#15 years of stolen glances and slow burn | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

extasiswings · 3 years

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15 + buddie

15. "Shouldn't you be with her?" On ao3 here.

When Eddie is eleven, his class gets a new student. Her name is Maria Esparza and her family is from Arizona. She has dark curls that look like they would be soft to touch and a smattering of freckles across her nose and she’s so smart—always reading and forever raising her hand in class, always with the right answers—but she never acts stuck up about it.

He thinks she’s beautiful and when he gets home from the first day of school he promptly announces that he’s in love. He doesn’t understand why his mother laughs or why Sophia rolls her eyes and calls him an idiot when he’s perfectly serious.

He’s in love, he insists, and goes on believing it for three whole weeks until he gets up the courage to give Maria a flower at recess and she looks at him like he has two heads. The rejection smarts for a couple of days, but then he’s fine. So, he figures...maybe it wasn’t love after all.

Eddie is fifteen when he finds his eyes slipping too frequently to Diego Reed in autoshop, lingering on the other boy’s long, dexterous fingers, his forearms, the sharp edge of his jaw. Eddie can’t explain it, he just knows those stolen glances make him squirm, make him flush, make him feel too warm and like his very skin is too tight.

Diego steals Eddie’s first kiss two weeks before winter break, pushes him up against the back wall of the shop where they’re hidden by a truck and licks into his mouth with a confidence that Eddie can’t imagine ever having when he himself can’t even figure out what to do with his hands. But it makes his knees weak and leaves him breathless and panting when Diego pulls away with a smirk and tells him not to say anything.

It’s not love—for one thing, Eddie knows he’s not supposed to love boys, and for another, the only time he suggests it might be anything at all, Diego gives him the same look Maria had once upon a time and walks away—but it’s nothing he’s ever felt before. The next year, Angelica Phelan asks him to go to the winter formal and he gets to second base in the science lab when they slip away from the chaperones. It’s different from kissing Diego. But it’s just as good, he enjoys it just as much, and part of him is…relieved.

He doesn’t think about that too much.

Eddie is eighteen when he’s not watching where he’s going and runs directly into his future on the sidewalk. Thankfully, the only casualty is Shannon’s coffee, and after she snaps at him for not paying attention and he offers to replace her drink—well. They close down the coffee shop, emerging, startled, from conversation only when interrupted by a mildly disgruntled employee trying to lock up. Eddie walks home in a daze, Shannon’s phone number burning a hole in his pocket, and he’s simultaneously elated and terrified because it’s never been so easy being with someone, he’s never felt so seen so quickly. He’s old enough to realize that love at first sight is bullshit, but he thinks he could fall very fast.

He’s right.

They take things slow because Eddie wants to do things right, doesn’t want to risk confusing love with the heady cocktail of teenage hormones and sex. So he knows by the time he does fall into bed with her, eight months in, that he’s in love. Really in love, thinking about the future in love, factoring her into the mix when he thinks about what the hell he’s going to do with his life in love.

And then Shannon gets pregnant. And it’s too soon, he loves her but it’s too soon, and he’s terrified all over again—

He loves her though. He loves her. And she’s pregnant so—they get married. He wants to do the right thing.

At their wedding the readings are selections from Song of Songs and Corinthians.

Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud....Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things...

With all due respect to St. Paul, Eddie doesn’t think he knew what the hell he was talking about. Or at least, maybe he did, but he was being pretty damn aspirational and left out a few things.

Because after the wedding…after the wedding, Eddie learns a lot more about love.

Love is beautiful, yes. But love is also…trying to do the right thing and fucking up. Love is fighting and knowing exactly what to say to cut the deepest and not always holding back. Love is forgiving, but after a point finding it difficult to forget.

Or maybe that’s not love, maybe that’s just marriage. Maybe it’s a little of both. Because love endures—sure. Love endured with Shannon even when trust was nonexistent, when their marriage was fractured, shattered pieces strewn across the floor ready to draw blood if either of them tried to pick them up.

Love isn’t enough. That’s what Eddie knows. Or maybe it is, maybe love would have been enough to fix what was broken if it hadn’t been his. Shannon’s gone, so they’ll never be able to have that conversation. He’ll never know the answer.

Love endures. Eddie kind of wishes it didn’t. It would make a lot of things a lot easier.

But…it’s fine. He’s fine. Shannon dies and he locks that piece of himself away and has no plans to ever fall in love again.

Then again, God has a funny sense of humor and never seems to resist an opportunity to be an asshole, so of course…he does. Slowly. Quietly. The threads slipping through the cracks in his walls so carefully that he doesn’t even notice until they’re twined around his heart, unspooling through his blood, through his veins with every pulse. Eddie doesn’t notice.

And then he gets shot and it’s like being hit by lightning, an electric shock of clarity down his spine, rooting him in place as he meets Buck’s eyes.

Oh.

Oh, fuck.

***

Eddie despises recovery.

He’s never been good at being still, at being useless, at being left alone with nothing but his own head. And maybe he’s not entirely alone—he has Christopher, after all, and Christopher is understandably a little clingy now that he’s home from the hospital—but Christopher sleeps and has play dates and spends time in his room and just in general isn’t in Eddie’s space every second of every day.

And then there’s Buck. Buck who offered to keep staying on the couch to take care of everything they needed when Eddie came home from the hospital. Buck who Eddie sent home to his own bed with promises to call if he needed help because having Buck so close after Eddie’s little realization was stirring him up, making everything a million times more difficult in his head. Buck’s still over frequently, but it’s less dangerous if he’s not staying overnight, if Eddie can’t wake up and be tempted to walk out to the living room and pull Buck into his bed. Not for anything sexual—he’s on too many medications and too immobilized for that even if it was remotely a good idea—but to be held. To feel wanted. To feel safe.

He knows Buck probably wouldn’t say no, wouldn’t think anything of it except that maybe he’s a little raw and fragile, which he is. Which is exactly why he can’t ask. So. Removing the temptation it is.

But. Being left alone with his own head is a terrible idea. He’s in pain because he lowered the doses of his pain meds so he would stop worrying about developing any dependency. He can’t sleep without waking up with screams trapped behind his teeth and the smell of blood and gunpowder in his nose. And he can’t stop thinking about Buck. About being in love with Buck. About wanting Buck. About whether he could ever have him or whether he’ll ever be okay enough to be in a relationship. About whether Buck could ever want him back or if he’ll ever feel safe enough to risk their friendship by even asking.

He broke up with Ana the second he was able to figure out how to do it without feeling like a complete dick. But he hasn’t told Buck that. He doesn’t know why.

And then there’s—

The key turns in the lock and Eddie starts, looking up from his place on the couch. Christopher is with his abuela for the night, and he didn’t expect—

“Hey,” Buck calls, stepping through the door. “I brought dinner.”

Eddie stares.

“What are you doing here?” He asks, before he can stop himself. “Shouldn’t you be with Taylor?”

—Taylor. Buck and Taylor. Which, Buck waited weeks to tell him about, hedging about why he wanted to know if it was okay to invite her to Eddie’s welcome home party. Which, Buck only did admit to when Eddie called one night at 2AM and Taylor answered Buck’s phone.

Eddie clears his throat, the question sounding a little too sharp and accusatory to his ears.

“I just meant,” he adds, softening, “I thought you said you had a date tonight.”

An odd look passes over Buck’s face.

“Isabel called me,” he replies. “She said you were by yourself, asked if I would check on you. We rescheduled, it’s fine.”

Eddie nods once and pulls the couch throw tighter around his shoulders with his good arm. A petty, possessive piece of him is pleased. That Buck’s there. That Buck would drop everything for him.

He’s always been wary of Taylor. Even way back when they first met and she was prowling around the station filming everyone and flirting with Buck. But now? Now he’s jealous, his stomach twisting at the very reminder that she has Buck the way Eddie wants him.

But at the same time…he hates that. Hates the jealousy, hates feeling possessive. Because what claim does he have over Buck’s affections? None. Especially not when he can’t even admit to loving him outside his head.

He hates it because he knows that more than anything, Buck deserves to be happy. And maybe Eddie could make him happy, but—

Even if Buck felt the same—and Eddie isn’t convinced of that, doesn’t have the arrogance to assume—what right does he have to say please, to say wait, to ask Buck to put his life on hold indefinitely while Eddie sorts through the tangled mess in his head in the hope that one day he’ll finally be ready? He can’t be that selfish. Especially not with Buck.

Buck deserves to be happy. Even if that’s with Taylor Kelly. Even if it means Eddie loses him.

He doesn’t get to be jealous.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Eddie replies quietly. “I’m fine.”

Buck sets the bag in his arms down on the coffee table.

“You don’t look fine,” he points out. “Actually, you look like shit. Isabel was right to call me.”

“I’m fine,” Eddie repeats. His heart pangs at the concern in Buck’s eyes. “Really, it’s okay—you should—you should—”

Go. Call Taylor back. Enjoy your date.

He wants to do the right thing. He really does. But the rest of the words refuse to leave his throat.

Buck shakes his head anyway. “I’m not going anywhere,” he insists. “So tell me what’s going on. How can I help?”

Eddie bites his lip. Drags his hand over his jaw before making a face. The messy, overgrown scruff is itchy and difficult to manage on his own, and the foreignness of it doesn’t help him feel grounded in his own body when he wakes up gasping in the middle of the night.

“It’s stupid,” he says.

“I’m sure it’s not,” Buck replies. “And I’m here, so you might as well just talk.”

I’m in love with you, Eddie thinks. And I can’t sleep. And I can’t shave. And everything hurts. And I just want to stop being afraid—

He swallows. He can’t say all of that. He can’t blow everything up that way.

So, he picks the easiest one.

“I can’t shave with my left hand and it’s driving me insane.”

Buck blinks. Then he laughs as the worry in his brow smooths out.

“That’s it?” He asks. “Well, that’s easy. I can do that. Come on.”

And that’s how Eddie winds up sitting on the bathroom counter with shaving cream all over his face while Buck wets a razor and steps between his legs.

His breath catches.

“You good?” Buck asks, his voice low. His eyes are soft and focused, and Eddie almost regrets everything because the proximity—god, the proximity. He’s been so cold since the shooting and Buck is so warm, heat spreading through Eddie’s body from every discrete point of contact. Buck tips his chin back and Eddie lets his eyes slip closed.

“Yeah,” he breathes. “I’m good.”

The razor drags along his skin. Neither of them say a word, the main sound in the room the drip of the faucet when Buck rinses the razor between passes. They’ve always been physical with each other, but this sort of thing is new. Intimate.

Eddie aches.

His eyes open a crack to watch. Buck’s lower lip is caught between his teeth, and having every ounce of that focus on him is…intoxicating.

I love you. I love you, I love you, I love you.

Buck steps in closer, Eddie’s legs spread ever so slightly wider. A spark of heat flashes through him and he inhales sharply—Buck’s startled enough that his hand slips and the razor nicks Eddie’s jaw.

“Shit,” Buck swears. The razor clatters into the sink. “Shit. I’m sorry.”

Eddie opens his eyes the rest of the way. “It’s fine,” he assures. “What, you think I’ve never cut myself shaving before? It’s still better than I would have managed myself.”

“I’m—” Buck looks stricken, his fingers reaching out to gently cradle Eddie’s jaw only for him to snatch them back almost instantly, the tip of one faintly smeared with blood. His hand trembles.

“Buck,” Eddie says quietly. Buck’s eyes are fixed on the red smear and Eddie is sent back—

Watching his blood splash across Buck’s face and not realizing at first that it was his. Being half-delirious on the way to the hospital worrying that Buck had been hurt—

All this time, Buck’s been moving forward, pushing ahead, for Christopher, for him, for everyone, and Eddie knew he wasn’t entirely okay, knew he was fucked up from the moment in the hospital when he said I think it would have been better if I was the one who got shot, but since Eddie’s been home, Buck has seemed…better.

Maybe not. Maybe he’s been struggling to pretend as much as Eddie has.

Eddie twists around to grab the towel draped over the faucet and wets it enough to wash the rest of the shaving cream off his face, feels the sting of soap and water in the cut. And then he reaches out to grab Buck’s hand, wiping the blood off of his finger.

There’s something profane about blood staining skin. And something sacred in the act of washing it clean.

Eddie wonders if anyone helped Buck wash his blood off when he was in surgery. Taylor, maybe.

But no, that doesn’t feel right.

Buck probably did it himself. Alone.

“Hey.” Eddie squeezes Buck’s fingers. When Buck doesn’t look at him, he reaches out and curls his hand around the side of Buck’s neck, tips Buck’s chin up with his thumb to force him to meet his eyes. “Hey. It’s okay. I’m okay. No harm done.”

Buck breathes out shakily. His throat works, his face passes through a million stages—finally, his hands fall to the counter on either side of Eddie’s hips and his forehead drops to Eddie’s good shoulder. Eddie lets his hand slip around to the back of Buck’s neck, his fingers combing up through the short hairs there. He turns his head and he’s close enough to kiss the side of Buck’s, but he holds off. It feels like it would be too much. Too much when Buck doesn’t know how he really feels, what he really wants. But even just this—the closeness, the touch—is good. Needed. A balm to the itch under his skin.

When Buck turns his face into Eddie’s neck and inhales, Eddie thinks maybe Buck might need this just as badly.

“I’m okay,” he repeats, closing his eyes again as his fingers comb through Buck’s hair. “We’re okay. We’re okay.”

They stay like that for a long time. Buck’s phone rings out once, but neither of them moves to answer it. Eventually, Buck lifts his head and clears his throat roughly as he steps back.

Eddie’s hand falls away from Buck’s neck. He feels the absence keenly.

“You good?” He asks. Buck nods. His eyes are red.

“Yeah,” Buck replies. He pauses. Shakes his head. “No. But—can we just—can I just finish this for now? I want to finish this.”

Eddie watches him for a moment. Wets his lips. Then finally nods and passes over the shaving cream again.

“Sure,” he says. “I trust you.”

I love you.

Maybe…maybe eventually he’ll be braver. Maybe eventually, both of them will be free at the same time and he’ll be whole and healed, or at least something closer to it than he is now. Maybe eventually…love will be enough. Maybe.

For now, he has this.

#chapel writes #eddie diaz #buddie #buddie fic #prompt fill #911 fic

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mcufox123 · 3 years

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Table 5

Summary: You are a 5-star chef. What happens when two avengers enter your restaurant.

WandaxFemReader

AN: this is going to bea multichapter series.

Warning: Slow burn

I do not own any of the marvel characters.

Chapter 2. Chapter 3 Chapter4 Chapter5 Chapter6

Hiss. You heard as you dropped a piece of halibut into the frying pan. You had ten order fires for your famous white fish dish. You sauteed the veggies and spinach that went along with the dish. It was hot in the kitchen, but you kept your head down and just kept working. It was a busy Saturday night at the 5-star restaurant you worked at. the kitchen was on the floor so all its patrons could see you hard at work.

You loved your job. You threw everything you had into the prep work during the day and the excitement of 10 order fires at a time at night. You laid the plates out and set them up so all you had to do was place the fish on top. Your eyes never left your station to look at the patrons. With your rough hands that had suffered many burns and scars, you placed a dish on the table to be taken out when you looked up momentarily and was completely caught off guard.

You looked up to see one of the most beautiful women you had ever laid eyes on. Her reddish hair fell perfectly around her face which held the most beautiful emerald eyes. You watched as a tall man pulled out the chair for her as she went to sit down. Your trance was cut off by Bill asking if the dish was ready to be taken out. You nodded as you wiped your hands on your towel.

“Bill keep me updated on what table 5 orders.” You said giving him a stern look at turning to finish the other 9 halibuts on the stove. Every time you put another plate on the table your eyes went to her.

“You know we have two avengers in here tonight?” Bill asked as up put up another fish.

“We do?” you asked interest peaked, thoughts drifting from table 5 for a moment.

“Yeah, Vision and the Scarlett witch. Vision told the hostess that he was going to propose here tonight. They’re over at table 5.” You looked over and your stomach dropped. The women who you had stolen glances of was about to be engaged, not to mention she was one of the most powerful beings in the world.

You covered up your disappointment as you told Bill to keep you posted on their order. Ten minutes later he informed you that they ordered a fish and a steak.

“I’m going to run their platters; you keep an eye on the fish when I do.” You informed Gerry who was working at the station next to you. You plated the fish and waited for the steak. When both were ready you wiped your hands, brushed down your hair and made sure you looked somewhat presentable.

You grabbed the platters and made your way across the restaurant. The servers were eyeing you suspiciously. You never leave your station; the governor even came to dine at your restaurant and requested to see you and you turned him down choosing to continue to cook. The only other time you left your station was when your mom was in town and decided to eat at your restaurant. You set the meat in front of Vision eyeing him up. He looked like an alright guy. Then you turned and put the fish in front of the Scarlett Witch.

“I am Chef Y/N, welcome to Contento. I hope you enjoy your food and if you need anything I will be working right over there.” You said talking mostly to the women glancing at the man occasionally.

“Thank you, Chef Y/N.,” Vision said trying to get your eyes off his girlfriend. The beautiful women just kept smiling at you.

“Enjoy!” you said while backing away from the table. You made your way over to your station picking up where you left off with the fish you were cooking. You glanced up at table 5 when you put another dish up.

Vision was on one knee and the Scarlett Witch had her hand to her mouth. You could see him talking and you could see tears form in her eyes. You became extremely uncomfortable at that moment and seemed to hold your breath.

Vision stopped talking and you could see the woman shake her head no as he got up off the ground. Then an argument between the two seemed to start. Vision held his hand up before walking out of the restaurant as the woman sat back in her seat with her head in her hands.

She sat there for the rest of the night. She ordered the chocolate cake and a bottle of wine. All night while you were working you continued to glance at table 5 to see if she was there. Usually, you would tell the servers to kick people like that out but when your most trusted server asked if you wanted her out you shook your head no. You finished up for the night and cleaned up your station. Instead of doing your normal prep for the next day you decided to pour yourself a glass of wine. You watched as the woman continued to sit at table 5.

“Should I tell her to leave or just start wrapping up the night?” Bill asked you.

“Just start wrapping up, I’ll take care of her.” You assured him. You stood behind your station continuing to drink your glass of wine trying to figure out the woman who sat in your restaurant. The servers and staff finished up for the night and one by one waved at you as they left through the back door. You waved back and finally decided to make your way to table 5.

“You have officially been the customer to stay the longest at my restaurant.” You say walking over to table 5 with the bottle of your best wine and wine glass in hand. You take a seat across from her

“Oh, I am so sorry! I didn’t even realize. Wow where did everyone go?” she said looking around the restaurant now realizing it was empty.

“The restaurant officially closed an hour and a half ago and my staff just left about 10 minutes ago.” You informed her.

“Oh my gosh its midnight.” She said now finally looking at her phone then at the dishes on her table. “And I left a mess, I can clean this up just let me know where it goes.” She said while stacking glasses and trying to brush up the crumbs. You put your hands on tops of hers to stop her and feel warmth spread throughout your body. Your eyes meet and you gave her a little smile.

“It’s totally ok just leave it. You are more than welcome to stay; I saw what happened tonight. I just wanted to let you know that I will be over there cooking.” You said as you picked up your wine glass leaving the bottle behind.

“Would you mind if I came over there and watched?” she asked hesitantly. You glanced back and saw hopeful eyes.

“Not at all Scarlett Witch.” You saw her flinch at the name.

“Please, call me Wanda. Scarlett Witch is just for the media really.” You smile and nod. You pulled up a barstool where Bill usually stands on the other side of the station, while you grab some veggies to cut. You had decided to make your own dinner tonight instead of eating a bag of chips.

“What are you making?” she asks as she sits on the stool and watches you curiously.

“I’m not sure yet, but whatever it is it’ll be my dinner.” You said honestly.

“Come here.” She instructed you and you don’t know why but you listened. You made your way around the station and saw her stand up from her seat and pointed for you to sit. “You have been working all night, you let me stay way past close, and you gave me a $500 bottle of wine to drink. Get off your feet drink some wine and let me cook.” She informed as she made her way around to where you had been just seconds before.

“Thank you, not many people are willing to tell a head chef to chill.” You said to her. You watched her as she pulled her hair back and began to expertly cut the vegetables. “And you know your way with a knife, remind me not to cross you.” You chuckled.

“Well, I like to cook myself. I try to cook something new whenever I can. I started cooking when I was young with my family in Sokovia.” She said as her cutting slowed obviously lost in a memory.

“I can relate to that; I grew up in an Italian family. I started when I was old enough to hold a knife.” You said adding to the conversation.

The conversation continued to flow as she began to throw them in a sauce pan. She searched your station for her next ingredients. Usually no one was allowed to go through your station, but you were curious to see what she was making.

“So, I know it is absolutely none of my business but are you ok?” you asked full of concern. You saw her freeze her search on a momentary pause before she continued to look pretending as if she didn’t hear you. You decided to keep talking.

“I was almost engaged once. I have been in this industry since I was 15. I have thrown everything I have into becoming the best. Two years ago, I started dating this girl. We dated for a year even moved in together. She tried to rush everything, like she was trying to prove something to herself. So, when she proposed I had to decline. Instead, I moved out and opened this restaurant. Hurting people is hard but sometimes it’s for the best.” You said trying your best to comfort her.

She seemed very concentrated on the chicken she was now expertly filleting. “We weren’t in love love. He’s my best friend and we do everything together, but I was never attracted to him. When he asked me out, I said yes and now it’s been two years. All because I was scared, I would lose him if I didn’t. Now I ruined everything.” She said turning from you to put the chicken in the pan.

It was quiet for a minute before you heard a sniffle. She turned around wiping her eyes and trying to pull it together.

“I’m sorry I didn’t mean to unload all of this after crashing your night. I should probably just leave you be.” She said while wiping her hands on the towel and turning to leave your station.

“Hey its ok, you’re ok. I enjoy your company.” You said while reaching out for her hand. She turned and looked at you curiously.

“Why are you being so nice to me?” she said looking in your eyes for any trace of insincerity.

“I, I, I don’t know, but I feel like, like you can be good to me. That maybe you’re the one who can teach me something. What that is I have no idea, but I want to know. And I want to do the same for you.” You said knowing that you probably sound like a mad idiot to this strange woman who you have only known for an hour.

She continued searching your face. “Your strange and bold. I like that.” She said while squeezing her hand before going back behind your station.

You sat back down and continued to watch the woman who piqued your interest continue to cook.

#wanda #wanda maximoff #wanda marvel #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda x reader #vision #marvel #Avengers #The Avengers

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kisskissbanggang · 4 years

Text

Hello Stranger

[14K Words/1Hr. Read - Teacher!Bang Chan x Admin!Female Reader - Fake Relationships, Guest Appearances, Fluff, Smut, Slow Burn, New Teachers, Vanilla, Office Sex, Allusions To Troubling Subjects]

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You should’ve expected a phone call when you read the email. At least then you would be somewhat prepared for the verbal lashing you were currently receiving from one of your greatest teachers.

“I’m sorry, but — wait, you know what? No I’m not, I’m not sorry — but I am not staying here with this dumpster fire waiting to happen! He’s wrecking the department — Johnny, let me talk — and I didn’t even want him here to begin with. Congratulations, ma’am, you torpedoed my program I worked so hard to build.”

Doyoung paused, waiting for you to call his bluff, to appeal to his good side as usual. He was right. He’d done so much for his school — for the district, really, and this was getting out of hand. Johnny could be heard behind him, the poor principal having apparently had his desk phone wrestled away from him to begin with.

“Mr. Kim,” you spoke into the phone, mustering all the confidence you had in you, “what do you want me to do? I mean it. Tell me what you want.”

“He goes or I go,” Doyoung dramatically laid out into your ear. Johnny could be heard trying to console the raving teacher before Doyoung apparently ducked him every few seconds. “I’m losing my mind. I have 150 students becoming fucking hypnotized and they’re influencing their peers like the plague.”

“Besides losing either of you,” you carefully negotiated, “what do you want me to do? I value your input; I always have. Dig into the meat with me here, please.”

“I will not teach beside some noble renegade who wears hoodies to class and asks his students to call him by his first name. I won’t teach in the same building, nor in the same school. This is dangerous, and you know it is. For all the money you’re throwing at PR this year you could be putting it in your students.”

You hated that Doyoung was right. This was not a great start to the year. A sigh escaped that you had not meant for, and Doyoung audibly steeled himself on the other end of the receiver. He was waiting now.

“I’m coming down there,” you announced. Apparently Johnny heard you, a god fucking dammit being heard behind Doyoung’s shoulder. Doyoung, however, was sated.

“Fine,” he replied, but he didn’t sound fine. He sounded like he was surprised he got anywhere. “I’m sorry I got so upset.”

And like that, Doyoung hung up. You slumped down in your chair, having been pacing your otherwise pristine office for the past 15 minutes which had felt more like 15 hours. You were fussily rearranging your desk, trying to calm yourself back down when your assistant finally felt it was safe enough to poke her head into your office.

“Ma’am—” Yeji greeted before you held up a hand to stop her. You pinched the bridge of your nose in exasperation.

“How many more calls this week?”

“Only four,” she replied. A relieved sigh softened your tense shoulders as she set the personnel file you requested on your desk.

You felt so old now, run ragged by all the mayhem, but it wasn’t so long ago that you were young yourself. Even then, you still were according to most standards. You were the youngest assistant superintendent to ever serve the district, a set of magnet schools within the city comprised of one private Montessori primary school, one public STEM-focused junior high, and one private-public hybrid high school of the arts. You pined for the ultimate position, but that chair was long occupied by Mr. Simmons, a token favorite of the school board. He called you dear and was always acting like some big man pitying a little girl. However, this didn’t mean you hadn’t tried like hell to make an impression.

Your first three years had been a terrific uphill trajectory. In year one, you brought on Doyoung to replace the retiring choir teacher and head of the music department at the high school. To date, he’d brought in more accolades than his predecessor did in twice the time. For your second year, you collaborated with your junior high on an agricultural enrichment program that offset food costs district wide to the point you could improve offerings in all three cafeterias. This year, you re-established the district PTA. Doyoung’s rabid Booster Club and the parents of the junior high’s robotics team made up the first meeting, and more and more parents had joined since.

So it only seemed fair that this year was your first true hurdle. It had been such an innocent decision: you took a proposed program from the junior high and adapted it for your high school students. A music production and distribution program was a clean, sleek idea that was sure to impress the PTA and enrich the lives of your students in their already affluent music department and work as a dual credit with the business side of the class. What you hadn’t betted on, however, was what exactly a young teacher could get into in a high school setting.

Chris Bang wasn’t naive — you were sure of it, looking at his portfolio. He’d cut his teeth independently producing from a young age and gathering a loyal following online. This was a concept you understood well enough, but had a time and a half explaining to anyone older than you, it seemed. Anyone older than you, but also especially Doyoung, who was very fiercely proud of his hard work to get his double Masters in Choral Conducting and Music Theory at 21 and didn’t have the patience for homegrown prodigies. You couldn’t blame Doyoung, really, even with his dramatics. His competition choir was a force to be reckoned with — surprisingly disciplined, endlessly talented, and ravenously competitive — and now two of his students were wrapped up in all this, too, and that was just the extent you were aware of.

You tapped out an IM to Yeji from your desktop, asking her to come back into your office, and she dutifully popped in a few seconds later. She pulled up a chair in front of your desk as you rested your head in your hands for a moment. “Tell me, Yeji,” you sighed, “what’s your read on this?”

“Well, ma’am,” she mulled it over, “it’s not great. It’s awful, really. But it’s hard to tell by now what’s real, what’s a cry for attention, or what feels real but is actually just the zeitgeist. You know how this is, what it can turn into.”

You did. You’d remembered your own whirlwind feelings at a similar age, even just out of high school. Strangers and dissenters had a hard time believing it, but before you had assumed the role of meticulously poised and proper, you were frustratingly belligerent and stubborn like many of your peers when you were younger. It was easy to recall how real, how present every moment was at the time, but you didn’t even remember the whole story now. In fact, you hadn’t thought of that story in ages, but you were suddenly reminded of the smell of pine trees and sugar, the cool electricity of being out past midnight. It was quite possibly the most excited you’d ever felt, but now you couldn’t remember the fine details, the corners sanded down to curves over time. To your students, these letters were the most exciting and dramatic thing to ever happen to them, and if they would remember the details later on would depend on how you handled the situation.

The first letter surfaced just a week before, and online of all places. A full declaration of this girl’s undying love for Chris and all of the very, very, very inappropriate things she wanted to do with him, found in an envelope on the keyboard outside his office and posted online before he could ever see it. The next letter was eventually found two days later, apparently picked up from where it had missed the trash can: a 17 year old boy, feeling emboldened enough to finally profess who he was — gay, madly in love with Chris, and willing to risk it all. A third was stolen from a girl’s backpack from some bullies and she had been a wreck, so sure that Chris had picked one of the other two and she’d missed her chance. That girl hadn’t returned to school yet. Who knew what else was going on in the hallways, in the cafeteria and bathrooms, in the parking lot after school?

Four more parents contacted your office, according to Yeji. Four more letters. And now Doyoung was threatening to quit, for added reasons you hadn’t even been aware of. You flipped through Chris’ personnel file, hoping not to find any red flags, but hopefully find any reason this spiraled out of control, anything other than tumultuous teenage life wreaking havoc on your students.

Your sigh renewed in spades as you glanced at your assistant again. “Who do you remember most from high school?”

Yeji’s eyes were cast downward as she thought about it. “Other than my friends? Probably the student teacher in my auto class,” she blissfully reminisced. “The teacher would sleep half the time and the student teacher would just teach us whatever we wanted to know and what we needed to know for tests. I remember I had the biggest crush because of that.”

“That’s what I was afraid of.”

“Sorry, ma’am,” Yeji gave an apologetic smile. “What about you?”

Her question knocked you off your feet for a moment. For some reason, you hadn’t been expecting it, but you immediately had an answer. “Aside from friends? Weirdly enough,” you began, “someone I didn’t meet until graduation.”

As sickly sentimental as the thought of it was, it was true. You didn’t even remember that boy’s name anymore, but you’d met exactly three times before you left for college. He had been hanging out by the bonfire on the beach at a grad party no one had expected to get so crazy. You couldn’t remember your conversation, but you could remember his bleached hair tucked under a beanie catching your eye as he sat by himself, his friends apparently wreaking havoc on their own somewhere. His lip ring was crooked, and in a fit of beer-buzzed confidence you’d fixed it for him while you talked about the phony gravitas of graduation. You’d almost kissed him, too, connecting over things that seemed way more kismet than they probably were when your friends finally made you walk home with them.

You gathered up the rest of your patience and courage as you bid Yeji goodbye until your return and headed out to your car in the lot, making the tedious journey to the high school. The handsomely vintage architecture was charmingly modern inside the gates and within its walls, but not overly so. However, this also meant the school was a hike and a maze to navigate through to find the music department. You were distracted, though, missing a turn here or there and having to turn back a couple times now that you were suddenly remembering your clandestine romance from years ago. What was his name? It wasn’t even that long ago. Had so much really happened since then? You wracked your brain. He had a reasonably fresh and nice scratcher tattoo on his bicep, you remembered, but you couldn’t remember what it was for some reason, just like his name. He had to have said it in one of these memory bites.

The second time you’d met, he’d been handing out flyers on the boardwalk for his own show at a rave in a warehouse on the other side of town, out where the beach met the woods. He’d seen you before you’d seen him, and he had popped up with a greeting of Hello, stranger. He had made you promise to be there, which is where you met the third and final time later that night. He greeted you again the same way. Hello, stranger. You’d thought it was cute then, and still did, which must be why you still remembered that detail, at least. He liked your shoes, your worn work boots you’d picked up at a thrift store and refused to get rid of despite all the times your parents asked.

Those warehouse shows were always nuts, all sorts of vendors arriving who were willing to shack up with any event that passed through. He had bought you cotton candy from one of these vendors when you met him after his set and you chatted as you walked along the tree line, talking about his dreams of becoming rich and famous on his own terms. He kissed you, once, and you tasted his lip ring and spun sugar for weeks. You found yourself wondering now if he ever did become rich and famous.

Doyoung gave you a passing glance in the hall as you stalked towards Chris’s classroom: he looked impatient but thrilled and, sure enough, well dressed in his usual suit and tie. You wondered if this new staff member was exactly what Doyoung was fear mongering. Maybe it was simply a difference in values. This was Chris’ first year teaching professionally, you remembered, and now you felt miserably guilty. What a horrible way to start a career. You hadn’t even visited your new teacher since he began, but just the door outside his room was a mess. Doyoung’s fretting made more sense now. Even though you’d only gotten four phone calls, Chris’s classroom door was plastered in letters.

The door creaked and fluttered as you opened it and peeked your head inside. The room was devoid of any human presence. For a space that needed to serve multiple purposes, it was sparsely filled except for classroom materials and equipment. Regular desks and chairs filled the floor as opposed to risers or music stands like in the other department classrooms, but there was still a soundproof practice room in the back of the room, and only the recording equipment stored around the room gave any hint to the classroom’s purpose. To deal with the mess after the third letter, a sub was leading Chris’s classes in the library, but you at least expected to find him here himself, or at least some posters or framed photos. You peeked inside the small office at the head of the classroom, finding it just as empty as well, but with some more personality. A few extra milk crates of visibly nicer vinyl records for sampling and listening were stacked beside the desk along with a nicer record player than what was by his desk out in the classroom. Some books sat on a shelf with a modest cactus in the corner, and finally some photos: Chris shaking hands and smiling with tons of industry players and friends, and occasionally appearing in one of those hoodies Doyoung had been warning of. He did own suits, apparently. Multiple. And he looked good in them.

A polite cough surprised you at the door of the office.

You whirled around, the sun outside silhouetting Chris as he stared at you in his dimly lit office. “My office hours are cancelled this week. May I help you?”

It was your turn to cough, clearing your throat. He was certainly young. He was certainly handsome, his grimace pronouncing the charming dimples in his cheeks. He certainly didn’t dress like a teacher. Chris stood in the doorway of his own office, looking at you curiously in his hoodie, jeans, and sneakers. He even had a backpack hung on his shoulder and a bag of greasy fast food in his hands. He suddenly looked down at it, embarrassed.

“I, er, wore out my welcome in the teacher’s lounge, it seems,” he sighed out a sullen laugh. “And I needed some fresh air.”

“Mr. Bang, I—“

“Call me Chris,” he insisted with a tired grin. Your heart shamefully thumped at how friendly and cute he was. It was easier to pretend you didn’t hear him. He stepped around you and dropped down into his desk chair. He silently gestured at his food, appearing to ask if you were alright if he ate while you talked. You nodded. He dug into the bag and cheekily offered you a fry. You coolly shook your head.

“I’m sorry we have to meet like this, but as assistant superintendent—“

Chris sputtered, standing up from his chair as he choked down the fry he’d just put in his mouth. “Ma’am,” he gasped finally, “I didn’t—“

“I know,” you nodded again. You waved up a hand in understanding. “Please, sit back down. I wanted to come by and see how you’re doing, considering the current state of affairs.”

Chris stayed standing, uneasy and fidgeting. “Alright, what do you want? Is this it? Please don’t suggest I need an attorney, I don’t think I can handle it.”

“What?” You asked, surprised.

“I’m sorry for snapping,” Chris lamented, “but I’ve gotten dozens of emails and messages through the school portal from parents and students asking me if I did anything, and it’s doing my head in.”

“They’re what?!” You hadn’t even considered anyone actually thought the teacher was guilty of anything. He nodded gravely.

“Read the letters outside!” His demand came out brokenly as he pointed behind you. “They’re begging me and taunting me to do all sorts of shit. Confess, quit, fuck them — all sorts of awful trash that I never even imagined. I just wanted to teach. I don’t know why the hell this is happening to me.”

You had no idea about any harassment. This looked bad. It looked bad to your students, their parents, the staff — everyone. You pulled out your phone from your purse and brought up the PR rep’s number, now on your speed dial. “You didn’t do anything.”

“Of course I didn’t—“ he sputtered before you cut him off.

“I wasn’t asking, Mr. Bang. You didn’t do anything and I believe you. A good superintendent would support good staff. Your first few months brought nothing but praise past my office.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” Chris quietly said. He finally sat down as you dialed the rep. She would be by shortly. You found another chair hiding under a pile of books and cds and moved them so you could sit. Chris was looking at you oddly now as you hung up, sitting closer than you’d normally like in the small office. You shifted uncomfortably. Chris offered you a fry again before you stiffly refused once more. He shrugged and began inhaling his food in earnest.

“Hungry?” You asked sarcastically, instantly regretting it. There was no sense in kicking him while he was down.

“Emotional eater,” he clarified around a mouthful, equally sarcastic in your resumed awkward silence. You considered the young teacher in front of you. If you recalled the personnel file, he wasn’t just a brand new teacher, he was new to the area as well. A rumor apparently spread among the students and even some of your staff that he had been running away from something, but you never paid that any attention until you were actually in the same room with him. He caught you zoning out in his direction, an eyebrow raised as he paused on his mouthful of food, and you sheepishly pulled out your phone and checked your agenda until your rep finally found you hiding out together in the tiny office.

Ryujin had become your go-to girl since the school year started but even more so over the past week. Public relations for a school district should never have to become very high-maintenance work, but Ryujin was quickly proving herself over-qualified for the job. She stood in the doorway, tall and cool in her confidence despite her short stature as she looked over the situation.

“Stand up,” she simply directed Chris.

He gave you a quick glance, not moving until you nodded. Chris set his food down and stood, hands in his hoodie pockets as Ryujin circled him. He warily shied away from her prodding as she pinched and pulled at his clothes, looking at tags and labels. She fiddled with the cute studs in his ears, tugged on the strings of his hoodie to draw him more to her level, and ruffled his dark, fluffy hair to look for showing roots or product. Ryujin looked at you now. “This isn’t so bad,” she told you decidedly.

Chris was confused, left about ten miles behind the conversation. “Why—“

“What do we do?” You asked. Chris looked wildly between both of you as you decided his fate without him. “We’re dealing with harassment now.”

“Of course we are,” Ryujin nodded thoughtfully, “I mean, look at him.”

“Hey!” Chris rightfully looked offended, even as you held up a calming hand to settle him down. Ryujin impatiently waited for you to let her continue.

“He doesn’t look like a teacher, he doesn’t act like a teacher, he’s under 30, and— I’m sorry— he’s cute. He was bound to get eaten alive when his students are only a few years younger than him and he has no experience.”

“So,” you reiterated, “what do we do?”

“He can go back to teaching,” Ryujin ruled, “but he has to look and act the part. No more first-name basis, no more street clothes.”

“This is so ridiculous!” Chris laughed in disbelief.

Both you and Ryujin glared at him now before she continued. “He’ll have to make a statement first. I’ll write it, of course. He can speak at the next PTA meeting. But —“ she turned to face him for once, “you shouldn’t be alone. Do you have a spouse? A partner? Some boyfriend or girlfriend?”

Now you shared Chris’ confused look. “Why does that matter?”

Ryujin folded her arms. “I don’t mince words. Sympathy, mostly. For anyone worrying, he’ll clearly appear to have support. For anyone who is doubting him, he clearly appears to have a loyal and loving presence in his life that can attest to Mr. Bang never having any nefarious predilection for his students and never intending to inspire any regrettable actions. It’s ultimately a similar reason to why I suggested you should wear a wedding ring.”

Your face heated up once again at being outed in front of your staff member. Ryujin had suggested a fake wedding ring ages ago when you first hired her. The moment you were appointed, parents instantly began doubting you. Even Superintendent Simmons, a parent himself, questioned you at your third interview. How could you — a young woman with no spouse and no children of your own — ever deign to understand what it’s like to raise and nurture one? The sheer stubbornness that you felt in response to that sentiment made you refuse such a placating notion as a fake wedding ring. Chris seemed to notice your embarrassment before he piped up himself, almost seeming to want to change the subject back for your sake.

“No,” Chris said simply, “I’m single and fine with it.”

“Look,” Ryujin rolled her eyes, “that is fine. Find a fake, then. It just needs to look real. It’s not fair, but these parents will assume you’re a better person if you’re not single in this situation. They need to see that you’re a loving and committed professional who just wants to teach and nurture young minds. The next PTA meeting is this Thursday night. Today is Tuesday, so you have a little time, but not much. Consider it, and I’ll have an optional line in your statement for whatever you decide. Do you have a suit?”

“For funerals and weddings,” Chris grumbled.

“A sweater is fine then,” Ryujin shrugged. She put a reassuring hand on your shoulder. “This is going to be fine. Let me know if you need anything.”

“You’re leaving?” You realized with thorough embarrassment that you sounded distressed.

“Unfortunately, yes,” she sighed, “the Superintendent wants a meeting about his son or something. You will be fine. Keep me updated.”

Ryujin ghosted out the door as fast as she’d come, and Chris reeled. “The nerve! I can’t believe her, can you?”

“Yes,” you nodded seriously, “I can. She’s right.”

“Oh, come on!” Chris blustered. You stood back up now, gathering your bag in the crook of your arm and straightening the carefully pressed collar of your suit jacket.

“I don’t want to see you have to end your career so soon, Mr. Bang,” you sympathized as you pulled out a business card from your purse and handed it to him. “Again, I’ve only heard good things about you until all this. Call me if you need anything. You shouldn’t have to face this alone.”

Things settled for one day. And then Thursday morning happened. Yeji was pale as you entered the office in the morning.

“John called from his cell.”

You checked your watch. First period was just starting at the high school.

God dammit.

You jogged into your office, grabbed the phone, and dialed him back. Johnny was out of breath. “I have a situation,” he panted into the phone. You could hear shouting behind him. Specifically, you could hear Doyoung shouting behind him. God dammit.

The tires on your car screeched as you peeled out of the parking lot of the admin building, tearing across town and barely breathing until you passed through Johnny’s office on your way into the building. He was icing his cheek with a cold pack from the nurse, his tie loose and slack around his neck and his suit jacket haphazardly slung over the back of his chair. Before you could say anything, he just shook his head with a disappointed laugh before returning to work at his computer. You walked quickly through the hallway, students watching you from their first period classrooms until you reached the music department. Taeil, the band teacher, closed Doyoung’s door behind him as he saw you in the hall.

“Ma’am,” the teacher greeted, thoroughly exhausted, “I wouldn’t go in there. We already called a sub for the rest of the day and I took Doyoung’s kids to the library for independent study.”

“Thank you, Mr. Moon,” you thanked him graciously, “do you have any idea what happened?” Taeil shrugged helplessly. His tie was crooked as well, his rolled sleeves uneven. You looked over at Chris’ room, open to the hall. Letters had shuffled off the door and onto the hallway floor. “Take care of Doyoung,” you instructed Taeil, “make sure he’s okay and that he gets home alright.”

Taeil nodded and let himself back into Doyoung’s classroom as you carefully approached Chris’. The room was dark, books and papers strewn across the floor. You cautiously switched on the light, only to find the teacher slumped in his chair at the head of the room, icing his own face with a metal water bottle. He silently glanced at you and sighed as you rushed over to check on him. You set your purse on his desk and gingerly pulled the water bottle away, sharing Chris’ sigh as you saw the bruise on his cheek. It felt a bit gross to still find him so frustratingly handsome in this moment.

“What happened?” You softly asked him. Chris sank into the chair and gave a dejected shrug, helpless to recollect. And he didn’t get much of a chance to even try, as a commotion erupted in the empty hallway. Doyoung stood fuming in the doorway with Taeil futilely attempting to pull him away.

“So you are here,” Doyoung grimaced at you before he shot a glare at Taeil, “why are you lying for her? Everyone is treating me like I’m insane and I’ve had it.” He stormed over, only stopped as you turned to press a confrontational hand to his chest. Doyoung had quite the busted lip.

“Mr. Kim, I know tensions are high—” you began staunchly before Doyoung steamrolled you.

“Do you?! Do you even know what happened?” He leaned to the side, staring daggers into Chris. “Tell her, you sorry excuse of a—“

“I’m telling you, Kim, just like I have been telling you,” Chris glowered, “I have no fucking clue what you’re talking about! You’re the one who came in here looking to start a fight.”

“You’re a goddamn liar!” Doyoung shouted. You put your hands on his shoulders, making him look at you.

“Tell me, then, Mr. Kim.”

Doyoung shiftily looked back and forth between the two of you. “Tell you what, ma’am?” he grumbled. “Tell you that I had the joy of overhearing one of my brightest students talking with her friends during zero period, bragging about fucking in his practice room? Tell you that she’s just a freshman? Tell you that I caught her and her friends giggling as she wrote her own fucking letter?”

Doyoung pulled a crumpled piece of notebook paper out of his suit jacket and shoved it into your hands. You looked back at Chris, his shaking eyes horrified as he was apparently hearing this all for the first time.

“I admit, I took matters into my own hands. I flew off the handle. Why, though, would I come to you with all this first, ma’am?” Doyoung pleaded. You recognized the helpless heartache in his eyes, hating how much he was losing his students. “You wouldn’t come to me first if I asked for your help. You’d go straight to him.”

You glanced down at the notebook paper in your hands, catching glimpses of curly, naive confessions, and you looked back at Chris again. He didn’t look guilty. You didn’t want him to be. You wanted this all resolved, as cleanly as possible before you possibly wrecked the year before winter break. You thought fast.

“I did go to him first, Mr. Kim,” you conceded, quiet yet confident, “and I apologize if my actions come across as selfish, but this ordeal has caused quite the strain on mine and Chris’ relationship, even more so since it’s still fairly new.”

Doyoung backed up, aghast as his eyes flicked between the two of you again. His normally soft gaze was pure hellfire. “You’re kidding me,” he shook his head in disbelief. He had no interest in waiting for a confirmation before he turned to storm off, herding Taeil along with him.

Chris was staring at you when you turned back to face him, shocked as he was at your sudden plan. “Why the hell did you do that?”

You pulled out your phone to dial Ryujin, but before you actually sent the call through, you bored your eyes into Chris, who was still wincing past the bruise on his face. “You still didn’t do anything?”

“Never,” he adamantly shook his head.

“Good,” you nodded. “We will need to talk before the PTA meeting tonight. My assistant will call you with details.” You plucked your purse up from his desk and shouldered it. Chris watched, still stunned as you made for the door. His continued stare made you pause, a hand on the door frame as you turned back to face him. “You’re innocent,” you explained, “but if you quit you’ll be proving everyone who’s doubting you right. It seems like no one is on your side except me, so if no one will do anything then I will. You’ll be fine, Mr. Bang.” With that, you regained your confidence once more to walk down the hall. You caught your breath before you tapped out a message for Ryujin on your phone. Somehow, you didn’t expect her to call you right away.

“I’m sorry, but you what?!” Ryujin exclaimed, stooping you in your tracks from wherever she was.

“You said he needs to find someone and make it look real!” You hissed, trying to keep your composure the best you could in the quiet hallway.

“I didn’t mean you!”

You grumbled out a curse under your breath. “Well, it’s a bit too late for that clarification,” you bit out, “so what do I do now?”

Ryujin could be heard tapping on her cell phone as she spoke to you. “I’m on it,” she assured you, “and I’m sure you already figured you need to talk before the PTA meeting tonight. We need to make sure you’re on the same page. I’m forwarding you the statement I wrote. Hang tight, I’m going to meet you at your place.”

Chris frowned at the suit laid out on top of your couch after you’d extracted it from its garment bag. Ryujin had brought it, on loan from some unnamed resource, complete with notecards of her prepared statement in the breast pocket. “Why does this also feel like proving everyone right for some reason,” he said uncomfortably.

“What exactly is wrong?” You sighed. Chris fidgeted. He looked out of place in your apartment, his soft black hoodie and worn jeans contrasting starkly with your minimalist and meticulously organized sanctuary. His brows were furrowed with impending panic, but he looked determined.

“I’m nervous,” he bemoaned, “tell it to me again.”

“We met over the summer at a cafe downtown,” you explained impatiently.

“That’s so soon for someone like you to be backing up a pariah like me,” Chris laughed, almost on the verge of breakdown, apparently. He was choking down a milkshake. He’d brought you one too, of course, but when you politely refused he took it as a consolation prize. It was incredible to you that he seemed to be in such good shape for how much food he put down. Or, you realized, maybe a catastrophe of this caliber wasn’t very common for him.

“Put on the suit, Mr. Bang,” you urged, “please?”

“Oh my god, you need to stop calling me that if we’re dating!” Chan nervously laughed again.

“Look, I’ll be just fine, I’ll be able to fix it when we’re in front of people,” you insisted, “but you need to calm down.”

“Calm down? I’m having an entire escape plan thrust upon me and I’m trying to adjust.”

“Well,” you huffed as you found yourself meeting his level, “maybe you wouldn’t need this escape plan if you didn’t take such a lax approach to teaching.”

“Excuse me?” Chris asked, blindsided by your outburst.

“Don’t act like you don’t know what people are saying!” You doubled down in defense, squaring up against him as you impatiently folded your arms.

“Why don’t you tell me, ma’am, what exactly people are saying about me?” Chris stood defiantly, toe to toe with you and daring you to follow through. You took the bait.

“You know exactly what people are saying,” you challenged him, “that you refuse to take the role seriously because it’s easier that way. You give these students too much freedom, and you’re encouraging them to act out. Who needs homework? Who needs textbooks? Who needs seating charts? They call you by your first name and think you’re their best friend, that you’re one of them, only older, just like they wish they were! They live and die by your approval because you seem so cool and you don’t seem like a teacher.”

“Oh, so I don’t seem like a teacher now?” Chris scoffed.

“They certainly don’t respect you like one,” you snapped. A deep pause coursed through you both like a cold breeze before he burst.

“Well you sure as hell don’t respect me like one, so why the hell are you helping me?!” Chris shouted.

“Well,” you mocked, quickly losing grip, “here I was thinking it was the right thing to do!” You heaved out a frustrated sigh, throwing your hands in the air and finally turning away as you couldn’t stand to look at him.

However, you may have glossed over the in-progress milkshake that had been in his hands, now currently all over his hoodie and on the spotless hardwood floor of your apartment.

“Oh, great!” Chris laughed incredulously. “I sure look like I could use the help now, Miss Assistant Superintendent. Guess I’ll put on the stupid suit so I don’t make a bigger fool out of myself at my public execution tonight.”

Your face regrettably heated up as Chris frustratedly tugged his hoodie off over his head, his shirt following right after as he fished the pressed white shirt out from within the suit jacket. He had an admittedly nice figure, his toned torso never being hinted at through his comfy wardrobe. A set of tattooed compass roses on his upper arm caught your attention, and you wished you didn’t find it attractively endearing. “I don’t know why I agreed to this,” he ranted, “no one would ever believe I’d date a stuck-up, uptight, tyrant like you.”

“The feeling is mutual,” you fumed as you turned away, not wanting to get distracted, “except no one would believe I’d ever date an arrogant ingrate like you.”

Chris could be heard pacing behind you as he buttoned the shirt, apparently pausing at your mantle over the fireplace. “I bet you were a nightmare as a student, a real grade-grubber and brown-noser,” he grumbled, now seeming to have found your framed photos of you and your friends at graduation, first from high school and then from undergrad. “I’m going to hang myself with this godawful tie— is this you?”

You rolled your eyes as you walked over and snatched his tie out of his fingers to do it yourself. He’d already deftly changed his pants while you weren’t watching. “Sure, that’s me,” you muttered, “and no, I wasn’t a nightmare, thank you very much.” You paused as you felt a shift in his silence and glanced up at him. For the first time you noticed a subtle cologne on him, a gentle musk that was miserably attractive on him and you just wanted to get this over with even faster. Chris was giving you that indecipherable look again as you fiddled with the stupid necktie. From this close, you could see a cute little dot just under his lip, a telltale spacer that more than likely usually held a lip ring and—

Oh.

Hello, stranger.

Chris was gravely silent as he parked in front of your apartment later that night. The PTA meeting had been a disaster, starting the moment you left to travel back to the high school, where the meetings were held in the main theater. A loaded silence had staked itself between you the whole drive, and neither of you had reviewed Ryujin’s statement whatsoever. Nonetheless, you sat and stood close enough to each other during the meeting to be clear but not obscene in what you both were implying with your proximity, and you were faithfully beside him as he approached the podium. It was difficult to ignore the hushed whispers resounding through the audience. Chris’ brazen confidence was all but gone by now, fully broken as multiple hands immediately shot up to get a word in. Chris had forged ahead, though, even as his hands tried not to tremble around his notes. Ryujin’s statement didn’t mince words, just like her. He read out how his inexperience wrongly led him to take a more casual approach to teaching, how he’d recklessly and misguidedly inspired his students to put too much trust in him. He read out what a struggle this presented for both of you, being faced with accusations of such severity, and wishing to regain the trust of the assembled teachers and parents. The hands stayed in the air, and Johnny moderated question after question and Chris adamantly confirmed again and again and again that he had done nothing except naively neglect to put a firmer stop to all this. He was the one, and not Ryujin, to say that he should have brought the letters to Johnny’s attention and not simply ignored them, hoping the situation would stop on its own. More hands kept raising. Seemingly every parent belonging to a letter on Chris’ door was here wanting personal reassurance and, subsequently, a reason from him that their children were acting out. It felt like a never ending ordeal, a constant string of hurt and confused parents needing comfort. Johnny had no words for Chris when he finally ended the meeting, putting him out of his misery. Nothing else got done on the agenda that night. He only clapped a sympathetic hand to his teacher’s shoulder.

You tapped out what happened in a text message to Ryujin. Her diagnosis was optimistic but tough, and in your continued silence in the car, you suddenly realized you were stopped in front of your apartment. Chris was quiet, zoning out at the wheel until you nudged him.

“Ryujin says we can still do this,” you encouraged him. “Enough of the parents should believe you. We just need to make sure the students and staff do, too…. as well as the board.”

Chris leaned forward, letting his head rest against the steering wheel. “I wish they didn’t have to believe me. They’re probably stressed as hell over this. This whole thing is such shit,” he muttered. “We don’t even like each other.”

“We don’t?”

“What?” Chris sullenly chuckled. “Just because we did ages ago?”

“I mean,” you shrugged, “I remembered that pretty fondly. I thought of that kiss all summer.”

“We kissed?”

Ouch.

You sighed. “Fine then. You’re right. We don’t like each other. You’re cocky and naive and I’m…”

“Uptight?” Chris smirked, but he shut his mouth when you clearly didn’t appreciate the jab. “I’m sorry. I do appreciate everything you’re doing, you know. I just… I’m going through it.”

“I know,” you commiserated.

“What do we do now?”

“There’s a board meeting next Wednesday night,” you explained. “You can accompany me to that, and that’ll take care of them. Until then, we keep up appearances at school, now that we’re exposed.”

“How are we doing that?”

“I’ll figure something out,” you reassured him. “What’ll you do now?”

“Oh, you know,” Chris laughed tiredly, “probably go pick up a taco box and try not to ruin this suit.”

You nodded in understanding as you unbuckled your seatbelt and dug around in your bag for your keys. “No hoodies, okay?”

Chris nodded, watching as you stepped out of the car and fussily smoothed your skirt back down. “Do you need me to walk you up?”

“I can manage,” you grinned softly as you pulled something out of your bag. You handed him the offending note from that morning. “I didn’t do this just because I thought you didn’t do anything. This letter is addressed to a Chris but it appears to actually be a student named Christian S.”

“Oh,” Chris grimaced, “isn’t he Superintendent Simmons’ son? I have him in fourth period. He’s one of the first chairs in Taeil’s concert band. He’s sort of… gross, sometimes, about girls. I can’t say I’m surprised, but I’m still disappointed.”

“You alright?”

“I should’ve done something,” he muttered as he sank back into his seat, still staring at the letter.

“Don’t start with that,” you lightly admonished, “it’s not always easy to know when to interfere.”

“Thank you,” Chris said quietly.

“Of course,” you said with a small smile. “Goodnight.”

Johnny and Doyoung did a double-take as you walked into the music department the following day at lunchtime. It only made sense to you that if Chris was trying to dress up more, you’d match him by dressing down more. Your requisite suit and heels were switched out for a simple blouse with some tailored jeans and flats. That alone was a huge step for you, considering you even refused to dress down for the annual Welcome Back picnic for the district staff every year. You felt uncomfortable despite still looking clean and poised, but leagues more approachable apparently, proven as students’ passing glances lingered on their way to the cafeteria. Johnny’s look was simply one of surprise, but Doyoung’s was nothing but bitterness. Even Chris, as he happened to prop open his classroom door when you walked down the hall, was curious to see you looking so casual and chipper as you strutted up to him with a bundle in your arms. He was surprisingly handsome, wearing a blazer over a simple t-shirt with some slim jeans and sneakers — better, but not quite there. He couldn’t help a small smile as you theatrically revealed what you had brought: his cleaned hoodie and shirt folded and draped over a bag of takeout to split.

“Hungry?” You asked sweetly, but hopefully not overdone. A couple of students walked past, their eyes boring into you. Chris looked unfazed, took the hoodie and shirt from your hands and, with a quick look down the hall at Doyoung and Johnny, beckoned you into the classroom with a nod.

“Starving,” he answered with a grin, and even gave Johnny a cheery wave as he promptly shut the door again behind you. “What are you doing here?” He quietly asked you, the dazzling facade of confidence instantly crumbling. His panicked surprise wasn’t lost on you.

“We need to keep up appearances like I said. It’s Friday, you’re going through a hard time, and you’re eating like you grew another stomach. I brought us something to eat,” you explained, pushing the bag into his hands.

“You—“ Chris looked dumbfounded, eyes darting between you and the food in his hands, “— brought me lunch?”

“Yes? What else was this supposed to be? I’m your girlfriend, for all intents and purposes.” You led Chris back into his own office and helped yourself to a seat. “We also need to brush up on our relationship in case anyone asks.”

“Fine,” Chris nodded as he dug into his food. “Let’s study, then. I’m guessing you went to college right after we met, and I’m sure you taught at least a little before this.”

“Grade schoolers,” you nodded, “it was good but not for me. I never asked about your accent.”

“You did, actually. That first time, so that’s probably why you don’t remember. I grew up in Sydney, moved here before junior year in high school. Do you live by yourself? I didn’t see a roommate or any cats.”

“I live by myself,” you confirmed, “I gave up on roommates around the time I took this job. No time for pets, either. I guess I’m too uptight.” Chris winced as you continued. “Yes, I’m aware of it; I guess I’m just sensitive. Did you find a good place in the area?”

“Yeah,” Chris said thoughtfully, “cute little house. You should probably see it sometime.”

“You bought a house?!”

Chris’ ears reddened. “Yes? Again, it’s little. A couple bedrooms, a couple bathrooms. Lots of work to be done on it, but it’s all mine. Here, look.” You watched, momentarily stunned as he fished his phone out of his pocket and clicked it open. He pulled up a surprisingly adorable photo of Chris in front of a humble little house, holding what you could only assume was his dog you didn’t know he had. “Cute, right? Her name is Berry. You should meet her.”

“I’m so sorry,” you shook your head in advance, “but you could afford a house? What brought you to teaching anyway?”

“Producing was good, but not for me,” Chris meekly bit at his lip, “I always wanted to try teaching what I know, and thankfully your team brought me on while I’m still earning my degree.”

“So one day you just decided to be an educator?” You asked dubiously.

“Didn’t you?” Chris seemed more cagey now, more defensive.

“Sure, but maybe this explains your approach to teaching.”

Chris sighed hard and set his food down. “You know what? I knew you were bringing it back to that. Here I was thinking we were on a little better footing after last night. My approach to teaching came from thinking of what I wanted when I was these kids’ age. I wanted someone to treat me with respect and value my opinion and talk to me like an adult.”

“Right,” you nodded, “but that acceptance clearly looks like an invitation to some students.”

“An invitation to what? The other staff are always saying how closed off their students are, but they’re not like that with me. They’re proactive, they’re independent, they’re thoughtful, they’re excited to be here.”

“What about students who aren’t yours?” You challenged him with your stare. It would’ve looked better in a suit. “Your students are in love with you — some of them literally — and it makes them act out with their other teachers, even students who aren’t yours are citing you as their inspiration. Terrific and capable teachers are being defied simply because they’re not you. Admit this is easier for you than establishing and upholding boundaries.”

Chris listened, but he scoffed nonetheless. “Fine. It’s easier. I’m terrified of these kids but I want them to like me and trust me. But even if I assign them homework and treat them like they’re children, that still won’t solve how the teachers don’t trust me.”

“They will,” you impatiently assured him.

“Even Doyoung?”

“Why do you care?!” You gave a stunned chuckle.

“I mean he punched me in the fucking face yesterday,” Chris shrugged. “Is it true you two dated?”

You gaped at him, stunned. “Why do you care?” You repeated. Chris nonchalantly shrugged. “Are you jealous?” You were provoking him on purpose, but there was no use in pretending you weren’t disgusted with this line of questioning.

“No! We don’t even like each other.” Chris was floundering, now facing his desk more than you. “I’m a naive and arrogant asshole and you’re an uptight ballbuster who sold out, remember?”

“Sold out?” You guffawed, standing up now. “Who the hell do you think you are?! I grew up.”

“Right, well—“ Chris barked as he got up to square off against you. “Did you grow into a stuck-up busybody who is more worried about how she looks than how she’s doing?”

Chris’ ears were burning scarlet as you bristled at his words, but he still walked you to the door as you stormed away. “That was too much. I’m sorry,” he apologized sheepishly before he opened the classroom door into the hall.

“Go fuck yourself, Mr. Bang,” you quietly gritted out, despite your saccharine smile in case anyone was watching. “I’m helping you and then I’m never speaking to you again.”

You were right back in your suit jacket and skirt on Monday, having stewed all weekend over how much more you hated doing this with Chris now. Worse, you hated feeling like he was right. He was shamefully attractive and smart and funny and charming and as much as you hated it — he was right. Somewhere between getting your teaching degree and getting offered your job, you’d become incredibly jaded by the people around you, but not without reason. Even now, the only people who went out of their way to make sure you didn’t feel like you were some child were Ryujin and Yeji… and Chris. Doyoung had, too, which was why you had dated briefly, but now he had joined everyone else in babying you like you were bound to fail. That wasn’t even mentioning the board, made up of all men from old money who mostly seemed to hire you for humor and bragging rights. Even still, this wasn’t even mentioning Superintendent Simmons, who talked to you like he was a lion with a mouse in its paws.

So, sure, you had reasons to be aloof around the people surrounding you, but Chris’s nagging was starting to bother you. Yes, you were leagues more organized and fastidious than you had been growing up, and you even took some solace in sprucing up your space, but you also had to recognize you were quick to do that instead of facing problems at times. It was easy to organize the kitchen for the fourth time or clean out your closet, but it wasn’t always easy to deal with adult problems. You took great pride in your appearances, because looking capable helped you feel capable, but did that mean you were? It was difficult to say, almost as difficult as deciphering Yeji’s bemused look on your way into the office on Monday.

A gorgeous bouquet of flowers was sitting on your desk. You curiously walked over, plucking the small envelope from within the buds and gently prying it open.

Hello Stranger,

1. Are these still your favorite color? You mentioned it years ago so I could be wrong.

2. I’m sorry about Friday again. I know I’m a hot-head and what I did was terrible. You’re not stuck-up, and you’re not a tyrant. When I think back to that summer, I thought we were on the same page, and now you make it look so easy while I feel like I’m completely lost and failing the whole time. I appreciate you helping me. Thank you.

A stiff sigh fell from your lips as you looked at the note in your hands, with Chris’ dumb, nice handwriting giving you a feeling you couldn’t quite place. You quickly paged Ryujin and Yeji into your office. Once both girls were sat waiting for you, it was time for the dreaded question.

“What do people think of me?”

Both girls looked like they’d seen their lives flash before their eyes as you sat at your desk and did some quick typing. When you showed them your screen, they both gasped. There was you, all acne and unfortunate appearance choices at your high school graduation. “It’s not a loaded question,” you promised, “think of it more as a confirmation. I think I’m trying too hard to hide this person.” You gave the girl in the photo a sympathetic look. She was bright, funny, and brimming with potential — even you could see that.

Yeji surprisingly sighed out her answer first. “The other office staff were still whispering about you when you hired me. They said you just wanted to hire other young women to look progressive.”

All three of you rolled your eyes at the sentiment before Ryujin piped up. “The board does like you… because they think you’ll do their bidding. They think you’re ruthless. The teachers think you have an iron fist. The Superintendent? Well, you know how he feels.”

A sour grimace pulled at your lips. “Why don’t I like any of that?”

“Is it because it’s not what she would want?” Yeji thoughtfully asked you as she nodded in the direction of the photo on your computer screen. You thought back to what Chris had said, about wanting to be the person he wanted around at that age. It was such a trip, thinking of what that girl would do if she saw you now. She’d give you a belligerent sneer and close herself off from you because you were a cold witch and you knew it. The girls watched as your shoulders softened, sinking into your chair as you pulled out your phone and found Chris’ number that Yeji had fetched for you.

>>Thanks for the flowers. I’ll be by tomorrow so we can try this all again before the board meeting dinner on Wednesday.

There were decidedly less stares as you walked down the halls of the high school again the next day when the lunch period began. You saw Johnny try to catch your attention out of the corner of your eye, but you simply waved as you passed his office. You had a sneaking suspicion it was about your outfit. As opposed to Friday’s jeans, you felt much more comfortable being more comfortable as opposed to someone you thought you should be. The pencil skirt remained, only now in a cozier dark pallet and much comfier material. The biggest changes were pairing the skirt with a soft flannel shirt and a smart pair of suede oxfords. You felt exposed in how dressed down you were again, but Chris’ surprised smile as you stood in the doorway of his classroom reassured you. He looked good, his hair moderately styled back and wearing another smart blazer over another old band tee. You could see he was even wearing chinos today, still managing to coordinate them with some worn boots not unlike the pair you used to own all those years ago. It was a good look, one that made you a bit more bashful than you had been already.

“Hello, stranger,” you cheekily greeted from the doorway.

“Hey,” he smiled back, motioning for you to come in.

“Hungry?” You asked, fishing a bag out of your purse and placing it in his hands. He peered inside as you set your purse on his desk.

“Are these—?”

“I felt so awful this weekend,” you sighed as you leaned against his desk, still unable to keep from straightening stacks of his papers, “and especially after yesterday. I couldn’t think straight so I cleaned my apartment and made you some cookies.”

“You made me cookies?” He asked incredulously before taking a bite. You could’ve sworn his eyes actually sparkled for a moment. “Alright, these are so good there’s no way you still can’t think straight.”

“You’re right,” you nodded. “Just like you were already right, about almost everything. But you left one detail out.”

“What’s that?” Chris grinned around a mouthful of cookie.

“You make it look pretty easy yourself,” you smiled softly. Chris raised an eyebrow.

“I find that hard to believe.”

“I know you do,” you laughed, “but it’s true! You’ve already done just fine in an industry of your choosing and impulsively decided to become an educator? And you just happen to be financially smart enough to have a house already? It’s reckless but it’s admirable.”

Chris choked on the last of his cookie, his dark hair falling out of place as he composed himself. “I, er, should be up front about that.”

“About what?”

“About deciding to change directions,” Chris sighed. “I had a giant proposal on my hands. I could have had my own company and my own team, but it was a huge investment entirely depending on me and my success. I froze up. I had enough. It felt way too big. I got rid of my fancy apartment, I got rid of my suits and watches, and I just moved.” A sigh fell from Chris’ lips as he folded his arms. He couldn’t meet your imploring stare. “I wish I could do what you do,” he continued. “I want to march headfirst into every single thing no matter what people think of me.”

A surprised laugh escaped you before you could stop it. You covered your mouth as your face heated up. “I’m terrified,” you explained. “Just like you were scared to take that chance, just like you and most of us are reasonably scared of these kids — I’m terrified. I’ve worn suits to attend sports events and picnics with the staff from how terrified I am of them.”

“Well, you look really good today,” Chris beamed at you, but the distracted nuance of his gaze didn’t let it last long. You playfully sat back on his desk, trying to keep his mood up.

“I feel good today.”

“I lied, by the way,” Chris sheepishly blurted. “I know we kissed that night. I thought about it all the time. I didn’t go out with anyone for almost a whole year, I thought about it so much. If you knew I still remembered, I would be too tempted to get distracted. But I’m getting distracted anyway, so I thought you should know. You look really good today.”

A flattered smile pulled at your lips as you reached for Chris’ hand where it rested on the desk. His hand was warm and gentle in yours and he looked up at you, silently gauging your look to see if it was alright to lean up more into your space… when your phone buzzed with a message. It was Johnny.

>I was trying to get your attention when you came in. Simmons is here TOURING THE MUSIC DEPARTMENT. Get that time bomb out of there NOW.

But it was far too late. Superintendent Simmons could be heard talking to Doyoung in the hallway. Chris watched curiously as you whirled around just in time to catch them appearing in the open doorway.

“Yes, Mr. Kim, I’d love to hear your plans for the year but— ah, hello, dear!”

You winced at the use of the word “dear” but fought it back. “Superintendent,” you nodded cordially, “what’re you doing here?”

“I wanted to take a stroll through the department,” the older man coolly insisted, his hands in the pockets of his suit. “I also thought I could finally meet young Christopher here since I wasn’t sure if he was accompanying you to the meeting tomorrow.”

“Why wouldn’t he?” Your question was stated friendly enough, even as you subtly waved a calming hand back to Chris to keep him back.

The Superintendent shrugged. “You know how it is, dear. My son takes his class but I haven’t even met the man before. We’re certainly not exempt from being aware of current goings-on and I wanted to see who all the fuss was about.”

“Do I live up to your expectation?” Chris suddenly asked, unmistakably indignant as he came forward.

“Seeing as my expectations were of a naive, insubordinate, carpe-diem-prescribing kid,” Simmons smirked, “then yes.”

“Excuse me, Superintendent,” you huffed sharply, “but I do not appreciate you speaking to Mr. Bang that way, first as one of my staff members and second as my partner.”

“Oh-ho!” Mr. Simmons threw his head back with a laugh. “Your partner? How unbecoming of you, dear. Now, I would normally do the professional courtesy of discussing this in private, but as you always deem it appropriate to throw a fit, I’ll do it here— you know we need to terminate Mr. Bang. Too much liability.”

A wildfire ignited behind your eyes before you quickly jumped into action. If you had a moment to spare, you would’ve considered the possible consequences. “Mr. Simmons,” you spat, “you know for a fact there are liabilities just as big, if not bigger, right under your nose, just like I know for a fact Mr. Bang is in possession of a confiscated note containing quite the insinuation that your son Christian is having a very close and troubling relationship with one of Mr. Kim’s most promising freshmen.”

You hazarded a look behind you and Chris returned it, petrified. It was a low, risky blow, but an apparently fair one as Mr. Simmons’ eyes grew wide. He stubbornly shook his head. “Christian is a smart boy who is studying hard and has no time—“

“—Christian turned 18 over the summer and wants to have as much fun as he can in high school before he goes to college,” Chris finally spoke up. “He’s said as much in class, and if I recall correctly, that girl is 14. I can show you the letter. He met her at a party that she doesn’t remember but all she knows is she is woefully in love with him. As your son’s teacher I’m a mandated reporter if I think this is an unsafe situation for either of them.”

“You want to play executioner with a man you admitted you just met? Fine,” you warned. “But just like your gossip, you’re not exempt from this, either.”

At that moment, Doyoung sheepishly poked his head into the open doorway, politely coughing to get the attention of Mr. Simmons, who was now sputtering until his face had turned red. “Mr. Superintendent,” Doyoung timidly spoke up, “perhaps you would like to come discuss those plans—“

“Fine time for you to decide to act like a teacher,” Simmons growled towards Chris, before he thrust a fat finger into your chest. “This isn’t done, dear. He’s on thin ice, and now you are, too. Let’s see how long it can hold both of you.” Superintendent Simmons turned on his heel, marching out the door past Doyoung and towards his classroom. Doyoung leaned into the room, giving you both a look that remarkably appeared to be sympathetic support. “Are you alright?” He quietly asked.

You nodded shallowly, still a bit stunned. “Yes, thank you, Mr. Kim.” Chris was seemingly dazed as you turned to face him. “Mr. Bang, can I see you in your office?”

Chris barely nodded himself, having gone pale during your confrontation, and Doyoung silently wished you well before closing the door behind him and trotting down the hall after the older man. You clutched onto Chris’ sleeve and pulled him into his office, guiding him in before you quietly closed the door.

You realized you were breathing heavily, chest rising and falling hard with adrenaline as you looked behind you to check on Chris. He was staring back at you, almost shocked, even as you gently took his hand again to make sure he was alright. His fingers had turned clammy where they squeezed yours, and you shared a brief silence, recovering and staring at each other until he finally spoke up.

“You wanted to see me, ma’am?”

“Yes, Mr. Bang,” you nodded, leaning back against the door and pulling him a little closer. You felt a bit lightheaded. “I wanted you to finish your thought from before we were rudely interrupted.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he nodded dutifully, now cutting right to it as he followed your hand in his to press against you where you leaned against the door. His lips hesitated a mere breath away before he finally kissed you, deep and seemingly driven by every kiss he’d wanted to give you since that night years ago. You could’ve sworn you tasted cotton candy and his lip ring again, maybe even smell evergreen trees if you weren’t mistaken by his cologne. It was electric, re-energizing enough that Chris seemed to finally realize what just happened outside in his classroom.

“Holy shit,” Chris gasped like he just came up for air. “Did I just threaten the—“

Chris’ frantic recollection persisted even as you continued to kiss him. “Did you just warn the superintendent that he is better off tending to matters closer to home in more need of his attention? Yes.”

“Holy shit, I’m going to be fired,” Chris lamented, but even still he let his lips run over your jaw, falling into you and pressing you into the door.

“No, you’re not,” you shook your head as you cupped his face in your hands to make him look at you for a moment. “He would’ve said so. He knows this is bad and it’s going to be a pain to deal with.”

“Wait, you don’t want me to—“

“Report? You just said you should. Honestly, Mr. Kim probably would’ve already if he read the letter more closely in the first place.” You held his gaze as you led his hands around your waist and he quickly got the hint, wrapping around you and diving back into you. “Am I still a ballbuster?” You breathlessly chuckled.

He nodded heartily as he nibbled and kissed your neck. “I love it.” Chris hesitated as he pulled away from your throat, almost asking permission as he kissed you hard against the door, his tongue hot and needy against yours as he almost knocked the breath out of you.

“Mr. Bang—“ you gasped, and you felt him shiver in the cutest way. He seemed emboldened to let his hands get a little braver, following your hint when you led them to the waistband of your skirt, and he fumbled with your shirt as he untucked it and began unbuttoning it. It was a bizarre sensation, feeling so vulnerable to someone you hadn’t known long but had been thinking of for years, and maybe you weren’t the only one. Chris’ breath seemed to catch in his throat as he leaned back enough to see, his hungry eyes falling on you as he pulled open your shirt and became impatient for more. You gasped again as he pushed you back against the door, his strong hands now tenderly roaming down your chest and groping your breasts as he kissed you before he came back to the waist of your skirt again. His confidence seemed to be returning in full now as his hands firmly ran down your thighs to the hem of your skirt, his lips trailing down your chest and nuzzling your cleavage as he gingerly lifted it. Another gasp caught in your lungs as his fingertips wandered up your legs and paused, his trepidation even spreading to the extent that he seemed hesitant to kiss you again. You reached up to gently cup his face, his cheek warm against your palm as you tried to see what could possibly be wrong in this moment. Out there, sure, that was all understandable, but in this tiny office there was no reason for anything to be wrong.

“Mr.—“ you began softly, instantly cutting yourself off as you realized. Oh. “Chris,” you began, more confidently now, “are you alright?”

He sighed out a small laugh before he finally kissed you again. “I am. I just missed you, is all. I’ve been thinking about you. It’s still hard to believe any of this is happening, so Mr. Bang is going to be fine for my students but I’d much prefer it if you and I are more personal than that.”

“I can do that,” you grinned, that stunted gasp from earlier finally coming back and completing as Chris finally let himself caress you under your skirt, getting as personal as you both were yearning for. His fingertips were firm but slow, purposeful as they teased the hem of your panties but continued over them to feel you between your legs, making you so aware of your heat against his hand. He smirked as you shivered at his touch, and you felt your face heat up. “Sorry,” you laughed breathlessly, “it’s been a while.”

“I couldn’t tell,” Chris assured you, finally gasping himself as you regained your mental footing and let your hand drop, trailing down his chest to get an exploratory grip on his growing erection in his pants before you brought him back to kiss you again. His muffled sighs and moans grew feverish as you teased him through his clothes, up to the moment he pressed your hips back against the closed door. You watched curiously as Chris’ lips ghosted down your chest and stomach until he was on his knees for you, dangerously close to nuzzling your damp heat until you let yourself subtly roll your hips towards his mouth. He took the cue to instantly pull the thin fabric aside, just enough that he could dip his tongue into your folds.

Chris couldn’t take his eyes off you as he lapped you up, one hand holding your panties aside and the other clutching onto your bared thigh as you squirmed and mewled for him. Your fingers stroked back through his hair as he held you tight and hungrily licked until he just happened to hit the perfect spot. That, of course, was when he stopped, leaning away and his shiny lips pulled into a mischievous smirk. “I need you so bad,” he drawled, “I’m getting impatient.”

“You?” You giggled sarcastically. “Impatient? Impossible.”

Nevertheless, Chris rocked back onto his feet and pulled you over to his desk before he sat you on top of it, gently pulling your knees apart to step between them. “Are you sure?”

“Definitely,” you nodded. “Do it.”

Chris grinned shyly as he unbuckled his belt and brought his pants down enough to reveal his hard cock, groaning as you brazenly grabbed his length and pumped it a few times in your hand before guiding him into you. You both gasped in tandem now as you were stretched open, and your legs quickly found purchase around his hips as he kissed you again, the faintest taste and scent of your wetness still on his lips. He filled you out unexpectedly, prodding deep into you in this angle and his girth just wide enough at the base to make you whimper each time he bottomed out.

“God, this is so good,” Chris groaned against your lips, “you’re so good. I’ve thought of this so many times.” His groans and whispered curses were hot in your ear as he fucked you on the desk, and you were both lost in this endless moment while you both sounded like you were steadily climbing your respective peaks until you noticed his prolonged smirk.

“What’s so funny?” You jokingly accused.

“Nothing,” Chris shook his head with a breathless smile, “I’m just surprised. I honestly expected you to be a little more in charge.”

“Oh, am I not as dominant as you thought?” You pouted for effect, seeming to only convince him for a second before you kicked him back into his chair anyhow and willingly taking his bait. He watched, his hands clutching the armrests with intrepid excitement as you dropped onto his lap. “Is this more what you had in mind?”

“Actually, yeah,” Chris nodded hungrily as you raised your hips, just enough to pull your panties to the side and grind your soaked pussy against the head of his cock. You both sighed in pleasure at the sensation as you took your sweet time dipping his length into you just the slightest bit, your lips parted to barely kiss him the whole time you teased yourself against him. He actually waited patiently as you barely rolled your hips lower into him, even as he began to get impatient again. “Heh, hey,” Chris laughed under his breath, “aren’t you gonna—“

“Whatever happened to your lip ring?” You asked him, teasingly oblivious to his question.

“My wha— oh, that?” Chris was almost delirious trying to rock his hips up into you. “Don’t laugh, but I didn’t think it looked very professional when I first interviewed. I already wasn’t wearing it out to events and meetings, so not wearing it to school made sense.”

“I’m not going to laugh,” you smirked as you playfully pretended you were about to kiss him over and over, your lips ghosting over his own time and time again as his cock surreptitiously tried to work deeper into you, “but that’s ridiculously funny. You’re literally still wearing your earrings, and don’t try telling me that’s different. Weren’t you waiting for something, by the way?”

“Was I waiting—? Come on, aren’t you going to…?”

“Aren’t I going to what?” You asked innocently. Chris’ head lolled back against the head of his chair in exasperation.

“Aren’t you going to fuck me?” His question was quiet, almost as if he were shy to be saying it out loud, but he asked it nevertheless.

“Sure,” you shrugged casually, “are you going to wear that lip ring for me sometime? I want to see if it has the same effect.”

“Anything, if you’re that easy,” Chris quipped, even as he was unable to hide the excited tremble in his voice.

“I’m easy?” You asked, eyebrows raised as you finally sank deep onto Chris’ erection and kissed him again. His muffled groan was thick, laced with satisfaction as you began to ride him in earnest. The hot moans falling from his lips echoed your own impassioned whimpers, only growing more feverish as you angled your hips down, enabling yourself to grind your clit down against his lap. By now you were so lost in it that were thoroughly soaked through your panties you were still wearing.

“Are you sure you’re not easy?” Chris chuckled exhaustedly, even as he nuzzled against your heaving cleavage and gripped tight onto your hips. It was his turn to whimper as you desperately ran your fingers through his hair to clutch onto him as you felt your peak coming fast. Chris must’ve not been far behind, considering the way he sweetly groaned your name against your skin, as if to personally coax out your orgasm.

The air between you was hot, static, and the way Chris held you was surprisingly affectionate. Despite how much ire and sarcasm had been slung between you previously, now you were both rendered speechless, your staccato breaths falling heavy in the spaces between your sighs and moans. Giving in to Chris didn’t feel like giving up like you had been afraid of for some reason. Reality seemed to be that he may even be quite fond of you, maybe even more than you’d previously imagined, despite how much you did or didn’t change. He obviously wanted to do more than kiss you, and now it seemed he wanted to do more than just fuck you. Chris’ fingertips dug into your hips as he thrust up against you, and you suddenly caught yourself meeting his gaze. The feeling was mutual, apparently, the blown out arousal in his eyes probably echoing your own impending orgasm slowly rising up your spine and making your head spin. He seemed to catch this as he wrapped his arms around you, holding you tight and pressing his lips to your throat as he pistoned his hard length deep inside you, the head dragging along your sensitive walls and daring you to cum.

So you finally did. It hit you hard, giving you barely a moment’s notice for you to grab onto Chris, wrapping your arms around his neck as your core shuddered, radiating out to your quaking thighs and trembling fingers as your heightened moans hit a fever pitch. This, of course, was the final straw for Chris, his orgasm not far behind yours as he tensed up, palms pushing flat against the small of your back as he rutted into you with a broken groan. He uttered a sharp curse under his breath, eyes squeezed shut with the force of his own climax spilling into you as you finished riding out your own on his lap.

It felt like an eternity, wrapped around each other, faces buried in each other’s shoulders as you both fought for breath and you finally realized how cramped it was straddling Chris in his desk chair, the armrests uncomfortably digging into your legs. As if to mitigate this silent complaint you had, Chris gently began to ease you off of him as he simultaneously pulled you to him for a tiredly satisfied kiss. The bright lights in your eyes finally dulled and the imaginary cotton in your ears finally fell out, letting the sound return to normal. You could hear the low drone of the air conditioner, the muted hum of the hard drive in Chris’ laptop, the clatter of the classroom doorknob outside turning open—

Chris heard it, too, with how he bolted upright with you in his lap. You both stared at the door of his office in terror; this was no way for the assistant superintendent to be found, in post-orgasmic bliss with her legs wrapped around a teacher who was still in a heap of trouble, and you had no chance of escape. Footsteps could be heard approaching before Chris quickly pushed at your retreating knees, apparently on the same page as you when he helped you slide off his lap and under his desk. You scrambled forward to grab at his chair and wheel him close as he desperately stuffed himself back in his pants and tried to make himself presentable. A knock came at the door and Chris quickly wiped the accumulated perspiration off his brow.

“Come in—!“ he coughed, trying to sound chipper and casual, and as if he didn’t just orgasm with you barely two minutes prior. He gave you one crazed look to make sure you were alright shoved under the desk before the door to his office gingerly opened.

“Hey—“

Doyoung?

“Mr. Kim!” Chris sat up a little straighter, inadvertently kicking you in your shin in the process and nearly making you curse out loud. You reflexively punched him in the knee, making him jump as he tried to appear natural. “Is everything alright?”

“What, with me? I’m fine. It’s just...” Doyoung sighed, apparently not moving from where he awkwardly stood in the doorway of the tiny office. “Was it true, what you said about the superintendent’s son?”

“It was,” Chris said solemnly. “Would you like to see the letter again?” His question was genuine, any ill feelings towards the other teacher seeming to have dissipated by now. Your ears perked up as Chris leaned forward. You could hear papers shuffled overhead. He still had it? You could hear a piece of paper being handed to Doyoung, whose sigh only multiplied.

“I can’t believe it,” he murmured, “that’s so…”

“I know,” Chris commiserated. “Will Samantha—“

“I’ll talk to Sam,” Doyoung resolved, “but first, about the other day, I’m sorry about—“

“Mr. Kim, you don’t have to apologize,” Chris insisted, “tensions were high, you were upset, and you were protecting your student. If you’d like to help me report this I’d appreciate that. You’re a good teacher.”

“So are you, Mr. Bang,” Doyoung conceded sheepishly. “Maybe you can join me in the teacher’s lounge for lunch tomorrow.”

“I’d like that.”

You could hear the smooth heel of Doyoung’s oxford turn to leave and Chris backed up from the desk. The sigh of relief you both let out revealed that you had apparently been holding your breath. He slumped back in the chair before leaning forward to offer you an assisting hand.

“Oh, one more thing—“

Chris snapped upright in his chair, accidentally kicking you again before his knees knocked into the top of his desk. He grinned through it as he attempted to look nonchalant again. “Yeah?”

“So,” Doyoung began stiffly, “you and her are, like… a thing?”

“Er,” Chris floundered for a second. “Yes. Why?”

“Why? Oh, I mean, it’s nothing,” Doyoung fumbled, “I meant, I guess, is it serious?”

Chris’ Adam’s apple could barely be seen bobbing with his sudden gulp from your vantage point, and you didn’t blame him. Serious? It wasn’t a stretch to imagine his ears turning beet red again. Your thighs were beginning to get sore where you were folded under the desk. “No! I mean, not yet,” Chris said, his stammer matching Doyoung’s now. “I want it to be, though. I really like her. Why?”

Your heart thudded against your ribs. You felt like such a sucker, but why did you also feel so smitten?

“No reason,” Doyoung laughed politely. “I’m happy for you. For both of you. She looks different with you, you know? You look good together. See you later.”

The door finally clicked closed and you both waited for the classroom door to do the same before it was Chris’ turn to let out the breath he’d been holding. He sighed heavily, melting into his chair before sliding back. His gentle hand reached down to help you out from under the desk. You held his hand, his fingers warm in yours as he met your gaze. “Hello, stranger,” he grinned, “did you have fun under the desk?” Chris fussed with your clothes, helping smooth your skirt back out and buttoning your blouse back up before he realized you were staring at him. He suddenly looked concerned, sitting up as he tried to make sense of your expression. “What? Is everything alright?”

“You want this to be serious?”

Chris almost flinched as he defensively tried to figure out your tone. He settled for getting back up from his chair and squaring up against you once again, arms folded matter-of-factly like he anticipated a confrontation. “You know what? I do.”

“This isn’t even real, Chris,” you smirked, flattered by his sincerity. “We don’t even like each other, remember?”

He let out an exasperated laugh. “Holy shit, you nearly gave me a heart attack. Go ahead, then, tell me how we aren’t real.”

“Well,” you smiled, “you haven’t asked me out, for one thing.”

It seemed Chris finally caught up to your game. “Fine,” he sarcastically scoffed. “Would you like to go out with me some time?”

“Sure,” you playfully shrugged with a smile. “How about now? Are you hungry?”

Chris was amused as he pulled you close into his arms. “You know what? I’m actually not.”

#stray kids smut #bang chan smut #kwritersworldnet #kprosenet #bang chan x reader #bang chan breakdown

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cinebration · 4 years

Text

Cordial (Napoleon Solo x Reader) [Part 6]

Solo receives some new information.

Tagged: @ly–canthrope, @maan24, @eefjedegraaf, @omgkatinka, @illbegoinhome

Warnings: none

Gif Source: sirgeralt

Though it was early—ten-thirty—you insisted on going to bed, leaving Solo no chance of fighting you on the sleeping arrangement. That suited him just fine, his mind preoccupied with the rat-smile man encounter. As you slipped into bed, the lights extinguished and the doors separating the room from the salon closed, Solo retrieved the business card from his pocket and flipped it over and over between his prestidigitator’s fingers.

He could practically smell it—the scent of dirt. Dirt on you and your pristine, skeletal dossier. The rat-smile man could unload it on him, he was sure.

Solo slipped into the bedroom. You lay still beneath the silk sheets, breathing quietly and shallowly. Assured that you were asleep, Solo crept out of the hotel room and descended to the lobby.

The night manager straightened as Solo approached. Few guests at the hotel frequented the lobby for the man’s assistance at this hour.

Offering a conciliatory smile, Solo asked, “May I use a telephone? My wife”—he cringed internally—“is upstairs sleeping, and I don’t want to disturb her.”

“Certainly, sir.” Lifting one of the front-desk rotary phones up onto the counter, the night manager quietly excused himself to give Solo some privacy.

Solo dialed the number printed on the crumpled card and waited. It rang five times before Schwartz answered.

“I knew you couldn’t refuse,” the man said in his mild accent. Solo could feel the rat smile in the man’s voice.

“I’m sorry?”

“Oh. Oh, um, I thought you were someone—who is this?”

“A mutual friend gave me this number. She was under the impression we could benefit each other.”

“Who was this friend?”

“Miss Rydell.”

“Oh! Really? Curious, curious. I was hoping to interact with her myself soon, but if she’s sent you to me…”

Solo smiled. “Should we discuss this in person? I’m in Paris on business. Do you know of a café or…?”

“Yes, yes. Can you meet me in an hour?”

“Yes.”

Schwartz gave him the name and direction of a café not far from Solo’s hotel. Ringing off, Solo thanked the night manager and strode out of the lobby.

Though he had an hour until the rendezvous, Solo meandered down the street, one hand in his pocket. He strolled leisurely, but his attention was active, searching the faces and postures of everyone he walked past. Reflections in windows before and adjacent to him were studied, checking for tails.

Though he saw none, he turned sharply down a small street and vaulted over a low dividing wall between buildings, emerging from the alley on the other side unruffled, not a hair out of place.

He did this several times, carefully performing countersurveillance to lose any tail he might have.

He arrived at the café two minutes after the appointed time.

Schwartz was nowhere to be found.

Frowning but nonplussed, Solo stepped into the café and ordered a croissant, along with coffee. Seating himself at a table far in one corner, he nursed the coffee as he watched through the windows for the rat-smile man.

Schwartz arrived eight minutes late. He stepped into the café and surveyed the room.

Having seen him approaching, Solo had abandoned his half-eaten pastry—a shame, but he could always indulge again tomorrow; perhaps, he thought, you would like to dine here—and placed himself beside one of the doors, pretending to look with great interest at what was only a mediocre landscape painting on the wall.

Solo circled his arm around Schwartz’s shoulders, startling the thin man. “Hello again.”

The man tensed, recognizing Solo after a brief hesitation. Solo took the opportunity to guide the man out the front door and into the street.

“I don’t understand,” Schwartz mewled. “I didn’t mean to offend Miss Rydell. I really didn’t. I was so excited to see her, that is all. Please don’t hurt me.”

Solo, keeping a firm grip on the man’s shoulder, turned him down another street. He didn’t dispute the man’s assumption, sensing it would make the man more forthcoming. “I’m looking for some information.”

“Anything, anything.”

“Earlier you told Miss Rydell you needed her expertise. What for?”

The man blinked behind his glasses. “For the usual.”

Solo forced a bit of hardness into his face and glanced at the man. “Explain.”

The man quailed beneath the flintiness in Solo’s ice-cold eyes. “The usual! I need a piece. I have just the right client for it.”

Frowning, Solo slowed past an alley deliberately, slightly shifting so the man could see it. A violent tremor wracked the man’s frame.

“It shouldn’t be that difficult. Nothing like the Vermeer from last year. I want a Renault. One of the ones he burned.”

Solo’s grip on the man loosened as the man’s words sunk into his mind. A Vermeer? A Renault? One of the burned ones—worth more than the little portrait from a lesser known dead artist he had stolen and sold two years ago?

“Miss Rydell…procures pieces for you?”

At this, Schwartz laughed. “Of course not. She paints them.”

Solo felt the world freeze around him. He couldn’t believe it. He knew your secret.

Fraud.

#Napoleon Solo x Reader #Napoleon Solo #Napoleon Solo imagine #Henry Cavill #Henry Cavill imagine #Henry Cavill x Reader #The Man from UNCLE #The Man from U.N.C.L.E.

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scullydubois · 3 years

Text

Only the Light Ch. 14

As the new year beckons Scully to put her life back together, she and Mulder share a Valentine's 'anti-date' on the Hoover Building rooftop.

TW for brief discussion of disordered eating.

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

The new year struck Scully with a particular melancholy. 1994 was, to put it plainly, one of the worst--if not the worst--year of her life. Even without her disappearance, it would earn that title. Her father’s untimely passing and the brief but brutal closure of the X-Files wrenched the few good things left from her fingers. Factor in the four weeks in late summer that she has no memory nor knowledge of, and you’ll understand why Scully has taken to calling it her year on the dark side of the moon.

Of course, the aftershocks of her abduction are still felt every day. Flipping the calendar does nothing to remedy that. At her last appointment, Dr. Zapolsky noticed that Scully’s weight had decreased rather sharply from previous visits and made the point that “rapid weight loss can stop ovulation,” which Scully interpreted as kicking her while she was down. That’s not exactly fair, after all. Technically, her period stopped well before she decided to restrict herself.

It’s odd how it happened. Her weight was fine before her abduction; slender but within the healthy range for her height. Even when she was returned, it had only dropped a couple pounds, as if they fed her...as if they cared. She found that hard to believe. In the months afterward, she sought a physical representation of her mental anguish, and since she and food were never on the best terms to begin with, the choice was simple.

The other day, she had to punch an extra hole in all her belts to hold them steady on her hips. She knows the consequences of this; she’ll live them and accept it.

There has been some beneficial progress. Dr. Zapolsky started Scully on low-dose birth control around Thanksgiving, hoping that it would balance her hormones and regulate her periods. It has, in fact, brought back her cycle, something that Scully did not expect. She gave Melissa her leftover tampons in October. Now Melissa buys enough for the two of them and insists that Scully doesn’t owe her a dime. Scully is too grateful for this to speak about it.

Her downward spiral reached a snag when she realized that smoking would make her birth control ineffective, shortly after her and Mulder’s Christmas Eve smoke break. She ditched the cigarettes, mad at herself for taking a month to read the disclaimer (she’s a doctor for god’s sake, she should know better!), yet glad to have an out. Smoking was a habit she exercised because she could. It won’t hurt her anytime soon, and millions of others do it, so where’s the harm? That was her thinking. As soon as she had a reason to stop, she did, and it felt a bit like jumping from a runaway train just before it skids off the tracks.

So she is better, and she is worse. Which really means she is the same as she was. That is the conclusion she carries into 1995’s frosts and thaws.

There is one thing she is certain of, something that she hadn’t given much thought to until the one year anniversary of her father’s death. She needs her faith back. She’s always practiced in a cyclical pattern, her devoutness orbiting in and out like the moon around the Earth. Sometimes closer and brighter, sometimes farther away, sometimes nowhere to be found.

She has to believe it will come back; it always does. She was made in God’s image, and her father’s. This is both a blessing and a curse.

But no one can be God, and she can’t be her father either. His faith never wavered. If hers was the moon--fickle and subject to doubt--his was the sun, steady and warming everything around it. This was a quality she was envious of, and then guilty in her blasphemy. She has never managed to feel completely content inside the bounds of piety like he could. She’s constantly shaking the devil off her back, then repenting for it, then wondering if it were all worth it. What if...what if...what if...she isn’t fully persuaded in her beliefs, and she knows that this is the worst sin of all. Like Mulder though, she wants to believe, and shouldn’t that count for something?

Imperfection is allowed. Understood, even. Doubt is not as permissible. “He who doubts is like a wave of the sea, blown and tossed by the wind,” the Bible says. Sometimes Scully takes that to mean she should walk into the ocean. Then she realizes that would be blasphemous too.

Some people believe without trying. Her father was one of those. Mulder too, in a different way. She used to think that she was too. Now she’s not so sure. “Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have believed.” How many times has she read that line? Has she ever lived up to it? She’s seen and still not believed. Certainly that means she’s going to Hell.

Or is she already there?...She wonders that sometimes. Maybe she didn’t make it back from the other side. Maybe the devil just wanted her to believe that she had, and so he’d constructed some kind of diorama of Scully’s life that would go wrong bit by bit, boiling her like a gradually heated bathtub. No resting in peace for the unbeliever.

She can’t imagine a worse punishment than all the potentially good things in her life getting dismantled beyond her control. She’d rather never experience them at all than know their joy then watch them fall apart. Missy would kill her if she heard this, but you can’t please everybody.

It is at this point that Scully embarks on her chosen method of religious self-flagellation: going through the Ten Commandments and determining whether she’s violated them. Count up your sins and God won’t have to; practically the tagline of the Catholic faith.

She thinks she does okay with the first few. She has no idols, she honors her mother and father, and Mulder knows not to call her on Sunday mornings. Of course, the part about not taking the Lord’s name in vain can be tricky, but she’s working on it.

Number five is where it gets dicey. Thou shalt not kill. She imagines that she wouldn’t, not on purpose, but the circumstances of her job worry her. God makes no exceptions for self-defense. And what if she were ever to be a true doctor? If she couldn’t save a patient, does that mean she killed them?

Her father was in the Navy. He never killed anyone.

Number six...well, she doesn’t mention that often. Few people know about Daniel. Missy is one. Scully harbors a genuine shame regarding that time in her life, not so much because of Daniel, but because she was complicit in hurting his wife and daughter. It was a young, foolish mistake that she never wants to make again.

She feels pretty good about number seven. The only thing she has ever stolen is one of Charlie’s matchbox cars when they were kids. She was uninterested in Missy’s hand-me-down Barbies and Raggedy Ann dolls. The boys’ toys were much cooler. She trusted the Lord enough to know that He wouldn’t hold something she did when she was seven against her. Besides, she gave it back when Charlie figured out it was missing. She just wishes he had let her play with him after that.

Number eight: thou shalt not bear false witness against thy neighbor. She considers honesty one of her best qualities. She sure hopes God does too. She’s not the most open person, but that’s different from lying…

Nine is a lost cause, considering six had been broken. This was her least favorite part of her family’s religion: the power it had to cause her shame about her own body, her own desires. She had her first crisis of faith over this at age 14. Missy comforted her with something she has never forgotten: “The original sin was the serpent’s deception, not Eve’s desire. Even God pins it on the woman.” She knew her sister could only say that because she didn’t truly believe and wasn’t trying to, but it had stuck with Scully through many moments when she needed it.

And finally, thou shalt not covet thy neighbor’s goods. She supposes she did this with the matchbox cars when she was seven, but in literal terms that’s about it. Metaphorically, she does this all the time and struggles with why she feels so inadequate. Her sister’s confidence, Mulder’s tenacity, her father’s faith...The ideal Dana Scully would have all of these. The real one is a work in progress.

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

So it goes that she finds herself prepping a case in the office on Valentine’s Day. Mulder’s scheduled to fly to Florida the next morning to investigate attacks in a community of circus performers. He’s convinced it’s the Fiji Mermaid, she’s convinced he needs to get his head checked; the usual. This is one comfort Scully can always rely on. No matter how utterly twisted her life gets, she will always think Mulder is crazy, and he will always go along with it.

The occasion of the day goes unmentioned until what Mulder lovingly refers to as “closing time,” which is not a specific time but rather the point that he finally gives up for the day, usually hastened by his partner’s prodding. Scully has learned the signs of his dwindling tenacity by now. She glances at the clock as he pulls his glasses off his head and tosses a sunflower seed in the wastebasket, pleasantly surprised that it reads only 5:15. He catches her checking, his eyes--amber today--meeting hers.

His lips curl in amusement. “You got a date or something?”

“No,” she blinks, feeling like a child caught taking a cookie from the jar. Her cheeks grow hot, threatening to make a scene. “I figured you did, since you’re finishing up so early.”

Mulder straightens his stack of papers, clinking them against the desk obnoxiously. “Think again, buckaroo.”

He’s taken to calling her that lately. Neither one of them is sure why, it just popped into his mind one day and stuck. It makes her feel like a heroine in some 70s Western shoot-out flick who wrangles all the bad guys and locks’em in the county jail. She’s thankful that someone can see her for what she could be rather than what she is. It helps her see that too.

He stuffs his papers in a manila folder, then rises from behind the desk and stoops toward the backpack he prefers to a briefcase. (She called him a kindergartener once because of it and he remarked that he’d ‘rather be a kindergartener than an adult.’ She couldn’t argue with that.) “Valentine’s Day isn’t really observed under the Fox Mulder calendar,” he says, unzipping the bag and putting the folder in. “Halloween and Thanksgiving, those are my holy days.”

“You worship at the shrine of the food pyramid,” Scully smirks.

“Yes indeed. Wait--” Scully’s gaze flicks to him, genuinely concerned. He dissolves her uncertainty with a boyish grin. “--does the food pyramid include candy?”

She rolls her eyes, but it’s not deeply felt. She misses these flat-lining comedic routines of his, usually at their best when they’re putzing through some tumble-weed town where the bathroom stalls at the gas station don’t lock. He loves being the funniest person in a ten-mile radius, and that’s not a satisfaction he can have in DC. She wonders if he tells these lame jokes to strangers now, or if they were just for her.

“Speaking of food,” he says, brushing a hand through his hair, “you wanna grab dinner?”

Scully’s forehead creases. “Like, in a restaurant?”

“I mean, I wasn’t gonna be that forward, but I guess we could take it to yours or mine...”

Scully laughs lightly, wrapping her arms around herself, fingers caressing her bony elbows. “We’ve already covered what day it is,” she demures. “Everyone having dinner is going to be on a date.”

“You’re right...the restaurant probably won’t let us in unless we make out in front of the hostess,” he deadpans.

“Not to mention that we don’t have any reservations…”

“Well, making out might remedy that, depending on the hostess.”

She gives him her ‘last straw’ look--crossed arms, arched eyebrow, stinging glare--and he raises his hands in surrender. “I’ll stick to slipping a twenty, then.”

Scully uncrosses her arms and slinks toward her purse rather languishly. “No restaurants, Mulder. It’s too much trouble on a holiday.”

“I sure hope you didn’t mistake my suggestion as an invitation to Mulder’s Downhome Country Kitchen, cause that place is not Michelin star rated.”

“I’m well aware. I’ve seen the menu.”

“Is Chateau de Scully open tonight?” he asks with an eyebrow raise that his partner couldn’t have missed if she tried--and she did.

“Well, the chef is celebrating Valentine’s Day with her girlfriend in Oregon, so you’d be waiting awhile for your meal.”

“There’s no back-up chef? I don’t know, someone who may need to feed herself while the chef is away?”

“Yes, but she doesn’t serve the public.”

“Ouch.”

He plucks their respective coats off the rack, folding his own over his arm and throwing his partner’s over her shoulders. She jumps just the tiniest bit--she probably thinks he didn’t notice, so he’ll pretend he didn’t--then slips her arms in the sleeves and pulls it on properly.

“Thanks,” she murmurs, avoiding eye contact.

After he’s put his own jacket on, he hoists up his backpack, fielding off his partner’s near swerve into laughter. She’s barely maintaining a straight face, and even if it’s at his expense, he loves it because unadulterated joy is something she deserves so much.

“You know what, I’ve got just the solution,” he says as he strolls out the doorway, flipping the light switch as he goes, leaving Scully scrambling in the dark.

“Hey!”

He hears her petulant voice, followed quickly by the laugh he was looking for. When she turns to him after locking the office door, her eyes are still shining from the momentary euphoria. He is so happy to know her.

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but this place is the Smithsonian of vending machines.”

“Mm-hm.”

“And I know a door to the rooftop that never gets locked.” He flashes her a sly look, his intentions pure despite himself.

“It’s 40 degrees outside,” she counters before he can even voice his proposal.

“Sure, but we can make some fresh coffee, and there’s gotta be blankets in that storage closet of ours.” Ours. Very few things are theirs. She wishes he would say it again.

As much as her instinct is to protest, she can’t quite muster the resolve to. I mean, it checks all the boxes. It’s not a restaurant, she’d only have to eat a snack from the vending machine, and she wouldn’t have to spend Valentine’s night alone, which is a sneaky sadness that had been pressing at the back of her mind.

“Fine,” she bluffs, as if it were a great inconvenience to her. She enjoys the cat-and-mouse game, what can she say? “You find the blankets, I’ll get the coffee.”

Mulder smiles, his lips edging over his teeth in an aesthetically pleasing way that makes Scully feel like he missed his calling as a male model. Of course, this smile isn’t posed. The constant in his life is his partner’s unpredictability. Everyone thinks she’s a stone-cold skeptic, but he knows she’s an uncertain believer, and there’s no one harder to pin down than that. Her yes to his Valentine plans may as well be an admission that Bigfoot exists.

“Let’s meet by the sixth floor stairwell, okay?” he prompts, laying a reassuring hand on her shoulder.

Flashes of Christmas Eve sabotage her thoughts--her mother’s kitchen, her untidy tipsiness, Mulder just trying to iron things out. He’d touched her, and she’d lashed out at him. Reaction formation, that was the term for the defense mechanism she’d used. He knew it, probably studied it extensively. Concealing an impulse by acting out its opposite.

Instead of mentioning this, she looks him in the eyes and says, “Okay, I’ll use the coffee machine on the sixth floor then,” as if his touch hadn’t brought forth both memory and desire.

“Great. See you there.” He pulls finger guns, and she thinks that maybe this is already her best Valentine’s Day yet.

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

Five stories of stairs is a long way to go with two hot mugs of coffee. Scully had hoped there would be some styrofoam cups--something she could put a lid on--but the Bureau is stingy, so she had to go all the way back to the basement, grab their coffee mugs, take the elevator back to the sixth floor, brew some dark roast (to Mulder’s probable discontent), then hope that by some miracle, they could make it to the roof.

Ever the idealist, Mulder takes the challenge in stride. Though his arms are already bundled with some comforters he found tucked away in storage (he shudders to think how old they must be), he takes the handle of his mug, squeezing the blankets snug against his chest.

“Are you sure about this?” his partner asks with her usual uneven tone. “What if we get all the way up there and the door is locked?”

“We knock and get the snipers to open the door for us,” he answers matter-of-factly.

Scully’s eyebrows shoot up. “Snipers?”

“Oh yeah, did I forget to mention? There’s a longstanding rumor about snipers on the roof that I’d like to get to the bottom of.”

His demeanor is just loose enough to make Scully question whether he is in fact kidding. A conversational casualness permeates all of his sensational soliloquies because to him, the phenomena he’s discussing should be regarded as a fact of the world. If he ever launched into an indifferent lecture on the subject, she’d know he was bluffing.

Having never heard the rumor herself, she decides this is simply a figment of his overactive imagination. She’ll play along. “Well, if it’s anything like the talk of you being spooky, then it doesn’t look good for us…” she teases, her own smirk eliciting an identical one from her partner.

Masking his impatience by embodying the role of the gentleman, Mulder uses his free hand to prop open the stairwell door, ushering his partner through. The landing of each story has one stray light bulb, there for show more than anything. Most of them are either flickering or burned out, the agents discover as they inch their way up, one slowly taken step at a time. Step, pause for the coffee to settle, hope it doesn’t breach its container, step: that’s the process they adopt for approximately 100 steps in the cold Hoover stairwell. There are many ways to show love; Mulder bets that you wouldn’t find this in any lame self-help book.

“Do you think Romeo would have done this for Juliet?” he muses.

“Depends on what he was expecting once they made it to the top,” Scully quips, the edges of her lips turning up slightly.

Mulder nods, perpetually amused by her (too) infrequent jaunts into suggestive territory. “My man really got ahead of himself with the whole ‘dying for her’ schtick.”

“You’re one to talk.”

Mulder eyes her. “Actually, I think it was you who was going to die for me.”

“Not for you, because of you.” Her statement is neither packed with malice nor free of blame. “There’s a difference.”

She may as well have shot him at point blank range; then at least she could see the bleeding. She didn’t mean to be so blunt, but he gave her the perfect setup. Mulder cauterizes his own wound, disguising his pain as a joke. “Damn, I was finally moving past that!”

“At least one of us was,” she says, her voice fluttering, and he knows she’s just teasing, but god, what if she’s cauterizing her own hidden wounds?

They reach the door labelled ‘roof,’ and Mulder can’t decipher what happens first, him putting his hand on the door handle or her placing a chilly hand on his cheek. Playing it back in his head later on he won’t even be able to figure it out-- it cut time loose from its axes in such a way.

“Are you okay, Scully?” He’s not sure why this is the first question out of his mouth, but it is.

“I need a hand warmer,” she murmurs. “The coffee’s already cooling off.”

All the while, Mulder is acutely aware that her hand’s still on his cheek and she’s got him propped against the door, and what does she want him to do with that information?

Her thumb grazes his mole, and it becomes clear to him that there are two ways this scenario could go, and if she doesn’t want the second one it’s imperative that she stop rubbing rhythmic circles into his skin.

He clears his throat. “Do you want to...do you want me to check for snipers?” Her touch continues, uninterrupted.

“Is the door unlocked?” Her voice sounds airy and far away. She probably didn’t even hear his question.

He pushes on the handle, confirming their freedom. “Yes ma’am,” he answers, fear of a sort edging him into total politeness. He is twelve tiptoeing through the too empty halls of his house, again.

“Let’s have a picnic,” she says, still light and airy, as if that weren’t the plan the entire time. Then, she breaks into sudden laughter, pulling her hand away from Mulder’s cheek in her fit. “We forgot the food!”

She is back to normal now, his steadfast Scully with a side of joy.

Half of him mourning for the otherworldly Scully and the moment that could have been, he laughs too. “There may have been some lapses in planning.”

“We can make do, can’t we?” There’s a glimmer in her eyes that suggests the moment is not as far gone as he believed.

“Cold coffee sounds like an enduring Valentine’s tradition,” he affirms.

They choose not to dwell on words like “enduring” and “tradition,” entering the chill of the Hoover Building rooftop on Valentine’s night.

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

They’re not that far above the city really--the Hoover’s no NYC skyscraper--but their heads are in the clouds, that’s for sure. It’s not the typical dinner date complete with melted candles and overpriced dessert and overly attentive waiters, but as it turns out, they would both hate that. After all, this is not a date, it’s a casual hangout between two coworkers who don’t have dates on Valentine’s Day. If anything, it’s an anti-date. That’s what they tell themselves.

February’s unrelenting chill swirls around them, catching Scully’s hair in playful tantrums and turning the two of them into life-size paperweights atop the blankets. More sensible people may call the night a bust, but not the Prince of Halloweentown and his esteemed guest. This unconventional adventure is exactly what they bargained for.

Scully looks to Mulder, who’s holding his coffee like it’s a beer. She smiles. That is so him.

She exhales, and her breath spells itself out on the air. She tilts her face to the sky, as if the sun might suddenly rise and bask her in its heat. Mulder notices and fixes his attention there too, happy to have an excuse to look skyward. It’s his outlet, like hers is the sea her father dedicated his life to. His preferred escape method is to fly away; hers is to drift off.

He forces himself back into the moment, here, with her, and the expanse of the sky. “I once spent fifty bucks on one of those ‘name a star’ certificates, and I can’t even see it because of the goddamn light pollution.”

“I think that’s really more about the gesture than anything else,” Scully replies, trying to soothe him as if this were actually a pressing problem. “Unless you bought it for yourself...?”

Mulder chuckles. “No, no. It was for an old girlfriend.”

Scully raises her eyebrows in amusement. “Did you name it after her?”

“No, we named it the Rhine star.”

A puzzled look passes between them. It gives him a twinge of joy that his partner is not the encyclopedia she seems to be.

“After Joseph Banks Rhine, the founder of parapsychology,” he clarifies. “We were both fascinated by the field.”

“Oh.” She turns her face back toward the sky with the feeling of a kid who missed the winning word of the spelling bee. There are times when she is grateful she does not know everything, and times when she is not. Somehow, this is both.

“I’ve thought about buying another one and naming it after Samantha,” Mulder continues, “but it feels too much like a grave marker.”

“I’d consider it a lovely tribute,” Scully counters, used to doing so. “But I’m thirty and I own my own gravestone, so take that with a grain of salt.”

It’s true--once Dana was returned, her mother couldn’t bear to look at the gravestone she’d had engraved in memory of her missing daughter, so she gave it to Mulder, who saw no logical place for it to go except the woman whose name it bore. Margaret hadn’t wanted her to know that it existed, that they’d gotten so far as considering her gone. While it brought Mulder no joy to present it to his partner, it served as a reminder of the miracle her survival was, and in such bleak times, they had both needed that.

“It doesn’t scare me--the thought of dying,” Scully says to the stars. Mulder wonders if she meant for him to hear it. He wishes he hadn’t, but he’s met with the realization that she is trying to start a conversation when her eyes look into his.

He doesn’t know where to go with this, so he toes the line between deep and sarcastic. “I thought Catholics were all about that heaven and hell stuff.”

“Yes, but…” where is the line between truth and blasphemy, she wonders? Settling herself, she starts over. “I’ve lived both on Earth, so what have I got to fear?” She turns her glance to the blanket, as if shrinking out of the Lord’s sight. “Besides, sometimes I think I’m already there.”

“Heaven?”

“No, Hell.”

He should have known. He grips the edge of his blanket, wondering why his parents had prioritized the sex talk but never explained what to do in a situation like this. He has a psychology degree, sure, but he’s as much a psychologist as she’s a physicist.

“There are periods of life, I think, where everyone feels like that,” he says in the most earnest voice he can conjure. “It’s just that nobody ever talks about it.”

“Did you feel like that with Samantha?”

Leave it to Scully to turn a personal conversation back on him.

He bites his lip. “Yeah, yeah, I did. Still do, if I think about it too long.”

“How did you...move past it?” The lights of nearby buildings reflect off her blue eyes, galaxies to his black holes. He’d give anything to sluice the pain right from her heart.

He’ll rely on his words instead, despite knowing there are depths they cannot touch. “I, uh, I didn’t really move past it, I just moved. Kept moving, I guess. I found a place where I could make progress out of my pain. Here--the X-Files.”

Scully swallows hard, knocking back tears. "That’s the issue. I feel stuck. Just completely unable to go forward. There’s a current in my brain that keeps pushing me backward.”

Mulder lets out a deep breath, trying to take both their pain with it. “Have you considered seeing a therapist?” he asks delicately. “It sounds like you may have PTSD.”

“Over what?” she practically snaps. “I don’t remember a thing.”

“That doesn’t mean you have no memories. Regression hypnosis could help recover repressed or unconscious memories, so you could understand exactly what’s bothering you.”

“You think I haven’t heard this spiel from Melissa?”

“I bet Melissa doesn’t have first-hand experience with it.”

“No, she doesn’t,” she murmurs in the tone of an apology. She knew that he had it, she had listened to the tapes. How could she let it slip her mind? It is uncouth of her to look down on his chosen method of healing.

Mulder isn’t bothered. He continues, “It helped me. Both in recalling the details of the experience, and in having a recorded recollection of it. It helped me feel less...insane.”

“Mmm.” If he were just a bit closer, she’d reach out and touch his hand.

“If anything, I wish I did it earlier.”

Scully’s understanding of him sharpens, like an ophthalmologist flipping the lens, making her vision clearer. Her gaze probes him, mutual souls recognizing mutual pain.

“Hey.” He uses his extended wingspan to touch her shoulder with the care an older sibling would show holding their baby brother for the first time. She turns her head, their faces mere inches away from each other. His eyes are a dopey brown, his breath scented with coffee.

“Yes?” she says with a coquettish flitting of her eyelashes.

“You should come back out on the road. I could use someone to shoot down all my wild whims.”

She can’t help but smile, though she keeps her mouth closed. “Tired of telling jokes to strangers who don’t laugh, are you?”

He smirks. “Well, yeah, that too.” He leans back a bit, putting enough distance between them to keep the sparks in check. “Of course, if you’re not ready, there’s no pressure. I just think you could use the change of scenery and--you know--companionship.”

She nods, looks out into the night. He’s got the pulse of her problems and the salve that could soothe them. “You’re right.” How often does he get to hear those beautiful words come out of her mouth? “I need to get out of my cocoon, and I think I’m okay enough to do that now.”

“Yeah?” There’s a twinkle in his eyes, something like hope.

She laughs--catharsis manifest--and it’s like a sheen of light coming through a crack in her jagged surface. “Yeah, Mulder. I’ll make the arrangements with Skinner.”

He pumps his fists in the air. “Hallelujah!”

She hadn’t realized how much he’d missed her. Any stray thoughts she had of him being lonely she chalked up to her own delusions.

“Florida is probably a lost cause,” she notes, “but after that…”

He nods, pats her shoulder. “After that.”

To have her back meant something like freedom. The X-Files had never been anything without her. He had never been anything without her.

#oh to share a morbid conversation with your partner on a rooftop on valentines day #i struggled with this part but im quite happy with how it came out <3 #only the light fic #missy and scully fic #the x-files #txf #txf fanfic #fox mulder #dana scully #mine #thank you as always for reading and supporting

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found--family · 4 years

Note

We were waiting so many years for something to happen between Dean and Cas, for something to prove we are not imagining this and all those people who abandoned the show years ago now are shitting on that scene because Dean didn’t immideately said it back?! 12 years of incredibly complex relationship and they really think it could be resolved with usual hetero “I love you” - “I love you too”? If that has happened they would be the first to tell how unrealistic it was. I’m so done with antis 😤

(sorry this got so long, also sorry for my lack of links! if anyone's after something in particular i can probably help you find The Thing.)

Your anger is valid nonny 💙

A lot of the hate going around and the jokes being made at the expense of these characters and their journey is coming from people who have never watched the show or who don't ship Dean/Cas, but that doesn't bother me much. It's frustrating but haters gonna hate so best to just ignore the outsiders.

What does bother me, just as you mention, are the shippers who either stopped watching years ago OR who are up-to-date with season 15 but they view That Scene in a negative light and are bitching into the digital void, dampening the celebratory mood of shippers who view That Scene in a positive light.

I feel sorry for the shippers who feel disappointed or angered by the dialogue in That Scene, Dean's reaction, and Castiel's "death", because honestly what show have they been watching? TBH i think if they were more involved in the fandom they would've come across informative content (in its multitude of forms) that would help them see there's So Much to be positive about.

Let's work backwards:

We will see Cas again. afaik Misha has one more episode on his season allotment contract (possibly 2? which would probably mean a brief cameo in 15x19) if you want some hard facts - i don't have links but Google is your friend here. Also, the entire cast + crew have been pretty damn quiet in the wake of 15x18 (bar a few Twitter interactions and the DarkLight Convention livestream), which is a Big Damn Clue that they're holding back because Something More is yet to come; even Misha has refrained from posting about it on his social media accounts - i think there was 1 post? - which is very unlike him (plus we hear he's written an essay about Cas' coming out which he's yet to share, possibly waiting until after his Real final episode airs, ie. 15x20). Then there's Castiel's story: it's not over. We know The Empty is compromised due to Jack's cosmic implosion, we know there are ways into and out of The Empty, and with cosmic Entities meeting their end this season maybe The Shadow will too? Plus, Cas being left in The Empty isn't a peaceful ending for him (as Ruby mentioned, those trapped there relive their greatest regrets on a loop) and also: Been There Done That In That Place so it's not a good ending writing-wise. Not to mention what we've seen of grieving!Dean means he won't find peace either as long as Cas is in The Empty/dead. 15x18 was exclusively Castiel's love confession, so Dean's is surely on it's way, which means More Cas!

Dean’s reaction was very much in-character for him. Dean's a volatile smelting pot of Anger and Too Much Heart, especially this season, and while we've seen him blow up about some matters (Chuck's machinations, failing, losing people, etc.) and be honest and vulnerable about how he's feeling (with Sam, with Jack, with Cas - usually in regards to Chuck's BS, although I'm not just talking about season 15) Cas' love confession was something else altogether, something personal just for him, for them, something Brand New: Dean's best friend reveals he's in love with him, which is unprecedented for Dean on both counts. Losing people and losing battles and suffering because of trauma and his upbringing and The Ongoing Hunter Life - that's not new. But he has zero experience with receiving genuine love confessions, which also happen to come from his best friend (who he is also in love with if the past 12 seasons are anything to go by). So his shock/tongue-tied reaction is justified, it's expected really, because like you say an "I love you, too, Cas" just wouldn't feel organic for Dean or his years-long relationship with Cas (plus it's too soon, story-wise). While Misha gave us a stellar emotional outpouring for Cas (appropriate, since he was spilling his heart) Jensen did what he does best: micro-expressions, the nuance acting he's imbued into Dean's character since season 1 and one of the top reasons He Deserves All The Awards. Anyone who complains about Dean's "lack of reaction" isn't taking into account his shock and are apparently not fans of the show because again, that's Dean/Jensen, the subtle emotional shifts in his expression that have (skilfully) conveyed Dean's state of heart and mind through the years (when his contrasting emotional outbursts weren't on display). I understand wanting more from Dean in that moment, that folks feel cheated because they didn't get More, but.. we did: Tears steadily filled Dean's eyes as the scene progressed; Fear added to his Shock as Billie and The Empty showed up and as Cas was stolen away; and OFC the curled-up-and-freakin-sobbing moment at the end as everything sunk in, as he realised he couldn't even answer Sam's call (even if something else had gone wrong) because he would've broken down - which he did.

@ the folks who wanted more from Dean in That Scene: It's There. It's in the micro-expressions, meta, parallels, subtext, symbolism, callbacks - because this show has always needed more than a passing glance; it's about the layers, the story which every cast and crew member has always had a hand in enriching by giving the audience Something More to think about, More to feel. It's in the 15 years of Dean's character journey. It's in that closing scene. It's in the 2 whole episodes we're yet to see. It's there, you just gotta look for it. You're watching Supernatural, after all.

Once again, I encourage folks to read the brilliant meta that's been coming out in the wake of 15x18 (and all of season 15) as well as the insightful thought-posts of shippers who understand the layers and the journey of Dean and Cas' relationship and manage to sum-up canon happenings so beautifully in a hundred words or less.

And you're 100% right nonny 💚

We deserve this love story because we know Dean and Cas deserve this love story, because those involved in making the show have been building towards this for 12 years, that The Slowest Burn To Ever Slow deserves acknowledgement, closure, and a happy ending.

I know it can be hard to stay positive when your dash is littered with negativity, but remember you control the flow: use that block function for tags and post content. Unfollow and block the blogs you need to. If others get their rocks off criticising and hating The Things You Love, just ignore them. They're gonna live mad about Stuff but you don't have to. Pity the haters, but don't let them get you down. Also, post/like/reblog as much positive content as you can find; drown the haters in love.

You deserve happiness just like our beloved OTP.

#q and a #destiel #spn 15x18 #thoughts #15x18 #dean #s15

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wujificrec · 4 years

Text

Genre Highlight: LWJ’s POV

Cursed by Feynite

PG | Lan Zhan/Wei Ying | One-shot: 2.8k | Notes: angst, family, grief/mourning, Lan Sizhui, Lan Jingyi, fluff

Summary:

The Lan Clan is cursed with Love at First Sight.

Ashes of Winter by joannjoann

PG | Lan Zhan/Wei Ying | One-shot: 1.6k | Notes: Love at first sight, pining Wangji, angst, cursed, 13 years

Summary:

Usually, the calmest and most silent ones keep the strongest feelings. Lan WangJi in particular, feels more strongly than anyone could ever compare.

A glance into what Lan WangJi's went through shortly after Wei WuXian's death. He lost one life but found another.

you are the you who has dyed my lifetime red by Quixiote

PG | Lan Zhan/Wei Ying | One-shot: 4.7k | Notes:flower symbolism, pining, angst, fluff, love confession, 13 years

Summary: Lan Wangji was born with a gift.

Red Thread by Aki_no_hikari

PG | Lan Zhan/Wei Ying | One-shot: 1.7k | Notes: Soulmates AU, different first meeting, red string of fate, fluff, pre-canon

Summary: There were many reasons why a cultivator might never join their fated person, although that did not stop many from embarking in years-long searches for the person that was their other half, the one that would understand them and accept them, flaws and all. Others stumbled upon their fated person… sometimes quite literally. Lan Wangji happened to be one of the later.

The Adventures of Lan WangJi - Erotic Art by kitkat2010

NC-17 | Lan Zhan/Wei Ying | One-shot: 2k | Notes: 13 years, Lan Zhan masturbating

Summary: A few years after Wei Wuxian's death, Lan WangJi goes to buy Emperor's Smile and erotic art books.

Return to Gusu with Me by EstelweNadia

G | Lan Zhan/Wei Ying | Multi-Chapter: 5.5k | Notes: Fix-it (kinda), angst, friendship, friends to lovers, slow burn, what-if, canon-divergent

Summary:

MDZS from Lan Wangji's POV. (ep 15 and ch 69 onwards) He would do whatever it takes, even if it meant laying his soul bare, for Wei Ying to come back with him. Chapter 1: Episode 15 - Beautiful Tranquillity Chapter 2: Episode 15 part 2- Honest Confession Chapter 3: Chapter 69 - Departure Part 1

just one minute more by dandelion_san

G | Lan Zhan/Wei Ying | One-shot: 1k | Notes: Post-canon, fluff, sappy, cuddling & snuggling

Summary: In the hours while Wei Wuxian is still asleep, Lan Wangji struggles to get out of bed.

Sometimes when it's cold by taotrooper

PG | Lan Zhan/Wei Ying | One-shot: 1.1k | Notes: 13 years, post-WWX death, hurt/comfort, fluff, angst, cuddling & snuggling, scars

Summary: The scars on Lan Wangji's back still hurt during the winter.

growing pains by luchiden

G | Lan Zhan/Wei Ying | One-shot: 3k | Notes: Kid fic, 13 years, Lan Sizhui, post-WWZ death, angst, mourning/grief

Summary: For Lan Wangji the world begins and ends with Wei Wuxian.

i went looking for love (and found you, you, you) by GeneralPo

NC-17 | Lan Zhan/Wei Ying | One-shot: 6.5k | Notes: Alternating POV, non-linear narrative, post-canon, smut, angst

Summary:

In defiance of every celebrated scripture of common sense upheld since the establishment of the orthodox sects, Wei Wuxian returns to the world of the living, thirteen years gone and somehow no less brilliant than before. ------- Before they are truly beautiful, they break; together, Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian pick up the pieces of a conversation left behind thirteen years ago, reconnecting them to the feelings they share today.

等一不归人 by FateTrash

G | Lan Zhan/Wei Ying | One-shot: 722 words | Notes: pining, character study, 13 years, post-WWX death

Summary: Thirteen years. He's been a fool for thirteen years.

a bout of teenage rebellion a few years behind schedule by bosbie

G | Lan Zhan/Wei Ying | One-shot: 1.9k | Notes: pining, fluff, introspection on LWJ’s part

Summary:

Lan WangJi sneaks away from a night-hunt (and his brother) and arrives at YiLing to finally make peace with this ill-fated love. That does not happen. Wei WuXian shines too brightly for him to let go.

won't by then_came_thee

G | Lan Zhan/Wei Ying | One-shot: 921 words | Notes: Wangji introspection, 13 years, post-WWX death, mourning/grief, pining

Summary:

yearning by wolframvonbielefeld (maknaeline)

PG | Lan Zhan/Wei Ying | One-shot: 7.5k | Notes: Wangji character study, 13 years, post-WWX death, Lan Sizhui, angst, hurt/comfort, suicidal thoughts, depression, happy ending

Summary:

Thirteen years I have spent without you, Wei Ying, but my yearning has been fruitful.

Your - our son has grown up well.

Family by Quiet_crash

G | Lan Zhan/Wei Ying | Multi-chapter: 47.1k | Notes: (unfinished), time travel, fix-it fic,

Summary:

The truth of the matter was that when it came to taking care of people and their problems, both he and Wei Ying were of one mind. However, whereas Lan Wangji was taught to care for himself as much as other people, Wei Ying, from early age, was taught that him having needs was burdensome. He disregarded his own pain with frightening ease and offered up evey part of himself for others to use with no reservation.

Thus, Lan Wangji made sure that his husband's needs were never overlooked, his hurts never unadressed.

So it was that when they purified an ancient temple and its goddess benevolently offered them each a wish in return, Wei Ying asked for his family: for Jiang Cheng to never have lost his parents and his core, for Jiang Yanli to never have lost her husband and her own life because of him; Lan Zhan asked for Wei Ying.

The Price of Old Wishes by SoManyJacks

NC-17 | Lan Zhan/Wei Ying | Multi-Chapter: 67.8k | Notes: Canon-divergent, LWJ POV, angst, depression, hurt/comfort, slow burn, happy ending, smut, sharing a bed

Summary:

With Lan SiZhui almost grown, Lan WangJi began to question if there was much else to live for. Then an old wish came true, but at what cost? Or, a retelling of the events of the novel from the perspective of Lan WangJi.

I Dreamed Of You At Nighttime. by cherryburlesque

M | Lan Zhan/Wei Ying | One-Shot: 7.3k | Notes: Canon-divergent, Yiling Patriach, Sunshot campaign, angst, happy ending, character study, getting together

Summary:

A confrontation after a tense war meeting, and kisses stolen on a bridge in the dark.

Lan Wangji had long since accepted the fact that he had no sense when it came to Wei Wuxian. His vision always narrowed down to one singular point, and everything else was secondary, including the rules of his own clan.

He’d come to terms with that knowledge months ago, when he broke the rules Lan by being outside the Cloud Recesses at night, playing Inquiry for the upteenth time in the hope of an answer.

The long road home by dea_liberty

M | Lan Zhan/Wei Ying | One-Shot: 9.1k | Notes: Post-canon, family, happy ending, feelings, marriage, angst, 13 years

Summary:

Lan Wangji doesn’t watch as Wei Ying walks away with half his soul, while Lan Wangji walks away with a paper man, infused with a little bit of Wei Ying’s spiritual energy, tucked in flat against his chest like it can replace half of his heart.

In the aftermath of everything, they weave their way through the past and the present, and towards the future they'll make together.

Finally, Lan Wangji finds his way home.

breathing gym by victortor

G | Lan Zhan/Wei Ying | One-Shot: 2.9k | Notes: Canon-compliant, LWJ POV, panic-attacks

Summary:

Lan Wangji, in a pause.

Or,

At the rendezvous point, after capturing the perpetrator responsible for the rumors of Xinglu Ridge, Lan Wangji waits for Wei Wuxian to return.

After the Drought by Aki_no_hikari

G | Lan Zhan/Wei Ying | One-Shot: 4.1k | Notes: Canon-divergent, Yiling Wei Sect, family, fluff, angst, happy ending, LWJ POV

Summary:

Point of divergence: chapter75, lwj stays to eat that night… and seeing that they need him, he stays the next day and the next...

Driven by feelings and morals, Lan Wangji leaves the Cloud Recesses and his family behind. Fourteen years of hardship later, he comes back as a father and leader.

asymptotic by chinxe

PG | Lan Zhan/Wei Ying | Multi-Chapter: 26.7k | Notes: Canon-divergent, angst, happy ending, slow burn, misunderstandings, pining, LWJ POV

Summary:

The members of the Lan Clan have never been particularly well-known for their good judgement when it comes to matters of the heart.

Which is why it should come as a surprise to no one when Lan Wangji falls in love with an actual ghost.

Looking at You Always, All Ways by Keysmashed

PG | Lan Zhan/Wei Ying | Multi-Chapter: 29.1k | Notes: Canon-divergent, time travel, fix-it fic, fluff, angst, happy ending, LWJ POV

Summary:

Lan Wangji thought it was just a dream but the pain of being pierced in the chest by his own sword, by his own self whose appearance was taller and older was too real. The ground under his feet disappeared and he fell, and fell, and continued falling until a voice he thought he would never hear again broke his fall and suddenly, he was no longer falling. It was the voice he had so dearly missed.

Wei Ying's voice.

----A Time Travel Fix-It where Lan Wangji goes back in time to his first fateful encounter with Wei Wuxian for a chance to rewrite history.

Why Didn't You Say? by preciousbunnynoiz

PG | Lan Zhan/Wei Ying | One-Shot: 2.5k | Notes: Canon-divergent, fluff, angst, happy ending, love confessions, inquiry, 13 years, Lan Sizhui

Summary:

“Father? One of the other boys said that using the guqin you could...speak to the dead.”

Ah.

Lan WangJi had wondered when this would happen.

A-Yuan asks Lan WangJi to help him speak to someone who he barely remembers and that triggers a reunion and also confessions and confusions.

163 notes · View notes

jocazep · 4 years

Text

In the Whole Wide Train | Chapter 10

Author’s notes: Hi, remember me? Sorry about the six-month hiatus, but I’m back at it! And it gon’ get dark (even more so than before), so this is just me laying in the groundworks early... ENJOY~

Pairing: Curtis Everett x Reader (Jo, OFC), slight Edgar x Reader

Warnings: Major spoilers for SNOWPIERCER, dystopian society and its countless problems, mentions of forced abortions, language, violence, deaths, slow burn, eventual smut

Synopsis: Having grown up in the Front Sections of the Snowpiercer, you venture down the train when a rare opportunity presents itself, but the excursion quickly changes flavor when you arrive in the Tail Section.

Taglist: Now closed

Series Masterlist

Chapter 10 - Trading Secrets

Curtis couldn’t remember the last time he slept so well--it must have been before the train. There were no dreams, there were no nightmares, just deep, post-climax slumber as if the world around him has melted away--until the alarm blaring “oh-seven-hundred-hours” yanked him out.

He jumped up, but had to take a second before realizing where he was, as the rest of the revolters joined him, stirring awake and confused--the world outside was pitch dark.

“We’re traveling against time zones” Your voice sounded from behind--Curtis turned to see you walking up with a cup of hot water in hand, ”C’mon, need to make some arrangements before we push on.”

“Good morning to you, too.” He took your extended hand, stood up, and pulled you in for a quick kiss. You didn’t kiss back. “What’s the matter?”

“Oh nothing. Gilliam is looking for us is all.”

The truth of the matter is a little bit more complicated than that.

You woke up early. As a medical apprentice, you used to do that before you had important appointments, as it would clear your head and prepare for your day, but today you found no such effect.

Your eyes fixated on Curtis as he lay next to you, breathing in and out, but your head was a million miles away. What was last night? Was it just two people seeking solace in each other after the death of a mutual friend? Or was it the culmination of all those little touches and stolen glances and shared silences? Did it mean anything to him? More importantly, did it mean anything to you?

But then Mason entered your mind in stealth, slowly gnawing away in the back of your head, until you couldn’t focus on the inner debate between your commitment to your father vs. your--your what? Your responsibility? Your debt?--whatever it is you owe to the revolt.

So you push yourself up, and padded barefoot towards where Mason was being held captive.

“It’s about time.” Her unmistakable accent greeted you before your eyes could find her, “ah is that water?”

You didn’t respond, but dipped the mug in your hand lower so she could suck a mouthful of the liquid before you rescinded it.

“Any chance you can spare some food as well, my dear?”

“Not unless you want the fish they gutted before the fight.” You sat down next to Mason, and silence fell for a second.

“Well, I suppose we should make a de--”

“When did he send you to the tail section?”

“Excuse me?”

“I said how old were you when my father first sent you to the tail sections?”

“I must have been around...well, your age.“

“You don’t know how old I am.”

“You, Joanna Catherine Watt Wilford, are thirty-two years and some three odd months old.”

You stare at Mason in astonishment.

“I’ve seen your birth certificate. There was a time when Mr. Wilford thought about giving you to a foster family... After your mother passed away of course...” Mason took a pause, “But I thought you are here to warn me--”

“I am.” You kept your eyes straight ahead, “This is just my human interest story for the report.”

You tend to forget that for some people, there was a life before the train, since you had barely turned fifteen when your estranged father plucked you from the monotony of a privileged private school, into a monotony of the train.

But hey, at least you got to practice medicine and help people. Is that what I’m doing now?

“The report--that’s why I first went down there too, you know...He must see it as a rite of passage.” A smile threatens to break as Mason reminisced about her past.

“Was it..” You didn’t know how to phrase the question, but luckily Mason caught onto your train of thought.

“Oh dear, even more so. Mr. Wilford really turned it around. They were surviving on rats and vermin before the protein block assembly. When I first went down there... it’s as if all society had broken down. There was stories about this pregnant woman... And when they found out who I was, they chained me up and almost tore me to pieces. Imagine what they would do to you. ”

You had heard enough, “All right, here’s the deal. I keep you alive, you keep your mouth shut about me. Sound good?”

Mason nodded enthusiastically as you stood up to leave. “Just one more thing, what does Mr. Wilford want with Curtis?”

You did not look back, “Ask another wrong question, and my father will hear about it.”

Mason all but clasped her hands onto her mouth.

You were planning to sneak back and lay your head on Curtis’ chest, relive the little escape you two had before the day had to begin, but today luck just wasn’t on your side. As your turned the corner back into the makeshift dorm, soft crying and sniffling caught your attention.

It was Tanya. By the dim moonlight reflected from the snow, you could see her clutching a piece of paper and wiping tears from her face. By the time you realized it was the charcoal drawing of Timmy she was holding, it was too late to turn back.

Noticing the light shift, Tanya sat up and look at the person standing a few feet from her. You didn’t know what to do for a moment. You two haven’t been alone since you came clean about Timmy. In a letter no less, you coward.

“I didn’t mean to--”

Tanya lay back down and closed her eyes.

What was the rest of your sentence anyway? You asked yourself as you padded towards the infirmary section, sleep now the last thing on your mind. Didn’t mean to pry? Didn’t man to take Timmy? Didn’t mean to get so close to Curtis and the revolt?

You were pulled from the reverie by Yuna’s hand tugging your sleeve. Around you, the men were deep in discussion, figuring out how many people to station at each section.

Yuna slipped you a piece of paper torn from the small notebook you gifted her. On it she had drawn a picture of herself and Namgoong in the prison section, the many drawers colored dark and ominous. Yuna pointed to the drawers.

“It’s a little advanced for you but ok,” you took the pencil from her and spelled out the word prison, “Prison, it’s a place to hold people that have broken the law.”

Yuna didn’t seem to like that word. She wrestled the paper from you, pointed to the drawers again, and looked at you, waiting for a response.

“Jo?” You whipped your head back to the much less mystifying, but much more important meeting.

“Yes, I’m sorry.”

Curtis gave you an update, “Gilliam will stay behind, with 50 men stationed in the water section, then 15 men at each other section before our base,” Base is what you called the tail section now, “Grey will stay with Gilliam as well.”

“Nonsense, Grey will be much more useful to you than me.”

You shot a look at Gilliam as he chimed in, wondering if he really meant it.

“I think Grey should stay too. We are already a large pack as it is--”

“Don’t forget, Jo, we’re going ahead to take the engine,” Gilliam gave you a long look, “who knows what you will find there”.

Right. You bit your tongue and didn’t argue any further. Let’s never forget

“We were trying to decide what we should do about Mason.” Namgoong picked up the thread of discussion, “What do you think?”

“She’s injured, will only slow us down.” Grey’s voice was very quiet.

“I would rather keep her close than let her stay with the captured soldiers. Who knows what she’ll get them up to.”

“That’s fair, I can’t possibly keep an eye on her the whole time,” Gilliam agreed.

“Tanya’s doing a great job watching her.” *So that’s why she’s not in the meeting.*

“She didn’t want to come with us?”

“Of course she did, but--”

“I think Jo’s saying Tanya should go with you.”

The discussion wrapped up quickly after that, as dusk was threatening to break over the horizon. Your partners in crime stood up and went off--there were bags to pack, arrangements to make, and farewells to say.

You dragged your feet, hoping to spend a few minutes with Gilliam before setting off.

“Having doubts, dear?” Gilliam clicked by on his crutch.

“Before I first came down--”

“Perhaps it’s best you don’t tell me exactly what Wilford asked of you.” Sometimes you wish you had his ability to see right through everything.

“You don’t want to know?”

“I would be lying if I said I didn’t,” Gilliam chuckled, “But I’ve feigned ignorance too many times, even for someone my age. I’d like this occasion to be real.”

“Then...can I ask how much you know?”

“As far as I know, the revolt should have served its purpose after the water supply section.”

You nodded, “Do you ever ask yourself, why he always landed on culling?”

“It wasn’t just him, my dear.”

For the second time that day, you stared in astonishment.

“Perhaps you’re the only person with whom I can share this secret.” There were mini explosions happening in your head as Gilliam spoke, “No past revolt has gotten past the water section. Sometimes it was disorganization, sometimes it was survival instincts, sometimes just plain human greed. But every time, the necessary culling would take place, and the tail section would treasure its existence that was magnanimously gifted by Wilford.”

“Why did they settle?”

“The very first revolts that took place, was only six months into the train journey. Curtis was a little past seventeen, completely unaware, and Edgar, god rest his soul, was just a baby. The leader, he rallied enough people to fight. But every battle cost heavily on his side. Byt the time he got to the prison section, there were only a handful of adult men left. And Mason, who was also a surveyor at the time, managed to entice him with promises of a better life. He held out for a while, but eventually he chose the devil he knew.”

“Your point being?"

"My point being, there's only so much you can do at one given time. Learn to pick your battles."

---

You left Gilliam soon after, head still reeling from the secrets he confided, wondering if he ever regretted his past decisions.

“Hey...” Curtis snuck up on you, taking your hand. You jumped slightly, taken out of your trance. “Do you realize this will be the last time we’re alone for a while?”

“Yeah...?”

He pulled you into him, and caught your lips in a long kiss. You both stumble towards the steel walls of the train, eventually settling in a nook. Curtis dipped his tongue past your teeth, tangling with your tongue, one of his knee wedging between your legs, bringing back heated vignettes of last night. You wrapped your arms around his neck, your hips bucking against his thigh, your belly bumping up against his increasing hardness.

Curtis eventually lifts his lips from you, allowing you to breathe, while he latches onto the side of your neck. His hand roams up your belly, kneading your breasts, squeezing your side--

“Ow!”

“Shit, sorry,” Hard pause as he remembers your injury, “Is it getting better?”

“No, but I’ll live,” you answered, breathless, “when we get to the health section I’ll take a closer look.”

Curtis rest his head against yours, gulping for air, “This is your injury number three, huh?”

“Yeah, you are bad news for me.”

From the front of the section, someone called out, “Curtis, Jo, we’re doing the portrait!”

“You gonna be okay there?” You eyed his bulge.

“Yeah, just gimme a minute...”

The portrait took longer than you expected. While Painter took down your likeness in charcoal, Andrew was playing with the now captive Mason, asserting his newly-earned dominance over this once proud magistrate.

“I was hoping to talk about it earlier.” Curtis said out of the corner of his mouth as you all stood, eight half-frozen figures.

“I...enjoyed it?” You said, tongue in cheek, “Would recommend to a friend.”

“Funny,” Curtis couldn’t help the smile creeping onto his face, “But seriously...”

“I mean...” You looked up at him, “If we both survive when this is all over...”

You were joking but the words hit home for Curtis, as he remembered Edgar. Will you both come out of this alive? He had always considered himself as someone with nothing to lose, but now...

You turned away as you noticed Curtis staring into the distance. Gilliam was standing in the front of the crowd that would stay behind, looking at you with his signature elderly smile, and something else just behind the glasses, a mutual understanding that this is truly farewell.

You found yourself running his words again and again in your head.

“The leader asked for running water, and a stable food supply. Wilford agreed, but asked the leader to help him maintain the balance in the tail section whenever necessary. A few months later, the protein blocks started coming in, a washroom was unlocked, and my secret phone compartment was installed.”

Taglist: @torntaltos @emmalbg @ajosieface

#curtis everett #curtis everett fanfic #curtis everett x reader #curtis everett x you #Chris Evans #chris evans fanfic #chris evans x reader #chris evans x you #Snowpiercer #snowpiercer fanfic

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highladyluck · 4 years

Text

Wheel of Time Playlist

Mat Cauthon/Tuon Paendrag: The Soundtrack

Direct link: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1LWolFwiwWQtcnQV7zceMj

30 songs, 1 hr 43 min. This is my take on the canonical arc of Mat Cauthon and Tuon Paendrag's relationship, told largely through swing music and 80s power ballads, with a few surprises here and there.

I put a lot of time and thought into this so I hope you enjoy it as much as I do! There are spoilers in the playlist and track listing for Winter's Heart through A Memory of Light, since this is meant to mirror the narrative. It's organized mostly chronologically, though a few songs cover multiple books, or reference scenes placed slightly out of order, to better alternate points of view.

The order will be preserved if you have a paid Spotify account. (I know that's not ideal; I tried for several hours to get this into 8tracks through a series of increasingly convoluted methods but wasn't able to, as I don't directly own the music used.) If you can't listen to it in order, I've got the track listing under the cut so you can at least see what I was trying to do.

Track List:

1) Royals (feat. Cory Gray) – Jake Coco, Corey Gray

“I’m no lord. I’ve more respect for myself than that.”

And we'll never be royals (royals)/

It don't run in our blood

2) Almost There – Anika Noni Rose

Behind her veil, she was merely the High Lady Tuon, of no higher rank than many others of the Blood, but in her heart, always, she was Tuon Athaem Kore Paendrag, Daughter of the Nine Moons, and she had come to reclaim what had been stolen from her ancestor.

Ain't got time for messin' around/

And it's not my style

3) Ramblin’ Gamblin’ Man – Sammy Hagar

“I’m a gambler, not a soldier. A lover.”

I ain't good looking, but you know I ain't shy/ Ain't afraid to look a girl in the eye

4) Primadonna – MARINA

“She is my wife! Your bloody Daughter of the Nine Moons is my wife!”

Would you get down on your knees for me?/

Pop that pretty question, right now baby

5) Been Caught Stealing – Richard Cheese

And Mat and the others galloped out into the storm, carrying with them three Aes Sedai, two of them escaped damane, and the kidnapped heir to the Seanchan Crystal Throne, while behind them a far worse storm broke over Ebou Dar.

Walk right through the door/ Hey all right!/ If I get by, it's mine/ Mine all mine!

6) Luck Be A Lady – Frank Sinatra

“As soon as I can figure out how to send you home safe and sound, I will. I promise.”

[...]

“So long as you keep your promises, I will neither escape nor betray you in any way, nor will I cause dissension among your followers.”

Let’s keep this party polite/

Never get out of my sight/

Stick with me baby, I'm the guy that you came in with/

Luck be a lady tonight

7) Holding Out For A Hero – Bonnie Tyler

“Do you remember Hawkwing’s face, Toy?”

I'm holdin' out for a hero 'til the morning light/ He's gotta be sure/ And it's gotta be soon/ And he's gotta be larger than life

8) Play The Game – Queen

“I’ve changed my mind, Toy,” she murmured, placing the white stone carefully on the intersection of two lines near the center of the board. “You play very well.”

All you have to do is fall in love/

Play the game, everybody play the game/

Of love

9) Poker Face – Lady Gaga

Despite himself, Mat began to laugh. He threw his hat down on the floor and laughed. With everything, all his efforts, he did not know this woman at all! Not a bit! He laughed until his ribs hurt.

Can't read my, can't read my/ No, he can't read my poker face

10) Young Dumb And In Love – Mat Kearney

Her big eyes were dark pools a man could spend a lifetime swimming in. Her rare smiles could be mysterious or mischievous, and he prized them.

I'm talking much, and you don't make a sound/

The prettiest face and those rock-a-bye baby browns/

All I've waited for's come true/

To be young and dumb and in love

11) Zebra – The Magnetic Fields

She was still beaming. Her big eyes shone. “She’s a very fine animal, Toy. A wonderful gift. Either you have a good eye, or you were very lucky.”

“I have a good eye, Precious,” he said warily. She seemed more delighted than even the razor called for.

so there's one thing I crave/ when my days become ho-hum and blah/ I want a zebra

12) Steppin’ Out With My Baby – Fred Astaire

He grinned at Tuon, who gave him a slight nod. He had missed this, dice in a common room or tavern, coin on the table, wondering how long his luck would hold. And a pretty woman at his side while he gambled. He wanted to laugh with pleasure.

Steppin' out with my honey/

Can't be bad to feel so good/

Never felt quite so sunny/

And I keep on knockin' wood

13) Mack the Knife – Louis Armstrong

Tuon nodded approvingly. The bloody woman was dying to see him get into a knife fight!

[...]

To him, the world consisted of his two knives and the men crowding each other to get at him, and his knives sought the places where men bleed most heavily. Some of those ancient memories came from men who had not been very nice at all.

You know when that shark bites

With his teeth, babe

Scarlet billows

Start to spread

Fancy gloves, though

Wears ol' Macheath, babe

So there's never, never a trace of red

14) Rescue Me – Fontella Bass

“If one army is out to kill you, then they probably all are, and there are too many soldiers between here and Ebou Dar. But don’t worry; I’ll find some way to get you back safely.”

[...]

His boot slid in a patch of blood, and as he staggered, he knew he was about to die.

Abruptly Tuon was there, left hand seizing the young woman’s wrist—not the wrist of the knife hand, worse luck—twisting so the arm went stiff and the girl was forced to double over.

Come on, baby, and rescue me/ 'Cause I need you by my side

15) Too Close For Comfort – Eydie Gormé

He bent his head to hers. She was far from the first woman he had kissed. He knew what he was about. Surprisingly—or then again, perhaps not so surprisingly—she did not know. She was a quick pupil though. Very quick.

Be wise, be smart, behave my heart,/ Don't upset your cart/ When he’s so close.

16) Fever – Michael Bublé

She laid fingers against his cheek. “I thought so,” she said in that slow honey drawl. “You’re feverish. Some of your wounds must be infected.”

[...]

Mat blinked. He gave her a kiss that had to have curled her toes, and all she said was that his face was hot?

When you put your arms around me/ I get a fever that's so hard to bear/ You give me fever when you kiss me/ Fever when you hold me tight

17) Burning Down The House – Tom Jones, The Cardigans

Karede felt as if Hartha had kicked him again. No, not Hartha. Aldazar. What madness was this? Cauthon looked like a man watching an arrow fly towards his face, knowing he had no chance to dodge.

“Bloody Matrim Cauthon is my husband. That is the wording you used, is it not?”

This had to be a fever-dream.

Watch out you might get what you're after/

Cool babies strange but not a stranger/

I'm an ordinary guy/

Burning down the house

18) Love Is A Battlefield – Pat Benatar

“The next time I see Seanchan, I expect it will be on the field somewhere, Tuon.” Burn him, it would be. His life seemed to run that way no matter what he did. “You’re not my enemy, but your Empire is.”

“Nor are you my enemy, husband,” she said coolly, “but I live to serve the Empire.”

Both of us knowing/ Love is a battlefield

19) Empire – Alpines

Tuon straightened her back. She had not thought to become Empress for many years yet. But she would do her duty.

[...]

Fortuona was empress.

I'm building an empire/

I'm building with my body and soul/

I'm building an empire/

So little time and so much to do

20) Distant Stations – Andrew Bird

Stay well, you curious man, she thought, glancing back at the balcony, northward. Do not dig yourself into trouble deeper than you can climb to freedom. You are Prince of the Ravens now. Remember to act appropriately.

Wherever it is you are.

[...]

Thom finished by making a wavy line through the center, as one did at the start of any game of Snakes and Foxes.

[...]

Mat crouched beside a fern, unseen by the dozen or so Deathwatch Guards who stood in a ring around Tuon as she went through a series of fighting stances.

It was a triangle/ With soft, round edges/ And a split down the middle of one corner

I waited for you/ But I never told you where I was/

I waited on the steps for you/ And I hid in the bushes whenever a car pulled into the parking lot

21) Black Coffee – Sarah Vaughan

I should very much like to have him back. She froze; she hadn’t meant to admit so much. She found her own emotions curious, however. She had felt safe with him, ridiculous though it seemed. And she wished he were with her now.

Black coffee/ Feelin' low as the ground/ It's drivin' me crazy/ This waitin' for my baby/ To maybe come around

22) Perhaps, Perhaps, Perhaps – Cake

“Love?” Tuon sounded surprised. “Perhaps we will come to love each other, Matrim, but I have always known I would marry to serve the Empire.”

[...]

“And do you love me?” he asked, forcing the words out.

You won't admit you love me/

And so how am I ever to know?/

You only tell me/

Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps

23) Best of You (with Elle King) – Andy Grammar, Elle King

“When you saw me,” Mat explained, “with a dagger in hand—as if to throw at you—you didn’t call for your guards. You didn’t fear I was here to kill you. You looked over your shoulder to see what I was aiming at. That’s the most loving gesture I think a man could receive from a woman. Unless you’d like to sit on my knee for a little while…”

'Cause the best of me loves the best of you/

And all the rest, I can see right through/

You trust in me and I'll trust you too/

'Cause the best of me, loves the best of you

24) Dance Me to the End of Love – Leonard Cohen

“I’m not going to sit on your knee,” Tuon said, pulling one arm out of her robe, exposing her breasts, “though I may allow you to sit on mine.”

Dance me to the wedding now, dance me on and on/ Dance me very tenderly and dance me very long/ We're both of us beneath our love, we're both of us above/ Dance me to the end of love

25) Roll the Dice – Annie Vincent

Order in one hand—something known, something she could measure—chaos in the other. Chaos in the form of a one-eyed man who knew Artur Hawkwing’s face.

Had she not just told Selucia she would bet upon him?

Roll the dice (C'mon)/ Take a chance with life, just roll the dice/ This will be your time, so roll the dice/ And nothing's gonna stop you now - no, no, woah

26) Short Skirt/Long Jacket – Cake

She was something incredible, though. He felt a thrill each time she gave orders; she did it so naturally.

I want a girl with a mind like a diamond/ I want a girl who knows what's best

27) They All Fall Down – XY Unlimited

“A last stand,” Mat said softly. “All of us, together, at a one place where the terrain favors us.”

One by one the soldiers stumble/

See them as they stand and tumble/

You're here with me

28) Let’s Call The Whole Thing Off – Ella Fitzgerald, Louis Armstrong

“I’ve had it with you,” Knotai said, waving a hand at her. “You and your bloody Seanchan rules just keep getting in the way.”

“Then I have had it with you as well,” she said, raising her head.

[...]

“I suppose you give me the opportunity… perhaps the mandate… to follow what my heart would choose, whether or not it is wise.” She stood. “General Galgan, gather your troops. We return to the Field of Merrilor.”

For we know we need each other/ So we better call the calling off off/ Let's call the whole thing off!

29) Never Knew I Needed – Kathryn

“Well, I guess I’m off the hook, now. You have an heir.”

“I have an heir,” Tuon said, “but I am the one off that hook. Now I can kill you, if I want.”

Mat felt his grin widen. “Well, we’ll have to see what we can work out. Tell me, do you ever play dice?”

You are the best thing I never knew I needed/ So now it's so clear, I need you here always

30) Twin Human Highway Flares – The Mountain Goats

All he had to do was convince Tuon to forsake her throne and run off with him.

You turned to me and asked me if I'd always be your boy/

As we drove across the river into western Illinois/

And on the railroad bridge, half a mile of solid steel/

Wheels were spitting out sparks, scraping at the rails

#mat/tuon #mat cauthon #tuon paendrag #wheel of time #wheel of time playlist #wheel of time spoilers #I decided to only do book quotes and lyrics to justify my creative choices #but I am dying to say more about this playlist and answer questions #if I got hit by Mat's fantasy getaway car and died right now I would be happy with this as my contribution to the fandom

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byuneebuns · 5 years

Text

Fenced In (Part 15)

Chanyeol/Baekhyun x Reader College AU

Rated: M for Smut

Tags: Angst, College AU, Slow Burn

Author’s Note: HELLO!!!!! It’s good to be back. I hope you enjoy the update. Thank you again for waiting for me. ♡ No link to the mini masterlist in this post since Tumblr is (I believe still) being odd about links, however it can be found using the masterlist post in my bio! Please give me your thoughts, feelings, etc about this update! It’s been so long since I published anything, so the feedback would be very encouraging.

Your blood turned to ice as your brain caught up with reality. You barely managed to wait until the professor finished calling out names before you leapt out of your seat and made your way to his podium, trying your best to keep from breaking into a desperate sprint.

Someone else didn’t have that much self control.

Baekhyun was taking the steps of the lecture hall two at a time, weaving through the crowd ahead of him haphazardly, ignoring the death stares he was receiving from those that weren’t quick enough to get out of his way.

He reached your joint destination first and you arrived just in time for your stomach to sink at the words you overheard.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Byun, but I don’t have enough time nor interest in your personal life to rearrange the entire class to accommodate your request. Best of luck to you both, and I look forward to seeing your work.”

Baekhyun didn’t spare you a backwards glance as he stalked out of the classroom. Without considering the consequences of your actions you followed, catching his shoulder in a tight grip, and forced him to finally face you.

When his gaze met yours it felt like your heart was stuck in your throat, beating ferociously against the walls of your esophagus, strangling you.

His eyes were sad, tired, and a little wary.

“What do you want?”

You wanted to hit him. To scream at him. To curse his name for being so unaffected by your presence while you suffered being in his.

You bit your lip, just hard enough to for the metallic taste of your blood to taint your tongue.

“We need to talk.”

You kept a firm grip on his sleeve as you half led, half dragged, Baekhyun down the hallway towards a vacant classroom. If he had objections they were hidden from his expressionless face. Now that you were alone with him you were starting to regret your rash actions. Heat rose to your face as your nerves got the best of you. Your tongue felt coated in cement and you both stood there in silence while you agonized over how to tackle this obstacle until Baekhyun finally spoke.

“Look, I don’t want to get a bad grade on this. We can just email each other our work. We don’t have to work together directly.”

You felt a stab of pain in your chest, like you were walking in on him all over again, being rejected all over again, being heartbroken all over again.

All of the pain you’d spent weeks burying was rushing back to the surface in light of his indifference.

“Why are you being like this? More importantly, why do I care so much? This is so stupid. I wish that I’d never met you.” You shouted, louder than you’d intended, hot tears searing the corners of your eyes where they were threatening to fall.

Baekhyun was somehow towering over you, despite his average stature, with carefully rehearsed cold words balanced on the tip of his tongue. Words that melted as your calm exterior shattered. Your lip was trapped between your teeth, a familiar sight, but not in the way that he was used to.

Your eyebrows were shaking ever so slightly, in time with your hands, as you fought a losing battle to maintain your composure. As you struggled, so did he. You stood together, the silence stretching into years until it was unmade by two words so soft they were almost drowned out by the sound of your heartbeat pounding in your ears.

“I’m sorry.”

“You are, Baekhyun. Just not in the way that you mean. Not that you actually mean anything that you say.”

Your voice was sharp. Sharp enough, you hoped, to cut the man that stood opposite you. You wanted him to hurt. To feel at least a fraction of what you felt when you saw him. You wanted to hate him, perhaps more than you’d wanted to believe that he ever felt anything real for you.

“I’ve never lied to you. Not once. Brand me what you will, I deserve your hatred, but I’m not a liar. Not to you.”

The final thread holding you together finally snapped. All attempts at poise and self-control abandoned, you sank to the floor, crouching to hug your knees to your chest as the levees collapsed and released the flood of tears that you’d been desperately trying to contain.

“I hate you Baekhyun. Just go. Please, just go.”

You heard footsteps, but they sounded far away. You couldn’t tell where they were headed and you didn’t care. Everything else ceased to matter as your sadness, the sadness that you’d been ignoring for weeks, swallowed you whole.

A firm hand found your back and your body suddenly lurched forwards. Your eyes flew open just in time for your sight to be stolen by the chest your face was firmly pressed into. You opened your mouth to protest, but he spoke first:

“Please. Please don’t speak. I know that I’ve done awful things. You could say that they’re my specialty.” His monologue was punctured by a bitter laugh.

“I deserve your hatred. I do. But you don’t deserve to be hurt like this. Don’t cry over me. I can’t watch you cry. I’m sorry for dragging you into my bullshit. I’m...not a good person. I don’t like myself, and I try to make up for it by being charming and funny and kind and cool and all of these things...that I’m...not. I’m not any of it. I make girls that I don’t deserve fall for me to fill a void, and then I run away from their feelings because I’m a fucking coward. Only this time it was a little different.”

Baekhyun held you tighter, gripping you almost to the point of discomfort, like he thought that you would vanish if he let go. His voice dropped to a whisper.

“This time I ran from myself. I was so scared. So, so scared. Of you. I haven’t felt this way in so long, haven’t cared about what someone else thinks of me, about their feelings. Not really. Haven’t looked forward to seeing someone just to see them and...I got scared. It was too much. You always saw right through me. I couldn’t stand the thought of you seeing too much and being disappointed. I thought if I pushed you away, if I just...did what I always do...that it would go away, and then you were there, and your face, and I, I just-. I’m sorry.”

Baekhyun’s voice finally broke after his breathless admission, giving way to soft sobs. Almost against your will you felt your arms circle his waist, holding him with the same intensity that he held you with as your tears softly rained on each other. Time stopped. The only thing left that proved you were still alive was a steady heartbeat. You weren’t sure if it belonged to you or to him.

The sound of the door opening tore you out of your trance.

“O-oh, we thought this was empty.” The shadow of a female figure was barely visible before the door slammed shut again, the faint sound of women giggling left in it’s wake. The deed was already done; the spell had been broken. Baekhyun withdrew from you, hastily wiping stray tears from his swollen eyes.

“Ah, I don’t know what I was thinking. I really am sorry. For everything. I hope that you can...find the happiness that you deserve.” He choked on his last words like they hurt him to speak them as he stood, turning to flee the room, to flee from you again, but the sound of his name rooted him to the spot.

“Aren’t you tired of running away yet?” Your dry lips cracked, overwhelming your tastebuds with the salty mixture of tears and blood. Baekhyun stared at you, disbelief painting over his anguished face. You gently patted the floor next to you, inviting him to return to your side.

He was a man torn. Like a frightened rabbit, ready to escape at the first sign of danger, his eyes darted across your face uncertainly while his feet slowly shuffled forward. He sat beside you at last, watching you with a mystified expression.

“Why?” Was all he managed to croak from his raw throat.

“If you know that what you’re doing is stupid, isn’t it better to change? I still kind of...really want to punch you right now, but I also don’t want to see you look so sad. It hurts. I don’t want to hate you. I want to know the Baekhyun that hides behind a mask. Besides, he and I have a project to work on.” You smiled at him gently, warmly, encouragingly, and watched the fear slowly melt from his face and give way to a shy, yet brilliant smile.

“Yeah, I guess they do.”

***

When you got home Chanyeol was pulling on his coat. The way he smiled at you tugged at your heart strings in ways you weren’t familiar with. Guilt? You had nothing to feel guilty about. The emotion pierced your heart all the same.

“Baby girl, you’re just in time for me to leave.” He pouted, enveloping you in a bear hug. You breathed in his scent, willing it to calm you. Your brain felt like a bundle of raw nerve endings after the events of the afternoon.

“Sorry I’m home so late. I have a big English project due soon.” You breathed into his chest, nuzzling it softly with your cheek.

Chanyeol pulled away, his large hands resting on your shoulders while he studied your face.

“You okay?” He asked, staring pointedly at the puffy bags circling your eyes, running the pad of his thumb over your cheekbone with worry.

“I’m fine, Yeollie. You’d better get going. I’ll be here when you get back, okay? Go get those tips!” You said with what you hoped was a reassuring smile, smoothing the front of his work shirt from where you’d wrinkled it. You were relieved when he returned the same loving grin, kissing you gently on the forehead before taking his leave.

You let out a breath you hadn’t known you were holding when the door shut at your back and trudged towards your bedroom, collapsing on your bed still fully clothed. You were asleep in seconds.

***

“Stop stalling and let me see it!” You scowled impatiently, clawing at the the backpack that Baekhyun was trying desperately to keep out of reach.

“I already told you that it isn’t ready yet. Sto- Hey!” He scrambled to recover his belongings as you danced away from him with them in tow. A warning glare from the librarian kept him silent as he crept after you with a gloomy expression.

“Fine, you can read it I guess, but I’m not satisfied with it yet....” He muttered while you rifled shamelessly through his possessions.

“You’re so funny, Baekhyun. We’re supposed to work together, remember? Wow, for someone that tries to act so carefree you really are meticulous with your schoolwork, aren’t you?” You mused, smirking at your partner’s obvious embarrassment as you thumbed through very diligently taken lecture notes in search of his essay.

True to his word, Baekhyun was a different man than the one you’d grown to know before. In a short week you’d met a man that was a little nervous, shy, easily embarrassed, and surprisingly hardworking. It was apparent that he’d been putting on an act for a long time and keeping his guard down around someone was still very uncomfortable. Despite the differences though he was still very much the same in his own way. Still witty, still demanding and pouty, still flirtatious at times, still prone to giggle fits and silly jokes. Still a living ray of sunshine, just with a few clouds sometimes.

It was real. It was refreshing.

There were times that he seemed to be his old self again and you couldn’t help wondering if it was just so ingrained into him that he wasn’t quite sure who he was anymore. The pity that you felt for him outweighed your resentment, perhaps against better judgment. You wanted so badly to ask why he’d closed himself off emotionally, to ask what had happened to him, but it was a conversation for another time.

You finally found the bundle of papers you’d been searching for and your eyes pored over them eagerly, holding your breath until you reached the final punctuation mark.

“This is great! Perfect!” You exhaled.

You beamed at your companion, your grin widening as you saw his cheeks light up with embarrassment.

“You think so? It’s just okay. It needs a lot more work.” He muttered, pressing his palms into his face to hide its hue.

“No, it’s perfect! Don’t change a thing.”

The words had scarcely left your still-parted lips before they were forced together by the softness of Baekhyun’s mouth pressed against them, one hand gently caressing your jaw while the other wound itself at the nape of your neck and held you to him. You stiffened, dumbstruck, with cheeks blazing until he finally withdrew.

“You’re perfect. Don’t change a thing.” He whispered, his voice husky as he tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear affectionately.

Alarms were ringing in your ears as your shock subsided into panic. You snatched your bag and stood, ignoring the way Baekhyun’s eyebrows drew close with worry.

“I-I forgot, I actually have to, uh, go, I have...something!” You blurted out, too alarmed to even come up with a proper excuse before all but sprinting from the library, leaving Baekhyun alone with his distress.

***

The lights were off in your apartment when you opened the door. Your brow furrowed. You’d thought you had remembered Chanyeol saying today was a day off for him. Perhaps you were mistaken. You tapped a quick text to him all the same.

You: I thought you said that you would be home when I got here! :(

Yeollie: I picked up a shift at work.

You: Ah, I see. What time are you off?

Yeollie: Late.

You: Noooo. Have a good night ♡

Your eyes burned holes into the screen.

“Read 19:07.”

He was just busy.

Maybe he was in a bad mood.

You were taking it personally where you shouldn’t but anxiety was ripping through your good sense. Chanyeol was never, ever short with you like this. He always texted first, was always quick to response, and his messages were always full of every bit of warmth that his physical presence contained.

You placed your phone on the coffee table where you couldn’t keep from glancing at it in hopes of a reply every few minutes. Minutes that stretched into hours as you tried to distract yourself with the mindlessness of the television, convincing yourself that you weren’t waiting up for him, you were just very engrossed in this movie, whatever it was called.

Your phone vibrated, your heart pounding wildly until it stopped altogether when you saw the sender’s name on your screen.

Baekhyunnie~~<3: I’m really sorry about earlier please don’t be mad at me!!!!!! <3333 >.<;;

You: It’s okay, I’m not mad.

Baekhyunnie~~<3: You seemed pretty mad to me but maybe it was just the way you ran away from me. You know, in terror.

You sighed, massaging your temples in a vain attempt to keep the mounting stress headache at bay. You should have seen this coming. Foresight wouldn’t have freed you from the desire to avoid it though.

You: It isn’t that...it’s just everything that happened is still so fresh. And I don’t really know how to say this but I’ve kind of been seeing someone lately

You held your breath as you watched Baekhyun start and stop typing at least five times before the screen flickered to life with his reply.

Baekhyunnie~~<3: I see

Baekhyunnie~~<3: who?

You: Actually it’s my roommate. Chanyeol.

Baekhyunnie~~<3: I can’t say that I’m surprised

Baekhyunnie~~<3: but I’m not going to lose.

Baekhyunnie~~<3: besides i’m way cuter than him~ 'ㅅ' hehe~

You couldn’t help snorting. For as much as he might have been trying to lighten the mood you could feel his resolve and you had no doubt that he meant every word and it made your stomach jump for reasons you couldn’t quite pinpoint.

You elected not to respond, more out of speechlessness than annoyance, and regretted it immediately.

Baekhyunnie~~<3: you’re not allowed to ignore me after i make declarations of war it makes me feel weird -_-;

Baekhyunnie~~<3: but hey, really, if you want me to give up on you I understand, so please just tell me what you want. I don’t want to make you sad, or uncomfortable.

There it was. The question you weren’t ready to answer. Your body felt like it was being crushed from the immense pressure of those words alone. You couldn’t breathe, wished with all of your might that you could vanish at that moment, slip into a coma and reawaken whenever this mess was over.

You could see Baekhyun starting to type again so you answered at last, if only to keep him from pressing on.

You: Please don’t ask me things like that for now, I can’t answer what I don’t honestly know

Baekhyunnie~~<3: It’s ok, I get it. Take your time ok?? and get some sleep young lady it is past your bed time, only delinquents stay up this late

You: that explains why you’re messaging me then

Baekhyunnie~~<3: exactly now go to bed!!!!!! >:0

You dragged yourself to bed as instructed, not at all cured of your unease, and stared at the ceiling in silence until exhaustion finally claimed you.

When you woke up in the morning and finished blinking away your grogginess you were met with a terrifying realization:

For the first time in weeks, you had woken up completely alone.

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thewritewolf · 5 years

Text

Rekindle Chapter 29: Werecat

A confrontation a long time in the making.

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31

@marichatmay

Enjoy!

Read on Ao3

Marinette watched as Adrien paced in front of her. His hands were clenching and unclenching at his sides, she could see the tension in his jawline and shoulders. She knew that if he was transformed right now, his tail would be flicking back and forth. She reflected that, given the circumstances, his anger was entirely relatable. Even with a cursory glance through the papers, he’d found enough to get him riled up and that was before they’d taken them home and started really digging into them.

It had been a real shock to see what Adrien had uncovered at the mayor’s office. The rest of the night had ended up feeling like a formality - even the discovery of a shard of the peacock miraculous, blackened and pulsing with energy and locked in the mayor’s desk, had only ended up being met with almost business-like indifference. After a certain point, it was hard to muster the energy to get more upset.

Thankfully, the same procedure that worked to cleanse akumas was easily adapted to purify corrupted miraculous. She noticed that the miraculous cure didn’t seem as effective as usual, but considering that all the damage would be primarily in the mayor’s building, they hadn’t been too broken up about it. For both the mayor’s sake and their own, they hadn’t gone back to check on him. Watching Adrien in this state, she couldn’t regret that decision.

She reached out and grabbed the cuff of his shirt, stopped him in his tracks. “Adrien, take a seat. You’re going to wear a hole into the floor.”

“I can’t!” He looked at her with such helpless emotion that was breaking her heart all over again. “Mari, my father blacklisted you from your dream job! And that’s not even touching on all the other horrible things he did to our friends, either directly or by supporting that terrible person!” He crumbled to his knees and rested his head on her legs. “I’m so so so so sorry. I had no idea…”

She lifted his head up to look him in the eye. “Adrien. Listen to me - don’t you dare for one minute think any of this is your fault. It is all on Gabriel and Andre. Not you. Okay?”

“Okay…” With a hesitant nod, he got to his feet. “How can you be so calm about this? You got hit hard by this.”

“Honestly? I’m pissed. But I choose to take it as a compliment. Gabriel Agreste, head of his own fashion empire, thought that I was good enough to ruin him.” She leaned back and crossed her arms at Adrien. “And you know what the best revenge will be? Getting bigger than he ever did on skill alone.” She patted the seat next to her and gestured towards the papers. “Now come on and help me sort through this.”

Adrien seemed to be mulling something over. He shook his head. “I’m sorry, I need to go for a run. I’m too angry to think right now.”

“Woah, kid, you sure about that?” Plagg piped up for the first time since they’d gotten home. It hadn’t been the lazy quiet she was used to from Plagg, but a very careful silence. As if he was waiting to see how things would play out.

“I don’t know if it is wise to-” Tikki stopped when she saw Adrien shake his head.

“I can’t help anyone right now. I just… I need some air.”

Marinette stood up and cupped his face. “Then go and get it out of your system. I’ll be right here waiting for you.” She rolled forward to kiss his cheek. “Don’t get lost out there, okay?”

He watched her with a tender expression, unable to do anything but nod. “Claws out.”

Once he was gone, Marinette collapsed into the couch. Tikki landed behind her.

“Are you sure that was a good idea?”

“Adrien is feeling a lot right now. It’s like Hawkmoth’s defeat all over again. I’m here for him, but this is something that he needs to come to grips with before I can do anything to help him. Once he comes back we can talk things out.”

Tikki considered this. “And what about you, Marinette?”

Marinette sighed. “I’ll be happy when I have my kitty back. Until then,” she leaned forward and started working through another set of papers.

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

Chat Noir’s mind was empty of thoughts as he let himself fully sink into the mechanics of running, leaping, and swinging. He had no destination in mind, but ran like a man possessed. As if he’d be able to burn out his anger and frustration with physical exhaustion. For a while, it worked and he was able to outrun his emotions - he became lost in the moment.

Running, however, is only a temporary solution. It took a while, but even his superhuman endurance began to waver and everything hit him all at once. He slowed down, legs becoming tired from more than just physical weariness. His knee hit the metal roof of the building he was standing on and only there and then, alone, did he allow himself to shed tears.

There were plenty of emotions vying for his attention. The most obvious was anger - he was beyond pissed at Mayor Andre, and more especially his father. He had known that Gabriel was not a savory character, even when his mom was alive. It had only worsened over the years, but even at his lowest, Adrien hadn’t expected his father to be capable of such… corruption and vileness. Which lead to frustration. Even in prison, Gabriel was ruining his life and hurting his friends. Shame was hot on its heels - despite Marinette’s reassurances, he knew that if there was anyone that could have noticed this earlier, it would have been him. The money used to torment his loved ones was the same money he’d helped Gabriel make through years of modeling.

Belatedly, Adrien realized where he was standing. The same warehouse that Hawkmoth - his father - had held Marinette in to get at Chat Noir. Like the true coward he was.

His brushed his tears aside and stood tall. There was one stop he needed to make before he went home to help Marinette deliver justice. Gabriel Agreste needed to understand the enormity of his crimes. And who better to do it than him?

So single-minded was Adrien that he failed to notice the white fur taking shape below him and a throaty growl that echoed in the empty space...

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

Gabriel Agreste stared at the wall of his small prison cell. He’d been put into maximum security, solitary confinement as he awaited his no doubt highly publicized trial. There had been no visitors to break up the monotony of his daily routine. Nathalie was gone, likely a victim of the same miraculous that had stolen so much from him already. Adrien hadn’t been seen in months, abducted by his hated enemies. And clearly, all of his business associates were doing their best to divorce themselves from any relationship they had with him. He did not even have Nooroo any more, his one constant companion for the past what? Twenty, thirty years?

Worst of all, he knew that his wife was gone. The machine could not have sustained her for much longer, least of all without his frequent maintenance and care. No, now Gabriel was entirely alone in the world.

...Or at least he was until he noticed the figure in black standing on the other side of his cage, just outside the reach of his pitiful overhead light.

Of course, even in the weak light he would recognize that figure. Even if he hadn’t been spending the last ten years trying to pry jewelry off his body, living or dead, there weren’t many people in Paris who wore cat ears and a leather tail. At least, none that he would allow within twenty meters of him.

His face twisted into a sneer. “Chat Noir. Finally come to gloat at how you defeated the mighty Hawkmoth? How you tore a family apart because of your desperate need to play hero?” He watched Chat Noir flex his claws as his glowing emerald eyes stared back at Gabriel. Despite himself, Gabriel shivered - there was a coldness in that look that he’d never seen in the hero before, no matter what akuma’s eyes he had been looking through.

Instead of a response, Chat Noir said, “Claws in.”

After blinking away the spots from his eyes due to the green light show, he eagerly looked one of his nemeses in the face for the first time. A knot of some unfamiliar emotion knotted in his gut. Despite the suit vanishing, none. "...Son?"

"Hawkmoth."

Gabriel frowned, the much more familiar sense of parental disappointment returning to him. "Still no respect for your father, I see."

"There's no one here by that title. No one here who deserves respect. Let me tell you about some people I DO respect though." Adrien pulls pictures out of his jacket and throws them one by one at Gabriel’s feet.

The first picture was a happy couple dressed in wedding finery that Gabriel could barely remember as one of Adrien’s circle of nobody friends. "This is Alya and Nino. You remember them, right? Well this is their wedding rehearsal dinner. In Venice. Why in Venice, do you ask? Because, as I just learned, they were threatened by Andre Bourgeois to the point that they had to leave this city. They now travel where Alya can report the truth without being blackmailed."

Another picture hit the floor. "This is my former fencing instructor. I'm sure you don't remember him, because you didn't care about how I lived my life as long as I was busy and quiet and cut off from the world. He ran against the mayor several times trying to bring real change and each time he was met with a smear campaign that ruined his reputation and his business. He moved, and last I heard he has a very nice fencing studio in Marseille. He hasn't been back to Paris since."

"Adrien-"

The last picture was tossed directly at his face and Gabriel caught it easily with one hand. He almost wished he hadn’t when he saw his son, smiling wider than he had in years, his arm around a young woman that he definitely recognized.

"And THIS.” His son’s face was a mask of anger. “This is Marienette Dupain-Cheng. The love of my life. And she's still here. DESPITE the horrible competition she endured trying to break into the fashion world. DESPITE the critics who will tear apart anything innovative for ratings. DESPITE the blacklist I found in Mayor Bourgeois's office that had her name on it. The list you gave him."

Long moments passed between them, a silence thick with tension.

“You’ve got nothing to say for yourself.” It wasn’t a question.

“Everything I did was for us, for our family-” Gabriel was cut off by Adrien laughing, a biting, hollow noise.

“You didn’t do it for me,” Adrien spat at him. “You didn’t do it for mom. You did it for your idea of us, some… some fictional version of us that only exists in your head.” He shook his head. “Do you really think mom would have ever wanted you to terrorize Paris for her? Do you think she wanted to spend her last days of life stretched thin in stasis? What the hell would make you think I’d want a supervillain instead of a father?”

Gabriel didn’t have a response to that either and felt his legs give out underneath him as he collapsed onto his hard prison bed. He barely registered the flash of green light as his son - who he realized with dawning horror he had tried to kill many times in the past ten years - left him.

He finally recognized the unfamiliar emotion he was feeling.

Guilt.

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

Marinette took a big sip of her best red wine as her phone rang. She knew they were out of their league with this one, but she knew exactly who to call for help. It was a big enough story to entice her, but if she wanted this to work, she needed to be as honest as possible.

A voice answered on the other end. “Hey, M. What’s up?”

The time for hesitation was over. “Alya, I hope you’ve got a lot of time to spare.”

“For my best friend? I’ve got all the time in the world.”

“Good.” Marinette took a deep, fortifying breath. “I’m Ladybug, and I need your help.”

#Miraculous Ladybug #MarichatMay2019 #Marinette Dupain-Cheng #Adrien Agreste #Chat Noir #Adrienette #Tikki #Plagg #ml fanfiction #my writing #Rekindle

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reddogf13 · 5 years

Text

Between two Voids ch 15

Pennywise x Beverly

summery: It has been 12 years since Beverly was last in Derry. now 26 years old and returning with her boyfriend she strives for a life of normalcy in the small town. Unaware that a certain stalking creature has awakened much earlier than expected. Looking for a challenge to cure its boredom ,in the now crumbling town, IT aims to uproot her life as much as possible. Yet, is that really such a bad thing given her dark situation hidden from all but the eyes of a world eater?

status: complete

rated: M - fowl language and gore, sex scene ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

prev chap: Between two Voids ch 14

next chap: Between two voids ch 16

_____________________________________

~ch:15 Consummation ~

Beverly had slept easier this passing night. No longer worried about Pennywise pestering her in the middle of the night. Erik had still come to her earlier pissed about more money being stolen. Only pacified slightly by the fact Beverly “sold” all the drugs given to her. Handing over a larger amount of money then usually gotten from a similar supply selling. His usual angry demeanor shifting to pleasantry rarely seen. It had taken Beverly off guard when he praised her with a hug. She hadn't seen this part of him in years.

Rising the next morning had her following the regular routine. Some chores, preparing breakfast, hiding most of her breakfast. Erik waking, changing both there schedule from the usual. Splitting the breakfast evenly with Beverly. Taking her outside to walk down to their drug building. Walking her back to the same snowy spot as yesterday.

“i bet you'll make me proud babe.” hugging her again.

“yes, honey.” hugging him back. Thinking as he left “maybe things are changing for him. He'll start acting better without so much pressure on him.”

“i have your coffee.” her head turning to face the clown standing there with a cup of steaming coffee.

“thanks.” speaking softly with a taking of the drink. doing a few quick sips to warm herself in the frosty air.

“you want to head down where its warmer?” his question getting a head shake from Beverly.

“no, I rather stay out today. I don't get to be out often.” looking down into her coffee with a swirl of the cup. Wondering “maybe Erik will change his mind about that?”

“where would you like to go then?”

“don't know. Walk around and see?” drinking from the cup along her slow walk down the empty streets. Eventually making her way down a dirt trail by the river stopping to gaze up at the trees. Remembering a specific dream she had with a similar gaze up toward the tree tops.

Being out in the middle of nowhere with no civilization in sight. Surrounded by towering trees in the glowing night sky surrounding a full moon. Being stalked by a certain someone who was now standing by her in waiting to continue the walk.

“how would it even go now?” thinking of if the dream were to happen in real life. “My dreams kept him away for a time. Won't work out here. I don't think he even has the patience to hold back. Then when he catches me, then what? Not very comfortable to lay on dead pine needles or rotten pine cones. … why am I even thinking about this? Do I want to go through with it? … Might as well enjoy the freedom. Already deep as I can be right now. Relax, have fun, enjoy it as it lasts.”

“what are you doing?” looking down from the trees over to him.

“I'm thinking. … on how to copy a dream I had.” answering his question a little slowly.

“oh?”

“ … involving you.”

“ oooh?”

“ I was running in the forest during the night. you were chasing me down until you caught me.”

“then what?”

“heh, I am sure you can guess.”

“what do you need to think about? I can take you into the woods for that.” excitement showing in his tone.

“how to make it a challenge.”

“a challenge?” the excitement dropping a notch.

“yeah, it won't be much fun when you can catch me three steps into the chase. We gotta have rules for the chase.” holding in a chuckle by his noticeable change from the news.

“I'm more excited for the end, not so much the chase.”

“i know, but it will give us both a little more thrill for the event. First rule I feel should be no teleportation, you always have to be running or using your legs. And I get a head start of a few minutes.”

“what's the cost of losing?”

“mm, I can't really see a way to punish you … yet. I'll have to think of it later.”

“humph, not very faiiir. when I catch you, I can do anything I want to you then?” radiating confidence for the coming challenge.

“yes, maybe with neither of us knowing the punishment we'll be motivated to run a little faster.”

“where shall the chase begin?”

“Away from town in the thicker woods. Somewhat close to the quarry, that will be the finish line where you lose.” Beverly bringing up her own confidence against the clown known for hunting people.

“i very much doubt that.” snickering as they walked along to their starting destination. The two passing back and forth remarks of how they were going to win. “you can't outrun my pace. Once the starter limit is up you'll be an easy catch.” boasting confidently behind her.

“i don't know about that. How often do you run? Are you sure you won't trip over the first twig you come near?” teasing his boastful pride.

“i am not one to be taken down by a simple twig. You on the other hand can't take a little frozen water falling from the sky.”

“we'll see how well you can keep up clown boy. Make sure not to hit any low branches.” slowing to a stop in a open area of dirt covered in dead leafs. “okay, here's the starting line. From here I get a 5 minute head start.”

“if you run you'll make it to the quarry before I am allowed to take a step.” growling out the unfairness of the start.

“i promise I'll only walk. Fair?” looking toward him after setting her empty coffee cup on a nearby fallen tree.

“fair.” breathing out the word. sounding not completely satisfied, but just enough.

“stay there, 5 minutes.” pointing to where he stood. Leaving him behind as she walked off to start their little game.

“hm, wonder what pen would do? Pretty sure I at least know the gist of what he wants to do.” a blush growing across her face at the thought. “maybe I should have made some limitations to what he could do. Like not leaving marks.” rubbing her hand across the bite already marking along her shoulder. Shivering at the clear dipping areas. “i shouldn't worry. I just have to win. I am already halfway there after this head start.” walking a little faster past the trees. The closer she got to the finish line the further her anxiety climbed. Having not seen any glimpse of the clown.

“what is he doing? Did he get lost?” looking back for him to possibly pop up. A blur of red and white snapping her vision forward. Bolting away from the clowns arm lunging to grab her. Having missed her he released a growl of frustration as she ran off further from his reach.

Without glancing back she ran toward her end goal. Forced to redirect herself every time the clown managed to get ahead. Attempting to snag her as he surprised her around various trees or boulders. Quickly growing exhausted from her running she grew desperate to pass through an opening, but the clown was always ahead. She had to take a gamble and pass as he reached for her.

Seeing an opening, she charged for it, heart jumping as the clown lunged for her again. Feeling her clothes bundle up in his successful grip. Hearing him start to laugh in his winning to be cut off at realizing the trick she pulled on him. Slipping free of her loose jacket he had grabbed as a false prize. Running ahead of him being left to hold the empty jacket.

“hey!” hearing him shout the word in shock far behind her.

“almost there.” she panted to herself. Annoyed at the clown catching up so quickly. Forcing her to take unnecessary turns around things to avoid him reaching her. Beverly felt her lungs burning on the lack of air. Desperately running forward working on speeding up her pace. Hearing his footsteps running up behind her rushing more adrenaline into her blood. Not daring to look back as she weaved around trees or boulders whizzing by in a blur.

Turning past one boulder had surprised her with a wall of white. Being too slow to stop had her arm mashing into it. Yanking back getting resistance in return as it was a wall of webbing. Panicking over her mistake of running into it as it wasn't the usual tough threading. This stuff was sticking to her arm like cement glue. The more she fought and fussed with it had her growing more stuck in the mass.

Hearing his steps stop she mistakenly looked back. Freezing up at the surprise of him pouncing into her. Sweeping her off her feet into his hugging arms scooping her up. Realizing a second after he had her pinned against the webbing. Her body going limp from exhaustion in the position. Accepting her defeat while catching her breath. Blushing at noticing the position they were both in. her front against the threading with his body right up against her back side. Both his arms wrapped tightly around her stomach crossing over her hips. His face buried into the back of her neck warming her skin by his hot breath.

“you cheated with the web.” joking through her panting breaths.

“i cheated? You cheated with the jacket, I caught you fair.” chuckling back with an arm holding up her coat.

“is this what took you so long?” referring to the web he had strung between two trees to catch her.

“heh, yes. I wasn't going to let you win.” gently pulling the thread away to unstick her from the wall of fibers.

“you thought I was going to win without this web?” his statement taking her by surprise.

“i didn't expect your jacket to pop off. I was sure you'd have something up your sleeve like it, that would have let you win.” hugging her up against him keeping her feet from touching the ground.

“i don't know about that. I was running out of air for a while with all that running.” a warmth in her chest building off the compliment, but a negative voice in the back of her mind saying it was only a lie.

“if your life had depended on it you would have thought of something.” speaking up against her neck to set a delicate kiss upon her skin.

“m-maybe.” stuttering with a blush. “why didn't you ever use the sticky threading before?” asking to change the subject.

“takes a lot of time, energy, along with being unnecessary. I can catch fine without it.” kissing down her neck to nibble at her collar bone.

“don't bite!” pressing a hand into his face.

“you said I can do whatever I want.” stretching a crooked grin up at her.

“... I don't want marks.” words spoken out softly in submissiveness. Worried about what exactly he was planning for his winnings. She couldn't back out now on what he wanted to do.

“no marks.” repeating the words back to ease her worries as he carried her off. “i didn't have time to refine this much.” bringing her to another small web structure of a spread out square hammock. With a denser square web overhang.

“looks pretty nice to me.” looking over it after being set down at its edging.

“not closed enough for heat … or privacy.” grinning to himself as he stitched the open edged sides together. Merging the top covering to the hanging bottom. Finishing off a newly made cocoon structure with one small opening left.

“will it keep out the rain?” asking as she looked up over the graying sky's. The clouds much too dark for snow.

“of course it will.” answering with a crawl in and over her. Kissing her tenderly enough to get a taste of his sweet mouth.

“what exactly do you have planned for my punishment?” speaking when he moved to kiss down along her neck to her chest. Only getting a half spoken mumbled hum. If it could even be called an answer when she understood none of it.

“strip.” he spoke more clearly with a tug of her shirt collar by his mouth. Different from all the other times he stripped her himself. Beverly nervously slipped her shirt off to the side. Followed by her pants and underwear while under his studying eyes. Waiting quietly as this was going all slower then the usual.

“now strip me.” his smile growing at the bright blush he was causing her. She hesitated after wondering how she was to even do that. If she had to undo all the lacing in the back it would be taking her the whole day to undo. Seeing her confused look he pointed at his ruffled collar. “pull it.” he smiled. Lifting up his chin for her hand to slip past the collars rim.

Giving the fabric a delicate tug she heard the small snap of it coming loose. Holding it for a second as she expected it to disintegrate like the other times, but it didn't. The only article of clothing that did was his gloves after pulling the top half of his costume off. Nervously swallowing as her hands went down to undo his pants. Slipping a hand past the rim to give a similar tug like with the collar. Hearing a similar snapping noise with the clothing going loose. Her hands were moved away by his to slip the clothing off easier.

“where to start?” smiling down at her with his long nails tapping her shoulders.

Waiting for him to do or say something had her fidgeting. The waiting turning awkwardly long before he raised an eyebrow at her.

“ … you're asking me?” confused on what he wanted.

“ yeesss.” holding in a chuckle at Beverly's caught in headlights look from the answer. Knowing her he knew the best punishment was for her to handle the pacing. She was always so shy about handling certain areas. Some places keeping her hands as far away from as possible.

“oh, uh, that's - it's not really a punishment.” lost on what to do now She'd never been put in charge of where the sex lead, ever. Now she had more power in this situation then ever before.

“what would you like me to do to punish you?” enjoying how much he was flustering her with such simple questions. Beverly figuring how much of a punishment this could be if he kept it up with questions like that.

“i don't know. … I never chose before.” being honest on how lost she was currently.

“want to start with a kiss?” offering up something for her to start with.

She gave a nod followed by a soft spoken “yeah”. Bringing her hands up to hold the sides of his face to pull him in closer for a soft kiss on the lips. Relaxing back to the soft kisses she moved her arms to wrap over his shoulders. Pulling him down closer by one of her hands easing down along his spine. Kissing at his neck as her other hand pulled his shoulder to gesture him forward between her legs.

He was excited when settling down between her legs, but waited for her full go ahead. Getting that in one of her legs twisting over him to pull him the rest of the way. Moaning at the slow deep thrusts he was pushing in. noticing how he again made some changes to how he felt for her. His rod was bigger with a tighter fit inside. Stiff ridges changing to dipping down sections switching to a finer roughage of backwards facing bumps.

Body reacting to a multitude of vibrations following firm massaging. moving against the sweet spots he knew well by now.

“fuck, pen!” moaning out the words in a pleased breath.

“want me to go faster?” kissing her exposed neck. When she gave the go ahead nod he adjusted himself to thrust more freely. Reaching much deeper than before on each vibrating thrust. Tightening her legs around him in wanting more of him. Kissing him turning hard to do with so little air reaching between her moans. Letting him take over in kissing down along her chest.

Drawing out wave after wave of exploding pleasure. The third round had Beverly trying to convince herself she could keep going. Barely managing the energy enough to reach the end of the addictive third round. Patting his chest to slow him into stopping. Her body laying limply out of breath with zero energy to move. Her breathing slowly catching up she moved her arms enough to hug his neck. Planting a small kiss on his lips, savoring his sweet taste.

“damn.” lightly cursing at herself for not following her own advice about taking breaks. It was getting harder to stop the ride when she needed it to.

“want to rest?” he spoke softly to her. After giving him a confirming hum she felt him slowly remove himself. Dragging out another moan by the feeling of being emptied. He picked her up into his arms to move her over. Laying down beside her with a grab of his upper shirt costume. Covering them both to quietly rest.

Time passing Beverly so slowly she wondered if it had stopped. It couldn't have as the rain continued its steady pour from the sky. Distant trees disappearing into the heavily fogged land. Hours passed by without a word passing between them.

Both still unclothed relaxed to the sound of lightly falling rain. The warmth his body radiated preventing the outside from completely invading the small space. Helping to block what little cold that did enter by laying between Beverly and the entrance. both arms crossed behind his head and eyes closed in resting.

Beverly laying comfortably next to him warmed under his shirt spreading across them both. One arm looped through a sleeve she brought close to look over. Looking over the threading to feeling the fabric of the inner ruffles. Looking down to the small bells attached to the wrist. Giving a few of them a light shake to hear them jingle. Testing through them all one by one to hear them.

“you really like those bells.” teasing as one eye slightly opened to watch her in amusement. She looked at him then turned to look back at the bells. Letting out a embarrassed chuckle at being caught playing with his costume.

“I always thought these were broken. I never heard them when you moved.”

“if they did, everyone in Derry would hear me approaching.” shifting himself to move an arm around Beverly. Pulling her close up against his side for her to touch him a little more over his clothes. When she shifted to lay against him he closed his eyes in resting back down. Knowing the last time she was comfortable exploring him was when he seemed to be paying the least attention on her.

She looked over him for the first few minutes passing by. Scanning over his smooth pale skin without a single imperfection marking it. Pulling her hand from the sleeve to tentatively touch over his lower chest. Feeling that overly soft skin tightly covering the toned muscle. Hand trailing down the muscle getting quite low toward his hips. Planning to pull her hand back as it reached past his hips. Pausing when she felt a strange dip.

Feeling a deep line similar to how a bad scar would be. Smoothing her hand over the start of the mark a little more with a glance toward his face for any negative reaction. Seeing him still resting back she followed along the scar. Feeling it get much deeper all while getting a little too low. approaching certain parts she didn't particularly want to handle. Touching a really deep point had him jolting up. Withdrawing her hand at the startling reaction.

“sorry, sorry, shit did that hurt?” feeling guilt of causing pain she greatly apologized.

“no, it's only sensitive.” not sounding angry nor suffering any lingering pain. Adjusting himself back down to get comfortable.

“how'd you get the scar?” curiosity coming back when the guilt died down.

“scar? It's not a scar.” looking to her confused.

“it feels like one. What is it then?” mumbling along her sudden confusion as to what the mark was.

“you never looked down?” entertained by her answering while she was left more confused.

“no!” concerned as to what exactly she felt along.

“why not?” up to this point he assumed her shyness was due to past history reasons.

“i don't like staring down, Its weird, its distracting.” she mumbled, gaze drifting off toward the wall away from him. “what is it?” snapping part of her gaze back.

“itsss a crease.” thinking for a split second on a proper word to use.

“ … what?” Beverly being made even more confused.

“ it opens to a pocket.” he started the strange explanation. Enjoying Beverly's shifting expression of confusion to horror over it. “everything's retractable in the area. Makes it easy to adjust the parts before fitting them back into place for the fun. The crease is closed when there is nothing, opening more for bigger parts made.” finishing his explanation. Beverly opened her mouth only to close it as her brain soaked in the strange information.

“... you switch out parts?” was all she managed to get out.

“adjust the parts. If I were to switch parts I would use my actual ones.”

“... what do your actual parts look like?!” switching her focus to that. Fearfully thinking of what they could look like when his false ones already seemed strange enough. Would they be like in her dreams? Covered in barbs, hooked teeth, something else that would tear her innards? Overly huge to the point of splitting her open? From how long that crease felt it had to make a lot of room for something.

“do you want to see?” the grin on his face stretching from ear to ear.

“mm, next time.” swallowing nervously at the thought of suddenly seeing it now. She felt she had to have some time to prepare. At least have clothes on when she was to face it.

“next time.” he repeated the answer back in a small confirming nod. Beverly let out a small breath of relief at him not attempting to press it immediately upon her.

“i think it's probably time I have to leave anyway.” looking out the entrance at the light mist the rain had turned into. The sky turning darker as the days end approached. He let out an annoyed hum of agreement on her needing to go back. Handing her the wad of money to pass off her work of drug selling to Erik.

Beverly feeling incredibly odd to be handed a huge wad of money while getting redressed. Putting the wad into her coat pocket for safe keeping. When she was dressed she got out to pour all the various drugs into the nearest puddle. Watching them dissolve away in the water.

“do you wish to walk the way or for me to take you there?”

“I'd like to walk, but there's not enough time before Erik gets back.”

“do you have to go back? You do wish to leave him, right? You can stay here, with me.” making another attempt to have her stay.

“... i can't. ... It has to be something I do on my own.” swallowing down the nervous lump in her throat. She wasn't sure if she wanted to leave Erik anymore. Yet a part of her in this moment almost accepted pens offer to stay.

“why?” part of her words being off to him.

“i don't want to rely on others to get me out of my problems.” fidgeting the end of her jacket sleeve smooth.

“it's how you all beat me so long ago. I was only bills problem wasn't I? None of the rest of you had to get involved. You all helped each other to loosen my grip on Derry for a time. Wouldn't you say having help is better?” taking a gentle hold of Beverly's hand.

“... i guess.” holding the hand back. “but things are really different now. Everything is when you're an adult.” shutting her eyes in the transitioning blackness of the world. Appearing back to her sales spot on the empty corner.

“see you later, pen.” releasing the nice hand hold.

“see you later, darling.” disappearing before Beverly could ask him on the strange new name of affection.

“darling?!” looking back where the clown would have been. A light blush across her face at the new name.

“yes?” Beverly's heart jumping out of her chest at Erik's voice.

“i-i uh got all the money … again.” nervously speaking to cover herself.

“give it.” holding his hand out for the cash. Counting it out when she gave it to him. A smile crossing his face at the large amount. “good job babe. Got enough to pay off the new car.” gesturing for her to follow him.

“you got a new car?”

“of course I did. Need a car for the pharmacy business. Although it's a piece of junk and can't carry all of us. I parked it over here by that street light.” explaining as they walked down the street up to a small grey car set to seat 4 people. Covered in dents, spotted by rusted areas, and a missing front bumper.

“he makes it sound like he spent a fortune. He probably got this from the junkyard for 25 bucks.” thinking as she scanned over the look of the vehicle. Following Eriks lead of getting into the car. Not paying much attention to the ride as they drove down the streets. Alarmed only after he head the opposite way home.

“um, where are we going?”

“we're heading to the bar. Me and the guys have a lot to talk about with all that's been going on. Especially all the stuff involving you.”

“oh.” shrinking down in her chair over what that could mean. Going over in her head at the possibilities. “he's going to a bar for some drinks. Must not be that bad. When he does drink he'll probably forget whatever it is any way. … hopefully.”

the drive there was awkwardly quiet. The few words passing between them was when they parked in front of the bar. Erik telling her to get out to head inside behind him. Erik entered to warm greetings welcoming him by all his friends. Beverly hesitating to go in further when she was shot with the usual bitter glares. An especially aggressive one by Victoria with a mess of colored hair. Hiding the grey appearing to have failed horribly.

“go do whatever, but try not to leave the bar early. That okay babe?” Erik sounded like he was asking, but Beverly knew better. It was an order that she had to follow, or else.

“yes, honey.” there was that awkward feeling again when saying that affectionate name. Erik walked off with the boys leaving Laura and Victoria alone with Beverly.

“hey bevy.” Victoria sneered. Purposely agitating Beverly with that nickname she hated so much. “aww, what's wrong? Don't want to talk? Not gonna curse us with the men around?” pushing Beverly's buttons further.

“... how'd your day at the salon go?” Beverly's sharp comment heating Victoria's anger to a high boil.

“you fucking witch! You deserve to be burned alive!” Victoria stood ready to kick off a fist fight between them.

“hey stop fightin. Everythins figerd out. Now, now clam dune.” Erik slurred up to them. Spilling a bit of a freshly opened beer in his hand.

Beverly rolled her eyes with a sigh at Erik's drunken slurring. “geeze, did he chug down a six pack in the 10 minutes we've been here?” remaining silent as Erik slurred on.

“start, dart the party. Celebrat start now.” spilling even more of the beer in hand as he swung it around dramatically. “whooo!” shouting before chugging the last bit of beer from the bottle.

“celebrating? Celebrating what?” she tried asking Erik.

Getting only a slurred confusing answer when he turned to walk off. “ leafin berries!”

“I'll ask later then.” sighing to herself. Walking off to be alone in a corner of the bar. Aiming to avoid Victoria as much as she could. Getting a glass of water she carefully watched being brought to her. She wasn't about to let a repeat of the rave incident again.

Taking sips of her drink the entire time while everyone else got shit face drunk. Watching Erik making a fool of himself by singing horribly off tune. Darius hanging himself over the counter sick enough to vomit his guts out. Victoria and Laura laughing hysterically over lame jokes trey butchered upon telling.

It was hours later that they all finally left only due to the bar closing for the night. Beverly being required to help Erik even get out the door with his stumbling. Turning a blind eye to the others stumbling over themselves inside.

“i drive, I drive.” Erik stumbled to the drivers side.

“Erik I really don't think that's a good idea.” heart stopping in her chest at the image of Erik swerving all over the road.

“i got, got a surpris, I drive, drive surprise.” getting into the drivers seat without listening to another word from Beverly.

“Christ Erik. You can't drive!” rubbing her head of the on setting pain.

“i con drive. Drive … set in seat. Go get surplus.”

“if I don't go he's going to drive alone. … I better not fucking die because of this.” thinking with a hesitant seat into the car. Watching fearfully as Erik messed around with the car buttons. Locking down her seat bet as tight as possible. The car backing up and over a street curb. Rushing forward off down the street with Beverly doing her best to keep the driving straight by adjusting the wheel. Erik not noticing the slightest that a third hand was turning the wheel.

Beverly suffering multiple mini heart attacks as they drove by the quarry with cliff edges right next to the road. Screeching against the cliffs many metal railings to prevent cars from flying off. Breathing out the air she was holding as they slowed down into a small open gravely dirt area.

“weer here!” happily announcing as he somehow was able to park the car. “surpriss!”

“oh Erik, you really shouldn't have.” faking as much enthusiasm as she could being at the popular make out point.

“knew you like it. Havint non done much in privote. Ainta right babe? Gonna selb – celebrate alllll night!” speaking of how little their sex life had been for a while.

“yeeeah, guess not.” sighing at the “big surprise”. Flinching away at the tight hug from him bringing her close for disgusting sloppy kisses around her neck. Tolerating the mostly unwanted affection like all the other times. She put up with it as if it were a regular chore. Thinking of it that way made it more bearable along with keeping the peace instead of another fist fight.

Erik stopping his actions at the bright flashes of red and blue lights. “aww fuck.” he cursed. Both sitting separate in their chairs in waiting. Holding still as if they couldn't be seen. Erik cursing at the sight of an officer walking up. Tapping on Erik window waiting for him to roll it down to speak.

“i need you to step out of the car for me sir.” the officer ordered with a blaring flashlight shining into the car.

“fuuuuck.” Erik mumbled with a partial stumble out of the car. Beverly looking through the windows as Erik was walked to a police car. Facing forward again to stare out at the city lights far off. A sickened knot twisting up in the pit of her stomach.

“fuck, I better not be arrested. I really don't want to spend all night bailing out Erik either.” sitting there anxiously for the officer to return. “This dirt area was private property owned by whatever company that ran the quarry. Used to get a 1000 dollar fine if caught up here. At least that's what it was when we were in high school. Could be more now … or less … if the company no longer exists.” glancing back toward where the police lights were shining up on the trees. “a possible 1000 dollar fine and Erik in jail for public drunkenness. Could this night get any worse?!”

flinching at a loud tap on the window. Surprised to see the officer standing by the window so suddenly. Having not heard any footsteps on the half gravel road. Taking in a deep breath while rolling down the window to speak.

“hiya Bev.” greeted by the clown bending down to her face level. Face still done up like the clown, but everything else in a police uniform.

“holy fuck, its you!” the knot in her stomach disappearing.

“aww, not happy to see me?” his voice faking sadness.

“no, not after the heart attack you gave me!” looking up at him when he opened the car door. Getting a full view of his ridiculous disguise.

“oh, I scared my poor Beverly?” teasing as a smile grew on his face.

“i am definitely not scared of what looks to be some hired stripper. who forgot to take part of his other costume off before coming. … What'd you do with Erik?”

“nothing. He's locked in a rust bucket fake police car far out of sight. I thought I'd be best to give him time to sober up.” half stepping into the car to pull back the seat lever. Adjusting Beverly's chair back into a better position.

“pen I really don't think you can fit.” seeing how hunched over the whole front seat he was. His back against the roof, knees bent at the sides of her seat, with his boots still touching the car floor in front.

“i fit all the other times.” closing the door with a chuckle.

“that's not what I meant!” blushing by his comment. Entertained by him fidgeting around to somewhat settle comfortably. Kissed by him to settle her fully back into the chair. Giving himself some more space to settle in. Snapping the buttons on her clothes free to give kisses along her exposed collar bone.

Her doing the same to help strip him down. Freeing his pants of the fake police belt followed by a shy look away when seeing the crease scar like line. Giggling at him trying again to find a more comfortable position in the tiny car for the second time.

“Did that male have to buy the smallest car in all of Derry?!” growling with a shove up of his shoulders into the roof. A loud screech noise sounding at the metal bending upwards.

“hey, Don't do that! I'll have to explain that later!” pulling him back down by the loose shirt hanging off him. Ready to scold him more about it when a skin crawling sensation had her voice go quiet. Her lower half having something such as many vines winding across her skin.

Looking down had her gasp in shock. The crease fully opening to A black hole starting from between his legs up all the way to under his rib cage. Coiling the walls of the hollow hole spreading out from it were multiple long sleek black tendrils. The winding things being smooth on her skin similar to flat snake scales.

Out of surprised reaction she pushed up away from them. Being quickly pulled back down by the multiple limbs wrapped around her already. Frozen in the mass continuing to entangle her even more.

Pausing her racing mind to soak in the details of everything. The first was that she wasn't hurt. Second she wasn't threatened in any way.

“Nothing hurts, he won't hurt me.” Thinking to herself to relax. Being more in shock rather than in pure fear. Tightly grabbing the hand he brought near to rub her face as a comfort to what little fear she did have.

“You wanted to see it, didn't you?” lowering to whisper through heated breath by her face. Gently rubbing the other side of her face affectionately. Pulling away when she nodded against his hand.

She was interested, but greatly surprised by the sudden show.

“I did say next time.” Calming herself to the entanglement that continued. Question how long these things were wrapping around her waist in a few loops. Others tightly wrapping over her thighs down along her legs. Keeping them spread, but close against his hips. Reminding her a bit of when he tied her down with threading.

The next strange sensation had her sucking in a surprised gasp. Something large covered in a slick coating rubbing up along her entrance. Gliding past to glide the way up her chest. Beverly momentarily frozen in the large members presence. Quickly examining the other worldly organ hovering closely above her chest.

A black dark purple color turning into a dark red at it's tip. Covered in dull backwards facing hooks of various sizes. The bottom covered in layered scales looking similarly as sharp with backwards points. The head a forward facing point edged by three points facing the rest of it toward the base. The whole member becoming incredibly thicker along it's never ending length. stretching from the dark hole next to the many other black tendrils.

“it won't hurt.” Thinking with a hesitant hand reaching up to touch the long member hovering over her. Figuring out quickly that the barbs weren't hard at all or any other part of it. Grabbing with a firmer hold had it squishing down in hand. The backwards “barbs” twisted around her hand as a bunch of mini tendrils. Coming alive from their stiffened position to wriggle in random directions at the touch. The soft smooth “scales” flaring out in a rounder shape to twitch against her palm in shifting waves.

Those things aren't what bothered her the most. it was mainly the ever growing size covered in the thick slime now grossly oozing over hand. Spreading over her arm as the long member wrapped up along it playfully.

“Gross, Gross, Gross” her mind repeated. Relieved for a moment as the slime oozing member backed away when reaching her shoulder. Happier when the slime left behind evaporated instantly without any leftover feeling of its presence. the member retreating back down to slide up against her entrance causing her to shiver.

“How much is he going to put in?!” Her mind startled by the worrying thought.

She could maybe handle the first 6 inches, but it became a lot thicker with each inch after. Along with the fact it seemed as never ending as the smaller tendrils. It twisted around her arm with an extra two feet stretching between her and him. Showing off a good four feet by that.

The black tendrils tightened their wrappings on her. Stressing her into grabbing onto one of pens arms as a sort of comfort. Her reaction had him going slack on continuing.

“Want me to pull back?” She heard him ask above in concern. Feeling the tendrils loosen their grip following the larger members retraction from between her legs.

Beverly certainly did not want him to stop. “No!” exclaiming urgently as she sat up to quickly grab the large coiling thing. Shivering in mixed disgusted arousal when feeling it twitch in her hand that was covered in a fresh coat of slime. “its nerves, i've never taken one ...like … this.” Letting go with a shake of her hand to quickly evaporate the slime. “go slow and not too deep.” relaxing back again.

“ugh, eww.” Beverly thought, having never ever wanting to touch that certain organ. Especially one coated in thick slug slime. Her grossed out thoughts pushed away by the black tendrils tightening back around her.

The large member sliding back up against her. Spreading little slime across her thighs going forward to press slowly into her entrance. The cold slime hitting her first before being taken over by the long organ squirming deeper into her. Her body tightening up in pleasure followed by more as the members under scales flared to press outwards. Twitching around in waves of shifting patterns. The smaller tendrils exploring her soft walls in gentle rubbings. The long member squirming deeper without pulling out a single inch. No need to thrust when it was already doing so much massaging on the way in. deeper and deeper it pushed to pause momentarily at fresh sweet spots Beverly had never felt touched before.

Eventually worrying that it would start pressing far too deep, causing pain. Legs twitching to tighten together on slowing his deepening. Difficult to do when each inch helped more on the building pleasure. Reaching a certain point the whole length twisted inside her into a tight curl, allowing more to enter yet not go deeper. the slime helping to glide more in against itself on a tight pulsing coil. Expanding against her tightened walls then shrinking back in a repeating motion of waves.

The pleasure of it all inside her rubbing in multiple ways driving her insane. Her body wanted a break, yet starved for more. Her fidgeting body helped kept in control by the black tendrils entangling her body close. It had to have been a new record when her first orgasm arrived. Followed by a second, third, and fourth instantly. exhausting by her never ending pleasure she was internally relieved it would be over soon. knowing Pen loved going for only 4 rounds. Under all the pleasure she never noticed how close Pennywise had moved nor his changing demeanor.

His body currently laid tightly against Beverly in pinning her body below him. Drool dripping from his sharpening teeth. Swallowing mouthfuls of the building liquid down. Extended claws shredding through the back leather of the seat. Beverly's body was throwing off an unending supply of that burning delicious sweet scent. This time it was so much more intoxicating made worse by the small enclosed space.

This scent had his body wanting more he wanted to go deeper, much deeper. inner instinct telling him he had a goal to reach in this heated female while he had the chance. obeying these new urges directing him he twisted deeper. Rewarded with Beverly releasing orgasms a few more times along the way. Loving the the noises she made while squirming underneath him in pleasure.

Hearing her let out a hiss of pain he looked down to see her wincing at the further deepening. Something telling him to distract her before she wants him out.

He lowered himself to give small bites along her neck. Drawing blood off multiple new marks he quickly healed by thick drooling tongue licks. The repeated twinges of pain distracting her away from the lower one.

“p-pen , uhhmm -” she tried correcting him on the biting. Interrupted by an uncontrollable moan brought from her. Hands grabbing desperately at the shirt loosely hanging off his shoulders. Panting across his skin in quivering breaths. Letting out a screaming moan upon her 6th release.

Reaching the end of his goal Pennywise let out a massive roar on the surge of energy rushed down his body. Going limp above Beverly, who did the same, out of exhaustion. The warped tendrils loosening from around her.

Beverly took a while to catch her breath far too exhausted to do anything else. When some energy was mustered up she rested her arms loosely around his neck. Enjoying the closeness of him laying on her while she could before they had to separate. Shifting at a uncomfortable new warmth around her lower stomach that had appeared at some point. Usually it took drinking down a fresh cup of hot coffee or eating soup to get the same feeling.

She ignored the strangeness, shrugging it off as being because he hadn't pulled out yet. “He always was really warm. Makes sense his actual parts would be the same.”

after a bit more time to gather even more energy she could talk again. “alright, time to go.” receiving no verbal answer though the tendrils tightened up at the mention of going. “pen?” speaking his name after a gentle rub over his chest. A deep growling response coming from him.

He didn't want her to leave. Something inside him was saying not to separate from her. This was the worst time to separate, his instinctual core warned. His core burning wildly to repeat what they did. The same instinctual burning telling him to hide her away. Kill that invading male so he wouldn't have to abandon her to the competition.

Beverly tightened her legs as he flexed inside her again. She shivered out a moan with arms hugging his chest for support. Mind telling her this had to stop, but it felt way too good. Letting him go on for another 5 minutes until she really needed him to stop. Otherwise they'd be doing another 6 rounds she was far too exhausted to do.

“pen, please, we really have to stop now.” hearing him let out another growl along his motions slowing to a stop.

Working on gathering himself together, somewhat literally as the black tendrils retreated into the hollow black hole. Begrudgingly retracting himself from her to finalize the separation. Drooling more at the scent she gave off from that last bit of pleasure caused by the action.

Swallowing the mouthful in the time it took his clothes to reappear on his body. Holding in a second growl at needing to go free the ratty male. Managing to squeeze back out of the tight car onto the gravel dirt area. Hitting the top of the car to sound a loud pop of metal pushing back into place.

“night darling.” roughly saying his goodbyes while Beverly was busy getting redressed. Leaving quickly to avoid being confronted about the name. He used to hear the word so commonly for affection between couples many years ago. Nowadays it seemed to no longer exist, so he was going to claim it as his to use.

Beverly shot a glare in the direction he left. “using that name again. We're going to have a talk about that tomorrow.” mumbling to herself. Working to look like she didn't have the best sex of her life a second ago. Straightening out her clothes, adjusting her chair forward, smoothing out her hair into place, praying that Erik doesn't notice the clawed up chair leather.

Noticing in the car door mirror multiple new marks along her neck. Taking a closer look by pulling her shirt collar down. Glaring at the chain of fresh scars circling at her neck. From a distance it looked almost like an odd necklace.

“guess we'll have a talk about that too.” fixing her shirt back to hide the marks as much as she could. Turning her head toward the sound of footsteps.

Erik yanking the door open to slam it shut behind him. “god damned cops!”

“he sounds pretty sober.” Beverly thought as she sat quietly in her seat.

“that asshole kept us ere for an hour! I real-really need a cig now!” opening a cigarette carton to find it empty. Crushing it in hand with a toss out his open window. Still not sounding completely sober with his slurred words.

“so do I.” she mumbled. Thinking about if only Erik knew the great reason why. “uh, maybe I should drive. In case that cop pulls us over again down the road.”

“yeah, you right babe. Drive home so we, we uh, get some sleep. so exho- exhaut - tired after today.” stepping out to switch seats with Beverly.

Her thoughts laughing at him.“you think you're exhausted.” her body ready to sleep on whatever it could right now.

“we going to make more sales?” asking with a starting up of the car. Anxiety about him driving no longer a concern for her.

“sales closed. We gonna lay low a while. Get things next few days. Big set up!” explaining as he leaned back into the chair.

“set up for what?”

“for the same thing we were partyin. … Nobody told you?”

“we're leaving Derry.”

#It (2017)#pennywise #beverly marsh #pennywise x beverly marsh #12 years after movie #between two voids ch 15 #beverly still kicks pennywise's ass

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