#sadly the fact that I felt the urge to paint this likely means a good ol’ art block is coming | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

blossom-hwa · 3 years

Text

Bloom, Bloom, Pow! |2| - CHANGMIN

Again. The pining. I know I was okay with pining in Sunflowers, but BBP is just levels of stupidity that are incomprehensible and you will see what I mean here. Anyway, once more, thanks to @wingkkun for dealing with me screaming and helping me come up with plot points I LOVE YOU <3

(Suggested playlist for reading: Bloom Bloom, Just U, and DDD by The Boyz!!)

Pairing: Changmin x gender neutral!reader

Genre: fluff, angst if you squint, university!au

Triggers: cursing, alcohol

Word Count: 7.5k

Dancing with you, Changmin feels flowers blooming in his heart.

Part 1 | Part 2

TBZ Masterlist | Interwoven

~ you

It’s with narrowed eyes and a smile threatening to burst through your faked scowl that you confront Kevin the next day about him shoving you into a circle of random partygoers to dance with Changmin (“Y/N, that wasn’t even a dance, that was a mating dance or cult ritual or some shit – hey – don’t slap me, I’m right!”). He doesn’t even blink an eye when you hit him, just smiles that stupid shit-eating grin that he always wears when he knows he’s succeeded at something.

And God, even though it legitimately blows your entire mind, he actually managed to do something right. He somehow got you and Changmin to speak, no matter how unconventional the method, and as much as it pains you to say it, he did you a favor.

Look, normally a meddling Kevin just makes more messes (literal and metaphorical) and makes another when trying to clean them up afterward. This time, though, you have to give him a little credit for utilizing his singular brain cell to come up with this plan.

Because after several games of drunk mafia, wherein Jaehyun is accused of being the mafia three times despite being the narrator (“I thought Chanhee was smart?” “He only uses his brain for math, nothing else.”) and you and Changmin are paired up as the killers twice in a row, you get Changmin’s number, and he gets yours.

If you spend the entirety of the next day texting a certain doe-eyed boy with dimples deep enough to make you swoon, what of it?

He meets up with you for coffee the next week. Untouched by alcohol, your mind only registers his image in the real-life equivalent of HD when he stops moonwalking in place outside the café to fix you with the sweetest smile. It’s strange, the way just a single quirk of his lips or a slight squint of his eyes sends your heart fluttering to the next dimension, and his voice only makes the vision better. Changmin speaks in soft tones that wash across your skin like starshine, soothing with a slight bite of mischief that complements the sparkle in his eyes.

His soft sweater and large glasses only complete the lovely image you’re painting in your mind. Sitting down across the small table, you think your heart is either going to melt into your bloodstream or burst its way out of your chest.

He introduces himself again, as though you could’ve forgotten his name within the twenty minutes you stopped texting him on the way to the café. It’s impossible to resist saying a teasing “I know” and watching him shyly cover his face with a sweater-covered hand.

Even though it might be evil, you cheekily introduce yourself too, unable to contain a laugh when Changmin groans, putting his head in his hands. But when he lifts his face once more, it’s your turn to grow shy at the sight of his pink cheeks and the embarrassed upturn of his lips.

Once, for biology, you watched a video of a flower blooming overnight. It glowed in the dark as its petals stretched out, slowly, over the course of minutes that felt at once like seconds and eternities. Changmin’s smile is that blooming flower, petals blossoming into the widest grin that smacks of a beauty that sinks far deeper than the skin, that spreads through the blood and brushes the heart and mind with the gentlest, sparkling touch.

It stays with you, that blooming smile, on the bus ride back to campus (Changmin doesn’t come with you – he has to go to work, volunteering at a nearby dance center for kids). The memory presses warmth in your body for the rest of the day, horribly visible in the permanent (lovestruck) twinkle in your eye.

“Had a good date?” Eric asks you later, mischievous smirk on his face. He just laughs at your scowl and dodges your swat, mocking the “It wasn’t a date!” that bursts from your lips.

After all, it wasn’t a date, as much as your heart pounded throughout the entire two hours of conversation. It wasn’t a date, no matter how much you really wanted it to be. It was just two possible friends getting to know each other over a cup of coffee, right?

And even though it stings a little in your heart, you can be content with that. Seeing Changmin’s grin, that wide grin that shows all his teeth and scrunches his eyes into the cutest slits and makes flowers bloom in your heart, is all you could ever ask for.

. . .

~ changmin

Changmin just wants to know when getting punched in the chest repeatedly started feeling so good.

No, he isn’t actually getting punched in the chest every other day. It’s just that it feels that way, every time his phone vibrates with a text from you or he sees your sparkling eyes across the hall coming his way to do the dance you two have become so known for (what happened at the party went viral on the university Snapchat, sadly. Jaehyun denies taking the video, but it might just as well have been Jangjun). Your presence makes his heart thump once, twice, a thousand times in the space of mere seconds, and the force with which the thumps sound make it feel like someone is punching him in the chest over and over, but in a good way.

God, when did he get like this? Younger Changmin would cringe at these feelings, at the million metaphors he can come up with for your smile. But Older Changmin takes the feelings, stores them quietly in his heart, and lets your sparkling warmth illuminate his presence every day.

“You’re shining,” Chanhee remarks at one point after you pass by, leaving Changmin inevitably awestruck. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were pregnant. You’ve got that glow.”

He runs, of course, when Changmin leaps at him with teeth bared. Chanhee’s never really known when to shut his mouth (resulting in his entire friend group clowning him to high heaven), but, well, he’s kind of right, Changmin supposes. His lips have never spread as widely as they do when you’re trying to step all over his toes. He’s not pregnant and he’s pretty sure he isn’t glowing, but you make him feel like he might be. Glowing, that is. Not pregnant.

That’s definitely not it.

“Maybe suggest a date?” Younghoon says one day, face still half scrunched into a cringe from your biweekly dance in the literature building. “I’m so sick of seeing you two literally dance around your fucking feelings.”

“Don’t curse,” Changmin says, evading the question. “It doesn’t suit your puppy persona.”

“Like your obsession with horror movies suits your doe eyes,” Younghoon snorts, tossing his bread wrapper into a nearby trash can. “Don’t avoid the question. Why won’t you ask them out?”

That’s a good question, one that spins around Changmin’s mind every second of the day. It whirls even faster when something reminds him of you, like a pretty flower that might look nice tucked behind your ear, a notebook that’s the same design as the one you use for biology, or the special ringtone he’s set for your text messages so he can respond as fast as possible.

An awful lot of things remind him of you.

But as much as he’d like to form the words in his mouth, let those six simple words burst from his throat – “Will you go out with me?” – they die the moment they reach his lips. He’s analyzed this phenomenon from so many angles, worked through it after every time he’s met your lovely eyes, and there’s only one conclusion he’s come up with.

He, Ji Changmin, lover of horror movies and dolls and clowns and possession, is scared. Scared of asking you out, only to be rejected because you have your eye on someone else. Scared of asking you out, only to be faced with the fact that you don’t love his smiles the same way he loves yours. Scared of asking you out, only to have his heart crushed under your gentle, well-meaning hands.

The thumping in his chest turns painful and bitter when he thinks of this, unpleasantly cold and sharp, nothing like the sparkling warmth you evoke in his heart. It makes his mouth thin into a line, lips tight with the fear of splitting from your smile, never to see it again after your rejection.

“Y/N might not like me back,” is all Changmin says, though, keeping all of the metaphors and analysis hidden deep in the crevices of his brain. “I want to at least keep what we already have.”

Younghoon probably wants to start ranting about Changmin’s idiocy like Kevin always does, yelling about how there’s no way you’re not in love with him as much as he’s head over heels for you. He probably would, but Younghoon’s known Changmin for over a decade and a half so he knows there’s real fear in Changmin’s voice when he speaks of your possible rejection. His eyes soften as he pats Changmin’s head, and though he’ll complain about Younghoon messing up his hair, he’s grateful for his friend’s understanding. He’s grateful that he won’t push it further (at least for now).

So Changmin contents himself with looking forward to your texts, going on coffee dates that aren’t dates, seeing your smiles and hearing your laughs. He resists the urge to push back strands of hair that fall into your eyes, hugs you for only an appropriate amount of time, and does his best not to stare at your lips for too long, imagining what it would feel like to kiss them. Pillowy soft, sweet, gentle –

Hey. No. Changmin shakes his head. None of that pining nonsense. Your smile is everything he’s wanted to see in his life, and he’ll be content with that.

Just knowing you’re well and happy is enough.

. . . . .

~ you

It’s late afternoon, almost evening when Changmin calls. He sounds slightly breathless on the other end – he must have just finished dance practice – as he chirps your name, sending butterflies flitting into your heart. “Wanna get coffee?”

“It’s nearly six, Changmin.” You snort. “You want to get coffee now? You won’t be able to sleep later.”

“But coffee,” he whines. “I want coffee.”

“No coffee,” you decide firmly. “But I’ll buy you dinner. What do you want?”

Changmin squawks. “I can buy my own dinner!”

“You bought the coffee last time,” you argue. “It’s my turn to pay.” You can almost hear him getting ready to argue, even if he hasn’t said anything, so you head him off. “Don’t argue with me, I’ll fight you over this.”

“With what, your mediocre dance skills?” Changmin snarks.

“Excuse me?” you snap in mock indignation, secretly smiling as his laughs fill your ear. “Mediocre?”

“I’ll call you a good dancer when you actually succeed in tripping me,” he says, still giggling. “We can go to the ramen place just off campus?”

So instead of spending the evening at your dorm, working on a paper that’s due in a few days, you spend it in the dimly lit, cheap ramen restaurant across the street from the university entrance, laughing and talking with Changmin all the while trying desperately not to show how deeply your heart beats for him.

It’s so hard, you think, walking out of the restaurant a couple of hours later (after fighting over the bill – you’re pretty sure the waiter was going to have an aneurysm by the time you finally managed to toss your card to him). It’s so hard to pretend Changmin doesn’t mean something more to you, when everything about the doe-eyed boy just makes you feel like melting into the ground.

“You never stop dancing, do you?” you ask idly, watching his feet slide along the rough sidewalk. “How do your shoes hold up? They’ve got to be rubbed smooth by now.”

Changmin shrugs. “I manage,” he says, dimple visible as he twirls under a streetlamp, spinning neatly onto campus. “Dancing’s in my blood, I can’t just stop.”

“I can see that,” you say, amused. “Want some music?”

It doesn’t matter what song comes up on your phone, you’ve come to learn. You used to be a bit self-conscious of your music taste and would try to pick songs you thought he’d enjoy, but Changmin, you know now, will find a beat or a melody that he likes in anything that ends up playing. Sure enough, as soon as the first few bars sound from your phone, Changmin’s already grinning, arms floating, feet sliding in a slightly silly but nonetheless lovely dance.

For a few moments, you two stay where you are, Changmin dancing with the grace of a butterfly under the darkening sky, you watching from the side. His grin is bright, so bright, brighter than the streetlights and the moon beginning to glow behind the clouds. You can’t do anything but watch, rooted in place by his grace and beauty.

It’s a bit like touching stars, seeing Changmin’s smile. It should seem impossible to be within reach of something so bright that it can shine across unfathomable distances to light up the night sky, just as it feels impossible to be in the presence of Changmin’s blooming grin. His eyes crinkle like small beacons of light sparkling across the rippling blanket of night, his mouth curving into the brightest crescent moon.

And as you watch, mesmerized, with that lovely crescent smile comes a twitch of the fingers, a slight glint in the eye that’s all too familiar by now.

It’s more of a smirk than a smile, you muse, as the corners of your lips begin to turn upward as well. It’s endlessly alluring, pulling you into his space as Changmin’s elegant steps evade your awkward feet. Your laughs fill the empty university paths, smiles lighting the sidewalk as music blasts from the phone you’re still clutching in your hand, flooding the air, mixing with your yelps and giggles into one singular melody.

“Still mediocre,” Changmin sings as he steps around you once more, effortlessly avoiding your flailing arms. “When will I ever be able to call you a good dancer?”

Once again, like it often does in Changmin’s presence, your body makes a decision without waiting on input from your brain. All you know is that your mouth is suddenly yelling, “Today!” and then you leap.

His eyes widen in surprise, but even his graceful legs aren’t enough to keep him upright this time. You crash into his chest with an audible thump. For a split second, you feel yourself suspended in air as your feet leave the ground, and then the two of you topple over onto the soft grass lining the edges of the path.

Silence. Dead silence.

Then breathless, uncontrollable laughter erupts from Changmin’s lips.

It feels like seconds and it feels like hours that you spend there, embarrassed giggles turning to snorts as you realize how stupid this whole situation is. Changmin’s chest is warm beneath your body, heaving with laughs that burst from his throat and mix with the music still blaring from your hand. You can only follow his example, wheezing breaths from the pit of your stomach.

“Am I a good dancer?” you finally gasp, the last strains of the song fading in the air. “Am I, Changmin?”

His eyes stare into yours, crinkled with joy, twinkling under the rising moon. “Yes,” he says, lips stretched wide. “You are.”

The last vestiges of laughter have died by now. Slowly, silence takes over the moment as you stare into Changmin’s soft eyes, losing yourself in his gaze.

And only then do you realize the position you’ve put yourself in.

He’s right under you, chest pressed flush against yours. You swear you can hear his heartbeat – he has to be able to hear or at least feel yours, it’s hammering at a pace that’s definitely unhealthy – and oh God, your faces are barely inches apart.

You should move. This is a horrible, awkward position, and it must be even worse for Changmin, who’s being buried underneath you. But you can’t shift. You can’t. Something’s rooting you in place.

Changmin doesn’t move either, despite how uncomfortable he must be. If anything, he looks peaceful as he gazes into your eyes, his smile growing smaller but infinitely gentler, lips slightly parted and –

Oh.

His lips.

Your throat goes dry as you realize just how close you are to kissing him.

It isn’t just you, you swear. Changmin’s eyes move, too, shifting slightly from staring into yours to gaze upon your own lips.

Your heart races.

For a second, one blissful, agonizing second, you think you’re going to close the inch gap and press your lips to his, or maybe he’ll brave the chasm and press his lips to yours. For one single warm second, you really think that Changmin might return your feelings, that he might even feel as deeply for you as you feel about him.

Then the next song starts playing on your phone, and with that song, something snaps. The moment breaks. You become painfully aware of the cool night air brushing against your arms and making you shiver. The blissful moment disappears as Changmin moves, presumably to roll out from under you, and you quickly shift yourself off of his chest, freeing him. With fingers still trembling with adrenaline, you turn off your music.

He stands up quickly, brushing off his pants, smiling like nothing happened. Under the glare of the streetlamp, you can’t tell if you’re just imagining the pink dusting his cheeks, the red tinting his ears. “You’re a good dancer,” is all he says. His words betray nothing about his thoughts on what just happened.

Hot, shameful embarrassment rushes through your blood as you take his proffered hand, pulling you up. “I’m glad you think so,” you say, trying to sound as light and teasing as you always do while inwardly beating yourself over getting your hopes up.

How could you ever think a boy as lovely as Changmin would love you, after all? How could such perfection ever fall for you, someone with barely a hint of Changmin’s grace and fire? How could you be so foolish as to even think that way?

Changmin drops you off at the front of your dorm like he always does, smiles like he always does, hugs you like he always does. He’s as close as he always is, never more than a few feet away, yet even wrapped in his embrace, you feel further apart from him than ever.

You watch him walk away from just outside your dorm, waiting for the last possible moment to slip inside. Something’s different about him, something strange. Lost in your own disappointment and embarrassment, though, you can’t put your finger on it.

It isn’t until hours later that you realize he wasn’t dancing as he disappeared into the night.

. . .

~ younghoon

When Changmin walks into the room and immediately collapses on the wooden floorboards, the door swinging shut behind him with a bang, Younghoon knows something is wrong even before his friend’s head thumps against the ground with a loud noise that probably won’t mean good things for his few remaining brain cells. Judging by Changmin’s prone position, though, he doesn’t seem to care. And anyway, his brain cells have been malfunctioning ever since he met you. Younghoon doesn’t think losing a few of them will be too big of an issue.

Younghoon shuts the lid of his laptop with a brief sigh, resigning himself to a night of consoling an angsty Changmin and not catching up on all of the episodes of the dramas he’s missed. “So what happened with Y/N?” he asks, making sure to infuse his voice with as much exasperation as it can hold.

“How do you know it was with Y/N?” Changmin asks, voice muffled against the floor.

Younghoon snorts. Even after all this time, Changmin is still as dumb as ever. “Any time you get like this, it’s because of Y/N,” he says. “So tell me what happened.”

“I hate that you’re right,” Changmin mumbles, picking his head up off the ground just enough to look at Younghoon. He opens his mouth to talk, then shuts it. His lips press together and he raises his head further, grinding the heels of his palms into his eyes with a groan.

“I’m waiting,” Younghoon sings, barely able to disguise his eager impatience.

Changmin scowls, which sends chills down Younghoon’s back, but he thankfully starts talking. “We went to dinner,” he begins, “at that ramen place. You know, the one right across campus?”

“Is this important?” Younghoon interrupts, then puts his hands up when Changmin gives him a death glare. Better not to anger the squirrel further. “Uh, never mind. Continue.”

“Okay, well, we went to dinner. And Y/N paid by throwing their card at the waiter.” Changmin’s lips jut out. “Then we left and were walking back and… I was dancing? Y/N was playing music? And, uh, we were kind of dancing together at some point when we got on campus and like, before, I told them I’d only say they were a good dancer if they could trip me up so Y/N actually just leapt at me and then we fell over and they were on top of me and, uh, we started laughing until…”

Oh, God. This is just a K-drama in real life. Younghoon leans forward, bunching blankets into his hand with a vice grip, waiting for the climax that he knows is going to come. “Until?” he prompts when Changmin stays silent.

Changmin takes a deep breath. “Until we realized what position we were in,” he squeaks. His head thumps back to the floor.

Younghoon shifts on the bed, now clutching his pillow as he tries desperately not to scream. “Tell me you kissed,” he says, voice strangled. “Tell me you fucking kissed. You better have.”

He better have, or Younghoon is going to pull a Changmin and start biting things.

Changmin rolls over and stares at the ceiling for a solid second in silence. For that one blissful moment, Younghoon really thinks that a stupid smile is going to break across his dumb best friend’s face, that he’s going to start waxing poetic about how your lips felt against his, soft and pillowy and so much better than he imagined (because there’s no way Changmin hasn’t imagined kissing you with how deep he’s fallen, absolutely no fucking way).

Then Changmin screams.

Years of growing up together have taught Younghoon which Changmin screams mean excitement or sadness or every emotion in between. This scream is nothing good. There is no happiness in Changmin’s raw vocal cords, no hidden joy in his tightly shut eyes, only pure angst and disappointment and frustration palpable in the screech that’s echoing between the dorm walls.

Younghoon heaves the pillow in his hand and throws it at his best friend. He picks up a nearby stuffed animal and throws it too. Then he throws another. And another. And another.

Changmin just takes it, soft things bouncing off his body into random corners of the room. His eyes are still squinched shut as though seeing nothing will erase the angst undoubtedly coursing through his blood. But Younghoon knows better.

“You fucking idiot,” he snaps when he’s run out of things to throw (hell, he even went so far as to throw Changmin’s Annabelle doll too). “You, Ji Changmin, are a fucking idiot.”

A muffled “I know” sounds under the pillow, which Changmin has taken and put on top of his face. He says something else that Younghoon can’t hear.

“Take that pillow off your face,” he says, feeling more like a long-suffering parent than a best friend (is this how his mom felt every time he did something stupid? If so, he’s now gained a whole new level of appreciation for her). “I can’t hear you.”

“I wanted to kiss them!” Changmin wails, sitting up. The pillow drops off his face, landing on the ground with a sad flop that Younghoon thinks very much represents Changmin’s current state of being. “I wanted to, but then their phone started playing the next song and it just broke the moment and I actually started thinking, what if Y/N doesn’t like me, what if I’m reading everything wrong, what if –”

“Ji Changmin.” Younghoon cuts in before Changmin goes completely off his head. “You are undoubtedly the dumbest human being I have ever had the displeasure of knowing for over a decade.”

“I –”

“I thought I was the dumb one in this friendship,” Younghoon continues, refusing to let Changmin even get a word in. “I thought I was the stupid one – I get worse grades than you, I have made questionable choices, the only things that run through my mind are anime and bread, but you – I have no words for you.” It’s Younghoon’s turn to flop facedown, though on his bed and not the floor. “You idiot.”

Silence. Then – “What if Y/N doesn’t like me, though?”

Younghoon very nearly groans as he picks his head out of his blankets, but the quivering note in Changmin’s voice keeps him from voicing as much of his frustration as he would like. “Ji Changmin,” he says carefully. “I’m dumb, unobservant, and I know I didn’t realize I liked my own partner before we had that confrontation, but even I’m smart enough to tell how head over heels Y/N is for you.”

More silence. Then Changmin speaks again. “I moved first,” he confesses softly. “I kind of twitched and I think Y/N took that as me not liking it, and then I just made things worse by pretending nothing happened.”

“You need to clear that up,” Younghoon says. “Talk. Admit that you really have feelings. Suggest a date. I don’t know what exactly you need to do, but I do know that if you let this go because you’re scared of rejection, you’re going to regret it for a long, long time.”

There’s still a pout on Changmin’s lips, his eyes wide and soft and sad, but there’s a slight steel to his gaze now, a sliver of determination glinting on his face as he nods the slightest bit. “Okay,” he mumbles. “Okay.”

Younghoon breathes a sigh of relief. “Please get this done within the next week,” he says, opening his laptop again. “I can’t stand the two of you pining any longer than that. And also, you’re picking up all the stuffed animals on the ground. I don’t care if I threw them, you caused me to throw them and you can’t deny that you deserved it.”

Changmin grumbles but he does as he’s told, tossing the soft things littering the ground back onto their respective beds. Younghoon just sighs, turning his attention back to his abandoned drama. If his best friend doesn’t get his shit together, he’s going to have to take matters into his own hands. In fact, some preventative measures might be needed. And he knows who’s ready to provide.

He opens the schemers group chat.

. . .

~ eric

Eric has done his absolute best to avoid acting like Kevin his whole life – look, he might be a nice person, but he’s a complete and utter mess – but when he reads Younghoon’s account of what apparently happened between you and Changmin earlier tonight, he feels the sudden urge to start screeching as loudly as Kevin does when things fail.

He looks at the texts one more time. Maybe he read something wrong. Maybe the ‘he didn’t kiss y/n’ actually says ‘he kissed y/n’ instead. Maybe his brain is just malfunctioning at a scale it has never attained before (which is insane, considering the heights of stupidity he’s already reached in his less than twenty years of life).

bread boy: so I ask him if he kissed y/n bc why wouldn’t he. why the fuck wouldn’t he

bread boy: and he just screams

bread boy: DO YOU KNOW WHAT THAT MEANS?

bread boy: H E D I D N T K I S S Y / N

There’s more after that, stuff that Eric doesn’t want to read a second time for fear of losing more brain cells than he can afford. Anyway, the little read by one message at the bottom of the screen has just turned to read by two, and Eric has a sinking feeling he knows what’s coming next. He counts one, two, three seconds of silence.

Then an ear-splitting scream sounds from the floor beneath him.

Yep. That’s Kevin, expressing all the emotions Eric can’t because Sunwoo is passed out on his bed not three feet away.

In lieu of a scream, a pained groan bursts from Eric’s throat and muffles itself into the pillow he’s pressed against his face. He’s always done his best to be understanding of people who can’t as readily admit they’re in love as he can – he knows he’s somewhat of a special case, really – but this level of dancing (literally) around each other is reaching levels of idiocy that even he can’t process.

moon boy: my ra just yelled at me and threatened to write me up

moon boy: but in my defense

moon boy: I cannot handle this

skater boy: neither can i

skater boy: I’m going to talk to y/n

This last text is the reason why the next day, at precisely one in the afternoon, Eric is waiting on the quad just outside the literature building, sitting on soft green grass that looks a little too bright for his current frustrated brain to be happy about.

After a few minutes of waiting, you show up, looking very tired, slightly unhinged, and in general like you spent the whole night thinking about a certain doe-eyed dancer. Eric raises an eyebrow at your disheveled appearance when you flop down on the grass. “Thought too hard about Changmin last night?”

Your head whips around so fast Eric’s surprised your neck didn’t snap. “How did you know?”

“It’s so obvious,” Eric replies. “You only get this worked up when Changmin does or doesn’t do something. So what happened this time?”

You narrow your eyes. “You already know,” you state. Not a question. A statement.

Embarrassment floods Eric’s face, but he just raises his arms and shrugs. “Guilty,” he says, mind racing for a way not to tell you about the schemer group chat. “Changmin spilled everything to Younghoon and he texted me to rant. So.” He leans forward, fixing you with a stare that won’t allow you to question his story. “That was a moment worthy of an entire fucking K-drama. So why didn’t you kiss?”

With a groan, you lie flat down on the quad. “Wouldn’t K-dramas drag it on, just for the sake of angst and extra views?” you mumble.

“Y/N.”

You groan. “I just… I wanted to,” you defend. “But my fucking phone was a cockblocker and it started playing a new song that ruined the god damn moment and, well…”

“Well?” Eric prompts.

Your eyes turn from staring up at the sky to looking at him. Something that reeks suspiciously of fear dances in your gaze. “I don’t know. For a moment, when we were just looking at each other, I really thought he might like me the same way. But, just… how could anyone like me that much? Especially him?”

For a second, Eric debates whether or not to say the words sitting on the tip of his tongue. They’ll reveal a part of himself that he doesn’t necessarily want you to know about. What he wants to say could sour your relationship, maybe even ruin it completely.

But his mind chooses this moment to throw caution to the wind, and the words slip out of Eric’s mouth before he can stop them.

“I liked you.”

Eric can pinpoint the exact moment his three-word sentence registers in your brain. Your eyes display a myriad of emotions – blank, then confused, then surprised, then something that looks like sadness and disappointment and terror rolled into one messy ball. You sit up. “Run that by me one more time,” you say slowly. “Tell me I heard you wrong.”

“I didn’t lie,” Eric says, trying to soothe the tiny pinprick of hurt in his heart. It’s much less painful than he expected, which is nice, but it’s still there. “I liked you the moment I helped you up after I hit you with my skateboard, but it was so easy to tell you were in love with Changmin that I wasn’t going to say anything about it.”

You put your face in your hands. “Eric,” you say, voice muffled behind your fingers, “just… why? How? We didn’t even know each other back then.”

Eric sighs. “I’ve always fallen in love too easily and with the smallest things,” he says. Years of working through this phenomenon have produced a coherent explanation that rolls off his tongue with ease. “Small stuff. A smile, or, like, a laugh. One time, I fell in love with this guy because of the way he tapped his pencil against his lips when he was thinking. I don’t know, you might just call it a crush, but… I don’t think crushes are supposed to be as deep as they feel for me.” He shrugs. “I fell in love with you because of your voice.”

Your eyes peek out just between your fingers. “My voice?”

“Yeah.” He plucks at the grass around him, nervously trying to give his hands something to do. “It’s… your voice is really soothing. Gentle. When you talked to me for the first time, it felt like… it felt like I could drown in it.” The words make him want to cringe, but they’re real. They’re truly how he felt, how he still feels, a little bit. “Really. I swear I’m not lying.”

This time, you fully put your hands down when you speak. “Are you… are you still in love with me?” you ask in measured tones, though he can still hear the slight shake in your words.

Eric debates whether or not to lie, then settles on the truth. You’d probably see through him, anyway. “A little,” he answers honestly. “But this isn’t about me. I fall in and out of love easily, that’s just part of who I am. You’re in love with Changmin, and this is about you and him. You just asked how anyone could fall in love with you, and I just wanted to tell you that it’s entirely possible for someone to fall in love with someone as amazing as you are. If I felt this way about your voice, imagine how Changmin must feel about your everything.”

Now you’re back to hiding your face in your hands, though it looks a bit like you’re holding back tears this time around. Eric waits in silence for you to gather yourself.

“Why are you helping me, if you liked me like… like that?” you finally ask, looking up once more. “Doesn’t it hurt?”

Eric shrugs. “You’re worthy of love,” he says. “I knew I was going to get over this… crush sort of love at some point. You, on the other hand, are definitely going to regret letting Changmin go, if you do. You’re so obvious.” He snorts. “But yeah. You’re worthy of love. And I think Changmin can give you that sort of love that you deserve.”

Soft steel enters your eyes as your spine straightens slightly, exhibiting a determination that wasn’t there before. “Eric,” you say carefully, “anyone who ends up falling in love with you will be the lucky one. Not the other way around.”

It’s Eric’s turn to get shy. “Thanks, Y/N,” he mumbles, uselessly trying to swallow his smile and hide the pink rising in his cheeks.

The hug that you give him afterward feels sweet, soft, gentle in the grip of your arms around his shoulders. “Thank you, Eric,” you say when you pull away. “Remember what I said, yeah? You’ll find someone who falls as deeply for you as you do for them.”

“Only if you remember what I said,” Eric bargains, smiling. “Talk to Changmin.”

A tiny sigh leaves your lips, but you nod. “I will.” Your smile turns slightly scared, but the soft steel is still in your eyes, brightening your gaze. “See you later?”

Eric prays that the light in your eyes never fades. “See you,” he says softly.

You turn, just about to stand and walk away. Eric’s about to walk off himself when you spin back around. “Hey, Eric. For the record, you’re a great friend.” The smile on your lips is genuine, lovely, brilliant in the afternoon sunlight. “I’m glad to know you.”

Something blooms in Eric’s chest, erasing the pinprick of pain that came with your initial rejection. With those words, his heart grows warm, full, happy.

There’s no hurt left.

Eric smiles back, this time with full sincerity. “I’m glad to know you too.”

. . . . .

~ changmin

Changmin can’t believe that he isn’t even dating you, but he’s already gotten the heart-stopping text that consists of four deceptively simple and terrifying words: we need to talk.

He knows what you’re referring to. After all, the mere thought of your lips so close to his, breath puffing slightly against his skin and eyes sparkling under the starlight, brings butterflies to his stomach and makes his brain turn to mush.So he agrees, mostly because Younghoon knocked some sense into him, but also because he needs some closure or he thinks he’s going to explode.

A quick ok! when are you free? (hopefully) doesn’t hint at any of the fear squeezing his heart into the next dimension, and as a result, he’s standing on the empty green quad just outside the literature building, feet tapping uncontrollably against the ground. A few students glance at him as they pass by, but he can’t register their stares. There’s only one person on his mind.

You appear just a few minutes after he’s arrived. Somehow, his heart speeds up even more when you lock eyes with him – it feels like it’s going to beat out of his chest. “Hi,” he says, barely able to keep the squeak out of his voice.

“Hi,” you reply, carefully coming to a stop just in front of him. “I, uh…”

Silence falls as the two of you look anywhere but at each other. Changmin can already feel the heat creeping up his cheeks. “Um,” he says, trying to breach the insurmountable gap building between you two, “I…”

A voice that sounds a little too much like Younghoon’s screams in his head just confess! as you look up hesitantly. “I didn’t want to move,” he begins lamely. “Last time. When, um, you know.”

The slightest dip of your head indicates comprehension. Nothing else in your face changes, save for a slight sparkle beginning to grow in your eye that gives Changmin a little bit of hope. “I got startled by the music from your phone,” he continues, voice still small but growing in strength. “And, um. It made me start thinking again. Because I like you, I like you so much, but, well, I just didn’t think you could ever like me that way. So I moved.”

Your gaze has dipped down once more, focused intently on your hands tightly clasped together. Then, just as Changmin’s beginning to fear the worst, you snap your head up. Your eyes glimmer with something that feels dangerously like the hope beginning to bubble in Changmin’s heart. “You like me?” you ask, gentle tones strained, desperate for something it seems you can barely even dream of.

Changmin swallows. “So much that it hurts,” he admits, voice softer than ever.

One terrifying second passes in silence after his admission, then a smile breaks across your face that’s so blinding, so bright it could rival the golden afternoon sunlight streaming from the sky. “Come here, Changmin,” you say. Your fingers twitch in a gesture he’s shown you so many times, and, like a magnet, he steps forward, following your words as though there’s nothing he’d rather do in his life.

And like a wave, like water crashing against the rocks at the bottom of a cliff, you surge forward, gripping the front of his shirt and pressing your lips to his with a gentle strength that physically knocks the breath out of Changmin’s chest.

Kissing you is everything he imagined and more, Changmin thinks once his brain catches up to the present. Your lips are still locked with his, eyes open just enough to gaze up at him through your eyelashes. Changmin can feel his own eyes beginning to flutter shut with heady bliss, but he forces them to stay just slightly open, just enough that he can see how you’re sparkling in the sunshine.

You taste of blooming flowers, of roses scenting the air, springtime, clear skies with not a single cloud marring the expanse of blue. His eyes finally close as he gains the courage to raise a hand to your cheek, thumb brushing your skin. Warmth blossoms in his heart as he deepens the kiss and you respond with gentle fervor, fingers still clutching the front of his shirt.

Air forces you to break away, shy eyes unable to gaze at each other for longer than a few seconds at a time. Heat has risen fully up Changmin’s cheeks – he’s sure his ears are bright red – and you can’t stop the smile that’s spread across your face, embarrassed and lovely all at once.

“I like you too,” you confess suddenly, as though the fact that you just kissed him didn’t give that completely away. “So much. I never thought that you’d feel the same.”

“Your smile is more beautiful than anything I’ve ever seen,” Changmin protests, ears burning even more as you cover your face, flustered. “I don’t think there’s any way I couldn’t feel the same.”

“Glad to hear that.” You uncover your mouth, letting Changmin bear the full force of your grin. “Because I’ve said the same thing about your smile to Kevin a million times.”

Changmin giggles, this time hiding behind his own hand. “Our friends must hate us,” he says.

Your eyes crinkle with laughter. Changmin thinks he’s in heaven. “They must,” you agree. “I mean, we started interacting with a… Kevin’s calls it a fucking mating dance, but, uh…”

“Younghoon calls it a cult ritual,” Changmin supplies, giggling as you snort with laughter. “But yeah. We must have put them through a lot, huh?”

“True.” Eyes sparkling like rose petals in the sunshine gaze into his with a softness that makes him want to melt. “Doesn’t matter, though, does it?” You smile even more widely, if that’s possible. “I’m glad that we met. That we’re here now, no matter how strange the beginning.”

Changmin’s smile turns smaller, lips no longer stretching as widely, but holding even more warmth than before as he raises a hand. This time, though, his fingers don’t twitch. He simply holds out his palm. “Dance with me, Y/N?” he asks.

When you tangle your fingers with his, Changmin feels flowers burst into bloom in his chest. Sunlight sparkles like glittering rain around your grinning figure as he twirls you on the grass, eyes crinkled and smiling with laughter, so much pure laughter that echoes in the air and mixes with the sunshine to create a golden warm aura of bliss.

(“I’ll see you tomorrow?” he asks you two reach the front of your dorm. You’ve stopped dancing in favor of holding each other’s hands softly, tightly, gently, and Changmin thinks he’s going to melt in your gaze when you nod with the most brilliant smile on your face.

If the exchange ends in a kiss that feels like a dream, a dream of flower petals tinted with gold raining around him as warm as your fingers interlaced with his, well, Changmin doesn’t mind if Younghoon teases him about it later. He doesn’t mind the smirks, the nudges, the one too many pokes in his side.

His heart is too busy blooming, after all, blooming with thoughts of your love and your smile.)

If you enjoyed, please don’t forget to reblog and leave a comment to tell me what you thought! Thank you for reading and have a lovely day <3

(1 reblog = 1 punch in the face for this couple for giving me so much pain while writing them)

108 notes · View notes

lolathepeacocklord · 3 years

Text

Chapter 1 – Unlucky Circumstances It all happened so fast. Way too fast. Maybe there was a window open at some point where he could have saved himself? But by now that window was long gone. He knew he was sick. Just not… That sick. And of course he only found out when it was too late. He never thought it would escalate so quickly. Everyone just said it was a really bad flu. If you got sick just stay home a few days, and if it got worse head on over to the hospital. And then the one thing he remembered before… It all begun. Or ended, actually. There was an emergency broadcast urging people to get to an evacuation center as soon as possible. Something was happening, and the city suddenly needed to get into quarantine immediately. CEDA was going to take the mess into their own hands, because the Green Flu apparently was a lot more dangerous then people thought. Or more dangerous then they told the public it was. But after looking back at all of this… Even with all the best teams of scientists in the whole world, did they ever even stand a chance in the first place?

Rain poured down the gray skies, slowly getting heavier, though never got heavy enough to put out most of the fires in the streets. It helped flush some blood down the drains throughout the city, but could do nothing about the endless mangled corpses lying about. All of these used to be people- either dead or wandering the streets as brainless entities. Feral animals that attacked anything that moved, including their own kind. And those weren’t even the worse ones. These ones were referred to as common infected. Just people that naturally fell victim to the rabies-like virus. Some people were worse. Far worse. This horrid virus made ordinary people turn into true monstrosities. How did it happen? It was far beyond our understanding how a rabies disease could turn out into one of those… Things. Some people turned out lucky though. They would turn out lucky enough to not fall ill from the virus. Their minds were never altered, they never transformed. But they were a target. Infected could always seem to tell somehow that these survivors weren’t like them. They were more hostile towards them then with anybody else. Why is it like this? Who knows. Maybe the virus alters your mind and makes you think you need to spread the illness. Maybe when you see people with guns, walk with purpose, and talk normally you think they are a threat by default. The gun is reasonable under any regular circumstances, but these were not normal circumstances. This was the end of the world as we knew it. Even with all the firearms in the world, how long would you really be able to hold out in this chaos? You’re just a simple survivor, against true monstrosities. But… Where were we. The rain continued to beat down onto the rooftops and down all the dirtied up streets in town. It’s been a while since there was a good long rainstorm, so this was wonderful. Some of the smaller fires were getting put out completely, while bigger ones were just stabilized a little more. Between two three-story building was a bit of a gnarled up alleyway. Some walls were stained deeply enough that simple rain wouldn’t do much about it. Most of the stains originally were just from garbage and occasional drunks stumbling in to vomit. But now it was mostly painted over with a fresh coat of blood. Really fresh- A common somewhere in there was having itself a meal with this man it managed to maul to death. The zombie didn’t even acknowledge a guy walk past him, resting a shotgun on his shoulder. The man’s smell was so putrid anyone would have reacted in some way. Even the man himself hated the stench he just couldn’t get rid of. But now it was just a normal thing, so he didn’t think too much into it. He turned around a corner over to a door he quickly went through and locked behind him- hiding away from the storm in this little… ‘Home’ he made for himself. It was originally just some storage closet or something, and someone may have lived here before- hence the mattress lying in there. Nobody ever returned here so he just decided to make himself at home. After setting the shotgun against the wall he plopped down onto the mattress, reached into a pocket inside of the camouflage vest and pulled out a pack of cigarettes, a lighter, and proceeded to destroy his body even further while staring blankly into the dark room he was in. Just… Thinking. About everything that’s happened in the previous weeks. He just felt really, really sick. Nothing ever gave him the hint something worse was happening. It was just a really bad version of the common flu. Not something that changed average humans into feral monsters. Not something that made them mutate so horribly they couldn’t even recognize themselves as actual people. Not something that would make the entire world collapse and just leave you and your new body in shambles- fearing every single day that something even more horrible looking would maybe take your life. Pretty much what he was thinking about. The man’s name was Noah Smith. Preferably just Smith. He wasn’t your run of the mill survivor or special infected. But have you ever considered the fact a person could stand a chance of being… Both? Smith flicked the cigarette away and stared at the dying embers for a few moments before using the heel of his shoe to put it out. Then he reached to grab it and shoved it in his pocket. He didn’t necessarily feel great about leaving trash on the floor like that. He listened to the rain beating down outside the building, just trying to calm his nerves. He heard something very… Unnerving, not too long ago. Gunshots. Survivors. Real survivors. Not local infected that somehow managed to keep their sanity enough to be able to hold a gun. Survivors, resistant to the green flu, targets of all the normal feral infected- not nice to people like him. Survivors being in the area was really freaking him out. He had weapons to protect himself in general, but whenever he sees those people they’re usually in a group of three or four people. So in the long run he was outnumbered, they were probably really overpowered- having literal grenade launchers sometimes. Who the hell just find one of those!? All he had was a switchblade, a shotgun, and a revolver. He was running low on shotgun ammo too. It was scary to think about this, yeah, but he also knew he couldn’t just hide in this same city forever. I mean he probably could for a while. But there are so many things out to get him. So many odds against him. And if survivors were coming here now, more may come in the future. He would be found eventually. He would get killed if he stayed in one place. It made him just wanna curl up in a ball and succumb to the horrible wheeze fits he had sometimes. Or just stop breathing in his sleep and have an easy, painless death. Quickly Smith rose up to his feet, stretched his arms for a second, and went to go look at his supplies. He had… 30 shotgun shells, around 45 bullets for the revolver, and the trusty stabber he always kept in case his upgraded ‘tongues’ decided to get out of control. He wasn’t the type of person to think about suicide. He’s thought about It being an easy way out, yeah, but it was a dumb decision to make. With the virus in him he could die any day now. His lungs sometimes felt like they would just close up on him. Or the tumors would proceed to cover his entire face. They already covered his left eye completely. And most of his arms. And neck. Almost everywhere you could imagine, was a growth or something in that spot. Even with everything against him like this… He still felt the need to try. Why though? There wasn’t anything to look forward to. Nobody was going to save him. He would always have to be the one to save himself. Nobody was like him- infected but at the same time sane. Nobody would believe him either. He had nightmares where no matter how much he screamed and begged for mercy, he would always be shot down. Massacred. Maimed. There was no escape. So why did he keep trying? Because he had hope. Hope was rare to come by nowadays. But he still felt it- deep down inside this decaying sack of flesh and bones, a little spark. Maybe there were people like him. Maybe he won’t be murdered on sight. Maybe there was still hope. Maybe… His best friend was still alive. Somewhere, out in the world… Maybe he hadn’t become a mindless zombie. The chances for that sadly were so, so low. He knew he was changing. He saw it in his eyes. His behavior. His roommate, his friend- his best friend, was most probably dead somewhere. Or he was ripping people to shreds and eating their flesh down to the bone. But the chance was still there. It existed. Rare doesn’t mean nonexistent. After checking everything he had he heard something outside. It was very distant, but it sounded like… Gunshots, again. And lots of them. He tensed up slightly at the thought of… No, It would be alright. Just listen for where they’re coming from, keep a long distance, and you’ll be alright. He made sure he had everything on him real fast, took a peek outside… Nobody there. He slipped out and continued down the alleyway, closing the door behind him with the tentacle that permanently hung out of the back of his neck. Smith was in for a really long day. He didn’t know it yet, but there was a lot in store.

#WEEWOOWEEWOO #FIRST CHAPTER BABEY #HOLY CRAP THIS TOOK A WHILE #I'm really rusty in terms of my writing skill so please excuse me if I sometimes am a bit... cringe?? i guess?#I think I'm just being self conscious hshshfse #but still- tell me what you think of the first chapter! I tried my best and i will continue doing so #until next time my homies... Good day #l4d #l4d2 #left 4 dead #left 4 dead 2 #l4d smoker #l4d oc #smoker oc #oc fanfiction #fanfiction #fanfic

26 notes · View notes

sebstanseabass · 3 years

Text

Afterglow (A Bucky Barnes AU fan fiction) - Chapter 6

Afterglow chapters

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

CHAPTER SIX

Steve left a trail of cool breeze from the outside which sent shivers on the surface of your skin. You immediately closed the door, slightly annoyed at the cold air New York had to offer.

"He seems nice." Bucky commented as soon as you got back inside. The jukebox had stopped playing. It probably already used up Bucky's money. "Looked like he couldn't hurt a fly." He added.

You agreed with Bucky as you sat back down on the high stool. He managed to bring out the drink you guys hid from Steve and placed it in front of you. A big smile spread across his face, still urging you to drink what he made just a few minutes ago. He kept convincing you that the "y/n" drink was a good and mean drink, perhaps "the best drink you'll ever have, I swear!" (even though he hadn't tried it himself). He spoke like a true businessman trying to sell his product. He never broke eye contact and kept his voice firm and strong.

"This is the first and last time I'm taking a drink from a stranger." You mumbled, picking up the drink. It was cold like the air outside.

"Hey, I'm no stranger!"

Before the drink could even reach your lips, you caught a whiff of its smell. It was kind of fruity yet minty at the same time but the scent of vodka still lingered on top of the drink. Bucky added a little umbrella, perhaps finding it in one of the cabinets while you were walking Steve towards the front door.

The first sip tasted like New York's wintery air that soon left. It was replaced by the taste of both spring and summer, basked in a state of glorious heat. "Bucky..." You gulped until there was no more left on the glass. "This is -- "

"The best drink you ever had?" His nose scrunched up.

You didn't want to feed him a big ego but even you couldn't deny that yes, it was the best drink you ever had in your life. There was something weirdly familiar in it; the same feeling that you felt as you stared at Bucky's sleeping face.

"Indeed it is." You sent him a smile. "Something familiar in all of it. For some unknown reason, I can't explain it."

"Because the drink is you." He replied, taking the glass from your hand and placing it on the dishwasher beside him. "Or what I thought about you the first time I saw you."

"The first time you saw me, you were butt naked and I had a bit of a concussion. You got fruity and minty from that?"

He smirked while opening the faucet. "Fruity and minty, huh?"

"Yeah," you replied, leaning back on the stool as you crossed your arms across your chest, "that's what it tasted like."

"Interesting." He hummed.

"Wasn't that what you wanted me to taste?"

"You tell me."

"You're confusing me, Bucky." You groaned. "Man, you didn't even get a taste of it. Not one single sip and you already assumed that the drink would 'fit' my personality."

"Fruity and minty." Bucky started to clean up the glass, then the rest of the counter. You stared at him, waiting for an explanation to what he just said. He looked like something out of Vogue magazine while cleaning the counter. You, on the other hand, must've looked like hell. "I'm like a magician when it comes to drinks, y'know -- "

"If you are," you interrupted, "you could've just made your one night stand disappear. But you're not, so you, Bucky Barnes, suck."

"No," he sighed defeated, "I'm like a magician 'cause a magician never reveals his tricks. And by the way, full name is James Buchanan Barnes."

"James is a lot easier to say than Bucky. It's one syllable against two." You frowned. "You know that, right?"

"What can I say, y/n?" He leaned against one of the cabinets with a smug look on his face. "I've been Bucky my whole life."

"You've also been James your whole life. Where did you even get the name Bucky?"

"Buchanan." He shrugged.

"You got Bucky from Buchanan?"

"As a matter of fact, yes. Plus, if I really were magician, Bucky Barnes had a nice ring on it. Don't you think so?"

"Whatever you say, big guy. Now pay up." You rolled my eyes. "And Bucky Barnes sounds like a villain's name. Just sayin'." This earned you a couple chuckles from Bucky.

The wiping cloth slid easily on the smooth surface of the newly-washed glass. Once he was done, he placed it back to where he got it. Bucky moved swiftly as if he knew his way in the bar. He playfully rolled his eyes at you before giving you a hundred dollar bill. "You should be the one paying me, y'know. I made a drink and helped you with a shit ton of boxes."

"James," you chuckled slowly, "between the two of us, you're clearly the rich one. Not richer. Rich. I don't even have a hundred dollars in my pockets right now, except," you grabbed the bill in his hand, "now." You placed it inside your pockets but of course, that would go to the cash register in a bit. "And you did use up some of our liquor. Even those damn new ones."

"Fair enough, then." He smiled. "Now, let's see those photos of yours."

Right. The photos that hang lonely on these chipped vintage walls, sadly deprived of human touch and sight. Before leading Bucky to one of the walls where your printed photos were, he grabbed his polo shirt (more like Peter's) and wrapped it around his body once more.

Your photos were all scattered on the walls, like nesting birds chirping in their homes; except no one would dare to look at them.

The bar was now enveloped in silence with the jukebox not playing. The only thing you could hear was the constant ticking of the wall clock that hung in between two of your photos which Steve framed after buying them from one of your failed photo exhibits. The walk towards the wall seemed much longer than it should. There was a warm feeling lingering on your stomach, the drink from earlier. You just now realized that you haven't had any solid food. Right now, there was a protein shake and liquor swarming inside your stomach like a bunch of bees. Then, a small churn came out. The instinct to hold your belly kicked in, hoping that Bucky didn't get to hear that.

He didn't say anything as he sat down on one of the booths, his gaze fixated on your photos on the walls as if studying every subject, light, and color captured by your lenses. He looked like he was inside the Met, moving from time to time to admire each photo.

"Y/n," he whispered, "these are gorgeous." Then, he turned around, sliding out of the booth to see some more. You didn't say anything. Just a small smile was enough. You were never one to take compliments anyway. "These photos should be out there, y'know, not inside the confinements of a vintage bar."

"The reason why they're here is because people from outside didn't seem to like them." You replied, trailing behind Bucky. "But that doesn't matter anyway.

He turned around with a frown etched on his face. "What do you mean?"

You pursed your lips, avoiding his gaze. "I mean it's not like people like them here. But that's okay, I guess. I mean, I'm doing product photos for small businesses. That's something."

"They're both different, right? Those photos you take in your small studio and these ones." The photos on the wall stole his attention once more. "You have the freedom to take whatever you want."

You stood there, picking at the blunt edges of the booth table, avoiding any eye contact you may have with Bucky. Suddenly, a roll of images from an early memory came to mind: Bucky's school-of paintings, tiny sculptures and the White Wolf headstone. "You seem like you're really into art."

"In whatever medium they're made, yes." He replied. "Film, painting, photography, writing -- everything!"

As far as you remembered, the only things Peter told you about Bucky were his wild adventures during his youth, and how Bucky could "run a hotel even with his eyes closed!" Peter didn't dive into the deep stuff about his stepbrother's life. It was always about girls, party, money, and booze. Perhaps Bucky's stories were only as good as stories you tell when you just want to have a good laugh while drinking. The sentimental stuff, you knew, were reserved for solemn dinner nights or even days like this inside a bar.

"Why run a hotel, then?" You genuinely asked, looking at the back of his head.

"It's the only thing I know." Bucky snickered, slowly turning around. "Besides making a mean drink, of course."

"You're never gonna let that slide, are you?"

"Never. I mean, c'mon. You've tasted my drink. You can attest to it."

You hummed, raising both of your hands up in the air. "Testify."

He grinned in response and put his hands inside the pockets of his jeans. As you looked at him studying each photo you took, you could tell he didn't want to comment anything on his career path. Peter did say Tony Stark, his adoptive father and Peter's stepfather, just gave Bucky a share of his hotel until Bucky started running it on his own. You assumed Bucky just took it out of the goodness of this Tony Stark, for adopting him and caring for him. But the real reason for why Bucky took the chance, you may never know. Even though he was an open book, there were a few chapters in him that seemed intentionally hazy, as if he didn't want other people to read them. If Peter had anything to know about these "hidden chapters" in his life, you didn't know. It looked like Bucky would just tell Peter all his wild stories but not the stories about serious matters in his life. But of course, you were just getting this observation out of the back of his head and some of his body language.

"Peter looks so happy here." Bucky commented, breaking the uncomfortable silence. "These his colleagues?"

"That was the first time he went out with his colleagues." You replied while approaching him. You stood beside him and looked at the photo. It truly felt like you and Bucky were standing in a deserted museum. "They had a pretty good time but not me. They made such a mess that night. It brought me back to when Peter would go home drunk back in college."

"Peter? Drunk in college?"

"Dead drunk. Apparently, he learned that from you." The moment these words slipped out of your mouth, a wave of panic washed over your body as the expressions on Bucky's face changed. A frown started to form. His jaw immediately clenched. His breathing became heavier each second. The uncomfortable silence deafened. "Oh god, Bucky, I'm sorry. Learned wasn't the right word. What I meant to say was -- "

"I'm hungry."

His short reply sent me into a whirl of confusion. "I'm sorry?"

"Are you hungry?"

"I -- "

"'Cause I'm hungry. Come, let's go get something to eat."

"Bucky, listen to me."

"I did." His voice faltered. "I heard you."

"But that wasn't what I exactly meant, y'know. I mean, come on, everyone experiments in college. Partying, getting drunk, all that kind of crap -- it's all normal!"

"That's not exactly how you put it earlier." He replied, suddenly facing you. His body towered over yours. "I believe what you said was he learned it from me?"

"I didn't mean that you taught him, it's just... Come on, Bucky, with all those wild stories of you -- "

"What are you trying to say, y/n?"

"Peter has a very curious mind, especially back in college. He jumped on every opportunity he had once he's offered a new thing or a new experience. Your wild stories would always pop out every time he's drunk or just some random nights really." you released an exasperated sigh. "Look, Bucky, the point is, he was just curious. He wanted to know what and how you felt during those wild times. It's not your fault. If anything, it's his. Peter may be smart but he's a much bigger dumbass. Even you should know that. You've lived with him since he was, what, in high school?"

Bucky raised his eyebrows, a grin slowly forming on his lips. "You know, I'm starting to think you're not his best friend. Talking behind his back."

"I say much harsher things to him to his face, don't worry." You smiled. "But I do love Peter even though he's a pain in the ass. We've been through many ups and downs, him and I. It's kind of what binds us together. And hey, him constantly drinking is none of your fault, alright? It's his." You assured Bucky once more. "He can really be a big dumbass."

He nodded and took out his hands from his pockets then crossed his arms across his chest. "I'm glad to hear he has you. Though, I'm quite surprised you two haven't dated yet."

You nervously chuckled then walked away from him . "What makes you say that?"

"If I were roommates with a girl, I would've slept with her the first day."

"I doubt you'd even have a girl as your roommate." You snorted. "How are you gonna get her out of the apartment?"

The bar was filled with Bucky's roaring laughter. "I like your sense of humor, y/n. No wonder why Peter likes you."

"What?" You stopped on your tracks and turned around.

"I meant, y'know, no wonder why you're still around."

You raised an eyebrow. "That poses more questions than answers, Barnes."

"He likes you as a best friend, is what I meant."

Your tummy started churning once more but you doubted Bucky had heard that with the groan coming out of his mouth after he bumped his toe on one of the tables.

"Hey, is lunch still on the table?"

33 notes · View notes

rekrappeter · 4 years

Text

Twilight || s.r

pairing: spencer reid x friend!ssa!reader

word count: 2.8k

warning: not sure if there is any lmk if i missed anything that is triggering | not proofread

summary: being hopelessly in love with spencer reid and him being oblivious to it

a/n: my requests are open so if you have any please send them my way ♡

Falling in love with Spencer Reid was the easiest thing you ever did. It happened so naturally and effortlessly, it was like a river that flowed silently through a rainforest. The exact opposite of how you would describe falling in love with anyone else; the last relationship you had, it was like a waterfall, emotions crashing into the pond beneath you. Every time he smiled, you wanted to smile. Every time he cried, you wanted to be the one to comfort him. Being in love with him made you want to be a better person, he inspired you to no end.

The only problem with being so deeply and unconditionally in love with him was that he was completely oblivious to it.

You could yell it from the rooftops about how you felt about him and he still couldn’t get the hint. He may be the most intelligent person you ever met, but when it came to love and feelings, it was like a completely different person. Or the alternative to that was maybe he did know how you felt, and he chose to ignore it. You tried not to think about that too much, hoping that deep down there was something there. That you weren’t just making everything up in your head.

Whenever your gaze landed on Spencer at his separate desk, his honey-brown eyes usually scanning the pages of a textbook, your heart wanted to explode at how soft and cute he looked. You wanted nothing more than to go over and cuddle him, feeling the texture of his cardigan cover your body. That was another problem with being in love with him, he was your colleague. Not just your colleague though, but someone that you would consider your best friend.

Spencer was the one you turned to whenever you needed to rant and rave about how you spilled your morning coffee rushing into work, or how you couldn’t fit into your favorite pair of jeans at the weekend. He would be the first person you’d call if you had exciting news to share. He would also be the person to comfort you if you ever felt low or distressed about anything. He had shared things with you as well, he trusted you with his life.

It was the reason why he caught you staring at him right now but to him, it only looked as if you were deep in thought. Spencer wanted to know what you were thinking about, what, or who could possibly make your expression look that soft and euphoric. He grimaced at the thought of someone that wasn’t him making you feel undeniably happy. The change in Spencer’s face made you jump from your thoughts, and he sent a small wave your way that was accompanied by a sweet smile.

You never shied away from Spencer’s gaze, you got used to him catching you looking at him. Glancing around the bullpen, you realized that everyone slowly started to return home after a long day of work. There was something comforting about a quiet and near-empty office space, it was a complete change to the hectic atmosphere that you were used to experiencing.

Spencer stood up, his muscles aching from spending too long at his desk and he walked over to you. “Do you have any plans tonight?” He asked, his voice was low and it was gentle, almost like he was afraid to speak too loud to disrupt your thoughts.

The dimmed lights above glared over Spencer’s features, he looked exhausted and his hair was framing his face. “Not a thing.” You exhaled, running your hand over your face.

“Oh, that’s great…” He replied, causing your brows to furrow, “I mean, we should have that movie night that you were talking about earlier.”

“Are you sure you’re not too tired?” You nibbled on your bottom lip, watching the smile on his face falter slightly and he shook his head. He looked so innocent at that moment and you wanted nothing more than to cuddle in close. “Sure, Spence. I’d love some company tonight.”

When you returned home to your apartment in what felt like weeks being away, a sense of comfort circled around you. The smell of your favorite candle lingered in the air, you kicked off your shoes and dropped your work bag to the floor. Spencer walked in behind you, closing the door. It didn’t make you nervous having him here, he’d come over at least once a week whether to watch a movie or have take out.

“As usual, make yourself at home.” You smiled up at the taller man, and he followed your lead with kicking his shoes off. “I’m just going to change, you know where the DVDs are.”

Spencer walked further into your apartment and lifted his messenger bag off his body, placing it gently down beside your brown, cushioned couch. He remembered the first time he was ever in your home, he was tense and uncomfortable, afraid to touch anything in fear that’d he break it but now he was the complete opposite. He enjoyed being there, there was a strange sense of calmness that washed over him whenever he was here. Maybe it was more to do with the person that owned and decorated it, but needless to say, he always delayed leaving.

Scanning your DVD collection, his long fingers pulled out a movie that he had never seen before but he heard all about the hype it created. The thing he loved most about you was that you made him branch out to different things, he’s watched movies he never even heard about and you were willing to open your mind to movies that he recommended.

“Twilight?” The sound of you gasping made Spencer jump slightly and he looked over his shoulder, his eyes dropping to your outfit choice. He was shocked that he recognized the oversized jumper that draped your figure, it belonged to him and he realized that he must have left it here one night. “I-umh I hope you don’t mind me wearing this.” You said, breaking the silence as his brown eyes trailed along your face.

“No, no, of course not. I-it looks good on you.” Spencer stuttered, a red tint painting over his cheeks. Your heart felt like it was about to jump out of your chest at his words. He thought you looked good.

“I also got these for you, just in case you wanted to get comfortable,” You threw a bundle of clothes at him, causing him to drop the DVD onto the floor to catch them. Giggles trailed from your lips and you shook your head at how uncoordinated he can be. “Popcorn?”

Spencer nodded in response, looking at the clothes he caught. They were his pajamas, he left a spare pair here just in case and they came in handy for now. After changing into them, he returned to the living room to see you cuddled onto your couch in your normal position with a large quilt hugging you. The movie was ready to be played and drinks and popcorn were rested on the coffee table. Spencer took it amongst himself to dim the lights down which gained your attention.

“Why did you pick this movie?” You asked, reaching for a bowl of popcorn while he sat down next to you. You lifted the blanket up to cover him as well and you twisted your body to rest against his. This wasn’t unusual for you and you definitely took advantage of it to release the urge to cuddle him.

“You and the girls keep talking about which team you are, I want to understand and see what team I support.” Spencer hummed, stretching to rest his arm around your body and bring you closer. Your heart pounded at the gesture, feeling his fingers rub against your bare hip underneath the covers. You had to remind him that he was being friendly as usual.

“How can anyone be team Jacob? It’s very clear that Bella only has feelings for Edward and she was just using Jacob as a distraction technique. But also because of the obvious beauty Jacob possess in the movie, you can see why he has such a large fanbase. I wonder if they read the books, would they be team Jacob or Edward?” You watched Spencer ramble on about the two Twilight movies you watched together that evening, his brows were creasing together and there was a clear expression of distaste evident on his face throughout the movies. You were surprised how much thought he was giving to them, especially when he has watched movies a lot more controversial than these. Spencer looked down at you, tucked into his chest and he stopped talking, “Sorry, I’m blabbering again.”

“You know I like listening to you ramble, Spence.” You reassured him, patting his chest.

Spencer blushed again, swallowing a lump in his chest. “Why though?” The question just fell off his tongue, he hadn’t meant to ask you but he just wanted to know. Why were you so different than everyone else?

“Why do I like listening to you?” You sat up from his embrace, despite your body’s protest of wanting to feel his warmth. Spencer nodded and you sighed, shrugging your shoulders and his eyes drooped down sadly, he started to pick at a loose thread on the blanket. The mood became sullen. Just tell him. “I don’t know why, Spence. I guess I just like hearing you talk about things that you know, you teach me something new every day.”

Spencer’s lips twitched slightly and he looked at you, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to put you in that situation.”

“Is everything okay?” You asked, twisting your body to face him. Your hand unconsciously grabbed his hand in yours. When you first met Spencer, he refused to give you a handshake and it took months for him to allow you to hug him. The fact that he never protested now when you touched him made you happy, hoping that you would never have to go back to that awkward phase of second-guessing.

Spencer nibbled on his bottom lip, and you could see his thoughts flying through his mind. He was distracted and bothered by something. “Do you think I’m annoying?”

A bellowed laugh escaped your stomach but ceased when you realized that he wasn’t joking with you. You kneeled on your couch by his side, grabbing his face in your hands to turn his eyes to you. “Absolutely not!” You exclaimed, pouting at him. “What’s got you thinking that?”

Sighing, he pulled away from you causing your hands to fall limp by your side. “Whenever I start talking, people start rolling their eyes or exhaling as if I don’t have anything important to say.”

“That’s not true and don’t feed me that bullshit.” You demanded.

“Y/N-”

“No, Spence! Everyone adores you, everyone loves you. I couldn’t imagine my life without you and I know the others feel the same. You brighten up our lives, trust me.” You smiled at him, his frown lifted slightly and he brought your body close for a hug. You wrapped your arms around him, embracing the warmth again. “Do you want to sleep on the couch tonight?”

Spencer sighed, nodding into your shoulder. “But can you stay with me?” He whispered, he wasn’t sure if this was overstepping the boundaries but when you agreed, it just felt natural to be cuddling with you throughout the night and he wasn’t sure he’d be able to fall asleep alone ever again.

Weeks passed by and it became a regular occurrence for Spencer to spend the night at your house. It was completely platonic. The only problem was that you never cuddled with any of your other friends as much as you did with Spencer. Another issue was that you both were for some reason keeping it a secret from the team. You did it unconsciously though, whispering to Spencer about what time he would be there at or he would find you when you were alone to see if you had any plans for the evening. The sad thing was you always made sure you had no plans so that you could spend it with Spencer.

“Hey,” You whispered, walking up to Spencer in the kitchen of the BAU making a coffee. You looked around at the empty room, smiling up at him. He handed you a warm cup and you gladly accept. “What time are you coming by tonight?”

Spencer swallowed thickly, his eyes blinking quicker than usual. “Actually, I might not be able to come tonight.”

“Oh, that’s okay.” You chuckled, embarrassed that you had just assumed he was always free. He did have a life after all.

“It’s funny actually,” Spencer spoke, a smile on his face, “Derek asked me to go on a double date tonight. Savannah has a single friend, I wouldn’t normally consider it but…” He trailed off, watching your expression drop. “Hey, are you okay?” He asked, his doe eyes looking down at you.

Your lips twitched, you tried your best to plaster a smile on your face but it was near impossible. “That’s great… I actually, I have to go.” You muttered quickly dismissing yourself, turning on your heels and stalking away from the confused man. You wanted to slap yourself at that moment, you shouldn’t have made it so obvious that you were upset but at this point, you weren’t even sure if Spencer was going to notice.

By the time Spencer returned from making his coffee, he noticed that your desk was cleared and your bag was missing. Derek walked up to him, patting him on the shoulder. “What happened to Y/N?” He questioned, knowing that Spencer would be the best to ask.

“I-I don’t know. I told her about the date tonight and she just walked away.” Spencer muttered, replaying the moment in his head but he couldn’t find any reason that you should be upset unless you had romantic feelings for him. “Oh…”

“Are you just realizing this now, pretty boy?” Derek whispered, watching the pieces come together in the younger man’s head and he let out a laugh. “You may be the smartest person I know, but you are clueless when it comes to women.”

“Derek, I messed up.” Spencer sighed, tucking his hair behind his ears. “I- we have been sleeping together for the last few weeks-”

“Hold up a second,” Derek interrupted, his eyes wide in shock.

Spencer awkwardly coughed, protesting immediately. “Not like that, no! I just go over to her apartment after work, we… we cuddle and then fall asleep together.”

“Every night?”

Spencer grimaced, realizing how oblivious he has been, “Most nights.”

“Kid, you ain’t coming on that date tonight. What you need to do is go and get yo’ girl before it’s too late.”

Spencer banged on your door, his hair falling over his face but he didn’t care. He was silently panicking on the inside, what if he was too late to tell you that he liked you as more than a friend?

“S-Spencer, what are you doing here?” You asked, wiping the tears that were dancing down your cheeks. It broke his heart knowing that he was the reason for your hurt.

“I may have an eidetic memory and 3 PhDs, but I have never been good with women.” He replied, breathless from banging against your door. “It hasn’t taken me this long to realize my feelings for you, they have always been there but I tried to ignore them because I want you to be happy, and being your friend is better than nothing.” He rambled on. You looked up at him in shock, letting the door free from your grasp. You watched as he licked his lips, he was beyond nervous and when you didn’t say anything back, his heart deflated. “Or maybe I completely misread this situation-”

“No, no, you didn’t.” You interrupted quickly before he had a chance to take back what he said. It was everything you wanted to hear since the first day you met him.

“I’m so sorry that I didn’t say anything sooner.”

“I am too, Spence.” You whispered, bringing your arms up to hug him and he circled his arms around your waist pulling you into him. You leaned back to see his face, watching the happiness swirl beneath his brown orbs. You caressed his cheek, bringing his face closer to yours. “Is this okay?”

“Most definitely.” He replied, his eyes fluttering close and he brought his lips to yours. The whole world was spinning around you, and you could die happy right now. His lips were soft and warm, and you never wanted to leave this moment. The kiss was short and hesitant, but when he pulled away, the smile on his face said a million unspoken words. His breath fanned across your face, and you felt alive.

In that moment, you felt weightless.

🌻 🌻 🌻 🌻 🌻

this is very much not proofread so apologises for any awful mistakes lol but i just dont have the patience for it

#spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x ssa reader #friends to lovers #criminal minds fanfiction #cm #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds oneshot #criminal minds fanfic #mgg #matthew gray gubler

414 notes · View notes

wastelandlovingscenarios · 3 years

Note

76 with danse and a f!sole, please! - “three times i didn’t return your feelings and one time i did.” 👉🏽👈🏽

in this house, we love and support danse. <3

did this turn out longer than i expected? absolutely.

prompt 76: “three times i didn’t return your feelings and one time i did.”

Danse:

the first time, he was injured, taking an unexpected shot from a raider camping on the roof nearby.

“you’re hurt. lay down.” danse hissed under his breath as sole pressed down on the wound located on his shoulder. sole had dropped the bullet on the desk nearby her, grimacing at the sight of his blood staining it.

“i’m fine.” he bit back the sharp breath that threatened to release as he rejected soles offer. “it’d be a waste of time if we were to halt for such a minor injury.” stubbornness. of course. it was something that the paladin was great at and it was no mystery to the people who surrounded him.

sole shot danse a sharp glare as she forcefully pushed him down to the bed. “and it won’t be a waste of time. a few hours wouldn’t hurt, you know,” she let out deep sigh as she caught the harsh tone painting her words, “you always preach about me taking care of myself, i think it’s time for you to follow that.”

as much as danse wanted to argue, he couldn’t deny the fact that she was completely right. everytime she refused to receive care or neglected her health and well-being, he was constantly on her case about it until it drove her insane. instead of talking back, he remained silent as his head hit the pillow under him. “glad we settled that.” she laughed and ran her hand on his shoulder, sending a shiver down his spine. he closed his eyes, feeling her hands work on his shoulder as she cleaned it up and have it proper attention.

he hadn’t known how heavy his eyes were and how exhausted he actually was until the warmth and tenderness of soles touch lulled him to sleep. how long he had been out of it was something he couldn’t answer but felt himself wake him up enough for him to hear the words that left soles mouth. his eyes remained closed, showing no signs of him listening, but every word imprinted in his mind.

“you gotta take care of yourself, danse.” the way his name left her lips made his heart flutter, “i love you too much to lose you.” he wanted to say something, anything, but he laid still despite the urge to do so. danse felt the warmth leave his face, and a blanket being put over his body as he pretended to sleep during it all. “not that i’d ever say it out loud.”

she didn’t have to say it out loud. he had heard every single letter that echoed within the room, leaving his heart beating and mind full of wonders. instead of bringing up the topic the next morning, he fell quiet and pushed it away to the back of his mind as if he was never listening in the first place. there was no room in his life for a relationship, especially over someone he felt no romantic feelings for.

or so he thought.

- -

the second time around, danse finds out who he truly is. in the midst of chaos, all the people he’s ever trusted had turned their backs on him without a second thought, shunning him out of their lives. the reassuring hand on his shoulder was the only reminder that not everyone had the same intention of doing so.

“danse, look at me.” she crouched down to his level, watching as the former paladin leaned forward, hunching over the bed. he had concealed his face with his hands to hide the devastation that was written all over his features. he didn’t acknowledge soles presence nor did he respond to any of her requests, much to soles distress. “danse.”

silence only followed after regardless of her voice calling out to him. with a soft sigh, she peeled off his hands from his face, eyes softening sadly at the distraught expression written all over it. it takes her a moment to keep herself together before she can properly speak to him. her hands travel to either side of his face, caressing his cheek. “i know it’s hard right now, and i know you’re going through hell,” he tried to swallow the lump in his throat, eyes glistening with tears. sole notices this but doesn’t say a word, not knowing what was going through the former paladins mind at that moment. “but i will always have your back until the end of time.”

as expected, danse just stares at her with distraught eyes and gave no response. sole doesn’t take mind to this and continues, brushing her thumb over his cheek soothingly, “it doesn’t matter if you’re a human or synth, it will never change how i feel about you. you’re the most important person in my life danse, and you will never be nothing,” she fights back the tears that threatened to spill, knowing she has to be the strong one in this situation, “you can push me down a million times and i’ll always get back up. you won’t be alone. you will never be alone.”

her arms snake around his shoulders as she pulls him into a tight embrace, her hands gripping the fabric of his shirt. “i love you, danse. i will always love you for who you are and who you’ll be. nothing will ever change that.” he doesn’t acknowledge her words nor does he return it back, but let’s a tear slide down his cheek as he envelopes his arms around her torso.

those words lingered a little longer than the last time it had left her mouth.

- -

the third time, shes deadbeat drunk, nearly to the point of blacking out as preston supported her, standing in front of danses doorway. he held a nervous smile as he tried to let the words down easy, “sorry, danse. she got a little carried away.”

he cocked a brow up, irritation clearly plastered all over his face as his eyes flickered to sole for a mere second. “just a little?” preston smile died down as he shrugged awkwardly, unsure of how to respond. danse let out a small huff, stepping forward to take sole into his arms, looking at the lieutenant before shutting the door. “i appreciate your assistance. have a good night.”

he carried her to his bed, laying her down on the bed as she dozed off, not far enough to sleep. she still had the strength to remain awake despite sleep calling her name. danse went to the kitchen and brought back a bucket of water and a towel, setting it on the nightstand near his bed.

“what were you thinking?” he chided her, wiping her face down with cloth gently, removing any signs of alcohol. “i understand that it is normal for you to consume alcohol, but this is unhealthy, even for you!” he didn’t mean to be harsh- danse was just terribly worried. out of their time of being together, he’d never seen her like this, only going as far as seeing her tipsy and whatnot.

he noticed the guilt in her eyes and instantly regretted scolding her. “ ‘m sorry, danse. i didn’ mean to make you worry. just needed to take my mind off things.” she slurred with half lidded eyes, “don’ hate me, please. don’ be mad.” danse sighed heavily, placing the cloth into the bucket. he looked at her, his voice much gentler than it was earlier, “i’m not mad and i don’t hate you. just don’t do this next time, it doesn’t benefit you in any way.” he hesitated for a moment before speaking up, “feel free to speak to me. you don’t need to go to these measures to ease your mind.”

she stared up at him, and for the first time, he felt his heart beat in a way he was unfamiliar with. “ ‘re you worried ‘bout me?”

“of course i’m worried. anyone would be if the person they cared about neglected their health.” he felt himself pull back, a blush creeping onto his face as sole grinned softly, almost childlike. he had seen her grin a thousand times before, so why did it suddenly feel so different now?

“ ‘m glad you care ‘bout me.” she happily whispered, “next time, ‘ll come to you if somethin’s on my mind.”

“please do so.” he coughed, tucking her in so she wouldn’t be cold for the remainder of the night. sole continued to gaze at him lovingly, and he felt his chest tighten at the sight of the expression on her face. “i’m here for you.”

“thank you for caring ‘bout me. i love you, danse.”

those three words filled the air again, only this time it affected him in some way. the way his face turned red, his heartbeat rang through his ears, and how choked up he became when he processed them was entirely foreign. he couldn’t tell if he liked it or not, but it certainly didn’t feel unpleasant.

“rest, sole.” was all that came out instead of a proper response. she hummed in approval before closing her eyes in content. “m’kay.”

even long after sole fell asleep in his bed, he remained in the same spot he was in moments ago, unconsciously admiring soles features as one question lurked in his mind.

why couldn’t he reject her?

- -

out of all the times he could’ve returned her feelings, fate decided for it to be this one. danse swallowed the anxiousness in his throat as he waited for soles return, knowing that she was a day late from the date she was scheduled to come home. he tried to do anything and everything he could think of- build a cabin, mod his armor, mod some weapons- but the more time went by with no sign of her, the more he began to lose his sanity.

she never returned home late, even in the craziest of situations she found herself in, she always came back on time or maybe a little earlier if she was lucky. then again, in the commonwealth you could never know. he bombarded preston with questions, growing impatient at soles absence and demanding answers he knew the lieutenant himself didn’t know.

“i’m sure the general has her reasons, danse. you can’t put her down so easily.” it was prestons way of reassuring danse that sole was perfectly fine and would make it home regardless of the dangers out there. danse wasn’t convinced, not one bit.

he lied in bed, staring restlessly at the ceiling at images of sole popped into his mind. danse missed her smile, her voice, her touch- he missed sole and it was killing him inside and out. all his memories led up to the one that always seemed to linger in the back of his mind, but never properly confronted due to his cowardness. suddenly, he feels a burning pain in his chest as tears begin to rise in his eyes, a soft sob escaping his mouth as it reverberated off the walls to remind him of how much soles disappearance had affected him.

“i love you, danse.”

and it hits him like a train. he shouldve told her everything he’s felt about her instead of trying to push it away and avoid it with every fiber of his being. he should’ve held her in his arms a little bit longer and told her how much he appreciated everything she’s ever done for him and how much she’s changed his life. this pain was unbearable; he couldn’t breathe or think right and the tears fell uncontrollably as his words came out strangled for no one to listen, “come home,” he cried, “please.”

and when sole does come home the next day, he drops everything he’s doing and runs up to her as fast as his legs could take him, nearly pushing down any settlers that dared to block his path. before she could let a word out, she felt his arms wrap around her as he pulled her into a tight embrace, burying his head into her shoulder. sole had been caught by surprise, nearly losing her balance as the man nearly crushed her lungs out, removing any air out of her system.

“woah, woah. whatd i miss?” she’d joke, wrapping her arms around danse, who refused to loosen his hold on her. once she realized he was trembling, she pulled away, holding danse on both his shoulders, a look of concern on her face. he looked terrified and it didn’t suit him well. “danse? what happened?”

and just like that, those destined words left his mouth before he knew it. “i love you, sole. i’ve always loved you. i’m sorry for not saying it sooner, i-i..”

sole blinked in surprise, a blush spreading across her face at the sudden confession. “w-what-“ she couldn’t even come close to completing her sentence as danse interrupted her, stammering.

“when you didn’t come home... i was so scared.” he cupped her cheeks gently, his voice barely a whisper. sole leaned into his touch- it was so warm and tender. “i was so scared id never see you again. i was afraid of losing you.”

sole took one of his hands and placed a soft kiss on his knuckle, “you’re never gonna lose me. i told you i’m never gonna leave you alone and i meant it.” she whispered into his skin, “i love you too much to do that.”

danse pulled her in for another embrace, taking in her scent as she wrapped her arms around his torso tightly. he placed a soft, gentle kiss at her temple as he caressed her hair. “don’t ever do that to me again.”

#fallout #fallout 4 #fallout 4 companions react #fallout 4 companions #fallout 4 reacts #fallout fanfiction #fallout reacts #danse #paladin danse #companions react #fallout+4+companions+reaction #prompt #fluff #angst #f!sole

119 notes · View notes

kookie-doughs · 3 years

Text

Y/N L/N AND THE HALFBLOODS

Percy Jackson X Reader

-Y/N L/N met Percy Jackson and everything was now ruined.

CHAPTER 6: WE HAVE BATHROOM INCIDENT

We passed the volleyball pit. Several of the campers nudged each other. One pointed to the minotaur horn Percy was carrying. Another said, "That's him."

Anxious if all the attention, I scooted closer to Percy holding onto his arm. Most of the campers were older than us. Their satyr friends were bigger than Grover, all of them trotting around in orange CAMP HALF-BLOOD T-shirts, with nothing else to cover their bare shaggy hindquarters. The way they stared at me made me uncomfortable. Though I am aware the attention was on Percy. I still felt like they were expecting me to do a flip or something.

I looked back at the farmhouse. It was a lot bigger than I'd realized—four stories tall, sky blue with white trim, like an upscale seaside resort. I was checking out the brass eagle weather vane on top when something caught my eye, a shadow in the uppermost window of the attic gable. Something had moved the curtain, just for a second, and I got the distinct impression I was being watched.

"What's up there?" Percy asked Chiron.

He looked where I was pointing, and his smile faded. "Just the attic."

"Somebody lives there?"

"No," he said with finality. "Not a single living thing."

I got the feeling he was being truthful. But I was also sure something had moved that curtain.

"Come along, you two," Chiron said, his lighthearted tone now a little forced. "Lots to see."

We walked through the strawberry fields, where campers were picking bushels of berries while a satyr played a tune on a reed pipe.. . . . . . . . . .

Chiron told me the camp grew a nice crop for export to New York restaurants and Mount Olympus. "It pays our expenses," he explained. "And the strawberries take almost no effort."

He said Mr. D had this effect on fruit-bearing plants: they just went crazy when he was around. It worked best with wine grapes, but Mr. D was restricted from growing those, so they grew strawberries instead.

I watched the satyr playing his pipe. His music was causing lines of bugs to leave the strawberry patch in every direction, like refugees fleeing a fire. I wondered if Grover could work that kind of magic with music. I wondered if he was still inside the farmhouse, getting chewed out by Mr. D.

"Grover won't get in too much trouble, will he?" I asked Chiron.

"Yeah, I mean... he was a good protector. Really." Percy added.

Chiron sighed. He shed his tweed jacket and draped it over his horses back like a saddle. "Grover has big dreams, Percy. Perhaps bigger than are reasonable. To reach his goal, he must first demonstrate great courage by succeeding as a keeper, finding a new camper and bringing him safely to Half-Blood Hill."

"But he did that! He brought two!"

"I might agree with you," Chiron said. "But it is not my place to judge. Dionysus and the Council of Cloven Elders must decide. I'm afraid they might not see this assignment as a success. After all, Grover lost you in New York. Then there's the unfortunate... ah... fate of your mother and Y/N's parents. And the fact that Grover was unconscious when you two dragged him over the property line. The council might question whether this shows any courage on Grover's part."

"He'll get a second chance, won't he?"

Chiron winced. "I'm afraid that was Grover's second chance, Percy. The council was not anxious to give him another, either, after what happened the first time, five years ago. Olympus knows, I advised him to wait longer before trying again. He's still so small for his age... ."

"How old is he?"

"Oh, twenty-eight."

"What! And he's in sixth grade?"

"Satyrs mature half as fast as humans, Percy. Grover has been the equivalent of a middle school student for the past six years."

"That's horrible."

"Quite," Chiron agreed. "At any rate, Grover is a late bloomer, even by satyr standards, and not yet very accomplished at woodland magic. Alas, he was anxious to pursue his dream. Perhaps now he will find some other career... ."

"That's not fair," I said. "What happened the first time? Was it really so bad?"

Chiron looked away quickly. "Let's move along, shall we?"

But I wasn't quite ready to let the subject drop. Something had occurred to me when Chiron talked about Percy's and I's parents' fate, as if he were intentionally avoiding the word death.

"Chiron," Percy said. "If the gods and Olympus and all that are real..."

"Yes, child?"

"Does that mean the Underworld is real, too?"

Chiron's expression darkened.

"Yes, child." He paused, as if choosing his words carefully. "There is a place where spirits go after death. But for now... until we know more... I would urge you to put that out of your mind."

"What do you mean, 'until we know more'?"

"Come, Percy. Let's see the woods.". . ..

As we got closer, I realized how huge the forest was. It took up at least a quarter of the valley, with trees so tall and thick, you could imagine nobody had been in there since the Native Americans.

Chiron said, "The woods are stocked, if you care to try your luck, but go armed."

"Stocked with what?" Percy asked. "Armed with what?"

"You'll see. Capture the flag is Friday night. Do you have your own sword and shield?"

"My own—?"

"No," Chiron said. "I don't suppose either of you do. I think a size five will do you both. I'll visit the armory later."

I wanted to ask what kind of summer camp had an armory, but there was too much else to think about, so the tour continued. We saw the archery range, the canoeing lake, the stables (which Chiron didn't seem to like very much), the javelin range, the sing-along amphitheater, and the arena where Chiron said they held sword and spear fights.

"Sword and spear fights?" I asked.

"Cabin challenges and all that," he explained. "Not lethal. Usually. Oh, yes, and there's the mess hall."

Chiron pointed to an outdoor pavilion framed in white Grecian columns on a hill overlooking the sea. There were a dozen stone picnic tables. No roof. No walls.

"What do you do when it rains?" Percy asked.

Chiron looked at me as if I'd gone a little weird. "We still have to eat, don't we?"

Finally, he showed me the cabins. There were twelve of them, nestled in the woods by the lake. They were arranged in a U, with two at the base and five in a row on either side. And they were without doubt the most bizarre collection of buildings I'd ever seen.

Except for the fact that each had a large brass number above the door (odds on the left side, evens on the right), they looked absolutely nothing alike. Number nine had smokestacks, like a tiny factory. Number four had tomato vines on the walls and a roof made out of real grass. Seven seemed to be made of solid gold, which gleamed so much in the sunlight it was almost impossible to look at. They all faced a commons area about the size of a soccer field, dotted with Greek statues, fountains, flower beds, and a couple of basketball hoops (which were more my speed).

In the center of the field was a huge stone-lined firepit. Even though it was a warm afternoon, the hearth smoldered. A girl about nine years old was tending the flames, poking the coals with a stick.

The pair of cabins at the head of the field, numbers one and two, looked like his-and-hers mausoleums, big white marble boxes with heavy columns in front. Cabin one was the biggest and bulkiest of the twelve. Its polished bronze doors shimmered like a hologram, so that from different angles lightning bolts seemed to streak across them. Cabin two was more graceful somehow, with slimmer columns garlanded with pomegranates and flowers. The walls were carved with images of peacocks.

"Zeus and Hera?" I guessed.

"Correct," Chiron said.

"Their cabins look empty."

"Several of the cabins are. That's true. No one ever stays in one or two."

Okay. So each cabin had a different god, like a mascot. Twelve cabins for the twelve Olympians. But why would some be empty?

I stopped when Percy stopped.

"Percy?"

He stood in front of the first cabin on the left, cabin three.

It wasn't high and mighty like cabin one, but long and low and solid. The outer walls were of rough gray stone studded with pieces of seashell and coral, as if the slabs had been hewn straight from the bottom of the ocean floor.

I held his hand and we got closer to the cabin. We peeked inside the open doorway and Chiron said, "Oh, I wouldn't do that!"

Before he could pull us back, I caught a glimpse of the interior walls glowed like abalone. There were six empty bunk beds with silk sheets turned down. But there was no sign anyone had ever slept there. "Come along, you two."

Most of the other cabins were crowded with campers.

Number five was bright red—a real nasty paint job, as if the color had been splashed on with buckets and fists. The roof was lined with barbed wire. A stuffed wild boar's head hung over the doorway, and its eyes seemed to follow me. Inside I could see a bunch of mean-looking kids, both girls and boys, arm wrestling and arguing with each other while rock music blared. The loudest was a girl maybe thirteen or fourteen. She wore a size XXXL CAMP HALF-BLOOD T-shirt under a camouflage jacket. She zeroed in on me and gave me an evil sneer. She reminded me of Nancy Bobofit, though the camper girl was much bigger and tougher looking, and her hair was long and stringy, and brown instead of red.

I kept walking, trying to stay as close as I could to Percy. "We haven't seen any other centaurs," Percy observed.

"No," said Chiron sadly. "My kinsmen are a wild and barbaric folk, I'm afraid. You might encounter them in the wilderness, or at major sporting events. But you won't see any here."

"You said your name was Chiron. Are you really..."

He smiled down at me. "The Chiron from the stories? Trainer of Hercules and all that? Yes, Percy, I am."

"But, shouldn't you be dead?"

Chiron paused, as if the question intrigued him. "I honestly don't know about should be. The truth is, I can't be dead. You see, eons ago the gods granted my wish. I could continue the work I loved. I could be a teacher of heroes as long as humanity needed me. I gained much from that wish... and I gave up much. But I'm still here, so I can only assume I'm still needed."

I thought about being a teacher for three thousand years. It wouldn't have made my Top Ten Things to Wish For list.

"Doesn't it ever get boring?"

"No, no," he said. "Horribly depressing, at times, but never boring."

"Why depressing?"

Chiron seemed to turn hard of hearing again.

"Oh, look," he said. "Annabeth is waiting for us."

* * *

The blond girl I'd met at the Big House was reading a book in front of the last cabin on the left, number eleven.

When we reached her, she looked us critically.

I tried to see what she was reading, but I couldn't make out the title. I thought my dyslexia was acting up. Then I realized the title wasn't even English. The letters looked Greek to me. I mean, literally Greek. There were pictures of temples and statues and different kinds of columns, like those in an architecture book.

"Annabeth," Chiron said, "I have masters' archery class at noon. Would you take Percy and Y/N from here?"

"Yes, sir."

"Cabin eleven," Chiron told me, gesturing toward the doorway. "Make yourself at home."

Out of all the cabins, eleven looked the most like a regular old summer camp cabin, with the emphasis on old. The threshold was worn down, the brown paint peeling. Over the doorway was one of those doctor's symbols, a winged pole with two snakes wrapped around it. What did they call it... ? A caduceus.

Inside, it was packed with people, both boys and girls, way more than the number of bunk beds. Sleeping bags were spread all over on the floor. It looked like a gym where the Red Cross had set up an evacuation center.

Chiron didn't go in. The door was too low for him. But when the campers saw him they all stood and bowed respectfully.

"Well, then," Chiron said. "Good luck, Percy, Y/N. I'll see you at dinner."

He galloped away toward the archery range.

I stood in the doorway, looking at the kids. They weren't bowing anymore. They were staring at us. I knew this routine. I'd gone through it at enough schools.

"Well?" Annabeth prompted. "Go on."

So naturally Percy tripped coming in the door and made a total fool of himself, almost taking me with him but I had let go of him as he fell. There were some snickers from the campers, but none of them said anything.

Annabeth announced, "Percy Jackson, Y/N L/N, meet cabin eleven."

"Regular or undetermined?" somebody familiar asked.

I didn't know what to say, but Annabeth said, "Undetermined."

Everybody groaned.

"Now, now, campers. That's what we're here for. Welcome, Percy and Y/N. You can have that spot on the floor, right over there. Y/N can have the bed over there."

"Luke." I smiled. He replied with a grin and ruffled my hair.

"Uh?"

"This is Luke," Annabeth said, and her voice sounded different somehow. I glanced over and could've sworn she was blushing. She saw me looking, and her expression hardened again. "He's your counselor for now."

"For now?" Percy asked.

"You're undetermined," Luke explained patiently. "They don't know what cabin to put you in, so you're here. Cabin eleven takes all newcomers, all visitors. Naturally, we would. Hermes, our patron, is the god of travelers."

I looked at the tiny section of floor they'd given Percy. He was a few spots away from mine.

I looked around at the campers' faces, some sullen and suspicious, some grinning stupidly, some eyeing me as if they were waiting for a chance to pick my pockets.

"How long will we be here?" Percy asked.

"Good question," Luke said. "Until you're determined."

"How long will that take?"

The campers all laughed.

"Come on," Annabeth told us. "I'll show you the volleyball court."

"I've already seen it."

"Come on." She grabbed Percy's wrist and dragged him outside. Percy took my hand to come with him, I could hear the kids of cabin eleven laughing behind us.

"See you at dinner." Luke waved.

When we were a few feet away, Annabeth said, "Jackson, you have to do better than that."

"What?"

She rolled her eyes and mumbled under her breath, "I can't believe I thought you were the one. Maybe it was Y/N."

"What's your problem?" Percy was getting angry now. "All I know is, I kill some bull guy—"

I gripped his shoulder trying to calm him.

"Don't talk like that!" Annabeth told me. "You know how many kids at this camp wish they'd had your chance?"

"To get killed?"

Previous | Masterlist | Next

Hahah typo and originality go brrr

Taglist?

@gayer-than-the-gayest-gay @the-natureofme @booknerd-3000

#Percy Jackson #Percy Jackson X Reader #Percy Jackson X Y/N #percy jackon and the olympians #pjo #Y/N L/N #Y/N L/N and the halfbloods #X Reader #Book 1 #Lightning thief #luke castellan #Luke castellan x reader #Chapter 6 #Fanfiction #fanfictions

51 notes · View notes

tae-cup · 3 years

Text

Gouache on Calculators by Kim Taehyung | Calcu-LATER (1)

Pairing: Art Major!Kim Taehyung x Math Major!Reader, Jimin x reader-ish

Summary: Math never fails you. The numbers might not always make sense, but you know there must be a solution. Everything fits together like a perfect puzzle, like your tidy life and solitary living…until Kim Taehyung spills paint all over your notebook. He, quite literally, trips into your life.

Genre: College AU, Fluff, Angst, Angst with happy ending, Light Topics, humor

Rating: Teen

Warnings: Uh, it’s not this dark i swear, slight Internalized homophobia, Drinking, Cheating, uh uh uh it’s going to be a ride.

Word Count: 2.7k Words

A/N: Ah! I’m so excited to present this absolute mess of a story! Let me know your thoughts and if you’d like to be added to the taglist! Also also also, this chapter is short, but I promise the next one is a little over twice this length!

Other:

Series List

Masterlist

Previous (teaser) | Next

Mr. Erich was a slow talker. You could almost understand why Jimin was falling asleep next to you. Almost. Jimin wasn’t someone you really considered a close friend, but then again, you didn’t have many close friends.

The teacher continued droning on about number theory. You placed your head down on the desk, but your hand continued writing your notes. Staying up late last night wasn’t the best idea, but you needed to write an essay on Anaxagoras, a greek philosopher.

You hated philosophy. But you loved your mother and your mother had urged you to take a class that didn’t only involve numbers.

Jimin was snoring peacefully and you glanced over at him. It wasn’t exactly your issue so you looked away and went back to following the lesson. A few minutes later, he jerked awake and groaned audibly.

A few people in the seats around looked at him quizzically. You shrunk lower in your seat. You didn’t want to attend class, too many people and it made your heart race, but you needed to pass this class and so you, sadly, must attend.

Many knew Jimin as the son and heir to BigHit, the large business conglomerate that had wealth that made even the 1% drool, but to you he was just that guy who fell asleep in Calculus and cheated off your notes. Objectively, this was annoying. Subjectively…

You felt him staring out of the corner of your eye. He was looking pointedly at your notes. Subjectively, you didn’t care enough. If he didn’t pay attention in class, that was his problem and you didn’t feel one way or another. At the bottom of your notes, you wrote, Pay attention.

He wrote that down too without a second thought.

You were busy. You were always busy. In fact, you had an extremely important Algebra assignment to do and you knew you could get it done as long as no one bothered you-

“Oh my god.”

A man with blonde hair and a light blue beret stood in front of you. In his hands was a tray of spilled over paints; paints that were now on you. You tilted your head.

“Can you move?” You spoke up after a while.

“I’m so sorry!” He seemed unfrozen and hurried after you as you brushed by.

“Uh, can you go away?”

“I know you’re probably really mad! Do you want money or something? I can buy you new clothes or-wait that sounds weird.”

“Clothes?” You glanced down and then realized the state of your wardrobe.

You were splattered with red, green, and yellow paint. You then glanced at your notebooks, also, helpfully, coated in a thin layer of paint. More importantly, your beautiful TI-84 calculator was ruined.

You opened your mouth, furiously holding up your calculator, but the man continued rambling on. Annoying. But somewhat entertaining, you supposed.

“You got paint on my-”

“Let me take you out! Somewhere nice? I’ll buy you a coffee!” He tore off some notebook paper and scribbled some numbers down. You paused. What was he doing?

“Besides, it’s not paint, it’s Gouache.” He announced proudly, shoving the paper into your already full arms.

“But that- you still got-”

“Taehyung!” Jimin called from behind you. You turned and the man winced. “Oh, Taehyungie has never been too neat, sorry about him. Anyway, we gotta go, Tae. Yoongi just called and Jungkook set fire to the carpet again.”

“He really needs to change his major to something a little less dangerous.”

“What is this, the third time?”

“I don’t know, but we need to go, Tae-”

“What’s his major?” You questioned.

“Philosophy.” They both said in unison.

“Anyway gotta go!” Taehyung grabbed Jimin’s hand and started speed walking away.

“You got paint on my calcu-”

“Later!” Jimin shouted over his shoulder, his eyes lingered on you for a moment.

Did you have something on your face? You swiped at your cheek and he grinned, turning back around and following Taehyung.

Once they were out of sight, you juggled your notebooks around until you could successfully pick up the paper. 278-367-5433 ;). You scoffed at the numbers, something you did often, and crumpled it up.

“Art majors. What a waste of trees” You muttered and trudged back to your dorm.

“I’m so stuck on this problem, Y/N, you’ve gotta help me.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re my friend?”

“I’m not your friend, Jimin.” You moved the phone to your other shoulder and continued working.

“But-”

“Bye.”

You hung up and groaned, massaging your temple. Your room could be seen as lonely. Plain white paint sat on dull gray walls. There wasn’t a speck of trash or clothing littered on the floor. You lived an orderly life. Tidy. Your eyes strayed to your hamper.

Your clothes from earlier were spilling out of the top. A splash of color on a black and white canvas. You scrunched your nose and looked away in disgust. You had never understood the point of art. What did anyone ever see in it? It was meaningless. You looked back to your notes.

These numbers meant something. They meant the height of a ladder leaning against a building, the measurements of a bridge, and where Mary Jane would end up in 400 minutes if she’s going five miles an hour on a circular road. It was pretty deep.

You looked at your watch. Then you moved your attention to the window. Your dorm overlooked the sprawling center of campus. The place was a concrete playground, but with the extensive arts program, it was always covered in colorful murals and art pieces.

You didn’t have a roommate and you liked it that way. You had always preferred to be alone. Others called you anti-social, but, to put it another way, if there was an apocalypse and it was just you and another person alive in the entire world, you would probably leave them for dead. Life was simpler alone.

Besides, you wouldn’t have to deal with people chastising you about not picking up on “social cues” or whatever the hell those were. How were you supposed to know that when someone leans in real close, they want to kiss you? It seemed quite arbitrary in your mind.

Your phone was buzzing again.

“What do you want?”

“Please Y/N! This. Is. Really. Hard.”

“Jimin, figure it out. How are you going to pass midterms if you can’t understand algebra?”

“Ouch.”

“I mean that in the most sincere way.” You relented.

“You’re so mean, Y/N.”

Your eyebrows rose. That certainly wasn’t the first time you’d heard those words.

“I’m honest. You could go ask the teacher or something.”

“He told me to ask you.”

“That doesn’t sound right.”

You heard him let out a dry laugh on the other side and rustling of sheets.

“You’re really good at math, Y/N.”

“I hate number theory.” You objected.

“But that doesn’t mean you’re not good at it!”

“Shut up. I’m going to hang up now.”

“Wait no-”

Beep.

People were annoying. That’s what you had decided. You weren’t trying to stick out like a sore thumb, but getting in the flow of other people and understanding all the shit they wanted you to understand was hard.

You put your pencil back down onto the page and continued writing. You reached for your calculator, groaning when you realized the paint had covered the display.

“Great. Just great.”

You set the calculator aside, feeling a little sentimental. After all, you’d had that thing since seventh grade. Your phone buzzed again. Jimin jesus chr-

“Yes?” You picked up.

“What is this So ka toe ah everyone is telling me about.”

“How did you pass trig without sohcahtoa?”

“Tell me!”

“Ask Taehyung.”

“Taehyung is an art major and hasn’t had to be proficient in math since the fifth grade!”

“Sin, cosine, tan. Bye.”

Beep.

You massaged the crease between your eyebrows and your attention got caught by the darkened campus. The gross fluorescent campus lights lit up the concrete. Freshmen were running wild, happy with their newfound freedom, and seniors were leaving for clubs or parties. The lights in the dorm buildings across campus began turning on one by one.

You searched your pockets for the crumpled paper. When you didn’t find any, you made your way to your hamper and dug around the pockets of your paint smothered clothing.

“Aha.” You unfolded the paper and dialed the number. You didn’t feel like talking, but Jimin was driving you up the wall.

“Taehyung, right?” You said as he picked up.

“Yeah? Changed your mind?”

“No. I’m going to make this short and sweet, tell Jimin to stop calling me for math help. Thanks.” You hung up and went back to your work.

So, technically, you were done with work, but being done with work meant that you were free and if you were free, that meant you had no excuse not to go out. And you needed an excuse to avoid people. You opened up your textbook and frowned at the various graphs and equations. You had already done all of them for fun this summer.

“Hey, Y/N, a bunch of us in the dorm are going out, wanna come?” The hall monitor knocked on your door.

“Aren’t you supposed to be doing your job?” You looked back with a confused expression.

“Charming as ever I see.” She chuckled.

“Come on, Jasmine, Y/N never wants to go out anyway.” Another girl shouted.

“I know! I just wanted to be nice!” Jasmine shouted out, as if you weren’t right there.

“What would be nice is if you left.” You said, your voice monotone and matter of fact.

“Alright then. If you need anything, just text or call.”

“You won’t pick up anyway.” You whispered under your breath, but Jasmine was already gone.

“You forgot that this has to be positive, Jimin.” You leaned over him like an overbearing mother.

“But that doesn’t make sense!”

“You’re dividing two negatives. They cancel out.” You explained, a frown twisting onto your face.

There was a long silence as you watched him scribble down the new numbers. The library was relatively quiet. The giggles of a group in the corner would pierce the peaceful ambience every now and then, but the librarian would always shush them and they’d die down.

Jimin cleared his throat, pulling your attention back to this study session. You moved across the table and sat at your seat again. You just sat and stared at him. He was intriguing. He made silly mistakes that he should honestly understand for being a junior in college. His eyes flicked up to you three times and back to his paper.

“Well, this is awkward.” He said after a while.

“Is it?” You shrugged and continued staring him in the eye. He shifted awkwardly and looked away.

“Why are you staring at me?” He whispered.

“Oh, do you want me to stop?”

His mouth opened and closed then he looked back at his paper, his ears turning red.

“Are you coming on to me?” He murmured.

“What? No, why would I do that?” You said, disgusted, and returned to your work.

To be clear, you weren’t disgusted with him, but you were disgusted at the idea that you would come onto him. After all, you were just here for math and Jimin was just here because he needed help studying, obviously. He looked like you had just slapped him. You honestly didn’t see an issue.

“You know, my parents are pretty traditional and they want me to bring a girl home this holiday season. You’re the only girl I’m really close friends with.” He began. You felt his eyes on you and you looked up.

“Uh, alright? That sounds like a problem. Who are you going to take then?”

“You’re really dense, aren’t you?”

“I’m not dense.” You defended. “You need to expand your friend group.”

“I was wondering if you could come along?”

“What?” Your furrowed your eyebrows. “Absolutely not.”

“It wouldn’t be anything romantic, just-”

A man with mint green hair and a slim build walked past and Jimin’s eyes followed him. You followed his line of sight.

“....We can just go as friends, you know?”

You nodded solemnly. “Just friends, Jimin.”

“You’ll go?”

“Only if you promise me it’s just friends because I really don’t want to have to deal with romance.” You huffed, picking up your pencil and jotting down numbers. “You already have my number, just send me the details.”

“Thank you!”

The librarian shot him a glare and he lowered his voice.

“You’re a real lifesaver.” He whispered.

“I know.” You narrowed your eyes and then began to pack up your things. “I’ve got a lot of stuff to do. Bye.”

“What, but we just-”

“Yeah I know, but I’m sort of sick of talking to people and I helped you with your work so I’ve got to go work on Philosophy.”

“Philosophy? I didn’t take you as a philosophy person.”

“Me neither.”

Aha! You knew you recognized Taehyung from somewhere. You ran your finger over the screen. The list of student names in your philosophy class was displayed.

“Kim Taehyung. [email protected].” You murmured

“Whatcha doing?” Jasmine leaned against your doorway.

“Just...research.” You explained lamely.

“I see.” The hall monitor came inside and sat on your bed. “You never go out, Y/N. I’m worried about you.”

“Okay, and?” You glanced at her as she sat cross legged on the bed. Great. She’s wrinkling the sheets.

“Well, as a friend-”

“We’re not friends.”

“-and hall monitor, I command that you go out this weekend. Do something with your college life. I think you might regret not doing anything fun later on.” She prodded softly.

“This is fun.” You gestured to the scattered math homework pages across the desk.

“Right… well, just keep it in mind.” She stood and moved to your door.

“Jasmine?”

“Yeah?” She paused, turning to look at you. You read over your philosophy work and then your essay.

“You ever think that there are so many people in your life, but no one is really a part of it?”

“You’ve got to stop with the philosophy, Y/N. It feels weird coming from you.” She laughed.

You didn’t find anything funny in that. She looked awkwardly from you to the door, expecting you to chuckle along, but you remained silent, blinking at her. She shivered and left without another word.

The second she was gone, you stood abruptly and smoothed out the bed sheets, but as you did that, more wrinkles appeared on the other side. You felt the anxiety pouring out of you and you rushed to smooth down the other side, but more and more wrinkles kept appearing like disgusting bugs that wouldn’t die. You let out a frustrated sigh and tore all the sheets off your bed.

You took the ruler off your desk and measured out the width and height, then calculated how much extra cloth is needed on both sides for it to be perfectly centered. Then you marked it off and remade the bed. You felt yourself calming as order was restored.

You thought back to Jasmine’s words. Go out? Absolutely not. Then you looked at the crumpled paper on your desk.

“Fine, Jasmine.” You pursed your lips and dialed the number once more.

“Y-ello?” Taehyung’s voice rumbled through the speaker.

“I want a coffee, but I’d prefer to go somewhere quiet.”

“Straight to the point I see.”

“Polite niceties take up too much time. When are you available?” “Whenever you are, love.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Alright. Uh…” There was a long pause and you heard rustling in the background. “Sorry just grabbing a piece of paper.”

“Why are you apologizing? There’s nothing to apologize for.” You said quickly, eager to get this conversation over with.

“I’m free this Saturday?”

“Works for me.” You said. You didn’t need to check your calendar to know you had nothing to do.

“Great see you then.” He said stiffly.

“Yup.”

“Uh...bye?”

“Alright.”

Beep.

Now it was time to overthink the arrangement until Saturday.

Taglist: N/A

Previous (Teaser) | Next

#heartsforbts #bangtanarmynet #kwritersworldnet #castlebangtan #bangtanuniversity #bts x reader #bts #taehyung x reader #jimin x reader #jimin x yoongi #yoonmin #fluff #angst #calcu-later #v #teen #college au

61 notes · View notes

honeysparker · 3 years

Text

two slow dancers | p.p

chapter 1: last ones out

summary: y/n stark has always hated peter parker but her hate is taken to a new level when she finds out he's the soul heir to her dad's legacy. sadly, its up to these two angsty teenagers to protect the world and they cant do that if they're fighting all the time.

y/n beats peter's ass and he likes it

enemies to lovers, slow burn

WORD COUNT: 2.8k

WARNINGS: mention of death, y/n is annoying so that's a warning...

(NOT MY GIF)

You couldn’t place the moment when you first realized syou hated Peter Parker.

Maybe it was when you saw your dad being more tender with him than he ever had been with you in your entire life. Maybe it was when he got invited on his first mission even though he had only been training for three months. Or maybe it was the way everyone seemed to like him, without him even having to try. Whenever it was, didn’t matter, because all you felt for him right now was unadulterated rage.

The Avengers was your dad’s team to lead. It was your dad’s idea in the first place and now he was the sole heir to everything concerning it. And now, as you sat across from your dad’s lawyer in his large Upper East Side office with Pepper lightly squeezing your hand, you couldn’t contain your rage. “What the fuck do you mean “it belongs to Peter Parker”?”

“Language,” Pepper sighed from her seat.

“It means any business regarding the Avengers and money set aside for them, belongs to Peter Parker.” Legal started. “This include the compound, the technology inside of it, and the rights to anything Mr. Stark was working on before his unfortunate passing.” He picked a piece of lint from the sleeve from his shirt and leaned back in his comically large chair, only infuriating you more.

“Isn’t he like a toddler? How is it legal to even give him that much money or power?” You snarled, ripping your hand from Pepper’s to throw up in the air. You knew you got worked up way too quickly, and you were aware how silly you looked flailing your arms around in anger, but sometimes you couldn’t contain yourself. Your dad’s legacy was being handed to an overgrown pre-teen who cuts his own hair and you couldn’t do anything about it. You might have been next in line to be the CEO of Stark Industries, but the Avengers always had a soft spot in your heart and now that was being ripped away from you from none other than Peter Parker.

The first time you met him you were glassy-eyed and naive and wanted nothing more than your dad’s acceptance, so you tried. You tried hard to like him and to not clench your fists every-time he got a pat on the back from your father. You tried to laugh at his corny jokes and boyish charm and not feel the urge to rip his eyes from his sockets every time you caught your dad looking at him a little too lovingly. You tried hard not to curse him for the fact that you weren’t a boy or that you were never quite enough for your dad, but you couldn’t. Every time you saw him you saw everything you weren’t and it took just too much effort to pretend that it didn’t bother you.

So you did everything in your power to avoid him. You trained on days you knew he had robotics, ducked behind counters, and ran into random rooms whenever you heard his voice, just so you didn’t have to be an absolute asshole to him, but it never worked out quite that well. Whenever you heard his sweet innocent voice mumble a “Thank you, Mr. Stark.” you couldn’t help but reveal yourself just to mock him, or poke fun at how starry-eyed he looked when he was admiring your father. You and him were a recipe for disaster and it upset your dad, so you couldn’t help but try for his sake but he wasn’t here and you had just one more reason than ever to let out your rage against Peter Parker.

“You’re right, however, the minute he turns eighteen, it’s all his.” Legal leaned forward, folding his hands in front of him on his desk, a look of almost pity on his face and you could tell he was trying to make you feel better. “Your dad wrote it in his will, so it’s legally Mr. Parker’s, but if Mr. Parker wanted to hand it over to you when he turned eighteen, then it could be all yours. For now, the team will be led by no other than Steve Rogers and on the day of Mr. Parker’s eighteenth birthday, we will meet in order to hand it off to him.”

You could feel your eyes swelling and your chest getting heavier as you sat there and listened to his words but you stayed glued to your seat. You never thought it would come to this, you sitting in some lawyers office on the verge of tears while your inheritance was being handed off to some pretty boy from Queens. You’ve had your moments with your dad before where you felt like just punching him straight in the face, but this was different. You wanted to hate him but he was dead and that would do no one any good. And more than anything, you wished he was here, so you could yell at him or attempt to hurt him in any way but he wasn’t, and you couldn’t, and just the thought of it made you feel more guilty than you ever imagined. Your dad had sacrificed his life for the entirety of the world and you were sat here upset about his will and you never felt more like a spoiled brat in your life.

But this wasn’t about money. This was about the fact that if you wanted to stay in touch with the Avengers or go on missions, you would have to do so through Peter. This was your dad’s sick way of linking you to Peter for the rest of your life and you hated it. Peter wasn’t family, he was barely a friend and now your dad’s legacy rested in his lanky, fragile hands. The worst part was that you knew Peter didn’t deserve it. He hadn’t lived long enough to disappoint your dad or see the face he makes when you really upset him, or endure the insane amount of pressure that was put on you the minute you turned ten. He didn’t have to deal with half the shit that came with being a Stark and yet a huge part of that legacy was given to him with not even half the work done on his part.

What hurts the most is your dad not even trusting you enough to lead the Avengers. If you had any suspicion that he didn’t believe in you before, they were all confirmed now and you could feel it chipping away at your self-esteem. There was something about Tony Stark that made you want him to love you. Maybe it was his unearned confidence, or how he practically moved through every room like he was the one who owned it (in most cases he was), but whatever the reason, you weren’t immune to it. You wanted him to love you as much as he loved his suit, or the Avengers, or Peter, really anything he took his time with, but he didn’t. You didn’t get the loving side of Tony Stark, you got the cold, unforgiving, and expecting side of Tony Stark and it killed you. Everytime you got knocked down in a fight or a bad grade on your test it killed you knowing you would have to defend yourself to your dad. Yet here you were again, defending yourself to him from beyond the grave.

You inhaled a shaky breath, standing up quickly and grabbing your bag that was loosely thrown over the side of the chair. “Thank you, Legal. If I have any more questions, I guess I’ll contact you.” You tried to make your voice sound as firm as possible, but you knew you didn’t have the confidence you came in there with, so all you did was turn on your heel and make a beeline for the exit, hoping Pepper would get the hint and follow.

You practically fell into the hallway but quickly gathered yourself as you began to stare up at the glimmering ceiling. Legal’s hallway was beautiful and littered with ivory columns and paintings that looked like Van Gough painted them himself. If you stare long enough at one you could see the places where the paint gathered together at one spot and didn’t quite blend in with the other colors or where little parts of the paintbrush hair got lost in the painting. They were beautiful and raw and for a moment took you out of whatever episode you were having. Your hand reached out to touch one, slowly and unsure, before a voice broke you out of your trance. “Y/N,” Pepper put a soft hand on your shoulder. “you ready?”

You nodded gently, both of your heels clicking on the marble floor as you left the building as your heart sat firmly in your throat. What you liked about Pepper was that she didn’t ask questions. She didn’t ask about your biological mom, she didn’t ask how you felt about your dad’s passing, and she didn’t ask you how you were feeling at the moment. She knew. She knew how you felt about most things and did her best to be there for you in ways she knew you would receive well. She invited you to watch a movie with her every night and would buy you your favorite candy if she knew you were feeling particularly worse that day. She allowed you to sit close to her and share the fluffy blanket that you both adored so much, and just recently you two started watching Gilmore Girls together. But what you liked most about Pepper is that she stood up for you in a way a mom would. She would kiss your cuts and bruises after a particularly long fight and scold Tony for yelling at you in the way that he did. She would sit by you when you cried, not saying a word or touching you too much because she knew you didn’t like that all that much. She made your lunch and bought cooking classes for the two of you so you could make dinner together. Overall, Pepper was perfect and she was always there for you in the way she was now.

That night Morgan came waddling into your room with her stuffed pig in her little arms and you couldn’t help but smile. She reached out for you with her free arm and you helped her into your bed, cuddling up to her and pushing wet strands of hair from her face. She was entirely too young to have to go through what she went through, but you were happy that her last memories of your dad were good ones. You might not have been around to see the way your dad was with Morgan, but Pepper told you all about it and got teary-eyed every time. You also couldn’t bring yourself to be jealous of the love she received from your father because she was truly every good thing about him in the tiniest body. You may have both lost him, but you both gained a new pathway towards him and that was probably why she was in your bed every night. Sometimes you wonder if she’s sleeping with you to make you feel better or if you’re sleeping with her to make her feel better. Regardless, every night you and her share your king bed and somehow still end up tangled in each other.

The one and only thing, however, that annoyed you about Morgan, was her undying love for Peter. Since you came back, she wouldn’t stop asking for him, and that was after meeting him one time. At breakfast it would be “Where’s Peter?” and at dinner it would be “Is Peter joining us?” and the answer would always be, “He’s not coming, Morgan, stop.” Which she would reply to with a pout or just a loud cry and it was getting on your nerves. It was yet another Stark that Peter had won over and you were absolutely on the verge of losing it, and the last person you wanted to snap at, was your little sister who still believed everyone was good. She still had a good and innocent heart and you owe that to the version of your dad she got, and you couldn’t help but think that if maybe you got that version, you wouldn’t be as messed up as you are.

Tonight, however, she was extremely cuddly and you wondered if she could tell that you had a bad day. As Tangled played in the background, you could sense her giant eyes looking up at you, so you turned to look at her and she gave you a soft smile that told you that everything was alright. So you placed a gentle kiss on her nose and avoided her giggles as you pulled her closer to your side.

“I don’t like you sad,” She mumbled, her little breath getting more faint as she grew tired. “Daddy didn’t like you sad either, he said he was sorry.” She never talked about your father and you assumed it was because the wound was still fresh but now she was telling you that your dad felt some type of remorse and you didn’t know how you felt about that. So you pushed her hair back and attempted to fall back asleep in hopes that you could forget that she said that all together.

The next morning you woke up with Morgan’s entire body on top of yours and your neck in immense pain. It was your first day of school and although you were done with your education in general, your instincts were not about to allow you to be late to your first day of senior year. You really dreaded going to school now, especially since you knew you would see Peter and the last time you saw him practically attacked him. Well, you did attack him, and had to be pulled off by Steve who had a hard time matching your strength. You really didn’t know how you would react to seeing him, especially after the meeting yesterday, but there are some things you can’t escape, and the hardships of high school are one of them.

When you got to school you could tell that your dad was probably laughing at you from heaven above because the very first thing that happened to you was Peter Parker’s solid but firm body ramming into you at full speed and nearly knocking the life out of you. He landed on top of you and you struggled from underneath him to push him off, trying to gather your things as you stood.

“Y-Y/N, I am so so sorry.” He shook, avoiding eye contact and moving to pick up the rest of your papers from the ground. You wanted to smile because it was you who made him that scared, but you were also pissed because not only did he take your inheritance, but he also knocked the living shit out of you within the first minute of the first day of school and you knew you would bruise. You were shorter than him but somehow he looked so small as he stood in front of you. He was more tan than when you saw him earlier in the summer and his hair was longer but more curly. He still had that panic in his eyes that he always had when he saw you but he was more confident in himself. You could tell by the way he stood up straight and reluctantly met your eyes. He almost offered you a small smile, but stopped himself when he realized that you wouldn’t receive that quite well.

“Watch where you’re going, Parker.” You practically spit at him, your eyes never leaving his. “You made me drop all my shit and I’ll be damned if I lose another thing because of you.” You grabbed your book out of his hands and held it close to your chest as you watched his mouth fall open at your statement.

“W-what does that mean?” He questioned with a hint of sadness behind his eyes and something else you couldn’t just place. “Cause i-it’s not my fault o-or wasn’-”

“Save it, Parker.” you cut him off and you knew you were maybe being too harsh because it wasn’t his fault your dad handed so much to him, but that couldn’t stop your words from being laced with venom. “You’ve done enough, and I am sick of you ruining my life.” You turned and left because you said what you needed to and didn’t feel the need to explain yourself to your dead dad’s ex lap dog and you weren’t about to start hearing him out.

But you felt bad, you really did, as you turned to get one more glance of the sad boy standing stunned in the hallway. He looked as if he saw a ghost and any confidence he had, was surely drained after your tiny altercation with him. You watched as he picked up the rest of the stuff that was his and made his exit through the front door of the school, and even you knew you had to make this right.

authors note: hi! omg my first chapter!!! i hope you like it and can give me feedback even if u hated the shit out of it like let me know u hated it idc,,, love peter but i need this enemies to lovers slow burn i know they deserve so stick it out with me and Maybe i don't know be my mutual!!

#peter parker #peter parker imagine #stark!reader #spiderman #spiderman imagine #peter parker one shot #peter parker x reader #peter parker series #peter parker angst #peter parker fanfiction #peter x stark!reader #tom holland #tom holland imagine #tom holland one shot #tom holland x reader #peter parker fan fic #tom holland fan fic #marvel imagine

20 notes · View notes

galaxycosplayart · 3 years

Text

A Man on a Roof

A simply short story I wrote heavily inspired by a dream I had. I tried my best to do research on 1920's fashion and culture, as well as try to make the New Orleans theme authentic. Constructive criticism is appreciated! (There's also some lgbtqia+ representation in here since I'm basing this off my dream where I was the narrator and I am in fact LGBTQIA+) ---

The sound of jazz resonated throughout the rather extravagant hotel venue, loud and upbeat. People swung along: dancing to the sweet melodies like there was no tomorrow. The band’s performance was booming with energy, passion and life; the colourful music painting a perfect picture of the ‘20s in all of the attendee’s minds. The dance floor was packed of all different shapes, ages and sizes. This gathering was one you wouldn’t forget. The sights, the sounds, the feeling; this 1920s themed extravaganza surely did live up to that title. I would know. I was smackdab in the middle of it all.

I’m going to be honest: I don’t really like parties. Too populated, too loud, too obnoxious – but I can’t say no to some swing. This party really was worth coming to, and for once I have to say I had the time of my life. Something about the general aesthetic, the beaming faces of everyone there, the historical backstory, it just made me swell up with joy (and excitement!). I was on my own, my parents were probably off making friends with other adults. In my hand was a glass of non-alcoholic champagne. I am but 13-years-old, after all. I continued to sway, careful not to spill my drink, when I happened to notice a boy leaving the party. He caught my eye, not for attraction, but intrigue. He looked to be a young man, around 16 or 17, but he was somewhat tall and lanky. Unfortunately, I didn’t get enough time to take a proper gander. Fortunately, nothing stopped my compelled urge to follow.

---- He was going to the roof. He didn’t seem to be in a hurry. No, he trotted nonchalantly to the elevator, his footsteps in sync with the music. He seemed to caper with the pleasant melodies coming from the venue. As he entered the elevator car, he lingered on to the tune with each step. The door closed before I could join him, and I watched the floor-level indicator above the gate gradually flicker to the roof of the building. Now, I know tailing people isn’t very polite, but I had taken a liking to the man’s... energy. Once taking a separate car up and searching a bit, I spotted the man near the edge of the flat roof. He continued to tap, now bathed under the glow of the full moon, illuminating his dancing figure. Since I could finally see his face, I can tell you he certainly was a rather attractive man. His warm amber skin basked splendidly under the moonlight; his eyelids shut. His low-ponytail of curly black hair swayed with him as he stepped, the music taking control of his body and mind. His outfit was truly vintage: a neat white dress shirt beneath some dark brown suspenders, the shirt tucked into his black dress pants. He also wore a dark chocolate-coloured bow tie and a light-grey longshoremen cap. Strong jazz could be heard, slightly muffled from the floors below, but that didn’t stop the young tapper from Charleston-ing his way around the roof. Listen, I’m no professional dancer, but I like to have a bit of knowledge in any given topic. My little knowledge prompted a question in my head, “Aren’t you supposed to have a dancing partner for this particular swing?” I said nothing aloud though, for my focus was on observing this man’s joyous pep. I leaned against the wall, quietly enjoying the stranger’s strut, when the moment was cut short by the sound of giggles. He opened his eyes, revealing mahogany brown irises, only adding to his beautiful appearance. He and I both turned to see a group of young women, looking to be around his age, goggling the boy. I mean, you could say I was too, but I didn’t interrupt or jest at his actions; I merely gazed politely. The nearest girl walked up to him and began to chat, which ceased his dance. This disappointed me, he seemed to be enjoying himself and they decided to throw off his rhythm. He appeared uninterested in talking too, giving the girl a bored look and responding in short answers. From what I heard, she was clearly chatting him up, probably attempting to make a move on him. However, this encounter was also interrupted; for it was his turn to spot me. We made eye contact; his line of sight aimed downwards at my short figure. I immediately panic, thinking, “Crap. How am I supposed to explain why I’m here? ‘Hello sir, I followed you upstairs, I liked the vibes?’ Hell no.” As I ran through all the possible excuses or justifications for why I decided to basically stalk this man up the hotel, I didn’t notice him making his way towards me. Nor did I sight the annoyed look of the girl he just left behind. He comes up to me, and soon realizing I was lost in frantic thought, gently places a hand on my shoulder. I snap out of my frenzied state, jumping at the touch and looking up once more to see him a lot closer than he was a couple of seconds ago. “Hey, you alright? You seemed frozen in time, dere,” he said with a gentle smile. His accent was faintly reminiscent of downtown New Orleans, which explained how his energy matched the parties so perfectly. It was smooth and peppy; an endearing tone. “Oh, yeah, of course,” I say quickly, still trying to find the right words. “I- uh- I liked your dancing,” was all that came out of my mouth, and I mentally facepalmed with the awkwardness that came with the broken statement. Instead of cringing at this display, however, he instead laughed. “Thank you, cher. And what are you doing, all alone on this here roof?” he asked kindly. “Just... exploring. I happened to notice you dancing when I got to the roof, so I kind of... watched for a bit,” I replied sheepishly. I mean, I wasn’t lying. I did explore the roof a bit before I found him, and I did spot his Charleston when I did. I just happened to omit the details of following him up the elevator car. And through the lobby. From the party. No biggie. “That so? Well then, can you dance?” he asked, extending a friendly hand and dishing out a genial grin. I panic again, but this time for a different, more trivial reason. “Oh, no, no I’m not that good at dancing-” “Really? Ya seemed to be enjoying it down there at tha’ party.” “...You saw me there?” “I watched you follow me, sha.” “...” Well, this was incredibly embarrassing. If I wasn’t already blushing from this whole ordeal (which I incredibly doubt – my face felt very hot), I most definitely was now. I should be thankful for his carefree attitude, because when my spluttered apology attempted to vocalize itself into comprehensible words, he simply waved it off and laughed once more. “Oh, it ain’t nothin’. Don’t worry ‘bout it,” he assured light-heartedly. “Still, I wouldn’t mind if you joined me. It’s fun to have a dancin’ partner, ya know?” “I- well... I guess a bit of dancing wouldn’t hurt,” I admitted. He extended his hand once more in invitation. I hesitantly accepted, and as soon as my palm fit into his, the grip strengthened as I was whirled to his side in the open area near the edge. As the next song started to play, and we couldn’t help but get lost in the music, I heard one phrase be exclaimed from the still-anonymous boy beside me, “Laissez les bons temps rouler!" ---- I had easily resumed my cheerful demeanour by dancing with the man, enjoying our time to the fullest. Despite my lack of expertise in cutting a rug, we enjoyed ourselves quite a bit. It was more of feeling out the music and letting the rhythm take you, relishing a fun stranger’s presence. Sadly, this enjoyment was often interrupted by a third party, who continued to loiter around on the roof; each individual taking their turn in attempting to woo the boy. Louis, as I now knew him, also kept up his trend of giving the girls a cold shoulder, and we exchanged a cheeky grin each time one would storm off huffing. However, something did confuse me slightly. Well, the women were exceptionally beautiful. They also didn’t seem rude, or arrogant; they actually seemed rather kind and friendly. Some even referred to Louis by name, meaning he was probably familiar with the ladies. They simply were shooting their shot, and Louis would keep refusing one after the other. Obviously, he wasn’t obliged to humour any of their advances, but it’s like he didn’t even acknowledge the idea of dating them. I am a curious – and frankly, unfiltered – soul, so as the last dame trudge off to the group, I turn to my new friend and say, “Hey, mind if I ask you something?” “Sure, what's on your mind, cher?” he replied smoothly, as we both watch the gaggle of women finally exit. “You know em’? The group there, I mean,” I clarify, though there wasn’t such a need for it anyway. I just have a bad habit of... shedding light on things that aren’t as dark, you feel me? “Yeah, they’re good friends of my brother’s. Why?” “Oh, well, they seem awfully interested in you.” “Yeah, they do that now and then. I’m used to it.” “Can’t take a hint, huh?” “Yeah, you right.” I decide to sit down as the current song begins to fade out, allowing myself a small break before the music resumed. Louis takes a seat beside me, sighing. I press further, while simultaneously pondering why I was so curious about his decision to dismiss these dates. Looking back on it, it was really none of my business, but something about the rejections just felt oddly... familiar. Still, I probably shouldn’t pry into other people’s matters. “May I ask why you constantly say no? I mean, they seem like lovely ladies. Are they just not your type?” He doesn’t reply at first, so I immediately jump to the conclusion that I upset him in some way. He’d be justified in feeling so, but I soon come to realize he was thinking of how to answer. After a few moments, I got the reply. “Sort of. I mean... in a way? They don’t know that though,” he says with a smile, to which I respond by giving him a quizzical look. What was that supposed to mean? I’m pretty embarrassed I didn’t realize it sooner when he sees my expression, and states, “Oh. I’m gay.” I stare at the boy for a few moments, blinking. I then burst out into laughter. What a heteronormative approach I took to my questioning. Me, of all people! He was amused with me, and we share a joyous laughing session to the realization. “Ah... no wonder I related to your rejections,” I say with a cheerful grin. He quirks an eyebrow, and asks me with a curious twinkle in his eye,“Hm? What are you talking about sha?” “I’m bi. And non-binary. That’s partially why I found it so ironic that I didn’t get that sooner.” We chuckled once more, now aware of how hysterical the situation was when the final song of the evening began. He gets up first, helping me up, and we find ourselves dancing our way into the night.

3 notes · View notes

darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 4 years

Text

tapestry 👑 VII

Warnings: eventual dark elements (tags to be added as fic continues)

This is dark!(king)Steve and explicit. 18+ only.

Summary: King Steven had a wandering eye but you never thought it would fall upon you.

This Chapter: The pieces are moved further across the board.

Note: It’s a slightly shorter chapter but I’m hoping the next chapter turns out how I envision it. I work close so I’ll get a little longer before work to figure that out but thank you all for reading and following this series.

I really hope you enjoy. 💋 You guys rock!

<3 Let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply! Love ya!

You tucked the necklace away and didn’t touch it; couldn’t even look at it. Joan and Sybil ignored you as Marion sent you sympathetic looks. You felt terribly. Rose hadn’t been the nicest but she had been just as humiliated as the queen. And perhaps Eleanor had her own machinations but she didn’t deserve that shame. First a bastard followed by a public betrayal.

You barely slept. You couldn’t stop thinking of the scene in the queen’s receiving chamber. The king was growing desperate, you assured yourself, impatient, and he was only trying to lure you into his arms. His promises of adoration, honours, and even marriage were empty. You knew that by the treatment of the other women.

How easily would he be done with you should you succumb to him?

The morning brought a headache and a knot in your chest. You readied and went with the other women to morning prayers. Your meal was taken without the queen. She was supping with her husband, it was reported, although many whispered at the veracity of the excuse. As they did, they looked to you and you stared at your plate. Rose was absent as well.

Marion sat with you. She was your only steadfast companion and only passively so. Her tolerance was kindness compared to the distaste of the other women. You wondered how Rose had bore it with a smile but you never recalled her facing such hostility. In fact, her giggling accounts of her and the king’s trysts were favoured tales.

You didn’t eat much. You were silent and walked with the other ladies back to your chambers. As you came upon them, a woman with hair the colour of straw and pock scars upon her cheeks stood at the door. A loud sobbing was muffled from behind the next. Rose’s despair was rampant and outright.

Again, several glares, each cut you deep. The yellow-haired woman stepped forward and curtsied. Her brown dress and white apron denoted her servitude. Her eyes searched among the ladies though she couldn’t choose where to keep them. Your name slipped from her lips; a question.

The ladies parted as they sneered at you. You stepped forward and kept your head high. “It is me you seek.”

“My lady,” She gave a crooked smile. “I am Marge. The king has sent me to serve you. To help you ready for your things.”

“My things?” You asked. “What do you mean?”

“Your chambers have been arranged. The king has seen to them and I am to be your chambermaid.”

“Chambers? Why, I am a lady without title or marriage, I should remain as I am.” You protested. “I’d rather you return to the king and seek reassignment.”

“My lady, I have strict orders to see you to your new chambers.” She insisted and her eyes flicked along the line of ladies. “And to attend whatever needs you should have.”

You sighed and resisted the urge to glance at the other ladies. You could feel them watching you. “I haven’t much,” You relented. “It shouldn’t take very long.”

“My lady,” She dipped her head. “There will be men soon to help carry your trunks.”

“It is just the one.” You assured her. “Not very much at all.”

Marion opened the door and you followed her within. Marge waited for the other ladies to enter before she followed. She trailed you to your bed and you opened your trunk. You packed away the book and the handkerchief you had left on your pillow. She helped you buckle it shut.

“Good riddance,” You heard Joan’s whispered as she sat on her bed and watched. You looked up at her . You were tiring of the poorly-hidden scorn. The cowardice snipes beneath one’s breath.

“Yes, good riddance,” You said. She flinched as if you’d struck her.

Two men in servant’s garb appeared in the open door. One knocked on the frame and they bowed as you looked to them.

“My lady.” They nodded to you. “Marge, we’ve come to help.”

“Just this one,” Marge pointed to the large chest.

“Might I…” Marion’s voice distracted you as the men entered and stood on either end of the trunk. “Might I come along and help you settle in?”

Your lips parted. You looked at the other ladies again. Joan avoided your gaze and Sybil watched the servants. “You would do that?”

“If you’d have me,” She offered. “It will be...different without you here.”

“Yes, I would love it if you came along, Marion,” You smiled. “Though I suspect I needn’t very much help.”

“Even so,” She replied. “I think I will miss you.”

👑

The chambers were much larger than those you shared with the other ladies. There was a spacious receiving chamber with a tall fireplace and a round table painted with vined fruit. There was a sofa just on the other side of it and ornaments lined the mantle and a small table near the window. There were velvet chairs sat before the hearth and tapestries kept the room from growing frigid.

The bedroom was just as luxurious. The bed was draped in deep red linens and a screen separated the vanity and the armoire. Tall windows lined the wall on the other side of the bed and a smaller hearth faced the bed. Another door opened into a privy. Your father would be envious.

You felt out of place as Marge began to unpack your gowns into the wardrobe. You only had half a dozen and a few sleeping gowns. Your father couldn’t afford much more and you altered them often to keep them fashionable. You fidgeted with your sleeve as you retreated back to the receiving chamber where Marion marveled at the painting of the king just above the fire.

“I think the king is in love with you,” She mused as she turned around. “Do you think so?”

“Is that what you think?” You crossed the room and sat lightly on the sofa. “When he disdains his queen and has disposed of Rose so swiftly.”

Her brows drew together. She neared and sat on the other end of the sofa. “Do you not think him genuine?”

“I think he is a man who is rarely deprived. I think it is more about the pursuit than the prize.” You wrung your hands as you kept your voice low. “I have not encouraged him, I have not done anything but refuse him.”

“But… every lady at court longs to be in your place.” She insisted.

“I have seen his habit and I believe myself no better than my predecessors. If...when he gets what he wants he will be done with me just as quickly.” You frowned. “I am not a fool. But my father is. He is intent upon my snaring the king.”

Marion blinked in surprise.

“Oh, I should not have said that. You will tell the others, won’t you?”

“Why would I do that?” She asked. “They are jealous, that is all. I mean, they all fawned over Rose and she made certain we all knew of her relations with the king. So far as we know, you’ve barely even smiled in his direction.”

“Yes, but in a place like this, imagination means more than reality.” You bemoaned. “Do you really not hate me as they do?”

“They do not hate you, they hate that they are not you.” She assured you. “If anything, they hate the king for how he has treated Rose. And the queen, to some extent. It reminds us all of our position as women. Of how tenuous it is.”

“Why, Marion, I thought you said you weren’t one for such bleak thoughts.”

“I wasn’t.” She gave a soft smile; behind it, pity. “You’ve not heard what happened with Rose?”

“The child?” You wondered.

“Half the court knows of the child.” She waved her fingers lightly, “My brother was among the men with the king the day after the scene with Queen Eleanor. Rose’s father marched her into the king’s receiving chamber, he was livid. Not with his daughter even, but the king. Can you fathom that?”

“Sadly,” You replied. “If she truly carries a bastard, she has no hope of a marriage.”

“Well, that’s it. Her father accused the king of defiling Rose but the king would not stand for it. He said, in front of all his men, ‘When your daughter came to my bed, she was no maiden, and I doubt my bed strengthened her chastity.’” Marion was almost whispering as she leaned close. “My brother said he could barely breathe. It was completely silent. No one knew what to say and Rose just ran out in tears.”

“Oh, poor thing,” You touched your throat.

“You pity her?”

“How can I not? One day, I might find myself in the same circumstance, if not worse.”

Marion nodded and glanced around the chamber. Shadows struck her face sharply as she looked to you grimly. “I suppose you are envious of us then? How funny it is to think.”

“More than you know,” You leaned back. Your sleeve was fraying from your endless picking at the delicate cuff. “I am trapped. The more I say no, the more persistent the king grows, but if I say yes then I am surely doomed.”

👑

Your first night in your new chambers was the most lonely you’d ever known. You wished you had accepted Marge’s offer for her to stay, but you’d sent the servant away out of paranoia. You weren’t completely convinced she was not sent to report your every word back to the king.

You were as wakeful as you had been of late. The dark was desolate and the morning held little promise. The walls around you were the embodiment of those which had risen between you and the court.

You eventually dozed in spurts. When the dawn bloomed through the curtains and the ache of your head kept you awake, you rose. Marge arrived as if she sensed your consciousness. She helped you wash and dress and pulled the moss green hood over your hair as you sat before the mirror.

You wondered at your reflection. How could you have driven the king to such madness? Perhaps you were not so plain as you thought. Or perhaps you were.

You were reluctant to leave and so you paced your receiving chamber. The queen would only find so many excuses for her absence and besides, she was not the type to hide for long. And neither were you.

And Rose? Would she ever appear again? Well, if she did, you expected she would not be any nicer than before.

You had almost found your courage when the knock came. When you were brought to a sudden halt to look at Marge. She diligently went to the door. She didn’t notice the fearful look you sent her way. You didn’t have time to wonder who would visit. You suspected the king as the hinges whined.

The queen stood in the doorway. She was accompanied by a guard as she always was when she traversed the castle. She did not await an invitation but swept inside with a wish of her skirts. The beaded azure silk flowed like an ocean around her slender figure. Her eyes were discerning as she took account of your chambers.

“So it is true.” She began. “He has lodged you for his pleasure.”

“Your highness, I tried to re--”

“You have done very well for someone who has tried to resist.” She neared the mantle over the hearth and looked up at the portrait of her husband. He had been younger when he posed for it. “He was prince then. This was the painting they sent when they offered the contract between us. I thought he was so handsome I accepted and insisted on bring the portrait with me.”

She paused as she reached up to trace her fingers along the frame.

“At first, it was a comfort. I thought, when he was kept away from me, too busy with his court and kingly duties, that he’d still be there. I could look over and see him. I was young, like you, and just as naive ”

She laughed sourly. “Then I could bear to look at it no longer. The first mistress I forgave, even the second, but when there are too many to keep count, your worth becomes apparent. And so you take down the painting and store it away to be shrouded in dust...along with your heart.”

“I didn’t ask for it--”

“You should’ve played along. I would’ve seen you retired away from court in a nice country house. A castle on the moors. But now, when he tires of you, I shall let him cast you out.” She turned to face you. “For you have shamed me worse than any.”

“I did not--”

“I did not come to converse. I came for you to listen.” She hissed. “For you may act coy with my husband, play with him as you do, and he may prop you up until he can get what he wants, but I am still his queen. I have the crown, the throne, and by rite, I have him.”

You stared at her. You inhaled and nodded. You realized, there was nothing you could say. There was nothing you could think of to say. And so you were silent as you were so many times before, only this time, you were more than the girl along the wall.

“I can drag you down further than the king can lift you higher. Understand that. You are an earl’s daughter, a second daughter at that. I was born a princess, raised to be a queen. You will never be me. You can never.”

In her anger she looked so unlike herself that she was monstrous. Her words were more so and cut you deep. You reeled and caught the chair beside you. You closed your eyes and breathed. Again the anger rose; so unfamiliar. Years of being unheard boiled within.

“I never wanted this.” You opened your eyes. “I told you I didn’t but you persisted because you thought to topple Lady Rose. You thought to play your hand and drew the low card. You’ve done this to both of us and it cannot be undone.”

She shook her head and scoffed. “You are just the same as all the rest, my lady.” She neared the table and ran her fingertips along the painted top. “You must enjoy these chambers while you remain here,” She rescinded her hand and retreated. “For you will never know any so fine when you are through.”

“I understand why you blame me but know that I do not blame you. Not even for your hate, for your scorn. For you have a right to it. You should be angry; you should hate him, hate me even, but you can content yourself in knowing that you have already ravaged my life completely.” You stood straight and crossed your arms. “But you may just have doomed yourself along with me.”

Her lips parted as if to retort. Her green eyes held yours for a moment before she turned away. She motioned to her guard and Marge opened the door. She stopped as she reached the door frame and her long fingers rested on the wood.

“Good. So you will know the same pain I have.” Those were her last words before she swept out into the corridor.

The jingle of her guards mail and the padding of her slippers were muffled as Marge shut the door. The servant’s face was beet red as she avoided your gaze. You dropped your arms and stepped around the chair to sit.

“You needn’t remain, Marge. I shall not bind you to me and I have lived many years without a maid.” You said softly. “You have my leave, should you want it.”

“I should not.” Her tone was firm. “For I agreed to tend to you in whatever you need and right now, you would seem to need a friend.”

#tapestry #series #Steve Rogers #king!steve #dark steve rogers #dark!steve rogers #dark steve rogers x reader #dark!steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x reader #dark!fic #dark fic #mcu #marvel #fic #medieval au #au #captain america #bucky barnes x reader #Bucky Barnes

1K notes · View notes

oswildin · 4 years

Text

Bonded {Part Six} ~ Dhawan!Master x Reader

Summary: You had told the Master the truth. Confirming his discoveries about his home. Now it was time you both healed.

Warnings: Bit of tension.

The Doctor paced around the console, biting her nails as she feared what the Master was up to. Where had he taken you? Why had he taken you? She knew he wasn’t stable. She knew he was unpredictable. That’s what scared her the most.

You woke from your slumber as you groaned; your neck sore from the position you’d fallen asleep in. You noted a blanket had been draped over your body as you stirred. You furrowed your brows as you noted how quiet the ship was. Where had the Master gone?

You pushed yourself off the chair as you stretched your limbs, trying to shake the sleep off. You decided to take a look round, seeing if you can find the Timelord. You passed the console, three different doors greeting you as you eyed them all. You narrowed your eyes as you felt the sense of the man from one of the doors. It was like he knew you were awake and looking for him. You followed your senses as you opened one of the doors, revealing a large room, filled with papers, books and random devices thrown about the place. You raised a brow, seeing the Master sat at a desk, reading a book as he turned in his chair to face you.

“Thanks for the blanket.” You said as he looked at you. “What are you reading?” You inquired, looking over at the book that had remained open on the desk.

“The Origins of Gallifrey.” He told you as he raised a brow, glancing at the book. “Stole it from the Grand Chambers of Omega.” He smirked. “Couldn’t resist.” He paused as you licked your lips, listening to him. “It’s worthless now. Means nothing... What once was a priceless artefact... All lies.” He hissed, slamming the book shut as he shook the desk slightly. You gave him a sympathetic glance as you walking further into the room.

“You should write your own.” You countered, a small smile on your lips, almost teasingly. “A guide on how not to create a civilisation.” He didn’t smile at your words as he stared back at you. You suddenly felt nervous in his presence. You couldn’t explain it. You felt like you were being watched by a predator, reading to pounce on its pray... but it was... exciting... But also weirdly comforting.

“The true story of the real Timeless Child.” He retorted as you folded your arms over your chest, looking down at him.

“It would be a bit sad.” You commented as you raised a brow. “Don’t think many would read it.” He narrowed his eyes, pulling away his gaze as he looked back at the book. “Are you ok?” You questioned, feeling his energy radiating inside of you. It was hard to read, but it felt... desperate... It was difficult to differentiate between your own feelings and his. He gritted his teeth before standing suddenly, making you jump back.

“You’ve just had your whole life turned upside down, past events being thrown back into your mind, and you’re asking me if I’m ok?” He raised a brow, looking down at you as you shrugged.

“Well, you’re the one who’s found out that your whole species lied to you, your purpose in the universe being held a secret...” You explained as you looked back up at him. “I guess we’re both on equal parr.” You commented as he breathed out, almost wanting to laugh at the situation. It wasn’t funny. Not one bit. But it was quite unbelievable. “Wonder what the Doctor’s thinking.” You started as the Master tightened his jaw, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. “She must be worried.”

“Who cares?” He spat, walking past you as he headed back towards the console. You paused before following him.

“What’s the deal with you two?” You asked. “I mean, shouldn’t you be on the same side? You’re the two who ran away from Gallifrey... Not wanting to abide by their rules.” You raised a brow as he almost growled at the idea of being compared to the Doctor.

“I wasn’t the one who ran away.” He told you sternly. “That was always her.” He stated. “I always tended to run towards the danger.” He glances at you, fiddling about with the controls on the console.

“Why did you try to kill her?” You asked, shaking your head. “Why try to destroy Earth?”

“Why not?” He retorted, raising his brows as he spun around the console. You looked confused at his sudden change in demeanour. “I mean, really... What do you expect from a warrior race? If she’s happy gallivanting around the universe, trying to make it better, so be it.” He came close to you as he leant down. “But me? Well... I am the chaos in the universe...” He grinned madly as you shook your head.

“No.” You said. “Stop with this act.” You ordered him as he raised a brow. “You know what I think?” You challenged. “You put on this front... To hide the fact you are just as broken and damaged as everyone else in this universe.” You told him, eyes soft as he sniffed before reaching out and grabbing you by the throat. You gasped at his sudden moved, trying to pry his hand away. Your golden eyes stared into his own dark ones as he glared down at you.

“Don’t act like you know me.” This was a different man to who you had seen earlier. He was truly... unpredictable... terrifying... “Just because you had suffered your own fate, do not pretend to sympathise with my own.” He released you as you gasped for breath, holding your throat as you coughed. “Do I make myself clear?” You quickly nodded, still gasping as you tried to steady yourself.

The tension in the room was unbearable as you stayed as far away from the man as you could. He wouldn’t say he regretted his actions... But he felt a pang of guilt inside of himself. He didn’t mean to lash out at you. You should be the last person he was angry at. He sighed to himself as he glanced over at you, seeing you sat far away, deep in your own thoughts. He could feel your sadness and confusion.

“You gonna stay sitting there moping?” The Master asked, as you snapped your head towards him. You stayed silent as you glared at the man. “What do you want? An apology?” He scoffed. “You knew what I was capable of.” He argued as you rolled your eyes at his words, causing him to sigh. “Fine. Fine.” He held up his hands dramatically, stepping down towards you. “I apologise.” He placed his hands on his hips. “There. Happy now?”

“Not exactly, no.” You narrowed your eyes. “I’m not exactly living the dream am I? Kidnapped by a psychotic Timelord, finding out my nightmares were real, oh and to top it off, I’m stuck with said Timelord cause he’s my Bonded.” You ranted, feeling better after getting that out of your system. The Master pursed his lips.

“I will try not to take offence.” He held his lips in a tight line as you sighed.

“What’s your plan? What now?” You asked as he seemed to think it over before alarms in his ship began to ring. He turned, seeing a red light emitting from the console as he ran over to it, looking at the warnings. You stood up, watching him as you furrowed your brows.

“What’s happening?” You questioned, worried about the answer.

“We’re being dragged back...” He told you darkly. “Gallifrey is dragging us back.” You looked scared. Why were they taking you back? You swore under your breath, holding onto the console as the Master tried to break free of their link. He yelled as nothing he did worked. You dread to think what the Timelords had planned. The Master had threatened to kill their Founding Father and helped a fugitive of its world regain their memories... The Timelords were always looking for someone to blame but themselves.

“You need to send a signal to the Doctor!” You exclaimed. “She’s the only one who can help us.” You told him as he snarled before hitting the console. It always came back to the Doctor, didn’t it? Always down to her to be the hero. The one time he tried to help, and still the Doctor was painted as the good guy. “Master!” You shouted, engaging him once more as he sighed, reluctantly sending out a signal from his TARDIS.

“She’s too far away for the mental link to connect, but hopefully...” He told you. “She should receive this.”

The Doctor’s TARDIS console turned dark red as she received an incoming distress call. She instantly rushed to the screen, seeing that it was in fact the other Timelord.

‘Gallifrey.’

The Doctor stared at the screen, confused as she had witnessed how the planet had been burnt to the ground... how? Why? Unless... She quickly managed to locate the signal, as she realised it was sent from the past. Of course he did. Of course he had to go there... She quickly began putting in the coordinates that also appeared on the screen, as she pulled a lever, her own TARDIS flying through the vortex.

You fell to the floor as the Master’s TARDIS landed. You felt your chest rise and fall, fear creeping into your body as you lifted yourself back up. The Master stood, staring at the door. You couldn’t read the expression on his face.

“What do we do?” You asked quietly, afraid to talk too loud incase someone heard.

“I don’t know.” He answered honestly, sending shivers down your spine. He seemed like a man that rarely spoke those words. “I doubt they want a little chat.” He began to pace around the room, causing your anxiety to heighten.

“Right, we need a plan then.” You told him, trying to take a lead. “We know why they’ve brought us back...” you paused, looking at him sadly. “Me.” You laughed lightly. “They can’t have me running around the universe, not with the past I know... It’s fine... we go out, they wipe my memory, send me back to Earth. I live a normal life.” He furrowed his brows at your words, going to argue. “It’s the only way. You know it. Plus I would be getting what I wanted.” He seemed to freeze at your words, anger and sadness enveloping him. He didn’t want to be alone. If you were truly his Bonded, he knew it would kill him if you were apart now.

“No.” He shook his head. “I am not letting that happen.” He told you sternly. “Call me selfish, but I don’t intend to let you give yourself up to them. Not now.” You felt somewhat flattered by his words, as a knock sounded at the door. You both snapped your head to look at the entrance to the ship. “Stay here.” He ordered as you watched him walk towards the door. You wanted to run over to him and tell him to stop, keep him by your side. This sudden protectiveness of the man took you aback. His hand rested on the door handle as he took a deep breath, composing himself; ready to put on a show.

He stepped out, the door shutting behind him as you waited anxiously, biting your nails. You needed to do something. You knew how ruthless the Timelords were.

“Come on, there must be a way...” You muttered to yourself. “Help me out here...” You almost begged the TARDIS as it hummed in response. You sighed. You felt a warmth flowing through your veins as a golden light began to envelop your hands. You looked down, seeing it was real... “Are you...” You peered up at the console as it hummed once more. You smirked as you formulated a plan.

The Master stepped out, greeted by the High Council once more. He stood looking exasperated at the fellow beings.

“Sorry, did I forget to say Goodbye?” He raised a brow as he casually leant against the door to his TARDIS. They were stood outside, the orange sun beating down on them all.

“Enough of your games, Master.” Rassilon spat, glaring at the man. “We may have allowed you to escape, but do you really think we would let you get away?” He smirked. “Your crimes are punishable by death.”

“So do it.” The Master challenged, stepping away from his ship towards the man. “Go on, Founding Father... destroy your creation.” His eyes turned dark as he stood strong in front of Rassilon. “It’s funny...” He began. “You had us believing the Daleks were the deadliest beings in all of the universe.” He scoffed slightly, raising his brows. “That Davros was the one to blame for the Time War... But do you know what I think?” Rassilon flared his nostrils, anger seething from him. “We were the real monsters.”

“Your blasphemous words mean nothing.” Rassilon argued. “You know nothing of the Time War. Where were you?!” He shouted. “What would you know of the Time War?!”

“I know enough!” The Master exclaimed, anger radiating off of him. “Now why, did you bring us back? Because you know I won’t let you get what you want.” He narrowed his eyes. “Over my dead body.”

“So be it.” Rassilon smirked, lifting his hand. Before he could do anything a golden light appeared, hitting the man in the chest as it threw him back. The Master furrowed his brows, confused at what had happened, before turning to see you, your eyes and hands glowing as anger raced through your veins. The soldiers lifted their weapons, aiming them at you.

“What are you doing?!” The Master exclaimed as he looked at you in surprise.

“Saving your life, got a problem with that?!” You remarked as you rendered the soldiers unconscious. “You see... The Time Vortex runs through my veins... I can use it to my advantage.” The Master looked at you as he noticed your hands were shaking.

“It’s killing you.” He realised as he growled, walking over to you. “Stop this madness now!” He exclaimed. “You’re killing yourself!”

“A little thank you wouldn’t go amiss!” You retorted as he growled.

“No being is able to harness the power of the Vortex long. If you don’t let it go, you will burn from the inside out.” He told you, looking down into your eyes. “Please. Let it go.” You furrowed your brows at his tone, it was desperate, longing, begging almost. The Master didn’t beg... Did he? You sighed before allowing the golden light to free itself from your body. You instantly felt faint as you fell slightly, the Master catching you to steady you. The High Council watched the scene before them, shaken to their core at the dangerous nature of the being in front of them. Rassilon began to recover as he lifted himself up, clutching his chest as he stared at you angrily.

“You still don’t have a TARDIS.” He commented. “It’s locked in place!” He laughed. “There’s no escaping this time...”

Suddenly the familiar sound of wheezing flew through the land as you couldn’t help but weakly smile, knowing that sound anywhere. The Timelords smile began to fall as a blue box appeared behind the pair.

“That would be our ride.” The Master commented as he smirked at Rassilon.

“Master! If you dare step onto that TARDIS, you may never return!” He shouted, rage in his voice. “You are exiled from your home planet!”

“Good.” The Master remarked. “Remember this Rassilon... I will return. And when I do... there will be fire.” He threatened as he helped you into the Doctor’s TARDIS, hearing Rassilon yell in anguish. It was satisfying to say the least. As you entered, the TARDIS instantly began to dematerialise away from Gallifrey. You sighed in relief as the Master helped you over to the steps, sitting you down. The Doctor ran over to you, looking you over as she sent an odd glare or two at the Master.

“I’m fine.” You waved her off. “Stop fussing. Think I’ve had enough of that for one day.” You rubbed your temples.

“What do you think you were doing?!” The Doctor exclaimed at the Master. “I have been worried!”

“Oh, relax, Doctor.” He rolled his eyes at her dramatic antics. “They’re fine.” He looked down at you. “Besides, the problem has been fixed thanks to me. They’re no longer dying. You’re welcome.” He sassily retorted as he held a hand on his hip.

“That’s not the point. You endangered them!” She argued.

“Will you two please stop arguing?” You raised a brow, looking up at the two. “It’s getting rather repetitive.” The two went silent as you relished in the peace, sighing.

“So, what now?”

Taglist: @drapetxmaniia @dannighost @imagine-whatever @impalasquiptyseven @yourlocalspacebisexual @the-sweet-space-bi @a--1--1--3 @blamerogertaylor @koschei-taylor @koschei-studies @lostshadow12 @hannahlilyyx @wonders-of-the-multiverse @ettorah @nikey-no-likey @imthedoctorlove @twentysomethingloser92 @startrekkingaroundasgard @sometimes-i-feel-like-falling @hellothedoctorisreal @tragic-and-tried @kind-sober-fullydressed @ateliefloresdaprimavera

#dhawan master #dhawan!master #fanfic #dr who #dw series 12 #master x reader #dhawan master x reader #dhawan!master x reader #sacha dhawan #doctor who imagine #doctor who #13th doctor x reader #doctor x reader #reader insert

132 notes · View notes

the-magic-lava-lamp · 3 years

Text

Caught Up In You

Chapter 3 - A Very Loki Chapter

Summary: A story revolving around a group of teenage friends, their mishaps, their relationships and their coming of age.

Watch as they navigate through the highs & lows of high school relationships and learn to grow up as most of them are approaching the end of their Senior year.

Ships: SamBucky, ThorBruce, Stony, ValJane…(More ships & characters to come)

Word Count: 6,497

{Wednesday Night}

The thick rim of sweat which wrapped around Loki’s ankle was finally given fresh air as he kicked off one of his old sneakers.

The night was over; Thor had gone to his room with a joyful grin and ice-cream dotting the corner of his mouth and Wanda had been dropped off at home. Which was an event all on it’s own. While waiting in line at the happy little Frosty’s store-front, Wanda’s Mother called and asked her home to see her Grandparents who’d dropped by as a surprise.

Loki was irritated with the abrupt change of plans and Wanda’s angst about it only fueled him on. But Thor managed to make the little time they had left kinda fun. Paying for their treats and scrolling through the multiple snapchats he had of Loki doing weird shit to compete with Wanda’s captured moments.

And Loki was never one to shy away from being the center of attention, so he was absolutely delighted.

But now, his face was overcast with that tiny sheen of moisture which made his makeup heavy. Really hammering it in that he’d gone out & done all he could for the day with nothing left but to do but try and sleep.

He swiped remover down his face with a cotton pad and revealed in the euphoric sense of relief instead of focusing on the slight disappointment which always came.

Half his face was clean, one shiny green eye gone while the other still glittered under the flickering bathroom light, when Odin knocked on the bathroom door in his special way. One thump.

“In here.” He called out, filled with a little teenage venom.

Odin huffed a bit before speaking. “Can I just pee really quick?”

Loki turned to scrunch his face at the wooden door, where an eight year old Thor had once proclaimed he saw an image of a turtle between the lines. He rolled his lips together and popped out his leg before reaching out and unlocking the door. “Fine.”

He’d try to avoid the bickering match by giving him what he wanted & tried to speed past his father before he got a good look at him. But Odin managed a quick peek. “Interesting.” He hummed in that condescending tone that he always argued was just his regular voice.

Loki frowned and remembering that if he quipped back, fighting would escalate and Odin would just say shit he didn’t understand was offensive.

But the flickering light and sense of suburban ‘comfort’ was driving him insane all of the sudden. He blinked and spun to grab the door with his special grace. “You like it, father?” He smirked in a way that he’d once seen one Tony Stark do to his father in the school parking lot last year. It’d been an expression which stuck with him. The perfect mixture of innocent and bitchy. That had really bubbled Loki’s old crush on the arrogant guy.

Odin shifted, either from the fact that he hadn’t pissed yet or the nerves he always got when talking to his younger son. They both pretended that didn’t exist for a few years now.

“Lovely.” He tried to mutter out without sounding annoyed but he really wasn’t good at that. “Did you go out like..that?”

Loki smirked slightly, as if that didn’t bother him, and tore his gaze to the stupid framed painting of a bathtub which hung on the wall. “I’m sorry to have embarrassed you.”

“Don’t be snotty with me, Loki. I didn’t mean it like that and you should know that.” Odin shook his head which only served to truly piss his son off further.

“Oh of course, you’ve been rather happy with my behavior lately. Just admit that you can’t accept it-”

“Well, I’m not exactly ecstatic, son. I never have understood you." Odin burst, for the first time voicing some kind of confession to the feelings Loki basically already knew of...But it still hurt him. Loki stepped back a little, losing some of his confidence.

Odin frowned but took the opportunity to shut the bathroom door to escape.

Loki stared at the door, a little winded and suddenly overwhelmed with bitterness.

There was a full length mirror in his bedroom which Loki used to remove the rest of his makeup. It worked out very poorly considering all he had to clean it off with was a dish towel and some water he poured into Thor’s lame childhood baseball team trophy. He’d stolen it a few weeks ago from his older brother's room and he’d yet to notice it’s disappearance, sadly.

There was a tiny knock on his door which couldn't possibly be Odin, so Loki gave them permission to enter as he scrubbed his left eye. He’d sort of expected his Mother but was greeted with the gentle looking giant called Thor. Of course.

Loki turned his chin to look at him over his shoulder. “These kinds of moments are a little too ‘sitcom trying to tackle serious subjects’ for me, Thor. So, I’d rather not have a heart-to-heart, ok?” He smirked and turned back to the mirror, watching his brother’s reflection as he sat on his bed.

Thor rolled his eyes but looked somewhat amused. “I think we’re quite better at the ‘heart-to-heart’s than those dumb shows.” He glanced down at Loki’s reflection and smirked right back.

“I don’t know about better. But, we are far more entertaining.” Loki chuckled, remembering a few times where their nice talks ended with fun playful punching. “This is between father and I, Thor. You couldn’t possibly get it.” He frowned and finally turned his whole body. “The man thinks the world of you.”

Thor stiffened slightly.

“Anyone can see you're his favorite.” Loki shook his head with sudden anger. “Hela moved as far as she did because of him. And he can barely stand to look at me. I can see it in the way he looks at me. Complete and utter...embarrassment.”

“Father has a complicated way of showing his love-”

Loki felt his chest burn with the sudden urge to argue until he couldn’t breathe. “Not with you. Never with you.” He spat and threw his crappy towel onto the carpet. “He has some kind of personal issue against me, brother. Don’t act like it’s not there cause that just...drives me crazy.” His voice grew more tiresome than he would’ve liked and he deflated a bit.

“He likes to pretend Wanda’s my little girlfriend because he doesn’t like the fact that I’m so obviously attracted to men too! And it’s not even because he’s against the idea of having a queer son-” Loki stumbled on his words because he was barely sure how he identified, himself. “If you were to bring home Banner, he’d be waving the flag! I’d bet my life on it.”

He stood and started pacing his floor while Thor watched him go.

“But because I didn’t turn out to be someone who could pass as a straight, manly jock to family and friends, he despises me.” Loki looked up to the ceiling in frustration.

Thor was stunned to silence, not used to seeing his brother so distraught. Green glitter was still smudged and wet over Loki’s eye and he was doing his best to never make eye contact. “I know it’ll probably frustrate you and mother but...” Loki paused and rolled his lips together “I’m not going to fight for a relationship with him if he won’t even meet me halfway.”

“Brother...” Thor stood from the bed and took the way Loki moved back with embarrassment to notice. “I am always going to be in your corner, you know that right?” He asked.

Loki looked as if he didn’t know how to respond which absolutely crushed his older brother. “I haven’t always made it easy for you so...why should I think that?” He shrugged.

Thor swallowed, feeling as if he’d just gulped burning tea. “I think the world of you, Loki.” He shrugged because that answer was just so simple. No matter how many times they fought, Thor loved his brother.

Loki looked down at the carpet before letting out a long sigh. “Ok. I’m uncomfortable and would like to get the rest of this shit off my face and maybe watch a film.” He rubbed hard into his left eye and glanced at Thor. “You can watch too but you have to stop talking.”

Thor smiled and did a mock salute.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

{Thursday Morning}

Loki rested his head on Wanda’s shoulder; her chin resting on the tufts of his hair. Her glance was desperately pointed downwards, eyes strained as she still couldn’t help but try and look at her friend as he spoke. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there.” She frowned and Loki softly smiled. “If it helps, my Grandma spent the whole evening asking me about boys and trying to give me tips on how to ‘Snag the best kind of fellow’.”

Loki rolled his eyes. “I doubt she was that...nineteen-fifties about it, Wanda.” He pursed his lips, taking in her most subdued outfit of the week. He’d been pretending not to notice her ‘subtle’ evolution from complete ‘middle school witch’ to a ‘maybe hippie girl’?

Wanda hummed. “I don’t like her, Loki.” She shook her head a little (best as she could). “All she does is talk about Neil Sedaka and say offensive things that we’re just supposed to ignore.”

Loki giggled in a way that not most people could get him to.

She chuckled into his hair. “She did ask about you though. My little friend from school, very condescending about it by the way.” Wanda momentarily raised her head and twisted down to look at him. “I told her you died but I kept a vial of your blood on a necklace.” Her voice seamlessly fell into a casual tone.

Loki hummed in a sinister little chuckle. “You’re such a freak.”

Wanda pinched him.

“So...” Loki got up from the bench. “How do you snag the fellow?” He teased.

Wanda popped up after him and started to reluctantly follow his motions to get to class. “Just the usual steps. Y’know pass him by in the hallway, let him carry your books...” She delicately tapped each of her fingers as she walked.

“Stand in the corner of the room & cry so he asks what’s wrong, sit on a park bench & feed pigeons, take a piece of his hair to put in a traditional love-bringing fire-”

Loki pushed her arm and laughed when she stumbled.

“Don’t knock it till you try it.” She bumped him back and hugged her books to her chest. “Why do you think I’m constantly pushing away attention?” She sarcastically put her hand to her chest and smirked.

“They make me nervous.” Wanda complained as she took the familiar steps up to the Odinson’s door. Loki rolled his eyes and dug around for his key.

Thor was inviting his old buddies over for a little after-school hang-out which Loki was 100% sure was just an attempt for Thor to distract himself from agonizing over Bruce. Loki’s brother was not subtle about hiding his feelings, even if he thought so. “They’re idiots, Wanda. Nothing to stress over. All you have to do is walk past them and go to the kitchen. They won’t bother you.”

Wanda crossed her arms and took off for the other room as soon as the door opened, neglecting to greet Thor or his friends in the living room. Though Loki moved a bit more slowly as he shut the entry & observed the group of jocks. He saved his most annoyed look for Sif, who’d always seemed annoyed with him.

Even with the strange time without seeing that company in their home, Loki was a master at ignoring them.

“Loki! Look who’s here!” Thor was quite joyous with the mini reunion But. Loki just rolled his eyes and went for the kitchen where Wanda was setting up their books to study. Hogun, Volstagg, Fandral and Sif gave the little brother tiny nods before he’d managed to escape but weren’t given a response.

Sif pursed her lips. “He hasn’t changed much.” She scooted closer to the table from her seat on the carpet. They surrounded the furniture like a group of poker players, bits of schoolwork littered it and circled the fake-fruit bowl. “Nor his little friend.” She smiled softly.

“I suppose the ice is part of his charm though.” Fandral added, throwing a plastic apple up-and-down with his trademark smirk. “Wouldn’t very well be Loki without it, Don’t you think?”

Thor observed his old friend's conversation with warm nostalgia in his chest. While it was endearing to see them all laughing & talking in his living room like they’d used to, Thor’s mind still drifted nervously to his plans with Bruce the next day.

While Thor was overthinking and the others chatted, Sif managed to get up and slip into the kitchen without much notice. Fandral’s apple now hanging loosely in her grip while she walked to the fridge.

Loki didn’t so much as look up at the presence he knew was there but that little friend of his did. Her expression was hard to read.

In her head, Wanda was agonizing over the idea of whether she was supposed to say ‘hi’ or not. Sure, she knew of Sif but she didn’t really know her. They’d just cross paths sometimes in the Odinson household when they were younger. But she was standing in the kitchen now-...though Loki wasn’t even moving and surely if she should greet the girl then so would she.

“I have to go to the bathroom.” She absolutely despised that she announced that to the room but at least she could then leave. Which she did.

Wanda darted off which finally pulled Loki’s attention from his books with a twitch of his brow.

“Guess I made her nervous, huh?” Sif’s charmed voice came from behind Loki. She moved around the table to stand awkwardly in front of him, hands oddly resting on her hips. There was an intense feeling of effort in the interaction which made Loki even more annoyed. Sif was a freaking jock. She’d been one all her life and the only reason she felt the need to be nice to him was because of Thor’s begging.

“She’s not attracted to you, bonehead. Your presence just gave her such social anxiety that she then had to use the bathroom as an excuse to leave. She’ll be hiding there until you’re gone.” The dark haired man spoke smoothly as he flipped through pages.

“Which-” He finally glanced up at Sif and made a show of folding his hands together “I hope it will be soon. Now that you’ve gotten the...coffee creamer you needed so badly?” His thin brow jumped up.

Sif really hadn’t been paying attention to what she was grabbing. She simply missed the days of annoying Thor’s little brother by mere existence plus hell if Wanda wasn’t adorable. She smirked and tossed the creamer from palm to palm while obnoxiously observing Loki’s work. She came closer and rested against the counter. “Still as kind as ever, Loki.”

The younger boy looked up and met his eye in an oddly amused way. “Still as back-handed as ever, Sif.” He scrunched up his nose and shut the Chemistry book he’d been pretending to read.

The girl just grinned as she straightened his back, finding the bite to be sentimental. All the times she’d teased the quiet boy whenever she passed Loki in her best friend's home, sitting on the ottoman by himself, to get Kool-Aid (or whatever the hell they were drinking in middle-school) popped back into her mind. “You do possess the ability to be nice, y’know that?”

Loki hummed, flipping his pen around in his hand. Those fingers moving quickly yet gracefully was somehow mesmerizing. “Yeah but you’re not worth the effort.” He flicked his tongue and went back to writing.

Sif nodded, as if the reaction was expected and went back to her friends because maybe Loki wasn’t worth her effort.

Once she was gone, Loki shoved himself out of the chair and trudged over to the bathroom door with a bit of an amused smile. His knuckles burned slightly as he tapped insistently against the white wood currently keeping him from his absurd friend. “Wanda, dear? You’re free to come out.” He hummed happily.

There was a quiet thrush of water from the sink and some shuffling but the door remained closed for another minute or two. It gave Loki the time to pause...and maybe think about the other night. He’d come to expect that disgusting attitude from Odin but that didn’t take away the sharp pain it put in his chest everytime he put another back-handed comment on the table. Damn if Loki didn’t keep a tiny bit of hope for change. “Did you decide to take a nap on the linoleum, Wanda?”

“Yeah, that’s exactly it.” She finally answered, voice thick and unamused.

So much so that Loki whistled, putting his hands up in a mock surrender as he backed away from the door. Just in time for his friend to pop out with that smug little nose-scrunch smile of hers. However Loki didn’t miss the slick way she shoved her phone into her back-pocket. He cocked an eyebrow, arms crossing elegantly over his chest. “Who were you talking to?”

“Nobody. I was peeing and hiding from Thor’s friends.”

“Then let me see your call history.”

Wanda scowled. “No, Loki.” She shook her head and stomped past him, beginning a dance of irritation. She’d lead into a step only to have Loki block and counter it, pretending to be doing something of importance that just so happened to be in her way. It only lasted so long.

When Loki reached over her body to get the cookie jar, that conniving little smile on his face, Wanda couldn’t help it. She pushed his arm back with a bit more force than intended and watched him stumble with heat in her stomach. “Are you so arrogant that you can't understand you’re annoying me so much right now?” Venom in her tone for sure but Wanda was a master remaining unsettlingly pleasant even when angry.

“Oh please, spare the dramatics.” Loki rolled his eyes. “It did seem like you were growing tired of me.” He spat a little too bitterly. Wanda turned, leaning back on the counter. Her outfit annoyingly consisted of flare jeans which dragged against the floor.

“Loki.” She frowned, moving towards the table. “We’re soul-siblings-” She gently poked his shoulder with one finger. “Just because I’m dressing a little differently doesn’t mean I’m becoming someone else.”

Exceedingly embarrassed, Loki looked off to the side. “So tell me who you were talking to.” It was pitifully childish but something about his best friend, who often openly gushed and giggled over boys, being so suddenly secretive about a phone-call was bothering him. It had to be someone she liked. He knew her tell-tale signs...that and he swore he’d heard a muffled giggle from behind the damn bathroom door.

“Fine.” Wanda shook her head once more and handed over the phone.

#i found this in my drafts lol!#so i finished it!#:)#loki odinson #loki and wanda #wanda maximoff #caught up in you #marvel #MCU #my fanfiction #Loki Laufeyson #Scarlet Witch #The Avengers #Marvel Comics

2 notes · View notes

mister-fleck · 5 years

Text

relax: arthur fleck x sophie

prompt: “Could you write arthur/sophie nsfw? I imagine him as less experienced than her, but so excited and happy to what’s going on.”

Arthur struck his lighter once, twice, three times before taking a deep pull off of his cigarette.

A week had gone by since Hoyt had fired him. That particular phone call still made Arthur’s cheeks burn with shame whenever he thought back on it — which was often. The whole ordeal skyrocketed Arthur’s already prominent amount of stress. Cash had grown tight, not that he had all that much saved up to begin with, and Arthur had been forced to take a step back and reevaluate how to spend what little change he had left.

And it was imperative that he did so. Arthur didn’t have the greatest resume, certainly no college degree, and the faded homeschooled certificate he kept stapled to it didn’t mean anything when it came to employers. Who in their right mind would hire somebody whose main credentials were clown and nice guy?

Due to the current hardship that life always seemed to throw at him, Arthur had disciplined himself into smoking less. He couldn’t afford the luxury of smoking two packs a day anymore, not with the responsibility of feeding his mother and paying the landlord.

He had waited all day to smoke this cigarette. Arthur had told himself that he would be rewarded with it at the end of the day, but only if he pushed himself out of his comfort zone to apply for work elsewhere. Interviews were always at the top of Arthur’s list when it came to what made him nervous. And nervousness led to anxiety, which led to paranoia, which led to laughter…

Today hadn’t gone any differently. Nobody even remotely considered him — Arthur had consistently struggled to find the right words to sell himself as a diligent employee. Which was frustrating, because Arthur knew he was a hard worker. He put his heart and soul into everything he did, especially when there was the possibility of failure. Yet none of this mattered, not when Arthur could only shrug and grasp at his throat when asked: where do you see yourself in five years?

But he had tried. Arthur had gotten dressed, combed back his hair, and put in the effort to further his life in this dreadful city called Gotham, so he deserved this damn cigarette.

Shoving his cold hands into his pockets, Arthur let the smoke travel into the furthest parts of his body before exhaling it during his walk home.

“C’mon, we’ve got to hurry it up. It’ll get cold out soon, baby girl.”

Arthur lifted his gaze from the filthy sidewalk and was met with the vision of a slender woman rounding the street corner, hand in hand with a little girl.

His cigarette nearly fell from between his lips. Sophie.

After their short encounter in the elevator, Arthur had developed a serious crush. He could count on his fingers how many women had offered him the time of day, let alone smile in his general direction — so their brief moment, no matter how insignificant it may have been for her, had been imprinted on his heart.

Arthur wasn’t proud of how he had followed her to work the day after. He hadn’t planned on it — Arthur had been on his way to the drug store when he spotted her leaving the apartment building, and well… he couldn’t stop himself. She pulled him forward unknowingly, like some sort of unrequited magnet.

He had even imagined her showing up at his apartment, flirting with him in his door way. Calling him funny.

And now they were walking in the same direction, the pair a few buildings away, their strides brisk. Sophie’s daughter was holding a red balloon and seemed to be disappearing in the fluffy winter jacket that she was bundled up in. Arthur’s eyes fell to their joined hands and envied the sight for more reasons than one.

“Gigi, come back here!”

Sophie’s sudden demand pulled Arthur out of his thoughts and he focused on what was playing out before him: the red balloon was now a few feet away from the two of them, most likely having been blown away from the late October breeze, and Gigi’s little feet were pitter-pattering in the same direction, determined to catch it.

Right into oncoming traffic.

Breath hitching, Arthur tossed aside his cigarette and broke into a clumsy sprint toward the child without hesitation, nearly falling flat on his face in the process, but managed to grab Gigi by the back of her coat and yank her onto the sidewalk before a taxi cab could smack right into the side of her.

The rest was a blur. Arthur’s throat clenched and unclenched as he knelt on the sidewalk, his lungs burning, his nose pink and itchy from the chill. He heard Sophie scold her daughter somewhere behind him, her voice tight with concern and anger and thick with tears. A soft hand fell against his shoulder soon thereafter.

“Jesus Christ, thank you so much, are you okay?”

Arthur began to laugh.

It came out in sharp bursts, loud and jagged, each peal like a bruising kick to his chest. Mortified and nearly hyperventilating, Arthur buried his face in the crook of his elbow and fought off the urge to curl up into the fetal position. He clenched his fist and slammed it once against the pavement as he drowned in his own self-hatred.

The hand on his shoulder retreated and Arthur’s heart broke. He had to fix this. He couldn’t let this be how Sophie perceived him, not as some delusional sicko devoid of empathy. Anguished, he dug around in his pants pocket until he felt thin plastic and held the card up over his head as he succumbed to more agonizing laughter.

To his embarrassment, it took Arthur nearly a full minute to calm down, and by then he had accepted the fact that Sophie had probably left him there out of pity. But as he lifted his head, now throbbing and heavy, Arthur saw that she was kneeling beside him, dark eyes wide with worry.

Sophie smiled sadly at him, but didn’t move away. Instead, she parted her lips. “Hey.”

Arthur, out of his mind and abruptly infatuated, returned the favor. “Hey.”

An hour later, Arthur found himself seated in Sophie’s apartment, perched nervously on the edge of her couch with his hands wrapped around a warm mug of coffee. He turned the mug over and smiled at the messy, painted lettering splayed across it: Best Mommy Ever.

Arthur’s heart had been hammering away ever since Sophie had invited him back to her place. He had politely insisted that repaying him wasn’t necessary, but thankfully she was insistent on patching up his banged up hand.

“Thank you for waiting,” Sophie murmured, reemerging from Gigi’s bedroom. “Had to check under the little one’s bed for monsters. You know how children can be.”

With the way Sophie looked in her sweater and leggings, Arthur felt like a little kid himself, dazed and bashful in her presence. He smiled up at her.

“I used to work with them,” he heard himself admit, knees pressed together and ears heating up. “I’d entertain the kids down at Gotham Children’s Hospital.” Arthur ran a hand through his hair, a nervous habit. “I’m a party clown.”

Sophie broke out into a bright grin and Arthur could have passed out. “Really? That’s so sweet, Arthur.” She rounded the couch to sit next to him, not too close, but not far away either. “That’s your name, right? Arthur Fleck?”

Please never stop saying my name. “Yes. Arthur.”

Picking up her own mug from the coffee table in front of them, Sophie leaned back into the couch and crossed one long leg over the other. “I’ve always liked that name.”

She took a sip. Arthur mimicked her, letting the hot liquid soothe his throat. “Yeah?”

“Mhm. It’s sweet. And distinguished.”

Looking down at his wrinkled jacket and beat up corduroy slacks, Arthur lifted one of his shoulders quietly. “I’m not sure if I’ve ever been distinguished, but I try my best to be sweet.” His voice was small, meek.

“You’re kind of precious, you know that?” Sophie commented bluntly, her eyes flitting about him. “My neighbor said that you were kind of a creep, but I don’t think that’s the case at all.”

Arthur sagged a little. “They said that?” Hoping to rectify his reputation, he leant forward slightly, earnestly. “I swear, I’m a good guy, I’m just a little…”

“Shy.” Sophie finished for him, still smiling.

She was the sun. She was the moon, the stars, the unimaginable in-between. Arthur’s pulse skipped. “Yeah.”

Arthur wasn’t entirely sure how it had happened, but midway through the evening news Sophie had allowed herself to scoot closer, resting her head against his shoulder and lifting her legs up onto the couch as if it were the most natural thing in the world to do. He didn’t breathe for a solid two minutes, unaware of what god to thank for blessing him.

Sophie’s voice came softly, “Is it okay if I…?”

Arthur looked down to see one of her delicate, feminine hands tugging at his sleeve and he nodded fervently, lifting his arm so she could curl up underneath it. Content, Sophie hummed and went back to watching the weather man on the small television set across from them.

He could have cried. Arthur didn’t know whether to feel confident or insecure — she had to have felt comfortable around him to be so intimate, which majorly stroked his ego, but did she simply feel obligated to be kind to him, after how he saved her daughter? Did Sophie mind that he smelled like cigarettes and cheap laundry detergent? Was he too thin, too bony to rest against? Was he —

“Your heart is beating so fast.”

Arthur’s thoughts halted. He felt his mouth go dry. “I’m sorry.”

Sophie reached out and squeezed his knee. “Relax. You deserve to, you know.”

“Are you real?” He had blurted it out without thinking, a tremble in his voice. It was a strange combination, Arthur realized, to be smitten and terrified all at once.

He felt her body shake with soft laughter. “You’re so funny, Arthur.”

You’re so funny, Arthur.

Arthur’s heart began to break. He cursed his overactive imagination and squeezed his eyes tight, words tumbling out haphazardly, “It’s just, you’re so kind to me, and you’re beautiful, and I would hate it if you were… if you weren’t…” He struggled to find the right words, as usual. “If I was dreaming.”

There was movement against him, careful and gentle, and when Arthur opened his eyes he found Sophie much, much closer. Straddling his lap. Smirking at him.

“Does this feel like a dream?”

Both so slowly and all at once, Sophie cradled his face in her hands and captured his mouth in a warm kiss.

The world faded away. For the first time all night, Arthur allowed himself to turn off his brain and just enjoy her, her company, the way her body fit perfectly in his arms — which were now wrapped carefully, tenderly around her — the way her fingernails felt as they scratched affectionately against the back of his neck before sinking into his hair.

They kissed for a long time, languidly, unhurried. Not even the opening theme to The Murray Franklin Show could pull him out of this moment, not with how Sophie was beginning to roll her hips and nibble at his bottom lip.

Arthur was hard instantly, despite how innocently he was maintaining his posture, how modestly he was holding the woman. Sophie must have noticed though, because she pulled back with a vixen-like grin, the both of them out of breath.

“Sorry,” Arthur rasped, a bit of a grimace on his face as he tried to fight back the urge to buck his hips up into her.

Sophie’s face was flushed as she stole another kiss, her lips brushing against his as she spoke, “You really are precious.”

Sensing his distress, she reached back to take one of Arthur’s hands and guided it wordlessly down the front of her pants and over drenched panties.

Arthur’s cock twitched in his underwear. “Oh, god…”

The both of them sat panting, foreheads pressed together, adjusting to the fact that they were now openly expressing how much they wanted one another in this moment.

“Touch me,” Sophie prompted, a shaky whisper.

Arthur shuddered, swallowed hard. “Can I?”

“Please.”

Horribly inexperienced, Arthur nodded and cautiously dipped his fingertips beneath her panties and let them slide against slick, swollen flesh. He groaned softly and let his gaze fall, hypnotized by the sight of his hand lost behind the fabric.

Sophie whimpered immediately, hands back in Arthur’s hair. He began to rub little circles right where she needed it most. “U-Uh huh, just like that. Fuck.”

Arthur was flying high. He hadn’t managed to mess up all night, which in turn led him to think that this may still all be some very vivid dream, but the way Sophie’s lithe little body trembled against him, how soaked his hand became as the minutes went by of him teasing her — that was enough to make him feel tall, broad. Like a man.

Soon, Sophie was shaking like a leaf and squeezing at Arthur’s shoulders insistently. “Take…Take my pants off.”

Arthur blinked in surprise, but he didn’t need to be asked twice. He retreated his wet hand — earning him a sharp gasp from Sophie — and helped her wriggle out of her leggings and panties. They were both a little clumsy and began to chuckle, but Arthur’s laughter turned into a moan when her hand palmed at his crotch.

“S-Sophie, you don’t have to—“

“Shh,” she cooed. “I want to make you feel good.”

His chest began to heave in anticipation and Arthur knew he had to be honest with her before they went any further. “I’ve never done this before.”

Sophie hummed, kissed him hotly. He heard the metallic scratching of his zipper being pulled down. “Then let me teach you.”

All he could do was nod and look up at her, pupils dilated, pulse skyrocketing. He wiped his sweaty palms on the fabric of his pants before scooting back to allow Sophie to pull his throbbing erection out of his briefs.

“Wow,” Sophie breathed, skimming the pad of her thumb over the tip of his cock and eying the size of him. “Good for you, Arthur.”

Arthur’s chest swelled with pride, feeling validated and maybe even attractive for the first time in his entire life, but he didn’t let it get to his head. He couldn’t, not with the way Sophie had wrapped her fist around him and was beginning to stroke him lazily.

A whine tore out of his chest. “I don’t have a condom,” he managed to say, seeing stars and shuddering.

Sophie licked her lips and shook her head briefly, her voice low with lust, “That’s— That’s fine. I’m on birth control.”

“Oh,” Arthur replied lamely, a bit strangled. “Okay.”

“Arthur?”

Green eyes lifted to brown. “Yeah?”

“Kiss me.”

Arthur surged forward and did as he was told, and she swallowed his moan when he realized that she was about to straddle him in an entirely different way. He wasn’t sure of where to put his hands, whether it would be impolite to take her by the hips, or too awkward to keep them at his sides, so he gingerly held her face instead and braced himself.

Sophie felt absolutely divine as she sunk down onto him. She was warm — no, hot — and so wet, smooth and delicious and his hips jerked up as a reaction, making her squeak in pleasured surprise.

They fell into a slow, heady, delicious rhythm, guided mostly by Sophie who seemed to be loving taking control. Arthur’s hands fell to her waist, nothing demanding but enough to express that he never wanted her to stop fucking him.

“You feel so good,” Arthur stammered, his hot face pressed against her shoulder as she continued to ride him with leisurely rolls of her hips. He lost control a second time, his hips snapping up once more.

Sophie muffled a breathy cry into his hair and wrapped her arms around his neck. “Do… do that again, baby.”

Baby.

Tightening his grip on her waist, Arthur began to pump his hips up into her steadily now, his brow furrowed as he focused on keeping it together. “Like this?”

“God, yeah,” Sophie breathed, her head falling back in pleasure. “You’re a fast learner.”

Arthur felt her clench around him and he hissed, knowing that he wasn’t going to be able to hold off much longer. He sped up unconsciously, the sound of her ass slapping against the tops of his thighs making him dizzy.

“Sophie, I think I’m going to…” He didn’t know how to explain himself, not wanting to be crude.

“Me too,” she reassured him quickly, matching his feverish pace. The tightness in Arthur’s belly was about to snap. Her voice grew light and needy, “With me, Arthur! Now, right now! Fuck!”

Sophie’s pussy spasmed hard around his cock and Arthur’s vision went white as he came inside of her. The ecstasy that crashed over him seemed to last forever, intense and heavenly, and he had to bite down hard on his lip to stop himself from crying out.

Almost five minutes passed before the trembling aftershocks between the two of them subsided and Sophie leaned back to press her lips to Arthur’s forehead.

“Wanna cigarette?” She murmured, threading her fingers through his hair, still very much on top of him.

A smile slowly flirted with Arthur’s lips. “Yes, please.”

#arthur fleck x sophie #arthur fleck #joker #joker movie #arthur fleck x reader #drabble

328 notes · View notes

annaraebananawriter · 4 years

Text

Shatter Me

Yellow again everyone! This oneshot is a bit...different. I experimented a bit with some creepiness, so be sure to tell me what you think! Other than that, this is also my first time writing Shattered Dream, and hopefully, it won’t be the last.

Fandom: Undertale, but specifically Dreamtale

Characters: Dream (Who belongs to Joku), Shattered Dream (Who belongs to @shattereddreamsau)

Warnings: None that I know of, so please tell me!

Word Count: 1702

~oOo~

Dream woke up in darkness.

He blinked, sitting up slowly. This was the Dreamscape. He knew it was, but it shouldn’t look like this. It was supposed to be colourful and bright; not clouded by blackness and…negativity? Was this Nightmare?

No, it couldn’t have been.

Nightmare, while he could access the Dreamscape and probably influence it, said he didn’t care about this place anymore. That Dream could do whatever he wanted with it. Besides, he would’ve felt Nightmare’s aura if he was here.

So, that ruled out Nightmare. Then, who could’ve done this? Dream?

No, no. That was impossible. He wasn’t negativity. He couldn’t influence the Dreamscape like this even if he wanted to. Which, of course, he doesn’t but…

This was strange. Only Nightmare and he had access to this place. If neither of them did this, then who?

Dream shivered as he stood up. It was strangely cold. He could feel himself start to shiver, so he hugged himself, rubbing his arms. He let out a breath and blinked. It was very cold; he could see his breath. He watched as the cloud of air disperses.

He looked around again. Nothing. Pure nothingness surrounded him.

However, if he wanted to get to the bottom of this, then he would need to walk around. The thought gave him mixed feelings. He didn’t want to do this. He was scared. But the Dreamscape was his responsibility. So, he had to fix it, or he would be a failure.

Or one greater than he already was, at least.

Dream took a deep breath and started forward.

~oOo~

It grew colder the more he walked.

He didn’t know how long he had been walking for. It felt like he was going in circles, or the place lasted forever. The darkness around him didn’t change at all. In fact, it almost seemed to grow darker, if that was possible.

He was shivering more now. It was impossible not too.

He hoped that this was, in fact, Nightmare. If it wasn’t, then he wouldn’t know what to do. He knew Nightmare. He knew how to knock him down, defeat him. He didn’t know how to beat whatever caused this.

Dream knew this would happen, though.

He knew that he was going headfirst into dangerous territory. He knew that was a risk he was taking. And it was far too late to quit now, wasn’t it?

There was still nothing. It frustrated him. He huffed before closing his eyes and taking another deep breath. He couldn’t get so negative now. That wouldn’t help his case. He had to think positive.

He thought about his friends, his brother, his hopes, anything.

Then, Dream kept walking.

~oOo~

It was suddenly warm.

Dream blinked, surprised, as he let his arms fall. It was a big change from the coldness of before. This must mean he was getting somewhere.

Finally.

Dream smiled to himself slightly. There was still nothing but black around him, but at least the air changed. This was good. It meant he was close. It meant he was close to getting out of this place. Though…

He wasn’t there yet.

He sighed as he continued walking.

~oOo~

There was a music box on the ground.

It almost tripped him. He blinked down at it. He crouched down, picking it up. It was a beautiful wooden one. It had swirls of golden paint on it. Simple, but nice. He turned it around. As he thought, there was a hole in it, but nothing to wind it up with, sadly.

He sighed. Even if it was a bit unnerving, it would’ve been nice to get some sound besides his footsteps and breathing. As he moved to set it down, though, something stopped him.

Pocket.

He suddenly had a strong urge to check his pockets. But there couldn’t be anything in them. He didn’t pick anything up.

He gave in, anyway. The first pocket he checked had nothing in it, as he thought. Nor did the second. He was confused. These were his only pockets, so…what was going on? He checked the first one again and his hand closed around something.

He pulled it out. It was a small wind up key.

Feeling uneasy, he wound up the box. The top opened, revealing a glass figurine of a ballerina. It was broken and damaged with no face. It still spun, though.

A melody began to play, just a few notes repeated over and over. As he listened, entranced, he heard the underlying ticking of a clock. It made him feel uneasy.

He blinked and the box was gone. The melody still played.

Dream looked around. His feeling of uneasiness grew.

Behind you.

He blinked again. Now, he had an urge to look behind him. Slowly turning, he held his breath as he came face to face with…himself.

A mirror.

He tilted his head, letting out his breath in slight relief. His reflection copied him.

Dream smiled. No…that wasn’t right. His reflection did.

He froze, unable to move or look away and his reflection stopped copying him. The reflection’s eyes grew more orange and its smile turned sharper, dangerous. Black goop, the same as Nightmare’s, only more golden, began to cover his reflection. Tentacles appeared behind it, waving. His reflection was completely covered now.

His reflection leaned forward, a Cheshire smile on its face. “Boo.”

Dream jumped back.

His reflection laughed, the mirror disappearing. It stretched like it had been trapped in a small space for a long time.

Dream took a step back, shaking.

His reflection—or was it one? He didn’t know anymore—smiled in amusement. It tipped its head. “Hello Dream.”

Dream did the only thing he could.

He ran away.

~oOo~

There was fog now, which made him slow down.

He could barely see his feet. It would do no good to run in this. He could still hear that melody. It seemed louder now. It did not relieve his fear, only intensified it.

He shivered as he felt a breath on his neck. He spun around. No one.

His reflection was toying with him. It wanted him to be afraid. And he was. He couldn’t help it. He was being chased and toyed with like a mouse to a cat. He hated to think what would happen if he was caught.

“Now, now,” His reflection clicked its tongue, voice right next to Dream’s ear. “that’s no way to treat a friend.”

Dream swiped his hand at the voice. Nothing. Figures. He started walking again. “You are not my friend.”

His voice shook. He hated being weak.

His reflection laughed, the sound behind him. He spun around, walking backwards. “Really? Oh, I’m hurt, Dream. I thought we had a connection.”

“I don’t even know who you are!” Dream snapped, turning back around. He jumped back when he saw he was so close to his reflection.

His reflection leaned down, staring him down. “So, you don’t remember?” It laughed. This one was different from before. It was bitter instead of amused. “Figures.”

Dream furrowed his brow. He shook. “What are you talking about?” His voice was small.

He blinked and his reflection was gone again. He looked around.

He jumped when he felt something caress his arm. It felt like a tentacle; cold, wet and slimy. He shook it off, falling on the ground. He scooted backwards until he ran into something.

He froze. He closed his eyes tight. He knew what he ran into. He could feel the legs move, begin to crouch down behind him. Something wrapped around his waist, pulling him backwards until his back met a chest. There was a breath against his ear. He shook, tears gathering.

Dream was caught.

His reflection sighed. “Dreamy, Dreamy, Dreamy.” He felt a hand come and wipe away a tear that fell. “What am I going to do with you?”

Dream said nothing. He shook more.

The tentacle around his waist tightened and hands settled on his shoulders, steadying him. “There’s no need to be afraid, Sunshine.” His reflection purred, a hint of seriousness in its voice. “I’m not an enemy. I’m part of you. I can’t be an enemy, not really. I’m only one if you keep being scared.”

Dream gulped but tried to calm himself. He didn’t trust his reflection. Though…it did raise some points. Eventually, he got his shaking under control. The hands on his shoulders shifted. One wrapped around his chest in a sort of hug and the other reached up to pet his head.

“Good! Good.” His reflection said, sighing happily. “Although…we’re out of time. As always.” His reflection leaned away, releasing Dream.

Dream sat there for a couple minutes, making sure he was alone. He carefully cracked open an eye and seeing no one, no fog and just darkness, opened the other, standing. He brushed himself off.

Then he froze as his reflection spoke back up, whispering in his ear. “Remember: Dreams are pretty, but they can be easily shattered if left alone for too long.”

~oOo~

Dream woke up.

He was bleary-eyed and unfocused. He sat up, confusion filling him. He held a hand over his chest. He still felt uneasy because of…

Of…

He didn’t remember. He looked around. He was in his room in the Star Sanses base. He was where he was meant to be.

So, why did he feel this way?

He shrugged, moving out of bed. He reached up and rubbed at his eyes before placing his hand on the doorknob. Something stopped him from leaving.

Dresser.

He looked over. There was a music box on his dresser. It was a beautiful wooden one, with golden swirls painted on it. There was a small wind up key beside it. The lid was open, revealing the figurine of the ballerina, clean and shining well. It almost seemed to glow with a golden hue.

Dream stared at it. His feeling of uneasiness grew.

He opened the door anyway and tore his gaze from the box. As he left the room, a melody filled his head, along with a voice singing one single line.

“Somebody make me feel alive and shatter me…”

Then it was silent.

#my writing #my fanfiction #oneshot #dream sans #shattered dream sans #shattered dream #dreamtale

62 notes · View notes