#realizing how utterly fucked the situation at my job was until myself and a few others got hired
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10 minute Zumba workout ✅
Get teeth cleaned at the dentist ✅
Vibe with the colleagues ✅
Drink my little drinks ✅
Eat my little snacks ✅
Reminisce and realize ✅
Deepen my relationships at work ✅
#tea's redemption arc#i havent had a chance to wind down yet but today was all over the place#so many ups and downs#realizing how utterly fucked the situation at my job was until myself and a few others got hired#my manager seems to really believe in me#they even trusted me enough to run the store nearly by myself after only working 3 days#really proud of myself#feel like im making a genuine difference in the lives of those i touch#it warms my heart bc theyve all touched my life too over the past few months#sad tho bc one of my coworkers is leaving 😔#excited to explore this job until im guided elsewhere#really feel like these people need me to help keep their lives positive as much as i need them to help me feel less lonely in the world#symbiosis#picked up a shift and realized i won't have a day off until next monday 🙃#7 day work week fuck it i need money to fix my car lol#🧿#side note saw an audi rs7 in person in the parking lot at work today that shit was fire 😍 it was either an a7 or rs7#but it has the cool tail light stripe
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As a fellow Bakugo fan I must ask, are you not even a little bit mad that Hori jobbed Bakugo (as well as others) so bad to make Deku look good? As a Bakugo fan who doesn't really like Deku, I'm considering droping the manga and I'm sad about it because I've been reading the manga for 3 years. I know that Bakugo will probably rise and do something but I still find the entire thing distasteful
Given how many asks I keep receiving to this effect, let me make this one thing perfectly, utterly, ear-ringingly clear.
[looks straight into the camera and leans in to place my lips directly on the microphone]
No. I ain’t even mad, bro.
1. I have not been holding back my disappointment or refraining from criticizing Horikoshi out of politeness. I genuinely enjoy what’s been going on with Katsuki in the manga 100% since the beginning of this arc. I don’t think anyone should or shouldn’t enjoy the arc just because they’re a fan of Katsuki. I don’t think it means anything about you as a Katsuki fan if you like or dislike it. The fact of the matter is, I am a giant Katsuki fan, and I like this arc--and it’s clearly because I see what’s going on in the manga differently from the people who don’t like it. It’s as simple as that.
2. The notion that Horikoshi “jobbed” Katsuki to “make Deku look good” is just, like, your opinion, man. I don’t see it. I see the heavy implication that we’re maybe supposed to think that for like a few chapters, but Horikoshi has signaled SO. FUCKING. LOUDLY. how this is a ploy that I can’t even be mad at how my ear drums are bleeding from the volume. I don’t know how many times I gotta say it: when a character SAYS THE TROPE OUT LOUD (e.g. AFO vs Jirou), you just know the trope’s about to be subverted. But to subvert the trope, you first must play with it.
3. Look, it’s easy to forget the big picture when you’re reading such short chapters like this with only one or two major plot beats per chapter each week. If you’re genuinely not enjoying the manga at this pace, I’d advise you to change it. Read a few chapters at a time. Don’t read weekly. I can only explain my own enjoyment by pointing out that I’ve very consistently followed along with the plot beats while demonstrating that I absolutely vibe with Horikoshi.
Remember that time I was the only one who realized THIS WAS LEADING TO SOME BAD SHIT?
That happened in chapter 344. February. Katsuki wouldn’t get bodied until chapter 362 in August. Did it seem like I was despairing over this premonition for half-a-year? (Well, I mean “despairing” in a bad way that implies I wasn’t enjoying myself.)
But this is what I mean when I say don’t take plot beats at face value, because we have to let the story resolve each situation at its own natural pace. Katsuki is supposed to look like he’s been “jobbed” for Izuku’s sake, and for that to affect us properly, we have to sit with it for a while.
The fact that the above interaction exists gives me all the comfort in the world that what you’re describing isn’t actually happening in earnest in the story. Horikoshi is well aware of what the fuck things look like. He’s reveling in the fact that you’re falling for it. With any luck, the resolution will be that much sweeter for you when he finally gets to it.
(Depicted above is Horikoshi lampshading the point even harder.)
If you don’t want to go through heartache to get to the sweet reward, if that’s not to your taste, then that’s cool. Do your thing. I’m gonna keep doing mine, and I’m having a blast with what we’ve got.
And what we’ve got is a plethora of Katsuki at every turn.
We keep joking about how I can make anything about Katsuki whether or not it’s merited, but at this point I’m convinced I’m supposed to be doing that. I haven’t written fusion theory yet because I’ve been so sleep deprived today, but chapter 369 really nailed home the fact that I’m supposed to be seeing all the characters in each other. AFO is Katsuki Bakugou. Katsuki Bakugou is Izuku Midoriya. Shouto and Iida are Izuku, and Dabi and Tomura are Katsuki, and everyone is All Might, and I could slot anyone’s names in any part of this formula and it will all work fine. The characters are converging on a singularity. So when I see any character do anything, including Izuku doing his thing right now, I am perfectly justified in seeing Katsuki Bakugou alive and well (although I do also get a certain smug satisfaction out of seeing his corpse on the ground like Horikoshi is winking at me each time he draws it).
(Like am I even supposed to be mad that he’s dead? When we’ve got so many other reanimated dead people walking around it might even be construed as a theme?)
Everything is Katsuki Bakugou and vice versa change my mind.
#anon ask#ask pika#my hero academia manga spoilers#katsuki bakugou#the boy#the legend#the fictional character#which is at this point the highest compliment i can pay#this manga is so damn self-aware please never lose sight of that
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no better time than 6 fucking am to just be hit with how utterly, crushingly lonely you are
how even friends that you love are moving on w their lives without you
you’re not a priority, and you can’t make them one bc they have other more important things
how even ppl you thought were safe to be around can say something so casually hurtful that’s not even about you but it hurts. and you don’t realize until it’s 5:30 and you’re trying to sleep.
amazing that having met w 2 friends today and meeting w a different one in 5 hrs, i feel so utterly, pathetically alone.
i feel like i’m cutting tiny portions of myself off to hand to other ppl to make friendships and keep communication open sometimes
but i just
i stayed up too late reading. i was gonna go to sleep 3 hrs ago. and instead i stayed up late reading.
and it was probably a mistake. i really enjoyed it but it just hurt. bc it was this beautiful prose abt ppl who had built lives for themselves by age 30. who had friends who could see all these pieces of them without it needing to be said. who could understand each other. who still did say things, but didn’t always need to say the small things. who felt safe in disagreements and discomfort.
who weren’t alone.
and i loved it and it hurt my stomach all the way down to my pelvis the way some emotions hit me. and i’m just sad.
i don’t feel like anyone actually knows or understands me. i do my best to do that w or for others.
and part of the problem is that i simply don’t trust anyone enough to be myself and part of that is that i’m tired of handing myself to someone only for them to go “oh. no thanks.”
i’m tired of being alone. i’m tired of being lonely. i’m tired of only mattering in pieces. i’m tired of not having energy for people, and them never having the time or energy for me.
i’m tired of having to be someone else around/with everyone i talk to. and “everyone” sure is doing a lot of heavy lifting that isn’t accurate.
the number of ppl i talk to w any frequency right now:
7
it’s usually more like 4 or 5. i’ve had an unprecedented uptick in communication from a few people.
the number of ppl that i feel like i can be 1000000% of myself around, whether or not it has anything to do with them:
1
and i don’t know if it’s reciprocal.
i didn’t budget or plan for or anticipate a complete fucking meltdown at 6 am, sorry
oh i guess i could count my therapist for a whopping 8, bc i talk to her once a week. and then 2 bc the whole point is to be myself in therapy.
my life is nothing that i wanted right now
i’m almost 30 and i barely have friends. i don’t have a life. i have no marketable skills. i’m on medicaid bc i can’t find a job, and even if i did, it would pay me nowhere near even half a livable wage.
i’m so tired and miserable and i just can’t take any of this anymore.
trying just HURTS because NO ONE i know is in the same situation as me. and that sounds so egotistical and pathetic.
but i just mean
idfk what i mean
no one gets it and i guess it’s unfair and stupid to want someone to get it about everything
maybe it’s me
maybe i’m broken and fucked up
i wish i could kill my past
every day without even trying i just don’t think abt who i used to me, i’m just living in the now and recent past and thinking abt that
and i just wish past me didn’t exist and i didn’t have to carry them around w me all the fucking time
idek how to articulate what’s WRONG right now i just HURT i hurt so much i feel sick and i can’t stop crying
i guess i’ll just take an anti-anxiety thing and shove it back down to get a whopping 4 hours of sleep before i have to pretend to be fine again in front of someone i’ve “known” for 16 years who’s going out without masks, whose whole current drama and life struggle is about this woman she loves and who loves her
every time i just have to try and accept that people have been awful to be bc i’m short and fat and mexican and queer and trans and autistic
i just see other ppl who share these traits who don’t share the bullshit i went through or am going through
or who are in loving relationships
or have so many friends
or who are so successful
and i just want to die
what is WRONG with me? why is it like this for me, why am i like this?
i just want to know what’s so fucking unlovable about me bc i wasn’t
i wasn’t always this pathetic in this way
but my stupid fucking life is just and has just not been that fucking awful
why am i so weak?
and i can’t just SAY this to people. to the people who are my friends. that i’m supposed to trust.
you can’t just DUMP taht on someone.
which is why i just bullshit it into the void on here for ppl to choose whether they read or engage or not.
i know it’m annoying and pathetic. i put it under read mores. you know what this is, you can (and should) scroll right past without reading. i know most ppl do. and good. i’m not trying to manipulate or guilt anyone into this.
i need to be out of my own head with this stuff like i’m explaining it to someone else bc if it’s a journal or a diary i get sick of my own bullshit too fast and i know what i’m going to say before i type it so it’s pointless
i’m just sorry
i feel like i have to justify everything
i don’t want to hurt anyone--at least not due to negligence. accident, it happens.
i have so many plushies now. and my new one that i can’t let go of. it just feels so sad and pathetic. holding them all the time.
i’m 27, almost 28, i’ve never dated, i’ve never been myself in any friendship. idk who myself is bc i’m so twisted around and busted. and i’m so afraid. constantly. and i feel. insane. with fear and with seeing so many people i cared abt just. not. care. about any of this anymore.
and there’s nothing i can do to fix it.
i wish i had gone to sleep 3 hours ago like i had planned to. i’ve been tired this whole time. my eyes burning.
all i know abt myself is that i can never shut up or leave well enough alone. idk what close relationships look like. idk how to be a person. i can’t do this. i can’t carry this. i’m so tired of burying how i feel and biting my tongue or choosing anger bc it hurts less and fades quicker. i’m tired of losing track of time and days. i’m tired of being a disappointment. i’m tired of being disappointed.
i should take a fucking anti anxiety thing and go to sleep and stop. bothering everyone. i’m going to be a mess when i have to talk to my friend in a few hours on like no sleep and puffy eyes and i’m going to have to help her manage her traumas and feelings and other sundry bullshit (not derogatory) so that she stops getting herself hurt bc if i’m being given the power to help then i have to take it. if i don’t then i’m letting her get hurt. i will have done nothing.
i’ve already spent weeks and hours and thousands of words via IG DMs. she couldn’t be there for me when i needed her. she doesn’t pay attn to where i am in my life. she’s trying to figure out who i am but doesn’t listen to me when i try to tell her.
she acts like i’m always putting myself down.
i’m not. i don’t. i try not to.
i’m just stating facts about who i am and what my life is.
and if that feels like i’m insulting myself then you’re just making me feel even worse bc my life is apparently so pathetic it sounds like an insult.
no, i’m not qualified for that job you sent. i’m flattered you thought of me and i appreciate it, but i’m not qualified.
no, i’m not selling myself short. i know ppl in the industry and i know it takes more than what i have. it would take years to be anywhere near capable of being ready for that position--and it’s not even in an area that i would want to pursue.
but pushing back and pushing back against that as if i’m insulting myself
and i just keep
“by then i’ll be hotter than the cheerleaders [because i’ll be thinner]” and “you’re not fat!” and her fucking ex-girlfriend making fun of fat americans while my mom and i fed her pizza that we paid for. her paranoia about fitness and thinness and how she sucks her stomach in in all of her pictures.
all of the ways i am made to feel shame for who i am right now. it’s alien to them, to everyone.
i don’t have. a social life. i barely have friends. and the ones i have just. say things.
and i feel ungrateful, or cruel, or judgmental, like i’m holding people to impossible standards that they can never meet.
and maybe i am. bc why would i ever trust anyone.
i don’t want to deal w my stupid fucking inner child, the pathetic kid who was weak and clueless and who no one actually liked.
i was just amusing. or they could cheat off of me. or i was convenient.
or i did things for them, emotionally. i supported them. we had jokes and fun.
but it was never anything more--not for me. not towards me.
i’m so good at not needing anything and no one ever seems to complain.
and then when they do and i take them up on it and try to change my behavior it just doesn’t go well.
i’m perpetually too much.
just look at all this fucking bullshit i’ve typed out after telling myself to just take a pill and go to sleep. TWICE.
i don’t like knowing what loneliness feels like. it’s so crushing and all-consuming. i’ve already been here before. i never wanted to be here again, but somehow worse.
bc i’ve worked so hard. to get better. to build things up. to have a life. and i failed. just like i fail at most things.
imagine changing your expectations and goals in life so many times, continuously making them less and less ambitious, and still managing to fail and fall short. imagine. well, i’ve done it. i’ve managed it. and i hate it.
“everyone’s afraid of rejection, but you just have to push through”
i’ve known almost nothing except rejection for all of my 27, almost 28, years of living. i’m tired. i had gotten over it, i thought i was stronger and could move on bc it wasn’t always rejections.
then grad school happened and the pandemic happened and it just became rejections all over again, implicit and explicit.
when will anyone else take responsibility for everything so it’s not my fucking job to have to deal w everything myself, entirely alone?
and all of this bullshit. isn’t. enough. i cannot. go to other people w this. why would i? why sympathy would they have for any of this? pathetic. weak. i’m so tired.
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Opposites
Characters: Xiao, gn!reader
Word Count: 1,594
Warnings: Swearing
Premise: In which the reader is the brain and Xiao is the brawn
Author’s Note: I wasn’t sure what the general setting should be so I put it in a vaguely college/university setting. Prolly cause that’s around my age and also because I cordially dislike highschool AUs. Hopefully that works out alright!
I had to type out almost 2,000 words on my iphone. I never want to do that again.
Xiao
Honestly none of your friends are actually sure how you two got together.
After all, if someone were to take a picture of you and your partner side-by-side then show it to people not in the know, well the prevailing emotion would be something along the lines of: “Are they classmates or neighbors or something?”
To be fair, when the two of your first met even the idea that you would ever end up in love was something laughable. Having been pushed together for a project, your knee-jerk reaction had been: Oh I’m totally going to end up doing this all by myself.
Thankfully however you’d been quickly proven wrong. Although Xiao hadn’t necessarily been the best about planning and other such things, his work was organized and he always showed up to every meeting with his parts completed.
By the end of the project you never wanted to work with another person on a group project again.
And, to be completely honest, you’d definitely developed a crush on your slightly aloof group partner.
Xiao’s reaction was much harder to read.
At first he appeared to want nothing to do with you. Work was emailed to you with not so much as a subject line; meetups passed in awkward silence broken by tentative questions on your part. You’d sort of assumed that he saw you as annoying and the group work as useless - which to be fair it sort of was useless.
So when he emailed you a few weeks later asking for your number and if you wanted to do something, well, safe to say you almost fell out of your chair.
Though the start was a little awkward, Xiao’s conversational nature didn’t develop much in general, you two fell into a routine of sorts, a relationship of unspoken boundaries and spontaneous confidences.
During the first few weeks of you odd sort of relationship you’d come to the conclusion that, though not a talker, Xiao was ultimately quite apathetic in nature. Eventually however you realized apathetic wasn’t the right term.
Though he might’ve appeared sullen on the outside, Xiao never actually acted in a way that hinted at any resentment or irritation; he never dragged his feet about something or implied it was stupid that you should ask for help or for a favor.
His assertiveness, which might’ve been mistaken for aloofness, was endearing. Xiao never half-asses anything, even when if wasn’t doing something for another person, like you.
You appreciated this side of his personality, the fact that he was quick to act, admired if even. It certainly stood in stark contrast to your tendency to overthink things, something that could quickly end up kneecapping you depending on what decisions were being debated.
It was an alien concept to you, the sort of philosophy Xiao seemed to live by, and its novelty was refreshing.
As your thoughts slid more and more to focusing on Xiao you became more and more aware of the rumors that abounded about him.
He was a troubled youth, he was prone to fighting, he had been so uncontrollable in secondary school that only one teacher had been able to get him to do anything. The only times he spoke was to wound, and he never had a word to say that wasn’t angry.
Well, obviously that wasn’t the truth, but any attempt to clear up the situation was quickly met with odd stares and responses that all smacked of: “Oh you poor idiot, you just haven’t learned yet.”
You would’ve liked to think that you didn’t let it affect your relationship with him, but evidently the rumors had begun to catch up to you.
“Hey, you’ve been avoiding me.”
“Have I?” You shifted awkwardly in your seat. Xiao sighed, evidently aware of where this was going.
“It’s because of what people say about me, isn’t it?”
“Maybe.”
“I see.”
That had been the beginning and the end of the conversation for quite some time, almost as if Xiao had yet to decide whether or not you were one of the few in whom he could entrust the truth. Yet despite the rumors and the odd looks you still found yourself gravitating towards Xiao, and soon enough that initial pull turned into something much deeper.
The day that you two became “official” was the day Xiao told you the truth. He had been a delinquent as a teenager.
Born into a family full of troubles Xiao shouldered the circumstances as best he could.
However things cannot stay untouched forever; the distress that Xiao experienced only grew, the pressure ratcheting up with every incident, every item thrown to the ground, every fight that ended in humiliating pain.
Eventually it became too much, and when it did Xiao took his anger out not on his family, not on the people who had failed him, but on any classmate who antagonized the vulnerable child.
Fights became a regular part of Xiao’s life until university, and it was only in meeting his mentor, Zhongli, that the lost young man had managed to pull his life together.
Things made more sense after that, though one couldn’t say that everything was right with the world. Students, coworkers, the particularly idiotic TA, all of them still carried the sense that Xiao was not to be trusted. You could see how it upset your partner sometimes, when he was ignored at the coffeeshop or excluded from class group chars in the like.
Whenever he did that Xiao tended to retreat into himself, as if worried he might explode again. It took a lot of coaxing to get him out of such situations but it was always worth it to see your partner’s expression soften, to see his small smile once more.
What you didn’t tell him was that you were just as angry as he was, just as resentful at the people within your major which were hellbent on acting like they were still in high school.
Eventually however the trials of your early were utterly forgotten, the questions and the secrets replaced by a sense of slightly hilarious domestic bliss.
You were definitely the brains of the group, something Xiao didn’t seem to mind - though he probably would find that actual statement somewhat silly.
Xiao, on the other hand, held the esteemed position of Person Who Actually Got Stuff Done. You relied on him to get you out of your mental spirals, to pull you out of your room and out of your brain fog and to get you to do something; even if it wasn’t the thing you were thinking about.
In return it was your job to make sure Xiao didn’t get himself killed doing something stupid.
Xiao’s reticence masked an almost supernatural recklessness. Though your partner didn’t own a motorbike, if he had you were completely convinced he’d ride one without a helmet. His almost total disinterest in his own safety was something that you brain shrunk from, and more often than not a crazy plan of his would end with you listing the terrible things that might happen if something were to go wrong, even if those things weren’t always the most realistic.
There was a storm in twenty minutes? It was the perfect time for a walk! There was cavern nearby with tunnels were so tight you had to walk single file? Sure why not!
He would talk about such things as if there was nothing to it, as if it didn’t send your heart rate spiking. There wasn’t the slightest acknowledgment of danger. Even his tone was as gruff as usual, as if it was the most natural thing to want to go mountain climbing, not interesting enough to get even a little excited about.
It was probably good he did martial arts. You didn’t even want to think about where all that energy would go otherwise.
Xiao’s straightforward nature came out in softer ways too, ways that you envied much more than his full-steam-ahead recklessness.
He was never afraid to state what was on his mind. Whether it was correcting a waiter who got his order wrong or telling a rude doormats to fuck off, all these things were natural to him.
To be honest you completely envied that aspect of him, unable go replicate such a mindset in yourself.
When you’d commented on it once Xiao had stared oddly at you. After a moment he told you that he figured it came from his background. Sometimes you had to learn how to say “no” or “that’s wrong” or “you’re a shitty person.”
Just as you tried to curb the most extreme parts of Xiao’s recklessness, so too did Xiao work to bring you out of the spirals your mind went down sometimes, and so did he try to coax you out of the overthinking that kept you from asserting yourself in your life.
Saying you two were complete opposites wouldn’t really be accurate. You shared similar views, similar passions, similar opinions on what mattered. Yet it was true that, in some ways, you complemented one another. And when it came to those traits in which you differed, well you would like to think that your differences just made you stronger as a couple.
Maybe your friends couldn’t understand how you two got together, or why you were so deeply in love with the person you’d chosen to be your partner. But you didn’t care.
You loved Xiao with all your soul, and, at the end of the day, that was all that mattered.
#genshin impact fanfiction#xiao x reader#genshin impact#genshin xiao#requested#headcanons#my writing
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Every Part of me - Tom Holland smut
The one where you and Tom are ex-lovers
Warnings: smut, kinda dubcon? but maybe not really (Tom just steps in and makes sexual decisions without discussing previously with the reader, but she accepts it wholeheartedly), slight degradation (Tom calls the reader cockslut and greedy little whore and dumb little baby, but I think that’s it), face fucking that causes slight asphyxiation, breeding kink, rough sex, dirty talk, spanking and the likes
A/N: Day 2 of Kinktober! Today’s prompts were face fucking and breeding kink with Tom Holland. Hope you guys like it! And thanks for everyone who has sent me messages about my accident, I’m actually feeling a lot better, although still in huge pain.
Y/N’s P.O.V.
I knew he’d been watching ever since I stepped foot in the set. To be fair, I couldn’t say I wouldn’t do the same. It hadn’t been much over a month since we decided to call it quits, and despite knowing it was for the best, it didn’t change the fact that my body still felt perfectly tuned to him and his gaze, the way he’d lick his lips after his eyes caught mine. So I tried not to look, knowing it wouldn’t make much of a difference in the end.
At least my job was quick and easy and despite knowing he’d be around, we weren’t expected to be in a scene together. Still, two weeks felt fourteen days too long and the day before I was expected to leave, the exhaustion of being on the edge all the time had caught up with me. I was scared, constantly tense about the possibility that I’d find myself standing too close to him and one whiff of his cologne would make me lose all the control I was struggling to hold onto.
I couldn’t even predict what would happen, I just know it wouldn’t be good. Not for our intentions to stay away from each other. So that’s why when Anthony and Robert asked if I wanted to go out for drinks, to celebrate my last night on set, I politely refused, explaining how utterly drained of all energy I felt. Thankfully, they conceded, leaving me alone to sleep this last night before I could go back to the comfort of my own house. I guess the fact that they knew about our break up helped a bit. Robert had looked at me with kind eyes that let me know he was understanding of my situation.
Nonetheless, as soon as I got into my room, I grabbed a bottle of wine and unscrewed it, determined to finish it tonight. Perhaps the buzz would help me sleep, but what I needed the most, however, was a distraction, and since a night out with friends wasn’t possible, I decided to give myself a night of relaxation.
As I poured myself my first glass, I stripped down to nothing, leaving my clothes on the floor as I opted to put on one of the silk robes the hotel offered. Nothing says solo party like semi-nudity. Besides, I was planning on jumping in the tub any minute now.
My idea, however, was cut short by a strong knock on my bedroom’s door.
Raising an eyebrow, I approached the door cautiously. I wasn’t expecting anyone and I hadn’t even called for a meal yet. Another knock resonated and I sighed, quickening my step to open the door to the stranger.
“Tom.” The word came out more as a whisper than anything else. He, on the other hand, didn’t say a word. Instead, his eyes gazed hauntingly into mine with an intensity I hadn’t ever seen before. “What are you doing here?” I asked when I felt enough courage to break the silence, but my voice came out weak and hesitant. I hated myself for that. I wanted to sound strong, enthusiastic, even. Not like someone who missed the weight of his body over mine.
The same thought must have been in his head because at last, his eyes broke our connection to travel the extent of my body. Self-conscious, I tried to better adjust the robe around me, hoping to hide more of my skin from his view.
It didn’t take a genius to see that he didn’t like that.
Tom’s P.O.V.
Seeing Y/N wearing only a robe, not even a foot away from me, after only dealing with memories of her scent, was too much and yet everything I needed at that moment. I could smell her now. That vanilla body wash she always took with her wherever she’d go, lilies and wine. I guess she’d been drinking.
Maybe that’s why her lips were so red.
I wanted to lick it off of her, kiss her until she lost all the air in her lungs, bite her luscious lips until they were red for a completely different reason.
I subconsciously licked mine, eyes still fixated on her mouth before looking down to admire the skin that was available for me to look at.
She fixed her robe, trying to hide more from me.
I didn’t like that.
Before I could even realize what I was doing, I was pushing her inside the room, slamming the door behind us. To every step I gave in her direction, she gave one to distance her body from mine, but I was having none of it. I quickened my movements until I was able to wrap an arm around her lower back and pull her to me, my lips immediately finding hers.
It was like heaven and hell all at once. God, I knew I’d missed her taste, but having it in my lips again, being able to explore the inside of her mouth with my tongue brought me such a powerful exhilaration that I felt like my knees would buckle at any second.
Still, I couldn’t separate myself from her. Not even when she tried to push me away, to end our kiss - no doubt struggling with the memories of that terrible night when we decided to call it quits. But I was done going through the same reel again and again. I didn’t want to remember her anymore. I wanted her right here, with me.
So I chased her away, making sure our lips stayed connected until she had nowhere to run anymore. Pressed up against the wall, I had all the control I’d been wanting over her now. So I deepened our kiss, burying one of my hands on her hair so I could force her head back to accept my eager tongue, and when I was finally able to do so, my other hand pulled on the string of her robe until it fell open and I had all of her body exposed to me.
“Tom…” She managed to gasp as she struggled against my hold on her, but I was having none of it.
“Shut up,” I warned her, already prying her lower lips open with my index and ring finger as I inserted my middle one on her weeping hole. “Fuck.” The chuckle that I gave held no humor, only a mocking tone that I hardly recognized as mine. “For someone who’s so resistant to my touch you sure are wet, sweetheart.”
Perhaps I was still angry at her. Maybe that’s why I felt this overwhelming need to be mean, to make sure that she did just what I wanted. Perhaps then she’d know how I’d felt ever since that night.
She stopped struggling then, accepting my invasion of her space as I took her mouth on mine again, pressing her against the wall as I fucked her with a single finger, before adding another and another.
I could feel her struggling to accept me, the thickness of the three digits stretching her open and I had to laugh. “I can see you haven’t been properly fucked since I was last inside this little pussy, huh?” I teased, and she only whined in response, moving her hips to thrust back against my hand. “Gotta prepare you, love…” Kissing her, I made sure to leave a few bruises on her neck when I left her lips, my fingers never stopping their movements inside of her. “Gotta make sure you’ll be able to accept my cock in here again.”
Maybe it was what I said, maybe it was the fact that I finally relented and started to rub on her clit with my thumb, but I had her cumming around me in seconds, making me grin darkly as I continued to fuck her through her orgasm.
“Such a dumb little baby, thinking you could leave me. Saying all of those things and leaving me to pick up the pieces of my heart. Well, let’s see how you speak now, with my cock in your mouth.”
I pushed her on her knees and immediately she was reaching out for my jeans, but I slapped her hands away. “You get what I give you, nothing more. Now sit back and wait for my cock like a good girl.”
The sight of her with her bottom lip sticking out, those cute puppy eyes appearing from under her eyelashes made my heart grow twice its size. How did I think I could live without her? How did she so easily give up on me, leaving me behind after one single fight?
The ambers of anger rose high again, and I grabbed her hair in my fist, pulling her to meet my erect member. “Suck it up, little whore.” I allowed her to do as she pleased for a little while, albeit keeping my grip on her hair, relishing in the feeling of her talented tongue and warm mouth. But the feeling of despair was still threatening to cut me open, and before long I pulled her away by her hair.
“Open your mouth,” I barked. “Leave it open. I’m gonna fuck your face.” She didn’t fight as I pulled her on my dick until her lips were touching my navel, my cock hitting the back of her throat.
Y/N’s P.O.V.
It took every bit of concentration I had to control my urge to gag around his cock, but I knew by the way he looked down at me that it was a battle I was destined to fail. He wanted me to hurt. He needed to see the tears in my eyes as he constricted my need for air, and I could allow him this release.
Despite our break-up, I still trusted him with my life.
So I relaxed against him, allowing him to do as he wished as he guided my movements through his grip in my hair, and I found some new appreciation by the way I was a sputtering, whiny mess, tears and spit running on my face just like he wished to see.
“Fuck yes,” he groaned, throwing his head back in pleasure. “Take it. Take this fucking cock like the greedy little whore you are for me.” I couldn’t even find it in myself to care about the degrading nature of his comments, not when they were making me so wet I could feel it dripping down my thighs.
We’d never fucked like this before, but god, were we missing out. I was so aroused by our activities that I couldn’t wait anymore, I needed another release soon. So one of my hands ended up between my legs, while the other rested on one of his thighs, just for support.
At first, he was so wrapped up in the pleasure I was giving him that he didn’t even notice, but when I moaned around his cock after a particular tug in my hair that made my finger slip inside of myself, he opened his eyes to look down at me, finding me halfway through an orgasm already.
“You’re such a cockslut, aren’t you? Already gave you an orgasm, but the second my cock is in your mouth, you need another one.” I obviously couldn’t answer, but he didn’t really want a response, from the way he pulled his dick from between my lips with a pop before pulling me up by my hair and dragging me to bed.
“You’re not gonna cum if it’s not me giving you the pleasure, sweetheart.” It was the first time in the night he called me by one of the pet names he used when we were still dating, and even if the tone was still slightly colder and bossier than I was used to, I felt myself melting at the memories that it brought me, leaving me putty in his hands.
He was then free to easily manipulate my body how he saw fit, which was on my hands and knees, my head pushed down against the hotel’s mattress. “Fuck, I missed this ass,” he commented just before slapping me hard, making me yelp. The sound must have entertained him because he did it again and again until I was shaking from the ardor and dripping down on the bed from arousal.
And then he pushed into me, releasing one of those breathless little moans that I loved to hear and that I’d missed so much, and it felt like I’d blacked out for a second. Having him inside of me was everything I had been dreaming of for the last couple of weeks, and now that I was struggling to accept his thickness, it felt like the only thing in my mind was Tom, how Tom’s hands felt as he rubbed them all over my back before wrapping my hair around them again, the feeling of his thighs hitting the back of mine, the sound of his balls slapping my clit with each powerful thrust he gave.
It was enough to have screaming out his name with zero regards for the other people on this hotel floor. “Fuck yes, baby, let them know who’s fucking you this good.” There was no way anyone staying close to us didn’t know, and I could only pray none of our co-stars would be around to tease us about it.
Suddenly, just when I was about to reach that peak again, he pulled out, easily manhandling me onto my bed as he held my ankles spread out for me. I moaned out loud when I felt him spit on my pussy before he pushed into me again, immediately getting back into the same rhythm as before.
“I want to see your face when you cum again,�� he whispered hotly in my ear, making me whimper as I pulled him closer to me, my sensitive nipples rubbing against his chest. It didn’t take me long to get back to the same state as before, and the second he sucked on my earlobe, I came all around him, hearing him curse against my ear.
When I opened my eyes after calming down again, I realized he’d been waiting for me, predatory gaze glued on mine as he found a way to pound me even harder against the mattress, so roughly bumping against my uterus that it almost hurt.
“I’m gonna cum,” he suddenly announced, still looking deep into my eyes, and all of a sudden, I was shaken awake from my reverie by the realization that we’d been fucking raw this entire time. But before I could even come up with something to say about it, he beat me to it, adding, “I’m gonna cum inside of you. I’ll fuck a baby into you. This way you won’t be able to walk out on me ever again.”
Just as he oh-so-casually mentioned his plans for our future, I felt him spill into me for the first time, the warm feeling eliciting another small orgasm that left me trembling in his hands as he continued to softly thrust into me, like he didn’t want to leave and let any of his cum escape my pussy.
“I mean it,” he randomly interrupted my attempt to gather my breath, still panting himself, still very much nested inside of me. When I raised an eyebrow in question, he simply shook his head before leaning down to drop his body weight over mine, just like I’d been dreaming about. “I want you forever. I’m not letting you go again. Baby or no baby.”
Snorting, I hugged him to me, relishing on the smell of his cologne as I hid my face in the crook of his neck. “We still have a lot to talk about, Tom… but it’s safe to say that I feel the same way.”
#tom holland#tom holland smut#kinktober#kinktober 2020#my fics#tom holland reader#tom holland imagine#tom holland imagines#tom holland fanfiction#tom holland fan fiction#tom holland x reader#tom holland insert fanfiction
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Would You Catch Me If I Fall?
aka Cherik Fallen Angel fic
Part 2 of Chapter 2
(Previous parts now on Ao3)
Erik is going to do everything he can to make sure Charles is taken care of. Charles saved his life. That’s why. Right… right???
*
“Mr. Olsen, I believe you will do exactly as I’ve asked.”
Mr. Olsen opened his mouth, to protest most likely, but Erik was well practiced in speaking in a way that left no room for interruption. “You will, because you are aware of the exact amount my firm has donated to your hospital this year and every other before it.”
Mr. Olsen was turning an interesting shade of red. It had nothing on Azazel, but the flush beneath his skin was making a concerted effort.
“You are also aware of what it would do to this hospital’s reputation for being at the forefront of mutant medicine if my firm were to very vocally withdraw its support and place it elsewhere, say... Johns Hopkins?”
“Mr. Lehnsherr—“ Still red, but now also sputtering. “You do not have the authority. Shaw would never—“
Erik smiled in such a way that Olsen cut himself off. Erik’s smile, though the word hardly applied, very early in his career had earned him the nickname ‘The Shark.’ Only used when he knew his prey was very much backed into a corner of their own making and it was time for the kill.
“If The Incident were to suddenly appear on social media again, with a narrative much closer to the truth...”
Red became purple. “We have an NDA! You can’t—“
“When information is out it is out, Mr. Olsen. Non-disclosures only hold weight if the parties involved care about the consequences. I could give a fuck. Besides, whether this hospital is guilty or innocent, reputations once ruined are terribly hard to salvage, aren’t they? Once, tried in the court of public opinion...”
“Shaw would— you’d be—“
Erik simply raised an eyebrow.
Olsen was right. Erik didn’t have the authority to stop donations, Shaw would have his job and his ass if he ever went to the public about any of the firm’s cases. Moreover, he would probably lose his license to practice. None of those things mattered however, not because Erik truly didn’t care, but because Olsen only needed to believe he was serious. If Erik couldn’t sense the man’s weaknesses, and couldn’t exploit them, he would hardly have been the best lawyer at his firm (no matter what Emma said to the contrary). The seed of doubt, once planted in a weak mind, was notoriously difficult to weed out.
“Fine,” Olsen ground out. Looking like he was very much sucking on a lemon.
Erik levitated the paperwork he had prepared by its staple. It was accompanied by one of the disgustingly expensive fountain pens the firm utilized to perpetuate its reputation. It hovered in front of the sour countenance and Erik felt the same sense of satisfaction he did after a particularly shrewd cross examination.
Threatening Olsen in this way was beyond overkill.
However, Erik knew of nothing else that would resolve Charles’ situation as swiftly. As Olsen scratched out his signature nearly hard enough to tear paper, Charles’ need for insurance, identity, and anything else he did not have, vanished.
Besides, he’d never liked this man or this hospital, so if he got to have a little fun while getting Charles what he needed, all the better. The faster he could get Charles out of here unscathed the better. He owed him that much, possibly more. There were few people insane enough, selfless enough, to throw themselves in front of a car for a stranger. Erik had made it his life’s work to protect people who couldn’t protect themselves. Charles had more than earned that same protection until he was back to his former self.
T’s crossed and i’s dotted, Erik left Olsen to fume, so he could share the good news with Charles. The words that had been leaping forward died on his lips when he took in the state of Charles’ room.
“. . . Did you rob a florist?”
Charles graced him with a much less hysterical, much more pleasant sounding laugh than he had any time previously.
“Aren’t people just lovely? This one is from the nurse on call, Ben. He has the most adorable little boy. Teething at the moment, which is trying of course, but he’s so precious one can hardly be cross. I’m sure Ben would be happy to show you the photos too. This one is from Dr. Yousef, whom you’ve already met. She detests flowers, personally, as she’s never home consistently enough to care for them properly. This one is from Saima...”
While Charles no longer appeared to be in a state of hysteria, it appeared to be Erik’s turn, and he became suddenly, hysterically deaf. Had he misplaced a day? Or two? More? Was he the one with the head injury?
“Did you— I mean, do you know them?”
Charles cut off his still in-progress monologue about his sudden and inexplicable well-wishers.
“Oh no. We’ve just met. Nancy would like to get coffee when I’m better though. I believe that is a cultural expression of friendship, is it not? Or does coffee equal sex? It’s so hard to keep track of these things as humans rarely say what they truly mean. Why do you lot insist upon speaking in code? A code that changes every generation no less. Regardless, I’ve never had coffee. Given how utterly obsessed with it you all are I’m rather excited to find out what all the fuss is about.”
Erik didn’t know what part of that to address first, if at all.
Ben, Yousef, Saima... who the fuck was Nancy?
Sex?
Never had coffee?
“Oh Erik, I’m sorry. You look so confused again. I forget myself. I would much rather have coffee for the first time with you of course. At that diner you speak so highly of. I believe diners generally serve coffee.”
Erik blinked. Did that mean Charles wanted to be his friend or have sex with him? Or, did never having had coffee actually mean never having had sex? No. Wait. What in the fuck were they talking about?
What came out was, mercifully, “You make friends quickly.” This was something he and Charles certainly didn’t share.
“Do I?” Charles shrugged. “I love people. All people. They’re so fascinating.” Something else he and Charles certainly didn’t share. In his experience, most people were dull or cruel or both. Except Charles. Charles had been the exact opposite of dull or cruel right from the first. Crashing headfirst into Erik, literally and figuratively, and smashing all his expectations of what people did or didn’t do for one another. It might have also been the head injury/amnesia mitigating the dullness, making him say the most ridiculous things that Erik had ever heard and couldn’t even begin to sort out, but Erik didn’t really think so. He read people extremely well and Charles intrigued him. No one intrigued him.
Shoving the friends/coffee/sex equivalency conversation aside, Erik patted his briefcase. “I’ve sorted out everything with hospital administration. You won’t have to worry about insurance, bills... if there’s anything you need, just ask. They will be sure you get it.”
“I won’t ask how you managed it.” Charles’ look became conspiratorial. Almost as if he did know Erik’s methods. There was no way, of course, that he did unless he was a telepath, which Erik had already briefly mused on. “You really needn’t have troubled yourself, though I appreciate it, you, all the same.”
There it was again. The strange gravity his words seemed to possess. Erik flushed, not something he ever did, feeling that appreciation to his core. Charles’ smile deepened and somehow held the same weight as his words. Looking at it was almost too much, like looking straight at the sun, it warmed parts of Erik he hadn’t even realized were cold.
“You can stay with me,” Erik said, apropos of nothing, then flinched, his own words surprising him. It wasn’t the offer he had intended to make. The Firm put people up all the time for various reasons, and Erik had planned to slip Charles in to one of his current cases with no one the wiser. The doctor felt certain it wouldn’t be long until his memory returned, based on her previous experience of such cases.
Charles’ astonishment seemed to match his own. “Erik, that’s too much. You’ve done so much already.”
Erik rubbed at the back of neck, avoiding Charles’ eyes, which were comically, anime-wide. While he hadn’t meant to make the offer, he also found now that he had, he also had no sense of regret. His flat was large, he practically lived at the firm, so it would hardly be an inconvenience and the less he abused his position, the less tracks he had to cover.
He coughed, “There’s always Nancy.” Erik hoped the joke would break the sudden tension. “You could take her up on her ambiguous offer.” Charles laughed. Success.
“Coffee, and whatever else it may suggest, is a far cry from living together. Besides, I don’t even know Nancy.”
“You don’t know me either. You may have unwittingly saved a sociopath the world would be better without.”
Charles shook his head. “Don’t be absurd. You’re a good man, Erik. Better than you know.”
Everything about this was absurd.
“It’s settled then, when they discharge you, you can stay with me until we figure out who you are.”
Charles’ face, which Erik was already beginning to realize was nakedly expressive, came over suddenly unreadable.
“I—“ Charles hesitated, eyes flicking away from Erik to the window. Erik supposed coming to live with any stranger was enough to give anyone pause, especially someone who was as disoriented as Charles must already be. He was about to shift back to his original, much less awkward, plan when Charles’ gaze focused back on him. “All right. Until... until then.”
“Until then,” Erik echoed and they both fell suddenly silent.
He was inviting someone to live with him when he had never lived with anyone besides his mother his entire life. Roommates? Please. Erik had never had to, but would have rather lived in a squalid apartment than have to share a living space with anyone, even when putting himself through the extraordinary expenditure of american law school. Yet, here he was. Here they were. It felt right. Perhaps he had an overabundance of gratitude and quid pro quo to sate. It was the only thing that made any sense in the face of something that made absolutely no sense.
He’d probably regret it the instant Charles was in his space, but he also wasn’t someone who went back on his word, so he was taking in this stray whether he came to regret it or not.
Mama, at least, would approve.
*
Now on Ao3
Thanks for reading!!
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the pregnancy scare
warning: cursing (always!), mentions of sex, mentions of period/pregnancy
wordcount: 2.5k
it was reckless, and stupid, but after a night out, jj and charlie were both drunk and forgot the condom until he was in her, close to reaching their high. then she paused, tugging his hair to get his attention. “j, baby, we forgot a step.”
“what step?” he asked, confused.
“um...I don’t remember. something’s missing.” charlie shook her head, too focused on her boyfriend and her slightly blurred vision to think. “dunno.”
after a few more minutes of lazy thrusting and both of them reaching their peak, they realized at the same time. jj pulled out of her, and got up to amble to the restroom like usual. “the condom.” jj mumbled, eyes wide.
“fuck.” charlie echoed, biting her lip. “no, I’m on the pill, it’ll be fine.”
“you’re sure? we can get you plan b in the morning.” he offered, pulling on his boxers and crawling back into bed with her.
she wrinkled her nose. “no, no, it’s fine. let’s just go to sleep.”
_
unfortunately, her track record with taking the pill on time was on par with jj’s track record of remembering anything after a drunken night out - basically nonexistent. they had completely forgotten about it the next day and woke up around 1pm, limbs tangled around each other.
jj woke first, nudging her shoulder. “charlie. we gotta get up.” she groaned, burying her face into his chest. “don’t wanna. if I get up, I’ll be hungover.” he laughed, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “and you’re not right now?” she lifted her head and caught his lips in a chaste kiss. “no, because I’m not up.”
“well I have a half hour to get to my intramural game, and you’re supposed to coach us again. you drew that new route, remember?” he tried persuading her. she groaned and sat up finally, annoyed. “there are twenty guys on the whole team and you’re all useless on the field. it makes no sense.”
he grinned. “so you won’t get up for me but you’ll get up for my football game?” she nodded, rubbing her eyes with a yawn. “like I said. I’m not dating a shitty athlete.” she squealed as he grabbed her around the waist, pulling her against his chest. “take that back, walker!” he exclaimed, nipping her neck. (they were ten minutes late to the game that day.)
_
the next couple weeks, charlie continued taking her pill in her usual manner - at 8pm one day, 3am the next, two in one day if she forgot the day before. then she passed the placebo week - and realized nothing came.
her period had been late before, so she ignored it, chalking it up to weird hormones. but...two weeks later, she started to get worried. she confessed to her best friend, grace, what was going on, and grace immediately made her go and buy a pregnancy test. at first they joked about it in the CVS, then charlie’s anxiety set in on the car ride home.
“grace, what if I’m...”
grace shook her head, confident. “you’re not. there’s no way.”
“I can’t handle a child right now. I can barely take care of myself.” charlie confessed. “grace, I had cheerios with grape juice for breakfast because we ran out of milk.”
grace gave her a look. “look, charlie, first of all, you’re not pregnant. second of all, that’s disgusting. you couldn’t eat cheerios dry?”
charlie shrugged. “I don’t know! see, I can’t be a parent!”
grace pulled into their driveway and the two of them went upstairs, straight to their shared bathroom. grace ushered charlie inside, taking a seat outside the door. “let me know when you’re done.”
a few minutes later, charlie opened the door, the pregnancy test sitting on a carefully folded square of toilet paper on the counter. “it’s gotta be a no, right? like, there’s no way. I’m just going crazy.”
grace nodded, hopping up to sit on the counter. “you’re fine. you’re totally fine! how much longer?”
charlie nodded to a timer set on her phone. “three minutes.”
it was the longest three minutes of her life.
as the timer went off, charlie took a step back. “I can’t look. you do it.” grace paused, reaching for the stick. “you sure?”
she nodded. “please. tell me the good news.”
grace hopped off the counter, then hesitated. “um.”
charlie’s eyes grew wide. “you’re kidding.” grace held it out toward her, shaking her head. “I don’t know. that’s faint, right? like hardly two lines?” charlie took the test, examining it, then felt like her heart was going to jump out of her chest. “those are bold, grace. that’s positive.”
grace winced. “those can be wrong all the time. and you have bad eyesight, I wouldn’t be so sure -”
“no, that’s definitely fucking positive.” charlie interrupted, staring at the stick. “...what are you gonna do? tell jj?” grace asked, taking it from her to refocus her attention. charlie shook her head, right away. “hell no. I...I’m going to not think about it this week, because I have two tests and a big kinesiology lab and I can’t afford to fuck those up.”
grace frowned. “okay, we’re scheduling a doctor’s appointment on friday then. after all that.” charlie shook her head. “jj will know something’s up, it’ll have to be saturday. I’ll say I have some kappa thing.”
“are you sure you shouldn’t tell him? I mean...it’s his dick that got you into this mess.” grace reasoned. charlie rolled her eyes. “one week will be fine. I’m just going to ignore it! it’s fine. I’m fine!” she tried convincing herself, her voice getting higher pitched with stress. grace set her hands on charlie’s shoulders, trying to center her. “hey! it’s fine. secret’s safe with me.”
_
charlie did exactly that, ignoring the situation all week. she also ignored jj, afraid she would spill at a moment’s notice. jj chalked it up to stress from school, knowing she had a lot to deal with that week. to make matters worse, he was the ideal boyfriend - dropping off food in the library for her, keeping her company as she stayed up to study, walking her home from a late night group project meeting.
he could sense something was off, the way she didn’t lean into his touch like normal, or how she flinched away when he tried to press a kiss to her temple as she studied. he was a little annoyed, and wanted her attention, but stayed sweet anyway.
friday night, he walked her home, hand in hand. when she gave him a goodnight kiss at the door, not inviting him in, he was a little hurt. “I thought you wanted to watch that new movie tonight, after all your work was done this week?” he questioned, catching her hand to try and pull her in again. charlie shook her head, pulling away and reaching for the door. “not tonight, I want to get ahead on a paper. night, jj.” he frowned. “love you. goodnight, walker.” she nodded, going inside without another word.
he got about five minutes home on his walk before he realized she had his keys stuffed in her backpack from earlier, after he had complained about not having pockets. he turned on his heel and walked back, not realizing that charlie was having an existential crisis in the living room over a bowl of ice cream with grace.
he punched in the code to the keypad, then walked in - at just the wrong moment.
“and you’re 100% sure two lines is positive?” grace questioned, holding the stick in her hand.
“what’s positive? do you have a fever or something?” jj asked as he strolled into the living room, mistaking the pregnancy test for a thermometer.
the two girls froze, glancing at jj then sharing a glance of simultaneous panic.
“uh...I’m gonna go.” grace quickly excused herself, wrapping the test back up then setting it on the coffee table. she practically ran upstairs, leaving jj utterly confused.
he knelt down to press his hand to charlie’s forehead, concerned. “are you sick? is that why you’ve been weird all week?” he reached for the pregnancy test and charlie lunged for it, holding it out of his reach. “no! no, I’m not sick. just, uh, busy with studying.” she lied horribly, a telltale blush rising to her cheeks.
jj frowned. “what is that?”
charlie swallowed what felt like a lump in her throat. “um. well. you see, it’s a funny story.”
jj furrowed his brow and took the test from her, charlie not resisting. he looked it over, confused. “this is a weird thermometer.”
charlie bit her lip. “well, you see, it’s not a thermometer. um. it’s a pregnancy test. and it’s positive.” she rambled. “so. uh. surprise!”
jj shook his head. “no, that’s not right.”
charlie raised her eyebrows. “no, it’s right.”
he shook his head again. “no, you’ve been acting strange, and kind of rude, frankly - no offense - but you’re always like this on your period. so you have it this week. right?”
charlie frowned, yanking the test away from him. “my period is late, jj. I’m pregnant. two lines means I’m pregnant.”
that was the first time she had said those words out loud, and they sunk in for both of them in silence for a few seconds. jj sputtered, tugging at his hair. “you’re pregnant? oh my god.” he started pacing around the living room, not looking at her. “oh my god. that’s fine, that’s totally fine. um. good job, char...great...uterus.”
charlie reached out, smacking him upside the head. “I’m not having your baby, idiot, I’m 21! god damnit, focus!”
jj yelped, rubbing his head. “careful with the name calling, jesus!” her words finally made it to his brain. “wait, you’re not having the baby?”
she shook her head. “god, no, that’s not in my ten year plan. I’m going to the doctor tomorrow anyway, then I’ll get a blood test and see for real.”
jj visibly relaxed, then frowned. “you were going to go without me? when were you going to tell me?” charlie faltered. “I...I don’t know. I was stressed out, and I didn’t want to think about it this week with all my tests and whatever.” she reached out, locking her fingers with his. “but I want you to come. tomorrow.”
he nodded, pulling her into a tight hug. “okay. it’ll be okay. we got this.”
_
the next morning, he drove her to the doctor’s office, squeezing the life out of her hand the entire time. they didn’t talk, charlie just stared out the window and jj kept his eyes on the road like his life depended on it. (she didn’t see that he took the less-trafficked route that was a little safer - just in case.) he was uber-protective as they went into the doctor’s office, foot tapping anxiously once they sat in the waiting room.
her name was called and he stood, ready to follow her in, but she shook her head. “I think I have to go alone, j.” charlie told him apologetically, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek. “I’ll be quick.” jj frowned but nodded, giving her a quick kiss back. “you got this. negative blood.” he joked. she offered a weak smile back, clearly nervous as she followed the nurse back into the offices.
she came out a bit later, holding a couple pamphlets about pregnancy and looking a little pale. jj wasn’t much better, having thought about kids the entire time she was in with the doctor. “how’d it go?” he greeted, looping an arm around her shoulders as they walked out. she shrugged. “they’ll call me in two to three days. probably three, because the lab isn’t open on sunday.”
“shit.” jj mumbled, gripping her shoulders tighter. she shook her head. “it’ll be fine! we’ll just...go about life like normal, without a baby, because I’m not pregnant. if I say it out loud enough times it’ll happen.” jj sighed. “I don’t think that manifesting shit actually works, charlie -”
he was met with a glare. “do you want a baby, jj? at 21? while we’re still in college?”
he shook his head quickly. “no!”
she nodded, resolute. “right. say it with me. not pregnant.” she repeated herself a couple more times until he joined in. “not pregnant.” they said in tandem.
that became their manifesto over the next few days, at every opportunity. when she poured herself a glass of wine the second they got home, then they both reconsidered (just in case). he took the glass from her, taking a long gulp. “not pregnant.”
“not pregnant.” charlie echoed, pouring herself a glass of grape juice instead.
_
charlie got the call three days later, in class. her hands were shaking as she declined the call, unable to do anything during the lecture. the doctor’s office left a voicemail and the second she got out of class, she sprinted the two miles to the beta house, backpack bouncing with every step. she was out of breath as she jogged up the stairs to jj’s room, pushing past a few pledges without as much as a hello.
she practically kicked in jj’s door and he glanced up from the bed, confused. “what is wrong with you?” she opened her mouth to speak then shook her head, hands on her knees for a second as she caught her breath. “doctor. doctor called.”
“not pregnant.” jj immediately responded. charlie dropped her backpack to the floor and fished out her phone, then tossed it to him. “you play it. I can’t.” he shook his head. “no, you do it. it’s your phone. it’s your uterus.”
“jj, if you talk about my uterus one more time, I will rip your fucking head off.”
“if this is you not pregnant, you’re going to be hell while you’re pregnant.”
“jj!”
he raised his hands in surrender. “okay, okay, fine!” he typed in her passcode and she sat on the bed next to him, then grabbed the phone away to turn on the volume.
“hi charlotte, this is dr. brown from the clinic. I was just calling to tell you about your results from your blood test. we sent them through the lab on Monday -”
“good god, woman, just tell us.” jj got out through gritted teeth, tense.
“and I wanted to let you know the results are negative. you’re not pregnant. call if you have -”
jj and charlie sat in complete silence for a moment as they processed, then yelled at the exact same time, not hearing the rest of the message. “not pregnant!” charlie exclaimed, grinning for what felt like the first time since the doctor’s. “not pregnant!” jj yelled back, picking her up by the waist and spinning her in a circle.
charlie giggled as he set her down. she grabbed jj’s face with both her hands, pulling him in for a deep kiss. he grinned into the kiss, then pulled back to rest his forehead on hers. “I thought you didn’t want a baby, charlie.” she stepped back, glaring. “jj maybank, I will hurt you.” he laughed at the empty threat.
“can we get margs?” she asked, grabbing his car keys. “it’s 1pm. on a tuesday.” jj countered, raising his eyebrows. charlie held up the keys, jingling them. “a celebration. not pregnant.” he laughed, wrapping his arm around her waist and ushering her out the door. “not pregnant.”
#unedited but I wanted to write#jj maybank#jj maybank imagine#college jj#frat jj#jj maybank obx#jj maybank fanfic#jj maybank fanfiction#jj maybank x oc#jj x charlie#mine
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Emergency
You’re a stunt performer and make a wrong step. When your ex, Sebastian, is your emergency contact still, will you take the opportunity to get back together?
-
“You sure you got this, Y/n?” Your director asked as they checked the last of the wires for your stunt. You were the unlucky stunt double who had been asked to come in and do a scene where you were literally hanging off the side of a building. You were supposed to kick out a plexiglass window, swing into the building, and do a flip. It seemed easy enough. And it wasn’t like it was even the most dangerous stunt you’d ever done. It was just tight quarters, and it was giving you heart palpitations.
“Got it, chief,” you respond, trying to sound confident even though you were pretty sure you were about to die. It was nothing like a stunt you’d done where you fell out of a helicopter, but this one had a potential of leaving you alive after breaking all of your bones. “If I don’t do it now, I never will.”
“Alright. That’s our girl. We’ll get set up and start rolling.” You anchored your foot on the building’s fake steel frame, refusing to look directly down. There was a stunt mattress below you, so that wasn’t a problem. There was nothing on the other side except cameras to watch you break every bone in your body. But you could do this. You were calm. You could do this, you told yourself. Easy as pie. And you could feel that your wires were tight, especially around your waist.
You listened to the scuffling behind you as the shot was set up, moving your foot slightly to get the angle they asked for. You put your foot on the red tape and waited. And waited. And then they called action. You kicked in the window, hearing and feeling it shatter below your feet, but upon swinging in, you made a critical error. Your feet hit the bottom of the window, sliding off of their marks, and your ribs collided with the metal frame. But your body was so close to sideways that it kept on flying, and the last thing you felt was a cracking in your rib, a similar cracking in the forearm you placed in front of you, and a searing pain in your head.
Well, shit, you thought. I broke every bone in my body. At the ripe age of twenty-three, you were going to die.
-
Sebastian thanked the barista as he grabbed his third cup of coffee for the day, about to go put a splash of cream in the blacker-than-black coffee. Just as he reached the table, though, his phone started vibrating in his pocket. He didn’t recognize the number, but it was a New York area code. He always answered his phone, and this time was no different. He raised the phone to his ear and listened.
“Hello?” He said.
“Hi, is this Sebastian Stan?” A woman’s voice asked.
“Yeah, this is he, what can I do for you?” He responded.
“You’re the emergency contact for Y/f/n Y/l/n, correct?” Sebastian froze at the sound of your name. It had been only a month since you’d broken up. For a dumb reason, too – because of the media. Not because of either of you, but because the media just couldn’t stop and Sebastian refused to do that to you and to your career. You would both be lying if you said you weren’t completely in love with each other. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t cry about it every so often, or every time you had something to say you had to bite back the urge to call him and tell him. He regretted ever breaking up with you, but he knew the opportunity to apologize was long gone. Or was it?
“Yeah, I guess I probably am,” he started. Then he realized – emergency contact. His heart skipped a beat. “Wait, why, is she okay?”
“She will be,” the woman said. “I’m sorry. I’m a nurse at St. George’s in Manhattan, she was just brought in a few minutes ago. Apparently there was an accident involving a window.”
“Oh, my God. Is she okay?”
“It wasn’t fatal. She just broke a few ribs, fractured her forearm, and got a nasty concussion. We were wondering if you could come in and be with her and fill out some information for us.”
“Yeah, yeah, I can be there in twenty minutes.” So the opportunity for him to apologize hadn’t gone out the window. He probably would have to apologize for jumping in on the situation, but your parents were across the country. The reason he was your emergency contact in the first place was because he was the first person you trusted to take care of you if something happened. And as terrible as the situation was, Sebastian didn’t want to look a gift horse in the mouth. He put the lid back on his coffee, hung up the phone, and walked outside to get the first taxi he saw. You probably would need the coffee more than he did.
-
“What’s the diagnosis?” You looked at the nurse as she walked into your room with an iPad full of information. She just smiled at you.
“Not great, but not terrible,” she responded. “You fractured your forearm. You broke four ribs, it looks like you cracked a couple more, and you’re lucky you didn’t crack your head open.”
“Great. So, do you guys do, like, a shuttle back to my apartment or something?” The nurse laughed.
“No, we called your emergency contact. He’s on his way now.” You froze. The only emergency contact you could even think of was Sebastian. Your parents were literally across the country and your dad was at work because you’d talked to him earlier. There was no way it could be anyone but the ex you wished more than anything wasn’t your ex.
It had been an amicable split, and that was the worst part. There wasn’t a fight that ended it, or a big secret that came out, or cheating. It was just that the world felt like they owned Sebastian and therefore you, and he didn’t want to put that on you. It was admirable on his part, but you’d be lying if it didn’t break your heart. He was the best relationship you’d ever had, easily. You could have seen yourself with him for good, and you had seen it that way. But the media had just gotten so bad that you could barely be seen together. You wanted to keep trying, because maybe it would die down, but Sebastian had been through it before. He knew. And he knew that the only way to let you have the success you deserved was to let you go. But you had never told him how much you didn’t want that. Maybe now was your chance. Or maybe he just wouldn’t say a word.
“Yeah, he’s kind of an ex,” you explained.
“I can call him and tell him you healed if you want,” she offered. You shook your head.
“It’s not even his fault, that’s the worst part.” The nurse smiled.
“Well, I’ll go ahead and get the release papers for you so you can get out of here quickly. Press the button on the side of the bed if you need something.” You nodded and watched her leave. You turned your head to see your backpack with your phone inside of it, and part of you considered texting Sebastian you were sorry that he had to come down here in the middle of the day because you didn’t know how to properly do your job. But you weren’t even alone long enough to reach for it. The pain in your arm and your ribs had subsided, fading into a feeling of fuzziness, but your head was throbbing so much that you could barely look to your side. You could barely see as Sebastian walked in.
“Y/n,” he said as he walked in the door. He was always gorgeous, but even now he was breathtaking. His eyes were wide and full of concern. He was sporting a hiatus beard and slightly longer hair than usual, and he was wearing that Rutgers hoodie that you used to steal all the time. He looked like the giant teddy bear of a man you were completely and utterly in love with.
“You don’t have to tell me this is stupid, because I know it is,” you responded dryly. Humor. That was a great way to cope with what was currently going on. It was also your only defense mechanism, and Sebastian saw right through it. He smiled that perfect smile.
“They said you fell out of a window?” He asked. “Listen, I know I broke your heart, but I’m not worth suicide.” That brought a sick smile to your face.
“As if I’d kill myself over you,” you rolled your eyes. “This was obviously a ploy to get your attention.” He walked closer to you, his eyes serious.
“Seriously, though. What happened?”
“I was doing a stunt and I was supposed to kick a window, but I didn’t do it right. I literally thought I was going to die.” He chuckled. “I’m not that bad at my job, I promise. And I’m really sorry they made you come down here, I didn’t even think I’d ever need an emergency contact.”
“Yeah, but you’re admitting you need me. It’s fueling my ego so please, keep going.” You could tell he was only half playing when his smile faded. He walked closer to you until you scooted over in the bed, letting him sit on the side. You wanted to grab him and hug him, but you had one working arm and it had an IV running through it. “I’ve been thinking about calling you.”
“I saw a really cute dog the other day and it took everything in me not to call you,” you admitted. You looked down, feeling your face go red. “I miss you, Seb. A lot.”
“I miss you too. A whole lot. And I’ve been thinking every single day about calling to apologize, but every time I thought about it, I thought it was too late, so I would just wait, and…”
“Apologize for what?”
“For fucking breaking your heart. And mine. It was a shitty thing to do, and if I hadn’t then I could’ve been there today.”
“You couldn’t have stopped me falling out of a stunt window.”
“No, but I could’ve been there to pick you back up. I’m sorry, kid. I was so worried about the rest of the world and how they were worried about your job and the age difference that I didn’t worry about you when I should have.” Sebastian’s hand went to your arm with the IV in it, grabbing onto your hand. “And I think it would be completely pathetic to ask to have you back, but here I am doing it.”
“Yes.” You didn’t hesitate. You didn’t need to hesitate because there was no doubt in your mind that you should say yes. Sebastian looked up at you, a little confused. “Yes. I want you back too. And I’m sorry it took this to get you here, but…”
“I’m sorry, baby.” He gripped onto your hand tightly and you tried to squeeze it, but you were on too many pain medications to be able to tell if you did or not. “I love you. And I’m not gonna let some stupid Daily Mail article change that because it’s dumb.” You sniffled.
“I love you too.” Sebastian leaned forward and pressed a kiss to your forehead, then your lips. You’d missed him so much. You’d missed how he smelled, how soft his lips were, how he’d always kiss the same spot on your forehead. Just as he gave you a smile, the nurse appeared again with papers in hand.
“Alright, these are the release forms. Basically, if you’re going home on your own, you sign for yourself, if you’re going with someone else just write them down instead.”
“Thank you,” Sebastian said to her. She handed him a pen and the clipboard and left the room again.
“My insurance and stuff are in my wallet,” you told him.
“I think I still remember most of it. And, besides, you’re coming home with me anyway.”
“Seb, you don’t have to…”
“I want to take care of my girlfriend after she fell out of a window.”
“It was a plexiglass window.”
“I know. But it was still a window. You’re still my girlfriend. Or you are now. Just let me baby you for a couple weeks, okay? I missed you.” You smiled.
“Thanks. And only if I can borrow that hoodie back.”
“Just don’t tell the photographers that I think followed me from the coffee shop.” You scoffed.
“I promise I won’t tell the media sharks. And they’ve probably figured it out on their own anyway. I’m sure the studio is going to issue some kind of statement and then people will track it to me and then figure out that I’m going with you.”
“Yeah, probably. I don’t care, though. You’re mine. Fractured body and all.” Sebastian leaned in and kissed your forehead again, a smile coming over his face as he went back to signing papers.
A/N: I hope you like it!
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hi hi hi. so I just got into the Hamilton fandom, I swear I am four years late where did everybody go, and, well. I am apparently a hamburr shipper. bcs that is my life now. anyway I saw your fic ifmlam and I swear it is my favourite of all the fics I've ever read (and trust me I've read literally thousands). I love it so so much, how do you write fics like that??? I cried about four times during the whole thing, I stayed up till 4am reading it even when I had to wake up at 7 because it is just. that. good. I could not stop thinking about it for days afterwards and ifmlam has just ruined me. I can't think of listen to Hamilton without thinking of ifmlam anymore.
on to my qursttion: is it abandoned? of course it's perfectly FINE if it is. don't let anyone tell u differently, your fic is YOURS and u are amazing.
but pls I really need closure from ur fic, it has been haunting me if its abandoned or ongoing and I've read ur other fics and they are just chefskiss and thank you so much for writing them all. thank you thank you thank you, I will never be able to thank you enough for writing this fic and for everything it's done for me. I am probably thousands of miles away but I am sending you virtual jugs through a co.puter screen right now.
(don't feel pressured to reply to this or update it flam, I know how overwhelming it can get with so many messages and after a while u get desensitized to it. u can literally reply "thx. itfmlam is abandoned" and I would still be amazingly star struck. anyway has gotten way too long and I need to sleep and I'm sorry u probably won't see this so I'm just talking to myself right now but bye!!)
and thank you so so much for writing itfmlam.
aaaah hello anon!
thank you so so much???? I am so??? honored??? that ifmlam rates so highly to you, and also that you've read my other fics??????
the answer to the "is ifmlam abandoned" question is probably the worst possible one, which is pretty much "I do want to finish it, both for the folks that still want closure as well as it bothers to me have abandoned projects that are in the public eye/ already partially published, but also, it is last on my current writing projects list"
my current actually active writing projects list, kind of in order of priority, is
I'm literally three chapters away from being Actually Fully Done with the not-quite-first-not-quite-second let's call it 1.5th draft of an actual?? full?? original?? novel?? Opus which of course then goes out to beta readers and then gets who-knows-how-much edited and then maybe beta readers again if a lot does change and then a copyeditor my mom, my copyeditor is my mom, and maybe my little brother he's one of the betas but is very good at catching typos and then I!!! get to publish it!!!! which is the single thing I am most excited for!!!!!!!!! this should be closed up in the next week or two, and then take a while for people to actually read the draft and get back to me.
I really desperately want to finish my open-but-like-90%-written fic, which means we raise it up, the final chapter of to the bottom of the river bc I realized that it was kind of incomplete, and the second chapter of a buried and a burning flame because any more work there will need to wait until the author publishes the next book in the series. this should be closed up in the next month or two.
Speedwrite the draft of the second book of the Opus series so that hopefully by the time book 1 edits are happening, I have an almost complete draft of the second book. this is mostly me side-eyeing myself about taking nearly four years to write the first book, but that is solidly in part because I had so many other open projects which point 2 is about clearing that docket. this should be done in the next year.
And then just have my major projects be, at least until books 1-5 are written and published, books 1-5 of that because that is arguably the first major 'plot arc' of the series, so if I'm looking for a pause point on writing, that's probably where to stop.
There are two or three other short side projects (a weird fun second person short story tentatively titled witch-queen, a collection of four short stories Memoirs about a not-so-evil necromancer and the shenanigans he gets up to trying to rule a kingdom, working title Perfectly Normal Recipe Blog which is a collaborative project about a perfectly normal recipe blog that definitely doesn't include anything out of the normal) that will happen when they happen
There are other projects that are on the backburner -- The Numanok Files, a series of probably 12-15 short novellas about a mercenary/ bounty hunter esque person in space whose specialty is dealing with hauntings, but, like, 80% of their jobs is actually "you are effectively a space home inspector pointing out faulty wiring reacting to solar flares/ there's a weird alien fungus/ it's carbon monoxide okay change your atmosphere filters" and 20% of it is punching ghosts; there's a post-post apocalypse novel that I want to write that I know characters and general pacing and half the setting but need to work out the other half and figure out how much aesthetic I want to commit to; there's Strangeside7 aka spacerace book that is my reaction to how much I love how Redline the anime movie commits itself to "no we are about a race, like 60% of the screentime is just fully going to be an utterly ridiculous sci fi space race"; there's even a ridiculous YA trilogy that I would have to completely transplant the setting but might end up writing because the interplay between angel-physics and physics-physics was one of my favorite things in the world. and I guess the weird ridiculous technically a sequel series to ifmlam that was going to be published as original books that was basically me having fun with 'okay I fucking love star wars prequels old rotting space bureaucracy galactic republic style' except with seers and that also still might happen because it does have some of the coolest sci fi concepts and honestly I thiiiink that's all?
but the tl;dr of that timeline is I'm trying to finish a punch of projects Right Now, so that I can write books 2-5 of Opus, and then when I'm done that (which honestly, my average fiction-writing output is close to 100k a year. if I'm concentrating purely on one project, and writing books that are about 100k, we are talking four years. although my job situation is super up in the air in that period and writing might get put solidly on the backburner as I try to make it in academia, so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯) I will re-evaluate which projects go next, and that's when ifmlam is likely to come up for review.
I do not have any expectations that I will make it as an original author. I'm planning on posting all of my stuff online for free, but, like. it is incredibly difficult to convince people to try out even a piece of free and easily accessibly original work even if one has a huge following, I am a very small fanfiction author, and from what I can tell the majority of the people who are interested in my work are mostly interested in me finishing ifmlam. writing is a hobby for me, and while I'm writing mostly for me--and hence the for me bit at least for the next five years is pretty solidly going to be this series that I am deeply excited about and have sunk my heart and soul into every single aspect of--I'm human, and I don't really like shouting into the void, and I expect if I spend five years publishing to absolutely no response I will either stop writing for a while and do other things gods know my life is busy enough, return to fandom in general to write some other fanfic about whatever I get deeply into, or return to a work that I actually get response to. so ifmlam will probably start getting worked on a bit at that point one way or another. unless, of course, we are in the incredibly rare timeline in which I do make it as an original author, there are people who are deeply hyped for my original works and an actual demand for them, in which case as you may have noticed there are enough ideas there to keep me busy for a decade or two, and they will just get my full attention instead of fanfiction*. in this timeline, I will do what I was considering doing a few years ago, which is officially declare ifmlam otherwise abandoned and make one more giant chapter update which is a full and cleaned up outline of what I was going to write, interspersed with the scenes already written, and have ifmlam be given at least that closure.
*I want to make it clear that I very much love fanfiction and am proud to have been a fanfiction author and in my heart of hearts would keep writing it forever, I just also have a lot of ideas for characters and settings and magic systems and Aesthetics and I have been biting at the bit to write something that is //mine// and all mine and only mine for a while, I don't see original work as superior so much as there are a dozen fandoms that I am currently in and bursting to make content about except oops these fandoms currently only exist in my head, and I want to correct that
of course given how much as writing is my vent activity and I write what I'm in the mood for, there's a chance I'll feel ifmlam cravings before then, just... expect it to take a couple of years for an update, but also for there to be an update one way of another in a couple of years? but as for right now, I'm turning to original writing, because that is what brings me joy.
but I am really deeply honored that it brought you so much joy!!! and while I will never publish spoilers in a public place, if you message me off anon I am perfectly happy to give a run-down of my current plans for the ending, bc I know "wait a couple years and see" is not the most satisfactory of answers! and hey maybe you'll be like me and once you've given Opus a try you'll decide you like it better too, it does have Seers although they are deeply different Seers than in ifmlam but imo it's very gay and fun and at least politics on one side
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Wounded Hearts 10
August 1998 Rebecca’s POV
“Happy Birthday to you! Happy Birthday to you! Happy Birthday dear Whitney,, Happy Birthday to you.”
I join in singing as I carry the cake from the kitchen to the dining room of my parent’s house where Mom, Dad and Whitney are waiting patiently for me.
Today is Whitney’s third birthday. I have survived three years of being a single mother and Whitney has survived being raised by a single mom who is also going to community college and working.
I had gotten a job at a local diner to work when they needed me. So far,hankfully, it hasn’t interfered with my schooling or her parenting.
Another new revelation is that I now have a boyfriend. Well, we haven’t made it official yet but one of my fellow classmates asked me out and I accepted, but only after I made sure that he understood that I have a daughter and she always comes first. Always.
Brett had understood perfectly and even included Whitney on a few of our dates, like taking the little girl to the park or when the weather ruined our outdoor plans, he took Whitney and I to the local aquarium and we walked around showing the green-eyed girl all the fish and other aquatic life.
That is exactly why Brett is in attendance for Whitney’s birthday party and is standing beside the highchair as I hand her daughter a slice of cake and a small scoop of ice cream. The two adults smile at each other as Whitney squeals and slaps her hands right in the food.
I swore off love after everything that happened almost two years ago and vowed to never get put into a situation like that again; to never let a boy hurt me the way Dean Winchester had. But then Brett came into my life and I could tell my walls were slowly but surely crumbling.
The one thing Brett has going for him is he is the exact opposite of Dean Winchester. Where Dean was tall, Brett isn’t. Sure he is taller than me but not by much. Where Dean was cocky and sure of himself, Brett is meek and modest. He also is always concerned about my wellbeing and if I’m having a good time.
“Are you okay Becky?” he asks as I’m washing up the dishes after the birthday dinner and dessert. “You seem distant. Is it something I’ve done?”
“What? No. Absolutely not,” I tell him as I finish drying up the last of the dishes and put them away. “This day has simply been the best. You are amazing. You are a perfect fit to our little family.”
Brett, of course, blushes at the compliment. I just cannot get over how this man, this pure and utterly flawless man can be so modest and shy and blushes at flattery and praise. I dry my hands off and reach for his hand.
“B, if I were upset with anything you do or have done, I would tell you okay. I-” I catch myself when I realize what I am about to say. He and I have only been going out for a few months. I can’t feel that way for him, yet. Can I?
THREE MONTHS LATER
It’s been almost two years. Two years since I was in this spot; ready to take a relationship to the next level. Well, last time it wasn’t exactly a relationship but I thought that’s where it was headed. Until he took off during the middle of the day and I never heard from him again.
Sure, I was bitter and resented the very thought of Dean but once I looked into the eyes of my daughter, the daughter he had given me, my tune changed. Yea, if I were to run into Dean I’d give him a mouthful and probably wish him pain but he gave me the one thing I can’t imagine my life without now.
Looking into Whitney’s eyes-Dean’s eyes- daily had softened my hatred for the man, ahem, boy that took my virginity and ran. Now when I think of him, I don’t wish for his death. I silently thank him for what he did give me. A beautiful loving little girl that is a joy to my life.
Now here I am considering opening my heart up to another guy; and hoping and praying he takes what I am willing to give him and not stomp on it.
I look in the mirror at my reflection one last time. Tonight is the night I am going to tell Brett I am ready. Ready to take the next step, ready to become more intimate with him. For the past few weeks, we have not gone past the kissing and making out phase. Brett has been a complete gentleman and kept his hands either on my shoulders, in mine or in his lap; never pushing the boundaries and trying to cop a feel which is a big plus in my book.
I straighten my shirt, making sure the lingerie I’m wearing underneath it isn’t visible before I head out the door to tell my parents and daughter goodbye.
Brett and I walk hand in hand down the street after a fabulous dinner at Calacino’s.
“I’m stuffed,” I say. “The food is always so good there.”
“Yea it is,” Brett agrees as he looks down at me. We stop in front of the fountain and he leans down, brushing his lips against mine. Knowing what I plan to have happen later, the barely there kiss makes my stomach flip.
“Wanna go back to mine?” he asks, husky and breathy.
“Yea,” I answer, smiling outwardly and internally because I know where this is heading and I am ready. I think I’m ready. Nope, I’m ready for this to happen. I am ready to give myself to this man.
When Brett unlocks and opens his door, he holds it for me to enter first. I smile as I pass him, letting my hand graze across his chest.
Knowing that we are finally alone and no one can overhear, I turn to him.
“Brett. I really, really like you. Like, liiiike you and I think you like me. So I’m thinking that-” I pause as I lift my shirt over my head, revealing the pink lacy bralette I’m wearing. “-it’s time we…..”
I shut up as Brett’s eyes glance down and then widen before he turns away from me. What the hell?!
“Becky, um, can you please put your shirt back on. I think we should talk.”
Deflated and feeling rejected, I do as he asks and tell him when he can look. “Do you not want me? Is it because I have a kid? I thought we were on the same page.” I ramble out as he takes my hand and leads me to the sofa.
“Becky, I don’t know how to say this. I’m what you would call ACE. I’m asexual. I have no desire to become sexually active with you or anyone.”
“Am I that repulsive,” I ask, the tears burning the back of my eyelids.
“God no! Becky, I find you extremely beautiful, gorgeous even, but I’m just not attracted to you in that way. I like what we have now, the intimacy and the closeness. I like how I feel like I can be myself around you and you won’t judge. I thought you knew. I’m so sorry.”
Unbeknownst to me, while Brett is explaining and apologizing the tears start flowing. He reaches up to wipe my cheek but I pull away.
All this time, I thought he was being polite and honorable and not forcing himself on me when in all reality, he just wasn’t into me.
I stand up and walk to the door.
“Becky, please don’t leave.”
I never answer him as I open the door and walk out.
Dammit That’s it. No more guys. Two times I’ve been burned. I’m never putting my heart on the line again. From now on, it’s just me and my daughter. Whitney is my priority and if I never have sex again, so be it.
So-fucking-be-it!
@tftumblin @spnbaby-67 @markofdean79 @lostinaseaoffictionalbliss @travelingriversideblues-x @akshi8278 @keymology @hoboal87 @squirrelnotsam @natura1phenomenon @drakelover78 @larajadeschmidt13 @blacktithe7 @atc74 @sea040561 @delightfullykrispypeach @vicariouslythruspn @sandlee44 @mogaruke @deanwanddamons @supraveng @deandreamernp @lyarr24
#dean winchester#john winchester#sam winchester#rebecca quentin#wounded hearts#past haunts sequel#smut#fluff#angst#supernatural#supernatura fanfic#spn fanfiction
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Love Bites
Love sucks. That's pretty much common knowledge. Combine that with addiction, money, fame, and childhood trauma and you've got a recipe for disaster.
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Same shit, different fucking day.
Don't ask me how I'm balancing six days a week at my job and band practice three to four days a week, because I truly have no fucking idea. I tried college but once the band formed, I cut that out of my schedule completely.
It's been about a months since the argument with Gwen and Tiffany went down and our band hasn't practiced. I tried to be sympathetic for the longest time, but it's beyond ridiculous now. Veronica, Tiffany, and I have been wanting to do band stuff but Gwen refuses because she's mad that Tiffany is dating a man SHE broke up with. It's not like Tiffany did it intentionally, and the fact that she's letting her own personal stuff interfere with our band is really pissing me off.
We've all got shit going on, but Gwen loves being a drama queen. Veronica has suggested kicking her out of the band a few times and Tiffany has echoed the same sentiment, but I don't think my patience has thinned to that extent just yet.
But it's getting there.
Young musicans aren't hard to come by, but finding someone who fits the band's sound as perfectly as Gwen's adds on a large layer of difficulty that I'm not prepared for. We'd have to start all over, teach our new singer the songs, establish chemistry...it seems exhausting and more trouble than it's worth, at least for the time being.
"Hey Julie." Dylan greeted me as I walked past, something he does whenever we work together. Sometimes it ends up being the best part of my day.
As the day progresses, I find myself smiling a lot more than I usually do. Customers are easier to deal with and a large amount of them were actually friendly. It created a light-hearted atmosphere in the restaurant that we don't get too often, unfortunately. The time seemed to fly by.
"Good luck Dylan." I said goodbye and walked out of the front door. Dylan was always there a hour before I arrived, and an hour before I left. The rest of the staff is pretty cool, but Dylan is the only one I'd consider to be a friend of mine. He's essentially the less musically inclined male version of me.
I head to our rehearsal space for the second time this week. I've extended the invitation to Gwen, as if she needs an invitation to show up to her own fucking band's rehearsal. If she doesn't show up tonight, she's out. Our time is just as important as hers and we're all tired of it being wasted.
I'm usually the first person to show up, but some days that isn't the case, like today.
"Hey." Gwen says shyly.
I give her a blank stare and proceeded to put my things down on a table nearby.
"Nice of you to finally decided to show up." I stated plainly.
"Look, I know I've missed a lot of practice and I totally understand the three of you being pissed at me, but can you please take one second to see this from my perspective?"
I couldn't help but scoff at what was coming out of Gwen's mouth. Has she seriously taken an objective look at the situation and came to the conclusion that she has a leg to stand on.
"Okay fine. You broke up with a guy, he moved onto Tiffany, you were so jealous that he wasn't falling you around like a lost puppy, and you took it out on Tiffany."
Gwen rolled her eyes but before she could speak, Tiffany and Veronica entered the room. Anger was written all over Tiffany's face, while Veronica seemed to be as cool as a cucumber.
That's one thing I've always liked about Veronica. She can keep her cool in some pretty tough situations. That's not all there is to like about her, though. She's utterly gorgeous. Her dark skin and hair that was almost always styled in an afro were truly beautiful features that I couldn't help but admire. She's beautiful, smart, talented, and has an amazing personality. She's the full package.
"What the fuck are you doing here?" Tiffany wasted no time begining the screaming match we all knew was about to go down.
"We're in the same band." Gwen managed to maintain her regular tone of voice, but if I know Tiff like I think I do, and trust me, I do, she'll keep going until she sets Gwen off and then everything will go up in flames.
"Clearly the band hasn't been very high on your list of priorities for the past four weeks. Finally make time in your schedule for us, princess?" Tiffany was speaking with her genuine emotions, but part of her wanted to get a reaction out of Gwen. She knows how Gwen feels about being called "princess".
Gwen looks like she wants to say something to Tiffany that would no doubt escalate the situation even further, but she takes a deep breath and regains her composure.
"I'm sorry, okay? For everything. Julie was right, I should've maintained my professionalism above all else...and I shouldn't have put some guy over you and our friendship."
The three of us looked at Gwen semi-shocked. That girl never apologizes for anything. Instead of responding, Tiffany tells Veronica and I that she's stepping out for a smoke.
I'm not sure if we should discuss things further or let bygones be bygones, but it's not exactly my place to make that call.
Tiffany returns just as I finshed tuning my guitar and walked up to Gwen. If I didn't know Tiffany, I'd say she was going to punch Gwen in the face with the speed she was moving.
"That whole situation was fucked up, but I know how hard it is for you to apologize to people, so I forgive you." Tiffany pulls Gwen in for a hug and for the first time in awhile, things seem okay between the four of us.
"I would like to reiterate that Gwendolyn said I was right." I smiled proudly.
"Yeah, don't get used to hearing that from me."
It was nice while it lasted, at least.
Band practice turned out to be super productive, and it hasn't been that way in a long time. We got a lot of work done today and hopefully we can keep this up for awhile. We spent about 7 hours in our rehearsal space and it felt more like 5 minutes. Time really does fly when you're surrounded by positivity.
The girls and I said our goodbyes and parted ways for the night. Tiffany had mentioned that we haven't seen each other this past month like we usually do. Of course I feel bad about that, she's been my best friend for so long. But I've been spending a lot of time with the Guns N' Roses boys...Axl in particular can be a persuasive little shit when he wants to be. I've already told the guys that Tiffany's birthday is this weekend and they can't keep monopolizing my time. I need more feminine energy!
"Julie!" I hear someone call out. I recognize the voice as soon as it hits my ears.
"Hey Slash, what's up?"
Minus Izzy, I'm becoming pretty close with the members of Guns N' Roses. I just wish that man wasn't so goddamn illusive.
Slash and I walk and talk. Clearly he's decided we're hanging out tonight. I don't mind it much since Tiffany's going out with Victor tonight, Gwen is visiting her parents, and Veronica is doing god knows what, like always. So even if I wanted to make plans with someone, it's not like I had anyone else anyway.
"I don't think anyone's at the house, besides Izzy." From the way he phrased his sentence, it was a clear indication that Slash had no interest in staying at the "Hell House" with Izzy, he usually opted to spend his nights the same way he spent his days: completely wasted. It didn't matter if it was alcohol or heroin, if it got him high, he'd take it.
But this isn't about Slash. I want to see Izzy...I might have a slight obsession with a man who has never even said a single word to me, but I mean, he's absolutely gorgeous. There's something about him that keeps me drawn to him and I'm determined to figure out what it is. No matter how long it takes me.
"Then let's go to the house."
Before Slash can process what I said so he could say no, I grab him by the arm and run as fast as I possibly can while dragging a grown man behind me. It only takes about 15 seconds of running before I realized, Slash in tow or not, I'm very out of shape. I'm running out of breath, determined to get to the band's house. I'll be wheezing all the way down Sunset Boulevard and trying to convince myself it's worth it by the time we get there. But knowing me, it won't.
We enter the house and lo and behold...
Izzy isn't there. Despite me struggling to breathe, the look of defeat plasters my face and Slash starts laughing his ass off.
"Izzy's out working, I just wanted to see how you'd react. Sure didn't think you'd go runnin to our house, though." Slash manages to get out through his fit of hysterical laughter.
"Slash! Why the hell would you do that?"
"Because I know you like him. I got the confirmation I needed. Just wait until I tell Duff!" Slash heads for the stairs, but I grab his arm before he starts his ascent.
"You cannot tell Duff." I tell him seriously.
"He can't tell Duff what?" Duff appears from the kitchen
"And why are you out of breath? And why are you holding Slash's arm?"
"She totally likes Izzy, dude. I told her that he was here and she dragged me through the streets. We almost got hit by like, 5 cars."
My shocked face slowly twists into a look of confusion as Duff rolls his eyes, pulls out his wallet, and hands Slash a 20 dollar bill.
"Dude, you guys bet on whether I liked Izzy or not?" I was part shocked, part confused, and part mortified that my crush on Izzy was that obvious. Izzy seems like a smart man, so I couldn't stop thinking about the possibility of him knowing and not talking to me because I'm a weird chick who likes him without even knowing anything about him.
"Yeah, and now I'm out 20 bucks because you can't control your goddamn hormones." Duff says in mock frustration. I ignore his joke as the overthinking sets in further.
"Does...does he know?"
"Nah. The man's pretty oblivious, plus he doesn't pay much attention to anything except drugs, work, and music. It's fine." Duff reassures me.
Then Izzy walks in. The three of us get quiet when he shuts the door behind him. He looked at the guys then looks me up and down. He then looks back up at my face like he's done several times before, but this time he doesn't look away when our eyes meet, not immediately, at least. I feel my heart start beating a mile a minute at the momentary eye contact and feel myself longing for it again when it breaks.
He nods his head and walks up the stairs. I guess his first words to me will have to wait another day.
"What does Izzy do for work?" I ask, to no one in particular.
"He's a drug dealer." Duff replies nonchalantly.
I don't know how to respond to that, so I don't. Slash and Duff have their own conversation and I find myself wondering what kind of person Izzy is. I don't know what to think. All I know is he's a damn good musician, an equally gifted writer, and a drug dealer.
Who the hell is Izzy Stradlin?
#guns n' roses#guns n roses#guns n roses fanfic#axl rose#steven adler#izzy stradlin#duff mckagan#slash#slash gnr#saul hudson
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day 18: panic attacks
prompt from: whumptober
pairing: felix x ace
notes: fluffy angst, idk if this even qualifies as whump but it’s what i went with <3
warnings: panic attack descriptions
word count: 1920
Ace is having a rather good day, all things considered. He finishes his second generator of the trial while Feng is still doing a phenomenal job at being chased by the killer, and he even has time to stop and search a chest in good conscience.
He picks up a broken key with a worn brass token, which isn’t ideal but he’ll add it to his ever growing pile of junk back at camp anyway.
In the time it takes him to find a generator, the Nurse has finally managed to down and hook Feng, but someone saves her right after and the chase beings anew. Ace would guess the rescuer was David and that he used borrowed time to make sure the gamer made it out, since he can’t see Felix being stupid bold enough to unhook in the killer’s face like that.
With the Nurse’s distant screeches providing some pleasant background noise—considering it’s not Ace she’s chasing—he gets to work on a nearly completed generator by one of the exits. If he finishes it before the killer comes to check, it marks their fourth completed objective of the trial, and it looks like they’ll have an easy escape provided she doesn’t have the obnoxious totem perk to ensure an instant down after the gates are powered.
At first, Ace doesn’t question why someone would have abandoned the nearly completed machine, but just before he connects the last two wires, he hesitates. Will this be the last generator on this side of the map? Maybe someone wanted to leave it because it’s by an exit?
He gets up to look around a bit, trying to spot any other nearby generators, but then he hears it.
A sob.
Ace frowns in worry and keeps looking around, not seeing any signs of life. Did he imagine it? Feng is the only one injured, and her moans of pain can be heard from halfway across the map. The girl is a lot of things, but quiet sure as hell isn’t one of them.
He remembers the key in his pocket, a normally useless item with an underwhelming add-on that will allow him to see his nearby teammates for only a couple of seconds. But right now, it’s exactly what he needs, and as he channels the item, he eventually makes out a human form cowering in the corner next to the exit gate.
The key’s power dies out but Ace doesn’t care, carefully approaching his distressed teammate.
He should have guessed who he’s going to find just by basic deduction, as Feng is still keeping the Nurse busy somewhere in the Asylum and David is one to push forward through sheer stubbornness. It still takes him by surprise to notice Felix, normally so calm and collected, huddled in on himself with his knees drawn close to his chest and his head buried in his hands.
Ace suddenly feels very out of place, and he realizes he could just slowly back away and Felix probably wouldn’t even know he was ever there.
But Felix doesn’t seem to be just taking a mental break from the trial, he looks to be struggling. His entire body is trembling and he’s taking sharp, wheezy breaths, bordering on hyperventilating.
And Ace might not be the best at offering comfort, but he sure as hell is going to try.
“Hey,” he offers softly as not to spook Felix, but from the way Felix’s head snaps up in surprise, he’s not successful. Shit, he’s never seen the guy so upset, looking utterly broken with tears and snot running down his face and taking short, shaky breaths. It make’s Ace’s cold, selfish heart clench in sympathy and he slowly kneels down on Felix’s level, far enough away to hopefully not feel like he’s cornering him. “How you holding up?”
That’s probably the dumbest thing he could have asked, but at least it makes Felix react, quickly wiping at his face and averting his eyes.
“F-fine, sorry—” Felix starts, but then his trembling voice breaks on another sob and he hides his face behind his hand in shame as another wave of what Ace assumes to be a panic attack hits.
Ace has never been good at dealing with emotions, his or others’, but he’s learned a lot after being swept up by the Entity and trying to keep everyone in their little group happy and healthy. He knows that Dwight needs to be held when his anxiety surfaces, and although that position is usually reserved for Jake, Ace has been the body for Dwight to cling to on a few occasions when others were unavailable. On the other hand, when something triggers Quentin’s PTSD, the boy wants nothing more than to be left alone, and even the smallest touch will send him spiraling deeper into his own head.
“It’s alright,” Ace says, trying to keep his voice calm and even offering an encouraging smile. “We’ve all been there.”
That seems to calm Felix down some, so Ace optimistically deduces that maybe his presence does help after all.
This is a vastly different situation from Dwight or Quentin, though. Where Ace mostly sees himself as a somewhat shitty parental figure to the boys, he’s been openly flirting with Felix ever since the other got here. And despite Felix sometimes awkwardly flirting back, he fully expected their relationship to stay at the casual friendship level.
But this is huge step, and if Ace manages to comfort him without hiding behind shitty jokes and Felix allows himself to be vulnerable, maybe that’s a sign they could eventually be something more.
“Just say the word and I’ll be on my way,” Ace starts. “But I also have a pretty good shoulder to lean on, if that’s something you think might help.”
Felix glances at him and Ace tries to keep the smile on his face despite his own nerves surfacing and mixing with the worry for Felix already there.
“Are you sure?” Felix asks, voice nowhere near steady but at least being able to form a complete sentence.
“Of course!” Ace reassures without even knowing which option Felix is referring to.
And then Felix looks back at the ground and curls in on himself further and Ace tries not to be disappointed. He’s already moving to get up, an apology ready on his tongue, when Felix shuffles along the exit gate wall to make room for Ace to join him.
The grin that forms on his face might not be the most appropriate considering the circumstances, but Felix doesn’t protest, in fact he immediately buries his face against Ace’s shoulder and clasps his arm in a death grip as soon as he takes a seat next to him.
Felix takes shallow breaths against him and Ace doesn’t care that his shirt is getting stained with wet tears and snot, suddenly hit with how intimate the entire situation is. His own nerves resurface and his free hand hovers awkwardly in the air, not sure if it’s appropriate to touch the distressed man.
But in the end, he’s a gambler, and so he gambles, placing a hesitant hand in Felix’s hair as he remembers the other is usually messing with it when he’s nervous.
When the only reaction he gets is Felix gripping his arm tighter, he carefully starts running his hand through the locks, slightly disheveled from where Felix has no doubt been doing the same.
“It’s okay,” Ace says, trying to keep his voice steady and hoping Felix can’t hear his heart hammering in his chest. “You’re okay.”
“I’m going to get crows,” Felix chokes out through the tears.
“Doesn’t matter,” Ace reassures, discreetly looking up to try to spot the birds that should already be circling above Felix’s head. “Feng and David are keeping her busy. She’s got no reason to come here.”
Ace frowns as he realizes can neither see nor hear the Entity’s spies, despite knowing their captor’s rules clearly state the birds should be giving away their location by now.
The key sits heavy in his pocket and he suddenly realizes maybe the Entity wanted him to find Felix. Regardless of how Ace feels about the otherworldly being, he knows it’s not satisfied unless the trial has been what it considers “fair”. Maybe it’s giving them a time-out until Felix is in shape to continue, and maybe that’s why Feng still hasn’t been caught, despite being injured against one of the strongest killers.
“Seems like the crows are on their lunch break,” Ace voices his observation in hopes of reassuring Felix. “We’ve got all the time in the world.”
Not surprisingly, the knowledge that he’s not on a time limit seems to calm Felix down some, and the grip on Ace’s arm loosens as the sharp breaths slowly turn into more deliberate ones.
“That’s it, deep breaths,” Ace murmurs and keeps petting Felix’s hair since it seems to be working, or at least not making the situation worse. “You’re going to be fine.”
He has no idea how long they sit there together, with Felix slowly coming back to himself and Ace offering generic encouraging sentiments he hopes are somewhat helpful, lost in their own little bubble while the trial carries on without them.
When Felix eventually pulls away, Ace feels disappointed, even if he finally gets some much needed blood flow to his arm that has fallen asleep a while ago.
“Fuck,” Felix sighs and leans his head back against the tiled wall with a dull ‘thud’. “I’m sorry you had to see that.”
“I’m not,” Ace offers with a small grin. “But I’m sorry you had to go through that.”
“I didn’t expect one in the middle of a trial,” Felix says, letting Ace is on the fact that this wasn’t a one-off. “Thank you. You, um, helped. A lot,” Felix says bashfully, and Ace has to resist the urge to pull him back into his arms.
“Don’t mention it,” he says instead, and when Felix just gives him an adorable, tiny smile, can’t resist adding a cheeky “There’s a lot worse ways to spend a trial”.
“I’d say being a liability and making a complete fool of myself isn’t something I’m eager to repeat,” Felix mutters, but he’s still smiling, so Ace hopes he’s not still embarrassed.
“Honestly, I’m surprised I didn’t make the situation worse,” Ace jokes. “Or that my brain didn’t implode on itself from not making jokes or flirting for five minutes.”
“You were perfect,” Felix says so earnestly it takes Ace completely off guard, and he’s not blushing he’s just suddenly really warm okay— “I should get back to my generator,” Felix seems to remember, looking over Ace’s shoulder in the direction of the machine. “I’ve wasted enough of everyone’s time for today.”
“If there’s anything we have plenty of, it’s time,” Ace reassures, pushing himself off of the wall and ready to join the trial.
He offers a hand to help Felix up, and it makes him smile when Felix only hesitates for a split second before accepting the gesture.
“You know, we should do this more often,” Ace says with a grin as he pulls Felix up on his feet. “I mean, preferably without the panicking. I didn’t mind but it didn’t exactly look like you were having the time of your life.”
Felix huffs out a small laugh at the statement, and then he squeezes Ace’s hand that’s still clasped in his.
“I’d like that.”
#whumptober2020#no.18#panic attacks#dead by daylight#fic#riconti#dweetwrites#ace visconti#felix richter#dbd#prompt#felix x ace#dbd fanfic#mental illness cw
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good things come to those who wait...
summary: there’s a boy and she doesn’t quite know what to do… (alternatively: melisande devereaux has really done it this time)
word count: 1.8k
warnings: none
note: would it be a fic written by me if the moon didn’t make some kind of appearance? probably not. takes place after a few weeks at vancross.
Vancross is silent when she sneaks out of her dorm.
Melisande took extra precautions to make sure that Tatum would be firmly in REM sleep—measuring his sleep patterns without looking like a stalker was easily the hardest thing Melisande had ever done and she once climbed a tree in heels for a photo op—and Murphy was a nonissue as long as Dionne was none the wiser.
The one thing she hadn’t accounted for was guilt. The possibility of Tatum being punished for her actions had only occurred to her in this and it made her stomach ache, but she swallowed it and continued to walk. She had already made it this far.
This whole situation was his fault, anyway.
She eventually finds herself in the gardens. The sole light hanging from the top of the gazebo blinks to life at her arrival—she couldn’t even avoid the limelight in the wee hours of the morning, apparently—and she sits under the light and takes a breath.
The speech she wrote sits in her back pocket. It’s awful even by her standards, but it’s the product of rushed scribbles in between classes and right before she went to sleep. She’s loath to imagine what would happen if any one of the numerous people surrounding her found out about this, but her mind wanders anyway.
Blaine would, no doubt, tear it apart with a smirk, giddy with the realization that she knew Melisande was nothing but a sheltered puppet for her mother all along—Blaine wouldn’t say it that way, of course; despite a rivalry that spans over centuries and defies common sense, she’s oddly insistent on getting into Melisande’s pants.
Ayna would be concerned but supportive; the historian in her probably reckons that it would make killer supporting evidence in a collegiate thesis. Dionne probably would find it odd; parents controlling every aspect of their children’s lives was normal and resentment only hurt you in the end.
(Maybe she’d have a point.)
And Tatum...if Tatum got a hold of this, she would probably cease to exist on the spot.
Regardless, it doesn’t matter what everyone else would say if they saw it because they never will. Her reputation, her life even, depends on it.
She chuckles at that; it’s the most authentic speech she’ll ever write, but there can be no audience to receive it. She can only laugh to stop from crying.
The moon at Vancross is stunning this time of year, cool and quiet and drawing an odd feeling—too warm to be sadness, but far too cold to be wistful—from her. The scene was perfect, but it didn’t change the inevitable: Tatum would kill her if he knew she was out here.
She almost wants him to; anything is better than this torturous dance they’ve been doing since he appeared in her dorm room. Everything about him was “job description this, job description that” until she could get him alone; even then, he would only drop the act for a few minutes before it was back to wishing he had never been assigned to her.
(Her heart only broke a little bit when he said things like that, of course. She’s an adult.)
(If only she actually felt like one.)
She stands and quietly clears her throat. If her calculations are good, she only has 20 minutes until someone notices that she’s gone.
“I’m alone for the first time in a long time, so maybe I can finally put this weird feeling into words.” Melisande begins, just barely resisting the urge to fall into public speech mode. “I’m completely and utterly unsure of what I’m supposed to do with my life. Everyone has their own ideas about what I should be doing here. Mom wants me to come here and make the country proud by earning all of my marks, Dionne wants me to date, and Blaine...ugh, I shouldn’t even be speaking to her right now. I’m a grown woman and yet I’m letting everyone else tell me what’s good for me. The only person who’s fully respecting my decisions right now is...Tatum.”
She cuts herself off with a groan, crumpling the paper in her hands. “Fucking Tatum. I’m midway through articulating my quarter-life crisis and all I can think about is him.” She slumps down onto the bench, burying her face in her hands. “And I’m not even thinking about him, not really. The Tatum that wanted anything to do with me died overseas. The real Tatum is sleeping in his bed, probably dreaming about being literally anywhere else.”
A street light flickers on several meters away. A group of her peers chortles on their way to their dorms, no doubt drunk from some house party. She sighs, lifting her head.
“What did I expect, anyway? ‘Lisa and Tate against the world, like when we were kids?’ I barely want to be here and I’m actually getting something out of this.” She scoffs, sniffling. “God, I’m an idiot.”
The wind picks up then, pulling her waist-length braids to the side. The night is still quiet and there’s no sign of life anywhere near, but she’s never felt more exposed. “I don’t even know him anymore. And he doesn’t want to know me. He’s just doing his job. It shouldn’t hurt this much to see him again.” She purses her lips as the heat behind her eyes swells once again, but she blinks it back. There’s still too much to say before she has to go back to bed.
“But I have a job to do here, too. My mother is counting on me. Winston is counting on me. All of Rutherland is counting on me, so I won’t give up on them. I can’t. It’s out of the question.” She shakes her head violently. “But I won’t give up on him either. Not when I’m getting a little bit closer to seeing the real Tatum, my Tatum, in my life again. I can’t afford to screw this up. I can’t lose him again.”
Melisande tilts her head back and stares directly at the moon, letting the light reflect the pool of unshed tears in her deep brown eyes before she shuts them completely and lets the tears fall. “What the hell am I going to do?”
Off in the distance, a bell tower rings and the long hand of the clock beneath it settles on 4. She’d been out for far too long. It was only a matter of time before-
“Melisande.”
(Shit.)
“Lecture me in the morning, please. I’m exhausted,” she sobbed.
She hears him clear his throat, probably out of awkwardness, before he speaks. “Do you have any idea how dangerous it is to be out by yourself right now?”
“I think I could have handled myself against the flora and fauna, Tatum.” Melisande snaps, wiping furiously at the tears running down her cheeks. “Besides, late-night escorts aren’t in your job description.”
“It’s literally a part of my job description that I need to be near you or aware of your location at all times, especially for ‘late-night escorts.’” Tatum pinches the bridge of his nose. “What were you doing up this late anyway?”
“Writing a sonnet.”
“This is not the time for you to joke around.”
“So it’s only okay to switch up when you do it. Got it.” She huffs, brushing past him and speed walking in the other direction. “I’m tired. Let’s go back.”
He’s quicker, grabbing her arm and turning her around to face him. He takes her face into his hands, the fury (concern?) in his already intense eyes setting her ablaze. “You can never do anything like this again. Am I clear?”
“Tatum, you made yourself perfectly clear when you told me that you never wanted to be back around me the first time.” Melisande scoffs, meeting his glower with one of her own. “I’m the last person that's going to endanger your cushy government job, alright? Can we be done here?”
“We’ll talk about this in the morning.”
“Good. Now let go.”
The morning after is rough, to say the least. There isn’t enough caffeine in the world to make Melisande a functioning human being on 3 hours of sleep or enough outfit changes in her closet to wait Tatum out.
He’s not good at waiting—never has been—and he paces outside her door, as if he’s ticking down the seconds until she has to stop hiding. She can’t help but scoff; his method is questionable but the message is clear: I’m not letting you off the hook this time.
She eventually settles on a light blue blazer set and rushes out of her bedroom, making a beeline for the kitchen. Naturally, a toned arm blocks her way. “I need to get to class.”
“You’re not getting out of this.”
“I wasn’t planning on it, but fine. We can talk now.” She drawled, ducking under his arm and turning on the coffee maker. “You wanted to know why I left last night.”
“As your bodyguard, I think you owe me that.”
“I needed time to think.”
“Don’t you have a room for that?”
“I wanted to be alone,” Melisande replied nonchalantly, only managing to resist the urge to shrug when she sees his nostrils flare. “It’s hard to do that when you have a shadow.”
“What are you doing?”
“Talking to you,” she allows the shrug this time, turning her head to meet his eyes as she pours her coffee. “Should I be doing something else?”
“Let me rephrase that: why are you acting out?”
Acting out?
If Melisande was acting out, she’d have made herself a staple of the numerous house parties happening at Vancross. If she was acting out, she’d find Blaine Hayes and give her mother a scandal worth calling about. If she was acting out, she would have never agreed to come to the Vancross Institute to begin with.
She didn’t deserve this.
“You can’t be serious. I leave the dorm once to clear my head and you’re treating me like a child.”
“Melisande—”
“This conversation is over.”
“Like hell it is.” Tatum snaps. “In case you haven’t gotten the memo yet, you’re the daughter of a world leader, which means that you can’t leave in the middle of the night to clear your head on a whim without telling me. If there was even a one percent chance that someone who wanted to hurt you came here and I didn’t know where you were, I…” He pauses, then takes a breath. “I can’t do my job. It’s—”
“—your job to protect me. I know that.”
“Then don’t make this harder for me than it already is.”
The earnest look in his eyes—definitely concern now—is enough to make her drop the act. “Alright. I’m sorry.”
He grunts, blinking the moment away, and she curses herself for the disappointment that courses through her veins. “Don’t be sorry, be careful.”
“It’s too late for that.” Melisande shakes her head, too frustrated to cry and too tired to argue. “Far too late.”
It’s clear that he doesn’t understand what she means and she decides, then and there, that he would never know. The fates had aligned and made his position clear: she was an assignment to him. He could never know that she wanted more.
(It was far too late. For both of them.)
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(Found this in my drafts and thought I'd clean it up and actually post it lol. I'm not saying anything no one’s said before (and probably better), but I only started seriously thinking that I might be aspec a year or so ago, so this stuff's still pretty new for me, and I wanna talk about it!)
While I was investigating asexuality, and especially gray-asexuality, and trying to figure myself out (a job which is not remotely done btw), something clicked for me. My definition of "hot" or even of "attractive" seems to be wildly different than most people's, and I didn’t realize it until I started considering the possibility that I might be ace.
tl;dr: When I use the word, "attractive” I’ve never considered it to be synonymous with “person I want to have/might enjoy having sex with” and the fact that most people apparently do is utterly mind-blowing to me. I feel like one of those people who accidentally discover that they’re aphantasiac while reading a Reddit thread about imagination.
After the Cut: in-depth discussion of sex-favorable asexuality and sexual behavior, including the OP's thoughts on her own relationship to sex. Not particularly graphic, but sex-averse folks might want to give it a miss. Also, a long post.
I’ve looked at someone and thought, “Wow, they are hot (meaning, to me, pretty/handsome/otherwise aesthetically pleasing.)” Or, “Wow, I’d like to get to know/date them.” Or, “Wow, I’d like to snuggle with them.” Even, sometimes, “Wow, I’d like to kiss them.”
But I can basically count the number of times I’ve looked at another human being in a non-sexual situation, stranger or otherwise, and become sexually aroused or thought about sex non-deliberately on one hand. In nearly 40 years. (And probably TMI, but one of those times was literally while having sex with the person. Like, in the middle of the act I looked at them and got more aroused from the sight of them and it was novel and surprising and I almost stopped because I didn’t know what to do. And even then I’m still not entirely sure it wasn’t the circumstances I was reacting to, rather than the person.)
For most of my life, I didn’t understand the nuance between “aesthetically pleasing”, “someone I’d like to be romantically close to (snuggling, hand holding, non-sexual intimate touches like tracing skin or a massage)”, and “hot”. I honestly assumed they all meant the same thing. When I say I find someone attractive or hot, I mean they are pleasing to my eye, or I enjoy their personality, or they look like they give good hugs, or I want to spend time with them, or even that I get physically excited (heart racing, butterflies, etc) or imagine being romantically intimate with them when I look at them...but I basically never mean I get sexually excited or want sex at the sight or thought of them. Because I just...don’t.
I am very sex-favorable (a term I was delighted to discover, because it suits me quite well). I enjoy sex, I think it’s fun, I think it can be bonding (but certainly doesn’t have to be), I enjoy experiencing it with people I like or love. And sexual situations can be arousing to me (I like porn & erotica, for example. I mean I’d better, I write it, lol). But sex and attraction are separate entities for me, and the sight or presence of another person, even one I find attractive, does nothing for my sexual arousal or interest level. At all. The idea that I would automatically want to sleep with someone (or even be open to it) just because I find them attractive is bizarre to me.
And finding out that feeling sexual arousal/desire or thinking about having sex is often what other people mean when they say someone is hot is...eye-opening and a bit unsettling, honestly. If that’s what people typically mean when they say they find other people attractive (and according to my allosexual, if decidedly hypersexual, husband, it’s certainly what he means), how do allosexual people like, function?
Because really, the few times that it has happened to me, it was extremely intense and overwhelming, and I don’t even know that I enjoyed the experience. I mostly just felt bad because I was trying really hard not to stare and had a difficult time thinking straight.
I literally thought that people were exaggerating/being hyperbolic when they talked about seeing a hot person as like, a personal problem for them, or a distraction that prevents them from getting stuff done, derails their whole day. Did not have any idea that was an actual, real experience people had on a regular, perhaps even daily basis. Am still trying to figure out how I feel about that. I thought trying to be around someone I had a crush on was bad enough in that department, but trying to imagine experiencing that level of “cannot person” every time I see (or maybe even think about!) an attractive person is...whoa.
This starts to bleed into the whole, “I didn’t realize that other people really mean it when they say out loud that they wanted to fuck someone, and thought it was just the hyperbolic thing you say when you have a crush on someone” thing, and the ways in which that influenced my introduction to sexual interactions, but that’s honestly an entire post on its own lol
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beating around the bush
Ichigo leaned back on the wall underneath the bridge, covering his face with a limp arm. His gritted teeth sucked harsh breaths between them before he unclenched his jaw to take in lighter breaths.
“Are you alright, Ichigo?” Chad asked from afar.
Ichigo raised his arm from above his eyes, taking a glance at Chad, who was brushing off his clothes of dust. The redhead covered his eyes again and huffed, sighing, “Yeah, I’m fine. I should probably ask you that. Dude hit you in the head with a bat.”
“Hmm. I’m alive,” Chad said, staggering over to Ichigo.
Ichigo’s eyebrows creased, concern growing ever more in his face. Getting closer to Ichigo, Chad failed to raise his leg high enough off the ground, the concrete catching the tip of his shoe, making him lose his footing. Ichigo gasped through his teeth, while Chad only let out a slight waver in his voice in surprise.
Ichigo impulsively reached out to catch his friend, pulling back when two firm hands slammed on the wall behind him to catch the large teen’s fall. Startled, Ichigo looking between the two arms that were held next to both sides of his head. With his eyes darting around, his eyes awkwardly made its way to Chad’s one visible eye.
He was just as shocked as Ichigo, if not more so as he was utterly frozen in place. He knew that this position was awkward, though he didn't know how to move to make this less awkward. It didn’t help that blood was running down his face, and that he looked like the scene of a murder.
Lowering his head slightly, which covered his eye with his hair again, Chad said, “Oops…” which snapped himself out of his stupor. But he didn’t move.
What is going ooooooon?! Ichigo thought. Ah, shit. There’s no one around anymore.
Chad groaned, dropping his right arm and bending his left, getting him closer to the wall. He slumped down a bit, but it didn’t help him from continuing to tower over Ichigo. It sure did help him get closer to his face though.
The redhead gulped, looking up at Chad who practically hung over his head. “You uh… you doin’ okay, buddy?”
“Ichigo...” Chad said, his voice significantly more lax than prior.
Ichigo immediately turned as red as a tomato, his face burning enough to spew steam from his ears.
Then Chad dropped like a rock, Ichigo trying to catch him but in turn got dragged down with him. Ichigo yelped, one of his hands being caught between the ground and Chad’s back, his knuckles and elbow slamming into the concrete with it. He was too busy absorbed in the minor pain and shock that he didn’t realize he landed partially on top of Chad’s chest.
His eyes rolled into the back of the skull as he was too flustered to make this awkward situation less so.
“Ow,” Chad groaned. “I think I need an ice pack.”
Ichigo unrolled his eyes and subtly snorted at the nonchalant comment. Any longer that his eyes stayed rolled, he might’ve started foaming from the mouth.
“I think you need a bit more than an ice pack. I’ll take you back to my place and my dad can check you out,” Ichigo said, sitting up and smirking.
Then he looked down to see what he pressed down on, and saw his hand on Chad’s chest.
It’s like a huge cushion, was the only thought that went through Ichigo’s head. AH FUCK WAIT MY HAND IS ON CHAD’S FUCKING CHEST!
His hand snapped up and off of his chest, then he awkwardly put it away next to him on the ground, trying to not make it seem like he was disgusted to have been touching Chad.
“Hmm.”
“C’mon, dude. Get up.”
Ichigo hopped to his feet, signaling for Chad to do the same. He slowly got up to his feet, looking down at Ichigo who smirked at him. The smaller boy extended his arm to welcome him to lean on him for support. Chad put his arm around Ichigo’s shoulder and Ichigo put his around Chad’s back. Together, they began limping off to the Kurosaki Clinic.
———
“ICHIGOOOOOOO!” A boisterous voice yelled, followed by a tough elbow jamming right into the side of Ichigo’s temple. The momentum of the hit sent him spinning and flung him face first onto the sidewalk in front of their part home part clinic.
“Um,” Chad said, a few beads of sweat trickling down his face.
“DAD, WHAT THE HELL? AREN’T YOU ON THE JOB? WHAT WOULD YOUR PATIENTS THINK IF THEY SAW YOU HITTING ME LIKE THAT!” Ichigo snapped up, rubbing his head.
“Luckily, it’s no busy day, and the two patients we have right now are faaaaast asleep,” Isshin said, stretching his arms.
“You almost make it sound like you killed ‘em…”
“HOW INSULTING! However, it’s more insulting to see you coming home covered in bruises again!” he glanced at Chad, who watched the squabble, then back at Ichigo. “And you dragged one of your friends into it too!”
“I didn’t drag him— well… maybe I did drag him into it… Huh…”
“See!”
“That’s besides the point—!”
“Ichigo!” A new voice interjected.
Ichigo’s youngest sister peeked out from behind her father, rushing outside.
“Oh no, you got into another fight again! Come inside! You too, Chad!” Yuzu cried, grabbing Ichigo by the wrist and practically dragging him inside. Isshin moved out of the way, letting Chad inside their clinic first before closing the door behind them.
“Oh, Ichigo, you’re still a trouble magnet as always, it seems,” Karin said, reading a magazine off in the corner of the room.
“Wasn’t my fault!” Ichigo hissed as Yuzu placed him down on a patient bed. “They had it coming.”
“You say that everytime,” Karin sighed, not looking up from the magazine.
“Karin, Yuzu, you look after Ichigo’s friend, I’ll deal with Mr. Delinquent himself!” Isshin demanded.
“Hey!”
Isshin grabbed Ichigo by the ear, twisting it violently and making him scream. “You are going to tarnish the name of this clinic if people find out that my only son is a backwards kid who’s only looking for fights!”
“I wasn’t looking for it, they asked for it!”
“Mmmmhmmm,” Isshin hummed, full of doubt.
He pulled out some antiseptic and cotton balls from nearby and got to work on cleaning up Ichigo’s wounds. His son hissed from the pain of the chemicals getting into his wounds, wincing in pain when one dab of the antiseptic would burn more.
Ichigo just silently took the pain, glancing over at Karin and Yuzu who were tending to Chad every so often.
“Dad,” Ichigo whispered, yanking on his father’s ear and bringing it close to his mouth. “Can I, uh, deal with Chad’s injuries myself?”
“Hmm?”
“I kinda want to talk to him. Alone,” Ichigo looked behind him to the two unconcious patients. “Well, as alone as it gets.”
Isshin gasped silently, his hands raising to his bearded cheeks. He knew exactly what Ichigo was going after. “My boy is becoming a man…!”
Ichigo hissed as his dad, his face flushing red.
“Yuzu, Karin! Let’s go back into the house and get some snacks. You’ve both been working hard. Let Ichigo take care of Chad, alright?” Isshin said, standing up as he tried to pry his daughters away from their patient.
Karin glared at Ichigo, but the gaze was oddly smug. Ichigo gritted his teeth at her.
He waited until his family was definitely gone before he shuffled over and sat on the edge of Chad’s cot.
“Yo,” Chad said.
“Hey,” Ichigo replied, picking up the materials his sisters left behind and leaned over his friend. “Chad, I-- sorry for getting you into one of these messes again,” Ichigo sighed, continuing the work of cleaning up the bruises on Chad’s cheek.
“It’s no problem,” Chad said. “We promised that we’d have each others backs. I don’t mind taking a couple of hits for you.”
Ichigo brushed back Chad’s hair off of his forehead, allowing him to finally see both of his friend’s eyes at once. It was fun not being able to see either of them, interesting when he could see just either one, but it was different seeing both at the same time. Chad had such a soft gaze, in contrast to Ichigo’s sharp and nearly always judgemental one.
The way Chad looked at him almost made him want to loosen up.
“Ichigo?”
“Oops, sorry,” he said. He got up to get a towel and wet it as much as he could to wipe off all the blood off of Chad’s face. Plopping down back onto Chad’s mattress he grazed his forehead. The brown skinned boy winced and closed his eyes. Taking this opportunity of Chad not being able to see him, Ichigo mouthed “Oh my GOD,” to himself as his cheeks got splotched with red.
“Ichigo, you didn’t get your family out of here for no reason, did you?” Chad asked, eyes still closed.
“Huh? Well, yeah you’re right. I just— uh. You know I just wanted to thank you for stickin’ with me. It means a lot.”
“Mm.”
That couldn’t only be what he wanted to say.
“Also! Uh. I never really expected someone like you to hang out with me. At least not for so long. You kind of hit… different compared to other people I know,” he said, starting to slow down on Chad’s face.
Chad opened an eye which made Ichigo flinch and reminded him to get back to working on his wounds.
The redhead looked away for brief moments, trying not to meet Chad in the eyes as his face was so obviously pink.
“I’ve known Tatsuki for like, ever, but I dunno, I don’t think I’m as close to her as I am with you.”
“Really?”
Ichigo sputtered, “Gah! W-w-well yeah! I don’t see her staying with me to beat up losers asses like you! This is more intimate!”
He could see Chad raise an eyebrow from the corner of his eye.
“GAH! Not like intimate-intimate— It’s just an us thing! I don’t think I’d be able to have something like this with anyone else! Not with Keigo, or Mizuiro, or Tatsuki! Just you.”
Chad stared up at Ichigo with no response as the boy started to fumble with some nearby bandages in a container. He gently began to slap some bandaids on Chad’s smaller open wounds.
Silence rung between them and that wrung Ichigo’s heart.
“You actually meant intimate-intimate, didn’t you?” Chad asked flatly.
Ichigo was silent for a bit.
“Yeah…”
Chad chuckled quietly, making Ichigo dig his chin into his chest.
“It’s okay. I like you too, Ichigo. You don’t need to say it.” And you probably never will anyway…
“Gah!”
His flustered response made Chad chuckle again.
“Are we dating now?” Ichigo blurted out, the impulsive question making his eyes roll into the back of his skull harder than before.
“If you want,” Chad shrugged.
“Do you wanna…” Ichigo choked, “seal the deal?”
“Huh?”
“Like we…” he choked out of embarrassment more, really starting to feel the foam gurgle in his throat as he clenched his fists. “Kuh- kuh- kuh- ki- ki…”
It was starting to get painful watching Ichigo like this, so Chad just cut him off before he gave himself a stroke.
“Yes, if you want.”
Ichigo snapped out of his embarrassment stupor and looked down at Chad.
“For real?”
“Yeah.”
“You’re really chill with all of this.”
“I already said I liked you.”
Ichigo whined, his eyebrows wrinkling. “O...kay…”
Ichigo clenched his eyes shut, drawing wrinkles on his forehead from the strain of it as he slowly began to lower himself down. Chad kind of just watched him struggle above him, not sure whether to be confused or to chuckle.
“It's okay, Ichigo. It’s just me.”
The stress in Ichigo’s face let up slightly, but he still kept his eyes screwed shut. He kept slowly leaning down towards Chad’s face, at least where he thought it was. He realized he was aiming off when a hand rested itself on his cheek and slightly angled his head properly.
Extremely embarrassed, he kept leaning until he was startled by the press of his lips against another. Ichigo screamed so loud on the inside of his head that stifled screams could be heard from the depths of his chest. He tensed up when he felt the same hand on his cheek trail up to the nape of his neck, feeling a finger slowly trace where his hair ended.
Shiiiiit! I can’t really be this awkward, can I?
Taking the tiniest leap of faith, he rested his hands on Chad’s cheeks and tilted his own head to the side to lock their lips together a bit better. Ichigo sighed into the kiss as he started to relax into it. He didn't know how to feel, but this experience sure was happening. He thought he was enjoying it, because he sure didn't stop, until—
"Hey, Ichigo, we're back! Are you two—" Yuzu asked, getting cut off by the loudest shriek she'd ever heard come from her brother. It was loud enough to wake up the other two patients in the room.
Ichigo’s hair seemingly spiked up like the fur on a cat’s back as his face turned beet red. He jolted up, nearly flying off of Chad's bed and onto his feet.
"Ichigo, were you just—? " Karin started, grinning.
"NO!"
"Are you sure, because it looked like you were ki—"
"I WASN'T! Just. Cleaning his wounds..."
After his abrupt outburst, he groaned, putting his hand on his head as he began to stumble with his vision beginning to fade. “Shit,” he whined, plummeting to the floor face first.
“ICHIGO!” his family cried, Yuzu shrieking the loudest out of all of them.
“Ichigo?” Chad asked, peering over the side of his cot.
His family crowded around him in a panic, while Chad just watched with concern. He reminisced on how red Ichigo’s face had gotten when his family rushed in. “I guess the blood really went to his head…”
#bleach#bleach fic#chadichi#chad yasutora#ichigo kurosaki#GRAHHHHHHHH (RIPS OFF MY SHIRT) IM GAY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
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No Truer Love - Two
Pairing: Loki X Reader
Summary: You’ve always felt like you’ve been missing something in life. You’ve no clue what that somethings. Until Loki opens your eyes to it.
Warnings: Smut, Language, Minor Fluff
Word Count: 2.4K
A/n: This is part two of the commissioned piece! I hope to have the third part up and finished by Thursday. In the meantime while I’m writing that I may just have a Gerald X Reader fit for you guys.....
~*~
The two of you enter the small hotel room in silence, not nearly as much tension between the two of you as Loki would’ve thought. He’s curious about your intentions, wanting to know what exactly you’re planning, but you give him no clues as to what you truly plan on doing.
Your entire demeanour has changed. Not significantly but enough for him to notice. You’re nowhere near open with him, but you’re less tense around him. Seeing the way you relax, the way your shoulders drop, the way you don’t feel the need to always be the strongest or the best, it gives him a strange sense of happiness. Almost as if you’re trusting him more.
You keep your back to him as you take your hair out of the bun, sighing softly as the pressure on your scalp gets released.
He watches you, the way your features are relaxed and gentle. He notices, for maybe the first time, how beautiful you truly are. Usually so poised and perfect, a permanent scowl gracing your face. Now, you seem at ease.
“I think... you should observe me more.” Loki’s confused for a moment, thinking you’ve caught him staring. When he doesn’t reply, you turn around and look at him. “I’ve seen the way you can impersonate any member of the Avengers. Because you and I are together on missions so much, I think it would be a good idea for you to start learning my mannerisms more. The way I walk, the way I carry myself. It may come in handy one day. Especially if we’re to ever get separated on a mission where I need to make an appearance.” You shrug as if it’s a request you’d make any day. As if it’s not for your own personal gain.
Ever since that night, the night where you’d thought of yourself... of Loki as you... the dynamic between the two of you has changed slightly. You’ve been less harsh and cold towards him, and he’s found himself becoming all the more intrigued by you.
You do your post-mission routine the same as always: shower, change, write up the mission report. Except for this time you don’t criticize every little thing that he did wrong. This time you focus solely on what you’re doing. He’s a little miffed, to say the least, but the change is welcome. He’s always admired you, even if you did annoy the Hell out of him.
But now? Now that you’re no longer enemies? The admiration he feels in his chest whenever he looks at you is slowly blooming into something more. Something stronger. Something that may very well ruin him if he doesn’t figure it out soon.
~*~
When you get back to the compound you head straight for the training room, ready to get all the stresses caused by the mission out of your system.
You’ve just finished warming up when a familiar head of black hair enters the room.
You pay him no mind for a few moments, stretching out your hamstrings and your hips. All the while he watches your every move like a lion watches his prey. Little does he know there’s an idea bubbling just beneath the surface of your mind, and he’s not the lion in this situation.
You let out a deep breath then straighten up at the waist and watch as Loki heads towards the door.
“Loki!” He freezes, turning his head to the side just slightly to show you that he’s listening.
“I was thinking about the other night. When I told you to observe me.” He nods, waiting for you to continue.
“Maybe today you’d like an up-close and personal lesson on how I fight, in case you’re ever needed to fight as me.” He can’t explain the butterflies in his stomach, or the pang in his chest at the invitation. All he can do is turn around and walk to you.
“To make it a fair fight, and to make sure that you’re really grasping my mannerisms and fighting patterns, it would be ideal for you to pose as me.”
He raises his eyebrows. “You want me to become you so that you can fight yourself?” You roll your eyes. “No Loki. I want to teach you how to be like me. Incase you ever need to impersonate me. This is a prime moment to learn.”
“I can’t help but feel like this is less for my gain and more for yours.” You ignore his comment and put your hands on your hips, waiting expectantly for him to do it.
He purses his lips then focuses, his eyes taking in your figure for a moment before he transforms right in front of you.
Instead of the tall slim demigod, in front of you stands a beautiful woman with enchanting eyes, enticing lips, and a perfect body.
It’s like looking into a mirror.
“Okay. Are you ready?” You ask, shaking yourself out of your daze and getting into a fighting stance. He mimics your move and you bite your bottom lip, trying to ignore the fire building in your belly.
You move at him quickly, swiping your leg at his to try and trip him. He’s quick though, and dodges swiftly, spinning around and going to kick you in the stomach. It’s a move you use quite often, so you’re not surprised when he pulls it out of his sleeve.
You come right back with your elbow, aiming for his -your- face. It’s almost disturbing, being able to see yourself. Seeing the concentration in your own eyes. The way your brows furrow and sweat starts to bead on your forehead. It’s far too distracting.
He takes advantage of your single misstep and lunges at you, arms going around your waist and pulling you to the black mats beneath the two of you. You grunt as your back slams against it with more force than you’d expected.
Loki straddles your waist, hands pressing on your shoulders to keep you on the ground. You take an extra moment analyzing the situation to admire the way the woman above you looks, before grabbing thrusting your hips up and seining her tumbling off of you.
You get to your feet and Loki does the same, pretty lips parted as he pants, fists raised in another fighting stance.
With a beckon of your fingers, he comes at you again, this time a little more sloppy then the last, and it takes only moments for you to have him on his back beneath you. You pant hard, legs squeezing slightly on the soft body beneath you.
You can feel yourself getting wet as you squirm slightly, eyes trained on your own face beneath you.
Loki looks up at you with your own eyes, wide with shock and, to your surprise, arousal. Is that what you look like when you’re horny? What a sight to behold.
You wiggle on his lap a bit more, biting your lower lip as you subconsciously rock your hips, and he moans. The sound is so soft and gentle and feminine coming from your lips. He closes his eyes and lets his head fall heavily against the mats beneath him.
You stay there for a while, seated right on top of him.... on top of yourself. It’s erotic in the most teasing and tantalizing way. After one more moment of basking in the feeling of being on top of yourself, you pull away a bit.
“Thank you,” you whisper, eyes dark with lust. He looks up at you with confused curiously, dainty hands resting on your thighs, while his plump lips part. “What for?” His voice is a gentle murmur that sends a shiver down your spine.
“Helping me.”
He simply nods, thumbs rubbing circles on your thighs. You stay on top for a second more then get up and walk towards your water bottle.
You bend over at the waist right in front of him, giving him a spectacular view of your ass and the obvious wet spot between your legs.
“I’ll see you in conference two, right?” You ask, a drop of water dripping from your lips down your neck. His eyes follow the drop and he nods, trying not to think about all the ways he wants to take you.
“Alright. Thank you again, Loki.” You turn and walk out of the training room, leaving him utterly confused and extremely aroused.
~*~
Interactions between you and Loki are back to being tense, but for a completely different reason. When he realizes just how much you’re affected by his powers, he uses them as often as possible.
The way you shift and cross your legs, inconspicuously rubbing your thighs together whenever you see him use his powers makes him more than happy.
Missions prove to be more than difficult with you getting distracted by him using his powers and him getting distracted by you. You both get the job done, but it leads to restless nights with your hand buried between your legs and his fist around his cock.
Today is hardly any different.
You walk into the hotel bathroom, determined to alleviate the tension growing in your lower regions. You don’t miss, however, the way Loki stares at your backside as you walk past where he sits on one of the beds in the room.
The water sprays out with enough force to make your legs quiver in anticipation. You’re so ready to cum, to have this pressure gone.
You step under the spray and almost moan aloud. It feels heavenly against your skin.
After washing yourself, you let your hands wander down your body, flicking your clit. You moan softly, paying absolutely no mind to the way the sound echoes in the small bathroom. Loki, however, hears it clear as a bell.
The way you moan sends him spiralling and he swears he won’t last another day with you if you don’t fuck.
And so, he does the very next best thing and conjures up a woman. A woman with your exact physical features.
She walks towards him, hands finding his chest and nails digging in. She straddles his waist, not wasting a single moment as she starts grinding down on his hard cock.
He’s so focused on the woman in his lap that he fails to notice that the water in the bathroom has turned off. Nor does he notice when the door creaks open a bit.
The low wanton moans of the man in the room a wall away pull you from your reverie and you’re quick to shut the water off and investigate just what is making him make that sound.
With a peak through the slightly open door, you get an eyeful.
On Loki’s lap is a woman who bears a striking resemblance to you. His hands are on her waist as she grinds on him, her mouth open in a sultry sigh.
You’re entranced by the display and can’t stop your hand from wandering down between your bare legs again.
Your fingers delve inside of your slick heat, moving swiftly to try and bring you back to the edge that you were so precariously balanced on only moments ago.
It becomes too much for you to do on your own and with a. frustrated sigh, you throw the bathroom door open, naked body on display for Loki’s hungry eyes.
The woman on his lap vanishes and he swallows hard, eyes raking over your figure.
You walk over to him, eyes dark with lust, and sit right where the woman before was. He’s quick to wrap his arms around you, holding your soft body to his.
“Take me. Please.” He’s more than happy to oblige, swallowing your gasp with a rough kiss, his tongue dominating your own.
Your hands fumble with the many layers of his combat suit and you get frustrated quickly, pulling away from his lips to properly pull the material off of his body.
He chuckles softly then helps you, shedding his clothing until he’s naked beneath you. He falls backwards, pulling you with him and reconnecting your lips. His hands wander over your body as you grind against his hard cock, the hot tip nudging against your clit with every pass of your hips.
“Loki don’t make me wait any longer. Please.” He reaches between the two of you and, after spending a moment toying with your clit, lines his cock up with your dripping entrance.
You slowly lower yourself down, gasping at the stretch of him against your walls.
“Oh fuck...” he whispers, head thrown back and eyes squeezed shut tightly.
You wait, giving yourself a moment to adjust to the foreign but amazing feeling of him stretching you out. Then you start to move. Only slowly at first, rocking your hips up and down. When a needy whine leaves his mouth you start moving faster, bouncing up and down on his lap. He moans long and low, brows furrowing as his fingers leave deep marks on your hips that are sure to bruise.
He pulls one hand away from your hips and with a flick of his wrist, your arms are bound in front of you. You tug against the invisible restraint, your arousal only growing when you find that you can’t move at all.
He flips the two of you over and you gasp, looking up at him with wide eyes as he uses his powers to pull your arms over your head.
He thrusts into you hard and fast, holding your waist and pulling you down to meet him thrust for thrust.
The coil in your belly starts to tighten, pulls and twists until you’re gasping and panting, desperate for release.
“L-Loki!” He grinds his teeth together and brings one hand down to where your bodies are connected, rubbing at your clit with his thumb.
You throw your head back, stars and black spots clouding your vision as the coil in your belly snaps and you get thrown over the edge into an intense orgasm.
The vice-like grip your pussy has on his cock is his undoing, and he releases inside you with a moan, thrusting slowly to ride out his orgasm.
Your wrists get freed and you pull them to your chest, eyes closing as you catch your breath.
“I’ve been waiting for that for so long,” he whispers from above you. You hum your agreement and let out a long sigh.
“And now that I have you, I’m not letting go. Not until you’re properly worshiped like the queen you are.”
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