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kpopfanfictrash · 4 years

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Raise the Barre (Ch. 3)

Author: kpopfanfictrash

Pairing: Jimin / Reader

Rating: 18+ (Eventual Smut)

Genre: Enemies to Lovers / Dance Academy!AU

Warnings: descriptions of past bullying

Word Count: 6,816

Summary: You and Park Jimin have been rivals for as long as you’ve known one another; ever since he tripped you in the front row of your first dance convention. When you graduate from high school and enter Russet Ballet Academy, you tell yourself you’re leaving all past quarrels behind. The main problem with this though, is that your past seems determined not to leave you alone.

Worse still, the obstacles you face while out in the real world might prove more challenging than anything your enemy has to offer.

It was nearly eleven when you returned to your room later that night, collapsing on your bed in a disgruntled heap. You barely had enough energy to change out of your clothes and shower, though you forced yourself to do so, if only for the sake of appearances.

Noelle was already asleep, so she didn’t have the presence of mind to grill you, but her questions came as soon as you woke up the next morning. Seated at a table in the coffee shop on the corner, you opened your yogurt and spilled your frustrations.

“So, that’s where I am,” you said, shaking your head when you reached the end of the story. “Miss Britt pulled me aside and I need to find someone to tutor me, fast. Fun times.”

“That’s bullshit.” Noelle looked outraged. “You’re clearly one of the best dancers at Russet! It’s why Sabrina has such a problem with you. She knows you’re competition.”

“Thanks,” you said, a bit glum. “But Miss Britt is right – I’m no ballerina. I need more practice if I want to catch up to the rest of class.”

“But you don’t even want to be in Russet’s ballet company! You’re a talented dancer outside of that specific genre.”

“True. But if I can’t make it through freshman year, that doesn’t really matter – does it?”

Noelle fell silent for a moment, not having a response as you sighed.

“It’s not like I expect you to have a solution,” you admitted. Scooping another bite of yogurt from your parfait, you shoved this in your mouth. “It’s my problem to figure out.”

Noelle leaned back. “Maybe you should take Miss Britt’s suggestion,” she said.

You gave Noelle a look of such open disgust, she had to laugh.

“I’m serious!” She grinned, taking a sip of her coffee. “Obviously, Sabrina’s the worst, but you could ask Jimin. Is he really as bad as you say?”

“That all depends,” you mused. “Is Satan as bad as they say?”

“Never met him, so I can’t be sure.”

“Well, I have met Jimin and can definitively say he’s the worst. If I went to him for help, I’d never hear the end of it.”

“Hm.” Noelle sounded skeptical to you; she clearly thought you were exaggerating, but this was one subject on which you were unwilling to budge. “Maybe you can ask someone else, then. An older student? Oo – you could ask Seokjin! He’s so hot.”

Perked up by this idea, you casually stirred your coffee. “You know what, that’s not a bad idea. He’s super talented and clearly knows what the teachers are looking for.”

“See!” Noelle set down her fork. “You have plenty of options.”

“You might be right,” you said with a smile.

Feeling marginally better about the whole situation, you pulled out your phone to search Russet’s website for Seokjin. All the teacher’s assistants had a web page where they offered private lessons, much like Miss Britt and other teachers. Unfortunately for you though, all of Seokjin’s slots were full.

This seemed to be the case with most upperclassmen and you sighed, standing from the table to clear your place. Discouraged by this, you threw your phone in your bag while you left the shop. Noelle began suggesting other students she knew while you walked to class, but you had already begun to fixate on what was probably a terrible idea.

The more you thought about it, the more you realized Miss Britt’s initial suggestion made sense. Sabrina was frustrating, but she knew all the teachers and had the most training of your class in classical ballet. True, you hadn’t gotten off to the best start, but you’d played a part in that, too. The first night you met, you didn’t have to be a dick to her.

Most importantly, you didn’t have the same history with Sabrina that you did with Jimin. Jimin had been your rival since day one – it’d take more than some halfhearted peace offering to make him forget that. Your relationship with Sabrina was new enough you still had hope it could change.

Besides, you already knew she did morning barre on days off from class. Surely, she wouldn’t say no if you asked to tag along. Cheered by this thought – you were the type of person who enjoyed having a plan – you perked up, chatting eagerly with Noelle as you walked to class.

Wednesday ballet was held by Mr. Jordan, the only teacher at Russet who was routinely late to class. Only by five minutes, but you found it remarkable how consistently he hit this deadline. The rest of the class arrived fifteen minutes early regardless – better to be consistently early than to be late the one week Mr. Jordan wasn’t, and be banished to the hall.

You and Noelle entered at 8:50 AM, setting your bags on the ground to stake out your place at the barre. You were midway across the room when you saw Sabrina and paused.

Her pointe shoes were already on, doing slow relevés at the barre in the center. You hesitated only a moment before turning to Noelle.

“I’m going to do barre over there today,” you said, nodding in Sabrina’s direction. “See you after, okay?”

Noelle looked up in alarm, but you had already turned, halfway across the floor. When you reached Sabrina, you set your bag down and took a long sip of water.

Sabrina ignored you, placing one leg on the barre to bend at the waist. You waited a moment for her to rise and when she did not, set your hand on the barre.

“Hey,” you said, waiting for a response.

Sabrina didn’t react.

Moving to stand opposite, you lifted your leg to place beside her own. Stretching an arm overhead, you leaned forward until your face was mere inches away.

“How’s your morning?” you said, trying your best to be pleasant.

Sabrina released a long, slow sigh.

“Good.”

You waited, but she said nothing more and, feeling kind of stupid, you glanced over your shoulder. Noelle remained at your usual spot by the door. You were momentarily tempted to leave and join her, but then you remembered what Miss Britt had said. You needed a tutor.

You could do this. You had made it to Russet Academy, dammit – asking Sabrina to help couldn’t be more difficult than fifteen years of ballet class.

“Do you have a second?” you said, lowering your voice. “I wanted to ask you something.”

After another long pause, Sabrina raised her head. “What?”

She sounded curious at least, which you supposed was a start. Even if said curiosity didn’t extend to her lowering her leg, or even her voice.

“Uh…” You blinked, your nervousness rising. If Sabrina said no, it would be absolutely humiliating. “I know you’ve been training at Russet longer than most people in our class.”

Sabrina stared. “And?”

You bit down on your lip to keep from saying something you’d regret. Clearly, Sabrina wasn’t going to make this easy on you and again, you wondered if this was a bad idea. You reminded yourself that you’d committed to doing whatever was necessary to keep your spot at Russet.

“I don’t know if you noticed, but ballet isn’t really my dance style.” Ignoring the small smirk she gave, you continued. “I know it’s yours though, so I was wondering if you’d be open to practicing together sometime. You know, maybe you could give me some pointers.”

Sabrina looked at you a long moment, then lowered her leg. Bending lithely at the waist, she grasped her water bottle to take a casual swig. She remained silent the entire time, forcing you to stand there and watch. To stand there and wait while she considered your proposition.

The kernel of humiliation within you grew even further.

Sabrina turned her head. “Do you know what my mom said to me when I told her I wanted to dance professionally?”

You blinked, not having expected this as a response. It wasn’t an actual answer to your question, so you tried not to sound annoyed when you said, “Uh, no.”

Sabrina arched a brow. “She said there wasn’t much room for women at the top.”

“She… huh?”

“Success is a zero-sum game.” Sabrina spoke slowly, as one would to a child. “There are fifteen spots offered at the end of our four-year program. If you get one, that means there’s one less spot for me at the table. Why would I help when it’s to my best interest not to?”

For a moment you could only stare at her, open-mouthed.

“See?” Sabrina set her water bottle down. “You can’t even think of a good reason. Maybe you weren’t a ballerina before, but you were a dancer. You know how competitive this field is, especially for women.”

An uncomfortable feeling spread through you. Sabrina’s words were remarkably similar to what you had said to Jimin but still, you hated hearing them thrown back in your face.

“You don’t think this is all a little… juvenile?” you said, a last-ditch effort to salvage the situation. “This isn’t high school anymore, Sabrina. We’ve all made it.”

“Yeah – to Russet,” she said, point blank. “This is barely the start if you want to dance professionally, Y/N. It’s nothing against you personally, if that makes you feel any better.”

“Oh, good. As long as it’s not personal.”

Sabrina smirked. “Well, maybe it’s a little personal. Like I said to you yesterday, I really wouldn’t mind having Jimin for a partner. If you got kicked out, that would solve things, wouldn’t it?”

Teeth gritted, you stopped the next words from leaving your mouth. They hung on the tip of your tongue, stillborn while you pointedly shoved them back down. If you said anything more to her, you might seriously regret it and Sabrina wasn’t worth that kind of stress to you now.

Turning around, you bent to pick up your bag – only to stop as Mr. Jordan entered the room.

“Sorry I’m late, class!” he said, shaking free from his jacket. “Subway was a nightmare. Anyways, I’m here now, so let’s start.”

Realizing you were stuck, you slowly turned back around. It seemed your place at the barre had been decided. Sabrina hid her smile when you took a step closer, placing one hand on the barre and lifting your chin in the air.

It had been silly to ask Sabrina for help. You apparently expected too much from someone so utterly determined to rise alone to the top. You could only assume that kind of attitude would one day rise to bite her in the ass but until then, you just had to grin and bear it.

Even more irksome was the fact that she’d said so many of the same things you’d told Jimin. Pushing this uncomfortable thought aside, you forced yourself to concentrate on the combination Mr. Jordan began.

The entire length of the barre, you avoided eye contact with Sabrina. It was a difficult feat, but you managed it because you had no other choice. Throughout tendus, dégagés and rond de jambes, you sucked it up and stood next to Sabrina in glowering silence.

You were so concentrated, the time at the barre seemed to go by faster than usual. The first time you glanced at the clock was when Mr. Jordan stopped to call for a water break.

Bending abruptly, you grabbed the straps of your bag and said nothing to Sabrina while you walked away. Setting your stuff by near Noelle, you straightened and began to furiously unscrew your cap. She gave you a sympathetic look while you did this, reaching overhead to studiously re-do her bun.

“That bad, huh?” she said.

Furious, you scowled. “She’s an asshole.”

Noelle’s brows shot straight up. “Damn,” she whistled. “What’d the ice queen say?”

“That she hopes I drop out,” you said shortly, turning around. “That there’s only so much room for women at the top. She told me dance is a zero-sum game and if she helps me get a spot at Russet Company, it’d be one less spot for her to take.”

Noelle made a disappointed noise with her tongue. “See,” she said, around a mouthful of bobby pins. “That’s exactly the kind of attitude that’s kept women down for centuries. Let’s ban together to burn the men!”

Although you laughed a little, you quieted quickly. Remembering your conversation with Sabrina made your legs a bit shaky. Shutting your eyes, you took several deep breaths until you felt calmer.

“I know,” you said with a sigh. “I know that it’s stupid and ultimately, I don’t care what Sabrina thinks – but she just makes me so mad.”

“She really said she hopes you drop out?”

Opening your eyes, you nodded. “Apparently, she wants Jimin as her ballet partner.”

“W-ow.” Noelle shook her head. “This plot has more twists than the Winchester mansion.”

Unable to help it, you snorted. “Oh, well,” you said glumly, following Noelle out on the floor. “It’s probably for the best. If this is how she reacts to me asking for help, imagine how awful she’d be as an instructor.”

“Yeah, you definitely dodged a bullet there,” Noelle agreed.

When Mr. Jordan cleared his throat, this led to a scurrying of movement as everyone took their places. He began to show the combination, leading the class through the steps with an easy poise. When the time came for you to break into pairs, you were forced to look around the room before you spotted Jimin.

He stood on the opposite side from you, practicing the steps Mr. Jordan had laid out. You blinked, hesitating a moment before crossing the room to his side. Every time before now, he had come to stand beside you.

Coming to a stop, you looked at him curiously. “Why’re you over here?”

Jimin shrugged in response.

You opened your mouth to continue, but then Mr. Jordan began the partner portion of the combo. Falling silent, you stood beside Jimin while you learned the steps. He was oddly quiet. This quietness alone wasn’t enough to raise any brows, though you typically exchanged at least minimal small talk. You know, hand here, leg there, lift your arms higher – that type of thing.

His silence wasn’t the only thing about him that was odd, though. His grip on your waist felt different today – rough, almost angry as you practiced the first lift. You winced when you landed, stumbling a bit as you whirled around.

“What was that?” you demanded.

Jimin blinked innocently. “What was what?”

You stared at him a moment before deciding it wasn’t worth it. “Whatever,” you said, turning around. “Gentler, next time – okay?”

“Sure.”

Jimin moved back into place, standing in fifth position while Mr. Jordan started the song over. The combination wasn’t an adagio, comprised of slower movements, but a fast-paced pas de deux he’d created last week. You didn’t have much experience with this kind of partnering; most of your classes had preferred slower movements so far.

The fast pace required a higher level of trust with your partner, since you didn’t have time to second-guess all their movements. Apparently, Mr. Jordan had decided the fastest way to learn was to do. Jimin led you through the combination, one hand firm on your waist.

Normally, Jimin was a solid male partner to you. He knew when to push, when to hold back and when to allow you to take the lead. This no longer seemed to be the case. As you started to dance, you found yourself a bit dizzy. Jimin didn’t let you finish each spot before he whisked you around, keeping you – both literally and metaphorically – on your toes.

A swear nearly escaped when he pulled you to his chest – eyes flashing, you turned and started to boureé away. Jimin chassed forward, ending in a lunge for circular port de bras.

“You’re doing it again,” you muttered, moving behind him.

Facing forward, you piqued into arabesque.

“Doing what?” he said blithely.

Jimin twisted, grasping your hand in his as he crossed behind. Placing one hand on your hip, he waited for you to wrap your leg around him in attitude arabesque.

“You know what,” you hissed, as he walked you in a promenade.

Extending your leg fully, you lowered yourself in a penché. Contrary to their appearance, penchés were difficult to do with a partner. It involved an extension to arabesque, then bending with said leg held at a ninety-degree angle, or higher. The male helped with the motion, but his addition altered both your centers of gravity. It might have seemed logical for him to stand behind you, but he actually needed to stand slightly off center. It was easy for one – or both – of you to lose your balance.

You and Jimin had practiced the move enough that it’d become second nature – which is why you began to panic when you felt Jimin’s weight shift.

“Jimin,” you whispered, clenching your abs. “Step back!”

“Step back?” he said innocently, not moving at all.

“Yes! Jimin, you –”

He languidly stepped into the correct position, helping you up a second before you toppled over. You spun, eyes blazing and Jimin caught your knee. The smile he gave you sent rage through your veins, since it was instantly apparent he’d been fucking with you.

You imagined those cartoons where the main character’s head exploded, or became a volcano, or turned into a tea kettle that had steam escaping. This was exactly how you felt, but there was no time to respond, since the next portion of the combination was fast and required intense concentration. Shooting Jimin a glare which promised him a painful death, you continued.

Luckily, barre had been long, so only one combination remained until you were released from class. You contained your annoyance until class had ended, turned to stalk across the room the second Mr. Jordan turned off the music.

Noelle chuckled when she saw, noticing your clear annoyance. “Oh, no,” she said, glancing across the room. “What’d he do now?”

“Oh, nothing,” you seethed, tossing things in your bag. Yanking out sweatpants, you tugged these over your leotard. “Nothing a little conversation won’t fix.”

Knowingly, Noelle nodded. “Is ‘conversation’ code for beating Jimin up in the parking lot?”

Despite yourself, you laughed, slinging your bag over your shoulder. “Unfortunately not,” you said with a sigh as you walked from the room. “This’ll be a lot less fun.”

You came to a stop in the hall, some of your anger diminishing. A current of annoyance simmered beneath the surface though, since it was one thing for Jimin just not to like you – it was another entirely that he purposefully antagonize and jeopardize your career. This was exactly what you’d been worried about when you’d been assigned as partners.

“Well.” Noelle glanced at the room. “Did you want to get dinner tonight? You know, after you’re done tearing Jimin a new one.”

“Dinner sounds good,” you agreed. “I’m hanging out with Finn later, but I’m free before then.”

Noelle nodded sagely. “Good, good. I hear it’s healthy to fuel up before a massive sex marathon.”

Jimin – who’d been exiting the room – stopped short.

“Uh – what?” he said, glancing between you.

Waggling her fingers goodbye, Noelle shrugged and walked past. “Nothing for you to worry about. Good luck walking later, Park!”

Jimin stared at her as she left, completely bewildered until you grabbed him by the elbow and started dragging him away. He stumbled forward, not having expected the motion – but caught up to you fast as he tugged his arm free.

“Hey! Whoa, Y/N – what’re you doing?”

You whirled to face him in the hall.

“What was that?” you demanded.

Jimin blinked at you, uncertain. “Uh, let’s see. I was minding my own business and you just assaulted me –”

“During class,” you interrupted, gesturing at the classroom. “You had such an attitude today. You can’t even say it wasn’t purposeful, because –”

“Y/N.” Jimin stared in disbelief. “Are you seriously asking me what’s wrong? Your memory can’t be that short.”

Faltering a bit, you came to a stop. Jimin’s expression told you you were missing something big. It was last night, you realized. Jimin was mad about last night, when he’d chased you down the hall and you’d basically told him to fuck off.

“Ah,” Jimin said, seeing your understanding dawn. “I take it you remember now. That time you ambushed me in the hall and said I don’t deserve to be here?”

“That’s… that’s not what I meant by that.”

“Oh?” His laugh sounded forced. “You told me I only worked half as hard as you did.”

“Well, because you do!” you sputtered.

The words escaped despite your intent to stay cordial. Jimin was right; you had exploded last night and some of that wasn’t his fault, but the core of what you’d told him remained. Guys did have an easier time than girls in the dance world. That was just a fact.

“Come on, Y/N.” Angrily, Jimin shoved a hand through his hair. “You seriously think that I’ve had it easy? I used to hide my dance stuff in a hockey bag because all the kids at my school teased me about wearing tights.”

Somewhat uncomfortably, you recalled what Finn had said the other night at dinner. Jimin wasn’t wrong about external prejudices regarding male dancers.

“I’m not saying you weren’t teased, Jimin.”

“Teased?” He stared at you in disbelief. “Y/N. I was beat up every day on the playground for the entirety of third grade. When I was eleven, some kids filled my locker with used tampons because I was a ‘pussy.’ Freshman year, I asked a girl to the dance and she said yes – only to stand me up the night of because her friends thought it’d be funny. I once went to ballet class in bare feet for a week because some assholes stole my bag and hid it in the women’s locker room. My life was shit half the time, Y/N,” he said, with sudden vehemence. “The only reason I kept going was because I love dance more than anything else.”

Jimin stopped talking, slightly out of breath and you stared at him in shock, never having heard him this angry before.

You’d thought that you had. You’d thought he’d been angry all those times you beat him in dance, but you had never seen Jimin looking anything like this. Hurt, a little broken and fiercely determined.

In some ways, it felt like the first time you’d seen him.

“Yeah, well…” You paused, trying to gather your thoughts. “I don’t know what to say to that. That sucks.”

Jimin laughed, a bit hollow. “Yeah, sure,” he muttered, glancing away. “Fuck. I didn’t want to… make you feel bad, or whatever. That’s not why I said it. I just wanted you to know I’ve also overcome stuff to be here.”

Hearing him speak, you both bristled and wondered why he said it like that. Like he wanted you specifically to know and not someone else.

“I’m not saying you haven’t worked hard,” you admitted. “That sucks, but it doesn’t take away from the fact that there are ten female dancers for every one guy. Dance is a lot more competitive for women than men.”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean I haven’t also worked my ass off.”

“No one’s saying you didn’t,” you snapped, finally fed up. “I’m just saying more doors were opened for the effort you gave than for mine. And besides,” you added, unable to help yourself. “I’m sure it was real hard, coming from Harleigh Heights.”

Jimin seemed baffled by this. “What does my hometown have anything to do with this?”

“Oh, come on, Jimin. You can’t be that naïve.”

“What’re you talking about?”

“You’re rich!” you blurted. “Or at least, your family is. You could afford all those fancy master classes in the city. You had private lessons, small group lessons and whatever else your parents’ money could buy. All I had was Rita’s Dance Studio.”

Jimin hesitated. “Rita’s isn’t… bad.”

“Jimin,” you said. “I was the only person from my studio to ever place at national dance competitions.”

“That doesn’t mean the studio itself was bad!”

“You have a fucking car in the city!”

He gave you a bewildered look. “What does… that have to do with anything?”

“It’s just another reason we’re different,” you groaned, rubbing your temple. “I know you work hard. I know you do, but you’ve also had way more advantages than I have and sometimes, that sucks.”

Jimin paused. “That’s not really something I can control.”

“It’s not,” you admitted through gritted teeth. Deciding you were done with this conversation, you moved to walk past. “It isn’t your fault, but the challenges we’ve faced aren’t the same and you know it.”

Before you could leave, Jimin grabbed your arm.

He turned you to face him, barely an inch from his face. Everyone always said Jimin reminded them of a puppy – cute, loveable, and eager to please. This had never been something you agreed with. Sure, Jimin could be cute when he wanted to be, but beneath that lay a deeper hunger, an insistent desire to prove himself in a way you found all too relatable.

Jimin held your gaze. “Seeing as you’ve never walked in my shoes and I’ve never walked in yours,” he said quietly. “Why don’t we stop making comparisons?”

Your gaze narrowed a bit, but before you could respond, he continued.

“If you’re having trouble keeping up, stop making excuses and ask someone for help.” Abruptly, he dropped your arm. “Otherwise, you’ll never improve.”

Jimin left without another word, jerking his bag higher as he stalked down the hall. You watched him go, too stunned to do anything else.

His last words – however accurate – made your ears burn. Hands curled into fists, you saw red for awhile, until Jimin had gone. After several deep breaths, you finally calmed down enough to be objective.

Unfortunately, objectivity was not in your favor, because Jimin was right.

He was right about you and you hated that fact. Even if your circumstances had been different, all that had changed when you both were accepted to Russet. Now, you were on a level playing field and you were the one person hanging on to what came before. The only thing that mattered now was what happened next; if you couldn’t compete at Russet, you’d be pulled from the game.

And the one person standing in the way of success was yourself.

Jimin had nothing to do with your lack of ballet technique. Sure, he had more money than you did – seriously, who brought a car to the city? – but it wasn’t like you’d been destitute. Your parents had made enough to afford all your lessons and costumes and dance competition fees. You’d had a studio, even if it wasn’t a fancy one within city boundaries.

Exhaling, you considered the other point he had made. While it was true male dancers had certain advantages, Jimin was damn good despite this. If you were being honest, you knew he was one of the best dancers at Russet regardless of gender.

Nearly ten minutes had passed before you began to walk down the hall. Everyone else had left for lunch, so it was just you and your thoughts as you exited the building. You felt exhausted, only partly because of the intensity of Mr. Jordan’s class.

You’d always been a planner. It was something your parents had teased you about but secretly, you’d always enjoyed. Here though, you felt at a loss.

For the first time in your life, you were forced to consider what would happen if you gave dance everything you had – if you tried everything you could think of – and still came up short. Everyone always said if you loved something, keep trying and you’d eventually succeed, but you’d seen enough by now to know this wasn’t necessarily true.

Everyone at Russet was talented. Everyone here was a hard worker. You didn’t make it this far without both of those things – which meant you could have it all and still fail.

Coming to a stop on the sidewalk, you released a sigh. It was mid-September and already, the leaves had begun to change. You’d been at Russet for nearly a month and felt you’d yet to make any real progress.

Pushing this thought away, you wondered what you’d do with your life if you got kicked out. Go to a college near home, maybe. Find another career path that’d be mildly fulfilling and yet, nowhere near the release you experience through dance. The idea of it made you feel somewhat ill.

All you’d ever wanted in life was to dance. On some level, you’d thought things would be easier once you got into Russet. This had been a naïve expectation; you saw that now. Lift and the struggles which came with it refused to stop for even a second. Again, your former dance teacher’s words came to mind. If dance wasn’t truly what you wanted, it was better to give up than to go through the struggle.

You did want it, though.

Even if you had to go through hell to get it, dance was the thing which made you feel alive. If you didn’t make it at Russet, you could figure out what to do next – but until that moment came, you’d do absolutely everything necessary to make sure you stayed.

In the back of your mind, a voice whispered – even ask Jimin for help? – but you ignored it. That question could wait for another day, you decided as you walked away.

Even though he’d made some valid points, everything else still made you see red. The more you thought about it though, the more persistently his words seemed to grind away your resolve. Jimin may have been pissed at you, but he was also correct.

You could either continue to walk around campus feeling sorry for yourself, or you could improve.

Teeth gritted, you decided to do the latter.

Lounged at the foot of Finn’s bed, you scrolled through your TikTok in an endless loop.

“Ugh, my muscles are so sore,” you complained. Reaching out your foot, you poked him with your toe. “Massage them for me.”

“All of them?”

“Uh-huh.”

Grabbing your foot, Finn pulled this into his lap. To his credit, he started to give – well, not a massage, but he did something. Finn began poking the bottom of your foot with his index fingers until you finally laughed.

“Okay, not that!” you grumbled, pulling your leg back.

Finn grinned and turned a page in his book while you let your gaze linger. He looked good, dressed in sweats and a t-shirt he’d pulled on after sex. It was the first time all week you’d been truly alone; things had gone faster than usual, but that was to be expected. It had been awhile since the last time. It was nice just to see him, to touch him and talk to him – you’d missed having a semblance of normalcy in your life.

Innocently, Finn flipped the next page in his book. “What’s wrong? You didn’t enjoy the pleasure of my touch?”

“I did not, no.”

Tossing his book aside, Finn bared his teeth and began to crawl forward. With a shriek, you backed away until your spine hit the wall and you laughed.

“No,” you begged, kicking his shin as you grinned. “No tickling!”

Finn growled mercilessly, but eventually relented. Twisting, he dropped to lay his head in your lap.

“Okay,” he agreed. “I’ll just hang out here, then. My book is so far away. I guess I can’t study. Too bad.”

Although you rolled your eyes, you leaned your head to the wall. Finn’s roommate was gone for the weekend, giving you the entire place to yourselves. You knew you’d have to leave at some point – ballet class started tomorrow at 8:30 AM – but until then, you could happily live in denial.

“Don’t you have homework to do?” you asked. “Tests? Something?”

Finn shrugged. “I already studied today.”

A twinge of jealousy went through you, although you squashed this immediately. Finn’s collegiate experience was different from yours, but this was through no fault of his own.

You’d arrived at his dorm room shortly after dinner and, after unloading the crappy events of your day, Finn had merely shrugged and said his day had been fine. It seemed Finn was adapting to Redfield like a fish to water; nearly everyone you passed on your way to his room had stuck their head out to greet him.

On your way over, you’d considered asking Finn for advice about Jimin, but had given up on the idea soon after arrival. Visiting Finn was like stepping into a bubble. You knew the vision would pop as soon as you stepped outside, but it was nice to exist outside the worries of Russet.

Finn wouldn’t understand what you were going through either, which again, wasn’t his fault. His greatest stress was an upcoming test, while you were constantly on edge about whether you’d fail. There were no grades in your classes, no real way to tell if you were passing.

The most difficult part of Finn’s freshman year had been registering for his classes; a fact which cast your experience in stark perspective. If Finn dropped a class or had to miss a test, it didn’t really matter for him in the long run. It mattered for you.

Every time you’d previously mentioned Jimin to Finn, his advice had been to simply ignore him. It wasn’t the best advice, all things considered. Jimin was your assigned dance partner for the semester; you needed him in order to pass your classes.

It helped some to vent, but at the end of the day, you didn’t want Finn trying to fix things for you. That was what he did – he solved things. He loved to fix other people’s problems, loved to tie up loose ends and find neat solutions. The problem was though, you weren’t sure such easy answers existed.

Before you could suggest a movie to watch, someone knocked on the door to Finn’s dorm room.

Lifting his head from your stomach, Finn called, “Enter!”

The door swung open to reveal a tall, gangly-looking freshman in the hall. He looked at you with some surprise before glancing at Finn.

“Dude,” he said, sounding excited. “Sigma Nu is having a crazy party two blocks away. Ellie just texted saying there’s no cover for guys. A bunch of us are heading over – you in?”

“What – seriously?” Finn sat up straight. “No cover? That’s a first.”

He beamed and glanced at you, so you gave a small smile.

“It is?” you said tentatively.

Your words sounded uncertain even to your own ears, but Finn nodded excitedly. You hadn’t been out enough times this semester to notice.

“Coming!” door guy yelled to someone in the hall. Stepping back, he returned to the room. “So, you in?”

Your automatic reaction was no, since it was a Wednesday and you had class tomorrow, but before you could speak, Finn hopped from the bed.

“Sure!” he agreed, searching for his coat. “Y/N – you good with that?”

Hesitating, you fiddled with a corner of his blanket. Ideally, you’d love going to a weekday party with your boyfriend. Finn’s enthusiasm could be contagious, and you wanted to see him in his collegiate environment. He’d been the life of the party at high school and you knew it’d be the same here.

Unfortunately for you, ballet class wasn’t something you could just forget. You’d made it a personal rule not to drink before class and it would be no fun to attend a frat party sober. You were already skating on thin ice at Russet; you could only imagine what would happen if you showed up to class hungover.

“I don’t think I can,” you said softly, wishing the guy would leave Finn’s room. “I have ballet in the morning. Remember?”

“Oh.” Finn’s disappointment showed for only a moment. Hiding this swiftly, he sat back down on the bed. “Sorry, Ben,” he said, forcing a smile. “I think we’re staying in.”

Door guy – Ben, apparently – paused. “You sure?”

“Yeah.” Finn nodded. “Y/N and I already have plans.”

Ben seemed confused; you assumed from this that he wasn’t the brightest bulb in the bunch.

“Really?” he said with a frown. “I thought you said you wanted to come.”

“It’s my fault,” you interjected, feeling a bit guilty. “I have class super early in the morning.”

“Oh, is that all?” He brightened. “That’s no big deal – so do I!”

Your lips tightened, not wanting to be rude, but this guy just wasn’t getting it.

“Yeah,” you said slowly. “But I can’t be hungover for mine.”

Ben stared. “Huh. Okay, well – if you change your mind. So weird,” he laughed, exiting Finn’s room to the hall. “I didn’t even know you had a girlfriend, Finn? Later!”

Pulling the door shut, he left the two of you in silence.

You stared in shock at the door, attempting to process everything you were feeling.

There was guilt at keeping Finn from something he wanted to do. Longing, from not being able to do the fun things that you wanted. And nausea, at hearing Ben say he didn’t know Finn had a girlfriend.

Hesitant, you glanced in Finn’s direction, but found him looking away – at the ceiling, at the floor, anywhere but at you.

“So…” You paused. “What was that about?”

“What do you mean?” Finn leaned back on the bed. Turning on his TV, he navigated to Netflix. “Want to watch a movie, or something?”

“I guess.”

You continued to sit there, clutching his blanket and staring blankly at the screen. After another moment, you decided this couldn’t be brushed aside and faced him on the bed.

“Why haven’t you told anyone you have a girlfriend?”

Finn looked at you, surprised. “I have!”

“Oh?” you said, glancing at the door. “Then, why didn’t he know?”

Finn snorted. “Ben? Look – I like him, but the dude’s not the sharpest tool in the shed. As you may have noticed,” he added, giving a pointed brow raise.

Begrudgingly, you nodded. You had noticed.

“Hey.” Finn sat up straight. Clicking off the TV, he scooted closer on the bed. “I swear I’ve told people about you,” he said, taking your hands. “Promise. Ben is just an idiot. The instant someone is off-limits to them, they turn invisible. He’s probably even forgotten his sister by now.”

“Gross,” you said, wrinkling your nose.

Finn nodded in agreement. “Exactly. Ben’s an ass. I wouldn’t even hang out with him if it weren’t for the other guys on the floor. College. You know how it is.”

“Sure,” you said slowly, although you really didn’t.

There were multiple people on your floor and at Russet whom you didn’t like. You weren’t unfriendly to them, of course – with Sabrina being the exception – but neither did you hang out with them just because you were classmates. This entire world of collegialism was foreign to you.

“I love you,” Finn said.

Finally, you cracked a smile. “Love you, too.” Sliding both arms around his waist, you settled down on his chest. “Sucks about Ben being a dick, though.”

Finn laughed, brushing a kiss to your hair. “I think I’ll survive.”

You shook your head, knowing he was right. Finn always got through things like this; troubles seemed to easily roll off his back like water. You watched him turn on the TV and choose a comedy on Netflix.

When the first scene began, you tried hard to relax, but this proved to be difficult. In high school, you’d been able to compartmentalize fairly easily but now, you found worries steadily leaking back in. Your Finn-bubble, the one which had always been so impenetrable, had started to become porous.

Worries about Russet, about your classes, about your teachers began to seep in and no longer did Finn’s dorm room seem like such a haven.

You didn’t belong here.

The thought occurred to you suddenly, as obvious as knowing the main characters on screen would eventually get together. Finn’s world was entirely different from yours, completely alien from Russet and you had no idea how to navigate the two worlds together.

It made you uneasy to consider, seated with your head on his shoulder and arms around his waist, but instead of facing this knowledge head-on, you pushed it away.

Too many things were being kept in your mind-boxes and, instead of disappearing, the thought continued to linger. It followed as you left Finn’s dorm, walked through the city streets, up the steps of Grace Hall and all the way to your bed.

Author’s Note: Thank you for reading 😊 New chapters of Raise the Barre will be posted weekly; dates are listed on the series Master List. Requests for updates will be deleted.

[ RAISE THE BARRE MASTERLIST ]

#btsbookclub #bangtanarmynet #smutcentralnet #jimin fanfic #bts fanfic #bts writing #bts series #jimin writing #jimin series #jimin e2l #bts e2l #jimin dance au #bts dance au

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love-and-monsters · 3 years

Text

Fake Dating pt. 2

M Faerie X F human reader, 6,405 words

This is a part two to this story. Elwain and his human are safely in the human world, dealing with things far more mundane than an assassination attempt. Both of them are adjusting to the new life and to each other. Very fluffy, with some caretaking. I was in a very romantic mood while writing this and I think you can tell.

Content notes: mentions of parents trying to kill their child, descriptions of minor illness.

“This is the dumbest thing I’ve ever seen. Why do humans like this?”

You repressed a snicker. “You’re watching it.”

Elwain didn’t even look away from the screen to reply. “You put it on.”

“I just turned on the TV. You’re the one who started watching.” Elwain made a noncommittal noise. You pressed your lips together, trying not to smile. “I can change the channel, if you want. There’s a documentary on that I wanted to-”

“No, this is fine,” Elwain said. He hopped onto the couch next to you and curled up. “Ugh. These people know that expensive doesn’t mean good, right?”

You covered your mouth with a hand. Elwain actually, legitimately enjoying trashy reality shows was by far the best thing you’d learned about his personality since you’d started living together. The worst thing was probably that he’d grown up with servants and had no comprehension of household chores. It had taken a few weeks to get him to put his food back in the refrigerator when he was done with it, and you weren’t sure he was ever going to get the hang of doing dishes. Still. He was getting better.

“You’re still going to need to vacuum later tonight,” you reminded him. Elwain groaned.

“I spent all day at work!” he said. “I should get a day off.”

“You only had a five hour shift today. I worked seven. Plus, I have school. You don’t get breaks on household chores. Doesn’t matter how much you worked, they still have to be done.” Elwain looked away sulkily. That was an expression you were getting uncomfortably familiar with. “And you’re not allowed to do magic for it, either.”

“What? Just because you can’t use magic, there is no reason for me to be forbidden!” Elwain said.

“Yeah, sure. You remember what happened last time you used magic to clean the apartment?” Bright pink spots appeared on Elwain’s cheeks. He glared down at the couch, expression screwed up in irritation.

“I fixed that.”

“Uh, yeah. Sure. You fixed the apartment. What you’re never going to fix is my trauma from walking into my apartment and finding everything covered in spiders!”

“I apologized!”

“Look, the next time you decide to enchant a bunch of bugs into doing household chores, just. Don’t.”

Elwain huffed. “They weren’t even venomous to humans! All of you are so easily frightened. They weren’t going to hurt you.”

“I think the heart attack I had upon entering my own apartment could be considered as hurting me,” you muttered. Elwain looked sour, but didn’t respond, apparently returning to his TV show. Elwain’s adjustment to the human world had been… difficult. He had no real understanding of conventional social norms and obviously still expected everyone to treat him like a noble, despite working a minimum wage job at a fast-food restaurant. Not to mention that he seemed to have very loose morals when it came to enchanting mortals. As far as you were aware, he’d never done it to you, but he didn’t seem to have any sort of restraint when it came to anyone else. Before he’d gotten his job in customer service, he’d made all of his money by charming random people off the street into handing over their wallets.

Admittedly, his skills had come in handy. You didn’t feel particularly good about it, but he had charmed the landlord into giving you the apartment for significantly less than the going rate. In your defense, there hadn’t been many options. You couldn’t stay in your parent’s house with a Fae hanging around, and even with both of you working, there was no way to afford an apartment otherwise.

It did not help that Elwain apparently found your moral crisis very funny.

“You all live by such dumb rules all the time. If you really wanted, I could probably charm someone into giving us their house, or just letting us stay there.”

“That feels morally dubious,” you said.

“Ugh. You won’t let me steal anything, you won’t let me charm people into letting us use their things without stealing them, you won’t even let me charm people into handing some things over!” Elwain flopped across the couch. “So now we’re living in a garbage apartment and I have to work at a greasy food place where customers yell all the time and-”

“It’s a nice apartment, especially considering what we’re paying for it,” you interrupted. “And if you use magic too often, people might start figuring out that something weird is going on.”

“I doubt it. Mortals are stupid.” But Elwain didn’t protest, and went to his job as usual, and didn’t steal, which was more respect for your rules than you were worried he’d show. And, really, you were glad you’d instated the ‘no magic’ rule at large, given how unpredictable the results could be.

Elwain sprawled across the couch. He had a tendency to take up ridiculous amounts of space, pushing you to the edges of the couch to avoid contact. Eventually, you got up.

“Where are you going?” Elwain asked as you walked out of the room.

“I’m going to study for a bit before bed,” you called back. “Enjoy your show.”

He stared after you until your door clicked shut. Weird. He’d seemed almost annoyed about you leaving, even though it meant he could watch his shows for longer and you would stop bugging him about vacuuming. Whatever. He’d been acting weird recently, though. Maybe you should talk to him about it. He’d seemed fine for the first month or so after leaving his home and his parents trying to kill him, but maybe he was having some sort of delayed reaction.

You buried yourself in your textbooks for the next few hours, trying to get a solid start on one of your papers. The back of your mind seemed to be focused on the little noises in the apartment, though. Every sound of footsteps or things being moved pulled your attention back to the rest of the house. Eventually, you heard the sound of the vacuum running for a while before Elwain headed into his room.

He never went back into the main area of your apartment and, buried in work, you were soon thoroughly distracted. Gradually, as you worked, your mind grew less and less focused until you were face down in your books, dead asleep.

“Wake up!”

You bolted upright. There was a piece of paper sticking to your cheek from a stream of drool. You hurriedly pulled it off. “What? What’s going on?” You blinked, focusing on Elwain’s fine face in front of you. “What are you doing in my room?”

“Your alarm was going off. I can’t believe you didn’t hear it. It woke me up.” Sure enough, your phone, which was still sitting across the room from you, on its charger, was ringing furiously. You weren’t surprised that you hadn’t noticed it, though. Your head felt like someone had stuffed it with cotton.

“Oh. Sorry.” You rose a little unsteadily and turned the alarm off. “Thanks for waking me. Probably would have slept right through it if you hadn’t.”

“Uh huh,” Elwain said. “Did someone curse you?”

You blinked at him. He seemed dead serious. “Uh, no. I doubt it. Unless you know something I don’t.”

“If you’re asking about my parents, I would assume they are no longer concerned about me,” Elwain said. His voice was clipped, like it always was when he talked about his parents. “I don’t think they would bother to curse a mortal. If they had the means to lay a curse on someone, it would be far easier and more effective to just curse me.” He paused. “I was only asking because you look terrible.”

“Thanks,” you mumbled.

“You do. Why didn’t you sleep in your actual bed last night?” he asked.

“Because I fell asleep at my desk by accident. Are you going to stand here and just insult me or-” You broke off into a round of thick, hacking coughs. Elwain took a step back, alarm crossing his face.

“What is happening to you?” He lifted his arms in front of him, like he was trying to ward off some kind of evil spirit.

“It’s a cough,” you said. “Have you never seen a cough before?”

Elwain lowered his arms, still looking at me like he thought you would start convulsing at any moment. “Fae don’t do that.”

“They don’t cough?” You rubbed at your chest. A significant amount of phlegm had settled there. God, your body really had to pick the worst time to get sick.

“Not like that,” he said. “What’s the matter with you?”

“I’m sick,” you told him.

He nodded slowly. “I’ve heard of that. A mortal thing. Your forms are weak, so you occasionally fall ill. It is a sign of your small, failing lifespans.”

You considered correcting him, but decided that you had better ways to spend your morning than trying to explain germ theory to a Faerie. “Yeah. Sure. Well. I’m sick. So that’s why I’m coughing. It’s just a cold. I’ll be fine.”

Elwain narrowed his eyes. “Hmph. Well. I have work. Don’t die while I’m out.”

“I’m not in any danger of dying,” you told him. “Go head to work. Have fun.”

“That’s unlikely,” he muttered, but he left your room without protest. You closed your door after him and set about getting ready for your day.

The cold had settled into your head and chest and you could tell it was going to be bad already, even before it had come on fully. God. You could not afford to get sick.

Elwain was eating breakfast when you shuffled into the kitchen. You’d needed to absolutely cake your face in makeup to look presentable, and you saw his brows rise as he looked at you. Fortunately, the Fae at least knew how to keep their mouths shut. He just looked back at the frozen waffles he was toasting.

You snagged a granola bar and headed for the door. “Have a good day at work!” you called over your shoulder. Elwain grunted in response. The door swung shut behind you.

Work was exhausting, as per usual. It was better than Elwain’s job by a long shot, since you were working in a local candy store run by a sweet older couple, but between keeping an eye on any batches of candy being produced, sorting out customers, and having to deal with the requisite child-throwing-a-fit-for-not-getting-sweets, it was tiring. Trying to look bright and perky while being weighted down with a cold was awful.

As soon as work was off, you had class. Dragging yourself through it was a slow, painful slog. By the end, your head was fuzzy and you felt dead on your feet. Slowly, you hauled yourself on the bus and fell asleep.

Naturally, you missed your stop.

About an hour after you were supposed to be home, you dragged yourself in through the door. Elwain practically slammed into you. His hands clapped on either side of his face and he peered intently at you. “Where have you been? I’ve been calling you! I thought you were dead!”

You pushed him off you and bent to one side to cough heavily until you were nearly sagging to the floor. Elwain stared at you. “Sorry,” you rasped when you’d stopped. “I fell asleep. And then my phone was on low battery and I wanted to make sure I had enough battery to use my GPS to get home.”

“You couldn’t have texted me?” Elwain drew himself up, hands on his hips. The entire situation reminded you, ridiculously, of your mom when you came home after a night out. “I was worried! I didn’t know where you were, and mortals are so ridiculously fragile-”

“Aw, you’d have been fine,” you said. “If anything, you’d be able to do more without my stupid mortal morals.”

Elwain’s expression went strange for a moment. “Are you feeling well? You seem… off.”

“I’m not feeling well. I’d like to lie down, actually.” You coughed again. “That okay with you?” Elwain was still frowning, but he stepped aside, allowing you down the hall and into your room.

You went down into your bed face-first. Almost as soon as you hit the pillows, your mind faded into sleep. Sleep came to you in fitful waves. You kept waking, coughing, rolling over and falling asleep again. When your alarm pulled you back to full consciousness, you felt thoroughly awful. The cold had settled firmly into your chest and head, gumming everything up. Your chest rasped every time you breathed in, prompting heavy coughing fits, you shivered even when you were wrapped in blankets, and your head felt full, achy, and cloudy.

The cold had apparently decided to upgrade to a full-blown illness. Slowly, you shoved yourself upright. It was hard to breathe through your nose and your mouth. Your throat stung with every inhale. Every cell of your body just wanted to pop some of the cold medicine that made you sleep and hopefully you’d wake up when it was all over.

Just as you were standing up, someone knocked on your door.

Well, you knew who. There was only one person who it could be. Grimacing, you walked over to the door and pulled it open. “Elwain. What?”

He stared at you. “I was- are you okay?”

“I’m sick. You remember the discussion was had yesterday?” you said. “Anyway. You needed something?”

Elwain looked you over. You hadn’t looking into a mirror, but given his expression, you probably looked terrible. He seemed to think you were five seconds from crumbling into a pile of ash, like a vampire exposed to sunlight. “Do I need to call 911?” he asked.

“Uh, no. It’s a cold. I don’t need an ambulance. I need to sleep for a while. Why are you knocking on my door?” you asked. Elwain’s mouth moved wordlessly. Whatever he had wanted to talk to you about, it seemed to have been completely derailed.

“I… er.” Elwain’s gaze flicked over you again. “Well. I wanted to see how you were doing. You went to bed right after you got home last night and I never saw you again. And you seem to be doing… poorly.”

“Yeah. I’m not doing great. I really just want to go back to bed.” You rubbed your hand over your head. “I feel like shit.”

Elwain hesitated. “Do you need me to do something?”

“Just go about your day. I’ll try to keep my gross self out of your way.” You slouched across your room to your bed. “If you don’t need anything else, I’m going to try to get a little more sleep.”

Elwain lingered in the doorway for a few moments longer. Finally, he turned and headed into the kitchen. The door remained open behind him, and you couldn’t be bothered to get up and close it again. Instead, you buried your head in your pillow. Sleep claimed you again within moments.

Less than an hour later, your alarm went off again. You slapped at it balefully until it shut off. Somehow, it felt like you gotten negative sleep, like sleeping had made you even more tired. Slowly, painfully, you pushed yourself upright. Shivers wracked your frame. How had sleep made everything worse?

You threw on the first clothes that you could get your hands on and shuffled into the kitchen. Elwain looked up from his breakfast. His mouth opened slightly. “Good lord. Maybe you have been cursed.”

“Thanks,” you mumbled. “I don’t look that bad.” You did, but you’d slathered enough makeup on your face to cover most of it. Then again, maybe that wasn’t enough to hide from Fae eyes.

“You look like a walking corpse,” Elwain said. You collapsed in the seat next to him and coughed into your fist. The force of the motion made your head throb. Elwain curled his lips back from his teeth in a grimace. “Are you certain you don’t need me to call 911?”

“No. It’s a cold. I’m-” You dissolved into a fit of coughing so severe it was difficult to catch your breath. Elwain stared at you, eyes wide. “I’m fine,” you croaked.

Elwain narrowed his eyes, but returned to his phone. You didn’t know where he’d gotten it from, because he certainly hadn’t purchased it, but you’d decided you weren’t going to ask. You ate slowly, mostly because your stomach felt tender, and you couldn’t finish even half of your normal portion. After a while of picking at your food, you dumped your dishes in the sink and started gathering your items to head out.

“Where are you going?” You startled. Elwain had appeared at your shoulder, completely silent. You might have chalked up not noticing him to your cold-dulled senses, but he could sneak up on you no matter how well you were feeling.

“Work,” you said.

Elwain looked back down at his phone. “You are not supposed to leave the house if you’re sick.”

“It’s a cold. I’ll be fine,” you said.

Elwain kept looking at his phone. “If you are sick, you are supposed to stay home, both so you can avoid infecting others and so you can recover.”

“Are you reading that off a website? Where are you reading that from?” You tried to grab his phone, but he gracefully slipped out of your reach.

“I searched about human illnesses on the internet,” he said. “Your symptoms are consistent with the common cold, but they are also consistent with pneumonia. It says you should sleep and drink water until you are recovered.”

“Look,” you said. “I’m fine. It’s a cold. I’ve had them before. I will have them after this one. I know how to handle them. I’ll pop some cold medicine and I’ll be fine.” Elwain stared at you. His expression was hard to read. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll live.” You sniffed and blotted at your face with a tissue. “I’m going to leave now. I’ll see you later.”

You swept out the door, giving Elwain a wave. He stared after you, not moving until you slammed the door shut.

It was a long, slow, awful day. You could barely keep your head together. By the time you got home, your limbs were heavy with exhaustion and your mind was swimming.

You dragged yourself through the door. Your body felt like you were wrapped in a massive, thick blanket. Everything was warm and it was hard to move, like everything was stiff.

Elwain stared at you as you pulled yourself into the kitchen. “You look like death warmed over.”

“Fine,” you mumbled. “’m fine.” You slouched over the counter and leaned against it. Elwain stood, stepping closer to you. “I’m good. I… I’m good. Just… Tired. Tired. Need to nap.”

“Perhaps you should nap in your room,” Elwain said. “Not on the counter.”

“I’m fine here.” Your words were getting mushy. Why weren’t your lips moving correctly? “I’m good. I just, um. Need. Something…”

“It’s okay. You’re okay. Here, hold onto me. I’ll-” Elwian’s hands were on your waist, on your back. You felt boneless, mushy. Your limbs weren’t moving the way you wanted them to. The only thing you could feel were Elwain’s hands supporting you. Was he carrying you? Maybe. You felt like you were floating. Your head was disconnected from your body, floating. Someone was speaking to you from far away, a soothing voice. It was so soothing. Maybe you could just sleep for a bit. Just sleep. It would be nice to just sleep.

Dimly, you came back to yourself. You blinked your eyes open. The ceiling was unfamiliar, at least as ceilings went. Not that you were familiar with many ceilings, really. Looking down at yourself revealed why the ceiling was so unfamiliar. The bed was covered in heavy, dark blue sheets. Elwain’s sheets. You were in his bed.

Slowly, you pushed yourself upright. You still felt bad, but less bad than you had been feeling. A raking cough escaped your chest, thick with phlegm.

“You’re up!” Elwain appeared in the doorway. He looked… frazzled? You weren’t sure the Fae could look as frazzled and unkempt as a human could, but he didn’t look as ethereally beautiful as he usually did. He looked sort of ruffled. “I was considering dragging you to the hospital, but the internet said that maybe ginger tea would actually be better, so I got you some of that.” He indicated the cup in his hands.

“You have got to stop getting all your information from the internet. Or at least I need to give you a media literacy course on identifying good sources,” you croaked. Your voice sounded bad, but it no longer hurt to speak. It just felt uncomfortable.

Elwain gave you a bewildered look and held the cup out toward you. “Drink it.” You took it obligingly and took a sip. Elwain must have dumped half a bottle of honey in it, because it was so sweet you almost couldn’t taste the ginger. You swallowed it carefully.

“Thank you,” you said when you’d finished the cup. “What, uh. What exactly happened to me?”

Elwain sat on the end of your bed. He was wearing his old cloak, the one he’d taken with him when he’d fled from Faerie. He tucked it tighter around him, fingers fidgeting at the hem. “I was hoping you could inform me of that, actually. I was quite frightened when you collapsed like that.”

“Oh, yeah,” you said. Vaguely, you remembered passing out. “How long was I out?”

Elwain glanced at the clock. “Mn. Less than an hour? You were in and out for the first ten minutes, mumbling a lot.” You had vague memories of Elwain leaning over you, expression panicked. Must have been from then. “Once I got you into bed, you fell asleep. I wasn’t sure if I should wake you or not.”

“It is,” you said. “Probably a good idea to let me sleep. Though if I ever do collapse again, please call 911.” You considered. “Well, I guess don’t call 911 unless I’m actually dying. I can’t afford the ambulance.”

Elwain nodded, even though he looked politely confused. “Is your illness getting worse?”

“Maybe,” you said. “It’s hard to tell. I think I have a fever now, so that sucks.”

With absolutely no warning, Elwain leaned forward. His face was abruptly so close to yours, close enough to feel his cool breath tickling your skin. The hairs on the back of your neck lifted. Suddenly the only thoughts in your head had to do with his lips pressing to yours, his cool mouth meandering along your skin-

His forehead touched yours. His eyes closed, a little furrow appearing in his brow. “You’re warm,” he said. “Very warm.” He sat back.

You blinked. “Uh. You can do that with your hand, you know.”

“Oh? I saw the forehead one on the internet,” Elwain said, but he reached up and cradled your face in his hands. With a soft, delicate touch, the back of his hand brushed against your forehead and down your cheek. The touch made something in your chest tighten and your breath catch. “You still feel warm.”

You moved your mouth, trying to get your brain back in gear. “Uh, yeah. Fever! That’s, uh. Bad. I need, um. You remember that pill bottle in the bathroom I showed you? The one with the little red pills?” Elwain nodded. “Get those and a glass of water. They’ll bring the fever down.”

Elwain vanished for a moment and returned with a tall glass water and the bottle of pills. He watched as you downed them and sank back into bed. His sheets were softer than yours, his bed even more luxuriously plush. You weren’t sure where he’d gotten the sheets from, or if maybe they were the sheets you’d bought him, just augmented with magic. “Why did you put me in your bed, anyway?” you asked. “My bed’s not that much further away.”

“I wanted to keep an eye on you,” Elwain said. “And you do not like me coming in your room.”

“I don’t like you just walking into my room whenever you feel like it, but you can come into my room,” you said. But you were pretty glad he’d put you in his bed. Everything in his room smelled faintly floral and herbal, a smell that relaxed you. Everything was cozy.

“I am not familiar with how to deal with sick mortals,” Elwain said. “Do you need anything else?”

“No. I just need to rest.” You paused, looking toward the window. “I should probably head back to my own room, actually. You’ll probably want to sleep here tonight, right?”

Elwain shook his head. “Stay. You need to rest. I will sleep elsewhere.” He swept out of the room, cloak fluttering behind him. You stared after him for a moment before sinking back into bed. Despite just waking up, your head was already muddy again. Maybe Elwain had gotten you the pills with the sleeping medicine in them. Your eyes closed. Within moments, you were drifting away, fast asleep.

You dreamed of strange things, of hands on your face, cupping your cheek, of soft lips pressed to your neck, of kind eyes and strong arms carrying you around. When you opened your eyes to see the same kind eyes staring down at you, you were half-convinced you were still dreaming.

“Hello,” Elwain said. “You have been asleep for a while.”

You blinked. Your body did have that foggy heaviness that came when you’d been sleeping deeply. Even your discomfort from the illness seemed far away and dim. “Elwain.”

“Yes. I’m right here.” He said it more gently than a simple statement of fact, almost like a reassurance.

“How long was I out?” There was bright sunlight streaming in through the window and across the bed. You lifted a hand to clumsily shield your eyes.

“Over twelve hours. I thought you should probably sleep. That’s what the internet said.”

“Oh, man, we are going to need to get you some better resources than just ‘the internet,’” you said. “But you were right. Thanks for letting me sleep.” Slowly, you shoved yourself up into a sitting position. “What’s that?”

Elwain held a bowl out to you. “I was told that soup was good for mortal illnesses.”

You took the bowl of vegetable broth. Elwain’s cooking was usually pretty hit or miss- he could follow recipes just fine, but he also had a habit of deciding that he had a better idea than the recipe and going completely off the rails. The soup just seemed to be broth, though. You took a cautious sip. It was watery, but tolerable.

“Are you feeling better?” Elwain asked. You nodded, glancing over at the clock.

“It’s past nine,” you noticed. “Aren’t you supposed to be at work?”

“I called in sick. I wanted to stay home to make sure you were all right.” Elwain looked completely serious.

“It’s just a cold. I’m fine.”

Elwain’s eyes narrowed. “You collapsed.”

“Well, yeah, but…” You trailed off. There wasn’t much you could say in response to that. “Fine. But if you get fired for this, I’m going to be pissed.”

“I will not be fired. My boss loves me.” Elwain gave a superior little sniff, nose stuck up in the air. You laughed into your bowl of broth.

When you were finished, Elwain took your bowl back into the kitchen, returning only a few moments later. “Do you need anything else?”

“I think I’m okay,” you said. “You really didn’t have to stay home to take care of me. There’s not going to be a lot to do. I think I’m mostly going to sleep.”

“Regardless. I think it is better to be safe.” Elwain looked at you from the doorway for a moment longer. “I need you.”

He left the doorway. You could hear his footsteps retreating into your apartment, perfectly steady, like what he said hadn’t made your chest tighten intensely. You sank back into his bed. His scent wreathed around you, gentle and reassuring. Oh, god. Warm feelings were fluttering up in your stomach, swelling through chest and trembling in your lungs. Worse than that, they felt familiar. How long had these feelings been lingering in the background of your mind? And now they had surfaced and you didn’t know what to do with them. Naturally, you would have some kind of emotional crisis when you were sick.

You faded in and out of dreams where Elwain’s scent wreathed around you and his gentle hands stroked your forehead and cheeks. You woke up feeling oddly melancholy.

The sounds of the TV drifted through the open door. Shaking some feeling back into your heavy limbs, you hauled a blanket over your shoulders and headed into the living room.

Elwain was draped over the couch, staring at the TV. There was some soap opera on with a woman and a man hysterically throwing themselves at each other. Elwain looked up as you padded into the room. “Is it okay for you to be out of bed?” he asked.

“Yeah. I feel better, actually.” The sleep had helped quite a bit. You still felt foggy, but the pain in your head and chest had faded. Elwain sat up, drawing his limbs in closer to himself so you could sit next to him.

“You look less… corpse-like,” he said. Before you realized what he was doing, he took hold of your face in both hands and pulled you closer to him. “You are still warm.”

“Uh, yeah. I’m getting better.” You reached up and carefully pried his fingers off your face. You were overly aware of how your fingers lingered together. “How’s your day off going?”

“Human TV is still strange,” Elwain said, turning back toward the screen. “I can’t imagine any humans really behave like this. I have never seen it.”

“No, it’s a soap opera. It’s supposed to be deliberately over-the-top and crazy. That’s why they’re fun to watch.” Elwain rolled his eyes, but there was amusement in his expression.

“Is there anything you want to watch?” he asked.

“No, this is fine.” You settled into the soft cushions, staring at the TV. As much as you were looking in the direction of the TV, most of your attention was focused on Elwain. His gaze kept flicking toward you, as if he was unable to focus on the show either. After a moment, he reached out toward you.

One of his hands settled on your head, the other on your shoulder. Before you realized what had happened, he pushed you so your head was resting in his lap. You stared up at him as he, apparently unconcerned, started weaving his fingers through your hair.

“What are you doing?” you asked.

“You did this for me when I first came here,” Elwain said. “It was soothing. I thought you might like it as well.” He paused. “Was I incorrect?”

You considered for a moment. His fingers were still carding through your hair, twining strands around his fingers. “No. I don’t mind.”

Elwain continued to stroke your hair. His nails scratched lightly at your scalp. The feeling of being touched made something tremulous swell in your chest. It was a pleasant feeling, but one so sharp and overwhelming that it almost made you cry.

You lay with Elwain for a while, his hands absently playing with your hair and trailing along your head and neck. He seemed to be paying far more attention to you than to the TV. “You should take better care of yourself,” he said, stroking your bangs back from your forehead. “If you were to die, I would be alone in the mortal world.”

“You’d manage,” you said.

“Perhaps.” Elwain removed his hands from your hair and hesitated for a moment. He seemed to be struggling to speak. Then he sighed. “But I would prefer it if you were with me.”

You looked up at him. He was staring deliberately to one side. There was a faint pinkish color to his cheeks and his eyes were narrowed. “You could have left, once our deal was up. I only asked you to stay with me for the night. And yet, you helped me. There was no reason to. I no longer have my connections or any particular Faerie skills. Even the few powers that remain with me, you don’t like me using. You have gained nothing from this deal and you help me regardless.”

“Of course, I did.” Thinking about that night only brought one image to your mind. Elwain, who had nearly been killed by his own parents, looking lost and confused and abandoned. He had been cocky before, but in that moment, he had just looked forlorn and upset. He had just looked scared. “I wasn’t going to just leave you on your own.”

“You could have,” Elwain pressed on. “Easily, you could have. You could have justified it, even by mortal morals. There’s not a lot here that could kill me. As you have pointed out, I would be fairly fine on my own. But you stayed with me regardless, for no other reason than just helping me.”

“You’d just almost been assassinated. I couldn’t leave you,” you said.

“You could have. But you didn’t. And, at least so far, you have asked for nothing from me in return. To be quite honest, you’ve been almost annoying with how little you allow me to do.”

“I try,” you said. Elwain snorted. It was an inelegant noise, but somehow also incredibly attractive. “Where are you going with this?”

“I’m trying to explain to you that I care about you. I want you to be well and safe and healthy because you saved me and you didn’t have to and I appreciate it.” Elwain’s cheeks flamed red. “That’s what I’m trying to say.”

You reached up slowly and let your hand cradle the side of his face. He leaned into your touch, eyes closing. “It’s strange. I’m not used to this,” he said. “My parents loved me as far as they could use me. It’s how Faeries are. But you have used me for nothing, gained precious little advantage from having a Faerie living with you. And I wasn’t used to it. I still think I’m not used to it. But I am so… so… happy. For this. For you.” He blinked his eyes open. They were hazy with emotion. “Thank you.”

It was an impulse maybe you could have resisted if you were feeling better, but you were overwhelmed with feeling and not in the mood to fight with yourself. The hand on his cheek shifted position toward the back of his neck and pulled him down on top of you. His mouth pressed into yours, tense and unyielding, then softening as he realized what was happening.

There was a moment of fumbling, while Elwain registered that you were kissing. You broke away from his mouth, but he was pressing into you again, pulling you close to him and meeting your lips over and over with his own. His tongue brushed your lower lip and his moan sounded against your mouth.

You weren’t aware of how it happened, but suddenly you were lying back on the couch with Elwain on top of you. He was kissing you furiously, his hips flush to yours. Your fingers tangled in his hair, pushing him as close to you as you could get.

One of your gasping breaths caught in your chest, triggering a coughing fit. You rolled over, trying not to cough right into Elwain’s face. He sat back. His lips were already slightly kiss-swollen and he looked a bit rumpled. “Right,” he said, trying to finger-comb his hair back into a presentable state. “You’re still not feeling well.”

“Hold on. Give me a minute, we can keep going,” you said between coughs. Elwain pressed his lips together, but they were twitching toward a smile.

“You are admirably determined, but I think it would be better for you to rest,” he said. There was a pause. Elwain tugged on a few of the longer strands of his hair. “I take that to mean you feel the same way?”

“That I like you? Yeah.” You pulled him down so he was laying across your chest. He looked at you, eyes surprisingly wide and innocent. “When I first met you, I thought you were kind of an asshole. And you are kind of an asshole. But you’re also charming and endearing and you try to follow my rules even when you totally don’t have to. And you’re willing to take care of me when I’m sick.”

“You took care of me when I had lost everything,” Elwain said. “I only wished to return the favor.” His fingers wandered over your stomach, tracing absent patterns on your shirt. You could feel his warmth against your skin. “Usually, that’s how it works, with Faeries. Favors are given because giving means you can get something in return, and you’re always trying to leverage the deal to get more than what you’re giving.” He closed his eyes for a moment, brows furrowing. “But when I saw you were sick, I wasn’t thinking that I needed to pay you back. I was only thinking that I wanted to help you.”

You stroked your fingers through his hair. “That’s what love is.”

“Mortal love,” he sighed. “I always thought it was flimsy and weak and short-lived.” His eyes opened again and he nestled into you. “It’s much stronger than I thought. So much more than I believed. It almost hurts, but it’s a good hurt.”

You started coughing again. Elwain swung himself up and gathered you into his arms. “I’ll take you back to bed,” he said. “You need to get better. I want to continue this.” He pressed a kiss to your forehead. You rested your head on his shoulder and closed your eyes. His heartbeat thudded against you, slow and steady. The feeling of him holding you swelled and ached inside you, a pleasant ache. You clung to him as he eased you into bed and settled in next to you. Your illness was all but forgotten. Everything was soft and pleasant under a heady wave of love.

#exophilia #fae #faerie #fae boyfriend #monster boyfriend #monster lover #Fae lover

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reinersmomma · 2 years

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Woke up this morning after having a dream about Nanami and wanted to share 😋

I doubt anyone will see this and I’m definitely not a writer so if anyone who does see this & wants to elaborate and write something for this go right ahead!

***MDNI, 18+ only!***

Soooo basically in my dream we were at a convention, you know non-jujutsu sorcerer stuff but definitely in that world. Nanami and I were close friends, or at least I thought so definitely because I pinned after him since day 1. We sat together at the convention, stayed at the same hotel (different rooms but they were connected), and went to eat with each other. He had just purchased a new SUV, Escalade while there because we were close to home but he didn’t want to ride in the rental car we had from our company and after he went to pick it up from the dealership he brought it back to the hotel to drive us back home. I asked if I could drive it and he said he would if I let him have his way with me… so OF COURSE I did and boy was it good. I ended up not driving the car because I’m a princess and was smitten with him. As we drove back home he had a hand on my thigh, real gentleman like, and then I woke up but I swear we were heading in a more serious place relationship wise lol 😂

I just had to get this written down because it was heavenly when I woke up but also sad because why tf can he not be real

#nanami kento #nanami smut #jujutsu nanami #nanami x you #jujutsu kaisen nanami

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jasontoddiefor · 3 years

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Title: infinitely varied Ship: obikin Summary: Sometimes your husband decides to develop an artificial intelligence capable of free choice and something called a soul and succeeds in the middle of a Thursday night. Or, more concretely: he's in the middle of succeeding because said intelligence first has to learn how to speak.Also known as Obi-Wan and Anakin teach a tiny program called A.H.S.O.K.A. how to be something more than lines of code via the power of linguistics. AN: Happy birthday @ghostwriterofthemachine

Language is a process of free creation; its laws and principles are fixed, but the manner in which the principles of generation are used is free and infinitely varied. Even the interpretation and use of words involves a process of free creation.

Noam Chomsky

Life was a query of expectations, margins on doorframes, bucket lists, first loves, broken hearts, and happy middles because only fools would settle for a happy ending when they had so many decades left to live. The thought never failed to bring a smile to Anakin’s face, no matter how frustrated, remembering the simple way Obi-Wan had proposed. There had been no fancy dinner, particularly stunning outing, or anything resembling outlandish romantic gestures. Anakin would have appreciated them because every act would have been colored by Obi-Wan’s love, but now, older and wiser than the rash youth who’s fallen in love at first heated debate, he preferred the way their proposal had actually gone down. A quiet Sunday morning, eating breakfast together on the sofa while the news droned in the background from Anakin’s old radio, a hesitant “I don’t need forever, but I want the present”.

And, well, for all his genius, Anakin could be a bit of an idiot sometimes, but not when it came to this.

Married life was interesting.

Somehow nothing changed, except also everything. They had bought a real house, moved out of their old apartment and made more compromises than Anakin had ever thought himself capable of, for they hadn’t been like fighting an uphill battle but dancing together. It had made him happy to paint the entrance hall in the shade of green Obi-Wan preferred if he got to paint the kitchen in the light blue he wanted.

Obi-Wan got the attic for his office where his antique book collection looked right at home, and Anakin got the basement where the hum of his servers and the generator powering them annoyed nobody else.

It was as close to white-picket-fence as it could be with two queer men, no kids, a bratty cat, and an anxious dog under one roof. His childhood self would be appalled to see how much Anakin, always the whirlwind, had settled. To a nine-year-old, Anakin probably looked very adult.

Anakin, however, did not feel very grown-up, banging his head against his desk in the middle of the night. Obi-Wan had gone to sleep hours ago, and so had Anakin until inspiration had struck and he’d snuck out of bed to return to his favorite project.

A.H.S.O.K.A may not be a child, but Anakin certainly could relate to exhausted parents when they complained about their children in endless repetitions. To this day, Anakin didn’t know why his mother figured it would be great parenting to encourage her WarGames obsessed kid to dig into the world of artificial intelligence when WOPR nearly started a nuclear war, but he’d forever remain thankful.

Or, he’d resume being thankful when he could finally get A.H.S.O.K.A to learn. He’d rewritten her code a thousand times. It was his ever-constant companion, from his first awful-looking early 2000s website to its current incarnation. A.H.S.O.K.A could solve simple logic puzzles, given that he fed her enough data. Her solutions to tasks could be downright hilarious, but they were not enough. He wanted her to be smarter, better, capable of gaining true understanding.

Perhaps, it was a dream for the future and not a Thursday night.

Anakin didn’t have any work tomorrow morning as he worked as a freelancer, so he could afford to pull an all-nighter. But his dear husband had planned a nice afternoon for them, so Anakin should call it a night or a morning as a glance at the clock told him.

Staring at the many lines of code again, Anakin sighed and leaned back in his chair and took another sip of his by-now cold tea. Obi-Wan would definitely complain that Anakin had snatched his favorite mug once he got up and couldn’t find it in the kitchen. Anakin had bought it at the last linguistic convention Obi-Wan had taken him to.

Language is a process of free invention, it read in delicate cursive before the rest of the quote disassembled in pure chaos.

Huh.

Now there was a thought. Anakin got out of his chair and left the basement, haunted by fixed principles and infinite combinations. Up in the attic, carrying Obi-Wan’s computer downstairs again, Anakin thought on interpretations and free creations. He was as giddy and nervous as he’d been on the morning of his wedding day, which had started similarly early. Connecting Obi-Wan’s computer, and more importantly, the priced result of his thesis, to Anakin’s server felt a little like unwrapping birthday presents.

language_acquisition_prediction.exe

Enter.

II.

Obi-Wan was not surprised when he woke to an empty bed. Anakin had a habit of suddenly pulling all-nighters or getting up early before the sun even thought of rising. Given that he couldn’t smell breakfast yet, Obi-Wan deduced that Anakin had pulled an all-nighter again. He slowly crawled out of bed to avoid disturbing Artoo and Threepio sleeping to his feet. Obi-Wan was pretty sure he shared his bed more often with his pets than he did with his husband.

He walked down the stairs to the ground level and went by the kitchen to prepare himself a cup of tea. To his displeasure, Obi-Wan couldn’t find his favorite mug and so had to settle for another. After another thought, he decided to make a second one for Anakin, lavender this time so Anakin would hopefully crash after breakfast. He put both mugs on a small tray together with a couple tomatoes. Obi-Wan usually wasn’t one for eating a full breakfast on workdays – that was the influence of Anakin and his mother’s kitchen – but he was the expert in smalltime snacks. With both in hand, he walked down the second flight of stairs, down to the basement. As expected, he found Anakin at his desk, clinging to what was bound to be a cold cup, staring intensely at his screens, which were running one program or another.

“Good morning,” Obi-Wan greeted him and kissed Anakin’s cheek.

“Mo-orning,” Anakin replied, a yawn interrupting him halfway. “Wait, what time is it?”

“Eight,” Obi-Wan said. “How long have you been up?”

“Uuuh.” Obi-Wan didn’t need to see Anakin’s face to know the answer. “Did you even go to sleep?”

“I did sleep for a while!” Anakin argued. “But then I had an idea, I mean, look at this!”

Obi-Wan gave the screens a closer look. Despite common misconceptions, he was not technically illiterate. Privately, he blamed the fact that Anakin was quite well known for his tech know-how and Obi-Wan tended to talk more about literature given that he was filling in as a lecturer in the British Lit. department. Nevertheless, Obi-Wan had gotten his professorship with a program he’d written, and the code currently displayed on the screens looked very similar to a section that had given him stress nightmares. “Is that my thesis?” he asked.

“Yes, sorta, partially?” Anakin replied. “I kind of took it apart a lot and maybe corrupted it a bit, but that’s not the important part! Look what she’s doing with it.”

She could only refer to one person, intelligence. There were a few constants in their life, their new house the most recent one, and Ahsoka was probably the longest. Obi-Wan didn’t know why Anakin hadn’t set her aside already, he was happy enough to leave other started-never-finished projects lying around, but the last time he’d even just suggested such, Anakin had looked heartbroken.

Obi-Wan looked at the screen Anakin was pointing at and began to read.

script input: inhibition auditory input 1 designation skyguy: /ˌɪn.ɪˈbɪʃ.ən/ auditory input 2 designation professor: /ˌɪn.hɪˈbɪʃ.ən/ analysis: mismatch diagnosis: outstanding

script input: better auditory input 1 designation skyguy: /ˈbet̬.ɚ/ auditory input 2 designation professor: /ˈbet.ər/ analysis: mismatch diagnosis: rhoticism? query: define

The text continued for a while, though apparently Ahsoka only picked out the mismatched parts in her analysis.

“Is that ‘Must have done something right’?” Obi-Wan asked, the connection between the words suddenly starting to make sense.

“Yes!” Anakin grinned. “I wasn’t quite sure how to teach her sounds properly because I hadn’t equipped her with a sound analysis program before and I figured that if babies just learn by listening to their parents, Ahsoka could learn by listening to us.”

“So you fed her audio of us singing?” Obi-Wan wasn’t sure whether to be impressed, confused, or just plain tired but decided to settle on confusion for now and let the course of the conversation determine where they’d end up.

“That too, but I actually just started by playing old voice messages. I figured getting her used to just one phonetic inventory would be enough for now. Honestly, for the first hour, I wasn’t even sure whether that would be of any use because she had no symbols to connect the sounds to, and I thought using the IPA might bias her.”

Because, of course, Anakin never deleted any of Obi-Wan’s voice messages and just kept them on his phone. The fact that he just glossed over it as if it weren’t anything special either made Obi-Wan smile.

“It’s cute that you think we have the same inventory,” Obi-Wan commented. “But continue. You just let her listen to sounds and then? Don’t tell me you gave her written texts.”

Anakin rolled his eyes and confirmed another one of Ahsoka’s queries before answering. “No, I gave her the IPA then and let her listen to the full inventory and then analyze which ones we use.”

That made enough sense. Obi-Wan was reasonably sure it was a great deal more complicated than Anakin was lying it out right now, but it was still within the realm of possible and not downright sci-fi. There were enough programs that could analyze speech and filter out patterns, recognize even emotions and tone. Feeding data to a computer wasn’t too different from the way babies learned, though, as far as Obi-Wan knew from talking to people with children, they didn’t like their progeny being compared to lines of code.

“And you accomplished this by feeding my thesis program, which is meant to predict the language acquisition of children, to Ahsoka?”

“Yes, that, uh, happened more or less,” Anakin said, his nose scrunched up just so that Obi-Wan knew he wasn’t certain. “I’m pretty sure I like, wrote some of it down. Not all of it because I knocked out at like 4 a.m., which resulted in pretty interesting inquiries on the great vowel shift.”

Obi-Wan froze. “She’s asking about the great vowel shift?”

There was a difference in the size of the Atlantic between analyzing sounds and recognizing a six-hundred-year-old change in pronunciation.

“Not really,” Anakin said. “She just noticed the patterns? And had inquiries? We’ve been following up on it since, mostly by also giving her written text, but I think that might have backfired and confused her a bit. I’m thinking of synching up the input with a visible feed so she’d learn to associate an actual object with the sound, but I’m not sure whether that wouldn’t just lead to her matching data instead of actually learning its relevance. Can teach an AI what an apple looks like, sounds like, tastes like, but that doesn’t mean you can teach it what an apple is and all that.”

Anakin smiled impishly, and unfortunately, despite his generally messy appearance, Obi-Wan still thought he was handsome. “Please don’t cite my book back at me like that.”

Closing his eyes for a moment and pinching his nose, Obi-Wan tried to focus. This was not how he expected to start his free day. He needed to wake up and possibly grab his notes to sort out this mess. This almost made him wish the car was still wrecked and Anakin would spend all his free time fixing that. “Did you have to start her on English of all languages?”

Anakin was fluent in two other romance languages; it would have been much easier to deal with a French AI than an English one. Sighing, Obi-Wan looked at Ahsoka’s latest question and promptly frowned.

script input: bear auditory input: /beər/ match found: bare analysis: mismatch diagnosis: failed word formation query: bear = bare? query: deletion >bare<?

“How long has she been doing that?” Obi-Wan asked.

“Doing what— oh, that’s new.”

So Ahsoka had jumped from matching sounds to text to comparing sound to words and then referencing those words against one another. That was a logical step, but also a step Obi-Wan wasn’t quite sure she should be doing without prompting.

“She thinks bear and bare are related because they have the same sound. Didn’t really expect that turn of events. Should I show her those are two different words?”

“Does she even know what a word is yet?” Obi-Wan asked in turn.

“No.”

“Then teach her what a word is first— after breakfast. I want your pancakes.”

“You never want pancakes on a Friday.”

“My husband also never decided to rope me into teaching an artificial intelligence morphology before.”

Obi-Wan needed a proper meal for this. He could talk to his students on an empty stomach, but he could not deal with the latest brand of Skywalker insanity without something sweet first.

“I haven’t—”

Ever the negotiator, Obi-Wan decided to shut Anakin up with a kiss. “After breakfast.”

Ahsoka’s many questions could wait for an hour.

#star wars #obikin #obi wan kenobi #ahsoka tano #anakin skywalker #fanfic

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a-simple-gaywitch · 3 years

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The Other Side of Someday

Spencer Reid x Reader

Summary: After Spencer and (Y/N) break up, everything changes

Warnings: Criminal Minds-Typical Violence, Angst

Genre: Angst. It’s basically just angst

Word Count: 2807

A/N: Title taken from Sara Bareilles’ Gonna Get Over You. Please messege me/send an ask if you want added to my taglist

“The saddest thing about love is that not only the love cannot last forever, but even the heartbreak is soon forgotten.”

~William Faulkner

You and Spencer Reid didn’t start your relationship in a very conventional way. After the “death” of Emily Prentiss, you and Spencer turned to each other for comfort as you mourned for your friend. Shockingly, Spencer made the first move. He was over at your apartment and the two of you were watching a movie, trying to ignore the pain of losing a woman you both saw as a big sister and friend. Seemingly out of nowhere, Spencer kissed you. You’d been friends with Spencer for nearly five years, and you’d had a crush on him for almost as long.

Your relationship strengthened the BAU. You and Spencer were practically joint at the hip and your thoughts bounced off the other. Your relationship lasted for a little over a year, before everything changed.

Spencer drew away from you. He already wasn’t big on PDA, but even in the privacy of your own apartments he didn’t hold you or kiss you like he used to. That was your first clue things weren’t right. The next sign was when he seemed to avoid you whenever he could.

You cornered him on the way back to the hotel after a long day working a case.

“Spence, what’s going on?” You asked, grabbing his wrist as he made his way to the door.

He wrenched his arm out of your grasp. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, come on, Spencer. Do you think I’m stupid?”

“No, of course not, I-”

“Then tell me why you’ve been acting so weird lately!”

Spencer sighed. “I think we should break up.”

“Oh.” You were silent for a beat, trying to figure out how to respond. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Well, yeah. I mean, when one person wants to break up, you break up. Just… Can I ask why?”

“I just,” he sighed, rubbing his forehead. “I don’t think our relationship should go any further.”

“Oh. Okay. Well, I’m going to ride back to the hotel with Hotch and Rossi,” you said before ducking out of the precinct.

Thankfully, the case didn’t last much longer, and you were able to keep your personal issues out of the case. Unfortunately, though, you were surrounded by profilers. When JJ noticed you picking at the salad you’d picked up, she sat next to you.

“What’s going on with you? Are you okay?”

“I don’t know, Jayje. Spencer and I broke up.”

“Oh, (Y/N).” She wrapped her arms around you, pulling you into a hug as her Mom Instincts™ kicked in. “I’m sorry, I know how much you love him.”

“I’ll be fine,” you assured her, shrugging out of her arms. “It hasn’t affected my job, and I’m not going to let it.”

You know that feeling when you’re on a roller coaster and it drops suddenly? That was how you felt when you discovered the real reason Spencer broke up with you. When he came into the office panicked, you knew something was wrong.

“Spence? Are you alright?” You asked him as he ran up the stairs to the briefing room.

Spencer told the team what was going on. His new girlfriend was kidnapped, supposedly by her stalker. He was beyond stressed. His hair was a complete mess and the dark circles under his eyes were more prominent than they usually were. The team agreed to help bring her home, off the clock.

“Hey, you alright?” Penelope asked you.

“I’m fine,” you said. “Why wouldn’t I be? We’re rescuing a woman from her stalker, we’ve done this before.”

“Well, yeah, but it’s Reid.”

Speaking of, Spencer came up to you, his hair more of a mess than it was before. “(Y/N). I need you to promise me something.”

“Sure, anything Spence. What do you need?”

“Get Maeve back safe. Please. Promise me.” His eyes shone with unshed tears.

“Yeah. Yeah, I promise.”

You couldn’t fulfill your promise, though you tried. You really tried. You just weren’t fast enough.

Spencer was distraught, as anyone would be after losing someone they loved. When he returned to work, he kept his distance from you. You thought he was the same with everyone else, until you saw him talking with Alex Blake by the coffee machine. You didn’t realize Spencer was angry at you until the team discussed the unsub and the victims still in his captivity.

“Don’t like (Y/N) rescue the vics, she’ll just let them die anyway.”

“Reid!”

“Spencer, what the hell?” you said.

“You promised you would save Maeve. And you didn’t.”

“I did what I could! None of us could have predicted what happened!”

“You let your jealousy get in the way, you let her die!” He fell silent for a minute before saying, “It should have been you.”

You took a step back in shock.

“Reid!” Hotch yelled at him a second time.

You pursed your lips before saying, “If you think I’d let an innocent woman die because of my own emotional complications, you clearly don’t know me at all. Maybe you never did.” You turned on your heel and stormed out of the precinct.

You sat on the step outside the building, your hot tears a stark contrast to the cool night air. When you heard the door open, you sniffled and dug the heel of your hand into your eyes, rubbing your tears away.

Rossi sat down on the step next to you and handed you a cup of hot tea. “He didn’t mean it, you know,” he assured you.

You looked into the steaming cup. “But he did. You didn’t see the look in his eyes, Rossi.” You rubbed your eyes with the back of your hand. “He hates me now.”

“I’m sure that’s not true,” Rossi assured you. “But if it makes you feel any better, Hotch is really ripping into him for saying those things to you.”

You shook your head and scoffed. “It doesn’t.”

Rossi’s lips quirked into a sympathetic smile. “How about I drive you back to the hotel? You seem like you need some rest.”

Reid’s snide comments didn’t stop. They just became more discrete, and always when Rossi and Hotch weren’t around. It went on for months. It got to the point where you avoided Spencer as much as you could.

One day, after filling out your paperwork, you walked up the stairs to Hotch’s office and knocked on the door.

“Come in.”

You pushed the door open. “Hey, Hotch. Can I talk to you for a minute?”

“Sure. Is everything okay?”

You looked out at the bullpen before you closed the door and sat down across from Hotch. You took a deep breath. “I think it’s time for me to leave the Bureau.”

“What? Are you sure? If it’s about something with the BAU, I can talk to Strauss about transferring you-”

“No, Hotch,” you said, giving him a sad smile. “It’s time for me to leave. Remember when Elle left and she said she used to get so excited when her phone rang, but she dreaded it towards the end? I understand that now.” You pulled the sleeves of your cardigan over your hands and gripped the cuffs in your fists. “I’ve been thinking about this for a while. I’m turning my credentials in on my way out today.”

Hotch sighed. “Well, I can’t say we won’t miss you,” he said.

“Could you just, uh, do me a favor? Don’t tell the team until after I’m gone? I don’t think I could face Garcia right now.”

“Sure,” Hotch promised. “Where are you going to go?”

You shrugged. “I don’t know. I have a Master’s in adolescent psychology, it shouldn’t be too hard to find a job.”

“Well, we’ll be here if you need anything,” Hotch assured you. “We’re only a phone call away.”

“Where’s (L/N)?” Morgan asked when the team gathered in the conference room the next day. “She’s never this late, is she okay?”

“Well, before we get started I need to give you all an announcement. (L/N) is no longer part of the Bureau.”

“What?!”

“Are you serious, Hotch?”

“And she didn’t tell any of us?”

Hotch held up his hand to silence the team. “She didn’t want to tell anyone because she knew you’d all get upset and try to convince her to stay.”

“Did she say why she was leaving?” JJ asked.

“She just said she thought it was time for her to move on,” Hotch explained. “She didn’t tell me why. But that’s her business.” He turned to Garcia. “The case?”

You’d moved on from the BAU, and, by extension, Spencer. You found a job as a school psychologist at a nearby high school, and you went back to school to get your doctorate. Every once in a while, the team would be on the news and you would think about calling them, just to talk to them. But you never did.

You were walking home from the convenience store on the corner of your street when someone jumped out and hit you in the head, knocking you out.

You woke up to blinding pain behind your eyes and the smell of manure in the air.

“Are you alright?” a rough, female voice asked as your eyes adjusted to the darkness.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m alright. Where am I? Where are we?”

“I don’t know.” You heard a chain rattle as the woman handed you a cup. “I’ve been here for days. I’m Laura.”

“(Y/N).” You looked into the cup. “What is it?”

“Just water,” Laura assured you. “He gives us a little bit every few days. To keep our strength up.”

“There was a girl here before me, wasn’t there?” you asked, cautiously sipping the water.

“Yeah. Her name was Ruth.”

“And now that I’m here…”

The sound of chains rattling on the barn door made the both of you look up.

“Hey, I just got Hotch’s text,” Spencer said to JJ as he walked into the BAU. “What’s going on?”

“I don’t know. He just said it was an emergency.”

They walked into the conference room where the rest of the team was already gathered.

“What’s going on?” Spencer asked Hotch.

“We have a high-priority case. (Y/N)’s the most recent victim.”

“Wait, (Y/N) (L/N)? As in our Angelface?” Penelope asked, panic rising in her voice.

“Unfortunately,” Hotch said. “This unsub keeps these women for about two weeks before… well…” He clicked to the next picture on the screen. “This woman was just found this morning. Laura Greenwald.” Spencer felt a lump in his throat, seeing the mutilation done to the woman. “And there was another abduction about two miles from where (Y/N) was taken. Let’s get to work.”

Your captor unchained the doors to the barn you were being held in and shoved a whimpering girl inside, her hands and wrists restrained and a burlap bag over her head.

You walked over to her and gently pulled the sack off her head. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

“Who-who are you?” she asked, sniffling. Tear tracks trailed down her dirty face. “Where are we?”

“My name is (Y/N),” you told her, untying the ropes around her hands. “I can’t say exactly where we are. I’ve been trying to figure it out since I got here.”

“Wait, how long have you been here?”

“Days. Maybe a week? I’m not sure.”

“Oh, god,” she whimpered.

“What’s your name?”

“Julie.”

“Don’t worry, Julie. We’ll get out of here, and we’ll get to go home,” you promised.

“How can you be so sure?”

“I used to work for the FBI. The Behavioural Analysis Unit. I saw men like him all the time. He’s devolving, he’s going to get caught, and soon.” The door started creaking open again. “Just hang in until they rescue us.”

The BAU had finally tracked down the unsub holding you and were gearing up to bring him in.

“Remember, we have to keep our heads,” Rossi said. “I know this is personal, but we can’t let our emotions get the best of us.” He made a point of looking at Spencer.

“Alright, let’s go,” Hotch said.

The team broke into the decrepit barn where you were being held.

“Arthur Sumner, FBI!” Hotch yelled. “Step away from the girl!” He took off in a run through the forest. Spencer started chasing after him, full speed. “Reid!”

Rossi walked over to where you were tied to a board, your arms above your head. You were unconscious. Rossi checked your pulse and sighed when he felt your heart still beating. “We need a medic!”

“Where is she?” A long-haired man said, jogging down the hallway. “Where’s (Y/N)?”

“Excuse me, sir,” Spencer said, “only family is allowed in to see Ms. (L/N) right now.”

“I’m her goddamn fiance,” he said. “Who the hell are you?”

Spencer’s mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water. “I, um-”

“We’re her family,” Rossi said, saving Spencer.

His eyebrows furrowed. “(Y/N) doesn’t have family.”

“Maybe not in the literal sense,” he said. “But when you work with someone for years and see the worst of humanity together, you become a family.”

He took a step back. “You’re David Rossi,” he realized. “I’m so sorry. I’m, I’m Gavin Lucas,” he stuttered, holding his hand out to shake Rossi’s.

“It’s nice to meet you,” Rossi said. “Come on, I’ll take you to her room. She went through a lot, so she’s heavily drugged and still unconscious.”

Rossi and the man walked down the hallway, leaving a stunned Spencer in the waiting room.

“She’s engaged?” he whispered to no one in particular.

“Agent Hotchner?” a nurse said, coming into the waiting room. “She’s awake.”

Hotch thanked the nurse before saying, “Reid, Morgan, let’s go.” They walked into the room where you were attached to several machines with multiple casts and bandages covering your body. Gavin was sitting next to you, holding your hand.

Morgan grabbed the second chair in the room and moved it next to the bed. “Hey, Angelface,” he said. “How you feeling?”

“Like shit,” you told him with a huff of a laugh.

Gavin squeezed your hand. “I’m never letting you out of my sight again,” he promised.

“Speaking of, if you’re her fiance, why didn’t you report her missing? Why was the landlord the one to report it?”

“Reid,” Hotch warned.

“I was in Europe,” Gavin said, narrowing his eyes. “I take my AP students on a trip there every year.”

“Wait a minute, you go every year? Do you go at the same time every year?” Hotch asked.

“Roughly,” he said. “It’s always after Easter break.”

“Would you mind talking with us a bit? This changes our profile.”

“Sure.” Gavin kissed the back of your hand before following Hotch and Morgan out of the room, leaving you with Spencer. Thankfully, you weren’t left alone with him for long.

Garcia ran into the room, a giant gift basket in her arms, obscuring her face. “JJ told me you were awake.” She set the basket down and took Gavin’s empty seat. “She also told me you have a fiance. You better explain why you didn’t tell me anything about him. Who is he? What’s he like? How’d you meet? When did he propose?”

You smiled at Penelope. “His name is Gavin, he’s a high school history teacher. We met at the end of my first year at the school. I was going around to all the AP classes and telling the students my office was open if they were feeling stressed. Apparently he had a crush on me and his students knew, so they schemed ways to get him to ask me out.”

“Oh, that’s so cute,” Penelope said.

“He proposed right before New Year’s,” you said. “We went ice skating and he proposed while we were out on the rink.”

While you and Penelope were catching up, Spencer slipped out of the room, making his way back to the waiting room.

“You alright, kid?” Morgan asked when he saw Spencer’s face.

Spencer flopped into the uncomfortable upholstered chair. “(Y/N)’s engaged.” He hid his face in his hands. “She’s engaged.”

“Yeah, she is.” Morgan sat next to Spencer.

He looked up at Morgan. “I still love her.”

“What?”

“I thought I was over her. I thought I was in love with Maeve. But I’m still in love with (Y/N).”

“Well, Reid,” Morgan said, “you broke up with her. And she moved on. She’s happy. Isn’t that the most important thing?”

Spencer chewed his lip. After a while, he said, “I guess you’re right. All I want is for her to be happy. And if this guy makes her happy, I don’t want to ruin that.” He rubbed a tear from his eye. Morgan noticed, of course, and pulled Spencer into a hug.

“You’ll be okay, kid,” he said. “We’re all here for you.”

“Don’t cry because it’s over, smile because it happened.” -Dr. Seuss

#em's fics #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #Criminal Minds

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five-rivers · 3 years

Text

Long Night in the Valley chapter 12

The scene shifted the moment Tempest woke up. They were outside, on a street in the middle of the city. Storm clouds circled overhead.

Tempest stood in front of them, hands in her pockets, a bland expression on her face.

“So,” she drawled. “You’re Nine’s friends.”

“Uh,” said Ochako, taken aback. Right after Four had said she wouldn’t talk to them, this was disconcerting. “Yes?”

“I’m his teacher,” said Aizawa, stepping forward.

“Yeah? You think you’re doing a good job raising up little child soldiers?”

“Excuse me?” said Aizawa.

“You heard me.” She shifted her gaze to Ochako, then to Todoroki and Iida. “I bet Souma told you I wouldn’t be talking to you.”

“He did say something along those lines, yes,” said Iida, even as Ochako worked very hard to elbow him.

“I can follow why he’d think that,” Tempest said. “I spent most of my life fighting against the government. Lord knows I wouldn’t have approved of him choosing a ‘pro hero’ to follow after him.” She took her hands out of her pockets to make air quotes. She was wearing brass knuckles. “Whatever a pro hero is supposed to be. Government lackeys. Cops and war criminals with a different name. I’m shocked he pulled a halfway decent person from the muck.”

“We’re not war criminals!” protested Iida.

“Oh, yeah? I forgot, the Geneva convention was nixed, wasn’t it? They had this big meeting and decided none of it applied to metahumans, and then, bam! Everyone’s a metahuman, so it doesn’t apply at all, huh? Neat, right?”

“What we’re doing now might not be what you’re used to,” said Ochako, “but it’s the way society works, now.”

“And we’re not killing people, like you did,” said Iida. Ochako winced at his combative addition.

“I did what I had to, to get people out of the torture camps,” said Tempest. “People like my little sister. You know what they did to her? They thought her power was just controlled by her voice. So, they cut out her vocal cords.”

“They don’t do that anymore,” said Todoroki.

“You think a government like that is just going to stop doing things? Without people making them? Without being forced?” Tempest laughed and looked up at the swirling sky. “Maybe you do. You’re just kids, after all. But tell me this, do you think they didn’t know exactly what was happening to your family, Todoroki Shouto?”

Aizawa cleared his throat. “What’s your point, here?” he asked. “What do you want from us?”

Tempest looked back at Aizawa. The coldness in her brown eyes made Ochako shiver. “We could have kept you out,” she said. “That Suzuki idiot, too. Do you know why we didn’t?”

“Enlighten us,” said Aizawa.

“Because the way we do it would cause irreparable brain damage. We know, because we’ve done it before. I thought it was worth it, but the others didn’t want to hurt ‘Nine’s friends.’”

“Are you implying that we aren’t Midoriya’s friends?” asked Todoroki, frowning.

Tempest huffed and wind whipped down the road, making Ochako cover her face.

“No. To be honest, I’m not completely sold on Nine, either. He wanted to part of the system so bad, and that’s not to mention—” she huffed again. “At least he knows what it’s like to be on the other side of the equation. You four, though… I’m stuck with Nine. I don’t owe you anything and you’re causing all these problems. What I want from you—”

Behind her, lightning snapped down from the sky.

“—is to prove to me you’re worth it.”

“Vlad, the police were able to find your car,” said Powerloader, holding his hand over the receiver of the staff room telephone.

“Oh, thank goodness,” said Vlad. “I hate taking public transportation.” He paused. “I mean, uh, did they find Yagi? Is he alright?”

“No, they didn’t find Yagi.”

“Great,” said Vlad. “So, ask them when I can pick it up. Why are you making that face? Did Yagi total it? I bet he did. ‘Symbol of Peace,’ my—”

“No,” interrupted Powerloader. “Yagi didn’t total it. Or crash it. It was parked in an alley near the Musutafu entertainment district.”

“Where Midoriya had that fight with Hawks,” said Vlad, putting his head in his hands. “It got wrecked by one of them, didn’t it?”

“No,” said Powerloader. “It was parked in an alley. They found it on a security camera. It isn’t there anymore.”

“They took it again?”

“The League of Villains took it.”

“You’re joking.”

“I wish I was.”

The bus felt empty with half the class missing. The remaining 1-A students (plus Shinso) were all huddled together at the front, mooching off of the teachers mobile hotspots.

“Did my email go through yet, kero?” asked Tsuyu, leaning over her seat to look at Denki’s computer.

“Not yet,” said Denki. “I’ve got all the pictures you guys sent arranged, but I wish we had more video material. Ashido was the one with the most…” He sighed. “Ashido, gossip queen, when you wake up I will apologize for all my comments about your hobbies.”

“I have some videos of Midoriya.”

“Trust us, Mineta, no one want your videos,” said Yaoyorozu.

“Huh? Why not?”

“Tell us this. How many of your videos are actually of Midoriya and don’t just have him incidentally in the background while you try to film girls.”

“None of them,” said Mineta, obviously not seeing why this was wrong. “Why would I film Midoriya?”

“Mic,” said Midnight, “please remind me to sign up the walking lawsuit for some sensitivity classes. How did Eraser miss this?”

“Unfortunately, Shouta is about as sexual as the average rock, so…”

“Remind me to sign him up for some training, too, then.”

“Will do.”

“Walking lawsuit?” asked Mineta.

Everyone else sighed. Then Denki’s laptop pinged.

“Huh. I just got an email from Principal Nezu.”

The adults, including Green Light, the bus driver, blanched. Adults were bothered by the weirdest things. In the end, Nezu was just a guy with a quirk, right? A hero, even! Principal Nezu, the Education Hero!

Okay, he’d scared Denki (Mr. Terrible Grades) a lot in elementary and middle school, but really.

(Okay, the crane thing at the Final Exam had been high-key terrifying, but he was trying to get past that.)

“Huh,” repeated Denki, having read the email. “That’s interesting.”

“What is it, my electric friend?” asked Aoyama, drapping himself sideways across his seat.

“Aoyama-san,” said Midnight, “don’t put your feet on the windows.”

“Principal Nezu sent me a link to an ‘All Might adopt a kid’ fanfiction, and it’s by—”

“Midoriya writes fanfiction?” asked Shouji, evidently surprised into using his real mouth to speak.

“That’s cute, kero,” said Tsuyu. “It must have been before he met the real All Might, though.”

“No,” said Denki, “it was last updated just a couple of weeks ago, and, well… Midoriya didn’t write it.”

“So, who did?” asked Yaoyorozu.

“Not Nezu, right?” asked Jiro, winding her earphone jack around her finger.

“There’s no way, right, Kaminari-san?” asked Present Mic, nervously.

“Uh, no, no, it’s, uh, it’s All Might. According to Nezu.”

A beat of silence.

“What?”

Denki inserted his pinky into his right ear, trying to clear it. Man, if the Bakusquad had been here rather than the quiet half of the class…

“Yeah, it says here that this serves All Might right for working on this during school hours?”

More silence.

“Green Light, the road!”

“Oops, sorry!”

“Hey, guys, are we sure that All Might didn’t, you know, kidnap Midoriya rather than the other way around? Guys?”

Gran Torino, also known as Torino Sorahiko, was an active hero. That meant late nights and late mornings. He was also an old man. A very old man. Late mornings often turned into noons and afternoons.

Sometimes, during those noons and afternoons, he liked to ignore technology and the outside world for a good long while. Maybe read the paper a little bit. Or one of those terrible romance novels Nana had left him in her will.

Still, he was a hero, one wrapped up in something best described as a two-hundred-year-long shadow war, so eventually he did turn on the news.

Only to see Toshinori’s boy fighting Hawks on live television.

Not to mention Toshinori hanging out in the background with a shaved head.

And the ticker said UA student Midoriya Izuku kidnaps Symbol of Peace.

(Which was the dumbest thing he had ever heard, and under other circumstances, he would have been rolling on the floor laughing.)

Gran Torino was an old man, but, luckily, he only felt like he was simultaneously having a heart attack and a stroke. His body was more than functional enough to place a not-at-all panicked phone call to one Tsukauchi Naomasa.

Tsukauchi Naomasa was incredibly busy. That busy-ness was divided mostly evenly between desperately trying to find his best friend (who had evidently decided to make a hopefully brief foray into kidnapping teenagers) and trying to figure out what the commission was taking, because it had to be illegal. Oh, and putting together a complaint that the commission was infringing on police prerogatives.

Honestly, he wasn’t sure how much traction that last would get, since pro heroes had been steadily gaining more and more responsibilities even as the police were losing both them and the power that came with them. Not to mention Midoriya’s stunt with Hawks… Which… Naomasa just wanted to know why? What had the point of that been? On either side?

(Sometimes he wished he were friends with normal people. Like… he didn’t know… an accountant, maybe?)

(Not that he would give Toshinori up for the world. Just, some normalcy would be nice, too.)

He took a deep breath, remembered what he always told Toshinori about stress, and took a mouthful of room-temperature coffee.

In that thirty-second period, two more problems presented themselves to him.

One, his cell phone began to ring, displaying the contact information for Gran Torino.

Two, his email softly pinged, and a message from Principal Nezu asking for any images or videos Toshinori might have sent him slid into his inbox.

Briefly, Naomasa considered ignoring both of them, but that wasn’t a realistic option and was irresponsible besides. Contrary to his character.

He picked the lesser of two evils and answered Gran Torino’s call.

Garaki was going to have a mental breakdown. This was fitting because his car had broken down. Midoriya Inko was asking him if he thought that his ‘friend’ might come pick them up, if it was safe. If his ‘friend’ had a car.

This last had almost sent him into hysterics. Gigantomachia in a car oh-ho!

Except it wasn’t funny at all, as this was almost certainly going to result in his death at the hands of All for One. No matter that he considered the man his very dearest of friends, he was under no illusions about what All for One would do to him over this inexcusable error.

Perhaps he should just cut his losses and get one of the remote-activated noumu to come for them.

Then, inexorably and inevitably, things managed to get even worse.

“Stop the car!” shouted Tomura.

“But you said not to—”

“I know what I said! Stop the car!”

Tomura twisted to see out the rear passenger window. Everyone else turned to follow his gaze, effectively blocking his view.

“Get out of my way!” demanded Tomura.

There was some awkward, half-hearted shuffling.

“Does that look like anyone to you?” Tomura hissed.

“Yeah! Like the doctor!” said Toga.

“I’ve never seen him standing up, though,” said Spinner, dubiously. “It seems out of character.”

“I didn’t know he owned a car,” mused Compress, rubbing the bottom edge of his mask.

“Not him!” snapped Tomura. “The woman!” He pointed angrily at the rapidly approaching woman with green hair, narrowly avoiding dusting Mr. Compress’s top hat.

“Eh? What about her?” asked Spinner.

“Doesn’t she look familiar to you?”

“To be honest, everyone without mutation quirks looks kind of the same to me.”

“Someone without face blindness.”

“Oh! She looks like Izu-kun! Do you think that’s his mom?”

The woman knocked on the window of the car. Twice, unhelpfully rolled it down.

“Thank you so much for stopping, we—Oh!” She took a step back.

She apparently recognized them. Joy. He was going to unpack his feelings about this woman later.

“Hey, doc,” rasped Tomura, annoyed. “What the hell have you been doing?”

“Ahem,” said Garaki, finally stepping out from behind the car. “I didn’t expect to see you here, Shigaraki Tomura.”

“Because you blew us off and stranded us in the middle of Musutafu?”

“No,” said Garaki, in a way that absolutely meant ‘yes.’ “I knew you were resourceful enough to safely make it out of the city.”

“Oh, yeah? Really? You—”

Compress chose that moment to slam his face into the back of Tomura’s head. Tomura steadied himself automatically on one of the car’s uprights, which cracked dangerously under his hand. He pulled back as if burned.

When he looked up, the gremlin’s mother was halfway to the tree line with – What was that in her hand?

He looked back over his shoulder.

That was Twice’s goddamn mask.

Compress, for some reason, was also missing his stupid mask (and covering his face like the dramatic weirdo he was), and Toga basically had hearts in her eyes. Spinner was being Spinner, and therefore ninety percent useless. He was lucky he was fun to play games with.

How to make her stop?

“Hey!” he shouted. “We have your son!”

This was a lie, as far as he knew (unless Dabi had snatched him on his way back; it wasn’t impossible), but, he was a villain.

The green-haired woman stopped and turned back, allowing Tomura a full view of her expression.

He decided that he regretted everything.

“Okay,” said Izuku, multitasking by letting Two pick the lock on the League’s safe, “considering Gigantomachia’s ability to track by smell and the questionable running water, we can’t just sneak out. He’ll find us. So… I think our best play is getting him to attack Shigaraki, and then when they’re both distracted, we run for it.”

Toshinori nodded and sighed. “If only we had a giant jug of perfume. We could throw it at his face and disrupt his ability to smell us.”

“I mean, I found a whole bunch of garbage a way back. That isn’t perfume, but it does stink.”

“No, no, your plan is superior. We’d draw too much suspicion if we attacked him like that. Perfume could be written off.”

“Yeah, I can see that. Because perfume is a ‘nice’ thing.”

“Indeed.”

“It isn’t actually very nice to have it all over you, though,” said Izuku.

“No,” agreed Toshinori. “It isn’t.”

The safe popped open.

“I won’t ask if you don’t.”

“Deal.”

“But, anyway, assuming we do get away, what then? Where do we go? And—Wow. The League of Villains is broke. I almost feel bad.”

“I was going to say Deika, but that’s too far, now, and we don’t know if Gigantomachia will come after us,” said Toshinori. “Drawing him to a place full of civilians would be irresponsible.”

“Yeah,” said Izuku. He frowned, pulling his head from the safe, and glanced out the window. “What about the Wild Wild Pussycats?”

“What about them?” asked Toshinori.

“They’re near here, aren’t they? And they’ve got that whole complex, so, I mean… I don’t know how they feel about us right now, but it wouldn’t be a terrible place to hide. Would it?”

“I’d hate to bring all of this down on them as well,” said Toshinori. “But… That being said, I don’t believe they’re actually there. They were taking some time off because of what happened to Ragdoll.”

“That makes sense,” said Izuku. “Should we take the risk?”

“I’m unsure if we have a choice, my boy. We could try roughing it, but that puts us in a very vulnerable position.”

“And we can’t stay here, with the League.”

“No, we can’t.”

“Okay.” Izuku sighed and started to thumb through the League’s collection of fake IDs, looking for something he could use. “Wild Wild Pussycats it is. We’ve got to convince Machia to attack Shigaraki, and… then we sneak out the back while they’re fighting.” He shook his head. “It sounds really unheroic when I put it that way.”

“Under these circumstances, I think heroic is the set of actions where no one dies.”

His mentor was right. Izuku still felt weird about this, though. (The pettiness was completely different.)

Not to mention…

He put the last of the fake IDs away and massaged his temples. “They’re doing something weird in there,” he said. “I’m going to check on them. I might be out of it.”

“Don’t worry,” said Toshinori, patting Izuku on the shoulder. “I’ll keep an eye on things out here.”

(Perhaps all of this could have gone unsaid, what with their connection, but saying things out loud made them easier to organize.)

“Hey!” shouted Izuku over the roaring wind. “Stop that!”

“Are you going to fight me, Nine? All by yourself?”

“No,” said Izuku, somehow contriving to look down his nose at her despite the height difference and the fact that Tempest was floating several meters in the air. “I won’t have to. Because I have a secret weapon.”

Ochako could almost see Tempest roll her eyes.

“And,” shouted Izuku, “do you seriously think I just wanted to be part of the system? Are you serious? I wanted to help people. People the system failed. It isn’t like they’re responsible for the system either!” He waved his hand to indicate Ochako, Iida, Todoroki, and Aizawa.

“I’d argue about your hobo teacher. Is this your secret weapon?”

“No, this is, Great-Aunt Miranda.”

Tempest opened her mouth, then closed it again. The wind began to die down. “I’m – I don’t know what the point of that was—"

“Neither do I! What’s the point of this?”

“The point is determining whether or not you have people you can rely on, or a bunch of backstabbers who’ll hand you over to a government lab as soon as it’s convenient!” She stabbed a finger at Ochako. “She’s just in ‘heroics’ for the money!” She pointed at Iida. “He’s only here because it’s traditional for his family.” She gestured at Todoroki with her other hand. “He’s doing it mostly out of spite. And who knows what your hobo teacher is doing this for!”

“There’s nothing wrong with any of that!” protested Ochako. “You must have your own motivations, too!”

“She does!” shouted Izuku. “Considering what they are, you have no room to be criticizing Iida! Besides, you don’t even like me!”

“This isn’t about liking you or disliking! You’re the—” Tempest visibly cut herself off, then took a deep breath. She set herself down on the street. “Knowing what we do now about certain things, a fourteen-year-old would not have been my first choice.”

“Excuse me! We’re all sixteen!” said Iida.

“You’re sixteen now, it’s – The fact of the matter is that you’re children. Naïve children.”

“Oh my gosh, you were younger than I was when you—”

“I was kidnapped and tortured—”

“I know, but why are you taking it out on—”

“By the government that you are trying to lick the boot of—”

“Did you see what they did to Suzuki?”

Ochako felt like she was spectating a very passionate tennis match.

“If it means anything,” said Aizawa, dragging himself out of the pile of rubble he’d been thrown into by the wind, “I’m just trying to keep my kids alive as long as possible.”

“Then expel them! Stop them from becoming literal child soldiers!”

“I do,” said Aizawa.

“He does,” confirmed Ochako, who was well acquainted with Aizawa’s reputation.

“He really does,” seconded Todoroki.

“I used to see Tensei’s group chat, and every time he expelled someone…” Iida shivered.

“Huh,” said Todoroki. “Is that why you’re so… insistent about rules?”

“Of course not! Rules are important regardless of why so many students were expelled during the first month of school!”

“So, why didn’t you expel these ones?”

“If you honestly believe the problem child wouldn’t have flung himself at the first villain he saw after that and dove straight into vigilantism, you don’t know him very well.” He sighed, standing, and brushed dust and pebbles out of his tracksuit. “That goes for these three as well. They’re insane and it’s not my fault.”

“Isn’t saving others what heroes do?” asked Izuku, walking closer to Tempest. Ochako wanted to run out and grab him, but this whole ordeal had just shown how useless that would be. “No matter what?”

“Not no matter what. This is why I…” She shook her head, sighing. “Not no matter what.” She leaned forward, her hands on her hips. “Don’t die. You do realize what will happen if you die, right? I don’t have to spell it out for you?”

“N-no,” said Izuku.

“Besides which, I’m not a hero.”

“You saved people,” protested Izuku.

“And, as your friends pointed out, I’ve killed, too.”

“I know,” said Izuku. “But you aren’t a bad person.”

“Lots of people kill during wars,” said Ochako, going to stand by Izuku, “and that’s what you were fighting in, wasn’t it? I mean, I don’t know a lot about that time, but…”

“You wouldn’t. It’s been over a hundred years.”

Izuku nodded. “This fight isn’t doing anything, though. None of us want them here if the vault opens.”

“The what?” asked Iida. “The vault.”

“Hopefully,” said Izuku, “you won’t have to worry about it.”

“The fight did do something, though,” said Tempest.

“What?” asked Izuku.

“For one,” said Tempest, “it made you think. For the other…” Her eyes flicked over Ochako and the others. “Everyone you fight will have their own reasons. Remember that.”

As they walked down the street, storms still brewing overhead, Ochako kept catching glimpses of children in the alleyways and cross streets.

“Who are they?” she asked, unable to help herself.

“My sister and I,” answered Tempest, brusquely. Ochako, watching the back of the woman’s head, saw her twitch slightly towards one of the alleys. “About the time we were taken.”

“Taken by who?” asked Todoroki.

Tempest laughed. The sound was entirely humorless. “That government you’re so eager to serve. You’ve noticed, I hope, that my sister and I aren’t completely Japanese?”

“Yes?” said Todoroki. “I’m not blind, after all.”

“Todoroki,” said Aizawa in a warning tone.

“Good for you. Our mother was Japanese. Dad was American. We went back and forth to see the family. Problem was, everyone on Mom’s side quirks. We didn’t even realize it. The government tracked the weather disturbances to our movements and raided our family reunion. Never saw my parents again. Never saw anyone, for that matter, except my sister and my aunt – Dad’s side – who tried to smuggle us out and got shot for it. We spent four years in that hell before Ryuji rescued us.”

“You’re more open about this than I would have expected,” said Aizawa.

Tempest sneered. “Why wouldn’t I be? I’m a terrorist, and people only become terrorists if they want to make a statement. Which I did. Trust me when I say this, Nine, if the hero commission took you into ‘custody,’” she spat the word like it was dirty, “you’d be in the same boat. What do you children think they do to all those high-profile criminals in Tartarus? The ones that are held indefinitely in a private prison without even a show trial?”

“I know, Three,” said Izuku, far more calmly that Ochako would have been able to. “That’s one of the reasons I wanted to be a hero. It’s easier to change systems from the inside.”

“Not this system.”

“No,” said Izuku, “but then I had no idea this part of the system even existed. They do a lot to hide it, after all.”

“Hm,” grunted Tempest, skeptically.

The buildings began to thin out, interspersed with wilderness. The road rapidly graded narrowed into a one-lane road, then gravel.

“Is this normal?” asked Ochako.

“We have more control over our environments than the other ones. You’ve noticed that only Eight and Nine had multiple versions of themselves running around and being confusing.”

“I didn’t do that on purpose,” said Izuku.

“Exactly. Any of us could send an army of ourselves against you. Only those two don’t have a choice about it. Amateurs.”

“Shouldn’t they have had the same amount of time as—” started Ochako. She broke off as a series of concrete walls topped with barbed wire rose up in front of them, scraping at the surrounding trees, shedding clumps of dirt.

The trees fell away, leaving a clear, baren space between the walls and the trees. Slightly beyond the structure moonlight glinted off the surface of a lake.

“Well. Welcome to Jinoshi Lake Camp, kids.” Tempest turned, putting her hands on her hips. “This is where I met Ryuji. And…” She glanced up at the walls. “This is as far as I go.”

“You aren’t going to show us where to find this ‘Ryuji?’” asked Aizawa.

“I promised myself I’d never go back there.” She jerked her head over her shoulder. “I’m not revisiting it for you.” She started walking away. “Have fun.”

#bnha #boku no hero academia #fic #my fic #long night in the valley

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vanmccannonlyfans · 3 years

Text

Cocoon

part i.

But in hell, there was relief in the utter helplessness. Here, your actions had both consequences for yourself, and others. You weren’t sure which was worse.

“How do you have so many of these?!”

Alicia had 10s of boxes of tests in her suitcase, as if they were hotel shampoo bottles or restaurant breath mints. The pink floral branding stuck out against the sea of black leather and denim that comprised her wardrobe.

“Get em in bulk on amazon, cheaper that way and saves me a trip to the store.” As if bulk buying pregnancy tests was as casual as ordering toothpaste or tampons.

You moved to the bathroom to take the test, stepping over used towels strewn across the floor. You were glad you were doing this in a place so impersonal, however uncomfortable. Whatever the outcome, good or bad, you would be able to leave without any memories tainting the space, never to return and have to relive the feeling. If this was your bathroom at home, you’d be reminded every time you had to go.

Alicia camped in front of the mirror, smacking her lips together after every layer of strawberry gloss, the wand alternating between tracing her plump lips and pumping the tube for more product. Leaning against the fake granite hotel counter, she fussed with her raven black bangs and adjusted her top.

“Is it ready yet?” She asked, without averting her eyes from their own contact, her lips now more reflective than the mirror.

“I can’t look..” The room was twisting more than your stomach as you picked up the test, double vision making it impossible to count the number of lines.

Was there just one? Two? How dark does the second one have to be?

“Does this look positive to you?”

Alicia cocked her head at the test, brow furrowed.

“The second line is faint...but it’s there.”

“Fuck,” You exhaled as you fell against the wall, exasperated.

“Didn’t you always want to be parents?”

“Well yes, but...not so soon. We don’t even have a place to live...”

Life on the road was hollow and lonely, even with your best friends. Playing shows every night to strangers who saw you as enigmas, then returning to cold hotel rooms to sleep until the having to get back on the bus or plane for the next event, repeat ad infinitum until you had crossed off a laundry list of places you had stepped foot in but not actually experienced. It all seemed so fun and exciting until you realized that you didn’t know anyone anywhere and were too tired to do things even on days off, and ended up just sleeping the day away and ordering in pizza. It wasn’t a viable situation for raising a child, and hardly sustainable for an otherwise healthy adult.

You laid on the scratchy quilted comforter, each tick of the clock intensifying your anxiety, like a bomb about to detonate. Every second brought you closer to confronting a situation that felt neither fully real nor fantasy. Like your whole world depended on what he would think.

The beep of the key card brought you back down to earth from the peaks of your existential dread. You couldn’t wait to be held, comforted, told it was going to be alright, even if neither of you had any idea what to do. His touch was a balm to your aching soul, one that no antidepressant could rival.

Van entered without a word.

“Baby?” You called to him, as if he couldn’t see you.

He remained silent, dropping his guitar case on the ground. After what felt like eons, he looked up toward the window behind you, as if you were invisible.

“I think you should go.” His eyes were sallow, skin dehydrated from all the smokes and shitty fast food and beers every night.

“What?” The single word came out like a croak, your voice evading you. First you couldn’t be seen, now you could hardly be heard, as if you were dissolving from material reality. As if only his acknowledgement made you real. “Van--”

“No,” He cut you off, wiping his nose with the back of his hand, the other on his hip, swiveling him towards the wall. His adams apple rose and fell without a word, bobbing like a buoy on a choppy sea.

“I don’t want to fight about this. I just want you to leave.” He looked down, running a hand through his hair before tucking it under his armpit as if he were chilled.

You were in disbelief. The same man who had invited you to accompany him across the world was discarding you as easily as you had tossed the test that said you were carrying his child into the bin.

“But Van--”

“JUST GO!” He belted, shaking the room with his volume. You had never heard him yell like that, hardly had ever seen him genuinely angry.

You struggled to catch your breath, hot tears erupting from your eyes.

“--I’m pregnant.”

There was a loud crack as Van’s phone hit the wall, leaving a mark.

“STOP LYING!” He thundered, grabbing your shoulders.

He was finally looking into your eyes. His were red and glassy and you could smell the last cigarette on his skin, so much so that you found yourself on the floor throwing up, then running to your suitcase like a wounded animal, then in the brass elevator, then out the lobby and into the street. You weren’t sure where you were going or how you would get there, just that you wanted to be gone.

When your legs finally collapsed from exhaustion, you found yourself out of breath in front of a bodega, simultaneously sweating and shivering from the physical and emotional trauma. You went in to buy a bottle of water and drank it in greedy gulps while scrolling on your phone to take your mind off of your predicament. At the top of your inbox was a flight confirmation, forwarded from the band’s manager. It was a plane ticket back home.

The sterile, unfriendly design of airports had always thrilled you. They were an exciting gateway to a new place in the wide world you hadn’t explored much of. You had never even been on a plane before Van had toured outside of the UK. The complete lack of rules and disregard for conventional social norms enchanted you; how strange a place to have bars open at 6am next to designer shops and restaurants more expensive than you had ever eaten in. Van would order bailey’s in your coffee while he had a morning beer, before sneaking tipsy kisses in cheap seats at 42,000 feet.

Now the airport felt like a portal to hell, sucking you back to the place you had escaped from.

You hadn’t told anyone you were coming home, or that you had broken up, or...anything. You hadn’t spoken a word to anyone besides the cab driver who asked which terminal to drop you off at. You weren’t sure who you would tell first, what you would say. If you opened your mouth, nothing would come out. Except maybe some incoherent stuttering and word salad, which fit how you felt inside--both numb and acerbic, cold to the touch but teeming with a pain so primal and acrid it could kill a horse. The water in your stomach felt like it was curdling, and you hoped you could make it through the flight without throwing up.

The cab dropped you off on the corner of your parent’s property where the guest house loomed, hardly visible through the gloaming. You fumbled with the key, hoping it hadn’t been changed since the last time. The door rattled open to dusty furniture and soupy air; musty and untouched as if it had been abandoned. You and Van used to sneak in here in for quickies and hold clandestine parties, lighting candles instead of turning on lights to not tip off your parents that you were present. The stain from when someone dropped a bottle of whiskey still marred the floorboards, and you wondered if anyone had been in here since you left.

You had hardly surveilled the place before the door snapped open behind you.

“Fuck, you scared me!” It was your brother, shaking the dew from his trainers. “Why are you back? I thought you would be gone until next year, at least.” You sucked in the thick air, scanning the room for alibis. Stretching the last few moments before you had the acknowledge that you now walked the earth all by yourself.

“Oh, you know. Just felt homesick.”

Your brother respected your lie, letting it dissipate in the stale air like the smoke from a snuffed wick.

“I never liked him, anyway”

Your parents were happy, albeit a bit startled, to see you. They had converted your room to an office and all of your old things from high school, like notes from Van and old chemistry notebooks, were collecting dust in the attic. It was good to have the guest house to yourself, to be miserable in peace without the lingering tension of having to acknowledge the reason for your return, or to have anyone ask why you were throwing up so much and sleeping for 14 hours at a time.

Your dreams were so deep and lifelike that you had trouble discerning reality from fiction in your own memory; your nightmares even worse. Once you dreamt that Van had come into the guest house bedroom with a cup of tea asking how you’d slept, how his baby was doing. When your eyes had burst open, you were cold and alone. Anguish gripped your stomach, forcing it’s contents up your throat then down onto the floor.

Other times the dreams were of him fucking you. Most nights it was just replays of your breakup, repeating every time you fell back asleep after being jerked awake from the sheer horror of that moment, worse than any organic monster ridden nightmare you had ever had. Each iteration more fresh than the last, as if someone was rewinding it over and over again on a cassette tape, starting at a high pitched blur then ending only when you could feel his hot breath ghost across your face.

Some days you woke up so paralyzed by your grief you wondered if you were in hell. Each moment was unbearably painful and eternal, the mere act of breathing felt sisyphean. But in hell, there was relief in the utter helplessness. Here, your actions had both consequences for yourself, and others. You weren’t sure which was worse.

The clinic was on the outskirts of town, far enough away you weren’t likely to run into anyone unless they were there for the same reason. The ultrasound tech didn’t make eye contact a single time, snapping her gum as she dispensed the chilly ultrasound gel in a single deft shake.

Your chest tightened when you heard the heartbeat for the first time, eyes prickling with tears. The rhythmic thump, thump, thump ticking through the monitor flooded your heart with a profound sense of relief.

Finally, something that was yours.

Tour stretched on, every night sold out. Press junkets, radio shows, interviews, and photoshoots were plastered all over social media, news papers, television, even the bus station adverts and shop bathroom posters. You quickly learned not to check your phone outside of calls and avoided the media. It was easy when you hardly had the energy to lift your head in the first place. Isolation was easier than breathing, and a lot less painful.

You had learned the hard way when you had tried reading the paper each day. You could leaf through mindlessly, until page 6 which always featured a half page spread of Van and a nameless girl, all uniquely the same. They always took similar form, as if made in a factory by formula: tight jeans and low cut blouses, cakefaced and bottle blonde; each one skinner, prettier, and younger than the last. Some looked like they had school the next day. You stopped reading the paper.

When you told your family you were pregnant, your mother cried--whether out of shock or happiness, you weren’t sure. Your brother punched a hole in the wall, then went outside to smoke. Your father just sighed--a long, deep sigh that validated his disappointment in your circumstances and choices. His reaction was the most heartbreaking.

Unlike your mother’s reaction, you knew unequivocally that his was one of disappointment. You were supposed to go to uni, maybe Oxbridge or a fancy American school or even elsewhere in Europe where you could learn a new language and lounge on picnic blankets in the sun with a bottle of wine and fancy cheese while mulling over your Literature seminar readings. You were supposed to be interesting and clever and successful and far away from here. Instead you were back where you had started, some wash up’s discards, nothing to show for it except a new dependent on your taxes.

Your brother followed you back to the guest house, determined to argue as ever. He was a man of few words until he was upset, and then every word cut like broken glass.

“Are you sure you want to keep it? It isn’t too late for you to finish up and go to uni.”

You had almost forgotten that you basically dropped out to follow Van on tour.

You had told your family that it would just be a couple stops, then you never came home. Until now.

One day your mother phoned in a rage after receiving a letter from the school that you had been expelled on the grounds of truancy. You remembered you told her you were turning in your work remotely—an obvious, bold faced lie.

Your relationship with Van had changed you from a studious rule follower to a fool, lucky in love, dropping out of high school to accompany someone else building their dream. Loving Van was like climbing a tree, higher and higher with no thought of how you would get down. But now you were flat on your ass, with another between your legs.

Your personality change had sparked concern in your friends in family, allegeding that you were “not that type of girl” to abandon everything for a man.

“I’m not really sure what type of girl I am,” was your only response.

After all,how could you know who you were meant to be when you were so young? Being with Van, being Van’s, was fun and exciting in a way you had never experienced. You’d never really dated, and didn’t have a lot of friends outside your brother’s friends, which was how you met Van. He was always nearby, goofing around and causing trouble.

Your earliest memories of Van were of riding bikes through town, collapsing in the cool grass when your legs turned to jelly and you could hardly peddle anymore. Van would blow dandelion seeds in your face while you giggled and rolled away from him. All of the hours spent under the gushing lemony sunshine ended in grass stained knees and freckled cheeks that lingered long after the popsicle drippings had been washed from your fingers.

That was the beginning--the familiarity; the quintessential bedrock of love that matures as you do, which each outgrown shoe and lost tooth. The type of childlike innocence entwined with companionship that warms your stomach just to think of, having had such a pure memory to call your own; an endless syrupy summer’s day that no one can take away from you.

As you grew and changed from girls and boys to women and men, your love morphed right along with it. There were many long stretches of time you hadn’t seen him at all, either from busyness with school or a row with your brother. But whenever you saw him again, that warmth returned right back to you, starting in your stomach and burning up to your sternum, bright and effervescent.

Your relationship mutated from platonic to romantic one night at a house party. Alcohol was still a novelty to you and two bottles of beer was your limit. You and Van were sitting together on a couch, the dim room filled with your other friends, illuminated only by fairy lights and the occasional flicker of a lighter. Van was telling ridiculous stories all while gesticulating wildly, each one making you laugh harder than the last. The combination of the alcohol and throwing your head back with laughter so many times had made you feel like you were on a rollercoaster, vertiginous and bubbly.

As if you hadn’t had enough, you got up to get another drink and fell back down onto the couch--except you missed your original spot by several inches and landed squarely on Van’s lap. You laughed out loud at your clumsiness. If you were sober you would have been so embarrassed! But your lowered inhibitions helped you see the humor in the situation. The room was aglow and the world was still big; the energy of youth electrifying the room.

Van instinctively placed a hand on the small of your back to steady you, and quickly jerked it up towards your shoulders as to not make you feel uncomfortable. A twinge of excitement seared in your stomach. You had never really touched before, and this felt nice in the most unexpected of ways--as if you had found something you didn’t know you were looking for.

You studied Van’s face, having never been so close to it. The perfect slope of his nose, the confetti of reddish freckles across high cheekbones, the pink pillowy lips that outfitted his wide mouth.

He must have been staring at your lips, too, because they clashed together as if drawn by magnet. There was no saying who kissed who as your heads met, puckering together needily. You wrapped your hand arms around him, leaning into his warm body so that your heads were resting on the couch, lips married together. His mouth tasted sweet like fairy floss, the room spinning like a carousel. You weren’t sure how long you made out for, but it felt like you were alone in the room full of people, coiled in the sweetest embrace that made time stand still. When you finally came up for air Van was grinning like he knew something you didn’t, gingerly tucking your hair behind your ear.

“I hope your brother didn’t see that,” he joked, making you blush.

You didn’t remember much of how the rest of the night went or how you ended up in your own bed the next morning, but the mere thought of having kissed Van so publicly both thrilled and mortified you. Surely people would talk--or were they all too drunk to notice? Did this mean he fancied you, or was it alcohol fueled happenstance?

At school the next week you heard his voice echoing in the halls, and turned to see him hanging on another girl while fraternizing with a group students the same year as Van and your brother. He tickled and teased her before hugging her from behind, then kissing her cheek with fervor. White hot shame flared inside you, ruddying your cheeks. You hurried home in a daze, scolding yourself for being so naive. He was a flirt and you were a fucking idiot for allowing yourself to be involved with someone like that--your brother’s friend, no less.

But the next weekend the same booze soaked gathering reoccurred, this time with more warm bodies packed into a smaller room. You sipped from a can while exchanging small talk with a girl from your chemistry class, wondering if you should leave or have another drink. Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed Van had arrived with the same girl from earlier, making a scene as he greeted his friends.

You decided to have another drink.

Cracking open a fresh can, you turned away hoping Van wouldn’t notice you. You smiled and nodded while your classmate blathered on, not registering a single word she said, unable to concentrate on anything other the imaginary tension in your head. The slick condensation beading on the aluminum can was your only anchor to reality as your body flushed from the discomfiture as much as the humidity. Though you hated to admit it, you wanted to be the girl next to him. Instead you slurped more beer, hoping to reach a level of inebriation where someone else started looking better.

Eventually the heat of the room became too suffocating to bear, and you excused yourself for a smoke. The noise of the party was barely a low thrum from the cement patio, despite being eight feet away. You sat on the very edge of the pavement, stretching your legs out into the dewy grass. The damp chill grounded you, your heart rate descending as you exhaled into the ether. The stars scrambled against the inky sky, floating in and out of focus as your nerves melted away with each crisp breeze. You were more drunk than you thought, but it felt nice out here where you weren’t being choked by calefaction and confronted with Van with the other girl.

The first drag of your cigarette was interrupted by a body shuffling next to yours, thumping down beside you on the cement.

“What’s a pretty girl like you doing out here by yourself?” It was Van.

You scanned over the back of your shoulder to see if the girl was around you. She was not.

“I’m alright,” you sighed, tapping the ash from your cigarette onto the curb.

Van wrapped his arms around his crossed legs, shaking his hair out. From under his fringe, his eyes searching your face for clues to decode your expression.

You exhaled the smoke so at least there would be something between you to shield you from his intent gaze. The chirp of crickets in the distance filled the silence. Snuffing the butt out on the cement, you got up to leave without a word. Van grabbed your hand, stopping you in your tracks.

His expression nearly broke you, wide eyes begging for an explanation, confused as it was hurt. Letting out a deep sigh, you weighed your options: stay with him and exchange meaningless platitudes or leave. Leaving seemed like the better choice.

“I’m going home.”

Van sprang up. “You shouldn’t go alone this time of night after drinking. I’ll walk you home.”

Secretly, you loved the initiative he was taking. He wasn’t asking, he was announcing. This type of attention and caretaking were foreign to you, even as the kid sister and tagalong. No one ever fussed over you. Even though Van was known for being sweet to everyone, you were pleased as punch he was fussing over you.

Dark was the night as you trudged home, guided only by the flaxen incandescence of streetlamps and drunken intuition. For a long time neither of you spoke, reveling in the quietude of the sleepy town in the dead of night.

Van broke the silence. “So how’ve you been?”

“Same as it ever was,” you sighed, still uncomfortable with the hidden motive of his small talk. “Is your girlfriend gonna be upset that you’re walking me home?” Van laughed to himself, even though it wasn’t a joke. “She’s not my girlfriend.”

Only partially did those words alleviate the tension that had been badgering you all night. The alcohol poisoning your bloodstream was making you bold.

“So you just kiss all your friends like that,” You kicked a bottle down the road. Van’s head jerked up, turning towards you.

“Let me kiss you not as a friend then.” You stopped dead in your tracks. Of course he could be bolder than you. For the second time that night, you looked into his eyes and saw he was serious. You could feel yourself freezing in place like a deer in the headlights, but your bodies were being pulled together as if magnetized. Van grabbed your face as your lips married; exchanging greedy, hungry kisses. His arm migrated around your lower back, pulling you into him, subsuming your bodies as one. You kissed as if you couldn’t breath without the other’s air, desperate and smacking.

Even when your lips finally parted, your figures remained cocooned together. Your noses brushed at the tip, studying each other’s faces. Never had you seen Van so still and ruminative before. He brushed his thumb across your cheek before imparting a final kiss.

“How’s that for not friends?”

Soon Van was coming to your house to see you more than your brother and their friends. He would meet you in the hallway to exchange forbidden kisses, risking demerits and suspensions. Now instead of lurking on the outskirts at parties you were right next to him, the center of attention, with his arm wrapped around you.

You could tell your brother wasn’t comfortable with your arrangement, but he never said anything discouraging. You had never smiled so much in your life, and people sometimes didn’t recognize you next to him. You drank more and wore less. School began to feel like a prison, entrapping you 8 hours a day when you’d rather spend time with your sweetheart. Even in subjects you loved, you couldn’t focus. You tried to study while the band practiced, but you’d always get distracted by how cute Van was and his never ending questions about their creative direction. You started helping manage their shows, calling venues and arranging transport and making sure every piece was in its place.

Soon you were helping out so much that you were hardly home and rarely saw your other friends. As the band became more successful, you would occasionally skip school to accompany them to far off gigs and events, reveling both in the rebelliousness of playing hooky and the sheer delight of watching your favorite person achieve their dreams.

One of your favorite teachers had warned you against following Van, confronting you during office hours when you had dropped in to ask about an assignment. There was genuine concern in his expression, as if you were his own child that was making a stupid mistake.

“I shouldn’t be saying any of this, but you really should rethink your decision to leave. You could go to a great school and study whatever you wanted. You’re brilliant and clever and could charm the most stoic of souls. There are plenty of people in the world like Ryan, who will want to harness your energy to use for themselves. Don’t let them.”

You had thought he was just jealous, or perhaps had a tiny crush on you. You smiled at your past naivety. He was right. Your brother agreed.

“He picked you because you were hardworking and clever and too sweet to realize he was taking advantage of you! You were the best girl at that school and he fucking knew it. None of the girls like Alice or Nia would have lasted longer than a second with him! They would have crumbled from not being the center of attention, nor do they have a brain cell to show for it. He wanted someone to support him and do all of the hard work while he took credit for all of the glory. I mean, he didn’t even arrange you as a manager or assistant like Larry so you could get paid by the touring company!”

You hated when your brother was right, because it was a gut punch every time. He was a man of few words, but those choice words stung. You had organized much of the band’s earlier endeavors, like communication with agents and venues and examining contracts for faulty clauses and loopholes. The band was hardworking and talented, but still too hungry for success to make good judgements on their offerings. Without you, they surely would have fallen prey to a lecherous label under a contract that would have destroyed them.

“I know it wasn’t malicious, because he can’t pull his head out of his ass to think about anyone else. He surely knows you could achieve more without him, the thought just never occurred to him because it’s his world and the rest of us just live in it. And now you’re having his child in the town he abandoned while he’s living out his rockstar fantasies. Did he ever even call you to make sure you made it home, and the plane didn’t fucking explode with his unborn child on it? Does he even fucking know your pregnant? Does he even care?”

You turned away so that your brother wouldn’t see the hot tears in springing from your eyes.

“You can go now,” you mewed, hoping he would take the hint.

“If he sets foot in this town again, I’m going to fucking kill him.”

It was a promise.

#this is a wip but i wanted to post it bc it is both cringe AND fail #catfish and the bottlemen #catb #catb fic #catfish and the bottlemen fic #vanfic #van mccann #van mccann fic #van mccann fanfiction

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fanfic-corner · 3 years

Text

Cockles

I found out this morning that apparently Misha knows that Cockles exists. So... that’s fun. I’ve never been sure where I stand on RPF, so I thought I may as well read some and decide what I think after. Anyway, here’s what I read!

Revenge of the Subtext by MittenWraith on AO3. (80,064 words).

Tags: Case Fic, Fake Relationship, Canon Divergence after 10.20, French Mistake style AU, Mutual Pining, Fluff, Humor, Smut, Crack, Light Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Supernatural Convention, Human Castiel, Switch Dean, Switch Castiel, First Kiss, First Time, Enthusiastic Content, Love Confessions.

My Rating: 5 stars.

Descrition: Things are finally settling back down to normal since Cas gave up his grace to cure Dean of the Mark. Well, as normal as their lives are allowed to get. Sam relentlessly finds new cases to work, one right after the other; but Dean thinks they need a break to let Cas have some purely human fun, for once. It’s true they had a difficult time readjusting to humanity at first, but Dean thinks Cas deserves to do more than ride around in the back seat and follow them on monster hunts. Then again, Dean’s a little bit scared to ask exactly what Cas would want, just in case it doesn’t include spending quite so much time with him. And with Sam (of course).

Sam’s been tracking a series of odd occurrences in Laramie, Wyoming for the last few weeks that looks just enough like a case to finally convince Dean they should go check it out. Whether they like it or not, the goddess responsible for the weirdness in Laramie takes an immediate interest in the three less-than-perfectly-happy hunters who’ve stumbled into her town.

Notes: Absolutely adorable, such a good case and beautifully written. There are some other works in the same series which are also absolutely fabulous!

He Who Laughs Last (The Joke Is on Us) by anoradh on AO3. (4,248 words).

Tags: RPF, Fluff, Pranks and Practical Jokes, Silly.

My Rating: 5 stars.

Description: For the prompt: Jensen and Misha think they’re pulling the mother of all pranks on Jared by pretending to be a couple, but they’re in way over their heads.

Notes: This was cute and I love the sheer panic they caused in Jared - I couldn’t stop laughing.

Through the Screen by ArchOfImagine on AO3. (28,722 words).

Tags: Alternate Universe, Angst and Humor, Season 9 Divergence.

My Rating: 5 stars.

Description: "What would you do if you woke up in the Supernatural world?" A fan asked Misha. Little did the actor know, but a few weeks later he would actually be finding out the real answer to that question. Because when Metatron tosses Castiel out of Heaven at the beginning of season 9 -- he tosses him right into Misha's universe. Now Misha is stuck in the Supernatural world, looking at his husband's face but a different man.

Notes: This was funny and cute and just generally adorable!

Is It Really A Mistake? by BriMaco518 on AO3. (6,819 words).

Tags: Alternate Universe - The French Mistake, s6e15 The French Mistake, Angst, Coda, Fluff, Happy Ending.

My Rating: 4 stars.

Description: Dean and Sam Winchester find themselves in a world where the supernatural does not exist. Everyone calls them Jensen Ackles and Jared Padalecki respectively. Their efforts to protect the key that Balthazar gave them from Virgil, one of Raphael's angels, should be Dean's focus. Yet the elder Winchester finds himself distracted by the actor that plays Castiel, Misha Collins. Who also turns out to be the husband of Jensen Ackles.

Notes: Once again hit by not reading the tags, but if you read the sequel then that gets sorted out. Also, this is adorable and I actually saw the gifset it was based on afterwards, which confused me for a full minute.

Mistakes Are Better When They’re French by maraudersgirl47 on AO3. (21,791 words).

Tags: Episode: s06e15 The French Mistake, Fluff, Angst.

My Rating: 4 stars.

Notes: This was funny and touching and I thoroughly enjoyed it, especially the ending!

Description: Number One: Dean would definitely never appear on a soap opera.

Number Two: Dean Winchester did not wear makeup.

And Number Three: He was not gay!

God, Cas, whoever was listening - Please get them the hell out of here.

Fever by lysanatt on AO3. (13,624 words).

Tags: Romance, RPF, Post S8, No Spoilers, Hurt/Comfort, First Time.

My Rating: 4 stars.

Description: It's Christmas and the otherwise so mild Vancouver is hit by a rare blizzard. Misha is hit by the flu and Jensen is hit by the urge to take care of Misha. Of course there are unexpected consequences to it all.

Notes: This was so sweet - I love a good hurt/comfort and the way they wrote Misha was amazing!

Twisted French Mistake by literaryoblivion on AO3. (3,170 words).

Tags: Episode: s6e15 The French Mistake, Parallel Universes, Alternate Universe, First Kiss, Kissing, Mistaken Identity.

My Rating: 4 stars.

Description: If Sam and Dean get sent to the Supernatural set, where do Jensen and Jared end up? That's right, the world of Sam and Dean. But they're safe, and Castiel checks in on them and ends up learning more about himself and Dean from Jensen.

Notes: This was a really good idea - I remember watching the episode and wondering where Jensen and Jared were!

The Bubble by thunderpuffin429 on AO3. (21,035 words).

Tags: First Time, Fluff and Smut, Feelings, Character Bleed, Kissing.

My Rating: 4 stars.

Description: Cas has to choose between Heaven and the Winchesters. Again. For the final time.

Notes: The Destiel part of this was phenomenal but the Cockles part was mostly smut, which is fine but made me a bit uncomfy just because I’m ace and I’m not a massive fan of reading it. So, it wasn’t my favourite, but that’s entirely on me for not reading the tags properly.

Do You Know What You Think You Know by ljunattainable on AO3. (5,761 words).

Tags: Fluff and Smut, Hurt/Comfort, First Time, Romance.

My Rating: 4 stars.

Description: Everyone knows Jensen and Misha are together. Nobody even thinks about it. They just know. Except Jensen and Misha. They don’t know. A few things happen in the space of a few weeks that leave everyone at least knowing the same thing.

Notes: This was sweet and I loved how everyone assumed they were dating and they still didn’t know.

Method Acting (Or ‘In Which Misha Is Not, In Fact, Kidding Jensen’) by HigherMagic on AO3. (5,567 words).

Tags: Character Bleed.

My Rating: 3 stars.

Description: There's a little surprise in the script for the latest episode, Misha is unruffled, and Jensen is not amused, but he's determined to put on the best damn performance he can, 'cause it's the last season and, hey, he owes it to Dean.

Notes: This was pretty good but it did get me thinking... can you IMAGINE if we got a Destiel sex scene? Tumblr would have imploded. There would be a national holiday.

Second Take by anonymous on AO3. (6,237 words).

Tags: Polyamory, First Kiss, Psychology, Character Bleed, Internal Monologue, Internal Conflict, Friendship/Love.

My Rating: 3 stars.

Description: Wherein Destiel becomes canon, and Jensen and Misha face the consequences of their first kiss.

Notes: This was fairly sweet, and Jensen’s internal monologue was written really well.

Still undecided, I think, but I hope you enjoyed! Some of the fics came off better than others, but some just seemed a little bit... not right? I don’t know how to explain it. Anyway, please remember that Cockles stuff should stay inside the fandom. I hope you find some fics you like!

#cockles #jenmish #fic recs #fanfic #spn rpf #spn #supernatural

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miss-kittys-magical-library · 3 years

Text

After six long months, I present to you:

Tupelo Honey

Word Count- 3k

Warnings- language, angst, discussion of abortion

A/N- With help from familiar strangers, Honey makes a choice that will change Leon's life and hers forever.

Chapter 4: Angel of The Morning

Late fall of 1968, Morning:

Honey clutched at the pillow as her hips flew towards the ceiling. Her back arched before she bent forward and twisted her free hand in Leon's thick hair. His name echoed off the bedroom walls as she came without caring if they woke Johnny this early.

Honey’s chest heaved as her body attempted to regulate her breath. Leon threw the sheets back and looked up at her. His hand absently ran up and down her stomach to her breasts and back.

“What?” Honey’s voice was sleepy as she met a green-eyed gaze. She propped up on her elbows when his brows knit together. “What's wrong?”

“Not much, love. It's just, your..” Leon's cheeks turned kinda pink, “stuff tastes different. You been eating anything new?”

“No? You mean it tastes different when I cum?”

“Just this time. You gonna start your thing?” He pointed towards Honey’s sex. “Period.”

“I don't think so. Should be around any day now though.”

Leon crawled up towards the pillows and laid down beside his girlfriend. His arm draped across her collarbone as he snuggled up to her shoulder. He nipped at the skin before kissing it. Then pressed his forehead into her neck.

Honey caught a scent of herself on him. “It even kinda smells different. I better get to the clinic just in case. I've not felt that weird other than that stomach bug.” Her nails lightly scratched Leon's forearm as she spoke. “I can't have an STI, since you went all mad and demanded my undying monogamy.”

Leon ignored her. “Maybe,” he yawned and stretched his impossibly long arms and legs straight out, “you caught a case of the pregnancy.” He sat up and leaned down to kiss her stomach.

“Don't say that!” Leon's familiar whine filled Honey’s own voice. “I won't keep it. That's legal here now.”

Leon stared back at her, “Just like that.”

“It's my body, Leonidas. Look at how short I am. Imagine this knocked up,” Honey waved a hand down the length of her naked self.

“I do.” It came out a whisper. Honey glowered. “Don't pull that face on me, Gracie. I know it's your body. We just ain't exactly safe with our shaggin’ are we? Leavin’ it up to chance. Then you get angry if there's one on the way. Keep it. End it. Give it up for adoption. I know it's YOUR choice. You tell me all the bloody time about it being your body. I respect that because I love you. Before you give me cheek, I think about having a baby with you loads.”

“Leon that's not what we want.” Honey sat up on her haunches beside him. “Look at us. We share a one bedroom flat with a ginger con man that we don't even sleep in half the time based on whether he wants to fuck someone or not. Our loo is literally a closet, and we have to shower at your parents’. There's one dresser and half a wardrobe for both of us. Where the hell would we even PUT a baby let alone afford to have one.”

“We've saved money! My parents would help us get a proper house or flat. Or stay with them until we could.”

“Oh sure. Us, your parents, your Yia Yia, one uncle and a baby. Sounds cozy.”

“I grew up in a place with more living there than that. We could get a loan.”

“What will we put down for occupations, Leon?!” Honey was losing her cool. A wave of nausea hit her, but she choked it back. “Occasional actor, waiter, and FBI fugitive?! I can't out myself like that.”

“We lie. I'm an actor. I'm sure you know loads of people who could fake it. Look respectable. I'll cut my hair and clean up my face.” Leon was equally annoyed, hands fidgeting in his lap. His legs started to bounce up and down as he reached, but fumbled with the nightstand drawer.

“Don't you fucking dare cut that hair. Who will we even pretend to be? Patti Boyd and fucking George Harrison? I'm an awful blonde and your hair would take hours to straighten. Leon we would have to fake marriage certificates. That's fraud. Real and proper, honest prison time fraud.”

Leon ignored her and finally yanked the drawer practically in half. The handle came off in his hands causing him to mumble under his breath and drop it to the ground. In a fury he tossed the contents aside in a search for something Honey wasn't sure of.

“If you're about to get high, I'll fucking leave you right now.” Honey got up and snapped her fingers in Leon's face. “We're not done talking about this.”

He looked up at her, his green eyes ablaze for the first time in their relationship. “I'm not GETTING high! Will you quit talking to me like I'm a bloody fucking child? You and Johnny always like I'm mad or deficient. I have a university degree from Cambridge, and I speak three languages. I'm observant not stupid.”

“That's.. That's not what I meant,” Honey bit her lip. “You are one of the smartest guys I've ever met. I just.. Worry about the amount of opium you started sneaking into your pot. You're working less and letting Johnny call the shots.”

Leon was lost in his search, “You’re just jealous of someone else pushing me around?” He waved his hand dismissively before Honey could answer. “I’m fine, love. I'm just a bit stressed is all. It helps me relax.”

“Leon, it's heroin. You know what happened to my uncle.”

He ignored her, “I’ll be swell. Promise. Plus I think this idea Johnny has finally.. DAMMIT WHERE'S THAT TOSSER OF A RING?!”

Something fell off the bed onto the wooden floor with a PING! Leon got down on all fours, stark naked and put his eye to the wood. His arm outstretched and came back to him with an object between his long fingers. He held it aloft towards Honey and took her tiny hand inside of his large one. Honey stopped breathing.

“It's not exactly proper, but you aren't exactly a girl into convention, are ya?” Leon smiled up at his girlfriend. He kissed the back of Honey’s hand. “You think better of me than I think of myself. I want to make you happy, and I want to be a good husband and daddy. If this meeting tonight doesn't go well, I'll stop acting. No more pot or opium or acid or coke right bloody now. I'll get a proper job and we can get a proper house and when the time comes, you choose whatever you want. Stay home. Go to work, I'll stay home. So you aren't loaded down by the patriarchy or whatever.”

“Leon,” Honey’s face was pale and she started to swoon. She saw the way his hand swallowed hers, and panicked. Her fucked up brain saw herself lost in Leon the same way.

“Even if we go to the court, just us. Even if we have to leave London because you're worried. I'll go with you. To India like you sorted out before we met. I don't want you to give up on any dream because of this baby. Or me.”

Before she could get any answer out, Leon slid the ring on Honey’s finger. It was stunning, carved marble and amethyst. She knew it was old, Grecian.

“It's purple because Dionysus cried and spilled his wine onto a maiden he offended by his drunkenness. Artemis protected her, turned her to crystal and she absorbed his wine. It sobered him. Your love, when I'm not foolish, will sober me.”

“Leon,” Honey said again, unable to say anything else.

“Will you please marry me, Gracie?”

The question was so pure. His eyes were so green and hopeful. Honey couldn't think or speak around the lump in her throat. But then..

“I can't,” she whispered. “I have to go to the clinic. You've got an early shift at the restaurant.”

Honey was numb as she pulled on some clothes and her coat. She left the flat and Leon naked on his knees in the bedroom.

----

Later that afternoon:

Honey stared straight passed the nurse as she explained exactly what would happen if she decided to not keep the baby. How they suggest she not be alone and to have someone willing to care for her. To make sure there's no infection.

“Ultimately, dove, it's your decision. Unless you're cold-hearted, it might do your head in. It's not as easy as you modern girls think. You might not regret it, but you might. You prepared? Is your husband keen on this idea too?” The nurse nodded at the ring.

“Oh.. we aren't.. I didn't really give him a choice?”

“Well let's see if you're even pregnant first. Then I want you to go back to your partner and have a good talk. Promise me you'll do that?”

The young woman smiled. It was tentative and nervous. “Yeah. Ok. But it won't change my mind.” She held out her arm for the blood draw and took a cup and left for the loo.

Honey sat on the stairs of the clinic and bent down in a wave of nausea. It was amazing that now she knew she was knocked up the symptoms seemed to worsen. Like how noticing a paper cut makes it suddenly sting.

Her breasts were swollen and a fire built in her chest and stomach every time she laid down. What was the absolute worst, she came to realize, how mean she had been to Leon. A total uncool bitch. Honey looked down at the amethyst on her ring finger and began to cry.

“Hey man, you ok?” a voice asked. American.

“Jesus, don't call her man! What is wrong with you?” a female American voice.

“Leave me alone! Last time I was here, I was in Vietnam. I'm freaking the fuck out, Sel.”

“weren't you a cu-”

“Uh!! This is about them, not me.”

One of them sat down next to Honey. “My brother is right, are you ok? Honey, right?”

Honey looked up to meet eyes that almost took her breath away. A young woman around her age smiled and it reminded her of Leon. Her shoulder length hair had soft waves and curls, but her eyes. Her eyes somehow looked like Honey’s.

“Do I know you?” she squinted her eyes and tilted her head.

“Not yet,” the woman’s cheeks pinked a little. “We're.. Leon's..”

“Cousins!” a male voice interjected.

“I didn't know Leon had cousins from- Fuck me on the tube.”

“Tempting, but I don't think Leon would be down for that.” The inflection of his voice, despite being yank, was so much like his.. cousin’s. “My sister and I have been looking all over this stupid city for you the last few days. To meet you before we left. Leon told my sister you were here. He seemed pretty pissed. This is an uh,” he gestured at the building.

“Abortion clinic?”

“You sure that's how you want to handle it?” the young woman questioned softly.

“Well I don't think Leon has the balls to push me down the stairs,” Honey shrugged.

Leon’s cousin, if that's who she was heaved a sigh. “I like to think I have a sharp tongue and a bit of a shrewd mind. I get it from MY mom. Can I be straight with you?”

“I mean I guess it's easier from a stranger?”

“I know for a FACT you won't be giving up on anything. You are already more involved in changing the world than most people your age. And that doesn't have to stop because you're pregnant. Activists can have children or partners. Take her with you! Take Leon! You come from a long line of shit kickers, right?”

Honey narrowed her eyes. She studied this woman’s face again. Her eyes. HER eyes somehow. But Leon’s features. If she had a daughter, this is who she would want her to be. Sharp, like herself, but optimistic like her daddy.

Daddy.. “Did you say her? How do you know any of this? I swear Leon’s family is here or in Greece. You've got to be close, this one is like fucking Patty Duke. Identical cousins. Man you sure you're cool?”

He scratched his body and Honey heard a tinkling. Then she saw the dog tags. “Yeah I'm gravy.” He looked the way Leon had when she rejected him earlier. It broke Honey’s heart all over.

“Drafted?”

He held out his tags and had this longing in his eyes, “Love.”

“You went to Vietnam for love?”

“I stayed for it. Hardest thing I've ever done besides sobriety. Having a kid and an old man is a fucking piece of cake. If you were gonna go through with.. Termination, I think you would've done it right?”

“I just don't know if I have good enough of a reason besides maybe it'll be fine. I don't know what is freaking me the hell out! We both have happily married parents!! And grandparents. But I've put so much on hold for men. I've let them.”

“Yeah but Leon’s not like that.”

“No. He's not. But the drugs and the hare brained schemes terrify me. My uncle, Lenny Bruce? He ran cons with his wife that he knocked up and they were just. Tumultuous. He loved heroin almost more than Honey and Kitty. It killed him in the end. I don't want Leon and I to be the fluke too.”

“If I tell you to say the FIRST thing that comes to your mind about Leon. No thinking, open your mouth and speak. What is the first part of him you think of.”

“His kind eyes. Your eyes,” she gestured towards the man. “Yours are a bit lost, but they're still just as gentle.”

He bit his lip. Honey noticed it trembled just a tad. “Same thing,” his voice hoarse. “What's the first thing that you would DO for him?”

“Be with him in every life we've ever lived and ever will.”

The woman beside her took Honey’s hand in both of hers. Her annoying familiarity forced Honey to listen to everything she was about to say.

“My parents came from a similar taboo situation. They were immigrants (my dad twice), during the worst war. Activists who got in a bit of a mess. They were separated for a while when my mom was pregnant with me. She had me alone. Yet they have been together for OVER 25 years.”

“I cannot imagine two people better suited for each other than my parents. They trust one another IMPLICITLY and are both still very attracted to one another. Trust me. It's gross.!

“Now they have a successful business. My younger brother and I have our own jobs to pay for ourselves, but our parents are paying for us to go to school. Marriage or partnerships are work, but I have seen that it's worth it. I hope I can be as fearless as they are one day.”

Honey took her hand back and rubbed her face. “Why are you two so hell bent on me staying knocked up? Like there’s something real heavy you're not telling me.”

“We're just like, REALLY invested in Leon’s happiness!” the woman exclaimed.

“Or we could just tell her? I saved Dave that way.”

Honey narrowed her eyes, “Convincing.”

“You and Leon and this baby are going to literally save the world?”

“Alright,” Leon's doppelganger decided to take a turn. “Someone took me away from our mom when I was just a baby. I was raised pretty abusively. But I found my parents, OUR parents,” he gestured at his sister. “They just.. welcomed me in, AND my other adopted siblings.”

“You are so, so much like her. You and Leon are like BOTH of our parents. Really we Kostases.. Kosti? We leap without looking. If we fly, we fly. So I know what Leon's decision is. You said it yourself, he's worth being with in every life you live. Isn't that your answer?”

Honey sighed again and stood up. She looked back and forth between the man and woman claiming to have her best interest at heart. The siblings with her eyes and Leon’s. “I can't just rush into this.”

“Says the woman who fell in love on the set of a porno film.”

Honey ignored him. Ignored how he knew that. She put her hand on her stomach tenderly. “I have to say, if we have this kid, I'm not sure why, but I hope it.. she's like you. What's your name?”

“Selina. After the moon.”

Honey smiled in a knowing way. “Stick around, I'm sure Leon would love to see you.”

“We can't, but you'll understand all of this one day.”

“I'll see you again?”

“I promise.”

Then Honey and the cousins parted ways. She and Leon had a lot to discuss.

Tag: @neuroticpuppy @elliethesuperfruitlover @messengeronthemoon @super-unpredictable98 @bisexualnathanyoung @forenschik @nightmonsters @firstpersonnarrator @rob-private @frogs--are--bitches @ghouls-buddy @a-ghoulish-tale @bwritesstuff @icecoffeegirl @070188

#robert sheehan #robert sheehan fic #robert sheehan character fic #moonwalkers fic #leon x honey #klaus hargreeves #lovely little pixie

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slapshot-to-the-heart · 4 years

Text

Breakable Heaven (pt. III) - p.l. dubois

Part I II

Here’s part III! One more part after this, then we’re going to be finishing up our time with Laurel and Pierre-Luc. It’s seriously been so so much fun writing this over the past few weeks, and I’m excited to get to keep the story going. Many many thanks to @hockeyboysiguess for being a great sounding board for Breakable Heaven so far, my favorite response of hers to anything I’ve sent has got to be “that’s rude.” So, enjoy! Reblog if you enjoy it, come scream into my inbox, and I still read every tag!

Part III

July 10 (sat)

Laurel was exhausted. Two hours after the wedding, her and her meager bridal party had shown up to her house, piling everything she hadn’t yet brought over to Pierre’s apartment into her SUV and Madeline’s white sedan. She left her old apartment with the keys at the front office and one last wistful look into the place that had once been her own. She’d miss it, she thought, as she and Pierre drove down the Ville-Marie Expressway towards his apartment, her fingers still trying to get used to the feeling of having rings on it. She’d only lived in the space for a year, but it was in that building that she started her dream job, that space that she adopted her dog, that apartment where she met one of her best friends and that place where she got married.

They had spent a few hours half-heartedly unpacking her boxes; Laurel was excited to get settled in, but she was also the world’s worst procrastinator and even at 6 PM, all that she had managed to get done was folding some clothes and adding her book collection to the shelves in the living room. Pierre poked his head into the spare room — her room? — rolling his eyes when he saw her “progress.” “I was going to order in, what do you feel like?”

Laurel hung up a blazer in the closet. “Pizza?” she asked hopefully. “Though I’m really going to have to teach you to cook one of these days. We can’t survive off of take-out and pasta alone.”

“If that’s how you want to be,” he responded good-naturedly. “I’ll have you know that I can cook more than pasta, though.”

“Really?” Laurel asked, raising her eyebrows. “What’s the Chef Dubois specialty?”

“I make a mean salmon,” he replied, before returning to the living room. That was another thing she had to get used to quickly as soon as they started going through the marriage process: Québec didn’t allow for women to take their husbands’ names at marriage. It wasn’t something she’d ever thought too deeply about, but Laurel supposed she’d always assumed that she’d take her husband’s name when she got married. But then again, she always assumed she’d get married under normal circumstances. Her parents aside, Cloquet wasn’t an absurdly conservative town, but it was still certainly something of an anomaly for a married woman to still have her maiden name. Which is what she was now. A married woman. Oh God.

Pizza with white wine may not have been the most conventional choice, but it got the job done, Laurel thought as she lay in bed at half past midnight, the birds outside her door insisting on making her efforts to fall asleep as futile as her efforts to ignore them. She’d already been in bed for an hour; after dinner, her and Pierre watched a few episodes of Black Mirror — also probably not the best choice to do before bed, but oh well — before he wished her a good night’s sleep. She had taken a melatonin and drank a cup of tea before bed, put on a playlist full of rain noises, but nothing seemed to be working. Maybe it was because it was the first night in a new place, or the birds outside, or just the craziness and excitement of the day catching up to her.

Laurel felt like a child again as she padded over to Pierre’s room, like she was five and back in Minnesota, crawling into her parents’ bed after hearing a wolf howl somewhere on the property. But really, she didn’t really care what she had to do if it meant she could get a good night’s rest. She knocked lightly on his door, careful not to wake up the dogs, who had long since fallen asleep in a corner of the living room. “Mmm?” he answered. She turned the doorknob. God, I hope I didn’t wake him up. She didn’t, as it would turn out; Pierre was propped up on his headboard, scrolling through his phone as he moved his eyes from his screen to her figure in the doorway. “You good? Everything okay?”

Laurel shrugged, wiggling her hand. “I don’t know what it is, I tried everything but I’m just not able to get to sleep. I’d try and wait it out, but my sleep cycle will be thrown off for a week if I’m not able to get to bed tonight.”

He moved over from the middle, reaching over to the side of his bed and getting another pillow before throwing back the covers and patting the spot next to him. “C’mere.”

“Are you sure?” Laurel said, furrowing her brow, suddenly very aware of the fact that she was wearing an old t-shirt and panties, leaving very little to the imagination.

He nodded, putting his phone down on the nightstand, smiling softly at her. “Of course. What’s mine is yours, eh?” That was all it took for Laurel to climb into the right side, claiming it as her own, and throw the duvet over her body. She fell asleep almost instantly.

---

Laurel woke up to the unmistakable smell of bacon frying and the other side of the bed devoid of Pierre’s sleeping form. She straightened the bed before walking out, where she was greeted by two plates on the breakfast bar, a pot of coffee brewing, and her husband at the stove.

“I thought you said you couldn’t cook?” Laurel teased, leaning up against the granite countertop.

“Good morning to you too.” Pierre shrugged. “I hardly think being able to fry an egg and not burn toast qualifies as cooking, but I’ll take what I can get.”

Laurel stepped further into the kitchen, lightly dragging her fingers over his back in a silent thank you as she opened the cupboard. “Let me get the coffee, at least,” she said, grabbing two mugs off the shelf and the creamer out of the fridge. “How do you take yours?” Laurel asked, glancing at Pierre from the side as he buttered the toast.

“A little bit of cream, more sugar,” he replied, sliding the plates onto the bar as she handed him his mug. “Perfect,” he said, smiling. A few minutes into breakfast, with Laurel just about to crunch into her second piece of toast, he spoke again. “So, I was thinking…”

She nodded. “I should hope so?”

Pierre laughed, ducking his head. “I was going to post something about the wedding today, online and stuff, but wanted to check with you first.” They had spoken about it once or twice before the wedding, both of them knew that it wasn’t practical nor honest to think that they’d be able to keep the news from everyone over the entire duration of their temporary marriage. And part of the “sell,” part of what she needed to prove, was that their relationship was real. And real would mean posting about each other online, real would mean flying down a few times a month — thank God her schedule gave her a long weekend, and thank God the flight wasn’t too long — for games and galas and real would mean meeting his friends and him meeting her family and Laurel had to stop thinking about it all before her head exploded.

“Go for it,” she said. “I don’t like having to hide from it any more than you do, so it’ll be a relief to let everyone know, give a heads-up to the four people on my Instagram page who actually care about my life.

Pierre poked her arm. “Five, now.” He opened his phone, scrolling through the pictures Madeline had sent from yesterday. She had run a small side business doing photography in university, and insisted on taking their photos as a wedding present. “You deserve something beautiful to look back on,” she had said. The final book wouldn’t be done for a few weeks, but she had sent over the raw shots the night before. “What about this one?” He leaned over to show her. Their foreheads were touching, his arms wrapped around her waist as they stood in the middle of one of Vieux Port’s cobblestone side streets. Laurel’s fingers brushed the back of his neck, her other hand loosely holding her bouquet. If you didn’t know, they looked like a real couple. They looked like they were in love.

“It’s gorgeous,” Laurel murmured softly. “I knew Madeline was talented, but wow. She outdid herself.”

Pierre nodded in agreement. “She did. I know I already told you, but you really did look incredible.” Laurel’s cheeks burned; she raised her mug to her lips, hopeful the oversized ceramic would cover enough of her face that he couldn’t see the effect his words had had on her. Laurel opened her own phone, scrolling through to find the matching photo. A few minutes later, he handed her his phone and she passed hers, giving their captions one last once-over before giving up their secret. Her eyes flitted across the screen.

Yesterday, I had the incredible fortune of marrying @laurel.klerken, the best person I’ve ever had the fortune of loving. I know it might come as a shock, and that we’ve kept our relationship under wraps since realizing after years of being friends that friendship just wasn’t enough any more, but this wasn’t a decision that either of us made lightly. Laurel, you’re an amazing woman, and even though it’s only been a day, an amazing wife. Whether it’s for your patients, your friends, or me, you make everyone around you feel warm, safe, and cared for beyond measure. You have a sharp wit and an even sharper mind, and I have endless admiration for how committed you are for standing up for what’s right, even when it’s not popular and even if it’s gotten you in trouble once or twice. Marriage is a partnership and a journey, and I’ve never been so excited to start a new adventure.

Laurel sniffed, not even noticing the tears pricking her eyes until Pierre handed her a tissue. “Thanks,” she murmured. “You don’t think you’re laying it on a little thick, though?”

The corner of his mouth twitched. “Not at all.” One tap later, and it was posted. Three minutes later, his phone rang as they were doing the breakfast dishes. Cap ❤️ flashed across the screen. Pierre grimaced. “It’s the captain. I should probably answer this one,” he said, pressing the speaker button as he dried his hands on a spare towel.

“You’re married,” Nick Foligno said, wasting no time. “Is this a fucking joke?” Laurel more than understood his apprehension, but the words still stung.

“Yes I am,” Pierre said slowly, “and no, it’s not a joke. Laurel and I are legally married in the province of Québec.”

She could hear a labored breath from the other line, followed by an airy laugh. “What the hell, man?”

Nick was ultimately happy for them, and after being introduced to Laurel after they switched the call over to FaceTime he apologized for his reaction, but Laurel waved him off. “You’re just looking out for your boy is all. I’d do the same.”

Nick nodded. “Take care of him for us, Laurel. Your address still the same?” He looked over towards Pierre, who hummed his assent. “Janelle and I will send you something. Something useful.”

---

July 28 (wed)

“Something useful” turned out to be a gorgeous set of Wüsthof knives and a stand mixer, the latter of which Laurel was nearly jumping out of her socks with excitement to try. Baking had long since been one of her favorite hobbies and her go-to method of stress relief; while she was grateful for the arm muscles her years of having to hand mix everything had given her, she wasn’t going to miss the extra effort. So Laurel Klerken was taking full advantage of her new toy. She had gone down to the Jean-Talon market in the morning, which was quickly becoming one of her favorite weekly activities. Especially with Pierre around to help her, she was learning to shift her speaking into the Québecois dialect, and her French was good enough to order from the vendors in their language and be understood. In her book, that was a win. The peak of summer meant it was berry season in Montréal, which meant it was time for Laurel to break out her nana’s blueberry oatmeal muffin recipe. And chocolate chip walnut cookies. And a French apple tart. Okay, so maybe she went a little bit overboard, but they had their desserts for the week and it made the kitchen smell so good.

Pierre opened the door just as Laurel was pulling out the last pan of cookies, walking around the corner into the kitchen and raising his eyebrows at the view. She looked over at him. “You going to complain about your wife’s baking when you’re the primary beneficiary?” she asked, challenging him with a playful smile on his face.

Pierre held his hands up in surrender, holding the mail between two fingers. “No.” He picked one of the cookies off of the cooling rack, taking a bite. “Definitely not.”

Laurel nodded towards the mail, walking over to the sink to wash her hands. “What came in the mail?”

“Nothing much,” he said, shrugging. “Just a little letter from IRCC.”

Her eyes lit up. “Immigration finally got back? Did they send my card?”

Pierre nodded, handing her the envelope. It barely took five seconds for her to rip it open. “You, Laurel Elizabeth Klerken, are now officially a permanent resident of Canada. Congrats, babe.”

Laurel squeaked in excitement, dancing around in the kitchen , the holographic detailing on the card catching the glow of the late-afternoon light. She threw her arms around Pierre, giving him a kiss on the cheek that was just barely off to the side of his lips. “Thank you, thank you, thank you,” she said breathlessly.

“Don’t mention it.”

She pulled back, still smiling. “No, ‘don’t mention it’ is for when you bring home dinner without being asked, or take a drunk friend home from the bar. Not for things like this,” she said, wiggling her card. “This is everything to me, P. I get to stay in the city that I love, I get to stay at the job that I love. I get to —” She looked down, eyes widening. “I can finally get a health card!”

Pierre let out a laugh. “Out of everything, you’re most excited about that?” Being a dual citizen who lived in the U.S. for the better part of the year, Pierre understood the absolute chasm of accessibility that separated the American and Canadian health insurance systems better than most, but he still looked at his wife’s choice with incredulity.

“Of course it is,” Laurel said, as if it was the most obvious answer in the world. She still had insurance purchased through her work, but the fact that now it was so much easier and official and came out of her taxes instead of having to try and navigate the bureaucratic system of forms and checks and private insurance companies made it so much easier. “It’s just nice to finally be a part of a system that acknowledges healthcare as the human right it is. That’s another thing about how it works in the U.S., it’s tied to employment a lot of the time so it’s not always a guarantee.”

She gave a tense smile, leaning back against the counter. “I might seem a little worked up about it, but that’s because I am. Uh,” she paused, eyes flickering up towards the chrome-plated track lighting, “my dad lost his job when I was a kid. He was a foreman at a construction company, but then the recession hit in ‘08 and he was laid off. We lost our insurance. Maggie and I were able to get on MinnesotaCare, which is the state insurance for low-income families, but our parents didn’t get approved. Not enough money to go around, I guess,” she scoffed. “Unemployment wasn’t paying enough and mom’s job isn’t full-time, so she doesn’t get benefits. Apparently they think healthcare is a benefit.” Laurel took another pause. “And then Dad had a stroke. It wasn’t serious, thank God, but the bills...Maggie was almost graduating high school and headed off to college, and money was tight even before the layoffs. We were able to come up with the money, but only because the community really came together, in a way I had never seen before. I still haven’t seen anything like it since. Bake sales, church fundraisers, garage sales.” The tiniest of smiles played on Laurel’s lips as she looked back up at her husband. “Do you know how much pasta Minnesotans can eat at a spaghetti dinner?”

“A lot?”

“A whole hell of a lot,” Laurel confirmed. “But anyways. That’s when it became personal to me, and I think it’s why healthcare and access to quality care is still something that I’m still so passionate about and invested in. It’s why I became a nurse.”

Pierre walked over to her carefully, rubbing the back of her hand with his thumb. “It makes absolute sense, Laurel. I know that probably wasn’t easy for you, so thank you for sharing. It means a lot to me that you’re willing to let me in like that.” Laurel wasn’t a cold person by any means; she was one of the kindest and most giving people Pierre had ever met, even in the few months that they’d known each other. But she was someone that could be guarded at times — for very good reason — and it meant the world to him that she was willing to let him chip away her hardened exterior little by little to see the brilliance that lay within.

She pressed against his side, her head resting on his arm. “You’re my husband. Why wouldn’t I?”

---

Laurel was in the ensuite of her and Pierre’s room, washing her face before going to bed, when she heard her phone vibrate with a text. After that first night, Laurel had made it a habit of sharing a bed; she’d never slept better in her life than the past two and a half weeks, and even though she may have been loath to admit it, waking up to an incredibly attractive man — who was shirtless half of the time — wasn’t something she was about to complain about. “Can you get that for me?” She was expecting a text from her mom, something about confirming her and her dad’s flight times for their visit next week.

“Laurel?” Pierre called cautiously.

She turned towards him, patting her face dry. “What? Did their gate get changed or something?”

He shook his head, walking towards her and holding the phone out like it was a bomb. “It’s Maggie.”

Laurel’s mouth immediately went dry. “M-Maggie?” She took the phone, staring at the screen, open to the text.

“Do you want to talk to her? You don’t have to if you’re not feeling up to it,” Pierre said, searching her face for any semblance of apprehension. As far as he knew, she hadn’t talked to her sister in years, and he didn’t know why that was suddenly about to change.

She shook her head. “No, it’s fine. I just...I have no idea what she wants. Why, after three years, is she finally deciding that she wants to be a part of my life again?” She looked down at her phone.

So, I had to hear it through the Cloquet grapevine that you got married?? What’s that about, L? Maggie wrote. Laurel pinched the bridge of her nose, sighing. The gossip train in her hometown was second to none; to be honest, she was a little bit surprised it even took her older sister this long to hear about it. She was already enough of an anomaly. Less than a quarter of her city had a college degree, even fewer left the state to do it, so her going to Toronto for university was practically unfathomable — even if it was closer than Texas, where her second-choice school was. So, needless to say, she was a frequent headline in the Cloquet rumor mill. She had heard it all. That she had run off to Canada to escape a high school sweetheart turned sour, that she had cut off all ties with her family, that she had shaved half of her head and dyed her eyebrows bright pink. The last one actually had some truth to it, but it was just the eyebrows and she was a drunk 20-year-old, and at least she didn’t get a tattoo of the Maple Leafs logo on her thigh like her friend Ethan.

But this one wasn’t a rumor, and if nothing else, Maggie deserved to know that much. Not much to say. It’s true, if that’s what you were wondering.

Why didn’t you tell me? Why did I have to find out third-hand?

Laurel rolled her eyes, sitting down with a huff on the edge of their bed. Not to be harsh, Maggie, but it’s not like you’ve wanted to be that invested in my life since you left home. How was I supposed to know if this was even your number any more? I don’t even know what country you’re in right now.

Her response was almost immediate. I’m working at a hostel in Tokyo. But seriously? I know we haven’t been super close the past few years, but I’m still your sister, and I would have thought you’d tell me about something like this. Getting married is big. You don’t think you’re still a little young? Have you even finished school yet?

I graduated last year, I’ve been working at a hospital in Montréal for over a year, Maggie. And I know it’s a little early, but Pierre-Luc and I are happy. I love him, and he’s a good man and respects the hell out of me. I don’t really need anything else.

It was a few minutes before her next text came through, this time in all caps. YOU MARRIED A FUCKING NHLER? Laurel grew up knowing hockey, obviously; you couldn’t really live in Minnesota and not, and she wasn’t even a half-bad skater herself, but Maggie had always been the more dedicated of the sisters. She’d been the one who was always begging their dad to make the two-hour drive to St. Paul for a Wild game. Even when money was tight, Doug always found a way to scrape up enough for the tickets as her birthday present in January.

Denise from church didn’t tell you?

All she said was that it was some hot French-Canadian guy, and mom said you moved to Quebec, so I thought it could be any number. Fair enough.

Denise seriously called him hot?

Laurel could imagine her sister rolling her eyes all the way in Japan. Okay, fine, she didn’t say hot. But like...am I wrong?

For the first time in a long time, her sister made her laugh. Yeah, okay. He’s hot. I’m very aware that my husband is a class-A babe.

“You think I’m hot?” Pierre said, peeking over her shoulder and wiggling his eyebrows.

Laurel’s cheeks heated. “Yes, okay. I think you’re very attractive. Happy?”

“Very,” he responded. “I’m glad my wife thinks I’m hot. The feeling’s mutual,” he said before walking into the bathroom to brush his teeth, leaving her even more flustered than before. She turned back to her conversation with Maggie. My shift is about to start, so I’ve got to go. But I’m happy for you, L. I really am. You’ve done exactly what you want with your life, and I couldn’t be more proud.

Laurel’s finger traced the words on the screen, a small smile on her face as Pierre came back into the room, throwing back the sheets. She plugged her phone into its charger, turning it face-down onto the nightstand. Things weren’t perfect between her and Maggie; far from it. One conversation over text wasn’t going to change that. But maybe, just maybe, there was still something there that was worth saving. After flicking off the lights, the last thing she remembered before falling asleep was the feeling of Pierre snaking his arm around her waist, pulling her to rest her back up against his chest. And Laurel let him.

August 17 (tues

It had been one of the worst days of Laurel’s life, and she wasn’t one for dramatics. Certainly the worst shift of her career. She knew when she chose to work in a pediatric intensive care unit, that it wasn’t going to be all sunshine and rainbows. If she wanted sunshine and rainbows, she would have gone with something less taxing. Something like dermatology, or working in a pediatrician’s office, or being a school nurse. God knows she could hand out ice packs and tampons. But no, she had to pick critical care, and critical care with children, one of the most emotionally and mentally taxing areas in the entire healthcare field. She saw the highest highs, the incredible moments when a three-year-old girl with a brain hemorrhage was able to get home, or a twelve-year-old boy finally got a kidney transplant after having been waiting for years. She saw the highest highs, but on days like today, she also saw the lowest lows.

Laurel carried her scrub top in one hand, her backpack slung over one shoulder, and tried desperately to regulate her breathing as she turned her key in the lock, pushing the door open. No matter how many times she had helped her patients breathe, she never seemed to be able to take her own advice.

Pierre stood in the kitchen, making a smoothie, but immediately turned off the blender when he saw her face. “What happened?” he asked, gently taking her bag from her and placing it on the floor.

Laurel collapsed into his arms almost instantly. “T-there was a little girl who c-came in yesterday from a car crash, and it was pretty b-bad, but she made it through the night and everyone thought she’d b-be fine,” she hiccuped, “but then right at the end of m-my shift she started coughing up b-blood and she was crashing, so I tried to do CPR until the t-team got there, but it didn’t work and we…” Laurel trailed off, sobbing, gripping the back of Pierre’s shirt like a lifeline. “We lost her, P. And the doctor on call was tied up with another patient, so I had to notify the family, and God, it was the worst thing I’ve ever had to do. She was only seven.” She looked down at her scrub top. “I have to go throw this in the washing machine before the stain sets.”

Pierre pulled back slightly, gently taking the navy shirt from her, giving a kiss on her forehead. “I’ll do it. You need to rest. Take a shower, or a bath, get into some comfortable clothes. I’ll take care of dinner.”

It was almost forty-five minutes later when Laurel finally emerged from the bathroom, clad in high school sweats and a faded Blue Jackets t-shirt. “I hope you didn’t mind that I took this one,” she said, picking at a loose thread on the bottom hem, “I hadn’t gotten to laundry yet this week.”

“It’s fine, Laur,” Pierre said, plating chicken stir-fry and rice. Cooking together had become one of their things; Pierre certainly wasn’t as hopeless as some people she had met, and he was right that he made an excellent salmon. But they couldn’t eat fish every day of the week, so Laurel broke out one of her few cookbooks and they had been making their way through the recipes together. They had finished breakfast and were making their way through poultry. Hence, chicken stir-fry. “You look better in it anyways.”

They ate in silence, her half-heartedly picking up forkfuls of rice only to put them down again. She smiled weakly at Pierre. “The food’s good, I swear. I just don’t have much of an appetite tonight.”

“I get that,” he said. “How about I put this in away in the fridge and you can get a yogurt or something? You don’t have to have a full meal, but you should eat something. We can watch something after, or you can go to bed if you’re not feeling up to it. Your call.”

“TV sounds nice, do you still have the old Parks & Rec recorded?” Laurel needed something she didn’t need to pay attention to, something that could just be background noise as she tried to sift through the emotions of her day and try to make sense of it all.

He nodded. “Wouldn’t get rid of it before asking, I know how much you love it.”

They were curled up on the couch together a few minutes later, a striped blanket thrown over Laurel’s lap despite the weather outside still lingering in the mid 70s. It wasn’t for warmth, not really; it was for comfort. Pierre’s arm was slung over her back, his thumb absentmindedly moving across her upper arm. She leaned into his touch, hardly paying attention to the show. “Do you want to talk about it?” Pierre murmured, pressing a kiss to the crown of her head. “You don’t have to, but it might help.” He wasn’t an expert by any means, but Pierre obviously knew that people died in hospitals, in intensive care units even more so. Which meant that there was an almost surefire chance that she had had people die on her watch, die on her shift. Had children die on her watch. And that didn’t mean she was a bad nurse or a bad person, but just that sometimes there were illnesses and injuries so severe that even the best medical care in the province couldn’t save them. So why was this one impacting her so intensely? Had she reacted this way before, with Madeline or her coworkers, and he just hadn’t seen it before? Or was there something different about this case, about that girl that made it hit closer to home for some reason?

Laurel took a shaky breath. “I know you’re right, that it’s not healthy to keep it all bottled up inside. But that’s what I’m used to, you know? I love my job, I do, but you have to compartmentalize sometimes. With this one, it’s just…” She searched for the right words. “It was so immediate, so in front of me, that I didn’t have any time to reach beyond trying to save her life. I didn’t think, I just went based on instinct and training. And she still died.”

“It wasn’t your fault, Laurel,” Pierre said firmly. “You did everything you could, you did everything right.”

“I know that,” she sniffed, “but it’s so hard to believe sometimes. That if I had gotten there a few seconds sooner, or if the crash team had been a little earlier, she might have survived. And I wouldn’t have had to tell a mother and father that their daughter was dead.” Pierre felt terrible, like there was nothing he could do, because there was nothing he could do, not apart from sit and listen. “I think it was different this time because I finally saw myself in their shoes, I obviously don’t have kids, not yet, but I imagined what it was like to have to be on the receiving end of that news, and it tore me apart, P.” Her voice cracked, and his heart broke. “Being the mom to a beautiful child and then all of the sudden having them all of the sudden stripped away? No longer living? I know that life’s not fair, but fuck, I thought I thought it would be a little better than this.”

Her voice went silent, and Pierre took the opportunity to speak. “It’s not fair, and I think part of what makes you so good at what you do is the fact that you recognize that. You’re so dedicated to giving everyone that comes through those doors the best care, because you genuinely believe that they deserve it. And that’s incredible. You don’t get complacent, you’re never satisfied with just doing things adequately and just enough to get by. You give everything 110%, and that’s how I know the kind of incredible person you are.” He paused. “And I think every parent worries about their kid getting sick, or getting hurt. I know mine did, and I’d be willing to bet yours were the same way. Worrying means you care. And you care the most deeply, the most genuinely, out of anyone I’ve ever met. And I know, when the time comes, that you’ll make an amazing mother. Whoever gets to do that with you will be a lucky man.”

“You really think so?”

Pierre slipped his hand into hers. “Positive.”

September 10 (fri)

Laurel’s fingers tapped nervously on the counter as she waited for Pierre to bring the last of his bags from the bedroom. He didn’t usually schlep a ton of things back-and-forth from Montréal to Columbus every time he needed to travel, but his ticket came with two free checked bags and if there was one thing Pierre-Luc Dubois was, it was efficient. It was the middle of September, and that meant training camps. That meant leaving Québec. That meant Ohio. That meant not seeing Pierre for weeks at a time, when the longest they had been apart since July was a two-day trip to Québec City Laurel took with her parents when they visited in August. Over the past two months, they had settled into a routine, and that routine was about to be broken. Grocery shopping, him washing the dishes while she dried, falling asleep together and waking up with legs tangled in the middle of the bed. She knew that he liked his coffee with a little bit of cream and more sugar, that Georgia got fussy if she wasn’t let out in the morning but Paul was more of a night owl, that dessert wasn’t supposed to be on his meal plan every day but that she could always get him to break for a slice of peach pie. He knew that she needed two Advil on the first day of her period because one just wouldn’t cut it, that her favorite Disney princess was Jasmine because of her independence, and that she liked to light lavender candles when she was stressed.

Pierre wheeled a bag out of the doorway. “That the last one?” Laurel asked, passing Phil’s leash to him as she held Georgia’s. He nodded. She spun her keys around on her finger. “Got both of your passports?”

Pierre patted his jacket pocket. “Right here.” It was easier for him; he could skip the wait in both countries. Exit Canada with the Canadian, enter the U.S. with the American.

It was 2 and his flight wasn’t until 4:15, but Laurel didn’t trust the traffic and she didn’t trust the wait times at the airport. “Guess we should get going then.”

“Guess we should.” Laurel grabbed one bag and he got the other, slinging his backpack over his shoulder and wheeling it out the door. It only took twenty minutes to get to the airport. Laurel pulled up next to the curb, double-checking the signs to make sure she wasn’t about to get fined for stopping, and put the car into park. Pierre was the first to open his door, grabbing both the dogs; Laurel followed suit a moment later.

“You’ve got to pop the trunk, babe,” Pierre murmured. He smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Oh, right,” she said, pressing the button on her key. It popped open with a telltale click; Pierre hefted out the black bag, she got the silver one. “Do you know how many people are going to have this exact bag? It’s going to be a nightmare at baggage claim, P” Laurel tried to joke. She always coped with humor.

Pierre laughed, this time a real one. “Fair enough. Guess I’ve got a lot riding on my luggage tags,” he said, flicking one of the offending objects around the handle of the bag, the black one. Laurel handed him the other handle, their fingers brushing as he gripped the metal. He put a finger under her chin, tilting her head to look up at him. He could see the apprehension in her eyes. There were a lot of things that Laurel Klerken did well, really well, but lying was never one of them. She was always an open book. “Hey, don’t look so down, Laur,” he said softly. “I know you’ll be missing your personal space heater and Piper will miss her siblings, but you’re coming to visit in two weeks and it’s going to be amazing. I’ll introduce you to the boys and the other wives, you’ll get to catch one of the preseason games, finally see my place in Columbus. It might be weird being alone for a while, but —” He cut himself off. “Scratch that, it will be weird for a while, for both of us, but we’ll get through it. You’re a great person, and not a terrible wife either. People have done long-distance relationships that were longer distances for more time, and they made it through just fine. You’ll be okay, Laur. We’ll be okay.”

Laurel took an unsteady breath, trying her best to put on a brave face. “Not a terrible wife, huh? Well, you’re not half a bad husband either.” As she spoke, she was thinking over his words. How normal they sounded, but how abnormal that was for them. They weren’t a normal couple, all they really were were friends who got married — right? So why was he saying those things, things that made him seem like a real husband talking to his real wife, things that were making her feel that maybe, just maybe, this marriage wasn’t as much of a hoax as the thought it was? And it was only because of that, only because she was either reading way too much into a situation that wasn’t even there or was the premier of reading people’s body language and being able to parse out their unsaid words, that she did what she did next. She threw her arms around her husband, and she kissed him.

#hockey imagine #hockey writing #pierre-luc dubois #hockey #hockey smut #hockey imagines #nhl imagine #nhl writing #nhl smut #nhl #nhl imagines #pierre luc dubois

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revisionaryhistory · 3 years

Text

Three Days ~ 88

~*~Sebastian~*~

After the video call with my friends, I went back to the couch with a fresh glass of wine. I am blessed. Family, friends, co-workers, and a woman who loves me. None of us are perfect. I have people to call when times are tough. Today they called me, knowing I’d be struggling, only this time it was in a good way. Not long later Jessica called and invited me to dinner.

Pizza, beer, friends, and a toddler made for a good night. Giulietta thought I was much more fun than mom or dad. I guess they don’t let her use them like a jungle gym. When mom spoiled our fun and said it was time to settle down, I stopped the tears by promising to read her a story. Her choice. Like someone else I know Giulietta was asleep before I was halfway through. At this rate I'll never know how anything ends.

I sent the picture Jessica had taken to Emma. She'd wake up to it and with any luck send me back something fun. Which she did as soon as she woke up. Which was afternoon for me. Dinner break before I checked my phone. Emma struck the perfect balance between sweet and sexy. Her hair was messy with just her eyes peeking over a pillow she was hugging. Those beautiful green eyes I loved to look into. I couldn't see her smile so I could imagine it anyway I liked. The sweet one she often got right before she told me she loved me. Or the other one she got when she wanted me. I loved them both.

Our texts were broken up over the course of the day. Short bursts or long hours between. We talked most days at least for a few minutes. We talked about our days, shared memories, and talked about us. Maybe had phone sex. What didn't happen was whining about being apart or bitching about the time and distance. I didn't hang up feeling angry or guilty. I did my job, hung out with friends, relaxed during my downtime, and did a little shopping. Emma relaxed, did some studying, and practiced guitar. I missed her. She missed me. But we went on with our lives apart, making the best of the situation. It sucked, except it didn't.

I think this is the way it's supposed to be.

Thursday we wrapped for Paris. That was worth a party. Over the next four days production would pack up and move to Rome. I'd spend a day and a half on planes going from Paris to Dallas to San Diego. Then back to Dallas and on to Rome. The time zones were going to fucking kill me.

I called Emma when I got back to my room. I was drunk and grumpy. Hearing her voice helped. Seeing her face was even better. The way she told me exactly what she wanted to do to me and said all sorts of dirty things until I came... I wasn't grumpy anymore.

I had a headache when my alarm rang. I needed more sleep. Hopefully, I'd catch up on the flight. I was still debating going back to sleep and blowing off the weekend when my phone rang. Emma. It was the middle of the night for her. "Why are you awake?"

She laughed, "Making sure your drunk ass doesn't turn off his alarm and blow off the weekend."

I rolled to my side, mirroring her. "I wouldn't do that. I was thinking about it, but I wouldn’t do it."

"Such a professional. How are you feeling?"

"I've been better. Advil, breakfast, and a long nap on the plane and I'll be fine. How are you?"

"Good. Big plans laying by the pool with Mallory today."

"Sounds fun. I will be on a plane."

"Yes, but you will walk out of the airport into sunny California. Then spend two days being adored and laughing with your friends."

"That will be fun." I was honestly looking forward to that part.

Emma yawned. I smiled at her beautiful face, "You need to go back to sleep. I need to get showered."

She didn't argue with me. She was tired.

"Thank you for making sure I was up. I love you."

"I love you." There was my sweet smile.

I cannot begin to explain how very disorientating it is to board a plane at nine am, travel for fifteen hours, to arrive at three pm, which is only six hours after you left. I get to relive eight of the hours I spent on the plane. Only thing is, my body thinks it’s midnight. I slept some on the flight and I knew better than to go back to sleep. The closer to "normal" bedtime for this time zone I could get, the better I would feel tomorrow. Anthony and I had press then an autograph session, before the big Marvel event. Sunday was photo ops and an autograph session. Both long days where I was expected to be pleasant despite how inappropriate or rude fans got. Needless to say, a decent night’s sleep would be best for everyone.

I got to my room by four and quickly realized I couldn't stay there. I needed fresh air. I needed to breathe. I changed into shorts and took off to have a look around. There were several hotels in the area that hosted celebrity guests. We weren't all in one place. I'd requested a beach. It was a little farther from the convention center and I was confident I could wander unseen. Most people stayed right around the center since a lot of packages kept prices lower and being so close to the action was appealing. I wanted the ocean.

Down the beach I could see big boulders and took off that direction. I needed some flip-flops. The sand made me think of Emma. The water. The people surfing. The impending sunset. Breathing. I'd like to say the plan I was cooking up was a product of sleep deprivation. It wasn't. It had been bouncing around in my head since this morning as we lay in bed together thousands of miles apart. I'd dismissed it as selfish. On the plane, when sleep was impossible, and I was panicking, it didn't seem so selfish. I shoved the idea away because I knew it really was. The same reasons I didn't ask Emma to stay in Paris or go to Rome were valid here. Asking her to fly literally to the other side of the country to spend two days with me, asking her to amuse herself while I worked a chunk of that time, was peak me as a selfish asshole. The longer I sat on the rock watching the ocean the less of a bad idea it seemed. Maybe not less of a bad idea, but an idea I could give her a choice in, with the difference being if she said no, I wouldn't be angry or make her pay for not doing what I wanted. Growth in action. Hopefully.

I should check flights before I even think about calling. Or actually call, because I'm already thinking about calling. Might not be possible.

It was. I flipped my phone in my hands several times before hitting the buttons to call her. Apparently, I hadn't grown completely out of being an ass.

"I'm about to be an asshole."

Emma raised her eyebrows, "Uh oh."

"Yeah." I was going to do it anyway. "Fifteen-hour flight with little sleep because the turbulence over the ocean was a nightmare. I'm grumpy, exhausted, and lonely as fuck. I'm on the beach without you. I miss you. I can get you on a flight in the morning and if you come straight to the venue you'll be here before I have to do anything. It’ll be two days. I have to leave for Rome Monday. I know it's a shitty thing to ask, but will you come see me? So I can see you."

"I'd love to."

I was prepared to step up my game and her easy acquiescence caught me off guard. "You will?"

She nodded with a smile, "I miss you too."

I took a deep breath and let it out, "I was prepared to beg."

Her smile was almost a laugh, "While you begging sounds fun, it's not necessary. Do I need to pack anything dressy?"

"Fuck, I hope not. I have a pair of jeans, shorts, and sweatpants." It's amazing how much better I felt. I ran my hands through my hair. "You're flying out of JFK. Sorry."

"You booked the flight already?"

"Not many seats left. I wasn't risking it. You leave at seven, here at ten. My first thing is noon." I could see her grabbing her carry-on from the closet.

"I'm going to spend the night at your place. Do you want me to bring you anything?"

I scrunched up my face, "Underwear."

"You don't have underwear?"

"The one's I'm in and a spare."

"You may not like what I pick out."

"Emma, baby, I will wear yours as long as you deliver them."

"I think that's a little drastic."

"It's really not."

Emma laughed and touched her screen. I could almost feel her. I could definitely imagine feeling her. She almost gasped and broke into a smile, "I have an idea. I need to call Jill real quick. Give me five maybe ten minutes."

I nodded, "Okay. I'm going to lay here on my rock."

My rock was not soft, but I was very comfortable. I was very happy. The sky was blue and the sound of the waves was calming. I only had to wait until tomorrow to see Emma. It was going to be a good day.

A little more than five minutes later Emma was calling me back. "You've made my little sister very happy."

"Excellent!” I smiled, "How'd I do that?"

"We need to change my flight. Monday I'm going to Seattle pick up Olivia and take her back to New York with me. Then we'll meet up with the family in Chicago."

"That's perfect. You're not just coming out here for me."

She picked up on it. "Yeah, because seeing you isn't enough of a reason. You know I miss you, right?"

"I know, but I'm..."

Emma cut me off, "Stop there. I jump on planes to spend weekends on tour with dad. This is fun for me. Dad's doing sound checks, interviews, and charity shit while I amuse myself. You're not an asshole. I love this."

"You love this?" I did not love jumping on planes at short notice.

She was nodding as I spoke, "I love this."

"And you'd tell me to fuck off if you didn't?"

"Maybe, but this is your lucky day."

"No, my luck day was exactly eight weeks ago."

We talked for another ten minutes or so until she was loaded and heading into the city. We've talked while she's driving many times, but I wanted her to pay attention. The sun was going down where she was and it would be dark before she got to my place. I headed back toward the hotel and ordered room service. By the time Emma texted she was at mine and I was deep in a documentary, struggling to stay awake.

Emma ~ Safe and sound in your bed.

Naturally, she sent a picture. Sheet barely covering her breasts and one arm stretched out above her head.

I sent back a picture of me in the same pose, but making sure to show the empty side of the bed. I drew a red ✗ there.

Sebastian ~ Where you will be in my bed tomorrow.

Emma ~ Equally safe and sound Sebastian ~ More. Emma ~ I'm going to sleep. I will see you in the morning. Sebastian- Can not fucking wait

I was probably asleep before she was. By the time I woke up twelve hours later Emma was halfway here. I felt well-rested and excited for my day. Not just the Emma piece. Mackie and I always had fun together. I'd been sent the day’s itinerary. Noon was press, two thirty was an autograph session, and five was the big deal Marvel panel. We should be done by 6:30. Disney was having a party tonight. I had to make an appearance. It started at eight. That wasn't going to happen. Nine was more likely. I remembered it wouldn't matter because mice can't tell time.

At the venue I was led to a behind the scenes area. There was a large room, guarded by security, set with food and drink. Several smaller rooms encircled the larger area and some were labeled with company names. One of the largest was for Disney, with cloth wall dividers making several smaller rooms, where a stylist would be waiting to make sure Mackie and I looked presentable. Outside of the room was a loading area that was separated from the autograph booths by black curtains. I'd already ducked between them and gave fans nosing around my booth quite a surprise. Those were my favorite interactions. The ones without expectations. Security came over to make sure I hadn't been ambushed. I hadn't, but that was a perfect way to get away and I needed to talk to security anyway. I had them take me to the security office. Some lucky fans got a shot at a sighting of a Sebastian in the wild. I explained what was happening to the head of security and put Emma’s name on a list. They gave me a lanyard with her all-access pass and told me what door to direct her to. Security would meet her and bring her to me.

"About that." Call me paranoid, but I didn't trust they'd remember to have someone waiting for her. They'd call someone when she showed up and gave her name to the person with the list. "I need a Pearl Jam fan."

"Excuse me?"

"Someone on your staff is a Pearl Jam fan. Get them.”

He got on his radio, "Anyone out there a Pearl Jam fan?"

A voice came back, "Big Ed. He works all the shows up the coast."

I looked at my watch then back at the supervisor, "I need to borrow him for an hour."

His face read doubtful, but I was Disney. "Big Ed. I need you in the security office. Anyone see him? Send him."

A different voice, "On my way, boss."

Several minutes later Big Ed came through the door. I knew it was him because he was six-five and an easy two-fifty. He was his name. I held out my hand, "Hey, Big Ed. I'm Sebastian. Nice to meet you."

“You too."

"Walk me back to the guest area." We headed out and I waited until we were away from the office. "Do you know Ed's daughter?"

He smiled, "He has three. Which one?"

"The only one old enough for me to ask about."

"Emma. I've seen her at a couple of shows. I work security up the coast. Great way to see a bunch of shows."

I nodded, "I guess anything you miss at one you can catch at the next."

"Exactly." He pointed to his ear, "And you can always hear."

"Back to Emma. She's on her way here. I'd appreciate it if you would meet her and bring her to me."

"Is Ed coming?"

"No, he's," I stopped myself, "you ask her where he is."

He laughed, "I might take the long way back here."

"I haven't seen her in weeks. Not too long." Two is weeks. Barely.

Emma texted they'd landed. Big Ed changed where he wanted her to go and he headed in that direction. I sat down to wait for her to text she was here. I heard a familiar voice.

"Sebastian Stan? Is that really you?"

"Captain America?" I stood up and turned to the voice.

"Don't call me that. The pressure." Mackie hugged me, slapping my back much harder than necessary. "How jet-lagged are you?"

"Is that code for how much work are you going to have to do because I'm grouchy?"

"Maybe." We laughed.

"I had a good night’s sleep and I'm in a great mood."

"You seem twitchy. Why are you twitchy?"

"I'm not twitchy."

"Yes, you are. You're twitchy."

"If I'm twitchy it's because you're making me twitchy."

He pointed at me, "Ah ha! You admitted it. You're twitchy."

I rolled my eyes and scowled, "Emma's on her way. I might be a little twitchy."

"Here?" He pointed to the ground. With his eyebrows raised.

I smiled, "My girlfriend."

"Yeah, I got that. Plus, Evans told me."

"She’s not a secret." That felt good.

He asked and I answered. Talking about Emma is my second favorite thing having to do with Emma. First is being with Emma. In absolutely any way. My phone went off with Emma telling me she was here. I put my hand on Mackie’s arm. "Stay here. Right here."

#Sebastian Stan #Sebastian Stan Fanfiction #fanfiction #sebastian stan X ofc #marvel actor fanfiction

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onenettvchannel · 3 years

Photo

#OnlyOnOneNETnews: The Upcoming 9th Season of RWBY downfalls thru a New Location as Announced between the RTX-VAF & SDCC 2021

IMPORTANT SPOILER WARNING: The following news article may contains an extremely sensitive spoilers. Readers frankly discretion is STRONGLY ADVISED! Also, Reporting our news article without the consent is punishable by law. We are honestly NOT responsible in our small news organization experience for any of it’s wrong doing. Read our disclaimer first, at the end of this article. Thank you.

AUSTIN, TEXAS -- A virtual online panel in both separate places between the Austin & San Diego. Rooster Teeth Expo-Virtual Animation Festival (RTX-VAF) and San Diego Comic Convention (SDCC) 2021 announces for the upcoming 9th Season of RWBY (much actually as Volumes).

For those you don’t know about the show of RWBY, a computer-animated web series was made by the Rooster Teeth Animation (RTA) and a show creator was late named by Monty Oum. He died from the Anaphylaxis of Comatose before Season 3 by the end of October 2015. The real acronym of RWBY stands for the names of Ruby Rose, Weiss Schnee, Blake Belladonna & Yang Xiao Long. It's a fictional sci-fi world of Remnant where the Huntsmen & Huntresses to be trained and become warriors to protect the world from monsters called Grimm.

In reality for it’s both places, minus the physical convention panel in America... Austin City at a Travis County in Texas goes for a 2nd Stage (known for as General Community Quarantine or GCQ). While in San Diego City at a same county name of California however (as according to our Research Team of OneNETnews and a local mainstream media like KDFW-TV's FOX 4: Dallas-Fort Worth for example), there is a possibility of Stage 4 (known also for the Enhanced Community Quarantine or ECQ). These stage numbers are subjected to be translated from the Austin Government to a Philippine Quarantine Classification status of Corona Virus Disease-19 (CoViD19).

RWBY was started in mid-July 2013 from a web streaming service of Rooster Teeth. Crunchyroll, VRV and Amazon Prime Video secures for a streaming rights in a legal way possible within the coming years as simulcasted for the entire animated show until today in the present.

RTX-VAF was virtually held last July 8th-17th, 2021 and the SDCC follows individually a few weeks later by July 23rd-25th, 2021. The RWBY Panel commences at the RTX-VAF 2021 at 1pm EDT last Friday afternoon by July 9th & SDCC 2021 ends with a developing conclusion by July 25th, 2021 at 1am EDT. Casts and Crews from this show reveals for the announcements of Season 9 starts with the entire RWBY voice actresses team, along with a Lead Writer & Director named Kerry Shawcross and the 2 show writers were named by Eddy Rivas & Miles Luna.

In a latest pre-recorded panel of RWBY at the RTX-VAF & SDCC 2021, the official work-in-progress (WiP) was released first globally from this said panel, and the same thing follows a few weeks later at the SDCC. OneNETnews had first obtained in an exclusive tidbits of Season 9 as Laura Yates (Supervising Producer of RWBY and RTA) showed a sneak peek with us to the public.

Season 9 is now currently in production as Yates told exclusively to OneNETnews through our independent news media in Dumaguete as virtually from a group of video conferencing of RTX-VAF 2021, "We’re not quite ready to share Season 9’s release date yet, as the productions team being going well thou. We actually have a longer production run in Season 9 which is typically do, as upon allowing some of the animation departments when proceeding to move on to it’s next project such as fully animated, script writings, voice recording sessions, etc., which is very super exciting. We got a lot of big stuff coming up and a lot more updates to share soon". Several productions and preparations are meant to be fully completed for Season 9 by later this September 2021 onwards as Yates added.

-----

As from a start of a sneak peek of Season 9, the entire Pocket Dimension known for as the Evacuation Central Location (ECL) is much more urgently ongoing. Ruby Rose is the ONLY perspective point-of-view, among the rest of her team of Yang, Penny, Weiss and Blake; while Cinder Fall continues for a serious opponent against the remaining team members of RWBY.

Most of it's selected pathways are under attack, the muted suspect against the victim named Neopolitan Torchwick (probably not an actual last name in regular). She was the legal age above her 20s at this said moment.

Yang immediately pushes to safety for Ruby but, Neopolitan was slained to her like a half-moon. Almost everyone else (except the evacuees themselves), the rest of the RWBY team were defeated for now (even with her weapon of Crescent Rose destroys or felled off alone).

Cinder lets herself go with Neopolitan and/or Ruby during the 8th Season FINALE, both of them are in downfall the void at the end of the episode (as well sadly with Blake and others) upon passing out for a while.

Ruby woked up temporarily with an a space travel from this said void. She checked out possibly for what is going on, as even with her left hand if it's related to fireflies or something else.

Until one muted suspect sucker-punches her victim's face in the center as Neopolitan did for a domestic battery.

Ruby tries to stop her muted suspect with a severe craziness of anger, Neopolitan shapeshifts herself within a few seconds in disguise. She was backed off with her both hands and punches again, leaving a muted suspect strangles for an attempted throat suffocation to her victim's point-of-view. Ruby grabs her disguised muted suspect's arm, she was quickly felled back for a gravity distance with it's separation.

Neither both of them were landed from this scene through a mysterious island, as she plunged down the hydrosphere waters and washed ashore to sleep for this early morning (Solitas local time).

Just a few hours later, Ruby woken up the 2nd time and notices a single voice to help with. Most of a gigantic size of sea shells and a medium-sized sea starfish are subjected to investigate and explore this mysterious island. It's a good sunny weather today to start off the entire journey of Season 9, immediately after it's said post-credits from a previous season. The main feature sits from this place of a gigantic tree above.

The troubles of a fictional world like Solitas isn't over. Upon jumping it's entire conclusion, Ruby is about to be checked out on foot and went herself with a jungle trees first to see what it goes.

-----

At the end of a Sneak Peek clip, a similar conclusion with a different web series on YouTube called "Meta Runner" in Episode 1 as possibly connected to RWBY. A single commented basher says, it feels like an animated production company as seeking with Rooster Teeth will be cheated out from the another animation company in plagiarism at a later seasons but, the reference points of RTA looks okay with a permission as long as the homework-like copy is prohibited to do so.

youtube

As for Neopolitan Torchwick (the muted suspect herself), she will be automatically committed and charged with a Thrice Violation of Article 250 or the Revised Penal Code of it's Frustrated Homicide for the victim of Yang, Republic Act #9262: Section 3b or Anti-Violence Against Women and Their Children Act of 2004 & Republic Act #9745 or the Anti-Torture Act of 2009 as also for the individual victim of Ruby.

All of these 3 charges books into her jail sentence of 40 total years in prison for a heaviest result of Reclusion Perpetua, as included with a simple fine and punishment between almost U$D2,000 and a mandatory psychological private counseling (as to be scheduled by every other weekends at the Interrogation Room by August 7th, 2021 until further notice for an eligible later parole). She is now confiscating all of her deadly weapons, as soon as a different location arrives but not on this mysterious island this time (in our possible theory).

-----

The excitement at sunrise in Season 9 is almost here, even with a post-Pandemic of CoViD19 in America. We carefully mentioned to OneNETnews from these 2 separate conventions of RWBY panel for what does the Season 9 release date happens but, it isn't ready at the moment as according to Yates. Rooster Teeth Animation is working hard to produce at these tougher times until a final version were soon to be made available to the Rooster Teeth First members.

Season 9 of RWBY commences possibly later this year in 2021 onwards.

#TravelResponsibly

-----

EDITOR's NOTE: As expected from your immediate feedback last Thursday afternoon (July 29th, 2021), we updatedly corrected the final grammar issues from this said news report. We frankly apologize for that, mga Ka-Bandera.

SCREENGRAB COURTESY: RTX-Virtual Animation Festival & Rooster Teeth Animation

SOURCE: *https://www.austintexas.gov/page/covid-19-risk-based-guidelines [Referenced Stage Numbers in Quarantine Classifications from the Austin Government] *https://www.austinchronicle.com/daily/screens/2021-05-26/rtx-at-home-announces-animation-festival/ + https://www.awn.com/news/rtx-home-animation-festival-announces-line [Dual Reference Schedule of RWBY Panel] *https://archive.is/FS4vD [RTX at HOME - Reference Schedule] *https://roosterteeth.com/watch/rtx-2021-rwby-panel [RWBY V9 SNEAK PEEK - Skip to 31m35s for an Actual Clip] *https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HR7bfwwd3l0 [Comic Con at Home 2021 - RWBY Panel] *https://rwby.fandom.com/wiki/The_Final_Word and *https://rwby.fandom.com/wiki/Unnamed_Shore

EXTREMELY HONEST DISCLAIMER: The views and opinions expressed from this Exclusive News Article are not necessarily those from the Rooster Teeth Animation. This medium-rare suspect like Neopolitan Torchwick does not be imitated in any matter. Furthermore, the assumptions of this Exclusive News Article will NOT state, intervene or reflect those of our Radyo Patrol reporters. The show, the station, the management, interwebs and the network. Thanks for reading! Stay safe and may the Celestia blesses you. Later!

-- OneNETnews Team

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percywinchester27 · 4 years

Text

A lot like ‘Us’ (Part-9)

Word count: 4.2K

Pairing: Sam X Reader AU

Warnings: fluff, implied smut, teehee ;)

Series Summary: Y/N Y/L/N is eager and honestly, still in awe that she managed to get herself an acceptance from Stanford Law School. On the face of it, her life seems as put together, mysterious and independent as one might hope for. On the insides, she carries the burden of past that haunts her till date. Seemingly, she’d left it all behind; that is until she sets foot in the class of the Law School’s youngest, most promising professor.

A/N: There is no angst in this part whatsoever. Fun break, right? ;)

The story employs two different timelines. The present timeline for the story takes place in 2014. Please let me know what you guys think :)

Beta: @deanssweetheart23 the best! <3

A lot like ‘Us’ masterlist

Kevin kept stealing glances at you. It started out guilelessly, but then he got suspicious real quick.

“Something is up with you!” He finally proclaimed.

You looked up innocently from the bowl you were mixing the batter in. “What?”

“Oh, don’t give me that look. I know something is different today,” Kevin insisted. “Jack, back me up here!”

Jack looked up from his book, sweet and oblivious. “What?”

It only furthered Kevin’s annoyance. “Look at her!” He pointed a finger accusingly at you. “She’s humming!”

“She hums sometimes,” Meg shrugged from her place near the flowerpots in the balcony, where she sat cleaning her telescope.

You winked at her and she blew back a kiss.

“Did you see that!” Kevin shouted. “And now she’s winking!”

“Kev, you need to take it down a notch,” you grinned at him.

“Say what you want, Y/N, I know you’re keeping something from us,” he announced.

“It’s just that I have an evening to myself for the first time in a while. It’s good to know that I can be in bed by eleven.”

“That’s a good enough reason to hum if you ask me,” Jack said absently. “God knows we’ve all wrecked our sleep schedules beyond repair now.”

“Y/N, Cas and Pam at least have night jobs,” Meg said. “We have zero excuses.”

Kevin gave up on trying to wriggle out the reason for your humming out of you and settled for stealing the cookie batter.

“Let’s not bake this. Let’s just eat this out of the bowl.”

You smacked his hand away, taking the bowl with you to the kitchen counter.

The door to the apartment opened and Cas came in. He looked ready to drop.

There was an outburst of excitement at his entry and he gave everyone a tired but happy smile.

“I thought I’d find you guys here,” he said, dropping on your sofa.

“Long day?” You asked sympathetically.

He sighed. “It’s always a long day when you’re posted in the pediatric ward. I don’t look forward to it.”

“But you’re so good with children!” Meg said.

You zeroed in on her. “How do you know that?”

“I-I ran into him at the hospital,” she said, suddenly busy with her lens. “It was nothing.”

Didn’t look ‘nothing’ to you, but you didn’t press her on it. Solidarity was the key to a healthy roommate relationship. Afterall, she had helped you out with Kevin earlier and hadn’t spoken a word about the coat.

You needn’t have worried, because Kevin clearly wasn’t over you.

“Y/N’s keeping something from us,” he complained to Cas promptly. “She’s humming, and smiling and baking those cookies!”

“She does all those things normally,” Cas said. You gave him an exaggerated bow, and Kevin’s jaw dropped.

“Now she’s- she’s doing that!” he spluttered.

You threw the kitchen rag at him. “Why are you scrutinising me with a magnifying glass, when we all should be clearly interested in Jack’s date! Why is nobody asking him the questions?”

“It was good,” Jack said, finally setting the book down. “Claire’s awesome! Hey, Y/N, guess what I found out? Her mom’s a Professor at the law school!”

“Really?”

“Claire Mills, if it helps,” he added.

Professor Mills. You would have never guessed she had a daughter that old. She didn’t look it. You were instantly reminded of her barging into Sam’s office. What would have happened, if she hadn’t?

“You know what? Fine! Don’t tell me,” Kevin crossed his arms over his chest.

You walked over to him, and ruffled his hair. “It’s really nothing. If it was anything big, I’d tell you.”

It was true. A professor had smiled at you for a bit. That was all there was to it.

“Fine,” he gave in, sneaking away the bowl of cookie batter. “Keep smiling though, you light up the room.”

*************************

9th September 2008

‘You’ll be okay by yourself?” Aunt El asked you, worry creasing her forehead.

“Mom!” Jo groaned. “She’s not by herself! She’s with me.”

Ellen looked at her like that was hardly a good thing and you snickered.

“I worry that instead of her influencing you in a good way, you’re going to spoil her,” she admonished Jo good naturedly. “Please don’t get drunk and annoy the neighbours.”

“We’re totally getting drunk and annoying the neighbours,” Jo whispered conspiratorially behind her mother’s back.

Ellen was heading to Wisconsin for a bar owners convention. At least, that’s what she had told you. Jo believed it was a pretense for her to get drunk with her own friends.

“I’ll help out Jo at the diner,” you told your aunt, getting up to walk her to the door.

Aunt El placed a hand on your shoulder. “You know you don’t have to, Y/N. Jo has plenty of help there.”

“I want to,” you offered, and she smiled.

“Alright girls,” Aunt El said. “Don’t have too much fun.” She hugged both of you and chasetly kissed your forehead. It was such a pure gesture of affection, it brought back memories of your Gran and the few faded ones of your mom.

“Pick your poison, my sweet child,” Jo grinned, pulling out a bottle of Vodka mere minutes after Ellen’s car had left the driveway. She had a hoard of bottles with her under the table. “We also have Whiskey, rum and this sweet mother of everything holy - Tequila.”

You stared at the assortment of liquor in horror. “Jo, I’ve only ever had beer, and two pints were more than enough to me as high as the holy heaven. This is a stupid idea.”

“In this house, we live for stupid,” Jo said, pouring some of the colourless liquid in a shot glass. “At least when my mother isn’t home.”

You looked at her dubiously.

“C’mon, Y/N, this will be fun!”

Her grin was so infectious that you gave in.

“Pour away, bar wench,” you said, delicately putting your hand against your forehead like a gothic European woman. Your cousin howled with laughter and slid the glass towards you. “Let’s start with Vodka, shall we?”

The next day you would know that you shouldn’t have started with Vodka. Hell, you shouldn’t have started with anything! It felt like waking up in another reality when you opened your eyes the next morning. In fact, even doing that had been a struggle. The sun was shining too brightly through the tiny slit in the curtains, almost assaulting you in the eyes and your head felt like it had grown a few pounds over the night.

You groaned, wanting to roll over and go back to sleep, but a wave of nausea hit you and you shambled out of the bed, making it just in time to the bathroom to hurl your gut into the toilet. It was nasty and felt neverending. After the puking fit passed, you just curled on your side on the wet bathroom floor, wondering why the hell people put themselves through this? Sure, it had been a fun night, and after the second glass of vodka, you didn’t remember much anyway. Just really vague memories. There was some dancing on the staircase involved, jumping on the bed, and really loud music. Your throat was already sore from all the yelling and laughing, the throwing up had only made it worse.

You tried to recollect why you were in your bra and shorts. Oh, strip poker. You wanted to bang your head against the bathroom tiles, but even moving made the nausea worse. Only the thought of Jo finally made you get up and go looking for her in the house, which was a total mess. There were clothes everywhere. It was like the wardrobes had all burst open spilling clothes all over the house.

And had there been crying? You remembered in flashes that you were sobbing ceaselessly in Jo’s arms at one point.

Jo was nowhere to be seen. You did the only logical thing and called her phone.

“Morning, sunshine!” Jo answered on the third ring, voice absolutely nice and chirpy.

“How?” You croaked.

Jo’s laughter echoed from the other side. “I’m just good at handling it. I was going to wake you before I left for the diner, but you were out for good. Figured you’d call when you woke up. Man, drunk Y/N is my new favourite person in the world. She’s a freaking rockstar! We are so doing this every weekend.”

Well, you wanted to dropkick drunk Y/N from the roof of the house. She got to have all the fun and you were the one to suffer especially when you didn’t even remember anything. From your seat next to the phone you gawked at the clock. It was just past noon.

You groaned.

“There, there,” Jo said sympathetically. “There’s a bottle of Advil on my nightstand. Take two and keep drinking water. You should be better in a few hours, okay?”

“Mhmm…”

“Do you want me to come over?” She asked, sounding worried now.

“I'll be fine,” you answered, quickly.

“Just keep sipping on some water and don’t skip the meal. Eat some bread, I’ve heard that helps, too.”

“Yeah, okay.”

“Hey, Y/N,” Jo asked. Her voice hitched, as if she was nervous. “I’m going out with Dean after work. Is it okay with you if he stayed over?”

“Of course!” you said immediately. “It’s no problem at all.”

“Thanks, Y/N. I owe you one.”

After hanging up the phone, you studiously did what Jo had said. Took the pills, filled a water bottle and then snuggled up on the couch, playing some mindless sitcom on the TV.

You didn’t pay any attention to it. Instead, you thought about Dean. When you had first met Dean, you were a little unsure about what to make of him. He wasn’t exactly hostile towards you, but it wasn’t hard to spot the wariness, as if he didn't trust you being around Sam, or rather didn’t want to trust. After the funeral that had completely changed. He had been more than welcoming and understanding. In fact, he had taken the time out to show you around the town in his car. According to Jo it was super rare of him and that he must really like you. His words from the graveyard came back to you. “You have to take care of yourself first, before you can take care of anyone else.” It had been just for your ears, and you knew exactly who he had been hinting towards.

You wondered idly, if you’d had a big brother, would he have been just as protective of you as Dean was of Sam? But Dean wasn’t just Sam’s brother, he was more than that, he was also a parent. Must have been awful to be the responsible one since such a small age and then doing such a great job. Look at how Sam had turned out to be.

You sighed, readjusting yourself. You so wanted to call Sam, but didn’t want to disturb him when he was busy studying for the Bar. You had taken to dropping by their place in the mornings with food. It made you feel like one of those evil scientists, because Dean’s face would light up the moment he saw you, expecting the pie. It was all really cute. Sam’s eyes, however, were only reserved for you. There was so much longing in them that it made your legs weak. The moment he saw you, though, the longing would be replaced by purest of joys. You would run to him and he’d catch up in his arms, kissing you soundly each time. That feeling, of being so wanted, was the best thing in your life right now.

It was always the little things. How he never touched you without being completely sure that it was what you wanted. The first night you had stayed over, you had woken up in the middle of the night to find him sleeping on the carpet below you. The sight would have melted the hardest of hearts.

You didn’t know what most couples did, had nothing to compare this with, but Sam was definitely different. He read to you. He would open his textbooks, and read out loud cases and laws and proceedings. You didn’t understand much, but you loved to see him so immersed in it, his deep voice had become an anchor, steadying your life around it.

Once, after much persuasion, he had obliged you by playing a piece of Chopin on the Grand Piano. He said he was rusty, since he had been out of practice for so long, only having started playing again recently. You didn’t understand classical music. Whatever he played, it was all lovely.

On Sundays you would go to the park with picnic baskets, and you would rant about the ducks endlessly. Sometimes Dean and Jo would join you, but mostly it was just the two of you, stealing quiet moments. The soft touch of his rough hands drove you mad sometimes, but he never did anything more than kiss you. At first you wondered if he didn’t want anything more, despite Gran’s ‘boys only want one thing’ speech, and it left you feeling so frustrated. You would have believed it too, that he wasn’t interested in you like that, if you hadn’t seen his pupils dilate after he kissed you. His hands would start shaking a little and he would gulp before pulling away. He felt something, even if he didn’t want to show exactly what it was.

The clock chimed and you opened your eyes. Had you really fallen asleep again, despite having woken up at noon? The TV was still playing a rerun of Days of our lives. You sat up feeling steadier. In fact, your stomach was settled, too. It was like the hangover of morning had never happened. Despite it being only 6, it was dark outside. You walked to the window to see that the sky was overcast.

Deciding to listen to Jo’s sage advice, you made yourself grilled cheese and ate it as quickly as you could before getting to the mess that the house was in. Dean would be flabbergasted if he saw the condition of the place. You grabbed all the clothes and folded them neatly into two piles- yours and Jo’s. Seriously? Had there been a drunk fashion show? Then rounded up the empty bottles and put them in the trash can. It took you over an hour to clean the rest of the house.

At least Jo had put the mail inside on the table before leaving. You decided to put it in the drawer for when Aunt El returned from her weekend. As you were sliding it in, you noticed that one of them was addressed to you and on the letterhead of-

You hurriedly tore open the envelope and pulled out the contents. Unfolding the first paper, you went through the content furiously for the words that you were looking for. As you read them, the paper slipped out of your hand, fell onto the table. You were running before you knew it, running out of the house and into the street. It had started raining outside and your feet slipped on the wet pavers of the sidewalks. Several times you slipped and fell, but you didn’t let that stop you. Each time you picked yourself up, running till you were drenched and out of breath, till you had reached his house.

You banged on the door, not stopping until it opened. Sam stood there, his annoyance swiftly melting into first surprise, then concern.

“Y/N!” He ushered you inside, quickly closing the door behind you.

“Sam... S-Sam,” You tried to say and he immediately dragged you inside.

“Jesus Christ, you’re shivering and soaked to the bone,” he fretted, seating you on the sofa and throwing a rug over you. “What were you thinking? You know you can’t deal with the cold!”

“Sam,” you said, grabbing his hand to stop him from hovering over you. “I- I got in!”

He came to a halt. “What?”

“I got into North Carolina Central,” you finally managed through chattering teeth. “I got in!”

His grip on your arms loosened just for a second and then he was pulling you to him, kissing you with an emotion that probably didn’t have a name.

“I’m so proud of you,” he said, pulling back, a grin of true happiness breaking across his face. “You did it, Y/N! You did it! This is incredible.”

You could see that he meant it. Each word. And his eyes were saying more than that, they were brimming with gratification. Instead of saying anything, you leaned forward and kissed him some more, deeply, pouring all your feelings into it, till a violent shiver ripped through you.

“Shit!” He swore. “You’ve got to get out of these. You can use my bathroom to wash. I'll get you some of my clothes. Not that they’d fit.” He scratched the back of his hair, looking nervous.

Anything to get out of these clothes. Now that you were so cold, you realised just how reckless it had been to get wet in the rain.

“Come on.” Sam slowly led you upstairs to his room. “I’ll just turn the hot water on for you.”

You looked around Sam’s room as he disappeared in the bathroom. All the times that you had been to the house, he had never invited you up here. Not once. Looking around, you noticed how clean and organised the room was. There weren’t many personal touches, given how little time he had spent here in the past few years, but there was a picture on his table, of him and Dean, laughing at something.

“In you go,” Sam said, coming out. “There’s a towel for you, and er... I’ll leave the clothes on the bed.”

“Thanks,” you mumbled shyly and walked into the bathroom, clutching at your wet clothes. Locking the door, you stared at the girl in the mirror. She looked bright eyed and… happy. Like the whole world was at her feet.

The hot shower did calm your nerves, soothing your skin and getting the mud out of your hair. It felt impolite to leave your clothes in the cloth basket at the foot of the sink, but what other choice did you have? Wrapping the towel around your body, you peeked out to make sure you were all by yourself, before stepping out. Sam had laid out a tshirt, a pair of boxers, sweat pants and even a sweater. You felt your face heated up at the sight of them. It felt so intimate to pull on the boxers. You pulled the T-shirt over your head next. It almost reached your lower thigh. Boldly, you decided to ditch the sweatpants, not feeling the need for them after a warm shower.

In the living room, Sam was tending to the fire, his back turned towards you. Feeling brave, you climbed down the staircase. Sam turned at the sound of your feet and his eyes widened, an audible gasp leaving his lips. The reaction was both flattering and encouraging as you walked towards him slowly and kneeled down in front of him. He gulped and breathed out, leaning back just a bit. You moved forward, caressing the side of his face. He sighed as if your touch pained him.

“Is this not okay?” You breathed uncertainty. “Do you not want this?”

Maybe the hurt was clear on your face, because Sam drew your hand away from his face and placed it over his heart. Through the thin layer of his t-shirt, you could feel it pounding hard.

“Not want this?” He laughed breathily. “It feels like I’ve wanted nothing but you since I first saw you.”

You didn’t understand. “Then why don’t you ever-” you trailed off.

He took your face in his hands, looking at you like you were the most precious thing in the world. “Y/N/N,” he whispered and the hair on the back of your head stood straight at the intensity in his voice. He had never called you that before. “Don’t you see? You’re too good. I-I don’t think I’m saying it right… part of me feels that I don’t deserve this… I don’t deserve you.”

“Sam! What’re you talking about?”

He looked away, not meeting your eyes. It was something you couldn’t bear.

“Do you know what my first thought was, when I saw the acceptance?” You asked gently, placing your other hand which wasn’t resting over his heart, on his face, making him look at you. The very light stubble there prickled the skin of your palm. “That I had to tell you. It was enough to make me run in the rain, because I knew no one would be as happy for me as you would be!”

“I was happy because you deserve this and the world.” His eyes were a liquid galaxy. They held the universe’s power over you.

He still wasn’t getting it. “Sam,” you said, voice low. “I love you.”

His grip on your face slacked and his hands slid down to your shoulders, eyes roving all over your face, like he was trying to memorise every line, every curve of it.

“Y/N.”

Your name falling from his lips did strange things to your body. Suddenly you were yanked forward and with none of the softness you had come to expect from Sam, but with a desperation that left you reeling. His fingers twisted in your hair and he was kissing you hungrily, like there was no tomorrow, like the world would cease to exist if stopped now. For you it would, if he stopped. You grabbed onto his shoulders, feeling the tense roll of his muscles as his lips traveled down the column of your neck, leaving wet kisses in their wake.

And you? Your body was on fire. It didn’t hurt, just tingled so pleasantly that you never wanted it to stop. An incoherent moan left your mouth as you held on to Sam like dear life.

“Are you sure about this?” he asked, voice hoarse.

You nodded, unable to form proper words, and then fumbled with the hem of his t-shirt. God, don’t stop now. Don’t stop ever.

Sam yanked his shirt off of over his head in one swift move and you were left to marvel at that carved out muscles. You ran your hands lightly over his chest, abs and stomach till the skin disappeared beneath the waistband his pants.

His hands disappeared under your shirt, feeling the skin of your back and shoulders. You shivered and he pulled his hands back.

“Do you want to go upstairs?” He was nervous, you realised. You dipped down to his chest.

“Yes.”

Before he could do anything else, you stuttered, “Sam?”

His eyes were wide, breath coming pants. “Yeah?”

“I-I’ve never done this before… I want to... but I don’t know how…” your voice trailed off and you looked down at his hands where they held yours.

Sam placed one finger under your chin and titled it up so he could look into your eyes, “We’ll take it slow… only if you want to. And if you don’t-”

You put your finger to his lips. “I want to, really.” You might spontaneously combust if it didn’t happen now.

That was all Sam needed to hear. He scooped you up in his arms, and carried you to the very bedroom you had just left. There was no fire here, but the room was dim and his bed was somehow already warm. He didn’t waste a second before his arms were circling your waist. You caught hold of the hem of your t-shirt and pulled it over your head. Sam gasped, his eyes doing that thing again which made you go all weak in the knees, made your bones soft.

“Can I?” His voice was oh so soft, and when you nodded, he pulled you back to him, chest against chest and skin against skin. You’d be damned if it wasn’t the most wonderful feeling in the world.

“God, I love you,” he breathed into your hair. “I’ve wanted to say it for so long. I can’t believe that you feel the same way.” He kissed your forehead. “And you’re so beautiful. Each time I look at you, you take my breath away. What are you doing to me?”

This was what touched you the most about being with him. He treated you like the most precious blessing in the world, like you were some special favour granted to him by destiny when you were just… you. The only reason you could tell him that you loved him so freely was because you knew he felt the same way. How could you not know, when he looked at you like you were his wish come true? His every gesture, every word just went to further prove it.

But he did try to prove it for every moment of the night, with his touches, kisses and reverences. He tried to prove it over and over. Later, exhausted, after he had fallen asleep, you lay with your head over his arm, thinking that he needn’t have tried at all. You would forever remember that he loves you. It was the one thing you would never question.

*************************

A/N 2: *Wiggles eyebrows* Finally some action eh? ;) Let me know what you think about it. The next chapter is mostly in present times and pretty crucial for the progress of the story, if I do say so myself ;)

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