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seijorhi · 3 years

Text

Fracture

i apologise in advance.

Miya Osamu x female reader

TW non-con, dub-con, psuedo-infidelity, referenced character death, angst, drunk reader, gaslighting, age gap, the slightest hint of nsfw

‘Yer still coming home for summer, right?’

How many weeks had your sister spent lovingly bullying you into coming down? How many hours had you spent listening to her gush over the phone about how excited she was?

And until about three months ago, you’d been excited too.

Despite the ten or so years between the two of you, there was nobody on earth you loved more than your sister. When you were sixteen years old and your parents passed away in a car accident, she was the one who stepped up to take care of you, putting a roof over your head, making sure you ate, slept and kept up your grades, balancing two jobs to do it.

And she grumbled and you fought, but she’s the only reason you managed to keep it all together enough to graduate high school, and when it came time for you to leave home for university, she was the one blinking back tears and loudly complaining about you ‘abandoning your poor older sister in her time of need’.

As if she hadn’t sat with you for hours, pouring over your options and gently nudging you in the direction of Tokyo.

“It’s just a few hours away,” you’d told her. “I’ll come back and visit you all the time.”

There was truth to that. The first six months of uni, you came home every other weekend arms full of expensive textbooks and mountains of assignments to write, but then she met Osamu.

You’ve never seen anybody fall so hopelessly in love as quickly as she had. Miya Osamu may as well have hung the damn moon in the sky for how your sister looked at him. And you suppose you can’t really blame her; he was stupidly tall, broad shouldered and handsome. Even back then his restaurant was a wild success, the man was talented and clearly knew how to cook. Nice was the wrong word to describe him, but Miya Osamu was good, and so long as he made your sister happy, that was enough for you.

And it wasn’t like he was the one to drive you away.

Osamu liked you – he let you camp out in his restaurant and work on your assignments when you desperately needed a change of scenery, stopping to humour you with conversation if it was quiet. He made you laugh, he was interesting, and the more your sister brought him around, the more you realised that you actually kinda liked the guy.

Things were just easy between the two of you, you never had to pretend to be anything but what you were.

You were the one who started putting space between you and her. It wasn’t intentional, at least not on their part, but somewhere along the way you’d started to realise that Osamu wasn’t the odd one out anymore; you were. She was building a life with him, and fortnightly visits turned into monthly ones, and then eventually it became once every few months and after that only on holidays and special occasions – their wedding being one of them.

At Christmas, cheeks flushed with alcohol, she’d pulled you into a one armed hug, pouting into your sweater. “You never come visit us anymore,” she’d sniffled dramatically, “I miss you.”

But it was Osamu – fingers laced with your sister’s, a hint of a smile curling at his lips – who’d voiced it. “Come spend yer summer break with us.”

Three months later you’d awoken to a call telling you that there’d been an accident. Your sister was dead.

Weeks pass by in a blur. Your classes are a haze of droning voices and mindless typing, you submit papers you don’t remember writing and you get good marks anyway. Your friends don’t know how to act around you, everything feels surreal, like you’re moving around in a dream, nothing touches you anymore. It hurts, but you’ve wrapped up that pain and put it someplace safe, seeking it out only when you’re alone and you just can’t bear the numbness a second longer.

The trip you’d promised to take back home to Osaka is the furthest thing from your mind, at least until Osamu calls you in the early hours of the morning, a week or so before the semester ends.

“Yer still coming home for summer, right?”

The word ‘no’ lingers on the tip of your tongue. The last time you’d seen each other was at the funeral, his face blank and hollow, eyes rimmed in red. He’d barely spoken more than a few sentences to you, but he’d stayed by your side the entire time, calmly thanking those who came up to express their condolences.

You’d lost your sister, but he’d lost his wife.

“Do you still want me to?” you ask him quietly instead. If you were in his shoes, you’re not so sure that you would.

Yet Osamu sighs heavily, and you catch a faint clinking sound on the other end of the line, like a bottle being set back against the marble countertop. “I just–” but he breaks off and something inside of your chest tugs. “I want ya here. The house is empty… she’s gone and I… I want ya here. Please.”

How could you possibly say no after that? Maybe you’ve been selfish, so wrapped up in your own grief and misery. You’d assumed that because Osamu had Atsumu he’d be okay. Not right away, of course, but he’d have that support around him – a support system that you were without.

It didn’t enter your mind that perhaps he was struggling too. That he was spending night after night alone in a house etched with memories of her. And just as you’d thought that Tsumu was the one keeping his head above water, maybe he was offering a hand to do the same for you.

—

He’s waiting for you on the porch when your taxi pulls up on the kerb. The driver’s nice enough to help you with your bags, but Osamu is quick to intercept, waving off the help with an impatient huff that almost makes you laugh.

“Yer here,” he says once he sets them down on the porch, grinning as he tugs you into a warm embrace.

It’s then that you get a good look at him, a proper look – and for a moment, you’re taken aback. You haven’t seen him since the funeral a few months back, granted, but Osamu doesn’t look the way you imagined him to – especially after your call the other night. There’s no hint of pallid skin, no bloodshot eyes with heavy bags underneath or a 5 o’clock shadow on his face. No, even with his dark hair still a mess, dressed in jeans and his Onigiri Miya tee, Osamu looks good. Healthy even, if the way the sleeves of his shirt cling to his biceps is any indication.

It takes you a second to realise that you’re staring, because Samu chuckles, brushing past you to bring your stuff inside.

“Y’know, most people start with a hello,” he calls over his shoulder.

Your cheeks heat, a hint of shame curling inside of you. Were you expecting him to be an inconsolable wreck? You know better than most that grief messes with people differently, and it’s not fair of you to judge him, however unintentionally, for not fitting that image of the grieving husband.

It’s a good sign.

“Hi, Samu,” you reply somewhat sheepishly, following him inside.

He’s already walking towards your old bedroom, the ‘guest room’ now (though you and he both know it’s always been yours), leaving you to trail behind the older man. Your intention is to stop him from going to too much effort, but as you walk past the living room, something catches your eye.

Or rather, the absence of something. Faltering in your step, it takes you a second to realise what’s missing, but as you glance around, brows furrowing in confusion, it hits you.

The pictures of you and your sister, the cute ones with her and Samu, the old family snaps that used to line the walls and sit on the TV unit, they’re gone. And it’s not just the pictures. The artwork your sister had painted that used to hang by the wall next to the kitchen, the little pot plants she’d doted on like children, hell, the throw that she’d knitted one winter that was always lying on the couch; they’re all gone.

The room feels almost alien without them, unfamiliar and cold. He’d hung up some cool photography stuff to fill in some of the spaces, but instead of homey it just felt… modern. Like the pictures you see in magazines of staged houses that nobody actually lives in.

And you must have been standing there for a while, because you don’t notice it when Samu comes back to find you still holding your purse, gazing around like a lost child.

“I didn’t get rid of ‘em, if that’s what yer thinking.”

You turn to face him, except Osamu isn’t looking at you. He’s gazing at the walls around you both, his face strangely impassive – except for his eyes. It’s impossible for you to miss the hurt that swims there, the faint sheen they didn’t hold only moments ago. “I packed them away – they’re in yer room if ya want to look through any of it, it’s just…” he trails off, finally glancing back to look at you. And once again, you feel that flicker of guilt slowly eating away at you. “It was painful, seeing her face everywhere.”

Before you left your apartment that morning, you swore to yourself that you wouldn’t cry today – but the tears come unbidden, and one moment you’re standing there staring at him and the next you’re choking on a sob, hand coming to your lips to try and stifle it.

Osamu’s there in a second, solid arms wrapped around you, pulling you into his chest. He doesn’t say a word (what’s there to say anymore?) he just hums softly, stroking your back with a gentle hand as you fall apart once more.

—

It’s surprisingly easy for the two of you to fall into a rhythm. There’d been some part of you that was hesitant about this whole thing – despite having a relatively good relationship with your brother in law, you knew that the only real connection between the two of you was your sister.

Without her, living in the same space and trying to navigate around the holes that she’d left, you’d expected it to be at least a little awkward between the two of you. But with Osamu working full time, it was kind of a non-issue. Aside from the first day when he’d taken the morning off to help you get settled, he was usually gone before you woke up, and most nights he wasn’t home until nine or ten. How he worked such long hours six days a week without collapsing out of sheer exhaustion was beyond you, but you tried to make things easier for him, cooking dinner for the two of you.

“Y’know ya don’t have to do this every night, right?” he asks you one night, sticking the leftover chicken into the microwave. “I have a restaurant, I can sort out my own dinner.”

You don’t tell him that despite being a rather terrible cook, it was one of the things your sister made sure to do every night in the weeks following your parents’ death. You’d spend most of your day holed up in your room if you weren’t at school, but dinner was the one time you’d sit and talk with her. It became a ritual; something sacred and special between the two of you.

You’re a better cook than she was by far, no comparison for Osamu, of course, but it’s the only way you really know how to help with… whatever this is.

Instead, you just offer him a wry look from your position on the couch, “And yet, you never do.”

He scoffs at that, a hint of a smirk curling at his lips, “Why would I eat there when I know yer cookin’ for me?”

—

Of course, as easy as it is to slip into living with Osamu, you can’t escape what happened there forever.

It doesn’t slip your notice the first night you spend there; the spare toothbrush in your bathroom, the decidedly masculine body wash in the shower, or how one of the shelves in the vanity was stocked with shaving cream and cologne and a few odd skin care products. You’d assumed that they were Atsumu’s, spares stashed away for the odd nights he crashed here. There’s another bathroom off the master bedroom, so you know it can’t be Samu’s stuff.

Except you find yourself proven wrong one night, when fresh from your shower and clad only in a fluffy white towel, you open the door to find a shirtless Osamu filling the space, one arm propped up on the doorframe.

“Anyone ever tell ya yer a bit of a bathroom hog?” he asks, smirking down at you.

And you’re so taken aback, utterly confused as to why he’s standing there half dressed, why it matters how long you take in the bathroom – never mind that the only thing covering you from complete nakedness is your towel – that you can only stand there, gaping like a fish as he laughs, takes you by the shoulders and physically shifts you out of the way as he slides on past.

It takes you until the following morning – Osamu’s sole day off – to ask him about it, clutching nervously at your cup of coffee while he busies himself making breakfast for the two of you.

“Samu, um, about last night…” you timidly begin.

He glances up at you from the stove, a single eyebrow raised. “What about it?”

Your cheeks are already burning, eyes darting between his face and the mug in your hands as you struggle to find the right words to bring it up without making things weird. “Well, I-I was just wondering… um, why you were using my bathroom?”

You’re not sure what kind of reaction that you’re expecting, but the dark look that flashes across his face isn’t it. For a split second, your insides clench, terrified that you’ve said the wrong thing–

But as quickly as it appeared, Osamu’s expression smooths over. He exhales heavily, setting down the spoon in his hand as he turns to face you properly, and when your eyes flicker up once more, you realise with a start that it’s pity that’s taken its place.

And a second too late, the pieces inside your head fall into place.

“Oh.”

Osamu nods only once. “I can’t go in without seeing her lyin’ there… I thought ya knew.”

And it’s like all the air’s been sucked out of the room. She’d died in their bathroom – slipped on the wet tiles and cracked her head open on the edge of their bath, and Samu had been the one to find her.

Weakly your eyes flutter shut, bitter nausea churning in your gut. How could he stay here, sleep in the next room when–

“Hey, hey, calm down, I gotcha,” Samu’s voice is at your ear, and your head’s spinning, pounding, and you can’t breathe. The mug in your hand tumbles to the floor, your coffee spilling across the wooden floorboards as weak fingers clutch at empty air, and then those arms are around you once more and Osamu’s trying to soothe you.

Breakfast is forgotten as he tugs you towards the couch to sit. And as he holds you, speaks to you in that calm, unwavering voice you try to focus on the scent of him (masculine and earthy, a hint of spice and cedar), the fabric of his shirt under your cheek and the gentle, almost lazy circles he rubs into your side and not the mental image of your sister, lying broken and bleeding on the bathroom floor.

—

It doesn’t take much effort to find the stash of your sister’s things that Samu set aside in your room. You lose hours flicking through pictures of her, smiling through your tears as they dredge up old, happy memories of the two of you.

Even the ones of her and Samu, his arms looped around her waist, resting his chin on the top of her head; she’s always wearing that bright grin that makes your heart ache.

There are a few of the three of you – one from the last time they’d come to visit you in Tokyo and you’d dragged them off to Disneyland. You’re standing between the two of them, beaming at the camera while Samu’s arm hangs off your shoulder and your sister, grinning widely and wearing the minnie mouse ears she’d bought at the first opportunity, tosses up a peace sign.

Softly wiping away your tears, you set it aside. You’ll have to ask Samu if you can take that one home with you.

—

“What’re ya doin’ tomorrow?”

It’s late, and the two of you are sprawled out on the couch, watching TV with a bowl of snacks between you like the old days when he asks.

“Not much,” you reply. “I was going to go to the markets at some point in the morning and maybe head to the beach after that, why?”

Grey-ish brown eyes flicker across to you, “A few of my old teammates are in town, we’re meetin’ up for some drinks. I want ya to come with me.”

“Oh,” the word slips out before you can stop yourself. “Um, yeah… if you want?”

It ends up sounding more like a question, a fact that doesn’t slip past Osamu if the amused little snort he gives in response is any indication. And it’s not that you don’t want to give up your plans in favour of going with him; you get along pretty well with Atsumu and you’ve met most of his old teammates at least once or twice, it’s just that you’re a little confused as to why he’d want you there to begin with.

They’re all at least twelve years older than you, and while it occurs to you that maybe he’s just inviting you along to be polite (not that that’s ever been his style before) the last thing you want is to be stuck feeling like an afterthought, all but ignored as he and his friends catch up.

“I said I wanted ya there, didn’t I?” He doesn’t wait for a response, “‘sides, Tsumu already asked if you were comin’.”

Which is how you find yourself dressed up for the first time in months, fingers smoothing out the hem of your dress as Samu tosses you a lazy grin from the driver’s seat. “Relax, wouldja? They ain’t gonna bite.”

You know that. They’re good guys, but no matter how much rationalising you try to do, you can’t seem to quell the anxiety eating you up, and the frustrating thing is that you don’t know why you’re feeling it.

He’d neglected to tell you that they weren’t meeting at some bar or restaurant, but at Atsumu’s condo in the city (‘Showy fuckin’ bastard’ Samu’d huffed as he’d pulled up in front of the building), but you suppose it really doesn’t make much of a difference.

“Ya look good,” he compliments, eyeing you for a moment while the two of you wait for the elevator.

Cheeks warming, you drop your gaze and stutter out a quiet thank you. Apparently unsatisfied, he leans closer, reaching one large hand up to gently ruffle your hair – grinning in satisfaction when you shriek and try to pry it away. “Relax,” he whispers again, the warmth of his breath tickling the bare skin of your neck. “Yer too wound up.”

Distracted by the arrival of the elevator, you fail to notice that instead of returning back to his side, his hand drops to your shoulder.

And it should be easier to do just that once you have a drink in hand. Atsumu greets you with a one armed hug, the only hint of anything out of the ordinary being the way his gaze lingers a beat too long as he studies your face, his eyes sharp and missing nothing. But whatever he sees (or doesn’t see) his expression softens into a smile, “Glad ya came.”

But even as you’re greeted by the others, falling into an easy conversation with Kita and Aran you can’t seem to shift the uneasiness in your stomach. There’s something in the air, a tension nobody really wants to admit to.

And you can’t quite tell if the others are surprised that Samu brought you at all, or if it’s just because you’re a living reminder of a tragedy that’s still fresh and raw, and everyone’s trying to pretend that it’s not. You don’t blame them for it, of course, they only mean the best. But you can see it in the way Suna side eyes you every now and then, how skilfully Akagi skirts anything that could touch a nerve when he comes up to chat.

It’s like they’re all walking on eggshells – though whether it’s for your benefit or Osamu’s, you’re not entirely sure. For his part, Samu sticks close, keeping your drink topped up, an arm slung over your shoulders as the afternoon wears into the evening.

Yet despite that, the alcohol you’re drinking far too quickly starts to work its magic, filling your body with a warm, pleasant little buzz, and you actually start to enjoy yourself. You laugh easier, giggling when the twins start to bicker, gasping in wicked delight when Suna offers to show you certain embarrassing photos of both of them on his phone (he has quite the collection), even letting Gin and Tsumu drag you into taking shots with them.

And all the while, Samu watches you, a soft smirk playing at his lips.

—

By the time he unlocks the front door and you stumble back inside, you’re absolutely plastered, giggling at nothing and tripping over your own feet.

As always, Samu’s there to catch you, strong, muscular arms wrapping around your waist and pulling you flush against him. “Careful there, princess,” he laughs.

You grin up at him, carefree and heartbreakingly beautiful. For the first time in months you feel light, you feel amazing and you don’t want this to end. Kicking your heels off, you skip inside, leading him by the hand. “Samu,” you call back over your shoulder. “I wanna dance.”

“Nobody’s stopping ya.”

“But there’s no music,” you pout, and once again he chuckles, letting you go to settle back into the leather couch as he pulls out his phone. A moment later a familiar, lively melody floods the living room, and you let yourself become lost to it. It doesn’t matter that you’re drunk and dancing alone, Samu’s dark eyes following your every move, you’ve never felt so free.

Arms raised in the air, hips swaying hypnotically to the beat, you lose track of time. It could’ve been minutes or seconds or a whole hour, but suddenly you’re not alone anymore – Samu’s there with you. His cologne invades your senses, why does he always smell so good? His body’s warm, almost hot as he slots himself behind you, caging you against him.

“Fuck, baby,” he growls, his voice sending shivers running down your spine. “Yer a little tease, ya know that?”

And there’s something wrong with that, you know there is, but you can’t seem to think of what it is – not when the weight of his hold’s impeding your movement. A pout adorns your face, a soft, almost petulant whine escaping your lips as you try in vain to untangle yourself, “Samu, lemme go. I wanna dance.”

He huffs out a laugh, but that doesn’t sound right either. “Don’t wanna dance with you, pretty girl.”

There’s something hard pressing against your lower back, and his hot breath ghosts over your neck a moment before lips descend to suck on the sensitive flesh.

In a split second, all that blissful, warm, drunken happiness evaporates. Samu groans lowly, his chest rumbling at your back, but there’s a pit of something cold and urgent that’s seeping through your veins, distant, foggy alarm bells tolling inside of your head and you don’t understand what’s happening, but you know that you don’t like it.

You want it to stop.

“S-Samu,” you whine, shifting uncomfortably against his hold.

This time he listens, drawing back just enough that he can turn you around to face him. And those familiar eyes are hooded and dark, burning with an intensity that makes you want to recoil even as he stares down at you, taking your cheek in hand.

You don’t even realise that you’re crying until his thumb’s brushing away your tears. There’s nothing comforting or pleasant (nothing of the Samu you know) on his face as he studies your fearful expression, but eventually he lets out a heavy sigh.

“She was positive I was cheatin’ on her,” he admits. “Did she ever tell ya that?” He pauses for a beat waiting for a reply, but when it’s clear that you don’t have one for him, he just scoffs, “No, ‘course not. That’d be admitting that not everything about our life was picture perfect, and heaven fuckin’ forbid we do that. Y’know, that's why she wanted ya back here so bad. She needed a buffer.”

Bitterness clings to every word like poison and you flinch, renewing your struggles to get away. Not that he lets you – the moment you start to squirm the arm around your waist tugs you closer, anchoring you against him. The tears come faster, followed by soft, hiccuping sobs, but Samu seems beyond caring at that point.

“Stupid bitch never could see what was right in front of her face. That’s what we were fightin’ about that night; she said she was gonna leave me.”

Your heart clenches, fear pooling in your gut, but Samu just smiles at you, a mockery of sweet tenderness, reaching back to tuck a stray lock of your hair behind your ear. “But you know I’d never hurt my pretty girl, don’t ya, baby?” he asks. “Just want a taste tonight.”

You don’t even have time to suck in a breath before he’s kissing you, cradling the back of your head as his mouth moves hungrily against yours.

And all you can taste is the whiskey on his tongue.

—

You can’t tear your eyes away from your reflection in the mirror, the faint, reddish blemish colouring your neck.

A hickey.

Tentatively, as if trying to prove that it’s real and not a figment of your imagination, you prod at the mark, only to wince at the tenderness. Definitely real.

You’d woken up to an empty house – unsurprising considering it was well past ten and you knew Osamu had work today – with your head pounding and your mouth uncomfortably dry. Wracking your brain, you can’t seem to conjure up a rational explanation for the bruise. Granted, you can’t really remember much of last night, only fragments of being at Atsumu’s place, and certainly nothing after you’d started taking those shots.

Which doesn’t make the uneasiness sitting heavy in your stomach any easier to take, because you know that you hadn’t been cosying up to anybody before you’d lost track of the night, and if it had happened after, then surely Samu or one of the others would have stepped in and put a stop to it.

And that should’ve been more of a comforting thought than it was, because if it didn’t happen at Atsumu’s then that meant it happened afterwards, when you were here with Samu.

Your heart thumps unevenly against your ribs.

Osamu. Your dead sister’s husband, your brother in law.

A hickey on your neck isn’t just a kiss. It’s not a simple, drunken peck against your lips, it meant that somebody had sucked on the skin, bitten at it, kissed until blood vessels broke – it’s not the kind of thing that happens accidentally.

A wave of nausea threatens to overtake you, and you barely manage to make it to the bathroom before you’re violently emptying the contents of your stomach into the porcelain bowl. And you know as you collapse onto the cool tiled floor, shaking just a little, that this time at least, the alcohol isn’t to blame.

You know Samu; you trust him implicitly. Whatever happened, it must have been a mistake or something. You’d both been drinking, and he’s still grieving and–

There’s no point jumping to conclusions or working yourself up any more than you already have. You’ll just bring it up with him when he gets home, you decide.

Yet anxiety and guilt gnaw at you as the hours crawl by, you’re half tempted to pick up your phone and just call him to ask point blank. The clock feels like it’s mocking you every time you glance up, and while you try your best to distract yourself with household chores and then busying yourself with dinner, none of it works for long.

By the time he does stride through the door, a little before ten, you’re an anxious wreck, all but wringing your fingers as you sit rigid and tense at the table. Most nights you eat before he gets home, hunger getting the better of you, but tonight you don’t seem to have much of an appetite.

“Smells good,” he comments with an easy grin, toeing off his shoes and dropping his wallet and keys by the door.

You open your mouth, but the words seem to get stuck in your throat as he drops a kiss down on the top of your head and walks on past to grab a bowl from the kitchen.

“I’m starving.”

Instead, you just swallow nervously as he pulls out the seat next to you and sits, not wasting another second before digging in. Your eyes quickly dart over to study him, but you don’t see any hint of guilt or unease on his face. He just looks like the same old Samu, a little tired maybe, but otherwise totally normal, and so you force yourself to pick up your spoon and follow suit.

And he’s never been one to fill silences with meaningless chatter, but tonight the quiet between the two of you feels oppressive, every clink of metal against ceramic echoing too loudly, every chew, every swallow setting you on edge. You can’t even taste the food, your stomach too twisted in knots for you to feel anything but nauseous after a few bites.

“… Is everything okay?” he asks after a few minutes, and it’s so sudden amongst the tense silence that you visibly jerk, almost dropping the spoon you’d been toying with.

You glance up to find him staring, brows furrowed in concern, and once again your stomach flips. It’s now or never.

“Um… did anything happen last night?” you ask, your voice barely more than a whisper.

Osamu’s frown deepens fractionally, and he tilts his head as your fingers twist in your lap, “What d’ya mean?”

Did we kiss? The words dangle on the tip of your tongue, but as you nervously meet his eyes, you find nothing but confusion and concern there. And for a moment, you almost speak them, but then Samu’s reaching across the table to take your hand in his, and as his warm palm swallows up yours, you lose your nerve.

“You sure yer okay?”

Whatever happened, he doesn’t remember it and neither do you.

Smiling tightly, you nod. “Yeah, it’s nothing. Nevermind.”

There’s no reason for you to drag him through the mud for this, you’re already feeling enough guilt and shame for the both of you.

—

You try to put it out of your mind, but it’s not that easy.

Lying awake in bed at night, your brain unwittingly turns over possibilities of what else could’ve caused the mark if not Osamu. Guilt gnaws at you every second that you’re around him and all the while he’s painfully oblivious to it all.

He’s always been affectionate with you, but all those stray, unthinking touches now carry a different weight with them. You find yourself ducking away from them more often than not, pretending that you don’t see the almost wounded look in those greyish-brown eyes when you do. You start to avoid him, finding other places to be whenever he’s home.

And you hate yourself for it, because Osamu’s been nothing but faithful to your sister for as long as you’ve known him. You’re the one acting like there’s something wrong between the two of you, like he’s treating you any differently than he always has when you know that’s not the case.

You know that, but when you catch sight of the fading bruise in the mirror, your stomach twists into knots all the same.

There are excuses and justifications aplenty, but none of them make you feel any better. You still find yourself sniffling into your pillow, swallowed up by your guilt when you imagine how devastated your sister would be if she knew.

You’d let her husband kiss you. Being drunk and miserable and grieving didn’t change that. Whether he knew it was you or mistook you for her; it doesn’t matter. Maybe it was a mistake, letting him talk you into coming.

Things were still too raw, too fresh. You’d thought that coming here would help, but so far it’s only made everything worse, and unintentionally or not, you can’t kid yourself that your presence is doing anything to help Osamu anymore.

You need to go back to Tokyo.

Somewhat selfishly, you’re tempted to put it off until the weekend, because you know that Onigiri Miya has a stall for the beginning of the summer festival and he’ll be too preoccupied with that to think about anything else – but you just can’t bring yourself to do that to him.

No, it’s better to rip it off like a bandaid; nice and quick.

You’d planned on breaking the news over dinner, but as you pick your way through your noodles, you notice that Samu’s quieter than he usually is. Every time you risk a glance up he’s staring at the table, looking entirely lost in thought, and it just doesn’t feel like the right time to bring it up.

Tomorrow, you decide, you’ll cook his favourite for dinner and tell him then.

—

The knocking startles you from your sleep with a jolt. It’s quiet, hesitant almost, but you’ve always been a light sleeper.

“Samu?” you croak out, fumbling blindly for the phone at your bedside to see what time it is.

The door opens, a crack of light from the hallway spilling into your room as Osamu looks in. “Sorry,” he murmurs, “I know it’s late, but I need to talk to ya ‘bout somethin’.”

He’s shirtless, clad only in a pair of cotton pyjama pants, but he doesn’t look to be in any immediate kind of trouble. Still, he wouldn’t have disturbed you in the middle of the night if it wasn’t something important, so you blearily wipe the sleep from your eyes and force yourself to sit up as he slips into your room and shuts the door behind him.

“What’s wrong?”

He hasn’t bothered to turn on the light, and even with the moonlight streaming in through your window, his face is cast in shadow as he takes a seat on the edge of your bed. And it’s silly, especially considering he’s the one who’s shirtless right now but it’s hard not to flush at the realisation that you’re only wearing a thin, satiny slip. You feel almost naked – he’s seen you in bikinis before, but it feels different here, when he’s the one in your bedroom.

“You asked me the other day about what happened the night we went to Tsumu’s,” he begins, his voice quiet and soft in the early hours of the morning, and suddenly your state of dress is the last thing on your mind.

Swallowing tightly, your pulse quickens and you still, waiting for him to continue.

And you feel, rather than see, the way he stares at you, inching a fraction closer when you don’t immediately answer. “And I lied. Or I didn’t exactly tell ya the full truth.”

“Which is?” you force out.

Samu’s shoulders rise and fall as he takes a deep, slow breath in and exhales heavily. “You were drunk and ya came onto me, tried to kiss me.” You flinch, a choked sound escaping your throat at the blunt admission, but he’s quick to reach for you, his hand coming to rest on your knee, squeezing it reassuringly. “And in the heat of the moment, I let ya.”

Hot tears prick at the corners of your eyes, but the moment you try to turn away from him, biting your lip and trying to blink back the tears, he stops you.

“Osamu–”

“‘Cause I’ve spent years waiting to kiss those lips, an’ I’m tired of pretending we both don’t want this.”

And he’s kissing you; soft and sweet and gentle, his lips molding to yours as he cups the back of your neck. You wonder if he can feel your pulse racing under his fingertips as he draws himself closer, groaning into your mouth.

It doesn’t matter that your hands are on his bare chest, pushing at him, hitting him – those muscles aren’t just for show; he’s immovable. The more you squirm, trying to extricate yourself so that you can plead with him to stop–

This is a mistake. A horrible, awful misunderstanding. He’s upset and grieving and not thinking clearly and you have to stop this.

He doesn’t know what he’s saying.

– the more his grip tightens until it starts to hurt and you’re whimpering into the kiss. Your tears are wetting his cheeks, but he doesn’t care, won’t stop and there’s a panic that rises within you every second that you’re entangled with him.

“Don’t do this,” he mutters, breaking the kiss as a sob rips its way free from your throat, “Don’t pretend ya don’t want this, baby. I know ya do. Stop being a little fuckin’ tease.”

He leans back in, intent on capturing your lips again, and in an act of desperation you reach for his face, cradling his cheek in your hand. “Samu, please,” you beg, wide, imploring eyes searching his face for any hint of a reprieve. “You’re scaring me. Stop, please, j-just for a second.”

Just a second, that’s all you need to try and snap him out of whatever the hell this is. One second.

Osamu stills, his face mere inches from your own, his body hovering atop yours. His breath, ragged and uneven, ghosts over your skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake, but you don’t dare move as he leans into the touch, grey eyes fluttering shut.

He sighs, the sound almost like a shiver. “Ya don’t need to be scared, ‘m gonna take good care of my girl.”

He doesn’t give you the chance to say anything else, not as he forces himself onto you once more. You used to marvel a little at Osamu. Tall, handsome and strong, even in his mid thirties; Samu was fit. Now, straddling your waist, pinning your wrists to the wall with one hand, the other palming at your tits, he dwarfs you entirely. He isn’t impatient, not as he kisses you languidly, not as he slides the soft, satin up your thigh, revealing your underwear.

Your hiccuping sniffles aren’t enough to move him, you’re not strong enough to physically fight him off. He doesn’t pay the tearful, breathless pleas sobbed out between kisses any mind.

Osamu grabs you by the waist and flips you onto your front, lips brushing at the nape of your neck as he smooths your hair back, and you’re utterly helpless to stop him.

And as his hand runs down your side and he coaxes your hips up into the air, you almost wish that he was rough. Because this pretense of gentleness, glinting steel masquerading as silk – it’s too intimate, and you feel complicit.

Like you’re willing.

Like you want this with him.

An act of love as he tugs your panties down to your knees and hums in quiet satisfaction at the sight of your bare cunt, glistening just for him.

There’s a voice in your head telling you you should be screaming and kicking and snarling like a wild, feral thing, but Osamu’s grabbing at your ass, spreading it to get a better look, his thumb gliding along your slit and all you can think about is the picture he’d packed away, the one of the three of you at Disneyland.

Samu’s arm slung over your shoulder, and your sister’s bright smile.

He spits; a warm, fat glob of saliva hitting your pussy, and as it slowly dribbles down the only sound that leaves your lips is a soft, broken whine. You don’t fight him when he takes his cock in hand and guides the flushed head, pre-cum already oozing at the tip, along your cunt, you just lie there, a toy for him to move and manipulate however he wants.

“You’ll forgive me for this, I know ya will,” he murmurs, softly squeezing your hip just once as something thick and blunt presses at your entrance.

But it doesn’t matter, not as his cock sheaths itself inside of you with one hard, brutal thrust, because you’re not sure you’ll ever be able to forgive yourself.

#yandere haikyuu #yandere osamu miya #yandere osamu x reader #yandere osamu #yandere osamu miya x reader #tw: noncon #tw: dubcon #tw: infidelity #angst #drunk reader #manipulation and gaslighting ahead y'all #dilf osamu

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hihellogoodbyebruh · 3 years

Text

I Know What You’re Thinking, You’re On My Mind (You’re Right)

Pairing: Angel Reyes x Black!Plus Size!Reader

Summary: Y/N and Angel are in love and these are different moments in the span of their relationship.

Warning(s): Just a lot of fluffy goodness....okay some angst (it’s me lol) but mostly fluff

Word count: 2,526

AN: This is kind of a songfic, but also not really? I think of it as a bunch of drabbles loosely connected by random parts of a song. Song title and inspo from Come Close by Common ft. Mary J. Blige. The sweetest little fic I’ve ever written. Fat Black girls deserve to be loved loudly. This is for us. As always, questions, comments, and concerns are welcomed. Happy reading lovelies! xo

Smile, happiness, you could model it And when you feel opposite I just want you to know Your whole, being is beautiful I'ma do the best I can do Cause I'm my best when I'm with you

The sound of a domino being slammed on the table caused several other park goers to turn their heads and see a striking woman jumping out of her seat.

“That’s domino bitches! Y’all really thought you could beat me in dominoes? Shoulda checked my credentials mofos!” Y/N shouted, a huge smile on her face as she talked shit.

The guys around the table all groaned and huffed as she celebrated her win. Coco swore up and down that he would be the winner and Gilly was just as sure that he would be the one. EZ just wanted to play and Angel kept his mouth shut knowing his girl had been playing dominoes with her father and uncles practically all her life.

“Whatever, Y/N. You not seeing me in poker.” Coco grumbled, though he was fighting to keep a smile off his face. He was impressed.

“Well this aint poker is it? Run me my money.” She replied, rubbing her fingers together before holding out her hand.

The men all pulled out their wallets and placed the correct amount of money into Y/N’s hands. She grinned as she fanned herself with the money before draping her body across the smirking Angel’s lap.

“Oh hey there sexy. If you’re nice I might buy you something with this considerable fortune I just won.” Y/N winked.

“You my sugar mama now?” Angel teasingly asked.

“I do taste sweet so I think I fit the description.”

“Damn right you do.” He smirked, before leaning down to kiss Y/N’s lips.

Santo Padre’s mayor, Antonia Pena, had put together a community fair to help raise money for the town and uplift spirits. It was also a great way for local businesses to showcase what they have to offer. Services and items were put into a raffle that everyone who attended the event got entered into. Y/N even managed to convince Felipe to have a little booth to show off his fine cuts of meat and how they could best be used in meals.

Angel was so in awe of her. She managed to pull even his grumpy ass father out of the house and she was constantly a source of light in his life. He doesn’t know how he got so lucky, but he knew he never wanted to let her go. He loved her more than anything and he knew she felt the same about him. She never doubted him or made him feel inadequate. She understood even the ugly parts of him. Didn’t excuse or condone his behavior, but she understood it and always reassured him that she knew he could do better.

“Whatchu staring at?” She asked, after the kiss ended and he kept his intense gaze on her.

“My whole world.” He answered honestly and she felt herself get a little emotional.

“If you make me cry in public, I will hurt you.”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time.” He replied, nipping at her shoulder and making her grin.

I know in the past, love Has been sort of hard on you But I see the God in you I just want to nurture it Though this love may hurt a bit

Neither of them had the best track record when it came to relationships. Angel had an awful habit of doing things without thinking about the consequences of his actions. Impulsive isn’t a strong enough word to describe how he is. He runs on emotion a lot of the time. It frustrates Y/N to no end. She doesn’t operate like that. She rarely if ever acts on impulse. She thinks too much. Worries too much about how people will react to her and her actions. Her hesitance to engage in things before she’s run every possible scenario through her head makes Angel want to pull his hair out. He hates seeing her unsure of herself. He makes it his mission to help her just get lost in the moment sometimes. And she tries her hardest to slow him down and make him think more on things before he acts.

His lifestyle also guaranteed their love won’t always be sunshine and roses. The first time Angel got hurt Y/N thought she was going to pass out. The level of panic and fear she felt almost took her down. When she finally got to see him in the hospital bed, she burst into tears. Once he was healed, she tried to pull away from him but he wouldn’t let her. The one time Y/N was verbally and physically accosted in front of Angel, he almost shot someone right in front of her. The need to protect her almost overrode his need to keep her away from the more violent side of himself.

The silence was deafening. Neither one was ready to take the first step and speak. The whole ride back home, Y/N never said a word. Not when Angel was getting chewed out by Bishop or when several people practically gawked at her even as they tried to make it seem like they weren’t. She was silent as she went through her nightly routine and prepared for bed.

It was as she sat on the edge of the bed, preparing to slide under the covers that Angel finally snapped.

“You’re really not gonna fucking say anything?” He practically growled at her, glaring at her from where he stood at the foot of the bed. He had on his usual sleepwear of a tank top and sweats.

She sighed, “What do you want me to say Angel?”

“Anything. Cuss me out, kiss me, or I don’t know, maybe thank me?” He suggested, sarcasm in his voice at the last part because he was clearly exasperated.

She cut her eyes at him fiercely. “Thank you? You want me to thank you?”

“Yes.” He stubbornly confirmed.

She shot up from the bed and spun to face him full on. She had never been so mad at him. “Thank you Angel for causing a bigger scene. Thank you Angel for almost igniting a war between two gangs over one stupid joke. Thank you for putting yourself in harm's way and almost giving me a heart attack. Thank you so much Angel.”

“That’s bullshit and you know it. It wasn’t just a stupid joke. You think I care so little about you that I wouldn’t fuck someone up for you?”

“I’ve heard way worse..” She argued, so used to minimizing her pain. Her dismissal of the incident as something trivial made him even more pissed.

“I don’t give a damn what you heard. Aint nobody gonna disrespect you in front of me and think I’m just gonna let that shit slide.”

“You could have killed him.”

“I DON’T GIVE A FUCK.” He exploded, making her freeze and stare at him with her mouth slightly open. “You’re mine. I don’t know what kinda cowards you been dealing with before, but I don’t play that shit. There is no joking when it comes to you. Not from some hijo de puta who has the audacity to put his hands on you. He’s lucky the only thing I did was bust him in the head with my pistol.”

“Angel…..” She sighed, her eyes closing as she took in his words. She understood his point but was still uncomfortable with the methods.

He walked over to her and cupped her face in his hands. He kissed her forehead before resting his head on hers. He spoke only after she opened her eyes, “You can be mad. I already know you are, but I’m not apologizing for protecting you.”

She had to get used to being loved and protected so adamantly by someone. So often left to comfort herself and bury her hurt, it took her a while to accept Angel’s form of protection. A part of her kept her guard up waiting for him to turn it against her, but that day never came. Any violent outbursts he had in her presence were never directed at her and so she found herself trusting him whole-heartedly. Her love for him deepened as time moved forward.

You helped me to discover me I just want you to put trust in me

Y/N loved Pops and she enjoyed the family dinners with him and EZ, but she knew he was not the perfect father. He made mistakes and Angel still hasn’t completely dealt with the issues the mistakes left him with. Everything just got buried. She knew when he was starting to feel inadequate or like he didn’t deserve her because he would become even more clingy. He was already very affectionate with her, always having a hand on her back and kissing her head. She loved how open he was, but when he was going through it the touches would have a desperate edge to them. Like he was trying to prove something.

A new episode of Joseline’s Cabaret played on the tv showing off the Puerto Rican Princess’ latest antics. Y/N had on sweats and a tank top as she laid on your back and giggled at the fight on her screen. She doesn't know why she watches that show, but it was entertaining.

Her front door opened and in walked the man she’d been seeing for a year now.

“What did I tell you about leaving this door unlocked?”

“I knew you were coming over so why would I lock it?” She argued, tilting her head back to watch Angel toe off his shoes and take off his kutte.

“You’re so hard headed.” He slapped the outside of her thigh and leaned in for a kiss before lying in between her legs. His head rested on her stomach and her hands immediately began running through his hair. His hands ran over her thighs as he buried his face in her belly and just breathed her in.

“You walked right in so obviously I was right.” Her hands moved from his hair to slide down his back, feeling for any new bruises. “How was your day? Do I gotta kick someone’s ass for messing with my man?” She asked, a teasing tone to her words even though she was kinda being serious.

“I’m all good, mi dulce.” He responded, already knowing her touches were to comfort him but also give herself some peace of mind that he was with her and he was still whole.

It was quiet for a moment before Angel propped his chin on her belly and looked at her. She brought her attention from the television to him. There was a gentle look in his eyes, full of love but also a vulnerability that made her heart clench.

“You love me right?” He gripped her hips tightly as he searched her eyes for the truth in her words.

Her eyes widened at his question. “Of cour-”

He interrupted her. “Because I love you so damn much, querida. I know I’m not easy, but I try to be better for you.”

“Angel…” Her hand gently caressed his cheek as she softly smiled at him. “You are my favorite person in this whole world. You love me like no other and I’ll always love you. Never forget that. And when you do, I’ll be here to remind you.” She leaned forward to kiss his lips and felt his grip on her hips loosen.

The two shared loving kisses for several minutes before he pulled away and kissed her stomach before laying his head back down. His attention finally focused on the television. “What the fuck are you watching?”

She was unable to contain her giggles.

I kind of laugh when you cuss at me The aftermath is you touching me

“Oh, is that funny? Are you enjoying yourself?”

“Not at all gorgeous.” His words and his facial expression did not match.

“Then why are you smirking? I’m as serious as a heart attack. If you miss the ceremony where I’m awarded for my work, we’re gonna have some big problems Reyes.” She threatened, not letting that smirk get to her as it usually did. The club pulled him away a lot but some things she just needed him present for.

“Mmhm…how big?” He asked, still joking around.

“Angel!” She admonished, striking out to punch him in the stomach and making him grunt.

“You know I love when you scream my name. Sexy as fuck.” He growled, before playfully tackling her to the bed. She finally laughed as he kissed and nipped at her neck. He pulled back to look down in her eyes. “Hey, come hell or high water Imma be there. I wouldn’t miss it for anything.”

The smile she flashed him was bright enough to light the darkest of nights.

I'm tired of the fast lane I want you to have my last name

Dabbing her eyes with a napkin, Y/N smiled as Angel and EZ shared a heartfelt hug after the best man speech. She knew EZ’s speech would be beautiful and she thanked him for his kind words.

“You’re my sister for real now.” He responded, making her wanna cry again but she gave him a quick kiss on the cheek before Angel pulled her into a side hug.

“First dance time.” He whispered in her ear, taking her hand and leading her out to the dance floor.

“How does it feel to be Y/N Reyes?” Angel asked, his eyes taking her in. She looked so magnificent in her wedding dress. He wanted to rip it off, but also he couldn’t take his eyes off how good she looked in it. If he shed some tears when she walked down that aisle, who could blame him?

“It feels like the most natural thing in the world. I’m so beyond honored to be Mrs. Angel Reyes.” She responded, her eyes filling with happy tears but she refused to let them fall. She just felt so overwhelmed with happiness. Even though he’d long gotten rid of the jacket, she loved that he actually wore a suit. He hardly ever wore one and it was a damn shame. He looked so delicious she couldn’t wait for them to get back home.

Y/N found herself really taking the moment in. Their family and friends watched them with huge smiles on their faces. She couldn’t keep her eyes off Angel for long as he held her in his arms, his hands always making her feel safe. This was her life and he was her future.

Her eyes twinkled as she asked him, “Ready for forever?”

Come close to me, baby (Yeah, love) Let your love hold you (Let me hold you tonight, babe) I know this world is crazy (It gets crazy, but I'll be right here) What's it without you? (We gon' make it, I love you, I love you, I love you)

#angel reyes #angel reyes x black!reader #black!reader #plus size reader #angel reyes x black!plus size!reader #hhgbyebruh fics #i know what you're thinking you're on my mind

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caramelcal · 3 years

Text

he could be the one

Request: Anonymous said:Luke x reader? Julie’s best friend was never suppose to fall for her cute bandmate & lead guitarist. So to get over those feelings she writes a song which she plans to burn however she ends up miss placing the hastily written song only to have it posted up all over school. With students trying to figure out who the mystery writer is & Luke’s new dream girl. Song: He Could be The One by Hannah Montana. Bonus points if they are all super popular & Luke/reader have a very flirty dynamic.

Word Count: 1.35k

a/n: ask and you shall recieve! do i get the bonus points? :) also this song fits luke so well??? and. for. WHAT. i dont know if this was exactly what you wanted but-

Masterlist

Going into the school the next morning, you weren’t expecting the students to be so...excitable. They talked in hushed whispers, smiles on their faces as they gossip, no doubt about some party that went on at the weekend. You rack your mind, trying to think if Carrie threw another party but your mind comes up empty. However, that doesn’t alarm you one bit, at least, not until you saw something in one of the student’s hands.

A piece of paper, that looks oddly familiar. It had a few doodles on it, and words with some scribbles and such. Again, you try your best to shrug it off, thinking that it wasn’t important. Yet, as you turn the corner onto the corridor that holds your locker you see more of these sheets, the same doodles, like printed versions. Then your eyes catch onto the one that’s pinned up against the notice board to your right.

Eyes going wide, you freeze in your place in horror, eyes going over the words and suddenly everything becomes clear. Your hand reaches for your bag, where you knew that you had put that very piece of paper in and you see the zip is open. Hands scavenge for the paper but they come up empty. Crap.

The thing the students were gossiping about had nothing to do with a party, or a recent student breakup, or anything of the sort. No, it was to do with a song you wrote. A song you wrote that confessed your love for Luke. Thankfully, you weren’t dumb enough to put your name on the sheet, but this only caused more gossip as the students tried to figure out who wrote it. And who had feelings for the most popular guy in school.

“Hey, darling,” Luke says, sliding against the locker next to you, leaving you to jump and your head to spin around to look at him. It was almost as if you snapped back into reality because honestly, you didn’t remember getting to your locker. Luke looked confused as he looked around at the students, to see them staring at him then whispering, but as he looked back at you, your wide eyes trained on him, he decided to ask, “Hey, is everything okay?”

“I-I have to go,” You didn’t spare Luke any details as you closed your locker, heaving your backpack over your shoulder and turning around to go to class. Your mind was racing as well as your heart, they would find out eventually. Everyone would, and you wouldn’t be spared the embarrassment about it.

“I bet it was Milly-Jane, she always stares at him creepily, I wouldn’t be surprised if she was obsessed enough to make up a song about him,” Someone said, making you discretely look at her to see the wide eyes and smile, one that all of the people seemed to share when they gossiped. Gossiping made you feel sick.

“I heard it was Allison. She’s weird so I wouldn’t be surprised,” This guy spoke, laughing condescendingly as he looked over in the girl, Allison’s, direction. They were making fun of her, for something she didn’t even do.

Is this what everyone was going to do when they found it was you that wrote it? Make fun of you? How could you be so dumb to let it get out in the first place? Luke was one of your closest friends and he was Julie, your best friend’s bandmate. You should never have caught feelings and you certainly shouldn’t have written the song. You felt like kicking yourself.

“Y/n!” Julie called out, grabbing your attention as she ran to catch up with you, walking alongside you as you made your way down the corridor. You give her a small, wavering smile but as she looks at you, you know that she knows, “I saw the song. You have feelings for Luke don’t you?”

Thankfully, she spoke quietly so that no one else could hear you. You both stopped walking, tucking yourselves into a small part of the music corridor which was surprisingly quiet. Afraid of speaking, you hesitantly nod your head.

“Oh y/n/n,” She tries to hide it but you hear the sympathy in Julie’s voice and suddenly everything starts to become real. The feelings, the predicament. Your group was popular and with Luke being the most popular guy in school people were not going to drop the song, “Not to freak you out y/n/n but everyone’s talking about it- he’s going to find out.”

“I know, Jules! You gotta help me,” You were unable to keep the desperate tone out of your voice as you look at your best friend, eyes hopeless.

“What do you need help with, darling?” His smooth voice calls out, and suddenly the worst day of your life becomes even worse. You look at Julie’s wide eyes and your stomach drops. He was here, right now. You weren’t escaping it.

You don’t meet Luke’s eyes as you speak, your voice dangerously quiet that you’re surprised he even hears you, “I don’t need any help.”

“O-kay then, well at least let me walk with you to our first class. It starts in a few minutes,” Luke offers, putting a hand out for you to grab. You go to refuse, knowing that the awkwardness and embarrassment will only double if you walk to class with him like you usually do as Julie indiscreetly kicks you, grabbing your attention. Her expression tells you everything you need to know; she wants you to go with him.

And somehow, it convinces you, and moments later you’re walking down the halls with Luke by your side. Your eyes dart around the corridors, seeing the stares of all the other students. You're normally used to them, but these? These are different. They’re hungry for the truth, trying to get information from their newest point of gossip; Luke. Yet, he pretends they aren’t even there.

It doesn’t take long for your eyes to catch on to the piece of paper he’s holding out to you and you feel your throat close up. A copy of your song, “O-oh what’s that?”

He glances over at you as he opens up the folded piece of paper before reading what’s written there, “ Smooth talkin', so rockin' He's got everything that a girl's wantin' Guitar cutie, he plays it groovy And I can't keep myself from doin' somethin' stupid Think I'm really fallin' for his smile Get butterflies when he says my name “

“A song?” You try to act clueless but you’re pretty sure Luke sees straight through your act as he sends a small smile at you, folding the paper back over.

“It’s about me, everyone thinks,” Luke informs you, as you nod your head, almost as if you were intrigued. In reality, your stomach is filled with nerves that feel like they’re going to explode, your fingers fidgeting endlessly with the sleeves of your sweater, “I was hoping you could tell me. Considering you wrote it, yeah?”

You stop in your tracks and Luke stops too, noticing you were no longer walking alongside him. He peers back at you and tears threaten to fall from your eyes but you refuse to cry in front of these people; your peers. You open your mouth as you rack your brain for what to say. A way to redeem yourself so that you don’t lose Luke as a friend despite him knowing your feelings, “L-Luke, I-”

Luke walks closer to you until he stands right in front of you whilst you stare down at your shoes, oblivious to him being there. He uses his hand to softly guide your chin up to look at him, e/c eyes catching onto his hazel. You stare into his eyes, the loss of words becoming even more apparent until he leans down.

Luke’s lips connect with yours and whispers erupt in the hallways, the people who were staring becoming shocked but they don’t matter, not at this moment. Because you have Luke now. And that was all you had wanted since you met.

#luke patterson #luke julie and the phantoms #luke patterson x reader #luke patterson x y/n #luke jatp #julie and the phantoms #julie and the phantoms x reader #julie and the phantoms luke #charlie gillespie x y/n #charlie gillespie #charlie gillespie x reader

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lustbile-archive · 4 years

Text

ReaderxVernon

Word Count: 2.6k

Request: heyyyyyy so that picture that vernon posted in jihoons studio room, I’ve been thinking about like what if jihoon just left the studio to vernon for the night and youre in there with him??? Like the lighting and everything is perfect the mood is sexy just ugh. Idk what you wanna do with this, you could do a drabble or full smut writing idc i just needed to get this thought out

“You should come over,” you would never admit to his face the way his voice rumbles through your phone makes a shiver run up your spine, but the involuntary sigh you let out in response is the only evidence he needs.

“Where are you?” your voice is softer than you intended when you respond, the late hour of the night making you a lot more dreamy for the boy on the other end of the line than usual, and coating your voice with a sleepy timber.

“Jihoon’s studio,” there’s a shuffling after he speaks, telling you he’s messing with things that he probably shouldn’t be touching at all.

“I don’t know if I’m in the mood to hang out with the guys,” you contradict your words as you stand to start collecting your things and slipping on your shoes, you lip tucking between your teeth to chew on the dry skin as you move around your room, “I kinda just wanna see you Vern.”

“It is just me,” the way he rushes to reassure flips your stomach, “no one else is here for the rest of the night.”

“Really?” you stop momentarily in one spot in your surprise, before you’re moving again to grab your car keys, “Jihoon left you by yourself in his studio? What made him do that?”

“A serious lapse in judgment,” he answers honestly, his self awareness making you laugh as you step out of your front door, and lock up your now empty apartment.

“I’ll be there in like twenty minutes,” the sound of your car unlocking loud enough for him to hear and letting him know you’re telling the truth.

“Can’t wait.”

———

“Vern,” you whisper harshly through the crack you’ve created with the door. The late hour of the night makes you too paranoid to raise your voice, and regardless of his promise that he was alone, you can’t help but worry that one of the boys could have showed up as you made your way over.

“Hm?” you hear him grunt in curiosity before you see him. His dark clothes outline his form as he sits in the dim room, the only source of lighting being the blue leds. He’s slouched in an uncomfortable looking position in Jihoon’s chair, his legs stuck out straight in front of him and the light from his phone illuminates his face. You can't help the endeared puff of air you let from your lips when you see the slight pout that he wears on his face.

“Hello,” you greet, finally moving into the room and closing the door behind you with a click. The sound of you moving through the room makes him place his phone down on the desk and look up at your moving form, a tired smile pulling onto his face as you step over the small pieces of clutter on the floor.

“Hi,” he responds once you’re finally standing in front of him, the tiredness that fills him makes his voice more gruff than usual, and you’d be lying if you said it didn’t warm your chest. You stand between his open legs as he moves his hands to grip onto your loose shirt at your sides, your own hands moving to run up and down his forearms as you smile down at him.

“So tell me again why Jihoon left you here by yourself in the middle of the night,” your eyebrow lifts toward your hairline in curiosity and disbelief of the situation. An involuntary grin finds its way onto your face as well, when your fingers pet at the sensitive skin at the bend of his elbow, a shiver wracks his body.

“Told him I’d clean up if he gave it to me for the night.”

You turn back momentarily to glance at the things cluttering the floor that you had to step over, turning back to him with your eyes squinting in suspicion, “doesn’t seem you’ve gotten a lot of cleaning done.”

“You’re so pretty,” he deters away from the conversation, making you laugh, his hand slipping back to pet at your spine, “I missed you so much.”

You choke slightly on air at his confession, the sudden softness in his voice making your chest tighten, as you move on of your own hands to knock the hat he was wearing off and onto the floor, allowing you to run your fingers through his messy hair.

“I missed you too Vern,” you whisper, suddenly feeling very loud in alone in the room, before leaning down to press your mouth against his. His lips are rough and chapped as you kiss him and his hands tighten around the fabric of your shirt as he pulls you closer. Your breathing labors as he starts softly sucking on your bottom lip, but you break the kiss when you feel the tip of his tongue brush against the skin, “Hmm, don’t start something you can’t finish now.”

“Who said it's something we can't finish?” he asks, his voice dipped in mischief regardless of his tiredness. He pulls you back into another deep kiss, before you’re pulling back again to scold him.

“We can’t mess around in Jihoon’s studio Vernon.”

“Hmm, c’mon why not?” he kisses at your chin and moves his lips down your neck after his whining question, the feeling of his lips making you shiver and crumble far more than you’d be willing to admit.

“‘Cause Jihoon would kill you and be very disappointed in me if we did.”

“Hey,” he pulls away from your skin, feigning offense, “why is he killing me, but just being disappointed in you?”

“Because,” you start, lightly flicking his forehead, “Jihoon loves me, and honestly i’d argue that him being disappointed in you is worse than him killing you.”

“Well, I love you too,” he starts, a playful grumble to his voice, ignoring the other half of your sentence, “and I haven’t had alone time with you in so long i’m getting sick of it.”

“I'm sick of it too, but what are you gonna do about it,” you say without thinking that he may take it as a challenge.

“Anything as long as you don’t stop me,” his slightly confusing wording is the only warning you get before his hands are falling to slip down the back of your shorts and dip into your underwear to grab your ass. His rough hands make you gasp and jolt forward before he's shoving the fabric down your legs.

“Hey!” you yelp with little to no conviction in your tone. Your pitched tone makes him laugh in amusement.

“Hey yourself baby,” he starts, lifting one of your legs to make you step out of the fabric that’s pooled around your ankles and pulling until you're straddling his lap, “you know what to say if you’re not down for this.”

To that, you stay silent. No matter how bad of an idea messing around in the studio is, you can’t lie to yourself that you don’t miss him and his touch enough to tell him to stop. Instead you sit down with a huff, letting yourself press against the fabric that’s pulled over the crotch of his sweatpants with a quiet sigh slipping past your lips.

You feel your muscles relax as he runs his hands up your sides, a pleased purr rolling through your chest as you lean into him and start to gently rock against his lap. At the movement of your hips, his arms wrap fully around you, pulling you into a hug, as he offers a similar sound of his own and presses his face against your neck.

You’re unaware of how long you’ve sat there, just gently rocking against him, enjoying the solidness of his body and the way his lips and breath tickles the side of your neck. The late hour and the cool blue that fills the room combines with the roughness of his finger tips, and you can feel yourself melting into him as your eyelids begin to droop slightly. You’re losing yourself in your drowsiness and the sparks of pleasure you get from the fabric of his sweatpants when he finally detaches from the skin of your jaw that he had been working between his lips to break through the deep bass of the music he had playing so quietly it was almost inaudible.

“Pull me out sweetheart,” his voice is strained more than the last time he had spoken, a slight desperation tinting his tone making you shiver in anticipation. You tense your thighs against him, lifting your body slightly, allowing your shaking hand to run down his body to reach where he presses against the thin fabric of his pants. The way he squirms in response to your fingers teasing down his chest and stomach knocks a shiver through his form and makes a soft smile tug at your lips. He lets out a puff of breath, when you push your fingers past the waistband of his pants and find that he hadn’t bothered to wear underwear this morning, your hand immediately wrapping around his length and moving softly against him when you feel this.

Your eyes are still shut, your eyelashes fluttering against your cheeks as your eyes roll behind the lids to keep yourself awake and aware, when you pull him out and begin to shift your hips closer. The warm air hits the dampening skin of his tip, making him quietly hiss, before you’re curling around him and guiding him to start to press into you.

You let go of him once he’s deep enough that he won’t slip out, curling your arms back around him and sitting down until he’s fitted completely in you. The feeling of him stretching you makes you whimper and shiver until you relax against him, completely content in the idea of staying right where you are, warm and cuddled and full to the brim in his lap.

He must not agree with the comfort you feel from being simply connected to each other, as after letting you sit there and adjust to the feeling of him for a moment, his hands fall to wrap around the underneath of your thighs and starts to move you gently on top of him, his own hips thrusting lazily up to meet you.

“Vernon,” your voice is more gravely when you speak, the gentle pull of him against the nerves inside you and the lulling atmosphere of the room makes you feel dizzy and you can feel yourself drip more and more around him as you move. You don’t dare open your eyes, but the blue lights bleeding through the thin skin of your eyelids is enough to make you feel like you're floating.

“Feel so fucking good baby,” he groans into your skin, his tired state making his hips stutter with uneven thrusts, and his blunt nails dig into the skin of your thighs, making you clench softly around him, “always so nice and wet for me hm?”

You only grumble in response, you hand falling between your bodies to let your fingers start to roll sloppily against your clit. Your brain fogged by the room, your sleepiness, and the way he fucks up into you makes you whiny and desperate in his hold. Your muscles begin to tense against him, and your delirious mind begins to yell at you that if you don’t come soon, you will lose your mind.

“Please Vern,” you plead, regardless of how good he’s already making you feel, and against your tired form’s protest, you begin to bounce slightly in his lap in desperation, “wanna come so bad.”

He doesn’t respond to your words, thrusting a few more times before he winds his arms tightly around your torso and begins to stand from the chair. You let out an angry whine when as he stands you’re forced to lock your ankles behind his back, and your arm is trapped between you, stopping you from getting any stimulation. You let out a petulant huff when, as he begins to walk, he slips from you, leaving you feel empty.

There’s only seconds before your back meets the cushions of the couch, the wind being slightly knocked from your chest as he unceremoniously drops you. There’s a lazy and teasing grin on his face as he looks down at you in amusement, his fist now wrapped around himself as he lazily jacks himself off to the sight of your legs falling open and the deep pout you wear on your face.

The cushions bend as he kneels between your legs, and you feel yourself shuffling down slightly to get closer to him, “please Vernon I need you,” you beg quietly, the heels of your feet moving to press into the back of his thighs in an attempt to pull him closer.

“So needy hm?” he taunts as he leans over you, his free hand pressing into the couch beside your head to hold himself up as he guides himself back into you, much slower than your pleading body wants, “and you said we shouldn’t even be doing this is in the studio.”

“God please shut up and fuck me,” you say in a meaner tone than you intended, but he only laughs as he presses fully into you again while your back arches off the couch, your chest pressing into his.

“Touch yourself again,” he demands, his tone leaving you no room to argue. And when your fingers move again to rub tight circles into the sensitive skin, his now free hand wraps gently around your throat, and he begins to thrust faster than you thought he’d be able to in this state.

Your eyes roll back, painfully straining their muscles, as his quick pace and your equally as fast fingers begin to pull you back to the edge you were teetering on in the chair.

You feel your toes curl, the arches of your feet cramping almost painfully in response, this and the way his fingers begin to flex around your neck telling you that you’re both so close.

You’re only able to slip out a few incoherent mumbling so in warning, before you start to come around him, how tightly you clench around him slowing his thrusts slightly. You start to twist manically as you come, your torso trying to curl towards the back of the couch, but his unwavering fist around your neck keeps you in place as he continues to piston in you.

His chest presses closer to yours and his sloppy mouth presses against yours as he starts to come himself. The warmth of him filling you makes you shake even more, and distracts you from the way your own fingers overstimulate your nerves.

The quiet music is completely devoured by the desperate and uncontrollable noises that fly from your chests and slip from the little space your mouths allow.

You finally let up on your clit to wrap your arms around him and pull him flush against you while you rock against him and his thrusts become uneven and sloppy.

He lets go of your neck and lets his arm lose its support as he collapses against you. Your legs return to their place with your ankles locked behind his back, and he presses you tightly against the couch with his nose digging into your jugular.

Your fingers return subconsciously to his hair, your nails raking through the strands in an attempt to calm both him and yourself.

You stay there, letting your breaths even out as you take turns gently twitching against one another every few seconds. The ambient silence has returned to the room, and you can feel your eyes returning to their drooping state.

“Fuck,” he swears in your skin, before he cuddles closer to your neck with a huff.

“Hm?” you let out the questioning sound in curiosity, still unable to form a coherent sentence.

“Now I have to clean up the chair and couch too.”

#seventeen smut #vernon smut #seventeen imagine

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firelxdykatara · 3 years

Note

kitty i can't wait for your thoughts of Shadow and Bone asdfasfaw

Ok well I just finished and I have so many fucking thoughts. Most good! Some, less so. Part of it may just be my bias because I’ve only read the Six of Crows duology and have little interest in actually reading the original trilogy, because I know how it ends and Leigh clearly hates me personally and doesn’t want me to be happy (/j), so I was already predisposed to be far more invested in the Crows and Darkling/Darklina segments (genuinely, the Mal/Malina scenes/storyline bored me to tears, and while I appreciate that the show went out of its way to change Mal’s character to make him much less of a toxic douchebag [I’ve read enough excerpts and explanations of his actions in the books to really loathe book!Malina], it isn’t enough to make me ship them when Darklina is right there), but I also don’t think it’s a stretch to say that the Crows absolutely stole the show.

It’s actually kind of funny, because I’d assumed they were only being so heavily marketed to hype the show up even more, since while there’s a lot of TGT/SoC fandom overlap they are also two fundamentally different genres and I’d wager there are a lot of people who are massive fans of one but not so enthused with the other, while remaining fairly insignificant to the overall plot. Turns out, they make up fully half of the show’s runtime (much to my delight). Which is part of what I think will help this series stand on its own, both as a book adaptation and simply as a fantasy TV series.

I’ll put more of my story-specific thoughts under a cut, so there’s lots of show spoilers to follow!

I know that a lot of early reviewers were saying that Alina’s motivations and storyline revolved too much around Mal, and that really held true for me. It made sense in the beginning--he was the only constant in her life, she was thrust into something new, terrifying, and completely unfamiliar, and they’d developed an unhealthy codependence as a coping mechanism for their childhoods and the traumas they faced, the lives they lead growing up in a war-torn country. But she started coming into her power, falling for the General--not just his power and charisma, but what she felt when she was with him. The way he helped her summon the sun, the way she felt free in a way she never had before.

Until it all went to shit--but the Darklina make-out scene in episode 5? Fucking iconic. Poetic fucking cinema. The way they were quite literally about to have sex on that wartable (and someone better write fic of that moment, what if they hadn’t gotten interrupted), and the General left, but then he ran back just to kiss her one more time... this is what OTPs are made of ok.

I think what really bothers me overall is that Alina ultimately lacked agency in her one storyline, pretty much the entire way through. She did make a few choices, but they were mostly incidental, and a lot of it was Alina desperately trying to get back to Mal rather than seizing her own power and destiny and running with it. The most prominent example is the end of episode 5--Alina is having happy make-outs and almost bones the General in his own war room, and then he leaves, and Baghra comes in and infodumps to her about how evil he is and how he’s only using her and she needs to escape.

I recognize that a lot of this is probably because that’s essentially what happened in the book and Leigh is an executive producer for the show so she has a lot of shot-calling power. However, I really think that even in the book this plotline would’ve been better-served by having Alina make these discoveries on her own.

For example, imagine that the letters which were used as framing devices for episodes 2 and 3 were vitally important to the plot, rather than being one-offs that are mentioned a few times but not really affecting much of anything. Alina begins to get suspicious when she doesn’t receive word from Mal, and she starts wondering if her letters are even reaching him--so she starts snooping. She finds ashes in the war room hearth, late at night,, and recognizes a fragment of Mal’s signature and larger piece of her own. She now knows that someone--possibly the General, but maybe that creepy priest guy, or someone else in the palace--is keeping her and Mal from contacting one another. So she starts snooping around even more. She asks the General leading questions, trying to figure out what the truth is of his intentions. She still feels this pull--this connection to him, and she hopes she’s wrong, but she’s not willing to just sit around and wait for the other shoe to drop.

The Winter Fete still happens, she still gets the hot make-out session with the General, and then when he’s called away, she snoops through his papers, looking for anything that can tell her the truth. She finds a hidden compartment filled with journals.

She reads about Aleksander’s past (and, incidentally, wasn’t that supposed to be a huge moment in the books, him revealing his true name to her in private? kinda wish it had been kept that way in the show but who knows where they’ll go with it in the future)--that leads to the flashbacks in episode 6. She feels for him, but she also reads further--she gets a firsthand look at his desire for power, something that began as a noble desire to save his people, but was twisted by a lust for vengeance (for his lost love and all the Grisha who were killed) and shot through with greed, the realization that if he found the Sun Summoner he could control the Fold, rather than just destroy it. He could create a new world where Grisha could live without fear--where Grisha could rule.

Alina is terrified. Whoever the General used to be--whatever humanity she saw flickering in his eyes, the way his heart fluttered when they kissed--she can’t trust that it’ll be enough to save her from plans centuries in the making. So she goes to Baghra, the woman who helped her discover her power, learn to channel it--the woman who always seemed to know much more than she ever let on. Baghra gives her side of the story--Alina got it from the General’s perspective first, now Baghra is telling her something framed much differently. She isn’t sure what or who to trust, but she knows that Baghra seems willing to help her escape--but rather than trusting her ‘loyal Grisha’, she makes the choice she made in the show, to choose the other path, and winds up with the Crows.

Idk how Mal and the Stag thing would fit into this (if it isn’t obvious by now, Mal just... doesn’t interest me), but Alina’s story and her character arc would be so much stronger for it. And she’s supposed to be the central character, so her story being weak and her agency so frequently being compromised ultimately hurts the show as a whole.

I know I’ve gone on and on about Alina and the Darkling (look, I’m a slut for enemies-to-lovers, and also lovers-to-enemies-and-back, so Darklina and Helnik are where so much of my investment is rooted--plus Kanej, but that almost goes without saying), but the true standouts of the series were the Crows. Inej, Kaz, and Jesper, and Nina and Matthias in their episodes, stole the show (along with the Darkling, Ben is far and away the best actor in the cast and I love that for him, but Freddy, Amita, and Kit are also amazing, and Danielle&Calahan were fucking phenomenal as Nina and Matthias--I do have to say, though, that the whole cast is really solid and has amazing chemistry).

They worked together so perfectly--Freddy and Amita communicated so much with their eyes alone, especially together, and a whole lot of their relationship dynamic is rooted in how they exist together, which really came through. The show altered the Crows timeline considerably (I’m pretty sure Kaz would’ve been 14 during the original trilogy lol), so Inej is still at the Menagerie, but things like Kaz putting up the Crow Club for Inej’s freedom, the way Kaz needed her but could never bring himself to say it (until the end of the season dklhfgdkjfgh i SCREAMED)--the way Jesper played off the both of them, and it’s so obvious they all love each other even though they’re criminals and thieves and murderers, and Kaz would never admit it (out loud--which actually feeds into my theory that his love language is acts of service; Kaz does things for the people he cares about, he never announces it and he will almost always try to downplay it, but the way you know he cares is if, for example, he puts his entire life, everything he built, up as collateral for your freedom), but they’re a family.

One thing that I was kind of iffy about was Inej’s refusal to kill--but I thought it might be something they were planning to work into her overall character arc, and they did. It was the one line she hadn’t crossed--in the books, I’d imagine that it took a while for Inej to wind up at that point, being willing to kill on top of everything else. So I actually like that they worked that into the Crows plotline, and Inej killing for the first time was to save Kaz’s life.

Just like Kaz’s first selfless act was to save her.

(He’d deny it, of course. He protects his investments. He needed her for the job. But the truth is, he did it for her. And he’d do it again. Even if he’d never admit it.)

Meanwhile, Nina and Matthias’ storyline was pretty much note-for-note according to their backstory as it was revealed in Six of Crows, and I loved every second of it. Their chemistry was perfect, their journey from enemies to begrudging allies to friends to maybe something more (Matthias’ stomach cockblocking them when they were about to kiss had me fucking SCREAMING AT THE TV, and then of course the whole ‘betraying him to save him’ thing happened and I sobbed), and then suddenly right back to enemies.

Because from Matthias’ perspective, he trusted a witch--believed in her, liked her, wanted her--and she turned on him. He has no idea that she wasn’t the one who knocked him out in the first place, and no reason to believe her, because as far as he knows, she just confirmed everything he’d ever been told about Grisha. That they are deceitful and treacherous, would turn on you as soon as look at you, that they are dangerous and not to be trusted. It wasn’t revealed in-show but I imagine Matthias’ backstory is largely the same, which means that his entire family was slaughtered by Grisha when he was a young boy, and then he was turned into a brainwashed child soldier by the witch hunters and never knew anything else.

They are perfectly primed for their SoC arc next season and I, for one, am so stoked to see the rest of their journey. And if I slip Netflix a couple twenties, maybe they’ll let Helnik have a happy ending please please please.

Anyway, yeah! I have a lot of thoughts but things are still percolating in my head so I’ll probably float around the tags for a bit and let things settle. This is just a preliminary overview of my thoughts in the immediate aftermath of bingeing the entire show in one night kldfjghdkjfhgkjgf

EDIT TO ADD: I CAN’T BELIEVE I FORGOT ABOUT THE TRUE STAR OF THE SHOW, M I L O

MILO BEST BOY. MILO THE MVP. MILO DESERVES ALL THAT IS GOOD IN THE WORLD AND I HOPE HE LIVES A HAPPY AND HEALTHY AND FULL LITTLE GOAT LIFE.

#shadow and bone #kanej #helnik #darklina #sab spoilers #alina starkov #the darkling #inej ghafa #kaz brekker #jesper fahey #malina salt #asked #cobraonthecob

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peachyteabuck · 4 years

Text

remember what you love like

summary: is a lunch date still a lunch date after you leave the restaurant?

a commission for @buckysbunny

pairing: natasha romanoff x reader

words: 2,014

trigger warnings: allusions to compulsory heterosexuality, fingering, fluff, mentions of sexting

ask box / masterlist / commission info / ko-fi

Natasha’s hands are tangled in your forest green cardigan, one hand on the small of your back while the other is pressed into the back of your neck.

“You’re so beautiful,” she murmurs when you pull away to gasp for breath, head spinning as a trail of spit connects your mouths in a sight you wish you could see in one of those giant oil paintings that draw large crowds to art museums. “My beautiful little Bunny.”

You preen under her praise, your own hands shaky as they find purchase in her hair, the beltloop of her jeans, anything you can grab as she pushes you into your apartment, pressing you against each and every surface she deems fit. Somewhere between your front door and the wall directly opposite said entrance you lose your cardigan and your shoes, clothes falling to the floor as you’re pushes down the hallway and, finally, onto your bed. You’d made it that morning hoping your lunch date wouldn’t end after you’d left the restaurant just as you had cleaned the rest of your apartment. In truth you’re not sure whether the frantic scrubbing and organization of your kitchen was to impress her or distract yourself for how nervous you were, considering you and Natasha have been dating for about three months now and hadn’t done more than cuddle and today, today of all days felt like the right to rectify that. The two of you had spent all night sexting after you’d sent her a picture of you in your new bra – a pale pink one that made your tits look exquisite. Things had only escalated, you shoving your hands down your pajama shorts to get yourself off at her direction.

So yeah, given all of that, you were decently confident that you would end up with her tongue down your throat and her hands groping at your tits – a thought that left you some weird mixture of overjoyed and frightened.

As your back hits your girly, patterned comforter your heart beats against your ribcage, each chamber trying to rip itself from the rest of the muscle just so that it can travel to each of your limbs and make them shake. Something – someone – is screaming in your ears, the high-pitched sound nearly loud enough to drown out the woman who’s crawled on top of you.

Nearly.

“Hey,” Natasha coos, peppering small kisses along your face and jaw and neck as her center presses into yours. “Hey, Bunny-“

You finally meet her eyes when that pet name – her pet name for you - falls from her lips. Only then does she notice how terrified you look.

“You good, Bunny?” she asks, her own heart now picking up not because her fingertips are on fire and your skin feels just as hot. “Is everything okay?”

“I, uh-“ you struggle to find the words, wishing you kept your blanket-like cardigan on so you could hide in it. “I haven’t done this with uh,” you trying to swallow despite your dry mouth. “With women.”

Natasha exhales deeply, face visibly softening. It doesn’t feel like pity, though, which suppresses a tiny bit of your nervousness; the last thing you want is for the woman responsible for the menagerie in your stomach each time she texts you or says your name or worms her way into every passing thought to think of you as some sort of charity case.

“Oh, babes,” she places each hand flat on either side of your jaw, both thumbs rubbing soothingly into your heated cheeks. “You know I’m okay with that – right? I don’t want you any less just because you haven’t done with women before.”

You sniffle, trying to keep the tears that prick the corners of your eyes in their spot. “A-are you sure?”

Natasha nods, leaving a small kiss on the center of your forehead. “Of course I am, Bunny. I don’t care how many women you’ve had sex with.”

“E-even though I’ve had sex with guys?” your eyes are big and scared, petrified of rejection.

Natasha just smiles, pulling you closer to her. “Yes, Bunny. Your sexual history certainly doesn’t define you as a person and doesn’t change how I feel about you. Okay?”

You smile back, leaning into her arms as you sniffle once more. “O-okay.”

“Now,” she smiles as she pulls back, readjusting herself onto her side as you stay on your back. “Where were we?”

And just like that – with fear quelled and uncomfortable twisting in your stomach now loose and simmering below your skin – she returns to her original mission, one that involves ghosting her fingers over your clothed chest before thumbing at the hem of your denim skirt. “You’re so cute, Bunny,” she murmurs. “Such an adorable little Bunny all for me…”

Natasha then pushes your skirt up to your stomach, keeping it in place with her forearm as she begins rubbing the two middle fingers of her right hand along your clothed slit. Your chest heaves as she grins down at your scrunched eyes, furrowed brow, and kiss-swollen lips.

“So beautiful,” she murmurs into your neck, teeth barely pressing into the bruises that deepen with each passing moment. “So good for me, Bunny…”

Lewd moans fall from your mouth as circles your clit, the adorable pink cotton panties you had specifically chosen that morning hoping and praying this would happen now completely soaked through. They’re rough against your sensitive, desperate clit – pussy pulsing around nothing as you buck your hips frantically.

“P-please,” you moan, voice nearly unrecognizable now. “P-please N-Nat!”

She presses a firm kiss to your lips, smiling as she moves her hands to rub at your pussy under your panties. The feeling of her hand there without anything between her skin and your is intoxicating – her fingers easily finding your clit once more. “Call me Mommy,” she murmurs, free hand pushing the sweaty hairs from your forehead. “Call me Mommy, sweet Bunny.”

“Mommy, oh fuck-“ you gasp, the feeling of her hands and the mention of that title you’d been discussing the night before shooting another bolt of lightning through your nervous system, hands bunch the sheets in your palms – your fingers nearly numb as all of your blood rushes to your core. “Oh fucking shit!”

For the first time in what feels like hours you find the courage to open your eyes – another moan deep in your chest filling the hot, thick air. You always wondered why people described being fucked as being consumed, as being the main course in a large meal presented to some rich, old-timey monarch after they return from visiting the more desolate parts of the territory they rule over.

Now, though, under Natasha’s heated gaze with three of her fingers stuffed inside of you while the other hand presses into your stomach – you feel like some prized pig slathered in glaze and placed onto an obnoxious silver platter with a whole apple placed into your waiting mouth as fruits and vegetables circle your flesh. If you had ever felt desired, it certainly didn’t match up to the fire in Natasha’s eyes as she devours each time you twitch, moan, beg for more.

“You sure you want more?” she purrs, fingers stroking that spot inside of you that makes your legs shake and eyes tear up once more. “Does my greedy little Bunny want her Mommy to give her more?”

You nod furiously, mouth barely able to keep up with your racing thoughts. “Yes, fuck Mommy please please please I want-“ you moan as she fucks into you harder, reveling in watching you fall apart. “Please I’ll take anything you want to give me Mommy please!”

Without further delay Natasha moves between your legs, maneuvering you so that one of her hands fucked in and out of you while the other circles your clit in hot, tight circles. Your eyes don’t know where to focus – on the sight on Natasha’s hands working you into some kind of putty or the woman herself, whose smug grin and furrowed brow are almost intimidating in their determination.

“M-mommy,” you gasp out, legs trying to shut themselves involuntarily, stopped only by the woman between your legs. Your toes curl, spine bending forward as the white-hot pleasure in your stomach curls itself tighter and tighter around itself. “Mommy, Mommy, I’m gonna, I’m gonna-!”

You come with a guttural moan you almost don’t recognize as yours – a sound so animalistic you wonder if Natasha had rewired your brain into some pre-human thing incapable of speech. It’s hot, so hot, and in your post-orgasmic bliss you wonder if life could get any better.

“How you feeling, Bunny?” Natasha asks, trying to find some signs of life behind your glazed-over eyes.

“So fucking good! I feel so good, Mommy!” you gasp out, mouth dry and lunges seemingly devoid of oxygen.

The woman above you just laughs, though, throws her beautiful head back and laughs and oh God – oh God you need to find it in you to tell her to stop doing that because you’ve only been dating for a few months and her beauty radiates with the power of the sun and you weren’t born with UV-protection in your retinas and if her light doesn’t burn you to a crisp first you think you’re going to fucking explode.

“I’m glad,” she tells you, running her now-wrinkled fingertips over the inside of your trembling thighs. Silence settles of you both as you feel your bones…vibrate? Or maybe that’s chest your heart again – the stupid thing incapable of handling this much joy and pleasure at the same time. It takes a long while for Natasha to speak again, not wanting to spook you in your fragile state. “Hey Bunny?” she asks, watching to make sure you’d heard her. “I’m gonna get you some water, okay?”

You give her a small “okay,” body still as she climbs off your bed.

You’re boneless – inert as you lay there with your arms flat at your sides and your legs in the same bent position Natasha had left them in before she had oh-so meanly abandoned you. Just as before, your chest rises and falls as if a forty-pound weight was pressing into it – each inhale painful and a struggle with the exhales happening all too quickly. It’s unfamiliar, being so satiated. Being with men had left you feeling fine, maybe a little out of breath, but with Natasha? God, you wouldn’t be able to move if the fire alarms went off; you’d just lay here, vision fuzzy around the edges as the smell of smoke came through the air vents. (Then again, given the state of Natasha’s arms, you think she’d be able to carry you out of your apartment building just fine.)

She returns – just as she said she would – with a mug of cold water that she holds as if it was priceless and not something you thrifted for less than a dollar when you had moved from your last apartment.

“Thanks,” you croak as she hands it to you, watching as you sit up and wince ever so slightly as your sensitive pussy presses into the sheets. You’ll need to change them – and soon – but somehow that feels like an impossible task as you gulp down what, in your state, tastes closer to ambrosia than the shit in your Brita. When you’re finished Natasha takes the now empty mug from you, placing it on your nightstand before hugging you to her chest and pushing you back until you hit the sheets once more, lying down next to you and throwing her arm around your waist.

“You good, Bunny?” she asks again, a part of her always worried about you no matter how much euphoria pooled in your veins.

You nod as you curl into her side, leaving a kiss on her collarbone as you listen to her heartrate slow as it returns its resting pace. It’s calming, that combined with the feeling of her fingers twirling in your mused hair lulling you into the deepest sleep you’ve had in weeks.

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff/reader #black widow x reader #lukis writes stuff #lukis does commissions #this was actually v fun to write i miss fluff lmao

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buck-nialled · 3 years

Note

50 + u + 43 for niall lol!! forgot to include in the last one

NOTE: Thanks for the submission! Click HERE to see all prompts and send your own combo to my inbox!

AU 50: Soulmates AU

TROPE: Sharing a bed

SENTENCE: “you know, when this is over, we should really have angry sex”

Invitation - N. Horan Imagine

You glared at the open eye of the beer bottle which happened to land on you once again. Those formed in a circle around you—most of whom you could label your closest—cheered for surviving yet another round of truth or dare.

“Niall, your turn.” John nudges the brunette sat beside him with his elbow. The smirk infiltrating the Irishman’s face seconds later had you shutting your eyes and releasing a breath of agitation. Whenever Niall became the questioner, you were always opting to strip due to his intrusive prompts and curious eyes. Due to this single player, you were left bare of your socks, shoes, and loose cardigan on his sectional. Your eyes met the mark on his cheek, black and impure, waiting for that special someone’s palm to collide with it. That hand-shaped splotched always taunted you. Several occasions have occurred between you and Niall where all you yearned for was to lay a loud smack against his skin. And you would think your right hand being painted the same color could only give more motivation to do so. For as long as you have known Niall though, the feuds highly outweighed any intimacy you happened to share with him, which was little to none. Save for these strip, truth, or dare games you should really stop agreeing to play any time after your fourth drink hits you.

“Truth or dare?” A mischievous blue glint was present in his eyes, letting you know it would end in another piece of clothing ripped off of you no matter the choice. Your eyes darted to the carpet, where your toes were curling in apprehension.

“Dare.”

“I dare you to give me your phone and let me text your ex.” Your body stiffens and almost immediately your head is shaking furiously back and forth.

“No. Absoloutely not.” Nobody knew the entire story about how you and your ex-boyfriend split but they did not need to hear much. He wasn’t your soulmate, and he lied and manipulated you to somehow believe your handprint fit the one on his thigh. The relationship was not long-lasting, to say the least. But he made you question every aspect of soulmates and your love life. You were nearing your thirties and most of your friends were preparing to marry each other with their marks filled in with an ocean of colors. Where was the person who could make the same possible for you?

“Alright, then you know what to do next.” Niall’s hand gestures to your tee-shirt, which you would much rather keep on. Your hand twitches as you slowly dig your phone from the back pocket of your jeans.

“What’re you going to say to him?” You frown, holding the device tight in your clutch. Niall shrugs, humming in thought.

“Don’t know, maybe how he tricked you so well? Hell, he could teach me a few tricks.”

You scoff, “I’m surprised no one’s laid a slap across your face yet.”

“Well, it shouldn’t take that many handshakes to find your soulmate, Y/N. You sure he didn’t run off when he saw—”

“Fuck you.” You spit before he could finish. He only chuckles, the rest of the group falling silent at your bantering which was quickly escalating to a screaming match.

“Okay,” Niall’s haughty chuckles fill the vicinity. “Not where I thought this conversation was going but you’re right. You know, when this is over, we should really have angry sex.”

“You…are…” The couch cushion you were seated on was taut in your grip as you tried controlling your trembling hands. Your teeth were grinding against one another as your face grew hot in fury.

“Sexy? Ravishing? Irresistible?” He continues, trying to fill in the blanks for you. But all you could muster was a breathy “asshole,” before you launched the phone straight into his lap. “Go ahead. Text him. He’d probably be happy to know his methods are catching on.” Niall’s smile faded instantly when he saw you standing on wobbly legs and speaking in vibrations through your drunken stupor. He was plucking the phone from his lap and prepared to stand up to console your vulnerable form, but you were running to the nearest room before he could even set the device aside. He volunteered to check in on you and also apologize, advising the rest to head home or call a ride to do so. No objections were made as he stood from the couch and made quick strides towards his bedroom. Silently, he crept past the door you were too appalled to slam in your haste to the secluded area. Though Niall assumed his attempts to confront you went unnoticed, you spun to face him before his outstretched hand could connect with your arm.

“So, what’d you say to him?” You murmur, bringing a nail to your teeth to gnaw on. Niall only shook his head, sincerity swimming in his eyes.

“Nothing,” Hey says firmly. “I came to apologize.”

“For what?”

“For being an asshole.”

You snort, “which time?”

“Every single time I hurt you.” He takes a deep breath. “You never deserved it. I’m sorry for everything I’ve done to you.” You look up from his socked feet to meet his remorseful eyes. His lips formed a frown that could only be translated to one desperate for mercy.

“You mean it?” Your throat was so scratchy from your recent crying that you could only manage a whisper.

“Absolutely. And I know saying sorry doesn’t even begin to cover half of what I’ve said or done to you. But I don’t want you to leave and never forgive me. So, scream at me, hit me, just do wha—” Niall was cut off by your hand colliding with his cheek. He really shouldn’t have been so caught off guard after dangling the opportunity in front of you like a dog with a bone.

“OW!” He exclaims, reaching up to shield his stinging profile. “What the hell?” He mutters through gritted teeth.

“You said to hit you.” You shrug, curious about the damage you did.

“Yeah, do you feel better?” He asks, hand remaining on his tingling skin.

“Much.” You reply through a dry chuckle. “My hand feels weird though, like it tickles.” You remark, flipping your palm to face your eyes and gasping. The mark tainting your hand shone a multitude of colors now, none of them near as dull as the black that overcame it earlier. Your eyes studied your palm while it gradually began morphing into the proper shade of your skin tone. Flickering your eyes to Niall’s face, you see that his eyes were already on you as he slowly moves his hand down the side of his face.

“Holy shit.” You whisper in disbelief, looking back and forth between your hand and Niall’s cheek, which was now as tan as the rest of his body. “Holy shit!” You repeat in a shriek.

“Well, would you fancy that?” He remarks with a slight smirk. “You know, that invitation for angry sex is still open if you want it.” Your hand collides with his cheek once more, leaving his lips vulnerable to yours as he releases another cry. It transforms into a moan moments later, as your lips move smoothly against his with a fiery passion. The two of you wasted no time guiding your warm bodies to Niall’s bed. A bed you would no doubt be sharing for the night, and definitely the next morning.

“Time to show me how sorry you are, Horan.” You whimper as his lips travel down to mark your neck.

“Yes ma’am.” He replies, bearing witness to every moan and cry that you would elicit for the next hour.

#niall horan imagines #niall horan imagine #niall horan fanfic #niall horan fanfiction #niall horan smut #niall horan fluff #niall horan angst #niall horan story #niall horan blurb #niall horan oneshot #niall horan gif #niall horan au #niall horan #niall james horan

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lilbabycee · 4 years

Text

georgia // steve rogers ✈️

↳ summary: after a mission, the reader comes back with some serious injuries and steve doesn't know how to handle it.

↳ relationship: steve rogers x reader

↳ word count: 2.9k

↳ warnings: near death experiences, fluff and angst, hurt/comfort, another overused trope

↳ author’s note: more steve for you because i love this man - enjoy! <3

You’re curled on one of the sectionals in the common room, watching the sun peek out from a blanket of clouds not unlike the ones that you’re lying under right now. The sky is swathed in purples and yellows and oranges and you take the time to enjoy the unobstructed view from the floor-to-ceiling windows at the Avengers Compound. You can feel yourself sinking into the grey ocean that is the obnoxiously large sofa beneath you and you think that if you drown then this would be a hell of a way to die.

He isn’t speaking to you. He hasn’t even seen you in weeks, harboring a grudge so strong that you think the weight of it could crush even his super soldier body. Leaning the side of your head on the couch, you find yourself momentarily distracted by the picturesque scene in front of you, but then your eyelids droop and you are snapped back to the reality of your situation. You can’t sleep without him and he knows that. After all of these years you still don’t know exactly what it is - maybe a product of the Red Room, maybe years of murdering innocents coming back to haunt you, but you can’t sleep alone. You were used to it for years, not getting more than two hours of sleep - if you were lucky - most nights. But long gone are the days of sneaking into bed with Natasha, because once Steve came along, you didn’t need it any longer.

Steve. You sigh in frustration, one hand wiggling out from underneath the fluffy white blanket to rub at your eyes and run over your face. Maybe you’re being dramatic. After all, waxing poetic about your boyfriend wasn’t going to bring him back from wherever the fuck he was in France right now. Prior to a few years ago, you only had yourself to look out for and nobody else. You had become accustomed to it, doing whatever was best for you and not having to take anybody else into consideration because, ultimately, you worked alone. But then you joined the Avengers, became a part of a team, and then you realized that you were surrounded by people who valued your life more than you did.

It was jarring to say the least, but on top of that, you met Steve. It was instant, the connection that you two shared. There was always a sense of admiration that went both ways, and you brought each other a sense of normalcy in a world that was otherwise chaotic and often unbelievable. You love him more than you love yourself on most days, you find. But his Captain persona has a tendency to spark arguments with the intensity of a forest fire, igniting the fire within his belly but in contrast, you become cold and withdrawn and defensive.

It doesn’t happen often, but when you do fight, the entire compound knows about it and the team is forced to witness the tension between you two for days, weeks. This was especially painful for both Sam and Natasha, as they are both so close to the both of you and they always feel as if they had to pick sides.

You miss him, you realize, when rare tears prick at your eyelids and you close your eyes to try and ward them off. This time of the year is especially hard for you, having to watch families and children and happiness and beauty all around you. You can’t stand it. It just reminds you of all of the things that you decided that you couldn’t have, things that can’t fit into the lifestyle that you have so carefully perfected over the years. You’d been spiraling over the last couple of days, truly spiraling and the only person who had noticed was Natasha. There was so much of herself that she saw in you, having grown up the same way without love and affection and comfort.

Steve would comfort you. He’d tell you that your feelings are valid and that you have every right to feel sad and that you’re not alone in your emotions. He’d come cuddle you and call you baby or honey or doll and kiss you so hard that the whirring freight train of despair on a circular loop in your head would come to an abrupt stop and you’d forget about all of that, at least for some time. But he isn’t here so you’re stuck the way you are: sad and cold and tired and alone.

Your ears perk up and you can sense somebody standing behind you. It’s not Steve - you would know - and you peel your eyes open slowly, turning around regardless, curious as to who else could be up at 7:20 a.m on a Sunday and not training. Your eyes meet green ones and you exhale a laugh. Those verdant eyes are flooded with concern and what looks like a hint of… guilt?

“‘Tasha,” you greet slowly, raising an eyebrow skeptically. “You’re not training. Everything okay?”

“I feel like that’s what I should be asking you,” her voice is soft and filled with that same concern, unnoticeable to somebody who does not know her as well. “How’re you feeling?”

You bark out a laugh again, wincing when you feel the soreness of your throat and idly rub at the smattering of bruises that mar the skin on your neck. You become acutely aware of the deep cuts on your legs and your bandaged wrist, sighing when you remember how long you’ll have to spend in medbay with Dr. Cho to change all of them.

“I’ve been worse,” you shrug, slowly becoming increasingly aware of how every small movement comes with a sharp sting of pain. You were no super soldier: you still healed like a regular human being, although people often seemed to treat you like you weren’t one as a result of your extensive spy training. It’d been weeks now and you still aren’t fully healed, something that frustrates you to no end as you were just about tired of sitting on your ass. “I’ll get over it eventually, but it’ll just take a couple more weeks. At least, that’s what Dr. Cho said.”

“You know that’s not what I was referring to,” Natasha gives you a deadpan look and you hold her gaze because you’re nothing if not stubborn.

You know who else is stubborn? St-

“-and Steve,” she continues. You snap out of your slight daze and focus on maintaining eye contact with her. “I spoke to him and told him to come speak to you - he doesn’t know how bad you’re doing.”

“You know that after Georgia he doesn’t wanna speak to me,” you’re surprised at how soft and resigned your tone is.

“He doesn’t wanna speak to you or you’re not giving him the chance to?”

“You know perfectly well that that’s not the case, Nat,” you shoot her a murderous glare and she smirks, walking around the sectional to sit next to you, lifting a corner of the blanket to sidle up next to you. You drop your head on her shoulder and close your eyes again, feeling a strong pounding sensation at the front of your head. A groan leaves your lips and you bury your face into the redhead’s shoulder.

“Steve is absolutely one of the most stubborn people I have ever met,” Natasha starts slowly. “But he also has one of the biggest hearts of anyone I’ve ever met. You and I both know that for a fact. You have to put yourself in his shoes. Imagine how he felt when he saw you like that, blood pouring out of your head and laying on a table on the quinjet, helpless. If that was him, you know how panicked you would have been.”

---

three weeks ago...

You’d thought that you’d taken all of them out, running next to Sam and turning the street corner back towards the quinjet. This part of the country had been virtually abandoned, a true ghost town. It had taken several hours to fly from New York just to do some recon, even in the quinjet.

Steve and Natasha were running several feet ahead of you, and they had disappeared out of sight, turning another corner, when it happened. It was supposed to be a quick and simple in-and-out, not meant to take any longer than a few hours, so the relief that it had all gone to plan was almost palpable in the air.

That was until a massive man rushed you with a dagger, obviously desperate and probably out of ammunition. He went for Sam first, a swift and split-second stab to the side - a wound which ended up being non-fatal, thank God - and continued to attack him when you jumped on him from behind. You knew that you were out-muscled - the man stood at over 6’5 and was built like a tree - but you managed to get him away from Sam. You were sure that you could overpower him with purely your agility and skill, but he fought dirty. After tackling you to the ground, he grabbed you by your neck in an attempt to asphyxiate you and damn he was strong. You struggled to pry his hand off of your neck, the intense pain making your vision cloudy and your head spin. Taking advantage of your temporarily incapacitated state, he stabbed you in the shoulder and then repeatedly in the legs, crushing your wrist by putting all of his weight on it. You came to the realization that he was trying to get you to lose as much blood as he possibly could, wanting to drag out the experience. You faintly heard Sam struggling to speak into the comms and hoped that Steve and Natasha were coming back.

The man, with a wicked grin on his face, proceeded to smash your head repeatedly against the concrete sidewalk. The last thing that you distinctly remember was hearing Steve’s heavy boots sprint over to where you were.

You were told that after that, Natasha took care of your attacker while Steve carried you back to the quinjet in a panic. Nat was able to help Sam limp there, surprisingly it really was more of a flesh wound and hit no vital organs. You had been in a medically induced coma for four days after your heart had stopped because of the gallons of blood that you had lost. They tried to restart your heart several times and when they finally succeeded, they wanted to make sure that you were healing in the way that you were supposed to be. When you woke up to Steve sleeping, slouched in a hospital chair beside your bed with your hand gripped tightly in his, you gave him a weak squeeze to wake up. He jumped up and immediately started crying while calling for the medical staff.

After you were left alone, Steve walks back in with a far sterner expression on his face than when he first came in. You try for a weak smile, but you are severely concussed and struggle to form coherent sentences so you are not in the mood to fight with your boyfriend. But it looks like he is in the mood to fight with you.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” he begins, standing at the head of your hospital bed with his arms crossed over his chest.

You roll your eyes and heave a sigh. “Steve, can we do this another time? I’m really not feeling up to-”

“No, Y/N,” he barks, effectively silencing you. His Captain voice has made an appearance and your frustrations start to arise. You know that this won’t be a quick scolding. “We’re a team. And you have to make decisions that are best for the team. What you did was unnecessarily put yourself at risk when Natasha and I were readily available to help you. Instead of communicating with us, you took on the task by yourself and look where that’s gotten you. I know that it’ll take a while for you to recover from these injuries but I don’t want you coming on missions for another month after your recovery. It’s-”

“Captain Rogers,” you interrupt him, your defensive walls up and your tone frosty. “With all due respect, sir, I did what I thought was best at that moment. I was protecting Sam. I don’t know what taking me off more missions will do for the team, or me, for that matter. I was trying to protect Sam from death-”

“You died, Y/N!” he shouts at you, voice cracking slightly, and your mouth snaps shut. “You died and I saw you die. Forgive me if I don’t want that to happen again.”

He clenches his jaw and his eyes dart around, a sign that he’s trying to avoid tearing up. Your expression has softened considerably and as you open your mouth to speak, he pins you with a glare so fierce that only air comes out.

“You’re off the missions. I’m not taking no for an answer.”

That’s all he says before swiftly turning on his heel and slamming the door behind his retreating figure.

---

Starting to speak, you look at Natasha’s side profile as she stares directly ahead of her: “I know. But he’s acting like Sam wouldn’t have died if I hadn’t helped him. It’s just that I’ve gotten over this. And I’m in pain, Nat. I’m tired. I’m exhausted and my throat hurts and I feel so weak but he’s not here.”

At the end of the sentence, your voice cracks and Natasha’s hand comes up to rub comfortingly at your back. Your body is too busy shaking with sobs for you to realize that Steve just walked in. He sees Nat and smiles at her before his eyes hone in on your fragile - a word that he’s never used to describe you before - body. His smile drops abruptly and he rushes to your side, his stubbornness be damned. Steve had no idea just how badly this had been affecting you, because he was too concerned with waiting for you to come and apologize to him.

“Baby,” he coos softly, gently caressing your cheek. Your head lifts and his heart sinks when he sees your bloodshot eyes and dark bags, coupled with your shaky hands and severe bruising. He hasn’t even seen you in the weeks since the hospital - he took a mission in France with Bucky almost immediately after - and he feels like crying himself when he sees how much the lack of communication has broken you. He’s always considered you the strongest person he knows, untouchable and tenacious. But this, this. It breaks his heart. “Hi, baby.”

You only sob harder as Natasha shoots him a look and stands up, presumably heading towards the kitchen to make herself some breakfast. Steve takes her place after mouthing a thank you - to which she responds with an eye roll - and takes care to wrap his strong arms around you without pressing on any of the more severe bruises.

“Honey, I’m so sorry,” he whispers. “I was bein’ hard-headed and selfish and I didn’t even think about how hard my best girl has it. But you shoulda seen yourself, babydoll. I thought I had died right along with you on that table…”

Fuck it, you think as you throw your arms around his neck. Sharp pain shoots through both of your arms but you don’t give a fuck because your Stevie’s here and he’s apologizing (?!!) and he’s so warm.

“Stevie,” you sniff, almost childlike in your need for affection. “I’m sorry. I wanted to help Sam and I thought I could take him.”

He chuckles, pressing a long kiss to your forehead. You close your eyes serenely as his lips linger and he starts caressing the side of your bruised neck with his thumb.

“That’s okay, doll,” he smiles. “You probably coulda taken him and I know it was a tough situation. I just want my baby to feel better. I’m sorry I haven’t been here; I needed to clear my head because I was just so damn scared. My worst fear is losin’ you and having that realized, living through that… I couldn’t bear it. But I’m here now and we can make sure that you rest up. You been sleepin’, sweetheart?”

You shake your head - too fast because the pounding in your head intensifies and you groan - and lean up to press a kiss on his cheek. His cheeks warm and you smile fondly at him, pleased that even after all this time you have an effect on your man.

“Well, we’ll have to fix that, won’t we honey?” he smirks as he easily lifts you up with your arms wound around his neck. He starts striding towards your shared quarters and lays you in the bed. “Cold, baby?”

You nod and make grabby hands at him, feeling especially needy - a side that you could never show to the rest of the Avengers because they would bully you for the rest of your life. He only laughs, whipping off his shirt and joining you in bed.

“Comfortable?” he asks, looking down at you. You snuggle up to his chest - fuck your broken wrist and crushed windpipe - and feel yourself drifting already. You come to realize that this is where you belong - wherever your super soldier is, whatever he does, you know that you’ll love him to the ends of the earth…

...or at least all the way to Georgia.

tagged: @literaturefeen

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers fanfic #steve rogers fanfiction #steve x reader #steve rogers blurb #steve rogers headcanon #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers #steve rogers blurbs #steve rogers imagines #steve rogers headcanons #marvel fanfiction #marvel imagines #marvel cinematic universe #marvel blurb #steve rogers fluff #steve rogers angst

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yacoka · 3 years

Text

SHOOTING STARS

pairing — yamaguchi tadashi x reader

genre — slightly angstish? but overall fluff I think

beta — @doughnuts-5ever

note(s) — my piece for the to infinity and beyond collab!!

-ˏˋ please reblog if you enjoyed this! ˊˎ-

YEAR ONE

you’re a novice with trembling hands and a shaky stance. the weight of the bow is unforgiving, the string cruel, cutting deep into your fragile skin. the wind blows harshly, and you’re not entirely sure what, nor where the target is. so there you remain, eyes closed and bow drawn, snapped arrows scattered all around.

first days of anything are never easy, not when you’re entering a new phase of life, into a new environment all alone. sometimes it gets eased by the people around you, the friends you make. sometimes it doesn’t.

your first day of highschool stretches on for almost half a year, and you’re still where you’ve started - alone and lonely.

it has never been easy for you to make friends, and it certainly didn’t help you didn’t really know how to. you suppose it’s partly due to the fact that you could never decide on what to say and what time to say it. too many conversations had been killed by your ill-timed inputs, and eventually, you stopped trying.

loneliness is not a foreign companion, and you’d like to think you’ve made good friends with it. but it leans a little too heavy on you, every step takes a little more effort. it wraps its arms around you like a lover, whispering in your ears as you watch the group of teenagers in front of you push each other around, joking and laughing and having fun.

your head dips a little lower and your shoulders slump a little more. it’s just another day; another long, lonely day. you’ll be okay.

or maybe not.

a hard shove has you flying backwards, and you yelp in shock and fear. wide eyes meet yours and a hand reaches out to grab your arm, stabilizing you.

“hinata, you idiot!” a voice rages, and it snaps out of the shock-induced haze you’ve settled into.

“are you alright?” the boy in front of you asks, and you register who exactly it is that’s still holding your hand. his hazel eyes are filled with concern, and you can’t help but get distracted by the stray strand of green hair standing up.

“i- uh, yeah-” you stumble out. the warmth of his hand is distracting, and maybe you’ve been out of touch with talking to people for far too long. “fine.”

he eyes you worriedly, and there’s a moment of hesitation before he nods and lets go of you. “i’m so sorry about my friend, we were just messing around, and it got a little… out of hand.”

“it’s fine,” you shake your head lightly. “i’m okay, it’s-”

“i’m so sorry, are you okay?” another boy jumps right into your face, all pink-faced and messy red hair. “i didn’t mean to run you over, kageyama just bet me i couldn’t run backwards, i’m so sorry-”

he’s yanked back by another boy, this one taller than the previous two. “i’m sorry about this one, he’s lacking a few brain cells tonight.” he shoots you a bland smile before dragging the redhead away, another boy following after them.

“you’re sure you’re fine?” he asks you once more.

“i am, don’t worry,” you smile at him reassuringly. “i should get going, thank you for catching me.” without waiting for his response, you bow quickly, speeding off home.

you know it means nothing to him, but you remember how good it felt to have someone be concerned, to feel like someone cared. it's a fleeting thought, but you thought, just maybe, he could be someone to you.

you’ve only just begun to familiarise yourself with the bow, and you’re a far cry from a perfect shot. you’re still a little lost, beaten and bruised by the harsh snaps of the bow’s string. but you’re learning, and the arrows aren’t as cruel as they once were. they too, have learnt to have patience with you. you shift your feet, and you wait.

it’s almost the end of the year when one of your classmates approaches with a nervous smile.

“hey, y/n right?” she smiles politely. you know of her presence, the blonde girl reminiscent of wild daisies along the road with a sweet spring personality to match. she’s even prettier up close, and you can’t help but panic a little at the realization that you don't know her name.

how could you have shared a class with her for almost a year and not know her name?

“i’m sorry, i must’ve got your name wrong! please forgive me! i was so sure you were y/n, i shouldn’t have made assumptions, please forgi-”

“no, no, i am y/n!” you cut her off quickly. “that’s my name.” a nervous chuckle slips out of you.

“oh,” her shoulders slump in relief. “that’s good. i’m yachi! yachi hitoka.”

“uh, hi yachi.” you greet her, awkwardly shifting on your feet. this interaction had been going on for longer than you were prepared for, and you were very well aware of how bad your conversational skills were, especially without preparation. thankfully, yachi seemed to get the hint and gets to the point immediately.

“i’m one of the managers for the volleyball club, and shimizu, the senior volleyball manager, is graduating soon, and we’ll need another manager to help us out. do you think you’ll be interested in joining us?”

the very idea of helping out a club, where you had to interact with numerous people, for the next few years, was in short, terrifying. but it was as if yachi could see the very thoughts floating through your mind, and she was quick to add on, “i know it seems really intimidating! i thought so too when i first joined. but everyone was really welcoming, and i think you’d be a great fit. please just consider it?”

at her hopeful smile, you couldn't say no, not without causing that adorable expression to fall. so without thinking, you blurt out a yes, you'll try out being a manager for a week. the grin that yachi gives you almost makes the nerves that follow worth it.

you somehow find yourself outside the gym after school, nervously listening to the squeaking of shoes and slamming of balls. a couple of minutes passed, and you gathered your scattered bits of courage into a tight fist, holding on to it for dear life as you push open the doors.

you’re instantly greeted by yachi, who as it turns out, was about to go and find you.

“hey, y/n! this is shimizu, she’s the senior manager.” you smile politely at her, introducing yourself. it doesn’t take long for the rest of the volleyball club to notice your intrusion.

“who’s this?” a grey-haired boy sticks his head over shimizu’s shoulder. she elbows him back lightly before introducing you to the boys who had been quick to gather around the entrance.

it was intimidating, the stares that were locked onto you, analyzing you. you weren’t used to this much attention, and your discomfort was clear as you shifted nervously on your feet, eyes darting around in slight panic. it ran from face to face, hurriedly try to connect the names that were being thrown out. tanaka, asahi, nishinoya, hinata, yamaguchi-

yamaguchi.

you gaped a little at the overly familiar face standing in front of you. that was the boy that had saved you the night before. and that must mean- yes there were the others, the one who ran you over, and the over two who had barely exchanged a few words before leaving.

(no, your shoulders did not relax slightly at their familiar faces. and no, your heart rate certainly didn’t raise at the sight of yamaguchi. you were perfectly composed, as much as you could be under the scrutiny of so many people.)

the polite smile you give is accompanied with a slight bow, and as you greet them officially, your eyes lingers a little longer upon the green-haired boy. maybe, just maybe, there was a chance for something else, something new.

YEAR TWO

the target finally comes into view, with black and green circles that surround a pulsing, bright red. for the first time you see something with stunning clarity, and you know where you need to aim for. your arms raise in preparation, the arrow poised, and you wait.

it’s been a little over six months since you’ve joined the volleyball club as their manager, and yet it feels like forever as you sit with your fellow second years below the large oak tree in the courtyard. there’s a soft murmur of conversation and laughter, mixed in with a little bit of chaos as hinata and kageyama get up to their usual schemes.

yachi reels them in just enough to keep things from exploding, though tsukishima certainly doesn’t help anything with his snarky jabs and snickers. you laugh once again as he throws another passive-aggressive comment at the two, leaning against yamaguchi’s side.

the contact leaves sparks jumping across your skin, and the circus comes to life within you. yamaguchi doesn’t seem to notice how affected you are, in fact even seeming to shift so you could lean on him more comfortably. no one notices anything, or so you think until yachi makes eye contact with you. she gives you a knowing look, and you flush deeply, pulling yourself upright.

(you miss the slight downturn of yamaguchi’s lips when you do so, and the subconscious shift of his body following yours.)

you manage to tame the turbulence of emotions within you, and with a fond smile, you watch your little group of friends as they chatter on about everything and anything. it’s sharp contrast from last year, where you were alone and lonely.

now, you had a group of people who you loved and cared for, and who loved and cared for you in return. it’s another day filled with laughter and joy, with burdens to be shared, and company to be had. you’re grateful for them, for all that they’ve brought into your life, even the chaos that trail behind them.

loneliness wasn’t foreign to you, but it also wasn’t as close of a friend as it used to be. instead, these five had filled the void it was so determined to maintain, and they pushed you to grow as they did, to aim for higher heights, even when it seemed impossible.

and as yamaguchi smiles at you when you try and fail to catch the grape that hinata pelts at you, you realize, the warmth you once so desperately sought now curls in the corner of your chest, hidden behind your ribcage.

you had them now, and they had you.

even with a clear target, you can’t seem to take the shot. it’s frustrating, and your arms ache from being held up for so long, your fingers bloodied. the bowstring is stained red with your aching failure, and you’re sure your limbs have gone numb from being frozen for too long. but still, you maintain your position, set in determination.

there’s a running tally in the club room of who gets the most confessions out of the second years, and at the very moment, yachi takes the lead with eight. it’s a wonder it isn’t more, though you know there have been many who had been scared off by the boys.

(tsukishima and kageyama, to be exact. hinata and yamaguchi were much too friendly to ever be seen otherwise.)

and it looks like there’s another score to be added to the tally as you watch a freshman approach yamaguchi, one hand holding a letter and the other a box of chocolates. he greets her with a bright smile, and the sight sends dull, rusted arrows into your heart. it isn’t the first time he’s been confessed to, though it still hurts the same every time.

you can’t help the bitter smile that rests on your lips as you watch them. there’s a mixture of admiration and anger that bubbles in your chest; admiration for the courage the girl had to confess, anger for not being able to do the same. there’s a box that sits beneath your bed containing a bunch of letters you’ve written to him, though none of them have ever made it out of your possession.

it’s horrible of you, you know, to enjoy the look on their faces when yamaguchi turns them down, and the sick relief that settles your jealousy.

Today though, your heart drops into your stomach when yamaguchi accepts the chocolates, something he’s never done before. was he accepting her confession? a warm hand lands on your shoulder and you jump, whirling around to see tsukishima staring down at you.

“he didn’t,” the blond says firmly, his hand still firmly planted on your shoulder. “he won’t.”

biting back the tears that threaten to fall, you nod your head shakily. but the sight that greets you when you turn back around taunts you with deafening doubts you’re not sure tsukishima can quell.

“how can you be so sure,” you whisper quietly. “he looks happy enough with her, doesn’t he?”

tsukishima remains silent as yamaguchi pulls out of the hug, but his grip tightens, and you know he’s here for you, no matter what.

YEAR THREE

the target calls out to you, it dares you, it taunts you. but still you remain waiting, no matter how much your arms ache, how heavy the bow feels, how painful your fingers are. the tension’s drawn too taut, but you’re no stranger to it. you’ll hold, you’ll persevere on. you won’t shoot until it’s time.

it’s valentine’s day, and there’s a flurry of activity as people rush around trying to profess their love to someone. there’s a mess of chocolates flying and candies scattered around with a few people fighting to gift their present first. you’ve never been a fan of the chaos that valentine’s day brings, and there’s an underlying bitterness that comes from never being on the receiving end.

fighting through the crowd that had formed outside yamaguchi and tsukishima’s class, you managed to squeeze through the doorway. someone grabs your arm and yanks you further into the classroom, and it is only due to spending so much time together that you know it’s kageyama.

his grip was always gentle, but firm enough to guide you around.

“hey guys!” you grin cheerily at them. “so who’s got the most goods this time round?”

hinata raises his hand proudly. “i got three more chocolates than kageyama, suck on that!” he sticks his tongue out at kageyama.

kageyama scowls, grabbing one of the chocolates at the table and pelting it straight at hinata’s forehead. “just you wait, i’ll beat you by the end of today.”

“how much did you get y/n?” yachi cuts in gracefully, smiling at you from behind her pile of sweets. “i bet many people confessed to you, huh?”

you grin weakly at her. “none, actually. i don’t really talk to anyone outside of you guys.”

she frowns slightly at this. “well, that’s alright! do you want some of mine? i won’t be able to finish it all. too many sweet things isn’t good for me anyways.”

“no, that’s alright. thanks yachi.”

yamaguchi yelps suddenly, drawing everyone’s attention upon him. he’s scowling at tsukishima, rubbing his side in pain while the blond smirks in faux innocence.

“yamaguchi, are you okay?” your question has him flushing a violent red as he turns his gaze upon you.

“ye-yeah! i’m fine, tsukki just got a little handsy is all,” he waves a dismissive hand. you don’t miss the subtle glare tsukishima shoots him, as well as the hand that sneaks another pinch into his side. “also!” yamaguchi’s smile tightens. “i made some chocolates for you!” he thrusts out a black box tied off with a red ribbon.

your brows raise as you exchange an appreciative look with kageyama.

“for us? thank you yamaguchi, you’re the best!” hinata dives for the box, and snatches it out of his hands. he’s quick to delve into it, sounds of appreciation falling from his chocolate covered lips as he devours a good third of it.

“they weren’t for- nevermind, save some for the others hinata,” yamaguchi sighs exasperatedly.

“aye aye captain,” hinata replies with a salute. “these are really good!”

you also don’t miss the way yamaguchi keeps glancing at you, nor the flush that refuses to subside after you complimented his chocolates. though you refuse to feed into the voice that whispers to your heart that he likes you, he likes you just as much as you do him, you have a chance, a real shot here, you can’t help the flutter your heart gives in response.

the crowd begins to disperse into clusters of families and friends, and you fight your way through them to find your friends. you take three elbows to the chest and a couple near accidents before you find them standing under your usual tree.

“we did it!” you greet them breathlessly, throwing yourself onto the nearest person in a hug. the rest join in, and you’re surrounded by some of the best people in your life who have made memories worth keeping, who have helped you fly.

it takes a long while before the hug dissolves into slight tears and messy thanks and goodbyes. before you even realized what had happened, only you and yamaguchi were left standing alone beneath the tree, the other four having been caught by other friends wanting to say goodbye.

“so,” you smiled at him through watery eyes. “this is it.”

he grins at you, and it hits you how much you feel for him. you wished you had more time, more courage, more of him. what you would give to be able to say the words that have resided in your heart for a long time. i love you, i love you, i love you. you are made of the night sky, of stars that shine so bright, peace that brings so much joy. you are my wishing star, and there’s nothing else i’d wish for than you.

but you stay silent, a prisoner to your fear, chained by the doubts that have never left. instead, you do the only thing that doesn’t require speaking, one action that speaks of the thousand words you’d like to say - you offer him your second button.

yamaguchi’s grin widens into a smile, filled with hope and something too complex to be defined by words. his hand reaches out, shaking ever so slightly, and he offers his to you as well. it takes a moment for you to comprehend his silent response, and another before you slide your hand into his, your buttons clasped between both your hands.

his hand is rough from years of volleyball, but you find you don’t mind it when his free hand slides up to cup your cheek. it’s a tender gesture, and you melt into his touch.

“we took a while, didn’t we?” he whispers, leaning his forehead against yours.

“just a while,” you hum, shifting even closer to him. “but it’s worth it.”

your arrow flies, and it flies and flies, and it lands. it lands with a gloriously solid thud, dead center of your target. you’re a far cry from a professional, but your shot has finally landed, and you’ve won more than a bullseye.

you’ve won love.

#haikyuu yamaguchi #yamaguchi tadashi #haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #yamaguchi x reader

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countessmorgasson · 4 years

Text

Hibiscus

Asra x MC! An illness forces Asra to spill his deepest secret.

For those of you who don’t know, Hanahaki disease is a fictional illness where the infected coughs flower petals as a result of unrequited love.

Gender Neutral MC

IMPORTANT: This fic comes with two possible endings!

(Disclaimer: AU, not based on Asra’s route, but still contains story spoilers. Lemon warning depending on your choice.)

TW: Illness, blood, death

“It’s been happening for weeks now. Probably longer, but he’s been so secretive about it. I don’t know what to do.”

You’re nearly collapsed in exhaustion, resting yourself against Julian’s desk hours after your bedtime. Desperation keeps you awake and restless as the doctor rifles through various scrolls and notes in his office.

Asra’s sick.

He’s been sick. For ages, it seems- and it’s not exactly the common cold. If you hadn’t shared a space together he’d probably get away with hiding his condition that much longer, but he’s breaking down, and you’re starting to find the pieces.

It started with hiccups, you remember. Small ones, similar to when he had a drink too many- but with a deadlier rasp to his voice. Those transitioned into something you never wanted to hear; desperate, pained coughing. There were nights where the sound was so unbearable you found yourself away from the shop- after being denied one too many times. He’d never let you take care of him.

And then there were the flower petals. You’ve been finding them in the most peculiar spots; swept under the counters, circling the drains, and even on Asra’s bedding. Pink and white flakes follow your master like moths to a flame, and yet you’ve only now come to connect the dots- when you picked one up to see it streaked with blood.

You’re not sure exactly how long he’s been like this, but it’s gotten bad- and confusing. Something you’ve never seen before, even as a magician’s apprentice.

So here you are, hours behind on your sleep schedule with poor Julian shuffling through a mixed stack of medical and spell books. You try your hardest to keep up, but your mind drifts back to the shop- is Asra sick right now? Is he in pain?

“Describe it again, m/c. Did you say flower petals? What do they look like?”

“They’re usually pink- if I had to guess I’d say they’re petals from some sort of hibiscus- but smaller.”

Pink hibiscus... your favorite flowers.

Julian’s eyes rest on the book cracked open across the desk- on a specific page. The only thing keeping the room lit is a flickering lantern and a candle in the center of the office table, and the darkness obstructs your vision but you just know he’s found something of use. You can see it in the way his face falls.

“Could it be... Hanahaki disease?”

“What is that?”

Julian’s eyes skim the pages with frantic speed- he must not know either. All you can do is force your eyes open while you wait. Absolute torture. You wait, and you wait...

...

“Julian?” You’re bordering on hysteria in your tone- whether it’s because of fear or exhaustion, you don’t know. Why does he have that look on his face?

“Julian! Did you figure it out? What’s wrong?!”

“M/c...”

The book closes with a deafening thud.

“There’s no cure.”

Asra’s up before the sun again. You enter the shop just in time to hear him erupt into another fit of coughs- painful, by the sound of them. It takes all of your willpower not to turn back and wait outside.

You can’t take it anymore. You rush towards the sound and place your hand against Asra’s back, pretending you don’t notice how he hunches over the sink and how much he begins to strain when you get close.

“Relax, Asra,” you soothe. You feel magic underneath your palms as a desperate attempt to alleviate the pain. “Let it out.”

You shut your eyes when the petals fall into the sink, and your eyes burn. There’s silence now, aside from Asra’s heavy breathing. You continue to burn yourself out with magic, convinced that it’s helping him.

“M/c, go. I don’t want you to see this,” is the first thing he says to you.

You’re trying not to take it personally, but you don’t know how. Why can’t he let you help him? It’s the absolute least you can do. You think back to as far as your memory will allow- and he’s been there from the start. He’s fed you, cared for you, taught you everything you know- and yet he won’t let you return the favor?

Maybe it’s the exhaustion playing on your nerves, but now that he’s stopped coughing you find yourself balling your fists and blinking back hot tears.

“Why won’t you let me help?” Your voice is weak, but it paints a red flush across Asra’s cheeks.

“Because you can’t.”

So he knows.

Once again Asra knows something that you don’t, and there’s practically no chance that he’ll share that knowledge with you. That’s how it always is with him, isn’t it?

You can’t come with me, m/c. Not this time. I can’t explain it yet. Not this time. It’s better if you don’t know. Someday, when you’re stronger. Until then...

Words of the past begin to creep into your head, taunting you, twisting your emotions until you’re past exhaustion and completely seething. It isn’t fair.

For a moment, your eyes meet and you see what you think is guilt cross his face. It lasts only a moment, and he stands his ground.

“Don’t overwork yourself- you’re so tired your eyes are bloodshot. Just go to bed. I’ll be fine.”

My eyes aren’t bloodshot. I’ve been crying. You bite your tongue only because you’re moments away from collapsing. You glance back to the sink for traces of blood but you find none. If only you hadn’t been awake all night- surely you’d put up more of a fight. And yet, your exhaustion was more than just physical sleepiness. You still trudge upstairs to your bedroom.

If Asra wasn’t going to let you care for him today, you were going to get at least some sort of comfort. You flop onto your shared bed without so much as removing your shoes, but your eyes catch something that deters you from your sleep.

A single petal on the pillow- torn in two.

Now that you’ve gone upstairs, Asra could pace throughout the shop without interruption- or so he thought.

A harsh knock on the door raises goosebumps. What if you wake up? He can’t avoid you forever- and this illness was clearly taking a toll on you both. He pretended not to notice how you came home clearly in tears. There was soon going to be a day where he wouldn’t be able to bring you peace...

Shaking the morbid thoughts from his head, Asra hurried to open the doors before the visitor could pound against the door again.

“Julian?”

Oh, it only gets worse, doesn’t it? Even doctor Devorak’s got the same glossy look on his eyes. He’s like a single storm cloud against the sunny sky. He pushes past Asra with a dramatic turn of his cape, but when he’s entered the shop he stops the dramatic antics.

“Is it true? You’re suffering from Hanahaki disease?” He demands.

“Hush, Julian. You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Asra has to avert his eyes once again.

“I’m a doctor, Asra. I know exactly what I’m talking about. It’s m/c, isn’t it?” His voice dips into a shattered whisper, but Asra can only roll his eyes with another frustrated sigh. At this point, he wouldn’t be surprised to see you at the foot of the stairs, having heard it all. With that small fear in the back of his mind, Asra maintains the silence despite the doctor’s pleading eyes.

“You’re... in love with your apprentice?”

“Must you ask?”

Asra never meant to hurt Julian- he had just made too many desperate choices. Even so, those were made years ago, before he had you back. Was Julian holding on to that pain all this time?

The silence answers that question- and neither of the two can look the other in the eyes.

“Well... regardless of how I feel,” Julian finally huffs. “You have to come clean. M/c doesn’t deserve to be left in the dark.”

Ugh! Julian wouldn’t understand. He never understood magic- he didn’t understand sacrifice, and surely he wasn’t going to understand why Asra can’t just tell you. If it were that easy, he would’ve told you everything years ago. There’s a reason you can only remember so far back, and it’s taken so many fights and tears for you to stop questioning it. It was for your safety, for goodness sakes!

“Whatever you’re thinking, stop it.” By now Julian seems to have deflated. Even his hair suddenly seems to have drooped over his eyes. “If you really love m/c... you wouldn’t want them to be alone. But that’s what you’re doing- to both of us. You’re going to let yourself die without a word because you’re afraid of hurting them? How do you think they’ll feel when they have to bury you?”

It’s been a few days since your outburst. It seems like things could be better- you haven’t seen any petals around the shop. Could it be that Julian was wrong? Maybe Asra did know better and figured out how to heal himself.

Sinking back into bed, you kick yourself for getting your hopes up. You know better than to do that. Asra’s probably just gotten better at hiding them again. There was a reason why you’ve only come to notice the sickness now.

You woke up alone today. You and Asra didn’t always share a bed- it was more common the first two years, when he seemed to afraid to let you wander. Part of you starts to yearn for those years, even when it seemed painful just to be alive.

“M/c?”

His voice reaches you before you see him come into the room. You don’t even register the tears in his eyes at first.

You just see blood.

Dripping down his chin in small streaks of red- droplets staining the purple fabric of his favorite tunic. It’s even on his hand. He must have coughed into it.

The world seems to vanish around you. All you see is red.

“M/c, we’ve got to talk.”

...

The blood is cleaned up, but you’re still shaking. Your eyes are fixed on Asra’s lips, just waiting for the disease to manifest itself again. Does he know you’ve barely eaten since that night when you fought? You either sleep too much or not at all- and when you do, all you see are pink petals.

But they don’t come. You stare and stare but he doesn’t cough. He doesn’t bleed. Asra just sits. He cradles his tea with shaky hands and teary eyes.

“I...”

Shaking his head, he gazes into your eyes like it may be the last time.

It may...

No! Don’t let yourself think that. Julian was lying to you. There was a cure out there. If Vesuvia could be completely rid of the Red Plague within days, there was something that could do the same for whatever Asra has. What was it called again, Hanahaki disease? You’re still not sure what it is. Julian shut down the moment he read those words in one of his books. You’re still in the dark, but it doesn’t matter.

“I think it’s time I tell you... everything.” Asra reaches for your hand, but pulls away at the last moment.

Everything? Everything as in all the secrets you’ve been denied over the years? He was going to tell you why he never brought you along on his journeys, why he wouldn’t speak about your family, your missing memories, the painful headaches?

Why do you suddenly feel so sick? There’s got to be a reason why he’s coming clean after being so adamant earlier... and then you remember the blood.

Oh no.

“How do I start...” Asra sighs. “This is harder than I’d ever imagined, m/c.”

“Just say it.”

Eyes still trained on you, Asra lifts the cup of tea to his lips once again and breathes out deeply...

He’s in love with me.

The words ring through your head.

Out of everything you just learned, that struck the hardest. Harder than the realization that you had died. You always knew that- somehow. That wasn’t the shocking factor.

You’re waiting for your heart to catch up- but it never seems to. You’re just staring ahead of you, waiting for the other shoe to drop. He’s in love with me. We were in love- for years.

“M/c...? M/c! Can you hear me?”

He’s so frantic, it’s contagious. His voice finally pulls you out of your own head.

“Yes! Yes, I’m sorry. I...”

You clutch your teacup, practically waiting for it to shatter in your palm. And then the tears come.

“Asra... are you dying?”

When he’s quiet, the tears come harder. It still feels like there are things he won’t speak up about- things you may never know. It’s not fair! Doesn’t he understand what you’re feeling right now? He brought you back from the dead and you just have to brush over that tidbit because you’re so overwhelmed by the progressing illness- an illness that he clearly knows something about and still won’t tell you.

The guilt on Asra’s face seems to weigh him down. He’s barely looking at you at this point.

“Please... don’t cry.” He whispers.

“Don’t cry?” You exclaim. “How am I supposed to be okay right now?”

Despite your bitter response you bite down on your lip and hastily wipe the tears from your face. Your throat feels so raw, painfully constricting during the silence.

“I can’t lose you, Asra.”

Your eyes meet before you can finish the sentence. There it is again. Those cosmic purple eyes bore into you while you struggle to find the words.

“...Because I love you.”

“...Because you’re my best friend.”

#the arcana #the arcana fic #the arcana asra #asra alnazar #ANGST #ANGSTY #my writing #mine #long fic #hanahaki #hanahaki dise #tw blood #tw angst #tw illness #lemon #julian #asra x mc

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spiralingsights · 3 years

Note

11 and 28? I would give an f/o but idk who these would fit

[ ohoho fake dating + enemies to lovers i can’t resist ]

[ “Please just pretend to be my date.” (11) and “Please tell me this is a joke.” (28) ]

[ Characters: William Afton, Keegs Arrowood ]

[ warnings: pining and repressed feelings lol ]

“Please just pretend to be my date.”

Keegs stared at his boss, processing what the man just said to him. Did he seriously just ask for Keegs, arguably his worst enemy, to be his date? For a fucking office party that Fazbear Entertainment was holding for restaurant owners? Why couldn’t he just ask Henry???

“Please tell me this is a joke,” the mechanic finally replied, his answer gaining a groan from William. Apparently, it was not.

“We both know I don’t joke with you,” William responded, confirming Keegs’s fears. What kind of stupid, fruity hell had he descended into? What did he do to deserve this? Well, he probably knew.

Keegs let out a long sigh, about to tell him to fuck off before William spoke again. “If it makes you feel any better, you’re my last hope. Henry said no, Scrap would have killed me if I asked, not even your idiot friend Wrath wanted to go.”

Of course he didn’t want to go, Wrath was in love with Splice and would have considered it cheating even if he still hadn’t told the animatronic his feelings.

“I hate you...” Keegs muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Why don’t you just go alone? No one will judge you for it, if you even care about that. And the rumour that you’re dating your employee would be worse!”

That seemed to make William think for a moment, opening his mouth for a rebuttal but closing it soon after. His gaze even drifted away- he clearly hadn’t thought about those consequences. After a moment, he shook his head.

“Being alone is more embarrassing.” Keegs let out a loud groan at this, running his hands over his hand and clasping them behind his neck as he turned away from that british fuck.

What made it worse is that he actually kinda wanted to go. Not because he wanted to go with William, but because he hadn’t had an excuse to dress up the entire time he’d been active. A big office party like this? It would be perfect. And it would give him the chance to scope out the other restaurant owners, and test their animatronic knowledge.

He finally turned to face William again, surprised to find the brunette still standing there. He had to admit, it was amusing to see him so desperate. He let out a huff a breath, giving in to the desire to wear a suit.

“Fine,” he said, not missing how his boss immediately lit up (while also somehow seeming disappointed- probably because he officially had to take his most hated employee to a function with him). “One condition.”

Of course he had a fucking condition. William just nodded, not wanting to push his luck. “Do not send anybody my way so they can talk to your “partner”. Tell them I’m socially anxious if you have to, but I will straight up tell them the horrors of this place.”

William’s face scrunched up in discomfort, but relaxed when he realized this was the best he was gonna get. “Deal.”

And so, it was set in stone.

---

Keegs straightened his jacket for what seemed like the hundredth time as he looked in the mirror in his bedroom. He’d have to leave soon; he didn’t want William to know where he lived, so they’d agreed that they’d meet at the Afton house instead.

The suit he wore fit perfectly, and was the same pink shade as his hair. Well, the jacket and slack were. His shoes were black, his shirt a light shade of lavender (to match William’s inevitably purple suit), and the little bowtie he wore was a rainbow eyesore.

With a quick glance at the clock, he ran a hand over his hair, said goodbye to Vanny, and headed out.

William’s house actually wasn’t too far from the apartment Keegs shared with Vanny, but he only came over at midnight and 2am, so it wasn’t like he could be tracked back there, so he never worried. This was the first time he’d ever driven there though, usually just walking.

He paused upon reaching the doorway. Did he really want to do this? And, more importantly, why was he excited to do it? He knew it was more than just a chance to dress up or interrogate some assholes. He didn’t like the metaphorical butterflies in his... well, he doesn’t really have a stomach. His intake?

....

He didn’t like the flutter in his chest when knocked on the door, and heard a familiar voice call out, “coming!” from inside. He especially didn’t like the extra flutter in his chest when the door opened and revealed William, dressed in a purple suit like he thought he’d be, but still surprising him nonetheless.

Apparently, Afton had the same idea Keegs did and was wearing a light pink dress shirt under his dark purple suit jacket, a shade that went perfect with the shade of Keegs’s own jacket.

Neither of them said anything about it, but Keegs couldn’t help but notice the pleased, and surprised, smile on his boss’s face.

“Let’s go,” he quickly said, turning on his heel and heading right back to his car.

---

William looked hilarious with his long limbs folded into Keegs’s volkswagen beetle, the car clearly not built for men as tall as him. It was a sight Keegs would treasure for the rest of his robotic life.

“Comfortable?” Keegs teased, snickering at the glare William shot at him. Thank god they were back to bullying each other, he wasn’t going to acknowledge whatever the fuck happened earlier without dying first.

“Laugh it up Arrowood, I doubt you’ll feel the same way when you’re out of your element,” William replied, narrowing his eyes at Keegs.

Unfortunately, and he’d never admit this, the bastard was right. Social functions weren’t Keegs’s thing. He’d never been good at feigning interest, and that was pretty important at shit like this.

But he just rolled his eyes. At least they’d be out of the car soon.

---

It wasn’t better out of the car.

The building the party was being held in was... crowded. Uncomfortable. Keegs ended up having to stick far closer to William that he’d planned, and whatever fucked up reaction his false human heart was having never let him forget it.

The only up side was that William seemed just as uncomfortable as he was. Not with the people around them, he spoke to them just fine and even seemed to forget about his fake date. That is, until Keegs bumped into him.

Of course he noticed that Afton’s face turned red whenever they touched, but he had no idea why. At first he thought he was angry, but William didn’t look like that when he got angry. Unfortunately, Keegs hadn’t reached the “human bodily reactions” part of his research yet, so it merely served to confuse him.

Finally, after three or four hours, he grabbed William’s arm to get his attention, ignoring the red on the man’s face. “I need a break. I’ll be out back. I probably won’t run.”

There was a short pause, before William took Keegs’s car keys and pocketed them. “You won’t escape me that easily,” the man joked, only because there were people watching. He even threw in a wink for effect.

Keegs just rolled his eyes, and escaped to through the backdoor. He was quick to pull his jacket off, relishing the cool breeze. Once realizing he wouldn’t be going back in for a while, he also untied his tie and unbuttoned the top buttons of his shirt.

Once satisfied, he sat down on the bottom step of the little stairs, holding his palm against his forehead to cool it down to help with his headache. It wasn’t long before he heard the backdoor open and close.

There was a pause, before the man (undoubtedly William, based on the footsteps) made his way down the stairs and sat down next to Keegs. The android looked over at him, not at all surprised to find he’d also taken off his own jacket, and loosened his tie.

“Getting too much for even you? I’m glad I left when I did,” Keegs said, returning to his goal of soothing his brain. He heard William chuckle. It was a soft sound, clearly from his chest. But it was also... not rude? It was actually kind of sweet.

And then he sighed, and the sound brought that flutter back. “I would seem so, yes. I forgot how draining it is to talk to idiots.” He meant people who weren’t handy with animatronics, something Keegs had learned from observation (eavesdropping).

Keegs just nodded. He understood. Animatronics were his whole life, it was hard to talk about anything but them.

“Thank you for coming with me,” William spoke up after a while, making Keegs look up at him again. “I know we don’t always get along, but I’ve... enjoyed it. Getting along, I mean.”

The mechanic just stared at him, surprised. He opened his mouth to presumably reply, but William leaned forward quickly and caught him in a gentle, cautious kiss.

Keegs shocked himself by returning it.

William’s lips were soft, and easy to lean into. Keegs suddenly understood how this man had ended up with a wife. He felt a hand in his hair, and leaned into it without breaking the kiss, unwilling to break the moment.

He’d noticed the tinge of alcohol on Afton’s lips the second they’d connected with his own, but he didn’t care all that much.

Finally, William broke it by leaning back, looking down at Keegs with slightly pink lips. “Between us?” he asked, his voice low and quiet, a small smile on his face. ‘Between us’ was a fun little thing they’d started the first time Keegs found the man covered in blood.

But this one was different. This one meant a lot more, and couldn’t be used at evidence against the man Keegs was supposed to eventually kill.

“Between us,” Keegs replied just as softly, and this time... he meant it.

#holy SHIT how did this get so long #scrap.writing #asky doo #anon #drabble request #this isn't a drabble anymore it's a fucking one shot wjhbfwebfjwe

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bestworstcase · 3 years

Note

Considering how much you love the saporian au, I have a I guess alternative pitch to ask about. In Rapunzel's Return, if it was revealed that Cass was Saporian instead and still goes through with crossing the line in canon. So when Rapunzel and the gang gets home, do you think the Saporian invasion fight would've gone differently with this new information brought to light for her, especially since Varian is working with them now? Do you have any input on this?

why yes i do

so to start. let’s skip back to like august/september of 2019, which is when the tts hyperfixation kicked in but before s3 started to air. at this point in time my thinking was:

the separatists are definitely coming back in some capacity because the series made a point of putting their symbol on the book in RDO, signaling that andrew was not a one time deal.

there’s a press release that says raps will encounter an old enemy when she returns to corona and while it might be varian, my money is on the separatists.

cassandra encountered zhan tiri behind the door in the shell house and learned or saw something that soured her pretty hard on corona

i have been theorizing that cass is saporian since the first time i watched under raps, like, a year ago

i have also been theorizing that zhan tiri is saporian since she was introduced, mainly because it’s fun and it ties two great antagonists together

if cass IS saporian, and the separatists ARE the threat awaiting rapunzel in corona, these two things are probably going to end up intertwining down the line in s3.

sigh. [puts on my clown shoes]

a big part of the appeal of saporian!cass to my mind is that it gives cassandra an excellent reason, completely unrelated to rapunzel, to return to corona after she takes the moonstone. right? in my head, before s3 aired, my theory was kinda: zhan tiri got into her head and drew a connection between cassandra’s individual feelings of being neglected/overlooked/treated unfairly, and the systemic problem of saporians being oppressed/cast aside/treated unfairly.

and cass wants so badly to be a hero. she wants to be admired. she wants to be a protagonist, basically, and if cass is saporian that positions her perfectly to become the hero of the saporian separatist movement after she takes the moonstone. it fits so well!

so if, beyond just cass being saporian, this were the direction the series had gone with cass being saporian—and taking into account that this is a disney princess show and it is going to be pro-monarchy at the end of the day, and trying to stay within those bounds—i kind of imagine it playing out like this:

1) cass takes the moonstone and angrily lashes out at rapunzel, telling her about what zhan tiri told her in the HOYT (which boils down to ranting about how saporians in general and cass in particular are treated badly and she’s not going to take it anymore and this is my destiny, rapunzel). then she leaves, with CtL going exactly as it does in canon.

2) reeling, rapunzel returns home—only to find that it has been taken over by saporian separatists. talk about a punch in the gut! and then to make matters worse, varian is working with them. i think “rapunzel’s return” can still end with victory over the separatists in this version, but the separatists aren’t imprisoned at the end—they escape, swearing that it isn’t over. [the conflict itself plays out similarly, except for preference the separatists aren’t trying to glass corona, they’re just trying to stay in charge / drive team corona out. this allows for escalation later with zhan tiri and also doesn’t paint. people fighting back against their oppressors as pure evil,]

2a) varian and rapunzel still have their emotional conversation and sort-of apologies, but! varian doesn’t turn against the separatists yet, and when they escape, he goes with them. however, fundamentally their cause isn’t personal to him, and he’s now all conflicted because rapunzel doesn’t hate his guts like he’s been telling himself she must.

3) rapunzel frees quirin from the amber despite varian’s continuing betrayal, because it’s the right thing to do and also because she’s desperate for SOME sort of victory after all this. varian doesn’t find out about this until after his redemption.

4) the separatists continue to cause problems in B-plots throughout the first half of the season. someone (probably eugene?) tries to broach the subject of cass with rapunzel in the context of cass potentially joining the separatists and throwing the power of the moonstone behind their cause. rapunzel brushes this off on the grounds that no matter what cass is still her best friend. meanwhile we keep getting cass stingers, with cass struggling to control the rocks and zhan tiri helping her, except instead of driving her into rages at rapunzel, she’s focused on radicalizing cass to the separatist cause (although she does not spell this out at first).

5) BVA kicks off with zhan tiri dropping the bomb that she wants cass to join the separatists. cass is shocked (she knows how extreme and violent they are—and she’s not like that, is she? she hasn’t hurt anyone!), which triggers the burst of red rocks.

5a) in corona, the red rocks cause varian to have horrific visions of his father/all of corona trapped in amber, confronting him with his own guilt. he’s been sticking with the separatists mostly out of fear of being rejected if he tries to return to corona now—after all, rapunzel gave him another chance, and he threw it back in her face. but the visions are too much for him, and after he sees that they’re capable of petrifying people, he rushes straight to corona, sneaking in through the tunnels to warn rapunzel. she decides to trust him again, and they set off to the demanitus chamber to stop the red rocks a la canon.

5b) as varian and rapunzel emerge and see that their efforts paid off, rapunzel assures him that she’ll make sure everyone hears how he put himself in danger to warn them, and how he saved the day... and as varian is thanking her, he hears a very quiet “...son?” from behind them. he turns around, unable to believe his ears. it’s his dad. his dad is free. for a second he’s terrified this is some sort of lingering effect of the rocks but rapunzel explains that she found an incantation that she used to free quirin, and there is a BIG EMOTIONAL MOMENT as he reunites with his dad. because varian realizes quirin must know everything he did after his dad was trapped in the amber, and he’s so afraid his dad will be ashamed of him, but quirin is just like. no, son, you may have gone to a very dark place but you found your way back all by yourself, and you did the right thing, and i’m so proud of you. tears, and so on.

5c) BVA ends with cassandra and zhan tiri, rather than eugene and rapunzel, debriefing. cass reveals that she felt rapunzel’s fear of her during their moment of connection, and she is upset because even though cass hasn’t done anything, rapunzel seems to see cass as just as violent and dangerous as the separatists are, perhaps even moreso. and zhan tiri comes in with “they’ve already written you off as a monster” and “what do you think forced the separatists to such extremes? they tried to be reasonable, and they were persecuted just as you have been” and “really, what do you have to lose?”

6) and that is how cass gets on board with zhan tiri’s joining the separatists plan. [if cass doesn’t already know at this point, i think this would be the part where zhan tiri mentions that she’s saporian, too]

7) then we hit pascal’s dragon, and this is the episode where rapunzel starts really considering what cass being saporian means, basically using LBB as a proxy for working out her feelings about cass and ultimately coming to a sort of hopeful conclusion that maybe... cass being saporian is important to her and maybe—just like the enraged dragons that destroyed nigel’s village—the separatists have valid reasons for their anger... but also that a peaceful resolution can be reached if rapunzel doesn’t let fear consume her.

8) islands apart, then, becomes a little more focused on rapunzel trying to get the whole story out of the captain; how did he end up with a saporian kid, what do the separatists want beyond blowing corona up [he’s the captain of the guard, he must have dossiers on these people], and most importantly, what options are there for compromise? fresh off her own commitment to meet cass halfway, the conflict between rapunzel and the captain vis a vis fountain cass can also be nice and sharp.

9) in cassandra’s revenge!!! we just scrap the entire eugene surprise birthday proposal subplot. the first half of the episode is cass cruising into the separatist camp in the woods with the moonstone and ghost!ziti. she and andrew are immediately at each others throats because both of them want to be in charge but cass ends up winning by dint of a) having a magical rock with enormous destructive power at her disposal, and b) having a clear plan. she steals the scroll to distract everyone while the separatists in to steal [insert magical saporian artifact macguffin here] from the palace vaults, with the intention of using it to free zhan tiri.

10) cass’s part of CR goes very similarly to how it does in canon: team corona turns up to rescue varian, rapunzel tries to talk to cass about finding a viable compromise on the saporian issue, and cass, not wanting to hear it, goes berserk and attacks her. partly this is venting her very real personal anger at rapunzel (i like the idea of rapunzel reaching for her burnt hand being the thing that sets her off) and partly she’s just furious because rapunzel still doesn’t really get it. “nobody has to get hurt? saporians have already gotten hurt! i have already gotten hurt!” <- that kind of thing

10a) also!!! a “nothing left to lose” where varian is saying “i worked with the separatists and it wasn’t worth it!” and cass is saying “don’t you get it? i’m not like you, i don’t have other options, i’m saporian” would be sooooo goooood

11) in any case cass gets yeeted off the tower and injured, as in canon. team corona leaves. the separatists come back, find the tower in ruins and cassandra crawling back up from her ledge. they help her up, treat her injuries, and then reveal the bad news: the macguffin they were after, the one they need to free zhan tiri? it’s gone. corona sent it to the keeper of the spire for safe keeping.

12) race to the spire! is about cass and the separatists trying to retrieve the macguffin from the spire. and it is also about an extremely shaken rapunzel talking to xavier about all of this, realizing what the separatists were probably after when they broke in, freaking out (cass joining the separatists is one thing, but bringing zhan tiri back?!) and reluctantly turning to edmund and adira for help... because she thinks she knows where cass is going to go next.

12a) cue crazy cass + separatists + ghost ziti vs team corona + brotherhood battle at the spire. with all the canon insanity of the weird ass artifacts getting thrown into the mix. cass and the separatists win, possibly because ghost ziti advices cass to grab and threaten calliope to force rapunzel to cooperate and cass does it.

13) TOTS is now the freeing zhan tiri episode. and the gothel disciple backstory episode. because turns out! none of them really know how to do the actual jailbreak with the macguffin, so... they need gothel’s old research, from when she and the other disciples used the same artifact to free zhan tiri last time. rapunzel is in the cottage with a similar idea: she’s trying to learn more about the sundrop and its connection to the moonstone. loredumps, idk. maybe all this takes place in the ruins of the tower instead; i like the idea of gothel having a creepy little laboratory in the cellar or something.

14) rapunzel pleads with cass to think about what she’s doing. the separatists have a point—does zhan tiri? what is zhan tiri after, what’s her agenda, what is she, even? and it nearly works, she nearly gets through to cassandra, but then... cap shows up, and cass does not react well. cap is there to try to apologize for their last altercation, but she does NOT want to hear it and the whole situation escalates. team corona gets driven out of the valley, cass and the separatists do the ritual to release zhan tiri and wow things are really bad now aren’t they!!!

15) flynnposter... idk. cap recuses himself from the whole fighting cassandra thing because he cannot handle it and because everyone agrees he’ll be more effective at getting through to cass if he’s not showing up in the captain’s uniform, eugene gets put in charge... and zhan tiri is out to cause problems. i just think she should get an episode of zany hijinks all to herself. she deserves it. to keep the plot relevancy going let’s say she’s impersonating eugene-as-flynn because a) it’s funny and b) it masks her real agenda, which is, let’s say, wiping corona off the map, stealing the sundrop, and using it to plant/grow a new great tree on the ruins of the city. seems like a fitting vengeance against both demanitus (for banishing her) and rapunzel (for destroying the great tree), yes?

16) once a handmaiden. with zhan tiri now fully out and about cass has been sort of demoted to second in command and she is struggling with that, because it’s making the inferiority complex bubble up and bringing with it doubts that this is really the right thing to do, or even really what she wants. she slips away to clear her head, perhaps even using the cloak to disguise herself so she can wander around corona... and finds the nasty little magical traps zhan tiri planted earlier. she realizes that whatever zhan tiri has planned for the eclipse, it’s a lot worse than she’s letting on. (maybe some of this is connected to gothel’s research: gothel wanted to retrieve the sundrop from rapunzel, and cass recognizes ritual prep for that from gothel’s notes and is like. oh no.)

17) so... at a loss for what to do, she impulsively goes to rapunzel to try to... warn her? apologize? take her up on that offer to negotiate? cass is really not sure, and seeing herself in wanted posters and of course demonized in feldspar’s play does not. help. this part of the episode can go pretty similarly to canon, except that when cass is confronted by zhan tiri it’s a lot more cutting, with zhan tiri focusing how even now she feels like she needs to serve rapunzel at cost to herself, needling her about her lack of conviction etc etc, in addition to goading her with the news about project obsidian. cass angrily rejects her and goes to talk to rapunzel, publicly reveals herself on purpose because a) sometimes she’s not smart and b) striding onto the stage in the second act of feldspar’s terrible play to tell everyone in the audience that corona is in grave danger really seems like a good idea at the time and ziti is lying about project obsidian so everything will be fine right!!!!

18) everything is not fine

19) cass gets shot in the back with project obsidian courtesy of panicking guards and a teeny tiny bit of help from zhan tiri and, crushed by the realization that rapunzel must have authorized this, cass does the “no you know what? fuck you, i see all that talk about negotiation was just pretty words after all” thing and wrecks the place, while zhan tiri stands by watching like >:)

20) PLUS EST EN VOUS. im sorry anon this has gotten way longer than i thought it would. but i am Passionate About Saporian Cass. the situation is now dire! everyone in corona is hunkered down in old corona, frantically trying to draw up battle plans or like, any plans at all. corona itself is in ruins. it really looks like cass/the separatists have won... but rapunzel keeps thinking about how cass tried to warn them of some greater danger. she can’t give up on cass just yet.

21) so, desperate, rapunzel turns to the separatists. she takes... varian, because he knows them, and lance because he’s good at talking to people, and eugene, because she needs him with her. and she walks into the separatist camp and says look, i know that ultimately what you want is for saporia to be free to be its own country. that you only took over corona and tried to destroy it because you thought you had no other choice. and maybe under my dad’s rule, that was true. but i’m the queen now, and i can accept a declaration of saporian independence if i want to. so i’m going to do that right now, no strings attached. saporia is free.

22) and the saporians are like holy fucking shit

23) what brought this on???

24) rapunzel is like cassandra is my best friend. and i didn’t treat her well, and i made her feel like she couldn’t talk to me about how she was hurting, so she did all this. she’s angry and she’s right to be angry, but more importantly, she’s hurting and scared. and i want to make it right. and also i’m terrified that zhan tiri is going to hurt her, because she said something about zhan tiri going after the drops?

25) and like the best she’s hoping for here is for the separatists to drop out of the conflict and go build their kingdom back up again, but they huddle up and decide that a) cassandra is their friend / one of theirs, and if she’s in danger they’re gonna side with her over zhan tiri, and b) if they team up with rapunzel now and it turns out rapunzel was lying and this was all some elaborate set up to attack cass while she’s without allies, then they will be there to help cass hold the line

26) there are ABSOLUTELY NO MONKEY SHENANIGANS

27) cass sort of miserably is going along with zhan tiri’s plans but she’s also just kinda hoping rapunzel doesn’t show up for the eclipse.

28) rapunzel shows up for the eclipse with a bunch of separatists and cass is like rapunzel what the fuck

29) there is...an attempt by rapunzel/cass/the separatists to get everyone’s story straight which is interrupted by zhan tiri doing the “traitors to saporia pay with their lives” thing and just. going ballistic on the separatists and cass. and also rapunzel, except she needs rapunzel to not be smushed like a bug until after she retrieves the sundrop so she’s a little gentler.

30) cass and rapunzel team up to protect the separatists: with both of them using the full power of the drops, they can hold their own against zhan tiri (she is VERY POWERFUL and she PROVES IT during this fight by going toe to toe with both of them without breaking a sweat)... but things go from bad to worse when the eclipse hits, because the sundrop goes dormant, and zhan tiri pounces. gets the sundrop, and now it’s just cass trying to solo this demonic sorceress lady before the eclipse ends and zhan tiri gains the power of the sundrop. It Is Not Looking Great For Our Heroes.

31) zhan tiri stomps cass into the curb and is about to land the killing blow when the rest of the coronans + the brotherhood charge in (they were waiting on the mainland on rapunzel’s orders, not wanting to escalate the situation if it could be solved via talking, but it is now very obvious that rapunzel needs back up). zhan tiri deals with them pretty handily too, but her distraction is enough for rapunzel to shake off her depowered exhaustion/pain and help cass back to her feet.

32) raps, cass says, i’m so sorry. i never meant for any of this to happen, i just—

33) and rapunzel says, i know, it’s okay. i’m sorry too, for taking you for granted. i love you.

34) cass, tearing up, is like, i love you too. and i’m gonna stop this.

35) rapunzel is like ??? but there’s no more time because zhan tiri has finished smashing/immobilizing everyone else and cass is already charging at her, no longer trying to attack or defend, just get close enough.

36) as the eclipse comes to an end and the sundrop wakes up again, cass latches onto ziti, grabs the sundrop. and slams it against the moonstone still embedded in her chest. there’s a huge explosion, and when the dust clears... cass is in the epicenter, very dead, and there’s really nothing left of zhan tiri but a bunch of spasming vines and shadowy magic, burning slowly away in the brilliant light of the unified power. everyone else is pretty damn battered too.

37) horrified, rapunzel crawls out of the wreckage, grabs the unified drop. revives/heals everybody (except zhan tiri, rip), ending pretty much goes as it does in canon. except i like the idea of the epilogue / ending sequence of life after happily ever after (reprise) also being a montage of both corona and saporia being rebuilt, the countries now equals and allies... and also cass, when she leaves, is explicitly going out in search of saporians whose ancestors were displaced by the conquest, both to invite them to return to their ancestral home if they so choose and also to reconnect with her own heritage.

38) THE END!!!

#rta #W H E W ANON i got. i got carried away lKFLJKSDFJKLSDKJLF #anyway this is basically 'how i'd do s3 but saporian cass while trying to #color in the lines canon gave us and staying within the bounds of what feels plausible for a disney show'#Anonymous

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hookedonapirate · 3 years

Text

Through the Rising Tide

Thank you so much for the beautiful graphic @itsfabianadocarmo!

Summary: The Jones brothers are polar opposites. Liam's the safe and honorable one, straight-laced and straight as an arrow. The good son.

Killian's the dangerous one, the bad boy with tats, leather jackets, a motorcycle and a questionable past.

The only things they have in common are panty-melting sea-blue eyes, the flat they share in Storybrooke and a rare blood type.

Oh, and apparently their taste in women.

Or rather, one woman.

Feisty.

Blonde.

Gorgeous.

Green-eyed Goddess.

Killian saw her first, but she chose his brother—the nice guy over the playboy. And even though she’s dating his brother, it doesn't make him want her any less. If that's not bad enough, she moves in with them and he has to pretend he's not completely in love with her. His life could not get any worse…

Until Liam dies in a tragic motorcycle accident.

Leaving each of them with one half of a broken heart.

Now Killian and Emma are left helping each other pick up the pieces.

Just as they're beginning to learn how to live in their new reality, another riptide pulls them further into the deep end when she finds out she's pregnant with Liam's baby.

Notes: Because I’ve received some comments saying that this fic is “inscestuous” EVEN THOUGH I CLEARLY SAID IF YOU ARE UNCOMFORTABLE WITH THIS IDEA TO HIT THE BACK BUTTON, I feel like I have to repeat myself and make it louder and clearer for the people in the back: If you're not comfortable with Emma and Killian’s relationship after she is with Liam, or if the idea of Emma being with both brothers at different times makes you squick or is cringy to you, THIS FIC IS NOT FOR YOU AND YOU ARE NOT INVITED TO READ SO HIT THE BACK BUTTON RIGHT NOW. I repeat, if the storyline makes you squick or is cringy to you, THIS FIC IS NOT FOR YOU AND YOU ARE NOT INVITED TO READ SO HIT THE BACK BUTTON RIGHT NOW! For everyone else, please enjoy!

Thank you @ultraluckycatnd for looking it over!

This story was inspired by Baby Mine by Kennedy Fox, and I loved the book so much and thought it was very much underrated. I’ve wanted to write a fic like this for a long time now because it’s one of my favorite tropes, but after I read that book, I just had to write my own take. Also, I made this post about a Baby Yodarita drink last year when it was trending and since the beginning of this story starts one year prior, 2019 and since Killian is a bartender, it was a perfect way to include the prompt.

The title comes from the lyrics of the song, Lay By Me by Ruben. The particular line goes like this:

"I hope you know through the rising tide That I'll be here and you can lay by my side"

If you've never heard it, I recommend giving it a listen. It's an amazing song and very fitting for this story.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VFJbLzEtoZw

P.S. In case you're unable to read the shoulder tattoo in the picture above and are wondering what it says—

"There is no happiness without tears

No life without death

And no true love without heartbreak"

Rated: Explicit for smut (including sexual fantasies, masturbation, implied and detailed sex, etc.) and language (lots of F-bombs).

Also available on: AO3 FF.N

One Week Later…

“I’m so sorry I'm late,” Ruby apologizes profusely as she scurries across the bar and rounds the counter. “Please don't fire me,” she pleads, her words full of panic. “I promise it won't happen again.”

Killian arches a brow, thoroughly amused as he watches her haul ass. Is Ruby Red actually worried about losing her job?

Well, this is a first.

Liam looks up from the paperwork in his hands and actually smiles as he waves off her words. “Don’t worry about it, Rubes.” As he turns around and casually heads into his office... he’s fucking whistling.

What the hell?

Killian and Ruby exchange bewildered looks.

This isn't the only time Liam has left them perplexed lately. He's been easy on his staff all week.

The question is, what the fuck changed?

There can only be one explanation—Liam met someone. He knows this because Liam was like this when he met his last girlfriend. Very lenient and cheerful and whistling all the time. But last time, he told Killian about her. So why hasn’t he said anything this time?

“I think your brother is broken,” Ruby remarks.

Killian chuckles and tosses the bar cloth over his shoulder. “Or pussy whipped.”

Ruby furrows her brows. “I thought you said him not getting laid wasn’t the issue?”

Killian shakes his head. “No, him not getting laid is why he’s in such a good mood.”

Ruby’s even more perplexed, not understanding how being sex-deprived could possibly put Liam in a good mood. “Huh?”

Killian smirks. “He met some lass, and she hasn’t put out yet. Which, being the hopeless romantic Liam is, he’s fine with, but that doesn’t mean he’s not hoping to get some.”

Ruby rolls her eyes and walks away to begin her shift. “Why are men so fucking complicated?”

He laughs at her words and the thought of Liam being so nice this entire week over some lass he’s smitten with. Killan’s happy for Liam, but to be honest, his brother's happiness makes him kind of bummed. Because it's reminding him of how unhappy he is. He’s been unhappy and kind of pissed all week. Ever since last Friday, when that angel never came back.

He was so enchanted by her.

He keeps asking himself why she never returned to him. He’d thought they’d had a connection, he’d thought they’d shared a moment. He’d thought she’d felt the same attraction for him he’d felt for her. Was she just leading him on? Or did she find some other bloke who gave her more attention than he could that night?

He wishes he knew.

Killian suffers through another evening without seeing Emma enter the bar. He keeps eyeing the door, keeps waiting for her to appear and approach him to explain herself, to supply him with some sort of explanation. But she never shows.

The next night is no different. Same agony, different day. But this time, his brother isn't here to poke fun at and distract him from the blonde bombshell weighing on his mind.

The dim lamp light cascades over the living room when Killian trudges through the door after three a.m. Tossing his keys on an end table, he chucks off his jacket and looks down, seeing Liam's boots laying haphazardly on the floor by the door. Which is odd because he's always yelling at Killian for leaving his shoes on the floor instead of storing them in the closet.

Killian shakes off the thought and throws his jacket over a chair before heading to the bathroom. He always needs time to wind down after his shift, but tonight, he just wants to sleep and hopefully forget about Emma for a few goddamn hours. But in order for him to do that, there’s something he must do, first.

He’s been unbearably hard all week from thinking about her. So as soon as he feels the hot water spraying his skin under the shower head, he wraps his hand around his cock and strokes himself, his stiff, wet flesh easily slipping through his fist. He can’t help it, though. Emma had stirred something inside him. Something he’s never felt before.

He knows this is a bad idea, he knows he shouldn’t get this worked up over someone he’s only spoken to once. But at the moment, he’s too hard and his head’s too foggy with lust, his blood running too hot when he remembers how she’d smiled at him, how she’d bitten her bottom lip, remembers her soft curves and how fantastic her ass looked in those tight jeans and how that sexy, pink lace had clung to her breasts. He groans, needing so desperately to ease the tension before he goes completely mad.

Pressing his free hand against the shower wall as the hot stream cascades down his back, he pumps himself harder and faster, grunting as he imagines her pretty lips on his mouth... on his chest... on his stomach... wrapped around his cock. Imagines her humming around him and growing wet from tasting him in her mouth. Imagines what her soft, silky tongue would feel like on him. Imagaines how good her pussy would feel around his cock. Imagines her on top of him, naked and writhing, her skin shimmering in the moonlight as she rode his dick.

He can almost hear her moans and short pants in his ear as he imagines taking her breasts in his hands, squeezing firmly while he fucked her good and hard until she was screaming out his name, her walls squeezing him tight as she came all over his cock.

His body goes rigid, a rough, drawn-out groan rippling through his throat as Emma's name tumbles from his lips. Seconds later, his hand and stomach are a hot, sticky mess as his hand stills around his pulsing length. His heart is pounding and his breath is ragged as he watches the aftermath of what he’d done disappear into the drain.

After he washes the night away from his body (and feels the urge to touch himself again when he lathers his balls and softened cock with soap) he rinses off and steps out of the shower without giving in to more temptation. He dries off with a towel, pulls on a pair of boxers and heads to bed, feeling no shame for what he'd done in the shower. For jerking off to visions of Emma, who’s almost a complete stranger to him. He knows he should feel some kind of guilt or remorse, but right now he can’t find it within himself to feel sorry. He needed that.

And maybe now, he’ll be able to stop thinking about her long enough to get some shut-eye.

But it doesn’t bloody work.

He tosses and turns, still unable to rid her from his mind, and he’s not even sure why. Well, actually he is. She was gorgeous and sexy and playful, and he’d wanted to get to know her. He’d wanted to know everything about her. But apparently, she hadn’t wanted the same from him.

He’d waited over an hour for her at the bar the night he met her, and would've waited longer if not for Tina approaching him and chatting his ears off. He'd wanted to either ignore her or tell her he wasn't interested, but he didn't want to be a jackass. And when Emma never showed, he thought about taking Tina up on her offer and bringing her home in an attempt to forget about Emma. To forget about her smile or her eyes or the memorizing light surrounding her or the way she winked at him as she walked away from the bar.

But he knew it wouldn’t be fair to Tina to be with her while thinking of another woman. He may be a dashing rapscallion, but he's still a gentleman.

He’d seen Emma with Mary Margaret and Ruby, and he was half tempted to cash in a favor from Ruby and have her obtain Emma's number, and maybe he should've. But Emma obviously made her choice and he's afraid she would be creeped out by his advances. So he never did.

Just as Killian is drifting off to sleep, something yanks him awake, but it's not thoughts of her. Rather it's…

Thump.

Moaning.

Thump.

Cursing.

Thump.

Grunting.

Thump.

What the actual fuck?

Liam knew Killian had a late shift tonight and yet he decided this was the night to get some action from the mysterious woman he's been seeing?

Killian even asked Liam about her, but he completely denied it.

“Not seeing anyone, my arse,” Killian grumbles, but even though the walls are paper-thin, he's pretty sure he can't be heard over the sounds.

“Yes! Yes! Yes! Oh God, yes!”

Bloody hell.

The walls are so thin, he can hear every pant, every moan, he can hear it every goddamn time the headboard slams against the wall.

“Fuck!”

Why now? Why wait until four in the fucking morning? Or have they been at it all night?

Killian groans and grabs his headphones from his nightstand. He slips them on and plays some music, turning up the volume. He closes his eyes, trying to erase everything from his mind, but he can actually feel the wall rattling and he’s surprised the bed doesn’t come crashing through the drywall.

He curses and grabs the pillow next to him, covering his face with it. He wants to pound on the wall and tell them to shut the fuck up, but he knows he deserves it. He's done the same thing, he's brought a lass to his bed while Liam was in his room, forced to listen to every sound.

Besides, part of him wants to high-five Liam for pleasuring this woman so well and at such a late hour. He wonders how many hours they've been at it.

He's kind of proud of Liam, actually. He just hopes this one doesn't cheat on Liam like the last girlfriend did.

“Bloody… fucking... hell!” Liam groans loudly.

With one final hard thud, the noises cease.

Finally.

Killian removes the pillow from his face and is soon able to get some sleep, but only for a few hours before he's awake again.

Unable to fall back asleep, he wipes the sleep from his eyes and drags himself out of bed.

Coffee.

He's not sure if the smell wafting through the apartment is due to lack of sleep or if Liam got up and made a pot. Which would surprise him, considering all the amorous activities he engaged in last night. Killian would think he’d be exhausted after that.

As he nears the kitchen, he can hear pots and pans clanking around, so he knows he's not imagining the aroma of freshly brewed coffee filling the flat.

When he enters the kitchen, his eyes are immediately drawn to the coffee pot on the bar counter, and it almost appears to be glowing. “Thanks for making coffee,” he says appreciatively, opening the cupboard door to grab a mug. Though he's not sure he should be very appreciative, considering Liam's to blame for Killian's lack of sleep.

He and the little vixen he had in his bed last night.

“I barely got four hours of sleep, thanks to all the banging and screaming coming from your—” His words are frozen in midair when he turns around and sees the nearly bare ass sticking out from the refrigerator door.

That's definitely not Liam.

His girlfriend, rather.

And she’s dressed in nothing but a pair of pink laced panties and one of Liam’s oversized dress shirts.

Killian smirks and fills his cup before turning around and leaning against the counter, admiring the view while he sips his coffee. There's a half-naked blonde pillaging his refrigerator, but right now he couldn't give a fuck.

He’s too busy appreciating the view, because bloody hell, she has a dee-lectable ass.

Liam did good.

It’s a good thing she’s already been claimed by his brother because otherwise, she’d be in big trouble. Or, rather, not a good thing. It’s quite a shame, actually.

“What was that, babe?” The sweetest voice pulls Killian from his thoughts as she rises, carrying eggs and milk in her hands. She sets the items on the counter next to the refrigerator and turns around.

He lifts his gaze from her pretty ass, and when his eyes meet hers... his jaw drops to the fucking floor, his face paling. He almost drops his coffee mug.

You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.

He has to blink a few times to make sure it’s actually her. But maybe, just maybe, he’s still sleeping, and this is all just a terrible dream.

“Killian?”

Nope. He’s wide awake.

And the woman standing in his kitchen, wearing nothing but panties and a shirt that falls just past her butt is real. And just like that, Killian’s hopes of being with this woman shatter into a million pieces.

“Emma?”

There’s a shocked expression plastered on her face, but he doubts she’s more surprised than he is right now. He had never suspected the woman making all those noises in his brother’s room to possibly be the same woman he met in the bar last week. The same woman who’s been on the forefront of his mind ever since. The same woman he’d jerked off to thoughts of only a few hours ago.

“You two know each other?” Liam’s voice sounds through the kitchen when he enters and glances between them, seeing the recognition flickering in their eyes. He walks across the kitchen and pulls a half-naked Emma into his arms, pressing her body against his. He hadn’t even bothered to throw on any clothes either and is only in his boxers.

“We met at the bar last week,” Emma answers, because apparently Killian lost his ability to speak. His brain is too occupied with the fact that Liam and Emma are together, their hands all over each other as she’s semi-straddling his thigh.

Well, fuck.

He just doesn't understand how this happened. How had his charm not worked on Emma like it had worked on so many women before her? And he was actually genuine with her. He wasn’t charming her just so he could get into her pants. He actually wanted to get to know her. Besides, even if he ended up taking her back to his flat, he had a feeling he wouldn’t be able to have just one night with her.

“Is that so?”

“Yeah, the same night you and I met. He made me a Baby Yodarita.”

“A Baby Yodarita?” Liam parrots, amusement obvious in his tone.

“Yeah, I made it up based on Baby Yoda, but Killian was happy to accept the challenge.”

Liam chuckles and takes her chin in his hand, bringing her lips to his. “Of course he did. He’ll do anything for tips.”

Killian balls his hand into a fist. He didn’t make her that special drink to get a tip from her. He didn’t even charge her for the damn drink.

He wants to strangle his brother for saying that and for having his paws all over Emma, but he’s still trying to process what she’d said about meeting him the same night she met Liam. When had she met him? They weren’t there at the same time, so how did they meet? It must have been outside the bar.

Wait a bloody minute.

Killian’s eyes widen when something occurs to him. Was Liam the reason Emma never came back to him that night?

Emma’s eyes dart between them when something occurs to her too. “So, this is your brother?” she asks Liam. “You said you lived with him.”

“Aye. And I’m sorry if he startled you. I thought he’d still be sleeping.”

“It’s fine,” she assures, waving off his apology.

Wait a damn minute. Liam’s sorry she was startled? Killian was the one kept up by all the noises coming from Liam’s room.

“And what, I don’t get an apology for being kept awake by all the noises? You do realize I can hear everything through the paper-thin walls, right?”

Liam and Emma exchange blushing smiles, but neither of them seems apologetic. “Sorry, we couldn’t keep our hands off each other last night,” Liam comments, brushing his nose against hers. She smirks, displaying her total agreement as she caresses his cheek.

Killian staves off a groan of disapproval. “I gathered that,” he says casually, trying not to sound completely gutted.

“So you two must’ve met while I went on that wild goose chase David sent me on,” Liam guesses, thankfully changing the subject.

“Wild goose chase?” Killian inquires, furrowing his brows in confusion.

“Aye, it’s a funny story, actually.” Liam chuckles, his eyes glued to Emma as she smiles at him. He finally tears his gaze from her to look at Killian as he wraps his big hands around her little waist. “So before I left to run those errands I told you about, I received a text from David asking me to look after his little sister who was bar-hopping with his wife. So I get there and she’s nowhere to be found. Well, when I returned, I ran into this stunning angel just outside the bar,” he says, squeezing her hip and pulling her closer. “Well, I quickly find out, she’s David’s sister.”

“Oh,” Killian utters, still shocked by this entire set of circumstances. It made him forget little details, like the fact that Mary Margaret is her sister-in-law and therefore David is her brother.

“Anyway, she missed her Uber, and after we started talking, I offered her a ride home,” he looks at her again, with googly eyes and a blushing smile as she gazes at him with the same love-struck expression on her face, “and the rest was history.”

“Wait, so that’s why you left the bar that night? To spy on Emma?” Killian glances at her, a little pissed she’d put up with Liam stalking her. “And you weren’t pissed at him for that?”

“A little, at first,” she admits shyly, “but more so at my brother for asking him to spy on me in the first place. Besides, look at this face,” she says, cupping Liam’s chin in her hand as she smiles at him. “How could I possibly be mad at a face like this?” He grins and leans in, capturing her lips with his.

Killian wants to ask her exactly when she left the bar, but he’s afraid of what the answer would be. He stares at Liam, wondering why he never mentioned her. “So, why did you tell me you weren’t seeing anyone when I asked you about it?” Okay, and part of him is hoping to get him in trouble with her.

But instead of looking pissed, guilt flashes in her eyes. Like she had something to do with it.

Liam eyes his brother apologetically. “We didn’t want to tell anyone about us yet. David’s my good mate and we don’t know exactly how he’ll take the news when he finds out about us. He’s very protective of Emma, if you couldn’t already tell. So we haven’t told anyone.”

Killian scoffs. “Since when haven’t you been able to tell me anything without worrying I wouldn’t keep your secret?”

“I know, I know. I should’ve just told you. I shouldn’t have lied.” He gazes at Emma again, a little more serious now as he caresses her cheek. “But I could tell right away Emma was something special, and I didn’t want to do anything to jeopardize my chance to be with her.” Emma blushes and smiles as he rests his forehead against hers. “ Very special,” he emphasizes, brushing his thumb over her button lip.

She presses a palm against his chest. “I could tell you were, too,” she says sweetly, as though they’re having an intimate conversation. As though Killian’s not even in the room, inwardly dying inside. If only Liam knew what this was doing to his brother.

“Don’t worry, your secret is safe with me,” Killian assures them, trying to disguise how unnerved he is that she picked Liam over him.

Liam pulls his head back suddenly, as though he just realized something. “Wait, you mean to tell me you saw Killian first that night?” he asks her.

“Yeah… why?” she asks dubiously.

A slow smile crawls over his lips as he looks at Killian. “Because, I think this is the first time someone has actually seen my little brother first and ended up with me, instead of the other way around.”

Emma cocks a brow, intrigued by this. “Really?”

Killian doesn’t even bother to correct Liam for calling him little brother. He’s too busy seeing red.

“Aye. Most women prefer the bad boy type over the nice guy,” he says with a smile. “But not you. If I didn't know you were a keeper then, I sure as hell do now.” He presses the pad of his thumb against her chin and kisses her forehead.

Killian thinks he’s going to be sick as he watches them.

This is all wrong.

It was supposed to be him taking Emma home. It was supposed to be him bringing her pleasure over and over again until both of them were sweaty and exhausted and yet still couldn't keep their hands off each other. It was supposed to be him standing in the kitchen, wrapping his arms around her half-naked body and kissing her shamelessly as his brother watched.

It wasn’t supposed to be the other way around.

Killian can’t get over the irony of it all. The irony of him jerking off and fantasizing about the same goddamn woman Liam was having sex with right down the hall.

It makes him wonder how many times Liam's been in this exact position. How many times had he laid his eyes on a lass, only to come home and find her in his brother’s arms? How many times had Liam touched himself with thoughts of a woman in his head before finding out she was messing around with his brother?

He’s not sure; all he knows is karma's a bitch.

“I should probably start breakfast before the milk and eggs get spoiled,” Emma says when she notices the items are still on the counter.

“I told you I would make breakfast,” Liam says as she saunters over to crack open the egg carton.

She smirks at him over her shoulder. “You already gave me a hot breakfast in bed.”

Liam quirks a brow. “When would I have done that? You were in my arms until you got up to use the bathroom.”

Killian takes a sip of his coffee, grimacing as he tries to block out their conversation. They’ve only been together for a week and already act like a fucking married couple.

“True, but before that, you gave me some delicious sausage.”

Killian chokes on his coffee and spits it out. Do they not realize he’s still in the room?”

“What the bloody hell, Killian?” Liam upbraids as he inspects Emma to make sure none of the coffee spilled on her.

But Killian only got it on himself. He curtly slams the coffee mug on the counter and walks across the kitchen with clenched teeth, ripping a piece of paper towel from the roll to wipe off the coffee he spit out.

“Sorry,” Emma says after realizing she probably shouldn’t have made the sausage remark with Liam’s brother in the room.

You think?

“Why are you sorry? I’m not,” Liam murmurs against her ear and grabs her hips from behind as she tries to crack some eggs into a bowl. “You can taste my sausage anytime.”

She looks over at him and smirks. “Hmmm, I like the idea of that. But right now, it’s my turn to make you breakfast.”

Liam growls and spins her around, picking her up like she weighs nothing, and placing her on the counter. He buries his face in the crook of her neck, gently biting her there, his words muffled against her skin as his hands slide up her thighs and under the hem of the shirt she’s wearing. “I can think of something else I’d rather eat.”

That’s it.

Killian’s going to vomit. He tosses the paper towel into the trash and storms out of the kitchen, his face probably green from how ill he’s feeling right now.

How the bloody hell did this happen?

“Killian.”

The sound of his name coming from her lips causes his jaw to clench. She and Liam seemed so lovesick, Killian’s surprised they were able to tear themselves away from each other for two bloody seconds.

When he spins around to face her, Emma’s holding his mug in her hands, her eyes flickering with apology. “You forgot this,” she says, offering it to him.

“Thanks but I can’t stomach anything at the moment,” he grumbles, sounding angrier than he had intended.

“I’m sorry,” she murmurs, probably so Liam can't hear her. “I didn’t know he was your brother.”

“There’s nothing to be sorry for. It’s not like you and I were ever together,” he says bitterly as his eyes drop to the mug she’s holding. “On second thought, I’ll take that.” He grabs the coffee from Emma’s hands and gulps it down, since it’s no longer hot. Emma doesn’t speak as she stares at him, probably unsure of what to say.

Killian lowers the mug and gives her a hard look before turning around and heading to the bathroom, deciding he needs another shower. After what he’d done in the shower while thinking of Emma and then after what he’d witnessed and heard in the kitchen, he feels filthy all over, almost as if he’s covered in slimy worms. He has to scrub himself down since he can’t scrub away the images that will now be permanently burned in his brain.

The images of Liam and the girl Killian wants but knows he can never have.

Fuck… my… life.

Tagging people who have shown interest. Let me know if you would like to be added or if I missed you. @itsfabianadocarmo @resident-of-storybrooke @snowbellewells @onceuponaprincessworld @viajandosinalas @teamhook @captainswan-shipper88 @jamif @katielovesstarcrossedlovers @uhthreeyuh @lfh1226-linda @babyyouremyqueen @sthonour @julesep3026 @fairytalewhispersinmyheart @andiirivera @wefoundloveunderthelight @wickedsw4n @eleveneitherway @eherron14 @ouatpost @transparentclodsludgeweasel

#cs ff #captain swan #jewelled swan #my fic #through the rising tide

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cwopf · 4 years

Text

MY THEORY OF GILLOVNY

What if these two actually are together in real life. What if it IS a possibility. As lunatic as it seems, I can’t help but think about it. I have a life of my own, believe me, yet I keep coming back to this thought every once in a while, because I admit I’ve never seen anything like it before and I am not someone who gives even a flying fuck about celebrities. But these two make me wonder and I don’t know what is it about them, but I somehow want to believe in them.

What if their undeniable chemistry truly is real and their love is so much more than just a friendship.

What if Peter Morgan truly is nothing but a colleague and some kind of publicity she caught herself in, because even with all the “proof” of them being a couple, something just doesn’t sit right.

Her behavior, the gestures around him, it just doesn’t seem like a well loved, happy beyond dream kinda woman, I don’t physically see it. I truly don’t get the “love of my life” vibe. Do you?

Stiff, reserved and all in all a bit cold even, they truly make me wonder if it might be just a PR stunt. And, look, if I saw her crazy happy with a guy I’d be happy for her, totally. But, this? Nah, I don’t buy this shit.

Which, when I look back at all the gillovny moments, as crazy as it was, makes me believe that it was more than just an acted out exaggeration. And not even just a deep, year long friendship.

What if it truly passed all of that and became a romance at some point, and a big one. It certainly did look like it at a time. And while it currently looks like it had already ended, it made me think - what if that’s the point?

It takes a fool not to notice their ways towards each other, and even with all the denials, which sure make it hard to believe, when you see it for yourself it naturally comes as a possibility. It seems like a waste not to pursue something like that.

If we go back to the hints. The random sightings. Some might be made up, I am sure, but then some seem just crazy accurate.

What’s with the random dates in their lives, how can it all be so synchronized. Is it just random luck or is it an ode or a message to one another of some sort?

Why were they spotted in the same places so many times, randomly and out of their professional time together. Why the visits on sets, the airport sightings, the deleted tweets that seemed to reveal a little bit too much, the supposed holiday trips to the same destinations.

Why do people in the biz say stuff like “You mean Gillian and David? They’re not married, but they have been together for a while now.” Why does a random person (who apparently works for tv) on fb wish them a happy bday, then posts about how they have been together for a while now and how it was a nice surprise. And why would someone just say that out of the blue? Yep, it probably meant nothing. But, again. What if there was some truth to that? And that was only a fucking year ago.

How do two people accidentally get crippled at the same time? Also the stories from that same event, of how they love each other and their gestures towards one other, them arriving together and entering separately? What the hell are people noticing? Wasn’t she already kinda supposedly taken by then?

Why does she always wear the link bracelet, she wore it in their “good times” and it truly seems like a gift from D, which, of course, we will never know matter of fact, but it just feels like it. She has it on constantly, it seems so telling. She also wears it on red carpets with PM all the time and on almost every photoshoot. What IF it is from DD, wouldn’t that say something?

Also the necklace with a link he once wore on the stage of one of his concerts, could that very link be a part of her chain? If yes, then that is some deeply romantic shit.

Also the recent interviews, one in particular comes to mind. First, her mentioning her supposed boyfriend subtly and only saying the name out loud when asked about it, then proceeding to talk about her “partner” and telling a story of how they were talking about the aging process, but how they respect it because they are both going through it. Why does it feel like the mentioned totally fits someone else, like she’d discuss such a thing with someone who has been a part of her life for a long time and she had inevitably experienced this process with during the years. Does this click for anyone else too, or am I crazy and making up shit?

This was the moment when I stopped to think if just maybe there was a crazy possibility of David still being in her life.

Why does she speak about it being so good not living with her man and how she doesn’t see him that often, but when she does it’s special and it works for them.

While she must have been seeing her “current man” on set all the time. Do you notice how a lot of stuff that are supposedly about PM just don’t add up? Also, again, does the story make you think about someone else as well?

Also, have to throw this in here. The Christmas Jonathan Ross show. The sudden David (dick) reference. The Rob Lowe (apparently a good friend of David’s) saying “not far off from what I’ve been told” then both of them giggling together, almost as if an inside joke. The kind that gives off the vibe of making you wonder if the size thing’s something she’d accidentally blab out and brag about jokingly at some dinner party they once shared.

Why does she usually not give a fuck about half the stuff said, yet she would feel so shaken by people’s disbelief to publicly put it out on twitter about PM being the “love of her life” just to defend that idea? Why does it not seem like her at all? Why do I feel making a joke or being sarcastic about it would fit her more?

Is her SM being totally under control?

Maybe the penis and yoni of the day (along with Nelson) are one of the rare outlets right now, even that being some pre-approved idea for having it seem like she’s being her regular self, cause that’s something that we know fits her character.

But when you think about it, it is still a mini subtle commercial for SexEd. Which I love, yet...Netflix. Again.

Also, the constant mentioning of Netflix along with PM in her stories, desperately trying to fit him somewhere. Like the “what do you eat during quarantine” and bam: “when me and Pete hosted a dinner we froze a chocolate cake...” Riiight. Is it just me, or does it seem like trying way too hard?

Which makes me think of all the contrary. If we go back to the past Gillovny fuckery...“he’s in the shower” and “I’m with schmoopie” shirts and “chewie’s girlfriend” and the twitter saga. What if it was intentionally done that way to make people think “what if”, but obviously take it as a joke, because of course that’s what it is. But was it? Maybe they just knew no one would truly buy it so they could play around for a little bit and actually be a couple for a minute, make out on Kimmel and fuck around on twitter. Propaganda? Maybe.

Some truth in that? God damn it, almost feels like it. Sure felt way more natural, sexy and loving than any of the stuff going on today.

What if we hate MP for no reason, what if she’s just truly a fucking assistant, a help and nothing but it. What if G hugged her after the play in London out of gratitude, because she’s just a prop they need to act this shit out. What if it’s all a big shitshow, but a shitshow nonetheless.

What if I will say the silliest shit of all time and boldly assume...that behind all of this which we do not understand, D&G are still together and fine. What if it was meant to feel like the end to us. But they are there, in secret, because it’s somehow better for them, because they prefer it that way.

What if the shoe pic of “working from home in my Dune London shoes” a day prior to his 60th birthday is just another way to turn people away from that idea and subtly make them not even question anything, while in reality she is with him, somewhere, celebrating his 60th birthday. And things are much brighter for them than what they seem.

I might be so wrong, so off. But something is going on in the background and there are way too many things I do not buy.

Also, it was honestly more probable to me that they were once together, but fell apart somewhere along the way, I believed that and it totally seemed like a probable scenario.

Until the very subtle, yet interesting stuff that have been going on made me question it again, maybe it’s silly, but when I connect the dots, like the constant bracelet wearing, the talking about a partner and not mentioning the name, but referencing stuff that feel completely Gillovny, aging with someone, long distance shit, random people still stating “they have been together for a while now, nice surprise”. Maybe it’s a load of bullshit, but it also just makes it seem like he still might be there, somewhere, after all.

How the hell did I end up here? I ask myself this constantly. I still have no idea.

Yes, it is so fucking crazy. But this is where I leave this at.

#gillovny #david duchovny #gillian anderson #gillian and david #the x files

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not-close-to-straight · 4 years

Text

Hexes and Honeysuckle (Final)

The ultra fluffy end to our magic verse!

Enjoy!

MASTERLIST HERE

******************

“Holy crap, I’m human.” Tony held up his hand again and flexed his fingers, smoothed his palms down over his thankfully fur-less chest and sides. “Bucky, we did it. I’m human.”

“You’re also naked.” the witch pointed out and Tony waved him off with a casual, “Oh don’t worry about that, I’m basically naked all the time anyway. Who needs clothes?”

“You do!” Tony oophed when a towel splatted over his face. “Cover up, Tony! You don’t have fur anymore!”

“I know.” Tony spread his legs and wriggled a little bit and Bucky made a strangled, squawking sound. “Don’t be such a prude, you’ve seen me naked before it was just in cat form. This isn’t very different.” and then with a sly glance towards the witch, “Well I mean, there’s like seven inches worth of something different, but who’s counting?”

Bucky just looked at him and Tony finally rolled his eyes and spread the towel over his lap. “Better?”

“Yeah, thanks.” Bucky inhaled sort of shakily. “So um-- what does this mean, Tony? What does this--” he motioned to the other witch. “--what happened? You learned your lesson? Your hex ran out, what is it?”

“I learned my lesson.” Tony touched gingerly along a faint scratch of scars on his chest. “Humility and empathy and you know, the only thing stronger than a witch’s curse is a witch’s love, right?”

“Humility.” Bucky repeated. “And empathy and--and love?”

“Humility cos I realized I couldn’t do everything alone.” Tony counted off on his fingers-- he had fingers! He had never loved fingernails and knuckles so much!-- “I couldn’t do normal day to day things alone, much less save you. Empathy cos being with you is the first time it occurred to me that maybe the universe doesn’t revolve around my whims and that my actions affect other people just like they affect me. I get it. I was self centered and terrible and now I’m only mildly self centered and quite a bit less terrible.”

“That’s why you were a cat.” Bucky said flatly. “That’s it right there. Cos you think the sun rises and falls based on your wishes.”

“It’s exactly why I was a cat.” Tony agreed with a quick nod. “And um-- love. I think even if I hadn’t learned my lessons the hex would still break since you love me and everything.”

“... if you hadn’t learned your lesson I definitely wouldn’t love you.” Bucky retorted, and Tony was quick to point out, “But you aren’t denying you love me?”

“I--” Bucky paused, scratched awkwardly at his chin. “-- I care a lot about you, Tony. But you were a cat. I cleaned up your hairballs and had to pick fox tails from your fur and threw shoes at you at god awful hours of the morning when you had the zoomies.”

“Which is clearly true love!” Tony exclaimed, and clapped his hands. “You do love me!”

“Tony.”

“I know it’s weird.” the witch finally sobered, finally quit teasing long enough to be honest again. “I know it is. I was a cat and now I’m not, we were really starting to get along in both dream world and waking and now I’m not cursed to familiar anymore. It’s weird and that sort of sucks but before you decide whether or not this whole experiment is over and send me away, could we just--”

“I’m not sending you away.” Bucky interrupted. “Why would you think that? Do you want to leave me?”

“No!” Tony nearly shouted, hands out stretched. “No! I don’t want to leave you and I don’t want you to send me away and--whew.” he shook his head. “-- I really do love you, don’t I? Never thought I’d say those things out loud. Bucky listen, things are going to be different after this but it doesn’t have to be all that different, okay? If you’re willing to deal with me as human, then I want to stay.”

Then softer, “Can I stay?”

Bucky was quiet for a few minutes, and Tony waited with a pounding heart for the verdict.

“Do you still want that stupid box or can I throw it out?” the witch finally asked and Tony breathed out a relieved laugh. “And are you going to stop shedding, cos I gotta say that’s my least favorite thing ever.”

“If I wasn’t so happy you aren’t throwing me out, I’d be tempted to bite you.” Tony grinned, all sharp teeth and sharper smiles. “Right there on your ridiculous pecs.”

“I feel like you biting me doesn’t have the same connotation as it used to.” Bucky shuffled his feet and got a little pink cheeked when Tony’s smile only stretched wider. “Please don’t leave, Tony. This is gonna take some adjusting to, but I don’t want to be without you anymore.”

“That’s the most amazing thing I’ve ever heard in my life.” Tony whispered gratefully, honestly. “Can I kiss you?”

“Don’t know if I’m ready to be kissed by my former cat.” Bucky said bluntly, but not unkindly. “Can we work up to that? Cos I wasn’t opposed to kissing dream you but…”

“We’ll work up to it.” Tony scooted back on the bed and patted the spot next to him, biting at his lip anxiously to ask, “Will you come lay by me? Sleep next to me? Is that okay?”

“Hell yeah, that’s okay.”

They fit together perfectly, legs tangling and chests brushing with every breath, Tony’s head tucked under Bucky’s chin and both arms wound tight around the witch’s waist.

“This is so much better when you don’t have a tail to twitch in my face when you need attention.” Bucky mumbled and Tony sassed, “Don’t worry, I still have something to twitch in your face when I want attention!” and the bed shook with their combined laughter.

Then Bucky lay a very soft, very gentle kiss on Tony’s forehead and combed his fingers through the thick hair, smiling when Tony immediately snuggled closer and purred up against his throat.

“That’s so sweet.” he whispered. “Don’t ever stop purring for me. Don’t care if you’re human now or not.”

“Kay.” Tony budged in as tight as he could go and closed his eyes tight, exhaling years worth of worry and stress and choking fear and inhaling Bucky’s sweet honeysuckle scent and letting it warm him from the inside out.

Perfect.

But then-- “ACHOO!” he sneezed and Bucky cursed and flailed away, a hand to his heart and eyes wide.

“Okay.” Tony sniffed at him. “Don’t need to be that dramatic about it.”

“Oh my god, your sneezes were so much cuter when you were a cat.”

“Well now you’re just being rude.”

*************

Epilogue

Bucky nodded to a witch who smiled a hello as they passed, held up his left hand and waved when someone else called to him from across the market square.

It had been a whole month now since Tony had created him a new arm in brilliant silver and bold copper, the pieces connecting and fitting up over his shoulder to frame the red star from Lehigh.

The arm was beautiful, a gift of love, pure effort and affection on Tony’s part, born of a wholehearted wish to help, to make Bucky’s life easier, to reinforce what Tony had told him that last, awful nightmare with the Hydra-- “You aren’t broken, just hurt.”

And these days Bucky didn’t feel broken, not with two working hands and a skill in magic that was growing by leaps and bounds every day thanks to the daily insight Tony offered since his full powers had been restored.

Magic linked to love always shown brighter anyway, and every day the spells were easier, the more complicated incantations more natural and now Bucky walked tall and proud through the town, chin up and eyes sparking and a smile curving the corner of his lips because he was finally fulfilled, finally happy, finally--

“Why are you smiling still, that person is long gone.” The witch got a tail across his face for his lingering grin, and Bucky sputtered a few times and knocked it away. “I’m just saying you look weird walking around smiling all the time. Witches are supposed to have some mystique and no one who grins like a goofy goober has any mystique.”

“Thanks for that.” Bucky batted Tony’s tail out of the way again. “By the way? It’s cool you figured out how to shape shift and can go back and forth to cat as you please but would it kill you to get off my shoulders and walk a little bit? You have beans again, use them for something useful!”

“After some very serious thought, I’ve decided I only want to be human when we’re in bed.” Tony stretched out lazily, settling himself more firmly across Bucky’s broad shoulders. “Unless we’re kissing or losing clothes, I’d much rather be in this form, resting my beans. They’re so delicate, you know.”

“You only want to be in cat form so I have to feed you, brush you and carry you places.” Bucky complained. “You are the worst witch and familiar in the world.”

Tony only grinned cat-sharp and purred in Bucky’s ear and by the time they passed Magic and Magnolias, they were laughing together.

“Do you hear that, darling?” Pepper nudged Natasha as the pair passed. “That sounds to me like a match well achieved, don’t you think?”

“I’d say so.” Natasha agreed. “And since Tony’s magic has apparently shifted enough to allow him to retain some of the familiar form and spirit, their bond won’t dissolve as we feared. An excellent match, but now we need a new project. Who should we shift our attentions to next?”

“I think Samuel.” Pepper handed her wife a thin file folder. “He is so drawn to the avian familiars and after losing Red Wing two summers ago, he’s never quite recovered. And Clint is avian you know, he keeps getting rejected because the witches complain he shifts between Hawk familiar and awkwardly winged human at abrupt and inopportune times.”

“Samuel would pluck Clint’s feathers if the bird tried to scare him that way.” Natasha said slowly, then nodded. “Yes. An ideal match, they will balance each other nicely. Who else?”

“Steven is in desperate need of a familiar as well.” Pepper pulled another folder free from her stack. “He’s had several but none have fit him quite correctly. Do you suppose Thor…”

“Thor.” Natasha repeated blankly. “The full size lion familiar that stands at Steven’s chin when fully shifted? Pep, Thor would sneeze and knock Steven away, we need someone delicate, better suited to Steven’s size.”

“No.” Pepper made up her mind and shook her head. “No, you won our argument with Tony and Bucky, I’d very much like to see Thor and Steven together. Thor needs to learn a lesson about his ego and Steven needs to learn to bring down some of his defenses. They are perfect.”

“What about Wade?” Natasha mused. “Ever since his accident and the damage to his form he’s refused a witch, even goes out of his way to spite them.”

“Until Wade learns to manage his rage and violence, I don’t think it’s safe to put him with anyone, my love.”

“Peter has been five years a witch and has never had a familiar.” Natasha mused, holding up the two pictures and studying the pair. “His stubbornness and morals are equally as resolute as Wade’s violence, plus there isn’t a creature alive who could resist those soft eyes. He would balance Wade beautifully.”

“Natasha no.”

“Alright.” the witch pushed those folders to the side. “We’ll let them be…. For now...”

**************

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