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little-diable · 11 months

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Lucky Shirt - Prof!Benedict Cumberbatch (smut)

I got the chance to work with @writingliv once again – yes, I am very much fangirling, y'all know how much I adore Liv – and boy, I am so proud of us and of this beautiful fic we've written together. Please like and reblog if you enjoyed reading this! Enjoy my loves. xxx

Summary: Professor Cumberbatch was perfect. He was sweet, supportive, ever-willing to help. He was attentive and loved to praise your achievements. It came to no surprise that you had ended up trying and succeeding at becoming his favourite student. The two of you had become an unstoppable duo, however, could there be more than mere passion for academia behind it?

Warnings: 18+, smut, piv, lots and lots of tension, small sprinkles of angst, age gap, professorxstudent relationship

Pairing: Prof!Benedict Cumberbatch x fem!reader (about 9k words, she's a long one)

Professor Cumberbatch led a life full of rules, keeping clear schedules, boundaries, and conversations. Honest, passionate, and helpful would probably be the three words most people would use to define him. A life dedicated to teaching, to helping, to learning. He never swayed away from his clear-cut schemes unless it was for somebody else’s benefit. Selfless… Professor Cumberbatch was also incredibly selfless.

You, however, would think this set of facts did not do justice to his character. Professor Cumberbatch was not just selfless. He was an absolute saint. He had been your point of guidance since you first joined his class in your last year of undergrad and had offered you a place as a research assistant as a Master’s student. He had happily stayed until late hours helping you with your first dissertation and had never failed to answer any question related-or-not to his topic. Benedict Cumberbatch was your hero, which made your crush on him so much more inappropriate.

You had tried to stop thinking about him that way, feeling guilty at the idea that this saint of man was so willing to help you and take you under his wing, and all you did was fantasise about him breaking all the university rules and fucking you. It was an awful feeling, especially when you were sure he didn’t feel the same way, but it was something you couldn’t yet find a way to get rid of.

So here you were, sitting in his office, wearing that baby blue shirt he had once complimented a year ago or so, waiting for him to come back with news on whether you had been accepted to attend the most important conference in your field. You had excused your continuous wear of the shirt by referring to it as your lucky colour, making it the perfect attire for any important moment you had shared with the professor.

Your black heels had been incessantly tapping his beautiful Persian rug as you tried your best not to bite your nails when the door of the office finally opened incredibly slowly, and a gloomy Cumberbatch appeared on the opposite side wearing a shirt of a starkly similar colour as yours. “I am sorry…” he started to speak, and you felt your heart drop immediately, your hands moving to your face, covering it. “That you will have to cancel all your plans for the week April 19th because we are going to the conference!” He shouted your way, a gigantic crooked smile filling his mischievous face. You couldn’t believe it, instantly uncovering your face and checking his expression for a bluff.

You couldn’t help yourself jumping up from the excitement and reaching for him, giving him a hug. Your professor seemed to equally disregard all decorum, wrapping his hands around your waist before whispering to your ear, “it seems like your lucky colour works.” You tried your best to hide the growing warmth on your cheeks as he let go of you.

“Thank you so much for this! I am so excited! I cannot believe it!” You replied once the two of you were at an appropriate distance again, still looking at each other with the utmost admiration and excitement.

“Do not thank me. You did this all yourself. I just had to answer a reference request, and you may be surprised about this, but I find it incredibly easy to tell people how incredible you are.”

…

“Can anybody tell me when Operation Overlord was fought?” Professor Cumberbatch’s voice echoed through the classroom, eyes flickering to meet yours at any given chance. It felt like you two were playing a game, a game whose rules you have long forgotten, unable to focus on anything but him.

Him, the one you dream of when the nights grow warmer, when the heat fills your bedroom like the heat filling your veins whenever he speaks to you.

Him, the one that makes you tremble whenever his skin meets yours, never in an inappropriate way, though forced closer like magnets unable to part.

Him, the man that popped up in your thoughts when you wake and when you are about to fall asleep. An ever present sensation you slowly but surely adapted to.

You didn’t pay attention to the answer of the student that tried to catch the professor’s attention for the past minutes. Your thoughts weren’t able to grow quiet, a loud sound that rang through your mind like a song you couldn’t stop singing. It was wrong, so awfully wrong, and yet you couldn’t stop yourself from craving his touch, wanting to feel his body pressed against yours without any clothing caught in between.

Professor Cumberbatch needed a few moments to rip his eyes from your features, breaking eye contact with a slight scowl tugging on his face. The nagging voice inside your head made you wonder if he was annoyed with the other student for cutting your shared moment short. There was always something so intense about the way he looked at you, forcing you to sit straighter, eyes unable to move away.

“Anything else you want to add to today’s lesson? If not, you are good to go.” Your heart picked up its beat as his eyes found yours once again, a silent way of communicating, asking you to stay behind for a few more moments. The other students pushed past you all too impatiently, wanting to flee from the classroom, but you didn’t move, not able to even try to imagine another place where you’d rather be.

“I won’t hold you back for long, I just wanted to give you these folders. It’s everything they gave me for the conference.” Your fingers brushed his as you took the folder, breath hitched in your chest. His eyes followed your every move, watching you thumb through the papers, unable to bite down your smile.

“I am so excited, I can’t wait for us to go there!” Your voice left him smiling, unable to bite down his excited grin. Your nerves were running wild, wondering how being at the conference with him will play out, praying to whoever was listening that you’d be able to also focus on something else besides the gorgeous professor you wanted to call yours.

…

Soft music filled Professor Cumberbatch’s office, ringing in your ears without distracting you from the essays you were grading with the professor. It wasn’t unusual for you to join in on his later sessions, finding comfort in his closeness, even though you wouldn’t share many words, just a few glances here and there.

“What is it? You are biting your lip again.” Professor Cumberbatch’s voice ripped you out of your trance, eyes snapping up from the paper. Heat flushed through you as you let go of your lip, teeth no longer buried in the warm flesh.

“Sorry, I struggle to follow their argumentation, it simply makes no sense, and you know how much I hate saying this.” Your voice was soft, not wanting to interrupt the calm atmosphere you two were trapped in. You watched him move closer, admiring the way he carried himself, the way his beige trousers hugged his legs, and how the rolled up sleeves of his black dress shirt exposed just enough of his muscular forearms and the watch clinging to his left wrist. Fuck, you’d dream of this tonight, you were sure of it.

“Let me have a look.” The professor sat down next to you on the comfortable sofa placed in the far back of his office. The scent of his cologne crawled up your nostrils, making you shudder as his leg was pressed against yours. His eyes carefully followed the sentence you had highlighted, concentrating on the arguments the student seemed to have struggled with. “Yes, I see what you mean. Leave it on my desk later, I’ll add some comments myself.”

He pushed the essay back into your hands, eyes meeting yours. Neither one of you dared to move, eyes not wanting to break contact, hearts calling out to one another without finding the right words to express what was burning on the tip of your tongues. He broke the intense moment first, clearing his throat before he rose back to his feet.

“I think I’ve kept you here long enough, you should get some rest and start packing your bags.” Disappointment filled your system, slowly nodding your head as a quiet “Of course” left your lips. And with one last glance shared, you left his office with a racing heart and sweaty palms.

…

You arrived at your apartment and dropped on your bed, sighing loudly. It was getting too difficult to deal with, to keep your gazes in check, to keep him from knowing how you felt. It was overwhelming. It was driving you crazy. You were growing so desperate for any hint of reciprocation that you had started to imagine things, seeing lust in his gaze when it couldn't be there, when it shouldn’t be there.

You decided to check your already packed bag one more time, giving into the parting words of your professor. All the outfits for the conferences lay perfectly organised in your bag, each accompanied by a pair of matching lingerie. No. you were not planning on sleeping with anyone at this event. It was just an old trick that you had once read; wearing matching lingerie makes you feel confident even outside of the bedroom.

You were about to close the bag when your phone rang on your nightstand. You picked it up, surprised to see Professor Cumberbatch calling you at almost 1 am.

“Hello?” you picked up, your fingers playing with the silky material of the matching nightgown to your lingerie.

“Hey there, apologies for the late phone call,” his voice sounded tired and stressed. You knew exactly how badly he wanted all his students to do well, and grading always put him in a bit of a bad mood.

“No problem, Professor. Is everything okay?” your question was filled with worry as you sat down on your bed and wondered if he was still in his office.

“I was just thinking about our conversation from earlier, and I was worried you would think I dismissed you because you couldn’t finish correcting that paper. You know how much I appreciate you helping me with corrections, and I wouldn’t want you to think anything bad of my dismissal. It was just so late and… I sometimes worry that I am stealing all your time. I am sure you have better things to do on a Saturday night than spend it with me, correcting papers with me.” He ranted away nervously. You could hear the sound of his dress shoes in the background as he paced through the room.

“There is no other place I’d rather be,” you blurted out right away, immediately realising the finality of that statement.

“Really?” he chuckled bitterly, “I am sure any other woman your age would disagree. Your twenties are important for your career but also to go out, have fun, make friends, and make mistakes. Please don’t let me keep you away from doing all of those things.”

“I am having fun, and I have friends,” you laughed, slightly hurt that he thought you were a complete loser.

“You know what I mean,” he chuckled, embarrassed.

“No, professor, I am not quite sure. From what I understand, you think I am a loser with no friends or fun,” you laughed, teasing him further.

“What I was trying to say is that there are significantly funner things to be doing on a Saturday than correcting papers with me. At your age, I was doing much more interesting things, at least.”

“What were you doing, Professor?” It was an inappropriate question, especially in the tone you had spoken it. You were not sure where it had come out from, but the exhaustion and comfort of your bed had pulled it out of you.

“I don’t know…” he seemed to be thinking, trying to understand himself where he wanted to draw a line before this conversation broke his rules, “I was partying, drinking, getting into trouble, trying to get girls.”

“I do all of those things,” you replied confidently, a foxy smile on your lips and a particularly strong inflexion in the all.

“Girls?” he asked, cursing himself right away for falling into your obvious trap.

“Girls… boys…” you laughed, “I am usually not the one trying, though. Especially recently, nobody has really caught my interest that way.”

“I guess I should take advantage of it and continue to monopolise your time until you do,” his answer sent a shiver down your spine. It was late, and neither of you was thinking perfectly straight.

“I think you should,” you replied before a yawn took over your voice.

“I should let you get some sleep. We have a long week ahead of us. See you at the station tomorrow.”

“Goodnight, Professor.”

…

You watched the scenery pass by, the lush green countryside, the houses that seemed empty and once left behind in a hurry to disappear from rural places like these. Your heart ached at the thought, finding sadness in the empty places, wondering who had once lived inside these buildings.

It had been a good two hours since you had met the professor at the railway station, boarding the train to the conference. And while he was sitting next to you, elbows and thighs close to touching, eyes focused on a book he was reading, you didn’t find the needed comfortableness to focus on your book nor on your notes.

Your mind painted a colourful picture, wondering how the upcoming day with him so close would play out. Even though you were used to seeing him every single week, this was something new, something exciting, something that left you gasping for air.

“Are you cold?” His voice stroked your limbs like the soft April breeze, hands instinctively finding your arms.

“No, I’m alright, thank you.” You shot him a tired smile, cursing yourself for going to bed that late. A yawn clawed through you, eyes momentarily fluttering close. Perhaps you’d be able to find a few moments of rest, nothing long, though just enough to settle your mind and heart.

It felt like a trick of your brain, focusing on the elbow that was slowly pressing against yours, the forearm that met yours on the armrest separating your seats. Your heart was back to jumping in your chest, pounding louder than the rattling noises of the train.

While your mind started overthinking his move, trying to read between the lines, your body seemed to understand what it was supposed to do. All too slow, you placed your head on his shoulder, eyes not daring to flutter open in case you read the signs wrong. A soft exhale of air left the man, hand finding your knee to squeeze your soft skin.

“Get a bit of rest.” His voice successfully managed to lull you to sleep, heart slowly but surely finding a pace that would allow you to rest.

…

“We are here,” a voice shook you softly awake as you realised you had fallen asleep on the man’s arm. You instantly retracted back to your seat, putting as much distance as the train allowed. He looked at you entertained as he stood up, offering you his hand so you could do the same.

You grabbed it slowly, savouring the way his slender long fingers held yours so confidently and got up.

“The hotel is just a 10-minute walk from the station,” Cumberbatch added as he brought down both of your bags from the shelf at the top and then handed you yours.

…

You made sure to fill up the walk with every possible fun fact you had on the city, describing the few monuments you passed by and making sure you to search for your professor’s eyes, incredibly afraid that you had crossed a line by falling asleep on him. He listened to every single one of your words attentively, nodding and smiling as you made the third energy joke in a row.

“We are here,” Cumberbatch finally interrupted you, pointing at a beautiful historic hotel. You exhaled, thankful that soon you would be able to be in your room, away from him, and finally able to think straight.

The two of you entered the hotel and approached the reception, where a pretty, tall girl offered you a smile. “Hi, how are you? We have a four-night reservation under the name Cumberbatch. Two rooms.”

“Mmh… Cumberbatch?” the woman spoke back as she typed the name. A worried expression crossed her face before she looked up, meeting your eyes first and then the professor’s. “I only have one room for two reserved. Not two rooms.”

“That cannot be.” Benedict’s voice was firm and serious as he calmly placed his arms on the front desk.

“I am very sorry. People sometimes get confused when booking from more than one person and assume there are separate rooms.” She spoke politely, showing her best apologetic look.

“I will then pay for an extra room,” Benedict replied, not once turning to look at you.

“We are fully booked,” the woman replied, pressing her lips together, “I am very sorry.”

“There must be SOME available room,” he doubled down before you interrupted him.

“It is fine. We can make it work. The room has a couch, right?” You tried to ease off the tension, smiling at both your professor and the receptionist.

…

“I am so sorry. I have no idea how this mistake could have happened,” Benedict apologised for the tenth time as you reached the elevator, his eyes as soft and heavy as he tried to find a solution to this situation.

“Professor, it is completely fine.” You finally stopped him as the two of you entered the elevator, “there is a couch in the room. I am happy to sleep there.”

“I won’t let you sleep on the couch,” he replied, shocked that you would even think that was an option.

You sighed, closing your eyes, trying to decipher whether this was a dream or your worst nightmare. All you wanted right now was to be alone, to be by yourself, away from the overwhelming need this man filled you with. You had no idea how you would survive sleeping in the same room, regardless of whether it was on a couch, on a bed or on the ground.

The two of you walked towards the room’s door as Benedict bit the inside of his lip to stop himself from apologising again. He opened the door and was met with a queen-sized bed and a tiny minuscule couch. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair, turning back around to you to apologise once again, but you stopped him.

“Let’s grab dinner! I heard some people from the conference are also staying at the hotel and grabbing dinner close by! Let’s go!” You patted him on the back and dropped your bag, ready to leave the room and what it would bring in the following days.

His heavy steps pounded against the ground, following you back towards the elevator. An almost uncomfortable silence was now following you two around, urged on by the inappropriate thoughts you both couldn’t shake off. Perhaps dinner would manage to distract the two of you for a moment, letting go of the tension and relaxing in comfortable chairs with other academics close by.

…

“Some more wine?” Benedict’s breath tickled your neck, forcing you to swallow loudly as you wordlessly reached your glass out for him to refill. His gaze was stuck on your features, on the smile you couldn’t stop from widening whenever he spoke up, murmuring facts about the academics you were now surrounded by.

“You have to tell us, (y/n), how does working with a stubborn man like Benedict Cumberbatch work out?” Your chuckles rumbled through you, eyes finding the piercing ones of the man sitting next to you. By now, you have forgotten most facts Benedict had shared with you, could barely remember their names, and yet you tried to play along, elbows placed on the table with your face placed in your hands.

“Let me tell you, it’s an utter nightmare.” Laughter boomed through the evening, through the garden that surrounded a few tables and chairs. The cosy atmosphere that lingered in the restaurant eased some of your tension from earlier, allowing the two of you to breathe calmly. “I am very lucky to have him by my side. No other professor has ever taught me this much.”

The hand of his that was resting on the back of your chair found your shoulder, fingers stroking your skin softly to communicate the gratitude he was feeling. Benedict was all too used to praises, and yet your words had a new meaning to them, making him sit a bit straighter as he began to pay attention to how some of his colleagues looked at you, unable to bite down their curiosity.

“I am the lucky one, I’ve rarely met students as bright as (y/n).” Heat flushed through you, forcing you to take another sip of your wine. You weren’t nearly as tipsy as you wanted to be, unable to accept his praises, the words he spoke that left your insides churning in excitement.

“Be careful, Benedict, otherwise, we may steal her from you.” One of the men sitting close to Benedict spoke the words without much thought, or so it seemed, not expecting the hard expression to widen on Benedict’s features. The professor didn’t reply, eyes searching yours as you shot him a small smile, hand finding his knee before you could give the gesture much thought. His muscles tensed underneath your hand, but before you could even try to move your hand away, he placed his hand on top of yours, squeezing yours.

“We had a long day, we should catch up on some sleep. Have a good evening.” Benedict’s words forced you to your feet, murmuring a soft “Goodbye” to the others. Your breath got stuck in your lungs as Benedict’s hand found your waist, pulling you closer to him as he guided you out of the restaurant. Once again, you felt your thoughts race, focusing on the way his fingers stroked your clothed waist, guiding you through the warm evening towards the hotel.

No further word was spoken as you stepped into the elevator, standing in front of Benedict with your eyes searching his. You couldn’t ignore the way his eyes flickered between your lips and eyes, praying deep inside that he’d finally close the gap. The two of you stood closer than needed, with his hand still placed on your waist and your hand finding his other one. Perhaps this was the moment you had been desperate for years, hoping that he’d finally cross the invisible line between you.

The mere thought of finally feeling his body pressed against yours left heat to fill your veins, heart pounding in your chest. But before either one of you could move again, the elevator came to a halt, forcing the two of you to step out. Only as the darkness of your shared hotel room lured you closer did you begin to realise that the night wouldn’t end like you had hoped it would.

He turned on the light and spoke, “I will take a shower before going to sleep, but don’t wait up for me, sleep well, (y/n). Please take the bed.”

…

Benedict entered the bathroom and left you alone in the bedroom, leaving you to wonder what you had possibly done wrong to ruin such a perfect moment, to stop him from kissing you. You sat on the bed, defeated, as you heard the sound of the shower turning on. Fuck. Maybe it was the alcohol or the burning feeling on your skin, but this felt like too much, too close, too little. It was ridiculous, nothing that deserved you crying over it, yet you could feel your eyes tearing up. The need was too much. He was too much. It almost felt unfair for him to leave you wanting the way he did.

As the sound of the shower stopped just for a second, you snapped out of your pity party, cleaning the tears from your face and getting changed before your professor could exit the room. You opened your bag and searched for your pyjama, only then realising you had brought your nightgown as your only sleeping option. You sighed loudly, covering your face and then dropping your arms to decide.

“Fuck it,” you spoke to yourself as you took off your clothes, putting on the nightgown that barely covered your ass and left little to the imagination for much else. If he could tease you all night, touching your waist, looking at you the way he did, you could do the same and even if he was not interested at all. Even if you had made every sign up in your mind, no man would not at least be tempted by such an outfit.

The bathroom door opened a few seconds later as you were busy folding your clothes back into your bag. You didn’t even dare to turn around to meet his gaze, suddenly feeling a wave of embarrassment overcome the boldness of the alcohol.

Your professor cleared his throat, and you finally met his gaze, feigning being completely and totally oblivious to what you were wearing. His blue eyes looked almost black by how dilated his pupils were, and you couldn’t help but offer him an innocent smile. He was wearing a loose black T-shirt and some grey pyjama pants.

“I am sorry. I didn’t think I would be sharing my room tonight,” you acknowledged the outfit, walking by his side, brushing his arm just so slightly before entering the bathroom with your toothbrush at hand.

Benedict had to command every single one of his muscles not to turn around, not to look at you walk into the bathroom, not to follow you, to pin you against the sink and fuck you right there.

You left the door of the bathroom open as you brushed your teeth, giving him the possibility to look into to watch as the hem of your nightgown rose high enough to show the curve of your ass. He, however, didn’t. Going straight to his couch and grabbing a pillow and duvet from the cupboard, and laying down.

You exited the bathroom excitedly, hoping to have one more chance to tease him before heading to bed but found him already deep asleep. Facing the back of the couch as he uncomfortably tried to fit within it.

…

POV Benedict

He didn’t dare move, eyes squeezed shut, arms wrapped around his too tall frame for a couch this small. Benedict tried to listen to your breaths, counting them to try and figure out if you were already asleep. His cock was aching, twitching in his boxers in a desperate need to be touched by you.

Fuck, he felt like a young boy, unable to guide his body, to pick up on his needs and urges, and to stop himself from giving in before it got too much. He hadn’t expected you to wear something like this, something that left his heart racing, pumping blood straight to his cock. It was torture, the worst situation he had been forced to live through so far, Benedict was convinced of it.

The second his mind painted a picture of your body pressed against his, he shot up from the couch, searching the false comfort the bathroom offered him, door falling shut with a thud. He could only hope that you were truly asleep by now, not picking up on his movements, the heavy breaths leaving him.

His hand pushed his boxers down his legs, just enough to free his hard cock. Precum was bearding his tip, veins shining through the thin skin, fuck, how much he wanted to feel and see your hands wrapped around him. Would you use your mouth on him? Would you stroke your tongue along the underside of his cock before sucking on his tip?

A heavy moan threatened to leave him, caught seconds before it could echo through the bathroom. His teeth left marks on his lower lip as his hand picked up its pace, fucking himself without any mercy, working on the fleeting time night offered him. Deep down, he hated himself for pushing you away this very night, wondering why he hadn’t given in, why he hadn’t chased the closeness you had been willing to offer. But something had held him back, something he was now regretting.

He couldn’t stop another moan from not leaving him, eyes squeezed shut, head rolled back. His orgasm was close, a desperate need to finally get over the sensations the mere sight of you had pushed through him. Benedict had to stop himself from choking on your name, from talking to the (y/n) he imagined kneeling in front of him.

With one last heavy breath leaving him, white cum began to cover his hand, sticking to his skin. Benedict pumped his cock a few more times before he let go of his cock, settling down on the toilet seat.

…

POV Reader

This night probably counted as the top three worst nights of sleep in your life. You had spent it between nightmares and sweats, waking up every couple of hours, feeling incredibly restless. You were thankful to see that it was already 7 am the next time you were shaken awake by another terrible dream. It took you a second to ground yourself; remember where you were. You instantly turned to the couch and found it empty, the bedsheets of your professor perfectly folded on top of it.

You scanned the rest of the room, sitting up, finding it equally as empty. A mix of disappointment and relief filled your chest as you were equal parts thankful he wouldn’t have to see you with this exhausted face and sad you didn’t even get a glance at how he looked right after he woke up in the morning.

You checked your phone and found a message from him, “Good morning! I wanted to give you some privacy before the big day. I will be waiting for you at the lounge if you want to grab breakfast together.”

You smiled at the message, forgetting all about last night. Everything was okay. The two of you were okay. He was your professor, after all, your rock. He had every right to reject you. Everything was okay.

…

You took your time getting ready, trying the different outfits you had brought as options and opting for the simplest one. Your ‘lucky’ shirt, some black suit trousers, and black stilettos. You exited the room confidently, your bag with your presentation at hand and your earphones in your ears. Your “gameday” playlist playing at full volume.

You entered the hotel lounge, finding your professor sitting on a beautiful leather couch, a newspaper on his lap. He was wearing a white button-up and some navy trousers. You approached him eagerly, removing your earphones and greeting him with a smile, “good morning, professor.”

“Good morning,” Benedict spoke, not meeting your gaze once. Eyes stuck on the newspaper.

“Should we get breakfast?” You kept on the smile, sure, he was just very enthralled by whatever he was reading.

“I have actually already eaten,” he replied with a sigh, intensifying his gaze on the paper. You pouted, disappointed, confused by his sudden coldness. “I have some meetings to attend before your presentation. Do you mind if we meet there already?”

You hesitated in answering, trying to keep the disappointment on your face from turning into clear sadness. He finally looked up, noticing your silence. His eyes were empty, cold like they had never been before.

“Of course,” you finally replied after he raised an eyebrow, “I…I will just go over the presentation by myself.” You had to look away before your eyes started to water, which seemed to pull a reaction right out of you.

Benedict stood up and placed a hand on your shoulder, “you will do amazingly. You are smart and incredible. You don’t need me for this. I will be in the crowd cheering.”

You tried to look at him, thankful that it had just been a small weird moment of coldness, but he had already started to walk away towards the exit of the hotel, leaving you standing there.

…

Were this many people always supposed to be at the event? Had everyone just suddenly realised your topic was cool and decided to listen to you talk? Where was he? You were starting in mere minutes, and there were barely any seats left. Where was he?

You squeezed the flashcards in your hands, trying to stop the trembling in your hands. You peeked once again from the stage, searching for him between the rows of mostly middle-aged men.

“You are going up in three,” some random guy with an earpiece said as you nodded emphatically, shutting your eyes and trying to control your breathing.

You stayed there for a couple of seconds, controlling your breathing, reminding yourself that this was your research. That you could do this alone. That you didn’t need anybody else. You were about to open your eyes when a hand on your shoulder startled you. Blue. All you saw was blue for a second until you could focus on the rest of his face. He had changed. He was wearing your lucky colour.

“Everything will be fine,” Benedict nodded softly, a thin layer of sweat covering his forehead as he seemed slightly out of breath.

“You are here,” you exhaled the words out.

“I am sorry, I-” he lowered his gaze in shame, but he was stopped by the earpiece guy announcing you were up. “You can do this. You are smart. Your research is incredible, and you are so incredibly charismatic that I wouldn’t be surprised if every professor in the room would try to steal you after this. Go show them how amazing you are. I am here.”

You nodded emphatically, instinctively pulling him into a hug and burying your face in his chest just for a second, feeling as he stiffened under your touch. You let go of him and nodded a little more, breathing in and out and walking onto the stage.

…

“Thank you, everyone, for listening,” you closed your presentation as the room broke into a myriad of applauses, a feeling of euphoria filling your chest as you turned to look to your professor, that stood still behind the curtain, giving you the most idolising smile you had ever seen.

You walked out of the stage with a gigantic smile straight towards your professor, whose hands immediately cupped your face, “that was incredible.”

“Thank you,” you looked up at him, immediately filled with all that tension that had been there the night before.

You were interrupted by a group of listeners approaching, and Benedict immediately moved away from you, looking down, realising the inappropriateness of his proximity. It felt as if this moment managed to rip you out of your trance, the bubble of excitement and happiness had popped, and once again doubts began to fill your mind. You were hurt, sad, and angry that Benedict hadn’t been there to support you through the hours leading up to your talk, hiding away from you rather than murmuring comforting words.

Whatever game he was playing, it was a game you found no pleasure in, growing antsy as you began to overthink what had happened in the past hours. From the second he had told you about the conference, Benedict had promised that he’d be with you on that very special day. He’d guide you like a mentor, like a friend, empty promises you were now clinging to. The ship had left the harbour, but the waves of anger had ripped it to the cold ground before the crew could swim to safety. Swimming had always been easy with Benedict near, but drowning had felt so much easier today.

…

The glass of champagne felt cold against your palm as you let your eyes wander. You were able to spot a few familiar faces in the crowd of scientists you were trapped in, celebrating your and their success. Benedict stood close to you, focused on the conversation he had been pulled into, unable to escape before the others had noticed him.

“An impressive talk, (y/n), I hope you’re proud of yourself.” One of the men you and Benedict had dined with yesterday evening was now standing in front of you. He was handsome, almost as tall as Benedict, but his eyes didn’t have that mesmerising blue colour you’d always recognise, his hair wasn’t brown like the coffee Benedict would bring you whenever you helped him grade essays, and his hands weren’t as big as the ones you wanted to feel on your body.

“Thank you! I am very happy about the crowd’s reaction to it.” A smile tugged on your lips as you took a sip, buying yourself some time. Fading seconds Benedict used to study you, the fake smile he instantly saw through, the slightly uncomfortable shifting of your weight from one leg to the other. He stepped closer, hand trying to come to rest on your waist, but you pulled away before he could touch you. “Excuse me, gentlemen, I’ll get myself another drink.”

You felt his eyes burning through your back, standing on the spot you had been standing on seconds ago, jaw muscles clenched. With every step you took away from him, your heart picked up its pace, pounding in your ribcage, fuelled by your anxiety and anger. Why did he have to be so cold towards you this morning? Why did he have to chase the distance rather than finally closing the small gaps between you?

Slowly you made your way through the crowd, holding onto your refilled glass with an iron grip. You weren’t nearly as tipsy enough as you wanted to be, pouring down big gulps to try and get rid of the tension that held your system hostage. Piercing blue eyes found yours from afar, wordlessly guiding you closer, surrounded by men and women you haven’t met before.

“May I introduce you to my wonderful (y/n)?” Benedict’s voice had a strange undertone to it, pronouncing your name with a newfound possessiveness dripping from it. This time you didn’t get to pull away as his hand gripped your waist, pulling you into his side. Your thoughts were racing as fast as your heart, but you tried to smile at the people that now shook your free hand, eyes not wandering from your features. Benedict’s fingers kept boring into your skin, not giving you the slightest chance to even try and escape him.

Only as the people moved on, finding new conversations to get lost in, did you manage to free yourself. With your gaze set on your glass, you took a step away from him and another before his patience seemed to snap. His big hand came down on your wrist, the other took your glass from you to place it down on the nearest table before he started pulling you through the room.

“Where are we going?” He ignored your question, pulling you outside into the hallway.

“What is going on with you? You’re behaving like a child.” Benedict’s words cut right through you, forcing a scoff from you. For a second, you allowed yourself to study him. His eyes no longer reminded you of a cloudless blue sky, but rather an angry storm threatening to unleash its power, fuck, why was he still so very handsome.

“I’m the one behaving like a child? You left me hanging this morning, even though you promised not to leave me alone before the talk!” He clenched his jaw, eyes growing even darker as he took a step closer, towering over you.

“Is that how you speak to your supervisor? I’d be careful of my tone if I were you.” You barely recognised his voice, dark and husky, leaving your thighs clenching and your hands shaking. Even though you were angry at him, so fucking angry, you couldn’t help but let your gaze flicker to his lips, wanting to feel them pressed against yours.

“Are you threatening me? You know what, fuck you, Benedict!” The words left you before you could stop them from rolling off your tongue, trying to turn away from him with hurried steps. But you didn’t get far, pulled against his hard chest with one of his hands cupping your warm cheek and the other resting on your waist. For a few seconds, Benedict studied you with dilated pupils and heavy breaths spluttering from his thin lips. Seconds that passed by all too slowly, torturing you and your racing heart. Something seemed to give him the final push, lips meeting yours before you could speak another word.

Your mind didn’t get any time to focus on the situation, guided by your body, by the way your lips moved in sync with his. For years you had tried to imagine what kissing Benedict may feel like, but this was a new sensation, something raw, something full of emotion, something you were addicted to from the first second on. Your hands found his suit jacket, clinging to him for dear life as if you were scared he’d part from you way too soon.

His tongue moved along your lower lip, coaxing a moan from you. The kiss grew more heated with every passing second, relishing in one another’s touch, the beats of your racing hearts, the blood rushing through your veins, a beautiful mixture. Benedict slowly parted from you to catch his breath, staring down at you with a smirk, an expression that left your insides churning in anticipation. With his hand finding yours, he wordlessly pulled you down the hallway towards the elevator that would take you up to the floor of your room.

Was this it? Was this the moment you had thought of too many times to count? Was this the moment you had thought of as your wandering hands took care of the ache between your legs?

The second the doors of the elevator started to close, you were pulled in for another kiss, pressed against the mirror you didn’t dare look at. You could only guess that you looked like a mess, hair tousled, lips swollen, eyes wide – all because of the man that couldn’t stop touching you.

“I,” Benedict murmured against your lips, hands toying with the fabric of your lucky shirt, struggling to find the right words. “I’m sorry for being this cold towards you, I still struggle with what you make me feel, and with the power my position holds over you, I don’t ever want you to think that I’m using you. You need to know, if you want me to stop, you can always say so.”

His thumb ran along your swollen lips, unable to bite down his smile as you pressed a kiss to his digit. The elevator came to a halt, allowing the two of you to find your way to your hotel room, pushed inside by his big hand finding your lower back. Benedict didn’t let you get far, hands pulling you against his chest, eyes getting lost in yours.

“I need your spoken consent before I touch you.” His lips ghosted over yours, patiently waiting for you to speak up. It took you a few seconds to speak up, unable to concentrate on anything but his touch, the fire he had unleashed inside of you, a fire so daunting he wouldn’t ever be able to tame it.

“Touch me, please, professor.” The use of his title seemed to push Benedict over the edge, growling against your lips as you were guided towards the big bed. His lips found your throat, sucking on the spots that left your toes curling and your heart skipping needed beats. Skilled hands undid the buttons of your shirt, pushing the fabric off your shoulders to expose the lacy lingerie you were wearing. Benedict marveled at you, freezing the moment for seconds as his eyes took in the sight in front of him, wondering how and why he got so lucky.

You murmured his name, snapping him out of his trance, hands working on his shirt. The moment pushed your nerves over the edge, hands struggling to undo the small buttons, signing in relief as he pushed you away, tugging the shirt over his head. Benedict didn’t give you any time to take in his upper body, the muscles you wanted to run your hands across, the freckles and small spots you wanted to kiss, forced down onto the bed. Your professor towered over you, lower lip caught between his teeth as he watched you undo your bra, exposing your breasts to his wandering eyes.

“I’ve been waiting a long time to see you like this, at my mercy, ready to give me whatever I’m asking of you.” His raspy voice left you gasping, eyes rolling back as his hands undid your trousers, helping you out of them. By now, you were only wearing your soaked-through, lacy panties, a sight that could make the blind see again, Benedict was sure of it. A work of art, the finest creation his eyes would ever get to take in. He wanted to take his time with you, wanted to love on every inch of your skin, but his own desperation drove him closer to you, shuffling out of his trousers with hurried movements.

He crawled up your body, flipping the two of you around for you to settle in his lap, feeling his hard cock pressing against your core. Fuck, you were already done for, balancing along the line of your state of pleasure only he’d push you into. His hand found the back of your neck to pull you in for another kiss, eyes fluttering close as his free hand found your chest, cupping your breast, tugging on your hard nipple. Moans clawed through you, all too shamelessly, all too freely, unable to hold back the sounds he elicited.

“I knew I'd never be able to hold back once I touched you, and I was scared of losing my control around you.” You knew he was talking about yesterday evening. You knew he was trying to smooth out the wrinkles on your heart he had crumpled like a piece of paper, and yet you couldn’t focus on them. You kissed him again, murmuring a soft “I need you, professor” against his lips.

His strong hands found your hips, grinding your core against his clothed cock, making your breaths get stuck in your lungs. The both of you were close to snapping, skipping the foreplay just to feel one another, and yet Benedict tried to hold back, not wanting to end your moment together this fast. Your legs quivered, the feeling he pushed through you with the grinding movements left your walls clenching around nothing, forcing a “More, please” out of you.

“Ask for it properly, you know how to be a good girl for me.” Benedict’s teasing words left you whining, eyes fluttering close as he stopped your movements, holding still to patiently wait for you to express your every need.

“Want your cock, fuck, need you inside of me.” A growl was forced out of Benedict, flipping you around once again, panties forced down your legs before your mind could even begin to catch up with his movements. With your body fully exposed to him, you were lying beneath him, staring up at him with lust-blown pupils and your teeth buried in your lower lip. His big hand found your core, brushing his fingers through your folds, moaning as he felt your wetness. You were dripping for him, body showing him how much you needed his touch, how desperate you were for him, for his fingers, for his cock.

His soft fingers circled your pulsing bundle of nerves, forcing your back to arch and your hands to fist the fabric of the blanket you were laying on. Benedict found himself obsessing over your sounds, hoping that he’d get to coax them out of you for endless nights to come, very well aware that he’d never be able to part from you and your bond again.

“Oh fuck, don’t stop.” He had pushed two fingers into your tightness, curling them against your swollen spot. Both of you knew that he was teasing you, fucking you all too slow, wanting to prolong the moment for as long as possible. Curses rolled off your tongue, forcing one of your hands to find his forearm, nails clawed into his skin, set on leaving marks he’d have to hide for the next few days.

“So desperate for me, so pretty, I knew you’d be perfect for me.” His praises left your skin growing warmer, eyes unable to meet his intense gaze. You felt your orgasm growing closer, wanting to let go, giving room to the intense sensation you were aching for. But just a second before you could give in with his name rolling off your tongue, Benedict let go of you.

Your eyes snapped open, staring at him with parted lips and furrowed eyebrows, a moment of confusion passed as you watched him reach for his wallet, pulling out a silvery foil packet. His eyes searched yours as he pulled his cock free, boxers left on the ground next to your panties; you couldn’t pay any attention to the fabric, eyes wandering down his naked frame, taking in the sight of his hard cock. His tip was flushed red, length twitching in his grasp, close to combusting.

“Are you sure about this? We can always stop.” Benedict was once again towering over you, not daring to move as he stared down at you. With one hand, you pulled him down to you, lips finding his as you murmured a soft “Fuck me”. Skilled fingers rolled the condom down his cock, aligning himself with your entrance before he slowly pushed into you. The both of you had to halt for a moment, eyes squeezed shut to take in the new feeling, adjusting to the tightness of your walls to the size of his cock.

“Move, please.” Your command was met with a groan, building a slow rhythm that took a few thrusts for you to get used to. The moans that tried to claw through you were held back by your pressed-together lips, not wanting to give your loud sounds enough room to reverberate through the thin four walls you were surrounded by, something Benedict easily picked up on.

“Don’t hold back, let me hear you, love.” The use of the nickname broke the dam, allowing your sounds to rumble through you. Your nails left marks down his back, scratching at his skin in a desperate try to hold onto him. His hips met yours with every thrust, forcing himself deeper into you, needing to etch this every moment into your mind. “You’re doing so well, my pretty girl.”

The second his tip met your swollen spot, you choked on your gasps, letting go of a high-pitched “Oh god”, very well knowing that you’d cum all too soon. Benedict’s smile began to widen as he picked up on your desperation, fingers finding their way back to your clit. You gripped his shoulders as your orgasm began to rock through you, filling your every pore, overtaking your whole body.

Benedict fucked you through your high, getting lost in your pleasure and drunken features, feeling his own high filling his body. He gave it a few more thrusts before he came, holding still as his cum filled the condom.

…

The rest of the week was spent between conferences, lingering touches, and long nights of fucking. Benedict could barely keep his hands away from you when you were in public. His eyes were always searching for you when you weren’t by his side. His hands perpetually on your waist as the two of you made small talk with other academics. Sometimes you couldn't make it until the night, sneaking into an empty hallway, a bathroom, back to your room. He was addicted to you, and you could barely believe all your dreams had finally come true.

It was safe to say your grading sessions were never the same again. They mostly occurred in his house now, and they included dinner and a couple of fucking-breaks. They weren’t as efficient but significantly more fun.

#Benedict Cumberbatch smut #Benedict Cumberbatch imagine #professor fic #doctor strange #bbc sherlock #Benedict Cumberbatch x you

264 notes · View notes

nightowlwriting · 3 years

Text

summary: steve is acting weird. avoiding you, being snippy and mean, leaving the room when you enter. all you want is your boyfriend back, but all he wants is to pretend you don't exist. when he's almost hurt on a mission, you do what you're made to do.

word count: 11k

reader specifics: no race/gender/sexuality/body type mentioned, no pronouns for reader used, powered!reader, insecure!reader

warnings: steve is mean to the reader in the beginning, heavy angst, hurt/comfort, canon-level violence, brief ptsd symptoms, slight description of blood, brief mention of racism in the '30s & '40s

brief mentions of: reader's parents being toxic, homelessness, past accidents, ableism in the past & present

note: this one hurt me lmfao. idk why this went the way it did but i'm not mad at it // also i am a queer, trans, disabled american. i have fundamental disagreements with things that marvel/the mcu as it stands for and some of the more nuanced things that you might not notice unless you're looking for it. this will take place in my writing because i cannot separate myself from the lens in which i consume/create content.

title credit: lil nas x

mobile masterlist - request - support my work? - ao3

Falling in love with Steve Rogers went against every instinct you had. You knew that he was going to hurt you from the first moment your lips touched his. Sure - he’s clever, righteous, courteous… You can’t forget he’s also drop-dead gorgeous because every trashy gossip magazine in a three-state radius of New York doesn’t let you forget. Neither does the sight of him waking up in your bed every morning. (Well, actually, maybe that would remind you if he was still fucking doing that.)

But lately, you’ve had to rely on the fucking tabloids to catch a glimpse of your super-hero boyfriend. The university class you had picked up on a whim at the end of the summer - Life & Times of the ‘30s and ‘40s - avoids any mention of Steve Rogers and the Howling Commandos. Not that your classmates do because, Christ on a bike, those magazines manage to catch pictures of you and Steve in moments that you don’t even remember. Plus, you’re an Avenger too. It’s bound to catch some attention when you waltz into a college classroom.

You’re sure if you were an undergrad trying to fill a gen-ed requirement and were sitting next to someone who could kill you without blinking but also dating Captain Rogers you’d be a little distracted too. You try not to blame your classmates too much, but they do make it hard to concentrate with their -really dating Captain America?- and -wonder if I could get an autograph- whispers. None of that matters because you’re learning, really studying, in between missions and missing Steve and believing that maybe the gossip reporters are right.

Maybe he’s forgotten about you.

You grit your teeth and push the thought away. It does you no good right now, while you’re training with Peter. He’s working his way up to bona fide missions and, because you’re the only one on the team who has experience with real-life teenagers outside of saving their lives, it’s up to you to get him to the level that he needs to be. Plus, the mission where he’s going to get his gills wet is just you, Tony, Steve, Nat, and Bucky. You’d much rather be the one to train him because you won’t traumatize him.

Right now, though, you’re just kicking his ass to try and get rid of some of the tension in your body. You feel a little bad about it, but when you started as his mentor you told him point-blank that you’d never go easy on him. That meant if you were having a bad day he either needed to up his game or he’d have a bad day too. It appears he’s taken that to heart as he struggles to dodge the hits you’re throwing his way. He lunges out of the way when you try to land a right hook but practically walks into the leg sweep that sends him crashing to the ground.

“Awe,” Peter groans, letting his guard down. You take the momentary lapse of focus to grab him by the collar of the hoodie he’s wearing and haul him to his feet, jerking one fist back to cold-clock him but he beats you to it. You hear the sound of your nose cracking before you feel it but then the pain rushes you all at once. You’ve had worse but coming from Peter, the move surprises you. You don’t yell out but he does when you push him away from you and call the fight off. Peter practically yelps your name, hands up by his head as he watches you bend at the waist, both hands over where your nose is absolutely gushing blood. “I am so sorry, I just reacted-!”

“It’s fine, Pete,” You shake your head and stand straight again, the blood beginning to leak through your fingers, “Just go get me a towel, okay?” Peter practically trips over his feet to get something for your nose and as you track him on his way into the locker rooms, you see Steve, Bucky, and Nat. The latter are looking your way, eyebrows raised like they’re asking you if you’re okay. Steve hasn’t even broken stride in his conversation so you wave them off with a bloody hand. Peter’s back in a flash, pressing a wet towel into your grasp and snapping you out of your self-pity party. “It was a good hit,” You compliment as you wipe your face off, “I just wasn’t expecting it. Prob’ly wouldn't have landed it if I had.”

He wrings his hands, shifting from foot to foot. “I’m sorry-”

“It’s a good thing, Peter, means you’re getting better.” You deadpan, checking to see if your nose has stopped bleeding yet, “I don’t think you actually broke it, but I’ll go down to medical to check later.” You do your best to clean up your hands with the wet towel, but it’s so soaked with your blood that it mostly just smears it around. You grimace and shake your head. “Well, I should go now before our sparring match ends up looking like I murdered you.”

“I’ll go with,” He offers, “I’m the one who broke your nose.” You let Peter walk you down to medical even though you were originally going to refuse. Perhaps petty, but it was the way that Steve didn’t even look your way as you left that made you let the teenager walk you the two floors to where you’d be able to clean yourself up. He hums in the elevator and you know that he wants to ask you something - it’s the way he holds his mouth when he’s prying for information or keeping a secret that tips you off. Finally, just before the elevator opens, you sigh and turn to him.

“What, Peter?” He grins but then it falls when he has to skitter after you down the hall. Maybe that’s why it falls - the question he asks next nearly sends you to your ass.

“Is everything okay with you and Captain Rogers?” He easily catches up to you when you stop in your tracks, ignoring that you’re still bleeding a little bit down your face and you might be dripping blood everywhere from where it’s run down your arms.

“What?” You do your best to look confused like everything is fine, but Peter is perceptive. He may fumble around and be pretty awkward, but those are really just teenager things that he’ll hopefully outgrow. You should have known that when someone caught onto how bad things are on your end, it would be Peter. (You wonder if Nat or Bucky has brought it up with Steve, considering he’s spent more time with them in the past week than he’s seen you in the past month.) “We’re fine.” Your words are stilted as you begin walking to the medical wing much faster than before.

“I just thought I’d ask, well, because I’ve sort of noticed… Something just seems off, you know? Like, you two used to spend a lot of time together, and maybe it’s the recon mission coming up, but I was just thinking that you two really barely look at each other even when you’re in the same -”

“Peter!” You say his name much louder than either of you expected and both of you jump. “Peter,” You say softer, looking at the glass door to the medical wing instead of him, “Just leave it, okay? It’s nothing you have to worry about, kid.” Peter ducks around to open the door, forcing you to look at him. “He’s just focused on his stuff and I’m focused on getting you whipped into shape for this mission. We only have two days.” Once you’re inside and surrounded by the medical crew Tony keeps on staff, he thankfully drops it. You love Peter, you do, but it’s a lot like having a little brother. You can only love them so much before you want to fucking strangle them. Eventually, as the doctor checks to make sure he hasn’t broken your nose, you have to order him away to go study or something. “I’ll join you later,” You promise him as the doctor prods at your tender flesh, “I have an essay due soon.”

That’s another thing that’s been bugging you that Peter surely picked up on. Nearly everybody knew you were taking a course at the local community college, but nobody knew what it was about. You’d wanted to keep it a secret until you told Steve, but the day you had registered he’d flown out for a two-week mission without telling you or saying goodbye. After that, you decided it didn’t really matter if anyone knew what class you were taking, and keeping it a secret sort of spiraled from there. If they wanted to know they could look it up. Maybe it was petty, but you just wanted the class to be over and done with so you could forget that you really only picked it up so you relate to your boyfriend more.

If you can even call Steve your boyfriend anymore. You’re not so sure where you stand and, honestly, you’re really close to giving up on the relationship as a whole but you can’t do that. Before you were dating, you were friends, and Steve… He never gave up on you. Not once. How could you repay him by giving up on your relationship? The one that you thought was The One? Even if it hurts, even if you’re unsure more than sure these days, how could you? Somewhere, though, you know you deserve better. You don’t deserve the sinking, dark feeling that lingers in your gut for most of your days now or the way that you second-guess every move you make - even in the field. It’s dangerous but you can’t do anything to fix it.

You’re too scared. You know that eventually, it will happen, he’ll break up with you, but you’d like to put that day off for as long as possible. To relish in the love he once had for you, how pure and powerful it was. You’re sure that you’ll never experience anything like that again.

Hell, you might never fall in love again.

Those thoughts don’t do anything to help you, though, so you try not to have them. You get clearance from the doctor and get cleaned up as much as you can without taking a full body shower. The idea to go back to your room and take one crosses your mind but you know that Steve’s probably done training, probably heading back for his own shower, and you don’t want to open that can of worms. Instead, you go to the common room and drop into the couch between Peter and Tony. They’re talking about something something science something something, but you pull your stack of books and notebooks out from the shelf underneath the coffee table and continue outlining your essay from where you left off. The assignment was focused on how the end of WW1 changed American life and then how life changed leading up to and during WW2 but that had hit a little too close to home for you, so you’re writing about the racial tension and overall racism of the times. Tony and Peter keep talking over your back and then you hear footsteps heading toward the common room.

You barely look up when they enter - Nat and Bucky - because it’s fine. It’s normal. They’re just two of Steve’s best friends, that’s all, nothing to be jumpy about. You don’t even register that emotional pain that hits when you realize that, yeah, you’re not one of his best friends anymore. You doubt you’re even considered a friend in his book.

You groan and lean back into the couch, bringing your study materials with you. Peter glances over, skimming over your page and a half of shorthand, and gags. “Jesus, can you write like a normal person?”

“Oh, sorry,” You say lazily, not looking up as you continue to scribble in your incomprehensible code, “I do forget that some of us had privacy at home.” You lift your lips just a little bit to let Peter know you’re kidding, looking up at him through your lashes as you slouch next to him. He looks red in the face. “Besides, once you have to start doing mission reports you’ll be begging me to learn my shorthand and use my stenography machine.”

“I keep telling you that I can update that ol’ thing,” Tony draws your attention. For the first time, you realize that Nat and Bucky are on the loveseat looking at you expectantly. Steve is standing in the corner over their shoulder reading a book from the bookshelf in front of him. His back is tense and he looks like he’s not reading, just listening. You force your eyes back to Tony on your right and shake your head.

“No, because then you’d know my shorthand and it makes me too happy to see you spend hours trying to decipher it.” His eyes wander to your essay again, trying to find any patterns that he can use to figure out what the hell you’re writing on anything ever. He’s opening his mouth to make a smart-ass remark that will no doubt lift some of the weight off of your shoulders when another voice speaks up.

“Wow,” Steve doesn’t even look at you even as he says your name sardonically, “Way to be a team player.” Your mind comes to a screeching halt, trying to figure out what the fuck he’s playing at. Even Bucky and Nat look surprised at the cold way he spoke to you, Tony and Peter both gasping from your side. You can’t say anything, throat tight and burning with tears as you stare at your boyfriend with raised eyebrows. What do you say to that? How do you respond? You know it wasn’t a joke because he’s not laughing, not smiling, not even looking up from that fucking book in his hands. You can’t tell if you’re more hurt or embarrassed, but either way, you don’t want to stick around for someone to get the nerve to say something.

Instead of replying, you slam your textbooks shut and bundle everything into your arms. You doubt Steve even notices that you’re making such a hasty retreat but if he does, he doesn’t say a fucking thing. You feel like you’re in high school - practically running through an empty hallway with your notebooks and textbooks pressed to your chest, trying not to cry. It’s ridiculous. You’re a trained assassin, you’re an Avenger, you are strong and powerful and yet… And yet. You’ve given so much of your heart and soul to Steve Rogers that he can knock you down eight pegs without even trying. Without even looking at you. You can’t wait to go on this fucking recon mission, where you can put all of your focus on making sure Peter is doing okay and gathering the intel. Where you can stop thinking about how easily Steve Rogers seems to be pushing you to the side.

You spend the next two days writing your essay, ignoring almost everyone, and working on your essay. On the day of the recon mission, you’re running out the door for your eight a.m lecture, printed essay in hand, and reminding Tony that he promised to pick you up on campus after class for the mission.

You’re lucky that you went, too. You hadn’t counted on the professor making everyone stand up and tell the class the subject of their essays - didn’t realize that it would be twenty-five percent of the grade on the paper. You’ll never understand college professors and the weird shit they do, but the class is informative and entertaining. He goes around the room, starting on the opposite side of you, so you’ll be last. Great.

Several students did their papers on the propaganda of the time, one student was brave and did her essay on the ethical dilemma of the super-soldier serum and eugenics, and most of the other students focused on pop culture and how it changed. When your professor looks at you it’s almost like he’s expecting you to have done nothing but fawn over Steve and Bucky, considering you know them personally. He looks surprised when you clear your throat, stand and say: “I focused on the casual and institutional racism that faced non-white Americans at the time.” You almost preen when he looks impressed and then the shame fills you. It’s just… You want Steve to be proud of you. You want him to congratulate you on going back to school, even if it’s just for one class. You want him to be happy and surprised that he was the inspiration for taking the class.

Though, lately, the class has been more for you than for him. You like learning new things, pushing the boundaries of assignments, making people uncomfortable with the truth of the times you’re studying as told to you by two people who lived it. It’s nice. Normal.

Everyone needs a little bit of normal.

But, honestly, normal is fucking boring. By the time your class is over and you’re handing in your essay it’s like ants are crawling over your skin. A combination of nerves from the upcoming mission, a head full of fog from whatever is happening with Steve, and a little bit of fear at the thought of taking Peter into the field has you bolting for the door the moment your essay is taken from you. You’d worn your tac-suit underneath a pair of baggy sweats and a loose hoodie, so you don’t even bother slowing down as you head toward the car that Tony has waiting for you. He’s in the front seat, grinning at you from underneath his aviators and Peter is driving.

You slip into the backseat without thinking or looking at who’s there, tossing your bag in the back and peeling your hoodie off. “God, Tone, we’re goin’ to die before we even get to the mission with Petey driving.” You toss your hoodie back to join your bag and finally see who’s sitting next to you.

Of course, it’s Steve. He’s looking at you - but not really. He’s looking through you, like he can’t stand that you’re both crammed in the backseat of Tony’s electric car. His gaze catches you and holds you in place. Everything around you goes cold and fuzzy, making you miss Peter’s indignant complaining that he has his license so he should be able to drive… And then Steve scoffs and looks out his window, ignoring you. It stings but you have a job to do. You make some witty retort back to Peter, but it falls flat as you struggle out of your sweats. This is what life is, you think. Relationships aren’t meant to be forever - you learned that at a young age.

Until your accident at fifteen, you had watched your parents run out of helium, their relationship expanding and cooling in arguments, in days spent not talking, in trips to your grandparents without the other, in passive-aggressive computer searches for divorce attorneys left open for anyone to see. Then, after you were trapped between those machines - after you spent hour after agonizing hour with electricity pressing between your atoms, being torn apart and rebuilt as a young god - after that day you watched them expand against each other before the neutron core of their relationship collapsed on itself and the resulting supernova sent you to the streets. But then Fury found you. Then Tony, then Nat, then Steve.

Your parents exploded out from each other and the shockwaves ruined your life. At least now, your relationship with Steve is ending silently. There’s no explosion, no collapse, no rapid expansion to take over your cosmos. Your relationship with Steve is simply approaching the event horizon, where it will hang in the air until one of you takes the final step and you both become frozen, two collapsing objects on opposite sides of the universe. Maybe that’s what you already are. You feel so far away from him in the back of Tony’s car - like he’s eons and light-years away from you - and you feel so cold. Frozen, down to the bone. It makes you stiff in your replies to Tony and Peter, slow on the uptake when the car pulls up to the quinjet, nearing stasis and unable to respond when Nat asks if you’re okay.

Finally, you turn to look at her, nodding. “Fine,” You clear your throat, “Been a rough day.” You do your best to smile at her, but your face feels heavy. Your chest feels cold and tight, making you worry about your performance on the upcoming mission. When Peter shakes his head next to you, discreetly telling Nat not to press, you’re focused on Steve and the electricity humming in the most base part of your body.

He scoffs and rolls his eyes. You turn away and force yourself to smile, throwing a weak and numb arm over Peter’s shoulders. “Are you ready for this, Pete?” You jostle him back and forth, leading him toward the sitting area behind the cockpit. “Gonna get your ass kicked?”

“Please,” He shoves you off, nervously laughing, “Not with the skills you’ve taught me.” He mimics throwing webs, making hissing noises under his breath, and you bark out a laugh, shaking your head.

“You’re payin’ my medical bills when I have to save your ass, Spidey.” You shake your head and strap in next to the wall, Peter taking the seat to your right. Tony, from the aisle across from you, points a thick finger your way.

“You don’t pay medical bills anymore,” He waggles his finger, “So you’ll just have to make him do your homework for a week.”

“Mister Stark!”

“He’ll have to earn shorthand to do your essays,” Nat chimes in from between Bucky and Steve, who are both doing their best to not look at you - or anyone really. “You willing to share that with him?”

You lean back in your seat and jab at Peter with your elbow. “Hell no, so I guess Spider-Boy better do his best.” The arachnid in question grumbles, crossing his arms and slouching in his seat.

“No pressure, right?” He complains, “Not like I’m already nervous or anything.”

“You’ll do fine, kid,” Bucky pipes up, drawing your eyes back to Steve, “It’s goin’ to be a cakewalk.”

“Don’t jinx it, Barnes,” You warn half-heartedly, tucking in on yourself, “We need this to be easy.” From the look on his face - everyone’s face, really - you know that they heard you loud and clear when you were really saying I need this to be easy.

After an uneasy laugh from Bucky, a claustrophobic silence settles over you all as the jet begins to take off. You’re in for an hour ride and plan to spend it going over battle plans with Peter when harsh whispering catches your ear. It’s Bucky and Steve nearly crushing Nat between them until she gets up and sits across from Peter, rolling her eyes. Still, you try your best to run him through the actions you both had planned - the names, the setups you needed to execute them, everything. If something happens to Peter, you’ll never forgive yourself.

And then, cutting through your soft promptings to Peter and his equally soft replies, Bucky’s voice. “Leave it, Steve. Until after this mission.” Even Tony looks up from his tablet, curiosity piqued. Their faces are both red, set hard and angry at each other and your stomach drops. What the hell is going on that Steve ‘Till The End Of The Line Rogers is fighting with Bucky You And Me, Pal Barnes? You must shift, or lean too far into Steve’s eyesight, because for the first time in what feels like years he is looking directly at you - and seeing you, too. It makes your pulse jump and, almost instinctively, you want to reach out and ground yourself on the rubber of the seat underneath you.

You don’t get the chance, though, because Steve speaks. “No, why should I? This is clearly affecting the team.” He’s still looking - glaring - at you like you’ve done something wrong. “What’s the point of waiting? I’ve been waiting to talk about this.”

“Bo, I don’t think this is the time,” Bucky looks over his shoulder at you, then, and you know what’s coming. You know that it’s time, that Steve is about to break up with you in front of your teammates. Your friends. Your family. You steel yourself for the anguish you’re about to feel and then jerk your chin out, hardening your resolve.

“Buck, it’s fine. If Steve wants to address something, he can.”

Natasha says your name, a low warning over the hum of the quinjet. “I think he should wait.”

“Well, I’m not goin’ to wait!” Steve unbuckles himself and stands, “I have tried waiting, and look at where that has gotten me.” He puts his hands on his hips and puffs out a breath. You unbuckle and stand, too, unsure of where this is going. “You need to,” He holds one hand out, pointing at you while his voice shakes. You notice his hand is shaking, too, but fractionally. If you didn’t know Steve as well as you do you may have never noticed it. “You need to get it together.”

“I need to get it together?” You question, eyebrows nearly hitting the ceiling with how fast they shoot up. You’re not totally sure you’ve heard him right because what do you have to get together? The broken shards of your relationship? The information and research for your final paper? The awful way you’ve let yourself be treated for what seems like forever?

“You heard me,” Steve says, at the same time Bucky leans his head back and groans deep in his chest. “What? Someone had to say it.”

“We should wait for this,” Nat speaks up again, but lifelessly. She knows now that you and Steve are both on the warpath, neither of you are going to stop. (That’s also why the two of you work together as a couple so well. Very rarely are you both so worked up about something that you can’t back down, so the other is always there to meet you halfway and get you back to earth.)

“No, no, no,” You say, near hysterically, “No, he wants to do this now? Before a mission? Instead of the fuckin’ weeks we had to hash whatever crawled up his ass and died out? Be my guest. He’s already dragged everyone into this by treating me like a pariah.” You’re not sneering, but your teeth are gritted so tightly together you can hear them scraping and feel a tension headache beginning to bloom in your temples. Bucky looks… Almost incredulous at your statement. Like putting the blame on Steve is a dick move or something.

“Oh, so I’m the bad guy here?” Steve is curling his lip, glaring at you. There’s something behind his eyes, but he’s buried it so deep that you can’t reach it and figure out what it is. “I’m the bad guy, right. Right, right, right.” He scoffs, shakes his head, and then he’s running his fingers through his hair like he really can’t believe what you’re saying to him.

“Well, what else am I supposed to think?” You throw your hands out to the side and let them slap back down on your thighs. “You ignore me, you make me feel like shit, you talk down to me like I’m some insignificant foot soldier. How else am I supposed to take that, Steve?”

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe ask me what’s wrong? Maybe ask me why I’m acting like this, instead of ignoring all of your problems like a child?” He mirrors your moments, but the sound his hands make when they hit the outside of his suit is more powerful than yours. Fueled by anger, you think. Anger and whatever the hell was in the serum Erskine pumped into Steve.

“Ask you?” You repeat, near-hysterical, “Ask you? Oh yeah, let me get right on that. Hey, Mister Rogers? Mister Captain America? Mister Ignores-His-Partner-For-God-Knows-Why? Hey, just why are you doin’ that?” You’re surprised that you’ve said something so snotty, but you don’t back down. (Steve looks surprised, too, and Bucky has stood up next to his friend like he’s about to start berating you as well. At least he looks more cautious about it, like he’s not totally sure that this fight should be happening.)

The more surprising part of your fight is how fast it’s shut down. Tony and Nat stand at the same time and exchange a glance like they’ve surprised each other. “That’s enough,” Tony starts.

Nat cuts him off. “I don’t care if you fight this one out instead of talking, but if you do it before this recon mission you two are going to blow it. Do you understand me?” She looks dangerous, the sharp edge of a knife spiraling through the air. You force yourself to look away from her, from Tony, from Bucky, from Steve. She’s right. You know she’s right - especially on this mission. Peter is there, going to be in real danger even though there’s not supposed to be one Hydra agent in a four-mile radius. You have to clear your mind and focus on protecting him.

Steve seems to think the same thing because he stands down. When you watch him collapse in on himself, Bucky’s arms around his shoulders, into the little quinjet seats your everything aches. Heart, lungs, eyes - everything. Even though you don’t know what’s going on, what could have possibly happened to make your relationship sink this quickly and out of the blue, you still love him. He’s still The One for you. You still want to be the one to comfort him and make him feel whole when he’s struggling.

But you can’t. You can’t and it kills you.

The heat of battle makes a lot of things fade into the background. Important things like why the fuck are there Hydra agents here? and Steve is going to break up with you when you get back on the jet and Tony swore on the fucking limited edition AC/DC vintage tour poster he has in his office that this would be an easy in/easy out information mission. None of that matters, though, because you’re in deep shit. There are seventeen of them, all primed to the teeth with weapons made to take your team down permanently.

You’re practically glued to Peter, calling out commands and plans for him to initiate. It’s when all of your plans fall through that you take a hit from a heavy fist on purpose, hitting the ground hard. “Plan F, Spidey, Plan F!” You cover the instruction with a groan and then you’re back on your feet, working your way toward him.

“Plan F?” Tony says, somewhere above you in his suit. Your comms crackle ominously as another heat-seeking grenade is launched, interfering with the radio waves your tech relies on. You don’t worry about it, because you know Tony is on it. He’s your eyes in the sky.

Peter is the one who answers his question, watching your close hand-to-hand tilt out of your favor briefly. “Plan Fuck It, Mister Stark.” He grunts as he webs up a Hydra agent, jerking him away from where he was about to slip a knife up and under Natasha’s kevlar. You finally drop the guy in front of you, ignoring Steve’s disappointed Language! and toss one of your knives toward Nat for her to use. Tony is still laughing in your ear, wheezing as he drops down and snags the rifle from one of the snipers and then takes back off.

What your little protégé failed to mention about Plan F is that it’s not just chaos, but controlled chaos. You let loose, letting a soft current cover every inch of your skin as Peter switches to his conductive webbing and takes special care to not web any of his allies. Except for you - if you’re in the way and he catches you in a web it doesn’t matter because you’re you, alive with electricity that drops the men that get caught in the web, too. You rip out of the webs and turn the current off when one of your teammates gets too close.

More Hydra agents are pouring out of the woods, topping out their numbers around twenty-five. That’s twenty-five too many in your opinion, especially when you can see Peter getting tired, his anxiety spiking, his moves having more and more hesitation behind them. You need to get this over with quickly, but you don’t have the options to do that. Steve, Bucky, and Nat are really the heavy-hitters - you, Pete, and Tony are the only ones without serums despite all of your individual abilities. Desperately you reach out for a web that’s still connected to Peter’s arms, pulling him out of the way of a baton that’s about to come down on the back of his neck.

The baton the agent is wielding glints in the coming dusk, freezing you as Peter scrambles past you with a quick apology. You’ve seen that before - seen it, felt it, know it like the back of your hand. There’s no way that you could ever forget that weapon. The man stumbles when his hit doesn’t connect but then rights himself and searches for a new target.

A long, black baton that splits into two prongs at the end is heavy in his hand. Electricity crackles between the bulbs at the end, flashing in the setting sun and your memories. The man only has one, but if it was hooked up to a machine, spinning. If there were four, five, six. If you were pinned between them, screaming in the pain as they rewrote your DNA… You’ve only felt it once, but you’ll never forget it.

And now, you’ll taste it again. On purpose this time. The man holding the stun baton is going for Steve’s back - his strong back, the one that protects people, the one that holds the weight of the world, the one that lays in your bed, the one you see whipping out of rooms as you’re entering just so that he doesn’t have to look at you - and you can’t let that happen. It only takes ten amps to kill a regular human, but you know those things are cranked up to twenty minimum. You don’t want to see how many amps of current it will take to stop Steve’s heart. You’re between the baton and Steve before you can think about what you’re doing or what comes next, the hard bulbs settling unyielding into your side and cranking out maximum power for maximum damage as soon as the current is connected and able to flow from one bulb to the other.

The pain hits you and your throat catches on it. It burns through your body, setting everything on fire - your chest hurts as your heart protests the electrons and then your powers kick in, sweeping them into your very atoms and cells. You’re a live wire now, ears humming and body thrumming with power you’ve only dreamed of. It hurts, and it burns, and you feel tears rising in your eyes because you’re back there - back begging for death or for life or for God and god at the same time - but then it’s over. The man sees that you’re not seizing up, not dropping dead in front of him, and he takes three steps back.

It’s not far enough.

You’ve only felt like this once before - right after you were unhooked from the machine that changed your life and brought you to your new family. You remember how you looked when you were put in front of a mirror with all of the pent up electricity circling your body - how your eyes were filled to the brim and dripping with bright and blue electricity, the way it was jumping across your body, how you didn’t need to breathe because your body was fully saturated with pure, unadulterated power. You wonder if you look like that now and assume you do because you can see the bright blue reflecting in the terrified eyes of the Hydra agent.

Your suit, unlike everyone else’s, is not grounded. It’s metal, metal, metal. You’re made to conduct, born for it, and the earth beneath you comes alive with bright white as you release all of the energy, the power, surges down and out. You’re practiced. You can reach out and feel the synapses and neurons of every human being in the clearing, know exactly where your teammates are standing, and know exactly how to target everything but them and the pitiful amount of electricity their brains carry. You grin, something truly feral and unhinged, and you can see the fear in the Hydra agent. Then, you let go.

You know that everyone is going to be pissed. (Maybe not everyone.) You’re not built for this, not made to take down nearly twenty fucking people at once. As you let go, you feel what they feel. The seizing muscles, the stopping of their hearts, the inside of their bodies crisping against their bones. At that moment, that delicious moment, you see the universe.

You become God. You become everything - your mother and your father and God and god and anyone else who’s watching your life from the ether. You become the judge, jury, and executioner of souls that you don’t know from Adam. You become lightning, and thunder, and exposed nerves of the cosmos at the same time. The world bends to your will and you relish in it, taking that power in your fist and wielding it to protect the man you’ll love for the rest of your life and the family that you’ve made. You will stop at nothing to end this, even if it means turning yourself inside out to do it.

You damn near do turn yourself inside out too, but that doesn’t matter, does it? The blood spilling from your ears, nose, and eyes feels like heaven. It’s hot, and thick, and it’s proof of the power that your body holds. You’re a temple and a sanctuary, a war-room and a bunker, a field of flowers and a sun-dry desert. It does not matter if Steve doesn’t love you at that moment, because you are love and hate wrapped into one package. You are everything and nothing, spread thin at the beginning and the end of time.

And then none of that is true. You are just… You. Standing in a clearing, surrounded by twenty-something dead Hydra agents and your terrified, terrified family. It hurts to breathe and you can taste blood in your mouth, but that’s an afterthought. Steve is still standing behind you, but he is alive. That is what matters.

This is what love is, you think.

Pain and pleasure.

Even if he leaves you, you will always love him.

Pain and pleasure.

You’re weak at the knees when he finally turns to see you - and you’re a sight. Struggling to stand, fingertips blackened with soot but not burnt, blood pouring from your nose, ears, eyes… You look like death, but you feel like life. Someone says something behind you - Peter, maybe? Or maybe Tony, in your comms? - but you don’t hear it. Everything tunnels out, your weak knees finally collapsing as you keel backward.

Steve bears down upon you almost immediately. You’re halfway to unconsciousness when he wraps you up in his arms, keeping you from falling in with the pile of bodies around you. He’s saying your name, harsh and soft and then in a voice like he’s ordering you to wake up. You loll about as he drops you down onto a patch of clear grass, hands searching your body for wounds. When he skims over your side, where the baton has burnt through your suit and your flesh, you surge back toward being able to have cohesive thoughts. The pain brings you back, hands wrapping around Steve’s arm and calling out his name. “Steve! Fuck, that hurts!”

“Honey,” He breathes, “Fuck, we have to get you back to the jet.” His jaw ticks, hair dirty and loose from its normal style. “Why’d you do that?” Steve doesn’t wait for an answer from you, ordering Peter to web something up to carry you over your protests.

“I’m fine,” You argue, only slurring slightly, “I feel fine.” But you’re going to let Nat and Bucky load you up on the webbed stretcher anyway because it’s the first time Steve has cared for you in a long time. You want to relish in this moment, the way that he didn't say your name but called you honey.

Well, and because Natasha slides a thumb across her neck over Steve’s shoulder in a silent threat.

You groan when Bucky accidentally grabs your calf where there is an absolutely awful stab wound, but you wave off his apology. “How could you have known?” To be honest, you hadn’t even known it was there until his Vibranium hand was slipping against it and sending shockwaves of pain through you. Peter is next to you the whole time that you’re being carried back to the jet - Tony staying back to begin scanning the bodies of the Hydra agents for the information you need and any other information they may be carrying. The poor kid is nearly at a breakdown, so you reach out to him and shake his arm when his fingers twine with yours. “Chill out, kid, I don’t know how you got it into your head that this is your fault, but it sure isn’t.” He sniffles, but hands back with Steve as Bucky and Nat get you situated in the small medical room of the jet. They transfer you and then make to leave, only Bucky hesitating near the door.

“Stevie’s goin’ to be here soon and… I don’t know what made you do what you did but you have’t explain it to him. He’s bendin’ over backwards to figure it out, and we don’t have’a clue. Came out’a nowhere.” He looks at you for another moment before shaking his head and stepping out of the room. Your head is spinning, partially from what Bucky just said and partially from the pain and stimulus of electricity. You wait there, then, because this is it. This is the event horizon. You wait there, eyes closed, until you hear footsteps approach the med room, and then the door slowly opens. Steve says your name, holding all the finality and weight of an atomic bomb. You don’t open your eyes until he swings a chair next to the stretcher and lays a hand on your calf.

“You don’t have to do this,” You finally say, pushing yourself up onto your elbows to watch him. “I know that you don’t want to.” Steve only scoffs and begins to wash the stab wound using a packet of soap and a water bottle. You say his name twice before he looks at you, something between hate and hurt curdling into a glaze over his eyes that stops you in your tracks.

“Just let me do this. It is the least that you can do.” His words are painful and stilted, like it’s taking force to push them past his teeth. You lay back down and close your eyes, content to just feel the pain of Steve beginning to stitch you up and then dress the wound before you feel the pain of Steve leaving you like you knew he always would. (Falling in love with Steve Rogers went against every instinct you had. You knew that he was going to hurt you from the first moment your lips touched his.)

When he’s done he sits back and puts his elbows on his knees, head in his hands. He heaves a heavy sigh and then shakes it off, “I’ll dress your burn, and then we’ll talk.” And normally, yes, you would agree but this is too important. You want to get it over with so you can lick your wounds metaphorically and dress them literally - and then you want to go home, you want to pack your bags, and you want to disappear and remake your life somewhere else.

Some far-off place where everyone you know won’t take one look at your face and know that you’re still painfully, deeply in love with Steve Rogers, end of your semester be damned. Family you’ve made be damned. You can’t sit around and be in love with him like a neon sign on a dark highway while it’s painfully clear that he hasn’t had a sign on his highway in a long time.

So instead of agreeing, you swing your legs over the stretcher and swallow your flinch when the burn pulls tight. Steve opens his mouth to argue but you give him a tight-lipped shake of your head and his jaw snaps shut. “No,” You say, voice not giving in to the emotion swirling in your chest. “I have let this go on long enough.”

It’s the wrong thing to say because Steve fucking scoffs again and looks away from you. “One day was long enough.” He says, cutting straight to your core. Okay, ouch. You take a deep breath and shake your head to try and bite back the tears that are inevitably rising in your eyes. If one day was long enough for him to realize he doesn’t want to be with you, why did he let it go on for nearly a full year? Why did he spend so long leading you on, pulling you by a thread before garroting your heart with it? What was the point?

“If you want to leave me, just say that,” You reply harshly, standing and wobbling away from him. He just watches you go, watches the way you struggle past the lead weights your muscles have become, the way you’re starting to feel the stab wound on your leg, the way the skin on your burn is beginning to blister and only just now losing its heat. He just watches you, where the Steve that loved you once upon a time might have helped. You turn your back on him, hands on your hips so that you can hide the way that you’re crying and your hands are shaking.

“If I want to leave you? If?” He says. You hear the scrape of his chair as he stands, “I think after what you’ve done, it’s not an if, sweetheart.” The way he says it tastes like iron. Steve never calls you sweetheart like he never calls you by your name. It’s always honey, lover, dovie. You don’t turn to face him because you’re struggling to keep yourself above water. “I spent so long thinkin’, wonderin’, askin’ myself - God damnit, will you look at me?” You turn slowly, not because you’ve never heard Steve speak like that but because his voice is desperate and raw. When you turn, you’re not sure what to expect. Maybe him, standing in front of you, broad-shouldered and disappointed like in those PSA’s he had to film once. Maybe he’d be angry, hands clenched at his sides and eyes narrowed like he gets in meetings when he doesn’t agree with something but he’s out-voted. But you never expect to see him crying, lip wobbling, folded in on himself like a young boy instead of the strong, invincible man you’ve come to love.

He looks so different.

It hits you, then, that you’re not looking at Steve Rogers. Not really. He's not Steve Rogers, not Captain America, not even Captain Rogers. You see him as he was - before America spat it’s untruths all over him and injected him with a serum that changed who he was, is, will be. He’s not the able-bodied man that you know, not strong and unreachable, not the heartthrob that overshadows the team during press events. He’s not America’s Darling, not really. Not where it counts.

You’re looking at Stevie Rogers. Stevie Rogers who, for all intents and purposes, was supposed to die before he made it out of toddlerhood or soon thereafter. Stevie Rogers who the doctors said wasn’t supposed to survive. Stevie Rogers who grew up sickly, rattling painful breaths and never playing ball with the neighborhood boys. Who couldn’t walk until middle school when he got his braces off. Who never had a partner because Bucky, strong and handsome and tall Bucky, was always deemed the better option. Who believed in his country so much that he tried to sneak into the second world war, subjected himself to a painful medical procedure so that he could change his very DNA to be what the world wanted him to be.

Captain Steve Rogers. Captain America. Strong, blond, patriotic, resilient.

You’re sure that if men don’t want to go to therapy now, in the modern age, they certainly didn’t want to go in the ‘40s. So where did that leave Steve, your Steve, standing in front of you and looking small, and broken, and sad, and alone? Did they expect him to take his new, taller, working body and run with it? Did they not think about how he would lose a part of himself in the process? How did they expect him to go from disabled to abled without some disconnect?

You think about the You That You Were Before and the You That You Are Now, and how you lost a part of yourself when the accident gave you your powers and how you’d lose yourself if someone figured out a way to take them away. You Before formed your identity around being normal - living in a shitty home with shitty parents, sure, but normal - and You Now form your identity around your powers, your team, your job, your love. If you lost those things, what did you have left? Who would you be?

When Steve lost his identity and became everything that America wanted everyone to think that America was, what did he have left? Sure, he could tell himself that he represents America - strong and patriotic and just - but it must have conflicted with everything he knew about himself before that. You know that disabled people now know that American society is unjust, unfit for them with abled people not willing to make room to allow them to thrive. You can only imagine what it was really like for Steve in the ‘20s and ‘30s and ‘40s. What he had to do just to survive. (Medical experimentation, you remind yourself. Did they know it wouldn’t kill him? Did they know his body wouldn’t rip itself apart with the new sinewy muscle they were packing on? Did they care? Or was he just a body they saw as broken? A project to fix? To turn him into something more like them and call it patriotism?)

You shake your head at him, still filled with despair, and try to figure out what he’s talking about. “Stevie,” You start, pet name easily replacing what you had been calling him because it’s not fair to shoe-horn him into a body that doesn’t feel like his own. You wonder if he still expects the bone-grinding pain that he used to tell you would happen when it rains. He raises a hand, a strong and family hand, shaking his head.

“I just need to know why I wasn’t enough for you,” Steve looks sad, slouching in on himself like he’s expecting to get his ass handed to him in another alleyway and hope Bucky is there to save him. “I need to know why you wouldn’t just break up with me if you wanted to see other people so badly.” You suck in a shocked breath because, okay, that’s not what you were expecting. Between that and the paradigm shift you’ve had on how Steve must view his identity, body, and self, you’re stunned. Steve continues like he doesn’t even register that you look shocked and pale and now you’re crying because he thinks you’re cheating on him? “And I get it. I get it. You have no idea how much I understand. If I were you, I wouldn’t want me either, okay?”

You cut him off there because what the actual God damn fuck is he talking about? “No, Stevie, I’m not cheating on you.” You shake your head again and this, your statement, lights a fire in him. He still looks like Stevie rather than Steve, but there’s anger there. You imagine that’s what it might have looked like moments before he got himself in trouble back before he was serumed. “I’m not.”

“Oh, yeah?” He challenges, jaw ticking and chin jerking up, “Oh, yeah? You can’t lie to me. I know, okay? The act is up, it’s over, I know, okay? You can stop pretending.”

“Steve, I do not fucking know what you’re talking about but I”m not cheating on you!” You raise your voice, not really angry but more out of necessity. You need to get it out of his head that he is anything less than everything you want - that you could possibly love anyone more than you love him.

“I wanted to clarify something for you,” Steve says like he’s reading an old script from when he was just a beefy, red/white/blue stage prop for the American military, “I am excited to meet with you, but there are some rules. Do not talk about Captain Steve Rogers. I don’t want to hear about him,” As he continues to recite something that has clearly hurt him, you go lax. You know exactly what’s happened - your fists unclench, your jaw drops a little bit, and it feels like someone has gutted you, “I think it is wise to keep work and pleasure separate, and it’s a rule I will enforce heavily. I look forward to seeing you again.” He’s sneering at the end, tears falling down his ruddy cheeks.

“Steve,” You try again, but he cuts you off.

“Am I just work for you?” His voice is shaking more than you thought possible, and so are his hands. You’ve never seen Steve so off-kilter, so thrown, and it breaks your heart that yes, technically, you’re the cause of this. Before this, before this horrible misunderstanding, your relationship with Steve was the paragon of trust so neither of you cared if the other read emails or texts. You remember the email - the email from your fucking college professor - because it had made you so angry that he’d referred to your relationship with Steve as something as simple and base as just pleasure - like you could even put words to the galaxy of a relationship you had with Steve - that you’d gone to the gym to work off some of that irritation. You hadn’t wanted to take it out on anyone accidentally. When you came back from the gym, Steve was gone on that two-week mission that he’d left on without saying goodbye.

Oh, God. You feel sick to your stomach as the paradigm of the way that Steve’s been treating you shifts violently to the left. You have to physically hold yourself up and try to speak past the lump in your throat. Steve looks… Brokenly smug. Like he knows he’s right, but he’d rather gnaw his own legs off than be right.

“No,” You croak, “No, Steve, you’ve got it all wrong.” You want to reach for him, but it feels like the room is closing in on you. You’re second-guessing everything now - especially what you’ve just said. How many people said the exact same thing to him pre-serum because they said something meant for Bucky to him? How many times did he hear that when he was getting a new diagnosis, hoping for the best? How many times had his own mother said it to him when he told her something someone had said, fresh-faced and not yet used to the way that abled people sometimes treated disabled people? You think you might be sick. “That email was from my professor, Steve. I’m not cheating on you, I’d never.” He laughs darkly and sits back down in his chair, head in his hands again. You try to gather the strength to move toward him when you see his shoulders shaking, a telltale sign that he’s crying.

“A professor,” He says with a watery laugh, “Right.”

Finally, you realize that he needs you, needs to know you love him, that you’d do anything for him. You can iron out the kinks later - figure out why he didn’t want to come to talk to you past the original hurt, why he treated you so coldly, why he didn’t trust that you wouldn’t do this to him - but now, you need to show him that you’re here. That you choose him. That you’ll always choose him.

You make your way to him and set a shaking hand on his shoulder. For a brief second you think he’s going to shake you off but then Steve’s hand shoots up and latches onto where your hand is resting, dipping his head to press against your arm. “Stevie, please,” You say, unsure of what you’re asking him to do, “I picked up a class, just one, and it’s… I picked it up for you, it’s about the ‘30s and ‘40s and…” He looks up at you and he looks so broken - face ruddy and wet with tears, lip wobbling, chest heaving as he tries to not sob. His brows are knit and he looks confused, “I just wanted to be able to understand you better. You had to leave so much of yourself at the door when you joined the Avengers, had to leave so much of yourself in the ice… In Erskine’s lab… Stevie, I just wanted you to be able to be you when you’re with me. I wanted to know the you that you were before you became Captain America.” Your voice is shaking, knees knocking together, and honestly? You feel like you might blackout.

“What?” He rasps, “What?”

“He sent that email because too many kids signed up for his class thinking that they’d be able to look at pictures of you and Buck for a semester. Emailed me directly because he knows we’re…” You choke on your words, shaking your head because you’re not even sure there’s a we anymore, “Because he knows I’m on the team. Didn’t want me walking in and making his class about just a few years in the ‘30s and ‘40s rather than the culture of the time.” You don’t know how else to explain it to him, but Steve isn’t saying anything - practically isn’t moving or breathing- so you continue to try and explain what’s really happening as best as you can, “And - and that email made me so angry because he singled me out, didn’t email anyone else about it, and I left to try and work some of that out; I didn’t want to take it out on you, or let it spoil - let it spoil… But when I came back from the gym, you were gone. You were gone for two weeks and I didn’t know why.” You’re crying harder now and pretty sure that within the next sixty seconds you’re going to collapse if you don’t sit down.

Steve shakes his head, still looking like he doesn’t understand. “What?” He says for a third time, “A class? A college class?”

“I just wanted to feel closer to you,” You confess, “Just wanted to understand a fraction of your life without making you do the heavy liftin’ and teachin’ me. Shouldn’t have’t do that,” You’re sobbing, barely biting out your words as you realize that something you’ve done to strengthen your relationship with Steve has destroyed it, “Shouldn’t have to explain a whole different time just to feel loved, Stevie. Should be able to be with someone who understands without you havin’ to explain.” You’re not sure you can say Peggy’s name out loud, and you hope he understands what you’re saying without making you actually say it, “Should’a been able to have love with someone who knew, and I know I’m nothin’ compared to what you should’a had, but I want to be. I want to be in the same ballpark instead’a watchin’ from the stands.” You wipe your face with your free hand and look away from Steve when he stands in front of you. You don’t want to see the look on his face - what he’s thinking about what you’ve said.

He says your name and you glance at him, but his expression stops him in your tracks. Where Steve looked broken and hurt and fuming with anger to hide the anguish, now he looks stricken. You shake your head, “No, no. I didn’t say that to make you feel guilty-”

“You think that I care about whether or not you can understand the ‘40s?” He cuts you off, hands moving to curl around your biceps, “You think that I care whether or not you can relate to a time in history when you weren’t even thought of?”

“Of course I love you. I love you more than anything in this world, but you shouldn’t have to not care, Steve,” You argue, shaking your head, “That’s what I’m trying to say. You should be with someone who understands without explanation. I just wanted to give that to you - didn’t know that this would happen.”

“I should be with someone who loves me,” He argues back, “If you love me, that’s all that matters. My past be damned.”

“But your past is you!” You try to pull away from Steve, but he anchors you there. You’re dizzy from being so close to him after this long, but also because of how many different twists this situation has taken. You can barely keep up with how bad your communication with Steve has become - barely keep up with how you need to fix it, or how to fix it. “Your past is you,” You repeat when you realize that Steve isn’t going to let you go. “And you shouldn’t have to give that up so that someone will love you.”

“But you love me,” He says desperately, ducking his head so that he’s nearly nose to nose with you, “You love me, right?”

“More than anything,” You say, closing your eyes and relishing in the feeling of being so close to Steve, “I love you more than I’ve ever loved anyone. I don’t care about what anyone else thinks, or anyone else. I’ll even stop goin’ to class if you want me to - Steve, I just can’t do this anymore. Can’t do this thing where you don’t talk to me about what’s botherin’ you.” You’re choking up, barely whispering, but you know he hears you. YOu can feel his warm breath on your face, “Nearly fuckin’ killed me.”

“I thought it was goin’ to be easier,” He breathes, nose bumping yours, “When you eventually decided to leave me for him. Thought I was savin’ myself some trouble.” You can practically taste his tears as they fall again, “Buck and Nat tried to tell me that you weren’t - that you wouldn’t - but I just couldn’t believe them.”

When you open your eyes, his are closed. This close to him you can see the soft freckles that are blooming over his eyelids, his soft eyelashes kissing his cheekbones. You can feel him breathing, feel him nearly pressed against you in a way that feels hauntingly nostalgic and terrifyingly fleeting; like you’ll be able to feel his warmth for years to come, but he’s about to disappear. “That’s okay,” You finally whisper, “It’s okay that you didn’t believe them. That you thought what you thought. It’s okay.” He shakes his head against yours, opening his mouth to protest, but you refuse to let him feel guilty about feeling this way - you have plenty of time to sit him down and talk to him candidly about the way he acted because of these feelings, anyway. “If I would have been in your place I’m not sure I would have believed them.”

“I treated you so badly…” He shifts and wraps his arms around you. It’s almost immediate - you relax into his arms and wind yours around his waist, keeping him pulled against you as he presses his face into your neck and you press your cheek against his chest. “So awfully.”

“We’ll talk about that, okay? But later. Right now you just need to know that I love you, Steve. I love you more than I can tell you - more than I can express.” You want to kiss him, but you can’t. Can’t kiss him, you need to wait for him to kiss you, for him to close that gap and show you that he still loves you like you love him. “We’ll have to have a talk, a long and hard conversation about this, Stevie, but for now… For now, I’m just content to be with you, okay? MIssed you so much.”

He sighs, nose pressing against yours again. “Missed you too, dovie. Missed you more than I can even say,” His voice breaks as his lips brush yours. Your relationship is not without its flaws and problems - Steve’s actions when he thought you were cheating on him are proof of that and, well, the fact that you didn’t realize what was happening, why it was happening, or a large part of your boyfriend’s psychological makeup having an impact on your relationship while it went unknown by you… There is a lot of work for the two of you to do, a lot of work to do, a lot of communication to be done… But you’d do it all for Steve, over and over again.

When he presses forward and presses his lips gently to yours, you know that he’ll do it all for you, over and over again, too.

#steve rogers imagine #steve rogers/reader #steve rogers x reader #marvel imagine #mcu imagine

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miekasa · 3 years

Note

speaking of college boys, what do the college au aot babies study??

Okay, okay, I think I’ve talked about this in an ask before but I can’t find it 😭😭 but it’s okay, I love college aus, so I’ll talk about it again! Plus, now I’ve got more thoughts for more characters, so here we go

Levi — neuroscience and psychology of human behavior

He started out on track to do a bachelor of arts in psychology, but when they touched on the anatomy and biological parts of it during his first year lecture, he switched to a bachelor of science.

The focus is still psychology, but through a more clinical lens. Essentially, he gets the best of both worlds this way. He’s intuitive and analytical, so clinical and mental diagnosis is easy to dissect for him. He’s also canonically good at math, so the calculus and stats parts aren’t too bad, either.

This major also leaves him with a few options post-grad, which is a nice bonus for him. He’s likely going to medical school, but that’s not the only route open to him: law school, therapy, lab work, medicine and pharmacy, even teaching are all viable options without going to grad school.

Do not talk to him about Freud unless you wanna get punted off a building.

Be careful with him, because with a single glance he’s already got scarily accurate predictions about your parental and emotional attachment styles, your behavior in social settings, and the onset (or seemingly lack thereof) of your frontal lobe development.

He thinks he’s so smart making comments like, “I see those synaptic connections aren’t working so well for you today,” like mf come here let me lobotomize you and see how well your synaptic connects are working after that🙄

Eren — general health sciences

He’s interested in science and the discovery aspects of it, but picking a specific field of focus right now feels too final. He likes it this way, because his schedule and requirements are less restrictive, and he has more room to find out what really interests him.

He does best when he’s doing something he loves, so picking a major with a bunch of reqs that he couldn’t care less about would have sucked big time for him. It also would have affected his grades. There are still some classes he has to take that he’s not fond of (see: chemistry), but that’s to be expected. Science in general is cool to him and he hopes to make his own discovery some day, even if it’s microscopic.

He also plays a lot of sports, keeping his schedule flexible is important. The sports end up helping him excel academically, which is a nice bonus. Honestly, Eren uses his time at university to learn more about himself than anything, so having control and freedom to do what he likes the majority of the time was important to him.

He uses his elective credits to take philosophy or history courses of his interest, or maybe even a course that you’re in just to spend time with you. He also uses you as a live model for his homework bye, congrats on being patient number one to him.

Armin — astronomy and physics

He’s still interested in marine biology, but unless he attended a school near a coast, or with a specialized integrated program for that, it’s unlikely he’d major in it during undergrad.

Space and ocean exploration aren’t all that different. Both are vast, largely unexplored domains that reel-in Armin’s interest for discovery. So, while studying astronomy, he still gets to study evolution and make his own predictions about what could be out there because there’s so much to know.

Physics comes with the territory of learning about planetary science, and he’s mathematically inclined, so it works out for him. Learning about the different physical properties of other planets and space masses is honestly pretty sick to him. Because math isn’t a struggle, he actually considered aeronautical engineering, but he didn’t want to be a part of the college to military pipeline; that is, he didn’t want any potential design of his to be weaponized.

He still gets to study animal biology through his elective courses, and might even find a few focused on marine animals to satiate him. Plant and cell biology are also of interest to him, and are just further applications of his primary study anyway, so he’s got plenty of room to work with.

This boy is interning at NASA and still, with his whole chest out is like, “I don’t need to discover a new planet, you’re my whole world.” Armin, go check on the Mars rover or something please.

Mikasa — anthropology + minor in japanese language studies

Anthropology is virtually interdisciplinary in nature, and Mikasa is a pretty well rounded student, so she’s able to excel in a program like this. She gets to study history, science, cultural studies, and even a bit of art all at once.

She’s still debating between going to law school vs med school, so anthro this is a good in-betweener. She gets a taste of science through her anatomy and kin courses; and lots of practice with reading and dissecting texts through the historical and cultural lectures. So, when the time comes to decide, she’ll have some experience with both.

Don’t know whether it’s confirmed that she’s (part) Japanese or not, but either way I headcanon that she speaks/spoke some second language at home. She wanted to delve more into it, and courses were offered at the university so why not?

Cultural studies courses end up being her favorite. She likes learning about the history of people and their cultures, and it encourages her to learn more about her own family history and culture. It also propels her to apply for a study abroad opportunity, so she spends at least one semester doing an exchange program and absolutely loves it.

She would also encourage you to apply and go, too. You guys might not be in the same program, but if there’s an applicable program in the same country she’s going to, then she’d definitely want you to apply. Spending the semester away with you would be a dream come true.

Hange — bioengineering + minor in political philosophy and law

It’s almost self-sabotage to be in an engineering program and have a minor; the coursework for engineering alone is backbreaking, and bioengineering has the added weight of human intricacies, but of course Hange makes it possible.

They’re nothing short of a genius, so of course they have time to work a completely unrelated minor into their schedule. It doesn’t surprise anyone that they go on to complete an MD-PhD after undergrad. Insane.

Bioengineering is essentially the synthesis of chemical engineering and health sciences; Hange spends their time exploring biological sciences and applies the engineering aspects of their coursework to their understanding of (and interest in creating) medicine. Truly a one of a kind mind.

They also have an interest in philosophy and justice, so when they found out they only needed a measly nine or ten courses to minor in, they went for it, of course. In honesty, they don’t find the studies all that opposing: both law making and medicine making both have some kind of philosophy or method to them in their eyes.

Hange has... little to no free time pls. They don’t mind it, because they love their coursework, but this means you are essentially ducking into their labs or scrambling to find them in-between their classes during your time in undergrad. They appreciate every second spent with you tho, and will gladly rope you into long discussions about their work.

Jean — biochemistry + minor in art sustainability

He was undeclared his first year, and took a little bit of everything: art, science, history, anthropology, english. Basically, anything that fit into his schedule. It was hard for him to pick one thing—he liked the science and lab applications of STEM courses, but not the math; and the obvious painting and creativity of art, but hated the pretentious air about art history.

What he wants to do is make a difference, which is how he ends up knowing that he wants to go to med school after, so he picks a science-heavy major, but uses his elective spaces to take art courses. When he mixes the two, he ends up on sustainability—and the complexities about it that are applicable to both science and art are what really reels him in.

Interdisciplinary studies end up being his forte. He can approach sustainability from a science perspective which impacts his art style and materials; and tuning into his creative side allows him to think about science not just from a purely clinical perspective, but from a human one, too—patients are people after all.

He believes that everything is connected somehow, even things as seemingly opposite as art and biochemistry. And he works towards finding the unique intersection where everything overlaps. His studies are pretty cool, and he’s very passionate about them, so ask him about it 😌

The art he makes is pretty sick, too, and often commentary about science; he’s proving they’re not so opposite. You also heavily influence his studies in both areas: caring about you so much inspires him to take the healthcare focus seriously, and your very nature is inspiration to his art.

Sasha — nursing

She’s friendly and good at working with people, so nursing was an easy choice for her. She accredits most of her motivation to being around her younger family members, and learns that she finds a simple kind of joy in helping to take care of others.

She struggles a bit her first year when it’s mostly all grades and standardized testing, but when she starts getting clinical experience and working in the hospital on campus, things round out for her.

Patient care is her strongest point. A lot of people often forget that knowing everything isn’t everything; if you don’t know how to calm or even just talk to your patient, you’re not that great of a healthcare professional.

Pretty certain that she wants to work with kids in the future, but she’s open to public health and even being a travel nurse if she finds opportunity there!

Of course, she’s pretty doting when it comes to you and all her friends. She might want to go into pediatrics, but the basics of nursing and health care extend to everyone, so you’re guaranteed to be well taken care of with Sasha around. You might even have to switch roles and take care of her sometimes, because her coursework can get pretty out of hand.

Connie — computer engineering with a focus on game design

He might not look it, but Connie has a brain under that shaved head of his. Computer engineering is cool to him because he basically learns about how simple things he uses every day (ie: phone, computer, microwave) works.

Systems and coding are actually the easy part for him, especially when they get into the application of it and aren’t just stuck looking at examples. That’s how he gets into game design.

The part about math and electricity and magnetic fields… well let’s just say he needed to make friends with someone who likes math and hardware his first year to get through it. But the struggle was worth it, because by his junior year he’s found a professor willing to mentor/supervise him as he works on his game and other projects, so life is good.

His school work is definitely hard, which is why the lives by the mantra of “work hard, party harder.” It’s only fair.

He makes you a little avatar so you can test out his games for him <33 best boyfriend things <33 He’d also… build a game about your relationship. Every level is a different date you guys went on, and he definitely includes something cheesy, like “There are unlimited lives because I love you forever babe <3”

Porco — kinesiology + maybe mechanical engineering

He’s pretty into athletics and working out, but didn’t wanna go down the sports psychology route; he wanted something that left him with a few more options, so he ended up in kinesiology.

He was surprisingly pretty good at biology in high school, so something stem-oriented works out in his favor, and it turns out he’s pretty damn good at anatomy, too. He’ll probably end up in physical therapy after graduation.

He’s also got a knack for cars, which is where the engineering comes in, but he doesn’t care so much for the math part of it (he doesn’t care for it at all actually, fuck that); he just wants the hands on experience of building/fixing things and working with his hands. So, if he can get a minor in it and not struggle through 4 years of math, then he’d do that. If not, he’d take a few workshop-like classes.

Because he wants to go into physical therapy, you are essentially his practice patient. Your back hurts? Not a problem, he’s basically a professional masseuse. Muscle aches? He’s got a remedy and understanding of why it’s happening. Don’t let him catch you hunting over your desk grinding away at your homework, because he will poke your neck and correct your posture (he’ll also massage your shoulders, but after the scolding).

Pieck — classics + minor in philosophy

Ancient studies interest her, but more than that, the language of ancient Greek and Roman culture fascinates her, so classics is the way to go.

Because her focus within Classics ends up being Greek and Latin language studies, she is essentially learning both languages at the same time. She gets farther with Latin that she does with Greek. For whatever reason, the former comes almost naturally to her, so her written and translated work is more complex in Latin.

However, she finds cultural studies relation to Greece more interesting than that of Rome, so it’s a give and take with both; better at languages for Roman studies, better at culture and history for Greek studies.

Her minor is a natural evolution from her primary coursework. Ancient Romans and Greeks set the foundation for a lot of modern day philosophy, so it comes up in her major classes, but she wanted to delve further into the philosophy, and not just look at it historically, so she takes more courses to fulfill the minor.

Can be found laying on a blanket in the quad on a hot day, with her books spread out all around her, highlighter in hand as she works through her reading. You’re always invited to sit with her, and more often than not, it ends up with Pieck’s head in your lap, a book in her hands, and your own schoolwork in yours as you both read in each other’s company.

Bertholdt — computer science and coding

He’s level headed, good at planning, and above all, patient, so he’s cut out for this. He doesn’t consider himself to be particularly creative, which is why he doesn’t pick a speciality with lots of design; but he’s good at streamlining and ideas to life.

The patience really comes in when his code doesn’t run. It’s frustrating to scroll for two hours just to find out that the issue is a missing semi-colon in line 273 that he overlooked, but Berty will sit there until he finds it.

He’s also good at fixing issues. That’s not limited to issues in the code itself; it can mean finding shorter ways to produce the same function or loop, or integrating new aspects into existing code.

Also, he’d just be so cute, coding away on his computer. Just imagine: Berty working on his homework in the library, he’s got his signature crewneck + collared shirt look going for him, his blue-light glasses, a cup of coffee nearly as tall as him sitting at the corner of his desk. Adorable.

He’d make little codes/programs for you, too, even if it’s silly. A simple code that helps you decide what to eat for dinner or where to go on a date, one that shuffles different reminders for you, hell he’ll even forgo the torture of design engineering just to build you a little robot that says “I love you” to you.

Reiner — english + minor in justice & political philosophy

Everyone expects Reiner, star quarterback of the university’s rugby team, to be a business student or communications student; but no, he’s an English major, and he loves it.

Just imagine a guy as huge as Reiner absolutely manhandling someone on the field, just to show up in his lectures with a tiny paperback of The Great Gatsby tucked between his fingers with his reading glasses on. It’s so precious.

He’s always running a bit late to class—either coming from the gym, or practice, or oversleeping from exhaustion—but he’s so sweet to his professors and genuinely interested in the literature that they don’t give him a hard time about it. They can tell that balancing school and sports is difficult, and they just appreciate that he takes his studies seriously.

Yeah he’s in a book club and he dog-ears his books. What about it. They’re doing poetry this month and Reiner actually likes Edgar Allen Poe. Who said jocks can’t be sentimental.

He also reads a lot outside of his classes, and has a soft spot for coming of age stories. He usually empathizes with the main character somehow. His ideal weekend plans after a week of grueling games and essays is taking a long, relaxing shower at your place, while you both share a bottle of wine, and maybe even get you to read a chapter or two of his current book out loud to him.

Annie — clinical psychology/neuroscience

Almost scarily analytical and methodic, so this major was calling her name. Localizing brain legions is… insanely intuitive to her it’s incredible. She’ll be an insanely impressive doctor someday, even if she doesn’t end up working with patients directly.

She doesn’t care too much for the more philosophical/reading heavy parts of psychology. Even experiments and research closer to the social end of the spectrum aren’t all that interesting to her; but the brain science behind it it.

Nobody should be good at cellular biology. Nobody should be able to ace cell bio and neuro and calc and work towards their thesis proposal in the same semester, but Annie proves it’s possible.

Ends up working in one of her professor’s labs by her junior year. She was offered three TA positions working with first year students, but she swiftly turned them down. Teaching isn’t her thing.

She doesn’t bring up her studies to you unprompted, but if you ask her about them she’ll explain it to you. Her notes are color coded and it’s super neat, and very cute; coloring them is somewhat relaxing for her. She usually saves the coloring part for when you guys study together; there’s extra comfort in doing it with you around.

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star-anise · 3 years

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Thank you for your reply. My ask was kind of all over the place. (I've done some dbt before with a previous therapist and it helped! But that therapist was not a good fit I'm at a new one now tho).

Random thing, you mentioned bpd I heard in my abnormal psychology class that a lot of therapists won't treat someone diagnosed with bpd??? It was the teacher who is a grad student studying to be a therapist who said it. And like. I don't understand. They sound like a very in need population who was often abused and there's a whole huge book of treatment resources written by someone with bpd. I've heard they're "hard to treat" and talked about like they're hopeless. but like why be a mental health professional if you don't like mentally ill/different people?

This is also the same professor who insisted trauma is only the few things listed under dsm ptsd definition as traumatic events.. like she said parents getting divorced isn't a traumatic event because you aren't physically in danger... that class really scared me about the mental health field because of all the awful people in it aspiring to be therapists including the teacher.

Sorry for all the asks I love the work you do on this blog

Ahahaha, what IS it about undergrad abnormal psych professors? Mine said he wouldn't touch clinical practice with a ten-foot pole, and told a story about how once a student told him she had schizophrenia, and he knew that she was lying because obviously nobody with schizophrenia could actually manage to attend university.

(It's seriously untrue. I've had both friends and clients with psychotic disorders who succeeded in university. He was being an ableist bastard. Like, I know psych students can tend to over-identify with a disorder they're studying without actually having it, but that doesn't mean no psych student is ever entirely correct about their deal.)

Okay so, BPD. The thing about BPD is that it requires a special skillset that does not come standard in most clinical training. If a therapist who doesn't have that skillset tries to treat someone with BPD, the therapy will not be very effective and the process will be very frustrating for both them and their client. To be very frank, it's just as true that ordinary therapists are bad at treating BPD and don't like feeling stupid, as it is that people with BPD are hard to treat.

(And training to deal with people with BPD clinically is often not included in grad school education. DBT training is expensive and they won't accept you unless you have an adequate clinical placement.)

Also, part of dealing with BPD in particular is... people with BPD often have trouble seeing authority figures with anything more nuanced than "adoration and compliance" or "fear and loathing". As a therapist, you're signing up as an authority figure. Part of the work means letting your client express all their feelings about you, and helping them work to something more nuanced and sustainable, like, "I am furious and enraged that I'm in pain and I wish my therapist could take that pain away, but I realize that's not within her power. I have to admit that she's not being an evil villain here, so I can feel my resentment but let it go."

Which can be stressful to deal with, as a therapist. You have to live with a lot of hurt and anger and rage headed your way, and keep your perspective. Be empathetic without getting carried away in those emotions. You have to be able to face that pain and say, "I can't take that away. I can only help you learn to bear it."

Basically everyone I know in grad school had a nervous breakdown somewhere along the line because we go to therapist school because we're smart and capable and feel good about helping people, so when we encounter a person we can't help, or are put in situations where we have to stop helping, we tend to have existential crises and end up sobbing in the student lounge about What Am I Even Good For Now. I was lucky because I had a version of that breakdown before I entered grad school, and my therapist warned me to get a new shrink when I moved for my Master's, "Because if you don't need one at the beginning, you'll definitely need one by the end." So I was more equipped to help classmates for whom this was a wholly new experience.

In my opinion, the healthy way to approach the problem of A Person You're Not Good At Helping is to practice humility, set reasonable boundaries, recognize the limits of your competence, and see where you can learn and grow. But many therapists and helping professionals use what I consider to be an unhealthy approach, labelling such clients as "defensive" and "resistant" and "hard to treat" and blaming them for the difficulty.

Which like, I get that "practicing humility" is like "doing exercise", sometimes you're tired and cranky and don't want to go for a run. Sometimes you just want to blame the other person for not accepting your magnanimous help.

Anyway, within the field of mental health psychotherapy, complex trauma is a unique sub-speciality that many therapists don't want to touch at all. I had many classmates say, "Woof, you're into complex trauma? You must be so tough, I could never." 🙄

(Technically I have the ethical obligation to represent my profession in the best possible light to encourage public confidence in the field of psychotherapy. But I think it's not undermining the profession to admit what everyone already knows, which is that some therapists are oblivious assholes who do bad work. I've seen it, I've met them, I want them to piss off forever. Jordan Peterson is a blight to our names and Phil McGraw can go choke.)

So people who are on your wavelength about BPD and trauma and What Therapists Are For are out there. They're just a little rarer than the usual run of therapists. For what it's worth, I've found they cluster more in areas like complex trauma, DBT, Narrative Therapy, and the Hearing Voices Movement. Next year (knock on wood) I'l be going to a conference on the treatment of complex trauma with a friend, and this sounds weird given that it's a weekend all about child maltreatment, but I expect it to be a blast, because I'll get to be among My People, talking about the work that fills our souls.

I really wish that as an undergrad, I'd spent more time hanging out with Social Work students, and going to conferences and trainings. Those are where I met some of the coolest people I really clicked with. And in grad school, I had the extreme pleasure of meeting other people who were a lot like me. Those friendships were especially rewarding because as skilled helpers, we ended up playing a game of Needs Chicken, where each tries hide their own needs and caretake for the other, which finally ended up in a standoff where we had to agree to put down our caretaking skills and just be honest about what we wanted, even if that felt new and scary and raw.

(Support me: Patreon and Paypal.)

#therapisting #advice about therapisting #borderline personality disorder #ableism tw #long post

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justthehiddleswrites · 3 years

Text

Not Safe | Professor Hiddleston x Reader

Pairing: Professor Hiddleston x Reader

Summary: You and your former professor, Tom Hiddleston, are carrying on a clandestine relationship under the guise of you as his TA. You are aware of Tom’s dark fantasy and today is the day you fulfill it.

Warnings: Smut, Breeding, Desk Sex, Teacher-Student Relationship, Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Vaginal Sex

You snuck into the back of the lecture hall and took one of the few empty seats at the back. If the lecturer up front saw you, he gave no indication. Professor Thomas Hiddleston continued on with his lecture on John Bunyan.

“Pilgrim’s Progress.” He clicked over his PowerPoint. There was a collective groan from the students. Tom smiled before adjusting his glasses, pulling his hands from his pockets.

“I’m not going to sugarcoat it, Pilgrim’s Progress is probably one of the more boring parts of English literature.” A smattering of chuckles. You smiled, that joke never fails to hit. “But if we can get through the material with no more groaning or anyone falling asleep.” His eye caught you in his peripheral vision. “I’ll let the class out an hour earlier.”

He winked, and you squirmed in your seat. That man knew what to do to soak your panties. Not that you were wearing any that day. Tom’s voice drifted into the background, a constant hum, as your mind wandered to other things, such as how nicely the Professor’s ass looked in those pants or how his three-day stubble tickled and scratched the inside of thighs when he ate you out this morning. It wasn’t like you needed to pay attention anyway, having taken the class last year and graduated with your Bachelors in English Literature. You now attended the college as a graduate student, giving perfect cover as Professor Hiddleston’s teaching assistant for why you linger in his office at unusual hours.

You snapped out of your daydream as Tom announced, “Please bring your essays on Milton’s Paradise Lost to the front and place them on the table. And for the next time, please read pages 123-157 in your textbook.” You tugged down your skirt, short enough to show off your legs but not so short to get you into any more trouble than you wanted.

“Anything I can do for you, sir?” You sidled up to the professor, brushing against his arm.

Tom’s lips twitched at the word “sir”. It happened so fast, only you caught it. “Why don’t you take these papers back to my office?” He pushed the stack of essays into your hands. “and prepare the handouts for my ENG 104 lecture at 4:15 p.m.?”

You nodded. “Yes, sir.” His lips twitched again, and you spun on the heel of your flat and exited the lecture hall.

Tom resisted the urge to leer at your backside in your almost too tight skirt. Which was made even more difficult by the crush of students asking questions, most of them female undergrads, desperate to catch his eyes. It didn’t take a PhD, although he possessed two, to figure out these girls were attempting to fulfill some fantasy of fucking their professor. He smiled. If they only knew the truth.

Fortunately, no one did. Or else you would be expelled and Professor Hiddleston fired. Graduate student or not. “Everyone!” He held up his hands. “Any questions you have can be answered during my regular office hours tomorrow.” A few of the students groaned. “Now if you excuse me…” He gathered his leather briefcase and glasses from the table and headed out the door. “… I need to prepare for my next lesson.” His pace brisk towards his office, where you should still be.

You were hunched over Tom’s desk, collating papers. You didn’t hear the door open and closed or the lock flip shut.

“How dare you?!” Tom called out, causing you to throw the papers into the air in fright.

You clutched your chest as copies flutter to your feet. “What the hell? You scared the shit out of me!” You screeched back. “Ever heard of knocking?” You bent down to pick up the papers. Tom ran his hand up your back. You jumped again.

“It’s my office. Why would I knock?”

“I could have been naked or something.” you muttered, straightening the papers.

He sat down on the couch against one wall, legs splayed. “That’s an option?”

You smirked as you spun to face him. “It is, if you ask nicely.”

He patted his lap, and you straddled his legs. Tom squeezed your ass, pulling you into a rough kiss. Your hands combed through his curls, tugging. He bit your lower lip.

“You know what I want.” He stared into your eyes. No matter how many times you gazed into them, you always got lost in those eyes. His mind wandered as he stared at your chest to the thought of your breasts, engorged with milk. Your belly swollen, whether with child or his cum. It didn’t matter.

You leaned close to his ear. “What if I told you today was your lucky day?”

His eyes widened, and nails dug into the fabric of your skirt. “Don’t joke about that.”

“I want you to breed me, Professor. I want to fill me.” Tom panted as you purred against him. “I am fertile today. If you were to cum inside me, it would not be safe.”

Tom’s hips bucked into you. “On the desk, now.”

You rose to walk to the desk. “Yes, sir.” You swayed your hips and then leaned over the edge of the table, hands flat against the surface. You wiggled your ass as his pants leg swished along your thighs.

CRACK! Tom smacked your ass hard, you jumped forward, your hips hitting hard against the solid wood desk.

“As much as I love your ass. On your back.” He pushed the papers and books away as you spun and hopped onto the desk. Your legs fell open and Tom smirked.

“Good girl.”

“Thank you, sir.”

The tips of his fingers grazed the skin of your inner thighs, crawling up your legs toward your core, leaving a trail of goosebumps.

His eyebrow raised when his fingers teased along your folds. “No panties?”

“As you requested. Sir.” you added as Tom’s brow furrowed.

His fingers collected your arousal, swirling his thumb over your clit, earning a whimper from your lips.

“Class is still in session, my pet. I suggest unless you want someone coming to see me fucking you like the cumslut you are, you keep it down.” Tom clenched his jaw and his eyes flashed.

You bit your lip and nodded. Tom pushed into between your legs, pushing them even further apart. He plunged two fingers inside of you. You let loose a soft gasp.

“But I thought…” you questioned as Tom’s fingers scissored and curled inside of you.

Tom shushed you with pursed lips. “You need to be prepared for my seed, love. Give it the best chance to impregnate you.”

His thumb pressed onto your clit and her head hit back against the desk. Within moments, you came around Tom’s fingers, gushing and gripping.

“That’s it.” Tom urged as he continued to thrust inside of you. “Squeeze on my fingers like you will when you milk my cock.”

When you slumped against the desk, Tom removed his fingers. They dripped with your juices. Tom pressed his fingers into your mouth, while he fumbled with the fly of his pants.

“Clean up your mess, love.” You greedily sucked on his fingers. Your tongue dragged along his knuckles. Tom removed his fingers with a pop. “Now to fuck you…” The tip of his cock dragged along your slit before Tom buried himself in you. “… like the breeding slut you are.”

You moaned softly. Tom snapped his hips against you. Your mouth fell open in silent moans as Tom rutted into you. Each snap and thrust of his hips and cock deliberate. Tom’s hand slipped under your ass and lifted it up. He placed your feet on his shoulders.

“You mold around me, pet. Your body sucks up my cock. You are dying to be bred.” Tom growled. He reached down and squeezed your tits. You moaned. “Your tits will swell with milk for our child.”

Your walls fluttered around him, already sensitive from your orgasm, earlier. “I’m cumming!” you hissed. Your nails dug into the wood of the desk.

Tom’s hips snapped hard against you. He pulled your legs tight against him, giving him more leverage to plunge deeper into you. “So am I.” With a last thrust, Tom’s cock pushed deep inside you, his cum painting your walls.

Tom’s mouth fell open as you clenched around him. “That’s it, love, milk me for every drop. Let us not waste anything.”

Tom slumped forward, your bodies covered with sweat, both of your chests heaving. Your legs pressed against your body. Tom’s cock stayed inside of you.

You tried to sit up, blocked by Tom’s hips holding you fast against the desk. “Well I have class to—”

Tom pushed you back onto the desk. “You are not going anywhere. We are not done here.” His cock twitched inside of you.

“But, Tom, I was just—”

His hips rocked into you. You moaned. “You are mine and you will leave when I have filled you to my satisfaction. Until I am leaking out of you.”

Tom’s cock hardened and twitched inside of you. Your eyes shut and you gripped the sides of the desk and Tom pounded into you for Round Two.

“Whatever you say, Professor.” you moaned, wrapping your legs around his waist to pull him closer.

#tom hiddleston #tom hiddleston fanfiction #tom hiddleston fanfic #tom hiddleston x reader #tom hiddleston imagine #tom hiddleston smut #professor hiddleston #professor!hiddles

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blazedgraysons · 4 years

Text

Love Don’t Cost A Thing

Grayson buys you a car, Twitter stans are mean, and Grayson’s really good at making you feel better.

A/N: this is part 1 of fics I wrote a month ago, forgot about and finally finished. this started out as a simple fluff and idk what happened. also let’s pretend that Grayson still has a wrapped porsche because I could totally see him wanting to match.

Word Count: 3K

Warnings: horribly written smut and a lot ofme pretending I know about nice cars

God, some bitches will do anything for clout nowadays.

Honestly, when will Gray wake up and realize she’s just with him for his money?

What a fucking gold-digger.

Gold-digger.

That word rings around your head as you continue to scroll through the replies from Grayson’s latest tweet, each one nastier than the last. You sniffle, wiping your tears and locking your phone, before turning to look at your boyfriend through the bedroom window. He’s outside talking to Ethan excitedly over a car, not just any car but a 2021 Porsche 911. A car he bought just for you.

He had approached you earlier this afternoon with a broad grin. As easily excitable as he is, this didn’t feel out of the ordinary to you, so you simply raise an eyebrow while continuing to sip your coffee.

“Are you finished with your final yet, Y/N ?” He whispers out of caution that you might still be testing.

“Two more questions, then I’m all yours baby. What’s wrong?” A sense of worry washes over you since you know he wouldn’t interrupt you unless it’s crucial. He’d grown accustomed to your new routine since the pandemic began. After asking (begging) for you to quarantine with him, he soon realized that the time he thought you two would spend together was taken up by quizzes, essays, and exams as you finished up your senior year of college. While he was more than willing to take second-place to your studies, he was a little antsy for you to be finished.

“Nothing. I just wanted to show you something out in the shed.” Now, this you do roll your eyes at. While you were occupied with studies, he was out in that godforsaken tiny shed almost every day. Secretly, you were glad Ethan had foregone the bed idea because that was the only thing getting him to come to bed to you every night. You assure you’ll be out in a few minutes and shoo him away to finish the test that will ensure your bachelors.

Only twenty minutes later, you feel as if a crushing weight has been lifted off of your shoulders. You crack your neck before sighing and closing your laptop, elated that the four years of your undergrad were finally behind you. You pull out your phone before remembering your promise to Grayson. You walk out the back kitchen doors and turn the corner, not expecting what was behind it.

Your mouth drops. Sitting in front of you is a shiny, white Porsche complete with a giant red bow on the hood. Your boyfriend sits on top of the back seats, dressed in a blue button-down and black slacks. Grayson’s beaming as he holds a bouquet of roses out towards you. You try to think of something, willing anything to come to your brain, but shock leaves you speechless so you start tearing up instead.

Grayson, mistaking your tears for anger or sadness, is by your side in a minute.

“Angel, what’s wrong? Do you not like it? I wanted to wrap it to match mine, but Ethan said it was a bad idea. But- but we can always go to the dealer and switch it out if you don’t like it or I can -“ He stammers, immediately worried that he had disappointed you. You cut him off with a deep kiss, relieving any worry that was flying through his brain as he grabs your waist to hold you closer.

“No, it’s perfect. You’re perfect. Everything’s perfect. But why?” You question.

“Well, I wanted to do something special for you since you finished school today. And since we can’t travel anywhere, I figured this was the next best thing. You’ve worked so hard these past four years, Angel; I just wanted to show you how proud I am of you and how much I love you.” He explains, scratching the back of his neck nervously. Your heart melts at this. While you had expected maybe a five-star dinner and hopefully some marathon sex, you had no idea your boyfriend would do something so extravagant for you. Never in your wildest dreams did you believe someone would care for you like this, and adoration begins to fill your entire being.

“Grayson, I- I don’t know what to say.” You’re astounded, and every time you look at the car, you’re speechless again.

“Hopefully that you like it. It was kind of expensive.” He jokes, now reassured that your silence is a good thing and not out of anger. You swat his chest before wrapping your hands around his neck and pulling him in for another kiss. Just as his hands start to slip towards your ass, you pull away from him.

“Thank you, Grayson. For the car, for letting me stay here, for everything. I don’t deserve you-“

“Don’t start with that.” He cuts you off, leaning in so your foreheads are touching, “You do plenty for me, and if we’re honest, I don’t deserve you. You’re beautiful, intelligent, funny. There’s nothing in the world I wouldn’t do for you, and you can’t change that.” Before you can even respond, you notice Ethan making his way out through the back door.

“Yo, what are you two still doing out here? Don’t you have reservations at six?” He yells out, towel over his shoulder and obviously not expecting the two of you to be interrupting his future tanning session. You turn back to your boyfriend, confused as Grayson sighs exasperatedly and looks up to the sky.

“I haven’t told her about that yet, dickhead.” Grayson yells back to his brother.

“Well, can you hurry up? I want to lay out for a bit, and the weather app says it’s supposed to rain at four.” Ethan asks. You can’t help but giggle, knowing Ethan’s just oblivious to the very intimate moment you and Grayson were having. Grayson huffs, annoyed that his brother is ruining his plan before turning to you.

“I booked us reservations at Il Cielo.” Your eyes widen at the mention of your favorite restaurant.

“But how? It’s been booked for weeks. We couldn’t even get in for my birthday.” You question.

“The owner’s daughters are fans, so I promised a couple pictures tonight in order to get a table. Now go get dressed, we can take your car if you want.” He explains. Images of you two dressed up while Grayson drives the new Porsche fills your mind and you slightly shiver. Grayson, raising an eyebrow to your reaction, leans down for another kiss with you. Right when Grayson’s tongue enters your mouth is when you hear the fake-retching coming from the other twin.

“Bro, go away!” Grayson groans, holding you closer to him. You’re both leaned up against the car as you turn to watch the interaction between the two siblings.

“Fine. But first, let me get a picture of the happy couple. You’d kill me if you didn’t get to flex how good of a boyfriend you are.” He says, grabbing his phone. Grayson moves to argue, but you silence him, posing for the camera instead. You both smile, looking happier and more in love with each other then you’ve ever been. And you can’t help smiling wider when you see the tag and pictures on Twitter.

It only took a few minutes before the hate comments started flooding in. You had set your phone down for a quick shower but returned to notification after notification. It was non-stop dm’s, tweets, and even responses to IG photos from 2016 about how you weren’t good enough for Grayson, how you were just using him, and how he would eventually find someone better.

Usually, you could just ignore it, turn your phone off and turn a blind eye to the negativity spewed at you. But you were already emotionally overwhelmed, and you couldn’t help the small part of you that agreed. What had you done to deserve a man who could drop thousands of dollars on you at a whim? You weren’t impressive, weren’t an influencer or a model, just an average girl who managed to catch his eye.

Your phone screen starts to blur as tears form in your eyes. You try to stop the burning feeling in your throat. Still, fat tears begin to roll down your cheeks onto the screen as you start sniffling, falling victim to your deepest insecurities. You were so caught up in yourself that you hadn’t even noticed Grayson making his way down the hall.

“Y/N, are you almost ready? We have to leave for the restaurant soon.” He yells towards his room, making his way to you before noticing your sobs. You look up at him before sniffling again, feeling sorry that he had to see you like this.

“What's wrong, Angel?” He asks gently, moving to sit next to you on the edge of the bed. He wraps an arm around your bare shoulder, careful not to move the towel you had wrapped around you from your shower.

“Nothing, it’s nothing. Give me a few minutes, and I’ll be ready.” You attempt to reassure, moving to wipe the tears from your eye. You wince, noticing how unbelievable you sound even to yourself, and you can already tell Grayson is unconvinced.

“You know you can tell me anything, right?” He asks. You nod, not meeting his eyes, looking down at your lap instead. He softly grabs your chin, forcing you to meet his intense stare. “So, what’s wrong?”

“God, it’s really nothing. Some fans on Twitter had just tweeted me some stuff and -“ Before you could even finish, he’s grabbing his phone to look at the replies, nostrils flaring as he reads what fans had mentioned you in.

“It’s honestly nothing, G. I was just being overdramatic.” You promise, wanting to drop it at this point and continue with the perfect day you two were having.

He’s silent for a second, which worries you more than anything since he always has something to say. You rub his thigh, trying to comfort him before he grabs your hand.

“You know none of that is true. There is no one better, never will be. My future begins and ends with you.” He whispers, sounding even more hurt than you. You stare at him widely, dumbfounded at the bold confession Grayson just dropped on you. Taking your silence as disbelief, he moves your hand towards his mouth so he can start kissing your wrist.

“Believe me when I say, Y/N, there isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for you. “ He growls, dropping your wrist to move in front of you. “What can I do to get that through your head?”

With that, he grabs your head roughly, bringing you into a hot kiss. You immediately whimper, wrapping your hands around his neck to pull him closer to you. His tongue slides against yours desperately as he rips your towel off you, tossing it carelessly over his shoulder.

You pull away from each other, panting with desire and trying to catch your breath as Grayson goes down to suck warm, wet kisses onto your neck.

Moaning his name, you move to unbutton his shirt shakily while he continues to move down your neck to your chest. You shrug his shirt off before scratching your nails down his chest as he takes one nipple into his mouth.

Twirling the other nipple in his fingers, you arch into him before he’s switching to the other one and repeating this process. He continues like that for a while until you moan and whimper underneath him, trying to grind up into his lap.

“Grayson, please. Touch me.” You mewl, hips bucking when he drags a finger through your slit. Grayson sucks the mess off his finger before looking down at you darkly, hazel eyes turning a deep brown. He kneels down, spreading your legs and placing his large hands on your hips to hold you down. He places soft, open mouth kisses on the apex of your thighs and meets your gaze before speaking again -

“Mine. You’ll always be mine. Nothing can change that.” He promises. You clench around nothing, feeling like you could cum just from his words of reassurance. He notices how you react and sharply inhales.

“Fuck, so pretty.” He breaths out, and you’re not even sure you’re supposed to hear that, watching Grayson lose himself in the desire to express how deep his love runs for you.

He spreads your lips apart with two fingers before licking at your clit softly. He licks it again before pulling you towards him with a long, slow lick watching as you fall apart.

You already knew this was going to take no time on your end, but watching his intense gaze on you causes you to produce more and more wetness, to the point where you feel like you’re leaking onto the mattress.

He stops at your clit, circling it a few times with his tongue before taking it into his mouth. He suckles on it, watching as you fall back onto the mattress with a high pitch whine.

“Grayson.” You moan shakily, moving to get closer to his mouth.

You start rolling your hips onto his face, grabbing your tits to ground yourself somehow. Your moaning consistently now, not knowing how else to convey how good he’s making you feel other than with high-pitched sounds.

He places his arms under your thighs, pulling you closer to him, and starts making out with your pussy, savoring every sweet drop that comes out of you. He sucks harder before pulling back and rubbing at your clit with two fingers.

“So good, Angel. Perfect for me.” He gasps, lips swollen and red. His mouth is dripping, and he shakily runs a hand through his hair before diving back in.

He focuses on your clit this time, sucking hard while reaching to slide two fingers inside of you. He drags them back and forth, feeling you clenching down hard on him.

“Grayson, I’m so close.” You moan, getting louder and louder as he continues to flood your body with pleasure. He sucks on your clit even harder before dragging his fingers against a specific spot, and you’re suddenly overwhelmed with white-hot pleasure. You scream as your orgasm rolls through you in shockwaves, simultaneously pulling away and trying to get closer to him.

He doesn’t take his mouth off you and groans loudly at how your pussy pulsates in his mouth. He notices he’s grinding in the air and presses a palm down to relieve some of the pressure in his pants.

You lay there with an arm over your eyes, taking ragged breaths trying to calm yourself down. Grayson finally removes himself from you and goes up to lay next to you, stroking your hair and moving your arm so you can look at him.

“Never has a man ever made me cum that hard.” You mutter. He laughs at that before he turns to kiss you softly, allowing you to taste yourself on his lips and tongue. His kissing grows sloppier and sloppier until he’s slotting himself in between your thighs.

You reach down to unbutton his pants and pull them and his briefs down as far as you can until he leans back to remove them altogether.

He gets back in position, kissing you some more while his rock-hard cock brushes up against your thigh. He grinds into you as you pull away from him.

“Gray?”

“Yeah.” he murmurs hotly, continuing to grind into you.

“Fuck me, please.” You purr.

He breathes shakily and lines up with you, rolling his hips into you slowly. You both moan at the first thrust, his guttural and deep and yours high-pitched and whiny. He slowly grinds into you one, two, three times before picking up and thrusting into you properly.

He grabs one of your legs, placing it over his shoulder, allowing him to reach inside you deeper. He speeds up, overwhelming you with the relentless snap of his hips.

“Grayson.” you cry as he reaches down to rub your clit. He groans, unsure whether to look at your aroused eyes, your bouncing tits, or how effortlessly his dick enters and leaves your pussy. He tries to look at all three before groaning, “So fucking hot, Y/N.” He leans down to kiss and suck at your neck before growling in your ear, “Don’t give a fuck what anyone says. You’re so perfect for me. So wet and tight.”

At this point, he’s speaking incoherently. So overwhelmed by how well you’re taking him that he’s saying anything and everything that comes to his brain. That doesn’t stop his words from going directly to your clit, and you moan loudly at his words, begging for him to fuck you harder.

He does as asked, and it isn't until he leans down to kiss you again that you feel your second orgasm hit you like a freight train. You cry out while you dig sharp nails into his back, riding out your orgasm as he continues to pound into you. His thrusts stutter as you clamp down on him like a vice. He continues to roll his hips while cursing lowly into your ear.

“Cum for me, G. Please. I need it.” You whisper while scratching lightly up his back, hoping this will edge him on to finish. Sure enough, his hips stutter as his dick swells before hotly cumming inside you. He groans out loudly, rocking his hips slowly into you before coming to a complete stop. He lays down on top of you, grabbing a blanket to cover the two of you.

You run your hands through his hair as he softly kisses your forehead.

“I love you, no matter what. Don’t listen to Twitter.” He confirms, sleepily. You hum in agreement, kissing his neck as a response.

“I love you more.”

You both are quiet, the silence lulling you to sleep before Grayson is rapidly jerking himself out of you. You look at his wild expression, concerned.

“Fuck, I forgot about our reservations.”

#if you saw this post earlier #no you didn't #grayson dolan #grayson dolan fic #grayson dolan x reader #grayson dolan smut #grayson dolan blurb #dolan twins #dolan twins blurb #dolan twins smut #dolan twins x reader #blazedwritings

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bqstqnbruin · 4 years

Text

I hate it when you stare

Wow here I am with another part, another fic. Ignooooree my typooos. Is this more soft smut? No one told me last time if what I wrote counts so uhhhhhhh

Read the whole series: I hate the way you talk to me and the way you cut your hair // I hate the way you drive my car // I hate it when you stare // I hate your big dumb combat boots and the way you read my mind // I hate you so much it makes me sick, it even makes me rhyme // I hate the way you’re always right // I hate it when you lie // I hate it when you make me laugh, even worse when you make me cry // I hate it when you’re not around, and the fact that you didn’t call // But mostly I hate the way I don’t hate you, not even close, not even a little bit, not even at all

I really do have work to do for my class at 2:30 tomorrow but instead I finished this, so I hope you like this!

_______________________

“How is it bullshit? Everyone can tell that we’re in love with each other.”

“So, what, because other people believe it, that automatically means it’s true?”

--------------

Evelina was visiting home for the weekend for her mom’s birthday, which meant that you had the apartment to yourself. From Friday after work until Sunday night, you were free to do whatever you wanted by yourself. Or, you thought you were going to be doing whatever you wanted until your boss texted you saying that he wanted your project finished by Monday so you could present it that afternoon. That meant you were posted up on the couch, your hair tied in a bun on top of your head, a mug full of coffee, another of tea, and a cup with water all in front of you, the blanket normally on the back of your couch now draped over your shoulders. It was a full call to the hungover days you had back in undergrad when you woke up late and were struggling to finish the work you had due the next morning.

“It’s me!” you hear a familiar voice call from the door, snapping you out of what might have been the first and only roll you had been on working on the project.

You look up to see Matthew coming over the couch, plastic bags in hand to plop down on the table. “Remind me to change the locks.”

“That would mean you have to get up to let me in, though,” he sends a wink in your direction.

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes at him, even though you felt butterflies throughout your entire body at the sight of him looking so comfortable next to you. It was just because he’s a guy, not because it’s Matthew. You let out a quiet sigh as he fiddles with the remote to your TV. “Who says I wouldn’t leave you in the hallway? Plus, I thought you were supposed to have practice today?” you ask, trying to focus more on your project than on him.

“We’re done, and we don’t have a game for three days for once, so we’re resting up. I figured, why not come see my favorite girl?” he says, resting his hand on your shin once your drape your legs over his lap.

“Because Taryn is in St. Louis so you settled for me instead?”

He scoffs, slowly running his hand up and down your bare leg while his eyes fixate on the television screen. He had to be able to feel the goosebumps that he was causing with his touch. “Fine, my favorite girl in Calgary unless Taryn is visiting, are you happy?”

“Am I ever happy when I’m around you?” you tease, lifting only your eyes from your screen to look at him. Still staring at the TV, you can see the smile on his face, but it almost looks like his jaw is clenching, like he’s fighting saying something back.

“And how could I not be happy around you when you treat me like that?” Your eyes linger for a second on his smile before scanning the rest of his body. Even under the long-sleeved dry fit shirt he was wearing, you could see the outline of the muscles that graced his abdomen. His arms looked like they were begging to rip the seam of the shirt, and you wanted nothing more than to take it off of him and just let them free. “Do you like what you see, babe?” you hear him say, snapping you out of the thoughts you were convincing yourself meant nothing as he was looking at you out of the corner of his eye.

“I’m trying to picture you as a more attractive guy,” you lie, “It would be so nice if Elias were here, wouldn’t it?”

“If you’re implying that you want a threesome, then I don’t think I could do it with a teammate,” he laughs, his fingers tightening around your shin. Would Elias be better than Matthew? Any guy would be better than Matthew, you tell yourself. He’s your best friend, and nothing more.

“What have I said about being crude?” you ask him, fixating your eyes on the way he’s biting his bottom lip. “I think I’m gonna go get my headphones so I can do this project.” You bolt from the living room to your bedroom, leaving Matthew there by himself while you search for your phone in a panic.

“Hey, is everything ok?” Evelina says on the other end of the phone call as you try to search for your AirPods in the mess that was your room.

“No, Matthew is here.”

“And that’s bad because?” she asks, drawing out her last word.

Groaning, you drop your phone on your desk, prompting Matthew to call to you asking if you were ok. “I’m fine, don’t worry.” Turning back to Evelina, clearly in a panic that she could hear in your voice, “Matthew is here and I think I’m horny.”

“You’re always horny for him because you’re in love with him.”

“I’m not in love with him and I’m honry because I haven’t been touched by a man in like, three months. It’s starvation.”

You hear her groan on the other end, her parents voices in the background. “Hold on, I need to go into another room,” she says. “Ok, so you really told me two days when you got home that you and Matthew nearly fucked in public in the liquor store. You have been touched by a man. He was also practically feeling you up at the bar a week ago, might I remind you.”

“I don’t love him,” you say, unprompted, “And he never even kissed me.”

“Says that hickey that you somehow didn’t notice he gave you?” she says, you turning to your mirror to touch the mark she was talking about. You honestly didn’t know it was there until she said something to you when you walked in the door. “If you don’t love him, why don’t you just tell him to leave?”

“I want company and he’s the only thing I have when you aren’t here. Really, this is all your fault.”

“That was so sweet until you blamed me. If you don’t want him to leave then what’s the problem?”

“Horny,” you say at the same time. “Either do something about it or control yourself, babe, but I’ve gotta go. Miss you, love you,” she says, hanging up when you finally find your AirPods.

Pulling up your playlist so it’s already playing when you get to Matthew, you don’t even look at him as you take your computer back in your lap and throw your legs in his. You can feel his eyes tracing the outline of your body even under the baggy sweatshirt you had on from a college you never went to.

You had worked for what was probably a solid half hour, Matthew mindlessly rubbing his hand on your leg like he did before, you needing to do everything in your power to stop from thinking about and wanting more. You were interrupted by Matthew reaching over and tugging on the hem of your shorts. “Are you really listening to Christmas music right now?”

“Is it that loud?” you ask, turning the volume down immediately.

“No, I can read your lips. You were mouthing ‘Feliz Navidad,’ and ‘Sleigh Ride.’”

“Oh, then, yes,” your cheeks flushed with embarrassment that you didn’t even realize you were doing that.

“It’s March, babe.”

“Ok, but Christmas music is fine year round.”

“No?” he questions.

“So I’m going to tell you why you’re wrong,” you start, moving your computer to the table so you don’t drop it, provoking a laugh to escape from his lips, “While I don’t agree with all things in Catholic and the broader Christian doctrine, there are things I can agree with basically because they are up for interpretation, so I interpret them in the way I like. Take, for example, the ninth commandment: love thy neighbor. Some people take it as a literal ‘love thy neighbor’ as in ‘be a good neighbor,’ to the ones who live next door, but I think it’s a matter of caring for those around you, neighbor not being the person immediately next to you wherever you live, but just other people in general.”

“What is your point?” he asks, a devilish grin spread across his face.

“My point is that the Bible, which is the end all be all of Catholic doctrine according to some people, is up for interpretation and people use it the way that benefits them, no matter how wrong they normally are. In Hebrews 13:15, it says, “Through him let us continually offer up a sacrifice of praise to God, that is, the fruit of lips that acknowledge his name,” thereby, justifying and promoting listening to Christmas music year round. It praises Jesus, who is one of the persons that make up God, and doing year round is continuous.”

“I don’t think that’s how that works.”

“Hey, if people can be assholes and use a 2,000 year old book to try to wrongly justify their bigotry and homophobia, why can’t I use it to rightly justify my listening to christmas music all year?”

“Are you Catholic?”

“No, but that doesn’t mean I can’t learn about it and keep the things that I like with me. I’m not Jesuit but I follow their ideals like ‘care for the whole person’ and ‘be a man or woman with and for other.’ And Evelina’s parents are very religious, so we kind of put up a front whenever they visit to please them. They still think we go to Mass every Sunday.”

“Is that why there’s sometimes a crucifix by the door?” he asks, you nodding along. “And that weird Jesus magnet where he has a chefs hat and it says ‘fish and bread are served’ underneath him?”

“Yeah, I think her dad superglued that to the fridge because no matter how many times we’ve tried to get it off it won’t budge. Plus it’s a reference to another Bible passage.”

“I went to a Catholic high school, remember? I already knew that.” You can’t help but return the smile he was sending your way, this time your eyes flicking down to his lips, you unsure if his were doing the same. You snap out of it, biting your lip and making eye contact with Matthew, both of you breathing slightly unevenly at just thinking about what you could do with each other. Was Evelina right that you two loved each other?

No, she couldn’t be right, because you didn’t love him. You pick your computer back up to get back to work, not saying another word as Matthew turned back to the TV. You hit a deadend, finding yourself back to staring at Matthew’s perfect face while his eyes narrowed and a small smirk formed on his lips at something funny on whatever movie or show he was watching.

“Ugh, fuck,” you groan, Matthew’s head snapping to your direction as you cover your face with your hands. “I don’t want to do this anymore.”

He reaches over and pulls your hands from your face, intertwining his fingers in yours. “Take a break, I brought food for us.”

“You didn’t cook it yourself, did you?” you ask. The last time he had made food for you, you were sick for a week from what you’re sure was food poisoning from something being undercooked.

He laughs, the pad of his thumb rubbing your palms. You could feel your breathing get shallow by this, trying to ignore it while he’s talking to you. “No, I got it from the store down the road, already made. Mac and Cheese!” he says, pulling it out of the bag.

You roll your eyes at his stupidity. “Matthew, we’ve been sitting here for over two hours, why would you leave that on the table instead of in the fridge?”

“It’s still warm!” he argues, opening it, “Oh and it smells so bad.” You burst out laughing as he cringes, closing it immediately. “I’ll order something else.”

You get up to go throw out the now rancid mac and cheese in the kitchen. “Hey, where do you want to order from?” you hear Matthew call, walking into the kitchen behind you.

The list.

It’s on the fridge.

Practically throwing yourself at it to try to tear it down in time, you rip it off the fridge and fold it up in your hand just in time for Matthew to come in. “Are you ok?” he asks you, noticing your slightly faster breathing and your hands behind your back.

“Yeah, the smell was just bad,” you lie to him, shoving the list in the band of your shorts. “And I was looking at the Jesus magnet.”

“That thing is so creepy,” he says, both of you looking at it. Knowing Matthew, you try as discreetly as possible to move the paper to your front so he can’t feel it as he inevitably presses his front to your back, his arms draping over your shoulders. Without thinking, you reach up to touch his hands as he rests his head on yours. “It’s way too white to be Jesus.”

His arms move their way down your body, settling around your waist as he starts to nibble at your ear. “God, you are so sexy,” you hear him let out.

“You’re awfully handsy lately, aren’t you Matty?”

“Oh come on,” he says, turning you around to face him, practically pinning you against the fridge, “You know we’re always like this with each other.”

You smile at him, cupping his face in your hands as you run the pads of your thumbs along his cheeks. “We have a weird...” you start, trying to figure out the right word to describe whatever it was you had with him, “friendship,” you settle on, not exactly liking the word yourself as your tried to hide the cringe you were sure was appearing on your face.

He swallows hard at that word. Even relationship would have been better, even if it were more broad than ‘friendship.’ At least it wasn’t such a narrow word. It felt like even if you didn’t finish the list you didn’t know he knew about, you would never see him as more than a friend. “Well, that’s what makes it my favorite friendship.”

The two of you stand there for a minute, holding each other and gazing into the others eyes. You could feel your breathing slow down studying Matthew’s facial features again, thinking only of how perfect they looked to you in that moment. “We should figure out where we’re getting food from,” you say, dragging your hands down his chest before dropping him all together.

He could have stared at you like that forever. He really couldn’t think of anyone more perfect than you, anyone he would want to look at besides you. “What are you in the mood for?” he asks, moving over to the counter. Opening your fridge, you remember you still have the list folded in the band of your shorts, throwing it in before grabbing some water out. “What did you just throw in there?” Matthew asked you, having watched your every move.

“Uh, Evelina and I have this weird list that we’re putting together, it didn’t feel right to have Jesus looking over it all of a sudden,” you tell him, “But now that you had mac and cheese on my mind, I kind of want that.”

“Oh, no, you’re not changing the subject that easily,” he says, trying to reach around you to open the fridge.

“No, come on, it’s mostly Evelina’s and I don’t know if she would want you seeing it,” you lie, batting your eyes at him and trying to contort your face to make it look like you would cry if he tried anything else. He couldn’t see the list of things you hate about it. He couldn’t find out about it.

He sighs, knowing he wasn’t going to win this one. “I ordered you mac and cheese but I’ll pay for it if you tell me the subject of the list?” he tries to bargain.

“Uh, it’s a list of kinks,” you lie, not knowing what else to say, and usure why that was the first thing that came to mind.

His eyes go wide, pretending to be shocked. It was the list of ten things you hate about him. It had to be. He grins anyway, trying to hide the pain he felt knowing that the list was already started, and probably nearly finished at this point, “Are any of them your kinks?”

“Yeah,” you start to lie to him again, a grin on your face, “One of them says, ‘When Matthew leaves me alone.’”

He scrunches up his face, pretending to be hurt by your comment as he walks back to your living room. “Oh you know just how to break my heart, pretty girl.” You follow him, plopping down next to him on your couch.

You pick up your computer, snuggling into his shoulder as he wraps his arm around you. “I have no desire to do this project.”

“Why don’t we watch something on TV then and you can work again after we eat?” he suggests. You nod, putting the computer back down, surrendering to his pout. You feel him kiss the top of your head, scrolling through the channels. “What about Lilo and Stitch?” he asks when he finds it on one of the channels.

“Ugh, I love this movie, but the American treatment of Hawaiians is awful, and I just can’t help but think about it every time I watch,” you say, thinking you were being annoying. “Sorry,” you apologize. Evelina was used to your rants, even if you were sure she normally tuned them out. You didn’t think Matthew wanted to listen to another rant from you.

“Don’t get me started?” he asks, referring to the game you and the guys played at the bar.

“Don’t get me started on the American colonization of Hawaii. The Cookes’ went to Hawaii and pretty much obliterated the royal bloodline. The king of Hawaii had the Cookes build boarding schools for the royal children, with good intentions that they would be able to educate his children on royal customs to effectively rule their land. Instead, the Cookes took the Hawaiian customs and told them they were wrong, imparting their own customs on them, instead. They wanted he land for America, they wanted to eliminate the Hawaiian culture and make them as American as possible,” you say. “The Hawaiian people were a very sex positive people, but oh no, American Catholic education and their ‘no sex is the safest sex’ ideal stopped the children from living the lives they grew up expected to live. If a boy was found in a girls room doing anything in these boarding schools, they would beat the children as punishment, and probably other things that weren't even recorded. There are actually a decent number of Wikipedia pages that have had this information erased, like when you go back into the edit history. The sources, as they claimed, weren’t valid, but in reality they weren’t the Cookes’ American-centric description of these schools. They even went so far as introducing sports into the schools as ‘an antidote to the worst evil of all: sexual promiscuity,’” you comment, drawing a laugh from Matthew. “Because we all know how much athletes hate sex, right?”

You look up at Matthew, him beaming down at you as Hawaiian Roller Coaster Ride starts ironically playing in the background, “Yeah, we hate that,” he whispers. You swallow hard, trying to ignore any feelings that might be coming up at the sight of Matthew biting his bottom lip.

“American’s always just insert themselves where they don’t belong,” you finish, settling your head back onto his shoulder as he pulls you closer to him.

“Why do you know all of this?” he asks.

You shrug, not really sure how to answer, “I don’t know. When I’m doing work I see one word and it sends my mind into this never ending tangent and I end up looking up stuff online and reading for hours.”

“You really are the smartest person I know,” he says with a sigh, “Why hasn’t Ev told her parents about hiding the Catholic stuff until they come?”

You shrug, “I don’t know. I never asked, she just told me it was something she needed to do, so I did it with her. That’s her own cross to bear,” you say, taking a minute to realize the really bad pun you just made. “Ah! See what I did there!” you practically yell, Matthew groaning.

“On that note, I think I need to leave,” he jokes, getting up off the couch.

“Oh, come on, no!” you beg, taking him by the hand and trying to drag him back down to the couch. “I don’t want you to leave,” you let out as he pulls you off the couch.

“Really?” he asks you, sitting back down on the couch, your hands still connected.

Standing over him you nod as he pulls you into his lap, straddling him. He pulls you as close to him as you can, your hands wrapped around the back of his neck. Your mind flashes back to the liquor store, the feeling that came over you as he worked his way along your body like you had a feeling he was about to do again.

“Come on Matthew, you know this isn’t something we do,” you tease, even though you can’t help but look at his lips, the urge to kiss him creeping up on you as you tried desperately to suppress it. If any guy had taken you into his lap like Matthew just did, you would want to do the same thing. You were just desperate for a man, not desperate for Matthew.

“We can’t do anything?” he teases, going for your neck again. You let out a moan, praying that he doesn’t leave any more marks that you’ll have to cover up later.

“Wait,” you say to him, pulling him off of you. He looks slightly upset, not sure what to do next. ‘Ah, fuck it,’ you think to yourself, pulling his shirt off over his head, tossing it to the side and returning the favor of the hickey he gave you. You suck on his skin, listening to the moans that escaped from his lips this time, feeling him grow hard the longer you were at it. He clenches his hands on your butt, pulling you even closer to him. You work your way up his neck and to his jaw, his grip getting tighter the closer you were to his lips. You had no idea what was coming over you and causing you to want to do this, but nothing in that moment felt better. Nothing in your life had ever felt better as you kissed his face the way he did to you the other day, hearing him moan more and more with every connection you made.

Your lips are millimeters from his, both of you practically begging the other for connection when you’re startled by the sound of Matthew’s phone ringing. You both laugh, foreheads pressed together. One more second and it would have happened. “I think that means our food is here.”

“Perfect fucking timing,” he mutters, not loud enough for you to hear as you get up to go grab the food. He couldn’t believe you just did that. He checks his neck in his phone camera, seeing it littered with the red marks you had left for him. He reaches up to touch them, smiling for some reason. There’s no way this list would work against him, would it?

You come back, him practically throwing his phone so you don’t see what he’s doing, settling down on the couch with each other eating the food. Your mind starts racing with thoughts about what just happened. There was no way you really wanted that, did you? Well, you wanted a man’s touch, but it didn’t necessarily have to be Matthew. It could be any guy.

‘I have another thing for the list,’ you text Evelina, your eyes moving between your phone screen and his hands holding his food, careful not to look up at his face.

‘Good, god, what?’

‘I hate the way he stares,’ you send her, finally looking up, not taking your eyes off Matthew as the two of you can’t help but stare at each other.

#matthew tkachuk #matthew tkachuk imagines #calgary flames #calgary flames imagines #flames #flames imagines #nhl #nhl imagines #hockey #hockey imagines

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misha-moose-dean-burger-lover · 4 years

Text

Closets & Wendy’s.

“Last day of Pride!”

Dean projects himself onto Cas’s bed, ending up sprawled on his front, with an arm slung over Cas’s lap.

On receiving no more greeting than Cas’s hand landing in his hair and starting to card through it, he lifts his face from the comforter, props himself up on his elbows - chin tucked in a palm - and stares at his boyfriend.

Cas looks upset.

The corners of his lips tilt passively downwards, eyebrows carrying most of the weight of his frown.

“Cas?” Dean asks, neutrally - already regretting his overhyped entrance.

“I’m sorry- I don't feel -”

Words fade out, and Cas pauses. Then he turns to actually look at Dean, the sadness seeped into his eyes, and Dean doesn’t waste a moment getting up, knee-waddling over into Cas’s space and pulling him close.

Cas comes easily, planting his head on Dean’s shoulder, and exhaling a tired breath when Dean runs a hand over his back.

“What are you feeling?” Dean asks, after a beat, now trying to soothe Cas’s tense shoulders, rubbing gently over the cotton. Cas leans into his touch.

About three years of therapy, and nearly six years of being roommates - undergrads, and then actual friggin’ grad school - with Cas, basically Dean’s personal mascot for healthy communication, has led him to definitely know that it’s always a better alternative to talk about what you are going through, instead of what you aren’t.

(Or, you know, what you think you should be, just because your dumb, insensitive boyfriend who’s been obsessed with Pride since finally coming out and-slash-or best-friending up with Charlie Bradbury, is. And rather loudly, at that, because Dean Winchester’s a goddamn idiot.)

“Disappointment.” Cas says, morosely, but almost as soon as he hears his own words, he rephrases. “Uh. I’m the disappointment.”

“Well, did you secretly sneak out and mark yourself absent for the entire semester in all your 4.0 GPA classes when I wasn’t looking?”

“Dean.”

“Fine, 3.7.” Dean throws back. “Big friggin’ deal, nerd.” Cas lets out a huff of breath which almost resembles a chuckle, and Dean squeezes his arm around Cas. “You know that would’ve totally been a four if I’d been less distracting.”

“Interesting.” Cas corrects.

“Hot.” Dean throws back, just because he knows it’ll make Cas crinkle into one of his fond ‘what-do-I-do-with-you’ smiles. It does.

“Perfect.” And Cas throws in a sigh, as if to solidify his point, and leans in to nuzzle Dean’s neck in a way so intensely Cas, that if anyone else had ever tried it, he’d either end up being tickled to death, or running the hell out of dodge.

“We’re on you right now, Cheesy McCheesington.” Dean smiles back, and goes on.

He’s not willing to let Cas close up into a ball of repressed emotions with happy only on the outside. That’s way more Dean’s thing - or rather, used to be. He knows he’s bettered his coping mechanisms. Mostly because every part of his life involves Cas now, and anything with Cas is good.

They’ve grown a lot together - grown through a lot as well, and this is how they’ve done it. By talking through, the Castiel way. It still throws Dean off sometimes, how far they’ve gotten.

So when Cas whines in protest into Dean’s shirt, he knows exactly how to turn it into a side-hug. One of those, where they end up staring at each other from a three-inch distance.

Staring hard, Dean says it. “You’re the farthest thing from a disappointment, Cas. To anyone.”

The lecturers all adored him, their friends made it a point to keep proclaiming their affection out loud (thank god for Charlie Bradbury and co.), and Dean doesn’t think he could be more proud of Cas if he tried.

He was a goddamn wonder.

He’d gone from a lanky, private-schooled, what’s-a-Star-War schmuck to one of Dean’s favorite people in the world. He was hilarious, and a genius, and kind. He’d grown into his shoulders, and into a stubbly kind of an age, and into this awesome, intelligent, pancake-making man of Dean’s dreams, and into his bee obsessions and organizational neatness - and complete, total perfection.

(Dean needs him, appreciates him, and (not that subtly - to his credit), loves him in a forever sort of way.)

But before Dean’s properly began to remind Cas of any of it, he’s interrupted.

“I’m disappointing me, Dean.”

There’s resignation in his tone, and evidence in every word he says.

“June’s over. Again. And for all the marching with painted cheeks and the megaphones? For all the parades, and the celebrations of our identities, the togetherness, the being proud of being ourselves?” Cas lets out, bitterly, and Dean realizes he knows where Cas is going with this. “And I still haven’t come out to my family.”

Dean waits, sure that Cas isn’t finished.

“How have I not done it yet?” Cas hisses, and it almost startles him - he’s swapped the upset for angry. It’s rarer. “I’ve known since I was a teenager - and we’ll have been together for five years in three months, Dean, and I just - I cannot believe I still can’t do it.”

He sounds helpless, and Dean wants to jump in, but he needs Cas to get the words out first.

“What’s the matter with me? Am I not brave enough, or strong enough - or am I still hanging onto the hope that they’ll suddenly become better human beings and not disown me when I tell them?” Cas scoffs.

He’s pissed at himself.

“Maybe I still lack, as you say, free will.”

Dean has to step in at that. “That was six years ago, and you know I wouldn’t say it now.”

“Why not?” Cas challenges. “I couldn’t tell them then, either. I clearly haven’t changed.”

“Other things, Cas.” Dean says, and grits his teeth. This isn’t supposed to be them yelling. Cas is frustrated, and Dean’s listening - he can’t be frustrated back at him for the way he expresses it. “Other things have changed.”

Cas gives him a look, but Dean holds his end of it until it crumbles. Cas changes his offense. Mellows down - probably when he sees Dean’s restraint. “This is important to me. I want to do it. Then why can’t I tell them?”

He’s asking himself, but he’s also asking the only person who knows him as well as he knows himself, yet he’s also not asking at all - simultaneously, it’s also rhetorical.

Dean licks his lips.

“Whatever be the answer to that, Cas, first things first. This doesn’t imply you’re not proud enough.”

Cas looks away.

“Or, for that matter, not panromantic or demisexual enough.”

Sigh. Shuffle, shift. And then he looks back up at Dean. The tears weren’t there before. “How do you know, Dean?”

“‘Cause I know this doesn’t decide that.”

“Why not?” Cas says, quietly.

“‘Cause,” He repeats. “How queer you are isn’t measured on a scale of how soon you come out once you know.” He pauses, judges the air. “It usually isn’t measured at all, unless we’re talking about a magical thing known as the Kinsey Scale.”

He judged right.

Cas coughs, and it’s definitely to disguise a reluctant snicker.

“And you know, even if it were measured on the weird first thing,” Dean adds, serious again. “There’d totally be a different clause, and a separate key, mind you, for the people with douchebag families.”

“They prefer conservative, I think.” Cas says, smally, after an entire minute, as if he’d actually been rerunning Dean’s speech in his head for that long.

Dean shrugs.

Cas almost smiles. He’s calmed down.

“The strange thing is that it makes no sense.” He begins, heavy, albeit less severe on himself. “I’m twenty six. We co-own this apartment, and we pay our bills. We’re completely independent.” It never stops sounding surreal. That’s for another time. “Mother calls me on third Sundays, Gabriel sends Christmas cards. Other than that, I only spend Thanksgiving lunches with them, each year more horrible than the last. I know I wouldn’t miss any of them, nor regret being written out of the will. Or have my Novak cemetery spot passed onto Michael’s oldest. Or the gardener.”

Dean snorts at that. The Novaks are truly something else.

“There is no reason I can’t just come out. I just -” Cas cuts into his own sentence with a sigh, one signifying that he’s finally done speaking, and he reclaims Dean’s shoulder once more.

What’s important right now, is to make him feel better. A resolution to this isn’t within grasp at the moment, and Cas sounds drained. Dean - well, he does what he does best. He segues.

“Wait.” Cas lifts his head. “You didn’t actually say you’re not out, did you?”

Cas squints at him.

“Dude. Being out doesn’t just mean telling your family. And getting subjected to toxicity and trauma, by means of it.” Dean points out, earnest. By that logic, courtesy of a long-dead mom, and a relatively-shorter-dead dad, he’s in the closet as well. “Hell, you put your hand in my back pocket at KFC, yesterday.”

“Oh.” Cas blinks.

Dean grins, and Cas’s surprise makes it easy to do so. “You bet my publicly grabbed ass, it counts.”

Cas knows it counts. He knows everything that counts. But he indulges himself, and he indulges Dean - his bad mood slowly dissipating. “What else?”

“You kissed me at Wendy’s last week.” Dean informs him, eyebrows raised. “Held my hand for a really long time in a Starbucks queue on Saturday. Oh, and all the gay bars count, buddy. Especially the bits where we grind on the dance floor, and then I blow you in the stall.”

Cas opens his mouth to protest that has only happened once, but Dean meets his eyes with a pointed look. He’s got to bring it up.

“Every time I’ve ever taken you to a steak joint counts too. ‘Cause trust me, those are always dates, whether you know it or not.”

“Long drives are a date to you.” Cas deadpans.

“Yeah, and Baby will never say you’re not out.” Dean throws back, and Cas actually makes it to a smile this time. Dean’s left feeling accomplished. (And sort of dazed, because it’s going to take a lot more than six years for him to get used to Cas being so easily beautiful, and being it right next to him.)

“You said you loved me for the first time at the Roadhouse.” Cas says.

Dean blushes.

“And then you ran away before I could react, got really drunk and karaoke’d I’m Too Sexy on the stage, and passed out on my lap right as I tried to say it back to you.”

This is definitely not his favorite story, but it always lights Cas up, and that’s all that matters, really - so he rolls his eyes half-heartedly and Cas smiles wider.

Silence prevails for a moment.

“Look.” Dean ends up being the one to break it. Cas listens, hanging onto each word. “You’re the only one who knows why you can’t do it, okay? My best guess would be an internalized decision to avoid conflict. Maybe you call your old therapist tomorrow - like, I dunno, a cameo from Castiel, unresolved coming-out issues sorta thing. Of course, we can talk about it too. Get six cheeseburgers and twelve beers, and figure things out on your own. But it’s up to you.” Cas exhales into a little smile. “All I know is, it doesn’t matter to anyone that you haven’t told your family, if it doesn’t matter to you.

Cas nods, a couple of times, and there’s the barest hint of tears again, but this time doesn’t make Dean want to punch God.

It makes him want to hug Cas, so he goes for it.

“Even if you were in the closet, Cas? I’d say the same.” Dean adds, as an afterthought, about a minute into a hug which doesn’t seem to be nearing an end. Not really. No one minds, so there’s that. “This community, this month - everything about Pride is about all of us, and if Charlie’s ever called me handmaiden, trust me she’s said this a million times. It means everyone. Includes people in the closet, every bit as those who’re out.”

Cas hums in agreement, and tilts his head against Dean’s.

“In any case,” Dean teases. “Your family’s over in Illinois, anyways. Here, where it counts? You’re as out as you can be.”

“I could kiss you in more Wendy’s.” Cas contemplates, because he’s awesome like that.

“What has Burger King ever done to you?”

Dean listens to him considering it with a thoughtful note, and mutters a “Dork.” It helps keep him grounded for he feels like he’s floating right now - ‘cause there’s something about the way Cas holds onto him. Tighter.

Like somehow, even after all this time, they managed to fall a little more in love today.

And somehow, they’ll keep doing it forever.

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allbeendonebefore · 3 years

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atlas cronus cyclopes helios hermes poseidon titans

Atlas- Favourite myth?

quatsch called me out and said i like the myth of theseus the best and she's right and i'm sort of but not really ashamed. Every iteration and every retelling of theseus just makes me laugh. I love how stupid he is. I love how the story was used to forcibly insert Athens into the mythological histories of older and more important poleis. I love how the theseus myth was somehow used as propaganda during the persian/peloponnesian wars (I need to re-investigate this) where the city state of athens said "you should take us seriously because of this absolute moron hero"

(i fall short of calling him a himbo, but I can see the argument being made for it if you subscribe to the versions where 1. he was Asked to leave Ariadne on that island and 2. remember that time his wife said straight faced that his son made advances towards her and his first reaction was welp better go kill my son"_ 3. i dont have any explanation for the kidnappings beyond a. they were completely misinformed on helen's age and panicked and b. with persephone and hippolyta i guess they just wanted wives that could destroy them so)

Cronus- Favourite food?

I said curry last time so maybe i should say something different this time... i did mention i love bread and likewise because of its versatility. I enjoy making bread as much as i do eating it (and i did prior to covid also). Some of my favourite breads to make include naan, rye, and black pepper cheese bread. My favourite bread to eat is sourdough (which I don't have a starter for so I haven't made it yet)

Cyclopes- What’s your favourite joke?

Another one hmm, let me think.

the one that annoys quatsch the most is the one about the greek guy who ripped his trousers: Euripides, Eumenides! :^)

Helios- Night or day person?

hard question. I think i am actually a morning person in that I do like being up with the sun but only if I am alone and have nowhere else to be and I'm not being told what to do xD so like once my night classes ended and I could set my alarm earlier I noticed an improvement in my mood - but when I'm at home with the fam it's pointless to be up before my parents who wake up before me no matter what so I can't enjoy those quiet early morning hours unless I yeet myself straight out of the house which I don't like doing.

Traditionally my best creative time was 7pm ish (or so i noticed in high school and undergrad) so I had always thought of myself as a night person but I don't actually like staying up super late and I only like to sleep in once in a while.

Hermes- Do you like travelling? Where is one place you want to travel to?

tbh travelling stresses me out a lot and I need to be with a person who knows what they're doing. But when the actual travelling part is over and we're just out wandering the hills in northern england or scotland or wherever enjoying nature or on the train watching the countryside go by, it's amazing. I also like having tomodachis with itineraries to show me their hometowns because I don't even have to think about what I want to do I can just follow and enjoy learning about how they see where they're from and be led to tasty food -w-

Poseidon- Do you like to swim?

yyyes and no i think i answered this recently in another meme but i have mixed feelings about swimming. also apparently i can't figure out floating and need to work on that so i don't drown in the river when i do go swimming ;u;

Titans- If you could go anywhere in time, when would you want to go?

urghhg i mean part of me is like lets go to ancient greece and make notes for my thesis but part of me is like oh no i'd have to understand ancient greek far better than i do and try not to get in trouble, part of me is like what if.... i just go back to the 90s but as an adult so i can get a more nuanced look at what i was living through at the time because at least i speak the language and have a vague idea of what was happening xD (i think i'd have no problem avoiding interacting with past me lol)

#hapo replies #ask meme #ask game #about hapo

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cosplayingwitch · 3 years

Text

A Study in Dirt and Stars

September 30 Day Writing Challenge

Prompt: cloud/star gazing

Part one of the five part as-yet-unnamed series. (If you think of a name, let me know in the comments!) Each part will take place a good amount of time apart from each other.

Summary Star Wars AU with fem!reader and Poe Dameron as best friends/roommates (more?) and grad students- reader in archaeology, Poe in history/library science. In this part, the two get stuck when Poe’s old truck breaks down and they have to wait for a tow truck.

Triggers none, unless you have an issue with waiting for tow trucks or dirt/dust. Oh, they do swear too.

Tags: @make-me-imagine

Other tags: light angst, two idiots in love, mutual pining, would this count as angst?

The sound of shovels clanging together startled you out of your focus. You’d been reading up on bioarchaological research methods- something so boring most would fall asleep even thinking about it. You, however, find the whole thing fascinating, enough to dedicate your life to it. That sound was the announcement by your students that the day was done. Normally you’d have let them know this, but in that focus you’d lost track of time.

You shout “Nice work today everyone! Same time tomorrow!” even though you didn’t even notice their actual work. Hey, as long as they didn’t fuck anything up enough that it can’t be fixed, no one would ever know.

The university held a field school for archaeology students every year, mostly upper level bachelors students and the occasional early masters students. Given your status as almost graduating from the masters program, you were easily chosen by your favorite professor to GA the class. Which meant, per your professor, you’d be the one in charge for day-to-day goings on. But if you succeeded at this, it’d be a great addition to your work experiences. Very helpful for getting a job in this field.

Which leads you to look around, seeing that your slightly early dismissal was taken advantage of by the students- they left the equipment strewn about the site without regard for how long it would take you to clean up after them. They’d be in for definite trouble in the morning, you’d make sure of it.

You heard the sound of truck tires coming down the dirt lane that was the only access point for your site. You look up to see your friend coming to pick you up. With your car in the shop- all that dust was not good for the engine- he was your only choice if you were to get to and from work.

“Hey there, Indiana. Discover the ark of the covenant yet?” shouted Poe from the driver's seat.

“Not yet. Did you manage to run out of books in the library yet?” you shout back.

It was always like this between you two. You’d been friends since your freshman year when you took intro to anthropology together. For him, it was a gen-ed class; for you, it was the start of your career path. He was a history major, now working on his masters, like you. He had managed to get a job in the university’s library, though he would probably describe it like he had gotten a job at the Smithsonian. But joking between the two of you was more natural than having normal conversations. One year, he decided to get you a hat for your birthday, one that was suspiciously like that worn by the movie archaeologist. From then on, he called you Indiana instead of your name as an inside joke between the two of you.

You wouldn’t ever tell him- but you kind of liked it.

“Can’t leave quite yet, Mr Librarian. The students left this place a mess, and if Professor Solo decides to pop by the site in the morning with it looking like this I’d lose all hope of ever getting a job.”

“So? I can help! As long as these aren’t some kind of state-of-the-art technology shovels.” he teased. You could tell, he just wanted to get home. And even with the both of you working together, this could take a while.

About two hours later, once everything was packed up for the night, Poe went to start the truck so you could get home to your shared apartment (who better to be roommates with than your best friend?). And it wouldn’t start. He tried again, and again. Nothing. I guess even momentary exposure to this dust could mess with an engine, you thought. Or maybe his twenty year old truck had just finally kicked the bucket. You’d teased him about that truck for a while now, always joking about it someday just giving up and leaving him stranded somewhere.

Of course, you’d always imagine yourself as coming to his rescue, not being stranded with him.

“I guess you were right about it up and dying someday.” admitted Poe. “So are we walking or what?”

“It is getting dark, but it will take forever to walk back to the university. We could call a tow truck? Sit around waiting until it gets here?” you suggest. “It gets so beautiful out here. Without as much light pollution, the stars really shine bright.”

Poe was never one to turn down an activity that involved astronomy. That was his ‘secret’ hobby. He told you once that his dream when he was a child was to travel among the stars, but with that not accessible to him, the best he could do was study those who made the advancements in astronomy.

The tow truck would take at least an hour, the lady from the dispatch center told you. It was the bad luck of location and calling on a busy night. You didn’t mind, it was more time to spend with your best friend.

“It’d probably be more comfortable to lay in the back than in the dirt.” suggested Poe. You knew that wasn’t the only reason he suggested it. He also hated getting dirty, so the idea of laying directly in recently disturbed dirt had to be unthinkable to him. (This was another thing you teased him about often.) However, this time he did have a slight point. If anything, it would probably stretch your back out more than the ground could.

With both of you perched on the end of the truck bed, you watched the stars together. Poe pointed out the various constellations. Even though you knew most of them already, you let him continue because you knew how happy it made him. Not much of a sacrifice to keep your best friend/roommate, you thought. You zoned out while he started rattling off facts about famous astronomers. He’d be the one to know all this- astronomy+history would always mean Poe would know about it.

You thought about how nice this was. The two of you laying back, talking, nowhere to be until the morning. You could get used to this.

Every so often, you’d chime in with a fact about the mythology behind the names of the constellation. Poe assumed you knew these from your anthropology classes during your undergrad. Truth was, you’d learned them for him. That way you had something to add to the conversation when he was discussing astronomy, which was frequently.

It was inevitable that the tow truck did eventually show up, and your night of stargazing would end. It never seemed like two hours had gone by with just you and Poe laying there together. And just like that, your evening together was over.

When you eventually get back to your apartment, it’s past midnight and all you want to do is take a shower to get all the dust, dirt, and sweat off of you from that hell of a day you had yesterday. “Maybe I’ll call Professor Solo in the morning, see if he can take over for the day.” You think. After all, shouldn’t he be teaching his own class?

And maybe, if by some miracle your car was ready to be picked up before noon, you could return the favor by driving your boyfriend best friend to work.

You stop yourself in your tracks. God. Did I just think what I thought I did?

Yeah. After a day like that, your brain had to be at least a little scrambled, right?

At least you didn’t say it out loud. Poe would never stop teasing you about that.

When the two of you got home after midnight, Poe was beyond exhausted. Luckily, he wasn’t scheduled to work until after noon tomorrow. Or, with it being after midnight, would that be today?

Whatever. I just need sleep, Poe thought.

But he couldn’t sleep that night. (Morning? Every time Poe thought about that it made his head hurt.) He was too wrapped up in thinking about the night you just spent stargazing together. Just laying there, talking, sharing space facts and constellation myths.

He just couldn’t get past the relationship the two of you had. No pressure, no one constantly asking when they’d get together already. Just two grad students, hanging out and having a good time together.

Maybe, Poe thought, he could even be glad his car broke down while picking up his girlfriend best friend from work.

Wait, Poe though. Not my girlfriend, my best friend. I’m not ruining our friendship because I had one thought about her that way. Besides, he continued, who knows if she’d even like me that way.

Poe did fall asleep a little while after that, but not before sending in a request to his boss for a sick day. There was no way he’d get enough sleep to go to work tomorrow.

Author Note- I appreciate any comments/likes/reblogs if you would! Also, this is my first fan fiction published on Tumblr, so please be nice (and leave constructive criticism if you have any). I’ll probably also post this to Archive of Our Own at some point, but for now it’s only on Tumblr.

I have to say, I do enjoy writing for my two idiots here. Next chapter/part will be published on 9/10, so come back for that if you like this. And if you really like this, message me to be tagged in the next part.

#meras30daywritingchallenge #star wars au #star wars fan fiction #Poe Dameron #fan fiction writing #writing challenge #still new to this #these two are idiots #angst?#i dont know

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anathewierdo · 3 years

Text

Call of the Ocean Chapter 33: Ch-ch-ch-ch-changes

Pairing: CEO!Mechanic!Dean Winchester x Mermaid!Reader

Word count: 5078

Chapter summary: Things tend to change when the truth comes out; imagine how things change when all is out in the open. Dean and Y/N finally talk.

Series summary: CEO of Winchester Auto Dean Winchester has had enough of the office life. With his father keeping him from what he wants to do, which is work on the plant floor, Dean decides to leave for a quiet life. In Matagorda, Texas, he finds something he never thought he would, a chance encounter with a mythical creature.

Call of the Ocean Masterlist

A/N: I am SO EXCITED to see what y’all think of this chapter! :D This series is a collaboration with @flamencodiva . Text dividers were made by the awesome @talesmaniac89

Next chapter will be posted on Saturday, December 19th

The next morning at Bobby’s House, Dean let out a groan as the sunlight hit his face. He opened his eyes and froze, trying to remember where he was. Looking around, his eyes fell on the notebook and everything came flooding back.

“Morning, sunshine,” a gruff voice called from the kitchen.

Dean got up from the couch and made his way to the kitchen where Bobby was standing over the stove cooking.

“What time is it?” Dean mumbled.

“Almost time for the garage to open,” Bobby sighed. “So, did I answer your questions?”

“The fact that Y/N is from a line of people tracing back to Atlantis and Poseidon himself?” Dean asked. “If it wasn’t for her mark, I would have called us crazy.”

“Told you so,” Bobby huffed. “Idjit.”

“It’s a lot to take in,” Dean admitted. “But it hasn’t changed how I feel about her, Bobby.”

Bobby let out a hum, before pointing at the table for Dean to sit. “Yeah, knowing didn’t change it for me either.”

“But, you found out by accident. I found out by sneaking glances. You at least were able to confront her,” Dean sighed. “I just want her to feel safe. Even if it’s not with me, I want her safe.”

Bobby smiled sadly. “Yeah, I remember feeling the same.”

“You don’t feel the same now? I know that she’s missing but… don’t you still feel something?” Dean wondered.

“I was pretty much right where you are.” Bobby worded carefully. “She thought I’d react badly. Remember her layin’ me out on my ass when she came out of that lagoon in the cave and saw me waiting for her.”

“I’m sure Y/N would do the same if I did that,” Dean chuckled. “You look like you’re angry about something.”

“It’s not important,” He gruffed. “You already got enough going on.”

Dean raised his eyebrows in silent question, but decided in the end to just let it go. If Bobby really didn’t want to talk, then he wouldn’t talk and that was that.

“What do you think I should do?” Dean asked. “How do I show her I’m not giving up on her without making her mad?”

“Thames and I had to take it slow. Like, basically start from scratch slow.”

“So…” Dean sighed. “It’s like getting to know each other again. Did you join her in the water when you found out?”

“Not at first,” Bobby shrugged. “I’d ask if I could go, and eventually she trusted me enough to say yes. We sort of got into a routine eventually and well, you know what happened in the end.”

“She had to go,” Dean nodded. “It was like a knife just poking at your heart right? Not stabbing it, but just toying with it.”

“Yeah…” he sighed, “it doesn’t get better with time.” Bobby shook his head, taking himself out of memory lane, “And it’s time for you to open the garage. I’m here if you have more questions about mermaids. Good luck with Y/N.”

“Yeah, thanks,” Dean said, finishing the breakfast and heading towards the garage.

As he got close he realized he wanted to work alone. Looking around, he looked for a client whose car would take a long time to work on. Grabbing what looked like an order for a Mustang, he looked around and smiled.

“Going into the private shop with the Stang, the building better be on fire if you need me!” he shouted before walking to the locker to grab his coveralls.

“Alright!” Cas called back.

Dean was making his way to the private room after changing, when Benny pulled up in front of him.

“I don’t smell smoke and I don’t see a fire,” Dean sang as he looked at the chart in his hands.

“I was checking the paperwork for the Mustang,” Benny started. “Maybe you’d want to hear it.”

“I’m sure whatever it is can wait,” Dean said. “I’m working on the Stang and I don’t want to be disturbed. So unless it’s on fire, I don’t want to hear it.” Dean tried to get in when Benny blocked, “Benny, come on.”

“Brotha, I really think… you know what.” Benny held up his hands, “I’m sure you can squeeze a good amount of money out of this guy. The specs look familiar. I’m sure you’ll recognize it.” Benny stepped out of the way allowing Dean to go inside.

“Thank you,” Dean smiled. “After this, I need to find a way to get Y/N back. She broke up with me. I’m not breaking up with her. So she’s just going to have to tough it out,” Dean chuckled.

“That sounded wrong,” Benny pointed out.

“Shut up,” Dean grumbled. “I just meant I’m not giving up on her. I need her to know she can trust me. I’m not going to let her push me away for a misunderstanding.

“You’ll find a way, Dean,” Benny chuckled. "You tried to push her to talk, didn't you?"

"I--well," Dean rubbed the back of his neck.

“You know that the best way to get people to shut others out is by pushing them to talk.”

“Come on man,” Dean sighed. “I was just frustrated and hurt and… you know how I--” Dean licked his lips, “I’m not good at being gentle with words, okay.”

“But you have such soft hands,” Benny batted his eyes at him.

“Look, can I just work on the Stang now?” Dean mumbled.

“Before you go in there you have to know--”

“I know how to fix Mustangs, Benny,” Dean sighed. “I can take a look at her and get it done fast. Says here could be a full engine rebuild! You know I love those!”

“Okay, but don’t say I didn’t try to stop you first,” Benny held up his hands and let Dean walk by.

As Dean finally walked away from Benny he opened the door to the private shop where the Mustang was waiting. He gave a low whistle at the pristine look it was in. She was red and shiney and looked good. But there was something familiar about it. Dean walked around it and froze, the license plate said Kansas. The numbers he knew by heart.

“Hello, Son.”

The voice sent a shiver down his spine. Closing his eyes, Dean tried to take a deep calming breath. Turning around, his eyes widened in surprise at how his father was dressed. There stood John Winchester, in blue jeans, a black shirt, and a red flannel. It was a look Dean had never seen his father in. His father had always worn suits everywhere he went.

“Get out,” Dean spat. “Get in the car and get out. There is nothing wrong with it because it was my car!”

“I needed to talk to you and this was the only way,” John said. “You wouldn’t answer my calls, you ignored me when I came to your door. You would rather cut me off and be with some, podunk small town girl--”

Dean punched John in the jaw, “Her name is Y/N and I won’t let anyone, even you, talk shit about her. You don’t know her and you never cared to know me!”

“You can build an engine in no less than three days,” John said as he rubbed his jaw. “You graduated top of your class in highschool and you graduated with honors both in undergrad and grad school.”

“And you wanted me confined to a desk!”

“I just wanted you to have the best,” John sighed. “You’re smart Dean. I’m proud of that. But I didn’t want you stuck under a car for the rest of your life.”

“Oh because being stuck in an office every day is so much better?” Dean questioned sarcastically. “This,”—he motioned around the garage— “was my dream. Always. I finally got it and I will not give it up for something you want.”

“I came to say I’m sorry,” John said. “I was screwed up and all I wanted was for you to be successful, that’s all. I went about it the wrong way and I should have let you stay on the plant floor. Or create a job for the office floor you would like. But I thought about expanding the family and--”

“That’s great, Dad. But sorry’s not gonna cut it. Not with this. Not with you trying to marry me off to Lisa Braden!” Dean growled. “How long after Cassie broke me did you make that Deal huh?”

John licked his lips and swallowed the lump in his throat, “I had gone to her father for the specks on the engine. He was ready to give it to me, on one condition…”

“Cool,” Dean muttered. “Well, I’m not signing anything, and you shouldn’t have signed anything! Sammy’s gonna go back to Kansas and help you. I’m done.”

“If you don’t sign they go after Adam. I don’t want you to sign, I don’t. I’m trying to find a way out of it. I have Mick’s contacts helping me get out of it.” John shook his head. “I called Adam and I told him to be ready. I’m going to go public with what happened.”

“What’d he say?”

“Said he was okay with it,” John walked to the mustang and knocked on the body. “His mom died, cancer finally took her. So I offered him a spot at the main plant. He’s going to take Benny’s old job,” he said.

Dean nodded in consideration. Adam wasn’t as good as Benny (no one is), but after a while he’d get the hang of it. He looked at his dad who seemed defeated, but he had so much anger in him.

“If that’s all you have to say you can go,” Dean huffed. “You were right about me anyway. Couldn’t satisfy Cassie so she cheated on me.” Dean ran his fingers along the Mustangs body, “Y/N probably figured it out too. Figured I’m not good enough for her,” He closed his eyes , ‘or her secret’ he thought.

“Son, I’m not right,” John shook his head in shame. “I said a lot of shitty things out of anger. And I know that sorry isn’t going to cut it.”

“So? That doesn’t change the fact that you said it. And who knows?” he shrugged. “Maybe I am a screw up after all.”

“You are far from a screw up,” John huffed. “I’m the screw up. I had these big dreams for you. I came from nothing son, I clawed my way up,” John ran a hand across his face. “I never thought I was good enough for your mother, you know.”

“Oh, look at that,” Dean commented. “We do have something in common after all.”

“Son,” John kept his distance and sighed. “I messed up. I didn’t want you to struggle the way I did or have to prove yourself. I was a… blue collar guy who worked his way up, and fell in love with your mom, almost screwed it up and…” John ran a hand across his face. “I’ll go. And for what it’s worth, the way you defended Y/N, that’s her name right?” He didn't wait for confirmation, “Just shows you really love her and she’d be crazy not to love you the same way.”

John turned around and began to walk out of the room, he had hoped Dean would open up more talk to him; but he knew it was a long shot. He had done everything to push his eldest son away. The son he was proud of when he held him in his arms as a baby.

Dean sighed and let out a small groan. “Dad, maybe one day we can talk and try to fix this… But not now. Tell mom I said hi. And good luck with Lucifer.” Dean was exhausted, and he didn’t have any fight left in him to argue anymore.

“Nick is not going to know what hit him,” John grumbled. “But he isn’t getting the company.” John took one look at Dean, “Your garage is great son. Good service, great care. And I love the private space. Thinking of making an engine in here?”

“Dad,” Dean sighed. “Just go please,” Dean tossed him the keys to the Mustang and walked out of the room. “You know,” he turned to Benny, “you could have tried harder to warn me?!”

“Well I didn’t smell smoke and I didn’t see a fire,” his friend sang back. “I did try to warn you, Deano.”

Grabbing one of the dirty rags, Dean threw it at Benny hitting him square in the face.

“Yeah yeah,” Dean shook his head. “Going to be in the office until he leaves. I have a few plans to work on.”

“Got it. Good luck on your scheming, Romeo.”

Dean flipped Benny off and closed his office door.

––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

Y/N paced in front of the entrance to the garage. She bit her lip as she held on tightly to the bag holding Dean’s burger. Every time she tried to open the door, she pulled back and shook her head. Could she really do it? Could she really tell him? She told him it was over. What if that Lisa woman was with him now? She let out a frustrated cry and bit at her thumb in thought.

“You know, Cher, things would be better if you just went inside.”

“Benny!” Y/N gave a slight jump, “You scared me.”

“Didn’t mean to, Cher,” he apologized. “I thought you broke up with Dean?”

“I--” Y/N closed her eyes, “I was scared about telling him something important,” she admitted. “Where I’m from we have certain things we can’t divulge but--” she swallowed the lump in her throat, “I want to show him. If we are not meant to be I want him to know where I come from and who the real Y/N is.” She looked down at the bag with his favorite burger inside, ready to hand it to Benny.

For a second, Y/N was sure Benny was going to tell her to not go in and see Dean. The human was staring at her like she was gonna try to kill someone and he knew it. She pleaded once more, trying to explain why it was important to see him, but Benny’s expression remained the same.

A second went by. Then five. Then ten.

“He’s been in his office all day. Blinds are drawn. Knock until he opens the door.”

Y/N was sure she’d heard him wrong, “What?”

“Go on, Cher,” Benny opened the door for her. “I’m sure whatever you have to tell him, he can handle it. Besides, you came all this way, right? Worst thing he could do is tell you no.”

Y/N nodded and made her way inside. She sent Andrea a soft smile before heading to Dean’s office. True to the man’s word, the blinds were all closed. Biting her lip, she lifted her fist and knocked.

“Guys, I told you I’m busy!” Dean called from inside.

Y/N wasn’t sure what to say. She lifted her fist and knocked again, hoping it would get Dean to open the door. When the same answer came, she did it again.

Footsteps sounded from the other side of the door. And Dean certainly sounded annoyed. “Dammit, this better be important.”

The door was practically thrown open, and the agressive ‘what’ that Dean was grunting as a greeting died the second his eyes landed on hers.

“I brought you your favorite.” She held out the bag and cleared her throat, “I was hoping we could talk, in private.” She took in a deep breath, “But you sounded busy and I’m sorry I bothered you, I should go.” She was about to turn around when he took hold of her shoulder to stop her.

“Come in, sweetheart,” Dean whispered as he ushered her inside and closed the door behind them.

Y/N was still holding on to the diner bag as she walked inside. She placed it gently on his desk before realizing it was a bad idea to come. Turning around she let her head hang in shame.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I shouldn’t be here. You already hate me and I hate me and I--”

“No, no, no,” Dean interrupted. “Not at all. I’m just… I’m just surprised. I thought you wouldn’t wanna see me after yesterday.”

“I want to tell you my secret,” she blurted out. “But not here. And not now. Sunset in the cave by the beach,” she let out in one breath.

“Y/N. Uhm… Princess Y/N,” Dean mumbled. “I… Are you doing this because you want to or because you have to?”

“Both,” she said. “I want to. I want you to know all of me. And I have to because if I don’t I’ll never really know if you will accept all of me.”

“There is nothing in this world that could make me love you less. I promise you.”

“So then you’ll meet me in the cave at sunset?” she asked shyly. Too scared to reach for him, scared to break him.

“I’ll be there,” he assured.

“I should go,” she cleared her throat. “I added a slice of today’s apple pie.” She walked past him towards the door, “Liara is doing much better. If you still want to meet her, I’m sure she won’t object.”

Dean smiled, still not quite able to believe what she was saying nor what was happening, “I’m looking forward to it.”

“I’ll see you at sunset,” she affirmed quietly as she walked to the door. She wanted nothing more than to turn around and kiss him, but it was too soon, she had to be sure.

Walking out of the office she sighed in relief and left the garage. The rest of her day was a blur. Between taking orders and making sure she didn’t forget anything, she wondered if Thames had talked to Thasman. Between her impending meeting with Dean and wondering about her friend, who was really her cousin, after finding out the truth, she could feel her chest tighten.

“Y/N?” Ellen’s voice broke her thoughts, “You okay, Suga?”

“I’m gonna tell him, Ellen,” she confessed.

“Tell who, what?” Ellen was busy making another pot of coffee.

Y/N shrugged, “Everything. Where I come from, who I am… For real this time.”

“You’re going to tell HIM about everything?” Ellen asked, not wanting anyone to be nosy about their conversation. Looking around, she dragged Y/N to her office and closed the door behind them, “How are you going to tell Dean?”

“I told him to meet me in the cave at sunset,” Y/N sighed. “Am I doing the right thing? I want him to know I do. But what if he hates me? What if he decides to take me to a research center thing, what if--”

Ellen stepped in and grabbed her shoulders, squeezing gently to stop Y/N’s flood of words,“Slow down there, girl. No need to make yourself even more scared than you already are,” she tried to smile. “Would it make you feel better if someone, anyone, was close by just in case?”

“I guess so,” Y/N nodded. “Would you be okay being there?”

Ellen simply nodded and looked at the time, “Better clock out then, don’t want to be late for your date,” she gave Y/N a wink.

With Ellen there with her, Y/N felt slightly better as she paced along the caves lagoon shore. She kept looking at the cave entrance and biting her lip. Maybe he changed his mind? Maybe he decided she wasn’t worth it? She was beginning to think that Dean had changed his mind. Running her fingers through her hair, she sighed. He changed his mind, she was sure of it. She was about to tell Ellen they should head back when a figure approached the mouth of the cave.

“Heya, Y/N,” Dean waved awkwardly, walking into the cave and giving her what she could only describe as a nervous smile.

“Hi,” she bit her lip almost shyly. “I um… what I have to show you is…” she couldn’t find the right words, “I-- I’m a mermaid,” she belted out quickly.

Of all the reactions she expected, a tilt of his head and a squeaky “What?” was not what she thought she’d see.

Y/N took a deep breath and held it in for a moment, letting the words tumble out when she exhaled, “I’m a mermaid.”

“Y/N, if you wanted to really break up with me, telling me you’re a mythical creature is not the best way,” Dean had to bite the inside of his cheek for that one. He had to make it believable that he didn’t know anything.

“Dean, I am not lying,” Y/N sighed. She looked at Ellen and then behind her at the water.

Getting rid of her human clothes she closed her eyes and made her way deep enough into the water before she dove in. Her scales adorned her as she swam deep trying to get enough space to make a jump. Once she was sure, she moved as fast as she could towards the surface. When she felt the surface of the water she used the momentum thrusting into a backflip. Dean’s jaw dropping at the sight. The water splashed towards him, soaking his shirt. She was doing a backflip, her purple tail in all its glory.

As she went back to the surface, her nerves started to show up once more. When she broke out of the water, Dean was standing a few feet away from the edge, body frozen and eyes wide as he stared ahead in her general direction, “Whoa,” he breathed.

Y/N sighed as she placed her head on her arms, leaning on the edge of the lagoon, her tail still in the water as she lifted it and gently brought it down. She couldn’t read the expression on his face. The next thing she knew, Dean had taken off his clothing, except for his boxers, and took a few steps back before running towards the lagoon and jumping in. Y/N’s eyes froze at the spot he dove in, wondering what he was going to do.

She swam away from where she assumed Dean would surface, waiting for him to appear. She was scared that he had hurt himself and made herself ready to dive in after him; her breath catching in her throat as she watched him finally resurface.

Dean let out a soft chuckle, “Sorry, Sweetheart.” He smiled at her, “Not sure how to do a backflip.”

Y/N stared at him, mouth hung open in surprise at such a calm reaction, “Is that– Is that all you’re going to say to that?”

“Did you want me to say something different?” Dean said as he moved his arms and legs to stay above the water's surface.

“Dean I have– my legs are gone. I really am a mermaid.”

“I can see that,” Dean shrugged. “I met you before all this. What made you think I wouldn’t love you because of it? You’re still Y/N. You’re still a Princess.”

Realization hit her hard then.

“You knew,” she breathed. “You knew and you didn’t tell me– Shells, I couldn’t tell that you knew. Shit, Dean!”

“I wanted you to trust me enough to tell me,” Dean sighed. “I found out the day you guys were dragging Thasman to the cave. I almost went in to drag him to the hospital.”

Her surprised expression was replaced by a frown as she began to swim further away from him, “Who else knows?”

Dean stayed in his spot, not wanting to anger her anymore than what she was, “Just me, I swear. And Bobby I guess, but you knew Bobby knew.” Closing his eyes, he sighed, “If you want me to go I can. I promise I won’t tell, Y/N. I don’t ever want you to get hurt.” He could see the anger in her eyes when he looked at her. With a heavy sigh, he began to swim towards the small shore of the cave.

“How can I be sure? Just yesterday you were trying to coax me into telling you everything and I– I get that. But you also said you had been lying about who you were,” Y/N called, effectively stopping him midway to the edge. “So who are you again?”

“Winchester,” Dean said. “My last name is Winchester. My family is actually a rich family that owns a car company. Winchester Autos.”

“You’re Dean Winchester?!” Ellen called from the shore. “My lord in heaven. You’re more loaded than a rifle!” Ellen exclaimed.

“Yeah,” Dean sighed. “But I like to work for my money. I hate trust fund people. I went to college with them.” He licked his lips, “Cas and Benny are my only real friends I brought on who I helped move up because they never knew me as a rich guy.”

“So you have money… I don’t think I need to tell you I have no idea who your family is or that I don’t understand exactly what you do.”

“We make the best cars in the country,” Dean tried to explain. “My grandfather started the company from an auto shop, just like I’m doing. Everything I told you is true, just not my real last name.” Dean shook his head as he swam closer to the shore, “I’m sorry. I’ll go. I just wanted you to trust me enough to tell me. I just thought I wasn’t good enough and I ruined it.”

This time, Y/N swam quickly to stop him. So quick that Dean had barely had a chance to swim another foot.

She appeared in front of him, effectively blocking his way, “no,” she shook her head. “You don’t get to do that. Not when yesterday you told me you were not giving up on us. We are going to stay here and talk like we were supposed to do before we got into this mess.”

“Talk about what?” Dean asked. “The fact that I still love you? The fact that I don’t care that you’re a mermaid because I have dreamt of you since I put on this pendant?” He touched the pendant around his neck, “Or how about the fact that I am so in love with you that being away hurts. It hurts my hhu-hng so much that I don’t ever want to lose you, Y/N.”

“I didn’t want you to find out on your own,” Y/N explained. “I didn’t want you to think I was something bad. I wanted to tell you for myself when I was ready. And I love you so much too.”

Dean moved his hand to caress her cheek, but pulled back quickly. He wasn’t sure if she wanted him to touch her.

“I didn’t mean to find out the way I did. You know I would have waited. I knew and I didn’t tell you right away. I wanted you to tell me, I really did and I shouldn’t have pushed you.”

“You have my pendant,” she pointed out softly.

“It’s yours?” Dean questioned as he looked down at it, “Bobby said Thames mentioned it when she was here.”

“Oh Poseidon, Thames! I need to talk to her. I need to talk to you. Wait, do you have any questions you want to ask me?”

“A few,” he confirmed. “Like how are you going to talk to your lost aunt?”

Y/N gave him a soft peck on the lips as she guided him to the edge of the salty lagoon, pushing him to get out, “I’ll answer all of them as best as I can. I have questions for you too.”

“Sounds fair to me.”

As they got out of the water Dean watched as the scales on her tail began to vanish giving way to her legs. Grabbing her clothes, he helped dry her off as best he could and helped her get dressed. Dean smiled to himself, he was back with her. He looked up at her and his heart pounded in his chest. Once he got himself dressed he began walking out of the cave.

“Wait,” she called out, making him stop.

Dean turned around, a puzzled look on his face as he walked back to her, “What is it, Sweetheart?”

His mermaid extended a hand to him with a small smile on her face, looking at him bashfully, “Hi,” she began. “My name is Y/N. I’m the daughter of King Nereus of the Kingdom of Sindarta. Yes, it is the name of the kingdom, we didn’t lie about that. Which also makes me a Princess. I love pastries, all kinds of animals, and my NASA teddy bear. I’m also a mermaid. It’s very nice to meet you.”

Dean gave a huge stupid smile at her introduction as he reached out with his own hand to shake hers, “Heya there, Y/N. My name is Dean Winchester. I’m the son of John and Mary Winchester. I own my own garage. I love sunsets and long walks on the beach. I’m human. I also think I’m head over heels in love with you, Y/N. It’s very nice to meet you too.”

Y/N’s eyes shone bright right back at him, her smile so big and genuine he was pretty sure he’d do whatever was necessary to watch her smile like that more. He could never get tired of that smile. She pulled on his hand, a small shock running from her to him as their hands ended up crushed between them as she kissed him deeply.

“I think I’m head over heels in love with you too, De.”

“Now that was a disney worthy moment,” Ellen’s voice called from where she was sitting, making the couple jump in surprise.

“I forgot you were there, Ellen,” Dean chuckled nervously. “That was kind of creepy if you asked me.”

“Someone had to make sure you didn’t do anything stupid,” Ellen grumbled as she got off the rock she was sitting on and brushed the sand off her hands. “What do you say we head to my place and I make us some Lasagna?”

SOOOOOOOO?? WHAT DO Y’ALL THINK?? :D

Any and all kind of feedback are appreciated. Please, like, reblog and comment <3

My asks are open in case you wanna send feedback, have questions or wanna be added to the tag list :)

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#dean x reader #dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #supernatural #ceo!dean x reader #mermaid!reader #dean winchester x mermaid!reader #mermaid au #Supernatural Fan Fiction #supernatural fanfiction #dean winchester fanfic #dean winchester fanfiction #mechanic!dean #mechanic!dean winchester #mechanic!dean x reader #mechanic dean

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bettsfic · 3 years

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hello!! i hope you're doing well~ i'm at the point where i have writing that i'm satisfied with enough to send out to try for publishing, but i'm afraid i have no idea where to start with that process. where does one look for things to get short stories published in? how does one juggle acceptances? or does that not happen? do i always get to keep ownership of my writing? is there anything to expect/look out for? you don't have to touch on all of these! thank you in advance!

congrats on finishing a story! the good news is, you now have a writing sample that is hopefully representative of your best work, and a good writing sample can open a lot of doors for you in terms of workshops, residencies, and potential funding opportunities.

the bad news is, publication is a long-con. expect it to take 2+ years to place your story. of my 3 publications, the timelines were:

“lien” -- written fall 2016, 16 rejections, published spring 2018

“an informed purchase” -- written summer 2017, 5 rejections, published summer 2018 (this was unimaginably fast)

“the ashtray” -- written spring 2017, 17 rejections, published winter 2019

if your story is genre (sci fi, fantasy, horror, etc), i’m afraid expectations are a bit different than what i’m about to tell you. so i’m going to answer your question assuming you’ll be submitting to literary journals/magazines.

the first thing you need to do is read as many short stories as you possibly can that have been published in the past 10 years. here’s how to do that:

pick up the most recent copy of america’s best short stories (this year’s was edited by anthony doerr, one of my favorite writers)

read it and find the stories that are most similar to your work

research the authors who wrote those stories and figure out what journals have published them; read as much of their work as you can

(short story collections will have acknowledgments listing where their stories have appeared. you can also find this info on an author’s website, assuming they have one)

find the journals that have published the authors you like and read their most recent handful of issues

if their aesthetic jives with your work, look into their submission guidelines to see if your story fits with their requirements in terms of word length, etc.

if so, submit! if not, keep them in mind for when you have a story they might want

you can also click through entropy mag’s where to submit round-up

there’s also duotrope, which is a lit mag submission base, but it costs money and that’s shitty of them

note there are thousands of lit mags out there, all of varying quality. you don’t want to waste your time submitting to shitty mags or ones that don’t fit with your work. the more research you do on the front end, the easier it’ll become later

it takes a long time to become familiar with the world of literary publishing. it’s a lot like a fandom in that way. you have to read what’s out there and engage in order to figure out what’s going on.

some general tips about finding places to submit:

don’t pay submission fees. some magazines will ask you to pay $3-$5 to submit. later in your writing career maybe that’ll be a worthwhile thing, but for your first pub i wouldn’t bother. stick with free submissions.

look around on the publication’s website to see if they nominate their writers for the pushcart, best of the net, or pen awards. also see if they promote their writers’ successes elsewhere, like when they get a book deal.

check to see how many followers they have on twitter and/or instagram. figure out what their reach is.

check to see if they’re affiliated with a university. if they are, keep in mind that their editorial staff will rotate every semester or year, and so will their aesthetic interests. find out of it’s run by the english department or if it’s an undergrad journal. if it’s an undergrad journal they may only accept undergrad writing. most of the time journals are run by grad students

if they’re not affiliated with a university, check to see how many issues they’ve published. fewer issues, bigger risk they’re not a journal that will keep afloat and they maybe don’t have their shit together yet. lit mags are like podcasts: everyone wants to start one; very few people make it into anything meaningful. (conversely, the bigger the risk, the bigger the potential reward. a newer mag could skyrocket, and you along with it)

see who else a magazine has published. look for names you recognize. my first publication once published mary ruefle, and i’m fucken feral for mary ruefle. my ego lifted into space after being published somewhere that she had also been published.

lastly, publication is about finding the right fit and forming relationships. a smaller mag that will value you and support you for your entire career, that is thrilled to have your work, is far more important than getting into a bigger mag that has no personal engagement or investment in you. my first publication, the editor sent me a hand-written letter about how much he loved my story. he nominated me for an award. my third publication was similar. the editor based the cover art on my story and also nominated my work for an award.

to answer your other questions: you will never have to juggle acceptances. when you receive an acceptance, you have to withdraw your outstanding submissions. when you publish, you usually sign a publication agreement for what’s called first serial rights, which means that the publication owns the rights to your story for 1 year, after which you can publish your work wherever else you want. most publications don’t accept work that’s been previously published, though.

you will need a cover letter. here is what your cover letter should look like:

Dear [Editor (yes you have to look up the editor’s name)],

Enclosed is my fiction submission, “Story Title.” Thank you for considering it for publication in [Journal]. [put your author bio here. here’s mine, and you can drag and drop your info: I received my MFA from Miami University in Ohio, where I am currently a creative writing and composition instructor. My fiction has appeared in Quarter After Eight, Midwestern Gothic, and Rivet Journal. I am a recipient of the 2018 Jordan-Goodman Prize in Fiction, and I was nominated for the 2019 PEN/Robert J. Dau Short Story Prize for Emerging Writers and 2020 Pushcart Prize. My work has been supported by the Sundress Academy for the Arts, Kimmel Harding Nelson Center for the Arts, and Hambidge Center residences, as well as the Tin House Workshop and New York State Summer Writers Institute.]

This is a simultaneous submission. I will withdraw the piece immediately if it is accepted elsewhere. I look forward to hearing from you. Best, [Your name]

i don’t know why they say they want a cover letter when 1) nobody reads them, and 2) they don’t actually say anything. i’m assuming it’s just to see that you know how to submit to journals? anyway, unless explicitly asked, don’t talk about your submission at all. the work should speak for itself.

here are some other things:

journals take around 3 to 6 months to reply to you, sometimes upward a year or more. do not follow up with them asking about your submission until it’s far past the window they say they’ll reply, and even then, i don’t recommend it

you will be rejected. repeatedly. i know writers who submit a piece upwards a hundred times before giving up on it. i give up/do major revisions after 20 rejections for a given story

submit in batches of 10 at a time and keep a detailed tracking sheet

the longer you’re waiting to hear back, the further you get in the process. if a journal rejects you after a year, it probably means an editor fought for your story and lost

treat any personal note/correspondence from an editor, even critical, as a gift. editors do not often give their attention. be sure to reply to personal correspondence

if a journal rejects you but welcomes you to submit again, submit a different piece and do it quickly, with a note that says they liked something else you sent them

if you get accepted to a journal that wants you to make major revisions that you don’t want to make, don’t be afraid to pull the piece. i’ve been in this situation twice: once where i refused to make the revisions because i felt they altered the heart of the story, and once where i made them because i could understand where the editor was coming from, even if i didn’t like it as well. that said, usually journals won’t be willing to work with you on a story that needs major edits; they’ll just reject the story, even if they see promise in it

okay that’s all i’ve got. i hope this helps, and happy submitting!

#writing advice #pardon any typos #i wrote this very fast and didn't read through it #hideyseek

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prettyboybarzal · 4 years

Text

i like us like this // jamie benn x reader

summary: jamie benn is the worst blind date you’ve ever been on, and yet he somehow manages to redeem himself.

word count: 5k

author’s note: please enjoy!! (kinda got writers block in the middle of this and had to power through so i hope it’s still as good as i wanted it to be🥴) as always i would love some feedback <3333

“I want to set you up on a blind date,” Gab said, settling down onto the couch with you. Your groan and the exasperated sigh of her boyfriend, Tyler, in the kitchen sounded simultaneously. “Enough of that,” she grumbled, “and that.” She pointed a warning finger at Tyler. “Let me set you up, pleeeeease.”

“Gab, I’m going to be honest,” you sighed. “I don’t think I’m ready.”

“But how do you know?” she asked. “It’s been over a month.”

“It’s been a month and three days,” you argued. “That’s hardly over a month.”

Gab grunted, turning her back to pout in the direction of the television.

The room went silent again as Tyler settled onto the couch beside Gab and tugged her under his arm. You enjoyed the few minutes of silence as the movie she threw on started. You knew that it wouldn’t last long. Gab didn’t go down without a fight, so you were just waiting for her to start pushing for the date again.

It took all of twenty minutes.

“One date,” Gab pushed. Tyler laughed. “It’s with Ty’s best friend, too!”

You looked at her, then over at Tyler. He shrugged.

“Fine.”

If Tyler was friends with this guy, he was probably okay.

The plans were made for the following Friday night. Jamie texted you to confirm that picking you up around 5 would work, which you agreed to, and then he sent the restaurant’s website. That’s when you started freaking out.

“Gab, I do not belong at a restaurant like this!” you yelled as you stormed across the apartment and into her room. She was already smiling when you entered the room. “It’s a five-star restaurant. I eat in our university’s dining hall when I want to eat out! I don’t have clothes for this!”

“Sure, you do,” Gab said. She stood up and tugged you back to your bedroom. As she sifted through the closet, you watched in dismay. It took her all of five minutes to locate the slip dress she was in search of. A little red thing that you’d worn during undergrad once to a date party with your ex.

“The odds of me fitting into that are slim,” you mumbled. Gab rolled her eyes, throwing the garment at you anyway. She tossed herself onto the bed and motioned for you to put it on. And, once the dress was on, you were proved wrong.

“You look hot.”

“I do,” you admitted, staring at yourself in the mirror. Gab laughed. “Time check?”

“You have an hour.”

Jamie showed up right on time with a knock at your front door. He was wearing a white button up with the sleeves rolled to his elbows, and your eyes immediately found their way to the definition of his muscles and the tattoos on his skin. He was handsome. Certainly your type in the way of looks. You made a mental note to tell Gab she definitely knew your taste in men.

“Nice to meet you, YN,” he said as he leaned in to place a kiss to your cheek. His hand rested against your hip, and you tried not to think about how large he was compared to you. “You ready to go?”

“Yeah, I’m starving.”

Jamie offered one more smile before taking your hand in his and leading you out of the building to his car. You took one peek at the way his hand engulfed yours and decided that unless his personality really sucked, you just might invite him in for a night cap at the end of the night.

The restaurant was incredible. Each table had a pristine white tablecloth across it with candles beside a small arrangement of flowers. Jamie pulled out your chair as soon as you got to the table and, when the waitress came over for drink orders, he ordered the most expensive red wine on the menu.

The date started out great. But, as soon as the food came out, the conversation fell flat.

He asked about school, prompting you to explain your graduate degree program in a total of fifteen minutes. So, naturally, you asked about his career. What you weren’t expecting was the rant that came after.

At the mention of the upcoming season, Jamie’s shoulders seemed to tense up and you couldn’t quite understand why. And, after he grumbled about how frustrated he’s been with the preseason games and practices, he tried his best to move on and talk about something else. It just didn’t happen.

Jamie felt horrible. He hadn’t meant to let it all out like that, but he’d been so busy preparing for the season that he couldn’t think about much else, despite the beautiful woman across from him. He wasn’t an idiot. He caught on to your non-verbal cues that this wasn’t going quite as well as expected. He knew he wasn’t going to get a second date, and he was never going to hear the end of it from Tyler and Gab.

After dinner, Jamie dropped you off at your apartment. He got out of the car, swinging your door open for you in an attempt to salvage the disaster of a date you’d just been on. You smiled at him and fell right into step as you walked up to the building.

“Can we be honest with each other?” You had come to a full stop in front of the building. He nodded at your question, brown eyes studying your face as he waited for you to speak again. “I think you’re really great, and we get along well. But, I don’t think this could work right now.”

Jamie let out a soft tuft of breath and said, “Agreed.”

You had to resist the urge to roll your eyes. Was he always this short and terse? Did he have a personality outside of his career? It was getting harder and harder to understand why Gab would set you up with this guy.

“Okay, well,” you murmured. “It was nice meeting you, Jamie. Thank you so much for dinner.”

“It was no problem,” Jamie answered. He nodded towards your apartment building. “You sure you don’t want me to walk you up?”

“Yeah, I’ll be okay.”

Jamie nodded, a faint smile gracing his lips only for a moment, before he turned away and began the walk back to his car. You turned your back as well and began to mentally prepare for the onslaught of questions from Gab.

“How’d it go?” she asked as soon as you walked through the door. “Will there be a second date?”

“No,” you answered, dropping your sweater over the hook near the door. Gab pouted, looking upset with herself for not picking a better match. You reached out and tugged her into a hug. “It was an okay date, but we both agreed that it just won’t work.”

“What is it? Was he mean to you?” she asked, eyes wide. “Tyler said sometimes he can get a little bitchy.”

“No, it wasn’t that,” you responded, giggly at the thought of Tyler calling his captain ‘bitchy’. “I don’t know, Gab. He just seemed a little on the edge, cranky, serious. He talked about hockey the entire time, which is fine but he just sounded miserable. Also, I didn’t laugh… At all.”

“Seriously?” she asked. She seemed surprised, which shocked you. “I really thought he’d be a good match because his sense of humor is a bit like yours.”

“He really had me in the first half,” you admitted. “Like, Gab, he’s cute as hell. But, the conversation was a downer.”

“Yikes.” That voice didn’t belong to Gab. It belonged to Tyler who had just rounded the corner from Gab’s bedroom. He leaned up against the wall, arms crossed in front of him, and said, “Chubbs is never gonna live this one down.”

“Tyler, if you say one word to him of what I said,” you began. “I’ll kill you.” He laughed. “I know which shampoo and conditioner bottles are yours in the shower. Don’t tempt me.”

Tyler put his hands up in defeat.

“You have my word.”

You saw Jamie a few more times after that date, and each time you exchanged nothing more than ‘hello’, ‘goodbye’, and some polite conversation in between. You were thankful that the date didn’t create an awkward tension between the two of you, and you were super thankful Tyler had kept his promise to keep his mouth shut.

About a week before their season officially began, Tyler planned a party at his house. One last hoorah before the season started to get really busy for him and the boys. You went along with Gab, as usual, excited to see some of the girls you’d gotten to know through her and Tyler.

Tyler’s house was almost filled to capacity, and you’d lost Gab hours ago to the dancefloor or Tyler’s bedroom. It didn’t really matter. You were about three drinks in and feeling yourself.

You slipped into the kitchen to make your fourth drink a little after eleven. It was empty, which was surprising, but you didn’t question it and immediately went in for the liquor. You were pouring a vodka Sprite for yourself, with a heavy hand on the liquor when Jamie’s voice spoke up from the entrance.

“I heard you don’t think I’m funny.”

You spun on your heel, nearly knocking the Vodka over behind you as you did so.

“I told Tyler no to say anything,” you grumbled. Jamie raised an eyebrow at you as he settled into a stool at the kitchen counter. “If he shows up to practice bald next week, don’t be surprised.”

“Actually, Gab told me.”

“What?” you asked. “Why did she tell you I said that?”

“She yelled at me,” he said. “Told me that I fucked up.”

“Jesus.”

“S’okay,” he murmured. He walked over to where you were standing, and grabbed a cup from beside you. “I think maybe I did. I spent way too much of that date talking about myself.” Your cheeks warmed at his admission, and the tension seemed to roll off his shoulders. Suddenly, he was grinning from ear-to-ear. “What are you drinking?”

“Vodka Sprite,” you answered, turning to face the drinks with him. He nodded, eyes scanning the counter filled with liquor. He grabbed the Vodka, then the Sprite with a satisfied smirk. You laughed. “Copycat.”

“Where’ve you been all night?” he asked. “I saw Gab a while ago before her and Ty slipped down the hallway, but I haven’t seen you.”

“I was with Roope for a while,” you answered, eyes glancing toward the doorway. Jamie put the Vodka down and glanced at you with a raised brow. You returned his gaze.

“He’s a little young for you, no?” he asked. You stared at him, blank faced and shocked that he’d said that. And then he grinned. “I’m kidding!”

“Oh! He can joke!”

“Here we go,” he mumbled. He finished up his drink and took a sip from it. He leaned his hip against the counter, jabbing a finger in your direction. “I’ll have you know that I’m actually very funny. I think I was just having an off night.”

“Well, then, how’s tonight looking for you?”

“Good, I think,” Jamie answered. He looked down at you with a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Why don’t you hang around me and find out?”

For some reason, you chose to do as he asked. You spent the night by his side, being tugged from the beer pong table to the living room couch, back to the beer pong table. And, much to your surprise, Jamie was making you belly laugh almost the entire time. He seemed looser, happier that night. The weight of prepping for the season had finally been pushed aside, and he was ready to start the season off on a good foot.

Maybe Gab was right about setting the two of you up.

A little after midnight, you stepped out onto the porch with a water bottle in hand. The sliding glass door opened behind you and Jamie stepped out to join. He walked over to where you stood by the railing and leaned his back against it. He turned his face to the stars.

“I like you like this,” you murmured. Jamie looked back at you, his facial expression unreadable for only a moment before a smirk split his face. “You’re a lot more relaxed. Some might even go as far as saying you’re kinda funny.”

“Thank you,” he said with a laugh. You giggled, looking back out at Tyler’s backyard. Jamie turned as well, bumping your shoulder as he did so. “I’m sorry about our date, by the way.”

“Oh, it’s fine,” you murmured. He shook his head.

“It’s really not, YN,” he urged. “I was a complete dick. I couldn’t put my stress away long enough to get to know you, and I was mad at myself for days after.”

“Mad at yourself?”

“So mad,” he repeated. You laughed, dropping your face into your hands to stop him from seeing your blush. He kept talking. “You looked so good in that red dress. And you were so sweet, and funny. And, oh my God, I couldn’t get over how cute you looked when you were admiring the restaurant.”

“I don’t go to five-star restaurants often!” you exclaimed. Jamie barked out a laugh. “It was such a nice restaurant.”

“Yeah, it’s my favorite,” he murmured. He took another sip of his drink. “Did you like the wine, though?”

“Yeah, Jamie,” you answered. “I loved that wine.”

You stood out on the deck with him for a little longer, chatting about everything but hockey. He asked you questions about your degree and your family and how you ended up living with Gab. He told dumb stories about Tyler that made tears come out of your eyes.

“I like your laugh,” Jamie whispered after you managed to stop laughing. You looked up at him, heart pounding in your chest, and smirked.

“Yeah, I bet you like it now that you’re the reason for it.”

“Hey!” he exclaimed. And then you were laughing again, and he made a promise to himself to keep getting you to laugh like that. “Would this Jamie get a second date?”

“I mean, he could definitely try,” you said, playful smile still on your lips.

“What are you doing this Tuesday?”

And, so, you went on a second date with Jamie. And then a third, and a fourth.

Each date was a date. Like, dinner reservations at fancy Dallas restaurants that you’d never even batted an eye at on your graduate student budget. Jamie remembered what you said about how you’d never been to a five-star restaurant, and he decided to make that a thing of the past. Gone were the Netflix dates you used to have with your ex. Jamie made sure to treat you right.

But he was also taking things way too slow.

He kissed you goodnight after your second date, and then both hello and goodbye on the third.

It wasn’t until the fourth date, and an entire bottle of wine, that you got that goodbye make out. In your past experiences, it never took this long to get a guy in bed. And, yet, Jamie hadn’t even tried.

So, on your fifth date and after about three weeks of talking every day, you had to ask.

“You’re not seeing anyone else, right?” you asked, coming to a stop three steps away from your front door. The question had been at the forefront of your mind all night. Maybe he wasn’t sleeping with you because he was getting it somewhere else.

“No,” he answered. His eyebrows drew together in concern as he thought over your question. And then his eyes widened. “Are you seeing anyone else?”

“No!”

Jamie smiled and reached out to tug you into him. His arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you up against his chest. His free hand wrapped around the back of your neck and pulled your lips to his. Just before kissing you, he murmured against your lips, “Good.”

You reveled in the feeling of his fingers when they laced through the hair at the back of your neck and the way his other hand slid down the curve of your ass without a care for who could see. And, when he sucked on your lower lip, Jamie nearly lost it at the soft moan that fell from your lips.

He swore he would have kept kissing you in that hallway for hours, not a care in the world. And you felt the same.

When you finally pulled away, mostly for a breath of fresh air, you leaned your forehead against his with a sigh. Jamie chuckled, tilting his head to place a kiss against your cheek.

“Remember when you didn’t want to go on another date with me?” he asked, pulling away completely. You nodded, the redness of your cheeks giving away your embarrassment about not seeing what was right in front of you that night. He took your hand in his and walked toward your apartment door.

“Don’t get too comfortable, Benn,” you warned teasingly. “My midterm exams are coming up. I’m about to be swamped, so our next date might have to wait.”

“We don’t have to do dinner, you know,” he said, leaning against the wall beside your door. “If you’re grabbing coffee and studying somewhere, I’d come by to see you for a little impromptu date.”

You eyed him skeptically, doubting that it was something he’d want to do. In your eyes, Jamie was still too good to be true, and he was a professional athlete. Once he saw you in your natural, stressed out student habitat, the glimmer was going to fade. You had yourself convinced.

“Maybe,” you said before leaning forward and kissing him goodnight. “I’ll talk to you soon.”

It took all of one week for you to cave. You spoke to Jamie almost every day, and even that wasn’t enough. You wanted him near you, close, and he wanted the same. He made it known every single day. So, you caved. You invited him to meet you at the Starbucks around the block from your apartment building with one rule. He couldn’t distract you while you studied.

That morning, you shuffled around your room looking for something that was comfortable enough for studying but also cute enough to impress the new man in your life. But, you were quickly reminded that you haven’t had to impress any guys in a while. Damn long-term relationships.

You ended up throwing on joggers and an over-sized t-shirt with a pair of slip-on Vans before slipping out your apartment door with your backpack.

Studying started out okay, but you could feel Jamie watching you from the opposite side of the booth. You wished you could read his mind, figure out what he was looking at you for. Did he think you looked too much like a bum? What did he think of your glasses? They weren’t exactly trendy anymore.

You were trying your best to ignore him, and the questions in your head, despite the overwhelming desire to lean over and kiss his smirk off his face. But, when you saw him reach across the booth and felt him tug the earbud from your ear, you knew your concentration was going to go down the drain.

“What?”

“I like you like this,” Jamie said. Your heart skipped a beat, and then you remembered saying those words to him just a month prior. Your cheeks turned a light pink beneath his gaze.

“You like me like this?” you asked, motioning to the lazy day outfit you were in. “Stressed out?”

“No, not stressed out,” he answered with a chuckle. “You look good, even if you are stressed.”

“Jamie, I haven’t showered in two days,” you admitted. He barked out a laugh. “Dry shampoo is my best friend.”

“That’s what that smell is?” he teased. You ripped a piece of paper out of your notebook to crumple it up and throw at him. He shifted out of its way. “I’m kidding, YN.”

“I know,” you mumbled. You redirected your attention to the textbook in front of you, and began reading again. Jamie stayed for another forty minutes, alternating between reading his book and watching you.

He did really like the way you looked sitting across from him in that coffee shop. He liked that you weren’t as put together as he usually saw you, and to him it meant you finally had your guard down. He liked the way your hair was gathered in a bun on top of your head and he thought you looked cute as hell in those glasses that sat on the bridge of your nose.

He might’ve even said he liked this look more than those slip dresses and heels you wore out to dinner. But, then again, those were sexy as hell too.

Jamie was beginning to wonder if he’d ever find a side to you that he didn’t like.

When it hit noon, he decided it was time to go and grabbed your hand from where it rested on your books. You looked up at him, tugging one of your earbuds out as you did.

“I’m leaving,” he said. You couldn’t stop yourself from pouting in response. He let out a soft groan and leaned forward to place a kiss against that pout. When he pulled away, he stood to leave, grabbing his things with him. “When you’re done with these exams, we’re going to celebrate.”

“96!” you exclaimed into the phone as you fell back onto your bed. “I got a 96 on my last midterm exam.”

“That’s awesome, babe,” Jamie murmured into the phone. “And right on time, too.”

It had been a week and a half since the last time you saw Jamie at the coffee shop. Between your midterm schedule and his game schedule, time didn’t allow for date nights. You kept each other off the ledge through texts and quick phone calls, chatting about the plans you wanted to make when your schedules freed up again.

Jamie promised to celebrate as soon as your exams were done, and he pulled through. He’d planned for everyone to come by his place that Friday night. The fact that your last grade came back before the pregame began made his plans just a little bit sweeter.

He picked you up not long after your phone call, and brought you back to his place where some of your friends were already waiting. Gab and Tyler showed up not too long after your arrival and the pregame was in full swing.

After making your rounds, you found Jamie in the kitchen. He was pouring himself another drink when you approached, wrapping your arms around his waist to pull his back into your chest. He chuckled softly.

“You know you didn’t have to get everyone together for this occasion, right?” you asked. Jamie nodded as he turned to face you. “Like, it was just my midterms. The semester isn’t even close to over.”

He reached up to cup your cheeks, and leaned in to place a kiss against your lips. When he pulled away, he said, “Doesn’t matter to me. I’ll celebrate you like this during finals, too.”

Your heart fluttered at his tone of voice, and the way he was looking at you. You felt like the only girl in the world with the party in the other room was momentarily forgotten.

About an hour later, you were in the VIP section of a club and wrapped up in Jamie’s arms, literally. He went all out, as usual. You were quick to tell him he didn’t need to do things like this, and he was quick to kiss you quiet.

“I want to do these things for you,” he murmured against your lips as he walked you backwards towards the dancefloor. He spun you in his arms, and you happily pressed your back against him as you danced to the music blasting from the DJ booth.

This was the closest you’d ever been, save for the few make-outs in his car after dinner but even then, the center console was always in the way. Right then, there was nothing preventing Jamie from touching you, holding you close. Except maybe all the people in the club, and that damn dress you were wearing. He wanted it off.

His fingers slid down your thigh, brushing along the hem of your dress, and you were putty in his hands. You turned, taking his chin in your hand to pull him in. You kissed him like you were the only people in the club, even with Tyler and Gab’s hollering beside you.

You hardly made it back to your apartment that night. You were both so giggly drunk when you stumbled into the cab. As soon as the cab’s door closed to the outside world, Jamie’s hands were all over you. He tugged your legs over his lap and pulled you close to kiss you, one hand resting between your thighs just above your knees.

His touch lit your skin on fire.

You made out the entire way home, the entire way up the elevator, only stopping when you had to open the door to your apartment. Even then, Jamie’s hands rested on your stomach and his lips pressed up against your neck and your shoulders, any inch of skin it could touch.

“I’m proud of you,” he murmured against the shell of your ear. You sighed happily, turning the key in the door’s lock and pushing the door open. “Even if it was just midterms.”

You laughed at the way he mimicked your voice, then slipped out of his grip. Your heart was pounding from nerves and excitement. This moment felt all too real. You’d been wanting to go farther, wanted him in bed the first night you met him. But now, right as it was about to happen, you were a bundle of nerves.

“You hungry?”

“Little bit,” he answered, following you into the kitchen. He leaned up against the counter as you sifted through the frozen foods you’d stocked up on for drunken nights like these. “The team nutritionist is going to hate me this season after spending all this time with you.”

“Well, then, you should stock my fridge up with healthy things then,” you stated. Jamie chuckled and took a step forward to wrap his arms around your waist. Your search for late-night snacks was momentarily forgotten as he brushed the hair from your neck and placed a kiss against your skin.

“Why don’t we,” he started. He kissed the space just below your ear before continuing, “just look for snacks later?”

You turned in his arms, dropping your own arms around his shoulders. He smiled down at you as his eyes studied every bit of your face. You sighed softly, lifting one hand to run through his hair.

“I like you,” you whispered. He grinned. “A lot.”

“I’m crazy about you,” he responded. Jamie picked you up, and your legs wrapped around his waist immediately. He asked again, “Snacks later?”

“Sure.”

Jamie carried you to your bedroom, dropping you onto the mattress with a laugh before his lips were back on yours and his hands were sliding up your thighs. Your dress was gone in seconds, and then you helped him out of his own clothes.

Jamie took his time, admired every bit of your body. He didn’t want to forget any of this moment. He was crazy about you, every piece of you, and he was thanking his lucky stars that you agreed to go on a second date with him after the dumpster fire of a first one.

“I like us like this,” you whispered into his ear a few minutes after you finished. Jamie’s lips ghosted the skin of your collarbone as he peppered kisses along your skin to your shoulder. He looked up at you, brushing the hair out of your face before placing a kiss against your lips.

“God, me too,” he sighed. “I really like us like this.”

You burst out giggling as you laced your fingers in his hair, and Jamie watched you. He was completely enamored with you, everything about you. And then he started laughing with you because who wouldn’t?

“Do you want a snack now?”

“Did I not just have one?” he asked, glancing down at your naked body still pressed up against him. You laughed.

“That was awful,” you told him through giggles. Jamie chuckled, nuzzling his face into your neck as you continued to make fun of him. “I’m not just a snack. I’m a damn meal, Jamie Benn.”

“Don’t I know it!” Jamie exclaimed, rolling onto his back. You laughed. “Alright, let’s get snacks.”

“Okay, okay,” you mumbled. You stood up and grabbed his shirt, throwing it on like a dress. “I’m going to the bathroom. I’ll meet you in the kitchen.”

Jamie was sitting on the counter with two pints of ice cream in his hands, waiting for you. You nudged yourself between his legs, sighing happily when he handed one of the pints to you. The apartment was silent and Jamie had wrapped his legs around your body to keep you close to him.

After a few minutes, Jamie spoke up, “I like us like this, too.” You smiled up at him. “Just for the record.”

“Me too,” you agreed. He leaned down and pressed a kiss against your lips. “I like us all the time.”

#jamie benn fic #hockey imagine #mk writes #jamie benn #jamie benn imagine #dallas stars imagine

361 notes · View notes

withkun · 4 years

Text

volcanic | wong lucas

word count: 4.5k

pairing: female graduate student! reader x fratboy! lucas

genre: enemies to lovers au

warnings: smut, swearing, alcohol

a/n: yesterday i had a dream about going on a date with lucas so you can thank @god for inspiring this mess. also the last person i slept with was a trump supporter and kinda inspired the relationship... i have regrets.

You hated admitting it to yourself, but you were instantly drawn to Lucas when he first entered the ballroom. Along with his trademark dashing smile, he disregarded the dress code and opted for a formal, black-tie suit. If you hadn’t known better, you would have guessed he was a famous actor or a prince out of a fairy tale. Of course, his entrance garnered everyone’s attention as well. Whispers and quiet giggles began to flood the room.

Flustered, you tore yourself away from him and reached for a small flask buried at the bottom of your purse. Emergency vodka could go a long way on nights like these.

“A bit early, don’t you think?” a smug voice arose.

You gritted your teeth and brought the flask to your lips, then ignored the burning sensation slipping down your throat. “Not at all,” you murmured, your voice almost a growl.

Without prompt, Lucas pulled the flask from your hands and helped himself to a sip. “Svedka,” he complained. “Definitely too early for that.”

You watched him down the remainder of the liquor, your anger beginning to boil. “Don’t you have to prepare yourself for the pageant?”

He eyed you, seemingly finding amusement in your fury. “I am,” Lucas assured you. “I’m actually campaigning right now.”

“I’m not voting for you,” you told him, a self-satisfied grin replacing your scowl.

Unphased, Lucas offered you a wink. “We’ll see,” he said in a sing-song voice, then left you to your devices and an empty flask.

Before you could chase after him and demand replacement vodka, your student organization beckoned you to their table. Begrudgingly, you slumped over and plopped into your chair. Your table consisted of the other members of the executive board, being Taeyong, Johnny, Taeil, Yuta, Jaehyun, and Doyoung. “I will pay everyone at this table fifty dollars to not vote for Lucas,” you muttered, half-serious with a glance to Taeyong. “Back me up Mr. Club President.”

Taeyong widened his eyes, putting his hands up in mock surrender. “We’re just here as a courtesy,” he laughed awkwardly. “Try not to stir any trouble.”

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes, with the knowledge that he was right. The APIDA Graduate Student Organization rarely involved itself in any undergraduate matters, but sometimes aligned with their APIDA counterparts for events like this especially seeing as most of their members once were a part of those groups. Arguably, the Mr. Asia pageant was the most important conglomerate event of the year. Each Asian, Pacific Islander, and Desi undergrad student org sent one representative each year to compete for the title of Mr. Asia. The representatives would prepare a talent portion, then partake in a question and answer session. Other attendees would dress to the nines, often seeing the event as an opportunity to flex. Most, however, did not flex to Lucas’ extent. They were also served a meal to be shared with other club members. After, attendees would cast their votes and crown that year’s Mr. Asia.

“No,” you deadpanned, already rummaging through Johnny’s backpack. “Unless maybe you keep me drunk this entire evening. Then I might consider.”

Of course, you knew it was only a matter of time until Lucas ran with his fraternity, Pi Delta Psi, or PDPsi for short. You were hoping you’d graduate before that happened. And yet, in your sixth year at the university you found yourself subjected to the terrors of frat boy Lucas gloating more than usual.

Johnny offered you his coke upon seeing your distress, and you were not surprised to taste an exuberant amount of rum. You wrinkled your face, but still refused to return the mixed drink. Johnny and Jaehyun shared a laugh as you downed the drink. “If I make you another drink will you forgive us for voting for Lucas,” Johnny inquired, his bottom lip pouted.

Meanwhile, Taeil passed his water bottle to you. An inauspicious clear liquid to the untrained eye, but you knew better. You looked positively giddy pouring yourself a glass of lemonade followed with a solid two shots worth of Taeil’s vodka. “You rich boy,” you accused jokingly. “Out here with Tito’s.” With a grateful smile, you offered, “But you are officially my favorite and hereby ‘best boy.’”

Yuta snatched the bottle and poured some in his water before Jaehyun could get his grimy hands on it. “Petition to all vote for Mark Lee,” he said, prompting the club for a cheers.

Your fellow members clinked glasses just as the lights began to dim. With a relaxed sigh, you whispered, “Hear, hear!” At least the booze hit before you had to see Lucas parade around on stage.

The event went as it did each year, Lucas taunting you with knowing smirks occurring as it always did. This time, you had to endure it with him from the spotlight. You made it a game to send him goofy, tipsy expressions that were often accompanied by finger guns and hearts in hopes of throwing him off. Lucas, unbothered, continued with his act. His confidence only seemed to grow.

However, you had not anticipated Lucas’ performance in the talent show. The performance began slowly as Lucas executed a graceful traditional Chinese dance. The music suddenly changed tempo, and your jaw practically dropped to the table when he ripped off his shirt. You knew he was ripped, but you couldn’t help but be mesmerized by his sculpted body. Your increasingly drunk mind went forbidden places before you snapped out of it.

Your friends noticed your cheeks burning red and stifled laughter as Lucas closed his performance. You felt his eyes on your back, your head buried in your hands.

“Oooooh,” Jaehyun teased, “He’s looking at you.”

Although a few seats away, you managed to land a solid knee kick that elicited a sharp yelp from the boy. “He’s not,” you said defensively.

Even Taeyong let out a quiet laugh. “You’ve been flirting for years…”

“You think that excessively hating each other is flirting?” you inquired incredulously.

The boys exchanged looks and knowing smiles, a familiar ritual that occurred each time you and Lucas interacted.

Frustrated, you rose from your seat and made even strides to the restroom. You looked at yourself in the mirror, cheeks still ablaze from embarrassment. To your gratitude, you still looked fairly sober otherwise.

You almost jumped when you heard a couple knocks on the restroom door. “Occupied,” you called out.

The handle twisted to reveal a sweaty Lucas, peeking curiously through the crack. “Is it just you?”

“Yes,” your answered with a bitter tone. “What can I help you with in this esteemed ladies’ restroom?”

“Hold out your hands,” he ordered.

You obliged but raised your eyebrows in confusion. Lucas carefully placed a Pepcid capsule in hand, a bottle of water in the other. “What?”

Lucas shrugged. “I get Asian glow really bad too,” he replied, “unless if there’s another reason your cheeks are read.

Overzealous, you swallowed the pill and downed the entire bottle of water. “We both know it’s Asian glow,” you said defensively.

“You’re welcome!” Lucas said, already half out the door.

And once more, he left you stunned and silent.

In your purse, your phone began to buzz with frantic messages from the boys. Jaehyun made fun of you for already breaking the seal, while Taeyong demanded that you respond before he calls an ambulance for alcohol poisoning. A third unknown number accompanied the texts with an invite to the PDPsi after party that night.

You returned to your table to find that the pageant had already moved into the question and answer portion. Mark Lee excitedly described his plans to bring more of the university clubs together for common causes. That meant Lucas was on deck.

Thankfully, the Pepcid worked some of its magic and brought your cheeks back to a normal color. You almost felt sober again. Still, Lucas’ actions muddled your mind.

With a polite bow, Lucas concluded his session and prompted the closing of the pageant.

Lucas took the stage and elicited quite a few cheers. His frat brothers startled the room as they let out a deep chant in support. Graciously, Lucas approached the microphone and once more glanced in your direction. Without expression, you offered him a thumbs up which he appeared to appreciate.

He surprised you once more with his articulate and thought out answers before you remembered his background. His father, an industrious and well-known businessman in Eastern Asia, likely prepared him for moments like this. Lucas may have been an untouchable playboy, but he was also poised to become a part of his father’s company. Still, you felt a certain genuity to his words despite that.

You turned your attention to your cell phone and took in the options. As your thumb hovered over Mark Lee’s name, you could not stop your eyes from wandering to Lucas’. Biting your lip, you hesitantly selected Lucas.

Within a few moments, the results were in and the MCs called the contestants to the stage. You refused to look at Lucas, instead focusing intently on your restless hands.

You expected to hear Lucas’ name, but instead heard Mark Lee announced as 2020’s Mr. Asia.

Following the applause, the MCs bid everyone a good night. Johnny addressed the table, “We’re all going to PDPsi’s after party, right?”

Looking over your shoulder, you saw Lucas clowning around with his frat brothers, then turned back to your friends. “Do we have to?”

“Absolutely,” Doyoung responded, eliciting flabbergasted responses from the table.

They all stared at you expectantly, knowing that you were cornered. If Doyoung wanted to party, an event none of them would have ever predicted, then you would have to see that through. “Fuck y’all,” you grunted.

A couple hours later, you arrived as a group at the notorious PDPsi frat house with a few handles. You hadn’t changed your outfit, but the boys ensured that you at least let your hair down from your high ponytail and touch up your makeup. They convinced themselves that the night was finally upon them, the night where you and Lucas would finally hook up. Despite their protests, you looked essentially the same. You wore mostly light makeup, but maybe got overzealous applying highlighter. You adorned the same black neck top tucked into a short argyle skirt, but with different shoes. The boys made you wear your “slut shoes,” which were basically just a pair of thigh-high suede black boots. In your hasty attempt to get ready, you barely had time to drink.

The party already was in full swing, and you could easily hear the music from a couple houses down. Beer cans and empty white claws littered the front lawn. A few people played beer pong on the front deck, but they had only filled the cups with water. The boys paired off amongst themselves in preparation for the drinking game, leaving you without a partner. Just as you began to complain, Lucas appeared at your side. “Hey, Y/N, I’m claiming you as my beer pong partner. Oh, and we’re next.”

Lucas practically dragged you away. “I’m terrible at beer pong,” you attempted to dissuade him.

Indifferent, Lucas made the first shot and gave your team the advantage of going first. “Here, I’m better at going second.” He pushed the ping pong ball in your hand.

You considered your options for a second. “You’re lucky I hate losing more than I hate you.” With that sentiment, you watched your ball splash into the back-right cup.

He grinned. “I knew it.”

Despite being a frat boy, AKA master of all party games, Lucas did not have a consistent shot. Still, you fended off the opposing team until you were down to the last cup. Two consecutive shots in and they would win. “Let’s make this interesting,” you offered. “If you miss your shot, you have to do whatever I want.”

With a knowing a smile, Lucas agreed. “If I make it, then you have to do whatever I want.”

You nodded, your confidence swelling, then gleefully watched your ball land perfectly centered in the last cup. And to your horror, you watched Lucas do the same thing.

“Oh, humble winner,” you decreed sarcastically, “what it is that you seek?”

To no one’s surprise, Lucas replied, “I want you to kiss me.”

You saw it coming, but that didn’t mean you were any less disgruntled. In a classic, you-like fashion, you launched into a rant. “Seriously, Lucas?? You’re a robot set to fuck boy mode and I will not be a part of it- “

He took your arm and pulled you away from the deck, into an alleyway. “You lost the bet,” Lucas reminded you. “And all you have to do is uphold your part of the deal.” He gestured around the empty space. “No one will even see it.”

You caught your breath, still enraged. “I was just going to make you find a new beer pong partner if I won. And maybe take a shot.”

“I wish you’d stop denying that there’s something between us.”

Biting your lip, you couldn’t bring your eyes to his and left them trained on the pavement. You never denied that you felt attracted to him. Yet, you also despised him for how perfect everyone perceived him to be. You saw another frat boy when you looked at him, nothing special. “What is there between us,” you asked cautiously.

“You try a little too hard to hate me, don’t you think?” Lucas pulled your chin up to meet his gaze.

Damn it. Sometimes he was too good. With him watching you so closely, you knew you couldn’t lie. “And what game are you playing now?”

“I’m not playing any games,” Lucas answered with sincerity.

Your mind whirling, you pressed your lips against his only for a second. Just a quick peck, nothing more. “And there you have it, humble winner. I’ll be inside drinking myself into an oblivion.”

Lucas grabbed your wrist before you could run off and pulled you closer for another kiss. This one, longer and deeper than before. You couldn’t help but melt into it and wrap your arms around his neck. Soon his tongue danced softly with yours, and you knew you were in for it. He had you.

You pulled away, attempting to catch your breath and gather your thoughts, but Lucas attached his lips to your neck and made his way to your ear. He planted soft kisses along its shape, then lightly bit your ear lobe. His heavy breaths in your ear made a knot in your stomach tighten. “I can’t believe I voted for you,” you admitted, your inhibitions disappearing.

You felt him smile as he kissed your lips once again. “I voted for Mark,” he murmured.

For the first time, he had you laughing genuinely. “In what kind of world do I vote for you and you vote for Mark Lee?” With that, you pressed your body closer to his, close enough to feel a growing bulge grind against your core. Teasing, you drew your hips back and forth.

Lucas soon grew impatient, and growled in your ear, “You’re driving me crazy. We’re going to my bedroom.”

“Not until I say so.” You attached your lips to his again, continuing to rock your hips.

His breath hitched in his throat, and you knew you had the power. Seeming to catch himself, he grabbed your wrists and held them against the brick wall behind you. “I want you,” he said airily, “all of you.”

“Fine,” you agreed, accepting the stalemate. “But no one sees us.”

You snuck around to the back yard first, praying that no one would question her messy hair and how red her lips must have been. Thankfully, you only saw Doyoung who acknowledged your presence with a knowing nod. At least you knew he wouldn’t snitch... most likely.

You skimmed you hand across his book shelf, retrieving his copy of Kurt Vonnegut’s Cat’s Cradle. The pages were marred with messy annotations in Chinese and English, so many you could not understand.

Lucas directed you to the far left bedroom on the frat house’s second floor. You stepped over beer cans and finally made your way there. Inside, you were almost surprised with how tidy everything was. He was a fuck boy, but damned if he didn’t keep his room up to A

sian parent standards.

Behind you, you heard the door open and lock click. Lucas pushed you against the bookcase, causing you to drop the book. “I was reading,” you managed as his hands wandered up and down your body and stopping to cup your breasts.”Didn’t take you for a Vonnegut guy.”

He lifted you, bridal style and tossed you onto the bed with ease. “I’m not just a fuck boy,” Lucas said, climbing over you. “I also read books for class.”

“You’re depth is astounding,” you mocked playfully. “I didn’t know you actually do your assignments.”

In response, he lifted his henley shirt over his head and once more revealed his toned torso and upper body. “I’ve changed a lot since I was a freshman, I thought you paid more attention.”

Your eyes glinted mischievously. “Like when you banged half of the AKDPhi sorority girls two years ago.”

“Okay, that was exaggerated,” Lucas grinned, hooking his fingers the hem of your skirt. “I haven’t slept with anyone in a year.”

You pulled your shirt off, prompting Lucas to dispose of your skirt as well. You were left in just your nude bra and panties, and Lucas breathless. “I find that hard to believe,” you scoffed, your tone a bit softer. “Are you going to tell me you’re secretly a virgin as well?”

“I mean,” Lucas scratched his head, “I used to get around.”

You took his moment of weakness in stride, moving so that you were on top of him. You registered the surprise on his face and let out a laugh. “Do you forget that I’m older than you, maybe even more experienced?”

As you undid Lucas’ belt, your eyes met. Both full of hunger and desire. A part of you felt as if you were making a bad decision, becoming another name for him to add to his list. Even so, you didn’t care. You hadn’t felt so alive since you dated your first boyfriend. Everything felt like a rush then, every kiss and every glance. Losing your virginity hadn’t even felt as good as these playful moments together.

With Lucas’ help, you removed his jeans. Both you were similarly half naked, only undergarments shielding the rest of your bodies. In that moment, you finally saw your similarities. Thirsty for control over the way you were perceived, a love for power, and longing for each other. “What do you see in me?” you inquired.

“Someone who could easily kick my ass,” he replied, his tone light but entirely serious. “I can’t believe I managed to get you in my bed.”

You scoffed. “I chose to be here, and I’m the one who made you want it.”

Lucas conceded, leaning up to kiss you, “That’s true. I’ve never dated someone that gives me such a hard time.”

“We’re not dating,” you prompted. “I only hate you slightly less now.”

“You’re the most interesting person I ever met,” Lucas said woefully. “And what do you see in me?”

“A clown,” you answered without hesitation. “Boo-boo the fool, if you will.”

You didn’t stop his hands as the reached for your bra clasp and let it fall off your chest.

“But you’re also sweeter and more genuine than I thought you could be,” you granted. “Thank you for the Pepcid, by the way.”

And with that, you pulled down his boxer briefs. His already hard length popped out, You maintained eye contact as you ran your tongue along the shaft, closing your mouth at the tip. Once again, you continued this motion and began to suckle his testicles and flicker your tongue as your hand firmly stroked his dick. He lost himself, groaning and muttering, “Fuck,” under his breath.

You loved seeing him like this, completely bent to your will. Returning your attention to the tip, you ran your thumb gently across the slit before replacing it with your mouth. You bobbed your head along the length and urged yourself to take more and more. Lucas encouraged you, his fingers tangling in your hair and guiding your motions. With almost its entirety reaching the back of your throat, you gagged.

Honestly, you could’ve went on like this for hours, but Lucas roughly flipped you over and dragged his index finger over your panties. You shuddered as it ran over your clit, then down to the wet spot you left. “My turn.”

In a swift motion, Lucas slid the panties down your legs and threw them aside. Lucas stared at you for a moment, taking in the sight of your naked, waiting body. He wasted no time in pushing your legs back, fully exposing you, and planted butterfly kisses along your thighs. His flat tongue lapped from your entrance and up to your clit, then down again. The anticipation almost made you lose your mind. He closed his lips on your clit, tongue to circling the sensitive bud. You never realized how big his hands were until he slid a finger inside of you. The overwhelming sensation had you gasping, begging for more. And then he slid another finger alongside it, pumping rhythmically as his tongue continued to work on your clit.

You had slept with a few partners before, but none left you as unhinged as Lucas. The pleasure built, somehow rendering you more helpless to his whim, and its release almost had you screaming.

In your shock, you sat up and looked at Lucas with bewilderment. “No one has ever made me come before.” To your embarrassment, it was true. You either grew tired and faked it or they never even made an attempt.

With a devilish look in his eyes, he sucked the two fingers that had previously been inside you. “Maybe you should have given in sooner.”

“Oh, just shut the fuck up and fuck me already.”

He went to open his cabinet drawer beside his bed and searched for a condom. “Protection first.”

You laid back on the bed, still catching your breath. “I’m on the pill,” you confided. “As long as you don’t have the clap, we’ll be fine.”

“Good thing I only have chlamydia.” Lucas kissed you, the taste of your orgasm still on his lips, and positioned himself at your entrance.

His forehead rested on yours, eyes cast down to where your bodies met. Slowly, he thrusted inside you, eliciting your moans. He moved his hips delicately, making you feel every inch bury itself deeper. Instead of immediately jackhammering it in, Lucas took his sweet time and chose his own pace. He brought his lips to your nipple, suckling on it softly. You couldn’t believe his patience.

“I’m going on top,” you managed, pushing Lucas down where you had laid. Although already turned on, you wanted to see Lucas squirm the way he had you. You brought your folds over his cock, driving him just as mad as you predicted. When you finally allowed him back in, he attempted to thrust upward. You shut him down, resting your hands on his pecs. “And now I’m in control,” you gloated. You ground your hips and then slowly brought yourself up and down. “So I’m going to do what I want,” you whispered into his ear.

He looked up to you, an animal-like glare present in his eyes. “Don’t forget who made you come.”

You sped your pace, willfully doing all the work. This time, you wanted Lucas to know he couldn’t do anything but allow himself to be used. And he watched you losing yourself on top of him, never having been more turned on in his life.

As you slowed, he brought your chin down for a chaste kiss. A trick, you realized, but too late, he thrusted into you this time much faster. You felt the hints of another orgasm budding, and involuntarily tightened your walls. Lucas felt the shift, drawing himself out. “You’re not going to come until I want you too.”

Before you could protest, Lucas aligned his head below your womanhood and pulled you in closer. His hands attached to your hips, encouraging you to rock yourself on his tongue. “You’re really something,” you murmured, obliging to his whims.

He murmured against you, sending vibrations up your spine. Soon enough, he had you writhing in your orgasm all over again.

Still unfinished himself, he positioned you on your hands and knees. Lucas pushed himself inside you, then slapped your ass. “God, your body...”

You couldn’t support yourself as he vigorously fucked you, but allowed your hand to float to your clit. As Lucas increase his pace, you felt your breath hitch. His thrusts became sloppier, and you realized he was close as well. Unable to hold out longer, you came again. Lucas followed shortly after, coming onto your back as you laid there, nearly exhausted. He produced a towel and wiped the excess off.

Lucas fell next to you, out of breath, and nearly exhausted. “Wow,” he muttered.

You rose from the bed, still shaking and legs a bit sore. “I’ll be in the shower. You’re welcome to join me as long as there’s no hanky panky.”

“No promises,” Lucas smiled, slowly gathering himself. “I’ll meet you there in a moment.”

You, still naked, walked to Lucas’ bathroom with a sway in your step. Just to mess with him. He gave you a moment for yourself while you turned on the shower and stepped in. You felt as if you were in a different reality, being in Lucas’ bathroom and just having had sex with Lucas Wong. You wondered if the rest of your student organization would be surprised, but suspected that they wouldn’t. Maybe Doyoung would’ve have filled them in when you didn’t return to your shared apartment with Yuta.

Lucas came in soon after, still eyeing your body the way he was before. “You can stay the night if you want, maybe get breakfast tomorrow.”

You kneaded some shampoo into his hair, and repressed a smile. It was like he read your mind. “I suppose so,” you attempted to be casual.

“And back to the dating thing,” Lucas began, “maybe we should try it.”

“Is that code for you want to have sex with me again?”

“I won’t deny that’s part of it,” Lucas admitted.

You turned from him to face the faucet, and felt him behind you once again. This time, you felt comforted by his embrace. “We’ll see how breakfast goes,” you offered.

He laughed, a low sweet sound prompting you to smile. You let yourself go in the moment, enjoying the feeling the water cascade down your skin and Lucas’ presence warming your body. “You’re never going to stop giving me a hard time, are you?”

You shook your head.

OLucas turned you to face him, descending his lips onto yours. “I wouldn’t want you to stop.”

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