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stxvercgersslut · 3 years

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One of the good ones

Description: you always had a bad experience with Christmas in the past due to your bad home life. But your boyfriend, Steve Rogers, and his 4 year old daughter, Lilah, are determined to give you the best Christmas ever.

Warnings: extreme fluff like there is way too much fluff in this one fic and it wasn’t even supposed to this long! mentions of bad family experiences.

Prompts: Gif is a prompt too,

“you’re skipping Christmas? Isn’t that against the Law?” (Christmas with the Kranks)

A/n: yeah I’m late to the party but @chrissquares is just too damn amazing for me not to at least write one fic for this challenge!

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“No you have to be kidding!” Your boyfriend of almost 1 year spoke, totally and utterly shocked from your declaration just a few seconds ago. Mouth wide in shock horror causing the little 4 year old Sarah, named after Steve’s loving mother who had tragically passed away during the 40′s, to giggle slightly at how hysterically ridiculous her daddy looked right now.

You, on the other hand, weren’t as amused at the toddler. In fact, you were bored of the conversation already and the love of your life had only brought it up a couple seconds ago to make conversation. But then again you could just have been in a god awful bad mood like you always were this close to Christmas. “You heard me Steve...I’m not repeating it again. Please just drop it?” you pretty much begged at this point which seemed to cause Sarah to giggle a tad bit more since she seemed to find this entire scene quite amusing. Especially with how ridiculous the whole situation was.

But Steve didn’t want to end the conversation just yet. No he was determined to get to the bottom of this. “Nu uh baby girl. You don’t just get to blurt out that you’re skipping Christmas altogether and not explain why” he declared, a much sterner look on his face.

However, those words seemed to pluck Sarah’s attention away from her pretend tea party on the floor and landing her straight into the current conversation. She couldn’t seem to help herself. Especially after what she had just heard.

“What!” The four year old announced in the cutest little voice that Steve had ever heard in his life, causing the super soldier to crack a smile. Meanwhile your expression still stayed static. “you’re skipping Christmas? Isn’t that against the Law?” The toddler added to her previous shock.

You really weren’t expecting that. Especially not from a toddler as young as Sarah was. Yet you still managed to prepare yourself to answer her question. “It’s not against the law. It’s perfectly acceptable to just ignore Christmas all together” oh you should have known Sarah wouldn’t have accepted that answer.

“Why would you want to skip Christmas...” now she looked offended. No, offended wasn’t the word, she was totally and utterly shocked that someone would actually hate a holiday that she assumed everyone loved due to the magical experience. All kids loved Christmas so why didn’t you? That wasn’t something you truly didn’t want to disclose.

“Because” you answered, not having the energy to come up with anything too interesting that would actually put the situation to bed without any more questions. But if you’d believed that Sarah would just leave it at that then you were painfully mistaken.

“Because what?” She answered with her beautiful blue eyes sparkling in the sun light shining from the window with how wide her little eyes were. You really had started a war now.

However, finally your boyfriend decided to actually interject, seeing the way you cringed in thought “Sarah come on she doesn’t wanna answer baby” the super soldier explained, walking closer to you and wrapping his arms loosely around your waist to let you know that he was there. Just because he was trying to help ease the situation with his daughter didn’t mean he’d let this go. Oh no.

"Because isn't an answer!" And there it was, the delicate child had began to press you for answers that you truly didn’t want to expose.

Quickly you sat down on the floor with your step daughter, taking her little hand in yours before digging around in your brain for a answer that you could give to her. “Sarah.....it’s hard to explain baby...I don’t really think that this is a discussion that you really need to be a part of okay?....” you eased, placing a hand on her shoulder as a peace offering to which she seemed to take and just wander even closer to you, pretty much tugging you into a mighty tight hug. For a 4 year old she was extremely strong. Mostly due to the super soldier serum already running through her veins.

After the hug Sarah pulled away, showing her shiny white baby teeth to you before giggling away to herself when she turned around to play with her toys again. Finally you had managed to stop the toddler from pressing for answers.

Steve, on the other hand, was not going to allow this to happen. You were the love of his life, the one that swooped into his life during a time where he had believed true love would never find him. You'd change his life for good and most importantly you were the very first women that he'd allowed into his daughters life. No way was he going to let you skip the lost wonderful time of the year. "And what do you plan on doing on Christmas Day if you're skipping Christmas then huh?" He asked, wiggling his eyebrows which successfully made you laugh due to his stubbornness.

"Well...." you began, scratching your head in thought as you struggled for an answer. It was the easiest of things to answer since you barely did anything. "I'll probably watch F.R.I.E.N.D.S for the hundredth time and finish off a bottle of wine." You admitted, guessing truth would probably be the your one true option.

But the look on Steve's face told you otherwise. Maybe you should have just lied instead of telling the truth. Then at least you would have spared yourself the humiliation of telling the one man you loved more then anything about your plans for Christmas.

Steve laughed, he fucking laughed at you. Not in a rude way (you hoped) but in a way that showed just how shocked and confused he was at you antics. How could someone like you not want to celebrate Christmas? That had to be against the law right? Just like Sarah had said, no one should skip Christmas. “Baby! You really think I’m gonna let you just be alone for Christmas?” he spoke, voice stern as if he was speaking to one of his team mates and not you his literal girlfriend. Clearly Steve wasn’t ever going to let you just be miserable, especially when it was Christmas that was hanging in the balance. No he’d be damned if he was going to let any of what you had planned out for your Christmas alone.

“Well I kinda wasn’t going to ask for permission.” You interjected, knowing that this was an argument waiting to happen but you didn’t really care at this point. All you really wanted was for this conversation to be over and for Steve to completely forget about everything that you had said. not that that was ever actually going to happen now. Of course that wasn’t going to happen.

Steve was silent for a few seconds as he crossed his arms in a slight huff, of course catching the eye of the small toddler who instantly repeated the same gesture in which her father had just done. that in itself was the most adorable thing in the world.

“Well you don’t need to ask permission I guess...but its still not right! I’m not letting it happen.” He spoke, once again using his stern Captain America voice. Which seemed to provoke a little giggle from Sarah before she once again repeated Steve’s exact words in her beautiful little childish voice. Although you really wanted to reply to his comment, right now you couldn’t. It was Sarah’s moment to interject so right now you allowed this to happen. Now that in itself had enough power to cause Steve to finally break his stern facade, letting out a joyful chuckle before turning to his little girl deciding to test how far Sarah’s little game would go.

After a couple seconds Steve placed his hands on his hips he grinned childishly. Sarah once again repeated the action in her little childish ways. So in retaliation Steve placed his middle finger against his nose, Sarah repeated once again. Oh this game really was causing you to burst out into a fit of giggles. It was almost as if she had sensed the tension in the air and just wanted to put an end to it. Which the little girl had done effortlessly. Things like this really did seem to make you realise how lucky you were to be a part of Steve’s life. You just really hoped to god that Steve would never get bored of you.

You had no idea how on earth any of this had happened, but after a few more minuets Steve had began to dance around with Sarah. Wiggling his body around like one of those inflatable balloons that danced around when the wind blew them just right. At that point you just couldn’t hold back the laughter that was erupting inside of you, causing your stomach to ache with how much you were laughing. Now you really had forgotten about the conversation that had once been important to Steve. Little did you know that Steve hadn’t forgotten, in fact it was still quite important to him.

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It had been a good couple of house later that Steve had finally managed to once again pluck up the courage to finally speak to you. He needed to make this Christmas one that you would never forget. If he didn’t then he would have failed, something he desperately didn’t want to happen. Especially when you were apart of his life. Clearly he loved you too much to let you deal with another Christmas alone, even if that was actually what you wanted to do. He’d be damned if he was going to let that happen.

After putting Sarah in her bed to nap, Steve slowly walked over to where you were sitting in Steve’s bedroom, a room he so longed to share with you. Maybe one day he would. Taking his time as he attempted to figure out exactly what he was going to say. Although he did have a small inkling as to what he wanted.

“Y/n.....baby.....I know it was hours ago since we spoke about your Christmas plans...but I think we need to continue that conversation.” He began, voice low as he attempted to kee the conversation quiet as to not wake Sarah.

This took you by surprise, your head shooting up from your phone screen to look him directly in the eyes. This time his eyes were less stern. No instead his beautiful blue eyes were softly looking at you as if you were the most angelic creature that he had ever encountered in his 100 years of living. And in his eyes you truly were.

“Steve....just drop it please....I just want to forget about Christmas this year like every year” you replied hoping he’d understand. Yet he didn’t.

“No baby....I’m not going to drop this!” His voice raising ever so slightly as he began to voice his opinion.

“Why? Why won’t you drop this? It’s one subject I don’t want to talk about!” You yelled back, although your voice still wasn’t too loud since you had to make sure you wouldn’t disturbe the sleeping toddler in the other room.

Your raised voice had seemed to throw Steve ever so slightly, confusing him. “Because this is important to me y/n! You’re important to me! And I’m not going to let you be sad and alone on Christmas Day! It’s just not happening” now he wasn’t asking. He was being assertive. Which wasn’t exactly the greatest thing in the world but what could you do about it? Clearly Steve wasn’t going to let go so you couldn’t either.

“I’m alone every other Christmas so why does this year have to be any different?” You challenged knowing Steve wouldn’t like that one bit. But the again you were most certainly past caring at this point.

Once again Steve was taken aback by your words. “You didn’t have me and Sarah back then! Now it’s different you don’t have to be alone on Christmas or any other day because you’ve got me! And I’ll be damned if I’m going to let you be alone when you have two people in your life that love you more then anything in the whole world!”

He hadn’t heard it at first, hadn’t heard those words escape his lips until he saw your face drop. That stern look leaving your features and instead gracing your face with a much brighter smile that he had so desperately missed. That was when he’d realised that the words he’d tried so desperately to keep in until the time was right had now escaped his lips. To say he was terrified was an understatement. What scared you more was how worried he looked now.

“Y......you love me....” you asked with wide eyes, a smile gracing your features. The sound of those words really did seem to shock you. “Y.....You love me?” You repeated trying to get his attention.

Finally you had, that worried expression on his face still continuing to get wider as he tried to figure out if you would run or stay. Clearly terrified that he’d lose you because of what he had just said.

“Of course I love you y/n, I love you so much more then you will ever know. I know I should have never kept this from you for so long. I should have told you How I felt the second that I started to feel that way....” he explained hoping you’d understand as much as physically possible. That’s all he wanted.

“Why didn’t you?” You inquired.

“Because I was terrified of what you’d say...” he admitted, showing you the side of him he was too afraid to show.

“You shouldn’t have had to be scared. I love you too Steve....I love you so so much”

This Christmas was going to be the best Christmas you had ever experienced.

Tag list: @chuckbass-love @harrysthiccthighss @jtargaryen18 @et-lesailes @cevans-fics @amythedvdhoarder @drabblewithfrannybarnes @pumpkin-and-pine @starlightcrystalline

#merryhoemas #chris evans #chris evans cute #chris evans hot #daddy! chris evans #chris evans and dodger #his laugh though 🥺#chris evans sexy #chris evans x reader #chris evans x you #chris evans characters #steve rogers x y/n #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers sexy #steve rogers

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moonlit-han · 4 years

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part ii: filled with sunshine

genre: college au, neighbor au; fluff, humor, slow burn pairing: 3racha x femme reader in poly relationship part word count: 11k part warnings: mature content (18+, specific warnings under the cut), suggestive, explicit language, alcohol consumption request: no a/n: this in no way reflects the actions of stray kids’ bang chan, seo changbin, or han jisung. it is a work of fiction. !! important !!: the author requests that readers be mindful that there is 18+ content in this piece and read only if they are of age. thank you. while the mature content is poetically described, it still exists. and, remember to always get continued and enthusiastic consent as you practice safe sexual habits.

~ read part 1 first! ~

✧ series masterlist & tag list info in bio ✧

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mature content warnings: oral (giving, receiving), fingering, penetrative sex, cock-warming. again, please read only if you are of age.

↠↞

You woke around 10 am on Saturday morning and just lay there in bed, enjoying the memories of the night before. Everything had been hot and almost desperate, but somehow still gentle. And, there was something about not even making it to your bed because you wanted each other too much . . .. Your pulse quickened and you had to squeeze your legs together as you remembered the feeling of his hands exploring every inch of your body, the feeling of his mouth caressing you, that wonderful sense of almost flying. When you looked down at yourself under the sheets, you weren’t surprised to find bruises across your chest and stomach, and were quite glad that it was winter.

Before you’d done anything besides kiss, Jisung had been forthright in saying that he was disease-free and was very careful with who he was intimate with. (You were the one to bring out a box of condoms, since you never knew when you’d need to provide one). You were delighted that he was so aware and honest, clearly taking his actions seriously and taking responsibility for his part in any relationship. Just knowing that had made you relax and, almost, abandon yourself to each and every sensation. You’d made sure to tell him that you were polyamorous, too, making it clear that you were also safe in your habits. Once you’d gotten the talking out of the way, it hadn’t taken long for you to find that your new couch was, surprisingly, quite comfortable to be pressed into.

As he’d pulled his pants back on, Jisung had insisted that he go back to his apartment, saying he had to be up early to go over some notes on a song before meeting with Chan and Changbin at the studio. You also suspected that, despite the two of you just having sex on your couch, he was a bit shy now. Honestly, you couldn’t blame him—if it had all been planned, then maybe he would’ve stayed, but this was all too new, too unexpected.

After stretching to relieve the stiffness in your lower back, you went to shower and get dressed. When you sat down to eat, you brought your phone and that slip of paper with Jisung’s phone number on it so you could message him. It was only right that you did.

y/n: hey babe, last night was really fun

No, that wouldn’t work. I can’t call him “babe” after hooking up only once.

y/n: hi jisung! it’s y/n. just wanted to say than

No, that really wouldn’t work. Thanking him like that would just trivialize the whole experience.

y/n: hey jisung! it’s y/n. last night was absolutely lovely and, let me say, you were fantastic! i’d love to

Nope, now I’m making him sound like a horse that had won a race or something. Damn.

y/n: hey jisung! it’s y/n~ last night was really great and i’d love to see you again. maybe we could get together for dinner one night or to watch a movie? i want to get to know you better!

There. That was good. Okay . . . send!

You sighed, then promptly bolted out of your seat and hid your phone under a cushion on the couch. Not two minutes later, you heard the faint buzz signaling that you’d received a text message.

jisung: hey y/n! ah, i see you used that piece of paper after all ;) i had a lovely time, too! what’s your favorite movie, then? i can try getting it from the library on my way home. jisung: sorry, let me start that bit over again. i’m busy tonight, but are you free next saturday? i’d love to watch a movie with you.

You giggled at Jisung’s evident enthusiasm, and quickly responded.

y/n: yes, i’m free that night :) maybe surprise me with the movie? jisung: a surprise it is, then! your place or mine? y/n: yours? i’ve never seen your apartment and you’ve seen mine a lot… jisung: ….point taken. i’ll have to clean up a little, but i think you’ll like it :) y/n: what time should i come through the connecting door?

You sighed a little as you sent the text. It was more than a little weird that this was how you were going to see Jisung, especially when front doors existed. But, you figured it was only right that you go through that way a few times, since he’d been going back to his apartment like that for months.

jisung: is 7:30 ok? y/n: sure! i’ll see you then… babe ;) jisung: *blushes*

A small noise that sounded suspiciously like an excited “Eeep!” came from Jisung’s apartment, and you grinned, giggling again. Jisung was, to put it mildly, absolutely adorable. Hot, yes—far too hot for you to properly function around, if you were totally honest—but also sweet and lovely. He was bright as the sun, seeming to practically radiate joyful light. And if last night was anything to go by, Jisung was quickly going to become a fixture in your life.

All that week, you couldn’t wait to see Jisung again and in a proper, arranged setting rather than as he was climbing through your window. You’d texted, flirting and just telling each other about yourselves. You learned that he loved being outside, just sitting in the sun or doing things with Chan and Changbin. He learned from you that you wanted to travel and study languages that were in danger of dying out. You bonded over a shared love of curling up with a good book or music or show, some tea, and having the world leave you alone. So, the idea of just watching a movie with him, spending time together in a simple but specific environment, sounded perfect to you.

Although, you did hook up twice more when neither of you could stand not getting your hands on each other again. Jisung was a kind and thorough lover, his personality vibrant and unaffected, and you enjoyed coming together simply for the sake of feeling amazing; you’d even taken to thinking of him as sunshine. You quickly found that you were sleeping better, and thought it might be nice if this sort of thing continued.

On Saturday evening, you found yourself impatiently waiting for 7:30 pm instead of doing small chores and reading some of the chapters you’d been assigned for your Poetry of Emancipation and Civil Rights course. It was maddening, especially when you heard Jisung get home and all you could think about was his smile. At 7:29 pm, you made your way into your bathroom and opened the little door in the wall. Jisung’s recent passage through the space within had cleared any cobwebs, but still there wasn’t much light. Whoever had split the old house into apartments had added this through-space for, presumably, plumbers to access the fixtures more easily, or maybe it was simply an anomaly in the construction. Either way, you now had a fascinating, new way to visit your neigh- your boyf- to visit Jisung.

Damn it, I can’t believe I’m doing this, you laughed at yourself and knelt to make your way into Jisung’s apartment. Before you could start, though, the door at the other end of the crawlspace opened and Jisung appeared.

“Hold on!” he said, and opened the door wider so that as much light as possible would shine through. Gratefully, you quickly made your way toward him—it really wasn’t a long space, only five steps crawling, but it was such an odd thing to do that you couldn’t help feel that it was much longer. When your head was out of the little passageway, you looked up to see a very strange look on Jisung’s face. It was the kind of expression one makes when something filthy is rocketing through one’s mind and it’s impolite to share those thoughts. Belatedly, you realized the position you were in and ducked your head.

When you’d fully emerged from the crawlspace, Jisung stood back and you clambered to your feet, brushing off your knees.

“Hey, babe,” Jisung said, winking.

“Hey!” You stood on tiptoe to brush your lips against his. “So, this is your bathroom.” Looking around, you noticed just how clean the room was—it wasn’t at all strange to appear there, with no odd smells, garish decor or anything out of place.

“Yep, this is my bathroom. Come see everything else—it’s much more interesting!” Jisung said, and hesitantly took your hand to lead you out into the rest of his apartment. Unsurprisingly, it had the same layout as yours, only mirrored.

When you got to the living room, you stared. Jisung had an electric keyboard, a guitar, a small desk, and a computer set up in one corner, clearly his space for practicing and composing. He’d gone for comfort more than anything else, with a sofa that had clearly been well-loved and a few beanbag-like nests. The light curtains would clearly let in plenty of sunlight during the day, and you noticed, with interest, the pile of blankets on one end of the sofa. The coffee table had gaming consoles and books scattered across its top, and a tall bookcase full of novels and music books, as well as sheet music, stood against the wall by the instruments.

The space was so different from your own, but it was the homiest living room you’d ever been in. You resisted the urge to flop down onto the sofa until you remembered that Jisung had been coming through your window . . . so you casually taking over his sofa would be a non-issue. He grinned when you sighed contentedly at the plushness of the cushions.

“You like it?” Jisung asked.

“Ji, I love it! The whole room’s so cozy and warm,” you said appreciatively, taking in every detail. Jisung just let you enjoy the room’s atmosphere, since he’d worked quite hard to make it so inviting and wanted you to appreciate it.

“Want some tea? I have, um, a lot,” Jisung grinned, tucking his hands into the pockets of his jeans.

You nearly leapt off the couch and followed Jisung into the other room. “Oh my god, yes please!”

Jisung’s kitchen looked almost exactly the same as yours, except he didn’t have galaxy-themed tea towels. And, it was obvious to you that Jisung had his friends over more often than not, since two stools were stacked in the corner.

“Um,” Jisung prompted, “what kind would you like?” He pointed to a shelf with what had to be twenty boxes of different kinds of tea on it—to you, it looked like heaven. Seeing your awestruck look, Jisung added, “Take your time. I’ll just put the kettle on.”

After putting the water on to boil, Jisung came to stand behind you and, taking a deep breath as if to plunge into ice water, rested his chin on your shoulder. Without thinking, you leaned your head against his as if you’d been doing this together for years, rather than days. It was so easy to be with Jisung—everything just felt right. Thinking it was now or never, Jisung wrapped his arms around your waist and you leaned into him, still deciding what kind of tea you’d like.

“Guess what . . .” Jisung said.

“Hmmm?” you said distractedly.

“You’re beautiful,” Jisung murmured, breathing shallowly because he still couldn’t believe you were just casually in his arms. How had he gotten this lucky?

“And you’re handsome,” you replied.

Jisung was most certainly smiling as he said, “Want to split a pot of jasmine?” You nodded and jumped as the kettle’s shrilling pierced your ears—you hadn’t realized you were standing there with Jisung, just looking at tea, for that long. Jisung kissed your cheek, making you squeal internally, and went to make the tea.

Five minutes later, the two of you were back in the living room and Jisung was setting up the movie. You sat with your feet up under you, holding your tea to your chest. The warmth felt lovely. Once Jisung had gotten his DVD player set up and the beginning credits of the movie had started, he came to sit next to you. As he leaned back with his tea in one hand, he yawned and theatrically put his other arm around your shoulders.

You giggled. “Jisung, you don’t need to feel nervous about us cuddling or anything,” you reassured him. “It’s not like I haven’t touched you. We’ve had sex, for god’s sake. Multiple times.”

“I just- I wanted to go slowly since simple, casual intimacy is different. Or, at least that’s how I think of it. Just because we had sex doesn’t mean we’re going to be absolutely compatible right off the bat.” Jisung’s touch on your shoulder was light, as if he didn’t want to startle you.

“Ji,” you said, snuggling into his side, “you’ve got nothing to worry about. I feel more comfortable around you than some of the people I’ve known for three years.”

Jisung made a noise of disbelief. “What? Really?”

“Yeah,” you hummed, and threw a leg over Jisung’s thigh. His breath hitched a little before he pulled you closer to himself, the two of you settling into a comfortable configuration of limbs. The movie was one you’d only heard of in passing, and hadn’t expected to like—but Jisung’s explanation of why he liked it made you actually enjoy it.

Two-thirds of the way through the film, Jisung’s hand gently caressing your shoulder became too much of a distraction and all you wanted to do was kiss him again. You’d long ago finished your tea, and now contented yourself with gazing at him, taking in the smooth line of his jaw, the curve of his ear, the depression where his collarbone met the slope of his shoulder.

“I can feel you staring, Y/N,” Jisung said after a while, jolting you out of your daze. He paused the movie.

“Well, you’re kinda hot,” you countered.

“Yeah? How hot?” Jisung smirked, angling himself toward you.

“Very, very hot,” you whispered, craning your neck for a kiss. Jisung obliged, smiling.

Unlike your kisses the night before, this was slow and calm, like honey settling on ripe peaches. You slid forward to sit more squarely in Jisung’s lap as he tangled his fingers in your hair, the slight pull on your head feeling delicious. Each brush of his lips was soft and warm, and both of you took your time as you fell into the kisses, learning how gentle yet passionate the other could be. You moved your hands along his shoulders and chest, then up to cup his face, holding him like a priceless piece of art. Jisung hummed against your mouth, and drew you closer. Long minutes passed as you kissed, enjoying the simplicity of the connection, until you felt what seemed like a small fire ignite inside you.

Sensing your mood, as it reflected his own, Jisung said, “We’re not doing this on the couch again, Y/N. I have a bed, you know.”

You laughed—you couldn’t help yourself. It wasn’t as if you hadn’t expected things to go this way—after all, you’d worn some especially pretty lingerie—but the way Jisung had phrased it . . . he was almost pouting.

You pecked Jisung’s nose and said, “Lead on.”

Jisung didn’t bother asking you to get up or shift position—he just hooked an arm behind your knees and held the other at your back, and stood up. It was rather impressive, to say the least. He carried you to the bedroom, both of you giggling at the fact that you were really doing this, until you got to his room. Just like the rest of his apartment, it was cozy; there was no other word for it, especially with the soft faerie lights strung above the bed. You idly wondered if he always had them up or had just put them up in hopes the two of you would make it into his bedroom.

He sat down on the bed with you still in his arms, and resumed kissing you as if he hadn’t just carried you to an entirely different room. After a moment, you swiveled on Jisung’s lap so you were straddling his hips and wrapped your legs around him—his hands immediately went under your shirt, as if he’d been waiting to do just that.

“You really want to feel me up, don’t you,” you said, brows arched but smiling.

“Can you blame me?” Jisung’s voice was husky with desire. You just shook your head and pulled your shirt off, which made Jisung’s eyes widen. The lingerie was clearly doing its job. “Now who’s the hot one?” he asked, and ran his hands up and down your back as he continued kissing along your jaw and cheeks. His fingers finally stopped at the clasp of your bra and you breathed a “Yes.”

After a moment, Jisung leaned his head against your shoulder. “Y/N, um, it’s been a bit since I last did this…” His voice was so small and embarrassed.

“Aw babe, I’ve got it,” you said, stroking his hair. Jisung leaned back on his hands, watching you as you reached around yourself to unhook the clasp. You shrugged out of your bra and let it fall to the floor.

“You are so gorgeous, Y/N, you really are,” Jisung said, his voice low in awe.

You felt heat rise to your cheeks—you’d rarely, if ever, been admired like this, just bare before someone. “I- Um, I’m not sure what to say? Thanks?”

Jisung chuckled, saying, “You deserve every compliment I can give you,” and brought his hands back to your body. You were still as he trailed his fingertips up your stomach to cup the soft curves of your breasts, then brushed his thumbs over their peaks. You let out a shaky breath as Jisung began to kiss down your throat, over your sternum, and over each of the love bites he’d given you earlier in the week. He made certain to carefully add two more. You tangled your hands in his hair and sighed softly as he sucked, nibbled, and massaged, causing a tingling sensation to go straight to your core.

Jisung lifted his head briefly and, trailing a finger along his jaw, you said, “Your turn.” His shirt was off in one fluid movement and, again, you couldn’t believe you were actually with someone that beautiful.

“And you were saying I’m gorgeous? Jisung, oh babe, you should see yourself through my eyes.”

Jisung brushed his hair out of his face, looking intently up at you. “I can see myself in your eyes,” he said. “That’s enough for me.”

You smiled as you gently pushed Jisung back onto the bed, but before you could lay yourself down on top of him, he said, “Let me take off my jeans off first—it’ll be easier, you know?”

You chuckled and decided to do the same—he was right, after all. You sat on the bed next to Jisung as he did some fascinating acrobatics to divest himself of his pants and pull the sheets down at the same time. Laying there in just his underwear, Jisung’s desire was painfully evident and you unknowingly licked your lips; however, this did not go unnoticed by Jisung, who grinned. He scooted back onto the bed so his legs weren't hanging off the side and lay back on his pillows, holding his arms out to you.

“Shall we?” he said with an exaggeratedly coy expression.

You crawled on top of him, feeling him hard beneath you, and leaned down to kiss him deeply, your breasts just grazing his chest. Your own desire roared through you like floodwaters surging along a river toward a dam, and you ground your core against him, seeking the one thing that would break that dam apart. Jisung moaned into your mouth, holding your hips so firmly his hands dug into your muscles. And in moments, you were both breathing hard.

Flashing a grin at Jisung as you broke from your kiss, you slid down his chest. You began at his throat, too, leaving kisses and hickeys all over him, eliciting soft moans from his lips. When you got to the waistband of his underpants, you looked up the hard planes of his stomach and chest to his face. “May I?”

“God, please, Y/N,” Jisung all but begged.

You deftly pulled his last remaining clothes down and off, admiring what was now revealed before you. Tracing the length and girth with your fingers, you placed a kiss right on the tip and Jisung hissed softly at the contact. You efficiently pumped your hand back and forth, feeling as if you were an earth goddess urging a seedling to grow, until he stood tall and proud as an oak. Slowly, you brought your lips to him, swirling your tongue a little, then bobbed your head up and down, occasionally letting your teeth graze his sensitive skin. A slightly salty taste that was still distinctly his own began to fill your mouth, and he twitched a little. And oh, Jisung’s moans—they were loud and needy, just a little breathy, and like music to your ears. He encouraged you, praising and saying how good it felt; at his words, you took a moment to simply run your hand over him, kissing the same path your hand took. Then, returning your mouth to its task, you quickened your pace and your throat soon felt raw. After a moment, you simply sucked the tip, flicking your tongue out, until Jisung’s gasps and cries were louder than ever.

“I’m so close, Y/N . . . Just like th- Aaaah! Fuck!” Jisung’s hips bucked, surprising you, but you continued, drawing as much pleasure from him as you could as you swallowed and swallowed. The sound of him coming undone made the ache between your legs intensify, and as Jisung came down from his high, panting, you crawled back up the bed next to him.

Jisung pulled you to him, and you knew he could taste himself on your mouth as you kissed again. His hands were quickly back on your hips, fiddling with the band of your panties. “I want to taste you,” he said between kisses.

“Taste all you want,” you purred as his hand strayed lower.

He gave you a silly grin and, inexplicably, said, “Thank you.” You giggled.

Jisung wasted no time in flinging your panties nearly to the other side of the room, then tracing whirls over your stomach, going lower and lower. When you thought you might as well just take matters into your own hands, literally, Jisung slid his hand between your legs and you moaned.

“Mmmm, perfect,” Jisung smiled as he kissed just below your ear.

He seemed to want to feel each and every part of you, slowly exploring with first one finger, and then a second. In moments, you were wriggling and arching yourself toward him as his fingers danced. When he found that little bundle of nerves, rubbing it over and over, your hips bucked involuntarily. Fast, then slow, he coaxed you to the edge. Then, nothing.

“Oh no you don’t, Han Jisung,” you said, panting. “You are not stopping now.”

“Who said I was stopping?” Jisung said as he positioned himself between your legs, holding your thighs apart. You could still feel the blood pulsing through your veins and the ache inside was nearly maddening. He kissed all the way up your inner thigh, teasing you, then did the same along the other leg. You thrust your hips into the air, seeking some sort of friction.

Jisung smiled indulgently, then brought his mouth to you. His lips and tongue on your most sensitive parts felt so good you could barely think. Your moans were even louder than his had been, and you were glad that the neighbors typically went out on weekend nights. Jisung sucked that bundle of nerves like it was a hard candy and lapped at you like a kitten, clearly having the time of his life, before adding his fingers again. The combination had you begging for release, and all you could think was that this must be what it was like to be carried along a storm-swollen river to the edge of a waterfall.

“Oh, hhhhh, oh shit. Ji- Jisung, oh my god, hhhhh, oh god, fuck. Right there, oh f- Aaaah!”

Jisung crooked his fingers as he sucked, sending you hurtling out over that waterfall. Gasping and moaning, you shuddered, the coil of tension below your navel releasing. When he finally sat up, Jisung slowly licked each his fingers.

As you caught your breath, relishing the feeling of release, Jisung quickly went to his bedside table and you turned your head to see him sliding a condom on. He glanced at you, realizing he’d just assumed that you were okay with continuing.

“Jisung, just get back on the bed,” you said, forestalling his question, and Jisung did so, kneeling between your legs with an expectant look on his face.

“Well?” you said, looking up at him.

“I was just admiring you,” he said, and leaned forward to kiss you sweetly. Then, he straddled your hips and prepared himself before saying, “Ready?”

“Definitely,” you replied, an almost gleeful look in your eye.

You joined together little by little, Jisung letting you adjust, until he could go no further. You moaned at the feeling of such intimacy, the bright clarity of it—you felt like you were being filled with sunshine. “Ji, move,” you gasped, and he did.

Holding himself above you as you hooked your ankles behind his legs, Jisung began slowly, making you feel every bit of him. Then, the two of you moved as one, faster and harder, his hips finally snapping with as much power as he could muster.

Jisung buried his face in your neck as you urged him on. “Come on, Ji, right there. Oh, yes! Ah, that’s it. That feels so good, just like that.” You ran your hands all over his back, biting down on his shoulder as he finally hit the one spot inside that would surely bring your pleasure crashing down upon you again. Your nerves still singing from just moments before, you suddenly felt that coil inside you release as you clenched and unclenched, screaming Jisung’s name over and over.

“I still- I need—” Jisung gasped against your neck.

“Keep going,” you crooned, and held him to you as he chased his high, seeming to plunge deeper with each movement. A few moments later, Jisung’s hips shook and you felt him pulse as he dashed himself against the rocks at the foot of that waterfall of bliss. He shuddered, too, and lay against you, panting. You kissed his neck, his cheek, and his mouth as you both relaxed into each other’s arms.

After taking care of the condom, Jisung joined you back on the bed and you curled against him, still flushed with exertion. “That was—”

“Amazing,” you finished, turning to kiss him again. Jisung’s arm went around your shoulders and his other hand held your hip. You undulated your body against him gently, more for the slow, mellow comfort from the feel of his skin against yours than anything else.

“We should take a shower,” he said after a few more sweet kisses.

“Mmmm, that sounds perfect,” you agreed. “Can we just lay here for a moment, though?”

After several minutes, you suspected Jisung might fall asleep, so you gently kissed along his chest and said, “What about that shower?”

He chuckled and sat up with a groan. “Yeah, I know. I’ll go start the water.”

Once you’d showered together and lingered under the hot water, you lay side-by-side on Jisung’s bed, just tracing patterns into each other’s skin and occasionally kissing.

“I could get used to this, you know,” he said after you’d lain there for several minutes.

“Yeah? You mean us . . . just casually having sex? Or do you mean, like, dating?” you said, honestly not minding either way.

“I- Both, I guess?” Jisung paused. “But also just spending time with you, and being able to cuddle or do whatever when we need it. Casual comfort and companionship, and yeah, sex—keeping things open, you know?”

You looked up at him, thinking you understood now. “Do you mean having an open relationship?”

Jisung nodded. “Yeah, like we’re pretty much together but see other people but things are just kind of casual!”

You laughed lightly, glad that you were on the same page. “That’s exactly what I was thinking, actually,” you said. “I’m not really fussed about keeping things only between us—you know I’m polyamorous. I just feel like I’ve got a lot of love to give and that, while I am over the moon with happiness with you—”

“You are?” Jisung interrupted, turning his big doe eyes on you.

“Yes, Ji, of course,” you said, and continued. “But yeah, I just— I feel like I want to give as many people the affection and support they need, and to get all different kinds from them, as well as you. Just keeping things casual sounds perfect to me.”

Jisung rolled over onto his back, leaving you to rest your chin on his chest. He mindlessly stroked your hair. “Mmmm,” he sighed contentedly, “you know, I don’t mind if you don’t tell me who else you’re seeing, by the way. Not unless it gets serious and you’d like to actually date them, too. Then, it would be nice to know and meet them.”

“Oh my god, of course!” you exclaimed, your head jerking up sharply. “I wouldn’t hide something like that! I mean, if you’d like to share who we see super casually, I’m fine with that, too.”

“I trust you,” was all Jisung said.

“And I trust you,” you replied, kissing his chest above his heart. Suddenly, you were nearly practically overwhelmed by the tenderness you felt for Jisung, and shimmied your way onto his chest more solidly.

“Come here, angel,” he murmured, and pulled you fully on top of his body. Your bodies touching so completely made you feel like you were laying on a cloud. Smiling softly to yourself, you tucked your head under Jisung’s chin, listening to his heartbeat as his arms went around you. You thought the best sleep you’d had was the other nights that week, but they could never compare to falling asleep with Jisung.

↠↞

Strolling toward you down the long walkway that wound through campus, looking like a cat who’d just been in the cream, came a young man with an all-too-familiar face: Bang Chan. He looked like the cold, December air didn’t bother him at all. You sighed, hoping he wouldn’t notice you, and looked down at what were, in the summer, lovely gardens lining the path. It really was cold as hell and all you wanted to do was get home before dark when it would even colder.

“Y/N?”

Oh, no.

“Hey, Y/N! Yeah, I thought it was you!” he called from, in your opinion, too far away. The people around you turned to look and you mentally cringed—you didn’t like drawing attention from large crowds.

“Hi, Chan,” you said, trying to plaster a smile onto your face.

“How’s the most beautiful woman on campus?” Chan said, wiggling his eyebrows at you. “Doing well? Staying warm?”

“I’m fine, Chan. And you?” You knew how you were talking was stilted and the words almost meaningless.

“A little busy, but great!” Chan responded blithely, falling into step with you. “How’s Jisung holding up? Is he still cooped up in his apartment? I think he said he was composing?”

“Oh, u-huh,” you said a little guiltily. You didn’t want to tell him that Jisung had, in fact, been in your apartment and in varying stages of undress, not composing at all hours. “I haven’t seen him much, actually, so I guess he has been composing. I think I heard him messing around on the guitar the other day.”

“Sometimes he gets like this,” Chan lamented, clearly playing for sympathy from you—sympathy he wouldn’t be getting because you, honestly, didn’t care much. Your time with Jisung was too good not to covet.

“I guess once he’s done whatever he’s working on you’ll see him more?” You wanted this conversation to be over—you were cold, there was a breeze, and it was Chan, of all people.

“I might just go over there and bug him, honestly.” Chan was thoughtful, and you had to stop yourself from vehemently dissuading him from stepping foot anywhere near your apartment. You’d have to mention to Jisung that Chan was probably stopping over and would expect to see some sort of headway on a composition, if that, indeed, was the excuse he’d been telling his friends to explain his occasional absences from their lives recently.

“Yeah, I’m sure he’d be happy to see you, since you’re so close,” you reassured him, smiling uncomfortably. Chan still took no notice, happily looking around at all the other students passing by as you walked.

“He’s such an introvert, I’ve no idea if he’ll want to see me,” Chan laughed and stopped to let a group of freshman girls by, but didn’t resume walking once they’d passed. “But maybe I can come see you instead?” he said with a wink, and hope in his voice.

You began to stammer out a response, not even caring what you said as long as it amounted to “Hell no.” You pulled out your phone to, supposedly, check a message.

“Oh, sorry Chan. I have to go,” you lied. “A friend just texted saying she needs my help with something. I guess I’ll see you around.”

And with that, you made a speedy exit, Chan staring after you a little sadly. Why did his nerves have to get the best of him like that? He ended up coming off as mildly creepy instead of his normal, kind self. He’d have to work on that, since you clearly wanted nothing to do with him. Chan sighed, rubbing his brow, then headed toward the Performing Arts building and the privacy of the studio he shared with Jisung and Changbin. Maybe he’d be able to put what he felt into a song or something.

That night before bed, you messaged Jisung to tell him that Chan would probably be over that week.

y/n: ji, did you tell chan you were composing this week and that’s why you haven’t been with him and changbin? sunshine: ….maybe….why? y/n: well, chan found me today and asked me how your composition(s?) were going since i’m your neighbor. and i had to do some pretty fast talking there, han jisung >:| sunshine: shit…sorry y/n!! :(( sunshine: welp;;; i guess i’ll have to get going on that, then y/n: yaaaay good idea! also, why does chan insist on flirting so outrageously with me every single god damn time i see him? sunshine: oh. he’s been like that for awhile;; it’s a coping mechanism for when he’s nervous and he’s not always trying to actually flirt. although, with you he might be?? sunshine: please don’t hold it against him. he’s a good guy and i’d hate for you to dislike him y/n: oooooh okay okay that makes so much more sense now. i was getting kind of uncomfortable there for a minute. thank you for explaining that, babe. i understand him a lot better now and i promise i’ll try to get to actually know him!! sunshine: you’re not required to be friends with my friends, but thanks y/n: i know, but i still want to make the effort!! sunshine: you’re the best :D y/n: oh! um do you maybe need me to come over to be your ~muse~? sunshine: you already have been <3 y/n: if you don’t stop being adorable, i’m gonna come over there and kiss you sunshine: yeah? you’re gonna do that? hmmm? y/n: don’t test me…. i WILL come over and kiss you sweetly and tuck you into bed sunshine: i read that as “fuck you into bed.” OOOPS y/n: alkfhgakldjfgh y/n: just go compose, ji!!! i’ll come over tomorrow, if chan’s not there sunshine: your wish is my command, angel~ sunshine: make sure to get some sleep y/n: don’t stay up too late tho babe;;;; sunshine: i won’t, don’t worry y/n: okay hhhh goodnight, ji *kiss* sunshine: sweet dreams, angel *kiss*

As you fell asleep, you thought you could hear the faint strains of the guitar and Jisung’s voice floating over from the other apartment. Idly, you wondered if he was recording any of his ideas.

↠↞

On Wednesday afternoon, you got a text from Jisung inviting you to an ugly sweater party that would be hosted by one of his casual friends that weekend. And while you weren’t sure if any of your sweaters counted as ugly, you figured you should still have a fun night out. And because where Jisung was, Chan and Changbin wouldn’t be far behind, you knew they’d be there, too. You suggested that the two of you go together, especially since the house was only a couple blocks away from where you lived. So, at 8:17 pm on Friday, you bundled yourself into your coat and headed out the door.

“Y/N!”

You turned around to see Jisung striding toward you across the snowy lawn.

“Hi,” he said, drawing out the syllable as he gave you an enthusiastic hug and kissed your cheek.

“Jisung,” you said, stepping back, “where exactly is your coat? You do know it’s the middle of December, right?”

“I left it inside.” He grinned when you glared. “Eh, one of us has to be a little bit dumb sometimes.”

This earned him a gentle nudge in the shin from your foot, but you were both smiling as you set off toward the party.

As you approached the house, Jisung kissed your hand. “I, um, haven't told Chan and Changbin that we’ve been seeing each other.” At your surprised look, he shrugged. “I’ll see you later tonight, angel,” he said, then darted up the stairs with a wink thrown over his shoulder. You shook your head—sometimes, Jisung was a little odd.

When you stepped through the front door, it was obvious that the party had already been going for at least an hour. People crowded the living room, the kitchen, the hallway, and some were even on the stairs. Fairly mellow music played in the background, and when you looked toward one end of the living in which a table was set up between two speakers, you saw none other than Chan. You couldn’t say you were surprised.

Squirming between the people lounging against the kitchen’s doorframe, you finally made it in and went to where drinks had been laid out on the counter. You grabbed a fresh cup for yourself, pouring some hard cider out of a fresh can, and then, rejoined the main part of the party. Not exactly wanting to talk to a lot of people you didn’t know, you found a window with a deep enough sill that you could sit in it. For almost a half hour, you watched the partygoers and slowly sipped on your cider.

Occasionally, you’d look over at Chan behind his computer, portable mixing board, and more wires and cables than you knew could exist. Now that you knew he wasn’t actively trying to be unnecessarily flirtatious, you could see yourself getting to know him. After all, he was Jisung’s friend and well known around campus—people were too focused on holding others to high moral standards, despite lowering their own, not to watch someone like Chan like hawks. You would’ve heard if he wasn’t a great person, and you knew Jisung wouldn’t be friends with a jerk.

In the low lighting of the living room, the lines of Chan’s cheekbones stood out as he bowed his head in concentration to find just the right level of bass to thrum through your bones beneath the soft strains of melody. You found yourself completely enthralled; that is, until Jisung eclipsed your view as he flitted from group to group like a hummingbird. And just when you thought you should probably socialize, two women who wore matching, utterly horrible sweaters chose to stand nearby. Since their sweaters were so atrocious, you thought their conversation might be interesting.

“3racha?” one of them asked in response to a question you hadn’t heard.

“Yeah, I really thought they’d be here, but I haven’t seen them,” the second woman whined.

“Maybe they’re busy?” the first one suggested.

“Or, ladies,” a pleasantly husky voice said, coming up behind them, “you could open your eyes and realize that Chan’s behind the table tonight. You’re listening to one of our new songs.” The two 3racha fans gaped at him. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to talk to the person in the window here.” He slid past them. “Thanks.”

You looked up from your drink into the handsome face of Changbin, who was wearing a black sweater with…

“Pink, sparkly cats? You?” you said, not believing your eyes.

“Hey, I like cats,” Changbin protested. “And who cares if they’re pink and sparkly? They have cute little noses—see?” He moved closer to you, pointing to the cats.

“Yes, very cute little noses,” you laughed and took a sip of your cider. “So, what’s up, Changbin?”

“Eh, not much. I finished my exams early—thank god. You?”

“I’ve been really good, actually,” you said brightly. “You’re lucky—I still have all of mine next week.”

“Good luck! I’m sure you’ll do great,” Changbin beamed at you. “Hey, it’s pretty stuffy in here—want to go out on the porch for some fresh air?”

You nodded and stood to follow him.

A couple heads turned, probably those people who recognized Changbin and thought of him as a local celebrity or something, as you slipped by along the wall leading to the back door. Changbin held the door open for you and you inhaled the cold night air, welcome after the heat inside from so many bodies pressed together.

Changbin sighed gratefully next to you, sitting down on the top step and patting the spot next to him. “Join me?”

You sat, surprised that you could feel the warmth radiating from Changbin even sitting a foot away. Together, you stared out over the lawn where the footprints of those who lived in the house crossed each other to form unintentionally intricate patterns.

“Y/N?” Changbin said hesitantly after a few minutes. “Would you be interested in listening to the demo of a song I’ve been working on?” Your eyebrows shot up in surprise. “I know you’re not a music major,” he continued, “but that’s exactly why I’m asking this. I could use some fresh ears on it.”

You were flattered that Changbin had asked you, but . . . “Why me?” you asked. “I’m sure there are plenty of other people you know far better than me. Not to sound rude, but we’ve only met maybe three times.”

“Like I said, that’s exactly it,” Changbin insisted, taking out his phone. “You don’t know my—3racha’s—music. So, you’re the perfect person to give an unbiased and new opinion!”

“Well, when you put it like that . . .” you mused, and scooted just a little closer to Changbin. You could have sworn he blushed.

After a moment of fiddling with his phone, he said, “Here. Sorry I don’t have headphones or a speaker or something with me.”

“It’s okay, I’m sure I’ll be able to hear just fine.” You leaned forward as Changbin, grimacing at the first bars of the demo, held up his phone between you; then, you just concentrated on the music.

Meanwhile, Changbin felt like he was about to run and hide. You were mere inches from him, hair swinging down into your face as you listened intently. It was as if time had stopped completely, and you and he were the only people on Earth. He desperately tried not to stare as your mouth, lips parted slightly, quirked up in a smile at the lyrics. And if he noticed how your sweater hugged your body in just the right places, and how he’d like to be hugging those places, too, he promptly shoved those thoughts to the back of his mind. As you seemed more and more entranced by the music, his music, Changbin had the wild urge to lean forward and ki—

“Changbin, this is incredible!” you said as the song ended, your eyes gleaming in the light of the porch light as you turned to him. Suddenly, you realized just how close you were to Changbin—it would be so easy to just lean your head on his shoulder. You mentally shook yourself. “I had no idea you guys were producing music like this. And this is just a demo?”

Still reeling from being utterly stunned by your beauty, Changbin started. “I— Yeah, it’s just the demo. That last song that was playing inside was actually one of ours. Chan just slips them into whatever mix he’s DJ-ing at events.”

You beamed, impressed and excited. “So, I honestly can’t think of anything I’d want to change about that song, other than . . . maybe even out the lead up to the chorus? Does that make sense?”

“Yeah, definitely,” Changbin reassured you, and slipped his phone back into his pocket. “Hey, how about you come by the studio one day? I’d be able to make the edits with you there, and I think I might have another song you could help with.” At your surprised look, Changbin added, “But only if you want to. I don’t mean to pressure you, sorry.”

“I’d love to,” you said simply, and meant it. You looked down at your lap. “I don’t know much about composition, but I think it would fun to learn. Plus, if Jisung likes you and Chan, then you must be cool. And talented!”

Changbin gave you a searching look and you said quickly, “I mean, we’re neighbors and all, so we talk or see each other randomly and he always mentions you!”

“Ah, okay. Well, I’d like to live up to your expectations,” Changbin said self-consciously. He stood abruptly and you did as well, fiddling with your cider cup.

“Changbin?” you said before he could take another step toward the door, and he froze like you'd captured him in one of the ice sickles that hung from the roof. “How- how should I get in touch with you?” And just as you said it, you remembered the little slip of paper that was left on your coffee table that first time you’d met 3racha. Oh.

“I thought I gave you my number already,” Changbin chuckled, looking like one of the cats on his sweater that had just gotten into the cream.

You took a breath. “Right. Yeah, I remember now.”

“Just text me when you’re free and we can figure out when you want to come by to listen to more music.” Changbin stuffed his hands into his pockets, giving you a small smile.

“Oh, okay,” you agreed. “I guess I’ll text you tomorrow!”

“I’ll look forward to it,” Changbin said lightly, and winked before turning to open the door. “Come on, you look half frozen,” he said, his voice soft with not a trace of mockery in it.

You were cold and as you walked through the door back into the warmth, you tried to ignore the feeling of being pulled toward Changbin like you were two halves of a magnet. It was a new feeling, being drawn to someone so forcefully, and you were more than intrigued.

↠↞

When you got home from the party, you gratefully sagged onto your couch, glad to be away from all those people. After just sitting for long minutes, you got up and changed into your wonderfully soft and plush robe—it was one of the things you’d bought for yourself just because you could, just so you could have something nice. Then, you made tea and curled on the couch again; you’d only had the one drink that didn’t even have much alcohol in it, but you were still tired from being around that many people. So, you just sat and enjoyed your tea, letting your thoughts wonder.

“Y/N?” Jisung’s voice came down the hall into your living room, since he’d slipped through via the bathroom. He saw you curled on the couch in your robe with your mug of tea, and paused before entering the room. The simple domesticity of the tableau was so sweet that it stirred his desire to, someday, have a lovely home with the one he loved where things would be happy and calm. And right then and there, Jisung knew that he was definitely developing feelings for you. “Hey, you,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of your head before sitting next to you.

“Hey,” you said, leaning your head against his shoulder.

“You didn’t stay too long—did you at least have an okay time tonight?” Jisung asked.

“Yeah, it’s always fun to see people in horrible sweaters,” you chucked. You proffered your tea to him. “Want some?”

Jisung took the mug and sipped delicately from it, sighing as the tea warmed his insides. “So, what do you want to do? Watch a movie like we said?”

“Mmmm,” you thought for a moment, cupping the back of Jisung’s neck and running your fingers through his hair. “How about we watch a couple episodes of that show I was telling you about, then take a bath together. I could really use the relaxing heat from the water.”

“Oh, that sounds perfect, angel,” Jisung sighed. “Can I grab your computer so we can watch, then?” He stood and looked around for the device. “Where’d you hide it this time?”

“Sorry,” you said, smiling ruefully. “It’s on the floor in my bedroom.”

Jisung retrieved your computer and set it on the coffee table in front of you, gently massaging your back as he waited for you to sign in and pull up the video streaming site. The only light in the room came from a small lamp you had in the corner, which cast a warm glow over everything. Jisung leaned into the nook where the couch’s back and arm met and you snuggled in beside and on him as he pulled you against his chest. He was warm and soft, and you felt entirely at ease—more at home with him than you’d felt with anyone else. As the second episode began, Jisung began lazily tracing circles up and down your arm, occasionally passing over your cheeks. Once or twice, he ran a finger along your lips, making them tingle. It was more than a little distracting and it wasn’t long before you felt a faint tingle of desire. Jisung’s body, which had been so relaxed before, was now filled with a low-level energy that made him feel like his blood was vibrating.

You twisted round to look up at him, a questioning look in your eyes, and he leaned forward to pause the show before capturing your lips with his. You smiled against his mouth and Jisung hoisted you further up onto his lap so you were almost sitting sideways. His tongue darted out to swipe along the crease of your mouth, and you gladly let him in, your tongues sliding by each other as you pressed yourself closer to Jisung. His hand on your waist began to travel upward as he kissed down your neck and along your shoulder, and you sighed at the warmth of his skin.

“You’re not wearing anything under that robe, are you?” Jisung said, pulling back and giving you a mischievous look.

“Nope!” you chirped innocently, and kissed his nose. Jisung’s eyes darkened as his pupils blew wide with desire.

“Oh, angel,” Jisung growled faintly as he ran his hand down your stomach to between your legs. As you continued to kiss, he chuckled faintly and pulled aside the folds of your robe to slide his hand up your inner thigh. His slow teasing soon had you moaning and wriggling, and it was obvious that he simply wanted to enjoy touching you, making you squirm just that little bit. But, he never brought you close to release—that wasn’t the point.

When you’d had enough of his teasing, you murmured, “Ji, let’s take the bath.” You had to concentrate to keep speaking as he moved his fingers in a particularly satisfying way. “The water will feel amazing and we’ll be relaxed,” you said, adjusting your position on his lap. Jisung groaned, and let you rise before following you out of the room.

While the tub filled higher and higher, you let your robe drop to the floor, and your body reacted to the cold air coming through the ever-open window. Jisung, his clothes already thrown in a heap in the corner, stared at you like you were Aphrodite herself. Ignoring the various thoughts swirling around in his head, Jisung stepped into the tub and was surprised at how hot it was, but sank down into the water nonetheless. “Come on, angel,” he said, patting his lap and making small waves in the water. “I’ve got a comfy seat here just for you.” He winked.

Grinning, you stepped in after him and the water splashed a little as you sat down, making both of you giggle. You talked about your week and how classes were going, always skirting around the topic of exams. It wasn’t long before you’d completely exhausted all college-related conversation; it simply wasn’t romantic. You lay back against Jisung, who slid lower into the water and put his hands on your hips. Your hands went automatically over his, and the two of you simply reveled in the warmth of the water and the feeling of being skin-to-skin.

Before long, the slight pressure against your low back became more insistent, until you turned to Jisung and said, “How about I keep you nice and warm, babe.”

“Sounds lovely.” Jisung murmured against your hair and carefully guided your hips down onto his waiting member. You groaned as he filled you up, the ache you hadn’t even known you’d felt all day suddenly satisfied.

“Oh god, yes,” you breathed and leaned your head back, exposing your neck for Jisung to kiss and nibble.

You gently wiggled your hips and settled, simply enjoying the sensation of being full. The hot water swirling around you felt like velvet caressing your skin. Turning slightly with your head still on his shoulder, you found Jisung’s mouth with yours and your kisses were as lazy and languid as the warm sunlight of a summer morning. You occasionally rocked your hips against Jisung’s gently, feeling him deep inside. And when you teased him like that, he would simply press himself further against you and you’d moan, kissing him harder.

Nothing was rushed or intense—just the feelings of warmth and being together, connected. You reveled in the pure sensations, relaxing into Jisung’s hold more every second. He had one hand on your hip, gently massaging the muscle there, and the other roving over your body, depending on his whims. Your fingers tangled in his hair, carding through it as you kissed. All of your attention was focused on Jisung—your point of connection with him, his hands on you, his soft mouth—and you filled his world, too, blotting out all else like a solar eclipse.

↠↞

“Bin, you said we’d meet Jisung here. Where is he? Isn’t he supposed to be at home?” Chan said, clearly having to concentrate on enunciating his words more carefully than usual. He and Changbin were standing on the front step of Jisung’s apartment, waiting impatiently for their best friend to open the door. It was cold.

“Dunno.” Changbin gestured expansively. “He said we should come over, right? There aren’t many places he’d go.” Then, Changbin blanched. “You don’t think he was kidnapped or something, do you?”

“Oh come on, you’re drunk,” Chan scoffed.

“You are, too!” Changbin retorted.

“Yeah, but at least I’m not hyplerbizing. . . No, hyperblazing. Shit.” Chan looked blankly down at the snow for a second, his friend being absolutely no help at all as he frantically texted Jisung. “Got it! Hyperbolizing. Yeah, at least I’m not hyperbolizing.”

“I’m not,” Changbin insisted. “I’m just being sensible. Jisung barely ever ducks out on stuff, so why now? He was at the party, for god’s sake. We saw him— What, two hours ago?”

Chan leaned on the doorframe and sighed. “Well, I guess there’s only one option, then.”

“Yeah?”

“We go through the window.” Changbin gave him a blank look. “You know,” Chan continued, “Y/N’s bathroom window! Jisung said he’s gone through there to get to his apartment, and maybe she’ll know where he is. They’ve gotta at least keep in touch if they’re neighbors.”

Changbin spluttered. He couldn’t believe Chan had just suggested that they, for lack of a better phrase, break into your apartment. But then again, maybe you did know where Jisung was—it was worth a try.

So, Chan and Changbin made their way around to the other side of the house, trying not to look suspicious, and found the window that was cracked slightly open. Soft light poured from it, lancing across the bare ground below. And, there was the conveniently placed log, now fallen on its side. It didn’t look like Jisung had come through this way for awhile.

“Chan, are you sure about this?” Changbin whispered.

“Well, you wanna go hang out with Jisung, yeah?”

“Fine, yes,” Changbin grumbled.

Chan hopped up onto the log and pulled himself up to peek in the window. He was completely still for a moment, then put his feet back down and, with an indiscernible look on his face, motioned to Changbin.

“What? Is it locked or something?” Changbin asked, confused. Chan just shook his head, not trusting himself to speak, and motioned for Changbin to take his spot on the log.

“Boost me up?” he said to Chan, who gave him a wild look, but held out his hands for Changbin to step on anyway.

When Changbin’s head rose above the window, he stared. You were laying there in the tub, naked and lithe as a cat. But you weren’t alone. Jisung, his best friend Han Jisung, was in the tub with you. And you were kissing, Jisung’s hands all over you. As he beheld your form, Changbin felt like he was about to burst apart into a thousand pieces. Unable to tear his eyes away, Changbin saw you undulate your hips against Jisung’s and heard you sigh wantonly. You were completely engrossed in each other, unaware of your silent audience.

You let out a loud moan and Changbin’s hands, cramped from the cold and clutching the windowsill, betrayed him so he nearly lost his grip. His feet scrabbled for purchase on the house’s siding. He tried to keep his breathing under control, but his mind was full of smooth skin, water, and the sound of your sighs. Fuck. We shouldn’t be here.

But just at that moment, Chan chose to actually boost him up toward the window and, because Changbin was shocked at seeing you naked in a bathtub with Jisung, he toppled forward.

↠↞

The feeling of almost unraveling but never quite tipping over the edge was absolutely delicious, and yet having nothing between you and Jisung was even better. Your eyes were closed, focusing on the sensations, rather than trying to see anything, and you gasped against every so often. Jisung gently bit down on your shoulder whenever you did.

You were resting your full weight back against Jisung’s chest, simply enjoying the feel of him touching you everywhere possible. Then, you felt Jisung twitch inside you as you ground against him, and he began to thrust up into you with more regularity. A particularly loud moan escaped your lips, the ache deep inside pulsing, just as you heard a scuffling sound from outside.

“Ji? What was that?” you asked, your eyes flying open.

“It’s probably just some raccoons,” Jisung said offhandedly.

“Hmmm,” was all you replied and closed your eyes again. You held onto his knees for support as Jisung’s pace increased, making little waves dance in the tub.

And then . . .

It seemed like all hell broke loose as a body crashed through the slightly open window. You shrieked in surprise and Jisung yelled, “What the fuck?” All sense of arousal gone, you froze before peeking above the rim of the bathtub.

You had a distinct sense of deja vu as, yet again, you saw a young man sprawled on your bathroom floor.

Shit.

Shit!!

Belatedly, you realized that you were, indeed, naked, and you were in the bath. With Jisung. And you were still sitting on his dick, which now seemed to have a mind and agenda of its own. Oh, and it was freezing now that the window was fully open, making you feel like someone had pulled the skin on your chest taut as a bowstring.

“Seo Changbin, what the actual fuck?!!” Jisung almost, almost, bellowed as he firmly held you in place on his lap, not wanting his friend to notice anymore than he already had.

“I—” Changbin stammered, but was cut off as Jisung yelled again, seeing another face at the window.

“Chan, too? What the hell?! I just— What the hell?” As much as he might have seemed angry, you could feel Jisung laughing silently as he took in the situation.

“Fuck,” was all Chan said as his gaze took you in, and you pulled your legs up in front of yourself in some, futile, attempt to hide your nakedness.

“Well?” Jisung demanded.

“We were looking for you, bro,” Changbin said from the floor. “We had plans!”

“And you said you climb through Y/N’s window all the time!” Chan added . . . helpfully.

“I told you I had something going on tonight.” Jisung sighed and grumbled, “But I guess you didn’t remember that.” Then, rolling his eyes Jisung said, “How much did you two drink, anyway?”

“Hey, don’t be like that, man,” Chan said, still peering through the window. “It wasn’t that much!”

“Bullshit,” you said, speaking for the first time.

“Okay, whatever. You’re right,” Changbin grumbled from the floor, looking a little ill.

“Both of you: Get. Out.” Jisung’s voice was firm, but he still couldn’t hide the amusement in his voice.

“Can’t we go through the little door?” Chan said hopefully.

“Y/N?” Changbin implored you, eyes wide.

“Fine. Just go through the damn door so you can get out of my fucking bathroom!” Your voice rose and you crossed your arms over your chest.

Once Chan had climbed through the window, catching a sleeve on the windowsill in the process, and Changbin had retrieved Jisung’s keys from his pants, the two of them squeezed through the passageway to Jisung’s apartment. You tried your best not to giggle at how much they looked like those same raccoons Jisung had mentioned earlier, practically falling over each other as they rushed to get out of the bathroom.

“I’ll be over at some point,” Jisung called after them. “Good riddance,” he said more quietly to you.

“I can’t believe that just happened,” you huffed out in a laugh.

“Yeah, I can’t either,” Jisung groaned. “But I’m not surprised. That’s those two in a nutshell, honestly.”

You leaned your head back against Jisung’s shoulder again and sighed. He was still inside you, and you were suddenly glad that you’d been facing forward when Chan and Changbin had appeared. Completely unable to resist Jisung’s soft skin, you nuzzled his jaw.

“Well, I guess that cat’s out of the bag,” you shrugged.

“They’ll never let me live it down,” Jisung replied, burying his face in your neck.

“Nope, they won’t!” you giggled and pecked Jisung’s cheek.

#inkidz #ultkpop #stayhavennet #0325net #stray kids #stray kids fanfic #bang chan #seo changbin #han jisung #3racha #.moonlight

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yeoldontknow · 4 years

Note

I WANT ENOUGH!YEOL IN A HOSPITAL!AU BECAUSE I LOVE PAIN XOXO (also i love you so much)

i made myself hurt. i made myself soft. i made myself fall apart. here we are :(

send me a chanyeol + a prompt!

Verse: Enough + Hospital AU Pairing: Chanyeol x Reader (oc; plus size female; enough!reader) Rating: PG-13 Warnings: some sexual themes; heavy angst; romance; chanyeol cries and it breaks my damn heart; discussions of being overweight; the stigma of being a plus size or fat person in a hospital which is a really specific thing to experience; discussions of pregnancy Word Count: 1.4K

Three minutes.

It only took you three minutes to know you loved Chanyeol. The day you met him, he was shy, a new hire. He shook your hand with confidence and smiled like he had something he wanted to prove to the sun. He was soft. He was handsome. But then, he sat beside you and he giggled. That day, his desk was decorated with welcome confetti - your idea, a tradition you started for each new member brought to the team. Flowers were placed next to his keyboard, ribbons on his stapler and notepad. Your idea too, a way to bring colour to the monotony of admin work. He giggled, joyful, unbridled, clapped his hands together and didn’t bother to hide the glee that overtook his features.

It took only three minutes.

Six months.

It took six months of dating to realize you wanted to marry him. You didn’t say it out loud, certain this kind of admission was coming much too soon and much too fast, but you knew it was true. Over time, you had grown utterly disinterested in a life, in events, in plans that didn’t include him. You had a life. You had friends. You wanted him to be involved in every aspect of it. It was a Sunday, the day you told yourself you wanted to be his wife. A new thought, a new idea, one you had never tried on before - until Chanyeol, you were content with yourself.

After Chanyeol, you were alive. You rolled over and cupped his cheek, whispered that you needed him, wanted him, craved him to his closed eyes and soft breaths. He didn’t wake when you touched him, and from the kitchen you smelled the coffee start to brew from the automatic start. You were making a life together. You wanted to age alongside him until your bones were ash.

It only took six months.

Two years.

The earth moves slowly around the sun, but in Chanyeol’s arms life came quickly, and life came strong. Before him, when you were alone and at peace, you not once felt the urge to be a mother. You are not maternal - you are naturing, you are kind, and you are affectionate, but you are not maternal. Your reasons for not having a child outweighed and grew well beyond your reasoning for having one, but just the same way you woke up one morning wanting to be his wife, so too did you go to bed one night wanting to carry his child.

It happened silently, suddenly, a thought that entered your mind abruptly while he dried his hair. Sitting on your shared bed, shoulders rounded and skin soft, you decided you wanted more of him. Another. An infinite amount of his hope, his smiles, his laughter, his temper in the world. You wanted family - not just him, your whole life, but a line of it, the kind of line that leaves scars in the earth long after you both have passed, a generation born out of love. You were still unmarried, close to calling him your fiance and still calling him your husband in your mind, a thought and a name you keep to yourself, but this too came quickly. Two years was too soon to want a child, a family, but you wanted it. You wanted it.

It took two years.

Chanyeol has been crying for three hours.

With your hand held tightly in his, sits beside your hospital bed, eyes and cheeks wet, too afraid to leave your side. Head pressed against the pillow, you watch as he weeps, fights against the barriers that keep you separated, and clings to you as best he can. The back of your hand has grown wet with his tears, his body still wracked with fear and anguish. He’s your soft star, your heartbeat, and you bring your other hand to card through his hair, needing more of him. Needing all of him.

‘I promise I’m fine,’ you repeat.

You’ve lost track of the number of times you’ve said it, the number of times you’ve done your best to affirm it, but still he does not believe you. His large eyes are stricken, painted with horror as he shakes his head, pushing the chair closer to your bedside, even though there is no more room to spare.

‘No,’ he argues, because he is stubborn, because he is insistent, because he refuses to let it go. ‘You fainted in the kitchen. You didn’t even wake up until we were halfway here!’ The stress creeps back into his voice, skin falling pale once more, and though you roll your eyes at his persistent challenge to your confident affirmations, your heart flutters, wondering how you ever coped without a love like his.

Giggling, you stroke your finger along the tip of his ear, feeling his long eyelashes flutter against your skin. He’s burrowed into your arm, breathing your scent in deeply. If he could, you’re certain he’d be in the bed with you, unwilling to be parted.

‘Yes,’ you agree, nodding against the rough cotton. ‘But I have juice now.’ You cast your gaze to the bedside tray that contains a large juice box of apple juice. The straw reminds you of when you were a child, the days when you chewed the plastic out of anxiety. Today, it remains perfectly rounded, your toes having wiggled beneath the sheets with each excited sip. ‘I’m practically spoiled here. They even gave me peaches!’

Chanyeol shakes his head against your arm in vigilant disagreement, looking up once more with an expression that conflicts your heart. You would swoon by the sight of it, but are shattered by the pain of it, wishing he would believe you are whole, and you are well, if only so he could return to being your sunshine.

‘I’m scared,’ he whispers, and you break.

Laughing at the softness, the silliness of his anxiety, you pull him up to you, kissing his lips eagerly.

‘Don’t laugh,’ he murmurs, kissing you once more with a groan. ‘I can’t cope if you’re not safe.’

The sound of the door opening interrupts you both, and Chanyeol returns to his seat, gaze fixated on the doctor who enters carrying a clipboard. His hair is greyed at the edges, glasses thin framed with lenses almost too thick for the wiring. Normally, you hate doctors. You hate doctors and you hate hospitals, neither a thing that seems to listen to women, all your problems and all your issues always somehow boiling down to your weight or your gender. You prepare yourself now for a reprimand that will almost certainly be moot, ready, once more, to be told you are not thin enough, not well enough, and certainly not privileged enough to be healthy.

‘Well,’ he begins gently, lowering himself to the rolling stool in the corner of the room, ‘your iron count is low which partially explains your fainting spell.’

Rearing back against the pillow, you cock your head in surprise, amazed that, no, this is not about your weight. ‘See!’ you exclaim, giggling as you nudge into Chanyeol.

‘But,’ the doctor continues, distracting you from Chanyeol’s sigh of relief, ‘congratulations are in order. Your blood tests confirm you’re pregnant. You’ll have to come back in a few weeks for a scan and a full pre-natal check up. There’s no way to tell how far along you are at the moment, so you’ll have to schedule an appointment with the nurse on the way out. Until then, I’ve prescribed a full pre-natal vitamin…’

A ringing in your ears overtakes the room, blood rushing simultaneously away from your head and into your cheeks, a conflicting experience that makes you feel dizzy.

‘Baby?’

Chanyeol puts the straw of your juice box between your lips and urges you to sip. Obedient, you regard him with wide eyes, feeling ashen. He’s started to cry again, doing his best to maintain his composure for your wellbeing. And it is only when you pull back, the sugar and the sweetness taking root in your veins once more that you look back to the doctor, bewildered.

‘I’m sorry,’ you begin, finding your voice with care. ‘I’m pregnant?’

At this the doctor laughs, dropping his pen and offering you an understanding smile. ‘I understand this is a shock.’

Blinking through your shock, you feel Chanyeol fall into your chest, pressing kisses to your neck, your jaw, your cheek. Openly he cries, his hand wandering down your belly where he splays his fingers wide.

‘I love you,’ he whispers. ‘I love you, I love you, I love you.’

‘Chanyeol,’ you mumble, stroking his hair with trembling fingers.

He pulls away to look at you with concern, a new wave of tears soaking his cheeks through his brilliant, otherworldly smile.

‘I’m scared,’ you whisper, and he rests his forehead against yours with a quaking sigh.

‘We’ll be fine,’ he assures. ‘I promise.’

#chanvember drabble game!#chanvember 2020!#chanyeol x you #chanyeol x reader #chanyeol scenario #chanyeol fanfic #chanyeol fanfiction #chanyeol au #chanyeol prompt

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shera-dnd · 3 years

Text

Face Turn - Three Count

What’s up fuckers it’s time for another chapter of Face Turn

This time let’s watch as these two slowly bond over their fucked up childhoods

Also this chapter has a joke about Weiss’s name and I want to clarify that Veiss is not quite the correct pronunciation, but it’s like the closest most english speakers can get to it

anyway AO3 link and on with the show

Her match with Yang had been long, painful and bloody. They had to sell this as the nastiest fight they’ve had and by god did they fucking sell it. Of course, their wounds weren’t half as bad as they looked, but they were still in some serious pain, and Weiss loved it.

She missed this adrenaline, she missed the thrill that came with a really good match. Beating the living shit out of Yang had been the most fun she’d had in well over a year now and it showed.

“Well someone here is having a lot of fun.” Yang joked, from the seat to her right, “for a loser.”

In the end that was the solution they found for the story. Weiss had beat Yang and showed the world that she was the strongest fighter around, but she had gone too far and the judge was forced to disqualify her and give the victory to Yang.

Yang kept her honor and her win streak intact and Weiss got to make her point that she could kick anyone’s ass in a real fight. Now they were both set to continue their rivalry properly.

She had to admit she was happy with that result. That didn’t mean she couldn’t sass Yang back though.

“And you’re talking a lot of shit for someone I just beat up.”

“Hey, if you want me to shut up, next time aim for the mouth,” she joked.

Weiss laughed, but Doctor Goodwitch was having none of that.

“You’ll do no such thing.” She interjected, “and you will both run your ideas by me before you go out there and beat each other black and blue. This is wrestling, not boxing.”

“Don’t I know it,” Weiss tried to bite back, but Goodwitch had a glare that would put even her sister to shame, so she toned the attitude way down, “sorry ma’am.”

They stayed in silence there for a while, patiently waiting for her to finish patching them up. It was awkward and painful, but the grin didn’t leave Weiss’s face the whole time.

“Hey, ice queen,” Yang called after Goodwitch had left, “wanna hit the bar tomorrow to celebrate our first match?”

It was good to hear that not even she was crazy enough to go drinking while on some serious pain meds.

“Only if you’re a gracious winner and pay for my drinks.”

The next day, after a nice night of drinking, Yang offered to do exactly that.

“Hey, I was joking about paying for the drinks,” she interjected.

“I know, but I am, in fact, a gracious winner,” Yang replied, looking her smugest.

“Yeah, not gonna happen,” Weiss slammed down her money and turned to leave.

“Jeez,” Yang complained as she followed, “it was just a few beers.”

“I don’t like owing people,” she replied, and before Yang could say anything she added, “and you saying I don’t owe anything won’t change that. I don’t buy that shit.”

“You have some serious trust issues, you know that?” That earned a laugh from Weiss.

“First lesson in the Jackass Schnee’s school of life,” she declared, “don’t trust anyone and don’t owe anyone shit.”

Yang looked at her like she didn’t know if she should laugh or give her a hug. Instead she settled for saying, “okay now I need to hear that story.”

“I’m not drunk enough for that one.”

But next week she very much was.

“Then I tried singing,” she rambled, “and of course that asshole tried to get his creepy little hands all over that. Then I joined the military, like my sister did, and there he was again trying to make sure I honored the Schnee name or whatever.”

“Shit, you used to sing?” Yang asked, focusing on the wrong thing.

“And I was fucking great at it,” she answered, with quite a lot of pride, “don’t ask me to try singing any of it now, I haven’t practiced outside of a shower in almost ten years.”

“Aww and here I thought I’d get a show all for myself,” she joked. There was something else in her tone, but it was lost amidst the alcohol and her absolute lack of experience with casual social interactions.

“Anyway that’s when I decided that I needed something that he would hate too much to get his hands on,” she continued, “something that he would refuse to tie the family name to.”

“So you’ve decided to spend the rest of your life punching people just to make your dad angry?”

“I mean, at first,” she hated how petty this made her sound, “but then I started liking it. It was something I could focus on and try to get better at, and I could do it for myself for once.”

Yang gave her a smile that was more soft and genuine than anything anyone had ever given her. Then she lifted her bottle and announced, “to spite and all the great things it helped us achieve.”

Weiss smiled back and raised her own bottle, “to defiance, and not letting anyone tell us how to live our lives.”

They both chugged their drinks and laughed loudly, like the two drunk idiots they were.

“Hey, wanna hear what’s worse?” Weiss offered, trying really hard not to laugh.

“You mean it gets worse?”

Weiss nodded and then leaned forward as if she was about to tell her some sordid Schnee family secret.

“Jacques doesn’t know how to say my name right,” she whispered, “but everyone thinks he does, so they all just say it wrong too.”

“No fucking way!”

“Yes fucking way!” She insisted, “my mom gave me a german name and it should be pronounced like Veiss Schnee, but that dumb shit has been butchering it since the day I was born.”

At that Yang started cackling.

“Shit, Weiss,” she called, trying and failing to say it properly, “your family makes even mine sound functional.”

“Okay now it’s your turn to share your tragic backstory,” Weiss asked, maybe a little drunker than she was planning on getting tonight.

“Maybe next time, Ice Queen.”

Thankfully Weiss didn’t have to wait long. Even though they barely saw each other at work that week, they knew they’d both be at the White Fang again. It was a strange new routine that she wasn’t sure when she had fallen into.

“So after Summer died dad got hit pretty bad. Couldn’t fight anymore, couldn’t even help around the house,” Yang told her over some drinks. Weiss had noticed she’d been drinking a lot less that night, “so that’s when I took up wrestling. Indie stuff at first, just trying to get some bills paid and help raise my sister.”

Weiss didn’t know how to respond. She’d never been in a position like that before. Should she console her friend? How would she even do that? Shit, were they even friends or just very close coworkers?

“I try not to blame Tai for it,” Yang continued, “he’s a great dad and I know he was going through a lot back then, but it’s hard not to get bitter over that stuff.”

She looked down at her drink, having vastly underestimated how hard this would hit her. It was strange seeing Yang’s face doing anything other than beaming or laughing. She was such a joyful person that it hurt to see her like that.

Damn it, she had to fix that.

“Hey, jackass,” fucking great start there, Weiss, “stop torturing yourself over feeling shit. Just because you know it wasn’t his fault doesn’t mean you don’t get to let yourself be bitter about it.”

Yang chuckled weakly, “wasn’t expecting an actual lesson in emotional health from you of all people.”

Weiss should be offended, but Yang did have a point.

“Hey, letting me feel things was the first thing I taught myself after I told Jackass to fuck off.”

“Was the second thing swear words?” Yang joked and it was as if that shadow from before had never been there.

“You can bet your ass it was fucking swear words!” She declared, slamming her hand on the table.

At that they both laughed loudly and happily. When had Weiss ever felt so at ease with someone else? The answer was never, but she didn’t want to focus on the sadness that came with that realization. She wanted to focus on the idiot laughing in front of her.

“Weiss Schnee,” Yang called. Her pronunciation getting just a little better, “you’re the fucking worst!”

To that she smiled.

She liked how her name sounded in Yang’s voice.

#rwby #yang xiao long #weiss schnee #freezerburn #freezer burn #fanfic #wrestling au

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buckyscrystalqueen · 3 years

Text

Ain’t Sayin’ She’s a Gold Digger: Part 2

Pairings: Sugar Daddy!Negan x Sugar Baby!Reader

Warnings: Sugar baby relationship, swearing

Word Count: 3,343

Part 1

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

“Well don’t you clean up nice.” Jeffrey said as you stepped out of your apartment building in a black silk Saint Laurent top, red denim shorts, and red to black gradient Louboutin’s with an old, worn suitcase in your each of your hands that were stuffed full of clothes.

“So I think I fucked up.” You huffed as you set the bags down on the stoop and pushed a new pair of sunglasses up on top of your head.

“Oh?” He asked with a small smirk as he leaned back against his car and crossed his arms over his chest. “What did you do?”

“Well… this is only bags number one and two.”

“Oh shit.” He laughed as Dana opened the door and carried out bags three and four out with her. “OK, James will get the rest, girls.”

“There’s only one more.” You huffed as you handed the bags at your feet to his driver. “And it’s one with the dresses… oh!” You gasped and lunged toward suitcase number two, which was probably as old as you were, as it ripped down the zipper and spilled half of your carefully planned and neatly folded outfits onto the stairs. “Damn it.”

“Sweetheart.” Jeff said as he lurched forward and helped you and Dana pick up your things. “Why didn’t you get new bags?”

“I just… I thought about it.” You sighed as you brushed off a dress on the bottom of the pile and set it on the seat of the car so it was out of the way. “But I had already went from a little less than a month of clothes to way over, and it was just getting so expensive, I just figured that my old suitcases would work, and I just had to buy these Louboutin’s because they have just been my wet dream…”

“Alright, well now we have to go and get you suitcases before we leave.” He said with a shake of his head as he searched your eyes. “What else did you skimp out on?”

“I made it through purchasing clothes, and the salon so she was up to my standards.” Dana said as she handed you the last bit of clothing with an evil smile. “But I know her make up’s old, and she probably got it from Walgreens.”

“Dana, shut your face.”

“I see what you mean about this one being a run for my money.” Jeff laughed as he handed his driver all of your folded clothes to put in the trunk with your bags. “Are you trying to be difficult?”

“Oh, I’m not trying…”

“She will always be difficult.” Dana said as she kissed your cheek. “Now go! I have things I want to do…”

“Make sure you shut the blinds this time if you’re gunna go dance naked in the living room some more.”

“Go to hell.” She laughed as she headed up the stairs. “Keep in touch, and you take care of my best girl.”

“Come on, sweetheart. We got some stops to make and I gotta postpone a jet.”

——

“You don’t have to keep apologizing, sweetheart.” Jeff said softly as you sat down next to him on the U-shaped couch on the Regent cruise line’s private jet.

“I feel bad I’m the reason we’re all late.”

“And I think we are right on time.” You smiled at him softly and sighed through your nose as you crossed your legs and put your hand on top of his on your knee. “So tell me about you.”

“It’s… well, it’s a long, long story.”

“Well we have a seven hour flight ahead of us.” You smirked and looked over at him as you turned on the leather toward him a bit more.

“What if I wanna be difficult?”

“Oh, I like difficult.” He chuckled as he glanced up and took two champagne glasses from the stewardess with a small nod.

“OK, well champagne is going to make being difficult, really difficult.” You laughed as you tapped your glass against his. “And I am an double orphan, that was adopted by a single mom who died of cancer, and then raised in group homes and with foster families, so I know how to be difficult.”

“You were an orphan?”

“I was an orphan.” You repeated before taking a big sip of your drink. “Well technically I still am. I was left at a police station when I was a year and a half old by my mom. And I was placed with a foster family while they tried to track her down, but they never did. She’s the lady who taught me how to play piano, my second mom, mama Beth. For the whole first month I was living with her, I didn’t say a word or make a sound, I just stared at her baby grand piano because I’d never seen one before. And eventually, she just picked my ass up, plopped me down on the chair, and taught me everything I know.”

“How long were you with her?” He asked before taking a sip of his own drink.

“Almost ten years.” You said with the slightest hint of tears in your eyes. “Until she passed away. After that, I went to a few different group homes and other foster families that I hated until I aged out. Went to Juilliard on a scholarship and then became a bartender after that. And now I’m here.”

“And now your here.” He parroted back as he set his drink down in the cup holder on the table in front of you to buckle his seatbelt. “I was a little more fortunate in life.”

“What, not all people own cruise lines and hotels and fly in private jets?” You teased as you fastened your own seatbelt.

“Surprisingly, no.” He laughed as his eyes lit up even more. “Usually people own much bigger companies.”

“Oh, well you are slacking!” You giggled as you let him take your hand and lace his fingers with yours. “You need to step up your game, Jeffrey. Do I need to be the one to make… like a vision board or some shit to you can manifest the new dream?”

“No, we don’t need that.” He said as he slowly brushed his thumb against yours. “You know, you really are a breath of fresh air.”

“I’m not doing anything special.” You nearly whispered as you laid your head down on his shoulder for only a second, before you popped it right back up again. “Oh, there’s a big TV?!”

“There’s a bed in the back, too.” Your head whipped over toward him and your jaw dropped in shock.

“Shut up.”

“I use this plane for VIP guests that go on our more expensive cruises overseas, or VIPs that visit our hotels and want a more personal experience with our company. I’ve tried to do everything I can to make everyone’s vacation as memorable as can be.”

“Is it just VIPs that use this… oh!” You squeaked as you squeezed his hand a little tighter as the plane picked up speed and shot across the runway.

“It goes quick.” He whispered in your ear as he put his other hand on your knee. “First time flying?” You nodded your head and took a deep breath, before forcing a smile on your face.

“OK, it’s not that bad.”

“You get used to it.” He chuckled. “And usually it is only VIPs that use this. It’s a pretty penny to fuel and staff this thing…”

“Would you should consider doing a raffle every year?” You asked before you finished your champagne as the plane leveled out at your flying altitude. He looked at you questioningly at the interruption and you shrugged and set your glass down in the cup holder beside his. “Sorry. You just said that you want to make people’s experiences memorable. As someone that grew up without, who has never been on a vacation before in my life, let alone going overseas, this is a pretty amazing experience. One that I will always remember. Now imagine giving that same feeling to a couple of love sick newlyweds going on their honeymoon, or the kids of a single mother who worked three jobs after she divorced her husband to give her kids something joyful in their dark life like my friend’s mom did in middle school.” You shrugged and gave him a tight lipped smile. “I don’t know, it’s just a thought.”

“It’s actually a very good thought.” He said with a smile as he took his hand off your knee to reach up and push a piece of hair back behind your ear. He searched your eyes for a moment and shook his head. “Fuck, Dana was right about you. You really are something special.”

“Honestly, I’m just being me. I told you, I don’t know how to be your typical Baby. So you’re gonna get me just the way I am.”

“And that’s what I need right now.” He reassured as he brushed his thumb across your cheek. “I need something real. Something that isn’t putting on a mask to be what they think I want. I may hate her, but I miss my wife because she was the only person who treated me like a person and not a bank account. And I can already tell that you’re the same kinda person.”

“I mean, I won’t lie to you…” You admitted as you leaned into his touch. “The money is nice. But it’s certainly not everything. Even in the short amount of time we’ve spent together, I can tell you’re a great guy. And I’m glad I can be the one to get to know you. So I guess we can both be grateful that I met Dana.”

“How did you meet Dana anyways?”

“Well I can be grateful I got kicked out of Juilliard for that. I lost my place to live and didn’t have any money. She happened to be on a run past Juilliard as I was tossing trash bags of my shit out of the dorm, and I knocked her ass over with a bag of shoes.”

“Oh, Jesus.” He laughed as he nodded at his stewardess and sat up a little bit to snack on the extravagant charcuterie board that was set on the table in front of you.

“She obviously forgave me.” You laughed as you nodded your head at the stewardess when she held up the bottle of champagne. “And she gave me a couch to sleep on until I could get a job and get my shit together. And the rest is history.”

“Well here’s to history.” Jeff said with a smile as he held up his full glass. “And to making friends.”

“And to perfectly timed moments in time.” You added as you tapped your glass against his.

“I can definitely drink to that, sweetheart.”

——

“Ummm… how old is that phone?” Jeff asked with a laugh as he watched you take photos of London out the town car window with an iPhone 6 that had a giant crack across the screen but still worked just fine.

“As old as you are.” You teased with a glance over your shoulder before looking back out the window at the landmarks wizzing by on your way to one of Jeff’s hotels for the night before the cruise. “So about as old as the dinosaurs.” He laughed behind you as he sat forward in his spot.

“Find an Apple store…”

“No.” You said quickly as you shook your head and turned back toward him. “No, that’s alright.”

“Just find us an Apple store.” Jeff repeated with a shake of his head as he looked back down at his phone and the dozen or so emails he had gotten when you were in the air.

“You’re being ridiculous.” You huffed as you turned away from him for a moment.

“No, you trying to take good photos on an old broken phone on your first international trip ever is ridiculous.” You looked over at his smirk and narrowed your eyes as he glanced over at you out of the corner of his eyes. “You are ridiculous, sweetheart.”

“Why?” His smirk turned into a full smile as he turned off his screen and turned toward you casually.

“I like to take care of people.” He started as he rested his arm on the back of the seat and picked up a strand of your hair to twirl around his finger. “It’s the way I was raised. When I was young, my mom used to make me work with her at a thrift store her woman’s club ran couple times a week. It was the biggest pain in the ass in my opinion because I would have much rather been out playing with my friends. But one day, one of those friends lost their house to a fire. And they needed help. And so the stuff I had been organizing just the day before became everything to my friend. It was maybe a half dozen t-shirts and maybe as many pairs of shorts, but that was all he had. And it made me wanna do more. But as a kid there was only so much I could do. So from that day forward, I did everything I could to help people in ways they couldn’t do themselves.”

“So that’s why you went into hospitality?”

“Part of the reason. The other part was the money. And when I met and married Hillarie, I had someone I could take care of, so my philanthropy kinda fell to the way side… but after she left, I just…”

“You’re just missing something.” You interjected with a smile as you pat his thigh gently. “I get it. This kinda makes a lot more sense now, you and me… Oh, Tiffany!” You said as you pointed out the window behind him at the building you had just drove past. “That place always has the cutest things. I can never stop myself from browsing… Sorry, that was rude…”

“You can just stop here.” Jeff said as he gestured to an open parking spot. “I do think a nice Tiffany necklace would look great with this outfit of yours before we find you a decent international phone for the month we’re here.”

“OK, let the record show that I’m not a fan of being spoiled like this.” You said as you got out of the car behind him with a giant smile. “But at the same time, the broke girl that spends way to much money on fashion magazines is dying.”

“Listen to that second voice.” He laughed as he put his hand on the small of your back and pulled the door to the designer department store named Selfridges open for you. “Spend the money.”

~~~~~~~~~~

“This ship is absolutely breath taking.” You sighed as you walked with Jeffrey so he could double check all of the work that was put into the ship before its maiden voyage. “Every single detail is… it’s just beyond words.”

“Thank you, sweetheart.” Jeff said with a smile as he brushed his thumb across your back. “I wanted to make sure, even though it looks very similar to one of the line’s other ships, that it would still be an unrivaled experience for the guests.”

“Well I think you got it spot on.” You leaned into his side and looked up at him with a playful smile. “You know you’re gunna have to play bocce with me.”

“I will play bocce with you.” He agrees as he lead you into a lounge you hadn’t seen yet because you had been distracted by the culinary arts kitchen and picking one of the classes to take so Jeff knew it was a worth wile experience to have. “But you have to play for me first.”

“Oh, my God.” You gasped as you walked over to the gorgeous grand piano in the middle of the room. “This is a Steinway.”

“I take it that’s a good thing?” He asked as he opened the keys cover for you and gestured to the bench.

“You have no idea. We had one of these at Juilliard for showcases, but I never…” You shook your head as you gingerly danced your fingers across a few keys and slowly sat down on the bench. “Oh, it’s so beautiful.”

“So you want me to play bocce with you or what?” He asked as he nodded at one of the bartenders who were preparing the bar for when the boarding process began in a less than an hour. With a smile, you nodded your head, turned your attention to the black and white keys, and started playing ‘Clair de Lune’ by Debussy.

Just like you had the very first time you played a note, you were instantly lost in the sound. It took you away to another place, where everything was much simpler and black and white. It was like a cloud lifted you off the bench and took you a million miles away, cradling you and lightening the dark parts of your orphaned soul that had been marred by the system that failed so many children before and after you, and a society that mostly fended for themselves. The piano spoke in ways you knew you would ever be able to, expressing itself much more fluently than you even believed possible.

As he leaned on the bar and sipped on his scotch, Jeff felt something he had never felt with a Sugar Baby before. A desire that he had assumed had all but disappeared when he caught Hillarie with another man. Part of him wanted to snuff it out as fear overwhelmed him, but the other part, the much bigger part, wanted you more than he had even wanted Hillarie. You had a fire in you that he could already feel warmed the darkest reaches of his soul, and a mischievousness to you that made him want to get in a little trouble just for the fun of it. He loved how easy it was to talk to you, and how you checked all of your inhibitions at the door, which made him wish he was able to do the same thing.

‘No one would want to be with some… old man like you.’ Even six years later, Hillarie’s words still cut like a knife straight through the heart, reminding him exactly why dating Sugar Baby’s was the best thing for him. It had been the same script that played through his head whenever he had moments like this. Moments where he thought he’d be able to move on in life and find someone that could stand spending any length of time with him for any reason other than his money. Which is the exact reason why using his money to pay for company that otherwise wouldn’t want to be with him anyways was the only way to go at his age. He startled the slightest bit when the bartenders beside him clapped when you finished your song, the sound pushing his thoughts away for the time being, and he joined them as well as you turned on the bench and blushed.

“Oh, stop.” You laughed as you slipped your shoes back on and stood up. “That’s an easy one.”

“Well, I’m so glad I thought long ago that it would be a good idea to put a piano in the suite we’re in too.” Jeff said as he set his glass down and stuck out his hand for yours.

“Can we just go see it?” You asked with a smile as you let go of his hand to lace your arm with his. “For like one song length of time. And then maybe go down to the pool to people watch for a while before dinner?” He smiled and nodded his head as he led you to the elevators to go up to the fourteenth deck.

“That sounds like an absolutely fucking perfect idea, sweetheart.”

Part 3

#negan x reader #Ain't sayin' she's a gold digger #Negan's thirst squad #Negan thirst squad

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waywardnerd67 · 3 years

Text

Mr. & Mrs. Claus

Summary: (Y/N) volunteers her and Dean to be The Claus’ at a local home for children. Characters: Dean Winchester, Reader Pairing: Dean x Reader Warnings: Fluff Word Count: 1383 Square Filled: Santa Claus Bingo Card: @spnchristmasbingo

Check out: SPN Christmas Bingo Masterlist

Dean shook his head, “No way. Absolutely, positively, no freaking way I’m putting on that suit.”

“Please? For me, Dean?” (Y/N)’s bottom lip popped out into a beautiful pout that would normally have him caving within seconds, but not this time.

“No. What the hell made you think I would even be okay with doing this?”

He held up the offensive red Santa suit, hat and fluffy, white beard. (Y/N) had volunteered them to go to a local halfway house for kids in Lebanon to play Mr. and Mrs. Claus. Though he desperately wanted to see her in a Mrs. Claus outfit, he was positive the one she would be wearing was not the same as the one in his fantasies.

“Fine. I will have Sam go with me instead. You can be miserable by yourself, Mr. Grinch.” She snatched the Santa suit from his grasp exiting his room without turning back.

For a moment, guilt pounding into his chest before he grabbed the bottle of whiskey from his nightstand, the amber liquor numbing the guilt into a dull ache. He did not have anything against helping out kids or anything, but after his own experiences in halfway homes there was no other place he would rather not go again than those homes. Walking out to the library, he poured himself another drink resuming the anime episode that had been interrupted when she walked in with the red suit.

A couple hours later, Sam emerged in the red suit, Dean covering his mouth trying not to laugh.

“Not a word.” His brother pointed a finger at him, “I’m doing this for (Y/N) and because you’re a jerk.”

“Better than a bitch in a red suit.”

The (Y/N) walked into the library in her Mrs. Claus outfit. Anything he had fantasized about did not compare to what she was wearing. A simple velvet red dress with white trim and cuff clung to every curve she had. A matching shawl that ended at her elbows was pinned closed at her chest leaving a space wear her gorgeous cleavage peeked through from the deep V cut of her dress. Her long legs were covered by white stockings and went into bright red heels. A red hood covering her cascading hair that tumbled down to her collarbone.

“Ready Sam? We need to get there a little early.”

“U-Uh, Sam will have to meet you there. I need his help with something real quick. I promise he won’t be late.” Dean called out catching them by surprise.

(Y/N) rolled her eyes, “Fine. I’ll see you there.”

Dean watched her sashay her way towards the garage, his jeans becoming increasingly uncomfortable with each sway of her hips.

“What the hell Dean?”

“Give me the suit.”

They said at once as Sam crossed his arms over his chest, “Seriously? Now you want to go be joyful and merry all because…”

“Doesn’t matter why. All that matters is that she wanted me to do this with her and I’m going too. Now give me the Santa suit.” Dean held out his hand as Sam huffed removing the red coat from his body.

He made it to the group home just in time to be ushered off to his seat where (Y/N) was glaring at him, “Where’s Sam?” she asked through gritted teeth.

“What, not happy to see me fulfilling the obligation you volunteered us for?” He pulled down the itchy beard flashing a smile at her.

Before she could respond the murmuring of children started to fill the small room. Boys and girls from ages five to teenagers filed in forming a line. They stood next to him for a picture then he leaned forward asking what they wanted for Christmas. Their answers breaking his heart slowly.

I want a permanent home.

I would like a mommy and daddy.

I want to be a part of a big family with lots of brothers and sisters.

A mommy to cook my favorite foods.

Tears slipped down Dean’s face thankfully hidden beneath the beard scratching his face. Finally, the last kids walked away from him and they joined together one last time for a group picture. He waved goodbye to them all stepping outside into the cool night air ripping the beard from his face.

His eyes closed breathing in deeply the cold burning his lungs when he felt pillowy soft lips pressed against his cheek. Opening his eyes, she found (Y/N) standing in front of him smiling.

“You did great in there tonight, Dean.”

He sighed, “That was nothing like what I expected. They asked for real things like family and food instead of asking for toys.” Tears welled up beneath his eyelids.

“I know, but there’s nothing we can really do about it other than encourage them to keep strong and not to lose hope.” Her hand brushed away a few wayward tears from his cheeks.

He sniffled sucking in a harsh breath, “Well screw that. I can do something to make Christmas better. I’m freaking Santa Claus.”

He grabbed (Y/N)’s hand pulling her towards the Impala. The next few days they went to work on Operation Christmas Awesome as Dean called it and on Christmas morning they loaded up Baby, (Y/N)’s car and Castiel’s beat-up truck with presents. The cheers and laughter that filled the early morning in front of the group home had Dean’s heart swelling with joy.

Sam and Castiel joined them this time to hand out presents to all the kids and care workers. Dean stood off to the side watching as wrapping paper went flying into the air. One little girl tugged on his jacket hugging him.

“Thank you, Mr. Claus.” She whispered as he patted her back, “We wanted to give something to you as well.”

Dean looked at all the kids now standing around him as a few of them pushed (Y/N) beside him. They all started shouting for them to look up and above their heads was mistletoe. Their eyes snapped to one another’s as the chanting changed to, “Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!”

He leaned down his lips hovering over hers, “We don’t want to disappoint them.” Pressing his lips to hers a spark ignited deep within him. A spark he had buried long ago when they first met.

When he pulled away from her the room erupting into cheers, he could see that spark burning within her beautiful eyes as well. The recognition of her seeing it in his eyes had her turning away smiling before rushing towards the front entrance. Taking a shaky breath, he waved to all the kids before following her outside.

“(Y/N)...”

“I’m fine. No need to worry about hurting my feelings or anything. I know my place with you. I just need a minute.” Her warm breath created a cloud around her.

“You know I was thinking about what I wanted for Christmas this year as I listened to all the kids telling me what they wanted.” He stepped in front of her still giving her the space he knew she needed.

She chuckled, “Oh yeah and what does the great Dean Winchester want for Christmas?”

He reached out pulling her against his body, “You. All I want for Christmas is you, (Y/N).”

“Dean, you don’t… I mean, I know how you feel about the whole relationship thing.” She started saying but his lips sealed over hers.

“I only said those things because I know I’m not good enough for you, but honestly the only person I ever wanted a life with is you.” He brushed his hand over her cheek as she leaned into his touch.

(Y/N) pressed her lips against the palm of his hand, “Should I go put a bow on my head for you to unwrap?”

He laughed kissing her once more, “No, not right now. Later tonight when we’re alone then I would love to unwrap you.”

Smacking his chest, (Y/N) wrapped her arms around his waist just as more cheers came from the front entrance. Sam and Castiel were standing in front of all the kids clapping watching their whole exchange before walking towards them.

“About damn time.” Sam mumbled before heading towards Castiel’s truck.

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wastelandcrown · 4 years

Text

logan lark’s adventures in trying to appease his parents

CHAPTER 1: anybody have a map?

Summary: Logan Lark is a fairly average high school student. By all means, he should be impressing his parents on all grounds. Except...he doesn’t exactly have a social life. So after his parents give him puppy dog eyes, he decides to join the local theatre's youth production. Good grief...His life is about to get weird isn’t it?

Warning: Potential ooc behavior, Roman is a theatre brat to the highest degree (Sorry Roman stans)

Notes: This fic is based off an idea from @under-the-blue-moonlight who very graciously let me use it! I’ve made a couple changes, mostly surrounding Virgil’s involvement and I gave Logan performance anxiety because I thought it would be neat. There will be warnings on the chapters that have potentially triggering talk.

Pairings: Eventual Intrulogical, Eventual Rociet, Eventual One-Sided Logicality, Platonic Analogical, Platonic DRLAMP

Word Count: 2584

There he stands, at the precipice of his own destruction. By all accounts, it is fair to say that Logan is blowing this out of proportion. Wildly. Though he was doing much more than adequately in school, had a fairly stable mental health, and was better than most teenagers in regards to his physical well-being and room upkeep, it apparently wasn’t enough. Don’t misunderstand, his parents were in no way vindictive or cruel. Just...positive. Overtly so. In a way that made Logan cringe. How he, a man of logic and science, was ever made from these two extremely lovey-dovey saps, we will never know. Despite all his successes his parents still encouraged him to partake in activities with his peers. ‘Oh Logan, why don’t you join the school football team?’ ‘Logan, wouldn’t it be nice to make some friends at the local animal shelter?’ ‘Why are you always by yourself? Wouldn’t it be nice to make some friends?’ No, it would not. Not for him. Other people are stupid, especially teenagers. His whole life was planned on the cork board above his desk, and there was nothing important enough to make him deviate from his goal.

To him, at least. To his parents, his social life being active was figuratively their number one priority. He’s been hoping for a calm dinner with his mother and father, he even enjoyed it most nights. He and his mother would discuss new things going on at the schools they respectively learnt and taught at. His father would discuss his work managing the popular local theatre. Discussing his father’s work tonight was a mistake.

“You know, Logan,” His father begins, and he knows where this is going, “The youth production is going to be starting up again soon.”

His mother smiles, taking his father's hand, “Loganberry, we think it would be good for you to join. You’re in your second year of high school and you don’t even talk to the kids in your class!”

“Mother, please try and understand, I really don’t think it’s necessary for me to find friends. I don’t enjoy having acquaintances, let alone having close personal friends.”

“Logan-” His father starts again but his mother pats his hand, and he quiets.

She smiles at him and reaches across the table to put a hand on his cheek in a caring motherly gesture.

“I know you don’t like other kids dear, but...think about it this way! It could be a fun experiment!”

Logan pauses, leaning into his mother’s touch, and nodding to show he’s listening.

His mother started again, “You can gather data on a lot of different kinds of people, and then find out who you most enjoy hanging out with so that...in your...career…”

Even though she’s trying, she stumbles, and his father picks up the slack, “So that in your career, you can find the people who you think are easiest to work with and be more efficient that way!”

He knows what they’re doing. They’re buttering him up with some flimsy science experiment and explaining their position with a strange metaphor. But when both his parents are smiling at him like that...he can’t bring himself to say no to them. When he looks at them like this, he suddenly remembers how similar he looks to each of them. His mother’s dark brown hair, His father’s icy blue eyes, the glasses that sit snugly on both their faces...They smile at him so brightly that he just can’t say no to them.

“Fine. I will do it, just this once.”

His parents erupt into literal cheers. He finds it a tad too much, but as long as they are happy he supposes he can put up with socialization and scheduling conflicts for a few months.

That’s how he ended up at the theatre with his father at eight in the morning, on a Sunday in July. If it were his choice, he would be eating Crofter’s by the spoonful and reading some classic literature. Instead, he’s here. His father did get them both coffee, however. So he stands there awkwardly, nursing the cup that’s gone lukewarm, and he starts to feel nauseous. As he follows his father, he can hear the other kids. They’re loud. Too loud. Logan is going to hate this, he already hates this. He’s overthinking a bit, eyes trained to the floor when he accidentally trips. He’s bracing to be smacked in the face by the floor and his coffee when someone taller than him places a hand on his chest and props him back up.

“Hi there!” Says the smiling man, who is tall with brown hair and brown eyes. He looks very kind and is wearing a Steven Universe t-shirt.

“I-I apologize for that, I wasn’t looking where I was going.” Logan manages to stammer out. Had he been this nervous the whole time? He takes a deep breath and tries to get a grip.

“Oh, no problem!” The man nods to his dad, “Hey, Edward! This is Logan?”

“Yes, he is! He’s usually a little more focused, though.” Edward nudges Logan with a smirk, and Logan has to nod and concede. He’s right, of course. He is usually more focused.

“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Logan! I’m Thomas Sanders, I’m the head on the performance department here! Your dad’s been talking you up for weeks, you’re going to fit right in.”

With these words, Logan feels himself flush a little. Leave it to his father to talk him up for no good reason. He had never even been in a performance before!

“Uhm-Yes. Thank you-” Logan begins and is cut off by a large crash.

Thomas lets out a deep sigh and turns, motioning for Logan to follow. His dad gives him a big smile and a double thumbs-up, Logan gives him a small and tired smile in return. He wishes desperately he had refused his parents the second he enters the auditorium. On stage, an adult in an orange beanie is reprimanding a boy dressed like he just crawled out of the mosh pit of a rave. The boy is laughing maniacally as off to his side, a nearly identical boy in a strangely put together outfit is pouting and crying crocodile tears. Logan makes a note to steer clear of the neon-garbage-rave kid.

“What did you do now, Remus?” Thomas asks with a sigh, as the kid points off stage and cackles.

“Remus started this year off by glue-and-feathering Roman’s make-up bag.” The adult in the beanie says, and Logan looks shocked. They’re certainly going to kick this guy out, right? Right!?

“Remus...Dude…” Thomas grimaces, making his way over to who Logan assumes is Roman and supportively patting his shoulder.

“What!?” Remus nearly shouts through his laughing, “It was funny!”

“It was not!” Roman cries with such an intense amount of drama.

This only makes Remus laugh more.

He’s watching so intently that he doesn’t notice that someone has entered and is standing next to him.

“Oh, Hello.” He politely mutters, turning to look at the person. He’s shorter than he is, and definitely a lot bouncier. Even at eight am, he looks joyful. His eyes are a lighter blue than his, and his head is a mess of blonde curls. He also has round-ish tortoiseshell glasses. He isn’t unpleasant to look at, aside from the fact that he’s wearing cargo shorts and socks with sandals.

“Hi! Don’t worry about them, Remus does something like that every year! He likes a-uh...fun start!” The kid starts talking, and even his voice is joyful and bubbly.

“I’m Patton Foster, it’s nice to meet you!” Patton offers Logan a hand, which he takes and gives a firm shake.

“Logan Lark. Is it typically this rambunctious, or does it calm over time?”

Patton looks down, a little sheepish, then offers Logan a smile, “It’s always like this. Sorry!”

“It’s not a problem. I’ll just need to adapt to my circumstances.” As he says this he knows that it is going to be an especially arduous task.

Pointing to his cup, Patton starts speaking again, “Is your coffee getting cold? We have a microwave backstage if you want me to warm it up for you!”

The offer is sweet and genuine, so he lets Patton take the cup and run off behind the curtains. If he’s going to be here, he should start on that experiment, so he thinks. Patton seems sweet, potentially too sweet. It may be a ruse, but if his behavior is genuine Logan thinks he might be able to get by in his interactions with him. At least he’ll be able to send him off to do polite tasks if he ever needs to.

Returning with his coffee reheated, Patton is nearly bouncing on his heels. Throughout the early morning, Patton drags Logan around and Logan realizes the bouncing is just how Patton is. He scoots by as Thomas introduces the staff. The person in the orange beanie, Joan, is the stage manager. Stood quietly beside them is a darkly dressed kid who only acknowledges the audience with a nod, his name is apparently Virgil Storm and he is running lights and sound for the show. Logan wishes desperately he could be up there on that stage. Not because he’s decided he wants to be here, but because he wishes he had known tech was an option. Damn his father for making him act. There are only about twenty kids in the audience, and by the time Thomas is done explaining the rules and conduct, the time is reaching noon. When Thomas announces that the production they will be putting on is called “Hamilton” and is a musical, the others begin to cheer wildly. Now, Logan has no clue what Hamilton sounds like, but he knows it is about the Founding Fathers. Musicals have never interested him, and especially not one about men who owned slaves and were all hoity-toity. He’s heard of it, of course. His father talks about how it revolutionized musical theatre, but Logan has never been interested enough to ask any further questions. As everyone is buzzing, he turns to Patton and taps him on the shoulder.

“Is that a good thing?” Patton looks a little puzzled and goes to answer before he hears an offended gasp from behind him.

“A good thing!? Is Lin-Manuel Miranda’s pride and joy, the musical that revolutionized musical theatre, the Emmy Award-Winning show Hamilton any good!?” Roman gawks at him and sputters like he’s never heard something so blasphemous in his life.

“I have no interest in musical theatre, therefore I was asking to gain clarity.” Perhaps saying this is a mistake because there are many gasps from other students, and Logan is pretty sure someone yells ‘Sexy!’

Roman snaps at him loudly and rises from his seat, “Why are you even here then!? You look like a nerd!”

“Roman!” Patton stands up and now Logan is cornered between them, “Don’t be rude!”

“Wha-Well I’m sorry that I’m confused as to why he’s here if he doesn’t even know about Hamilton!” He steps closer, cornering Logan even more.

Then he stands, “My father enjoys musical theatre and asked me to join, I don’t see what the issue is with my joining but if it truly perturbs you I suppose I will take my leave.”

He’s really grateful for this opportunity to abandon the theatre, and he turns to try and leave and ends up nearly chest to chest with Patton.

“Hey now! There’s room enough for everyone here Logan!” Patton says brightly, and from the stage, Thomas nods.

“Patton is right, Roman. We welcome everyone to try their hand at theatre, so please sit down so I can let you all go have lunch.” Thomas looks exasperated as Roman sits with a huff, followed by Patton and Logan.

On the stage, Thomas continues to explain what they will be doing, and then they’re being released to lunch with the goal of listening to the musical and beginning to practice their audition material.

Logan manages to slink away from Patton, who had started talking to Roman about being nicer to the newbies or something. He had forgotten to bring lunch, which was probably fine. He’d just have to go and find his father and ask for some money. Pushing the auditorium door open, Logan finally notices he has attracted someone’s gaze. He makes eye contact with a glaring boy in a bright yellow hoodie, and he nods. The guy looks away and Logan shrugs him off. The front desk happily calls his father, who comes and brings him some money for the lobby vending machines and promises to buy him something more filling on the way home. This would severely throw off his new healthier diet, but he caves. After this day he would probably need some disgustingly greasy fast food to make him feel a little better. After the stunt with Roman, he’s not sure he’s going to go unnoticed. He buys a bottle of water and a granola bar from the vending machine and decides to sit at one of the lobby chairs to avoid the others. As he turns to find a space to sit, a voice from beside the vending machine makes him jump.

“You’re not going to fuck up the show, are you?” The voice says, and Logan turns to find the same kid who was glaring at him before. From up close, he’s around the same size as Logan. His eyes are green-brown heterochromic, his hair is messy and brown, and one side of his face has vitiligo in a pattern that looks eerily similar to a reptile’s scales. He is glaring Logan down and he can’t help but feel a little intimidated.

“I don’t plan on it, no. Just because I am here against my will does not mean that I am going to attempt to make the show disreputable in any way.” He tries to say this confidently and he thinks he succeeds when the boy grins and offers him a hand.

“Janus Devine.”

“Logan Lark.” And then he stops, and realizes he recognizes the origins of that name,“Are you by any chance named after the Greek god of doorways?”

Janus blinks, seemingly not expecting that reaction, “Shit-Yeah-How did you even know that?”

“I pride myself on being well-read.” Logan adjusts his tie as he says it and Janus gives a little chuckle.

“Very good to know.” Someone yells from down the hall, and Janus rolls his eyes at the noise, “How would you like to come to join me and my...friends this afternoon?”

“It would probably be of good use to me.” He replies with a small shrug of his shoulders. Hopefully, these friends are nicer than that Roman fellow, but not as nice as Patton.

“Oh no, it’s going to be totally useless. We aren’t going to get anything done.” Deadpans Janus and Logan just stares at him a little confused.

“That was sarcasm, specks.” His counterpart tacks on when he sees the confusion on his face.

“Oh, right”

All he can do now is follow Janus as he walks down the hallway towards the loud group of people. Logan follows behind and watches Janus’ movement. He walks so confidently that it’s almost like sauntering, but it’s too slow. Too smooth. It’s like slithering.

Taking a deep breath, he prepares himself for whatever horrible experiences await.

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smolbeandrabbles · 4 years

Text

Illicit Affairs - Harold x Reader (Adore)

Cruel Summer / Magnets / The Next Best Australian Record

GIF CREDIT: X

@wltz-bby @happyskywhale

Author’s Note: I know I said I was kinda finished with these two as far as I thought safe to take them. Oh, but this song I haaaaaaad to...

So here’s another one on the list of ‘how long does it take you to write a fic’. I decided I was writing this on 8th October (when I wrote my plot notes. at like 11pm) then I wrote and finished it on 10th/11th. Whereas sooooome stuff gets stuck in my drafts for like 6 months. And honestly I really don’t know how I do it. There’s a fic on my side blog that I turned around in 24 hours, which is another thing entirely but I am the most inconsistent writer! 😅🙈😬 I don’t know how you all put up with it, to be honest, but I’m glad you’re all here!

Ah shit we being and ‘end’ with Taylor again?! Ah well, can’t be helped!

Disclaimer: Adore/Adoration not mine / gif not mine / lyrics not mine

Premise: With Harold now divorced things get a little easier for a while, but you shouldn’t expect things to remain so un-convoluted for long, especially when you receive an invite to Tom’s wedding...

Words: 6418

Warnings: Sexual connotations / Sexual Pre-Amble / Swearing

_______ Make sure nobody sees you leave Keep your eyes down Tell your friends you're out for a run You'll be flushed when you return Take the road less traveled by Tell yourself you can always stop

And that's the thing about illicit affairs And clandestine meetings And longing stares It's born from just one single glance But it dies, and it dies, and it dies A million little times

Take the words for what they are A dwindling, mercurial high A drug that only worked The first few hundred times

And you wanna scream Don't call me kid Don't call me baby Look at this godforsaken mess that you made me You showed me colors you know I can't see with anyone else Don't call me kid Don't call me baby Look at this idiotic fool that you made me You taught me a secret language I can't speak with anyone else

And you know damn well For you I would ruin myself A million little times ---

Life all seemed a little easier after his divorce. You still had to be careful, that much was certain, but it didn’t feel like a full affair. The only attachment either of you had was each other. For you it felt like a weight was lifted - a worry. If you only had to worry about what your friends and the University would think if they found out, all that really mattered was being careful on campus. Surprisingly easy; longing glances in class could have meant anything (didn’t they all already know you had a massive crush?), but that ‘catch you later’ smile on his face was the best new thing. Not every night, but a few of them you would spend back at his place. It felt like a real relationship now, you’d found something meaningful. Now you could spend time with him off campus, you seemed to get even more careful on it. It wasn’t the only place you could touch him, hold him, kiss him anymore. You’d been concerned about him leaving you. The age gap in itself would give him more than enough reasons. But he didn’t; Harold stayed. And eventually it wasn’t just belief that he wouldn’t leave you, you knew he wouldn’t. So another year at university ended, and this summer was the first you’d spent between Sydney and home. Obviously, Harold wasn’t going to be coming back. And far be it from your parents to stop you from going back to see your friends. They were just glad to see you happy, and having your own adventures. And you did get to have adventures, even if you never left his house. Summer bled into another year of university, important as your final one, strange in every social context you could possibly think of. Unusually tough to balance – and it made you only too glad to immerse yourself in your class work rather than your relationship. One of the blessings of Harold being that much older than you and having been there before (and heck as if he didn’t know about stressed and struggling university students), was that he understood and let you get on with what you thought was important. You still saw him, just not as often, and it affected nothing between you. Tom wanted to see more of his father, again that was understandable to you, but it was weird to see him kicking around Sydney and occasionally in your classes. On the instances you did bump into each other – and none of them very compromising, that you made sure of – you were civil. But there was never anything more to it than that, until Mary. Your first thought should obviously have been ‘I guess his girl back home didn’t work out’. Instead it was more about things becoming even more convoluted. Harold had come to you with the great idea that, as a final year and preparing to take that leap into the world of acting, you could mentor the lower years on your experience. Your mentee met your ex-boyfriend, and the next thing you knew they were dating. Harold thought it was hilarious, you weren’t so sure – but were at least prepared to see the ironically funny side. You certainly neglected to mention it any time you talked with her though. You weren’t sure you could get through a conversation without ‘Oh yeah and by the way he’s a cheater…’ Highly inappropriate! As you did start to consider your future seriously, the path you found yourself on came from an unexpected place. A new friend – a guy in class who you knew of, but had never really worked with. Stuck together for one of your many final projects, this wasn’t just about developing a few scenes – but a whole two-person stage play. It was like a light bulb moment, how well your energy and creative process and thinking matched. On the same page from the first moment, you weren’t sure which one of you had suggested doing this past your final year, but it seemed like the most logical thing in the world. As expected, Harold was nothing but supportive. Even joking that you’d get your work finished and produced before any of his. Before you hushed him with kisses and let him know how much you believed in him. Adding to your mad year, Harold also moved house – still beach front, modern and pretty. But it maintained a nice rustic aesthetic. Polished wood and steel. He whisked you up to see it before he’d even bought it – because apparently you got a say in things like this now. ‘Why? You’re the one living here.’ ‘I want you to still want to visit me.’ ‘I’d visit you if you were in a 1 bedroom flat with peeling paint and a leaky kitchen sink, you know that.’ ‘Yeah but, maybe it won’t always just be my house.’ You hoped he didn’t expect to be met with anything but joyful screaming at that. The very last thing – as if everything else wasn’t enough - was the final year production. Gruelling auditions were worth it once you got the main part, opposite your future business partner. It was nice, it was going to give you a taste of the future, a trial run. Harold unfortunately was in charge of the second years instead, but he brought Tom over to help manage it – no prizes for how he met Mary. Still, you went along to watch and support. Wondering how exactly you could make him a piece of the puzzle… proud of him and his vision. It made you nothing but excited for that original work of his to be complete – it would be nothing but an honour for you to star in it. Yet it also meant that he didn’t get to see yours until it debuted, and somehow having him on the front row provided you with a confidence boost. And that little wink he gave you as you took your bows gave you all the hints you needed about where your night was going… You wouldn’t lie to yourself anymore, Harold was everything you had always wanted. *** You gave it almost exactly a year after you had finished studying before you ‘came clean’ to your friends. Oh, you were never going to tell them the full details, and you certainly weren’t about to tell your parents everything: just that you were with someone, and you were happy… really happy. In your opinion that was all that should have mattered to them. Your friends were all incredibly shocked at first, but then supportive, and they instantly brought back some of their old favourite jokes ‘Holy shit! Good marks eventually DID get you in his pants after all!’ The truth was not the official line: You had met in a café like total coincidence just to catch up, once… twice… turning into a fair few times… turning into chemistry. Still totally weird, still with that age gap that made everyone (and you meant everyone) caution you, still this ‘he was your teacher once-!?’ that hung around. But not the truth, not that this had been going on so much longer than that. A story that you were both happy with – because no one ever needed to know the full story. And Harold was right about his house; although you had a small apartment across town you hardly stayed there – you spent all your time with him at his. You didn’t want to call it yours, didn’t dare speak the word ours until he did it first. But it always hung there, unspoken… Soon enough your friends grew to love him. How different things were out of the classroom, the conversations and interactions between them. Them all telling you that they finally got it – and then understood why, upon you meeting up again, why you’d hooked up. Which only had you pitying them for not seeing how gorgeous and amazing he was in the first place. There were a lot of shared evenings that happened around his house, where he’d let you invite your friends over but stayed well out of the way. Harold also let you invite them to his birthday though, and after the initial celebrations he and his friends stayed inside, whilst your friends stayed out on the porch. There was a chill in the air, but the fire was still going and you were all huddled together under blankets. As one by one his friends left and you were still sitting out giggling and sipping wine and beer, Harold came out to check you were all okay. Because he cared about them as much as you did. It made you love him even more, if that was at all possible. They probably loved that they could wind you up over this more than anything else, but that was fine for you, you knew it would take time for them to get used to the idea, although the tide was already turning; it was weird but they were also loving it. No one had left, somehow in all this madness you’d kept everything. It all seemed a little too good to be true sometimes, so you made sure to count all your blessings.

Harold’s play still wasn’t finished; he always said he was almost there, but seemed to be taking an age to edit it all – he’d let you read nearly everything but the conclusion. “Why? Won’t I like it?” “I just want it to be the final-final version before you read that. I guess it’s more… thought provoking than satisfying.” So he kept you guessing. You’d become more of a stage actor than you’d ever expected… perhaps eventually you’d commit yourself to film and TV too. You’d done a few here-and-there episodes but nothing concrete. But it was the dynamic between you and your writing partner – who, if you were honest, was quickly turning out to be your best friend – that kept you in stage work. You’d started a small production company to write and produce these plays and they were pretty successful. But you’d also been included in other, sometimes large scale, productions. And, yes, as ever, Harold was front row for as many of these as he could be. You spent your spare time as you had before, tangled up with him, reading or writing together. With always the promise of: ‘Once I finish I’m casting you in this!’ and any time the school did a production, well… it was your turn to be front row for him.

*** Your joint influence on the people in your lives became more apparent, and also came as a surprise. To you at least. And your question was tentative even if you knew the answer already. “Harry… did you… get an invite to Tom’s wedding?” He pointed up to the fridge upon which was stuck the invite; very pretty, clearly there had been a lot of thought put into this and you would think a lot of effort would be put into such a wedding. You crossed the kitchen to look at it: Plus One, interesting. “Does he know?” “He knows I have somebody but not who, why?” By now he’d caught the piece of card you were holding in your hands, and you held it up. “I didn’t expect to get one myself, but here we are. I mean if I was going to be included at all, maybe I’d be on my parents one, but-” “Oh! Mary’s influence?” “Perhaps. I haven’t told her anything either, but why me? I’m his ex and I’m friends with her… but not very good friends.” “Family friends, maybe that’s it.” “A courtesy invite? I suppose it could be. But it’s not like my parents knew you and Roz that long, I didn’t grow up there like Tom and Ian-” You thought better of it and held that thought. You scored the invite with your nails, “Do you… want me to go?” Harold tilted himself back slightly, folding his arms, “Why? Are you thinking of not going?” “It’s not that, it’s that my parents are going. They’ve already discussed it with me, I’m certainly not ready to out this. And I don’t want you to spend your son’s wedding worrying about that. It’s a big day for him and you!” “Would you go anyway?” “Harry-” “It shouldn’t be about me.” “No, it should only be about you! Yes, I would like to go, but not if it makes more sense for me to stay away.” “Then accept and come.” You blushed gently, “Is that what you want?” “Of course I do. We can play it safe, geez, the last time we were around your family was when this started and was at its most dangerous. It’s not an affair anymore, you’re not my student anymore. If something happens then it happens, but look at you. You’re a star in your own right now, you’re an adult and your life is your life!” “It’s the family friends thing, they will go crazy. Even with the story line we made up, I doubt they’ll speak to me ever again.” “Do they know you’re seeing anyone?” “They’re vaguely aware.” Vaguely was certainly the operative word – more because you certainly expected for talk to get back to them that you had a relationship. You’d never made it sound serious to them, but you told them a little to sate their curiosity. “Well then,” He walked forward, cupping your face, “we’re on the same page and we’ll be fine.” “If you say so.” “I do, don’t you trust me?” You giggled, before leaning forward and grazing your lips to his, “No offense, but that’s a stupid question!” *** You were right, there was a lot of effort put into the wedding. There were less guests for the ceremony, but from what you’d been hearing there’d be quite the after party. As you were on your own invite, you also got the perks of a separate room to your parents. You didn’t hang around the wedding party when you arrived – you weren’t about to turn up here and make yourself a nuance - and it gave you time to relax and prepare yourself for tomorrow. You’d have to try to be on your very best behaviour, no matter what Harold had said, you didn’t want there to be any incidents. Your dress was in a colour that flattered you, covered in little appliques of your favourite flowers, sensible heels in the same colour. The opportunity to do your own make-up and hair; though you kinda missed having backstage stylists… The idea was simply to follow Harold’s lead, considering this was Tom’s wedding. He greeted you with familiarity; his ex-student who he’d seen in many a production since you’d graduated. He even seemed to indicate that you had in fact met up a few times just for general interest catch ups. To which Harold also added ‘maybe I’ll get you in to talk to my students sometime.’ Your parents did ask how exactly it was that you’d leave this detail out. ‘It’s just day to day stuff! You don’t tell me every time you see your friends-!’ Now, ‘friends’ wasn’t a word they questioned. You knew you weren’t going to get to sit next to him, but your family was sitting behind him and that was adequate, he might have only glanced back a couple of times, but they were enough to have you beaming. The ceremony was sweet, smooth sailing; they really did look in love. It gave you pause for thought – was that how you looked at Harold? Still? You’d been together a while now, but then you supposed so had Tom and Mary. Maybe that was just a wedding effect – after all, was there a more romantic day for two people? You also smiled a lot, it was such a lovely occasion to behold, even the atmosphere – like everyone was finally in the place they were meant to be. Which, considering the convoluted way this had all started that fateful summer, was fairly incredible. Harold placed his hand delicately on the small of your back, as you both left the chapel. “Don’t want you to think I don’t think you look beautiful…” You nudged him gently, “If you’ll let me return the compliment.” He chuckled, “No.” “Yes! I mean that’s got to be one of the main reasons I’m here!” His cheeks turned pink and he looked a little bashful, removing his hand from you, far enough away from everyone else to sneakily lace your fingers behind your back instead, “But I mean it.” “Thank you, that’s very sweet… Yet I’m hardly the main spectacle. It’s all stunning and her dress is flawless.” “I don’t disagree, it’s very lovely. We have the rest of the day and the party yet.” “Well alright, I know you’re privy to everything.” You smiled, “I’m just happy you’re involved.” “Hmm. It’s humbling.” “You’re his father!” “He’s spent more time with Roz. Tom didn’t have to ask me.” “Well, I suppose you can’t change my opinion… As long as you know my opinions of you!” “Oh.” He let you go as you approached the drinks reception and winked, “Yes, I would think I did!” The drinks reception and dinner afterwards had exactly the same set of increasingly hilarious conversations. You weren’t always in ear shot of each other, or in the same social circles, but everyone wanted to know about the people you were respectively dating. You were a couple of drinks in, and became much more willing to open up – to the point where you were positively gushing about him. You gave your partner no name, age, or any of the questions they were asking that would be more revealing, but were more than willing to tell the rest of the story. And when you heard him being asked roughly the same questions - and sometimes you were standing together at these points - he was doing exactly the same thing. You were surprised one of you hadn’t broke out in a beaming smile or had glowed in sweet embarrassment yet. And yet it did make you feel so happy that Harold was happy to talk about you in the same way, and every so often you’d catch each other’s eyes and you would smile just like that. There was something about both being in on such a secret; you were happy you’d decided to come and be here – even if you weren’t with him, you were most definitely with him. You didn’t approach Tom and Mary until a little later but they were both so happy to see you. And you congratulated them with about as much enthusiasm. “First up you both look gorgeous! And this wedding is so beautiful… oh my gosh, you guys!” You hugged them both tight. “Congratulations, I’m so happy for you both!” “Hey,” Tom nudged you, “What’s this I’ve been hearing about you, though!? Get him married.” “AHaha-” You excused yourself from your laugh, “I mean I dunno I… maybe.” You quickly turned the conversation back on them, “You both look so joyful, and so great together. Enjoy it, alright.” You pointed to Tom, “Extra enjoy it for me, I’ll see where I go.” “Oh, I will!” He grinned, hugging you again. You wondered if he ever had told Mary that you’d dated. You supposed it wasn’t the relationship with him you needed to worry about so much. Mary pulled you back to her, “Thank you, so much!” “Oh, you were always star material…” you squeezed her tight, “But you’re welcome. Maybe we’ll get to be in a production together soon!” “I’ll hold you to that!” She giggled, wishing you well as you let her go. You breathed a sigh of relief as you made your way back to your parents, all’s well that ends well…

***

It was a little later, after the first dance, and when everyone was moving around the party freely: everything now in full swing and at least a few of them having already having had too much alcohol, that you realised your assumption was wrong. Some people here weren’t having a good time. You were alright to sit alone and observe for now. You’d known what you were getting into. Ian, best man and from what you’d been told by Harold the one to start this whole ball rolling, was sitting around rather dejectedly. You’d watched him intently for a little while, and he seemed to be getting confrontational with just about everyone – including your man. Now he just appeared to be sulking. So much for us all being more grown up now… Eventually you’d clearly stared at him long enough to have caught his eye, and you offered somewhere between a sympathetic and fed-up smile. Attempting to give an air of ‘yeah man, I know the feeling!’ considering you were also sitting here alone, but his face just scrunched into an even bigger frown as he huffed, crossing his arms before looking away. Okay then, sorry I tried! You weren’t left alone for much longer than that, as Harold wandered over. “Hey, you doing alright over here?” “Yeah, fine.” You waved off Ian, just in case he’d seen any of that brief exchange, “Just taking some quiet time.” “Well, that’s an awful lot of quiet time…” He held his hand out for yours, “Come on, come dance.” Your eyes immediately widened, and you looked from his hand to his face, “With you!?” “No, with someone else – yes, me!” “Harry, I don’t think that we should-” “I want you to enjoy yourself… c’mon.” You closed your eyes, taking a deep breath and praying this wasn’t the worst idea you’d ever had, as you placed your hand in his and he pulled you up. “Think of it as like… a father daughter dance.” “Oh no, you just made it worse.” His laugh was embarrassed, “Oh, yeah I guess I did, didn’t I – sorry!” Harold didn’t try to make it romantic, although clearly because it was between you it was, and you supposed it was something a little reminiscent of ‘father of the bride’. Well, no one else – not even your family – was dancing with you, so why the hell not? Still you voiced the question. “Should we be doing this?” To which you were only presented with your own question: “Shouldn’t we really be beyond caring?” You couldn’t help but laugh, “You been drinkin’?!” “Not that much, give me some credit!” Oh, the want to pull him closer, your wish to lay your head on his shoulder and close your eyes as he swayed you gently on this dancefloor. To look into his eyes like you really wanted to, and were using all your self-control to make sure you weren’t. For him to just wrap you in his embrace right now. It didn’t happen, and you didn’t expect it to, but it hurt a little. Still, here you were and he was ‘holding’ you – it was as close as you were going to get, and you savoured every single second of his skin on yours. Eventually you did actually get to dance with your father and then some younger ‘gentlemen’ (though, whether you’d call them that…) cut in and you let them dance with you the way you wished that Harold could. At least you were enjoying yourself, to you that was the most important thing. But, you ended up back over by the drinks table with your actual other half, observing the party once more, and you broached the subject of the catalyst. “What did Ian say to you?” “Huh?” He turned, bottle half way to his lips. “I mean it looked like he was getting a little irate.” Harold just looked confused, so you sighed with an eyeroll, “Earlier!” “Oh.” Then he laughed, “Well clearly he’s the least happy person at this entire wedding, and he ironically said this was all my fault.” Your eyebrows raised, “Sorry!?” “Well I did take Mary to Tom’s 21st. So, I guess… that’s where they became a little more serious.” You snorted, “Holy shit. The wedding is your fault!? But what’s wrong with the-” you looked back out to the guests and then it clicked, “Everyone was growing up… You think they ended all the affairs at home?” He gave you a face to say he agreed with your deduction, “I’m glad we didn’t get the memo.” You only laughed, “I don’t think I would have agreed to the memo!” “Now we’re on the same page-!” **

You were standing outside on the patio, admiring the stars and lit scenery, when Tom caught up with you again. “Can I ask you something?” “Yes. And you just did.” That had him laughing, and you only slipped into chuckles too, he still liked how fast you were at quipping. Suddenly you were transported back – what would this have been if it didn’t become such a mess. “Your boyfriend…” “Mhm.” You straightened to the edge in his voice, and although Tom was looking at you seriously there was a hint of playfulness to his voice. “How long have you been together?” You couldn’t tell if he’d figured you out yet. “What if I said, it’s the same guy that I first mentioned to you in that massive argument we had?” He leant back against the railing, breathing out heavily. “I feel like I should have… figured it out before now.” “Considering I don’t know what you’ve figured out – you want me to help?” “It’s my dad, isn’t it.” It wasn’t even a question. You were a little affronted by his tone: “You don’t have to make it sound so creepy. In fact, if you want me to bring up glass houses…” He was a little taken aback that you’d just admit it, “Shit, you knew about-!?” “I told you I did. Yeah, that’s how this all started, you and Ian and…” you waved your hand and then pointed at yourself, “Only I stayed with mine… Geez, I’m sorry.” “Sorry?” He laughed, “Why?” “He’s… your dad. That’s not why I dated you, it’s just how it happened.” “You don’t have to explain!” He waved his hands around, “He’s happy, you’re happy, you’ve spent a lot of time together today, I have observed, and it just… I dunno, I guess it clicked. Everything he’s said about – well you – but his other half, and everything you’ve said.” “Oh, damn, is it obvious?!” “No. I just have all the pieces, don’t I?” “You’re… a little too cool with this.” “I told you we were cool before.” Tom’s look was significant, “We’re still cool. And I’m not gonna go telling everyone, until you’re ready to go do that yourselves. Besides,” he nudged you with a smile, “you seem to have enough dirt on me!” “Uh, I would never. You go off and enjoy your married life to an amazing woman, you idiot!” “I’ll do my best – but I’m never gonna call you mom!” “I’m just glad I’m older than you!” You folded your arms with a grin as he left you, with a wave, before turning back, “Why’s that!?” “The likely inevitability of grandbabies. I’m just gonna have to be the cool aunt or something!” You didn’t think you’d heard anyone laugh so loud in a long time. ***

It continued to get later, although the party was still going on and you could hardly take it anymore. You’d watched him move around in it all day, and now all you wanted was that suit on your hotel room floor, or his. That single button he’d undone and the slacked nature of his tie was nowhere near enough for you. But it was hard to let him know that when you couldn’t just go over and grab his hand; you had to just rely on glances and hope that he got it. And clearly he did, as he crossed the room back to you. Although instead of telling you that he was ready to go, he came with a cautionary tale. “We need to be careful about this.” “And your suggestion is?” “Well, we have to stagger when we leave, but you might want to say goodbye to people. Because your parents will notice you’re gone.” “Oh, your son isn’t gonna notice you’re gone, huh?” It was then Harold decided to tell you he’d seen your conversation with Tom, “Well he knows, doesn’t he.” It wasn’t a question, and you were stuck on how to respond, “I didn’t hear, but I saw you two. Is there anything you want me to say to him?” “…Well, that’s between you…” You lowered your eyes, “I didn’t tell him, he guessed.” “Sweetheart, it’s okay.” Harold couldn’t touch you, so his nickname made you look up. “I’ll talk to him, maybe not tonight… You go, I’ll watch you, wait for me.” You nodded and he gave you a gentle wink before you both headed in different directions. You had one more drink before you started to play the tired card – although really you were far from it – and said goodbye to your parents, a few of the others you knew here, and finally bride and groom before you headed off. Outside of the reception room the hotel was cool and quiet (you supposed it was pretty late) and you could take a breather, sliding out of your heels on the steps it felt so good to be back on the floor. You wandered slowly up the corridor and across hotel reception, you weren’t exactly sure whose room you were heading to, but nearly everyone was on the same floor and you were all certainly on the same wing. You were just finding your way up the steps on the other side of reception when you heard the footfall of smart dress shoes behind you, and turned to Harold saying a goodnight to the receptionist who had pulled night shift. He continued his pace as he caught you, turning up the corridor but not before turning back and wishing you a goodnight. You couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow: who were you keeping up appearances for now? Hotel staff? You shook your head and turned, finding him back at his room, apparently having trouble with his key.

“Would you like some help?” You slipped yourself between him and his room door. “If you would be so kind.” “Not sure I was talking about your room key…” You smirked, prising it from his hand, waiting for the beep to pull him to your lips by his tie, you stumbled backwards into the room as he pushed the door. Harold waited until it had closed to pull you into him, hands into your hair. It felt so good to have him touch you again, and you realised how much you’d yearned for it all day, as his hands moved down your neck and shoulders to your back, he continued to pull you closer. “God, I love you.” You almost whimpered it – kisses leaving you breathless, and you weren’t sure if that was because of the whole wedding atmosphere, or that you hadn’t had even a single chance to tell him face to face in nearly two days. But he needed to know, urgently. He chuckled, nuzzling your face with his own, “I love you too.” Your breath still caught every time he said it, even now. After having to wait so long for his first, there wasn’t anything any less special about it a hundred, a thousand, a million times later. He was still nothing ever but delicate with you, guiding you across his room to the bed before his hands collected on your shoulders again. Harold took a step back, the low level lighting set the perfect mood, but he moved his body so the moonlight could shine on you through the still open curtains. “You are so beautiful.” His fingers gathered under your chin, to keep you from shying away from his eyes as your own hands collected on his chest, ready to push his jacket down his arms. “You truly are.” As if he didn’t already affirm this nearly every day of his life, and Harold kissed you again. “Me?” Your instinctive reaction to flirting was always to nervously joke, “You look in a mirror, lately?” Harold shook his head before his lips traced yours again and he let you relieve him of his jacket, you were quick to unfurl his tie too. You stilled at the buttons of his shirt because his hands were back on your shoulders again and you relaxed your stance, releasing his lips to watch him push the straps of your dress down, guiding his hands across to the slight zip, he ghosted you a kiss in thanks before he let your dress fall to the floor. This time as you caught his collar to run through the buttons you kissed him harder, pushing your body into his – encouraging him to touch you and moaning into his kiss as you did so. His shirt was off quick and joined your dress as he deepened the kiss and you wound yourself around him, enjoying the taste on his tongue. Your kiss continued to get hot and heavy as your hands shot to his belt; he was no longer of the persuasion to stop you on bedroom thresholds, opening his body up for you to relieve him of it and undo his suit pants. Relenting as his hands caressed your back, finding your bra clasp; you always felt so fragile under those large hands of his, but all Harold ever did was take care of you. He lifted you gently from the floor and laid you both back in the sheets, kicking off his pants as he did so. You remained locked in your kiss as he caught you in an embrace, pulling your panties slowly down your legs, your breathing was a little shallower, at the friction of his hips against yours. You could hardly wait for him now, eagerly reliving him of his own underwear. “Shh shhh…” Harold gathered your hands in his, breaking the kiss and you whined, making him chuckle, “Darling, we have all night…” “…Harry…” The way you whined his name was delightful and that flicker across his eyes that he couldn’t control had you craving more of him, “please.” And you knew he wouldn’t deny you if you asked politely. “All night.” He repeated, and all you hoped was you weren’t going to be too loud when the other guests retired to their rooms for the evening. Hooking your leg over his hips he made sure you were completely comfortable before he entered you. You held him tighter, trying to stifle your moans in his skin. But he groaned gently too, and it was an exquisite little sound. In the comfortable quiet before you moved together, you kissed him gently again, reaffirming what you’d said before, “I love you.” Free to tell him all night now, you weren’t about to waste any opportunity. He rubbed his hands over your skin, sweet and delicate, “Darling I know… I’ve known that for a very long time.” He caught your lips once more, “I only hope I remain deserving of such love.” You weren’t sure why he occasionally said things like that to you, maybe sometimes he felt guilty about the whole thing, but you would only ever reassure him. He was deserving, and you knew he would always remain that way.

*** It was very early morning when you awoke, too much excitement in the air – even in the aftermath of the wedding - for you to sleep. You stood out on the balcony, watching the watery sky as the sun began to break through. Harold was content to watch you from the bed as you were draped in his shirt and the bed sheet, looking out towards the ocean. There was always something about all these ocean views… He stood and half-dressed himself before joining you, he almost didn’t want to break the silence and how serene everything was. Harold opted instead to simply stand with you, caressing your exposed skin, stroking the small of your back delicately. You wore a soft smile, and although you weren’t looking at him, he knew that he was where all your focus stayed. Eventually you tilted yourself, so your head rested against him – and the noise you made was of content. The silence remained for a long time, because there was nothing for either of you to say. Why say ‘I love you’ when you’d spent your night showing each other how in love you were, and how much you appreciated the opportunity to be with each other… There was something even more beautiful about you in the afterglow, but Harold wasn’t sure he could handle just telling you that yet. There was something about the time of day, about the time you’d just spent with him, all the joy that surrounded the wedding that made you speak honestly. Something had weighed on you for a long time; it wasn’t a bad weight, just a muse you were almost too scared to voice. But after everything, right now felt like the best and only time to say it. So you did. “Is it crazy to want this... for me to wish this could be us one day?” You couldn’t look at him for fear of becoming so embarrassed that you’d stammer ‘forget it’ and run from the room. That perhaps all you would see in Harold was hesitation, and it might break your heart in two right then and there. You assumed his answer; that he would chuckle at you, and be as lovely with you as ever but tell you not to be so stupid – this wasn’t to be your fate. That wasn’t what Harold said, and the silence didn’t hang because he didn’t know what to say, but because what you’d voice demanded the gravitas and respect of a real answer, a thought out answer. He took a breath, looking out to the sky as you were, before smiling and taking your hand, pulling your body into his embrace and kissing the crown of your head. He kept his voice low and gentle, as delicate with you as ever. Why had you expected anything less? “No. I don’t think it’s that crazy at all.”

---

Thanks so much for reading 😘🤗

#This is strangely reminiscent of the Doug Peterson thing I was going to write the second part of so I'm 99% sure I'll be writing that soon!#I actually had to change the sex scene cuz I was like /isn't that what you were gonna write for Doug/ /oh shit you're right!!/#Because this isn't technically parted I might come back to them #but I feel done with Harold for now...#I miiiiiight pull up Amanda's idea eventually if I ask nicely and she lets me!#I really like that one and it goes with that hilarious meme #Lol everyone in my head rent free and Harold and Elias just slipped under that radar and laughed at them all.#Harold #Harold x Reader #Adore #Ben Mendelsohn #193 #Laina

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bipercabeth · 4 years

Note

👀 anything + "does it still hurt to think about?"

(happy birthday alyssa i love u!!!)

this is a bellarke fic so let’s pretend it’s on my sideblog and call it a day. s7 compliant until 7x10. then i do what i want.

It all happens so fast.

Bellamy comes back, ragged and worse for wear but alive. He and Echo meet an abrupt, messy end Clarke doesn’t catch the details of. And somehow, inexplicably, Clarke ends up alone with Bellamy in Octavia’s quarters while the others recuperate.

Part of her longs to be with them—making plans, gathering information, maybe trying MCAP to crack Bellamy’s stubborn memories—but loyalty and guilt keep her rooted in place. It’s stupid to think she could’ve prevented Bellamy from being taken in the first place, but still. She should’ve been there. She should’ve known sooner.

“Stop thinking so loud,” Bellamy calls from the bathroom.

It earns a laugh in the way only Bellamy can. Laughter has been scarce lately. It always seems to be when they’re apart.

She pushes the door open and leans against the frame, making eye contact with Bellamy in the mirror. He’s frowning, running his fingers through the long beard he grew on Etherea. Clarke wonders how much time he’s lost. At least she knew the number of days she spent in Eden. It’s a cruel trick of the universe to steal more time after everything it’s put them through.

“How’d you know?” she asks.

He shrugs. “I still know you.”

He says it like it’s inevitable. This man has no memory of the past several months to years of his life, but he knows when Clarke Griffin is overthinking based on her silence alone.

“Can I ask you something?”

Clarke smiles. “Anything.”

He turns to her, scissors in hand. “Will you cut my hair?”

She takes in his unruly waves, which are nearly as long as her own. “I don’t know, I kind of like matching.”

“Just take the damn scissors, Princess.”

Clarke’s hand freezes, her fingers ghosting over Bellamy’s. It takes all she has to curb the shock from her face, but she doesn’t manage to suppress her smile. “Been a while since you called me that,” she says lightly. She drags a chair from the corner and motions for him to sit.

She busies herself ruffling his hair. “How short?”

“Like it was before?”

It makes sense, wanting to return to who he was and how he looked before this. It’s not Clarke’s favorite cut, but she can do it. She measures the length out with her fingers. “Here?”

“No, before. On Earth.” His voice is heavy with significance. Clarke learned long ago not to put words in Bellamy’s mouth, but she can almost hear him say with you at the end of that sentence.

She swallows. “I can do that.”

She works in comfortable silence, chopping off the longest parts before shaping up the rest. Bellamy’s gaze burns into her through the mirror, but she can’t bring herself to meet it. Regardless of how fun it would be to make fun of him with half his head shaggy, all Clarke can think about is how he’ll look when she’s done. The Bellamy she imagined for six years in Eden is about to be in front of her. That takes some priority.

Six years of cutting her own and Madi’s hair has made Clarke something of an expert. Before she knows it, Bellamy is halfway back to himself, save the beard.

It’s a bit shorter than before, she thinks as he looks in the mirror. Despite her experience, she hasn’t done a cut like this. A slight miscalculation meant she had to take in the sides a bit more than she’d have liked, but it works for him. She thinks most looks would, even the caveman thing he has going on on the lower half of his face. After all, it’s Bellamy.

Bellamy’s responding grin is somewhat hidden under the beard, but Clarke sees it in his eyes. He tips his head back against her chest as she fusses and fluffs the front with anxious hands. “Looks good, Princess.”

There he goes with that nickname again. This time Clarke can’t hide the way her hands still.

“You haven’t called me that in 131 years.”

Bellamy frowns, as if to protest, but quickly devolves into distress and confusion. “I don’t think that’s right. I think I called you that when I was... wherever I was.”

The amount of baggage to unpack in that statement alone almost shuts Clarke down. She can’t look at him.

Instead she moves to the medicine cabinet, distracting herself with the need to get rid of that horrific beard. “Does it still hurt to think about?”

“When I push too hard, yeah. Sometimes the memories are buried so deep it feels like someone is bashing against my skull. Sometimes I can feel them, even if I don’t know what they mean. I’m just drawn to certain things. I think that means they were important to me there.”

“Like what?”

“You.”

When Clarke’s breath stutters and she looks at Bellamy, she only finds quiet resolve.

“I may not remember it, but there’s no way I was stranded like that and didn’t think about you. And when I came through the Anomaly, that was the one thing that stayed with me. Just you.”

“I know how you feel. After Praimfaya...” Clarke feels her cheeks heat. “Well, you know how I got through it.”

The misery of all the times fate has ripped Bellamy away climbs in Clarke’s chest, propelling her back to the medicine cabinet where she finds shaving cream and a straight razor.

Bellamy’s face changes in an instant, morphing from something wistful and longing to his signature Big Brother face.

“Why is there a razor in my little sister’s room?”

Clarke simply smiles. “Little?”

“I don’t care how long she spent on Penance. She’s my baby sister,” he groans. “Besides. I could still be older.”

He moves to take the razor from Clarke, but she holds it close. “Can I?”

“I can shave myself, Clarke.”

“I know, but—” The misery climbs up her throat, now— “I thought I lost you.”

That softens him. He leans back and offers himself to her. “All yours.”

There isn’t much room for talking after that. Clarke wets his beard and rubs in some shaving cream, thankful for the towel she wrapped around him before she started this whole process. She doesn’t want to see him in the stiff Bardo robes or the parka he made himself on Etherea. Here, in the Henley she recognizes from before he left, he is almost her Bellamy again.

“Have you ever done this before?” he asks as she lines up the blade with his sideburn.

“No,” she admits. “But I have steady hands.”

They’re less steady with body heat radiating in the space between Clarke’s body and Bellamy’s, but she won’t tell him that.

The first swipe is a series of careful tugs with her left hand, assisted by her right holding his skin. Each inch reveals constellations of the freckles she so dearly missed.

Clarke watches his face as she tosses the hair and wipes the blade. He meets her with unwavering trust as she brings the blade back to his skin, this time with more confidence. With each pass, the man she loves comes back to her.

Bellamy’s cheekbones are easy, all sharp lines and simple angles. It’s one thing to watch the freckles bloom on his cheeks and another entirely to feel his breath ghost her fingertips as she takes off his mustache. Her fingertip traces the scar on his lip without thought or caution. Her eyes follow.

Next comes the divot in his chin, freed at last. Clarke rests her thumb there to tilt his head back for the final strokes along his neck. He’s all trust in her gentle hands. He always has been. It becomes them, same as love.

Love lives in Clarke’s hands as she holds his neck, feeling his muscles jump with anticipation. They have never let themselves get this close, and now she understands why. Clarke has been so strong for so long, but Bellamy is her undoing.

“All done,” she breathes.

He sits up, but Clarke is frozen in place. Her blade hovers near Bellamy’s throat while her hand cups the other side. A single drop of blood gathers where she nicked his upper lip earlier. She has the ridiculous urge to kiss it away.

“Been a while since I saw you bleed,” is all she can say.

His breath is warm on her lips. “I don’t think it’s been a while since I bled.”

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there to patch you up.”

“You were,” he assures her.

“Bellamy, I...”

“Yeah,” he eases the razor away and lets it clatter to the ground. “Me too.”

The dam breaks, unleashing a flood of emotions Clarke never dreamed she would allow to surface. Bellamy’s hand tangles in her hair, and it’s unclear who pulls the other in first, but that doesn’t matter because his lips are on hers after centuries of waiting. She throws a leg over his lap and straddles him, her caution drowned in the wake of passion.

They part too soon for Clarke’s liking, but Bellamy’s hands stroke her back idly, like he has all the time in the world to touch her, and all that matters is that they get that time. They have seen the world end countless times, but it is reborn with each second Bellamy looks at Clarke like he looked at the sky that first day on Earth: joyful, disbelieving, reverent.

“I never thought I’d get this,” he pants.

“Me?”

“Happiness.” He says it like it’s the same thing.

Clarke kisses him for it, half because he’s sweet and half because she can.

Their love has eclipsed entire planets, even outlasting the one where it was born, but he has always been Earth to her. The final journey home. Joy.

And joy tasted better on Earth.

#TUMBLR ATE THE FIRST PRINCESS LINE AFTER THE READ MORE RIP TO THOSE READING FROM EARLY RBS #this rly got away from me it was supposed to be a DRABBLE #BUT HAPPY BIRTHDAY ALYSSA I AM SORRY ALL I HAVE IS HALF EDITED FIC WHEN U DESERVE THE WORLD BUT I LOVE U!!!!!!!!!!#my fic #my bellarke #alyssa tag #the 100 #bellarke #useralyssa #the 100 fics

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simsadventures · 4 years

Text

My Hunter Girl

Summary: Bucky tries to learn more about your lifestyle and decides to go on a hunt with you and your brothers, much to Dean’s and Sam’s excitement.

Warnings: Avengers x Supernatural crossover, fluff, vampires, mentions of death, implied smut, swearing

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x hunter! Reader, Dean Winchester x sister!Reader (platonic), Sam Winchester x sister!Reader (platonic)

Word Count: 2004

A/N: This is part II to My Girl miniseries of my favourite crossover. Hopefully, y’all will enjoy it as much as I did. Part III coming soon xx

This story was requested by @voltage-my2dlove. (I know I changed the request slightly, and I hope you won’t be mad, love!)

My Girl Miniseries__ Masterlist

Part I Part III Part IV

Your hair was splayed all over the pillow, and some of it even tickled Bucky’s cheek. It was yet another morning that the two of you woke up together in the bunker, trying to spend as much time together as possible, despite your crazy “schedules”. You were just glad Stark let Bucky use one of his planes because otherwise, you wouldn’t stand a chance in being together.

You knew it would be last night like this one in some time because there was this vampire hunt you and your brothers had to go take care of as soon as possible. You decided the night before that whatever was happening in Cody, Wyoming, had to be solved ASAP, because people were missing, and almost every other night, a new person appeared on the missing person list.

You rolled over to your side in the bed and watched Bucky, who still looked like he was in the land of the dreams. You couldn’t believe your luck, to be honest. Not only was Bucky a freaking super-soldier, and he looked like it, he was also incredibly smart, funny, and thoughtful. He would always come up with new ways to make you smile, even if it was just bringing your favourite breakfast to bed.

A gruff voice pulled you out of your thoughts.

“You watching me sleep, doll? Isn’t that kinda pervy?”

You giggled and swatted his chest lightly before you cuddled into Bucky’s side.

“Well, excuse me if I like to watch my boyfriend do pretty much anything, even sleep.”

Bucky hummed in his throat and kissed the crown of your head. “I like the sound of that, your boyfriend. I’m gonna miss you saying stuff like that while you’re on the hunt,” he mused, his eyes still closed, trying to catch as much relax as he could after the night of passion you two had.

“Why don’t you come with us?” You asked him incredulously, and his eyes shot open like never before.

“What? I’m not a hunter, Y/N, I’m a soldier. I wouldn’t even know what to do with a fucking vampire if he stood in front of me. And what about your brothers, huh? They don’t seem overly fond of me either.”

You laughed and kissed his chest, nuzzling your head in his warmth.

“If they didn’t like you, you wouldn’t be laying here right now, babe. My brothers can be very… unpleasant when they don’t like somebody. Trust me, you’re here means they’re fine with you. And besides, you’re a freaking Avenger, you can take on a nest of vampires with hunters like us. It’ll be fun! You’ll see what my job entails, and you’ll have a cool story to tell Steve and Sam. Just imagine Sam’s face when you’ll tell him that you killed a bunch of vamps!”

Bucky mused for a second, really thinking of his friends and what would they think but also at the fact that he could spend so much more time with you. On the way there, during the actual job, and getting back. He suddenly regretted having the plane. You could have driven there together!!

“Alright, fine! And since we have the plane, we can fly there and, you know, the job can be done so much faster, and we could be back here doing the things we’re so good at,” Bucky winked at you, and you couldn’t help it but laughed at him.

The only issue would be with Dean. You knew that taking the plane was a good idea, and you were confident that Sammy would be ecstatic about it, but you just weren’t too sure about Dean’s reaction. His relationship with his car, Baby, was out of this world, and you sometimes thought he went and slept in her instead in his own bed, just to not make her feel abandoned.

When you both were up and after breakfast, you finally caught a glimpse of your brothers. Both were in pretty good moods, you thought, judging by their joyful bickering.

“Boys? What would you say if Bucky went with us on the hunt?” You asked as happily and cheerfully as you could, trying to not give them a reason to say no to that.

They shared a silent conversation through their looks and the movements of their eyebrows, and despite growing up with them and being with them most of the time, you didn’t share this connection with them. So you just hoped the result of this conversation would be positive.

With a curt nod, Sam turned to you, and when you saw the glimmer in his eyes, you knew you won this round.

“Fine by us, at least we have more manpower, and from what we’ve heard, your boyfriend is quite capable of keeping himself alive, means we won’t have to worry about him.”

You beamed and squeezed Bucky hand which he slipped into yours while your brothers were debating in their minds.

“And another question, since that’s settled. How about we took Bucky’s plane? And before you start protesting Dean, let me just tell you this. It would suit us all, we can be in Wyoming in what, 2 hours, probably? And not the countless hours we would spend in the car, we can take care of this hunt so easily and be home to take care of other shit God decides to throw our way.”

Even though Dean’s face was stern and unyielding for unobserving eye, you could see his defences wavering. He was tired from all the driving even if he’d never admit it, and you knew that few more hours in his own bed sounded good even to his ears.

He grunted but shrugged his shoulders, looking straight at Bucky.

“Well, alright, pilot boy. Let’s get on the road, and take care of the shitshow in Wyoming so we can be home sooner. And may I just ask you not to do it with my sister in the kitchen, while her brothers are home? It’s pretty disgusting, man,” Dean growled as he walked past the two of you, and you had to hold in a giggle. You really hoped they wouldn’t hear the quickie you had a few nights ago, but with someone like Bucky, it was damn difficult to keep quiet.

The whole flight there, it was pretty much the same. Bucky would whisper some dirty jokes into your ear, only for you to blush heavily and snuggle closer to him, or kiss him passionately, which inevitably made your brothers cringe in their seats and grumble that they didn��t need to see any of this.

You would always shush them, which would only turn into bickering between the three of you. Bucky would watch it all with a smile on his lips, loving how relaxed you all were with each other, flipping fingers at each other and laughing uncontrollably at each other’s expressions.

Not that Bucky wouldn’t feel like that with Sam and Steve, but he knew that the bond you shared with your brothers was something else, and he was happy for you to experience something like this, even if he was a little jealous.

When you finally arrived, you divided into two teams. Your brothers went to the police station to find out if there were any witnesses or any evidence that you didn’t read about, and you and Bucky went into the morgue, to see if all those people who died in the last few days were truly people or if there were some vampires amongst them.

Bucky wasn’t really fond of the idea of seeing dead people willingly, but when he looked at you and saw just how engrossed in your work you already were, he left his doubts and thoughts behind.

He watched you intently everywhere you two went. The way your hips swayed a little more when you needed to catch some cop’s attention, or how you’d bite your lip when you were deep in your thoughts or buried in the books in front of you.

He would always have one hand on the small of your back, just a reminder for both himself and everyone around that you were indeed his, and that nobody should even try and come closer. Bucky was officially obsessed with you, and he just couldn’t stop falling harder than ever before. He knew you were it, but he didn’t know what to do.

Even during the hunt itself, while you were all covered in vamp blood with a machete in each of your hands, you were irresistibly hot to Bucky. All he wanted was to kiss you breathless and keep you hidden from the prying eyes, even if the eyes belonged to the recently beheaded vampire.

“She’s something else, huh?” Bucky heard, and when he turned, Dean was standing behind him, cleaning off his own knife.

“Yeah, she really is. You did a great job raising her, Dean. She is most definitely the best woman I’ve ever met.”

Dean smirked and patted Bucky’s shoulder freely.

“Damn right she is. She is a fucking Winchester! Look, I see you really like her, and by no means do I want to chase you away like all those other guys. You’re a good man, and my sister seems really happy with you. Let me just tell you, that the second you hurt her, and I mean even in the slightest possible way, we’re gonna chase you down and hurt you ten thousand times worse, understood?”

Bucky nodded slowly, and even though he was the super-soldier, probably one of the strongest people on this Earth, a slight fear crept in his heart. Dean Winchester was one scary motherfucker, that was for sure.

“Trust me, I would hate myself if I hurt Y/N.”

Dean nodded, and when he caught a glimpse of you marching towards them, he walked past Bucky with a small smile, yelling at Sam that they should put them on a pile to burn them to ashes.

“What was that about? You and Dean cool?” You asked, fearing to hear what you’ve heard like a million times. That your brothers intimidated somebody, you liked, and that person didn’t want to spend their time with you anymore.

This time, it would hurt even more because Bucky was probably the first guy ever you could see your future with. So you just prayed that Dean wasn’t a dumbass again and actually let you have something nice in your life.

“Nothing, just a friendly convo with your brother,” Bucky mumbled, and when he saw the slightly worried look on your face, he hugged you to his chest, despite your protest that you were disgustingly dirty.

“I’m not going anywhere, doll. I think your brother actually like me, just like you said this morning. I believe that if I ever bring you to him with as much as a broken fingernail, he’ll murder me in a way I advent even dreamt of, and I’ve been tortured by Hydra, but because I’m planning on taking real good care of you, I think we’ll be fine.”

You smiled so hard, your eyes watered, and your cheeks hurt.

“And you know why is that, doll?” Bucky whispered into your ear, sending shivers down your body and straight to your core. “Because I think I’m falling in love with you,” he added, and when you looked up at him, he was smiling like an idiot.

You laughed and jumped on him (and thank god for his reflexes, because your bump would really hurt if he didn’t catch you as fast as he did), and kissed him all over his face.

“I think I’m falling for you too, Bucky, how about we get home and I’ll show you just how in love I really am with you,” you said with a smirk, and you eared a throaty from Bucky. He slapped your ass and all but ran towards the plane, too excited to care about the groans coming from your brothers, following you two close behind.

Bucky Taglist

@this-kitten-is-smitten @paradisiacalsparks @crazybutconfidentaf @owlyannah @lassini @s-trawberryv-eins @reniescarlett

Marvel Taglist

@voltage-my2dlove @kneel-begyourpardon @lumar014 @ptrs-prkrs

Forever Tag:

@eileenalone @sasbb23 @p8tn0lish @coffeebooksandfandom @waiting4inspiration @caswinchester2000 @mogaruke @justthatfangirloverthere @mushyjellybeans @livsheph @sebbbystaaan

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suffering-and-happy-about-it · 4 years

Text

Loving the sailors while hating the beach (White Demon’s Love Song, Part 3.)

Series description: A new job was what the reason you found yourself on a lonely roadtrip on the western coast, ending up in the woods of Olympian Peninsula. Yet a sudden car malfuction was what cause your unplanned stay in Forks. To your surprise, there was a lot of sinister things going on under the veil of fog.

Part summary: As you spent another day with the mysterious man who invited you to stay at his place as a sign of his selflessness, you started to notice that Forks really is a strange town. And on top of that, that Jacob might be hiding something.

A/N: NCIS Forks be strong in this chaper, oh boy.

Tagging: @missdictatorme

Word count: 4.2 K

Twilight playlist: ✨ Twilight Crackheads ✨

Series masterlist: H E R E

The night fell on Forks slowly, almost as if it was lurking around for some time before covering the streets. For some time, you've been sitting in a super-small cubbyhole named the 'Administrative office'. Administrative up your ass, you barely didn't knock off the brooms you've been sharing the room with. It shouldn't surprise you that you were falling asleep while writing small numbers into the boxes. You've also picked up a few phones - for such a small town, there was a lot of cars just suddenly breaking down. But Jacob sometimes even took small jobs around in the smaller towns around forks - like La Push, Beaver, and Sappho.

It wasn't even nine hours when you were snoozing with your head in your palm because you've simply fallen asleep. Also, it was weird to see Jacob walking around the whole building, checking on the heating - as if he wasn't turning the heating on in such cold. It was summer and the city was still cold as hell. And this mechanic wasn't turning on his heating system? What kind of crazy he was? The man has woken you up after ten minutes, sending you to bed - yet you didn't know that he didn't walk to bed that night. As soon as he heard snoring coming out of the visitor's bedroom, Jacob made sure the door to the small flat were locked before he ran into the woods. It was time to check with the other guys - Jared and Paul, two of his friends from Sam Uley's spent their whole day on the northern route, trying to find out something more about the unwanted visitors of Forks.

At first, the werewolves weren't entirely sure if there was any vampires close at the moment. If it wasn't just some... Re-awakening of the spirit animals. That was until two days ago - now, the whole packs have transformed once again. Every night Jacob had turned into a wolf, he growled sadly when he realized there was someone he hadn't heard before - first, it was Quil alone. The man was confused, as most of them. Both of them were praying for Quil to be the last. But he wasn't - Embry and Seth coming right the night after Quil's turning. Leah was the last to join. In the meantime, Sam's pack turned at once as well. It was just like five years ago.

'Welcome back to the game, chief.' - Seth's happy and joyful voice started to talk inside Jacob's head. As he was getting closer to the manger of the Calawah river, he could hear two other wolves joining him. It was Embry and Seth - rest of the pack got their tasks the last night and went on a watch and tracking the vampire pack. Jake could hear most of the things Quil and Leah told them. - 'We know they are here. We captured the smell...' - The leader mumbled to Seth, running along the river. They weren't sprinting because there wasn't a reason to do so. Quil nor Leah hadn't smelled the rotten tomato stench the whole day, as if the vampires had suddenly disappeared into the thin air.

'Don’t worry, Jake. We'll take all of them down.' - Embry answered from the other side. Dear Lord, Jacob almost didn't notice that Embry is there, even if he knew that he's coming. He could be so quiet at times. - 'I'm silent like death, yeah, suit yourself.' - Embry answered Jake's flow of thoughts, making a few pampering sounds. This was how the wolves were laughing. To some, it could sound almost horrifying, but it made Jacob giggle as well. Giggling, when the boys were in their animal forms was a wild combination of growling and strange throat sounds. - 'Yeah, but admit, it's strange. No stench, no track, we can't find them. It's like playing blind man's buff.'

The vampires seemed to be poking around in the woods as if they were trying to find a blind spot. Maybe they already did find some. But Charlie, when Jacob was calling him earlier, didn't report any missing person. Yet all of them were sure that as soon as the vampires find the smallest cranny in the defense, it will go down. As soon as they smell a chance, it will go down. At last, this half of the pack was on the meeting point. Sam was already sitting there, watching Jacob approaching the estuary of the Bogachiel and Quillayute rivers. - 'Keep it down for a moment, alright, boys?' - Jacob asked Embry and Seth, who were waiting in a respectful distance. Embry was almost always quiet and Seth, even though there was a huge grin on his face, knew better than talking to alphas communicating. - 'I have news from Quil and Leah. They were walking the trail up at Calawah. What about your people?' - There was no greeting needed - the russet wolf simply shook his head at the bigger, black one. - 'Nothing. It's like searching for a ghost.'

Jacob had to say, that even if he wasn't in Sam's pack anymore, he liked that Sam kept it simple - no matter what happened, Sam never gave anyone too complex orders. - 'Nothing on our part of the territory as well. We will be trying to search through the North, there's lesser of us. Would your pack take the South?' - Jacob planned on trying to search through the whole Northern region, up to the Ozette Lake. There was a lot of tricky canyons smaller rivers, pounds and the vegetation was thick there as well. There was a suspicion that maybe, this time, this group of vampires was hiding next to a water source. He already had experience with the leeches hiding in the sea, why wouldn't they bivouac in a lake? - 'Sure. I'll send Jared and Brady to Hoh Ox, Lucas, and I will go a bit western closer to Oil city. We'll gather here in the morning and give all the information to Seth so he can tell everything to the morning patrol, okay?' - Without answering the question, Jacob and the rest of his small pack got up, running through the ice-cold waters of the river.

Most of the night, it was quiet and calm - sometimes, when the silence was too long, Seth started to throw in some jokes. Most of them were pretty cringe, but some made Jacob snicker under his breath. It was almost time to regroup and set to the meeting point when the whole pack felt it through Embry's eyes. The fur on the back of his neck stood up, his whole body tensed, and growls unintentionally escaped through his tests. Just as he saw a woman standing on top of one huge cliff, looking down on him, the pack tried to get to Embry's position as soon as possible.

The animal wasn't holding anything back - as soon as it saw the woman, it sprang forward to kill her. But she just leaned her head to her shoulder, furrowing at the sight. It appeared as if she wasn't even taken away by seeing such a huge wolf. Based on the stench, she realized this wasn't just some wolf, but she hadn't even flinched. - 'Embry, don't!' - Jacob cried out just when Embry made his way onto the cliff, trying to take the cold woman down. Yet just when the wolf almost caught her ankle in his mouth, she jumped down while still studying every move the animal made.

She wasn't supposed to attack, no. Her posture was strictly curious, careful - the woman might tease them a bit, see how they react, but she surely wasn't about to strike back. She was a scout, sent there by her pack to study the animals. Sam's pack might've encountered another one. - 'Back off, Embry. She's just playing with you!' - Seth, who realized it as well, called out. - 'He's right. wait for us and then we'll try to chase her down!' - Jacob yelled at his friend and jumped onto the lake's beach, circling at the woman's back. It didn't take too long until Seth slowly walked out of the woods on the other side. The woman was quietly scanning all of them and Jacob's size certainly did surprise her. Embry was huge - but Jacob was even bigger.

'We won't catch her, no matter what we do. She isn't going to attack.' - Seth realized and started analyzing her back. At this, the woman smiled and started to lean her head just like Seth was. The pack was still closing on her, but as soon as she would feel threatened she'll simply run away. - "Interesting." - She mumbled and closed her eyelids a bit. - "We don't wanna hurt you. We won't be attacking you or your packs - we just want free access to the city, that's it." - The woman cried out. A terrifying grin appeared on her face for a second as the thought she might succeed. The deep growling came from everyone's mouth at the same time, giving her exactly the answer she needed. - "So you have chosen death. I'll tell it to the others." - And with that, she disappeared. As if she wasn't there, as if she just disappeared into the thin air. The wolves watched each other. The scent didn't lead them too far into the woods, it was as if the woman was just a dream.

Forks, 9:00 a.m.:

You were sleeping in the bed, safe and sound. Your mouth tasted disgusting, and you had a slight headache - you didn't even want to see your damn hair. Even if you knew it was just a lie, the room felt too warm for a moment. For the first time during your road trip, you weren't feeling cold. Lazily, you searched for your phone and read through the news and such. Then your eyes flought to the clock - oh Lord, Jacob had to open the workshop already, hadn't he? And there you were, laying in the bed, covered in a thick blanket.

Never in your life before, you had dressed as quick as you did that morning. Just when you wanted to run into the bathroom, as you opened door to your room, you heard snoring shaking every piece of pottery. With a straight face, you looked at its source - it was the man himself, somehow puzzled on his small sofa - his hands and one of his leg were laying on the ground, his hair was way messier than yours and also, the blanket was too small for someone like him. Jesus, he must've come back so late, you didn't even want to stop yourself.

As you were tiptoeing around the sofa, you noticed something - his feet. They were covered in soil and needles as if he was walking around in the woods barefooted. What was he doing late, in the woods, and barefooted? Was he searching the best location for a grave? Was he checking out his secret killer case hidden in the woods? With risen eyebrows, you locked yourself in the bathroom. At first, you thought he was just working late. That was it. But the soil on his feet made you insecure. Quickly, you brushed your teeth, combed your hair, and sneaked out of the flat. For a moment, you were thinking about walking to talk to Charlie.

While standing in front of the back door, you were biting on your lower lip and tried to figure out what to do. But in the end, you closed the door again and walked to the 'Administration office' to work on another part of the messy paperwork. Dear Lord, Jacob was bad with bureaucracy. In this, he was honest with you. Sometimes, you couldn't even read what was written down on the paper - so you were re-writing the text and sums on a fresh document while lamenting about his messy handwriting. Jacob came in barely half an hour after you. Yet the man was so quiet he almost gave you a heart attack as he stood in the cubbyhole's doorframe. - "Morning to you too." - The man grinned at you when you finally realized he's standing there and yelled out loud for the God's sake. - "Am I looking that bad?" - The man looked all over his body to see if there was something wrong. He was now looking way better than when you saw him laying on the sofa.

His hair was put into a man bun once more, he changed his clothes and presumably took a quick shower. You didnt know what was hiding under these socks. - "I just... Didn't hear you coming. I was really into reading your 'Volkswagen repair... Re-hair..'. Fuck, I can't read it." - With that, you sighed and tried to figure out the hieroglyphs once again. Jacob grinned at your attempts and drank a sip out of his mug of coffee. Silently, you looked him in the eyes - there were deep, black circles. Well, you weren't surprised. Sleeping on that sofa must've messed with him. Yet even the color in his face seemed to be fading away. - "Man, you have coffee?" - You cried out instead of asking him weird, personal questions. - "Uh, I don't wanna break it down to you... But most people have coffee at home or at work. You want some?"

And he brought you the promised cup - along with a slice of apple pie from Mrs. Peterson. Nothing seemed to be wrong. Jacob was working on his cars, humming most of the songs playing on the radio, while you finished the first few months of that year's paperwork. With an overly concentrated face, you categorized the papers into files, thoroughly writing the months they've containing. That was it for the most part.

Sometimes, when your ass started to hurt, you walked around the workshop, and once, you were so courageous that you took your jacket and walked into the freezing Forks. You never walked too far - but dear Lord, wasn't it cold? The mist wasn't supposed to come out of your mouth in August. It couldn't be more than 46 degrees outside, Jesus Christ. And Tacoma was even more on the North.

You've discovered a few peculiarities on your way. There was a real good looking steak restaurant, a library, and a local high school... Which didn't look like high school at all, in your opinion. For the locals, it was clear as a day you weren't from Forks - mainly because anyone who was from the North wouldn't be shaking because they felt cold. The more courageous ones even stopped you, mostly the older women living in the town just so they could brag about talking to the new girl in town. However, they were respectful and nice, always laughing at your attempts to joke.

"Huh. I was thinking about searching for you. I thought you might've frozen somewhere." - Jacob hummed from under the car he was working on at the moment. It looked like an old minivan. Oh, you'd like seeing me freezing somewhere, might as well get your goal easier, huh? You thought to yourself. You also noticed that the radio was playing the Sea Wolf song (which you've heard at least ten times since you arrived at Forks) and that Jacob knew every word of the song. Well, he couldn't be considered a singer, yet this was slightly against your care of this huge man being a killer. What killer would be singing a love song so blatantly? - "I just met some lady named Karen Newton? She was nice, but I couldn't get out of the conversation, dear Lord." - "Oh, old Mrs. Newton? She's super nosy. What was she asking you about?" - Suddenly, his face appeared from under the car as he was searching for his rug. - "The basics, I guess. Why I'm here, what's my name, how old I am... She seemed very happy when I told her how old I am." - Throughout the small talk, you've taken off your jacket and sat on the 'Administration office's' chair while looking at Jacob drinking a whole cup of super hot coffee. His eating and drinking habits were making you a bit uneasy, but whatever.

"Dear Lord. I'll tell you why is that." - The man sat on his small chair as well, looking back at you. - "She has a son named Mike. And she's trying to find him a girlfriend... Again. Do expect the boy suddenly appearing here soon." - Oh. Okay. So she wasn't just nice... She was trying to figure out if you're good enough for her son. Mrs. Newton didn't seem to be thrilled by your career choice, but her eyes started to shine when you answered her question about having a partner. - 'No, I'm single.' - You told her. That was a misstep. - "But, worry not, even though he's not on my list of favorite people, most people say he's a nice guy." - "Unbelievable!" - A squeal came out of you as you started to laugh from the bottom of your belly. - "I'm here one day and you already think about who I should date. Oh God, that's why I don't like small towns!"

Jacob smiled into his mug. He hadn't seen someone laugh so hard for a long time - and honestly, it was nice to take some time off the vampire-hunting thing to think about stupidities like dating and such. - "I just think that two weeks is a lot of time. This seems like fun." - The man mumbled and climbed back on his small assembly bed. You couldn't understand how the thing could be still standing on its small wheels under his weight, but you weren't wrapping your brain around it too much. - "I also saw a pretty dope steak house like... Five minutes from here." - Okay, this was interesting. His head appeared from below the car once again. - "Do I look like I'm looking for someone to date? No, thank you." - With that, he disappeared again, leaving you to sit there with a subdued expression.

This was straightaway rude. There was the cold, annoyed man once more. And yes, it almost ruined your day. Jacob just flipped at least by 180° in front of you, showing you the fed up man once again. It was the mysterious Bella, wasn't it? Also, who was asking him out on a date? There was a cool-looking restaurant near the workshop and you didn't want to cook all the damn time. Dear Lord, you were in the temptation to spit something about split personality disorder, but you just sipped your coffee to keep your mouth shut. - "All I'm saying is that instead of sitting there the whole time and cooking all the time, we might at least consider take out." - Well, you were firing in the same tone as he was. Under the car, he muttered out a few curse words. The man realized he might go too harsh after you.

It was just... It sounded like a date proposition, to be honest. And there was a lot of going on for Jacob at the moment - the stress of shifting again, a vampire hunt... And to be honest, he still didn't get over what happened with Bella - so even though you didn't have any idea about who the hell she was, you were right in this. - "Sure. Take out sounds good." - Jacob told you when you were sitting in your cubbyhole once again, continuing to do your job.

The rest of the day was more or less quiet and calm - Jacob finished the minivan and started to poke around with your Beetle, at least until an old man came for the car. As you got to know when he introduced himself, this was Mr. Newton and Karen's husband. When he realized who you were, he started to apologize for his wife and the bunch of super-weird and awkward questions. He promised you that in any case, his son won't be asking you out just because Karen liked you. No way in hell.

It was that evening when Jacob finished half of the first step with your car - he cleaned most of the inside, mainly around the engine, and started to make a specific list. Said list was meaningless to you since you didn't know jack shit about cars. But Jacob seemed to know what he was doing, so you just continued with doing what you were doing. When the Sea Wolf were playing for the seventh time, that day alone, you were already sure about every word in the chorus. You were singing it along with Jacob.

When it got late, it was time for you to perform a subtle observation of Jacob's behavior. Around the same time as the previous evening, you pretended that you're sleepy as hell - and told him you're going to bed. And since you got to the bed, after a proper hot shower, it was the waiting game from that point on. You've been pretending that you're sleeping and you did so for such a long time that you almost fell asleep for real. But creaking of the floor made you aware that he ended his work in the shop. For a moment, it seemed that he's listening if you're sleeping. After a few pretty convincing snores, you've heard the door creaking again and the door to the small flat locking. With your breath hitched, you tiptoed to the window, leaned your thighs into the warm hearing, and looked from the window - you've heard him locking the garage, so the only possible exit was right under your window.

And he soon came out - he was half-naked, dressed in some torn pants, barefoot again, looking around as if he was making sure that there's no-one who would be watching him. There was a small moment where your breath hitched completely. What in the world was Jacob doing there, without a t-shirt when it was still just 46 degrees there? Quickly, he ran to the woods - and he didn't come out for the whole half an hour you've been looking at the exact spot where he disappeared.

Your throat got swollen as you climbed under the blanket again. Sure, you had the suspicion he might hurt you at some point, but you knew that the fear is irrational for the most part. You've been just freaked out by large dudes since... That happened. This was making you feel very uneasy and unsafe. Who would disappear in the woods dressed like that when it was so damn cold? How long was he just walking around? Or what was he doing in there?

Could he be a killer of sorts? Was this man dangerous? Did he hurt someone before? Bullocks, you stopped yourself. Charlie seemed to be fond of the man. And he was the crown cop of Forks. No way in hell police chief would be in on this as well... Or would he? The terror was making your sleep very bad. You were waking up every half an hour because you had pretty vivid, intense nightmares.

It was at around three in the morning, you've been up for some time, when you heard Jacob walking into the flat, locking the door behind him. He was... Limbing? It sounded as if he had trouble walking straight - he knocked something over on his way to the sofa. When he crashed there, a loud sound made you aware he did so, you heard him whine for a while before he got up again - presumably to put some clothes on. Then, after some time, you heard his body falling onto the small sofa once more. With closed eyes, you've been listening to the whole process and the silence after. After another hour of laying in the bed, not letting out a single sound, you carefully got up. Deep snoring was residing through the few rooms Jacob had in his flat. You've opened up the door carefully, making sure it won't creak and stuck your head out. With a furrow, your gaze scanned the sleeping man.

Again, his hair was let down, the blanket was too small for him and his whole feet were covered in the soil. Did he think you won't notice? As you closed the door, you sighed against your will. There has been something going on in Forks - and Jacob was heavily involved in this. You decided to observe him for at least two days, to make sure he does this regularly and then... What will you do then? As you laid under the blanket again, your legs got cold and you finally realized what you had to do.

You had to follow him and see what was going on.

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moth-and-raven · 3 years

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CHAPTER THIRTEEN

We fly back through the narrow passageways chased by Lucio’s howls of protest, Julian explaining in fits and bursts what his plan is. Skylar is an old friend, he says, that he met when he still went by Ilya. If anyone would know something about what had happened three years ago, it would be him. I ask why he hadn’t considered contacting him before, and, with a guilty shrug, Julian admits that reaching out to old friends was never something he’d been good at. He and Skylar would often go years without interacting, only to run into each other again in the most unlikely of places.

With any luck, that can happen again.

Portia opens a panel in the wall for us to escape through. We emerge in a familiar corridor, the same one that led us to the greenhouse last night, and follow it outside. There’s a great gathering of servants on the other side of the lawn, overseeing the setup of a number of tents. Portia’s gaze lingers, guilt knotting her brow, before she turns away and ushers us down the narrow path back to her cottage.

Pepi barely stirs from her warm sunbeam, twitching her ears at our entry. Portia shushes her sleepy mew and steps into the sitting room, gesturing for us to make ourselves at home. “So where to now?” she asks.

Julian sinks onto the sofa and sighs, patting the space next to him in invitation. When I join him, he leans his head against mine. “I would bet dollars to donuts that, if he’s truly here, we’ll find Skylar at the Red Market,” he says. “For the plants, you know. Marvelous specimens here.”

Portia sits down on an ottoman across from us. “You’ll have to change again, then,” she says heavily. “If you show up dressed as a servant from the palace, they probably won’t even let you in.”

“Do they think so little of Nadia’s policies?”

She sneers. “It isn’t Nadia they hate, it’s the rest of the court. Vulgora put up such a huge tantrum when the Market moved into the Coliseum, I swear they were gonna run down there and set fire to the stalls themself.”

“The Coliseum?”

“Oh, Ilya. You’ve been gone a long time, y’know? Lots of stuff has changed.”

“Surely not the Red Market. That’s been a standby of Vesuvian tourism as long as the Coliseum itself has.”

“They kicked the whole thing out of the canals of the Flooded District a couple years ago to ‘clean up the area.’ Like they’ve ever cared about the Flooded District…”

“Well, I know seedy underbellies.” Julian snuggles closer, brushing his thumb across the back of my shoulder absently. “Those are the same no matter where you go.”

Portia smiles at him. “I guess. I can’t come with you, though. I really need to help with Masquerade prep.”

Julian nudges me and chuckles. “I think we’ll be alright, don’t you, darling?”

I think we’re venturing into yet another arena in which I have little to no experience. But I nod. It’s just a market. Maybe the goods are a bit spicier, and the clientele a bit rowdier, but we shouldn’t be there long and if Julian says he knows what he’s doing, I’m inclined to trust him.

“Excellent.” He kisses my cheek. “We’ve yet to go on a proper date anyway.”

She rolls her eyes. “You have terrible timing.”

He catches my gaze and arches a brow, soft grin turning cheeky. “Don’t I know it.”

“Be careful, okay?” Portia stands up. “And go get changed. I’m not leaving you two lovebirds alone in my house.”

I don’t blame her for that. Julian laughs and rubs my thigh before retreating into the bathroom and closing the door behind him. I’m casting around for something to do, some way to help, when I notice Portia watching me with a grin like a cat and a gleam of interest in her bright blue eyes.

“So,” she says. “You and my brother, huh?”

Me and her brother. She said she would ask, didn’t she? “What about us?”

“That’s what you’ve gotta tell me, isn’t it? How long have you been an item?”

“Oh, uh…” I think back through everything we’ve done. “We met a week ago.”

She just stares. “What?”

I can’t help but flush an embarrassed scarlet. All of it — breaking up and getting back together, sharing Mazelinka’s tiny bed, the eel bite, talking late into the night at the Raven, even him sneaking into my shop… it’s all happened in the last seven days. “Yeah.”

“Damn, you work fast.”

I shrug.

“So… how’d it happen?”

“What do you mean?”

She shakes her head impatiently. “Did he see you at a bar and start hitting on you? Were you in line together at the chancery? Did he… did he run into you in the marketplace and knock all your groceries out of your arms, then help you pick them up and offer to walk you home? Come on, Reyja, I’m dyin’ here.”

That’s an oddly specific scenario. But I ought to tell her the truth. “He broke into the shop the night before I came to the palace.”

“He did what?! ”

I suppose it is rather scandalous. “It was kind of a misunderstanding.”

“Uh-huh, sure it was. And then he was in your shop again the morning we came down to give the Masquerade announcement because…?”

“Um, he was checking on me. We’d spent a lot of time together at the Raven the night before but had to call things early.”

“Why?”

“Guards.”

“O...kay. Have you had any legal interactions with him?”

“Isn’t interacting with him at all illegal, considering?”

Portia laughs. “Fair point.” She leans back and looks me over appraisingly. “Listen, Reyja, no one’s a bigger fan of my brother than I am. And believe me, I know how much of a handful he can be. But you’re serious about this, aren’t you?”

“I am.” I’m almost offended she would think anything else.

She smiles to herself. “He was right, then. You’re someone special.”

He was…? “You already knew all this.”

“‘Course I did. He would not shut up about you last night. Classic Ilya, never using a two-word phrase when a ten-word one would do. He pulled out all the stops, really: you make his heart soar, he feels alive again, he can actually see coming out of this for once… it’s cute.”

My embarrassment fades. It warms my heart to picture him so joyful, and it’s even better knowing it’s because of me. “So why ask me?”

“Because there’s two sides to every story. I know how he feels about you, but how do you feel about him ?”

I pause. “I guess… I guess there’s just something about him. Something in him that speaks to something in me.”

Tightness creeps into my throat, cutting me off, but I don’t want to stop talking. I’ve never verbalized any of this before, what I’ve been missing. What I found with him. Why I care so much, so quickly, and why I’m willing to do almost anything to keep him safe. He may think I’m someone special, but so is he.

“I think it goes a lot deeper than that, too, though,” I continue, pushing the tears away. “I’m not really a happy person, or at least I didn’t used to be. But I’m happy around him. Lighter. He makes me feel attractive and interesting and sexy. Like I belong somewhere. Like I’m… like I’m not as worthless as I always thought I was. He appreciates me just as I am. And— and I don’t want to be anyone else when I’m with him. I never want to be me, but I don’t mind it so much when I see myself through his eyes.”

That’s the biggest thing: I am, for the first and only time I can remember, comfortable in my own skin, because of him. Quiet settles in the room around us, fed by the weight of my confession. I wasn’t expecting to get so poetic, or bare so much of my soul, but Julian does that to me.

“So I guess,” I say softly, “To answer your original question: me and your brother? God, I hope so.”

“Oh, Reyja.”

That isn’t Portia’s voice.

“My darling, can I kiss you?”

I didn’t hear, or see, him emerge from the other room. But there he is, leaning against the door jamb, back in his navy trousers and loose white shirt. Portia is still perched on the edge of the ottoman, her hands pressed to her chest and tears glistening where she had been eyeing me slyly. I don’t know how much he heard, but it must have been enough.

“You can always kiss me, Julian,” I say thickly.

He’s at my side in an instant, sinking to his knees. His lips are cool and soft, not deepening the kiss until I do. We stay joined for a long time, breaking apart reluctantly only after we run out of breath. Even then, he stays close, pressing his forehead to mine and peering at me with both eyes visible, glowing with affection.

“Then I always will.”

------

The last time I was at the Red Market, I was terrified. Not because of the people, or even the contents of the many stalls I passed, but because I was doing something new. It’s been several years since then but trepidation still rises at the back of my throat as the Coliseum fills the sky, towering over us, weeping rubble from the cracks in its smooth marble facade.

The Market itself is accessed through a nondescript doorway. Sometimes there’s a guard or two, neighborhood tough guys stationed to scare away the palace’s minions that come sniffing around spoiling for a fight, but today we’re in luck. I hope it holds; it would only take one person recognizing Julian from the old wanted posters to spoil everything.

Even so, he’s excited. I’m sure it’s been a long time since he last did something like this. And as anxious as I am, I’m nevertheless pleased to be with him, out on the town just like he imagined.

Voices and smoke, spices and charring meat and, barely disguised, the scents of the underground, of unwashed bodies and piss and vomit and blood, slither out of the stonework as soon as we pass into the Market. It’s dark, dingy, as red as its name from the glow of torches and lamps lighting up the tunnels. There’s a decent crowd for the middle of the day, most of them hiding their faces.

I squeeze Julian’s hand and pull him to the side of the pathway. “We should get some masks,” I tell him, gesturing with my head at the steady flow of other customers.

He casts his gaze over them too. “I suppose so,” he says, with a wry smile. “But I’d rather my first gift to you not be so… so…”

“Practical?”

He laughs. “Or such an obvious reminder of all this unpleasantness.”

“It wouldn’t be your first gift.”

“Mm?”

“The starstrand?”

“Ah, yes. The first thing I purchase for you, then.”

I suppress the urge to roll my eyes. He’s sweet, but now probably isn’t the time to be quibbling over such minor details. “Then let me get them.”

“Darling, the sentiment remains—”

“So does the problem.” I catch his hand and mesh our fingers, then stand on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. “It won’t be the last thing we buy for each other."

Julian sighs into my touch and relaxes, just enough for me to relax a bit too. “No, it won’t. I’m being silly, aren’t I?”

“Maybe a little.”

“I reserve that right.”

“I’ll allow it.”

I kiss him again, in the wake of his adoring grin, and we step back into the crowd together. I shift to hold his elbow instead of his hand as we meander down the rows of merchants, keeping our eyes open for clothing booths. It doesn’t take long to find one that will suit our needs; I pick out a velvety black shawl that can dip low over my face and Julian finds a length of fabric to twist into something resembling a turban. I have to roll my eyes then: trust him to find the most conspicuous way to hide.

“That one, huh?”

He runs the cloth through his hands. “Is something wrong with it?”

“It’s bright red, Julian.”

“Is it? It isn’t a sort of brownish-gray?”

Wait… “Are you colorblind?”

He pauses. “Ah. This is Mazelinka and my coat all over again.”

“What happened?”

“Those inner panels? I was sure they were a nice dark brown, sleek and stealthy. Mazelinka laughed at me the first time she saw it and asked if I was trying to torment myself with memories of the Plague. I wasn’t, of course!”

“I’m sure you had fun convincing her it was an honest mistake.”

“I did my best. I don’t know if she believes me yet.”

I laugh and take the scarf. If nothing else, red suits him. And wearing red at the Red Market should only disguise him better, right? I pay for both without incident and help him cover his hair, artfully arranging the end of the turban around his mouth and nose to hide his profile as best I can. After I mask my own features with my new shawl, we set off deeper into the Market.

Julian is obviously comfortable here, navigating the twists and turns between stalls with ease. And never once does he choose a path I would struggle to fit through. We make a whole circuit of the catacombs without any sign of Skylar, but on the next round, I find my attention wandering. So we slow down, perusing the merchandise, looking for all the world like just another couple out buying some more unusual trinkets to keep things fresh.

At one booth, Julian wraps his arms around me from behind, resting his hands on my belly as he holds me close, rocking me gently and humming to himself. I lean into his chest, all thoughts vanishing in a flood of contentment; how he knew that I longed for touch like this, for connection and acceptance and— how he knew that I wanted to be loved like this, I don’t know, but he was right.

We while away at least an hour, maybe more, wandering the Market. With no daylight, it’s hard to tell the time. Eventually, Julian asks if I’d like to get some lunch, and I agree. We duck into a notch at the intersection of several rows of stalls, a larger space with some places to sit and a handful of food vendors scattered around the perimeter. We decide on a Karnassi gyro stand and fold ourselves into a corner to watch the crowd pass as we eat.

We’ve just started another circuit, the opposite direction this time, when luck strikes again.

I hear Julian’s sharp intake of breath, colored by his smile, and follow his gaze to a booth near the entrance. Admiring the books is the tallest man I’ve ever seen, his height made even more obvious by the curved horns emerging from his tightly-coiled hair. His face is unmasked; clearly he isn’t worried about being recognized, and his green eyes spark with intelligence even from a distance. He rubs the stubble on his chin and picks up a book, flipping it open one-handed and frowning slightly as he scans the table of contents.

Julian takes my hand and slips through the throng of market-goers, emerging in the empty space at Skylar’s elbow; he doesn’t even seem to notice us.

“Fancy seeing you here,” Julian chuckles, pulling his mask down. He has to look up into Skylar's face, something I’m sure he isn’t used to.

Skylar startles, but recognition washes over him almost immediately. “Ilya,” he says simply. His voice belies his size, soft and soothing. He puts down the book to wrap Julian in a hug, kissing his cheek too. “Nice hat. Vesuvia again, eh?”

“Vesuvia again,” Julian agrees.

“You’re a wanted man here.”

“They haven’t come after you, have they?”

“Of course not. And if they did, well… I have plenty of other places to go.”

Julian shifts anxiously. Before he can say anything else, Skylar turns his attention to me. “You’re with him?” he asks.

“Yeah. I’m Reyja.”

“Nice to meet you, Reyja.” His green gaze darts between us as he chews his cheek, clearly working out exactly the manner in which I’m with Julian. Whatever conclusion he comes to, he must not be interested in pursuing it.

“I’ve, ah…” Julian clears his throat. “I’ve a rather big favor to ask of you, Skylar.”

“Alright.”

Just alright? Nothing else? No caveats?

Julian doesn’t seem surprised by his easy acceptance. He shuffles closer and drops his voice to a conspiratory whisper. “So, erm. I heard that, ah. You were here, weren’t you? Three years ago?”

Skylar frowns. “Yes.”

“And, ah, and I was here.”

“Yes?”

“Could you…” he trails off. “What happened?”

Several beats of silence meet his question. “What do you mean, ‘what happened?’” Skylar asks slowly.

“Erm, exactly that. I… I find myself in a bit of a… I remember waking up in a jail cell, and working at the palace for Lucio, but everything in between is a bit of a blur.”

Skylar blinks. And again. “Okay, well… uh, yeah, I was here. Helping. Helping you, specifically. You asked me, said the research side of the Plague could be an interesting topic of study. The Palace had opened its doors to anyone who wanted to come, so that wasn’t an issue. I never dealt with any patients, of course, I’d just watch from the sidelines. You even let me observe Count Lucio a few times.”

I smile to myself. I don’t think Skylar knows just how much Lucio enjoyed his ‘observations.’

“Is any of this useful?” Skylar asks.

Julian nods, his gaze unfocused as he tries to force his memories to return.

“I guess it’s not a huge surprise that you can’t remember. You, uh… you weren’t at your best, Ilya.”

He nods sadly. “So I’ve heard. Some say I lost my mind.”

“I don’t know if I’d go that far. But you definitely weren’t doing well. You wouldn’t even tell me what had happened, that fucked you up so bad.”

“Really?” Julian shakes his head. “I had hoped…”

“Sorry. The most you told me was in the last few days before everything went to shit. You said that Valdemar was going to try something big soon.”

“Valdemar…” His voice is mostly breath, lost in the intervening years. Just the passing acquaintance I have with Valdemar sets the hairs on the back of my neck on end at the mere mention of their involvement. Portia had said they were familiar with the Plague. I didn’t realize just how close they’d been to it.

“Shortly after that, they sent me, and everyone else who wasn’t medical, away from the palace,” Skylar continues. “I stayed in town as long as I could, though. I didn’t want to leave you up there by yourself.”

“That must’ve been when…” Julian touches his eyepatch.

“Oh, I just remembered another thing.” Skylar shifts his weight and draws his palm along one of his horns, thinking hard. “You kept talking about a bird man. Like, half-man, half-bird. Raven, I think. You said it was going to help you stop death from stopping death.”

Despite the press of bodies around us and the faint warmth from the many torches and lamps, a chill settles into my skin in the wake of his words. Stop death from stopping death? What does that even mean?

At my side, Julian has turned ghostly pale. He mouths the phrase, wipes sweat from his forehead, skates his fingertips over the fabric of his patch. “I— thank you, Skylar. Thank you.”

“You alright?”

“Yes, yes, I’m, ah… Valdemar, you said?” He turns to me. “The other doctor, it must have been them. They must’ve— I must’ve— The Plague, it’s— And, and…”

I touch his arm, alarmed. He’s rambling, his movements sudden and uncontrolled. Skylar and I glance at each other. Before either of us can do anything, though, Julian starts to pace, taking several steps towards the entrance of the Market and then coming back for me.

“Reyja, I— We need to— Thank you, Skylar, you’ve been more than helpful. I’ll, erm, I’ll be in touch. Yes? Yes. Are you staying at the— the…?”

“Um, Samal’s. The inn,” Skylar offers.

Julian laughs wildly. “Small world, small world. Say hello to Zhannur for me, would you? It’s been awhile.”

“Sure. Are you going to be okay?”

Julian takes my hand, squeezes it, and some of the mania in his expression fades. “Yes. Yes, I’m alright. Apologies. I just, erm. Amazing how a few simple words can bring so much back. B-but, ah, yes. I didn’t mean to frighten you. Either of you.” His gaze lingers on me and he smiles faintly. “Do excuse us, Skylar. I promise, we’ll catch up properly soon. Just like old times.”

Skylar cocks his head, watching Julian closely. But he does seem better already, and after a moment, he nods. “Good to see you again, Ilya. Take care.”

We wave farewell and Julian whisks me away into the flow of the crowd, hunching low to speak close to my ear.

“Valdemar,” he hisses. I’ve never heard him angry before, but the venom in his voice now is unmistakable. “They did this.”

“What?”

He gestures at his plagued eye. “I wasn’t working quickly enough for them,” he spits. “Too focused on patient care instead of finding answers. They held me down, forced essence of the Plague distilled from the beetles that carry it into my mouth…”

Horror crawls through me. “How dare they,” I breathe, shocked almost beyond words.

“Absolute power, as they say. Valdemar was given a free rein. Anything for the cure.” He pauses, and slumps. “Anything for the cure,” he repeats. “If only I could remember why it mattered so much to me. Beyond the obvious, of course. If I didn’t even tell Skylar, it must’ve… well. There are very few things he doesn’t know about me. I can’t imagine what would’ve made me keep mum.”

Mysteries on mysteries. But does this mean…? “So did Valdemar kill Lucio?”

He sighs. “It’s possible. They’d certainly be capable of it, considering—”

I never saw them coming. Julian never saw them coming. It took only moments, measured in the pounding footsteps of armored boots, the shouts of people used to being unquestioningly obeyed, a whirl of red and palace gold. In a beat of clarity, I meet Julian’s eyes. We have less than a second, but it stretches like spider silk as horrible understanding dawns over his features.

His luck has run out.

I scream when he pushes me away, sending me reeling into the gathering crowd, but it’s swallowed by the noise of the guards and no one gives me a second glance. I scramble to my feet to see Julian surrounded by soldiers. One of them, short, clad in quilted red, bares their teeth in his face. He snarls back and they lash out at the side of his head with a vicious-looking maul.

I scream again when he falls, motionless, to the cobblestones.

—————

Skylar belongs to @ollifree.

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#moth & raven #the arcana #the arcana fanfic #reyja north #julian devorak

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docholligay · 4 years

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*WARNING, WHINING* I have been working on this all damn day+ and I am so fucking frustrated and upset about it, none of it turned out how I wanted and I hate it AHHHHHHHH. *END WHINING*

Something for father’s day! 2,400 and change.

Lena Oxton was a cheerful sort, resilient and funny, who could generally find pleasure in her life even in the more difficult moments. She was not particularly given to long bouts of sorrow, preferring instead to quite experience all of it at once, get it over with, and move onto more pleasant things. There was no point, she figured, in dwelling on the things that couldn’t be helped. Life was short enough as it was, even when you knew what you future might look like, and she intended to spend the two to two hundred years given to her enjoying as much as she could.

People loved this about her. She was the sort of person who could lift the mood of a room with her bright smile and loud, lingering laughter. Her happy chatter and quick, joyful movement had more than once led someone to a smile whether they wanted to or not. She was rather legendary, for her cheer, and people always wondered at how she managed it.

But she was still human, and sadness still found her however fast she moved and how brightly she shone.

Father’s Day was harder for her than it should be.

She was hardly unique, in her little group cobbled-together group. Mercy was an orphan, same as her, and she hadn’t gotten nearly so long as Tracer with her father. Winston struggled with whether or not he had a father at all, or if he were only an experiment. Jack and Ana, well, Tracer wasn’t convinced that they were born of human beings anyway. So that was a solid seventy percent of them without fathers, what reason did she have to pout about it?

And yet, every Sunday in June, she felt that little pang, that twist in her chest that said she was never going to see her father again, that she hadn’t hardly had a chance to say goodbye, that it was her death that had killed him, if you believed her grandmother. It was a heart attack, it was a broken heart, and they could both be true.

That was the worst of it, she thought, sitting alone, as she often preferred to on this day, rubbing at the edge of her chipped tea cup. She had lost him, but he had also lost her. Losing him might have been tolerable if he’d at least been spared that. It seemed such an unkindness, a constant reminder that life is very rarely fair.

“It’s only a quick flight, can’t tell you much. You know.” She smiled, “Be ‘ome for Christmas this year, they promised me.”

The last conversation they had ever had, as Tracer quickly gathered up her things from her brief furlough. She’d believed it. There was no reason to believe the Slipstream would, at least temporarily and in a fashion, kill her. Why would she think anything else?

“Tell me, soon as you’re allowed.” He took her elbow and kissed her on the temple. “And be careful as you can be, love.”

He did know how it worked, and so he hadn’t pressed her too hard about the secrecy of the flight. He was, to a point, used to waiting around to hear from her, and she had always, diligently, told her that she was safe as soon as she could. He was an airman himself, but he could also be a proper worrywart when it came to the subject of Tracer. He never stopped her, but he always worried for her.

“Dad, it’s nothing.” She had giggled. “Take your girlfriend out for a night or two, maybe, forget about the whole thing, and then you’ll ‘ear from me and remember you was supposed to be nervous. Nothing.”

She’d given him a hug and rushed out the door. That was the last time she’d ever seen his face, and she hadn’t taken the care to memorize it, to know what it felt like to hug him tight, to take note of the every syllable and they particular way he said it. She hadn’t known.

Grief and guilt are both complicated emotions, and it often struck Tracer that she was more sullen on Father’s day than Mother’s. It made her feel disloyal and ungrateful, and so she rarely told anyone. It wasn’t that she missed her mother less. It was that losing her mother was like losing a grand opportunity. It was the trip she never took, the house she never had. She had been so young that it was a part of her, the loss, as much as her mother herself was.

Losing her father was like having her house burn down. It had been just the two of them for so long--at least as much as any Oxton is ever “just” anything--and they had been so close. She had never even considered moving out, why would she bother paying rent on a miserable flat when she and her father got on so well, and repaired their little place together, and cooked together, and teased each other about their dating lives? Why would she go elsewhere, when here she had a place where she was always loved and appreciated for what she was?

And then it was gone. Oh, the house was there, and it was Tracer’s now, but if she fell asleep on the couch, there was not blanket set to cover her, dinner was never waiting in the fridge, and the only message on the whiteboard on the back of the front door was the last one he’d left.

Keys.

Wallet.

Phone.

Charger.

Call your Nan while you walk to the tube.

I love you, Dad.

She’d never had the heart to erase it. He hadn’t either, in the six months she was gone. She returned to London to find her room exactly as she left it, excepting her small effects returned to where they belonged, Biscuit, her stuffed sloth, safely on her pillow.

Tracer tried to cheer herself, narrowing her eyes in frustration at her own sorrow. She would make a chicken salad sandwich, and pack a bit of a lunch, and maybe she would head over to the East London Cemetery. It had been seven years. And there had been happy Father’s Days, for her, and for him. She had been spoiled by the joy of her life, in so many ways. Even in tragedy.

She smiled as she remembered their first Father’s Day without her mother, strange as it seemed. She hadn’t hardly been gone more than a month, and her father was still so sad. Tracer had wanted, more than anything, to do something very special for him, to help him turn his face to the sun, like he always told her to do.

Her Uncle Teddy had been the greatest help, being that he was a baker, and he and Mark had watched Tracer so much when her mother was ill that it wasn’t unusual at all for him to offer to take her for an afternoon. Teddy adored her--him and Mark never could afford to have one of their own--and she felt the same. So she skipped next to him down to Ballard’s Baked Goods and they had whipped up a little cake, which was hardly Teddy’s speciality, and the fact that Tracer had made it with only a little guidance was obvious, but oh how she remembered the look on her father’s face when she presented it proudly to her father, with tea, which had also, she thought quite expertly made.

“Oh, don’t I ‘ave the most wonderful girl in all of London?” He smiled, and cupped her cheek, and kissed her forehead. “Look at all this!”

They had eaten it together, sitting side by side on a small parcel of dirt behind the house, big enough to contain a block of cement, a tree, and perhaps one square foot of grass in a strip, but Tracer had known, in that moment, that they would make it, her and her father. They had each other, and that was enough. They could make the sun shine, even when it was cloudy.

And she had, of course, found so much love in her life. The sun was easy to find, with all the people she had in, waving away the clouds. Tracer worried about a small handful of things, but none of them were ever that she would be alone. In truth, she really should be with Winston today, given his general troubles concerning Doctor Harold, and she nearly starting walking there, sandwich in hand, before deciding that she’d just like to spend a moment with herself. Or her father. Her parents. A fair amount of relatives stretching back to the first World War. Whatever it was that did or didn’t carry on after someone died, of which Tracer was never herself quite sure.

The sun was bright today, wasn’t it? This was a rare enough treat in London, and despite the air of melancholy inside of her, she had to smile. Fathers were walking with their children, a few of them waving and smiling at her as they did so. It was the sort of day her father would have loved, where they would run around the Victoria Park together until he collapsed onto the grass, declaring the entire thing a disaster, as Lena was wound up, and he needed to be put to bed.

Mostly, she went back, to her memories, after the Slipstream, when she was jumping around, trying to go home. There were a few times, though, where she got home. In her time, in her place, a living ghost. Tracer never liked to remember the few glimpses she had gotten of her Dad, then. But Father’s Day, they often couldn’t be shut out. The look on his face as he brought the box of her things into her bedroom. He’d taken out Biscuit and looked at him, just for a moment, before hugging him close and sinking to the bed, sobbing.

“Oh Lena, my girl.”

Those four words haunted her. Haunted her almost as much as the memory of him sitting on the couch, telling her Aunt Lily that the worst of it was not that she was dead.

“If I just,” he was red-eyed and tired, “if ‘ad her body, Lil. If I could bring ‘er ‘ome....bury ‘er with Mary. Annie.”

Her aunt, the oldest of all of them, with no idea how to comfort her brother through his worst nightmare. She felt guilty herself, sometimes, Tracer knew. She had four of her own, an embarrassment of riches, and her little brother, with his one. She was guilty, because was glad it wasn’t her. She touched his shoulder.

“I know, Bert, really I do. It’s--grief is like that, sometimes, right? And--”

“Lily, I don’t think she’s dead.”

He didn’t make eye contact with her, just stared into the carpet, and Tracer had tried so hard to scream to him, but nothing came out, nothing but the sheer cold of the lack of time pouring into her throat.

“Oh--”

He held up his hand. “I know. But I get the sense--I get the sense she’s alive, and someone’s--” he looked up at the ceiling, “Someone’s ‘urting ‘er. I don’t know ‘ow it is I know that. But I do.”

He was at least partly right, though he didn’t live to know it. He had never gotten rid of any of her things, marked her name on the gravestone but never gave up enough hope to lay her jacket and her sloth in the ground as all he had of her.

He believed in her, always. He believed in her from the day she was born to the day she died the first time. Even when he said he’d accepted that she was dead, he believed she might just make it. Even after everyone said he’d gone mad, even after Overwatch had tried to suppress his call for an inquiry into Overwatch’s experiments.

Your father was right, Mercy had said once, quietly. They should have been stopped so much sooner. He never got to know that, either.

There was a little girl across from her on the tube, chatting happily to her father, who smiled sheepishly. Too little to know the unspoken rule of ultimate silence that lived in London’s trains. Tracer gave him a big grin.

“Nothing ever really leaves the world, Lena.” He looked dreamily off into the sunset, the calls of children still playing echoing across the green, “Just, changes form a bit. New flowers grow from the old, right? Dead leaves, well, they’re the ones fertilize the trees. No,” he shook his head, “nothing ever really leaves us. Not if we can see it. When we look.”

She raised an eyebrow and looked at him with all the skepticism of her sixteen years. “Dad, you do know I’ve no problem with you dating, right? Believe I suggested it. No need to tell me about renewal and all that.”

“Lena!” He snapped off his flatcap and hit her playfully on the leg. “No need to step on every tender moment.”

“I’m not, I’m genuinely trying to discover what it is you’re driving towards.” She picked at the picnic dinner in front of her, enjoying the long London evening.

He chuckled and looked back at the sunset. “Guess I’m not entirely sure meself. It’s just--I see so many people I’ve loved, in you. The best parts of them. Your mum, of course. Annie. Even people you never knew. And I think, ‘Bert, everything stays, some’ow. Changed, but, it doesn’t leave.’ That’s what I think.” He looked back at her. “I love you, Lena. You are a wonderful part of me life. I’m a lucky man, being your dad.”

“Dad.” She looked away awkwardly, not sure if she wanted to laugh or cry, and opted to look at the cheese on the plate and mumble. “I love you too. ‘Course.”

She hadn’t really understood what he’d meant, then. She was too young to know, hadn’t lost enough and found it again, to see the truth in what he said. Watching the little girl with her father, she knew it had been true all along. Her father had never left her. He was still here, in the little crocuses that peeked up through the grass. In her Uncle Teddy’s concern and gentle nagging. In the way Winston happily worked with her quick little mind, and called it never a burden, but a gift. He was with her every time she lucked into West Ham seats, and when she sat down to her family tea every Sunday with her mismatched and chipped china set. When she was loved.

He’d never left her at all. And so there was nothing to find at East London Cemetery and Crematorium, at least today.

The train screeched to a halt, and the voice from above announced her station. She got off the train, and walked right to the line headed toward Hackney Wick. Winston would be tinkering in his lab, trying to forget the day. She’d swing by the pizza place on the way to his house, pick something up, and she’d do a better job of making him know he was loved than Dr. Harold could have hoped for.

Tracer was a cheerful sort, resilient and funny, and she did her very best to find pleasure in her life, even through the difficult moments. This was a gift given to her, she realized as she walked through the station, by everyone who had loved her, everyone who had entrusted her with the joy of this world, to be its bearer and its champion. She was all of their greatest dreams, and they were hers.

Somewhere against the announcements and the chatter, Tracer heard it clear as day.

“Proud of you, Lena.”

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superman86to99 · 4 years

Photo

Action Comics #692 (October 1993)

In this issue: Superman goes to the doctor and finds out why he's not dead anymore! But, before that, he's clearing some of the debris left by his fight with Doomsday when he finds... Clark Kent? Lois Lane is very happy to see Clark again, but Superman himself doesn't look very thrilled in these panels.

Turns out Clark wasn't dead as everyone believed, he was simply trapped in the basement of a collapsed building! The basement happened to equipped with plenty of food and gym equipment (explaining why he's still jacked, like Superman), but unfortunately not a single pair of scissors (explaining why his hair is now long, like Superman's).

Later, Superman bumps into Lex Luthor Jr., who demands to know where Supergirl is, but Superman gives him the runaround. Hmm, where could Superman's good friend who can change shape and pretend to be other people be? Anyway, Superman then meets Lois and Clark and... holy crap! Mild-mannered reporter Clark Kent is secretly Supergirl!

So yeah, Supergirl pretended to be Clark for a while just so he and Superman would be seen together and no one would question why both are suddenly alive again. Then Supergirl leaves and we move on to the second dilemma solved in this issue: How the hell is Superman alive again? To address that question, supernatural DC character (and fellow Jerry Siegel/Joe Shuster creation) Doctor Occult appears out of nowhere and rudely teleports Lois and Clark to a black void, where he replays moments from Superman's life... and death.

Occult explains that Doomsday DID punch Superman's spirit out of his body, but there was still solar energy keeping the body just barely alive. Superman's ghost ended up stuck between the living and the dead, attracting some nasty soul-eating demons. Fortunately, Pa Kent happened to be dying of a heart attack at the same time, so he and Superman teamed up to fight off the demons (as seen in Adventures #500). Superman’s soul returned to his near-corpse, which was taken to the Fortress of Solitude by the Eradicator and lovingly nursed back into health. (Okay, more like “coldly,” but you can’t argue with the results.)

Anyway, the point is that Superman's resurrection happened due to a convoluted series of events that could never be repeated, unless someone's willing to sneak behind Pa Kent and blow an airhorn in his ear or something. As the mystical exposition dump ends, Occult teleports Lois and Clark to Smallville, and the issue ends with the Kents finally reuniting. A tender moment...

...until two seconds later, when Ma smacks Clark in the back of the head for taking two whole issues to come see them (or that’s what I’d do).

Plotline-Watch:

Doctor Occult reveals that the moment when Bibbo shocked Superman’s body with a hyper-charged defibrillator in Adventures #498 actually helped keep him alive. Once again, Bibbo is the real hero of this saga.

Supergirl has a lot of experience posing as Clark, since she was stuck in that form between 1989 and 1992. That was also her in the only other photo of Superman and Clark together, taken in Superman #34.

While Superman is being interviewed by a news crew after rescuing "Clark", that lawyer from Action #689 barges in and demands that they stop calling Superman Superman, since that name is now trademarked by Superboy's manager. Damn, maybe he's gonna have to start calling himself "Supreme" or something?

Aww, Lex is happy to see Superman again. Sure, it's only because he wants to be the one to kill him, but still.

S.T.A.R. Labs is examining the Eradicator's corpse when they realize he's alive! Sort of. Later, Doctor Occult remarks that the Eradicator sacrificed himself "in mind, if not in body". Hmm. The doctors overseeing his condition are Kitty Faulkner, who can turn into an orange She-Hulk called Rampage after a workplace mishap, and a new character called David Connors, the only S.T.A.R. employee without superpowers. So far.

The JLA returns from the little space vacation the Cyborg sent them on, and we get the first instance in all of comics of Guy Gardner admitting he was wrong. Character growth! Don Sparrow says: “Nice to see some follow-up to the characters around the DCU and how they react to Superman’s return. No mention of the fact that they got suckered into a mission into space that went nowhere.”

When Doctor Occult shows up, Superman is like "aw, not this guy again!", referencing that classic tale of Superman's first encounter with the supernatural... which hasn't come out yet. Don: “It’s a neat forward call-back (is that a thing?) when Superman references his first encounter with Doctor Occult, given that we won’t see it happen until 1995, when DC does a line-wide ‘Year One’ series of stories. And wouldn’t you know it, that story is written by none other than Roger Stern (and even involves tentacles, as in the thumbnail image)!” #rogersternplaysthelonggame

Don Sparrow's section, on the other hand, can be read NOW, after the jump!

Art-Watch (by @donsparrow):

We open with the cover, and it’s one of the top ten best of this era, for sure. Drawn by Kerry Gammill and Butch Guice, DC used this drawing on the “Return of Superman” cards. I tend to favour simpler, iconic covers, even when they don’t necessarily represent the story within, but in this case, it’s showing exactly what the heart of the story is about: Clark Kent is back.

Inside, we open with a full page splash of Superman’s shield, through tons of rubble, and it’s a great image, but without the face, it allows us to focus on the title of the story, a callback to the speech introduction of the old Fleischer Cartoons.

I don’t know if it’s from the writing, or the artist, but Action Comics has always seemed the most romantic of the Super-titles, and this one is no exception, as Clark and Lois have their hands all over each other for basically the whole comic. While it is a bit weird to remember that it isn’t Clark that Lois is caressing (more on that in a bit) in the early part of the story, it always feels intimate and romantic more than it feels graphic or titillating. A tricky balance that this team pulls off well, particularly in their “reunion” on page 3. [Max: Every time I read this issue I think it’s Martian Manhunter posing as Clark and when they start flirting I’m like “ew”. Then I remember who it is and I’m like “nice”.]

I always enjoy seeing Superman flying upside-down, which I consider to be a Byrne innovation—I don’t remember him doing it pre-Crisis. It always seems so joyful and carefree, and it’s nice to see Superman savouring his powers.

Jackson Guice uses tone very well in the scenes with Lex Luthor II in his aviators, and I quite like the sense of motion to Superman’s pose as he approaches the helicopter—almost like he’s swimming in the sky rather than floating.

It’s a good drawing of the Eradicator getting the post-Hoth Luke Skywalker treatment, with David Connor and Kitty Faulkner getting an eyeful. My copy has a slight colouring error that makes it look like the Eradicator is awake in the tank, even though he’s supposed to be catatonic. [Max: Still looks like that in the collections. Maybe he’s one of those people who sleep with their eyes open?]

Superman embracing Lois after the ruse of “Clark Kent” is very cutely drawn, as is the Ghost-like backward embrace on the following page.

The entire sequence replaying Superman’s death and rebirth is drawn well throughout, especially the dreamlike staging, and the darkness as Lois knocks the flashlight away. It’s also moving that Superman can see the heroic lengths that Bibbo went to try to save him once Superman succumbed to his injuries.

Lastly, it was wonderful to see Clark reunited physically with Ma and Pa, especially with the nice touch of the poem by DH Lawrence as the only narration. Stern was always the best at referencing secondary texts in his stories, and it’s well used here.

STRAY OBSERVATIONS:

Is it me, or is Matrix/Supergirl a little too into this Clark Kent act? I get that making their performances light and funny keep it from seemingly overtly dishonest, but “Clark” is pretty tender in these scenes. Lois does a good job of playing along, but it’s hard for me to fully forget that all this canoodling is actually with Supergirl. So as a helpful tool, I created these graphics: [Max: Nice.]

It was cool that Lois specifically mentioned that Jimmy got a shot of the returned Clark Kent next to Superman, I always like it when that can happen.

In previous posts, I’ve talked about how creepy it is that Luthor has a sexual relationship with Supergirl/Matrix, when she is in so many ways (mainly mentally) a child, and I can’t help but read the scene where Lois chooses Superman over “Clark” this way. The laughing and clapping has a whole different feel if you think of her as mentally diminished somewhat.

So it’s not exactly a continuity error that Clark says on page 13 that he has to call Ma and Pa to let them know that “Clark” is alright (even though he already called them in a previous issue). It could be that they want to tell the Kents the cover story of Clark’s return has now taken place, and they can act like their son is alive again when they go to the corner store, etc. [Max: Yeah, that’s how I took it. It would be awkward if their neighbors saw them all cheerful while their son is still “dead”.]

I like to imagine that Dr. Occult looks and sounds like Robert Stack. [Max: It’s impossible for me to hear him as anyone other than Humphrey Bogart after Lois calls him “Sam Spade”.]

We’ve mentioned previously Jackson Guice’s tendency to use photo reference for his characters. In this issue, Superman looks a lot like Jason Patric to me, who would have made a pretty great Superman had there been movies being made in this time.

I also appreciated this issue explaining both the physical and metaphysical reasons Superman was able to return—and that there’s no back door to the story—if Superman ever died again, he would be unable to return.

#superman #roger stern #jackson guice #denis rodier #supergirl #justice league #guy gardner #rampage #eradicator #doctor occult #pa kent #ma kent #bibbo bibbowski #S.T.A.R. Labs #cat grant #captain marvel #roger stern plays the long game #nice

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pro-bee · 5 years

Text

Ziva David Week Day 2: Favourite episode

I’m gonna cheat here and pick 2, because they go together: Hiatus Part 1 & 2.

(Once again, all screencaps courtesy of NCIS Source. Part 1 and Part 2)

I love Ziva in these two episodes, because we get insight into her feelings in a way we haven’t really so far in the series at this point, and I think it sets up so much of what comes later on, arguably even into the present day.

Yes, the story focuses mainly on Gibbs’ and his amnesia, and Ziva doesn’t have as large a role in these episodes as she would later on, but her scenes pack a punch, and her presence is what ultimately brings the Gibbs they all know and love back.

We get to see Ziva run the whole gamut of emotions, from lighthearted to devastated to snarky to angry to compassionate, and each moment is allowed its own time to shine. It’s quite surprised watching this with the benefit of hindsight to see how integral her role is to the story, especially towards Gibbs, given that at this point she is the newest team member. As we come to learn, though, she also has the most unique connection of any of them to their fearless leader.

I love how the episode opens up with the Three Musketeers on what they think is just another stakeout, teasing each other about movies and generally being idiots.

I mean, how adorable is Ziva when Tony makes the “Sound of Music” reference and she lights up, because she loves that movie? It’s a shame Tony shushed her when she was about to belt out the theme, because as we now know, Ziva’s got some pipes on her. (If only you knew, Tony.)

Ziva was allowed to be jokey and funny and even girly at times in the early episodes, and it’s moments like this where you can actually see how young Ziva is, despite her demeanour. She is competent and professional, but she is also only what, 23 at this point? Most young women her age are still hanging out with their friends at bars on weekends between studying for finals or working their entry-level jobs, whereas she’s trying to save the world from bad guys. She’s so serious so much of the time that it tickles me when we get to see this playful side to her, and not in the “flirty with Tony until he starts sweating” kind of way, but in an almost childlike, joyful manner.

Of course, it’s short-lived in this episode, because Gibbs gets himself blown up right in front of them and all hell breaks loose.

After that, we see Ziva go right into professional mode, and we bump into the first of many conflicts about the outside world’s assumptions about her.

Ducky is the first (of many) to question her ability to feel affection and compassion, when he is astounded that she didn’t ask the paramedics which hospital they took Gibbs to. Ziva rightfully answers that she had a job to do, that once she made sure Gibbs was being taken care of by medical professionals, she then moved onto her job, which was to immediately secure the crime scene -- which is exactly what Gibbs would have done. She knew he was in good hands so she worked on what she was good at, because she had a mission to accomplish.

(lol sidebar, I had my first aid recert the other week and the trainer was emphasizing how your job as first on the scene is to administer cpr until the medical professionals arrive, but when they do take over, your job is done, you can’t carry that with you because you don’t have the training they do, you do your best and that’s enough -- and I feel like that’s exactly the mindset Ziva has.)

Of course, once Ziva pointedly tells him she was a little busy dealing with a fucking explosion to remember to ask which hospital Gibbs was at, Ducky absentmindedly says that Tony or McGee will know, and that stings, because it’s the first of many implications that she doesn’t care enough, and they do. Which we all know is false, but this is a running theme in the show (as we talked about yesterday with Damon’s episode) about how the Ziva the world seems to see isn’t who she really is inside, and she struggles to show herself in ways people understand, because she isn’t outwardly demonstrative in the manner that, say, Abby is.

“Ziva I’m not implying you don’t care. I know you care.”

It’s too late though, because the words have already sunk in. You don’t care. We all know that’s not true, and Ziva knows it’s not true, but that is all people see of her, and it rattles her.

Never mind that a year ago, before she moved to the US, that would probably be seen as an asset to her father, an indication that she can detach to get the job done. But as we now know, she never really could detach -- she just repressed. That no one would have questioned whether she cared enough to remember which hospital her coworker was at -- but that’s also because no one probably cared enough about her as a person to question her own motives.

But now she has something to hold onto. She cares about these people, and she cares what they think, which is why it’s so frustrating when she doesn’t seem to be living up to their expectations.

I feel so much for her here, because we know that she is just doing her job. The best thing she can do right now is to investigate, like she’s been trained to do for the last year, because that is what they need to do to help Gibbs. But her cooler head prevailing kind of exposes the downside of how close their unit is, because when her doing her job is seen as suspicious, it exposes them to greater troubles in times of crisis like these.

Meanwhile, what impresses me so much is precisely how quickly Ziva jumps into action. She is really fucking good at her job. This job that she chose, for the first time in her life, and one she loves. She gets shit done, fast. She is the one who secures the crime scene, directs technicians to their posts, surveys what equipment they need and where, all before Ducky gets there. She has absolutely flourished under Gibbs’ wing, and even just this short time later, she is already demonstrating leadership qualities.

Case in point: when they’re back on the ship, Ziva is the one who is able to survey the scene of the explosion and identify its similarities to a suicide bomber, both because of her own experience growing up in Israel and being a part of Mossad, I’m sure, but also because she has been observing and studying over this past year. While McGee is sick at the sight of blood, unable to really do his job to its fullest here, it’s Ziva who kind of takes charge, and plays second to Tony’s Agent in Charge. (No slight on McGee -- it’s just further evidence of how Ziva has taken to this, and that her background is an unfortunate asset to her in this kind of work.) I think that Tony recognizes that, too.

Yet, a quiet moment that is oddly beautiful is when they are at the crime scene, and Ziva notices that it’s raining.

It’s such a tonal shift from the rest of the scene, but it’s like the rain is so soothing to her, especially in that moment. I’m not quite sure why this stands out so much, why they made a point of her being comforted by that. Is it because she would welcome the rain on the rare times it happened when she was a kid? Is it because it’s going to wash away the wreck of the day? Does it offer her a clean slate? Who knows! She just seems transfixed in a way that is un-Ziva-like.

So it goes for both of the episodes: It is Ziva’s professionalism that actually helps them, and we really see her investigative skills shine. I imagine that is because the work gives her something to focus on when everything and everyone else seem to be falling apart. But the great thing is that this is the whole reason she came to NCIS, whether she intended for it to be or not: she is making choices for herself and thinking for herself. She gets to take charge on leads and check into things that don’t feel right. She has gained an independence of body and mind in DC that she never really knew she needed when she was still working for her father.

She’s on a roll, here. She’s fired up about the case, not only because it directly involves Gibbs, but because she’s looking at the puzzle and knows something isn’t right. “What is wrong with this picture?” she asks, because she realizes the track they’re on doesn’t make sense, regardless of whatever issues are going in within the team. And when she points all that out, I love that Tony has her back: “Damn good summation.” Because he can tease her as much as he’d like, but he had no problem admitting when she is right, and that’s what he needs.

And another thing I love about this, because I am Tiva trash (although this isn’t a Tiva episode) is that it quickly becomes evident how bonded Tony and Ziva are, too. Not just in a romantic sense, but professionally-speaking as well. For instance, from the outset, Abby is quick to remind Tony that he is not Gibbs, even though as senior agent he is in charge. There’s an air of petulance to it, knocking him down for being too haughty, but the thing is, he is doing his job. (In retrospect, these are... really not good episodes for Abs.) So other people joke about Tony impersonating Gibbs, but Ziva is the only one who backs him up, and not in a dramatic, show-y fashion, but through her actions. She doesn’t doubt him, she follows his lead, she does as she’s told not because she’s a doormat, but because she knows what they have to all do to move the investigation along, and she knows that Tony knows and that is why he is ordering them. (That may be the impetus for a fanfic I wrote years ago lol.)

In turn, it also becomes obvious how much Tony has come to rely on Ziva, too. Throughout the episode, she becomes the one he bounces ideas off of, confides in over his suspicions that they’re missing something. He knows that Ziva is the only one who doesn’t resent him, doesn’t make fun of him for throwing ideas out there, actually treats him like he is their boss, albeit in the interim. It’s not just because they like to flirt or get into each other’s pants, it’s because they’re both professionals and recognize that in each other, especially in this time of crisis.

But, they are indeed in a time of crisis, and all this emotional upheaval does eventually get to our baby agent.

First, we had the accusation by Ducky, and then later on, after an ill-advised attempt at black humour to Abby to defuse the tension, she is once again painted as an uncaring robot. (Like I said... this is not Abby’s finest hour.) It all leads to her mini-breakdown in the bathroom, when everything comes to a head. I’m struck now by how soft the scene is, how positively young and vulnerable Ziva is -- splashing her face with water, eyes full of tears, trying to get a hold of herself. How despite her no-nonsense demeanour, she is barely an adult herself, not that far removed from her girlhood dreams and traumas. And the very thing she does to be helpful -- sticking to the task at hand -- is what is isolating her from everyone around her.

She is hurt.

Hurt that she is misunderstood. Hurt that people she’s come to consider friends don’t seem to trust her. Hurt that she has no one to confide in.

We rarely see Ziva cry on this show, and this might be the softest moment she ever gets to experience. The memories she replays as she stares at her reflection -- Ducky insisting Tony and McGee would know when she wouldn’t, Abby’s anger at her -- are what she worries she reflects to the world. It is so heartbreaking to watch.

What it demonstrates, though, is how lost Ziva is without Gibbs there. How they all are. But what this arc does is show that Gibbs is the only one at this point who truly gets her. He did from day one, the second she pulled the trigger on Ari. He saw who she really was, the depths of her convictions, and he’s offered her a safe port in the storm of her life. And now on her own, without him to steady her course, she’s adrift. Because I think what these episodes show is that yes, Ziva has grown immensely and been allowed to blossom at NCIS, but she’s done so because Gibbs’ guidance to their whole team has given her the safe space and confidence to be who she is. Without him there to give her a safety net, she’s back to being just another soldier.

I don’t mean that in the sense that she does everything for him despite what the show will imply years later. What I mean is that like anyone else lucky enough to have a supportive parent, Gibbs’ presence in her life has given her the reassurance to be who she is, not who the world thinks she should be. Without him there, she is weighed down by others’ perceptions of her, and she starts internalizing them. (Which, holy shit, ends up coming back in season 17. Is this our first glimpse of anxiety-ridden Ziva?)

She is desperate to get him back, because that is the only way to get herself back

“What can I do?” “Remember!”

Which is why she is the one who later confronts Amnesiac!Gibbs in his hospital room, because she is so desperate to get him back, to get herself back. It is so significant to the show’s canon that Ziva is the one to finally jog his memory, and again it is not a slight against the other characters, or an indication that she is better than them all (although personally I do think so because she is my favourite after all).

It’s not that he doesn’t love the others as much, or that his longer and deeper history with them isn’t as important. It’s that he and Ziva shared a profound experience together unlike any of the others, and that forged a deep connection. The second Ziva pulled the trigger on Ari, she sealed their fate. (Again which is why I hate the season 7 retcon of her actions, but ultimately the end result is that she shot him to save Gibbs, so it still mostly tracks.)

That leads to her even-bigger breakdown, because everything she’s been holding in for the last few days -- and ultimately for the last year -- comes to a head. Yes, she’s hurt over Gibbs’ accident and everyone’s dismissal of her, but really, she’s hurt over what happened with Ari which she’s never been allowed to process. She can’t deal with it at home in Israel because Ari was a loose cannon, a traitor who needed to be terminated. She can’t deal with it in DC, because there he was a villain who took the life of one of their own.

But to her, he was her brother. The brother she loved and who she thought loved her, the one she grew up idolizing and shadowed professionally, the one she fought tooth and nail to save until she realized there was no choice. And she is never, ever allowed to grieve that. For fuck’s sake, we later learn that their own father ordered his execution. I would guess there probably wouldn’t be much thought to, you know, trauma counselling for his family, including Ziva, for what he put them through, or dealing with having to be the one to stop him. I imagine Eli’s advice was to forget about it and move on, which is part of why Ziva had to get the fuck out of Tel Aviv.

(Sidebar: in my head canon, in the later years at some point post-Tiva, they’d be sitting around talking about things and the subject of Ari would come up, and Ziva would kind of clam up about it, and when Tony would ask her about it, she’d be like, “I know you guys don’t want to ever hear about him, because he was the monster who killed Kate, but... he was also my brother. He was the guy who taught me how to ride a bike and took me for car rides just to listen to music for hours and hours when things got bad between my mother and father and I can’t separate that from who he became. And I can’t ever say any of that out loud because what he did was awful but... he was my brother.”)

“What are you talking about?” “Ari! Ari killed Kate. And I... I killed Ari.” “... Your brother.” “Yes.” “You killed your brother to save me.”

This is just such a huge moment for them.

Because for Ziva, that is probably the first time she’s said those words out loud since it happened. And it’s probably the first time she’s let that grief spill out of her.

Probably the first time someone has comforted her for her loss.

And it is so, so important for her that someone recognizes that. That someone acknowledges the magnitude of what happened, of how it broke her. Of how she’s still broken.

That is the only moment of warmth anyone has shown her all episode, and frankly all series to date.

This isn’t Ziva with no feelings. This is Ziva with feelings so deep she can’t handle them, and they come bursting out in a giant fit of anguish. It’s such a monumental moment for her character, because it reflects all of what has happened in the season leading up to this point. Ziva hasn’t talked about Ari at all since she joined NCIS, since that moment in the elevator where Gibbs recognized what she did for him, and why she needed to break free and start over in DC, far away from her father.

Because I imagine that to her father and Mossad, what she did was treated as professional. That she did her job.

But this wasn’t a job.

She killed her own brother to save another man.

A man who was a total stranger to her, but one who she knew to be good, and more importantly, the confirmation that her brother was not good, that he was not the man she thought he was, and that if she didn’t stop him, he was going to ruin other people’s lives.

(No wonder Ziva is still consumed with anxiety almost 15 years later.)

Ultimately, the reason Ziva’s breakdown triggers Gibbs’ memory again is because she gives him something to come back for. Gibbs was lost without Shannon and Kelly when he was in his first coma in 1991, and all these years later, his doctors have said that there’s no good reason for him to still be stuck in the past in his brain, because his injuries were not severe enough to warrant it. But he stays there because he can’t live without Shannon and Kelly. But here is Ziva, the woman who saved his life, chose his over that of her own family, and she is laying her emotions bare in front of him. And she needs him. That protection he offered her that night in his basement gave her a reason to live, and him as well.

Reminding him of Ari was reminding herself of what she did, how she was in pain just like he was, and she needed a light to guide her way back. And it turns out he needed that too.

(Can you tell this is one of my favourite scenes ever?)

Ziva have him a reason to come back.

Which he does, thanks to her, and eventually they do solve their case, even if it ends in disaster, which in turn prompts him to leave the job behind.

(OT: I have always loved how much trust Gibbs puts in Tony in his absence, how he entrusts Tony with the team when he decides to “retire”. TONY IS A GOOD TEAM LEADER AND THAT IS THE TEA. He did not deserve the crap he got from Abby and McGee about it. Again, Ziva is the only one who recognizes it.)

“I owe you, Ziva.” “I’ll collect, Jethro.”

This is just so soft. Again, Ziva is still in a raw state, and she’s teary-eyed as she watches him give his goodbyes, then eventually to her. (Also, thank goodness this is the only time she calls him “Jethro” because it just sounds weird coming from any of the agents.) It is the most sincere and the most loaded of the goodbyes, because they have just shared another monumental experience together, alone, and it cuts deeply.

Which is why today, in the year of our lord two-thousand-and-nineteen, we are still dealing with the aftermath of this.

How their relationship is still this charged and steeped in personal trauma but also in this wartime-like spirit of saving your comrade in arms.

How it’s natural that Ziva feels so hurt at Gibbs “abandoning” her (whether you agree with her or not), because once upon a time he was the person who saved her soul and help her heal, and gave her the opportunity to follow her own heart and her own path, and she ended up feeling lost without that. (Again, it’s up to you to believe if that is truly the case, but I think the point the show has made is that Ziva believes it, which this episode cemented.)

How Ziva is still riddled with guilt and self-doubt, who still believes she is a lost cause when people accuse her of being unfeeling.

How Ziva’s heart is actually so huge, and it’s a miracle she found her place in NCIS so that she could start letting the world know it.

It’s just... I have so many feelings about these scenes, and I could still talk about it for hours, but Day 2 is almost Day 3 and I gotta get this posted.

But I had to get this off my chest, because these episodes are SO IMPORTANT for her character. We learn a little bit about her and a lot about her heart, and she takes the lead as the emotional centre of the story for the arc. Because she remembers.

----

Also more unrelated thoughts about why I love these episodes:

Ziva was allowed to be funny and lighthearted early on and I miss it.

“What if those were Gibbs’ guts smushed all over that room?” The colour would be more coffee brown than red.” ZIVA! ZIVA IS SO FUNNY! Ah, gallows humour. I understand Abby was upset but THAT WAS A DAMN FUNNY JOKE. Again, Ziva was allowed to be so much funnier in first few seasons and it’s a shame the show wrote that out of her and replaced it with more trauma.

(Also the slap-fest was such a token male fantasy and it was gross. Stop it, Show.)

(But Abby deserved it a little because she was hysterical.)

“Never doubt an Israeli about diamonds” I don’t even know if that is an actual thing or just a Ziva-ism they made up, but, lol, Ziva sure does know a lot about diamonds for a girl who lives in cammo half the time. I know her dad taught her a lot about them bla bla bla secret slush funds I don’t care, Ziva is girly sometimes. Someone better put a ring on it.

We get to see Ziva use her considerable language skills in this episode!

Including French!

Ziva can and will fuck your shit up:

#zivadavidweek2019 #ziva david #hiatus part 1 #hiatus part 2 #3x23 #3x24 #i love me some ziva feels #baby ziva needs a hug #long post #very long post #like the episodes as a whole aren't ziva centric #but they are #because she's the emotional centre #and i love me an episode that dives into that

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