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prettyboykatsuki · 3 years

Text

am i warm enough for you?

➳ tags ;; soulmate au, strangers to lovers, fluff and angst but mostly fluff, some-what canon compliant, bakugo katsuki is bad at feelings, lots of Feelings™, you guys are adults but the end of the fic but the fic is sfw, alcohol, drunk confessions

➳ wc ;; 5.6k..

➳ plot summary ;; you see your soulmate in dreams - sometimes in bits and pieces and other times in full. bakugo is less than inclined to admit he even has a soulmate - and you learn how to cope with it, one day at a time.

bakugo learns that this soulmate shit is no joke. that has to be why he keeps falling for you so helplessly.

➳ a/n ;; i wasn’t even gonna comeback this early but it felt so wrong not to post on my bfs birthday so alas </3 for anyone who cares to know this is @elysianseraph but with my new url. nice to see u all <3

this was originally posted on 4/20 but im reposting cause it didn’t show up in the tags dskjds

It’s hazy.

A cloud of smoke settles over your body, permeating your lung. It smells like sugar, like burning, like smoke and a little like leather. You can feel your toes curl and your hands moving but your body is separate from you in a way you can’t describe. It’s a pleasant kind of warmth that spreads, creeping up from behind your neck till it’s soft and cradling your skull. It’s soft like the touch of a mother, like wool over your ears.

It’s a pleasant feeling, that’s all. Almost cozy but there’s a fading sense of distress that chills in your lungs as you encompass it. Your hands are too small to reach forward, and truthfully the sensation is so powerful that you’re afraid to reach out. You’re 6 years old, so all you know is how it makes you feel. You can’t remember many details, but you feel pleasant. Something about it is soft, but there’s a sharp edge right at the end that has your lungs gasping for air.

It’s a flash of colors. Red. Orange. Pale Yellow. Grey. Black. Forest Green. Red. Red. Orange. Red.

And then it fades into a feeling again. A blurry feeling. You feel conflict, then concern, then inadequacy in heavy waves almost like it’s drowning you. It’s the first time you’ve experienced such a pain, so your wailing and wiping tears away with chubby fingers and saying a name you don’t know and can’t remember.

Ka. You know the sound, Ka. But you don’t know of anything more. It repeats rhythmically in your mind like a knock on the door, rapping with urgency - but it doesn’t do anything to jog your memory. Someone is trying to be let in but you don’t know how to answer them, and you’re still crying. The distress, the inadequacy shakes you and all you feel is frustration in short simple bursts.

Your first encounter with your soulmate is written this way in your memory. A sense of urgency laced with frustration - but they’re not towards you. It’s him, his feelings - you can feel them even deeper then he can. They pierce you in a way that makes it hard to breathe, no matter how you try to escape them it’s an overwhelming feeling of helplessness. The only way to escape the feelings of a dream is either to control them, or to face them and swim through the fog.

Soulmates have an urgency to them, in general. His is different, you can tell as much. Your first soulmate dream leaves the heaviest impression and each one thereafter is like pieces of a puzzle.

Sometimes you simply share random dreams, like a split screen in a video game - the two of you witness different parts of the same dreamverse. Other times, and honestly - most times, you’re experiencing their emotions or feelings. You experience their core memories, their life, in flashes and bits and pieces.

It’s not enough to know them or who they are, it’s like know everything about them except the things that matter

Sometimes you meet too. Just barely.

MEETING 1:

The room is white. When you blink, colors flash in order - red, pale yellow, orange, forest green and you know. You blink a few more times, stretching your hands out in front of yourself. Curling your hands into fist then into stretched palms, you lean forward and stretch. You wriggle your toes - notice you're wearing shoes. Clothes from your closet. Strange.

You take a look around the room but there isn't much to see. There’s a wall in front of you with a glass divider and a mirrored empty room. The room across from yours has spiky decor littered against the walls. An orange dresser, plastic grenades and play guns. You know who it is without a second warning - and a foggy part in the back of your head tells you that it’s him, again but with more force. You don’t see anything in your room, but you figure he might. All of it is confusing to you.

Before you can blink, there’s a loud thud coming from the other side of the glass. It’s a silhouette, the outline of a face - but nothing clear. Dream logic dictates you can’t know a face you’ve never seen, yet somehow you know his outline. Spiky, he’s spiky everywhere.

“Hello?,” you call out, overly tentative. The figure pauses, seems to take in whatever they must be seeing. You’re not sure what response you’re expecting, really. There’s no expectations at all.

“...Who the fuck are you?,” says a pitchy, male voice. He sounds like he’s your same age, a highschool boy. His throat is rough, yet not overly deep. It’s almost scratchy.

“Uhm,”

You’re not sure how to reply. You can see him through the glass, but not really. Still, you take note of his shadows like they’re going to tell you anything more. You shove your hands in your pockets, messing around with something inside.

“Uh.. your soulmate, I think,” you reply.

Scratching the back of your neck as an awkward silence settles, you take a few minutes to try and figure what more to say.

“We met when we were kids once too,” you explain awkwardly. He must know, has too - this soulmate thing is a two way thing, but his silence is deafening. You just want to feel this space. Is it always this awkward?

“Red. Orange. Pale Yellow. Forest Green,” you repeat, like a mantra. You hear him take in a sharp breath, and freeze. For some reason, you’d like to avoid upsetting him. He doesn’t seem like he’s taking to the information too well.

“I don’t have time for this damn bullshit… whatever quirk you’ve got to mimic this - cut it the fuck out,”

Hostile.

You pause, not sure how to feel. Half of you is offended, the other half is confused - had you done something to upset him? You can feel how he feels - but you don’t understand it. You sit with your mouth agape, like a fish out of water. Unsure of how to proceed, you scoff a little.

“Woah.. this isn’t a quirk thing. We’re.. soulmates? That’s already a thing,”

More silence. You’ve.. he doesn’t seem upset, but you can tell he’s not all that keen to the idea. It’s a bare minimum improvement that you find yourself valuing, without your consent. He breathes again, throat even more hoarse than before. His voice is angry but it doesn’t fit his responses, his feelings - so you don’t pay attention to his madness. Something is off.

“... I’m not supposed to have a soulmate. No fucking way I have a soulmate,” he grits. You step back, stumbling. You didn’t have any expectations.. but this wasn’t what you had been expecting at all. You feel uneasy, sick. It must be a shared feeling if the way he leans against a wall counts for anything.

A beat of silence passes before you open your mouth to speak.

“... I have no idea what I’m supposed to say to that,” you admit. He scoffs.

“Nothing you damn extra. Leave me the fuck alone,”

You don’t reply, too stunned. This was your soulmate? This.. asshole? Not that you were a peach entirely either, but this was supposedly the person that the universe had decided for you?

You shake your head. Maybe you’re just being rash? He could be a nice guy behind all the chaos. You try your best to hold onto that, that this was literally someone chosen for you before you gave up all hope. You sigh, cracking your neck.

“You can say whatever you want but.. we’re here, you know? It’s more productive to just go with it.. isn’t it?,”

“Go fuck yourself,”

“After meeting you, I’m not exactly over the fucking moon about it either. It is what is,”

“You’re not my fucking.. soulmate or whatever the fuck. Leave me alone,”

Your heart both aches with anger and sadness. You don’t know what to do. What does this shit-head know about you, anyway? You know he’s been through some shit, same as you - what makes him so entitled? You swallow the lump in your throat. It hurts. It pierces. Stupid soulmate bonds.

“Yeah? Alright. Fuck you too,”

You see him pace around for a longer before he disappears in a cloud of smoke. You didn’t even catch his name, and you’re not sure you wanted too. It must be morning, but at least you're away from him. It feels lonely, but it must just be you.

Your eyes flutter open but your heart is heavy with regret. You don’t know who it belongs to, but you’ve got class in an hour and not enough time to think about it. If he doesn’t want to meet you that’s fine.

It’s fine. Not like you wanted to meet your soulmate anyway.

You don’t have another meeting with your soulmate for months. Lately your dreams have little if anything to do with him or where he is, how he’s been. You have some of those split screen ones, where you know he’s there but neither of you acknowledge each other, even in spirit, like how you did before. When you wake up feeling angsty, you don’t know how to distinguish the feeling but you don’t try.

You wonder idly if he can feel your apathy, if he cares enough too. Maybe he also mistakes it for his own? It seems likely.

It’s a weekday where you’re getting ready for remedial classes at your school. First year advanced courses were no joke, and you find yourself regretting your choice to participate in them.

Still you get dressed anyway, put your uniform on and brush your teeth - wash your face with your eyes half open and look presentable. No one's home in the morning, the house is empty of any life but you. Food becomes a last minute priority, so you make an egg sandwich with cheese and eat it on the way to the train station.

You stare down at your feet as you step outside, music drowning out the noise of your surroundings aptly. The walk to the station is long and the ride is longer, but the streets are packed edge to edge. Musutafu is busy this time of year - the U.A. Sports Festival is taking place today and everything seems to reflect that. You barely manage to squeeze past all the strangers on the subway - clearly on their way to see it.

When you get to school, you're greeted by a mostly empty classroom with a teacher. These classes were straightforward as always, do the work you need to correct, have it approved and leave. It repeats until your finished with all the assignments and you get to be done. You give a respectful nod to your teacher before grabbing your work from your bag.

It goes on and on - occasionally, you hear an excited gasp and quiet chatter from classmates. It’s about the festival, the happenings - but you’re too caught up in completing your work that day and trying to get the fuck out of their as soon as possible.

Shit like that didn’t matter to you, anyways. It’s just a festival.

You leave around the same time the festival seems to have ended, the streets flooded with people - you miss the first station and wander towards an electronics store a block away from your highschool.

It’s the winners on TV. A guy with split hair - Shouto Todoroki, Endeavors son. A guy with a bird head, and a blonde with red eyes - muzzled to the pole.

When you see them, your heart stops. You can feel anger, an unfamiliar rage and humiliation building in your chest. It feels the word has stopped as you watch from afar, through screens. Your soulmate seems upset about something, but you wouldn’t know what.

And that blonde on TV, you wonder if you know him from somewhere.

MEETING 2:

Red.Orange. Pale Yellow. Grey. Black. Forest Green. Red. Red.

You feel him before you even know what’s happening - and it catches you completely off-guard. You haven’t had a proper soulmate dream in two years. Smoke clouds your lungs, the taste of sugar burning your tongue as you cough yourself into awareness. This time, you’re not in a room but it’s a campground. In the middle of the space is a bonfire, burning warmly. This one feels more vivid, more real.

But you know it’s not, your body feel unusually light and your hands can’t hold anything for too long. You know it’s a dream, but you sit in the chair anyway. It feels like you're floating. You feel oddly warm. Dread builds in the pit of your stomach. Even though it’s been so long since you’ve spoken to your soulmate - you can’t forget the terrible first encounter. It sticks to the roof of your mouth - a bitter memory that fills you with unexplainable, irrational resentment.

But it’s not like you hadn’t been seeing him, to an extent. You’ve seen all his memories in bits and pieces - all of them tragic and painful. This time, you see people but they come in the form of small scraps. Spiky Red. Electricity. Tape. Pink with Horns. Music. Green. So much green and red - like Christmas, you’ve called it. You’ve seen disappearances, fear, anguish - so much anguish.

In the weeks after All Might’s fall, you were in so much pain - you couldn’t stop crying for days. It’s been enough time to know what feelings were yours and which were his - and these ones felt so much like him. It went on for nearly a year - you’d almost got accustomed to it. If tears showed up to blot the ink of your lecture notes, you didn’t think twice about it. You tried to keep yourself calm, steady - in hopes you could lend your soothing to him. Even if he hated your guts, you could barely believe so much sadness could exist in one person. You didn’t know what happened but whatever it was - it must’ve been terrible. At the very least, you felt sympathy.

Sympathy was enough to get by for a long time. A neutral, level-headed sympathy that helped soothe some of your own hurt.

All that said, you were hardly expecting to see him again - especially not this soon. You don’t remember the last time you thought about him in anything other than passing - actively. It’s one thing to know what's happening - you’ve felt him passively everyday for damn near two years.

But it’s another thing to see him in front of you, force yourself to acknowledge him as your soulmate even if he insists on not doing the same.

You squirm in your chair, noticing that you’re wearing PJ’s instead of clothes. Just a hoodie and sweats, none of which fit you quite right. You pull your sleeves over your hands, fiddling with the stray strand of thread loose.

“What the fuck is this shit?,”

Your stomach drops. Unsure of what to say, you opt to say nothing at all. Just let him be, sit quietly in your dreams and mind your business. Maybe he’ll wake up soon and it’ll all be over.

You can’t see him from the corner of your vision but you can hear him shuffle. The way he touches things, noticing how they make noise but don’t feel quite right in his hands. How it feels real but doesn’t, how it is real and isn’t. Surely, he’s noticed you by now. The lingering silence makes you squirm.

“...It’s you,”

You flinch, lifting your head up slightly to meet his gaze. His expression is unreadable, but it’s different from before. In a fleeting moment, something occurs to you.

You can see him. What he looks like. Blonde with red eyes, and a sharp chin and thin waist. You know it must mean you’ve seen him before - perhaps you’d even seen each other, but for your life you can’t remember where you’ve seen his face. It’s right there, on the edge of your mind, but you’re stumped.

“Hello?,”

“Oh,” your reply comes short, strained. Your eyes flutter as you press your lips into a flat line. “Uh, hi,”

The blonde sits in the chair, slumping down. His eyes go towards the flickering flames without another word and you decide it’s best not to engage. It stays like that for a while, a beat of silence - not awkward but not comfortable, passing by without another thought. It all feels real, present - not like normal dreams. This must be the special kind of soulmate thing you find yourself feeling resentful towards.

His eyes are heavy. Relief is overwhelming him, with an iron grip and he’s worried you can feel it. If you can, you don’t say a word.

“I didn’t think I’d see you again,” he admits.

The words sound tender passing through his mouth, unmistakably so - but you don’t get your hopes up. Instead, you give him a placating laugh, leaning forward towards the fire and mirroring him.

“I didn’t think so either,”

When it falls silent, it feels comfortable. It’s not like either of you have anything to say to each other right now, with no manual on how this was supposed to go. If he even wanted to go there.

“I can.. see you,” you start. He squints.

“You couldn’t before?,”

This takes you by surprise. You shake your head.

“No..Could you? See me, I mean?,”

Bakugo feels heat rise to his skin. Oh. Huh.

“Yeah,” he replies, a sharp inhale leaving his lungs “I can see you,”

There’s something tense in the air. It’s a strange sensation - to know the deepest and most intimate parts of someone without even knowing their name proper, or where they went to school, or what they normally eat for breakfast. All that connects you are these mutual feelings, shared grief that holds you two to the title of soulmates. This odd bond.

“..d’ya still think I’m a quirk wielding villain?,” you laugh, or try too - you’re doing your best to cut the tension. He can feel your hurt all the way from your sit, so deep in his gut - it’s been haunting him for years. How many nights of sleep he’s lost knowing there are soft and helpless tears coming from these suppressed feelings. He doesn’t know how to say sorry, so he sighs and rubs the back of his neck. He’s changed a lot in two years - but not enough to be good at this.

“No, I don’t,”

“Oh,”

He smiles, just a little. It’s gentle, casts shadow on his face from the light of the fire. It’s warm, everything feels warm and better and invigorating. When you look at him and his uneasy expression - you know he feels it too.

“By the way, uhm - what’s your name? Ka.. something? Right?,”

His eyes shoot up in surprise. He nods a little.

“Katsuki Bakugo,” he replies, expectantly. You seem surprised that he wants to know yours.

“Y/N Y/L/N,” comes your reply.

“Nice to meet you,” says him, Bakugo - your soulmate.

“Nice to meet you too,”

Getting to know Bakugo is unusually easy. You get the feeling it wouldn’t be, in the case that you were anything but soulmates - but Bakugo has never known being this intimate with someone other than you. Despite himself, how much he hates himself - you never seem too. Even though you feel and see all the ugliest parts of him - have since he was small enough to still be innocent, you always treat him the same.

Your conversations are short, and shallow. Regardless, he’s not used to talking so much about himself. But you’re always curious, so much so Bakugo doesn’t have the heart to see your countless questions go unanswered.

You keep a little notebook of all of your encounters. You remember them by heart but write them down too, just in case you miss something. You ask about his friends - Spiky Red and Soft Green, referring to them that way even after you’ve known their names. You ask about his work - the life of a dangerous hero, and if he ever gets nervous flying through the air.

Admittedly, he’s mean to you. He teases you so frequently, he’s lost count of all the times you’ve huffed and puffed at his sarcastic remarks. Still, you never turn away from him. You stand with your foot down and your arms crossed over your chest - insistent on making him feel flustered too. And it works, somehow - because you know all too much about Bakugou and always gets him right where he’s most conscious about. You don’t have to tease him about his feelings since you know them like the palms of your hand.

But these shallow conversations always mean a little more to him that he knows how to verbalize, and half the time he doesn’t need to do that at all. You’ve learned the masterful of working around him quietly, making all the parts of that feel too big to love - something small and fragile. Somehow, you’ve made being with him, even as friends - feel like less of an impossible feat but a dream.

Katsuki Bakugo has been in love with you since he was 6 years old. There must be some feelings we cannot share with our soulmates, because he has no idea if you feel it or not. He just knows he does, somewhere deep in the cavern of his heart, he loves you.

You never cross the barrier of romance with him, though. A paralyzing fear seems to settle in your bones when you breach too close to love and intimacy - and Bakugo understands those feelings, even if he doesn’t know exactly why they’re there. It’s not something you’ve decided to tell him yet, but he feels it in the same way he feels your loneliness. You may be kind but you’re more guarded than he is, and not fearless but reckless.

But he still finds himself aching to love and be loved by you, no matter how much he hates it. The yearning still manages to swallow him, even late into the night.

MEETING 3:

It’s been a while since your last meeting with Bakugo but not long. You were 21 now, but your dream visits were frequent. When you weren't speaking or seeing him through dreams - you were watching him on TV. You’d been yet to meet with him in real life but to you, that was okay. Seeing him like this had been more than enough.

Today was different. Normally, that bonfire was always a back-drop to these little encounters but it was a field today - a filed with rolling hills and hundreds of flowers and tall grass that made you feel itchy. The sun was permanently stuck right before it set but it was so warm everywhere. When you get there, there’s a blanket on the top of one of the hills. You sit on it cautiously and watch the wind pass. Everything is tinged orange, and red - you know he’s there with you before he appears.

When he does, he seems different. You glance over at him as he stumbles towards you in a stupor, and when he does finally sit - you get a whiff of alcohol coming from his neck and mouth. It’s strong enough to make a little dizzy. Blinking owlishly, he sits crisscross besides you, staring a little at the surroundings.

“..the fuck?,” he slurs. You can’t help but break out into a laugh. He nearly falls over, body swaying so you bring his head down to your shoulder wordlessly, a furious heat running all over your skin. Even though you can’t feel him, the gesture makes you feel something in your belly.

“Why’re you so drunk?,”

“Birthday,” he mumbles. Your eyes widen in surprise. Bakugo is seemingly unfazed, eyes drooping with tiredness. He’s completely inebriated.

You feel yourself grow tender. You’d have to wake up and remember the days date. Despite all the times you’ve met, you had no clue about his birthday or how he celebrated. You feel your heart ache at the idea you’ve spent the latter half of it together, in your own way.

“Happy Birthday, Bakugo.”

“Bakugo this, Bakugo that,” he growls, a little incoherent “We’re supposed to be fucking soulmates and you still call me by that.. damn name.”

He hiccups a little as you sit there stunned. You blink.

“.. You think of us as soulmates?,”

“Are you some kind of moron?,”

You scowl, flicking his forehead with your thumb and forefinger. He makes a noise of indignance.

“Well, how would I know? When we first met, you didn’t seem enthused about it,”

Bakugo sighs tiredly.

“I was 15 and an asshole - clearly I don’t fuckin’ feel that anymore,”

You seem surprised again.

“..You don’t?,”

Instead of swearing at you, he closes his eyes and gets closer to you. The liquor runs through his system like liquid courage and he nods a little.

“Not at all,”

“What do you..”

“What do you think I mean?,” he barks a laugh. You feel your pulse under your skin, drumming against your chest like a hammer. You can’t even breathe.

You’ve had feelings for Bakugo from the second proper meeting you’d had with him. It was clear as a day that he was your soulmate for good reason, that inexplicable draw that kept your heart from ever belonging to anyone else. You tried to - tried to go on dates and see other opportunities through but he was always so one of a kind.

Yet, you’d given up all hope that it would mean anything to harbor these feelings, convinced that Bakugo simply wasn’t interested in you In doing any of this. You didn’t want to force him into something he didn’t want - so you kept your distance with hope that he’d still be in your life. It was enough, or you’d wanted it to be.

It’d be a lie to say that you hadn’t started thinking about it more and more as the days pass. What it would be like to see him, touch him and love him and be with him for real - these passive daydreams gone vivid. If he could see your dreams, he must know about them. But you didn’t know how to approach it - how to approach love at all.

That’s the thing with soulmates. You’re told that you’ll just have the answers, destiny will do the hard work but that’s far from true. Because even now, with Bakugo leaning on your shoulder with this confession lingering in the air - you don’t know what to do.

“Stop being so nervous,” he mumbles. You stumble a little over yourself.

“Sorry,”

He chuckles.

“You really need me to say it, huh?,” he sighs. He picks himself. If he’s drunk and reckless, then fuck it - he’s gonna take it all the way. He drops his head onto your lap with a tired sigh.

“I think you’re my soulmate, you fuckin’ idiot,” he admits.

And it’s hard to say, because feelings don’t come easy for Bakugo Katsuki - but it’s the least he can do. All Bakugo Katsuki has ever known is to be lonely. It’s a loneliness that he’d forced on himself. Bottling up all the anger and sadness and swallowing it. It’s long since sunk it’s claws into him. That overwhelming, all consuming ugly feeling that lingers underneath that superiority complex.

That no one would ever, could ever love the ugliness that lingers in him. That no one who knew him for what he truly is, could care for him. Deku was the first of many disbeliefs and not much had changed.

Except for when it did. Except for when he met you - in a dream, and you were real and beautiful even at 15. That the universe hadn’t been playing some sick joke on him when he kept seeing you in his dreams, so soothing to his teenage loneliness. You were real and that was so fucking scary.

But you loved him anyway. Looked out for him when he was at his lowest - the soothing beat of your heart in the days after All Mights end . When he cried himself into sleep and dreamed of you. God, how he dreamed of you. Not especially romantic dreams, but dreams of how you made breakfast. How you watched cartoons on Sunday and read manga in your classes instead of the assigned work. How you fell asleep on the train station and always ate icecream after big tests. How you were especially mundane and how he got to be apart of that everyday routine.

After all, you see dreams of each other, but Bakugo has no clue what your dreams of him look like. His have always looked like you though.

When he was worthless and empty and unable to give you anything meaningful, to apologize or put his pride away - you had loved him anyway. Felt for him with clumsy hands and held on, not letting go. Even when he was begging for you to leave him alone, in fear of this all being nothing more than a cruel dream - you held on tightly to him. With your silly notebook questions and dumb names.

Bakugo Katsuki has never known what it means to love someone who isn’t you. Even if you found someone else and there was someone better than you for him, he would grit his teeth and bear it. He wonders if he’ll ever believe he deserves you. He wants to believe you’re his soulmate - to believe you wont ever leave. To believe that he did something right enough that the universe could give him someone like you.

And he wishes he could say all this, but he can’t - he just closes his eyes and hopes you can feel it.

“You’re so mean,”

“Isn’t that why you like me?,” he grins.

And you can feel his sincerity. He should feels yours too.

“I love you, actually,”

He gasps, a sharp breath that stabs his lungs. He feels sober from the confession.

His voice is gravelly when he speaks.

“Yeah, shit - me too,”

Your heart beats rapidly in your chest. The address is correct, it has to be with the way this place looks. Only a hero could live here, with the floors that lead up to skies. He lives on 3rd floor, so you swallow your fear. You give yourself a thumbs up in the glass window pane of the building before entering through the doors.

When you get there, a box sits. You press the button next to his place, bouncing on the balls of your feet until you answer.

“Hello?,”

His voice feels different in real life. You cough.

“Uh, hi,” you greet awkwardly “I’m here,”

“Oh,” he says. You hear something buzz and then him again. “Come on up,”

And you do. The elevator ride feels like it stretches mild, classic piano echoing against the empty walls. You feel yourself feel sick but you’re not sure it’s from the movement. All you can do is fidget and wait.

When the doors open, you peak your head out into the hallway. He’s the first one on the left, just as promised. You can see a welcome mat - forest green, and something in you knows that it’s the right one.

You step up and knock, three times precisely. Your heart is all the way in your ears and everything in you is filled with unease and excitement.

When the door swings open, the world stops. You gape like a fish out of water in disbelief. He’s tall and big like he promised he’d be, but you’re unprepared. His chin is scruffy, eyes full of sleep. Strong chest and arms that seem to crowd your vision, you don’t know what do.

His expression is full to the brim with feelings you’ve never seen. He steps aside with his head ducked down.

“Come in,”

“Ah.. right,”

You take your shoes off and place them in the slippers meant for you - they fit you just right, and it can’t be a coincidence. Your heart swells up a little as you take your coat off, hanging it on the rack. You can feel his eyes as they linger on your silhouette.

“So -,”

Before you can get a word out, you feel strong arms wrapped around your waist. His scruff brushes against the skin of your neck as he holds you tightly too him. The warmth of his breath lingers on your neck - and he hiccups, a sob stored in his rib cages let out with a howl. The tears blur your vision too. You can feel his drip onto your shoulder as you snivel into his neck. Your legs feel weak, but he holds you up at the door - the only thing keeping you standing.

You cling around him tightly, your nails digging into the meat of his shoulders. It’s him, your soulmate, Katsuki Bakugo. He’s real and holding you - and he smells like leather and sugar and a fireplace. He’s warm and strong and overwhelming and your crying into his shoulder with so much feeling you don’t know what to do. You hit him weakly, unsure of what do with yourself and he laughs.

“Damn you, shitty woman - makin’ me fucking cry,” but his voice is strained. It’s like something connected, how you feel each other so intimately in that moment. Not only because you’re soulmates, but because you love each other so deeply. Your heart feels heavy.

When you pull away, you manage to give him a warbly smile.

Your hands cradle his face - so handsome and wonderful. You lean forward, emboldened, and peck him. He melts into your touch like he’d been waiting for this moment his whole life. It makes you grin.

Maybe you don’t realize that he had.

He’d been waiting for you all this time.

#bakugou x reader #bakugo x you #bnha x reader #bnha x you #bnha imagines #bakugou imagine #bakugou imagines #PLEASE SHOW UP IM BEGGING

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coeurdastronaute · 3 years

Text

The Cover Story, Ch. 1

Greetings! This is a preview of my first chapter that I’m posting exclusively on my patreon. If you like it, I hope you follow along as I work on it there. I appreciate your time and thoughts and would love to hear what you think.

Without further ado, or perhaps much ado about thing...

Lucy Madani was not going to cry.

That was a lie. She might cry. She wanted to cry. She was known to cry very easily, but not without reason, and there certainly were more than enough reasons already for her to tear up as she stood on the corner and felt a wave of water from a bus going through a puddle splash her legs and skirt. It was only just after eight in the morning, and she was ready to crawl back into bed, admit defeat graciously, and sleep straight through to tomorrow.

“I can’t talk right now, Baba,” Lucy muttered into her phone as she resumed her quick walk down the street.

“You are mad, and we need to talk.”

“Let me rephrase it. I don’t want to and I also can’t. I’m going to be late for my meeting.”

“Your big interview pitch. I wanted to wish you good luck, but you stormed off.”

“Yes, that is what one tends to do when their father informs them that he is getting engaged,” she fumed, her anger coming over her once again at the thought as she darted across the street, waving her hand at the honking car.

She was an adult, she tried to remind herself. A full, grown adult. An adult-adult who barely had a stable job, had heaps of student loans, and still lived with her widowed father. She didn’t throw tantrums and she wasn’t going to cry about any of it. Today was too important for that, and she was going to nail the pitch and finally move on from puff pieces for teen magazines. She was going to make the jump to serious journalist. She was going to be requested, by name.

Today she was not going to cry.

At least not on purpose.

“Will you be home for dinner?”

Luckily, he knew enough to sound sorry, though it wasn’t enough of a victory for her, only fueling the prickling behind her eyes.

“No, I’m going over Laila’s. I’ll just stay there. Wouldn’t want to interrupt your time with her.”

“Lucy joon, please talk to me. I know you’re mad-- you have your mother’s temper, but I think we should talk about this.”

“I’m going into my meeting. We’ll talk sometime this week,” she offered, shaking her head. “Just… I have to go.”

She didn’t wait for much of a reply because she knew he was playing low, dragging her mother into it. It only made it worse. Shoes sloshing against the tile of the lobby, she made her way to the elevator and decided firmly, once again, that she was not going to cry.

Her phone chimed with a handful of well wishes and good luck’s from the group chat and she thanked them quickly before trying to find the meeting information from her calendar, head down and lost in her own world as she stepped into the elevator and right into a stranger.

“I’m so sorry,” Lucy hurried, looking forward and then following the chest and then long pale neck up a few more inches to an amused smirk and eyes hidden by wayfarer sunglasses.

“Not a problem. I was in the way.”

The stranger ran her hand through a mop of curly copper hair atop her head, faded on the sides and shaggy on top, decidedly better put together than any tiktok boy’s. Her small smile pulled at bow-shaped lips and left dimples on both cheeks, and there were too many freckles to even begin counting. Lucy gulped before moving to the side and slinking to the back corner.

Of course she would get into an elevator with the hottest woman she’d ever seen. Of course she would nearly plow her over in her hurry. Of course she would be sweet and smile like that and have an adorably shaped chin and face. Of course Lucy would do all of that while looking like something the cat dragged in after a bad night.

But luck wasn’t with her today, and she was unable to hide too long, as no one else got on behind her and she heaved the heaviest sigh before looking down at her ruined stockings, spattered with mud and whatever else was festering in that puddle. Her skirt was soaked still and dripping and she was beginning to really feel it sinking into her skin. Phone clutched tightly in her hand, she felt the weight of it all and didn’t know what to do with it.

From under her brow she looked up to study the back of the stranger, their long legs and black jeans, their primly tucked in black t-shirt that stretched slightly across her shoulders, and the softest looking hair in the most beautiful shade of red she’d ever seen.

The elevator ascended approximately three floors before she started crying. Alligator tears slipped down her cheeks before she could do anything to stop them. And then the stranger cleared their throat and quietly turned around to verify what was happening, was actually happening, only making it worse.

But she didn’t say anything, just turned back around, and with the smallest movement stretched an arm forward to hold the elevator between floors, and quickly, Lucy turned herself around and faced the wall. She took a few steadying breaths and wiped her cheeks, mentally preparing to leave everything else behind and focus on the moment-- when she would be selling herself to one of the largest companies of all time to be the writer of the profile of their Director of Creative Design before they went public. She’d prepared. She was ready. Nothing else mattered and she was a goddamn adult.

The stranger, the kind, hot stranger pushed her sunglasses up into the messy curly hair and offered a smaller smile than before, the communal ‘it’ll be okay’ without saying anything. Lucy didn’t register much of it, just stared at the grey-green of her eyes, forgetting all else, and especially that she was a goddamn adult who desperately needed a payday to move out of her father’s place and away from whoever was moving into her mother’s side of the bed.

“I’m not usually,” she began, but bit her tongue because she didn’t want to lie. She was usually like this, just occasionally less muddy. “Thank you.”

“We can stay a few more minutes if you’d like. I don’t really want to go to work today.”

For the first time all day, Lucy smiled genuinely and felt lighter. It was that quick and that easy.

“It’s okay. I’m ready.”

A curt nod led to a stretch again and the elevator started once more. Lucy leaned across and pressed the button for her floor, catching a whiff of a distinctly woodsy smell, like sandalwood perhaps? There was a hit of lavender? Maybe cedar? It was wonderful. She wanted to breathe in more of it, but retreated before she was the girl who cried and sniffed people in the elevator.

The silence was oddly comfortable for a few more seconds until it dinged and she took the step out. The stranger politely held the door and offered one final smile, complete with just one dimple this time.

“Good luck,” she winked before pulling back, hands clasped loosely in front of her before the doors closed forever.

It couldn’t get better than that, Lucy decided, staring at the elevator doors and steadying herself once again. But she was hoping it couldn’t get worse either.

XXXXXXXXXXX

Quinn Sullivan wanted to die.

Not really die, but she might have taken a good coma. Just for like a week maybe. Or six months. Something long enough to beat out this hangover she was sporting, courtesy of her very thoughtful best friend, and if she was lucky, long enough to survive the offering and release of the new game. Maybe a year-long coma? Was that too much to ask for, honestly? Maybe the universe could toss her a bone, just this once, especially after the previous year of her life.

But in lieu of a swift and merciful death and/or coma, she was just going to have to survive the giant hangover that was currently attacking her body. All she needed was a quiet day and an extra large piece of leftover pizza she was certain was waiting in the staff fridge somewhere. Maybe some birthday cake--

And then a five-five wrecking ball of a human barreled into her chest.

The rest of her ride up, Quinn thought about the weird trip it’d been, and if she should have done something different. And then she beat herself up for winking. Who winked? Why did she wink? She’d never done it before. But she earned a smile from a cute girl, and there was a tiny flutter at the base of her rib cage, one she hadn’t noticed in a long, long time. She pressed her fingertips there for the rest of the ride to her floor.

With a groan, she put her sunglasses back on as the elevator dinged to her floor and took a deep breath to prepare for her day, not allowing her brain to trace out an entire life with the cute, crying stranger where they bought peaches at the farmer’s market on Saturday’s and danced in the kitchen. Romance was dead and dreaming was forbidden.

“Aspirin is already on your desk,” Jenny greeted her cheerfully. “With an egg sandwich and some fruit.”

“No leftover pizza?” Quinn didn’t pout, but she might have for that.

“Trust me, this will fix you up much better. I went to a state school, remember, MIT?”

“We partied…” Quinn trailed off as she pushed open the door to her office.

She hadn’t partied, but she was certain people had to have partied. It was college, and though it was many moons ago, she certainly couldn’t remember hangovers feeling like this. Maybe this is what almost thirty felt like. That thought didn’t help with the headache.

“All-night coding sessions don’t count. Eat the food. I’ll hold the wolves at bay as long as I can, but Chris and the Exlust team are adamant you have the meeting today to resolve story issues.”

Quinn tossed back the aspirin before she even sat down. Maybe Jenny was her universal compensation. The shades were already drawn so her normally bright office was much more tolerable. Even the eggs didn’t make her stomach swirl, and she was grateful her assistant learned something useful while studying biomedical engineering..

“I just need like an hour to work something out. I had an idea last night--”

“Before or after the sangria?”

“During. Definitely during, but still. I just need to work through it and then they can tear me to shreds. Can you add to my calendar a warning to never drink again?”

Quinn was fairly certain she’d texted her assistant that at some point in the morning. Probably before the shower, but after the first cup of coffee.

“Gladly,” Jenny smiled softly. “You doing okay? It’s been a while since you tied one on like this.”

“I’m fine. Just celebrating with Darcy. No more sad drinking, I believe was the rule you came up with and I follow all of your rules.”

With a roll of the eyes, files were placed on her desk and her assistant retreated to the ringing phones, which when the door was held open, were actual torture devices to Quinn’s brain.

“Sadie wants your afternoon free. I think it’s another reporter.”

“She’s relentless.”

“Maybe you’re impossible?”

“It’s genetic then,” Quinn sighed, munching on a grape and tugging open a notebook. “One hour, please?”

“I got you, boss.”

“Thanks.”

Never quite sure how Jenny did it, Quinn chose not to ask any questions. But when she asked for an hour, she got it. And despite the headache and laziness in her muscles, the food and aspirin did help so that by the end of her allotted time, she felt like she had captured the breakthrough that appeared to her the night before.

Before she could admire her work though, her team filed in and she was prepared to start her day, finally, even with the nagging idea of a reporter nipping at her thoughts through it all.

Somewhere between her breakfast and lunch, Quinn felt better. She fired off a few texts to see how Darcy was handling it and received only pictures of a half obscured but obviously still in bed face and chuckled to herself. It was a slower day, and she wasn’t about to waste it with a hangover. She should give Jenny a raise, she decided, because the woman could cure hangovers. Maybe submit her for the Nobel for Science.

“Sadie is here,” her assistant buzzed and Quinn lost all forms of motivation.

Her head hit her desk dramatically as the door opened and her sister walked in. Slightly shorter, but older by two years, Sadie was nearly everything Quinn could never manage to be despite her best intentions. She had the MBA from Harvard and the doting husband that came with it, a cute brownstone near White Hill and the park, and her first baby on the way. But even past her resume, Sadie Sullivan-Hawkins was personable and charismatic. She was adored and shrewd, capable of disarming anyone and eviscerating the others. It all came so easy to her, to have people around, to talk and be listened to, to be loved. She was a shark in business, and at the same time warm and put people at ease.

Quinn could barely tie her shoes and Sadie was running a marathon in life.

“Want to talk about it?” Sadie smiled as she took the seat across from Quinn’s desk.

“About what?”

“Why you’re getting drunk with Darcy on a Tuesday?”

“She got the job at Taylor and Vine. We were celebrating.”

“So not about Chloe’s announcement in the Times?”

Quinn played dumb, typing gibberish into her phone because she didn’t want to look at her sister’s kind and caring face. If she looked, then she’d have more feelings, and for the life of her, she just wanted the incessant tinnitus of the break up to disappear completely.

“Nope, I caught that this morning though, so I was in the right physical and mental place to really wallow. I don’t care about her.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard.”

“I have these notes to get done for the Shadow Operation team before our meeting with design. I’m fine. My ex can marry whoever she wants-- God knows she didn’t want to marry me. Good luck to the next sap.”

This made her sister chuckle, and Quinn smiled quietly to herself. There was still a bitterness there that she couldn’t get rid of. It was masking potentially the worst hurt imaginable. She preferred the bite of the bitter though. Easier to navigate.

“I have someone I want you to meet with.”

“Oh, fuck off Sadie,” Quinn moaned, knowing full well what was about to happen. “I’m not talking to anyone. You’re the face of this outfit. That’s what you told me.”

“You’ve run off three other reporters. Our public offering is going to underperform if there is no faith in the heart of our company,” she explained, sitting up a little straighter. “And that’s you. I might crunch the numbers and keep the lights on, but you are what people are buying.”

“Then you tell them about me. I don’t even have to be there.”

“If only that were true, my job would be a lot easier.”

At a stalemate, the sisters stared at each other for a few moments before Sadie broke, making a face as she smiled towards her lap, running her hand over the smallest bump barely showing. Quinn shook her head and looked away. Anywhere else was better than the damn disapproving look leveled at her now.

“I don’t know what to say,” Quinn finally muttered. “I don’t want to-- I can’t--”

“Chloe was an idiot. She broke your heart. Now, you barely exist, but I know that you’re still you. And we need this.”

“I can’t. I really can’t. I wish you’d get it.”

It hurt too much all over again. In a weird way, Quinn missed the feeling of the hangover because at least that was a useful ache. The dull throbbing in her chest and bones just felt hollow and haunting.

“We have a meeting with her. I’ve already walked her through the contracts and final edits, as well as shown her around. Please just rip the bandaid off and get it over with. She’s good. I’ve read a few of her pieces and Donna recommended her to me.”

Sadie had their mother’s eyes. It drove Quinn crazy, that she looked like she didn’t belong in her own family. It also meant it felt like her mom was staring at her and reminding her to do her chores. She rubbed the back of her neck, letting her head lull to the side.

“I’ll… I’ll try.”

“Yes! I knew it. Thank you. Seriously, Q. It’s going to be great. This is going to--”

“I said I’ll try. I didn’t say I’d do it.”

“It’ll be great,” Sadie ignored the warning, hopping up from her chair and moving to the door to beckon the reporter in. “Come in and meet the genius of the whole outfit.”

Quinn rubbed her face with her hands, digging her fingers into the corners of her eyes under her glasses before steadying herself. She could do it for her sister, she reminded herself, and that stupid niece or nephew she was incubating.

Maybe it would be as simple as ripping off a band-aid. Maybe she could just let a stranger rifle through her entire life and being, except that she wasn’t sure there was anything there anymore. Everything felt like she was going through the motions, and it was terrifying to Quinn to let someone see that she was barely stitched together. How could she explain that there was nothing behind door number one? Let alone number two or number three.

“Quinn, this is Lucy Madani. She’s a freelancer hired by New York Magazine. She did a great piece on the Attorney General last month and her article on the director who went on to win Cannes went viral.”

There was still mud on her skirt, but her stockings had been disbanded, gone forever, but it was unmistakable the stranger from the elevator standing in her office. That felt like an entire lifetime ago, and yet Quinn tried to swallow.

“You have longer hair, in the pictures I found of you online,” Lucy offered, overcoming her surprise much quicker. She stuck out her hand over Quinn’s desk and waited for her to shake it.

She was a reporter. A reporter who cried in the elevator. A reporter Quinn had, if she were being honest, checked out. But foremost, she was a reporter. She wanted to dive into the deepest parts of Quinn’s brain for profit, mutual benefit and all. It sounded dreadful.

The universe did not owe her anything, Quinn remembered, but the perpetual mocking was getting a little over the top.

“Quinn Sullivan,” she shook the hand presented and tried to breathe. Lucy’s hand was warm and felt soft. She wasn’t sure how to let go. “How’s it going?”

Fuck! Her mind blared as she dropped the reporter’s hand and mentally beat herself to a pulp. Who talked like that? And still, she could not answer, winked?

“It’s been a day,” she smiled, nodding to herself as she accepted the seat Quinn offered. “Your sister has sung your praises all morning though. I feel like I could write about your without even meeting you.”

“Great. Let’s do that.”

Sadie laughed but gave Quinn a stern look.

“I’m going to go grab you some passes and copies of the contracts,” Sadie smiled graciously at Lucy before turning to her sister. “Listen to her pitch.”

“Seems it’s been decided,” she muttered to herself before plastering on a smile.

“Don’t have too much fun. I’ll be right back.”

And with that she truly was gone, and Quinn was left in her office with the reporter who had pretty eyes. They felt like syrup-- warm and deep brown, gooey and sticky. Her face was longer, her nose thin and long, her lips full and bitten-- and Quinn snapped herself out of her perusal and felt her chest warm too much. No, the universe didn’t owe her anything, and the punishment for thinking it did was sitting across from her in a muddy skirt and gentle smile.

For just a moment, Quinn held her breath and willed a coma..

66 notes · View notes

taetaespeaches · 4 years

Note

Liv you know how each member has a hobby they are into? How would each member’s ladies tell them they want to do it with them? I can see Peaches straight up being like yes I’m doing this with you because I want to spend time with you. And Holly secretly watching boxing videos and then hiding it once Guk catches her. Or or Poopsie trying to prove to Jin she can indeed cook without his watch 😭 or Petal buying bracelet diy kits 🥺

Well, I thought this was so cute that I turned it into a reaction sorta thing :) the selected hobbies are- Jin: fishing, Yoongi: basketball, Hoseok: diy bracelets, Namjoon: visiting art exhibitions, Jimin: video games, Taehyung: pastels, Jungkook: boxing. Anyways, thanks for asking love, and I hope you all enjoy <3

“Remember that when I catch a bunch of fish and you don’t.”

kim seokjin x reader genre: fluff word count: 412

SCROLLING through the article about which lures are best for catching fish in fresh water lakes, Jin’s eyebrows were pulled together in concentration. Your head was resting upon his shoulder as you read through the descriptions with him, though Jin had no idea you were paying any real attention to the laptop screen.

“Mm,” you hummed, pushing your finger against the display at one of the lures. “That one is supposed to be good if paired with the right bait,” you told him, Jin quickly turning his head to look down at you.

“How do you know that?” He asked, you giggling as you looked up at his wide-eyed expression.

“I asked my dad,” you told him. “He’s a pretty good fisherman so I asked him for some tips.” A wide smile spread across Jin’s face as he stared at you. “Actually,” you started, standing up and making your way across the room to grab the shopping bag sitting on your dresser. “I got you something.”

Jin’s eyes widened even more, if that was possible, slowly taking the bag from you as you held it out to him. Digging inside, he pulled out a couple of the several lures you bought him, a gasp leaving his lips.

“Whoah, you’re amazing,” he told you sincerely, looking up at you as you grinned. “You got so many,” he noted in surprise, you shrugging.

“I guess I’ll have to come with to test some out for you,” you grinned, Jin’s expression showing even more astonishment.

“You want to come with?” He asked you disbelievingly, though a smile began curving on his lips.

“Of course,” you giggled. “I have an interest in you, therefore, I have an interest in your hobbies, darling.”

Dropping the bag of lures, Jin reached for your hand, tugging you on top of his lap, you less than gracefully straddling him. “I’m so in love with you,” he told you with a fond grin.

Pressing a kiss to his lips, you pulled away to rest your forehead against his own. Placing your hand against the side of his face, you soothed over his cheek with your thumb. “Remember that when I catch a bunch of fish and you don’t,” you teased, Jin immediately letting out a yell of complaint as he flipped you over onto your back, hovering over you.

“You little punk,” he chuckled before kissing you deeply, about to teach you a lesson on picking on your bad fisherman boyfriend.

“Just meet me on the court, you brat.”

min yoongi x reader genre: fluff word count: 450

FOR a man who liked to call you a brat, he sure was a goddamn brat. “Min, pick up the pace, come on,” you whined.

“What are we even doing?” He asked in complaint, though he did move a little faster as you walked down the street. He was dressed in a pair of basketball shorts and an oversized t-shirt with some trainers, as per your request, you in some workout shorts and a shirt just as big as his, because, well it was his.

“Would you just quit being a baby and trust me,” you giggled, receiving a grunt from your boyfriend. Suddenly, you felt a tug on the backpack you carried. Craning your neck to look behind you, you caught Yoongi as he opened up the bag. “Yoongi, no,” you whined, just as he pulled out the basketball.

A small smile gracing his pretty face, he shot you a confused look. “Why do you have this?”

Letting out a deep sigh, you grabbed his wrist, guiding him down the street a bit more, Yoongi following behind you amused but still puzzled. Rounding the corner, you pointed at the little park down the block, which just so happened to have a fully painted basketball court.

“I was trying to surprise you,” you pouted, Yoongi looking from the court back to you.

“Oh, Kid,” he chuckled at your expression, wrapping his arm around the top of your back and pulling you into his side. Pressing a kiss to your temple, he smiled against your skin, chuckling some more. “You’re cute.”

“I want you to teach me your moves,” you told him, the man giggling even more as his shoulders shook.

“My moves?” He looked down at you with a gummy smile. “Since when?”

“Since always,” you stole the ball from him, your boyfriend shooting you a wide-eyed look. “I always want to be involved in your hobbies,” you told him, Yoongi’s gaze softening as his orbs scanned your features. “You love basketball and I love you,” you informed him as if it was obvious you would then also have an interest in basketball.

However, before he could respond with a sweet sentiment for your interest, you shoved against his chest to antagonize him. “So show me what you got,” you teased, Yoongi scoffing.

Stealing the ball back easily and dribbling as he walked toward the court he called back, “you asked for it, Kid.”

“Yeah, yeah, Grampa, don’t break a hip,” you yelled back, Yoongi shaking his head as he smiled fondly.

“Just meet me on the court, you brat,” he called out to you, both of you grinning like two idiots in love, because, well, that’s what you were.

“You have to show me what to do though, I’m not very crafty.”

jung hoseok x reader genre: fluff word count: 472

AT the sound of your boyfriend stepping out of the shower, you checked to make sure all of your brand new beads we situated on the coffee table. You were determined to join Hoseok in his recent bracelet making hobby.

“Hobi,” you called out from your spot on the floor in front of the table, receiving a cute hum in response from across the apartment. “Will you come in here when you have a minute, please?”

There was about a three second delay before you heard Hoseok’s feet patting against the floor toward you. “What’s up, Pe-” he cut himself off upon spotting your display of beads and bracelet making materials. “What’s all this?” He asked through a bright smile, his wet hair cutely pushed off his forehead.

“I was hoping you could show me how to make those bracelets you’ve been putting together on your lives,” you grinned shyly, highlighting the materials as you scanned over them with your hands as if you were displaying them in an infomercial.

“Really?” He asked with an even bigger smile, his eyes wide and excited.

“Please?” You asked cutely, Hobi immediately doing a little hip wiggle as he clapped enthusiastically.

“I can’t believe we haven’t done this together yet,” he squealed out, hurrying toward you and plopping himself onto the floor next to you. “You really want to?” He asked, looking over your selection of beads.

“Of course,” you giggled, watching him as he looked over everything.

“Ooh,” he awed, “I like these,” he pointed to the reddish-orange opaque beads.

“Yeah?” You asked, Hobi nodding happily. “I’ll use those for yours then,” you smiled, Hoseok leaning forward and placing several kisses on your cheeks.

“You’re so cute,” he mumbled against your face before catching your lips in a few short but sweet pecks.

“I got these too,” you reached forward, grabbing the special beads you got just for you both. Holding them up for him, he inspected the two flower charms and the two sun charms. “I also have a couple hearts,” you said cutely as you looked for them on the table.

However, your search was cut short from Hoseok grabbing your face between his hands and kissing you deeply. Surprised by the action, you took a moment to react but then easily fell into the kiss, your hands holding onto his forearms.

“You’re amazing, Petal,” he smiled against your lips after finally breaking the kiss. “Thanks for putting all of this together.”

“I’ve been wanting to join you in this,” you giggled, pecking his lips. “You have to show me what to do though, I’m not very crafty.”

Pulling away, he flashed you a smile that reminded you exactly why you and all of his fans called him Sunshine. “I got you,” he said cutely, you giggling at how adorable he was.

“Why, wanna take me out on a date?“

kim namjoon x reader genre: fluff word count: 665

ONE of the perks of dating Namjoon was he was always introducing you to new artists, taking you to different exhibits. Not being super knowledgeable about topics such as art but enjoying learning, you appreciated the new experience each exhibit brought to you.

To show Namjoon how much you enjoyed tagging along as he explored different art showings, you decided to seek one out all on your own and invite him to attend it with you. The one you had selected was the Kukje Gallery’s solo exhibition of artist, Wook-kyung Choi.

Looking up from your phone, which displayed the information for the exhibition, you locked your eyes on Namjoon as he scribbled in a notebook.

“Babe, are you writing or do you have a minute?” You asked him, Namjoon’s eyes meeting yours as he shut the notebook.

“No, I was just jotting down an idea,” he gave you a close-mouthed smile. “We can talk, is everything ok?” He asked, you nodding immediately. “Come here,” he opened his arms, inviting you to sit on his lap.

Coming toward him, you seated yourself across his thighs, one of his arms wrapping around your waist as the other draped over your legs. “Do you have plans this weekend?”

“No,” he shook his head. “Why, wanna take me out on a date?” He joked with a smile, his eyes widening when you nodded.

“I do actually,” you giggled.

“Huh?” He asked cutely, surprise evident in both his expression and his tone.

“There’s an art exhibit for Wook-kyung Choi at the Kukje Gallery here in Seoul,” you told him, his eyes widening even more. “Do you know of her?”

Shaking his head, he peered down at your phone as you held it up for him. “I’ve been researching her a bit, and I really fell in love with the way she would talk about her work,” you told him as you scrolled through photos of her black and white abstract paintings. “She was always a bit of an outsider in the Korean art world. She didn’t fit in with either of the dominant styles of the 1970s, so she kind of blazed her own path and ended up changing the whole scene and introducing Abstract Expressionism to Korea,” you relayed the information, looking from the phone to your boyfriend, only to find him staring at you adoringly.

He smiled softly, you looking at him in slight embarrassment. “What?” You asked shyly.

“Nothing, keep talking,” he told you. “I really love this, I had no idea you had your own interest in art.”

“I don’t necessarily, I just know that you do,” you admitted timidly, Namjoon’s jaw dropping a bit at the confession. “I wanted to invite you to an exhibit to show you that I truly do enjoy exploring all of this art with you, and when I stumbled upon this one of Wook-kyung Choi’s work, I just kind of fell in love with her,” you explained.

Namjoon leaned forward, pressing a kiss to your jaw. “She reminds me of you and the boys,” you told him with a small giggle.

“Wait, really?” He asked in shock, you smiling at his expression as you nodded.

Looking to your phone, you scrolled until you found the part of the exhibition description that stood out to you earlier. “These two discrete but related bodies of work demonstrate the artist's strong commitment to personal expression and social commentary through brave exploration of form and content, and how she chose her own path instead of blindly following or adhering to a single artistic movement,” you read aloud to your boyfriend. “That sounds like you and your music.”

“I-” Namjoon started, stopping himself as he stared at you intently. “I love you so much I don’t even know how to put it into words right now,” he confessed, you smiling as you leaned into him, pressing your lips to his.

“I love you just as much,” you whispered into the kiss. “No words needed, babe.”

“Cool it, Park, I haven’t had my turn yet.”

park jimin x reader genre: fluff word count: 517

Jimin/Dear: playing video games. (517 words)

WALKING into your apartment, your ears were immediately met with the sounds of Jimin’s frustrated grunts. Pulling your eyebrows together, you followed the noise until you reached your bedroom, peeking inside to see him sat on your bed, propped up against your headboard staring down at his Nintendo Switch with a grimace.

“Chim,” you giggled, his eyes darting up to meet your own across the room. “What’s up, my darling?”

“Ahh,” he complained, “this game is surprisingly hard.”

“What is it?” You asked, making your way across the room, peering at the screen. “Mario?”

“Yeah, Super Mario Odyssey,” he confirmed. “Jin got it for me a while ago but I forgot about it,” he told you. Sitting down on the bed with him, you watched as he controlled Mario, running through a busy city street.

“What’s the whole idea of the game?” You asked, your eyes glued to the screen.

“Bowser is trying to marry Princess Peach by force and Mario is trying to stop him,” he mumbled jumping over and on top of a bunch of people in the game.

“Ew, the fuck?” You asked, Jimin giggling as he dropped his head onto your shoulder.

“I don’t have to play right now,” he told you, preparing to shut the console down, “I was just bored.”

“No, no, you gotta stop Bowser,” you told him, kissing the top of Jimin’s head. “The fucking perv,” you added, Jimin giggling again as he approached a lever, bouncing on it and making a reddish moon appear. “Whoah, what’s that?”

“I have to collect these moons,” he explained as he jumped back over the crowd of people, snagging his moon. A big ‘You Got A Moon’ appeared on the screen, Mario doing a spin in the air as triumphant music played, Mario finishing with a celebratory fist in the air.

“Ayyyy,” you cheered in excitement, Jimin smiling widely at your reaction. “That’s my man, bitch,” you exclaimed, Jimin giggling as he kissed your shoulder.

“You’re so cute,” he cooed, you giggling as you continued watching him play. “Are you sure you’re not bored, Dear?” He asked, lifting his head from your shoulder.

“Chim, I just want to spend time with you,” you admitted. “I’m always entertained with you,” you noted nonchalantly as you continued looking at the Switch. When Mario stopped walking amongst the crowd of people, you slowly dragged your eyes from the screen to Jimin to find him looking at you lovingly. “What?”

“Keep saying things like that and I’ll be so flattered I won’t want to keep playing this game,” he told you flirtily, you giggling as you leaned forward to kiss him softly.

“Cool it, Park, I haven’t had my turn yet,” you told him, pulling the Switch from his hands. “Now tell me what to do.”

Chuckling at you, he pressed a series of kisses to your cheek before stepping into game instructor role, pulling up his sleeves and pretending to crack his neck as he played up his acting bit.

If he kept being so adorable, you wouldn’t want to keep playing the game either.

“Couple goals or whatever.”

kim taehyung x reader genre: fluff word count: 483

WATCHING your boyfriend drag the blue color across the drawing pad, you tilted your head mesmerized.

“Are those hard to work with?” You asked, Taehyung humming in thought as he stayed focused on the pastel drawing.

“Not really,” he said, you nodding though he wasn’t looking at you.

You were sitting a few feet away from him in his studio, both of you only dressed in your underwear, having just been intimate on that very floor a mere fifteen minutes ago. It started with you simply visiting your boyfriend in his quaint little art studio, and turned into him taking you shortly after your arrival, unable to keep his hands off you.

When he eventually returned to his pastels, you sat and watched him curiously. Crawling toward him, you sat yourself next to him, his innocent and stunning orbs looking at you with a softness only you could conjure from him.

“Can I have a piece of paper?” You asked, Taehyung’s eyes widening.

“You want to draw with me?” He questioned, you nodding.

“It’s actually why I came here,” you giggled. “Though the sex was great as always,” you added, “truly, you never disappoint.” Taehyung chuckled lowly, running his finger along your thigh, some of the pastel transferring from his digit to your leg. “Turns out your interests are my interests now,” you rolled your eyes jokingly. “Couple goals or whatever,” you added, Taehyung laughing cutely.

“Hang on,” he told you, setting the drawing pad on the floor and standing up. You watched as his long-toned legs crossed the room, turning around with a new drawing pad in his hands. “You can have your own pad, Peaches,” he grinned, handing it to you.

Gasping, you looked down at the object. “One of my very own?” You asked, Taehyung giggling as he bent over to leave a kiss to your forehead.

“You can have as many as you want,” he told you. “How long have you been wanting to draw with me?” He asked, you shrugging as you set your gaze on him as he took a seat next to you.

“For a while, I guess. I love watching you work, so I guess you kind of inspired me to try,” you told him with a small smile. “You always make me want to do new things, and this is something we can do together.”

Pointing your attention back to the art materials, Taehyung watched as you studied the colors. “Should I just,” you grabbed the light green, “dive in with this and see what happens?” You asked, looking up at Tae when you received no answer.

“I love you,” he told you, you smiling at the sudden statement.

“And I love you, Dearest,” you replied, scrunching your nose as he continued to stare. “Hurry up and kiss me, dude,” you demanded, Tae giggling as he leaned forward, pressing his lips to yours eagerly.

“What the hell are you doing watching boxing videos?”

jeon jungkook x reader genre: fluff word count: 635

WITH your ear buds in, you didn’t hear your apartment door open, much less Jungkook’s footsteps as he approached you from behind. You were stood in your kitchen, your left foot forward and knees slightly bent as you watched the video on how to throw a left hook.

“Pop the elbow, turn the foot,” you mumbled to yourself, a smile spreading across Jungkook’s face as he watched you in utter amusement. “Thumb up,” you barely spoke as you watched the video, mimicking the movement being shown.

However, you realized your solo boxing lesson had been interrupted when you caught a glimpse of Jungkook in the laptop screen and recognized his giggle overtop the instructor’s voice. Reacting quickly, you slammed the laptop closed and spun around to face your crinkly-eyed boyfriend as he was nearly bent over in laughter.

“I hate you so much right now,” you spoke in mortification, watching as he didn’t even attempt to gather his composure. “Oh my god, this is so embarrassing,” you whined.

Finally calming his laughter to just light giggles, he reached out for you, taking your hand in his. “Why are you embarrassed, baby? Your form is great,” he teased, you pulling your hand from his and shoving his chest as you held back a laugh.

“You’re so mean,” you groaned as he quickly stepped toward you, wrapping you up in a hug, you burying your face in his chest.

“Can I just ask you one thing?” He asked, you groaning at the request. “What the hell are you doing watching boxing videos?”

Sighing against his t-shirt, he giggled again. “I wanted to learn some stuff so I could box with you some time,” you admitted timidly, Jungkook immediately pulling you from his frame just slightly so he could look at you, you meeting his gaze.

“You want to box with me?” He asked in surprise, a small smile tugging at his lips.

“Well, I did,” you giggled. “Now I just kind of want to crawl in a hole and die.” Jungkook laughed at the comment before cooing at you.

“You’re so cute, you know, you could have just told me you wanted to come with,” he told you, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “I could teach you better than these fools,” he pointed at the closed laptop.

Giggling, you raised your eyebrows at him. “Jealous?” You teased, Jungkook scoffing. “I just wanted to know some stuff before I asked to tag along so that I wasn’t slowing you down during your workout,” you told him quietly, Jungkook shooting you a look of disbelief.

“That’s silly, teaching you would be the best part,” he assured you. Giving him a questioning expression, he grinned mischievously. “Turn around,” he told you before spinning you around, his hands landing on your hips, your back pressed to his chest.

Sliding his hand down your thigh, he tapped the side of it. “Bring this leg back,” he told you, you following his directions. “And now bend just slightly,” he led you, his hands gently soothing across your body, a little too sensually for a boxing lesson.

“See, this is why I can’t learn from you,” you noted, Jungkook chuckling next to your ear.

“Why is that, Baby?” He whispered, you scoffing in response.

“Because I have zero desire to learn how to throw a left hook now,” you whined, Jungkook laughing as he pressed a kiss to the side of your neck.

“We can’t do anything, I swear,” he giggled against your skin, you laughing as you reached back to thread your fingers into his hair.

“Are you complaining?” You asked, looking to your side to meet his gaze.

“Definitely not,” he said just before pressing his lips to yours, immediately deepening it as you turned in his arms.

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littlefreya · 4 years

Text

Set me Free

Summary: Part Two to Let Me In - After a night of being an asshole, getting drunk and then falling asleep when you were just finally getting into the mood. The Captain wakes up finding himself in somewhat of a pickle.

Read Part One

Pairing: Captain Syverson x Reader (You)

Word count: 4.1K

Warnings: Explicit Smut, Male Sub / FemDom, bondage, sex toys (woman playing with a vibrator), oral preformed on a male and a female (face-sitting), power play, teasing, unprotected sex, bodily fluids. All the good stuff.

A/N: SmuttyWeekend Commences! Guys this is my first MaleSub and I was struggling with it being a FemSub. So please gimmie feedback. 😥😥😥😥 Many thanks to @agniavateira who edits my work.

Title: Set me Free

The big military grunt is lying in the middle of an ocean of navy blue sheets, utterly nude as the sunlight beams through the window and kisses his rigid abs with a warm, golden haze. From all the men who ever fell unconscious in your bed, Syverson has to be the most delicious treat of them all.

Taut muscles stretch across an incredibly large, triangle-shaped upper body and thick, solid thighs. His glowing skin is covered by a dusting of black hairs which flow from his wide chest to his torso, leading to his delightfully enormous cock that nestles between a bundle of dark curls.

He is the epitome of masculinity, especially with that thick beard which he refuses to shave.

You sit on your small IKEA chair, lounging lazily with your ankles crossed together while sipping your latte macchiato and enjoying your new morning view.

The big man usually sleeps around 3 to 4 “generous” hours if he’s lucky to get any proper sleep at all, and not be consumed by night terrors. It’s something you’ve learnt to deal with, at least sort of. But with the amount of alcohol he consumed, he’s been out of it even after you woke up.

You indulge yourself looking at his sleeping form. Watching as his chest gently rises and falls and his cock semi-hardens from the stream of blood that gravitates to his loins.

If only you could wake up to this impressionistic vision of beauty every day for the rest of your life. But no, you had to go and get yourself involved with a military bloke, a captain, nonetheless.

Finally, he begins shifting on the mattress, the muscles of his chest flex inward and his stomach sucks in, followed by a low roar emitted from his defined lips.

There is much of the beast in him, sometimes even more than the man.

You capture your lower lip beneath your teeth, waiting with mirth and anticipation for him to open his beautiful blue eyes.

His face curls with what you assume to be a mild sensation of pain. The strong scent of whiskey wafts from his body as if he bathed in a brewery. You wouldn’t be surprised if the captain is nursing a minor hangover, which you have the perfect cure for.

The metal bars shake and then thud against the wall as he foolishly attempts to move his arms. Sharp, ringing sounds thunder in your ears as the small chain of his cuffs grind against the peg. You smile, placing your empty cup on the study, watching your man as he wakes from his deep slumber to find himself in captivity.

“What in the n…”

His eyes blink open. He observes the leather cuffs around his wrists and begins moving around wildly, attempting to free himself by shaking his hands back and forth with force. The bed creaks and shifts beneath his weight. A slight tension rises in your chest; a man as strong as Syverson might actually break the bars and the bed too, possibly.

You clear your throat to redirect his attention, only to be greeted by a furious glare.

“Morning, Captain.” you hail, your voice smooth and relaxed, contradicting Syverson’s blazing temper. A mixture of daze and anger drapes his face as he focuses on your sight.

You wonder, does he even remember the little performance from last night? Because you sure as hell are going to remember that for the rest of your life.

He angrily narrows his blue eyes, giving you a menacing look. His jaw clenches hard beneath the rough thicket of his beard.

Syverson is a force to be reckoned with; he is not a man who enjoys these types of silly games. Everything about him is hard, down to business, and with him saying the final word in the conversation.

Too bad that right now he is no longer in a position of power.

“What the hell is this?”

His eyes take you in, gliding down the sheer black night robe you’re wearing, intentionally left untied. A hint of the roundness of your breasts winks at him through the open slit and the very outlines of your nipples tease through the translucent fabric. There is a flinch in his cock as more blood stirs down to fill his organ at the sight of your divine body.

You decide to step up your game, placing your legs on the floor and spreading them to allow a glimpse of your ripe little peach. Syverson attempts to lift his head and get a better look while your giggles fill the room.

“This, my darling, is your punishment for one, being a complete asshole and embarrassing me in front of your friends-”

Syverson gives you a slow eye-roll and attempts to fight the cuffs again to no avail. “Je-sus, woman! You’re still at this? Fine. Remove these cuffs and I’ll give you my very ardent apology.”

You chuckle and shake your head, rising from your chair and moving toward the bed. The pink silicone toy Syverson bought for you hangs from between your manicured fingernails as you wave it around casually. Sy follows your movements with the diligence of a trained special forces soldier, learning every possible detail as if you’re the enemy right now.

Might as well be.

“What are you doing, woman?” he speaks slowly, his voice holding a tad of a warning as you climb onto the bed and settle yourself between his feet. You sit straddled, ankles folded beneath your behind, letting your juicy cunt to be openly presented to the helpless man.

You can hear the low pitched growl rumbling in his chest, like an approaching storm. It makes your skin prickle and your lungs squeeze inside your ribs. Even bound to your bed, he effortlessly holds a brooding presence. A huge Texas bear, all muscles and dripping of control. Every time you sleep together, he pins you down and charges your body as if you’re some target that needed conquering.

He never leaves you a fighting chance. Not up til now.

“Two,” you emphasize the word, lazily trailing the tip of the toy against your inner thigh. His eyes follow every movement, his jaw locked tightly. “- you left me wet and waiting last night, after giving me a very nice singing performance.”

The big man scowls as the vague memory of banging at your door starts sinking in. By the look on his face, he hates every single moment of it ever happening.

Probably prefers blaming you rather than taking responsibility.

“Don’t be like that, Texas.” you lick your lips, offering him a cheerful smile. “You have a gorgeous singing voice.”

“Final warnin’, kitten.”

You click your tongue and smile mischievously. Discarding the toy at his foot, you move on your knees, giving him a vixen grin before beginning to crawl forward. The delicate material of your gown caresses his naked skin as you snake your way between his open legs until you are at his pelvis, facing his very solid cock.

Your nimble fingers reach to grasp him, barely managing to circle his generous width. A low groan forms in his throat as you squeeze him roughly and run your hand up and down.

Syverson looks mesmerizing, the temptation to take a polaroid photo and have this moment forever imprinted in chemicals and light tickles your brain. More than anything, you ponder at the war that wages in his mind:the conflict between wanting back his control and enjoying the way your hand kneads him.

“This is an ego thing, isn’t it?” you ask him while licking your lips, inching your head closer and closer to the swollen head.

His chest rises and sinks urgently as his breath becomes heavier. Involuntarily, he bounces his groin, his body begging for your mouth.

You allow the tip to graze you, collecting a few drops of pre-cum on the plush of your lips, letting it spread on the velvet flesh. “I bet they teach you how to withstand torture and questioning in case you’ll fall captive.”

“Not that type of torture,” he replies and then gasps as your tongue dips at the small hole in his cock. You push against it, tasting the salty drops before circling your tongue around the head. His teetering gasps and the way his biceps swell larger when he moves in his cuffs are enough to make you throb with arousal.

No wonder Syverson likes to be the one in control; seeing someone so helpless and bound at your mercy is quite the aphrodisiac. This is especially true when it’s a man like Syverson, a brooding hulk who weighs more than twice your size.

Ironically, Sy doesn’t even need to yell or use his fists to be intimidating. He can talk anyone into submission with his voice. He has this energy about him, a confidence that makes men, even who are just as big, to cower with fear.

Even now, as he lies in captivity, his eyes are shooting daggers at you, sending you a clear message: “You’re goin’ to regret this, darlin’.”The punishment is probably going to involve you being unable to walk for a week, but you’re certain that it’s worth every second of him being subdued to your bed.

Ever so slowly, your tongue glides down his length, tracing the ridges and the thick tendons that throb against your tongue. Motion-synced with the captain’s forced moans, you roll your tongue and slide it all the way back up.

You pause, staring at him as he pants, eyes hazy with lust, his abs sucked in. There’s a strained anticipation on his face, begging for the wet cavern of your mouth, but he never utters a word, only sucking in his lower lip with desperation. Your big army gruff doesn’t beg.

He“ain’t no pooch like them city boys.”

Pumping his cock with one hand, you give him a mischievous grin while pressing your cheek against the muscle of his thigh, feeling it flex beneath your touch. Every sinew of his body is straining, anxious for pleasure and release.

“You want to fuck my mouth, baby?” he releases a low growl, his eyes narrowing at you, his teeth grinding together. “You know I do, so put that damn mouth of yours to good use.”

Your nails trail around his thigh, tickling him feverishly. You watch how he jolts against your touch while one hand still squeezes his cock, making torturous pumps that are too slow and moderated to bring him closer to what he needs.

“Yeah, you want your big fat cock inside my mouth?” you raise your face to his towering erection, your lips part open slowly. You leaned down to lick him up and down before biting onto him, only to watch how he spasms with ache.

“You know I do, kitten.”

To your disappointment, he still remains composed, despite the anger and arousal that spikes his blood. It infuriates you; you want him to beg, to say he is sorry for being such an idiot and for ruining your first night together ever since he returned.

You squeeze him hard enough to make him grunt and descend to devour his cock again. Your lips wrap around him, tasting the bitter salt on the lush of your tongue before sucking him hard, just the way he likes it. Your throat relaxes to take him deeper, deep enough to hear those mellow groans and watch as he throws his head back, blissful at the way your warmth surrounds him.

You suck harder, working up and down his shaft, humming with him inside your mouth while your hand twirls and tugs at the base of his cock. The vibration of your hums makes him grunt, and those grunts and moans are the sweetest melodies to your ears.

It’s easy to lose yourself in the sensation, in these sounds and the way he fills your mouth. You’re in love with him, your heart flutters in the thought of making him feel good, especially since you’re forced to spend so much time apart. It wrecks your heart every time, yet the thought of not having the captain in your life at all is unacceptable.

He longed for you too, you are certain of it. And not just for your mouth and the way his cock reaches the edge of your throat while you pump in and out. He has a shit way of showing that, being such a hardass and saying “I don’t do romance, darlin’” while slapping your ass as if you were some broodmare.

But the raging ocean in his eyes is enough to say all those words he could never utter.

You hear his low voice cracking and sense the swelling of his cock against your tongue. Quickly, you withdraw with a loud wet pop as his cock exits your mouth.

“Fuck!” you hear him utter, the cuffs dangling against the bar while he frowns at you. “Why did ya stop, kitten?”

Wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, you lift your head, allowing a sneer to linger on your lips like something out of a horror film. You arch your back and crawl on top of his body, your knees bracing themselves at each side of his wide frame, and your nails scratching the slight fur of his skin.

“You’re not coming in my mouth, dear.”

You climb onto the big bear until finally, you are sitting on his chest. You slightly moan at the softness of his hairy chest that tickles the drenched spot between your thighs. Syverson grits his teeth, his jaw pushed forward, eyes red with rage altering between your naked breasts and your dominating glare. The soothing palm you press against his coarse cheek does nothing but humiliate him, which of course, makes you press your lips and coo at him tauntingly.

“Still not going to apologize?”

“Untie me first and I’ll give you the apology you deserve,” he demands, still struggling to remain in control but you can see the fuzzy haze of arousal in his eyes, the way his lips part and his breath becomes rigid. He can smell you, he senses the wetness of your mound as you sit on his chest. It makes the animal in its cage become enraged.

You shake your head, sighing with false disappointment and lift yourself to your knees, carefully targeting yourself above his face with preparation.

“I consider this a prize, Sy,” you murmur, looking down onto the slightly scarred face of your soldier who now returns a fascinated gaze to you. “I know how much you love to eat my pussy.”

He scoffs at you yet still licks his lips with anticipation as you lower yourself onto his inviting mouth. This was always his thing. There was no doubt that Syverson mastered the art of oral sex as another form of domination. Yes, he was an attentive lover. Making his lady squirm with ecstasy brought him joy, yet it was also another way he controlled you.

This is going to be tricky, yet you’re devoted to turning his little game around.

“You better make me come, Sy,” you warn, landing your pelvis onto his lips and releasing a deep moan as you feel the warmth of the captain’s skilful mouth around your mound.

“F-u-c-k!” you utter loudly, placing your hands above the bars for leverage. His velvet tongue meets your cunt, drawing wet circles around the seam and collecting your juices before plunging into you with earnest devotion. You gasp and throw your head back, clenching yourself around him and riding his bearded jaw.

“Like it when I fuck your mouth, Captain?” you call out breathless, trying to mimic the way he speaks to you when he shoves his cock down your throat on the occasion and fucks your mouth.

“Yes, like that, thrust your tongue inside me.”

You gasp the command at him, moving harder, your clit brushing against the moustache of his beard, eliciting a tickling sensation that stimulates you to the point of losing the ability to speak coherent words. Yet, you claw your talons onto control, your knuckles turning white around the edge of the headboard as you fist it in your sweaty palms and buck your hips and ride his face.

“Yes!!! Fuck! Like this! Suck it, harder!”

Even in his subdued position, Sy sustains every inch of mastery, eating you out as if you tasted of heaven. His tongue glides between your slit and your clit, rolling across your delicate nub. The sobs you make only urge him to increase the pressure around your clit and thrust his tongue harder. And just when you think you are close enough, the bastard mumbles something against your lips and the vibration of his bass throws you across the edge.

You come violently, slamming the headboard against the wall and pushing yourself hard onto his face. You can feel yourself soaking his beard yet he continues to lick you dry, sending slight aftershocks through your body.

Breathing heavily, you slowly climb off his face, looking at him as he glares at you darkly. You can see the little cracks appearing behind his eyes, his dominative nature stretching to the point of pain. He wasn’t amused to begin with but now he is close to being berserk.

Still sitting on his chest, you turn your sweaty chin across your shoulder to glimpse at his tortured cock which now looks painfully red and desperate for some attention.

“Are you done playing games?”

There it is, the thing you’ve yearned for. Despair, helplessness. His brow is covered with sweat and his feet kick at the mattress. Oddly enough, you hardly care anymore if he apologizes or not. You know he won’t, it’s not because he doesn’t care, it’s because it’s all part of the battle.

And if anything, Syverson hates losing.

“Not even close,” you answer while you crawl backwards, maintaining fierce eye contact with your enemy. Your glare returns the fight which is now escalated to a whole new level. Like a cougar ready for assault, you snake yourself to the starting point. Your hand meets with the pink toy, which is laid just where you left it.

His eyebrow crooks up, looking at you suspiciously and somewhat concerned. “What are you doing?”

You hold the toy firmly in your hand while spreading your legs across each of his. Your index finger smoothes over the length of the silicone toy, flirting with the on and off button against your tip.

“Remember how you told everyone at the bar that I fuck myself while you watch on Skype?”

“Stop it,” he shoots a warning glare, his neck stretching up with frustration. You tilt your head, puckering your lips sweetly into a pout before flicking the toy on, letting it vibrate in your grasp.

“For fuck’s sake, woman!” he growls and his eyes widen as you position the toy against your clit and instantly begin gasping as it brings you to incredible pleasure in less than a second.

“Oh god, baby!!!!” you gasp, closing your eyes and curling your toes. You massage your clit slowly, letting the vibration coax you just enough before the sensation turns painful. You slip the entire length of the toy inside you while screaming loud enough for your neighbours to hear.

“Sy!!!!” his name is on your lips while you drive the vibrator in and out, angling it at the right spots that make you mewl like a whore. Your eyes flick open to glimpse at the man who stares at you, eyes drenched with hopeless desire, mouth gaping open as his cock flinches with pain and need. The fact that he cannot have you right now is throwing the animal in him to a new length of frustration he never knew before. He squirms on the bed, throwing his head back and then shaking it at you, his lips pressed to a thin line beneath his messy beard.

“Fuck this, I am sorry! Okay?!”

You pump the toy in and out and yip while your finger ticks the button for a higher speed. “Not… good… enough!” you cry out, feeling your walls shuddering. You look at Syverson’s cock, imagining it inside you instead, his wider girth, the warmth of his body.

You need him, not a toy to replace him and still, you come, your body clenching around the soft silicone.

“Will you stop with the games already!? I said I was sorry!” he shouts at you with his face on the verge of panic. His eyes were glossy with anxiety and misery. If you weren’t as desperate to make love to him, if only you didn’t miss to feel him, sunken at your depth, you would have been able to go for hours.

You chuckle viciously, brushing a sticky strand of hair from your forehead while finally shifting yourself to straddle his hips. His chest heaves with eagerness, his breath loud and urgent as your fingers seizes his cock one more time and you lift your hips. He growls once you lubricate his erection against your slit before taking him into your core.

Ever so slowly you let yourself fall on his shaft, taking him inch by inch, enjoying the pure harmony that releases from both of your throats.

“Fuck!!!!” Sy shouts, his frustration finally being answered by the slippery heat of your taut canal. Not stopping, you sink down until the soft edge of your ass rests neatly on his tight balls. Until he is bottomed out inside you, pushed against the rim of your womb.

Painfully engorged your organs throb against one another, blood pumping fast with fury, yet you remain still. You give Syverson one last cruel smirk of triumph.

“Oh come on, woman!!!!” he grunts and bucks his hips, making you rise with him as he lifts you from the bed with ease. “I’m sorry, okay? I love you, I didn’t mean to say that stupid thing. I am just a jarhead, I don’t know how to be different.”

The evil grin quickly fades from your face. For a second, your heart beats abnormally fast while your eyes feel moist. A joyous spasm runs through the knot in your stomach.

“You love me?”

Sy looks at you with a deep frown, the usual fierceness his eyes hold is now replaced by something as fragile as a butterfly wing. You know better than to touch it.

He never said it before, not to you, not to any other woman.

You are flooded by a whirlpool of emotions, hitting you all at once, assaulting your heart and your loins. Your senses are at a complete loss, forgetting all about the stupid battle for control. You want nothing but to have him, to fuck him until you cry out of love. Lifting yourself up, you begin to ride him with incredible force. Hips rising up and down on his girth, nails digging into his torso and sliding up his chest.

“Sy!” You cry out his name, feeling full of him. He groans with amazement, finally praised by the sweetness of your body which he achingly longed for in months.

“Yes, baby,” he calls for you, jerking his hips to meet you as you sink down and throw your head back. “Ride me, fuck me, darlin’.”

You roll your hips and dance on his cock vigorously, your back arching while you sing with ecstasy. His cock is swelling inside you, locked between your closing walls as they attempt to drain him of everything he has. You know it won’t last long yet right now you don’t care, you don’t care if he comes without you.

Because he loves you, the warmth that spreads from your heart onward is just as good.

Yet still, you come, grinding your clit against his pubic bone while tears spring down your cheeks. You hear his voice calling your name in a blur, throwing an onslaught of praises before he lifts you up with his body.

All spent, you collapse flat onto his body, humming to yourself as the hot sprout of his semen fills your womb. Your head rests on his chest, listening to the beating drum within while your fingers draw circles onto his skin.

“I love you,” you say it back, slightly tilting your head to meet his eyes. He smiles at you relaxed, finally released, his breath is still irregular, small gasps of air break between his lips.

“Now uncuff me, kitten, let’s get some breakfast.”

You lift your head and slide further up so your face is levelled with his, your fingers play with his beard while you observe him.

“I am not sure I am done switching just yet.”

_____________________________________________________

disclaimer: I don’t own Sand Castle or Captain Syverson

#Smut: Captain Syverson #Captain Syverson #Henry Cavill #Captain Syverson Fanfiction #Sand Castle #Netflix Sand Castle #Captain Syverson x Reader #Henry Cavill x Reader

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bryan360 · 3 years

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My YCCTEAM'S Wireless Switch Pro Controller - Part 10 (Playtime through Super Mario 3D All-Stars game in Super Mario 64 #1)

Hi guys! Miss me of doing my continue YCCTEAM Controller topic reviewing? After using my controller of testing its buttons, batteries results, and doing gyro/motion controls in check, I decided to bring this for my YCCTEAM Controller topic to finished and give the results for how good was my controller is....almost. For my next one that I said from my April 22nd post, I've recording a video of using my controller during playtime with one of my games I choose. This video I did was back in April 18th; before 5 days later til showing my controller's gyro and motion through 👻Luigi's Mansion 3. Link Here

However though, I actually did 3 or 4 recording clips during the same day and I wanted to merge all 4 to make one video during this month of May 2021; instead of doing one at the time in clips. I can thank for my PicsArt app on my iPad Mini 2 to help me doing video edits and it really works! *thumbs up*

Those screenshots I took back in May 20th, by the way. ⬆️

However, it seems that I can't remove its tradmark on the right side bottom of the recording video. I'm sorry if I'll just leave it like that cause I don't have some money into my Apple account to purchased the PicsArts membership to help me remove its tradmark. At least knowing its small enough to not bother during this video of me playing games with my YCCTEAM Controller I've recorded. Nevertheless, let's get into my next topic part about using my pro switch controller through playtime I've been saving since April 18th. What better ways to show me playing with my controller with a game that I got from last year of Decemeber 2020 as my late Christmas gift: 🌟Super Mario 3D All-Stars! I've waiting for months to ever get started of my new progress through one of three gaming collection at first look. Just hoping that my buddy 🐰🖌Maxwell and his siblings will be ready to bring their reactions; mostly with Maxwell cause he's a big Mario fan and he'll be looking forward of me having fun with this game's progress I'll be bringing soon. Enough talking, let's-a-go for my latest topic part for today!

By the way, the original video's file size number was much larger so I use other video converter sites to turn down the file size smaller; that way I can uploaded through my tumblr blog just as easy.

0:00 to 0:37

Since now this recording video was actually the merge one with different shots I edited by using my PicsArt app, I'll begin saying the first one I did with my pro switch controller is doing Mario's moves through Super Mario 64. You know from my childhood that I happened to play the original Super Mario 64 since childhood. I remember when using my old N64 controller to play as Mario; jumping, running, and walking was a alright experience to begin my journey exercise to rescue Princess Peach from Bowser. Now years later that I got the 3D All-Stars collection version, I'm using my YCCTEAM Controller to get into Super Mario 64 once again. I still got it remember for the controls after learning from my original N64 game years ago, so here I am doing this to test my modern controller at hands. It looks good for starters when I use the left analog stick to move Mario and pressing the A button to perform jumping. I even do altogether while running and pressing the A button to perform a triple jump move.

0:37 to 0:53

Onto the next clip that I edited was pressing the Y button to perform his punching attack; like if I would be using it more often then doing jumping on enemies. At least knowing I've using it for the first boss battle which I'll get to that on my next video next month, by the way. I did five or more times of him throwing punches and the respond works fine. *thumbs up*

0:53 to 1:05

I quickly get into another part by performing Mario's ground pound move attack. I pressed the A button and ZR button while mid air. Just like my previous ones that it can do well when you gonna use for enemies/bosses and doing switching puzzles.

1:06 to 1:52

Finally now we're getting into the last part I've gotten of doing more of Mario's moveset I recorded. First was the jump kick attack after pressing the jump button then pressing X or Y button to kick in midair. Not bad, but barely if using it during my journey to rescue Princess Peach from Bowser sometimes. After that, I'm now doing the running long jump by moving the left analog stick to make Mario run faster a bit. Meanwhile pressing the Y button at the exact time can perform his long jump that I can feel the vibration on my YCCTEAM Controller; which is unexpected to say at least. I should've turned off the controller's vibration off during my recording, though....Just in case if It'll be little annoying when trying to have my gameplay through Super Mario game. Just saying, though. Anyways, I'm doing one more thing before ending this video and give some results about using my YCCTEAM Controller during playtime at first try. This is for the camera adjustment part as I use the right analog stick to move the camera; which Lakitu holding. It's little bit slow though when I'm trying to move the right analog stick quickly, but it was okay when using it for looking things; except looking into Mario's face cause reasons.

Looks like that's all I can bring you in this recording video of how far using my YCCTEAM Controller for Super Mario 64. Just wishing I could bring more of Mario's moves I haven't gone through it yet; such as crouching and doing backwards jumping. I did happened to perform those while not recording, but let's just say they're works fine as well; even could be useful during this game's progress. 🙂👍🏼

My Thoughts:

To my latest topic post for my YCCTEAM Controller review, it was a good start of using it during my playtime with Super Mario 3D All-Stars game and to the controlling respond as well. Testing with Mario's moves of jumping, ground pound attack, and so on was like taking me back when I'm playing with my original N64 controller, except differently since the N64 Controller had one analog stick in the middle bottom in weird design choice honestly. Nevertheless, it was still a good start.

Now if you we're thinking this will be my last topic review post for my YCCTEAM Controller, but I have other recording videos that I'll love to share for next month. So yeah, I'm still continuing this topic til I decided to finished. That being said, I did have good fun testing my controller; especially using through my first gaming progress of Super Mario 3D All-Stars that I promised to share for my upcoming posts soon.

Let's see how my mains reaction after showing my latest topic post for my YCCTEAM Controller.

🐰🖌Maxwell: It was the amazing thing I ever saw! At least during the begin though. ^^* While I give you applause for trying out Super Mario 64 on Switch in this recording, I'll can also give you a thumbs up about this latest topic post for using your YCCTEAM Controller in new test through playtime a bit. 😉👍🏼With this, I'm sure it can work well for your other games like 👻Luigi's Mansion 3 and 👊Super Smash Bros Ultimate. Though you already have.

🐰👊💥May: Indeed. Still our A-Pal will bringing more video recordings for another day soon. So his YCCTEAM Controller topic will continue, but hoping not to long eventually.

🦊⚽️Sam: Yeah. Besides, we like to see if he'll continue his gaming progress through Super Mario 3D All-Stars to share on his posts soon. That and he'll be doing his next items through upcoming topic reviews.

🐰🖌Maxwell and 🐰👊💥May: Huh?

You heard me right, guys. After I'll be done with my YCCTEAM Controller topic soon, I'll get into the next one for my other items that my family give me through stores or brought me online just in case we're still staying in houses til the pandemic can be over. It happens from months ago, by the way.

🐰🖌Maxwell: Guess you'll be doing your busyness through your upcoming topics, huh? Well at least hoping you'll have plenty of time to take it easy and organize your writing. For now though, you'll should keep going on your YCCTEAM Controller topic to continue; we can wait.

Thanks, Maxwell. Also hoping I'll remember when I can sharing one on my Super Mario 3D All-Stars gaming progress in screenshot pics to my Tumblr blog soon; by any chances I'll get. That's all for now. Hope you'll guys will giving a like to my lastest YCCTEAM Controller topic review post. See ya! 🙂👋

Pervious Posts for my YCCTEAM’s Pro Controller Topic:

Wireless Switch Pro Controller for Nintendo Switch/Switch Lite (Part 1) - Link Here #1

My YCCTEAM’s Wireless Switch Pro Controller for Nintendo Switch/Switch Lite Unboxing (Part 2) - Link Here #2

My YCCTEAM’s Wireless Switch Pro Controller for Nintendo Switch/Switch Lite Comparison with my Xbox One (Part 3) - Link Here #3

My YCCTEAM’s Wireless Switch Pro Controller for Nintendo Switch/Switch Lite Comparison with my Nintendo Switch’s Joy-Cons (Part 4) - Link Here #4

Testing Buttons (Part 5) - Link Here #5

Rumble Feature Testing (Part 6) - Link Here #6

Battery Charging Test (Part 7) - Link Here #7

Playtime Battery Life Results (Part 8) - Link Here #8

Gyro and Motion Controls 1st Half (Part 9) - Link Here #9

Gyro and Motion Controls 2nd Half (Part 9.5) - Link Here #10

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rookie-ramsey · 4 years

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Baby Blues, Chapter 14 (Bryce X MC)

Description: Bryce and MC can handle just about anything. Hopefully, pregnancy and parenting fall into the “just about anything” category.

Preview: Jackie snorted. “Uh… yeah. You’re gonna turn heads regardless of what you wear. Bryce’s jaw is gonna be on the floor no matter what.”

“Isn’t he shopping today, too?” Sienna helped Emily tie the dress’s sash into a bow behind her back.

“Yeah. He recruited his groomsmen and they’re at a shop somewhere. I don’t know if they’re still there.”

Keiki nodded. “Probably. He sent me an SOS a few minutes ago because he thought he lost one of his groomsmen in the store.”

Previous Chapter

In the following days, they made sure to pay attention to their surroundings. Bryce didn’t trust his parents not to snoop around, and he was determined to keep ties cut with them. He saw to it that they knew he would seek legal action if they showed up at his door or tried to investigate them, which was enough to make them board the next flight back to Hawaii.

They tried to call and text, but their attempts ceased as Bryce refused to answer. Within a few weeks, it was as if they’d faded from his existence once again. He turned his focus to helping Emily plan their wedding and taking care of Ava.

One saturday afternoon a few weeks after sending Bryce’s parents away, Emily walked into the living room with Ava, who had just woken from her nap. “Hey, Keiki, do you want to go to the mall? We can do some shopping and grab something to eat.”

The teen nodded. “Sure.”

Bryce arched a brow, curious. “What am I? Chopped liver?”

“It’s a girl’s outing. Just the three of us.” Emily slipped a sweater and a pair of socks onto Ava and grabbed the diaper bag and the car keys.

Feigning hurt, Bryce kissed her goodbye before she left. Emily led the way to the car and strapped Ava into her carseat before she left their apartment building’s parking lot. She drove to the mall, where she and Keiki made a beeline for a pizza place that they loved.

When they sat at their table, Emily settled Ava in a high chair. The five-month-old huffed in annoyance, wiggling against her restraints for a moment before giving up.

“So, there’s something I want to ask you,” Emily announced after a bite of pizza.

Curious, Keiki glanced at her. “What is it?”

“Do you want to be a bridesmaid?”

The teen’s eyes widened. “Seriously?”

“Seriously. You’re Bryce’s sister. That makes you my family.” Emily nodded, reaching over to take a dirty napkin from Ava.

“Of course I wanna do it.” Keiki smiled. “I remember when I first moved here almost two years ago and you and Bryce were still trying to act like you were ‘just friends’. It was embarrassingly obvious how bad you two had it for each other.”

“I deny nothing.”

“I know I like teasing my brother, but the whole deal got me a cool sister-in-law and the world’s cutest niece.”

“You’re right on both accounts.” Emily grinned as Keiki reached over and tickled Ava’s foot. Ava squealed with giggles, kicking her feet.

“Do you think you’ll be able to have Ava be in the wedding?”

“If she’s walking, maybe. I’d love to see her as a flower girl even if she’s not steady by then. I mean, she won’t remember it, and she’ll probably just dump all the flowers out in one spot and put the basket on her head, but it’s the cuteness that counts.

“She’ll be adorable.”

After lunch, Emily loaded Ava back into her shoulder. They spent the next two hours browsing store after store, loading the compartment under Ava’s stroller with merchandise.

Their last stop was the children’s store, where Emily could never resist buying things she knew Ava would just outgrow.

“Didn’t you pick lavender for your wedding colors?” Keiki held up a tiny lavender dress with a fluffy skirt. “Cause this would look really cute on Ava.”

Emily gasped. “It’s perfect. And she’ll grow into it by February.”

She took the dress and showed it to Ava, who looked at it with mild interest, her eyes drawn to the large bow attached to it.

“Look here. You’ll wear this to the wedding. It may end up covered in baby food and poop, but no judgment here.” Emily added the dress to her growing pile of purchases.

Once they couldn’t carry any more stuff, they went home. The next morning, Emily tracked down Sienna at work, unable to resist grinning ear to ear when she found her in the lounge.

“Hey, Em!”

“I have something really important to talk to you about.” Emily rocked back and forth on her feet, her hands concealed behind her back.

Sienna chuckled at the mischievous glint in her friend’s eye. “What is it?”

With a flourish, Emily revealed a ring box. She knelt down, opening the box with a flourish. Sienna’s hands flew to her mouth to contain a laugh at the sight of a pinky ring with a dolphin charm.

“Sienna Trinh, my best friend, would you be not only my bridesmaid, but also my maid of honor?”

Giggling, Sienna accepted the ring and slid it onto her finger. When Emily stood up, she gave her a tight hug. “Of course!”

“Good, cause that was really dorky of me and I’d be really embarrassed if it didn’t work.” Emily grinned and returned her hug. “We’ll go shopping next weekend.”

XXXXXX

As scheduled, Emily met her friends a week later for a day of dress shopping. Her heart swelled with excitement as she led the way into the bridal shop.

Her eyes widened as she took in the dresses that lined every wall. “Wow…”

“Do you know what kind you want?” Sienna asked.

“Nope.” Emily shook her head. “I was up until two looking at dresses, but my wish list just kept getting longer. I decided I’d just try on everything I like and go with what feels right.”

She wandered through the aisles, picking up dresses and draping them over her arm. Within minutes, she could barely carry her selections. Her friends followed her to the changing area, where she dumped the armload of dresses into an empty stall.

“You guys have to judge every one of them honestly!” she called out, toeing off her shoes and picking up the first dress. It was long-sleeved and covered in dainty lace, which gave her some sense of alarm as she stepped into it. “I need a dressing room helper.”

“On it!” Sienna joined her in the fitting room and fastened buttons running down the back of the dress. Emily stepped out of the stall to show everyone.

“This one’s kinda itchy,” she admitted, tugging at the sleeves.

“What else do you have?”

Ducking back into the stall, Emily peeled off the itchy dress and grabbed the next one. She stepped into it and let Sienna help her with the buttons. “These sleeves are way puffier than I thought they would be,” she announced as she emerged. “I thought they’d look cute, but it looks like I’m wearing watermelons for shoulder pads.”

“I won’t argue with you there,” Jackie agreed. “You look like a quarterback in a dress.”

“Well, that may be a good thing if a rowdy game breaks out in the middle of my wedding.”

Squeezing the comically oversized sleeves through the door, she discarded that dress. She stepped into the next one, tangling her feet in its long train. She gave herself a once-over in the mirror before emerging.

“I actually like this one.” She smoothed a hand over the silky material and fluffed the long skirt.

“It looks great on you, but don’t you think the train is a little long for you?” Aurora gestured to the fabric gathered around Emily’s feet.

Emily arched a brow. “What do you mean?” She tried to twirl around, only to entange her feet in the fabric and lose her balance. She lurched forward, almost face planting into the door of the changing stall.

“That’s what I mean.”

“Okay, so I’m a little bit accident prone. I can learn how to not trip over stuff by February!” Emily gathered the train into her arms and lifted it. It caught beneath her foot, making a ripping sound that made her stomach drop.

Sienna’s eyes widened. “Did you just…?”

“It’s not bad!” Emily’s eyes searched the material, examining the damage. “For all we know, that was there! I just made it worse.” She removed the dress off and cast it aside, refusing to look at the price tag.

A saleswoman gave her a sharp frown. “Expect a bill for that repair.”

“...Okay.” Cringing, Emily dug through her pile of dresses until one stood out to her. She slipped into it and studied herself in the mirror, admiring the way the little beads and embroidery caught the light.

Smiling, she stepped out to show everyone. “This is my favorite so far.” She twirled, relieved when the skirt fluttered around her ankles without tripping her, or worse, ripping.

“It looks beautiful.” Sienna grinned. “It’s super pretty.”

“It really is. That one’s my favorite,” Keiki agreed.

Emily smoothed a hand over her stomach, her lips pursing in thought. “The only problem is it shows what’s left of my pregnancy fat. I can’t get rid of it.”

Kyra frowned sharply at her. “Hey, if I can be a bridesmaid with my peach fuzz head, you can wear that dress.”

“You think?”

Jackie snorted. “Uh… yeah. You’re gonna turn heads regardless of what you wear. Bryce’s jaw is gonna be on the floor no matter what.”

“Isn’t he shopping today, too?” Sienna helped Emily tie the dress’s sash into a bow behind her back.

“Yeah. He recruited his groomsmen and they’re at a shop somewhere. I don’t know if they’re still there.”

Keiki nodded. “Probably. He sent me an SOS a few minutes ago because he thought he lost one of his groomsmen in the store.”

“I don’t think I wanna know.” Amused, Emily returned her attention to the mirror. “It’s in my budget. I think I just hit the jackpot. Why don’t you guys start looking at bridesmaid dresses?”

As her group dispersed to pick out their dresses, she couldn’t resist admiring herself in the mirror a little longer. A wide grin took over her face as she carefully took the dress off and draped it over her arm.

This was really happening.

Note: I think this story is going to have about 3-5 more chapters. Next up is Bryce’s day of suit shopping with the boys!

Next chapter

Tags: @elephant9998 / @mvalentine / @fortunatelywaywardsandwich / @whatchique / @achalantspitfire / @lahellacute / @virtuallytakenby / @oofchoices / @dang-lahela / @misswhit12 / @drakeismyweakness / @sitsoncornflake / @a-tragical-tale / @bitchloveskcbaseball / @laceandlula / @paulfwesley / @bloomingsivan / @anotherbeingsworld / @vamped99 / @malvolari-take-my-soul / @doctorsurferbro / @loveellamae / @drethanfreakingramsey / @trappedinfandoms / @elladines / @macy-ray85 / @mrsdrlahela / @lucy-268 / @swimmingauthordreamerbonk / @drakewalker04 / @crystalchrysalis19

#open heart #choices #choices: open heart #bryce lahela #bryce lahela x mc #bryce x mc #keiki lahela #sienna trinh #jackie varma #aurora emery #kyra santana

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boogiewrites · 4 years

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Peach and Poppy

Characters: Declan Harp x Scarlet Dixon (OFC)

Summary: Declan Harp AU. Set in the 1970′s, Declan is a misbehaving psychiatric patient and Dr. Dixon or Dixie as he likes to call her, is a tenacious and underestimated new hospital director. Will this new job get the best of her delicate sensibilities like people are warning her? Will the charm of one of her patient’s awaken something in her she can’t come back from?

Warnings/Tags: Talk of manipulation, graphic language.

Click on my screen name then go to Mobile Masterlist in my bio for my other works and chapters. Please leave a like, reblog or comment if you enjoyed this! It makes me want to write more of what you want if you let me know!

1975 was an exciting year for psychiatry and it was shaping up to be one for Scarlett. She sat in the driver's seat, something she’d had to work so hard to accomplish. Her father had insisted with her new position of such importance it would look proper to be driven around again. But she’d only been living on her own for a few years now and she wasn’t ready to give up that freedom again.

She supposed he truly had a soft spot for her because he hadn't been entirely dismissive of this rebelliousness. But he always gave in to her in the end.

“Those feminists out there in… heathen California and such. Dixie darlin, I brought you up to be a respected little lady. You’re a dang doctor! Miss Georgia! You’re smart and gorgeous as the day is long honey, why would you wanna go and act ugly like that?”

This always came with the intimidating insinuation that it would sure be a shame if her actions were what lost him the next election.

With a wide-eyed, “It won’t be a problem, daddy.” He’d give her a hug and lift up her chin, tell her she looked like her mama and she’d be proud.

If he’d wanted a daughter to fall for that maybe he shouldn’t have let her become a psychiatrist.

But Scarlet or Dixie as those close to her called her, her daddy had been right about one thing, she was smart. She’d learned how to play the game in her favor long ago. In a public and pressured life like hers, looking how she did, she learned early what was expected of her and how men were going to treat her. She was allowed a bit of protection. Her father wasn’t just some kiss ass politician. He’d been known to make a few people disappear, and the whiff of a threat always around him, so his daughter would understandably come with some consequences. But now she’d become her own person, a doctor, and had a house and life of her own that she was still having fun exploring.

She was an accomplished psychiatrist. Engaged to one of her daddy’s lawyers and now the head chief of a psychiatric hospital. Which was where she was headed right now in the new car her daddy had bought her. A slick thing that made her feel confident and a bit bad if she were being honest. This is not a feeling she was accustomed to, and on this morning drive out of the city into rural Georgia for her first day on the job, she was feeling a lot of things she never had before.

It wasn’t a dream job by any stretch. This was going to be work. But with so many specialty fellowships, she felt like she had what it took to turn the place around.

When she pulled into the parking lot it was clear the job was bigger than anticipated. She stood outside her car with a bag stuffed full of files and looked up at the daunting hospital. It’d been around much longer than she had. Served as a sanitarium during the TB outbreaks, now showing its age and functions as Sunny Valley Psychiatric Hospital. Much preferred to the dated terminology of lunatic asylum it had formerly held. The old chief had been there for over 30 years. A lot had changed outside of Sunny Valley but the inside hadn't. She was going to have to gut and rebuild this place from the ground up, she thought as she took a deep breath and made her way in.

———-

The murmurs started long before she’d stepped foot into the hospital. She hadn’t expected a warm welcome, it’d been a stressful time for everyone with a regime change, but the doctors, some older than her father, and all men weren’t going to be an easy sell on her as their new boss.

She understood from a statistical standpoint. She hadn’t been practicing for that many years. But in that time she had been published and was known for her unique approach to care. Her father had also donated a large sum of money to the state's Psychiatric Association. Which certainly didn’t hurt her chances. —————

So she came in with a positive, self-assured attitude. She had a game plan and now the hard work began. She meets with the doctors on staff with bold new orders. She would meet with each individual to go over the patient and their care plan. She would lay out new directives and goals, telling them she was bringing them into a new age of medicine where new research and medicine are all utilized with psychotherapy, medication, and the arts. It went over about as well as she expected. At least she was prepared for every rebuttal and excuse as she was an avid reader of medical journals. She’d infuriated a handful who resigned, but she preferred to bring in new life anyway.

She met with every employee, from groundskeepers and kitchen to housekeeping. She gave them her plans for updates and explained she was going to start looking for funding immediately and to expect changes and upgrades. Most of the staff liked her new hands-on approach, not the idea of more work but instead the idea of someone who would listen to them being in charge.

She spent days buried in files with arguments on treatment and headaches. The lingering stench of cigar smoke still hung in her office no matter how widely she opened the windows. She’d laid the base for her work, now it was time to move onto the most important part, the patients themselves.

————————-

It was Friday and the exhausting week was nowhere near finished. However, she thought she’d been able to check off a huge phase of her plan, a satisfying thick line through it on her goal list.

“There is actually one other patient that we uh… forgot.” A male nurse says as he hangs in her doorway.

“Forgot?” She says with the tone of a scolding mother. “How do you FORGET a patient?”

“He’s been in isolation and we don’t go down there much so the night crew didn’t tell us he was still down there.”

She wanted to bang her head into the desk. She thought she’d processed how poorly they were treating people but they kept on surprising her.

“This...this will not happen again. We don’t lose track of patients...of PEOPLE. We are not that sort of establishment now. I want a new record-keeping system for this sort of thing. Have it to me by the end of next week.”

“Yes ma’am." The frustrated younger man said.

“It’s Doctor Dixon. Now show me to him.” She shoos him out of the doorway.

Not even the golden hour light could salvage the depressing aesthetic of the hospital. Peeling paint and chipped tiles she had to skip over with her heels were everywhere she went. She pulled her white lab coat over her matching suit set as they made their way into an even more dreary sort of hallway. Some doors weren’t even on the hinges and inside were torn padded cells in a neglected wing of the building.

“I’d expect to find something like this in the old abandoned B building but not here. You still keep people in these things?” She says with a heavy sigh of frustration.

“Just this one. And we don’t have to use it often. Well. Just for him.” She shrugs as he finds his key.

“Who is him?”

“Harp. He’s… difficult.”

“How so?”

“Prone to violent outbursts, sleeping with other patients… staff.”

Scarlet lets out a scoff. “And he should be forgotten in a dark tiny room for that?”

“Uhh.. it’s… where we put him when he won’t listen.”

“Just… open it? Okay. I’ll deal with you and this… horrid treatment plan you have allowed here later."

“You sure you don’t want me to get someone else to help, he mi-“

“Open the damn door.” She ordered more sternly, whatever it is I can handle it.” she insisted loudly and with a glare.

For a few heavy moments, nothing happens, just an open door into a very dark room that the light doesn’t reach. The white noise of the bodies inside the building beyond the wing’s heavy double doors was slight, just a steady beat of her pulse in her ears as her eyes tried to focus. The nurse stands in a defensive body position as Scarlet peers into the room taking tentative steps forward.

She waits and then hears movement. The aid moves into the room and she follows behind, seeing how this is going to go.

“C’mon Harp.” He grunts and uses his foot to roll the man onto his front.

“Did you just…” the face of the aid turns fast to a very angry face staring daggers into him. “...kick him?”

“No ma’am I was just rolling him so he could get up easier.”

She hears a muffled grunt from the man on the floor who’s slowly moving.

“Shut up.” The aid mutters down.

Dixie takes a deep breath to compose herself. “Go to your supervisor's office and wait for me.” She states coldly.

“Ma’am I-“

“I don’t care what you have to say anymore alright? Every time I’ve given you a chance you have only continuously failed so you’re fired. Go tell HR, and send one of the female nurses this way, please.”

She gets the death stare she’d seen a million times before when correcting and enacting her authority to a man. “Yes ma’am.” He grits through his teeth.

As she hears his footsteps down the hall she begins to kneel next to this unfortunate man. “I would like to apologize for this treatment, Mister Harp.”

She sees his face, a beard just started to fill out and as unkempt as his shirt and greasy hair. It laid in the way his sleeping had moved it, he had crusts on his face and his eyes were squeezed shut from the light. She helps him sit up, being gentle but having to exert to help the large man. She let his eyes adjust and when he finally opened them to look at her his face contorted into a very confused expression.

“I’m Doctor Dixon. The previous Chief passed away and I’m his replacement. I’ll be taking care of the hospital now. And I would like to personally apologize for the mistreatment you’ve been given here previously. This is archaic and holds no scientific grounds to help patients based on formal studies.”

He really only heard a few of her rushed words. She’d lost him towards the end there but whatever she said it had sounded nice. His ears worked better than his eyes at the moment and the almost husky, thick, and sweet feminine Georgia accent rolling out of her painted mouth like sweat dripping down a glass was making him melt too.

“So the old guy finally bit it?” He croaks out after clearing his throat.

“Yes. Heart attack they said.”

“Mmmph.” Was his emotionless reply. From how he’s been treated she didn’t blame him for not being upset. So far no one had really acted upset about the news. It was very telling.

“Who are you?” He focuses his eyes on her.

“Doctor Dixon. I’m here to replace the Chief that just died.”

“Ah.” He nods and then winces.

“Would you mind if we got you out of here and cleaned up? We could speak over a good meal, I'd love to hear what you have to say about the previous administration. I want to help.”

As another nurse swept in, a broad farmer's daughter, helped her loosen the jacket and get him to the washroom. “You want to… know what I think?” He lets out a hoarse chuckle.

“Of course. You’re a part of this hospital and if I’m running it I want to know everything. Good and the bad.”

He nods and focuses on using his legs, the journey to the bath hadn’t felt this long in a while. “You take your time, schedule him down for some Physical Therapy tomorrow please. I’ll go make sure your room is ready.” She says reassuringly. He sees her disappear into the fuzz of the distance, his injection still making him groggy. —————— He’d slicked back his wild and uneven hair with water and was currently hunched over his desk in his room being allowed to eat in peace. It was nice.

“Hello? Mr. Harp?” A slightly familiar voice from his doorway says. A little redhead with a daughter of a dentist smile and perfectly coiffed big hair came and sat in the seat next to his desk. “I managed to grab an extra pudding. You want it?” She sits it on his desk as she has a seat.

It’d been a while since he’d seen anyone new and she was bright and shiny and there was plenty to look at. He looks her over and then to the cup. “A bribe?”

“No. I thought for all the hell the former establishment put you through that at the moment an extra pudding cup is the least I could do.” She gives a real smile and a huff of a laugh. Been a long time since someone had interacted with him like he wasn’t in a psychiatric ward.

“Hmmph.” He grunts and accepts the offer.

“I did want to hear about your treatment here. As I said. I want this hospital to be a place where people can receive the help and support they need to achieve their goals. I’m not here to be a warden. I’m here to be a doctor. I took an oath to help others and I seem to be one of the few around that took that seriously.” She huffs.

“You don’t act like a doctor.”

“I’m a horse of a different color I presume.”

He nods in acknowledgment and continues eating.

“I wanted to know the good and bad of the hospital previously. Because I want to fix things. The men responsible for putting you in that cell have all been fired I'd like you to know.”

“Really...taking charge of the place aren’t ya?”

“I’m being met with much resistance.” She admits with a smile.

“Let me add to it then. I have conditions.”

“Conditions? What for?” She leaned closer and he could smell her perfume. It’d been a while since he’d been buried in the neck of a woman that smelled expensive like she did.

“For this information you want.”

“Oh. Well okay. What would you like Mr. Harp?”

“For starters call me Declan.” He waves his hand. “You’re gonna be my doctor right?”

“Yes, I am.”

“So I’ll be having sessions with you now?”

“Correct.”

“We starting tomorrow?”

“If you wish.”

“I do. And I want you to have me something waiting in your office when I come in.”

“What would that be?”

“A cheeseburger.”

“A cheeseburger?” She laughs.

“The biggest you can find from the greasiest place you know of.”

She laughs and nods enthusiastically. “Consider it done.” She says happily.

“Really?”

“Why not?” she shrugs. “Perfectly reasonable request.”

He blinks in surprise at her but with dark narrowed eyes. “I’ll sing like a bird for you after I have that burger then.”

“Consider it a deal.” She holds out her hand to shake on it and the trust she was showing for him not to yank her down and have his way with her was astounding.

“Lookin forward to it, Doc…?” He shakes her hand.

“Dixon.” She adds with no annoyance for repeating it.

“Doctor Dixon. Alright. See you then.”

“Looking forward to it.” She repeats back playfully and he’s left with a visible confused expression on his face for the pleasant interaction he’d just had with someone in charge. He didn’t know if he was happy about or ashamed of himself. But she had certainly caught his interest.

——————————

“Hey, there jailbird.” says the woman in the worn chair. She was sitting incorrectly as always, this time with her legs over the arm of the chair.

“Hey, Alex.” He sighs to his only real friend in the hospital.

“Was this a new record?” She asks, turning her head from the old television in the activity room towards a tired and beaten up looking Declan.

“I don’t know. I was the one in the box I don’t know what day it is.”

“Thursday.”

“Fuck me.”

“Yeah, you really pissed them off last time.” She laughs. “Can’t keep your charm to yourself can you?”

“No ma’am.” He wears a sly grin. “Speaking of have you seen that new doctor?”

“New doctor director.” She corrects with a point of a finger. “Yes, I have.”

“What do you think about her?”

“I like her.”

“Really? You like no one.” He questions her motives.

“I saw her today. She’s...different.”

“Yeah. Different. That’s what I thought.” He hums in thought.

“I’m surprised you haven’t made sweet sweet love to that little peachy assed firecracker.” Alex jokes.

“Oh, it’s been on mind ever since I came to and saw her walk out of my room in that tight little skirt.”

“She is...yeah.” Alex blushes slightly. “But she was actually nice to me. Was strange.”

“Yeah me too. It was...new.” He runs his arm and settles into his chair.

“She wrote down my complaints. Apparently, she has for everyone so far. She called down to the office and fired Jones because I told her what he did to me.”

“Yeah, she fired numb nuts that threw me in.”

“You should play nice with this one. She might be a good one.”

“I wouldn’t bruise that peach.”

“You’ll have to practice your lying. You’ve gotten rusty.” She grins.

“I don’t plan on it. If she comes through with my request I’m gonna tell her about all this bullshit.”

“She even mentioned… getting out.” She adds in a quieter more serious tone and Declan immediately notices and changes his focus.

“What’d she say?” He whispers with great interest.

“Apparently a few years back the...psychiatry people said homosexuality was no longer a mental illness. So she’s going to work to get that removed from my paperwork and we can work on the rest. It’ll “improve my chances of being released tremendously” Alex mocks the doctor's heavy southern drawl.

“Yeah she’s a little belle isn’t she?” He laughs.

“I mean her name is Scarlett for fucks sake. She is a debutante.”

“Well fuck me that’s a sexy name.”

“Don’t I know it. About creamed my cotton panties when she told me. Dr. Scarlett Dixon.” She mocks again.

“I’m gonna make her cream hers.” Declan promises with wiggling eyebrows.

“I’m sure you will stud. But play nice. She could be useful. Plus she has a fiancé. Didn’t you see that big rock on her hand?”

“I didn’t.” He shakes his head. “Never stopped me before.”

“Not much has.”

——————————-

Scarlet got home late, almost nodding off from overwork and the calming quiet of the drive. She yawns and wakes herself up before entering her house she shared with her fiancé currently.

“Hello, Phillip.” She sighs out, seeing him with his glasses on and hunched over his desk in his office by the front door. “Did Wilamena make dinner as I requested?”

“Yeah. It’s...in the fridge.” He doesn’t look up when responding.

“Do you have a minute? I had a big day today.” She says sheepishly.

He looks up and sighs. “What is it?”

“I just wanted to tell you about my day is all. Big changes coming with this job.” She bounces on her feet excitedly.

“You’re working in a nuthouse Dixie how interesting can it be?”

“Very. Actually. And that’s a rather offensive term so please don’t refer to it in that way. Especially at the fundraiser coming up.”

“When was that again?”

“Tuesday.” She sighs. She’d told him so many times and it was so important to her.

“Mmm.” He answers.

“What does Hmm mean?” She asks with her irritation showing.

“I might have something that night.”

“Of course you do.” She mutters and rubs her temple.

“I’m a busy man.” He says lazily but defensively.

“Yeah. And I’m a busy woman and still manage to find time for everything.” She says quietly but sharply.

“Do you want the work I do for your father to suffer? Do you want me to mess up one of his legal proceedings and have him arrested? Because that’s what happens when I don’t work Dixie.”

With her jaw tight she huffs air out of her nose in frustration. “Of course I don’t.” She says bitterly. “I just wish you had time to be my fiancé and not just my father's lawyer. We don’t even… sleep together anymore. You realize it’s been months?”

“Has it?” He asks rhetorically with his eyes back to his desk.

“Yes. I had a good day and thought I could share my successes and you could validate my hard work and I could have some attention from you to celebrate things going well.”

“I need to know these things in advance. I can’t just up and be in a mood to give you attention. I’m-“

“A busy man. I know.” She sighs and lets her hands hit her hips. She went to bed frustrated and alone after eating cold leftovers while standing in her kitchen. Who was she to give people advice anyway? She certainly didn’t have her shit together.

@vale0413 @littledeadgirlwalking @jaegeeeeer @phillipkopusimagines-and-stuff @mjolnir96 @xmother-mortemx @this-isnt-madness @thors-hair-extensions @divadinag @s-h-e-w-r-i-t-e-s

#declan harp #frontier #declan harp fanfic #declan harp fic #declan harp au #declan harp x ofc

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artificialqueens · 3 years

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Everybody Knows You're High, 2/4 (Rajila) - Dartmouth420

“And on the deck while I waited for her to get dressed, I sparked up another one and I was such a mess that I confess that my professor wouldn’t look me in the eye…”

Summary: Raja has a great time at her philosophy class this week, Manila strategically turns the whole situation into a joke, but their attempts to one-up each other go a little too far…

A/N: this chapter is dedicated to the term ‘making out,’ and how vague and ridiculous it is lmao. thank you V&albatross for the shoutout!

tw: weed

Raja forgot that it was a Tuesday and smoked a huge blunt just after noon, before remembering that she had to leave for class in fifteen minutes. Uh oh.

But luckily Professor A. O’Hara’s philosophy class was a lecture and that meant Raja didn’t need to participate, she could just sit in the low-lit room, stare at the slides and let the words wash over her. Which was totally doable while high. Also, Manila was in that class, so Raja didn’t want to skip it.

Pleasantly hazy, Raja threw an open button-up shirt over her tank top, wandered over to Manila’s house a few doors down and knocked on the door.

Manila answered, her face pink and sweaty, her fantastic legs clad in neon green leggings.

“I just got back from the gym,” said Manila, “I still need to change, just give me a sec-“

“Sure,” said Raja, leaning casually against the porch railing. Manila looked pretty cute, all warm and sweaty like that. Raja reached into her front pocket and found a tiny little joint she must have forgotten in there the last time she’d worn this shirt.

Well, she was already high, so why the hell not? Raja sighed happily, thanking whatever deities had decided to smile upon her today as she fished her lighter out of her shorts, and lit up.

Manila came back out a few minutes later, in a neat little corduroy skirt that hugged her hips, shirt tucked in, and said, “Oh my god, are you getting high right now?”

“Yeah,” replied Raja, happy and content, “I forgot it was Tuesday and started earlier, figured I may as well lean in, right?”

Manila rolled her eyes and shook her head, then locked the door.

They walked together to campus in the warm sun, and Raja began to feel soft, even a little loopy, like she needed to slow down…

“Hurry up, we’re going to be late,” urged Manila, walking ahead of her.

“Nah, just slow down a bit,” murmured Raja in response. The sun was catching in Manila’s hair again, the black curls shining with an almost reddish-orange highlight.

“Are you related to any gingers?” asked Raja, blithely.

“Uh, my uncle on my mom’s side,” replied Manila, “And so is one of my cousins. Why?”

“Your hair has this kinda red highlight in the sun…”

Manila laughed and it was a happy sound that Raja quite liked. But then Manila went behind Raja and pushed her, her hands on Raja’s back as she hustled her rapidly down the sidewalk, which Raja liked a little less. They finally got into the building and managed to make it to class with only seconds to spare.

Raja entered the dark room, supremely comfortable and chill, and took her usual seat. Manila sat next to her, taking out her neat little notebook and pen to take notes. She was so organized, Raja admired that about her.

Professor O’Hara greeted the class and hit the lights to begin the lecture. Raja smiled and nodded and basked in the weird glow of the PowerPoint while Manila diligently took notes next to her. The words washed over them both.

After the lecture was done and the lights turned back on, Professor O’Hara took questions from the class. Raja found she had a question too, and raised her hand.

“Don’t draw attention to yourself-“ hissed Manila next to her, trying to grab Raja’s hand and force it back down.

But Professor O’Hara has already addressed her, so Raja batted Manila off and opened her mouth.

“Uh, so…” began Raja, leaning forward and putting her chin in her hand, pausing for what she was sure was only a couple seconds. An amused murmur rippled through the crowd. “So, when Plato talks about you know, duality, what if-“

Raja wasn’t sure where she was going with her question, but she was confident it was going somewhere, and kept talking. Professor O’Hara had an amused expression on her face, and pressed her lips together, not quite making eye contact. Next to Raja, Manila slid lower in her seat and shielded her eyes with her hand.

“…so like, isn’t that connected to Aristotle’s original idea about being?” finished Raja.

Muffled laughter sounded throughout the class. What was so funny?

Professor O’Hara blinked, and cocked her head to the side, then said, “Well, to everyone’s surprise that’s actually an excellent question, Raja-“ and proceeded to answer it.

Raja glowed with the praise, nodding her head slowly as Professor O’Hara answered her question, and further elaborated on the content of the lecture, which inspired more questions from the class. Raja remained pleasantly blazed. Coming to class like this had been a great idea after all-

Soon enough it was over, and Raja yawned, sleepy, and stretched as Manila put her things back in her bag.

“Raja,” said Manila with resignation, hoisting her backpack to her shoulder, while the rest of the class filed out around them, throwing amused glances in Raja’s direction, “Everybody knows you’re high.”

“Mmm…” replied Raja, content, getting up from her seat and tripping a little on the edge of the chair, “Yeah, this time I don’t care.”

The problem with Raja, considered Manila as they walked back down the street together after class and Raja prattled away, happy and stoned, was that from the day they’d met Manila wanted throw her against the wall, furiously make out with her, have insanely hot sex in every imaginable way, move in together, start their lives, be completely and utterly in love, have like four kids and three dogs, raise them, retire, get old, and die together.

Obviously that was a little much.

Manila had quickly learned that her desperate fantasy seemed to be the exact opposite of what Raja was looking for. Raja’s priorities seemed to consist of getting stoned, getting laid, playing video games and going to class. Apparently in that order. So, they became good friends instead, along with Delta and Carmen, and had an excellent friendship that involved terrible humour, petty competition, and affectionately roasting one another to death. Given that Raja had never shown any romantic interest in her, Manila did her best to shove her feelings to the back of her mind. She wasn’t going to ruin a great friendship with her idiotic feelings, god forbid!

So, not that Raja randomly asking her to make out the other day had thrown Manila’s world off its axis anything, just… ugh.

They kept walking, and Raja kept talking to herself. Admittedly, she was making some great points about Plato.

“Carmen’s kinda mad at you, by the way,” said Raja, turning to her. Her deep brown eyes were a little bloodshot, but still shockingly intense and beautiful.

“Why?” asked Manila, glancing at the blue, open sky instead. It was a lovely day.

“‘Cause you unlocked metallic Peach the other day. She wanted to unlock metallic Peach.”

“Tell her the day she beats me at literally one round of Smash Bros is the day I’ll stop unlocking stuff for her,” said Manila.

“This is just as bad as the Mario Kart Incident last April,” said Raja, who was still looking at her, and then added, in an apparent non-sequitur, “Hey, has anyone ever told you you’re like really pretty?”

“Yeah, my mom,” replied Manila sarcastically, but her heart beat a little faster with the compliment.

“No, come on!” replied Raja, with a blissed-out expression and a goofy smile, “You are, though. Your hair is like so nice-“

Manila didn’t know what to say. Getting this kind of attention from Raja wasn’t something she’d anticipated happening, it was making her feel vulnerable and a little turned on, and she wanted to believe that it meant something… but doubt congealed in her stomach. It didn’t mean anything beyond a casual, well-intentioned, platonic expression of attraction. This was just how Raja was.

“Shut up!” laughed Manila semi-hysterically, impulsively pushing Raja in response. Raja was stoned and off-balance enough that she tripped and fell into the neighbour’s garden with an indignant squawk. Manila felt bad for a split second, then laughed out loud.

“Hey!” protested Raja, picking herself up from the enormous hosta plant she’d fallen into, her long black hair in her face, “I thought you liked me!”

“I do like you, you don’t need to worry about that!” said Manila over her shoulder, maintaining a joking attitude and walking up the steps to her house.

“You’re the worst,” whined Raja, making a face, then flipping her off in a friendly goodbye. Manila returned the gesture.

Manila went inside and got a snack from the kitchen, said hi to her roommate Shangela who’d just gotten out of the shower, and went into her room. Manila dropped her backpack to the ground and flopped down on her bed.

It was simple: Raja was blazed as usual and messing with her, that was all. But if there was anything Manila was good at, it was messing with people in return.

Raja wasn’t used to being rejected. She was, after all, very cool, extremely sexy, highly intelligent and always had weed. Clearly a catch! But apparently not to Manila. Raja knew Manila liked her, Manila had specifically said so the other day! They were already friends, they understood each other’s humour, and they hung out regularly, which was half the battle when it came to getting involved with somebody, even casually.

So, at Morgan’s Hallowe’en party, Raja found herself on the enormous, crumby couch, passing a blunt back and forth with Manila and several others. Some mid-2000s hip hop music played in the background, and way too many people were packed into the space in ridiculous costumes. Manila was pressed in next to her on the crowded couch. Earlier Raja had noted Raven somewhere at the other end of the house, pointedly ignoring her, which was ideal.

Manila somehow managed to look incredibly cute while dressed as Weird Al Yankovic, fake moustache and all, which was a feat in and of itself. Raja was dressed as Raoul Duke from Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, because she related to him on a spiritual level, and already had the sunglasses for it. Their dumb costumes even matched, both featuring ugly Hawaiian shirts. Manila was cracking a joke with Carmen on her other side, and Raja figured this was as good an opportunity as any. Raja slung a casual arm around Manila, passed the blunt back to her and whispered in her ear, “Do you wanna make out?”

Manila put the blunt to her lips and inhaled deeply, the end glowing orange as Raja waited with anticipation for her answer, excitement mounting in her stomach.

With a smirk, Manila blew a lungful of smoke into Raja’s face, then she rested her hand on Raja’s thigh, and leaned in. Raja’s heartbeat accelerated.

Manila shut her eyes and Raja shut hers too, barely able to believe it was happening. Manila’s lips brushed against hers, soft, thrilling, just the barest hint of contact-

Manila pulled back abruptly, and Raja opened her eyes, confused.

Manila gave her an absolutely shit-eating grin and declared, “Nope!”

Raja’s jaw, along with her mood, dropped with disappointment. An odd moment passed between them. Through her haze Raja realized, with Manila’s shit-eating grin and her hand on still suggestively on her thigh, that Manila was mocking her. Raja, totally stoned, asking her to make out with for a second time with the exact same line had inevitably, painfully, become a joke.

Raja huffed, insulted, and turned away. Manila cackled.

On Raja’s other side someone new sat down, a pretty, athletic and tanned girl with dirty blonde hair, her amazing body in clad in what was basically red lingerie and devil horns. Raja recognized her, she was that girl a year or two below them who went running with Manila sometimes. She was laughing, her head thrown back, at something another blonde beside her was saying.

Raja tapped her on the shoulder and said, “Hey, you’re cute, do you wanna make out?”

The girl blinked at her in shock, and then grinned, and said, “Uh, oh my god, yeah.”

“Great.”

“Damn, you’re so direct, I’ve had a crush on you like forev-”

Raja ignored her, took her face in her hands and leaned in. Their lips met and the girl let out an excited gasp. She tasted like Jack Daniels and smelled like tropical perfume. Nice. And she was a great kisser, with an enthusiastic and knowing tongue. The girl’s warm hands immediately went to Raja’s shoulders. Around them a few people oohed and laughed, and Raja caressed the girl’s lower back and practically pulled her into her lap. Raja’s bucket hat fell off the back of her head.

Manila was still laughing at something on Raja’s other side, but her laughter stopped abruptly, and Raja felt the couch shift as Manila stood up. Raja broke the kiss for a moment and glanced over her shoulder in time to see Manila stomp away, furious jealousy in every line of her body, throwing her fake glasses to the floor.

That’s right, burn.

Smug, Raja went back to making out with the blonde chick in her lap, their hands wandering all over each other until someone yelled at them to get a room. May as well. Raja got up and led the girl into Morgan’s messy bedroom and shut the door.

“You know you’re like a legend around here, right?” chuckled the blonde girl, grasping the edge of Raja’s shirt and pulling her down onto the bed with her, “By the way, my name’s Willam-”

“That’s nice,” replied Raja, crawling on top of her, kissing her neck and getting down to business.

It became an inside joke.

Manila had barely managed to pull it off, because coming so close to kissing Raja had been horribly thrilling, (electric, overwhelming, transcendent), and she’d wanted so badly for it to be real, to be anything other than just a stoned-and-low-key-horny suggestion on Raja’s part-

So, despite Manila’s burst of jealousy over Raja’s makeout session at the Hallowe’en party with Willam, her gym buddy of all people, their friendship remained strong and uninterrupted. Manila didn’t hold it against Willam either, who’d been all too happy to talk about it at their next cardio and gossip session, because Raja was generally irresistible. Manila sure as hell wasn’t going to let it get to her. After all, this kind of thing was in the nature of a friendship that largely consisted of roasting each other to death over a high-octane flame.

As the week passed the joke got even funnier. Raja got over sulking about it, and started purposefully asking Manila to make out at the most hilarious, awkward, and inopportune times.

For example:

Playing Smash Bros at Raja’s house late on a Saturday night with Delta and Carmen, everybody squashed on the couch: “Can we make out if I win?” “As if you’d ever beat me, bitch.” “It’s true Raja, you kind of suck at Nintendo-” “Shut up!”

Hollered across the quad, much to Manila’s embarrassment and Raja’s enjoyment, in front of a crowd of freshman, “Hey Manila, you wanna come over here and make out!?” “Go shove your tongue down somebody else’s throat!” “Aw, rude!”

In the hallway after class, just as Professor O’Hara walked by, loudly: “Wanna come back to my place and make out?” “Oh my god, Raja!” “Ladies.” “Sorry, professor!”

Whispered in the library, “Do you wanna go into the stacks and make out?” “Write your essay.” “I’m done, though-“ “What, already!?”

Even Delta and Carmen got in on it, and Manila had to dodge the question from them too. Teasing, sexy requests of, Hey, wanna make out, Manila? followed her around, as Manila clapped back hilarious retorts to gales of laughter. It was fun and Manila rode the wave of attention with aplomb.

Manila figured that this particular’s joke’s shelf life would only last as long as any other and would soon fade into oblivion, replaced by whatever came next, and Manila would never have to address or bring to light her feelings for Raja.

In her opinion, she’d handled the situation perfectly. And Manila praised herself for it as she ran her usual route, glancing up at Raja’s house as she ran by.

But every night before she fell asleep, a little voice tugged at the back of her brain and said, maybe you shouldn’t mock people when they express attraction to you, that’s kind of fucked up, and she’s your friend, maybe she actually does like you back- Manila aggressively quashed it.

“Hey, so,” said Raja, on the way to the library with Manila to buckle down and write their philosophy papers together as the end of term approached, “Why don’t you want to make out with me? Like, I’m a total catch.”

It hadn’t previously occurred to her to ask, but maybe this would help her get a leg up on the situation. Ideally Manila’s leg. Ideally up on her shoulder while Raja ate her out, and Manila blushed pink like she sometimes did, and tangled her hands in Raja’s hair, and gasped and arched her back and- that was neither here nor there. As hilarious as it was, the joke had been driving Raja a little insane. If Manila had said, in any seriousness, that she wanted Raja to stop asking, Raja would have. But she hadn’t, Manila had leaned in to the silly, flirtatious back and forth.

Instead of forgetting about it, the endless teasing and parody of the matter had only reinforced what Raja wanted in the first place.

“Well,” said Manila after a pause, adjusting her heavy bag and glancing at the cloudy sky, “You don’t take school very seriously.”

“What?” laughed Raja, who’d been expecting something more along the lines of I’m genuinely not attracted to you or I think I want to date guys again, “Is that really it? I totally do!”

“No you don’t, you’re a huge stoner.”

“Yeah but thats just for fun, I’m like really smart,” replied Raja, grinning, “You should see my GPA.”

“Mmm no, you’re real dumb,” sassed Manila. She shook her head and her curly hair, up in a high ponytail again today, bounced with the motion and Raja wanted to run her fingers through it. “You’re a total goofball and everyone knows it. You show up to class high! I have like a 3.82, and I want to keep it there.”

“How would making out with me affect your grades?”

“They say you are what you eat…”

They both exploded into laughter, causing the other students walking down the busy campus path to throw irritated glances their way.

“Bitch,” replied Raja, elbowing her, “A 3.82 is nothing-”

“Hey, no,” protested Manila, stopping and turning to her, “It’s like really good, don’t talk down my accomplishments just because you’re jealous-“

“I have a 3.91.”

Manila opened and shut her mouth in shock, before responding, “No you don’t, you’re lying.”

“No I’m not.”

“Prove it.”

“Sure,” chuckled Raja, taking out her phone and going to the school website, launching the grading centre, pulling up her current transcript and grade point average, “Look.”

Raja handed Manila her phone, gloating. The screen read 3.91847. Manila took it and her eyes narrowed, and she scrolled up to check that it was actually Raja’s name at the top, then back down again.

“Guess I do take school seriously,” taunted Raja, unable to suppress the urge to tease her.

With unexpected force, Manila shoved the phone back into Raja’s hands.

“Whatever!” snapped Manila, rushing ahead furiously.

“Hey, where are you going?” called Raja after her, laughing, “Don’t be mad just ‘cause I get better grades than you-“

“I’ll see you at the library!” snarled Manila over her shoulder, power walking down the street.

Raja watched Manila walk away, pleased that she’d proven her wrong her but confused as to why she was so mad. Raja wandered into the little smoking area with a couple of scraggly trees and fished in her bag for a tiny joint she’d hidden there earlier. She found it and lit up, inhaling the comforting smoke. Just a little something to help get those creative and intellectual juices flowing…

After a few hours of work in the library while Raja pumped dreamwave tunes through her headphones directly into her skull and wrote her philosophy paper, she looked up and noticed Manila sighing deeply for like the fourth time.

“What’s up?” whispered Raja, taking her headphones off.

“Nothing,” whispered Manila back. Her eyebrows were scrunched together.

“Are you mad at me?”

“No.”

“Fine.”

Raja put her headphones back on, without music, and wrote a few more sentences, pausing to check her references. She was going to get a hundred percent on this paper, she already knew it. Raja had been a bit of a child prodigy in terms of reading and writing comprehension, and her memory, her research skills, her grasp of history, literature, sociology and philosophy were outstanding. Her two dads were loving and supportive hippies who let her do whatever she wanted, so her sense of freedom and confidence had soared throughout her college career along with her grades.

“I can’t believe you have a higher GPA than me,” complained Manila, under her breath.

Raja took her headphones off again and gloated, “Yep, this huge stoner right here is better at school than you.”

Manila glared at her, then sighed again. Raja smirked, but her face fell, because Manila actually looked sad. And tired. There were lines under her eyes. Sympathy tugged at Raja’s stomach.

“Well, a 3.82 is really good,” began Raja, shutting her laptop and leaning forward, “Like, it’s above average-”

“Don’t be patronizing,” said Manila, shaking her head, closing her laptop and gathering up her books, “I can’t work on this anymore, let’s head out.”

“Okay, sure,” said Raja, getting up. A few people at other tables were glaring at them anyway, angry about the interruption of the silence. Raja wanted to make Manila feel better, and wondered how.

They left the library, walking together through the dark evening in the direction of home. It was a clear night, and the stars were just visible. Raja dug around in her bag for a joint but couldn’t find one.

“I have that good spicy instant ramen and Cheetos at home,” suggested Raja after a few minutes, “It’s not that late if you want to come over.“

“So we can make out?” added Manila sarcastically.

“No,” replied Raja, “Just to like decompress, I dunno, I’m hungry, I thought you might be too…”

“Do you ever eat vegetables?”

“Weed is a plant.”

Manila laughed and shook her head.

“What’s bothering you?” pressed Raja.

“I try like, really hard,” said Manila, after a pause, “I take college seriously, and my parents have such high expectations of me, I just- I put so much work into it and you-” Manila gestured at her, “You fucking coast, Raja. Look at yourself. You get stoned all the time, you party and play Nintendo. And honestly, you treat the girls you date like they’re disposable, Raven’s reaction wasn’t that unreasonable… but everyone still likes you, you somehow have a perfect GPA and you look amazing-”

“Yeah, I do look amazing,” agreed Raja, with a smile. She decided to ignore the middle part of what Manila had said.

“-and you have the self-awareness of a fruit bat.”

Raja looked carefully at Manila. Her expression was tired and frustrated, the orange glow of the streetlight catching in her hair. Despite the way they constantly roasted one another, Raja cared about her, and it saddened her to hear that Manila was feeling the pressure of… well, everything.

Self-awareness. Hmm. Raja could work on that. Maybe that was the key to getting Manila to see that she wasn’t joking, that Raja genuinely, unexpectedly, to her own surprise, really liked her.

“So,” said Raja, as they approached her house, the living room light shining like a beacon, indicating that Delta or Carmen was still up, “Instant ramen and Cheetos? You can kick my ass at Smash Bros, that always makes you feel better.”

“You know what, sure,” replied Manila, rolling her eyes, a smile at the edge of her mouth, “I’m gonna hand you your ass on a silver platter, bitch. Especially since you always insist on playing as Yoshi for some reason…”

Raja smiled to herself as they went up the front steps to her door.

#rpdr fanfiction #everybody knows you're high #rajila #raja gemini #manila luzon #lesbian au #college au #dartmouth420 #tw weed #submission

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leiascully · 4 years

Text

Fic: Five Bets Eliot Lost (Mostly On Purpose) And One He Didn’t (Leverage, OT3, T)

4700/16500 words; T for swearing and references to sex; Eliot and Hardison finally go fishing; read on AO3

Part 1/5: Triple Chocolate Cookies Part 2/5: Three Garlic Pasta Part 3/5: Three Bean Chili

"You know what I was thinking?" Hardison said out of the blue one day when they were between jobs.

"Do I look like a mind reader?" Eliot asked, which gave him a little pang, because it was something his momma used to say.

"I was thinking we never did get to go fishing," Hardison said, ignoring him. "You know, our special little date you set up."

"It wasn't a date," Eliot growled. "It was a regular boys' trip."

"Yeah, you know those are all dates, right?" Hardison drawled.

Eliot frowned. "It's not a date when you eat at the bait shop."

"Oh, you weren't gonna take me to the bait shop," Hardison said. "No sir. We were gonna bring all those fish home and fry 'em up and that's what you were going to feed me. Not some kind of bait shop sandwich with plastic cheese on it, all full of salmonella and what have you."

"You don't know what you're missing," Eliot said, shaking his head. "Eating at the bait shop is an experience."

"It's not an experience I need to have," Hardison said.

"Well, too bad, I guess," Eliot told him, and grinned. "Because we're going fishing."

"That's good," Hardison said, "because I did get us these fishing licenses." He brandished two pieces of paper.

"You paid for 'em?" Eliot asked. Hardison nodded. "Huh. Figured you'd just hack the system or whatever."

"And have you take me on the kind of date where we get arrested?" Hardison demanded. It hit something inside Eliot every time Hardison insisted it was a date. He was going to do his damndest not to think about it, he decided. Hardison was still talking. "I'm not going down because some hat-wearing Game and Fish Commission dude needs to meet his quota for the month. Besides, you're paying for lunch and reels and worms or whatever. Seemed fair."

"That's how I know it's not a date," Eliot said, squinting sideways up at Hardison. "Because when I take someone on a date, they don't pay for anything. It's all taken care of." It was just banter, obviously. He wasn't flirting with Hardison. But they'd always gone back and forth, just normal stuff, because he'd never been able to resist messing with a guy with a brain as big as Hardison's.

"Yeah, yeah," Hardison said. "It's the twenty-first century, man. Everybody splits the check." He clapped Eliot on the shoulder. "Let's go fishing."

"Find us a spot," Eliot told him, and Hardison's eyes lit up a little.

They found a sweet little spot out by the river and set up the folding chairs and the rods Eliot had bought at the bait shop. He could have rented them, but maybe if they owned the damn things, he'd be able to talk Hardison into going fishing again. They rarely got the chance to spend time together, just the two of them. Eliot had spent pretty much his whole childhood hanging out down at the river with the boys. It was nice to feel like he could salvage some of that with Hardison.

"We are eating whatever is in those takeout boxes before I'm touching any worms," Hardison declared, and Eliot grinned at him.

"Prepare for an experience you'll never forget," he told Hardison, and brought out two styrofoam containers of fried fish, slaw, and hushpuppies. There was beer to wash it down, and a couple of homemade fried pies to top it off — none of it the best Eliot had ever had, but all of it good. Something about the fresh air and the sound of the rushing river gave it an extra flavor.

"All right," Hardison said when they were done and he'd licked the last of the peach filling from the pie off his fingers. "That wasn't the worst."

"I told you," Eliot said.

Hardison nodded. "You did. You really did."

"And now," Eliot said, leaning forward and rubbing his hands together, "we fish."

"That is what we're here for," Hardison said. "Although I'll be honest with you, I kind of always though 'going fishing' was just a euphemism."

"For drinking beer?" Eliot said. "I mean, you're not wrong. There's a lot of beer drinking."

Hardison shrugged. "That and other things."

"Uh huh," Eliot said. He wasn't going to pretend not to know what Hardison meant. He done a little bit of everything down by the river those last few summers at home, or at least experienced a little bit of everything.

"Just sayin'," Hardison said, holding up his hands.

"You thought I invited you down to the river to fool around, huh?" Eliot asked.

"I mean, not this time," Hardison said. "I invited you." He rubbed his hands together. "So are we going to fish or what?"

"We are definitely going to fish," Eliot said. "Just...fish."

"You're gonna have to show me," Hardison said, and Eliot grinned. They started at the beginning: threading the line through the supports on the rod, tying on a hook, adding the worms that Hardison was so disgusted by. Eliot could have gotten other bait, but it was funny to watch Hardison squirm.

"Now cast your hook out into the water," Eliot said.

"Okay," Hardison said, giving him one of those looks. "How do I do that?"

"Just" — Eliot mimed flicking the rod — "put it out there."

"Show me," Hardison said, and Eliot picked up his rod. "No, show me, like, move my arm. I'm not gonna learn by watching you. I'm one of those kinesthetic learners. I need to feel it."

"Uh, sure," Eliot said. "I'll just, uh...here, stand up." He stepped up behind Hardison and kind of put his arms around him a little. Hardison was taller than he was and Eliot's face was almost against the back of Hardison's shoulder. Hardison was wearing one of those waffle-looking shirts and he smelled like bergamot and some kind of woodsy deodorant. It worked on him. "It starts with the shoulder, that's where the power comes from." He patted Hardison's shoulder and then ran his hand down Hardison's arm. "It ends in the wrist. That's the finesse." He moved Hardison's arm back and forth. Goddamn, Hardison was strong. It wasn't exactly like he ever forgot that, since it was part of the calculations Eliot made for every job — if shit went south, he could rely on Hardison to get out, mostly — but he never really considered the physical reality of it either, unless they were both working out at the same time. But Hardison's arms were hard with muscle underneath the fabric of his shirt, and Eliot could feel the power in them as Hardison's arm pivoted smoothly with his guidance. "Like this."

"Uh huh," Hardison said in a serious voice. "I think I'm getting it. Just back and forth."

"Not just back and forth," Eliot said. He laid his arm out along the length of Hardison's and wrapped his fingers around Hardison's wrist. "It's all in the wrist, man. Just hold this down, pull back, and flick as you let go." Their arms moved together and Hardison's hook dropped neatly into the water. "Just like that."

"I might need help again later," Hardison said. "You know they say practice makes perfect."

"I'm here all day," Eliot said. "You want another beer? It might take a while to actually catch anything."

"Why the hell not," Hardison said. Eliot cracked open two more beers and Hardison clinked his can against Eliot's as they sat down. "To finally going fishing."

Eliot drank a healthy sip and slid his can into the cupholder built into the arm of his chair. He cast out into the river. It wasn't hard, but it did take practice to get the little flick just right. He'd gotten plenty of practice over the years — he'd been fishing since he was little, maybe five, first with his granddaddy and then his daddy and then his friends.

It wasn't like Hardison was wrong. He and his buddies had gone down to the river by themselves starting when they were twelve or so. They hadn't fooled around until they were in high school, when they'd go catch enough fish to come home with and then fill the rest of the hours with whatever they'd managed to steal out of their parents' liquor cabinets and cigarette packs. What the hell else were a bunch of teenage boys going to do but get tipsy and go skinny dipping? Whatever else had happened had just happened. Just a bunch of boys taking a test drive before the real deal. The fact that it had still happened after some of them had gotten laid was just a matter of opportunity.

The military had been like that too, and then thieving, since then: Eliot and all his brothers-in-arms just trying to get by and have a little fun in their off-time. Keeping the world safe for democracy got lonely It wasn't gay to give another man a hand job. His own damn hand just got so boring after a while, and there hadn't been any women in his combat unit. Wrapping his fist around another man's cock had been a favor, nothing more, because the other guy had always done it for him too. And getting a blow job from another man wasn't gay either, because Eliot had never been the one blowing. It wasn't like he'd tangled his fingers in the guy's hair or kissed any of them afterward. Well, maybe a couple of them, but when they swallowed, it only seemed polite to thank them with a kiss and a hand job. It wasn't gay. It wasn't like there'd been tongue. Much.

Okay, it was bi-curious at most. He'd probably thought about women anyway.

"Bet you I catch more fish," Hardison said, startling Eliot out of his thoughts.

"No way in hell," Eliot told him. "You can't even cast by yourself yet."

"I had a good teacher," Hardison said. "You wait and see how many fish I catch."

"Fine," Eliot said. "Loser buys dinner."

"Loser cooks dinner," Hardison said. "Because you're going to be preparing all these delicious fish I catch."

"Only if you win, which you're not gonna," Eliot said. "And if you do, you're gonna learn to clean a fish."

"That sounds terrible," Hardison said cheerfully. "How about you do it and I pretend to watch?"

"You've gotta catch at least five more fish than I do if you want to get out of cleaning duty," Eliot said.

"Done," Hardison said. He pointed at Eliot. "No backsies."

"What are you, a child?" Eliot asked.

"I am a fully grown adult man," Hardison said, wiggling his eyebrows. "Wanted in at least sixteen countries, and that doesn't even count the warrants."

"Hah," Eliot said. "I get it." He raised his beer to Hardison. Hardison grinned. Eliot felt a nibble on his line and ignored it. He didn't want to lose, but on the other hand, he wanted to see what would happen if Hardison won. The last time, he'd somehow ended up on their date, and it had been weird as hell, but also nice somehow. Eliot hadn't had any shortage of quote-unquote friends, but he hadn't been on a date in longer than he could remember. And he hadn't really felt like the third wheel, unless it was the third wheel of a tricycle. He'd felt like they wanted him there. Like it wouldn't have been the same without him. And now Hardison had basically insisted that this was kind of a date, whatever that meant.

Eliot had no fucking clue what the fuck was happening, if he was honest with himself.

"I feel something," Hardison said, sitting up and alert in his chair.

"All right, jerk your wrist back to set the hook," Eliot told him. "Still feel it?"

"Yeah," Hardison said, focusing in on the rod and the water in a way that gave Eliot a little tingle someplace he couldn't describe. Watching Hardison work really was something else.

"Keep the line taut," Eliot said. "Just reel it in slowly. If it fights, you tip the rod to give it a little room. Don't let the line out too far or the hook might slip and you'll lose it." He put his hand on Hardison's shoulder. The man had biceps, that was for sure. "Easy does it. Easy."

"This is as easy as I get," Hardison said, cranking the reel.

"You got this," Eliot told him.

There were a few tricky moments, but at the end of it, Hardison was triumphantly holding up a pretty little bass. Eliot freed it from the hook and dropped it in a bucket of water.

"That's one," Hardison said, holding up one finger. "And how many do you have? None?"

Eliot pretended to look around and turned to flip Hardison off. "Hey, man. Look at that. I got one too."

"Ha ha," Hardison said sarcastically.

They didn't catch a damn thing the whole rest of the afternoon. Eliot could have — he felt the fish nibbling, but he'd either let them go or yank at just the wrong moment or let too much line out. Hardison just didn't have the technique down. Eliot helped him cast a couple more times, but nothing seemed to want to take Hardison's bait.

They both looked at the one fish in the bucket and then at each other.

"How's chili sound for dinner?" Eliot asked after a moment.

"Yeah," Hardison said. "I could go for some chili. Maybe some cornbread."

"Don't push your luck," Eliot said, though he'd already been thinking about it himself.

"All right, all right," Hardison said. "I can eat my chili with Fritos like a regular person if you're not gonna put out."

Eliot tipped out the bucket into the river and the fish swam away. "No one in the history of food has ever used the phrase 'put out' in conjunction with the idea of cornbread, except to to say 'put out the cornbread on the table'."

"I'm an innovator," Hardison said. "Cutting edge."

"Just help me carry all this shit to the truck," Eliot told him, rolling his eyes and dumping the ice from the cooler out onto the edge of the river. They'd finished the beer a couple of hours ago, at least. The rods and the cooler and the chairs all went in the back of his truck and he and Hardison piled back in and drove back to the Bridgeport.

"Can't believe you didn't catch anything." Hardison said. "Fish in Oklahoma must just be easy, huh?"

"Guess so," Eliot said. "I sure caught more than my share back home." He smirked.

"I can imagine," Hardison said, and suddenly that was all Eliot was thinking about: Hardison thinking about the things Eliot had done down by the river. "Good clean wholesome country fun, no doubt."

"Nothing cleaner than skinny dipping," Eliot said, glancing at Hardison and then back at the road. He could at least have a little say in what Hardison was imagining. If that happened to be Eliot buck naked and golden from the summer sun, so be it. He glanced at Hardison again and caught just the curve of Hardison's smile as Hardison licked his lips. Eliot felt a shock spark through him like static.

What the fuck was he doing? Flirting with his teammate? With his other teammate's boyfriend? This wasn't a "what happens down at the river stays down at the river" situation. Parker and Hardison were pretty much all he had these days by way of friends he saw regularly. He couldn't mess with that. But Hardison was still smiling and seemed perfectly comfortable.

"Hey, babe," Parker said when they came in. She was studying something on a laptop. She turned in her seat to kiss Hardison. Eliot felt that spark again and remembered his dreams. He looked away. She sure as hell hadn't offered him a kiss. Maybe he was imagining this whole thing. Maybe they hadn't ever been flirting with him and he'd messed up all their date night plans that last time with the pasta.

"Hell yeah, I did," Hardison told her. "More than Eliot too, which means he's making dinner again."

"Nice," Parker said. "For everybody?"

Hardison shrugged. "I assume Nate and Sophie are out for the night, since nobody's called me to demand I work technological miracles on short notice."

"Fine with me." Parker hopped off her chair. "What's for dinner?"

"Chili," Eliot said. "And before you ask, no, it doesn't pair well with tiramisu."

"No more late-night tiramisu," Hardison said, putting his arms around Parker with an indulgent air. "You were bouncing off the walls for hours."

"You liked it," Parker told him, and her grin told Eliot everything he needed to know and more about exactly how much Hardison had liked it.

"I didn't say I didn't benefit from it," Hardison allowed, "but sometimes I need my sleep, baby. There's only so much one man can do."

"All right, all right," Eliot groused. It was too bad two men wasn't an option. Between them, surely they could tire out even a sugared-up and caffeinated Parker.

"Ice cream," Parker decided. "Yeah, definitely ice cream." She flashed them a smile. "I'll be back."

"I'm gonna watch the master work," Hardison said to Parker, following Eliot into the kitchen. "Don't forget there's only so much room in the freezer."

"Yeah, yeah," she said. "If we eat it, that's not a problem."

"She's got a point," Eliot said. He washed his hands and flung a towel over his shoulder.

"First I learned to fish," Hardison said. "Now I'm going to learn to cook."

"Maybe you'll be better at cooking than you were at fishing," Eliot teased.

Hardison snorted. "Says the man who didn't catch even a minnow today."

"I was off my game," Eliot said.

"Missing your old fishing buddies, huh," Hardison said, leaning on the counter.

"Something like that." Eliot dug in the cabinets for one of his big dutch ovens, the cast iron ones. "If you want to cook chili, you start out with a big old pot."

"Looks like you could do reps with that one," Hardison said, miming bicep curls.

"Just about," Eliot said. He set it on the stove and pulled out the cutting board and an onion. "Mince your onion up. I like it in little pieces so it gets all melty. Some people like big chunks of onion, but that's their business." He minced a few cloves of garlic alongside it and turned on the heat under the pan. "Heat first. That's important. When the pan gets hot, then we add the oil, then we wait for that to heat up."

"I'm taking notes in my mind," Hardison said, tapping his temple. "Heat. Oil. Onions. Got it."

Eliot went to the fridge. He'd been meaning to make chili anyway — he had a packet of mixed ground pork and beef from the butcher, which meant either chili or burgers in his world. He pulled that out and grabbed a couple of bell peppers while he was at it. Hardison watched him lay everything out on the counter. Eliot held his hand over the metal bottom of the pot. Hot enough, he thought. He added some oil and watched it run along the perfect unstained enamel. One of these days, maybe he'd be in one place long enough to break his cookware in. His momma's chili pot had had a chip out of the top and it never looked completely clean inside. Too many Sunday dinners and weeknight soups. He shook his head and cut the tops off his bell peppers. The oil in the pot was shimmering. He scraped in the onions and garlic and let them sizzle. The scent of them immediately filled the kitchen.

"First the noise," he told Hardison. "Then you stir." He started dicing the bell peppers, peered over at the onions, and handed Hardison the big wooden spoon. "Stir."

"You get bossy in the kitchen, don't you?" Hardison asked, but he came around the counter and stood next to Eliot.

"I'm bossy everywhere," Eliot told him. "And it's saved your life more than once."

"I didn't say I didn't like it," Hardison said, poking the onions with the spoon. Eliot threw some salt in on top of them.

"I said stir 'em, not move 'em around one at a time," he teased.

"I had a lot of wrist action earlier," Hardison protested. "Go easy on me."

"Don't tell me you need me to teach you how to stir," Eliot said. "Smartest man I know. You can figure it out." He pulled a beer out of the fridge.

"Didn't get enough earlier?" Hardison joked.

"It's for the chili," Eliot told him. He peered around Hardison at the onions. "Stir 'em around again." Hardison scraped the spoon through the onions obediently. They were translucent enough, Eliot decided, and added the peppers to the pot.

"Keep stirring?" Hardison asked.

"You got it," Eliot said. He unstuck the paper around the packet of meat and unwrapped it.

"Mm," Hardison said unconvincingly, looking at the bloody rectangle.

"This is the good stuff," Eliot said. He dumped it into the pot. "Chop it up with the spoon as it turns brown." He mimed the action and Hardison mimicked him, separating the meat into chunks.

"Big or little pieces?" Hardison asked.

"Depends on what you like," Eliot said. "Smaller's easier to eat. Picks up the flavor better. Bigger keeps more of the meat taste and feels different in your mouth." He tossed in more salt on top of the meat, added chili powder and black pepper and oregano.

"Is that cocoa powder?" Hardison asked.

"Just a little," Eliot said, measuring it out on a teaspoon. "Gives it a little depth. That's what the beer's for too."

"And here I thought you were just rude," Hardison murmured.

"That too," Eliot said. He added cumin to the pot, hesitated, and then threw in a little more. Hardison sniffed appreciatively.

"This smells good, man," he told Eliot.

"Thanks," Eliot said.

"You use a recipe?" Hardison asked.

"Nah," Eliot said. "Just know what it's supposed to be like." He collected a can of tomatoes and three different kinds of beans from the pantry. If he was going to keep losing bets, he was going to keep making three-of-a-kind recipes and see if they ever even noticed. Black beans, pinto beans, and kidney beans made a hell of a chili anyway.

"Meat looks...brown," Hardison said.

"Good," Eliot said. He cracked open the beer and poured most of it into the pan, where it bubbled and steamed up in a cloud that made Hardison cough. Eliot laughed and took a swig of what was left. He offered the last swallow to Hardison. Hardison took it without hesitation. Eliot couldn't stop looking at the way Hardison's lips pressed against the mouth of the bottle, right where Eliot's had been. Hardison drained the dregs and set the bottle on the counter, his eyes on Eliot's. Eliot shivered. There'd been looks like that down by the river, those summers in high school: lazy, certain stares full of breathless heat. He didn't know anymore if he was imagining things.

He'd tried not to get in the way. They just kept including him. Maybe it was inevitable that he was having these kinds of thoughts about it. It had been a long damn time since anybody had made him feel as needed as the two of them did, or as wanted, or as welcome. Of course he had feelings about them now. Of course he dreamed about them.

"Eliot," Hardison said softly. "Earth to Eliot."

"Yeah," Eliot said, shaking it off. "Let the liquid cook off a little." He grabbed the can opener and opened the cans. He dumped the beans into a colander, all three cans, and rinsed them off.

"Three bean chili, huh?" Hardison said. "When one or two beans just won't do."

"Adds texture," Eliot said. Hardison didn't know enough about food to contradict him, and anyway, it was sort of true. He grabbed a spoon and tasted it. "It ain't Texas chili, but it'll do."

"Now what?" Hardison asked.

"Now we turn the heat down and let it simmer," Eliot told him. "And I guess we make cornbread, if you still want it."

"Hell yeah, I do," Hardison said.

"Then turn on the oven," Eliot said, "and throw that cast iron skillet in there."

"This one?" Hardison held it up.

"That's the one," Eliot told him, already measuring everything into a bowl. Cornbread came together fast. When the batter was all mixed together, he pulled out the hot skillet, melted some butter in it, and poured in the batter. It hissed and spat a little. He pushed it back into the oven.

"Kinda thought Parker would be back by now," he said.

Hardison shrugged. "You know Parker and sugar. She might be back in five minutes. Might be two hours."

"This'll take about half an hour," Eliot said.

"How will we pass the time," Hardison said, lounging against the counter.

"Not fishing, I'm guessing," Eliot said. He leaned on the counter next to Hardison. "Not unless you've still got that game."

"I do, but now that I know what the real thing is like, I don't know if I can go back," Hardison said. He smiled over at Eliot, slow and sweet. "All that fresh air, you know?"

"I'm back!" Parker said. She was carrying a tote bag that looked like it definitely contained more ice cream than three adults could or should eat. "I couldn't pick a flavor, so I just got all of them."

"Attagirl," Eliot said, pushing himself off the counter. "Go big."

"And then come home," Hardison said, pulling Parker close. He took the ice cream bag from her and looked through it. "Wow. You really did get everything."

"I told you so," Parker said. "Is it dinner yet?"

"Almost," Eliot said. "Just waiting on the cornbread."

"Yum," Parker said.

"I helped cook," Hardison said.

"He did," Eliot confirmed. "He's a good little sous chef. Stirs and everything."

"Sounds like you're a great team," Parker said, looking between them and smiling. "I like teamwork."

"Me too," Hardison said. He grinned at her and raised one eyebrow.

Eliot tried really damn hard not to read anything into that.

Dinner didn't feel like a date this time, but it did feel like family. They watched <i>Top Gun</i> afterwards, because apparently that was what they did now: dinner and a movie. Parker gave up on any pretense and swung her legs over Eliot's lap almost the minute he sat down. She put her head in Hardison's lap and Hardison stroked her hair. Neither of them said anything or even seemed to notice anything was strange. Eliot sighed to himself and rested his hand on her shin. It wasn't like she'd never touched him before. She'd flung her arm around his shoulder or jumped into his arms or poked at him a hundred times over the years. It just felt different now.

Nothing about his life was remotely like what he'd imagined when he'd been in high school. But it was all right. He had a damn good life.

"Pass me that fruity one," Parker said, sitting up so that she was leaning against Hardison, and Eliot handed her a gooey pint of ice cream. She dug her spoon into the container and grinned at him. He thought very briefly about how sweet she'd taste if he kissed her.

"Share," Hardison told her, and Parker held the spoon to his mouth, and Eliot thought about kissing him too. He picked up one of the other pints of ice cream and occupied his mouth and his mind with other sensations, real ones, cold and the bitter bite of chocolate and the smooth feeling of butterfat. It helped crowd the fantasies out of his head, at least for a little while.

It could have been worse. He could have fallen for Sophie.

#leverage fic #leverage ot3 #parker x hardison x eliot #parker/hardison/eliot #my fic #team leverage ot3 #leverage ot3 fic #leverage

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birlcholtz · 4 years

Note

do you remember that week n a half when everyone cared about bittyjohnson? can we bring that back?

bitty/johnson.... the forbidden jeric ship

lol yes i do remember that it was a weird fucking time let's bring it back!!!! side note this turned into... well i'll just let you read it. can one really write about johnson without it turning into an ethical debate and a philosophical crisis rolled into one weird metaphysical narrative? i finished this after midnight which also explains the whole ethical philosophical crisis thing

johnson, as someone who is fully aware of This Whole Fictional Narrative thing before it even starts, is also an expert on eric bittle. he knows all of bitty's strengths and his cute idiosyncratic flaws and his deeper issues that are the result of childhood trauma

you can't know that much about someone without loving them at least a little. and johnson, for all his fictionality, is a person, imbued with the same liveliness and sense of self as all of the other characters in the comic, and he meets bitty and thinks oh, shit.

does john johnson know i'm writing this right now

and bitty's like wow. another intimidatingly attractive teammate. his name is john johnson. weird but okay. and he's a goalie which means he's weird too. cool i can handle this

for a while johnson wrestles with the ethics of being in love with bitty??? like bitty hasn't made the choice to share any of this information with him and he KNOWS they're fictional characters and as a result autonomy is more of a high ideal than something that's actually put into practice but isn't it best to at least give bitty a semblance of choice?

so, he plays his part. he does not reveal any information that he should not know— well, that his character should not know— johnson knows all. he knows the conversations that happen behind the scenes too, the ones that get transcribed on twitter or referred to in ask a wellies. he thinks maybe he'll get a twitter someday, if that's something he can do in-universe. just to see what it's like for himself and not have this weird extrasensory knowledge of it.

but he can't stay away from bitty, especially not when bitty seems so determined to like him (johnson knows it's probably because he's not Aggressively Hetero like ransom and holster or rude like jack or in-your-face like shitty. it's a process of elimination. but still)

and he knows that they're in a story, and he knows that the story must have some sort of goal, and bitty swings by his room one sunny afternoon and complains about unsolicited early morning checking practice with jack and johnson thinks, oh. so that's how it's going to go.

he plays his part, commiserates, encourages bitty, all with a bad taste in his mouth

and johnson expects bitty to peel away, and spend more time with jack, and open up to the rest of the team. and he does open up to everyone, but he keeps coming back to johnson, and part of johnson wants to tell him no, i'm just a filler, the team needed a goalie, don't waste your time and part of him just wants to enjoy it while he can

johnson is on the swallow's 50 most beautiful again. four years running. his face isn't in the photo. he knows he has a face, because he sees it in the mirror whenever he goes to brush his teeth, but he can never remember what it looks like. apparently these cartoon cameras can't either. and that's johnson. destined to be there while you look and gone when you turn away.

and he knows bitty sees it because holster snags a copy somewhere and reads aloud the list at team breakfast. ransom sits on holster's right and bitty sits on holster's left, and johnson sits on bitty's left and wonders where he'll be a year from now

but he will remember how bitty takes the copy of the swallow holster hands him, opened to the page with johnson's photo, and lingers on it for just a moment before passing it on, and johnson will remember that for the rest of his existence, however long that might be. especially because jack is in there too. johnson knows jack is in there too. holster has already provided his thoughts on the rankings of johnson, jack, and ransom within the 50 most, loudly and at length. but bitty doesn't flip to it. he doesn't flip through at all. just lingers on that one page and then passes it along, almost as if he doesn't care about the others

bitty likes johnson. he's weird, but he's never overbearing, he asks bitty questions about his life and actually listens to the answers, really listens, and he is thoughtful. he's also beautiful but like half the team is that doesn't make johnson special

and bitty likes how when he talks to johnson he never feels like he's out of place. he never feels like he doesn't fit in. because johnson is weird as fuck but his unabashedly *being* weird as fuck gives bitty license to be who he is, even if that's not who the rest of the team are. johnson is a paragon of not being like the rest of the team and he gets away with it and bitty doesn't know if he wants him or wants to be him but then johnson smiles at him after his game winner at family weekend and says 'congrats', hair wet, eyes sincere, and bitty knows.

johnson doesn't know.

because here's the thing about johnson. he knows everything that has happened. he knows bitty is scared of checking because he knows the history. he knows bitty is gay from the moment he mutters 'men' to his camera in first semester. but he cannot predict the future. he's a character in the story as much as anyone else is and knowing that he's fictional doesn't tell him what's coming next. and he cannot read bitty's mind.

but the second bitty admits it to himself out loud, johnson knows, and even though he feels like this can't be the intended narrative he has the urge to just say 'fuck it' and do what he wants. seize his own free will. ignore what he thinks was supposed to happen.

and that's what he does.

bitty and johnson are an odd couple, to all observers. johnson is just so weird and bitty is just so sweet and nobody can fathom how or why they are together.

but they defend each other. johnson chirps the other team loud enough on the ice that they focus on the annoying goalie instead of the tiny, vulnerable-looking forward. bitty summons up his chilliest southern politeness for the people who talk with raised eyebrows about whether johnson is actually sane behind his back, and he never tells johnson about these people but johnson knows anyway because it happened, and he loves bitty more for it.

they love each other, too, gravitate towards each other whenever they can, and johnson's room in the haus turns into a haven. he helps bitty navigate haus parties and he knows the cup of beer in his hand is fictional but he can taste it anyway and he starts to wonder why it matters if it technically doesn't exist in the real world. does it matter if johnson is a fictional character? does it matter if bitty is a fictional character? they're real enough to each other and this is the only world they will ever know.

johnson is weird. he faces existential crises every day he wakes up from a dreamless sleep, and he can't always keep himself from breaking the fourth wall— although who he's talking to out there, he doesn't know.

but he feels like a real person. bitty had asked, early on, what he was majoring in, and johnson hadn't had an answer, but then he had blinked and said 'philosophy' and it was as if it had been the case all along. he knew what classes he had taken, which professors he had had, the grades he got, the papers he wrote, what he's writing his thesis on. it felt real. it *was* real, to him and to everyone who matters.

he can look at his face in the mirror and hold on to its memory for a little longer. he knows what his mouth looks like now, and he has a vague idea about his nose. he's hoping he'll learn more about himself. it's easier to remember when bitty's reflection is in the mirror next to his own.

johnson knows his favorite flavor of pie is peach now. not because of how it tastes but because he'd helped bitty make it once, smiling and laughing together in the kitchen, and the golden, rosy memory is an anchor for him to when he decided he was real enough to matter.

he graduates and gives his dibs to bitty because who else would he give them to? he was probably supposed to give them to bitty. he knows bitty is protagonist material. but johnson gives his dibs to bitty because bitty is the person he wants to give them to. he receives his diploma on graduation day and knows that leaving samwell does not confine him to an endless future of nothing. he is a character but that gives him power. every word he says becomes canonical. everything he does is something real.

and he paves his own way into the future, a thought and a word at a time— he's hiking the appalachians, but he miraculously has cell service the entire way because that's what he tells bitty when he asks, and he calls bitty with that cell service and thinks that maybe he could be happy. he gets a twitter. the appalachians have wifi too now, because johnson decreed it. he follows bitty and bitty follows him back.

on the day he finishes his hike and returns to visit samwell, he finds bitty in the kitchen, pulling a peach pie out of the oven just in time for johnson's arrival, because he knew johnson was coming, because they planned this together. and johnson glances at his reflection in the window and notices the color of his eyes, and when he turns to look at bitty, he doesn't forget them.

bitty/johnson.... the forbidden jeric ship

does john johnson know i'm writing this right now

and bitty's like wow. another intimidatingly attractive teammate. his name is john johnson. weird but okay. and he's a goalie which means he's weird too. cool i can handle this

he plays his part, commiserates, encourages bitty, all with a bad taste in his mouth

johnson doesn't know.

and that's what he does.

bitty and johnson are an odd couple, to all observers. johnson is just so weird and bitty is just so sweet and nobody can fathom how or why they are together.

#johnson the metaphysical goalie #omgcp #fun with rarepairs #a little bit meta #<- that's my bitty/johnson tag that i found in my tags spreadsheet

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shoeshoecin · 4 years

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I recently requested a prayer from Skippy when my mothers was seriously ill. Skippy and Brewster both contributed to the prayer and they really got through me through difficult times. We buried my mother aka Nana today and we all said goodbye. My daughter read her this letter at the funeral today and I wanted to share it with you. I never post on tumblr I enjoy all #megxit posts and appreciate your insight and research regarding MM.

Dear Nana,

The last time that we talked you told me that you don’t like funerals. When I asked, “why?”, you said, “at funerals people just say a bunch of nice stuff about the person that everyone knows wasn’t really true.” To that I ensured you that people only have nice things to say about you because you are simply the best. Although, you didn’t seem convinced, but you can put your fears to rest because I promise I am only going to say things that are 100% honest.

On the topic of honesty, you are the most honest person I have ever met. A bit brutally honest actually. For example, I remember coming back from the beach one day and you asked me if I gained the “freshman 15” after going away to college. A bit perplexed by your sudden question, I replied, “umm..I don’t really know, I haven’t weighed myself…why? Do you think I’ve gained weight?” You said, “well yeah. You look like you’ve gained some weight. Maybe not a full 15...maybe more like 5 or 10. You still look good though.” Even though that probably wasn’t what I was looking to hear while I stood in the kitchen in my bikini, I can appreciate the honesty. Another example of your honestly was the time that I painted you a watercolor painting of a cat (because I know how much you love cats). I was so excited to give it to you after working on it all night, and when I presented it to you, you look one look and said, “what happened to the tail? The tail is too short it looks like something happened to it.” I said, “oh yeah, I guess the tail is a little short, but do you like it?” You replied to my hopeful question with, “well, it’d be nicer if the tail was longer, but I’ll still hang it up.” Yup, you are definitely not scared to speak your mind. If I ever need an ego check, you know where I’ll be. With that being said, despite the small blows to my self esteem, I’ve always admired your honesty as it was quite refreshing and always consistent.

Speaking of consistency, you are one of the very few people that I can always count on to be consistent. For example, everyone always looks forward to going to Nana’s for dinner because everything you bake or cook is always amazing. From your angel hair pasta, to your lima beans, to your brownies, zucchini bread, pies and magical (almost too perfect) assortment of Christmas cookies every year, everything you make is always consistently delicious. Even from the youngest age, I always knew that I could look forward to dinner and dessert at Nana’s. You are also extremely consistent when it comes to buying anything marketed as “NEW!” I know that if I walk into your kitchen there will always be a package of the newest limited edition of Oreos sitting there…unopened. Even your response to the question, “Nana why did you buy these?” was consistently, “it’s new!” You’ve never failed to tell me how much you dislike the fact that my jeans are ripped and I actually bought them like that. I can always expect to see clean clothes perfectly hanging on the clothes line in the yard. You consistently wear Keds and cashmere sweaters while eating a sticky bun from the bakery in the morning. You are also pretty consistent with feeding the dog at family parties even when my mom and Johnny Z asked everyone not to. Watching you feed Marsden huge chunks of cheese and crackers under the table right after being asked not to always made me laugh. You always keep a pitcher of iced tea in the fridge, fresh peaches on the counter, and mint chocolate chip ice cream in your freezer (never the white mint though because according to you the white mint does not taste the same as the green mint ice cream, and you will not eat the white mint). I’m really glad that mint chocolate chip is your favorite flavor of ice cream, because it’s my favorite too.

Sometimes I wonder where I got my sweet tooth, but if you’ve ever stayed up past midnight with Nana, you would know that the timeframe of 12 am to 3 am is filled with candy, sour cream and onion chips, popsicles, Cheetos, and ice cream sundaes. People always think that you don’t eat very much, but you and I both know that they just don’t stay up late enough to witness the late night snacking that happens over a game of scrabble, while baggage or family feud is playing on the TV. These late nights have been some of my favorite memories over the years, and you always gave your best advice during these times. For example, I vividly remember one summer night at age 16. I was on my second bowl of what was now melted mint ice cream and losing pretty bad at a game of scrabble. To make matters worse, all the letters I was left with were all vowels and my mind drifted to the break up I had earlier that day. Shockingly, I began to cry for probably the 7th time that day, and you said, “Oh god what are you crying for? You should be happy. Now you can play the field. Playing the field is much more fun than having just one boyfriend.” Like I said, you always give the best advice.

As I’m thinking about all the advice you’ve given me, I am reminded of all the other things that you’ve shown and taught me. For example, thanks to you, I know what its like to walk into a room with a celebrity. I remember it like it was yesterday, one rainy night my mom and I drove down to play a game of bingo with you. When we walked in the door, I was immediately stopped and questioned by the tight security who asked to see my ID because I apparently looked “12” – which would be a no-go considering that apparently the bingo staff takes the age restrictions of bingo very seriously. Just as I was about to show the security my proof of ID to confirm that I was in fact above the age of 18, you came to our rescue. A simple, “they’re with me,” and all of a sudden we were treated like royalty and all further questions turned into staff members offering us refreshments. I learned something else that night too. It was brought to my attention that my mom and I are really bad at bingo, like really bad. It’s a good thing that you were there to inform us that our cards were upside down and we had been playing the game completely wrong for the first half hour. By the end of the four-hour bingo game, you were playing all of our cards for us alongside the 20 that you had laid out in front of you, while my mom and I resorted to eating gummy bears and counting the number of sneezes for every minute that went by. Watching you play bingo was honestly an honor because that takes a level of skill I most definitely did not inherit. When I think about you, I think about good times like these, and how honored I am to be your granddaughter.

Although above all, when I think about you, I think about how strong you are. A particular moment of strength was the time that you broke your hip on the fourth of July. Most people would probably be crying or at least deeply concerned with the physical pain they were experiencing, but you were much more concerned with the deviled eggs that were in your hands when you fell along with who was going to make the pie if you went to the hospital. Unfortunately for us, the blueberry pie was left in the hands of Uncle Jeff…and I’m just gonna go ahead and say, your concerns were all too valid. To be honest I’ve always thought about my mom and wondered how she became such a strong, independent, and amazing woman, but now I can clearly see that its because she always had you to look up to. And I want to thank you for being someone that I could also always look up to. Thank you for teaching me all about the virtue of honesty. Thank you for being someone I could always consistently depend on to be there. Thank you for all of the late night chats and all of your priceless advice. Thank you for passing on your love of baking and sharing a sweet tooth with me. Thank you for gracing me with the honor of learning how to play bingo from a real pro. Thank you for showing me what a strong, kind, and beautiful woman looks like. Thank you for everything.

I started this letter by referencing the last time we we had the chance to talk. You explained why you don’t like funerals because of the apparent lack of honesty. Well, I hope this letter delivered the kind of authenticity that you were hoping for because I just have one last thing that I would like to revisit. In that same conversation, after we had discussed the flaws within funerals, I told you that I love you. You replied by saying, “aw I love you too, and I hope that I can love you from heaven. I think I can.” Your response to my statement was one that I will never forget. So, I just want to say that I will always love you, no matter where you are. Thank you for being you.

Love,

Ella

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argylemnwrites · 4 years

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OTP Questions

Thanks for tagging me @addictedtodrakefanfic, and thanks for building this list of questions @mskaneko! I always find things like this crazy fun!

1. What other couple would your OTP get along with?

Like, in universe? They get along very well with Liam and Iris (who I will write more about going forward), although Iris and Riley are closer in the It Couldn’t Wait Another Moment universe even though they see each other in person less often.

2. Do either of them have secrets even the other doesn’t know?

Not really, most things have a way of coming out with these two, and most of their “secrets” aren’t something they intended to keep from the other, it just never came up in conversation. The closest is probably that Drake slept with a woman Riley knows at court years before they met, but when Drake tried to tell her, Riley said ignorance was bliss and that she did not want to know that detail.

3. Who is the one that sees the big picture, while the other focus on the small details?

Riley is a big picture optimist (”everything will sort itself out” type of thought pattern most of the time) usually, whereas Drake tends to focus on the details, even though they often frustrate him.

4. Who does stuff on impulse?

The one who moved to Cordonia with guys she’d known for less than 24 hours on a whim, hahaha!

5. What is their favourite holiday?

Drake loves Christmas, Riley loves Halloween.

6. What is their favourite board game?

Drake prefers card games, but he does enjoy Risk quite a bit (Riley refuses to play with him because she finds it painfully dull). Riley likes Clue and Monopoly.

7. Who would go out of their way to do something silly to make their partner laugh?

Riley

8. Favorite canon moment of them?

When Drake asks Riley if things would be different between them if they met under different circumstances after the Tariq incident. The moment is such a perfectly vulnerable one for him, that it just holds a special place in my heart.

9. Least favorite canon moment of them?

“I don’t know what to say. My kid sitting on the throne? I mean, it would be an incredible honor.” - Drake Walker, on his honeymoon, agreeing to King Liam’s plan to name his yet-to-be-conceived child heir to the Cordonian throne before discussing it with Riley.

10. Who is the competitive one?

They are both incredibly competitive. They both insist the other one is more competitive.

11. Who likes to go on drives to nowhere in particular

Seeing as Riley never got a driver’s license growing up in Manhattan and feels incredibly uncomfortable behind the wheel, we’ll go with Drake here. I could see him doing this to clear his head on trips to Texas.

12. Who sings along with the radio?

Riley will if she’s in a good mood. Drake will if he’s drunk.

13. Who would accidentally set the kitchen on fire while cooking?

Riley. Not only is she a mediocre cook, but she’s more easily distracted and might tend to forget she left something on the stove.

14. Who is more seductive when they are drunk?

Drake gets really affectionate and cuddly when drunk, but whiskey dick is a thing so... Riley is a happy drunk primarily (unless she is drinking to cope in which case she is a very sad drunk), not so much a horny drunk. She does get pretty handsy when she’s just tipsy, though.

15. Who wakes the other up in the middle of the night to tell them a cool dream they had?

Neither. Riley is difficult to wake up, so Drake wouldn’t bother when he could just tell her later. Drake is such a light sleeper that Riley wouldn’t want to be one more disruption to his sleep just to tell him about an interesting dream.

16. Who asks weird questions in the middle of the night?

Riley, if they’re both still awake. Otherwise neither.

17. Who likes to walk around the house naked and who tells the other to go put some clothes on?

Okay, so all this makes me think of is the Seinfeld episode where Jerry is dating a woman who chooses to be naked all the time and it brings up the discussion of good naked and bad naked. Riley is prone to stripping down for “good naked” tasks pretty often. Sometimes it’s just to flirt and tease, but other times it’s to persuade Drake to do something he doesn’t want to do. He catches on to this tactic pretty quickly, so he will tell her to cover up and that it isn’t going to work if he suspects she has ulterior motives. This behavior pretty much comes to a halt once Riley is pregnant as she isn’t as confident given the changes that are occurring to her body, and after they have a kid, nudity as a flirting and/or manipulation technique just doesn’t happen all that often.

18. Who is always ready to have sex at any time, at any place?

Both of them, although Drake won’t at his work functions/parties in the It Couldn’t Wait Another Moment universe because he’s too nervous they’ll get caught and he’ll get fired.

19. Who likes to surprise the other with a lot of small random gifts?

They both buy each other things, but Drake’s gifts to Riley are more practical (he’ll grab her granola bars or creamer before she runs out) whereas Riley chooses more random fun items that just made her think of Drake.

20. Where did they take their first picture together?

Maxwell snapped a pic of them walking back from the first cronut run together.

21. Who knows the most useless facts?

Drake. Riley often questions how accurate his claims are, but he’s right more often than not.

22. Who is more likely to forget their own birthday?

Neither, but Drake is far more likely to try and downplay his birthday. Riley never lets that happen.

23. Which bad habit of their partner do they find the most annoying?

I don’t know if these are truly bad habits or just irritating ones, but Drake cracks his knuckles absentmindedly, which can get on Riley’s nerves, and Riley never returns food to the same spot in the refrigerator, which really annoys Drake.

24. Who is the better driver ?

Definitely Drake. Riley doesn’t really drive, though Drake has attempted to teach her during trips to Texas. She’s just not that interested in learning.

25. Who is more likely to admit they are wrong in an argument ?

This is a struggle for both of their stubborn asses. Drake is more likely to say he’s wrong, but Riley truly means it more often when she says it.

26. What is something that reminds them of one another?

The smell of peaches reminds Drake of Riley. Probably an obvious answer, but whiskey reminds Riley of Drake.

27. Would they get matching couple tattoos? If yes, what it would be?

Nope, neither one of them are tattoo people.

28.Who sleeps wrapped up in a cocoon of covers?

Neither. Both prefer just a sheet and a thin blanket, plus a quilt/comforter if it’s winter.

29. Who would win in a pillow fight?

Riley’s agility and impressive aim give her the slight edge.

30. Who likes to take photos of the other when they’re not looking

Riley would be more likely to do this

31.Where would they go to get away from everyone else and just be alone?

In canon, Drake goes fishing at a small creek between the capital and Valtoria. Riley goes to the undercroft area of their estate. If they are looking to get away together, they go camping on the grounds of their estate, cycling between a few different locations so it’s harder for the staff to track them down.

In It Couldn’t Wait Another Moment, Riley is very willing to share “her beach” with Drake. If they are looking for a longer getaway together, they’ll rent a car and get out of the city to go camping.

32. If they got to pick what one another wears for a day, what would one another wear?

Riley likes seeing Drake dressed up in a simple suit since it’s a break from the usual. Navy would be her preferred color. Drake would have Riley wear a slim cut red dress with a length short enough to be sexy but not so short that he feels that everyone is going to be checking her out.

44. What do they love most about each other?

Drake loves that Riley has a bit of a temper, but uses it for “good,” such as calling out stuck up, snobby assholes (He loves that she swears up a storm with her temper, too). Riley loves the way nothing she can say or do phases him.

Bonus: 3 random HC about your OTP

In canon, they host a Superbowl party every year, even though neither one of them really cares about American football, because Riley feels this is one America tradition they can still embrace without it being seen as a “thing” by the press (They drew some flack when they tried to have a July 4th barbecue with fireworks because that was seen as too political)

In It Couldn’t Wait Another Moment, they attempted to rent a cabin to get out of the city for a couple of nights around New Year’s Eve to escape the insanity that first year, but Riley did not have a driver’s license and Drake’s Cordonian license was deemed insufficient, so they had to text Liam to emergently transmit them some additional documentation. He essentially just wrote a three sentence letter on stationary with the royal seal stating that Drake had a driver’s license in good standing.

In any universe, they will intermittently have intense poker nights (just the two of them), that devolve into drunken rounds of strip poker and insane bets.

Tagging @drakeandcamilleofvaltoria @ravenpuff02 @omgjasminesimone @fromthedeskofpaisleybleakmore if any of you are interested in joining in the fun (sorry if this is a repeat tag for any of you), or anyone else who sees this and wants to play along!

#meet my otp

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soopersara · 5 years

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Day 6: Found

Read it on FFN | AO3

@zutaraweek

When Sokka comes up with an idea to get rid of Joo Dee, Katara finds herself in the Lower Ring of Ba Sing Se with a tea server she did not expect to meet.

Toph was right about Ba Sing Se. This place was really the worst. It wasn't that Katara didn't enjoy having a soft bed and ample food and an allowance from the royal treasury-that was all nice. The cleanliness and manners that Toph railed so hard against didn't bother Katara either. But Ba Sing Se had Joo Dee. And Joo Dee was terrible.

No matter where they went, Joo Dee managed to be two steps behind them all the way, smiling that creepy, unflappable smile, and scaring away anyone they tried to speak to. It was bad enough when they approached that shady-looking ostrich horse dealer and he slammed the door in their faces. That made sense. He acted like he had something to hide even before he saw Joo Dee. But when a pastry shop turned them away at the sight of Joo Dee's unnaturally wide smile, they had all had enough.

It was Sokka's idea to turn it into a game. There were four of them and only one of Joo Dee-logically, if they were to split up, Joo Dee could only ruin the day for one of them.

Since Sokka was the only nonbender, they agreed to give him one advantage—while Katara, Aang, and Toph could use their bending however they saw fit ("Without getting arrested, guys," Katara cautioned them. "You lose if Joo Dee catches you or if you get arrested"), only Sokka was allowed to wear Earth Kingdom clothes. If Katara or Aang could conjure fog to hide in, and Toph could choose to hide underground, it was only fair that Sokka be able to blend into a crowd.

So when they left the house the next morning, Sokka wearing a nondescript green tunic and Toph in one of Katara's spare Water Tribe dresses, Joo Dee looked surprised—or as close to surprised as she could possibly look without breaking her smile. They let themselves be escorted as far as the first busy street before Sokka gave Katara, then Aang a pointed look and nudged Toph with his elbow.

"Remember, the game ends at sunset," he whispered. "Ready? On three. One—" he glanced back to make sure Joo Dee wasn't too close. "—two, three. Run!"

Katara summoned a dense fog from the nearest fountain and broke into a sprint. She didn't really know where she was going—Sokka had spent most of last night plotting routes through the city and strategizing, but she preferred to improvise. So she ran west, smirking when she heard Joo Dee calling after them. Not yelling, though. Joo Dee wouldn't yell, that would be undignified and unsuited to the refined atmosphere of the Upper Ring.

She ran until she could no longer hear Joo Dee's voice, shrill with agitation, then ran further, until her lungs protested and her knees felt wobbly. Slowing to a walk, she turned down a street lined with fancy shops. A whole day without Joo Dee. This would be nice. Of course, it would be more fun if she weren't alone, but a day without that creepy smile and those wide, expressionless eyes constantly hovering over her shoulder was more than worth it.

Katara wandered into a clothing shop, then a shop that seemed to specialize in utterly impractical silk slippers. The kind that Toph and her mother wore in Gaoling—the kind that were too delicate to be worn outside. Katara wrinkled her nose. She didn't hate shopping, but she didn't have Sokka's enthusiasm for it. Especially when she was alone.

She meandered down one quiet street after another, farther and farther from the center of the Upper Ring. The Middle Ring felt more comfortable to her—it always had. But today, she had no interest in stopping. She hadn't had much chance to explore the Lower Ring, and today, armed with her waterskins and unhindered by Joo Dee, seemed like the perfect opportunity.

It was nearly midday when Katara realized she was hungry. The taverns in the Lower Ring looked a little shady for her tastes—if Sokka were here, he'd scold her for even considering going in alone. Truthfully, he might scold her for coming to the Lower Ring in the first place, but that didn't bother her. The drunken shouts from inside the taverns were another matter entirely. Luckily, there was a tea shop on the corner—a sleepy little place, not exactly quaint or charming, but it seemed quiet. Quiet suited her today.

She chose a table in the corner where she could look out the window and settled in.

"Welcome to the Pao Family Tea House," a weary-sounding voice said. "My name is Lee, and—"

Katara looked at the server and froze. And he froze. And for what seemed like a very long time, she stared into the very surprised golden eyes of Prince Zuko of the Fire Nation.

He recovered from the surprise first and spun toward the kitchen. "Uncle!"

Jaw hanging open, Katara turned slowly, eyes trailing after Zuko as he retreated behind the counter. Sure enough, there was his uncle, round and pleasant-faced as ever. And Zuko. Prince Zuko. In a teashop. In the Lower Ring of Ba Sing Se. In an apron. She wasn't sure what part of the image was strangest to her.

She pinched her arm, and it hurt. Not dreaming, then. Maybe this wasn't a dream, though. Maybe she had hit her head or something and it was a hallucination. Yeah. That made sense. Or at least more sense than—whatever this was.

Zuko was staring at her like she was a Foggy Swamp apparition as he whispered to his uncle in a voice that carried clear across the room. Katara snapped her gaping jaw shut. That was Zuko, all right. And spirits, he really needed to learn how to keep his voice down if he ever wanted to keep a secret. He was worse than Sokka, and that was saying a lot.

"What am I supposed to do?" Zuko hissed. His uncle mumbled something in reply. "No. No, Uncle. Absolutely not. No!" The old man glanced in Katara's direction and waggled his bushy gray eyebrows. "Uncle, I'm not serving her tea! For all we know, she's here to—" Zuko cut himself off and flushed a deep shade of red.

The old man clasped Zuko's shoulder and went off into a low, rumbling lecture that Katara couldn't understand from her seat. From time to time, Zuko glanced her direction, then turned back to his uncle, shamefaced. What was that about? It almost made Zuko seem—normal.

At last the lecture ended, and the old man patted Zuko's shoulder with an affectionate smile. Zuko made a show of throwing himself over the counter so his head thumped lightly against the wood and let out a prolonged groan. His uncle poked him in the side and offered an order pad. Zuko rolled his head to the side and glared up at his uncle for a second, then grumbled a string of wildly creative curses and snatched the order pad out of the old man's hand.

"Welcome to the Pao Family Tea House," Zuko began before he was even halfway to her table. The look on his face might have been an attempt at forcing a smile, but he just looked constipated. "My name is Lee—"

"You have to be kidding me," Katara interrupted.

Zuko's ears reddened. Or ear—it was difficult to see whether the scarred one changed color or not. "My name is Lee," he tried again, voice taut enough to crack. "And I will be your server today."

"What are you doing?"

His shoulders visibly tensed, and he held up his order pad as if it were a shield. "My job." He tried to smile and managed to look nauseated this time. Katara couldn't decide if that was better or worse than his constipated face. "Our special today is—"

She shook her head. "That's not what I meant. Why are you here?"

He threw his hands up. "I just am, okay?"

"And you work in a teashop?" Katara asked, still unable to fully wrap her mind around the concept.

"No, I just think the apron makes me look cool." He crossed his arms. "Are you going to order anything, or can I throw you out?"

Across the room, Zuko's uncle looked up. "Nephew," he warned.

Zuko stared up at the ceiling and gave a long sigh. "I mean," he said through clenched teeth, "What can I get for you today?"

A second of silence passed before Katara remembered why she had come in the first place. Lunch. Right. She was hungry. "Uh—do you have food here? Not just tea?"

"We have a small selection of fruit pastries." The reply came automatically, as if he'd repeated those exact words hundreds of times before. Zuko looked briefly startled by his own answer but settled back into an expression of annoyance.

"Okay." Fruit pastries weren't an ideal lunch, but it had to be better than braving the taverns. "I like everything but papaya."

"Papaya's all we have," Zuko snapped.

Okay, that response was far too quick. Katara glanced back toward Zuko's uncle.

"Nephew, I believe you misunderstood me earlier," the old man called across to them. "Papaya is the only thing we're out of."

Katara found herself smiling in triumph. "In that case, I would like a peach tart. Please. And a cup of tea."

Zuko grumbled, but he scribbled her order down—which probably wasn't necessary, considering the fact that the rest of the shop was empty—and stomped off to fetch her food.

He dropped the plate in front of her and thumped her teacup down. He folded his arms again. "Will there be anything else?"

Katara frowned up at him. "Actually, yes." She leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table. "I want to know the truth. What are you doing here?"

"I, uh—" He ran a hand through his hair. The motion made it stick out in several directions at once, but she had to admit that it still looked better than that stupid bald ponytail thing he used to have. "Excuse me, I have to get back to work."

"Take your time, Nephew," the old man said brightly as he bustled to clear the dishes and crumbs off the counter. "See? All cleaned up. And our busy time isn't for a few hours yet."

Zuko's mouth opened and closed a few times, and Katara smirked. "Sounds to me like you've got time to answer my question."

He glared at her.

"What are you doing in Ba Sing Se?"

"I—" He let out a puff of air. "I can't talk about it."

"Why?"

"Because—" He fidgeted with the edge of his apron. "People can't know where I'm from."

Her first impulse was to jump up and yell, Ha! I knew you were here to do something evil! But he didn't look like he was plotting anything. He just looked—embarrassed. And frustrated. And maybe a little bit frightened. And—it was stupid, but Katara wanted to hear what he had to say. She leaned back. "Well, there's nobody else here, and I already know where you're from. So your secret's out. I could go to the Dai Li right now and turn you in—"

His eyes widened, and the color drained from his face.

"Or," she continued, "I could stay here and eat my lunch while you tell me the truth."

He clenched his jaw and looked down. "What, so you can turn me in as soon as you leave?" Surprisingly, there wasn't any anger in his voice. Just weariness and defeat.

She shrugged. "Your chances are a lot better if you explain. Why are you here?"

Zuko rubbed the back of his neck. "My sister is insane. Next question."

"Are you just going to keep standing there? You're making me nervous."

With a sigh, Zuko glanced back at his uncle, but he pulled out the chair across from her and perched on the edge, ready to bolt out of his seat at any time. Okay, this really wasn't any better than his hovering. It should be impossible for a person to be that awkward.

"Happy now?" he asked.

Katara frowned. "Not really." She tore off a bit of the tart and popped it into her mouth. It tasted better than she'd expected. Actually, it was good. Really good. She tried not to let it show. "So—are you still looking for Aang?"

Zuko scrunched up his nose. "What's an Aang?"

She paused, mid-chew. "Seriously?"

"What? I've never heard of—" Realization washed over his face. "Oh. Is that—" He looked around and leaned forward to mouth the last few words, —the Avatar's name?

Katara flicked a few crumbs at him. "You have to be kidding."

"Hey!" He brushed the crumbs off of his apron, scowling. "Excuse me for having other things to worry about."

Rolling her eyes, Katara shook her head. "Yeah, well we had plenty to worry about too, and I still managed to learn your name." She took a sip of her tea. "Answer the question. Are you still hunting Aang or not?"

"I don't know." Zuko scratched at a stain on the tabletop. His good eyebrow crept downward, and his voice lowered. "I don't know if it even makes a difference anymore."

"What is that supposed to mean?" She crossed her arms. "It makes a difference to me if you're going to show up someday and try to kidnap my friend."

"No! I can't go home without the—without Aang, but I don't know if that would be enough anymore." He stared at the table. "My father sent my sister to bring me back, but I got the impression that she wasn't too concerned about keeping me in one piece for the trip. And she always does what my father expects of her, so—"

Katara almost shuddered at the memory of the fight back in that abandoned village. Azula was practically unstoppable. Maybe the fight would have gone differently if Katara's water supply hadn't been dangerously low, if they hadn't all been sleep-deprived, but she didn't savor the idea of meeting the princess again. "I'm glad you and your uncle are okay." Zuko looked up at her in surprise. "I mean—" she faltered. "He got hurt pretty badly, and I would have healed him. We never could have won that fight without the two of you. I would have helped if you'd let me."

His mouth hung open a fraction as he studied her, his golden eyes peering deep into hers, searching. For what, she wasn't certain. Katara felt her face heat and she hastily shoved a too-large piece of the tart into her mouth. She wasn't blushing. Zuko's lips parted a little wider—no. She wasn't looking at his mouth either. His awkwardness must just be contagious.

"Why are you here?" he asked after a pause. "You're travelling with—" He waved a hand, apparently unable to decide whether to say Aang or the Avatar. "Doesn't that basically put you in the Earth King's lap?"

"Gross." Katara wrinkled her nose.

"No, not like—" he sighed and rubbed his forehead with the heel of his hand. "Aren't you staying in the palace or something?"

She shook her head. "A house in the Upper Ring. We've been trying to get a meeting with the Earth King, but they won't let us anywhere near the palace." She stopped herself. She was dangerously close to revealing Sokka's plans for the eclipse. She shouldn't be telling Zuko things like this, but it was just too easy to keep talking.

"So why are you in the Lower Ring? I'm sure the teashops are a lot nicer where you live."

Okay, now she was blushing. "We were playing a game."

It was Zuko's turn to gape. "A game? What kind of game is it?"

"Ditch Joo Dee. It was my brother's idea."

He nodded slowly, looking as confused as ever. "And Joo Dee is?"

"The creepy lady who follows us around to make sure we don't cause trouble." Katara ran her finger around the rim of her teacup. "We split up so she couldn't ruin the day for all of us."

Zuko nodded as if he understood. He probably did, Katara realized. He was royalty. The Fire Nation might be different than Ba Sing Se, but if anyone there had to deal with overbearing glorified babysitters like Joo Dee, it was probably the crown prince. But before he could respond, his stomach growled loudly and he flushed, crossing his arms over his stomach.

"Impressive," Katara said, smiling.

Zuko scowled. "Shut up." He turned his face away, but not before she caught him glancing at her plate. He stared deliberately out the window and she saw him swallow.

"When was the last time you ate?" She didn't really mean to say it aloud, but now that she was paying attention, she couldn't help but notice how lean his face had become.

"This morning," he snapped.

From the corner of her eye, Katara saw the old man shake his head, and she raised an eyebrow at Zuko.

"Fine. Last night. I overslept this morning." His scowl remained fixed on his face and he turned his attention to the stain on the table again.

Or you deliberately slept in because there wasn't enough food for breakfast. She and Sokka had done the same a few times on their trip across the Earth Kingdom. They were older than Aang and Toph—it was their responsibility to take care of the younger kids. Most of the time, that meant the two of them doing most of the work to set up camp, Sokka hunting and fishing for their meals, and Katara doing the cooking and the washing. Toph rarely contributed more than her own earth tent, and Aang tried to help, he really did, but he had a tendency to wander off and play with Momo midway through chores. But there had been a few times when there was only enough rice left to feed Aang and only enough meat for Toph—it was just easier if she and Sokka pretended to sleep through breakfast so the other two could help themselves to the leftovers.

She frowned down at her plate. "You know—I think I'd like to try another kind of tart." She heard Zuko let out an irritated sigh. "Do you have anything with mango or cherry?"

He ran a hand down the side of his face as he stood. "Yes," he grumbled.

Katara smiled and Zuko's uncle gave her a curious look as she carefully cut off the untouched half of her peach tart. She tried to rearrange her expression into something like neutrality before Zuko returned with the second plate. She wasn't sure if she succeeded or not, but Zuko didn't seem to notice.

"Will that be all?" His voice was tight again and he refused to meet her eyes.

"Not quite." She sliced the second pastry in half and divided it so that she had the mostly-eaten half of the peach tart and half of the cherry tart on one plate and an untouched half of each on the other.

Zuko's brow furrowed. "What are you doing?"

Katara slid the second plate across the table and gave a crooked smile. "I said I wanted to try another kind. I didn't say I could eat all of this on my own."

A closed-off look came over his face. "Don't."

"Don't what?" She took a bite.

He ran a hand through his hair. "Don't—act like we're friends." He shifted uncomfortably.

Katara looked up, studying him. There was that defeat in his eyes again, though he was clearly trying to hide it. She rested her elbows on the table. "Why not?" The words came out almost as a challenge.

Zuko frowned, but his uncle cleared his throat. Zuko glanced back at the old man, then took a deep breath and eased back into the seat across from her.

It was strange, and for a while, Zuko sat stiff on the edge of his chair, answering in monosyllables. But one sarcastic remark made Katara smile, and Zuko relaxed a little. Talking to him was easy. And comfortable. And natural. And it was weird, but Zuko listened to her talk, unsmiling and gaze steady, and that felt nice too. Even if he didn't smile, even if that guarded look didn't quite disappear from this face, his eyes were warm.

She found herself wondering if she should ask again—Are you still chasing Aang? Can I trust you not to hurt him? Because she wanted to trust Zuko. It would be easy. If he had really given up on the idea, maybe she could stop acting like they were friends. Maybe they could be friends.

He said something that made her laugh—When did Zuko develop a sense of humor?—and a small smile flashed across his face. It was fleeting, gone as quickly as it had appeared, but for the instant it was there, his eyes lit up and Katara's stomach fluttered. Okay, so he had a nice smile. But Katara wasn't blushing, and a little stomach flip didn't mean anything. It was just—surprise, probably. Zuko smiled so seldom that a little surprise was only natural.

There was a commotion outside and they both started, turning toward the window.

A woman's voice, shrill and piercing, rang through the street, and Katara groaned. "That's Joo Dee." She dropped her face into her hands so that her elbows thumped on the table. "Sokka's never going to let me hear the end of this. I lost the game."

Zuko peered out through the blinds a second longer. "No, you didn't."

Katara raised her head enough to see him smile. A real, proper smile this time. Her stomach went wild with butterflies, and Zuko grabbed her by the hand.

"Come on," he whispered, pulling her out of her seat.

Trotting to keep up with his long stride, Katara hissed, "What are we doing?"

He led her back behind the counter, past his uncle, who shot them an amused smile, and pulled a serving cart out from under the counter. "Hiding." He pointed at the open space where the cart used to be.

Katara gave him a skeptical look, but then Joo Dee's voice came nearer and there were footsteps just outside the door. Taking a deep breath, she ducked under the counter and pulled her knees to her chest. Zuko crouched to make sure she was hidden, and the front door opened. Before Zuko could stand back up, his uncle shoved him out of sight and pushed the serving cart in front of their hiding place.

"Good afternoon my dear lady, and welcome to the Pao Family Tea House."

The loud greeting masked both Zuko's grunt and Katara's surprised squeak as his face collided with her shoulder. Zuko jerked back as quickly as possible, his head thumping against the counter in his haste. He winced, and Katara pressed a finger to her lips.

Sorry, he mouthed, face flushing scarlet. Bracing his hands against the sides of the little compartment, he pushed himself off to the side.

It's okay, she mouthed in reply and squeezed farther into the corner to make room for him.

"What may I do for you on this lovely day?" The old man clattered around over them, noisier than necessary, sounding pleased with himself. "We have an exquisite selection of teas from all regions of the Earth Kingdom—" He went on, chattering about a rare oolong that was rumored to be a favorite of the great King Bumi of Omashu.

Katara tried to ignore the heat gathering in her cheeks while Zuko's face hovered only inches away from hers. The space under the counter was scarcely large enough for both of them, and she could feel the gentle warmth radiating off him as he tried to twist himself around to sit. When he finally succeeded, she let out a small breath of relief. Their shoulders were wedged uncomfortably tight, and their hands were nearly touching, but at least now she could look away and pretend that her heart wasn't racing, that his piercing golden gaze wasn't making her stomach do strange fluttery things.

"Excuse me," Joo Dee interrupted. "I am sure that your shop is the pride of Ba Sing Se, but I have no time for tea. Four of the Earth King's young guests have gone missing. I believe that one of them may have come into your shop."

"Oh dear." The old man made a thoughtful noise.

"I believe either Lady Toph Beifong or Master Katara of the Water Tribe was seen heading this way," Joo Dee pressed.

"Mmmm." The old man stopped his clattering. "May I ask what these young ladies look like?"

Katara tensed. He couldn't. It would be bad enough losing the game, but being caught hiding under a teashop counter with Zuko would be downright humiliating, to say nothing of the danger for Zuko. She didn't want to see him caught. It felt strange, but she cared. If Katara was caught, it would be embarrassing. She would have to face teasing and questions from Sokka and the others, but Zuko—he could be arrested. Or worse. She started to squirm forward as Joo Dee described her and Toph.

Zuko's hand landed on her arm and he shook his head. Wait, he mouthed.

"I'm afraid I haven't seen any young ladies wearing blue today," the old man said. "Business has been very slow."

"Perhaps they changed their clothes?" Joo Dee demanded. There was a pause, then Joo Dee added, "If business has been slow, what is this?"

Oops. They'd left their plates at the table. Zuko's eyes widened, and Katara pressed her hands over her mouth.

"The scoundrel!" There was an edge of amusement in the old man's voice despite his apparent effort to sound serious. "I apologize, my good lady. It seems a customer left without paying."

"I shall alert the patrol on your behalf."

"Oh, don't trouble yourself," the old man answered jovially. "I know the young man well. Rest assured, I will have a very stern conversation with the boy's uncle."

#zutara #Zutara Week #Zutara Week 2019 #fanfiction #zutara fanfiction #soopersara's scribbles

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