#i need to sort out my laptop i feel like it needs a winter break too | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

i-literally-cant-with-this · 9 months

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A/N= I had this idea 5 or so days ago, and I can't tell you how much Professor Geto stuff I've seen since. I guess we're all on the same wavelength, and that's awesome. There needs to be more Professor Geto in the world.

C/W= P->V. Oral (giving/receiving). Lap riding. Masturbation (tiny talk of toys). Adult movie. Some cutesy shit. Some humor. Maybe a few other things. MDNI NSFW 🔞

W/C: 7k+some

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For Science! 👊

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"The pattern of the effectual relationship is more obvious in the decline of overall satisfaction. Do you all see how this corroborates with the suggestion that love and sex don't have to go hand in hand?" He looked at you when he said this. It made you shift slightly in your warmed seat.

Professor Geto was trying not to lose his students' attention in this lecture. But they were all idiots who were run solely by their hormones.

"She can go hand my cock!" Someone yelled from the middle of the auditorium.

"Yes. What a very clever hypothesis," Geto said. "Why, uh, why don't you all just head out. Winter break starts in ... 39 minutes. Just go. Happy whatever. I'll see you in the new year when we're back in session."

The same asshole yelled out, "You mean SEX-SION!" Him and his dipshit friends laughed all the way to the courtyard.

Geto, unamused, shook his head and adjusted his glasses as the rest of his students filed out into the snow. He began putting a gross amount of paperwork into his worn leather bag, and then he looked around to make sure everyone was gone before he locked up.

His eyes landed on you. In your heavy sweatshirt and jeans. You sat in the very last seat in the front row, farthest from the exit.

"Were you asleep when I told everyone to go? Fucking kids these days –" You cut off his complaint and asked him if he could go over one thing with you before you left.

"Oh, a legitimate question. I apologize. What about ....?" He turned his left ear a little to you, hinting at you to say what your name was.

You put your hand to your chest, "Y/n. It's y/n."

"Ok, y/n. What's your question?" You gathered up your laptop and scattered papers and stuck them in your backpack. Then you stood and walked over to him.

He immediately saw how beautiful you are, even hidden away under the navy blue sweatshirt and bulky jeans you wore. You pulled your hood off and let your hair pool around your shoulders.

It surprised him, you staying behind. Most of his students made a run for it as quickly as possible.

Professor Geto was no fool. In fact, he was quite intuitive. He'd run his course based on several factors; how the audience was reacting to him, how he was being perceived at different parts of his lectures. He was always aware of his surroundings.

You got to his desk and leaned your curvy hips against the edge of the heavy, dark wood.

"You say that scientists have long supported the idea that love and sex don't have to go hand in hand?"

"Mmhm." He nodded. Feeling the slightest rush of heat throughout his body while discussing this with you. Surely, he shouldn't feel like he was crossing a line. He was the professor of a very valid and increasingly important course. Plus, you approached him. It's not as if he asked you to stay behind to discuss your grade so he could bend you over his desk and fuck an 'A' next to your name on his computer. These things were typical discussion topics.

"Have these "scientists" done any studies of the effects of dopamine levels in two people that fuck —"

Both of your eyes locked with the other's. Uncertain if you meant to say that to him as he was your teacher or if you intentionally left the word dangling between the two of you in the emptied room.

"If you fuck someone enough..." you continued like you were, for the most part, unphased by his pause. "...and they're good at what they do, and they make you cu– I mean, climax often, if not consistently, then on a semi-regular basis, won't some sort of feelings develop over time? Like, there would be some sort of attachment formed. I know it would be hard for me to be fucking someone, to be so intimate with them and not have feelings bubble up at some point. Especially with all the hormones and shit involved. Some people just make you feel better. You can feign physical attraction. But a chemical one? I don't know."

He stared at you with a blank face. You looked right back at him, waiting for his answer. Your e/c drawing him in. Shifting your backpack from your right shoulder to your left, you cleared your throat.

"Um, shit. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked YOU this. I'll go talk to my family priest or something."

Geto laughed, "You have a priest?" You sat your stuff down and scrunched up your nose, smiling back at him. "Well, no. The only time my family talks to God is when their asses are in the air gettin' – no. Not religious."

"Did you have any other ideas about sex and love? How can you have them both, none, or merely one or the other?"

You were a little taken aback as to why he wasn't offering you an answer. You did, after all, approach him about this.

"What are you doing right now?" He asked you, hoping to come across as cool and apathetic as he always was. But his cock was beginning to ache for your undivided attention. And though Professor Geto was a master at driving people's attention where he wanted it, he could not seem to alter your ability to maintain eye contact.

You suddenly straightened your body at his question. "W‐what am I doing right now? I mean," for some reason, you wanted to come off as if you were in really high demand.

That was anything but the truth: Your mother and step-dad went to his family's vacation home in the English countryside a week before you were out for the winter. They offered to pay for your ticket. But you really didn't like Christmas anyway and told them you had a lot of studying to do.

"Do you have plans over the holiday with your family? Friends?" He waited what he thought was a healthy amount of time before he asked you if you were doing anything special with your boyfriend.

Your outburst of laughter was embarrassing. You haven't had a boyfriend since your junior year of high school. The guys you knew made passes at you, sure. But they were so fucking childish. You hated it.

"Sor- hahaha -no, sorry. I don't have a boyfriend waiting for me under the mistletoe this year. I'm just going to be in my quiet dorm room. Waiting for this godforsaken stretch of time to end."

He didn't find that funny at all, which made you feel like an even larger tool. "So, you're just, going to be alone this Chrismas?"

You lifted your hood over your hair and answered him smoothly. "Yyyyep. I guess I'll see you when we're back in sex-sion? Eh?"

At long last, you got a laugh from him. "So wait. You're telling me that you're capable of laughter!?" You said sarcastically.

"I'm capable of more than you can imagine, little one."

That was it, your cunt fluttered at his suggestive admission. Grasping at anything to break that spell he cast over you. Those were the words that spurred on your attraction for your Human Sexuality professor.

"Well, if you're not doing anything this week, there's a French film playing at the old cinema on 11th and Craine. We don't have to go together. We don't even have to sit near each o-"

"YES. I mean, yeah. I'd love to go. What time?" You interrupted him so hard that he jumped a little at your shouting. He smiled. It was beautiful. He never smiled in class.

"There's a showing to- ah, damn it. Let me check my phone for the times again. Sorry. Hold on." He pulled his phone from his professor-y blazer, and scrolled through the listing. "Yeah. Ok, so there's showings tomorrow night at 7, 9:20, 11:40, and 2am."

Your heart sank to the floor. "Nothing tonight, huh?" He looked at you. So small and absolutely let down. He wanted to comfort you over this absurd disappointment. But that is a line he shouldn't cross. You were his student. It was against the school's code of conduct for him to do anything more than teach you. But this was a loophole. He was fairly certain he could talk himself out of any infraction.

Oh my god, how he wanted to reach his hand to your face. To lift your eyes to his with the pads of his fingers under your chin. It was such a stupid blunder. He almost wishes he hadn't said anything to you about it.

"I – no. I'm sorry, y/n. As it stands, the only showings are tomorrow. I prefer to go to the –"

"Earlier shows, right?" You asked, not even trying to shield him from your growing frustration at having to wait.

"Eh, no. No, actually, I prefer the later ones. The later, the better. Despite being a teacher, I really try to avoid people as much as possible. My friend group is pretty small. Anyway. Here's my card with my personal cell on the back. Let me know if I should expect you, hm? If I don't see you, please have a nice break."

You wanted to protest from the rooftop to keep him there talking with you. But there just wasn't a reason to say anything else. So you said goodbye and walked out into the freezing air. And head back to your 1/2 vacant dorm room.

The way back, you replayed the conversation between the two of you. It felt like a really long talk. But really, it took no longer than 10 minutes.

You felt a little stupid for getting upset about having to wait a whole day to see him. Well, if you decide to go, that is.

For now, you would find odd things to keep you busy to better pass the time.

* ● *● * ● * ●

You woke up feeling FANTASTIC. You slept for 9 hours. Your dreams were filled with Geto fucking you until you couldn't walk anymore so he had to carry you to his bed and fuck you to the point you couldn't talk. It was the best night in you've had in ages.

Today was the day you were supposed to meet him at the old theater for the French film. You picked up the jeans you were wearing yesterday and dug around for his phone number so you could let him know you would be joining him tonight.

"Whe– Where the fuck is that card! Shit! How am I supposed to call and let him ... oh goddamn it all to hell." You sat down on your bed and tossed your hands into your lap. "The later, the better. Ok. No one goes to an 11:40 movie over winter break. Right? Ok! So I'll just get there at 11:30 and go sit in the theater ... and, and wait. Where is that fucking card!?"

You ripped your desk apart. Shook out everything you wore when he gave it to you. It was nowhere to be found. But at least you knew roughly what time he would be there.

* ● *● * ● * ●

It was 8 pm, and you were beside yourself with anticipation. You'd already gotten yourself off twice and considering a third orgasm to dull your nervous edge just a bit more.

Instead of trying to ease your anxieties a 3rd time that way, you tried a shower with your favorite aromatic oils. You hated how well this shit worked. "It's so cliché, mom." You told her when she brought you back a box of oils from India.

That all changed when you made your own sandlewood and vanilla blend. You never gave her any shit again. And when they travel, she will oftentimes pick up some new oils for you to test. There's literally an oil for whatever is ailing you.

You were lucky to be one of the on-campus residents to have a newer dorm with a shower in the room. You were fine showering in a more public space, but there were time restrictions in the shared bathing areas.

Turning the water on, you took off your clothes and stepped into the steam. There was a part of you that wanted to take a leisurely shower. To exfoliate and shave and deep condition your hair.

But you were too nervous to hold a razor to your body. The looks Professor Geto had been giving you all semester had finally amounted to something. Was this a date? "I need to stop this hyperfocus shit. Gotta cum again."

You cracked open the shower door and stepped carefully out onto the mat on the floor to dry your feet. You've fallen too many times to not take shower safety seriously. And if you fell tonight you'd never forgive yourself for fucking up this chance.

Your new vibrator was still in its box in your nightstand drawer. You opened the packaging like a child on Christmas morning and started button mashing the 3 at the base of it to figure out which button did what.

"Let's see just what this baby can do. Ok. This button – oh! Oh ... damn." You raised your eyebrows. "I ... may never ... be stressed about anything again."

You figured out the most basic settings; the bunny ears got you off really quickly. Truthfully, it was the in-your-head Geto who did the heavy lifting. But you felt a little better.

You shaved everything you wanted to shave and exfoliated everything that was safe to exfoliate.

The outfit you chose was simple, but seen by the right eyes, it could be considered sexy. It was a long, large floral-print pattern over a solid green background and a white tight-fitting t-shirt. You wore boots with thigh-high socks. This provided you with some warmth from the cold. The socks were thick and connected to a garter belt around your waist so they wouldn't slouch down. You made the conscious decision to forgo panties for the night.

"Ok," you said. "You smell delicious. You're soft and silky. You. Are. Ready. Ready to sit with him for 2 hours and 20 minutes."

"S'do this, y/n."

* ● *● * ● * ●

Friday 11:30pm

11th and Craine @ The Faux Devant Theater

Film: Ton sexe. Mon sexe. Notre sexe.

Translation: Your sex, My sex, Our sex

* ● *● * ● * ●

"There's just the one movie playing here tonight?" You asked, embarrassed that you were alone and buying a ticket for a movie that had the word sex in it 3 times, and you didn't know what the other 3 words translated to.

"Yeah, this is here until the end of the week, and then we dig up another one. Blah blah blah."

You laughed at their apparent boredom with the job. "Ok, uh, 1 adult for," you pointed at the poster of the naked people in a lovers embrace. "For this one, I guess." They gave you your ticket, smirked, and told you to enjoy the show.

You went into the dark room, and you were surprised to see how it was set up. There was no traditional theater seating. But there were couches and loveseats spread smartly across the floor.

You looked around for anyone else who might be in there tonight. It was totally empty. Even the projection room lights were off.

The movie was going to start in about 5 minutes. Where was he? "Oh god. Ohhh nooo. Fuck. He's standing me up. And not in a good way, either. God, to think that he would sit through some stupid French flick with me."

You sank down into the loveseat in the middle of the room as your heart sank deeper into your heavy chest. Settling in to watch a movie that you wouldn't have chosen on your own. You were hoping for the best and expecting the worst.

The opening credits started to roll, and the story began to unfold. And quickly, to your surprise. There were subtitles, but you wanted to watch the story rather than read about it.

You're fairly certain that it was about a couple of people who knew nothing of each other or about sex. They experienced all the feelings that come with arousal and wanting another's touch. But they'd never *experienced* it themselves. Not under their own hand or someone else's. It was a sheltered existence they had before moving to the city.

There was one scene that will always stand out to you: They met by chance at a café.They reached for the sugared cinnamon to sprinkle on the foam of their cappuccino, and when their hands touched, neither one of them recoiled. They knew they had to be together come hell or high water. It was cheesy. But beautiful.

It was like because of touching the other person's hand, they finally belonged to this life. They were grounded by this single brush of skin. They were meant to be together.

They explored, touched, tasted their partner's body, and came to find that the only thing they'd been missing from their lives was the other person.

In the scene where they fully dive into their sexual awakening, you thought you heard someone stepping into the room. But you couldn't see anyone when you looked around, so you just turned your focus back to the film and watched these people devour one another.

They both gave of themselves and received everything physically possible. Some things you took note of. If nothing else, you could walk away from this with a few new tricks.

It left you in a frustrated state. Your hands dug into the soft fabric of the couch, and you shifted your weight often. You wondered for just a second what would happen if you spread your legs and slipped your fingers up under the long skirt you wore.

The movie and your feelings were bordering on pornographic. But you've always been a curious soul, so it didn't bother to see this. You were surprised that your professor had invited you to such a thing, though. How was that not crossing into misconduct?

You really didn't give a damn and pushed the thought to the back of your mind. The whole thing was quite beautiful, actually. Despite your growing frustration at Geto for not fulfilling his commitment to you. But no matter. You were no worse for the wear. What could have possibly happened with you two anyway.

Once the end credits came on the screen, you were sure there would be a wet spot on your skirt. You felt yourself filling with that familiar hot tension. Again. As if 3 orgasms just weren't enough for you to chase off the burning need.

You stood from your seat and put on your jacket before you walked out into the freezing night. As you turned around, your eyes zeroed in on a shadowed figure in the corner of the big room.

"Oh shhh–! Oh my god! You fucking scared me, professor! What the hell are you doing here ... now? The movie just ended." He stood up and seemed to glide across the floor to you. Like a vampire or something. He looked dark.

His hair was down; hanging over his shoulders and just a little in his face. But all he saw was you, standing there, trying to explain away your flushed skin as merely the frozen air that had slapped against your face.

Even though that was nearly 2 1/2 hours ago. It was not a good excuse. Nor were you very proud of it. "I'm glad you stayed to watch this," he said in a low tone. "I knew you'd watch it whether I was here or not."

"You mean, you ... you were here? The whole time, too? Why didn't you sit by me? Or, oh gosh, I dunno, at the very least say something to me?" He could see you were getting pissed at him.

Geto knew it was a little dirty to play with you this way. But he couldn't help himself. You are an adult. A big girl, even though you weren't wearing your big girl panties tonight.

"I wanted to study your reaction to the film. And from the looks of your rosy cheeks and dampened spot on your skir– well, imagine my surprise when I saw you enjoying this.

"My skirt and how wet it is OR isn't, isn't really any of your business. Is it? Pro– Geto?" You stopped yourself from calling him professor and called him by his name. It made you two closer to equals that way. Not teacher and student. Just horny woman and sexpot man.

"Oh. I see. So you're saying it's possible that your little cunt was squirming throughout these last 2 hours? And tell me, pretty girl, just what was it you imagined could tame the burning between your legs? Hm? Was it the toy you fucked yourself with earlier but imagined they were me? How many times did thinking of me make you cum? 3? 4?"

He snapped a black band from his wrist and threw his hair up in a careless bun. "Oh. Fuck," you thought. "This man is obsessed with me and stalking me and, and ..." Your thoughts trickled off as you realized how stupid you sounded thinking this garbage. He wasn't interested in you.

As relieved as you felt at that conclusion, you were also hit with a brief sadness that you were just another student to him. He's probably invited all kinds of people to cinema. You were no more special than the last.

"Relax, sweetheart. I don't have cameras set up in your bathroom watching you or anything. That would be tacky. I just know your type. You're easily scared."

You laughed at this.

"You get off to relieve tension and stress."

"Yeah? So? Who doesn't?" You shot back at him.

"Fair enough, fair enough." He looked amused by your argument. "Mm. Well, this is all very interesting. But it's time, once again, to watch, so sit down." He pointed to the place next to him.

You openly mocked him for ordering you around. "'Sit down? Sit," your laughter was spiteful. "Sit down. Oh-kay professor." There was that word again. "I've already seen the movie, thanks."

Geto reached up to take your hand and place it against his soft lips. He held it there for a moment and said, "Yes, but you haven't seen it with me." He rooted his dark eyes to yours and stuck the tip of his tongue between where your index and middle finger met. And licked you.

"Sit." And you did.

Wet pussy and all.

The movie has started, and all you want to watch is Geto. The man is beautiful. It made you almost angry about how beautiful he was.

30 minutes into it. He has kept to himself.

45 minutes into it, and his breathing hasn't even changed. But you're feeling the slick between your legs becoming more and more prevalent. Your skirt is getting the worst of it. You're not sure why you do this, but you uncross your legs. Hoping against hope that the way they were pressed together, the way they forced your pussy to rub on itself, would stop.

You were going crazy from this man's indifference.

1 hour into it, and you feel him turn and look at you. He readjusts himself on the plush seat and puts his hand on your knee.

You looked at him, thinking again of how the sharp tip of his wet tongue felt between your fingers. Your breath hitched for just a moment, and he took notice of the change in your demeanor.

Your body is no longer languid on the wide cushion beneath you. Geto wants you to relax while under his watchful eye. He wants to see you come apart at his fingertips. He wants to put you back together, too.

"Is this ok, pretty girl?" Geto asks in an almost too-quiet voice. He looks at you as shadows dance around the room. The couple in the movie has just discovered going down on one another. You watch them with an unwavering focus because if you don't, you're afraid you'll climb on your companions' face and suffocate him between your thighs.

"Mm. You're not comfortable with this. That's fine." He started to pull his hand back from your knee, and you turned your attention to him. Ready to protest his withdrawal, you stumble for your words. "I, I neh–" You clear your throat and try again. "Fuck! I never said that I wasn't comfortable with your hand on my knee. We're not in middle school, Geto. Put your hand on my fuckin' knee if you want to. It doesn't make any difference to me."

He cocked an eyebrow. "No? No difference at all. You're a bigger pain in the ass than I gave you credit for." He shook his head. "I think it's best if I just go. Would you like a ride home?"

"A ride home? Are you fucking kidding me?" You pulled his hand over and sat it on your lap. About 5 or 6 inches above where he'd originally positioned it before. "It ... does ..." You nearly choked on your words this time. "It does make a difference. Ok? OK? Happy now?"

Geto scooched a little closer to you so he could relax, and his hand would stay where you put it. He smiled. "I am. Thank you."

His hand was a double entendre. It made you wonder how something so presumably light could feel so heavy. Such a calming gesture, making you feel so wild.

Geto's right index finger began to draw small but deep 8's over your skirt into your skin. He could feel how warm your body was getting.

You're breathing heavily now. He leaned up and got much closer to you and reached up to brush one of your stray hairs aside like it was the whole reason for the sudden lack of oxygen to your brain.

1 1/2 hours, and his hand is the only thing holding you to this earth. You could sprout wings and fly away. You feel lighter, somehow. Even though he's tethered you here. Tied you to this couch that's seen god knows what. Will it get a new viewing of its own tonight, perhaps?

A particularly graphic scene comes up as you sit there next to Geto. You try to look away, but his grip on your leg tightens. You feel a wave of dizziness as his piercing eyes lock onto yours. "I didn't ask you to the movies with me so you could stare at the wall. Watch this. Learn. Listen. Why do you think that it's impossible to keep love and sex separate during the course of a relationship? And I'm not referring only committed ones.

"A sexual relationship doesn't have to be anything more than the expression of appreciation for someone's physical beauty." He continued. "Love usually runs deeper. To a person's soul. I mean, if you believe that people have souls."

You rolled your eyes. "I hate to play the sexist card. But leave it to a man – a really fucking attractive man, no less, to downplay the closeness that can resonate during sex. Lovemaking. Fucking. Call it what you want. But that's about as intimate as you can get with another person. And I think it's a really vulnerable posit–"

Geto started belly laughing. He lifted his hand from you to hold his flat stomach as he cracked up at your expense. "Listen to you. You sound like a virgin who's grown up watching only movies where there's a happy ending. A true happy ending with a knight in shining armor riding in on his unicorn steed carrying a single white rose because only the best for his untouched bride." He laughed another hard chuckle and looked back at your unamused face.

"You can be a real asshole, you know that." You said. "Just because I think that love AND sex go hand in hand doesn't mean I live for Disney movies. I'm well aware of the harsh realities surrounding love and sex. The way that people are lulled into a false sense of security. They give themselves fully over only to be kicked in the teeth and left on a curb holding a sign that says, 'I'm broken, but give me a chance. PS I'm a good cook, b‐t‐dubs.' And furthermore, it's no secret that the more invested a person becomes in their S/O, the more they turn themselves over to th—"

Geto leaned in and kissed you so lightly on your lips that were moving a thousand words a minute . "Who hurt you." He asked after pulling back. His smile was like a corrosive gel that you could slather on the most tarnished surface to get the ugly off.

You were surprised at how gentle his lips were against yours. You always imagined your time with him would be, well, not that tender. "W–what was that for?" Goddamn it. Why were you always suspicious of people who showed you any interest?

He was silent. After a long pause, he finally spoke, "I wanted to see what it would feel like." You scrunched up your face without even realizing it and asked him if he's ever kissed anyone.

"Are you fucking dumb? Of course I've kissed people. Many people. Men. Women. Any adult on the 'human' spectrum." He rubbed the back of his neck with his left hand. "Ahh. I wanted to see what it was like to kiss you. Ok?"

You thought about that for a moment before leaning over and kissing him again. Softly. Timidly. Sparingly. You were afraid to give too much of yourself to this man. Through kiss or otherwise. It would be too easy to become all consumed with him. You could see yourself vanishing in his wake.

"And that? What was that for?" He asked, staring at you through lustful eyes. You shrugged playfully.

You're not even watching the movie anymore. Really, there was not much point for both of you to sit through it again. You wouldn't forget about the story for a long while to come.

He grabbed your hand and pulled you closer to him. "Prof–professor Geto ... I ... I ..." Your words were desperate. They almost came across as whines. You hoped he'd only note the neediness in your voice and not the pathetic way you're so touch starved.

"Yes, y/n? Tell me. Just ... just tell me." You ran your fingers down the back of his head, eliciting a heavy shiver as you sat down, straddling him. You could feel the bulge grow beneath your spread cunt. He reached to cup your breasts in his slow hands.

You dropped your forehead to his, and for a moment, you wondered if he knew you were bare under your skirt, save for the belt and your socks. You pooled your skirt up around your waist, exposing your thighs and ass. He does now, you thought.

Geto's hands fell to your legs, and he rubbed the soft skin heartily. He leaned forward and grabbed up the most round part of your ass cheeks, and pulled you closer to him. You could feel the slick gathering on his pants. The fabric covering his zipper began to feel tacky.

"Wha– do you wa–want, y/n? Tell me what you want ... from me." You let out a moan as he massaged and held your breasts. He licked around your nipples and nibbled at the mounds of hot flesh.

Your movements on top of him were becoming more and more focused. It was all you could do to not reach between your balanced bodies and denude his cock from its cloth prison. He let out a low moan as you started stroking your pussy against him harder. Your body quivered with pleasure as he tipped forward, putting his mouth on the outside of your ear.

"Do you want ... this?" He sat you down on the couch again and got down on his knees on the floor before you. Geto kissed from where your garter belt stopped on your right leg all the way around. He stopped to lick at your slick opening a few times before turning his attention back to your other thigh, continuing to kiss you there until he was met with the clasps on the opposite leg.

His hands slid easily under your twitching legs as he pulled you to the edge of your seat. "Watch me, not the movie. Understand, pretty?"

You brushed rogue bangs aside to see his face better. "Mmm .... mmhmm." You nodded almost maniacally as he began licking your clit with the focused tip of his tongue. It was all you could do to not slam your head back. It felt so good.

There was a gradually growing wet spot underneath you on the loveseat (now you see that it was ironically named). Geto started to taunt your opening with the tip of his finger. Your body jolted whenever he retreated despite him not really even entering you.

"What do you want, y/n?" You wished that you could talk. That you weren't such a fucking blubbering mess after he'd been going down on you for less than 5 minutes.

"Ah, I wan' – fffuck." You can't hold your head up any longer, so you lay it against the back, still eyeing him. "I want you ..." You manage to say the words clumsily. If your eyes were daggers, he'd have bled out by now.

"You got it." He knelt in front of you and spread your legs and pushed his hands under the long skirt.

He passes the clips on your thighs with his roaming hand. You feel a mix of excitement and nervousness as you try to concentrate. Taking a deep breath, you remind yourself of the hours of preparation. You'd be damned if you weren't going to be rewarded for all of it.

"Do ... do you think anyone will come in?" You asked, suddenly aware you're on display right now."

Geto didn't answer. "Muhh." He was too focused on you. Whatever kind of answer that was. It made you wonder if he was just being agreeable or actually listening.

"Get‐Oh shiiiittt. Oh my god, y-yes. Hmmm..." You didn't remember there were other people on the planet right now. His face was completely buried between your thighs. You see now that he couldn't answer if he wanted to. And from the way he was devouring you, you knew assuring you wasn't at the top of his to-do list.

He went at you like you were an iceblock in the most stark desert. Licking you and sucking you into his mouth. His tongue swirling around your clit had you squirming out of his grasp.

It wasn't that you wanted to break his grip on you. But the feelings were so intense. All focused on one ... tiny ... spot.

"Oh god, Geto, I need ... fffuck. I haf'ta ... " Your words were failing you.

He sat up, licking his lips, smiling at you. His hair disheveled from your fingers, finding their way onto his head. "S' sweet, pretty."

He helped sit you up and sat down next to you. His eyes drunk on your body as he looked at your lips for a minute. The corners of your mouth turned upward slightly as you inched your way over to him.

"Scoot back," you told Geto. You got on your knees on the small couch and leaned over, resting on your elbows. He was so hard. You just wanted him inside of you so badly.

You rested just above his lap as you undid his belt, button, and zipper. He muttered something and moved to help you. "Uh-uh. It's my turn now." You said, and Geto laughed a little. "Who am I to argue."

You pushed his pants down to his knees and then gently, like you were holding a priceless artifact, pulled his thick cock out from his boxers.

You couldn't help but gasp a little as you held it. The way he watched you look it over made you feel nervous. Like you had never seen something like this before. His gaze remained on you as you closely inspected each vein and all the characteristics of it.

You brought the head to your lips and kissed it, immediately dragging a moan from Geto's throat. You've never been with someone who so easily gave themselves over to the sounds. If it were at all possible, you were turned on even more at his vocalizations.

There was no hurry here on your part, so you took things slowly. You were also hoping he had nowhere to be at 2 am.

Adjusting your position so you could rest on his thighs and still utilize your hands, you slipped and felt him hit the back of your throat. "F.U.C.K." You thought. "Does he know I slipped or does he think I'm just amazing?!"

You remembered your roommate telling you the crazy shit her and her boyfriend do. "Yeah, it's really simple once you get your breathing under control. When you master that, you could choke back an actual eggplant." She told you one night after she stumbled in half naked. You promised to take her to coffee as a thank you for her invaluable advice on the subject.

"Ho– holy shit, y/n. That, that's – oh fuck." Geto was restraining himself from thrusting upwards anymore. You were doing well enough on your own.

Bringing your right hand up, you wrap it around his length and begin to stroke him. Your mouth still holding the tip, you lick him with a flat tongue.

"Y/n y/n y/n, fuck ..." He sounds and feels like he's close. You can detect the slight contracting in your mouth when you touch him a certain way or roll him around in your hot, wet mouth.

Geto reached down and cupped your face in his hands. "S-s- M'gonna, hah, ." You sat up, your skirt still somehow held in place at your waist. Your upper legs are shiny from sweat and your juices mixing around.

Geto was lifting his hips off of the couch, and the hand he had on the back of your head was becoming more firm and careless in its grip.

You started breathing heavily through your nose, preparing yourself for what you were about to do.

You took him so far deep, so suddenly, that he let out a noise you were sure was a staple in his infancy.

He leaned forward a bit and grabbed your shoulder with his right hand, and softly put his left on your ear.

"Fuck, y/n. Fucking h– oh, mmhhm, ffffuckkk!" You felt the heat hit the back of your throat and you instinctually swallowed.

You sat up and wiped your face with your forearm. It took him a moment for him to regain his composure, but he was smiling at you like you'd told him the secret to a happy life.

"Y/n. Why are you just sitting there?" The question caught you off guard. "Was – was I supposed to go?" Geto extended his arm to you, and you took it.

He pulled you up onto his lap, and you let out a little squeak at how easily he hauled you over. "Geto ... what'cha, what'cha doin'?"

"Calm down." He chuckled before he settled back into his spot on the couch. He sat you down, straddling him again, but this time, his pants were down.

"C'mere, sweetheart." He pulled you close into him, and he kissed you. Geto's arms wrapped around your waist, and his large hands kneaded the muscles on your back.

You kissed each other so deeply and slowly that you never wanted to stop. Your tongues twist around, leaving you both breathless but unwilling to be the first to pull away.

His bottom lip trailed from your neck to your collarbone, sending shivers down your spine. You let out a soft moan as his hands slid down your back.

You couldn't take the teasing you anymore. His cock was pressing into your wetness, practically begging to be swallowed up into you. "Geto ..." You tried to plead with his reasonable side. But he had no reasonable intentions right now.

Geto whispered in your ear, "You can have it all if you want." The temptation lingers to see how long you can dance over him like this. But ultimately, you sit down on him, taking his cock all the way inside of you.

Both of you throw your heads back, wildly different sounds erupting from your throats. Geto moaned deeply as you enveloped him. His skin was so hot to the touch. "Fuck Geto, ya feel s'good."

He raised your shirt above your chest and ran his thumbs over your nipples. "You're so fucking tight, y/n. Shit, I could – ah, fuck. I could cum right now."

You hastened your movements on him. The way his cock drags against your hot walls was clouding out the reality around you. "Mm–me t-to. Oh god, mmhmm. G'na cum!"

Geto slid his hand between your legs to rub your clit but he wasn't halfway with his reach when the two of you came together.

"Fuck, pretty girl." He lifted you up just enough to see him still inside of you. You looked down to see your body already letting go of the combined juices.

"Now, y/n. I have to ask. Do you love me? Or was that just sex?"

You laughed as your face turned a bright red. "I dunno. I think it's you who loves me."

Geto hooked his arms under your legs and flipped you onto your back on the couch. "Whoo! What're you doing!" You giggled and brushed his hair from his face.

"From a scientific perspective, I think this is going to require a lot of research."

You rolled your eyes, smirking. Geto lined himself up with you and eased his way in.

"For ... mm, ah ... for science!"

□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□

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kendrixtermina · 2 years

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Bringing the Passions into Consciousness

Now it is often said about the passions that the terms for them are not meant in the modern english sense, and often unconscious enough to seem counterintuitive to the uninitiated. I’ve been into this topic for years & looking to catch corresponding patterns in myself, but though I understood it abstractly & intellectually of course, I feel like it was only this december that I really „spotted“ it.

Perhaps the process can be hastened for others if ppl of different types relate their experience with this.

Though mostly I’ve seen some very concrete ‚its that specific feeling or sensation‘ type descriptions for some & not for others and I want to complete the set in my understanding.

I’ll go first aboard the humiliation train because it is only fair. I want your answers pretty bad.

It was really 2 separate events that led me to put together, with the first sort of cracking my illusions and the other shattering them.

Event 1:

I had hooked up with this dude. It was fun. I listened to his life story, gave some advice, (effectively diagnosing him with Nine), told him some funfacts about the nerve endings of the nether regions and then making a demonstration, it was all rather fun.

Eventually that was done & we sat there together.

He suggested we might go again. But idk how long it was gonna take till that was possible. I perceived that he probably wanted to talk with me some more, or that’s how it seemed. But I didn’t want to commit at this point to spending the whole evening with him.

So I steered the conversation towards a conclusion, thanked him for the experience and politely excused myself, saying that I’d prefer to go back to the bar for now.

So then I was sitting there, on my own, having walked back to the bar, sipping my drink.

And I think to myself:

„Ah, I feel so relaxed right now. Delighted, even. It had been a while since I’d gotten such thorough release.“

I remembered & pondered upon something from a book I’d been reading earlier about the role of sex in physiological self-regulation.

I thought that I’m really glad that this thing happened today.

„Why didn’t I stay longer, anyway?“ I wondeed. „It might have been nice. „

Perhaps the fact that I was thinking all this after leaving might be accounted as an example of a delayed reaction.

And that’s when it occurred to me to ask myself why the hell I was in such a hurry to leave then.

Like – why? Why had I done that? I didn’t come here so I could sit on my own, but rather precisely because I’d felt like doing something else for once. Why didn’t I talk to him more? There was no clear reason not to. He wasn’t pushy; It wasn’t late yet. I got the sense that he liked me, so, why?

Why did I put my clothes on right away? I’d just… reacted, I suppose, to a perceived request.

Event 2:

I was visiting my relatives over the winter break.

I’d set up my laptop in what was normally my mom’s study to have somewhere to dissapear to if needed. So that one evening, I was typing away at something or another, some fanfiction or some internet discussion, and once in a while I’d come out to go to the bathroom, get snacks, drink some water, stretch my legs a bit etc.

It just so happened that the youngest of my sisters (one more victim of the very strong night owl genes in our family) happened to be chilling in the living room. She was presumably a bit bored, so, when she spotted me, she’d come and talk to me, and invariably, my reply would be something like this:

„That’s really great, but now I’d like to get my water.“

„Eh, maybe not now, I’m thinking.“

„This sounds interesting but maybe we could do this some other time?“

I realized that I was just, immediately resisting being talked to, or trying at once to limit the time frame like „ok ill ask one more follow up question to show interest but then i go back“...why?

I could sit at my laptop at home to my heart’s content, after all. I had sat through an annoying, uncomfortable 6 hour train ride across the republic explicitly to spend time with my family – particularly the youngest sister whom I didn’t get that much time with since I moved out when she was pretty young. I had come here explicitly to spend time with her, so why wasn’t I doing it?

It’d be one thing if I’s been super busy or really tired, but I wasn’t doing anything that important and generally feeling alright. There was just no real reason why I couldn’t spare the 20 minutes that it would have taken to sit down and have a proper chat with her.

This event, I think, proved crucial because it was so obvious, so ridiculous – there was no rationalizing it away. There was no logical justification, no reason at all other than – well.

There it was. That ‚eugh, go away!‘ kind of feeling. That kneejerk urge to say no or do some bare minimum and then shut down the situation.

The Avarice(TM).

It must have been there all along of course. I can’t expect that no one ever noticed just cause I lowkey like to pretend I’m not actually in the room.

I recalled this anecdote where this guy on youtube related how his type 5 father would just conort his face like he’s being tortured if the grandkids overstayed his patience.

No wonder my ex reported feeling „unwelcome“ when he came to talk to me at my desk.

At least he didn’t know how often I was tempted to yell into a pillow when he phoned unexpectedly.

And then I’d put that away into a box, opened up another one, and picked up like „Hi babe!~ Nice to hear from you <3“

Neither Cordon nor Palmer were exaggerating that much with these descriptions contrary to what I’d first thought.

"God, that’s so fucked up!" I thought. "I’m terrible! I’m revolting." What a sad, absurd, hapless creature*.*

That’s so terrible I can almost only laugh about it. Who wants a shitty selfish sister who never plays with you? Who wants some creepy girlfriend who is always at her laptop and seems to resent your very presence? I’m all talk. I have no capacity to lift a finger for anyone. I should just do everybody a favor and crawl away into some cave and never come back out...

That’s when the voice of reason kicked in: ‚oh look, an association spiral. How very w4. Is that helpful right now? Save it for the poems.‘

I’ve never believed in sins, deadly or otherwise. It’s pointless to assign overmuch meaning, value judgement or secret intent to an automatic kneejerk reaction.

What I have to do is be mindful of going on autopilot. Make a habit of checking if I really want to say no – same way some 9 would have to ask themselves ‚do I really want to say yes?‘

Maybe I do want to talk to that person. Maybe I do want to stay a while.

Pushing past resistance to do tasks is much harder, there’s no guarantee that I can really do it.

I’ve tried to sense it, locate it, physically, like they say in the books – that took several months more.

There’s a tense feeling in my stomach. A flinch of apprehension or resistance, when I want to start on a task – that’s the hardest to push against, where it starts concerning sp stuff. I know very much that for all that I may be overestimating them, my limits are not wholly imaginary.

I actually am sensitive, though I may be reflexively overcompensating for it.

I have at times backed half a step away if suddenly spoken to in the street.

Even when I’m writing some posts on here & thinking ‚Hm, is that still relevant to the topic? Does that not expose me to reactions‘ - „the words catch in the wiremesh of my heart“ (which is perhaps a more natural way for me to express/ say it than anything physical based.)

Well. I must not let it stop me or overmaster me.

(though, lest you worry, I did end up having some quality conversations with my sister eventually during that winter break & she really liked my gift, so there sort of was a happy ending.)

#enneagram #typology #enneagram 5 #5w4

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lycheermne · 5 months

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Day 4: Introspection

Maybe I should try something differently from the way that I journal. Apparently I can draft these journals and can revisit them when I have a revisiting thought. Maybe I wouldn't do this long run, since there is something satisfying about just clicking Post Now after I am done typing my thoughts out, but I would only try this out because I figured something out at 1 PM.

I remember I used to have a distaste on listening to a more sadder, melacholy, bittersweet sounding music as it would often make me face my feelings. My only justification as to why I don't listen to those types of music is because even the upbeat sounding music makes me sad either way; there is always a bittersweet context under every song that I associate it with, like drowning the music out in a club as I sit hopelessly in the bathroom. There is something about music mirroring your true emotions, and listening to the music I would avoided actually is beneficial to me. That even as I drowned myself in sadness, there is a point of perseverance and peace that I face that would make me thankful rather than sink myself to the bottom of a void with a lighted casted on me like it is interrogating my silence.

Throughout this break I had only realized that the life that I have is something that I ultimately would be content about; soft, peaceful, settling down, rather than sporadic and full of artificial fun around me that I can only enjoy because I have to. There is something beautiful about loving and longing for the world around me as I walk to admire the other people having fun. I seem to enjoy seeing the fun rather than being in the fun at times, as I have always been seen from other friends to be a source of laughter and life. Sometimes a product of laughter and life needs her inspiration and downtime to continue to be who she is authentically. I am currently laying on my bed with pillows that need hourly intervals of adjustment to make me comfortable as I am reading on my laptop placed on my body. Blue light glasses are often lost in my bed or on the dresser, often I would be lazy to reach for it because of a comfortable position that I don't want to get off from. I really need to wear those more often, and I am getting new ones since the ones I have been using has sort of lost its use at times.

My next dilemma that I have currently at 3:45 is Instagram, where all of my friends posts their winter break. I have deleted it ever since winter break started, roughly around 10 days, and so far I have been content with knowing more about myself. Until I logged back on again. There was a particular person that I have kept my tabs on, and when I looked at her posts, many things circulated my mind. She looked like she was enjoying herself, and there was something that the way my chest felt a bit heavier. Was I jealous that she was having fun? I knew she liked me, but there were things on my mind such as: Do I like her? Or do I like the thrill of being liked back? Am I falling behind as all of my friends were doing their own lives? Selfishly, I wanted to be the person to always have the fun around too, but now I really can't help but think that maybe, I am glad that she is having fun as winter break is happening. Maybe I deleted instagram because I wanted to avoid my friends in hopes that I achieve peace for myself, but there seems to be an internal struggle once I opened my app. Maybe it was the FOMO, definitely.. the FOMO.

However, if there is one thing that I also realized is that, social media tends the hide the reality of how fun some things are. I can attest to that, to any hangouts that I have had with my friends. A picture is only taken on one frame, but sometimes it does not entirely encaptures how things are truly. Everything posted on social media can honestly be toxic for me in the long run and considerably harmful for other friends too, constant comparison and the idealism to uplift towards the lifestyle that other people want to see for themselves. Maybe in reality that is sort of why I had wanted to delete social media in the first place all throughout break all this time. I do not want to mindlessly follow something that is seen on social media, a place full of exploitation in which the marketing hooks onto consumerism can be a platform for people's worst weapons, themselves and others. Insecurities, addiction, comparison, consumerism, I have always wanted to do things out of spite -- and writing this makes me feel better as to hopefully not stray away to what I really believe in. I can not fall into the mindsets that I have always wanted to avoid, and social media tends to play into this as someone who has constantly been on it for years.

Getting rid of selfish habits that I have indulged myself in as a product of social media is going to take a while, neither the fact that my journey towards becoming a better person for myself is going to be easy, yet what many people always forget to do these days is to love themselves and to know themselves more. Writing my feelings for the past few days have made me realized how more in tune I am with my feelings, open and honest. In a relationship, there is so much more about communication that I have realized and if I am this vunerable and open to communication towards myself, might as well date myself because of how well I have known me. My mind feels a lot more lighter knowing that my feelings have been typed out rather than it being repressed. Hopefully by then, I can continue doing this.

After thinking about it, I think I do like saving the journal drafts instead of just posting it out of the moment. Maybe occasionally if I don't have a fleeting thought and the thought is short and simple, but other than that, I like to just keep it on hold.

If there is one thing that my mind is just wandering about, it is really just Overwatch with good friends and reading. I think I really do have a current fixation on Miyuki Kazuya, I really love him as a character even though he is an asshole. I like that in people though unsurprisingly, asshole with just a passion or smarts in something. It motivates me to be who I am since I do feel somewhat related to that feeling of being an asshole that likes to poke fun, while still being somewhat confident about my intelligence in a way. In the same regard, he really is just a random comfort character.. would I even say he is a comfort character? He makes me happy, as well as Sawamura Eijun, they both are lovely characters.

The feeling of random dislike and discomfort is coming back again anytime that I am alone. I always have thoughts of things that I feel guilty about, things that are not proud. I always think about being in the shoes of others and what their mindset is when they think about this, but maybe it is not the healthiest since it feels like projection of what I would say in judgement of myself. These thoughts always come up anytime I think about what my choir director said about disrespecting something that is a heavy topic that we do not want to spread around in the program, but he is spreading it himself. I felt angry, why would he do that? Thankfully, the people that he told it to also feel that same anger that we have for something like this. I always think to myself, what if he wants people to find out what he is doing so that everyone can gang up on him and when the bad guy is out, everyone can live in peace? This type of philosophy, utilitarianism, has been stuck with me ever since I have watched a random analysis on Code Geass. Good analysis on Youtube, changed my life really. I don't really want to hold this sort of grudge over winter break, next week we will start anew into a new era of choir music for this year. Any who, I feel content that I still am continuing to do this journal and I want to do it as a regular hobby not some sort of past time to regulate my feelings that were all over the place. I think writing has saved me from going down a drain of despair, since last week I was repressing these same feelings now. Crazy.

Anywho, Alex, do not really think about these moments at all, because everything is in the past. Be content with what is now, you played a lot of games with your two best gaming friends, and they make you happy when they are both there. I find a sense of comfort in the both of them, including one of them since we sort of click. I see him as a little brother or maybe a twin that I can poke fun at. Be grateful that you can sit on your bed reading your fics in a giddly matter rather than deal with something that is uncomfortable. I do not want to be full of hate as a past time for myself, being happy and in ignorance is the best feeling that you can have.

Anyways, I love you Alex. I really do. I love you so much that I can just cry by looking at you in a mirror and seeing how far you have come. I love love love love you so much that there is already a tight feeling in my chest as I type this. You are doing the right thing for yourself, regulating, and wanting to become a better person to be an honest and lovely person for me. I love you. I love you. Never change and be happy for what you have. There is beauty in the little things that you are currently not seeing right now, please, love them for what they are instead of taking it for granted. Love the people around you, love the life you are living in, romanticize it. Romanticize it instead of playing Devil's Advocate and seeing too much of the dark realities of something innocent for you. Be cute, be pretty, be carefree, laugh, clap while you laugh, cry while you smile, I love to see it in you like I love seeing it in others. I love you, you are a kindred soul in a sea of a billion people for me. I want to see you love so carefree in yourself as you self discover yourself in the most beautiful way, like a sunflower growing it's petals out for light to take in.

Love you.

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missp4st3lmonster · 1 year

Text

December 7th 2022-3:30 AM

I cannot find it in me to sleep.

This will not be my typical blogpost but rather a ramble to get things off my mind- journaling.

A series of things happened tonight that overwhelmed me and I will not go into them until I feel like it to not stir it up in my mind again.

I’m typing this from my phone because our wifi is not working. I would rather use my laptop.

I want to start working towards a better me and better habits.

Drinking lots of water

Getting exercise

Doing all school work early not procrastinating

Being social

Checking in on loved ones

Self love

Skin care regularly

Plenty of sleep

Working on my own goals

Remembering to tell those I love that I love them

Reading

Listening to audio book versions of the Bible—oddly calming for me, maybe because of my childhood?

I find myself worrying for my boyfriend. He got drunk and vented to his friends in a server I too am in about some things that really hurt him. I didn’t know what to say since it involved something I knew little to nothing of. I want to offer support but know it won’t be much use.

I rely on words of affirmation more than I would like, he messages me, but I wish he did more. I wish he was actively interested in me. He loves me I do not doubt it, it just isn’t expressed how I want no matter how unhealthy. I know it’s a personal issue but I project it.

I love my family but only two days into winter break and I want time away from them.

I want my ideal body now but I know it will take time to achieve.

I want to be happy always.

I want to learn more piano.

I miss staying the night with my boyfriend, it feels almost lonely in my bed.

I wish my college advisor would respond to my email so I could sort out this next years schedule.

I Hope I can be a good RA and be a good support system.

I want to talk future with my boyfriend of technically over a year now (it’s complicated) but can’t bring it up without feeling awkward. He wants to move states but I plan to attend law school. He graduates in a little over a year. I just don’t want us to consider this long term if things won’t work out.

I wish we Facetime or called

I feel so lonely when I’m not with someone and it aches.

I should be writing positive things to encourage positive thoughts but I would be lying if these things weren’t on my mind.

While I want to live my life as if I was currently the person I want to be, I find myself Al to often laying around as it is more comfy.

Everything is starting to bore me, games, tv, YouTube, social media, etc. it’s irritating. It’s like I can’t ever be comfortable.

I want to balance caring for others and myself but it is difficult.

My room is a mess since I still have some things I have not unpacked from college. I want it clean but with limited storage it��s a difficult feat. I don’t want to become complacent like my mother. She is wonderful in many ways but things like this is not one of them.

My family depends on me so much it’s stressful.

Here I sit hunched over in a chair typing this and all I can think of is how I’m ruining my posture or how I could be sleeping right now. I want to cry but can’t find it in me to somehow. I have all I need yet I am not satisfied. Not in a “I need more” way, but rather a “this is too good to be true so I must be missing something” way. I feel like any second something could go terrible. I wish I had a job for my own personal income. Unfortunately no one wants to hire someone just for the month of December.

I need to find ways to encourage me to focus on my studies this next semester and enjoy them. I’ve lost a passion for learning. It’s a shame really.

I wish music would stop playing in my head, some silence for once would be nice. Just me, my bed, and the sound of my fan. All in a cold room under a warm blanket.

If it wasn’t almost 4 AM I would shower, but I need to wake up around 8 AM. I need to get my car looked at after I hydroplaned and spun off the road last week.

I want to listen to something to fall asleep but earbuds are irritating me at the moment.

It’s like tonight I have found discomfort in everything. I am grateful for many things though. I am abundantly lucky. I am extremely fortunate in many ways for my life, my living conditions, and much more. So why does my mind still find a way to feel miserable.

I guess this devolved into a vent journal. No shame in that from time to time I guess. I hope that this is an uncommon thing. It would be depressing otherwise. Maybe some people are just stuck being unhappy people? But I am happy…just not always, like right now. If I could, I would just have a frowned upon lifestyle of sleeping till I feel like getting up, doing what I feel like that day, going back to bed, and repeat. But I want to be more than that. I want to be successful and financially stable and able to help others especially those who have helped me.

I’m starting to finally get sleepy. Love you all. Really. Even people who don’t read this. The universe. I love y’all. For doing what you do on a daily basis. Even if what you do is “nothing”. I love y’all for continuing to go each day. Continuing to wake up. We are all different though some similar. And I love that. The fact that some people are capable of things others aren’t. I love knowing that there are so many people out there with varying potential in varying things. I want to say more but I really may fall asleep in my chair at this rate

With love,

Miss PastelMonster

#girlblogging #blog #insomniac #tired #vent? kinda #absolutely exhausted #existence is complex #what is motivation #journal #getting things off my mind #unsure of way to do #can I even fix this #is this fixable #am I helpless #am i the problem?#why am i still awake #why am i even posting this

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lex-munro · 2 years

Text

[Glitter on the Wet Streets: Part 5] The Men Cry Out, the Girls Cry Out

The clues point to Trust A Bro Moving Company, where Eddie meets an important-looking guy in a red tracksuit and proceeds to get himself into trouble.

Chapter 5 of (probably?) 12.

Why do I insist on naming chapters instead of numbering them when I’m notoriously Bad At Titles™? A mystery for the ages…

Warnings: Canon divergent based on the MCU. Oblique spoilers for Black Widow, Wandavision, The Falcon and the Winter Soldier, Hawkeye, and Daredevil. Discussion of abusive relationships (both romantic and platonic) and recovery from abuse. Brief ableist language, quickly corrected by those present. Peter and MJ have been making Venom go to therapy (without actually going to therapy). Canon typical violence. Brief descriptions of wounds/regeneration. Language: PG-13 (primetime TV plus s***, f***, and g**damn).

Pairing: Matt/Eddie, background Peter/MJ, past Eddie/Venom.

Timeline: A year after the events of No Way Home, but concurrent with the events of Hawkeye (told you it was canon divergent), sort of. Like, I know Yelena’s chat with Kate was the 22nd, and that was just one night before Clint confronted Maya, but SHUSH I PUT ANOTHER DAY IN HERE FOR MAH FLOW. This universe has Hawkeye set a whole year later than canon, so I can do what I want *throws glitter at you, but bioglitter because microplastics*.

Disclaimer: I doesn’t owns the movies or the characters. Or the assorted objects of pop culture reference.

The Men Cry Out, The Girls Cry Out

The intel from Rafa’s phone shows calls from ‘Ivan’ days before each suspicious article, and just once a call from ‘K’ the day before an article (after a series of back-and-forth calls with ‘Ivan’).

“What do we do with this information?” Ned asks aloud as they all stare at the newly gathered data on the case board.

“Well, Ivan must be the contact within the Tracksuit Mafia,” MJ concludes. “He must be the guy I saw handing Rafael money. So then this ‘K’ dude must be someone higher up, somebody who had to get involved when Rafa was pushing back or wasn’t able to get a writer to fall in line.”

“None of which helps us find them,” Eddie concludes with a sigh.

“Maybe if you weren’t so busy with your defective toy, you could have gotten more info this morning,” Venom scoffs.

“Whoa!” they all yell.

“Not cool!” Peter tells the symbiote sternly.

“Only an ableist asshole whips out the D-word,” says MJ.

“Like, we get that you’re working this jealous-bitter-ex thing, but there’s such a thing as good taste,” adds Ned.

“I am not jealous,” Venom grumbles, sulking in a creepily bubbling mass in Peter’s collar.

MJ grabs Ned’s laptop. “I’m gonna do some searching. That Ivan guy got into the same kind of moving truck I saw in the chase footage on the news. Some kind of dark green, with the attic-space extension over the cab.”

“I’m gonna go get us some donuts,” Ned says, tucking tail the way he usually does when suffering secondhand embarrassment.

“No,” Peter hisses to himself. “No, I’m gonna tell him. Because this whole thing between you is really becoming intolerable again and it’s your fault for not talking about it, so I’m gonna tell him!”

Eddie waits.

“Mr. Brock, Venom needs to tell yo—”

“Don’t you dare!” growls the symbiote, lashing out with a tendril that Peter easily dodges. “Hold still so I can kick your skinny ass!”

At that point, they become a mess of flailing limbs and deflected strikes (and at one point an alarming amount of pointy teeth which then get mercilessly punched with a super-strong fist).

“Don’t break my shit, or I’ll set you on fire,” MJ threatens, eyes still locked on her Internet search.

“Venom feels really terrible for making you feel bad before and that’s why he keeps getting angry when people bring it back up,” Peter rushes to say before dodging another strike. “Also, he’s really jealous of Mr. Murdock because he’s always wanted to make you smile like that.”

With a growled accusation of betrayal, Venom rips free of Peter and splashes into the enormous aquarium in the living room. Peter shakes himself like a dog (Eddie remembers that awkward, ticklish, semi-naked feeling of having Venom leave).

“Don’t hurt my fish, either!” MJ yells.

And shit, now Eddie kind of wants to go sit by the fish and talk about their shit. Therapeutic, or whatever.

But what the fuck good would that do? Not like V’s learned a damn thing. He ends up in a body he can’t bully, the kid outs his emotions, and his response is to go pout in a fish tank?

Unbidden, the memory of that botched breakfast surfaces. Venom had tried to get Eddie and Anne back together to make Eddie happy, and when Eddie gave up, Venom tried to make breakfast to cheer him up…

Being shit at it doesn’t mean he’s not trying.

Stupid damn parasite isn’t gonna get better at being a friend if nobody shows him how.

So Eddie goes and sits next to the fish tank.

“Hey,” he says without looking. “Not a fun feeling, is it? When somebody you love—somebody you’re in love with—does things against your wishes and you can’t stop them.”

“if you’re here to gloat, you can fuck off,” says a tiny, soggy voice.

“Not gloating. Just pointing out I know how it feels. I also know how it feels for somebody you’re in love with to make you feel like you’re constantly fucking up.”

“i don’t feel like that.”

“Yes, you do. And you made me feel like that, too. There’s a lotta stuff I like about Matt, but that’s my favorite: he goes outta his way to make sure I don’t feel like a fuckup. I told him last night—I like who I am around him, and I haven’t liked myself in a long time.”

“…not even when we were together?”

“No, V. When we were together, I liked us, and I loved you. But I hated me.”

Venom is quiet for a long time. “i was a shitty friend,” he decides. “and a very shitty boyfriend. but you loved me anyway.”

“Yeah, I did.”

“i’m sorry, eddie. i am bad at being kind. peter says i have unresolved trauma, and according to the internet, he’s right. he has suggested we hug it out, but i am not a fan of hugs, as you know.”

Eddie looks over his shoulder and sees a jellyfish-like blob of blackness floating in the water. “Okay, that’s progress. You can’t exactly talk to a therapist or nothin’, but maybe you could talk to me?”

“my first host was a kree soldier,” Venom says in a slightly bigger voice. “i was a weapon, regardless of my own wishes. when riot and the others rebelled, i ran away with them. riot said we could never trust a host, and we should kill them before we could be used again. i didn’t kill my host; that is why i was a loser on that asteroid. they called me weak and trusting. naïve. i hurt you because i wanted to feel strong, which dr. phil says is a classic expression of generational abuse cycles, but does not excuse bad behavior when we know it to be hurtful.”

Eddie is grudgingly impressed. “Dr. Phil, huh? So you really have been working on yourself?”

“peter and mj have forced me to. but also i want to be better. for him. for you. for whoever hosts me next. i have to fix what the kree broke in me, or i’ll only keep hurting my hosts. i have a lot of anger, but the people who deserve it are dead.”

Wow. Venom definitely has a better handle on identifying his issues than Eddie ever has, which is kind of humbling. Eddie clears his throat and nods. “Good, uh…good for you, V. And…apology accepted.”

“…he’s the one who makes me feel like a fuckup, not peter. that’s why i don’t like him.”

Eddie frowns. “Who, Matt?”

“it was so easy for him to make you smile, and he can’t even appreciate it. you’re pretty when you’re happy.”

“I’m really not.”

“you are. anne always thought so, too.”

Eddie clears his throat again, pretending not to be flattered and embarrassed. “You want me to go get Parker?”

“i will stay here for a while. the fish are relaxing.”

~*~*~

MJ’s (extremely thorough) search determines that the green trucks were at the underground auction, at the apartment fire, at the bridge chase, and at the scene of the bribe. ‘Trust A Bro Moving Company,’ which is a part of Sloan, the company Eleanor Bishop spoofed onto her fiancé’s file. Other Sloan businesses include Fat Man Used Cars and Fat Man Gym. It’s like Kingpin gets his jollies from daring people to find his shadier dealings.

So, here’s the team mascot, the faithful Great Dane, poking around with the most harmless, airheaded persona he can.

“Hello?” Eddie calls as he sticks his head in the door (a bell jingles discordantly, several years past its prime). There’s nobody in the front office, but he can hear talking in the next room.

A guy in a red tracksuit comes out with a fake-ass smile. “Happy holidays! What can a bro move for you, sir?”

“Yeah, sorry, I just saw one of your trucks in my neighborhood the other day,” Eddie says, waving his thumb at the green eyesore outside. “My place just burned down, and I was wonderin’, do you guys haul junk and trash? ‘Cause my landlord’s telling me I gotta spring for the cleanup if I want him to pay the repairs, and I looked in my rental agreement and the tightwad’s right. I got a quote from some contractor guy who was staking the place out, but it’s a little rich for my stomach, if ya know what I mean.”

Mr. Customer Service gives a slightly more sincere smile. “Sure, bro, we’ll haul anything. Junk’s even easier, since you don’t care if it gets broken.”

“Great! You got, like, a form for me to fill out?”

They do. It asks for his name, phone number, address, estimated square footage, preferred pickup time, destination, and payment method. The payment options listed are ‘Cash,’ ‘Traveler’s Check,’ and ‘Gift Card.’ Oy vey. Why not just put ‘money launderers’ on the front window?

“Oh, good, you take cash,” Eddie says cheerfully. “Everybody seems to want plastic these days, but who can afford all the fees, am I right? Banks are just gangs of thieves in suits anyhow. Wall Street bastards, overcharging honest folks into obliv—”

“Thank you very much, we will call you soon!” the guy interrupts, snatching up the form with gritted teeth.

Something suicidal in Eddie can’t resist snarking with, “I catch you at a bad time? Bro?”

The guy visibly collects himself and huffs out a humorless laugh. “Ah, yes, sorry. I don’t mean to be rude, but my boss has really been on my back. You know how it is, holiday rush…”

“Yeah, no, I get it. The big guy’s riding you to get results. Must be rough, being a slave to the Fat Man’s whims.”

Mr. Customer Service is no longer amused. “What did you say?”

Eddie casually points to the jolly ceramic figure on a nearby desk. “Y’know—Santa.”

“Ah. Yes.”

“Happy holidays,” Eddie says with a smile, and walks out.

Outside in the cold, he shoves his hands in his pockets and curses himself.

“Great job, Eddie, always gotta poke the fuckin’ bear… Trying to take down this evil bastard is what got you run outta town before.”

He pauses a step, then starts walking again.

What if some of what he knows carries over? The presidents have been the same, the key senators are the same… Yeah, there are people with super powers, and that’s a pretty big diff, but other shit seems real close.

He found five laundering businesses, two arms stockpiles, and a drug lab, all an instant too late to tie it to Fisk before shit got sanitized or scapegoats got trotted out. What if even some of it’s the same? Two of the laundering operations were on MJ’s list for Sloan.

“Heh, mascot, my ass,” he mutters. “Get some Scooby Snacks ready, kids…”

He calls MJ just because she’s his usual point of contact, so it won’t look weird if Rafa or somebody gets his phone. After a few rings, it goes to voicemail.

“Shit. You guys better not be in trouble and need rescuing right now, or I’ll ground you all for life. I’m chasing some old leads, hoping they’ll turn into new leads. Once upon a time, there was a guy named Lopez who worked at a place called Fat Man Auto Repair, which happens to be on the same property as Fat Man Used Cars, and he was definitely in deep with organized crime near Hell’s Kitchen.”

And away he goes.

~*~*~

And really, the first warning should have been the boarded windows.

The second warning should have been the angry chick stomping off into the snow just as the sun came back out.

Red flag number three should have been all the Tracksuits lollygagging around the place.

But, hey, all that seemed to point to Eddie being right. Deliciously, beautifully, vindicatingly right.

The bloom of hot pain just below his ribs seems to point to Eddie being a goddamn idiot.

The guy who pulled the trigger looks surprised for a moment, like maybe he never shot anybody before, but then he gets that mad dog look they sometimes do, and he pulls the trigger again, and a third time.

It’s not Eddie’s first time being shot, but the novelty hasn’t worn off yet. It hurts, and he can’t catch his breath, and his hands are shaking too badly to put pressure on the wound. Wounds. And that’s problematic, since he doesn’t have an alien goo monster putting him back together.

So much for those Scooby Snacks…

Somebody is yelling—roaring. There’s a fight going on somewhere, but Eddie’s trying to stay on his feet, but he can’t remember why…

It doesn’t hurt when he hits the ground. It’s cold and wet and crunchy. And red.

White sky, high up.

Can’t catch his breath.

His mouth tastes like pennies and warm milk.

There’s something heavy on his chest—in his chest?

Gloved fingers on his face, then bare skin. His ears are filled with a low hiss and a high ringing. Someone’s talking, far away. More voices. Crying out. They sound sad. More fingers, smaller.

MJ’s pinky ring stings like a bitch when she slaps him. For a moment, the ringing clears. “You’re going into shock,” she says loudly, firmly. “Focus. Squeeze Matt’s hand. Ned says Peter’s—”

Her voice fades away under the ringing again, and he chokes for a moment before managing a cough. But then he still can’t catch his breath. Something liquid is sliding down or up, like accidentally swallowing pool water, or getting his sinuses irrigated when he had a bad infection…

White.

Cold.

And then nothing.

I got us.

Black. Sliding between bone and tissue, eating the misplaced blood to use as raw material, growing holes closed, discarding three little lumps of lead.

Nestling back in the hollow space between stomach and heart where it belongs.

HOME

Whole.

Wet fingers squeezing his—theirs—a little too hard.

Matt

They squeeze back, and Eddie manages to open his eyes. “Well, that coulda gone better,” he admits.

Matt laughs at him, but he’s crying, too—nose gone pink and hair mussed from the mask discarded next to him in the snow—and he’s so damn pretty. “I’d yell, but Foggy would call me a hypocrite.”

“I thought the Devil only came out at night.”

“What, like a blind lawyer would have been a ton of help against those guys?”

“Coulda made cute faces at ‘em till they either adopted you or begged for mercy.”

Matt yanks him upright and into a hug.

Two other sets of hands touch his back.

“Had us worried, Scoob,” MJ teases, but Venom can taste the heat in her hands, hear them trembling ever so softly.

“Sorry,” says Peter. “I’m sorry. I know you said you didn’t want him, but I couldn’t think of anything else, and he didn’t want to do it against your will, but I made him do it, and it saved your life, so—”

“Parker.”

Venom curls away from Eddie’s heart for a moment, but settles right back.

“What I said was, it wrecked me when he left.”

STAYING

“Yeah, for how long?” Eddie retorts.

missed you love you. home. home not going not ever never neverneveragain.

“Said that last time.”

what if

He waits.

He can feel Venom curling through his thoughts, less obtrusive than the other times he’s done it.

we could keep Matt. he can make me behave, and he can make you happy.

Eddie stares as Matt senses something and tilts his head with a little frown.

YES that settles it, i have decided we are KEEPING MATT. you are welcome.

Eddie laughs and kisses Matt’s cheek.

“Is that good?” Matt asks. “That seems good.”

“V says if he stays, we’re keeping you.”

You have something in your pocket. Bumpy paper. I read about it on the Internet! It says… Oh, that is SUPER-ROMANTIC, Eddie, you are being WOOED!

Aloud, the alien says, “MATT. Eddie is an idiot who cannot read the bump-writing, but I can read his bird-brain mind, and since I am the most helpful friend-boyfriend ever, read this and become intolerably smug!”

A black tendril nudges Matt’s right hand and settles under his fingers. After a moment, he looks confused, then stunned, then—as Venom predicted—smug. “So, I hear you and Snowflake are in the market for a place to stay long-term?”

“Uh,” Eddie says with all the charm and eloquence of a squirrel that ate somebody’s reefer stash.

“We can discuss that later,” MJ says. “Now that you’re not dead or dying, explain why the hell you thought it was a good idea to come here at all, let alone without backup. And keep in mind that you’re lucky your boyfriend has really weird attachment issues and that Peter followed Hawkeye and found out he sent a note to meet somebody here tonight so we were already on our way check it out.”

“Oh. Right. One sec—” He steals another kiss before handing Matt his mask. “Okay, so in my universe—”

(“Wait, what?” Matt says. “Shhhh,” says MJ.)

“—I had gathered up all kinds of great leads to taking down Kingpin, but I was just a tad too slow, and he got all his alibis and scapegoats and payoffs lined up. Bastard got me blacklisted from every paper in the city, sent me running to the opposite side of the country. I figured enough things were the same here that I might try to scope out my old leads. Unfortunately, it paid off. I still got more leads to follow up on, though, and with V aboard, I fix up good as new.”

“And I pay better attention.”

“Asshole.”

“It’s true! Remember Kasady and his little map?”

“You’re not cute enough to be smug about one case,” Eddie declares. “You’re gonna have to work your way up.”

“Tell you what, boys,” says Matt—well, the mask is back on and he’s just pulled on his gloves, so technically he’s Daredevil now. “I know a private eye who works pretty cheap when good people are getting the short end of some rich guy’s stick, and she happens to have kept off Fisk’s radar. Give me your list, and she and I can have a look.”

“No way, the Tracksuits are my scoop!” MJ growls.

“Also, two more superheroes, right here,” Peter adds, pointing to Eddie and himself.

Daredevil shakes his head. “You’re a minor, Peter.”

“Super! And a really good scientist-in-training!”

“Peter is objectively much more super and heroic than you are.”

“I will blast you out of my boyfriend and stuff you in a fish bowl,” Daredevil threatens.

“Kids, stop fighting or I will do all the heroics myself and probably end up dead again!” Eddie yells. When the others have shut up, he goes on at a more reasonable volume, “Babe, invite your PI friend to the Batcave. We’ll, uh, have a con-fab or whatever, divide the labor fairly, see about helping Hawkeye and nailing the Fat Man in time for Christmas.”

“How are we gonna pay her?” asks Peter.

Eddie heaves a sigh and pulls out his phone. “Snowflake has currently raised us twenty-seven thou and counting, thanks to that viral marketing thingy Queen MJ pulled.”

“H-h-how—”

MJ shrugs. “I tagged Flash and showed him that vid of you asleep in the suit with Snowflake on your lap. Did you know he has three hundred thousand followers on Insta and over a million on Twitter? He shared the GoFundMe link with the tag ‘give a buck for Spidey’s favorite kitty.’“

Peter looks slightly frightened. “I love you so, so much. Please never turn into a super-villain.”

“Now that’s out of the way,” MJ says, standing up and looking around the back lot of the auto shop. “Whaaaaat are we gonna do about all these unconscious goons? I think at least one probably needs a doctor. Daredevil got a little enthusiastic.”

“Mm. Sorry, not sorry.”

“Don’t worry—not judging. They shot the dog, John Wick kicked their asses.”

.End.

#fanfic #CANON DIVERGENCE #Venom liked the MCU so I let him stay as a treat #Matt/Eddie #rarepair #fandom: MCU #handwaving the hell out of this timeline #fic series: glitter (venom MCU)

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baekhansol · 3 years

Text

prologue: pretty please

pairing: werewolf!jackson x f!reader

genre: werewolf au, fluff, smut, angsty ending | rated: mature

word count: 3.6K

warnings: lying, fluff, oral (f receiving), slight orgasm denial, sort of nipple play (reader on self), unprotected sex, knotting, sort of awful sex I'm sorry jackson, angsty ending, and lmk if i am missing anything!

note: so this is the prologue to a series I am writing!! i hope you all really like it! I actually decided today it fits as more of a prologue than a chapter one, so :p please enjoy and maybe give me feedback idk also i know the smut in it sucks i'm sorry

You often found yourself in the library during the day, studying and doing homework or taking a break and watching anime. You had been sitting there for an hour or so, and it was starting to get busy. It always did around midterms and finals; you were just glad you found your own small table to sit at.

You were working on a paper when someone came up, smiling a bit awkwardly. “Hey, would you mind if I sit here? I’ll be quiet, I promise,” He says, hesitating to sit down. He had an accent that you couldn’t quite place, as it only happened with some words.

When you finish the sentence you were typing and look up, you do your best to hide your surprise at how handsome he was. He was absolutely stunning, making you question your own appearance. “Oh, um, sure,” you say, your cheeks flushing with heat as you make room for him.

“I’m Jackson, by the way,” He says as he pulls out the chair and sits, getting himself comfortable across from you.

“I’m Y/N,” you respond, still blushing.

“It’s nice to meet you,” he says, offering a charming smile as he pulls out his laptop.

The next week at the same time, he showed up again and asked, “Y/N, is it alright if I join you?”

You nod, a shy smile finding its way onto your face. “What are you studying?” you eventually ask him, tilting your head slightly.

“Business,” Jackson says, glancing up at you with a smile. “Actually, it’s my masters and I’m focusing on international business. What about you?”

When you tell him, he listens intently and asks polite questions- the right ones, too. Not the usual ones you always get.

The next week you’re running late and stop at the vending machine to grab your favorite candy. Going to your usual table, you do a double take when someone is already there. You pause awkwardly, only to realize it was Jackson waiting there with a second cup of coffee.

“Oh, hey Jackson,” you say, blushing as you join him.

He smiles at you, pushing one of the cups towards you. “I got you a coffee, just the way you like it.”

You suspiciously tilt your head, taking a sip, only to be surprised that it was the way you liked your coffee. “How did you know?” you laugh, getting out your laptop.

“I know some of the workers,” he sheepishly admits. You laugh and open the candy, offering him some.

“I shouldn’t, I’m on a diet,” he says with a pout.

“Oh, come on,” you scoff, raising an eyebrow.

He playfully rolls his eyes before grabbing a piece.

Soon, every Tuesday you would meet up with Jackson in the library. Before midterms, it became every Tuesday and Thursday until finals, when it was almost every day. It was on one of these Thursdays that he asked you, “Are you free tomorrow?”

You tilt your head, wondering what he was getting to. He seemed to always have plans on Fridays during your normal study time, and you tried not to study too late since the library closed early. “Uh, no, I don’t think so? Why do you ask?” you respond.

“Well, I was thinking that I could take you for a date! If you wanted to, that is…”

You could tell he was a little nervous, and you realized you were staring at him blankly. You let out an embarrassed laugh, nodding. “Yes, sorry, I was just… yes, I would like that,” you admit, shaking your head some.

“Great! I can pick you up after your class tomorrow? Just make sure you dress warm!” he says with a grin.

“You already have a plan? What is it? Tell me~?” you ask, pouting a little bit.

“Nope, it’s a secret!” he laughs, smiling brightly. “You have to wait until tomorrow to know!”

The next day, you woke up early to get ready. You wore warm clothes like he said, and did your makeup cutely but not excessively, especially since it seemed like you would be outside. In class, you were extra fidgety and kept checking the clock. It felt like time slowed, but you knew it was from your anticipation.

Right on cue as class ended, your phone vibrated. Checking it, you noticed a text from Jackson saying he was outside the building.

You all but run out of the classroom down to the parking lot, finding him standing outside grinning.

“Will you tell me what we are doing now?” you ask, giving him your puppy dog eyes.

“Maybe,” he teases, leading you to his car. He opens the door for you and even shuts it, getting in on the other side. “Does hiking sound okay? Then takeout and a movie at my place?” Jackson asks. You see a hopeful glint and the worry in his eyes, and your smile grows.

“That sounds wonderful!” you tell him.

“Great!” he says, starting to drive. “You’ll love it! I go here quite often, and it’s very pretty. I’ve seen some deer and some really neat birds before there.”

“Oh, really? Do you know what kinds of birds?” you ask, curious.

“Well, I’m not sure since they’re not the same as back home, but definitely some owls! I went out later than I should have. And I don’t know if it was a falcon, eagle, or hawk. But those too.”

“I think we have all three here,” you laugh.

“Well, that really doesn’t help identify it any, now does it,” he laughs with you.

“Not in the slightest,” you giggle.

“Well I guess if we see them, maybe you’ll know,” Jackson says, turning onto a gravel road.

“What am I, a bird expert now?” you laugh more.

“No, you’re just a native here,” he responds with a little pout.

“Still not a bird expert,” you point out.

“I know, but you will know better than me,” he reasons.

“Maybe, maybe not,” you say, shaking your head as he parks in a small parking lot.

“We are here!” Jackson says, turning off the car. He leads you over to the map by the trail entrance, glancing at it once before heading down.

“We’ll follow the blue markers this time,” he says, pointing them out on the tree.

“What do they mean? You didn’t give me time to read the map,” you say with a huff.

“They mean we’re going the correct way,” he tells you smartly.

“That’s not what I meant and you know it!”

“I know. And there’s nothing you can do about it but follow me and find out,” he teases you, taking your hand and leading you.

You’re both careful not to trip over any of the roots or loose rocks, and you start getting glances of white.

“Is that a river?” you ask, glancing at what looked like ice.

“Uh, maybe,” Jackson responded in an unbelievable manner. Of course he knew, he just wasn’t going to tell you.

Eventually, you made it to more of a clearing. Jackson didn’t even have to point to what it was he wanted to show you. You stood in awe instead.

Winter was definitely there, and you knew that since the little fountains on campus were frozen over. But this, this was a sight to behold. The entire river had frozen over, and what must usually be a gorgeous waterfall had frozen over. The water had frozen against the rocks, sharp spears of it dangerously hanging from the main body of water. You swore if the sun was just right, you could see some of the water on the very inside running down inside the thick, frozen ice.

“Isn’t it beautiful?” Jackson asks you, his voice hushed. All you could do was nod.

The next Tuesday, you got to the library first. “Want to go on a second date?” you bluntly ask him when he joins you.

He laughs before smiling, nodding. “Of course, I’d love to,” Jackson assures you.

You’re not sure if you can ever end up choosing a favorite date by the time finals end. Your last “date” was taking him to the airport. He was going home for the break, and you wanted to take him.

“I guess this is as far as we can go, huh?” you ask sadly, looking at the security checkpoint.

“Yeah, I’m sorry, Y/N,” Jackson says, fidgeting with his ticket as if he were nervous.

“Well, I’m sure everything will go well…” you say, almost more nervous than he was. “I mean, you’ve flown lots of times before, so this shouldn’t be any different…” you start to ramble in an attempt to console him.

He chuckles a little, gently putting his hand on your shoulder before tilting up your chin.

“Y/N, will you be my girlfriend?” Jackson softly asks, his dark eyes meeting yours.

Your heart leaped in your chest. You thought of him as your boyfriend, but you weren’t sure if you were official or not, so it made you a little nervous. But at his question, your lips smiled on their own, and you nod as much as you can for his hand holding onto your chin. “Yes!” you whisper.

“Can I kiss you?” he asks, causing you to blush and nod. Once given consent, he kisses you sweetly.

“I promise I’ll be back soon, okay?” Jackson says as he pulls away and picks up his things.

“Alright… be safe,” you tell him, feeling your cheeks burn.

“I will,” he assures you, kissing your cheek before leaving.

A few days later, when he was over jet lag, you face timed him. You were eating breakfast at the time, and he was eating dinner.

“How are you?” You ask, happy to see him again and hear his voice.

“I’m doing much better now that I get to see my beautiful girlfriend~” he coos playfully, causing you to laugh.

“Okay, okay. How was the plane trip? How are things going back home?” you ask, wanting more details.

“It went well, don’t worry. I am home safe, although it is a bit hectic at times,” he assures you.

“Why is it hectic? You’re on a break~ you need to relax!” you tell him with a huff.

“I know, I know, don’t worry, I am,” he again assures you.

“You better be,” you huff back, pouting slightly.

Just like that, your library dates were replaced with virtual ones. Some days you could only talk for a few minutes, some days you went on for hours. Every now and then, he even would sing you to sleep. You always slept well when he would.

When the holidays came, he ended up sending you a cd of songs he recorded to help you sleep.

When the semester started up again, you would meet in the library Mondays, Wednesdays, and Thursdays this time. You sat at the same table, but also flirted more when you studied. You made sure to keep up your grades, since they were incredibly important to you.

After the initial start up hump of the beginning of the semester, you started to remember something strange about Jackson that you had forgotten or just hadn’t had the time to realize before. It wasn’t quite a gut feeling of danger, but a feeling of something was wrong. He would get sick nearly every month for a few days without fail. In the last week of January, Jackson was out sick for over a week.

The following Monday, Jackson comes back to the library, and you immediately perk up. “Jackson, how are you feeling? Your roommate told me you were sick,” you ask him.

“I was, but I am feeling much better now,” he assures you, smiling.

You felt a tug in your stomach, and you knew he was lying. “Jackson, you get sick more often than… well, anyone I know. What’s wrong?” you insist.

He sighs, his smile faltering. “I have an immune disorder. I don’t like talking about it much, but I often get sick,” he tells you.

So, you believed him.

You believed him until your introductory anatomy course went over autoimmune disorders. He didn’t fit any of the basic descriptions for them. You ended up choosing to do a paper on the topic, so you ended up pressuring him more when he was at your place for a movie date night.

“Jackson, I’ve been working on a paper for autoimmune disorders. I may have to narrow it down to one in particular… So, I was wondering what one you had?” you ask him, wanting to be a supportive girlfriend.

He sighs and seems irritated about it, and you couldn’t quite tell what was wrong. “I’m sorry, Y/N. I just… I feel like I can’t tell you…” he admits, shocking you.

You felt like you had told him everything. You told him about your asthma, how your therapy sessions went, what you wanted to improve on, your insecurities about your body, even sexual things you had thought about eventually exploring with him.

But he couldn’t tell you this? After you told him about your mental health issues? You were shocked and speechless.

After a moment, you finally catch your thoughts. “Jackson… you know you can tell me anything, right?” you say softly, frowning and not realizing you were tearing up.

Jackson’s face softens, and he pulls you into a hug, rubbing your back. “I’m sorry, I know. You’re right,” he soothes, sighing slightly. “I just… don’t want you to hate me or think I am a freak or anything,” he further admits.

“Jackson, I love you. I could never,” you whisper. It was the first time you had said that.

His heart melts at your words, and he started tearing up. You pull away, and he cups your cheeks.

He lets out a short sigh, making up his mind. “Alright baby. Well, I’ll just say it,” he tells you, now opting to hold your hands. Jackson gently squeezes them as he admits, “I’m a werewolf.”

You pause, staring at him as you replay his words in your mind. You then pull away and laugh, shaking your head. “No, seriously Jackson,” you say, feeling anxious. Why would he lie to you?

“I am being serious,” he sighs, running a hand through his hair.

“Then-then prove it,” you say, but it comes out as more of a question.

Jackson sighs softly, tilting his head some. “Alright. Count to ten and come into your room,” he says, going in.

You huff, counting out loud.

“One.”

“Two.”

“Three.”

“Four.”

“Five.”

You stand up and head towards your room.

“Six.”

“Seven.”

“Eight.”

“Nine.”

“Ten.”

You turn the doorknob and say, “I’m coming in now.”

You open the door and are immediately greeted with a massive wolf. Oddly enough, he had the eyes of Jackson.

You quickly shut your door, knowing you weren’t allowed to have pets in your building.

“Um…” you begin, staring at him in confusion. You look around the room, wondering where Jackson was, only to notice his clothes on the floor. “So, you’re really-?” you begin, looking at the wolf again.

He nods and you groan, covering your face with your hands.

You hear him jump off the bed, and after hearing snapping and popping, you glance up and see Jackson pulling his pants back on. You quickly look away, your cheeks heating up as you try not to stare at his well defined body.

“Told you so,” he murmurs, smirking because he knew.

"Well this is rather awkward. What immune disorder do I choose to write about now?" You say with a laugh.

"Sorry babe. Let's go watch that movie now, yeah?" He suggests, taking your hand and leading you back to the living room.

After learning about werewolves, Jackson would take you on hiking dates. Sometimes he would run around as a wolf, and other times you would ride him like a horse, which was probably ridiculous to look at, if anyone ever saw you. But he liked to show off.

After finals, you stayed with him for a week. You weren't ready to go home yet, but you already had to move out of the dorm you were staying in.

You were cuddling with him and watching a movie. You felt your insides burn with anxiety, having been wanting to tell him something for a while, but too embarrassed to say. See, once you admitted you were a virgin, Jackson took things very slowly with you. You enjoyed giving him blowjobs after he taught you about how he would knot, and the furthest he went on you was giving you oral once.

But now you felt ready to progress your relationship further, but you didn't know how to say it.

"Jackson," you say, feeling your cheeks heating up.

"Yes, baby?" He says, looking at you. He knew something was up and you needed to tell him something, but he honestly had no idea what it would be.

"I… think I'm ready," you admit, nibbling your lip.

"Ready for what?" He asks, raising an eyebrow in confusion.

"Having sex," you bashfully admit.

"Oh," he says, surprised. "Right now?" He asks, trying not to sound too eager.

You shake your head. "No, not right now. But soon," you assure him, feeling embarrassed.

"Well, I don't mind waiting a little longer," he assures you, kissing the top of your head.

One minute you were grinding on Jackson, making out on the couch. The next, you and Jackson were both naked in bed. He lays you down, hovering over you as he kisses you.

“Jackson, can I give you a blowjob?”

“Don’t worry about making me feel good. I want to eat you out,” he says, pulling away from you and spreading your legs.

“Yes please,” you say, nodding softly.

He kisses your thighs, teasing you by biting and marking them. He knew this made you needy, as your thighs were sensitive. Jackson eventually kisses your clit, causing you to moan. He smirks as he licks your folds, maintaining eye contact as you blush.

“We’ve done this how many times? And you always get so bashful,” Jackson gently teases, quickly going to work.

He sucks your clitoris, his tongue flicking it as your juices leak out and onto his chin. Your hand grabs his hair, tugging as you moan. Jackson uses his strong arms to keep your legs open. He notices your hole clenching around nothing, boosting his ego.

Jackson inserts a finger, curling it up against your g spot, which causes you to cry out his name.

“You’re doing so good for me,” he whispers against your folds, pausing his kisses to your mound as he adds a second finger, working on stretching you out.

“Feels so good,” you whine, gasping as he adds a third finger. “I’m close,” you pant, reaching down to rub your clit. Jackson stops you and pulls out his fingers with a smirk.

“Jackson?!” you gasp, pouting that he took away your orgasm.

“I want to cum with you,” he explains, smiling sweetly.

You sigh and lay your head back down, nodding.

“Are you sure you don’t want to use condoms?” Jackson checks, raising an eyebrow.

“Positive. You said yourself I wasn’t fertile,” you admit, blushing some.

“Alright,” he says, teasing your folds with his tip. Jackson watches as your hole clenches around nothing, desperately wanting his cock.

“Please Jackson,” you huff, not liking how he began to rub his cock against your folds.

“I’m getting myself lubricated,” Jackson smugly responds, grinding into you, tapping his cock against your swollen bud.

“Fuck~” you cry, pulling your hair. “Please Jackson, I want to have sex with you,” you beg, tearing up in need.

“Hmm, alright,” Jackson says, slowly sliding his tip inside of you. He grabs your hands and kisses you, letting you adjust to his girth. He slowly slides in, huffing into your ear softly.

“Jackson, please move,” you beg once he bottoms out.

“Yes ma’am,” he teases you, starting with slow thrusts. Jackson greedily watches your breasts bounce with each thrust, a near-feral grin finding its way on his face.

“Faster, please,” you murmur, doing your best to keep your eyes open as you squeeze his hands.

He readily obliges, and you groan as the sound of skin slapping skin fills the room with both of your moans.

“I’m not gonna last that long,” he admits with a laugh.

You nod and he lets go of one of your hands, rubbing your clit. You grab your breast and pinch your nipples, stimulating yourself as you near your high.

He suddenly begins to cum with a loud groan of your name, his thrusts harder than before. You cry out in pleasure, which soon turns into a whimper as he begins to knot you.

“You’re doing so well, Y/N, you’re doing so good,” Jackson begins to praise. It takes all of his strength not to collapse on top of you, but he manages to nuzzle into your neck and kiss your sweet spot there.

You groan softly, brushing your damp hair out of your eyes. “I love you,” you say, smiling tiredly.

“I love you too.”

You wake up the next day naked and alone in bed. You look around, wondering where Jackson went. “Jackson?” you softly call, looking for him.

But something about his apartment was… off.

You carefully get up, your legs feeling a bit weak, and go use the bathroom. His toothbrush and razor were missing.

You go out into the kitchen and living room, and still no Jackson.

When you go back into the bedroom, you notice that his phone was missing. You open the closet and his dresser, and there were no clothes.

For one whatever reason, Jackson was gone.

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deathwishy · 3 years

Text

x MARVEL CROSSOVER x

Marinette knew that Tom Dupain wasn't her biological father. Nonetheless, she loved him and he loved her. He married her mother when she was two and have been inseparable ever since.

On the other side, her biological father was a prick.

He first came to visit her after she developed a ... rather interesting set of abilities. She was five when that happened. Her mother had somehow contacted him and, even though he doubted it, he came.

It is safe to say that he was beyond shocked when he saw that Marinette was his spitting image, not counting the blue eyes. She had a mischievous smile and sharp eyes, carrying herself like royalty, worthy of the title of the daughter of the god of mischief.

That day, Loki found out he had a demigoddess daughter.

While he was reluctant at first, the little girl grew on him. He visited at least twice a month, mainly to help her control her powers but also to let her know that he actually cared about her, to ensure that he wasn't with her like his father was with him. No other Asgardian knew about Marinette and he would like to keep it that way. There was no need for his brother of father to swoop in and ruin everything.

As the years passed their bond became unbreakable. Marinette still thought that Loki was a prick and an idiot at times but she wouldn't have it any other way. Life was boring anyway, why not sprinkle it with a little bit of mischief?

When she became Ladybug, he knew. He called out Tikki as soon as he stepped in her room and her parents were out of hearing range.

"Tikki, you can come out. You should know better by now."

Marinette was dumbfounded when the goddess came out from behind some books, with a pout and with her arms crossed.

"I knew it. Trixx did say that you came to Midgard and Marinette looks like a miniature female version of yourself."

"I'm actually surprised the guardian gave her the Ladybug miraculous. I would've guessed she would have been a better fox."

"She is a very good match for me too. Her soul is a creative one, but yes, she would be a perfect fox."

"Um... Can I get in the loop too?"

The two gods turned to her. Marinette had her arms crossed, tapping her foot on the floor. Loki gave her a sheepish smile.

"I am a God, Marigold, I do know the other gods too."

The day passed talking with the two deities about all sorts of things, Tikki especially scolding him for the New York disaster, Marinette joining her. It happened before she was born so even if he changed it was still a horrible thing

"Look, daddy issues are a pain to deal with. I was very angry."

"Dad, it's no excuse to be an asshole."

"I know." Loki rolled his eyes then grinned. "But what's this I'm hearing about from Tikki about a boy?"

Marinette flushed, glaring at the offender, now munching on a cookie, her eyes sparkling with laughter. She was shaking her head and vigorously gesturing with her hands.

"Nope. I'm not talking with you about this and, Odin forbid, if I see you around him I'll cut your macaron supply."

Loki only raised his hands in surrender, laughing heartedly. He wouldn't dare cross his daughter, so he swore, between tears of laughter, that he would keep his distance.

"But if he breaks your heart I'll throw him in Jotunheim."

...

A few years later, when Lila came around he knew. There was no mistaking the dimming of the fire in her soul. He could see that she didn't want to talk about it by the way she was dodging the subject so he had to take the matter in his own hands.

He shapeshifted into a horsefly and flew after her when she went to school. It took a lot of his power to hide from Marinette's sight but if was worth it. Now he knew why she started closing in on herself.

Loki could admire a good lie. After all he was the god of trickery, lies and deceit. But this girl spouting off the worst lies he ever heard. Not only were they ridiculous, they were also completely devoid of any drop of truth. That was the base of any good lie, and she was lacking it entirely. What confused him more what that some of her classmates believed her. Only a handful others didn't seem to believe her, one of which was a blond boy that looked at the leech, glued to his hand, with disgust. By his aura Loki assumed he was the holder of the Black Cat.

He confronted Marinette when she came back from school. Some of the lies were concerning, they were hurting his daughter and he couldn't let it fly. He assumed the harpy was set on Marinette because she wouldn't buy her lies. That was not surprising, she could see even though his best lies.

"I know, Marigold."

Marinette knew what he meant. She inhaled deeply and looked around.

"Can we go somewhere else, outside of Paris?"

The furrowed his brows, getting more concerned by the second. He couldn't read her in that moment. He could read most people like an open book, but that was his daughter. She knew how to hide things from him.

"Yes. Tell your parents, we don't want to concern them."

After she told her parents that she would go with Loki on a short trip, he opened a portal to a high rooftop over a city. She could feel the darkness of it, potent and corrupting. She figured that was why her father would bring her there, no one would notice them. As soon as the portal closed, she broke down. She hugged him, crying into his chest.

"I'm so tired, dad. The responsibility of Ladybug, Lila and her lies, half of my class turned against me, Hawkmoth just sending out akuma after akuma, it's just so much."

He let her cry, hugging her closely and patting her head. Even after all these years he didn't know how to properly comfort his daughter but it was something he actively was working for.

"But I assume you still don't want me to help?"

"The Avengers or The Justice League would notice if you do something. I managed to keep them away, for the time being, but I doubt they would hesitate coming if they heard that you came into a highschool, knives flying after a teenage girl or if you burnt down half of Paris searching for Hawkmoth."

She sighed, sitting on the edge of roof.

"I can handle it, I think. It's hard but I can manage it. I have Chat Noir and the others, we will succeed."

"You know that I will always be by your side if you need me, right?"

"Of course, dad." She hugged him once more, not letting go for some time.

When she calmed down, she asked him to get them to Paris.

"Dad, where was that? I've never felt a more malicious feeling to a place in my entire life."

"Gotham City. That place holds a centuries long curse."

Marinette nodded then hugged her father one more time before he left. She then went on her balcony, sketchbook and laptop in her hands. The afternoon sun was providing perfect lighting for sketching. She set aside the sketchbook for the moment, opening the laptop. She heard about Gotham from Alya when she was gushing about the vigilantes. She wasn't especially interested about them so she listened politely but forgot everything the next day.

Gotham was dubbed the Crime Capital, which was not surprising. The maliciousness surrounding the city was overwhelming, even if she was there for only a few minutes short of an hour. She could only imagine what that could do to the locals. A meeting with Fu after her patrol that night was mandatory.

Apparently he knew about the situation in Gotham. An old friend kept him updated. He confessed that he wanted to talk with her about it but decided to tell her when she was prepared. Fighting that kind of corruption would be hard and it would take years. They decided to put a pin in it and deal with it after they defeated Hawkmoth. Marinette did NOT need this on her plate now.

...

Things got a little complicated when Wonder Woman decided to drop by. It was night, just a few hours after an akuma attack. Ladybug had to patrol on her own, Chat Noir was held back in his civilian life. She caught Ladybug on the Eiffel Tower, just when she was finishing her round.

"Ladybug."

"Wonder Woman. I wasn't aware that you would be coming by."

"I apologize, but this is important. Your presence is required at a summit between The Avengers and The Justice League. Some discussions will be about the situation in Paris and as the city is in your jurisdiction, you are invited to attend."

Marinette felt like she didn't tell the whole truth but agreed, under the condition to bring Chat Noir too. They were a team.

Loki wanted to come along but Marinette shot the idea down quickly. The was a chance that Thor would notice and everything would go south very quickly. She didn't need an international incident on her hands. The others didn't trust Loki but they were civil with each other after the brothers made amends and he helped them a couple of times. Still, she didn't think they would appreciate Marinette bringing an unauthorized guest.

...

A few weeks later they were in a secret base in the Alps. After she got the coordinates of the location she used the horse miraculous to get there. They were fairly early, only a few members of both teams being present. Batman with his team, Thor, Wonder Woman, Black Widow, Winter Soldier and Green Arrow.

Batman was the first one to greet her, soon after she closed the portal.

"Tikki, Kaalki, divide."

The horse kwami landed in her hand, where a sugar cube was waiting for her. She then nestled on top of her head. She slid the glasses there too, for easy access, just in case.

"Ladybug, glad you could come." Batman greeted her cordially. She shook his outstretched hand.

"Of course. After all, I was said this was concerning us."

Before Batman could say anything, a man dressed in black, with a blue bird symbol on his chest jumped in front of her, grinning like a child.

"I can't believe it, you are a real magical girl!"

Ladybug took a step back, blinking, a little shocked by the grown man's reaction.

"Tt. Nightwing, be professional."

"Yeah Wingman, you're going to scare the little Pixie."

"Ignore them, they are idiots." Said one of them, coming beside her. She identified him as Red Robin, one of Batman's... Associates? It felt wrong to call him a sidekick. That would be Robin.

"Red Robin. The idiots there are Nightwing, Red Hood and Robin."

"Pleasure meeting you." She smiled to them warmly. Robin narrowed his eyes, looking at her head.

"What is that?" He asked, taking a step closer to take a better look. Kaalki flew in his face, indignated.

"I'm a goddess, you oaf." Robin took a step back, hands on his katana, shocked by the little goddesses reaction. She narrowed her eyes, suddenly tamer. "Are you famous?" Robin was sputtering, clearly not prepared for the change in her demeanor.

Red Hood burst out laughing.

"Fucking hell, his face. I've never been more grateful for the camera in my helmet."

"Kwami don't show up on camera, but his face definitely will." Chat Noir pointed out. He went beside Ladybug, up until then scanning the compound. "I'm Chat Noir, the fabulous purr-tner of Ladybug, at your service." He made a mock bow, grinning like the Cheshire Cat. Ladybug, Red Robin, Red Hood and Robin groaned.

"Not ANOTHER ONE!"

"Tt. I can't handle two of them. I'll inevitably going to break the no killing rule."

"Um, what's going on?" Ladybug turned to Red Robin, who was grimacing.

"Nightwing." He said, giving her a pitying look.

"Oh, come on, it can't be that claw-ful." Retorted Nightwing. Chat Noir lit up like a Christmas tree.

"My lady, see. I was sure I was feline a fellow paw-nner nearby."

"Kill me." Ladybug and Red Robin said at the same time. They looked at each other and laughed.

As more heroes were arriving, Ladybug introduced herself to each of them. She tensed a bit when Thor came beaming at her.

"Ah! I haven't seen the miraculous for centuries! I am not really that familiar with the Chinese Miracle Box but I did encounter a wielder of Trixx."

She smiled tightly listening to his encounter with Fylja. She knows from her father about her, a trickster just like him, who managed to seduce Thor and steal Mjolnir and hide it. Thor decided to omit that detail. He liked the young hero but something seemed oddly familiar about her.

When Aquaman came, he looked very uncomfortable with his proximity to Chat Noir. He was cordial but kept his distance after finishing introductions. Chat Noir did tell her once that Plagg said that he was the one who sank Atlantis. It was a real story, apparently.

Ladybug preferred the company of Red Robin. They had a lot of things in common, from mutual interests to similar experiences as heroes. He asked a lot of questions without being invasive or trying to find out things about her civilian life and actually seemed interested about her answers. She actually blushed when Nightwing called them cute. She could see with the corner of her eyes how Chat Noir was wiggling his eyebrows but swooped up the other boys when they started teasing them.

"Everyone is here. Only the official members of the Justice League and the Avengers are allowed, as well as Ladybug and Chat Noir. The rest will stay here." Wonder Woman announced, leaving the rest of the young heroes pouting and protesting.

Ladybug turned to Red Robin and gave him a wave.

"See you after."

"Definitely." He grinned, making her blush.

Chat Noir came beside her, smiling knowingly.

"At least you're not a stuttering mess this time."

"Shut up you alley cat, that was four years ago."

"So you do like him." He smiled even wider. Ladybug blushed furiously, punching him in the ribs. He only giggled.

"Nightwing and Red Hood owe me 50 dollars."

"You're unbelievable."

All the heroes were seated at a circular table, everyone having an assigned seat. Even Ladybug and Chat Noir, their symbols gleaming brand new on the backs of the black chairs.

"The summit begins. We are now gathered here to discuss the Paris situation." Superman began, opening a slide on the projector.

Ladybug narrowed her eyes. It became obvious that they called the summit just for this. They were trying to take control. She clenched her fists, but didn't say anything. She hoped this wasn't what it looked like. She put her hand on Chat Noir's shoulder when he looked like he wanted to say something. She squeezed twice. ' I got this.'

"Ladybug, Chat Noir, it's been four and a half years since Hawkmoth has been active and so far we haven't seen much progress. The akumas seem to become more powerful and aggressive and the damage to Paris greater each time. We think you might be over your heads."

"What we are trying to say," Batman stood up, glaring at Superman for his lack of tact, "is that the situation is becoming increasingly difficult and we feel the need to intervene. We know that you are young, let us help you."

"You are kids, we can tell. We thought that because of the nature of the miraculous you will be able to neutralize the threat in due time, seeing as it's the same type of magic." Added Captain America.

"We trusted that you could handle it, as you said, but some of us already have doubts." Iron Man said, crossing his arms.

"Your miraculous might not be enough this time. But that's ok. We want this to end as much as you do." Professor Banner added, looking at them like he was explaining to children why they couldn't cross the street when the traffic light was red.

Most of the heroes didn't notice the way the two young heroes narrowed their eyes, faces darkening, but some, mostly those who knew the power of the miraculous, did. Aquaman was uneasy, a sense of foreboding dawning over him, Wonder Woman looked like she didn't know what her peers were going to say. She stood still, but tense, like preparing for an attack. She knew they were somewhat right, but that wasn't the way to help them. Green Lantern was leaning in his seat like he wanted it to eat him. Thor looked around the table, damning every one of them present. They were going to get them killed. Black Widow was glaring at Banner, knowing what his words did to the Parisians by their increasing straining to say nothing and stay in place. Batman was following them carefully. Something about the two of them screamed danger.

Then Superman dropped the bomb.

"So, effective immediately, we take jurisdiction of the city of..."

He was cut off by a sudden boom reverberating through the room. All heroes jumped in a battle stance. When there was no threat in sight, they looked at Ladybug, who had made a dent in the table with her fist. Her eyes were entirely blue. But it was not her usual color, it was an icy blue, that could freeze the fires of hell. Thor held his breath. They looked exactly like frost giant eyes. And familiar ones.

"How. Dare. You."

She didn't yell but the heroes could feel the ice in their veins.

"For four years we've been tirelessly fighting an emotional prying bastard, while controlling our own to the point where it seems that we have none, handling our civilian lives at the same time, trying to minimize the destruction of Paris even though we new the cure with bring everything back to normal, tending to our citizens after they've been akumatized, ensuring they would get therapy and support, even stopping minor crimes around the city and you have the balls to say that we are in over our heads?! We may be but we are handling it way better than any of you do! You are not one to speak, Superman. Metropolis gets trashed every other week with you're messy fights, and there is no cure. You obviously have no regard of the destruction or the victims most of the time. The rest of you are mostly the same. But there is no one getting in your way saying that you're doing a horrible job and trying to replace you. And if there is, gods forbid, you just send them to prison or in a mental asylum. You have NO right to criticize our ways when yours are statistically worse!"

Both the Justice League and the Avengers were silent and wide eyed. Thor was the first to recover. Her eyes went back to normal after she finished but there was no mistake. The girl wasn't human.

"Who are you?" He pointed his hammer at Ladybug. She rolled her eyes.

"Put that down, you're not intimidating anyone."

"Those were frost giant eyes. Answer me or perish."

"Dad would not appreciate the perish part, you know."

The Avengers and the Leaguers were now exchanging confused looks. What were they supposed to do? What was that about? After exchanging glances, they remained silent, watching the exchange curiously.

"What are you talking about?" Thor retorted, now gripping Mjolnir tighter.

"I guess this is as a bad time as any but... Hello uncle."

It wasn't ideal but she couldn't have both the Justice League and the Avengers trying to arrest her. She took the yo-yo from her hip and slid it open. She scrolled through her contacts and tapped the one named 'The God of Bullshit'. After a few beeps, during which the heroes were recovering from their stupor, Loki's face appeared on the screen.

"Daughter dearest. What's the matter, are the others bothering you?" He said in a sarcastic sweet voice. She rolled her eyes then pointed the screen towards Thor.

"L'Oréal blond knows."

After a few seconds Loki starts laughing like a maniac.

"This is the best way they could've found out. This is PERFECT."

Thor walks in wide strides to an unimpressed Ladybug and takes the yo-yo from her hand.

"I have a niece and you didn't TELL ME!"

"Of course not. You pieces of shit are not worthy of the presence of my daughter. I don't know why she even agreed to come to the meeting. She is doing a wonderful job in Paris and does not need any interference. Beware, brother, if you upset her I'll come for your heads. I have to go now, see you soon, daughter."

Ladybug closed her yo-yo and looked around the room.

"I don't care what you decided. Paris is my city. You don't come barging just because you think you can do a better job. And yes, I'm the daughter of Loki but that doesn't mean that I have bad intentions. I'm a hero as much as you are. Now, have I made myself clear?"

"Yes, Ladybug." Wonder Woman was the first to respond. Even if she was a daughter of Loki, the young hero earned her respect. She stood her ground against them and made her point crystal clear.

The rest of the heroes agree, though some reluctantly.

"Now, I agreed to come here mainly because I wanted to say that I have a strong lead. Hawkmoth may soon fall."

After some other arguments with some of the reluctant heroes and a few protests that were quickly shot down by Ladybug and her supporters, the heroes dispersed. She and Chat Noir were between the last ones to leave, having a shushed conversation while the others left.

"We will discuss it back in Paris. But yes, it's true."

"So you're a half goddess?"

"Demigoddess, but yes."

"That is awesome."

When they entered the hall, they saw it was almost empty. She was disappointed that maybe Red Robin left until he was in front of her. He gripped her shoulders and looked in her eyes.

"I think I'm in love with you. That was the greatest hero smack down in history."

She was a blushing mess by the time the other boys and Batman came around. They were all snickering, even Batman and Robin.

"How did you..."

"Father turned his com on when he saw that you looked like you were ready to kill someone."

"B, you are not allowed to adopt her under any circumstances, do you understand me? We do not need another sister."

"Yeah Bats, don't ruin your only chance at grandkids."

Now Red Robin was blushing too.

"So... You don't care about the Loki thing?"

"We noticed that he toned down a few years ago. We didn't know why. Now it makes sense."

"Yeah, trust me, you're not the only one with a villainous parent 'round here." Red Rood pointed, putting his elbow on Robin's shoulder. The latter looked like he wanted to rip it off.

"And you are clearly taking your job seriously. Even father respects your efforts."

"I didn't intend to make you feel like you are not good enough. We wanted to help you, but it got out of hand. I apologize."

"Apology accepted. I understand where you're coming from, but trust me. This is coming to an end. Soon."

When the Bats were going to the zeta tubes and Ladybug was merging the horse miraculous with her own, Red Robin stayed behind. He handed her a phone.

"It's a non traceable phone. Of you ever want to talk, my number is programmed in there. I really enjoyed our conversation"

She took the phone, smiling brightly.

"I did too. Thank you."

She pulled him into a hug. He hugged her back, kissing her on the cheek then running to the zeta tubes. Her cheeks were as red as her suit. She touched the place where he kissed her, smiling like an idiot.

"Aww, I'm going to die of fluff. I ship it."

"Shut up." She grumbled but still smiling.

...

A few months later Hawkmoth’s reign of terror came to an end. It was messy and heartbreaking but they were finally free. Adrien was exonerated by both the Justice League and the Avengers when accusations started to appear in the media. Not wanting to live with the Graham de Vanily’s, Adrien was taken in by Selina Kyle a.k.a Catwoman. It was quite fitting.

They have revealed their identities during the battle when they had to recharge and barely found one place to detransform. When they had the Butterfly and Peacock miraculous secured and Gabriel and Nathalie in police custody, they swung to the Eiffel Tower and collapsed there on each other, crying their hearts out for the first time in five years. Loki got there at some point but he kept his distance, understanding that it was their time. That was how they were found by the Justice League and the Avengers. Huddled together on the railing, not talking, with Loki next to them, smiling serenely. Thor almost had a heart attack. When she noticed that Red Robin came too, she ran to him and kissed him like the world almost ended, which almost actually did.

Fu passed guardianship to Marinette not long after, deeming her ready.

After everything was solved in Paris and the trials of Gabriel, Nathalie and Lila, for her aiding Hawkmoth, were done, Marinette began her first mission as Guardian. Cleanse Gotham.

Soon, a new vigilante, with a black fox theme, swung through Gotham with the Bats and Tim Drake appeared in public with his new girlfriend, Marinette Dupain-Cheng.

When I first saw what the prompt for today was I had no idea what to write. I didn’t want to do the class trip to New York so I took my favorite character, Loki obviously, and brainstormed. This came out. I don’t know if this has been done before but I love biodad!Loki.

So this is approximately 4326 words (I added and edited things on here so I don't know for sure) which is a new record. I did enjoy writing this. Maybe I will do something biodad!Loki again in the future, it's fun to write.

And as a sidenote, Marinette can lift Mjolnir.

@timari-month-event

#maribat #timari #timari january #mlb x dc #biodad!loki

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satoruvt · 3 years

Text

for a moment i forget to worry

pairing → xu minghao x reader

word count → 3196

genre → fluff + angst, college au ↳ tags: strangers to friends to lovers </3, college kinda sux, ROOMMATE CHAN MAKES AN APPEARANCE OR TWO, dance major minghao, reader is completely lost but its ok who isnt, lots of cute couple stuff, pov ur entire relationship with minghao. thats it, a sad break up scene, a solid amount of crying

summary → there’s something about minghao. maybe it’s the way he dances, vibrant and youthful, or maybe it’s the way he loves you. based off of hunger by florence + the machine.

warnings → i hint at sex but its pretty vague, i also mention a breakdown type deal (revolving around school/life after school)

a/n → first of all this was NOT supposed to be 3k words i dont know how it happened. second of all i’m only kind of happy with this HAHA i feel like the story itself isnt bad but i wanted it to match the song more ... idk :/ i hope u guys like it regardless !!!

pieces of you masterlist

The first time you see him is by accident.

Really - all you’re doing is trying to find Chan. You’re passing by the practice rooms, looking into them in hope he’ll be there, stopping to gaze at decorations and medals and trophies lined up on the walls. It’s when you approach a room that music plays from that you think you’ve found Chan, but when you gaze in, it’s definitely not him.

You don’t know who it is, but he moves like nothing you’ve ever seen before.

It’s hypnotizing, almost makes you want to drop your things and dance with him. There’s a sense of youth that comes from him and it’s almost overwhelming - but it’s not in energy, necessarily, but rather from the precision of his movements, the technicalities that he seems to both follow and break at the same time. Something vibrant seeps out between the seams of his body, colors you can barely recognize as they splash against anything they can reach. It’s almost tangible.

You watch him long enough for him to finish his performance (an unknowing one) with the last notes of a song you forgot was even playing. His eyes meet with yours, slow as he completes an eloquent turn, and at the same time, a hand meets your shoulder.

A small wave of embarrassment washes over you, and you turn towards whoever touched you, effectively breaking eye contact. “What are you doing here?” Chan asks, hair still wet from what you assume was a shower.

“Looking for you,” you tell him, following as he starts to walk towards the exit. “I wanted lunch, and you owe me for that time I took your British literature quiz for you.”

Chan groans but agrees to pay, and you laugh, though the world seems a little paler than it did a few moments ago.

The second time you see him is by chance.

(Maybe.)

You’re waiting for a lecture to start, tapping your fingers against your laptop idly as you watch students trickle in last minute. It’s not a strict course, but it does start at nine in the morning, and most everyone shows up with a coffee.

You look down to brush a stray hair off of your table, and when you look up again, the dancer from before walks through the door, then looks right at you.

You feel a blush heat your face and it’s like he wants to make sure that you know that he knows, because he almost refuses to look away. You break eye contact first (like the last time, you remember for no reason) but still watch as his figure moves up the stairs, past the rows, and you hope he’ll just move past you too…

He doesn’t. He takes the empty seat right next to yours, and you don’t say anything, instead finding the peeling sticker on your laptop incredibly interesting. The professor comes in and decides that today he’ll take extra long to set everything up, apparently, and you want to scream.

“So,” the dancer says, voice quiet. It takes your breath away, the way he sounds. “Mind if I ask why you were watching me the other day?”

You cast a glance at him - not too long, you don’t think you could handle more than five seconds tops - and finally open your laptop so it makes you look busy. “I was waiting for a friend.”

“And?”

The smile in his voice is palpable. You’re already exasperated.

“You…” you start, finally deciding to look at him as some sort of subconscious power move. “You’re a beautiful dancer. It was hard not to watch.”

Beautiful doesn’t even cover half of it, but you figure he already thinks you’re weird for watching him, so you hold back the thoughts of youth and vibrancy and color. The dancer looks at you, almost blank for a moment, before a soft smile draws itself on his face. It makes your heart beat a little faster. He says “thank you” with a gentle tone, sincerely felt.

The class starts, and the two of you don’t speak throughout the next hour and a half. You type out notes on your laptop and you see him write down names of the paintings being shown on the projector, little thoughts and notes written afterwards.

By the end of class, your professor assigns an optional partnered project, and you’re more than prepared to head back to your apartment and start on it yourself. The dancer stops you before you leave, however, asks if you’d like to be his partner.

(And he says it like that, would you like to be my partner, polite and somehow sweet.)

You know your answer. “I don’t even know your name,” you stall, standing from your chair.

“Minghao,” he tells you. “I’m Minghao, and I’d like for you to be my partner.”

You say yes easily, put your number into his contacts even easier. The sky is blue when you leave the lecture hall, trees dotted with pink and purple flowers, and it is all so bright that you forget it wasn’t this way in the first place.

The third time you see him is for school.

Underneath the excitement of giving Minghao your number, there is the knowledge that it’s for the sake of an assignment. He texts you the day after to ask if you’re free to meet up to work and you tell him sure.

(Sure is what you send back, but he doesn’t have to know that you burst into Chan’s room immediately after, plunging face first into his bed just to scream into his pillows. Chan had sighed, turned around in his desk chair to look at you, then asked what happened. He gave you two minutes to rant and then kicked you out, back to your own room.)

You and Minghao agreed to meet at the library on a day that neither of you had any afternoon classes, and you get there early, spend some time working on other classes. You have somewhere around thirty minutes to freak out to yourself before you see Minghao come in, dressed like he knows what he’s doing to you (which is really just a hoodie and jeans, but you think it’s the cap that really pulls the whole boyfriend look together), smiling when he finds you at a table in the corner.

“How are you?” is the first thing he says when he sits down, and you pull down your laptop screen a little to see him better.

“I’m good,” you say, feeling your heart pound. “What about you?”

Minghao sends you a kind smile. “Really good. Should we get started?”

You lose count of how many times you see him after that.

Meeting up to work on the project soon becomes just meeting up, and after the project’s done and turned in, it happens even more. You hang out and get lunch, send each other texts and stupid videos, take walks around campus together. The weeks pass, summer mellows into fall, then into the early days of winter. You develop a genuine friendship with him, finding comfort in his presence, looking for him wherever you go.

(Although the crush is still there, potent and patient, stubborn in a way you’ve never experienced before. You wonder if it’s a sign of some sort.)

You’re in one of the practice rooms with him, sitting in the corner. You had a class nearby and he’d wanted to practice a little more, so you told him you’d work on your own stuff while he finished up and then the two of you could grab something to eat.

But you made a small error on your part - the dancing. You’d forgotten the way he moves (you haven’t seen him dance since that first time) and in no time at all you’re letting your screen go dark in front of you and watching him. Honestly, it’s not your fault, you really can’t help it.

But of course he notices.

Minghao meets your eyes through the mirror and raises his eyebrows at you, and all you can do is look away, desperately try to get your laptop up and running again so at least it seems like you weren’t watching him for too long.

“You’re staring,” he says, long after you’ve looked away.

“Sorry,” you tell him anyways, immediate, quick.

Then he says, “I never said anything about stopping.”

In a second, you look up from your laptop and up at him. He moves closer, crouches in front of you. His eyes are kind - they’re never not - but you think you see something a little more in them. “Sorry, I think I missed that last part,” you respond, blinking. Minghao smiles like you’re endearing.

“I said I want you to keep looking at me.”

You think you’re barely breathing when he shuts your laptop for you, slides it off of your lap and onto the floor (gently, with care, and it’s a wonder to you how he can focus on that right now). He practically crawls over you, one of his hands eventually reaching the junction of your jaw and neck and holding there. “I’m gonna kiss you now, if that’s okay,” he says, but doesn’t move. You nod as soon as his words reach your brain, eager and quick.

And the next few hours get a little wound up in your head, a little mixed in with the feeling of his body - that moves so youthfully, with so much vibrancy that it reaches everything around you - melting into yours and the sound of him asking you to tell me what you need, honey, and the still-playing slow jam music he was practicing to.

You watch him sleep next to you, hand curled around yours against his pillows, and think that nothing bad could ever touch him.

The two of you… come together, after that.

Neither you nor Minghao use any proper labels, but you both seem to know. No labels are needed, really. You have each other and that’s all there is to it. And everything is really good.

You work together and laugh together like you’ve always known each other. He tries to teach you to dance with him when you’re in the practice room with him, pulls you up by your hands and guides you through your giggles. He was the first person you called when you realized that you had no idea what you were working towards, didn’t have a clue what you actually wanted to do with your life. He gets along well with your friends and you text his because they’re basically yours, now, too.

Winter turns back into spring, slow and easy. Vibrant and youthful. You’re not able to meet Minghao’s parents, but he meets yours (and you’re sure a quick introduction to his mom over a FaceTime call has to count for something). The two of you take advantage of the newfound warmth of the season and try to get out as much as you’re able to, with picnics and city dates and anything you can think of. A drawer in his dresser is reserved for your things, you bought an extra toothbrush for him to use when he stays over.

You watch him dance. It still feels like the first time, like color and breathlessness. You tell him he’s beautiful every time, feel yourself fall a little deeper when he still gets bashful amidst his comedown. You tell him you love him for the first time after he gets done with a performance - a proper one, for a showcase of the dance club he’s in. He says it back.

You think he put all the stars in the sky just for the two of you to gaze at them together.

Things shift the beginning of your junior year.

Minghao tells you about a program he’s applying to, a proper dance academy in New York that could really kickstart his career. Training under some of the best choreographers and performers in the world.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” You ask him after he tells you, and he shrugs, leaning back in his chair. You’re studying at his apartment tonight.

“It’s just…” he frowns. “It’s so far away, you know?”

Oh. You hadn’t even thought about that, too caught up in the excitement of him being able to apply at all. A quick sigh leaves your lips, and then you reach for his hand, hold it between both of your own.

“That’s okay,” you tell him, though now that you’re thinking about it, you feel nervousness in the pit of your stomach. “We can work something out, though, when we get that far. We’ll figure it out.”

Minghao nods, a fond look in his eyes. He pulls one of your hands to his lips. “We’ll think about it if I even get accepted,” he says.

It’s bittersweet, but a promise nonetheless.

Fifteen minutes after you get a call from Minghao, there’s a knock on your door.

You wouldn’t necessarily say you’re worried, but, well. Everyone’s experienced the jump of anxiety when they get hit with the “I want to talk to you about something” line. Nonetheless, you stand from the couch to open the door, mentally preparing yourself for any and everything.

“Hey,” you greet when you see Minghao, opening the door to let him in. His face is unreadable. “Everything okay?”

He walks a few steps into your apartment, waits for you to close the door before turning back around to face you. Then he holds up a piece of paper, the creases from where it was folded still bending. You send him a confused look.

“I got in,” he says, a grin breaking on his face, and you blink, then feel your jaw practically hit the floor. Minghao only nods like he understands, and before you know what you’re doing, you launch yourself at him, holding him close.

“Oh my god, Hao, that’s amazing,” you say into his sweater, then step back to get a proper look at him. Youthful, vibrant. “I’m so proud of you.”

He seems to soften at your words, pulls you back into him again with a gentle kiss to your head. “Thank you for believing in me,” he tells you, tenderness palpable in his voice. All you can do is squeeze him tighter.

Minghao spends a lot of time away from you after that.

You’re not really hurt in any way - even though he got into the academy in New York, he still has to practice. You get it, this is important. He doesn’t text you as often, isn’t able to stop by as much, and you miss him, but you know how much this means for him. But it gets… weird, almost, after a while. Strange, even for him. It feels weird that he’s set to leave at the end of January and it’s December and he’s distant.

Both of you are laying in your bed, looking at the glow-in-the-dark stars on your ceiling, when you decide to bring it up. “You’ve been… kinda far away lately,” you start, nudging him with your shoulder gently. “Everything okay?”

His eyes stay on your ceiling, but you feel the way he sighs. “It’s about the program,” he says.

“Okay.”

“And about… you and me.”

Oh. That doesn’t… sound the best. “About, like… what we’re gonna do?”

Minghao nods.

You say, “I wouldn’t mind visiting every so often. It’d be hard, but I’m sure we could find something to work.”

Minghao shakes his head, says, “no.”

You pause, and when you look at him he’s already looking at you. What does he mean by no? Does he want you to move with him? Or does he -

He reaches for your hand and you think oh.

His eyes are a little glassy. You feel the tears come, too.

“Oh,” you say out loud. Minghao squeezes your hand. “So this is… this is it?”

Your room is suddenly cold, and you want to crawl under the covers and stay there. The person in front of you is blurred into something unrecognizable, but you can’t be bothered to blink away your tears.

“I think so, love,” he whispers back to you. “I think it has to be.”

The two of you cry like that for a while. In your bed, loosely intertwined and broken. Even the way Minghao cries carries a kind of vibrancy that’s overwhelming, makes you think of the first time you saw him so long ago, and now -

When you manage to get a better grip on yourself, you ask him if you can still see him off at the airport. He says, “I don’t know what I’d do if you didn’t.”

Then you ask if you can kiss him again. He responds by kissing you first.

And it’s sad, it tastes like salt and sorrow and you feel like the promises you never got the chance to make are broken. It feels like the most beautiful blue you’ve ever seen, and you know it’s only a branch of Minghao’s color.

He leaves soon after that, pulls on his shoes and his coat and turns around at the door to give you a tired smile. After he’s gone, you drag yourself to Chan’s bedroom, and once he sees the state you’re in, he offers up one side of his bed. Neither of you say anything, but the friendly reassurance of his hand in yours says enough.

You don’t fail to notice that everything seems to be washed out, a blandness you’re not used to.

The last time you see him is at the airport.

It’s a cold day, despite being sunny. The airport offers little warmth, but you figure it doesn’t matter. You won’t be here for long.

It doesn’t take you very long to find Minghao - you still look for him wherever you go, even if you’re not looking for him. Even then, it’s still so easy for you to find him, to pinpoint that vibrancy, that youth. He’s talking to a few others, you think you met them. Soonyoung and Jun.

Minghao meets your eyes and you freeze, but then he waves you over with a gentle smile. You follow like you think you always will.

You greet Soonyoung and Jun and the four of you talk, albeit a little awkwardly, even when Soonyoung tries his hardest to lighten the mood. Eventually he has to leave, and Jun follows with a shy goodbye. They both hug Minghao before they go.

You’re not sure what to say, but after a minute, you find words. “I don’t know what I’ll do without you,” you tell him, a little selfishly.

Minghao says, “you’ll do good. I know you will. I’m not worried about you.”

He pulls his phone out of his pocket to check the time, and you think he’ll give you a stiff and sad goodbye, but he steps a little closer to you. Looks at you the way he used to.

“Maybe…” he starts, then pauses. “Maybe we’ll meet again.”

Maybe, you think. Maybe.

“I hope so,” you tell him, then watch as he leaves.

#caratwritersclub #kdiner #kpopscape #svt x reader #seventeen x reader #svt imagine #seventeen imagine #the8 x reader #the8 imagine #svt the8 x reader #seventeen the8 x reader #svt the8 imagine #xu minghao x reader #xu minghao imagine #svt minghao x reader #seventeen minghao x reader #minghao x reader #minghao imagine #pieces of you

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handy-dandy-monster-candy · 3 years

Text

Inyez

Rating: NSFW Length: 5331 Pairing: Male Bat Creature x Male Reader (both cis)

xxx

Winter comes early up in the mountains, but I'm used to that. I like to sit by my living room windows and look down into the valley where I work, enjoying the way the city lights give the snow a warm glow. I figure myself lucky; I come from a happy family, I have a good career in a field I love, and I've managed to make a home out of the old observatory that sits like a squat little guardian at the top of a hill twenty minutes from the city.

My job gives me incredibly flexible hours, so I work whenever I'm awake and sleep whenever I want to. I've ended up with a mostly vespertine sleep schedule, which means I get to watch the sunset while I break for lunch. I'm a workaholic, though, so this "break" usually means that I step away from active work and focus on replying to emails from clients or looking up resources and reference images for my latest project as the sun goes down, and this time is no different.

I don't even notice the dark settling around me until I realise that I've been squinting at my laptop for the past half hour, and by then, the only source of light is its screen. I have outdoor lights, sure, and there's a street lamp or two on the way up the hill, but they amount to nothing unless they're on or nearby. I sigh and close my laptop to give my eyes a break, waiting for my vision to adjust properly to the lack of light around me.

I'm just contemplating making myself another cup of coffee when the window beside me explodes, and I have no qualms with admitting that despite being over six feet tall, I scream like a frightened squirrel. Instinct takes over and I find myself taking shelter behind my chair, waiting for the glass to settle before I risk peering around it. Adrenaline has made my vision sharper faster, but there's only so much I can make out in the darkness. I know I heard something heavy hit the floor after the crash, but nothing moves in the shadows, so I take the risk and scuttle over to the nearest switch plate to flick the lights on.

There's blood on what's left of the window and the scattered glass, and wide smears of it left in skid marks across the floorboards. Whatever has bled on my flooring is crumpled halfway behind my couch between me and my kitchen, cutting me off from any makeshift weapons I could use to defend myself. I creep around the other end of the couch with all the exaggerated stealth of a cartoon cat burglar, getting my first real look at the thing. It's dark and huge—about the size of a very large dog, at least—and even as my fingers grope for something to defend myself with, I don't take my eyes off of it for a second.

I approach the wounded creature with a skillet in one hand and a broom in the other, using the broom handle to prod gingerly at the thing that seems to be bleeding out on my living room floor. The first few pokes don't garner any reactions from the beast, and so I grow bolder, sending a silent prayer up to whatever gods might be listening that the thing doesn't have rabies or worse. I feel myself grimace as I lift one large, leathery wing to see more of the creature, only to snatch the broom handle back and away.

Whatever it was was awake, and it had been staring right at me with large, luminous eyes.

It takes me several seconds to work up the courage to repeat the action, and only then do I notice that those eyes are dazed and unfocused, shock settling in as blood dribbles down along its flat face. The creature murmurs when I prod it again—nothing I understand, but definitely something meant to be words—and that's when I realise that the thing on my floor is not a what, but a who. I swear and pace in my kitchen while keeping the thing well within sight at all times, but eventually my conscience wins out; I can't just let them bleed to death in front of me. Even knowing this, I know I don’t have the skills for what I need to do, so I pull an earpiece on and dial my cousin on my cell phone, grimacing when I glance at the time on my oven.

The phone rings a few times before there’s a shuffling on the other end, and then her groggy voice mumbles, “Hello?”

“Hey, Maraia,” I say, taking my first aid kit from beneath my sink and slipping a chef’s knife into my belt just in case. “I need your help.”

“Cuz? Do you know what time it is? I just got to bed an hour ago!”

“I know, I know. I’m sorry. It’s an emergency.”

I hear more shuffling, and then Maraia’s voice is much more alert. “What happened? What’s wrong?”

“Some sort of bat crashed through my window,” I say, hurrying over with my first aid kit and kneeling in the blood beside the lump on my floor. “It’s hurt real bad. Blood everywhere. It won’t make it to the vet if I don’t do something now.”

“You’re treating a wild animal?!”

“Maraia. It’s dying!”

“Fuck,” my cousin mutters, slipping back into her role as an ER nurse. “You owe me. Okay, tell me what you see.”

“Thank you,” I breathe, and try to turn off my anxiety as I listen to her expertise. First and foremost, I rush to apply pressure to a particularly ugly wound on the creature’s pelvis and thigh, cleaning and bandaging it up as best as I can once I’ve stopped the majority of the bleeding. This is about when I bump into the creature's, er, fiddly bits, barely hidden by a thick patch of fur. I work around them as I wrap him up in long bandages.

Per Maraia’s guidance, I check the creature's eyes and find wide, fixed pupils that indicate significant head trauma; it doesn't seem like he can see me, or even sense that I'm here. Still, I speak softly to him as I work, carefully picking glass and small twigs from open wounds and doing my best to clean and close them with a combination of butterfly closures and careful stitches. He whimpers and whines very softly when the discomfort is too great, but for the most part he hardly makes any sound at all, which Maraia and I agree is more worrying than if the creature were screeching and struggling with all his might.

Finally, after what feels like hours, I sit back on my legs with a sigh, certain that I’ve gotten to every wound that there is to be found. “I don’t think I can move it,” I say to Maraia, wiping my shaking hands clean with antibacterial wipes. “Not without popping something open.”

“You can’t keep it there with you,” she replies, using the same stern, reasonable tone that she uses on her children and patients. “Bats have rabies. What if it bites you?”

“I don’t think it can. I don’t even know if it will survive the night. For all I know, it’s haemorrhaging somewhere and this will all be for nothing.”

“All the more reason for you to take it to a vet! They can treat it there, maybe put it down if they have to. Whatever they decide will be better than what you can do at home.”

“I know,” I murmur, packing away my supplies. “Thanks, Raia. I’ll take care of it.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

Maraia sighs, and I can hear her exhaustion creeping back into her voice when she says, “Alright. Call me if you need anything, okay?”

“I will. Sorry for waking you.”

“Oh, bull,” Maraia scoffs. “You were scared and came to me. That’s a good thing. Love you, kiddo.”

I can’t help but smile, despite my weariness. “Love you, too,” I say, and hang up once we’ve said our goodbyes. It would be cruel to leave this poor creature on my living room floor, so I haul my inflatable mattress out of storage and set it up in my bedroom, grateful for the large amount of floor space in the converted observatory. I check on my guest several times during the time it takes the bed to inflate, and then I carry him into my bedroom, careful not to jostle him too much when I place him on the air mattress.

I watch the shallow rise and fall of the creature’s chest for a moment before I look up into his elongated face, taking in his small, black, dog-like nose and the sharp teeth that I can see peeking out from behind parted lips. Two large, velvety ears poke up from the thick fur on his head, motionless in his unconsciousness.

From what I can tell, whatever this creature is appears to be around four feet tall, with long curled toes on each slender, delicate foot and sharp claws on the tips of his hairless fingers. He's barrel-chested from the musculature needed to support both arms and wings, with a slightly narrower waist and wide hips that lead to lithe, muscular legs. The majority of his body is covered in a short, dense layer of dark russet fur over deep brown skin, perhaps a shade or two darker than mine.

Whatever he is, I've read enough books and watched enough movies to know with certainty that I can't take him anywhere—not without possibly endangering him further. The last thing I want is this creature ending up dissected in a lab somewhere, or worse. I scrub my hands over my face and get up to go clean my living room, taking one last glance at the creature in my bedroom before closing the door behind me as quietly as I can.

The first night is harrowing. Batty—as I've taken to calling my guest in my head—has his first of three seizures shortly after I finish taping garbage bags over the hole in my window. I drop the duct tape and run to him when he lets out an unearthly wail, all of the air in his lungs being forced out by seizing muscles. There's nothing I can do but make sure that he doesn't hurt himself further, sitting vigil beside him until his convulsions die down and praying that he'll still draw breath when they're over.

He's unconscious for the entirety of the next day, so thoroughly insensate that I risk calling out a repairman to replace the broken window so that the cold stops seeping in. Other than supervising the appointment, I hardly dare to leave Batty's side, taking my laptop into my bedroom to do as much work there as I possibly can. I clean him up when he messes himself in his sleep, though I worry about him dying of dehydration. To prevent this, I pulse ice cubes in my blender and carefully feed him ice chips at first, being mindful of his body temperature by keeping him thoroughly bundled in blankets.

By the third day, Batty makes as if to swallow, and I drip water into his mouth in an effort to keep him hydrated. I don't know what he eats, so I climb into my car and make the drive into the city, buying a variety of potted baby foods with what I'm sure is a wild look in my eyes that keeps the cashier from attempting any small talk with me. I make it back to the observatory in record time, and though Batty doesn't stir when I waft different foods under his nose, I still manage to coax him into swallowing mixtures of meat and vegetables.

He runs a temperature that night, and I spend most of the early morning hours before dawn wiping him down with a cool cloth and stroking my fingers along his brow when he starts to shiver and mumble in his sleep. His fever finally breaks the following afternoon, and in the fading light of sunset, his eyes crack open. He's still exhausted and disoriented, though, so he only blinks sluggishly at me when I ask him gentle questions, eventually fading back into unconsciousness again. I figure it's progress.

Batty recovers slowly. For a long time, I only hear his voice when he mumbles in his sleep or when he whimpers as I tend to his wounds. Eventually, he begins to communicate with me using little humming noises, or he summons me from other parts of the house with plaintive chirps that break my heart. I carry him into the bathroom and find that he's fascinated by the toilet after startling at the sound of the first flush, though that's nothing compared to his awe when I decide to show off the shower. He's visibly disappointed when I deny his peeping requests to be carried under its spray, but he seems to understand when I explain that we should wait for his stitches to come out.

He gets a little stronger every day. After a couple of weeks, he's able to sit up for short periods of time as long as he's propped up with pillows. He holds his water bottle by himself a few days after that. Eating still takes more coordination than he's capable of, at least when it comes to utensils, but he's happy enough to nibble at the fruits I cut up for him. I take him out to the living room with me when he’s well enough, and there I play nature documentaries for him and keep him warm as the snow falls outside. He stares at the television in reverent silence when the voice of David Attenborough warbles through my speakers, and he spends the majority of the day curled around a couch cushion in a nest of blankets.

I learn that he’s as omnivorous as I’d hoped he’d be, and so I go to the store and get him a few different meats. I cook them with little to no seasoning at first, feeding him like one would a dog, but it isn’t long before he begins showing interest in my own meals, too. This urges me to start buying healthier food for myself; I figure that if I wouldn’t feed it to Batty for fear of his health, I probably shouldn’t be eating it, either. That doesn’t stop me from indulging in the odd treat, and his face when he tastes my favourite soft drink is priceless before he spits it out in shock, smacking his lips and looking at the bottle as though it’s bitten him.

“What?” I chuckle, taking the bottle from his hands and offering him a cloth. “Don’t like the fizz?”

“‘Fizz’?” Batty echoes, and I nearly drop the bottle before I can get the cap on.

“You can talk?” I ask, and I feel my eyes widen when he nods. “All this time?”

Batty hesitantly shakes his head, claws gently scratching at the cloth on his lap. “Don’t know,” he slowly replies, brows furrowing over his big, dark eyes. “I remember some. It’s hard.”

“It’s okay,” I assure him, reaching out to stroke between his ears in a way I’ve learned soothes him. “You took a bad blow to the head. I’m sorry that I couldn’t take you to someone who could treat you better. I didn’t want someone bad getting their hands on you.”

Batty nods his understanding, sighing deeply and nosing up into my palm to guide my hand along his muzzle. “Wanted to say all this time,” he murmurs, his soft, fluting voice growing weaker. “Thank you.”

I smile; my heart warms. “I’m just glad that you’re okay. I’ll take care of you for as long as it takes. Do you have a name?”

He frowns again, briefly closing his eyes. “Inyez.”

“Inyez,” I murmur, testing the name in my mouth and finding it fitting. I introduce myself in turn.

Inyez’s face relaxes into a small, sleepy smile. He echoes my name, and doesn’t resist when I tuck him back under the covers.

“Rest,” I whisper, brushing my fingertips between Inyez’s eyes. They flutter closed and don’t open again as he lets exhaustion pull him under, and I turn down the lights to let him fall asleep to the sound of whale song.

Once I know that Inyez can speak with me, I go a little bonkers with the need to provide enrichment for my guest. It’s been a while since I’ve had the company with which to play games, so I’m at once overwhelmed and exhilarated when I stand in front of the tabletop game section of the city mall’s toy store. I grab classics like Jenga and Parcheesi, but I also pick up games like Tokaido, Wingspan, and Betrayal at House on the Hill. Inyez fawns over the beautiful illustrations and pretty trinkets needed to play each of the games, and he’s held rapt by the game mechanics and advancements.

I can’t help but mirror his delighted smiles, watching him delicately place tokens on the boards with his slender fingers. The furrow in his brow as he puts together jigsaw puzzles is incredibly endearing, and he’s quick to summon me from where I’m working to show me his accomplishments. “Come!” he cries. “Hurry, come see!” My name on his tongue is the sweetest sound to my ears, and I look forward to hearing it in that cheerful tone throughout the day.

I buy an extension for the desk in my office and give Inyez his own space while I work, though more often than not, he ends up watching my monitors at my elbow, marveling at my work and asking countless questions. At his urging, I show him my digital portfolio, where I have most of my character designs, logos, and even a few structural blueprints and landscapes.

“Where is this?” he asks, hardly daring to tap my monitor screen with a claw.

“Nowhere,” I say, enlarging the image so that he can drink in the details. “Nowhere real, anyway. It’s a fantasy world.”

Inyez frowns. “A fantasy world? But it looks so real.”

I can’t help but laugh. “Well, I specialise in realism. There’s a lot of research that goes into it.”

Inyez doesn’t look entirely mollified by this response, but he subsides for the most part, only murmuring, “You even got the horns right.”

I turn my head to look down at him where he’s resting his cheek against my arm. “The dragon’s?”

“Yes.”

I can’t hold back my surprise. “There are dragons? They’re real?”

Inyez looks up at me, and I briefly get lost in his eyes. “Of course they are. They’re rare, though. Rarer than most everything else.”

“Rarer than you?”

Inyez bares his tiny sharp teeth at me in a cheeky little grin. “No. I’m one of a kind.”

I laugh, helplessly charmed. “That you are. Maybe I’ll draw you sometime.”

Inyez’s mouth drops open, eyes growing wider until I can just about see the whites. “Would you really? Me?”

“Why not?” I pull up a new canvas on my illustration programme, sketching up a quick little scene from the memory of looking down into his upturned face. He gasps softly at my side and shifts to cling to my shirt, murmuring in his strange language and making soft little cooing noises as I add colour and detail.

“Do I really look like that?” he breathes, looking from my face to the screen and back.

“Mhm.” I zoom in on the eyes, adding depth and highlights before moving to adjust the shape and fullness of the lips. Inyez goes very quiet for a few minutes as he watches the portrait come to life, only stirring to place his hand at the crook of my elbow to call my attention back to him. “What is it?”

“Do you really think I am so lovely?” asks Inyez, voice very soft and gaze shy.

I’m grateful for my dark skin as I feel warmth creep up into my face. “I do. You’re very beautiful.”

Inyez scoffs, but I can tell that he’s flustered. “You’ve only met one of us. Who are you to say that?”

“Sometimes one is enough,” I murmur, gently stroking Inyez’s small chin with a crooked finger. He makes an odd little twittering noise and hides behind his wings, and I feel my heart flutter wildly in my chest. I'm falling for this creature, I realise, and I can't bring myself to care; as far as I'm concerned, Inyez is the best thing to happen to me in a long time.

“Where do you go when you get into that terrible thing?” Inyez murmurs some nights later when we’re cuddled on the couch, his head on a pillow in my lap and my fingers gently stroking his head.

“In the car? To the city, mostly. To get food and toilet paper and other supplies.”

Inyez shifts to look up at me, confused. “You get food in that noisy place?”

I nod, brushing my hand along his cheek. “Everything we’ve eaten here, I’ve bought there.”

“But it doesn’t smell.”

“Smell?”

“The city. It smells, but the food doesn’t.”

I feel myself frown in thought. “Probably because a lot of it is washed and kept in clean places, or in airtight packaging.”

“I smell,” Inyez mumbles unhappily, tucking himself up in his wings. “When may I wash?”

I hum thoughtfully, rubbing one of his velvety ears between my fingers in a way that he likes. “Probably tonight, if we’re careful. If you really feel that bad.”

“I do.” Big, dark eyes look up from my lap, beseeching. “I don’t want to smell anymore. I want to be clean.”

“Alright,” I say, shifting to gather him up in my arms and carry him to the bathroom. “As long as we don’t scrub too hard or get your wounds too wet. I’ll still need to clean and redress them after we’re done.”

“You’ll wash me?” asks Inyez, a note of excitement in his voice. “Like lovers do! Could we be lovers?”

I can’t help but laugh, startled at the sudden change in conversation; I distract myself by fiddling with the shower controls. “We could be,” I reasonably reply, “if we both felt the same about one another.”

“Then we can,” says Inyez as he slips under the spray, cooing softly at the water’s warmth. “You think I’m lovely, and I think you’re lovely, too. It’s really that simple.”

“Is it?” I ask, dubious, even as I pull my clothing off and over my head to join him.

“Why does it have to be complicated? Is it more for humans? Is it not enough to feel safe and happy and goodness when I look at you? It’s like my heart has bitten a big, juicy apricot—it’s full of sweetness and the juice is overflowing!”

“A heart-apricot?” I chuckle, shaking my head at the silliness of the comparison. “Well, I’ll try to find you an apricot next time I’m in town.”

“Would you?” asks Inyez, burrowing against my chest and sighing. “I’d like that. I like you. Can that be enough?”

I run my hands carefully between his wings, earning myself a sleepy little burble. “I think it can.” I curb my enthusiastic reaction to this new turn of events and focus on gently cleaning Inyez’s fur to his satisfaction, and then I blow dry him until he’s warm and redress his wounds. By the time I carry him to bed—my bed, our bed—he’s limp as a noodle and snoring softly in his exhaustion, and I take great pleasure in tucking him in so that he’s safe and sound.

The next morning, I am kissed awake. That night, we kiss until we drift to sleep. Kisses and affection make up the bulk of my ‘duties’ as Inyez’s lover, and I take to the task of keeping him satisfied with relish. For his part, Inyez is content to groom me seemingly at random, running his small, clawed fingers delicately through my hair and humming to himself as he does so. I get a little less work done, but I don’t mind it if it’s to see Inyez so pleased with himself when he’s decided I’m primped to perfection.

It’s another couple of days before I give Inyez the all-clear to fly after his injuries have healed for a couple of months. We have to wait until nightfall until he takes to the air, but then he’s a dark blur against a darkening sky until I cannot see him at all. It makes me breathless when I realise that he’s lost to the night—what if, I think, he decides right then that he prefers the night and its freedoms to me? What if he misses his family, his friends, his former life. When he lands in front of me, panting and exhilarated and beautiful, I wrap him into my arms and crush him to my chest, burying my face against the side of his neck.

“What’s happened?” he asks, petting fretfully at my face and hair. “What’s wrong? Did you think I’d not come back?”

“Yes,” I say, and the word chokes me, making me realise that I’m crying.

“Oh, sweet one,” Inyez coos, wrapping me in his wings as best as he can. “I would never. Why would I? I am fed and loved and pampered, and you are a very good snuggler. You don’t even have fur, but you are very warm! Why would I leave, mm? Tell me.”

“I don’t know.” I laugh damply. “Missing your family. Your friends.”

“I’ll visit my family when my body is stronger,” Inyez tells me, tutting softly and nosing at my ear. “They deserve to know where I am, and they can come and visit us when the spring comes. They’ll be jealous of my roost and my mate.”

“Am I that?” I ask, sniffling and pulling away to look down into Inyez’s eyes. Inyez turns his face away, however, and I recognise that he is shy.

“You could be,” he murmurs, “but it’s not official yet. To do that, we have to—well, have sex. Hopefully more than once.”

“Do you want to?” I ask him, stroking between his wings so that they relax and rustle softly.

“Oh, I thought you’d never ask,” Inyez says all in a gust, looking up at me plaintively. “I’ve been wanting to have sex with you for days. Weeks, maybe.”

I can’t help but laugh again. “You could have asked.”

“I could have.” Inyez pouts. “You would have said no, because of my wounds. You treat me like I’m fragile.”

“You are fragile, in comparison. But you’re right, I would have denied you. Now I won’t. So, ask.”

Big eyes blink up at me from that small, furry face, hopeful to their core. “Really? You’ll be my mate?”

I can feel myself grinning. “I’ll be your mate.”

Inyez wriggles against me, clutching at my clothing with a sudden fervour. “Mine?”

“Yours,” I assure him, drawing him against me and carrying him back up into the observatory. The next few minutes are a blur as we leave my clothing strewn across the apartment in a trail that leads to the bed, and I manage to find a bottle of lube I haven’t touched in months but mercifully has enough for at least a round or two.

Preparation happens before all else. Normally, this is the part where I would begin to lose interest because my previous partners have treated it like a means to an end, but Inyez is so sensitive and receptive that every little touch I give him sends him into a fluttering little tizzy on the bed. His prick is slick and red when it hardens out of its sheath, tapered at the end and thicker at the base. I’ve never seen anything like it, and I play with it with a careful touch that seems to frustrate and overwhelm the small creature beneath me in equal measure.

I drink Inyez in as he squeaks and squirms with my fingers inside him, watching his claws tear tiny little holes in the sheets as he grips them in his hands and trembles like a taut bowstring. When I finally push into him, he makes a noise like an exultation, and I fight to keep myself from coming right there and then when he wraps his legs around my hips and digs his feet into my ass to drive me in deeper. He wants more of me and I give until there’s nothing left to give, letting him adjust for a moment before I take up a rhythm that rocks the bed against the wall.

I need him, too, and I tell him so as I fuck him down into the mattress, listening to him mew and moan and say my name in a way more beautiful than any I’ve heard yet. He clings to the headboard when I roll him over onto his stomach, breathless and gasping raggedly, wings trembling like they’re weathering a storm.

“There!” he cries when I angle my hips a certain way, one of his hands diving between himself and the sheets to pump away at his hard, leaking cock. “Oh, please, there! There!”

“You want it?” I ask, and I hardly recognise my own voice, so low and guttural it is.

“Yes, gods, I want it,” Inyez mewns, almost sobbing with his need. “I’m close. I’m gonna—I’m—Please—“

“Tell me you’ll stay.”

“I’ll stay!” Inyez squeaks, not a hint of hesitation in his desperate tones. “I’ll stay, I’ll stay, I’ll never leave this roost! I swear!”

“Yes,” I growl, pushing my chest down against his back and reaching a crescendo that makes the headboard hammer against the wall. I come so hard and so suddenly that it feels like I get pulled inside out from the toes on up, and my vision whites out to the sound of Inyez wailing beneath me. When I come around, we’re tangled together in the sheets and I have him on top of me, both of us panting heavily and both of my hands buried into the soft, downy fur at the small of Inyez’s back.

“Christ,” says Inyez, and I choke on a laugh, turning my head to cough.

“That’s not an expletive.”

Inyez grunts. “You use it like one.”

I laugh. “That’s fair.”

Inyez takes a long moment to gather his thoughts, stroking the skin of my torso with careful fingers. “Would you be willing to meet my family?”

I blink up at the ceiling. “Of course. How many of them are there?”

“I have six brothers and eight sisters. I’m fifth down in the birthing line.”

My eyes bulge. “How old is the youngest?”

“Tiisa? She’s six months old. The oldest is in her forties.” I can feel Inyez smother a smile against my chest. “Mother says she’s done for now. We don’t quite believe her.”

I laugh, shaking my head up at the ceiling. “I would offer them shelter for the winter, but I don’t think they’d all fit in here.”

“Oh, Mother would hate it here,” Inyez chuckles. “It would be much too quiet for her liking. She likes life with the roost. I’ve always preferred quiet. This roost is perfect for us.”

Us. The word makes my heart swell, and I bury a smile against the top of Inyez’s head. “We’ll figure something out for their visit.”

“Mm,” hums Inyez, sighing softly before he sits up and smiles impishly down at me in the darkness.

“What?”

“Again.”

“Again?” I laugh, wrapping my hands around Inyez’s hips as they begin to rock and wriggle on my lap. “I’ve created a monster.”

“Your monster,” Inyez smugly coos, kissing my chest right over my heart.

#exophilia #gay exophilia #mlm exophilia #exophilia fic #exophilia lemon #monster lemon #monster fic #monster boyfriend #bat boyfriend #Inyez #a twink for you monster toppers out there ;3 #My work

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prettyboyreid · 3 years

Text

can you read to me? (III)

(part one) (part two)

Even after a silly fight, the reader can’t seem to go to sleep without Matthew next to her.

College!Matthew Gray Gubler x Reader

Warnings: language, angst

Word Count: 3681

The next few days seemed to drone on and on.

Finals. Lunch. Finals. Studying.

It was an endless cycle that felt like it would never end for you. Thankfully, on Friday, you had a ticket back home for Christmas break, which had just been delayed two days due to the snowy, icy New York weather. The bad part was that it was only Wednesday.

You hadn’t talked to Matthew since Monday. The second time you had seen him in almost a month, and you had fought yet again. You wanted to talk to him again - you could hardly sleep without listening to him talk - but God you didn’t know if you could handle another argument.

You were in the middle of reviewing for your chemistry final (thankfully, the last science class you might ever need to take) when the door to your dorm creaked open slowly and steadily. Your roommate, Mia, peeked her head through the crack in the door, giving you a soft smile once she saw you look up from the laptop.

“Hey,” she said in a gentle voice, stepping fully into the room once you returned the smile. “The end of the semester party is tonight. Do you want to go with me?” she asked you, folding her arms over her chest as she leaned back against the door.

You gave her a simple shrug, closing the laptop as you turned your full attention to her. “I don’t know, I have to study for my final,” you began to explain, letting out a huff of breath at the thought of studying stoichiometry or the periodic table for another second. She frowned, moving to sit on the edge of your bed before resting her hand on your duvet-covered leg.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” she asked, giving you a sympathetic look. It wasn’t too hard for her to figure out that it had something to do with Matthew; he had been in our room practically every day since we started dating freshman year, and now she hadn’t seen him in three weeks. You used to not be able to shut up about him and any of his weird quirks; you had hardly spoken, especially since Monday. She was good at reading people - there was no question about that - but it didn’t take a genius to figure out your heart was slowly breaking during what was supposed to be one of the happiest times of the year.

You sighed heavily, pushing away from your small, cluttered desk and rubbing at your eyes with the heels of your hands. “He, uh… we got into a fight,” you told her, looking down at your lap a bit as she rested a comforting hand on top of yours. “He got pissed at me for hanging out with Jack a couple weeks back, and I got pissed about him hanging out with Lydia, so we hadn’t talked in two weeks. I, uh, couldn’t sleep Sunday night and I went down to his room, and it seemed fine, then when I went to talk to him later…” you chewed on the inside of your cheek, hesitant to talk about one of the people that irked you the worst in the world. “... Lydia was in his room, and he told me she tried to kiss him when we weren’t talking,” you told her softly, your voice trailing off a bit as you thought more and more about it.

The past few days, you pushed it to the back of your mind. You didn’t want to think about either of them, the way Lydia made you second-guess every second Matthew went back to his room and went back home for break, and the way Matthew used to make you feel, the same things that used to give you butterflies now making you want to vomit at the first thought of him.

“Shit, I’m… I’m sorry, Y/N,” was all your roommate managed out after a few silent moments. You didn’t think Mia would know much about this sort of thing - she had never been one for relationships, especially ones that lasted as long as yours and Matthew’s. But, to your surprise, she was always able to make you feel better about anything that happened in your relationship. This, as you had suspected, was no different.

“How about we get you out of the dorm tonight. You’re almost done with your finals, and you leave in two days. You could use a little down time,” she coaxed, nudging your shoulder playfully with a wide grin.

The thought was tempting. You didn’t want to spend one of your last winters at New York University wallowing in self-pity; it wasn’t exactly your first choice of past times.

“Fine,” you sighed, leaning back in your chair. “But we have to be back before one; my last final is at ten A.M. tomorrow and I can’t be late for it,” you told her, and her face lit up with a smile.

“Great! That’s perfect. I’ll stay sober so you can let loose a little bit. God knows you deserve it,” she said, winking at you before standing up from her chair. “Wear that red shirt that makes your boobs look good!” she called to you from the doorway, presumably going down the hall to get ready with some of her friends. You laughed softly but nodded, giving her a soft smile as she turned to head out the door.

The second you made your way through the threshold of the fraternity house that hosted the party, a drink was thrusted into your hand. Mia took hers happily, handing it over to you. “You need it more than me,” she grinned, dumping the blue tinted liquid into your solo cup before tossing the empty cup into a nearby garbage can.

You looked around the packed room for a moment, shoving your free hand in the back pocket of your jeans while Mia began talking with the first person that she noticed who came into her peripheral vision. You couldn’t say you were too surprised with this - she was much more social than you were.

You found yourself wandering around the first floor of the house, tapping your fingertips against your leg to the beat of whatever song was blaring through the speakers. The longer you stood meandering through the packed house, however, the more you realized this really was the last place that you wanted to be.

You still sipped from the drink as you made your way up the steps of the house, hoping to find a bit of solitude from the sleazy frat boys and the girls who were only being nice because they were intoxicated. You sat down on the top step of the carpeted staircase, taking a long sip of your drink before you practically felt yourself jumping out of your skin at the sound of a familiar voice.

“Y/N?”

You turned around, probably much quicker than you should have, only to see Matthew towering over you. The bags under his eyes had returned, and he had a cup in his hand that looked much more empty than your own. You stood up a bit and chewed on the inside of your cheek, wondering whether or not the best place to talk was in the middle of a sweaty and loud fraternity house.

“Hey, Matthew,” you said softly, scratching at the back of your neck somewhat anxiously. You didn’t know what you were supposed to say to him - it felt like it was wrong to even be in the same house as him right now.

He looked down into his cup when you spoke to him, as if he was trying to avoid the situation at hand. But you knew Matthew Gubler better than anyone else, and you knew he definitely wanted to fix things right now.

“I-I’m really sorry about everything that happened with Lydia,” he said honestly, though it came out so quickly you were sure you had misheard him at first. You just nodded in response, taking another sip of your drink as you tried to turn your focus to anyone - anything - else that you could see.

You saw him frown a little bit at that, and he looked down to his feet again. You followed his gaze for a brief moment, and fought back the urge to smile when you noticed his mix-matched socks - one of them red with black stripes, the other purple with blue polka dots sprayed all over them.

“I know you are,” you told him after a few silent moments, still keeping your concentration on the ground in front of you. For some reason, now it felt almost too nerve-wracking to even look at him, like you had never known him. Was it a bit dramatic? Maybe, but the Matthew that you knew wouldn’t have acted the way he had the past few weeks.

You didn’t even want to think about it more than you have been the past two nights.

He stayed silent for a few more minutes, dragging his fingertips and nails across the grooves embedded in the plastic solo cup in his hand. He looked to you again when he finally found the words that he needed, running his hand back through his hair. “Do you want to… do you want to go back and talk about it a bit?” he asked softly, swirling his drink around in his cup a bit.

Right now, the last place you wanted to be was where Lydia had been. But at the same time, it was the only place you really wanted to be, like it was the only place you thought you would be okay.

You just nodded after a few moments and set your cup down on the thick wooden banister, shoving your hands into your pockets before walking down the steps, assuming Matthew was hardy two steps behind you.

The walk back to the dorm building was almost eerily quiet. The only sound you could hear, or probably just register, was the loud crunching of the freshly fallen snow beneath yours and Matthew’s feet. You didn’t really need to look back to him to make sure he was following you, you just knew he was.

You flashed your school ID card over the scanner before walking into the building, heading up towards the elevator and pressing the button to go up. Once you stepped into the elevator cart, everything seemed to get even quieter. You could swear you could hear your heart beating in your chest, the cart moving much slower than usual.

Floor one.

Floor two.

Floor three.

Floor four.

Floor five.

With a short ding, the large metal doors finally peeled apart, and you let out a heavy sigh. The ride up felt like a chore, and you could practically feel yourself getting claustrophobic trying not to look or speak to Matthew.

You led him down to the end of the hall, opposite of his dorm, and pulled your keys out of your pocket. You felt his eyes on you - not in a weird way, though it gave you butterflies when that was the last thing you wanted to feel at that moment.

You unlocked the door and pushed it open, hanging your keys up on a hook beside your door and flicking on the lights. It looked much more empty than it usually did, given you and your roommate were mostly packed up to go home for a month. You had duffel bags and suitcases scattered around the room, along with a few grocery bags so none of your snacks would expire while you were gone.

After a few moments of silence, you turned back to Matthew with your arms folded across your chest. “What? What did you have to say?” you asked him, your words coming off much more harsher than you really intended them to be.

You watched a twitch of a frown flash across his lips before his lips pressed into a flat line, sitting down on Mia’s bed, across from where you were standing at the moment. He looked like he was mulling over every single possible word he could say to you in his head, but he didn’t know which was best. He looked up at you after a few moments, wring his hands out in his lap as he took a deep intake of breath.

“I’m really sorry.”

Your nose twitched a bit as you listened to him, letting out a heavy breath through your nose. You had heard him say he was sorry before, why was this time supposed to be any different?

“Sorry?” you asked with a bit of a scoff. “You’re sorry that you kissed another girl while you thought we were still together?”

“I didn’t kiss her first!” he defended himself, running his hands down his dark blue jeans as he shook his head a bit. “I don’t know what else you want me to say about it, I am sorry. I didn’t want to kiss her,” he told you, the words rolling off of his tongue as if each syllable took a weight off his shoulders.

You huffed out again and kicked off your shoes, shoving them under your bed as you listened to him. “Why would you invite her over if she kissed you, then?” you asked, sitting down on your bed and folding your hands together in your lap. You weren’t sure whether or not you really wanted the answer to that question, but you looked to him expectantly and waited for his excuse for your question.

As you expected, he was silent for a few moments. Much longer than you would’ve liked, in fact. But eventually, he quietly spoke up with the same answer you had heard before. “I don’t know.”

“Of course you don’t,” you frowned, looking over at your desk where you still had a picture of the two of you framed in the far corner of it.

“I’m sorry, okay? It was stupid. I shouldn’t have even talked to her after that. I shouldn’t have let her into my room and I should’ve just let her be after she kissed me. I don’t know what else I can do to make this better,” he told you, running his hands back through his hair and tugging a bit on the ends of it.

You looked down at your socks as you listened to him, trying to shake the thought of everything that had happened. You didn’t want to forgive him, and you really shouldn’t, but you knew he pushed her off.

But he also let her in afterwards.

“I’m sorry. She asked how everything was going with you, and I wanted to tell her what was happening since we were going to lunch, and she just… she kind of made her way in, I guess?” he tried to explain, letting his hands do some of the talking as he tried to clear the situation.

You chewed on the inside of your cheek, checking the time on your alarm clock before sighing, going over to one of your duffel bags and pulling out a pair of sweatpants. You changed out of your jeans and into the sweats quickly, pulling your hair up into a loose ponytail before pulling the comforter on your bed back and looking over to him. “Come on,” you said softly, nodding towards the bed.

He furrowed his eyebrows together as he watched her, but still slowly stood up and made his way over to her. “You… you’re not mad?” he asked, kicking off his Converse shoes before carefully climbing into the small bed.

“I don’t know what I am right now,” you confessed, getting in the bed next to him. “But I haven’t slept well in over two weeks, and I know you haven’t either, and I’d rather get one good sleep before I go home than spend the night arguing,” you told him, flicking off the light next to your bed before resting your head on his chest.

He nodded softly, sinking down a bit so he was lying flat on his back so the two of you could be more comfortable. “What do you want me to read to you?” he asked quietly, looking up at the ceiling as he waited silently and patiently for your response.

“Can you read Annabel Lee again?” you asked quietly, letting your eyes adjust slowly to the darkness around you as he cleared his throat a bit, knowing he was focusing on the ceiling so he wouldn’t forget anything.

“It was many and many a year ago,

In a kingdom by the sea,

That a maiden there lived whom you may know

By the name of Annabel Lee;

And this maiden she lived with no other thought

Than to love and be loved by me…”

You let your eyes slowly close as his voice slowly lulled you to sleep, worried you wouldn’t even be able to stay up for the rest of the poem.

“I was a child and she was a child,

In this kingdom by the sea,

But we loved with a love that was more than love—

I and my Annabel Lee—

With a love that the wingèd seraphs of Heaven

Coveted her and me.

“And this was the reason that, long ago,

In this kingdom by the sea,

A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling

My beautiful Annabel Lee;

So that her highborn kinsmen came

And bore her away from me,

To shut her up in a sepulchre

In this kingdom by the sea.”

His long, slender fingers eventually found their way to your hair, pushing some loose, fallen strands from your face as he spoke. The words rolled easily off his tongue, like he didn’t even have to think about them.

“The angels, not half so happy in Heaven,

Went envying her and me—

Yes!—that was the reason (as all men know,

In this kingdom by the sea)

That the wind came out of the cloud by night,

Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee.

“But our love it was stronger by far than the love

Of those who were older than we—

Of many far wiser than we—

And neither the angels in Heaven above

Nor the demons down under the sea

Can ever dissever my soul from the soul

Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;”

His voice was much more rigid and stoic than the last time he recited the poem to you, like he was reading from the pages the first time he read it to you. Like he was detached, like he almost… didn’t care as much as he used to.

“For the moon never beams, without bringing me dreams

Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;

And the stars never rise, but I feel the bright eyes

Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;

And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side

Of my darling—my darling—my life and my bride,

In her sepulchre there by the sea—

In her tomb by the sounding sea.”

You looked carefully up at him, making sure not to disturb him, before frowning a bit. His face was focused on your ceiling, almost looking bored, like he had better places to be. You sighed and rested your head on his chest, slowly but surely falling into another slumber.

By the time you woke up a few hours later, you couldn’t help but frown at the lack of warmth surrounding you. You rubbed tiredly at your eyes as you looked around the empty room, seeing your roommate had already cleared out for break.

You looked to your side, seeing an empty bed that differed from what you saw last night. You sat up and leaned back against your pillows, before you caught sight of a loose piece of paper on your desk.

You reached over and grabbed it, smiling sadly when you saw the scrawled, curly handwriting that spelled out your name on the front of it. You carefully unfolded it, your smile quirking down into a glower when you saw what the letter wrote.

“Y/N,

I love you. I really, really do.

But now isn’t a great time for either of us.

I can’t put you through what you’ve gone through the past two weeks over all of Christmas break. I don’t want to make you have to deal with all of that again.

I’m sorry I left without saying anything, but my flight was early and I couldn’t miss it; my mom wanted me home tonight for a big family dinner.

If you want to talk over break, you know my number, and you can call me whenever. I’ll always answer.

I love you, my Annabel Lee.

(In the totally not necrophiliac way)

Matthew <3”

You couldn’t help but frown as you read it, but shoved the flimsy paper into your back pocket. You didn’t want to think about what he had written, or even think about him at all. You just packed up the last of your clothes that you would need for the month, pushing down the pictures of you and Matthew, or just Matthew, whenever you came across them in your room.

When you finally packed up, you grabbed all of your bags and brought them out into the hall, setting them down on the ground as you locked up. As you did, however, you couldn’t help but frown as you found yourself looking down towards the other end of the hall, hoping to see Matthew coming out of his dorm all of a sudden, laughing and being happy like he usually was.

But instead, you were met with a dark hall, piles of snow mounted on the windows darkening the hallways. It almost made you feel sick, the way the light seemed to drain out of your entire life the second Matthew was gone.

As you walked down the hall to the elevators, you silently wished that you could go back and change everything, make it all right.

But you knew it was too late.

------

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silverarmedassassin · 3 years

Text

Clandestine Meetings - One

Actor!Bucky x Reader | Word Count: 2488 | Warnings: None

A/N: Listen, I know I said this would be posted in "about an hour," but I have no self-control and it must be posted NOW.

Sorry for the delay in getting this out! I was having a bit of block. Thank you for reading and, if you feel so inclined, please let me know what you think!❤️ If you want to be tagged, please send me a message or enter your url here!

Dividers by the lovely @firefly-graphics

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It’s 10:30 by the time your boss stumbles into the office. Pepper Potts is usually the embodiment of poised and put together - sleek strawberry blonde hair either falling over her shoulders in beautiful waves or tied in a high ponytail; black pencil skirts and white blouses tucked neatly inside. But not today.

While the ponytail still sits high on her head, dark circles taint her usually smooth, pristine complexion. She’s fisting a to-go mug in one hand and her office mug in the other, already steaming with a fresh round of caffeine.

You hated days like these; mornings after Tony keeps her out late - either business or pleasure, you never know as you prefer not to pry into your bosses’ personal lives - were always interesting, to say the least. Pepper was never mean, and you were almost positive there wasn’t an unkind bone in her body. She was just off. And if she was off, it means you were off, resulting in your job being about one hundred times harder as you often had to play the roles of both assistant and editor.

“Good morning, Ms. Potts,” you finally greet as she sits down at her desk. She’s rummaging through her bag, growing more irritable as the seconds pass. She sighs before stopping to look up at you.

“Y/N, please. It’s been six months. Just call me Pepper.” You internally scoff at the insistence of being anything less than professional towards one of the smartest women you’ve ever encountered in your life, and she turns back to her treasure hunt. “Don’t tell me I left my laptop at home,” she whines to herself as she slumps down into her large executive chair.

You clear your throat as you shuffle forward, computer in hand. “You had me take down to IT to get your files backed up, remember?” you smile as you deposit the device on the cherry-oak desk.

Pepper returns the smile and shakes her head. “Honestly, I don’t understand how I functioned before you.” She slides the laptop across the desk and opens it. While she waits for the software to boot up, she starts her typical morning rapid-fire session. “Did I miss any calls before I came in?”

“No, it’s been pretty q-word this morning.” You vowed never to say “quiet” while in the office. It somehow always jinxed your days, resulting in everyone and their mother calling within twenty minutes.

“E-mails?”

“The chef you’ve been in contact with sent over his schedule for the next few months. It’s looking like the best time to meet is early next month if you want to get the feature done in time for the winter edition.” Pepper opens her mouth to fire another question, but you’re one step ahead of her. “I’ve already blocked out a date in your calendar and sent the invite to his team.”

A soft smile graces the woman’s face as she scribbles notes in her daybook. “And what does my schedule look like for today?”

You sort through the mental files that contain minute-to-minute information regarding your boss’s workday. “You’re pretty booked. You have that photoshop with James Barnes at noon, and after-”

“Shit,” Pepper mummers, cutting you off. Panic quickly settles into her features. “Why does Tony do this? Barnes is impossible to book for anything. I can’t miss this….”

“Uh, no, you can’t,” you practically screech as you fix your boss with a wild look. “This photoshoot has been on your schedule since before I even started. And the time you have set up with him next week doesn’t allow for a full interview, photoshoot, and get material for the short online feature.” You try not to let the panic come out in your voice, but this is precisely the kind of incident you were hired to prevent.

Pepper gently closes her laptop and sets her features in a serious look. “Listen, I think you’re doing a great job here, and you’ve grown so much within the few months you’ve been on the team.” You eye her suspiciously, wondering if this was your ‘you’re fired’ speech. If so, it was definitely coming out of left field. “Why don’t you take my place at the shoot today? If Tony hadn’t promised I’d be in attendance for this investor meeting today, I’d have you go to that instead. But,” the blonde sighs deeply before continuing, “Tony has no regard for anyone’s schedule, and this is an important meeting.”

Your stomach drops from the 44th floor you’re currently on down to ground level. You’d never been on a set before, let alone one with someone as big as James. Plus, you’d only been on a handful of mid-sized interviews. How did she expect you to do this by yourself?

“Pepper, I…”

“I know what you’re going to say. You’re going to try and tell me that you’re not ready and that you can’t possibly clear your schedule for the afternoon. But if I didn’t think you were capable of holding your own, you wouldn’t even be sitting here with ‘assistant editor’ in front of your name. You have the skillset; you just need to show that you can use it. I know you don’t want to be an assistant forever.”

You anxiously bite your lip, feelings of inadequacy and anxiousness filling your senses.

“I don’t even know this James guy…” you say, defeated.

“Well, the car doesn’t arrive for another,” she looks down at her phone, “forty-five minutes. You better get reading.”

“We really need to bring you into the twenty-first century,” Natasha, Bucky’s manager, says as the first notes of My Funny Valentine start dancing through today’s set.

Following the too-bright flash of the camera, Bucky blinks the starbursts out of his eyes and tries to set the redhead with as stern of a look as possible. “Don’t you dare diss Mr. Sinatra. He’s a classic. A legend!” He watches as a stylist runs up and begins fussing with his hair.

Natasha just rolls her eyes and goes back to scrolling through her phone. As much as she acts annoyed with him - and his insistence of having at least two dozen 40’s songs on every photoshoot playlist - he knew she wouldn’t trade him for the world. They had a long history pre-dating the entertainment industry, and she was damn good at her job. If it wasn’t for Nat, Bucky’s not sure his current agency would have even signed him.

As the stylist finishes up her poking and prodding, the photographer - who Bucky has already forgotten the name of - begins shouting out directions from behind the camera. Pose this way. Turn that way. Make it look like you want to be here. It takes everything in Bucky not to grimace - both at the consistent reconfiguring he has to do to his body and the loud rumble that echoes through his stomach. The shirtless pictures they were shooting today caused him - against his better judgment - to forgo breakfast and, with nothing but too-weak black coffee in his system, Bucky couldn’t help but feel a little agitated.

“Just a few more shots, and then we can break for lunch,” he hears the man behind the camera shout before dragging the camera back up to his face.

Bucky contorts himself into a position that shows off the abs he’s worked incredibly hard to achieve and maintain and masks his face in the perfect moody smolder these magazines love so much. Three more pops of the shutter, some grumbling and direction by the photographer, and one more position change, and he’s finally free.

As he’s looking at the pictures and throwing a robe over his bare torso and boxer-clad bottom, Bucky’s attention is pulled from the camera’s tiny screen to the back of the spacious room by Natasha’s stern, Russian-lilted voice. The accent only came out when she was agitated, so the sound alone is often used as a warning sign to those closest to her to stay away.

“How did you even get up here? Is there no security in place? I swear-”

Bucky turns to find his manager - all five-foot-three inches of her - standing defensively in front of whomever she’s cornered by the elevator.

“As I said, I’m here in place of Ms. Potts.” Bucky perks up at the second voice; is almost positive he recognizes the sweet melody despite having only encountered it once several months before. “Here, look, I have my badge.”

Sure enough, as Bucky scurries over to the duo, he sees a familiar face anxiously looking at his manager. He might be terrible with names, but Bucky Barnes rarely forgets a face.

“Natasha, why do you insist on harassing every person who sets foot within a five-foot radius of me while on the job?” Bucky jokes as he approaches the women.

He watches as your attention shifts from the annoyed redhead to him; a look of shock and maybe a hint of mortification flashes across your face.

“I wasn’t harassing. This is a closed set, and randos from the street can’t just walk on up,” Natasha rolls her eyes. “And it’s not you I’m worried about. It’s...you. But you know what I mean!”

He does. After all, protecting his privacy and work is one of Bucky’s most significant concerns. That doesn't mean he isn’t going to tease Natasha any chance he gets. He playfully scoffs and turns his attention to you. “I see you got the job. I told you everything was going to work out.”

Bucky can’t help but preen at the way you anxiously tuck a non-existent stray hair behind your ear and bite your lip. “You were right. Mr. Stark isn’t as intimidating as I thought. Although,” you playfully roll your eyes, “he is a menace. He promised Pepper’s attendance at a meeting, so now you’re stuck with an inexperienced interviewer rather than the queen of journalism.”

“Bah!” Bucky exclaims. “I’m sure you’ll do great. Plus, you’re not the one half-naked in the situation. If anyone embarrasses themselves, it’ll be me.”

Natasha chortles at the comment, mumbling something the sounds a lot like, “ever the charmer,” before walking away. At the same time, Bucky doesn’t miss the way your gaze slowly skims down his cotton-clade body before snapping back up to his face.

“Come on. We just broke for lunch, and Stark spares no expense when it comes to the spreads.”

It’s well past six-thirty in the evening when you finally make it back to your building. Despite the exhaustion flowing through your veins and the grumble in your stomach reminding you every five minutes that you haven’t eaten since lunchtime, there’s a festive air to your being, a proverbial pep to your step that could only be the result of a successful first interview experience.

Yeah, you were a nervous wreck before and during the interview, but you walked away feeling amazing about yourself - and with three pages worth of phenomenal, touching, and personal quotes from the one and only Bucky Barnes.

You try to ignore the butterflies that erupt low in your belly at the thought of the blue-eyed god of a man. Despite having no other experience interviewing someone with as large of a celebrity as he, you’ve concluded that Bucky is an angel of an interviewee. He was polite, answered all of your questions, and flirted just a little. Or, at least that’s what you would call it if you were anyone but a lowly editorial assistant who still purchased from bargain bins because that’s all you could afford. In all reality, Bucky was a very smooth talker with the confidence to back it up. It explained the incomprehensible hype surrounding the man you had no idea was such a big deal less than twelve hours prior.

The rumble of your stomach pulls you back to reality as you unlock your apartment door. You push the thoughts of Bucky to the back of your mind, settle for finishing unpacking the day for when you’re unwinding for bed. Right now, all you want to focus on is fo-

“Uh, hello!” your roommate Wanda screeches as you push open the door. The redhead is standing, arms crossed, in your entry, a look of disdain on her face. “When were you going to tell me, your best friend and roommate, who pays half the rent and utilities, mind you, that Bucky Barnes followed you on Instagram. James Bucky Barnes, Y/N!”

You freeze at the mention of the man who has taken up every inch of your mind since you left the shoot earlier that day. You deposit your keys onto the small table next to the door and try to act as nonchalant as possible. “What are you talking about, Wanda?”

Your roommate starts wagging her phone in front of your face before pulling it back so she can read off her screen. “Well, I follow these gossip blogs - just for fun, of course. I like to stay up-to-date with all the celebrity goings-on.” You fix Wanda with an unamused look as you pass by on the way to the kitchen. “And I was scrolling through, catching up on today’s gossip, and all of a sudden, I see a screenshot of your Instagram account!”

You freeze mid-reach for a saucepan and turn to look at her. “What?”

“Yea, see,” Wanda holds her phone out so you can see the screen. Low and behold, there your account is; questionably composed landscape shots of the city and poorly-lit food pics in all their glory. “It started to circulate this afternoon after someone saw he followed you! Why did he follow you?”

You slowly resume your task of reheating last night’s spaghetti as you answer her. “I...I don’t know? I met him at work this afternoon. He probably just followed me because of Stark.” You shrug despite the thrill that runs through your body.

You halfheartedly listen as Wanda blabs on about the crush she’s apparently had for years despite never having once mentioned it to you, too focused on running through the day’s events to care much about how she’s seen every single one of his films at least a dozen times.

Maybe he had been flirting with you? His manager did mention he flirts with anything with a heartbeat, so it was most likely just part of his personality. Or at least the role he played in public. You weren’t naive enough to think that who Bucky presented himself as to the media, fans, and others not in his inner circle was the real Bucky. After all, he was likely just trying to win you over so you’d write something good about him.

Still, you can’t help the giddy smile that creeps across your face as, when you finally lie down for the night, you open the Instagram app to find Bucky’s name and verified status among the several notifications awaiting you.

@redbarn1995 @juenenfeu

#bucky x reader #actor!bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #actor au #bucky barnes au #bucky x you #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fanfic

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thebestworstidea · 3 years

Text

The Green Knight’s Lady (4)

Sequel fic to “The Witch and the Green Knight” (on Ao3)

Warnings: undeserved redemption arc, graphic imagery and as of this chapter violence against minors.

Chapter 1: In which Rowan has Unexpected House Guests

Chapter 2: In Which They Try to Figure Out What the Hell is Going On

Chapter 3: In Which Remus and Rowan’s Stupidity Escalates to Treason (sort of)

>-<>-< ——————-<>——————- >-<>-<

Chapter 4: In Which Life is Difficult

>-<>-< ——————-<>——————- >-<>-<

The winter waned in a sloppy miserable way, kicking out with a few snowstorms like the flailing of a dying animal. Despite not really being bothered by the cold, D.N. practically hibernated, most often found in a window seat in the library, going through Rowan’s Mother’s books and being snarky about bad information about fairies. Rowan was fairly sure it was just a way to safely lash out. She dug out an old laptop and gave him access to the Netflix account. If nothing else it kept him distracted. Something Rowan had learned was that the fair folk did, as legend said, love stories.

And apparently, soap operas and romcoms.

Like herself, Remus seemed out of sorts in the late winter, though more in the way of someone who had woken up long before they wanted to. He’d gone into the woods and returned dressed in his more normal attire, also having brought back a few changes of clothing that was closer to D.N.’s size, and of a finer make than anything in the Baker house, despite Rowan’s sister’s cautious attempt to find a fabric the fae child would like. For the most part, the rest of Rowan’s family treated D.N. with cautious courtesy, and a certain level of ‘not be alone in a room with him’. Remus, by contrast, was treated more as a benign nuisance, though not without kindness. Frankly, that was more understandable than Rowan’s blase attitude. That didn’t stop a certain level of speculation as to why ‘Leif’ and his friend were staying with them.

“I’ve figured it out!”

Rowan balled a pair of socks and tossed it in her sister’s basket across the table. They were sorting the laundry by owner, and Rowan had made it her mission to find as many pairs of socks as she could.

“Figured what out?”

“What’s going on with Leif and the kid!”

“Have you now?” Rowan said dryly and a little nervously. Her sister nodded.

“It’s pretty obvious if you think about it. The kid is the spawn of the last fairy king.”

“What.”

“Look, it’s obvious that Leif served him, right? And we know he’s dead. So then Leif disappears for months and reappears with a kid? With scales? We know that Leif’s traveled outside Wickhills before- so clearly he knew where the kid was, maybe he was even the one who took him away, probably more of a Cronos eating his kids thing than a Arthur sent into hiding thing, and now he brought him back.” She pursed her lips. “You know, I bet Leif can change genders like a frog.”

Rowan started laughing.

“Leif might even be the mother-” she went on.

“Definitely not.” Rowan choked.

“But he is related. I’ve connected the dots.” she said smugly.

“You haven’t connected shit.” Rowan retorted throwing a pair of pants at her.

“I’ve connected them.”

As spring burgeoned forth, Remus agitated with the need to leave the house. It was clear he wasn’t used to staying in one place, even for a few weeks like this. Rowan could always tell when Remus had gone wandering in the night, because D.N. didn’t come down from the attic until he’d come back. It wasn’t as if D.N. was avoiding his so-called hosts, so much as he was totally avoiding the humans in the house as much as possible as if by pretending they weren’t there he could pretend none of this was happening.

When spring officially arrived Rowan made them clothing, a shirt of heavy green broadcloth for Remus, and a more delicate shirt of the finest white linen she had for D.N. The shirt he generally wore was made of undyed silk, and Rowan feared that the substance had come from the shroud- or rather bag- she’d sewn for the bones of the Serpent King. It was tricky to give them, as D.N. certainly wanted no gifts from her, and Remus wanted to gift her in return. But it was simply tradition, that for the first day of spring everyone had a new garment. So her green brother and erstwhile guest needed something new too, for luck. Honestly, Rowan thought he could probably use all the luck he could get.

It was a fine warm day in mid April, when leaves were finally starting to show, and only the most stubborn bits of snow were sticking around in the darkest shadows, when Rowan was working in her garden.

“Little tree! You’re wearing pants!”

The whippy rose vine Rowan had been arguing with slipped out of her hand as the twist tie sprang from her other, and she took the momentary break to glare at Remus, who had appeared in her personal bubble with no warning whatsoever.

“I wear pants all the time.” she retorted, giving him a half hearted shove.

“Yeah, but usually you have dresses over ‘em.” theatrically, he collapsed to the scrubby grass outside the garden and sprawled in the sun.

“Well, I learned that arguing with rose bushes in a dress doesn’t end well for the dress.” She grabbed hold again with her gloved hand, and pulled a fresh tie out of her apron pocket, lashing the thorny vine to the wrought iron trellis that kept most fae out of her garden. They could, in theory, pass under the iron arbor that faced the wood, wreathed as it was in plants, but until Remus it hadn’t been much of a problem. “How are you doing?” she asked quietly. He was looking better. He’d been kind of wan, a sickly sort of green rather than his normal healthy hue like a ripening acorn.

“Starting to feel my oats.” He responded, tipping his face into the sun. “It’s a good spring. I’d say that spring was happy about something.” in the distance, a door opened and closed.

“Seasons do seem to have emotions.” She agreed, and had to step delicately over him to get to the next bush, pulling clippers from her pocket and studying the bush thoughtfully, before pruning a few branches, and returning to tucking them in safely so they wouldn’t grab passers by too badly. That done she carried the trimmed branches away. D.N. emerged from the widdershins side of the house, having exited the front door and walked so he didn’t have to pass the rowan tree, even if he could do so under the protection of the porch. He glared down at Remus with frustration.

“What are you doing?” he demanded.

“Having a kip?” Remus suggested, as Rowan stepped over him again to get back to the rose bushes.

“You should tell me as soon as you come back from the forest.” he said grouchily, not making eye contact.

“Well, not much is going on, so there’s nothing to tell you.” Remus shrugged.

“That’s good right?” Rowan asked.

“A secret unsaid is a secret kept.” D.N. muttered, not addressing Rowan at all. “What are you doing out there anyway?”

“Favors.” Remus sighed. “So many favors. I’m not exactly a favorite right now. People don’t want me to do favors for them, but I need the currency. Also fixing up my house.” he rubbed his hands over his face. “It’s kind of out of the way, so it might be safe enough. It’s nice enough to visit with my little tree, but…”

“We can’t stay here forever.” D.N. agreed. “It buzzes.”

“Yeah.” Remus nodded. “So I’ve got some improvements to make, and gotta reassert my territory. No one got near the tree, but I don’t have much around it.” he clicked his tongue “Fun and all, but I’m in a hurry.” he made a kissy face at them both. “But I’ll always hurry back to you.”

Rowan snorted, and D.N. rolled his eyes. He crossed his arms and cocked his hip, glaring down at the green-clad fae.

“I’m sure whatever you stay in is better than this.”

“Hey, owch. It’s a good house. We finally got the roof fixed last year.” Rowan glared, waving her clippers at him. D.N. leaned away.

“Well it’s hardly the hovel I’ve seen other witches live in,” he sneered at the Victorian style house. “But it isn’t anywhere I would choose to stay.”

“Sorry for not being a magical house.”

“Oh it’s full of magic alright. Human magic, thick and inelegant, like mud on the bottom of a pond.”

“I like mud.” Remus commented, popping up and bracing himself upright on his hands. Rowan noticed that his knuckles were reddened and split. Putting her clippers away again, she dug into her other pocket, coming up with a small, shallow clay pot, closed with a wide cork. She crouched down and grabbed one hand, dabbing the ointment onto the wounds. Remus obligingly offered his other hand when she was done.

“Why was this in your pocket?”

“It’s better to get the ointment on big jabs right away, and I’m doing lawn work.” she shrugged, and went back to her work.

After a while, Rowan finished her discussion with the rosebushes, and headed back inside without saying anything. Shortly after that, a car drove up hidden by the bulk of the house. Another short while later, it drove away again. Rowan returned to her garden, hooking her apron over her head again.

“Bloody busy-body is what she is.” Rowan grumbled to herself. “No need to come by every time, her tea hasn’t changed in over a year, if I wanted everyone coming by and bothering me all the time I’d start up a tea room in town and read palms and cards. It’s what I get for being helpful and offering to do a unique blend.”

“Can you tell the future?” Remus asked, popping up on the other side of the hedge wall of rose bushes, making Rowan yelp and clutch her rake.

“Like the weather.” She retorted. “Which is to say, not really worth anything.”

“You’re a useless kind of witch, aren’t you?” sniffed D.N. who had taken up a seat in an Adirondack style chair they had acquired somewhere, and everyone in the Baker family hated, which is why it wasn’t on the porch.

“Yeah, kind of.” she didn’t rise to the bait, and watched him stare at the woods. “You could go, you know.”

“What?”

“Nothing’s keeping you here if you wanted to leave.”

“Little tree-” Remus said, sounding hurt.

“Not you, you’re welcome any time. And for that matter, if he wants to go for a bit and come back, that’s fine.”

“I can’t actually. I have to ‘stay here’ until further notice.”

“Oh right. Fairy parole officer.” Rowan sighed. “Well you could probably get as far as the property line, or where our ‘official’ lot meets up with the woods.”

“It isn’t as if I’m desperate to wander in the woodlands, Witch, I just don’t want to be here. At all.”

“Boy, do I hear that.” she sighed deeply, pausing to look into the woods herself. The small leaves were misting the tips of the trees with color, and there was a smell of wet and rot in the air. It looked like a storm was building in the west. It would probably hit the before nightfall, gathering the dark in the clouds and making the night come that much faster in the growing spring day. Better to get her gardening done before it hit, so she’d only have to repair the damage it did, not do that and the maintenance. The plants were being especially springy this year, and she was tempted to put this down to Remus’s presence.

D.N. continued to watch her, as though she was some sort of reality TV show, while Remus sprawled in the scrubby grass next to his chair.

When the first cold wet gust hit, all three of them headed inside.

The storm was really having fun, so they were in Rowan’s room instead of the loft. Remus liked to hang out with both of them, so Rowan coming to work on whatever she was doing -some sort of project involving embroidery floss at the moment- and sit with Remus while Remus would root through her work basket, or bring out a pouch and do something himself- embroidery, or sharpening knives, occasionally woodcarving. Sometimes he’d sit behind Rowan and brush or play with her hair, braiding it into elaborate arrangements that she’d have to ask for help to undo.

Sometimes Danger Noodle would use Remus as a cushion or a backrest as if he was staking his claim. That night however, he’d pulled the beat up floral armchair Rowan kept next to one of her windows to a different window (further away from the dancing limbs of the rowan tree) and settled down with a book.

Rowan noticed that he would raise his hand and rub the back of his neck occasionally as if it were hurting. She nudged Remus’s leg and inclined her head at D.N. He shrugged.

“Are you in pain somehow?” Rowan asked, startling him into dropping his book.

“Kindly mind your own business.” Danger Noodle sneered.

“Are you cold?” Remus asked. “You do-” he rubbed the back of his neck “lots.”

D.N. growled under his breath, picking the book up.

“It isn’t important.” He told them.

“But it is a thing.”

“You never used to.”

He sighed, explosively. “Are you two going to leave me alone about this?”

“Well now I’m curious.” Rowan admitted tipping her head with a smile on her face that reminded D.N. far too much of Remus’s mischievous expression. If it weren’t for her obvious humanity, he would think they were siblings. “If you’re cold, I could get you a blanket, is all.”

“I’m not cold.” he rolled his eyes. “I’m a winter.”

She looked unimpressed. “So what’s with the lounging in sunbeams?”

Danger Noodle sneered at her, scales glinting in the lamplight.

“It's just a feeling. It’s like a cold hand on the back of my neck, it’s not squeezing but it’s there.” D.N. spread his fingers over the back of his neck. “Like something’s watching me, constantly.”

“Huh.” Remus and Rowan said in unison, heads tipping to the side. Danger Noodle glared, there was no way they weren’t doing that on purpose.

“Might be something?” Remus asked thoughtfully, looking at the corners of the room.

“I’d want to keep an eye on him, if it were me.” Rowan admitted.

D.N. sighed again, exasperated, then Remus perked up digging in one of the many pockets inside his vest. After a search he came up with a bag, tied firmly shut with cord. He climbed off the bed and went to kneel next to the armchair instead.

“I made this for you.” Remus opened the intricately tied knot, and from inside the bag, produced a scarf. It looked like heavy silk of some sort, dyed a beautiful saffron yellow, covered in single-thread embroidery. Vines twisted and twined along it, with a snake hidden among them. D.N. stared at it for a long moment, then recoiled.

“Are you out of your mind? Wait, never mind I retract the question.”

“I made it for you a while ago but…” Remus admitted. “You wouldn’t have taken it.”

“I’m not taking it now.” He stood up, tossing the book on the chair. “What makes you think I would even want it?”

“You’re not as strong now-”

Danger Noodle hissed, flashing sharp teeth, pupils narrow.

“-so I’m going to protect you until you’re stronger.” Remus finished as if he hadn’t just been threatened.

“I am still stronger than you.” the young fae said disdainfully, drawing himself up to his full, unimpressive height.

“Are you though?” Rowan asked, setting her project down and watching them.

“I am certainly more powerful than you.”

“Oh, that’s not even a question.”

“So what this looks like is Remus is offering you his favor to wear, showing that you’re his... I’m going to say ‘ward’, because you’re a kid.”

“I am not a kid!” D.N. retorted, stamping his foot like a child.

“And therefore under his protection. Displaying a connection.”

“It’s a little more complicated than that, but yeah.” Remus agreed.

“Which is why I’m not interested.”

“I don’t have to give you an oath to give you my favor.” Remus pointed out, he just stared up at Danger Noodle entreatingly. The room was silent except for the storm outside, and the faint sound of someone watching a movie elsewhere in the house. D.N. rubbed the back of his neck again, and Rowan shivered, like a gust of cold air had made it through the window. Her eyes shut and she saw dead branches against a milky sky. Blinking the vision away, she got to see D.N. throw his hands in the air.

“Uugh enough with the eyes. Fine. I’ll take it, but it doesn’t mean anything.” He accepted the scarf and looped it around his neck, spreading the folds upward to the base of his hair.

“It means you’re wearing something I made you.” Remus pointed out and rose up, gathering Danger Noodle into a hug, to which he submitted, to Rowan’s surprise. “Which makes me happy.”

“Mmgnh. Fuck off.” D.N. mumbled, face pressed to Remus’s bicep.

Rowan decided not to comment on how cute it was.

#willow is writing #the witch and the green knight #laoft recursive fic

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lag1995-fics · 3 years

Note

Hii. Can I request a fanfic for the song and Evan character thing? Could it be That's all by Genesis and Kai Anderson please?

I hope you like smut cause this one came out spicy 🌶. Apologies in advance I suck at writing Kai.

That’s All

Pairing:Kai x female reader

Warnings:Kai Anderson being Kai Anderson. Stalking, murder, derogatory language towards women, unhealthy relationship, language, smut

Words: 2190

Summary: Kai and reader share an unhealthy relationship but hey they love each other

Song Fic Masterlist

You were a self professed nasty woman, you had voted proudly for Hillary. She had clearly been the lesser of two evils. Plus it was about god damned time a woman broke that glass ceiling. You were pretty much everything Kai Anderson hated about women in general.

Kai should hate you, he should want to torment you but you intrigued him. It had started simply enough, hun being the entitled creep that he is had watched you do yoga in your backyard. You didn’t know of course, not then at least, that you had gained a stalker.

It hadn’t taken Kai long to realize that he wanted you to be his. He wanted to possess every part of you, he wanted you to be his and only his. He had a very unhealthy obsession with you.

That wasn’t all though he had also caught your eye. You had been out getting your mail one day dressed in nothing but a large t-shirt and shorts so short they couldn’t be seen beneath the hem of the shirt. You had seen him staring you down his blue hair thrown messily up into a bun on top of his head.

You were struck by his Beauty, he truly was a beautiful man. With brown eyes so dark they looked like two pieces of coal staring into your soul. You waved, flashing him a bright grin. He flashed you a grin of his own and as much as it made your panties dampen it also had an unhinged quality.

When you had got inside an uncharacteristically girlish giggle escaped your lips. Your roommate looked at you like you had grown three heads. You could feel your cheeks fill with fire. You were supposed to be a strong woman that didn’t need a man to complete her. Your neighbor was something else though.

“Who is this person giggling like a schoolgirl, that replaced my good friend y/n.” She cackled and you could feel the fire in your cheeks spread to your chest and ears.

“Our neighbor is kind of cute,” you replied waspishly.

“No really where is my roommate, the man hating feminist activist?” She joked.

“I don’t hate all men. I just think that men in general are problematic at best,” you defended huffily.

“He’s probably a raging trumpy,” she teased, lightheartedly.

“Oh is not he had long blue hair that was in a bun” you defended despite not knowing anything about this man. You didn’t know why you felt the need to defend him like you were.

“Oh you got it bad!” she collapsed into a fit of laughter when you threw a throw pillow at her.

***

It was another two weeks before you saw your mysterious neighbor again. He was talking to a shorter girl who was wearing a t-shirt that had “pussy power” emblazoned on her chest. This gave you the burst of confidence you needed as you strode over to them before you could talk yourself out of it.

“I love your shirt” you addressed the girl and she flashed you a grin.

“Thanks,” She replied, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. You could feel his eyes boring into the side of your head and flashed him a smile as well. You couldn’t help but admit to being a bit disappointed when he rolled his eyes.

“Ignore him. I’m Winter and this is my brother Kai” she introduced herself holding out a hand for you to shake which you did.

Kai the name rolled around in your head. You couldn’t help but entertain some mild fantasy of screaming out his name as he fucked you into a mattress. You shook the dirty fantasy from your mind.

“Nice to meet you I’m y/n,” you held out a hand to the blue haired man letting yourself take him in up close.

He had messy stubble along his chin and his blue hair hung around his face. His eyes were even more haunting up close and you felt like you could get lost in them. He took your hand wrapping his larger one around it, he had a firm grip. You couldn’t help but physically gulp from the skin to skin contact.

“We’ve met before, you live across the street. You like the power puff girls right?” He teased and you suddenly remembered what shirt you had been wearing.

“The power puff girls are fucking rad Kai” Winter defended and you smiled at her. Something in the way he looked at you made you want to submit to him. It was overwhelming to say the least.

“Whatever” he rolled his eyes again.

***

You and winter only grew closer and she quickly became part of your friend group. You tried to forget about Kai after finding out his political affiliations. He was everything you fought against. He was proud of being a chauvinistic pig.

You had decided to move on after a heated debate on men’s rights. You had tried to point out that all feminists wanted was equality. Men in this country as it stood right now had more rights than women did. It was a travesty.

He wouldn’t listen to you at all and went out of his way to call you a Misandrist. You had boiled over at that loudly proclaiming that you had really liked him up until the point he started spewing this nonsense. He was a pig and didn’t deserve the time of day you had already given him.

You would think that the polar opposite political opinions would cut the sexual tension like a hot king through butter; it didn’t though. If anything you were even more attracted to the man and Kai who normally had minimal patience for mouthy women was even more interested in making you his. He didn’t want to break you the fighting was too much fun but he definitely wanted to bend you to his will enough that you would never leave him.

You on the other hand had forced yourself to start dating other people. None of them compared to the man who fucked you everynight in your dreams. Kai Anderson was a force to be reckoned with.

***

Kai was sitting in the basement when Winter trudged down with her arms full of pizza. His eyes snapped to his sister and he couldn’t help but ask about y/n.

“Is y/n coming for dinner?” He asked, eyeing the pizza. Winter couldn’t help but roll her eyes at her brother who had developed an unhealthy obsession with her newest friend.

“No she’s got a date tonight some dude called Brad” Winter shrugged nonchalantly, knowing it would rile up her brother.

“What the fuck, she can’t go on a date with another dude” Kai spat possessively.

“Well tell her that because she definitely went on a date tonight” Winter laughed leaving her brother to stew in his resentment before he could snap at her.

“BULLSHIT!” He roared, flipping the coffee table in his anger.

He angrily grabbed his laptop logging into Facebook, whoever this Brad fucker was; was a deadman. He found your profile going to your profile ignoring the hideous cat eared beanie covering your beautiful hair in your profile picture. There were only three Brads on your friends list, one of them was well into his fifties and married, the other shared your last name and was probably a cousin. That left only one option, the man who appeared in the photo was everything Kai wasn’t. He was clean cut and wore a goofy ass bow tie.

He made a call ordering a hit on him but only if he was alone. He couldn’t risk you possibly getting hurt in the crossfire.

***

It was only two days after your disastrous tinder date that you found out Brad had been murdered. You were sad for his family. The date hadn’t been great but he had been nice in a dweeby, Silicon Valley sort of way. It seemed Kai had ruined you for all other men. You couldn’t help but compare them to him.

Winter had called you telling you how sorry she was. Winter was sorry she hadn’t thought Kai would murder someone just for dating you. She had only meant to piss him off; she didn’t want to be responsible for this man’s death.

***

You were at the Anderson’s again eating Chinese this time. It had almost become a every other day ritual. She would go hang out with Winter and argue with her brother.

“Women should be put back in their place,” he had started in before you cut him off glaring at him.

“Oh and what place would that be because I think it should be in a place of power. You know like the office of the presidency,” you snarled.

“Oh my god would you guys just fuck already and get it over with?” Winter who was fed up rolled her eyes walking up the stairs leaving you alone with Kai. Your eyes flashed to Kai’s and you could clearly read the hunger in them.

“She’s got a point,” he said lowly, tongue darting out to wet his bottom lip. You didn’t even realize you had unconsciously been walking toward him until you felt his strong arms wrap around your waist pulling you into him making you squeak.

“Fuck” you whispered looking into his eyes.

“A pretty girl like you should use such whorish language, I might have to wash that dirty slut mouth out with soap,” he groaned pushing his need against your pelvis.

“Oh god,” you whined grasping at his strong shoulders for stability.

“Say my name whore,” he snapped, his hand reaching under your comfortable sweat shirt and undoing your bra.

“Kai,” you breathed before pressing your lips into his own. He quickly took control of the kiss fighting your tongue and biting down sharply when he won.

“Fuck, I’ve wanted to do this to you since you started teasing me with your slutty little yoga moves” he ground himself into you.

You couldn’t find the right words so you just moaned as he started stripping both of you of your clothes. When he slipped your yoga pants from you body and saw that you were wearing any underwear underneath he got a maniacal look in his eyes.

“Fuck you are a little whore,” he slipped his fingers into the folds of your sopping cunt.

“You like that slut?” He punctuated each word with the curl of his fingers against that sweet spot. When you didn’t answer he proceeded to add two more fingers and you could feel the burning stretch.

“I asked you a question,” he demanded fucking your pussy with his fingers and rubbing your clit with his thumb.

“I love it,” you managed to choke out, “please Kai I need you”

“Fuck,” he his pulling his finishers from you wet pussy lips and shoved them into your mouth to suck on them, slowly thrusting them into your pretty little mouth.

“That’s what a woman’s mouth should be used for, not mouthing off,” he chuckled darkly.

You gasped as you felt the blunt head of his cock against your pussy. Without warning he slammed into you to the hilt sending your already sensitive body off the edge and into a wave of pleasure.

“That’s right cum on my cock bitch,” he gasped as he pounded into you hard and fast. You could feel the build of another orgasm cresting. Your walls began to flutter around him causing him to lose some control as his thrusting became erratic. The two of you sailed off the precipice together.

With more care then you would have expected he pulled out of you kissing your forehead. He grabbed his soft t-shirt using it to wipe you as you lay cuddled to his chest. Your mind was whirling at the fact that you had just let Kai fucking Anderson fuck the shit out of you while he called you every name in the book. It would be easier to find someone that held the same viewpoints as you. They just never seemed to strike your heart strings the way Kai did. You could be wearing a white shirt and prove to him it was white and he would still say it was black. You were yin and yang, and you knew now you wouldn’t be able to leave.

“Y/n, I love you” he said and if you hadn’t been listening you wouldn’t have heard it. Your eyes widened, Kai didn’t love anyone, not even Winter. He also wasn’t a liar and if he said that he loved you , it was true no matter how unhealthy their relationship was.

“I love you too. It had slipped out before you could think about the consequences of this. What the two of you had was pure and primal.

“You do know that I will never stop arguing with you though?” You added. You still believed wholeheartedly that women deserved the same advantages as men.

“I’d be disappointed if you did” he confessed and you leaned up to kiss him melting once again into his touch.

——//////———-//////———

Send me a song and an Evan Peters Character and I’ll write you a fic.

#kai anderson x reader #kai anderson #kai is a jerk wad #kai x reade #kai x reader #kai #ahs cult #possibly triggering #evan peters #reader insert #ahs fanfiction #fanfiction

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therealvalkyrie · 3 years

Text

Painter’s Hands and Guatemalan Coffee: Part 1.5

portraiture and speculation

Pairing/setting: Levi Ackerman x Female!Reader, modern!college!AU

Summary: When you catch your idiot boyfriend cheating, your grumpy roommate is there to pick up the pieces and watch your back as you toe a carefully drawn line in the metaphorical sand.

Word Count: 1.1k

Warnings: mentions of insomnia, slight angst, swearing, and idk libraries?? ‘Tis not a heavy one

AN: So this is a mini-chapter, entirely Levi’s POV, hopefully to give some more background/insight into what homeboy’s thinking. And we get some Hange in this chapter which I had so much fun writing:)) Thank you for the wonderful comments on the last chapter and again, please don’t hesitate to reblog/comment/send in an ask with any suggestions, questions, or feedback!! ~valkyrie

(read Part 1 here)

In the hierarchy of genres established by the Academy, history painting was at the top and portraiture came next. Artists aspired to elevate the importance of…

Levi takes a slow sip of tea while his eyes glide over the article in front of him: the latest reading for his European Art History class. His mouth twitches at the bitter taste of over-brewed Earl Grey. The library cafe never seems to be able to get tea right, but he was desperate for some caffeine to push him through a couple more hours of studying.

...female members of the royal family have been depicted as goddesses…

Fuck. Levi’s brain had gotten away from him again. I have no idea what I just read.

With a deep sigh and adjustment of his posture, Levi starts the paragraph again.

In the hierarchy of genres established by the Academy, history painting was at the top and portraiture…

The portrait in his room flickers into his mind’s eye. Nearly complete, his mother’s smiling face stares back at him. The stormy grey of her eyes had taken Levi a week to remember and another to perfect. Sometimes, when he can’t sleep, he sits cross-legged on his bed facing her and wondering if it’s truly an accurate depiction. In his best memories, she is warm and smiling and beautiful. Levi can’t help but wonder if somehow he’s written over his mother’s true features with an invention of his own; some sort of collage of the kind women in his life. He had caught himself painting Hange’s wide smile instead of his mother’s once, and he hadn’t worked on the portrait for a month after. If he was going to ever do it justice, he had to be certain it was as close to his actual memory as possible.

The end of the page jars Levi out of a reverie, and once again he hasn’t retained any of what he just read. Leaning back in his chair with a frustrated groan, he allows the ambient noise of the library to drift back into his consciousness.

The beeping from the front desk as a librarian scans books. The thunk of someone’s metal water bottle on a table. A spirited discussion between two professors in line at the cafe. Levi can feel his will to work slipping from his grasp with each passing moment.

“No use trying to study with your mind caught up in more important things,” your voice seeps through the cracks of his work ethic. It had been six weeks into living with each other when you caught Levi staring into space at his desk instead of working yet again and decided to do something about it. Your pretty hands had guided his own away from the laptop and closed it with a finality even your obstinate roommate couldn’t argue against.

“We’re going out for sushi,” you’d insisted. “And then you’re going to watch your favorite show and go to bed.”

You were right. It’s exactly what Levi needed, both then and now.

“Hey, shortstack!” A pair of hands lands heavily on his shoulders, and Levi has to quell the urge to break Hange’s nose with the back of his hand. He settles for a steely glare over his shoulder, greeted by her energetic grin.

“If you touch me without warning like that again I will not hesitate to put you in the hospital.” Hange doesn’t seem perturbed by his deadpan delivery, but nonetheless removes her hands and holds them up in surrender.

“I come in peace! Just thought I’d say hi before my lab.” She pulls out the chair next to him and plonks down but doesn’t bother to put down her backpack or unwrap her scarf. “How’s the studying going?”

“I was just finishing up. Can’t concentrate in this environment.” He gestures vaguely to their surroundings.

“Yeah, no kidding. I’m surprised to find you here, actually, don’t you usually hole up in an empty studio?”

“Eh, figured a change of pace might help. Clearly not.”

“Great, then you can walk me to class! I’ve been meaning to talk to you anyway.” Hange bounces out of her seat and flits her gaze around the library as Levi packs up his stuff.

As they leave the library together, frigid winter air swirls around them, kicking up a flurry of snow from the snowbank by the sidewalk. Levi zips up his jacket and stuffs his hands into its pockets. Hange is unusually quiet as they walk towards the sciences building. Levi hazards a glance and sees her deep in thought, chin tucked into her scarf and glasses fogged with breath.

“So are you gonna tell me what you wanted to talk about or am I supposed to guess?” He nudges her with an elbow and she jumps.

“Oh! That’s right. It’s about your delightfully brilliant roommate,” she starts, grinning at Levi once more.

“What about her?”

“How has she been doing? Y’know, since the breakup?” Hange’s tone is almost too casual, and it makes Levi take a second to carefully consider his answer.

“She’s been fine, I think. Going to class, eating, studying.” He pauses to think again. “She has been staying up late a lot. Why do you ask?”

“That’s just it, she looked exhausted this morning in our seminar. Like she hadn’t slept at all.” Her quizzical gaze is fixed on him as he considers this.

Come to think of it, you had been looking quite tired recently. He had attributed it to upcoming exams, but it could certainly be deeper than that. For the past two weeks since the breakup, Levi had noted light from under your bedroom door every night as he went to bed. And yet, you were consistently awake before him, already on your first or second cup of coffee.

“You’re right. I don’t think she’s been sleeping,” he affirms, setting his mouth in a thin, worried line. While Levi was no stranger to insomnia, he did have strategies to help himself get enough sleep even when his mind couldn’t rest. Chamomile tea, meditation, sleeping pills when it really came down to it. Does she have those resources? he wonders.

They arrive outside the sciences building and Levi stops just short of the stairs, Hange turning to face him.

“Will you check up on her, please? Make sure she hasn’t actually been turned into a vampire?” Her tone is joking, but Levi can see the worry behind Hange’s eyes as he gives her a nod.

“Of course. I’ll text you later. Good luck in your lab.” He waves her off as she practically skips up the steps, giving him an impish salute.

“Have a good one, shortstop!”

As Levi turns back to begin walking home, worry sets in his chest with a winter-like frigidity. He thought you had been doing fine.

I thought she was glad to be rid of that jackass.

-- (read part 2 here)

#attack on titan #shingeki no kyoujin #levi x reader #levi ackerman x reader #hange zoe #swearing #alcohol #painter's hands and guatemalan coffee #valkyrie writes

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cheri-translates · 3 years

Text

[CN] Kiro’s Inspiration Date (Eng Translation)

🍒 Warning: This post contains detailed spoilers for a date, 灵感之约, which has not been released in English servers! 🍒

An early birthday gift to the embodiment of sunshine, @moondusks :>

[ This date was released in CN on 7 December 2020 ]

A pleasantly warm and light breeze lifts the muslin curtains, bringing with it the fresh atmosphere of early winter.

Lemon yellow sunlight filters lazily through the trees, casting shadows on the window and carrying the scent of peppermint.

It’s an incomparably ordinary, and incomparably comfortable afternoon.

It’s very suitable for heading out and casting aside one’s cares - laying down on a grass patch, basking in the warm sunlight.

Or perhaps taking a stroll along the street, and sitting down in a cafe one has been longing to visit.

That’s what Kiro and I originally planned to do.

However, the cruel reality is...

MC: Why does this proposal have to be done by next week ahhhh--

Kiro: Why can’t I write this song properly--

MC: Why do people need to be exploited by work--

Kiro: [sighs] And why are people constrained by inspiration--

Because of a sudden program, I have no choice but to work overtime.

And Kiro, who is about to record a new album, has remained dissatisfied towards the title track.

Due to the pressures of reality, we have to give up our original plans of having a fulfilling and happy date.

The both of us are working overtime at home.

Kiro: [groans] Farewell, my rosy weekend. Goodbye, my donuts and soup dumplings which have vanished into thin air.

MC: And brown sugar milk coffee, taro pies, and lava cakes...

Even though we sing the same tune, complaining dejectedly about not being able to go out, the both of us work non-stop on our tasks.

I can hear the crisp sound of Kiro tapping his pen rhythmically against the music stand. Occasionally, his soft humming can also be heard.

Seeing him working hard and struggling with himself, the corners of my lips lift upwards.

Even though we’re unable to head outside to do something interesting, it isn’t a bad thing to be together at home like this, channelling effort into our differing goals.

In some way, this should also count as a type of date.

I smile, adjusting my posture on the bean bag so that it’s more comfortable for typing, then continue immersing myself in the battle against the program proposal.

The proposal I’m working on is extremely urgent, and has to be settled by next week.

Not only that, but this sudden program has an importance accompanied by a non-proportional preparation timing.

And during such a period of high stress, the goddess of inspiration, who typically shows concern for me, has gone on a faraway vacation, and has completely vanished.

I have trouble writing. When I completely lose my train of thought, I exchange helpless glances with the few words on the screen.

In the end, I give up and pause the hands which have been maltreating the keyboard, preparing to pour myself a glass of water, and attempt to change my mood.

Lifting my head, I subconsciously glance in Kiro’s direction.

The curtains separate the room from sunlight, casting Kiro in a faint shadow as he leans against the window while composing a song.

Busy writing the new song, he hasn’t had time to maintain the state of his hair.

Finding stray hairs a hindrance as they block his vision, Kiro holds a rubber band in his mouth, combing his hair to the back, and ties it into a small ponytail.

Those azure eyes stare at the music score in concentration. They are as clear and bright as always, but lack the flash of light he usually has when inspiration strikes.

Reference materials and abandoned drafts are scattered all over, which seem to isolate him on a higher platform which I’m unable to reach.

Completely engrossed in creating his work, even his languid sitting posture exudes a cold and lonely feeling for some reason.

For a moment, I feel slightly dazed.

Kiro: Let me guess. Is Miss Chips lacking inspiration, and having trouble writing the proposal?

Kiro suddenly removes his earplugs, turning his head to look at me.

He shows me a brilliant smile, and the room is once again filled with sunlight.

MC: How did you know?

He stands up as well, stretching himself, turning back into the him that I’m most familiar with.

It’s as though the him of just a few seconds ago was simply an illusion surfacing from work-induced stress.

Kiro: Hmm... since just now, the sound of your keyboard has been intermittent, unlike how smooth it usually is.

While he speaks, Kiro walks to the snack cabinet and rifles through it carefully, as though he’s a small squirrel searching for a pine cone from the hole of a tree in winter.

Kiro: So I thought - Miss Chips is probably just like me, entering a bottleneck at work.

He splits the low-fat and sugar-free healthy snack into half, placing it into my hand.

Kiro: A little reward for the hardworking you. Now, do you feel more motivated?

MC: It sounds quite embarrassing... but I don’t think I can work any harder.

I munch on the snack which gives me absolutely no happiness, saying this with a sullen expression.

MC: The presentation is next week, but I still have no idea how to go about writing the proposal. Right now, I just want to turn into an ostrich and curl up into a ball, avoiding the presentation meeting in a few days... and also avoiding my unmotivated self.

I turn the laptop towards him, letting him see the lonely and piteous 235 words in the document.

MC: I even want to knock on my brain forcefully, checking to see if new ideas will appear.

Kiro: Hmm... I see...

Kiro curls his finger, tapping it gently against my forehead. He leans closer to my ear and asks a question.

Kiro: Nice to meet you, Miss Chips’ inspiration. May I know if you’re at home?

Following his action, I close my eyes and sense it carefully.

After a short silence, I furrow my brows and lift my head, looking at him bitterly.

MC: Hello, the user you’re calling is not in service...

Kiro reaches out to rub the area between my eyebrows, smoothening out the creases on my face.

After ensuring that I’m no longer a “bun”, he sighs, laying down next to me.

[Note] Chinese buns (包子 - “bao zi”) look like this i.e. they look like wrinkles:

Kiro: [sighs] Actually, I’m the same as you. There’s a song I especially wish to write, and I really like the concept and composition. I want to try writing a song on understanding and interpreting the theme of “love” from my own perspective.

He pauses, lifting his fringe with a wry smile. After give it a forceful rub, he causes his originally tidy hairstyle to become fuzzy.

Kiro: But no matter how I change it, I’m not satisfied. I keep feeling as though something is missing from the music. There’s no soul.

I untie the string, using a hand to smoothen his hair, helping him tie it up properly again.

MC: Whether it’s “My Treasure” or the song we wrote together last Christmas, aren’t they very incredible? They’re tender and sweet - it’s as though they can be sung into the hearts of every listener, enabling them to recollect the best memories.

Kiro: That won’t do.

Kiro flips over and sits up, his eyes serious.

Kiro: Those songs write about us. They write about you. I have several thousand ways to write about how adorable you are, but I don’t know which timbre I should use to face myself.

Not realising how potent his words are in causing one to blush, Kiro sighs once again after speaking, laying back down.

Kiro: [sighs] Looks like this time, we’ve both chosen subjects which are very difficult for us.

Kiro: Since we’ve both sunk into a major crisis--

Kiro: Want to try Kiro’s special, secret recipe and see if it can sort out our thinking?

Kiro shoots me a wink.

MC: Sure. Do I need to do anything?

Kiro: At this stage, all you have to do is sit here.

While Kiro speaks, he picks up the abandoned drafts he had casually thrown on the floor earlier, using them to enclose us within a square frame.

Kiro: This is the thinking box that we’re trying to escape from.

He sets down the final sheet of paper, completing this “box”, his tone light.

Kiro: Right now, we’re both locked in it.

MC: In that case, will the superhero help me break this box, so we can have a breakthrough together?

Kiro: Nope.

Kiro steps out of the square frame made out of drafts, reaching out to seize Cello, who is sleeping soundly on the cat climbing shelf. Then, he places it in my arms.

Cello: Meow?

Kiro nods in satisfaction, then jogs over to the kitchen, bringing over some fruits.

Under the confused gaze of both me and Cello, he makes several trips in and out, bringing over soft cushions, comfortable blankets, and two cups of sugar-free hot chocolate.

Finally, Kiro shifts another bean bag over, and sits down beside me.

Kiro: I’m incredibly sorry to tell you that even a superhero can’t find a way to jump out of this box.

Somewhat pleased with himself, he takes me into his arms with one hand, letting me lean on him.

Kiro: But at the very least, I can keep you company in this box. And together, we can see what exactly in this box has left us so bewildered that we’re unable to get out even after such a long time.

As he speaks, he tousles Cello’s fuzzy head, and it releases a comfortable meow.

Kiro: We can also decorate it a little, so the box is more comfortable.

MC: Pfft...

I can’t help but laugh. The sense of dejectedness due to work earlier seems to be cleared up with his actions.

I reach out, pointing at a corner of the ceiling in a joking manner.

MC: See that? Over there, there’s an MC who just can’t write a proposal, and she’s currently curled up and for waiting for mushrooms to sprout on her... I don’t know how to deal with it.

Kiro nods in understanding, pointing at a corner of the room.

Kiro: Ladies and gentlemen, look here. Here is a Kiro whose inspiration is stuck, and is currently drawing circles.

MC: When you put it like that, it sounds pretty cute...

While he speaks, I more or less understand why Kiro went to such trouble to do this.

Kiro: That’s right. To me, whether it’s that ostrich-like MC, or that MC who has mushrooms growing on her, I want to hug all of them properly.

Kiro: And then tell her solemnly - that you’re already very amazing. Even if you don’t think you’re good enough, I still like you very much.

Kiro: Just as much as a little bear in winter liking the warm blue sky and green grass.

As he speaks, he tightens his grip on my hand, leaning his chin on top of my head.

Surrounding me are soft blankets and cushions. In my arms is a cat which has gone back to sleep.

Behind me, Kiro’s body temperature and scent encase me tenderly, making me feel so contented that I want to release a joyful sound together with Cello.

I close my eyes in happiness, nuzzling the crook of Kiro’s neck.

The things that were bothering me just a second ago, weighing me down with stress and emotions and leaving me unable to breathe, vanish like smoke and disperse like clouds.

It’s as though I’ve awakened from an incredibly long nightmare, discovering that sunlight is illuminating my surroundings, and that a cup of hot chocolate is waiting at the bedside.

MC: Kiro, why do you always know of such ingenious methods?

I lift my head to look at him, gazing at that blue colour which seeps into one’s heart, and the golden colour traced by sunlight.

Our foreheads lean against each other, and he smiles as he responds.

Kiro: You were the one who taught me these things. Why are you asking me instead?

MC: Me?

Kiro: Last time, there were numerous occasions when I felt I couldn’t create works that were good enough, and I’d start to doubt myself. I’d lock myself in a corner, and start having internal fights with myself.

Along with his words, it’s as though I see the Kiro I was barely acquainted with back then, and how he had endured several days and nights of work.

He had locked himself up in a room, helpless and frantic, not leaving any space for himself to breathe.

Kiro: But during those times, you were always by my side. You told me that no matter how I was, you’d like me all the same.

As he speaks, he taps on my laptop.

Kiro: Actually, it’s the same today.

Kiro: Don’t just look at how I appear now. Actually, I’m in a terrible state.

Kiro: On one hand, I’m forcing myself to finish this work quickly. On the other hand, I’m so irritated and annoyed at myself, who lacks creativity.

Kiro: There were many times when I wanted to just give up.

Kiro: But...

He lifts a strand of my hair, twirling it around his fingertip. In the end, he pulls it to his lips, giving it a gentle kiss.

Kiro: Each time I heard your intermittent yet continuous typing sounds, I’d tell myself that next to me, you’re still working hard.

Kiro: My Miss Chips is also feeling perplexed, but she’s still persevering in work.

Kiro: So I told myself - how could I give up before you did?

Kiro: I must definitely persevere a little longer, so you see how dashing I am.

Kiro relates this softly at my ear. His tone, which harbours a smile, sounds as though he’s depicting a treasure.

I indulge myself in his arms, greedily enjoying the present tranquility and warm atmosphere for a while longer.

I always feel that Kiro is a star whenever I go off course. He always illuminates the pathway, pointing the way forward for me.

Actually, without even realising it, it’s because we’ve seen each others’ light that we could press on.

Encouraging each other, and feeling the way forward in the darkness.

Until we break through the predicament together.

MC: Thank you, my superhero. I think I’ve regained the ability to fight a little more.

A soft chuckle brushes my ear. Then, a warm and gentle touch is planted on my lower jaw.

Reminiscent of the whiskers of a kitten brushing past, spreading into a plain of sweetness.

Kiro: At your service anytime, my Miss Chips.

With that, Kiro and I sit in the “box” together, resuming our work.

He lays on the ground, scribbling and drawing on the music sheet, while I hug the laptop to myself, working hard to squeeze out a proposal.

The typing sounds on the laptop remain intermittent as before, but no longer have the sense of repression and frustration from earlier.

With his presence, I actually manage to complete a draft of the proposal without realising it.

It isn’t excellent, and there are many areas which require editing. Nevertheless, I’ve already tided over the most difficult period.

I move my neck and shoulders, then shift a little closer to Kiro.

Same as before, Kiro is wholly absorbed in the music sheet in his hands.

Even though I can’t tell his current progress, based on his expression and posture, he should be the same as me, breaking free from the lowest point of production.

I observe him quietly for a long time. In the end, my playfulness triumphs, and I think of pulling a tiny prank on him.

Lifting Kiro’s right hand, I burrow into his arms.

MC: Surprise~

Probably not expecting me to do this, Kiro is left dumbfounded. However, he subconsciously props himself up and hugs me.

Kiro: Miss Chips?

MC: A little reward for the hardworking musician.

Saying this, I tilt my head upwards and give him a light peck on the chin.

My sudden attack and the closing of distance between us enables me to successfully capture the faint redness on Kiro’s face.

Kiro: ...mm, how’s your proposal doing?

MC: At the moment, there are positive prospects.

Just like this, I wrap my arms around his neck, tousling his soft, golden coloured hair.

Because of my action, the ponytail is now in disarray.

I simply hook my fingers underneath Kiro’s rubber band, untying it, feeling the softness of his hair in between my fingers.

MC: How’s your song doing?

Kiro: At the moment, there are positive prospects.

He mimics my words, inserting one earplug into my ear.

A somewhat rough demo occupies my hearing.

I close my eyes, immersed in the music he has given to me. My fingers twirl the wire of the earpiece, tracing the rhythm.

Kiro: Although it isn’t done yet, the overall main key won’t change.

It’s a somewhat slow tune.

It's quiet, and even brings with it a heavy and melancholic melody. It’s reminiscent of a self-reflection, and also like a careful recount.

Kiro: Even though this tune is a little sombre, I still wrote it.

Kiro: Because I know you’d definitely say that you like such songs too.

MC: Of course.

I say this with certainty. He smiles and lowers his head, the tips of our noses gently touching.

MC: Kiro, I came across a saying once.

MC: The process of writing a song is actually a writer’s conversation with himself.

MC: Although I don’t know what you said to yourself, if this melody is your answer, I like it very much.

Our drifting breaths channel a temperature slightly higher than the sunlight.

MC: Including these slightly heavy portions - I like them very much.

Saying this, I crinkle my eyes, humming along with the melody from the earpiece.

Kiro releases a sigh, hugging me tightly.

Kiro: [sighs] Why does this song become so sweet when you hum it?

Before I can respond, Kiro continues.

Kiro: [laughs] It must be because MC is a jar of honey.

He nods with force, seeming to be very satisfied with this answer. Then, it’s as though something occurs to him, and he plants a kiss on my forehead.

Kiro: See? It’s very sweet.

MC: What...

I laugh, pretending to push at his chest.

MC: Looks like I have to stay a little further away from you next time, so you won’t become overweight.

Kiro: Hehe, it’s already too late! My feelings come in large portions, so it’s too late to say that.

Kiro presses me against the woollen blanket, embracing me with even more strength than before.

Kiro: Miss Chips has already been firmly held onto by me.

Kiro: I’ll leave a stamp.

While he says this, he nibbles the side of my neck half-jokingly, and half-declaratory.

He doesn’t use strength, but the electric-like sensation makes me forget how to breathe for a moment.

The charmingly tepid air leaves my cheeks burning crimson.

Kiro’s hug is tight, yet very careful. It’s as though he’s embracing the one and only treasure in the entire world.

MC: It’s not like I can really run away...

Not minding my soft mumbling, another kiss descends on the shell of my ear, as though seeking a confirmation.

His breaths lift up strands of stray hair near my ear. They brush against my earlobe, as scorching as his lips.

Kiro: MC, I’m actually timid and a little childish.

Kiro buries his head in my shoulder, speaking softly.

Kiro: When it comes to things I don’t like, I’ll always think of hiding them and locking them up. I won’t see them, and I won’t let other people see them.

Kiro: But if it’s you...

I secretly take a few deep breaths, cradling his face a little stiffly yet carefully, tilting my head upwards.

MC: Thank you for trusting me.

Kiro: ...

Kiro’s eyes widen slightly, and his lips part and close. It’s as though he wants to say something, but returns to a blank.

At the end of a short silence, Kiro speaks solemnly.

Kiro: I’ll definitely finish this song.

He lowers his voice slightly. Even though this sentence is as light as a feather, I know that he’s as serious as making a vow.

Kiro: I’ll definitely finish this song, and sing various versions of myself to you in the future.

Kiro: Even the parts which are heavier, and the parts I’m unwilling to face myself.

MC: Mm. I’ll definitely listen earnestly.

Following the trail of his spine, I stroke his back lightly, giving him my promise.

Kiro: I know.

Kiro: It’s precisely because no matter what melody it is, you’ll definitely sing it into a song akin to honey.

Kiro: Which is why I have such courage.

I no longer speak, only giving him a serious nod.

Both his breathing and heart beats can be heard, regular and steady.

Kiro: Since we’ve reached an agreement, should I leave another stamp?

Kiro’s voice is once again light-hearted, even carrying with it a twinge of slyness.

MC: Wait! The most important thing now should be noting down the hard-earned inspiration before it goes away!

I grip several music sheets at the side, pressing them against his chest, attempting to flee from his arms.

MC: Get to work quickly!

Kiro: Why are you like this?

Kiro pouts, showing me his signature, puppy-eyed expression of dejection.

MC: I won’t be duped by your gaze again. I’m going to become a merciless supervisor, so you can finish your work before the deadline!

Seeing that his plan has been foiled, Kiro simply gives up “pretending”. With a smile, he grips my struggling wrist, pressing it to the side.

MC: Where’s your professionalism? Could it...

A prolonged kiss seals up the words I haven’t spoken.

Kiro: It’s exactly because of my professionalism that I can say with certainty...

Kiro smiles, his sapphire-like eyes radiating an azure colour even more eye-catching than the clear skies of winter.

Perhaps he hasn’t realised it himself, but he looks at me with the most burning and clear gaze, sticking out the tip of his tongue. Like a dragonfly flitting across water, he wets his lower lip.

Kiro: Before my inspiration vanishes, there’s still time to act coquettishly with my favourite Miss Chips.

Phone calls: First // Second

#mlqc #mlqc cn #mlqc spoilers #mlqc kiro

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