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youreacowgirllikeme · 3 years

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Blind Date

Note: just an idea I had, hope you like it. some soft fluffiness, but also smut bc I’m still h word for Jake, especially after how he looked tonight on tv.

Pairing: Jake Tapper x reader

Warnings: smut, NSFW

(sorry for eventual typos, I wrote this in a bit of a frenzy)

enjoy

“You look horrible. “Abby stated matter-of-factly as she sat down in the restaurant chair across from you.

“I missed you too, great to see you, thanks. “you responded, not even bothering to argue with her.

Abby was your best friend since college, if she said you looked horrible it was either a joke or a fact. Considering the way she was looking at you, probably the latter.

“Hard week at work?”

You let out a tired huff.

“You have no idea. We got this new client who booked us for a nation-wide tv ad, and they’re so incredibly demanding. I’ve been working overtime for three weeks straight, it’s a miracle they didn’t call me in today.”

Your monthly Saturday brunch with Abby was sacred, work be damned.

Your friend was giving you a worried look across the table. “Well, I’m glad they didn’t, you deserve a day off.”

“Enough of my sad life, how is it going over at Fake News?” you joked.

“Amazing actually. You won’t believe it, but I’ve heard through the grapevine that they’re thinking about offering me John’s Sunday spot on Inside Politics. Can you imagine, my own hour, as an actual anchor. It’s nothing official yet, but I’m so excited.”

“Oh my god, Abby, that’s awesome. I’m so proud of you. We should celebrate.” you exclaimed, beckoning a waiter to order two glasses of champagne.

Abby gave you a warm smile. “Thank you, babe. But let me be honest, I’m worried about you. You look exhausted, even your voice sounds tired. When was the last time you did something actually relaxing?”

“I’ve watched a movie, like, a week ago. And I do yoga, at least sometimes.” You tried to argue, not entirely sure if you wanted to convince Abby or yourself.

A smirk settled over your friend’s face, and she looked at you like she just had the most brilliant idea ever. You did not like that look at all, it usually meant trouble.

“Well todays your lucky day, because I know just what you need to de-stress a bit.”

You just raised an eyebrow at her.  “Care to elaborate, genius?”

“You, my friend, need to get laid.”  You snorted. “Fun times, Abbs, you almost got me,”

 “I’m serious, Y/N, when was the last time you had sex?”

“Okay, it’s been a while, but I’m fine. I don’t need a man to interfere with the little free time I have. And it’s not like the streets are full of men chasing me. I don’t have time to date, and, like I said, I’m totally fine with the way things are at the moment.” You tried your very best not to sound defensive.

The expression on Abby’s face told you everything you needed to know. She didn’t buy a single word coming out of your mouth. “Y/N, trust me when I tell you, blowing off a little steam would do wonders for your stress level. And maybe you’d even meet someone nice. And, lucky for you, I know just the guy. He’s someone I work with, and I think you’d get along perfectly.”

“You’re not actually suggesting setting me up on a blind date.” You couldn’t believe your friend. The last thing you needed was an evening full of awkward small talk with some boring, sleek CNN guy.

“Come on, Y/N, take a leap of faith. What’s the worst thing that could happen?”

+++

(One week later)

“I can’t believe I actually agreed.” You murmured to yourself as you rummaged through your closet, looking for an outfit to wear on that damned date Abby bullied you into.

You thought about the peaceful evening you could have had, curled up on the sofa with a glass of wine, maybe getting some work done.

But it was too late to back down now.

“Let’s just get this over with” you told yourself, applying some lipstick as if it was war paint. “Let’s hope that the guy is at least good-looking.”

The restaurant Abby sent you to was nice enough, a small and intimate place, perfect for a date. You couldn’t wait to have your first glass of wine, because you could feel your nervousness increasing with each passing minute.

You entered the restaurant, looking for the third table on the window side that Abby had described to you…and directly turned around, practically fleeing through the door again as soon as you set eyes on the man sitting there.

Back outside, you took your phone out of your bag and furiously dialed Abby’s number. She picked up right away, but you were shouting at her before she could even say a word.

“You better tell me that you did not set me up with Jake fucking Tapper.”

Was she out of her mind? This was the Jake Tapper, the face of CNN, hell, the face of the media in this country. What the fuck were you supposed to talk to him about.

But your friend just chuckled at you through the phone. “When you saw him on TV some months ago, you said he was your type. Plus, he’s intelligent, funny, and single. Perfect for you. And now stop making a fool out of yourself and go in there. You got this, girl. Love you, bye.” And with that, she hung up.

You took a deep breath and tried to calm your nerves. You could not just leave now, and stand up Mr. Breaking News himself. So you pocketed your phone again, squared your shoulders and went back into the restaurant.

You made your way over to the table, coming to a stop in front of it. The man sitting there looked up to you and smiled. And wow, what a beautiful smile it was, sincere, warm and inviting, taking over his entire face.

“Hi.” You said, trying to sound confident.

“I’m Y/N, Abby’s friend.”

“It’s so nice to meet you, I’m Jake. I’m working with Abby, but she probably already told you that much.”  “She did, but I’ll be honest, I know you, of course. Big fan of your show.”

God, why did you just say that. He was probably going to think you were some kind of crazy fangirl now.

But he just continued to smile his open, friendly smile at you. “Always happy to hear that.” He chuckled, pointing to the opposite chair. “Do you want to sit down?”

“Yes, of course, sorry.” You said, feeling silly because you totally forgot that you were still standing. You quickly sat down and tried your best to appear calm and collected, even if your insides were in turmoil.

“Would you care for some wine? They have a pretty impressive list, I could pick one for us if you don’t mind.” Jake asked.

“Wine sounds fantastic. I love it, but I’m not really an expert, so go ahead.”

Jake took some reading glasses out of the pocket of his suit jacket and put them on his nose.  While he was studying the wine list, you took your time to study him instead. He appeared to be in his late forties, so there was an age difference of probably 15 to 20 years. You didn’t mind that at all, older men had always been more your type.

He had a really handsome face, kind eyes that looked even better when he had those glasses on, and you loved his salt-and-pepper hair. He was wearing a light blue dress shirt with a dark grey suit jacket. You caught your mind wandering to how he might look underneath his clothes and gave yourself a mental slap on the wrist. This was your first date, no need to get ahead of yourself.

“Everything alright over there?”

Shit, he had caught you staring.

“Yes, sorry, I zoned off for a moment. I had a stressful week at work.”  “Oh, yes, Abby told me you’re working in advertising. Any interesting projects at the moment?”

You went on and chatted about work a bit. You were fascinated by what he was doing, and taken aback by the confident, yet humble way he was talking about it. This was absolutely not the behavior you were expecting from the leading anchorman of the nations most renowned network. He wasn’t arrogant or self-centered at all and you were definitely charmed.

The wine Jake ordered arrived with your starters, and soon after you had your first few sips you felt some of the initial nervousness fading away.

Soon, the conversation was flowing freely, and you discovered that Abby was right, you really did get along perfectly. Jake was incredibly funny in a dry and witty way and his sarcastic remarks made you laugh more than once. You also discovered your shared interest in graphic novels and argued a while about weather DC or Marvel was the superior comic universe.

Jake showed you one of his own cartoons on his phone, and with each moment you found yourself more drawn to the man in front of you. At some point his hand started to lightly brush against yours on the table, and each touch sent a warm feeling through your chest.

You talked some more over dessert, had some more wine and overall, a really good time.

The alcohol gave you a pleasant, fuzzy feeling, and the desire to just get up and crawl on Jakes lap grew with each look he gave you.

“Excuse me, Ma’am, Sir, were closing up now.” A passing waiter told you and put the check on the table.

“Let me take care of that, please.” Jake said, taking out his wallet. You just thanked him and enjoyed the view of him putting on his glasses again to read the check.

He really was a perfect gentleman, you thought to yourself, as he got up to hold your coat and then the door for you on your way out.

 “I really had a wonderful evening.” you said softly, as the both of you were standing on the sidewalk in front of the restaurant. Jake shot you another one of his brilliant smiles, and you could feel your heart beating faster. “Me too.” He replied. “I really enjoyed spending time with you, and I’d like to see you again.”

Now your heart was almost jumping out of your chest, and you could feel your own smile taking over your face. “I’d love that.”

Jake took one step closer, now standing so close you could almost feel the warmth radiating off his body. One of his hands came up to tuck a lock of hair behind your ear, his thumb slowly stroking over your jaw. His touch sent goosebumps all over your skin, and you slightly parted your lips, looking him directly in the eyes. They were warm, and dark, and you felt like you could get lost in them. And then he leaned down and pressed a kiss to your mouth.

It felt incredible, a kind of warmth that was totally unrelated to the wine spreading through your body, your skin prickling where his hand was still on your face.

You put your hands on his arms and kissed him back, enjoying the feeling of his soft lips against yours. He still tasted slightly like red wine, and you wanted nothing more than to explore the rest of his body with your mouth just as thoroughly.

First date, you reminded yourself, and broke free from the kiss before your lust-clouded brain could make you do something you might regret later. You glanced up at Jake, who looked at you with an unreadable expression. Then, after what felt like forever, he finally spoke.

“Could I maybe have your number?”

“Of course.” You said, with maybe a bit much enthusiasm, but Jake didn’t seem to mind. You quickly typed your number into his phone, and just as you were finished, the cab you had called earlier was arriving.

Jake held the door open for you, and shot you one last, beautiful smile. “Good night, Y/N, get home safe.”

“Thank you for the wonderful evening, Jake. Good night.”

You closed the door and the taxi drove off. You already missed his face as soon as he was out of sight, and you turned around to watch his receding figure through the rear window of the taxi.

Great, you were already down bad after one date. The man really got to you, and you desperately hoped that you would hear from him soon.

As soon as you were home, you really felt the effects of the wine, so you quickly went to bed to get some sleep. Just before you were nodding off, you sent Abby a quick message.

You were right, he is perfect. THANKS xxxx

When Abby answered five minutes later, you were already asleep.

Told you so ;) xxxx

+++

When you woke up the next morning, there was a new message from an unknown number on your phone. Your heart made a flip in your chest, and you opened it as fast as you could.

Hi, this is Jake. It’s probably way too soon to text you, but I just wanted to let you know, again, what a great time I had yesterday. If you’d be up to it, I’d really like to see you again soon. Let me know if that would be alright with you. And have a nice Saturday :)

He had already texted you. That meant he didn’t think that you were crazy, or awkward, and that he wasn’t just acting nice, he genuinely wanted to see you again. You were filled with a giddy sort of happiness, and decided to answer him right away, there was no need to play any games here. Leap of faith, just like Abby said.

Good Morning Jake, I really enjoyed yesterday as well. I’d love to spend some more time together; would tomorrow evening be too spontaneous? I could make dinner, to return the favor since you paid yesterday ;) my place at eight?

As soon as you hit the send button you started getting anxious again. What if tomorrow was too soon? What if he thought you were being too eager?

“Stop it, Y/N!” you said out loud to interrupt your mental spiral. You wouldn’t make a fool out of yourself for this man, even if he was handsome, and intelligent, and funny. No way.

But as you were standing in the kitchen five minutes later and heard your phone chiming from the other room, you were there in the matter of seconds to read the new message.

Tomorrow sounds perfect, just text me the address. I’ll bring the wine. xx Jake

You clutched your phone to your chest, the biggest, goofy smile on your face.

You spent the remaining day extensively cleaning your flat, stressing out, going grocery shopping and stressing out some more. You face-timed Abby and bullied her into helping you pick out an outfit, since she technically was the one who got you into this mess in the first place.

Jake was occupying your mind whatever you did, and when you finally got into your bed that night, all you could think about was how his lips had felt against yours. Those thoughts sent a hot, burning feeling down between your legs and when you finally touched your pussy, you were already so wet and aroused that it only took you minutes until you reached your peak, Jakes name falling from your lips.

+++

To say you were a nervous wreck the next day would be an understatement. When you woke up, you decided to watch some TV to get yourself a bit of distraction. An ad was currently playing, and so you decided to check your mails first.

“Good Morning from Washington, where the State of our Union is in turmoil over the latest…”

Your head snapped up at the sound of the familiar voice coming from your TV, the voice that occupied your mind ever since your blind date on Friday. You had totally forgotten that Sunday morning meant Jake Tapper time on CNN, because usually you were either asleep or at work at 9 am. But now you took your time to really appreciate the man on your TV.

He looked way more serious than the Jake you got to know, no smile, just a stern expression and a dark suit and tie. Which didn’t mean that he wasn’t looking totally hot, and his intelligent and sharp remarks did nothing to calm your fluttering heart or the heat in your lower abdomen. You definitely wanted him, bad.

 This is getting ridiculous, you thought to yourself, and turned the TV off to take a very long shower.

Afterwards, you spent the whole day pacing around your flat and annoying Abby with numerous text messages and another two face time calls. She assured you multiple times that everything would be just fine and by the time it was 7:45 p.m. the food was in the oven and you sat on your couch, waiting for the doorbell to ring.

When it finally did, you all but ran to the door only to stop and force yourself to take a couple of calming breaths before opening it. Jake stood outside, a bottle of red wine in his hand. He looked amazing with his white dress shirt and dark grey slacks, but again it was his smile that got your attention, he looked just as happy to see you as you were feeling.

Out of a sudden impulse, you surged forward and threw your arms around the man, hugging him and burying your head in his chest. He seemed surprised, but still put his free arm around you, embracing you.

“Hi.” You whispered, suddenly shy, but as you looked up to meet Jakes eyes you could see nothing but warmth in them. “Hi.” He replied, pressing a kiss to your hair. “It’s good to see you.”

You slowly let go of him so he could actually enter your apartment. He followed you inside and you fetched some glasses for the wine. You talked about everything and anything over dinner, family, football, the book Jake was working on. You listened closely, and so did he as you told him about your passion for art and music. He even asked you to put some of your favorite records on as you moved over to the couch after dinner.

You were still talking animatedly but having Jake in closer physical proximity made it increasingly hard to focus on what he was saying.

Instead, your eyes and mind wandered to his hands. Without thinking, you reached out and put one of your hands into his, He stopped speaking, and looked at you. You could see the kind look in his eyes being replaced by something darker, more passionate.

He spoke again, voice lower this time. “I’ve been thinking about you and our kiss without a break since yesterday. And just as long I’ve wanted to kiss you again, touch you again.”

He reached out, cupped your jaw with one of his hands and slowly ran his thumb over your bottom lip. It took every willpower you had not to suck his thumb into your mouth. This man had you hot and aching for him with just a single touch and a couple of words.

“Is that something you want me to do, Y/L?” his voice was only a low rumble now.

“Oh my god yes. Yes please.” You whispered, not really trusting your own voice to come out steady enough.  The hand on your face slid to the back of your head and you uttered a surprised gasp as Jake just grabbed a fist of your hair and pulled you close, until your faces were only inches apart.

“You are beautiful.” He said, looking you deep in the eyes.

And then he kissed you again. And as soon as his mouth connected with yours, you realized just how much you had missed the feeling of his lips, the warmth of his body. But that was where the resemblance to the kiss you shared last night ended. Because this one was more.

More passion, more lust. Jake softly bit your bottom lip and used your surprised gasp as an opportunity to slide his tongue into your mouth. The kiss deepened and you could feel small sparks of arousal all over your body with every touch of tongue and every time he lightly tugged on the hair in the nape of your neck.

Your hands found their way around Jakes shoulders, roaming up and down his back. You were really glad he was not wearing his full State Of The Union Outfit, even if it had looked extremely hot, because as soon as you could feel the solid muscle through his thin dress shirt, you knew that those clothes had to come off at some point.

You lightly tugged on the hem of his shirt to pull it out of his pants and spread your hands over the warm skin underneath. Jake broke the kiss as soon as he could feel what you did, just to tilt back your head and kiss your exposed neck.

You couldn’t stifle a moan as he lightly sucked on your pulse point.

The feeling of his mouth on your skin made heat coil between your legs, and you tried to shift even closer to him, until you were almost sitting on his lap.

Jake continued to kiss your neck, while his other hand crept under your shirt to palm your breast through your bra. He lightly squeezed it and you moaned again, you nails raking softly over his back, making him groan against your skin.

“You like that?” he asked, and pinched one of your nipples through the thin fabric of your bra, and you could feel your panties getting soaked with arousal.

You decided that it was time to get rid of some clothing and started to quickly unbutton Jakes dress shirt, revealing more and more skin with each button undone. As soon as you were finished, he pulled the shirt of his shoulders and the view of his body made your mouth water. You ran your hands over his muscled chest, and you could see the way his eyes darkened again.

“I can’t wait to touch you everywhere.” He said in a husky voice and pulled your shirt over your head in a swift motion, and instantly his lips were on yours again, his hands roaming over your back, unclasping your bra. When your nipples came in contact with the skin of his chest, you couldn’t contain yourself anymore.

“Jake, please. Touch me, kiss me, anything. I need to feel you.” You pleaded, your voice slightly breathless.

“Take the rest of your clothes off, now.” Jake said, his commanding tone sending another surge of wetness between your legs.

You got up from the sofa and stood in front of Jake. Slowly, you opened the zipper of your jeans and pulled them down, leaving you only in your black lace panties.

Jake was watching you, his intense stare burning on your skin.

“Everything. Off.” He said, never breaking eye contact.

Having the undivided attention of this man was so hot, you almost got lightheaded.

You slowly dragged your underwear down your legs, and as you were looking up again, you saw that Jake was palming the bulge that had begun to form in his pants. You wanted to touch him so bad.

“You are gorgeous. Amazing. Beautiful. Stunning.” Jake said, taking in the sight of your naked body. His voice was strained, this was clearly affecting him.

A light flush was beginning to form on your skin, you weren’t sure if it was because of arousal or embarrassment, but you definitely knew that you needed Jake to get his hands on your body, now.

You made your way over to him again and leaned down to open the fly of his trousers. His briefs were already tented by his erection, and you palmed him through his underwear, making him groan.

“Those need to come off.” You whispered, smiling at Jake, who just nodded and lifted his pelvis so you could pull down his trousers along with his underwear.

Finally, he was naked in front of you. He grabbed you by your waist and pulled you down on the sofa, lying on top of you. The feeling of his warm skin against yours was thrilling, you tried to get your hands on every part of his body you could reach, stroking his back, pulling his hair. Finally, you wrapped your hand around the base of his hard cock, giving it some light strokes.

“You feel so good, Y/N, I’ve been thinking about doing this since I first laid my eyes on you. I’ve been in a state since we kissed, and now” he whispered against your neck „I can’t wait to finally have that sweet pussy of yours.”

You couldn’t believe the words coming out of Jakes mouth, hearing him say filthy things like that was turning you on more than you could’ve ever imagined. Obviously, your thoughts were written all over your face.

“You like it when I talk like that, don’t you, sweetheart.” He said, pinching one of your nipples as he did.

“I…Oh shit, yes, yes I do. Please.” You whimpered, almost going you crazy with the need to finally feel him.

He had mercy on you, reaching out between your legs. When he touched your pussy for the first time, you felt like the pent-up tension could make you faint any moment. “God, you’re so wet, Y/N.” He thrust two of his long fingers into you without warning, and you almost screamed. “And so tight.”

“I need you, please Jake, fuck me.” You were begging now, way beyond caring about any sort of decorum as his digits touched that sweet spot inside of you again and again.

He withdrew his fingers and shifted on top of you before he put his hands on your tights, spreading your legs. You couldn’t even begin to complain about the loss of his fingers, he was already lining up his cock with your entrance, and pushed in, slowly, filling you inch by inch until he bottomed out with a deep groan. His length stretched you in the most delicious way, and you cried out as he was starting to thrust in and out of you, leaving you almost no time to adjust to his size.

You couldn’t talk coherently anymore, you were just chanting his name over and over as he was fucking you into the sofa. Your nails clawed into his back as he was leaning over you, his hair falling into his face. Just as you thought you couldn’t feel any more pleasure, he grabbed one of your legs and probed it onto his shoulder, the new angle making you see stars with every move of his hips.

“You feel incredible, so tight and warm around me, you are amazing.” He looked down on you, taking in your face, squinted with pleasure, his name falling from your lips over and over again.

He reached between your legs and started rubbing your clit, never slowing down his relentless, hard thrusts. The combined stimulation was almost too much for you and your orgasm was approaching fast.

“Don’t stop, please, just don’t stop.” You cried out, the pleasure running through your body like a wildfire.

“Look at me when you come, I want to see you. Look at me!” Jake growled, breathing hard as he sped up even more.

You hit your peak with a cry, sparks dancing over your skin as your walls clenched around Jakes cock. Your eyes were fixed on his, and he looked at you like you were the only person on the entire planet.

Seeing you come undone beneath him, Jake only lasted for another few deep thrusts before he came, shouting your name and spilling his hot release inside of you.

He laid on top of you afterwards, his face on your shoulder, breathing deeply. You pressed a soft kiss to his cheek, and he turned his head to look at you.

“Hi” you said.

“Hi” he replied, your favorite smile spreading across his face again.

“I liked that very much.” You said, pressing another kiss to his lips. He chuckled and propped himself up onto his arms with a small sight, rolling off you. Luckily, your sofa was large enough so you could comfortably lie next to each other.

“Me too, that was fantastic.” He replied and pulled you closer, putting his arm around you. You buried your face into his chest, soaking up the heat of his body and his wonderful smell.

“Maybe you should come over more often.” You suggested, sounding a bit nervous again. You didn’t want to appear clingy. But this man had just rocked your world, and you couldn’t just act like nothing happened.

“I’ll come over whenever you want me to, sweetheart. Consider me at your beck and call.”

“Stay the night?” you asked in a hopeful voice. You had work in the morning, but you just couldn’t imagine letting him go anywhere now.

He just nodded, smiled, and kissed you again. That soft, tingly feeling in your chest increased even more, and you just happily snuggled up to him.

Later, as Jake was already asleep next to you, you took up your phone and sent a quick text message to Abby.

Next brunch is my treat! I owe you xxxx

#jake tapper #jake tapper x reader #jake tapper fic #smut #cnn #cnn anchors #sorry not sorry #fanfiction

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concealeddarkness13 · 3 years

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WHG 15 Post-Games Imposter Syndrome Part 25

This is a couple of days after part 24. I haven’t really proofread these, so I hope there aren’t too many typos! Tagging the collaboration crew: @ratracechronicler, @maple-writes, @pen-of-roses (also thanks for Avery and Haven!), and @thoughts-of-nora!

That morning, I woke up when my phone buzzed. I frowned and looked at it. The number…it was Shine’s number. Shit. What was the Capitol doing now?

I opened it anyway, and I froze, staring at the message. Bring me that horizon. Fly out to the sea.

Tears filled my eyes, and I looked away from the phone. How did the Capitol know about the code? Or, could it possibly be someone from the crew? I sucked in a breath and texted back. Who the hell is using this phone and why?

I sat back, tears falling down my cheeks. I couldn’t sit in here. I couldn’t look at my phone. I stood up and walked to the door and looked out. Just in time to see Avery leaving the apartment, not even with any Peacekeeper escort. What were they having her do? And was there anything I could do to help?

So, I followed her out, sneaking very sneakily. She walked through the Capitol towards a nondescript building, but when she walked down an alley, and I followed her, she pulled a knife on me.

Eh. I hadn’t been trying to be super sneaky anyway. I grinned at her. “Hi! You’re amazing at this! How are you doing?”

She looked confused for a bit before she backed off and started tossing her knife. “We’ve been captured by the Capitol and you’re trailing me, so either you’re part of them and very bad at being a tail, or you’re overly curious for your own good. They already know I won’t make a break again, I didn’t before the Games.”

“Eh. I just want to see what’s going on. What else the Capitol is planning. Their old tricks for me are so boring. And maybe I could help a little?”

She snorted, but she just kicked back against the wall and started walking, but giving me enough room to walk with her. “Come on then, doubt they’ll really care if someone else is there, particularly someone with magic. Gods, they’ll probably be thrilled. Any chance you’re good at researching it? Or have learned anything useful about your boyfriend?”

Ugh. Did she have to bring Bystander up? “Not like I wanted him to be my boyfriend. Actually, he’s a horrible kisser.” I paused, distinctly thinking about how much of a lie that last one was. “But I’m pretty damn good at research, so I’ll see what I can do.”

She smiled, putting the dagger in her jacket pocket. “Really the pretty boy isn’t as great as he pretends to be, huh? Shame, but I doubt they’ll care much for one of their kissing skills. Unless you think he can be bested by undoing his ego?”

“I’ve already tried to hurt his pride enough. I don’t think anything bothers him. He’s told me that he has an unnaturally long life, and he can…hear better than normal? But I don’t know how much truth he was telling.”

“Sadly, the complete truth. Though vague enough to still be close to a lie.” She pinched the bridge of her nose. Mood. “You don’t seem to have fallen for his ‘charms’ though, thank gods for that or else I’m not sure I’d be able to stand you.”

I again distinctly didn’t think about how good he was at kissing. “Oh, he’s a piece of shit.” I shook my head. It was annoying to think about him. “But I can’t stand thinking about him the whole time. I’m curious about this group you’re going to.” Of course I had tried to look up some stuff on what was going on with the rest of the captured tributes. “I haven’t heard about them. What are their goals?”

“Do you want the party line that dragged me into it, or my best guess at the truth? The former is ‘keeping people safe from magical and divine threats against us so people can stay in charge of their own lives’. Hence my research and questions. Somehow I thought that meant they’d never be in bed with the Capitol of all people.”

Huh. Interesting. I nodded. “Especially because the Capitol employs magic threats. And would that mean I’m one too since I have magic? Which means their whole motto is untrue.” I sighed. This was so tiring. “I really love people who think they can save humans from magic.” The Shades said the same excuse.

She nodded as well. “Speaking of, what exactly is your magic like? They’ve been giving us just enough information to keep Haven sated, but I’ve always been a bit more hands on with research.”

It would be prudent to be a little cautious. I didn’t know what they would do if I just gave them everything. I eyed her. “Will they destroy me after I give away all my secrets? If so, I’d like to keep them, if that’s okay.”

“Fair enough, and worth a shot.” Avery took the dagger out of her pocket, rolled the sleeve up on her jacket, and pressed the dagger to her arm. It disappeared into a tattoo, and I blinked and stared. That was so cool! “I’d say it’d be hypocritical of them to do so, but…” She stiffened slightly as we approached the building, and a man was waiting for us. Haven?

“Avery, is there a reason why you’re late?” He was staring straight at me, so I smiled and waved.

“She wants to join us, maybe give a demonstration or two like we were promised.” Avery covered up her arm quickly.

“Indeed? Then it is time we get started, shall we?” He turned on his heel and walked into the building, not waiting for a response. Oh boy.

Avery hesitated and turned back to me. “Last chance to run.”

Oh, I’d mess with him a little instead. The way Avery was acting, it would be fun to mess with him. I smirked. “I’m not going anywhere. Hope that’s okay with you.”

“Just keep your head down, these people are how I ended up in the Games in the first place.” She led me to a small room that looked like an office, with papers and books lying around everywhere. Beautiful! There were so many books!

Before I could go look at the books, my eyes landed on Haven. He was reading one of the papers. Avery headed in. “Wonderful, you’re apparently worthy of an audience today.”

Fun! “I guess I’m just that interesting. So, do we start reading? What are we looking for?”

“Currently, we’re focusing on them and any accounts we can find, some of whom we’ve already met.” She gestured at the photographs on the wall, with people who looked suspiciously like Reine, Aleksis, and Conor in them. And some others I didn’t recognize. “As well as anyone else we—”

Haven decided to graciously interrupt. “Given our guest, it might be better to switch focuses for the day on them.”

Oh, I didn’t mind if they found out everything about the Shades. But I probably wouldn’t be much help. “The Shades?” I crossed my arms. “I’m afraid I don’t know much about them. Especially not any weaknesses.”

“Shame, but you do know something?” He nodded at Avery, and she brushed past me to sit down at her desk and grabbing a piece of paper and a writing utensil.

“I do. I’ve had to deal with Churi enough to know something about them.” But I wouldn’t just divulge information unless he specifically asked.

“What do you know of their origins?”

“They just showed up one day, claiming that our magic was evil, so they took it away and will only give the magic to people they control.”

“And yet there’s you, a sign their control isn’t as strong as they claim.” In the background, Avery was writing down notes and looking through books. Hopefully, I could do that soon.

I cocked my head as a smirk pulled at my lips. “Yeah, I’m a fucking miracle. Or a fucking mistake. Whichever you prefer.”

He frowned slightly. “Is your power any different from what they give to others.”

“Yes.” If he wanted a specific answer, he should have asked.

His frown changed into a scowl, and Avery had to stifle a snicker in the background. “How?”

I still wouldn’t be specific. “It’s diluted with human blood.”

“Interesting difference,” Avery said as she wrote down notes.

“Indeed. A demonstration then?”

I shrugged. It still wasn’t giving away all my secrets. “Why not? You’ve probably already seen videos of me using my magic anyway. I haven’t exactly been subtle about it.” I walked over to the glass of water just sitting on the table, and I activated my magic. The water in front of me flashed, and it was now a pretty crystal flower.

Avery watched the demonstration intently and reached out to touch it afterwards. Her fingers brushed it before she spoke. “May I?”

I nodded and handed it to her after I deactivated my magic. And then I turned to Haven. “Does that satisfy your curiosity?”

“For the moment. Captain, keep an eye on her for the moment.” He left after Avery nodded while she was still staring at the flower and writing down notes.

She examined the flower more closely. “What exactly is this? It’s no longer water or even the more expected ice. Almost…crystalline? And you can do this naturally with no training?”

I turned to Avery. I wouldn’t answer all of her questions. Just some. “Crystal. And it’s as hard as a diamond. I can cut through almost anything with a crystal knife.”

“Is this what people were supposedly able to do before they took it away? And this is what they give people? How does it hold up against a diamond then? And when you say almost anything?” She went and sat back at the desk.

I laughed. All these questions were so much fun! “I haven’t tried it on everything, so I didn’t want to make a claim I couldn’t back up. Not sure how it holds up against a diamond. So, could you answer a question of my own? What’s with the knife tattoo change thing? That’s awesome!”

“Oh that, not nearly as impressive, a bit of old magic.” She slipped off her jacket, revealing multiple tattoos on her arms. Two knives, one looked like fire, and a cool symbol. “I can call upon them when I need them, daggers are particularly useful, as is fire when you’re lacking light. But the uniforms for the arena were covering my arms.”

“The Capitol probably did that on purpose, the jerks.” I leaned over to see what she was reading, and I smiled. Amanda Ginser. I knew that name. “Oh. That’s probably accurate information. That’s the fake name of the person I went to to get my information. Look for books by her. She always knows everything.”

She smiled and pulled out a stack of books by the same author, and I grinned and started looking through them. After a little bit, I glanced up at Avery. Her magic was just so interesting. “So, can you summon anything from those tattoos?”

“Not anything.” She thought for a bit. “I have to know the name of it in this language I’ve been looking into, or well my friend was looking into, I’m nowhere near as good as him at it. But then I have to make the tattoo out of a real object. It’s a rather complex process and we have many failed attempts tattooed on us from it when we were figuring it out.”

I grinned. “That’s so awesome! What’s the weirdest thing you’ve been able to summon?”

“Fire.” She put her hand carefully on the tattoo until a real fire appeared in her palm! Awesome! “We had to perfect getting it so we wouldn’t be burned in the creation and being able to perfectly capture what the magical deemed an acceptable replica…”

“Yeah, that’s amazing! I wish I could do that!”

“Your own ability seems to be far more useful to be honest, and versatile.”

“Eh.” I shrugged. “I have to be really close to the liquid to actually crystallize it, unlike someone whose magic wasn’t diluted.”

She shrugged and put out the fire. “Still,” she didn’t finish the sentence, just went back to reading, so I did too.

After a while, Avery spoke up. “Would you be against one more demonstration? I can literally not tell anyone else about it without putting myself in more danger for what I want to do if that helps.” She sounded casual, but there was an edge of nervousness to her voice.

I grinned with a shrug. “Why not? I like testing my magic too.”

“Consider this a test for us both then.” She relaxed and pressed a hand to the cool symbol tattooed on her arm and concentrated before nodding at me.

I found another water source and activated my magic and crystallized it, this time into a small ship. I looked over at her. “Is that good?”

She blinked a few times, staring at the crystal, before she bit her lip. “Yeah, I…gods you’re so weird.” She stopped touching the symbol and slumped against the desk. “Not weird, just, not what I’m used to dealing with. I can’t get a read on you as easily as I can the others, maybe because you have a different source?”

I couldn’t help her there. I laughed. “I’m fine being weird. It’s more fun that way. Do you need me to do anything else?” Just to show off, I moved my hands and the ship molded into a small, crystal dog instead.

She sounded tired. “A viable way to get away from all this permanently would be nice. But I think I got what I was looking for, sadly I don’t think it’ll be much use to either of our predicaments.” She reached out to touch the crystal again.

A way to escape. My smile slipped from my lips. The message from Shine’s phone number. How trapped I really was. I sat down and started thumbing through some pages. “I’ll work on it.” I kept reading, and I came across a passage that mention hearsay about the Shades manipulating emotions. Huh. It had felt like Churi had done something like that before. “If you want to learn more about the Shades, I’ve been thinking about another ability I think they have that hasn’t been publicized yet.”

“It’s hardly on you alone—” She cut herself off when she looked up at me with wide eyes.

Glad I could help, at least a little. I took a deep breath. “This is just an educated guess, and I don’t know how they do it, but a few days ago, Churi visited me. When he wrapped his hand around my neck and breathed in, it was as if he took away all my emotions except fear. I couldn’t feel anything else, and it took a while for my other emotions to fully come back even after he broke contact. I think they can take away emotions and possibly just choose what to keep. I’m not sure why or how, but that’s what I felt. And this book mentions something in passing about a possibility that they can manipulate emotions. So, other people think the same way.”

“Well, that’s…useful? Can we, Abyss, what can we do with that? It’s…absolutely terrifying.” Her head fell in her hands, and she groaned. “What have we gotten ourselves into? Gods and magic and nightmares from under the bed, wasn’t this all supposed to be children’s stories?” She sounded like she was trying to sound teasing as she tilted her head to look at me.

This had been my whole life. I laughed ruefully. “If only. I wonder sometimes if it would have been nicer to not know anything about this. To just have a normal life without living in fear that the Shades would discover me.” I looked over at her. Better to not dwell on that. “How did you find out about this anyway?”

“I stole a book on magic as a child and broke into Haven’s home to learn more about a week later.” In the most deadpan tone.

Really? Wow! A thief! I loved it. I laughed. “That’s fantastic!”

Her smile grew. “Yes, but that’s a lie, I didn’t break into Haven’s home. I broke into the highly volatile magical area that was being investigated by him and his group and sat in the middle of it until they finally caught me.”

So dramatic! Looked like we’d get along. I smirked. “A woman after my own heart. I wish I could have seen his expression.”

With a fake serious expression, she ticked off on her fingers. “Surprise, anger—lot of that one—, confusion, worry, interest—the most dangerous of course—, and would believe me if I said fear?” Her shoulders were shaking from the effort of not laughing, and, damn it, it was infectious. “I think I watched the extent of all his emotions in under five minutes.”

“That’s awesome.” I leaned back in my chair. This was fun, but I’d love to get up to some mischief. “I wish I could do something like that right now.” And then I had the perfect idea. I eyed Avery. “Does Haven happen to have a hat I can steal?”

“Oh this sounds like a terrible idea. Lucky for you, those are the only ideas I listen to.” She winked and grabbed her jacket, and I grinned and followed her. She was amazing. She kept to the shadows, and there were times that I lost her, and I was right behind her.

No one saw us, and we made it to an office without any trouble. She picked the lock of the door after checking to make sure no one was there, and she opened the door for me with a wink. Hell, she was attractive when she did that. Mischief looked good on her.

It was a neat office, which meant it was boring. The desk was all organized, and the bookshelf mostly had pictures on it. And there was a coat and hat on a rack, but it was just a plain, old hat. RIP.

I sighed and walked up to the hat. “He’s got boring taste.” I snatched it anyway and put it on my head, turning to Avery with a grin. “But I’d say it still looks pretty good on me!” More serious tone. “You’re really good at the whole sneaking thing. Would you be willing to teach me sometime?”

She shifted uncomfortably and bit her lip. “If we ever get a chance yeah, after I’ve gotten out of my own mess. Sell your soul and all that.” She shrugged.

Was she still talking about getting out of the Capitol? I nodded. “Don’t worry. I’m working on it.” I winked. “So, it’s a date.”

She looked confused. Maybe I was wrong? “Working on undoing handing myself—wait what?” She sputtered, and I grinned a little more. She was cute when she was flustered.

I put a finger on Avery’s lips. “Shh. Don’t worry. We can figure out the details later.” With a wink.

“Uhm. Yeah, what?” She winced, swallowed hard, and took a deep breath. “We should, uhh, get back before,” She waved her hand toward the hallway, turning away from me.

I nodded and bowed. “After you.”

I stayed and researched with Avery until she went back. When I was back in my room, I looked at the reply from Shine’s number. This is Shine, and I’d like to meet you, if you can.

I fought tears and set the phone down. I couldn’t respond yet. Who were they trying to fool? Or maybe they weren’t and I had been lied to? They had started with the code, after all. I just didn’t know if I wanted to take the chance yet.

#writeblr hunger games #writeblr

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ghost-writing · 4 years

Text

The Monster 2/?? - August Walker fanfic

This is a re-post from my other blog... I’ve decided to post my writing on a separate page, it’ll be easier to access like that.

I’ve edited this a little, but there might still be some spelling mistakes & grammatical errors. (English is not my 1st language!) So, if you see something that irks you, please tell me! :)

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

PART TWO - Breaking

Word count: 3.2k (The bit below the 2nd gif was labeled “part 2.2″, and titled “Interlude at the office”, but it’s quite short, so I decided to not make it separate anymore.)

Warnings: Sex (unprotected), rough sex, a certain dose of violence (including light choking), SMUT, swearing and bad language. And August Walker. (The Kingstache deserves its own warning.) And it’s probably full of typos and redundancies.

Part one can be found here!

He texted her around midnight. He had tried to not give in, resisted for almost a week, but he needed to let some steam off tonight. And he thought he liked her, which was angering him even more. She was a good investigator: smart, could think outside the box, and did not take shit from anyone, not even him. He used to like that about Sloane: she commanded respect. She did not deserve it, though. He did not know yet if Annie Franken did, he had not scratched under the surface enough. But after the month he had spent here in Brussels, he could say that he almost enjoyed working with her. At the very least, she made this dull case more acceptable. He had been offended when Sloane had given him the assignment. He felt it was an insult to his previous accomplishments. And the case would last months. At least, he’d get to travel around Europe. And since that night, he thought she was another perk.

Less than five minutes into his first meeting with the captain, he had requested to see the whole team’s files. He wanted to know exactly who he was working with, especially as it was his first time working with the Nexus. The man in charge had refused, but he went higher to get them, and he got them. Detective Franken’s dossier was heavier than the others, almost as thick as the captain’s. Apart from the chief, she had been there longer than everyone on that team, which was why she was in charge, and his direct liaison officer.

She had been in a little more trouble than the others, too. Nothing important: some insubordination (from what the redacted report seemed to say, she had been right, and her senior officer got fired shortly afterwards), and a one-time misconduct while handling a criminal in her care (he was lucky to still be alive, but he had it coming). He smiled thinking about the pics of Denizio, the “victim”: covered in bruises and scratches, a couple of deep bites, a dislocated shoulder, and multiple fractures (nose in two places, left side of his face smashed in, seven ribs, and right ankle). He was impressed: she was a fighter, and a nasty one. He had searched for the video of the incident, but had not got to it yet. He didn’t doubt that the evidence had been deliberately lost, to avoid her too much trouble.

The file also contained a lot of praise: from her former chief in the federal police, and her current one. Thinking back of his first meeting with the man, all these compliments, the twinkle in his eyes: the captain admired her, maybe even had a crush on her. August understood the appeal: good at her job, and a nice rack. Maybe too virtuous, at first sight, but he could smell that there was something hidden under the surface of that porcelain skin. Something wicked. He could see it as clearly as his own darkness.

So he stole her psych evaluations, and got disappointed when he read them. All pristine. Not in an obvious, “I’ll tell them what they need to ear” way. She admitted some problems, discomfort, insomnia, anxiety even. But she had a degree in psychology and criminology: she could’ve been faking it. He listened to the tapes: she sounded genuine. Articulate, but still confused by her feelings and reactions at times. Not the reactions of a control freak, just someone genuinely trying to understand herself, and better herself. He particularly disliked the way she was bouncing ideas off the shrink, as if he had been a wall to play against. No, actually, it’s the guy he hated. He either talked too much, or didn’t ask the right questions, the ones he would’ve asked her. And she seemed to like that bespectacled poster boy of blandness. He thought for a moment that they had fucked in his office, but after a really quick check, he found out the man was a closeted gay.

And so, an hour ago, he parked his car in front of her building, trying to calm down after Sloane’s phone call, a fire burning low inside him. He texted: “Are you at your place? Can be there in 10.” He knew she was in: shortly after his arrival, she got out on the balcony, sipping a drink, looking at the horizon, stretching her limbs, trying to unwind after a long day. The answer he got ignited something else in him. “Sure.” Not yes: sure. Sure, you can come over and fuck me. Sure, I’m waiting for you, CIA. Sure. He was panting, raging. He tried to steady his breathing, which took some time. He gripped the wheel tight, his knuckles turning white. Concentrating on the air filling his lungs, then escaping, slowly. Better. Blank face, blank mind, the August Walker way. Never give too much, to anyone. So tonight, he was going to take. And he made himself a promise.“If she has changed from that black t-shirt and sweatpants from earlier, I’ll take everything I want.” He too needed to unwind.

He got out of the car, slowly making his way to the 3rd floor apartment, still breathing in patterns, not to snap too quickly with the pretty doll upstairs. He knocked, looking at the floor. Seconds stretched, and she finally opened the door. She was barefoot, naked legs, dark red satin starting a few inches above her knees. A short kimono, belt knotted tightly around her waist, modestly covering her ample breasts. Sexy, not slutty. He felt his cock twitch. She still sported the same ponytail she had earlier, but she looked younger than at work. Probably the absence of the constantly furrowed brow, which was a common look in those offices, anywhere around the world.

Pushing past her, he entered without a hello. He heard her protest: “I did not invite you in!”, and made his way into the living room.

“I am not a vampire, I don’t need your invitation.” Thinking to himself “What you are wearing is one, anyway.” He heard the door close.

“Yeah, you give more of a werewolf vibe, actually…” His cock twitched again. He turned to face her, menacingly backing her against the wall. “Doll, you have NO IDEA”, he thought.

He towered over her, a nasty look on his face. He was so close she could probably feel the warmth of his chest, though they were not touching yet.

“Don’t you like a wild beast?” He breathed her scent deeply. “Damn, you smell nice, doll!”

“Do I look like a poodle lady?”, she jested.

And all hell broke lose inside of him: he slammed his body into hers, pinning her against the wall, making her gasp from the physical shock. He grabbed her wrist in his left hand, and opened the kimono with the right: she was wearing a dark red satin balconnet bra that barely covered her breasts. He grabbed her ass: a thong. All assorted to the robe. “Something for guests.”

She was pushing her hips towards him: he growled, less than an inch from her mouth now, but instead of kissing her like she wanted him to, he bit her throat and sucked viciously. She yelped : the thought that this man could hurt her, or break her in two with ease, crossed her mind, but she was still aroused. And she could feel that he was too. She could feel his heart beating in his chest. The thought of August Walker having a heart made her chuckle, and he growled some more as a response to her silent joke. She ran her free hand in his hair and, wanting to kiss him, she grabbed him to make him move towards her face. But he snatched her wrist, brought both her arms above her head and held them secure in his gigantic left paw, still nibbling on her throat. He unbuckled his pants with his right hand, undid the zipper, moving away from her just enough to look at her heaving chest, moving up and down rapidly with desire. Her nipples were peaking out of the satin, now, hard as rocks.

He brutally yanked her thong, and she felt the elastic band clap on her hip. She almost told him that those cost a lot of money, but decided it was wisest to just go with the flow, right now. She got distracted almost immediately anyway: he took his cock out and penetrated her without holding back. As she was dripping with anticipation (she had been since receiving the text, to be honest, running to the bedroom to change out of her comfortable sweats, into something more appropriate for a booty call), he slid his entire length inside her with ease, up to the hilt, and stayed still for a few seconds, looking hungrily at her round tits, biting his lips at the sight of her exposed nipples. He let go of her wrists, leaving them tingling with the sensation of blood circulating again in her veins, and pushed the satin robe off her shoulders and arms. She let it slide off her, feeling it brushing the back of her legs as it fell to the floor.

Suddenly, he pushed the vase and the decorative bowl that were placed on the sideboard next to them, sending them crashing down, and lifted her with his other arm to sit her on the wooden piece of furniture, still inside her. He then planted both his hands on the wall, on each side of her head, framing her, leaning in, his forehead touching hers, pushing her shoulders closer against the cold surface, and he started moving his hips, back and forth, between her thighs, wide open for him, increasing the speed every few thrusts. She moaned louder, and tried to grab his shirt to open it.

“Don’t.”

That one syllable made her blood freeze, and she took her hands off him, grabbing the edge of the sideboard outside of her legs instead. He was grunting like an animal, a huge bear completely enveloping her with his frame. She had always liked big guys, she liked feeling small in their arms and under them. She didn’t need a man to protect her; it was more about being shielded from the outside world for a moment, forgetting everything but the man fucking her senseless. And this large grizzly was very good at that, even if he was rough. She liked rough. She preferred a bit of pain than feel nothing at all.

But the bear man was inflicting more than a little pain, now. His eyes were still fixed on her breasts, dark with rage, his thrusts becoming violent. His lips occasionally sucked at her nipples, more often his teeth bit into them, but he was mostly looking at her breathing in and out, slightly smiling when she’d whimper in protest. And as she started to cry a bit louder, a visible grin was adorning his face.

He stopped pumping into her, grabbed her with one arm around her waist, carrying her next to the couch. There, he pulled her off his cock, savoring her gasp, and put her down. Her legs were slightly shaking, but she did not try to hold onto him for balance. She had understood that he was in a foul mood, and did not want to be touched. “Good girl.” But he was still raging, not feeling like calming down, and she would pay the price for it, even if she behaved. But he was sure that she could take it. If she had wanted him to stop, she would’ve fought back, and he’d be in a similar state as that “poor” Denizio guy.

So, instead of feeling sorry for her, he turned her around, bent her over, and parted her legs with his hands, guiding her ankles with a feet. He slapped her ass once, twice, three times. She let a scream escape only with the first blow. He pushed her forward, so that she ended up kneeling on the sofa. But instead of letting her upper chest rest on the back of it, he grabbed the base of her ponytail in his left fist, and yanked, silently ordering her to look at him. And as soon as her eyes met his, he slid his cock back into her, making her moan loudly. He saw fire behind her pupils: she was enjoying this. Thus, he fucked her, hard and fast, into oblivion. And her cries of rapture grew louder and more desperate. He let go of her hair, seizing her elbows instead, pulling her to him, allowing him to go even faster. She came, but it still wasn’t enough for him, so he let go of her arms, and shoved her face in the seat, pushing her back with both hands. She was screaming now, her petite body jerking with each thrust. He slapped her ass some more, leaving big red marks on her pale, soft flesh, and vigorously took hold of her waist, knowing perfectly well he’d leave bruises, feeling pride at the thought.

She felt him withdrawing, turning her around to face him. She was a rag doll in his hands, unable to think for herself. Not once had she fought him, asked him to stop. She thoroughly loved being used by him. He could take whatever he wanted, right now. And he did: he bottomed out into her, making her howl, a throaty wail after her prior screaming, and pinned her down with his hips. His right hand lifted her leg up, allowing him deeper access into her cunt, and his left hand caught her throat. The surprise of his touch made her climax, her whole body shaking, her eyes rolling in her head, her back arching, her walls clenching on him. Thereby, he huffed and puffed as his own orgasm built, and swore profusely as he pulled out of her to come all over her belly and her breasts.

Both out of breath, they looked at each other, panting, completely spent. She saw a light in his eyes, hoped he would just collapse on top of her, and finally kiss her, but in an instant, his expression changed. He got up, tucking himself back in his pants, rearranging his clothes, smoothing his messy hair. And without one last look at her, he got out, his words slapping her face.

“See you at work tomorrow, Franken.”

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

The day had been long, just like the rest of the week. She still couldn’t sit down without wincing. She couldn’t sit down at all the first day. And she had to wear a fucking turtleneck to hide the bite marks and the hickeys he had adorned her neck with. Her whole body was covered in bruises, purple finger prints on her wrists and forearms, on her hips, on her ass. She was raging inside, and he was there, working like absolutely nothing happened.

He did not avoid her, they still exchanged about the investigation, they had prepared a necessary trip to London. But it felt different than the week before, the week after that first night. Before, she had noticed his gaze, a furtive smile; once, he even had asked her if she wanted tea. But now, he was distant. Or maybe she simply wanted him to be closer.

She was angry about all the marks left on her, and she definitely would’ve preferred to be able to sit normally, but it was the way he left that hurt the most, and how he acted now. She wasn’t a fuck toy to discard after use. She didn’t want a relationship, she just wanted him to acknowledge her existence in a decent way. Say hello, and kiss her before, during and after making her climax like she hadn’t in a long, long time. She could’ve been nice to him too, reciprocate. Because whatever August Walker tried to pretend he was, deep down, he was human too. Probably. Or maybe he was just a psycho.

She could see some signs: the manipulation, the violence. She wasn’t sure about the lack of remorse or guilt. She felt he was wearing a mask, not just covering up a mistake. Doing what was expected of a cold, calculated man. But she had seen glimpses of humanity in him. He had grabbed a fantasy book left by Simon on his desk, and had smiled as if remembering the first time he had read it. She heard him hum to a song played on the radio while on a stakeout, thinking she was asleep. Not a robot, just a character he was projecting, for protection most probably. She could relate: she had tried that, but could never maintain it for too long. She still joked, she still cared. And she needed to come out for air after keeping a serious face for too long. Just like she could not let him get away with using her like he had, not without saying something.

So tonight, after sending Simon and Niklaas home, she confronted him. He was finishing the cold pizza they had earlier, mumbling about anchovies.

“How did that broom get stuck so high up your arse?”, she asked, a fake incredulous look on her face. He almost chocked on a tiny hairy fish, and he fumed.

“I’d really love to ear that story. Please, tell me how!” She batted her eyelashes, simulating fascination.

“I’m not playing this game with you…” He dropped the slice back in its box.

“No, of course not. I can’t take control of the conversation, that would belittle you, wouldn’t it?”

He remained silent, stood up and walked towards the door. Before he got there, she aimed and fired: “You lost control the other night.”

He stopped in his tracks, turned around.

“I did not.”

“Yes, you did. I had zero control, I left it to you, but you lost it anyway. If you had not lost it, you would’ve pretended. You’re a great pretender, Walker, that’s part of your job. But instead, you acted like a little boy who can’t help breaking his toys.”

“There”, she thought. He twitched when she called him a boy, almost catching fire. And right after, a flash in his eyes. Regrets. Just a hint, before snapping back.

“You enjoyed it.”

“I do like it rough, yes. But I don’t like being treated like a cheap whore.” She got on her feet, moved slowly towards him, stopping just an inch from his tall frame. “I’m not cheap in any way.”

Looking down on her, August wrapped his arm around her waist, resting his hand in the small of her back, drawing her closer to him. Almost tenderly, if it wasn’t for the hardening cock in his pants, rubbing lightly against her belly. He breathed in slowly, before what must have felt to him like spilling his guts.

“Let me take you out while we’re in London. For dinner.”

She pushed away from him, moving towards the door.

“No.” She got out of the office. “See you at work tomorrow, Walker.”

#fanfic #august walker #august walker fic #august walker smut #The Monster #smutty smut

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eldweena · 3 years

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So...road trip this weekend. This is pretty absurd, but we don’t really have used bookstores here... We have a Books-A-Million at the mall, which dabbles in used books but just barely, and a nerdy store called The Inner Geek that has some books but mostly vintage toys and tabletop gaming gear. And I heard someone opened a book café, but it’s on the far end of town and the online photos made it look more café and less book. (Maybe it’s BYOB, bring-your-own-book?) ANYWAY. Point being. When we want to brose a *good* used bookstore - which I often do, because I love out-of-print classic fantasy novels - we have to leave the state. So Saturday we drove two hours to Lexington because they have a couple Half Price Books stores. And after a full year of not leaving town due to COVID, we had like 7 bags full of books, CDs, video games, and DVDs to sell. Everything went great at the first store. We got there shortly after they opened at 10:00 am and there were signs posted everywhere saying one person per aisle. They had a sign on the door, and also called over the intercom, that your mask must cover your NOSE as well as your mouth. They’re taking the pandemic seriously and holding customers accountable! I was very pleased. We got $50 for half our sell-backs and found a lot of great buys, too. Then we had lunch at Schlotzky’s. I didn’t mean to take her picture, but in the background you can see a masked woman. She brought a book into the restaurant to read and it made my heart feel happy! After lunch we found an Asian market and my wife stocked up on sweets and drinks. Then we headed to the second HPB, and that’s where we somehow picked up a stalker. This store was a different experience entirely. This time we only got $30 for our remaining sell-backs (we split the selling into two trips so we wouldn’t have to be running back and forth between the store and the car in one go), and while the signage was the same, nobody was adhering. We were looking at science fiction paperbacks and a tall man talking loudly on his phone kept stepping closer to me until he literally brushed my arm. He wasn’t even looking at books - he was on the phone. I pointedly stomped around the other side of our cart to get away from him and while he didn’t stutter in his phone conversation, he did go away. I was about ready to make a scene with a loud, “EXCUSE ME - SIX FEET!” My god!!! People piss me off. Then we went to look at some gaming books because my wife found some old White Wolf manuals and we kind of collect them. (I did LARP Vampire: the Masquerade and MAGE briefly, but mostly I keep them for writing inspiration because the worldbuilding is just fascinating...) This time a young male kept inching his way closer while we were examining the two books they had. (The MAGE manual was brand new, velvet-lined, purple, and pristine. Also $60, so I passed. The Camarilla book was an older edition of the one I have, and the pages were pretty filthy, so I also passed.) I thought initially the guy wanted to look at the gaming books because - I say this only because he had glasses and unkempt hair - he looked like a nerd. Turns out, that was not the case. I caught the same guy staring at us as we moved to another section of the store, where he suddenly also happened to be. My wife went into the young adult alcove and was quickly swarmed by three girls. I couldn’t even get into the crowded aisle (again, the limit was supposed to be one person!) so I went to another shelf to look at true crime. I checked the YA books a couple more times, waiting for it to clear out some. And the guy was hanging around a corner. Not even alone, he was with a girl and I think another guy. By then I was feeling annoyed. I had a fucking mask on, so I knew he wasn’t really looking at my face??? We then looked at middle grade because I’m always on the lookout for Donna Jo Napoli, and that’s where they stick her, and i SAW The SAME GUY! He was never actually looking at books. He was always just standing there, looking out of place and hella awkward, never alone but with the same two people, but he was always looking at us. I wasn’t sure if my wife had noticed so I said, “Let’s get the fuck outta here. I’m tired of that guy staring at us.” She hadn’t noticed, but loudly proclaimed, “Where is he? I’ll stare right back?” I just said again, “Let’s get the fuck out of here.” We took our cart of books (yep, found some more) up to the registers. AND THAT MOTHERFUCKER FOLLOWED US. He like...jumped in line behind us, took a sliding leap. He was holding some things so I was like...well, I guess he could be checking out at the same time as us, coincidentally...??? But this time he was without his companions. So we started checking out and I whisper-hissed to my wife, “That’s--” and she said, “I know.” Then, loudly, she said how rude it was for people to stare. Our cashier said something (I’m hard of hearing so I don’t know what he said; my wife said he told her something like, “I understand, I’m sorry that happened to you”), then the other cashier, who I thought was checking that stalker-boy out, held up a flower book and asked, “Is this yours?” We were like...uh....no...and went about our business. After we checked out I grabbed our bags and was trying to like, run for the door. He’d only had like two things in his hands when I saw him scurry into line, and I was scared he’d try and follow us. I’m one of those people who fumbles and drops things and typos and gets all sorts of clumsy when I try to hurry, so it took twice as long as it should have. Finally we got out the door and I kept whisper-hissing to my wife, let’s hurry to the car. And she was like, no, if he follows us I’m going to tell him to fuck off! We got to the car and loaded up our books as fast as possible, and I just wanted the hell out of that parking lot, but my wife was like, no, there’s a trash can beside the store entrance and I’m dumping our garbage. I didn’t want to hesitate or linger, but despite her insistence that she could do it alone, I went with her. That guy gave me a really bad feeling. He could have been a harmless staring-type of creeper, but regardless, I wasn’t about to let her find out on her own. We went back to the store, and as she dumped our trash my wife said that guy was still in the store, fucking staring at us through the window. When they made eye contact, he ducked away from the corner and went down an aisle. I felt shaky for almost an hour after that, until we were headed out of Lexington and absorbed in an audiobook. I don’t feel like it was all harmless coincidence. How many times can you run into the same person in a store, even a small one? Why was he even there, if he wasn’t interested in books? I’m not sure if he even bought anything, or did he hand that flower book to “his” cashier and try to get her to give it to us as a creepy gift from him? Like, I don’t even know what was up with that flower book. We weren’t even at that end of the counter. We also considered that he might have gotten it into his head that we were shoplifting. I don’t know what would have given him that impression, other than perhaps the fact that I kept taking my cell phone out of my hoodie pocket and tucking it back, as I was comparing prices online versus the store, as I always do... I did see him lean over the counter and talk to the cashiers as we were leaving, and I thought at the time, is he complaining about us? Did he think we were stealing??? Which we weren’t, nor were we behaving suspiciously in any way. And, if he had thought that, why hadn’t he reported us the first or second times we bumped into each other, instead of waiting until seeing us check out and then jumping into line behind us? I mean, WTF. My best guess was that he perceived two girls looking at gaming books and got nerdily excited. But he didn’t try and start a conversation, he just. kept. staring. Men, don’t do this, ever. Women have enough shit to worry about without you stalking them, even by accident, in a fucking store.

#stalking #creepers #road trip #bookstores #asian markets

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todo-ho-ki · 4 years

Text

If It’s Convenient for You, pt.8

Hello Lovelies! I’ve FINALLY gone and done it! It’s part 8! I made it twice as long for the wait, but I cut the action in half! WOW! I also definitely made a typo in the text please don’t look at it! It took me forever to get back into writing soooo I hope it’s up to par. I like it, but I’m supposed to.

@aurorahoneybuns

@velvet-kissesss

@chims-kookies

@raynetempest

Masterlist

Pairing: BakugoXReader

Warnings: None! It’s pretty much all chill. Well, the cursing..

Word Count: 4,044

"What do you want to eat?” He asked after what seemed like a million years of silence.

“I don’t have much in here. I was planning on shopping yesterday. Help yourself though.” You motioned to the kitchen, head falling onto the back of the couch. You were beyond tired and these nightmares weren’t helping.

“Holy shit! You have two eggs and 13 grains of rice left! How the fuck are you alive?”

“I said I was gonna shop yesterday! But instead I got fucking stabbed, if you don’t mind! Fucking listen once in a while,”you muttered.

Soon after, though, the aroma of restaurant quality food filled the air. He handed you your bowl begrudgingly. How he managed to make anything at all was impressive, but the sight alone was making your mouth water.

“Wow. This actually look delicious,” you mused.

“Course it does. You think I can’t cook or somethin’?”

“Wh-I just- it’s not something that even registered, honestly.” The thought of Bakugo cooking for you made you suddenly shy. “And I didn’t really have anything in there. Not really sure how you managed to make this.”

He only grunted in response before digging in. You followed suit, the taste blossoming on your tongue. It was full of flavor and-spice. So much spice. You managed to choke the fist bite down, a coughing fit following, and tears pricking at the corner of your eyes.

He raised an eyebrow in minimal concern, a smirk appearing on his face. “Too spicy?” He taunted. You felt your body temperature rising with the heat in your mouth, lips and tongue searing.

“What the fuck did you put in here?” Your words managed to escape despite the coughing.

“Just come chili oil and cayenne. Not that big a deal.” He shrugged his shoulders like he didn’t conspicuously try to kill you just now.

“It is if you put the whole bottle!” You set the food down, impressed that the taste was more than just spice, but definitely caught off guard. “I have to prepare myself before I eat hot shit.”

“What, can’t handle it?” It was more like a challenge than a concern.

“I can handle it just fine. I’m prepared now,” you spat, picking the bowl back up with a mission. It was enough to scarf down now that you knew it was hotter than the sun. And honestly, you were beyond starving. He stifled a laugh at your watery eyes and running nose.

“By the way, that was payback for the comment earlier.” He snatched your bowl up and gave you a cocky look.

“Are you telling me mine was spicier than yours?”

“God,no. Mine was way spicier. But go through this much trouble to keep your sorry ass alive just to kill you with food? No thanks.”

You swore you drifted off to sleep for a moment with the melodic clanking of dishes in the background.

“Let’s get you to bed.”

“Huh? It’s 10pm.”

“You were literally just asleep. You tellin’ me you’re not tired?”

“Well, I’m like, a normal adult. Ten is too early.” It seemed like the food was sufficient pay back for your slip up earlier; he went right back to annoying the shit out of you.

He harrumphed and picked you up once again, without asking of course, tossing you onto your bed.

“Goodnight.” He stood strangely still for a moment before turning.

“W-wait! Can a girl brush her teeth and shit?” He groaned like your daily hygiene was an imposition before he went for your legs again.

“Literally my crutches are in the van. I can walk if you get them. Since, you know, that’s what they’re for.”

“I’m not leaving you alone.” There was something in his tone hinting to you that he wasn’t just a hero doing his job, but you were too tired to care.

And at this point you were just feeling like an inconvenience, though you weren’t altogether convinced there was an actual reason he refused to grab them. Except maybe just to irritate you.

“Well then walk me to the van and let’s get them! I’m tired of you carrying me around!” Really, you weren’t. If he wanted to carry you, you had more than half a mind to let him. But if your legs didn’t stretch soon, they were sure to fall off.

“It’s not a big deal.” He turned his head to look out your window, eyeing the van. “Me carrying you is the equivalent of you holding a gallon of milk.”

“Wow. What a fucking strange way to brag about how strong you are... But what if something happens? You gonna throw me on the ground to fight? Or maybe get us both killed? It’s safer if your hands are free.” He scowled a bit and you weren’t entirely sure his crossed arms would stay on his body if he tightened up any more.

“Don’t. Move.” The words barely came out as he stomped off, returning within literally 20 seconds.

“Thank you,” it wasn’t a genuine response, sarcasm dripping off the words. But for the first time since you got stabbed in the first place, you were standing and walking on your own. “Oh god that’s incredible!” Finally able to do something yourself, you finished your routine slowly, just to revel in it.

Bakugo was leaning on your desk, lost in thought when you came back in. He dwarfed the desk in size, easily standing six foot four. God, he was pretty when he wasn’t scowling. The almond shape of his eyes was soft, so gentle you wouldn’t think they belonged to someone so hot-headed. The lounge wear he chose to sleep in wasn’t doing your red face any favors either. Why did it always have to be fucking sweat pants? Your eyes shot back up, opting to linger on his biceps to keep thoughts of...other things off your mind.

His hair shimmered elegantly in the moonlight. His red eyes held more emotion than his face led you to believe. Concern..? Nerves? Just idle thoughts? He seemingly didn’t even hear you crutches on the floor as you stood in the doorway.

He cracked a mile for some reason, just a split second reaction that set you ablaze before he look straight at you. “There a reason you’re staring like that?” His tone was teasing, at best.

Lie. Lie through your fucking teeth.

“Well-I didn’t wanna interrupt.” Your head turned involuntarily. You couldn’t look at this Bakugo. The calm and beautiful one who wasn’t calling you names, who was so casually protecting you like it was nothing. This one was..a bit difficult to stomach. At least if he was being an ass you’d have some sort of excuse to deny liking him even a little bit.

“I couldn’t be doing less than I’m doing right now.” Judging by his response, he didn’t buy it one bit. Not that surprising, really. You’d already embarrassed the shit out of yourself on the way to the hospital. Checking him out would be the least intrusive thing you could muster at this point.

“You looked like you were thinking about something important.” And really, it wasn’t a lie. He pushed off the desk with a quiet agility usually reserved for cats.

“Goodnight.”

“Uh, yeah. Night.” You didn’t dare turn to watch him walk away. By now he had to realize you were eating him up like he was your last meal. And he’d probably take it as a challenge. For once, your sleep was deep and dreamless. ------- You hobbled down the steps at six in the morning. Bakugo put you to bed so early that sleeping any longer was impossible.

“Good morning!” Kirishima beamed from the living room.

Agh! Jesus. It’s too early for a smile that bright.

“Morning,” you winced. Sleep hadn’t quite worked itself out of your body, plopping down on the couch lazily.

“Did you sleep well?”

“Actually, for once, I did.” You thought it was a little strange. Shit had been plaguing you the second those two dudes walked in the door at the Takoyaki shop. You knew you were having nightmares, but they were completely erased from your memory the second you woke up. And they only left behind a vague and lingering discomfort.

“Yeah. You guys mentioned something about nightmares, right? What’s that about?”

His eyes flicked to his phone and back to you. “It’s not a big deal. I had a nightmare on the way home from the hospital. But I don’t even remember it.” His face scrunched a bit.

“I mean, it could just be from the incident. But it could also be something else.” His eyes followed to his rapidly vibrating phone once again.

“Jeez, Kirishima. Popular with the ladies huh?” You joked. You didn’t really want to talk about the past couple of days anyway.

His face scrunched up a bit further. “It’s Bakugo. He’s demanding a list of what you need from the store. Or else he’s...buying a bunch of spicy shit? What is this dude on about?” He held his phone up, trying to decode the threat

. But you just let out a laugh. “He fed me really spicy Oyakodon last night. And I almost died.”

“Yeah. He’ll do that. Anything to add to the list?”

“I mean, I was just gonna go to the store, but if he’s buying...” After ten minutes you had a complete list sent to Bakugo.

“He said that’s the longest fucking list he’s ever seen in his life and you shouldn’t wait until you have three ingredients in the house to go shopping.”

“Tell him to fuck off.” He laughed softly.

So far, besides the outburst the night before, things were going swimmingly with the boys around. They didn’t bother or pry. Well, Todoroki and Kirishima didn’t. They let you do whatever you needed to do and Todoroki even took you to the park, much to Bakugo’s dismay.

You hobbled up the steps to your room with Todoroki lingering behind. There was moment of rest before you could hear the very distinct sound of Bakugo yelling in the distance, getting closer with every word until he was standing right in front of Todoroki.

“Are you out of your fucking minds!? Why is this the second time I’m asking you that!?”

“It was just some fresh air in the park,” you shrugged.

“Yeah. To you! Who knows what assholes saw you? And you.” His eyes narrowed on Todoroki leaning against the door frame. “What kinda stunts you think you’re out here pullin’ taking her in the open like that in the middle of the day?”

“She was literally right next to me the whole time. Nothing would’ve happened to her.” It looked like he was ready to pull his hair out.

“That’s-! That’s not the fucking point! If someone was watching, now they know she’s with at least you, and that’s if they’re stupid! And they know we’re driving the van! I can’t fucking believe you two right now!” He stormed off for a moment, leaving Kirishima a bit red-faced and ashamed.

“Sorry bros. He’s right this time.” He patted Todoroki’s shoulder and took his leave. All you could do was sigh.

"Is it even possible to do something that satisfies him in some way? Do I need to sit here like a household object and not speak?" You plopped yourself onto the bed, finding comfort in just staring at the ceiling.

"In hindsight, perhaps it wasn't the smartest move in the world." He just shrugged taking a seat at your vanity.

"Huh. Just a couple dumbasses upstairs." He smiled softly.

"I get that a lot."

"You? You're literally in the top three. How in the world-" Your nice, quiet, calm conversation was interrupted by your already open bedroom door nearly popping off the hinges, your head popping up to assess the damage.

"That's it you Icy-Hot idiot! You're fucking out! It's just like I have to do everything my damn self!"

"You're going to do double shifts?" He asked. His calm was such a juxtaposition to Bakugo's constant rage.

"If I fucking have to! You're turning out to be useless, you chicken fried fuck!" There was no way for you to even pretend that wasn't the funniest insult you'd ever heard fly out of someone's mouth, bursting into uncontrollable laughter at Todoroki's expense.

"You shut your fucking trap, asshat! You're fucking dead meat too! You're a moron!"

"Aww, I don't get to be a chicken fried fuck? Perhaps a deep fried shit sandwich?" It was Todoroki's turn to stifle a laugh, burying his head as far into his hands as he could.

"Get out!" He nearly threw Todoroki out of the room, slamming the door behind him. When his eyes turned to you, you weren't feeling nearly as funny as you were a second ago.

"Are you done being an idiot? I know you aren't that stupid." There was a threat in his voice that you could barely perceive with your ears, but your body was reading loud and clear, goosebumps popping up on your shoulders.

"I didn't mean to offend. I just wanted some fresh air."

"We're trying to keep you safe. You're clearly a target. And we don't know why or for what. This isn't even what we were sent here for, so I'd appreciate a little cooperation."

"Look who's talking." You rolled your eyes, but Bakugo was over your splayed form in a second. His hands wrapped around both of your wrists, pulling you up so hard you nearly fell off the bed. He was staring straight down at you with an unreadable expression, face much closer than you anticipated.

Your lips parted to say what you were hoping was a remark of some sort, but it was just a garbled nervous squeak. Bakugo was way more intimidating than you gave him credit for. And you gave him a lot of credit for it. His taut muscles strained once again and his grip was too strong on your wrists as he held them up between you two.

"You only seem to understand when I get rough. So here's the deal." His voice was low and tense.

"We're staying here," he snarled. "Do not leave this fucking house without one of us. And it should go without saying, but don't go in public, idiot. Especially not with Icy Hot! You can tell who he is from a mile away! I don't give a shit how bored you are! Do some fucking brain training or something since you seem to need it. I am not playing around like you seem to think I am." He stared for another moment before letting your wrists go and standing straight.

Your stare was as incredulous as your face was red, the ghost of his bruising grip setting you ablaze.

Did he really just threaten to protect me?

Your heart was beating quickly now, the temperature in the room seemingly skyrocketing. You once again felt the same warm tingly feeling you felt in the hospital.

He sat back in the vanity chair with no emotion in his face, like he hadn't just essentially started to assault you. The quiet seemed to be too much for him. "If I find out something happened to you because you were being stupid, I'll kill you. Now tell me you understand."

The audacity of this bitch..the hot fucking audacity!

"I don't think you-"

"I said tell me you understand," he growled again, lips curling in a snarl. You were crumbling under his stare, though admittedly it wasn't from intimidation. "Not another fucking word better come out of your stupid bratty mouth if you're not gonna say it. And you can forget about me cooking again."

It was like he knew that would set off an automatic response in your brain. "I understand!" The tension in the room clicked off like a light and he relaxed at that.

"Jesus christ."

"What was that?"

"Can Todoroki come back now? I like hanging out with him. He doesn't call me a stupid brat."

"No! He's fucking out!"

"Ugh. Please. I don't think I can stand you for sixteen hours."

"Me and Kirishima will take four hours. But I appreciate the insinuation that I'd think of spending sixteen hours a day with you." There was a little smirk on his face that you were eager to slap right off of him.

"I-uh... Get out. I have to practice for my audition." ---- You busied yourself late into the night with your narrowed down selections, trying very hard not to recall what happened the last time you stopped practicing. You weren't even sure why you made Bakugo leave. You were sure he could hear you anyway. Before you knew it, Bakugo was slamming the door open at the offending hour of 10 p.m.

"It''s time for you to go to bed." The fear of being startled nearly killed you on the spot.

"Wh-it's ten! Why are you such an old man?"

"And you're a fucking wreck in every way. What's your point? A schedule is good for you."

"I feel like I'm at my dad's house." Your hand met your hip as you mumbled. "Whatever. Kirishima's taking the shift tonight. I'll be out around the neighborhood."

"I literally don't care." He looked like he was about to start yelling again, but he just took a breath and left.

"Don't fucking stay awake singing shitty songs." He disappeared around the corner before you could retaliate.

Strangely enough, knowing Bakugo wasn't downstairs was making you restless. Not that you didn't trust the other two, but a big part of you wanted him to be there if something went down. He did seem to be the brains of the operation.

Maybe I should text him. He's probably out there bored. Wait, that's the actual worst idea. Emergencies only.

Your resolve didn't last long, picking up your phone the second your mind was blank.

The most prominent emotion was shock. Bakugo said something that wasn't terrible to you. And it was almost nice. That made it a little easier to fall asleep. --------- You woke up in a silent panic. You couldn't remember if you'd had another dream, but your heart was racing at top speed. It was pitch black. Why? There was a streetlight in the complex. You were about to draw the curtains when you saw it.

Frozen with fear, your eyes darted as a terrifiyingly skinny figure stood motionless outside your window. You could just barely see him through the fluttering crack in the curtains but the pit in your stomach told you he could see you just fine.

Torn between wanting to move and wanting to yell out the window left you sitting completely still on the edge of your bed.

"I know you see me Kurahiko." You closed your eyes as tight as you could. His lips didn't even move and his voice was right in your ear.

I have to be asleep. I'm just asleep.

"You don't have to be anything. Not here." You looked out the window again and he was gone. Instead, he was right in front of you, leering over your body with that same sickening smile. He may have caught you off guard the first time, but he wasn't as scary now that you were sure you could remember. Your first instinct was to go for the throat, which he obviously didn't expect. So he wasn't as all-knowing as you thought.

Since you weren't really awake, there was no harm in jumping out of bed, right? And this asshole was an idiot too if he thought he was going to let you terrorize him forever.

Wrong. So, so very wrong. You let out a yelp as you hit the ground after standing.

"Silly girl. A good try I suppose. But I control all of this. You think I wasn't prepared for you to put up a fight?"

"The fuck do you want?" You grunted, heat washing over you from the pain.

"In time, Kurahiko. You'll know in time."

"What the hell does that mean? At least have some decency you zombie looking motherfucker!" The door burst open and in the same instant the lighting returned to normal, a daze washing over you.

"Woah. Who are you talking to Kurahiko?" Kirishima's eyes were filled with worry, flipping the light as you sat yourself up. Who were you talking to?

"I don't know." The waves of pain crashed over you as you realized you'd tried to reach for something.

"Let's get you back to bed. Are you okay?" He lifted you gently back into your bed, feeling your head for a fever.

"I don't remember anything. I just-woke up scared. I don't even remember being asleep this time. I woke up because it was really dark in here. But I don't feel any pain." He took a look out the window for a moment before shutting the blinds all the way.

"Do you want me to stay in here until you fall asleep?" He was so insanely adorable with his raised eyebrows and cheeks popping out that you couldn't say no. It was hard to believe this dude was as fierce as he was.

"I think that would be great, yeah." He plopped down by the foot of the bed without hesitation.

"You won't even know I'm here!" Despite Kirishima's best efforts to make you feel safe, you couldn't shake the sickening feeling setting in. Every once in a while his eyes would meet yours to check if you were asleep and finally you decided to just pretend you were so he could leave and get some sleep of his own.

Your plan was to stay awake as long as possible. The light broke through the curtains as sleep finally found you. You were sure it would be a comfortable morning until what seemed like seconds later, Bakugo threw the door open.

"Breakfast time, brat."

"Ugh. You have absolutely no respect for personal space do you? Can't you fucking knock?" He stayed silent, an eyebrow raising as he took in what you were sure was the most decrepit human being he'd ever seen."Are you seriously my dad or something? Who eats at..seven? Seven?"

"You do. Unless you wanna die or something."

"It's up for debate at this point."

"Tch. Get up." You rubbed at your temples in an attempt to get the pain to go away as you sat up. His eyes followed your movement.

"You look shitty."

"Thanks, asshole."

"Did you sleep? Like I told you?" He leaned in the doorway like he actually cared if the answer was no.

"Well, it's possible I got like ten minutes."

"What the fuck? Why?"

"I was having nigtmares. If you're awake, you can't have nightmares."

"Are you serious? You tried to stay up all night?"

"What else was I supposed to do?" He didn't answer, he just rolled his eyes and handed you your crutches impatiently.

"Oh? You're gonna let me use them today?" He glazed right over your comment.

"You had another nightmare?"

"Yeah. I tried so hard to remember any details, but I can't. They just leave me with a vague feeling of dread. I don't know what's going on."

He looked a little lost in thought for a moment. When Bakugo wasn't talking, you could stare at him forever. His hair was even messier than usual; he had to have been flying around all night. His eyes had a look you didn't recognize. What was he thinking about? You didn't have to wonder for long.

"Oi, I'm thinking that the nightmares aren't nightmares at all. It's someone's quirk. But I don't think it's working right on you."

"How so?"

"What good would leaving you with a feeling of knowing what's going on be helpful? It'd be more effective to have you forget everything. You'll never see an attack coming. Something's going on here."

"Okay, well, I 'm going to ignore very simple reasons for why someone's quirk wouldn't quite work right and eat. Hope you don't try to kill me this time." You raised your brows at him as you hobbled out of the door.

“Tch. I hope you like wasabi curry, asshole.”

#bakugouxreader #bnha fic #bakugoxreader #My hero academia

14 notes · View notes

jincherie · 5 years

Text

fox rain | intro

• ☽ — pairing: bts x reader • ☽ — genre: crack, fluff, angst, college/uni au • ☽ — words: 9.9k • ☽ — rating: sfw? • ☽ — warnings: this is PRIME crackheadery and headassery, this is literally such a mess fuckk, anyway-- accidental voyeurism, extreme amounts of stress, sleep deprivation (uni life amirite) • ☽ — notes: lets get it miss FOX RAIN!!!!!!!! also: links will be put in at a later date

— posted; 04.05.2019

When the love letter you wrote and submitted as an assignment is leaked to the entirety of your university, it becomes a race against time to dispel rumours and convince the seven suspected muses of the poem that they aren’t the subject before anyone realises that you are the author. Easy, right? Well... maybe not as easy as you think.

— • masterlist | intro | next • —

Living as a University student paddling through your second year means that, as one would expect, you aren’t exactly a poster-girl for good decision-making—especially when it comes to things like sleep and time management. Those two areas in particular are probably your biggest weakness, but at least, you think as you pass through the brief lawn that marks the beginning of your University campus and join the throng of tired, yawning students, you are not alone in your suffering. Inability to catch the recommended hours of sleep and manage your time is a common trait among the student population.

It is your poor strength in these areas that landed you where you are now; dead-tired and still dealing with a delayed stress response that was lingering from yesterday’s deadline. You were up stupidly late last night, running on probably about four hours of sleep across three days, and barely coherent as you hastily emailed one of your assignments to your professor. It wasn’t all that hard for you, but you’d forgotten and by the time you realised the deadline was looming so close it was practically on top of you. You’re pretty impressed with yourself that you managed to make it, in all honesty.

You aren’t unfamiliar with this particular state of exhaustion, but thankfully aren’t as completely out of it as you feared you might be when you finally allowed yourself to sleep last night—or rather, this morning. Which you feel might be a good thing, because if you were any more tired than you are right now then you probably wouldn’t have noticed the change in the air as you amble deeper into campus.

Chatter isn’t uncommon in the people you pass on your way to class most mornings, but currently the air is buzzing. A sense of excitement, anxiety and trepidation mixes together within you, a cocktail with a taste eerily similar to fear, as you push forward. The people are excited, animated… you don’t like it. What is there to be so hyped up about at 8AM on a Friday morning? You decide to ignore the buzz and continue to plod on as intended.

You don’t get too far before your ears are catching excited gossip and hushed whispers exchanged between friends, despite your best efforts.

“…who though? Do you think its someone we know? I really…”

Your ears burn with the effort it takes to strain them, but you’re still walking and now too far to catch anything more from them. The next few people you pass do an excellent job of filling in the blanks one by one, offering their own jigsaw pieces to complete the mystery in your mind. Each new thing you hear stirs a certain sense of paranoia in your mind, the voice that always whispers, is this about you? Usually dismissing it is easy, but the more you hear, the more a tendril of dread begins to twirl within you and entwine around your bones.

“… do they know it’s been leaked? I feel so bad for them…”

“… apparently it was sent to their whole class? That’s so embarrassing…”

Oh god, is it you? Something was leaked? Was it nudes? Wait—you don’t have any nudes to leak. Well, not digital ones anyway. You do your best to ignore the paranoid voice in your head that tells you the poor person everyone is so fussed about is you, hastening your pace and heading towards the building that houses your Music Composition class with renewed vigour.

The people you pass in the halls seem to be abuzz with the same news that everyone else was, and it’s at this point that the dread curling within you is joined by a powerful, burning curiosity. You want to know, god do you want to know what everyone is whispering about. What the hell happened that has everyone like this? How had you not heard anything by now?

More snippets of conversations brush your ears as you near your room, something useful finally brought to light as you hear someone mention an infamous facebook page made by students of the university. Perhaps that is where you will find the answer to the questions flitting across your mind. The morsel of excitement within you is squashed suddenly as you catch something else.

“… what an idiot, to accidentally email everyone. I mean, it’s something I’d probably do, but still…”

You almost trip as your legs freeze and your spine goes rigid, one very important detail surfacing from the depths of your memory. That sounds like something you would do too, and the realisation that just last night you were emailing something particularly sensitive has a horrified sensation sliding down your spine. Suddenly very, very worried, you bolt over the remaining distance between you and the classroom doors.

Your increased speed from before has landed you there much earlier than usual, and the few students that are normally there at this hour shoot you mild looks of alarm before returning to whatever they were talking about before you burst through the doors in your dishevelled, panting state. The teacher isn’t here yet and to your momentary delight there is much more space available, leaving you a wider spread of choices for your seat that what you usually have. You decide to plop your ass in a seat against the wall in the middle-back of the room, quickly pulling out the necessary items for the class and then whipping your phone out, nearly yanking your earphones out by accident in the process.

Hastily, with speed and agility you didn’t even know your fingers possess, you pull up the email app you have hooked up to your private and university emails and slam your fingertip onto the ‘sent’ tab. It takes a second to load, the duration of which you spend resisting the urge to vault yourself over the desk and flee, but when it does you feel your heart drop through your stomach in horror.

The first thing you notice is the abundance of typos and poor grammar that litter the very brief but very incriminating body of the email, and you internally die a bit as you take them all in. The second thing that catches your eye, to your absolute horror, is the actual email address you sent it from. You feel your cheeks catch fire, flooding with heat that spreads all the way to the tips of your ears, and you have never regretted not deleting that stupid, stupid email address you made when you were twelve, more than you did in this moment. You’d not even come anywhere near partly to terms with those first two observations, when you unwittingly make your third, and arguably the worst, observation.

‘bcc: Jodi, Yuki, Jacob… and 423 others’

On god, you’d fucking emailed your heartfelt poem-turned-assessment piece to the entirety of your creative writing course.

You sit in horror for a moment, brain producing some sort of static in the absence of intelligent thought. You feel kind of faint, would it be very alarming to your classmates if you suddenly passed out? Probably—you slap a hand to your cheek, the person in front of you jumping and turning around in alarm at the noise. You don’t even have the presence of mind to assuage their worries because your embarrassment meter is completely fucking maxed out and if you make eye contact with another human being in the next few minutes you know for sure you’re going to combust. God, oh god this is literally your worst nightmare—you’ve had nightmares about shit like this since the night before your first day in high school. Is this karma? You can’t think of anything you’ve done in your meagre years on this earth that would be atrocious enough to warrant a fate like this.

It is in the midst of your current humiliation-fueled crisis that you remember some of the people you passed mentioning a certain facebook page that the university students here held dear— CCU Love Letters, a page where shy individuals could anonymously submit love letters or other such media for the page to post without it being linked back to them. A new shade of horror begins to paint your insides and it’s almost at double speed that you bring up the app on your phone and search for the page in question. It takes a moment to load, but when it does you’re once more stuck fighting the urge to throw yourself over the desk and run away.

There, for all to see, is the poem you’d spilt part of your heart into and submitted as what was supposed to be a confidential assignment piece.

The sight of how many likes, reactions and comments there are already alarms you, but it is as you’re avoiding the comment section that you notice, with an incredible feeling of relief, that nothing like your name or anything similar is present to possibly link it to you. Pausing, you switch apps and go back to the email, scanning it to confirm your suspicions. The great gust of relief that passes your lips has a few heads turning as more people enter the room but you don’t even care, too busy trying not to cry as you console yourself.

Sleep-deprived and incoherent as you were, by some serendipitous miracle you’d forgotten to tack on your name or anything that identified you in the original email, aside from your student number. Even then, the only way someone would be able to link that back to you would be if they find your student card or hack the school systems or something. You’re really about to weep in relief right before your class starts, resting your face in your hands. Have you ever been so close to death that you could almost taste it before? The answer is that you haven’t, but today you almost glimpsed the ruler of the heavens and you’re not keen to repeat the experience.

Attempting to quell the remaining anxiety and humiliation swirling within you, you give yourself a pep talk of sorts. It’s fine, everything is fine. There is no way that anyone would know it was you, and yeah a private poem meant only for your eyes and the eyes of your teacher— perhaps even the person you had in mind while writing it— had been shared to a very public platform where the entire student population could view and read it, but it’s fine. Why? Because they have no way of knowing it’s you who wrote it. A shuddering breath leaves you as you attempt some sort of abridged form of meditation. Fine, it’s fine. You know what? You bet that by the end of your class, no one will even be talking about it anymore. It’s probably old news already, you doubt the mass of student that have better things to worry about than a leaked poem are going to keep being so fussed about it.

Yes, you reassure yourself as the teacher finally enters the room and you begin to prepare the necessary items. By the time your class is over this humiliating incident will be long gone and forgotten in the minds of the student populus, and everything will be fine— just fine.

x x x x x x x

Sweet cheese and bacon rolls, things are not just fine as you leave your classroom two hours later and return to the halls that are now ten times more busy and bustling than earlier. You’d stayed in the room long past the time your class was over, using the excuse of studying on the spot, but now you can no longer avoid leaving as the next class’ students begin to filter in and you dart out.

The buzz is worse, everyone is still talking about it and even though it kind of makes you want to throw yourself into the lake on campus you keep self-soothing with the reminder that no one knows the author of the poem is you. Slapping a half-assed smile onto your face in an effort to convince yourself and think a better mood into existence, you leave the building and head towards the food court. You’re in need of comfort and food mightn’t be the best answer but at least it’s better than letting loose a blood-curdling scream in the middle of the road.

Twenty minutes later finds you sitting at a table in the outside area of the food court with newly bought coffee and a big kebab, dissociating as you attempt to ignore the obnoxious chatter about you know what that floats around you. It’s to no avail, evidently, and you pout as you finally reach for the kebab that’s been sitting there for the past few minutes, untouched but still warm.

“... Are you eating a kebab?”

You don’t even jump at the sudden sound of a voice to your side, remaining in your seat and facing forward as the owner comes around to sit across from you, seat scraping the ground. The familiar sight of your best friend as she gets comfortable in front of you makes the urge to spill your current troubles to her rise within you, but just barely you resist. It’s already a mess enough as it is, you don’t need to add to it.

“And if I am?” you ask, raising a brow in challenge. If she’s surprised you’re getting defensive over food that is clearly a very indulgent choice, then she doesn’t show it.

Sera instead laughs, her eyes closing in her mirth as she sweeps her hair over her shoulder and out of her face. “Seriously? It’s almost ten in the morning, you didn’t want something a bit lighter to munch on? Lunchtime isn’t that far away.”

You grumble incoherently, taking a generous bite of the food in question and glaring at the sweet chilli sauce that threatens to drip down your hand as a result. She simply smiles at you, taking out the container of fruit she likely cut up and packed the night before along with a fork, and digging in. This is a bit of a ritual, since your classes align every second day or so— the two of you usually meet after the first class of the morning for something to munch on and chat over. You both eat in silence for a while before she speaks up again, the chatter of a nearby couple apparently reminding her of something she had to say.

“Oh!” she bursts around a mouthful of kiwi fruit, pointing her fork at you as her eyes widen almost comically. If you weren’t busy attempting to chew and not choke on an alarmingly sized mouthful of meat and lettuce, you might have laughed. “Did you see?!”

Ignoring the feeling of apprehension beginning to seep into your abdomen, you tilt your head in question, prompting her to continue. Thankfully, the overly excited girl takes a moment to finish chewing what is currently in her mouth before she speaks once more.

“Did you see?!” Sera repeats, with just as much zest as before. She quickly amends her statement at the perseverance of your questioning gaze. “Or rather, did you hear? Everyone is talking about it!”

The feeling of apprehension in your tummy grows heavier, weighing it down further, but you can only continue to chew your food with a sense of resignation as the girl reaches into her bag for her phone, pretty, manicured fingernails tapping against the screen with a satisfying sound once it has been retrieved from the depths. Her fingers fly across the screen a few times, metal bangles around her wrist tinkling as their charms collide, before she is setting it down and sliding it over to you. Just as you had expected, what she is showing you is the CCU Love Letter post that displays the entirety of your shamefully romantic poem. You swear, the one time you let yourself be a sap and it gets plastered all over the internet for the entire campus to see.

A part of you is thankful you’d figured it out and seen it earlier in the day, because you know that if the first time you saw it was when Sera showed you then your following reaction would have given you away instantly as the author. Of course, you didn’t know why that would be a bad thing— she was your best friend, this was the kind of shit you should be telling each other. You supposed you just weren’t emotionally prepared enough for the embarrassment that would follow your recount of events. So, it is a confession that can wait until another day when you’re less… vulnerable.

Eyes narrowing at the post displayed before you, you glare at the number that displays reactions and comments. It’s gotten bigger, much bigger, since you last checked, and you don’t like that at all. A sense of betrayal fills you at the thought of the student population doing you dirty like this— are you not bros in suffering? Where is the solidarity? The sisterhood? The brotherhood? The sting of this betrayal is not one that you will forget anytime soon.

You make a discontented noise around the food in your mouth, one that Sera misinterprets as one of incredulity and interest, and wallow in a distinct feeling of regret as she immediately takes it as a signal to let her building excitement flow. This is probably the most interesting thing that has happened for her all semester, you don’t doubt she’s going to hold onto it for a while— you can only hope and pray the same won’t be the case for everyone else.

“Some poor soul in our writing course accidentally emailed their assignment to the entire cohort, and then from there someone must have leaked it and submitted it to the CCU Love Letter page,” Sera whispers, as though she’s spilling trade secrets to you. Her words make it seem like she feels sorry for the idiot that has messed up so badly— little did she know that idiot is you— but the expression displayed on her elfish features is anything but sympathetic. It is excitement and a tinge of something else that gleams in her eyes, but you choose not to dwell on it for the sake of your sanity. You feel like you’re going to implode.

“God,” you begin after finally swallowing the gargantuan mouthful you’d taken before, like the idiot you’re gradually proving yourself to be. “That’s so… I feel so bad for them, whoever they are…”

Sera doesn’t even notice the awkward nature of your weak attempt at contributing to conversation, too busy scrolling through her phone— a quick peek tells you she is reading through the comments on the post. You resist the urge to smack the phone out of her hands. You’re a rational being, you’re above such caveman instincts.

“It sucks for them,” she agrees, once more completely unsympathetic. You can’t say you’re surprised; Sera is the type to develop tunnel vision of sorts whenever it comes to the latest bit of gossip or news across campus. “But god, it’s so juicy… I wonder who shared it— I wonder who wrote it?”

Wisely, you choose this moment to take another, perhaps unwisely-sized, bite of your second breakfast. Sera drums her fingers against the flesh of her cheek as she skims through the comments once more, making a sliver of irritation prick your insides.

“Is this what everyone is talking about?” you query, unable to help your next line of questioning. “Why is everyone so hyped up about it?”

Sera hums, bright eyes flicking from her screen to meet your own. You think she looks perhaps a bit too gleeful considering her best friend is suffering immensely at this current point in time, but then again… it’s not like she knows.

“Don’t you see it?” she asks, tinted lips curling. She pauses only to flick her finger over her screen, scrolling through the ridiculous plethora of comments under the post. “It’s like a modern-day rom-com storyline! Everyone is rooting for the mystery author and their ‘one true love’, and the fairytale ending that is bound to result… I’m pretty sure if people had any idea who the author was there would be OTPs and ships already, to be honest.”

Her words have a shudder of horror rolling down your spine before you can stop it, but thankfully her attention is otherwise occupied with the comments once more.

“Touching…” you attempt to smile but can feel it come as more of a grimace, the panic from earlier beginning to return at even the slightest mention of a hypothetical situation where your identity is revealed. “I suppose that would be kind of romantic…”

Sera hums, nodding, and spears the juice-box you didn’t even realise she had with an alarming amount of vigour. Her grin bunches her cheeks as she faces you again. “I’m dying to find out who the author is and who they wrote the poem about, though!”

With a slightly sickening feeling in your stomach, you take another hasty bite of your food. “Mmhm, me too.”

Is it too late to flee the country?

x x x

By the time your ‘brunch’ with Sera ends and you’re making your way to your next class, you’re fighting the imminent return of the anxiety and panic from earlier. You feel a little high-strung, admittedly, and you’re sure that anyone who passes you in the halls must get the message to give you a wide berth. Resiliently, you continue to console yourself with the fact that no matter your paranoia and fear, no one knows it was you who wrote it. You cling to this a bit like a lifeline, and while a part of you acknowledges that isn’t a very healthy way of dealing with the situation the other parts are living la vida fucking loca and dancing on the precipice of a cliff, the edge of which reveals the possibility of a minor mental breakdown. You’re far too tired to be dealing with this shit but karma got its kiss for you, you guess. What the hell did you even do to deserve this again?

It’s as you near the room where you attend your History of Music class that your attention is wrought from your depressing inner monologue and drawn to a slight commotion in the small seating area to the side. Unsurprisingly, the first person you see is the tall noodle of a man that usually haunts the halls of the musical arts building— surprisingly, the second thing you see is that he’s currently surrounded by a gaggle of girls and guys alike, who flock around him in a manner not all that dissimilar to the way reporters yap at people walking up the steps to a courthouse. You squint, wondering if you were seeing things— since when was Kim Namjoon this popular? Did he commit some blasphemous act forbidden to university students? You once heard he attempted to cut a fruit with the blunt side of a knife, but you didn’t think that counted as a crime against the university— that was more of a crime against common sense sort of thing.

As you walk past, pace quickening because that is one mess you most certainly want no part in from the looks of it, you catch a few of the words thrown into the air. Brows furrowing in confusion, you hasten your steps even more in accordance with the sudden shred of alarm tickling your ribs. The questions the students, who in all honesty look like a bunch of first-years, are throwing at him are all about the moon, and to the odd stranger nearby probably sound like nonsense. To you though… let’s just say that after the events of today so far you have a healthy dose of fear already coursing through yours system and aren’t about to risk your face being caught anywhere near that line of questioning no matter how ridiculously paranoid it made you seem.

“Hey, not to be rude but, uh, I kind of have somewhere to go…” you catch Namjoon’s low register as you zoom past, unable to resist the urge to spare him a brief glance out of curiosity. There are men and women grabbing at his clothes like lost children and he has a look of complete and utter alarm, mixed with a bit of befuddlement, as he attempts to pry their grip off. “Please… my reputation is at stake— HEY, WHERE DO YOU THINK YOU’RE TOUCHING—”

Unfortunately for you, your haste to leave the scene means that you’re entering your classroom, the door clicking shut behind you and muffling the sounds of the ensuing struggle, before you can catch what happens next. Angry at yourself for moving too fast for once, you move to your usual seat in a similar manner to a sulking toddler and settle in for the lesson. The teacher arrives soon after and you wish you could say your attention was stolen from the scene you’d just witnessed but alas, today was not the day your poor, weathered professor finally received your complete and undivided attention.

For once, the lesson that usually drags on passes quickly, although you think this probably has something to do with the fact that you weren’t paying attention like, at all. Which for you wasn’t unusual, but you were particularly distracted today— understandably so— and you were in all honesty surprised that your teacher hadn’t called you back to earth at any point in the lesson.

Pointedly ignoring the chatter and topic that is becoming so hauntingly familiar to you as the day wears on, you attempt to reassure yourself again as you depart the room once the class has ended. Everything is fine, this is just a temporary fad, a brief trend. It will die down soon like all trends do, surely.

You aren’t sure if you could have really convinced yourself of that completely, but the further into the day you get the wearier you become. As the day continues, you also begin to notice an increasing number of weird incidences. You haven’t touched your phone since this morning and, quite frankly, refuse to until you get home— at which point you will clear your alarms and attempt to sleep through your problems and the entire weekend. Just barely do you resist the urge to pull out your phone when, on the way to your next class, you see a large gathering of people in the lush, green courtyard area outside the older part of the campus. Slightly concerned, you eye the group when you catch sight of them in between columns, the fact that you’re a little pressed for time being the only thing stopping you from halting in the middle of the path and squinting to see better.

You nearly stumble in your steps though, when you finally discern what is going on. What you thought might have been a pop-up food stall or a club gathering was actually a tall male— who you quickly recognised as one of the campus heartthrobs, Kim Seokjin— who appeared to be holding court over the small mass of people that had gathered before him. You couldn’t shut your mouth it dropped so far open in incredulity at what you were seeing as the male yelled something indiscernible and stepped up onto— onto a stool?— and began gesturing emphatically, as though he was a fresh hire presenting his first pitch in front of company executives.

Coming back to your senses somewhat, you try to shut your mouth and turn on your heel, returning to your original path, as quickly as possible. You’re pretty sure his brand of idiot is contagious and you aren’t willing to hang around and find out if it’s airborne. A part of you desperately wants to know what the theatre major is being so dramatic over, but the remainder reminds you that he’s a theatre major and therefore prone to being dramatic about anything and everything he can get his hands on. You pointedly ignore the tiny minority in your mind that whispers suspiciously that god, what if he was talking about the poem?

Nope, he isn’t. Not a chance. You’re safe because the poem is in writing and you’re eighty-five percent certain Seokjin doesn’t know how to read.

Your next class passes in a little bit more of an anxious haze than the last, and you should be relieved because it’s technically your last class of the day but, unfortunately, your current source of income takes the form of tutoring sessions that occur three days of the week and are held in the closest library to the edge of campus that you leave from. Considering that, despite your two hour block of tutoring that you have yet to get through, you have finished classes for the day, your mood is considerably lifted. As well as that, you’ve either grown very good at blocking the voices out or people have finally stopped gossiping about your stupid poem. Regrettably and unbeknownst to you, the part of you that deep down knows the latter is most definitely not the case would soon be proven right.

The soft scent of vanilla and caramel isn’t one you’d traditionally associate with a library, but thanks to the soft-spoken library worker that resides in the one you frequent it’s a scent that greets you often. The young student enjoys having a nice-smelling work environment and you’re not one to complain; while you like the smell of books and paperback you hate the musty undertones that accompany it in libraries. The second you step foot into the library, somewhat early for your first session, your gaze first zeroes in on the table you usually take, free for you to plop your ass in once more, and second onto the tall form of the boy behind the front desk. You decide to throw him a quick greeting on your way over, for once momentarily distracted from the prominent problem that has followed you through the day.

“Hey, Koo!” you throw a smile over your shoulder as you pass the desk, missing the way the boy startles and drops the thick textbooks in his hold all over the desk. You hear the noise though, and when you turn back the boy, Jungkook, is flushed bright blossom pink and hurrying to bend and gather the scattered tomes. Embarrassed that you scared him so badly he dropped absolutely everything in his grasp, you hurry to take your seat and duck out of view. God, can you please just catch a break today? You’re not asking for much, just a little reprieve from the all-encompassing humiliation that’s been dragging after you like a second shadow all day.

Settling into your seat and avoiding looking back to the front desk like the plague, you bring out the books and materials you’ll need— your first client is a bright-eyed, bright-smiling boy whose name the whole campus pretty much knows thanks to a somewhat hilarious incident that ensued in his first year and had you instantly very easily convinced to stay away from moonshine when looking to get drunk off your face. His sunshine-y disposition meant that what would have been crippling for the social wellbeing of anyone else, had actually turned him into one of the most well-known and popular students that attended the university. It is incredible and you are in awe of it, but have yet to crack the code of exactly how he did it. In all honesty at this point you’re willing to accept that it was just part of his nature that had people loving him unconditionally.

The peace and quiet of the library is more than welcome at this point, and you are able to enjoy it without qualm for a good few minutes before your still-racing mind begins to get antsy. You’re not one that deals well with boredom or being patient for extended periods of time, and you got here early enough before the session that its too much time to pass quickly and not enough to spend doing anything meaningful, like studying. You consider your options for a moment, pondering your last resort. It isn’t the most appealing idea right now, but the thought of sitting in boredom for another however-long-it-took-Hoseok-to arrive is even more unappealing. It is for this reason that you finally cave and reach into your bag, pulling out the phone that has remained untouched since early morning. The screen lights up and regrettably unlocks before you can read the notifs, thanks to the over-eager facial recognition feature your phone has. Deciding to just bite the bullet, you open facebook and click the post to survey the damage so far.

Instantly, you are filled with regret. You don’t know how but the stupid thing has become even more popular since the last time you saw it, and to your absolute horror not only has the reactions and comments increased but also the number of shares. Wincing and regretting your choice of schooling, you allow your finger to press somewhat shakily onto the ‘view more’ option in the comments. Your screen adjusts to fit more into view and you don’t get very far before you’re freezing in your seat, heart stuttering anxiously. There, in the body of the most popular comment, is a link— your stomach sinks as you press it, swallowing heavily. What are you about to see, did someone post a response to your poem? Are people making fun of you? Of your shitty, sappy writing? You wait with bated breath as the page finally loads.

You nearly throw your phone.

Just as you feared, the link leads to a post made in a forum on one of the most popular sites that students at this university used to keep up to date on things that were usually dumb or none of their business, aptly named ‘CCU Campus Stalker Space’. It is the first post in a subforum labelled, “Mystery Moon Author & Their Mystery Muse”, and a feeling of nausea begins to rise within you before you even read the first word.

‘posted by u/triceratops [12:36PM]:

unless you’ve been living under a rock all day, you’re bound to have seen or heard about the latest drama to take the campus by storm. it has been learnt from various sources that in the early hours of this morning a poem was sent to the entire cohort of a creative writing course, presumably by accident, and then leaked to the CCU Love Letters page where it has since taken off and gone viral among the students. the questions on everyone’s minds right now are no doubt the same— who is the author, and who is the subject of this lovely poem? well, that’s what we aim to find out, and that’s what i have dedicated some time to figuring out this fine friday. this thread will be dedicated to getting to the bottom of this mystery, and finding the answers we all want, as well as bringing about the happy ending we’re all rooting for! now, please find below my analysis on the poem and the situation, and the connections i have been able to make thus far ^^’

Distantly, you feel your breath quickening slightly as your chest begins to pinch, wide eyes locked on the screen as you continue to read as though in a trance. Your fingers grip the pen in your hold so hard that it threatens to snap and still, you can’t stop reading— even as abject horror begins to seep into your abdomen and slide over your insides like slick ichor and oil.

‘after analysing the poem extensively, there is one clear theme that surfaces frequently throughout; that of the sky, the stars, but most importantly— the moon. evidence and instances of this will be attached in the post below this, but before that i will say that, taking into consideration the various personalities and reputations attending this university, i have been able to narrow potential subjects/muses of the poem down to seven people. each of them is tied to the moon in some form or another, leading me to include them in this shortlist— i will include my reasoning in the post below this along with the other information. without further ado, here are the seven people i believe to be strong candidates for possible subjects of the poem by our mystery author;’

You want nothing more than to stop reading, to throw your phone and flee the scene, yet you cannot stop— each word your eyes rake over hammers home a feeling of dread and horror that swirls with the distinct sensation of regret within you. One after the other, the names listed below the paragraph you just finished punch out the remaining shards of your sanity and ground them to bits.

‘Kim Seokjin’

Your teeth sink into your lip, gripping at the flesh anxiously.

‘Min Yoongi’

You feel kind of faint, hints of the panic from earlier in the day brushing your senses.

‘Jung Hoseok, Kim Namjoon’

The slightest sting of pain registers in the back of your mind from the pressure with which your fingers are gripping the table increases, knuckles turning white.

‘Kim Taehyung’

Each name your eyes pass over brings you closer to the section that has an undercurrent of fear thrumming in your veins.

‘Park Jimin, Jeon Jungkook’

Your brain almost refuses to let you read the next part, still reeling over the information it just recieved, but as though you’re in a haze your eyes continue to roll down the screen anyway, thumb scrolling absently.

‘these are the candidates i believe most likely to be the subject of the poem. before we explore further on that, i will list those i have narrowed down as potential authors. the list of students in the writing course is vast, but i have been able to discern the most likely few— only 115 of the 423 students in the course submitted their assignments by email, and of those only 12 were in the class that had the deadline that aligns with the time the author’s email was sent. here are the possible authors of the poem;

Jodi Figuro Lee Melody Sarna Sinter Lee Sera…’

Impatient and desperate to prove yourself and your worst suspicions wrong, your eyes skip ahead, scanning frantically. To your absolute horror, you find exactly what you were looking for, exactly what you feared.

‘and finally; y/n l/n.’

For a moment your mind is silent, buzzing almost like a fluorescent light in a classroom, and then the information fully registers and you kind of want to hurl. The last of your sense and sanity is thrown out the window, food for dogs, and you shoot from your seat, cramming your belongings back in your bag. Oh god oh no, oh no, oh no, oh no—

This can’t be happening— it is happening, oh good lord you’re a good person why is this happening to you? You shouldn’t have sent that stupid email in the state you were in, hell you probably shouldn’t have even written that poem in the first place. Now it’s a mess, a big, massive mess and oh god you can’t even console yourself because now you’re a suspect! Now people think you might be the one who wrote the poem! And you are! But people cannot know that! You nearly trip over the chair in your haste to flee. You want to go home, oh lord do you want to dive beneath your covers and perish in the suffocating comfort of their embrace. Is that too much to ask? You really don’t feel like you’re asking too much—

“Hey, y-y/n are you okay—”

You jump so badly at the sound of a voice behind you that you nearly throw your bag into their poor, undeserving face. The abrupt spin you perform on your heels has you facing who you quickly realise is Jungkook, who you rationally know works here and has likely come over out of concern, but all your brain can think at the sight of him is SUSPECT and suddenly your fight or flight instinct is decisively engaged.

“No! Y-yes!” your brain isn’t fast enough to catch up to your mouth, brain cells on their absolute last fucking legs. “It’s not you!”

Poor Jungkook stares at you with a look of complete and utter befuddlement, whipping out the puppy eyes that usually have you caving when he asks for help sorting textbooks at the desk but right now you’re a shell of a woman, a ghost of who you were this morning before all of this, and you can barely summon coherent thought let alone carry a conversation.

“I— what?” the boy is stuttering but you’re three seconds away from a mental breakdown wherein you scream and dig a hole to shove your head in the dirt like a disillusioned ostrich and you can’t handle this right now.

Your brain is running on a loop and the sad truth is that your speech isn’t much better. “Not!” you almost yell, voice at an absolutely inappropriate volume and pitch for a library. “Not you! It’s not you!”

You then have the sense of mind to flee while you can, and without further ado spin and bolt out of the library. If you can just get home in one piece you can gorge yourself on ice-cream, the expensive shit, and pretend none of this ever happened. Head in the sand, that’s where you want to be.

Unfortunately for you, it seems the universe has other plans. You don’t even make it out of the library before you run into the next person to push you closer to a mental breakdown.

“Woah, y/n, where are you going?” the alarm riddling Hoseok’s tone might have touched your heart on any other day, but right now you were too focused on your escape to appreciate the sentimental value of the moment. “We have a session right now? Hey, are you okay?”

You go to tell him that no, you are not, in fact, ‘okay’, but all that escapes you for a moment is a choked sound from the depths of your larynx. You don’t think Hoseok has ever looked as concerned for another person’s wellbeing as he does now, dark eyes wide and slightly frightened. Is it you? You feel like your head is about to explode, does it show?

“Nghgh…. Hoseok,” your voice is a little too high and it only serves to alarm the poor redhead even more. “For personal reasons… I will be cancelling away— passing today— away— I will have cancel. I’m s.. I need to go.”

Making the most of his current shocked-senseless state, you turn and begin to dash down the hall once more. Are you acting suspicious? God you hope not—

“y/n, wait—”

“IT’S NOT YOU!” you squawk in a mismatched response, scurrying down the hall as fast as your wobbly legs will take you. Each step you take is a step closer to home, each step you take is a step closer to home—

Careening around the corner of the library hall, only metres away from the glass double doors that mark the entrance, the last thing you expect is to almost run into two of the other people who are on that god forsaken list.

Kim Taehyung, with his artistically messy mop of light honey hair, is leaning against the wall that houses the vending machines. He appears to be mid-discussion with the shorter red-haired male before him that you know to be his friend, Park Jimin, who in all honesty you don’t think even goes here? You’re so close to the exit that you’re almost frothing at the mouth in relief yet you can’t help the way your eavesdropping little ears pick up on their conversation.

“Have you ever heard of this dude, Kim Nam— what was it? Kim Nam-Moom? Nam-Moon?” It is Jimin that is currently talking, gestures wild and emphasised as he shifts his weight and cocks the hip that has his hand on it. “Anyway whatever his name is that bitch has gotta go, there can only be one winning protagonist in this romcom and it’s gonna be me.”

Taehyung, who thankfully hasn’t seemed to catch sight of your wired form yet, slaps a hand to his chest as his mouth drops open. The part of you that isn’t running around and bouncing against the walls of your skull like a headless chicken thinks that he’d probably do pretty well in your Tuesday morning drama class, he has that sort of air.

“I’m on the list too?” he says, and points a finger at his friend, brows raising. You think the effect he is looking for with his expression is somewhere between heartbroken and accusatory and, oddly enough, he achieves it for the most part. His voice drips with challenge. “Are you gonna kill me, Jimothy, after all I’ve done for you?”

Admittedly, a particularly-wired part of you wants to burst into borderline hysterical laughter at hearing the male call Jimin, who is actually the second student you tutor every other day after Hoseok, something like ‘Jimothy’, but your instincts are still stuck on fight or flight and your poor brain gets stuck choosing between them. The end result is like when you can’t choose whether to say ‘have a good day’ and ‘goodbye’ and end up saying ‘have a goodbye’ instead.

Your first bet is to dart past and hope they don’t see you, but when you embark on that journey it takes all of a second for their gazes to move to you and for you to be, regrettably, caught out. Panicking, you halt to point at both of them and present your winning argument.

“It’s not either of you!” It comes out a garbled mess and you want to shrivel up and die already, but somewhat productively choose to instead channel that energy into your prompt escape from the scene.

Before either of them can even open their mouths and ask what you mean or, better yet, if you’re alright, you’re already bolting to the glass doors and darting through the first narrow gap big enough to fit you through it as they automatically open.

Realistically, you know that everyone is looking at you because you give off the energy that you’re about to have a mental breakdown and not because they know, or even suspect you’re the author. Even so, it feels as though everyone’s eyes are on you at once and you suddenly feel extremely paranoid, making the executive decision to shortcut through a building in an effort to escape the weight of their gaze.

Lady Luck has truly scorned you and thrown you to the dogs, you know this because the second you step foot into the building, the glass door not even having time to slide shut behind you, you’re being pulled to the side and hands are gripping your shoulders.

“y/n! Please tell me I need to know.” To your utter shock and horror it’s Namjoon that has you in a panicked death-grip and you want to fall back and let the wind carry you away to a place where none of this is happening to you. You’ve hardly come to terms with the fact you’ve managed to so far run into five of the seven candidates mentioned in that stupid post when he continues, shaking you a little. His eyes are wide and filled to the brim with concern, but for what you will never know.

“Do I look like a Nam-boob to you?”

A scream bubbles in your throat before you have the presence of mind and self-control to stop it, and you yank yourself from his hold with a shriek. You don’t even have the capacity to process how dumb what he just said is, nor the energy for the incredulity that would follow. All you can manage, mind stuck on the fact that he was listed as a possible candidate and you cannot have him thinking he is the subject of the poem, is a sharp, warbled, “IT’S NOT YOU, EITHER!”

With that, you leave him standing in place, wide-eyed and slightly scared as you tear off down the hall like a madwoman. In your haste to flee and the result of your poor decision-making earlier, you don’t even realise you’ve entered a building you’re completely unfamiliar with until it’s too late. Relief floods you as you find an exit, finally, and you bolt from the building as quick as your legs can take you.

You emerge onto the grassy area that you’d passed by earlier, bag slipping from your shoulder almost as you register the throng of people dispersing from the centre of the area— you choose to ignore it for the sake of your current mental state. Perhaps unwisely, you take this as a moment to catch your breath and adjust your bag, but evidently it is a moment too long because barely a split-second later there is another all-too-familiar voice greeting your ears and making you jump five feet into the air.

“y/n?” The voice is coloured with surprise and you turn, a knowing horror lurking in the pit of your abdomen, to see the one and only Kim Seokjin standing before you. His eyebrows shoot up at the sight of your face and the confirmation it is, indeed you. He is apparently blind to your frazzled appearance, you note this because he immediately continues like nothing is amiss in your current high-strung presentation.

“Aw, y/n, you literally just missed the greatest TEDtalk of my career, perhaps even all time,” his plush lips are tugging into a shit-eating grin and you can feel your last brain cells, the final frontier, depleting just looking at him. “You see, I just brought around thirty-something people to see the light on why I am the true subject of the moon poem. Don’t worry though, the next session will start soon, you didn’t miss out. I’m actually booked out until about eight PM so you’re kind of lucky—”

A muted sound, awfully akin to a sob, escapes you, but the pink-haired male doesn’t even notice, too busy enjoying the sound of himself talking. He turns to you, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder. Compassion drips from his features, brows furrowed as he places a hand on his heart.

“I understand you must have heard the news late and rushed straight here to hear my piece… fear not young padawan for I am nothing if not a humanitarian always willing to help those in need.”

“You’re so stupid,” you finally manage to dislodge the incredulity holding your tongue in place and your words come out in a sob. You slap your hand to your face as your eyes genuinely sting with tears. “You’re so— so stupid oh my god, I’m going to kill you—”

It’s like the fucker is deaf to anything that isn’t praise and compliments because he’s not even remotely phased by your words. The simper that curls his lips kind of makes you want to throw your fist in his face but instead you turn on your heel, choosing to be the bigger woman.

The sensible thing to do would be head in the direction you need to go to get home, but you’re currently too focused on the need to escape and instead end up darting across the field into another building. If the universe won’t let you go home then you guess you’ll just lock yourself up in a janitor’s closet or something for some reprieve. You hear Seokjin yelling after you as you make a hasty retreat, despite your best efforts to block him out.

“Should I book you in for a later session? y/n? HEY COME BACK YOU KNOW I NEED PRAISE AND VALIDATION DON’T YOU DARE LEAVE WITHOUT GIVING IT TO ME—”

The firm thud of the next building’s doors closing behind you might just be the best sound you’ve heard all evening. Eager to put even more distance between you and Seokjin, you start to move once more. Idly, you recognise the building as the one next to the engineering centre— the architecture building? You know this part of campus is actually close to the dorms you used to stay in, but the realisation isn’t as comforting as you wish it was.

Feeling like an absolute shell of a woman at your complete and utter witt’s end, you scrape your feet down the halls with all the energy of a tired victorian-era ghost. Closet, or a classroom? Which is a better place to have a mental breakdown? If you don’t cry soon you’re worried the suppressed tears are going to leak out your pores, and you really don’t want to look or feel like you’re sweating a monsoon’s worth of tears. Realising that classrooms come with the risk of students entering whenever they please, you settle on the next closet you see embedded into the wall. It’s a room deep into the bowels of the building, not too far from the bathrooms you accidentally stumbled upon last time you were here. The sight of it brings a morsel of hope amongst the trauma the day has brought you and you think any minute now you’re really going to cry from the stress. The thin plaque near the top of the door informs you that this particular closet houses cleaning supplies and you’re not really in a position to be picky so you take what you can get.

Eager for the next best thing besides the sweet release of death— complete and utter solitude, for anyone wondering— you waste no time in gripping the handle and yanking the door open. Usually you’d rather tear your own toes off and feed them to the monstrous fish in the lake than trespass into a cleaning closet but you’re truly a hair’s breadth away from total mental collapse and at this point in time you could care less. You should have known that the universe wasn’t going to let you choose a damn closet in peace.

As you swing the door open with enough force that the hinges squeak, there are several things that come immediately and alarmingly to your attention. First, is the light hanging from the ceiling which is already on and humming softly. Second, is the tall old-school mop leant against one of the walls in the small space, a pair of mismatched googly eyes slapped onto the twisted bundles of thread that hang limply, despondently, on the side of the mop not pressed against the wall. Third, the closet reeks of must and sweat and a sneeze is already building in your nostrils when you realise the fourth and fifth, arguably the most alarming, details about the closet.

You’re not alone in the space and the male standing kind of slumped against the wall, momentarily frozen and staring at you with wide eyes, is someone very familiar to you. Min Yoongi, your old RA from when you were staying in the dorms last year, stands like a deer caught in headlights before you— your gaze trailing the length of his pale arm leads you to the fifth and final discovery that, arguably, is probably the one that finally pushes you over the edge. Your brain flatlines and heat floods your face so unbearably you feel like your head is about to tip off your shoulders.

It would seem as though you’ve walked in on Min Yoongi having a bit of good, old-fashioned one-on-one time with Min Jr.

The two of you stand in silence for a few seconds as the situation sinks in, your eyes unable to remove themselves from where they are fixed on his Min Sceptre until you forcibly tear them away. It’s only as your cheeks burn and your gaze flicks shamefully between his face and where his hand stays frozen mid-stroke that Yoongi seems to realise you’re not an apparition and indeed he’s been caught with his literal hand down his literal pants— well, they’re open and halfway down his legs but you get the idea.

For some reason, the male doesn’t think to tuck away his junk before he begins speaking in defence of himself and his actions. It hangs loud and proud still engaged and engorged, ready for battle, as he sputters in an attempt to form a response.

“It’s not- not what it looks like— actually,” the shamed expression that had contorted his features quickly twisted into one of indignance; shamefully you note that he’s still full-mast and not looking like he’s about to lower any time soon. “It’s exactly what it looks like. What, you want me to say sorry? Can’t a man jerk his gherkin in peace? I don’t have to explain myself to you!”

Your mouth drops open, brain still decisively flatlining and out of commission for probably the next few days, and the male continues on, his free hand flying into the air to gesture emphatically while the other remains in a trusty grip around the long balloon that still— still— doesn’t look like it’s going to deflate anytime soon. “I just need five minutes— five minutes! — without a freshman asking me for some god damn fucking TOILET paper, alright?”

You really can’t help but wonder, how is it that he’s still got such impressive blood flow to his lower region despite the situation and his rapid, indignant defence. He drops into silence for a moment, dark eyes looking at you expectantly. You’re still speechless.

“Well?” he prompts, his free hand resting on his hip in a posture similar to that of a middle-aged mother with a can-I-speak-to-your-manager haircut scolding her misbehaving child. “What do you have to say for yourself?”

“I…” you feel kind of faint, too much blood rushing to you head, and struggle to formulate a fitting response— and really, what the hell can you say in response to this? He’s still standing there with his dick out! His DONG-saeng! His home-grown churro! Is he not embarrassed, at all? How is he still fully pumped and rearing to go?! “Y… p-pee- peen—”

“Go on, do you have anything to say about rudely walking in on me at such a crucial moment? Mop-ssi here was about to get to the good stuff, do you have any idea—”

For the first time since you’d entered the closet, Yoongi releases his grip on his ramrod serpent and your gaze is caught, once more, as it bounces heavily in the air. All the remaining blood in your body rushes to your head and you have a moment of realisation that you’re about to literally pass out, right before you do. At least, you think as your vision fades to black and the last thing you see is Min Jr winking at you salaciously, at least you were finally getting some reprieve from the nightmare this friday turned into. When you wake everything will be fine, this will be just a dream. It’s fine, it’s all over now.

Unfortunately for you it is, in fact, not over.

— • masterlist | intro | next • —

[please like & rb and pls pls pls let us know what you think!! <3 thank u for reading!]

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artificialqueens · 4 years

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525,600 Minutes With You, Chapter 2: February (Branjie) - writworm42, hy-jinkx

A/N: Here’s the second of twelve chapters!

You can also read on AO3!

In retrospect, maybe asking Brooke out on Valentine’s day had been overkill.

At the time, it seemed like a nice, romantic idea. It was like Vanessa liked to say–Valentine’s day was made for the four Ls: love, lust, like, and lesbians. So what better day than that to have a first date than one that let you suss out and cycle through all of the above? Plus, if the relationship did go anywhere, it would be a fantastic story to tell their children. And their grandchildren. And their great-grandchildren.

But Vanessa was getting ahead of herself.

It really had seemed like the perfect idea, and Brooke must have felt the same way, since she agreed to it.

Only then she texted Vanessa half an hour early that she was already at the restaurant they’d booked a table at. And when Vanessa showed up, she realized that her dress and and natural makeup didn’t hold a candle to the fancy cocktail dress, red lipstick, and flawless hairdo Brooke had come wrapped in.

It was then that she realized that in her haste to create love, lust, and like among herself and this other lesbian, she had accidentally set the bar far higher than she could actually reach.

“Sorry I’m late.” Vanessa came up to the table breathlessly, her stomach flip-flopping from nerves. Thoughts raced through her mind–what did Brooke think of her, showing up on-time-but-late, in an outfit that couldn’t hold a candle to how beautiful Brooke herself looked?

But, one look at Brooke’s face told her that, by some miracle, the blonde didn’t seem to mind.

“No worries.” Brooke flashed Vanessa a little smile, and oh God, there was that smile again, the smile Vanessa had so confidently chased on New Years and that she’d been practically dying to see again ever since. “You look really cute, by the way.”

“Oh.” Vanessa brushed a piece of her hair behind her ear, blushing profusely. “Thanks.”

“So, you gonna sit or what?” Brooke’s smile widened, and holy shit, Vanessa just might have died right then and there. Blushing deeper, she slides into a chair opposite Brooke, half wishing that the seat would just sink into the floor and swallow her up completely.

It hadn’t been this hard over text. With distance and a screen between them, things had flowed as easily as they had on New Year’s Eve, any doubts Vanessa had swept away by a little extra time to think and a few silly emojis to soften anything risky. Brooke had been charming and flirty, making lots of jokes and appearing very well poised with her full sentences and attention to everything Vanessa said, leaving no text unacknowledged. It had been easy to double, triple, even quadruple text Brooke, because she would double, triple, quadruple text back; it had been easy to get excited about something Brooke sent, because she seemed to absolutely love it when Vanessa’s texts were in all caps and practically unintelligible for all their keysmashes and typos she didn’t have time to correct. Heck, sometimes they wouldn’t even need words–they’d just send each other something funny, a link or a picture, and get another link or picture back, on and on for days at a time.

I wanna meet you in person again. Brooke had punctuated the text with two kissing emojis and a heart, and Vanessa didn’t even need ten seconds to process what she’d read before she was excitedly typing a reply.

So where was all her bravado now that Brooke was sitting right in front of her? And where was silly, stupid Brooke, who sent pictures of her double-chin and cats in weird poses, instead of this polished, beautiful woman sitting in front of Vanessa? Could they really be the same person?

Did Vanessa deserve that same person?

“You look like you’re overthinking this as much as I am.” Brooke gave a short little laugh, and Vanessa noticed for the first time that Brooke was blushing, too, and that her lips weren’t just red from the lipstick, but also a little bit shredded up from chewing.

“I mean, you just look so–”

“Overdressed and overprepared?” Brooke cut in, trying and failing to laugh at herself.

“Beautiful.” Vanessa felt her heart soften as she smiled, the tension finally leaving her body.

Brooke was nervous too. It wasn’t just her.

She was doing okay.

“You look so cute.” Brooke looked Vanessa up and down, licking her lips. “And you picked such a lovely restaurant, I didn’t want to just–I wasn’t sure if–”

She didn’t finish her sentence; she couldn’t. Because the moment she had started, Vanessa had pressed a finger to her lips, shaking her head.

“You’re perfect. This is perfect.” she felt her smile grow even wider, her voice gentle. “I was just nervous ‘cause I wanna make a good impression.”

“Same here.” Brooke nodded.

“Well, you did.”

“You did for me, too. Seriously–you look wonderful, I wanna know where this dress is from later.” Brooke beamed, and just like that, every ounce of tension or inadequacy Vanessa had felt before suddenly melted away.

Brooke liked her dress. Brooke liked her.

She was doing okay.

They sat and talked for three hours, barely a break in the conversation, topics bouncing from basic information to work to opinions on TV shows, all the way to impeachment and how they couldn’t wait for it.

Vanessa drove home feeling light as air, and she had barely taken her coat off before she was texting Brooke again, thanking her for a fun night out and asking if she wanted to do it again.

Brooke’s reply came almost instantly, and within ten minutes, Vanessa had a second date next week to look forward to.

#rpdr fanfiction #brooke lynn hytes #vanessa vanjie mateo #branjie #fluff #lesbian au #holiday fic #valentine's day #525600 minutes with you #hy jinkx #writworm42 #concrit welcome #submission

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spidergwenstefani · 5 years

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@claraxbarton I heard you were having a long day so I wrote you some unrepentant fluff. Idk anything about professional costuming, but I do know some stuff about school theatre. So here’s college AU winterhawk where Bucky is also having a long day. Sorry in advance for all the typos that are definitely in here.

Bucky swears, pulling the seam ripper through the next stitch just a shade too viciously, catching his thumb with the stabby bit as thread gives way.

“Fuck,” he shouts, because the costume shop is empty save for him and this dupioni nightmare. Even the other student employees went home sometime after the witching hour, each classmate shooting Bucky a look of tragic sympathy as they individually decided witnessing Coulson’s stress hurricane wouldn’t be worth the sheer amount of caffeine they would have to chug to get through the day tomorrow. “Motherfucking shit. God damned son of a fuck. Fucking Christ on a-”

“Um,” somebody says from the doorway.

The headrush Bucky gets from looking up tells him that tomorrow will be another Gender in Shakespeare lecture skipped. There’s a guy hovering in the doorway, a small pink purse wedged under his arm and a look of… fear? Maybe? Probably fear on his face.

“What do you want?” Bucky snaps, because he doesn’t have time to spare on conversation. He still has the shoulder seams to undo, still needs to open up the sleeves, and the basement of the theatre building is drafty on the best days. Bucky’s a little worried his fingers will freeze stiff if he pauses for longer than a minute.

“Oh,” the guy in the doorway says. “Well, I came to get Bobbi’s purse for her. She said she left it here during fittings.” He gestures to the sparkly clutch under his elbow, and Bucky realizes he’s on the way out, not in.

“Okay?” If this is another one of Bobbi’s boys (pretty, fratty, and not a singular brain cell,) Bucky’s in danger of getting ensnared in a friendly conversation. He keeps his voice cold, putting on what Natasha calls his Fuck Off Face. The guy does a sort of shuffle in the doorway, physically swaying with the weight of whatever mental battle he’s having about staying or leaving.

“It’s just,” he says, stepping a little further into the fluorescent lights of the costume shop, and fuck Bobbi sure can pick them. “You seem a little. In distress?”

“In distress?” Bucky repeats, and the ice in his voice impresses even him. “In distress? Well, I have to seam rip the rest of these sleeves and salvage what I can for reworking the waist of the jacket, which was a bitch to make in the first place. I also have to take off the appliques that I put my blood, sweat, and tears into stitching on not even a week earlier. Even if I get that done before sunrise, I still have a fucking obscene amount of buttonholes to hand make, and I’ll probably have to modify the appliques for the new jacket. All because the actors are over-dramatic children who throw fits and drop out halfway through a show, and our costume shop assistant is an idiot who ruined half our dupioni right off the bat by steam pressing it. So yes, I’m a little bit fucking in distress.” The frat boy winces a little at the venom in the final word, and Bucky actually feels a twinge of regret, especially when he speaks again.

“I just meant, you look like you could use some help.”

Bucky narrows his eyes, straightening up and ignoring the way his spine pops in protest. The guy is greek life down to his toes, probably never handled anything more delicate than a football. He’s dressed in a t-shirt and jeans, a battered leather jacket thrown on to keep out the January chill.

“Can you sew?”

“I can’t make you a new jacket, but if most of your work is just cutting threads I can offer an extra set of hands.”

He makes a fair point, and if the seam ripping goes fast enough, Bucky can probably make a dent in the buttonholes before morning. He probably can’t fuck things up worse than anyone else has already.

“Okay,” Bucky says, and frat boy breaks into a crooked smile that has Bucky’s stomach feeling kind of fluttery. Maybe he should do more acting next year, see if Bobbi knows any other pretty frat boys.

The jacket is still technically in one piece, so frat boy takes the stool right next to Bucky, his thigh pressing against Bucky’s and reminding him just how much body heat he’s lost to the chill that creeps into the costume shop. Bucky hands him a seam ripper, holding up his nearly-separated sleeve.

“You just cut the threads with this. You have to work to find the stitches at first, but once the seam is cut a little more, it’s easy work.” Frat boy nods, examining his weapon. He looks incredibly serious about the weight of the whole thing, and suddenly Bucky finds himself biting back a smile. “I’m Bucky, by the way.”

“Clint,” frat boy says, sticking his hand in the small space between them. Bucky shakes it, and the warm, callused skin makes him notice how icy his own hands have turned. Clint catches his hand before he can pull it back. “You’re freezing,” he says, frowning like he’s actually worried.

“It’s a little cold in here,” Bucky agrees, not sure exactly what to do about Bobbi Morse’s boyfriend holding his hand in the wee hours of the morning.

“I guess gloves would get in the way,” Clint says, taking Bucky’s other hand and wrapping them up in his own. Clint is warm, and Bucky can tell that feeling is already creeping back into his fingertips.

“We have a lot of work to do,” Bucky points out, his voice not quite as commanding as he wanted it to be. Clint hums in agreement, like he’d already forgotten what he sat down to help with, and lets go of Bucky’s hands.

They work well together. Somehow Bucky manages to keep a semi-steady conversation through his sleep deprivation, and Clint doesn’t seem to mind when a particularly tricky part makes them lapse into silence. Bucky fights through the distraction of Clint’s thigh still pressed against his own and gets the rest of the shoulder seam cut through. They switch pieces, Clint working on opening up the sleeve while Bucky separates the other shoulder. It’s comfortable silence, and Bucky’s running on too little sleep to get very panicky about the way Clint’s foot will brush his or the quick glances he keeps shooting him.

They’ve been working for close to two hours when Clint sits back, tugging his jacket off by the sleeves. Bucky surveys their work, noting with surprise that almost all the seam ripping is done.

He feels a sudden weight on his shoulders, freezing up as Clint’s breath tickles the back of his neck.

“What are you doing?” Bucky says flatly.

“I’m giving you my jacket. You keep shivering,” Clint says, like that explains it. Bucky frowns, staring resolutely down at his work and nothing else. He hopes his cheeks aren’t as pink as they feel.

“You’ll get cold,” Bucky points out, because it’s true. Clint’s got nothing more than a worn t-shirt on under the jacket, the collar stretched out in a way that’s a little distracting. Clint just shrugs.

“I run hot. And you’re the talent here, right? Hypothermia can get me first. I’m expendable.”

Bucky doesn’t laugh, finally looking over at Clint and immediately regretting it. It’s a struggle to keep a scornful expression when faced with bright blue puppy dog eyes. Not to mention the shoulders.

“I bet Bobbi doesn’t think so. She’d probably like me to return her boyfriend in one piece.”

Clint blinks once, looking surprised. Surprised, but not guilty. Bucky’s frown deepens.

“I’m not her boyfriend,” Clint says. “I mean, we dated for a while last year but I’m not- I came to get her purse because she had a hot date and didn’t have time to come by. Maybe that makes me kind of a loser, I don’t know. I kind of can’t resist pretty damsels in distress.” Clint laughs a little at himself, then. “Also, Bobbi definitely thinks I’m expendable.”

“Oh,” Bucky says, pulling the jacket tighter around his shoulders. He blinks, Clint’s words slowly worming their way through his sluggish brain. “You think I’m pretty?”

Clint lets out a huff of air, like he was holding his breath as Bucky parsed through the conversation.

“I was hoping that’s what you’d get from that.”

“I am a little tired.”

“Take a break,” Clint says, putting his hand over Bucky’s seam ripper like that would do anything to stop him. “I think I’ve proven I can work without supervision. At least for a little while.”

“I’ll supervise you,” Bucky says, although the salaciousness is lost a little as he yawns hugely. Clint winks at him anyways, his lopsided smile coming back full force. Bucky lets him reach across the table, sliding his work away and into Clint’s space. He crosses his arms on the table, using them as a pillow so he can watch Clint work with minimal physical effort.

“You should volunteer here sometime,” he says, a little entranced by the way Clint’s blunt fingers move almost elegantly. Maybe his sport of choice has a little more finesse than football. Clint shoots him a grin.

“You trying to get more free labor out of me?”

“Oh, you have a price now?”

“The distressed damsel discount is single-use only,” Clint says, smiling down at his work. Bucky falls silent for a moment, biting his lip and enjoying the way that exhaustion has bled all his typical nervousness out of his flirting.

“What’ll it cost me?”

“A date,” Clint says, glancing sideways at Bucky, kind of anxiously. Bucky knew the words before he said them, but his heart still flutters a little now that they’ve been said. Bucky hums like he has to consider it.

“You drive a hard bargain.”

“I would settle for food, too,” Clint says hurriedly. “Or, like, if you had a dog and you let me pet it-”

“If we make it a dinner date, will you volunteer twice?”

“Okay,” Clint pauses, turning to Bucky with a small furrow in his brow. Bucky bites back a smile at how worried he looks. “I was really just trying to be cute with the whole free labor thing. You don’t owe me a date. Or food, or anything. I just want to make sure you know that, because I can’t tell if you’re being serious or not.” Bucky snorts, burying his face in his arms to hide his laugh. When he glances back at Clint, there’s a dopey expression on his face. “I would like to go on a date with you, though.”

“Does this count as a date, or volunteering? Who’s tab does this go on?”

“Bucky,” Clint groans, and hearing his name out of Clint’s mouth sets Bucky’s heart hammering again. “You’re stressing me out.”

“I would like to go on a date with you too,” Bucky says, and his face is probably about as dopey as Clint’s is.

“Cool,” Clint says, soft and a little surprised. He turns back to his work with a shy smile. “Cool. Awesome. Cool.” Bucky hides a laugh in his arms again.

“Clint?”

“Yeah?” Clint looks up immediately, his cheeks a little pink.

“I’m going to nap for a little bit.”

>>==========>

Bucky wakes up to sunlight shining directly in his eyes, and Steve shaking his shoulder belligerently. He bats at him uselessly, wincing at the crick in his neck.

“Fuck off, Stevie,” Bucky hisses, grumbling when Steve switches to sharp pokes.

“If you keep doing this, you’re going to have a hunchback by the time you’re thirty. How long have you been sleeping?”

“What time is it?” Bucky asks, petulantly not opening his eyes.

“Eight”

“At night?”

“No, Buck. What the fuck?”

“Oh. Like three hours then.”

“Well, at least you finished those buttonholes you were griping about.”

“What?” Bucky shoots bolt upright, almost falling off the stool in the process. The costume shop is marginally cleaner than it was when he fell asleep, and the jacket is flat on the worktable, the fabric from the former sleeves pressed and lying on top of it. There are other garments on the table, too. The vests Bucky had piled on the end of the table are now next to the jacket, his viciously scribbled ‘needs buttonholes!!!’ note added to in sloppy purple marker.

“I can’t sew a jacket,” Steve reads out loud, giving Bucky a very layered look, “but buttons I can do. Tried to wake you up, but you’re kind of mean when you’re half asleep. You can bring the jacket to our date.” Steve crosses his arms, wrinkling his nose a little. “He also put his phone number and a little heart with an arrow through it.” Bucky feels himself blush, biting back a smile. Steve narrows his eyes at him, doing an impeccable impression of Sarah Rogers moments away from a scolding. “Bucky. Did you give someone a blow job for buttonholes?”

“Not yet.” Bucky grins, feeling a little like he’s floating.

#my fics #winterhawk #buckyclint #claraxbarton #rated: g #but like college g #so there's a bunch of swearing

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seekthemist · 6 years

Text

You would even say it glows

As I promised, here I come with my @pynchsecretsanta 2017 fill! All my love and all my best wishes for the holidays to @mild-lunacy <3

This little tale of madness is on the themes of "the Adventure with the Once and Future Camaro" + "A weird guest needs help at 300 Fox Way and the boys are involved". It’s also the first "creative" stuff that I manage to write, away from the terrible, terrible grip of academic obligations. It has been amazing to come back to fandom my heart out, I hope it's not in a weird style because of "residual technical writing"-mode! Everything it's sadly unbetaed at the moment, so forgive and forget the typos, I swear I'll update a corrected version if I can!

All my thanks go to Sae (@picapicae), that helped me come up with this crazy plot you just read and the Pynch SecretSanta ‘17 team that organized this amazing gig!

Now, off with the reading, mostly under the cut for length!

You can also read this on Ao3!

Adam first jostled awake in total darkness, which given the early winter days could mean anything from three to seven o'clock in the morning. The reflexive switch of his brain that decided to pull his eyes open — governed by a circadian cycle Adam destroyed for himself in high school and did not realign in a semester at Columbia — was compatible with any of these options. He inhaled, gearing up to remember if there had been an alarm on the other side of his slumber, waiting from him to go to work, outline an assignment or grab breakfast while networking with his peers. His breath reverberated humid on his lips, filling his nostrils with a suggestion of smells.

Wood. A familiar sweat. Holly and musk. An impression of heat.

Adam did not open his eyes but allowed himself to exhale, bodily, resting his forehead on Ronan's nape.

Details slotted into position in an easy catalogue, disorienting in their lack of urgency.

Cold ears, a suggestion of chill from the world that somehow existed outside of the cocoon of blankets and duvet. The impossible span of Ronan's shoulders, radiating heat, and the inside of his knees brushing against Adam's. The soft, oblivious breathing of Ronan in his sleep — impossible to match in its pace, and yet Adam caught himself trying.

It was weird to be back. He should probably get up.

Ronan reached for Adam's hand where it lingered on the fabric of his shirt, and tucked it close to his chest with a deep sigh. He did not move further and his breath didn't waver.

It was good to be back. There was no rush to go anywhere.

Adam slotted his body better in their puzzle, plastering against Ronan's back. Comfortable bed and an unyielding body to hold.

He had not planned to go back to sleep, but the warmth made the back of his eyelids heavy and tingling. It was easier to burrow down and let the warmth doze him off again, after all.

********

The second awakening came to a bedroom pooled with indistinct grey light and the mattress jumping around asymmetrically. Adam's eyes were wide awake, heart pounding, before even he consciously realized it himself.

The mattress stopped moving, and an uncoordinated clattering of hooves traced its way on the wooden floor all the way down the corridor.

"Opal!" Adam protested, trying to get up and convince his tongue to come up with an appropriate reproach.

Ronan was splayed on top of him, heavy like a very seductively shaped brick and just as reluctant to being moved, so neither happened. Nor did Opal offer a distant string of unconvincing apologies mixed with complaints for having woke them up so brutally, as she usually would.

The clattering expanded all the way to the ground floor of the Barns and then suddenly quieted.

"Opal!" Adam stressed again, turning his head above Ronan's, still resting between his chest and shoulders.

"What?!" Opal's voice came from the direction of Matthew's bedroom, groggy and grumpy with sleep.

"Shit" Ronan mumbled, reproachful.

Too heavy and too unmoving, even for Adam to be distracted by the way their legs were twisted together.

"Ronan, what the hell did you just dreamt?"

All things considered, a regular morning in the Lynch household.

********

"But how can you not know what you were dreaming, exactly?"

Ronan scratched the buzzed hair on his nape, sliding down the stairs with more elegance that should be legal for someone who couldn't even move a muscle five minutes before.

"Parrish, I'm not grocery shopping when I'm dreaming!"

"Except when you are, I have to hide that heater every time my roommate is around because it heats like a nuclear reactor!"

"That college room is fucking freezing, what is your point?" Ronan gave him a stinky eye while putting on a random pair of socks and bolted out of the door without even shoes on. In the sudden burst of cold that soared through the open door, the black line of he tattoo, visible around the hem of a too-thin t-shirt, rippled like the surface of a lake in a skipping stones game. "Mary mother of Jesus..."

Adam did his best to provide Ronan with a masterful execution of an unimpressed gaze, picking up a coat from the rack before following him outside in the porch. It was as cold as Ronan’s mumbled string of swears could suggest, and missing the bed was all too easy. "My point is that we’re rushing to chase this stuff out in the cold but we don’t even know what it is."

The indiscernible mixture of frost and actual snow crackled under Ronan’s hobbling down the steps, uncharacteristically awkward in the clear attempt not to freeze his feet off. "It doesn't fucking matter, it's like an animal."

"Like what animal?" Adam feigned disinterest, even in the clear smell of attempted deflection in the winter morning air. He still followed Ronan down towards the front of the master house, where a trail of something that looked like hooves disappeared in the thin layer of snow all the way out in the field. The imprints were too big to be Opal’s, too small for a monstrosity like the night horror. None of the Barn’s animal where around, shied away in their carefully curated inside spaces, evidently wiser than the both of them.

"A horse? Another fucking goat? An oversized crazy sheep?" Ronan dragged his words, scrutinizing the field in a studious effort to avoid Adam’s gaze. He kicked on clump of frozen ground and swore again when his feet reminded him of the lack of shoes.

“Nice guesses for the hooves,” Adam mused, closing the distance with Ronan’s back and propping the forearms on his shoulders. “Are we freaking out about an oversized crazy sheep?”

“We are not freaking the fuck out.”

Adam’s smile stretched his skin against the cold air. “Good to know. Especially since you’re the one who told me that your dream animals tend not to leave the Barns.” He eyed Ronan sideways, but got no obvious reaction but a tilt of his head to brush towards him. His blue eyes were still facing forwards to where the trail disappeared, his breath fogging out slightly. “We either go back now or I’ll drop the task of amputating your feet onto Gansey.”

A snarl opened up at the idea, all white teeth and morning stubble, evidently entertained. “The lecture for something like that would be a damn trip.” Ronan turned around and looped his arm around Adam — more around his neck than his shoulders — and headed the both of them back towards the house, foul mood suddenly dropped. His strides were sort of hindered by the cold and the coarse ground getting to his feet but Ronan still moved around with confidence.

A few meters ahead, the master house stood unperturbed and yet constantly changing. In the dreary light of the cloudy day, the solid wood of the porch and the frame of most windows where dotted in twists of holly and mistletoe, the berries shining warmly. The decorations stretched further inside, through the hall and the living room. The Barns were evidently ready for Christmas.

For yet another time since his arrival a couple of days prior, Adam contemplated the sight, while retreating back into the warmth of the house. There was something indiscernible about the festive display, a delicate feeling that kept nagging at the back of his mind and pushing a part of Adam’s brain — the one desensitised from and genuinely uncaring towards all the common holidays made of family and money to spend — slightly out of balance.

He could feel Ronan’s eyes on him, though, so Adam stopped watching the tree and pushed his efforts into hanging the coat back on the rack.

“You really went all in with the decoration.”

“It’s Christmas,” Ronan replied, matter-of-factly, moving towards the fireplace to light it up and warm his feet there. “Matthew will like this.”

Matthew surely would. At the same time, Adam wasn’t sure if and how he liked it himself, and settling for a diplomatically aseptic I don’t care either way left a bad aftertaste in his mouth.

The feeling was slippery.

It would have been reasonable for Ronan to be pissed at Adam’s lack of participation to this specific brand of Lynchness, but he wasn’t. Incongruently, it was another reason for Adam to feel like he was missing something essential for this whole winter break at the Barns.

********

Following a series of contingencies, 300 Fox Way became the logical destination for Christmas Eve.

Opal cannon-balled herself out of the BMW back door as soon as Ronan parked in a free spot by the sidewalk. In her rush towards the house, completely light up and lively even from the distance, she didn’t even bother with the garden gate and just jumped over the fence to cross the perpetually overgrown grass.

Adam laughed his way out of the passenger's seat. Chainsaw had stayed at home, nested close to the fireplace, so there was no fighting to maneuver a very opinionated bird out. “Maybe they shouldn’t have promised her that she could touch the oven.”

Ronan locked the car with the flashing click on his copy of the key and walked around to join him on the sidewalk. “What a terrible mistake. Also not my problem.”

The grin he flashed Adam — all plush lips and pointy canines — was a mesmerizing when matched with his sleek charcoal grey suit and the almost shocking splash of colour of his bordeaux tie. It would have been an impeccable Sunday best performance, appropriate even for Declan himself, if it weren’t for the loose hanging of the tie and the first two buttons of the shirt undone. Still, when they entered in the house — closing the door that Opal had left wide open behind them — Maura rushed by them, brushing Adam’s arm with one hand and giving Ronan a pointed once-over.

“Looking sleek, Ronan,” she mused, in her very everyday clothing and surrounded by an house that was evidently not in full Christmas celebration attire.

Ronan wrinkled his nose, but managed to contain the contrariness after a year and a half of exposure to the 300 Fox Way's women. “I’m going to Church right after, as soon as Declan and Matthew get here.”

“Of course you are.” Maura’s smile was gentle, but got morphed as soon as she started moving again towards the living room by her calling at full voice. “Blue! The rest of your boys are here!”

“They are not my boys!” Blue called back, but still tumbled out of one of the ground floor rooms and tackled Adam’s side in her best impression of a five-foot tall rugby player. Her skin was dark and still glowing from the wind and the sun from the recent road trip in Arizona and California, and she somehow knitted together three different pieces of woolen sweaters into an oversized dress.

Adam sunk into the embrace, “Hey, Blue.”

“Hey, Adam. Looking good, with your smart boy vibes.”

“There is indeed a clear sense of Ivy League in this hallway,” Gansey — impeccably dressed in cashmere and needlecord trousers, a failed attempt on casual ruined by the inherent poshness of his being — stepped away from a door frame and got closer to them.

There was a very civilized show of hand shaking between him and Ronan — weirdly firm and intense, thumbs slotting together, tendons lifting like wires underneath the skin — before Blue snorted in a very undignified manner. Gansey smiled sheepishly and caved, dragging Ronan close into a hug.

Ronan’s shoulders sunk down, a subtle yield of his imposing figure, one arm circling Gansey’s wide back. “Welcome home, shithead.”

Gansey smiled with the same unabashed delight he would usually reserve to dusty manuscript munched through by time. He reached with one hand and dragged Blue and Adam close. “It’s good to see you, before we go and face the snow up in Montana.”

“We first have to face your parents and the Gansey Christmas dinner tomorrow.” Blue reminded him, but leaned his face against Ronan’s arm and Ronan didn’t bark her off, weirdly subdue by the whole situation.

“Yeah, that’s a controversial truth.” Gansey admitted, but didn’t stop smiling.

Adam stayed silent through the whole exchange, Blue’s small hands clasped on the fabric of his shirt and Gansey’s grip against his arm, while Ronan towered subtly on the three of them.

It was inexplicable and way too convoluted, the way he had missed them. He had not intended to miss anyone in Henrietta, and yet here he was. Here he had been eager to be, since they told him they were going to come back for Christmas as well.

“Hey, human pile!” Henry made his way from the kitchen through the hallway, carrying an amount of plates that shouldn’t have been physically feasible for a human to balance. “Are you going to help me with this? So I can join the group hug. And just so you know, I won’t greet anyone until I can do it properly, because I’m rude like that.”

Blue laughed, Gansey started to apologise, and they all extricated from the twist of limbs without making the process awkward after too much wait.

Reflexively, Adam took a deep breath as well, and went to do his part on the setting of the table.

********

As it turned out, getting to sit down and eat dinner in a very commonplace manner was asking for too much.

The table cloth was spread over a collection of four different tables — mismatched in height and width but at least stable on their legs — and surrounded by a random amount of chairs. There was enough space at least for Opal and Gwenllian, for sure, but the latter had disappeared regally into her attic and Opal had followed suit — probably more interested in what she had in her hair today over anything on the table now that the oven was off.

Calla — very pointedly stressing that no, kids, you just need to sit the hell down and drink your mulled wine, do you think I want you messing around? — had barely put down the fifth pie, while Jimi rearranged Maura’s valiant attempt to vegetable bowls around to make space, when a very marked bang echoed from the door.

Silence fell through the living room.

They were all still turned around when the second ramming on the entrance door came. Nervousness prickled at Adam’s throat, but when he turned around to Jimi, Maura and Calla he caught them simply putting the utensil down.

“How many times did you draw The Fool today, Maura?” Jimi asked, neatly folding the pot holder over.

“Five times.” Maura’s reply was accompanied by the third loud bang.

“Is one of you gonna get that door, or are we waiting for it to get battered down?” Calla looked at all of them, a very unimpressed frown on her forehead.

Gansey and Ronan jumped on their feet in a marked, well-practice unison oiled by years of recklessness and an aptitude to crazy plans that probably beat everyone else’s in the room. While Gansey strolled, valiant as a king, towards the entrance, Adam could not help but notice that Ronan was weirdly tense.

“Do we have any guesses on what is on the other side of the door?” Henry asked, without losing the usual chirpiness, even while he snatched Blue’s pink switchblade from one of the six pockets of her dress.

“Oh, no idea, and I don’t think the Arizona guy with the rifle would follow us here.” Blue replied, trying to sound very sensible while she was actually cautious. She picked up a bat from the umbrella stand and put it on Henry’s hand in exchange of her switchblade.

“The what, now?” Adam looked at the both of them, with the clear underlying of and you haven’t told me about it why?. Still, as the only actually practical person in the room, he recovered Ronan’s mobile from where he abandoned it on the table, because someone must be able to call for help if needs must.

“I would say that’s a story for another moment.” Gansey eyed them when they lined up at his back, close to the door. Another ramming made them all wince, the door evidently shaking under the impact. “Okay, since we’re all here, I’ll open up.”

They carefully lined up on the side opposite to the hinges and Gansey borrowed Henry’s bat to push down the door handle without having to stand too close to it.

Adam didn’t know what he was expecting — and certainly could not imagine what Ronan was thinking to match the sour expression in his face — but he had somehow assumed that whatever was banging would come barging in into the entrance, escalating the action.

Instead, everything was perfectly still and they were left to stare over the threshold, the light on the inside pouring out to light up the doorsteps.

On the other side, a reindeer taller than Blue and with antlers that could easily reach the top of Ronan’s head stood innocently, already detached from all the raucous it had caused. It shook its head as in greeting, and a tinkling followed, not only from the big bell hanging from its neck but also from the jingle bells on the garlands twirled around the antlers.

The reindeer had a very bright, almost shining, red nose.

Henry bursted out in a laugh, “Is that Rudolph the reindeer?”

“It would...appear so?” Gansey was remarkably skeptical for someone who spent years of his life chasing a sleeping Welsh king.

“No, okay, I draw a line at Santa Claus,” Blue lifted her hands up, as if she could bully the reindeer out of existence. The reindeer, on its part, just shook the jingling antlers again and dragged its hooves on the worn-out concrete outside of the door.

“Fuck Santa Claus, get this thing away from here,” Ronan snarled, overcoming the weird silent stillness that apparently possessed him and making to surpass Gansey and get to the door.

Adam could feel the reality shifting around them, in that subtle way that clicked events together in his mind. The Christmas decoration, Ronan gingerly readying the house for Matthew and for the holidays, the jumping mattress, the hooves print on the icy ground.

“Shit,” he gritted out, dragging the palm of the right hand over his face. He could feel Blue, Gansey and Henry’s eyes on him like a physical presence. “That’s not Santa Claus. Ronan dreamt it.”

The howling laughter that followed from Blue and Henry echoed through the hallway. Gansey had that very peculiar expression that he wore when he was trying to maintain a subdue composure but was instead bemused.

“Fucking drop it and help me!” Ronan bit out, reaching for the reindeer.

The reindeer scurried out of his reach, the red nose shining slightly.

“Are you kidding me, Lynch, this is amazing!” Henry’s camera kept flashing, Adam couldn’t even pinpoint the moment he took his phone out to document the whole business.

Ronan and the reindeer were circling each other, in a weird mess rhythmed by the bells chiming around the animal. “Cut the crap before someone see this in the damn garden and help me, for Christ’s sake!”

“Oh.” Blue said, suddenly looking over the reindeer and into her own neighbourhood.

“Uh.” Gansey echoed, clearly conceding the point.

Even though Henrietta had admittedly seen weirder and more concerning stuff than a perfect dreamt version of Rudolph, Adam had no doubt this could be the turning point for finally getting everyone’s attention on the little town and its shady supernatural businesses.

They did get onto it promptly, then, even though Henry was most likely taking a video — “We seriously need a record of this thing, come on!” — rather than helping out.

Surprising no one, dream-Rudolph was just as ill-tempered and shenanigans prone as anything Ronan has ever dreamt, though luckily less deadly than some of his other creations. Huge and surprisingly agile, even with four of them trying to actively coordinate, the reindeer constantly escaped and refused to be cornered. The net result was a merry chase around the garden of 300 Fox Way, vaguely lit just by the light filtering from the windows of house — from which Maura, Calla and Jimi watched while sipping wine cheerfully — and from some streetlights.

“This is seriously not working!” Adam pointed out to the others, after the fourth stumble around the unkempt grass, and the reindeer ran away happily towards the other corner of the house once again.

“I’m afraid that’s true.” Gansey heaved out, resting an elbow against the bark of Blue’s favourite tree to catch his breath. “Jane…” he piped up suddenly “...is the hammock still in the Dream Pig?”

“What fucking hammock?” Ronan turned around, the reindeer having escaped him once more. He was frustrated for more than the exercise, guilt creeping out from the shades of his aggressiveness.

“You mean the net one? I think it’s under the passenger's seat...or I don’t know, maybe in the boot,” Henry stopped filming for a second to reply. How he could manage not to get levelled to the ground my Ronan’s murderous gaze was a mystery. “Oh, don’t look at me like that, four people chasing your Rudolph is already too much.”

“You know what, maybe Henry is right, maybe we’re just scaring it! And we’re not gonna catch it with a net!” Blue protested. “If we could just convince it to get closer…”

“Jesus, maggot, it’s a damn reindeer, it’s bigger than you. Not that it’s fucking difficult, but…”

Adam got moving again, and went to grab Ronan by the scruff. He was tense as a wire and ready to fight, but he did not fight Adam off. “Okay, let’s not start this. You three can try and catch it gently, Ronan and I will recover the hammock...just in case. Deal?”

“Deal.” Gansey confirmed, tossing him the keys of the Pig for him to catch.

They left Henry to put away his phone and the three of them to start a conversation on the theoretically prime method of gentle approach to wildlife. Adam tuned out comments on that time in the valley though with a weird sense of detached melancholy about adventures that did not involve him — even though he had his own share and a life that he chose for himself — and concentrate on Ronan.

“You could have just told me what we were chasing off this morning,” Adam said, matter-of-factly regardless of the risk of escalation with Ronan.

“What about the damn your creations don’t leave the Barns?” Ronan countered, dark in the face with trouble.

Adam opened the car, somehow bright in its orange paint even in the dimly lit driveaway of 300 Fox way. By unspoken agreement, he opened the boot, while Ronan slid himself in the passenger seat after a frustrating challenge with the door — which had behaved perfectly before the first leg of the road trip, so maybe Adam should really give the Camaro a look before the others disappeared North.

“That’s usually true, though. And it’s a reindeer, Ronan, not a H-bomb, you could have just told me about it.”

Ronan made a noncommittal half-grunt and rummaged around in the front, “Jesus fuck this place is a mess.”

While Adam did know a deflection when he heard one he could hardly disagree with the concept, especially while facing a boot that seemed mostly full of hiking supplies, tents, lamps and backup pairs of shoes. “Tell me about it, any luck with the hammock?”

“Fuck no. But there is even more stuff in the backseat.”

Adam sighed deeply. “I’ll come and have a look. If we don’t find it at least Blue won’t freak out about animal mistreatment and whatnot.”

Ronan snorted. “That red-nosed fucker is quick as shit. A net won’t kill it — or hurt it, Jesus — it’s just so we don’t end up on every Goddamn blog in the country.”

Adam moved around a book of maps and lifted what he hoped would be the hammock only to figure that was one of Blue’s crazy net dresses. He was just about to say something — about the blogs, the clothes, Ronan’s nervousness — when he heard the clattering noise and the clamor of voices approaching.

“Adam, watch out!”

He did, prompted by Ronan’s alert, but it did not save him from getting pushed bodily inside the car, the backseat door slamming under the impact of jingling antlers. Ronan turned around on the passenger's seat, reaching for him with clear concern while looking around suspiciously and swearing under his breath.

“I’m okay, I’m all right, it was just a shove.”

“What the fuck is that thing doing?” Ronan gritted out. His eyes followed the Dream Rudolph, currently rushing in circles around the car in a flurry of antlers, garlands and bells. A bit more in the distance, Henry, Blue, and Gansey watched helplessly, cautiously keeping out of the way of this big of an animal in a rush.

At some point around the fifth turn, the Camaro started to vibrate, shaking as if they were back at driving it in off roads paths. The reindeer stopped running around, nudging the sleek metal of the hood with his nose for a second, before turning around and getting off in a rush once again.

Impossibly, the Dream Pig followed.

Like a sleigh on a snow path, Adam and Ronan found themselves dragged along Fox way.

“Fuck, Christ,” Ronan tried to turn on the engine, reflexively, but the Camaro was as unresponsive as it had been in crazy hot days in the Virginia countryside. “Parrish, can you do something about it?”

Adam clasped his hands on the two front seats, trying to soften the increasing shaking of the car while the reindeer brought them off road, towards a dried football field immersed in the dark. “I can work engines, Lynch, not empty hoods full of flowers.”

“Fuck, you’re right. Why the hell is it doing it? How the hell is it doing it?”

They were good questions, but there was no ready answer to them. “Maybe we can try and jump off now that we’re out in a field.” Adam contemplated, trying to problem solve the situation even if it meant leaving the Camaro on its on devices with a Dream Rudolph.

Just as he was saying it, the car stopped shaking and tilted weirdly — first all the way to the left and then all the way to the right, softly and effortlessly. Ronan and Adam exchanged a very alarmed look, and then rushed to look out.

The reindeer was still running, but not on the ground. Slowly but steadily, they all lifted up, and up, and the Pig flew off in the cloudy winter sky. The Dream Rudolph’s nose was shining brighter than a beacon.

On the other side of the windows, thankfully closed, Henrietta grew smaller and smaller underneath them. They began circling the town, and it would have resembled Gansey’s faithful cardboard reconstruction of it if it weren’t for the dark. Streetlight and lit-up windows traced the town in negative, as a photography waiting to be developed, and dimmed out in the distance towards the wild darkness of the mountain and the countryside. The quiet lulling of the Camaro was nothing like the thunderous engine of the helicopter Helen flew them in, and the whistling of the wind outside the vehicle was spaced out by the jingle of bells and Ronan string of increasingly inventive swearing.

Adam pressed his forehead against the corner of the driver’s seat, and began to laugh.

Ronan stopped swearing and eyed him carefully. “Parrish?”

“Ronan…” Adam was having a hard time catching his breath. “...your reindeer is making us fly!”

Ronan was eying him suspiciously, and the worry that Adam self-control finally snapped to leave him in hysterics several tens of feet off the ground was not completely unfounded from his part. Still, it was fucking, recklessly, hilarious.

“This is amazing,” Adam reiterated, liftings his head and looking at Ronan and Henrietta gleaming on the other side of the windows. The laughing fit was only slowly subsiding. “I don’t know how you do it, and you always do it, but come on.”

Ronan back around on the passenger's seat, looking towards the windshield and over it, where Dream Rudolph was still effortlessly trotting around — the red light of its nose reflecting from the bells on its antlers in weird dots around the light brown fur.

“I was kind of hoping you could have fun,” he murmured, at the end, reluctant as ever to express any concept of emotional value.

“What, with Rudolph?”

“I don’t know. Fuck.” one hand snatched up to slide on the buzzed cut hair. “With Christmas, even? I know you don’t like it, not really. But you came back, so I wanted you to have fun. And all these silly stories were fucking fun, when we were little.”

Another laugh started pulling at the corners of Adam’s mouth. “So that’s why you dreamt me a Rudolph? To steal the Camaro from Gansey and drench me in Christmas spirit?”

“You’re an asshole, I didn’t know it could fucking fly a car!”

“Maybe it can fly only this Pig because you dreamt it as well. Why don’t you dream all the other reindeers, maybe we can fly anything with the whole pack...flock…”

“It’s a herd, you fucker,” Ronan’s tension broke into a barked laugh, finally turning back to look at Adam. Their eyes met for a second, before Ronan’s dropped on Adam’s smiling lips, as if to follow their profile and convince himself that he was actually happy.

Still perched with one elbow on the back of the driver’s seat, Adam reached to grab Ronan’s nape. There was no resistance when he dragged him close and kissed him.

That high in the sky in the middle of winter, the inside of the car was cold and so were Ronan’s lips. When he tilted his head and pressed their lips together better, though, the impression of humid warmth from the soft inside of the bottom lip was starking against Adam’s. Adam hummed and caved first, not even trying to play a game of softness and teasing, and pushed forward. He liked the feeling of Ronan’s mouth dropping open between them, he liked even more to slide his tongue inside and feel the kiss tingle all the way down his spine.

Ronan’s mouth felt impossibly hot and familiar, spiced up with the crazy amount of cinnamon Calla had manage to drop in the mulled wine. Adam felt very hungry and very fulfilled at the same time — at every twist of their tongue, at the small itching in breath against his skin while Ronan tried to inhale and drag the kiss deeper, further.

When the need for air broke them up eventually, Adam brushed their nose together, lips still lingering against each other’s, and opened his eyes. In the almost darkness, Ronan still had his eyes closed, intent in their proximity. Everything was surging weirdly against Adam’s chest, so he just tilted his head to the side and kissed along Ronan’s handsome face — the solid cut of his cheekbones against the skin, down the smoothness of his shaved-clean jaw — all the way down his neck.

With a faint sigh at the side of Adam’s ear, Ronan craned his neck in a clear path for Adam’s lips. Adam kissed it, again and again, hyper-aware of the skin warming up at every slide of tongue. A slight shiver followed when Adam made his way even further down, hooking a finger on the perfectly pressed collart of Ronan’s white shirt to close his mouth at the bottom of his neck and suck.

“Shit…” Ronan whistled out between gritted teeth, grabbing at the back of Adam’s elbow, as if to stop him from withdrawing.

Not that it mattered or it was needed. Adam kept at it long enough to leave a mark, and then move slightly down, toeing the line of the two open buttons with two more hickeys all the way down to Ronan’s clavicle. Ronan burrowed a hand in Adam’s hair, when he stopped sucking. His chest was heaving under the open dampness of Adam’s lips, but Adam’s own breath bumped back from Ronan’s skin to his face.

“Should I come to the backseat?”

“I’m not gonna fuck you in a flying car.”

“You need to choose a good way to go, at some point, Parrish.”

They both burst out laughing, again, and by silent agreement they stopped escalating the contacts.

“Hey, Ronan,” Adam whispered, lifting back up without sneaking out of the grip on his hair.

“Mhn?”

The hand combed through his hair and Adam felt like dropping his head against the side of Ronan’s. “It’s a very fun Christmas.”

The smile on Ronan’s lips was a clear stretch on Adam’s temple, when Ronan turned around to kiss it, intensely delicate. “Good to know. But we’re gonna freeze our asses off and fucking starve if we don’t get the fuck down soon,” he gave a very pointed look at the Dream Rudolph, rising his voice from the car. “What do you think, shithead full of bells?”

The reindeer seemed to hear him just fine, shaking his antlers just for the sake of more jingling and bellowing softly. After all the chasing around, it was almost amicable now, leading them in circles that went lower and lower, back towards the field they took off from.

Trust any animal of Ronan’s to be as temperamental as him.

By the time they settled back on the ground, Adam felt much more mentally ready for the Eve and the Christmas festivities to follow. He hadn’t realized he was nervous about them — about having someone worth spending them with for the first time ever, about not matching the mood and the expectation for lack of any practice — until now, with the weight lifted off his shoulders.

Of course, all the occupants of 300 Fox Way and then some, if the rest of the Lynch brothers had arrived in the meantime, would be freaking out. But that was another story, and maybe Dream Rudolph could fly for them as well.

********

On the morning of Boxing Day, Adam woke up alone in the bed but not alone in the bedroom, Opal cheerfully dangling her furry legs off one the chairs and watching him.

“Will you come, if you’re up? Kerah is out already!”

He had to snatch every second it took him to put some clothes appropriate for the type of chill he would experience outside, but at the end Opal got a grip of his hand and dragged him out.

“It’s not that cold!”

“You’re never cold, you don’t count.”

“Kerah says you’re never cold, but Kerah gets cold easily. So doesn’t he count as well?”

Adam laughed, “No, maybe he doesn’t either.”

Appently, for once in his life, Adam had been the last one to wake up. The frosty path Opal led him through was already marked by more than one pair of footprints; when they got to a shady corner close to the bent of creek that crossed the Barns, Declan and Matthew’s backs were as unmistakable as Ronan’s.

“I can’t believe you actually dreamt a Rudolph, Ronan,” Declan was saying.

“Yeah, you fucking said that already. Four times. What’s your point? Is there a time limit on reindeers?” Ronan turned around with one eyebrow up.

“Well, we all know what Declan’s favourite reindeer was, don’t we?” Matthew singsonged, circling his first brother.

“It’s not like I wanted one!” Declan snapped, all too promptly and with an uncharacteristic hinge of fluster in his tone.

“Suuuure you didn’t,” Ronan dragged, a shit-eating grin spreading. "What do you know, maybe I'll give you a lift back to D.C. in a couple of days."

Adam had to stop eavesdropping silently because Opal started losing it, her cawing laugh spreading and prompting Chainsaw to follow suite from where she was stomping around on the ground.

“Well, now we get to keep it, so it’s fair, isn’t it?” Matthew said, as Ronan gestured Adam closer.

A handful of meters head, the secluded corner of the Barns they were at was covered in bright white know and glistening with artificial cold, just like Cabeswater used to do when it changed season for good. In a cheerful jingle of bells, Dream Rudolph trotted around its new home, the red nose happily shining.

It was a good fix.

It had been a good Christmas.

#My Writing #the raven cycle #Pynch #Pynchsecretsanta17 #HAPPY HOLIDAYS!!!#Enjoy some very random fluffiness #T rated #No big worries some nice kissing #Christmas shenanigans

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