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sweetestlamb · 3 years

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I've Got You Under My Skin Part 2

Author's note: Can you tell I'm inspired? A double fic post who is she? Dedicated to @serxeins because I know I can always count on you to read and comment and give me some good vibes.

Summary: She's not jealous.

He's not there the next day and it puts her in another foul mood, honestly who was he to invade her life like this and then leave as he pleased? She would be the one to send him away not the other way around, she was the one in control here.

She goes all the way to his house after work to inform him of this, slightly more prepared for his state of dress- he's only wearing a thin white shirt and flowy pants, both made of soft looking cotton.

"No wonder you're still sick. Look at you're wearing." She rolls her eyes at him not waiting to be invited in, he never waits for her and ignores her when she tells him to go away. It's their thing. Blatant disregard.

"That's shaming, that's no way to speak to a sick person. What medical school did you go to?"

"One that taught me to prioritize honesty over niceties."

She has more porridge but it's her mom's recipe the one she used to make when she was feeling sick and it was hard to keep anything down. She had suddenly remembered it the night before and woke up early to prepare it from sensory memory alone, she was hardly a chef but this was the only meal she could make without fail. If her eyes had prickled with instead tears as she stirred the pot that was no one's business but her own. She hadn't been able to make it for years now but for some reason she couldn't stop herself this morning.

"What's this?" He asks curious over her shoulder, his chin barely grazing her skin. She doesn't move away ignoring the thrumming his closeness elicits.

"Porridge."

"It smells good. It doesn't look like grandma's porridge. Where did you get it?"

"I made it." It's embarrassing admitting that she made anything for him, she feels like she's showing her hand far too much but can't get her mouth to stop revealing her heart.

"You're full of surprises. Let's heat it up."

He looks better now, no longer flushed and sweaty. The fever must have broken over night, he looks rejuvenated scooping the food into a pot and warming it up.

His house looks a bit cleaner today as well, the windows are open allowing a wonderful breeze to fill the space and sweep away the stench of sick in the air. She walks aimlessly until she sees a bit of material on the floor, bending to pick it up she glares at the material in her hand. It's a light pink scarf, thin and almost sheer. He has an eclectic style but this is indubitably a woman's scarf, she almost throws it on the ground in a fit.

"What are you doing?" He breaks her from her shock, walking towards her with twin bowls in his hands.

She almost hides the scarf away feeling ashamed of the searing hotness that rips through her chest like a current. But foolishly she swings her hand up presenting the offending item instead, narrowing her eyes as she peers at him.

"What's this?" She challenges, a voice in the back of her mind begs her to shut the fuck up but her anger pushes her forward recklessly.

He tilts his head looking intensely at the item before pursing his lips and answering, "I think it's a scarf."

No fucking shit Sherlock.

She looks at him unimpressed and unamused not quite understanding why she cares so much that there's a scarf- a feminine nother scarf in his house.

"I had a guest earlier. She probably left it." He replies lightly sitting their food down on the table and she follows him briskly still not satisfied with his answers.

"Give me back my porridge." She says childishly snatching away his bowl just as he's about to eat, the look of annoyance on his face brings her nothing but pure joy.

"What's your problem now?" He argues reaching for the bowl but she tugs it further out of his reach. With a long suffering sigh he stands up, stepping closer to retrieve the bowl but that move brings them chest to chest and she stares up at his bright eyes.

Bringing his hands up he touches the scarf in her hand, she drops it abruptly not wanting him to touch it at all now.

"Don't."

He stares at her long and hard, Adam's apple bobbing as their eyes lock. He shakes his head a tight smile on his face now and she wants to kiss that smug look right off his face. Wait.

What. What am I thinking?

The sound of his doorbell chiming breaks them free of this heated staring match, but not immediately he looks at her puzzled and is that something hotter, before slowly turning and walking towards the door.

"Hey, I think I left my scarf--"

A decidedly female voice sounds from the door and before she can second guess herself she grabs the discarded scarf from the ground and sashays over to the door. He looks completely surprised to see her walking over but barely reacts when she barrels next time, pulling the door open wider to see who's here to see them.

It's the new teacher that just moved into town, she hadn't yet been introduced to her but she'd heard nothing but bad things from the landlord. She was supposedly a man stealer.

"Oh! I didn't know you had a guest." The woman's gentle voice lifts in awe at her sudden arrival at the door.

"Here's your scarf." She thrusts the item fiercely at her, watching as the other woman jolts in surprise.

Du-sik looks curiously between the two seeming to feel the weird energy surging in the air.

"Miss Yoon this is--"

"Was that all you needed? We were in the middle of eating. He needs to regain his energy." She cuts him off, having no desire to be introduced to the other woman. The school teacher glances between the two of them being nodding slowly as if realizing something.

"Yes that was all. I'll leave you to your meals."

She watches as the school teacher disappears from sight, turning to walk back to the table.

"That was rude. Do you two have a problem with each other?"

Shrugging non-committally she pushes his porridge back across the space already digging into her own.

"Your meal will get cold. Stop saying nonsense and come eat."

He stares at her for a long time before retaking his seat and tasting the thick broth, she tries not to watch and wait for his reaction but it's probably a failure.

"It's delicious. I can't believe you made this."

Overlooking the backhanded compliment she hides her smile behind her spoon before looking up with a glare, "I'll never make it for you again." But it's an empty threat because she already made three containers worth in case he falls ill again.

"I'll turn off your electricity until you do."

She guffaws at the threat, grabbing the closest thing (a pen) and throwing it at him. It pings off his forehead and falls to the ground.

"Ow. That hurt."

Her phone vibrates in her pocket, no doubt her roommate asking about her whereabouts she had just suddenly disappeared out of nowhere after running out of the office. Swiping to open the phone she prepares for the onslaught of messages.

"---kiss it better."

She freezes at the words, dragging her eyes from the phone back up to his steady gaze. He's staring brazenly seemingly unashamed but the tint of red on his ears give him away, he's not at confident as he's pretending to be.

"What did you say?"

"I.....said you should kiss it better."

She has no clue what he's talking about but instinctively her eyes move down to his lips, blush pink and tempting they stand out on his pale skin. She wonders how they would feel under her own, if they would pucker up and press or bloom open giving her their sweet nectar. She wonders how many women he's kissed and if he's ever thought about kissing her.

"My forehead. I meant my forehead... because of the pen. I was just joking." He looks dazed now, still under her appraising gaze and she coughs swiftly moving her eyes and staring out the window.

"Mi-seon's looking for me. I should go."

Thankfully he doesn't comment on her running away again, he merely nods and collects their bowls.

"Thank you for the meal." She nods in response, her voice lost at the moment terrified of why she keeps coming here, what could she possibly want?

He walks her to the door, both of them dragging their feet and taking their sweet time.

"That was the worst part about not having parents."

She halts at his sudden confession, squeezing her fists tightly as she glances over at him.

"Not having anyone who cared when I was sick. It was never clearer how alone I was until those fleeting moments, there was no one to pat my back or bring me food or tell me I would be okay."

It's an ache she's used up, the ache of wanting something she'll never have. Years spent pretending she didn't miss her mother everyday. His honesty forces her own to the surface.

"That porridge was the one my mom used to make for me. I haven't made it since she...."

She doesn't finish her sentence but the look in his eyes tell her that she doesn't need to, he understands loud and clear.

"Thank you for making it for me. I'm honored." There is reverence in his voice as if he's never meant anything more in his life, it makes her heart tremble.

They don't speak anymore as she puts on her shoes and lays her bag across her body, reaching behind her he tugs the door open for her.

With a solemn nod she turns around ready to leave but a moment of temporary insanity makes her turn back and grab his shoulder for support, there's a look of genuine shock of his face before she leans onto the tips of her toes and presses her lips against his forehead.

Her cheeks are on fire as she draws back and his face looks painful from his red it is.

"You're going to be alright." With her last strand of courage she wraps her arm around and pats him on the back in comfort, his eyes are glossy and he looks years younger.

"I'm going."

She's aching to run but she walks away calmly until she's out of sight, throwing herself to the ground as soon as she turns the corner grabbing handfuls of her hair.

So much for being in control. Fuck.

#hometown cha cha cha #me again #i might be a bit obsessed #y'all know I love a little jelly cee #it gets the blood running #hong du shik #yoon hye jin

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riotwritesthings · 3 years

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I'll cave in (whenever you see fit)

A BIG BIG HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!!!! to @warmachinesocks

thanks for being you that’s big sexie of you. Here’s a thing.

Winteriron, M, 5k - Vampire!Bucky, human!Tony, an abduction, a rescue, and some dry humping

Bucky knows better than to get involved with a mortal, and he pays the price when Hydra kidnaps his boyfriend. Tony is human, he's questionably in distress, and he is Handling It. (minor violence, surprisingly soft all things considered.)

~~~

Bucky should have known this would happen. Fuck, he should have known.

An immortal should never get involved with a human, that’s rule fucking one because it never ends well for anyone.

Especially not for the human.

But he’s selfish, so fucking selfish, and the first time Tony smiled up at him, open and happy, Bucky knew he was doomed.

He knows something is wrong the second pushes the door open to find the basement apartment completely dark. The only light is the weak streetlight pouring in through the one tiny window, near the ceiling in the kitchen.

Even in the dark, Bucky can easily tell that the place has been trashed, though it is only a subtle difference from the organized chaos Tony usually keeps his workspace in.

The apartment is too quiet, too still, and he knows instantly.

Bucky fucked up. Badly.

Because it had been entirely too easy to get used to the warmth of Tony’s smile, of his skin, the way he so easily made a space for Bucky in his life.

It had been so easy to let himself get comfortable in Tony’s weird basement apartment that’s half home and half machine shop, perfectly Tony. The way the apartment is brightly lit with industrial lights at all hours of the day and night so Tony can see whatever brilliant new invention he’s working on next.

Bucky never had a chance at not getting attached, because in all his years he’s never met anyone like Tony.

Tony is perfect, and brilliant, left with nothing after his father's company was stolen out from under him and Tony just built himself a new life, tries to help wherever he can. He keeps erratic hours and never minds that Bucky comes and goes at all hours of the night, that Bucky can't go out in the daylight.

Bucky hasn’t been in the sun in nearly a thousand years, but with Tony in his arms, so warm and bright and alive, he could almost remember what it felt like.

And now Tony has been taken.

Bucky knew who was responsible even before he found the symbol burned into the wall. It’s Hydra. Of course it is, and those bastards won’t care that he’s human, that he never should have been involved in any of this, all they’ll care about is hurting Bucky as much as they can.

And they picked exactly the right target.

Hydra has been after him for nearly as long as Bucky has been not-alive, determined to wipe out all vampires at any cost. Even once the war was over, even after all the other hunter’s guilds signed the peace treaty, Hydra refused to give up their mission and for some reason they’ve taken a personal vendetta against Bucky. Probably because he’s evaded them so many times.

And now they have Tony.

The thing is that Bucky hasn't really known Tony that long, not even by human standards, but he is completely, irretrievably in love. He’s ready to burn the whole world down to get Tony back, even if Tony never forgives him for it.

But he’s not going to be able to find where Tony is being held, not on his own. Not in time.

The downside to immortal friends though, is that Bucky hasn’t actually seen any of them in years, because what’s a couple decades between centuries old beings? Steve is back in Europe for a while, working on his painting, and Bucky hasn’t seen Natalia in nearly fifty years now, which means she probably won’t turn back up for another fifty.

There is one more option, Bucky is just less than thrilled about it.

It’s no secret that the other hunter’s guilds don’t approve of Hydra’s methods, the amount of collateral damage they leave in their wake. The lengths they’re willing to go to.

Like kidnapping innocent humans.

It’s definitely still a stretch to hope they’ll be willing to help someone like Bucky find Hydra, but he has to try.

And he does have one idea of where to start.

Bucky and Sam don’t like each other very much, and that’s been the standing opinion for the last decade. Which for a hunter and vampire, is basically a lifelong friendship.

It’s at least enough that Bucky can show up at Sam’s door without immediately getting himself staked.

The door flies open and Bucky blinks, because it never fails to surprise him how old Sam has gotten. Every time, Bucky is a little bit expecting Sam-as-he-met-him, still a kid, on his first hunt and clearly terrified but so determined to save the world, so idealistic. And now he’s so jaded, older and tired and it’s just one more reminder of just how badly Bucky has fucked up.

Tony is going to go cold and tired and it will be all Bucky’s fault.

“You’re here about Hydra,” Sam says flatly, no preamble, and at least that answers Bucky’s question about whether or not Sam even knows that Hydra is setting up camp in his territory.

"Tell me where they are," Bucky demands, resisting the urge to flash his fangs just yet because he's not here to threaten answers out of anyone. Not unless he has to.

Although he doesn't find it encouraging that Sam doesn't answer, just clenches his jaw and swings the door open a little wider, letting Bucky see that the extra heartbeat he hears belongs to Clint. Standing in the hallway with a crossbow in hand.

Bucky lets his lip curl up a little, because apparently this is going to be that kind of conversation.

“What do they have against you, anyways?" Clint asks conversationally, like he's not holding a loaded weapon with an expression that says he'd really like to use it. "Seems very personal at this point."

“What, you want the entire list?” Bucky snaps and finds that he is more than willing to give the whole sordid story if that's what it takes.

But he doesn't have the time for that, Tony doesn't have the time.

Instead he grits his teeth and demands “Tell me where they would take a human hostage."

It has the desired effect, both of the hunters tense and Clint’s eyes go wide, and maybe now they’ll realize that this isn’t about him.

The only thing that matters is Tony, and Bucky doesn’t even care that he’s not just admitting to that weakness, he’s basically screaming it from the rooftops by telling them. Doesn’t care that Sam’s eyes narrow in painful understanding.

“We can’t tell you that,” Sam says and he really does sound regretful, but Bucky snarls because that is not what he wants to hear. “Even if we don’t agree with what they’ve done, they’re still—“

“If you don’t tell me, I will kill you,” Bucky interrupts, his voice low and harsh and it’s gratifying to hear the spike in heart rates, it means he still has a chance of convincing them, whether by threat or force.

“Barnes—“ Sam tries to interrupt, but Bucky doesn’t have time for this.

“And then I’ll find out where he is anyways,” Bucky promises, “the only thing you’ll accomplish is slowing me down.”

“You wouldn’t,” Clint says, but he doesn’t sound sure and his grip on the crossbow is white-knuckled, “you’ll start a war you can never come back from.”

“Try me,” Bucky hisses, flashes his teeth and lets his eyes flare. He wants them to know how deadly serious he is.

Clint raises his crossbow, but Sam sighs.

“In the old warehouse district,” Sam says, shoulders tight with anger and fear, “on the far west edge of the city.”

“You’ll regret this,” Clint calls after him as he stalks away, but Bucky knows that he won’t.

Not if he can just get to Tony in time. Nothing matters beyond making sure his selfishness doesn’t get Tony killed. He doesn’t care what it costs, Bucky is more than willing to leave everything and go on the run again, all he cares about is making sure Tony is alive to hate him.

Sam’s information is good, so at least Bucky won’t have to go back when he’s done here.

He’s been dealing with Hydra for centuries now, and Bucky can easily identify the abandoned factory as a Hydra base. It’s the new bars over the windows, the reinforced doors, the impression of movement just below the surface of the dilapidated building.

He only has a couple hours before the sun comes up, and then he’ll be trapped in the building with who knows how many Hydra hunters. He has to find Tony and get out as quickly as possible.

He has to make sure that at least gets Tony out.

Hydra are still setting up their bases more or less the same way they always have, the same holes in security, and getting into the building is easy. Finding the makeshift holding cells is even easier, on the south-most side of the building, but the problem is that all of the cells are empty.

The entire wing of the factory seems to be empty and there’s fresh blood splattered across the walls and the floor, still wet and shining in the fluorescent lights.

The building is too filled with the smell of mold and decay for him to tell whose blood it is, for him to have a hope of picking out the familiar sweet tang that means Tony.

He can hear the sounds of commotion in the distance, what sounds like screams and gunshots further into the factory. It’s the same direction the trail of spilled blood is leading, and Bucky grits his teeth as he follows it.

The base is nearly deserted. Bucky only sees a couple hunters as he follows the sounds of the fight. Everyone he runs into is scrambling for weapons or the exits, and they don’t seem to be expecting him at all. They seem like they’re afraid of something else entirely, like they’re trying to escape.

Bucky doesn’t let them.

They took Tony, and he doesn’t even want to let himself imagine what they’ve done to him. On the slim chance he manages to get Tony out of here, Bucky can’t have any of them going after him again.

He has to make sure they never even think about going after Tony again.

The sounds of screams get louder as he moves into the heart of the warehouse, up the stairs to the offices. The blood is thicker here, splattered across the walls and the floors with evidence of a struggle. Smeared like someone has been dragged down the long hallway kicking and fighting.

With every empty room and bloody handprint he passes his rage grows, and by the time Bucky reaches the last door all he can see is red.

He slams in the door so hard that it splinters apart, chunks of cheap plywood flying everywhere. There’s a smell in the air like acrid smoke, like melting electronics and fire and blood, nearly overwhelming.

Bodies litter the room, dead and dying, but all he sees is Tony.

Bucky has spent the last four hours trying not to let himself imagine all sorts of horrible things. Tony hurt, Tony dead, bleeding, tortured, screaming. Rightfully cursing Bucky for getting him into this mess, rightfully wishing they'd never met.

He’s not prepared for what he actually finds.

Tony is alive, bloodied and bruised but so vibrantly alive, a knife in his hand and a vicious smile on his face as he plunges it into the chest of a Hydra hunter.

Bucky freezes uselessly in the doorway, watching in awe as Tony rips the knife free again, paying no mind to the spray of blood as he spins on his heel. Buries his blade in the gut of someone trying to creep up behind him.

And all at once it’s over.

The room goes still as the last hunter falls with Tony’s knife in his neck, Tony’s knees against his chest baring him down to the ground.

Bucky doesn’t even need to breathe, but still he finds himself choking on air as he watches Tony slowly right himself again, looking over all the destruction he’s caused.

Then Tony looks up, catches sight of him, and the expression on his face shifts from cold and vicious to warm and happy in an instant. Bucky’s cold dead heart lurches in his chest.

“Hey sweetheart, about time you got here,” Tony says, tossing him a jaunty wave with the knife still in hand.

Bucky crosses the room almost in a daze, headless of the blood that slicks the floor and the bodies he has to step over. All he can see is Tony and as soon as he’s close enough he traces his fingers reverently along the line of Tony’s jaw, ghosting over the dark bruise starting to form.

“Are you okay?” Tony asks, nonsensically, leaning into Bucky’s hands on him like Bucky isn’t the most dangerous thing in the room.

And hell maybe he’s not, Bucky certainly doesn’t feel dangerous. Not faced with Tony’s bright eyes and warm skin.

He feels weak, feels completely undone.

Bucky laughs, soft and strangled, and he hasn’t been cold in centuries but his hands are shaking as he cups Tony’s face in his palms.

“No,” he chokes out around another laugh, because he’s not okay, not anywhere close. “I thought- I didn’t know if you were- Tony--”

“Hey, hey,” Tony cuts him off, pulling him in closer and tucking Bucky’s face down into the curve of his neck. Where Bucky can hear the rapid thump of his heart, smell the adrenaline and the sweat that clings to his skin beneath all the blood.

And oh god there’s so much blood, covering Tony’s skin and his clothes and the room around them. Bucky can barely smell Tony through it and he tucks his face a little harder into the hollow of Tony’s throat.

“I’m okay,” Tony promises, fingers of one hand pressing into Bucky’s hair, his other hand resting on Bucky’s side and still wrapped tightly around the knife. Still prepared, and Bucky has never loved him more.

He drags his tongue up the line of Tony’s neck, through smears and splatters of blood. It’s almost a disappointment, definitely a thrill, that none of it is Tony’s.

“What did you- how did you even-“ Bucky keeps interrupting himself, can’t get a full thought out. He’s too concerned with lifting his head and pressing his lips to every inch of Tony’s perfect, unharmed face.

“I keep telling you, I’m a bad bitch,” Tony says, that beautiful smug grin on his face and Bucky just has to taste it.

Tony melts into it so easily when Bucky kisses him, his hands demanding but so gentle, like the room around them isn’t full of carnage. Like Tony isn’t the one who put it there, like he doesn’t have a care in the world except letting Bucky lick into his mouth, taste the adrenaline and determination and life straight from his lips.

Bucky has never tasted anything like it, has never met anyone like Tony, and he could have lost this.

He has to get closer, closer. He doesn’t even realize he’s backing Tony across the room until the back of Tony’s thighs hit a metal table, and Bucky just keeps pushing. Until the table clangs against the wall, until Tony is bent backwards over the surface.

Bucky follows him down, breathing him in, pressing between Tony’s thighs and still trying to get closer.

The table clatters, covered in knives and crossbows and stakes and Bucky doesn’t give a fuck about any of that. It doesn’t matter how much noise he makes now, Tony is the only living person in the warehouse, the only heartbeat on this rundown block. The only thing Bucky needs to worry about.

He certainly doesn’t give a fuck about the bodies that still litter the floor except that none of them are Tony, thatTony put them there.

Bucky doesn’t care about the bridges he’s burned, has never cared less about the impending sunrise. All that matters is Tony.

And Tony isn’t pushing him away, isn’t complaining. He just hooks one leg over Bucky’s hip and arches up against him, finally dropping his knife to drag both palms up Bucky’s back, pulling him in closer.

Tony is so warm beneath him, wrapped around him, always pulling Bucky in when he should be pushing him away.

“Fuck,” Tony sighs against his lips, one hand in Bucky’s hair again. Tony’s legs tighten around his waist, entire body rolling against Bucky’s, his voice shaking slightly as he says “I was so worried about you.”

Bucky wants to laugh again, because that’s soTony, worrying about Bucky while abducted and fighting for his life. Caring about Bucky in the first place when he should have run, should still be running, should leave Bucky far behind and never think about him again.

Nevermind that the idea has pain lancing through Bucky’s chest like he didn’t even think was possible anymore. He’d take the pain of losing Tony happily if he knew it meant Tony would be safe.

He will walk away, once they get out of here, that’s what Bucky tells himself. He just has to breathe Tony in this one last time and then he’ll walk away.

If Tony will let him. Which doesn’t seem likely, so far Tony has seemed determined to stay by Bucky’s side no matter what, and Bucky can never deny him anything.

The warehouse might be empty now but there’s no telling how long it’ll be before more hunters show up, and they should be getting out of here, Bucky knows that. But he can’t tear himself away from Tony’s warmth, from Tony’s hands moving over him.

Bucky can’t stop thinking that he could have lost this. That if he hadn’t found Tony alive and well Bucky would have made an even bigger mess. There would be no end to the carnage.

When he pulls away from the kiss Tony is panting raggedly and if Bucky had the spare brain power he’d feel bad about that but oh, he really doesn’t right now. Doesn’t care about anything but pressing his lips to Tony’s blood-splattered cheek swearing “I never would have stopped looking for you, never.”

“I know,” Tony promises, still trying to pull Bucky back into another kiss despite the way his words come out weak and breathy, his chest heaving against Bucky’s and his heart thundering.

So alive, alive, alive.

“I’d have done anything to get you back,” Bucky growls, dragging one hand down Tony’s side to his hip, digging his fingers in and shifting them until he can feel the hot brand of Tony’s cock against his hip.

“Fuck!” Tony gasps and the scent of his adrenaline spikes higher, turns sweet and warm as his fingers tighten in Bucky’s hair. “I know, I know, c’mon honey--”

And Bucky can’t say no to that, can never deny Tony anything.

Still, even as he lets Tony haul his face up again Bucky can’t stop the words from spilling out, his voice an awful snarl as he says “and if they’d hurt you--”

It’s probably for the best that Tony slams their lips together again and cuts him off, he doesn’t need to know all the monstrous things Bucky would do in his name. Much better to just let Tony kiss him, let Tony flick his warm tongue over Bucky’s blood smeared lips and the tips of his fangs, like he doesn’t have a fear in the world.

Tony’s heart rate kicks up harder, his next inhale weak and ragged against Bucky’s lips and Bucky forces himself to pull away. He lets Tony catch his breath and moves on to biting his way along Tony’s jaw, not enough to break the skin, just enough to get the taste of his skin on Bucky’s lips.

He tastes like sweat and arousal and need, so much love pouring off of him that Bucky can practically taste it. He’ll never get enough of it, doesn’t ever think he’ll stop being caught off guard by it.

“I told you,” Tony pants out when he finally gets his breath back and for a second Bucky doesn’t even know what he’s talking about, too distracted with the wet drag of Tony’s lips over his cheek. “You don’t have to worry about me,” Tony says, one of his hands landing on Bucky’s ass to pull him in closer, harder, arching up into the demanding roll of Bucky’s hips as he moans out “‘m not gonna let anything happen to you either.”

Bucky laughs raggedly, grits his teeth, presses his face into the curve of Tony’s throat and the craziest part is that Bucky believes him. As crazy as it is he has no problem believing that Tony is equally ready to burn the world down. That the bloodbath around them is only the start of what Tony would have done.

The heat building between them is so intense that even Bucky feels warm, feels like he’s burning. Like he’s absorbing all that wonderful warmth and still Tony has so much to give, never runs out of it, never pushes him away.

Bucky growls, lifts his head to make it easier to resist the urge to sink his teeth in and instead rolls his hips against Tony’s, swallows Tony’s shaking moan with another fierce kiss. “You’re so- fuck, gorgeous, the way you looked tearing thorugh them--” Bucky can’t even find the words to describe it but Tony’s scent spikes, proud and smug and fond.

So damn addictive.

He can feel the needy throb of Tony’s cock against his hip, against his own when Bucky shifts a little more, and he grinds himself down against Tony. Chasing the shocks of heat and pleasure that shoot through his system everytime Tony jerks beneath him, everytime Tony cires out and drags in a ragged breath and then clings to Bucky harder, pulling him in and rocking up against him, so alive. Tony’s heels digging into the back of his thighs, hands moving restlessly over Bucky’s skin, sliding up under the back of Bucky’s shirt and leaving burning trails in his wake.

Tony feels so amazing wrapped around him, so alive, warm and demanding as his fingers dig into Bucky’s skin, his breath escaping in gasps and moans. The impossible heat between them continues to grow, until Bucky is sure it’s going to burn him away entirely, he can’t possibly survive something like this.

He can’t possibly keep it, not something like him.

“Bucky,” Tony whines and he’s shaking now, blood roaring through his veins. So close to Bucky’s fangs as he drags his lips up Tony’s throat.

“C’mon baby,” Bucky growls, clenching his teeth against the urge to bite, “lemme feel you sweet thing, wanna hear you.”

“I’m-” Tony gasps and then cuts off with a keening moan as Bucky pins him down more firmly, grinds against him harder. Tony tries to wiggle a hand between their bodies but Bucky grabs his wrist, presses Tony’s hand to the table beside his head.

“Just like this,” Bucky pleads, his own cock throbbing as he slows the rock of his hips, dragging his cock firmly along Tony’s until he shakes. “Just like this baby, wanna watch you make an even bigger mess of yourself, wanna fuckin’ lick you clean when we get home.”

It’s a nice thought, even if Bucky doesn’t know if he’ll actually get a chance, has no idea what’s going to happen next. At least the idea of it has Tony moaning louder, arching up against Bucky’s grip on his hip and on his wrist, always trying to get closer.

“Bucky, Bucky-” Tony wails beneath him, nails digging into Bucky’s skin, thighs tightening around Bucky’s hips, and Bucky can feel the way Tony’s breath catches in his chest. The way his heart pounds as he drags in one more breath and then breaks.

And this, this is Bucky’s favorite sound, the way Tony’s voice cracks on a loud moan as he falls apart, the stuttering jump-skip of his heartbeat. Hundreds of years wandering the earth and he’s never heard anything like it, could happily listen to all the sounds Tony makes for the rest of his endless life.

“Bucky,” Tony sighs, dazed and slurred, fingers still tight in Bucky’s hair even as his entire body shakes. “Fuck, c’mon honey, I’m right here, let me have it, let me feel you.”

He can hear Tony’s thundering heartbeat like it’s his own, can practically taste it on his tongue, and a feral sound rumbles out of Bucky’s chest as he tips over the edge, snarling against the all too delicate skin of Tony’s throat and clutching at him tighter, tighter.

“I love you,” Bucky confesses in a voice that’s so broken it’s practically a whisper, like his greatest secret. The worst thing he’s ever done.

They need to leave, need to get the hell out of here. Bucky should probably leave the city entirely, go back on the move, leave Tony far behind where he won’t get hurt.

That’s the plan.

He knows all that, but Bucky can’t seem to bring himself to let go, can’t stop kissing Tony over and over and over, feeling the warmth of Tony’s skin beneath his hands. Like it’s the last time he’ll ever feel it.

“Come on,” Tony breathes against his lips, “we gotta get out of here before the sun comes up.”

Bucky groans, but he knows Tony is right. He can feel the approaching dawn in his bones and the last thing he wants is to be trapped in a Hydra base full of corpses all day. Or to still be here when more hunters show up, to have to leave through the sewers.

So he reluctantly pushes himself upright, mourning the way Tony’s lingering warmth starts to fade as soon as they’re not pressed together anymore. Tony’s hand is so much steadier than his own as Bucky helps him to his feet, so warm and alive and unafraid.

Bucky wants to pull him into another kiss. Wants to drop to his knees and press his face to the wet patch slowly spreading across the front of Tony’s jeans, taste him, lick him clean just like Bucky had promised. Doesn’t want to face the real world just yet because that means facing the fact that he has to leave.

That he doesn’t get to keep this.

Tony’s hand is still steady in his, his smile small and fond and he leads Bucky out of the warehouse, through the room of bodies and the bloodsplattered halls. Bucky pulls them to a stop just outside the heavy door he’d ripped his way through, paying no mind to the lightening color of the sky.

Burning to dust would hurt less than this.

“I need to leave,” Bucky says, the words tearing their way out of his throat, “I may have... made some threats. In order to find you. And Hydra isn’t going to stop as long as I’m here.”

He hasn’t even told Tony why Hydra is so determined to ruin his afterlife, not entirely, and now he doesn’t have time. Tony has been dragged into Bucky’s mess and he’ll never know why, and the only upside is Hydra will blame the bloody mess inside on Bucky. They’ll hunt for him more furiously than ever, and the best thing Bucky can do is lead them far, far away.

This is why not getting involved with humans is rule fucking one but Bucky doesn’t regret it, knows he never will. And as much as it kills him he can’t ask Tony to come with him.

Tony nods, like he expected it, and then asks “where are we going, and how long do I have to pack whatever’s left of my apartment?”

Bucky gapes at him.

It hadn’t occurred to him that he wouldn’t need to ask, and Bucky knows he should be relieved but all he feels is guilt. He loves Tony, but at what cost? He would do anything for Tony, and Bucky is ruining his life.

“You- your home,” Bucky tries to protest, his entire body going cold, colder than anything he’s ever felt before. “Your workshop--”

“You saying I can’t rebuild?” Tony interrupts, “I’m insulted, honestly. How dare you doubt me.” His smile is wide, and cajoling, like he’s trying to cheer Bucky up. Like he’s trying to convince Bucky.

“You’ll have to leave everything,” Bucky insists and maybe he does need convincing. It feels a little like he’s lost his mind, like he’s dreaming. He had a plan. “Your entire life, to hide with me, I can’t- I can’t promise the next time you’ll even see the sun.”

Bucky doesn’t need to breathe but he’s wheezing for breath now, his empty chest aching it’s so full of confusion and guilt and hope. He can’t let Tony do this, he can’t ask for this, he can’t--

Tony grabs Bucky’s face in his warm hands, palms calloused and still tacky with blood, as steady as they are when he’s building the future. As steady as they were around the knife, as when he was leading Bucky out of the bloodbath.

“Bucky,” Tony says simply, dark eyes so impossibly bright even in the sickly fluorescent light that spills out of the warehouse. “Bucky,” he repeats, low and sweet and amused, his voice wavering slightly as says “You are my sunshine.”

Bucky laughs again, can’t believe how much he’s laughed on a night that started out with his absolute worst nightmare. Even if it is a little hysterical.

He had a plan, but he also knew better than to get involved with a human, knew better than to stay in one place this long in the first place. Tony has been wrecking all of his plans without even knowing it for months now anyways.

What’s one more.

“You’re stealin’ all my lines,” Bucky accuses but he doesn’t mind, oh he doesn’t mind at all. He gets to keep this, keep Tony, the brightest thing he’s ever seen.

“I love you,” Tony says, so matter-of-fact, and it almost knocks Bucky’s legs out from under him. Every single time.

“That’s my line,” Bucky says, and he smiles, and his hand is steady as he wraps it around Tony’s wrist. “I love you,” he says anyways and tangles their fingers together, doesn’t plan on letting go anytime soon. “Let’s go.”

#my fic #bucky/tony #winteriron #starkbucks #everybody loves vampire bucky AMIRIGHT #anywhooo HAPPYBIRFDAY 😘

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the-clari-net · 3 years

Text

A Mother’s Intuition

AO3

Maddie Fenton prides herself on being a woman of science. A woman full of reasoning and logic who has spent her entire career working on showing her credibility by proving that ghosts exist; not only that, but to show the dangers that they hold to the living. After so many years of being mocked and belittled she finally got her big break with that ghost portal. Once ghosts started coming into Amity Park, she knew she had something tangible that would shake the foundations of the scientific community that have been perceived as Law. Everyone would know that there exists a space that these laws don’t apply (in more ways than one). She and Jack would finally get their brilliance recognized, and her children could finally look at their parents with pride knowing that they’re the first to discover and pioneer this new branch of science never before studied by mankind.

With that being said, Maddie was the one who always brought a more realistic approach to the ideas Jack came up with. They made a good team like that, covering each other’s blind spots to the best of their abilities. Maddie was seen as the rational one, less emotionally swayed compared to her jovial and at times overly enthusiastic husband. That’s not a bad thing really, since it keeps Maddie grounded in not becoming too absorbed in observing at a microscopic level and he forces her to step back and relook at her project with new eyes with a wider perspective. This is all to say that Maddie is an observant person. Her profession relies on her ability to analyze and being able to report and reflect on those observations.

All this needs to be mentioned because Maddie has been feeling strange lately. Well, perhaps lately isn’t the right word. This is a feeling that has existed within her for awhile, it’s just become impossible to ignore the longer it stays. This is a blind spot that has grown too large to push aside.

Dread is one way to describe this feeling. Anxiety is another. At its worst peak, paranoia might be more applicable.

Right now Maddie is sitting at her dinner table with her family. It’s a Sunday night, she had ordered pizza earlier in the evening because the radioactive hot dogs are holding yesterday’s leftovers hostage. It’s a normal evening for the Fentons all things considered.

Except for the slightly shaky hands, which is strange for a woman who has skilled precision with a scalpel. Except for the pounding in Maddie’s chest, her pulse has been quickening the longer they’re having dinner, and she’s starting to hear that same pulse pounding behind her ears. Except for the slight chill that never leaves her despite sitting next to her husband who runs so warm he might as well be a personal heater.

There’s the tightening of her chest that leaves her struggling to breathe properly. It feels as if at any moment she may have to start gasping for breath like her sister Alicia used to as a kid before she got an inhaler to treat her asthma.

Ultimately, these are all the signs Maddie feels when she’s scared. It’s been a while since she’s felt true fear that wasn’t outweighed by adrenaline and excitement. She usually can hold her own against any human and she’s smart to never fight a ghost at close range. She can’t remember the last time she had felt helpless enough to fear like this.

As a woman who is a master at martial arts, she’s had a lot of past experience in her training going up against powerful opponents. There were certain opponents (especially in her early years of training) that made her feel like she was prey, that if she lost her focus for a moment, she would be pulverized. This is the same feeling only a thousand times worse.

Maddie has been trying to deny the connections she’s been weaving since the first prick of nervousness first reached her. She was a woman of science, she needed evidence to support her conclusion; correlation does not equal causation. However, her martial arts background has told her to trust your instincts; it’s a survival trait warning of a potential danger. The conflict of these two perspectives have been arguing in her head about the odd common thread with these spikes of anxiety.

These feelings only seem to appear whenever Danny was around.

It was such a silly observation at first, more of an offhand thought. But as time went on, and her nerves were worsening, the thought stayed with her in the back of her mind.

Maddie’s mind tries to be rational about the ordeal, trying to convince herself that these feelings of anxiety could be due to stress, or some effect of the ghost portal. The fact that something primal is screaming at her that her son –the boy who currently has a piece of pepperoni stuck to the side of his lip and is pouting at Jazz—is a threat to her livelihood is what worries her.

Could he be possessed by a ghost? No, that’s ridiculous; his eyes are blue, he can’t be possessed. They look a little brighter than normal. That’s the kitchen lighting, Danny is NOT involved in this.

It feels like it has to be ghost related. This feeling of dread is common with several of the ghosts that have appeared in Amity Park before. She’s noticed that the more powerful ones are more likely to cause this instinctual feeling compared to the little ghost blobs who only cause a shiver to your spine once physical contact is made.

“—right Mom?”, Maddie jumps a bit and looks up to realize that Jazz was looking directly at her. She notices that the pizza box is empty, and the table’s been cleared, except for her own plate. Was she out of it for that long?

“Sorry honey, I didn’t hear what you said. Could you repeat the question?”. She tried to offer a smile, but she could tell looked more like a grimace. Jack was looking at her worriedly, but he knew better than to push her to talk in front of the kids. Jazz looked back with a soft smile, but her brows were furrowed.

Maddie didn’t look in Danny’s direction.

“I was just saying I should have the leftover slice of pizza for tomorrow instead of Danny because I have seniority rights, right?”

Maddie blinked at Jazz for a moment before recollecting herself and standing up from her seat and moving to the sink to wash the dishes, forcefully ignoring the back of her mind screaming at her to run as far away as she can from here and never look back.

“Now you two, there’s no need to fight like that. Why don’t I just give you both some lunch money for tomorrow and we’ll call it even?” She smiled at Jazz, subtly angling herself so her back wasn’t facing towards Danny and kept him in her peripheral vision.

She doesn’t want to think of why she did that.

Later that night, Maddie couldn’t sleep. She managed to convince Jack that she was feeling better after dinner, and now she’s wide awake trying to remember why that fear felt so familiar. She recognized the unease that only comes from being in close contact with a ghost. It’s the same feeling that lingered in her system after having a ghost possess her; there’s a specific rolling in her stomach that comes from it. The feelings she got during dinner tonight felt like a specific ghost, something about it felt familiar but she couldn’t put her finger on it.

When she finally went to sleep, she was restless with dreams of sharp bright blue eyes, looming shadows that suffocated her, and sweet awkward smiles that slowly turned into menacing and haunting grins.

The rest of the week had been a pretty regular one. Jack and Maddie had spent most of the week building some new weapons that could help capture Phantom once and for all. Because of this, they had been eating in their lab. If Maddie felt relief at using her work as a shield to avoid family dinner, that’s her secret to keep.

The week had been quiet with no battles or major ghost sightings until a massive ghost battle broke out between Phantom and another one of the reoccurring ghosts on Friday. Skulker was the name of the ghost if what she had overheard from her sonar dish on the family RV was correct. It was all the way across town. Jack was behind the wheel, and Maddie was checking over the new prototype they had been working on all week that would hopefully weaken a ghost’s powers. They were hoping that Phantom could be their first test subject.

As they were about halfway to the battle, Maddie suddenly got a prickly feeling in her neck. She was well acquainted with that feeling when nearing ghosts, so she dismissed it as usual. But it got worse the closer they reached their destination. Her body slowly began to tense up, more, her breaths were becoming shallower, and her mouth had suddenly run very dry.

No… it can’t be…

There they were in front of Skulker and Phantom and all Maddie could do was tense up in terror and barely stop herself from letting out a whimper. This feels too familiar, he feels like…

Phantom suddenly crashes on top of their windshield, he groans and begins to lift himself off the hood of the RV when for a brief moment, his eyes meet Maddie’s. He sends a sheepish smile and begins to fly up towards Skulker, immediately striking him down with an ectoblast.

Meanwhile, Maddie feels all the blood drain from her face and she feels her eyes begin to fill up with tears. Jack is yelling about that darn ghost damaging his RV, but she can barely focus. She recognized the feeling now. The interaction between the two of them didn’t even last a minute, yet it is staying with her all the same.

The smile Phantom gave reminded her of a black-haired boy who would get caught staying up late looking at his telescope. A boy who would give her that same smile whenever he was confronted about skipping class and missing his assignments. She sees that smile every day in her own home.

It looked so odd, having that smile come from a boy with bright white hair, and eyes that glowed toxic green. The smile was sharper, with incisors that were just short of becoming fangs. But it was still recognizable.

She can no longer deny it, Phantom and Danny are connected. Danny even leaves her with the same sense of terror and fear that only a ghost as powerful as Phantom could do. It feels more potent with Phantom; looking him in the eye for that moment almost made her scream bloody murder.

Jack was never as attuned to the emotional effects that ghosts brought on due to his natural bravery and confidence (she has a theory about his family bloodline having adopted some traits that could block out these senses of fear which leads them to being better ghost hunters). However, even Jack had once mentioned that he felt unnerved by Phantom, which says a lot about the power that child ghost must hold. But to think that powerful monster is somehow connected to her son was a situation she never would have considered. Was he possessed?

When did it happen? Was it around the time that Maddie first began feeling unnerved?

How didn’t you notice? The back of her mind whispered to her. You’re his mother, aren’t you?

The weight of her realization begins to set it. The burden of fearing her son with no tangible reason for doing so. Her own neglect and obliviousness about missing this massive part of her son’s life fills her with guilt. Suddenly the weapon in her hand, ready to be used against Phantom (Danny?) makes her nauseous.

She feels her body beginning to shut down and go into autopilot. Maddie dazedly notices that she and her husband are parked in the middle of a street, in easy range to get blasted or crushed, or incinerated or possessed by these ghosts. She is in no condition to fight.

She feels a little hysterical thinking about her own safety when her son (or some possessed version of him) is out there fighting a ghost after literally crashing into an RV with military grade protection.

“Jack, we should go home”, Maddie hoarsely interrupts her husband’s tangent.

He looks like he was about to protest until he saw his wife’s bloodshot eyes, holding back tears and white as a sheet. Without further prompting, he turned the car around and as soon as the stiffening fear had melted away from Maddie’s shoulders did she finally allow the tears to fall.

#Danny Phantom #maddie fenton #phic #idk man #have fun with ghost vibes

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stylesberries · 4 years

Text

Stay With Me

Summary: You meet Harry on his trip to Italy in an art gallery. You fell in love to the art and architecture of Rome.

Genre(s): fluff

Word Count: 3.4k

Warning(s): none. (Except the unbounded sweetness.)

“Why is it so hot?” You whined to yourself, walking along the pavement, trying to make your way around the wide trunks of old stone pines.

You unscrewed the cap of a water bottle off and took a sip. The ice-cold water you bought from a food stall by the Trevi Fountain was already a little too warm for your liking. Trying not to mind it too much you emptied the bottle at one gulp.

“Did the food stall keeper tell me to turn right here or go straight ahead?”

You tried to playback on the conversation you had a little over fifteen minutes ago, but you couldn’t get yourself to focus. It was so hot.

You walked through the narrow side streets of Rome. Little souvenirs shops surrounded you from both sides as you made your way along the lane without turning, trying your luck.

When you reached a wider street that opened to your view as you left the tight space, you could breathe the fresh car exhausts again. There it is.

Barberini Palace.

Home to the National Gallery of Ancient Art - the main reason why you were so determined to find this place.

With newfound determination, you moved along the pavement to walk up to the fenced area that belonged to the Palace. You prayed that it was open today. You checked online, but you still felt a rush of worry fill you when you saw the door closed and not wide-open like it usually was in museums like this. The reason for it being that there were so many tourists at all time walking in and out of these historical places that there was no reason and no point to keep closing and opening the door.

You closed your eyes as you reached for the door handle and pushed it. It is hard to describe the sense of pleasant surprise you felt when the door obeyed the force applied by you.

As the heavy door lets you inside of the little room where the tickets were sold, you let your eyes scan over the interior. The ceilings were tall and a beautiful fresco of heavenly bodies and angels was spread across them.

After you got tickets you walked further into the spacious room and walked up the creme marble stairs that the lady at the door told you to follow.

As you made your way up the stairs, in the corners of which stood tall marble sculptured of Roman men and women, you felt eyes on you.

Eyes of all of the heavenly bodies that dwelt at the surface of the frescoes and those who stood in cold marble prisons and watched you walk by so freely.

“What a beautiful place!” You talked to yourself once again.

You came to Rome alone. A getaway trip - as you like to refer to it. You needed to spend more time with yourself and yourself only. Just you and the ancient art of Rome. At least just for now.

You made your way through the gallery, analyzing every painting a bit too long for most people.

That’s why you came alone. You could now stand by every piece of art for an indefinite amount of time. You could stand by this painting for the whole day until the guards kick you out. Nobody was here with you to keep pulling you to the next painting. You could finally find peace and relaxation.

You slowly made your way to the biggest frame you’d seen so far. There was a place to sit in front of it, so you sat down, as the painting was full of the smallest details, and you were determined to only leave when you take note of every one of them you could see.

You sat there for fifteen minutes and didn’t notice as time went by. You were so focused on the see of little creatures that hid behind tall oak trees, children that ran around the flower field chasing baby ducks and a group of women that bathed in light fabric and wallowed in the warm rays of the sun.

“It’s beautiful,” you muttered under your breath and situated your elbow on your knee, letting it hold your chin.

“It really is.”

A voice took you by surprise and made you tear yourself from the picture.

You turned your head, which was still situated on your hand, towards the sound. There stood a young man in wide-leg white pants, a T-shirt, and a think blue cardigan on top of it. A beige cap covered his hair, but you could still see some curls on the sides of his head.

He didn’t exactly look dangerous, but the voice in your head kept screaming “CREEPY GUY AHEAD OF YOU! RUN BEFORE HE MAKES A MOVE!” Growing up a woman taught you too many lessons.

“Oh! I’m so sorry. You probably want to sit down. I’ve been sitting here for so long!” You abruptly got up from your place and grabbed the bag that you threw to your side on the seat.

“SHOOT HIM A SMILE AND GET OUT!”

You smiled at him and went to turn around, but he talked back to you.

“No, no. You shouldn’t have gotten up. I could tell y’wanted to take some time. I understand. The painting is full of detail. Please don’t go. I didn’t mean to disturb you, I’ve just never seen anyone sit in front of a painting for so long.” The guy smiled at you with his cheeks starting to turn rosy.

The second you heard him seemingly judge you for staring at the picture for too long, you turned back with a frown on your face ready to clap back before he continued.

“You looked very passionate and I would love it if we could sit and discuss it maybe? I know it sounds weird coming from a stranger-” He paused.

“You bet, crazy man.” You thought to yourself and giggled softly, realizing that the possibility that this ball of nerves is a human trafficker is close to zero.

“You just seemed nice.” He finished, paying no mind to your giggling.

“He isn’t trying to come to close. Hasn’t called me anything weird yet. Looks like he reads a ton of Joan Didion. Why not?” The voice inside of your head was now protecting this stranger from you, which happened very rarely.

“We could.” You finally answer him, after making him stare at you expectingly.

It didn’t take you a while to figure out who he was. When you sat next to him to talk to him and finally looked at him properly, without trying to run away, the realization came upon you. You were a fan and you loved his music, but you could tell he didn’t want the conversation to be about him, so you talked about one of your favorite things in the world - art.

You talked about the painting in front of you and after you had already discussed every little detail you noticed, you moved to the frescoes on the ceiling. Harry seemed surprised at your knowledge of art and kept getting more and more into the conversation with every new word that left your mouth. After talking about frescoes Harry asked you about the purpose of your trip. You told him everything as it was. Still, to this day you were surprised about the honesty that you showed a man that you had never met before that.

Later, when you were both making your way down the marble stairs, Harry asked you if you’d like to have lunch with him the next day, to which you agreed to, knowing that you have nothing better to do and you were quite enjoying his company.

In the following weeks, you exchanged numbers and texted whenever you weren’t able to meet. Harry would send you pictures of art and architecture of places he visited for his new Gucci campaign. You would reply to him with pictures of an antique fountain outside the Contemporary Art Museum you went to.

Harry seemed surprisingly normal for a man who starts a conversation with strangers in art museums. He would invite you over to his hotel to go get some gelato together and talk about the highlights of your trip. It became an everyday thing for you to walk around in parks by the palaces or get lost in the labyrinths of tightly packed buildings in the city center.

You spent two weeks of your life with a complete stranger that by the end of the trip seemed closer to you than any friend you had before. Harry would listen to your rants and venting without making you feel bad for sharing certain things with him. He would talk to you about any exciting thing that happens to him throughout the day with an adorable look on his face. You didn’t know what caused the gleam in his eyes, but you were glad he was enjoying his time in Italy just as much as you did.

Harry had never enjoyed a trip to work this much before. He was full of excitement and positive energy. He would wake up every day thinking about you and places he could take you to. It was a little strange to be so vigorous, even for him. Skipping breakfast, in order to have ice-cream with you was something he had never done before for anyone.

What Harry didn’t know that the quivering and light trembling he felt every time he thought of you was none other than aborning love - the kind that gives life a meaning.

Harry knew that you didn’t live in Rome and you would have to go back home after your trip is over. However, the heart-sinking that Harry felt when you told him that your flight was in two days was indescribable. Was this really the end?

He was being a little bit dramatic, as you did exchange numbers, so you would be in touch, but it still wasn’t enough for him. The reason behind it was still a mystery to him.

When Harry invited you for dinner a day before you had to leave back home, you couldn’t hold back a genuine smile that made his heart flutter.

Here you were now - getting ready to go out to dinner with Mr. Harry Styled himself.

After applying a green graphic liner all over your eyelids, putting on a little bit of blush and a lipgloss, you stepped into your rufous-brown flares. You tugged a plain white T-shirt into them and put on a blue linen blazer. You walked out of your hotel room in brown loafers, grabbing the key and your bag on the way out.

You took a taxi to get to the restaurant where Harry was waiting for you. On the way to the restaurant, the butterflies in your stomach made themselves felt, surprising you.

“It’s just Harry. Why am I so anxious?”

When you paid the driver and walked out of the taxi, you could see a beautiful building in front of you. Its exterior reminded you of the Venice style of architecture. Dark olive tree leaves flooded the street, after being torn from the comfort of their branches by the cool wind.

You made your way to the entrance, where the doorman let you in and greeted you. The hostess came up to you and asked you about your reservation.

“Mr. Styles. I think he should already be here.” You answer her.

When she heard the name she turned to the doorman and asked him to escort you to your table. The doorman then leads you deeper into the restaurant, where the private booths are situated and pulls on a curtain of one of them to let you in.

You are greeted by a dreamy view.

Harry sat at the table in a creme colored suit and a white tank top. The candles in front of him illuminated the booth and their light reflected from him collar bones, so you could see the wings of his sparrows tattoo.

“Hi, Y/N! You look beautiful.” He softly smiled at you and you could see a light shade of pink appear on the apples of his cheeks.

“Hi, Harry. You look beautiful as well.” You smiled back at him and sat down opposite to him.

You could see his eyes scan your outfit and makeup.

“Does he think it’s too much?” Immediately, blood rushed to your cheeks as you blushed in embarrassment. “Here am I scaring people off being extra again. Great.”

Before you could let your mind sneer at you further, Harry spoke up.

“I love your makeup. I’ve never seen someone do their makeup like this. I guess it’s out of most people’s comfort zones. Looks beautiful on you. I-I mean everything does.” Harry’s voice died down by the end of the sentence, but you didn’t pay it any mind.

“Thank you so much. I try to experiment with clothes and makeup as much as possible. Makeup especially. I like using my face as a canvas. It takes time to get proper supplies to paint, but makeup is always around so I try not to lose any opportunities to have fun with it.”

While you skimmed through the menus, you discussed how you applied the wings so evenly and promised him to do his makeup one day. After choosing the main courses, Harry started telling you about the Gucci photoshoot that was now wrapping up.

“We’re almost done, so I think by the end of next week I’ll be going back home.” He started.

“That sounds wonderful, Harry. Do you think that you could send me more pictures when I leave? I’ll be far away from this beauty and I wouldn’t want it to leave my sight.”

“That’s exactly what I was thinking,” Harry muttered to himself.

“Hm?” You asked.

“No, no, nothing. I said I’ll make sure to send you as many pictures as I can.” He tried to brush it off, looking at you intently.

“Weird,” you thought but didn’t worry about it too much.

Throughout the dinner, you and Harry discussed so many different topics that you lost count by the end of it. Harry kept making jokes just to make you laugh over and over again, loving how the corners of your eyes creased when you laughed and how you had to wipe the tears his jokes caused to see clearly.

By the end of the dinner, the laughter died down and Harry’s mood became the opposite of what it was when you entered the booth.

“Hey, is something wrong? You seem upset.” You carefully started.

“No, everything is alright, love, don’t worry.” He quickly answered.

Love. That sounded so nice.

You chose not to bother him further and chose to tell him pleasant stories instead, but he wouldn’t let this weird melancholy go. Even the sweetness of dessert didn’t make it better.

“My mom used to tell me that if even a dessert doesn’t make your problems go away, you’re in deep shit.” You tried to lighten the mood.

You could now see a little smile growing on Harry’s face. The little smile slowly grew into a wide grin, which later on grew into a burst of guttural laughter. Harry kept laughing so hard that he felt the need to cover his face with his hands. Saying that you were proud of yourself was an understatement.

You just sat there with a stupid smile on your face staring at him in awe. “He’s really cute.”

When Harry’s laughter died down he looked at you with a sad smile on his face.

“I will miss y’so much.” He looked at you full of sincerity and tenderness.

You furrowed your brows at him and you let your chin fall on your palm, as your elbow found its place on the surface of the table.

“But I’m here.” You gave him a soft smile and let your eyes run over his frame. He looked completely defeated. There was nothing left of the happy, constantly-beaming-with-life Harry that you’ve spent the last two weeks with.

“You’re leaving tomorrow. You won’t be here anymore.” He let his eyes fall on the candles that slowly melted to their death. As the white wax dripped down the side of the candle, Harry could feel his time with you slip away as well.

“We can still text, right?” You tried to soothe the pain that he seems to be going through.

“That’s not the same.” He lets out a sigh full of frustration before looking up at you with sadness dwelling his eyes.

“I want to be around you. Physically. You made this trip the best one in my entire life just by blessing me with your presence.” Harry felt the now-familiar fluttering in his stomach as he let those gentrice words leave his mouth.

You couldn’t stop yourself from frowning, confused by his honesty.

“How am I supposed to go on with my life when I always feel the need to be around you? And I’ve only known you for what? Two weeks?” Harry speaks again, letting all of his frustration with the situation out.

You kept looking at him not knowing what to say. “If he’s being honest, I should be honest, too.” You thought and let your heart guide you.

“I don’t know why, but I feel the same way. You’ve made these two weeks magical and I don’t think I have ever been happier. I don’t want to leave.” You were the one to watch the candle melting now. With every drop of hot wax, you had less and less time together. It was closer and closer to the time of your departure. You felt unbounded sadness overflow you.

Harry looked at you and you could almost see gears turning in his head.

“Stay with me,” Harry asks you, staring right into your eyes, which were now staring back into his.

“What?” You ask confusingly.

“Stay with me. Don’t leave.” Harry spoke softer this time.

Harry knew it was a lot to ask of a stranger, but he also knew that you were far from being strangers after these two weeks full of tenderness and growing adoration for life. It felt like you’ve known each other in past lives. Like you were meant to meet in Rome and never part again.

You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding, and let yourself reach for his hand, which laid on the table.

“Stay with you?” You repeated his words under your breath.

“Stay with me.” Harry whispered. His face softened as he let his face come closer to yours with the table still between you.

You mirrored his actions and let your eyes fall on his pink lips. He noticed you looking and took it as a sign to come closer.

“I will stay.” You answered him. Your faces were a few inches away. When Harry heard you, his eyes went wide and he moved his face even closer to yours to a point where your lips were almost touching.

“May I?” He asked not allowing him lips to touch yours yet.

What a fucking man.

“Kiss me, you fool.” You spoke into his lips.

Harry chuckled, pushing his lips to connect them with yours.

Your kiss was interrupted by the waiter, who opened the curtains of the private booth. When he saw you kissing, he felt blood rush to his face.

“Oh, Io chiedo sinceramente scusa.“

The waiter seemed so flustered that he forgot all the little English he knew.

Harry moved away from you and turned to the waiter, who stood by the table with the receipt in his hand.

“Non ti preoccupare.” Harry spoke back to the waiter, surprising you both and reached for his wallet.

He placed his credit card in the receipt folder that the waiter passed him and thanked him, turning back to you.

“You speak Italian?” You asked him for completely bewildered by your new finding.

“That’s the Italian I know.” He smiled at you and reached for your cheek.

“That was so awkward, Harry.” You mumbled against his hand, closing your eyes in embarrassment.

“Oh, c’mon. Could it really be more awkward than trying to kiss properly with a table full of burning candles in our way?” He joked before pulling you closer and letting your laughter intertwine with his breath before continuing.

“Let’s pick it up where we left off now.”

——————————————————————————

Io chiedo sinceramente scusa. - I sincerely apologize.

Non ti preoccupare. - Don’t worry about it.

#harry styles #harry styles fluff #harry styles imagine #harry styles imagines #harry styles one shot #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x reader #harry styles masterlist #harry styles blurbs #harry styles italy

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aerynwrites · 4 years

Note

If you're still doing marcus requests... do you think you could write something where he just broke up with Teresa and is preparing to go to DC, and the reader is his best friend, but she tries to muster up the courage to confess that she loves him before he goes? Thank you 💕

AHhh this is so cute! Thanks for requesting this! <3

Stay

Marcus Pike x Reader

Word Count: 1.3k

Warnings: tiny bit of angst followed by fluff!

Love is a funny thing.

It’s a funny thing simply because it can be so many things at once. It can be a warm slow growing feeling that begins as butterflies in your tummy before eventually moving it’s way into your heart. It can be an all at once feeling that seems to blow you off your feet. It can be a comforting feeling that reminds you of home and all the wonderful things that come with it. But it can also be sad. It can make your heart ache and your fingertips tingle. It can make your stomach roll in anxiousness, and make your mind run wild with all the different outcomes. But most of all, love is a powerful thing, able to make even the strongest man crumble beneath the weight of it all.

Which is what happened to your best friend.

You watched as Marcus experienced everything that love is, before the woman of his affections snatched it away when she realized her true feelings lied in another. While you were there as he cried on your shoulder and held you tightly in his arms as his grief ran out of him like a river, you couldn’t help the small sense of relief that washed over you. You too have experienced what Love is, except it was for the man who had cried in your arms, for the man you knew you could never have because he only saw you as his friend.

You too knew that Love can be sad.

You witnessed the awful ache that spread it;s tendrils through your chest when he told you he was leaving. You felt the way your stomach seemed to turn in on itself as you stood outside his door, ready to lay everything before him, no matter the outcome. Because you also knew all the good that Love can be, and that outweighed the bad, tenfold. And if there was even the slightest chance that Marcus could return the love you held for him, then you had to take that leap of faith.

You stood outside of Marcus’s apartment, wringing your hands together nervously as you built up the courage to knock on his door. It had been several weeks since Teresa had broken things off with Marcus, broken his heart. And now, he is leaving for DC, having told you the news over one of your weekly movie nights with empty Chinese takeout containers lying on the coffee table. You had held back your tears, shielded your crumbling heart as you hugged him and wished him the best. Because that;s what friends are supposed to do right? Encourage each other to pursue what’s best for them and what they want to do. Yet, as you hugged him and he hugged you back, you were unaware of the other heart breaking right across from yours.

Marcus didn’t want to leave you. In fact he had hoped you would reduce his plan, ask him to stay so he had a reason too. Because, unbeknownst to you, Marcus had only pursued Theresa because he never thought he could have you. He hadn’t realized this until later, after he had been talking to you one night after the break up. But it seems even you didn’t want him around enough to ask him to stay. So he made the arrangements to go to DC, hoping time away from everything would help him forget.

Marcus was actually packing the last of his bags when you took a deep breath and knocked firmly on his door. You shifted from one foot to the other anxiously as you waited for him to answer, and you felt your heart rate speed up as you heard his footsteps nearing the door. When the lock clicked and the door was pulled open to reveal the face of the man you loved, you felt a small if somewhat nervous smile come to your face.

“Hey Marcus,” you greet quietly.

He beams at you, holding the door open wider to guide you into the apartment, “Hey, I didn’t expect you to come by,” he says, closing the door behind you and shoving his hands into his pockets as he looks around the mostly empty apartment, “I’m not really in the best spot to entertain right now,” he jokes.

You shake your head and send him a small smile, “You know I don’t care Marcus,” you say, “I just came by too…” you trail off, unsure of how to segway into what you want to tell him, “I wanted to see you again before you left,” you say finally, eyes falling to the floor.

His eyes soften at your words, as if he himself had forgotten that he's moving across the country. He shifts on his feet for a moment before finally speaking again, “Why do I feel like that’s not the only reason you came all the way across town?”

You feel tears well up in your eyes at his words. Ever the FBI agent, trained to notice all the little things. Before you can stop yourself you launch yourself into Marcus, wrapping your arms around his middle and burrowing your face in his chest. Your tears soaking through the white t-shirt he’s wearing.

“Please don’t go, Marcus,” you beg quietly, voice wet with tears, “I don’t know what I’m going to do if you go.”

After his momentary shock at your sudden actions, Marcus wraps his arms around you tightly, resting his head atop your own, your name falling from his lip, “I’ve already made the transfer...and all of my things have been moved down there. I can’t just-”

“I love you.”

Your voice is barely a whisper as the words slip past your lips, but Marcus hears them, and you feel his entire body tense, but you don’t move from your position in his arms. Instead you pull him tighter to you, afraid if you let go he’ll run away.

“That’s what I came here to tell you,” you admit, “I’ve felt like this for a while now but never said anything because I didn’t want to ruin what we had, and then you and Theresa -”

You hadn’t even been able to finish your sentence before Marcus was pulling you away from him, cradling your face in his hands and crashing his lips to yours. It didn’t take you long to respond, your body melting into his, as your hands rested on his wrists. Your tears seem to flow harder now, mixing together where your lips meet as you are bombarded with an onslaught of mixed emotions. Your lips move against his naturally, as if you both had done this a million times despite this being your first kiss. Marcus pulls away slowly after a few moments, both of you desperate for air. His hands stay where they are, his thumbs wiping at the tears on your cheeks, as your own hands fall to his chest.

“Marcus? W-what, why did you-”

“I love you too,” he rasps, resting his forehead against your own, “I didn’t realize it then, but I love you so much, and I only used my relationship with Theresa as a way to try and smother my feelings for you.”

You pull back from him slightly, his hands falling from your face to rest on your hips instead, “Why didn’t you say anything?” you whisper, confusion tugging at your brows.

He chuckles and shakes his head, “Same reason you didn’t,” he says, “Because I’d rather have you as a best friend than not have you at all.”

You smile at his words, tugging your bottom lip between your teeth for a moment before looking up at him, “Well I hope after that kiss we can be more than best friends now.”

Marcus lets out a laugh and nods, “I think I can agree to that,” he says quietly, his demeanor turning sheepish before he speaks again.

“Stay the night?” he asks, pressing a short kiss to your lips, “Please?”

You smile and return the kiss quickly before nuzzling your head into his chest again, “Of course, Marcus. And I hope you’ll call and cancel that transfer tomorrow.”

Marcus smiles, pressing a kiss to the top of your head before resting his cheek against it once again, content to finally be holding you in his arms.

“Anything for you, sweetheart.”

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#pedro pascal x reader #marcus pike x reader #pedro pascal #marcus pike #the mentalist

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dazenightmare · 3 years

Text

I’m Half Human, And Half Machine

Please read the post in the wheel spin tag called Cabinet Man to fully understand this :)

Wow I think this is the most trigger warnings I’ve ever put on anything

T.W.: Electricity, someone being electrocuted, mentions of someone getting electrocuted, death, mentions of dead bodies, dead bodies, implied dead bodies, crying, implied drinking, bullying, bruises, injuries, mentions of breaking in, breaking in, flashbacks, memory loss, mentioned memory loss, implied memory loss, crises, identity crises, shouting, arguing, arguments, blaming, let me know if I need to add more!

~~~~~~~~~

The boy blinked his eyes open, as he felt electricity surge through his veins for the first(?) time in his life. He looked down at his pixelated hands, then up and craned his neck a bit.

What did the text above him say? Un.. unbeetble? Wait wait hold on, he can get this. The boy swears it’s just the angle.

Unbeatable Madness. Why did that sound familiar?

The boy then stared straight ahead. Outside the screen, his mind provided as he looked out on a clearer environment than the pixelated one behind him.

A man stepped into his view. He was much bigger than the boy, he couldn’t help but notice. The man had red rimmed eyes above dark bags, mussed up hair, and overall seemed miserable and out of it. The boy tilted his head as the man teared up, staring at each other.

It’s okay, the boy tried to reassure. I’m here, please don’t cry.

The boy’s words never made it out though. He wasn’t programmed to talk in the title screen. The boy did his best to frown and held a hand up to the screen, a force meeting him far before the glass.

The man gave a broken chuckle before walking away, leaving the boy alone.

——

Another night the boy sat, curled tightly in a ball. It was night outside, and the lights of the machines kept glowing and going despite the arcade having closed a while ago. That meant the owner -the man- was still here. Probably pouring over his papers, numbers and bills, perhaps.

The boy wasn’t quite certain where he got that assumption from, but he fuzzily remembered the man doing it, waving him off with a tired but fond smile.

That was what his coding had assumed before the man came stumbling over to his machine, more red in the face than he usually was, hiccuping and close to tears.

Perhaps the boy was finally getting the plug. He’d been there for quite some time without a single player. His game was a waste of the electricity bill, and he hadn’t got a single quarter to make up for it. Maybe the man would replace his game with a more popular game, like the yellow circle thing or the shooty alien game. Something that would actually get the man money.

But no, the man only leaned on his machine, balling his eyes out which got worse every time the man so much as glanced at the boy.

Play the game, the boy prayed. I can’t comfort you unless you play the game. Just play until you feel better.

The boy didn’t like seeing the man upset.

As if god himself answered him, the man calmed down enough to slip a quarter in, standing ready to play the game.

“Insert name please!” The boy chimed out, smiling and pointing at the keyboard that appeared. The man chuckled quietly, typing out the name slowly.

When the man finally hit enter, the boy just smiled wider as he processed the name in his database.

“Welcome, player Pops!” The voice chimed, getting his own battle stance ready. “To Unbeatable Madness, the game that never ends!”

Pops wiped more tears out of his eyes as he widened his own stance, smiling.

“Remember to drink water after you cry!” The boy said, a reminder he made up. The game officially declared the start of Round One.

——

The boy stared out at the world, watching all the kids play the games. If he could sigh, he would. He missed Pops. It was lonely in this corner of the arcade.

He watched two small children pull each other around, looking at all the bright shiny lights and older kids playing the same games they’ve been playing since the boy’s game turned on. They both seemed amazed, and the boy let out a slight chuckle sound. Must be their first time in an arcade.

The two kept walking and looking, and the boy wondered what they were looking for. An empty game? They had passed plenty, though. Perhaps they were looking for their soulgame, like all the older kids had.

Eventually, they ended up in his corner of the arcade, staring at all the older and less liked games. When their eyes settled on his game, he swore they had frozen.

The two boys, surely younger than he was designed to look, pulled over one of the many stools to get a better look. The boy felt like jumping when the one with dark hair got ready to play after the other inserted a quarter. If he hadn’t been a PG game, he would’ve cussed from the shock.

Either way, he smiled as brightly as he could as a pixelated figure, and pointed at the keyboard.

“Insert name please!”

The two young ones whispered back and forth to each other before a name was typed in. The boy smiled all whites.

“Welcome, player Boo , to Unbeatable Madness, the game that never ends!”

His stance widened, and he wanted to laugh at the way Boo copied it with a determined look.

“Hold on to your hats, it’s about to get bumpy!”

——

Cabinet boy, or Tubbo, as his players called him, was watching the dark arcade bored. He thinks it was winter, around Christmas time. His only guess was Pops’s weak attempt at decoration. The arcade had also been closed today, and the day before, and likely tomorrow at this rate.

He missed his players. Holidays sucked, Tubbo decided. He was bored, and his players likely were as well. All the two did was go to school and play his game.

Even so, he was not expecting them to just appear out of thin air! Okay, well not out of thin air, but close enough!

Tubbo heard glass breaking in the office and frowned. He hoped nobody was robbing the place. They’d find nothing but grimy quarters that Pops had earned by dealing with these children all day.

There was shouting and thumping, and Tubbo pressed as close to the screen as he could to try and see what was happening. It soon became clear though as six people came into the room, two putting up a heck of a fight only to get dragged along.

Tubbo swore he short circuited realizing those two were his players and these kids were mocking them.

He went against all coding he ever had as he tried to yell profanities at them, punching the barrier between him and the screen.

Don’t you hurt them. Don’t you do shit.

“Aw, look,” one of the kids not holding his players said, pointing at his game. “Never seen the game do that before.”

Tubbo tried to growl and kicked the barrier. His game purred as if overheating. He punched and punched.

Give me quarter and I’ll show you “never seen”!

His players looked a mishmash of upset, in awe, and shock. Tubbo started shouting, but no sound left.

The players, his players, started screaming, close to crying as the kids started damaging his vault, thrashing. All three of them could do nothing.

Eventually, one of the kid’s pulled out a bat.

“NO! Put that down or I swear to Mr. Schlatt—“ Innit shouted. They fought more, and then Tubbo fought more as his players received a black eye and bruised cheek.

The next thing he knew, a bat was crashing through his screen.

Tubbo woke up with a gasp, curled up in a tight, dark space. He could feel wires, and something unnervingly stiff and cold, which he did his best to not touch. The box smelled, and he pressed against the metal wall.

There was muffled shouting outside. He started punching the wall, gasping when it hurt. Nothing in his existence had hurt physically before.

After a moment, the shouting picked up volume, and Tubbo pressed his ear against the wall. Until of course, his world had severely shaken quite literally as the box tipped over.

He groaned quietly, rubbing his head. He wondered if he would have to get used to pain. A panicked shout, sounding very much louder brought him out of his thoughts.

Looking over, Tubbo saw a piece of the wall seemingly gone. He quickly but carefully crawled out of the awful smelling box, and took a deep breath in as he stood on shaky legs. Gasps echoed behind him, but he paid no mind.

In front of him was another wall, but different yet familiar. Presumably, one of the walls in the arcade. But... how?

Tubbo slowly turned to his hands, and inspected hands like the kids in the arcade, albeit more dainty with scars. He flipped them over, watching small spots become pixelated before going back.

Another noise from behind him finally attracted his attention as he looked over his shoulder before slowly turning around.

The arcade. The one he’s been seeing for years now.

Oh, also six kids. That seemed pretty important.

Tubbo’s eyes were immediately on the ones he recognized, his players were staring at him with wide eyes, tears still gently flowing. They had a couple bruises, and they were slumped in the kid’s hold, as if they had given up. They looked disbelieving, but it seemed the recognition was mutual.

His eyes drifted to the other four kids, glancing over at his game, decently broken. Tubbo frowned, feeling electricity trail down his arms. He just stuck his tongue out, like he had seen Innit do so many times to Boo.

“Nobody likes a cheater.”

——

“WE INVITED A GHOST TO YOUR HOUSE!”

“YOU THINK I WASN’T AWARE TOMMATHY?!”

“OH GOD WHAT HAVE WE DONE?!”

“ALL WE DID WAS EXIST AND GAME!”

“WELL I GUESS THAT’S A SIN RANBOOB!”

Tubbo watched his players go back and forth, curled into a ball. They were watching the news, which was apparently like an arcade game but a lot more boring, as it was explained to him.

Anyways, they covered the break in on the arcade, thank god. Also, apparently he was a ghost of a kid inside his game. He honestly would’ve never guessed.

Getting slightly dizzy from watching them go back and forth, he settled his gaze back on the tv. Tubbo sat up straighter at the crying man on it.

He pushed his hand against the screen of the tv, frowning.

Why was Pops crying again? He had been so happy recently. He doesn’t deserve to feel so bad.

“Don’t cry Papa, it’ll be alright!”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah! Soon I’ll get a job, and we can pay the bills together! You’ll have all the money for juice that your heart desires!”

“Heh, thanks Tubs.”

“It’s okay,” he whispered, now that he could. “I’m here, please don’t cry.”

Tubbo got more upset, and put both hands on the screen. He bit his lip.

“It’s okay, it’s okay...”

“Tubbo?”

He looked back at the quiet kids, feeling tears well up in his eyes.

“Why’s Pops crying?”

There was confusion before one of them saw the tv and lit up in understanding. Boo moved closer and grabbed one of his hands, holding it.

“Well uh, Pops is sad that there was a child- or um, your body in the game.”

“Why?” Tubbo tilted his head, wiping his tears before they fell.

“He- he cared about you a lot before you died,” Innit said, taking his other hand with reluctance. Tubbo sat rigidly as he thought.

“... I cared about him too,” Tubbo murmured, curling up again.

——

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Tubbo whispered, glancing around as he stood on the back of the bike. It was pitch dark out, the only lights being porch ones and the ones that occasionally littered the sidewalk.

Innit started pedaling, scoffing.

“Of course, just throw on your hood, ‘kay? Last thing we need is night owls seeing a person that glitches out sometimes.”

Tubbo did as told, watching the passing houses before he spoke again.

“Won’t Boo be mad we did this?”

“Oh, no he’ll be downright furious,” Innit shuddered. “However, we’re running low on snacks, and Mr. Schlatt needs to know you’re... are you alive?”

“I like to think so,” Tubbo responded, setting his head down on top of Innit’s. “I can breathe, and feel emotions and pain. I’m just a different person now, I guess. Or maybe I’m the same as I was before, and I just can’t remember.”

“Dang. Well, Mr. Schlatt needs to meet you. Maybe he can tell you whether you’re the same or not.”

“... maybe,” Tubbo sighed, staring at the scenery. It had been a ‘fun’ time discovering he was alive before his game turned on. All this time he thought he wasn’t a person or had a personality, just some code someone had made to entertain. And now suddenly, he was human? Or human-ish?

Needless to say, it’s been a not so good time discovering who he was or if he even had a place in the world still. Tubbo didn’t know if he preferred just being a character in a game, or a person who shouldn’t exist.

“Hey, I know you’re having a crises up there. I’ve been Ranboo’s friend for years, I can spot them a mile away,” Innit joked, and Tubbo snorted. They sat in silence for a bit before Innit spoke up.

“So, what you havin’ a crises about?”

“... who I am, mostly. Who I was. Who I might become... I could’ve been sixteen by now, Innit. I could’ve been living a normal life instead of whatever this has become. I don’t even know what a normal life is supposed to look like, or if I’ll ever become older.”

“Hm, that my friend, sounds like baggage.”

“Heh, yeah.”

“... it’s nice getting to know you.”

Tubbo raised an eyebrow, glancing at the blonde hair below him.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, like, you know almost everything about me and Ranboo from one way conversations,” Innit started explaining as their surroundings slowly turned from houses to local businesses. “Years of consciousness, taking in information, watching us grow. Meanwhile you’ve only been able to say one liners that never mattered. It’s nice, hearing you say your thoughts, and seeing who you become.”

“I also like saying my thoughts. The privilege of speech is not one to be taken for granted,” Tubbo mused with a smile. There was a huff of amusement from below him as they finally reached their destination.

They got off the bike slowly, perching it against the wall. Innit peered into the glass, and they watched the games glow proudly.

“Well, seems as if he’s still in there,” Innit said before turning to him with a smile. “You ready to do this?”

Before Tubbo could even open his mouth, another bike suddenly almost crashed into them, startling them. Boo sat on the bike, panting as if he ran a marathon, which he must of done in order to catch up with them.

“Ranboo?! What are you doing here?” Tommy whisper shouted to not alert anyone. Ranboo glared as he tried to regain his breathing.

“What am I doing?! What are you doing?! We’re supposed to be asleep and not freaking any adults out!” He whisper shouted back, waving his arms drastically.

“How’d you even know we were gone?! You were dead asleep!”

“Gee Tommy, it’s not like I’ve been sleeping with one person on top of me for weeks now! Not that I mind it,” Ranboo reassured, glancing at Tubbo. “But it’s kinda easy to tell when nobody’s sleeping on me!”

“We gotta tell Mr. Schlatt, Ranboo! His son is still alive!”

“And what if he freaks out, huh?! What’ll we do if Schlatt calls the authorities?!”

Tubbo frowned as they kept going at it, glancing back inside the arcade. His gaze immediately glued on the figure that moved behind rows of games, disappearing. He hummed quietly, glancing between his players and the glass uncertainly before stepping to the door, closing his eyes as he glitched through into the arcade.

With only one more glance at the two on the other side of the glass, he started walking forward slowly, taking off his hood as he looked around. It was nice to see the arcade from a different angle.

He turned a row, immediately seeing Schlatt leaning into a machine and—

His foot was stuck, and trying to get it out only resulted in his right arm and left wrist getting tangled, a wire lightly pressing against his throat.

Tubbo decided to just wait for Papa. Papa could get him out.

Sudden pain. Oh god it hurt somebody HELP HELP ME IT HURTS! PAPA!

—Tubbo flinched backwards with yelp, hiding from the sight behind another game. He pressed his hand to his mouth, breathing shaky as he slid to the floor. The electricity that had always flowed through his veins was no longer comforting, and instead served a harsh reminder of the pain.

What had he done to deserve that?

“Hello?” A voice called out. “Anybody here?”

Tubbo held back tears. It was now or never, he told himself as he moved his hand.

“... hi.”

“Kid, the arcade closed a while ago,” Pops said, sounding like he was coming closer. “You need a ride home?”

“No... no, they’re outside.”

“That’s good. Come on, I’ll unlock the door so you can leave.”

Tubbo stood up just as Pops rounded the corner, and he froze as they stared at each other. Tubbo smiled shakily.

“Hi Pops,” he whispered, waving. Pops started crying, and Tubbo did nothing but leap forward to hug the man. The tears he held back left his eyes, soaked by a shirt as arms wrapped around him and hugged just as tight.

“Please tell me this is real,” Pops whispered into his hair as they sunk to the ground, still embracing.

“I hope so,” Tubbo sobbed. His fuzzy memories cleared in some spots, making him cry more. He only had bits and pieces of a previous life, and it only made him more sad. “P... papa?”

“Y-yeah buddy?”

“I- I don’t, I don’t remember too m-much,” he cried more. Tubbo earned it, surely.

“Sh sh, buddy it’s okay. I’ll help you remember, I promise. We’ll be okay.”

They calmed down not too long after, both running out of tears. They probably would’ve sat there until dawn if it weren’t for the shouting outside.

“Is that-?”

Tubbo nodded, separating himself from Pops as they stood back up. He held a hand much bigger than his own as he dragged Pops to the front door, where his players were still arguing. Pops unlocked the door and they pushed it open to hear the conversation.

“—HOW COULD YOU LOSE HIM?!”

“WH- ME?! I’M NOT THE ONE WHO BROUGHT HIM HERE!”

“YOU STILL LOST HIM THOUGH!”

Tubbo sighed, pulling his hood back on. Sometimes he was embarrassed these were his players.

“This is your ride?” Pops whispered to him, obviously trying not to laugh. Tubbo only nodded and pulled his hood over his face as his face burned.

“Why are you like this?” Tubbo said loudly, moving his hood to see them as he glared.

#mcyt #tubbo #tubbo_#dream smp #cabinet man au #fic

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chaoticallysapphic · 4 years

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the great trial part four

summary: This was meant to be the easy part. The part filled with brightness and love. The war was over and you had the love of your life all to yourself. No more Baatar, no more secrecy and no more lies. But with the calm comes the realization as all the adrenaline finally leaves you. Now you know, this is the hard part.

a/n: lol I just realized part four of tgd is where it got smutty. What a pattern like I didn’t even try. Thank you @medeliadracon and @ladyxffandoms !

word count: 5k

You pick up reading again and sometimes Kuvira joins you, the both of you sit with your back resting against an armrest as your legs are tangled together.

Lily is asleep on the armchair and jazz music softly plays from the radio as the newly repaired domes shut for the evening. Kuvira is humming as you turn the page of your novel and dog ear the corner before snapping it shut, she looks up from her book with a quirked brow.

“I’m bored,” you groan out, tilting your head back in annoyance as you let the book slide onto your lap. “How are we gonna spend the rest of winter like this.”

“We’ll manage,” she replies, wedging a bookmark between the pages and softly shutting the book. “We should probably make dinner.”

Resting your head against the back of the couch you eye the kitchen with a sigh. “We could make bean curd puffs, those are fun.”

And so the both of you end up in the kitchen with Kuvira making the mixture as you roll the dough into a thick stick, the countertops and even the floors are covered in flour as you begin to cut the roll into twelve pieces. You don’t notice the way Kuvira watches you, a small smile that's reserved only for you as she watches you begin to spread the pieces out with the palm of your hand.

By now you're the one humming the song. Kuvira’s noticed how much you like this new song that plays on the radio, how you hum or softly sing the lyrics when it comes on. You catch her staring and raise a brow, a slight flush dusting your cheeks. “What?”

“Nothing,” she shakes her head. “You just look so beautiful.” You stop your movements, your mouth open in surprise. Neither of you has gone as far as complimenting the other, for the most part, an outsider might just think you’re roommates with how the two of you have been acting these last few months.

Abandoning the dough you try to fill your head with confident words as you turn to your soulmate and take the step to be closer to her. Kuvira’s grip on the spoon loosens as she watches you step closer and slowly bring your flour-covered hands to rest on her cheeks. “You look... Really pretty.”

And she does, she’s started to wear her hair down for you and she’s dressed in a white tank top and light green sweatpants which might not be appealing to some but it shows off her muscles and curves in a way that she knows you like.

Taking the chance you lean forward and gently press your lips against hers. You haven’t kissed since the hospital which was midsummer, the months have gone by so slowly and with it, your anger has dissipated into a dull flame within you.

Hesitantly she kisses you back, one of her hands goes to rest on your hip but she doesn’t hold it in fear of you pulling away. She’s had dreams of you finally kissing her again, none involve standing in the middle of the kitchen with flour covering one of you but she doesn’t care.

She just wants you. Slowly you pull your lips away from hers but don’t move an inch away from her body.

“I’ve missed this,” she admits, “I’m sorry.” She doesn’t say what she’s sorry about but you know, there’s honestly too much for her to apologize for her to fit it into one simple sentence.

And you know you’ll need quite a few more I’m sorry‘s before you reach that next step but right now you won’t ask for more. Right now you wrap your arms around her neck and begin to sway to the song on the radio. It’s one of your favorites.

Kuvira slowly wraps her arms around your waist and tucks her face into the crook of your neck, breathing you in like she hasn’t seen you in years. To be fair it’s felt like that to her.

A part of her wants to shower you in I love you’s but she doesn’t think it’s time for that just yet. Dr. Hanika said it’s best to let you make the first move this time around, to give you the control and decision making she originally took from you all those years ago. So instead she pulls you just a fraction closer to help keep her mouth shut.

You take the soft barrier of pillows down, neither of you moves to touch the other but it’s comforting to know that you won’t push her off the bed if her arm brushes against your own.

Your parents come over for the winter solstice with presents aplenty and grins on their faces. They pull you into their arms and press loving kisses on your cheek, your dad does the same to Kuvira whilst your mom simply sends a forced smile her way before going to love on Lily. She understands your mother's hatred towards her, she just hopes one day they can talk it out for you.

The two of you had spent the day making cookies and homemade hot chocolate to prepare for your parents, the house smells of cinnamon and sugar as plates upon plates of cookies are set at the counter waiting to be eaten. Your father replaces the wilting bouquet with one filled with red, white, and gold and your mother sets the presents down in front of the window.

You both felt bad for not being able to get them presents, but your father had assured both of you that they understood. Besides, they just wanted to make up for the lost time. So you all sit around the table eating the feast the two of you had prepared and drinking wine, your dad is regaling Kuvira with a story of your tenth winter solstice where you had accidentally drunk your mother's wine.

Your mom places her head in her hands and groans “I felt like the worst mother in the world.”

“Hey, you're not,” you say with a grin. “You held my hair back a few hours later and the worst mother in the world wouldn’t do that.” The table erupts into boisterous laughter as she playfully glares at you. Kuvira takes a sip of her wine as she chuckles, her cheeks hurt from smiling.

She turns a blind eye when she notices your dad slipping Lily a chunk of meat, knowing you're trying to train her to not beg. He pats the hound’s head as the conversation continues, this time your mom is telling everyone about some of her weirdest experiences with drunk people in Zaofu.

The night continues much the same until finally, you all decide to retire to the living room. Kuvira decides to sit on the armchair so the three of you can snuggle up on the couch. You surprise her by walking over and sitting on her lap, laying your back against her chest. She rests her chin on your shoulder and wraps her arms around your waist, a smile of contentment gracing her lips.

Your mother ignores the display and hands you the first present on the pile, explaining that it’s for Lily. You quirk a brow at that before ripping the paper off and opening the box up.

Inside is a knitted dark green sweater with the words “I’m the favorite” stitched across the chest in white. You snort, bringing a hand up to cover your mouth and even Kuvira laughs at the sight. The I in favorite has been replaced by a middle finger, this is 100% your mothers doing, it has her humor plus your dad can’t knit.

“Thank you,” you say as you begin to calm down. “I think she’ll love this.” Your dad takes it from you to put it on Lily who wags her tail back and forth in excitement at the attention. It fits her perfectly and the words can be seen from your seat on Kuvira’s lap.

Next, is a cranberry sweater made for you that is super comfortable, a few pairs of thick socks for the both of you to share. New books and a new pair of gardening gloves. At some point during the unwrapping, you hear the shudder of a camera a few times, your father holding it up to capture memories for the two of you.

There’s only two presents left in the pile and this time your dad hands this one specifically to Kuvira, who pinches her brows together in confusion. You shift a bit on her lap to give her more room to open it up, watching with bated breath to see what it could possibly be.

Inside is a new sketchbook that’s leather-bound with a sleek metal clasp that locks. It’s wider and thicker than her current one which is running out of space and beneath the book is more charcoal pencils to add to her depleting collection.

She thickly swallows as her hand runs over the beautifully engraved leather that has her initials in swirly letters at the bottom. It’s simple and it’s hers.

With the Beifong’s it was usually things for sparring or extravagant gifts that anyone but Kuvira would prefer like fancy tunics and those massive metal necklaces they all wore. She’d sit in the back of the group staring at the gifts that felt like they didn’t really belong to her with a heavy heart.

But this is 100% hers. You brush a pesky strand of hair out of her face for her before turning to give your dad a thankful smile.

You knew he’d get her something but you worried about what it might be. Seeing her reaction is enough to know that your father's streak of perfect gift giving has not been broken. Carefully, as if worried she may break it, Kuvira places it back inside its box for now and looks up, offering your father the faintest of grateful smiles. He understands though and beams at her appreciation.

The last gift is also for Kuvira, it’s a heavy box that she slowly rips open, taking her time unlike you with your gifts. When she lifts the lid she’s met with soft emerald green fabric, slowly pulling it out you help her by taking the empty box, setting it on the floor. It’s a knitted sweater like yours. It looks like it’s a size too big for her but you once told her that’s how your mom knits, the bigger the better.

She doesn’t know what to say or do, you mentioned offhandedly how your mom makes everyone in the family sweaters for Winter Solstice, but she didn’t expect to get one as well. Not only is she not a family member, but she’s not even a friend. That nagging voice in her brain tells her that she probably didn’t make this. Maybe your mom bought it from a store or maybe you guilted her into making one.

But it’s soft and it’s beautiful and it’s hers. Nothing extravagant (although at times Kuvira does miss the finer things in life) or flashy. The emerald goes great with your cranberry, and she wonders if your mother thought of that or if it's just a coincidence.

Kuvira grips the fabric and looks up to see your mom watching with a pensive look. She takes a sip of her wine as Kuvira softly says “Thank you, for the gifts.” It’s directed at the both of them but her eyes stay on your mother who simply nods.

Shortly after, your parents call it a night and leave and you carefully extract yourself from her hold to hug them both. When you pull your mother into a hug you whisper softly “thank you, mom. It means a lot.” She nods, she doesn’t hug Kuvira, not ready for that, and offers her a nod of the head before leaving with your father.

As you're cleaning up the mess of wrapping paper and half-empty wine glasses, Kuvira shyly slips the sweater on to see if it fits and is surprised by how comfortable it is. The sleeves go past her wrist and graze at her knuckles and the sweater stops at the tops of her thighs. She looks down at the sweater, so many emotions that she can’t keep track of race through her mind and it’s so loud that she accidentally tunes you out.

Your back is facing her as you begin to wash the dishes, you're talking to her about what you’ll do with all these leftover cookies. When she doesn’t reply to your joke about having a cookie eating contest you look over your shoulder and stop scrubbing the dish in your hands.

The color makes her hair look slightly darker and brings out her eyes. She’s running her fingers over the fabric with a blank face and you wish to know what’s going on in that head of hers. She looks softer, less harsh with it on.

For so long you’ve seen her dressed ready to fight with a hardened look on her features, but right now she looks warm and cozy. She looks like safety and comfort personified, like if she wraps her arms around you a cocoon of soft blankets and loving whispers will encase the two of you.

You stop with the dishes and wipe your hands dry before walking up to Kuvira, when your hands go to gently touch hers it brings her out of her thoughts. Her eyes are clouded with emotion as you pull her into your arms. She wraps her arms around your waist and tightly grips at your shirt as she begins to cry.

To her, this is the first step in repairing a relationship she deeply misses, Kuvira and your mother were once close when she was in the guard. She sometimes brought her lunches which she now knows must have been made by your dad and always had her back. She cheered the loudest at her ceremony and even offered to have her come over for dinner to which Kuvira declined, not wanting to impose.

When she left those years ago she didn’t realize what she was severing, what she was destroying, and she knows she can’t change it, but she wishes she had stayed in Zaofu. They could have had three winter solstices together by now if she had just stayed put.

You wouldn’t be in the process of forgiving her because she would have left Baatar for you and you’d probably already be married or on your way to it. She knows that such a thing has been put on the back burner and won’t happen for a long time now, but she hates herself for destroying all those possibilities.

But you don’t seem to mind the past as you pull her closer and soothingly rub her back. Your embrace reminds her of the present and what will hopefully be the future. At this moment she’s realized how far the two of you have come within the past few months. It reminds her that Dr. Hanika said not to let the past consume you and that when Kuvira smiles you look so happy to witness such a thing. That despite all her wrongdoings you're still here which is more than she ever expected.

That night Kuvira falls asleep in that sweater with your arms wrapped around her. She dreams of a future where she’s gained your mother’s respect and your forgiveness.

Spring comes like a force to be reckoned with. Your garden is teeming with the buds of the seeds you planted last fall as you happily spend your days back outside. The sessions with Dr. Hanika have proceeded and all gone smoothly, today was meant to be your first couples session since last summer. Both of you are nervous about what might happen during it so you throw yourselves into separate activities to pass the time.

Lily is lying by your side, leisurely eating grass as you pull at the weeds that have attacked your precious garden. While you're doing that Kuvira is inside drawing with a cup of tea by her side, she’s gotten better but is by no means a professional, she hasn’t even shown you any of her work due to the insecurities she has regarding her skill. You understand thankfully, never once have you asked to look inside or pressured her.

When the doorbell rings, the both of you freeze, your nerves amplifying at the realization that there is no going back. Kuvira snaps her sketchbook shut, locking it with her bending before going to open the door. She’s been dreading this day the most. In her dreams last night she envisioned a session far worse than the last. In it, you verbally decimated her before saying it was over, that you could never love someone so monstrous.

To bring her comfort she’s wearing your mother's green sweater with a pair of your leggings. When she asked this morning if she could borrow them you didn’t seem to mind which eased her nerves a bit. You wouldn’t be willing to share clothes with her if you were planning to end it today. At least that’s what she told herself.

While Dr. Hanika is getting situated in the armchair you finally come inside and place your gloves on your herb shelves. Your pants have dirt-stains on them and you know it’d probably be best to change but you want to get this over with so you take a seat on the couch, next to Kuvira.

“Well, I can already tell you guys have been doing better,” she smiles. You tuck your hands under your legs as she begins to talk. She asks you both questions about your day like what does that consist of? How do you guys communicate now? Are you happy? You both take turns answering those questions and when you get to the last you answer honestly and say “Yes, I am.”

Kuvira doesn’t show it but inside she’s doing cartwheels at your words. She looks over at you and replies after you “I’m happy.”

“And what does your sex life look like right now?” That question stuns both of you. Kuvira just stares at the coffee table with wide eyes, not knowing how to reply as you flush a deep red.

“Uhm we haven’t…” You shake your head. “Not since before.” Before the end of my empire, Kuvira thinks. Not since that night almost a year ago where she thought you had finally left her, the night before it all went to shit. Not since your dream that finally made you snap, not that she blames you.

Not since “I can’t look at you right now!” and the crack in her heart that followed those words.

“Y/n, what is holding you back from taking that next step?” Dr. Hanika readies her pen as she patiently waits for your reply. Honestly, you’ve wanted to for the last couple of weeks but then you go to sleep and dream of her with him. Your mind keeps reminding you of her betrayal despite desperately wanting to move forward.

Nervously you wring your hands and let out a deep sigh. “Uhm, I just keep picturing him.” You try to keep your voice neutral, try to not spit out that last word even though every part of you wants to. Kuvira stiffens beside you and coughs. “I want to but every time I close my eyes it’s images of them together.”

“How does that make you feel, Kuvira?”

“Honestly? Awful…” Kuvira quickly adds “but not angry or anything. I just feel awful because I’ve done this to her and us.” She has to add that she’s not angry. In the past, she was almost always angry, and she needs you to know she’s not mad at you. This is her fault, and she’s aware of that now.

“From my understanding, your sex life was a bit complicated in the past. Kuvira you’ve told me that you’d withhold yourself as a form of punishment, is that correct?” She nods. “It seems like you used sex as a reward which is an unhealthy way to look at such an intimate activity. I think the two of you shouldn’t rush this and only do it once you fully trust Kuvira again.”

You nod, not being able to look at either of them at the moment. You want to trust her and for the two of you to be happy and in love but no matter how hard you try you can’t step over that line. It’s terrifying and you're worried that once you finally do trust her again this peacefulness will disappear and be replaced with the animosity that once used to rule your relationship.

“Okay…” You say. Kuvira nods in agreement. The session continues much as it did before that question was asked. It’s a bit tense now and the hour passes on with forced replies up until the end.

“I have some trust exercises. I want the two of you to practice for the next couple of weeks, maybe even months. You both need to be patient and understand that trust is a very hard thing to earn back and give to someone who’s deeply hurt you. The fact that both of you are still trying just shows how much you want to make this work.”

She begins to write a list of things on her notepad before ripping off the page and handing it to you. Both of you lean forward to read over the list together as Dr. Hanika packs up for the day.

Talk about your fears, be open, and accepting of what your partner has to say.

Look into each other's eyes for thirty seconds, try to work yourself up to three minutes.

Tell your partner why you love them.

Ask for what you need to do in order to gain Y/n’s trust again.

Have a calm conversation where you ask each other questions

Compliment each other

“Next week I’d like to do one on one sessions and the week after that we’ll do another couple's session. I’d like for the two of you to work on these until then. Remember to not rush this, it’s okay to take your time.” She shows herself out, softly shutting the door behind her. Silence falls as the two of you anxiously re-read the words.

“Should we do one now?” Kuvira asks. You shrug and softly set the piece of paper on the coffee table.

“I guess? But I don’t know which one to start with. I mean there’s so many.” Kuvira rakes a hand through her hair and sighs. She looks over it again, that top one scares Kuvira, she doesn’t know if she wants to hear your fears or tell you hers.

“Number two looks easy, we could try that?” And so you do. The both of you twist around on the couch until you are directly facing each other, knees touching as you mentally psych yourself up. “Thirty seconds isn’t too long.”

You nod and take a deep breath before looking up and locking eyes with Kuvira. The first few seconds it seems easy and you feel silly for getting worked up at the prospect but as time ticks on you start to see why she listed it in the first place.

Prolonged eye contact is intimate. Staring into Kuvira’s eyes for this long makes you feel bare and you quickly realize how much you don’t like that. Ripping your eyes away at the 25 seconds mark, you tense up.

“I’m sorry.”

“No it’s fine, it’s okay.” Kuvira hesitates before placing a hand on your shoulder and offering a comforting squeeze. “It’s gonna take some time, I understand.” She wishes it didn’t, she wishes it didn’t pain you to simply look at her for only thirty seconds. But she swallows that down and offers you a reassuring smile.

“Thank you,” you say, you don’t even realize the iron grip you had on your ankles during the attempt and release them with a shaky sigh. “We’ll get there, right?”

“Right.”

You mess up four days later. Continuing with the eye contact exercises you work your way up to thirty-five seconds which feels like such a victory. You try to compliment her cooking, and she compliments the way your garden is coming along. It’s going so well and you're so tired of this that you go too fast too soon and you have no one else to blame but yourself.

Both of you have a glass of wine with dinner which leaves you slightly buzzed but not tipsy. When you're getting ready for bed your eyes follow Kuvira’s legs that are starting to lose some of their definition.

She’s wearing a pair of shorts due to the recent heat with a tank top and suddenly that desire you’ve tried to ignore these past few weeks comes rearing up with no control. And so you sit on the bed with your knees tucked underneath you and grab Kuvira’s hand as she goes to grab the covers to pull back. She looks at you with furrowed brows as you pull her closer until she’s sitting on the bed as well.

In her mind, she thinks that maybe you want to practice eye contact again but is left in a state of shock when you place your lips against her own. Her breath hitches when your hands go to cradle her face as you shuffle closer. Kuvira desperately wants to kiss you back but knows she can’t, so she gently pushes you away, you reluctantly let her.

Panting, you ask “don’t you want to?”

“Of course I do but Y/n are you ready? Dr. Ha-”

“I’m ready, I promise,” you place a gentle kiss on her jaw, a place you know she loves. She lets out a shaky sigh. “I want you Kuvira, please.” And fuck, who’s she to deny you when you say please? So Kuvira gently grips your chin and presses her lips against your own. She doesn’t push you and leads like she used to so you thread your fingers through her hair and tug, eliciting a moan from your lover.

You climb onto her lap as you begin to pick up the pace and gently tug on her lower lip with your teeth. Kuvira wraps her arms around your waist, her hands resting on your ass to keep you close. That heat that you’ve missed begins to pool within you, your whole body feels like it’s been lit with desire and you don’t want that feeling to ever leave.

When Kuvira squeezes your ass, ripping a moan out of you it gives her the perfect opportunity to prod her tongue in your mouth. Your tongues meld together in a way that shoots right down to your core, it feels so right, so hot and maybe your therapist was wrong about waiting.

When Kuvira goes to pull away she sucks on your tongue and slowly lets go of it. You both look into each other's eyes as you pant before Kuvira attaches her lips to your neck. Tilting your head to the side you breathe out her name as she bites down on that spot that drives you up the wall.

The moan that leaves your lips is sure to wake the neighbors. Kuvira feels smug about it. Let them all know how good she can make you feel. When she pulls away she stops to admire her handiwork and smirks at the big purple hickey that could be seen from across a room. She leaves open mouth kisses up your neck and your jaw, before pulling you back into a bruising kiss.

You both make out for who knows how long, you just know that you want to feel every part of her after such a long time. The kiss is fiery and full of long contained passion that’s bursting at the seams. You only pull away for a moment to breathe before pulling her back in, not being able to take a second away from her lips. At some point, you push Kuvira down onto the bed and lay your body against hers.

You make sure not to fully put all your weight on her, placing a hand down above her head as neither of you pulls away from the other. Her hands trace up and down your sides, fingertips skimming the tops of your breasts in a teasing manner that has you grinding down for any type of friction.

You make yourself pull away from her, wanting to finally feel her body like you dreamed of. The sight before you has you groaning, her hair is a mess, spread out across the pillows and her cheeks are flushed. Kuvira’s lips are bruised, and she stares at you with eyes so dark with lust it feels like they're swallowing you whole.

“Beautiful…” You whisper, Kuvira continues to pant as she watches you. Your hands slide down her body, feeling at the muscles that are just barely there before reaching the hem of her tank top. You slide a hand underneath, your fingers running across her stomach.

Kuvira leans her hips up and glares. “Take it off,” she growls out impatiently. You grin as your fingers grip the ends of her shirt and pull it off, she leans up to help you and you toss it somewhere behind you. She’s not wearing any wrappings and spirits, she looks so beautiful.

“Fuck, I want you so bad.”

Her words seem to snap something into place that was askew this whole time. Suddenly painful images flash through your mind, ones you’ve tried so hard to bury.

Baatar’s above her as he takes one of her nipples into his mouth with that sickening grin. She moans out his name as a hand reaches up to grip his stupid hair. Kuvira arches her back in pleasure as his other hand trails down to her clothed sex.

Next thing you know you’re jumping off of her and scrambling off the bed as a pained whimper escapes your lips. Kuvira bolts up, confusion written on her face before she sees tears begin to fall. Her face drops at the sight. “Y/n…”

You shake your head, not being able to talk for fear of letting out some kind of ugly sound before rushing off to the bathroom where you empty the contents of your stomach into the toilet. You stay seated on the floor with the bathroom door locked as you cry into your hands.

The next morning you can only maintain eye contact for ten seconds.

One step forward, two steps back.

#kuvira #tgt #kuvira x reader #kuvira/reader #kuvira fanfic #lok #lok fanfic #legend of korra

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petitelepus · 3 years

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25 Days of MTMTE Christmas, Part 25, Christmas Sweater

It’s Christmas Eve on Lost Light and everyone is all dressed up.

Merry Christmas everyone! I understand that this has been a hectic year and there are people who can’t celebrate Christmas like they would like to because of the Coronavirus so I hope that ‘25 Days of MTMTE Christmas’ has been lightening your dark nights and made you smile even the tiniest bit.

I want to thank my beloved friend @missykitty! She read every single chapter and edited them, gave me inspiration, corrected my spelling and choice of words because English isn’t my first language or even second. She made this story possible.

I want to also thank you all for reading and enjoying my stories. I write to bring joy to people and I have been extra diligent this year. I wish you all Merry Christmas and thank you for being so strong.

You loved the holidays! You always had. Christmas was the time of joy and celebration with loved ones. The exact things that you were missing from Earth. Here in space, in a whole other galaxy, you had found a new family. Your found family made sure that you had everything you ever needed or desired, and you loved them back with your whole heart. But none of them celebrated Christmas, so you felt lonesome and nostalgic for your Christmas traditions. You rode your hover scooter through the empty halls before arriving at the mess hall for dinner. It was a bit depressing that your Christmas dinner would be the same as any other day. You were shocked out of your thoughts when you realized that the mess hall was deserted. Where was everyone? You looked around in confusion. Usually, the hall would be filled with hungry Autobots around the clock, but now the place looked abandoned. You felt even more depressed at the thought of eating your Christmas dinner all alone. You despondently made your way to your usual spot. Your eyes widened in surprise at the sight of a handwritten note on the table. 'Come to the meeting room!' They didn’t forget about you after all! Aww, how sweet they were. You were curious about what they had planned for today. You couldn't help but smile excitedly as you picked up the note and left to go where you were instructed. You arrived at the door. You could hear voices coming from inside. Was everyone there just waiting for you? You smiled to yourself. You left your scooter at the side of the door, and pressed the buzzer. The voices inside halted instantly. You put in the code and entered. You were surprised to see that it was pitch black in the room. You clapped your hands to activate the lights. What you saw took your breath away. "Merry Christmas!" Everybody cheered. You were stunned at the sight. You were expecting to see your Cybertronian friends, but instead the room was filled with humans. Humans you didn't know. You weren't that good with people back on Earth, so just how bad you were going to be with them in space? You were about to bolt, but this short stocky man approached you. He was wearing blue shield-style sunglasses. Oh God, he had a Christmas sweater on. A bright red sweater that read 'He Sees You When You're Drinking' in white bold letters. You stared at his sweater. You absolutely adored so-called ‘Ugly Christmas Sweaters’. You didn't even know why for sure, but they were funny and quirky. You made it a tradition to check secondhand stores for rejected Christmas sweaters. When you were younger, you were teased for wearing them. Then they became popular, and even your former bullies started wearing them to ‘Ugly Christmas Sweater’ parties. You were annoyed about that, but at least now you could share your love of tacky things with others. "Hi, yes, we are happy you made it!" The man said happily in a voice you knew. You blinked. "Swerve, is that you?" "Yeah, it's me! Everyone is here also!" He said happily. He stepped closer to you. "It was mine and Rewind's idea to use our human avatars to make you feel at home. How do you like it?" Well, you were speechless and taken aback at how sweet their intentions were. You smiled and were about to answer the bartender, but then your eyes landed on him. "OhmyGod!OhmyGod! Oh! My! God!" You squealed. You quickly covered your mouth when you realized just how loud you were being. "I can't, I just can't...!" "What?? What is it?!" Swerve asked in a panic, fearing that he and others had messed up somehow and offended you. But you didn't respond. You ran straight to this tall woman wearing a beautiful purple Victorian-style dress. But it wasn't her you were squealing for. It was a toddler wearing a blue polar bear sweater with an actual crystal blue pacifier clipped to the material. The little guy even had blue sunglasses similar to Swerve’s. "E-Excuse me, Ma’am, bu-but could I hold your baby?" You asked barely keeping your composure as you looked at the little guy. The woman smiled slightly, and… Oh no, she was hot. She lifted the toddler out of the baby carrier on her chest, and offered him to you. "Hold him carefully,” she said.

You nodded as you took the toddler from her arms and pulled him close.

"Oh my God, you're so cute! Where have you been hiding all my life, you little cutie pie?"

Okay, you were totally baby-talking to the cutest child you may have ever seen. Your voice had probably raised an octave, and you weren’t worried about controlling the volume of your voice anymore. Maybe you sounded ridiculous, but your heart was mush and you had no shame.

"I'm not a baby, or whatever it is!" The child suddenly exclaimed. You blinked in surprise. You looked at the child carefully, and saw a light blue ‘T’ on the child's adorable sailor hat. And that voice...!

"Tailgate? Is that you?" You asked.

The child nodded. "Yes!"

"Oh, Tailgate..." You sighed in joyful surprise. Then you smiled even wider before hugging the mini-human. "You're so freaking cute!"

"Nooo…! I'm ferocious!" Tailgate cried.

You turned to look at the tall woman that had been holding Tailgate before. "Cyclonus?"

"That would be me,” she, no, he said. "You look amazing,” you said. "Thank you." You gave Tailgate back to Cyclonus, then turned to gaze at the rest of the holoforms mingling in the room. One by one, you recognized familiar features in these human forms. You jumped over to a tall young man, with a dark flame tattooed arm, wild auburn hair, and a handsome smile. He was wearing a short-sleeved sweater that read 'You Can Get On My Naughty List Anytime'. You grinned. "Rodimus! You look great! Very hot!" You joked, winking at him. "I know.” You giggled as Rodimus licked the tip of his digit and then pressed it to his hip, making a hissing noise. You turned to see a young lady wearing a dark blue sweater with so much text on it that you had to squint to see what was written there. 'Santa Saw Your Facebook Pictures, You're Getting Clothes And A Bible For Christmas'. Ouch. Only one mech would approve of a shirt like that. "Ultra Magnus, sir? Is that you?" You asked. The woman holoform nodded. You grinned and pointed at his sweater. "That sweater looks good on you." "Thank you. Although, I have no clue what this ‘Facebook’ is. I presume that it's a device or program that keeps records of criminals and persons of interest. That sounds like a good idea to me." You bit the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from laughing. Instead, you clapped. "Wonderful sweater. Truly." You moved on to the next mech and--Oh! Who was this big silver fox standing before you, tall and proud in a sweater that had 'Naughty' and 'Nice' with checkboxes in front of each… but the checkbox in front of 'I Tried' was the one that was check-marked. You barely paid any attention to the text, rather watching how the sweater was stretched across his broad chest and muscled biceps... "It's Megatron,” Rodimus butted in from behind you. You nodded mindlessly, almost in a trance as you ogled the former criminal. DAMN! IT SHOULD BE ILLEGAL TO BE THAT SEXY. The old man sighed, misinterpreting your look. "I was persuaded to use my avatar, and get some kind of ugly clothing that humans wear." "Megatron...! Wow…” you said, blinking like a deer in headlights. "Like WOW." "Yeah, yeah, we get it. So he is handsome for a human! So what!" Someone yelled. You glanced over your shoulder, and saw the most badass looking teen girl you had ever seen. She had long blue hair in pigtails, and an eyepatch over the left eye... "Whirl?!" You accidentally shouted. The girl, no, Whirl stopped pushing you away from Megatron. He struck a pose to show off to you. "Yeah, it is I, fleshie. Admit it - I look badass,” he said. You took in his dark blue sweater that read: 'Dear Santa, Define Naughty'. "I had spiked knee guards also, but Magnus said they were too much,” Whirl complained. You snorted. "What a tragedy." Whirl said some colorful words to you, but you laughed it off. You turned away, and came face-to-face with two men, one tall and dark-haired, and the other short and blond. You blinked and tilted your head, wondering who they could be. Then you noticed the camera in the blond man's hands. "Rewind! And Chromedome!" You exclaimed. They smiled at you in response. "How did you figure it out?" Chromedome asked. "Rewind's camera. Also, your matching sweaters." You laughed and pointed at their sweaters. Chromedome's said 'World's Okayest Elf' and Rewind's read 'I'm Not Short I'm Just A Tall Elf'. You smiled at them before moving through the crowd again, until you saw a man with glasses and carrot-red hair. He was certainly smart looking. You knew a few smart mechs, but you were sure you knew which one this was. "Rung! You look amazing!" The distinguished-looking man before you smiled and confirmed your guess to be right. Honestly? You would tap that ass. His sweater read: 'Santa Loves A Hot Cookie'. You giggled lightly. Then you noticed two smokin’ hot ladies that you recognized as Nautica and Velocity, and two hot men talking with them, likely Brainstorm and Perceptor. Nautica's sweater was bright purple and read: 'But First Let Me Take An #elfie'. Velocity's had a cat on it and read: 'Happy Hannukkat'. Brainstorm’s read: 'Santa Is Real In At Least 370 Alternate Realities'. And Perceptor...! Oh, Percy must have lost a bet or something, because he had a sweater that read: 'I Am Your Present', and there was an arrow that happened to be pointing at Brainstorm at any given moment. Finally, the last pair. You smiled when you saw them. Drift was a handsome young man with ink black hair. Ratchet was a scruffy-bearded man whose hair and beard were red streaked with white. Drift was wearing a sweater that said: 'While You Were Decorating The House I Studied The Blade'. Ratchet's sweater had a huge picture of Grumpy Cat that simply said 'NO'. You slowly made your way through the crowded room, making sure to say hello to everybot present. Besides being polite, you just had to check out all of the ‘Ugly Christmas Sweaters’. They were all amazing! You had never seen so many ‘Ugly Christmas Sweaters’ in one place! More than that, they all had been thinking about you, and how you might be missing human company. Just seeing them all gathered together made you feel like you were back on Earth for Christmas, surrounded by family and friends. You nearly cried at the thought. "Um, can I have everyone's attention?" You said, trying to raise your voice loud enough to fill the room. Every bot in a human disguise turned to look at you. You coughed awkwardly into your fist, then smiled tremulously, trying not to cry. "I just wanted to thank you all. For the amazing surprise. I love all of your sweaters – you all look great. You all are like a family to me, and I hope you feel the same way." Everyone cheered loudly. You blushed in embarrassment, but then Swerve rushed up to you, with Rung following closely behind in a more subdued manner. You smiled at both of them. "Thank you so much, you guys. I couldn't dream of a better surprise." "Oh, but this is just the beginning," Rung said with a mysterious smile. You blinked in confusion. "What?" "We just needed to buy some time while Lug and Anode finished at my place!" Swerve said. Lug and Anode…! You hadn’t seen them here at all! How could you have forgotten them?! Then Swerve took your hand in his to lead you to the next surprise. Everyone followed behind, laughing and whispering behind your back. When you entered Swerve’s, you could barely believe what you saw. Christmas decorations everywhere, gleaming and shining! You could even smell something delicious wafting in the air. "Don't tell me you cooked?" You asked in shocked disbelief. Just as you finished speaking, Lug and Anode came from the bar's backroom with their servos holding trays heaped with different Earth foods traditional for Christmas. There were also energon treats for your Cybertronian friends. Just when you were sure the party couldn't get any better, somebody put Christmas music on to play. You turned to look at the bots standing all around you. "Is it-Is it okay to eat?" Everyone gave you a clear go-ahead, so you began to take helpings of everything so as not to disappoint any of your friends that had worked so hard. Surprisingly, they had nailed it for most of the foods. Though the cranberry sauce was accidentally made with cherries, and the chocolate mousse was too sweet, they were still delicious. When you couldn’t eat any more, you thought that the good time would end there… but you thought wrong. Somehow Swerve had gotten his servos on the Cybertronian equivalent of a karaoke machine. Brainstorm and Perceptor had its files updated with all of the top hits from Earth. There were over 1,000 songs per country, so you had an overwhelming number of options. Some Christmas songs, both classic and new, were included as well. To start, Rodimus rocked the song 'The Phoenix' by Fall Out Boy. With that magnificent show of talent, charisma, and showmanship, others were then itching to get a turn of their own. Nautica, Velocity, and Rewind sang 'Bubblegum Bitch' together. Ultra Magnus sang 'It's Beginning To Look A Lot Like Christmas'. You insisted on singing a song called 'Do It For Her/Him' from Steven Universe with Cyclonus. The purple mech thought it was silly to sing a song from a human cartoon, but when he sang, he gave Tailgate meaningful looks. And you? You might have winked Megatron's way a couple of times. You were really enjoying yourself - the party was amazing. It was everything that you could have hoped for. Nothing could top this. Or so you thought, until you were asked to close your eyes and hold your arms out. "Guys, you aren't going to prank me, or do anything to me that will end up on Youtube??" You asked nervously. You heard a snicker from Rewind. "Don't worry! We won't!" "I can hear that camera rolling, Rewind!" You snapped. You jumped when something was placed in your hands. "Open your eyes." You opened one eye at first, then the other. You couldn't believe it. It was a sweater, unbelievingly soft, knitted in your favorite colors. Even better, in the middle of the oversized sweater was a large red Autobot symbol. You stared at it, eyes wide. When you finally raised your head, you had tears in your eyes. "Y-You're giving this to me?" "We had to pull some strings, and call in some favors, but yes." Rodimus smiled as bright as the sun from back home. "You're officially an Autobot now." You couldn't hold back your tears anymore. There was no greater honor than to be admitted to the Autobot order. You started to cry, but the tears were those of pure joy. You sniffled and wiped your face before looking at your dear friends. "C-Can I put it on?" They nodded, and you wasted no time. You pulled the sweater over your head, and then smoothed down your hair. The sweater was a few sizes bigger than your usual size, but that only made it comfier. You smiled, and almost wiped your nose on the sleeve, but you stopped yourself and instead used a napkin. "It's both the ugliest pretty sweater and the prettiest ugly sweater I have ever seen. I love it,” you admitted, your voice wobbly. Your fellow Autobots all said ‘Awww!’ at your emotional display. You opened your arms wide and waiting, and the bots got the idea. They all closed in for a group hug, lifting you off of your feet. You were surrounded by those you loved dearly, and you didn’t regret leaving Earth for a second. "Merry Christmas!" You all cheered, echoing each other.

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sneakyseventeen · 4 years

Text

Drunk ♥ Jun

Member: College! Jun x reader (gender neutral) ft. Bff! Joshua

Genre: Fluff (little bit suggestive but no smut)

Word Count: 2.2K

↬ Request: Smth with Jun?? Maybe like him or the reader getting drunk at a party and them confessing?💕

✿ summary: - going to one of Jun’s parties seemed to be a right of passage at your school. After being persuaded by your friend, Joshua, you run into your hopeless crush, the party man himself.

WARNINGS: mentions of alcohol & drinking

❀ ❀ ❀

It wasn’t even eight in the evening, and you could already tell tonight was going to be a long one.

After constant pleas and begging from your classmate Joshua, you finally decided to go to one of his friend’s stupid parties. They normally, from what you had heard, were a bit crazy, to say the least. But Joshua insisted they were fun and if anything bad happened he would take you home right away. But the main reason he wanted to drag you along was so you could talk to Jun. He conveniently forgot to mention the last part to you. You had had a major crush on the man for over a year now, and Joshua, yourself included, was getting sick of the two of you not being together. Jun could be odd and a little out there. It was just what you needed to balance your calm and rather shy personality.

You snapped out of your daydream as you saw Joshua staring at you with a questioning look on his face. His sunglasses dangled from his shirt like his solo cup in his right hand, similar to the clock hands you were staring at above his head.

Joshua’s shoulder hit yours harshly, nearly knocking you over as you saw a wider than normal smile on his face, as he giggled at his movements.

“Woah there josh, slow down,” you said carefully, taking the red cup from his hand. You knew he was getting tipsy now, as normally he would protest at your action.

“We should get going soon,” you said knowingly, “you need to be home, because I know for a fact that you have an exam tomorrow.”

“Hmm.. fineee...” He stopped, pulling your hand in his in another direction, before slurring, “Les’ go find Jun furst.”

Before you could protest, Joshua pulled you downstairs into the main living area. The two of you moved grudgingly through tens of party goers, some dancing, a small group looking like they were experiencing the best moment of their lives, and you had just slipped past a girl yelling at a male around her age.

Before you could think, your eyes caught the man Joshua seemed so desperate to find, as you whipped your vision in the other direction before either of them could notice. Joshua was still moving sluggishly alongside you through hot bodies with you when he stopped, spotting Jun himself. He giggled again, and made another wide smile as he wiggled his eyebrows knowingly.

“God, you’re so tipsy,” you breathed out to him as you rolled your eyes, a delicate pink color coming on your cheeks. Joshua smiled again, but it wasn’t his tipsy smile, it was more like a smirk. But just as you opened your mouth to question his new expression, a finger tapped your shoulder from behind.

You turned around steadily, a slight blush creeping up on your face. Thankfully, the lights were emitting a soft, greenish-blue color, changing every few seconds, now turning an orangery-red. They gave the person who had tapped your shoulder an infatuating glow, as his eyes peered straight into yours, and allowed your flush face to be hidden in the dancing light. Jun looked a little less tidy than normal, but incredible nonetheless. His wine colored hair was a bit ruffled, and his jacket hung off one of his shoulders, hanging onto the other.

“Hey,” you breathed out, trying to break the tension you could feel rising as you lost track of time staring at him.

“You look gorgeous tonight,” he admitted. There was a soft glaze over his eyes, that seemed to force you to keep looking at them. You weren’t sure if it was the lights, the alcohol, or if it was simply because you liked him that much. This was the closest you two had gotten since you had met, besides the time you, Joshua, and him had watched a movie together. His scent was light, and smelled of citrus and must, mixed with liquor.

“Thanks,” you stated, a bit louder than you thought as the music came down a bit. Jun laughed at you as he took your hand. He gave Joshua a look that you couldn't decipher, before the younger man walked off to meet a few friends, leaving the two of you alone, in the large sea of people.

“It’s too loud in ‘ere,” he whispered in your ear. He glanced behind him at a corner of the frat house near a couch that was empty, raising his eyebrow.

“Mind if we sit?”

You followed Jun to the couch, sitting next to him as you sighed. You just now realized how much your feet were hurting from your shoes, relieved to let them rest for a moment. Jun was quite calm for being, from what you could tell, super drunk. He was mainly like himself, but seemed relaxed and a bit more flirty than usual. He was laughing a bit more than normal as well, but not as much as Joshua did when he was drunk.

“You know... I’m glad you finally showed up to one of these,” he started, looking around.

You faced him, waiting for him to continue as you weren’t sure how to respond.

“I started thinking last year... that I would have muchh more fun if Joshua brought his pretty friend to these parties,” he drawled. He was close to your face now, almost as if he was telling you a secret in your ear. He pulled back, and stared at you with stars in his eyes, as if you were the most interesting thing in the room.

“I... really?” You questioned, hoping that tomorrow Jun would feel the same, and that it was him rather than the alcohol talking to you.

“Yeah, isn’t it obvious?? I like you, Y/n.”

Your face was definitely red now, there was no doubt, but you were too shocked to notice. Jun looked at you with wide eyes, looking like a puppy as he pouted at you.

“You know.. righttt??” He smiled a bit now, raising his eyebrows before laughing softly while turning away.

“But... I... I thought you flirted with everyone?”

“Uhm, not as much as I do with you,” he laughed.

Jun stared at you affectionately as he learned closer to you slowly, his eyes fluttering softly. Before he was able to do what you had been waiting for, he seemed to forget about his right hand, as alcohol spilled onto his shirt, as well as you, soaking the both of you. He shot up quickly, a look of alarm spread on his face before he laughed.

“Sorry... at least I didn’t get y—”

He stared at you before apologizing, then smacking himself in the face.

You breathed out a laugh, shaking your head and taking in the humorous scene in front of you. Jun grimaced before glancing at the space in the couch previous between you as he opened his mouth.

Jun looked around with wide eyes, as if he was scared someone were to come out of nowhere at any moment and attack him. You got up gingerly and wrapped a hand around his shirt, tugging it slightly towards you. Jun flashed a smirk before you rolled your eyes, asking, “Which room is yours? You should change.” You glanced behind him at the clock on the wall illuminated by an orange glow. It was nearly midnight.

“And,” you started strictly, “you should get some sleep.”

His smirk immediately dropped as he looked at you momentarily, like he was trying to find something in your eyes, before sighing.

“Okay, but you have to come with me.”

“Of course I’m coming with you, yo—”

“Oh, eager, are we?”

“No dumbass, you’re too drunk for your own good.”

You smiled slightly before frowning. Maybe this was the alcohol taking.

“Let’s hope Jihoon doesn’t notice the stain on his couch. He’ll kill me.”

You rolled you eyes as Jun pulled you up the stairs, and into the first room on the left. Inside were two medium sized beds with dark sheets, a small nightstand sitting in the middle of it with a light adoring it. To your left was a beige desk covered in papers, trinkets, and plants. The room was quite tidy, minus the closet space to your right. Pairs of shoes were crammed together on the bottom of the small space, hoodies and shirts hanging messily from the top.

Jun looked around hazily before turning back to you.

“Sooo... are you gonna change?”

“...What? Oh, yeah.” He turned from you then skimmed through his closet. He pulled a large black t-shirt from a hanger and started taking off his shirt. You turned away, blushing and trying not to look, but not before you saw his toned form. After a moment you looked back, seeing him in his new, un-stained shirt.

“Here, you can wear this one.” He handed you a white graphic tee, around the same size as the shirt he was wearing.

You pulled the shirt over yours and shifted as to take off your smaller one under the large one, that smelled just like the man sat behind you.

“Y/n...?”

You turned over your shoulder to see Jun sitting on his bed, a serious look on his face. You noticed the glass on his nightstand was empty, happy that he now had something rather than solely alcohol in his system. He patted the spot next to him softly as you walked over. You sat down and stared up at him, his scent overwhelming your scenes.

You hummed, then he responded airily, “You know I really like you, right? Like seriously?”

“Jun...”

“I’m not drunk okay!” He said, raising his voice before slouching again.

“I do like you. You know, you can say it back if Josh isn’t lying.”

“If he wh—”

“He told me. I know you like me as well.”

Oh my god. You were never trusting Joshua with a secret ever again. Your brain was spinning rapidly trying to focus on one thought. How could you respond to that? Why did Josh tell him? How in the hell did Jun...

“...You really like me?”

Jun rolled his eyes and nodded, a small smile on his face.

“Have I not made it obvious?”

“I just... why? And why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because, Y/n. Every time I see you my chest tightens up. You’re so caring and kind to your friends, and even people you don’t know, or didn’t know. Like me. I didn’t think someone like you would like someone like me. I’m too...”

“Out there?” You said in a small voice, looking at him through hooded eyes.

“Yeah. You’re so... good and sweet and you do well in school and I’m not like you, I didn’t want to ruin that.”

Before you could respond, Jun continued passionately, “And I thought you liked Joshua, anyways.”

“He, he told you I liked you though?”

Yeah, he did. But it was hard to believe, because he did it right after I confessed my feelings for you...”

Jun placed his hands over yours as he looked at you again, with that charming look of longing that you had fallen for. Your chest was tight, but it was slowly falling soft as you were putting the pieces together. He liked you.

“I like you too.”

The words came from your mouth before you could stop them, tired and dazed from the party scene as if someone else had said them. But you meant it.

Jun smiled softly as he leaned close to you, you could smell his cologne and it engulfed you, pulling you into his parted lips. He kissed you. It was soft and delicate, like you would break if he was too harsh, and it felt like your surroundings were colored and bright. He pulled back slowly, his left hand on your face, holding you like he didn’t want to end the kiss in the first place.

“Would it make you feel better if we talked about this tomorrow? I’m tired.”

“Yeah...” you replied softly, taken aback still by his lips on yours. “Uhm, I should go get Josh, so he can walk me home...”

Jun grabbed your wrist lightly, staring into your eyes knowingly.

“He’s probably already sleeping downstairs, the party sounds about over.”

You hadn’t noticed before, but now listening for sounds below, it was nearly silent. The clock on Jun’s tidy desk displayed that it was nearly one in the morning, explaining the absence of noise.

“I can drive you home, or you can stay here.”

His tone was casual, something you didn’t normally hear from Jun, especially paired with a could-have-been flirtatious sentence.

“Mingyu is at his girlfriends, you can use his bed...”

You glanced at the bed next to Jun’s, before a thud caused you to look up at him. He had crashed on the bed and was now out, sleeping peacefully with a small smile on his face. You sighed, turning off the light and getting on Mingyu’s bed.

“Goodnight, Jun.”

❀ ❀ ❀

This is soo long omg i don’t usually write stuff like this !! And I wasn’t super sure how to end it oops😅 Hope you all enjoyed, I’m going to try a tag list for some of my active followers, tell me if you’d like to continue being in them or if you’d like me to take you off!<3

- madi ❀

tag list: @dwcljh @jkjeonysus @wavyyross17 @beamingwonwoo @nightynightnyx @hwaseongxmars @bubblyybabyy @hanniescafe @ycarat @ilysunyong @saintluxi @jjustjoy @hoshi-loveclub @galactic-hao @mysticalraven @doodlingpizza

#sneakyseventeen #jun x reader #drunk seventeen #seventeen scenarios #seventeen fluff #seventeen angst #seventeen x reader #seventeen x you #junhui fluff #junhui x reader #jun fluff #jun fanfiction #seventeen college au #seventeen #kpop fanfic #mingyu x reader #jeonghan x reader #hoshi x reader

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yoonjinkooked · 4 years

Text

CHEMISTRY | Closer

PART 1 - CLOSER

DRABBLE SERIES, TONS OF SHORT LITTLE CHAPTERS. WILL BE UPDATED OFTEN CAUSE HOSEOK IS THE #1 SOURCE OF MY PAIN

Pairing: Hoseok / Reader

Rating: 18+

Genre: FWB, university AU

Warnings: cursing, lots of alcohol and some weed, future smut, incredibly hot Hoseok

Word Count: 1.5K

Summary: After a few years of being immune to Jung Hoseok’s charms, you suddenly fall into them, head first. All it takes is one night, too much alcohol and a lot of balls.

The one, and arguably only, downside of having Kim Seokjin as a best friend is the fact that at certain times, he is most definitely a horrible influence. Tonight serves as a perfect example. Fresh off a breakup with a dick of an ex, you were more than ready for your first night out after a week of stuffing your face with ice-cream and crying to shitty romantic movies. You dress was short, you were feeling elated and free and Kim Seokjin made sure that your cup was never empty.

Not once did you actually manage to finish a drink before he would be filling your cup again. You didn’t complain, simply because you know your limits well and you were at least two cups away from being completely wasted. Right now, you are just… a little bit too giggly, too clingy and too loud.

“Have I ever told you how much I appreciate our friendship?” your words are yelled in Jin’s ear and despite being fairly drunk, you’re sober enough to recognize that he’s not as half as drunk as you are.

“You are completely out of it, aren’t you?” he laughs in your ear, making you flinch.

“I’m not, you meanie!” you yell, not completely sure why. Jin’s words made you sulk and the look on your face made him laugh. It’s just the way things have always been with you – an endless cycle of mocking one another lovingly. You may hate him half the time, but you wouldn’t hesitate to kick someone’s ass if they dare to hurt him.

“Okay, you need water,” he laughs in your face, completely ignoring the fact that he is one of the main factors why you’re as drunk as you are. “Don’t move. Do you hear me?” he asks and after blinking rather violently a couple of times, you notice his serious expression. Simply nodding, you sink further down the couch, watching him as he walks towards the kitchen, before looking around to take in your surroundings. As much as you can, given the fact that the room is spinning, if only just a little.

The house you’re currently in is a proper example of how cool it can be to have rich friends. Seokjin’s parents didn’t think twice before renting it and even though at the start he was living here alone, it seemed as if each semester a new friend was upgraded to roommate status. The last time you’ve checked, Jungkook, Namjoon and Taehyung lived here along with your bestie, while he uses their rent money to provide booze for nights like these – a nights that happen for no particular reason, other than ‘he wants to party’.

Some faces you recognize, some you don’t, some you can’t even see well, no matter how hard you blink. You do, however, hear a collective groan and an overly defensive Jungkook. And as wasted as you are, you know the exact reason – as soon as “Closer” started playing, thanks to DJ JK, everyone in the room, drunk or not, voiced their disdain – it sounded as if everyone’s gag reflex was activated.

“IT’S A GOOD SONG!” you hear your friend yell in his defense, smiling at the whole ordeal. Eh, it’s decent, but it’s absolutely overplayed. Not that it mattered – the people who were dancing before were dancing still, those who were busy making out with someone went back to their PDA and those, who like you, were laying down and contemplating the meaning of life, simply stayed motionless.

You smile at the sight of Jimin dancing overly seductively with a freshman who looks like she’s about to explode – she is red in the face and is desperately trying to keep up with the biggest slut with the kindest heart of your friend group. Ah, Park Jimin… he could make a lamppost horny.

Not too far from him, Hoseok is dancing and for the first time since you’ve met the guy, you do a double take at the sight of him.

He’s stoned, you know that much – he offered you some a couple of minutes ago. Or was it hours? You’re no longer sure, but you do remember him and the bright smile on his face when he invited you to join him and Yoongi in the backyard. You declined, of course. As much as you are willing to fall under Seokjin’s bad influence and drink yourself to an early grave, you know better than to mix weed and alcohol.

Hoseok is still smiling brightly, to no one in particular, as he spins around on the improvised dance floor in the middle of the room, showing the skills he’s gained in all those years of having dancing as a hobby. He’s completely unaware of the rest of the world, and that includes you and your open mouth.

Because holy fuck, he’s hot. You’re not blind, you knew it before – for some reason unknown to human kind, every single individual in your friend group is ridiculously attractive. And on most days, that made you feel like an ignorable piece of furniture, right now it’s making you drool.

Ridiculously colored sneakers, ripped jeans, white shirt and a light green and white flannel shirt – paired with that ridiculous smile of his and the newly dyed, lighter hair… Yeah, Jung Hoseok is looking like an absolute snack and you’re not sure what to do with that information.

Too drunk to know better, too drunk to even think of the possible consequences of your actions, but sober enough to know damn well what you’re doing, you get up, holding onto the edge of the couch to stop the room from spinning.

Narrowly avoiding Jimin and his prey for the night, you walk directly to Hoseok, who is still dancing in his own little world. It takes him a few seconds to notice you just standing there, staring at him, but when he does, his smile becomes even wider, if that is even humanly possible.

“Y/N!” he laughs, beaming at you. “Do you wanna dance?”

“Um… I actually… I think I want to kiss you.”

You have no idea if this is a spur of the moment or a sudden realization – while you’re sober enough to know WHAT you’re doing, you’re way too drunk to know WHY you’re doing it. And apparently, neither is Hoseok, because he’s looking at you wide-eyed, too surprise to remember to shine his signature smile.

“Eh?” he asks, blinking rapidly – so quickly, you blink too.

“Can I kiss you?” you ask, not waiting for an answer before you grab a hold of that white shirt of his and push him closer to you. You do not kiss him – consent is key. As much as you want to, you will not kiss him until he gives you explicit permission, simply because you’d expect the same from him. However, with him just an inch or two away from you, you have a perfect view of his face and you can only wonder if he was always this beautiful or if you were too blind to notice.

“You have a beautiful nose,” you mumble, amazed at how straight his nose actually is.

“Y/N,” he chuckles out your name, pausing to lick his lips. “I would… honestly, I’d be happy to kiss you, but you’re drunk and I don’t know if you’d want to do this if you were sober.”

“Not drunk enough to not know what I want,” you shrug. “If it makes you feel any better, we don’t have to fuck. Just… a decent make out.”

“Jesus Christ,” he laughs, looking down nervously. He is biting his lip and if you didn’t know him any better, you’d think he’s teasing you. He’s not though, not really – he’s wondering if kissing you is the smart thing to do, given that you are… well, drunk. Sure, maybe not blackout drunk to the point of not remembering a single thing, but definitely drunk enough for him to know that it’s a risk. “Y/N…”

“Hoseok, we’ve been friends for almost three years,” you roll your eyes. “You know me, you know what I’m like when I’m drunk. I know what I’m doing. I know what I want to do and right now, if I’m being honest, I really want to kiss you and maybe sit on your dick, if you let me. So just… if you wanna kiss, let’s kiss. Or let me run away and hide from you for the next three weeks. And for your information, kissing you and sitting on your dick would sound inviting even if I didn’t have alcohol in my system.”

Despite your little monologue, you were pretty sure that he was going to turn down your offer. He stays silent for one second too long and you take it as a sign to leave. You barely have a chance to sigh before he grabs you by the hips and brings you closer to him – body to body, no space left behind.

You barely have a chance to realize what’s happening before he’s kissing you.

And that is how you and Jung Hoseok hooked up for the first time, in the middle of a crowded house party, to the sound of that god-awful Chainsmoker’s song.

#jhope drabble #jhope smut #jhope scenarios #bts au #jhope au #hoseok smut #hoseok fwb #hobi smut #hobi fwb #hoseok drabble #hoseok fanfiction #hobi fanfic #hobi fanfiction #jhope fanfiction #jhope fanfic #hoseok x reader #bts fanfic #bts fanfiction #bts drabbles

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subtlereferencetomyinterests · 4 years

Text

5 times Logan helped his partners get their shit together +1 time they returned the favor

ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22854292

MasterPost

relationships: Logan-Centric DLAMPR (platonic creativitwins)

warnings: Remus-typical conversation topics (Teeth circa 2007, puke, crushing vids), food mention, minor injury and blood, panic attacks (kinda?), overworking, bad self-care habits, fluffy fluffy fluff.

Feedback Is Welcomed!

1- Deceit

Deceit paced about his new room, picking up and moving large boxes in repetition and yet refusing to begin unpacking. He assumed his most comfortable form with all of his arms out, as he would usually in his old room. The others had assured him that they didn’t find it disconcerting, but even just being on this side of the mindscape made him self-conscious. He moved another box compulsively.

It had been a month and a half since Deceit and Remus had finally been “accepted”, and it still felt surreal. Everyday he felt another barrier crumble with his new… partners? That was also odd to think about. He was constantly replaying the scene of Patton in front of him, after they’d steadily built a rapport, absolutely distraught with remorse. Taking his hand. Letting him and Remus into the life the others had built.

But the more he thought about it, the more he realized how steady the progress was. He’d been dating Remus for ages, and of course there was the half-year ago that Virgil started speaking to him again. He’d never been on particularly bad terms with Logan and Roman… Perhaps it was merely an inevitability he hadn’t recognized, or more likely refused to wish for.

And yeah, he'd taken his sweet time switching over. He’d “moved in” weeks ago, but hadn’t yet had the will to unpack. Everytime he started, he stopped, the feeling that he didn’t have the right to claim the space. Because he had to keep it in his head that it could all be taken away, even after he continued to be assured by his partners otherwise. But he was here now. He was here, and he was seen, his input listened to, he had the focus he’d been vying for finally. It was terrifying.

The conscious, of which previously Deceit had only had occasional glimpses when he visited, was just plain exposing. The snake wondered how Virgil of all people could have handled this living here when he moved, and then cringed at the thought. It spoke to how bad things were before, he supposed. Anything is better than living in the unconscious. It… didn’t bring out the best in anyone.

Deceit shook his head. It was the past, they'd all agreed. Things had changed, were changing.

Looking down, Dee realized a pair of his hands had been carefully shredding the cardboard lip of one of his boxes into neat little strips. Fuck. So much for reusing that one. He exhaled deeply, tipping his head back as though to clear it like an Etch-A-Sketch. He let his eyes lay closed for a moment before the sound of his opened door creaking wider broke the silence.

"Deceit? Are you quite alright?"

Deceit spun around to see who had spoken. Logan stood in the half open doorway, hands folded in front of himself and head tilted a bit in confusion. Deceit did not find that expression cute on him, not at all.

"I'm just peachy, and you?" The side lied with a sharp-toothed grin. Logan frowned a bit, and yeah, Deceit hadn't expected him to believe that, but call it a force of habit.

"Falsehood. You have been staring into space for approximately five minutes. Do you require assistance unpacking?" Logan nodded to the mass of boxes. Deceit crossed a few of his arms.

"This conversation is obviously best had with you standing in my doorway like the absolute worst doorstop," He said dryly, "Why are you here?"

Logan seemed confused, hesitant before stepping fully inside. He looked around at the barren room quickly, probably noting that the only things in there other than the boxes were the bed, bookshelf, and desk.

"I wanted to see how you were adjusting. I presume not well, given that your room has not changed since you first moved in over a month ago."

"You presume wrong."

"No, I don’t."

"No," Deceit smirked, showing gleaming white fangs, "you don't."

Logan nodded, and dropped the pretense of hesitance and took to opening and unpacking a box filled with philosophy books. To his credit, Deceit resisted the urge to snap at him and just accept the help. Character Development, he thought to himself with amusement, as the other began arranging the tomes on the expansive bookshelf.

"Would you like them arranged by the author's last name or by subject matter?" Logan asked, without looking back at Deceit.

Deceit wondered if the helpfulness was another perk of the conscious. He then wondered if that was just one of the many nice things about Logan specifically. Then he stopped wondering because he remembered that questions usually needed answers.

"Um, just last name is fine."

A few minutes passed in relative silence, Logan occasionally asking about some of Deceit's numerous psychology books as he moved on to the next box. It was nice to be around someone who didn't groan and walk away when he shared his thoughts on such subjects, not that he didn’t understand why most others did that.

When it began to feel awkward just leaning against the wall while someone else did all his unpacking, Deceit began to empty boxes into the closet (Literally. He upended boxes of clothing before grabbing three or four at a time and arranging them on hangers). Logan, finished with the books, glanced over at Dee with a curious look.

"So. How are you feeling?" Logan asked, and Deceit could tell he wasn’t used to willingly asking questions like that. He wasn’t sure if he appreciated the concern or was annoyed yet.

"I thought feelings weren't your department, Teach?"

"I'm being serious." There was a beat. Deceit sucked in a breath, regretful for his instinctive bitchiness. He turned away from Logan and started organizing the sizable portion of his wardrobe made of cloaks. Hesitantly, and with an amount of secrecy remaining, Deceit spoke.

"Well, it's… good to be out of the dark, so to speak. Honestly, I'm still sort of reeling…" Since when did not lying get so hard?

"But?"

Deceit paused again, finished with the clothes and taking a moment to fidget uncertainly. He spun around to set up his decorative houseplants, sighing.

"I feel exposed," Deceit said suddenly. Logan looked up from where he was organizing various items, tilting his head in that cute, confused expression he was prone to. Except not cute, because Deceit was not weak to such frivolous feelings at all.

"That’s absurd, You wear the most clothing out of any of us, down to the gloves-"

"Not literally, Amelia Bedelia," He snapped, twirling a heat lamp between a few of his hands. "I mean in a mental sense. You must know what I’m talking about, it's like being monitored."

Logan seemed thoughtful, coming to sit on the edge of the bed. Deceit placed the lamp on a bedside table (lest he smash it against his wall while he gestured, which wasn’t unlikely), and sat beside him.

"I would liken it more to being at the ready for consultation; being at attention. You are here because you have something to contribute that could be crucial to solving a problem. You will get used to it, you’ll probably even appreciate it at some point. For now, though, you would benefit from distractions. I would recommend spending time in the Commons. With Us." Logan smiled softly for a moment, "Around all the others, things seem to get easier. For me, at least."

Deceit stared at him, surprised at the tenderness with which Logan spoke. Looking around, the side noticed that the new room- his room- was now full of all his belongings. The boxes were piled up in the corner, and with a snap they popped away to nothingness. In fact, he could probably have just unpacked with a snap. Logan obviously knew that, too, but he still did it by hand.

Huh.

"Well, it appears you're all settled now. I should go, before your room begins to take on its effects, like ours do." Logan said, standing abruptly. Deceit noticed that he looked rather sheepish, and then realized that he hadn't spoken since Logan's small speech.

"Yes, uh- it appears that way. Thank you, by the way, for… helping me unpack."

"It was my pleasure." Logan said with a small smile. All of his smiles were small, a bit reserved, but so surprisingly warm. A lot of things about him were like that, Deceit thought. Including the way he gave the snake a quick peck on the cheek before righting himself again, looking unaffected save for the small pink tinge to his countenance.

“Disgusting,” Deceit said, a smirk on his face.

Logan nodded a bit to himself, looking over his shoulder before he left.

"I'll see you soon." It wasn't a question. And with that, Logan closed the door and was gone.

Deceit sighed, not a tad dreamily at all, thank you very much.

He supposed that living here wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.

2- Patton

Patton flitted about the kitchen with ease, humming a little tune and batting his fingers along the counter-tops as he prepared dinner. The first dinner that he'd officially serve for his whole, recently expanded family. He didn’t notice it at first, figuring that over the time they’d grown closer they must have all eaten together, before it hit him just how different all their schedule’s were; it wasn’t often that dinner included all of them before either. Breakfast, sure, but breakfast was easy- there were no stakes!

He was being silly, he knew that. It was just dinner, nothing special. It wasn't even like making more food was hard, given that Pat could conjure ingredients at will (and they hardly needed to eat, anyway), but it felt monumental. This had to be perfect, this meal had to embody all the remorse the fatherly side felt for his treatment of the others. They could swear up and down that they’d moved on, and he wanted to move on, but he couldn’t quite believe it. Not yet. He couldn’t let himself have it that easy. They were his family now, they had to know just how much he loved them after everything.

Patton slumped against a counter, pulling his hands down his face. Why were things so stressful? There was a time when it was all simple and easy- he was sure of it. Why couldn’t things just be okay after they all agreed it would be, why did he still have to feel like-

Someone cleared their throat behind him.

Patton spun around quickly, putting on a smile.

“Logan!” Patton exclaimed, “I’m a little busy right now, Kiddo. How can I help ya?”

Logan raised an eyebrow.

“I am not the one in need of help, Patton."

"What do you mean, honey? Is somebody hurt?" Pat asked with a gasp. Logan only smiled a bit, an odd and uncomfortable kind of smile that made Patton feel suddenly guilty.

"No, nothing like that.” Logan assured him, “Do you want any- I mean, I am feeling rather restless. Would you mind if I assisted in tonight's dinner preparations?"

"Oh!" Patton seemed caught off guard, but quickly recovered, "Of course!" Relief laced his voice.

It was only after Logan got started carefully cutting bell peppers that Patton realized what had happened. He glanced over at the taller side, feeling a sudden and intense surge of appreciation for the help (and maybe a bit of embarrassment at how he hadn’t caught on to the obvious front immediately). It wasn't out of the ordinary; all of Patton's emotions were intense, especially those he felt for his partners.

Patton realized he'd been staring when Logan looked over at him, cocking his head to the side.

"What's on your mind, dear?"

Patton leaned against the counter, shoulders slumping. Logan was almost as impossible to lie to as Deceit.

"Oh, I'm just a bit nervous, Lo."

"That's understandable."

"Is it?"

"Of course. You're putting a lot of pressure on yourself because this is the first time that all six of us are having dinner together as part of… This," Logan gestured between himself and Patton, and then more generally around the room, "You want it to be perfect. But, you know that perfection is unattainable, darling."

Patton felt immediately flustered at the accurate summary. This man could read him like a book.

Logan quickly washed and dried his hands as he finished with the peppers, coming to stand in front of Patton. Instinctively, the emotional side leaned into him.

"You're right, as usual." He admitted into Logan's shoulder. Logan chuckled lightly, fastening his arms around Patton's waist.

"You know how much I love to hear that."

Patton grinned and giggled against Logan’s collarbone, his mood lifting considerably.

"Mhm!"

"We should probably get back to work, though, if you’re ready." Logan reminded gently after a moment, slipping his arms down to entwine his fingers with Patton's.

"Yeah, good idea."

They worked together in comfortable silence for a while, movements well-practiced and precise. Shifting to the side as the other reached to get an ingredient, ducking down as a pot was carried over head, as they worked in tandem for the millionth time.. Well, the figurative millionth, as Logan would specify.

The two were waiting now, as the food cooked. It was Logan that spoke first.

"Oh, and for what it's worth, Pat?"

"Hm?"

"Don't be so hard on yourself. You certainly shouldn't worry about the others judging your food, because I'm sure that Remus' standards at the very least aren't particularly high. As the kids would say," he pushed his glasses up on his nose, smirking, "That Gremlin man has trash taste."

Patton couldn’t help it, he launched into a giggling fit at Logan’s use of, as Virgil would say, ``Tumblr Talk”. He couldn’t even get it together to scold Logan for the insult. When he finally calmed down, he looked up to find a very proud looking Logan. Patton smiled as wide as he could, brighter than the sun, and wrapped his arms around Logan again.

“Thank you,” Spoken as quietly as Patton could manage, with tremendous weight behind it.

3- Roman

He didn’t notice it at first; the splintering of the glass casing surrounding the dark ink, the cracks forming in his ornate and elaborately decorated pen. Roman had to keep working, he’d gotten into a groove and he knew that this time he could get the story right, if only his damned hand could move as fast as his thoughts. If he stopped, it could be weeks before he found the motivation to work like this again. He lingered a second too long between sentences, and immediately a blotch of void-black liquid pooled on the paper. The creative side growled,clenching his fist in frustration.

And the pen shattered.

Roman cursed loudly, pulling his hand away to hold it over the wastebasket by his desk (Which was already filled to the brim with discarded and crumpled drafts). Needle-sharp shards of glass had embedded themselves in his hand, the blood flowing around them barely visible through the dark ink. Roman’s breath shook as he hazarded a glance at his papers. They were soaked through with ink and blood, completely unsalvageable.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck fuckfuckfuck.” The side chanted, feeling tears of frustration and pain prick at the corners of his eyes. Hours of work, all wasted. He began frantically knocking the remnants of the pen and ruined papers into the overflowing wastebasket with his uninjured hand, cradling the other close to his chest. Alas, the papers below it were already botched up as well. Nothing remained of his efforts. A sound akin to a growl-sob escaped his throat.

And then footsteps stopped right outside of his door, and his breath hitched.

“Roman?” The door was pushed gingerly open, revealing a very concerned looking Logan.

“What’s up, specs?” He said, feigning a superior smile. Roman tried to hide his obviously injured hand. There wasn’t a chance he was telling Logan, of all people, what had happened. After all, he was the side to insist that Roman take more breaks, as though it wouldn’t mess up his flow entirely. Yeah, he did not want to deal with the incessant reminder that Logan ‘told him so’.

But Logan already had That Look on his face. That studying, prying look that got under Roman’s skin and saw through him with perfect clarity. It was as annoying as it was hot.

“Roman, let me see your hand."

Roman held out his undamaged hand and smirked.

“What’cha looking for, Microsoft Nerd?”

“You’ve used that nickname before," Logan walked into the room, stopping mere inches from Roman. "Show me your hand.”

Roman grumbled, tossing out his arm with more force and flair than necessary. Logan deftly caught his wrist and held it in place, careful not to press against the injured areas as he scrutinized the appendage. He sighed, locking eyes with Roman and wearing that "I’m not mad I’m just disappointed/concerned" look. That meant trouble. Wordlessly, Logan took Roman’s uninjured hand in his and led the trait over to the bathroom, sitting him down on the edge of the ornate tub that fills half the room. The side then arranged an array of first aid items on the counter around the sink, including a harsh-looking disinfected that Roman winced at the sight of.

“So.” Roman muttered, kicking his legs.

“So?” Logan replied, sterilizing a pair of tweezers. Roman groaned, throwing his head back melodramatically.

“Aren’t you gonna lecture me, Bill Gay-tes? You're being weirdly quiet."

"So you admit you need to be lectured for something?"

Roman scoffed in offense, "Well, I just meant- You're always going on about something that I did, even if I was just-" Roman cut himself off with a sharp hiss of pain as Logan began picking the glass out of his hand with the tweezers, methodical as always.

"Apologies, this is going to hurt."

"Yeah, thanks for the forewarning- fuck!"

Logan made short work of the shards of glass, pausing to examine the rest of the medical supplies.

"I think you already know what I'm going to say, Roman." He answered, finally.

"You're gonna say it anyway though, huh, Dweeb?"

"Yes, as it clearly bears repeating." Logan had now moved on to cleaning and wrapping Roman's hand with immense care, "You are overworking yourself, Roman. You need to take a break. You’re going to hurt yourself… again.

“I can… understand how it feels when you get the figurative ball rolling on a project. But your health is more important than whatever it is that you are working on. You can’t keep doing this, I- I’m worried about you.” He hid his eyes as he focused on bandaging Roman’s hand, drawing in a deep breath. “Now, I suggest we give you a change of scenery before you drive yourself mad.”

Roman was pulled to his feet, suddenly nose to nose with Logan (who looked, now that he could see his face, much more distressed). Roman reached up tentatively and he realized with a jolt of embarrassment that he was crying, just a little. He pressed his hands to his face. The bandaged one smarted a little, though it was much less painful than before. He knew that Logan was right, but he desperately needed to restart the story he had completely destroyed. The thought of starting over was impossibly daunting in the emotional state he was in, but he couldn’t dream of putting it off, either. But, then again…

“Fine. I suppose I could part with my work for a few minutes; my writing hand needs time to recover, after all.” Roman dried his tears, but still stubbornly refused eye-contact.

Logan smiled, knowing full well that they were all ambidextrous.

“Would you like to point out the various plot holes in The Princess and The Frog with me?”

“Oh, you know me too well.”

4- Remus

The common room was unusually empty. There was no Patton skipping around the kitchen cooking, or cozied up watching Parks and Rec on the TV. There was no Roman twirling and singing loudly while tidying, or ‘looking for inspiration’. There weren’t even any signs of Virgil or Deceit curled up in their chairs, listening to music while drawing and reading dusty old moral philosophy books, respectively. There was, however, a Logan entering stage left.

Remus glanced over at him quickly, and then bit his tongue. Literally. He was curled up in a tight little ball in one corner of the couch, mindlessly gouging deep slashes into its arm with his clawed fingers. He fitfully acknowledged Logan’s presence with a nod as the bespectacled side surveyed his surroundings. The energy of the common spaces was always neutral- it had to be- but Remus could feel the air around him tremble with excitement, hysteria, and millions of rushing thoughts and feelings as the power of his aura pushed outwards unnaturally. Internally, he fought to keep it all in, simultaneously dreading being alone and being around someone he’d inevitably upset.

“Have you heard of crushing videos? That’s when someone puts small animals on a glass table- Oh! with a camera underneath, of course- and they’re wearing big heels and- and can you guess what they do?” Remus blurted, giving a somewhat manic grin to Logan. The trait seemed to have finished assessing the situation and took a seat beside Remus, turning to face him. Well, that was unexpected.

“Yes, quite awful. Although, they’re usually quite hard to find.” Logan added without hesitation, or seemingly any concern. Remus almost felt relieved, before his brain immediately discarded the subject as soon as Logan tried to engage with it and scrambled to find something new. Something worse.

“Have you seen the movie Teeth, circa 2007?”

“Yes, I found it highly unrealistic. It had quite a satisfying- if a bit twisted- ending.”

Well, there goes that topic.

"What do you think it would be like to vomit and then have to re-eat it?" Surely that would cross a line. Fuck, why was he like this?

"Unpleasant, most likely." Logan wrinkled his nose slightly, but made no move to further the distance between himself and Remus. "The acidity would damage the enamel on your teeth, of course. Which is also why you shouldn't drink excessive amounts of lemon juice."

"Why are you still here?" Remus snapped, the words coming out harsher than intended. Logan blinked at him in surprise.

"Do you want me to leave?"

"No!" Remus cried. He lurched across the couch, before pulling himself back (he'd been trying very hard to respect personal space; he hardly wanted to upset his new partners, if it could at all be avoided). “But, it doesn't make any sense. You should be upset, you should have already wanted to leave- fuck, I just keep- I make people uncomfortable. It’s what I do.”

Logan glanced around the room and nodded.

“I figured that's why it's so empty. It is odd how your powers are affecting the common space. The others can be… easily stressed.”

"It's not their fault! It's. It's me. But I didn't mean to!" Remus felt himself clawing the couch again, remembering how the room had emptied. Concerned looks shot towards him, because of course everyone could feel the room changing in a way it never should. They were trying to talk to him, help him, but the second he tried to speak out tumbled a disgusting stream of consciousness. As he was listing the crimes of Albert Fish, finally even Patton left, looking shaky and worried and apologizing quickly. Pat had spoken rapidly, much like Remus, and wow, had it really gotten that bad in here? Remus couldn't quite believe the apology, couldn't rid himself of the thought that if he didn't shove them away, they'd only keep pretending to be happy he was there. He couldn't stop.

“Of course, it’s hardly anyone's fault. You clearly have a lot on your mind.” That managed to break Remus away from the spiraling thoughts (at least temporarily).

"I guess so," He muttered, eyes downcast, "It's probably because I know I shouldn't be here. I feel it deep down, like a throbbing, oozing, pus-filled wound. I thought-" he broke off, for once unwilling to speak his mind as tears blurred his vision.

"What do you think?" Logan prompted politely.

"I thought that maybe, if everyone kept telling me that I could change, eventually I would." Remus was staring intently at the ground, tears spilling down his face. "But I'm just the same. I'm not- I'm not good like the rest of you! Dee and Virge got to be better, but I'm still… Wrong." He was desperately trying to keep the tremors out of his voice, but he was painfully aware of every waver and crack in his voice as he spoke.

Without a moment's thought, an arm looped around Remus' waist and pulled him closer. Remus pressed against the other’s side instinctively, hands curling in the fabric of his shirt (careful not to tear it, of course). His words must have really struck a chord to elicit such a physical response from Logan of all people, something that was both worrying and weirdly comforting.

They stayed like that for a few minutes, cuddled together in the corner of the couch. After a while, the energy in the common room returned to its usual neutrality. When Logan finally broke the silence, Remus could hear him trying to keep the shake from his voice.

"Just so you know, we would not have invited you into this relationship if we expected you to be a different person. At least, that's the case for myself, though I’m sure the others would agree. You are here because you’re wanted here, Remus."

Remus grinned, exposing stained fangs. He looked more tired than his usual self, but the mischievous sparkle had returned to his eyes.

"Love you too, you Sexy Pocket Square."

“Thank you?”

5- Virgil

Virgil pulled his headphones on, sinking into the music of Pierce The Veil. It was uncomfortably loud in his ears, but he didn’t mind much. He was tense, that was obvious. Every few minutes, he felt himself relax just a bit, but there was always just a little more tension in him, like there was one taut muscle he just couldn’t pinpoint and pull loose. Virgil let his eyes fall closed for just a moment, breathing deeply. 4-7-8, 4-7-8.

Yeah, no, that was not helping. Virgil’s eyes popped back open and he slid one of the headphones behind his ear, breaking the immersion but maintaining awareness. He pressed his back to the wall harder, eyes darting around the room. Nothing was wrong, which was exactly why everything was wrong. Everything was just a little off, just a little strange and bad, and the anxious side had no idea what it was that caused the wrongness.

Well, that wasn’t entirely true; It was just commonplace anxiety. Which, in Virgil’s opinion, made it all the more distressing. He knew it wasn’t going away, not when he tried to make it. It would stop when it stopped, or didn’t, with Virgil helpless to control it. He took off his headphones. He put them back on. Off, on, off, on. Eyes closed, eyes open, eyes closed, eyes open. Nothing worked. He gingerly placed a hand over his chest, feeling the intense pounding of his heart. With a deep, shuddering breath, Virgil drew himself to his feet to go make some tea. Tea was good, safe, easy, understandable. He could make tea.

The anxious side wobbled on his feet, feeling dizzy and unfocused, as though reality was slipping through his fingers like frigid water. Another breath followed by a shudder and gently opened the door and walked slowly down the mindscape stairs. Had he always walked like this? Was that how he was supposed to move his arms? There was no way the stairs were always this steep.

Entering the kitchen, it took Virgil five full minutes to gather the energy to remember where the tea was. It took another eight to set up the mug and put on the kettle, stare at the kettle for a while, and realize it wasn’t turned on. Finally, determining that the water was in fact boiling, Virgil hopped up onto the counter to wait, sitting criss-cross.

A few more minutes passed, and Virgil began to notice that the silence was the very purposeful kind; the kind of quiet that was achieved by another presence deliberately being as silent as possible. He finally managed to focus his eyes on the table, at which sat one very confused looking Logan.

“When did you get here?” Virgil asked, internally cringing at the way his voice felt in his ears.

“Well, that can’t be good,” Logan replied, tipping his head to the side, “Are you alright?”

Fuck, he was right. Virgil was getting everything just a little wrong, of course Logan noticed it! Like hell he’d admit it, though. This had happened before, he could manage this on his own.

“I’m fine.” Virgil lied, catching the kettle as it began to shriek and pouring his tea.

“That’s funny,” Logan mused, looking back to his book, “I could have sworn you represented Anxiety, not Deceit.”

“Ha Ha.”

Virgil was spacing out again as the tea steeped, but it seemed Logan wasn't ready to drop the conversation. He snapped his book shut and he made his way across the room to stand in front of Virgil, keeping a respectful distance. The side’s hands were at his hips, his expression vaguely appraising. After a minute, Virgil began to squirm under the steady gaze.

“What?"

“You are extremely anxious.”

“No shit, L, what do you think I do here?”

Logan sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. Virgil immediately felt guilty for his biting tone.

“Maybe… I’m a little more on edge than usual.” Virgil admitted sheepishly, hopping off the counter to finish preparing the freshly brewed tea. Logan just hummed, staying quiet. An offering.

“I have no idea why, though,” The trait continued, picking at the frayed edge of his hoodie, “Everything feels wrong, and I don’t even know why.” Virgil's inability to articulate the feeling chewed at him, making him curl his toes in his shoes.

From behind, Logan gave an intake of breath as though to speak before cutting himself off. Virgil figured this was another prompt to vent, and hesitantly continued.

“So… I’m just trying to find some way to calm down? But everything I do just makes it worse. And it’s not new or anything, I just… it’s the kinda thing you don’t get used to, ya know? It comes out of nowhere and just fucks up my whole day. It’s like, I dunno- coming home and everything in your house is shifted one inch to the left, or whatever. It’s surreal, I guess.” Virgil sighed, pushing his violet bangs out of his eyes and leaning back against the counter. He took an experimental sip of tea and found it just cooled enough to endure. Something in his chest settled a little. A bit of normalcy crept it's way back into his vision.

Logan leaned next to him silently, looking to Virgil for permission before entwining their hands. Virgil drank his tea and let himself breathe for a moment. There was still a slight shake to his movements, but his heart had slowed and his head cleared a little. A small smile crossed his lips.

“How the hell did you do that?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Starlight.” Logan replied, ducking his head to hide his satisfied smile.

And the world felt a little more right.

Logan slid his glasses off his face, closing his eyes and groaning. He pushed his fingers against his eyelids and watched the dizzying bursts of color that kaleidoscoped across the darkness. He let his shoulders fall. He let himself stay like that for a few minutes, as though the insignificant little break could compare to a full night’s rest. Unsurprisingly, it only served to tire him more.

His glasses fell back into place and his hands resumed their positions at the sleek keyboard. Logan’s fingers hovered just above the keys, staring blankly at the spreadsheets laid out before him. His eyes glanced across the words uncomprehendingly. For a moment, he had the ridiculous thought that he had, in fact, never known how to read in the first place. The confusion was quickly replaced by a wave of frustration at his very humanoid need for sleep, which was then followed by an overwhelming surge exhaustion. It was the kind of tired that sunk down into your bones and made all of your limbs weigh as much as lead. Figuratively, of course.

Logan didn’t realize he was drifting off, head in hand, until a sharp knocking on his door startled him awake. He took a moment to push his hair back before calling out.

“Who is it?”

“Tis I, the handsome and valiant- Ow!" The drawling voice was cut off by a dull thudding sound.

"Take it down a notch, Ssshakessspeare," a second voice hissed in a poorly contained whisper, "Thisss iss ssssserious, you extra bitch."

Logan sighed, torn between feeling annoyed or feeling endeared. He stood and opened his door to find Roman and Deceit, standing side by side in the darkened hallway. Roman's hands were on his hips and his expression was challenging, while Deceit had all of his arms folded behind his back with a tired, exasperated smile. Logan felt guilt welling up in his chest, and quickly fought to suppress it.

“Can I help you? I'm very busy at the moment. there's some work I ought’ve finished last week that’s been stressing me.”

Deceit quirked a brow at that, a chuckle creeping into his words:

"Oh, it's obvious that you're stressed, Honey, you just uttered four consecutive contractions."

Logan felt his face heat, prompting another, rather derisive laugh from Deceit. The logical trait cleared his throat.

“I really need to be getting back to work.”

“Aha!” Roman exclaimed, louder than necessary, “Hippocrates!”

“Hypocrite, my love.” Deceit corrected.

“Hypocrite!”

Logan pinched the bridge of his nose, sensing an argument brewing. He really did not have the time, or the energy, to fight. In fact, Logan noticed he was leaning fairly heavily on the framework for support.

“What’re- What are you talking about?”

“I believe he’s talking about the fact that you recently delivered a few heartfelt lectures on the dangers of bad self care habits to some particularly grateful sides, and now they’re here to return the favor,” Deceit’s smirk widened in that infuriating way of his as he spoke, “You hypocrite.”

With a sigh, Logan righted himself and offered the two a half-hearted glare.

"I don't suppose you would leave if I just promised to go to bed when you left?"

"Not a chance!" Roman called in unison with Deceit murmuring "I know when you're lying, love."

After offering a few feeble arguments about the importance of his work to the creative process, Logan let the two loop and arm each around his waist and usher him down the hallway. If they insisted on holding him hostage for an hour or so, then fine. He could slip away when they inevitably got distracted and return to his work and totally not pass out at his desk.

"We're back, my Loves! Oh, and Remus, I guess." Roman exclaimed, a bit louder than Logan's liking. The latter inspected the scene before him with a mixture of appreciation, affection, and immense frustration. Remus was balanced precariously on the arm of the couch, grinning up at them and- miraculously- fully clothed. Beside him was Virgil, curled into one corner of the couch with his arms looped around Remus' waist to keep him from falling over. He wore a sleepy smile as he looked at Logan (whose reserve was already crumbling). Even worse (better?), just returning into the room with a tray full of various cups of tea, coffee, and hot chocolate, was Patton. He turned to give Logan a smile brighter than the sun upon noticing him (figuratively).

"Heya! Cookies are almost ready,” He greeted, beginning to hand out the beverages. Roman and Deceit took their places in the steadily building cuddle pile, but Logan remained stiffly where he was.

“What are all of you doing?”

“We’re holding you hostage and watching nature documentaries until you fall asleep, because we love you,” Virgil explained, “Bitch.” he added for good measure.

Remus toppled off the arm of the couch into the others, opening his arms invitingly.

“If you don’t come lie down with us on this couch right now there will be blood, and tears.”

Logan took a tentative step forward. And another.

He supposed the schedule could come a bit late this week.

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jasperswhumpjourney · 3 years

Text

Kitty Capers

This blog and storyline are a collaboration. And Feral suggested I post this piece of his for you all! @feralficwriter and Feral_Fic_Writer

Post Rescue Fluff, so this doesn't really have any content warnings, besides the usual. CW: Slavery, pet whump, lady caretaker, mentioned past abuse, A/B/O dynamics, brief mention of body modifications

Abbey looked up from her computer. Having fallen deep into her writing she’d suddenly realized it was time for a break. But her pet-parent senses also tingled: the house was entirely too quiet. Glancing around the front room she realized Minstrel and Liver were nowhere to be seen.

And, even more unusual, Jasper's pet bed was empty.

Not that Jas had to stay in his bed. In fact, she was pleased to see his usual station abandoned. Her poor rescued Omega finally seemed to be gaining enough confidence to venture about the apartment on his own a bit these past few weeks. And this was some significant progress.

Rising from her desk and stepping quietly out of the front room, Abbey peeked into the kitchen. No one was at the feeding or watering stations. Creeping down the hall, a glance into her bedroom showed none of her boys lounging on the bed there either. Well, at least not Minstrel and Liver. Jasper still had to be coaxed onto the bed and wouldn’t even venture near it unless she was in it.

"Where are they?" She wondered softly. Then a noise caught her attention, a shuffling behind the bathroom's slightly ajar door.

Rather cat-like herself, Abbey silently stalked forward. She carefully pushed the door further open, just enough to look in.

At the sight that greeted her, her hands flew up to cover her mouth. A whole roll of quilted toilet paper had been unraveled off its holder and all three of her pets were playing amidst heaps of soft white Charmin.

The bathroom was a disaster, but the scene was so cute it was all Abbey could do not to burst out laughing. What delighted her the most, however, was that Jasper, on his own, had slipped into kitten mode at some point. Naked now but for his tail plug and cat-eared headband he pounced about the mess just as kitten-like as his truer feline brothers.

Abbey knew that kitty head-space gave her poor, previously abused pet a freedom he couldn't otherwise obtain. But never had she witnessed her Jassy cat play with such abandon. He wiggled his small slender body, puffed, pranced, and pouted, as he frolicked about with her cats.

Somehow a giggle-hiccup managed to slip out past Abbey’s fingers. Minstrel was the first to hear it. Crouched low, his head swiveled toward the open door. Seeing her standing in the hallway he stared straight at her, unblinking. Despite sitting in the middle of a shredded pile his expression seemed to say, "not my fault. I was merely observing."

Still oblivious to her presence, Jasper had tipped over onto his back, his bare torso half-wrapped in TP like a mummy. He huffed out the closest thing to a giggle of his own Abbey had ever heard at the tickle of soft fur against his skin when Liver pounced and flopped on his side atop his bare belly.

Suddenly sensing Minstrel's change in mood, however, Liver looked up.

Knowing she'd been spotted, Abbey laughed out loud this time at Liver’s likewise unconvicted expression and pushed the door all the way open. “Okay you monsters!” She declared amid snickers, “the jig is up!”

Despite her declaration, as soon as the door’s opening widened further, in unison, Liver and Minstrel made a break for it! A flurry of black fur streaked like shadows out of the bathroom as they scampered to their favorite hiding spots. Caught and then falling away from Minstrel's tail, a four-foot, white streamer trailing halfway down the hall was soon the only evidence they'd ever been there.

Jasper, meanwhile, had frozen where he lay upon being discovered. Moments later, tense and trembling, he rolled over onto all fours and began to crawl shakily toward her. He stopped a few feet in front of Abbey and shifted into his perfectly practiced pet bow: head lowered, arms stretched out in front of him, his docked hands placed palms down.

“Oh, Jas,” Abbey sighed. His curly, honey-brown head lifted just enough to peep up at her.

The bathroom was suddenly stuffy with fear-filled omega scent. And it broke her heart to see the return of terror to the gaze that had been so joyfully innocent mere moments before. There was only one thing she could do.

"What in the world have you done, silly kitty?" She made sure to keep her voice high and light. Wide green eyes were fixed on her, still fearfully watching. "Did you need a new toy, Jassy Cat?

“You and the boys got bored and had to find something else to play with?"

A little bit of tension bled from Jasper's body. He lifted his head again and adorably bit his bottom lip. Hope crept into his eyes alongside the fear. Timidly he nodded.

He looked so sweet in his chagrin. Eyes glassy with his easy tears. Cheeks blushed so pink and hectic. Slowly Abbey squatted down and picked up a strip of the squandered paper. She scooted forward until it dangled just a foot or so away from him.

"Your brothers were very naughty to leave you here holding the bag..." She twirled the strip. "Or the paper as it were, in this case."

It was amazing how truly cat-like Jasper's green eyes were, so easily hypnotized by the streamer. His eyes darted occasionally back to her but it was clear he was quickly slipping back into kitten space. That he was able to recover so soon was such wonderful progress. Abbey smiled and leaned in, bringing the paper closer.

She smiled wider when very slowly Jasper lifted one of his docked “paws” and gave the dangling streamer a tiny pat.

“Do you like that flutter, Kitten?” Abbey wiggled the paper harder. “Come on, Sweetheart. Show me how you play.”

Always as obedient as possible, Jasper pattered at the bobbing streamer just as a kitten would. So focused and intent, he followed its every twirl. Then he paused his gentle batting to meet her gaze.

Abbey swallowed hard. She thought her heart might burst at how adoringingly Jasper looked at her. His green eyes sparkled with worshipful gratitude. No one in her life had ever loved her harder. It was something she was still getting used to.

“How did I manage to get such a cute kitty? Huh, Jassy Cat?” Abbey blinked happy tears. Then she gasped. Clearly having watched too many of Minstrel’s sneak attacks, Jasper pounced. Capturing not the paper but her wrist, he held it between his stub-fingered paws and rolled over onto his back again.

She dropped the TP streamer when he pulled her hand to his mouth. Had it been Minstrel, Abbey would have been shouting at needle sharp teeth against her skin. With Jasper, however, it was different. Squeals and peals of laughter echoed in the small space as she was attacked with ferocious kisses, nibbles, and licks.

“You’re so full of mischief, Jas!”

Jasper’s eyes flickered up to double check everything was okay, despite her laughter. Seeing her delight, he offered her a shy smile and one of his new giggle huffs before resuming his kiss ambush.

Abbey saw her omega pet was enjoying himself so much, his button of a cock was hard and leaking. His narrow hips wiggled, rubbing his tail’s plug part, seeking friction within his slicking hole. The scent of his pure pleasure and the sensation of his sweetly rabid kisses to her fingertips, got Abbey going as well.

Jasper’s nostrils flared catching a whiff of her Alphic arousal and his pupils dilated. His kisses grew longer and shifted from pecks into suckling.

“Oh, goodness… Aren’t you a naughty kitty!”

For once, Jasper’s eyes lit up at being called “naughty”. He increased his sucking and smiled up at Abbey around her finger. In reward for this response, with her free hand Abbey stroked soft down his collared neck. She traced around small, pink puffy nipples and tickled down his belly. Jasper’s back arched beautifully. Beneath her hand she felt the vibrations of his pleasure-purr before she heard it.

The wonderful sound of her happy omega just made Abbey wetter. Leaving off touching Jasper and reluctantly pulling away from his eager grip, she lifted her gauzy skirt. Bare beneath, it as usual, she spread her lower lips open with plump fingers. She dipped other fingers in and then held them out, showing her precious pet just how happy he made her.

“You know,” Abbey giggled. “Since Minstrel and Liver abandoned you, if you want, Jassy Cat. I know of another pussy you could play with.

Pupil-filled green eyes danced at the sight of her slick. Jasper’s pink tongue cutely poked out between his lips as he licked them in anticipation. Abbey picked up a fresh streamer and rose. “Come on, Babes,” she teased, making the paper flap and flutter as she headed out of the bathroom in the direction of her bed-nest. “Alpha has some cream for her kitten to lick up.”

His omega purr immediately growing louder, Jasper popped up in a flash to scamper on all fours after her.

Masterlist

#whump #pet whump #slavery #a/b/o dynamics #a/b/o #master/pet #caretaker #lady caretaker #cat boy #jas is a cute kitten!

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izanyas · 4 years

Note

prompt suggestions!- the phantom thieves pov regarding akechi and akira's relationship, a continuation of portrait of you with uraraka as a working hero, a snippet of agency chuuya ...?

it’s been 10000 years since i updated Nothing Noble and you guys will have to wait 10000 more years before i can get back to it so here, have chuuya and dazai’s reunion, you deserve it

When Chuuya woke up, it was to the distorted and fake sound of gunshots, and grunts and cries running thin through the cool air. A video game, he thought blearily, his head ringing still with the blow of the girl’s ability—a demon with a sword folding out of her back, just like—

His temple throbbed. Chuuya groaned, frowning, feeling the dry pull of skin under crusting blood. So sharp was the pain that he felt nauseous; and either the girl had been as highly-trained as she had looked, or he was very lucky, for a few centimeters lower and he could have died on the spot. He swallowed back the bile. He exhaled painfully, and reached up to touch the wound.

Or he tried, at least.

His right wrist was stopped by a bond of some kind. His left wrist by another—a skin-soft, skin-warm other.

New cries and gunshots rang out of the game just as Chuuya realized that the emptiness in his chest was not simply due to fatigue.

“Oh, just great,” he spat out.

His voice broke over the words, but it was no matter. Chuuya was having to breathe and clench the teeth now, to acquaint himself again with the feeling of nothingness where his ability should lay. The fingers circling his wrist tightened.

“Welcome back,” Dazai replied. “Please don’t bark so loudly, I’m trying to beat my record.”

Chuuya inhaled sharply and opened his eyes.

He immediately regretted it: the light of the port mafia’s infirmary was still the disgusting, blinding white he remembered from his childhood, and the brightness made the side of his head shout with pain. He was definitely concussed, he thought, feeling nausea roll up his throat. With any luck he’d vomit on Dazai’s clothes and not his own.

Dazai took his sweet time. As if wanting to draw out the moment—and maybe he did, the sadistic bastard—he finished his game. He must be doing it one-handedly too, considering his fingers hadn’t let go of Chuuya’s wrist for a second. Chuuya refused to be the one to look at him first. He sat straighter in the chair he was bound to and stared at the window opposite him, through which a pale square of grey sky showed.

At last, the victory jingle of Dazai’s game rang in the silence. Dazai let it play for a while before turning off his console. He sighed loudly; the very sound of it made Chuuya’s chest feel tight, pressurized. Dazai rose to his feet, still holding Chuuya by the wrist, before letting go. He walked around the chair to stand before him.

And Chuuya would rather die than look meek before someone, before Dazai, so he met his eyes defiantly.

He was so stupidly tall. Of course Dazai had always been lanky, skinny and long-limbed, but now his legs and torso stretched without the awkwardness of adolescence. His face was thinner, his eyes wider-apart. His hair was still the same mess, lighter-brown rather than black.

His shoulders had grown to fit the coat Mori had given him so long ago.

“I hate what you’ve done with the hair,” Dazai told him conversationally.

His voice was deeper too.

“Piss off,” Chuuya couldn’t help but reply.

“I wish. I’ve been holding it back for an hour.”

“I can’t fucking believe you.”

Dazai looked thoughtfully aside. “I see you haven’t gotten any less rude,” he said, still in that same even voice Chuuya had always despised. “Although you have gotten weaker.”

“Let me go,” Chuuya growled, all of his body strained against the bonds; “and I’ll show you just how weak I am, you son of a whore.”

Silenced crushed the space between them to smithereens.

Dazai sighed again. His fingers found the side of Chuuya’s neck a few seconds at most before the Tainted Sorrow would have gone back to him. Chuuya wanted to rage as the feeling of emptiness deepened; he wanted to bite off Dazai’s hand, to spit out of his own chest the nostalgia now holding him back.

“Well, I can’t say I didn’t use Kyouka-chan for this purpose,” Dazai said. The pad of his thump pressed right above Chuuya’s clavicle, right under the collar of Chuuya’s shirt; right above his pulse. “I was counting on the surprise. Good thinking, me.”

“You’re such a piss poor excuse for a human being.”

“You’ll hurt my feelings.”

Chuuya snorted audibly.

Still, he was reeling from the sight of the girl’s ability. Still his heart ached with the memory of Kouyou’s Golden Demon.

“Who is she?” he asked.

Dazai’s hand shifted around his neck. It fit against the line of his shoulder full-palmed. “Izumi Kyouka,” he replied at last. “Her ability is called Demon Snow. Looks a lot like ane-san’s, doesn’t it? I even dressed her up like her—”

Chuuya’s foot erupted out of the rope keeping it tied to the chair leg and hit Dazai in the belly.

Dazai crashed into the opposite wall satisfactorily. The sound of broken wood as he fell over the desk there was music to Chuuya’s ears, as much as the pained grunt he let out, squeezed from his throat. Chuuya bit down on the twisted regret flaring up his ribcage. He lowered his foot again, focusing on the pain of rope-burn and of his twisted ankle.

“Don’t fucking say her name,” he warned Dazai lowly.

Dazai pushed himself to his feet again slowly while Chuuya tested the give of the chair under him. It was bolted to the floor, and his left foot was too solidly roped to hope to tear it out as well. He couldn’t risk two twisted ankles while in port mafia custody. Still he tensed within his bonds, his spined arched off of the wooden backrest as far as it would go, his arms bulging against the rope. When Dazai touched his neck again, he growled in frustration.

“You’re such an animal,” Dazai complained.

His voice was hollow. Chuuya saw with half-satisfaction, half-guilt that his right shoulder hung limply out of its socket.

“You’ve been hiding around civilized people for years, and you still act like this? I’ve heard of Fukuzawa Yukichi, you know. Mori-san calls him a righteous man. It’s a wonder he welcomed you into his group.”

“Mori won’t be saying shit for much longer,” Chuuya bit out harshly.

“Biting and barking and drooling everywhere,” Dazai replied. “You know you won’t get to him like this. Or to Ango.”

Or to me, he didn’t say.

Chuuya wouldn’t have know what to do if he had.

Dazai’s hand lifted from his neck again. Chuuya jumped back as it rose into his face, hating himself for it and hating Dazai more—but Dazai did not laugh or make any comments to him. His hand simply followed the path of Chuuya’s head until it knocked into the wall; then he touched Chuuya’s cheek right where gauze hid the scar. His cold fingers pinched the edges of it and tore it away without a care.

The ugly hole there always stung when the weather was damp and cold; it stung now, being freed from the bandage, a crater of scar and skin high up on Chuuya’s bone. Dazai looked at it in silence.

When he could stand it no longer—when the quiet grated at him and made him feel as though his skin were being peeled away—Chuuya spat out: “Admiring your handiwork?”

Dazai breathed out quickly. He threw the dirty gauze into a paper-basket by the desk with disgusting accuracy, then rubbed at the finger hanging from his dislocated arm for a second. He took hold of Chuuya’s shoulder again and did not look at him.

“You’re out of luck,” he said, even and bored. “Mori isn’t in Yokohama now. Neither is Ango.”

“Like you would know if he was.”

“He was my friend, you know,” Dazai whined to him.

Chuuya was about to kick him again, twisted ankle or not, when someone knocked on the door.

They looked at each other in silence before looking away as one; Dazai’s hand flexing over Chuuya’s shoulder as if to brace him, Chuuya’s hurt foot touching the floor as if ready to kick away and fly.

As if this were combat, the both of them standing on the same side again.

Oda Sakunosuke entered first. He took one look at Chuuya, his serious face plying with—with pity or fucking compassion, Chuuya didn’t know and didn’t care. If he had the means now, he would plunge a first through Oda’s chest and tear out his beating heart, no matter that he had once protected him for Dazai’s sake.

Oda may now where Sakaguchi was. Out of them all, he was the most likely to know, and the most likely to be able to hide the information from Dazai successfully.

“Don’t bite, now,” Dazai murmured.

His fingernails dug into the soft flesh between bone and tendon, made all the easier to feel for Chuuya’s tension. Chuuya clenched his teeth. Dazai threatening him physically again, without even a gun this time—what a joke.

He relaxed only when he saw the shadow behind Oda: Akutagawa, as tall and skinny as Chuuya had seen him last over the tiger boy’s prone body; and still looking at him now with fear in his eyes.

Dazai’s hold relaxed. His hand left Chuuya’s body altogether as he walked leisurely toward his subordinate. “Did you bring it?” he asked jovially.

“Yes,” Akutagawa rasped out.

He handed over a small box, which Dazai took from him without a word. Akutagawa stood still then, his hand still outstretched, his eyes still jumping between Chuuya and the floor uneasily. His black coat seemed to shiver about his skin as if moved by his powers; as if, even now, Rashoumon were preparing for someone to bring a knife out.

“Hi,” Chuuya told him bluntly. “How’s that wound?”

Akutagawa jumped. Rashoumon flared off of his shoulders like wings, posing against the door at his back in defense.

“Thank you,” Dazai said pointedly. He threw Akutagawa a dark look. “You’re dismissed. Shoo.”

Akutagawa didn’t have to be asked twice. He nodded curtly and left, bowing the head when he passed by Oda’s side, who gave him the same look he had given Chuuya.

Chuuya’s guts squirmed unpleasantly. “What the hell did you put through that kid’s head?” he asked Dazai. “He keeps looking at me like I’m about to tear him a new one.”

“Nothing much,” Dazai replied distractedly. “Just incentive enough not to get any ideas about fraternizing with you.”

Oda shook his head and sighed. He still hadn’t said a word.

Dazai did not look at him anyway: his hands were busy with the box Akutagawa had brought. He slid the lid of it open one-handedly, taking out a syringe full of water-clear liquid, letting the box drop to the floor uselessly.

Chuuya’s heart skipped a beat. The pain in his temple sharpened; he pulled against his restraints uselessly.

“What the fuck is that,” he growled.

“Just something to keep you nice and put while I tend to some business,” Dazai replied, flicking a nail against the glass vial. “Now be still.”

Excess air erupted out of the needle head, and a droplet fell out and crashed onto the wooden floor.

Bile swarmed within Chuuya’s mouth.

He hardly saw Dazai approach. His ears rang under the rush of his own blood; fear the likes of which he hadn’t known in fifteen years blinded him, taking away sight and smells and sounds, as if he were afloat in green water again; from deep within his belly, the growl of a great beast echoed, enraged, uncontrollable. Pulling against the bright-gold bonds that Fukuzawa’s ability granted, showing Chuuya once again what a flimsy excuse for control this was—

“Dazai.”

Chuuya stilled, and blinked, and heaved.

That had been Oda’s voice. Dazai had stilled as well, his cold hand frozen upon the skin of Chuuya’s forearm. Chuuya first saw Oda standing behind Dazai and having grabbed Dazai’s unhurt shoulder; then he looked at Dazai, whose eyes were wide open and fixed onto Chuuya’s face.

There was an expression there that Chuuya had seen before, a long time ago. Something fragile, something outlining the youth of Dazai’s mouth and cheeks, the fatigue bruised under his eyes. Something that made Dazai lift his injured arm as if to touch Chuuya’s neck again—as if to brush fingers against the numbers tattooed at his nape, as he once did every time Corruption ravaged Chuuya whole—before he stilled.

His hand fell. His thumb rubbed at the side of index nervously. He stared at Chuuya in silence, his other hand still pressed to Chuuya’s forearm.

“It’s just a sedative,” Dazai said. “And something to keep your powers in check.”

His voice was unbearably soft.

Chuuya licked his lips. His temple throbbed. “This is supposed to reassure me?” he rasped out.

“No,” Dazai replied immediately.

But it had, and he knew it. They both knew it.

Still Chuuya tried to jerk his hand back with Dazai took hold of him again. Still a whimper tried to escape his lips when the needle punctured his skin, as his mind once more shook with half-buried memories, with the sight of a book torn out of a dead man’s hand, showing pictures he wished he had never seen.

There were so many things one could do to him while sedated and powerless, even if Mori was far, even if Dazai stood before him with more sanity in his eyes than when they were children. Chuuya breathed in deeply. The very slight ache of the needle pulling out made him want to cry out.

Dazai’s hand lingered above his skin for a moment longer. He wiped the small wound with his thumb when a single drop of blood leaked out; he backed away; he pressed his palm to Chuuya’s skin again, and then stepped back entirely.

“I hate you,” Chuuya let out uselessly.

Dazai stared at him in silence. Already Chuuya could feel his eyelids weigh down as the sedative worked through him. He blinked open his eyes forcefully. Dazai’s face blurred and swayed, pale and haunting.

As consciousness faded from Chuuya, Dazai replied, “I know. You’re right to.”

The last Chuuya saw of him before darkness took him was the flutter of a black coat and a bowed head of brown hair; and his last thought flew to that same dark hair in the moonlight, to a blasted-open hangar stained with the blood of dozens of strangers—

—to Dazai holding a glistening pistol up, shaking through his body, begging him: “Please. Don’t make me do this.”

#bsd #soukoku #bungou stray dogs #fic: nothing noble #tumblr fic #anon #answered

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awkwardnessandbaseball · 5 years

Photo

LET’S GET THIS PARTY STARTED!!!

It’s @csrolereversal AND @cshalloweek time!!! Roughly one BILLION thanks to @sherlockianwhovian for making sure my words make sense and, of course, @courtorderedcake for her lovely art that inspired this story. Without further ado, I present:

A Fan of Every Part of You

A Captain Swan Halloweek Story in three parts

AO3 if that’s your jam: Ch1 | Ch2 | Ch3

Killian Jones has a really loud, destructive upstairs neighbor, and he's about to lose his patience with them. But when he discovers that it's a beautiful witch with a soft spot for his dangerous familiar, Captain, that complicates things just a bit.

Chapter One:

*BANG*

Killian jumped in the air at the noise, dropping the jar of bearberry he’d been holding.

“Bloody hell. That was expensive,” Killian groaned, leaning down to clean up his mess. It was far from the first time he’d dropped an expensive ingredient for one of his potions, but until recently, it had at least been his own fault. Now, however, he had a new neighbor upstairs.

A very loud neighbor.

He’d never met them, of course, but it seemed like perhaps it was not one, but several hundred people up above his head.

Or perhaps several hundred elephants.

*BANG* *CRASH*

That’s it, Killian thought to himself, grabbing his broom.

*TAP TAP TAP*

He poked the handle of the broom against his ceiling at what he hoped was a loud enough volume that the mysterious, noise-making neighbor would hear it. He didn’t dare poke any harder for fear of breaking the old thing clean in half.

*BANG BANG BANG*

It was the unmistakable sound of a foot being stomped on the ground above his head, at the same rhythm at which he’d just poked the broom.

“Seriously? Is there a six-year-old living above me now?” Killian grumbled at what he thought was an appropriate level for his own living space.

“No, is there a jackass living below me now?” a muffled voice responded from above.

Ah, his new neighbor was a woman then. At least he knew something about her now, although that didn’t make him any less frustrated by her noise level or the fact that she could apparently hear him through the floor of her apartment.

“No, just someone who’s tired of dropping all of his expensive ingredients due to a bunch of surprising noises from above!” Killian yelled back.

“Then maybe you should be more careful!”

“Pot, meet kettle!”

There was silence then.

Followed by a lot of noise on the stairwell, and then a loud banging on Killian’s door.

He groaned.

“Come to show your face then, finally?” he asked as he swung the door open, holding it carefully so that his familiar, Captain, was just out of view. What he saw in front of him was… not what he expected. The woman standing in his doorway, who was so angry there were literal red waves of infuriated energy coming off of her, was beautiful.

Beautiful, and angry, and with a loud, vibrant energy that glowed around her much brighter than anyone he’d seen before.

Of course.

He held the door steady with his right hand, ignoring Captain’s low groan from the couch.

It wasn’t that Killian was ashamed of Captain. Not at all. Killian was quite proud of the large creature taking up residence on his couch. It was just that Captain was… misunderstood.

Growing up, as all of his friends had started showing off their familiars, Killian had been without one. He had waited, and waited, and waited. He wanted to know that companionship so badly. But it wasn’t until his older brother had died that Captain had appeared. Without Liam, Killian was forced to grow up very quickly, and so Captain had been borne of grief, sorrow, and loneliness.

The problem was that Captain wasn’t an ordinary familiar. Most witches had created birds or cats, or even a few dogs. There were a few others -- some large cats among his friends with tendencies toward dark magic.

But Killian’s own familiar was the only hybrid he’d ever seen. Captain was larger than a panther, though he had the look of one. He had a lion’s mane, which would have looked a bit out of place if not for his constant look of regality, and huge bat-like wings. He was quite intimidating to say the least.

At first, before Killian had realized just how out-of-place his familiar was, he’d ventured out as usual, walking down the street to the store at any time of day, Captain steady by his side.

But then the strange looks had begun, and the whispers. It took Killian a month to realize that people were, in fact, scared of him.

“It’s not your fault,” Ruby, the witch who ran the local herb store, told him. Ruby had been the only person to tell Killian to his face that his familiar was… not normal. She was also the only person whose energy didn’t immediately turn to a cold, ice blue whenever they saw Killian with his familiar by his side. “You said his name’s Captain?” Killian nodded. “Well, Captain looks pretty dangerous, you know? Which means… you could be dangerous. So… that’s why people are acting so strangely.”

Killian didn’t ask why she wasn’t afraid of him. The glint in her eye told him he probably didn’t want to know.

Ashamed of himself and whatever danger must lie in his soul, Killian had stopped venturing out during the day. Ruby stayed at work late whenever he needed supplies, and that arrangement had meant that no one new had seen Captain in about five years.

It also meant that Killian hadn’t really spoken to anyone besides Ruby and the grocery delivery boy in that long.

Until right now.

“Can you please stop banging on your ceiling when I’m trying to work?” the angry blonde woman nearly screamed in his face. “It’s very distracting, and I’m working with very sensitive spells.”

“Pardon, milady, but your raucous noises are causing me quite a bit of disturbance as well.” Killian gestured towards the mess of bearberry on the floor of his kitchen. “That was rather expensive, and I can’t get to the store for at least another six hours.”

He winced, realizing belatedly that he’d revealed too much. He was really terrible at the whole personal interaction thing.

Just a bit rusty, he thought to himself.

“Why not?” the woman asked, arching an eyebrow suspiciously.

“I… er… I can’t…” Killian stammered. Finally, after an embarrassing amount of ear scratching (his) and death stares (hers), he decided it might just be easier to show her than to continue this silent battle. “This is Captain,” he said, opening the door wider and revealing the oversized winged panther lying on top of his couch. “If you cross the threshold, I can’t promise he won’t do something stupid. He’s very protective.”

“He’s beautiful,” she said quietly, and the energy around her shifted from dark, angry red to a soft green. “I’m Emma,” she added as an afterthought, holding out her hand.

“Killian,” he said, shaking her hand once. “Killian Jones.”

“Well, Killian, I’m sorry I made you spill your… what exactly was that?”

“Bearberry,” he answered automatically. She looked genuinely apologetic, and Killian wasn’t sure what exactly changed her attitude, but he was certainly thankful for it.

“I’ll try to keep it down, or at least give you some warning.” She smiled softly at him.

“Er… thanks. Thank you,” he responded awkwardly. She nodded once and then turned towards the stairs to go back to her apartment.

An hour later, there was a soft knock at Killian’s door. He looked through the peephole, but no one was there. Cautiously, he opened the door just a tad, and there was a soft thud by his feet.

A bundle of bearberry had fallen over without the door to hold it up. There was a note, and Killian found himself smiling before he had even opened it.

Mr. Jones, I apologize again for making you spill your bearberry. This should be enough to get you through for a bit. I’ve also thrown in a small treat for Captain.

Enjoy,

E. Swan

********

The strange thing about quiet is that it makes you miss the noise. So when two days went by without a single crash, boom, or clunk from upstairs, Killian grew worried. It took him a third day to gather up the courage to knock on her door.

As soon as it opened, he heard a whole plethora of noises. Whirrs and clanks and, of course, crashes.

“Swan, what the hell?”

He wasn’t sure why it came out of his mouth. But when she’d signed the note “E. Swan” he’d pictured her and her beautiful face and well… okay, she wasn’t exactly graceful or swanlike but somehow, still, ‘Swan’ seemed to suit her.

She hesitated a moment, a blush creeping up her neck.

“I charmed the apartment. So you wouldn’t hear… all of this.” She grabbed a loose strand of hair and started twisting it in her hands. “I felt bad. About before.”

It really wasn’t a grand gesture. She had cast a fairly simple charm so that her neighbors wouldn’t be disturbed by all the noise constantly coming from her apartment. A miniscule part of Killian’s brain wondered why she hadn’t done that to begin with, but he ignored it in favor of the more prominent thought in his mind: she’d done this for him.

“You didn’t have to… that’s very kind.”

An awkward silence fell over them before Killian glanced behind her into her apartment. It was nearly identical to his in layout, but where he kept his living space organized and tidy, Emma lived in what looked to be the middle of a biohazard. There were potions and ingredients and empty jars on nearly every surface. A stack of boxes towered far too high for Killian’s comfort just beside the dining room table. And a strange metal contraption right in the middle of the kitchen seemed to be the source of all the noise, whirring away and shaking far more than it looked like it should be.

And there, on the couch, lay a giant white… creature.

He knew, of course, that this must be her familiar. What he couldn’t figure out was what exactly it was. It looked both furry and feathered, and as Killian stared at it, the white color he’d originally seen started morphing into spots. And then stripes. And then back to white.

“What the--”

“Nothing. It’s nothing. I have to go now.”

And then the door was slammed in his face.

#csrolereversal #captain swan #captain swan fanfic #cs ff #cs fanfic #caitlin writes

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cent-noah · 6 years

Text

Never Love This Way Again

Author: @cent-noah

Pairing: Noah x Reader

Word Count: 3k

Warnings: fluff!!!!!!

A/N: Ok, so... I just had to listen to a song and think of it, right? Because I can’t be a normal person and enjoy a music without thinking of a fic. *sighes* Hope you all enjoy it! Also, I know it’s November, but I’m in Christmas spirits already.

(This is the song they dance to)

There was a warm aura inside the house, orange and yellow lights crackling from the fire lit up in the fireplace, washing over the walls and furniture, making the room seem more inviting and comfortable than it already was. There was a smell lingering in the air, taking over the whole house, infesting each room in the most delicious way. It was a concoction of flavors, sweet, sour, salty, each and every one of them adding to the ambiance the owner of the house was trying to create. Fairy lights decorated the living room, twinkling every few seconds in the tall green tree on the supposedly dark corner, illuminating the whole area brightly, showing the face of the small angels and nutcrackers adorning the leafy branches, bringing life into the now empty room.

The low humming sound coming from the kitchen could barely be heard and it would take trained ears to pick up the melody it was going to, but it didn’t matter to the girl standing there, going around the wide space with her eyes closed, feeling the energy of the air, summery and delightful in comparison to the one outside, so gloomy and cold. Her hands expertly reaching for the plates and dishes she needed, her hips swinging to the song coming from the opened laptop in the countertop, a smile plastered on her face as the memories invaded her thoughts, images of what she had gone through the years, images of the person she was with, all so very vibrant and calm.

Loving Noah was like that. It was like a Sunday summer afternoon, a breath of fresh air entering suffocating lungs. It was easy, it was living, it was looking into the future and seeing them together, hand in hand. It wasn’t complicated, it was patient, and above it all, it was reciprocal. She knew that for every day she had loved and wanted to be with him, he was right there with her, feeling the same, working through their difficulties to keep the flame alive, to keep their relationship as pure as it had always been, no interference from the outside world, no matter what. Gossips would always be a constant thing in his life, therefore something that would be present in her days too, but the trust they had in one another prevailed it all.

That was why it didn’t feel like a wintery day could spoil her night, that was why she would happily hum to whatever song would come next, that was why she had a smile on her face even when she was left alone in that house for day, even when she knew he could walk in any second and see her making a fool of herself. She didn’t care. She would gladly keep doing it, celebrating her happiness, her relationship, the constant reason to make her sway to silly love songs.

And it was amidst that train of track, so lost into her own mind, that Y/N didn’t hear when the front door opened, a gust of cold air infiltrating the warm home they had made for themselves, heavy footsteps echoing through the hallway, entering the living room and soon stopping under the threshold, leaning against the door frame, arms crossed over his chest as he watched the girl using a wooden spoon as a microphone, oblivious to everything else around her as she closed her eyes shut, her back turned to him, her hair falling in long waves down her shoulders.

Noah stood there contemplating her, wondering what he had done to have deserved such a girl into his life, one that never failed to amaze him, one that could bring a smile to his face even when she didn’t mean to, one that could fit perfectly in his arms, one that shared more than just moments with him; shared secrets, feelings, decisions, house... The girl that he would do whatever it took to keep by his side, the girl he would wait for a thousand years and more.

The man kept his eyes trained on her dancing frame, the swaying of her hips as the slow song continued, ever so slightly, in the hot kitchen. Her feet moving from one position to another, toying with the tiles, never stepping on the lines, her hands wrapped around herself as she pretended she was dancing with someone - he could only hope it was him -, her head falling back in a giggle every now and then. She seemed so pure, so untroubled that he didn’t have the heart in him to walk up to her and disrupt her moment of blissful happiness, even when all he wanted to do was to join her. So he just watched. Watched as she danced and prepared whatever she was cooking, her back always turned to him, completely neglecting the fact that she was being observed, lost in her own world that consisted of Noah and nothing else.

The song changed into another one, the type never really changing, the same soothing, calming beat coming from the speakers, but this time the choice caught his attention, his ears perking up when he heard her singing along in a slightly off key tone, not caring about anything. And he loved that. He loved that she didn’t have the perfect kind of voice, he loved that she would try to tone the song down on her own and he loved that she didn’t care at all when she went too much high-pitched or her voice wouldn’t come out. She would shrug and say that she was a bad singer, but she sang emotionally. And that she did. She could put too much emotion sometimes, dragging a smile out of him for that.

And as much as he had tried to restrain himself from making his presence known, he couldn’t help the steps he took into the kitchen as he noticed the chorus coming back, his arms reaching out for her ever so slowly, hands resting on her waist as he feels her jump slightly by his surprising touch, her heartbeat calming down a little when she realized it was him, his nose snuggling into her neck, breathing in her scent, his lips skimming her skin and placing a soft kiss to the point where it connected to her shoulders.

Y/N smiled, her eyes closed as she tilted her head back, leaning her whole body against Noah’s in a sweet surrender, her movements never stopping, making him dance along with her. She never faltered, not even when she felt his hands sliding across her body, gripping her more tightly and turning her into his arms, her palms pressed against his chest as he smiled down at her, a lingering kiss pressed to her forehead as he, too, sang along to the music, both of them looking into each other’s eyes, lost in the sea of emotions and unsaid words, mirroring their movements unconsciously, voices dropping low as the singing from the computer grew louder, the voice of the singer lulling them into a deep trance.

It wasn’t something new, that complicity between the two of them, but there was something in the air that night. Maybe it was the time of the year, that made everyone feel things with more intensity, maybe it was the silence in the house, the whole mood they seemed to create without even meaning to. Whatever it was, Noah could feel his heart beating faster, his hands feeling clammy around her waist and a hundred thousand butterflies dancing around in his stomach. He could feel his breath start to get a bit labored every time he looked at their faint reflection in the window, the way they seemed to be made for each other, the way she had her head pressed against his chest. And she looked beautiful in the dim light as the snow fell outside, white dots of ice covering the windowsill.

As if noticing his trembling hands, Y/N tilted her head up, her eyes finding Noah’s once again, a genuine smile adorning their faces as the chorus repeats one more time. “I know... I’ll never... Love this way again,” they both mumbled at each other, their smiles growing wider as they keep swaying from side to side as the music faded out leaving them in the most complete silence.

In the cozy atmosphere of the kitchen, with some sparing white light coming from the outside through the nearly covered in snow window, their breaths mingled, their bodies still pressed against one another, another music playing in the background being completely neglected by them. There was only the two of them and their beating hearts. Noah, as he always did when those moments showed, took the time to admire Y/N again, from closer now. The way her eyes twinkled under the light, how her head reached up to the base of his shoulders, making him tower over her in the most protective way, her hair tickling his chin slightly, something he would always enjoy, something he always missed when he wasn’t around. He could feel her hands grasping the back of his shirt tightly, wrinkling the fabric with no concern, pulling him closer to her, warmth spreading through them.

“You’re home early,” Y/N was the first to speak, her voice a low whisper not wanting to break the mood they had created snapping him out of his thoughts, a smile coming to place itself over his face at the sound of her soft tone.

“Didn’t I tell you?” he whispered back, his hands running from her waist to her back in a soothing way, his breath fanning down her head. “I’ve got a Christmas Eve dinner I can’t miss.”

The girl laughed lowly, reaching on the tip of her toes to plant a short kiss on his lips, the man wanting it to last longer than it had, puckering his lips as she pulled away from him, her back once again turned as she made her way to the oven to check the food she had been preparing before he interrupted her.

And it was then that he realized that he didn’t want those moments to end. If he could, he wanted to go back home to see her every night. The right pocket in his pants felt heavier, his hand patting over the fabric to make sure the volume he had stored in there was still away from her field of vision. He wanted to wait until later that night, wait until they had dined with her parents, but his heart was telling him to do it now, to just reach into his pocket, pull out the velvet box and ask her.

But before he could do it, before he could move, she had walked up to him again, her eyes twinkling in a mischievous way, her hands behind her back as she rocked herself back and forth on the ball of her feet, lips closed tight as if preventing herself from giving anything away.

“What?” He bemused trying to contain his own smile at the sight of the girl in front of him. He could tell she was trying really hard to not tell him something, trying to not ruin it by saying something too hurriedly.

“I’ve got a surprise for you,” she let out, her smile widening as she stared at his confused face, the freckles more evident in that shade of light. Her heart was tampering, beating wildly as she waited for his reaction, telling her to go on. It was hard. She had practiced it so many times and yet she couldn’t do it. It was always harder when it was actually happening.

“Oh my God, baby, you’re making me so curious,” he laughed, his hair falling into his eyes as he nodded his head at her.

Y/N took a deep breath, her eyes studying every little bit of emotion on his face, paying attention to the slight change he could have as she finally smiled, her eyes turning to her hands as she slowly, but surely, lifted a small piece of paper to his eye level, a black and white grainy image taking over his field of vision once and for all, her hands shaking a little bit as she waited for his reaction, his realization to what she had just announced.

It didn’t come in an outburst as she thought it would. It took awhile for Noah to realize what was going on. He looked at the piece of paper in her hands, his eyes scanning the image as he tried to make sense of what was going on, his brain in overdrive not fully understanding the meaning of it. All he could see was the expectant look on her face, her eyes dancing from him to the piece of paper she was holding, growing anxious as the seconds ticked by.

Noah’s eye finally fixed in the image she was holding, his hands slowly reaching for it to examine it closer, a few tiny letters in the side, something he couldn’t read properly, but his brain didn’t pay attention to it, more focused on what was circled in the center of the black and grey picture, trying to finally see what was being shown to him.

And it was like a brick hit him in the chest, knocking the air out of his lungs as he wheezed and blinked furiously, his hands shaking a little bit, his feet faltering, stumbling backwards until the back of his knees hit a chair and he fell into it, eyes wide open staring at the scanned image in his hands, mouth slightly open.

From her place, Y/N watched as the realization came into his features, shock written all over it and she started doubting everything she had ever hoped. Maybe he didn’t want that, maybe it was too soon, she shouldn’t have done that, she shouldn’t - Her train of negative thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the chair scraping against the tiles, the taller man walking up to her hurriedly, holding her face in his hands with the biggest smile she had ever seen on him, his eyes shining with a few unshed tears, something she didn’t think she would see when she delivered the big news.

“You’re not messing with me, right?” His touch was gentle, his words pleading her to tell him the truth, to confirm it was all real and not some kind of dream or joke. He wanted it to be real, he wanted it to happen and she could see it by the way he was holding her, firmly and yet caring, pouring every single emotion he was feeling, letting her know that he was in.

She shook her head, suddenly too overwhelmed by his reaction to say anything, feeling the tears start to pool in her eyes as she watched him kneel down and hug her waist in the most loving way, kissing her barely there bump a few times, whispering sweet nothings to it as she played with his soft hair, running her hand through it, a small laugh escaping her every now and then. He looked up at her, a few tears now streaming down her face slowly.

“Oh my God, baby, you’re gonna make me cry,” he chuckled through a small sob, one of his hands finally letting go of the grip he had on her and reaching into his pocket. “This totally blows the plans I had for later, but I guess it goes in time,” he started, his free hand taking hold of her hand as the other one struggled to come out with the small squared box confined in it. “Don’t think it has anything to do with what you just told me, because you caught me by surprise,” he chuckled. “But that’s something I’ve been thinking for a long time and the timing is just too perfect to let it pass by. I know that we never planned this to happen, but you have no idea how happy I am right now. And there’s no other way of saying how much I love you, how much you mean to me and how much I want to have a family with you and grow old with you than this.”

It didn’t take much to realize what he was trying to say at that moment and as if the news that she was pregnant and his reaction to it wasn’t enough to set a wave of emotions to wash all over Y/N, the sight of Noah down on his knees, taking her hand in one of his while the other worked to pop up the black velvet box in which was resting the most beautiful ring she had ever seen heightened it by a hundred per cent more, a swirl of happiness and excitement bubbling inside of her, her free hand reaching into her mouth to contain the gasp that was threatening to leave, new tears streaming down her eyes, finding their way down her face and dying on her quivering lips.

“Will you marry me?” He asked, his tone wavering in the emotional state he found himself in, on his knees, in the middle of his kitchen, lulled by some random music he never had the care to learn. But none of that mattered, as his heart hammered against his ribcage, waiting for her reply.

“Yes,” she croaked, nodding her head nonstop. “Yes,” she managed to say with a little more clarity than before. “Of course I will marry you, Noah!”

And it was under the yellow light hanging from the ceiling, with the air smelling of Christmas and, in the far background the rustling of the wind hitting the walls of their home that Noah slipped the ring down her finger gracefully, getting up and pulling her to him, her hands once again falling on his chest, like they always did, playing with the buttons of his shirt.

It was simple, it was perfect, much like everything they had lived for the past couple of years, much like they wanted the rest of their lives to be.

Taglist: @disbestiles, @centxneo, @savage-stilinski, @akumakoronso, @thebeardedcentineo, @apkavy

#noah centineo #noah centineo fluff #noah centineo smut #noah centineo x reader #noah centineo fanfiction #noah centineo fanfic #noah centineo fic #peter kavinsky #peter kavinsky fluff

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