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farfromstrange · 2 months

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Chaos Theory | Michael Kinsella x Reader

Chapter 25: Wondering If I Just Lost The Love Of My Life

Masterlist ° Chapter List

Pairing: Michael Kinsella x Reader (she/her)

Summary: After your conversation with Frank, you start spiraling, and you find yourself at Jimmy's house, looking desperately for answers. Michael isn't too happy about that.

Warnings: ANGST, cursing, snooping around, snakes, allusions to child abuse & PTSD, Michael is pissed (and maybe a bit mean), rough grabbing of the arm (Is that a warning?), fighting, crying, semi-break up

Word Count: 8.6k

A/n: WOHOO I'M BACK!! Anyway, this chapter is only the beginning of this angst plot line, so... Don't hate me.

Tick, tick, tick…

One hour turns into two. Two hours turned into three. You’re alone, stuck in a house that isn’t yours, holding pictures of your sister who you haven’t seen in years in your hands because the man you chose to fall in love with has a family set out to destroy you; and for what? Because they aren’t happy with an adult man’s decisions?

Your life feels like it was written by a sadistic author; far more sadistic than yourself. You can’t keep up anymore.

Just a few months ago, you were somewhat happy working your ass off for some money at the Butterfly Effect. You made the process of brewing coffee for customers your life, and you enjoyed it. You fled your home to chase your dream of being a writer. What else are you supposed to do with your degree, anyway? And you were on a good path, saving money and trying to find an agent, but then Michael walked into your life.

You don’t want to say that he ruined everything. You love him. You love him more than you have ever loved anyone, which is horrifying in itself, but you can’t deny that your life may have been a little easier if he hadn’t come into the shop that morning. If you hadn’t allowed yourself to get attached. Now, you’re involved with a family who is swimming against the flow of legality—and what scares you most about all of this are the thoughts you keep having that perhaps the Kinsellas could help you in a way not even the police ever could.

You’re pressed against the wall next to the dining table, and your lungs keep forgetting that they are supposed to supply your body with life-sustaining oxygen. Every now and then, your eyes drift to the pictures in your hands. A tear rolls down your cheek, landing on the paper. It magnifies the size of your father’s face, and the memories that hit you at full force leave you clawing at the wood of the nearest chair.

You were doing so well. You were an awkward barista with a safe future to look forward to. Now, you’re a barista using up all of her sick days because she isn’t allowed to leave the house of her Irish boyfriend—who just so happens to be part of an organized crime family. It sounds like the plot of a bad novel, but to you, it is very much real.

Time was on your side until it wasn’t, and you have reached a point where desperation seems too kind of a word to explain what you’re feeling. Raw, unbridled anger fills your veins; the need to take the next plane out of Dublin is all-consuming, but you can’t be irrational. Not now. Michael was right about that part.

You can’t help who you fall in love with, you know as much. Michael is damaged, but he’s yours. He is so human, you wish you could wrap him up and shield him from the world forever. From his family. From the pain. From the uncertainty. You wish you could grab him, your bags, and his daughter and run far away from this city. But those are wishes that seem too far away to even grasp.

If you have to get involved to prevent the worst from happening, you don’t have much of a choice but to do so. You only have one more thing left to lose, and she means the world to you. Breaking the rules—the law—seems like the lesser evil compared to waiting for the hourglass to run out of sand.

With shaky fingers, you dial the number you have dialed a few days ago. It’s still in your caller list.

The line clicks, and the woman at Scotland Yard’s front desk answers again. It’s the same as last time. “Uh, hi,” you stammer into the speaker. “I called a few days ago, but I haven’t received an answer yet. I need to speak to Inspector Jones. It’s urgent. Would you mind connecting me with his office?”

Silence follows. Either she is taking a very pregnant pause to tell you something completely opposite of what you want to hear, or she is checking something in her system. You do hope it is the latter option. But of course, luck is still not on your side.

The woman utters your name in the lowest tone possible. “Inspector Jones told me to inform you that he does not want to take your call,” she says. “He put you on his, uh, no-call list. I’m sorry, Miss. I wish I had better news.”

Her apology doesn’t bring back the hope he so mercilessly crushed in his bare hands and left it there, dying on the side of the road. Her apology doesn’t bring back your sister or supply you with the information on the case only Richard Jones has. He used to be so helpful when it happened. He told you that you could always call him.

The question that nags you is, what changed? You haven’t called him in years, and now he suddenly acts like you’re the plague personified? It doesn’t sit right with you, but as soon as you’re on the no-call list, there is no way you can get through to him.

You don’t wish her goodbye. You don’t tell her, ‘Oh no, it’s alright,’ because it isn’t alright. You hang up without another word, your phone slipping from your hand onto the floor.

Swallowing a sob, you decide to pull yourself together. Michael keeps his laptop in the living room—though you suppose not always. You flop down on the couch with a huff. Of course, the device is password-protected. A picture on one of his shelves catches your eye, and you reach for it. Part of you is screaming to stop because looking at a picture of his daughter feels like an invasion of privacy, but you can’t listen to the left side of your brain. You turn it around, in search of the right combination of numbers.

Anna’s birthday. It sounds so obvious—too obvious for a man as careful as Michael—but as soon as you type the numbers into the bar and hit enter, his laptop unlocks.

“So predictable,” you mutter.

Instead of finding his desktop though, you stare right at an open folder you are sure is not meant for your eyes. It is also protected by a password, which you can tell by the little lock following the icon, but Michael must have forgotten to close it.

You should close the folder, open a browser, and do what you intended to do—write an email to forego the no-call list and guilt-trip Inspector Jones into finding the balls to contact you back. It is a desperate attempt that might get you a restraining order, but you have to try. For that, Michael would surely not be mad at you. If you start snooping though…

Your eyes have a mind of their own, following an instinct as old as time. You can’t help yourself. You tilt the screen back, and you take a closer look.

The idea is so maddeningly risky your stomach churns at the thought of the possible consequences of your actions, but who else is going to tell you the truth if you don’t find out yourself? Michael doesn’t want to drag you into his mess as you’re dealing with your own, and while you get that, you are so far beyond common sense that you need to know what the man you love is involved in. You need to know what his family is involved in. If you don’t, you’re sure curiosity might actually kill you.

You tried to avoid getting caught up in the dangers of the Kinsella family; you should have known that trying and succeeding hardly ever go hand-in-hand when it comes to your mess of a life.

You know Michael. You know how careful he is when it comes to dealing with delicate matters. He told you he didn’t want to get swept up in his family’s bullshit again, but as you look at what’s in front of you, you’re not so sure he told you the truth.

The file contains mostly recollections of the family business. Drugs, weapons, larceny—not that it would ever change the way you feel about him, even if he did lie to you. This is not the worst you have seen, and it surely won’t be the last piece of dramatic information that will ever pass before your eyes.

What catches your attention is the mention of Jamie, the record of his death, and a stolen autopsy report. And among all of that, you find a name Michael and Jimmy threw at each other’s heads the other day. Your hand still hurts just thinking about it.

A loud thud echoes through the house when you forcefully shut the laptop. Every nerve in your body is burning itself alive. Your soul can’t withstand the storm of your emotions. The truth hits you. Around you, the world is falling apart, and you are unable to move anywhere but further into the chaos.

Michael came into the café months ago because he was in desperate need of a reprieve—he was the butterfly that flapped its wings over in Asia—and now you are on the verge of getting caught up in something that you will never be able to get out of again; it is a catastrophe waiting to happen.

Destiny and karma are very real phenomena, but so is the Butterfly Effect. Instead of innocent coffee though, you are staring into the face of disaster, and you have no idea what to do.

An idea pops into your head. You shouldn’t seek out trouble. You really, really should not, but not even five minutes later, the door to Michael’s home falls shut behind you as you take determined steps next door. Not across the street, not to your car but next door.

The realization that Michael might never forgive you for putting yourself in this position moves to the back of your mind. You promised him not to do anything stupid while he was gone, but you knew from the start that you would never be able to keep that promise.

Your feet are rooted to the ground as you ring the doorbell. At first, you receive no response. Just when you figured that you must have misinterpreted the movements in the neighboring home that you caught through the bedroom window earlier this morning, the gate opens, and you snap out of the endless spiral of your thoughts.

“What’re you doin’ here?” Jimmy asks, his eyes trailing over your disheveled frame on his doorstep.

Your eyes are red and swollen, and your outfit consists of a pair of Michael’s sweatpants and a shirt, but you weren’t planning on winning a fashion contest anyway. Jimmy deserves to see how miserable you are. Maybe then he will let you in.

He raises his eyebrows. “What? Came to hit my wife again? Last time wasn’t enough for ya?”

You let out an exasperated sigh, trying to hold contact with his dark eyes. “I need to talk to you,” you state matter-of-factly.

He eyes you again. “You look like shit.”

“Then I look better than I feel.”

“Hm. Does Michael know yer here?”

You expected him to snap at you—to lecture you—but that moment never comes.

You swallow thickly, then shake your head. “I’m here for answers,” you say. “And I feel like out of everyone in this family, you’re the only one who’ll be honest with me.”

“Why d’ya think I’d do that?” Jimmy asks.

“‘Cause you don’t like that I’m fucking your brother. Correct me if I’m wrong, but you couldn’t care less about what happens to me, which means that you also don’t feel the need to protect me or my delicate feelings.”

His lips curl into a smirk. As different as they are when it comes to their behavior, it is obvious that Jimmy and Michael are related.

“I’m so sick and tired of not knowing. Not understanding. Not…not being in control.” Your lip quivers, and you bite down on it for a moment. “You didn’t act on Frank’s offer to threaten someone you don’t even know, so a twisted part of me feels like I can trust you. I won’t apologize for falling in love with your brother because despite what you all believe, he is an incredible man and he deserves the world. But loving him put my sister’s life at stake, and I need to know what I’m getting myself into before I lose her too. I–I just...I need five minutes. Please. And then I’ll be out of your hair, I promise.”

Against all odds, Jimmy steps aside, motioning for you to enter. The house is as luxurious as you expected. High walls, big windows, and cool tones. The nature of your visit, however, only fills you with a sense of uneasiness.

You close the door behind you and follow Jimmy down the hallway. You wouldn’t dare push your luck by saying something uncalled for.

Now that Jamie’s dead, you understand why Michael always seems so stuck in thought. The stakes are higher. You try to find a sliver of understanding for why Birdy was so cautious with you and asked you all the questions that you saw as a personal attack. She wanted to protect you, and maybe that is true, but she let Frank’s actions slide for a little too long and you don’t know if you can forgive her for that.

She ended up attacking you personally even if that was never her intention, and she let her brother attack everything you hold dear by trying to protect her own family, and that is not something you can let slide.

Jimmy walks up to a set of stairs that lead into the basement. You’re hesitant at first, standing at the top of the steps and staring down at him with narrow eyes. “Are you going to kill me?” you bluntly ask.

He rolls his eyes. “Unarmed,” he says. “You can check me. I’m not carryin’.”

“What if there are guns down there?”

“There are, but I’m not gonna use ‘em to hurt ya. Michael would cut off my head and feed it to the dogs.”

You huff, but you eventually cave and follow him down the stairs. You hear him mumble something about you being complicated, and maybe you are, but can anyone blame you? You feel like you just walked into the lion’s den. Perhaps you are insane.

You function on a very determined autopilot that wants you to do things you would never have done a few weeks ago, and you have no choice but to follow or else you will bang your head against the wall; Michael really shouldn’t have left you alone.

The basement resembles a second living room. A leather couch stands against the wall to the right, and Jimmy has a collection of free weights to choose from to work out. There is even a pool table and a fridge you suppose holds liquor only. It must be the family’s layer for when they get together and discuss whatever a family like them has to discuss.

Looking further, you notice the terrarium in the middle of the room. It’s gigantic. You step a little closer. The yellow anaconda is easy to spot. You don’t doubt it could strangle you if you put it around your neck. It is surely thick enough to crush your windpipe in an instant.

“Drink?” Jimmy asks from somewhere behind you.

You shake your head. “I’m good.”

He hums. You can hear the sound of ice cubes hitting a glass, and he pours whiskey over it.

“You like snakes?”

You look at him, and then back at the snake. “I find them fascinating,” you state.

“They’re fascinatin’ creatures, alright,” he says. “You wanna hold her?”

You don’t miss a beat, “Absolutely not.”

“Okay.”

You stand there in silence for a while, just watching the anaconda move her large body around her transparent living quarters. She sticks out her tongue. If you could talk to animals, you wonder what she would tell you. What has she witnessed in this room? The snake knows all the answers to the questions you are asking yourself.

“Why Michael?” Jimmy breaks the silence.

“He’s a good man,” you answer. It doesn’t require much thought. “I told you. He’s a much better man than you give him credit for.”

“A good man has no place here.”

“Who are you to judge that?”

He scoffs. “You have any idea what yer gettin’ yourself into?”

“I knew from the moment I found out who he was. That doesn’t change how I feel about him.”

“Fuckin’ hell.”

“If you’re going to tell me that it’s my fault that I got caught up in all of this, save it. I’m well aware of that.”

“Then why are you still here?”

“Because I love him!” your voice echoes in the spacious basement. “I love Michael with all my heart. So much it hurts. I would do anything for him because you failed him over and over again, and he deserves so much better than you useless lot.”

Taken aback by the force of your words without actively yelling at him, Jimmy lowers his glass. He stares at you with a mixture of surprise and bewilderment in his eyes, and you’ve seen that look in Michael’s eyes one too many times. You want to smash something, but that would only make matters worse, and you really didn’t come to cause a scene.

Jimmy infuriates you in a way not many men have managed. You want to hit him, give him a shiner that will rival the one his wife is probably carrying, but realistically, you don’t stand much of a chance against this man. He is strong. He could feed you to his anaconda if he wanted to. Even if Michael would behead him, he would do anything to save himself. He is the epitome of selfishness, and you refuse to stoop low enough to be on his level.

You take a deep breath, lowering your voice again. “But I’m not just here because I love Michael. I’m here because your uncle decided that he had to let out his disdain for me on an innocent child,” you say.

“I’m not okay with that either,” Jimmy cuts in. “I don’t have control over Frank’s actions. I lost my son–”

“I’m aware, and I am so sorry for your loss, I am. I know how it feels to lose a child because my father killed my little sister and while she wasn’t my biological daughter, I was the one who raised her. And I raised Maya too. So, even if I left, even if I broke Michael’s heart and gave you what you so desperately want, my sister would still be in danger. My father would still be running free. And I’d still have no choice but to stay here because thanks to you, I am in danger too and Michael refuses to let me leave.”

A sigh leaves his parted lips, and he empties his glass.

“This isn’t about me, Jimmy. It never has been. Not for me, at least. This is about Maya as much as your insecurities are about Michael. Except that Maya is a human being who has nothing to do with any of this. Not with Michael, not with you, and not with your godforsaken family. You don’t have to remind me how awful of a human being I am—I’m well aware of that myself, trust me, but I won’t stop trying to get answers until I have found a way to make sure she’s okay. That she’s safe. That I can get her back and end this once and for all because Frank didn’t leave me a fucking choice.”

You pull the pictures out of your coat. “He came to the house earlier. Gave me those. He said he told his men to leave her alone, but who’s to say that he didn’t already do irreversible damage?” you say. “I don’t know why Michael being happy is such a huge inconvenience to you, but I don’t care. I care about my family. Now, you can either help me or not, but don’t act like you have any right whatsoever to lecture me. You don’t even fucking know me.”

Jimmy takes the photographs. His eyebrows furrow slightly as he stares down at them. A drop of condensation from his glass drops on the paper, the same spot your tears dried into.

Your chest still heaves with every breath you take. “Jimmy,” you growl. The silence drills into your skull.

When he finally opens his mouth, his voice resembles a steady tune. “I don’t stand behind Frank,” he says. “Not on this. He shouldn’t have done it.”

“I am well aware of that, thank you.”

“None of us knew yer story. For what it’s worth, I’m sorry. For Frank, for Birdy—hell, I’m even sorry fer how Amanda treated you. If I’d known…”

“Would you’ve stopped her?” you counter.

He shrugs. “Doesn’t matter now.”

“It matters to me.”

“There are ways to get rid of someone without puttin’ anyone in unnecessary danger. That’s all I’m gonna say.”

His expression is set in stone. You can’t determine whether or not he’s lying to you.

“Did Michael offer ya his help?” Jimmy asks then. “Regarding your, uh, father.”

You blink a few times, wondering if he really just asked you that. But you swallow your doubts, straighten your shoulders, and you nod. “Yeah, he did,” you say.

“Offered t’put a protective detail on her? Kill the bastard?”

“Something along those lines.”

“Then why hasn’t he?”

“Because death would be too kind for that man.”

The faintest smirk starts playing on his lips. “Can’t blame ya,” he states.

“Of course not,” you retort. “I won’t stoop to my father’s level. He deserves to be put in prison for the rest of his life. A bullet to his head would end his suffering, and I refuse to let him down that easily.”

“Is that why you came here?”

You shake your head again. “I need answers.”

“Why wouldn’t Michael give them to ya?” Jimmy cocks an eyebrow. “He’s fuckin’ obsessed.”

“He may love me, but he has a protective instinct that makes it almost impossible for me to get the whole truth out of him,” you explain. “Michael wasn’t there when Frank came over. Perhaps because he knew Michael wouldn’t be there. He caught me off guard. I was vulnerable, and he used that against me.”

He tilts his head. “What did he say?”

“Just that he put an end to what he started. But I can’t believe that, now can I? He’d already started it.”

“You’re a lot smarter than I thought.”

Your lips part in a bitter scoff. “I found some things on Michael’s laptop,” you tell him. “I need to understand what I got myself into here. Maybe find some common ground. In my mind, after everything that went down at Birdy’s house, you’re the least untrustworthy, and while we may not be the best of friends, I can’t limit myself to what Michael thinks is right. Take it as a compliment or don’t, but I’m desperate here.”

He murmurs your name as he makes his way over to the open bottle of whiskey to pour himself another glass. His steps are careful.

You are well aware that you should tread carefully, and Jimmy seems to be on the same page as you that this is a bad idea, but you were desperate and you saw no other choice. You would have crawled up the walls of Michael’s empty house if you had waited, staring at the bullet holes in the walls and wondering if you would end up dead at the end of this the same way his wife did; or if you’d merely lose everything you’ve ever loved and be left with nothing else left to give.

“Who’s Eamon?” you blurt out.

Jimmy stops dead in his tracks. You hit a nerve. Seemingly with a sledgehammer, too.

“Because from what I heard and what Michael has on him, he’s a perilous man.”

“Fuck!” Jimmy curses under his breath.

“Please, I just want to know. What is Michael caught up in?”

“We’re all caught up in it.” The tone of his voice has changed and switched to a more dangerous octave, and it sends shivers down your spine. “Eamon—Eamon fuckin’ Cunningham had my son killed, and Michael thinks he’s too good to help us get back at him because of Anna. That’s what.”

Your eyes soften. “I’m sorry, I—”

“He’s our supplier. Drugs. If ya really wanna know. Changed his business model. Wants us t’be his bitches. He’s a power-hungry bastard, that one. I didn’t wanna cave, but then Jamie—and Frank—”

With an animalistic growl that resembles a string of curses, he wipes the small table before him clean. The contents shatter on the ground, scattering millions of pieces of glass around the basement floor. You flinch.

The echo of his shout remains stuck to the walls. One of the shards scratches your forearm—not nearly enough to draw blood—before hitting the ground. The force causes the bottle to implode, and the crystal glasses break beyond repair the second they hit the ground.

You want to tell him that Michael doesn’t owe him anything. You want to tell Jimmy that none of this is Michael’s fault, but you have enough empathy to know when to speak and when to just be silent.

Grief is an unpredictable monster.

Jimmy takes a deep breath, then turns back around to face you. “I dunno what I can tell ya, but this family isn’t safe for someone like you,” he says. It sounds as though he actually cares, but you see right through him this time.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” you answer, trying to pick your words with an incredible amount of care; don’t raise your voice, don’t shout at him, just tell him what’s on your mind in a way that is respectful and he might not lash out at you. “But Michael is fresh out of prison, trying to find himself a place in this world. I understand why he said that he can’t help you execute whatever revenge you have planned for whoever did this to your son. And I understand that this business you’re in is dangerous for every party involved, but that doesn’t deter me.”

Across the room, he meets your eyes.

“I knew what I was getting myself into from the start,” you emphasize. “Michael promised me I’d be safe, and I trust him with my life, but now your family put my sister in danger, and we have to find a way to put an end to this mess because I refuse to let your little family dispute ruin my life. Michael can’t help me as he promised when he can’t manage to separate himself from you. Finding that file proved to me that he may have said that he’s done, but he isn’t, so I might as well accept that I’m not getting out of this either.”

He exhales, wiping his sticky hands on his trousers. “I underestimated ya,” he says. “But I suppose that’s what happens when your father’s a bastard.”

You shrug. “I just can’t run when you’re my only hope.”

Jimmy chuckles. “If we’re your only hope, I feel bad for ya.”

“Believe me, I feel plenty bad for myself already, but if I’d waited and told Michael about my plans, he wouldn’t have let me come here, and I still wouldn’t be much smarter than I was this morning.”

“Would you do somethin’ for us then? If we helped ya?” he asks.

One hand washes the other, right?

The words for an answer get taken out of your mouth by the sound of the front door slamming shut.

“Where is she?” Michael’s voice breaks through the ceiling.

Your eyes widen. You have heard him feral before—when he was holding the gun to Frank’s head and threatened him, his voice lowering, barely above a whisper but every word as forceful as the next. His silent anger is the most dangerous form. It did something to you to see the man you love so livid because he saw your life at stake.

You weren’t scared of him, you couldn’t possibly be, but the thought alone spikes the adrenaline in your veins, and your mind screams for you to run. It is the kind of effect he wants to have on people when he is angry; it is the type of effect he has on everyone because one looks at his fuming self and anyone would want to cower in the corner and cry. And maybe it makes your thighs clench just a little because no amount of fury could take away from how attractive this man is. But that is not the first thought that crosses your mind now.

The stairs creak with every heavy step Michael takes into the basement, and you hold your breath. Fuck.

Jimmy stares at the mess on the floor, then back at you. You wonder if he’s scared that he might be the next in front of Michael’s gun. He surely didn’t hesitate when it came to Frank. Who knows if he would draw the line at his brother, but from what you have gathered from their relationship, there is a chance he won’t.

“Jimmy,” is the first word on his lips when he makes it downstairs. His eyes are wide, pupils blown, and his fists clench at his sides. The cuddly teddy bear you said goodbye to this morning has disappeared completely under an iron veil.

“What the fuck is your problem?” Michael sneers.

Your first instinct is to step between him and his brother. Only then does he seem to take a look at you. You meet his brown eyes, your palms extended to press against his chest.

“Easy,” you murmur. You don’t see the need to snap at him.

He takes you in, his clothes hugging your curves just right, and in an instant, his large hands are cupping your face. “You alright?” he asks, and the fury is gone for a moment as he checks you for injuries. As though he truly believes that his brother would hurt you.

You nod. “I’m fine, I promise. I—”

Michael cuts you off. He pulls you to his side, almost behind himself, glaring at Jimmy. “Why’s she here with ya, huh?” Again, his demeanor changes. “She didn’t do anythin’! Frank put her life in danger, and you still treat her like a fuckin’ intruder?”

“Hold up, Michael. No,” Jimmy says. His shoulders broaden as he takes a step forward. “I didn’t–”

“Yes, ya fuckin’ did,” Michael interrupts him. “If you hurt or threatened her in any way, I swear to God—”

“No!” you raise your voice slightly, only enough to catch his attention. His head whips toward you. “He didn’t ask me here,” you confess. “I came here to talk to him, not the other way around. Jimmy…he didn’t do anything. I’m okay, baby. Please.”

His eyebrows furrow, trying to make sense of your words, and he slumps. He turns to you, his hand on your bicep, and he asks, breathlessly, “You what?”

The emotions in his eyes are a whirlwind that burns through the guilt in your stomach. “I’m sorry,” you whisper. “I had to.”

“Had to what?”

“Come here. Frank came over, and he gave me the pictures he was planning to use to blackmail me, telling me about how he told his men to back off, but—”

Michael snatches them from Jimmy’s hands, his knuckles white with how hard he is gripping them.

“I was going crazy,” you say. “I called Scotland Yard, but Inspector Jones put me on his no-call list, so I thought I would write him an email. I was going to use your laptop, but you…you must’ve forgot to close one of the folders, and I accidentally started scrolling, and—”

“Jesus!” He shakes his head. “And you went t’ Jimmy about that?”

“I didn’t have a choice, okay? You said you didn’t want to get involved in anything illegal again, for Anna’s sake, but you lied to me. I don’t blame you. I know I’m not getting out of this, and I don’t want to because you mean the world to me, so I thought I could talk to Jimmy and we could find a compromise. After Frank…I didn’t think there was time to be rational about this. I’m sorry, Michael. I know you told me to sit tight, but I had to.”

“Five hours,” he growls. “You couldn’t wait five hours?”

Jimmy pipes up. “She was curious about Eamon,” he says. “I gave her the answers she was lookin’ for because you wouldn’t.”

Michael’s grip on your arm tightens, and it stings. You try to free yourself, but he won’t let you.

“Whatever you two discussed,” he snarls, “It’s off the table.”

You glare at him. “What?”

His fingers dig into your sensitive flesh. “Off the table, pet. You’re not gettin’ involved with this family.”

“What do you mean, I’m not getting involved with this family? I already am!”

“The fuck you are.” He drags you toward the door.

“Michael,” you choke out, “you’re hurting me.”

You have never seen him like this, and you never would have thought he would grab you like this.

He loosens his grip, but it’s still not enough to free you from his grasp. “I’m sorry,” his voice is barely above a whisper.

You scoff. He may be sorry for hurting you, which you know was unintentional because he often underestimates his power, but he isn’t sorry for treating you like a child because he is still pulling you toward the stairs.

“Michael,” Jimmy stops him. “Maybe we could talk ‘bout this?”

“No. You can get fucked!”

“Jesus,” you snap at him.

“Home,” Michael tells you. “Now.”

His house isn’t even home to you, but you don’t have a choice. And as you make your way next door again, a feeling settles in the pit of your stomach. A feeling that makes you sick.

Are you actually scared of him? Meeting his eyes once the door is closed behind you though, you can’t stop imagining your father in front of you, and it makes your heart race up to your throat.

Michael raises his hand to his forehead, the other resting on his hip. “Fuck!” He doesn’t say it to you. He would never.

He is trying to get rid of his anger to have a normal conversation—to talk this through because he doesn’t understand why you would put yourself at risk like that—but your brain doesn’t function the way it did this morning. To you, he is cursing at nothing but you.

You see his hand out of the corner of your eye, and you flinch. Your entire body recoils, and the air changes. He seems to realize what he did almost instantly. You hug your arms around yourself, avoiding his eyes, hoping you won’t cry, but the tears are treacherous as they start to pave their way forward. It burns.

“I—I’m sorry,” he says, and his voice is soft again. His hand is gone, but oh, you can’t open yourself up to him again. “My love, I’m so sorry, I didn’t think.” He takes a step forward.

He didn’t, and he still isn’t thinking, it seems. You take a step back. He is suffocating you.

“I’m not angry,” he tries again. “I just wanna understand…”

You swallow thickly. “I explained it to you,” the words flow out in a monotone line.

“Why Jimmy? Why?”

“If I’d asked you, would you have told me the truth?” You meet his eyes, and it hits him like a strike of lightning. “If I’d asked you about the folder, about what the fuck is going on, would you have answered or would you have tried to keep me out of it?” you ask again.

Michael gnaws at his bottom lip. “I told ya we’d find a way. We’d make a plan,” he says.

He is diverting. He can’t give you the answer you asked of him, and somehow that breaks your heart. It drills a sharp knife through your ribs, causing you to bleed out in front of him.

“There is no other way,” you argue.

“There is always another way.”

“Not in this case, there isn't.”

“I cannot have you doing dirty work for my family. Fuckin’ Christ!” The whisper turns into a desperate plea, “Why can’t you see that?”

You wipe your cheeks with a furious index finger. “Maybe you should have thought about that before you fucked me.”

“Sorry?” He is taken aback by your tone of voice.

“You made me fall in love with you, knowing that being with you would put me in danger,” you cry. “I’ve always been okay with it, but you have to stop coddling me like I’m a child. I’m a grown woman. I can make my own decisions.”

“This isn’t fair,” he says. “I’m just tryin’ to keep ya safe.“

“But I’m not the only one who matters.”

“You’re the only one who matters to me!”

The silence that washes over you is charged to the maximum. Michael’s words echo in your mind.

“I know you love your sister,” he murmurs, “but you promised not to make any rash decisions.”

“I know,” you reply coolly.

“You should’ve waited. You should’ve talked t’me.” Michael shakes his head.

You sniffle. You can’t look at him. “So you own me now, huh?”

“No, that’s not—”

“You say you want to protect me, to keep me safe, but has it ever crossed your mind, even for a second, that I don’t want to be saved?”

His chest heaves with the breath he inhales. His hands remain on his hips. He fiddles with the fabric of his sweater—he always does it when he’s nervous, or when he’s fuming. You watch his body language and read it like an open book, but there is a distance between you. You thought maybe he would be a little pissed, but this behavior is worse. It tears your soul apart, piece by piece.

Again, he inhales, and he exhales again. “You’re reckless,” he states. Somehow though, he makes it sound like an accusation.

“So what?” you retort.

“So what? Are you even listening to yerself?”

“Don’t snap at me.”

“I’m not—” he clenches his jaw. “Trust me, if I snapped at ya, it would sound a lot different. I’m just tryin’ to figure you out ‘cause I can’t fuckin’ read ya right now.”

You offer a sarcastic hum. You don’t have to think far to find the words. They are right there on the tip of your tongue. “Maya’s living with a monster who would raise hell if he found out the truth. The same monster who tortured me. The same monster who murdered my sister. Now, I feel like I’m being followed everywhere I go,” you say. “The family of the man I love would rather see me fall than accept me. I can’t go back to London. I can’t go home. I can’t…I can’t even go back to work.”

You sniffle again. “Brewing coffee used to be my life. I was working toward being something more. Someone more. I was writing, I was being creative, and I was somewhat happy. I had a plan, you understand?” With every word out of your mouth, your voice rises to new volumes. “I had a plan to get my revenge eventually and move on, but now...now my life is whatever this shit is, and I hate it. Okay? I hate it.”

You’re not angry; you’re broken, but saying it out loud won’t move mountains, and when the last word passes your lips, still nothing has changed. It won’t change. You can pray, you can beg, and you can scream at the sky in hopes that someone—anyone—will hear you, but it is a losing game. Life is a losing game.

Michael whimpers in the back of his throat. “Don’t,” he begs.

“I hate—” You stare up at the ceiling. The tears taste salty on your tongue.

“Stop it.”

“I hate it here, Mikey.”

God, he knows that you only call him that when you feel like you have reached a dead end, but this time, he can’t save you; he, himself, has reached a dead end that he can’t escape from, and the ocean between you is far too broad to cross. You sob, and he wants to sob with you.

“I hate what my life has become,” you cry softly. Your soft cries are the most painful to listen to. “And I hate that loving you hurts so fucking much I can’t breathe.”

This conversation feels oddly familiar. As if you have had it before. As if it is a daily occurrence as your demons fight against each other for dominance.

“I wish I could change that,” Michael whispers back to you. He is so far away, yet you still hear him perfectly.

You shudder. “Make me hate you, you mean?”

“No, not that. Although yes, sometimes.”

“I wish I could hate you sometimes, too,” the admission rolls off your tongue like a bullet from a gun.

He nods. His eyes never leave your fragile frame, barely holding on by a thread. “I wish I could take it all away from ya,” he says. “The fear, the pain... And I wish it were easier to protect those you love. But I dunno how. And I dunno how t’be…better.”

A better man, he wanted to say. Better for you, better for Anna, and better for anyone else. Michael feels unworthy of your love. He had hope; for a few days, he had hope, but hope never lasts long with him. It always dies because everything he touches eventually withers like a fragile flower. He doesn’t say it though. He doesn’t know how.

You sniffle, shaking your head. “You don’t have to be better. I just need you to understand,” you say.

“I do,” Michael insists. “I do understand.”

“I’m glad you do, but I don’t. I need a chance at ruining the life of the man who caused so much damage I don’t even know what has become of me. I want to ruin his life the same way he ruined mine. I want to put him away for the rest of his miserable life so maybe my mother can get the help she refused to get when I last gave her the chance, and provide my sister with a normal life. That’s what I need.”

But what you need and can have are two different pairs of shoes.

After a deep breath that lasts several seconds and allows the silence to stretch into a pregnant pause, you find your words again to continue. “The file I have on Ellie’s death is circumstantial, we both know that,” you say. “It won’t be enough. We won’t be enough—” Your voice cracks. “A security detail or killing my father won’t fix this. You telling me you love me won’t fix this. And saying ‘we will figure this out’ while you keep a folder on your family’s dealings that might as well also impact me now that Frank has painted a target on my back from me won’t fix this.”

He says your name in a way that sends an unwelcome shiver down your spine.

“I just couldn’t wait!” It is unlike you to yell, but you have reached your limit.

Again, Michael curses, running a hand over his face and through his beard.

You lean back against the wall, defeated beyond relief. “What do you want from me, Michael?” you plead. “Because I feel like no matter what I do, it’s never enough.”

“C’mon,” he breathes, “I never said that.”

“No, but it certainly feels that way.”

“I don’t want to lose ya, alright? That’s all I’ve got.” He sounds like a broken record. “I…I just found out that I probably have no chance at gettin’ Anna back, even after all I did, and I can’t…I just can’t…”

The urge to reach out and take him into your arms is overwhelming. Tears glisten in his eyes now, and his body is quivering with agony. He’s holding back. He’s trying not to show you just how scared and in pain he truly is, but he can’t hide the truth from you.

On any other day, you would have crossed the room and hugged him with the promise of never letting him go, but can’t bring yourself up to get any closer because he is not the only one close to falling apart.

“I’m so sorry,” you gasp out.

“I can’t lose you too,” Michael whispers. “If I get involved again with my family—if I choose to fight—that’s another story. I am who I am, and I can’t change that, but yer not; you’re everything to me. And I won’t put the goodness of yer heart at risk. I can’t—”

You silence him with your hand. “I am not Anna.”

“I know, but—”

“I am not Anna,” you repeat. “I can’t replace her. I won’t replace her. I am not a consolation prize, and I am not yours to command.”

Your steps are heavy as you reach for your bag. “No,” he grunts. He reaches for your arm again, but you elude him.

“Don’t touch me.”

You’re not even sure if this can be called fighting. You were arguing until you weren’t. It’s a quiet storm, but it causes the most damage.

The door is calling for you. You can’t stay here. You feel like you’re drowning—like he is taking all the air out of your lungs. You can’t stand here and argue and fight, and you definitely can’t stay and be quiet with him. That hurts a lot more than being yelled at. Silent anger kills, and you’re not sure if you can come back from this.

How did you get here? When he left this morning, he kissed you. Now, there seem to be a million worlds standing between you, and you can’t find common ground. You’re floating in space, and Michael can’t haul you back, but perhaps that is not the problem. The problem is that you don’t want to be hauled back.

His hand finds your waist, and he pulls you against him. “You’re not leaving,” he says. The gruff sound of his voice used to be your favorite.

“Let me go,” you murmur.

Michael shakes his head. You suck in a sharp breath when he presses his forehead to yours. He smells of whiskey and rum. Did he have a drink on his way here? Did he drown his sorrows in liquor and God knows what else? You don’t want to think about how miserable he is. You don’t want to think about what could happen. You just don’t want to think at all.

“Please,” he begs. “Talk t’me.”

For a moment, you bask in the feeling of his skin against yours, but when it starts to hurt, you have to pull back. “I have nothing left to say.”

The arrow hits him straight through the heart.

“I’m sleeping in my bed tonight.” You throw your bag over your shoulder, and you turn away so he won’t see you cry. “We’re no good for each other right now.”

He scoffs. It is a bitter sound that laces the air like a toxin. “We’ve never been good for each other.”

You ignore the sting his words leave behind. “Then maybe it’s a good thing I’m leaving,” you say.

The sound of the wall breaking under the weight of his fist is the last thing you hear before you step out into the cold evening air.

Your cheeks are wet with tears, but you don’t look back. You get into your car; you don’t even take another look at the house. You turn on the engine, and you pull out of the parking lot.

Michael’s house and the rest of the Kinsellas disappear behind you, your sobs echoing in the small space of your car. You might have to do this on your own, after all, and with that comes the realization that you might have just lost the love of your life, too.

The question is just, was it worth it?

Tagging: (let me know if you want to be tagged, too!) @bellaxgiornata @mattmurdocksscars @ms-murdockswift @your-not-invisible-to-me @shouldbestudying41 @glowstick-lesbian @acharliecoxedfan @roseallisonparker @norestfortheshelbywicked @1988-fiend @loveroftoomanyfandoms @mattkinsella @schneeflocky @harperdoodle @ravenclaw617 @lunaticgurly @mattmurdocksstarlight

#michael kinsella x reader #michael kinsella #michael kinsella x f!reader #michael kinsella x you #michael kinsella angst #kin rte #kin amc #kin bbc #reader insert #charlie cox #chaos theory

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ursa-tan · 9 months

Note

Hi! This might be a very niche but I was wondering if you could do a

Wally x reader, 🍑, consensual soul eating where he either fucks us during it, or it turns into a type of invisible/soul sex

(And if you didn't know: soul eating is where Wally eats with his eyes and feeds off of our emotions/energy, but it's like a kind of a weird sleep paralysis out of body experience for the person he's feeding off of, I've seen people also use the concept for kissing and more)

I'll show you

Wally Darling x Masc!Reader

Word count: 4,221 Reading time: ~16 mins

A/N: I hope this is what you wanted anon! I know it went a little off-request, but I hope you're still satisfied with it! Please let me know if you can!

Upon joining the neighbourhood, you were under the impression that you were the only one that would eat. Being the only human in a village of sentient puppets, the assumption made sense. In fact, the first time you say a puppet eat you were convinced it was some sort of joke set up by Barnaby to get you to embarrass yourself by asking questions. It wasn’t until said humorous puppet ask why you were staring at Sally so weirdly while she was eating that you realised that these puppets actually do eat.

You spent the next few weeks tallying up the number of times you saw each puppet eat. Well, you tried to at least, before you gave up. It became apparent pretty quickly that all of them ate on pretty much the same schedule as you, even if you didn’t see it happen. Sally would often tell you about how strict her diet is as a performer, Poppy offering you things she had baked, and Eddie talking about being a fool for skipping breakfast because he woke up late. Sufficient to say, the puppets ate, just like you did.

What struck you as strange though was that you had never seen Wally eat. Not once. He held food, stared at it, carried it around, yet he never seemed to eat it. Not even when Julie and Frank took the time to put a picnic together. He just held an apple in his hands the entire time, staring at it occasionally, but never eating it.

“It’s strange,” You mumble to yourself, breaking apart a chocolate bar and placing a square in your mouth. Your eyes are fixed on Wally, who’s currently engaged in conversation with Eddie and – once again – holding an apple that you know he isn’t going to eat.

“What’s strange, Kiddo?” Barnaby, one of your closest friends since joining the neighbourhood, asks. He’s standing next to you, doing nothing in particular.

“Hm? Oh, just the fact that I’ve never seen Wally eat. I mean, I’ve seen him holding food plenty of times, but I’ve never seen him eat it.” You don’t take your eyes off the smaller puppet – almost like you’re afraid that if you blink, the apple might disappear and you’ll seem crazy. You nearly spit out your chocolate when Barnaby next speaks.

“Yeah, that’s cuz he doesn’t eat,” he chuckles, placing a massive paw on your head and ruffling your hair, making a mess of it.

You push Barnaby’s hand off your head but don’t let go of it, knowing that he’ll put it straight back if you do. Staring at him in confusion, you wait for him to continue. When, after a few seconds, he stays silent, you know that you’re going to have to ask questions to get answers.

“He doesn’t eat? Like, at all?” You keep Barnaby’s arm in your grasp, looking up at him with a curiosity that needs to be satisfied.

“No, he eats,” Barnaby looks down at you, chuckling at the way you’re looking at him, “Just not like the rest of us, that’s all.”

“Not like the rest of us? What does that mean? How does he eat? Does he need to eat then? What would-“You don’t get to finish your barrage of questions as Barnaby uses his other hand to silence you, placing his massive paw right in your face. In much the same way that a cat would if you got too close.

“Slow down with the questions there, Kiddo!” Barnaby chuckles, holding his paw against your face for a second before removing it.

“I just-“ You’re once again interrupted by a paw to the face.

“Just tell me you’re done.” He slowly removes the paw from your face, as if expecting to have to silence you a third time.

“Ok, ok, I’m done. I’ll stop with the questions.” To say you’re disappointed is an understatement, you’re brimming with questions that you’re absolutely desperate to ask. It seems like Barnaby can tell.

“Why don’t you ask the man himself?” He gestures towards Wally, who’s still obliviously chattering away with Eddie, “You know he likes you, he wouldn’t say no if you asked politely.”

“You sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure. It’s Wally, he’s my best friend, I know him like the back of my paw,” Barnaby holds up his free paw, looking at the back of it proudly for a moment. That moment doesn’t last long, however, as he takes any opportunity he can to crack a joke, “Huh, never noticed that spot before.”

You can’t help but giggle at his antics, finally freeing his other hand as you do. He takes the opportunity to ruffle your hair again, just making more of a mess as you hadn’t had a chance to fix it last time.

“Off you go then.” Barnaby makes a shooing motion, pushing you lightly towards Wally. No plan, no time to come up with one, no help from the comedian, it’s all up to you. You aren’t even entirely sure what you’re supposed to do.

You find yourself stressing slightly as you approach Wally and Eddie. You hope that you can just slip into the conversation, and ask Eddie how his day has been. But you don’t get that chance, because just before you get there, Eddie says goodbye and walks away. Now it’s just you and Wally.

“Oh, hello neighbour,” Wally smiles up at you, his eyes droopy and half-lidded as always. He’s still holding that goddamn apple.

“Oh, uh, hi Wally, you, uh.” You find yourself attempting feebly to stumble your way through a complete sentence. Wally’s eyes don’t leave you for a second. He’s staring straight into your eyes, almost like he’s trying to stare straight into your soul.

“Are you ok neighbour?” He’s looking at you with that cat smile. It’s so relaxed and yet you feel so tense.

“Yeah, yeah, fine,” You mumble, reaching up to pick at your arms slightly, flaking off an old scab that you never gave time to heal, “Just wondering if you wanted to hang out tonight? Maybe I can come round yours and we can have dinner?” You can feel his eyes leave you as you ask this question, but the nerves keep a tight grip on your neck and you can’t find it in yourself to look at him to find out why.

“Sounds delightful, neighbour.” The apple is gone. You look down at him when he speaks and the apple is gone. He hasn’t dropped it or stuffed it in his pockets. It’s just gone.

“Right, right… I’ll come round at about… 7?”

“yes, 7,” Wally nods, smiling and waving at you, “I’ll see you later neighbour.”

You wave at him as he walks away, watching him walk over to Julie’s before knocking on the door and waiting for her to let him in. Once he disappears, you turn back to Barnaby, looking at him with a quizzical expression.

“What’s up, kid?” He chuckles, looking at you as you find your place back at his side.

“He… Did you see what he did what that apple?”

“No clue, I was more focused on how awkward you looked,” he chuckles, reaching out to ruffle your hair for a third time. You swat him away before you get a chance.

“Seriously, did you see anything? Anything at all? It can’t have just disappeared!” You sound exacerbated, desperate for answers.

“Maybe he ate it,” Barnaby chuckles, pulling his pipe out and placing it in his mouth.

“I thought you said-“

“You should ask him about it, you’ll have him all to yourself tonight.” He lets out a puff of swirling iridescent smoke. You know that you aren’t going to get any more answers out of him. He’s being belligerent on purpose, something you know that he’s grown to enjoy when talking to you. Said it’s something about how you look funny when you’re frustrated.

Instead of trying – and ultimately failing – to wrangle more information out of Barnaby, you decide to head home. It’s not a long walk, but it gives you time to think. The main question on your mind for the next few hours is how you’re going to bring up the topic of how he eats.

You’re so consumed by the question that you don’t even realise how quickly the time passes. Before you know it, it's 6:30 and getting kinda dark outside. You know if you don’t get ready now, you’ll be late and it’ll be dark by the time you get there.

You choose to put on a nice pair of black trousers and a colourful cardigan – something you think Wally might like. You also gather up some simple snacks, the kind of things you’d want someone to bring to yours if they were going to come over. Once you’re sure that you’ve gathered everything you think you’re going to need, you set out towards Home.

Wally is opening the door before you even knock on it, wearing something much more comfortable than his usual outfit. His hair is down and he’s wearing a light pink robe that he seems to have purposefully pulled off his shoulders.

“Neighbour, you’re early,” He smiles up at you, eyes half-lidded as he holds a hand out, “Come in, please.”

“O-Oh, ok!” You shift the bag you were holding so that you can take his hand, allowing him to pull you into the house. His hand is surprisingly warm in yours, soft against your palm and small enough that you could crush it with ease if you wanted to.

“What would you like to do, neighbour?” He stops and looks up at you once he’s brought you to his living room. The main light has been turned off and replaced by the presence of a lamp. There are already a few different snacks laid out on the coffee table – you notice that he’s got your favourite. You aren’t sure if he got it on purpose or if he just already had it, maybe you can be nosy and ask Howdy when he brought it later on.

“I don’t mind…” You mumble, realising you hadn’t prepared for anything other than asking Wally how he ate.

“Would you like to make something? Maybe we can paint together,” He’s still holding your hand while he speaks, “Or we could just talk?” He’s looking up at you with something in his eyes that you can’t quite put your finger on.

“Talking sounds nice.” You smile, sitting uncomfortably on his sofa. The sofa itself is quite comfortable, but you perch yourself on the edge.

Wally doesn’t say anything, instead just coming to sit next to you. He presses himself against you, his head resting on your shoulder to the best of his ability.

“Wally, can I ask you a question?” It feels far too serious to say that, but you also feel like you might implode if you just outright ask the question that’s been on your mind for so long.

“Of course, neighbour.” He slimes up at you, moving to intertwine his hand with yours.

“I’ve noticed that you uh… I don’t… I haven’t…” You look down at his hand, and the way it holds yours, fits so perfectly has you struggling to speak, “ You… How do you eat?” Eventually, you manage to just spit it out and ask him. He doesn’t react like you would expect him to. You expected him to look up at you with that lazy, half-lidded gaze that he always had. Instead, he jumps in his seat slightly and continues to stare straight forwards.

“Well, neighbour, it’s hard to explain,” He chuckles lightly, finally moving to look up at you. His pupils are restricted, small and not looking into your own but rather focusing on your lips, “ It would be easier to show you.”

“Show me then.” You know you sound way too excited, it's probably a little off-putting.

“You have to promise not to… React badly, neighbour,” He mumbles, letting go of your hand and shuffling away from you.

“I promise.” You have to force your voice out, feeling the excitement bubble up inside you.

“Stay still.” Wally stands up, moving until he’s in front of you and can rest his hands on your thighs, just above your knees.

“O… Ok?” The excitement subsides, confusion taking its place. His hands move slightly, shifting up to rest about midway up your thighs.

Before you get a chance to ask a question, Wally is climbing into your lap and situating himself until he’s pressed as close to you as he can get. You try and ignore the way that he’s sitting directly over your crotch, or how his hands are now resting on your chest.

“Open your eyes for me,” His hands come up to cup your face, holding your head still with a surprising amount of strength, “Don’t move.”

“Wally I don’t understand why this is necessary-“

“I’m going to show you how I eat, stay still and open your eyes.” His fingers dig into your cheeks, almost painfully holding you in place. You just close your mouth and nod as best you can, deciding that you don’t want to face whatever emotion Wally was just feeling.

His pupils blow wide, almost completely consuming his eyes. You can barely see the whites of his eyes in just the corners. It’s almost scary as he stares into your own.

Suddenly, something starts to envelop your mind. A fogginess that you can’t seem to shake off no matter how much you try. Wally continues to stare into your eyes, his own almost completely black and entirely unmoving. The fog begins to numb your limps, starting in your lower legs and tingling as it leaks into your thighs. Pins and needles seep into your fingertips, crawling up your arms in a warm sensation that leaves you unable to feel anything. You try to speak, but you can’t even open your mouth. Your lips are sealed shut, leaving you unable to do anything but let out a soft whimper.

“Don’t worry,” Wally speaks, hands moving to rest on your shoulders. You don’t move your head – you can’t move your head. “This is supposed to happen.”

You try and open your mouth again, attempting to ask him what this is. Yet, no matter how hard you try, you can’t get your jaw to move. The only thing you can do is whimper pathetically, unsure of what he wants from you.

Soon enough, you realise that you can’t move your eyes either. Unlike when you experience sleep paralysis, you can’t move your eyes at all. The only thing you can focus on is Wally’s charcoal eyes, blown so wide that you feel like you’re going to fall in.

“Just relax, you wanted to see how I eat, didn’t you?” Wally shifts forwards slightly, pressing himself further against you, managing to lightly grind himself on you, “ If you want me to stop, all you have to do is close your eyes.”

With those words, you realise you can move your eyelids. While your vision is focused on those deep pools of black in front of you, your eyelids begin to twitch and flicker. You don’t feel the need to blink, your eyes aren’t dry or irritated. And, despite the fear of being unable to move… You can feel something in your mind telling you to let this continue.

“Good… Please relax neighbour, I promise this won’t hurt.” You can barely see that he’s smiling as he speaks. His hands move to run over your chest, splaying his hands out over the top of your shirt, wrinkling the material slightly and causing it to lift slightly and show your lower stomach.

A sense of pleasure starts to take over, the pins and needles like tingling becoming a warm, dripping sensation. It starts in your fingertips, slowly trickling upwards, moving like honey in thick, sticky rivulets. The feeling leaks into your chest, pooling warmth right above your heart that’s spread further and further with every beat, being spread through your veins. Soon enough, your entire body is enveloped with the tingling euphoria.

“I’m sure you’ve figured it out by now, neighbour,” Wally mumbles, his usual, sleepy voice breaking you out of your focus, “You always were smart…”

You whimper in response to his statement. You hadn’t figured it out, you hadn’t figured anything out. All you know is that you feel amazing and that you can feel Wally’s ass pressing against your slowly hardening cock.

“You haven’t?” He seems surprised to ask this question, almost as if he really did think you understand what’s going on, “Should I explain then, neighbour?”

You let out another soft whimper, no longer caring about what’s happening. You’re losing yourself to the sensations, to the way his soft body feels pressed against yours.

“I eat with my eyes,” He starts, still staring deeply into your own, “But I can’t just eat food, it’s not enough… I need something more substantial, something bigger… Which is where you come in. I just need to take a little from you, some energy, I guess you could say.”

There’s nothing you can do as Wally continues to stare into your eyes, still smiling slightly, eyes still blown so incredibly wide. You wouldn’t stop him even if you could. You have plenty of energy to share if he was telling the truth about that. It doesn’t matter really, the feeling of warmth throughout your body and your slowly growing erection made you desperate for more.

“It seems you’re enjoying this neighbour… Maybe I should give you a little something in return.” Wally seems to be thinking out loud, wondering about what he should do for you.

It doesn’t take a second for him to begin slowly rocking his hips. His ass is pressed against your cock, slowly grinding into it, causing your erection to grow more and more with each passing second. The way he rocks his hips causes you to groan, eyelids flickering slightly but never once blocking Wally’s view of your eyes.

The puppet's hands trail downwards, eventually reaching your lower stomach. Slowly, he inches one hand under your shirt, touching your skin in soft, barely-there circles that cause your muscles to twitch involuntarily. He pauses his movements when he feels your muscles quiver under his fingers, seemingly cherishing the movements before continuing his ministrations. Wally manages to get your muscles to tremble again, many times.

The hand that isn’t under your shirt moves down to your belt buckle, undoing it with practised ease and quickly pulling it from your belt loops. Wally tosses it over his shoulder, letting it clatter to the floor somewhere behind him that you can’t see. His eyes never leave yours, not once.

Next thing you know, the puppet is popping your trouser button open with one hand, unzipping the zip as well. You groan again, only this time it’s out of disappointment, as Wally has shifted backwards and off you’re your painfully hard cock so he can shuffle your trousers down. The fabric bunches up around your mid-thighs, giving Wally space to sit on your crotch again, now only with your boxers in the way.

You want to buck your hips upwards, thrust yourself into his small body, and maybe even get the chance to hold him down and fuck him. But you still can’t move, so everything is left up to Wally. He knows this. You know he knows you know.

He removes his hand from underneath your shirt, shifting his small body backwards to leave your thinly veiled cock exposed to him again. He places one of his hands over you, palming you softly through your boxers, applying just enough pressure to make you feel something so delicious that you want more. It’s not long before he’s pulling your boxers down, freeing your cock and allowing it to spring up and hit the stomach of your shirt. It leaves a small, dark patch where you’re already leaking precum.

Wally begins to focus on undoing his trousers now, popping the button and somehow managing to pull them off within seconds – all without breaking eye contact. He gets his boxers off as well, throwing them somewhere behind him, probably letting them join your previously discarded belt.

Despite being unable to move your body yourself, your lips part seamlessly when two of Wally's fingers press against them. It allows him to slide the digits inside your mouth, pressing the pads of his fingers into your tongue. You can feel you're saliva coating his fingers, making them slick. You want to curl your tongue up and against him, wrap it around the fingers in your mouth, allowing you to suck on them lightly.

Slowly, Wally pulls his fingers from your mouth. Thin strands of your saliva connect your lips to his fingers, glistening in the light and drawing your attention for just a moment - even if you can only see them in your peripherals.

You aren't entirely sure what he's going to do with his now slick fingers until he reaches backwards. Wally's hands slip behind him, begging to slowly tease and dip into his tight hole. You can just about feel the way his hips shudder as he begins to finger himself, slipping both of his now-slicked fingers into his ass.

Your cock twitches as he lets out a soft moan, hips bucking backwards a little. He's fucking himself on his fingers, thighs starting to tremble slightly as he continues. The way he moves makes you want nothing more than to have him, the feeling is a burning lust in your chest that drives you mad.

Eventually, Wally stops pleasuring himself and pulls his fingers out, moving his previously busy hand round to his front. You think he's going to touch you, until he begins to stroke his cock in long, languid movements. The fact that he isn't touching you is driving you crazy, your cock is aching and you're desperate for his touch, but he won't give it to you.

Until, that is, Wally shifts slightly forwards. He uses the hand that isn't stroking his cock to lightly grip yours, lining it up with his tight hole. You can feel your leaking cock press against him, meeting a small amount of resistance as he begins to lower himself down onto you. You can feel yourself sliding in slowly, your saliva making it easy for him to push himself down.

Wally bounces gently as he pushes himself down further, pulling up slightly to be able to slip more of you inside of him. After a few soft, subtle bounces, he reaches your base, leaving you fully hilted inside him.

The combination of the thick, honey-like pleasure and the tightness of Wally's tight hole around your cock has your mind beginning to fog. You know you aren't going to last long, not like this. Especially as the head of your cock presses into his soft, gummy walls. Wally's surprisingly warm body squeezes around you, tightening more than you thought it could.

Slowly, he begins to rock his hips again. The soft rocking progresses into a bouncing motion, causing Wally's soft inner to glide along your cock, sending waves of pleasure through your body.

The pleasure starts to overwhelm you. Everything that's happening is getting too much, the thick, tingling pleasure, the rolling waves of euphoria, it's pushing you towards climax. You're desperate to orgasm, to finish and fill the small puppet sitting in front of you.

Soon, the growing, building pleasure becomes too much. Your orgasm comes crashing over you, muscles twitching, your mind flooding with pleasure. You can feel yourself cum, waves of complete euphoria rolling over you as you.

Wally doesn't stop bouncing as you reach your peak, seeking his finish. The sensation of his soft walls becomes too much, overstimulating your now sensitive cock. You can feel your eyes tearing up, although you don't dare to blink. He clamps around you, body stilling and thighs trembling as he orgasms. Hot, sticky ropes of cum shoot out and ruin not only your shirt but also his cardigan.

A few seconds pass, Wally practically panting, before he finally breaks eye contact. Immediately you feel as if there is nothing left of you. Your eyes are sore and your body is tired from what just occurred - but your mind is also foggy.

Wally doesn't bother speaking or even getting up, instead just leaning forwards and cuddling into you. His head nuzzles into your neck, cock still hilted inside of him. You don't want to move either, still enjoying the feeling of him. So instead, you opt to wrap your arms around the puppet and hold him close, almost immediately falling asleep.

#fanfic #fanfiction #x reader #nsft fanfic #playfellowxxx #male x male #no use of y/n #wally calls reader “neighbour”#human reader #mentioned sally starlet #mentioned eddie dear #mentioned poppy partridge #barnaby b beagle #soul eating

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brooklynislandgirl · 1 year

Note

for the sinday spare change cup.

...Spare a Little... || Accepting

It’s been so long since trial prep. Long enough that even she couldn’t, with her prodigious understanding of numbers, count the hours that have lapsed since the moment she walked into the hospital room and the time she sat in this moulded plastic chair with a Styrofoam ~hadn’t they been banned because of the horrific environmental impact~ cup of ersatz coffee in hand. The glare of the fluorescent light overhead makes her squint. Encourages the start of a headache at the backs of her eyes with their intermittent flicker. It’s cold here, and graceless, and she can think of a million different places she’d rather be. But then it’s all questions. Ones she has answers for, given by monotonous rote. The same ones repeated in different ways at alternating ways. Trying to catch her in a lie. It’s questioning, not an arrest, and they don’t dare bring up allowing her a lawyer, they don’t mention her brother, the homicide detective. For once in her life, she doesn’t need Andy to defend her. She doesn’t need Jay to spin a story to cover things up.

Not when Frank had shown up on her doorstep, beaten and bloody. And with a friend. It takes her hours to undo what may have happened within minutes. He never does tell her exactly what happened. It is not that he wants to keep her hands as clean as he can ~it’s far too late for either of them to hope for that~ though Frank still believes he can be a tarnished knight in her eyes, that there’s redemption to be found. Only he doesn’t realise he’s doing what needs to be done. That there is a price, consequences for the actions of others, that has to be paid. He’s simply the one who collects. That it’s Billy under her hands, ripped and torn to shreds, that’s where she fails. Can’t make herself ask what happened and why. How they got from being brothers ~maybe even more tightly bound than Andy and Sam ever were~ to...to this. And why Frank hadn’t followed the advice he gave her once. He wasn’t trying to kill. He was obliterating Billy, erasing him from existence. She does what she can. The scars if any will be minimal. He’ll have a chance to live out his days if Frank doesn’t bite back and change his mind. Then there’s hushed conversation about what’s going to happen afterwards, with Billy, with everything that’s come to light, and for the first time she can recall, there’s something in Frank’s eyes; grief and regret that underlies the determination there, a glimpse at the vulnerable man beneath everything he shoves to the forefront. Oh how she aches to take it all away. But that isn’t her where her power lies. When he finally agrees to get some decent stab at sleep, he is the only one. She won’t let him sleep on the couch. The floor. Wherever else he suggests. Not this time. This time Frank’s the little spoon. Her arms wrap around him after he comes out of her shower. She presses her face into his back and her hand to his chest. Holds him as tightly as her meagre strength allows because someone’s got to. She does dream though. Dreams of waking up to find that they’ve shifted and it’s her thighs and not her arms that are wrapped around him. Of scrambling to get just that much closer, even if he stops her. Hands that cage her jaw, her throat, that get lost in her hair. She dreams that he swallows the sigh that comes skittering out of her. That for all the things he can be, Frank is softer. Slower. Tender. She dreams that he makes some quiet sound in the back of his throat when he empties into her, a wave in an endless sea, all foam and promise and... Retreating.

“When was the last time you saw Frank Castle, Ms. Riley?” One slender digit taps the file in front of her. “And I’m going to tell you what I’ve been telling you. Frank Castle is dead, and I work in one of the busiest emergency rooms in the city. Time and date are recorded on the report, which I would have to double check because I can’t be expected to remember every detail of every report I sign off on. Can you remember every single person you’ve arrested in the last ten years? If so, please tell me how you do it.” The lie is honey-smooth. Truth is, she sees Frank almost once a week when she closes her eyes, whether she wants to or not. And she’s always disappointed come morning and he isn’t actually there. “Oh, an’ for the record? It’s Doctor Riley.”

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pedrosbish · 3 years

Text

let me kiss the scars that litter your skin

warnings: slight angst but fluff

word count: 1.2k

A/N: I’m back! I know this isn't anything to do with pedro’s characters but I wanted to practice writing before continuing with the king series and I recently started watching The Punisher so I now have another sad boi to write about

Frank Castle is an enigma and would always remain an enigma to you.

When the two of you had first met it had been an honest mistake. He had collapsed in front of his apartment door which just so happened to be opposite from yours, the newest wounds leaving a deep ache in his bones and the blood began seeping through the dark shirt he wore, his face clammy as you pressed your hand to it.

It had taken you a couple of minutes to throw your shopping bags into the hallway of your apartment, the carton of milk falling over and draining onto your wooden floor, entering the cracks which your landlord would definitely not like. You didn't have it in your heart to care, however, not when you attempted to lug the burly man through your door, his blood staining your blouse.

It had taken a couple tries to get him onto your couch, his legs dangling over the arm-rest and his head lulling to the side as you quickly retrieved the necessary items to stitch him back up. When you had finally worked up the courage to peer underneath his shirt at the damage, the acidic feeling of bile worked its way up your throat at the sight of blood steadily pouring out of the numerous wounds littering his skin.

You had pushed through it, the shake in your hands disappearing as you began to work. Disinfect the cut with your good bottle of whiskey. Swallow harshly at the unwelcoming sign of bile rising in your throat. Deep breaths as you slowly stitch the wound.

This was the process you adopted and used to this day whenever the mysterious Frank Castle arrived at your door, either collapsed outside of it or on the verge of passing out and leaning heavily against the door with a barely-there smile on his face. It hadn't taken you long to figure out that he was The Punisher, the vigilante on a quest for vengeance.

He never spoke in full sentences, only grunts or one word answers when you scolded him for getting hurt again or asking what had happened. You knew why he did what he did, hell, you probably would do the same thing if something like that had happened to your family.

It hurt you to see him this way, his eyes unfocused and looking past your shoulder as you carefully stitched him up, hand gently tracing the other scars present on his skin when you had finished patching up the new ones.

You wanted to ask him about them, the faded white lines, some big and some small, telling thousands of stories about what he had gone through before all of this happened to him and what was happening to him right now.

You finally had the opportunity to do that.

Somewhere along the lines, the two of you had developed some sort of relationship, the term a loose thing for what was occurring between you. Most nights he would stay longer than he had to after you had stitched up his freshest injuries, passing the open bottle of alcohol you usually gave him to help with the pain until one of you had made the first move.

Hungry and desperate lips pressing against each other, hand combing through the short strands of his hair as he squeezed the hands on your waist lightly, pulling you closer before separating long enough to lift off both your shirts. You had lost count of the number of places he had taken you. The counter in your kitchen, the couch, against the wall of your living room, the shower, your bed.

You had always expected him to leave after having his fill, the leftover adrenaline disappearing from his system, but he had surprised you by staying, voice hoarse as he asked you if you needed anything from the kitchen as he sat on the edge of your bed and put his underwear back on.

It had become a routine for the both of you. Fix him up, fuck each other, then lay in bed next to one another, the streetlight from outside your window casting the room in a hazy light. The silence that enveloped the room was peaceful, a time for you to close your eyes at the heat radiating off of him and a time for him to accept that he is capable of this feeling inside of him again, one that he hasn't felt since the loss of his wife.

The eleventh time (not that you're keeping track) he actually stays until morning, the soft sunlight breaking through your curtains and painting him in a peaceful manner, his face relaxed but his fingers twitching at they rest beside him.

Eyes tracing over the skin that's not covered by the bed sheet gives you the time to examine scars covering his skin, some of them jagged white lines and others a light pink, the tell-tale sign of their freshness. Your hand slowly follows the path of your eyes, fingers oh so softly tracing over them, only stopping when he stirs slightly.

You lean forward, eyes quickly glancing up at his face, before pressing your lips softly against a scar that sits on his collar bone, the faint white line making your eyes grow misty. He had only told you some of the stories that lay behind the various injuries on his skin, the only real time he allowed himself to be vulnerable with you. There never is enough time to tell all the stories.

Tilting your head up to the left, you press another kiss to a deeper one, this time fresher than the others, that sits above his heart. That night had been the worst, the blood continuously pumping between your fingers as you tried to focus on fixing him, your hands shaking as you tried not to focus on the fact that he could possibly die on you.

“What’s wrong?”

His voice is croaky with sleep but his eyes are wide, alert, as he slowly begins to sit up until you press your hand down on his chest. Your eyes close tightly when his hand comes up to softly wipe the tears wetting your cheeks, thumb stroking back and forth.

You look up at him, his face blurred in your vision as your palm presses harder against his chest, the steady beat of his heart sounding through the skin and you feel like you can breathe easier knowing that he is alive and with you. For now at least.

“I-I can't lose you, Frank.” Your voice sounds foreign to your own ears, so thick with an emotion you can say for certain you have never felt with anyone else and his hand comes up to lay on top of yours, fingers squeezing yours. “I can't lose you.”

He swallows thickly, leaning his head down against yours and the two of you close your eyes, trying to savour the moment. Moving slightly away from you, he places a soft kiss to your forehead.

“I know,” he whispers against your skin. “I know.”

#frank castle #frank castle x reader #the punisher #the punisher x reader #jon bernthal #jon bernthal x reader

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softcallofdutyimagines · 3 years

Text

The crew with their soulmate headcannons

Ok, to make it up to y'all for the angst yesterday, here's a response to the death by broken heart post 😌

This one goes out to @smokeywhalee since I've had her crying for the past like three posts 💀💀😂 I also snuck in a little something to the Weaver one for @direwolfspostsrandomshit and I specifically 😌💅🏻

No warnings, just a very long post and lots of fluff lol

Adler

You two met when he was still young, before he even joined the CIA

Back when he was a goofy, carefree kid who didn't know better

You've been with him through so much by now, that he knows he can always count on you when something's bothering him

There's no one he trusts more in the whole world

Adler knew you were the one around the time he got his scars

He thought for sure you'd leave him, thinking he looked like some kind of monster with half his face bandaged and bloodied like it is

But when he came home from the hospital, you were so overjoyed to see him again, it's like the bandages weren't even there

You kissed his face and helped him clean and dress the stitches and cuts everyday until they healed

With you there to give him all that affection, he's never let his scars make him feel any less then handsome

Of course, it doesn't hurt that you remind him often

Even now, he never tires of you kissing his scars

Hudson

You and Hudson met in college, back when he was a shy, nerdy outcast

It's not like you were exactly popular, but you at least had some social circles to run in

He never thought someone like you would even look twice at someone like him, but...

He's been wrong before

One day you decided to give him a chance, maybe just see what his story is, and you've never looked back since

Hudson's life path calls for the utmost secrecy for nearly everything, and you've lost contact with a handful of people because of it

But you've never complained

If anything, you consider it their loss for losing you

That's how Hudson knew you were the one

You have an undefeatable, never give up attitude and can find the silver lining in just about everything you put your mind to

And of course... You indulge him in his love of head rubs

It's you and his best kept secret of all

Lazar

You've known each other since you were just kids

For him, it was puppy love at first sight, and he was crushing hard before he knew it

But... He was always insecure about his weight, being a bit chunky as a kid and all

He was afraid of rejection because of it

A shame really, since you would've loved him no matter what

But as fate would have it, you stayed friends all the way up until highschool where sports had him shedding weight like crazy

All the fluctuation has left him with stretch marks, some loose skin, and a belly pouch, but luckily growing up gave him enough confidence to make up for it

He asked you to the senior dance your last year of highschool, and later that night you shared your first kiss behind the bleachers outside

You were his first kiss ever

Lazar always knew you were the one

You've been his closest friend and biggest supporter since you were kids on a playground

He just wanted to make himself feel worthy of you first

No one else makes him feel as comfortable in his skin as you do, and only you are allowed the special honor of touching his body

A gift you exercise frequently when you cuddle him at night

Mason

Alex didn't meet you until after Vietnam and the whole... brainwashing business

After trying and trying for years only to end up with an ever growing list of failed relationships, he just assumed he was too damaged to love

Besides, he's getting a bit older now... Maybe he's just not meant to find someone

Or so he thinks

He meets you randomly in public, on an ordinary day in an ordinary place

You two happen to hit a conversation and it just keeps going and going...

Until finally you exchange numbers and begin seeing each other more frequently

And that's when Alex knows you're the one, he can just... feel it deep down

But it isn't until one, vulnerable night, when he tells you about his past and the war and.... Well, everything, that he knows for sure

With so much fear being pushed about the Russian threat and all that, he thought for sure the knowledge that he's been a brainwashed sleeper agent once would scare you away

It was a shock for sure, but... You aren't afraid of him, in fact, you feel sympathetic for his plight of anything

Alex doesn't need your sympathy, mind, but he is thankful for the empathy

That's all he wants, really

That, and someone who'll hold him through the nightmares at night

Looks like he lucked out there too :)

Park

She met you as a fellow agent through MI6

Things were purely professional for a looooong time

But she must admit though, you're quite charismatic, cunning, and frankly?

Adorable

Helen's not quite sure when the joking, friendly flirting turned serious but...

She's glad for it

You ask her out on a date first and things go well

More then well

She doesn't kiss and tell, but let's just say... She knows you're the one

You always have her back on the field and off

You're her closest friend and confident

She's breaking the rules by cluing you in on the goings on with the hunt for perseus and all, but there's no one here she trusts more for feedback and brainstorming

But it's probably a good thing you're not in the safehouse, considering you almost killed someone after the skyhook debacle

She rolls her eyes at your fussing, but you swear to never let her go again

And you know what? Park may not show it, but she loves how much you care for her

Perseus

He met you back in the ussr, when he still looked like his picture

You two grew close in your service to the government, and you were one of the first people he trusted to try and recruit for his operation

When you didn't even hesitate to say yes, that's when he knew you were the one

You've already proven yourself and impressed him with your wit and integrity in your service to the ussr

In fact, few have ever stood out to him in such a way as you have

All he needed to know was if you trusted him and truly believed in a better future

Many are jelous to see you running around with the exceptionally handsome man, but perseus was never one to get hung up on looks

However, he's glad you enjoy his appearance as much as you do his mind

Together, you raise hell for the capitalists, bringing a true biting edge to the cold war threat

In return for your loyalty, he does all he can to keep you a secret, both as his lover and his accomplice

If anything happened to you like what happened to Bell...

He would take the fight to your captors himself

And they wouldn't stand a chance...

Weaver

He met you through working in Requiem

You're one of the strike team operators, but you spend a fair amount of time talking with the consultants and himself back at base

Weaver finds you a little intimidating, but in a good kind of way

Sort of how he use to be back in the day

When he realizes he may or may not have a little thing for you, he suddenly becomes very shy

He's afraid to try and make a move on you because surely rejection would be the only outcome?

After all, he's way too far past his prime by now, missing an eye and slowly letting himself fall out of shape

It's a mess

So why haven't you just moved on from him yet...?

Doctor Grey seems strangely invested in this little one sided romance, so with a bit of help, he manages to ask you out for coffee

The last thing he expected was for you to say yes

It's not until the day that you almost don't make it back to base that he realizes how very much you mean to him

Weaver stays with you as frequently as he can while you recover and can often be found cuddling you in your med bay bed (bc why the hell not?) or at home

He has to pull back a little on visiting you in the med bay however

He's starting to get teased for how much he loves all the head pets, jaw scratches, and tummy rubs you give him while you're bored and resting

Carver has now begun addressing him as "Fido" with no end in sight

Woods

He meets you out at the marine base he spends all his time at

It was one of the many occasions that he was doing target practice at the range, and he today he's caught you watching him

At first he honestly didn't think much of it, but of course he took the opportunity to show off a little

He succeeded in managing to lure you over with his skills, where you came to stroke his ego a bit

For that, he offers to show you some pointers and before either of you know it, target practice together becomes a regular occurance

From there, anything more social is up to you to initiate

He's a bit taken aback when you invite him out to do something off base sometime, but... He accepts

Once out of his element, he's like a whole other person

You're surprised to find that he's a lot more shy and little more warm towards you

You find it adorable

That starts the slippery path to how he knows you're the one

You're the only person he truly feels like he can be himself with

Everyone else expects the hardened sargent, and while that is still him...

He never feels like he has an opportunity to share his softer side

You can never complain about being cold or lonely with him around

Frank loves nothing more then cuddling with you whenever and wherever he can

Not only is it just, well, nice, to have the human contact, but it makes him feel like he gets to protect you

And nothing makes him happier then to see you safe :)

#black ops cold war #call of duty #russell adler x reader #frank woods x reader #jason hudson x reader #helen park x reader #eleazar azoulay x reader #lazar x reader #perseus x reader #grigori weaver x reader #alex mason x reader

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unbridgeabledistances · 3 years

Note

ian + mickeys neck (was thinking of the drunk ian fic and wondered if you would be interested in pursuing this idea further?) <3

anon i am CRYING thank u so much for this!!!! i have been feeling like i need to make my contribution to the “mickey’s neck” discourse for a while lmao and this is my opportunity (esp bc ian holding mickey in the 11x12 stills wrecked me)

in the spirit of following up 11x10 i decided to write this based on an amazing post @mickey-millagher made/a prompt that @pombby sent me about ian teaching mickey to swim at a public pool during lockdown at some point early s11- i hope u enjoy<3

(this is the tiniest notch steamier than what i usually write but it isn’t smutty fyi- tw for descriptions of choking😌)

There was no one at the park— the air hung heavy and humid over the empty picnic tables and wooden benches that punctuated the fields of dying grass. As much as people on the Southside were definitely not taking any part of this lockdown shit seriously, it didn’t surprise Ian how silent the public park was— there was still a scarcer number of people out on their stoops or lounging on street corners this summer. Ian guessed that the few people who didn’t think that this was a hoax realized that this COVID shit was serious enough that they couldn’t afford healthcare if they got it, or whatever— but regardless, that meant that this Southside summer was weirdly stagnant somehow, and felt different from the noisy and crowded rhythms of summers past.

It was the late morning, just as the air started heat like a convection oven as the sun rose over the skyline— and Ian had his heart set on teaching Mickey to swim today. The conversation had come up last night at dinnertime, when Debbie was complaining about the heat wave— and they had all started reminiscing about the rickety, tin-sided pool they used to put up in the backyard years ago until Carl had taken a hatchet to it when he was 11 when he was trying to tear it down. Sitting next to Mickey at the kitchen table, thighs pressed where their chairs were scooted close together, Ian had suddenly remembered his words from their road trip to the border, years ago now:

“You could try swimming across the border.”

“I never learned how, man.”

And he’d immediately opened his mouth, not catching the words before they moved from his brain to his mouth, and asked Mickey in the middle of the dinnertime chatter: “Hey Mick, did you ever actually learn to swim?”

It was funny, and arbitrary, and stupid; they were married now, but for some reason this small fact about Mickey, the fact that he used to not know how to swim and by now he might have learned without Ian’s knowledge, made something warm pool in Ian’s stomach. He’d known Mickey, and had been itching to be closer and closer to him, for a full decade—and there were still so many things that he didn’t know. And this was proof, this question that Ian still didn’t have the answer to about some weirdly fundamental aspect of Mickey’s identity— he was always going to want to keep asking things about Mickey. And he was always going to get to.

Mickey had looked him with daggers in his eyes, then flickered a defensive glance at all the smirks growing on Ian’s siblings’ faces. “Fuck you. I was doing plenty of other shit in Mexico, didn’t really get the chance to lounge on the fucking beach.”

Ian had reached under the table and placed a hand on Mickey’s knee—a peace offering, an apology for whatever Mickey-can’t-swim quips Carl and Lip would inevitably think up as a low blow the next time they all butted heads at breakfast time— but as the chatter about backyard pools and heat waves continued at the dinner table, Ian felt an idea stirring.

Which is why the next morning he’d woken his husband up by pressing a tender kiss to his jawbone, both of their skin damp and clammy from the heat in the stuffy bedroom, and whispered into his neck:

“I wanna try something today.”

Mickey’s mind had immediately veered in… other directions, his eyebrows raising in vaguely disappointed disbelief when Ian had explained his idea to go to the public pool and teach Mickey to swim with an exuberant grin on his face; but after some very enticing morning persuasion that had a lot to do with the fact that Mickey was still half asleep while Ian had pressed kisses down his spine and dragged him out of bed and handed him a pair of swim trunks, now they were at the public pool in the nearest park at midday, with Ian leading the way and Mickey dubiously and sleepily straggling behind him.

Ian slid open the lock on the chain-link fence that surrounded the pool, the same pool that was usually crawling with groups of teenagers smoking weed and toddlers in floaties who were sticky with melted ice cream on a summer day like today. And maybe he was just all hopped up on nostalgia, but Ian was feeling cheerful— there was a lightness to the blinding summer sunshine, radiating through him as it pooled on his skin, that made him feel weirdly exhilarated and giddy about teaching Mickey to swim in this grimy Southside pool, just because he could.

“I still can’t believe you never learned how to swim.” Ian said it over his shoulder as he strode through the gate, holding it open for Mickey.

Mickey just flipped him off, following behind him and setting down two towels and the 6-pack of beers he’d grabbed from the fridge as they’d shuffled out the door minutes before. Ian grinned. He knew the beers would be warm and syrupy in minutes—the air was muggy and humid, without any hint of a breeze for relief. Ian could already feel the sweat dripping down the back of his t-shirt; he peeled it off as he walked over the sunwarmed concrete towards the pool’s edge, crumpling the shirt and throwing it on top of the pile with the beers and the towels. Mickey was hesitant, not following Ian to the border of the water just yet.

“Seriously. I can’t count the number of times I was shoved into our bacteria-infested backyard pool when I was a kid. I’m pretty sure that Frank tried to drown me in there at one point.”

Mickey just shrugged noncommittally, his fingers slack around the bottom hem of his shirt and his eyes zeroing in on the pool of water. Ian thought Mickey would say something in reply— but the only sound in the air was the faint shouting of kids playing a basketball game the street over.

Holy shit. Ian had been so buoyant and excited about his nostalgia-fueled idea of going to the public pool on a summer day and teaching his husband to swim, dragging Mickey out of the house without a second thought, that he hadn’t realized it until now— Mickey was scared.

Ian swallowed down the grin that was threatening to overtake his face— one he knew that Mickey would immediately notice and hate, because he it drove him crazy when people gave him shit in vulnerable moments like this, when Mickey couldn’t do something. So instead Ian kept talking, hoping his chatter would loosen some of Mickey’s nerves.

“Didn’t you and your brothers ever go down to the other pool over on Trumbull?”

Mickey met Ian’s eyes then, raising an annoyed eyebrow. “Clearly not.”

And, okay. This was understandably bringing up some childhood shit. Ian tried to snap Mickey out of his head— he strode over to where Mickey was standing, a good six feet from the poolside, and snaked a hand onto the back of his neck, squeezing gently in what he hoped was a grounding and comforting touch that would drain the trepidation from Mickey’s defensive stance.

“One summer Debbie was so afraid of getting drowned at the public pool that she learned how to hold her breath for 4 minutes.” Ian grinned at the memory of Debbie dunking her head in a tub of water in the kitchen, making him and Lip time her. “Honestly, it was probably for the best you never went to the public pool. It was a shit show.”

Mickey scoffed, but the lightness was back in his eyes. “If I knew how to swim back in the day I probably woulda been the one doing the drowning.”

Ian barked out a laugh— and why did he immediately turn back into his 15-year-old self, with a god-awful crush on Mickey Milkovich, whenever Mick said shit like that? He pressed his lips into a smile, squeezing Mickey’s shoulder once more for good measure.

“Yeah, yeah. Okay, king of the Southside. You ready to get in the water?” Ian’s hand trailed down from its grasp on Mickey’s shoulderblades, dropping to encircle Mickey’s wrist and guide him towards the water.

Mickey immediately recoiled, yanking his hand from Ian’s hold and taking a step back, squinting and holding up a hand to block the bright rays of sun out of his eyes now that he wasn’t standing in Ian’s shadow.

“Fuck d’you mean? I’m not just gonna fucking hop in there and drown. You gotta show me what to do.”

Ian grinned again, without being able to hold it back. He knew what Mickey was like when he was afraid of something— defensive and grumbly and avoidant to touch. He rolled his eyes. “Can’t really teach you to swim when we’re not in the water, Mick. C’mon.”

Ian walked over to sit on the edge, then slid his torso down into the pool. The water was lukewarm and tepid, barely providing any relief from the sticky air— but it felt nice. Ian let out a little breath of relief from the heat as he waded over to the shallow end. Mickey was still standing by the mound of the towels the ground, watching him warily. Ian raised his eyebrows.

“You coming?”

Rolling his eyes, Mickey aggravatedly pulled off his shirt, tossing it behind him— sunrays bounced off of Mickey’s pale skin, owing mostly to the fact that Mickey had barely left the house in the last few weeks because of their prolonged “honeymoon.” He slowly walked to the very edge of the pool and, in a movement that made Ian’s heart grow ten sizes, hesitantly dipped a toe into the water like a cat trying to paw at something. A corner of Mickey’s mouth flickered downwards almost imperceptibly, a worry line sprouting on his forehead.

“I don’t know, man.”

Ian breathed out a laugh. Leave it to Mickey Milkovich, shit-talking king of the Southside, to be afraid of the shallow end of a public pool. Ian reached out a hand in what he hoped was a comforting gesture, still smiling like a sappy motherfucker at his painfully endearing husband.

“C’mon Mick, just stand here with me first.” Ian was waist-deep in the shallow end, the water pressing against his upper thighs— he knew that at this height the water would be at Mickey’s waist, right where his swim trunks met his hipbones.

Mickey’s brows furrowed from where he was still perched on the concrete lip of the pool ledge, his two feet firmly rooted. “Explain what I gotta do first. To swim, or whatever.”

Ian blew out a breath, still grinning like an idiot. “It’s not that hard, Mick. You just gotta circle your arms and circle your legs. But you have to get in the water first.”

Ian treaded over, pushing through the water to where he could rest his upper arms on the edge of the pool beside where Mickey was standing, staring up at him with what he hoped was a convincingly pleading face. Mickey’s eyes were still fixated on the water, lapping at the pool’s edge from where Ian had rippled through it. And suddenly Ian had an idea.

With a teasing grin, he reached a wet hand out from the water and encircled it around Mickey’s ankle, splattering the concrete with drops of water. Mickey immediately jerked like an electric shock had jolted through his body.

“You gonna come in, or do I have to make you?”

Mickey tried to shake his ankle out of Ian’s grasp, but Ian had hold of him with an iron fist. Mickey leaned over and tried to swat at Ian’s arm without losing his balance on the pool’s edge.

“Cut that shit out right now, Gallagher.”

Ian just grinned, squeezing Mickey’s ankle like he was about to tug him in. “Come on, Mick.”

Mickey’s eyes widened and, just as Ian had imagined he would— he started to freak the fuck out.

“Ian stop that shit right now, I swear to god I will fucking murder you if you—”

They were at the 6-foot marker in the pool, right where it was deep enough for Mickey to stand on the very tips of his toes; and with this knowledge, Ian tugged at Mickey’s calf— causing him to falter, his arms circling like a cartoon character before he lost his balance and crashed into the water on his side.

Ian immediately placed his hands on Mickey’s hips, standing him upright before his head even fell under the water— but Mickey was still sputtering and splashing, like the drama queen that he was. Once Mickey regained his composure and realized he was easily standing on the bottom of the pool, his head bobbing just above the water, he swiftly splashed healthy burst of water into Ian’s face, the chlorine stinging his eyes and nose.

“Fuck you, Gallagher!”

Ian coughed at the water that had shot up his nose, but immediately splashed Mickey back—and then, because there wasn’t any way this whole pool situation was going to go anyways, he and Mickey were immediately engaged in a life-and-death splash battle, circling each other in the middle section of the pool.

Ian was laughing so hard he felt a stitch in his side— and Mickey was finally grinning again, water dripping down his cheeks and clinging to his hair. After a few minutes Ian threw his hands in the air in surrender, the water cresting at his shoulders.

“Truce!”

Mickey splashed one more surge of water at Ian’s chest for good measure, grinning like a kid in a candy store— then he took a step closer to Ian, eyebrows raised.

“Truce.”

Ian beamed down at him, pressing a quick peck to the top of his damp hair. “Sorry for throwing you in the pool.”

Mickey rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah.”

“But in my defense, it had to happen eventually.”

Mickey shoved him squarely in the chest, taking a step back. “You ruined the fucking truce.”

Ian gave a smug smirk. “Do you wanna learn how to swim, or not?”

Mickey flicked another burst of water at him, just enough to cast a slew of droplets onto Ian’s cheeks. “Alright. Get coaching, Michael Phelps.”

Ian hadn’t really considered how he was actually going to teach Mickey to swim— but it couldn’t be that hard, right? He tried to think back to when Lip had taught him how to tread water, on an equally as sweltering day in the backyard pool, when the yard was packed with lawn chairs and drunk neighbors and smelled of ashy barbeque smoke.

“Okay. So you’ve gotta move your arms in circles, kinda, to stay floating. And your legs too.”

Ian swam over to the deeper end of the pool, just an arm’s length away from where he and Mickey’s feet could touch, and tried to demonstrate how to tread water. “I feel like the easiest way for you to learn is just by doing it. C’mere.”

Mickey looked at him reluctantly, brows furrowed again in an outward display of his bundled nerves. “No fucking way.”

Ian sighed in exasperation. “C’mon, Mick. I’ve got you. I’m not gonna let you drown, you can hold on to me the whole time.”

Mickey raised an eyebrow— but then hesitantly took a step towards Ian, the water reaching up to the bottom of his chin.

“Alright, good. Now step where you can’t reach and try to tread water like I did.”

Mickey stepped forward again, then started to circle his arms under the water— and he was doing great, for a second, before he seemed to get too in his head about the mechanics and started to grit his teeth.

“Little help here, Gallagher?”

Ian grinned and stepped forward. “Here, you can hang onto me.” He stood where Mickey could reach and grab onto his shoulders if he needed to— but Mickey seemed to regain his confidence, and was starting to steadily, if a little bit clumsily, tread water.

He kept it up for a while, until Ian could see that he was overexerting himself— waving his arms under the water with a little too much gusto, brows furrowed and his teeth digging into his lower lip in concentration.

“Mick, you’ve got it. Chill out for a sec.”

Ian reached an arm out, a branch for Mickey to grab on to— because he had been joking before, yes, but he really didn’t want Mickey to fucking drown— and when Mickey grasped onto it, Ian pulled Mickey towards him in the water, kicking backwards so they were suspended in the deeper end of the pool with Mickey clinging to Ian’s neck.

Mickey looked nervous as Ian veered them towards deeper waters, his eyes darting from side to side where they were floating, his fingers digging into the back of Ian’s neck— and Ian smirked at how freaked out he seemed, standing only a few feet from where they could both confidently stand on the tiled pool bottom. But Mickey didn’t resist, or try to propel himself back into the shallower waters— he let himself cling on to Ian, fingers interlaced behind the tops of Ian’s shoulders, as he kept them afloat. Ian laughed softly in a warm, wet gust across Mickey’s cheek. “You okay?”

He could feel the heat radiating off of Mickey’s body, squeezing up close against him— and Ian couldn’t help it, the wave of fondness that came over him as he looked down at where Mickey was pressed against his chest; trusting Ian to keep them above the water, trusting Ian enough to go along with his stupid plan to teach him to swim in a public pool on a random morning just because Ian wanted to. Ian couldn’t help but feel warmth in his stomach at this simple moment, at the two of them bobbing in the pool— at teaching his husband to swim, something Mickey’d never gotten to do as a kid but something that they had the rest of their lives to do together.

“Maybe we could teach Franny to swim next summer. If we have our own place.”

As he said it, Ian hoped that Mickey could see the flood of hopes that he had for them in his eyes— that he wanted a place with a pool, and a balcony, maybe a backyard, and maybe even a fucking garden—he’d always wanted to grow tomatoes. More than anything he wanted to build something sturdy, that could stand up to whatever ground would inevitably shift beneath them in the years to come— he’d been thinking about that a lot these days, especially with all of the pandemic shit that had pulled a rug out from under this entire neighborhood.

Mickey’s gaze flickered up from where it had been boring a panicky hole in Ian’s sternum, meeting Ian’s eyes at the phrase “our own place”— and Ian instantly knew that he got it, that he could see the dreams that Ian was building for the two of them right in front of their eyes. That after months and years of obstacles and chaos and other voices infiltrating their heads, now it was just them— now it was just Ian and Mickey, clinging to each other and drifting through the calm, chlorinated waters.

And maybe it was their proximity, or the intensity Ian knew he was pouring out in his gaze, but instantly the air between them shifted as Mickey looked up— starting to hang heavy like the press of the humidity in the air. Their faces were centimeters apart— and Mickey’s lips parted slightly, his eyes now cast downward at Ian’s lips. Ian could smell the sweet, warm beer on Mickey’s breath, mingling with his own; he looked at Mickey, whose arms were still wrapped around his neck, water dripping down his face from the hair that was fanning over his forehead—and Ian just had to pull him in, had to place a hand in the damp hair at the nape of Mickey’s neck and tug him closer, backing them against the tiled wall of the pool.

Ian could taste the faintest bitterness of chlorine on Mickey’s lips, from the water droplets lingering there, as he took Mickey’s bottom lip between his teeth. Mickey’s hands were still limply wrapped around Ian’s neck, keeping himself afloat— even though Ian had backed them against a wall in the shallow end of the pool again, and Mickey could probably touch his toes to the ground if he wanted to.

Ian raised his hand from under the water, wanting Mickey closer— he pressed a hand to the side of Mickey’s neck, slick with water, and slid a thumb over Mickey’s collarbone, pressing down with the pad of his fingers.

And Mickey gave a little involuntary noise from the back of his throat, sending a jolt down Ian’s spine.

Ian’s hands circling Mickey’s neck was definitely not a foreign concept while they were kissing— it was something they did a lot these days, especially as their hours in bed had taken a turn from the crazed, I-missed-your-body-so-fucking-much sex they were having in the beginning days of being in prison together and those early months after Mickey had gotten released— but both in prison and during this fucking quarantine, they’d gotten a bit more experimental, and a bit more reckless—especially before Ian had gotten his warehouse job and they were still on their structureless “honeymoon,” spending entire days lounging in bed.

It was those days of lazy, languid kisses, after years and years of already knowing each other, that Ian realized that he was maybe a little bit obsessed with Mickey’s neck. He’d always joked about liking Mickey’s legs, and that was true too (if he was being honest, there wasn’t a part of Mickey’s body that didn’t make his blood run hotter)— but the first time Mickey had grabbed Ian’s hand and put it up to his neck while they were tangled together, pressing down until Ian’s hand covered most of his throat, Ian knew that they’d opened Pandora’s fucking box.

By this point, Ian’s hand was pretty much always on Mickey’s neck at some point while they were fucking or even just making out— if he was being totally honest, Ian’s hand was on Mickey’s neck more often than not in lots of contexts these days, once they realized how much they both loved it. But there was something about this current moment, of Mickey wantonly desiring a point of contact there, right now, while they were very randomly and decidedly making out while floating in a public pool on a lazy weekday afternoon, that made Ian’s blood run hotter than usual, and rush quicker through his veins.

Ian let the pads of his fingers creep up the velvet skin of the side of Mickey’s neck, pressing a little deeper, a prelude— he could feel the vibration of Mickey’s heartbeat starting to flutter from where Mickey was still pressed against his chest, still clinging to his neck in the water.

They’d already extensively discussed limits and everything, Mickey would tap his wrist twice if shit got too intense— but even with that in mind, Ian pulled apart from Mickey for a second, trailing ghosts of kisses up the side of his neck and nipping at the underside of Mickey’s jaw. Mickey stretched his neck back and gave a little involuntary sputter of a moan, bubbling out of his mouth before he could stop it. He fisted a hand in Ian’s hair, at the nape of his neck, and leaned forward again to press their lips together with more fervor.

Ian pulled back again, his upper back resting against the concrete lip of the pool. Mickey looked disheveled and wrecked, half-dry chlorine-crusted hair sticking up from where Ian’s other hand had been cradling the back of his head, his blue eyes gleaming and catching the over-bright summer light. Mickey was still clinging his arms around Ian’s neck, holding on— they were in a fucking pool, and Mickey still couldn’t really fucking swim yet— and even though they were standing in a place where Mickey’s toes could certainly touch the ground, the whole thing felt weirdly insular and intimate, like they had to cling to each other.

Mickey raised his eyebrows at Ian, like he was daring him to keep going.

Ian leaned forward, breathing heavily into Mickey’s mouth, but not pressing their lips together yet—and he reached a hand up again, against Mickey’s tender skin. Mickey’s legs were wrapped around Ian’s hips now, locked like a vice to keep himself upright in the water— and he pressed a little harder, gently pulsing at the sides of Mickey’s neck, in tandem with their lips pressing together over and over again as the warm waters surrounded them—the whole thing, the whole combination, made Ian feel indescribably floaty and weird and warm and blissed out; his skin stinging like ice and fire at every point of contact, electricity zapping his nerve endings wherever his fingertips met Mickey’s skin. Mickey fisted his hand harder at the back of Ian’s hair, nodding slightly—and they were definitely not going to fuck here, in the filth of a Southside public pool, but this insular closeness, the knowing what they both wanted to right now, was equally as thrilling and fulfilling to Ian in the moment. He could almost feel his own heart beating, reverberating as it pressed against Mickey’s chest, vibrating straight through Mickey and back to him as they clung to each other in the water.

Mickey’s body was thrumming, letting out little gasps of breath between kisses and touches—and Ian pulled back and dragged his lips down the side of Mickey’s neck, inhaling the sunwarmed skin. Fuck. He was never, never going to get enough of this.

Later, they’d dragged their water-heavy limbs back through the still summer streets to the Gallagher house, their skin pink and their bodies exhausted from soaking up the sun— and they’d collapsed into bed, feeling the dried chlorine coating their skin.

Ian reached a hand up, rubbing a thumb over Mickey’s cheek, their bodies pliant and fatigued— and pressed a kiss to his forehead.

“Thanks for letting me teach you how to swim.”

Mickey had smirked. “Yup, that was definitely the only highlight of today. Swimming.”

#a fluffy premise AND ian being obsessed with mickey’s neck??#what more could u want #*blows kiss to elias and stella* for u #also yes i did have a word document on my computer titled ‘neck fic’#what about it #ty for the prompt anon this was truly an experience to write #ily<3 #gallavich #gallavich fic #shameless #shameless imagine #ian gallagher #mickey milkovich #ian and mickey #ian x mickey #ixm #gallavich fanfiction #cw choking

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quellmythirst · 3 years

Text

Summer Days and Summer Nights Part 19

Summary: Living in the city can get pretty boring, your hoping that this season is more interesting than the last. Although living in a tiny flat with your little brother certainly isn’t helping matters.

Characters: You (reader) x Billy Russo.

Warnings: Swearing, Fluff. Fluff.

Word Count: 1.2k+

{Part 18}

If you are under 18 DNI. Anyone under 18 can please FUCK OFF NOW. This ain’t for you. I do not consent to my works being copied, shared or rewritten.

An: I stayed up past my bedtime to get this done. I hope you enjoy it. This is the last one before the end. I feel like its getting worse, the longer I'm in lockdown, sorry. LOVE YOU

"I'm here to see Mr Russo," you said to Billy's new assistant Carly, her name tag read, holding the lunch you had brought to share with him.

"Do you have an appointment?"

“Nup,”

“Then I'm afraid Mr Russo is too busy today to see you.” she brushed you off, putting her attention back to her computer.

“Just call him, he’ll want to see me,” smiling through gritted teeth at the woman.

“Excuse me?” Her tone is quite argumentative, though you couldn't blame her. You had only met her once before.

“Just tell him his lunch is here,” trying to keep the polite tone in your voice.

“Mr Russo said he didn’t want any interruptions today. Leave it here and I'll take it to Mr Russo,” You noticed the way she smiled when she said his name. You didn't like that one bit.

“OK, I'll call him.” You said, pulling out your phone and dialing Billy's number, a shit eating grin plastered across your face. He answered immediately.

“Hello Sweetheart, how's your day going?”

“Could be better, but I'm having a bit of trouble.” you grinned at the young woman who was glaring at you.

“What's wrong?” his voice was a little panicked.

“Why don't you come to your door and see?” He hung up and you saw the look of terror on Carly’s face, you smiled kindly at her. Your lips tight to keep your comments to yourself.

“What seems to be the problem?” Billy asked when he opened his office door, staring down at his assistant.

“Mr Russo, sir. This woman doesn't have an appointment and I know you're very busy today,” He looked at you and then at her, “she doesn't need one do you Sweetheart,” he smiled wrapping you into a soft kiss.

“Brought you lunch,” you said into his kiss,”you've been working too hard, thought you'd be hungry,”Stepping back Billy gestured for you to enter.

“Hope you brought enough for Frank,” he kissed your cheek as you passed him. You heard his stern voice from where you stood, “Never keep her from me again,” his voice low as he threatened Carly.

“Hey Frankie,” you smiled at the man, sitting across from Billy’s desk, “Ready for this weekend?” you asked him.

“Yeah, it should be good. Karen's been talking about it all week.”

Taking out the containers in your bag you set them on the desk, organising everyone's servings, you all eat together. Discussing the plans for the weekend. You had organised for everyone to come up to the lake house. Cooper was excited to finally see it, so was Karen. Though you expected she had already been there, considering how well it was decorated the last time you were there.

With Coop and Hudson in the back seat you drove up to the lake house. Karen and Frank were going to be meeting you there, after Karen finished her latest deadline. The drive up was filled with singing as the 4 of you sang along with the radio. The treeline grows thicker the closer you get. Pulling into the clearing, you heard Cooper audibly gasp “This is beautiful,” he sighed.

"Come on, I'll show you guys to your room," taking your bag from the back of the car.

"I've got that," Billy smiles down at you, snatching the bag from your hand. You reached up kissing him softly on the cheek.

Showing the dudes inside you lead them to the room downstairs that you had set up with a double bed for them to sleep in. You spent the afternoon drinking and chatting until the rest of the party arrived at sunset.

“Why don't you guys light the fire?” you suggested, the men crowding around like teenagers. Karen sat next to you, sipping on her glass of wine.

“Wanna play a game?”

“OK?”

“Truth or dare”

“Mmm,” you thought, tapping your finger on your chin, “truth!”

“What is your favourite thing about Billy?” you gave her a look, like really Karen?

“Just one?” She nodded at you, “I love the way I can always feel him when he's around,”

“Ok?” she eyes the way he’s currently watching you.

“Not like that,” you slap her playfully, “like this invisible line that connects us when we're close.”

“That's, that's disgusting,” rolling her eyes at you.

“Hudson!” you point at him, “Truth or dare,”

“Dare!” he jumps up excitedly.

“Dare you to climb that tree.” He does, he even does a good job at it. Show off. You play games and get wasted until everyone filters off to bed and it's just you and Billy left by the fire.

“Hey, wanna take a walk?” Billy asked, taking your hand.

“Let's go,” you stand wrapping a blanket around yourself.

“There was something I wanted to ask you,” Billy said, leading you with a hand on your back.

“What is it?”

“Your parents, you and Cooper never really talk about them.” he asked, his gaze fixed in front of him.

“And you never really talk about your childhood or your time overseas,” you state, in an airy kind of way. You don’t want to push him.

“Fair, I wish I got to meet them”

“Me too. They would have liked you, you got the next best thing though.” squeezing his hands.

“Oh?”

“Yeh, Karen's been babying me since I got to the city. So she's like a mom.”

“Haha ok,” he laughed, easing the tension your conversation was causing. The lake was twinkling with the stars' reflection as you walked around hand in hand, the crisp night aid warded off by your blanket. You strolled down to the jelly that jut into the small lake, the moon reflected perfectly on the clear surface, Billy's face littered in soft moonlight, an angel in the night.

“About you know, the stuff I don't talk about.” he muttered, turning to face you.

“It's ok, we can talk when you're ready. I can wait.”

“I- I didn't have a great childhood and my time in the Marines and with Frank, it-” he paused trying to think of the right words, his fist clenching at his side, those perfect brows drawing closer by the second. The struggle on his face is evident. You dropped the blanket and wrapped your arms around him.

“It's ok, like I said I can wait,” you reassured him, staring into his beautiful eyes.

“Thank you,” you felt the coldness of tears falling down onto your cheek.

“We're supposed to be having fun,” you said, holding onto him tighter as you fling you both into the lake. The icy water chilling you to your bones

“What was that for?” Billy’s voice shook from the cold when he breached the surface.

“Your brain looked broken, I gave it a hard reset,” You giggled.

“Oh you're gunna get it now,” he threatened swimming after you.

“No! no!” you fake cried, slowly swimming away so he could catch you. You peered around but couldn't see him, something touched your leg, a hand moving around his warm body.

“Now that I've captured the lady in the lake, where's my sword so I can be King in there's ere lands,” he joked as you clung to his shoulders.

“Honey, you already got the sword that makes you king,” You laughed, kissing him deeply.

{Part 20}

#billy russo imagine #reader x billy russo #billy russo x you #female!reader x billy russo #billy russo fanfiction #billy russo x reader #billy russo fanfic #the punisher fanfic

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alreadyblondenow · 4 years

Text

And he never heard from her again

▸ Jaehyun x reader ▸ Smut, Angst, Idol au

Summary: As you lay at the hospital bed unconscious, Jaehyun blames himself because of the accident and regrets the time when he took you for granted.

Word count: 4k

Warnings: Sex, sex, car accident, major character loss (that spoils everything but you’ve been warned), possessiveness, making of sex tape, mentions of multiple sex tapes, swearing, mentions of other idols, unprotected sex, mentions of alcohol, Jaehyun accidentally hurts the reader. Click away if any of the warnings makes you uncomfortable.

A/N: PURE FICTION! Enjoy another idol au from me.

Wet.

Minty.

Cold.

“Wake up sleepy head” your boyfriend spreads wet kisses around your exposed skin. Anything he could reach, your neck, your thighs, your lips. It feels good to be showered with love first thing in the morning but you shrug him off and pull the blanket over your head because you want to sleep more. “I’m sorry to disturb your sleep princess, but it’s time to go now” you smell his fresh breath near your face. And when you finally meet his eyes, your boyfriend is all dressed up, ready to start his schedules for today.

“Oh Jung Jaehyun, you have worn me out last night” you whine but you force yourself to wake up. Jaehyun is looking at your morning face and naked body, admiring the beauty of his girlfriend. “No shower sex today?” he gave you a good morning kiss and chuckled at your question.

“No, sleeping beauty. If only you got up a little early then, yeah we could have. But, you were sleeping so soundly I couldn’t wake you up. Now come on, have breakfast with me before the van arrives with my manager” he offers you his hand to help you get up, giving you his robe to cover yourself.

It was your second anniversary last night and you two had dinner in one of the fanciest restaurants in Seoul. The food was amazing as expected, Jaehyun picked a fine wine which made you two a little buzzed and ended up in his house and had crazy anniversary sex to end the night.

Dating a very famous kpop star like Jaehyun is not a walk in the park. But loving each other and giving the relationship a chance is always worth it. The busy schedule is something you and Jaehyun always fight about, but as you two keep on holding on you both managed your busy schedules and always meet each other halfway just so you can spend time with each other. Who would have thought that believing that your relationship could work brought you two deeper into loving each other?

After you had your shower, Jaehyun booked you a cab to make sure you get home safely. You see, even for Jaehyun, watching you leave every morning is something he really hates. “Call me when you’re home okay? I’ll pick up, I’m having my makeup done by that time” he kissed you deeply and passionately before he opens the door for you and watches you get inside the cab.

Soon, the white van appears in front of his house and Jaehyun said goodbye to his family thanking them once again for letting you and him crash for the night. His family always adored you, they love you even more because you take care of their dear Jaehyun and secretly hoping that it’s going to be the two of you in the end.

When Jaehyun is all settled and getting his make up done for NCT’s schedule for today, his phone rang and it was a call from you. Finally, he thought, his mood changed from quiet to giggly because you did not forget to call him. “I’m guessing you missed me already, that’s why you called?” he answers with a smile, the members beside him tease him continuously. He needed to gesture a ’shh’ sign because he can’t hear you.

“I’m sorry Mr. Jung but this is not Ms. Y/n. She got into a car accident this morning and we can’t reach anyone from her family. She is rushed to the Asan Medical Center. Your number is the only local number we could find if you could please-“

The shocking news made Jaehyun drop his phone and ran to his manager, asking him to please let him go to the hospital to see you. Jaehyun was desperate but the managers can’t let him go just like that. Spotting a kpop star inside a hospital can make a whole nation buzz, of course, they won’t let Jaehyun go to you. There are tears in his eyes as he imagines you alone and unconscious in a hospital bed while the members are trying to help him compose himself and tells him to be strong but Jaehyun was only quick to blame himself and cry some more. “This is all my fault”

Twenty five months ago

Jung Jaehyun is mighty handsome.

The office is having an exclusive party at an open space rooftop bar. The party was not like any loud party, it's a party where people still talk about business and meet possible clients for the future. And meeting Jung Jaehyun and the other members of NCT 127 and their manager, is part of the purpose of this party.

And again, Jung Jaehyun is might handsome.

“How long have you been in the marketing industry?” he asks, leaning on the glass balcony with you. Looking at the wonderful view of Seoul.

“Long enough to be established?” you chuckled because you don’t want to sound so boastful with your life achievements.

For a minute it was an exchange of words, a decent conversation that’s in between being professional and being friends, but it soon turned to lowkey flirting and exchanging of glances. He tells you what’s on his mind, you listen and feel your heart skip a beat every time he look into your eyes and smile. “Can I be frank?” he licks his lips and drank from his bottle of beer, “I find you attractive and I want to keep talking to you and I want to know what you think about me- and don’t you dare lie, please”

You let out a scoff and smiled at him shyly, “Well, Jung Jaehyun you’re incredibly handsome. That has been going on through my head since I saw you earlier and you’ve been making my heart skip a beat for the last few minutes”

Satisfied with your answer, he came closer to you slowly. Like your bodies are magnets. You’re sure that the place isn’t quiet but this small space that you share with Jaehyun is dead silent. Only his breaths and yours are the only ones you can hear. Having this kind of moment with Jaehyun is kind of magical like you’re a princess who just met his destined prince in a ball.

The friendly and flirty conversation became something even more when Jaehyun became too bold with telling you how he wanted to end this night with you, when he pressed his cold bottle of beer just above your knee and when he starts caressing your shoulder like he’s not on a public place. You’re not stupid to see that he’s after having a one night stand with you. One thing led to another and the next thing you know is you’re back at your apartment, kissing Jaehyun on your couch with a long forgotten bottle of wine on the coffee table. It’s not right to sleep with your clients but nobody needs to know.

Jaehyun kissed you down on your couch, unbuttoning his dress shirt and revealing his abs to you. Your hands automatically roamed around his body and you feel him smile in between kissing you passionately. “You’re so handsome” you whisper, and guided his hand under your dress, he got the message and finger fucked you while you remove your clothes and bra, leaving your panties on to tease the handsome man kissing you.

“I’ll take you out on a date, I promise,” he says while unbuckling his belt, removing his pants and boxers brief.

Wow. He’s big. And he has a dick of a porn star, his pubic hair is so sexy and- “Oh-“ he devours your neck, biting and nibbling your ear making you giggle and laugh while your bodies grind on each other. “So this is not a one time thing?” you moan out and he stopped upon hearing your words. “What? No. Let’s see where this goes” his face was so close to yours and you can’t stop your smile because you couldn’t believe you scored Jung Jaehyun. Is this a dream?

“What’s that smile, hmm?” he nuzzles your neck and kisses it softly. You touch his dimples and lips but he’s quick to catch your hand with his mouth and kiss it. “I’m just a person who happens to be not immune by your charms. I’m not kissing you as a kpop star now, I’m kissing you as Jaehyun” he continues to spread kisses around your neck, down to your left boob, and suck it for some time.

“Can I remove your panties?” he asks oh so sweetly.

“Of course” you answer with a kiss and feel him remove your underwear without breaking the kiss. Once fully exposed, you feel his slender fingers play with your slit before he goes in finally, the tip of his cock making you jolt for a bit. You hear Jaehyun grunt and watch as his eyes close and part his lips as he pushes inside you slowly “Fuck” Jaehyun went straight to the point and fucks you deeply. Bodies to bodies while listening to each other’s breaths.

You had sex for the first time on your couch on the night you two first met.

Present time

“Just sign here please, then your transaction is complete”

For the third time in the past two months, Jaehyun has been paying your hospital bills and has been taking care of you, while your family is finalizing some heavy paperwork before flying to Seoul. Not that he’s thankful for the awful accident, but the accident had become the way for Jaehyun to finally meet your family even if it’s through a video call. Jaehyun promised your parents to take care of everything while waiting for them and that he’ll gladly pay for the hospital bills and refuse to take your parent’s cash.

It’s been two months since the accident and every day without you is consistent torture for Jaehyun. As long as you’re not awake, he will never stop worrying for you. It doesn’t matter if he overworked himself to save money for the bills, as long it saves you he’s up for it.

Ever since the accident, Jaehyun and the other members help him look after you at the hospital. Of course, the members are worried about Jaehyun’s emotional state as they are worried about your condition. They made sure that you two get the emotional and physical support that you and Jaehyun need. SM managers were all nice and helped Jaehyun with everything they can just so your boyfriend can see you every day.

It was not an easy fight for Jaehyun, but the people around him take care of him, while he takes care of you.

“The other two victims from the accident passed away this morning” Jaehyun informs Johnny as the two sit quietly near you. Watching his girlfriend on a hospital bed is a different kind of pain. He misses you a lot.

“Don’t overthink dude. She will be fine” to be honest Johnny doesn’t know how to comfort his friend.

As Jaehyun takes Johnny’s advice, he reminisces about the memories that he had with you. Everything, from happy memories to sad and awful ones. Regretting the times that he took you for granted and promised over and over again that if he’s given a second chance to love you, he will love you right this time.

“I wished for this accident to happen Johnny. It’s my fault” Jaehyun blurted out.

Johnny was shocked to the core and stopped what he’s doing with his phone, “What the fuck?”

Jaehyun told Johnny the story about the biggest fight you two had during the months when you were just a new couple. So new that your work schedules irritate the both of you and all you two did was have sex and forget the problem. The cycle went on and on until you had enough and you wanted to break up with him.

Five months of being together

In the middle of having dinner with Jaehyun in a private restaurant, you finally told him what you’ve been keeping inside your heart. “This will never work, Jae” he turned silent and pretends that he’s not hearing you and you find it disrespectful. He was smiling the whole time, asking you what do you want for dessert and pour you a glass of wine like there's nothing wrong.

“I’ll cut ties with you starting tonight Jae, and that’s my final decision” you wiped your lip with the table napkin and stand up from your seat.

“Wait- baby, okay I’m sorry” he stopped you from opening the door, pull you in an embrace and everything turned silent again. You still love him, but staying in this relationship is hurting both of you so you had to take the first step and leave. As usual, Jaehyun uses his charms to get away from the situation. He kisses your neck and tells you sweet things that will lead you to having sex with him in this room. But not anymore, you thought.

“Enough Jaehyun. Please stop” you begged him to stop kissing your neck. Slowly, you feel his embrace crushing you and hurting you. You try so hard to push him away but Jaehyun is naturally strong that whatever you do to push him away is nothing.

Eventually, he lets go and tell his sorry. “I’ll change, I swear”

“No-“

“Stop making it complicated!” he punched the door and the loud sound surrounds the small room making you scared of him. He was turning red and his eyes were full of anger like he’s about to hurt you.

“I want to leave-“

“Well, I hope you get into an accident” he opens the door for you, pushing you out of the room because he’s so angry he’s actually afraid he might hurt you.

The breakup did not push through because Jaehyun went to your apartment to ‘fix’ things, three days after the fight. He apologized with all his heart, telling you he’s sorry and that he won't do it again. He promised to change his ways and love you even more in exchange for taking him back to your life and give him a second chance. Apologies are nothing if a person will always do it again. It’s up to you if it’s still healthy to take him back into your life. And of course, you have a weak spot when it comes to Jaehyun. You love the man. And he loves you. He just sucks at showing it.

Now that Jaehyun is on his sixth chance, the change that you’ve been yearning for and the change that he promised is long forgotten. Days, weeks, and months passed by, you and Jaehyun still fight like crazy because of different reasons that piss you both. May it be jealousy, he stood you up on a date, you forgot that he’s going to visit you in your apartment, Jaehyun has no time for you, or you don’t want to have sex but he’s really horny.

“I had a company dinner tonight, baby I thought you understand that part?” you whine in frustration while you remove your watch and your earrings. Listening to Jaehyun as he shouts at you, telling you that he’s tired from practice but he still chose to visit you, only to find out that you’re not home. He kept on yelling his points and arguments, hurting you with words that you’ve heard him say before but still sounds like you’ve just heard them tonight.

“I waited for hours! If my career is ruined because of you, I swear!-“

“I can ruin your career in one click, Jaehyun. Do you want me to post all of our sex videos?” you finally bite back because you can't stand him already.

“Post all you want my fans will be happy seeing my dick but you, you will get all the hate in the world!”

“Fine then!” you threaten him of actually posting it, scrolling through your gallery to find your favorite video with him. “Ah! This!” you picked the video where Jaehyun was spitting on your boobs while two fingers are inside your mouth and his cock is inside you. He was wildly flirting with the camera like a porn star. His fans will not doubt that he is the guy from the video.

“Stop it. I mean it” he tried grabbing your phone but you’re quick to counter his move. For a minute, it became a violent push and pull that made him use his strength on you which is not fair. He threw your phone so hard on the nearest wall that it cracked and the screen got broken. He didn’t notice that he pushed you way too hard that you landed on the floor face first and made you bruise your face.

“Fuck- let's stop this, baby I’m sorry” he let out his frustration.

“DON'T TOUCH ME! GET OUT!” you shouted so loud that you’re sure you hurt his ears. You slapped him so hard on the face when he came close to help you get up. He took it like a man, but it’s obvious that your slap hurt his pride. Thankfully, he did not pry and left your apartment quietly.

Present time

While Jaehyun was cleaning your face with a damped cloth, he noticed that your bruises are all healed. He remembered that one time when he had pushed you accidentally and you ended up having a cut just above your eyebrow. He also remembered how you slapped him so hard that it made him realize that all he’s ever done to you is hurt you. It was a wake up call for him.

“Slap me again. I don’t care just please wake up” he begs. Kissing your forehead before continuing to clean you up. It has been his routine to talk to you even though he gets nothing. Sometimes he plays you some music so you won't get bored in your sleep and also you would know that he’s inside the room with you. As he continues being like this, he never losses hope and always visit you with a cheerful aura, knowing all too well that being negative in this kind of situation will only make him go crazy.

“Maybe if I did let you break up with me the first time you said it, this wouldn’t happen to you. I’m sorry” he whispers again. Tucking you in your hospital bed and making sure that you won't get cold. He fixed the white sheet and smoothens it before laying beside you carefully.

“I just love you so much” he hugs you carefully, “That’s why I really can’t let you go. But look where my selfishness brought you” tears roll down on his cheeks, making your sleeves wet because of his continues crying.

When Jaehyun became busy with his career, he can’t visit you every day anymore but confident that you’re in good hands because your parents are with you now. Nonetheless, he never forgets to call the doctor to check up on you. Sometimes, he and Taeyong write lyrics in your room just so he can spend time with you while he’s still working on his music. To be honest, he produces great lyrics whenever he works beside you. It was too much for him that sometimes he cries while writing the lyrics and Taeyong is quick to bring him back to focus and comfort him.

First month of being together

The continuous ringing of your doorbell makes you panic for nothing and quickly ran to your door to open it. “Jaehyun, what are you doing here?” you look outside to check if it’s safe and that none of your neighbors is watching.

“I just miss you so much I’m itching to see you” he cupped your cheeks and kissed you passionately, closing your door shut and motioning your bodies straight to your bedroom. You two were quick to get naked and meet in the middle of your bed to kiss and fuck already.

“Can’t believe I’m letting you fuck me in the middle of the afternoon Jaehyun” you lay comfortably in bed as Jaehyun kiss you wherever he wants, however, he pleases. Kneading your boobs and sucking them from time to time, spreading spit all over your body, and licking your pussy. He surprised you by spreading your folds and spitting on your pussy, licking you good, and making you moan and whine.

“Still on the pill?” he asks, pumping his cock and sucking your right nipple as he waits for your answer. You nod your head. Jaehyun folds both of your legs and spread them wide until your hips are not touching the mattress giving Jaehyun a nice angle to fuck you deeply. He pushed in slowly while watching you beneath him, he watches you grab your boobs and moan a little too loud. “I want to do something fun, will you let me?” he asks in between fucking you deep and slow, you wonder what he has in mind.

“Whatever you want” you smile and watch him reach something on the side table. He opens your phone and put it in recording mode, taking a video of his cock going in and out of your pussy, switching the camera to selfie mode, and put it on the side of your bed. Telling you to smile while he continues to fuck you. “Clever,” you said, as you two look at the camera while having sex. You smiled and asked him to flirt with the camera so whenever you watch it, it will make your heart jump and you won't miss him that much when he’s away. And so he did. He flirts in the camera like how he flirts with you normally in bed, kissing you while he looks at the camera, putting his idol skills to good use in bed.

“Turn around for me please” you followed what he asked of you and lay on your stomach. Jaehyun put your phone in front of you and dragged you all the way down to your bed so you two can fit the screen. He puts your ass up in the air, lick your pussy from behind, and went back to fucking you. Jaehyun loves to fuck you hard from behind while his hand is on your nape, pushing your face on the mattress as he pounds you hard.

“FUCK” you cursed loudly when you feel his thumb go inside your asshole slowly, making your pussy clench and unclench. A tight feeling for Jaehyun’s cock which he loves. He lets go after a minute and put his fingers on your clit, making you let go and cum so good that your legs are shaking and your legs are giving on you. You feel Jaehyun slow down and feel him cum inside you, leaning down to kiss you and ask you if you’re alright.

He saved the video and put your phone back on the side table and went back to shower your body with kisses while you two calm down from your high. “Sorry if this is spontaneous” he lays beside you, tired and sweaty.

“It’s okay baby, I miss you too”

“Baby?” he smiled in disbelief.

“Yes,” you rolled your eyes and continue to catch your breath.

“Say it again? Please?” he asked oh so sweetly showing off his dimples. Your weakness.

“Baby-“ he devours your lips again after hearing you call him ‘baby’. A small gesture that makes his heart jump.

“That’s it, okay? We're together now and that’s official. Understand?” he kissed you deeply again before you could even say something else. You smile through the kiss amused at how happy Jaehyun is while he’s on top of you. You two stayed like that in bed talking about anything and everything, admiring each other while you’re skin to skin, asking for kisses here and there, laughing together whenever he tells you something funny.

From the moment Jaehyun left you that day, your life changed and Jaehyun is the reason behind it. Bittersweet. That’s the perfect word for your relationship. No relationship is perfect, you’re well aware of that. And dating a famous idol can be so complicated that it drives you both crazy. But still, it’s a relationship worth saving for because you love each deeply than you could have ever imagined.

Present time

Waiting is long suffering. That is clear to Jaehyun, now that you’re already sleeping for a year and four months, slowly his hope is already running thin. Not only that he’s suffering emotionally these past few months, but he’s also suffering financially and has become a man full of debts. He loaned money from his company, the bank, even from his parents, just so your hospital bills can be covered. Accepting every kind of project and working from sun up to sun down just so he can provide your needs.

Your parents needed to go back home and entrust you to Jaehyun because they don’t have any other options.

Life is becoming harder than expected.

Now that he’s away for a tour, he became even more depressed because he can’t be by your side. He asked his parents to take care of you while he’s on tour, which they gladly accepted and made sure to call him every day to tell him your condition even though he hears exactly the same thing every day.

“Great job today everyone!”

The members and staffs congratulate each other as they finish another successful concert in the states. Hugs everywhere, and a lot of ‘thank yous’ are said, smiling through the day as Jaehyun ready himself to call his mother and ask about you.

“34 missed calls” he murmurs and went somewhere quiet to call his mother and ask about the 34 missed calls. They should know that he’s working.

“Hey, mom. W-why so many calls? I was doing a show- did she wake up already?” The other line was silent but he can hear his mom breathing, “Hello?” Jaehyun speaks again.

“She gave up son, she passed away, two hours ago”

Jaehyun’s world came crashing down as he reaches for the nearest wall to support himself because his knees gave up on him. Tears pool in his eyes as he cries quietly, holding his phone so tightly. He screamed and sobbed so loud it echoes to the empty hallway. Thankfully Mark saw him and called the others and his manager.

“I didn’t even get to say goodbye!” he yelled and push the other members away as he lets that sadness take him away.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry Y/n, please forgive me!”

#nct-writers #kdiner #unfortunatus: inferno #nct smut #jung jaehyun smut #nct jung jaehyun smut #nct jaehyun smut #nct angst #nct imagines #nct scenarios #nct 127 smut #jaehyun x reader #nct x reader #idol au #nct idol au

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maybe-seggy-will-be-our-always · 3 years

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How is Leon the most and least humble person at the same time? Learn more about it in this very lengthy and very much not really requested translated transcript of the newest NHL interview starring Leon Draisaitl, Tim Stütze and Marco Sturm. Please don't be mean I tried best.

Christian Rupp: Servus [sorry but it’s just a form of greeting I don’t want to translate] to our German NHL call today with three first round picks who have all been drafted in the first round [I know this is repetitive but I thought it was funny]. I am excited for this great group! Leon Draisaitl of the Edmonton Oilers, Tim Stützle of the Ottawa Senators and Marco Sturm, Assistant Coach of the LA Kings. Thank you for agreeing to this format and thank you for being here. First question, of course, Leon: You broke Marco Sturm’s record and are now sole German top scorer in the NHL. Since this has been a few days ago now did you get the chance to fully realize/internalize this fact?

Leon Draisaitl: Yeah, I think that the media and you are maybe making a bigger deal out of it than I myself to be honest. No question, of course this means a lot to me but as I have said enough times already I have way too much respect for Sturmi and all the other outstanding German hockey players we’ve had in the NHL. So I don’t want to make a thing out of it that it isn’t.

C. R.: It’s always „Dream Big“ – have big plans as a young player and dream big. Is that something you can even dream of, being the best German player in the NHL?

L.D.: Yes, I mean dreaming of something like that is always nice, that was probably no different for Sturmi and now for Timmi as well. We all dream of something that big playing in the streets as small kids. Coming out on top is of course super special to me, that is out of question. But as I said, there’s always something to work on and to improve and that is what I am trying to do here.

C.R.: Marco, your record had been standing for a long time. Leon now broke it at the young age of 25. Is he a worthy successor?

M.S.: By all means, yes! It took me 15 years to reach that point and Leon did it in only four. That beats everything! But [I didn’t catch what he said here but I guess something along the lines of an elaborate form of „that“] was only a matter of time. Leon won’t be the first and last one. Tim will be the next one, also only a matter of time. I am happy about this and am gladly passing on that title to Leon. He is completely different and plays in an entirely different league than I did. It’s only the beginning for him, I am sure there are many more points to come.

C.P.: And with Tim Stützle, the next one is already on his way. He’s diligently collecting points in his rookie year. Regardless, Tim, for you. What’s it like for you seeing the/your count written out especially now that you got to know how hard it is to score and collect points in the NHL. How bis is this number for you?

Tim Stützle: Yes, I will have to be honest and say I noticed that every time we played Leon. Especially in the defensive zone it isn’t the easiest thing but mostly it was incredibly fun playing against the best players in the world every day. And again, especially in our league [I think he’s talking about the Canadian division here], playing against Edmonton with Leon and Connor who, which is no secret, belong to the two best players in the league and the world and particularly with Marco, who has collected many, many points. It’s supercool seeing German hockey getting better and better.

C.P.: I’ll throw this question back at Leon. You played against him a few times now this season. What did you notice about Tim Stützle’s game, what did you like about it?

L.D.: Everything! I mean, playing in the league already at his age and so to say helping your team win or playing a big role on the power play right away, that isn’t quite that easy. I think we all know this. Timmi is probably experiencing that himself right now, that the league can be hard [on you] and is quick to bring you back down to earth. Plainly, because it is the best league there is with the best players there are but I’m gonna say, playing this continuously good in his first year as an 18 year old is an impressive achievement.

T.S.: *laughs* Thank you!

L.D.: *grinning* Of course!

C.P.: I can spot a shelf in the background. Leon, did you already receive your trophies? You did win a few in the pre-season, did they arrive already? Do they have a spot already?

L.D.: Nah, I don’t have the real ones here yet. I haven’t even seen them yet to be honest. I got smaller ones, how do you call them in German, replica trophies. Yeah, it is pretty cool. They are downstairs and I guess are functioning as chewing toys for my dog right now. But the real ones, as I said, I haven’t even seen yet.

C.P.: Marco! Of course we want to talk a bit about you as well. You are assistant coach of the LA Kings. How are you looking back on the season?

M.S.: Yeah well, as everyone knows we are in the midst of a rebuild right now. We are right at the start which is never easy. Patience is the most important feat in this phase. Many older players are now gone, a few still remain. The youngest players aren’t quite there yet, that’s why we still need to exercise patience and work hard. Particularly with the younger players. Then, hopefully, we’ll be able to take the next step next season or in the summer and maybe we’ll receive some new players. A player or maybe multiple players who will help us.

C.P.: We have all been anxiously watching/awaiting the 2020 Draft. LA Kings with Marco Sturm, I am sure Tim Stützle would have been a good fit there as well. Now, to be frank, with Tim in the room. How often did you regret not selecting Tim Stützle?

M.S.: I don’t have any influence on this process but I had my hopes, of course. Regrettably, nobody heard me, that’s how it goes and I only learned we were picking Byfield the day of the draft. But Byfield, I’ll have to say, he played the last 5 games up here and he will, too, become an outstanding player in the league. Maybe a bit different to Tim but personally I had hopes Tim would end up playing for/with us.

C.P.: Tim, it keeps getting better for your team, you are on a streak right now. Are you sad the season will be over already for you?

T.S.: In the beginning, of course, we weren’t quite that good. But we are in the middle of a rebuild as well and we have a lot of young players. But the last games it clicked for us and I think we won seven out of nine games. We feel comfortable and have a lot of fun playing together and as a young team we savor every day.

C.P.: What are the plans for the upcoming weeks? Has Toni Söderholm called?

T.S.: Yeah, I will have to see. There will be talks with trainers and management about what is best for me. There are still some remaining problems with my hand and I will have to get another surgery. That’s why we will have to wait and see.

C.P.: Marco you lay the foundation for players wanting and enjoying to play for Team Germany, at worlds for example, again. What is your stance on [I again did not catch what he was saying] of German hockey?

M.S.: Generally I think we caught up nicely in the past years. As you mentioned already, if you want players, especially the ones playing in the NHL to [here probably something along the line of „to come play for Team Germany“] you it has to be fun. It is a long season for the boys and if they then go on and play another tournament on top of that, that is not easy and because of that it has to be fun and that was what I had been trying to achieve back in my days. German hockey needs the [NHL] boys to get ahead. And as I said, back in my day, the boys always liked playing here [Team Germany] and we always were successful.

C.P.: The list of German NHL players speaks for itself here, it is quite long and with Leon at the head, how do you rank the German national team, especially if all NHL players were to join. Particularly with the Olympics on the table as well. What are Germany’s chances of keeping up with the top nations?

L.D.: Yes, I think we do have a pretty decent team. Of course it’s always important to stay realistic if it’ll be enough going up against the USA or Canada. That is something we will have to see but I believe we have a lot of players that have the ability to compete on that level and that a few NHL players will be present as well, hopefully all of them. I think we have a very very good team.

C.P.: Sadly, we have almost reached the end of our Zoom call today. I will making my rounds one last time. Tim, what are your summer plans?

T.S.: I think I will most definitely spend my summer in Mannheim. I will practice with the [„Fitnesstrainer“ so I guess just coaches/trainers] and some Adler players. I think it will be a good summer for me because I want to work on a lot of things and grow stronger [generally, just improve is meant here I think]. I think it will be best for me to be there [Mannheim].

C.P.: And you Marco? Will you stay in Landshut and then later, will you be returning to the LA Kings?

M.S.: After the first few meetings it is, I think, clear that I will stay here for the upcoming years. I like it here and working together with [the bosses], it is fun. But then for me it is the same as it is for Tim and Leon. I will most probably stay with family and friends in Landshut for a few months before it is time to get back to business again.

C.P.: I don’t think I have to ask about your goal, Leon. I would describe it as a quite big and silver thing [I don’t have a good translation here, the expression was „etwas größerer Silberling“].

L.D.: Yeah of course! I hope we’ll remain in the game for as long as possible and come out at the very top in the end. That is the dream and the goal of course. Then, as the other two have already said, I will spend the summer mainly in Europe and will prepare for the next season there.

C.P.: So for you this, so to say, means Köln is calling in the summer even if it is a shortened one?

L.D.: [In my opinion this was said hesitantly] Yeah, mostly in Köln.

C.P.: I wish you all the best for your athletic projects, stay healthy and thank you for joining this exclusive NHL.com.de [he said that so I dunno] Zoom call.

*Everyone says their goodbyes*

#Marco Sturm #los angeles kings #La kings #Leon Draisaitl #edmonton oilers #tim stützle #ottawa senators #iihf world championship #Because they talk about it a bit #Team germany #I haven't really translated anything in ageees ahhhhh #I love it tho even if I'm not great haha #I took my liberties hope it's ok #NHL interview #Del #deutsche eishockey liga #This is pretty much only for me and then the one person I asked if they wanted a translation fjfjjd

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yeah-all-of-it · 3 years

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Does the enormity of where Ian and Mickey are now versus where they came from ever just... hit you?

Ian was the classic middle child. He was always kind of looked over and forgotten his whole childhood. Combine that with his sense of independence and you have a person who’s never really relied on anyone for anything, partly because he was confident he could handle things but also probably a little because he didn’t think he was important enough to anyone else. His family didn’t care when he left town. He was a good kid and they knew he was independent, so they all just thought he knew what he was doing and would be okay. He likely felt a lot like Frank after they dumped him in the river. “29 days and no one came looking for me?” Forgotten. Unimportant.

Mickey was raised with horrors many of us can’t even fathom. Every day was survival, but not in the same way as it was for the Gallaghers. No, the Gallaghers’ main worries were things like keeping the utilities on and paying the taxes (and of course, toxic absentee parents). This isn’t to say that their struggle wasn’t enormous, it absolutely was, but it wasn’t quite the same. Mickey had to worry about his physical safety at home. About being beaten to death. We see him jump every time he is woken up for years because of the trauma he endured. Mickey likely had to steal and scavenge for food, maybe not all the time (we know Mandy made eggs occasionally and they at least had pizza bagels in the house on a semi regular basis) but I imagine food insecurity was a much larger issue in the Milkovich home. He was filthy. Their house was trashed. But the biggest difference was the absence of love and the presence of anger and hatred. The Gallaghers loved each other and could count on each other. Mickey was love starved and touch starved, probably all of his life. Until Ian.

Neither Ian nor Mickey knew what it was like to be the most important person in someone’s life. Yeah, Ian loved his siblings and knew they loved him, but that doesn’t mean he didn’t feel forgotten by them most days. I imagine Mickey’s first encounter with Ian made Mickey feel truly alive for the first time in his life. Like sunshine breaking through on a cloudy day. He knew he was gay long before he’d ever admitted it. He lived every single day terrified that his dad would find out, but he was probably even more terrified that he’d have to live the rest of his life in the closet, never being able to live as his authentic self. And even if he did come out, who would even love him anyway? He was unlovable according to his father, who was supposed to be the one person that loved him unconditionally. Ian gave him a glimmer of hope.

I love the saying, “Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.” I feel like Ian’s soul and Mickey’s soul met, and they just... knew. They each recognized a need in the other that only they could fill. Fiercely independent Ian finds himself allowing Mickey to care for him. I think he loves finally being someone’s number 1 priority. Remembered. Important. Angry, violent Mickey simply thrives in this caregiving role. He loves Ian so damn much that caring about him and for him comes as naturally to him as breathing. Hands once used for nothing but fighting and threatening, emblazoned with the words FUCK U-UP, find themselves running softly through fiery red hair, tenderly caressing a freckled cheek, intertwined with long slender fingers, wrapping around the back of a strong neck in a hug. A voice that once threatened, “You messed with the wrong girl!” and “Someone’s gotta get a beat down til we find him.” is now saying the words, “I’m worried about you. I love you.” and “Ian, what you and I have makes me free.” Mickey put up a tough front but all he really wanted was to love and be loved in return. All Ian wanted was to feel prioritized and like he mattered.

Fast forward through many more highs and lows and we see Ian and Mickey smiling more than they’ve ever smiled. Mickey still has an edge but his rage has mostly diminished (I’m not on board with tantruming Mickey beyond 10x11 and choose to ignore it.) He is freer than he’s ever been in his life. Free to love the man he loves, kiss him in public, plan parties for him. Ian knows 1000% that no matter what, Mickey is in his corner. Mickey loves big and Ian feels that in his soul every moment. Ian loves fiercely and Mickey feels that in his heart every moment.

Sometimes it just hits me, looking back on those two scared kids who didn’t know much but they knew there was something special starting between them. But it was something that had to be hidden at all costs. Looking at them now, singing and dancing together in their bathroom, free to express their love in whatever way they choose. Kissing in front of a room full of people. Moving into their own place. Running a successful business together. What I wouldn’t give for someone to go back and tell those terrified boys that it’s all going to work out in the end. All the chaos and heartbreak will eventually relent and it will all be worth it for what is waiting for them at the other end. Except it’s not the end, no, they are only beginning their beautiful life together. One lived in love and care and abundance, not fear and anger and poverty. They made it.

They made it.

#whew this was long #had some thoughts and just needed to organize them and type them out #but really I just can’t get over how far they’ve come #their love story is my favorite because they endured so much just to be together #and they won #ian and mickey #shameless

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ibijau · 3 years

Text

Counterfeit AU pt5 / On AO3

Lan Xichen, left alone, discovers something about Nie Huaisang

Sitting on a kitchen chair, Lan Xichen listens as Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian try to explain to him who they are. He half wishes he could tell them that he remembers… not everything, not yet (not ever, a part of him hopes) but certainly enough that introductions aren’t quite needed. Words don’t quite make it to his mouth though, his mind still struggling to accept what’s going on. Lan Xichen, until now, always prided himself in being a rational man.

It’s hard to be rational when faced with your brother from another life, whose husband tells you that they have been looking for you for centuries, because apparently they’re immortals.

It’s odd that Lan Xichen accepts that part so easily. Immortals only exist in stories, he would have said just a few hours ago. Now though… well, there’s something not fully human to Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian, a touch of something more.

“It’s only the second time we find you,” Wei Wuxian says, glancing at his husband. Lan Wangji’s expression is nearly unchanged, but Lan Xichen can tell he is deeply distraught. “Well, the second time we find you where you’re still alive,” Wei Wuxian corrects, making his husband wince slightly. “We were always too late, somehow. Every time we reached you, you’d died already. Even the other time we found you alive barely counts. You were very, very old, and you weren’t quite all there anymore. You didn’t really recognise your actual family, so two strangers from another life… and anyway, you died the night we arrived.”

Lan Wangji flinches, which makes Lan Xichen want to scold Wei Wuxian because surely, after so long alive, he should have learned by now to be a little more considerate to the feelings of others, shouldn’t he? But before he can say anything, Wei Wuxian leans toward his husband and takes his hand, intertwining their fingers in a way that makes Lan Wangji relax.

In another life, Lan Xichen had sometimes taken those gestures of affection as an attack, when he had lost so much himself. He'd known, even then, that it was an irrational reaction. At least now he can watch those two and feel nothing except some relief that things worked out so well for them.

"Are there more like you?" he asks.

"Immortals? Not that many," Wei Wuxian admits. "I got to meet Baoshan Sanren, but of our generation only the two of us and Nie-xiong became immortals. Well, and Lan Jingyi became a god, but he's busy and we don't see him a lot. Oh, and Song Lan was around too for a long while of course, but about five centuries ago Xiao Xingchen and A-Qing's souls finally recovered from being fractured, so they all three re-entered the cycle of reincarnation. And then there's a few others from before, though not many from after. We're not sure why, but two or three generations after us, it just stopped happening."

Lan Xichen lets out a sigh. It's not that he particularly expected anything, but he feels disappointed anyway.

"Xiongzhang might still meet others," Lan Wangji says in what seems intended as a comforting tone. He has improved in expressing himself, or else Lan Xichen remembers this too. "From that first life we all shared. Maybe from following ones, if they impacted your soul enough."

"Oh," Lan Xichen says. His hands clench over his knees. He wonders if there's anyone he might want to meet again, when he died feeling he had failed everyone, that first time.

“It will all come back to you here and there,” Wei Wuxian explains. “You might also realise you already know other people from before. I’ve been told it’s a weird feeling, but you get used to it.”

Lan Xichen considers this, and tries to guess who this might concern. For some reason, his little brother comes to mind, but that might be only wishful thinking. Same with his father. Maybe he actually hasn't encountered anyone from his past. No one except, of course…

“I’ve met Meng Yao,” Lan Xichen says.

The other two men grimace.

“Hopefully you’ll also meet people you like,” Wei Wuxian replies with an embarrassed cough.

Lan Xichen, who likes Meng Yao very much indeed, stares at him blankly. What right does this stranger to pass judgement on his… not boyfriend, not exactly. Not yet. Lan Xichen was still working out the courage to have that conversation, to see if Meng Yao might be amenable to real dates, to kissing, to…

It won’t happen now.

It won’t happen because in another life, Lan Xichen murdered Meng Yao.

He didn’t particularly want to, he vaguely recalls. It had been a last resort, and to be frank Meng Yao had brought it upon himself. Still, the fact remains that Lan Xichen killed one of the men he… well, he might have loved him, back then. It’s hard to say for sure. But it is quite certain that Lan Xichen killed him, and even after several lifetimes, he’s not sure Meng Yao will have forgiven him.

He didn’t use to be a very forgiving man.

"Speaking of the devil, better go check what's going on in that basement before it turns bad," Wei Wuxian mutters, glancing in direction of the kitchen door. "Just because he's never killed Nie-xiong yet doesn't mean he can't do it ever. Hey, Lan-da-ge, do you need a ride back home?"

The nickname feels like a slap.

Lan Xichen remembers he could never quite decide whether he liked Wei Wuxian or not, in that first life.

He's still not sure he does.

"I have a taxi coming," he announces. "But thanks for the offer. I just wish to have some time to digest all of this."

Wei Wuxian shrugs, apparently unconcerned, and leaves the kitchen. While he's gone, Lan Wangji politely asks if they might exchange phone numbers. He won't force the acquaintance, he explains, but he'd be grateful if this favour were granted.

Lan Xichen, weak to little brothers of his in this life as in every others, readily agrees.

Lan Wangji, so dry and formal in speech, texts with emojis everywhere. Lan Xichen is endeared, and wonders if that is Wei Wuxian's influence at play.

Maybe he does like Wei Wuxian a little, if he can help his brother express himself more easily.

After a little while, Lan Xichen hears two pairs of feet on the stairs coming from the basement. Wei Wuxian calls only for Lan Wangji to join them in the entrance, but Lan Xichen springs to his feet, knocking down the chair in his haste. He takes one long step, two, three, and reaches the kitchen door. From there he sees Wei Wuxian and Nie Huaisang at the door, the former making a joke of some sort, the later trying to put on shoes as fast as he can. They both look up when they notice a presence hovering by the kitchen door.

Nie Huaisang goes pale at the sight of Lan Xichen. His face grows tight, his lips twisting into a grimace that might be disgust, or horror, or something else entirely. Whatever it is, it makes Nie Huaisang jump to his feet and run out of the door, nearly tripping on his half tied shoelaces. Wei Wuxian sighs and shakes his head, but says nothing, even as a car door opens and closes with a slam somewhere outside.

"Nie Huaisang hasn't changed," Lan Wangji says as he joins them

Wei Wuxian and him exchange a look. To Lan Xichen, it looks like a long conversation without words. After so long together, some things might no longer need to be said.

"Do you want us to stay until your taxi is here?" Wei Wuxian asks, nodding toward the basement stairs. Toward Meng Yao. "You know, in case…"

Lan Xichen considers saying yes, then feels ashamed of himself for thinking like this. Whatever happened in another life, and even if it ruins any chance of romance in the present, Lan Xichen cannot imagine this current Meng Yao harming him.

Perhaps Lan Xichen too hasn't changed, in spite of several lifetimes which should have taught him better.

He shakes his head. Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian look unhappy, but don't insist. They tell him, again, to call them, to get in touch, to allow them in his life if he can, and leave.

As soon as their car leaves, Meng Yao emerges from the basement and heads out as well. He looks like he cried, or like he might cry later. He doesn't spare Lan Xichen a single glance, but he seems in such a state that he might just not have noticed the other man.

That second car speeds into the distance.

Just like that, Lan Xichen is alone.

Of course that's hardly new. He spent a few decades alone in this cold house, reflecting on his mistakes. A prison of his own making, with no company but guilt and brushes. Music he'd abandoned after how much it had cost him, but calligraphy, but poetry, but painting…

He painted a lot, and burned it all every now and then. He was never skill enough to produce anything worth keeping, anyway, unlike…

Lan Xichen's eyes wander toward those downward stairs. He came here for a reason, he remembers, and while he might have ruined many things, perhaps this at least he can still have.

When he reaches the basement, Lan Xichen finds the door to Nie Huaisang’s workshop open. A fit of forgetfulness which he takes as an invitation.

Just as Meng Yao promised, this workshop is filled with paintings in Nie Huaisang’s hand. Some appear to be reproductions of pieces Lan Xichen has seen before… unless they are originals. The notes attached to a few appear doubtful, as if the artist himself cannot remember anymore when he first painted each piece. A few are copies of other artists' work, more carefully hidden and annotated. Those, as far as Lan Xichen can tell when it isn't his subject of predilection, are mostly lost artwork. Judging by the notes, they all belonged to masters whom Nie Huaisang once met in person.

Most interesting to Lan Xichen are Nie Huaisang’s own lost works, reproduced by his own hand and carefully labelled. The titles are familiar, as are the subjects in some cases thanks to old descriptions. But it is the first time Lan Xichen sees those, and with each one he feels he uncovers another secret of this artist he has so extensively studied.

The brushstrokes here are innovative, showing progress from this earlier work. But there the curves and lines of mountains, a little clumsy if considered alone, announce the brilliance of a future series. And then there are portraits of disciples, views of the Unclean Realm, all rumoured to have existed but lost to collectors centuries ago. Those are the only ones whose notes do not mention when the originals were lost or destroyed, so it might be that Nie Huaisang, missing his long gone home, bought back the shadows of his old life.

Painting by painting, Nie-Huaisang-the-artist unveils himself to Lan Xichen.

Nie-Huaisang-the-man remains a mystery, until Lan Xichen, having observed and photographed everything else, becomes curious about the desk's two drawers.

In the top one he finds doodles and notes, post-its about orders, lists of works already in collections. There are also candy wrappers, some ancient coins, a novel in a foreign language with a crumbling bookmark. Nie Huaisang hasn't changed, still messy. It makes Lan Xichen want to laugh and cry, thinking of his uncle who once thought he could correct Nie Huaisang’s bad habits. A fight lost from the start, he realises.

Finding nothing useful in this drawer, Lan Xichen is about to open the other one when, somewhere far above him, a car's horn announces that his taxi is here at last. It would be rude to make the driver wait, Lan Xichen thinks, and the first draw contained nothing important, so it is unlikely the second will be different.

It would be wise to leave this place, forget about it, return to his quiet and ordinary life. He'll write his book or he won't, and then move on to something less intimage.

It would be wise and Lan Xichen even takes a step toward the door before changing his mind. He cannot let this last shred of curiosity go unsatisfied. He still carries too many regrets from his previous lives, he cannot accumulate new ones already.

Lan Xichen opens the other drawer, and gasps.

Unlike the rest of the room where everything is organised and cared for, this drawer is filled with piled up sheets of paper that appear to have been unceremoniously thrown there. On top of the pile is the portrait of a melancholic looking man dressed all in white, wearing an embroidered ribbon on his forehead. On the corner of the page, a scribbled note reads ‘more smile’, as well as a recent date.

Without thinking Lan Xichen grabs the painting to get a better look. As he does so, the next sheet of paper on the pile is revealed: another portrait of the same man, nearly identical, though the note is different. Its date is a year earlier, and it reads ‘too stern’. Lan Xichen grabs that painting too, and the next, browsing through them with increasing franzy.

There are well over a hundred portraits of the same man in that drawer, going back centuries. The styles change depending on their age, reflecting the preference of that era. They all have a date, and most have a comment of sorts as well, usually criticising some element of the portrait that must be corrected to achieve true likeness.

A hundred portraits of Lan Xichen.

Because that is him, he knows, even if no name is mentioned. This is who he was in that first life.

Or at least, it is how Nie Huaisang remembered him. The oldest of those paintings is still dated to nearly five centuries after Lan Xichen’s first death, and there’s a roughness to it, a sentiment of urgency, that makes him think it really is the first of that series, that there were no others before that. Even accounting for style, that first painting looks different from the others, it is unpolished and vague, as if Nie Huaisang had almost forgotten what Lan Xichen looked like. The notes on that first painting are scathing, full of reproach about being too stupid to remember what ‘er-ge’ looked like.

How odd, Lan Xichen thinks.

They never really met again, Nie Huaisang and him. Not after the murder of Jin Guangyao. He remembers assuming that Nie Huaisang would have killed him too if he could have. He remembers how that assumption had hurt, and how it had taken him years of isolation to finally realise that what he had felt for Nie Huaisang, just like what he had felt for Jin Guangyao, had gone beyond the acceptable limits of friendship. A realisation come too late, supposing there could ever have been a right time for the three of them.

What a fool he'd been, loving those two men who must have despised him for his weaknesses.

What a fool he must still be, having learned nothing from the past.

#xisang #xiyao #xisangyao #lan xichen #nie huaisang #counterfeit au #it's a short one but eh we're not ready to enter the second part of the fic #this is a treat to myself for surviving this fucking week #jau writes #mdzs

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mrs-gucci · 3 years

Text

The Angel, Chapter One: Intel {Flip Zimmerman x biker!Reader}

Chapter One: “Intel”

series summary. The Angels are the newest biker gang in town, looking to dethrone the current high-riders, The Sharks, a notoriously violent gang. Fresh off the Klan case, Detective Flip Zimmerman and his new partner, Detective Ron Stallworth, are tasked with finding out more information about this new gang. After a passionate affair behind the bar with a mysterious woman calling herself Siren, Flip discovers that perhaps he’s a bit closer to this investigation than he originally counted on. Can he manage to use this newly-recruited ally to not only take down The Sharks before they strike again, but perhaps use it to benefit his lonesome personal life as well? Find out all this and more in “The Angel”!

chapter summary. Flip and Ron head over to Ace’s, a local bar in Colorado Springs to gather intel on The Angels, the newest biker gang in town. The young detective gets more than he bargained for when he meets and beds a mystery woman named Siren. Except ‘Siren’ ends up being the last person Flip expected to get intimate with and now, he’s entangled in this case, both professionally and personally.

table of contents. Intel (NSFW) * Saint Siren Turned Sharks Intercepted Epilogue

(a * indicates where you are in the table of contents)

author’s notes: hello, hello! saw a few bikers as I was driving on the highway, and my mind decided that I wanted to write a multi-chap fic about flip with a biker gang reader love interest. I love exploring the whole ‘flip with an independent/dom fem reader’ trope. so, here I am, designating an entire ten chapters to it.

**this multi-chap will have 5 parts total (4 ‘story’ chapters and an epilogue). due to the shorter number of chapters/parts, expect each to be longer, usually between 4-6k words.

word count: 6.1k

warnings: smut. heavy flirting. swearing. a generous amount of dirty talk. degradation. oral sex. reader smokes. use of the term ‘pig’ to describe the police.

(possible) tw’s: tobacco use (as is canon for flip’s character). public sex.

my taglist peeps: @frank-and-honey @shygirl268 (if you’d like to be added to my taglist, the link to the google form is HERE or on the top of my masterlist. I’m also willing to do a series-specific taglist if enough people are interested!)

---

“Alright, everyone. Rumor has it that there’s a new biker gang in town, called ‘The Angels’.” Chief Bridges says. “We gotta be on top of this, make sure they’re not the violent type.”

Flip rubs his chin, stroking his beard as he listens to the limited intel the department has on this new group.

“I’m putting Zimmerman and Stallworth on this one. You’re gonna hang out at some of the local watering holes, see if you can gather some more information on this new group.”

His eyebrows raise and he looks over at his partner. “C’mon Chief, don’t you think our talents could be used elsewhere? It’s just an intel mission, a beat cop could do it.”

“This is incredibly important, Zimmerman, and I only trust my top talent to do the job right.” Bridges crosses his arms, staring daggers at the dark-haired detective. “It’ll be a quick job, I’m sure. No more than a week’s time. Now, get over yourself and do the damn job.”

He huffs softly, nodding as he looks away. “Sure thing, Chief.”

“You’ll head to Ace’s tonight, since that’s where they’re said to hang the most. Meeting dismissed.”

Everyone piles out of the small conference room and back out into the bullpen. Flip lights a cigarette as he sits down at his desk and continues typing up a report from last week’s home invasion-robbery.

Ron sets the ‘Angels’ file down on his desk a few minutes later, sighing as he sits on the edge.

“What are you thinkin’ about this case, Flip?”

“I just wanna get it over with, rookie.” He leans back in his chair, shrugging and taking a drag. “I think it’s nothing to worry about, since they haven’t done anything yet, but the Chief wants us to check it out so I guess we have to.”

Ron nods.

“Well, we’ll head over to Ace’s after work. Hopefully we’ll find something and then we can get back to finding the Sharks.”

The Sharks were the biggest gang in Colorado Springs, spreading violence and dominating the northern part of town. But, all of them wore masks or helmets with masks, so no one’s been able to identify any of them.

“Mmhmm.”

Flip hums, stubbing the cigarette butt out in the mug on his desktop.

Before he knows it, the clock hand lands on 6, and everyone starts packing up. Flip gets up and puts his freshly-typed reports on the Chief’s desk before heading over to Ron’s desk.

“You ready to go, rookie?” He asks, hopping up on his partner’s desk. “I need a fuckin’ beer.”

Ron laughs, shaking his head as he stands up and both men walk back to get the mics and listening equipment together. Flip clips the lauve to his white undershirt, then re-buttons his signature buffalo plaid flannel.

They head out and hop into Flip’s pickup truck. He pulls away from the station and heads down the freeway towards Ace’s while Ron sets up all the audio equipment in the front seat.

The parking lot of Ace’s is almost full when the two detective’s pull in, and when Flip puts the truck in park, he immediately catches sight of a series of bikes parked at the front.

“They’re here.” He says in a low voice, nodding over to the bikes. “I’m gonna go check the jackets to make sure.”

Flip casually gets out from the cab and walks over. He sees one of the jackets draped over the seats with the words ‘The Angels’ and a logo on the back.

“Yup,” He says to Ron through the window of his truck. “It’s them.”

Ron’s eyes widen slightly. “Well then, get in there, partner. See what you can find.”

He chuckles, sticking a cigarette between his teeth and flicking his lighter on as he walks into the bar. His eyes scan the room, looking for biker-like characters, but his attention is quickly drawn to a certain young woman sitting at the bar.

She’s not much younger than himself, if Flip had to guess, and her subtle smile was infectious. Flip was absolutely taken with her, but he maintained his cool, approaching the bar.

“Hey, Earl.” He says, leaning against the bar. “Get me a Miller, would you?”

“Sure thing.” The bartender nods, giving Flip a handshake before heading over to the beer fridge.

You can’t help but look over at the handsome man that’s leaning against the bar. His eyes move over to you, and yours dart away quickly. He smirks, and when you look back over, he gives you a quick wink.

Your cheeks warm as you and the handsome stranger make eyes at each other. You’ve only been in town for a little while, and you’ve certainly never seen someone like him around before.

Once the bartender hands him the dark brown bottle, mister tall, dark and handsome casually makes his way over to where you’re seated. His presence is intimidating in itself, patrons suddenly hushing their voices as he stands behind you.

“Like what you see?” He asks in a low voice, smirking. You chuckle.

“Perhaps, although you don’t have much competition. The human eye is naturally drawn to the most appealing sight in the room and quite frankly, I’m so damn tired of looking at old white men. You were the reprieve.”

“Mmhmm.” Flip laughs, sitting down next to you at the bar, pulling out a cigarette and holding it between his teeth as he flicks his lighter on. “I’m impressed at your ability to spin such a convenient story for your obvious ogling.”

“Don’t act so innocent, prettyboy. Your eyes were not keeping to themselves either.”

You huff softly, taking a drink, the smoke from his latest drag clouding the space between you.

“Perhaps.” He retorts, taking a sip of his beer before looking over at you. “What’s your name?”

“Oh, I bet you’d like to know.” You hum softly. “You can call me Siren.”

His eyebrows furrow. “Siren, really? What, is that a nickname or something?”

“Something, yes.”

He’s intrigued by your mysterious and closed-off presence, your casual yet extremely confident demeanor. God, how he’d love to make you crumble on his cock, scream his name and beg him for release.

The thought has him stirring in his Levi’s.

“Phillip.” He says after a beat of silence, taking a drag off his cigarette. “In case you were wondering.”

Back in the truck, Ron shakes his head. “Did you really just use your own name, Zimmerman?”

Flip realizes his slight mistake, mentally kicking himself for not having an alias name already prepared.

Your finger swirls around the rim of the whisky glass. “I wasn’t.”

His eyebrows raise for a moment. He liked this game you’re playing with him, in fact, he loves it.

Finally, a woman giving him the thrill of the chase, making him work for it.

“Are you new in town, Miss Siren? I think I would remember seeing someone like you around here before.”

You nod silently. “Got here a few weeks ago. I’ve got some business to take care of, y’know, tie up some loose ends and such. Then I’ll be out of here.”

“What’s the rush in getting out of here? You don’t like it?”

Your lips curl up into a small smirk. “If I didn’t know any better, it almost sounds like you’re sad to hear that I’ll be leavin’ soon, prettyboy.”

He huffs softly in amusement, although his liking of your nickname for him is much greater than he anticipated or would ever admit aloud. “No, nothing like that. Just curious, is all.”

“I’m more of a city girl. All this fresh mountain air makes me sick.” You quip, smiling softly. “I like the polluted smell of New York much better.”

Flip laughs. “Oh, a city slicker. Yuck.”

Now it’s your turn to laugh. He’s kinda cool.

“What, Colorado Springs isn’t enough to convert you, or at least open your mind to the idea?”

He takes one final long drag before crushing the butt out in the ashtray on the bar.

Your eyes linger on his seated figure for a moment before turning your attention back directly in front of you.

“Well, now that I’ve met some more of the locals, I’m thinkin’ about it a little more.”

“Yeah?”

His voice lowers an octave as he leans in a bit closer, one of his large calloused hands now resting on your denim-covered thigh. You shiver slightly beneath his touch, the smell of cigarette smoke and freshly-chopped lumber intoxicating as it ensnares your senses.

“I think you’d like it out here, if you gave it a shot. We’ve got a few things New York can’t offer.”

You’re biting your lip as his husky voice rasps in your ear, his close proximity thickening the tension between you. You haven’t been this rattled by a man in a long time, and damn, it feels good.

“Oh really? And what is that, besides trees and grass, hm?”

His chuckle makes you squirm in your seat.

“Men. Real men. Not the city pussies that gel their hair up all fancy and can’t get a speck of dirt on themselves without throwin’ a damn fit. I mean...”

“Big,” He leans a bit closer. “Strong,” Closer. “Men.”

His lips are practically on top of your ear now, hot breath tickling your eardrum. He smirks. “And that’s all you’ve ever really wanted, isn’t it, slick? A big strong man to take care of you, protect you...satisfy your every whim and desire.”

You can barely see straight, vision blinded by the sheer lust rolling off his tongue. He’s so damn cocky, a real alpha male type, and you were eating it up. You couldn’t wait to break him.

“I’ll have to see it to believe it, prettyboy.” You say, voice unwavering as you turn to look him directly in the eyes with a small smirk tugging at the corner of your lip. “So why don’t you go ahead and prove it, hm? I’d like to see you try.”

His jaw clenches along with his fists, body turning lurching forward slightly to the edge of the chair, now fully facing your side.

“You’re walking an awfully thin line with that trap of yours, slick. I’d watch yourself, ‘cause the folks out here won’t hesitate, like city folk do, to make an example outta brats like you.”

Your eyes don’t leave his as you lean forward a bit, challenging him right back. “Lotta big talk from you this evening, prettyboy, but no action has come to match these claims. All bark, no bite, just like everyone else in this town.”

Flip is hard as a fucking rock, erection urgently pressing against the seam of his Levi’s, but he can’t even focus on that right now. You work him up like no one else ever has before, and he’s not about to let you just leave with the last word. No, he’ll have the last word tonight if it fucking kills him.

“You wanna see some fuckin’ bite, slick?” He growls, standing up and grabbing hold of your jaw, keeping a firm grip on it. “Talk to me like that again and see what happens.”

You grin deviously, wrapping your hand around his wrist, holding it as you remove your jaw from his grip.

“Heard it all before and nobody’s gotten me just yet. You’re no different, prettyboy.”

A twenty is thrown on the tabletop and then you’re leaving.

His blood is boiling, cock twitching with excitement as he lets you walk out of the bar, letting you think you can get away with this. Then, as soon as you’re outside, he strides across the room, flings the door open, and grabs your arm.

“You’re not going anywhere.”

He walks you to the side alley and pins you to the bricks, body caging yours in. You’re breathless and defenseless against him as his wiry whiskers tickle the side of your neck. His legs spread out and his large hands grip your hips as he scoops down, grinding his arousal against your ass with one long, rough stroke.

The denim-trapped bulge presses incessantly against your backside when he stills and lights up a smoke behind you, taking a brief drag, exhaling through his nose.

“Y’know, I work hard all damn day, seven days a week, bust my fuckin’ ass to get shit done.” He stands up again, kicking your ankle so your legs spread open. You gasp softly at his brazen moves, which only fuels his arousal. “I come here to kick back a few beers and have a few cigarettes, relax, unwind…”

His hands yank your jeans down your hips suddenly, then one curls around to cup your clothed mound, lifting up against you.

“But instead of that, now, I have to bring you out here and fuck some goddamn manners into your bratty cunt before I can go back in to finish my beer.”

You can barely formulate words at the moment, his every move dripping with pure power and unwavering dominance. You’re absolutely taken by him, but that doesn’t mean you won’t fulfill your own agenda.

Let him think he’s the boss, that he’s got you wrapped around his finger. It’ll only wreck him harder in the end.

The small jingle of his belt buckle being undone brings you back to reality, as well as his fingers swiping over your clit through the material of your panties. He pulls away for a moment, unbuttoning and unzipping his jeans, yanking them down far enough so that he can pull his length out.

Luckily, due to his massive body size and the fact that you’re in a dark alleyway behind a dumpster, nothing is too exposed in case someone happens to come by and see the little show about to unfold.

Your panties are torn down your legs quickly and his digits swipe through your warmth. He smirks when he feels how wet you are.

“Now I can call you slick for two reasons.” He chuckles darkly into your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. “I knew you liked this, dirty girl. Bet you’ve been wet all night since I came into the bar.”

His fingers trace over your clit, pressure on and off with his lazy circles, and within seconds he’s got you gyrating against him. Then, suddenly, he pulls away and steps back, hand on your shoulder. He flips you around quickly so that you’re facing him, then forces you back against the wall, flicking his abandoned cigarette away onto the black pavement.

“Why’d you turn me around?” You ask nonchalantly.

He smears some of your fresh arousal onto the tip of his cock, moving it around over his girthy length while his fingers force themselves into your mouth, grabbing and pressing on your tongue.

“I decided that I wanna ruin your disobedient little mouth first. On your knees, use my boots as padding if you need.”

Your legs close and you cross them at the ankle, leaning back against the brick wall freely, arms crossed over your chest. His eyebrows raise and he pulls his fingers out of your mouth.

“Did you not hear me or something?” Flip asks, voice low. “On your damn knees, slick, or I’ll put you there myself.”

Silence. You don’t move a muscle, watching the frustration fester. He leans in suddenly, face real close.

“I’m gonna give you one last chance to do as I say before I force you down.”

Nothing.

His hand wraps in your prettily-done hair, holding the roots just above scalp-level, yanking harshly. He steps back a bit quickly as you cry out, hand on your shoulder, pushing you down as the shock and pain weakens your knees.

Your knees rest on his work boots and his impressive arousal is lip-level, now. He loosens his grip on your hair ever so slightly, still holding you firmly as he rubs his head over your cherry red lips.

“Don’t make me take this from you too, slick.” He warns.

You offer him a cheeky, close-mouthed smile, batting your eyelashes teasingly. He snarls, pulling your hair again, and when you yelp in pain, he pushes his hips forward. His cock forces itself into your mouth and your eyes widen, choking immediately at the sudden intrusion.

Flip’s head falls back and his eyes squeeze shut as your throat contracts around his length. He holds your head, keeping your mouth wrapped around him, and he gives you a quick look of concern, breaking character for a moment.

Once you give him a quick wink and small smile, indicating that everything’s okay, he draws back before pushing forward again. He establishes a consistent back-and-forth rhythm, grunting softly with each thrust of his hips. You’re taking him so well, better than anyone before. Your choking and gagging has essentially ceased within the first minute or so, the quickest recovery Flip has ever experienced.

Look, he knows he’s got a nice cock, there’s no denying it, especially when he’s got women chanting it in his ear on a weekly basis. It’s long and girthy with a slight upward curve that gives him the ability to hit the g-spot almost every time. Plus, he knows how to use it properly.

But, women often have trouble taking him or making him feel good with oral sex because he’s always concerned that he’s genuinely hurting them. A lot of women are also very intimidated by his size, which doesn’t help him in feeling okay about it.

You, however, didn’t say a word, give it a concerned look, or hesitate even a bit when he put you on your knees. You’re something else.

He groans, fucking your mouth even harder, hands on the sides of your head. Your eyes are watering and tears have already begun spilling down your cheeks, but you’re not complaining in the slightest. He looks so incredible like this, restrain and composure slipping as the pleasure begins to consume him.

You do your best to establish a bit of suction on his length, and when a guttural growl emerges from above you, you know you’ve done it. His hips lose their rhythm soon after, cock throbbing in your mouth, meaning he’s close.

He’s panting heavily, spine curling as he fucks your mouth harder, shuddering every once and a while from the sheer amounts of lust coursing through his veins.

Just before his release, he forces himself to pull away, a strangled groan of agony rumbling through his chest as his shaft bobs angrily at the lost orgasm.

“Christ!”

You catch your breath for a moment, but that moment is brief because within thirty seconds, he’s got his hand wrapped around your jaw.

“S-S…” He takes a second to compose himself. “Stand up, turn around, take your panties off and spread your fucking legs.”

This time, much to his surprise, you obey, getting into position with little resistance. He smirks, giving your ass a quick swat before rubbing his head through your folds.

“Mmm, shit, you got wetter just from having your face fucked?”

His chin digs into your shoulder as he lines himself up with your entrance. He pushes in quickly with a long, low groan, then settles inside of you to allow for an adjustment period.

Your eyes go wide and you whimper, walls stretching out to accommodate the large intrusion. Soon, you move your hips a bit, looking over your shoulder.

“You can m-move.”

Flip nods, drawing back before pressing his hips forward again, sighing through his nose as he picks up a steady thrusting rhythm.

“Fuck you’ve got a good little cunt, wrapped around me so goddamn tight.” He growls in your ear, mouth lazily kissing and nipping at your neck.

The burn of being stretched out subsides soon after he begins, replaced with copious amounts of pleasure, jaw slacked as your body jolts back and forth with each powerful movement.

“I can feel you clenching around me, slut...I know you like this. I wanna hear you fucking admit it.” He breathes. “Tell me how good I’m making you--fuck--feel. Tell me how much better my cock feels fucking you than any--goddamnit--other f-fuckin’ city slicker’s cock.”

When he doesn’t get a response, his pace suddenly quickens a bit and one of his hands comes up to wrap around your throat, squeezing experimentally. “Say it, slick, admit it!”

“Y-You, you feel...okay.”

You smirk, eyes squeezing shut when he brushes against a particularly sensitive spot inside you.

Flip huffs. “You’re a fucking brat--god fucking damnit.”

He snarls, hand closing tighter around your neck, lips right up against your ear.

“I’m gonna fuckin’ destroy you, slick. I’m gonna fuck your tight cunt so hard and stuff you so fucking full of my cum, make it run down your fucking thighs when you go home. You’re gonna have to walk into your fuckin’ house with my cum leaking out of you like the dirty slut you are.”

A loud whine comes from your lips, goosebumps spreading like wildfire over your skin at his words. You’re close already, the anticipation and sensations too much to hold off much longer.

“I know you’re lying, slick, I know you love this fucking cock, and I know you’re close. Say it, say it and I’ll make you cum so fucking hard you can’t see straight for the rest of the night.”

He growls into your ear, panting heavily.

“All you gotta do is--shit--say it and I’ll give you what you want, what we both know you want.”

Your walls clench and pulse around his shaft, preparing for your approaching orgasm. But, even though the temptation is sweet, you hold out.

“Eh, I’ve h-had better. You’re really--oh--not t-that big, prettyboy.”

“Fuck!”

His reaction is exactly what you were looking for, hips thrusting impossibly quick as his hands grab your wrists and pin your hands behind your back. Part of him liked this, being called ‘small’ and being taunted, although he’d never admit it to anyone.

“It’s your fucking loss, slick.”

“Oh, is it?” You smirk, adjusting your hips subtly until you find the right spot, crying out softly as you teeter on the edge of orgasm. “I don’t t-think so--fuck!”

“NO! Goddamnit, f-fuck...NO!” He tries to stop your climax, but it’s too late, you’re already there.

“Y-Yes, fuck...yes!”

You’re trembling as you ride out your intense high, his hips pumping you into a delicious overstimulation.

Your release gushes out around him and Flip feels his own climax rapidly approaching, hips starting to lose their rhythm.

Flip’s absolutely pissed that you made yourself cum, allowing his frustration to fuel his thrusts. His teeth sink into the muscle on the curve of your neck, drilling into you as hard as he can manage.

“Brat!”

He snarls against your skin.

“You’re a fucking d-dirty, filthy--yeah, so fuckin’ tight--naughty brat! O-Oh fuck, shit, gonna--fuck goddamnit--cum…”

“Are you gonna cum? Fill me up, prettyboy?”

You clench around him one more time, bringing him over the edge.

“Oh f-fuck, yes, gonna--unnhh!”

Being fully prepared to bury his load deep inside you, fill you up, it took him by great surprise when you suddenly pulled him out of you. His eyes fly open and a choked cry leaves his lips.

“FUCK, N-NO!”

He roars, load erupting out onto the bricks and alleyway pavement instead of inside you. His hips rut forward instinctively as he rides out his high, groaning against your skin.

You smirk, slipping out from beneath his grip, pulling your panties back up over your hips. He’s still panting and recovering from his climax, hands spread on the cool brick of the building, eyes catching sight of his seed dripping down the wall as he redresses.

Before you walk away, you run a hand through his silky black mane. You give it a gentle tug, earning a low growl from the handsome man.

“Told ya, no one’s gotten me yet and no one ever will.” You pat his cheek, giving him a soft smile. “Have a good rest of your night, prettyboy.”

You’re quickly overtaken, within the first few steps of walking back towards the front entrance, by a large set of hands. Flip turns you around in his arms and crashes his lips on yours, pulling you close to him.

At first, you’re taken by surprise, but that lasts for only a few seconds before you melt into his touch, melding your lips with his. He pulls away a minute later, a big smug smirk stretched across his face.

“Good night, slick.”

He walks back towards the side door, lighting a cigarette on his way, leaving you frozen in suspension for a moment. Every inch of your skin, every fiber of your being, is buzzing. You find yourself unable to wipe the small smile off your face as you walk back towards the front of the bar.

You look through the window of the bar as you slip your leather jacket on, then your helmet before swinging your leg over your bike. The engine rumbles, ground quaking beneath it as you pull out of the parking lot and onto the freeway, wind whipping around your body as you disappear into the cool Colorado night.

Flip is drunk on you as he pays for his drinks and stubs his cigarette out in the plastic ashtray on the bar. The damn bastard’s essentially grinning and giggling with joy as he walks back out to his truck, or at least ‘grinning and giggling’ by Flip’s standards, which pretty much just means a small smile.

It’s quickly wiped from his face when he sees Ron in the passenger seat. He hadn’t even thought about the fact that Ron was listening the whole time, and he can only hope that his partner took the headphones off before anything too explicit happened.

He hops up into the cab and immediately, Ron begins chuckling to himself.

“Oh, shut up.”

He says, frowning as he backs out of the parking lot.

“I hope you took the headphones off.”

“So, did you find out anything about The Angels?”

Ron asks, snickering.

“Or did you focus on learning more about the inside of her mouth?”

Flip growls under his breath, rolling his eyes.

“Can it, rookie. We’ll go back tomorrow. And, for the record, I cased the joint when I walked in, and there were no bikers in sight. No one that seemed the type, y’know?”

“Well, the bikes were there. They had to be there, right?”

His jaw clenches, kicking himself for losing focus. Although, he doesn’t exactly regret anything he did with you, he just wishes he had worked the case a bit beforehand.

“They should’ve been there, but I’m telling you, there was no one.”

Ron gives him a look and Flip shakes his head.

“Look, I know what it looks like, but I’m serious. I cased the joint when I went in, and there was no one even close to the basic look of a biker gang.”

His partner sighs.

“I know, and I trust you, Zimmerman. We’ll go back tomorrow, like you said. We should go a bit earlier, maybe try and catch these bikers coming to the bar.”

“Agreed.”

Flip nods as he pulls back into the station, sighing when he puts the truck in park.

“Alright, let’s go report to the Chief.”

The Next Day

It’s another long ass day at the station, although there was a bit of excitement when the Chief went out to his squad car and found the window busted out.

Everyone chuckled to themselves as he flipped his shit, almost as if he’d temporarily forgotten that he was a police chief.

Flip and Ron went out to lunch at the local diner, discussing the ‘Angels’ case, and of course Flip’s back-alley hookup last night, much to the detective’s dismay.

He just resorted to sucking down as many cigarettes as he could while Ron fired off questions, hoping the nicotine buzz would get him through this all quicker. It didn’t.

Finally, with the Chief’s approval, Ron and Flip head out at five to Ace’s in hopes of spotting The Angels as they come to the bar.

Luckily, when they reach the bar, there are no motorcycles in sight. Flip backs the truck into a spot facing where the motorcycles were last night, putting it in park before lighting up a smoke. He and Ron pass the time with some casual chit-chat before the telltale rumble of motorcycle engines.

The first bike comes into view, the leader no doubt, and slowly rolls up to the front of the bar, foot planting on the pavement. There’s something so oddly familiar about this leader to Flip, the way they move, their demeanor in general, but he thinks little of it, determined to actually focus on the case this time.

Once the whole gang has pulled up, Flip grabs his notepad and a pencil, ready to write down the names on their jackets while Ron pulls out his camera. The bikers' engines all shut off almost simultaneously, pavement settling back into the dirt as they all dismount their bikes.

Flip looks at all the names on their jackets, each beginning with ‘Saint’, writing all five of them down before pausing when he reaches the leader’s jacket. It read ‘Saint Siren’, glitter-infused stitching catching in the evening sunset.

No, it can’t be.

Saint Siren reaches up to pull their helmet off, and when they do, Flip is stunned into utter and total silence. It’s you...you’re Saint Siren.

You're the leader of ‘The Angels’.

Ron’s snapping a bunch of pictures as the rest of the gang takes their helmets off, revealing the women beneath each. Both detectives were surprised to see that ‘The Angels’ were all women, considering the general ‘man-ness’ of biker gangs.

Your hair flutters in the gentle breeze as you hang your helmet on the handlebar of your bike, reaching into your jacket pocket for a cigarette and lighter, hand shielding the flame from the gentle breeze.

“Zimmerman?”

Flip faintly hears his partner say, but he doesn’t process it, too focused on the reality hitting.

“Zimmerman!” Ron says, shaking his partner’s arm.

“What’s the matter with you?”

His eyes dart over to Ron, a serious expression etched on his face.

“That’s her. That’s the girl from last night.”

His eyes widen in disbelief. “Are you sure?”

“Of course I’m fuckin’ sure!” He snarls. “I only spent all night with her. I’m not that shallow, rookie.”

Ron stifles a laugh. “Uh huh. Well, now we understand why no one could ever figure out who this gang was. No one would ever suspect women to be bikers, much less in a biker gang.”

Your jacket is taken off and draped neatly over the seat of your bike, and Flip quickly tosses his notebook on the dash, clipping the lauve to his undershirt with a sense of urgency. His face is steadily turning redder the more he thinks about it, and Ron can almost see the smoke coming from his ears. He’d be whistling like a damn tea kettle if that were true.

“What are you gonna do when you get in there? Remember what the Chief wants, intel only.”

Flip huffs, buttoning his flannel back up before flicking on the microphone set on the front seat, tapping the top of the machine. “I know how to do my damn job, I know what Chief said. Just be sure to listen and write the important stuff down.”

He hops down, the heels of his work boots reverberating off the pavement as he walks, more like storms, into the bar.

Earl, the bartender, greets him, but he’s already closing in on you. He doesn’t even hesitate, just walking right up to the table you’re sitting at and putting his hand on the top.

“Can I speak with you a minute?” He says in the calmest voice he can muster at this point, staring daggers at you, teeth gritted. “Please?”

All the girls look up at him, then back over at you, awaiting your answer. You stub out the cigarette between your lips before gesturing for Gladys to scoot out of the booth. She does, and you slide out, standing in front of the familiar man.

“Lead the way, Flip.”

He spins around on his heel, then stops, stomach dropping. How do you know that name?

You giggle to yourself as you walk by and out to the alley. He’s hot on your tail, slamming the door shut behind him, bounding down the stairs.

“I figured it out pretty quickly.” You say, twirling your hair as you lean back against the wall, arms crossed in front of you. “After I saw the mic clipped to your undershirt last night. Looked through the yellow pages this morning and found the contact information for one Detective Phillip Zimmerman of the Colorado Springs Police Department. There’s only one other man by the name of Phillip living in this town, and he’s the guy down at the gas station.”

“Could’ve been a fake name.”

Your lips curl up into a smirk. “Yeah, coulda been a fake name, I guess. But I saw the way you reacted when you said it, looked like you wanted to kick yourself in the nutsack. The mic on your shirt tied it all together, and then when I did some surveillance on the station, I saw you.”

Flip isn’t sure if he’s more nervous or impressed by your ability to observe and fact-find.

“I’m not the only one that hid my true identity last night, Saint Siren. Nor are you the only one that did surveillance today.” He growls, standing in front of you. “You’re one of the ‘Angels’, the leader, in fact.”

Your face is unchanging, still wearing a neutral expression, before a small smirk tugs at your lips.

“Congratulations, Detective. I’m a little surprised you didn’t put two-and-two together last night when you read the name on my jacket.”

His eyes widen, which makes you laugh. Had your name really been on the jacket that he’d seen, and he just missed it?

“Saw you not so discreetly snooping around the bikes before you came in last night. You ought to check your surroundings a little more thoroughly before ‘casually’ sauntering by the bikes and leaning over to read the jackets...someone might see you.”

You laugh quietly, shoving your hands into your jean pockets.

He’s pissed, you can tell, but there’s also a sense of respect buried deep within his gaze, and perhaps there’s even a bit of desire mixed in, too.

“I...you’re…”

Suddenly, an idea pops into his head, and the rage suddenly melts away. He could use this to his advantage.

“Join me.”

Your eyebrows furrow in confusion as you look up at him. “You’re kidding.”

“No, I’m not. Think about it, it’s beneficial for both of us. You want to knock the Sharks on their asses and kick ‘em outta town, and I want to stop them from taking over the whole town. We both get what we want.”

You just burst out into laughter. “You’re a funny guy, Detective, thinking I’d ever even consider becoming an informant. Ha! Sure, I hate the Sharks and I wanna kick ‘em out, but I don’t need the pig’s help for that.”

His jaw clenches.

“You’re trying to turn her now, Zimmerman? What the hell are you thinking? INTEL, Zimmerman, we’re here for ANGELS INTEL, not the Sharks.”

He shakes off his partner’s words, staring deep into your eyes.

“You know this is a good idea, I know you do, slick. All we need are some names. It’ll be quick work, and in return, we’ll help you get rid of them and stay off your ass after they’re gone, as long as you don’t start or engage in any violent altercations.”

“Man, you gotta stop. You can’t make promises like that without the Chief’s approval. C’mon, Zimmerman, get outta there!”

“I’m not falling for that bullshit, and I’m not becoming a pig, even if it’s only for a few weeks.” You say, pushing off the wall and standing up straight. “G’night, Detective.”

Flip quickly grabs you before you can even take a step back towards the door, holding your arms as he steps up behind you.

“I never say things I don’t mean, and I never make promises I can’t keep, slick.”

He grabs one of his business cards out from his wallet, teasingly sliding it in your back pocket, giving your ass a quick squeeze. “In case you change your mind.”

Your skin has erupted in goosebumps as you walk back into the bar, overly conscious of the business card tucked into your back pocket, gently poking your bottom with each stride.

As you sit with your crew, drinking and chatting the night away, you can’t stop thinking about this proposal.

The thought of being an informant scares you. The thought of turning on the Sharks scares you.

What scares you the most, though?

You’re ready to get to work.

#adam driver #adam driver smut #adam driver character #flip zimmerman #flip zimmerman smut #flip zimmerman x reader #flip zimmerman x you #flip zimmerman x reader smut #tw: tobacco #tw: tobacco use #tw public sex #adcu #adcu writer #mrs-gucci #mrs-gucci requests #mrs-gucci writes flip zimmerman #adcu community #adcu fanfic

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plainbrunettelbl · 4 years

Text

ABO Rich (A) Katsuki Bakugo x Poor (O) Reader Money Can’t Buy You Everything Alpha (Chapter Two)

Word count: 1896

Warnings: None.

Title: ABO Rich (A) Katsuki Bakugo x Poor (O) Reader Money Can’t Buy You Everything Alpha (Chapter Two)

Summary: Bakugo actually does something nice but his execution is a little off.

(Gif not mine)

Bakugo:

💥-“Plant girl! Stop calling me that!” You huffed.

💥-“So you are Plant girl! I knew there was something about you!” His glare was piercing.

💥-“So what?” You crossed your arms.

💥-“So what?! Why didn’t you say anything?” He demanded.

💥-“What was I gonna say? Hey, do you remember that time you were kidnapped?” You argued.

💥-“Well maybe not like that but sure! You were just gonna let me walk out?” He fumed.

💥-“Well, I certainly wasn’t gonna ask you to stay!” You scoffed. “And why would I want you to stay anyways.”

💥-“I don’t know maybe to catch up or something? Build a friendship?” He countered.

💥-“Why would I want a friendship with a rude Alpha like you?” You complained leaning against the counter with both your hands laid flat on it.

💥-“I haven’t been rude!” He shot back clearly upset that you thought so.

💥-“Says Mr. Grumpy Face.” You accused.

💥-He scoffs at that. Before he could retort you looked like you were swaying on your feet. His Alpha instincts kicked in as he nearly hopped over the counter to keep you steady.

💥-“What’s wrong? Are you feeling okay?” He asked.

💥-“I’m just feeling a little dizzy.” You muttered. Must be the lack of sleep and the breakfast bar you had for breakfast.

💥-You tried not to flush at feeling his warm hands on your shoulders. Get a grip Y/N this guy has been nothing short of rude. You can’t be attracted to him.

💥-“I’m sorry if I stressed you out Omega.” His tone was soft.

💥-“I’m not Omega or Plant girl. My name is Y/N.” Your glare didn’t hold as much bite as you would have liked. You had softened at his tone. You were blaming it on Omega instincts.

💥-No falling in love with the guy just because he touched you.

💥-“Wanna get some food? We can catch up and stuff.” You tried to ignore the redness flooding his cheeks.

💥-“I work till five and have to be at my other job at eight. I don’t think getting something to eat with you is in my plans. I have a few errands I need to run and clean up my apartment a little.” You listed, pulling away from him.

💥-“I can pick up some food and bring it back here if you want?” He offered.

💥-“Why would you do that?” You asked, genuinely confused.

💥-“Well, I have to do something to repay you for helping me escape.” He rubbed the back of his head.

💥-“Oh.” Your Omega pouted at that but you don’t understand why. “You don’t have to. My lunch break is in a little bit so I should be fine.”

💥-“How about I take you out then?” He asked.

💥-“I only have a thirty-minute lunch break. Can’t exactly sit down and enjoy the food.” You sighed.

💥-“I can pick something up and bring it back if you want.” He offered again.

💥-You smiled a little. Even if he was doing this just to pay you back it was still sweet of him to offer. “I don’t know if having lunch with you would be a good idea. Who wants to eat with a grumpy face like you?” You jested.

💥-“I’ll pay?” His voice tilted on a higher tone. Clearly offended but not willing to anger you anymore. Not wanting to admit that he was set on spending time with you.

💥-“On second thought, I can handle a few rude remarks.” You tilted your head with a thoughtful look.

💥-“Whatever. I have been nothing short of polite.” He mumbled. “It’s a deal. I’ll come back with the food in thirty minutes.”

💥-He began walking out of the shop.

💥-“What about your flowers?” You called out.

💥-“I don’t need them.” He shot over his shoulder.

💥-Outside he called his personal driver to come to pick him up and waited by the curb. Once he got off the phone with his driver he quickly dialed another number.

💥-“Mom, I am not going to make it to the courting date you set up. Something important came up. Let her know I won’t be going okay?” He said to her voicemail. He was glad she didn’t pick up since he knew he was gonna get an earful out of her once she knew he didn’t show up.

***

💥-You had continued to stand behind the counter waiting for someone to walk in. Your Omega was impatient for the Alpha to come back. Something about him drew her to him.

💥-To his word, he did come back thirty minutes later. He carried in boxes that looked like they could have been gifts instead of takeout boxes since they were wrapped so elegantly. White boxes with black bows.

💥-“What did you get?” You lifted a brow.

💥-“Just something from a restaurant I frequent.” He nonchalantly placed it on the counter. “Where are we gonna eat?” He looked around for a table to magically appear.

💥-“I usually eat in the back. It’s kinda dirty though.” You trailed off. Your face burned in embarrassment.

💥-He saw your mood shift. He placed his hands on the counter before vaulting over. Swiftly grabbing the boxes and sliding against the counter to the floor. Ignoring the fact that his white dress shirt was probably gonna get wrinkled and dirty.

💥-He set the food down in his lap and looked up at her.

💥-“You gonna sit down?” He asked.

💥-You hastily sat down, he began unraveling the ribbons. You were hit with a pungent smell. You tried to keep your face straight so you didn’t offend him. He was doing something nice so you didn’t want to seem ungrateful.

💥-He handed you a box and grabbed one for himself. You lifted the top to find something you definitely weren't expecting. Snails. A dozen of them stared back at you.

💥-They were sitting in a pool of yellow liquid that smelled like truffle butter. A few mushrooms scattered around the meal delicately. A piece of toasted bread lays on the side.

💥-“It looks... good. Thank you.” You offered him a fake smile.

💥-He returned the gesture with a small smile himself. Clearly proud of himself. He passed you the utensils before digging in. You decided to start off with something you knew you could eat. The bread.

💥-Once you had nibbled that away you began plucking up all of the mushrooms. Them being soaked in truffle butter was something you weren’t used to but you could stomach it.

💥-All that was left were the snails and you didn’t know where to start. You tried to see if he had the same thing you did. He had a lobster. You were tempted to ask him to switch with you but swallowed the urge and took a fork to the hard shell.

💥-You got the meat out without too much struggle which was good. Now it was time to actually put it in your mouth. As soon as it touched your tongue you knew it was a mistake.

💥-The slimy texture was the first thing to put you off. You got a few chews in before giving up and spitting it back into the plate. Bakugo snapped his head at you. You had literally spat out your food. He eyed you like you were suddenly an alien or something.

💥-“I’m sorry, I just couldn’t take it. It was gross and slimy.” You couldn’t get redder.

💥-“I don’t even know how to freaking react right now.” He was shocked, never before had he seen an Omega act so informal. He was used to dinner parties with delicate Omegas who wiped their mouth after every bite.

💥-“I really am sorry. I tried but couldn’t handle the texture.” You set your food on the floor and stood up.

💥-“I think I still have enough time to go grab a hot dog or something. I’ll be right back. Can you watch the shop real quick?” You asked. You felt bad but really needed something sustainable in your stomach.

💥-“Sure.” He answered, still taken off guard.

💥-You nodded in thanks before rushing out of the store.

💥-This Omega kept surprising him at every turn. If she was like every other Omega in his life they would have jumped at the opportunity to be in debt to him. You were gonna it slip through your fingers without a second thought.

💥-He didn’t have time to think if you were genuinely one of a kind or soft in the head before you came back in. Two foil-wrapped packets in your hand. You came back over to him, taking a seat on the floor once again.

💥-“I got you one too. A lobster and salad don’t seem very filling to me.” You smiled, handing him the foil packet.

💥-It was true it wasn’t necessarily filling but the food wasn’t for him, it was for you. And he will grudgingly admit that he didn’t take your tastes into consideration. He was used to this type of food and didn’t think that you would find any fault in it.

💥-So he would stomach the hot dog since you tried to do the same for his choice of food. He wrapped it and eyed the red sausage.

💥-“This isn’t gonna kill me is it?” He said he was gonna stomach it but didn’t say he wasn’t gonna complain about it.

💥-“No.” You rolled your eyes, your mouth already full. Cheeks puffed out and yellow mustard lining the corner of your mouth. He wouldn’t admit it but he found it adorable.

💥-“Uh-huh. Did the person that gave it to you look like he showered today at least?” He said lifting it to his mouth.

💥-“Frank has a good reputation for keeping his cart clean and sanitary. Even has the A to prove it.” You grumbled.

💥-“I’ll take your word for it.” Taking a bit, after a few chews he swallowed. “It’s palatable.” He offered.

💥-“Glad it meets your approval, your Majesty.” You laughed, seeing the humor in his polite yet rude attitude.

💥-“Whatever.” He muttered, still eating the hot dog.

💥-“I think this is a good start.” You chimed.

💥-“Start?” He questioned.

💥-“Of our friendship. You said you wanted one right?” You asked.

💥-“I did. I thought you didn’t want one. I recall you saying I was a rude Alpha” He implied.

💥-“That was before I realized you did have a nice bone in your body.” You grinned at him.

💥-“I have been nice the whole time!” He insisted.

💥-“Oh, I think I am feeling dizzy again.” You murmured acting like you were gonna slump over.

💥-“Really?” He reached out to grab you.

💥-You popped back up with a giggle. “Nope. It seemed to calm you down last time though. You are gonna have to get used to me teasing you if you want a part in this friendship.” You teased.

💥-He didn’t say it out loud but the thought of him being around you long enough for him to get used to your odd behavior made him feel warm inside.

Okay second chapter out. Thoughts? What did you think of him ditching his courting date? What do you think of Bakugos idea of a meal? How do you think this unlikely friendship is gonna pan out? Hope you enjoyed it! 💕

3K notes · View notes

honey-makki · 4 years

Text

Didn’t Like the Ending

Characters: Ushijima Wakatoshi X GN!Reader, Oikawa Tooru X GN!Reader

Summary: You and Ushijima broke up months ago. What is running through your heads when he spots you at a party with Oikawa, your new boyfriend?

Warnings: none

Song: exile- taylor swift

Genre: angst!!

Word Count: 1.2k

A/N: Oikawa is there as a plot device and nothing else, don;t get your hopes up lmao. this is a dif writing style, switching between view points and primarily consists of inner thoughts and i hope you like it.

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Ushijima

You didn’t like going to parties. Seeing your friends was always nice, but the increased expectation to be sociable bothered you. Alcohol was something you rarely consumed, maybe one drink the entire party, not having another sip of alcohol until the next team party. Despite your feelings, you wouldn’t miss Hinata’s 21st birthday party. Granted, Kageyama was throwing it in your shared apartment, but the sentiment stands.

Tobio told me both teams were coming and they might bring their significant others. There are way more people than that. Sigh, I just wish he wouldn't lie to me. I would like to prepare adequately for the event.

You are called over to the kitchen by Bokuto who’s flanked by a number of your teammates. Tossing the cup you just finished in the trash, you approached with a questioning expression. Before any thoughts could slip through your lips, Hinata handed you a shot and shouted over the beat of the music, “IT’S TEAM BONDING!!!! LETS GO, THREE, TWO, ONE!” Who are you to say no to the birthday boy, and much less your teammates?

Y/N

It isn’t surprising to see this many people celebrating a literal ball of sunshine, as he has a tendency to make friends with even the toughest and most awkward people. It’s surprising that Kageyama could plan all this without giving anything away. He’s not the biggest people-person and you would expect him to let something slip. Taking in the measures your best friend went to for Hinata a warm smile blooms on your face.

Just being Kageyama’s childhood friend you don’t know many of the pro players or their significant others. Sure, you’ve spent plenty of time with Hinata, but he’s busy tonight and Kageyama has plenty of hosting duties. Thankful that Kageyama said you could bring your current boyfriend, you search for fluffy brown hair in the crowd. Well his height doesn’t really help here since almost everyone is 6 ft or taller.

“Fuck”

Ushijima

You’ve lost track of how long you've been leaning against the counter in the kitchen, but based on how hazy the room looks, you know you shouldn’t try walking anywhere. Try to ground yourself. Focus on something.

You shift your eyes across the room, getting dizzier in the process. You try to rub your eyes, clearing out the fog, but your hands are moving slower? Like your body is submerged in water. I am drunk.

Opening your eyes, you land on the one thing you wish you didn’t. Your ex-girlfriend, Y/N.

Y/N

I guess it makes sense he would be here, he is Kageyama’s teammate after all. You aren’t sure if you want more alcohol to deal with this or should stop drinking altogether as your head is flooded with memories of him. The burn of his gaze is familiar and you know he's spotted you too. Not wanting to deal with this alone, you head off in the direction of your boyfriend's chatter, looking for solace in Oikawa’s warm embrace.

Ushijima didn’t look great tonight, I wonder if he's been taking care of himself. Ha, of course he is, if he wasn’t he wouldn't be able to play at peak capacity. If only he paid as much attention to me as he did the protein packed bentos I made him. Sipping your drink, you giggle at the thought of the large man attempting to make a detailed bento box.

When Oikawa spots you a few feet away from him, you see love personified. His face brightens, he doesn’t even stop his current conversation, choosing to just stumble walk towards you and squish your face. “I might be happy to see my friends but i’m happier to see you my looooove” he states in a singsong voice. Leading him back to his group, the burn of Ushijima’s gaze lingering on Oikawa's hand on your lower back.

Ushijima

Huh. I couldn’t hear Oikawa over the ringing in my head, but he is very close to Y/N. OH. I guess they are together based on that kiss. We broke up 3 months? 5 months? …. I don’t know what month it is, but I don't think it was that long ago. Was it?

Looking around, the room is floating a little less, and you can see some faces a little more clearly. Carefully making your way to the fridge you grab a cup of water and down it, trying to flush away the warmth of alcohol dispersed throughout your body. You begin nursing another cup of water, searching for her frame in the crowd.

Y/N and I aren’t- she isn’t mine anymore. I am alone, even here with these people. She was my home, my town and here I am now. Once you spot her, a smile is brought to your lips. She looks happy, I used to see that smile, greeting me when I came home from practice and before I left in the morning. While thinking about her, your body started heading in her direction, muscle memory kicking in. Abruptly stopping, bumping into someone since you still don’t have full control of your body, No. I don’t get to go there anymore. All I can do is watch. Huh, it's like a film.

Y/N

Oikawa’s grasp on your waist is helping keep you grounded, but you know Ushijima is watching you. I’m not your problem anymore, who am I offending by being with him? You, Ushijima? You were my crown, my king, and you ruined it. You didn’t listen to me.

You knew before you started dating Ushijima that you were two different people, and due to his frank nature, you both had a conversation about your needs and desires before getting together. Everything was perfectly communicated to him, but that doesn’t mean they were met. I couldn’t stay with someone who made me feel unloved. Even if he did love me, he never showed it in a way that I understood. Maybe it's my fault for asking him to change, for believing he could.

Ushijima

You knew why the relationship ended. You knew that you weren’t expressing your love enough verbally, and since you were often gone for volleyball, physical touch wasn’t enough. It hurts to see her with him, because I still wish that was me. I still love her, I just didnt- no, I just don’t know how to show her. We walked a thin line. It’s my fault I couldn’t take her words and needs and turn them into sufficient action, no matter how much I wanted to do so.

There’s no amount of crying I can do for you now. With that thought, you search the room, and spot Tendou near the door. Every step towards him is another step away from you, and it feels more familiar than you would like to admit.