Tumgik
#one that comes from the plant I spent years nurturing and reading to and my nephew has picked them and I have made so many recipes
somnambulic-thing · 7 months
Text
Tumblr media
This fic is part II of my come as you are universe but can be read as a standalone.
Series Masterlist
bendy Eddie Munson x gn!Reader with vagina&boobs, we're early 20s, E 18+ smut smut smut
Words: 3.3k
|new relationship/former best friends, fluff, pining, smut, fingering, piv, Eddie gives himself head for you, cuddling, intimacy af, silly and a little cheesy|
A/N: I kinda fell in love with those two and have two more parts partly written already. Some fics are very fun to do research for, this is one of those. If you feel like any acts in this fic are unrealistic: I don't care.
Big thanks to my cheerleaders @bettyfrommars and R<3 for the help with that story.
If you want to be tagged for the next part, reblog this post and tag it with #somnatags1 and I put you on the list
Comments and reblogs are so appreciated you have no idea.
Tumblr media
“Eddie?”
“Mhh?”
Slouched against the wall behind his bed, Eddie doesn’t look up from the guitar in his lap. He’s dressed in nothing than grey boxers and a sun-bleached shirt that misses sleeves and most of the sides. You could fit your head in there easily, breathe him in, graze your teeth lightly over his nipple, flick it with your tongue. Your skin would prickle with anticipation of the reward you would get for your teasing. When you were lucky he would let out one of those deep, shaky hums. Your forehead pressed against his sternum you would feel the fine vibration through his skin—
“Can I ask you something?”
“Sure,” he mumbles, busy fingers turning the keys to loosen the strings he’s about to exchange for new ones, always two at a time. He could do this in his sleep, so you assume the lack of response means he’s mulling over the setlist for tomorrow night again. You never knew when the right guy with the right connections would be in the crowd after all.
You’re soaked through your underwear.
Seeing Eddie like this, completely immersed in his element and lost to the world, was already an infallible way to make you lose your mind. But you have been mulling something over as well as you watched him the past twenty minutes and the thought had you softly grinding against the cushion of the armchair. Wouldn’t be a surprise if you left a damp spot behind.
“Did you ever try to blow yourself?”
The unplugged guitar cries a discordant noise as his fingers twitch and slip. His head shoots up, eyes wide and dark, voice a high rasp. Like something itchy got stuck in his throat.
“W-what?”
The thought wasn’t new. In fact, it hadn’t been a full week after Eddie and you had finally and officially deepened your years-long relationship from friends to lovers when the thought came to you for the first time. In the days prior, there had been many thoughts, many fantasies. Some whispered against sweaty skin in gentle request, others moaned in urgent demand. Every free minute spent exploring each other’s bodies in new and thrilling ways, tangled together in one sticky writhing mess.
It had just been a blip - the thought - just a flicker in your mind.
Eddie had told you about his day. Standing in the middle of his room, bend over, hugging the back of his tights and his chest pressed almost flush against them. It was casual. No strain. Just Eddie being Eddie.
And suddenly… oh… oh!
He had unbent himself, cheeks a pretty pink from dangling upside down and pulled his shirt over his head. “Oh, and I missed you the whole fucking time,” he said softly, grinning at you out of a cloud of messy hair. The thought was gone forgotten obliterated when he climbed into the bed with you and straddled your hips.
But a seed had been planted and the soil was more than fertile.
The man couldn’t keep still; was always climbing things, spending ages comfortably squatting in one place, or bent like a pretzel wherever he settled down for more than five minutes. With each display of his ridiculous flexibility, the thought took root. Fuck by fuck, restraint and inhibition dissolved, giving way to trust and desire, nurturing that young, delicate sprout.
What it had grown into over the past months had finally borne fruit; plump and juicy and ready for harvest. The curiosity was killing you. You had to pluck it right now.
“Did you ever try to suck your cock?”
“Jesus,” he huffs and runs both hands through his hair, wavy strands wildly sticking out from between his fingers as he holds on to his roots. His pointy elbows press together in front of his face, obstructing the view you had daydreamed about so many times.
Eddie Munson has a busted-face you can usually spot from five miles away. You’re almost sure that’s what he’s trying to hide from you. There’s a sudden abundance of saliva in your mouth and you swallow hard to keep from drowning.
“You have, haven’t you?”
“Uhm, I—“ he stretches the vowel like a rubber band. “You know…”
“Ed, it’s me.”
He shifts one arm to the side and peeks out at you. “Yes,” he says on a massive exhale as if confessing a sin that had weighed on him for centuries. “Yeah, I’ve tried.”
“And?”
“A-and?”
You lean forward on the chair. The motion spreads the wetness in your underwear. “Can you do it?”
“Jesus…”
“Hey,” you say softly, “are you ashamed?”
It wouldn’t be the first time, not for either of you. Sometimes intimacy was just scary with the possibility of rejection or worse, ridicule, while all the sensitive bits lay bare and on display. But it’s the first time you had seen him at such a loss for words.
“I’m not… ashamed,“ he finally drops his hands to the mattress with a stereo thump. His face is flushed a bright red that’s spreading down his neck; he looks like he’s catching fire from the inside.
“Because there’s no reason for that. You know that, right?”
“Right.”
“I’m just curious.”
“Mhhh,” he hums and his gaze drifts away from your face to the ceiling above your head.
“Babe, do you want me to drop it?”
“Nope.” The corners of his mouth twitch and while it’s not a full smile, there’s a hint of dimples. He looks a little dazed and his voice sounds suitably viscous. “Don’t want you to drop it.”
He takes the guitar in his lap by the neck and bends over the side of the bed to lean it against the nightstand. When he shifts back, he wiggles his hips and slides a little further down the wall. “Definitely don’t want you to drop it,” he says and grabs his hard cock through the fabric of his boxers, hips twitching up at the touch.
It’s a sight you’ll never get used to; Eddie being flustered and hard for you. The squeeze of your thighs is ridiculously insufficient against the throbbing in your cunt. You pull your bottom lip between your teeth.
It’s your turn to be speechless.
Eddie grins, the tip of his tongue poking out between curled lips. He’s stroking himself lazily. “You can’t just say shit like that without a warning. I swear you cut off the blood flow to my brain for a few seconds.”
“Was just a question. I had to start somewhere.”
He laughs, deep and sultry. “Just a question— Sweetheart, you know how my imagination runs away with me.”
“Where did it go?”
“Uhm, shit.” He swallows and the hand on his cock stops moving. You see the muscles in his belly tense. “Making myself come on my face for you… and in my mouth.”
You slide your hand between your thighs with sudden urgency, moaning as your fingers press against your clit.
“Fuck,” Eddie moans too. “You like that?”
“Oh god, yes!”
“Come here,” he says and holds both arms out for you.
You move so fast you almost stumble. Eddie pulls you into his lap as soon as his hands can reach you, greedy and excited, just like his tongue when it slips past your lips. Grinding your crotch against his hard length, you suck the moan from his mouth. You swear you can taste it, sweet and juicy and dripping from your chin.
“So, you can do it?” you ask and pull his head back by his hair to access his neck, leaving him his mouth to talk for now. He groans and digs his fingers into your hips as you softly run your teeth over his skin in search of a spot to sink them into.
“Yeah, like, a little. Not all the way, fuck… Not… not even like half the way but— fuck, baby.”  Eddie’s nails dig into your back when you bite him and his thighs tremble beneath you. “Shiiit the way this is turning you on, don’t want you to be disappointed.”
You sit up, confused. “Why would I be disappointed?”
“It’s been a while and I have no idea if I still can do it.”
“Eddie, listen,” you cradle his face in your hands and smooth your thumbs over his cheekbones. It does the trick to ease the tension from his worried brows but there’s still some flickering in those big brown eyes.
“M’ listening.”
“I won’t be disappointed.”
You realize how hard he’s holding on to you when his vice grip on your left hip vanishes. His hand slides between your thighs, fingers trembling ever so slightly and you can’t but grind down when he presses two firmly against your cunt.
His eyes roll up before they find you again under heavy lids. “You say that now, but you’re soaking my dick through several layers of fabric here, sweetheart—“
You shut him up with a kiss, smiling against his lips as the initial noise of protest turns into an avid sigh. You sneak your fingers into his hair to scratch his scalp with practised finesse and Eddie goes boneless. He’s holding onto the back of your shirt with both fists and just melts into you.
“Better?” you ask drawing back to see his face. His expression is soft, cheeks flushed and he bites his lower lip and nods. “Good. M’ just going to suck you off myself when you can’t do it, no big deal.”
“Hey!”  he complains. “That’s not what you called him the last time. Or the time before that. Or— hnng ahh.“
You reached down into his boxers to grab him, sliding your thumb back and forth over the tip. “Silly man.”
“Uh-hnn, but it always pays off.” He closes his eyes, enjoying your lazy strokes for a while before he looks at you again. “So, uh… you want me to try it?”
“You wanna try it now?”
“I’m getting kinda desperate here.”
“I don’t want you to hurt yourself in a horny hurry. You have a show tomorrow.”
He laughs and places a kiss on your cheek. “I’m not going to force it,” he says and breaks out into a wicked grin. “I heard I’m getting my dick sucked either way.”
You look at each other for a moment, both grinning and giddy. “Alright,” you say and then you both scramble to take your clothes off.
It’s a quick and silly affair with garments flying through the room left and right, with giggles and stolen kisses. Eddie’s hand slips between your legs. Swift fingers part your lips and rub soft circles around your clit. You slump against his shoulder and he laughs darkly.
“Knew I’m not the only one who’s desperate here,” he says and sinks two fingers into you. “You’re going to drown us. Jesus. Let me take care of you first. M’ dying to taste you.”
“Oh!”
Eddie pulls up his brows. “Oh?”
You put your palms on his chest—
“What are you doing?”
— and push him down on his back. “M’ taking a seat,” you say, straddling his hips, hovering.
“O-okay.”
“You said you want to taste me—“ Reaching down, you line up his cock.
“Yeah, but why— what— fuuuck,” he groans as you sink down on him slowly. You shiver and moan with every inch that stretches you gloriously, not taking your eyes off Eddie’s ecstatic face.
 “Fuck! So good…” He grits out when you’re fully seated. “I’m so confused.”
Wiggling your hips, you lean down to rub your nose against Eddie’s. “I’m making sure you can taste me—“
“Jesus Christ!”
“Got it?”
Eddie wraps his arms around you and pulls you flush against him. You can feel his stomach tense and his cock twitch inside you. His voice is whiny and when he speaks it sounds like one long word. “Don’t you move or it’s fucking over in two seconds Jesus you’re killing me you are going to be my demise holy fuck.”
“Take a breath, babe.” You chuckle against his neck. “Hmm, you feel so goo—“
“Shut up, demon.” 
You press your lips together to keep from laughing. Eddie is holding you tight, breath deep and heavy, in an effort to calm himself down. It takes all of your willpower to not stick your tongue out to taste his neck, not to tell him how full and complete you feel with him inside of you. He twitches again and you can’t keep in a moan.
“Oh god,” he laughs, strained and raspy. “I’m not strong enough for this.”
“Shall I dismount?”
“Not yet.”
He kisses your temple, smoothes his hands over your back up and down and up again and he’s warm and now slightly sweaty and he smells like tea tree shampoo and old spice and the incense he keeps in stock just for you but secretly burns when he’s by himself as well.
“I love you,” he whispers into your hair.
You lift your head and find the softest of smiles and you have to kiss it and kiss it and kiss it again.
“Love you too, Munson.”
He hums and kisses you once more. “Get off now. Before I’m going to fucking explode.”
“So,” you ask while you slowly lift off of him, “how is this going to work?”
Eddie pats the bed next to him. “Lay down.”
While you settle down next to him on your side with your head propped up on your palm, Eddie pulls his knees to his chest.
“Oh,” you say, a wave of heat rising up in your chest. “You’re getting your cute little ass into the air?”
He rolls his eyes and turns his face to the ceiling. “Gravity helps, okay?”
“I’m not complaining.”
He lifts his knees to gain momentum and swings his hip up into the air. You follow every movement with your eyes. The way his back arches and the skin of his tummy scrunches together in soft wrinkles. His hands move to his back to keep him steady and he takes a moment to find balance.
“You ok?”
“Uh-hm,” he huffs and glances over to you. “Taking it slowly.”
The excitement settles hot in your chest, and you’re breathing faster. You slide your hand down and between your legs, palming your pussy. Eddie picks up on the motion and looks away with a groan, staring at his flushed, swollen cock hanging right above his face, still glistening wet with your slick. He groans again and closes his eyes.
“It’s so pretty, isn’t it?” your sigh and press a finger against your clit.
Eddie hums and moves, lowering his hips closer to his face.
“Can I help?”
“Nope,” he pops the p and shakes his head, eyes still closed and lowers his hips again. There’s maybe a hand width left between his face and the tip of his cock. You start circling your clit slowly, moan softly as warmth builds up in your pelvis.
“Feels good?” he asks and the distance shrinks again.
“Really good. The visuals help. You should give it a try.”
He chuckles. “Am I close?”
“Eddie, open your eyes.”
He not only opens his eyes, but stares mesmerized at his erection. “Good news,” he groans and you’re stomach starts fluttering like a swarm of bats.
“Oh god,” you breathe out and speed up your fingers. “You sure?”
He lowers himself again, now so close. “You have a good view? Need to make any adjustments?”
You quickly shuffle around, rest your head lower and put your hand back between your thighs. “I’m good.”
Eddie shifts his eyes over to you and takes a deep breath before he looks back. “Fucking hell,” he mumbles and then he sticks out his tongue and gives the underside of the tip a lick.
“Eddie,” you moan, hips twitching against your fingers as he does it again. “You’re gorgeous, so gorgeous…”
“Shiiit,” he breathes out and lowers his hips a little more, reaching the rim of his tip now. And he gives it a swirl, moaning deeply.
“Feels good?” you ask, trying to mimic with your fingers on your clit what Eddie’s tongue does to his cock.
“Yeah,” he breathes out harshly. “I can fucking taste you, t’s driving me insane.”
“Can you give it a kiss for me?”
“Baby,” he whines and shuffles his shoulders, gives himself another lick and then presses his full soft lips against the swollen tip of his cock. “
“You look so good,” you moan and quickly dip a finger into your hole, before you press down firmly on your clit. “Can you make yourself come for me, Eddie?”
“Demon,” he huffs and shuffles again. His hips lift up for a moment. When he lowers them down again you gasp, electricity surging through you as he slowly sucks most of the tip into his mouth. His cheeks hollow slightly and the tip of his tongue pokes out, sliding back and forth over the sensitive skin. You sink your fingers into your clenching cunt and press your palm to your clit, moaning loudly in unison with Eddie.
“God I love your mouth so much, how it makes you feel good—“
“Close—“ he huffs and sucks the whole tip in this time. The way his lips stretch around it, how eagerly his tongue tries to reach as far as it can. You can hear in the noises he makes that he’s almost there. Your hand stills. You’re mesmerized. You don’t want to blink, don’t want to miss one second of this spectacle. Eddie is trembling with strain and lust. It’s obscene.
“Come on, Eddie. Suck that big cock with your pretty mouth for me. Come for me.”
And with a yelp, Eddie comes just like you demanded. His tip slips from his mouth as his back straightens slightly and he digs his hands in to keep steady. His release comes in hard spasms that make his cock twitch and bop and his balls pump his cum all over his face. Eyes shut tight, mouth wide open and panting and he sticks his tongue out to get a taste of himself. You shower him with praises, you’re ecstatic and a little dizzy.
His cock is still twitching when Eddie let’s go and his legs drop back to the mattress. When he tries to open his eyes, they roll up and shut again. His hand comes up and searches for you. You intertwine your fingers with his and he pulls you down.
“Kiss me,” he demands with raspy shallow breaths.
You taste the both of you on his tongue, tangy and salty and sweet and he grins against your mouth when the sensation makes you whimper.
“As good as imagined?” he asks and nibbles on your bottom lip.
“You kidding me? This was so much better. I could cry.”
And sure enough, when he opens his eyes to look at you, he finds your eyes wet with tears. A satisfied grin spreads over his face. He turns to his side and pulls you against his chest. You breathe him in, feel a hum vibrating through his chest.
“What about you?” you ask.
“Oh, I’m spectacular, sweetheart.” He looks down and presses a kiss to your forehead. “Blissed out and covered in cum. Let’s do it again tomorrow.”
You grunt a laugh. “Did I awaken a monster?”
“Yepp, gonna join the circus now.”
“Bendy bastard,” you chuckle and push yourself up to face him. His eyes are soft and so is his smile. He looks completely spent. You kiss him again, slide your tongue over his lower lip right to the corner and from there up his cheek.
With his eyes closed Eddie clears his throat. “Uh, are you licking my cum from my face?”
You answer with a hum and a lick of your lips when he peeks at you with one eye. You feel his cock twitch against your thigh.
He throws his head back and groans, then pushes you to your back.
“Wha—“
“Gonna have to fuck you now,” he says like you’re a bit slow and lowers himself between your legs, sinking his teeth into your thigh. “Starting with the feast I was denied earlier. Too bad you can’t reach the table.”
834 notes · View notes
jaketsparrow · 1 month
Text
SOMETHING... | JTK
Tumblr media
Pairing: Jake Kiszka x f! Reader
Word Count: 10.6K
Summary: When you have to say goodbye to your professor and mentor, a cocky young professor steps in, Jacob Kiskza. Literature used to be your safe place, but now you feel him getting involved in every corner; it doesn’t help that you’re his TA. You deny yourself every opportunity to fall for him until…
A/N: Hi guys :) I know it’s been forever since I’ve put something together and I apologize about that, but this is life. This one has been on my mind since the Grammy U interview and I finally had the idea to put it all together. I hope you enjoy :) 
Playlist
*Also I'm so sorry I lost my tag list so if you want to be tagged here's a new form* Taglist
MINORS DNI
MENTIONS OF/ TW: Sexual content (of course), talks about death/grief, angst, swearing, Dom! Jake, restraints, possible orgasm denial, choking, alcohol use, fingering (f receiving), dirty talk, ~some~ degrading, praise kink!, I’m sorry if I missed anything, but, etc, it’s filth. 
The classroom was cold in the early months of the year. You had gotten in the habit of wearing your coat through the 3-hour seminar. You were lucky that this class only ran once a week, but you often had to stay longer than the students, working with the professor for a few hours afterward. He was always elusive. Always eager to get things done as fast as possible; efficient and snappy. 
There was much to admire about him, but his personality often left you rolling your eyes. He always seemed a bit too sure about himself, always being the tough grader, pushing students further than they were willing to go. He cared a lot, especially about the subject matter. He still had that gusto in him to do things right, to be stern. 
He was new to the program; and before this, only about a year into teaching. You studied under his predecessor. She was a kinder old woman who cared deeply for you, like your mother away from home. She taught you everything- and even got you to change majors during your sophomore year. She supplemented your reading supplies, nurtured your abilities, and was always willing to sit in deep conversation with you. Discussing the classics, introducing modern pieces, talking about life, talking about it all. 
Professor Kiszka on the other hand… 
When he took over for Professor Meelo, he took very little time to rip the bandaid off. When you had originally been promised a TA position in the literature department, you were expected to be under your mentor, not a cocky white man. 
You spent weeks crying during winter break after first meeting him. The day you met him didn’t go exactly as you hoped. It was the week of finals when you found out Meelo was sick, and that she was stepping away from teaching. As if finals week wasn’t stressful enough, you had to come to terms with the fact that the woman who taught you everything was going to be leaving this world sooner than you would’ve thought. It was even more of a punch in the gut to walk into your introduction meeting to see… him. 
3 Months Ago
The walk across campus felt heavier than usual. The winter had been harsher than it usually was in early December. The wind whipped across your bare rosy cheeks, causing freezing tears to slowly fall out of the corners of your eyes. Almost like a bad omen, the weather continued to get worse as you sludged your way across the quad. 
The parking lot was nearly a mile away from campus, which was nice during the warmer months; the trees would sway across the crosswalk, blessing the sidewalk with fallen flowers and leaves. The grass was green and lively, a welcome mat onto a wonderful learning home. Between the cracks of the stone walkways, little dandelions would grow. You never understood the people who thought them to be unnecessary weeds. They were bright and yellow lively plants, and when the time of beauty passed, they passed their good wishes onto you. Blowing what once were vibrant petals into the wind. Who knew you’d miss the weeds on your walks?
Instead, now the stones were smeared with remnants of snowy footprints, broken earth that had been cracked through with the force of shovels, and the remnants of the dead earth.
Meelo called you just last week. You begged to go see her in the hospital, but she didn’t want you to worry too much. She agreed to call you every other day, just like your usual coffee arrangements. She loved them just as much as you did. She never had a husband or any children. Her students were her children, her soul was fed enough through changing lives that she didn’t want to take away that love from her students or prevent any child from feeling all of it. You were not the first to bear their soul in her office, but you might be one of the last. 
Meelo begged you to go meet the new professor. You had tried to rescind your TA position, but she blocked you at every chance she got. Even while in hospice she still managed to look out for you…
“Please, sweetheart. I know it’s not easy. But he’s young, he’s smart, I think you’ll have a lot in common with him,” She pleaded through the phone. 
“But he’s not you. I just, I thought… I thought I’d have more time…” Your voice trailed off. 
You tried to hold the phone away from your face, trying not to distress her more with the sounds of your whimpers and tears. 
Her voice started again, “You never know what you will learn from him. You have more time with me, but there comes a time when a teacher must share her students for them to learn more. If we stayed in our echo chamber together my dear I’m afraid you wouldn’t learn everything you need to know. Jacob is going to be a great professor, and I know you will learn a lot from him. His research and analysis work is quite extensive. The school and I hired him for a reason. Please. Just give it a try. For me.”
“Just for you.” 
And here you were trudging through, feeling every bone in your body telling you to turn around, to go home. But you were doing this not for you, you reminded yourself. For Meelo. She was right, you latched on to her from your early years in college and favored her over all of your other professors. They were kind and nice as well, but it didn’t matter to you in the end, if they weren’t Meelo, they were never going to compare. 
The building seemed colder than usual. The large glass windows were covered by their shades; no one wanted to see the gross state of life outside of the classroom. That’s hardly motivating to any student, the fluorescents would give more life than the grey state of the weather. 
You pull the door open, walk through the entryway, and follow your usual path down the hallway to Meelo’s room. 
The thing about old colleges, everywhere you turn is a little piece of history. Each room has housed many professors and many students. The building had life, had ghosts of its own hidden in each brick, in each stone. You felt the comfort of this presence moving through the hallway. 
You stop right before Meelo’s room, catching your breath before you enter. Trying to have an open mind. Kiszka could be something, or he could just be another man throwing words at you. Not that all men were the same, but a majority of the male professors here were lackluster, favoring the male students and the athletes who needed the better grades to stay in the school. And if they favored the women… You always felt a cold chill thinking about that. Thinking about why…
One last deep breath before you enter the classroom. You grab tight onto the handle of your tote bag and strut confidently into the room. 
It was empty. 
The beautiful artwork and posters that Meelo had filling the room were stripped. Revealing the natural state of the architecture. It was beautiful in its own way but didn’t feel like the educational home you once felt so blessed to be in. The desks were all shoved to one side of the classroom. The previous welcoming U-shape was demolished, instead providing a cluttered destruction of Meelo’s work. 
You stood awestruck in the shape of the room. There was no time wasted between Meelo leaving and Kiszka starting to make his mark on the room. The bookshelves that used to be filled in the back of the room had been emptied and their contents sat on the floor in boxes.
You walk over to the boxes, kneeling to gently sift through the carelessly placed books. This was Meelo’s library that she had collected for the classroom. Take a book, leave a book, borrow a book, bring it back. You loved visiting this wall every week, seeing what books your peers were interested in, and which books made their way into the library. Some new, and some returning after long months away. 
Sitting on top of the box was the classic “Brave New World”. Aldous Huxley. 1932. Not an original copy, but a new binding. It was like the universe was sending you signs. This would be a brave new world. A world where you might have to come to terms with the fact that Meelo would not be in your life forever.  A world where you might have to figure out everything with a new mentor. A world where you thought you would have years to work on your pieces with a woman who understood you, but now you would turn over your heartfelt pieces to a man. One who may not understand you the same as someone else does.
“A favorite of yours?” A voice perks up from the doorway. 
You turn to see him. Your eyes work your way up his figure. He’s wearing Chelsea boots, black thick linen pants, a white loose shirt with a black vest, and a dress coat over it. His chestnut hair lays over the shoulders of the coat, and his eyes are covered by circular gold-rimmed sunglasses. He oozes mystery. His arms crossed, surveying your crouched body by the boxes. You hate to admit it, but he may be one of the most handsome men you’ve ever seen. 
You hold up the book towards him, displaying the cover. 
“Not particularly. I don’t like thinking about the takeover of technology. It feels too real right now.” You respond. 
He wanders over to you, taking his time, each step creating the most annoying echo in the emptied classroom. He reaches his hand out to yours, asking silently for the book. You hand it over to him and stand to match his level. 
He passes the book between his hands, admiring the binds, “Ah, yes, but perhaps something can be learned from the book if more understood its warning… if only more read it…”
“If only…” You let the conversation trail off. Your eyes wander back to the pile of desks on the opposite wall. You feel yourself zoning out, focused only on the change of the room, not on the man in front of you. 
“-Your favorite?” He asks. 
You snap back to the conversation, trying to recall the beginning of his question, “I’m sorry? 
“If this is not your favorite, can I ask which is?” He waves you to walk with him. 
You follow him into the office at the back of the classroom. He sits in Meelo’s chair, and you sit in the chair that had held you so many times. You wouldn’t be surprised if the cushion had a you-shaped imprint in it at this point. 
He asks a third time, “You don’t seem like the Jane Eyre or Louisa May student, so what is it?” 
You let your bag fall off your shoulder and you try to sit up in the chair, asserting some sort of professionalism. Your answer will hold some sort of judgment for him. Although you want to be offended by his comment about the female author’s classics, he’s right. They were never your favorite. 
“Tess of the D’Urbervilles. Meelo gave it to me as my first assignment.” You respond, confident in your answer. 
He nods in approval, “Lovely choice, very telling. Meelo said you were very bright–one for the classics.” 
He leans back in his chair, stroking his chin. His hand reaches up to the gold-rims and pulls them off, clattering onto the desk. He pulls himself towards the desk, resting his elbows on the table. 
“Are you going to ask me mine?” He asks, almost presumptuously. 
You fight back the urge to roll your eyes. Of course, he has to find a way to be important here. You adjust yourself in your seat, crossing your arms in the process. 
“If you want me to know, why don’t you just say it?” You retort. 
He chuckles to himself, “Lord of the Rings.” 
Your mouth falls so far open that you’re afraid a fly might buzz its way in. You lift your hand to your mouth and try to hide your disapproval.
“That’s a classic for sure.” You reply, “Not one I would’ve expected from a college literature professor, but a classic nonetheless.”
He pushes himself off the desk, running his hands through his long locks before they make their way onto the arms of the seat. 
“You don’t approve?” He scoffs. 
“I didn’t say that, I just said it’s not one that I would expect.” 
“I believe there is a difference between a personal and professional favorite. A favorite you could read over and over again, and you could enjoy without having to think too much about what it all means. it’s an adventure, its heroes and legends, it’s a call for relaxation and enjoyment. I’d rather have my favorite be a well-known classic than a deep thought-provoking story about purity.”
You fight every urge in you to slap the man sitting before you for disgracing such a beautiful novel. But you think about Meelo. You think about stepping outside of the echo chamber. 
“I think we may have different opinions on favorites, Professor Kiszka.” You say shortly. 
You feel the tension grow between you already. This would be a difficult semester. Even more difficult because as you felt your dislike for him grow, you couldn’t stop staring at the beautiful man sitting in front of you. His brown eyes stared deep into you, trying to assess his new assistant. You tried not to let him in too far. You were not fawning for him, at least you weren’t trying to. You wanted to fight off the growing warmth crying to spread through you. It was like seeing a handsome stranger in the bar; you knew the danger, but almost didn’t want to let yourself protect your heart. 
He was by far the youngest professor here, and the most eligible. No ring was on his finger. 
“Please, call me Jacob.” 
You stood up from your seat, throwing your bag over your shoulder. You try to compose yourself enough not to let any distaste escape from your lips. 
“Sorry, Professor Kiszka, I have finals I need to finish, it was a pleasure to meet you. I look forward to working with you in January. If you need anything from me before then, I believe the dean gave you my information.”
You reach your hand out awkwardly, trying to invite a handshake. He cautiously reaches his hand back, pulling you into a firm, but still gentle handshake. 
His eyes meet yours. The deep brown staring into you. Although you should have the power from your standing position, you knew he held all the cards from his seat. The handshake lingered longer than you had expected, both of you locked deep into staring each other down. He finally releases his hand. 
“It was a pleasure.” You start to leave the office, but he makes one last remark, “Oh, one last thing…” 
You turn to face him, “Yes professor?”
 He reaches into the desk and pulls out a cloth-bound book, handing it to you. You slowly return to the desk, taking the book from his hand—the Lord of the Rings. 
“Try it for me? You do have a whole winter break…”
You rub your hands over the cover, smiling at his request. You place the book back in his hand.
“I used to read it as a child. No need to give it a try when you’ve read it four times already.” You smile at him. 
Even if it wasn’t your favorite, didn’t mean it wasn’t a favorite. 
Present
In some ways, your relationship with him felt like a love-lost marriage. Just moving through the motions. You sat in on the classes and took note of who engaged, and who didn’t. You graded assignments, tests, and papers, with him always double-checking and doubting your work. You didn’t sit in on long conversations with him like Meelo. Perhaps some of that was your fault, always quick to get to work. He adjusted to you quickly, understanding how you needed to work, and letting you grieve. 
Meelo passed quickly into the semester. You cried once in front of him when the news broke. You nearly snapped his head off when he asked if he could help you. From that moment on he took on this cold persona, but you don’t blame him at all. You knew in your heart that you would not have the same connection with him as Meelo, so it was easier to never try. 
Through everything, your work never faltered, and your school work remained the priority. Perhaps it was a way to hide through all the pain but the calculated steps it took to grade provided a soothing rhythm amongst the distress. 
You never failed to notice all the times you caught him catching glances at you. You were silly to think that it meant anything more than just a quick look, but still maybe somewhere in your heart, you had hoped that maybe he was thinking of you more than his assistant. For weeks you watched him stroll into class, always wearing a disheveled but somehow put-together outfit. You loved seeing how he would piece together different clothes from his collection. Never repeating an exact outfit, but always finding new ways to repurpose the same items. 
One day he walked in with a new addition to his look, a cluster of pendants on a necklace. They looked older, more worn in than any new silver. You asked him about it briefly, trying not to engage in a further conversation. 
“They’re coins, Spanish coins, designed after ones from the 1600s. I think the jeweler lied to me when he said they were originals, but they still look okay… Do you think so? 
“You look like a pirate.” You responded. 
A sexy pirate. You shoved that thought deep into the back of your mind. Holding on to it, because you didn’t want to forget how good he looked. 
His Thursday classes were always one of the better ones. This was one that you had to take yourself for your graduate program. There was no TA’ing involved as that would be a huge conflict of interest if you got to grade your papers. You chose to sit in the back corner of the class by the window, in hopes that when spring rolls around you could watch the foliage return. The unfortunate thing about this choice was the waiting. February was colder than you had expected and the windows provided no warmth. 
When you were TA’ing you got to sit at the edge of the office and the classroom. Kiszka brought a space heater for you to place at the doorway. He joked he didn’t need his assistant ‘freezing to death’, because then ‘who would grade the papers’.
You tried your hardest to not let him favor you, but you knew he was someone who would be kind no matter how much you asked him to stop. He would leave books on the edge of his desk for you to read and when you tried to return them he declined and told you he already had a copy in his collection. You doubted that and always protested in fear that you thought you might lead him on. But in the end, it was always you walking out with a new book in your bag. 
He was trying his hardest to get along with you. Some days it was easier and you would entertain his questions, but other days it was easier to be quick and move along. This relationship was not going to be a fairytale. You had already found your soulmate once, and you lost her. In your mind, there was no more room in your heart to let someone in. And why should you prepare space for someone if you truly don’t know if they want to be there? 
This class although interesting became boring as the weeks went on. The class had fallen into a seasonal depression of sorts. Many like you had expected to have Meelo for the semester when you had booked your classes, so when Kiszka showed up and tried to shake things up… It wasn’t easy. He was skilled and smart, sure… But not the same. He craved involvement and wanted the class to join in with him, but often would push people further than they were willing to go. A room full of mid-20-year-olds was truly a space of burnout. Many of these students had already passed four, sometimes five years of school before they stepped into this class. They no longer have that lively interest in reading and analyzing literature but want to create their own.
“-And what was this author trying to convey through his use of metaphors?...” He asked from his commanding space at the front of the class, “No one?... No one picked up on this…? Or are you too scared to be wrong?”
Your attempts at fighting off eye-rolls also subsided the longer this course went on, and this roll came on hard. You’ve heard this line countless times through multiple classes. He wasn’t wrong, but he could at least find different ways to say the statement. 
“Y/N? Care to enlighten everyone?” He calls to you, in need of saving the class who had lost attention nearly an hour ago. 
“Sure. It’s a metaphor for how women are treated in society.” You answer.
He grits his teeth and sighs, “Not quite, but you’re close…” 
You lift yourself from your slump, “No, that’s right. She is clearly trying to convey the expectations of women in society and how we are treated. As a female author, she leaves these metaphors to be very simple for female readers to understand. For males, it’s harder to grasp that the severity of these situations could imply the treatment of women, but that’s what she’s trying to explain.”
He clasps his hands together giving them a brief shake, “That class, that is how you analyze. Literature can be read in different ways by different readers. The author may have a clear intention of what they are trying to write, but others may be able to relate it to other aspects of their life. I have my own interpretation, and you all may have others. That is how this should be working. There is nothing wrong, with how you analyze, just that you have the knowledge to back it up…”
Every time you tried to make him out to be the bad guy, he ended up being in the right. You hated how smart he was. You hated how much you wanted to watch him while he stood up there. You hated how he wasn’t her. But you knew you didn’t want him to leave. 
“So with that,” He continues, “Finish up the last few chapters and please come prepared with statements next week about your findings. I want you to dig deep; feel the author. I’ll see you next week.” 
The class starts their shuffle for the door, while you meander to your usual spot at the doorway of the office. The next class wouldn’t be in for 20 minutes, but you would at least have time to warm up. 
You click on the heater and walk over to Kiszka’s rolling desk chair. You take your coat off and rest it over the seat, pushing it over to the door. Kiszka finds his seat at the front of the classroom, pulling out his book of the week. He usually would try to follow you, asking you what you were reading, then the next day showing up to class with an identical copy. It was annoying and endearing how much he wanted to learn from you. You wondered if it upset him that you weren’t as keen on learning from him. 
He confided in you that Meelo was an idol of his as well, and although he didn’t get to learn from her, he was going to try to through you. 
You pull your copy of Anna Karenina from your bag and join him. Your chapters ahead of him, but you enjoy being one step in front of him. 
You peep up from the back of the room, “I didn’t ask, but please tell me this isn’t your first time reading this.” 
He lifts his head from the book slightly, eyes still skimming the page, “Third.” 
You sigh in relief. That would’ve been embarrassing; for him. 
You return to the book. You’re finding it harder to dive in today than usual, something is different… You see out of the corner of your eye that Kiszka has put down the book altogether, and you can sense him staring. This lasts a few moments, but you try to remain focused on the words, but catching yourself having to re-read the paragraphs; not processing the sentences you’ve already read.
A minute goes by and he hasn’t returned to his pages. Instead, you hear the squeak of his chair rolling over to his computer. A few clicks and a frenzy of taps on the keyboard. 
“Hey.” He prods. 
You look up again from the book. He peers at you over the edge of his computer and then closes it so he can see you better. He grasps his jaw lightly, stroking it in his hands. 
“Yes?” You asked, trying not to seem annoyed by the interruption. 
“Let’s go over your manuscript. I want to see it.” He continues. 
No. It’s not time yet. You’ve been meticulously editing it for months now. He wasn’t supposed to read it until midterms, you were supposed to have more time…
You drop the book into your lap, “It’s not ready…” You close the book, “Also we have class in twenty minutes, you won’t be able to read it all by then.” 
He stands up from his seat, straightening his vest out, “I canceled class. Pull it out.” 
Two Hours Later
Some time had passed. You both sat in his office now. Him at… his… desk, and you still positioned by the heater at the door. At this point you were warm enough to finally take your sweater off, stripping down to a simple black t-shirt. You saw him staring through the pages when you pulled the sweater off. If he had looked any harder you think he might burn a hole through the book.
The office was silent except for the occasional click and clack of the heater, and the flickering of the candle on his desk. He flipped through the lightly bound pages while you continued through your reading. Every couple of minutes you could hear the stroke of his red pen hit the pages. The words or corrections will wait for you later. You could sit and scoff at them later in your apartment. The man said his favorite book was Lord of the Rings, how could you possibly trust his editorial judgment?
You had made it about a hundred or so pages through your book, which was slower than you would’ve liked. You still couldn’t breach the interferences. You thought the silence would help, but hearing his hums, his pen strokes, the occasional sip of scotch… It was all a distraction. 
You couldn’t stop looking up from the book to watch him slyly admire your work. You knew your writing was good; Meelo had seen the early stages of it all. She heard the direction and loved every word… A complete sadness rushed over you thinking of how she would never see the final product. 
Kiszka would adjust himself every few minutes; switching positions in his seat. You wanted to trust yourself enough not to look every time he shifted his hips, but those linen pants he loved so much left little to wonder about him. You had a closeness to him that you didn’t want to admit. As many differences as there were between you, there were just as many similarities. He was an outsider here; you could see that clearly. The other professors didn’t trust him because of his age- the students tried to walk all over him because of that too. 
Even though you wanted to hate how pretentious he seemed, deep down you knew it was a facade to seem more studious to others. You saw the real him in glimpses. The kindness he offered to you that many others most likely wouldn’t have. Your youth and love for literature matched his perfectly, although you couldn’t always find the way to express it correctly. Your loyalty to Meelo prevented that at every chance. 
Letting him read this manuscript was a big step that you didn’t fully even realize until he had reached the halfway point. You wanted to go and rip the pages out of his hand, throw them out the window, prevent him from seeing you too deeply… But something inside you needed to know what he thought of it. 
Frustrated by your lack of progress, you lowered the book into your lap. You took this time to look around the room. It had changed so much since you had seen it back in December. Kiszka’s library had taken up the room, along with his record collection. When you would come by early in the morning to drop off the graded work, you would hear him playing some of it. Blues, rock, the classics. You never disturbed him during these times, it felt too intimate to interrupt. Instead, you would place the binder of essays on his classroom desk and scurry away before he could come to say hello. 
You place your bookmark into the page opening. You calmly stand and place the book where you once sat. Quietly, you make your way over to his collection.  
You see him peer up through the pages. Curious about your movements, watching you silently behind the manuscript. 
You lower yourself to the floor, sifting through the jackets of the vinyls. Alphabetical. Of course. You make your way quickly through the a’s and land through the b’s. As cliche as it seems, you truly love Abbey Road, and of course, there it is front and center with the other Beatles albums. You pull it out from the shelf, removing the jacket carefully from the sleeve. You lift the vinyl out and place it on the record player. It’s a modern one, which feels very out of character for Kiszka. He always seemed like the type to randomly have every item of his be nothing newer than 20 years old. 
You press play and lower the needle onto the music. 
Come Together plays softly through the speakers. You turn to look back at him, seeing if there is any protest. Instead, he has the red pen out, slashing across the paper. You grit your teeth and try not to engage. You return to his collection, running your fingers along the remainder of the vinyl. The plastic tickles through your fingers, creating a click, click sound as each jacket releases from your hold. 
Although you did want Kiszka to keep reading, you felt it was necessary to distract him, to try and persuade him to step away…
You continue from the vinyl collection, traipsing through the room. It’s like a library out of a movie, truly. You admired his office deeply and loved to gaze at it while he was lecturing. Sometimes when he was deep in his philosophy of literature speeches, you would lean back in the chair and try to read the book titles from afar. Your eyesight was good, but not good enough to make out the exact names of all of them. You never dared to peruse like this before, but this moment presented the perfect opportunity. 
You were his captive for the remainder of his reading. Well… In all reality, you didn’t have to be here, but you didn’t dare leave that manuscript alone. It had been stored with you in your tote for the past month. You tried to take chunks of edits at a time, working through it yourself when you had time but didn’t want to share it with anyone until you felt that it was complete. 
You tried to fight Kiszka off, but the notion of him canceling class meant that he found taking the time to do this very important… 
The books that were displayed on these shelves were not the type of books that you would find at your local bookstore. They were older, worn in, some of them originals, even some you haven’t read yet. Maybe he did have some things that he could show you…
 You make your way to the last set of bookshelves, rounding the back corner of the office. The last edge of the wall had his makeshift bar. 
The liquor was all dark, amber-colored. Very manly, you thought to yourself. Bottles of whiskey and scotch lined the makeshift bar. Jack Daniels, Sazerac Rye, Macallan Double Cask… You recognized some of the labels. 
Kiszka crept up behind you, “If you wanted a glass, you could’ve asked.” 
He reaches down below you to fetch a rocks glass from the bar. He grabs the Macallan Double Cask and pours a finger for you. The alcohol flows effortlessly out of the bottle, barely splashing into the glass.  He hands the glass to you, your hand brushing his. His touch is warm… Kind. He takes his other hand and grabs your shoulder, in a comforting way. You want to seem completely normal, but feel your cheeks getting rosy from the touch. You suck on your bottom lip and try to hide your face. 
You take a large swig of the scotch, trying to be mindful of not wasting such a good drink. He looks at you, shocked at your ability to take it so easily. 
“Wow. Good.” Is the only words he can mutter. 
You smile meekly. The praise makes you feel undoubtedly shyer than you had just before. 
“Are these originals?” You ask, pointing to the corner section of his library, “I couldn’t tell, and didn’t want to touch them if they were.”
“Many of them, yes,” He responds, “I trust that you would be gentle with them, please, which one were you curious about?” 
You make your way over to the shelf, placing your drink down on the small table near the corner. You reach up to fold out the red bound book. Its title was completely faded from the binding, but we’re curious as to which one it was. He follows closely behind you, close enough to almost be on you. 
He laughs, “Funny you should grab that..” 
You open the cover to find Lord of the Rings printed in big black letters. 
“Oh, dear god.” You sigh. 
“It is an original if that makes you feel any better about it. I know you hate this book, but still-”
“No, no,” You protest, “I never said I hated it, I just said it wasn’t my favorite. Remember we have different opinions on that professor.” 
He scoffs and takes the book from your hand. Rubbing the cloth binding with his thumbs.
“Want to know something funny?” He questions. 
You did. You really did. You wanted the connection at this moment… For whatever cosmic reason it finally felt okay to banter with him. You nod your head, approving him to continue. 
“I saw the movies before I read the books.” He laughs, “My brothers and I loved it, we were practically obsessed, but I was younger then and a stupid boy who didn’t read like I do now. Not the fairytale way most people find their favorite but it reminds me of childhood…”
You wanted to laugh, you wanted to make fun of him for it. But you knew that this was a special moment for him. A look into his past, a presentation for more. He places the book carefully back on the shelf, tucking it back into its spot. 
“Well, I guess that makes more sense now. But, as a graduate professor, you ought to just say you like the pretentious shit. No one’s going to take you seriously.” 
He turns from the shelf, “Who said I was worried about that? If I lie then I am a fraud. I don’t care if anyone says that.” 
Oh fuck. His confidence is so intoxicating. He’s right. Why should he care? 
“I just- I meant… I thought that the other professors-” 
“You thought that they don’t take me seriously? Right. They don’t. In schools like this, you have to earn respect. I’m not an alumnus, I didn’t go to Harvard, but I do a damn good job at what I do. As much as you may protest some of my teaching, I know what I’m doing.”
He breezes past you and strolls back over to the bar to pour himself another drink. You reach back for yours and hold it between your hands, trying to collect yourself. You hope that you didn’t hurt him. 
“Did I offend you?” You ask.
“‘Course not,” He takes a swig, “I just wish you would realize that it doesn’t matter what standards others hold you to. You are not someone else. You are you.” 
“I know that.” You respond dryly. Your answer didn’t sound as confident as you wanted it to be. It came out unsure and desperate. 
“Then why has your whole academic career been based on your relationship with one woman? Why must everything you do be for her?...” 
You stand there silently. Completely struck with emotions. Anger, sadness, discouragement.
“She… She made me who I am,” You pipe, “She’s the reason I am in this program.” 
He strolls back over to you, locking your eyes with his. It’s intimidating, this look he has on his face. He’s studying you, seeing how lost you feel. Truly for the first time you couldn’t even try to put up any walls. He had broken you down. 
He places his hand on your shoulder again, “Can I show you something?” He asks. 
Before you have time to even object to him, his hand moves from your shoulder to your waist, guiding you back towards his desk. You feel butterflies growing inside you. 
No. You can’t. You shouldn’t. He is your advisor. He is not someone you should feel this way about. He’s trying to help you, he’s not interested in you. 
The vinyl finishes its song and moves on to Something. He guides you into his seat. You place the glass down on the desk and wipe the condensation from your hands onto your thighs. He reaches over the desk and twirls the manuscript back in front of you. The pages sit open about two-thirds of the way through. He stands behind you, practically leaning on your back. His chest rests against your shoulder, pointing at the beginning of the page. 
“See this paragraph here?” He questions. 
You strain so hard to not melt at his touch. His hair is grazing your cheek. It smells wonderful, but you can’t admit that. He has this gentle but clean musk about him. He smells like a perfectly cared-for bookstore. A soft smell of tobacco and oak. The chains with pendants are draping over his neck, sparkling in the moonlight of the night, softly clanking together with his movement 
You need to focus. 
You respond, afraid that you waited too long, “Yes?” Your voice wavers, the lack of confidence creeping back through, “Is there something wrong with it?” 
He turns to face you, “Yes. I have a big problem with it.” 
You feel your heart sink. What could be wrong with it? The back half of the book is the best part, it is the part you feel most confident with. You feel confused. All of those walls and confidence you felt once in his presence were lost. 
“What…? What problem?” 
You look back at the pages, disregarding his closeness to you, pulling the bundle of paper back towards you, and flipping through to the previous pages. He puts his hand on yours, stopping you from searching. He lowers himself next to the seat, squatting to be at your eye level. His thumb wanders back and forth over your wrist. 
He smiles a crooked and cunning smile, “It’s some of the best writing I’ve seen in years, and the author was too scared to even share it with anyone. She lost someone and had to do this all on her own. That’s terrifying, but it’s still her work. ” 
You look at the hand holding yours. It’s strong but has a softness to it. It has a few rings sitting on them, but none a wedding band. You lower your head and release your wrist, grabbing it with your other hand. You sigh heavily and grasp your hands in front of the pages. Your hands travel up to hide your face, which presents a melancholic smile that you can’t let go of. You can’t tell if it’s the liquor or his presence, but you feel a glow coming from inside. 
You rush your hands past your face and through your hair, resting your hands on the back of your neck. Scoffing, you turn to look at him. His amused smile is irresistible. 
“You,” He starts, “Are an amazing writer.” His hand lifts from the pages and reaches up towards your cheek, holding your face in his palm, “And no matter who your teacher is, you can still do it on your own.”
Your hand finds its way up to his arm, holding him back. Staring longingly at each other. Both deep down knowing that this was about to lead down a path you couldn’t return from. 
“Professor-” You initiate.
“Jacob.” He replies. 
“Fine… Jacob. This- I… I don’t think.” 
He quickly removes his hand from your face and comes to his senses. “Oh, dear, um… I’m so sorry y/n… I…”
You let yourself slump in the seat. How could you? How could you squander that moment? After years of wishing to find a man who was at least half as interested in literature as you… Here you are throwing it away. But you could be right to do so. He was your professor, you were his assistant, the moral implications of this all… 
Jacob stands and leans back onto the desk, stroking his chin, concerned. Thinking about it all. You can see the nerves climbing through him. He feels embarrassed.
You reach your hand up to your face again, burying your emotions into your skin. 
“I just thought- I, fuck.” He continues, “I thought we were turning a corner, I was looking and I thought I saw you-” 
“You did.” You respond, “...I was looking.”
You lower your hand from your face to stare back at him. You put the manuscript back on the desk and stand. 
“You… You were?” He searches for the answer. 
“Jacob… For months I have looked. I didn’t want to like you. I didn’t want to admit that to myself. My mentor was my heart and soul, she was everything to me. I didn’t want to give you any chances because I didn’t want to lose someone like that again… I can’t handle that heartbreak. But…” You trail off. 
“But?” He inquires. 
You reach for the scotch glass and swirl the liquid around. Staring deep into the stormy amber. 
“Fuck it.” You take the last of the scotch into your mouth and turn back to Jacob, “You… You are what I’ve wanted. I can’t deny the way I feel when it’s just us. When I see you deep in thought, when you push me to go further; when you challenge me. When we’re alone, and I see you for the man you are. When I see how genuinely fucking amazing you are. And I’m so mad at myself for not opening myself to you.” 
Jacob peels himself off the desk and stances himself in front of you. He grabs your hands and holds them tenderly in his. You drop your head, your hair falling over your frustrated expression. 
“You were grieving, you wouldn’t have been ready for this.” He reaches his hand up to tuck your hair behind your ear. 
You look up to him with doe eyes. He was the older man, coming in for the prey. You wanted to be his. You wanted to have him. You wanted it. You denied it for months. You denied it from the moment you saw him. You denied yourself to knowing him in fear that this exact moment would happen. But here you were. Unveiling yourself to him in the very place you felt the first attraction. 
“I want to be ready. No, I am ready. I want this. I can’t deny myself happiness because of everything that happened,” You said. 
“Are you sure?” He asked. Trying to test you. 
You nod your head in approval, trying once again to keep the emotions bottled in. 
“I don’t want you to feel any pressure because-”
“Please don’t say it. I know. I know this is all morally fucked up, but I’m an adult, you’re an adult. Just treat me like one.”
He smiles, admiring your maturity, “If you want to do this, there are some things we have to settle first.” 
You look up at him confused, “Things? What things?” 
“More like rules,” He answers, titling his head playfully, “I need to know what you’re comfortable with. I don’t want to scare you even more than you already seem.” 
He returns his hand to hold your face, just like he previously had only moments before.
“I’m not scared Jacob. What rules?”
“As much as I like to be gentle with women, I also enjoy being rough.” He says through a velvety tone
You jolt back, at first fearful of his words, but relax quickly, reminding yourself you don’t need to be scared. 
“How rough are we talking…” You prod. 
The cunning smile returns across his face, “Don’t worry, I don’t leave marks, at least too bad of marks… And only rough enough that you’ll still be wanting more by the time we’re done.” 
You bite your lip at the thought. You’re no virgin at this point in your life, but you’ve never been able to explore this type of intimacy. Every man in college is practically an amateur at pleasuring women and even more so when it comes to exploration in sex. You’ve read plenty of books to know about the type of sex he was talking about. As much as you enjoyed the classics and the light-hearted romance, you still found yourself picking up a steamier romance book in private. 
You wanted that. Had practically dreamed about it before… 
Being here with this man, who was only a few years your senior, felt like you could practice this fantasy safely. He knew what he was doing, he could show you pleasures you didn’t even know you could enjoy. Even if you felt like you couldn’t learn more from your education with him, perhaps there were other things he could teach you. It was all becoming a bit too exciting. 
His hand moves slowly down from your cheek to your waist. His palms gently grazed your spine until they locked in on your love handles. 
“So,” He continues, “Are you going to be my good girl? Can you be good for me? Do you think you can take it?”
You reach out to his chest, moving aside his shirt which had barely been buttoned. With one swipe down his sternum, you unlatched all of them revealing his smooth golden skin. He watched you intently, seeing you explore his skin like never before. You traced your fingers along the opening, feeling your need to reach more grow. With each second that passed you felt the insatiable thirst to be close to him; to feel him. His grip on your waist tightened with each pass you made over his chest. 
His other hand joined him on your opposite side. You feared that your hips may break with his excited hold. You looked up at him, biting your lip, trying to remain coy. That soft smile appeared on his lips; you had answered with your body language. 
He pushes his hands further into you and lifts you onto the desk, your ass barely resting on the edge of the wood. 
“Words,” He said, pulling himself closer into you, resting perfectly between your legs, “Nothing’s going to happen until you tell me you want it to. This isn’t going to work sweetheart unless you use your words.”
“Jacob-” Are the only breathy words that you can mutter. 
You can feel him growing, feel the linen pants barely holding back his excitement. You feel your heartbeat travel from your chest, down into your stomach, into your… 
His hand moves up to your jaw, holding it firmly in his grip, “Y/N, follow the instructions. Words. I’m not going to wait much longer.” 
“Yes-”
Before you can even finish he’s pulling you into an embrace. Your lips meet his. The soft taste of scotch remaining on both of you created an intoxicating addicting feeling. It was complete passion, complete neediness to be one. His tongue introduces itself into your mouth… Soft, wet. Beckoning. The noises you both are making sound feral, completely unusual for the both of you. What once was a prim and proper relationship between you became a fervent desperation to touch… To fuck. 
His hands traveled down your body, first reaching your chest, grasping you completely in his hand. Rolling his palms over the front of your breasts, driving you completely mad. You wished the barriers of clothing had been completely stripped away, but he was too hungry to even keep you waiting for long. His hands reached under your shirt, plowing underneath the wire of your bra to find your naked breasts. A soft relieving moan escaped your lips through the breaths of the kissing. 
You reached your hands out to find the remainder of the buttons of his vest closing you off to his body. You made quick work of unbuttoning them, reaching your hands across his midsection; climbing to his back. Reaching up towards his shoulders, feeling the softness of his skin across the pads of your fingers. God, he was perfect. 
His fingers traveled to your nipples, running his thumb and forefinger over the bud of your nipples. Before you could even realize what you were doing, your nails dragged down his back, raking into his skin. He paused the kissing for a moment to let out a moaning growl. He slid his hands out from your bra, slipping down to the edges of your shirt, attempting to tug it off as fast as he could. You snatched your hands out of his shirt to raise them over your head, giving him complete access to strip you. 
He placed his hand between your breasts and forced you down onto the desk, your head falling onto the manuscript below you. He shook off his vest and was quick to pull his shirt off. 
“Seems like I’m not the only one who likes it rough, huh?” He asked. 
You lifted your head from the desk, “No, definitely not.” You responded. Unsure where this untamed version of you had even come from. 
“No, sir” He stated, pushing you back down. 
“What?” You asked, skeptical of what he meant.    
He mounted himself once again between your legs, grinding himself into you. He traced his finger down your neck, to the waistline of your pants.
“Sir… That’s what my good girls going to call me, okay?” 
You rolled your eyes, unaware that you were even doing so, “Call me Jacob,” you mock, “Call me sir.”
He reached back up to your jaw, pushing his thumb into your cheek, “If you’re going to be a brat we’re going to need to set some more rules. Good girls don’t get punished, but you’re already testing me.”
Completely stunned, you look back at him trying to emulate a softness, an apology. You had to admit though, you weren’t scared of him… If anything you were more turned on by the thought of his punishments. 
“And how would you punish me, sir?” You ask in your best sultry voice. 
He let out a low grumbling laugh. He studied your body, not even acknowledging your question, just thinking… Thinking of what he would do to you. He grabbed onto your hips and pulled you hard into his cock. There was no wondering anymore. You could feel how large he was, how excited he was. If your own body wasn’t blocking it you could probably see it entirely. 
“Maybe,” He starts, “Maybe you’re not going to be my good girl,” His hands dig deeper into your waist, “Maybe, you’re going to be my little slut.” 
The word echoed through the room. It sent a shiver down your spine, but not the feeling of being displeased, it was a feeling of being right. Being here with him, being under his control, felt like the weight of the world had been lifted off your shoulders. He could see you in a way that someone hasn’t seen you for months. He was learning every inch of you and would learn even more as the night went on. 
He leaned down from his high position to plant gentle kisses along your neck. Gingerly leaving behind little reminders of passion. 
“-And if you’re going to be my slut,” He whines through breathy kisses, “you need to know the safe words.” 
You run your hands up to his hair, feeling the soft strands between your fingers. Tracing his scalp over your fingertips. You don’t want to go this slow, the breaks are killing you. You just want to feel him. You want to feel him on you, in you, taking you completely as his own. 
His kisses finally reach the band of your jeans, but that doesnt stop him from exploring further. He pulls down on the jeans to reveal more of your stomach, delivering gentle almost tickling kisses. 
“Green,” He whispers, “Means you like it… You don’t want me to stop.”
His hand travels over to the button of your jeans, popping the metal away from the denim. Your eyes follow him, watching his hair fall over your stomach, the metal of his necklace chilling your bare skin. His shoulders look strong here, masculine, powerful. Watching him focus so intently on you is killing you. This is a man unlike any other that you’ve been with, he’s focused on treating you first, even if there were some other pleasures in it for him. 
“Yellow,” The zipper slowly starts to unravel as he pulls your pants further down, “Means you need me to slow down… If you need a break…” 
Your pants steadily fall off of your legs, finally being exposed to him entirely until they fall onto the floor. The only thing separating you from him now is your thong. Which you are now praising yourself for wearing today. He resumes his consuming kisses across your midsection, joining back down where he had left off. His hands slip underneath him to grab the edges of the lace, sliding off the thong with ease. 
His kisses start to graze you closer to your… 
He stops and lifts himself. His hand leads up to your mouth, putting his pointer and middle finger into your mouth. You accept them, excited for what it means. 
“Red.” His voice develops a more serious tone, “Means stop.” 
He removes his now slick fingers from your mouth, returning them down below. His fingers reach your cunt, and you welcome him with excitement of your own. Your body is in shambles waiting, wanting to know what it feels like. His fingers dance across your aching clit, his thumb padding the bundle of nerves, sending shockwaves through your deprived body. A loud distressed moan escapes you, you can’t help but express your enthusiasm. 
“Don’t worry sir,” You shudder through achy moans, “I don’t think I’ll need to use that one.”
“Good girl.”
Without any hesitation his fingers breach you, filling you up. He stands over you, watching you grow with the agony of pleasure. Your breath hitches with each pump, your back arching with each lift of his fingers. His thumb traces back over your clit, stimulating every inch of you. 
Every attempt at communicating the feeling faulters, except for, “Oh fuck-” 
Your body is shaking with each movement. He’s painting the perfect picture of an orgasm with just one hand. The power he holds, the knowledge he has. He knew how to please you better than you knew how to. 
His free hand makes its way around your neck, gripping it, holding you in place so he can work harder at you. You’ve never been choked before, it’s a completely new sensation. The gasps for air were something you thought you’d fear, but instead, you were wishing he’d hold on harder. 
“Green?” He asks, looking for permission. 
You nodded your head ferociously  
You feel yourself completely letting go under his control, something you feared once to let him have all the power. But here, now, held down to his desk… You never wanted it to stop. 
“Words.” He barked. 
Your hand reaches up to hold his wrist, “Yes, yes…” 
“Yes, what?” He asks again, his fingers slowing their movement. Clearly, he wouldn’t be letting you get away with anything. You had to be obedient and do as he told you.
“Yes… Please, Sir,” You beg. 
The words were getting harder to communicate. If he could finger you into oblivion, you might let him if it meant you could feel this good again. 
He smiled in approval and resumed his previous pace. Steadily building faster, and faster. Harder and harder. You could feel how wet you were becoming, it really didn’t take much for him to draw the excitement out of you. The swirls of his fingers and the vigor of his motions were precise… Calculated, trying to accomplish only one mission; and he was close to succeeding. 
Your moaning only got more frequent and louder, you couldn’t hold back. The pleasure was far too great to stay quiet. He almost let you be loud too, only for a few moments before reminding you of your location. He lifted his hand off your neck to lift a single finger to his lips and then pointed around the room. 
“If my good girl can’t stay quiet, I’ll have to make her. We don’t want anyone spoiling all the fun.”
You nod your head, remembering you were still in his office. Your surroundings had escaped you completely; only thinking of him and you. 
His thumb started to apply more pressure, practically begging for you for more. A softer moan forced its way out, helpless to be silenced. His hand plasters itself over your mouth, holding you silent. The pads of his fingers resting deep into your cheeks. 
“I know baby, it’s so hard… You’re gonna be so good and come for me now, okay?” 
Finally being relieved of speaking, you nod your head, ready for the climax. His fingers dive upward, grazing the sweet spot buried inside of you. The pressure, the sensation it’s all too much. You feel your belly tighten, your back arching. He’s trying to hold you steady as you writhe in pleasure. There’s no stopping anything now. 
“Do it baby, come on… Be a good little slut for me…”
Your eyes roll deep back into your head. You feel the sweet sensation of release wash over you. Like a wave of ecstasy, traveling from your toes, past your aching clit, through your belly, all the way to your head. Stifled moans slip through the cracks of his fingers. His fingers stay at their steady pace, pushing past your orgasm. You feel yourself dripping around him. You’ve never come this hard in your life, you’ve never felt the devotion to make you feel this good. Your body is quivering around him, unable to shake the overstimulation. You’re squeezing onto his wrist, trying to come down easy, but everything he’s doing is making the sensations crash into you. 
He takes his hand away from your mouth and you immediately gasp for air, trying to find serenity. 
“Oh god,” You moan, “How did you-”
He shuts you up by taking his mouth to your soaked cunt, sliding his tongue through the mess he made. You place your hands beside you to sit up slightly. This was a sight you did not want to miss. You take his hair in your hands and tuck it aside. Each stripe of his tongue makes you wince, you want him to stop, but you can’t let him. It feels too good. It’s too much but just the right amount all at once. 
He was consuming you, desperate to explore every inch of you. Wildly eating you up, trying to capture every last drop of his work. You were spilling into him, it was never-ending.  It was like you weren’t even there; everything except your pusy. This was a high that you never wanted to come down from. He was devoted to keeping you there as long as he could, but you couldn’t hold on for more. 
You fell back onto the desk, squirming through it all. He had you right where he wanted you. You let yourself fall into him, trying to take it all. Your hands reach over the desk, trying to find somewhere to hang onto, but instead knocking the scotch glass off the desk. Shattering loudly beneath you. 
Jacob didn’t stop though, he was completely distracted, locked in. You couldn’t take it anymore. 
“Yellow.. Yellow..” You begged, completely overstimulated and shocked. How could you even ask for that?... But it was impossible to withstand any more sensation. 
He stopped slowly, easing you out of the enjoyment. His hands reached up over your thighs and rested on your hips, slowly petting them with his thumbs. He looked up at you through glazed-over eyes, completely drunk on your arousal. He didn’t want it to end. 
Slowly raising himself back to a standing position, you could see how hard he had gotten. He felt just as much pleasure as you did. He was completely lost, coming back to reality. Chin dripping with your wetness… 
He leaned back over you and kissed you sloppily. The passion was more fiery than before. You did something to him and he did even more to you. It was strange to taste yourself on his lips, but exciting nonetheless. You were caught up together. Complete and one at that moment. And then it all stopped… 
Footsteps approached outside the classroom. You both stopped. He removed himself from your lips and raised his head to listen. 
A knock at the classroom door. 
“Hello?” Someone called out. 
There was no mistaking that someone was in this office, between the music, the glass breaking… They knew. 
“Everything okay in here Kiszka?” 
“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath. He stands and reaches for his shirt, buttoning it with no haste. He grabs your shirt and pants and kicks them under the desk, “Go, get underneath the desk,” He whispers, “Now.”
292 notes · View notes
rowonlgc · 3 months
Text
minjun asked one of the hyungs in dorm F for permission and left a box on top of rowon’s bed. inside the main box, there would be a smaller, black velvet one, and inside there would be a white gold bracelet. it’s simple, with an inscription inside that reads ‘from the first to the last season. always.’
the second parcel is a thinner one and is wrapped in silk paper. inside there are 4 polaroid pictures that show a view from a rooftop at night. between the buildings, the sun setting can be seen, except for the last picture, which was taken at night with the light coming from the said buildings. every picture would have an inscription of the season it had been taken. along with it, there was also a drawing of a cozy kitchen, a sketch of a dream, an inspiration, along with a letter written in the back
to my dearest hyung,     I spent a long time trying to find the perfect gift for you but whenever i thought about it, they all seemed…not suitable. so let me write about something else. first, let’s get the main reason you’re reading this letter off the way, which is to wish you the best of birthdays. we will be practicing so it’s a shame i won’t get to talk to you the entire day, but i would like to wish your journey is full of accomplishments, and i promise i will be closely watching and cheering for you every day.     i sincerely want to thank you, hyung. i know it’s your birthday but i can never stop thanking you for being around me this whole time. i’m not the easiest person to be with, and sometimes not the best, i know, but i value every moment i get to spend with you. thank you for all the late-night talks on the rooftop, borrowed hoodies and the movies watched during the days off, thank you for showing up in my swimming competition, chuseok and cooking meals together. without you i’m certain i wouldn’t realize home isn’t a place, but a feeling and sometimes, a person. for every spring, summer, autumn and winter to come, i hope i can still be by your side.     happy birthday,     love, minjunnie.
  little by little, bit by bit.
  he reads the letter, then he reads it again.
  for years, he thought happiness only came in highs – heart racing, adrenaline rushing, bright smiles, and bright lights – temporary, inevitably timed, like each season passing by.  what he finds in these written words is not that.  there’s a mellow warmth that resides within him, one that he’s nurtured for a while now.  it’s subtle, but it’s stable.  most days, it goes without acknowledgment.
  but little by little, bit by bit, this warmth makes itself known.
  he feels it flicker when he wakes on his side, wrist resting against his pillow where his head lies.  the white-gold bracelet is the first thing he sees.  it’s a good morning he has come to recognize.
  he feels it flutter when he stops by the window to water the small plant that’s reminiscent of the ones detailed in the cozy kitchen.  it sits across from the illustration that he has framed on his desk.
  and he feels it flare when he looks through the polaroids in the exact same spot they were taken.  the last one – winter – differs from the rest.  he wonders, albeit briefly, if he was there that night and if that is why.
  little by little, bit by bit.
  he leans against the rooftop and watches the sun as it starts to set.  words aren’t enough.  he has thanked minjun for the gifts, shown him his wrist, his desk, the polaroids tucked safely in the back of his phone case – but none of that captures how happy they make him.  no, not just happy.  warm.  comfortable.
  a small smile settles on his lips.
  he can get used to this.
3 notes · View notes
jrob64 · 2 years
Text
It’s the 1st anniversary of ‘Lonely No More’ - A Modern CS AU Based on “The Words” Music Video
Tumblr media
Today is the wonderful and wacky @xsajx ‘s birthday, which means it’s the first anniversary of the story I wrote for her last year! I hope you have a wonderful day, my friend!
Special thanks to @spartanguard who did the manip of Emma as a FedEx driver. Even after a year, it still blows me away!
Summary: Killian Jones lives alone in his secluded little house in the country, and that’s just the way he likes it. When he discovers he can have even less contact with people by ordering supplies online, he jumps at the chance; but the fiery blonde FedEx driver who delivers them might make him rethink his lonely existence. A CS fic based on the music video for “The Words” by Christina Perri.
Rating: M
Words: 11,744
Also on Ao3 & ffn
*********
Lonely No More
It was a lonely existence, but one he had voluntarily chosen for himself. Killian Jones knew about loneliness, after all; had lived it most of his life. His childhood was spent living in a crowded, dirty city in England, yet even among all those people, he sought solitude. He had his brother and his ailing mother, and didn’t need or want anyone else, including his mostly absentee father, who abandoned his sons for good once his wife died.
Now, he lived in Maine with lots of open space around him. His little house wasn’t anything fancy, but it had everything he needed. He spent his days chopping wood, taking care of his garden, and nurturing the orchids he grew for the flower shop located in a nearby city. The trips he made to deliver them and to purchase necessary supplies, provided the only interaction he desired with other people.
Books were his friends. Books held no expectations and didn’t make him feel self-conscious or uncomfortable. He could lose himself in sea adventures, jungle safaris, and space travel, or learn about horticulture, cooking and shipbuilding.
Recently, he splurged and purchased internet service. The florist had suggested it as a way for him to order his supplies online, instead of having to make an extra trip into the city to buy them. He also set up an email account, so she could let him know ahead of time how many plants she required.
Today he was awaiting his first delivery of floral supplies, along with two new books he was excited to read. He had to admit that having everything coming to him was going to be much more convenient.
As he was tying up the stems on an orchid plant he would be taking to the shop the next day, he looked out the sunroom window and noticed a cloud of dust being kicked up along his lane. He quickly snipped the ends of the thin strings and moved through his house to emerge onto his back steps.
The white FedEx truck was stopped beside his old pickup and Killian descended the stairs to meet the driver. He could hear noises coming from inside the vehicle and figured the delivery man was searching for his packages in the back. While he waited, he leaned on his truck’s tailgate and dug some potting soil from beneath his fingernails, so he was startled when he heard a woman’s voice say, “Do you know how freaking hard it is to find your house?”
His eyes shot up to take in the scowling blonde who was jumping out of the truck to the ground, balancing two packages in her hands.
“Excuse me?” he asked, his voice sounding strange to his own ears.
She rolled her eyes. “I said, your house is almost impossible to find! I’ve been driving around for fifteen minutes and now I’m behind getting these deliveries made. Why don’t you have your house number on your mailbox or something?”
“I…I guess I’ve never thought of doing that.”
Her green eyes flashed. “Well, you should think about it! If you’re gonna live out here in the boonies, you could at least make it easier on delivery drivers!”
“I’ll take that into consideration.”
She nodded her head in satisfaction, then looked at the label on the top package. “You are Killian Jones, aren’t you?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She glared at him. “Seriously? I’m more than likely younger than you and you’re calling me ma’am?”
“Umm…”
“Emma.”
“Pardon me?”
“Whenever you order anything, I’ll probably be the one making the delivery, so you might as well know my name; it’s Emma Swan.”
“Oh. Well, it’s nice to meet you, Emma Swan, and I’m very sorry that my house was difficult for you to find. I also apologize for causing you to be delayed.”
A smile crossed her face and Killian felt like the sun had suddenly broken through the clouds. “Thanks. I only have four more deliveries to make anyway, so it’s not that bad.”
Killian realized she was still holding his boxes. “Here, let me take those. I’m sure you need to be going.”
She handed the packages to him and gave him another smile. “Yeah, I do. Now that I know where you live, I won’t need to yell at you next time, okay?”
“I would appreciate that, lass, er um, Emma.”
“I can live with ‘lass’,” she laughed, turning to head back to the truck.
Killian stood slack jawed, wondering why her laugh had such an effect on him.
She climbed onto her seat, started the engine, and called out to him, “Will I see you soon, Killian Jones?”
“Oh, uh, y-yes. I’ll probably be ordering supplies on a regular basis.”
“Okay. Until next time!”
He shifted the packages so he could raise his arm to wave, then watched the white vehicle disappear down the long lane.
*********
Killian laid on his side in bed, staring at the book in front of him, but unable to concentrate on the words. He flopped onto his back and ran his hand over his face and through his hair. Images of flashing green eyes and blonde tresses preoccupied his thoughts and he couldn’t seem to shake them.
Perhaps it was because he had so little interaction with other people, but he never reacted to the few he did meet the way he had with Emma Swan. He knew it was absurd to be so affected by someone he met for such a brief time, but there was just something about her that captured his attention.
He folded his arms behind his head, his white T-shirt stretching across his chest as he sighed. He could still hear the pleasant sound of her laughter, as well as her melodic voice - when she wasn’t yelling at him.
Giving up on doing any reading, he closed the book and placed it on the nightstand, then switched off the lamp. When he finally managed to drift off to sleep, his dreams were filled with flowing golden hair and sparkling emerald eyes.
*********
Grocery shopping was one thing Killian despised and would put off until there was barely any food left in the house. The day he realized he could buy most of his groceries online was a happy one for him.
As he checked the cupboards and made a list of items he needed, he couldn’t help but look forward to the next day delivery guaranteed by his upgraded membership. Since FedEx was named as the preferred delivery method, he knew his excitement stemmed from more than just having his food supply replenished.
The next morning, he felt the unprecedented need to dress in his best blue checkered flannel shirt with a gray henley underneath. He set out for the back of his property to chop a bundle of firewood, stopping often to survey the vehicles passing by on the highway in the distance, hoping to catch a glimpse of the white truck with the distinctive orange and dark purple logo on the side.
After carrying the wood to his house and stacking it on the porch, Killian puttered around inside; oiling a squeaky hinge, fixing the leaky bathroom faucet, and nailing down a loose floorboard in his bedroom. In between jobs, he looked out the window, checking the lane for any approaching delivery trucks.
He heated up leftover beef stew for lunch, dipping pieces of soft, white bread into the rich broth. As he ate, he flipped through a magazine, trying to find an article of interest to help distract him from thinking about her.
By mid-afternoon, he was beginning to wonder if the delivery tracking app was wrong when it showed that his packages were supposed to be delivered that day. He was outside stacking crates in the bed of his truck and folding the green tarp he used for covering the flowers, when he saw the cloud of dust at the end of his lane. His traitorous heart began to beat faster as he spotted the FedEx truck headed his way.
Not wanting to appear too eager, he finished his task and placed the tarp in the cab of his pickup, while the delivery truck came to a stop. When he glanced up, he saw the flash of a blonde ponytail disappearing into the back storage area.
By the time he walked over to stand beside the white vehicle, Emma had emerged with two large boxes balanced on top of one another. She stepped carefully onto the ground and Killian hurried to take them from her. He had assumed they weren’t heavy since she didn’t seem to struggle carrying them, but was surprised to realize the combined weight of the two boxes was rather substantial.
“How are you today, Miss Swan?” he asked politely.
“I’m fine, Mister Jones,” she smirked. “My name is Emma, remember?”
He knew he would have been nervously scratching behind his ear if his hands were empty. As it was, he felt the heat moving up his neck. “I didn’t want to be too forward.”
“So you’re a gentleman, huh?”
“Indeed I am.”
“Well, I wouldn’t have told you my name if I didn’t want you to use it.”
Killian smiled. “Duly noted.”
“I notice you have your house number added on your mailbox now.”
“Aye, better late than never, I suppose.”
Emma laughed, which caused his heart to speed up just like the last time. “All of your other delivery drivers will appreciate it, too.’
“There are no others. You’re my one and only,” he blurted, then wished the earth would open beneath his feet to swallow him.
“That’s good to know,” Emma laughed, stepping back up into her truck. “Have a good day, Killian.”
“You too, lass. Drive carefully.”
“Yes, Dad,” she grinned, then put the truck into gear and waved.
Realizing his hands were full, instead of waving, he nodded his head and graced her with one of his rare smiles, which she returned before driving away.
He carried the packages into the house, with the smile still on his face.
*********
Usually, Killian was content when he went days on end without going into the city or having any interaction with other human beings; but as the week after the delivery of his groceries progressed, he felt restless. He found himself searching the shopping app for items which would be useful, even though they weren’t necessary.
He knew he shouldn’t spend money on frivolous purchases, but since he had more than enough savings in the bank, he didn’t really feel guilty about buying a few things. Still, his finger hovered over the ‘place order’ button for several seconds before he finally tapped it.
That evening as he soaked in his vintage, claw-footed bathtub, he started having second thoughts about what he had done. He couldn’t believe he ordered things he didn’t need just so he would get to see Emma again.
Laying his head back on the rim of the tub, he sighed deeply. He was probably reading too much into her friendliness and was sure she treated all the other people on her delivery route the same way.
He leaned forward and scooped water into his cupped hands, then splashed it over his face and through his hair. Regardless of whether or not he had done the right thing, his order would arrive tomorrow.
As he pulled the plug to drain the tub, climbed out and began to dry off, he came to the conclusion that his excitement over having Emma arrive in her FedEx truck was because of the novelty of having packages delivered to his house, instead of having to make the trip into town. Perhaps seeing her would become routine, and soon his heart wouldn’t race every time he saw the delivery truck coming up his lane.
*********
“This is getting to be a habit,” Emma remarked, hopping down out of the truck with a small package in her hand.
Killian’s fingers found the spot behind his ear which always seemed to itch when he felt awkward. “Aye. I’m sure you’d rather not have to make deliveries all the way out here.”
“I really don’t mind, Killian.”
His hand brushed against hers as he reached to take the box, and the feel of her soft skin caused a tingling sensation to travel through his fingers. He noticed she wasn’t quick to pull her hand back and he lifted his eyes to look into her face. She was wearing a soft smile that he couldn’t imagine she gave to all of her other customers.
He felt her fingers slowly glide against his as she finally let go of the package and stepped back.
“I guess I’d better be on my way,” she remarked. “Do you, uh, will you have more orders arriving soon?”
“Oh, um, I…I don’t know. Possibly. I forgot a few things when I ordered my groceries last week.”
Her smile brightened. “Great! I’ll see you before long, then. Goodbye, Killian!”
“Goodbye, Emma.”
“Don’t worry - I’ll drive carefully!” she quipped before taking off.
He shook his head at her banter and stood in the driveway, until the dust created by her vehicle had completely settled.
*********
Killian was amazed at how light his heart felt in the following days. When he made his bi-weekly trip to the flower shop to deliver his pots of orchids, the florist noticed.
“You seem to be in a good mood,” she commented. “I mean, not that you’re usually grumpy or anything, but you just seem…different.”
“Do I?” he asked. “Well, this batch of flowers is of exceptionally good quality, so perhaps that’s the reason.”
She threw him a skeptical look, but didn’t make any further comments as she wrote a check for him.
*********
Killian had become engrossed in repotting some plants and wasn’t waiting outside when Emma made a delivery the following week. By the time he glanced up to see the familiar truck sitting in his driveway, she was already striding toward the door carrying a large box.
He quickly brushed his hands off over his workbench, then rubbed them down the front of his jeans. She knocked on the door just as he reached it.
“Did you forget I was coming?” she smirked through the screen door.
“No, I was just working.”
“You work from home?”
“You could say that. I grow specialty flowers to supply a florist in the city.”
While he was talking, she was peeking in the window beside the door, which looked into his sunroom. “Oh, wow! You grow those? They’re gorgeous!”
“Would you, um, would you like to come in and see them more closely, or are you not supposed to go into your customers’ homes?”
“We’re strongly encouraged not to, mostly for our own safety, but I trust you, Killian Jones.”
A bright smile stretched across his face as he pushed the screen door open, being careful not to accidentally bump her with it. “Come on in.”
She stepped into the house, glancing around for a couple of seconds before following him into the sunroom. He took the package from her hands, laid it on a chair, then stood back as she walked around his workbench, marveling over the beauty of the orchids.
After she walked completely around it, he began telling her about some of the complexities of growing the fragile flowers. She listened attentively, hesitantly reaching out to lightly stroke her fingers over the silky petals.
When she realized she had been there for over five minutes, she declared that she had to get back to work. As she made her way to the door, he plucked one of the stray blooms off of the bench.
“Swan?” he said, causing her to stop in her tracks and look back at him.
He stepped over to her and shyly held the bloom out, then ducked his head and scratched at the back of it after she took it.
“Thank you, Killian. It’s beautiful.” She twirled the stem between her fingers and looked up at him from under her lashes. “You’re very talented.”
“Oh, I don’t know about that…”
“I do. And you’re also very sweet.”
As the tips of his ears reddened, she turned, pushed the door open and made her way to the truck. He watched through the screen to see her gently lay the flower on the dashboard before driving off.
*********
The next time the FedEx truck came rumbling up the lane, Killian was sitting on his back steps, bundled in his olive green, Sherpa lined coat, and wearing a heather blue infinity scarf around his neck. It was a Thursday towards the end of October; the last leaves were clinging to the bare branches of the trees, and a front had moved through, dropping the temperatures with the first true cold snap of Autumn.
He stood up as the truck stopped and strode over to stand beside it, waiting for Emma to emerge from the back with his latest purchase. When she did, he sensed a difference in her demeanor immediately. The slight smile she had pasted on her face wasn’t natural and didn’t reach her eyes.
As soon as she handed him the box, she mumbled, “Here you go, Killian. Have a good day,” and began to climb back into the driver’s seat.
“Emma, wait,” he called, causing her to pause before getting behind the steering wheel. “Is something wrong?”
She stood stock still for several moments and he wondered if she was warring with herself about whether to confide in him or not. He gave her time, not wanting to pressure her into saying something, but hoping she would, since something was clearly bothering her.
Finally, she turned back to face him with tears shining in her eyes. “To-today is my birthday…”
Automatically he responded, “Happy birthday, Swan!” then realized two tears had escaped the confines of her lower eyelids and were tracking down her cheeks. He carelessly tossed the package he was holding onto the open tailgate of his pickup and closed the space between them.
Acting on instinct, he reached up to brush the tears off her cheeks, and the simple gesture seemed to break the dam. A few more tears fell as Killian implored, “Emma, what is it? Tell me what’s wrong.”
After several seconds, she took a deep, shuddering breath and wiped her face with her sleeve. “I’m sorry, Killian,” she whispered in a tear-thickened voice.
“You have no reason to be sorry, lass, but perhaps you could share whatever it is that’s burdening you. Is it something to do with your birthday?”
She kept her head down, as she explained, “I just…I don’t have any family - never have - and it’s hard every time my birthday comes around, because all it does is remind me that it’s been another banner year of being alone. I wish…I wish…you know what, I’ll be okay. Forget it.”
“Making a wish is one of the traditions of birthdays, I believe,” he observed. “Please tell me your wish, Emma.”
Raising her head at last, she looked at him with a sad smile, “I wish I didn’t have to be by myself on my birthday.”
“I can help make that happen, if you’ll allow me.”
“Killian, no. I didn’t tell you this so you would feel sorry for me.”
“What I feel for you is empathy, Swan. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m a bit of a recluse. I have no remaining family myself, and I haven’t gone out of my way to make any friends since moving here from England several years ago. I would be happy to keep you company on your birthday.”
“Really? Are you sure?”
“Yes, I am. Would you feel comfortable coming here to have dinner with me?”
“Um, sure. Do you want me to bring take-out from somewhere?”
He rubbed his finger behind his ear. “I thought I might cook the meal. I’m no chef, but I can hold my own. Do you have any food allergies?”
Her smile brightened. “Umm…no, no allergies, and I’m excited to taste your cooking! Is there anything I can bring?”
“Just yourself. Shall we say seven o’clock?”
“That works for me. I should probably go, so I can finish the rest of my deliveries. Thanks so much, Killian - I’ll see you later!”
“One moment, Swan. Perhaps I should, uh, perhaps we could trade phone numbers, just in case…”
“In case you want to cancel?” she asked, trying and failing, to make it sound like a joke as her smile faltered.
“Of course not. I just thought it would be a good idea to have each other’s number. That way, if you’re running late, you can call so I won’t worry.”
“Oh, okay. Let me put my number into your phone, then you can send me a text and I’ll have yours.”
Once that was done, Emma bounced up the steps of her truck and dropped into the seat. “See you tonight!” she called as she slid the door shut, fastened her seat belt, and drove off.
He watched her go with a fond smile on his face, then hurried into the house to decide what to make for her birthday dinner.
*********
By the time Killian saw headlights coming up the lane, he was pulling dinner rolls out of the oven while the loaded potato soup simmered on the stove. He stepped out onto his back porch to see a yellow Volkswagen come to a stop, and heard the hinges screech in protest when she threw open the door to climb out. She tried to close it, but it wouldn’t shut completely, so she bumped it with her hip in a move he was sure she used on a regular basis.
Turning toward him, he could see the beaming smile on her face - quite a different countenance than she’d had earlier in the day.
“Good evening, Love,” Killian greeted. Even in the low light, he saw her brows raise at his use of the term.
“Hello again, Killian,” she returned, brushing past him as he held the door open for her. “Wow! Something smells delicious!”
He held her coat as she shrugged out of it, then hung it on a hook in the entryway. “I hope you like salad and loaded potato soup.”
“I like anything, pretty much. If I was home tonight, I would probably be having leftover pizza from last week. Potato soup sounds like heaven to me!”
They moved into the kitchen where he pulled a chair out for her at his small table, went to the stove to ladle soup into two bowls, then sprinkled shredded cheddar cheese on top. He placed them on the table where the basket of rolls and plates of salad were already waiting.
“I’m afraid I don’t have much to offer you in the way of drinks,” he apologized. “I wish I had some wine or…”
“No problem. Water is fine with me.”
He took two glasses from the cupboard, dropped some ice cubes in, then filled them with water from the faucet.
Emma was stirring her soup, inhaling deeply. “I can’t wait to try this - it smells so freaking good!” she declared.
He chuckled. “Well, dig in then, Swan,” and watched her surreptitiously as she did.
“Mmmm…” she moaned after taking her first bite. “This tastes amazing!”
Her moan sent a warm sensation through his body, and he cleared his throat before speaking so his voice wouldn’t betray the wash of longing it set off in him. “I’m, uh, I’m glad you like it.”
“Did you actually make this, or have you hidden the cans you opened somewhere?”
“No cans to hide - I made it from scratch, and I grew the vegetables for the salad in my greenhouse garden out back,” he grinned, tearing off a hunk of bread to dip into his bowl.
She watched him before doing the same. “How about the rolls? Did you make them, too?”
“Ah, now those I just warmed in the oven. I had them in my freezer.”
“Oh, you just burst my bubble, Jones. I thought you were a master chef and baker!”
“Well, I didn’t have room in the oven to make both fresh rolls and your birthday cake, so I chose to make the cake,” he smirked.
Her eyes grew wide and she laid her spoon on the table. “You…you made a cake for me?” she gasped.
He slowly nodded his head. “Aye, and I hope you like chocolate. It’s a recipe of my mum’s and it’s my favorite. I also made buttercream frosting for it.”
“I love chocolate! I can’t believe you did that!”
“Well, everyone should have a cake for their birthday, although I don’t usually bother to make one for myself.”
“Do you know what I did last year? I bought myself a cupcake and a little blue star candle and took them to my apartment. Then I stuck the candle in the cupcake, lit it, made a wish and blew it out.”
“Did your wish come true?”  
She looked him in the eye. “I wished I could have someone in my life to talk to, even if it was only one person. It’s one of the reasons I started working for FedEx. I thought if I was making deliveries to different houses, I would meet people, but most of the time, they’re too busy to talk, or they don’t answer my knock, so I just leave the packages at their door. Then I started coming here and, well, I guess you could say you made my wish come true, Killian.”
He ducked his head and busied himself with stirring his soup. “You’ve done the same for me, Swan. It gets lonely out here by myself, but I have no desire to live in the city. I enjoy chatting with you when you deliver my purchases, and I, uh…I have a confession to make.”
“What’s that?”
She waited for his answer while watching his ears turning red. “I…well…I’ve been ordering things I really don’t even need, just so I can see you.”
Reaching across the table, she covered his hand with her own. “I think that’s the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard.”
He raised his eyes. “You do?”
She nodded.
“I have another confession to make,” he admitted. She squeezed his hand to encourage him. “I, uh, I asked for your phone number because I thought perhaps I could call you in between the deliveries you make out here.”
“I’d like that, Killian. I hope you won’t mind if I call you sometimes, too?”
“That would be nice, Emma.” They shared a smile, then he observed, “Perhaps we should finish our soup before it gets cold.”
*********
After they finished their dinner, Killian carried the cake in, along with dessert plates and clean forks.
Setting the cake in front of her, he apologized, “I’m sorry I don’t have any birthday candles. I’ve never had any need for them.“
“Maybe you should order some to be delivered,” she smirked, and he laughed.
“If I did have candles, how many would be necessary?” he asked hesitantly.
“Are you trying to ask me how old I am, Jones?”
He shrugged. “Maybe?”
She giggled, causing him to grin. “I’m twenty-nine.”
He began cutting the cake into large squares, then lifted a piece out of the pan to place on one of the plates. As she watched him, she inquired, “When is your birthday, Killian?”
“In January.”
“And you’ll be…?”
“Thirty-three. I’ve got a few years on you.” He laid a fork on the plate, slid it across the table to her, then set to work plating a piece for himself.
“Less than four. That’s hardly anything,” she commented.
Once he was seated again, he looked at the beautiful woman across from him. “Even though you don’t have a candle to blow out, would you still like to make a wish, Love?”
“Okay.” She closed her eyes and concentrated, until a smile crossed her face. When her eyes blinked open again, she saw him watching her. “You know I can’t tell you what I wished for or it won’t come true.”
He reached across the table to give her fingers a squeeze. “I truly hope it does.”
They ate their cake, with Emma exclaiming over how delicious it tasted. When they finished, she tried to help him clean up, but he wouldn’t hear of it. “I’ll just clear away the leftovers, then take care of the dishes tomorrow.”
He insisted on sending some of the food home with her, giving her a generous amount of soup, three rolls, and several pieces of cake, all of which he packaged and put into a cardboard box.
“I seem to have a lot of these piling up, for some reason,” he quipped, and she rolled her eyes with a grin.
Soon all the food was squared away and the two of them stood together in the kitchen, feeling a little awkward.
“Would you, um, would you like to watch some television?” he asked.
“I should probably go home. I have to work tomorrow.”
“Oh, yes, okay. Well, I’m very happy you were able to come over tonight.”
“So am I, and I can’t thank you enough, Killian. This is the best birthday I’ve had for as long as I can remember!”
“It was my pleasure, Emma. Oh, by the way, I have a gift for you before you go.”
“You don’t have to give me anything; you already made a delicious meal and cake for me.”
He took her hand and tugged her along behind him into his sunroom. “I want to do this, Swan,” he told her, stopping in front of his work table, on which sat an orchid with pale pink blooms. He picked it up and turned to hand it to her. “Happy birthday, Love.”
“Killian, I…I can’t take this! You grow these for the florist…”
“I grow these to share with people,” he interrupted, “and I can think of nobody with whom I’d rather share this one.”
She set it back on the table and wrapped her arms around him. “Thank you,” she whispered.
He returned her hug, burying his nose in her hair and inhaling her scent.
When they finally separated, he held her coat for her as she slid her arms into it, then carried the box to her car while she carefully handled the plant. They placed everything on the passenger side floor, making sure the flower was secure.
As they stood in front of the driver’s door, Killian remarked, “That’s quite the vessel you captain there, Swan.”
“It’s paid for and it gets me where I need to go.”
“Ah, of course.”
He dropped his eyes shyly, until he heard her say, “Well, I guess I should get going. Thanks again for everything, Killian.”
“You’re very welcome.”
Both of them remained still for several moments, not quite knowing how to end the evening. Finally, Killian said, “I’d, uh…I’d like to see you again, if that’s okay. I mean, besides you coming here to make deliveries. Would you be interested in going out on a proper date?”
Emma graced him with a brilliant smile. “I would like that very much.”
“I’ll call you tomorrow evening to set something up. Perhaps dinner and a movie?”
“Sounds good! I’ll look forward to it!”
Stepping forward, she pressed a kiss to his cheek, but before she could move away from him, he put his hands on her waist and pulled her closer. Looking into her moonlit eyes, he saw acceptance for what he was planning to do, and in the next moment, his lips found hers.  
The kiss was gentle and sweet, and he could feel her breath quicken as his lips glided over hers. After a blissful few seconds, he reluctantly broke the kiss, licked his lips, and smiled at her.
“Goodnight, Emma. Drive safely.”
“I will. Goodnight, Killian.”
He opened the door for her, and closed it once she was settled behind the wheel with her seatbelt fastened, bumping it with his hip as he had seen her do, to make sure it was latched.
She gave him another smile and a wave as the engine rumbled to life, then turned the car around and started down the lane. Killian went back into his house, still smiling to himself, not realizing that with his kiss, he had already made Emma’s latest birthday wish come true.
*********
After spending the following day watching the clock until he knew Emma would be home, Killian was true to his word and called her. They arranged to go out the next evening to a nice, quiet, out-of-the-way diner outside the city.
Just before ending the call, he suggested wearing casual, warm clothes for the second part of their date. He thought of something to do after dinner besides a movie, but wanted to make the suggestion face-to-face with Emma, to get her honest reaction. He did ask her if she liked horror movies or if she scared easily, because he didn’t want to put her in an awkward situation during their date. She assured him that she enjoyed things that got her heart racing.
On Saturday, he made a delivery of flowers to the florist in the city, then spent a couple of hours cleaning out his pickup truck and washing it. He wished he had a more luxurious vehicle, but he knew she probably wouldn’t care, considering the car she drove.
It felt like time was moving at a snail’s pace all afternoon. He took a bath, trimmed his beard, and dressed in jeans, boots and a heavy red and black plaid flannel shirt. Then he spent some time figuring out the best route to take to her apartment, not putting his trust in his phone’s GPS, and checked his appearance several times before the clock finally showed it was time to leave.
It had been years since he last went on a date, and he hadn’t been on one at all since moving to Maine. Going out with women always made him feel awkward and anxious, so it became something he chose to forgo. Tonight, however, he surprised himself with how much he was looking forward to going out with Emma.
He pulled up to the curb in front of her apartment building almost ten minutes early, so instead of going in and knocking on her door, he sat in his truck, fidgeting and repeatedly smoothing the hair on the back of his head.
When his phone dinged with a text message, he grinned as he read it. You don’t have to sit in your truck until the exact time, you know. I’ve been ready for over an hour.
He exited the truck and looked up at the third floor, spotting her standing in one of the windows, waving at him. He grinned in return, then entered the building and took the elevator to her floor. She opened the door before he even had a chance to knock, wearing a bright, though slightly nervous, smile.
“Swan, you look…stunning,” he said sincerely, pulling a bouquet of Autumn flowers from behind his back, and causing her smile to grow wider.
“Oh, Killian! They’re gorgeous! Fall colors are my favorite! Come in so I can put these in some water.” She stepped off to the side of the doorway to usher him in, taking the bouquet from his hand and automatically bringing it up to her nose.
“Look, I haven’t killed the plant you gave me yet,” she said proudly, using her free hand to gesture toward a small table in front of the window, on which sat her birthday orchid.  
“That’s good. I think if you had, it might be a new world’s record for murder of a plant!” he chuckled.
He could hear her rattling around in her small kitchen, opening and closing cupboards, followed by the sound of running water. When she emerged, she held a bright yellow plastic pitcher with the flowers inside.
“I’ve never gotten flowers before, so I don’t have a vase,” she explained, setting the pitcher on the table beside the orchid.
“You’ll need to cut the stems diagonally under running water and trim the leaves off below the water line; that makes cut flowers last a little longer,” he informed her. “There’s a little packet of plant food tucked in there to sprinkle in the water, too.”
“Should I do it right now?”
“No, it can wait until later. Are you ready to go?”
“Is this okay for what you have planned?” She swept her hand downward, indicating her dark jeans, knee-high boots, black and white striped sweater, and dark red, fleece-lined coat.
“It’s perfect. The Weather Channel says it’s only supposed to get down into the low fifties tonight, so you should be warm enough.”
“The Weather Channel, huh? What are you, like sixty years old?” She laughed as he rolled his eyes, then added, “You have me very curious about what we’re going to do.”
He opened the apartment door and allowed her to lead the way into the hall. “Right now, we’re going to eat dinner,” he teased.
“Yeah, I figured that out, Sherlock. I was talking about after we’re done eating.”
“You’ll find out soon enough,” he assured her, following a step behind as she walked down the stairs.
*********
The diner was a cozy little nook which wasn’t too crowded, and allowed them to have an uninterrupted conversation all through dinner. Killian was a bit shocked with how easily he was able to talk to her, after being alone for so many years and having limited contact with other people. She was a good listener and had him laughing with stories of some of her delivery mishaps.
At the end of their meal, he asked if she would like to have dessert or coffee. “Actually, I’d like some hot chocolate,” she said, “with lots of whipped cream and a sprinkling of cinnamon.”
“That sounds…interesting.”
She saw his raised brows. “What?”
He opened his mouth, then hesitated before responding, “Nothing.”
“Don’t knock it until you try it, buddy.”
“I’m feeling adventurous tonight.”
When the waitress brought the beverages out, he took a tentative sip, then gave a whipped cream-enhanced smile. “Not bad, Swan.”
“Told ya,” she gloated. “So when are you gonna tell me where we’re going next? I’ve been very patient.”
“Indeed you have. I’m not sure how you’ll feel about this, so if it’s something you’d rather not do, don’t be afraid to tell me.” She nodded her agreement, and he went on. “I found a farm a few miles from my house which offers haunted hayrides through the woods.”
Her eyes lit up. “Really? That sounds like fun! What time does it start?”
“The first one is at eight o-clock and there’s one every forty minutes until midnight. We should be able to go on the third one of the night.”
“Well, what are we waiting for? Let’s go get the begeezus scared out of us!”
He chuckled at her enthusiasm. “We still have time to finish our cocoa, Emma.”
“Oh, yeah. I’m just so excited! I’ve never been on a hayride of any kind before, let alone a haunted one!”
Killian was happy he was getting to witness some of her first experiences that evening, and that she was so receptive to his idea. He had worried that she would think it was a silly and childish thing to do.
Every moment he spent with the fiery blonde had him becoming more and more fond of her, and when the voices in his head started chanting that he could get hurt, he shut them up immediately. He was tired of being lonely, and was ready to take a chance with this woman, who was already well on her way to capturing his heart.  
*********
The couple enjoyed the hayride, which turned out to be more humorous than scary. Emma had trouble controlling her giggles as people dressed as zombies with bad make-up jumped out at them from the woods with chainless chainsaws, rubber knives and fake machetes.
Killian didn’t mind the occasions when she was startled, because she kept jumping closer to him on the hay bale on which they were sitting. By the time the half-hour ride was over, he had his arm around her, holding her close against his side.
Before leaving the farm, they purchased hot apple cider and caramel popcorn and took it back to his house.
“Would you like to watch a movie, Swan, or will that make it too late for you to get home?” Killian asked, showing her into his living room.
“I can get home after midnight; I won’t turn into a pumpkin…or a zombie,” she smirked.
“Shall we continue on with the scary theme?”
“That’s fine with me. I like horror movies, but I don’t really enjoy watching them by myself.”
They chose a movie from Hulu together and sat on the couch as they watched, munching popcorn and sipping their cider. About an hour into the movie, when the food was gone, Emma gravitated toward where he was sitting and was soon leaning against him. He encouraged her snuggling by wrapping his arm around her shoulder and resting his cheek on the top of her head.
Killian was not a person who welcomed human contact - most of the time he would avoid it if possible. So he was surprised to realize he not only enjoyed Emma’s body being close to his, but almost craved her touch. Several times she hid her face in his chest when she knew a particularly scary scene was coming and he held her tighter, boldly pressing kisses into her hair.
When the movie ended, he reluctantly released her, allowing her to sit up. She turned to look at him and he asked, “Did you like it, Love?”
“The movie or the date?”
“Both, I guess?” he shrugged.
Instead of answering, she leaned in and kissed him. His eyes widened in surprise at first, then he let out a happy sigh and allowed his lips to caress hers in return. He felt the fingers of one of her hands find their way into the soft strands of hair at the nape of his neck, while the other slid up his arm to squeeze his bicep.
His hands didn’t stay idle, as he ran them from her waist to massage her back. He lost himself in the kiss and found himself wishing it wouldn’t end. When it did, he drew back to look into her shining eyes, then dove back in for more.
Finally, they both had a need for air and separated, though they maintained contact with their foreheads pressed together.
“Can I take that as a yes?” he grinned.
“It is most definitely a yes,” she assured him. “I can’t remember the last time I’ve had such a good time!”
“You didn’t find the haunted hayride to be a bit feeble?”
“I loved it! This date was so much fun, Killian. I truly have enjoyed every minute of it…especially the last few,” she added, winking at him.
He laughed deep in his throat and pulled her in for another hug. “I’ve had a really good time, too,” he murmured against her temple. “Would you be interested in going out again?”
“I’m assuming you mean with you?”
“That was kind of the idea, yes.”
She pressed her lips to his again. When she pulled back after several sweet moments, he licked his lips and said, “Not that I’m complaining, Love, but do you ever just answer with a yes or no?”
She threw her head back and laughed, and he took the opportunity to scatter small kisses along the creamy skin of her throat. Her sudden intake of breath told him the effect they had on her.
“I…I would love to go out with you again, Killian; more than once, if possible.”
“I think that’s entirely possible.” He settled her against his chest once more and they sat comfortably together, her fingers finding the gold chain around his neck, while his stroked up and down her upper arm.
The chimes of his grandfather clock signaled the hour of one o’clock and he reluctantly sat up and put some space between them. “I’d better get you home, Swan.”
She heaved a sigh. “Yeah, I guess so. You probably need your beauty sleep.”
“It’s how I retain my youthful glow,” he responded cheekily.
She laughed again and he realized he could listen to that sound for hours on end, if given the chance.
Killian went out to start the truck while Emma put her boots and coat back on. Soon they were on the road back to her place.
“Do you like living in the city?” he inquired as they drove along the highway.
“Not really, but I’m not lucky enough to own a house out in the country.”
“Lucky is a good word for it. I happened to be in the right place at the right time to purchase it, and got it for a steal. It’s quiet and far away from other people, so it has plenty of privacy, which I value.”
“I figured that out by the number of things you order so you won’t have to make trips into the city.”
He glanced over at her with a shy smile. “I don’t allow many people in, Emma. In the past, I’ve found it very difficult to trust them, because they always let me down.”
“I can identify with that.”
“You, uh, you said you never had a family…”
“Nope. I was abandoned at birth and never got adopted.”
“Ah, I see. I actually had a family, but my mum died when I was very young, my father abandoned my brother Liam and me, then Liam was killed in an accident. I’ve been alone for nearly fifteen years now.”
“It sucks, doesn’t it?”
“Aye, but I’ve gotten used to it.”
Silence fell for a while as the truck passed three mile markers. Finally, Emma broke it by quietly asking, “Do you think you would like being a little less lonely?”
He glanced over at her before directing his eyes back to the dark road. “I would if it meant we were being less lonely together.”
*********
When they arrived at her apartment building, Killian hopped out of his side of the truck and hurried around it to open her door, taking her hand as she exited and not letting it go. They took their time walking up the three flights of stairs, exchanging few words, but numerous smiles with each other.
“Do you want to come in?” she asked as they stopped outside her apartment door.
“I might want to, but I really should get back home.”
“Busy day tomorrow?”
“Not really, but I was planning on calling a certain lovely lady at some point in the day.”
“Lucky girl.”
He moved closer to kiss her briefly. “I guess you are.”
Looping her arms around his neck, she initiated another kiss, this one lasting far longer. Pulling back at last, she said, “I had such a good time tonight, Killian. Everything about it was perfect.”
“I’m very happy to hear it. Shall we do it again soon?”
“I would really like that. Will I, um, will I be making any deliveries to you this week?”
“I do have some floral supplies ordered.”
“Good.”
They shared another lengthy kiss before he stepped back. “Goodnight, Emma.”
“Goodnight, Killian.” Unlocking and opening her door, she threw him one last dazzling smile, then walked inside and closed it behind her.
He stood leaning against the wall for a few more moments, then blew out a breath and touched his fingers to his lips, remembering the way they tingled when they were touching hers.
********
In the following weeks, Emma and Killian called or texted each other daily, and went on several more dates, using every opportunity to get to know one another better. He looked forward to the days when she made a delivery to his house, since it gave him another chance to see her briefly.
It became more and more difficult for him to say goodbye to her at her apartment after their dates. Sometimes he would accept her invitation for hot chocolate and they would talk and kiss for an hour or so, but he never pushed it any further. He wanted her to know that he respected her and would wait until she decided the time was right to take their budding relationship to the next level.                                                                                                          
Christmas was quickly approaching and the couple had been dating for nearly two months. Early one evening, Killian was beginning to worry when Emma wasn’t answering his phone calls or texts. He knew it was past time for her to be home from work, and because there had been periods of freezing rain throughout the day, he started to imagine the worst when he thought of her having to drive her delivery route on icy roads.
He was pacing back and forth across the kitchen, hoping his phone would light up with her name, when headlights illuminated the room. Knowing there was only one person it could possibly be, he threw on a coat, hurried out the back door, and jogged down the steps.
She was bumping her car door closed with her hip as he reached her. “Swan, what are you doing here at this time of night? Is everything okay?”
“Everything is fine. I just have a delivery to make.”
“A delivery? I don’t think I’m expecting anything. What is it?”
She took a step forward and ran her hands up his chest. “Me.”
His eyebrows raised in surprise and it took a second for what she was saying to register. When it did, he put his hands on her hips and pulled her closer. “Is that right?”
Looping her arms around his neck, she ghosted her lips against his as she said, “Yes, it is.”
“Shall we go inside, Love?”
She leaned back and looked into his eyes. “Just so we’re clear, Killian - when we go inside, I want more than one of our usual make-out sessions, no matter how much I enjoy them. Is that…is that okay with you?”
“Well, it would be rather rude of me to reject such a special delivery,” he chuckled a little nervously. Then he grew more serious. “Emma, I…it’s been a long time since I was in any kind of relationship, and it didn’t end well. I don’t want to…to…what I mean is…”
She took his hand and started leading him to the house. “Let’s talk inside. I’m freezing.”
After shedding their coats and boots, they sat together on the couch with their fingers intertwined. “What were you trying to tell me, Killian?” she asked, watching his thumb rub over her knuckle.
“The last woman I dated broke my heart. That’s one of the main reasons why I made the decision to leave England all those years ago, and I haven’t dated since. So what I’m trying to say is, I’m out of practice.”
She twisted in her seat, and the next thing he knew, she had flung her leg over his lap and was straddling him. Her hands came up to the sides of his face and she leaned her forehead against his.
“I’ve heard it’s like riding a bicycle,” she said. He chuckled and she sat back to look at him. “My sexual experiences have been very few and far between, too, but we can figure it out together. If you want to, that is.”
“Oh, I want to, Emma - that’s not the problem at all. It’s just that, in the past…”
She put two fingers over his lips. “Let the past stay in the past - those are ghosts we can’t control. This is now, and I want you. I know the scariest part is letting go, but I’m yours to choose, so why don’t you take what’s right in front of you, Killian?”
He contemplated what she said for less than two seconds before surging forward to engage her in a passionate kiss. It grew increasingly heated until he felt that if he didn’t do something soon, he was going to internally combust.
He wrapped her securely in his arms and pushed to his feet, not breaking contact with her lips. Her legs automatically went around his waist and she moaned deeply into his mouth, causing him to nearly stumble.
His bedroom seemed so much farther away than the few steps it actually was, but when he finally made it to the edge of his bed, he eased her onto it gently. Then he stood looking down at her as she reached for him, her hair spread out in a tangled halo, her lips kiss-swollen, and her eyes dark with desire.
“Killian, please,” she panted, “I need you.”
Her fingers scrambled for the button of his jeans before he stilled them with his hands. “I…I don’t have any protection,” he admitted. “I’ve been meaning to get some, but…”
“I’m covered and clean. Been on the pill for months to regulate my cycle,” she explained, pulling her hands free. “Do you have any other excuses?”
“No, no excuses. There is just something I need to tell you. I know this may be too soon for you to hear, but I want to say it so you understand this isn’t just a one-time thing, to scratch an itch.”
She swallowed hard as she looked into his eyes, the expression in them so intense she was almost afraid to find out what he was going to say. “What is it?” she managed to ask.
“I…Emma…I’m in love with you,” he stated, tenderly brushing her hair away from her face.
“Y-you are?” she squeaked.
“Utterly and completely. I think I have been ever since the moment you yelled at me during that first delivery you made. I’ve been wanting to tell you, but I didn’t know how, and I didn’t want to take this next step before I did.”
“You actually love me?” she asked, with disbelief lacing her words.
“Aye, Sweetheart. I love your sense of humor, your determination, your boldness, and your stubborn streak.” She grinned at that. “I also love your ability to see past the walls I’ve built to keep people out, in order to see the lonely person inside. No one has ever made the effort to do that before.” He paused a moment, before continuing, “But don’t worry, Love. I’m not telling you this to pressure you into saying…”
“I love you, Killian.”
“…it,” he finished, a look of awe crossing his face. “Do you really?”
“Yes. At least, I think I do, if this is what being in love feels like. I’ve never felt it before. All I know is that I think about you all the time…”
“Same.”
“And every time I talk to you, my heart races and…”
“I can’t stop smiling.”
“Exactly! And whenever you touch me, it’s like my skin is…is…”
“Like an electrical current is running through it?”
“Yes! Is that what being in love feels like?”
“I assume so. I’ve never been in love before, either.”
Emma giggled adorably. “Well, now that we’re clear on how we feel about each other, what else is keeping you from ravaging me?”
He grinned at her and ran his hands up her sides underneath her sweater. “Just this jumper,” he said as he pulled it over her head. “And these jeans, and bra, and…you’re wearing far too many clothes, Swan.”
“Hmmm, I guess we better do something about that. You have a lot of clothes on too, you know.”
In a flash, she tackled him and had him on his back in the middle of the bed, while she knelt above him, undoing the fastener of his jeans and pulling the zipper down. He lifted his hips to help her tug them down his legs until he was in his boxers, and she licked her lips as she took in the sizable bulge he was sporting.
She felt his hair tickling her fingers when she ran them up his legs and into the openings of his underwear. One hand fondled his balls while the other found his shaft, stroking it lightly. Her eyes moved up his body to watch the effect she was having on him.
His eyes were closed and he was biting his lower lip. His hands reached up to grip the pillow under his head and he groaned, “Bloody fuck, Emma! That…that feels so good!”
She continued running her hand along his velvety skin, stopping periodically to brush her thumb across his slit, until he gasped, “P-please stop, Love. I…I don’t know if I can…hold back if you keep doing that.”
She gave him one more gentle squeeze, then removed her hands and sat looking down at him with a smirk, before swinging around on the bed to yank off her socks.  As she reached for the button of her jeans, he stopped her. “Let me do that, Love.”
She hopped up off the bed to stand in front of him, clad only in her bra and jeans. “Okay, but I get to finish stripping you first.”  
“As you wish,” he conceded.
She pushed his flannel shirt off his shoulders and, once he pulled his arms free, lifted his henley over his head. Seeing that she still hadn’t reached bare skin yet because of the white undershirt he wore, she blew out an exasperated breath.
“Holy shit, Jones! How many layers of clothes are you wearing?”
“I live in Maine and it’s the middle of winter. What do you expect?”
“I expect to get naked with you, but I didn’t know it was gonna take until the New Year to get you there!”
He laughed as she grabbed the hem of the T-shirt to drag it up his body. Her eyes danced with delight as she took in his muscular chest with its generous peppering of hair. He tried not to squirm as she lightly ran her fingers through it and stroked along his ribcage.
“You’re gorgeous,” she breathed, watching her fingers as they moved.
“Not nearly as much as you,” he responded, bringing his hands up to spread them over her sides, and rubbing his thumbs under the elastic of her bra. As his hands slid around to the back of it, he looked up at her through his lashes. “May I?”
She nodded and held her breath as he made quick work of the fasteners, then she pulled her arms through and let the bra drop to the floor.  
Killian lovingly caressed her breasts, strumming his thumbs across her nipples, which hardened immediately under his ministrations. “Beautiful,” he whispered.
He bent to take one of her pebbled nipples between his lips, running his tongue across it, then sucking lightly. When it garnered a gasp and soft moan from her, he sucked harder, while his left hand squeezed and fondled the other breast.
Emma’s eyes closed and her head dropped back as she enjoyed the sensations passing through her body. Her fingers found their way to his hair and she scratched through it, giving little tugs to the ends.
Every sigh and utterance went straight to his groin and soon he was even harder than her stroking had left him. He moved his mouth down her stomach before realizing she was still wearing her jeans. He fumbled with the button for a few seconds before she reached down and undid it herself.
“So impatient,” he growled, undoing the zipper and shoving her jeans past her hips.
She peeled them off, stepped out of them and kicked them aside, as his hands moved around to squeeze her ass, while he nibbled on her hip. She went to work in earnest to completely wreck his hair.
“Touch me, Killian,” she begged.  
He hooked his fingers into the sides of her panties and quickly disposed of them, inhaling deeply to take in the heady scent of her arousal. Now that he had her completely naked, he guided her back to the bed, encouraging her to lay down.
Before she did, Emma helped him remove his boxers. She knew by feeling him that he was well-endowed, but seeing it made her eyes widen. “That’s quite a package you’ve got there, buddy.”
He laughed. “I hope you’ll enjoy the delivery I make to you!” he said with a lopsided grin, causing her to roll her eyes playfully.
Finally lowering herself to the bed, she scooted back and laid down. He aligned himself beside her, looking into her face. “You are truly a very beautiful woman, my love,” he said, before leaning in for a sweet and tender kiss.
He ran his fingers across her collarbone, along the side of her breast, and down her ribcage. She giggled a bit at the tickling sensation and then drew in a quick breath as his fingers pressed between her thighs. She automatically widened them to allow him better access and moaned as he swiped through her slick folds.
“So…so wet, Swan,” he declared, watching his fingers stroke her, picking up more of her creamy essence on each pass.
“Mmhmm. K-Killian, please. Get inside me. Make me…make me come,” she whimpered.
In response, he tentatively pushed a finger into her heat. “More…” she encouraged.
Nodding, he pulled out and added a second on the next gentle thrust. “How does that feel, Love?”
“Insanely good,” she gasped, placing her hand over his, urging him to go deeper.
He continued working her up while his mouth kissed up her body to give attention to her breast.
Her head was rolling side-to-side on the pillow, her eyes closed and her mouth open to emit short panting breaths. He could feel her legs begin to quake as she drew them up and let them fall open, allowing him more freedom to explore.
“Can you take more?” he asked quietly.
Unable to form words at the moment, she simply nodded her head up and down. He pulled his glistening fingers free, knocking her hand away, and slowly pressed three fingers into her, watching her face carefully to discern any discomfort. Once they were completely enveloped in her welcoming heat, he twisted and curled them, then rolled his thumb over her bundle of nerves.
The effect was immediate and intense as her walls squeezed his fingers and she cried out, “Yes! Killian!”
He continued to stroke her as her body gradually relaxed, and his mouth latched onto her nipple again, sucking and licking to help draw out her ecstasy a bit longer.
When she finally came down from her high, she opened her eyes. “You call that being out of practice?” she teased.
He slid his fingers out of her and dragged them up her body, leaving a trail of her arousal which he followed with his tongue. Reaching her mouth at last, he uttered against her lips, “Perhaps it IS like riding a bicycle,” then plunged his tongue into her mouth.
After overcoming her surprise at the sudden intrusion, she gave back as good as she got, filling the room with sounds of clashing teeth, smacking lips, heartfelt moans, and heavy breathing. He settled his body over hers and her legs came up to encircle his hips.
Feeling her wet, hot, heat rubbing against his cock, he began grinding to add some friction. “Fuck, Emma! Feels so good!” he panted. “I need more!”
She desperately nodded. “Yes, pleeease!”
Loosening her legs, she let them fall to the mattress, giving him room to maneuver.
“Guide me, Love,” he requested, dropping his forearms to rest on either side of her.
Taking the opportunity to run her hands through the soft hair on his chest again, she slid them down his body to his fully erect member, drawing the head through her abundant slickness.
Killian was struggling not to thrust into her hand and come before he even had the chance to get inside her. “I…I love you, Emma,” he gasped. “Let me show you how much.”
Without wasting another second, she positioned him at her opening, then moved her hands to his ass, squeezing it encouragingly. He began to enter her at an achingly slow pace and when she looked up, she could see the cords of his neck standing out, his head thrown back, teeth clenched, and eyes closed tightly.
“Don’t hold back, Babe,” she pleaded. “Just let go. You won’t…you won’t hurt me.”
He pulled back until just his tip was still within her, then thrust his hips forward to enter her more deeply. Repeating this motion a few more times, he finally stilled balls deep and dropped his head to her chest.
“Bloody hell, you feel amazing, Love! I could live the rest of my life right here!”
“That…that might be a bit…inconvenient, but…I wouldn’t object!” she stammered.
He gripped her shoulders from underneath and began to move, slowly at first, but picking up speed as the sensations started to overwhelm him. She bent her knees and drew her legs up alongside his body and the new angle added to the pleasure.
With every snap of his hips, her breath caught, her hands roaming up and down his back and buttocks, her nails scratching against his skin, which heightened his arousal and drove him toward the edge faster than he wanted.
“Emma…I can’t…I’m going to…”
“Me…too!” Her knees tightened around him and her hips raised off the bed, her legs shaking with her impending release.
He plunged into her once more and suddenly she was flying. The throbbing of her walls along his swollen cock was his undoing, and with another thrust, he joined her. Feeling his release washing through her, she wrapped her arms around him, pulling him against her and letting their sweat mingle as their hearts beat erratically in their chests.
“I love you,” she murmured, her lips finding their way to the hollow of his throat, then nuzzling into the juncture of his shoulder.
He rolled them over to reverse their positions and wrapped her securely in his arms. “I love you, too.”
As their breathing evened out and their bodies cooled, Killian reached down to find the blanket and pulled it over both of them. “Mmmm, can I just stay here all night?” she mumbled sleepily.
“I think that’s a grand idea, Love.”
She lifted her head to look into his face. “Do you mean it?”
“I can think of nothing I want more than to hold you in my arms for the rest of the night, my love.”
“You know I have to work tomorrow, don’t you? It’s the Christmas season so we’re swamped.”
“I’ll wake you early so you can get to work on time.”
“Deal, but be warned - I’m not a morning person.”
“I’ll be cautious.”
They fell silent for several minutes while she enjoyed the soothing movement of his hands kneading the skin of her back. She was just starting to doze off when his voice rumbled against the top of her head. “Does it have to be just for tonight?”
“What do you mean?”
“Will you…could you make a special delivery to me again tomorrow night?”
She rested her chin on his sternum and grinned up at him. “I think I could do that.”
“I can pick you up, so you don’t have to drive all the way out here by yourself.”
“That’s not necessary. I’m used to doing things by myself.”
“But you don’t have to, Emma. You…we…aren’t alone anymore.”
A smile lit up her face. “That’s true. We have each other now.”
“That we do, and you are always welcome here. I want you here - as often as possible.”
“You might regret that offer.”
“Never.”
She sighed happily and laid her head back on his chest. “Thank you, Killian.”
“For what, Love?”
“For opening your heart to me and making me feel wanted, beautiful, special and loved.”
“You are all of those things, Sweetheart.”
He could feel her smile against his skin. “And for giving me a place to belong,” she added.
“You belong right here,” he said, patting the spot over his heart. “I want to thank you too, Emma, for taking a chance on me, by giving me your heart and blessing me with your love. I feel very lucky, and obviously less lonely, having you in my life. When I think of the hell I had to walk through, I wouldn’t trade a day of it, because it led me to you.”
She raised her head again and her lips found his for a long, languid kiss. “I know what you mean, and I feel the same way, too; no longer lonely and very lucky to have found you,” she whispered afterwards.
They decided it would be a good idea to clean up a bit before going to sleep, so he led her into the bathroom. When they returned to the bedroom, he pulled on flannel sleep pants, and offered her the matching shirt, which she tugged over her head.
As he pulled open a dresser drawer to grab another, Emma put a hand on his arm to stop him. “It might be the middle of winter, but it’s a shame to cover up that sexy chest hair. I promise I’ll keep you warm,” she said with a sly grin.
He didn’t argue, knowing that he would give her anything her heart desired. They climbed back into bed and shared some sweet kisses, then Emma turned onto her left side and reached back to find his arm, wrapping it around herself and pulling it up between her breasts. He scooted closer and pressed himself against her back, sighing contentedly as he buried his nose in her hair.
“I love you, Emma. I’ll see you in the morning,” he murmured.
She yawned before replying, “I love you, too, Killian. Goodnight.”
As they drifted off to sleep in each other’s arms, their hearts a perfect match, that night became the first of the rest of their lives together; a new beginning for both of them, never to be lonely again.  
*********
If you’re reading this story for the first time, thank you for giving it a try, and if you’ve read it before, rereads are the best kind of compliment! Thanks to all of you who are reading, commenting and reblogging! 
Tagging: @xsajx @hookedmom @kymbersmith-90 @kmomof4 @lassluna @pirateherokillian @teamhook @stahlop @elizabeethan @whimsicallyenchantedrose @resident-of-storybrooke @therooksshiningknight @jennjenn615 @lfh1226-linda @ilovemesomekillianjones @killianswannn @stories-enchanted @eleveneitherway @withheartfulloflove @kday426 @lyssapup27 @swanlovato @djlbg @kristi555 @laschatzi @xarandomdreamx @lkles08 @wyntereyez @bubblegum1425 @xhookswenchx @yasbio2015 @tiganasummertree @winterbaby89 @wefoundloveunderthelight @hollyethecurious @let-it-raines @jonesfandomfanatic @searchingwardrobes @dreamingdreamsalways @oncechicagolove @andiirivera  @gingerchangeling @everything-person @klynn-stormz @qualitycoffeethings @vampcoffeegyrl23 @enchanted-swans @ohmakemeahercules @donteattheappleshook @bluewildcatfanatic @the-darkdragonfly @demisexualemmaswan @lavenderbudd @grimmswan @spartanguard @flslp87 @ultraluckycatnd @thisonesatellite @captainswan21 @zaharadessert @mariakov81 @snowbellewells @xouatxcs @kiwistreetswan @batana54 @nadine200179 @probalicious17 @courtorderedcake @julesep3026 @jackieorioncat @whatthehell102082 @jarienn972 @sthonour @linda8084  @pirateprincesslena @daxx04 @winterbythesea @artistic-writer @cocohook38 @captainswan4life85 @molly958 @kingofmyheart14 @badwolfreturns @itsfridaysomewhere@fallingforthecaptain​  @onceratheart18 @strangestarlighttree @omgmarvelousmorgan @justanother-unluckysoul @mrs-potato-but-likes-tomato​ @anothersworld​ @deckerstarblanche​ @purplehawkcaptain​  @superchocovian​ @k-leemac​ @citygirlscowboy​ @laughterandbooks​ @sotangledupinit​ @apiratewhopines​ @huntressandlioness1​ @cosette141​  @gingerpolyglot​ @motherkatereloyshipper​ @cs-rylie​
37 notes · View notes
a-shared-experience · 8 months
Text
If a plant becomes ill, that is because the other contributors to the meadow must have changed their relationship with it in some way. You can’t simply heal a plant and send it back into an unchanged meadow. Relationships. They are what make, direct, unmake, damage and reward us. You can’t know me without knowing something of my relationships.
- you could not deal with offenders alone. They were the product of all their relationships
It feels good to be in this version of home. After 3 delays I arrived here somewhere close to 5am and dragged myself to bed only to awake several times before noon when I decided to actually get up.
I’ve spent the day honouring what I need for myself which is peace, quiet, sunshine and sage. I am grateful to my friend who watered and nurtured my plants while I was adventuring Canada. They feel so welcoming and I’m excited by their growth and change. I sort of float between each room on the top floor and fall in love with the life I’ve created here. I feel so blessed to know both freedom and stability. I think this is one of the first real experiences I’ve had with balance.
My favourite moments spent in the wild included dancing in the rain with my two year old niece, Paisley. We both wore dresses and had our hair done and didn’t care at all about being perfect girls as we held hands, giggled and played in puddles. I remember all the people inside peering out at us as if we were aliens , I prayed that it would stir their own inner child. Everyone seemed so reserved but then an older man half laughed at us and said “ playing in the rain is the best isn’t it” and I knew he was speaking from his earliest experiences and not his old age.
I taught my 4 year old goddaughter how to swim without a life jacket just like I taught her older sister the summer before. I loved the way her eyes looked up at me in complete wonder and I blurted out, “ I’m so proud of you, you’re a fish now”.
“Im a fishie” she said before yelling “ again!” Which was both her way of asking and also demanding that I bring her back to the pool steps so she could jump off and swim to my open arms. She screamed at my brother to come watch her swim for the first time and it just brought me so much joy.
I loved the stillness of the naashwak River , floating on black depths beneath trees that hung down as if wishing to drink the water under my tube. For awhile a bald eagle followed us and I was reminded of how fierce Mother Nature truly is when my tube flipped in the rapids and I lost my volcom flip flops and was carried away briefly and frighteningly underneath the water. My legs were shaking when I resurfaced and I had to just stand in the middle and breathe myself back to calmness. Water represents emotion and I certainly felt in large ways.
When my friend dedicated a song to his friends at table 9 and we sang Tom petty in a crowded little pub or when my best friend and I sang songs over morning coffee and she showed me the new cords she’d learned on the guitar.
Driving to the beach and checking out occult shops with Tashie. We surprised each other with a best friend crystal at the cash and giggled like school girls. The cashier told us we were cute and my friend said to me , “ I hope you know how much you mean to me”
Going for walks in the woods with my mother and pulling the wagon with the two babies behind us. Stopping every now and then so they could touch flowers or leaves and take in the experience.
When Ellie would wake me up in the morning and just stare at me smiling and say in her little squeaky kid voice , “ I love you”
When Remi learned that she could sit on her butt and spin in a circle which made me laugh big belly laughs.
Reading books to Raelyn on the swing outside under the moon before bedtime and painting flowers in the kitchen.
Catching hermit crabs in a bucket in bouctouche and chasing after butterflies in the marsh
When my friend Meg passed me a joint in the backseat of a packed car and said “ it feels so amazing to be with my friends”.
I met a university professor who did outreach in her spare time who was completely blunt and authentic - kinda like me- we were both so fascinated with each others stories
My friend got me three passes to a concert on the waterfront even though he was playing his own show that same night - I loved the look on his face when we surprised him by leaving early to come support him. I could tell how much it mattered to “show up”
Smoking weed and crushing ciders in the garage at a family function with my cousin and just catching up and laughing about everything until her dad found us and said , “ girls, dinner is ready”.
My auntie driving 30km to say hi and give me a gluten free carrot cake that tasted like heaven with my moms Lime wine.
The way my newborn cousin would stare at me and smile when I caught him and then shyly look away haha , too cute baby Jude!
Toronto with its heatwave , pizza with my cousin and staying up too late watching bad reality tv.” Friggin diggin”. Drinking rose in the penthouse which was so high up it made me nervous at first. Dancing with Jamey, Robin and Javier - the cutest of the gays- to bad techno and talking drag’ over bong rips which I definitely regretted a bit upon arrival at the airport.
Connection is such a beautiful thing to me. Just as beautiful as solitude and the ability to get lost in a good book on the hammock for the better part of the day.
All my relations <3 ( indigenous teachings )
Tumblr media
0 notes
Text
329: 20 Life Lessons Learned on My Recent Trip to England
Tumblr media
To feel intrinsically connected with a culture other than the one you were raised involves the feeling of a coming home. A 'coming home' in a way that seems impossible until you feel it first-hand, deep in the marrow of your bones. As I share in detail in the introduction of the month of May in my new book The Road to Le Papillon: Daily Meditations on True Contentment, my first trip and time spent in the English countryside spoke to my inner most true self in a way I didn't expect, but completely understood.
Spending only, but entirely, four days in north Devon in a country home aloft the hills overlooking the Bristol Channel without another house in sight, I went about my everydays as I would if I were at home in Bend. And it was pure bliss. All in my own company, and not for a moment did I feel lonely. Quite the opposite in fact. I felt enriched, I felt soothed, I felt, finally, in so many ways I had not felt entirely before, at home.
Brené Brown writes in Braving The Wilderness: The Quest for Belonging and the Courage to Stand Alone that a feeling of loneliness stems from spending time in places and with people "that don't feel alive with connection". She continues to share neuroscience researcher John Cacioppo of the University of Chicago's definition of loneliness which is 'perceived social isolation' . . . "when we feel disconnected" the latter Brown's paraphrasing. While reading these words recently, it made all the more sense to me why I feel so wonderfully alive even, and perhaps especially, when I am in my own company while traveling both to France and Britain, and then as well when I return and am spending time, my everydays, at Le Papillon, a sanctuary that was customized to welcome both cultures into my everyday life, a home I share with no other human, but of course my pups, and the birds and animals and plants that hold my attention, fascinate and delight me and visit or bloom when consistent, thoughtful care is given.
Equally so, to further acknowledge the truth in Brown's discoveries, I can feel lonely when I am spending time with people who or am in an environment that lacks a curiosity or appreciation, or at the very least a respect, for a culture I am so fond of and grateful to have found. Unconsciously I have known my own company is quite sweet as I give myself permission to follow my curiosities without judgment, to explore, wander and learn; conversely, my loneliest days have been spent with other people - whether in relationships of all different natures and/or spending time (and in this case I do use the term spending) that indirectly or directly deny or dissuade me from celebrating the life I love living, the life that truly nurtures me to be fully Shannon.
Returning to England this past April was life lifting. Noting not having visited since 2017, which I didn't realize consciously is nearly 5 years, ended a drought of British culture seen with my own eyes that I needed more than I realized. It was a figurative deep breath of fresh air that upon taking in, immediately brought a smile to my face and a calm to my being. While I didn't spend my time as I most enjoy for most of my days when I am in England, which is to rent a vacation rental out in the countryside and go about many days just savoring the everyday routines and visiting an occasional destination of interest, I was in Britain, and that was all that mattered. I saw places and spent time partaking in activities that further introduced a culture to me I had not done before, and for that I am grateful.
In today's episode/post, I'd like to share with you 20 Life Lessons learned during these 3 1/2 days in Britain - both in London and in Kent as we took a train ride out to the southeast countryside of England and spent the night as we were intent to visit Sissinghurst Castle Garden, and oh what a treat that was.
Let's take a look at the list:
~Note, if you tune in to the audio version, I share much more detail about each item on the list. Be sure to check out the podcast wherever you enjoy your favorite shows.
1.Afternoon tea is always a good idea - whether a formal occasion at a special location or at home in your own company
2. Taking a long, hot bath in between day outings and evening plans, accompanied by classical music is restorative and energizing
3. Take the Tube (the Underground) to swiftly and inexpensively move about London
~Purchase your Oyster card to have with you when you arrive in London.
4. Don't wear exposed fine linens on the Tube (under a trench or other coat) to protect from any loose soot that may fall when there
5. Business class is more than worth the price if flying to London from the West Coast of the states or further away.
Please do reach out to me if you are seriously considering a Business Class ticket as I have a travel agent and company who can help find you a quality route and airlines for a fair price.
6. Stepping away from the virtual world regularly strengthens the quality of presence and engagement in the life you have created.
7. The countryside is my jam.
From birdsong, to rolling hills of green fields, peace is found simply standing still or watching it drift by while on the train.
8. Trust what captures your ahh . . .
From tangible items that will a gap in your life, routine, etc., to art, traditions, natural beauty, anything that draws your eye and holds your attention, even if at first you do not know why, hold loosely in your mind and explore what is speaking to you. Do not dismiss it.
9. Have a classic trench that fits your stature and complements your skin tone.
You will wear it in nearly every season - cinched up with a scarf in the winter, left open and layered over the top of your spring or fall outfit, ideal for traveling during the summer for sprucing up your comfy outfit to sit/sleep with ease for a long flight.
10. Whilst in the country, leave windows open at night so as to be gentle awoken by birdsong
Tumblr media
Take a Tour of The Pig at Bridge Place: My Recent stay in Canterbury
11. A Chelsea boot is a must for three seasons of outfits
12. Garden, keep gardening, keep learning, keep nourishing your mind and being
13. Make time to visit the theatre when in the city
14. Visit, spend time and enjoy the beauty of the gardens throughout Britain not only for ideas, but for rejuvenation of the mind, eyes and being.
15. An umbrella, find and invest in a quality umbrella (foldable or traditional)
16. Spend time in the countryside
17. Savor the train ride out to the countryside
Grab your favorite daily newspaper, open a book or take a nap, and just appreciate not having to commute as the driver nor having to be alert whilst traveling with fellow train-goers. Saves time, reduces stress and stretches your ability to see more of Britain, because there is so much more than London.
18. Less driving, more walking and connecting
- seeing and being around humanity and nature, consciously choosing a place to live and work that does not require so much time in your vehicle
19. When a moment of calm and comfort is needed, visit a museum and wander, stop and let the art guide you
20. My company, so long as I embrace my true self, is wonderful company whether on my own or with a chosen companion
~Explore all of the posts shared during TSLL's 4th Annual British Week here.
Tumblr media
Petit Plaisir
—The Duke, the film based on a true story
Tumblr media
~The Simple Sophisticate, episode #329
~Subscribe to The Simple Sophisticate:  iTunes | Stitcher | iHeartRadio | YouTube | Spotify | Amazon Music
Tune in to the latest episode of The Simple Sophisticate podcast
0 notes
poetrusicperry · 3 years
Text
the poets and their first summer jobs
i’ve seen some discourse about how rich all the boys/their families are, and of course there would be like very little reason for them to work, but i couldn’t help wondering who would do what for their first jobs (summer jobs bc they couldn’t work while they’re at school). andddd that led me to writing this lol
neil: so neil would have like absolutely zero time for a job between all his normal coursework/extracurriculars and his summer classes (”you know me, always taking on too much”), but i guarantee you he would still take the time to get a job and have his own money to do with whatever he chose. mr. perry wouldn’t care much because it showed neil “taking initiative” or whatever. neil would likely work at a diner as either a bus boy or a waiter. he’s super personable, so he’d always strike up conversations with people sitting at the counter, and he’d get loads of tips bc he’s cute (: he’d bring his summer school work with him to do during lulls in business, which his boss didn’t mind because it’s neil and everyone knows how responsible he is. the poets would come visit him pretty much every day (to eat, see neil, and escape the heat in the air conditioning), likely taking up a whole booth, and making an absolute mess of the area. charlie would be making spitballs, aiming at cameron and knox every time (earning a “charlie, knock it off, i told you three times already! so mature of you, really.” from cameron) and meeks/pitts would try to see how many straws they could connect to make “ultra straw.” todd would come hang out at the counter when neil was closing, admiring his pretty bf as he worked (’: neil would always make todd a chocolate milkshake with whipped cream and rainbow jimmies on the house, claiming, “we have to empty out the ice cream machine anyway” (but really he’d take the cost out of his paycheck, just wanting to make todd happy). his boss would hire him back every summer, loving how much business neil drove in (even if the poets made a mess every time they hung out and ate) and absolutely adoring how much effort neil put into what anyone else would seemingly call a “meaningless” job.
todd: you can’t tell me that todd wouldn’t look forward to working. especially during the summers, it would get him out of the house and away from his parents judging his every move. being the shy introvert he is, he’d likely do things like mowing lawns or gardening for people around his neighborhood. minimal interactions, but still decent pay (as all the people in his neighborhood were likely super rich and could afford to pay him well). the poets’ parents would hire him, after much convincing from their sons (”todd’s just trying to make some money, dad. please?”) and todd would appreciate this more than they ever knew. he’d become super familiar with flower types and he’d become a lot more nurturing after taking care of plants and grass for multiple summers. he’d keep a little journal or notebook with drawings or sketches of the flowers he’d taken care of, complete with descriptions and magazine/newspaper clippings from his mom’s better homes and garden subscription (a lot of his poetry would become nature-related as well). it would be his late night project, or something he’d do if he couldn't sleep (which was pretty common for todd). he’d call neil on the phone some nights and just gush about all kinds of flowers or tell neil how he accidentally got stung by a bee and cried about it because he knew the bee would die (all the while, neil would be listening so intently, taking note about which flowers were todd’s favorites for future use (’: the calls would have to be pretty planned, bc if neil wasn’t working, he was doing school work, or his parents were keeping an annoyingly close watch on him. but sometimes neil would call him impromptu and that made todd just the happiest little camper ever). todd’s nails would be really short (he’d cut them really often because he doesn’t like the feeling of dirt under his nails), which means he couldn’t bite his nails anymore, causing him to pick up a new anxious habit of biting the inside of his bottom lip ): overall, though, todd would like his job, and even find pleasure in being surrounded by little flowers all day. also if/when neil ever got the chance, he’d absolutely tag along to see his sweaty boyfriend in action (come on, neil would go absolutely nuts for todd in a cutoff shirt, 5″ inseam shorts, and converse mowing a lawn looking all manly and tough). 
charlie: obviously, charlie wouldn’t need to work because of his financial situation, but his mom would 110% make him get a job just so he wouldn’t be around the house causing trouble/bothering his siblings for fun (”i’m hosting a lot of book club meetings for the country club this summer, i can’t have you putting spiders in the ladies’ hats again, charles”). similar to neil, mr. charlie dalton would work his summers at an ice cream/custard stand. he’d have to wear a white, short sleeve button up, a red and white striped apron, and one of those white, rectangular hats (his least favorite part HAHA, stating, “my hair is one of my best features and this just takes it all away. it’s unfair.”). the poets would visit often, both for ice cream, but primarily to give him a hard time about his uniform (”i’ll give you twenty bucks to wear this on our first day of classes” meeks would tease, completely gobsmacked when charlie showed up to their first chemistry class in his uniform, earning lots of demerits, but also twenty dollars). charlie would hate it at first, but obviously he’d adjust, being the extroverted/personable person, not taking himself too seriously and being one of the best ice cream slingers anyone had ever seen. he’d give the cute girls (and boys) extra scoops of ice cream for free, winking as he handed them their orders. like neil’s boss, charlie’s boss was even more thankful for charlie’s presence because they’d likely be raking in at least triple the income they would in a summer without him. he’d become a sundae expert, spending many dead poets meeting making them for his friends while they read poems and stories. that being said, he’d come to hate eating ice cream, publishing an article in welton’s honor demanding that they remove ice cream from their dessert menu (yes, almost exactly like the “girls at welton” prank, but he’d make the call collect this time. mr. nolan would be fed up to the point where he wouldn’t even punish charlie physically, just suspend him from rowing [which charlie wouldn’t mind at all HAHA]).
meeks & pitts: after their hi-fi success and the fact that they are seemingly inseparable, they both sought out jobs at the local radio station where they were hired as interns/assistants, running errands and picking up coffee or lunch for the station. but sometimes, when they worked pretty late, the night shift dj would let them pick the records and show them how everything worked (: after nights like that, meeks and pitts would go to one of their houses and add modifications to their hi-fi radio, staying up all night modifying and researching (by the end of the summer, they had made another hi-fi (portable) and their og hi-fi would have been morphed into a huge nationally reaching radio that they keep in the cave (since it would be disallowed in their room at welton). another job that the two of them would have would be answering calls for the station about song requests. with this knowledge, charlie and the other poets would hang out at someone’s house, calling and requesting the same songs over and over and over again. their biggest task for the summer would be organizing the shelves with all the records into alphabetical order (”duh, we should go by first name, meeks. which other way would it be” pitts would argue, only to find out that after they had spent about three weeks alphabetizing by first name, they were supposed to go by last name. “now who’s the idiot?” meeks would jeer, beginning to pull the records off the shelves). they’d also learn a lot about music from their night shift coworker, which would help in their quest to woo some ladies the following school year.
cameron: cameron liked spending his summers doing research projects for fun and just reading a whole lot, so you can imagine his displeasure at when his parents asked him to get a job (presumably to help with paying for his schooling). while upset about it, he wouldn’t complain, and took it on the chin, understanding the reasoning. he’d apply to a couple places, but ultimately end up as a grocery store cashier/stock boy. much like charlie, he’d have the same kind of uniform, but with a green apron instead. he’d spend most of his shift ringing people up at the register, being friendly and personable (something no one ever really realized about him !!). the poets’ moms would always see him and choose his register on purpose, using it as a chance to catch up or tell him to tell his parents that “the overstreets say hello!” or “mrs. anderson says hi!” pitts, meeks, and charlie would utilize cameron’s position at the supermarket to buy nudie magazines unembarrassed/slightly illegally HAHA (”come on, cameron! it’s not like you won’t be included in seeing them next year, too. we bring them to the meetings, you know that!” charlie would say, leaving cameron at a loss, reluctantly scanning the magazines and bagging them as pitts and meeks sniggered). charlie would wave, blow him a kiss, and wink as they left, “love you, richardddd.” sure enough, the magazines would make an appearance during the following school year and cameron was glad he had decided to let them buy the magazines lol. 
knox: out of all the poets, i feel like our knoxious would be the least inclined to work (yes, even less inclined than charlie). his parents wouldn’t even make him get a job because he simply didn’t need to, but to everyone’s surprise, he would volunteer at the animal shelter. the poets would later find out that it was a great way to meet girls (which is why he did it lmfao so they endlessly goaded him about it). charlie would visit often, and even took a rescue puppy home, much to charlie’s younger sister’s delight. charlie even wanted to start volunteering at the shelter to also meet girls, but he was too busy at the ice cream stand (plus, he had really grown to like it there so he didn’t want to leave). another effect of volunteering made knox super interested in zoology and animals, which brought out a newer, more nurturing/caring side to him, and who knows, maybe he’d go vegetarian somehow. he’d want to pursue a career in animal science or becoming a veterinarian, but mr. overstreet was hellbent on knox taking over the firm, so it seemed like a pipe dream. knox would continue to volunteer at the animal shelter, well into his career as a lawyer, and would even go to veterinary school in his 30s (when he was a nationally famous, established lawyer) to get certification to work with animals in a broader way (: 
hope you guys liked these. it was pretty fun to write, and i'd pay such good money to see neil, charlie, and cameron in their uniforms (and todd, but that’s neither here nor there). happy thursday !! let me know what you guys think of these <3(:
112 notes · View notes
yootaesowlwrites · 3 years
Text
Perfect To Me - Lee Taemin
Tumblr media
A/N: Basically I was once again told that I’m to fat to even like Lee Taemin and Kim Seokjin, so now I’m pouring my emotions out into this, cause I am so sick of my mom thinking it’s funny when she says it, she doesn’t realize that she’s hurting my feelings, so… here’s another darkish imagine that is supposed to comfort me, hopefully this will bring some comfort to other readers that have been told that they’re too big, darling… you’re fucking perfect and beautiful.
Honestly… ever since I’ve met two wonderful people on here and have spoken to them, I’ve realized that I shouldn’t be treated the way I am, and I’ve lately been feeling like I want to leave and get away from my home… So… please read this with caution, and know that this was another piece of my soul and my emotions poured into this.
When I feel better, I might make a part 2.
Warnings: Angst, mention of reader being haunted by thoughts, mention of diets, mention of not being good enough, crying, mention of sex, comfort?, fluff?.
W/C: 1.3K
Tumblr media
For years, you were brainwashed to believe that you wouldn’t be good enough, that your size would get you nowhere and no one could ever love you, you had also been told that ‘No man could ever love you because you would break them.’ Just because of your size, sure you were a little on the bigger side, but hearing that made you believe that you had to lose weight and be as thin as a stick to be able to find someone to love you, for years you were convinced that no one would even spare a glance at you.
The silent nights you sobbed in your bedroom, making sure it was quiet enough so your mother wouldn’t hear what she had caused, holding a poker face when she said those words to you, wishing you could be alone to break down, instead… you suppressed your emotions and waited for the dark night to fall over before you would pull the bed covers over you and silently sob into your pillow.
Then you met Taemin, he didn’t look at your size, he looked at your personality and soul, falling in love with that, at first you couldn’t believe someone like him could actually love someone like you, your thighs were big, and your tummy was equally just as big as well as your arms, but he managed to make you feel so beautiful when you were with him like you were enough and that you didn’t need to change anything about you to fit in with him, or to make him happy, but you haven’t allowed him to fully see you, you haven’t allowed him to touch you in an intimating way, afraid that he would see how you looked, see how you had viewed yourself for almost your entire life.
So when he had asked you to move in with you and out of your parent's house, you jumped at the opportunity to just get out of the house, because the longer you spent time with him, the more you realized that the way you were being treated was wrong and that you deserved better, but that annoying little voice in the back of your mind had been trained to make you feel ugly, you woke up that morning feeling a little tired but still managed to get up, you went along with the morning until that little voice ruined everything, took away your happiness.
‘Do you honestly believe that you would be enough for me? Look at yourself… look how big you are, you’re going to break him in half!’
And that was enough to make you break down, your smile vanished immediately, and you could feel tears starting to form in the corner of your eyes, you immediately felt subconscious about yourself and felt the insecurities taking over, you felt almost thankful that you were alone in the apartment you shared with Taemin, that was until the front door opened.
“I’m back!” Taemin’s beautiful voice called out, you could hear the door shutting before hearing his footsteps moving deeper into the house, you hang your head closing your eyes while bringing your hand up to your face, furiously wiping the tears away, you had thought he would be out all day, why was he back this early? “Where are you, honey?” He rounds the corner and found you standing in the hallway with your hair covering your face. “Honey?” He slowly steps closer, you put on a fake smile and lift your head to look at him.
“Hi, what are you doing home so early?” You ask with a fake chirpiness in your tone, you move towards him about to hug him when you stopped, your arms stopping you from doing so as you remembered how big they were. “Not that I’m not happy you’re home.” He quickly picked up that something was wrong when he saw your eyes had reddened from the little crying you had done before he arrived home.
“Hey, hey, what’s wrong?” His tone soft as he brought his hands to cup your cheek, he carefully inspects your face before moving lower. “Why did you cry?” You could see the concern in his eyes. “Are you hurt anywhere?” You felt the tears return before they spilled. “[Y/n].” He releases your face and wraps his arms around you, your arms stayed by your side, afraid to wrap them around him, afraid that you would really break him. “What’s wrong? Please tell me I can’t help you if I don’t know.”
“I’m… I’m too… too big fo… for you.” You sob out, your tears staining his shirt. “I’m… I’m going to… to break yo… you in half.” He could feel an ache forming in his heart and n the pit of his stomach, he was well aware of what you had to hear and what you were told as you grew up, and hearing that it was still lingering in your mind hurt him because gods did he love every part of you, gods you were absolutely perfect for him, and knowing that the idea had been planted in your mind and had been watered as if it was a flower and not a weed was almost mind-numbing.
“[Y/n]… honey, you won’t break me.” He softly says as he rubs your back soothingly. “I was made for you, and you won’t break me in half, I promise.” He felt almost cold with your arms just hanging by your side while he held you, he wanted you to wrap your arms around him. “I can’t believe for years that weed had been nurtured as if it was a flower, I can’t believe that you were made to believe that nonsense.” His hand moves higher, and he gently begins patting your hair down, his fingers gently brushing through them. “Gods I wish you could see what I see.” Your sobs slowly die down as you listen to him talk. “I know why you don’t have me to make love to you, I know that you’re scared I’ll see what you’ve been told, scared that I’ll leave you, but honey… you’re perfect to me.” You take your bottom lip between your teeth and chew on it, holding in your sobs, you slowly lift your arms to wrap around him. “If I have to spend the rest of my days to tell you and show you how beautiful you are, so be it.”
“Taemin…” You whisper as you lift your head to look up at him, he looks down at you, his beautiful brown eyes that you always seemed to get lost in, no matter the situation, you always found yourself getting lost in them.
“One day, when you allow me, I promise you… I’ll show you just how beautiful you are.” He says. “I’ll make sure that you never have those nasty thoughts again.” He held you like that for what seemed like hours but was only forty-four minutes. “Come on… let’s go sit.” He slowly unwraps his arms from around you before guiding you to the couch, he urges you to sit down before sitting next to you, he quickly pulls you closer to him, making you lay your head on his shoulder, he takes your hand and placed it on his thigh before putting his hand on top.
“Would you leave me if you saw what was underneath all these layers?” You ask, even though he had told you that he wouldn’t, you wanted to hear it again… even though you probably wouldn’t believe him, he turns his face to you and gently kisses the top of your head.
“Of course I wouldn’t.” He says. “I was made for you, and you were made for me, a beautiful combination.” You could feel your heart feeling slightly lighter than it did before he arrived, but the thought still hanged over your head like a sword. “I fell in love with your soul and personality, everything else was just the cherry on the cake.” A faint smile slowly pulls at the corner of your lips. “I can’t even tell you how lucky I am because I don’t know where to begin.” You turn your hand around on his thigh, letting the back of it rest on his thigh while your fingers interlaced with his. “But I do know that you are more than enough.”
58 notes · View notes
Text
Not Alone
So I wrote a thing. It’s Tokka-ish but could be interpreted as romantic or platonic. I’m currently waiting on an Ao3 invite so I’ll probably post it on there as well once I receive my invite, but for now I figured I would post it on here because I’m excited to share it with you all! Oh and here’s a friendly reminder that Post Plus is bullshit and you will never, ever have to pay to read my writing. Writing is something I do for fun, and I post it on Tumblr because I want other people who love these characters as much as I do to be able to share that experience with me. Not to mention that I’m not looking to get sued by Nickelodeon.
The first time that Sokka noticed there was something wrong with Toph, she had been six months pregnant. 
The two of them were lounging around her living room, Sokka stretched out across the couch with his left arm dangling off the side and Toph relaxing in an oversized armchair, her swollen feet perched on the ottoman in front of her and one hand resting on her rounded stomach. It was an unusually hot summer’s day, and the two old friends had happily retreated into the sweet relief of Toph’s newly installed air conditioning.
“Sokka, do you think I’ll be an okay mother?”
Sokka was taken aback by his friend’s blunt question. 
“Well, just as long as you pay better attention to the kid than you did to Appa, I think you’ll be golden,” he joked, reflecting back briefly on the memory from their war days. 
The then-tiny girl had tried with all her might to prevent Wan Shi Tong’s library from collapsing under the weight of Sokka’s own impulsive curiosity, all while trying to rescue their beloved sky bison from his captors. He would never forget the look on her face after it happened, nor would he forget the months she spent perfecting her sandbending afterwards, determined that she would never make such a mistake again.
Perhaps that had been the wrong thing to say.
Toph’s eyebrows scrunched together in a look of concern as she rubbed absentminded circles on the curve of her stomach with a flat palm.
“Sokka, I’m serious. Do you think I’ll be an okay mother?,” she repeated, some anxiety creeping into her voice. 
“Well, yeah. Sure. Why wouldn’t you be?,” Sokka replied, although he couldn’t ignore the uncertainty in his own voice as he attempted to soothe his best friend’s anxieties surrounding the tiny life growing inside of her. 
Toph exhibited many admirable qualities, but she wasn’t exactly nurturing. He couldn’t help but recall all the plants she had failed to keep alive over the years, or the way Katara was constantly scolding her for swearing in front of Bumi and Kya, or the way she tensed up around babies, as if she were afraid she might break them. 
Toph sighed, blowing her sweaty bangs out of her face.
“I don’t know, I’m just… not great with babies. I never know what to do with them, y’know? They’re just so tiny, I always feel like I’m gonna break them in half or something equally barbaric.” 
“No, no, I’m sure you won’t-,” Sokka began to reply, but Toph had not yet finished lamenting.
“And most kids get to have their dad there, but, y’know, any hope this kid has of ever meeting that lousy excuse for a man is long gone,” she huffed angrily. 
“Daddy’s an asshole, isn’t he! Just a big ‘ole deadbeat loser!,” she said in a mocking babyish tone, giving her swollen belly a little pat.
Sokka rolled his eyes at his friend’s dramatics, but he couldn’t help agreeing. 
The guy’s name was Kanto. He had been a bartender at one of Sokka and Toph’s mutual favourite dives, and an okay enough guy depending on who you asked, but as far as Sokka was concerned, he was the scum of Toph’s beloved earth. 
The two of them had been getting a drink together like they always did on Friday nights, when Toph had caught the bartender’s eye. And honestly, Sokka couldn’t blame him. He certainly couldn’t deny that she was no longer the grubby twelve year old he had met all those years ago. He wasn’t going to pretend like he didn’t notice the curve of her hips or the way her tank top rode up her waist exposing a sliver of stomach. And he couldn’t ignore the way that other men checked her out nor how weird he felt about it when they did. Kanto had been one of those men. After a round of free drinks and a disgusting amount of quite frankly obnoxious eyebrow waggling, Kanto had somehow convinced Toph to come home with him, much to Sokka’s disdain. The rest was history. 
The two of them had been an item for a couple of months. Toph claimed that she was happy with him, but Sokka didn’t need his friend’s talents as a human polygraph machine to figure out that she was lying. 
He wasn’t all bad, he really wasn’t. He never laid a hand on her or anything like that. But Sokka couldn’t help noticing the subtle comments he made about her weight or her outfit or how she spoke just a little louder than he thought a woman should, nor could he miss all the changes she made to her beautiful, wonderful, perfect self just to fit his mold. 
Sokka hated that Toph’s signature confidence could crumble so easily under the will of a man like that. It made his blood boil. 
Toph began to fall apart when he finally left. Then when she found out that she was pregnant, she broke, and Sokka had been there to help pick up the pieces. 
So yeah, not exactly Sokka’s favourite guy. 
“You know you don’t need him, right?” He assured her.
“Yeah, yeah. I know,” she replied, brushing him off with a faint smile that she didn’t quite put her heart into. 
Picking up on his friend’s feeble attempt to mask her obvious worry, Sokka got up from the couch and walked over to where Toph was sitting. He placed one hand firmly in hers and the other gingerly on her stomach.
“Toph, you’re the strongest person I know. Believe me when I say that if anybody can do this on their own, you can. But you won’t have to do it alone, because I’m going to be here for you every step of the way. Do you understand me?” He assured her. 
She nodded in reply. 
“Yeah, I understand. And thank you.”
But he could tell she didn’t really believe it. 
____________
The second time that Sokka noticed something was wrong with Toph had been two weeks after Lin’s birth. Four old friends had gathered on Air Temple Island for a belated celebration of the new mother and child. Aang had cooked noodles, one of Toph’s favourites, but Sokka couldn’t help noticing that the latter had hardly touched hers.
“What’s wrong, Toph? Normally you gobble this stuff up in under five minutes,” Aang asked, voicing Sokka’s thoughts exactly.
The earthbender continued to absentmindedly twirl a piece of noodle around her chopstick, never bringing it to her mouth. 
“I’m fine. Just not that hungry,” she assured them. 
Sokka caught Aang’s eye and they shared a skeptical look. Katara looked at Toph with concern and a vague familiarity, as if something had suddenly dawned on her.
“You know, if something’s bothering you, you can always talk to us about it, right? I know that this is a new experience for you, and I understand if you’re feeling a little lost-,” Katara started, but was cut off by her friend’s inevitable defensive reaction. 
“Oh, so you think this has to do with Lin? You think there’s something wrong with me? You think I’m not fit to be a mother? Well guess what? Lin and I are doing just fine on our own!,” Toph yelled in response to her friend’s gentle attempt to help her. 
“Toph, I don’t think that’s what she meant. What she was trying to say is that being a new parent is stressful enough as it is, and I can’t imagine having to do it alone. We’re here for you if you need our help or advice,” Aang tried to reason with his angry friend, but to no avail. 
“You know what, Aang? You can take your ‘advice’ and shove it up your ass. I don’t need your help, I don’t need anybody’s help. I’m a great mother!,” she shot back in response. 
Sokka sighed. There was no reasoning with Toph when she got like this. Her fits of defensiveness and anger usually masked deeper fears and insecurities that could be difficult, nearing impossible to coax out of her at first. It was usually best to give her time to herself to blow off some steam, and only then could she be convinced to admit the truth about what was bothering her. 
“I’m gonna go take a nap. That is, unless Sokka here has some unsolicited advice for me too,” she voiced in a warning tone implying that if Sokka did happen to have any comments to make, he better keep his mouth shut about them. 
Sokka threw up his hands defensively. 
“No, no, by all means, go take a nap.”
“Great, at least one of my friends doesn’t fancy himself a shrink.”
Toph stormed off in a huff to the guest bedroom, and although her fit of anger concerned him, Sokka was glad to see her getting some much-needed rest. The dark circles under her clouded eyes implying sleepless nights as of late hadn’t escaped him. 
“What was that all about?,” Aang wondered aloud. “I’ve never seen her get that angry over nothing. We were just asking if she was okay.”
“I dunno. She hasn’t really been herself recently, has she?,” Sokka replied. 
“I mean, she called me Aang. Just Aang. She only does that when she’s really upset.”
“Well, it is your name,” Sokka reminded him, although he too couldn’t help noting with concern that Toph had neglected to make use of her favourite choice nickname for their airbending friend. 
“You know, right after I had Bumi I didn’t feel like myself either,” Katara shared. “It was like, before that moment, all I had to take care of was me. But then all of a sudden there was this tiny little human being who relied on me to survive, and I wasn’t sure if I could do it. I felt like my heart was walking around outside my body, and if I made even the slightest mistake I would destroy it forever. I doubted myself a lot. Everything was just so new and overwhelming, and some days I didn’t even want to get out of bed.” 
“So you’re saying that you’re pretty sure that’s how Toph feels about Lin?,” Sokka asked tentatively as realization dawned on him. 
Katara nodded. 
“I do. Sokka, I think you should be the one to talk to her. She always listens to you. I’m not sure how you do it,” Katara remarked. 
Sokka couldn’t deny the truth of the statement. In their twenty years of friendship, he and Toph had sought comfort in each other’s presence countless times. They had a mutual understanding that the other members of their group had often tried to imitate but could never quite replicate. Sokka went to Toph, and Toph went to Sokka. It was an unspoken agreement. 
“Don’t worry, I will. I just think we should give her a little time to cool down first.”
“Good idea. You don’t want her to bite your head off,” Aang chimed in with a laugh. 
____________
About an hour later, Sokka made the journey down the hallway to the guest bedroom to check on Toph and hopefully coax her out of her mood. He opened up the door to find the room dark and Toph laying on her side on the bed. She was trying to feign sleep, but Sokka could tell she was wide awake. Baby Lin was in her crib whimpering, supposedly for her mother. Sokka picked her up in his arms and rocked her back and forth, cooing softly. 
“Here we go, Linny. It’s okay, Uncle Sokka is here.”
The child began to cry. She didn’t want her uncle, she wanted her mom. 
“No, no Linny, don’t cry. Shhhh, Mama’s right here, see?”
Sokka carried Lin over to the bed where Toph was lying and tried to shake her awake, but was met with Toph’s hand slapping him away and an irritated growl.
“Go away, Sokka.”
“Toph, I just wanna talk,” he tried.
“Don’t you understand the meaning of ‘go away,’ dumbass?” She snarked.
“You’re really going to swear in front of the baby?”
“Great. Now you think I’m a terrible mother too. It’s fine, join the party,” she said in a sarcastic, vaguely accusatory tone, followed by her best attempt at rolling her sightless eyes. 
“Toph, nobody is calling you a bad mother. We know you’re perfectly capable of raising Lin on your own. All we’re asking is that you let us help you. You’re not invincible, Toph, despite what you may have led yourself to believe.”
Toph paused, letting Sokka’s comment sink in. 
“I- I’m sorry,” she began. “I know I was being kind of a bitc- a jerk back there. And I know you don’t actually believe I’m a bad mother but, but I’m not sure if I believe it. I’m so scared, Sokka. I don’t think I can actually do this alone. I- I know I said I could, but- but I think I was just lying to you, and to myself,” she choked out as tears began to cascade down her face. 
Sokka raised his eyebrows in alarm at his toughest friend’s unexpected breakdown. He pulled her close to his chest and began to rub her back.
“No, no, Toph, don’t think that. You can do it, you can. But you don’t have to, because we’re going to be here for you every step of the way. I’m going to be here for you every step of the way. You don’t have to do this alone, you hear me?”
“Yeah- yeah I do. I do hear you,” she replied with newfound confidence, wiping her tears on his shirt. “And- and you know I’m blind, right? Not deaf. Of course I hear you,” she joked with a familiar smirk.
Sokka chuckled, glad to see that he finally had his best friend back. He pulled her closer to his chest and just sat there for a minute, planting a kiss on the top of her head and burying his face in her hair. Their moment of peaceful rest was broken by Lin’s frantic crying.
“It’s alright baby girl, it’s alright. Mama’s here,” Toph assured Lin as she picked her up and cradled her in her arms. As she carried her sleepy child back to her crib for some much-needed rest, whispering to her in soothing tones the entire time, Sokka couldn’t help noticing how at home she looked all of a sudden. How safe and comfortable she was with her baby in her arms.
She was going to be just fine. 
29 notes · View notes
decodingellipses · 3 years
Text
Modern Love: He Made Affection Feel Simple
Tumblr media
[courtesy of Brian Rea]
"Dating as a transgender woman, in my experience, meant low expectations and casual sex. Then I met Jack."
This piece is part of the Modern Love column at The New York Times
by Denny
My bio on Grindr read: “Be trans friendly. Send face to chat.”
It was difficult to be on a gay hookup app as a trans woman. Most men in my feed desired to only sleep with each other. But I knew there were straight men on Grindr who hungered for a woman like me. I wanted them too.
That’s where I met Jack. At 22, he was a few months older than me, and, other than his age, his entire profile was blank, usually an indicator of a cisgender straight man who was guarded about his attraction to trans women. Typically, the messages I received would start with a vulgar sext, sometimes an unwanted nude photo.
Living in Morningside Heights, I was attending Fordham University for my master’s degree in strategic communication. One night I was up late working when I received a Grindr message from him, a selfie. Amid his light brown hair, two-day scruff and meek gaze, his lacrosse T-shirt stood out to me the most. He looked like a sporty boy I would have crushed on in high school.
He followed up his photo with “Hello.”
Messages in my Grindr inbox tended to cut to the chase: “Down for now?” “Car sesh?” Men who contacted me because they fantasized about trans women made it difficult for me to feel seen as a person in general, let alone a person worthy of respect.
Although my interest was piqued by Jack’s picture, it was his gentleness that drew me in.
Our sporadic small talk was harmless, spanning two months. I brushed him off, but as I commuted to school and spent hours in the library, he was persistent.
“My sex drive is pretty low these days,” I wrote. “Give me a bit and I’ll hit you up.”
“OK.”
When I turned back to my studies, he added, “Just so you know, we can do non-sex things and hang out too. It would be fun.”
This became our pattern: he being distant enough to show interest without pressure, and me appreciating his laxity, given my demanding schoolwork. His ease led me to trust him, so we set up a day to meet.
The first afternoon Jack came over, he admired my bathtub and drank his cup of water with two hands. His poised demeanor in a beige wool peacoat and long scarf reminded me, in a good way, of John Bender in “The Breakfast Club.” In my bedroom, he fixated on my yellow Power Ranger figurines, noticing my framed academic award next to them on the windowsill.
“You went to SUNY Oneonta?” he said. “I went to SUNY Potsdam.”
I pictured my friends who also attended Potsdam eating in the same cafeteria as Jack, getting drunk at the same frat party. Suddenly, the person I’d seen as a stranger now fit into my world.
I imagined what the deer looked like from his dorm room window, roaming the grass at dawn. Or how he spent his day when the school canceled classes because of snow. Or where he would have gone if his parents were able to afford private school.
We sat on my bed, my back leaning against the wall. He slouched his head onto my hip and wrapped his arms around my waist. “This is weird,” I thought. Aside from sexual intimacy, my hookups were typically aromantic, absent of cuddling and expressions of affection.
I kissed him and rolled on top. I took off my shirt and he hugged me tight. His face dug into my chest as he said, “I like you. I think you’re really cool.”
Unsure how I actually felt, I said, “Oh. I think you’re really cool, too.”
The next time I saw Jack, he spent the night at my place. It was then, awake in bed at 4 a.m., that I realized I had never let a guy sleep over before. His heat warmed the bed, so I crept to the bathroom to cool off. I Snapchatted a disoriented selfie to my friends, my hair messy and eyes bloodshot.
“How do you guys do this sleepover thing?” I wrote. “I can’t sleep at all.”
Customarily, my flings with strange men were brief. The men did not take note of my bathtub or my educational history before sex, and they did not linger after.
I came back into bed, disturbed by the rumble of his snoring, but his sleeping face on my pillow struck me. For the first time, the thought of sharing a bed with a man did not come from pure imagination. I now had a real image for this fantasy; I could pretend Jack was my boyfriend, reach for his face and whisper “I love you, good night,” then fall asleep and meet him somewhere in his dream as if we had done this a hundred times before.
The next day, he flew off to see his family for the holidays and the first weeks of the new year.
“merry crimmus,” I texted.
“u too, babygirl,” he replied.
After our sleepover, I didn’t hear from him unless I initiated — an unexpected change. Instead of giving in to my insecurity that the sleepover meant little to him, and therefore I meant little, I imagined other scenarios: him asking me to sleep at his place, for a change, or spontaneously calling me while I’m in line for my morning coffee. But because I had presumed a sex-only expectation from the start, I shamed myself for developing feelings.
“miss u,” he texted one random morning.
“really?”
We stayed in touch and occasionally saw each other, weeks in between. On a hot morning, he snored behind me as I sat on the floor beside my bed, working on my final thesis. He put his hand up to my face, letting me know he was awake. With my eyes on the laptop screen, I took his hand and planted kisses in his palm, wallowing in these ordinary joys — the kind of affection I slowly grew comfortable displaying.
Longing to be more than casual with him, I sought a therapist to guide me through my growing feelings.
Jack’s periodic “miss u” texts progressed with heart emojis, an unprecedented closeness. And I returned the sentiment. It felt thrilling to express my adoration so directly, until the weeks between seeing each other and texting ultimately turned into months of silence I knew to be ghosting.
I relied on Grindr as my safe dock because dating as trans is complicated. Sleeping around was easier for me. I had set the bar low, then met Jack, who saw me as more than a fantasized body, only to have his mysterious exit echo a looming insecurity I avoided for years: Being trans implies I am not real enough to deserve decency.
I broke down in therapy, mustering the courage to say out loud what was undeniably true: “He left me.”
“I don’t mean to put this on you,” my therapist said, “but could him being a cis straight man and you being a trans woman play a part?”
I didn’t want to blame Jack, who showed me a new realm of affection that made desire feel as simple as just a boy and a girl who liked each other. But he made leaving simple, too; all of this could still not be enough.
Deep down, I denied how my mere existence as a trans woman could ever cost him. Jack, in wooing me, nurtured the possibility that my romantic fantasies could come true, that I could be seen as a complex person rather than a fetishized token of someone’s imagination. After being deserted by him, I ruminated on my insecurity that being trans denied me of even a simple goodbye.
And yet I know myself to be real because my transition, as a teenager, required exceptional certainty. Doctors and psychiatrists double-checked my decision constantly.
“Yes, I’m sure,” I repeated, and I became more real each year. With Jack, I felt even realer. Not only had he seen me as a woman, but as a woman worthy of being held.
I could blame my being trans for Jack’s ghosting, but maybe it had nothing to do with that. Maybe he hated his job. Maybe his family fell apart. Maybe the pleasure we felt together contrasted whatever pain remained of our baggage.
On lonely days, I imagine myself at SUNY Potsdam. At a frat party, I drunkenly dance across from Jack, cheap blue lights grazing the curves of our cheekbones, sweat dripping like cyan fireflies. Neil Diamond’s “Sweet Caroline” roars through the party. “Good times never seemed so good,” everyone shouts. “I’ve been inclined to believe they never would.”
I put myself in the cafeteria, where Jack and I approach the salad bar at the same time. When he sees me, he steps back and says, “You go first,” with a grin so big I would need both hands to hold it.
———
Denny is a writer, actor and musician living in New York City.
26 notes · View notes
a-pretty-nerd · 4 years
Text
Run (Jasper Jordan x Reader College!Au)
Request: “Hoi I wanna request a story sadly I don’t have Patreon though so u prob won’t make it hehe. It’s a Jasper Jordan x reader fan fic also I would love if it a High school/college Au and the readers parents don’t approve Jasper so she has to sneak out every time she wants to meet him but soon she finds out she’s pregnant so she runs away with him? Also your work is amazing!” ~ @deadqueeen 
A/N: I was just about to say, “I’ve never done a college au before, uwu!” but I forgot about that entire self indulgent smut I wrote…big Oof. Anyways, love this idea, I love some good ol’ fashioned angst. Just a warning though, I did end up leaning heavily into the relationship reader has with their parents so just be prepared for some upsetting interactions. 
If you like my work, don’t be afraid to interact! Gimme a like, comment, message, send a request my way if you like! And if you’d like to support me further, go ahead and check out my Patreon!  I’d love to see you there!
Trigger Warnings: Mild Smut, Parental abuse, petting crime, and Pregnancy. 
College was stressful as it is, but as the months passed, things were getting harder and harder to manage. Come your freshman year, a little thing called Covid-19 hit the world, sending it into a whirlwind of stress and unease.You sat in the shower, letting the warm water fall over your aching body as you stared blankly at your knees. After your panic attack you were left void of emotion and thought, sitting there wondering what to do and how to move. The water was a calming reminder that you were still present and very much alive.
Things had changed very quickly and yet it felt like that change took forever to get to you. Covid hit right before the end of your freshman year, forcing you to move back in with your parents until it “passed.” But it wasn’t passing and now you were starting your sophomore year at home.As stressful as it was, you missed school. You missed your friends, your dorm room, even your part-time job. But most of all, your freedom. You missed the carefree way in which you lived in the dorms. You had a taste or real life and you craved more.
You were trapped, for lack of a better word, imprisoned in your childhood home. You spent days without leaving the confines of it’s walls in a failed attempt to keep you safe and focused on school. Your parents weren’t always so strict, but they made it clear that school should be your top priority and anything else was an unwelcome distraction. Things like your boyfriend, were merely a hindrance to your education.You met Jasper your first day in the dorms. He was bright and smiling like an excited puppy, eager and willing to make new friends and new experiences. You quickly became friends, and then a little more. Before you knew it, the two of you were inseparable. He made you feel so wild and free. He nurtured the fun, carefree side of you that you didn’t even know existed. He cared for you in ways no one ever had before. He was so funny and kind and genuine. He gave you the tools to grow, and with his, you bloomed.
When the pandemic hit, it devastated the two of you. Being isolated and kept from one another proved too much to bare. You remember the first night you snuck out with him, terrified of alerting your parents. They hated Jasper, they forbade you from seeing him. Told you he’d do nothing but keep you down and stifle your potential. If only they could see how happy he made you. If only, they cared.Jasper would creep around to your backyard and gently tap at your bedroom window. 12 am, they’d always be asleep, the perfect time to make a quick get away and then 6am, you’d sneak back through your window.
The adrenaline of misbehaving always drove you crazy. Sneaking around in the dark of the night, stealing chased kisses from one another until it was too much to handle. You fell into each other’s arms almost every night, desperate kisses and moans in between the sound of skin slapping against skin. He made your hair curl.You were his first. He was awkward and silly at times but you whipped him into shape real quick. And now, he was a well trained boy toy ready and willing at any moment you desired. He was always so desperate for you, so needy and greedy for your body. But his kisses, no matter how passionate and crazed, were always so loving. He adored you in every way.
These secret rendezvous went on for months, all summer, it was routine, you couldn’t stay away from him. But, maybe you should have. With more classes fast approaching, you began to think about your future. If only you had the money to move out, you and Jasper could finally have a sense of normalcy. You could move in together, start a life together. But the pandemic and school sucked your savings dry and without the conditioned help from your parents, you were penniless. You finally stood on your shaky legs and lifted yourself out of the show. You dried yourself off, shuffled over to your room, dressing yourself, and waiting till the coast was clear. When all was quiet, you texted Jasper and soon he was at your window. Lucky for you, he wasn’t a far drive away. He gently tapped on the glass and leaned down to flash a big goofy grin from behind your curtains. You opened the window and let him in, shushing him as he fell into the room.
“Hey sweetness.” He whispered, loudly. He planted a soft kiss on your cheek as he held you by your hips.“Please be quiet, you’re making me nervous.” You hushed. His smile disappeared slowly as he examined your face. Your red eyes and puffy cheeks gave away your emotions. He was never good at reading a room, but there was little you could hide from him. He made you transparent.
“Have you been crying?” Worry washed over him as he placed his hands to hold your head and slide his thumbs over the soft skin on your cheeks. You tried to avoid his gaze but failed miserably.“Yeah…” You admitted, wiggling out of his grasp so you could sit on the edge of your bed. Your heart started to race, the anxiety and fear wrenching its was through your body. Even the thoughts made you want to cry again.
“Whats wrong? Did something happen with your parents?” You’d been having fights with them for some time now, and he knew it was taking a tole on you. Jasper offered to being you home to his folks, but his relationship with them was on the rocks as it was. Your small group of close friends were your only support. All things considered, the two of you were left on your own. “No…” You muttered, unable to bring yourself to say it out loud. The tears quickly came back up and started falling again. Your emotions, your fears, your pain took over you. You couldn’t get out a single word before your body jerked uncontrollably as you sobbed. It left a slew of incomplete words spewing from your mouth. “I-I….I-I I’m ….. Mmmm …. I’m …..” gasp, sob “Mmmmmha….” and the sobbing continued.
“Hey…Hey…It’s okay.” He cooed softly to you as he rubbed soft, slow circles on your back. It helped, but not much.“N-No…” you shook as you cried, “I’m-m-m-”
“It’s alright, take deep breaths, you don’t have to say anything until you’re ready.” He whispered to you. You clung to him desperately. It took time, but soon you felt good enough to speak again.“Jasper…”
“What sweetness?” He flashed you his kind and loving smile.“I’m pregnant.” You uttered softly. You watched the color drain from his face. His sweet smile faded away to a scowl and the fear rushed back to you. The sobbing started again as you chanted apology after apology, begging for him to stay with you. He didn’t move, he only held you where you were. Finally spoke.
“Don’t be sorry. It’s okay. This isn’t your fault. We tried, we were safe, it’s not your fault. Shhhhh. It’s okay.” Suddenly a bright light interrupted him. Your bedroom door swing open to reveal the large, looming figure of your mother. “What the hell is going on here!” She screamed. You watched in horror as your mother wrenched Jasper from your arms and threw him out into the living room. You followed her, pleading and begging her to stop as she hurled whatever was in reach at him. Shoes, pillows, plates, before your father reached around his collar to throw him out of the house. 
The yelling and screaming continued through the night until the sun came up. Your father nailed your bedroom window shut. Your mother locked your door by pushing furniture in front of it to keep you inside. Your phone, your computer, every form of communication was taken from you. Every mistreatment and punishment being underlined by some iteration of, “this is for your own good” or “this is because we love you.” 
You felt stuck in an emotional limbo for days on end as they kept you prisoner. You didn’t have the energy to cry or argue, there was nothing you could do or say. You had sit and stay, like a good girl. 
One night you were woken by a soft tapping at your bedroom window. You jolted out of bed to see a pair of familiar eyes pear back. Monty stood on the other outside, a face mask and baseball cap hiding his features. He held up a notebook with writing on it and pressed it against the glass. 
“Are you okay?” It read. You rushed to find paper and write back. 
“I’m fine. Wheres Jasper?” 
“Your Dad threatened to shoot him if he saw him again. So he sent me.” He wrote back. 
“Is he okay?” 
“He’s fine. We’re busting you out of here.” 
“How? They’re getting security cameras installed tomorrow.” Monty looked visibly concerned and thought for a moment before responding. 
“Then we’ll have to do it tonight. Pack what you can. We’ll be back to get you in an hour.” 
“How are you going to get me out? The window is nailed shut, I can’t get out.” 
“Don’t worry. Just be prepare to run.” And with that, he left. You packed what you could. A few items of clothing, necessities, and water. You thought about leaving a note. Maybe telling your parents about your pregnancy, they had missed that part of your conversation, thank god. You decided against it, you still didn’t know what to do. Regardless, it was safe to say you could kiss your funding for school goodbye. You’d be on your own from now on. Well, not entirely. 
You heard shuffling outside your bedroom window and looked outside to see two dark figures racing past. You watched as Bellamy peered in, face also obscured by a mask, and waved at you. Jasper’s mask covered face popped into view and planted his palm on the window before holding up a notebook. 
“Get away from the window, and be prepared to run.” It read. As soon as you nodded in agreement, Jasper disappeared from view. You watched Bellamy swing his arms back with a crow bar in hand. The window shattered with a loud crash, glass flying all over your bedroom. He reached a hand out to you, his grasp firm as you clung to his forearm. You were pulled through to the outside and fell to the ground below. 
“Go, go, go, run!” Bellamy whispered, loudly. You looked up at your parent’s house as the sound of dogs barking rang in your ears. Lights flew on from the house as well as neighbor’s lights. You felt so stiff and ridged. The urge to run suppressed by your fear. Jasper reached down and took your hand in his. You looked up at him, his eyes wide with urgency. He tugged at your arm, begging you to get up and run with him. 
Suddenly, you felt free. You felt the strength to get up and push forward. Running with him to a car parked outside the house. The three of you bolted, tripping over yourselves as you raced against the clock. As soon as you were in the car, Octavia greeted you with a big toothy grin. 
“Drive! Drive!Drive!” Jasper shouted at her. Her smile disappeared as she looked back at Jasper with you before her attention went back to the car. The engined roared as she adjusted the gears and soon you were off. Still panting, you looked back at your childhood home and saw your parents tumble out of the front door to try and chase after the car. Your dad tried to chase after the car, but stopped when he realized it was no use. Their figures soon disappeared. 
Octavia cheered triumphantly as you turned back to catch your breath. A great big smile stretched across your face. You’d never felt so free before. You looked over to see Jasper still panting but sporting a bright smile as he looked at you. He reached a hand around the back of your head and pulled you in for a passionate kiss. You laughed and basked in the blissful feeling the adrenaline gave you. 
Soon the moment passed and you were left holding one another’s hand as Octavia drove you to Bellamy’s apartment. You stayed the night, planned your escape. Apparently Jasper’s parents didn’t know he was leaving either, meaning the two of you were officially on the run. You had to leave town, like, now. 
You pooled what money the two of you had, quick to take cash out of your account before your parents could freeze your debit card. Enough to get you out of town and settled in a hotel for a few nights, maybe even a few meals. But you couldn’t afford much without work after that. Lucky for the two of you, a friend from the dorms lived just a town over. You could stay with her a few days while you looked for work. 
“What are you going to do?” Bellamy asked with a dark expression as he stared at you. 
“What?” You were confused, hadn’t you just laid out your plan? 
“Jasper told me you were...you have another problem.” His eyes flashed between the two of you before resting on you again, he was careful to not say anything too pointed. 
“Oh...I...I don’t know.” You said under a whisper. Jasper rested a firm hand on your knee. 
“How long have you known?” Octavia asked. 
“Like a few days. Theres still time to think about it, I just...I just wanna get out right now.” Bellamy nodded his head. 
“If you guys need anything, don’t be afraid to call okay?” He handed you a prepaid phone. You thanked them for your help, packed up, and left the next night. You hid under masks and baseball hats as you sat at the bus station. The cool night air brushed against you skin as you admired the bright lights of the street lamps above. Jasper squeezed your hand in his to get your attention. You looked at one another and smiled under your mask. 
You’d never tell him this, but during the coarse of your relationship you had always worried about Jasper. Worried that maybe you weren’t as serious as you felt. Maybe you were just a little fun to him, the rush of a forbidden romance being what drove him to you. But now, with him so willing run. So willing to leave his comfortable life just for you. Regardless of the responsibilities that came with it. He chose you, without a second thought, he chose you. 
The dark street road was empty and serene. You watched as bats flew down to catch bugs that swarmed the lights above you. Despite your situation, you felt safe and warm there beside him. For the first time, you felt confident that everything is going to be okay. 
75 notes · View notes
shatterstar · 3 years
Note
Please tell me about shatterstar's Childhood
oh my god anon okay I’m assuming in context of what I’ve recently posted you want like... my version of events rather than what’s canon but just in case I hope you know that there’s basically zero canon material that actually describes his childhood/young adulthood beyond “I was a warrior born” or whatever the fuck. if you want to know about that idk go on the fucken... marvel wiki page or something
also--I hate that I have to put this out here and I doubt anyone would actually do this but just in case--I have spent like 1 million hours thinking about this because I have brain disorders and it is very close to my heart so please do not A) use this in fics, etc without letting me know/getting my permission in advance or B) reblog this post
anyways. this is a can of worms so I’m going to do a cheeky lil
first we have to get something out of the way: I hate the “shatterstar’s his own grandpa” paradox. I am sorry if this angers people but it makes me mad so I ignore it. the reason it bothers me is because it means alison blaire essentially married her grandson, which is A) weird and B) bad from a genetics perspective.
in my version of canon ‘star IS the biological child of longshot and dazzler but longshot wasn’t cloned using ‘star’s DNA because..... oh god... another whole separate post can be made about this but... in my head, on mojoworld the way genetic engineering works is not really the same as it is here. here genetic engineering generally means taking an existing genome and inserting or deleting genes. this is how they make, for example, animals that glow, or confer pesticide resistance to plants.
but on mojoworld I think the way they genetically engineer is more like... the way we mechanically engineer. like the entire organism is built from the ground up. there’s a master genetic blueprint which is essentially the “minimal genome” required for a functioning humanoid. this was created by study of Earth humans by arize and the other genetic engineers. they can then go in and customize by adding elements to the genome that code for the signals/building blocks that control things like height, strength, hair color, eye color, having hollow bones etc. so in my head longshot was sort of... designed with ‘star as the inspiration, but not directly cloned. that wouldn’t even make sense anyways because A) different hair color and B) LONGSHOT HAS 3 FINGERS ON EACH HAND and shatterstar has 4!! thats NOT HOW CLONES WOULD WORK!!!!
(side note, the concept of a minimal functional genome is a real thing in biology! some scientists have taken a bacterium that already has a small genome and reduced it to the minimum size required for viability. here is a wikipedia article on it and here is the original paper (DOI: 10.1126/science.286.5447.2165) which I can explain in more detail because I took a class on synthetic biology which this technically falls under and I had to read this paper very closely).
fuck I’ve written 4 paragraphs and not even talked about his childhood yet. I am so sorry. anyways. so the way I think they raise the gladiators on mojoworld is they create them in batches of 5 to 10 identical copies of a certain “model”, place each copy in a different “class” with a set of 2-3 mentors/teachers, and train them to fight until they are 13 or 14. until this time the only names they have are the names that identify the “model”--like for shatterstar that would be gaveedra-seven where the model identifier is “gaveedra” and he is (in the lore that I have come up with) the 7th of 8 total.
the reason they create multiples and put them in different classes is each mentor is going to have a slightly different style of teaching which is going to work better for some and worse for others, so it allows them to have more mass production while increasing the chances of creating a truly great champion. it’s classic nature versus nurture--the genetic engineers create your nature, but you don’t end up exactly the same as others of your model. maybe you get an edge, maybe you don’t.
another thing that happens is different mentors believe in different ways of raising the kids in their care. shatterstar specifically was raised in a class where there was absolutely zero emotional development at all and no attachments allowed beyond fighting alliances. that’s not the case in all classes, and it also had the effect of making him somewhat of an outsider even within the other gladiators as he got older.
at 13 or 14--and yes I realize this is very fucked up but dude its fucking mojoworld idk what you expected--they start participating in fights. the first ones aren’t to the death and they’re as teams and they’re not usually televised they’re more like high school sports games that are attended by scouts (here, they’re “sponsors”--I think that’s a canonical term but I honestly can’t remember) and if you get sponsored you leave your class and join a new “team” that’s really just a bunch of people who all have the same sponsorship. this is where things can get interesting because they’ve all been raised with slightly different fighting styles but more importantly, slightly different degrees of Personhood.
also at this point I should mention that by this time, there are usually only 2, maybe 3 of each model left. either they died or were recognized as not having talent so they were sent to eventually fulfill other roles in the network. in ‘star’s case there was just him and gaveedra-five. once you get to the stage where you’re sponsored and you’re actually fighting to the death one of the first people you’ll fight is any remaining members of your model group.
by the time you’re the only one left of your group, you’re also eligible to earn a stage name. this usually happens if you have a particularly epic fight with a lot of viewers, you win and the commentators will typically say something like “Let’s give this crowd a real name to cheer!” and they’ll have a few candidate names and they’ll kind of just pick one. AUGH I actually have this scene written out in story form but its too long so I think I’ll save it.... :) 
after you get a name you also get a cool outfit and usually some kind of mark or tattoo that serves as a brand. this brings me to another important point--shatterstar inherited the X-gene from alison and therefore he IS a mutant. his mutation is the swords vibration thing and the glowing eye. the star mark is a tattoo and teleportation is benjamin russell’s mutation (how he fits into all this is... for another post). basically after he got his name the costuming department guys were like “hey your eye glows, you look like the Legendary Warrior of Old, Longshot, we’re gonna pattern your look after him” so they gave him the star tattoo and the outfit that’s literally inverse colors of longshot’s.
also this brings me to another aside: you’re probably wondering “if he’s the biological kid of longshot and alison how are there 8 gaveedras?” when the genetic engineers got a hold on him as a baby they were like Sick! free baby! free genetic material! thats our job done for us! so they cloned him (in the traditional sense) and made 7 copies. this was also to kind of conceal his identity as technically being from outside mojoworld, which would make him stick out and thus be a target. they DID edit out the x-gene in the other gaveedra models though. this wasn’t a problem for ‘star because his mutation didn’t manifest until he was already sponsored.
I think that’s .... pretty much it for macroscopic lore on what it was like to be a kid gladiator on mojoworld. now let me give you some Tidbits of his life specifically:
like I said he was raised in a particularly cold and ruthless class. the mentors that raised him are like well-known by everyone to produce some of the best warriors but also there’s discourse on mojoworld because some people say perfectly emotionless killing machines aren’t as fun to watch. when he was sponsored there were 4-5 others in the same sponsorship and they were like Theres Something Wrong With You LOL
they speak earth languages on mojoworld because they’re imitating the broadcasts they (the spineless ones) used to hear from earth. however, most of the lower-class as well as almost all arena fighters and other television personalities speak cadre or other languages which are native to the planet. the stage names are all vaguely in english, but the gladiators don’t really understand them at first.
shatterstar got his name before he got the glowing eye, and when he learned what stars are, and saw his eye as a little star, he was like wow :) this is Me :) which is why that name is so important to him. it’s also one of the first things that wholly belonged to him.
(you can’t see stars on mojoworld because of light pollution and also because it’s a pocket dimension and there just aren’t that many stars to see)
I hate to bring up the s**ley miniseries but I do think it would be interesting to have him have a sort of ... mentor/first friend, similar to the concept of gringrave but they were NOT in a relationship. it was more like... another kid who was a year or so older than him got a soft spot for him and helped him not be so clueless. she didn’t make as much progress as xforce did, obviously. but they were.... something like friends.
unfortunately she was used by spiral to get shatterstar to murder the first rebel guy who tried to get him out of there. then she got switched sponsors (this can happen) and he had to kill her, and he was like well I will simply never develop any kind of attachment to anyone ever again.
he almost didn’t make it out of the first training session with his sponsorship group (this is semi-canon--there’s a reference when he’s teaching terry to swordfight to almost not surviving the first time he was in a gladiator class or whatever it was).
the closest he ever came to losing was the day he got the name. that’s why the crowds loved it so much.
the double-bladed sword was a gimmick weapon but when he got his mutation they realized it works way better if there’s resonance between two parallel blades so they redesigned it as an actual weapon.
(forgot this but I feel like I should include it) at 17 he escaped the arenas and joined the cadre alliance. two years later he came to earth and joined xforce.
I think that’s going to have to be it for now because it’s literally almost midnight and I have work tomorrow and I did NOT intend to stay up this late but I did. thank you for this opportunity anon :) feel free to ask me any other questions and also I realize a lot of this probably makes no fucking sense and that’s because I am not a writer or anything I’m just a biochemist with brain problems that cause me to obsess over stupid shit
21 notes · View notes
carrotcakesweetie · 3 years
Photo
Tumblr media
*Drip..*drip..drip*...my eyelids lift once more and the light of the world floods my irises. An afternoon spent lying on the warm wooden kitchen floor. I haven't turned the kitchen sink all the way off and the drops cut the silence in the air. The afternoon glow has snuck its way beside me through the south window, lighting up my hair and my fingertips. There's a raspberry stain on the oven sackcloth that I hadn't noticed before, and a trail of flour hugging the kitchen mat.
              Why in God's name have I found myself on the kitchen floor?
    The question I often find myself asking over and over again is how have I gotten here?
The one place I have neglected my entire life was the kitchen. Now my favorite room in my home. The place that feels warm and welcoming to my spirit. Growing up in a world where I felt obligated to avoid this very room at all costs. For a woman should not find her place in a kitchen. What they never told me was that this room would be my sanctuary. This is the room that changes with me through the seasons and feeds both me, my future husband, and many generations to come.
     In the mornings I shall play the happy harmony of flutes and harps and dance on my own, for I am the queen of the castle.
   As many years have left their mark, the wisdom in my heart grows fiercely.
   It has become very obvious  to me, that I have neglected my traditional heart.
      I had grown up very determined to kill my feminine spirit. Reminding myself often that it was weak willed to be soft and fragile. Holding onto the idea that no one could ever be good enough, for I am the only person that can take care of myself.
       The feminine woman in me, quickly became tempered with me...and for that I had left her in the darkest and deepest corners of my mind. Forward from then on, I had remained lost and unbothered.
           She laid patiently in the depths of my spirit, and shed tears for my sorrows and held my heart when I became silent and detached from the world around me. Then a day came, when I rose up and became planted in the warmth of the dirt beneath me. She lifted her head from her arms, and took notice as I tied a silk ribbon from my hair and draped my body in cloth that flowed freely in the wind.
                        It was like walking on a single board, across a never ending sea...
                                       Or riding a bike for the first time...
       She smiled and just when she thought she was forgotten, I knocked on her door and welcomed her into my sorry heart. For I had realized how much courage it takes to be soft and gentle. For the most fear I have ever known, was being in a world that seemingly swallowed me whole. She taught me how to be compassionate and work with my hands. How to wash my hair with oils and to welcome spring flowers.
        Today I have learned that the most beautiful thing about being a woman is indeed her spirit. Something that can be easily lost and forgotten. Let her play in the gardens, and mend her own garments, and write poetry and sing songs.
            I will tie the ribbon in my hair, swim in free flowing dresses, and write recipes in my kitchen.
       I will walk barefoot in the spring and read close to the candlelight in the fall. I will take care of my nurturing spirit and never neglect it again. I will lie on the kitchen floor and daydream of the days to come once more. A kind and gentle awakening.
                             You are lovely and fierce,
                                    Carrot Cake Sweetie
25 notes · View notes
being-held · 3 years
Text
There’s Something Strange About How It All Began by Alexis Pera
A draft piece for a book not yet written. Enjoy.
I.  eight when I first caught fire. It was a cold day in my village, as it usually was, near the shores of the lake where my family’s home was built. It was a small dwelling in my home region of Plivium. It rained a lot in Plivium, unlike the rest of Alienis, and no one knew why, or no one really cared. It was home, no one questions that. But, when  it wasn’t pouring, most Plivumians preferred to be outside. We kind of had to be, or else the work would never be done, the harvest never brought up, and the damages never fixed. So as my parents worked, I was free to roam and explore.
    Yet, out of all the land my parents had, all the forests and rivers and ponds, I loved my father’s garden, beautiful in every sense of the word. He had grown flowers of every color and nurtured trees so full of fruit we could never harvest them all. It was my favorite place in the entire world. I would run through the paths, looking up the entire time as I watched the trees rush by and the leaves brush my legs as I went. Who knows how many times I fell, or tripped, or just ran full on into things. My father would always scold me about being more careful, but he would have a smile on his face because he was more than amused by how happy I was despite having just run into a tree or tripped over some vines. My mother would be more upset, she didn’t like seeing me hurt, even if I wasn’t upset about it, and I always had bruises and scratches but a smile on my face. Of course, that all stopped the day I Specialized.
    Most children didn’t Specialize until they were older, when they were turning into grown men and women, but I didn’t. I was still a child, still scared of the stories my parents told me about Specializing, still carefree and unable to prepare for what would happen.
    Because gaining your Specialty and becoming one with nature was something that usually didn’t come in a nice package with a pretty bow. It was painful and unpredictable, and with my family’s bloodline, my Specialty was to be even more so.
    The wind was strong that day, or so I thought at least, and it kept growing more and more until the chill in my spine wouldn’t go away. Then my small kid brain finally realized that none of the trees or plants were swaying from its force, and that my clothes and hair were still in place. I was then wondering why I was so cold and why it felt like someone was waving cold air on my neck. I didn't have much time to think about it.
    A searing pain had bloomed in my temples, my vision and balance immediately going awry. It was paralyzing, and as I hit the dirt, a terribly cold tingling took over my hands and arms.
    My mother found me first, and she was the one who first saw the visible effects of what was happening. My fingers, hands, and lower arms had turned completely black, right up to my elbows. And though it seemed as if I stuck my hands into a smoldering fire pit, my skin was entirely numb to feeling. The headache had faded and vision only slightly better at that point, so I was left sitting on the ground staring at my arms as if they didn’t belong to me. In that moment, it didn’t feel like they did.
    Then the second wave hit.
    While my vision cleared enough for me to see and the overall pain had deadened to a dull throbbing, my arms sparked and white flames enveloped them. I couldn’t feel it, I couldn’t stop it, I could barely see it, but I screamed and yelled and cried. My mother didn’t know what to do, neither did my father when he finally found us. They couldn’t come near, and my mother learned that the hard way. She hated seeing me in pain, so her motherly instinct to hold me, to comfort me, backfired when she tried. She now has a large burn scar down her right arm, a daily reminder of how dangerous I was.
    Because to the horror of myself, my mother, and my father, I had managed to inherit one of the rarest and most dangerous Specialties known to our world, called Aerdior. The unfortunate ability to conjure heat from one’s skin. My version of it, of course, came with the bonus of flames.
    I don’t remember the rest of that day. I just know that my parents had to reach out to one of our neighbors, who could manipulate water, to put me out. And that that day was when everything became different.
II.
    I can’t count how many times in a day I used to catch fire. At first, it was really often, every hour or so, and that’s how I was forced to learn how to will it away. And eventually I could. And after a month, it would go down to every two hours. And after another month, three to four hours.
    By the time I was nine, I could go at least two days without catching, on a good week.
    I also can’t count how many times I’ve hurt someone or something around me. It would come so suddenly, I never had enough time to get away from whatever I was touching. My father had a couple burns on his shoulders and arms, my mother on her fingers and hands. I banned myself from my father’s garden after I destroyed almost half of my father’s rare Cossia flowers, and later from even going outside when I injured a creature that had come too close. I spent most of my time in my room, where anything that wasn’t or couldn’t be fireproofed had been removed. I cried when my mother wanted to take my books, but my father, who taught me to love and cherish reading, spent almost two weeks trying to figure out a way for me to keep them. He finally found the perfect mixture of plants and special roots to create paper that couldn’t burn. And he then spent the next several months copying all of my favorite books onto the special paper so I could read them. I only have one of those copies now.
    I was terrified and paranoid of my Specialty, and of what I could do. No matter where I was or who I was with, I had to watch what I touched and how I handled things. Before long, I was labeling everything as burnable or unburnable, what I can’t touch and what I can, who I couldn’t take the chance on and who I could. It was an unbearable existence for a nine year old child.
    And then we moved.
    I say moved like it was optional, like we made the choice, but truly, we weren’t just changing scenery, we were running.
    I don’t remember much of it. One day we were happy; my mother, my father, me, and the little baby in my mother’s belly that we were all so excited for. Then the next, I was being dragged through the forest by my parents who kept insisting everything was alright. Right up until it wasn’t.
    My father died that day, protecting us. My mother will only tell me that without him saving us, we wouldn’t have escaped, we wouldn’t have made it to earth, the Connected World.
    It’s been nine years, and she still refuses to tell me more.
    But now, I only catch randomly, with no pattern. A rushing feeling will run down my spine, and then my fingers will start turning black. If I don’t separate myself from my surroundings and put all my willpower into making it go away, I will eventually catch, though it’s much slower on earth.
    My mother would always tell me that it was all a blessing in disguise, that coming to earth was good because I was less likely to hurt others. I used to believe that, and maybe a small part of me still does, but now I know that it doesn’t make a difference. Who am I to have a better life when my father never got to live the rest of his?
III.
    My little sister was born the day we came to earth. Because of the way we came, in the chaos and madness, my mother went into labor not even an hour after arriving. We had come through the Pathway into an old church, which had seemed to be abandoned with no one left to take care of it. I was the only one there to help my mother as she gave birth.
    It was a horribly long, terribly painful, and rather traumatizing experience that I would never like to experience again. But once it was over, we had another problem to handle. Because my little sister didn’t come out crying.
    My mother had pretty much passed out once the baby was out, so I was left to try to understand what was happening. It was, fortunately, not long before I realized that my sister wasn’t dead. She was still moving and her heart still beating, with her face scrunched up as if she wanted to cry but just couldn’t get it out. She was mute, a birth defect common to Plivumians.
    I had shifted my mother into a lying position and covered her with an old curtain I found, then proceeded to wrap my new born sister in the torn up cloth from my shirt. I held her as she slept, and didn’t sleep myself, and that night I named her. I never asked my mother after if she liked the name I picked, or of she was upset that I did, but I was fully convinced that my father would have loved it.
    I named her after my father’s two favorite flowers, the ones which he had spent years growing to be perfect for their blooming season, and the ones I adored more than any of the others. Her name was Pella Cossia, my little sister. And the only thing I thoroughly remember from that day, was the promise I made to her, that I would never let her get hurt, that I would protect her no matter the costs.
    I still keep that promise, and I don’t ever plan on breaking it.
IV.
    We found the dwelling, or town, as the earthans called it, that the church belonged to, and met many people who were confused about who we were and what had happened to us. One person called himself an officer, and he helped us find clothes and food. We also met a lady who gave my mother a job at a restaurant, which at the time was a very strange concept, as we didn’t have restaurants or food suppliers back in Plivium. But we adapted quickly, and it was only a year of taking help and staying in hotels before my mother could finally afford a home.
    It was a small, unkept, dirty place, but we were decent enough at cleaning and home-keeping to get it livable again.
    By the time we found out about school, I was twelve and completely unqualified. But due to the laws of the land, and the strict suggestions of anyone we knew, my mother thought it wise to send me to school. The idea of school seemed promising, an organization built to help children learn and grow in the world, but the actual reality of it was a lot more disappointing. The education part was pretty much an afterthought, as the talking, sports, and teasing took the forefront. I came to be a wallflower, even more so because of the... heat problem. People liked to point out that I wore sweaters and gloves all the time, even when it was warm; little did they know that I couldn’t feel warmth at all, or cold for that matter. The sweaters and gloves were more for a safety precaution(made of a special heat resistant material that took years to find and use), and a comforting mechanism.
    I caught up quickly; in my studies, that is. I was pretty much enthralled with anything I didn’t already know, as we didn’t have education anything close to Earthan education back home, where we learned to read, write, count, and that was it. In Plivium, reading more than what basic training required was like being a genius, which both my father and myself easily overstepped. But on earth, being an avid reader was somewhat normal, and even the small amount of people who actually enjoyed learning maths and science and literature were many more than at home. I also had more than enough time on my hands, as I still stayed cooped up in my bedroom with things least fire-prone. I had more books than clothes, and more library passes than shoes, which I was more than okay with. I enjoyed it, even if school itself was much less than fun and little more than torture.
    Though as high school came, with my Specialty growing stronger and more worrisome, my mother thought it time to pull me out. At that time, I wasn’t attached to school, as long as I got to keep the books and the library trips. My mother obliged, but, unfortunately, she was still listening to coworkers and neighbors. Because apparently, by the time your fifteen, your supposed to have a job. Which, of course, my mother and I thought strange and ridiculous, because the whole employment thing was an entirely different situation at home. But we adapted anyway, and I managed to get a job at a small bookstore in town, but only because it was run by an older lady who majorly needed help.
    I still work there today, and Mrs. Gorgio is like the grandma I never had, feeding me when I forget myself and praying when she knows my mother has a job interview. She instantly fell in love with Pella, and asks about her every day I come in. Pella doesn’t like books as much, preferring music and other loud ways of expressing herself, but she likes Mrs. Gorgio and the fact that the older lady wasn’t shocked to find she can’t speak. Pella comes in once a week, and is continually teaching Mrs. Goegio sign language so that it’s easier for them to communicate. I sometimes watch them interact, sitting in the big cushion chairs in the back of the shop, laughing and smiling and gesturing. It’s rather funny to see Mrs. Gorgio get the movements wrong, in which Pella will simply smile and correct her with gentle fingers.
    When we walk home together, Pella will sign to me the whole way, explaining what they were working on and how Mrs. Gorgio has the best taste in music and why the old lady always wears that rusty necklace around her neck. Though I trip on the bumpy sidewalks and my own feet watching her hands fly, I don’t ever shove it off. I know how much it means to her, and that she looks forward to that one day of the week when I take her.
    It also distracted me, helped me pretend that our lives were normal. And that we weren’t foreigners in disguise, tricking everyone into believing we belonged, when we really truly didn’t.
5 notes · View notes
missingartist · 4 years
Text
The Witcher’s Mate- Chapter 14
Adva liked Triss. While being a skilled mage, there was a nurturing and caring nature to her. They spent many days together, practising the craft of spells and potions. In the three weeks, she never felt so free. Magic surged through her and with every day it grew. It wasn’t just the magic it was not having to wake up at the break of dawn to prepare the morning meal for the tavern, or stay up all night brewing a speedy recovery potion for the working girls who had had one too many customers the night before. Adva and Geralt had to feel into a pattern of sorts; each morning they would meet by the tree and spend the early hour of the morning together. Often or not, Geralt would sit in silence and watch her read or explain to her the various qualities of monsters or beasts. It was comfortable it was Adva favourite part of the day, spending a few hours with the moody Witcher. With each passing day, Adva was privy to a small glimpse at the man beneath all the armour, moods and mutations. A man who was sweet and caring he brought her a small packet of candy peanuts, he would never give them to her just leave them on her desk or would carry the mass of books Triss has dumped on her even little things like holding open the door. It was nice, but it did also reveal a sad side to his nature, a touch starved and painfully lonely man. His touches would linger, burn into her. I made her wonder when the last time someone hugged him, really hugged him. Being an orphan alone in the world, she knew what it was like to have no emotional intimacy; how it hurt.
For the last week, she rubbed the balm onto his chest, and stay with him till he fell asleep, sometimes she would doze next to him watching over him. Though he was sleeping better, sometimes ten hours straight, he still looked tired, his constant temperature was worrying. Geralt simple shrugged off her concerns with the news that he and Jaskier were going on a hunt. Both had disappeared for a week to a local forest infected by Ghouls. Every day that past Adva had become more adamant that they would not return. At the end of the fifth day, upon their return from their walk, Triss and Adva fell in the door laughing at some local merchant making a pass at the two women with the temptation of free cheese, to find the two men arguing in the living room.
‘Ahhh Geralt you have returned! We have just had a walk around the town…Smiggle, the Cheesemonger tried to talk Adva into a betrothal with a lump of cheddar.’ Triss’s laugh tinkled then bells in the parlour of the large house.
‘If it had been Brie, he would have got a different answer.’ Adva laughed taken a seat next to Jaskier, who laughed heartily and poured a drink.
It didn’t go unnoticed by Adva that Geralt gave Triss an outraged look, bordering between angry and irritation. There had been many secret looks and meetings in the workshop, behind the thick door. It uneased her. The way her ears burnt when they left made her paranoid. Geralt had been indecisively hot and cold. Some moments made her think they were almost friends than in a second; he would go cold and moody.
Geralt eyes rolled over Adva form, she wore the burgundy dress, with gold embroidery. It was tight across her chest and waist, showing delicious curves and flaring out at the hips to swish as she walked gently. Her hair had grown longer, and now wavy curls danced along her neck and the start of her back, every time she turned her head a waft of her smell invaded Geralt senses. He had spent the last five nights yearning for sleep; the smell had faded to a delicate reminder of her, calling him back to her. No matter how hard he scrubbed the smell clung to him, it has soaked into his very pores. When the last Ghoul had died, he saddled up Roach and headed straight back, not even bothering to clean the Ghoul blood from his body.
‘I thought you were meant to be studying Botany not how to flirt with cheese merchants. Triss your curriculum needs reworking’ Geralt bite out in a low cold tone
Triss glared as the Witcher, with deadly eyes. Five days gone, and the first thing he says to her was that—what a prick.
‘Adva why don’t you tend to the plant in the greenhouse, I have something to discuss with Geralt.’ Triss cooed and quickly ushered the woman out the room.
‘Geralt! The past five days, you have been like a lovesick puppy and that the first thing you say to her’ Jaskier scolded hands-on-hips.
‘I am not a lovesick puppy.’ The Witcher growled.
‘You are…Adva is so nice….you…you don't deserve her.’ Jaskier gave a high-pitched squeal, and he threw down his quill and followed the curly-haired women out to the Greenhouse.
Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
A slow sarcastic clap filled the air as Geralt stared grimily at the fire and burnt limply in the fireplace. Triss’s angry eyes were burning into the side of his face, but he refused to acknowledge her. ‘Well done, Geralt! Push her away.’
Geralt played his flagon taking deep gulps from the vessel, attempting to ignore the annoying Mage.
Tumblr media
‘Ignoring me? Very mature, you must have been missing Adva immensely. I know she missed you, she kept pinning after you….’ Triss prodded and rolled her eyes, and he continued with the silent treatment. ‘Still nothing…. Well, I suppose you don’t want to know about the exciting discoveries I have made since you departure.’ Triss teased.
Geralt interest was ignited and his attention laid solely on the Mage, who gave him her best Cheshire smile as she waved her hand the table filled with papers and journals.
‘I sent for all of Tradi’s work; Lord Brightwater seemed to vary keen to get rid of it. Grumpy man. He also added some of Cersi notes as well. Seem your friend left in the middle of the night without saying goodbye to the sour Lord. He wasn’t best pleased. I sent one of the Marquis men to investigate; it appears that she left in the night in a hurry; the portal she used is nothing like I have seen before. No sign of the language in Adva book, I did, however, find an old journal.’ Triss pulled a journal onto her workbench, and pulled several pieces of paper from the book and scattered them in front of the two.
‘Geralt, Adva has been hidden her whole life…very carefully I might add. Cersi, in her journal, details the girl's growth and powers. Cersi seems very impressed with the girl's waterpowers peaking beyond expectation. There are pages and pages detailing everything magical goal she reached as she grew, how her body is formed, whether her body would be able to transform, or if she has bled. Don’t you think it's strange that ever since she left Brightwater, she had been attracting unwanted male attention? I have had to send away the Marquis men; they kept trying salivating over her. My guess's it's in her pheromones; there is nothing magical coming off her. That smell you're so addicted too. You’re her mate, so it does something more to you on a …metaphysical level. But for the rest of us mortals it does something else entirely, have you not noticed how people are with her?  They become enamoured with her, but if you place her in a Whore house, Adva’s scent would be void. Sex gives off powerful odours, enough to hide her in plain sight. Why do you think Cersi did not take her in… and teach her, she placed her where she would be the safest, away from prying eyes of Mages and the like. If we want to find out what is happening, we need to find and talk to Cersi….. Till then I would recommend we take her to Kaer Morhen. She will be away from civilisation, and you can claim her. We need to tell her today…now.’
‘No’ Geralt gripped definitely.
‘Geralt! For the love of Goddess, why are you fighting this! What more proof do you need? Do you want me to wheel her out with the words Geralt’s Mate Painted across her chest before you admit it? An idiot could tell that you are struggling. You are barely sleeping or eating, and you're burning up! My potions are not working anymore. Have you read that book of Witches? You know if you don’t bond with her, you are going to drive yourself mad.’ Triss all but spat.
‘The book said we had a year…’
‘Yes, but with a human mate. WE may not know what she is, but we know she is not human, her bloody scent is enough to send the men around here acting like besotted idiots, for her mate, it must be seven times more potent. Why are you fighting this? Geralt your skin is clammy, I can feel your temperature from across the room. Your mood swings are becoming very wild, even for you. Geralt you are killing yourself…if that happens, who knows what will happen to her.’ Triss was pleading now, not something she usually resorted to, but she was scared for them both.
‘Fuck off Triss…’
‘Goddess help me Geralt... I will tell her myself.’
‘You won't!’
‘Why shouldn’t I?’ Triss hunched over him, prodding her brazened finger into his armour.
‘Because she deserves better!’ Geralt pulled Triss back as he roared, lifting a table in the process and launching in across the room.
‘Geralt…’
‘She is so pure and untouched. So sweet and innocent. I can’t….I won’t. She doesn’t and will not want me a life partner. I won’t subject her to this sort of life. I love her too much for that’ Geralt boomed
‘Geralt it not about you anymore. What about Adva, maybe she wants to be with you. To have someone, she had been alone for a long time.’ Triss voice broke into a soft whisper as she reached out to comfort the shaking man.
‘I can’t be that someone.’ Uttered heartbrokenly before turning and rushing away.
Triss’s heart broke for a moment, for both of them. Love was a complicated thing. For Geralt he felt too much, he loved so devotedly, and fiercely it broke him every time Yennefer stomped his heart into the ground. If anyone deserved someone, it was Geralt. A plan started to form in her head. It would take some effort to push the stubborn Witcher in the direction of the lovely creature, but it would be worth it, she cared too much to let Geralt send himself to early death, and she was already too devoted to Adva to let her be cast off by the handsome Witcher. Smiling smugly she set off, Jaskier would be easy to recruit. If Geralt weren’t going to act, then she would do it for him. Despite the complete mystery that enveloped the woman, there was one thing she did know, the soul bond was strong, and if they didn’t mate soon, god knows what will happen.
Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Geralt couldn’t help himself. By nature, he was a very sexual being, that itself is one of the reasons there was an attraction between him and Yennefer. That spark of need that burnt between them. They satisfied each other; with a Witcher’s stamina he could go for days, and a mage could at least try to match that. Because of that Geralt could never really say he felt fulfilled with a partner, the nearest being Yennefer and whether that was because of the Jinns magic he couldn’t say. The Witcher had never cursed his sexual desire, he was never short of partners, and his energy seems to be limitless in the area, he has never failed to rise of the occasion no matter how beaten or broken his body. By now he cursed the fate for the situation he found himself in. All 6ft 5 of him stood half-collapsed against a bedroom for that was not his own.
After storming out, he forced himself to tend to Roach and after that momentary distraction found himself in Adva’s room. After five long days, he needed to calm himself with her scent. His nose had picked up the scent and dragged him like a prisoner to the room the other side of the house, where he had no reason or excuse to be in. The Witcher’s heart pumped faster, the first time in almost a century until it was the only thing he could hear. The perfume of her was suffocating, disorientating and intoxicating, he needed to get away but couldn’t tear himself to leave. Geralt could see the strands of scent in a sparkling blue that curled through the air leading to a swirling mass in the centre of the bed.
Swallowing hard he approached the unmade bed, tentatively perching on the side, giving at the rumpled bedclothes. The outline where her body had rested was clear; the scent permeated from where she had slept the past three weeks. Inhaling deeply, he drove through the scents, subtle difference depending on her moods and what she had eaten. He deciphered the scents layer by layer till he found the addictive fragrances that had driven him here, it was dark then the other, a navy blue, almost black. Apple and the sea but musky with a sweetness. Trailing his fingers over the bed, he felt it and saw it. Her want. Her desire. Her wetness.
The scent had soaked into the very fabric of the bed throughout her stay, every night, adding to the aroma. Never had he been so thankful for his Witcher abilities, he saw it. The way her hair cascaded against the pillow as she tossed and turned, clenching her thighs together as she the wetness formed and the pressure became too much to bare. A delicious bead of sweat travelled down her neck, travelling over her left breast and then missing with the other scents on the bed. Clothing would be flung off in an attempt to cool herself down with little or no difference. With reluctance, her hands would travel to her slick thighs in an attempt to rid herself of the ache, her mouth turning into the pillow to muff her sobs of pleasure and growls of frustration as she never managed to bring herself over the edge that she had teased herself along for the best part of two weeks.
Inside of him, two feelings flourished the sense of sadness that she did not know how to pleasure her own body but also pride at being her first and only, the only man that would teach and feel her. A throaty moan push passed his lips. The rough bronzed hand was slowly palming his raging cock; he didn’t know when he had unlaced his breeches, but he could bring himself to think about it. Instead, he found himself settling himself on the bed, ripping his undershirt in the process, his hand never leaving his throbbing member.
Adva could come back at any minute, or Triss discover him, but all Geralt could focus on was the heat that rushed through him with every stroke. The Witcher was accustomed to pleasure himself when a willing bedmate was not to be found but never had it felt this good. Palming his balls, they had been heavier than he could ever remember them being, tight and painful, a grunt rumbled from him as he rolled them in his hands, teasing the skin with his fingertips. His other hand worked his length, a generous amount of pre-cum was already dripping across his tip, along his hand to slide effortless up and down his throbbing cock. Rolling his wrist, he pumped up and down slowly, enjoying the sensation, his eyes fluttered close, and a thousand images passed through his mind. Her laying frustrated on the bed whimper his name softly, her looking down at him as shyly she reached out to touch him, and all he could feel was her hand, while the other stocked his hair as she kissed him softly. It was a tender, pushing him slowly along to his peak.
A hiss escaped him, pushing through his teeth and the scent overpower him, forcing his eyes open. Gold obs burnt down as he watched he hand franticly pound his hard cock. A bead of pre-cum dribbled down. Geralt hips franticly snapped against his hand to meet every thrust, grunts and growl shook against the walls paired the violent sound of rhythmic flesh slapping filled the room, boarding on animistic, with ever sound Geralt chest practically vibrated as he edged closer and closer to release. Pushing himself against the headboard as he dug his heels into the bed as he arched his body, his hand desperately gripped his reddening cock as he feverishly pumped his cock. Grasping his hand out, the Witcher gripped the ornamental bedknob tightly, series of feral roars escaped the panting man. A thick jet of cum spurted out against the chest pooling in his stomach.
All strength sapped from his body, and the Witcher collapsed against the bed, soft pants puffed out from his chest, as slowly his eyes fluttered closed.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Jaskier twirled to flower in his hand as he tilted from foot to foot as he observed the woman in front of him, he likes her immensely, it was half the reason he agreed with this plan. Adva was refreshing after spending what was like an eternity in the company of Yennefer. Jaskier felt an inner hatred for the violet-eyed Mage; she treated Geralt as a plaything, he did not disagree that there was some endearment on her side, but the way in which she treated his friend was beyond miserable, Ciri and him caught in the middle. The sad thing is Geralt could not see it, he followed her like a minion, and the big bad wolf turned to a lovesick puppy. Adva didn’t seem to mind the Witcher’s countenance, and there was a genuine affection for him. Jaskier might not have the Witcher’s sense, but he saw the looks, the subtle glances and the longing glimpses. If it weren’t for that, he would have set his cap to her himself. Adva was a beautiful woman, gifted with a voluptuous figure, violently blue eyes and plush lips that gave her a disarming smile paired with a caring personality; she was a catch for any hot-blooded man. But the hot-blooded man she seemed to want to be Geralt, especially going from the way her shoulders sagged as she tended the plants.
Adva busied herself tendering the plant in the glasshouse, Jaskier had followed her out and tended to her with soft praises and cheerful stories as an attempt to lift her mood. For the most part, Adva kicked herself for being that upset, Geralt lately had often been in a bad mood, but what had just happen wounded her. There was no reason why, nothing had occurred between them, so there was no reason for her to be hurt by his words, but she had thought they had grown close in the recent months. The Witcher’s scolding upset her.
‘We could go to town. Paint the town red.’ Jaskier lightly suggested as he plucked another flower up from Adva cuttings, causing her to look up and break her away from her thought.
‘…’
‘Come let have a night on the town. My coin purse is empty and I need to refill it with some wealthy listeners. The local tavern is a perfect spot, but I need a muse. Come with me.’ Jaskier cooed as he tucked the wildflower behind her ear.
‘Jaskier…’ Adva started before Jaskier cut her off with a stern look.
‘No…my creative flow is upon me. We will raid Triss’s wardrobe for clothing worthy of you and set off for the tavern. I envision an elegant undo with those pearl pin Triss has, oh and that burgundy dress I saw tucked at the back of his wardrobe. You are going to be my masterpiece, my subject of serenade; all will come to see you and listen to my songs. Now let's get you washed and polished. We are going to eat, drink and sing’ Jaskier bustled as he pushed her out the glasshouse.
Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Jaskier was very pleased with himself, the dress that Triss had ordered was perfect, no man or woman would be able to look away for her. It was tight-fitting column dress in a mix of silk and velvet, at the waist two separate vents shot off in fine mesh material, embroidered in a silver thread, her sleeve made from the same material. The front had a deep V that showed off the milky flesh of her breasts, enticing the eye and showed off a barely modest cleavage. It had taken two gins to get her into the dress and another to let him apply the makeup. Her face was made up by brief sweep of powder, and a dark dusky pink lipstick painted on, making them seem all the more pouting. Two-layer of mascara had been applied to her eyelashes and a light pat of eyeshadow and delicate touch of eyeliner. Adva protested at the reflection at the mirror, but Jaskier ignored her and began to pin her curls over one shoulder with pearl hairpins before pushing her out the door.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
‘Geralt’
The alarmed voice carried throughout the house stirring the Geralt from his post-orgasm doze by Triss’s urgent cry. Casting his eyes around, he found that he had slept most of the day away. The sky was now darkening alarmingly; he was still sprawled across the bed, dry cum still plastered across his chest, his hand still encircling around his half-hard cock. Rearranging himself quickly, he straightened his clothes and slipped from the room as quietly and quickly as possible.
‘Really?’ Triss deadpanned as she tapped her foot outside her trainee's door.
‘What.’
‘I take it I can’t hope the Adva is lying half spend behind that door? I haven’t heard any screaming.’ The Mage deadpanned cross at him.
‘Triss drop it.’
‘Well maybe if you had she wouldn’t be missing. I can’t find her anywhere. One of the servants saw her heading off into town with Jaskier. That was at midday….’
‘Fuck’
So guys, what do you think?
I have a little competition for you. I need a pet name for Geralt to call Adva. Best one or the most recommended wins. My top picks are Goddess and Love as a genuinely think Geralt is the kinda guy who would worship you- Well in my dreams he is!!!
If anyone want to me tagged please message me :P
@broco8​ @threepupsinapuddle​ @introvertedmouse​ @luxyash​ @shesthelastjedi​ @wonderlandfandomkingdom​ @crazynocturnalkiki​
79 notes · View notes
Text
From Eden
Warnings: Harem, violence, work-place harassment, mentions of pregnancy and miscarriage
AO3  <<<Previous
Chapter 3
There was absolute pandemonium in the harem. Michael had decided that he was cutting down on the number of girls in there. It was a simple formula, those that were the least successful were going to go. Those that had carried for the longest would stay. For now. Michael would eventually get rid of them all, they just didn’t know that yet. He needed to keep some around for stress relief and backup, while he put his little ‘experiment’ in action. If it was successful, the harem would be obsolete. He hadn’t thought about what he would do with the space yet, but he’d cross that bridge when he got there. “Your Majesty, please think this decision through, it’ll cause chaos through the ranks,” pleaded the matron of the harem. “Chaos has already won, what difference does a little more make?” The doors of the harem opened with a loud noise. All chatter had stopped. The only sound that could be heard was the fountains. He walked into the centre of the courtyard, the attention of all ten girls and staff on him. The four chosen to leave were stood in front; faces stained with tears. He stared at the four of them, looking them up and down. “don’t cry girls,” he reached forward to wipe one of their faces. “You’ll still be on the 8th floor, just now you can be anyone’s whores, except mine,” he smiled. One of the girls fell to her knees, grasping at his feet, begging him to keep her, that she could do better. He looked down with disgust, kicking her off him. “Grovelling won’t help you today.” He snapped his fingers, guards coming in to escort them out, some left with no fight, some had to be carried away. Michael smirked to himself, they’d be devoured by the wolves outside, fighting over his leftovers. How pathetic. “As for the rest of you, don’t get too comfortable. None of you are safe, anyone could leave,” he explained. Michael reclined himself on the chaise lounge, propping his head up with his arm, inspecting the girls. He snapped his fingers again and the remaining six fawned over him. The chatter in the harem started again. One of the greys brought out wine and fruit. The girls poured out Michael a glass, they fed him grapes, cherries and strawberries. Watching his plump lips around the fruit. They forgot the events from earlier, pleasing their king was their only task now. Biting into the fruit, he thought of the girl that had toiled away to pick and deliver the fruit, of ‘Eve’ in Eden. She dreamed about him last night, of the future he wanted; he did send the dream. The seed was planted, all he had to do was nurture it, just like she did on a daily basis. But now wasn’t the time to think about that. He pulled down the dress of one of the girls, taking her nipple into his mouth, while smacking the ass of another. He had a lot of planning to do, so today he would de-stress and relax. //// “Did you hear? Some of the harem girls have been kicked out,” whispered your friend. You raised your brow and laughed, “why? Is the king running out of stamina for all of them? She slapped your arm telling you to shut up. You were on your delivery run, carrying the baskets down to the harem. There had been a double order today, probably for a dish the chefs were trying. You got to the servants’ entrance, being let in by the guards, and walked to the kitchens. “Ah Y/N and Lucy, how good to see you both this afternoon,” greeted the chef. “I’m gonna cut straight to the point Milly, what’s the goss and all the ruckus?” She sighed and shook her head, gesturing for you to help sort the produce out. “Well, the king has decided to cut down on numbers, something about wasting chances for others,” the clattering of the equipment covering your already hushed tones. “He’s still out there right now, enjoying what we have to offer,” she finished. “Is he being hand fed fruit, like a roman emperor or something?” you snorted. Milly just looked at you, tight lipped. “Oh, so he is,” you confirmed. “Aww, what a widdle baby,” you laughed. The staff glared at you, telling you to hold your tongue. You tried to hold in your giggles. Over the silence, the sound of skin slapping on skin and moaning could be heard. It echoed through the courtyard and into the kitchens. Milly cleared her throat, “so, what have you been up to recently, anything new?” “Hmm, nothing much really, I spent all day yesterday inspecting the perimeter, we suspected a breach but it’s all good.” “Tell her about your dream,” interrupted Lucy. Milly looked at you expectantly. “well,” you started, “I had a dream that I had babies. I mean me? And babies? They were really cute though, as they would be being mine,” you flipped your hair as you said so. “It could be a sign from the universe, maybe it’s about time you contributed to humanity,” said Lucy. You pretended to act offended, “I make plenty of contributions to humanity! You all get to eat nice things because of me, don’t forget that.” The staff all laughed. The snapping of fingers calling away a few greys again. “But maybe your right. Or maybe it’s because everyone seems to have baby fever this time of year. There’s no one on the ‘roster’ that’s caught my eye” you explained. “Not even Jeff and Mutt?” “Not even Jeff and Mutt.” You were interrupted by are particularly loud moan. Making you laugh again. “He is really going for it out there.” You made some more small talk, collecting your materials and wishing everyone goodbye. You continued to laugh towards the exit. Catching a glimpse of blond hair and lightly tanned skin through the decorated screens. That must be the king. You turned back to Lucy. Not noticing that Michael had heard your laugh again, he too was looking though the screens, catching a glimpse of your smile. //// Today you were on lab duty. You had samples to test today, especially after the false alarm of two days ago, you had to be extra vigilant. “What’s up y/n?” It was Jeff. “Don’t startle me like that! I could have dropped the samples,” you warned him. You were not in the mood to be messed with today. Two days of dreaming of little children did take a toll on you, surprisingly. “I’m just up here to check on things. Heard about the false alarm the other day.” “You could have just read the reports, no need to leave the garden of pleasures for it.” “But I like talking to you Y/N,” Jeff whined. You rolled your eyes, getting back to your job; you were almost finished. “So, what are you up to these days,” making small talk while inputting data. “the usual, eating, fucking, sleeping, snorting lines in between,” he replied. “Living the life then, not toiling away like the rest of us peasants,” you laughed. You’d much rather be doing this than living like those on the lower floors. “you… don’t have to be up here all the time you know,” he was hesitating, making you put your work down. “What do you mean by that?” “Well, I’ve decided it’s about time I let some mini mes loose into the world. But I haven’t found a match that I like you know.” You stared at him wide eyed. You knew what he was hinting at. “Look, Jeff, we’re good friends and stuff but… I don’t think it’ll work if I’m honest. I mean our lifestyles are totally different. I’m sorry.” He looked like a kicked puppy. “Can we still be friends at least; I hope this hasn’t made things too awkward.” “Obviously we can still be friends. Hey some of those harem girls are available now, I’m sure there’s someone in there,” you tried to lighten the mood. He lit up. “Oh yeah! I totally forgot about that man. That’s why you’re a genius y/n!” he kissed your cheek and ran out. Leaving you there to wonder what was going on in your life. //// It was time for Michael to come pester you again; you were on lab duty today. He was supposed to saunter in and get on with it. But the sound of you talking to someone made him stop at the door. It was Jeff. Jeff who had been specific instructions to stay away from greys. Michael’s jaw clenched in anger. It seemed that the coke had left Jeff with some permanent brain damage. He had heard the whole conversation, satisfied that you had turned coconut head down. However, he was not happy that you were ‘friends’. He stormed into the lab. “Why are people interrupting me today?” you snipped. “Oh, it’s you.” You looked at him, annoyed. Going back to your work as if he wasn’t there. “You really have no respect for your superiors, do you?” Michael pointed out. “Adam was it? You’re here to observe my work. I am currently working,” you gestured to the desk, “you can sit in that seat over there and do it then,” you pointed to the stool in front of you, going back to inputting data. Michael stood behind you instead, pressed up against you. You could feel his warmth on your back. He could sense your discomfort, but you continued to work. You moved to tie up your hair, but he stopped you. Running his fingers through your scalp, gathering your hair in a high ponytail. You sighed slightly at the sensation, how long had it been since you had been touched like that? He removed the ribbon from his own hair, blond curls cascading down his shoulders. He used it to tie your hair up. He leaned down to whisper in your ear, “Don’t you have work to do?” You came out your daze and cleared your throat, getting back to your work. Michael grabbed the stool from the opposite you, bringing right next to you and sitting. You could feel him staring at you, maybe through you, into your soul. He seemed to be moving closer with every breath, eventually feeling his curls on your own shoulders. “Have you ever thought about children or… dreamed about them?” he broke the silence. You stiffened again. Dreams? Did he know? Of course not he’s just a man. Or maybe a figment of your imagination? “Hasn’t everyone?” you finally replied. “I’m sure baby fever is common in people of all genders.” “Such an animalistic and natural instinct isn’t it little miss scientist?” he got closer to you, “to breed and to be bred. To feel so close to someone, to have a physical reminder of that passion,” you could have sworn he hissed that part out. “uhm, I guess?” how on earth were you supposed to reply to that? This was so awkward, worse that the conversation you’d had with Jeff earlier. “And you miss Y/N? have you ever felt that passion for someone?” his fingers started to trail up and down your arm. “not really. Someone decided to end the world before I could… you know,” you gestured. Michael started to laugh, “the world has ended, and you have still manged to stay untouched. Your ‘status’ is more valuable than you think, be careful who you share this information with. I’m sure the devoted would throw you onto the alter given the chance.” Being a human sacrifice was not the way you wanted to go. Michael’s face got closer, your noses touching, breaths mixing. His lips looked so plump, so inviting; you were sure they would be as sweet as the cherries you grew. You thought it was the most perfect pair you’d ever seen, and you were sure they’d fit perfectly with yours. Before you could act on your thoughts. Your data-pad notification broke the silence. You turned away from him to read your message. “I’m needed up in the main lab now,” you scrambled up from your seat, speed walking away from him. As you turned the corner, you broke out into a run; what the hell had just happened? //// Michael growled. He almost had you. That damn job of yours was keeping you too far from him. You were far too specialised for him to move you arbitrarily. He needed a way to get closer to you and this ‘inspector’ thing could only work for so long. He could just keep you prisoner on the 9th floor, no one but himself and Mead were allowed entry; but people would ask questions. H could ‘promote’ you to the harem, but that would put the previous decisions of cutting down up for question. Then he had an idea. It was perfect and fool proof. You would still be doing your job, but on the 9th floor. He could watch you. He could control exactly who saw you and talked to you.
You would build him a garden.
Next>>>
5 notes · View notes