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final-girl96 · 1 year

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STOLEN HEARTS CHAPTER TWO

☆

April 18, 1984

When I got home I did my homework and then headed downstairs to the little studio where I knew my dad was. The sound of his 1965 Fender Stratocaster filled the air. I stood in the doorway watching him play. It was the first guitar he bought himself after spending two summers saving up the money to buy one. He always said it was his lucky guitar.

It was the guitar that he was playing when he met my mom. It was the guitar that he played at The Hideout when he was discovered. And it was the guitar he played during every concert. It still had the I love you my mom wrote and a heart with their initials inside it. And beside that was my footprint and handprint from when I was born.

The first thing he did when he got his first check was have the guitar glazed with a clear paint or whatever it was where the foot and handprints and my moms hand handwriting were so it would last forever. When he looked up and saw me he stopped playing and put the guitar down. "Hey kid, how was your day?" I shrugged, walking over and sitting on the couch. "I was asked to tutor someone who needs help passing math to graduate."

"And did you say yes?" He asked. I nodded my head, "for some stupid reason I did. So I will be home late tomorrow because I'm meeting him after school in the library." He raised his eyebrow, "so it's a boy you're going to be tutoring?" I rolled my eyes, "don't worry, dad, nothing is going to happen." I stood up and started for the stairs to go back up to the kitchen.

"What are we doing for dinner?" I asked starting to ascend the steps. "Um…just order something. Do we need to have the…um…the talk?" I laughed, shaking my head. "Oh, my god, no!" Once in the kitchen I went to the drawer with all the take out menus.

"Look, dad, nothing is going to happen. I grew up on the road with you touring and all that. So that's educational enough. It taught me that drugs, alcohol and sex are bad. Especially when mixed together. Besides, I'm a virgin so you can calm down."

"Okay! It's good to know that but boys can be…pushy and at this age very consistent. Trust me I know. How do you think your mom ended up pregnant with you?" I held my hand up to stop him. "I don't need or want to know how I was conceived. But I can assure you I won't be getting pregnant any time soon. Especially not to Eddie Munson."

"Munson?" I hummed as I leafed through the take out menus. "I went to school with two Munson's. Wonder if he's the son of one of them," he said. I shrugged, "Chinese good?" I asked and he nodded. "Whatever you, sweetheart." I picked up the phone and called in the order. "261 Turner Lane. Thank you." I hung up and walked into the living room where dad was picking out a movie.

After we finished dinner and watched a couple movies I headed upstairs to my room, showered and got ready for bed. There was a knock on my door and I looked up from my book, "come in!" The door opened and dad walked in. "Just wanted to say goodnight," he said, coming over and kissing my forehead. "Don't stay up too late reading. I love you." I nodded in understanding, "love you too." Then he left, closing the door behind him.

April 19, 1984

After school let out I went to the library and sat at a table in the very back where it would be quiet and out of sight from anything distracting. I pulled my notes and math book out along with the folder Ms. Adler had given me. After setting everything up I sat back and waited. Five minutes went by and Eddie still hadn't shown up. I opened my notebook and started drawing random things.

Five minutes turned into ten and ten turned into twenty. I sighed and started to pack my stuff up. This was a mistake. I was stupid to offer my kindness and help someone who clearly doesn't want help. "Blood Red Vipers." I looked up to see Eddie Munson standing in front of me on the other side of the table. "Amazing band. One of my favorites."

"You're late," I said. He smirked and sat down. "Yeah, I had some…business to take care of," he said and winked. I wrinkled my nose up in disgust and scoffed. "I don't need to know what you were doing or why. Just be on fucking time." He held up his hands in surrender. "Do you even know any songs that they sing?"

I took a deep breath and closed my math book. "So, what…because I'm a girl I can't listen to The Blood Red Vipers or AC/DC, Queen, Metallica, Pink Floyd, Black Sabbath, Kiss, Rolling Stones, Iron Maiden, Dio, Judas Priest, Slayer, Guns N' Roses, Aerosmith, ZZ Top…please stop when I there is a band I'm allowed to listen to." His mouth was hanging open and he didn't didn't say anything for a couple seconds.

"Damn. Okay, sorry, it's just some people wear shirts with bands on them and know nothing about the band or never even listen to the band. But you…fuck! You fucking surprised me by rattling off all those bands." I just gave him a deadpan look. "Look, I don't want to be here when the cheerleaders get out of practice so how about we just make up a schedule today and start studying on a day we're both free again." Of course I'm free everyday but he doesn't need to know that.

"I'm free any day but Fridays. Hellfire meets on Fridays," he said. "Okay, what about weekends?" I asked. "As long as we're done before eight. I play at the Hideout on Saturdays and Sunday I spend time with my uncle since he's off work. If I have any other plans during the week I'll let you know. Can't keep the girls waiting, right?" I rolled my eyes and scoffed. "Right. So how about since tomorrow is Friday we meet on Saturday at your place say…. One?"

He shook his head, "one is fine but not my place. How about your place?" He said. Absolutely not. "Umm…what about the diner?" I asked. He shrugged "you gonna buy me lunch?" He smirked, and leaned over the table. "Just don't be fucking late." I packed my stuff up and walked out of the library. When I was unlocking my car I saw Eddie coming out with one of the cheerleaders and going to his van.

I got in my car and had no choice but to drive past them to get out of the parking lot. And surprise surprise, they were sucking each other's faces. She'd wake up in the morning to regret her decision and would never admit that she let him touch her. When I got home, I walked in and straight to the kitchen for something to eat. "How did the tutoring do?" I turned around from the fridge to see dad leaning on the counter.

#eddie munson #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson stranger things #eddie the freak munson #eddie stranger things #eddie muson x reader #eddie munson rockstar au #eddie munson smut #stranger things netflix #stranger things fanfiction #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #stranger things au #eddie munson x reader au #joseph quinn #joseph quinn stranger things

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montydrawsstuff · 10 months

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If you're still taking requests, how would the chaotix celebrate their 100th case?

this might be a little tricky, but @ask-saffron-and-friends also asked for some wholesome charmy, so why not make this a reminiscing style thing?

"Another case, in the bag!" Vector announced, chucking the case file to one side. "Nice job, boys! I think this might have been our toughest case yet!"

He threw himself triumphantly into his chair, letting it roll back. Charmy buzzed in swirling patterns to Vector's side, doing little victory dances and singing a silly song to himself. Espio came in after the both of him, going off to the side to retrieve the case file.

"We should at least try to keep our documents in order.. Maybe don't throw it the second you get in... the door.." he quickly realised he was ignored and just got on with his lost cause filing.

"What d'ya say? Chinese? Chinese? I'm feeling like some orange chicken, I don't know about youse."

"I want prawn crackers!" Charmy sang out. Vector pointed in agreement, phone in hand.

"Espio? What's your pick?" Vector looked over to him, still stuck on his filing, by the looks. "Espio?"

"Vector.. Our cabinet is full.." Vector rolled his eyes.

"Then use a cardboard box! What do ya wanna eat?!"

"This was our 100th case."

Vector paused, putting the phone down. "oh..."

"We've solved 100 cases since starting our agency... today" Espio, who was usually not one for sendimentality, was clearly holding back some emotion. "I didn't realise we'd been doing this that long, but when i think about it..."

Vector leaned into his chair. It creaked under his weight. "Yea... Yea! I know exactly what ya mean, bud! When I stop to think about it, we really have been at it for a long time!"

Charmy buzzed down to sit on the desk, his fuzz getting stuck on years of coffee rings. "How long exactly? I don't remember!"

Vector chuckled warmly. "Nah, you wouldn't. You were pretty young, Charms.. I remember our first case- Remember, Espio? With the cat in that tree?"

"I remember! I remember! She was orange! And-and she scratched YOU, Vector!" Charmy called out " I wasn't that young!"

"That poor girl, she was so embarrased after you got her down.." Espio ran a finger over that first file. It was already more yellowed than the rest.

"Getting a little mushy there, Esp?" he stood up and frowned.

"Unfeeling old croc.."

A couple old files in hand, Espio pulled himself up onto the desk and flicked through the old photographs and messy notes. "I can't believe we thought these were acceptable.. look- I spelt evidence wrong here!"

Vector took one for himself "Aghhh, My thumb was on the lense here! How tragic was that? Thank gaia for smartphones, huh?"

"I think these location sketches are still pretty good!" Charmy added, pulling out a couple. "He he! Just kidding! I'm a way better artist now"

"Sure, kiddo. Give us a look at those-" as Vector took the file off Charmy, a small piece of lined paper fell out the back.

"I feel like noodles... Maybe pad thai? Just as long as it's actually spicy this time.."

Vector took the paper and gave it a look over, the handwriting wasn't great, but it just ledgible.

"You wild, Espio! Spicy makes your tummy hurt and you know it!"

"I-it does not!" (It does)

"Ahh leave off, you can have it if ya want! Now shaddup and let me read!"

Charmy blew a raspberry.

Today, we found a ring. the lady was very happy when we gave it to her. she said I was a great detective! Vector is the best boss, even if his breath is bad! And he has big teeth! Espio is an okay detective. I will teach him. I love being a detective, I'm going to be a detective forever!

"Vector? Are you ordering or... not-"

Without warning, Vector pulled the boys into a tight bear hug. Charmy squirmed in his grip but giggled. Espio frantically angled his face away from the others, only to avoid any horn mishaps and not at ALL to hide any embarrassed blushing.

"Boys, Congrats on 100 cases! Let's celebrate! Forget delivery Chinese- Let's go to the Golden Tiger!"

#sonic #team chaotix #this was cute #thanks for good prompt!#hope this is okay for u too saff

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cheri-translates · 3 years

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[CN] Shaw’s 2021 Birthday R&S

🍒 Warning: This post contains detailed spoilers for an R&S which has not been released in EN! 🍒

Knowledge of Shaw’s 2020 Birthday R&S is highly recommended before reading this!

[ This R&S was released on 16 June 2021 ]

[ Chapter One ]

This is the fifth month that Shaw is learning how to skateboard. The little buddies who started out with him had given up one after the other because they couldn’t endure the bitter taste of tripping and falling. In the end, he’s the only one left.

The wheels grate against the ground in a regular rhythm. Leaping over the obstacle, it makes a swerve, accelerates, and flips... the skateboard is lithe and graceful beneath Shaw’s feet, akin to a reed leaf as it brings him into the largest skatepark in Loveland City with a wilful rush.

“Shaw! Shaw!”

Shaw halts the skateboard and turns around.

A little fatty with a band-aid on his knee walks over, smiling and revealing his missing front teeth. “Finally found you.”

Shaw laughs scornfully. “Why’s a defeated opponent looking for me? Do you want to lose the remaining half of your front teeth?”

“You!” Little Fatty flushes red in an instant. He straightens his neck and points to an area behind him. “I’m not competing with you. Someone else wants to!”

Shaw looks in the direction of his finger. A boy who is obviously taller than him by a head smiles at him, the skateboard beneath his feet sliding back and forth. At a glance, it’s clear that he’s experienced.

“My Bro Zhou is in the Loveland City Qing Xun Team,” Little Fatty hugs his arms with pride, as though he’s the one in the team. “So? Dare to accept it?”

So that’s how it is. He’s a scaredy cat who only dares to call in reinforcements.

Shaw purses his lips. He steps on the tail of the skateboard, and it responds by flipping upwards, the the edge of the board landing steadily in his palm. “Why not? What are we competing in?”

Bro Zhou shrugs. “I won’t make things hard for newbies. We’ll compete in tic-tacs and going over obstacles. How’s that?”

“Sure.”

[Trivia] Tic-tacs are a series of consecutive heelside-to-toeside kickturns where your feet remain on the skateboard. I copied this from Google and have no idea what it means LOL

THUD-

Losing his balance for just a moment, Shaw falls heavily onto the ground. His knees, elbows... waves of pain bloom on every joint. It isn’t a good feeling, but what makes Shaw even more frustrated is the arrogant laughter of Little Fatty. t’s even noisier than the cicadas from afar.

“HAHAHAHA Shaw lost! Let’s see if you still have the guts to be proud!”

He has a lot to say despite being a noob. Shaw rolls his eyes. Enduring the pain, he’s just about to lift himself up by the elbows when Bro Zhou walks over to him, offering him a hand. “Not bad.”

“Thanks.”

The other party continues. “But at your age, it’s best to stick to the basics. There’s no hurry to learn high difficulty moves like the dolphin flip. You’ll definitely fall.”

Shaw’s expression immediately turns cold. “I don’t need your pointers on what I can learn at whatever age.” He doesn’t touch the hand, standing up by himself. Lifting his head, he gives the other party a look over. “Do you come here often?”

“The Qing Xun Team practises here every day.”

“Okay. Next time, I’ll definitely win against you.”

Shaw doesn’t bother about the expressions on Bro Zhou’s and the Little Fatty’s faces after hearing his words. He casually pats off the dust on his body, picks up the skateboard which is flipped over on the floor, and leaves the skatepark.

[ Chapter Two ]

The moment Shaw enters through the doors of the antique store, the Old Man’s uproar begins. “Little Ancestor, did you wreck havoc in the Heavenly Palace again?”

[Note] Here, the Old Man calls Shaw “小祖宗”, which literally means “Little Ancestor”. This term is used in an affectionate way to address a naughty child

“Wrecking havoc in the Heavenly Palace” is a reference to a novel called Journey to the West (西游记), which features a troublemaking Monkey King Sun Wukong

“I’m hungry. What’s there to eat today?” Shaw doesn’t respond to the shopkeeper’s words. Placing his bag and skateboard behind the counter, he reaches out to play with the silly parrot at the entrance - it’s truly silly. Even after teaching it for a month, it can’t even say “welcome to the shop”. It causes Shaw to wonder if the Old Man was perhaps duped of his money once again.

“All you know how to do is eat...” The Old Man sets down the ancient text in his hands and props up his presbyopic glasses. “Old Qian from next door boiled chicken soup today and is giving us half. I’ll stir-fry two dishes. You can ask if the chicken soup is ready.”

Shaw makes an “mm” of acknowledgement, then turns around and heads next door.

The shopkeeper gets up and takes a few steps towards the kitchen. Then, he abruptly returns to the counter, reaching out to touch the coarse scratch marks at the edge of the skateboard. Inexplicably, he sighs.

The chicken soup is a little bland, and the stir-fried dishes are a little salty. Mixing and eating them together is just nice. Shaw lowers his head and pushes rice into his mouth with chopsticks. In his left ear, he hears the news of how the GDP of Loveland City has risen. In his right ear, he hears the nagging of his mentor:

“...I’m not discouraging you from playing with this thing. It’s good to toughen yourself up while you’re young and your bones and muscles are sturdy. But don’t be too rash. This... this thing of yours...”

“Skateboard.” Shaw speaks.

“Yes, skateboard. I remember that it’s only been a month since it was bought, and it’s already tormented to such a state. You have such an impulsive temperament. You should be more level-headed.”

What does this have to do with temperament? If I were to truly be impulsive, I wouldn’t need a month. Just three days would be enough to break a skateboard. Shaw looks at the chicken leg in his bowl, not saying these words aloud.

“Also, remember to report to the shop early tomorrow. Old Qian and I are preparing to head to the neighbouring city to look for goods. You should come along to broaden your horizons.” The shopkeeper taps his chopsticks against the rim of the bowl, signalling for Shaw to pay more attention. “Isn’t it your birthday tomorrow? I could pick out a gift for you! Sigh, I actually had my eye on an agate snuff bottle, but the guy suddenly decided not to sell it...”

“I’m not going tomorrow.” Shaw interrupts the shopkeeper.

The shopkeeper furrows his brows. “Why are you throwing a tantrum?”

“I’m not. I have proper business to attend to tomorrow. The school organised a visit to the museum.” Shaw lifts his eyes, and his thin lips curve upwards. “The things I see there will be much more valuable than those trivial things you fiddle with.”

“You little rascal!”

Shaw laughs, wedging the chicken leg between his chopsticks and sending it into his mentor’s bowl. “I’m full, so I’m heading to the back to do my homework. Chicken legs are really nutritious, so you should have it.”

“Tsk tsk, and you still said you weren’t throwing a tantrum. You aren’t going home again?”

“I don’t want to go back today. I’ll definitely go back tomorrow.” Shaw has already walked to the entrance. He suddenly thinks of something, and turns his head to ask a question. “Mentor, your shop will always be open, right?”

These words came out of nowhere, and the shopkeeper isn’t able to comprehend them. “What?”

“Nothing much. I’m just worried that I won’t have a place to have dinner if an old man like you were to throw in the towel someday.”

The shopkeeper fumes with a glare. “What do you mean by that? You only care about the food? Also, my shop can continue running for a decade or two. I’m still waiting for you to bring back a disciple or a wife to serve me tea!”

Shaw lets out an “oh”, and his eyes crinkle. “In that case, you’ll have to wait for another twenty or thirty years.”

The eyesight of the shopkeeper is no longer as good as before, but he can clearly see that the smile of this child didn’t reach his eyes. After Shaw leaves, he suddenly recalls the fortune that he drew for Shaw half a year ago: “What awaits this catastrophe is a new beginning...”

This child is will meet his predestined fate this year, so what’s left is to see how he endures through it. The shopkeeper shakes his head, sighing once again.

[Note] The actual fortune is “河图数九，洛书数七，脐于九陵，七日来复” but I don’t have the energy to explain it so what I’ve translated above is the overall meaning :>

[ Chapter Three ]

When Shaw awakens on the next day, the shopkeeper has already left to inspect the goods. The shop is empty, and he’s the only one left.

Westmoon Street is lined with old houses, and there’s no soundproofing. Lying on the bed, Shaw can hear the chirping of birds outside the window, the yelling of people on the street, and the babble of the Chinese opera from the old bookstore next door: “I’m just like a caged bird with wings that can’t be outstretched. I’m just like a shallow water dragon trapped on a beach...”

Shaw rubs his face, then sits up on the bed.

The school had set the assembling time to be 9am. Heading out now will give him more than enough time. Shaw quickly washes his face and rinses his mouth. Just as he walks towards the front counter with some rice grains from the kitchen for the parrot to eat, he suddenly discovers that there’s something on the counter.

Walking over, Shaw sees that there’s a cake box as well as a t-shirt which has been washed clean.

There’s a slip of paper on the shirt. The strokes are clean and thin. At a glance, he knows that this is the Old Man’s handwriting: You need energy and drive to participate in the school activity. Don’t wear yesterday’s dirty clothes. Change into this.

The shirt look slightly familiar. He probably changed out of it one day and forgot about it, leaving it in the antique shop. Shaw pays it no mind, turning his head to that small cake once again. The various calligraphy and writings in the antique store are considered relatively charming. Yet, why does he always buy such unsophisticated cakes?

When his classmates celebrate their birthdays, what they eat are high quality custom-made cakes - red velvet, matcha crepe, chocolate molten lava... such a traditional longevity cake is probably found only in a place like Westmoon Street. It’s clear from the light red and light green colours that the embellishments on the cake were made by hand. Eating it would definitely dye his tongue. If he were to speak later, wouldn’t he get laughed at by his classmates?

Shaw bunches up his brows, but the fork in his hand doesn’t stop. The cream is plant-based and tastes bad. He eats a small egg shell at the base of the cake and it tastes bad. The “Happy Birthday” was written using peach jam, and it tastes really bad.

The silly parrot at the side tilts its head, watching as the boy eats mouthfuls while shunning it with every bite, finishing the cake entirely.

Shaw wipes his mouth, then rinses it with the barley tea on the table. Picking up that t-shirt, he returns into the house and changes his clothes.

[ Chapter Four ]

“...this ‘Painting of the Elevated and Pre-eminent’ depicts four famous scholars enjoying themselves. Students, do you know who the Seven Sages of the bamboo forest are?”

[Trivia] If you’re interested in seeing the actual painting, search for “高逸图” (“gao yi tu”)

“It’s such a waste that you didn’t watch yesterday’s episode. That scene where the main lead destroyed the opponent like a boss is unparalleled!”

“Aside from the both of us, did anyone else have fun at Anime City?”

“Are you done with the math homework? Lend it to me - I’ll find a place to copy it.”

...

The question posed by the museum guide is drowned out amidst the laughing and frolicking of the kids. He forces a smile while shaking his head. All of a sudden, he notices that a boy with bluish purple hair isn’t the same as the other kids. He’s staring at an ancient painting in the showcase, lost in thought.

As though seeing a saviour, the guide quickly points at him. “Student, why don’t you give me an answer? It’s fine even if you get it wrong. Uncle will explain to you!”

“...” Shaw turns his head, opening his mouth to say some words, but his voice doesn’t reach the guide’s ears.

“Student, what did you say?” The guide raises his volume.

“I said that the four people in ‘Painting of the Elevated and Pre-eminent’ are Shan Tao, Wang Jie, Liu Ling and Ruan Ji.” Shaw’s face is pretty much expressionless, and there aren't many fluctuations in his tone. “The one sitting down with his hands on his knees at the far right is Shan Tao. The one holding the ruyi sceptre is Wang Tao. The one next to him and drinking wine is Liu Ling. A boy is serving him. The one at the far left needs no mention - he’s the first of the Sages, Ruan Ji. So this painting is missing Ji Tang, Xiang Xiu and Ruan Xian.”

“...”

The surroundings gradually quieten down, and only Shaw’s voice echoes in front of the showcase.

"The scholars in this painting evoke a refined and tasteful sentiment, and the lines are beautiful. This is an extremely precious treasure in the realm of silk scrolls. This is why the ‘Painting of the Elevated and Pre-eminent’ has always been kept in the royal palace. It’s a pity that in order for our predecessors to avoid taboos, only Si Ma Zhong’s inscription is left on it.”

The youth lifts his chin, shooting a playful smile at the guide. “Okay Uncle, you can explain the next museum piece now.”

“Shaw, you’re incredible!” His classmates flock over to him, bumping him on the shoulders. “You were staring at that painting for such a long time. Did you memorise the words on the museum label?”

“Tch. These’s no need to memorise the museum labels for such things. You’ll know it from a glance.” Shaw laughs. “Also, I wasn’t looking at this painting...” When he says this, he pauses for a moment, swallowing his words.

If he wasn’t looking at this painting, which one was he looking at? The students follow Shaw’s gaze, and realise that there’s a floral painting hanging next to the “Painting of the Elevated and Pre-eminent”.

“Painting of a Courtyard and Dayliles”, Northern Song Dynasty, Xuan He Imperial Art Academy, anonymous... The students read the explanatory note on the museum label.

[Trivia] If you’re interested in seeing the actual painting, search for “霜庭萱草图” (“shuang ting xuan cao tu”)

The painting seems to depict a corner of a courtyard. A few daylilies display the patterns on their leaves. One big and one small dragonfly are perched on the flower. Aside from that, there isn’t anything else interesting about it. This painting doesn’t seem to have a name or seal, neither does it have a detailed explanation. Even the guide skipped past it. Since it isn’t a rare and precious ancient painting, what exactly was Shaw looking at?

His classmates are a little puzzled.

[ Chapter Five ]

All the classes assemble in lines at the entrance of the museum. The teacher very patiently reminds the students not to forget to do their homework over the weekend, and to remember to write down their reflections about the museum. The students drawl out “got it”, but their hearts have long since flown a million miles away, ready to keep toys and snacks company.

“Shaw!” After dispersing, Shaw’s classmates wave at him.

Shaw walks over. “What’s up?”

“All of us know that you aren’t in a good mood because you lost to a senior in skateboarding yesterday. Isn’t it your birthday? Bro Lu bought the newest game, so let’s head over to play at his place.” His classmate smiles while putting an arm around his shoulder.

“Who told you that I lost yesterday?” Shaw speaks coldly.

“Who else but Fatty? He was so proud yesterday.” The classmate gives Shaw a pat. “Relax, we’re on your side. Don’t think about these unhappy things. Next time, we’ll have lots of opportunities to get revenge...”

“If I wanted revenge, I wouldn’t wait till next time.” Shaw purses his lips. “I’m heading to the skatepark now. You guys coming?”

Since it’s the weekend, quite a number of skateboard hobbyists are already practising by the time Shaw reaches the skatepark. Very quickly, he locates Bro Zhou from yesterday.

Shaw gets straight to the point. “I lost yesterday. Today, I want to have a race with you. Do you accept?”

A hint of shock is in Bro Zhou’s eyes. He has probably never met a kid who is this unwilling to lose. “You fell so badly yesterday but still want to compete with me? You should practise more!”

“There’s no need to practise more when competing with you,” Shaw says.

With this, Bro Zhou’s temper starts to flare. He tilts his chin. “Fine, come on. Just don’t cry if you fall and break your arm today.”

A short while later, the news of how a “junior high school newbie dared to challenge Bro Zhou from the Qing Xun Team” spreads throughout the skatepark. Everyone gathers at both sides of the race course, curiously sizing up the main lead for today.

“S-Shaw...” His classmate pulls on Shaw’s arm. Looking at the deep bowl in front, he gulps. “Are you sure you’re competing with him in this? It won’t be good news if you fall!”

“If I want to play, of course I’ll only play the fun stuff. Just watch.”

Shaw walks to the starting line and takes a deep breath. When moving his limbs, his hand subconsciously touches the hem of the t-shirt - there’s a small Chinese trumpet vine. The green leaves and red petals cover the hole which was originally on the shirt. It’s just that the stitches are crooked, and it’s incredibly crude. At a glance, it’s clear that it wasn’t sewn by someone familiar with needlework.

[Fun fact] Chinese trumpet vine is 凌霄花 (“ling xiao hua”)

Shaw’s name in CN is 凌肖 (“ling xiao”)

Mentor is the best <3

He bites his lower lip.

The referee raises both hands. “The old rules apply. After getting past the Cola can obstacles, cross the bowl. The first person who reaches the goal will win. Ready... go!”

In the midst of a clamour, a bluish purple light rushes forward, taking the lead.

[ Chapter Six ]

The friction of wheels against the ground results in ear-piercing screeches. The skateboard brings Shaw forward at a high speed, and the cold strong wind accompanies the summer heat waves, brushing past his cheeks. The upright Cola cans aren’t enough to faze him. With the continuous twisting of his waist and a skateboard which moves naturally like flowing water, he and his opponent seem to bypass the obstacles comprising of twelve Cola cans at the same time-

There are three consecutive rows of Cola can structures in front of him. He has to use all sorts of techniques to jump over them. That way, he can rush down the bowl, and enter the final stage.

The arm he injured from the fall yesterday is still aching faintly. His feet seem to be protesting as well. He successfully jumps over the first row, the second row... Shaw holds his breath. He steps on the tail of the skateboard with his left foot. Gravity takes over quickly, and his right foot causes the skateboard to rise. The skateboard beneath his feet is akin to a flying fish jumping out of the water surface, creating a rotating arc above the Cola cans!

“It’s a dolphin flip!” Members of the audience exclaim.

Clack! Shaw’s shoulders wobble slightly when his feet return to the skateboard. When he finally stands steadily, he continues rushing forward. The final bowl is right in front of him.

The moment the skateboard dives downwards, Shaw feels a brief moment of weightlessness. This feeling is reminiscent of being thrown out of the entire world, making one want to continue falling like this until they plummet into the bottom of the swamp. The deep bowl is like the trough he’s currently going through. If he’s unable to climb out of the trough, he will drown in hatred, anger, powerlessness, disappointment... and lose to that weak heart of his.

But he’s Shaw, and he won’t lose just like that.

With a rapid dash, he soars upwards without trouble - underneath the brilliant blazing sun, the youth leaps out of the bowl!

After flying out of the bowl, the inertia causes Shaw to stumble a few steps. He falls onto the ground, lying on his back while pressing the finish line.

At the same time, he hears a dull thud from the bowl - his opponent had fallen back into it.

“Shaw won!” “Shaw reached the goal first!” “That rascal actually won against Bro Zhou?” “This competition was so awesome!” ...all sorts of voices emerge in the surroundings in a disorderly fashion, and a set of footsteps walk towards him.

“Your name’s Shaw?” A masculine voice asks from above his head.

Shaw doesn't speak.

“I’m Coach Wang from Loveland City’s Qing Xun Skateboarding Team,” that voice continues. “I see that you have lots of talent, and will make a good young successor. Are you interested in joining the Qing Xun Team?”

While saying this, a registration form is handed to him.

The late afternoon sun illuminates the sheet of paper, reflecting a glaring light akin to snow. Shaw takes one look at the registration form, then shifts his lips slightly. “I don’t want to.”

“Why not?”

“My shirt’s really expensive, so it isn’t worth tearing them.”

The coach is rendered speechless.

Just as he’s about to say a few more words to persuade the kid, he suddenly spots the small flower at the corner of Shaw’s shirt from his periphery - this is clearly not an expensive t-shirt. These days, few shirts are mended using embroidery. And the fact that he’s willing to wear it despite the clumsy embroidery...

This kid has family members whom he cares very much about. The coach seems to understand this. His lips open and shut, and he swallows back the lines he prepared. In the end, he simply says, “...that dolphin flip you did earlier wasn’t bad.”

“Of course.”

The coach laughs as he leaves. Amidst the cheers from the surroundings, Shaw lies on the ground. Covering his eyes with his hand, he laughs.

“I won. Happy birthday to me.”

🛹 Shaw’s Date Prologue: here

#mlqc #mlqc cn #mlqc spoilers #mlqc shaw

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spencers-renaissance · 3 years

Text

Hunger

Summary: Spencer really likes his new coworkers: they're nice, welcoming, friendly, and made his transition to the BAU as easy as possible. Which makes it impossible for him to turn down an invitation to eat dinner with them at an upscale fancy restaurant, no matter how anxious that makes a boy who grew up with next to nothing feel.

Tags: insecurity, anxiety, allusions to poverty, hurt/comfort, team as family, angst with a happy ending, fluff, background jelle

TW: mentions of poverty, financial difficulties, and food insecurity

Pairing: Gen (Aaron Hotchner & Spencer Reid, Derek Morgan & Spencer Reid)

Word Count: 3k

Masterlist // Read on AO3 // Bad Things Happen Bingo

This fills my "trying not to cry" bad things happen bingo square and is set a few weeks after Spencer joins the BAU, in an AU in which Elle was there before him.

Everyone is so nice, is the thing.

And that’s great. Really, it is. Spencer isn’t about to complain when JJ kindly walks him through the filing system all the while asking questions about him and his life, or when Derek ribs him gently about his ducktail hair or his nerdy brain. No-one cuts him off when he gets carried away — unless it’s time-sensitive, of course — or teases him about anything that cuts too close to home. Being the new guy in the most prestigious unit in the FBI could’ve been a nightmare, but this team made it easy. He’s so grateful for all of it.

It just makes it really hard to turn down dinner invitations.

He watches his shaking fingers in the mirror as they button his shirt up and wrap his tie around his neck, poking it fastidiously under the collar, not a wrinkle of fabric out of place. He glances down at the countertop again, re-reading the restaurant name copied down in JJ’s careful handwriting onto a piece of copier paper regardless of having committed it to memory the first time he heard it. Sur la Rivière: a fancy European restaurant in DC.

He’d hoped for a cheap and cheerful Chinese when Hotch had first brought up the idea of a team bonding dinner, something more his style, but he’d smiled anyway when Elle had mentioned this place her foodie friend had recommended, no matter how strained it might have been. He’s the new guy after all. He doesn’t expect much swing when it comes to choosing where to eat.

As soon as his shirt and tie are perfectly in place, he gets to work on taming his curly hair. It makes him look younger when it’s loose and fluffy, and with a baby-face like his combined with already being the youngest person in the entire FBI, every year he can add on counts. Soon, though, there’s no more grooming he can use to stall the inevitable, and he sighs tiredly before clicking off the bathroom light and heading to the hall.

He collects his phone and wallet, checking for the sixth time that evening that his credit card and extra money to tip the waiter is definitely in there, grabs his keys, and heads out of his apartment. Derek is in his car waiting on the curb for him like he promised he would be, looking effortlessly suave and cool in a way Spencer never will as he honks his horn at the sight of the younger man walking towards him.

“Pretty boy!” he calls, his grin making Spencer smile, too. “Took you long enough. Hop in, fancy European cuisine awaits.”

Another rush of nerves floods Spencer’s stomach at the mention of the fate he’s signed up for, but he smiles anyway as he opens the passenger door and slides in. “Thanks for giving me a lift, Derek,” he says, hating that his anxious discomfort is so obvious in his voice.

Thankfully, Derek doesn’t pick him up on it, simply pulling away from the curb and beginning the drive across town. “How many times do I have to tell you not to mention it? I live less than ten minutes away, Spencer, it’s really not a problem.”

Spencer flushes a bit at that, wringing his hands in his lap as he watches the streets of his district pass by out the window. “Well, I appreciate it anyway,” he settles on, flashing Derek a quick smile that he doubts he sees anyway with his eyes glued so firmly to the road. “Riding the metro is a nightmare at this hour.”

“Never learned how to drive? I didn’t have the money for lessons, Spencer wants to say, irrationally frustrated at his situation. I was rushed through the academy too quickly to learn something as trivial as driving.

“I was too busy getting five degrees,” Spencer says instead, forcing a smile on his face. He wishes he wasn’t so well-practiced at managing other people’s emotions; wishes he could say what he’s really thinking. But he can’t, not in front of the people he’s trying to impress, not so soon.

“Alright, alright, I get it, you’re a genius,” Derek chuckles. “I’m glad you’re coming tonight, we all are. Gideon didn’t tell us much before he left, just that you had an IQ of 187 and he’d pulled a lot of strings to get you in at only 22.”

Spencer winces slightly at the mention of his ex-mentor. “Yeah, I’m sorry he ran out on you guys so suddenly.”

“Hey, from what I hear, he did the same to you,” Derek counters. “You guys seemed way closer than we were anyway. I never really liked the guy.”

As much as most of Spencer hates Gideon for abandoning him without warning, leaving him to find his footing in the FBI alone and afraid, a small part of him still itches to defend him. “He was a good mentor. Not such a good friend, as it turns out.”

Derek looks away from the road for a moment and shoots him a sympathetic look. “I’m sorry, man. But Gideon’s loss is our gain. You’re gonna be an amazing asset to the team, I just know it.”

A genuine smile crosses Spencer’s face at that. “Thanks, Derek. I can’t wait to really get stuck in, you know?”

“I remember the feeling.” Derek grins again.

They continue chatting for the rest of the journey, Spencer finally relaxing into the company of a new friend— that is, until Derek cuts across one of his stories from his second PhD. “Hey, the restaurant should be up on the left somewhere but I can’t see it…

“Oh, there,” Spencer says, pointing at the sleek, almost anonymous-looking black sign hanging above a set of fancy doors. How can doors be fancy? They’re supposed to be functional, not pretentious. All of a sudden that sinking feeling that had lifted on the car ride over settles back into his stomach and he can’t help but swallow nervously as Derek parks the car and they step out into the street.

Everyone’s already seated when they finally push through the restaurant doors, and Spencer hates that he made them both late with his apprehensive stalling, but no-one really seems to mind as they all cheer happily at the sight of them, ignoring the dirty looks it earns them from the other patrons.

“You made it!” Penelope squeals as she gets up from her seat to give Spencer a hug. He’s a little touch-averse, really, but something about Penelope’s hugs make him never want to leave her arms. He does anyway, though, and he and Derek find their seats opposite one another at the end of the table.

“I’m glad you’re here, Spencer,” Hotch says kindly as the waitress passes the two late-comers their menus.

“You’ll fit right in,” JJ promises, “we’re like a weird little family, to be honest.”

Spencer flushes a bit under the attention of so many experienced FBI agents, but he nods anyway before they all get started on deciding what to eat. He listens vaguely to everyone talking amongst themselves, giving one another suggestions in a way that corroborates JJ’s statement, and all of a sudden Spencer’s collar feels tight. It’s not just the nerves of meeting new people or the anxiety of an alien social environment, he realises he doesn’t recognise a single item on the menu.

He knows what the words themselves mean, but reading the words 'tortellini of venison’ and trying to imagine deer meat pasta is not easily done. The only simple meals seem to be seafood and Spencer’s never been a fan of fish. The only food he can even begin to imagine himself actually putting in his mouth, chewing, and swallowing is the porterhouse steak: not that he’s ever really eaten much red meat like that.

Spencer isn’t a fussy eater. He’s eaten a wide variety of dishes from any number of different restaurants across multiple cuisines, he’s just never had the kind of money to eat at a place that serves caviar, for God’s sake. Far too soon, the waitress wanders back over to the table, taking everyone’s orders with a polite smile on her face.

He listens as everyone confidently orders their meals: the smoked trout, the Moroccan quail, the lobster tagliatelle. Spencer thanks the heavens he isn’t a vegetarian, at least, but it’s not much of a consolation prize when everyone’s eyes fall on him.

“Uh, I’ll have the porterhouse steak,” he says uncertainly, hoping nobody notices the sweat beading on his forehead or the anxiety raging behind his eyes.

Everyone seems to accept his answer, the waitress taking their menus and walking back towards the kitchen as the rest of them resume their conversation. Hotch’s eyes linger a moment too long on him, and Spencer thinks he sees something like concern in his gaze, but before he can think much of it, Penelope’s drawing everyone’s attention to JJ’s bracelet.

“Can we please appreciate this?” she says, sounding scandalised for some reason Spencer can’t quite discern from context yet. “Elle, baby, you have taste. This is absolutely gorgeous! Are you sure you don’t want to date me, too?”

Spencer’s eyebrows raise slightly at that. “Oh, you two are together?” he asks, although now that he realises it he’s not sure how he didn’t notice sooner.

“Are you sure you’re a profiler, kid?” Derek laughs. “They don’t exactly hide it.

“Even though they’re supposed to,” Hotch chimes in with a faux stern look. “You two are gonna have my job at some point.” “Aw, but where would we find another Unit Chief that would help us hide our secret so well?” Elle says charmingly, making everyone laugh, including JJ, who presses her face into her shoulder fondly.

It’s easy for Spencer to momentarily lose himself in the banter, smiling as they tease one another, interspersing their gripes and funny stories from work among it all. They include him in all of it, and he doesn’t feel left out for even a second, finally relaxing into the unfamiliar environment of a fancy restaurant, eased by the reassuring company of his new team.

“JJ’s right,” he muses out loud when there’s a brief lull in conversation, “you guys really are like a little family.”

JJ leans away from Elle towards him for a moment, wrapping him in a side hug. “And you’re the perfect addition to it, Spence,” she says softly, everyone’s expressions reading nothing but fond agreement. “We needed a little brother to add into the mix.”

Spencer blushes again but leans into her touch.

No-one gets a chance to say anything else before the food arrives, the servers bringing JJ and Elle’s meals first, then serving Hotch and Penelope, before they finally bring out his and Derek’s order.

Everyone dives into their food, immediately making noises of contentment, passing bites around to one another, but Spencer can’t join in the jubilant celebration of a good meal. He picks his knife and fork up shakily as he stares at the massive portion of steak in front of him. It’s served with roast potatoes and flecks of a pointless salad that he suspects is only there as a garnish rather than actually part of the meal, but that’s not what has him worried.

This huge slab of meat hasn’t been sliced beforehand. He knows that he’ll shake the whole table if he tries to do it: it’s a massive, impenetrable slab of red meat that Spencer has no chance of enjoying, let alone finishing. He stares at it as tears burn in his eyes: he’s so out of his comfort zone and he’s so terrified of messing up and pushing away these newfound friends that he can’t move.

“Spence?” JJ cuts in gently, putting a hand on his shoulder, forcing him to look up, only to find everyone looking at him with worried expressions on their faces. “Are you okay?”

“Sorry,” he says, standing up abruptly, the disturbance of the table barely registering in his brain. “I just need a minute.”

He rushes out of the restaurant without looking back, drawing in deep breaths as soon as he’s in the cool evening air of spring. Thoughts race through his mind at a million miles an hour as he grasps for something concrete to grab onto, eventually settling for a tall flower pot.

“Spencer?”

He looks up to find Hotch standing next to him, deep concern written across his face, and Spencer’s heart clenches at the thought that he’s already messed this up so quickly. Could this night possibly get any worse?

Apparently, it can, because all of a sudden he feels his face crumple and the stinging tears finally spill down his cheeks. He sinks down to the ground and buries his face in his hands, humiliation glimmering in every cell of his body.

“Oh, Spencer,” Hotch says gently, lowering himself to the cool pavement next to him and placing a warm hand on his back. He lets him cry it out for a couple of minutes, his palm drawing small circles in between his shoulder blades, trying again to get through to him when Spencer’s sobs calm down slightly. “You want to tell me what’s going on?”

With a shuddering breath, he forces himself to lift his face from his palms, although he still refuses to meet Hotch’s eyes, keeping his gaze fixed firmly on the Korean restaurant across the street. “I guess it just all got to be too much,” he whispers.

“Yeah?” Hotch says encouragingly. “What specifically?”

“I— I didn’t have much growing up. It was just me and my mom so we were living in the middle of Vegas on a single disability check each month. And, uh, then I went to college, and I was barely scraping by there, too. It’s only recently that I’ve known the luxury of knowing for sure I was eating that night, and it still gets to me sometimes when I’m faced with fancy restaurants and heavy, expensive meals. My body’s had to work for years on virtually nothing, there’s no way I can stomach a steak like that. I guess, all those feelings that are a lifetime in the making combined with the anxiety of eating with the team for the first time… wanting to make a good impression, it just all got too much. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

Hotch raises a hand, and Spencer finally meets his eyes, finding nothing but compassion and understanding there no matter how much he searches. “You don’t need to apologise, Spencer, not for something like this. I’m sorry that none of us thought to make the first team dinner with you a more casual affair, and I’m even more sorry that you felt like you couldn’t tell us you were uncomfortable.” “It’s okay.”

“It’s not, but I’m glad you accept my apology,” Hotch says, smiling softly. “You know, we all bring baggage with us, Spencer. I can’t relate to food insecurity, but I had my own issues when I first joined the BAU. I grew up with a pretty terrible father, and the thing I found myself reprimanded for the most when I was a new recruit was the inability to follow orders. I’d spent my whole life scared of this man, obeying his every word, and I couldn’t help but hear him when my superiors would tell me to do something. When I was finally free of him, it was like I couldn’t help but rebel.

“You’re not the only one whose childhood follows them around, and I’d much rather it be something like this that we can easily manage, than something that will affect you or the team in the field, okay? Instead of beating yourself up over things you can’t control, try and remember that you have a whole new family who will do anything they can to make you feel as comfortable as possible. We already think the world of you, Spencer. Sacrificing fancy dinners that — let’s face it — can’t beat cheap junk food anyway is hardly a big ask.

Warmth spreads across his chest at Hotch’s words, replacing the feelings of failure and rising anxiety with something that feels like a promise of all the good to come. There’s something fatherly, something deeply paternal in Hotch that there wasn’t in Gideon, and it’s the most comfort Spencer’s felt in years. “Really?”

“Really,” Hotch nods, squeezing his shoulder gently. “You wait here one minute, okay?”

“Okay…” Hotch is gone before he can finish replying, and Spencer is left staring at the doors confused, until the rest of the team are piling out of them a few minutes later, Hotch bringing up the rear with his jacket and wallet in hand.

“We just paid the tab. How does cheap Chinese food eaten in the park a couple hundred yards down sound?” Hotch suggests, raising an eyebrow as he smiles warmly at Spencer.

He looks around briefly at the rest of the team, who are all giving him encouraging looks, not a trace of judgement or annoyance to be found.

“That sounds amazing,” he laughs wetly, the tears springing to his eyes this time caused by a completely different emotion. “I can pay you back, though.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, pretty boy,” Derek says, patting Spencer’s back, “we’ve got it. Now, come on, I’m gonna order sweet and sour chicken balls, and I want them now.”

“That’s what she said,” Penelope giggles, linking her arm with Derek’s.

“That was terrible, baby girl, but I love that you tried.”

“Do you want to share shrimp chop suey with me, babe?” Elle asks JJ as they clasp hands, walking a couple of steps ahead of them.

“Well, I’m certainly not sharing with any of these losers,” JJ teases, before kissing Elle’s cheek.

Spencer feels Hotch place his hand on his back, and he turns to smile gratefully at the older man. “Thank you,” he says quietly, trying to convey just how earnestly he means it. “No-one’s ever done anything this nice for me before.”

There’s a slightly sad tinge to Hotch’s smile, but it doesn’t look like pity. “I’d get used to it if I were you. That’s just how we do things in the BAU.”

Well, if that’s the case, Spencer thinks, smiling as he falls into step between Hotch and Penelope, I think I might just stick around.

taglist: @criminalmindsvibez @suburban--gothic @strippersenseii @takeyourleap-of-faith @negativefouriq @makaylajadewrites @iamrenstark @hotchseyebrows @temily @jellejareau @reidology @spencerspecifics @bau-gremlin @tobias-hankel @garcias-bitch @oliverbrnch @physics-magic @sbeno22 @im-autistic-not-stupid(taglist form)

#criminal minds #cm #criminal minds fic #criminal minds writing #criminal minds gen #criminal minds gen fic #aaron hotchner & spencer reid #derek morgan & spencer reid #derek morgan #spencer reid #aaron hotchner #penelope garcia #jelle #jennifer jareau #elle greenaway #criminal minds fluff #criminal minds angst #hurt spencer reid #hurt/comfort

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poodlejoonas · 3 years

Text

Niko - Thoughtful Disasters

For @bcfanweek Day 2: Niko

Words: 1,382

Description: Niko’s no professional baker, but he wants to make your birthday a special one.

Notes: Niko Moilanen/Reader (gender unspecified)

Niko was panicking just a tiny bit. He’d been so busy with the album recording lately that he forgot that your birthday is coming up in less than 12 hours. He meant to buy you a legitimate present but it totally slipped his mind. Now here he was, stuck trying to read a cake recipe under his kitchen’s shitty lighting and throw you together a makeshift gift.

You loved Niko, but you also knew that he was the worst when it came to remembering dates. He once sprung anniversary dinner plans on you at 3 PM and he picked the first random place that came to mind. Sometimes he even forgets about Christmas, and finds himself working in the studio at the stroke of midnight on New Year's. You've grown accustomed to knowing that if it was an important date, Niko would probably miss it.

You were still at work and wouldn’t be coming home until later. In the meantime, Niko was pondering over all the ingredients he would need to bake. He was squinting trying to read his own messy handwriting when he received a phone call from Joel asking where he was.

“I’m uh… at the supermarket. Do you know how to bake a cake?”

Joel sighed from the other end. “You forgot their birthday, didn’t you?”

Niko hung his head in shame and remained silent for a solid 10 seconds. “I know, they’re probably going to kill me, don’t you think?”

“I doubt it. They’re pretty chill, but if it’s that big of a deal, I can come over and help.”

“Please do,” Niko begged, which made Joel laugh out loud.

“It’s that bad, huh?”

Not even an hour later, Joel was pulling into Niko’s yard ready to help. The two vocalists met in the kitchen, where Niko had already haphazardly thrown the ingredients into separate bowls. To call it a mess would be a disrespectful understatement. There were bits of egg shells on the floor and flour coating the counters. It was obvious that Niko had tried to scoop the excess flour into his trash can, but his fingers left streaks across the dark blue counter. The chocolate powder was its own mess, as he’d already tried to mix in milk before the rest of the ingredients. Niko’s normally black t-shirt and basketball shorts were coated in flour, and some of it turned the tips of his hair white.

Joel paused and took a good look around the kitchen. “Jesus Christ, dude,” he muttered. “Did you murder the Muffin Man in here?”

"Shut up," Niko whined. “I had to scroll through this bitch’s life story to even get to the recipe and I got annoyed.”

Joel snickered and shook his head. “Of course you did. Anyway, let’s throw all of this together. You have a cake beater, right?”

“A what?”

“You know, the thing that goes…” and then proceeded to make a series of mechanical and whooshing noises.

“Oh, that thing- FUCK, that’s what I forgot.”

Joel would be more sympathetic if he could only stop laughing at poor Niko’s plight. He looked stressed making up for almost forgetting your birthday again, but Joel could tell that he wanted to do his best for you. He always thought that you two made a great couple. Behind Niko’s gritty exterior was a man who had a heart for his partner.

“Okay, so I guess I’m gonna…” Niko contemplated using his hands to mix the bowl until he realized that it was going to be a bigger mess than the one he’s already made now. Instead, he grabbed the wooden spoon and began to sift it until it started blending in. “How long should I do this?”

“Until it looks evenly mixed.”

“Thanks, Captain Obvious.”

Niko was unsure if he brought Joel over for help or just the banter. The older vocalist cleaned up the mess while Niko continued to stir the spoon. At one point, he almost lost his grip on the bowl and spilled its contents onto the floor.

“Want me to finish it?” Joel offered, seeing that he needed a minute to relax. Niko almost immediately accepted his offer and took a break to check his phone and sip some water. He nearly did a spit take when he saw that you were coming home from work earlier than planned. Something about your manager being nice enough to let you go early so you can begin celebrating your birthday. Your work place was only 20 minutes from home, and you sent the message 7 minutes ago.

“Dude, kill me.”

Joel looked up from the bowl to find a slightly panicked Niko realizing that the kitchen was a mess, dinner hadn't even been started, and the cake still had half an hour left on it before it was done. There was no way he could laugh at him now. “Hey, calm down. Maybe you can order something in? You know they’re not picky about what they eat.”

“I know, it’s just… I feel like such a dumbass because I can never remember the important stuff. I think they should just dump me at this point.”

“Hey, that’s not true! Sure you forget things, but you’re still so genuine when you do things for them. I was talking to them a few weeks ago and they had nothing but glowing things to say about you.”

Niko was listening but his mind continued to race. But it was comforting to hear from someone else in the band that you speak so well of him when he’s not around. “I get it. I just hope they like the cake later.”

“I’m sure they will. Now, let’s get this in the oven and then we can think about dinner.” With 10 minutes left until you came home, the cake was baking and the kitchen was being cleaned. You walked in on the two of them putting away the cleaning supplies and chatting happily as if nothing had just happened. Niko tried to give you a hug but all you could do was laugh as you got a good look at his flour-stained clothes.

“Oh, yeah… let me fix that.” And without another word, he was off to change clothes in your room.

Joel stood in the kitchen with a knowing grin. He said he’d come over to help him put together a “surprise” for you. He didn’t say what it was, but the smell from the oven gave it away. Niko returned and proposed the idea of ordering Chinese food, which you happily accepted since you had Hunan chicken on your mind for a while. The both of you offered to let Joel stay for dinner so he wouldn’t have to drive all the way back to Helsinki tonight. Joel chose to play bartender while the food was on its way.

The three of you were several drinks and large dinner specials into the night when suddenly the smoke alarm began to beep. Niko sprang on instinct once he remembered - fuck, the cake! The chocolate cake blackened around the edges and crumbled under the impact of the cutting knife. The music stopped and the only sound was Niko groaning. He looked beyond done with the situation.

“Love?” you asked quietly.

“I’m sorry I ruined your birthday,” he apologized profusely. His eyes were sympathetic and he looked like he wanted to shrink away from everything. You just held him because there was no resentment for him at all.

“You didn’t ruin a thing, kulta,” you whispered. “It was really the thought that mattered. Besides, you do so much for me every other day of the year, so what’s wrong with a day where we just get to chill?”

Niko leaned up and thought about it. “That’s true. Do you want to do anything tomorrow?”

“Just a movie and some leftover Chinese food with you.”

The moment between you was touching, and then Joel spoke up. “I can go back home tonight if you lovers are getting any ideas.”

You and Niko laughed. “Nah, we just need you here to make more drinks for us.” Your birthday hadn’t come yet, but this was already a great start. Good food, a good friend, and a boyfriend who only wanted the best for you.

Endnotes:

I wrote this on the 4th of July when I was hungry and had Chinese food on my mind but everywhere around me was closed. Consider that a self-insert too.

#bcfanweek #blind channel #niko moilanen #blurbs #niko is big of heart and dumb of ass #but i love him for it

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bubblegumbeech · 3 years

Text

A Small Town Greeting

Day six Ectoberhaunt: Witching Hour vs Twilight

AO3

Crossover between Danny Phantom and my OC series “The Town of Witch Hour”

Danny walked into the cluttered little antique shop, it was small but tightly packed and Danny actually struggled to find his way to the checkout desk, the only place that seemed to have a living person.

Said living person was a middle aged Chinese man with badly bleached hair, a dozen piercings and only partially groomed stubble, kicked back with his ratty sneakers on the corner of the counter reading a magazine Danny had never seen before that said things like “Haunting Hoodlums! Children at the Museum After Dark and Why They Aren’t What You Think“ and “Twelve Teenagers Still Missing in Wake of ‘Witch’s House’ Discovery“ on the cover.

He looked up at Danny’s approach just once before going back to his magazine. “Read the sign kid.” He pointed at the wall behind him where someone with terrible handwriting had clearly written a list of rules on a hanging dry erase board:

No Haunting the Antiques or with the Antiques until you take them home No Cursing the Antiques before you buy them. No Possessing the Antiques!!!! I WILL be Watching!! If you Break something You’re Buying it And you’re also dealing with whatever happens next it's not my problem The Porcelain Doll in a Japanese Kimono is NOT for Sale Stop FUCKING asking. I’m NOT Japanese if you say “Konichiwa” to me I’ll kill you I know I look like famous Billionaire Lee Mai-Shou I don’t need to keep hearing about him I’m cooler than him and I have better style

“Loitering okay?” Danny asked, reading through the oddly specific list.

The man nodded, “it’s a small town, I’d never get any company if I kicked out all the window shoppers.”

“Huh.”

“But,” the man slapped the spine of his magazine on the corner of the counter, and looked straight at him. His eyes were a dark hazel that flashed gold in the light, “you leave out that door walking just the way you came in. No hiding in any mirrors or possessing any paintings. It's hard enough to sell old shit in a town like this. I don’t need more on my record.”

Danny kinda just stilled. Was this his usual spiel? Or did he recognize something off about Danny already? It would be frustrating if he had, but it would also be completely par for the course in this damn town so far.

He decided it didn’t really matter though, because even if he’d already been outed the guy wasn’t actively pointing an ecto-weapon at him and seemed to be overall pretty chill. “I’m looking for something specific-”

“We don’t have specific things,” the man interrupted, “we have random things. Its an Antique Store think fancy garage sale. If you’re looking for specific things try Amazon.”

“The specific thing is an Antique though.”

“Have you tried Ebay?”

“It’s in this town.”

The man paused at that before sighing. “Of course it is. ‘Specific’ things don’t ever fucking leave.”

There was, probably, a good amount to unpack there but Danny decided it wasn’t any more his business than being half dead was this guy’s business. “It’s a lamp, it holds part of the night sky?” he tried asking.

The man clicked his tongue, “Bad luck kid. Sold that to an estate on the Meadow Hills south east of town.”

Danny lit up, a little too literally. He quickly readjusted before it was actually noticeable. “You actually had it? That’s great! Do you remember who you sold it to?”

“Don’t have their name.”

“... You remember the lamp but not who bought it?”

The man finally put his magazine fully down and sat up properly. “I know who bought it, I don’t have their name. It's not something they're willing to give away, at least not for a lamp. I’d also recommend not going there yourself, they’re fond of young boys.”

Danny rolled his eyes. He was making the rich people in town sound like some kind of Seelie Court. “I’ll take your work for that,” he lied, fully planning on some ghost-grade breaking and entering. He headed for the door, hearing the soft chime of the bell as he pulled it open.

“Oh, one more thing,” he said, turning around, “Why’s this town called Witch Hour anyways?”

#Danny phantom #ectoberhaunt 2021 #My OCs #Witch Hour #Bee's writing #fanfiction #original work #crossover

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mfingenius · 4 years

Text

The ‘Accio’ miracle

Trigger Warnings: very brief mention of self harm and addiction

Draco keeps secrets.

He’s always prided himself in it, knows there’s no one who’s better at it than him; he kept his father’s secrets, first, thirteen and feeling like he was being let into the world of the elite, where people knew things other witches and wizards didn’t. Then, he kept his mother’s secrets; the quiet contempt no one seemed to see, the anxiousness that ate at her day by day because of things Draco didn’t quite understand, things he wasn’t told, not yet, not even though his father had called him a man.

Third, he kept the Dark Lord’s secrets; he remembers the day they came into his home, the Dark Lord and his cult of followers, each crueler and more heartless than the last, and Draco had been fifteen and terrified, and he didn’t feel like a man, not at all, he’d felt like a child. He’d heard the things they planned, seen the things they did, and he’d kept his mouth shut. He thinks he’d died a little, then; the first time he’d heard someone scream under a Crucio was the first time he realized he knew nothing at all, that the glory and the knowledge he thought were his, what he thought the cause he was fighting for entailed, was all wrong.

He was all wrong.

He still said nothing.

Fourth, he keeps his own secrets; or he tries to, at least. When he’s sixteen and the name Harry James Potter appears across his ribcage in horrible handwriting, he stays locked in his bathroom for three hours, the world crashing down around him; it is the summer before sixth year, and he just – he just needs to make it to September first without anyone noticing, and that’s all. He’s off to Hogwarts, and he can fuck off and never come back. For now, however – for now, well, he’s trapped in a place that used to be his childhood home but is now unrecognizable, filled with people who will not hesitate to kill him – or worse, and Draco knows what they’re capable of, he does, he’s seen them – if they find out who his soulmate is.

In that moment, Draco hates Potter, truly and overwhelmingly hates him, because he’s not going to get out of here, he’s not going to survive this if anyone finds out. The older Death Eaters already hurt him for fun, and he’s done nothing. After this, they’re going to kill him.

So he does what he has to; he draws a Difindo across the name, over and over until it is unrecognizable, and the pain of it is agonizing, but he shoves a towel between his teeth and bears his way through it; it gives him time, an excuse not to come out of his rooms if anyone comes looking for him – they don’t - but when the skin heals, the name is right there, readable over the scars, and Draco has to sit and just breathe, because this can’t be happening.

After that, he does the next best thing; he wears layers upon layers, skin-tight shirts underneath loose robes so no one will notice, keeps the mark hidden, knows he only needs to get through the summer.

And he almost succeeds. The last day of July – Potter's birthday, Draco knows – the Dark Lord tells him he’s taking the Mark; it’s supposed to be an honor, Draco knows, he can see the pride in his father’s eyes, but the only thing he feels is dread.

He doesn’t want the Dark Mark.

“Shirt off,” the Dark Lord hisses, and Draco’s blood runs cold; he knows it is usual for people to take the Dark Mark shirtless; it’s a metaphor, he thinks, something about his mind and body belonging to the Dark Lord, but for him it’ll be his doom.

Slowly, very slowly, he begins unbuttoning his robes.

Seven years later

“Anything yet?” Ron asks, stepping into their office when two bags of Chinese food; there’s a muggle place two blocks away from the ministry that makes the best spring rolls in the world, and they always eat from there when they’re working on a tough case.

“No,” Harry says, gratefully taking the box that Ron offers him. “Fuck, this smells delicious.”

Ron nods. “Got extra spring rolls for you.”

Harry groans a muffled ‘thank you’, already devouring the fried rice; he hasn’t eaten since breakfast, and he’s starving. He welcomes the taste of salty, fried food, and then looks back to the surveillance footage they’re watching. They’ve been investigating the death of a muggle military general, because he had no apparent cause of death to muggles – an Avada Kedavra - and because traces of magic were found at the scene.

“There he is, look at that.” Harry and Ron lean forward at the same time, eyes narrowing at the grainy footage; they'd ‘confiscated’ it from the Muggle Police – better to avoid unwanted questions when they saw it – but they’re used to how well one can see surveillance charms, so this is undoubtably a step down.

“What is he doing?” Harry asks, frowning; Edward Thomas can be seen drinking alone in the hotel bar; he’d be found in his hotel room, but they’ve already scanned the elevator and hall tapes and nothing has come up, so they’re working their way back.

He’s speaking to the man beside him, whose face they can’t see because his back is to the camera. Harry, however, can see Thomas’s face, and he looks – evidently interested. Harry thinks he might be flirting. The other man is evidently not interested, because he turns away, but Thomas reaches out to harshly grab the other man by the arm; the man steps back, and they struggle for a moment before he manages to break himself free, finally turning towards the camera to leave.

“Holy fucking shit,” Ron says, pausing the footage and placing his takeout box on the table, moving closer. “Is that Malfoy?”

Harry nods numbly.

“Holy shit,” he echoes, and continues to stare at the furious, cool face of his soulmate.

“I can stay on the case,” Harry insists. As a policy, the Ministry doesn’t allow an Auror to work any case where their soulmate is involved, but Harry thinks these are special circumstances.

No one’s seen Malfoy in years, for one. He went missing before their sixth year – two years of being a prisoner at the manor, Harry knows – and though he appeared briefly, it was only long enough for the healers at St. Mungo’s to take a look at him. He disappeared again afterwards, as soon as he was discharged, and hasn’t been seen or heard from in five years.

Secondly, they’d finished watching the surveillance footage, and Thomas had left for his room after talking to Malfoy, which means he was most likely the last person to see their murder victim alive.

“You cannot be objective about your soulmate, Potter,” Robards says.

Harry would’ve loved not to tell him about this new development in the case, but he’d walked in while Ron and Harry were discussing it, so they’d had to.

“Sir, Malfoy and I are hardly soulmates,” Harry argues. “We haven’t spoken in five years!”

Robards looks at him calculatingly; Harry is his best Auror, and him and Ron work best together. Taking him off the case is a bad decision and he knows it, but if he doesn’t and something goes wrong because of Harry being stupid about Malfoy, it’ll be on him.

“Fine,” he says, finally. “You can stay on the case. Find me Malfoy, find me our murderer, and you do not stay alone with him at any point. If I hear you’ve messed something up because you’ve gone and done something more reckless than usual, I swear I'll fire you, Potter, even if the Minister himself tells me not to.”

Harry nods.

Malfoy opens the door, takes a look at them, and tries to close it again. Harry slaps his hand against the door to stop him, and Malfoy sighs, rolling his eyes and opening the door again, resigned.

“Potter, Weasley. What are you doing here?”

“Edward Thomas was murdered three nights ago,” Harry says; he thinks one of them should have something more to say; they are soulmates, after all. He expected Malfoy to ask how they had found him, five years after leaving the Wizarding World without a trace. Harry sort of wants to know where Malfoy has been, wonders if he’s been here, in muggle St. Rémy de Provence, the entire time, but he is trying to convince himself that he doesn’t care about Malfoy. It's not working; he’s looking at him and there’s an itch just under his skin that he can’t quite get rid of. “And you were the last person to see him alive.”

“I don’t know who you’re talking about,” Malfoy says.

Ron shows him a picture of Thomas, and Malfoy’s eyebrow raises marginally.

“Oh,” Malfoy says. “Him.”

“Yes, him,” Ron says, unimpressed. “You are a witness in our murder investigation, Malfoy, and we’d like you to come into the Ministry for an interview.”

“No, thank you,” Malfoy says politely. “We’re in France, which means you have no jurisdiction. You can’t make me.”

“You’re an English wizard,” Harry says, irritated. Malfoy hasn’t changed one bit. “We could bring you in under-”

“Subsection 1359?” Malfoy finishes for him smugly. “That law only applies to active suspects, Potter, and, as you’ve told it, I’m not one.”

“We could make you one,” Harry says. It’s less than moral, and not something Harry would do, not really, but the arrogant look Malfoy keeps giving him is pissing him off. “We know you left the bar before he did, but you could’ve hired someone to kill him.”

Malfoy cocks an eyebrow. “Oh? With what money?”

“The Malfoy fortunes weren’t seized after the war,” Harry says.

“Right.” Malfoy nods. “Except I’m not a Malfoy anymore.”

Harry opens his mouth to argue, and then shuts it again. “What?”

Malfoy – or, well, not Malfoy – opens his hands in a wide gesture. “Emancipated myself from my parents as soon as my trial was over, Potter, and I haven’t done magic in years. I’m officially a muggle. I have a muggle birth certificate, a passport – I'm Monéguasque, by the way, and yes, I chose it just because I like the way it sounds – and even social security and a job. I’m a muggle.”

“What?” Harry demands, because he can’t quite wrap his head around it; Malfoy as a – as a non Malfoy? Malfoy as a muggle?

“Yes,” Malfoy says. “So you can leave me alone.”

And he closes the door on their face.

“Well,” Ron says, awkwardly. “That was – not good.”

“You don’t seem very surprised,” Harry says, mildly, when he and Ron – mostly Harry – have finished their rant about Malfoy.

“Well,” Hermione says, shifting on the sofa. “I knew all of this.”

“What?” Harry and Ron ask.

Hermione sighs and puts down the box of Greek takeout she’d been eating.

“He asked for my help, when the war ended,” she confesses. “I got him the muggle birth certificate, the passport, the school records, all of it. I had help, obviously. Luna was very helpful, unexpectedly. Turns out her father used to be a barrister, and she-”

“Why would you help him?” Harry asks. Then, “Why would he need help?”

“You’ve made him practically untouchable, I hope you know,” Ron says to his wife, kissing her cheek and reaching for another box of takeout. “It’s made our case a thousand times harder.”

“Thank you,” Hermione says, smugly. “That was the point.” She turns to Harry. “Harry, I don’t know if you’ve forgotten, but Draco spent two years as Voldemort’s prisoner because he is your soulmate. He lied for us in the manor. He – understandably, I might add – wanted a break from the wizarding world, he asked for my help, and I said yes. It was decent.”

Harry knows, logically, that she is right; that he shouldn’t be as angry as he is about finding out Malfoy has made a successful life for himself in France, and, if he’s honest, he’s not entirely sure why he’s angry.

Maybe – well, a tiny bit of Harry had been excited about knowing who his soulmate was since he was told about them when he was eleven, and, after getting through the initial shock of having Malfoy’s name on his ribcage, he’d hoped they could be – normal, for once.

He should’ve known better; nothing between them is ever simple.

After Malfoy had lied for him in the manor – and Harry knows Malfoy knows it was him, because they could’ve recognized each other blindfolded and with their hands tied simply by the feeling of it – Harry had been stupid enough to think that, since the war was over, now came the easy part.

The part he deserved.

And then Malfoy had disappeared without another word, and Harry had been left without a soulmate and with the entirety of the Wizarding World expecting him to know why his soulmate had left, where he’d gone to, and when he and Harry would get together.

It had been stressful.

“Why did you never mention it?” he asks, finally, and Hermione gives him a knowing look that Harry doesn’t quite understand.

“You would’ve looked for him.”

“I wouldn’t have!”

“Harry,” Hermione says sensibly. “The first year after the war – you were a mess.”

“Excuse me?”

“Not that it’s wrong! Or that it wasn’t understandable, or anything, it’s just-” she exhales, shaking her head, and continues quietly, sorrowful. “We all were. All of us, we were all – Malfoy was, too. You did not see him - I spent only a week visiting him in St. Mungo’s, and it was like he was still trapped in that house. I cannot imagine what it must’ve taken for him to move forward. If you’d gotten together then, you would’ve broken up.”

Harry clenches his jaw and looks away, but he knows she’s right; he barely remembers the year after the war, drowned in a haze of alcohol and sex and potions and clubs and anything that could make him feel even a little better for a second.

Hermione, though looking better from the outside, had been just as bad; she’d thrown herself into her work in a way that had meant she’d needed potions to keep up, and had had a brief addiction to a wizarding version of Adderall, five times as potent. She had spent almost an entire year struggling to stop after Ron and Harry had found out. There’s too much to fix, she’d said, frustrated. I can’t do it any other way.

Ron had been, surprisingly, the least self-destructive of them; he’d spent the first three months in bed, without moving at all, barely eating, and without speaking to anyone. He’d begun getting better after that – he’d seen a mind healer, and had later dragged Hermione and Harry with him, too – and now, thankfully, they’re all successful, functional people.

None of them forget, though.

Harry was surrounded by people who’d gone through what he did, by people who somewhat understood.

He couldn't imagine Malfoy having to live through it in the muggle world, with no one who could understand why he couldn’t sleep at night, why he got lost in his own head.

“I’m going to talk to him again,” he says stubbornly.

Hermione’s smile is wry. “I know you are.”

“Holy shit,” Malfoy jumps when he walks out of his apartment and finds Harry standing there, leaning against the wall. “Don’t you know how to knock, Potter?”

“Would you have opened the door?” Harry asks with a raised eyebrow.

Malfoy glares at him. “If someone won’t open the door for you, the polite thing to do is leave.”

Harry ignores him. “Are you a doctor?”

Malfoy is wearing lavender scrubs, with a navy blue Henley underneath thick white shoes.

“Nurse,” Malfoy corrects, and then seems surprised at himself for having answered. He crosses his arms across his chest defensively. “I’m a neonatal nurse at the hospital.”

“Is it far?”

Malfoy shakes his head mutely.

“I’ll walk you,” Harry offers. Malfoy looks surprised and more than a little bit suspicious, but he chews on his lower lip and nods. Harry lets Malfoy lead the way, and, together, silently, they walk towards the hospital where Malfoy works.

St. Remy de Provence is unexpectedly beautiful; it’s small, and much quieter than Harry’s used to – magical London is busy and loud on the best of days – but it’s cozy, and Malfoy looks truly peaceful.

“What are you doing here, Potter?” Malfoy asks finally, quietly. “I’m not going to help you with your case.”

“I don’t have a case anymore.” Harry shrugs. “I was transferred.”

He’d gone to Robards after he’d seen Malfoy, and had admitted he couldn’t work the case. Robards had already another team waiting.

Malfoy gives a humorless smile. “Should I be expecting another Auror at my door soon, then?”

Harry shakes his head. “I told them you didn’t know anything.”

Malfoy blinks, stunned for a second, and then mutters a quiet ‘thank you’.

They continue walking in silence, and then Harry decides to simply say it.

“I want you to come back.” Malfoy immediately stiffens, and Harry can see he is going to refuse outright, which is why he continues quickly. “It doesn’t have to be right now. I don’t mean to pressure you, and I know you - I know you’ve been dealing with – well, everything, like the rest of us, but – it's not the same without you.”

He wishes he were lying, but he’s not; he’d been unable to sleep the night before, and had, very slowly, very painfully, realized that he’s actually missed Malfoy, all this time. Sixth year without him was worse than ever, and through being on the run, Harry had, secretly, wondered where he was, all the time. He'd checked every day, nearly every hour, his soulmark with Draco’s name in his handwriting, only to make sure that it was still inked black and not a faded grey, to know he wasn’t dead.

Seeing him at the manor – and that is not a memory Harry will ever forget. Seeing Bellatrix dragging him forward with a chain wrapped around his neck had sent blinding fury through Harry – had been a breath of fresh air and relief where there was none, if only for a few seconds. Losing him again so shortly after, when he’d disappeared after being discharged, had been unbearable, even on top of everything else.

“I can’t,” Malfoy whispers.

“What?”

“I can’t.” Malfoy clears his throat, looks away. “I meant it when I said I was a muggle, Potter. I – we're soulmates, and I’ve missed you for some – some reason-” he lets out a disbelieving laugh and shakes his head. “I can’t do magic.”

Harry cannot speak. Then, “What?”

“I can’t do magic anymore,” Malfoy says, louder. “When I was – there - my wand was taken away, and I spent - I spent two years without being able to even touch a wand, let alone do any magic, and – afterwards, I was so – so terrified of them I couldn’t bring myself to grab one.”

“Have you tried?”

Malfoy gives him a look. “Obviously. My therapist – she's a muggle, so I had to come up with some pretty creative metaphors, and I think she knows I'm lying to her – she suggested I try to get more comfortable to eventually start doing it again. I worked on it, and I’m not – afraid anymore, not really, I can be around wands, but - I can’t do magic. I’ve tried, even with the simplest of spells, and I can’t. She says – it's just trauma, I know that, but I can’t.”

Harry stays quiet; he cannot imagine not being able to do magic. It had been one of the few things that got him through everything after the war, and having it taken away – well, fuck.

“I’m sorry,” he says uselessly.

Malfoy gives a tense shrug. “I’ve gotten used to it. But I can’t go back.”

“I-”

“I have to go in.” Malfoy gestures to the big hospital on their right. “I’ll... see you later?”

Harry nods, and watches as Malfoy walks away.

“This is crossing so many lines,” Hermione had said, when Harry had told her of his plan.

Harry is aware he is crossing many, many lines, but he is now outside of Malfoy’s door, so he cannot back down.

He knocks, and, a few seconds later, the door opens; Malfoy seems to have just woken up – and it’s nearly four in the afternoon, but Harry doesn’t know what kind of shifts he works at the hospital, so he’s not judging him too much – and blinks owlishly at him for a few seconds before sliding his gaze to the person standing next to Harry.

“Potter,” he says, very slowly. “What have you done?”

“This is Healer Bo,” Harry says, placing his hand on Malfoy’s door to stop him from – predictably – slamming the door on their faces. Healer Bo is a little old man with dark, greying hair, shorter than both of them but also probably smarter than them combined. “I know you’ve said your therapist thinks it’s trauma, but what if it’s something different?”

“Potter.” And oh, okay, Malfoy is furious, as is evident by the quickly blooming color on his face. “I am not some victim you can focus your – your hero complex on. I told you those things to explain, not to have you turn me into some pet project!”

“That’s not what I'm doing!” Harry defends. “I’m only trying to help you-”

“I didn’t ask for your help!”

“Well, deal with it, you git, because we are soulmates and I want to help you, and I want you to come back, and I want you to be able to do magic because you deserve it!”

“So you just want me to uproot my entire life for you?” Malfoy demands. “Why don’t you come to the muggle world instead of setting me up with a healer appointment I didn’t ask for? He’s not going to be able to do anything!”

“How do you know that?” Harry pushes. “Your therapist is muggle, Malfoy-”

“Don’t call me that, I’m not-”

“Draco, you can’t have told her everything, so her diagnosis can’t be reliable-”

“Well, too bad! I’m not letting some random healer you’ve brought to my door run tests on me-”

“I’ve already run them,” Healer Bo says calmly. “Your magical core is damaged.”

Silence.

“What?” Draco asks, fragile.

“It could be trauma, as well, but it’s not only that,” Healer Bo explains. “Your magical core is damaged. I need you to come into my office so I can run some more tests.”

Harry spreads his hands in an ‘I told you so’ gesture, and Draco throws balled socks at him.

“What did he say?” Harry asks anxiously, standing up as soon as Malfoy comes out the door, Healer Bo following close behind him. “What did you say? What’s wrong?”

Healer Bo and Draco share a look.

“I told you he frets,” Draco tells him.

“You were right,” Healer Bo agrees solemnly, and before Harry can be properly offended, he continues. “Draco's magical core is damaged because of Crucio.”

“That can happen?” Harry asks, frowning.

“That’s what Crucio does,” Healer Bo says. “It cracks one’s magical core. It’s why it feels like everything is burning. If it’s done enough, the magical core can be damaged irreparably.”

Harry holds his breath. “Is - Draco’s-”

“No,” Healer Bo says; Draco can complain all he likes, but he’s beaming beside Healer Bo. “It’s not irreparably damaged. It will be a long process, however. You’ll both need to be patient.”

They both nod, quickly, and Harry asks, “Do I – should I do something?”

“Support your soulmate,” Healer Bo says simply. Draco’s cheeks turn red, but Harry nods seriously. He’ll do anything he can. “I’ve already given Draco the Potions he’ll need to be taking, and we will have to perform Healing spells once every two days. You can either come in here, or I can send one of my interns-”

“We’ll come in,” Harry says immediately; he assumes Bo’s interns are good – Bo is, after all, one of the highest praised healers in the world – but he wants Bo to do it. He won’t trust anyone else with his soulmate.

“Alright,” Bo says. “I’ll see you in two days.”

“What are you thinking about?” Harry had taken Draco out for a late lunch; they’re at the only restaurant reporters never find Harry, a tiny Indian takeout place. The lady who runs it loves Harry, so she never calls the reporters, and doesn’t allow anyone else to call them, either. He’d figured Draco wouldn’t want to be in a Prophet article on his first day back.

“A lot of things,” Draco admits. “The possibility of getting my magic back. The fact that I didn’t quit the hospital before we left, which means that technically I have a shift in twenty minutes, which I figure I’m not going to make. The fact that I have nowhere to live and no money to get a place to live-”

“Come live with me,” Harry blurts. He’s never had the best brain-to-mouth filter.

“What?”

“Live with me,” he repeats. “I’ve - a flat. I moved out of Grimmauld place, it was too – too many memories, but – we can live together, and – if you want to leave, later, I’ll let you, but – well, I'd like it if you stayed.”

Draco stares at him for a moment, and then looks away, a pink flush spreading across his cheeks. “Alright.”

Harry can’t help but grin. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

The recovery of Draco’s magical core is, as the healer had said, slow. Healer Bo tells them that it really helps that they’re together, because being far from one’s soulmate can be greatly stressful, and Harry is glad to be doing what he can. Apart from that, they settle into Harry’s flat quite nicely.

Harry refuses to sleep on the couch – he was about to offer, but then Draco demanded it, so Harry would be damned before he gave up his bed – and Draco refuses to not sleep in the biggest bed available, so they share Harry’s bed, which Harry thinks should feel weird, but it doesn’t.

It feels... right. Like home, sort of.

Time passes much quicker than it used to, without Draco; Harry takes a year leave from the Aurors so he can dedicate, fully, to his soulmate. Draco gets reintegrated to the magical world slowly, and though he cannot do magic, he’s evidently glad to be back.

They even get pets – a fat kneazle that they call Morgana and a huge black crup that they call Godric – and pretty much build their life together. Draco opens a bakery – and really, of all things Harry imagined Draco doing, this was not one of them – and it turns out that Muggle treats are not widely known in the wizarding world, and they are widely liked, once Draco starts selling them. Because he runs the place, he only works during the morning, which means they get to spend their afternoons lounging together in their flat, watching the telly or teasing each other.

“Potter, I swear to Merlin,” Draco growls, glaring tightly at Harry, who’s holding his favorite mug as high as he can reach.

“I’ll give it to you,” Harry tells him. “As soon as you admit that you’re the one who got our reservation wrong.”

“I did not! You said seven!”

“I told you, a thousand times, that our reservation was at six!”

“No, you didn’t!”

Turns out, being soulmates didn’t really stop their fighting, but it’s different now. Harry is rarely truly angry while they argue, unlike before, and Draco is the same way.

“Yes, I did!”

“No you bloody didn’t!” Draco snaps. “Give me my mug back right now, or I’ll - I’ll-”

“You’ll what?” Harry asks smugly. “What will you do to me, Draco?”

Draco glares at him, ears red in his anger, and then grabs Harry’s wand off the counter and yells, ‘Accio’.

The mug flies straight from Harry’s hand into Draco’s. They’re both so surprised it slips from his hands, shattering on the floor.

Neither of them care.

“Did I just-”

“Did you just-”

They look at each other for a moment, before they both break into the biggest grins imaginable. Harry laughs and pulls him in for a tight hug, lifting him and spinning around in their kitchen, miraculously not stepping on any shards of ceramic.

“You just did magic, Draco!” Harry practically yells, not putting him down. “Magic!”

“I did!” Draco’s ecstatic, over the moon, grin wider than Harry’s ever seen. “Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you!”

And he grabs Harry’s face roughly and pulls him in for a deep kiss.

They both freeze momentarily, and Harry puts him down.

“I’m sorry,” Draco begins immediately. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to - I didn’t - I shouldn’t have-”

Harry pulls him in for another kiss, deeper this time, and pulls him closer, grabbing his hips.

“Don’t apologize,” he pleads. “I’ve been wanting to do that for ages.”

“You have?” Draco sounds surprised.

“Yes,” Harry says, and he kisses him again. Draco wraps his arms around his neck, and Harry lifts him again, sitting him in their kitchen counter, and he can’t get enough, he can’t stop, he can’t.

When they both pull away to breathe – a long, long time later – Harry cannot stop grinning at him.

“I love you,” he says. “Soulmate.”

Draco’s grin is the only thing Harry wants to see for the rest of his life.

“I love you, too,” he says, rubbing their noses together sweetly. “Soulmate.”

And Harry kisses him again, and he thinks that if everything he had to go through was leading to this moment, he’d do it all again, a thousand times, however many times it was necessary, because this? This is everything.

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

Soulmate AU commissioned by @chinike

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mercurygray · 3 years

Text

Cartography

Working on some prompts in my box and decided I needed some Andy/Vivian on this fine Soft Saturday.

Peace is most important to cartographers.

After years of war, of blurred lines and changing borders and new names, it means a return to permanence, a chance to fill the map back in.

Returning home, Andy was filling in his maps again. For the last three years, the maps on the desk of his mind had been of smaller places - camps and training centers, bivouacs and bases, the street signs and landmarks becoming more arcane and strange, a hollow tree, a shell crater, a rotting corpse. Small details had picked up great significance, his eyes adjusting to the dark, and now that he was home, back in the places where street signs were street signs and a barking dog was just a barking dog, he was remembering how normal people made maps. Left at the drugstore, over the bridge, hang right where the street forks.

He’d told himself years ago that he wouldn’t come back here, a comet that had failed to fly, but where else did one go, when one has been to war, except to go home? What was there to do except regroup? Coaching was out, at least for a while. Teaching seemed logical, but there were certificates he needed for that, classes he had to take, that the army might pay for. He still had therapy, at the hospital in Boston, and some savings to live on. His mother wanted him close, but he couldn’t bring himself to move back home. He wasn’t sure he knew the man that he’d become, but something inside him knew he wasn’t the man he’d been when he left, either. What of Andrew Haldane remained, where the war had been?

In the end, he split the difference - a room in town above a drugstore with a hot plate and a hot water heater that never worked, haggling the rent down with the promise to shovel the sidewalks in the winter. (He didn’t tell his physical therapist about the shoveling - she would have told him no. But it was August, and he’d surely be better by November. ) He got a job at a grocery - nothing serious, just something to keep him busy until he could figure out school. He got tired, some days, and the hours were good for a guy who couldn’t quite swing a ten hour day on a factory floor just yet.

Letters came, slowly, first to his parents’ house and then here, to his apartment, from army freinds, college friends, heard you were in a bad way, was at Hickam myself, you were right about Italy, the food was awful. Stamps were cheap and paper cheaper, and it was a fine way to spend an evening, with the radio on and a dish of spaghetti from the little checked tablecloth place down the street, where the proprietor’s wife always said he looked skinny and made sure she gave him five meatballs instead of four. (It was that or Chinese food, but he still couldn’t look a bowl of rice in the eye, and Mrs. Genovesi‘s meatballs were excellent.)

And one day there was a letter from an address he didn’t recognize in a handwriting he couldn’t place, until he opened the envelope and read I saw a stranger in the subway the other day who looked like you, and he didn’t have to read the signature to know who it was from.

She was in Boston. Or rather, she’d been in Boston, visiting friends, and she’d seen the man who looked like him and wasn’t. I looked up every Haldane in Methuen in the phone book and cold-called them all. I hope I didn’t get your mother’s hopes up. (So that’s what his mother had meant, when she’d asked a few weeks ago why a woman from the hospital would be calling about his address. He’d assured her they knew where he lived.) She’d been home for a few months. She was working at the General Hospital in Lawrence, along with her sister, living at home to save on money.

I don’t know why it’s taken me so long to write this letter. I guess I wanted to leave all that behind me and figured you felt the same. A pause on the paper, an extra space where she’d obviously picked up the pen, deciding what she’d write next, if she was ready to commit to it. But that stranger made me realize I’d love to see you.

He read the line over and over again without realizing, his heart turning somersaults while a band in some Boston ballroom wheedled away in the background, and then everything was hitting him all at once, he wasn’t sure his suit still fit and what was he doing next Friday and did he need a haircut and how long, exactly, would it take him to catch the bus that would drop him near the restaurant she had mentioned. He nearly sent the spaghetti to the floor trying to find his pen, his heart flying over Dear Vivian and rocketing clear through to the mail box.

After he’d dropped that letter, Friday couldn’t come soon enough. His suit did fit, although he’d had to use a new hole on his belt. He was gaining back some of the weight he’d lost, courtesy of the extra meatballs, though it was still very much a work in progress. “Got somewhere nice to be, Andy?” his boss at the grocery had asked, watching him whistle as he stocked shelves in record time. He’d only shrugged and smiled, his mind on the clock and the 7:15 bus to Southbridge.

The restaurant she’d recommended wasn’t Genovesi’s, though it seemed struck from the same stamp - a bar counter of four chairs, a small dining room with candles in straw-wrapped bottles, tinny accordion music on a record player in the corner, and a jacketed maitre-d (clearly Papa - Mama would be in the kitchen) who happily installed Andy on a stool with a glass of chianti while he waited.

Each open and close of the door got his hopes up, and he was half-thinking he’d gotten the wrong restaurant when two women came in and he recognized a familiar face. She looked so good.

Her friend caught him staring as the maitre’d took their coats, and leaned in to make a joke to her. She looked up, saw him at the bar, and couldn’t help smiling, whispering something back to her friend, who took the hint and went to go find a different table.

How had he forgotten the smell of her perfume? She seemed softer, now that she was out of hospital whites, her hair dressed a little differently so that it fell on her collar. “Captain Haldane.”

“Lieutenant Arsenault. What’s a fine, upstanding woman like yourself doing in a place like this?”

He realized he had missed that smile. “Well, as it happens, I’m supposed to be meeting someone, but my friend said I should stand up my date and try my chances with the handsome man at the end of the bar.”

She still thinks I’m handsome. “And you didn’t think to tell her the man at the end of the bar was your date?”

“I can keep a couple of secrets. Obviously not for long.”

For a moment they simply stood and smiled at each other, before he remembered this was supposed to be a conversation. “How...how are you? How’s the hospital? Can I get you a drink? Have you eaten?”

She laughed and he realized that was too many questions and not enough time for answers. “I haven’t eaten yet, I’ll pass on the drink, and I’ll tell you the first two while we order,” she promised.

He’d worried all afternoon about what this would look like, what she would say, and how she would look, and how she had changed, and how he had changed, how he was unsure what the map to a girl’s heart looked like, and how one was supposed to navigate these things. But now, being here, in the moment, pulling out her chair and complimenting her dress, he was filled with the assurance that they knew exactly where they were, like they had never left, had never been apart, under a pin on a map saying You are here.

#i have written a thing #vivian arsenault #1940s girl gang #mercurygraypresents

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rigelmejo · 3 years

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Extensive Reading Updates - Zhenhun

I have been extensively reading zhenhun, my print novel version so I am not looking up any words. (Whereas with the hanshe pingxie fanfiction I am still occasionally clicking a word). I have read the first 20 chapters of the webnovel version of zhenhun in Pleco in the past few months, so most unknown words I have looked up before at some point. So right now I'm re-reading a lot of the same content and will be until I get past chapter 20.

I can tell that my comprehension of zhenhun probably is at about 95%. As in, its enough that I can follow the main plot and most key info details, but there's enough unknown words that I cannot guess some of them from context if its a totally new part of the novel I'm reading. And I run into a number of words in the in-depth scenery and character backstory descriptions that I just do not know and there's enough I don't always have enough context to guess relatively closely to their meaning.

Since these first 20 chapters are a re-read more or less, I have the extra context of 'knowing the overall plot that happens here' already. So I'm reading slower than I probably could, trying to figure out any unknown words from all the surrounding word context and the prior-plot-knowledge I have. For these re-reading sections this is working well, a majority of the words I can re-remember or figure out. I am hoping I will pick up enough of THESE kinds of unknown-words during this re-reading portion, so that hopefully my comprehension when I get to the new parts of the book will be a bit higher than 95%. Then hopefully once I get into totally new parts of the book: my reading speed will be a bit better (less unknown words I hope lol), and I will know a bit more words to guess more totally-new unknown words (that I've never looked up before) vague overall meanings.

Examples of what things I can read clearly versus parts I can't figure out all of the words enough to be relatively sure of the details. In chapter 1, I can read the parts about "Guo Changcheng having a phobia of phone calls" clearly, but then the details about him being afraid of people and having social anxiety I can follow certain parts, but other parts of the descriptions (like him when he sees a teacher or principal) I just sort of vaguely guessed meant he was terrified of them. When chapter 1 described Zhao Yunlan's entrance, I could clearly follow the parts about him looking serious/having a bad attitude and walking fast with the attitude of "if you're in my way roll the fuck away" and then the part about how instantly his mood changed to warm, he smiled friendly, he talked kindly and helped Guo Changcheng out by patting at his shoulder when Guo Changcheng got all sweaty trying to shake hands. But then the part about how Guo Changcheng sensed a seriousness/almost-scariness about Zhao Yunlan? All those details read vague to me and I am just summarizing that my interpretation of it was "even acting friendly, Guo Changcheng felt he was serious underneath/powerful/had an intimidating vibe." And since that detail read SO vague to me, I can't tell if that was an early hint Zhao Yunlan might be a god/used to have been Kunlun, if its just another implication Guo Changcheng is afraid of people/authority figures, or if it was trying to imply something else I just did not pick up on. So even WITH the re-reading prior context of these scenes, in-depth descriptions of character's intepretations still are more vague to me even if I can guess some of the words. I imagine this will get worse when I get to the totally new chapters - unless I learn a LOT of helpful words from context by the time I get through the first 20 chapters.

When I re-read the Kunlun intro I realized I may have translated some details wrong when I translated it to english several months ago. Now, this time I didn't use a dictionary to read at all, so it's possible I also did not interpret the details I read correctly THIS time around. But yeah, a couple days ago when I re-read that part I interpreted the 'qing yi' as possibly green/blue cloth Kunlun is wearing as the blizzard is blowing (whereas when I first translated that line months ago I thought it meant 'clear white fabric' blowing in the wind like some ripped piece of cloth - its also possible this time it still means 'bright cloth' but I do think it sounds more like its Kunlun's clothes than a random cloth blowing in the wind). And this time, when I read about Shennong it seemed more like he was either a god who'd lost his powers, or a god who'd lost his godhood fully, and its just he still retained his kind unselfish demeanor. Whereas when I first translated, I figured he was just a god 'who'd suffered' because of the great calamity that had just happened, but not particularly doing any worse than that. In this re-read though it feels to me more like its implying something more severe has happened to him/is happening. Also during this re-read, the line about 'the hole in the ground being so deep the rain did not even reach this far down' was much clearer for me whereas when I initially translated I had to look up a Ton of words in that section and still didn't quite get what it meant.

Also for the chapter 1 re-read, certain details were much easier for me to clearly understand. The part about McDonalds I FINALLY recognized that word in the sentence, the part about Guo Changcheng parking then going into the courtyard area and seeing the lobby office building, the part about human resources department, all of those sections I followed the details much easier than last time I read with a dictionary. So yeah, I'm curious which parts will be 'clearer' to me this time reading.

I am still reading at a slow 5 minutes a page (speed I was reading print novel of zhenhun last time). But to be fair? I am slowing down to try and figure out every unknown right now on the re-reading sections. And I read english fiction at like 3-4 minutes a page (why???? Do I just... picture and savor a lot???). I know when I'm reading nonfiction or back when I'd read class-assigned things I could read way faster, but I think its just because I scanned for important info and details and then moved on. Idk but...I really do read english fiction too slow too lol (I'm reading a friend's book and I've read like 110 pages despite like 10 hours on this book so far T-T just because I keep savoring it and pausing and rereading). I'm rereading a fic I wrote, so I know everything that happens, and I was reading like 1 page every 3-4 minutes ;-;. I know I can read super fast I think when I like something I just... slow down. Now, my chinese is reading slow just because reading slow is ALL I can do lol. But I may need... to be more realistic that any novel may take me 20-30 hours optimistically when I read like an english novel that's only 300 pages over 3 weeks now and I'm only 1/3 through it.

I can read chinese a touch faster if its actually in my 98% comprehended range I think. For hanshe, while when I'm slowing down looking up all unknown words its probably around the same speed as zhenhun? While I'm just reading to follow the story, I can finish a whole chapter in a handful of minutes. Now, like zhenhun, I am currently reading chapters I have already read before - so the familiarity is likely speeding me up. So that fact does mean it probably won't be as easy/fast once I get to the new chapters. At the moment though, unknown words pretty much all I have a good guess of understanding roughly in context (a lot like me reading fanfic in middle to high school as far as the amount of new vocabulary beyond my range that is not affecting my understanding). I just do not necessarily have a good chance of guessing completely new hanzi pronunciations (which is the main reason I keep occassionally looking up words). The hanzi I've vaguely seen before, I can sometimes guess their reading based on radical or the other word I know them from. But the completely new hanzi I do not remember seeing at all (although I did apparently at some point during the first read through) - I cannot make a decent pronunciation guess sometimes. And of course, the hanzi I always cannot guess correctly for the life of me (looking at you 'suspicious' 'hesitate' 'doubt' because I am STILL getting those 3 words/hanzi in them confused even though I've probably looked up each word like 40 times at least).

For me, print text is slightly easier to read (and in extensive reading its somewhat easier for me to guess new word meanings/hanzi). By this I mean the font they usually use for print novels (it looks a bit more like handwriting with more slanted lines and less 'blocky' of a look). I sort of think its because the print text usually used in books has more obvious radicals to me. So my eyes parse out the radicals I'm looking at easier and can make a guess at meaning/pronunciation. An obvious example is any time a 'sound noise' is written with hanzi with the mouth radical on them. When I'm reading in print text, I recognize 'mumbled, shouted, humph'ed, sighed, breathed in etc quite quickly. Along with sounds like 'xililala' and 'deng deng deng' and there was a sound phrase used I think in Guo Changcheng's section about school in chapter one that was like he sort of 'tumbled/fumbled his way through school' and while i know tumbled/fumbled is probably not Exactly the word? It looked like a sound-noise word to me because of the mouth radical, so I figured it might be something like that? Whereas I know when I read the webnovel if I saw a 4 hanzi phrase like that I would've just gotten confused by those hanzi cause I wouldn't have recognized the meaning of the other radicals in the hanzi. Also a few weeks ago I changed a fic I was reading's text to the print-usual text in Pleco, and had a much easier time reading less slow/recognizing hanzi I'd seen before. That said, recently reading a ton of hanshe has helped computer-text reading ability a bit I think. I'm getting much more used to recognizing radicals in computer-text website usual font, which I notice most obviously in that I'm hitting more 'sound hanzi' that are getting less confusing to me to recognize.

So I guess in summary, reading extensively is going fine. I'll find out in a few weeks if its causing any improvements. I do think its helping with my ability to recall words/pronunciations of words I've seen before though. Just because the quicker I can do that the less I pause, and I don't have a dictionary to help me out so I seem to remember some pronunciations quicker (maybe because I 'have' to). I also think its helping me with general sentence parsing a bit - which I thought I was fine at, but on re-reading the beginning of zhenhun I am realizing there's a decent amount of sentences I did NOT interpret quite right the first time around even with a dictionary.

#september #september progress #reading progress #i am happy my reading skill is improving but as usual its definitely a slow progress #i would not be surprised if i read zhenhun AGAIn in a year #and found out yet Again how many details i'd misunderstood prior lol #i think thats. just how it is sometimes maybe

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caughtupinmyfeels · 3 years

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Every night at 12 o'clock on the dot, it never fails, you call me up. Talking 'bout you had a bad day, so you're pullin' up. So I pour up a cup of just what you need, 'cause I know what you need. | #WhenWillILearn?

You know that kind of sleep where you’re straight up dead to the world? The kind of sleep where you can just turn over and fall even deeper into slumber because your body was so relaxed and needed the chance to recharge? I was in that place and it felt fucking amazing. I stretched with feline-like precision, my bare legs tangling in the bed sheets as I pulled them up over my shoulders. The room had dropped in temperature overnight, a subtle chill in the air making me want to bury myself deeper into the comfortable warmth. I wasn’t even sure what time it was, and frankly I didn’t care. Morning, noon or night, I had nowhere to be in that moment and I was glad. I turned onto my stomach, my lips parting in a soft yawn as my brain stirred, starting to fire up. It was so quiet. So peaceful. It was either really early, or really fucking late. The fact that I couldn’t hear music of any kind or the sound of movement outside my door had me reaching under my pillow for my phone. Holy shit. It was late. Had I really slept the day away? It was a natural reaction to feel the stirrings of what the fuck, but I reminded myself that it didn’t really matter. I lifted my head, glancing towards the window, the darkness comforting. My phone screen brightness was at the lowest setting, the sleep cycle app that was running blocking all notifications so that I wouldn’t be disturbed. Thank goodness for small mercies. My eyes flickered shut again, another yawn escaping as I shifted onto my back, pulling my hair over my shoulder as I dismissed do not disturb, my stomach twisting into a knot when I saw the multiple missed calls and text messages on my screen. Immediately, I swiped left to clear them, but the damage was done. My mind had gone from being gently awoken to firing on all cylinders. Fuck. I sighed, dropping my phone before my hand lifted to rub at my eyes, making a face when I saw the black smeared across it. I’d forgotten to take my make up off again. Getting home so late had me just kicking off my heels, peeling off my jeans and diving into bed. Sometimes, you need that. To not just give a fuck. Lately? I had run right out of them.

Whipping back the covers, I swung my bare legs over the side of the bed, standing to my feet. A shiver ran down my spine as the cold hit, pulling my T-shirt as far down over my ass as I could. I needed coffee and a hot shower. Pulling open my bedroom door, even though I knew nobody was here, I still tiptoed from my room to the bathroom. Slipping my hand behind the shower curtain, I flipped the shower on, turning it up to get the temperature nice and hot. While I let it run, I sought out the nectar of the gods. A soft snicker escaped as I saw the post it note ontop of the Keurig. ‘Just hit the button’ was all it said, @Dillon’s perfect handwriting making me laugh. I did as he suggested and leaned against the counter as the machine started to brew, the scent of French vanilla filling the kitchen. Heaven. I grabbed my creamer from the fridge, watching the coffee flow in a steady stream into my cup. When the machine stopped, I loaded my cup up and took it to the bathroom with me. Steam was billowing out of the shower, the warmth taking away the chill of the apartment. Taking a sip from my cup before I set it down, I groaned as the sweetness of the creamer hit my tongue. So freaking good. Pulling my shirt over my head, I let it drop to the floor before I pushed my panties down and stepped out of them. I wasn’t even daring a glance into the mirror before I got into the shower. I had no doubt I was a hot mess. I let the steam envelop me, the heat of the water hitting my skin with welcome pressure. A sigh of relief escaped as I lifted my hand to run through my hair, the other resting against the cool tile wall. My mind was racing. It always did when #Noah decided he had the balls to come back round again. It was always the same old routine. The phone calls and texts would start. When he realized he was getting ignored, he would hang round outside the bar, hoping to get at me that way. Sometimes he did. Sometimes he didn’t. It had been nearly six months since I last saw him. Six blissful, quiet months in which nobody had tried to play with my head or my heart. It was complicated. In fact, that was a bit of an understatement. We made complicated look pretty simple. No matter how hard I tried to stop myself from reminiscing, I never could. I had learned to detach myself from the memories, but the echoes of the feelings were still there. I closed my eyes, image after image assaulting my mind. When you love someone, it never really goes away. It burns for the rest of your life or it changes you. There are so many different types of love that you’re never really out of it. You’re just in a different state. Six months ago? My wounds had been reopened. The stitches that I’d sloppily inflicted on my heart never had the hope of healing. Yet, I kept on doing it. I’d swore it was the last time and in my mind, it was. I’d made it clear, hadn’t I? We weren’t good for each other. We never had been. If we were? Our relationship would have worked out the first time around. #Noah didn’t agree. The second, third and fourth times weren’t much better and each of them did a hell of a number on my heart. It was the back and forth, unsteady steps and uncertainty that finally had me calling time on us. Every time I got pulled in, he played to my weaknesses. I love you. I need you. Poof went my sense and down went my panties. We would fall into bed and I would tell myself that it was just a one time thing. We would fuck and fight. Swear to stay away from each other. Then the texts would start. The late night phone calls that would go on for hours. We’d promise that we could be friends. Date other people. It would work for a while. Then, the cycle would start again.

I miss you. Can I come over? I would get stuck thinking about the crappy date I’d been on that week, or remember that night I got too drunk and ended up with a noname who needed a fucking map to find my clit. Every time, #Noah would swoop in and make me feel like it was the first time all over again. He would kiss me and the fire would start again and need would take over. It didn’t matter if we were in the middle of a bar or in the backseat of his car. It was impossible to resist. His hand would be in my panties while he whispered dirty little things into my ear. It was like an addiction that had no cure and I had no will to fight it. Except the last time -was- the last time. I’d fallen for his sweet talk yet again, my cooch and heart doing the thinking. I’d gone into it legs open and got fucked in ways I wasn’t prepared for. The one thing you don’t want to hear from a guy when you’ve spent most of the afternoon with his dick in your mouth and his head between your legs? I’ve met someone. It was like a switch had been flipped in me. There were no niceties. We didn’t part as friends. We didn’t part as anything. It was done. I’d come to the realization that he’d never made an effort to let me go because he loved me, he just didn’t want anyone else to have me. I was just too stupid to see it. Dicknotized. I wasn’t falling for it again. Squeezing a glob of shampoo into my hand, I lathered up my hair, before I reached for my puff and body wash. No matter how many times I scrubbed myself, I could still feel him on me. Inside me. The memories felt like fingertips gripping my hips. Like bruises that never faded. Painful. Everlasting. Yet invisible to the eyes. I thought that they had healed, but clearly, I wasn’t quite there yet. I hated the scent of the body wash. It reminded me of him. Of the one too many times that Dillon had caught us in here, loudly proclaiming that we were fucking animals who should be on display in a zoo. He was one of the main reasons why I’d stayed away from #Noah. Every time I had a moment, he’d remind me of the ten pounds I gained from inhaling nothing but Ben and Jerry’s in the days that followed our last go round. He would remind me that no dick was worth gaining a double chin for. Especially dick that drove a truck and said y’all far too much. He was my saving grace. My best friend. The one who put me to bed after too much wine and knew my coffee order off by heart. He said everything I needed to hear without saying a word. If he was straight? I probably would’ve fallen head over heels for him. All the best ones were gay. Thankful that my mind was turning around, I rinsed my hair and washed my face, determined to leave #Noah locked up tight at the back of my mind, where he belonged.

My coffee was still warm when I got out of the shower, and I chugged it back before I decided to eat something more substantial than the poptart I’d crammed after I got home last night. I turned up the air in the apartment, rubbing a towel through my wet hair after I got dressed. I was nothing but nipples in this ice box. Dumping the towel in my laundry basket, I grabbed my phone and took it with me into the living room. Getting comfortable on the sofa, I saw several more missed calls, blowing out a breath at the way it made me feel. Nervous. Apprehensive. The thing that surprised me the most? The lack of my heart skipping a beat. There was none of that weird energy that usually filled me, making me feel like I couldn’t sit still. Maybe I really was finally getting over Noah. Letting go of all the hurt, resentment and frustration was good for my soul. So was Chinese food. Muting Noah’s number so he would fade into the oblivion of missed notifications, I ordered dinner, firing off a text to Dillon to tell him I’d ordered his favorite orange chicken and was planning to eat it all. The minute my phone pinged with his response, I was laughing. “You’re going to die alone and fat. With a dozen cats that will eat your face.” I set my phone down, grabbing the Apple TV remote from the coffee table. Every girl needed some McDreamy on a Friday night. Dillon had already spoiled it for me, so I knew my days with Derek Shepard were numbered. Meredith Grey was a lucky bitch. I needed all that pick me, choose me, love me crap. Men like him didn’t really exist and it gave women like me unrealistic expectations. It was probably why I kept going back to a guy who could promise me nothing but multiple orgasms. The sigh that left my lips was real. I’d heard every pick up line, every cheesy come-on. Working at a bar had served me well over the years. I’d been a therapist, agony aunt and a consoler of the heartbroken for years. Heard every kind of scandalous story you could imagine, and seen more bathroom stall sex than I cared to. I’d also been hit on so many times that I was immune to it. I could shoot the shit with just about anyone without a single dent in my bumper. Well, except for the Noah sized one, and I was looking for a good mechanic to pop that out. I got swept away in the show, jumping out of my skin when the doorbell rang. Shit. I grabbed some cash from my purse, counting it as I went to the door. Yeah, I had enough and then some for a tip. I went to pull the door open, soft laughter escaping when I realized that Dillon had double locked the door. Flipping the latch back, I pulled the door open, my breath hitching in my throat when I saw #Noah on the other side of the door. “We need to talk.”

Story first published on Twitter. Find me on @GiveMeAThrilI.

#storytelling #emotion #love #words words words

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forlornmelody · 3 years

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Impulse Control--Why Startling Poison Ivy Is A Really Bad Idea

Rating: E (Smut with some plot, for flavor.)

Fandom(s): DC Comics

Ship: Poison Ivy/Kate Kane

Linkage: Ao3

Summary: To find Harley, Ivy must make an uneasy alliance with one of the more notorious (and notoriously attractive) members of the Batfamily. A simple, easy in-and-out. But nothing is so simple or easy, is it?

Note: Commission for @rookie009. Dude, thank you so much for commissioning me again. And indulging this weirdness.

->->->

Pam-a-lamb,

I’m doing bad stuff but don’t worry ‘bout it.

--Harley xoxo

“It’s completely unlike her, right?”

Jason leans against the doorway, one boot braced against it and the other flat on the floor. He holds Harley’s unfolded note in his gloved hands, narrowing his eyes at it as if the answer lies in the creases. “You know her better. What’s your gut telling you?”

“She--” Ivy sighs, rubbing circles between her eyebrows--a futile gesture against her impending headache. “--She doesn’t leave notes. Harley just goes . Maybe she texts me while she’s out somewhere because the color of someone’s jacket made her think of me.” Waving her hand at the note, Ivy meets Jason’s eyes. “This…”

“...is planned.” Jason rotates the note, flipping it forward and back. “You sure it’s her handwriting?"

Honestly, Ivy doesn’t know what to think. “It...doesn’t look any different.” She coughs. “It smells like her.” Like buttered popcorn and Chinese food. Remembering cuts right into her sternum.

Jason puts a gloved hand over hers. He’s the only Robin who ever dared to touch her. “You’ll get her back. I know you will.”

She watches him step back towards the door. “Not we?”

“Sorry, Red. I can’t help you.” Jason shifts on his feet. To be honest, Ivy kind of expected this. She can still see the scar running down the side of his face, where a crowbar had bashed his head in, and where a coroner had sewn it back shut. Funny how the Lazarus Pit didn’t remove it when it brought him back. “The Outlaws and I have work in Markovia.” Ivy’s teeth grind together at the blatant lie, but before she can speak, he continues, “But if it’s a gun you need, I’m not the only one in the Batfamily who can handle them.”

“Who--?”

“Don’t worry. She’ll find you.”

He shuts the door behind him so softly Ivy almost doesn’t hear it. The gears in her mind clicking into place drown it out.

You better be joking, Kid.

-----

Jason was not kidding. Ivy enters her greenhouse lab, and finds Batwoman herself leaning against a drosera glanduligera . “I’d give Frankie some space if I were you. He finds unannounced guests quite delicious and full of nutrients.”

Batwoman quickly puts distance between them. Frankie’s tentacles sag with betrayal. “Red Hood told me you needed a favor?” Her crimson-stained lips wrinkle with distaste.

“Harley’s missing. Jason Todd told me you’d help.” It’s an exaggeration of his promise, but Ivy isn’t leaving anything to chance.

It’s hard to tell with the cowl, but Ivy swears Batwoman’s eyes widen just a little before narrowing into slits. “That depends. Am I aiding you in a crime?”

Ivy turns around, pretending to ignore her as she prunes a mutated rosa gymnocarpa, one that will fire its thorns at will. She’s thinking of naming it Lucy. “Depends on what you consider a crime.” Before Batwoman can answer, Ivy continues. “Is hacking government systems a crime? Is kidnapping?”

Batwoman steps next to her, and nearly fingers the rose petals, but thinks better of it. “You think government agents took her somewhere?”

“It wouldn’t be the first time. But I want to find her before someone worse does.”

Ivy’s desk seems like a safe enough place, and Batwoman perches there. “You’re not worried I’m going to turn you in?”

That gets a chuckle out of her. “You’re certainly welcome to try.”

The suggestion rolls off of her like rain on a window pane. “Oh, like Batman hasn’t turned you in several times before?”

Ivy licks her lips. “Only when I wanted him to.”

The vigilante rolls her eyes. “Look. I owe J--Red Hood a favor. So I’ll look into it and--”

“No. I’m coming with you.”

“Why?”

“I have to make sure you’re not giving me bad intel.” Before Batwoman can protest, Ivy continues. “You don’t want to disappoint Jason, do you?”

Is it Batwoman muffling her grumble, or is it her mask?

“This can’t be the Batcave.”

“It’s not. It’s a safehouse. One I will be relocating after this.”

Ivy snorts, eyeing a piece of ancient weaponry, a Roman shield by the looks of it. It seems neither of them trusts the other. She’s fine with that. Not once has Ivy ever appreciated having someone depend on her. Well. There’s always an exception, isn’t there? But that exception is off doing fuck-knows-what, and Ivy’s relying on a godamn hero to help find her. “Nice place,” she murmurs.

“Don’t touch anything.” Batwoman says quickly, sitting down at her desk, bracing her chin on her elbows in front of her keyboard. It’s so... candid of her that Ivy catches herself staring. Apparently even superheroes let their shoulders roll forward sometimes. Ivy wonders what Batwoman looks like when she finally removes her cowl for the night. The red hair most definitely is a wig--real hair would never hold curls like that. Her hair is short underneath--putting it up would take too much time when an old lady needs help crossing the street. But other than the fullness of her red lips--Ivy has no idea who the woman is underneath. It’s going to drive her crazy--just like it did with her male counterpart. “CIA says she’s been “acquired for a black ops mission out of Bell Reve. But anything beyond that we’ll have to access on si--Are you even listening?”

Ivy shakes it off, pretending to examine her nails. “And why can’t I touch anything if you’re moving?” She’s trying to remember why Bell Reve sounds so familiar.

“I would like to keep some of it. I like the way it looks. And I don’t want your pheromones on everything.”

Then it clicks. “ Beautiful View. Is that another prison?”

Batwoman presses her lips together, then nods. “Blacksite.”

Fire roils in Ivy’s veins. “Of fucking course it is.” No accountability. No oversight. Whoever kidnapped Harley can do fuck-all with her and get away with it. And Ivy (and Batwoman) have barely scratched the surface.

“Doctor Isley?” Batwoman says, her voice rising and tense.

“Yeah?”

“Are you okay? The vines in my spider plant look about ready to strangle me.”

Ivy glances over at the chlorophytum comosum, whose children are quickly inching towards Batwoman and her slender neck. “She says you’re smothering her and her babies with the constant watering. And she prefers the name Billie.” Waving her hand, Ivy watches as the spider plants retreat back towards their home, leaving their caretaker well alive, for now.

------

The “site” is a nondescript cubicle-laced hell in the basement of a social security office. Neither of them can go through the front door--well, Batwoman could if she’d take off her goddamn cowl, but that isn’t happening any time soon. So they pop open a basement window while the mailroom workers are on their lunch. They meander through the maze of modular walls and humming towers, dodging the occasional wayward paper crumble. “Our info should be in that corner office.”

It doesn’t look like much, just an otherwise empty desk with a computer that has dust gathering on its keyboard. The room lacks widows, and Ivy wrinkles her nose at the musty air. It could use a sathiphyullum or two to freshen up. Batwoman leans over the desk, firing up the computer and clacking at the keys. “Almost there….”

Ivy smells them before she hears them--donuts, coffee, and the musk of unwashed skin. Security. “Bats---”

Batwoman doesn’t even deign to look up. “Keep ‘em busy.”

“Poison Ivy?” The first guard fumbles to keep his walkie-talkie in his hands.

“Good afternoon,” she says neutrally. Batwoman gives her a steel look. “Work here often?”

His mouth hangs open, his thumb still glued to the talk button. He means to ask what she’s doing here, but all that comes out is: “Are you seeing anyone?”

Ivy snorts. “Maybe if you set that radio down, Casanova.”

As soon as he complies, the radio hisses with static. “Sending backup, over.”

“Ivy!” Bats hisses, glancing over at her.

She scoffs, listening for the tell-tale thunder of boots down the hall. “You know, this would be a lot easier if you weren’t hung up about property damage.”

“No one can know we’re here, Ivy.”

For the love of pete. Her heart already races out of control, and fuck if Ivy can slow it down now. Harley’s calming techniques be damned. “Well, you’re not going to like this either.”

“Like what?” Bats says flatly, in the middle of a download.

“You’ve only two other options, Batsy.”

“Enough with the nicknames, already.”

The backup pours into the room, and the room flashes white, and Ivy swears her eardrums explode with the noise. Her body reacts before her brain can, and the air’s filled with a dusty haze. Shit. Shit. Shit.

“Sex or murder?” Ivy calls out over the coughing militarized guards. Who the fuck guards a building with a SWAT team? Harley, what have you got yourself into this time?

“What?” Batwoman yells back, coughing too.

“SEX OR MURDER???”

“...Sex, I guess?”

Ivy holds up her hands, seeing half a dozen sights aimed at her chest. “It’s gonna be sex with me. You okay with that?”

Batwoman doesn’t look up, but she does stop typing. “Is this hypothetical or…?”

“Not anymore it isn’t.”

“Are you going to kill me otherwise?”

Ivy pinches her nose. “ NO. For crying out loud. But we don’t have time to get arrested.”

“HANDS ON THE GROUND.” Ivy and Bats comply. What else are they going to do while they hash this out?

The vigilante rolls her eyes. “Ugh. Fine.”

“Wait, really?”

“ Yes, Ivy. But only if it’s not around these idiots.”

“If you insist.” Ivy waves her hand as subtly as she can, letting the pheromones escape her skin like a fine mist.

“Uh, boss?” One of the sights drops to her hand. Shit.

Five more join the first. “Hey! None of that. ”Pigs never were known for their subtlety.

Ivy plasters on her most repentant expression. “Too late.” And she’s not lying. She can already see the green mist being pulled into the HVAC system. Which is another problem, but one she’s not going to worry about just yet.

“Plant Lady! Get that shit out of the air!”

One.

“No can do. Sorry.” Not sorry. Not one bit.

Two.

“I mean it, Lady. Or I’ll shoot!”

Three.

“ Lady, I swear I’ll--”

One piggy turns to the other. “Hey, Frankie?”

“Not now, Mitch.”

“There’s something I gotta tell you, Frankie.” Mitch takes his hand, fingering the clasps on the other man’s armor.

“Mitch? What hell-- mm. ”

Batwoman holds her flash drive in her hands, stunned by the site of an entire SWAT team playing tonsil hockey with one another. Ivy grabs her by the cape. “That’s our cue!” And she drags her to a cubicle by the stairs.

“Wouldn’t it be easier if we just left ?”

“‘Fraid not. Unless you packed an antidote to my new toxin with you.”

“Actually.” Batwoman fishes around in her utility belt. “Shit.” She turns on her, jabbing a finger in her face. “You were supposed to be on your best behavior.”

Ivy folds her arms, leaning against the cubicle wall. “Wasn’t expecting them to send the SWAT after us.”

Batwoman takes a deep breath. “So, how does this work, exactly?”

Licking her lips, Ivy answers. “There’s an antidote in my saliva, but it’s the most potent after I’ve had an orgasm.”

“Then why does it have to be sex?” Bat’s candor is refreshing, if not unexpected. “Why not jill yourself off and get it over with?”

“It’s not so simple,” Ivy chuckles. “My DNA is too dissimilar to yours--”

“But if you have my DNA, aka my saliva , with it--”

“An effective antidote.”

“An effective antidote that won’t cause you serious side effects.” She steps towards Bats, holding out her hand. “Any other questions before we start?”

Batwoman quirks her head at Ivy’s clinical tone. “Will Harley be okay with this?”

Ah. There’s the question of the day. Ivy closes her hand, examining her nails as she shrugs. “She’ll be alive . And free.”

Black gloved hands take her bare ones in their own, squeezing them gently. “You love her, don’t you.”

Ivy swallows, feeling as if the ground is moving beneath her boots. “I’d--” do anything for her , she means to say, and give Batwoman the vantage over her.

Batwoman seals her mouth over hers, muffling her reply. And to think this woman had the more ruthless reputation over her male counterpart. Her slips are soft and full, and the gloss slides between them and tastes like dark cherry. Intoxicating. Ivy dares to dart her tongue between them, and taste that poison just that much more.

Her pheromones work quickly as they enter Batwoman’s system. Her professional silence slips into wanton moans, and her hands work into the top of Ivy’s bust. She shivers, leaning into her touch, whispering encouragement. “Go ahead. Touch me everywhere you’d like.”

Nearby, an officer lets out a guttural cry, “Please, baby. Gimme more.”

That pulls Batwoman’s attention away, and Ivy drags it back with the drag of her nails across the material of her uniform. “Shh. Don’t mind them. They can’t even hear us over the sound of their own sex.”

Batwoman’s voice is husky as she pulls the top of Ivy’s corset down. “You sure?”

“Mmhm. Happens all the time.” Batwoman laughs at that, and moans as Ivy’s hands dally around her utility belt. “Now, aren’t these things booby trapped?”

Nodding, Batwoman whispers. “Security disengage: Code Sappho.” The utility belt snaps open falling into her hands.

Ivy laughs. “Oh my god .”

“Laugh all you want. I’m changing it as soon as this is over.”

Setting the belt aside, Ivy runs a finger down to Batwoman’s crotch. She drinks in the hiss from her lips, adding more pressure and more fingers, drawing heat between her legs and hopefully a little wetness. “You like that, don’t you.”

“Nn, fuck.” Batwoman leans into her touch. She’s a goner.

Ivy loves this part of the game, taking the most stubborn partner and watering their desire until it breaks them apart like tree roots in a sidewalk. It’s different from when she makes love to Harley. This is less like romance and more like chess. How many moves until she queens her king? “That’s it. Tell me what feels good.”

Batwoman’s knees go weak, and Ivy shoves her into a rolling chair. She presses the heel of her hand into her groin. “Oh g-- . Mm.” Gasping, Bats grabs Ivy's hand and shoves it into her own pants.

“Mm, demanding, aren’t you?” Ivy bites her ear lobe. “I like that.”

“Just get it o --oh. ” Bats leans into Ivy’s skillful touch, and she plays her like a violin, basking in the melody ringing from her lips. But Batwoman would never let a bad girl win, now would she?

Teeth graze Ivy’s neck, and the gasp slips from her mouth faster she can stop it.

“Oh fuck. Fuck yes. Right there.” It no longer registers which goon is saying what. They could all be chanting in unison for all Ivy knows. And she doesn’t care.

Batwoman licks the red line she’s created, and she squeezes Ivy’s breast through her uniform, just on the edge of too hard . She knows exactly what she’s doing. Check . Ivy catches her mouth, tasting her, drawing quick, tight circles around her clit. Just as Bats quakes in her arms, Ivy pulls back. “Oh come on, ” she groans.

“You get tied up a lot , don’t you?” Ivy glances at the zamioculus zamifolia, potted at the opposite desk corner. “You must enjoy it, then.” Batsy’s eyes widen as the vines stretch towards her. “Why else would you keep going to work?”

“It’s annoying as fuck--” The vines halt their progress, and shudder, and the Bat licks her lips. “--On the job.”

“That’s more like it.” The vines curl and twist around Bat’s wrists, binding her to the chair. Two more bind the chair, albeit loosely, to the desk. Let her move her hips, without letting her roll away. Once she’s in place, Ivy sways her hips, slowly undoing the zipper in her one piece suit. She lets it slide down her skin, and Ivy presses her bare breasts into Bat’s face, and just for a moment her mark closes her eyes, breathing her in.

Ivy frowns. This won’t do. This won’t do at all. She whisks the vines away, and Batwoman stares at her. Pulling back again, Ivy kicks her suit past her ankles, and tosses the keyboard aside. She sits on the desk with her legs spread wide. “I’m gonna need you to bed over, darling.”

“I’m not your darling.” Bats turns her chair around, leaning down, and breathing in Ivy’s musk. She barely remembers to tie her up again.

It occurs to Ivy that she hasn’t let anyone other than Harley get this close in a very long time. Usually Ivy leaves her marks to die after they get her pheromones in their system. There was that one time with Selina when one of their capers went sideways. While Ivy swore up and down, Catwoman pulled her goggles away from her eyes and kissed her full on the mouth. And things escalated from there. But that was before Harley.

Batwoman takes her sweet time tasting her, and Ivy finds herself gripping the desk with white knuckles. No. She won’t let her know how nice this feels-- oh. Oh God. “ Fuck.”

And then Batwoman pulls back. “Has Harley been gone that long?”....Did she say that last part out loud?

“Fuck you.”

Tilting her head to the side, Batwoman asks, “Isn’t that what we’re doing?”

Oh, but Ivy wants to wipe that coy smile off that face and replace it with her pleas for mercy. “Almost. Do you prefer to be teased or penetrated?” Ivy leans forward with her breasts pressed together, her words clinical and her grin anything but.

Bats dares to look her over, drinking the sheen on her skin. Her mouth never quite closes. She licks her lips, almost panting as she asks. “Must I choose?”

Ivy takes Bat’s chin in her hands. “Greedy, aren’t you?”

Whatever Bat’s snarky reply is, it’s lost in Ivy’s mouth as she claims her once more. This time neither of them hold back, devouring each other sloppily and noisily. Ivy trails kisses down Bat’s neck, and she summons another vine. The tiniest, softest leaf brushes across Bat’s clit. Batwoman cries out sharply, straining against her bonds.

“Ready?” Ivy pulls the vine back, examining the wetness dripping down its stalk. Oh, she’s ready all right. But Ivy wants to hear her say it.

“Ivy .”

Digging her fingers into Bat’s chin, Ivy nearly growls. “ Beg for it. ” The vine teases her clit faster, not harder, never quite getting her where she wants it. No, needs it.

Goosebumps run down Batwoman’s arms. “ Please.”

How fortunate that one of the cubicle dwellers has taken to growing a ficus ginseng microcarpa as a bonsai tree. Ivy draws out one of the aerial roots, sculpting it into the right shape. She slides a condom on it, safety first, of course, and lets the plant do the rest. It enters Bats slowly, slowly filling her up. Her eyes bulge as it pulls back, and pushes back in. No sound spills from her mouth, but her hips shift, thrusting with the plant as it fucks her.

Fuck, but Ivy’s mouth is dry. Her thighs twitch, rubbing together hungrily as she watches. She wants to touch herself so bad but she won’t give Batwoman that satisfaction. She won’t. She...

Batwoman’s face twists, and her mouth pinches shut. Her back arches and the chair squeaks across the floor. The groan rasps out of her mouth as her jaw drops into the perfect Oh.

“Not bad.” Ivy picks some lint off of her arm, releasing Batwoman from her bonds. “The antidote should be working now. Thank you for the view --”

The vigilante charges forward, gripping Ivy’s arms and pressing her back into the desk. Ivy watches the monitor crash to the floor. “I’m not done yet.” Batwoman’s signature lipstick has smeared across her chin in a very un-Batlike fashion. Her gloved fingers poke at Ivy’s clit, and she hisses. “Still sensitive, aren’t we? Still unsatisfied?” Her voice drops low and teasing, and fuck, Ivy won’t tell her to fuck off now .

Those same fingers that cast batarangs and grip grappling hooks dig into her, twisting and pulling. A chorus of cries ring out in harmony with her own, as Ivy lifts her hips off the desk, thrusting into Batwoman’s touch. “Yes. Yes.” Bats grins into Ivy’s mouth, drawing out her moans. Harley would do the same thing, but Ivy doesn’t want to think about her right now. She doesn’t want to think about anything at this moment. She draws up a vine, letting it coat itself in its own juices. Nice and easy , she tells herself, pulling away from Batwoman so she can look her in the eyes.

The vine slithers between her butt cheeks, small end first. Batwoman raises her eyebrows, but she doesn’t stop her delicious torment. In fact, she licks her lips a little. “Ah, fuck. Fuck. ” Her hand works in tandem with Ivy’s vines, pushing and pulling her hips back and forth like a rubber band. She chuckles into Ivy’s mouth, claiming it again, tasting it again. Only chuckling louder as Ivy begs and begs for release. Batmwoman clenches Ivy’s hip with her free hand, digging in her fingers so she feels that much more used . And fuck her, Ivy loves it.

If the pigs nearby are still fucking, Ivy can’t hear them.

She doesn’t even hear herself moaning into Batwoman’s ear. She only hears the slick as she’s fucked from both sides. And oh , the fullness of both . Ivy grips Batwoman’s shoulders to keep from shaking apart, and she bites the skin of her neck as she explodes with the heat of the sun.

Ivy stretches as the vine and Batwoman pull back, and she hums with satisfaction. Batwoman watches her with molten eyes. “Should we go agai--”

Ding! The computer chimes nearby.

Ivy sits up quickly, shaking off the last vestiges of her afterglow, slinking her one piece on and zipping it up the back. The zipper gets stuck, and before she can weigh the pros and cons of asking , gloved fingers finish the job for her. “Transfer’s done.”

“Finally.” Ivy grabs her boots, marching to the office barefoot.

Batwoman clicks a few keys, and whistles . “Mission’s already done. She’s at Metropolis General.”

“She’s hurt !?” A branch snaps in a horrid crack behind them.

“She was, but she’s being discharged today. Better hurry.”

Batwoman doesn’t need to tell her twice.

Ivy pauses to don her boots in the hallway. Nearby she hears the sound of a half-a-dozen special response officers zipping up their flies. “Ah, fuck. I lost a button. Anyone see the button to my uniform?”

“Fuck off. At least you’re not missing a contact lens.”

“Hey! Who stole my gun?”

“Ah shit. Mine too.”

Leaving them behind, Ivy chuckles. The green always knows how to take good care of her. Soon she’ll return the favor.

------

Room 23. The hospital stretches on in an endless maze. Ivy forces herself not to run, to carry her empty clipboard like she’s a doctor making her rounds. Just act like she belongs there and no one will notice. So far so--

Ivy’s heart soars when she spots the room number.

“Harley!”

Harley shoots up in bed, swaying a little, but her shit eating grin tells Ivy everything will be okay. “Pretty girl!”

Ivy sits on the bed, planting a shy kiss on Harley’s lips. “I need to tell you something.” She explains the events of the past 24 hours, and Harley’s eyes go wide. Twisting her hands, Ivy waits an eternity for Harley to reply.

“Was she good? Do you think she’d be down for a threesome?”

“Harley!”

#dc comics #poison ivy #batwoman #jason todd #poison ivy x batwoman #finished this a few weeks ago #but was dealing with a breakup #sorry about the delay #melody writes #thank you asshat anon bot for reminding me to post more content you hate :P #lemon

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cranehusbands · 4 years

Text

null and voided

Crypto | Park Tae Joon/Wraith | Renee Blasey; voidwalker timeline; hurt/comfort; voidwalker/whitelisted; apex rarepair week; 1563 words

a/n: and here’s where i show you just how unhinged i am.

SO. FOR CONTEXT. me and a friend (it’s mr tumblr user the-goolings, nate) have an au/plotline for the voidwalker timeline seen in wraith’s original story short, with voidwalker being... voidwalker, and her guy in the chair helping her out is crypto, who is originally in his hired gun skin variant before being captured by the syndicate and like... half-cyborged? before he escaped to wait for her while she went about with her revenge. it’s fucked! but anyways they make me feel and they’re in LOVE. please ask me more about this au if you’re so inclined i have. a lot

a very late day 6 for @apex-rarepairweek, hurt/comfort!

likes < reblogs, any comments in the tags are appreciated

ao3 mirror in the reblogs!

Preview: Renee pushed away some of the schematics for the parts in his chest cavity, folding her arms across the dining table and resting her head on top of him, turning to keep an eye on him as he was sleeping… no, as he was shut off. He was hardly human, he’d said so himself, he didn’t sleep. ...But that wasn’t right, was it. He still lived, and felt, just as she did, and although he didn’t breathe and eat he still existed by her side like he always did, and that was as human as it got, right? [...] “God, Tae, how did this happen?”

The only sounds echoing through the apartment were the loud contact of metal on metal, small curses and larger ones, and electricity crackling between two loose wires with a frustrated grumble. Old Chinese food boxes laid strewn around the apartment, old clothes discarded without a second thought, a blanket thrown over the couch like a makeshift bed, and the dining table taken over with tools and schematics, first person pronouns littering the notes of parts and functions. The radio at one end of the table quietly played the news, news of wars and violence that was just white noise against the gentle scraping of metal.

Renee cursed to herself again, slamming the screwdriver back down on the table as she sat up and rolled her shoulder, scowling a little. She was learning this as she was going along, which was hard when the handwriting on your only guide was illegible most of the time. Running a hand down her face, her fingers parted for a moment, and she dared to steal a glance down at the body resting on the sofa that she’d dragged into the dining room, at the way the metal reflected the synthetic lights, how peaceful he looked, like a… fucked up, cyborg sleeping beauty, eyes closed and chest wide open, exposing the wires and components that kept him alive. How her friend, her partner, her lover, Taejoon Park, was sitting there, half human and half machine, and how she was repairing him for the third time that week.

Getting back to their timeline had been a mess. She’d done what they’d been fighting for all this time, saving herself from another dimension in her place, barely surviving by the skin of her teeth. Sometimes she could still feel the blood of the man who had ruined her life splashing onto her face, remembering the feeling of his skull as it marbled in her grip with every bash against the wall, and she couldn’t tell if that felt good or not. But what didn’t feel good was stumbling back into their own quiet, secluded apartment, practically tripping through a portal, delirious from blood loss, leaning a shoulder up against the wall as she shook off the heavy gear and dragged her blood along the paint, and seeing a man who seemed so familiar but still so strange rushing to meet her, staring at her as if he was an illusion. She wondered if that was just what he was - he looked like Taejoon, looked at her like he used to, lips parting in the same way as he brought a hand up to her face to hold her, but his touch was cold, metallic and unwelcoming, but all the same, it was him, surely?

The way his nightmares haunted him, and the way he gripped for her in his sleep as if she would leave him, all but confirmed it.

It was the Syndicate, he’d said. Got to him when he was gone. Tortured him, barely kept him alive, involuntarily entered him into a simulacrum program, where he escaped with the last of his humanity and had been living in isolation for months before she’d gotten home. He didn’t sleep, or eat - he didn’t need to, not anymore. He just listened to the sounds of his own parts functioning, and wondered what it would be like to hear them stop. He’d taken down all the mirrors, covered the windows and any other reflections, making sure that he didn’t have to see himself, and what he was forced to become. Tried to find Mila by himself, he’d said, but he kept flipping between hopelessness and sheer mania, trashing the apartment before fixing it again to trash it again. All while she was dimensions away, totally unaware that the man who helped her get this far was barely hanging on, waiting for her to come home.

It wasn’t her fault. Not by any means, and Taejoon had told her as much. But now that what she’d made her life’s purpose was just another page in the book of her personal history, it was all she could think about. Renee pushed away some of the schematics for the parts in his chest cavity, folding her arms across the dining table and resting her head on top of him, turning to keep an eye on him as he was sleeping… no, as he was shut off. He was hardly human, he’d said so himself, he didn’t sleep. ...But that wasn’t right, was it. He still lived, and felt, just as she did, and although he didn’t breathe and eat he still existed by her side like he always did, and that was as human as it got, right? She let out a sigh, shaking as she did so, biting her lip as her eyes started to well with tears, continuing to watch him and remembering the times he’d fall asleep, just like this, at his desk, working for hours for her sake and his own, as she’d wrap a blanket over his shoulder and ruffle his hair with a gentle kiss to the temple-

“God, Tae, how did this happen?” She whispered to herself, breaking down and turning her head away to sob against her forearm, unable to stop herself, her whole body shaking with the force of it, bottled up day in and day out of repairs. Had she let him down? What had they become? Zombies, searching for truth and revenge, the syndicate one step in front with a knife behind their back. She’d gotten revenge in one dimension, but what about the countless others she saw in her sleep, the voices that followed her everywhere and the void that beckoned for soulless company-

She held in a breath at the familiar whining sound of servo’s releasing locked up air, fans kicking in as a single robotic eye looked around, making noise with every movement. Renee rubbed her eyes against her arm before she sat up, forcing a light smirk. “Hey. I’m not finished, why’d you-”

“Forced startup. Syndicate slave code.” Even now, it was hard to get used to the slight crackle in his voice as he spoke, as he moved his hand to point to the back of his neck.

“We gotta get that fixed.”

“...Have you been crying?”

She froze. “I- no, it’s nothing-”

“Renee…”

“Don’t ‘Renee’ me, Tae.” She almost snapped, not wanting the pity, before she felt herself deflate. “I said it’s nothing, OK?”

She listened to the way his cybernetic eye moved to look her up and down, moving his hands to support himself as he slowly sat up. “Wait, no, I’m not-”

“Quiet.”

“What- no, let me finish my work first.”

He closed up his ribcage with a light click, looking up to her as she rolled her eyes. “There. No more work.”

“That’s only going to wreck itself later, and you’re going to complain, you know that, right?”

“I don’t matter right now. All that matters is you.”

Though she slightly softened, Renee opened her mouth to speak again, only cutting herself off as he put a hand against her cheek - it was cold, but still so warm, and full of love, as he ran a hand across her cheek.

Taejoon moved his hand up to across her freshly shaven (another bad episode with the void, instinctive) head - the metal was cold against her skin, enough to make her flinch a little, but she stayed, almost leaning into it like a cat would, as he gave her a tired smile, moving his hand to hold her face, fingers still stroking what little hair was above her ears. “Kiwi…”

Renee paused, opening her eyes and cocking an eyebrow as she held onto his wrist. “Did… you just call me a kiwi?”

“Mhm… you’re soft and fuzzy.”

She looked at him, chuckling and scoffing a little, shaking her head. “I can’t believe you. Remind me never to cry about you again.”

“Noted. I would never want you to, regardless.”

“But you know I will. We’re just made that way.”

Taejoon hummed, looking down, almost defeated.

She sighed and pressed her forehead against his, touching what little of his skin was left, listening to the way his eyes closed and gears kicked into overdrive at the soft physical contact, chuckling to herself. “I love you, Tae.”

“Yeah… yeah. I love you too.”.

“We’re gonna be OK, I promise.” Her voice was quieter now, only for her entire world, as she opened her eyes to look at him, almost blinded by his as he looked back at her.

“As long as we’re together, I don’t think we’ll ever be OK.” Despite himself, Taejoon laughed, her voice gaining that familiar crackle to it as he moved his hand down from her head to her shoulder. “But I suppose… that’s just fine with me.”

Renee moved herself back a little to go in again, moving in to plant a kiss against his lips, slow and deliberate. He was cold to the touch but warm with the love and care for her he felt with every fiber of his being, both what little of him remained and everything that had been replaced, as he returned the kiss, the bells and whistles all going off in harmony as she chuckled into the kiss they shared, feeling a gentle slap against her arm.

#apex legends #apex rarepair week #cryptwraith #crypto #wraith #apex legends tag #dahl.doc

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the-gory-gardner · 3 years

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Hi I'm Honey! Part One: Baby Soulmate

(A/N: Different Meeting/Soulmate AU- Soulmates Drawings On Skin Will Appear On Their Soulmate's Skin

Character(s): Honey Reynolds, Age: 5, Jesse Cromeans, Age: 20 )

Honey Reynolds & Jesse Cromeans (Platonic Soulmates)

Young Jesse Cromeans groaned as he woke up with an excruciating headache. God as much as he loved getting drunk the hangovers sucked. At least he had a place to himself to get though it; being in a frat house would probably make it ten times worse.

It was also a good thing he didn't have any classes today, he didn't think he could handle his professor's droning on right now. Jesse was very much planning to stay in his bed until his stomach growled loudly. He sighed getting up to find his phone and call some take-out. Could you have Chinese for breakfast?

Once Jesse found his phone he went to grab only to stop at the writing on his wrist. It couldn't be.

Hi Im Honey

It was a soulmark he had heard of them everyone had since nearly everyone had one. There were different types of finding soulmate. The possibilities varied among people, some couldn't see color until they met there's, they had a red string that would lead to them, some many things.

From the mark and it's childish handwriting it was either a soulmark of the first thing his would say to him, or their drawings on skin would appear on each other. Well there was only way to know for sure. He pulled a pen from one of his drawers writing right under the original mark.

J- Hello?

After a couple minutes of waiting another mark appear.

H- Hi Im Honey whats your name?

J- Jesse Cromeans.

H- Jesse? Are you a boy or a girl?

Jesse squinted his eyes thinking of the childish writing and how 'Honey wrote.

J- I'm a boy how old are you Honey?

H- Five and a half

Jesse hit the wall-lightly- with his head, his soulmate was a fucking baby. Maybe they were platonic soulmates. They had to be. After some thought he wrote a reply.

J- Well Honey I'm twenty

H- Woah your a big kid Jessie

The mute boy decided not to make a comment about the nickname.

H- Do you have a job my mommy says big kids and grown-up have jobs

J- No I don't have a job but I do go to big kid school.

Jesse could not believe be just wrote that.

H- Is it fun I just start kindergarten it's okay we color a lot and we learned about soulmates today.

J- Yes it's pretty fun, and is that why you chose to write on your arm?

H- Yeah we talked about all the different soulmates. So I got a book from the reading corner in class about them.

His little soulmate spent the rest of the day writing and doodling on his arm him replying as simply as be could. Whatever 'friends' he had at his college were not informed about his discovery. The last thing he needed were people cracking jokes about him having a little kid as a soulmate.

Several weeks later he got a message from her quite late, at least to him he didn't know whay her timezones were. He had just walked out of a frat party he was a attending to get some air when he saw the message appear.

H- Hello Jessie are you up?

J- Yeah kiddo I'm up it's night here is it night there?

H- Yeah it's past my bedtime

J- Then what are you doing up.

H- I had a nightmare.

Well Jesse wasn't sure how to reply to that. He'd never helped anyone though a nightmare let alone a little kid.

J- Do you want to tell me about it?

H- There were a bunch of spiders and a big red box and I could hear people yelling they sounded scared.

Jesse raised an eyebrow that didn't sound like a normal nightmare. He'd heard of some soulmates sharing dreams and since it wasn't his dream maybe she had another soulmate, an actual romantic one.

J- That does sound scary but it's okay because it's just a dream and dreams can't hurt you okay kiddo.

H- Really?

J- I promise

H- Okay

H- Jessie you said it was late where you are so why are you up did you have a bad dream too?

He smiled a bit it felt like he could almost hear her concern such a sweet little thing.

J- No I'm just studying.

H- What's studying?

J- It's when you read and look up things so you can get smarter.

H- Oh maybe I should do that so I can get really smart then maybe mommy and daddy won't say I'm stupid.

Jesse suddenly felt like ice water had been dumped on his head.

J- Your parents said you were stupid?

Jesse had to write the message very slowly otherwise he thinks he might of written something a five year shouldn't read.

H- Yeah but thats just cause A.J's really smart mommy and daddy said he's a pro-prodi- a really smart kid.

J- Whose A.J?

H- He's my big brother he doesn't play with me says he doesn't want to play with dumb little kids.

Jesse had to take a moment to calm down before writing again. If she was telling the complete truth and not just exaggerating like some little kids did. Well let's just say he hadn't been this angry since he'd finally left home.

J- Honey if there's one thing I've learned about you in the last couple of weeks it's that you are one of the smartest kids I've ever met.

Jesus Christ she was making him sappy.

H- You really think so Jessie?

Why could he hear the quiver in her voice?

J- Yeah I do kid.

He got worried when Honey didn't immediately respond. Before he could get really concerned she wrote him back.

H- I wish we were family.

Jesse wasn't sure how to respond to that so instead he wrote the first thing thay came to mind.

J- Maybe were not family but were soulmates do you know what that means?

H- What?

J- It means that were always going to be there for each other I'm always going to be here for you.

Again he had to wait for a reply.

H- I really like you Jessie

J- I really like you too kiddo now get back to sleep it's a school night.

H- Okay Night Night Jessie.

J- Night Kiddo.

After that there were no more messages for the night but he was much too exhausted to go back to the party. He really hoped his little soulmate would be okay he didn't know what he would do if she wasn't.

To Be Continued...

#Honey Reynolds #Jesse Cromeans #Chromeskull #Laid To Rest #Jesse Cromeans & OC #submission

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pennywaltzy · 4 years

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And another fic with a cover by @strangelock221b!

Desperate Times Call For Desperate Measures - It all begins with an invitation to Mycroft's wedding to his PA and seven days at a resort in Jamaica, with the assumption that Molly pretends to be his girlfriend that his mother might be under the impression that he's going to propose to sooner rather than later. It ends up being so much more than that...

READ CHAPTER 1 | BUY ME A COFFEE?

You have been cordially invited to the nuptials of Mycroft Reginald Holmes and Andrea Elizabeth Macmillan...

Sherlock skimmed over the rest of the wedding invitation but his eyes were drawn to the sticky pink Post-it note that his mother had stuck to it, and he scowled as his eyes raked over her precise handwriting. If he had his way he’d forgo the seven-day affair entirely. His eldest brother was going to get to miss it because he was estranged from them all. Why couldn’t he be afforded the same luxury? He wasn’t exactly fond of Mycroft or his PA and he knew Mycroft would probably not give a toss one way or the other if he was there or not. But as he pulled the pale pink note off the invitation he knew if he pulled a disappearing act his mother would give him holy hell.

He looked at it and sighed. He had been feeding his mum a few lies about seeing a woman to get her off his back. And they weren’t a complete lie; there was something going on with Molly, he supposed. There was no physical intimacy in the relationship, though he would admit to no one other than himself that when he was alone had had thought of kissing her, and...more than that. Much more. To the point that when he awoke most mornings he needed a very cold shower. It was getting to be a damn nuisance. But he was sure that after the debacle of her engagement to the meat dagger and his absolute cock-up of handling the situation with Janine and then her utter disappointment in his subsequent relapse with heroin addiction that the best he would ever get with her was...whatever it was they had, something that was more meaningful than a friendship but not quite a romantic relationship.

And he hoped that because of what they had that she would help him now. Because if he showed up to this event without a plus one, he would never hear the end of it.

He stuck the Post-it on the front of the invitation and then slipped it back in the envelope before making his way out of Baker Street to a cab. He wasn’t quite sure how to ask for her help. This was not the type of situation he wanted them to be in, ideally. Seven days on a tropical island where they had to pretend to be in a relationship. It could spell the end of their friendship, for one, and he didn’t know what he would do if he lost her. Molly was special to him in a way that the others in his life were not. John and Mary were special to him, yes, and so were Lestrade and Mrs. Hudson, but Molly was something different. She was...he wasn’t sure if he could describe it. She had become such an integral part of his life that he wasn’t sure he could survive her being extricated from it, and if this blew up in his face, that would be the end result, he knew that. But he had no choice, not according to the note attached to the invitation.

He fretted the entire way to Barts, something he never found himself doing, and he almost found himself with a case of nerves by the time he arrived at the hospital and began to make his way to the morgue. He got into the lift and pressed the button to the basement, trying to calm himself. This would not end badly. If she refused, he could simply continue the fiction, say his girlfriend had been busy and unable to make it. If Mycroft scoffed and made things hard, he would indeed try and make his wedding an event that did not go well. He would indeed be that petty. And if Molly did agree, then they would play it by ear, he supposed, and plan for as much as they were able.

When the lift doors opened he stepped out, only to see Molly coming towards him. He blinked and held the door open. “Molly,” he said quietly.

“Sherlock!” she said with a warm smile. She had on her regular coat as opposed to her lab coat. “Oh, it’s good you came now. I was just on my way home. There was a leak in the lab and the pipes flooded so they sent me home early. I thought I’d take advantage of the early time off and catch a film. Do you want to join me?”

“All right,” he said with a nod. When she stepped into the lift he let the door closed. “But you may not want my company after you hear why I came.”

“Oh no,” she said. “You don’t want me to march right back into the morgue, do you? It’s flooded!”

He gave her a small smile. “No, I just have a favour of a personal nature. It’s rather like an undercover case, but it involves my family.”

She gave him a confused glance. “Is it something bad?” she asked. He thought for a moment, then handed her the envelope containing the invitation. Her confusion grew until she opened the envelope. He plucked the Post-it off the top and she opened the invitation, and then realization dawned on her face. “You need a plus one!”

“Seven days in Jamaica,” he said with a nod. “But there’s a complication.”

“And it has to do with that Post-it, I take it,” she said, looking up at him.

“My mother is under the assumption I have a girlfriend,” he said quietly. “I may have told her some of the activities we have done together have constituted dates.”

She was quiet for a moment. “Have you mentioned me by name?” Molly asked.

He shook his head. “No. She’s pried, though, and Mycroft may have been a malicious bastard and brought your name up specifically. And what’s worse, she assumes I am very near asking for my girlfriend’s hand in marriage.” He handed her the Post-it note.

“‘Would you like me to bring a selection of your grandmum's rings?’” Molly read off the note, her eyes widening. “Oh, that’s a predicament.”

He nodded. “Yes. And I know my brother would love to see me in an awkward position. It would make his nuptials all that much sweeter.” Sherlock ran a hand through his hair. “I realize that although we are close, I am in no position to ask, but...”

Molly studied the Post-it note and the invitation. “Seven days in Jamaica?” she asked hesitantly.

“Mycroft is covering all of the expenses for all of the wedding party and their plus ones, apparently,” he said. “Despite our differences, he wants me to be his best man.”

“Seven days in Jamaica that I don’t have to pay for?” she asked, perking up a bit.

“At Couples San Souci,” he said. “He booked the entire resort so it will only be my family, Anthea’s family and the guests for the wedding. You’ll have full access to all the activities the resort offers around the festivities planned for the wedding.”

She bit her lip and then studied the invitation and her eyes widened. “The wedding is in three weeks!”

“It’s not common knowledge, but Anthea is pregnant. Hence the rush,” Sherlock said. “If you agree I can guarantee Mycroft will make sure arrangements for your leave are taken care of. I know Anthea has a soft spot for you and she’ll want you there, and he has his own reasons for wanting you there.”

She shifted slightly as she stood, and then finally nodded. “All right, Sherlock. I’ll go with you. But we have to have some ground rules, all right?”

He nodded, relaxing. “Very well. Perhaps we can decide them after the film? I’ll treat you to supper at any restaurant you choose.”

“Oh, trust me, that wasn’t a smart move,” she said with a small smile on her face. “I’m in the mood for Chinese, so I think I want to go to Hakkasan Mayfair.”

“I suppose I set myself up for that, but fair is fair,” he said, leaning over to press the button on the lift to take them to the lobby. She had agreed. Good. They had three weeks to work out the details but he was fairly sure they could come up with terms they were both agreeable to. He just hoped that nothing happened to blow those terms out of the water.

#sherlock #sherlolly #mollock #mythea #fanfic #fanfiction #sherlock holmes #molly hooper #multipart: desperate times call for desperate measures #strangelock221b

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deans-mind-palace · 4 years

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Suspirium (Pt.6)

Pairing: Prof!Sam x Reader

Summary: You’re in your last year of your Classics and Mordern Languages studies and you’re majoring in Latin and English. Then you get assigned to a different Latin teacher. And damn, he loves his subject. Too bad that he’s also hot. What is just a childish crush soon develops into something way more complicated.

Word Count: 1,748

Warnings: Fluff and not-so-slowburn-anymore

Author’s Note: Chapter 6. Just had a look at my notes. If I want to get that all into twelve chaps they’ll definitely have to be longer... We’ll see...

Like always, my tag lists for Sam (thereby also for this story) are OPEN

Or you catch up here: Suspirium - Masterlist

"Sorry, I can't come to Ash's housewarming party," you declared when you sat with your tray across from Brooks and next to Maddie. You stole some fries from Brooks while continuing your explanation. "I have an appointment with Professor Winchester later today." Brooks and Maddie moaned at the same time. "Since you took this job as teaching assistant, you've hardly had time for us." Maddie complained and your heart grew heavy. It wasn't because you felt bad about spending so little time with your friends, but because you realized you didn't want to spend any time with them at all when you could be sitting on the green sofa at Sam's office at the same time. "Guys, hey! That's not even true. Only Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays. The other four days of the week are all yours." You smiled at your friends. Brooks watched you prudently, but Maddie changed the subject and blabbed on happily. Brooks' eyes never left you.

"Hey, Sam." you greeted the young man and threw a smile at him as soon as you closed the door to his office behind you. He responded immediately. "Hey." As usual, you took your place on his couch. The springs squeaked under your weight as it was an older model, but Sam still had it from his student days. He'd told you how he stole it with his brother from a dumpster and hauled it all the way back to the dorm with him. He just couldn't get rid of it after that.

"What's on for today?" you asked and Sam lifted his eyes from some papers he was grading. Your eyes fell on your manuscript, which was on his desk. Colorful sticky notes stuck out between the pages. "It would be nice if you could help me grade some of the freshmen's papers today. I would also need a PowerPoint presentation. I have sent you the materials by e-mail. Maybe you could copy a stack of handouts? Only if that's all right." You laughed. "Sam. I'm your teaching assistant, that's what I do." Sam nodded in relief and a smile spread from his lips.

The rain pattered against the windows and poured down the glass in tiny trickles. The sky outside the window was grey. You worked side by side in silence for some time. You on the sofa,Sam at his desk. You had already copied the handouts and were now busy designing the slides of your presentation. Meanwhile, Sam went over some of the homework with a red pencil and scribbled notes on the edge of the paper in his small, neat handwriting. Soon he had finished the first stack and put the pen aside. He rubbed his forehead and sighed. You looked up in surprise. "Are you all right?" "Hm?" he asked. "ls everything all right?" "Oh, yes yes. How's the presentation going?" he asked. He stood up in one motion. He suppressed a yawn, stretched, and his back popped loudly. Sam grimaced. Then he crossed the room and bent over you to get a look at your laptop. His arms were resting on the back of the sofa, left and right of your shoulders. The soft filling was seeping out under the man's weight and his aftershave was getting up your nose. His chin hovered just inches above your hair and brown streaks fell into his face.

"You look tired, Sam," you said, looking anxiously at your professor. Sam turned his head and you looked into each other's eyes. Your noses were just a little bit apart. He smiled tired. If you'd just stretch a little, you could - "Just a little exhausted, that's all." You felt sorry for him when you saw the bags under his eyes. The rain was pattering against the glass in a monotonous melody. The sound slowly lulled you in. "How about we stop for today and start over some other time? I'll take the essays home and correct them there and you go home and rest." Sam seemed to wrestle with himself, rubbing his forehead with one hand. Then he shook his head. "No. I promised to go over the first few pages of your manuscript with you. I don't want to break my part of the bargain." That statement put a smile on your face. In a burst of courage, you reached behind you with your hand and put it on Sam's. He didn't pull it away.

"It's all right, Sammy," you replied, biting your tongue as the nickname slipped from your lips. Actually, you only called him that in your mind. "Sammy, huh? Only Dean calls me that." He smiled. Dean was his brother. You knew that much now. He had a picture of himself and his brother in a drawer of his desk. "I - um" Shit, that was embarrassing. "Sorry, Sam - I didn't mean to -" But Sam interrupted your rambling. "No, no, it's okay. Sammy's okay." He smiled warmly at you. But even the smile couldn't take the weariness out of his eyes. "So how about it? Why don't we just take some time and go over my manuscript sometime? It doesn't have to be today." You were still very close, and your neck started to hurt from looking up all the time. Sam was taller than you and you always had to look up anyway, but you liked it. You loved his height. You wondered if he was that big everywhere. You blushed from your own thoughts. What was wrong with you? Sam looked at you questioningly and you were glad he couldn't read your mind. "Let's do it this way. Do you have any plans for Sunday? I mean, Sunday's probably stupid because you're studying or partying or dating your boyfriend or-" "Sam, I don't have boyfriend." Did you remind him, albeit a little too quickly, to pause for a moment, confused. "Sunday's okay," you hurriedly declared. Sam nodded. "I'll give you my number anyway, in case something comes up." Then he fell silent. "I'd forgotten the department's not even open on Sunday." Sam suddenly remembered. "But if it's not inconvenient, we can go over the manuscript at my place and maybe order Chinese food for the nerves." "Sounds like a good plan. I'm in." Sam scribbled his number on a piece of paper and handed it to you.

"All right, I'll go now." You were gonna say goodbye and pack your bag. Sam took one look out the window. There were still big drops running down the windows. "Did you come by car?" Sam asked you. "No, I walked." Sam immediately grabbed his car keys. "Come on, I'll give you a ride." You tried to refuse. "No, it's okay. I can walk. It's not that far." "Y/N, I'm definitely not gonna let you walk home in this weather." Sam replied, looking at you seriously. "Think of it as reparations." he asked you. You sighed and admitted defeat because you felt how important it was to him. "Very well." He took your bag with a smile and grabbed his leather jacket off the chair. "Let's go."

Your spirits stopped you as soon as you were under a ledge outside the building. The rain had gotten heavier again and the drains of the street overflowed. Streams of water started flowing over the road. Cars pushed themselves over the asphalt in slow queues and stirred up the water again. "I guess we'll have to run." Sam snorted at your comment. "By the time we get through there, we'll have had three showers. Let's take my jacket." He spread his jacket over his head, telling you to come closer. He held his jacket over both of you and you ran. The water splashed under your feet as you ran across the parking lot.

In a hurry, Sam unlocked the car. You hopped in. Your hair dripped down your faces and then you looked at each other. The moment your eyes met, you burst out laughing. His eyes sparkled in the dim, gray daylight that slowly faded. They crinkled at the corners when he laughed and dimples appeared on his cheeks.

Sam started the car and the wiper moved across the windscreen. In the rain the headlights of oncoming cars were blurred, the rain pattered on the roof of the car and otherwise there was a pleasant silence. Sam stopped at a traffic light and looked over at you. As soon as your eyes met, you burst out laughing again. Suddenly you fell silent and looked at each other intensely. You didn't know who started it, but suddenly you came closer and closer. Sam's eyes left yours and moved to your lips. Only a few seconds before your lips met, the sound of honking tore you away from your magic moment. As suddenly as the moment had come, it vanished. Sam cleared his throat and you looked ahead in surprise to see that the light had turned green.

Neither of you said anything until Sam arrived at the address you had given him. He turned off the engine and for a moment there was complete silence. Nothing but the rain and your breathing could be heard. Your heart was pounding hard and you were afraid he could hear it.

"Well... here we are," Sam muttered, avoiding your gaze. "Hmm. This is it," you replied, but made no move. "Thanks for the ride, Sam." You thanked him. "No problem." There you go again. "Well, I'll be off." You didn't know what you were waiting for, so you unbuckled your seat belt. "Get home safe, Sam." The rain had turned into a downpour, and you were worried about Sam. " Text me when you get home." That might seem strange, but it was important for you to know he got home safe. You opened the door of the car to get out, when Sam's hand suddenly grabbed your wrist and pulled you back. With a jerk, you landed back in the seat. Even before you could open your mouth to ask what was going on, Sam's lips pressed against yours. They moved softly against yours and you sighed comfortably into the kiss. The taste of coffee, chocolate and mint blended into a mixture you couldn't resist. Gently, Sam pulled you closer, while the kiss gained fire. Your hands buried themselves in his hair and he stroked your cheek while his other hand rested on your waist. Sam's tongue brushed across your lips and you let him in. He teased you and you smiled into the kiss. His soft lips gently caressed yours.

None of you noticed at that moment how your phone lit up because a new message had arrived.

Adam: We need to talk.

Wanna get tagged for recent updates on this story? Head to my bio and add yourself to my Sam taglist or drop an ask in.

Sam Tags: @ashthefirefox @rintheemolion @fortheentries @vexhye @traceyaudette @zeppette @thewintersoldierswife @outofnowhere82 @mimzy1994 @myopiamystical

#sam x reader #sam winchester #sam x y/n #sam x you #professor!sam #professor!au #jared padalecki #jared x reader #spn fanfic series #spn #supernatural #suspirium #spnfamily #spn fandom #spn fanfiction #supernatural fic #supernatural reader insert #supernatural fandom #supernatural cast

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