many had fled to avoid getting caught in the crossfire, was the northern west coast, and that was controlled by Washington DC.

The very spot the resistance was now planning to take.

Your eyes floated up towards Sehun, who was standing right next to Junmyeon, who was now listening to Chanyeol and Baekhyun discuss the logistics of a peaceful invasion.

“Overall, I think we still need time to form a solid strategy,” Baekhyun said, “Jongdae needs to get in contact with The Agate Sisters for some more weapons—”

“Which is not very easy, might I add—” Jongdae interjected.

“And even before that…” Junmyeon’s voice was loud, taking command of the situation, “Sehun.”

All eyes in the room fell to the youngest member of The Brotherhood.

Oh Sehun. The Oracle.

Sehun had become known to the world two years after Suho and Junmyeon were proclaimed the first two brothers of the prophecy, the same time as his twin brother. Being so young, his ability of both interpreting and creating prophecies was a sight to behold, both terrifying and morbidly fascinating.

You’d known him since he and his brother were children, before the three of you realized what the future held in store—pain and suffering for Sehun and you, and nothing but pleasure and debauchery for Sehün.

“Do you think you could consult with the spirits for a minor prophecy? Or any other interpretations of the prophecy?”

Sehun shifted in his stance, leaning back and forth. “I need time.” His voice was firm and gravelly as he crossed his arms, immersed in thought. “My most recent auguries have revealed to me that DC is the last stronghold that the prophecy is talking about. But I can’t be a hundred percent sure. Prophecies love to play mind games. We all know that.”

“Is there anything we have to be wary of when it comes to the prophecy? Double entendres, stuff like that?” Yixing asked, even though everyone in the room had heard the god-forsaken prophecy more than enough times throughout the past few years.

Sehun sighed, but closed his eyes and nodded anyway. A dramatic tension settled over the room, and Sehun began to speak.

“Cometh a day when seven sets of twins, be opposite ends of both virtue and sin—why am I going over this again, we all know this,” He huffed.

“Please just continue,” Baekhyun mumbled.

“Ugh, fine. Bearing eyes of blue and eyes of brown, cometh to tear the last stronghold down—” Sehun rolled his eyes, frustration evident in his expression. “The term stronghold has always been somewhat questionable. The prophecy was first declared in 1176, right? Early Modern English wouldn’t become a thing for another three hundred years, so most of this stems from Middle English. Some interpret stronghold as fort, or base, or holy land…”

Jongdae raised his hand before speaking, eyes flashing in alarm as he interrupted Sehun’s tangent. “Wait, wait, if others have translated it as holy land, then—”

“The Sanctuary.”

Junmyeon’s voice was quiet, but still commanded a heavy presence across the room, as a profound silence spread across the space.

“That means that the final battle could be in Los Angeles, on their turf. That would put us at a major disadvantage. We’re already at a major disadvantage.” The leader’s eyebrows were furrowed, using both hands to lean on the table as he made the connection.

The dread that followed was thick and suffocating, and you took the opportunity to speak up, wishing to rid the room of the anxiety gathering.

“But think about the implications of fighting the final battle in The Sanctuary. It would have to mean that we’ve managed to push them back sufficiently to the point where we feel confident invading their home base. Which we wouldn’t do unless we knew that we had a high possibility of winning.”

All eyes fell to you, and you crossed your arms, before meeting Sehun’s gaze. The look in his eyes was something akin to gratitude, being able to lift the sudden darkness. You lifted your hand to gesture back at Sehun. “Continue.”

He nodded, gaze stern. “Perhaps lovers lost to a most wicked brother, bringeth vengeance and hellfire upon one another… Loss could mean one of two things. Betrayal or death. But the rest of those two lines imply that the side that does the taking will suffer because of what they’ve done. That means that for now, none of us lay hands on any of the Sanctuary Queens, and those of us who have them, keep our partners close… Beware ye who heed this, for I warn thee now: suffer shall those who carelessly bow.”

“It has to be them,” A girl, Sasha, declared, “They’ve been lying to their followers for years—”

“That could mean anything. You know that.” Sehun’s voice was rough, eyes trained on the map that had been carved into the table.

A silence hung over the room, tension palpable as everyone remembered what the stakes were. These were lives and people’s free wills on the line, indescribable anguish promised by a prophecy written centuries ago to people who didn’t truly know their leaders. The end was near, but the outcome was nowhere near foreseeable.

“I’ll… I’ll try and do some more smoke readings.” It struck you how tired he sounded, watching as he rubbed his eyes with his thumb and index finger, “Maybe I’ll ask the spirit of the Oracle for a specific prophecy on DC. For now, we just have to be cautious. Watch for any suspicious activity here in the citadel and listen to intelligence reports. Jongin, you’ve got your moles at the Sanctuary, right?”

Jongin nodded, gaze dark. “Yeah. I’m meeting with Ren in two weeks. She’s the best of the best. I’ll see what she has for us.”

Junmyeon straightened his posture, everyone quieting when he opened his mouth to speak.

“I think that’s enough worrying about that for today,” He declared, sounding grim, “Before we go, you all know that not a single word is to leave this room. This is highly classified information. Meeting adjourned.”

You watched everyone file out of the room, hoping to speak to Sehun, yet somehow didn’t catch when he left. You got the feeling that that was what he intended.

So you left too, resolving to see him that night.

—

Sehun’s room was easy to find, seeing as how it was right across the hall from yours, in the large apartment building the heads of the resistance had settled into. You knocked on his door, sighing when you didn’t hear any response. You tried one more time, then another time, finally a third time, before letting your head fall frustratedly against the wood of the door.

“Hun, I know you’re in there… please let me in.”

You heard muffled sounds of shuffling from behind the door, pulling your head away to lean it against the doorframe. Waiting, you strained your ears for a noise, hearing the occasional sound.

Eventually, you heard the telltale sound of heavy footsteps being dragged across the floor. You pursed your lips, waiting for the door to open, wondering what you would see when it did.

The door swung open slowly, and you were met with a tall figure, hunched over as he peered down at you. The exhaustion in his gaze was palpable, and you felt your heart clench in sympathy.

Sehun was 25 now. He was made known to the public some nine years ago, and on top of it all, he was the Oracle. Interpretations of any and all prophecies were up to him, a sixteen year old boy who had just discovered he was destined to spend the rest of his life fighting against his own brother, something that tore his family apart.

He was a child.

And now, here he stood, looking too worn, too hopeless for someone so young. His eyes had seen horrors he was much too young to see. Life had eaten away at the glow he’d had when you were both younger. The dark circles underneath his eyes were so pronounced, you’d think he hadn’t slept since he was a baby. His short, dark hair was greasy. You wondered if he’d been taking care of himself properly.

“Do you need anything?” His voice was raspy, quiet. You looked at him, brown eyes met yours. Your heart clenched. Here he was, mentally exhausted, and the first thing he said to you wasn’t a hello, but rather, asking quietly if you needed anything.

“Can I come inside?” You asked sheepishly, and he blinked for a second, before nodding, opening the door more for you to pass. “Go ahead.”

You stepped past him, into the hallway of his small apartment. The smell of incense invaded your nose, and you frowned. He closed the door, and crossed his arms. “What’s going on, Y/N?”

“Are you okay? You looked so tired today, you look tired now.”

“I’m fine—"

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

You refused to let him keep it all to himself. “Sehun…”

He leaned against the wall, head bowed, and you mirrored his stance, standing against the wall as well, but you didn’t look away. “Y/N, I can’t deal with that right now. People need me.”

“Sehun, you can’t force yourself like this, you’ve told me that yourself—"

“I have to make this work. I can’t fail like last time, not if DC is what we think it is.”

You sighed, taking a step forward, resting a hand on his arm. He glanced at it briefly, then raised his head to look at you. You said nothing, but guided him to sit down on the couch, and you sat next to him.

“Sehun,” You said, voice quiet, “DC is nothing but puppets right now pretending they’re actually doing anything. We have our puppets, the sect have theirs. You can’t be sure that a place like that is what determines whether we’re doomed or not. You said it yourself, there are so many possibilities that DC isn’t the place we’re thinking about.”

He took a few deep breaths, nodding to your words before rubbing his eyes with his thumb and index finger. He looked strained, and you moved to sit closer to him.

“Everything is so fucked up,” Sehun whispered, and you nodded in agreement. “I feel like everything is out of control. Like I can’t do anything about it. Meanwhile, Sehün—"

“Sehün has people who think he’s a god obeying his every whim, just like the rest of those—those idiots.“ Your voice was quiet, but firm, refusing to allow him to compare himself to his brother, "The only reason they look so polished and seem to have everything under control is they only leave the Sanctuary when they absolutely need to, to save face. They feel like they’re above everyone else.”

You took Sehun’s hand, carefully removing his worn, black glove before cradling it in your smaller hand, as if it were incredibly fragile. His eyes met yours, and you gave him a sad smile.

“The Brotherhood, on the other hand… You only use that title for formality’s sake. Yes, you’re all the leaders, but you see yourselves as equal to the rest of us. All of you are out there with us, on the front lines. You’re tired because you give everything you have to serve this cause, my love. You feel that everything is out of control because… well, it is. Lady Fate is a tricky one, we all know that. But you feel it even more because you’re dealing with it head on, not from some sparkly throne on a golden pedestal.”

Sehun’s eyes glittered with several emotions you couldn’t pinpoint, but you could see fondness in them. He leaned forward, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “Starshine,” He mumbled into your hair, before resting his chin on the crown of your head, “Where would I be without you.”

You hummed, before allowing your eyes to flutter shut, and the two of you sat in silence for what seemed like hours. You reflected back to when you and Sehun both realized your feelings for one another, after a devastating battle in Salt Lake City where Sehun had given his brother the now infamous scar running down the left side of his face, some six years ago. He’d come so close to dying that day, and you’d realized just how important he was to you.

You’d been joined by the hip since you were children, and when the revelation came that he and Sehün were the brothers of liberality and greed respectively, you didn’t hesitate in taking his side, vowing to follow him until the bitter end.

It all made sense to you when you came to Sehun’s sickbed, seeing him resting and bloodied, that you’d actually been in love with the boy for a long time, perhaps ever since you’d first met him. You wouldn’t ever be able to live without him, and apparently, he felt the same way.

In this moral crisis, you were his anchor, his tether to the corporeal plane when his world was on an ethereal one.

Upon all the doubts that everyone had, as to whether the Fated Fourteen were truly gods or if they were simply men with delusions of grandeur chosen by Lady Fate for her cruel entertainment, he felt that you were what reminded him that he was human, that past gods were never truly capable of love or real emotion.

To be capable of loving you was a humbling experience, one that he treasured dearly, especially in moments like this.

“Do you remember what we did the last time you felt like you had no control?” Your voice was a whisper, full of promise and anticipation, as the hand that wasn’t holding his own came to ghost over his thigh. Sehun’s breath hitched, recalling the experience. Roughness against soft, supple skin, restraint and control, you giving yourself entirely to him before he gave himself entirely to you.

“What exactly are you proposing?” He murmured, and you exhaled as one would when they found something amusing, the ghost of a laugh. “You know what I’m proposing, Sehun. Don’t act as if I haven’t seen you teaching Chanyeol to tie his knots when he’s getting ready to go out on a field mission.”

His hand tugged yours towards him, and you moved as he sat back, resting his back against the couch as he helped you straddle his waist. You faced him, realizing with a giggle that he’d turned slightly pink at your accusation.

“Do me a favor,” He said, and you nodded, letting your free hand rest on his shoulder. “Never talk about Chanyeol when you’re trying to get me into bed again. You are the sexiest thing I’ve ever laid my eyes on… Chanyeol, however, is the most unsexy person I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing.”

Your head tipped back with laughter, and he joined in with you. Your heart, upon hearing this, skipped a beat. You had a hard time recalling when the last he’d laughed was. “I think Sasha would disagree.”

“Yeah, but Sasha isn’t here now, is she? It’s just you and me.” He leaned forward, trapping your waist with his hands and letting his face come close to yours. You watched his eyes flutter down to watch your lips, inches away from yours. You gulped when his lips parted, his tongue peeking out to lick the pink skin.

“So you want me to tie you up. Take control.”

Your hands wrapped around his neck, and you smiled. “Only if you want to tie me up. I want you to have at least one thing you feel you can control.”

Sehun licked his lips again, sighing in amusement as he considered the idea. “Y’know, a few weeks ago, some of the field officers came in with a bunch of fabric they managed to smuggle out of LA…” His tone was quiet, and his hands began trailing downwards, pulling you against him, voice filling you with anticipation. Comfortable fabric was so difficult to come by these days, given that the Sect had taken what were once lavish city districts.

You gasped slightly when your core came into contact with his lap, feeling he was already starting to get hard, and felt your face heat up.

“I might’ve bought a silk tie or two off of ‘em,” He told you, eyes burning holes into your skin, “Wanted to see what my starshine would look like in pink.”

Your felt your hands tighten of their own volition against the fabric of his black t-shirt, your mind conjuring the mental image. “Fuck, Sehun. W-where’s the jute?”

He flashed a lopsided grin, and you felt the need to smack the smug look off of his face. How he could go from being so serious to this, was beyond you. You personally didn’t believe that The Brotherhood and The Lords of the Sect were gods, but Sehun’s duality, in situations like this, seemed to be supernatural at times, if you dared say so yourself.

He pressed his lips to yours briefly, before lightly nudging you to get off of his lap. “I’ll go get it, baby. Give me a second.”

He stood, catching his breath briefly, before walking down the hall, towards his closet. The hallway was slightly darker, and you stood, striding over to him as he pulled out the rope. He turned to face you, and he quickly cornered you against the wall.

“Shirt off. Bra, too.”

You grinned. “What are you gonna do this time?”

You could vaguely make out his features, but you knew his face was probably twisted up in smug satisfaction. Regardless, you obeyed silently, your chest rising and falling quickly with anticipation.

“Chest harness, for now,” He quipped, “Is that okay?”

You nodded, not breaking eye contact with him as you undressed yourself. You wanted him to realize that you weren’t backing down.

He seemed to read you perfectly, nodding in response to your answer as he watched you pull off the dark fabric, before reaching behind you to unclasp your bra. Even in the dim light of the corridor, you could see how his eyebrows raised and the way his lips parted slightly, lazy gaze falling down to your breasts. You knew what he was gawking at.

The studs embedded in your nipples were a dark stainless steel, glittering, alluring. You’d gotten them on a whim at nineteen from some clandestine tattoo artist on the way back from a field operation. He’d always had a bit of a fascination with them, the way they seemed to twinkle at him underneath the light.

"You gonna stare at me all night or will I have to tie myself up?”

Your playful jab snapped him out of his reverie, and he straightened his posture a few seconds later. “Go stand in front of the bed.” His voice was soft, but still commanding.

You stalked into the dark bedroom, standing in front of where you made the bed out to be. He followed you, before standing behind you. “Are you going to tie my hands up, too?"

"Not yet, starshine,” He declared quietly, into your left ear. You could tell he was untangling the jute, and you pursed your lips in anticipation. “You want to know what I’m about to do to you?”

“You know I do,” You whispered, a confession just for him, before lifting your arms and your hair for him to work.

“Too bad,” He sighed, ”Because I’m not telling you.”

You huffed, but didnt protest.

His arms began to wrap the rope below your ribcage, tightening the jute to the point where you could feel it digging into your skin, but enough to complicate your breathing. Taut, but not torturous. You closed your eyes, sighing quietly as he looped the jute higher up this time, just between your breasts and your collarbones, wrapping back to where he began, in the middle of your back.

The sensation of the rough fibers against your skin was by no means comfortable. It was scratchy and some stray fibers tickled at your chest. But its presence against your skin, the implications of its position and what was to come, was most definitely comforting. Intimacy with Sehun now was rare, you rarely even slept next to each other. But you knew that it wasn’t because of a strain in your relationship.

Sehun had always needed peace of mind and silence when it came to auguries and prophecy readings. Now, with the war coming so close to what seemed to be the end, he needed it more than ever, and the moments you shared with him came to a pause. You didn’t complain—the cause came before your emotions, now and always. But inside you were crying out for him; in concern, in longing, in yearning.

So maybe that’s why when he paused his ministrations and chuckled, tracing a finger down his spine, you whimpered quietly, thighs rubbing together in anticipation. “You have goosebumps,” He said, lips brushing against the shell of your ear.

“It’s been a while,” You answered, and he hummed in response, pressing a soft kiss to your nape. You sighed at the sensation.

“Drop your arms, and turn around to look at me,” Sehun whispered a few seconds later, and with some help from him to maneuver through the rope he was still trying to tie around you, you were able to complete his request.

“You’re so fucking gorgeous.” His voice was throaty, eyes scanning your body as you did the same, eyes landing on the growing bulge in his pants.

“Sehun, please just hurry.”

He shook his head, crooked smile still gracing his face. His hands worked quickly, looping the jute underneath the lowest rope, between your breasts.

“It’s not too tight, is it?” He asked, and you shook your head.

“It’s fine. Not too tight, not too loose.”

He nodded, eyebrows furrowing in concentration. “Okay. Let me know if it becomes too much at any point.”

“I know, Hun.”

Sehun’s dark eyes lifted their gaze from where his hands were working to meet your own, not saying anything. By now, the smile had faded, replaced by a stern look of concentration.

Be still, my heart, you thought, he is so beautiful.

“What?” You whispered, and he blinked.

His response was soft, gentle. “I would fucking die for you.”

You felt your face grow warm, and you lowered your gaze. “Sehun,” You murmured, “I—”

“Sh, sh,” He answered, continuing to tie the rope, “Listen to me, starshine. You’re it for me. There’s never been anyone else. A-and if anything happens, Lady Fate forbid it… There’ll never be anyone else.”

He finished his words as he tied off the final knot, and silently, you stood there, eyes shut as you pressed your forehead to his. For how long, you weren’t sure. Seconds, minutes, eons… Maybe no time had passed at all. You didn’t really care. Moments like these were never long enough, they always ended too soon. Sehun was your elixir of life, your lifeline, and in these moments, you felt immortal, invincible, powerful.

To be able to bring such a man like him to his knees, to be so ready to put himself on the line for you; you were sure it would be your ruin.

You surged forward, wrapping your arms around Sehun’s neck, and he caught you as you pressed your lips to his in a blazing kiss. His arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you impossibly closer. You whined into the kiss, the dark cotton of his t-shirt pressing against your sensitive nipples and their piercings.

“Sehun,” You moaned into the kiss, reaching down to tug at the hem of his shirt. “N-not fair, take it off.”

He hummed, pulling away to comply with your protests, revealing toned skin and the broad shoulders you so adored.

“Is it fair now?” He asked, grabbing your upper arms to pull you closer and press kisses to your collarbones and along your sternum. “I should tie your hands now, maybe then you’ll learn you’re not allowed to touch without my permission.”

“Shut up,” You said, ignoring his declaration as he pushed you onto the bed. You peered up at his broad form, towering over you in the darkness, almost trembling in anticipation, waiting for him to put his hands on you, to make a move.

A few moments later, he finally did, reaching down to pull your pants off, as well as your underwear. He pressed soft kisses to your stomach as he did. When both garments were finally tossed aside, he lifted himself up onto the bed, lips trailing up across your skin. His eyes met yours as he gazed up at you, through you, before pressing his lips to one of your breasts, your sensitive nipples hardening at the contact of his warm mouth against the cool steel embedded in it.

Your head tipped back, eyes fluttering shut, unable to keep eye contact with your lover. One of your hands came up to comb through his dark hair, whimpering as he alternated between your nipples.

“Sehun, mmph, baby…” You murmured, coming back to look at him when he let go and came back to kiss at your jawline.

“Up, starshine,” He ordered, leaving no room for protest, arms wrapping around your waist and hauling you up to sit on his lap. As you squirmed to get comfortable in his grip, one of his hands reached for his nightstand’s drawer, and he pulled out two pastel pink silk ties. Your heart leaped towards your throat in excitement when you registered what these were, hips subconsciously searching for friction against his.

“Sit still,” He huffed as he closed the drawer, before straightening his posture, dwarfing you even sitting beneath you.

Wordlessly, he brought the tie up to your eyes, covering them before tying it at the back of your head with one tie, quickly doing the same to your hands with the other, tying them tightly in front of you.

“Fuck, you’re so pretty,” He mumbled, hands raking from your hair to down your back.

His hands came to grasp at your thighs, propping them so they rested only atop one of his. You felt your core clench at what he was alluding to, inhaling sharply.

“Move your hips, baby,” He said, and you couldn’t bring it in you to deny him.

Another thing you couldn’t do was speak, you found, as you prayed you could maintain your balance and began to slowly rock your hips against the rough fabric of his dark pants and his toned thigh, your bare pussy rubbing listlessly against the coarse fabric. You didn’t mind however, perfectly content to let him speak, murmuring strange hybrids of dirty and sweet things in your ear.

The hot pleasure between your legs seemed to double at the restriction in your ribs and not being able to see or anticipate where his hands or mouth were. You buried your head into the crook of Sehun’s neck, peppering wet, opened kisses against his collarbones, your nails digging into your palms with a vengeance in hopes of anchoring yourself to something.

The movements of your hips soon became capricious, rhythmless, your whimpers becoming louder and louder as he switched between flexing his thigh and bouncing it like a restless child. In the darkness of the silk tie, you could feel the callousness of his fingertips as they dug into your hips, a guided meditation through your pleasure.

The room reeked of incense and sex, you realized as you attempted to delay your slowly building release by focusing on different things. Smells, sounds, and finally, Sehun.

This was the Sehun you loved most, the one you cherished most in your heart. The Sehun that was so willing to give, give, and give, but not to the point of recklessness, unlike the Sehun you had seen so often lately in the war room. This Sehun was yours, and yours only. And if the growing wet spot against his rough pants was any indication, then your body loved this Sehun as well.

“S-Sehun.”

“Hmm?”

“P-please let me touch you.”

“Alright, since you asked so nicely.”

You clumsily began to search for his hard bulge, and he grabbed your tied hands and guided them to something hard and hot. You jumped slightly in surprise, not realizing he had taken himself out of his pants while you were humping away at his thigh like a bitch in heat.

He laughed at your squirming, and you slowed the rhythm of your hips in annoyance, but not completely—your hips had stopped folding to you, subconsciously rutting, twitching gently against the rough, now ruined fabric, perpetually searching for release.

“S-shut up,” You panted, and he laughed again, pressing another kiss to your jawline.

“You shut up. I still have to make you come.”

His hands resumed their leisurely movement on your hips, your focus snapping back to the impending edge, thoughts blurring into incoherency as the pleasure against your core. Mindlessly, you let go of Sehun’s member to bring your hands up to your mouth, attempting to spit crudely in order to improvise lube.

Instead, your heart jumped into your throat in arousal when Sehun grabbed your free hand and did the same, keening at his actions, eyebrows furrowing. And, despite feeling a slight annoyance at the chafing of your thighs, a feral instinct took over, and your hips sped up against his thighs.

“You look perfect like this,” He told you, guiding your hand back to where he needed you most, and you began to pump him slowly. His hands moved to wrap around your waist, large hands splaying possessively across your back.

“Gods, I wish you could see how lovely you look, starshine,” He mumbled, seemingly in a daze, “All mine.”

You nodded. “Y-yours, Hunnie. Only yours.”

He pressed a kiss to your collarbone, his breath picking up as your hands did the same, pace speeding up. He groaned against your skin as you pressed your thumb into the slit of his cock. Your movements were harsh, jerking against him as you felt yourself losing yourself in his touch.

“S-Sehun, I’m gonna…”

“I’ve got you,” He whispered, his voice your only anchor, “Let go, Y/N, it’s okay.”

Finally, finally, you crested, head tipping back, mouth falling open in a silent scream, body stiffening in his arms as you were possessed by pleasure. In the dark, colors danced around you, sounds could be touched, Sehun’s hands on your body tasted exquisite.

You didn’t even realize that your display had tipped Sehun over the edge, spilling himself onto your hands while he gripped your shoulders like his life depended on it.

When you came down from your orgasm, your chest heaving, you reached up to pull the blindfold off of your face, struggling slightly as you were still restrained by the silk tie. You blinked a few times, eyes adjusting to the light of Sehun’s room, and found that he had fallen back onto the bed in the height of his orgasm.

His eyes had fluttered closed, panting furiously. He seemed loose, almost boneless, and you stifled a laugh at how much more relaxed he seemed now.

“I take it you had fun?” You asked, poking his stomach teasingly. After a moment of silence, of what you assumed to be Sehun trying to catch his breath, you furrowed your eyebrows.

“Hunnie, come on, get up. Can you untie me, please, baby?”

No response. If anything, Sehun’s pants seemed to be getting even heavier.

“Sehun?”

His eyes fluttered open, and your blood ran cold.

His eyes had rolled up into his head, mouth opening and closing as if he were trying to say something but he’d lost his voice. Around you, the temperature seemed to drop.Out of nowhere, the scent of incense returned, stronger than ever, and beneath you, Sehun tensed, muscles contracting as he began to seize.

You froze, momentarily unsure of what was happening. Here lay your lover, convulsing under you, and you were restrained to a point where it would be difficult to help him. Panic creeped into your stomach, eyes searching for something, anything, that would get you out of the grasp of the silk tie. You brought your wrists up to your teeth, frantically hoping to loosen the knot. Sehun was still convulsing. Your eyes drifted around the room, glancing at his stiff hands, gnarled into unrecognizable gestures. Your clothes were on the floor, but you had left your knife in your room.

Knife. Sehun’s knife.

You lunged for the nightstand, knowing that was where he kept his switchblade in case of an emergency, tumbling to the floor as your legs gave out, still wobbly from both panic and your previous orgasm. You managed to open the drawer, clumsily fumbling for the blade, before pulling it out, holding it between your teeth and bringing your wrists up to your mouth, beginning to saw away at the lovely, pale fabric, suddenly not caring about its softness or its illusion of luxury.

All you needed was to know that Sehun was okay.

Your eyes squeezed shut at the thought that he might be dying, and when the final strands of silk finally gave way, you practically spat out the knife, grabbing onto the nightstand for balance, turning to look at Sehun on your weak legs.

He wasn’t on the bed anymore. Your eyebrows furrowed, head spinning as you tried to figure out what was going on.

“Beware the master of tongues.”

You shrieked, eyes snapping up from where the deep, almost demonic voice had come from, and almost fainted then and there.

Because somehow, Sehun was floating above you, suspended in midair, eyes open wide but not a sliver of brown could be seen. In its place shone a bright silver, the holiest of metals for the unholiest sight.

“Beware the master of tongues,” The voice spoke again, speaking through Sehun, who was stiff as a board, face contorted into a sneer, and you realized with a chill that this wasn’t Sehun, but rather the Oracle.

“Beware the master of tongues,” He said once more, as his sneer morphed into a cruel grin, “But beware more the wrath of the faceless one.”

#kpop scenarios #kpop smut #kpop imagines #kpop x reader #kpop au #exo x reader #exo scenarios #exo smut #exo imagines #sehun x reader #sehun smut #sehun scenarios #my writing #fic: aygaf

118 notes · View notes

useless-slytherclaw · 3 years

Link

Sizhui is settled beside a small stream in one of the numerous clearings in the mountains around the Cloud Recesses. The sound of the river is soft and soothing, and the spring sunshine overhead is bright and warm. Sizhui picks out a soft melody on his guqin, and he can hear the soft sound of birds singing in the distance.

It’s incredibly tranquil, and that’s why Sizhui came here, but there’s still anxiety twisting his stomach into knots. His emotions have been chaotic ever since he learned that he was born a Wen. The fragments of memories slotting back into place are frustrating, and the nightmares he can’t seem to stop are worse.

However, it’s the slew of emotions- confusion, fear, anger, guilt, anxiety- that bother him the most. No matter how much meditation he does or soothing songs he plays, he can’t seem to find his calm.

There’s a whole basket of questions and worries, but the one he’s currently turning over and over in his head is how to tell Jingyi all of this. Jingyi is his best friend, the person Sizhui can always confide in. It feels wrong to keep a secret from him, and Sizhui could really use his comfort.

The soft sound of footsteps on foliage catches Sizhui’s attention, and a moment later, as if Sizhui’s thoughts had summoned him, Jingyi appears at the edge of the small clearing.

Sizhui’s heart jumps in his chest at the same time his stomach twists anxiously.

“Thought I might find you hiding here,” Jingyi says, with a bright smile, one that never fails to make Sizhui’s heart flutter.

“I’m not hiding,” Sizhui says; it’s only kind of a lie. If he really didn’t want to be found, he wouldn’t have come to a place where the two of them have spent so much time together.

“Sure,” Jingyi says, coming to sit on the grass.

“Aren’t you supposed to be in the library?” Sizhui asks mildly. He’s fairly certain that Jingyi has been assigned to copy the rules again.

“I was worried about you,” Jingyi says.

Something inside Sizhui softens and his anxiety lessens slightly.

“You’ve been acting oddly since everything with Senior Wei happened,” Jingyi says.

Sizhui has to look away from the earnest concern in his eyes.

“Sizhui,” Jingyi says, and his tone is unusually calm and serious. “You know that I love you right?”

Sizhui’s head snaps up and his heart flips over. There’s no way he heard that right.

“What?” he asks faintly.

A familiar expression crosses over Jingyi’s face: it’s not quite horror or mortification, but it says that he’s spoken without thinking and is regretting it. But then that expression shifts to determination.

“I love you,” he says.

For a second, Sizhui just stares at him, but before Jingyi’s determination can give way to anxiety, a brilliant smile spreads across Sizhui’s face.

“I love you too, Jingyi,” Sizhui says. His heart is pounding, and he really hopes that he’s reading this moment correctly.

Jingyi’s eyes light up, and he grins. He reaches out to take Sizhui’s hand and squeeze it. Sizhui threads their fingers together, still not quite believing that this is real, that revealing the feelings he’d buried for years had been that easy.

Sizhui looks at Jingyi, at his lips. He wonders if Jingyi would let him kiss him. He wants to.

“You can tell me anything, Sizhui, I hope you know that.”

Just like that, the bubble of happiness shatters, and the sick feeling is back in Sizhui’s stomach.

“Yes,” Sizhui says, but his voice isn’t confident.

He stares into Jingyi’s brilliant grey eyes and tries to find his courage. How can he tell Jingyi that he’s a Wen, when the Wens had burned down the Cloud Recesses and killed Jingyi’s parents, when Jingyi still has nightmares about it.

Jingyi squeezes his hand comfortingly, and Sizhui takes a deep breath. He can trust Jingyi; he always has.

“Senior Wei told me about my birth family,” he says quietly.

Jingyi’s eyes search his face. “You don’t seem excited?”

Sizhui shakes his head slowly. “Jingyi, my parents were Wens. I was- am- Wen Yuan.”

Jingyi’s expression goes completely blank, and Sizhui’s stomach clenches so tightly he almost leans over.

“That’s not funny, Sizhui,” Jingyi says, letting go of Sizhui’s hand.

“I’m not joking,” Sizhui says, then more quietly, “I wish I was.”

Jingyi just stares at him as Sizhui quietly explains what little he knows about how he ended up in the Cloud Recesses. When Sizhui stops talking, the whole clearing is silent except for the discordantly cheerful burbling of the stream.

The expression on Jingyi’s face is shifting from shock to something between hurt and betrayal, and Sizhui clenches his hands into the fabric of his robes to resist taking his hand again.

“You- You’re- You’re one of them,” Jingyi says, and Sizhui can almost see the memories in his eyes.

“No,” Sizhui says. He’s not, not really, but then, “yes?”

Jingyi pulls away from him, and panic rises in Sizhui’s throat, making it hard to breathe.

“Jingyi?” He says, leaning forward.

“Don’t-” Jingyi says, pushing himself to his feet. Sizhui looks up at him with wide eyes. “You aren’t who I thought you were.”

“I am!” Sizhui protests. “I’m the same person!”

I can’t even remember them , he wants to scream. I don’t know who they are. I’m a Lan, not a Wen.

Maybe, if Jingyi’s expression was angry, he would have. Maybe if it was derision or scorn he saw there, he could be angry back. Instead, Jingyi looks hurt, betrayed. He takes another step away from Sizhui.

“Jingyi, please!” Sizhui says. Please listen to me. Please understand. I need you to.

But for the first time in years, Jingyi doesn’t understand. Sizhui is so used to communicating with Jingyi without words, that they get all tangled up on his tongue as Jingyi takes another step back and then another.

“The Wens… Your family, they murdered my parents. They burnt the Cloud Recesses to the ground. They… They were monsters.”

What is the son of a monster but a monster? Sizhui has been asking himself that question since he learned the truth, and he can hear it behind Jingyi’s words.

“I didn’t-” Sizhui says. He was hardly old enough to talk when the Sunshot Campaign began.

“Don’t,” Jingyi says, shaking his head and turning away. “Just don’t.”

He walks to the edge of the clearing, the same way he’d come, and Sizhui watches him in mute shock. He can’t figure out how things had gone so wrong so quickly. He can still feel Jingyi’s hand in his. A distant part of his brain tells him that Jingyi is hot-tempered and that he will cool down and this will turn out okay, but it is a very very small voice.

Jingyi looks back at him.

“I wish,” he says and shakes his head. “Right now, I wish I’d never met you.”

With that, he turns and walks away.

Sizhui opens his mouth to call after him, but the words get stuck in his throat as something inside of him breaks. At first, he’s frozen, staring at Jingyi’s retreating form.

Jingyi. His best friend. The love of his life. The person he’d thought was his soulmate.

And he threw Sizhui away just like that.

Just like everyone else.

His shoulders start to shake, and he realizes there are tears on his face. He’s sobbing, tears of loss and anger and guilt all welling up.

He raises his hands to cover his face, to stifle the sound of his sobs.

And jerks upright, tears on his face. He blinks at the sudden darkness around him. His room. He’s in his room.

“Sizhui?” Jingyi’s voice is sleepy and half-muffled.

Sizhui takes a deep, shaky breath. A dream, it was just a dream. Its moonlight is filtering through the window, not sunlight, and the sky outside is still pitch black.

Sizhui tries to wipe the tears from his face, and he hears shuffling on the other side of the room. He looks up to see Jingyi padding towards him in the semidarkness.

“Another nightmare?” he asks, and Sizhui can only nod. “You okay?”

Sizhui just shakes his head. There’s no point in lying about his feelings when Jingyi can read him so well. Jingyi drops down on Sizhui’s bed next to him and pulls him into a hug. Even as Sizhui presses his face against Jingyi’s shoulder, he feels guilt rising. He still hasn’t told Jingyi about his Wen heritage.

“I’m sorry,” Sizhui whispers.

“It’s okay,” Jingyi says, rubbing Sizhui’s back. “Nightmares happen.”

Jingyi’s presence is so comforting. Sizhui feels warm and safe in his arms, and he can feel his breath and heartbeat returning to normal. But as the emotions from the dream fade, very real guilt and anxiety assert themselves. He feels like he’s lying, letting Jingyi comfort him when Jingyi doesn’t know.

“Sizhui,” Jingyi says, quietly.

“Yeah?”

“You know that I care about you right?”

The words are so close to the words of Sizhui’s dream that he almost has a disconcerting sense of deja vu.

“You can tell me anything,” Jingyi says.

“Yes,” Sizhui says, but his voice is small.

“I don’t know what happened, but something has been bothering you since the stuff with Senior Wei. You don’t have to talk about it, but I’m always here for you, okay?”

Sizhui nods. He needs to tell Jingyi, and he needs to do it now, but the betrayed expression on the Jingyi of his dreams is seared onto his mind. He’s not sure he can handle that expression twice.

“Senior Wei told me about my birth family,” Sizhui whispers.

Jingyi is still holding him, and Sizhui should really sit up and give him space, but he can’t seem to force himself to.

“Okay,” Jingyi says, carefully.

“Jingyi,” Sizhui’s voice is shaky. “My parents were Wens.”

The words hang in the darkness between them, and Sizhui’s heart leaps into his throat, but Jingyi doesn’t shove him away, doesn’t even pull away.

“That’s what’s upsetting you?” Jingyi asks, and Sizhui pulls back to look at him.

It’s hard to see his expression in the dark, but there’s no sign of anger or pain in his expression, only concern.

“You… don’t mind?” Sizhui asks, cautiously.

Jingyi shrugs, “it doesn’t matter who your parents are, A-Yuan. Lan Yuan, Wen Yuan, it doesn’t matter. You are still the same person, still my best friend.”

The knot of guilt and fear eases so quickly that Sizhui almost feels heady as he stares at Jingyi. Jingyi, who has never cared that Sizhui didn’t have parents. Jingyi, who always stands up for him. Jingyi, who never complained about Sizhui’s nightmares. Jingyi, who is Sizhui’s best friend.

“Jingyi, I love you,” Sizhui says, and the words surprise him. He can feel his own eyes go wide.

Jingyi’s expression is unreadable in the dark.

“Do you mean?” He asks, and is that hope ?

“I mean,” Sizhui says and pauses. There’s no possible way for him to convey the way he’s feeling right now: the warmth of it, the sheer overwhelming force of it.

Instead, he reaches out, surprised to find that his hand is completely steady, and pushes Jingyi’s bangs out of his face before leaning in to kiss him. Sizhui’s heart is in his throat, but Jingyi doesn’t pull away and doesn’t push Sizhui away. Their lips brush together, and Jingyi kisses him back . It’s hardly a moment, but Sizhui’s heart leaps in his chest.

Sizhui can’t help the smile spreading over his lips, and he watches as a matching one spreads across Jingyi’s.

“I love you too,” Jingyi says and leans in to kiss Sizhui again.

#the untamed #zhuiyi #lan jingyi #lan sizhui #mdzs #fic #fanfic #ao3 link #angst

11 notes · View notes

twofootedbones · 3 years

Text

Give Me Your Answer Do

Summary: Something inside Logan's head was telling him that this wasn't a situation he wanted to be in anymore, whether it be Deceit's doing or his own brain, Logan selectively listens to the sounds. The other sides pound on the doors to bring the logical side back to the light, but the singing metal had become accustomed to the darkness.

Old fic, so please forgive any cannon errors!

‘They’re not going to listen to you,’

The voice grew louder.

‘They’re never going to listen to you,’

It started to make sense, but after hearing the repeated words they would lose their edge.

‘You might be a light side, but you’ll never be one of them,’

Logan wasn’t an emotion. Logan was the brain, Logan was logical thinking, Logan was thinking.

It’s obvious how the other sides would have a sort of bias against him because of this, but it still managed to hurt when all the emotions get their own way simply because there are more of them. Logan was alone in his accounts, he wasn’t like all the others, and because of this, they deemed it okay to not have to treat him like the others. They hurled insults at him faster and more often than at each other. They were all ever so quick to shut anything and everything he had down. Yet, the sweet small amounts of praise he gets when he's finally seen equal at the end of a video was exhilarating. Frustrating, he meant frustrating. Just as the conflict outside raged on, the conflict inside continued.

‘Just duck out now,’

Logan watched as Roman got presumably louder as he yelled at Virgil, who in turn yelled back, but he couldn’t hear a thing. The voices were all gone, he listened to everyone underwater as his own thoughts started to drown him. Roman turned to him and started to yell as well, it looked like he expects an answer to some kind of question, too bad he didn't hear it.

‘What are they going to lose?’

They would literally lose the voice of reason, he had to stay-

Right?

Roman turned away from Logan, throwing his arms up in frustration. Patton starred worried at the unresponsive Logan, it didn't take long for his attention to be pulled back into the argument.

‘You’ll always be a part of Thomas, you don’t really have to be here,’

That was true. That was extremely true. Logan himself had said that before, while he’s not an emotion he will always be working and will always be there.

So he left.

Logan sunk out while everyone continued to argue and bicker.

You can bicker you can talk you can bicker bicker bicker, but with the subject at hand, none of the other’s knew the territory. The logical side wondered how long it would take them to notice he was gone.

As Logan rose up into his room, the first thing he did was turn off the lights. Listening to people who have no idea what their talking about and refuse to let you talk for forty-five minutes can really give you a migraine. The darkness was comforting for once; Logan had always thirsted for knowing what exactly is out there and shedding light on life, but the unknowingness of the darkness calmed him on this day. He craved to emulate that darkness one day. To become nothing, yet everything all at once.

Knock Knock Knock.

Sweet, Sweet disruptions. Surprisingly enough it didn’t take them too long.

“Logan?”

It was Patton, of course, it was Patton.

“Ya kinda ducked on us,”

‘Like I was giving much to the conversation anyway, what am I even supposed to do just stand there and be the groups Bozo Bop?'

“Are you there?”

‘No, go away’

Logan sat on the other side of the door. He was dead silent, not because he wanted to, but because he couldn’t speak. There is a limit that every person much reach. There was something he needed, a smell, a touch, a reassurance. The cold feeling of the crisp night air hitting one’s face after opening a window. The smell of the trees and the precipitation in the air as the night’s clouds soon became the morning’s dew drops. The touch of the wooden windows frames as you pushed the glass up to let the air in and out.

Logan reminded himself of these simple joys. He romanticized these moments, he lusted after the short breaks in between constantly being at work to keep Thomas happy and healthy and making sure that the other’s don’t murder each other in the process.

The current feeling hurt. Logan listened to the sounds of Patton’s footsteps only travel a small distance away before joining in on a whisper with two other voices. The room smelled musty, it gave an ancient feeling in the worst way possible. Although the room was a stark black, Logan could still tell what a mess the place was, considering that he tripped on his way over to the door.

The room was hot, it felt as if the place had no windows at all. There was no light, no air, and no pleasant smell. There was no stopping the sensory attacks space had on his migraine.

There was a sharp tug at his shirt.

The others were attempting to summon him.

This only made the Logical side laugh.

There were sixteen more tugs before they gave up, they were finishing the video without him, whether they liked it or not. The pounding continued, the steady beat of the war drums rung pain through his body.

They didn’t care.

Tomorrow he would have to get up and re-live the process.

Get up, get yelled at, work, work, work, work, work, pass out.

‘Just stop’

“What do you mean?” he asked the voices aloud.

‘Stop everything, make them beg,’

“Beg?”

‘For you to come back of course,’

This was all so confusing. He wasn’t going to become one of Deceit’s egoists just because he has a few rough days. That's all they are. Rough days. Right?

As morning came and Thomas had to start the day, Logan got to work. At his desk. The logical side would never leave his room. He owed Thomas just enough work to keep him alive, he never had to show up to the side’s meetings. They were all meaningless anyway.

Every day they pounded at his door, they would bang and scratch at all his defenses, trying everything they could to get into his room. The rhythm of their fists slowly started to match the drumming of his migraines.

Strangely enough, just like soundwaves, the pains started to pulse through Logan. Something was changing, he just couldn't tell what.

Logan would slowly sing to himself as the days drew out, it was the only song he knew.

"Daisy, Daisy,"

"Give me your answer do,"

Logan would repeat the song while he worked, ignoring how automated his voice started to sound.

"I'm half crazy, all for the love of youUu,"

His voice hissed as the vocal cords became sound bites.

"It wON'T be A sTYLISH MARRIAGE,"

Like the flip of a switch, he started to sound like that famous computer.

"I CAN'T AFFORD A CARRIAGE,"

The synthetic sound rang through the room, it was beautiful in its own way.

"BUT YOU'LL LOOK SWEET, UPON THE SEAT,"

The voice felt natural, as if this is was Logan really was. He sang to himself varying in volume as the synthetic voice shot out of him.

"OF A BICYCLE BUILT FOR TWO-,"

It took them a week before telling Thomas he could infiltrate the room with ease. Immediately the man rose up into the darkroom. There only light that pierced the room was the shine of the stars out the window and the dying bulb of the green desk lamp.

"Logan? Please tell me you're here,"

The pang of desperation that rang through Thomas's voice made the logical side vaguely guilty.

A small shuffle in the darkness and the side reveals himself through the lamplight. The audible gasp that followed only made the guilt gain specifications.

"Wh- what happened, Lo?"

The metal skeleton only avoided eye contact as Thomas drew closer.

"We're all so worried,"

' That's rich'

Logan backed away, back into the darkness. Just looking at Thomas's face hurt him.

Can I bring the other's in?"

"NO."

Thomas flinched as the rough sound of an IBM 704 echoed off the empty walls. That was the first time Logan had spoken to anyone since he first clocked out, and frankly, it terrified him.

"Logan please,"

"THEY ARE BETTER WITHOUT ME, I HAVE NO REASON TO PARTICIPATE IN THE EMOTION'S CONFLICTS," the voice wavered as he spoke, the sound bites seeming to crackle with every word.

"That's not true! Patton hasn't stopped crying since you left, Roman is blaming and destroying himself, and Virgil hasn't spoken in ages,"

"THEY DON'T CARE, THEY DON'T LISTEN TO ME, WHY DOES IT MATTER,"

Thomas grew desperate, trying to find the source of the soft computer somewhere in the darkness.

"Please let be bring them in,"

"NO."

Thomas hesitated, he wanted to respect the Logical side, but what he saw was something he couldn't just let brew. He needed to calm the logical side down.

"I can hear your singing,"

The comment surprised Logan, he slowly moved closer to the light.

"YOU CAN?"

As the metal frame poked itself into the light, Thomas knew he got him. The seemingly rusty plates did everything but shine in the light, even the dark screen that was once his face refused to reflect.

"Yes, Roman says that it actually sounded pretty nice," Thomas laughed, but it was short-lived, he couldn't hide the concern on his face for the metal man standing in front of him.

"Could you sing for me?"

The machine whirred as several fans started to go off, Thomas could only assume that meant he was embarrassed about it.

"You don't have to if you don't want to-"

It didn't take long for the logical machine in front of him to start playing notes. Thomas watched a simple roll of paper, silently go turn over and over in Logan's arm. He played a simple tone as the mechanics warmed up.

"THERE IS A FLOWER WITHIN MY HEART,"

The melody was surprisingly calming.

"DAISY, DAISY,"

Thomas listened, waving his arms behind his back to bring Patton into the room.

"PLANTED ONE DAY BY A GLANCING DART,"

Thomas held onto Patton, urging for him to be quiet.

"PLANTED BY DAISY BELL,"

Patton finally heard the voice he had been listening to from behind the door for a week now.

Logan's frame broke him, he was no longer metaphorical flesh and bone like the rest of the sides. He was open metal plating, wires fraying out here and there that were obviously self-inflicted.

"WHETHER SHE LOVES ME OR LOVES ME NOT,"

Parron followed suit, slowly bringing Virgil into the room, covering the anxious side's mouth as he came into the room.

"SOMETIMES IT'S HARD TO TELL,"

Virgil almost screamed at the sight before him, that was what Logan turned into. A broken down Macintosh for a face with a salesman's IBM 704 model for a chest. A metal tube connected the chest to a pair of rusted metal prosthetic legs.

"YET I AM LONGING TO SHARE THE LOT, A BEAUTIFUL DAISY BELL,"

The synthetic notes chirped, the computer screen flashing as the sounds made Logan happy.

"DAISY, DAISY,"

The metal body swayed back and forth lovingly.

"GIVE ME YOUR ANSWER DO-"

Virgil finished the chain as he brought Roman into the room, quickly shoving a hand over the fanciful side's mouth as he attempted to scream. Roman forced Virgil's hands off his mouth.

"IM HALF CRAZY, ALL FOR THE LOVE OF YOU,"

Before Roman even got a peep out, he immediately knew what he was looking at. "Oh my god, Logan-" Roman whispered watching the computer continue to play.

"IT WON'T BE A STYLISH MARRIAGE,"

Thomas joined in on the end of the chorus.

"But you'll look sweet, upon the seat,"

"OF A BICYCLE BUILT FOR TWO,"

"Of a bicycle built for two,"

The computer sputtered and staggered back as it continued, listening as Thomas continued to harmonize with the cracking sound bites.

"We will go tandem as man and wife,"

Patton stepped forward and joined in.

"Daisy, Daisy,"

"PEDDLING OUR WAY DOWN THE ROaD OF LiFE,"

The melody started to break as Logan noticed how many people were in the room.

"I and my Daisy Bell,"

Virgil sang. Patton wasn't the only one who listened to Logan's song.

"WHeN THE ROaDS DArk wE CAN BOTH desPISE,"

Electrical cracks rang through the darkness, illuminating the room for split seconds as the machine became the man.

"policemen and lamp as well,"

Roman stepped forward. He pushed past everyone, trying to find the android in the darkness. The others quieted down, only humming the tunes as they watched the prince move forward.

"There are bright lights is a dazzling eye,"

"OF beauTIFUL Daisy Bell,"

Scrapping metal screamed through the room as the music stopped.

A sobbing voice came through the darkness.

"D-Daisy, Da-Daisy,"

Roman's strong voice called out to the logical side.

"Give me your answer do,"

An arm reached out for the creative side, he gladly grabbed onto the arm and pulled the body that belonged to it forward, pulling it into a tight embrace. Roman continued the song as he felt tears start to soak through his shirt.

"I'm half crazy, all for the love of you,"

He squeezed the logical side tightly, refusing to let him disappear into the darkness again.

"It won't be a stylish marriage,"

Logan's knees faltered, causing both sides to sink to the group as Roman refused to let go.

"I can't afford a carriage,"

The other sides rushed to make the place more comfortable, Patton turned on the lights, only to reveal the disaster that was the room. Virgil grabbed Logan's bed comforter once me managed to find it.

Logan shook in Roman's arms, his sobs wracking his whole body.

"But you'll look sweet, upon the seat,"

Patton, Virgil, and Thomas rushed over to the pair on the floor, Virgil wrapping the comforter around the group the best he could.

"Of a bicycle built for two,"

Roman finished the chorus, his grip on the Logan refusing to loosen. The group sat in near silence, the only sounds running through the room being Logan's labored breathing and Roman's sweet whispered nothings. "I'm so sorry Lo," he apologized for the 20th time.

"I didn't mean it, I didn't mean anything I said,"

Logan stifles a chuckle. "I-I," he had to take a shaky breath, he was lucky if he managed to finish his sentence. "I did- didn't even h-hear what you s-said," he looked up at creative side with a weak smile. "M-my my migraine w-was too loud," he admitted.

"Please don't do that to me ever again," tears started to form in the corners of Roman's eyes. The saltwater threatened to pour over as he repeated the words, his voice silently cracking. "I care about you Logan, I'm sorry, please don't do that again, I didn't mean it, I didn't mean it," Roman continued to mumble clinging to Logan as if he was his only life source. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm-"

The logical side cupped the creative side's face, forcing him to look at him.

"R-Roman,"

Tears started to stream down the prince's face.

"It's okay,"

"I l-love you, Logan,"

"I k-know Ro-Roman"

#sanders sides #roman sanders #logan sanders #logince #patton sanders #virgil sanders #thomas sanders #ts logan #ts roman #ts patton #ts virgil #sanders sides fic #sanders sides fanfiction #ts fanfic

28 notes · View notes

draconicocelot · 4 years

Text

Hidden Talent ~ Little Vampire Fic

Hello Little Vampire fandom! Have another fic! :D

(Thank you to @poepoe-thebunny for letting me write about your headcanon and to @rudolph-sackville-bagg for the add-on to that headcanon)

Description: Tony finds out about one of Rudolph’s hidden talents

{Pst! One more thing! Whenever Rudolph mentions starting up music, you may want to listen to these while they dance!

Song One: Vampire Waltz by Derek Fiechter

Song Two: The Last Dance by Peter Gundry }

****************************

With the sun officially setting over the horizon of the castle that had become a temporary home for many, the time came for mortals to start getting ready for bed and for vampires to rise for the night. Tony had a long day of traveling around the nearby town with his parents and was anxiously awaiting his extremely comfortable bed.

As his parents went to bed, Tony made his way to the bathroom to brush his teeth. On his way there, he happened to see Frieda floating her way down the hallway.

“Good evening Mrs.Sackville-Bagg,” Tony greeted in a drowsy voice.

“Why hello, Tony. Heading to bed soon I presume?” She paused in front of the bathroom door as her pale face lit up with a kind smile. Tony nodded his head as he grabbed his red-handled toothbrush and the half-empty tube of toothpaste sitting next to the mirror.

“Yep! Time for us humans to get some shut-eye,” he ran the toothpaste covered end of his brush under the faucet for a few seconds then started brushing his teeth as Frieda let out a light chuckle.

“Just as the vampires come out to play! So unfortunate...” Tony’s expression turned to that of slight concern, which aroused a bigger smile from her. “Do not worry, I am only trying to make a joke. My son has taken a strong liking to you, he would never forgive us if we made a meal of you!” Tony spit into the sink and tried to keep his nervous smile as convincing as possible as he wiped his mouth with a towel.

“Yeahhh… haha… Well, he is the best friend I could ever ask for,” Frieda seemed pleased with the genuine tone of his voice as her expression humbled.

“I’m not sure if I ever properly thanked you for saving my son. Just know that I will be forever gracious to you, mortal boy,” Tony tipped an imaginary hat in her direction as he shut off the light in the bathroom.

“Of course! To be fair, he saved my life a few times after that, so we’re pretty even,” just as a yawn escaped Tony’s lips, Frieda turned her attention to the hallway behind her as she heard one of the doors upstairs open and close.

“Well, have a good night, Tony. May we see each other once more before the sun rises,” with that, she floated back towards the sound of the recently-opened door. Tony proceeded to his bedroom without haste as he just continued to picture his fluffy cotton sheets shielding him from the cold air outside. It was a wonderful daydream that would soon become reality. His bedroom wasn’t far from the bathroom, but it was still easy to get lost in a castle that was so large and had dark winding hallways that all looked very similar. However, as he got closer to where his room was located, he could hear music getting progressively louder. It was very gentle music, like an angelic choir of organ chords and a solo violinist that was combined in a very specific manner. Tony definitely could tell it was coming from his room as he reached his door. Not wanting to disturb whatever was happening inside, he slightly cracked the door open by slowly turning the doorknob and peeking one eye through.

When he looked inside, he immediately noticed that the closet doors to Rudolph’s “coffin” were open. Not only that, but his phone was on and sitting on the bed. Tony had a phone for calling and texting his parents and for music, which he had allowed Rudolph to use whenever he wanted to. He saw that the music was coming from the phone and that Rudolph was in the center of the room dancing to its beautiful melody. It was actually quite amazing. His graceful movements fit the slow-paced tempo of a waltz. He looked completely peaceful as his eyes were closed and a wide smile rested on his face. The window to the room was wide open, and a cold-night breeze blew through his hair and cape as he swayed side-to-side in a circular pattern. Tony was in awe of his amazing companion. He had never told him about his ability to dance, let alone the fact that he was very skilled at it. As the song died down into silence, Rudolph sighed with satisfaction and stood straight up in front of the window, staring out at the starry black sky.

“Rudolph, that was incredible!” Tony decided that he had to know where Rudolph learned how to dance like that, even if he had been watching when he should have revealed himself. Rudolph jolted in surprise as he whipped his head around in his direction.

“T-Tony! How long have you been standing there?!”

“Long enough to watch you dance like a professional! How’d you do that?” Rudolph’s cheeks blushed a deep purple color as he tried to act cool and collected.

“I… I learned about it two hundred and seventy years ago…in the early eighteen-hundreds,” Tony sat down on the edge of the bed as he intently listened to what he had to say. Rudolph could sense that Tony had no intention of making fun of him for dancing, so he continued. “I have only ever done it with my family. My mother and father used to dance like this all of the time. As soon as we watched them dance, my sister and I were fascinated and we just had to learn. Gregory never really cared for dancing, but ever since then, we have perfected the form and rhythm. I’m sure Anna and I could dance to any waltz thrown our way,” Tony’s eyes lit up as he imagined how amazing it would be to show up to a dance and waltz to a dark masquerade song with perfect rhythm.

“Wooow…” mused Tony, his eyes full of motivation. “Hey, can you teach me?” Rudolph’s eyes slightly lit up, similarly to the time Tony had called him a “friend” for the first time.

“You want me to teach you how to waltz?” Tony nodded his head excitedly as Rudolph smiled, his sharp fangs shining in the moonlight. “Very well! Let us start with music,” as he hit the shuffle button on a saved playlist on Tony’s phone, another waltz song began with beautiful yet haunting violin with a constant beat pulsing in the background from a deep organ. “Now, you want to keep in line with the tempo of the music. I shall demonstrate,” Rudolph held one arm out to the side with his palm facing the ceiling as the other was curled so that his hand was hovering over his chest, and he was slowly rocking back and forth in consistent, circular motions. There was a warm smile on his face as if he was enjoying reminiscing old memories of when he first started dancing. Tony watched his motions, and even found himself mimicking where he positioned his arms as he glided across the floor. “One, two, three… one, two, three…” he muttered the tempo under his breath as he danced, occasionally glancing over at Tony to see if he was watching. “Does that make sense?”

“Yeah, I think so!”

“It’s quite easy. Just follow my lead, alright?” Rudolph extended an inviting hand towards him with a smug smirk on his face, “Shall we dance?” Tony didn’t know why he was so nervous, but he was. He had never danced in front of anyone, let alone someone that meant so much to him, but he was excited to learn something that he had never tried before. However, he had already learned quite a bit from watching him and he was anxious to give it a shot. Tony grabbed Rudolph’s chilled hand as he guided him to the floor, then positioned himself so that they were standing across from each other.

“Now, place your left hand right here around my shoulder, and your other hand will rest in my left hand,” Tony rested his left hand on Rudolph’s right shoulder, and Rudolph rested his right hand against Tony’s upper back, while their two open hands became clasped together. “To begin, we will be slightly offset to the left, but once we get into more advanced movements there will be times where we will be directly in front of one another. Not to worry though, we will start off easy,” As Rudolph shifted to the left slightly, with one foot following another, Tony stared down at his feet to try and copy his movements. “Yes! That’s it!” Tony smiled brightly as his eyes met Rudolph’s for a moment, then immediately focused back down on his movements. He was starting to get a hang of the swaying motion until his concentration was broken when he accidentally stepped on Rudolph’s boot.

“Ah! I-I’m sorry!” Rudolph couldn’t help but laugh as he patted Tony’s back with his hand that was already resting there.

“It happened many times when I was learning, don’t worry. Just stay focused on the beat and following my movements,” Tony got back in line and listened intently to the tempo of the music. One, two, three… one, two, three… With enough practice doing the same moves over and over again, Tony was able to keep his head up and ignore what was happening with his feet. “Well done, Tony! You’re a fast learner.”

“This is fun! You said there were more advanced moves? Let’s try one out! I think we make a great dancing team,” Rudolph looked at Tony with a different expression than what he had seen before. It was a type of extreme gratitude and happiness that was masked by a humbled filter.

“I think so too, Tony. Now, would you like to try a spin?”

“Of course I would!” After about an hour of dancing together, Tony glanced at the clock that read “1:34 a.m”.

“Oh geez… I stayed up way past any bedtime I’ve ever had set…” Tony chuckled as he rubbed his eyes and parted from Rudolph. The vampire smiled once more as he floated up in the air and sat on top of his bed. “I don’t know how to thank you enough, that was really fun,” Tony pulled out a set of pajamas from the chest across from the window as he walked over to the right side of his bed. Rudolph crawled over to the side that he was sitting on and hung over the top of the bed frame so that he was facing Tony upside down.

“No need to thank me, I had just as much fun showing you one of my hidden passions.”

“Well we should do it more often now that I know how to do it!” Tony held out a fist in front of him, patiently waiting for Rudolph to return the gesture. Rudolph smirked as he formed a fist and bumped it against Tony’s. It was one of Tony’s favorites that he had taught Rudolph.

“I would like that. Now go to bed mortal, I have some food to catch,” Tony pulled off his hoodie as he shook his head.

“Yeah yeah… Just make sure you close the window, it’s freezing in here now!” Rudolph floated off of the bed and head for the window, but paused as he perched on the windowsill.

“For the record, you are definitely a better dance partner than Anna,” with that, he flew out into the night, shutting the windows as he took off. Tony chuckled to himself as he changed into his pajamas, reminiscing over how much fun he had learning how to dance. As he drifted off into sleep, he dreamed of dancing to beautiful waltz music in the air. That was something he absolutely had to try with Rudolph.

#the little vampire #the little vampire 2017 #tony thompson #rudolph sackville bagg #draconic_fics #my posts

21 notes · View notes

zrtranscripts · 3 years

Text

Home Front, Mission 6: Phil Cheeseman Edition

Welcome to Radio Phil

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Hello, ci-ti-zens! Welcome to Radio Phil! [laughs] It's not the most creative name, I know, but at least you know what you're getting into. You might have guessed I'm here in the radio studio by myself waiting out our current lockdown. Not that different from any of you, I'm sure, though you probably have a lot fewer cables and chairs and odd knickknacks that your co-host Zoe has been collecting and now seem to be staring at you. Yes, unicorn mug, I am talking about you. [laughs] Now before you ask, there's no need to worry about Zoe. She's safe and sound in an undisclosed location. [laughs] I'm fairly sure she's not telling me just to make herself sound all mysterious.

You know what? Let's chat a little less and move a little more. I've been picking up some of the broadcasts from Abel of Ministry workouts and I've chosen a few of my favorite exercises from the manual. But before we get started with those, let's get moving. Uh, during this next song, do whatever you like to get your heart pumping. Dance, do jumping jacks, uh, wiggle your shoulders, [laughs] what have you. And Zoe, if you're listening, I know this is one of your favorites, so wherever you are, I hope you're moving.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Okay, it turns out that song isn't one of Zoe's favorites, and the reason I know that is she sent me a ROFFLEnet message saying so. And I quote, [imitate's ZOE's accent] “Phil, you numpty. I may be working like a dog where I am, but I still have time to listen to the show and if you don't tell everyone how I really feel about that terrible dirge, a zombie horde will be the least of your worries.” No, because obviously sending ROFFLEnet messages to your poor co-host - who can keep track of your strange opinions on songs - is just the break you need from whatever it is you're doing.

Well, luckily for you - and for me - the exercises I've picked for today are all about being ready for a battle. We'll start our mano a zom-o routine with some jabs. Begin by getting into a basic zom punching stance. Stand with your legs shoulder-width apart, arms at your sides and knees a little bit bent. Uh, if you'd prefer, you can also stay seated. Now bring your hands up to chin level, slightly to either side and in front of your face, and curl your hands into fists. If you're standing, take one step forward with your right foot.

Perfect. I can't see you, but I'm sure you look just like uh... oh, that old movie poster for Snake Alley, which despite what Zoe claims, is definitely not a heartwarming action classic that will have you rooting for the snakes. [sighs] Now for each jab, you're going to extend your right arm forward like you're socking a zom in the face, stopping just short of fully locking out your elbows. To give that jab even more power, rotate your right shoulder forward as you throw the punch. Once your arm is all the way extended, bring it back to the starting position, and that's our jab. [laughs]

Oh, ready to put into practice? Let's do 30 seconds of jabs with your right arm. Go at your own pace and rest as you need to. Starting... now. That's it, that's it, right there. Oh yeah, you got that one! Oh, I saw his teeth fall out. Beautiful! Yeah, keep going. Yeah, you're doing brilliant. Halfway through. If it helps, you can always picture punching your least favorite zom. Although does anyone really have a favorite zom? Ah, good style! And done.

Except, of course, that now we've got to jab from the other side. This time, put your left leg in front and jab with your left arm. I'll put 30 more seconds on the clock. Starting now. That's it. Don't forget, roll in that shoulder. Beautiful, wonderful. Yeah. Very, very good. 15 seconds. And you got that one right in the eye! Or the jaw. Definitely somewhere painful. Keep going. Ah, wonderfully done. And we're done. Shake those arms out and get ready to do a victory lap while I play something appropriately heroic. If you think you've got a few more jabs in you, you can keep going during the break. But otherwise, this is your time to rest and celebrate.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: W-w-welcome back! I hope you enjoyed celebrating your triumph. I did a bit of an interpretive victory dance myself, uh, while reading a very thorough explanation by one Zoe Crick of the merits of Snake Alley. Apparently, [imitates ZOE's accent] "It starred the most adorable boa constrictor with the cutest little tongue ever seen on the screen." As I recall, it eats a full-grown man in the middle of act two, but to each their own.

Now where were we? Oh yes. You've delivered your jabs, and now it's time to play a little defense with a side to side shuffle. This move lets you get out of the way of any danger, whether that's a zom or a vicious yet somehow adorable snake. Let's start by getting back in that fighting stance, legs shoulder-width apart, knees slightly bent, and fists up. This time, try to get a little lower , as if you were thinking about doing a squat but changed your mind halfway down. If you'd prefer, though, you can stay standing all the way up or do the exercise seated and just move your feet, whatever works best for you.

Instead of stepping forward, this time you'll step straight out to the right with your right foot. No need to take a big step, but you'll want your feet to be further apart than they were before. Now step your left foot into the space that your right foot was in before it moved. It's almost like your right foot is you and your left foot is the zombie trying to catch you, but never quite making it. Now do the same thing two more times, right foot stepping straight over to the right and then left foot taking its place. And that's a side shuffle to the right. To go back the way you came from, start with your left foot, taking it to the left, and then having your right foot try to catch up. Do that two more times and you've side shuffled right back to where you started. Just shake your legs out to relax them.

Now the side shuffle is meant to be used to do quick dodging and weaving, so let's get back in our stance and pick up the pace. Go as quickly as works for you, shuffling first to the right and then back to the left. Let's do this for a minute, if you can. And go! That's 15 seconds. Right now I'm shuffling over to ROFFLEnet because someone is sending me messages instead of doing their training, but you keep going. Halfway through, and here's a tip from Zoe. "If you have extra energy at the end of each shuffle, reach down with the arm on the side you were shuffling towards and pretend you're picking up a kitten to cuddle." Only 15 seconds to go. I know your legs are burning, but you can do this! Leave those zoms in the dust! And done! [laughs] Nice work.

[sighs] Oh, time for a rest, I think. Here's some music perfect for stroking cats - just for you, Zoe - or more shuffling, if you feel up to it.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: And we're back again, just in time for a little wager. [laughs] Zoe's made me a bet during our dance rest break. If I win, she reveals her secret location. If she wins, I have to play the soundtrack to the climactic Snake Alley Rattlesnake Tango, and none of us want that, trust me. So here's the wager: I have to turn away from simulated zombie violence and instead successfully lead you through one of Zoe's favorite exercises, the sit-up, which actually could be used to lie in wait in tall grass and then pop up to grab a zombie by the leg, so it fits with our zombie battle royale theme of the day.

Ready? Start by laying down on your back on the floor. If you have a yoga mat or even a folded blanket or towel, you can lay on that to give your body something softer to rest on. Even the carpet would be good so that you're not directly on a hard floor. Bring your knees up so that the bottoms of your feet are flat on the ground. Now it's time to pick your range of motion. The larger it is, the more energy and strength the sit-up takes, so we'll start big and then talk about a few ways to modify.

Option one is to start with your arms back behind you so that the backs of your hands are resting on the floor. Now you're going to use your stomach muscles to raise your torso from a lying to an upright position. Your arms will come all the way forward and tap the ground on either side of your feet. If coming that far doesn't work for you, you can raise your torso a little less and tap on the top of your knees instead.

You can also vary your starting arm position by either putting the fingertips of each hand just behind each ear so that your arms almost look like wings, or resting them gently on your legs. Just remember that if your fingers are behind your head, don't tug on your ears or head or hair to come up, it's not good for your neck. Once you are all the way upright, lower your upper body back to your starting position in a controlled motion. Try not to just flop down. Okay, let's try one more slowly. Come up and then go down. Wonderful.

Zoe, I hope you're ready to reveal all your secrets - or at least this particular one, anyway - because we're putting 60 seconds on the clock to do as many sit-ups as we can. Start your sit-ups... now! Ah, you're doing great! We're 15 seconds in and I'm sure Zoe has already conceded defeat. Keep going. Halfway through! Remember to only sit up as far as you can manage without overstraining yourself. Only 15 seconds left to go! You've got this. And we're done!

You all did wonderfully, which means that Zoe has to give us a clue about where she's riding out this lockdown. While we wait for that, stand back up and let's get ready for our reveal with one more dance break. Try using the time to do that dance move you've always loved but might have been a bit embarrassed to do in public? Now's the time.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Hope you enjoyed the dance break. [laughs] I'll be honest with you, I spent it doing the robot. I'm not very good at it. I think Zoe once described it as looking like the Tin Man suddenly got electrocuted. And then fell into a swimming pool. And then got electrocuted again. [laughs] She doesn't mince her words, I'll give her that. Which means she should have plenty to say about where she's holed up while we stretch out. You can do whatever stretch works best for you. I'm going to start with bringing my left arm across my chest and supporting it with my right while trying to puzzle out this first clue.

[imitates ZOE's accent] “Wherever I am, I can tell you this: it's the cat's meow.” Well, that's about as much use as a chocolate fire guard. Though Zoe did make that reference to scooping up kittens earlier, and if anyone could manage to find a cat in the middle of a zombie lockdown, it would be her. And now switching arms, just in time for a hopefully much better clue, which is, [imitates ZOE's accent] “It's just one woman and her cats here. Honestly Phil, I'm starting to think you don't even listen when I tell you things.” One woman and her cats... hmm. I need to think about this. Listeners, uh, why don't you carry on stretching through this next song? Or have a go at some dancing yourself, if the mood takes you. You can't be any worse at the robot than I am.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: I figured it out. Zoe's secret hideout. One woman and her cats. There was a person on ROFFLEnet who asked for help relocating cats from a house that had fallen into disrepair before this whole zombie situation began. I remember now. I said something about professional cat herding and Zoe came up with a whole scheme for a competition. Like that old sheepdog show, One Man and His Dog, only with cats and treats and lots of jumping.

Stretching obviously gets my brain working. Oh, uh, next I'm bringing my left arm over my head and leaning to the right while I puzzle the rest out. Hmm. Zoe must have been helping with the cat resettlement when the zombies got loose, and the kennel has access to the radio and to ROFFLEnet. That has to be it. Not to mention that the kennel also has dogs, rabbits, a turtle, and even a couple of snakes. Switching to my right arm overhead and leaning to the left to give Zoe time to congratulate me for being the next best thing to Sherlock Holmes.

Oh. [imitates ZOE's accent] “Yes, Phil, I am at the kennel. Only one here, so I've got plenty of animals to keep me in line. Not so different from our show, really. But in truth, I miss you and I look forward to doing the show together and preventing you from playing that one ridiculous song ever again.” [sighs] Me too, Zoe. Me, too. Well, I hope that wherever you all are, you've got something warm and comforting around you, like a cuddly toy, or the sound of a friendly voice. And thanks for listening. We may be far from each other, but it's always good to know you're being heard. So for now, Cheeseman out.

#zombies run #zr home front #zrhf6 #phil cheeseman edition #zr transcript

2 notes · View notes

httpnxtt · 4 years

Text

Hold That Thought - II

Authors Note:

Y’all… are so sweet. I wasn’t expecting such positive feedback on part one, let alone people asking for a part two :’) I struggled writing a part two, as I was planning on leaving it at part one, but my love @timey-wimey-lovi refused to accept no confession (although I have no heart and totally would have left it on the cliffhanger) I’m sorry this one is so short.

Warnings: Other than Lovie maybe wanting to kill me after this… no?

Spencer x SSA Reader

Previous Parts: Part One!

Playlist: My Girl (Cover)

Word Count: 2020

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

“I am beat. Hey, pretty boy, any way you’d want some extra paperwork?” Morgan teased Spencer as they cleaned the conference room.

“In your dreams, Morgan.” Spencer shot back, taking down all the hard work he put into his over sized map. He looks over at you, worry in his eyes as you stand in the office, thinking over what happened and watching the children reunite with their mother. Your team had successfully caught the unsub in the knick of time, right before he could kill the mother he had in his capture. As Morgan completed the arrest, you and Reid had the honors of returning the mother to her tear-stained faced children, an 8 year old girl hurling herself into the mother’s arms as the 4 year old son followed suit. The sight made your heart somehow flutter and shatter all at once.

After organizing the files into the case, you turn on your heels, slinking your way over to Hotch.

“How are you, Y/N?” he asks, noticing your forlorn presence.

“I’m existing. It was hard seeing all these kids, knowing they won’t get to see their mothers.” you say, willing yourself to stay calm and collected. Hotch looks at you, putting a hand on your shoulder to comfort you. As tears start to spill, you curl yourself into his chest for comfort. Although Aaron can be a bit of a hard-ass, at the end of the day you love him like an older brother and are thankful for him always. Spencer sees you crying in Hotch’s arms across the office. He feels sad, but also… jealous? He’s almost as hurt as he is confused as to why you hadn’t trusted him with your emotions.

“Is there more to it than just the reunions?” Hotch asks as he holds you upright, his arms pulling you close in a loving hug.

“Would it be okay if I skipped the jet and stayed home for a day or two? I haven’t visited my mom in a while and I think after this case, I really need it.” You ask, slowly moving out of his embrace.

“Of course, Y/N. Take as much time as you need. Family and personal health always come first.” he says, offering a slight smile. “Would you like someone to stay with you?”

“I don’t want to put any one out.” you reply, already feeling guilty for leaving the team for a couple days.

“I’m sure a certain team member wouldn’t mind hanging around for you, Y/N.” Hotch says to you, looking over to the conference room windows. You slowly turn, pulling your gaze in the same direction to find who he’s looking for. As you look up, you see Spencer fluster from being caught staring, immediately looking down at the table as if to play off that nothing happened. The sight made your heart swell, the butterflies erupting once more.

“Thanks, Aaron.” you say, following him into the conference room. As you enter, you look over to find Spencer. He looks up at you, his cheeks still tinted a shade of pink. You pull him aside for a bit of privacy from the fellow profilers in the room.

“Hey Spence. I told Hotch I’m going to hang back in Philly for a few days to clear my head and visit my mom.” you tell him, looking down at your feet at the mention of your mom. Spencer knew of your close knit relationship with your mother, and he wished he could take the pain away from you for the rest of your childhood. “Would you mind staying with me?” you ask, looking back up into his big, beautiful hazel eyes filled with worry.

“Of course, jelly bean. Is everything okay? I know this case wasn’t the easiest.” which he was completely right. The unsub ended up being a neglectful father. He tried to get back into the picture of his children’s lives, but their mother fought him off, refusing contact due to his abuse, then absence for 10 years. The rejection ended up being the stressor, him going after other single mothers in the area for revenge. Although your father was no serial killer, he definitely fit the profile of an absentee father.

“It will be, Spence.” you reply, fidgeting with your hands, a nervous tick of yours. Spencer is quick to notice, pulling you into a hug. He feels that fluttery feeling in his stomach again, only hoping you couldn’t feel it through his sweater. Little did he know, you were hoping the same thing.

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

Spencer and you return to the hotel after saying your goodbyes to the team as they head to the jet. As you walk into the room, you slowly sink into the bed, Spencer simply frowning at the sight. Slipping into the bathroom, Spencer remembers the ways you said you always were calmed as a child. He turns on the faucet, filling the bath with hot water. As the tub fills, he grabs the store bag, pulling out the cinnamon and vanilla candles, lighting them over by the sink. As the tub fills, he adds your favorite eucalyptus bubble bath as well. Going back into the room, he shuffles over to the bed, slinking down next to you. He peers down to you, your hair covering your face, lying still as a rock. He gently brushes the hairs out of your face, tucking them behind your ear.

“C’mon bean. Let’s get you a bath.” he whispers, gently running his hand through your locks. You slowly get up, walking into the bathroom to see the set up he created, just for you.

“Get in the bath, let me know once you’re in.” he says, closing the door between you. Slowly, you strip down, gently stepping into the tub. You take a deep breath, inhaling the mixture of scents taking you back to your childhood days. You can’t believe Spencer remembered all of this.

“Bean? Are you covered?” you hear Spencer ask through the wooden door, knocking softly.

“You can come in, Spence.” you call to him. He slowly opens the door, finding you resting against the back of the tub, eyes closed, the bubbles covering your entire body from your shoulders down as to not expose yourself. Quietly, Spencer creeps over to the counter connecting his phone to the speaker. As soon as the notes of “My Girl” drifts through the room, he sees your eyes look over to him.

“You remembered?” you ask, eyes starting to gloss over.

“Of course, bean. I would have remembered even without an eidetic memory.” he retaliates, walking over to the stool he brought in next to the tub. He takes a seat behind you, picking up your shampoo. Gently, he latheres the soap into your hair, the vanilla coconut scent wafting between the two of you. As his hands massage your scalp, the song ringing through your ears, you hear Spencer quietly start to hum singing some words in your ear, tears slowly start to slide down your face.

Your mind slowly drifts off to your childhood memories with your mother. Whenever you were stressed or needed a good cry, your mother would draw a bath for you, using your favorite eucalyptus bubble bath. She would play your song quietly in the background, and sing to you as she massaged the shampoo and conditioner into your hair, coaxing you to relax. You had revealed this to Spencer one night, deep into a conversation about your mother. You will yourself to believe it was her behind you, but alas, it was simply Spencer.

As Spencer rinses your hair out, he notices your tear stained cheeks.

“I’m sorry jelly bean. I wish I could take this case far away from you.” He whispers, slowly getting up to leave so you could get out of the tub. After he leaves, you can’t help but feel the fluttery feeling again, your heart swelling at the boy’s giving nature. But, you will yourself to think of your best friend. That’s why he remembered all of this, because you were simply best friends, that was all. As you wrap yourself in the warm, fluffy towel, turning off the music. You throw on your favorite pajamas, blowing out the candles as you ready yourself to leave.

Walking out to the room, you see Spence laying in bed, reading a book. You stand staring at the man for a minute, a wave of emotion hitting you. You wished you could run over, you could run your hand through his thick, chestnut curls going every which direction. To look into his beautiful hazel doe eyes, caress his soft cheeks, feeling the slight stubble along his jaw. Steal glances at his full, pink lips as they curl into his signature slight smile, twitching his nose from embarrassment. Oh what you would give to make these butterflies never go away.

“You coming over to bed, bean?” he asks, pulling you out of your trance. You cheeks twinge a slight pink, shuffling over to the bed. You climb under the sheets, curling up. You feel Spencer wrap his arms around you, pulling you close again lying your head on his chest. He begins to softly sing “My Girl” again, the notes mixing with his heartbeat. You feel a tear slowly slide down your cheek once more, feeling Spencer’s hand brush it away. You look up at him, hoping he can pick up every emotion and thought you have of this man in one look.

“Spence, thank you. You didn’t have to stay with me, you know..”

“I know, bean. But, I didn’t want you to have to be alone.” he whispers back. You feel your heart swell. Normally well spoken, the emotions within you for this one man were so powerful you could barely form a cohesive sentence to explain. You curl up into his chest, taking in his cinnamon/coffee scent, listening to the beautiful sound of his heartbeat.

“Hey, Y/N… can I ask you something?” muttered, almost impossible to hear.

“Of course. You can always talk to me about anything, Spence. You know that.” You look up at him, moving to sit up across from him on the bed. He looks up at you almost scared, as if you could break this man in one try. He takes a deep breath before continuing.

“I’ve been doing a lot of thinking. And I know this probably isn’t the best time to bring it up, but I don’t think I can take not saying something anymore. I was so nervous when we had our conversation earlier, I thought my heart was going to burst. I didn’t understand what I did to upset you, and I’m sorry if I did anything. But when you rambled about our friendship, saying ‘JUST best friends’, I felt my heart plummet. When you hug me, or even simply graze my arm, I feel this fluttery feeling in the pit of my stomach and I don’t know what the hell it is or why it’s happening. But I know when you hug me, I will my heart to stop hammering in my ribcage in fear you’ll feel it. But I can’t keep going as if there isn’t more here. I know you feel it too, jelly bean. I lo-”

*** RRIIIIIINNNNNNNGGGGGGGG *****

Your phone blasts through the room, cutting Spencer off. You quickly grab the phone to try to silence the call, seeing Aaron Hotchner’s name flash across the screen.

“I’m so sorry… Hold that thought, Spence?”

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

Tags: @timey-wimey-lovi @harrys-creature @spencer-reid-in-a-pool @redbullchick @etherealsxnder @samanddeanstolethetardis221b @blushingspencer @palestxrlight

#hold that thought #spencer x reader #spencer reid #criminal minds #mgg #spencer reid fic #nxtt fic

95 notes · View notes

rayegunn · 3 years

Text

Music for 2020

Been a while since i posted about music here, but was having a look at my last.fm (I mean, i know it’s kinda dead, but the plugins are still going, collecting what I’m listening to, so i check it now and then) and though there are fewer listens overall probably because i no longer scrobble from some sources like my phone/tablet, some new favorites have definitely emerged. So here’s what I was listening to the most in 2020, a couple surprised me because it didn’t really feel like i had listened to them a lot, but... i guess they came up on shuffle a lot, go figure. I know it’s not technically the end of the year yet, but this is unlikely to change a lot in the next few weeks.

1: top one for the year is a newish one for me, Lord of the Lost. They are a German band that have been around for a while, but I found them when they released their album Thornstar, I remember because I saw the video for the song Loreley when it was released because the costumes/makeup in the thumbnail looked wild. That came out in 2018, so a couple years now. Anyway, I love them. They’re usually classified as Gothic Metal but really it’s like.... ALL THE GENRES. They have influences from Metal, New Wave, Industrial, EDM, Classical, and more, and somehow make it all work. and Chris Harms has a great voice, I love how theatrical they are with the makeup and stuff, and they just seem like really nice guys from what I have seen of their social media. Here’s Loreley, the song that got me hooked on them:

youtube

2: Is Swedish metal band Avatar. Love these guys. Been listening to them for a while now and they are definitely up there as one of my favorites. They are also a highly theatrical metal band, I seem to like those, but they stick to their theme a lot more closely than Lord of the Lost. They have a gimmick and stick with it, though they do update the costumes in order to fit the theme of each album, which are often concept albums, or at the very least they speak to a theme. It’s hard to pick a favorite, but I really like Bloody Angel.

youtube

3: is Danish black metal act Myrkur. A somewhat recent find for me, and one that is a bit divisive because the black metal people don’t think she’s trve kult enough, or whatever, because she has a pop background, and the sound is more polished, but I love her. Good music is good music, I don’t care how closely it fits a genre or whatever. Love the ambience and just overall sound, both spooky and harsh and beautiful at the same time.

youtube

4: is Swedish band Ghost. Yeah, these guys blew up recently huh? They’re cool tho, despite the band drama that spoiled the mystery of the identity of Papa. Well, sort of band. Technically it’s just Tobias Forge and a couple other guys, but they hire musicians to play on stage, made easy by the fact that they all wear masks, so they can swap em out at will, but some of them decided they wanted more money/credit and they sued Tobias and his identity was revealed, it was a mess... anyway, they’re cool. I chose Rats for the song, because it is probably a bit more reflective of 2020 than they anticipated.

youtube

5: was a bit of a surprise to me because i didn’t feel like i had listened to them a lot this past year, but it’s one I have been listening to for oh, decades at this point, Finnish cellists Apocalyptica. Their shtick is simple, they play metal/rock... but on cellos. They started out playing Metallica covers, but soon started writing their own music. On their more recent albums they have tended to have guest vocalists perform over their compositions. But personally, I always liked the instrumental songs, so i was personally really happy to see their new album Cell-0 was 100% instrumental. I hope it did well for them, because I really liked it, so I am including something from it.

youtube

6: The newest find on the list for me, I found him this year, Amigo the Devil (he’s American, since that seems to have become a thing in my list) This one is a lot more subtle and subdued than the rest, his genre is an obscure one called Murderfolk, basically he’s a blues/folk singer who sings a lot about rather dark subject matter. But sometimes hopeful, too, as with my pick Cocaine and Abel. Led me down a whole murderfolk rabbit hole, lot of cool stuff there, but he’s the only one who cracked the top 10. Can only add 5 videos, so linky: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZzjtLm0G49E

7. Is an old fave, American metal gods Metallica. I mean what’s to say? it’s fuckin’ Metallica, man. Kind of a basic choice, but hey. Been listening to them since high school. Didn’t feel like i had listened to thema lot recently but guessing S&M 2 bumped them up! But just gonna link to one of my old faves: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WM8bTdBs-cw

8. Is another American band I’ve been listening to for a while, Mastodon. I think these guys have such a unique sound, with the 3 different styles of vocals over the sludgey instruments, and they have some really great lyrics going on as well. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=s6WGNd8QR-U

9. Is Ukrainian band Jinjer! somewhat recent find, been aware of them for a a couple years now, i guess. Great songwriting, cool djenty sound, and oh man, does Tatiana have some pipes on her! You may have seen this video, Pisces, because video gets shown around a LOT on react videos, and kinda went viral, because it gets a big reaction if you are not prepared for it. If you haven’t seen it, brace yourself. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SQNtGoM3FVU

10. I was a bit worried and a bit shocked that he almost missed the top 10 cus he is definitely one of my very favorites, i hugely respect him and think he’s a great talent... Canadian metal god Devin Townsend! I think part of the problem is that he recently went from The Devin Townsend Project to just Devin Townsend, and then you throw in side projects or even older projects like Casualties of Cool and Strapping Young Lad, so while i do listen to him a lot, it’s under different names, so he came up a bit low in the charts. But I love him, he’s on of my all time favorites, and sadly doesn’t get as much attention as he deserves. Massive talent, huge fun personality. He’s great. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1n7uvokARQ4

#music #2020 #last.fm #metal #avatar #lord of the lost #metallica #apocalyptica #mastodon #amigo the devil #jinjer #ghost #myrkur #devin townsend

10 notes · View notes

on-fic-writing-spree · 3 years

Text

Chapter 5: New Beginnings

Word Count: 1317 words

Notes: Nothing, I don’t think. Enjoy the ride!

Next Chapter: Roman’s A Himbo

Can’t find the rest of the story? Here ya go!

——————

Remus ended up carrying Virgil about halfway through the journey back to the castle. The poor thing hadn’t eaten yet and though they couldn’t exactly die, it still hurt, and Virgil was undoubtedly fatigued. He had tossed down his weapon at some point, knowing well that nobody would dare touch it. Deceit might, but Deceit never ventured that far out from the castle.

Only when they got to the door did Remus set Virgil down, still leading them inside and to the couch, letting them take a seat. Remus ordered a few of his guards around, telling them to get a few things that Virgil would need. A few guards were quick to come back with some item, like a blanket, clean clothes, and water to drink. The thing that took the longest was food, just to make sure Virgil would have a nice warm meal. He allowed for Virgil to eat up the food they were served as well as drink up the water before letting them rest, throwing the blanket lightly on top of him. Remus considered stepping away but decided against it. Though he knew the guards wouldn’t act unless he told them too, there was a little bit of worry in him. Virgil wasn’t his creation. He was Roman’s, which means Roman might want him back, which meant a lot of concerns and questions that Remus wouldn’t be all that great at remembering to ask. And how would he explain this to Deceit?

This was going to be a wreck, and Remus already knew it.

He waited several hours for the other to wake up. Virgil woke up glancing around and looking a little afraid again. That wasn’t much of a shocker. Deceit woke up afraid the first few days too, as the memory of the first few days came and went for him. It wouldn’t surprise Remus if Virgil was the same. “Good morning sleeping beauty,” he murmured, grabbing the outfit and towel that had been set aside for Virgil. “We can talk after you get cleaned up, alright?”

“Where am I? Who are you?” they glanced back at their own hands, flipping them a few times with their eyebrows furrows. “Who am I...?”

“My castle, Remus, and you’re Virgil. We can talk more when you’re cleaned up,” he repeated, helping the other to their feet. Virgil nodded numbly and shuffled in the direction that Remus lead him to. After Remus lead Virgil to the bathroom, he stepped away to go take care of a bedding situation for them. Virgil had spent a few minutes trying to figure out how the stupid knobs on the shower worked, and got cleaned up. It was a nice feeling to be clean. They spent a few minutes looking into the mirror until there was a knock at the door. “You almost done in there?” Remus called. Virgil didn’t give a real answer, instead just opening the door after scooping up his old dirty clothes. Remus shook his head some and took the clothes, tossing them back into the bathroom before leading Virgil away. “Don’t worry about the mess you make, okay? I have servants a-plenty.” Though Virgil nodded, they knew they wouldn’t stop cleaning up the little messes they could. It was just the polite thing to do.

Soon enough they approached one of the bedrooms. Remus had made it a point to not put it far from his nor Deceit’s. “You’ll sleep here. I’m just across the hall, Deceit is down it. You haven’t met Deceit yet, you will soon,” he explained, stepping into Virgil’s room and taking a seat in a chair near the desk. “We can fix it up to your liking, but this is your room now. Now what would you like to talk about?”

Virgil took careful steps into the bedroom, running their fingers lightly across the sheets, then bed frame, and so on. “Thank you,” they muttered dumbly. “I... uh... don’t know? I just don’t understand a lot of what’s going on.”

“Well let’s see here,” Remus breathed out, tapping his fingers lightly on his knees as he looked up at the ceiling. It was made of glass, nice to see all the stars. “Your name is Virgil. You’re a trait, like me and Deceit. There’s others too, but we don’t talk about them,” Remus explained, looking back to Virgil. “We talked a bit before, you likely don’t remember, but we decided your trait was Anxiety?”

Nodding along some, Virgil spoke again. “Does Deceit have a name? Or do they just go by a trait?”

“Deceit prefers to be unnamed. He liked the anonymity,” Remus answered. “Deceit goes by he/him, my pronouns are a mess and a half but they/them are preferred. How about you?”

Virgil thought for a moment. “I’m not entirely sure yet. Maybe just use they/them and we’ll figure it out later? If that isn’t too much of a bother for you—“

“It’s not a bother in the slightest. Now come on, I’ll introduce you to Deceit.” Remus stood, heading for the door, where Virgil was quick to follow, not wanting to be left behind. As they walked through the castle, Virgil’s looks shifted when they passed guards and servants, clearly still not at ease, but looking a lot more ready to respond rather than just curl up. Remus know Virgil wasn’t quite who they were going to be, their trait still sinking in, along with their fragmented personality forming. It wouldn’t be long though, he was sure, with how easy Virgil was forgetting previous events.

Not bothering to knock, Remus stepped inside the room, throwing the door opens and flashing a grin at Deceit. “Oh Dee-Dee~,” he sing-songed, “we have a visitor!”

Deceit looked startled for only a moment before his gaze hardened on Remus. “Can you ever knock? Who is it, anyway?” he asked, going back to embroidering something on a shirt. A little double headed snake. How cute.

“Deceit, I would like for you to meet Virgil. I found him in the village not long ago. He’s a trait, like you,” Remus explained, gently pushing Virgil forward. Virgil looked uncomfortable at best, standing stiff and still a few feet from Deceit.

Frowning, Deceit dropped his thread and needle in his lap, along with the shirt. “I don’t bite too hard. Come on over,” Deceit offered, gesturing with a wave towards himself for Virgil to come closer.

Virgil did come forward, albeit still looking wary, and clearly ready to run at any second as they eyed the exits. Their eyes flickered across Deceit—trying to analyze, trying to understand. “Why the gloves?” they blurted out, waving vaguely towards them.

Deceit sighed softly, then looked to Virgil with a tired smile. “I suppose we’re all friends here, right?” he murmured before slipping off his left glove, revealing some scales that coated the area between Deceit’s thumb and first finger, trailing to his wrist. “I often wear makeup to cover the scales on my face, but it’d be rather annoying to put it on all of my skin everyday, you know? So gloves, long sleeves... all that. Plus, they get colder than the rest of me usually.” After finishing talking, he slipped his glove back on.

Virgil nodded along before looking over Deceit one more time, then looked at the rest of the room. Their eyes ended on Deceit’s hands, which had gone back to embroidering. “Can I help? That can’t be easy with gloves,” they offered, stepping over and sitting in front of Deceit’s bed.

“I can teach you if you’d like,” Deceit offered. “I’ve had my fair practice.”

Smiling fondly at the two getting along, Remus leaned against the doorway. “I’ll see myself out then, you guys seem to be getting along,” Remus murmured, stepping away from the door as Deceit began to explain what to do to Virgil, at some point getting Virgil to actually sit up on the bed rather than beside it.

They’d get along well, Remus decided.

——————

Tag list

@genderfluidmoma

@sinuous-scakt

@youremotionallystablefriend

(Ask to be added)

#sanders sides #remus sanders #virgil sanders #deceit sanders #Janus sanders #anxiety sanders #intrusive thot #dark creativity #dark creativity sanders #fanfic

10 notes · View notes

kxhlzn · 4 years

Text

i | THE BIRDWATCHER.

SYNOPSIS: You spend some time brewing over big news, and Ben has a favor to ask.

GENRE: Coming-Of-Age, Drama, Angst, Romance, Slow Burn.

PAIRINGS: Stanley Uris/Reader, confusing Richie/Reader, Unrequited!Beverly/Reader, Bev/Ben, Pining!Eddie/Richie.

WORDCOUNT: 4.5k

WARNINGS: Profanity, semi-nudity, gay pining. Bullying, homophobia, etc in future chapters!

SONG RECS: 'She' by Dodie.

AUTHOR'S NOTES: I made a post about my choice to rewrite this series, so here's the first chapter! The Losers' Club are all fifteen here, but this is still set in 1989. Pennywise doesn't exist. Reader is bisexual, or at least interested in guys and gals (& maybe non-binary pals! Whatever floats your boat!) Also if this all over the place don't come at me pls. Slightly edited and idk if it is even good so— 🤪✌🏻

There's been quite a few changes :)

MAY 1989.

DEAR LOSERS' CLUB,

No, that wasn't personal enough. You wanted each of them to know what they meant to you. Each of them.

DEAREST BEVERLY,

Why must your thoughts always drift to her first? Why can't she be third or fifth?

TO RICHIE,

You huff dramatically and crumple the notebook paper, attempting to toss it into the waste bin a few feet away.

A detached sigh tumbles from the wide desk across from you, and your history teacher slowly retracts his novel from in front of him to reveal an unamused expression.

He rolls his tongue against his cheek, and waits. When he is met with silence, he shifts in his seat. "... Aren't you, uh... Against wasting trees or whatever?"

You blink. "Yeah, obviously."

"Yeah, obviously!" Mr. Ellis laughs bitterly, and rolls his eyes. "Well, can you waste them a bit quieter?"

Before you can respond, he puts up a finger like he's suddenly been enlightened. "Or, better yet— Leave."

You tap your fingertips against your thighs, and kick your feet up onto your desk. "You know, if I didn't know better, Mr. Ellis, I'd think you didn't like me or something."

He stares at you blankly. "And where on Earth did you come up with that idea?"

You shrug, "No clue. Mr. Ellis, can I confide in your honest feedback on something?"

"I imagine you will anyway—"

"—So, listen... I'm going on a personal journey when summer break is over and I'm afraid I won't ever see you again," You explain, curving your brows inward. Your teacher uses his index finger to trace a single tear gliding down his cheek. "And, um, I don't— I don't know how to.. How do I tell the only true friends I've ever had?"

He pretends to think it over long and hard. "Let me see..."

"I don't care," He finishes, picking up his novel where he left off.

You scowl, and drop your forehead against the surface of your desk, the echo reverberating throughout the empty classroom, save for two people.

Mr. Ellis unwraps a cookie and takes a large bite, and glances at you intermediately between pages. He sighs again. "Will you leave if I tell you what to do?"

"Faster than when the lunch bell rings," You chirp, grinning brightly and leaning forward eagerly on your desk.

He rolls his eyes and puts his feet up on his desk, and pressing his back into his chair. "Go have some fun. Get high. Jump off roofs and ding-dong ditch. Just go be a kid, and tell them when the time is right. Okay?"

A light breeze rushes through the windows propped open with history textbooks, rustling the papers stacked on Mr. Ellis's large desk. Outside, the faint echo of laughter and summer jitters resounds within the four walls surrounding you.

You nod firmly, and skip to an open window.

Tossing him a grin, you give some finger guns. You crawl up onto the large sill, and before you hop out, Mr. Ellis calls your name.

He has the softest expression you've ever seen on him. "Listen— It's been a pleasure having you. Even if you were the loudest, most persistent, and possibly the worst student I've ever had. Just, uh— Be honest with your friends, okay? Don't wait 'til the last minute. They'll never forgive you if you do."

You give him a two-finger salute before hopping out the window.

You found out you were moving away from Derry in early April, due to an accident involving your grandfather's motorcycle obsession, but there was never really a good time to tell the people you've been slumming it with since you were eleven. The first time you tried, Richard Tozier pushed you off a cliff (a story for another time), and the second time, Ben burned himself on Beverly's flat iron (also a long story). The third time, the words fell dead on your lips when Stanley Uris told you you were the closest thing to a best friend he had.

You swear he was on the verge of tears.

So, you postponed. Now, it's late May, and you haven't said a word to them.

You know you have to tell them— You know this, you do, but the timing is never right. At least, that's what you keep telling yourself— Because somehow the words "you're a coward" are far too intimidating to admit.

Especially to yourself.

Heat swells across your cheeks, the massive, and rowdy, kitchen bustling with voices and feet. Your apron hugs your waist and you peer over your shoulder at Beverly, whose red hair is vibrant against the pale walls. Her blue eyes glance up to meet yours, and they are gentle. Bristling, you face Stanley on your right, who is speaking softly with an elderly woman on the other side of the counter.

The soup kitchen is a bit vacant in terms of people to serve, as it's the first few minutes before the dinner crowd pools in at seven. This time is the most peaceful— Pots and pans full of nutritional foods are filling up quick, and you're all anxious to help anybody who walks in the doors.

In Derry, there isn't much funding for volunteer work, so you do what you can— The local church offered up lodging for the soup kitchen, so you're all pretty thankful for the church leaders.

You study Stanley silently, his eyes focused and mild as he speaks with the woman. He's grown quite a bit since last summer, and he let his hair grow out a bit, so now it's a wild mess of curls. You like that he's eased up on the product, so he's all-natural. In order to catch what the woman is saying, he leans forward, in all his 5'8" glory.

He glances at you and places a hand on the woman's shoulder. "Thank you for telling me, Louanne. I'll see what I can do."

She smiles. "Bless you, Stephen."

You snort while she waddles off, and Stanley leans on the counter with his attention locked on you. There's a hint of amusement in his eyes.

"She seems sweet," You say, "How you liking volunteering, Stephen?"

He tries to prevent himself from laughing. "Stop! That's so mean, she's sick."

"What ever do you mean?" You quip, leaning on the counter next to him. Stan rubs your hair into a frizzy mess and stands tall.

"Uris, I need you over here on dishes," Willow, your team leader, shouts from across the kitchen. You can only briefly catch her curvy figure before she disappears behind the doorway.

"Nah, Willow, I got it! Stan's good with the old ladies. Real player, this one," You respond, poking Stan's stomach, "Maybe you'll get lucky."

"That's gross! Go away."

You laugh maniacally.

The dinner rush is heavy once seven hits, but it fades out at about 7:45. People are ecstatic that's it stew night because they are allowed to take a styrofoam bowl on the go. A few stragglers are permitted to camp the night out in the main hall, as the homeless aren't taken to kindly in Derry. Mayor claims it's 'bad' for traffic and tourism, but you know that Derry is the last place anyone would want to tour in. You're pretty sure it's been wiped off the maps, but that's a conspiracy theory for another time, one that Richie had so kindly coined.

Most of the kids who volunteer at the soup kitchen in the church are hoping to capture some hours for the college applications, but you volunteered because you felt like it was the right thing to do; It was simply convenient that it looked good on apps.

There's light shuffling and clanging as volunteers work to clear up the church for Sunday mass. You balance a tray of plates and glasses pressed against your chest with one arm, while you wipe down a table. There's a hand on your shoulder that suddenly startles you, causing you to drop the tray on instinct.

Glass shatters everywhere, then silence.

"Fuck!" You whisper violently, and you drop to your knees, frantically trying to pick up as many shards as possible before Willow comes screaming.

Beverly is beside you, as is Stanley, and all three of your try to clean the mess.

"God, I'm so sorry," Beverly says, "I didn't mean to freak you out."

"Uh, no, no, it's okay," You reply quickly, looking up at her. She smiles softly.

You flush and revert your attention back to the problem at hand. Your cheeks burn a bit, so you try to ignore it— But it leads to carelessness, and you give yourself a clean cut across your forefinger.

Hissing, you retract your hand and examine the damage. The minute you notice red, you become uneasy. Beverly and Stanley both take a sharp inhale.

"Oh, God— Uh, Stan, you got this? I'm gonna go get her cleaned up," Beverly says.

"Yeah, I got it."

"Thanks. C'mon, let's go," Beverly tells you, but you shake your head.

"I'm fine! S'just a cut. I can slap a bandaid on it later," You reassure her, but she's not having it.

"Now," She warns, gripping your arm softly.

Bottom line, Beverly Marsh can make you do anything she wants you to.

You kick your legs out in a steady beat, seated on a counter, while Bev digs around the first aid kit in the storage room. Her back is facing you, so you have a chance to study the freckles up the top of her spine and into her hairline.

You hold your right hand with your wrist, squeezing harder each time your wound throbs.

"Got it," Bev whispers, and she turns quickly. Positioning herself between your knees, she takes a hold of your finger and wipes it briefly with a wet cotton ball. Next, she uses a clean one to wipe disinfectant across the slit. "How bad does it hurt?"

You lie. "Not much."

Her blue eyes look at you with amusement. "Please."

"Okaaay. A bit more than 'not much'."

"Hm," Beverly applies a bit of cream on your cut. "What kind of bandaid do you want?"

She holds up plain, princess, and car bandaids.

"What the fuck are those? Gender-specific bandages?"

She says your name sternly.

You sigh. "Princess, please."

Beverly smiles and opens the package.

The room is quiet for all except the rustling of the paper, and you pop your mouth awkwardly.

"Hey," Bev says slowly, "Um, listen... You do realize that Stan—"

The door is cracked open and the curly head of Stanley peeks through. "Hey... The cut isn't bad, is it?"

You and Bev glance at each other, and Bev shakes her head.

"No, not at all. Just finishing up," She replies, sticking the pink bandaid on your wound. You hop down and wiggle your finger at Stanley with a grin.

"Good as new!"

He smiles softly. "Glad you're okay. I cleaned up all the glass, so don't worry about it."

"Okay! Thanks, Stan," You say, hooking your arm around his neck. He prickles a bit but relaxes immediately.

Beverly unties her apron and lays it on her forearm while she walks on your free side. "M' still upset Ben couldn't make it."

"Me too," You agree, "He was really looking forward to it."

"He can always go without us," Stan adds.

"It's not the same, though!" You say.

Stan shrugs.

It's humid outside the church, but that's to be expected during the summer. The sky is a deep cloudy sapphire, with the buzz of bugs filling the air. The older volunteers disappear into their cars while you, Stanley, and Beverly talk amongst yourselves. Bulbs above the entrance are the only source of light within a few yards.

Beverly puts her weight on her left foot, the gravel beneath her crackling while she recites a story Bill told her about local legends.

Just as she reaches the climax, the church doors creak open and Willow appears. She keeps her back to you while she locks the entrance, and once she turns, she eyes the three of you.

"Y'all need a ride?"

All of you glance at each other, and Stanley checks his watch.

"We'd love one!" You chirp, giving him a light shove.

"If it's alright with you, of course," Bev adds.

"I wouldn't have asked if it wasn't!" Willow says sharply, but without venom. "Hop in."

Somehow, you end up squeezed in the middle, with Stanley and Beverly on each of your sides. You scowl, eyeing the passenger seat with a purse in it.

Stan's clearly uncomfortable, his shoulders curved inward while he anxiously taps his kneecaps. He seems to be looking everywhere but at you and Bev.

"Everything okay?" You whisper.

He shrugs. "Yeah, just, uh— My mom isn't big on me getting home so late from the kitchen; She wants me to quit."

"That's fucked," You say.

"Hey!" Willow barks, glaring at you through the rearview mirror. "I may your super cool team leader, but I still don't appreciate you using a dirty mouth in my car."

You snicker, and she bursts into laughter.

Beverly pokes your shoulder. "Hey, um— Would... Would it be cool if I stayed with you tonight? My dad, he, um... He went out drinking when I woke up, so—"

"Of course," You interrupt. "Stay however long you need."

"Thanks..." Bev says quietly, and she leans against the window of the car.

Willow pulls up into your driveway within five minutes, and Bev steps out. You make an effort to give Stan a brief hug before you go, and he gives you a little wave as Willow leaves.

You and Bev remain quiet when you sneak into the house through the front door, in fear you might wake your mother. When you enter the living room and see the woman's knocked out cold with the television on, you wave Beverly upstairs. She obliges.

You creep up to your mother and crouch next to her head. She's got a bit of drool pooling on the cushion, and you crinkle your nose.

Retrieving a pillow from a loveseat, you tuck it gently beneath her head and pull a blanket over her. Giving her a quick kiss on the forehead, you leave a glass of water and ibuprofen on the coffee table.

"Does she always do that?" Is the first thing Bev says when you reach your bedroom. You're a bit taken aback, but you regroup swiftly.

"Yeah. She gets these really bad migraines," You explain, leaving your bag on the floor and kicking off your sneakers. "And, um, they can sometimes turn into seizures, so we try to let her sleep as comfortably as possible."

"Oh," Bev says, "Can I borrow some pajamas?"

"Yeah!" You reply, "Just grab something from the closet or my drawers."

"'Kay," She snags a blank tank while you pick out a yellow nightgown. You're facing the mirror when Beverly pulls off her t-shirt, and you nearly choke. You can't seem to take your eyes off her back, even when you know you've been staring for too long. "Is your little brother asleep?"

You drop your attention to the floor and quickly pull off your shirt. "Yeah, should be. I'll kill the little shithead if he's not."

Bev smiles. "He's a good kid; If he's awake, he's probably reading. He likes to read, right?"

"Yup," You pop the 'p', "He's into numbers and all that. I'll never understand it."

"He probably thinks the same thing about your art, you know."

You hum and pull the nightgown over your head. "Everybody thinks that way about art, Bev. If you're not dedicated to a nine to five office job, then you're somehow a deadbeat, leaching off the productive middle class."

Bev laughs gently, and it's airy and elegant and perfect. "You're always opinionated, you know that?"

When you toss her a quizzical look, she elaborates and walks over to face you. "Not in a negative way; It's like... It's like you must have all these thoughts swimming around in that pretty head of yours."

Pretty?

Beverly continues. "I mean, you're just so... I don't know? Most people don't care about anything, let alone the world or society. You're bound to make a difference."

You blink at her, your fairy lights hanging loosely from your window and spreading a gold light. Her ocean eyes are iridescent. She's iridescent. Her pink lips curve into a smile, and she glances at the floor.

"What?" She whispers.

You sputter. "N-Nothing. Just, um— Thanks. Thank you, really. I— I just, nobody's taken me that seriously before," You explain, tucking a thick strand of hair behind your ear. "I've always just been Loudmouth."

Bev's face melts into one of sympathy and curiosity, her long eyelashes brushing her cheeks. Gingerly, she places a hand on your shoulder, one that shoots electricity throughout your skin. Her grip tightens. "Listen. Quiet people don't do shit, okay? People who keep their opinions to themselves don't make history."

You shrug a shoulder and give her a lopsided smile. "I can't even make a difference in backwater Derry. How the hell am I supposed to change the world?"

Outside, rain begins to patter restlessly against your windowsill, keeping the stars awake. Inside, Beverly looks at you like she just might think you're a goddess.

"You've already changed mine."

Your entire life, people have told you how the world has to be: Simple, honest, and conservative. They've told you who to be, who to love, what to do. It's always been "you'll meet someone who makes you feel like the world is glowing", followed by, "don't rush, you'll find him soon". What if you don't want to find him? What if you want to find her?

What if you already have?

Beverly Marsh is incomparably the prettiest girl you've ever seen when she's jumping from the cliff into the lake below.

Scratch that, she's incomparably the prettiest girl you've ever seen, and she makes your universe glow.

She's a flash of red, shimmering, shining, iridescent; A ruby tossed into the sky like a plain penny into a wishing well.

She's radiant, tomboyish, and beautiful.

Beverly, in all her elegance, has learned to tame your chaotic hair, your wild eyes, and the crooked pair of overalls that swallowed your thighs. Her, that gentle smile, rendered you speechless daily. You, notoriously nicknamed Loudmouth or Mouth, were silent for her.

You've already changed mine.

"Hey, Mouth! The hell are you gawking at?"

Richie Tozier waves a hand in front of you and you crank your eyes up to his squinting face. His freckles surround the massive pair of glasses on the bridge of his nose, and his black hair nearly blinds him.

You throw up a palm to block the sun, but his giant head is doing most of the work. "Your mother over there in her Sunday best."

If he swung his body around any quicker, his head might have popped off like a Barbie doll. He gazes off into the woods across the quarry, his lips upturned in an unattractive flytrap.

Beverly slips her cream-colored gown off her pale shoulders, drawing all eyes to her. The sun beats down on her chopped red locks, accenting the constellation of freckles along her nose, and warming your flesh under its rays.

Catching the way they all gaze at her, as starstruck as yourself, it hits you like a freight train— you weren't looking at her like you should have been.

Under the intensity of her icy blue gaze, you feel so small; so homely. Your chest aches, but that girl doesn't give you time to grieve. She is in the air in a split second, high like an angel, falling towards the murky waters below.

The boys crowd around the cliff's edge, mouths gaping, eyes bright. It strikes you from the heavens, like a harsh cacophony: These aren't your boys anymore.

You had slipped out of the world briefly, and before long, you are alone at the edge.

Sandy curls appear in front of your face, tilting to reveal the kind eyes of Stanley Uris. His mouth forms a firm line. He seems to be at war with himself as he stares out into the blue sky, dotted with white clouds.

He stays silent for a moment, searching for the right words. "I want to go last," He finally breathes, seemingly triumphed in his verbiage, "I don't want them to see me cross my fingers behind my back before I go."

The vulnerability he expresses warms your heart, and you grin up at him, having gained your confidence back. You are grateful he didn't pry into your dilemma. You didn't expect otherwise, but it was still nice. Stanley is a boy of few words, but the word 'shy' doesn't fit right, as it implies bashfulness or a sweet innocence.

Rather, he prefers the quality of speech over quantity, believing that the chattiest voices aren't always the loudest. A respectable notion, sure, but you tend to believe it in theory rather than in practice.

Stanley's thin frame makes no unnecessary movements, but rather awaits yours. One of his hands cuffs the other in front of his hips. The cool breeze had only an inch to squeeze between within the crevice of your shoulders.

You pull your yellow scrunchie from your hair, and wrap it around your wrist, as Stanley speaks, "Promise not to tell?"

“Pinky promise,” You insist, holding up the smallest finger on your right hand. When his wraps around yours, you toss him a childlike grin. “I never break them.”

You're gone, cascading down towards the green waters, each wave crystallizing in your descent.

"I know."

Stanley crosses his fingers behind his back and steps off the cliff's rocky edge.

Stan’s dive is a flash of gold: Like a bird, graceful in its dip, his curls like its wings.

You find yourself wanting to ask him what it's like to fly.

The water is cool, luckily fizzling the heat out of your cheeks when Beverly appears beside you, grinning softly at—

Bill.

You swallow thickly and turn your head to Richie and Eddie arguing about something pointless. Richie's skin is set ablaze every time Eddie points a finger at him or moves closer.

Across from you, Ben's eyes are set on your face, and you nearly jump when yours land on them. He sputters silently and glances over to the boulders near the trees.

You tilt your head in question, "Ben, what is it?" It's too late now, but you realize you weren't very subtle. At all.

He facepalms. "Can we, uh...?"

Nodding in understanding, you doggy paddle through the lake and onto the shore. Ben is quickly beside you.

The boy leads you over to the boulders and sits on a large one. His hands are glued to his knees, and you can tell he's anxious.

You lean your elbows on your thighs and wait.

"U-U-Um— Can I..? Would you..?" He shakes his head suddenly and regroups. "I need— I need help with something..."

"...Okay..?" You gesture for him to elaborate.

"Can you help me write love notes to Beverly?" He spits out softly, and you choke on your own spit.

You stand up abruptly, like you sat on a pin, and cross your arms. Your brows curl inward in confusion, embarrassment, and anxiety. "W-What? Sorry, I don't— Why?"

"Because... You are a girl, you know? You know a lot more personal stuff about her, I think, right?" He asks, rubbing his clammy palms together.

"Uh," You run your fingers up your arm, "I guess? I don't think... That would be... She doesn't..."

He gives you an awkward crooked smile. "I mean, it's okay 'cause you're a girl. I wanted to ask Bill or someone else but since they're guys it might be different..."

"H-How so?"

"Well— You know. They might secretly like her or something," Ben says, staring at the dirt by his feet.

You swallow, and glance out to the water; To where she is. Beverly meets your eyes and smiles gently. Your stomach does a flip.

"Can I— Can I think about it?" You inquire softly, and Ben nods swiftly.

"Yes! Yes, of course. That's okay," He sounds a bit sad.

You reach out and rub his shoulder. "You're an amazing person, Ben, you know that? She'd love anything you wrote to her."

You smile crookedly, the corner of your mouth twitching.

Ben nods slowly and shakes his arms a bit to free himself of nerves. "You're right— I should just be more confident..."

He's obviously trying to convince himself more than you.

"Bev—" He shouts suddenly, and she looks over with a grin. One of her hands runs through her hair, and you can feel her eyes burning holes in your face just seconds before she focuses on him. "You look beautiful today!"

Beverly Marsh smiles ever so gently, her cheeks blossoming in a shade of scarlet. The freckles lining the bridge of her nose accent the brightness of her eyes, and you swallow thickly.

She really does.

Tapping a pen against a thick sheet of paper, you push your tongue against your cheek and read over the words again.

PROS:

♡ helping ben!

♡ practicing writing!

♡ practicing stationary!

♡ getting ben and bev together!

♡ making bev feel good!

♡ getting over the butterflies?

You scowl. The hell does that mean? You glance at the clock, which reads 8:37. You consider the pros to writing anonymous love letters to Beverly, which seems to be a lot— And the selfish part of you tells you that it would be beneficial to you— How so? You're not quite sure, as admitting to yourself that it even took nearly an hour.

Within your friend group, you've always been relatively open— Keeping up with honesty, kindness, and always wearing your heart on your sleeve. Stanley said it was naive to do so, but you feel that in a world that is so blatantly harsh and negative, being real with those around you is a heap of good. So why is it suddenly so difficult to be honest with yourself?

You concentrate your thoughts of Beverly, so that you might understand, or in the least identify, what exactly your true intentions with her are. Immediately, your stomach curls, and you feel your insides turn to mush. These sensations are familiar— You've had countless encounters with them.

You picture her in your head, memorize the features of her that always seem to stick when she's around. Her red hair, her freckles, those eyes... And her lips. The curve of them when she grins, or laughs— And briefly, ever so, you imagine what'd they'd be like pressed against yours—

"Hey," Your mom says, your door now swung open, and you scream, tipping out of your desk chair. You land flat against your back and groan.

Your heart beats painfully in your ribcage.

"Sorry, didn't mean to scare you. Come do the dishes," She tells you, and you nod profusely.

You inhale through your nostrils and run your fingers through your hair, sighing. Once she's gone, you push your head into the crook of your elbow.

Tears unravel into your arm.

Why did it have to be Beverly Marsh?

[ 🌱 ] taglist (from original write):

@hannarudick @cedricisnotonfire @russian-romanova @pacifythepanda @queen1054 @thebitchiestnerdtowalktheearth @delicrieux (you get to be on here cuz.. i said so).

#beverly marsh x reader #stanley uris x reader #it 2017 #it fanfiction #stanley uris imagine #beverly marsh imagine #kassiewrites #chapter one #BW #bw rewrite #the birdwatcher & his lover #the birdwatcher series #kassie writes

111 notes · View notes