#I actually didn’t even know some of the books on here were on the banned list
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Behold, the amazing banned books mug I got for christmas! I also got a pair of socks with it that say bookmarks are for losers! One can never have too many coffee mugs.
#the word banned is raised off the mug a bit#I’m absolutely gonna be making tea in it tomorrow morning#I actually didn’t even know some of the books on here were on the banned list#it’s a very very cool mug#christmas#banned books
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I Won't Lose You- ICLY 7.5
Warnings: Cheater POV, a lot of not nice things are said. Definitely something to think about if you are sensitive to that type of subject matter, cursing, some air of grand diosity,
Pairing: Bang Chan x Reader
Characters: Chris, Seungmin
A/N: So a lot of people have been wondering what Chan has been thinking... Welp... You get what you wish for... even though it ain't pretty. I wanted to punch him writing it. This is after Chris gets banned from the hospital room. Since it is following him and not the reader, I decided to give it a different name, with the annotation being 7.5. Happy anger management people!
ALL THE SKZ IRL ARE CINNAMON ROLLS THIS IS A FICTION- IT'S FAKE.
I Can't Lose you Masterlist-CLICK HERE
Stray Kids Masterlist-CLICK HERE
ALL WORK IS UNDER ME AND MY BLOG. DO NOT TRY TO REPUBLISH OR STEAL MY WORK, AS THAT IS COPYRIGHTED UNDER ME AND IS CONSIDERED COPYRIGHT INFRINGEMENT WHICH IS A PUNISHABLE OFFENSE.
ANY WORK THAT YOU SEE ON OTHER SITES THAT ARE MY WORKS PLEASE NOTIFY ME IMMEDIATELY.
BEFORE:
Han looked up at Bin, trying to will himself not to cry. The both of you are so sweet, so kind. He could see the weight on Bin’s shoulders, crushing him. He could see it in his head, Bin keeping everything bad from crashing on top of you, his arms outstretched, using his whole body as a shield. Han knew that if it meant keeping you safe, Bin would carry the world. That’s what separated Bin from Chris.
Both may be fond of you. Only one has ever put your safety over everything. Only one ever made you feel heard and seen. Only one ever made you laugh until you cried. Only one would take off work to take care of you when you’re sick. Only one made you understand that there is no priority above you. Only one would calm you with just a touch. Only one truly loves you with their heart and soul. That “only one” was in the bed with you right now.
Han watched, eventually just letting the tears fall as Bin held you saying, “I’m sorry I didn’t protect you, I’m sorry. I love you… I’m so sorry. Don’t leave me.”
That was the first time Changbin had ever let himself say it out loud, “I love you so much it hurts…I Can’t Lose You.”
NOW:
Chan’s POV:
I have never seen Y/N like that. A part of me wants to say that it was something that was a freak accident, that Soo and I were a freak accident. We weren’t. Y/N deserves to know that, to have it acknowledged. I want to scream that I regret it, that I want to take it all back, that I wanted to erase it all. That would be a lie.
You can’t regret something that you actually initiated. I don’t regret what I did. I wanted a release, I got a release. I wanted to feel exhilaration, I got it. What I am sorry for is getting caught. Of course I’d never say this out loud but, the truth is my marriage was a means to an end. She loves me, of course… and I love her… to an extent. I loved it when she would perk up when I came home, or be passed out on the couch, waiting for me to come home. In a lot of ways, Y/N is like a puppy. She would do all the tricks in the book to make me happy. If she was lucky, she’d get rewarded.
There is an even more fucked up part of me that is relieved that she knows. Sneaking around wasn’t the hard part. The hard part was making it look like I was with the boys when I wasn’t. Y/N is so close to the boys it was a pain in the ass, all it would’ve taken was one text and right there my cover would be blown. I know that I can come back from this, though. Soo never held a candle to my wife. I just told Soo whatever she wanted to hear. I made it worth it for her to do what she wanted… what we wanted, who am I kidding, I wanted it.
Everything is still so raw, she’s not really going to leave. I know she told me when we started dating, but I know that I can prove myself to her. She is the type to really believe that everyone is good inherently. It was something that I used to every advantage, if I’m honest. I’m obviously better than Changbin. I make more, I am more level headed… obviously… I am willing to do whatever I need to make sure I get what I want. How could she want anyone else? That’s like trading in a top of the line Ferrari for a beat up 1999 Taurus. Plus, she always gives people second chances. This is all one giant hiccup.
While the rest of the boys and I filed into the elevator, I heard her voice. She was so scared, I couldn’t hear exactly what she was saying, it was so meek, fragile… weak. That’s really the only downside to her. She is weak. Her emotions get the better of her always. Given, what happened would make anyone go crazy, but at the end of the day, she can’t keep control over her emotions. She is the type of person to read a room and follow the tone of the room. She isn’t a trendsetter, a leader. The only reason why the boys are the way that they are is because she is hurt. Something about their “white knight” complexes. Honestly I could puke just thinking about it. While they were playing games, painting, or just practicing on vocal technique, I was ensuring their continued employment. That will never change about her though. She folds under pressure. Like a skeleton with no spine. Sometimes it was exhausting, others amusing; that’s the biggest tell as to her coming back. She has no spine without me. She needs me… just like everyone else.
Knowing the woman Y/N is I knew that for her to be this way, she had to hurt so badly. It ripped my heart out, seeing her finding comfort in another person, almost as much as knowing that I was the one to do all of it to her. It made me look so bad, to everyone. Hearing Changbin call out to Han that she was slipping, I’ve never heard a voice like that before. I’ve never heard screams like hers. I should’ve never tested her, calling our child “it”. She has been trying so hard, comforting me non-stop, that it’ll happen when it’s meant to happen, that she’ll be on top of it. To let me know in the cutest way. Nothing’s more cute than finding out on your third anniversary that your family is going to get bigger.
It hurt me saying that, calling them “it”, that was exactly why I knew it would get the job done. I needed to peel her away from Changbin without touching her, but it worked a little too well. Why was I punsihing her, punishing them? I think the answer to that is simple. I don’t want the attention on me. Which is counterintuitive, given my natural tendencies. Right now, in this moment, I don’t want to be acknowledged. The way that they see me right now threatens everything I worked for, and it looks like everyone chose their side to stand on. Me giving them more of a chance to hate me is only going to make my job down the road harder.
I think some of the boys could tell. I am royally pissed. I got caught, which for one is annoying, but for all of them to take her side? That was infuriating. I spent so long honing them, training them. I always protected them, supported them. It is infuriating to have people that you did everything for to just dismiss you. Why were’nt they comforting me? That child was mine too. Why am I not getting any condolences? Hell, when we had no money to eat, I wouldn’t eat just so the 8 could have something… anything. The days I went to bed starving, the nights I worked around the clock to give them the opportunities that they now take advantage of.
This is how they repay me? Screaming at me left and right, Changbin threatening to kill me, even Felix turned his back. I just fucked a side piece… I mean I know what that caused is on me. That I was responsible for what happened to our child. If I could feel like I was attached I am sure I would’ve been a wreck. Something that was mine being taken away does that to a person like me. One thing is for sure, I truly never wanted to hurt her. I never wanted to look bad, hurting her would do that, and so I made sure to tread lightly, my go to’s being, “I know Baby, I’m sorry,” and “What time is it? Shit Baby I’m so sorry.”
That didn’t stop me to wanting to have my own little thing. My own little secret. It was a different type of high that I didn’t know I craved… needed. It’s no doubt that Soo did feel better in bed. I could tell she knew what she was doing. Y/N had no experience before me and that did a wonder for my corruption kink, but after that… It was like pulling teeth. I had to teach her everything, so every time we we’d sleep together I had to act like I liked the fact that she’s so innocent. Which I do, but I also don’t want to have to have a health class every time I wanted to have sex. Soo wasn’t like that. She knew what she was doing. Hmmm… maybe I’ll clean up the house and finish what we started.
In the elevator, no one wanted to say anything. I didn’t want to say anything either, I didn’t want to make anything worse than it is. It’s a unique empty feeling. Y/N would look at me like I hung the moon itself. The feelings that she gave me, I was seen, heard, and loved. Constantly reassured. I can’t live without that validation. The minute I walked out of the elevator I didn’t even look back, all I said was “Take care of her. Do what I didn’t, she needs you. Call me if you need anything.” That made me feel a little better, giving them an order, felt like the last say in a way.
It was Seungmin’s voice that cut through, I heard him stop the elevator with is arm, “That was never a question, we’ve always taken care of her, don’t wait up. We all know you’re not used to being the one waiting for someone. Wouldn’t want to inconvenience you.” My lip upticked at his comment. Mostly because I didn’t imagine Seungmin to have balls like that and another was that I didn’t have a rebuttal. I always have a rebuttal. He’s right though, I always kept her waiting, not the other way around. It always made me feel important, that she needed me to go to bed well, that she craved to feel me.Yet now I find myself willing to wait an eternity if it meant being able to hold her one more time, to have her cook for me, then to cuddle up and pass out together, all of that shit I see as a waste of time. To think I hate needing someone yet here I am, needing her.
I kept walking after I heard the elevator close. By the time I made it to the car I was trying my hardest not to collapse. My wife was in that hospital, fighting for her life, after I caused her to miscarry, a baby we have been wanting since our first anniversary. I am enraged. I’ve never felt so out of control and it’s driving me crazy. I am always in control. That is the only way that I function. It is something that I pride myself on. Now everything is out of place everyone stepped out of line. All I have to do is get them back in their rightful place… Then we can move on.
I’ve never imagined anyone else as the mother of my children, she is giving enough to focus on them while I work on my career. It’s always been Y/N. That thought was the one that made me slam my door a little too hard. She’s going to come back, she’ll be back. She will have my child, we will be happy… When everyone is in their place.
I tried to distract myself as I went home. It felt like an out of body experience, seeing myself in the rearview mirror, hating the person I saw, just for the sole fact of getting caught. It was such a rookie move. I should’ve known that there was something going on when everyone said they were out for the night. No matter how loud I made the radio, I heard noting but her screams. I wanted to blame someone, get the pain as far away from me as possible, trying to make me out to be the good one. I’m not. The only things I’m good at are music and acting. I could still see the little glances she’d give me, convincing herself that I am just busy. She is so trusting, it honestly baffles me. Just another sign that she’s weak.
I wanted to make it her fault. She shouldn’t be so naive. Seeing Soo disappearing at the same time I am? The way that I couldn’t really look her in the eye for most of last month? She should’ve told me sooner. Maybe if she did that our child would still be here. That’s not even including how I’ve had to keep Soo on a shorter leash than anyone, her face gives so much away. The first time she hung out with us I had to take her to another room and tell her to get it together because she almost started crying in front of Y/N. I know that people will say that’s not fair, What part about anything that I’ve done screamed ‘oh this is reasonable’? None. It’s been so long I’ve been doing this that I don’t even remember how all of this started. Ah I remember now.
I guess a year ago it started off with me venting to Soo. I didn’t know why we weren’t conceiving. We timed out the cycles, we did everything correctly, but still it wasn’t happening. If I told the boys I know I would look weaker for it and I didn’t want Y/N to be even more stressed about getting pregnant. Soo validated my feelings and told me that she was always there for me. That was the first mistake. I should’ve gone to Y/N. After a while it went from talking when I was aggravated to talking daily.
I looked forward to those calls so badly. It felt like a little interaction that was all mine. Making her laugh made me feel like when I used to get Y/N to laugh. The butterflies came soon after that, seeing that I got a form of attention I didn’t realize I was missing. About two months ago she told me that she was seeing me as “not just my friends husband”. That made my heart leap in my chest. I should’ve avoided her like the plague after that, I should’ve gone to my wife, but not only would that make her mad, it’d also make sneaking around harder. I did something worse.
“Good to know it’s not one sided.” I felt the words drip out of my mouth, even recounting it makes me a little excited. I turn onto my street and I heard Soo’s voice in my head, “Chris...” I knew it was wrong, I fucking knew it was, “I know. I know it’s wrong.” Then hearing her say, “What if she finds out?” with a giggle. “We’ll be discreet.”
We met up that night. I wanted to scrub myself head to toe, till my skin bled, making sure her scent was gone completely. It was so thrilling, so different, and I hated that I liked it. I liked it so much I knew I had to do it again, and soon too. Every time I came home Y/N was either passed out on the couch or in our bed. Notes left on the counter full of how much she loves me. I still remember the first one from that same night, “I know how forgetful you get in the studio, made extra of your favorite, it’s in the fridge, missed you-XOXO Y/N/N.” I looked at her form on the couch, clearly trying to stay up to see me. I ran to the bathroom to vomit, it made me anxious. I knew that I was playing with a downgraded version of my wife. If anything went wrong, I’d be left with the dollar store version of Y/N. For some reason that anxiety turned to exhiliration. The longer it went on for, the more comfortable I got of having my cake and eating it too.
She never did anything wrong. I asked for space, she gave me space. I asked for anything and she would do it in a heartbeat. She always wanted me happy and stress free. After a while I made it okay in my head by saying that she wants me to be happy and having both make me happy so it’s okay. I know better, I always knew better.
I always got up too early, that way I didn’t afford myself time to see the person that I love in one of my favorite ways to see her, happy and sleeping. The last few days I gave myself that. Feeling the guilt eat me alive, rightfully so. I felt guilty for putting all of this on the line, putting her on the line, not for her, but what losing her means to me. I’d practice my apology while she slept, “I’m so sorry, I love you.”
If it wasn’t for the boys being there, I could’ve had a better handle on her. I could’ve reiterated that practiced apology over and over. I could’ve kept the control I spent years making, which is really the most fucked up thing about all of this. I was in training for almost 10 fucking years, I finally get the perfect group of people who followed perfectly without question. Then Changbin goes ahead and goes soft for Y/N. She’s gorgeous, I know, she’s funny, and kind, but she was also making Bin step out of line a bit. Every time she was around, he would try to take point, try to be the center of attention. At first I thought that it was Bin trying to be cute. When he asked me how he could ask her out a few months after this started, I felt my stomach drop. She threatened everything I worked for. So I spewed some bullshit to make him question himself a bit more while I figured out what to do.
Some wouldn’t see this as a problem. I am not some. I only let my members have center because I permitted it. If I threw myself in the spotlight always, it would look off. So I made myself into the best, most supportive leader, the leader of the 4th generation, how can you get bigger than that? The perfect wife… Y/N. It was perfect, if I had her, not only would I have more control over Bin, but I’d also have the perfect little family one day. That was when I decided to ask her out after getting her separated enough from Bin. Which wasn’t too hard. There were some unseen snags but overall it was easy. Keeping her is going to be just as easy. When she’s healed. Then everyone will fall back in line.
I pull in to my driveway and go to the door. Once I opened up the door, Bins clothes covered in blood were there, taunting me. I walked further into the house, I looked on the mantle, the picture from our wedding hung there. I remember that day, that gorgeous day. I threw it away. That woman with the most infectious smiles, the woman who’d hold me so close during horror movies. I found myself grabbing that picture, I dragged my finger over her face. I heard her voice, “I love you”, and I collapsed on the floor, right next to the clothes, sobbing, clutching the photo. She was so perfect.
I got so mad at that point. I shouldn’t be crying, SHE ISN’T LEAVING ME. I can fix her just like I fixed everything else around me. My perfect wife, My perfect group, MINE.
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Oxford Comma
Rydal Keener x f!Reader
Summary: You got into Harvard, based on your own merit. Rydal was a legacy kid and pissed you off every chance he could get. AKA the 90s University AU I spent two full days working on.
Words: 7k+
Warnings: NSFW, oral sex (m and f receiving), p in v, cream pie, Rydal is a cunt lmfao, a lot of run on sentences and overly describing situations because you just had to be there
Series Masterlist
———-
It all starts during homecoming.
Well, sort of.
That’s when you met him.
\\\
“I didn’t even want to go to school here, you know. Fucking bullshit,” you heard someone say.
You bristled at the thought that someone would want to turn down the posh ivy university that you somehow managed to get a scholarship to. You had busted your ass for your grades and extracurriculars, balancing being on the school paper and being top of your class just for the chance to apply to Harvard. And here this prep kid was, complaining that this wasn’t his top choice. The privilege was pouring out of him like a faucet.
“Didn’t your dad bribe you though? He bought you a new car. Like, the exact car you’ve been whining about,” the taller boy said.
“It wasn’t a bribe–”
“And! Didn’t you get a custom licence plate? Something that had to do with Greek mythology or some shit–”
“You’re a fucking idiot,” the snooty boy sniffed. “He chose the plate. Wanted everyone to know who it actually belonged to.”
“Well– yeah. Still, we’re legacies. May as well use it to our advantage.”
You were listening so closely that when someone behind you in the crowd of students bumped you too hard, your drink spilled on the taller boy’s shoes. Not a lot, but enough to embarrass you in front of the clearly well-off duo. They both turned around to look at you at the same time, the shared weight of their accusatory gaze shrinking you even further, if that was even possible.
Chester, the taller boy whose name you had come to learn after hearing the snooty boy refer to him as such, threw a fit about the now dried cranberry stain on his crisp white Sperry’s, which he had apparently just purchased.
The other boy, the one who didn’t want to go to school here, was watching you amusedly the whole time, his lids low as he slowly took in your appearance while you were stuttering out an apology to Chester. You didn’t notice how he was watching you until he interrupted you and said that it was fine. That he’d buy his friend another pair, to which you did a double take, catching his winning smile. That ten kilowatt smile probably got him out of a lot of situations, and he was aiming it at you now. For what, you didn’t know. He was genuinely very handsome. In a classic, old money kind of way. Sweaters around his shoulders, Ray-Ban wearing, summer in the Hampton's kind of way. To be honest, it just made you dislike him more. The uncomfortable feeling spreading over your body in goosebumps under his stare, most likely manifesting into a cringe-worthy blush across your cheeks.
You needed to get away. Hopefully, this was a one-off and you’d never have to see or speak to them ever again. After an uncomfortable ten or so seconds of silence, you turned on your heel and walked into the crowd, not bothering to catch the other boy’s name.
///
The distinct smell of his expensive cologne hit your nose before you saw him again.
Looking up from the list detailing the books you needed for your semester, you stopped short as someone cut in front of you in the aisle of the campus bookstore. The back of his head rang familiar but you couldn’t place him, until he grabbed something off the shelf – the last copy of The Communist Manifesto in his hands – and turned to give you a smug smirk when your eyes connected. You couldn’t help but flick your eyes back and forth between his eyes and the title in his hand, the same book you needed for your Perspectives of Politics course. And he’d just taken the last copy available.
“I…I was going to buy that,” your voice came out weaker than intended.
“Were you?” he was still smiling at you, infuriatingly.
“Yeah, right before you jumped in front of me. It’s the last one in stock.”
“Hmm. Didn’t see you reaching for it. Guess you’ll just have to order it online then.”
You grit your teeth together, trying to go for polite but by the way his eyes lit up at your jaw clicking, you were having a hard time keeping it together.
“Come on, they’re like double the price online, I’m sure it wouldn’t hurt daddy’s wallet. Let me have this one!”
You grimaced as soon as the words left your mouth. They were ugly and not the way you wanted to carry yourself at a prestigious school such as Harvard, especially not to someone whose parent was a faculty member.
He arches a brow and takes a deep breath in before tilting his head back and staring down his nose at you. He wasn’t much taller than you, not really, but he held himself with such distinction that you couldn’t help but feel three feet shorter.
“Listen, I don’t know what backwater town you came from, but we don’t use those words around here unless you’re moaning about it.”
God, you hated him. You wanted the floor to swallow you up so you could disappear from this awkward fucking moment.
Narrowing your eyes at him, your tongue once again got you in trouble, “Motherfucker,” you whispered incredulously.
“No, my name is Rydal. But you were close.”
He shook his head, the smug look back on his face as he walked away from you, leaving you to gape at the empty aisle trying to rewind time.
\\\
You only realize he’s in your class when midterms come around, seeing him show up to write an exam for a course he’s never attended in person.
You avoid him, casting your eyes downward until you pass by him, too ashamed of your last conversation all those weeks ago to even look him in the eye.
He finishes the exam quicker than someone should be able to for someone who hasn’t attended a single lecture. It’s almost questionable. Until you see several other students get up around the same time as him, leaving a good two thirds of the lecture hall still full. You’re still around the halfway point of the exam, and trying your best to remember what it was you read about capitalism and Marx, and but the moment from the bookstore comes to mind, your thoughts unintentionally drifting to Rydal again. His deep set eyes watching you from atop his aristocratic nose, lips parting curiously, temptingly–
You’re writing an exam, for fuck’s sake. Shaking your head and blinking rapidly to get rid of the thoughts (read: thots) you were having, you shifted your attention back to the papers in front of you.
You double checked everything before handing it in, well before the last third of students finished. A small part of you bitterly wondered how he had managed to finish so quickly, but you again didn’t let yourself brood for too long.
///
You didn’t see him but you saw Chester in the library once, kicking the printer in an attempt to make it work after jamming for the umpteenth time.
You made eye contact after he had just done so, your body freezing at the exact moment your eyes met inadvertently and making your library trip last half as long as you initially intended. If you were being honest with yourself, which honestly you were, way too often and mostly to your detriment, you high-tailed it out of there out of fear of running into Rydal. If Chester was around, you could safely bet that he was probably nearby, the two frenemies often spending their free time together.
Planning on finishing your paper in your dorm, you made your way back, secretly hoping your roommate wasn’t there. You had no problems with her, she was actually really nice to you and often wordlessly gave you snacks if she saw you skipping meals. The thing was…
Your roommate started smoking weed and thought she was being slick about it. She wasn’t.
The smell of it followed her in the dorm, leaving its teeth marks in the sweaters she left around, in the bathroom where she would spend an hour in the shower washing it out of her hair, and in her bed sheets when she’d come back from god knows where smoking up.
There was one night when she came back with some gummies for you to share, since she noticed you being on edge and wanted to help, bless her. You kindly refused, since you were in the middle of crying about your grades, but appreciated the thought nonetheless.
Your midterm came back with a lower grade than you expected. Your project partner didn’t finish their part of the assignment, forcing you to do most of it yourself. You were going to get a lower grade than you wanted, than you needed to keep your scholarship. You had to get at least a 90% on the final to keep your average where it needed to be. How the fuck were you supposed to accomplish that? What with the stress of managing your finances and trying to blend in to this stupid crowd, most of the kids around you not having to even think about any of the shit that was on your mind.
You couldn’t fail, you weren’t allowed the same slip ups half of the students around you were allowed. Not only could you barely afford your meals on campus, but you were skipping dinner some days, desperate to make it to the end. It’s not like you could ask anyone at home for help, that was a write-off. You were here off your own merit and volition. You and you alone. You thought about all your peers who had help getting here, jealousy rising like bile in your throat. You needed this more than them. And yet you felt hopeless when you thought back to the pre-requisite course you were failing.
Okay, fine. Not failing, just falling below the mark you needed.
Which you tried explaining to your roommate. Her casual suggestion made you stop crying immediately, turning to her in confusion.
“Why don’t you just buy an answer key?”
What. The. Fuck.
“What the fuck?”
“Yeah, like the answer key to the final. I’m sure someone has it.”
“Like… you mean like someone’s selling the answers to the exams we’ve been writing? Like… a student? Isn’t that against school rules?”
She laughed and looked at you like you’d grown two heads.
“Of course it’s against school rules, that’s why you have to be careful who you ask. Honestly, how have you been getting by this whole time? Don’t tell me you’ve actually been doing every single reading?” she asked you as if the mere thought of it was ridiculous.
You just stared at her in stunned silence, a little bashfully when you had no reason to be.
“Oh honey, go ask Rydal, I’m sure he has it.”
Now you were going to scream.
“W-what?” you were struggling to wrap your head around it. The same Rydal whose father was a professor at the school, the same Rydal who left the exam early for a class he never fucking showed up for – that scumbag was cheating and still had the audacity to steal the last copy of the book you needed right out of your stingy hands.
The sound of your roommate talking faded into noise as you were thinking about all the times you felt less than, and all the times you stayed up late in the library studying, trying to prove yourself to your professors and peers when all this time half the student body was probably buying their way through school and doing the bare minimum.
You realize she’s been droning on about how cute he was today, and how kindly he offered to roll her weed for her when she bought the dime off him and it occurred to you that she was still talking about Rydal. Her weed dealer, Rydal.
A thought occurred to you.
“Where’s his dorm?” you adopted a fake tone of cheerful curiosity.
She adapted to your change in diction better than you could’ve hoped for really, giving you the information you were looking for and feeling altruistic about herself in the process.
He opened his door with an air of boredom, masking his surprise at finding you there – your eyes probably red from crying, hands wringing in front of you – and leaning against it with his arms crossed, looking you up and down before asking, “can I help you?” with a twist of his lips.
Taking a deep breath and trying not to literally twiddle your thumbs, you start explaining how you need at least a 90 on the exam to keep your GPA, trying to skirt around the topic of maintaining your scholarship. For whatever reason, you felt the need to hide your financial status in front of him, and you were already here groveling for his help. You didn’t need to hand over your dignity on a silver platter for him.
Halfway through your monologue, he opens the door more fully for you, signaling for you to enter with a slight tilt of his head. Looking around his dorm, you take in the frames and posters lining his walls; the stack of books next to his extremely comfortable looking bed; his mostly cleared desk; an acoustic guitar half hidden behind it; and a hefty looking filing cabinet with a lock. It was much loftier than yours looked, even with the lived in state. His worn but expensive denim jacket hung off the chair at his desk, and you briefly wondered what the hell his deal was. Why was this rich kid with daddy issues acting out in a clear violation of several campus rules and regulations, pulling out a spliff from behind his ear to rest between his lips and light it up lazily in front of you?
“D’you wanna hit?” he asks, blowing the smoke out as he watches you gingerly look around for somewhere to sit. You shake your head ‘no’, tugging at the hem of your Harvard t-shirt.
“Take a seat, I have to find the copy,” he says gesturing to his unmade bed.
So you do, you sit in the same place his body had been prior to you knocking on his door and you can tell by the traces of cologne you pick up as soon as you sit down.
You try not to stare as he’s bent over the heavy duty cabinet, rifling through the folders - criminally organised, this one – until he finds the one he’s looking for and turns around to catch you staring at his bum, your eyes widening as they meet his a second too late.
"Y'know, you look good like that,” he says, leaning his hip against the cabinet and looking at you down his nose again, his lids laying low over his brown eyes.
"Like what?" you ask, despite you already having a feeling where he was going with this.
Rydal smiles, like you played into his hand exactly like he wanted you to.
"Sitting on my bed."
"Just give me the photocopies, Rydal."
"Alright, alright,” you stood up to grab them from his outstretched hand, more than ready to leave his cave of horrors.
Except he doesn't let go when you grab them.
"How much?"
He still hasn’t let go; you’re at an impasse with how to proceed. Looking up at him with a slight panicked look, he concedes, finally releasing the paper from his grip.
"For you? Nothing, for now.”
“The fuck does that mean?”
“Means you owe me one,” he said with an unethical twist of his pink lips.
"I don't know how I feel about that."
"I have a feeling you'll like the way it feels,” he was ushering you out now, his hand on the small of your back raising goosebumps in its wake. Once in the hallway again, you turned around poised to dish it back but he didn’t give you the chance. Rydal winked at you before swinging his door shut in your face, leaving you half confused and half flustered at his blatant flirting and somewhat generosity.
///
The next time you see Rydal is at a frat party that your roommate somehow convinced you to go to. She had insisted you needed a night out, a normal university experience she had called it, ever since she found out about your long study hours. Apparently, she had thought you were seeing someone and that’s why you were out late, not because you’d been holed up in the library this whole time. So she took it upon herself to throw some of her clothes at you, more expensive than anything you owned, albeit shorter and tighter.
“This isn’t my size,” you tried to tell her from inside the bathroom you shared.
“Yes, it is, stop being dumb and let me see,” she was being nice, you reminded yourself.
Groaning, you opened the door to reveal the kitschy micro pleated skirt she had lent you with the thigh high socks, to go with it. You felt ridiculous, but by the way her eyes lit up at the sight of you, you were made to believe that it was a good look, despite the irony of the academia look gone wrong, all things considered.
Before she could drag you out any further, you managed to swipe your oversized denim jacket to throw on top for the chill November air, letting her drone on about how she wants to find you a guy tonight.
The party was being held in a dated building on campus, hosting one of the many fraternities that Harvard has to offer, and of course, one of the many yearly gatherings where students come together to make terrible, horrible decisions together. The structure itself is historically beautiful from the outside, if one were to ignore the trashed students huddled together in swaying groups as the speakers from within the house blared out Hypnotize. There were shouts coming from inside the house, a constant stream of students going to and fro, and someone was most definitely throwing up in the hedge.
Linking her arm through yours so she wouldn’t lose you to the throngs of people, your roommate pulled you through, ending up at the drinks table.
“Pick your poison,” she urged you, before turning and saying hello to a bunch of people you didn’t know, leaving you alone for a minute before he descended upon you.
“Step on me, would ya?” his soft voice was closer to your ear than you expected anyone to be.
Your head whipped around and even his eyes widened at seeing your face, not having known it was you from behind.
“Are you lost or something?” you scoffed at him.
“Oh my god, Rydal! So good to see you,” your roommate swooped in at just the right time, stepping between you two to hug him, a hug that he returned though he kept his eyes on you the whole time. “You two know each other, right?”
He cleared his throat before smiling and nodding at her, answering all her socialite questions before seeing someone he knew across the room and taking his leave. You knew this outfit was a bad idea.
“Babe, I’m gonna go dance with Sebastian over there, is that okay? He keeps smiling at me and– don’t look at me like that, I’ll be back soon, I promise, okay?”
You felt bad, not wanting to keep her from having fun so you assured her you’d be fine, busying yourself with your drink and finding something to snack on. Which led you to search for the food table, it was bound to be here somewhere. Near the drinks is where they usually set it up, right? It should be here –
He was already staring when your gaze landed on him, looking at you through his lashes from across the room, his index finger resting on his tongue as he licked off whatever food was leftover on it. You felt your cheeks heat as he didn’t look away, the pink of his mouth wrapping around his finger now and making a show out of cleaning it while he looked you up and down.
Oh, fuck him, you needed some space. The back door was nowhere to be seen so you pivoted and took the stairs two steps at a time in your rush to find the bathroom. After brushing past some older, more inebriated students draped over each other in the hallway, you found an unoccupied bedroom, rather nondescript and clean to belong to this house, at least. Stripping yourself of your jean jacket, you tossed it somewhere near the door. Taking a few breaths to steady your racing heart, you tried to shake the tantalizing image of him and his perfect mouth out of your head, the way his lips wrapped around his finger and leaving behind a trail of spit–
The door swung open and you were about to apologize, presumably to the resident of whoever’s room you were occupying but the words died on your lips when you noticed it was him, closing the door behind him.
You don’t have the energy to deal with whatever brand of crazy has him acting up tonight, his eyes drinking you in now that he has you cornered like a predator. Taking the moment to study the boy before you, to really study him, you notice he’s not really that tall and not really that imposing. The watch on his wrist looks old and worn, not like his flashy counterparts you thought he was similar to. His polo shirt, though obviously expensive judging by the material and the way it draped over his shoulders, was minimalistic in design. No logo, if any, was immediately visible, and you realized you wouldn’t have known about his ridiculous opinion of the institution if you weren’t eavesdropping that first day, and honestly? He’s probably someone you could have befriended upon first glance (or fallen for, but that’s neither here nor there).
You’re eyeing him with blatant distrust. He’s an asshole at times but his lips part as if he were about to speak and then thought better of it, cocking his head while searching for the right words and you’re waiting with baited breath, crossing your arms across your abdomen and inadvertently pushing your breasts up just enough, because why the fuck did he follow you up here?
He has the audacity to look a bit ashamed actually before deciding to press his fingers to his lips and not speak.
“You’re not going to say anything?” you manage.
He shakes his head and you can see the smile he's trying to hide behind his hand, “well I was going to, but I didn’t want to come off like a dick.”
You narrow your eyes and sigh, “what? Just say it.”
“I wanted to cash in that favour, what with you looking like… well, like that.” His hand finally leaves his mouth to vaguely wave in the directions of your legs.
///
So, you meant to put up more of a fight.
Really.
You didn’t mean to give in to his stupid advances so easily, so wantonly, and you don’t even remember who moved first but you remember it being a damn good kiss. Rydal basically devoured your mouth, tongues fighting for dominance soon after your lips met with one hand cupping the back of your neck and the other pulling your body closer by your hip. You pushed his jacket off him while his hands reached under the hem of your top, fingers pressing into your skin. You finally had the opportunity to rake your fingers through his dark locks, causing him to moan into your mouth and bite your bottom lip in retaliation and you swore you could feel the vibrations in your fucking tonsils, your hips rocking into his and you could feel him–
Time seemed to blur, and suddenly you found yourself on your knees, his hands hurriedly unbuckling his belt while you looked up at him from below, his cheeks dusted pink. Massaging the head of his cock through his stupid corduroy pants, he whined under his breath, pushing your hand away to pull himself out of his briefs.
He’s so fucking thick. After unceremoniously pulling out his cock, he didn’t want to force you to do anything, his arms hanging awkwardly by his sides while you just blinked stupidly at it, watching the tip as it leaked out a drop of precum.
Rydal was watching you watch his cock, before you finally gripped the base and leaned forward to kitten lick the tip, and his hesitation flew out the window. His hand buried itself in your hair, not pushing but holding so gently, it was almost tender and it occurred to you that you wanted to wreck him.
Opening your mouth to let more of him in, you breathe in deeply through your nose until you feel him graze the back of your throat, hearing him stutter a breath when you do. Moving your mouth over him until the hilt, you repeated your movement, fingers tightly gripping his base and ignoring the way his thumb rubbed your cheek on every pass. You chanced a look up at him and saw his wild eyes watching you, groaning when your eyes met. His hips unintentionally thrust forward, hitting the back of your throat and causing you to swallow around the tip, both of you moaning at the same time.
An ache is building in your jaw but you were determined to make him lose his shit, he drove you crazy and despite you being on your knees for him, you felt in control of the moment, taking pleasure from it. There was a throbbing between your thighs that you tried your hardest to ignore for the time being.
He was whining now, and you continued to bob your head over his cock, obsessed with driving him further to the edge. Rydal made the prettiest noises, even his exhales were music to your ears and you were glad that you were completely sober enough to remember this, to remember how his head dropped back when you swirled your tongue around his fat tip, the sensitive spot underneath the head and you think he might come. You can't help but wonder if he'll taste any different having fed from a silver spoon all his life
Hes whining a lot now, please– so good j-just like that, God yes – you’re sure hes about to blow his load and you’re preparing yourself to take it as he starts bucking into your mouth but before he can the door swings open and none other than fucking Chester walks in and the moment’s diffused, dissolved, deflated, you’re on your feet faster than you realize and you grab your jacket from the floor as Chester guffaws at the scene. Your feet take you down the stairs and out of the house in a daze, you don’t hear Rydal calling your name behind you in your haste to leave and you see your roommate still with Sebastian, leaving her in his good hands as you make your way back to your dorm.
Halfway through the Quadrangle you realize you weren’t wearing your own jacket, Rydal’s cologne wafting from it in the humid pre-rain atmosphere. Great, now you had a corporeal reminder of what just transpired. Out of everybody at that party to walk in on the two of you, it had to be his best friend, the one who he was probably going to dish all the dirty details to anyway.
“Ughhhh!” you groaned once you reached your empty dorm room.
The entire walk back was filled with images of Rydal, the way his hair felt between your hands, the way his thumb was softly caressing your cheek, the way he felt heavy in your mouth, the way his eyes looked at you like he couldn’t believe his reality. What a waste of your time, you thought bitterly. Neither of you even got the chance to finish what you started.
Neatly folding the borrowed clothes on your roommates bed, you forced yourself to sleep, only able to nod off after several failed attempts to relieve the buildup between your thighs.
///
The next two weeks went by uneventfully. Never mind you leaving your dorm for literally anything other than necessities. Classes ended a week before exams, the library was full at all hours, so you resigned yourself to studying in your bed and at your desk. Your roommate spent half her time at her desk and the other half at her new boyfriend’s dorm, Sebastian. That fateful night turned out in her favour, ironically.
She had actually asked you what happened and if you were okay, not having found you after your pathetic runaway stunt.
“Uhh, I had a really bad acid trip. Ended up here, no memory of how.”
She nodded at you solemnly, her hand coming to rest on your shoulder comfortingly as if you’d just told her someone in your family had died.
Rydal’s jacket rests on the back of your chair, the smell of it lingering, both comforting and disconcerting at the same time. You’re bad at lying to yourself so you’ve come to terms with the fact that you enjoyed what happened between you two at the party and felt real regret that you couldn’t finish what you started, going home empty handed. Like a kid at the carnival with no prize, it was stolen from you at the last second and you had to leave before letting them see how badly you wanted it.
And you did, you wanted him so badly. You almost hate yourself for acknowledging it but when you closed your eyes he was all you could see, his face moments before coming down your throat. Studying in a perpetual state of horniness wasn’t doing you any favours either. You had taken to going for early morning runs to get rid of the itch under your skin, having given up on trying to relieve it yourself.
The answer key worked, flawlessly of course. You still studied, you weren’t completely undignified in your cheating. It’s not like you were behind in the course, so you did your due diligence and it turned out in your favour. You hung around after finishing, double checking your work and then handing it in with the first half of the class and leaving the examination room with a pep in your step. Once again your thoughts strayed to Rydal, and how you should thank him for his help but then memories of your thanks came to mind and you decided he already got his dues.
Still, you had his jacket. You should probably take it back, all things considered. You turned in your seat to check the tag, curious as to how much it cost him. No doubt that it cost more than half your closet – Balmain.
Okay, upon first glance it was just a basic denim jacket, but now that you knew it was designer, you noticed the detailing, the strong hardware and clean top stitching that held it together. A quick google search told you it cost him nearly $3,000 and you’re rendered speechless that he hasn’t come knocking down your door and calling you a thief.
Your leg starts bouncing under your desk, his cologne somehow more fragrant while the words on your laptop screen stop making sense, jumbling together as your mind screams at you to return the jacket at once.
///
Twenty minutes later you’re knocking on his door.
You speed walked here, his jacket in hand. Yes, it was cold outside, but you braved the wind and refused to put the denim on, based entirely on principle and fear that you’d be billed in case anything happened to it while you wore it. Your heart was beating out of your chest as you tried to listen to the shuffling behind his door. What if he wasn’t home? What if he was and didn’t want to see you? What if Chester was here? What if he had a girl over?!
Before you could drop his jacket and leave, the door opened to a shirtless Rydal, sweatpants hung low on his hips and he held a towel to his hair, drying it while looking at you with a clear question in his eyes.
“Um, hi. I just came here to return this, since, well since I mistook it for mine. They basically look the same except yours cost you like, a lot more than mine did so it's okay if you don’t have it, I kind of ran away. Anyway, I’m gonna go–”
“You still owe me a favour, y’know.”
You pause in your turn, looking at him exasperatedly. He doesn’t even have the shame this time, there’s no pause in his words, no hand to cover his smirk, no, his mouth is twisted up crookedly and making his dimple jut out at you infuriatingly. Insultingly. You’re not staring at the water droplet making its way down his chest but you’re also not not staring. He’s gorgeous.
“That’s not true, I think I remember–”
“Doesn’t count. I didn’t finish.”
Your eyes flash at his brazen response. Rydal licks his lips in response, staring openly at your mouth now.
“If you wring my jacket any further, you’ll owe me two times–”
He didn’t get to finish his stupid threat with your mouth covering his, your body colliding with his almost violently and pushing him into his room in the process. He was quick to push you against the door once he had half the mind to close it, his body smothering yours and his hands ripping the jacket from your grip to toss it haphazardly behind him. It was somehow better this time, maybe due to him already being half undressed but you were enjoying the way his tongue was lapping at your bottom lip while your hands roamed his torso, running down his shoulders and lightly scratching him at the same time. His body shuddered and slumped against you as his forehead came to rest against yours, lips parting for air and sharing the same breath pointlessly.
“This doesn’t mean anything,” you pant, his hands pushing your shirt up inch by inch as he explores your skin.
“And what exactly is this, baby? Because it feels like more than a favour right now,” he said the last part while grinding his hips into yours causing you both to groan at the well-needed friction.
You glare at him, despite his face being mere centimetres away from yours and an irritating grin playing with his mouth, “You’re ridiculous.”
Flattening your palms against his bare chest, you push him back until the back of his knees hit and buckle against his bed, falling on it before your legs come up on each side of his hips, straddling him as your hands tangle in his hair again.
He’s volatile and sharp and unpredictable in ways that make you nervous and excited and you want to keep him you realize. Rydal’s hands rest on your hips, massaging the skin he can reach without pushing you for more but the desire is clear on his face, looking up at you with no mask. He presses your lower back so your hot core rubs his hardening cock through his sweats and you gasp and arch your back and press in a little closer, and his eyes are tracing your facial expressions. His hand comes up to cup your cheek again and you’re reminded of the last time he held your face like that, his thumb rubbing the same way as before and angling your face better for him to kiss you, stopping just before your lips connect.
You feel a little vulnerable until he says, “Yeah, I know.”
And then he’s kissing you and he’s not stopping and you’re grinding your hips down again, addicted to coaxing small groans and whines from him.
He takes a frightening amount of pleasure from seeing you come around his fingers, his lips wrapped around your clit and leaving behind a trail of wetness, just like you imagined all those days ago. His three digits curled and pressed on your sweet spot, your fingers tightening in his hair as he hummed into your mound, not letting up.
When he rests the fat tip of his cock against your entrance, looking at you one final time before pushing in, you can’t bring yourself to plead with him so you kiss him instead, hoping your lips conveyed what you didn’t want to voice. He gets it, and enters you in one rushed thrust. Your nails dig into his meaty shoulders, eyes closing against the intrusion.
You thought sex with Rydal would be competitive, as every exchange between the two of you usually is. You wanted to turn him inside out and devour the crumbs. It should’ve been aggressive, he should’ve fueled your violent tendencies, it should’ve been all bite and not soft brushes of his hand against your face, not him kissing your face as you gasp around a particularly deep thrust, not him religiously watching your mouth as you whimper and your cunt fluttering around his cock.
He wouldn’t speed up. You already came twice, once on his fingers and once on his thick length as he stayed still inside you, holding off his own release until he reached some-inflicted goal to make you go cross eyed and cockdumb for him. He didn’t let you put your mouth on him before, claiming that you could ‘repay him for last time’ at another date, cheekily insinuating there would be a next time, without a doubt.
You bite your lip to hold back from begging him to fuck you faster, harder, anything but this slow torture he was inflicting on your slick folds. There was no catch, he was gliding through you easily and he wouldn’t shut the fuck up about how wet you were. Pulling your lip free from your teeth, his thumb dipped into your mouth and caught your spit on it only to drag it across your cheek messily. You let out a high pitch whine at that, his cock hitting you deeply.
You turn your face to the side, scrunching your eyes closed as you feel your core building up again despite his agonizing pace. Rydal grabs your chin and turns you to face him again, holding your jaw in place.
“No, you look at me, wanna watch you come again,” he huffs into your face, lifting your leg to fold you in half.
“I–” you start to choke, needing him to understand.
“What, baby? You owe me, remember?” he thrusts a bit harder at that, hard enough to make you snap and pull a guttural moan from you.
It happens before you’re ready; your spine feels exposed as your back arches into him, eyes unfocused and brain short-circuiting, and you gush around him. He’s still thrusting, albeit sloppy and irregular now, but he’s also talking a lot and you can’t focus on his words because your ears are ringing from how hard you just came.
“...fuck, baby, so pretty, love watching you come, fuckkkk, I’m gonna– ahhhh!” his hips buck wildly until you feel hot spurts of his come inside you and dribble out of your puffy pussy. His whole body flexes over yours as he all but empties his balls and slumps over you, your hands mindlessly running through his hair and petting his sweaty back. He had just showered before you showed up. Oh well.
The urge to keep touching him stays even past the time it takes for you to regain feeling in your legs, and Rydal has been nuzzling your neck for the time being. You don’t know how long you two stay like that, just basking in each other’s calm presence for the first time since knowing him. You feel like all the stress from the whole semester, let alone the past two weeks, had left your body, seeping out of you and into his sheets.
You feel him smile against your skin and without thinking, you tug his hair to pull his face up to yours, wanting to see it. It’s not his regular smug smirk that he gives you, it's something else entirely.
This smile is a bit gummy, not as dazzling as the one he turned on you on the first day you met, but sweet and genuine. His nose wrinkled a bit with it and you had to physically refrain yourself from kissing him silly.
Your bodies are sticky and clammy, no space to be found between you two until he pulls out of you, hissing as he does so. Taking a moment to slyly appreciate the mess between your thighs, he swiped a finger through it before you moaned in resistance, swatting his hand away. Rydal sniffed out a laugh, murmuring an apology before getting you something to clean up with. You were worried he’d be cold as soon as it was over, the tenderness he showered you with minutes ago was still present though and he seemed to share the need to keep touching. Useless and unnecessary touches, lingering hands and longing gazes hung around as he gave you something clean to wear, holding you close once you were decent.
“Um–” you began.
“Can we talk about it tomorrow or something, for fuck’s sake, shouldn’t you be like super zen now?”
You choked.
He was right though, he had made you come, like, really hard. Plus, you did feel more relaxed so you let yourself laugh at his sassy remark, adjusting to his humour now that you saw how soft he really was. You tried to fake glare at him but couldn’t hold it since he was giving you the nose crinkling smile again, your own lips twitching at the whole situation.
Burrowing yourself further into his chest, you remembered what you originally came here for.
“By the way… Can I keep your jacket since you lost mine?”
He burst out laughing at that. You find yourself loving the sound of it.
//
tagging people who I think want to read this and if you don't kindly ignore lmao:
@melodygatesauthor @360iris @xbellaxcarolinax @annautumnsoul @ninebluehearts @bit-dodgy-innit @moonknightly @luc-k-y @eyelessfaces @kittyofalltrades @romanarose @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @campingwiththecharmings @fandxmslxt69 @missdictatorme @loonymagizoologist
#rydal keener fanfiction#rydal keener#rydal keener smut#rydal keener x you#rydal keener x reader#oscar isaac fanfiction#oscar isaac smut#the two faces of january#university au#idk how to tag this#mona writes???#the two faces of january fanfiction
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A “brief” overview of my communication journey:
My verbal communication was always limited to echolalia and scripts (by scripts, I mean pieces of different echolalia that I stuck together to create a new phrase, or longer several-sentence delayed echolalia. But I didn’t learn to do this until I was at least 9 years old). I also had very limited control over what my mouth said - I would regularly hear my mouth say something I completely disagreed with, then had to watch in panic and confusion as the people around me reacted as if it was something I actually thought.
I used to request things that I didn't even want. "I want..." statements were banned in my house because they were "rude". “I want never gets!” I had stuck as a script for the longest time, even involuntarily saying it when other children said an “I want…” phrase.
I was given examples of how to request things by my parents. I used "I would like...", "Can I have... please", etc. But this didn't give me a reliable way to ask for what I wanted - I could only ask for things I had a script for. So I was limited to a handful of foods and objects that as I grew older, I had less and less interest in.
Saying "please" and "thank you" was drilled into me so much that I would often say it at the end of other unrelated scripts because it got "stuck" there by my mouth, without my permission. I got laughed at for this a lot.
I would say "yes" when I meant no, I couldn't reject things because I didn't have a script for saying "no". And I had been told to be polite so many times that it was a concrete rule in my mind - breaking a rule was worse than anything else. Saying "no" was rude, according to the adults around me - if another child said "no" to something, they were told off by a teacher or their parent. I didn't understand tone of voice so I thought it was the thing they were saying that was wrong.
As I got older, and became more aware that other people seemed to have more control over their voices and could say what they wanted (my general awareness of people and my surroundings definitely played into my struggles with communication, but I won’t elaborate on that here) I would sometimes sit in my bedroom and attempt to read aloud from a book, or write a sentence and read it aloud. To my confusion and upset, it would come out garbled with sounds mixed up, words missing, sometimes no sound coming out of my mouth at all. I couldn't make intelligible speech with my own words AT ALL.
I managed to teach myself to manually make some sounds, mostly vowel sounds, by moving my tongue around whilst making sounds with my vocal cords. But clearly this was not enough for using spontaneous speech as communication. Not to mention, any time I even considered trying to get my OWN words out (with speech, writing - even drawing pictures, signs), all words and scripts I knew just disappeared from my mind.
The only time I could even slightly get my emotions out was through movement - I used to throw myself backwards onto my bed repeatedly, bang my head with my hand, pull my hair, spin around in circles. I now know these would be called "stimming", but at the time I used it more for expressing myself. I also had other repetitive movements that I did almost constantly without even realising what I was doing, but I considered the expressive movement to be a different thing entirely at the time.
It took me years to get my own words out, and that was only once I managed to break down (spoken AND written, and both connected) language into individual words and learn the meanings, then learn to build it back up again. (And, this could only happen after I’d lost most of my out-of-control scripted speech. AAC with symbols helped me break down language in this way, because each word has a separate button and I was forced to learn to form sentences without an already-there structure to fall back on).
In order to do this, first I must take the long string of noises, and break it down into words. Then I must take those words and process the meaning of them individually. The biggest challenge, and the thing that takes the most time, is building the sentence back up.
Words often change meaning when they're strung together, and this is the part where that meaning tends to disintegrate into nothing, for me.
I have to build an abstract "picture" of what the words mean in my head. With very complex language, or a lot of language at once, this can take me hours, days, or even weeks.
Written language is a lot easier to process - firstly, the "string of noises" part is completely eliminated from the equation. Secondly, I see written words as entire shapes. Shapes, symbols or signs connect much more strongly to their meaning, in my head.
I learned to write by hand before I could type, because writing by hand is just copying the shape of a word. I hadn't yet learned to break down a word into it's individual characters and sequence them in the right order, not to mention finding the letters on the keyboard. My spelling has always been fantastic because of my tactile memory for words - and I say tactile instead of visual, because I don't "see" anything in my head, but the shapes of words are something solid that I feel I can touch, hold, grab on to.
But typing was a completely different thing, because even though I could recognise and read words in a typed print, it took longer for me to understand how to put letters together in the correct order to create words using a keyboard. The motor plan for typing was much more difficult for me to learn, but now I have that skill it's invaluable to me in terms of communication.
It took me a little while longer to realise that a keyboard gave me the opportunity to use my own words from my own mind, rather than whatever my mouth (or brain, when writing - I had different written scripts than verbal scripts, though, usually from books) happened to blurt out without my control.
I learned to read very early, but my understanding of language was actually quite poor - separately I could recognise the definition of one word, but when many words are put together I didn't understand the meaning of that sentence or paragraph.
The feeling of being able to put my own thoughts into written words like this, and read them back, is such a rush of power. I can have a concrete, physical impact on the world now that I can use a keyboard and get all the things in my head out there. It becomes real as soon as it's outside of me.
I remember that "comprehension" (answering questions on a written passage - we learned to answer the questions in a certain way, with a “blueprint”) in school really helped me with the breaking down of sentences and rephrasing them. Even though at the time, it just felt like it added to my out-of-control scripted speech, it gave me a skill that has been incredibly useful to me in the long term.
Getting to this point, where I can express myself fluently and eloquently through written language, took so much time and work, and still takes all my energy to write something as long as this. I am so grateful for the genuine communication I have now. It took many sessions, over months, to write this in its entirety. I wrote it in separate chunks, all trying to express similar things, then fitted them together and altered some sentences to make it flow better. (Of course with lots of editing to fix my grammar and my tendency to repeat the same sentence structure over and over - I still use my “blueprints” while writing, it’s the only way I can form complex long sentences like this one).
In order to communicate a memory or past experience in words, I had to have been actively translating (or attempting to translate) my abstract thoughts into language at the time.
If I wasn't or couldn't do this at the time it was happening, those experiences, thoughts, emotions, etc. are almost impossible to describe in language now.
And translating my brain takes so much energy and effort, and relies on me being able to understand what is happening and what I'm thinking and feeling. I more often than not don't comprehend my own mind - if this is the case, then of course I can't explain it to someone else.
It still takes so much time, effort and energy to get my thoughts out like this, and I’m very proud of the progress I’ve made. Even just learning to use Tumblr and posting on here as regularly as I can manage (plus reading other people’s words about similar experiences, or even very different experiences), has increased my ability to express myself and the vocabulary I’m able to access.
#autism#autistic#nonverbal#nonspeaking#echolalia#scripting#disability#nonverbal autism#nonverbal autistic#actually nonverbal#sina I hope this is long enough to help fill the nonverbal tags !#😂 (semi joking)#long post#no tldr#verbal communication#communication#from the chaos of my mind
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Bonus Chapter
Alpha!Damiano Omegaverse
Word count: 9.6k
Read the actual fic on my Masterlist!
You’d missed the first bus after school and were now running almost half an hour late. It’s not that Damiano would leave the amphitheater without you, but you texted him last minute. So last minute that he wouldn’t even get the message until after practice. Your heart only sank further when the parking lot came into view and you saw how few cars were left. He was probably hungry and bored out of his mind so you jog the rest of the way.
His car isn’t in the lot. That can’t be right, so you go the double check up close.
Where are you?
Damiano attended these practices like clock-work. You mosey towards the field in case someone can tell you if Dami went home early and why. Star quickly walks past you, giving a tight-lipped smile and a small wave, indicating that he very much wasn’t feeling social. From inside the structure, a familiar voice you can’t place calls you over.
“Y/n, Dam is over here!” You feel sick while breaking into a run, but when you round the corner, the only people on the field are Julio and Nikolai. They’re bent over cackling at your concern, hands propped just above their knees. Immediately you see red.
“Weren’t you banned from the team?” You try to look down on them from a distance, even though they’re both taller than you.
“I’m not banned from the amphitheater. I just can’t use it when Romero has it booked for practice.” Julio spits back in venomous tones, meanwhile Nikolai is texting someone amidst snide chuckles. It’s then that you remember Damiano has his hearing with the collegiate board right now. He’s on the other side of town.
“Whatever.” You turn to leave, taking out your own phone to ask Clio for a ride.
“Oh and she gives up so easy!” Nikolai is goading you like you’re some young alpha, hell bent on proving herself. Omegas aren’t fighters. In fact, you can’t fight, and this knowledge plants a seed of fear in the pit of your stomach. Surely they didn’t plan to harm you and risk real consequences. You clutch your phone in your right hand and walk towards the exit.
“Not so invincible now, huh?”
“This is what happens when bitchy omegas don’t have their bitch-boy alphas to protect them.”
“Call me mediocre again. I fucking dare you.” The sound of Nikolia’s voice raises the hair on the back of your neck and you know you need to get out of here. When you speed up your pace, they follow, footsteps growing ever nearer as they jeer.
“He hasn’t bred you yet, so there's still some hope of finding an alpha to put you in your place.”
“I would give anything to see that,” yells Julio. The faster you walk, the quicker they follow, so you try to slow your pace and manage your racing heart. If you can just get to the parking lot you’ll be in plain view of houses and the skate park. Finding bystanders was a tactic embedded into your psych before primary school. You got to the cement hall that ran under the building and noticed someone coming towards you.
In the shadows, you think you’re in luck; a bystander found you. His heavy work books click each step and then his face comes into view. It's the alpha that Damiano had to fend off three months ago. Turns out he went to Okoro Academy and hung around Romero after school, waiting for a vulnerable omega to victimize.
“Hey, you made it!” calls Nikolai. His joy is a mockery of your fear, and you’re struggling to think straight.
“Imagine my surprise when I found out my cousin Phoenix had been victimized by the same runt of the litter.” He grins when he says victim, enjoying the power trip and the irony. There’s no way to physically get out of this so you’re going to have to talk your way out. Fist fighting all three would be easier than making yourself demure and submissive. What do you want is too forceful, so you try to soften the sentiment.
“I don’t understand what you want me to do.” Phoenix breaks into maniacal laughter and the other two follow after a brief side eye. If they’re unsure about his actions that either means this front isn’t nearly as united as it looks or that you should be very scared.
“I want corporal punishment so we can control upetty omegas that need to be fucking humbled and taught how to serve”
“And I don’t want mutants like Damiano to dirty the gene pool. He should be sterilized and kept away from the population.”
“How fucking dare you!?”
“Ah, there she is!” Julio says in a sing-song voice. He lunges at you, but it's a fake out, only a couple steps before he falls back, laughing cruelly. You’d tried to back up too fast and end up falling. Only one elbow was bleeding, but Julio’s eyes kept darting towards it. The contents of your book bag are strewn three feet down the hall. You crouch down while trying to clean it up, papers crumpled and haphazardly shoved inside.
You’re so focused on looking at the ground that you don’t see Nikolai until his cleats come into view. Immediately, you straighten up like your spine is a titanium rod, eyes wide in fear at his proximity. Nikolai lunges at you too, so close you can see the storm in his irises. This time you fall hard, tripping over your bag and getting the wind knocked out of you when you land flat. At that point, all attempts at regulating go out the window while you struggle for a decent breath.
“Woah! Is she okay?” Julio is nervous and you stare at him with every ounce of panic and rage so this moment will haunt him, whatever happens to you. His eyes dart from one person to the next, but he never sustains a gaze.
“She’ll be fine. Maybe she should call her savior for help.” Nikolai cocks his head to the side and tries to put on a scowl. You still have your phone clenched in a fist and begin to type. But you stop yourself upon realizing that this was a trap. They know that Damiano will go scorched earth if your safety is on the line. Phoenix, Julio, and Nickolai probably think they can take him. Maybe they can and Damiano will destroy his body. Or, more likely he’ll destroy them. Either way Damiano will be excommunicated from society for his Alpha Dysregulation. Incriminating him was the whole point of this display of strength.
Forcing a deep breath, you bring your phone back to your side and stare at them willfully. Julio is the closest to breaking. He’s blanched and picking at his cuticles, clearly wishing he’s never volunteered to do this.
“I am not bait,” you spit, trying to back away. Their plan had failed and you were banking on them recognizing defeat.
“Bitch,” Nikolai murmurs, spitting on your shoes and bowing his head.
“See, I told you this wouldn’t work,” Phoenix finally speaks. His voice is monotone in a way that makes your skin crawl. It means that his friendliness three months ago was completely a mask. People who can mimic emotion so easily often lack empathy. It's all a performance for personal gain.
You try to walk away but Pheonix blocks your path, stepping in front no matter where you divert.
A quick glance over your shoulder shows that Julio and Nickolai are also unsure. When they notice you’re looking, both young alphas try to harden their expressions. Option one is getting past them and taking the next exit halfway down the field. Option two is avoiding Phoenix and bolting 15 feet. You decide on the second one and don’t even make it a full step before being shoved to the ground. You land on your fingers, rather than your left hand. Something pops, but not like a knuckle. At first, intense shooting pain moves all the way up your arm and then fiery throbbing pain settles in your hand.
You’re shocked into silence, as is everyone else. When your body does register the injury, it’s trying to shut down to protect itself. To hide, to curl up, to become smaller, to become less noticeable, to limit points of vulnerability, to be silent, to survive. However, you can’t trust that Phoenix will leave you be. In fact, this act of wounding seems to stimulate him like nothing else has.
Help
While the text goes through, you’re trying to share your location.
“Atta’ girl!” He shouts gleefully, thrilled his prey is finally doing something amusing. Phoenix rips your phone from your hands and throws it against the cement. It breaks into three pieces, battery skidding until it hits the wall.
“NO!” you scream, trying to scramble away and find a place to conceal yourself. The sound echoes within the tunnel, deafening.
“What the fuck, dude!” Julio screams in horror. Nikolai is disturbed, but he handles it slightly better.
“This wasn’t the plan! We were supposed to scare her, without touching her. Not break her phone!” A force pulls you backward and you realize it's Phoenix's hand on your hood.
“And you’re scared aren’t you?” he snarls. It must have been a combination of the yelling, the chase, the adrenaline, the control, and the sadism, because Phoenix has gone full alpha. His charcoal eyes are souless, the place where his pupil lay a swirling black hole. The tendons on his face and neck quiver like they’re about to tear through his skin. You’re running before you can see his teeth, and this time he lets you go.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?!” You’ve disappeared from view quickly, hiding in the bushes below the field until your assailants leave. At this point, all there is to do is ride out the overwhelming instinct to cower.
“Oh, come on,” Phoenix rolls his eyes.
“No, you’re not supposed to do that type of shit,” insists Julio. Purposely sending omegas into flight or fawn was a major social taboo. It forces both an acute stress response and dissociation which occasionally causes tragedies. Omegas accidently darting in front of cars or hours of unnavigable panic reaching the point of mental crisis. The instict to hunker down until the episode passed left sick people without medical care and little children with traumatized parents. Originally, alphas tormented omegas endlessly because they couldn’t fight back before expectations were set up to protect their well-being.
“We should hide her stuff so they can’t trace it back to us.” Nikolai recognizes the new leader and reassembles y/n’s backpack.
“And when she tells Damiano?”
“He’ll flip out. Mission accomplished,” Phoenix shrugs his shoulders, casually. “It’s our word against his, so you know what’ll happen if someone breaks ranks.” He glowers at Julio to make the threat clear.
“Yeah? And in the mean time he could fucking kill me!”
“So, what? You’re afraid of him now? Phoenix taunts. Nikolai has fallen silent, holding the backpack like it's a bomb.
“Oh my – we did this because he’s dangerous! As someone who had their nose broken by Dam in a single punch, I can attest to that! He shouldn’t be in the general population, thats the fucking point.”
“What he shouldn’t be is so full of himself,” mutters Nikolai. He walks off to find a place to hide the bag with his head hung.
“And that is the fucking point. Alphas like him are what's wrong with society. They don’t obey the natural order.
“You’re out of your fucking mind.” Julio picks up his duffel and walks away.
“We reminded an omega of her place! You should be proud of that!” Phoenix yells after him.
***
“We’re just thrilled to have you officially back on the team, drive safe!” The chair of the collegiate board walked the David’s out to the parking lot with a restrained, professional smile. They’d known which way the board was leaning as soon as the hearing started. Still, the end result was a huge relief.
“Do you want to just pick up y/n on the way home?” Isabella was wearing a rare, full fledged smile.
“Yeah, I’ll call her!”
Y/n: Where are you?
[Missed call from Star]
Star: Saw y/n walk into the amphitheater so I think she forgot about the hearing.
Y/n: Help
[Missed call from Star]
[Missed call from Athena]
Star: Call me as soon as you get this.
Star: Had a bad feeling and doubled back, but she was gone. Saw Julio get in his car. Nikolai’s car was still in the lot. Would they do something?
[Missed call from Star]
Star: I waited and saw another alpha leave. It might have just been her and them. Don’t panic.
Star: Stay calm, don’t panic.
Emmaline: Do you want help looking?
“Damiano? Honey? What’s he doing?” Matteo tried to get a good look in the mirror at his son whose breathing had doubled in pace and was shivering while sweating.
“I think he’s having a panic attack. Dami, what's going on?” Isabella turned around and took his clammy hands in her own. “Could be the adrenaline from the meeting?”
“I’m pulling over.” Matteo idled in a turn out.
“Amphitheater.”
“Honey, practice is over. You didn’t miss practice, you were excused. It's okay, let's go home.”
“Amphitheater!”
“Do not scream at me, Damiano,” Matteo replies patiently. Dami slams his phone onto the center console. Isabella reads the notifications out loud and they’re headed to the field by the time she says ‘help.”
“She might be home already,” Isabella offers. Dami calls Clio, but he knows it isn’t true before she picks up.
“I thought she was with you.”
“So she’s not home?” Footsteps pound up the stairs two at a time. He recognizes the creak of y/n’s door.
“She’s not here,” Clio pants.
“Check –”
“I know I’m checking!” In the closet, under the bed, Clio looked in all the places y/n associated with calm or would hide as a child. If she’d been put in a state of terror, y/n would hide instinctively in order to survive. Until an omega calms down enough to think rationally, they’re an animal whose mechanisms of self defense are limited to the path of least resistance and making themselves invisible. The claustrophobia of being unable to fight back created some drastic evolutionary responses to avoid being targeted.
Post societal collapse, omegas would likely survive to reproductive age at double the rate of alphas. However, in a first world country, it was an arcane instinct that could be manipulated to terrorize omegas. And that's what you were: absolutely terrified and alone. You needed Damiano more than you ever and every cell in his body was screaming with the unfulfilled urge to protect.
“I don’t think she’s in the house, but let me just make sure…Dad? Thalia? Has y/n come home from school yet?” There’s a long pause and Clio is back on the line, panic in her voice.
“She’s not here. Do you know where she is, Dami? It still gets dark and cold earlier this time of year.” That's another thing you might be: hypothermic.
“I know where to start, but you should stay there in case she comes home. So someone will understand what’s happening.”
“And what happened?” There's anger in her voice, probably suspecting y/n was only in this position because of Damiano. She was right.
“I think she got cornered by three alphas.”
“Fuck, I’ll call my mom.”
Before the car was even stopped, Damiano jumped out. He ran onto the field screaming your name then fell completely silent. He listened for a whimper, jogged around the perimeter trying to pick up your scent. In doing so, he saw a peak of green fabric, whose hue he recognized as your backpack. It was over the fence, hidden in an abandoned tire. Damiano scaled the fence quicker than he thought possible, taking a picture of the scene before digging through all the papers. Most had your name written in blue pen at the top.
Someone else had put them back in, crumpled and out of order. Why take everything out? If they touched this, had they touched you? He can’t suppress the pressure in his chest anymore and breaks out in loud sobs. At first they’re tearless, desperate noises, and then his face is flooded with saline and snot. Matteo makes his way over and hands Dami a tissue through the fence.
“Wha – why, why would she leave it here? May – be be – because she’s around here. Y/n? Y/n?” For a minute, Matteo lets his son have hope. When his wife comes over they speak in hushed voices. Dami looks back at their preoccupied expressions, and wants to scream at them to search as well. Through that veiled pity, he realizes they’re not looking for y/n because they don’t think she’s here.
“What? What is it?” he demands, wiping his nose on his sleeve like a toddler.
“We don’t think y/n left it here, but we’ve already alerted the collegiate board and given them names.”
“Then how…” Someone hid it. Dami sinks to his knees, not wanting to think it, much less say it. In the background his mother talks about contacting parents and coaches.
“Do you think that they, that um,” a shaky hand covers Damiano’s mouth to muffle a scream. “They only care about hiding the evidence because they don’t think we’re gonna find her?” His voice loses all masculinity and courage, ending in a high pitched whimper.
“No,” Isabella states firmly. Matteo isn’t positive about that answer, but he agrees with his wife unequivocally.
“Three high schoolers, right? Maybe they just didn’t know what to do with it,” he offers.
“Maybe they’re sadistic little shits that wanted to make the search even tougher for you.” Matteo and Dami are shocked at an ever-composed Isabella’s crass language. Yes she was an alpha, but Isabella limited the world’s perception of her as such.
“They could have planted it there to send you in the wrong direction or terrify you. It could be as harmless as taking her backpack because they knew it’d annoy y/n. Maybe they threw it over the fence as a laugh and the little shits went on their merry way. So get back over this fence, show me her route home, and everything will be fine by dinner. Okay?” Isabella didn’t leave any room for argument.
“Her phone isn’t in there,” Damiano announced when his feet hit the turf.
“Then it's probably with her,” Matteo concluded. Feeling like an absolute dumb ass, Dami calls y/n right away. She doesn’t pick up the first or second or sixth time. Damiano sees why as he steps off the field. Somehow the whole family had missed the phone smashed against the cement. Dami drops to his hands and knees crawling around trying to gather the pieces, because maybe it wasn't yours. Sure it was the right model and color, but millions had been manufactured.
Then Damiano finds the backing and wails with anguish. Thalia had insisted y/n decorate her phone with some volcanology stickers. The biggest one was faded where his omega rubbed her thumb in a circle absentmindedly. For a second Dami can’t take any more of this purgatory. I need her safe. I need her safe. I need her safe, I need her safe, I need her safe. IneedhersafeIneedhersafeIneedhersafeIneedher.
***
You hide in a wooded area a block from the amphitheater. No one would suspect, because you’d only visited once on a field trip. Phoenix might be watching, unsatisfied and yearning to inflict some real sadism. So you stay hidden until it feels safe, completely still, like a fawn. Movement can trigger predators.
The problem is night falls before it feels safe. The woods are dark so you stumble for 50 yards, moving towards the street lights. Tripping on a log and face planting doesn’t even trigger a pain response. When you get to the treeline, you search for your assailants. There’s got to be a safe place with better lighting, but you’ll have to stay awake all night, so you can disappear into the shadows if they hunt you down. That is, unless you can get on the other side of a locked door. Then you’ll be safe.
The darkness only worsens the fear. You can feel yourself being followed, but not see the steps that stalk you, always on your heels. Each time you whip around, Julio, Nikolai, or Pheonix manage to hide. It's an hour's walk home and this is too exposed. You’ll ever make it, might as well be waving bait in front of the predators.
The first bus that passes, you get on. Everyone’s staring so you sit in the back. After the last stop, the bus driver tries calling out to you, but the sound blends into the idling engine. He has to physically tap on your shoulder, which makes you scream in surprise. He seems almost as jarred as you feel, scampering off the bus.
“Are you hurt? Miss? Is there someone I should call?” You run until you’re breathless, bending over and clutching your chest. Phoenix probably couldn’t keep your trail, but your body was shaking in a way you recognized as shivering. This didn’t look like home or safety. Nothing here evoked memories. All you could do was walk until the world became familiar.
The sliver of moon cast long, distorted shadows, making mundane objects look sinister. A cat darts across the street. That makes you jump out of your skin and cower behind a bush. How long have you been walking? It could be 20 minutes, or an hour and a half. Working up the courage to continue might take even longer. Each time you scan for predators, their absence is never comforting enough to make your way back to the sidewalk. Eventually, you clench your teeth and do so anyway.
***
Y/n’s house has become missing person’s ground zero. Even Sandro helped search. Or rather, he kept watch while Damiano grabbed Julio by the lapels of his jacket and dragged him up a wall. The terrified alpha spilled all the details immediately, but it was more useless information. Sandro assured his little brother that this wasn’t a big deal and things like this mostly turned out alright. Damiano shoves him to the ground and the snarling accidently instills in Kevin the power behind that shiny exterior. He is much more self aware when he speaks to Damiano, reiterating that he’s confident everything will be fine.
“She’s a fighter.”
“That's what I’m worried about. Alphas pick on omegas that challenge their power.”
“But she’s a brave girl.” One more platitude and Damiano was going to throttle Kevin.
“And that's what I’m worried about! Submission is the only way out!” Dami storms outside and paces in the backyard. It seems like the entire family is living in denial as a coping mechanism. Yes, y/n is probably fine, but the fact that he hadn’t an ounce of certainty sparked rage at all these people who could eat, sleep, read, and communicate without y/n, unharmed, in their arms. Dami could barely think, was still in disbelief that almost four hours later you hadn’t turned up.
He heads back inside, keeping his shit together because he has to, and for no other reason. Before the squeaky door could announce his entrance, Dami overhears Thalia rattling off facts from her serial killer podcasts that make his heart stop beating.
“Statistically, the further you are from the time of abduction, the less likely you are to find the victim.”
“Bad timing Thalia.”
“But I’m not talking about missing omega statistics. Interesting enough, they do follow the same trend, but not with nearly as steep a curve. Other people aren’t what's most deadly, it’s mostly accidental and natural. Getting hit by a car or bus, accidentally injuring oneself and bleeding out, ravines, drowning.” Damiano shuts the door, pulls off his sweater, crouches down in the middle of the lawn, and screams bloody murder into the fabric until his throat hurts. Then he cries, imagining all the ways you could die, in pain and alone.
It's a reminder that one of you has to go first. He might have to live decades, knowing you no longer exist in the world. That could be true right now, maybe you were already gone` and security would find your body by morning. Maybe you're about to fall off the edge of the earth and he can’t stop it because he doesn’t know where you are. Could fate be cruel enough to only give him four months? How many times had he said ‘I love you?’”
“Well, there has to be something we haven’t thought of,” sighs Olivia, as he walks back into the living room.
“Friends, family, routine or preferred places,” Clio lists off. “They all know to call right away. What about that other little shit? Nikolai?”
“His parents reported he came home earlier this evening. His story matches, swears he didn’t put his hands on her. However there will be repercussions.” Isabella speaks in a calm, clinical tone, but her voice sounds strained. Anyone who looks at Damiano can see he wants revenge, not repercussions. Its torture, being unable to act on this properly, because he just got his life back. No, that’s what he wanted: torture.
“It's unfair,” he says through clenched teeth.
“Yes, it is,” levels Matteo, putting a hand on his son’s back.
“Maybe this is an over reaction and she’s at a friend’s house! Hasn’t realized she lost her phone? I know I was that careless at 15.”
“Darling, that’s not what –”
“I found her backpack,” snapped Damiano.
“Listen, I fully believe that you think you saw her backpack, but –”
“Excuse me, what are you imply –”
“The papers had her name on them, you imbecile!” The entire room falls silent and Dami has to focus on not turning into a snarling alpha. “Excuse me,” he says tightly, stomping upstairs with his hands balled into fists. In the background, voices continue.
“Are you questioning my son’s honesty or connection to reality?” Dami pauses after turning the corner, surprised to hear his mother speak so sharply. “Because I can assure you, I saw the same thing. In fact, he has a picture on his phone if –”
“No, no, my apologies, Isabella. That won’t be necessary.” Olivia cringes, wanting to contradict her husband, but shying away from it.
“Obviously Damiano’s perspective is distorted because he’s y/n’s alpha, but I’m starting to be concerned, too. I know we’ll find her by morning, but she might have hypothermia by then and –” Dami walks into your room and closes the door behind him. If Clio is the voice of reason, we really are lost. For a second, he’s the calmest he’s been all day. That very quickly turns into devastation.
“Come home. Come back to me. Tell me where you are. Find someone with a phone. Fucking anything,” Dami babbles into your pillow. It smells like you, but it’s not enough to quell his asphyxiating anxiety. Only the real thing can do that. He’s never believed in God, or fate, or energy of the universe, but right now he’d plead his case to any higher power that would listen. They were all at a loss. You’d moved three hours north when you were nine, so all those childhood spots were on the coast. There were a few routine hangouts, then people’s houses.
It felt silly to call up everyone in y/n’s life and ask them to report your appearance. As if any decent person wouldn’t call the parents of a dissociated 15 year old who showed up at their house unannounced in the middle of the night. It all felt futile and Damiano couldn’t tell if being in your bedroom made him more or less miserable. This thought jogged a memory of your voice. I want to like – I don’t know, walk to your house, climb in your window, or something crazy.
There was no way. Damiano checked the security cameras at the front and back of his house. They hadn’t filmed anything, but if you did literally go in through the window…It was possible the motion sensor wouldn’t pick it up. Possible was more than he’d had for the last two hours. Damiano is half way down the stairs, ready to announce his great idea, when it hits him that having seven people watching may make you feel worse.
“Hey, I’m sorry about earlier. I think I just need to go home and get some sleep.” Everyone reassured that no mistakes had been made and it was all very understandable. How impressive of an alpha to have so much self reflection. Of course, Isabella would use the geotracker in Dami’s phone to make sure he wasn’t going to commit homicide. Thankfully, it couldn’t tell her how fast he drove.
“Y/n?” He took a deep breath in, while taking off his boots. Dami had started hallucinating your scent before the one hour mark, but this was definitely real. Strangely enough, it didn’t lead straight to his room.
“Y/n? Baby, where are you?” He follows it to the back door and around the perimeter of the kitchen. The David’s didn’t leave windows open habitually, but every single one was locked. They’d never bothered to lock the skylight above the reading nook after having it installed because who the hell is going to repel down from the roof? It’d been locked. There was blood and a muddy footprint on the counter. No one else who’d do that but a paranoid omega.
He breaks into a jog, then slows down before the door, expecting to be locked as well. It’s not. You hadn’t locked him out. Damiano bursts into the bedroom and drops down with his chest to the carpet. You’re here in this room, or at least you were, but there's nothing under the bed. He would have bet money you’d be here. Nothing behind the desk and the whole closet always smelled like you because he’d never washed the sheets from the first time. He always sat in here when he touched himself, but couldn’t touch you. The stains told a story that he never tired of reliving.
The reality was that with the unlocked door and empty hiding spot you probably weren’t here anymore. But if he’d gotten here faster…Damiano still had to do his due diligence which meant locating the flash light that was likely under all this mess. Trying to conjure emotional stamina, he takes a deep breath that gets caught in his throat.
“Are you okay?” The voice is barely audible, but he recognizes it.
***
“Y/n? Y/n! Where the fuck are you? Love? Oh my fucking god,” his voice breaks. Dami drops to the ground, feeling around for an arm or a leg. You climb out from under the pile of laundry and pull him into the shadows, behind the closet door. Dami blindly reaches out for you, vision not adapted to darkness.
“Who’s with you? Phoenix?” He could have deceived Damiano into thinking he had information and tricked his way into the house to get at you.
“What? I’m alone. Baby, come here,” he reaches out, anxious to finally hold you after this excruciating day. “C’mere, y/n. Just…just come to me,” he pleads. Damiano doesn’t want to freak you out further by forcefully hauling you out of your hiding spot. However, not doing so is torture. The sound of his voice tugs deep in your chest, but nothing can compete with this fear response.
“Lock the bedroom door.” It was irrational, but the only way you’d feel safe. “And turn off the ceiling light.” You peek around the corner to see if the curtains went all the way to the ground. Slats of light from under the fabric would alert any passerby that someone was inhabiting this room.
“Y/n, you’re safe now.” It was a comforting sentiment, but there was no safety with Phoenix hunting you down to finish the job. Receding away from the corner brought you within inches of Dami’s face. As soon as you make eye contact, he extends a cautious hand.
“Phoenix, he’s – I think he’s dangerous,” you hiss. Even though you saw it coming, Dami’s hand on your waist startles you.
“Shh, shh. You’re okay. You’re okay,” he whispers. The sound of his voice evokes so many memories of gentle, loving touch that they blend together. Damiano reaches his hand around your back and to the other side, so his arm is wrapped around your middle. Your first instinct is to pull away to make sure he’ll allow it, but a much stronger urge to move towards this force of anti-chaos prevails.
“I’m dangerous,” he emphasizes, forcing your brain to recalibrate. Damiano was so doting that his increased capability for destruction slipped your mind. Phoenix was just a regular alpha, without the motivation of a mate. Hearing your breathing change, Dami extended his other hand very slowly. He loosely wrapped his thumb and pointer finger around your wrist, and pulled towards him.
“You’re my omega so I become a weapon of lethal force to anyone that threatens you. In my presence, you are always safe.” The words take a second to process, but when they do you finally feel something again. That prospect is intimidating enough that you’re reaching for Damiano, just as he hoped you would. He pulls you into his lap and hugs you too tight. Instead of squeezing and releasing, he keeps you that close, until you have to ask for air.
“Sorry, sorry.” There are tears on his face and when he roughly wipes them away they’re replaced two-fold. “Fuck, come here,” his voice breaks. This time you try to return the hug, even as your arms feel weak. Dami splays his hands out and rubs up and down, covering as much surface area as possible. His face is pressed into your neck, hair caught between in desperation. Heaving breaths try to replenish your smell like a diver has to replenish the oxygen in their bloodstream.
“Please scent me,” he whimpers, sniffling. You go through the movements, but getting back in tune with your body isn’t instantaneous.
“Are you shivering? Your cheeks are cold.” The back of his hand presses against both sides of your face. You offer up your uninjured hand, which, admittedly you can’t feel. The concern in his expression is so adorable that you kiss Damiano without thinking. It’s just a peck and he’s too startled to kiss back. You’ve obviously interrupted his train of thought because Dami opens his mouth to speak, but the words come a second later.
“We need to call your parents and tell them.” In retrieving his phone, Dami shifts his weight and you wrap your legs over his hips. Closer feels safer.
“Hey, I found her…Yeah, in my closet, actually. Mostly, but she’s really cold. Do I take her to a hospital?” You shake your head vigorously and try to snatch his phone. “No hospital apparently!” he exclaims, dodging your attempts. “Um, I mean her lips aren’t blue at all, but she’s shivering…Yeah, okay. Okay. Mhm, bye.” As soon as he lets down his guard, you grab Dami’s phone and slide it across the room.
“I guess, we should get up anyways,” he scoffs. To sit on the bed, is the implication. Or maybe in the dining room. Both would leave you so exposed that anyone could come in before you had the chance to hide. Damiano gets up to retrieve his phone and pull back the covers. However, when you crawl off his lap, you go back into the darkness and refuge of the closet. Instantly the shivering worsens. Your hand throbs, too, but you can’t feel why.
Instead of arguing. Dami climbs into the closet after you. He reaches up to pull a gigantic sweater off a hanger and removes his top. Just him being shirtless, you can feel heat radiating from his body.
“C’mere,” he coaxes. Damiano pulls the sweater on, but holds out the hem, inviting your under. There isn’t a moment's hesitation before you sit between his legs and duck underneath. Your face is pressed to his bare skin and just absorbing that one sensation takes you a second. All his warmth is trapped by the sweater, which is a bit musty but Dami’s body odor is heavenly. All the anxiety had him sweating through his deodorant. Damiano grabs the extra comforter from the bottom of the closet and throws it over your legs. He pulls it chest height and wraps his arms around you. In return, you experiment with scenting again, brushing against his chest.
“Whatcha doing?” he endears, looking down through the stretched out neckline. You take a deep breath for the first time in…
“How long?”
“A little over four hours.”
“Shit,” you wince.
“Not your fault.” The anger radiates from him just like the heat. “Julio said he and Nikolai didn’t touch you, is that true?”
“Technically, yes.” Having to go back to that mental state is not only unpleasant, but jarring. “Can we talk about this later?” you whine, hiding your face against his skin. Guilt settles in the pit of his stomach.
“Some of it, yes. Some of it I need to know now. I’m sorry love.” You nod your head and Dami continues.
“Who was there besides Nikolai and Julio? Phoenix? Bystanders?
“No bystanders. I tried to escape so other people would see, but Pheonix got in the way.” The word escape momentarily makes Dami lose his cool and he’s glad you’re not looking at his face.
“So you went into the amphitheater and all three were waiting?” You shake your head. “Okay…” Dami takes a deep breath and applies more pressure with his hand while rubbing your back.
“I think Nikolai texted Phoenix because they’re cousins. He’s the alpha that attacked me three months ago.”
“Right,” he replies tightly. Keep it together, or she’ll absorb your anger. You can punch something later.
“They wanted revenge.” On me. This is my fault and they took it out on her. I’m going to slit those fuckers neck to navel and flay them like a fish. I’m gonna take everything they –
“Dami?”
“Yes my love?”
“I can feel you thinking about murder.”
“Sorry,” he winced, refocusing. He had to ask the hard question, the one he didn’t want an answer to.
“So did Phoenix,” deep breath, “do something to you?”
“Pushed me to the ground, broke my phone, and he, um,” your voice gets small then disappears at the memory.
“He scared you?”
“All of them.”
“All of them tried to scare you.”
“But he…” you’re both holding your breath. “Went into headspace. Then I ran.” Dami holds you too tight again and kisses your head. You may not know how dangerous the situation was, but he did. Retelling it was visibly distressing, so he tried to think of something to calm the anxiety.
“Want to watch the security camera footage from tonight? It only covers about 60% of the house, but you can check the main entrances.” This sounds like a splendid idea. Dami pulls up the app on his phone and hands it to you. The idea that Phoenix and possibly Julio and Nikolai have been following you for four hours becomes less and less likely in your head. However, you’d been so damn sure and it felt unquestionably real.
“I – I feel like I’m…going insane. I can’t tell if I was actually being stalked.”
“The paranoia is normal. I’ve heard coming out of it can be a real mind fuck.” You nod, handing Damiano’s phone back to him. There was nothing on the footage except a bunny in the backyard. It’s embarrassing, the way you’d reacted, even though you couldn’t help it.
“And everyone was freaking?”
“I was the only one freaking out.” He kisses your head again and again, drawing a heart on your scalp with his lips. Dami keeps running into dead leaves and twigs that he carefully picks out. Internally, you feel like an inflatable toy that's lost 25% of its air.
“I called your dad an imbecile.” When you don’t laugh in response to this, Dami knows how sleepy you are. The shivering has stopped and your face has color again. Your lips part as little puffs of air hit his chest. The knowledge of how differently today could have ended up makes him nauseous. Instead of wrapped in his arms, you could be in a hospital bed with a cast, or bruised ribs, or internal bleeding. Whatever boundaries Phoenix might have set for himself would be second to his desire for violence.
Omegas have alphas because they can’t defend themselves. The only time you’d asked for his help, he’d had his phone off. Dami vows never to do that again, no matter how unprofessional it was for a call to interrupt a meeting. You needed him, so he should have been there. The volatile part of Dami fantasizes about how much he could fuck up those three alphas, given the excuse that they’d attacked his omega. How many bones could he break and still be met with understanding from the public?
The rumble of a barely audible purr wrenches Dami from his fantasies of vengeance. Your arm twitches against his chest as you fall asleep. The first thing he was gonna do when you were settled was text all his close alpha friends what had happened. Even if they didn’t have a personal stake in your life, they had their own omegas to protect, values to uphold. There were ways to make it impossible for your attackers to ever victimize someone again, both judicial and with brute force. He was fine with either.
Your soft purring continues distracting Dami everytime his thoughts take too dark a turn. The sound evokes the warmest sensation he’s ever felt in his life.
“Such a smart girl, knew you’d be safe in my den.” You nod against Damiano and yawn, nuzzling his chest. Running, walking, and hiding in a state of hypervigilance for four hours was exhausting, especially with your body attempting to compensate for how cold it was. The adrenaline spike from the attack had also taxed your endocrine system, as well.
Dami had completely forgotten that both sets of parents would be coming over until the sound of the door made you startle and cower. He whispered assurances, reminders that you knew these people, and that they were safe. Isabella and Matteo were first down the hall, since they already knew where you’d be. Olivia and Kevin followed, and it was momentarily hilarious to watch all four scan the room.
“Well that is a great hiding spot,” Isabella exclaimed. She murmurs something to Matteo who nods and slips out of the doorway.
“You said y/n was here,” Kevin states, a bit gruff. Isabella gestures to Damiano with a nearly indiscernible smile, who lifts the corner of the comforter with his foot to reveal two sets of legs.
“Well what's she doing in your clothes?” your father interrogates, like cuddling is inherently something perverse. “Y/n?” he calls, as if you’re not within hearing range. His voice is so loud that you cringe. You can feel Damiano take a deep breath and hope he’ll call your father an imbecile again.
“She’s sleepy.” He kisses your head twice as punctuation. “And getting warm.” You look up at Dami with a pained expression, knowing you’ll have to part.
“It's a rather inventive way of sharing body heat that they’ve come up with.” Isabella is trying to model behavior for Kevin like he’s five. Floorboards creak as Matteo comes back into the room with a thermometer. He hands it to Dami, who passes it down to you.
“This is ridiculous,” Matteo whispers, to Olivia, who gives him a scorching stare.
“You have a more effective way of warming her up?” Damiano challenges. The thermometer beeps, and you pass it back up.
“96.7 so it’s a miracle she isn’t shivering. Normal is 98.6.” He resumes rubbing your back.
“People lose a lot of heat from their scalp,” Olivia adds, surprisingly helpful. Dami tucks your head under his chin.
“One of the alphas pushed her to the cement. What can we do right now?”
“Is she okay?” exclaims Isabella.
“I don’t know yet,” Damiano answers honestly. For the first time, Kevin seems to grasp the seriousness of the situation.
“If he’s 18, we can have him arrested tonight,” states Isabella.
“Really?” you whisper. Damiano nods, and switches to pressing his cheek to your hair.
“He’s a 12th year at Okoro named Phoenix. Not on their soccer team. Blond, about six feet. I don’t know his last name, but I’ll recognize his face. He’s bothered her before.” Isabella nods while dialing, pacing to the other side of the room.
“What the hell do you mean ‘he’s bothered her before?’” blurts your dad.
“I took care of it and I will again.” Damiano’s tone is surprisingly measured, like he’s stating objective facts. Your alpha’s ability to convey power without raising his voice was infinitely more impactful. You can’t see faces through the knit, but the tension is still palatable.
“I think we need to assess y/n’s health properly, to see if she’s okay. We can’t do that while she’s in your clothes.”
“We know she isn’t okay. She was hypothermic 10 minutes ago,” Damiano snaps.
“Which is why we need to assess what else is wrong.”
“So she can be hypothermic again? That sounds productive.”
“I do not appreciate the tone you’ve been taking with me, young man.”
“Kevin!”
“What Damiano is trying to say is that a health issue is already being addressed and we can only do these things one at a time. To switch back and forth before we’ve finished addressing one health issue would ruin all progress and be detrimental to y/n’s health rather than beneficial.”
“Let’s listen to what Matteo’s saying,” implores Olivia.
“I’m her father!”
“And I’m her alpha.” Dami can’t prevent a bit of canine dialect from sneaking in. His voice has a growl to it that is definitely sub-human. The room is so quiet you could hear a pin drop. You could hear the hypothetical idea of a pin drop. It was so quiet that if a pin had ever dropped in this room, at any point in history, you’d be able to hear that sound echo through time.
Rather than rest on Damiano’s torso, you wrap both arms around him. The sensation of your injured hand brushing against the wall makes your eyes water in pain. This whole conversation had you stress sweating and now that sweat was drying against your skin. You start shaking again, teeth chattering.
“And now we’ve stressed her out, terrific.” Damiano wraps you in a tight embrace and rocks back and forth. The trembling doesn’t stop and the lack of control of your body makes you panic. He can see it in your eyes when he checks in and whispers apologies. Kevin is trying to assert dominance through some sort of macho stare-down which makes Damiano roll his eyes. The utter disregard for the gesture is apparently unacceptable.
“Y/n! Out. Now.” The yelling was so horrible that you just obeyed.
“This is so stupid,” say’s Dami, shaking his head. It sucks. It really, really sucks. Without Damiano and without the dissociation, you can feel how cold you are, how much your feet and hips hurt from walking in bad shoes. Your elbows are sore. It feels like there's half a dozen needles poking you under your clothes. And your hand hurts like a mother fucker.
“So co-co-co-cold.” You look behind yourself for that wonderful heat source and Dami is already waiting to welcome you into his arms. He pulls the blanket up while glaring at your father.
“So glad we did this,” he bites, as Isabella comes over.
“Okay…” She absorbs the scene with uncertainty on her face, also unsure why you’d been extracted from the most effective way of raising your body temperature. “Let's put her in warm, dry clothes.” Kevin huffs in agreement, and all of them leave. Hanging in the doorway, Damiano can see his expectant expression, that the alpha would leave his omega unguarded. Like he would trust anyone else to care for you right now. It was absurd.
Kevin gestures to Olivia to go into the bedroom. At first she’s happy to help, but then sees the battle of wills between Dami and her husband.
“You’ll be alright in here?” she asks Dami.
“Yes, thank you,” he answers cordially.
Olivia nods once, closing the door as she hisses, “I’d like to talk to you” at her husband. The Davids have graciously given them the hallway to discuss, and are making tea in the kitchen.
“What in the hell?” she whisper yells, aflame in anger.
“I know! That kid doesn’t have an ounce of respect. I say we take her home right now and deal with this ourselves.”
“Do you know why we’re here, in this house?”
“Cause y/n’s here,” he replies dumbly.
“And why is that?” she snaps. Kevin had never seen his wife with so little patience.
“Because she walked here?”
“Because when she was scared for her life and needed somewhere that felt safe, somewhere she knew she’d be cared for, she. Didn’t. Come. Home.”
“Yeah, she wanted an excuse to go hang out with her boyfriend,” he dismisses. Olivia grabs him by the chin and forces Kevin to look at her.
“An acute stress response is not a social call. If they were mated that’d be one thing, but they're not. Her brain was operating on instinct and her subconscious believed that these people would be more likely to give her the help she needs than her own parents.”
“So we’ll have them spend more time at our house.”
“Kevin she was right!” Olivia doesn’t mean to shout and immediately lowers her voice. “Who did all the reporting to the collegiate board today? Who got the thermometer? Who contacted the security force? All to protect our daughter, not their son. Think about that.” Kevin does, in fact, have a very rare moment of self-reflection.
“I guess even focusing on Thalia with the speech therapy and the programs and all the psychologists was…a lot. It was overwhelming. Then Clio became – she was overwhelming and I didn’t have much more in me. Y/n has always been so tough that I didn’t worry.”
“Kevin, hear me when I say, I don’t give a good god damn whether you like that boy or not. If they stay together, he is gonna get a certification from trade school while y/n is in her 12th year and he is gonna take her anywhere in the world she wants. If we don’t like it, there are two wonderful people willing to fill our shoes and our daughter doesn’t ever have to deal with us again. If you want to have more than another two summers with y/n, then so help me jesus christ, you will make friends with these people. Because I am going to have a relationship with her and this family with or without you.”
***
“Ugh, I just wanna cuddle and go to sleep,” you whine.
“I know, baby.”
“But my hand hurts so fucking bad.” You scoot into the light and all the swelling and bruising makes your stomach flip. You squeeze your eyes shut and turn your head away.
“Dami, Dami, scent me.” You reach out with your good hand, opening your eyes just a crack in the opposite direction of the injury. Instantly he’s there nuzzling and holding you close, humming. The stress in your voice was palatable, but he doesn’t see the reason for a couple seconds.
“Oh my god.”
“When he pushed me I landed wrong. Distract me.” You say all in the same breath. Injuries on other people bothered you only slightly, but injuries on yourself made you feel severely ill, like combining the flu with vertigo.
“We have to –”
“I don’t care, I don’t care, distract me!” He rocks you back and forth, singing in your ear, scenting so heavily your brain went elsewhere for a couple precious seconds. You take a couple deep breaths in this refuge, and Damiano breathes with you.
“I’m sorry for yelling.” You open your eyes completely, still facing away. “Is it broken?”
“Yes.”
“Can we go to the hospital tomorrow?”
“The bones are already healing. They could heal the wrong way and you’d have to rebreak –”
“Okay, heard!”
“Can I tell them now?” he whispers, still rocking. You shake your head.
“I want to change my clothes first, if we have to go to the hospital.”
“Baby, you can’t change your shirt, but…Wait, were you in the woods?” A full two inches of the hem of your jeans is soaked and muddy.
“Help me change my pants please.” He nods, and you’re strategizing how to get off the ground, when Damiano wraps both arms around your ribcage and brings you upright with him. Habitually, you embrace him back and moving your fingers makes you hiss in pain, then double over. Your eyes squeeze shut while reciting every swear word you know. Upon opening your eyes, the broken hand is in your periphery.
“Is that fixable?”
“Absolutely.” He sounds so damn sure that you take a deep breath. “I’ve seen a lot of bad breaks, you’re gonna be fine. Do you want your leggings or my black sweats with the paint stain?”
“Uh, both.”
“Good idea.” Damiano had accidentally given you your own drawer, or rather half of one. You pointed it out and both laughed about passing this relationship milestone without realizing. When Matteo did the laundry he’d set your little pile of clothes to the left of Damiano’s on top of the dresser. It all happened so organically.
Your wet jeans were heavy and stuck to your skin. Undoing the fly one handed while sitting down was possible, but then you realized you were getting Dami’s bed dirty.
“Ah, shit,” you stood up and looked behind you at the forest green blanket with little embroidered flowers. The fabric was too dark to judge.
“Your underwear wet too?” he asked, pulling down your pants for you.
“Why, you got something planned?” Damiano huffed a laugh and hung his head. You’re trying to keep things light, even as you continue to shiver. Knelt down, Dami pulled off your socks too and put on a pair of his wool ones. Getting two pairs of pants on involved a little laughter and almost falling over, despite a one-handed grip on Damiano’s shoulder. When he finished pulling up the waistband of the sweatpants, you put your good hand on his cheek and waited. After a couple seconds, Dami’s focus returned to your face and you kissed him.
There’d be no chance for this at the hospital, so you take full advantage of this little, private moment. Dami is unsure at first, then very confident, falling into the familiarity of your body. You take the hand on his face and drag it down his neck, chest, into his back pocket. The new grip allows you to eliminate the space between, pulling Damiano’s hips closer to yours. He moans, gets a bit feral, then forces himself to freeze and pull away.
Damiano busies himself changing his own clothes, but he has a tell. He blinks much slower when trying not to get aroused at an inappropriate time. Dami is doing it right now and diverting his gaze away from you, trying to distract himself. A knock on the door makes Damiano clear his throat harshly and fiddle with a hanger, back turned.
“Yep. All good. Come in,” he voice breaks at the end like he’s 14 and you snicker.
“Oh you couldn’t find a clean top?” Isabella’s question is rhetorical. She actually means why didn’t you change into a warmer shirt? You extend your hand out and someone gasps, which isn’t very reassuring. You’re trembling from the cold, still.
“My first instinct would be to ice that, but – actually let's take your temperature again.” Isabella looks up for the thermometer Matteo is already handing her. While Olivia is clutching her sternum in horror, the David’s are entirely unfazed. Having two athletic alpha sons seems to have rendered them comparatively unshakeable.
“I know Y/n and Damiano are going to be attached at the hip till she’s feeling better.” Isabella says it amicably, but also as a statement of fact. “I’d be happy to take them to get that wrist x-rayed right now and I assume y/n will feel safest sleeping here because it's Dami’s room.” It's charitable wording, to make it about feelings, which are so much easier to trivialize than instincts. Olivia and Matteo hold eye contact, one omegan parent to the other and there's an understanding.
“I'll take them to the hospital and drop them back when we’re done. Does that work? Can I get you anything on the way back?” offers Olivia. After the Davids and your mother agree on a plan, you breathe a sigh of relief and tune it out. It doesn’t matter. Your father’s preferences don’t outweigh the other three, no matter his entitlement or the size of his ego. A minor draft from the vent or windows makes you shiver violently, teeth chatter. It reminds Dami to take your temperature, and he doesn’t like what that reveals.
“96.1 of course she's losing body heat. Warm up the car.”
Notes: So this was a sub-plot I was gonna explore, but Guardian Angel is already to overwhelmingly long. As a result, I've decided to stick with all the other plot points so I can hopefully get this thing finished in under 20 chapters since I've been working on it over well over a year. (What the fuck) Thank you for reading and encouragement .
Taglist: @bieberhoodforever @blackberryblossom @butkutee @cuzimitaliano @elvirabelle @iamtashaquinn@icarodamiano @ilwiwbysmv @immrbrightsideeee @little-moonbeam-666 @maneslut @mortyandem @the-chaotic-cow @wasteddoubts @weareoddlydrawn @whore4damia @azertyhug @biancathecool@bohemianrainbow @daisy0gf @dustyinkpages @katyldamusic@obiw4n @persona1read1ng @gr8rainbowpunk @hiraetheral @l0standn0tf0und@que--sera--sera @stardustingold@teenyweenynightghost @softmullet @solacestyles @thegeminisgirl @slavicgoddess13 @bright-shiningstar@lizzylynch1 @hauntedpostperson@harryssshouseee @lonnybunnys
#maneskin#måneskin#må#daminao#damiano david#damiano maneskin#maneskin damiano#damiano david x reader#damiano david imagine#damiano david fluff#damiano david fanfiction#damiano david angst#maneskin fanfiction#maneskin imagine#maneskin x reader#omegaverse#alpha beta omega#alpha and omega#alpha/beta/omega au
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Rin: Haru... Why did you draw a pentagram on the floor?
Haru: Your text told me to satanize the house before you returned.
Rin:
Rin: I wrote sanitize, Haru.
Rin: Haru was banned from the chicken shack, so we had to go out of town to get some.
Haru: Well, they shouldn’t say “all you can eat” if they don’t mean it.
Rin: Haru, you ate a chair.
Mine, struggling to keep upright in her 1 inch heels: Yeah, I-I don’t really think heels are for me
Ayame, pointing at her and walking flawlessly in sparkly golden 6 inch heels: WEAK.
Shigure: I really like this whole ‘good guy, bad guy’ thing you guys have going on.
Kyo: It’s not an act, it’s just that I’m mean and Tohru isn’t
Rin: Are you the big spoon or the little spoon?
Kyo: I'm a knife.
Tohru, from across the room: He’s the little spoon.
Store Worker: Would a Ms, Rin please come to the front desk?
Rin, arriving at the desk: Hello, is there a problem?
Store Worker: points to Haru and Momiji
Store Worker: I believe they belong to you?
Haru and Momiji, simultaneously: We got lost :(
Rin: I didn’t even bring you guys here with me-
Kyo: Who the fuck added me to a fucking group chat?
Tohru : >:O language
Yuki: Yeah watch your fucking language
Haru: OKAY WHO TAUGHT YUKI THE FUCK WORD?
Rin : 'The fuck word'.
Momiji: Are you stupid? You guys use the f word all the time
Yuki: Oh my god they censored it
Rin : Say fuck, Momiji.
Haru: Do it, Momiji. Say fuck.
Kyo: Rules are made to be broken.
Yuki: They were made to be followed. Nothing is made to be broken.
Haru: Uh, piñatas.
Momiji: Glow sticks.
Tohru: Karate boards.
Rin: Spaghetti when you have a small pot.
Kyo: Rules.
Yuki:
Kyo: *Posts a super low-quality image to the group chat*
Yuki: If I had a dollar for every pixel in this image, I’d have 15 cents
Kyo: If I had a dollar for every ounce of rage I felt in my body after I read this text, I would have enough money to buy a cannon to fire at you
Haru: Actually I did the math, Yuki would have $225, not $0.15.
Yuki: I’m right here....
Momiji: If I had a dollar I would buy a can of soda :)
Kyo: while you’re there could you buy me an apply juice please?
Momiji: Sorry I only have a dollar
Kyo: fuck u
Haru: Hey I just realized my friend is right, Yuki would have $22,500 because it's a dollar for every pixel, not a cent
Momiji: If I had $22,500 I would buy a can of soda and an apply juice
Haru: You can buy anything you want with $22,500
Tohru: Yeah and they want soda and apply juice
Haru: Apply juice to what
Rin: Directly to the forehead
Yuki: Great chat everyone
Tohru: Rin, can I talk to you for a second?
Rin: Yeah, what’s up? Lemme guess. You and Kyo are having problems and you want me to teach you how to kiss?
Tohru: What? No, stop that. I know how to kiss. I’ve read books.
Rin: You're the love of my life and my best friend, I would do anything for you.
Tohru: I want you to eat three meals a day and have a decent sleep schedule.
Rin: Absolutely not.
Kakeru: *Accidentally hits Yuki in the face*
Kakeru: *Trying to decide between saying 'I’m fucking sorry' and 'Are you okay'*
Kakeru: ARE YOU FUCKING SORRY?!
Yuki : What’s wrong with you?!
Kakeru: I made tea.
Yuki : I don’t want tea.
Kakeru: I did not make tea for you. This is my tea.
Yuki : Then why are you telling me?
Kakeru: It is a conversation starter.
Yuki : That’s a lousy conversation starter.
Kakeru: Oh, is it? We are conversing. Checkmate.
Haru: *Kicks the door down looking panicked*
Yuki : What did you do?
Haru: Nobody died.
Yuki : WHAT KIND OF ANSWER IS THAT?!
Yuki: Haru...
Haru: Oh no, 'Haru' in b-flat.
Haru: You're disappointed.
Rin: You often use humor to deflect trauma
Haru: Thank you
Momiji: She didn't say that was a good thing
Haru: What I'm hearing is, you both think I'm funny
Haru: I wasn’t that drunk last night.
Momiji: You were flirting with Rin
Haru: So what? She’s my partner.
Momiji: You asked her if her were single.
Haru:
Momiji: And then you cried when she said she weren't.
Rin: We need a distraction.
Haru: Is anyone here good at jumping up and down and making weird noises?
Momiji, whispering: My time has come
Hatori: This is such a bad idea.
Shigure: Then why are you coming along?
Hatori: One of us need to be able to talk the cops out of arresting us when this inevitably goes wrong.
Shigure: How's the sexiest person here~?
Hatori: I don't know-
Ayame, from across the room: I'm doing great, thanks!
Hatori, driving Haru and Momiji: So how was your day?
Momiji: We almost got surprise adopted!
Hatori: What?
Haru: We almost got kidnapped.
Hatori: Oh, okay.
Hatori: *slams on the breaks* WAIT WHAT?!
#Fruits Basket#fruits basket incorrect quotes#kyo sohma#Rin Sohma#Hatsuharu Sohma#Yuki Sohma#momiji sohma#Tohru Honda#hatori sohma#shigure sohma#ayame sohma#mine kuramae#Kyoru#yukeru#kakeru manabe#rin x haru#tohrin
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Last Minute Customer
Summary; Beau Arlen x Reader -> When you’re closing up the store for the evening, you have one final customer.
Warning; Pure fluffy fluff, books, bookstore and snow.
Snow had been constantly falling for the last 6 weeks. At first, it was light and melted almost as fast as it had come. But now it was 3ft high and sent everyone into a tizzy over being able to walk.
Why you hadn't moved out of Montana by now, you didn't know. You could have gone anywhere. California, maybe? New York? Perhaps Seattle.
But no. You had decided to stay in Montana, open up a small bookstore in Helena and stick with the snowy winters.
Yet, it was all worth it.
You had been stood behind the counter, having shut early due to the weather. You had been counting your stock making sure you had enough of the popular books in stock in time for the mad-christmas dash.
That was when a knock came to the door.
"Hello?"
Rushing over, you quickly unlocked the door and let the stranger inside. He was covered in snow, his fingertips were turning red and his cheeks were flushed.
"Are you okay? What are you doing out in weather like this?"
"I could ask you the same thing." He smiled. "Sorry if I scared you."
"It's okay. Are you here to buy some books?"
He nodded, dusting off the snow with your help. Only now did you notice his shape. He was broad and tall.
"Actually, I am." He smiled. "Sorry, I should have introduced myself. Beau Arlen."
That's why he looked so familiar.
You had seen him around town every now and then, mostly making his way in and out of the coffee shop across the way, Dewell and Hoyt and some of the local stores.
"Y/N Y/L/N." you smiled back. "So, what exactly is it that you're looking for?"
"I don't know."
Your eyebrows knitted together for a moment before he pulled a piece of paper from the back of his jeans and handed it over to you.
"My daughter...she wrote me a list."
You took the list from his hands and opened it up. There was some good titles on it.
Emma, by Jane Austen.
A Christmas Carol, by Charles Dickens.
Sherlock Holmes, Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo, Dr Suess, Chronicles of Narnia.
"I think we have some of these in stock. I'll check in the back for the others."
"Thank you."
"I've still got the fire going if you want to warm yourself up." You offered, pointing over towards the two leather sofa's that sat paralle to one another beside the fire.
"Is it safe to have a fire in a bookstore?"
"The fireplace has been there since the place was first built. I only put it on in desperate conditions." You turned back with a small smile before disappearing into the back of the store to look for some of the less commonly stocked books.
Pretty much most of them you managed to find on the shelves, Beau helping.
"Whoa." You said aloud as the rolling stairs went a little further than anticipated.
"You okay?"
"Yeah."
"You want me to hold it still?"
You nodded. "If you don't mind."
You managed to reach the top of the bookshelves for the extra boxes, finally finding the last copy of A Christmas Carol.
"I'm usually banned from using this ladder." You told Beau. "Last time I was on it, I slipped from the fourth step and twisted my ankle."
Slowly, you climbed back down. Only, once you made it to the half way mark, you felt Beau's hands hold onto the back of your legs. They hovered just far enough from your skin to help you down but be close enough to catch you if you fell.
And it was a good job because just before you hit the bottom, your foot missed the step, sending you sliding down.
Thankfully, Beau took your waist into his hands and helped you safely to your feet.
"Thanks."
Beau smiled down, letting go of you once he knew you were okay. "You should probably get some safer ladders."
You smiled. "That's not the first time someone has told me that."
Beau gave you another smile and you found your words faltering in your mouth.
"Um," you stepped back and handed over the book. "Here you are. Is that everything? Not got another list in your back pocket, have you?"
Beau looked down with a soft chuckle. "No, not this time."
You rung up his order, asking if he'd like for them to be gift wrapped. "No, that's okay. Em's having me wrap them with her at home. She says I need the practice."
"It can't be that bad, surely."
Beau smiled and leaned onto the counter. "Whatever you're imagining, it's worse than that."
"Well, nothing can be worse than my parent's wrapping." You told him. "One year they just handed me a gift in a plastic bag with an upside down bow."
"What was it?"
"The gift? A vintage camera and record player." You smiled. "There up over there."
You pointed over towards the large wooden unit beside the fireplace.
"Did you take these photos?" Beau asked, looking to the postcards beside the register.
You smiled shyly. "I got bored one day and decided to go for a walk. There is a beautiful place by this canyon. There's a lake that runs just below it."
Beau studied the photo a little better. It seemed very familiar.
"Do you fish?"
"Sorry?"
You smiled, continuing to bag up the books. "I asked, do you fish? It's a good fishing spot if you ever wanted to try."
Beau clicked his fingers. "That's why I recognise it."
"Have you ever been on the hiking trail above it?" You asked.
"No, I- Uh...I haven't had the chance."
"Maybe, if you'd like, I could show you?"
Beau looked up and for a moment, he didn't know what you were asking. But the moment he did, he smiled, bowed his head to try and hide the texan blush on his cheeks, and nodded.
Finally he looked back up; "I'd like that."
"It might be a bit cold, but it's beautiful in the snow."
Beau smiled. "I'm sure it is."
"How about Saturday? If there's no big snow blizzard."
Beau nodded, paying his cash and picking up the bag of books from the counter. "Saturday it is."
Turning back around towards the door, Beau looked out to the snow.
"How long have you got left on your shift?"
You looked up to him, taping some boxes up. "Not long. Maybe about 10 minutes? Why?"
"Would you...would you like me to drive you home? With this snow and everything...I mean...what kind of Sheriff would I be if I let a citizen nearly die because of frost bite?"
You gave him a light smile and nodded. "That would be nice. Thank you."
Eventually, you closed the shop and followed him to his car. “So? How long have you been in Montana?”
“All my life,” you answered. “Mostly. I mean, I left to go to College but...I came back.”
“And the bookstore?”
You smiled as you explained the story to him on the way to your home. “It was something I always wanted to do. As a kid I had a vision board for my life - yes, I was that kid.” Beau smiled. “Anyway, I used to dream of owning my own bookstore and seeing kids like me find that place where they can go and just...be them. Pick up a book and...find another world. What about you? What made you want to be a Sheriff?”
“My dad,” Beau began. “We use to watch all these old westerns and he used to tell me all these cool stories of what he had done that day at work. About the people he helped.”
“He was your hero?”
Beau nodded and smiled. “Yeah.”
Finally, Beau pulled up outside of your home and you unbuckled your seat-belt. “I guess I’ll see you on Saturday?”
“I guess you will.” Beau smiled.
He waited until you unlocked your door and walked inside before he pulled away.
Maybe it was a good thing you stayed in Montana after all.
#beau arlen#beau arlen x reader#beau arlen x you#big sky#fluff#snow#date#sheriff beau arlen#books#dewell and hoyt#sheriff's department#falling in love#winter#pre-christmas#cute#bookstore romance#jensen ackles#beau arlen x fe!reader#strangers to lover#flirting#strangers to friends to lovers
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(Saw a post on here and giving you a uhh paragraph)
It’s kinda funny how adults act immature cuz the want too but like doing it in reverse where kids are ya know … looking at the adult content is kinda strange I mean yeah sure I get that kids are kids and their parents are just being irresponsible and not stopping their kid getting traumatized by gay porn (nothing wrong with being gay) and sex itself just the parents are gonna get a shocked reaction when they get a call from their child’s school saying “yeah so we heard your child talking about uhh tiny gay midget Hentie and we are wondering if you guys have been around your kid or if your child has been exposed to unsafe videos on the internet or anything” but at the same time schools don’t really do anything but call parents and tell them stuff or suspend kids.
But the parents might have to beat their kid with a belt or ground them both punishments really just makes the situation worse because your child has already been exposed to this content there really is no way to protect them anymore they know what porn already know what R34 is and worse they start getting boners to their own family members and just honestly the younger generation is just slowly getting worse each passing month,day or hell maybe a year that’s all though really
- 🏢🏢
so i go to a lot of school board meetings for work (they’re pretty wild tbh) and a big issue in my state over the past year was an update to the sex ed curriculum which got wildly misinterpreted by conservatives as the state trying to teach children porn (it was literally teaching kindergartners the proper names for genitalia, then things like third graders learning about gender roles and how they can be harmful. then actually learning about sex in i think fifth grade? i know this because unlike those fearmongering i actually read the curriculum myself) but the point is, most parents don’t really understand what their kids get up to online. many of the people were complaining about middle schoolers and high schoolers learning about things like contraception and anal sex (i live in a verrrrry conservative area lol) and i kept trying not to laugh because they have no idea their kids are hearing much worse things on the bus every day and can (and most likely do) find horrible things online.
i guess the point of all of this is much like how i think books shouldn’t be banned and that censorship is bad, children need better sex ed. personally i went to catholic school and never even HAD sex ed. i learned what masturbation was from reading a fucking harry potter fanfiction when i was 12. i didn’t have a proper sex ed class til i was in the 8h grade and went to public school and by that point i felt like i had missed out and was so confused by everything because i learned it all from the internet which obviously is not good. by teaching proper sex education, it equips children with better tools if they end up in dangerous situations. and it’s way better to learn it from a teacher than fanfiction.net like some of us lol
idk this all got so serious anyway. nica is getting off her soapbox now.
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About the Racists, Homophobes, and Purists Reviewing amc’s “Interview with the Vampire”
To put it bluntly: the people giving this show bad reviews are racists and homophobes. This is a damn good show that breathes new life into an old story, and the fan reviews claiming that this adaptation is “horrible” and a “disgrace” to Anne Rice’s work are simply bigots who cannot stand to see two men kissing on screen and/or who are ridiculously offended that Black actors are playing Louis and Claudia.
Don’t believe me? Look at what fan reviewer joshua g had to say on Rotten Tomatoes: “Of course they would take a classic that does not need change, and turn it into a homosexual love story.” Obviously, his 0.5-star rating (the lowest rating possible on Rotten Tomatoes) was not motivated by the quality of the show but by his own homophobia. P W is another fan reviewer who gave the show a whopping 0.5 stars, because he has a problem with People of Color playing some of the leading characters. He says: “At some point, the intentional casting of minorities in reboots is going to end. History will look unfavorably at the practice.” Fan reviewer Rich G says it even more bluntly: “I dislike this show for one very specific reason. The race swapping of Louis and Claudie” (the misspelling of Claudia’s name is his mistake, not mine). Meanwhile, a fan reviewer on IMDb, GeorgeWHAMMYBush, gave the show a 1/10 (the lowest possible rating on IMDb) and this review: “They made the whole thing a dismally shot propaganda piece and it's painful to sit through… The plot gets obliterated completely in this and it's barely about vampirism at all and is now about race and sexual orientation. The whole thing is a waste of time. They then go after religion because while it was touched on as offensive to vampires in the books here it is clearly the target of the hacks who made this abomination. This could be studied in school as a part of a series on why American media failed when it had every chance to succeed. Whoever made this should be banned from the media industry entirely. Do not bother watching this. It will just aggravate you.” Most of the very low reviews on Rotten Tomatoes and IMBb are reminiscent of these examples, and it’s cringingly obvious these people just hate the show because they are racist and homophobic.
It amuses me that some of these bigots are attempting to use their alleged “love” for the source material as a mask for their racism and homophobia. Like “HOW DARE THEY CHANGE ANNE RICE’S BOOK AND MAKE LOUIS A BLACK MAN INSTEAD OF A SLAVE OWNER!?” or “HOW DARE THEY MAKE LOUIS GAY JUST TO SEEM WOKE!?” But if these so called “avid fans” actually read any of Anne Rice’s books, they must have stopped after book one, because if they got even to book 2 they would have known that Louis and Lestat have ALWAYS been an LGBT couple. If you read book 1, “Interview with the Vampire,” and missed the pretty-hard-to-miss subtext, go re-read it. To recap: Louis talks about how Lestat “had me mesmerized, enchanted” (direct quote); Louis explicitly compares Lestat turning him into a vampire to sex; he and Lestat live together for over sixty year; and they adopt a child together. By book 2, “The Vampire Lestat,” Lestat has male lovers both before and after becoming a vampire, and he confirms that he and Louis were lovers. He and Louis also have a heartfelt reunion in the 80s, and they kiss multiple times on the mouth. (I know, too gay for people who didn’t get past the Neil Jordan film.) By the time we reach the final book in of series, “Blood Communion,” Louis and Lestat are again living together, and in the final chapter of the book, they dance together at a ball, embrace, kiss multiple times on the lips, and profess their undying love for one another. Sorry, homophobes, but these vampires ain’t never been straight, and you’d know that if you actually read the books.
Aside from the raving racists and homophobes, there are some fan reviewers who seem to genuinely love Rice’s “Vampire Chronicles” but have a problem with the amc series diverging from the source material. Again, the “race swapping” is commonly mentioned, so I wonder how many of these people are also motivated by prejudice, but they have other problems too, such as changes in the time period, the ages of the character’s, the dialog (come on, what tv show preserves all of the dialogue from the books?), and even tiny unimportant details like the vampires “spilling blood” when they kill people. I understand when you passionately love a book series (and I myself passionately love “The Vampire Chronicles”), you imagine the story and characters a certain way, but what these people need to realize is that it is not unusual, uncommon, unfair, or disrespectful for tv reboots or movies to make changes from the books. “Interview with the Vampire” was already made into a very successful and well-known movie in 1994, and most remakes/reboots that do NOT try anything new but simply repeat what has already been done fail miserably. “Psycho,” “Nightmare of Elm Street,” “Carrie”... these are all movies that took a classic and remade it more or less the same as the original, and all of these films were brushed off and forgotten because they offered nothing new and exciting, nothing updated and relevant, nothing thought-provoking that would allow the audience to think of things in a different way or see things in a new light. In simply repeating the original with different actors, they failed to live up to the original. The same thing has happened when books have been made into movies and then later into tv series: look at “The Shining.” Most people don’t even know the inferior miniseries exists, even though it is more accurate to the book and Stephen King wrote it himself. On the contrary, some of the most successful remakes, the kind of remakes that make people say, “This is better than the original!”—which, by the way, the majority of critics and fans ARE saying about amc’s “Interview with the Vampire”—are remembered and beloved because they do not just rehash the same old material but because they put a spin on old characters and content; they make changes and updates; they offer the audience something new, exciting, current, and relevant, something more and something deeper. Some examples: “The Fly,” “The Thing,” “Invasion of the Body Snatchers.” This is what amc is doing with “Interview with the Vampire.”
So, if you earnestly love the original books, that’s wonderful, but you have the books, and you can read them as many times as you want. You also have the Neil Jordan film which you can re-watch to your liking. Now, the amc series is remaking/rebooting this series, and it is not a crime for production teams to take creative liberties, and I honestly do not see this as a disrespect to Anne Rice’s work either. She SOLD the rights of her work for this television series, which means the production team can make whatever changes they want. That’s how it goes for any author whose book is being made into a movie: they sign the contract, they get paid (and Anne Rice most likely got paid millions of dollars for this series) and they don’t have any say over what changes are made to the production. Even most script writers who spend months or years creating characters and writing a story, if they are lucky enough to sell their script to a production company, they lose creative control over that story. That’s just the way it works. It’s nothing new. It’s nothing shocking. And it’s not a “disgrace.” This has been going on literally always since movies and television shows have been made based on books. Have you ever seen the “original” 1931 “Frankenstein” movie? Ever compare it to Mary Shelley’s book? So like I was saying, movies/tv shows departing from the source material is nothing new and nothing to be “furious” or “disgusted” about.
Now, if you love the show, please go leave a review on IMDb and Rotten Tomatoes, because it’s being review-bombed by racists and homophobes and purists who want to see it tank! But we won’t let that happen because they dumbass bitches and love wins! ♥️
#amc's interview with the vampire#AMC+#AMC#amc plus#interview with the vampire#Lestat De Lioncourt#lestat#Louis de Pointe du Lac#lestat x louis#loustat#homophobia#racisim#rotten tomatoes#imdb#reviews#critic reviews#the vampire chronicles#claudia
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Chapter Seven- Guilty Tears
Arthur Leclerc x Sofia Sine
->goodbye's have never been so hard for Arthur and Sofia, but this goodbye in particular held so much more behind it.
warnings: mentions of cancer, fighting cancer alone, mentions of death, I think that's it but please let me know if there is anything else, I don't know how cancer treatments actually go, I only ever heard of bits and pieces so if anything is wrong, I am sorry, I'm writing a fictional story regardless.
word count: 1500
a/n: I sobbed writing this one, sorry bestie boos
Seven days post treatment and Sofia was finally feeling somewhat normal again.
This past treatment had taken a toll on her, knocking her off of her feet for five days straight- only waking up to go to the bathroom or to try to get some food and water in her system.
Despite only sleeping most days, Arthur had never left her side once. Every time Sofia woke up, Arthur was in her bed, at her desk doing work, or even sitting on the floor reading a book.
Sofia had told him countless times that he didn’t have to stay- that there were far more interesting things he could be doing than being cooped up in an apartment with her all week long while she slept her treatment pains away- but Arthur insisted on staying.
When Sofia had finally been able to keep her eyes open for longer than an hour at a time, the two of them would watch a movie, talk about the upcoming F2 season, and eat food as long as Sofia could stomach it.
Sofia had appreciated Arthur’s company, it made the idea of treatments and recovery just a little bit more bearable, though she knew it wouldn’t last for long.
In a weeks time, the F2 season would be underway and Arthur would be home less and less, meaning that she would have to attend her treatments alone, recover from them alone, and fight off this horrible illness alone.
The thing she hated the most about it though was the fact that she would be unable to attend any of the races this year- at least not for the first half of the season.
Due to the intensity and side effects of her treatment, Dr. M had put Sofia on a strict no traveling ban.
Thankfully though, F2 did race in Monaco and she would be able to see parts of the track from her bedroom window, but that wasn’t the same as attending a grand prix weekend with him.
When Arthur came into Sofia’s room late that Wednesday night, she knew it was him coming to say goodbye. Arthur would be gone for three weeks, having no time to fly back home and visit in between race weekends.
Sofia looked up from her book and saw Arthur standing in the doorway of her room, his face holding an expression of sadness and sorrow- almost as though he felt guilty for having to leave her.
Arthur smiled sadly, walking over to her bed before sitting on the edge of it and picking up her hand gently. “I’ve gotta go… my flight leaves in an hour”
Sofia put her book down and nodded a little, her eyes meeting his for a moment. “Ok, have fun, I’ll be watching every session, you know that”
Arthur nodded and looked down at their hands as he felt himself getting emotional. “I’m sorry I won’t be here for your next treatment… I really tried to get some time off to fly here for the day but it’s just not possible…”
Sofia squeezed his hand a little and nodded. “It’s ok, Art. I understand. You’ve got a busy season this year, I can’t expect you to be here with me 24/7 nor can I expect you to be able to come with me to every appointment”
Arthur sighed and shook his head “This isn’t fair, Sof. You should be coming with me. You should be with me for my first F2 race”
Sofia teared up a little, the realities of how much this disease was truly taking from her finally hitting her. Arthur would never have a first F2 race again. She would be missing out on the start of what could potentially land him a seat in Formula 1- and she hated it.
“I know, Arthur. I know…” she whispered, her voice beginning to crack as a few tears managed to slip down her face.
Arthur pulled Sofia into a tight hug, not knowing what else to say or do. He hated the fact that he couldn’t even sit with her for very long-he was on a strict time schedule and this goodbye was already taking way longer than he had time for. “I’ve gotta go, but please know that I love you and that I'm here for you, even if I'm thousands of miles away, ok?”
Sofia nodded and pulled from the hug “I know, Arthur. I love you too”
Arthur sighed and let go of Sofia’s hand, pushing himself off of the bed as he made his way towards the door.
Sofia stared down at her fidgeting hands, already missing the hold Arthur’s hand had on them just seconds prior. Tears were falling down her face, a few drops landing on her hands in front of her. Silent cries, ones that she was hoping Arthur wouldn’t notice. She hadn’t expected this goodbye to be so hard- goodbyes were something her and Arthur were used to- but this one held so much more behind it.
It meant she would be alone for the next three weeks- Nobody to hold her while she suffers through her treatment, nobody to wake her up just to try to get her to eat or drink, nobody to keep her company when she felt alone or sad
It meant missing out on seeing Arthur start his F2 career, something he had longed for and dreamed of ever since signing his F3 contract two years ago.
But the one thing that weighed on her the most was the possibility that maybe this was the last time she’d ever see Arthur.
What if something happened when he was gone and she didn’t make it? The last memory she had of him would be that sad, guilt ridden face as he apologized for doing what he loved.
Arthur turned around as he was about to walk out of her bedroom. He didn’t fail to notice the few tears dripping off of her face and onto her hands, nor did he fail to notice the way her breathing had increased despite her being able to keep her cries silent. His heart broke at the sight before him, knowing that he was partially to blame for the tears falling.
Without saying another word, Arthur walked out of the room, knowing that even though it was the last thing he wanted to do right now, he didn’t really have a choice.
He got out to the car, climbing into the back seat as Charles and Charlotte occupied both front seats. “Someone really should have stayed with her, you know” he mumbled, sort of as a stab at Charlotte for choosing to attend a race instead of sitting with her sister, but the more he thought about it, the more he realized that he was doing the same thing.
He could’ve chosen to stay home with her. He could have chosen to take a year off of racing and hoped that Rene would give him his shot at F2 next year, but no.
He chose to leave her.
He chose to let her fight this fight alone.
He chose to fly thousands of miles away to pursue his dreams.
“Sorry, that was rude of me to say, I'm sorry..” he whispered, his voice shaking as tears began to form in his eyes.
“It’s ok…” Charlotte said as she noticed the pain in his voice. “She doesn’t want me anywhere near her.. She only trusts you right now… I hope you understand why i’ve chosen to attend the first grand prix”
Arthur nodded and looked out the window. Charlotte was right. Sofia had pushed everyone away except for him. She only trusted him. She could only be vulnerable with him. She didn’t want to be around anyone but him. “Do you think I made a mistake by leaving her? Should I have stayed?”
Charlotte shook her head. “You know she would be disappointed if you had chosen to stop racing to be by her side. That’s what she was afraid of in the beginning and the main reason why she waited so long to tell you. She wants you to do what you love, Arthur.”
“Yeah but I can always do it next year..”
Charlotte nodded a little. “I say we see how this first race goes and if she really can’t handle being alone, then you can reevaluate the situation, ok?”
Arthur nodded “yeah, ok” he said before staring out the window.
Was this truly the right decision?
Would Sofia be ok without him?
Would he be able to perform well with so much on his mind?
Maybe he should’ve stayed.
Maybe he should have Charles stop the car so he could run back to her apartment and hold her in his arms again.
Maybe she would be ok without him.
Maybe she can handle this on her own.
Maybe she wants nothing more than to fall asleep in his arms.
Maybe she’s scared of fighting this alone.
Maybe tragedy will strike and leave them both wishing they would have done something different…
#arthur leclerc fanfic#arthur leclerc fanfiction#arthur leclerc fluff#arthur leclerc imagine#arthur leclerc#f2 fanfic#f2 imagine
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Cause/Effect
Summary: Commisson; Male reader/Theo Raeken, Theo has to know the effect he has on everyone, right?
TW: Smut
Support My Writing?
Commissons Rules Here!
You don’t look up from where you’re reading, Scott had given you a whole list of books and journal entries and text messages, and far too much to catch up on now that you were in the pack. You can almost feel Theo Raeken standing over you.
When you’d first met him, before you knew about all the supernatural things happening, before you knew what he had become from the doctors, you assumed that he was just cocky and though the was better than everyone else. After learning what had happened, what he’d asked for you assumed it was possible some sort of guilt complex but the longer you spend around him the more you realize he’s just being cocky.
Stiles had been the one to grumble to you about it first and you’re about to commiserate with him but then he scoffs about how Theo’s bisexual and he only does it since he discovered that the type of guy he likes also likes him back and he’s flirting.
“He’s flirting?” You watch Theo wiping the weights down with a towel.
“Yeah, he’s a cocky asshole, he learned it from Jackson fuckin’ Whittenmore.”
“Lydia’s lizard boyfriend?”
“Mhm, they’d get along better if they didn’t have doctor issues.” Stiles laughs a little and you join, knowing enough to be aware the joke is funny, in a traumatic way, which it feels like most everything is.
You don’t mean to pay more attention to Theo after that but you can’t help it, you’re attracted to him, and having confirmation that he’s actually into guys, that you could have a chance with him. You know he knows because you think he’s been showing off for you. You try your best not to make it obvious and don’t even ask Stiles if you’re being obvious, worried if you have to ask his answer will be yes.
“What do you want, Raeken?” Theo laughs, he knows he’s riled you up enough, knows you’re going to snap at him. He laughs more when you stalk over towards him.
“I may be human but there are things I can do that you’ll never expect.”
“Prove it.” You knew he was going to say it and you smirk a little.
It's clear he's not expecting you to attempt to shove him into the wall. The key word is attempt as you end up barely moving him.
"Better luck next time, pretty kitty." You scowl at the nickname trying not to blush at all. Theo had given it to you after Scott had mentioned how you'd stuck around all of them like a stray cat, after you'd been exposed to the supernatural underworld that covered Beacon Hills. He’d ended up shoving you into the wall instead, shoulders shaking in silent laughter as he moves his hand from your shoulder where he’d shoved you.
He’s watching you and tilts his head like he’s studying you. You’ve never seen him look at you this long and you wonder if this is what Scott meant when he’d mumbled how you’d kept Theo in line.
Theo laughs out loud and you huff a little. He closes his mouth and resumes watching you. You press your lips to his, surprised when he actually stays quiet. You can feel the spike of nerves, that you had gotten it wrong, that he might not be interested in guys that somehow Stiles had lied or Scott had been wrong and you’re about to say sorry but he just smirks and laughs more.
“What’s funny?”
“Well you finally got me to stay quiet, I was hoping if I laughed you’d do it again, or should I do something else?”
“What if we did something else?” You smirk a little and are expecting something to happen but Theo just steps back from you.
“We?”
“Yes? We, as in us doing something together?” You wink and he waits for you to continue.
“What?” You frown a little as he keeps his eyes darting around your body.
“Didn’t think you sucking me off would be considered an ‘us’ thing, since you’re the one doing all the work.” He grins as you blush at him.
“Or would you rather me suck your dick, do all the work?”
“Both?”
“We can’t use the bed, Scott has a ban on supernaturals in his bed unless it’s him.”
“Why would we do ANYTHING in Scott’s bed!!!” You scowl and Theo bites at your neck.
“Hm okay I see why we would…” You trail off as he rocks his hips against yours and you can feel his dick pressing on your thigh.
“So, you want to break the rules? I thought you were supposed to be reformed and all that.” You tease and Theo growls into your ear.
“Only if we break the bed.” He tugs you towards Scott’s room.
Support My Writing?
#male reader insert#male reader#theo raeken#theo raeken imagine#theo raeken reader insert#theo raeken x you#theo raeken x y/n#theo raeken x reader#theo raeken x male reader#written#stattic#commissons are open still#smut
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You’ll Be Just Fine, One Shot
Thank you for the prompt! Hope you like it! toshisurtsdottir submitted: Thor saved a princess from another world who had been imprisoned and abused for centuries. Living on Asgard, she finds she's a little lost and has a hard time adjusting to the way of living on Asgard. Adding to that, she is plagued by nightmares. Luckily, Loki is there to help with all that.
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‘Hey, Princess.’
She rolled her eyes upon hearing that name as she turned to face the God of Mischief. Who for some reason, seemed to have taken a shining to her. Not that she was complaining, really. She liked him, he was a bit cocky and mischievous, but kind and intelligent.
‘Hi, Loki.’ She put her book down and turned towards him.
‘Couldn’t sleep?’ Loki asked as he crossed the library to sit down next to her.
‘Nightmares.’ She said quietly, looking down.
‘Sometimes nightmares can be a blessing in disguise.’
She frowned at him. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Come with me.’ Loki smiled, his eyes were twinkling mischievously.
But she trusted him, for some reason. Even though many people on Asgard didn’t. But he seemed to understand her more than anyone else. While she was incredibly grateful to Thor for saving her from her home world, where she had endured terrible abuse and imprisonment for most of her life, Loki just had a different view on life and she could just speak to him about anything and everything without worry of being judged.
Loki led her through the house of Odin with ease, whilst he had lived there his whole life and knew every nook and cranny, she could only just get herself from her chambers to the library and back again without getting lost.
When he led her outside into the courtyard, she was a bit confused. But then he headed for the stable block, making her stop.
Loki noticed and turned to her. ‘Are you coming?’
‘I can’t ride…’
‘No matter. Come on.’ Loki put his hand out towards her.
She reluctantly took his hand, feeling warmed when he gave her a gentle squeeze and led her on. The way he rubbed his thumb on the back of her hand made her skin tingle. She wasn’t used to gentle touch, only harsh abuse.
When they walked into the stables, she was unsure of the horses. Especially the one Loki led her to, that was being tacked up ready for them.
‘It’s ok, he won’t hurt you. Come on, I have to show you something.’ Loki said as he coaxed her closer to the large animal.
She just warily kept herself at the other side of Loki, so he was between her and the horse. But Loki then grabbed her and with a squeak, she was carefully swung up onto the saddle.
Loki mounted the horse behind her, his arms came around her to take the reins while she held onto the front of the saddle tightly.
‘Don’t worry, we won’t go fast.’ Loki said, he could feel how tense she was.
As they headed out through the city, she began to relax more. Loki pointed out some places of importance to her, and some not so important places.
‘That’s the tavern where Thor disgraced himself. One of the many places where the Prince of Asgard is actually banned from.’ Loki chuckled.
But the main place Loki wanted to take her to, wasn’t in the city. They rode out into the mountains, going by the moonlight. She did get a little anxious, until they came across a beautiful waterfall in the middle of a mountain, the way the moonlight was shining right down on the water made it sparkle beautifully.
‘Oh wow. This place is incredible.’ She said in awe as Loki helped her down from the horse.
‘Only I know about it… well, now you do too. I’d like to keep it that way. It’s best coming here at night when the moon is out, it doesn’t quite have the same effect during the day.’
She took time taking in the surroundings, before they both ended up sitting at the side of the water. Loki was sitting crossed legged, but she had her legs down dipping into the water.
‘So, how come you were awake too?’ She asked Loki.
‘Nightmares.’ Loki said as he nudged her playfully with his arm.
‘Ah… I’m not the only one.’ She said quietly.
‘No, you’re not. Though I can’t imagine what you’ve been through. I hope you know that you will never have to fear again, you’re safe here.’ Loki put his hand onto her knee softly for a moment.
‘Thank you… I just think it will take some time. I’m still getting used to just having my freedom, not being locked away in a cell… All this space, it’s quite overwhelming in a way.’
‘That’s understandable. But in time, you will adjust. Asgardians are good people. But if you ever feel overwhelmed or like you just need some time out, this is the place to be.’ Loki smiled.
‘It is very calming here. My mind feels clear, for the first time in a long time.’ She closed her eyes and smiled. A smile that Loki had not seen from her yet, it made his heart soar with happiness that he was able to help her somewhat.
She leaned in closer to him and rested her head on his shoulder, letting out a content sigh as she closed her eyes.
‘You’ll be just fine here. I give you my word.’ Loki whispered to her.
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Omg wait 20, 23, and 24 for Touka, Ayato, and maybe maybe Renji :OO
Alright here we go! Kirishima family.
Touka, such an icon, if I don’t see her giving up on her dreams for Kaneki it didn’t happen.
20. A weird headcanon
Yoriko briefly really wanted to start a band, and Touka actually got really good at playing the electric guitar because of it. The band never happened but she retains the skill. Karaoke night at Anteiku is all fun and games until Touka breaks out the guitar and now everyone’s just sitting on the floor in awe while she duets whatever song gets chosen on the jukebox out of their small catalog. She’s got Wonderwall down to a T at this point, everyone say thanks Koma.
23. Future headcanon
After the utter chaos of the dragon died down, she returned to her ambition of researching the origin of ghouls! She became widely respected in her field and wrote a couple books with theories that were used far into the future, and eventually one of them was proven.
24. What do you think is a secret they have that they never told anyone?
When she worked at Anteiku, she collected little scraps of travel magazines, research articles, etc. and kept them in a drawer. Just motivation for days when pretending to be a human at school was difficult.
Ayato! Garbage child, committed 3 war crimes before he learned what a kidney was, banned from 4 public restaurants.
20. A weird headcanon
If he wasn’t a ghoul his beverage of choice would be some terrible soft drink or just straight milk with no alternative. I can’t specify the prior because I’ve had a singular sip of about 2 sodas in my entire life but I can speak for the latter, because the two of us are very similar in certain ways and I thrive on milk. No one has ever made the interesting critter joke and it saddens me.
23. Future headcanon
I know he’s canonically 5’5 (170cm) by the end of the series but consider, it would be way funnier if he just stayed 5’2 (159 cm) and for that reason I will always draw him shorter than everyone. Pry short Ayato out of my cold dead hands Ishida you can’t make me believe this idiot is even average height.
24. What do you think is a secret they have that they never told anyone?
Generally he did a lot of stuff at Aogiri he’s not proud of at all anymore. Many ghouls are forced to kill from very young ages on account of their parents being taken by the CCG, but they’ll still have someone to help them compartmentalize it, and typically they’re not slaughtering for the sake of slaughtering in the name of a terrorist organization. He had a lot of power and a need to prove everyone wrong and to prove himself, so he blindly committed at least a few atrocities mindlessly following a command. He refuses to open up about any of it.
Renji! Uncle by birth, good one by choice.
20. A weird headcanon
He genuinely does not know how to tie a standard shoelace knot. Any pair of shoes with laces he owns were tied once by someone else and are functionally slip-ons. Uta refuses to teach him because he thinks watching this grown man struggle to keep his shoes on is the absolute HEIGHT of comedy, and Yomo refuses to ask anyone else because of pride. So Uta will continue to lose his goddamn mind in peace. Why did the mask maker just fall off his chair cackling? Look across the room, Renji’s probably fighting for his life with a piece of string and losing.
23. Future headcanon
Constantly anticipating the next murder attempt from your closest companion is… an objectively miserable way to live. But he’s also still well aware Uta will go right back to “tormenting everyone you love because I desperately need your attention if I can’t have your affection.” So he has no choice but to tolerate it for a very long time. However, I like to think it gets more tame with time. From ward-shaking battles to simple poison in his drinks and whatnaught. Sometimes Uta just jumps out of his closet and stabs him halfheartedly 3 times with a stolen quinque and then goes home and that’s the murder attempt for the week. It’s a funny dynamic because that’s a miserable day for Uta and he’s probably going to be pondering the emptiness of his own existence for the rest of the night and is only held back because of lack of drive, and a good one for Renji because in his mind less murdering is a sign of calming down, right? And he can focus on his actual healthy family and friends. Also like a couple others I’ve seen, I do like the thought that eventually Uta is successful. It fixes nothing.
24. What do you think is a secret they have that they never told anyone?
Overall he's a very secretive person but I should probably think of something relatively amusing because I could go on about genuine regrets for a while... As a teenager in the fourth ward he'd graffiti ravens with bloody claws, and thought it was very cool and tragic at the time, but on account of his poor art skills they kind of just looked like weird black blobs with red feet. That unrecognizable form was a blessing and a curse because he can insist that it definitely wasn't him without major suspicion.
#Another fun one! I adore the kirishimas and I was hoping someone would ask for them#speaking of which if anyone sent some numbers for furuta I would love you /p#touka kirishima#renji yomo#ayato kirishima#tokyo ghoul#miscellaneous not-art things#zeph answers questions about media/characters/ships
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I just saw this post and I wanted to know if you’ve noticed this change too. I was born in the 2000s so I didn’t really experience these changes growing up, but I do definitely notice a large change in public entertainment.
https://www.tumblr.com/magnetothemagnificent/720556812878888960/the-world-is-so-hostile-to-tweens-like-we
That post gets a lot wrong (like, a lot) but as someone who grew up in the 90s there is definitely a dumbing down of "kids" entertainment. The golden age of Snick or the Disney Channel seems to be long past. That much, at least, I agree with.
But that post extrapolates that to every facet of society and blames it on things that have nothing to do with tweens. Anti-loitering laws have been a thing since before I was born, and tween age kids shouldn't be hanging around in front of convenience stores and in parking lots anyway. It's bad for the stores and dangerous for the kids. Arcades didn't die out because they were "taken" from kids, they died out because the rise of easily accessible home video game systems and gaming PCs made them unprofitable. These days the only arcades in America are attached to other businesses, like go-kart tracks, amusement boardwalks, and laser tag rooms, which are all still marketed towards tweens and teens, or bars and restaurants, which are geared more towards adults. And don't even get me started on the nonsense about book "bans" being responsible for our plummeting literacy rates. literacy dying is because we've stopped teaching proper English, along with kids learning to read by going online and reading social media posts with terrible grammar and limited space to form coherent thoughts, and the general educational trend away from critical thinking and creative writing and towards passing tests and parroting information they have little to no understanding of. The drop in literacy coinciding with the drop in literally every other educational metric isn't because some states are taking porn out of school libraries. It's because of the rapid failure of the public education system as a whole.
I'm not gonna go point by point here, but that post is so laughably wrong I'm shocked OP managed to identify a single real problem that actually exists.
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Please note that this is very much a rant about their school system that deals with/mentions topics like grooming, sexual assault/abuse, pedophilia, and the sex education system as a whole.
If any of these topics are triggering or upsetting for you, do not read this post.
Considering a post I just reblogged on banned books and sex education, I figured I’m going to make a post explaining my stance on this, so I can point people here if I ever get asks about this kind of stuff.
I went to a middle of the country school when I was in middle school and my first year of high school, but it definitely was smaller and had a southern vibe. If that makes no sense, look up “Tornado Alley,” and that’s about where I was.
My school system did two years of middle school and four years of high school, and I had some sex education. Rather, I had one class period per year in middle school. I went through this class twice.
It did not teach anything substantial about sex. It did not explain what reproductive organs were or how they worked; it did not explain what sex was; it did not teach me about how to use a condom or even what one was. It did not teach me about consent or what rape and sexual abuse or assault. I didn’t even know what that was.
Do you want to know what I learned?
I learned about some STIs/STDs. The guy showed pictures of them in class and explained the symptoms entirely through sickening food comparisons that have left me having trouble eating/looking at any of those foods today (example: he compared syphilis to pepperoni) He did made no actual attempt to explain how they were contracted (beyond “I told [name] not to lick the pepperoni; he licked the pepperoni”) or where they originated from.
You know what else he taught me?
Apparently, sex felt good.
I had no understanding of what any sort of sexual assault/abuse was, and my basic reaction to the vague concept I was aware of was, “just run away.” (An incredibly toxic and victim-blaming mindset that I am ashamed of to this day.) If I had been in a situation where I was being raped or groomed or in a situation akin to that, I would not have known what was happening to me was wrong and needed to be reported. Fortunately, I wasn’t.
And, for the record, my boyfriend had to explain to me how sex works when I was sixteen, because I still didn’t know. And that supposedly helpful sex ed did nothing to help me.
About the same time my boyfriend explained to me how things actually worked in the bedroom, when I was still sixteen, I met a man who visited the neighborhood occasionally because he had a job in lawn maintenance. He was always friendly to me whenever we met. I didn’t know his name, but I saw him when I went on walks around the neighborhood, and we exchanged pleasantries. I thought he was nice.
He had the habit, whenever we saw each other from afar, of blowing kisses to me. I thought he was trying to be grandfatherly. I didn’t knew what it was, and I still don’t really know what to classify it as.
One day, he approached me in his truck and started speaking to me. He asked me my name and if I had a boyfriend. I gave my name and said yes. He told me I was pretty and he liked me. Then he asked me if I wanted to have sex. This man was in his fifties or sixties, and I’ve been mistaken by people for being a couple years younger than I am. There was no way he could have thought I was an adult. I had mentioned going to high school sometimes when we had taker before.
I walked back home, terrified that he would drive by me, throw me in the back of the car, and I’d end up assaulted and eventually dead in a ditch. He didn’t, but I was terrified the entire time.
I wish I had known this stuff sooner, and I didn’t even experience anything that bad. Knowing about It wouldn’t have stopped that from happening, but maybe I could have seen that a man in his fifties or sixties blowing kisses at a sixteen year old kid was not normal.
Imagine how it could have helped for people who go due experience trauma and weren’t lucky the way at I was. People could have figured out the signs of abusive partners or figured out that behaviors indicators of grooming or predatory behavior. It would allow people to know what to report to authorities.
To sum up the product of my ranting/venting; sex education is just as important aspect of of growing up as secular education, and it is vital for the prevention, report, and punishment of abuse and assault.
#Sex Education#The US’s sex education is pathetic#Trigger Warning: mentioned rape/sexual abuse/sexual assault#(Did not happen to me but I bring it up as a possibility)#Trigger Warning: mentioned adult asking a teenager if said teenager wants to have sex#Anti book bans#Rant#today is a bad day for anger management#Trigger Warning: syphilis#Mention of really disgusting food metaphors#Trigger Warning: explanation of an adult propositioning a minor for sex#Vent post as well I guess
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I don't know for sure which all ships you do but 14 (stop looking at me like that, people might think you're soft) screams either Flarrie or Boggie to me (if you don't write those, ship of your choice is 👌😁)
Librarian wasn’t exactly the career Flynn had envisioned for herself. Especially when she was younger with big dreams of Milan and Paris fashion shows the biggest stars wearing her designs down red carpets. But then again she hadn’t expected to be bestowed with magical powers and being thrust into the middle of some parallel worlds seemingly unending war. Ended up spending way more of her teenage years in libraries doing research and accidentally being a better librarian than half the actual staff who rotated through on a regular basis.
Thankfully, she managed to find a library that was willing to accept all her years of ‘volunteer’ experience and letters of recommendation, even though she didn’t have a full master’s degree like she’d seen as a requirement for other librarian positions. One that also didn’t seem to mind her still researching during work hours if things were quiet enough.
Today was one of those quiet days, no major events planned, school had just started so no plethora of kids, and Taylor was working today, and they needed constant movement and had most of the rounds covered. Flynn was taking full advantage, manning the checkout with a few copies of some of her more reliable magical resource books. Nose deep in research between library patrons.
Her current bout of reading was interrupted by the loud thunk of someone haphazardly dropping a pile of books on the counter in front of her. Sure, she may have gotten a little too focused, but she wasn’t going to openly admit that at the moment. Besides, it did not call for the mistreatment of books.
“Can I help you?” Flynn asked, fully aware her tone had gone perhaps a touch too snarky, opening herself up for another potential complaint and write up from the new manager. At least she managed to keep herself from glaring when she saw who it was, the unmistakable honey blonde waves cascading over the pink plaid, jacket and skirt combo that looked like it was pulled straight out of Clueless or maybe Legally Blonde.
Annoying as she may be, Carrie certainly had a signature to her style and stuck to it. Flynn had to respect that if nothing else. Even if that signature bled into her magical hero alter ego and would certainly get her caught someday.
Carrie scoffed, a teasing smile playing at the corners of her pink tinted lips and eyes. “Sure, I’d like a Caramel macchiato with soy milk, no whip, and an extra espresso shot.”
Flynn figured she’d be forgiven for not holding back this glare. Why did every interaction with Carrie always go like this? Almost like she enjoyed pushing every one of Flynn’s buttons. No one needed to know Flynn found as much enjoyment out of pushing Carrie’s button’s back.
“Obviously, I’d like these books.” Carrie said with an eye roll and shake of her head.
“Right, is this another batch of period romance novels?”
“There is nothing wrong with those and you know it.” Carrie nearly growled back before her tone softened minutely. Just enough for Flynn to catch but make her wonder if anyone else would. “And no, I decided to branch out.”
Flynn’s questioning comeback died in her throat as she began to sort through the books and recognized the covers. All various resource books she had previously used or studied.
“You’re always reading these, and you, you handled that hellhound better than I did.” Carried said, avoiding looking directly at Flynn, choosing to pout at the nearby display of banned books instead.
Which was a good thing because Flynn’s fairly certain her jaw was on the floor. She’s not even sure she’s ever heard Carrie admit to anyone she wasn’t trying to butter up. Yet, here she was admitting she was following Flynn’s example because she had done something better than her.
“Stop looking at me like that.” Carrie snapped and brought Flynn back from the spacing she had unknowingly fallen into. Flynn blinked owlishly as Carrie’s pouty glare morphed back into a teasing, almost flirty smile. “People might think you’re soft.”
It was a good thing no one was around who could tell how Flynn’s heart stuttered with that or how her face had grown warm, suddenly overcome with the thought that maybe she wouldn’t be all that opposed to getting Carrie that coffee. She shook her head, trying to clear it of that particular though as she finished checking Carrie out in silence.
It didn’t work, no matter how hard she tried to focus on anything else, even her own books, her mind kept replaying that smile.
#sorta pre-relationship#flarrie#carrie x flynn#I sometimes wonder if I should make a list of ships I write but it's often so situationly dependant#even the ones I say 'never' to may show up in the background of other fics . .so it's not really never.
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