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reidyoulikeabook · 3 years

Note

hi i saw that your requests are open for the night for that list and i feel like 15&35 with spencer might be all i need to survive

anyways i’m on anon bc i’m scared you’ll hate this request but just know your writing is my favorite i would read your grocery lists at this point

excuse me i love this request please do not disparage yourself ever again <3 that’s the loveliest thing anybody has ever said to me and i will now think of you and this compliment whenever i write a grocery list

Ship: GN! (wears a bra, no mention of gender other than this) Reader x Spencer Reid

Warnings: Mentions of canon-typical case things, pining, mild thievery.

Word count: 2.4k

Prompts: #15 - "You’ve just won one free pass to my bedroom.”

#35 - “Well fuck, didn’t expect to be announcing my undying love for you this early in the morning.”

A/N: This got so ungodly long I’m so sorry I don’t even know if I can call this a blurb at this point it’s a full fic but I loved this idea so much and it ran away from me.

PLEASE let me know what you think because I bashed this out in the span of an hour and I’m not sure if I love or hate it.

Rossi’s spitballing theories behind you. Your head lolls on the desk, feeling far too heavy to attempt lifting up at this time of night. The case was hard, you were sleeping in shifts, and somehow you, Rossi, and Reid had drawn the short straw. Your eyes are blearing a little too much to make out the exact time on the clock, it’s on the opposite side of the room and your eyes burn when you squint to look at the time; you’re fairly certain you’re somewhere on the wrong side of 3am.

23 hours awake.

Sighing, you push yourself up, looking around and only now noting that Spencer isn’t in the room. He must have made his exit while you were flicking through the files making notes, it was often easier to do that with your headphones in.

Thankfully, you'd set up shop in a conference room at the hotel, given the local PD was tiny and barely equipped to handle its own officers.

“What about the meat packing district?” Rossi muses.

It’s a rhetorical question but one you actually have an answer to, “I don’t think so. The busiest part of the city is between the meat packing district and where he’s dumping the bodies. Cops do random stop-and-searches sometimes, I don’t know if he’d risk it.”

“He could drive around.”

You frown, thinking, “He’d be crossing state lines. Hey, wait,” You stand up from your chair, walking to the board and starting drawing circles that illustrate your point, “Spencer thought there must be a pattern, right? But it died off here and we didn’t know about any more victims. If we expanded the search to outside of state lines it might connect here, here, and here,” You circle each here with a point, tapping the pen against the board triumphantly.

Rossi smiles, “Good thinking kid. I’ll call Garcia.”

Exhausted from your breakthrough, you flop back down into the chair. The clothes you’ve been wearing are icky, uncomfortable with sweat and flying and you’re strongly regretting your choice in underwear now too.

You hear the door swing open, looking up to see Spencer entering the room. Holding your go-bag. The one you’d left on the jet this morning. The jet that was a two hour drive from your current location.

“Where did you? When did you?” Your incoherency is related to both your tiredness, and his thoughtfulness.

He smiles, “It took some calling around but I found a cab driver willing to go and pick it up. It just got here.”

“Spencer I-,” You start, scrambling to your feet to accept the bag he’s offering to you, “Thank you. That’s so sweet of you. How much was the cab?”

“Don’t worry about it,” He says, handing it to you and heading over to the board, “What are these?”

Rossi - who was watching the exchange with some amusement - starts explaining the eureka moment you’d had. Spencer nods along, turning to smile at you when Rossi credits the thought to you. It’s something he does a lot, Rossi’s noticed. Not in a condescending way, Spencer knows more than anyone just how capable you are at your job. It’s as if he needs to channel his love for you somewhere, and chooses pride. It’s the easiest one to explain, after all, because who isn’t happy for their colleague making breakthroughs?

That’s how Spencer justifies it anyhow.

You leave the room, heading to the bathroom to change. You’re incredibly grateful to slip out of your dirty clothes and the bra that’s cutting into you, so much so that you decide to pop on a t-shirt under your blazer. The sports bra and t-shirt combo revitalises you more than you thought possible for this hour.

Digging through, you find an item that you didn’t pack. A pair of brown fluffy slippers. Attached to them, a note, ‘I thought the heels on your boots looked uncomfortable, and I didn’t want your feet to hurt. - Spencer.

He signed the note. Something about that, alongside the gift itself, sends a flush of warmth through you.

He gave you his slippers

So?

Is that something friends do?

Wracking your brain, you try to think up if he’d do this for anyone else. Hotch? The thought makes you laugh. Emily? Maybe, actually. If she didn’t make it so hard for others to take care of her. Penelope? Almost definitely.

Your heart sinks a little, and you distract yourself by fumbling to get your work boots off and the slippers on.

It doesn’t matter it isn’t romantic, it matters that he did it.

It matters to every other person you date

He sets an impossibly high bar

Thankfully, the late hour means that there aren’t many local PD still hanging around to see your interesting choice of shoe. You slip through to the conference room, where Spencer and Rossi are huddled over the phone talking to Garcia.

Spencer does a double-take. He knew the gift he’d given you, but he hadn’t expected to see you...wearing them? You look beautiful: hair mussed from fiddling with it, an old college t-shirt under your blazer, brown fluffy slippers on your feet. The mix of professional and homely attire does something to him that he can’t quite explain, and he has to clear his throat before making his next point to Garcia.

Did he just blush?

You try not to stare at him, try not to see if that’s a tinge of red creeping up under his turtleneck.

It is.

“Thanks Garcia,” Rossi clips, hanging up the phone, “I’m going to go and find some coffee. You two,” He points, looking knowingly between you, “Just keep doing what you’re doing.”

No sooner has Rossi left the room, you both try speaking at once.

“You look-” He starts.

“Thank you so-” You start.

You both tinge with warmth.

“You go first,” He says, gnawing at his plump lower lip, finger turning oer the pen in his hand.

You laugh, a little breathless, “Well fuck, I wasn’t expecting to be announcing my undying love for you this early in the morning.”

His eyebrows quirk, is that...hope?

No. Wishful thinking

It’s probably confusion, and you’re a little embarassed, so you quickly clarify, “I mean Spencer Reid this is the kindest thing anyone has ever done for me. I’m endebted to you forever, really.”

A look washes over him: disappointment? You can’t trust your eyes to see the clock, so you feel you can’t entrust them to analyse his micro-expressions right now either. Especially when you’re biased by personal desire.

“It’s no problem,” He says, voice cracking a little, “You look...” He trails off.

“Unprofessional?” You suggest, teasing.

He shakes his head, swallowing, “You look really nice.”

It’s your turn to swallow. You drop your gaze to the pen, feeling too flustered to continue looking your colleague in the eyes at this moment in time, “Thank you. Where did you get slippers at this time of night?”

He shifts, one hand settling over the wrist of the other and fingers nervously rubbing over the back of his hand, “They were uhm. They were mine.”

“Yours?”

“Yeah,” It comes out pitchy, a squeak, “I’m sorry, that’s probably weird I just thought-”

“No, Spence,” You say, looking up at him and giving him a genuine smile, “No, it’s really sweet. I’m really lucky to have you.”

He gives his signature tiny tight-lipped smile, the one he gives when he’s feeling awkward or suppressing something he wants to say but can’t.

Please let it be the latter.

You relinquish him of the obligation of responding, instead standing to join him at the board, “You think you’ve got enough to make a geographical profile out of this?”

He nods, tapping the board with his pen, “Your idea about crossing interstate lines was really smart.”

“I have my moments.”

He wants to tell you that everything you have is a moment. You want to step closer, to cup his face in your hands, to press a kiss to the lips that you swear are pouting, begging to be kissed. You don’t.

Namely, because Rossi chooses this moment to re-enter the room, clutching three cups of coffee, “A little help here?”

From the way you spring apart, despite not even being that close, he wishes he’d taken a little longer. Damn kids and their inability to express their feelings for one another.

***

It’s 4:30am when the alarm on your phone goes off. With the work of the four of you - Garcia sporadically included when she had genius updates - you’ve managed to uncover a pattern that arches across states. You’d called Hotch, who’d commended the good work and advised that you should head to bed at 4:30. The others would get up then, and start to head out to the different potential crime scenes. Local PD was already on it.

You’d been told under no uncertain terms that you were to rest until at least 10am. Unless there was a call from Hotch. You prayed there wouldn’t be.

Rossi’s off the minute the alarm rings, bustling out the door with a “See you later kids.”

You wait behind while Spencer packs his things into his satchel. Or rather, unpacks his things from his satchel, frantically tearing it apart.

“What are you looking for?” You ask.

“My key card,” He murmurs, “I swear it was in my wallet.”

“You were rooming with Morgan, right? Want me to call him?”

“Yes please,” He says, continuing to unearth the contents of his bag onto the desk, with an increasing degree of agitation every second that goes by.

You dial Morgan’s number, and he answers after two rings, “Hey kid.”

You put the phone on loudspeaker.

“Hey. I’m with Spencer, we’re about to head up to our rooms for the night, are you still here? He can’t find his keycard.”

He lets out a breath of air through his teeth, “Sorry, I’m already on my way to one of the crime scenes. Local PD found a body over the state line. Nobody’s at the hotel but you guys and Rossi.”

Spencer outwardly sighs.

“No problem, we’ll figure something out.”

“Alright, good work kid, get some rest.”

The phone line clicks. Spencer’s brow is pinched with frustration, and your heart breaks for him. You’ve all been awake well over 24 hours, and he looks exhausted. He’s more eyebag than man at this point.

“Do you want me to go to the front desk?” You ask.

He shakes his head, “Reception doesn’t open until 6am. I’ll just wait here until then.”

He starts packing the belongings back into his bag, a resigned look on his face. And you have an idea.

“Actually,” You say, pulling the keycard out of your pocket and sliding it across the table to him, “You’ve just won one free pass to my bedroom.”

He picks the card up, squinting in confusion.

“Me and Rossi both got put in single rooms. I mean, it might not be the most comfortable thing in the world, both of us in a single bed, but it’s better than nothing right?”

He opens his mouth to object, and you shake your head.

“Spence you look like you’re about to drop unconscious on the floor and I don’t want to be responsible for yet another injureid.”

You’re so tired that the pun seems hilarious to you, and it does elicit a small laugh from him.

“Come on, it’s either share a bed with me, share a bed with Rossi, or try to sleep in one of these chairs. And I’ll be honest, I’d be kind of offended if you’d rather either of the other two options.”

“I can sleep on the floor,” He says, obviously warming up to the offer but not wanting to push his luck. You can hear the hesitancy in his voice.

“You can. But you won’t,” You tell him, settling your go-bag on your shoulder, “And might I remind you that all this time you’re spending objecting are minutes we could be spending sleeping.”

That seems to win him over. He tucks everything back into his bag, zipping it up, “After you.”

“You have the keycard,” You smile, “After you.”

***

The bed is a single bed. It prompts another round of ‘No really, I can sleep on the floor’ from Spencer, your enquiries about if it’s too much for his germaphobia or issues with touching, and his blushy embarassed reassurance that he doesn’t mind if it’s you.

He doesn’t mind if it’s you.

Not as if you’ll spend the next year mulling over those words or anything.

When you get out of the bathroom from changing, Spencer is tucked up in bed. Well, you say tucked up, but he’s practically lay right on the edge. How he’s actually physically still being supported by the mattress at this point must be his physics magic.

“I thought I said I didn’t want you getting injured,” You say, crossing the room to him.

He opens his eyes, “I didn’t want to-”

“It’s okay Spence,” You tell him, huddling down into bed.

There’s about enough room for you both to fit in, with an inch between you, so you pull gently at his arms, urging him closer.

“There’s enough room for us both without you going flying in the night,” You tell him.

He nods, obviously still a little nervous. It’s odd, lying face to face with him, illuminated only by lamplight. He looks soft. He always does, but there’s something intimate about this. You can feel his breath fan across your cheek, can feel how heat radiates off his arms.

“Do you want me to turn the lamp off?” He asks.

It’s not your staring that implores him to ask, because he’s been staring at you too. The both of you, trapped in a perfect bubble of a moment. Lamplight a spotlight, highlighting all the features of the person you love most.

“Sure,” You whisper, breath catching in your throat.

He flicks it off, settling back down.

His breath brushes against your face when he asks, “Do you want me to turn around?”

“Do you want to?”

He hesitates for a moment, voice even softer when he answers, “No.”

It’s dark. You can hardly make out his outline. Yet somehow, you both just know. Shifting, infitismally closer. Breaching the tiniest gap between you somehow feels like crossing the Grand Canyon. Your heart thumps in your chest, and you can feel it in your fingers, the fingers that trace cautiously along his jaw.

His mouth finally, finally, slotting against yours in the most gentle of kisses. A blink and you’d miss it.

And yet, in the same blink, your life changes forever.

When Rossi makes a speech at your wedding, he admits to being the thief of the missing keycard, and intentional orchestrator of the greatest love story he’s ever known. His words.

---

Permanent tagslist: @reidingmelodies @takeyourleap-of-faith @sassiest-politician @calm-and-doctor @ssa-m-187 @seasonfivereid @averyhotchner @muffin-cup @purplewaterbottles082 @spencerreid9 @drspencerreidd @reidsnose

(message/reply to this to be added or removed!!)

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #reid x reader #imagine spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #imagine criminal minds #criminal minds x you #spencer reid fluff #can't believe queue've done this

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djarrex · 3 years

Note

Hello beloved! I was thinking about Rex interacting with Priya (as I often do) and I was wondering if he reads her bedtime stories, or what his bedtime routine with her is? 🥺 I am very soft for one (1) man and his little girl.

RO. You deserve this my dear I hope this helps make your stay a little more bearable (bareable? jk bearable. pulling humor from our chats bc I'm a dumbass)

Find the rest of the series in the Post-Order 66 Rex ML

Ok so I may have gotten Carried Away. There’s just a little hint of sad, but other than that, FLUFF. about 860 words. Papa!Rex reading to his baby girl. Even at less than a year old, children are considered emergent readers, and benefit from seeing the text as it's being read to them. The more Papa Rex reads to little Priya, the more she'll take an interest in wanting to read. She'll soon become familiar with how print has meaning, and eventually will start pretending to read as her finger moves along each word (it'll come out as cute babbles and very premature word recognition because she has not yet learned how to decode, but hey, at least there's that understanding in place of how written words correlate with the words we speak!) <3

<<<>>>

"Rex... where did you find this?"

It feels so unreal in your hands, your watering eyes not believing what they're seeing. The colors on the hardcover are just how you remember them; the same colors you see behind shut eyelids when accidentally conjuring flashes of your childhood, your family. The flimsi pages held by the binding - now worn and losing its integrity - give off that smell as your turn each one: the smell of a book. A real book with pages one can turn with their fingers, grasping each one and letting the sound fill your ears as they flip. It's so much more than mindlessly dragging a digit across the screen of a holo device.

"There was a stall in that other town that sold these. I, uh, I've never seen a real book before, but when I saw this one right up front," he lay a finger on the page you're currently flipped to, pointing at a little pastel tooka wearing a silly hat in particular, "I thought Pri would like the many colors and the cute characters."

Closing the wide and thin, rectangular children's book, you press it against your chest, arms wrapping around yourself and holding it tightly. Your vision becomes slightly blurred for a moment until the tears become heavy enough to descend. Rex furrows his brow - a flash of concern sinking in his honey eyes.

"What's wrong? Is- is this not okay?"

"Rex," you manage through a soft sob. "It's perfect. I just... I can't wrap my head around how the universe led you to pick this book in particular." Releasing your hold on it, you pass the book to Rex, who looks it over intently. It’s silent as he sets it on the table, then he’s scooting his chair closer to you.

"Is this something you had as a child?"

"My father..." You take a deep breath - exhaling slowly through your nostrils. It’ll never get easier to dig into those memories you keep so deeply buried in your mind. Rex takes your hand, bringing your knuckles to his lips and holding steady. He knows. "He would read it to me. Almost every night, right before I'd go to sleep. I never thought I’d see something so vivid from my childhood again, let alone hold it in my hands.”

It’s silent for another few moments while your eyes lock onto the cover, Rex’s eyes fixed on you.

The baby starts to fuss from her crib, and you’re quick to stand up to retrieve her. The dampness around her large, familiar eyes nearly mirrors the tears drying underneath yours, but you can’t help but smile when her little fists raise in the air in a call for you. You hold her close and bury your nose in her thick hair as you head back into the kitchen. She’s quick to shift her weight to the right within your grasp, extending her arms and tilting towards her Papa as soon as she catches sight of him sitting at the table. You’ll never get tired of the way Rex’s face positively glows as his baby girl reaches for him.

“There’s my little love,” he says down to her while brushing loose, messy, sleep hair from her forehead with his fingers. She coos in content, and you shake your head with a sigh - a grin stretching on your lips to match Rex’s.

“She doesn’t even try to hide it,” you chuckle. “A daddy’s girl if I’ve ever seen one.”

“Ah.” Rex pokes her tummy and bounces her on his knee, the two of them giggling in unison. “The next one’ll be a mama’s... one.” You raise a brow at him.

The next one.

“I can read it to Pri, every night,” he softly suggests - gesturing to the book with a jolt of his chin. From her place on his lap, Priya reaches for the book, but her fine motor skills are not yet developed. He picks it up for her, and opens it up to the first page - her eyes widening at the unfamiliar colors and characters greeting her for the very first time. Testing the waters, Rex places his finger on the extra large Aurebesh font, and moves it slowly to the right with each word he speaks down to her. Priya’s hand wraps around his pointer as it glides across the flimsi, hanging on to him and following along with her gorgeous eyes moving in the same direction. Her Papa keeps going, page after page, stopping before flipping to the next to point out a new character included within the vibrant illustrations. You giggle through a soft sob as her little palm smacks against the page in excitement upon flipping to the last one - fresh tears streaming down your cheeks at the scene playing out in front of you.

Rex closes the book, and brings a hand to wipe away a stray tear from his own cheek. Priya maps out the hardcover with curious fingers - tracing along the pictures and moving with font of the title. You share a glance with your husband, and he smiles.

“Every night.”

<<<>>>

@thefact0rygirl @bambiswriting @gotomarvelgal @fett-djarin @rowansparrow

****Honestly sometimes I just don’t feel like adding the 70+ tags but if you wanna be tagged in anything Post-Order 66 Rex, let me know! <3 (tagging those who I think would appreciate this)

#post-order 66 rex #djarrex writes #request #Rex Gayiyla #Priya Gayiyla #the Gayiyla family #captain rex x reader #star wars fic #post-order 66 #captain rex

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alilbihh · 4 years

Text

woods&witches — knj

masterlist

pairing: namjoon x reader

summary: You think it ends with you saving a fox. That is, until you start getting love letters sent to your doorstep and little knick knacks left on your window sill.

genre: fox shifter!namjoon, witch!reader, fluff

words: 4.5k

a/n: this was meant for the bingo challenge but completely escaped its original prompt. anyway. heres shy!lovestruck!namjoon bc i love him. also no this is nOt a witch au blog idk whats wrong w me

A finch flutters onto your windowsill, and you shuffle over once you hear a tap, tap, tap on the glass. You push it open and the bird hops inside, beak leaning forward tentatively.

You take the letter. "Ah, so they sent you this time?" Or maybe the finch volunteered, you wouldn't be surprised. They are quite the gossips.

It's a soft blue envelope, and when you turn it over there's a scrawled #12 on the left side corner. You think that even if he hadn't written that, you'd know. It's easy to keep track, after all.

A maple leaf slips out when you open the envelope. You set it aside and tentatively take the letter, brush a hand over the ink. It was written by hand in messy but deliberate hand writing and it smells like chamomile and honey, like it was written under a half-moon.

You read it once then twice then three times until it feels like you've been dipped halfway underwater, until the buzzing of the midday cicadas has faded into white noise and everything is suddenly tinged blue.

The man, you deduced a while ago, tells tales of palm trees and blue ponds and red and pink frogs, of catching crabs on a stranded shore. He's writing poetry but he's not, writing reality but he's not, and you don't know how he does it, how he can make five paintings with just one phrase.

You clutch the letter to your chest, feel yourself have an out of body experience because of a not-poem. Your head whips towards the finch when it chirps suddenly, and you huff.

"Why're you still here?" You shield the letter from the bird's eyes. Its head tilts. "And don't give me that look, I know exactly what you're thinking."

The bird only gives another chirp before flying away.

You scoff out a laugh, and when you walk towards your bedside table, the drawer opens before you can even think too much about it. You glare at your walls before tucking the letter with the others, as if to stop the house from teasing you too much.

It all begins and ends on a sunny afternoon.

The tree roots whisper as you pass, as if to purposely lead you astray, but you follow them anyway. The forest is never wrong, after all.

So when you stumble against a snowy white fox lying on a field of wisteria, you're only a tad bit surprised.

"Ah, you don't want to do that," you say some time after it woke up in your home and stopped panicking. It's now looking down at your polka dot socks, then looks up sharply to stare at you. You don't think there's a way for foxes to show emotions, but you think that if there were, he'd be staring at you with a little bit of awe.

You clear your throat. "Your foot, I mean. You don't want to strain it."

It just keeps staring at you, one ear twitching a bit.

"Um." You say when it doesn't stop, "You'll be better in a few weeks time. It wasn't that serious."

The fox blink blink blinks before shaking itself off, fur spilling every which way. You take it as acknowledgement enough.

In a few minutes he's managed to sniff and inspect every piece of furniture in your home, ranging from your small couch to your droopy house plant. He trudges and limps and sometimes skips from place to place, and then becomes highly confused when you don't let him climb the kitchen table.

Yoongi appears on your window somewhere between the fox kneading at your rug and the fox trying to catch a moth with its mouth.

"Hey grump," you say to the black cat, scratching behind his ears. Yoongi's tail twitches in dismissal, but he whines when you stop petting him, anyway.

You can almost see when Yoongi's gaze settles on the fox, because when you turn to look he's frozen solid on your couch, as if hoping he can't be seen if he stays still enough. The cat gives you a look.

You raise a brow. "What? Don't look at me like that."

He keeps looking at you like that.

"I helped him over by the wisteria. His foot's a little bad, but it's nothing too bad." The fox stays curled up on your couch, digging his nails into the cushions much like a cat would. An ear twitches in your direction, as if he's sheepish but won't admit to it.

Yoongi mewls a single, drawn out mewl of acceptance. You nod nod nod, and the cat jumps down your window and disappears into the woods right when the wind starts blowing north and the sun starts climbing higher before dropping lower.

The world stills for a while as you work through your home, organizing your chipped cups and bent spoons and funny forks. The mushroom wraith on your door wiggles when you pass it by, and when the frog figurine on your counter croaks in greeting the fox nearly jumps out of its skin.

(The fox is gone by morning, right when the sun settles over the honeysuckle tumbling down your thatched roof. You try to feel for his presence, but it's overwhelmed by the snails and woodpeckers and oversized mushrooms.

You think that's when the letters started coming, perched nicely over your windowsill whenever you're not looking).

There's a man in your pond.

The carp in the water yells indignantly as the man tries to stand but tumbles, pondweed curled over his ankles as if begging him to stay. You just stare because the man tries to get up once then twice then three times, hair loose and windblown and positively drenched, twigs and pondweed in the knots.

You stare and stare until the man notices you and startles, looks away quickly before cringing and hesitatingly meeting your eyes. He lifts a hand, lowers it, lifts it again and waves. You wave back.

"Hello." You say. The man looks a little stunned, more stunned than when the carp had nipped at his feet. You point at the pond, "You're standing in my pond."

"Ah!" He startles, head whipping down like he'd forgotten all about it. "I am! In your pond, I mean. Sorry, sorry." The pondweed untangles itself mercifully, and he shuffles out of the water, toes curling into the dirt around it.

"It's okay!" You shoot him a thumbs up. He stares. "Do you want to, uh, come inside?"

So the man walks through the slim wooden trellis and diligently wipes his feet on the rug, shuffling through the door with hesitant steps. He looks a little like a painting left out too long in the rain, all ruffled hair and stiff shoulders, but pretty nonetheless.

"Would you like some tea?" You say, already grabbing the kettle from the cupboards, "It will have to have milk, though, since the cups don't like serving without."

"Okay! Tea is nice. Thank you." Then he smiles with knee-deep dimples and pinchable cheeks and something inside you kinda melts a little.

The man's name is Namjoon and his skin is tan despite it already being winter, the color of salted caramel. He's so bright you find it easier to look away, to look instead at the space around him, the shadow against the pane of his neck, the length of his-- very long legs. You'll pretend you never noticed that.

You don't talk about why he was in your pond, not really. He's already apologized to the carp, he says. You talk instead about mushroom glades and why avocados are acceptable dinner foods and his intense love for moths and his hopes for snow this year.

When Namjoon leaves it all feels a bit unprecedented. Lost souls show up on your doorstep often, always leaving after a cup of tea and a few helpful directions, but Namjoon doesn't look lost at all. Looks a little like he belongs, really.

He rubs awkwardly at the back of his neck, then sticks a hand out in offering. You shake his hand. He nods, lingers on the doorway, plays with a loose stitching of his soft green overalls.

"I'll-- be seeing you, then," he clears his throat, and you just laugh a little loosely because no, you won't. With lost souls, you never do.

Except Namjoon does return. He returns, in fact, in green baseball shorts and an open-collared shirt with sugar packets sticking out of the front pockets. He looks a bit like a dad showing up for his son's football game. Looks a little dangerous but in a harmless way, like a huge gangly bug. A six-foot stick insect hovering outside your door.

You're a little stunned. Very stunned. So stunned that Namjoon cringes, shuffles a bit on your welcome mat. It's a frog with a thought bubble that says welcome! that Namjoon has expressed his love for on multiple occasions.

"Hello," he purses his lips. "I... wanted to thank you. Again. For everything." He sucks in a breath. "Bad time? Bad time. I don't actually remember knocking-- did I knock? God, I didn't, did I? I'm so rude, I'm so sorry."

"No, no," you say once you've recovered. "You, you definitely knocked."

"Oh!" His lips form a surprised little 'o'. You're so fond. "That's good. Okay. I'll... be leaving, then."

"Um!" You interject, "You can come inside, if you want?"

So he comes inside and drinks tea and names the cactus by your windowsill Gerald and discusses his complaints on climate change and you're a little content and a lot confused, because--

Only creatures of the forest can find your house more than once.

Unless--

(That night, you knock on your own walls and glare indignantly. Say, "You led him here, didn't you?"

The walls do nothing. You think you hear a floorboard creak, though.

You stomp your feet like an overgrown child. "I don't know what you're trying to accomplish, but I'm not falling for it!"

No response. Except the wind chimes outside sing brightly, but when you look out the window there's no wind at all).

Namjoon visits once then twice then three times, always showing up unplanned and out of nowhere. He brings a pinecone first then a dandelion next, blushes and says I didn't pluck them against their will! I told them they looked pretty and they volunteered to help me.

He's so pretty it's become a little harder to hold in. He was always pretty, always smiles a bit too brightly, like he's swallowed a star and can't quite keep all the brightness to himself, but something's shifted a bit.

(You contemplate this in a mid afternoon. As in: whisper-screaming to the ceiling for a while. And then whisper-screaming some more when Yoongi walks directly across your face.

"You're a monster," you inform him.

He digs his tiny monster-claws into your stomach.)

One day, you learn the man is weirdly good at knitting. You learn he has a pretty solid grasp on quantum physics. You learn that when he laughs it's a little hah! under his breath, and when he really laughs it turns sideways and belly-up, pitching into something that could almost be defined as a giggle. You learn that you need to stop staring.

Another day, Namjoon sits in the corner of your couch, curled up reading a book he'd picked up from the next village over. It's small but very thick with what could only be very small letters, because he's squinting a bit as he reads. It's vastly endearing.

Another day, he makes cheesy bread in your toaster and felt bad about it for the next three weeks. Which is also the amount of time it took for you to get all the cheese out.

Everything's great.

Today, though, you're walking through the forest alone. The forest doesn't guide you, not really, maybe because it knows you're walking on your own terms.

The forest is noisy with the sounds of birds calling and trees growing and little things skipping here and there through the undergrowth. Your shoes are so muddy you don't really care for how much worse they get, and they squelch when your heels sink into puddles and spongy moss.

You walk and walk until you come across a clearing, a bird feeder propped neatly over a tree branch. A sparrow squawks when it sees you.

"Hello," you say in greeting, and the tree with the bird feeder sighs, the wind blowing and carrying the sound.

A tree root on the ground grabs a fistful of dirt and promptly flings it onto your knees. You shriek indignantly.

You have a lot to figure out, the tree echoes because of course it does. It has a history of saying things vaguely and hoping you'll understand.

"I don't understand," you say out loud.

It flings more dirt onto your knees. You step back protectively, "Okay, okay! I get it!"

One, two. Four clouds in the sky, for now, it says at last, and you're a bit afraid of prying, so you just accept what it says as fact and move on, say one last goodbye to the bluetit that flutters onto the bird feeder.

It starts raining not long after that, when more than four clouds settle over the evening sun, makes it a bit harder to maneuver through the woods. You walk based on feeling, a hand brushing over the tree trunks, silently cursing the tree.

Namjoon is already waiting when you arrive home, hurries forward when he spots you through the trees, holding an umbrella up high.

And it's-- sweet. Just a really sweet thing to do, really considerate. He could have waited inside, in the warmth and shelter, but instead he's walking through puddles to meet you halfway with an umbrella.

He looks a little funny when he stops in front of you, hair disheveled and sticking up in random places, eyes all worried and sullen. He looks like a goose.

"You look like a goose," you say out loud with a little laugh, "I'm already wet though, so there's not much point in this, you know?"

Namjoon's smile is a bit dopey, a bit sloppy at the edges. "But there's not many trees to shield you, from this point on." He says, "Let's-- go inside?"

So you go inside, the house already setting the fireplace with its never-ending firewood, the frog figurine croaking and the wind chimes singing and everything feels a little right. A little more homey.

"Did you find your way back easily?" Namjoon says later, hands cupping his tea mug as he sheepishly adds, "I know this is your-- home, obviously, I don't wanna just assume anything, but-- For me, it's a bit harder to navigate when it rains like this. Fogs my senses and all," he clears his throat.

You purse your lips to keep from smiling, "Do you know how a wood witch works, Namjoon?" You continue when he shakes his head, "A wood witch is the one who planted the first seed that sprouted the first tree that grew the first forest," you say, half-chanting it, cite it like a rhyme long forgotten.

He looks a bit awe-struck. A lot awe-struck. Says, "Oh." And that's that.

You add, sheepish, "It's really not much. I'm not as powerful as other wood witches, but I am grateful to the woods." You hum, "They gave me this cottage. They gave me who I am, really."

"Oh." Namjoon says. "Oh." He stares and stares, open mouthed and in awe and sort of dazed but pretty, pretty. His gaze trails over the room once before settling back on you, says, "You're all the beauty in the world."

And the world-- stills, maybe-- balanced atop a drop of nectar.

You whisper a small, delighted "Oh." And that's that.

Namjoon somehow manages to drag you outside the woods.

You're being dragged through busy streets, cars and crowds and carriages that boggle your senses. The difference between the village and the woods is astounding. (Not that you've never been to nearby cities or villages-- sometimes you crave poptarts and there's nothing you can do about it-- but it's been a while since you've walked into the very heart of it).

You might be a wood witch, but Namjoon is the one who looks a little — lost, outside the woods.

"This is my favorite corner cafe," he admits proudly, "Um, if Seokjin-hyung says anything, please be aware I'm not associated with him."

"Got it." You like this Seokjin guy already.

Taylor Swift is blasting through the speakers when you walk inside, a broad shouldered man swaying from side to side behind the counter as he pours milk into a cup. Once his eyes land on Namjoon he positively grins.

"Namjoon, my man!" He belts out a particularly impressive high note as Namjoon approaches him, but no one around seems at all fazed. "It's been so long!"

"I've been here last week, hyung." Namjoon says but he seems a bit happy to be missed, sheepishly ducking his head.

"That's too long. You should visit more often, it's great! I get free coffee here and don't have to walk through muddy paths and ominous sounds to visit you."

"It's not free though?" Namjoon frowns, "You may own the shop but you're the one who buys all the coffee in the first place."

The man behind the counter makes a noise that's too distorted to understand. "If I wanted someone to tear apart my ideas with logic I'd talk to Yoongi, you're both insufferable."

You want to interject but at the same time don't. You get so absorbed in your own thoughts you almost don't notice when they mention a Yoongi. Huh.

"Oh, you know Yoongi? The cat?" You blink when two sets of eyes settle on you.

"Ah, yes. Yoongi." The man you've now established has to be Seokjin sighs, resting a chin over his palm, "The devious fiend. The pest of the nest. The gremlin goblin."

"Do you ever think before you speak."

"I do! I thought of those words and then I said them."

Namjoon sighs and none of them elaborate any further, but you decide not to pry. You can always just ask Yoongi, anyway.

You both sit in a booth in the far corner where light reflects onto it perfectly but not in an overwhelming way, just enough to be warm and comforting. Seokjin pads over with your drink and Namjoon's latte and shoots excessive finger guns as he leaves, and Namjoon looks a bit like he's refraining from apologizing on his behalf.

Namjoon doodles on napkins and talks like he's reciting a far off poem, except he's talking about what should be the correct pronunciation of pickles and you're kinda maybe really hopelessly endeared.

"Do you think I should paint my nails?" He's saying, closely inspecting his nibbled nails, "Maybe it will make me stop biting my nails."

"Have you thought of green?"

He hums delightedly, "Green! I love green. I'm thinking pink though, since gender norms are a social construct and pink is just pretty in general."

"You'll look like a pretty little winter fairy!" You grin. He flushes pink, too.

Then when you get up to order another drink he stands quick, as if intending to order it for you, but you're already grinning and skipping to the counter and when you turn to look at him he's slowly sitting back down, defeated.

You're maybe smiling too hard when Seokjin walks to take your order. "Ah, Y/n-ssi! How may I help you, my gentle woodland elf?"

"Can I just have the same thing, please?" You say and he hums, walking mechanically towards his cabinets.

Then after staring dazedly at the separate christmas mugs and cinnamon buns and droopy plants, you're looking around when you spot a box by the back counter that looks like an awful lot like a letter slot, a stack of envelopes sitting neatly on top. Oh.

"What's that for?" You gesture towards the box, and Seokjin turns away from the coffee grinder to smile something a little gentle. A little secretive.

"We're a letter shop too, you know?" He looks like he's suppressing a sort of devious smile he doesn't want you to see, "We deliver letters on the writer’s behalf, so the sender stays anonymous."

Your organs twist and melt together all at once. You mumble a small "Oh" and that's that.

Then when you leave Seokjin winks before sending you both off, the man waving boisterously and maybe obnoxiously but you're immensely endeared, wave back until the shop is out of sight and Namjoon is sufficiently embarrassed.

You predictably invite Namjoon inside after you arrive home, deciding that soup after coffee doesn't sound too bad. So you watch as the fireflies do somersaults and the moths hover over lamps as you both go for seconds and then for thirds and you don't say much, maybe say nothing at all, but that's okay, too.

The soup signals a change, you think. Either

1) You are in love with Namjoon and need to tell him.

2) You are in love with soup and need to seek help.

So you walk through the forest.

Namjoon is at home, you know, but you feel that talking to Namjoon about your possible love for Namjoon is a bit counterproductive, so you walk through the forest instead.

Everyone is still adjusting to last night's downpour, the floors muddy and the leaves droopy and everything smelling like wet earth. You walk but you're hovering a few inches off the ground, silently thank the forest for its kindness.

You walk through the forest again the next day, think back to the tree with the bird feeder and think that maybe he wasn't so vague after all. Just wish that he could tell you what to do next.

It's easier to listen to a tree's vague advice than it is to follow through with it, you think, until a few weeks later, when the universe decides you need a little push. A big push. The biggest push.

Namjoon has been visiting consistently for the past month or so, sometimes staying over and sometimes staying just before nightfall, but for maybe a week you haven't heard of him at all. He's disappeared without a trace.

The forest guides you this time, patches of sunlight shining through trees as you follow. You think you hear the shrill argument between a finch and a jay on the treetops as you navigate through mushroom patches and mossy rocks.

It's the field of wisteria. You're in the field of wisteria when you find a small burrow, a little home for a woodland creature.

When you turn, you see-- Namjoon. Namjoon, eyes widened in horror, a strangled sound breaking free from his throat. Two white fox ears standing ramrod straight on his head.

You clear your throat. Say, "Hi, Namjoon."

He shrieks.

A finch flutters onto the bird feeder, eyes twinkling, "Guys, you will not believe what I just found out--"

"We know," the jay says.

"We know," the bluetit says.

"We know," the sparrow says.

Even Yoongi mewls from a higher tree branch.

The finch squawks, gossip stolen from right under its wing, "How on Earth did you all know?"

"The forest made the house bigger," Yoongi drawls, tail swishing here and there, "And we all helped deliver the letters."

"Different from someone, we can actually keep secrets!" Says the jay, chest puffed proudly, ignoring the offended squeals from the finch.

"You know, it was actually kind of obvious."

You hum from beside Namjoon, his arm draped over the back of the couch inches away from dropping onto your shoulder. He wants to tug you closer, comb a hand through your hair, but the mere thought has his face burning and ears threatening to pop out at the stress. He's kissed you before, dozens of times, for many reasons and for no reason at all, but it all still feels a little nerve wrecking, like one push will have you burst at the seams.

(Which, frankly, is ridiculous-- you're the strongest person he knows, but-- but.)

"What is?" He says to distract himself.

"The letters stopped coming after you started showing up, and you literally took me to a letter shop." You falter and add, "And just.. the way you say things, it sounds like how you sound when you write. I don't know if I'm making sense, but it's-- nice." You explain, a hint of affection on your voice.

That has nothing to do with being a fox shifter and everything to do with you sitting so prettily next to him, smelling like Ilsan sunshine and kept promises and damp earth, like the forest itself.

"Hmm," he hums, a hand settling on your thigh, finally gathering the courage to drop his arm onto your shoulder--

"Namjoon, you really don't have to hesitate for this kind of stuff." You say, turning to look at him with a grin. His face burns as he clears his throat pointedly, crossing one leg over the other as he finally drops an arm over your shoulder.

"M'sorry," he mumbles.

"Don't be," You press a kiss to his chin, "And you better kiss me properly this instant, because it seems you still think that crocs are acceptable footwear. I'm gonna come to my senses any second now."

"Please don't," he says, a little wild. Then he's moving, nose brushing over your cheek, and then— and then—

A hand curling softly over your cheek, a little giggle, and his lips pressing gently over your own. Something a bit real. Un-takeback-able. You taste a lot like the poetry he writes, still writes, like you're pressing the wonders of the world to his lips, like he's skimming the universe with his hands.

(Once upon a time, you saved a fox lying in a field of wisteria.

The rest of the story is told in open envelopes, messages left for the moon to see.)

1K notes · View notes

keilemlucent · 4 years

Text

lavender latte: iii

(T (for now!))

hawks | takami keigo x reader

ao3

chapter 1 || chapter 2 || chapter 4

word count: 4.2k

a cheeky drink and some mutual sabotage.

warnings: oh no, they say s*x, fluff, pining, the usual, and a wittle angst on the side, reader smokes cigs bc its a salem trademarked fic thing

enjoy folks ;^) the whole of this piece is gonna be about? ten chapters. so. hold on tight!!!

beta read by @keiqos, heart EYES

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“Let that sit for a second or you’ll burn yourself—”

“Don’t need to tell me twice, angel. I know the drill.” Hawks replied with a wink.

You weren’t ever going to get tired of that.

You really expected Hawks to disappear out of your life. You really, truly expected him to run off for good. How many bigger, better, and more important things did he have to do? Even if you managed to speak to him and regard him like any other customer (or, perhaps acquaintance, and more recently, friend — ), your mind swam with insecurities that only seemed to get worse over time.

You were waiting for the metaphorical thread to snap.

You waited for the day Hawks simply would stop texting you flirty bullshit on a somewhat regular basis.

But, holy fuck, the dude didn’t.

You couldn’t think of why. You weren’t complaining about the attention, but you also were terrified of getting too used to it. Hawks was a part... bird (?) right? He was flighty by nature.

Despite this, Hawks continued to not only text you but also stopped by the shop fairly frequently for his special, quirk-fueled beverage fix. Politely, he’d text you the day before he planned to make an appearance to check and see if you were working, and then show up the next day like it was nothing.

He usually wouldn’t stay for long; the hero was ungodly busy and always on the move. But, he always took the time to flirt and get a full description of his drink before dashing out to save the world once more.

Most days he visited were his ‘hero work’ days. He’d appear in his costume, done up and dashing for a sip and a quick talk before disappearing once more into the skies. Every once in a while, Hawks had an ‘office’ day where he’d be confined to his agency to catch up on his insane backlog of paperwork. On these occasions, Hawks would talk (stall) at the tea shop for as long as possible. You talked and joked with him as long as he would let you. Sure, it put you behind on work, but no one at the shop was going to tell you off for fraternizing with the number two hero (whose repeated presence was drawing more customers anyways). You both reveled in each other's attention, drinking in the other’s slowly softening smiles and quick wit.

On this day, Keigo’s wings were the shittiest they had been in a while. Plucked and almost barren with how much he’d been working lately. Total exhaustion seemed like it was constantly on the horizon, tugging as his eyelids and weighing down his chest each morning.

It was easier to get out of bed when he got to think about seeing you.

Sure, your drinks were a perk. Very much so. He was getting so used to the artisan beverages you crafted that the taste of his normal canned coffee was starting to bother him.

But, what his real thrill in visiting the tea shop was that he got to see you, and that made his heart pound.

He sat across from you, looking down into your newest drink. It swirled between dark and milky, a heady, rich aroma billowing up with the steam it produced. He had requested something ‘surprising, new, and horribly caffeinated’ as deep fatigue was the worst villain he’d likely see that day. You had just nodded, cheekily starting to prepare his drink with a bounce in your step, pupils going wide.

“I feel like you’re gonna start running out of ideas one of these days,” Keigo laughed, adjusting himself on his stool, gloves and jacket removed. He almost looked like a normal patron.

You grinned to yourself, idly cleaning around you as you often did, “I dunno, I’ve got a lot.”

Hawks raised an eyebrow, “Tell me about them.”

“Nope, top-secret,” You shook your head, digging into your apron to flash him the small notepad you carried on you.

Scrawled in nasty handwriting, you carried your many ‘feeling’ ideas around with you. Different concepts and abstractions all scribbled down, a nice long list to look back on whenever Hawks would make his appearances and his own vague requests. Your backlog of ideas made it easy to find something more than suitable to make for him.

When Hawks saw your notepad his eyes widened, tilting his head and a devious smirk coming to his lips.

Your expression fell, and you stuffed the papers back into your pocket, hiding your hot face by idly cleaning some more.

You left yourself very open for teasing, it seemed.

(Not that you or Keigo minded.)

“You keep a little list of all of your ideas! I’m beyond flattered,” Hawks ran a hand through his hair, flashing a cocky smile for you.

“I have to stay prepared, can’t be disappointing my celebrity sugar daddy,” You winked as Hawks’s eyes went wide, half-hearing a choke get caught in his throat. (You loved it when you were able to get him visibly flustered. What a treat.) You nodded down to the drink, “Should be good to try now.”

Keigo really liked spending time with you. He knew it was always fleeting and short and consistently he wanted to find reasons to stay with you at the tea shop counter for longer and longer. Your quips and chides continued to get quicker and more clever and he was having an increasingly difficult time keeping his cool around you. Most of the time he smoothed himself easily, not showing a trace other than that which he neurologically couldn’t control.

But sometimes, you were bold enough and ballsy enough to get him to gag on his literal words and he was positive that you were the only person to ever have him break composure in such a way.

He covered his weakened poise by sipping the new drink, mindfully letting the taste wash over his tongue.

Increasingly, you’d been changing up the so-called ‘vibe’ of your beverages. It seemed like each time Keigo dropped in, you had something new and vibrant to show him.

This drink was particularly different.

The taste was rich, dark, and smooth, rolling into the back of his throat and down his spine. It coated his insides with a warm, low heat. Peeking through were sweet, light accents, warm but almost... teasing?

His dick twitched.

Hawks’s mouth dropped open, any and all professional veneers dropped as you just beamed so fucking smugly at him.

“What do you think?” You leaned a bit forward, bouncing on your toes with excitement.

“Is... Is this supposed to taste like sex?” Hawks asked, taking another mouthful to confirm. Based on the way his eyes briefly shut and some of the tension rolled from his shoulders, he thoroughly confirmed it.

“Technically, it’s crafted based on like... a late-night rendezvous. I left it fairly up to interpretation beyond that. The rest is on you.” You shrugged, still bouncing as Hawks took another chug.

“What the fuck, (Y/N),” Pleasant shock colored his features, but clear amusement stretched across his lips as he continued to drink.

“You wanted something surprising and horribly caffeinated. That’s a dark chocolate mocha with two extra shots, our in-house raspberry and rhubarb syrup, a bit of white chocolate syrup, and a few of my add-ins as well. It’s pretty different from what I’ve made you before,” You blinked at him, stomach twisting as his expression remained unguarded. “I... I probably should’ve asked before giving you a drink that definitely could’ve been taken as sex. That’s my bad. I can remake you something else if you’d like?”

Keigo shook himself from his stupor, shaking his head and quickly regaining his composure. He took another sip to emphasize his words, “No, nope. It’s okay. Definitely okay. The drink is really good. I’m just now wondering something.”

“And, what’s that?” You asked, reaching behind the counter to grab your own iced beverage.

“Can your quirk be used to manifest bad feelings and concepts, just like good ones?” Keigo asked. Normally, he’d add more nuance, but he was getting impatient and sloppy around you. He’d have to keep that in check.

Especially with the way your shoulders drew up and tensed. You turned a bit away from him, any and all potential for eye contact torn away.

He hit a nerve.

“The type of abstract feeling doesn’t matter, I can emulate it,” You replied, pulling at your nails. Keigo had long picked up that it was one of your habits when your anxiety spiked.

He dropped it, but didn’t forget. There were public files on quirks. Maybe he’d look into it. Maybe. It felt a bit invasive, but considering plenty of that data was freely accessible, it hardly was an invasion of privacy, right?

(Except for the fact that it obviously made you very uncomfortable to discuss the more unsavory potentials of your quirk.)

(He just wouldn’t tell you.)

Keigo switched topics, easily rolling away from the topic, “Any particular... event that inspired this one?”

You pressed your hands into the counter, leaning over it to glare at him, “Are you referring to something with that comment, Hawks?”

He shuddered when you said his name, but you don’t notice.

“Maybe I am, maybe I’m not,” Keigo shrugged easily, going for another sip.

The drink was inspired by the several day cinematic, wine-bender you went on a week or two prior. An entire weekend with just you, your cats, three entire bottles of wine, and a backlog of movies to catch up on. You tried to consume lots of different types of media, but what had been catching your eye lately had been anything with gushy romance for fairly obvious reasons.

(There was an embarrassing amount of ideas for drinks that were a bit too romantic to properly indulge with your quirk. You’d never tested the limits of how certain feelings could manifest, and you weren’t quite ready to face the reality where you could make people nut from caffeinated milk.)

“It is good though, the drink,” Hawks smacked his lips together as if it would make his coming analysis more credible. “It definitely does taste like sex, but more so complicated. Darker.”

“Deeper.” You smiled. “Your palette is getting more refined. I’m proud.”

“Are you saying it was bad to begin with?” Hawks pouted, flashing you falsely weepy eyes and a puffed out lip.

You rolled your eyes, “Yes, you yourself have admitted this. You drink canned coffee still, so I can’t even call your taste good.”

Hawks gasped, putting a hand to his chest, “I’m hurt, truly wounded.”

“I’m sure you are, tailfeathers.”

“I really thought I had reliably moved up to ‘birdboy’, angel.”

You snorted, covering your mouth with your hand, “Just goes to show how quickly the tables turn, tailfeathers.”

Hawks’s pager suddenly chimed, a familiar sign. He took a quick look at it and sighed, moving to re-robe. You were surprised by the speed at which he did so, and the way he became tense so quickly.

It made you realize that he was always tense.

(Unless he was talking to you.)

“I thought today was an office day?” You asked, a bit of a disappointment clouding your voice.

Hawks just gave a small smile, fully plastering back on his heroic facade, “Duty calls. Lots happening lately.”

He flicked his visor back over his eyes, slid you your normalized wad of cash, and whisked himself out the door, immediately taking to the skies from the streets.

He’s in a bit of a hurry.

He... didn’t even say goodbye.

Wonder what’s happening?

Truthfully, Keigo was a bit startled by the notice on his pager. The whole reason he’d started patrolling the particular neighborhood the tea shop was in was because there was word of a villain syndicate working nearby. It hardly seemed right for the neighborhood, but Keigo knew that villains hid anywhere. Whatever they were planning was still relatively shrouded, but it was clear that it needed to be treated delicately. That particular neighborhood was rife with pedestrians, businesses, and homes and any sort of villainous activity had the possibility of reaping a heavy amount of collateral damage. Keigo and the Commission had been on their guards about it, but things had been steadily becoming more intense over the past few weeks.

Plopping himself on a rooftop, Keigo took up residence to stake out his newest lead, watching figures and silhouettes in a nearby office building.

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Funnily enough, the rest of your week went horribly. Just downright shitty. You figured at some point, things would let up, brighten, but they didn’t. Each day brought some new, personal calamity.

The first was a trip to the emergency vet with one of your cats after she swallowed a hair tie. An expensive vet bill later, she was perfectly healthy, but you remained wracked with anxiety.

Another day, the owner of the tea shop paid a visit to chew you out for your newest tea blends not fulfilling his picky seasonal requests. You were relieved it had nothing to do with how Hawks monopolized your time. Still, getting yelled at easily within earshot of both coworkers and customers made your insides twists.

The final small disaster was when a particularly asshole-ish customer chucked a hot drink all over you and your cute white sweater. One of the younger openers had been dealing with a difficult patron and an incorrect order, nothing out of the ordinary. When you tried to step in and de-escalate the situation, the man ripped the lid from his cup and splashed you with the burning liquid. You held back any sounds of pain even as your skin stung like hell when you offered to remake his drink.

One of your managers luckily allowed you to go home early. Thank god.

By the end of your shitty week, you fell into your apartment and just cried. White sweater stained and day feeling fairly ruined, you let yourself have a good, solid sobbing session to just release how terrible things had been.

It would pass, you knew. But it sucked at the moment.

It also didn’t help that Hawks had been particularly absent after running out the last time he came around. He’d still managed to shoot you a funny text or two, but mostly, it was silence from him. You rationalized it by reminding yourself of how quickly he flew off at the end of his last visit, hero business forever more pertinent than you and the shop.

You reminded yourself to keep yourself grounded in Hawks obvious impermanence, even if you were starting to get used to (and really like) having the hero around.

You decided that your Friday evening would be good. You treated yourself to a hot shower, noting with a hiss the pink scalded skin that covered your chest from your collar bones to just below your breasts. You threw on a facemask and uncorked a bottle of wine you had been saving for a rainy day.

You clicked on one of your favorite shows, an older cartoon that brought you consistent comfort in times like those. Curled up with a knit throw blanket and your healthy cats, it did help soothe the burns, mental and physical.

That is until you got a bit too drunk on red wine and it turned into sad drunk.

So, you made your way to the roof.

You weren’t fucked up beyond belief, despite the fact that you were towing an open bottle of red in one hand and a pack of cigarettes in the left. The cold would sober you up, along with the nicotine. You hoped it would force you out of your head.

Upon throwing open the door to your apartment complex’s rooftop, you were made very aware of its wintertime disuse. The gardens that grew during the summer were snowcovered. The chairs and tables for lounging were in a similar state. You didn’t mind.

The view was still nice.

You set down your bottle and zipped up your coat. Quickly, you brushed off the flurries from a rickety lawn chair and plopped yourself down. You threw on some music from your phone, playing some sweet, old songs that made your chest ache when you needed it to.

The city stretched in front of you, beyond the rooftop. You didn’t live in a particularly wealthy district, but there was no shortage of dazzling neon and bright street lights dotting the ground below. You watched how the rest of the city stretched far beyond your little pocket, still gleaming with multi-hued lighting and dazzling in the wash of the crescent moon.

You took a swig, fishing for your self-dubbed ‘sad cigarettes’ and lit up. With your exhale, you watched as smoke lazily swirled away, carried by the soft winter wind. If you were any less drunk, you’d be freezing.

A shadow, winged, fell across the snow.

“You know, I get nervous when I see pretty girls on rooftops with bottles in their hands,” You jumped at the voice, whipping your head to the source.

Hawks stood, scarlet wings fanned outwards, on the lip of the rooftop.

Your eyes widened.

You took another sip.

He gave an affectionate laugh, jumping down into the area where you were seated.

Keigo had just been out on his normal, nightly patrol. The leak had been correct and he’d been stealthily tracking the villains while completing the rest of his hero duties. He was able to laugh off his exhaustion, but it was starting to eat him. Several cans of coffee a day was hardly doing it for him. He hid his sleepiness and aches well, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t difficult. All the same, his typical roles had to be fulfilled.

He was surprised to see you, all alone on a rooftop with a lit cigarette between your fingers. Keigo let himself be surprised before noting that ‘ yes, you definitely probably live in this apartment building and you’re just outside to smoke’, but the sudden jolt of panic he felt was crushingly unbearable.

Mostly because it was personally protective and not heroically instinctual and he couldn’t start acknowledging that aspect of his feelings for you. Not yet.

Keigo walked towards you, asking, watching you blink blearily at him “You doing alright?”

Eyes downcast, you shrugged, “We all feel shitty sometimes. Just depends on how you cope, ‘ya know?”

“And how do you cope, (Y/N)?” Keigo asked, pausing before brushing off a chair. “Mind if I join you for a bit? I could use a second to rest my wings.”

You nodded, almost offering him the bottle, but quickly pulling it back to your chest before taking another inhale. Offering a pro hero alcohol while he was pretty obviously working seemed like a bad move, even in your tipsy state.

“Most of the time, I watch nice stuff and distract myself, like most people, ya’ know?” You exhaled as you smoked, relishing the nicotine buzz. “Sometimes, though, I just feel extra shitty and need to extra cope.”

Hawks hummed in agreement, sitting back in the chair. His wings were folded up and over its back, the longest feathers trailing in the small snowdrift behind him.

“Do you get cold, being in the sky all the time?” You asked, eyes going cloudy as you stared up at the lights of the city and higher into the sky.

“Most of the time,” Hawks chuckled, throwing his arms behind his head, “I’ve told you this, angel. It was one of our first conversations.”

Your eyes widened at the realization, mouth open with a hearty laugh.

It made Keigo’s eyes water a little. He blamed it on the wind.

“I’m silly, I can’t believe I forgot,” You nestled back into your chair, tracing the lines between constellations. “It’s the whole reason you came to the teashop in the first place.”

Your voice resonated, focus foggy. Somewhere else, old memories played in your mind, recounting your first few meetings with Hawks.

A warm, small smile stretched across your face as you traced the stars.

Keigo watched, enraptured. You were cute, especially like this. All bundled up in your winter coat, half-zipped. There was a lot less stress in your shoulders than he normally saw at the shop, especially as your thoughts were so far away.

He wanted nothing more than to commit the contours and shadows of your face in the white moonlight to memory, never forgotten in the blissful cold.

You interrupted his thoughts so beautifully.

“Thanks for talking to me.” You took a sip from your bottle just after speaking, half-drowning your words, but Keigo caught each one. “I appreciate you.”

“P-pardon?” Keigo couldn’t tell if you caught his stutter, but even if you did, you didn’t show it. The comment felt like a jab to his jaw, half-knocking the wind of him and turning him into a filthy masochist. He’d take any whiplash if it meant you saying such kindnesses to him.

How could you just say shit like that?

What exactly did you mean by that?

Why did your attention make his legs tremble?

You turned your attention from the night sky to Hawks, something like uncertainty bubbling in your chest, “I appreciate you, ya’ know? Coming by the tea shop still, teasing each other and shit, you humoring me—”

Hawks interrupted you, feathers tensing at his back.

“I’m not humoring you.” Hawks deadpanned, staring at you oddly seriously. The yolks of his eyes seemed even more intense in the neon and night light.

“You’re... not?”

There was utter disbelief in your voice, accented by the way your jaw was half-opened.

Hawks shook his head, standing in emphasis, feathers fluttering as he did, “ No, angel. Not at all. I visit because...”

I like you.

“Because I like your drinks.”

Because you make me feel good in a way I’ve never felt.

“You’re fun to talk to, too. Added perk.”

Because I want to hear your voice when I breathe and when I die.

“I enjoy it, you know? You're fun.”

Some feeling in your chest, something full of hope, crushed itself and compacted to the point of pain. You sniffled at his admission, blaming it on the cold. In a fucked up, sad way, part of you was so relieved.

He likes the shop. He likes your drinks.

He’s around because he wants to be.

But not because you’re special to him.

His words reminded you of your insignificance in Hawks’s life. No matter how much you craved his attention and words, and more recently found yourself staring at the plumpness of his lips and the curve of his cupids bow and daydreaming about how much you wanted to lean over the tea shop's counter and kiss the constant, teasing smile off his face—

But.

You don’t matter that much to him.

Sure, he likes you, but he’ll never feel the same way about you.

You made the decision then to make the most out of Hawk’s affections and sweet words. You’d take what you could get, even if it was fleeting and probably eventually heartbreaking. It seemed smart, to refuse to get your hopes up for someone so unattainable.

You let out a shaking sigh, “Thank you, Hawks. I appreciate you coming around. You really light up my day.”

Keigo saw the fall of your face and bottled himself up. Shoved down everything. Fuck his feeling, fuck how he felt about you, this was all fucking terrifying. It was getting to be too much and he had to try and control himself.

Just like he’d been taught so well.

He was just so happy to be around you. He could squash his feelings, even if they were fairly obviously somewhat mutual. God knows that he didn’t know how to handle anything like that.

On the gods, his pager beeped.

“Duty calls?” You said, standing up yourself and brushing off the stray snowflakes.

“Seems so.” Hawks sighed, nodding, “Thanks for letting me rest here. It was good to see you, (Y/N). I’ll see you soon, okay?”

You waved goodbye as Hawks disappeared as quickly as he came, launching himself from the roof with the heavy sound of wing beats.

Soaring away, Keigo risked a final look at you. He swore he saw tears in your eyes.

He forcibly repressed his feelings, reminding himself that your company, words, and quirk-made beverages were more than enough. The flutter in his chest when he thought of you wouldn’t rest, but he could learn to ignore it.

On the roof of your apartment, you felt fatigue in your bones and wetness on your cheeks. You ignored both in favor of smoking another cigarette, soft, melancholy music being your only constant, reliable companion.

You reminded yourself that he, Hawks, was a temporary fixture, more flighty than most and liked you just enough and for surface-level reasons. You could take that. You’d do anything to be around him more, even if it never amounted to anything.

You, just as Keigo did, pressed down any larger feelings.

(The thing about feelings, though, that neither of you was very good at remembering, was that they don’t go away. Sure, you can let them go, but that takes time or a practiced mind!)

(When you take feelings, big, aching, soaking feelings and shove them down into the deepest parts of you, they just tend to make you bleed. The ‘hidden’ feelings color your blood as it spills, even if you don’t notice when it falls and its change in hue.)

(One can only hope that both Keigo and you listened instead of lied.)

Both of your hearts ached, and neither of you fully understood why.

#salem writes #hawks x reader #mha hawks #bnha hawks #takami keigo x reader #keigo takami x reader #reader insert #mha x reader #keigo x reader #hawks x y/n #takami keigo x y/n #lavender latte #bnha x reader

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mageofseven · 3 years

Note

hi!!! i just requested this on another blog too but i am FIRED UP rn abt the angel event, and i was wondering if you could do hcs for the brothers with an mc who is SUPER pissed off abt the bangles and stuff (bc its just wrong on SO many levels), especially bc they have religious trauma of their own (its the internalized lgbt-phobia for me 😎) AKRHWJRJE thank u

Yeah...this became a rant that I had no idea I was holding within myself. I've put it all under a Read More thing for those who haven't seen or finished the event for whatever reason. The actual content asked for is below this rant so feel free to skip over it for the real reason y'all are reading this 😅

Okay, people seem to be very...negatively passionate about this event. Don't get me wrong; I understand and agree with why everyone is upset. Playing with the brother's trauma (well, most of the brother's trauma since Satan wasn't alive at the time and Asmo seemed pretty chill with the whole angelic thing) for sake of an event? That's fucked up.

On a story level, I was at first mad at Diavolo. I mean, surely, surely that man knows what horrible stuff Lucifer and his brothers went through or at least part of it, because the ending of it all is what brought the brothers to him! And maybe he thought the costume change was okay since Asmo requested it? But even so, the consent of one brother does not equal the consent of all brothers to dress up like their past selves!

Then bangles. Simeon knew what they did and still gave them to the brothers. Okay, upsetting, but Michael told him to give them to the brothers and maybe he can't refuse an archangel? I dunno but fuck you, Michael.

I'll admit though, those bangles helped the brother do good things and get past their gnawing insecurities (Mammon selling his stuff and donating the money to charity, Asmo know longer stressing over looking perfect and finding peace with his looks and ultimately, learning to truly love himself in a way he never did before), but such things happened for the wrong reasons. I want those good changes for our boys, but I don't want it forced on them like it has been in this event. I want them to reflect, see that a changes is need, and choose to work in themselves and self-heal.

This event was just a lot of me smiling uncomfortably and screaming in my head "what's happening to my sinny boys??". It honestly broke my heart when Luce said he didn't have any fond memories of his time as an angel and I was so worried about all of the bad memories that must be flooding his mind because of this, especially his since his brother, though began with anxiety in the beginning, fell into what's practically mind control quite easily, and only Luce was left fighting it's affects.

Some parts of the event were cute, I won't deny that, but it wasn't them. We didn't truly have our boys during this event and instead had to watch them revert to state they likely never wanted to and it hurt to watch...

Okay, I started this rant trying to make a point that I thought the rest of the fandom felt too strongly about this event and now I'm like...ouch, I had a lot more feelings in me about it than I originally thought. So ya, I understand now. Imma just hide in the corner and hug my Luci...

Lucifer:

Truly surprised to see MC so worked up

And lowkey touched that they care so much about both his and his brothers' wellbeing to the point where they'd get so mad on their behalf.

However, he cannot allow for them to speak to Lord Diavolo in such a manner.

Pulls them to the side and tells them enough is enough, consequently bringing their harsh comments towards Simeon to halt as well.

Getting worked up is not going to fix anything and he tells them this.

Mammon:

Whoa, whoa, hold up! Enough!

No need to get that mad, human, honest!

Yeah, this isn't gonna be easy for them, but he doesn't need MC digging their own hole in this situation.

Immediately works on comforting them, saying things like he and his brothers will get out of this in no time so they don't have to worry.

Essentially lies to them and feels extra guilty about it thanks to the bangles, but no stupid bracelet is gonna make him admit that and hurt his human worse!

Overall, MC's outburst forces him to focus on them and not his own current issues.

Leviathan:

Another brother so worried about them that he has to shelve his own worries to comfort them

...or at least, he tries to.

Basically agrees with everything Mammon says (the bangles make that a hell of a lot easier for him to do) and anxiously fidgets in place.

He has enough to worry about and now his Henry is acting like this? Things just keep getting worse.

Satan:

Sighs

"MC, now is not time for this."

You know when the Avatar of Wrath says you shouldn't be giving into angry right now that you really shouldn't be.

Appreciates that the human is so worried about them, but really doesn't need their yelling on top of the current issue.

Whether this is his own logic talking or the calming effect of the bangles, the man cannot discern.

Regardless, this situation is more of an inconvenience to him than anything else.

He never was an angel nor went through the trauma his brothers have. At best, he just has a small, vague patchwork of Lucifer's memories of that time.

He becomes increasingly unsettled as time in this form goes by, but doesn't struggle in the same way his brothers do.

Asmodeus:

"Oh stop, it'll be fine!"

The only brother to try to remain positive in the situation.

I mean, at least his outfit is cute, right?

The bangles do raise up a kind of anxiety that he doesn't want to deal with, but if he just smiles and pretends things are fine, maybe all of his issues will go away?

Doesn't like MC getting so angry because it reminds him that this is indeed a problem and he doesn't want that.

Beelzebub:

Sad baby boy.

More worried about MC than he is about himself tbh.

Please don't be mad, MC, it'll get fixed somehow 🥺

Despite being one of the afflicted, feels like he needs to watch over the human during this time.

Belphegor:

Ugh, stop.

Yeah, he's pissed too, but enough yelling about it.

Agrees with everything they spew out at the demon lord and angel.

Devil, just fix this, someone.

He doesn't want to be forced to be like his prior self, as if the loss of his sister never happened because it did happened.

Fuck Diavolo for always doing whatever the hell he wants. Fuck Michael for still wanting to control them even now. Fuck everything that's going on right now.

#obey me #obey me otome #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #obey me mc #obey me gn!mc

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pomegranates-and-blood · 3 years

Text

The Holly And The Ivy

My Masterlist

Pairing: Ivar/Reader, Sigurd/Reader, Sigurd/Margrethe

Summary: “I had this idea where Sigurd (or any of the brothers really) were to marry a Christian, but their marriage is dry and more political than anything, but Ivar is fascinated by her attitude (being opposite of him) and her love for life and simple things. He hears the reader and who she's married to talking about how she loves Christmas and he shuts her down, but Ivar decides to let her pick out a tree from the forest and put it up in the Great Hall and decorate it any way she wants. And the ending would include a kiss under mistletoe? If you can work with it.”

I’m very sorry if I dissapoint you anon, but the story was easier or smoother for me to write as a Modern!AU. I really hope you don’t mind. I can try something in the actual time period still, if you are not happy with au’s.

Word Count: 4.2k

Warnings: Mentions of cheating, passing mentions of abusive relationships (not involving any of the relationsips in the tag btw), angst, my poor attempt at holiday fics or holiday spirit. Also, a part is not smut or explicit but getting closer to it than most of my work, so that too.

A/N: I really hope I don’t dissapoint whoever requested this. Also, I made this way more complicated than it needed to be, bc I always do, and for that I’m also sorry. Hope you like this, thank you for reading!

The title is from a Christmas carol, cause why not lol

Taglist: @1950schick @youbloodymadgenius (I realized you once asked to be tagged on my Vikings works and I forgot, sorry)

“When we are done with this trip we’ll go back home.” Sigurd points out one night as you both say goodnight, in some hotel somewhere in Norway.

“Home?”

“To my mother’s, in a week. Family time and all that.”

Before you are to leave for your own room, you call out, “For Christmas?”

The blond shakes his head, “Yule. You can celebrate your Christmas when we return.”

“That’ll be after the New Year!” You complain softly, offering a smile because you cannot help it.

“I will have to deal with Ivar and my mother, you can deal with this.” Sigurd sentences, the harshness startling you and prompting you to accept the words with a nod.

He mutters a goodnight again, hesitating for a moment on his bedroom door, as if questioning whether he should say sorry or not. You choose to relieve him of that choice, going into your own room and closing the door with a quiet click.

As if it were waiting for the door to close, your phone lights up on your nightstand.

How’s Oslo?

You type a quick response,

You could just ask me if we’ll be attending your mother’s celebrations, you know.

The response takes a while longer, and you cannot help the smile that pulls at your lips.

…Are you?

I expect all those lessons of yours with Floki to come to use. I’m going to need to learn about Yule, apparently.

So I’m supposed to teach you?

Who else?

Your fiancé. Is the reply you get, so fast you think he already knew what your reply was going to be before you even sent it. After a moment, before you can even think on what to answer, another message comes through. Nvm, my brother is useless. I’ll do it.

Your lips pull into a wide and stupid smile, and God, not even the shame at the quick beating of your heart or the warmth that spreads through you could make you be any less thankful for this, if anything. For him.

Thank you. Are you going to be there by Christmas?

This time the answer takes a while longer, and the indication that he is typing appears and disappears a few times.

I don’t know. Before you can ask anything, or send anything, a new message pops up. Princess, this doesn’t get any easier. I don’t know if I can.

Tears rise in your eyes because a part of you knows you’re meant to say goodbye at the end, and every time you are reminded, either by the pain in your own chest or Ivar’s words, that you are on borrowed time; you realize that end is close than you think.

Well, in that case, Merry Christmas, Ivar.

____

You find yourself being driven to that massive and fancy house by your fiancé.

You toy with your engagement ring as the car approaches the house. You know, rationally, that you have nothing to fear. The brothers have never been mean or hurtful -well, most of them haven’t-, and Aslaug has always been courteous and kind and…incredibly performative.

A part of you never ceased to feel like an outsider looking in. Between the pariah that a stupid business practice will be made into Sigurd’s wife, and the silent and soft woman they ignore as if she were another piece of furniture, you’d much rather be the latter.

“Heavy little thing, isn’t it?” Sigurd teases as he turns off the engine, motioning with his head to the rings on your left hand.

You don’t say anything in response, simply getting out of the car in silence. You know he meant well, he always does.

But a part of you that is hopeful and childish and still looks at the snow that starts to fall lightly over the ground as some miracle that means Christmas is upon us…that part of you cannot help but feel bitter about it all. Regretful, or, maybe, resentful.

You never imagined life would be this, engagement -marriage- would be this. You thought of happiness and warmth and fidelity.

Foolish hopes, really. The hopes of a child that watched her parents dance to the light of the Christmas lights, to the music of the soft music her father hummed. Nothing but foolish hopes.

So, when Sigurd steps out and hesitates in offering you his hand, you offer a smile and take his hand in yours, choosing to appreciate that at least the man you will be forced to marry is one you might call a friend, a partner, one day.

It is easy to forget, it is easy to let your heart be light and just enjoy the adorable giggles of Björn and Torvi’s children, the sympathetic smile of Margrethe, the warm and brotherly embrace of Hvitserk.

You are sipping on wine and watching Ubbe throw Asa over his head as she yells for him to throw her higher when a presence stands by your side and a wine glass clinks with your own in silent toast.

“I know you know about Sigurd and me,” Margrethe whispers, “And I want you to know I am sorry. But…I won’t leave him, not until he asks me to.”

If a year ago someone told you that you’d spent Christmas Eve being told by your fiancé’s mistress that she refuses to stop seeing him, you would have assumed the world turned on its head.

It did, but…you still find it in you to love this world that hurts you, this life that tests you.

You offer a smile, “I know you love him. It started as…”

“Gold-digging?” The blonde supplies, a sheepish grimace on her face.

“I wouldn’t be as unkind as to-…”

“You should. That’s what it was,” Her smile loses the edge, and she falters, “At first.”

You accept her words with a nod, and another sip of your wine.

“Then as long as you are discreet, I don’t mind. Keep him happy, Margrethe, he deserves it.”

You start to walk away when she stops you with a call of your name.

“And you don’t? Deserve to be happy, I mean.”

You hesitate, faltering for a few seconds too long. Her blue eyes are big and uncharacteristically honest as they look at you.

“I…”

You take your gaze off hers, because it feels like she will know something she shouldn’t, something you don’t want her to; but your eyes betray you, it seems.

“Oh, him. Well-kept secret, that one,” She states, and when you open your mouth to argue, Margrethe shakes her head, “It’s okay, I don’t…I don’t blame you. Even if I don’t understand at all how that came to be.”

“It’s…”

“Complicated?” The blonde supplies, and you allow yourself a smile, you loosen your shoulders and close your eyes with a deep breath.

“Ivar, he…understands me.”

“But you two are nothing alike,” She states, and at your shrug, concedes, “Maybe that’s why.”

“Maybe,” You offer, and after a breath, because bitter regret at being the thing that keeps her from the man she loves chokes you for a moment, “Margrethe, I…”

“Don’t you even think of apologizing to me,” She laughs, “Gods, woman, you truly are a soft thing, aren’t you?”

“I have the privilege of being it.” You offer with a kind smile, because you’ve seen the scars, because you remember her when she was more fragile.

Margrethe shakes her head, “The burden.” She corrects, and with a soft squeeze of her free hand on your arm, she walks away.

____

It’s on the day before Christmas that the last of the Lothbrok arrives. You walk down the stairs to a very early breakfast, and jump when the front door opens to reveal Ubbe and Ivar.

He came.

“You are up early.” Ubbe comments as he passes you by, dropping a kiss on your cheek.

You greet Ubbe absently, your eyes on his brother. Numbly, you hear him say something about telling Aslaug that Ivar has come home, and quick steps carrying him up the stairs.

Your lips curve into a smile, or at least they try to, “Hi.”

“Hello, Princess,” Ivar greets, what months ago would have been a smirk curving his lips. Now, now it’s more tired and worn than anything. “Just in time for your…Christmas, right?”

You nod, feeling the stupid urge to cry, “Yeah. Means a lot, you know.”

“Well, I could feel you pouting over the phone, love,” His eyes check the stairs before he moves aided by his crutch towards you with a wince of pain -the cold, you remind yourself, the cold making his legs ache-, and once he is before you, a hand that shouldn’t feel as tender as it does cups your cheek and brings your mouth to his. “I couldn’t leave you alone here. You always find ways to embarrass yourself.”

You chuckle, burrowing your head on his chest as you embrace him.

“I may have fucked up a few times,” You concede, eyes closed as you take in his scent, his warmth, “But I’m cute, I get away with a lot of things.”

____

As the timer on your phone dings, you get up from the couch, leaving a warm but strong drink behind, and make your way to the kitchen, ready to take out the sponge cake -no, a voice too alike Ivar corrects you, Bûche de Noël-.

Uneven steps behind you let you know of who walked in behind you, and you turn around with a slight frown on your brows, meaning to ask something before he interrupts you.

“He’s groping and kissing her in front of you, and you say nothing?” Ivar demands, anger shining clearly in his blue eyes.

“Sigurd and Margrethe?” You ask, and shake your head, “Why would I say anything?”

“You know about them.”

“Of course I do. He doesn’t hide it from me, and he shouldn’t hide it from his family. He loves her, and she loves him.”

“You don’t care that he’s humiliating you?” He presses, and you sigh.

“Everyone here knows how things truly are between Sigurd and me.”

Ivar’s mouth curls into a snarl, and cruelty spews from his lips, “Well, if you had let Ragnar know you had no problem letting your husband fuck whoever he wants, you might have been able to marry Björn, like your father wanted.”

You close your eyes, “Don’t be like this.”

“Like what, hm? Like someone that’s watching the woman he-…What am I supposed to be then, hm? What would make you happy?” He accuses, not losing the cruel edge in his voice even if you both know what he stopped himself from admitting. When you don’t answer, Ivar takes a deep and angry breath through his nose, “I’ve always been jealous of my brothers, you know this. Growing up their poor crippled brother is nothing to knowing Sigurd gets you and doesn’t even know what he-…what I’d do to be him.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“Make him be the man you deserve!”

“He’s not the man I want,” You point out before you can keep the words trapped behind your lips. Ivar is inexplicably stunned by your words, it seems, and you lower your gaze. Resting your hands on the counter you drop your shoulders and shake your head, letting go of the previous argument and returning to…peace, or as close to it as one can get with Ivar. “Your brother deserves to be as happy as he can, with the woman he loves. It will not hurt me to see him with her. As long as-…”

“‘As long as it is discreet’, yes, I know. My mother and Ragnar have the same agreement.”

“It works for them, does it not?”

Ivar meets your gaze and doesn’t answer for a few moments, long enough that dread sets in your chest and questions arise in your mind.

Eventually, on the side of his jaw the clear tell of gritted teeth, he replies,

“Not as well as you think.”

“Well, Sigurd and I are friends, we…things will work out. They have to.”

“They have to, of course,” He mocks, moving his head as he rolls his eyes, “Anything to keep Ragnar and your father happy, hm?”

“Ivar…”

His eyes search yours, searching for the answer to a question he has not yet asked,

“I-If I asked you not to do this, if I…if I asked you for more time…” He leaves the words hanging between you, and you blink past helpless tears. He knows the answer, you know the answer.

Thankfully, you don’t have to remind him -and yourself- of the world you live in, of the lives you were meant to live, because the door to the kitchen opens and Aslaug walks through.

You keep your eyes firmly set on the tray before you, even though you can feel Ivar’s eyes on you, demanding an answer. When he realizes he will not get one, he grunts, a clenched fist hitting the counter once before he walks away.

“I’m sorry.” You offer the matriarch as she keeps her all-seeing eyes on you, but Aslaug offers a smile. A fake one, but a smile nonetheless.

“The cold gets to Ivar, it makes him irritable. It is not your fault.” She soothes, but the smile you offer her in thanks still trembles. You both know these are lies you are sharing with one another, and though it makes you falter and stumble, Aslaug moves gracefully from one lie to the next.

“I’ll-…” You point behind you, to the living room, but the woman shakes her head.

“Surely you have time to help me with this?” She asks. It feels like walking into a wolf’s den when you nod your head and approach her.

“Of course.”

She watches raptly as you assist her in preparing the Yule Log, and you focus on doing your best to keep your hands from trembling.

“For someone that doesn’t follow the Gods, you know a lot about tradition, girl.”

“I…It was the least I could do, learning about what is important to your family, to Sigurd.” You offer, and whatever she -who always has the look of someone that sees beyond what normal eyes can- can sense in your words makes Aslaug stop.

She turns to you, and surprises you with a hand on your cheek. The woman towards over you, but the gentleness in her touch, the warmth in her eyes, they help you to not feel threatened.

“Still loving the world that hurts you, sweet thing?”

“It’s all I know how to do.”

Aslaug’s smile is almost sad when she looks into your eyes, “To love, yes, I know. Wish I saw that sooner,” You don’t know what to answer to that, so you offer her only a shaky smile and a shrug. Aslaug chuckles gently, “And you love my son, don’t you?”

The terrifying thought that she knows what she’s doing when not saying any names, the realization nothing gets past her and neither did whatever is between you and Ivar, it all settles in your stomach with a dead weight.

Still, whether she asks about Sigurd or Ivar, the answer is the same.

“Yes.”

One as a friend, a partner, a man you can learn to respect and build a life alongside of. The other, as everything you ever wanted, as someone that will always make you wonder about the ‘what if’s.

She shakes off whatever takes a hold of her, and before you can ask what she means, why it pains her, she steps back from you and turns her back to you.

“You know, Ragnar isn’t the only one in this family with an eye for business. I was once in the same position you are now, the heiress to an empire,” Aslaug’s smile seems to thaw as she hands you a refilled glass of wine to match hers. Resting her backside on the counter behind her, she continues, “My parents were able to teach me a few valuable lessons before their death.

She grabs your left hand, stopping you. Her eyes look deeply into yours, but her thumb rolls your engagement ring on your finger.

“Like how to understand when I can’t make any more moves. And when I can change the wording in a deal to make it favor me.

Your lips part, you think to say something, but Aslaug stops you with a smile.

“Let’s hope you’ve learned the same lessons, my dear.”

____

Ubbe is dancing with Asa standing on his feet, and you watch with a smile on your face as the family enjoys time together, and celebrates the holidays in their own way.

A part of you misses the Christmas lights, the decorations you’d help your parents put up when you were a kid. A part of you misses how simple life was back then, how in this time of year you could forget there was a world past the snow drifting down and the warmth of a hearth and a home.

Ivar comes right up to you, but doesn’t sit next to you, choosing to remain standing.

“Grab your coat,” He orders, and at your confused frown, he rolls his eyes and amends, “Please.”

The most insincere please in the history of pleases, but you know you get more than most, so you don’t comment on it.

Still, you have to ask, “Why?”

“I-…a surprise,” He says, and insists you move with a gesture of his head, “Come on.”

You follow him to the small house the Lothbroks have by the pool, a cozy little home of big windows. When Ivar motions for you to go in ahead of him, a part of you is suspicious, but you still skip your way inside and try not to ask questions as to how it is so warm here when it should be vacant.

Ivar turns the lights on, and you find in the middle of the living room a Christmas tree.

The tree is bare, but still lively and familiar.

You turn to Ivar with tears in your eyes, because you cannot help it.

“You did this for me?”

“You love your Christmas,” He mumbles, embarrassed at the reaction his -to some, uncharacteristic- thoughtfulness got out of you. “I figured you deserved to have some of it with you here.”

“Did you buy Christmas lights?” You ask softly, almost moving up and down in the balls of your feet in excitement, eyeing the bags on a chair nearby.

Ivar chuckles, endeared, and nods, “Go ahead, Princess.”

You skip your way to the bags, quickly looking over the goods and already planning on how to decorate it, how to make it look pretty, how to make it yours.

You don’t truly know how long you spend on it, gleefully putting up Christmas lights, and little ornaments. During the whole time you spent excitedly decorating the tree, you can feel Ivar’s eyes on you, and when you look back at him you find him staring with a strange softness in his gaze.

You choose not to think too much on it, and instead ask his opinion on the decorations, that he gives gruffly and with a very poor attempt at making you believe that -either because Christmas grew on him, which you find very unlikely, or because of your own happiness- he isn’t happy to be here.

____

You smile at the warm and twinkling lights, and burrow closer to Ivar’s warmth, refusing to take your eyes off the dancing lights and refusing to put your feet back on the ground.

Refusing to step out of the fantasy that this could be your life.

Ivar shifts his position, and you lift your head from the juncture between his neck and shoulder and meet his eyes in question.

His eyes give away so much, always have, at least to you. And now they reflect the warm sparkle of the Christmas lights, and they reflect hesitation, fear, uncertainty, love.

Before you can ask what is wrong, Ivar leans in, his hand previously around you tangling in your hair as his lips claim yours.

His kiss is always demanding, but this time it holds desperation in the way Ivar begs for your lips to part with his own, it holds an urgency in the way his tongue dances with yours, it holds a ragged edge in the shaky breath that he lets out through his nose, it holds a goodbye in the way he ends the kiss as if forcing himself to pull away from you.

You try getting your breath under control and your voice to be yours again, but he’s so close, and warm, and yours; and all you want to do is kiss him again.

Kiss him again, and make the furrow in his brow, the pain in his eyes, go away. Kiss him again, and pretend you are not living on borrowed time.

So you do.

You kiss him, and take control of the kiss, and make him groan lightly against your mouth when you tug on his hair, and whimper his name against his own when you straddle him and feel him getting hard underneath you.

When your need for breath makes you part from his kiss, Ivar wastes no time trailing fervent kisses down your neck, panting breaths against the hot skin that he kisses and licks and bites.

You moan his name, forgetting everything but the touch of his lips on your skin, forgetting everything but the scent and taste and feel of him.

Either at the sound of your voice or the grind of your hips against his hardening cock, Ivar’s breath stutters and he breathes your name back at you, voice low.

His brow rests against your collarbone as he takes deep breaths, and your fingers toy at the hair that flows down to his shoulders.

“You know…” He murmurs, pressing a kiss that makes you shiver right on the dip between your collarbones, “There’s nothing I want more right now than marking this pretty neck of yours. Leaving you with…” His teeth scrape against your skin, a tease both for you and himself. Ivar does it a few more times, and moves up your neck again. Your breath shudders past your lips, and you tug on his hair to remind him of what he was saying. You always did love hearing him speak. For all the months you spend apart, his voice telling you what he’d do to you, what he’d have you do to him, is all that keeps you warm. Ivar chuckles, but continues, “Leaving you with my mark all over you, where everyone can see, so…so that they don’t doubt you’re mine.

His hands tighten on your waist, before they travel down, caressing your thighs as he sighs.

“But you’re not, are you? And I can’t…I can’t do any of that. I can’t-…”

You interrupt him before his thoughts can get ahead of him, before he can twist himself into knots about the situation you are both in.

“I am yours. Only yours.” You remind him softly, your lips by his ear. You lean back so you can meet his eyes, and seal your promise with a soft kiss over his lips.

Ivar’s eyes search yours when you pull back, with the same look as before. Uncertain, lost, tender and yet almost sad.

“Marry me.” He whispers, keeping his eyes on yours.

“What?” You squeak, eyes wide. He couldn’t have…he knows that…none of this makes any sense.

“Marry me instead of Sigurd,” He insists, and as if remembering the part he forgot, he curses and hurries to fetch something from his pocket. He offers you a simple but beautiful ring, and swallows, “I-I can make you happier than he ever could, I…I love you.

I know you can, you already do.

I love you too.

But you can’t say any of that, because your breaths are shallow and your head is filled with thoughts and…and you need space.

You scramble to stand, to put distance between the two of you. After a few controlled breaths, you return your eyes to Ivar, whose hand has now fallen back to his lap even if he still holds on to the delicate ring.

He grits his teeth, the obvious tell at the side of his jaw, and he seems to want to divert his eyes from you, but he only blinks and keeps certain eyes on you.

“Your father wants you to marry one of Ragnar’s sons, he doesn’t care who. I…have talked with my father, he agrees that if you want to, we can…” He licks his lips in a nervous gesture, “Mother says any backlash from breaking the engagement can be handled.”

“You’ve thought this through.”

“Of course I have, y-you’d be Sigurd’s wife if I didn’t think of something,” A twitch of anger, of uncertainty, of fear, on his face, and then he amends, “You still can be. But I want you to be able to choose.”

Choose me, is what he doesn’t say.

Your heart is lodged in your throat, and you try a few times before you can finally speak,

“Ivar, we haven’t…it’s been only a few months.”

“And it will not work out, that’s what you’re saying?” He huffs, defensive, “It won’t work out if you marry my brother either.”

“I-…this-…”

“Stop thinking of excuses,” He snaps, gritted teeth and hurt written in his eyes, “I’ll handle everything, no matter your answer. Just…just give me an answer, Princess.”

____

It is open ended cause there’s two ends to this, I wanted to leave the choice to you guys! So, follow the link for the epilogue of your choice:

Will you accept the proposal and be bound to Ivar, for better or worse?

Or will you stay with Sigurd, and be content with companionship and friendship?

Hope you liked this, even if it wasn’t very holiday-ey. I wish you all very happy holidays and a great (or decent, after 2020 I’m happy with decent) 2021!!

(Ik it’s like the 13th and I’m gonna be very much around here posting and bothering the whole lot of ya till the holidays and beyond, but holiday fic and all that, ‘twas the perfect time to send good wishes and all. Love ya!)

#ivar the boneless x reader #ivar x reader #ivar the boneless imagine #ivar the boneless #ivar

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blahkugo · 4 years

Note

Sunny!! I am so happy you’ve hit your 1k milestone!! You are the sunflower of my life and I am so happy to know you 🌻 what about Ushijima with an underground aesthetic for your mood board celebration? 💕

lauren i’m in love with you!! thank you so much my mf QUEEN ♡ & thank you for co-creating the smut pile bc i’ve met so many people on there that i love!! hope you enjoy your ushi ♡

-ˋˏ ༻ 光 ༺ ˎˊ-

「USHIJIMA WAKATOSHI」

— underground! au

— warnings: violence, asphyxiation, pain, gunplay (?), kidnapping

⤏ ushi, in my mind, can only fit into one role in the world of highly illegal activity: the mob boss. the man is stoic, all business, perhaps a little dense at times (but that’s what a right hand man and underlings are for); so, it only makes sense that he’d be in a position of high power

⤏ what is it they smuggle? coke— pure as snow; it’s the drug of choice for playboy billionaires and a-list celebrities. needless to say, it’s that good shit

⤏ don’t get me wrong, he didn’t choose this path. if anything, he tried ever-so desperately to avoid the family business, even going as far as separating himself from his father completely to create a better life for himself

⤏ but these types of things have a way of roping you back in, and ushijima quickly learns that you can’t escape your past. especially not when you’re on a constant run for your life, fighting off enemy mobs’ hitmen

⤏ when he finally accepts the role, he’s a natural. quick thinking, aloof, unwavering; every choice he makes, he makes with a purpose

⤏ everything’s perfect: money’s rolling in, business is booming, and the perks of being filthy fucking rich aren’t too bad either

⤏ that is, until you come along. rumored to be the most ruthless woman alive, your presence as the competitor mob’s prodigy proves to be increasingly difficult for ushi

⤏ you’re encroaching on his territory. of course, ushi needs to get rid of you; can’t have his spot taken by some heartless woman with a trigger finger

⤏ but when he has you kidnapped, he finds that task much more daunting than he believes it’ll be

“If you’re going to kill me, you might as well get it over with,” you sneer, rolling your eyes. With one leg crossed over the other and a dullness in your eyes, no one would guess your hands are bound tightly behind your back, ropes digging bright red marks into your flesh.

Your demeanor baffles Wakatoshi; he’d think someone with a gun to their temple, surrounded by dozens of mob men and murderers, would be a bit more afraid, more angry, more of anything. The rumors seem to be completely accurate— you’re apathetic beyond belief.

“Offer’s still on the table if you want me to gag her, ‘Toshi,” Tendou chirps from behind him, cackling at the whole ordeal. Sadistic motherfucker, but he’s loyal to a fault.

“No,” he sets the handgun on the table next to him with a sigh, “leave us.” The underlings file out of the room without a second glance towards you.

When he turns back to you, he can’t help but scan your form. He’s well aware he should be focusing on the task at hand— he never hesitates when it comes to disposal— but something inside of him seems utterly put off by your carefree attitude.

Wakatoshi typically likes his women submissive— compliant and willing to break under his towering frame. It’s simply easier that way. He gets what he wants, sends them on their way, and then he can go back to what matters: his business.

But you— with the supple lips drawn into an endless frown and the pretty face— he can’t seem to wrap his head around you.

“Like what you see?” your lips quirk into a cold smile, flashing him a hint of a sharp canine.

“Yes.” Wakatoshi doesn’t lie, doesn’t see the point of it. His candor seems to throw you off kilter; a hungry gleam takes the place of that usual darkness in your eyes, if only for a moment. Before you can stall any longer, he begins his questioning, “Who’s your supplier?”

No response. Just that same, detached smile.

“I’ll ask you one more time,” he stalks closer, snagging the weapon off the table. “Who’s,” he bends down. “Your,” the barrel grazes your jaw. “Supplier?” It makes its home beneath your chin, prodding against your delicate neck.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

He slams the frame of the gun into your cheek.

After all the indifference you’ve shown so far, Wakatoshi shouldn’t be surprised you don’t flinch. But he is; aside from a single tear trailing your face, you don’t react at all. What made you like this?

“I don’t particularly enjoy this, you know.” He fiddles with his watch, unsure why he feels he owes you any explanation at all.

“Yes you do,” your skin sports the bright, seething red of a newly forming bruise. “It makes you feel big and strong, makes you feel like a real man, huh?” For once, you show some real emotion, eyebrows furrowing in disgust.

He’s acutely aware of the subtle heat scorching his neck; it feels like he’s in the chair being interrogated at your hands. Your hands— they must be aching under the strain of the stiff rope.

Within seconds, you’re untied. Under Wakatoshi’s watchful eyes, you won’t be escaping. And even if you do— high up on the fiftieth floor and surrounded by his men— it’s not like you’ll be getting very far. You stay seated anyways, perhaps understanding the logic.

“You’re smart.” His praise is curt, nothing more than it needs to be. “I could use that around here.”

“I know,” your fingers rub at your wrists, dainty and manicured, “but I don’t play well with others.”

Having never been refused, this answer infuriates Wakatoshi, riles him up and makes him lose his cool in a way he never does. Before he knows it, his fingers are wrapped around your neck, grip just a hair away from being tight enough to leave marks.

“I think you forget I could kill you in a second.” His eyes bore into yours, watching closely for the slightest hint of fear. You simply smile through the pain, the retort sliding off your tongue barely audible: ‘but you won’t.’

His lips meet yours in a rush of fury. It’s not his fault, not at all— you’re driving him insane. He’s never met a woman who didn’t fall to his will, who didn’t fall into his lap and ask to stay for as long as possible. And it’s the thrill of that, of making you that way, that sends the blood rushing straight to his cock, already rock hard and straining against his slacks.

The position he’s in is awkward; being bent towards you gives you far too much control over the situation, makes him seem weak. Releasing your throat to grip at your soft thighs and pick you up, he seats you on the table instead.

“Here’s how this is going to go,” he murmurs against your bare shoulder, palms grazing over your hips, dashing beneath your top to nip at your waist, and finally brushing against your breasts. When he kneads at them, tweaking one of your nipples over paper-thin lingerie, he feels your breath catch. “I’m going to fuck you over this table, and then you’re going to join me.”

“Fat chance,” of course you’re still a smartass, but he has to admit, that attitude of yours sounds much better paired with slight moans and gasps, with your lips quivering instead of glued into a smirk.

But with that outburst, he grows impatient. Flipping you like a rag doll, he presses a palm tightly against your back until your cheek, the bad one, hits the table. Your tiny skirt is hiked up, your panties tugged down, and then he’s spreading your folds, sinking into you, watching your perfect nails scratch against the dark wood.

It’s tight, of course he didn’t give you any warning, but a rough finger sliding against your slit tells him all he needs to know— you’re soaked.

And then he’s pounding into you, merciless, unwavering, the version of himself he knows is true. He’s only known you an hour, and before that, through whispered rumors, but he thinks he knows you well enough.

Wakatoshi will have to break you in a few more times before you truly understand just how powerful he is.

᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ 光 ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃

#blah blah blah 1k #happy birthday ushijima #ushijima wakatoshi #ushijima x reader #hq!!#hq!! smut #tw: violence #tw: asphyxiation #tw: pain #tw: guns #1k.event

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elsanna-shenanigans · 3 years

Text

February Contest Submission #14: Valentine Vesuvius

words: ca. 4700 setting: mAU with accidental time travel lemon: no cw: homelessness

“Hey, you wanna get out of here?”

I turned to look at Elsa in confusion. Wasn’t this museum date her idea? She looked mischievous, her left eyebrow arched.

I opened my mouth. Shut it. Opened it. I glanced at the other families gathered in a loose arc around the museum tour guide who was currently droning on about some old emperor or another.

“Hell yeah,” I whispered.

Moments later we were giggling as we ran through a deserted hallway like school girls skipping class. Never mind that we were two adults in our upper-twenties who chose as well as paid to be at the museum.

We rounded a corner and found ourselves suddenly immersed in a dim room void of people, filled instead with spotlights on old pottery from Ancient Rome or something. Elsa spun to face me and took my hands in hers. I dragged my gaze from a vase depicting a mountain with people at its base, and met Elsa’s eyes.

“I’m so lucky to have you as my wife,” she said, gently squeezing my hands.

“I’m the lucky one,” any more words would have been cut off as Elsa cupped my face and kissed me.

She pulled away slightly and rubbed her thumb in a soft circle on my cheek. “Anna…”

My eyes were still closed from the intimate sensation, but I blinked them open. Why did she sound so sad? “Hey, what’s wrong?” I asked.

She took a deep, slow breath and let it out in a shaky sigh.

“I just… I want kids so bad, Anna.”

My heart broke. I nodded. “I know, Els. I do too.”

“I thought this tour would be a fun valentines date. I just didn’t expect there to be so many families. So many kids. I couldn’t… I couldn’t stand to be around them another second.” She shook her head. “It hurts too much.”

We had been trying everything we could the past couple of years, but the IVF wasn’t working and every adoption had fallen through. It was all getting so expensive, and even more frustrating.

I rubbed her arm. “Why is it so easy for straight people to accidentally create life, but when a couple of lesbians want kids it costs twenty thousand dollars and two left kidneys?”

“It’s not fair,” Elsa sighed.

“It’s not,” I said. “But hey,” I touched her chin, lifting her head up from its sad slouch. “We’re strong as fuck. We’re not going to give up.”

Elsa nodded.

“And until we do become parents,” I continued, “we are still perfect, and whole, and completely the best family I could ever imagine. Just the two of us.”

She smiled. “You’re right, Anna. With you by my side, there’s nothing else I could ever need. I hope I’ve never made you feel like you aren’t enough. You’re my everything; so much more than I deserve.” Pulling me close, she started sounding more like herself again.

“Don’t be silly,” I kissed Elsa quickly. “You deserve everything good in the world.” Another kiss. “And I love you.” Another. “So much.”

The last kiss was deepened by way of Elsa’s grip on the back of my neck. She took my lower lip between her teeth and flicked the tip of her tongue across it playfully, sending a shiver up my spine and heat shooting down my stomach.

I gasped as Elsa grabbed my waist and kissed my neck while she walked us toward a wall. Throwing my head back, I was relying on her to guide us. I couldn’t function when she was sucking on my neck, my pulse point like — that, ah! Jesus!

“Oops.”

I barely registered that my back hit something wobbly, but the last thing I heard was the unmistakeable sound of pottery crashing on the floor. I felt a flash of cold air run over my skin and then - nothing.

————————————-

When I came to, the first thing I felt was a piercing headache. I hadn’t even opened my eyes yet and I wished I could close them. Gripping my skull, I rolled around in the darkness behind my eyelids, wishing the high pitched shriek in my ears would fade. Then I noticed the bumpy texture digging into my back. Uhh… Why did the museum floor feel like it was made of rocky ground?

Perhaps more pressing: why was the rocky ground …trembling?

I stopped moving altogether and sure enough, the ground I was laying on was shaking. I cracked my eyes open only to be blinded by bright sky. This was definitely not the museum exhibit. Blinking rapidly, my eyes started to adjust to the light even as my headache pounded and begged me to close them, or better yet, knock myself back out.

While I waited for my vision to make sense, I scrambled to get my feet under me. This was easier said than done, the way the ground wouldn’t stop moving beneath my legs. Finally I was at least on all fours and stable enough to look around.

“Jesus Christ.” Was that a motherfucking volcano? I arched my neck to see the top of the mountain I was extremely close to. Pluming dark clouds surrounded its peak. What the hell happened to me?

I whipped my head around, swaying from the dizzy fit the motion sent me into. I was in sort of a vast, empty field of rocky, grassy terrain. There looked to be a bustling town just down the hill. No one else was around, except —

“Elsa!” I shrieked. I scrambled to my right, getting to my feet as I gained momentum. Rocks kept shifting under my bare feet and I tripped a couple of times before I reached where she was laying. I fell to my knees by her side, and rolled her onto her back.

“Elsa?” I tapped her cheek with my palm, patting it several times. “Els! Wake up!”

She groaned.

Relief washed over me. I kept nudging her until she came to. She groaned again. “Ugh… my head.”

“Shh, I know, it sucks.” I said, more to myself than to her, as I pulled her head into my lap. “Wait. Are you wearing a fucking toga?” I looked down at myself. “Am I wearing a fucking toga?!”

We were both wearing cream colored fabric gathered at the shoulders and the waist. As if being at the base of a volcano wasn’t enough of a wake up call, for some reason the wardrobe change was what pushed me over the edge. It felt like my throat was closing up as I started struggling to breathe. My lungs couldn’t fill; I took breaths faster and faster, but too shallow to help. Perfect time for a panic attack, Anna.

Slow down. I closed my eyes, gripping Elsa tightly to me. Breathe in.

I felt the fabric under my fingers, it was thick but soft. Breathe out.

I heard birds chirping their alarms in the distance, wind sweeping past, and small rocks settling into new places all around me. Breathe in.

I smelled… fresh, salty air, tainted by something like smoke or dust. Breathe out.

“Hey lady! Is she dead?”

My eyes snapped open. There was a young girl, about eight years old approaching us from down the hill. She held a basket and wore a similar tunic, but hers had been through a lot. It was tattered and dirty. The words she spoke were so strange - I understood them in my head but at the same time, they sounded… foreign to my ears.

I cleared my throat. “No, she’s just waking up,” I responded. My own words had the same strange quality to them when I spoke to the girl.

“Oh. Who are you? My name is Cassia.” She had dark hair chopped unevenly at her shoulders.

“What a pretty name!” I said, a million thoughts racing through my head. “I’m Anna, and this is my… this is Elsa.” I didn’t know where, or when, we were so I didn’t want to get us into any unnecessary trouble. “Where are your parents?”

“I don’t have any. I was just gathering some berries when the ground shook again. Did you do it?” She squinted at me suspiciously.

So there are earthquakes here often. “No, of course not,” I laughed, hopefully convincingly, even though I had never felt less like laughing. “Elsa and I are traveling from afar, but …we got lost and hit our heads when the earth shook. Can you tell us where we are, exactly?”

Cassia gave me a strange look. “This is Pompeii, silly. What other city is at the bottom of the volcano?”

Pompeii?

….Holy fucking Vesuvius…

———————————————————

Once Elsa was fully conscious and aware of our situation, we decided to take Cassia up on her offer to show us to her home, which turned out to be more of a fort in the outskirts of town. It was about midday and the kid was generous enough to let us hang out in her home while she went back out to keep foraging, now that the tremors had slowed down enough.

We sat on the dirt floor after Cassia left, both staring off into the distance, in shock. How the fuck did this happen?

“So…” Elsa began.

“We’re in fucking Pompeii!” I exclaimed.

“What the fuck!” Elsa said.

And then we laughed, because, honestly, what else could we do at that point? We laughed uncontrollably. We laughed at our clothes. We laughed at the earthquake, at the damn volcano, at the funny way all of the words sounded.

When we couldn’t laugh anymore, I fell into Elsa’s torso and we sat, half snuggled up on the dirt floor of this impoverished orphan’s dwelling place.

“What year do you think it is?” I asked.

“I don’t know,” Elsa said. “Does it matter?”

“I mean,” I glanced at her sideways, “I sure hope it’s not 79 AD.”

“Is that when it happened? How do you even know that?”

“I told you I always liked that section of art history.”

“Hmm,” Elsa sighed. “Well how do we even figure it out? We can’t just ask someone. Do they even use that system right now? Like the AD and BC stuff?”

I shrugged. “I almost don’t even need to be told though, you know? Just by the way that smoke looked above the volcano… I have a bad feeling.” Elsa looked concerned too. “Maybe we could ask around to find out if it usually does that when there’s an earthquake here. We could get a sense for how much we need to panic.”

“That’s a good idea. And if it’s the worst case scenario, then there’s the question of, do we worry about evacuating or do we figure out how to get us the fuck back home before this place is history?”

Elsa rubbed the bridge of her nose. “I wish we had a clue how it happened. I don’t know how we’re getting back if we don’t know what sent us here in the first place.”

“Yeah,” I nodded. “We should try to think back on everything that happened in those last few minutes we can remember.”

“Well, we were in that room with the… what was it? Pottery?”

“Mhmm,” I continued, “And you were kissing the life out of me until we bumped into something and it fell. Oh! I wonder if it was that vase I was looking at.”

“What vase?” Elsa asked.

I rubbed my head, “Think think think. Um, it was clay. It had people on it. Oh! And a mountain! A volcano! It had to be that vase. It must have been found in Pompeii, and when we broke it while we were making out, it sucked us into its original time. Or something like that.”

“Sure, that sounds about right for how today’s going,” Elsa said. “But then, why didn’t it come through with us? I didn’t see any clay fragments where we landed on that hill.”

“Me neither,” I frowned. “Or maybe it couldn’t come along because here in Pompeii it already exists! Maybe we just have to find where it is now and recreate what happened before.”

“There’s a thought…” Elsa said. “So we just have to search the entire city for a vase with a volcano and people on it.”

“That sounds fun! Can I help?”

Elsa and I both turned to the doorway, startled. How long had Cassia been standing there?

——————————————————————-

Too long. Cassia had been standing there too long, and she had as many questions for us as we had for her.

Before long she knew we were accidentally-time-traveling wives from almost two thousand years in the future and Pompeii was doomed; and we in turn knew it was indeed the 79th year, no the dark volcano clouds were not normal for an earthquake, and the entire city was already scrambling to evacuate. I had a terrible feeling that Elsa and I caused the earthquake through our rough landing, effectively dooming Pompeii. Also, Cassia was eight years old like I had guessed, had been living on her own since she was five and a half, and she wanted nothing more than to help us find the vase we needed.

“That’s really sweet of you,” I said, placing a hand on her arm, “But you have to promise that as soon as we find the right vase you’ll get yourself to safety.”

Cassia glanced to the side as she said, “Promise.”

I was a little concerned about the validity of that promise but decided I’d try again later. First we were off to a shop that sold souvenirs for all the rich vacationers that visited Pompeii.

It was a short walk until we made it into the more touristy, upscale part of the city. Here, everyone was running around like chickens with their heads cut off. In and out of homes, carrying personal possessions, yelling for neighbors, yelling at the sky.

We almost lost sight of Cassia several times but we managed to follow her to the shop she talked about. We ducked under the arched doorway into the small space. It was dark, and seemed to be usually lit by candles like the lonely one over to the side that hadn’t been extinguished. Elsa went to retrieve it for us.

Using the single flame to see, we wandered around the space as a little pack, checking out all kinds of little trinkets made from stone and clay. Many were volcano-related, but it all seemed so small compared to the vase I remembered.

“Cassia,” I said, “Do you think this place has any vases that are… this big?” I motioned my hands around to describe the size.

“Oh. Why didn’t you say so? This place has nothing that big, but it could be…” she tilted her head in thought. “Oh, it’s probably Oaken’s! Duh.”

More winding through the chaotic streets behind Cassia. This walk actually went very fast, and before we knew it we had arrived at another shop. This one was bigger and well-lit inside. We all walked in. I immediately noticed that there were many vases of a familiar style and size, making my heart leap in hope.

“Not open for business or looting!” A voice called from deep in the shop.

“We just have a question!” I yelled back. “It’s urgent!”

“And we mean no harm!” Elsa added.

The man grumbled as he made his way to us, accompanied by the sound of sandals crunching on clay shards. Poor guy must have lost some of his pottery to the earthquake earlier.

“What’s the question?” A very large man appeared from behind a display wall. “Oh Cassia, dear. Why didn’t you say you were here?”

Cassia was standing half behind me. Was she suddenly shy or something?

I spoke up, “Cassia led us here. We think you can help us. We’re looking for a certain vase. We… saw it on a recent vacation but didn’t buy it, and then…”

“Then later we realized we lost a ring,’ Elsa chimed in. “We think it might’ve fallen in this vase.”

The pottery man sighed, “Well that’s a long shot, but what did the vase look like?”

“It was about yay-big, and it depicted the volcano with people underneath,” I explained excitedly.

He raised an eyebrow, “That’s about half the vases I make. You know this is a tourist town at the base of a volcano.”

I thought harder. There was a chip of color I could almost see in my memory. “Um, well, it might’ve had a sort of turquoise color by the rim?”

“Oh!” The man stood up straight. “In that case, I know the exact vase. Unfortunately I sold it about six months ago. Real rich family. Their vacation home is at this address,” he scribbled onto a small stone. “I don’t think they’ve been in town the last few months. With all the chaos out there, nobody would notice if you slipped in to look for the ring. Just make it quick.”

Soon we were walking again. When we entered an empty alley I spoke up, “Hey Cassia, why were you so quiet back there?”

She turned to face us while she kept walking, backwards, “Oaken is nice, but I have to act shy and sad around the people with money, so they’ll feel bad and give me food. I learned pretty fast that they don’t care about a mouthy troublemaker as much as a helpless little girl.”

Wow. I couldn’t imagine having to learn something that depressing as a homeless five year old. Cassia was a strong kid, and she somehow managed to seem happy and nonchalant about her struggles.

Elsa looked around at the quiet homes we were walking between. “Why are some parts of the city so calm while other ones are in chaos?”

Cassia shrugged. “Only the richest people will get to evacuate in time. The rest of us have learned to stay in our homes and hope we make it through whatever comes. There’s no point in panicking around the city because we would never make it onto a ferry anyway.”

The rest of our walk was completed in silence. I couldn’t help but feel sorry for this girl. I wished there was some way we could help her before we (hopefully) escaped the city ourselves. Judging by the look on Elsa’s face, her heart was breaking for Cassia, too. I met Elsa’s eyes and we shared a look. We definitely had to do something for the girl.

Suddenly we were standing in front of a grand structure made of stone. It was no little hut; more like an ancient mansion. This was somebody’s vacation home? Jeez! These people in 79 AD sure knew how to live lavishly.

“Looks like he was right,” Elsa said. “There’s no one around.”

“Wow!” Cassia was already walking through the front door. “Check this out! They have a river in their house!”

Elsa and I stepped inside and saw what the kid meant. There was a decorative skinny pool of calm water that stretched in a line from the front room of the house to somewhere beyond the next doorway. Pompeii style skylights illuminated the open space with the ashy, dreariness of the sky above.

We passed the minimalist entry room into the next space. Here, there was a staircase to the left, a gathering area, and more doorways.

“Hey Cassia, why don’t you head upstairs and see if there’s any vases up there while we finish looking down here?”

“Okay!” the girl was excited by her solo mission and took off up the stone steps.

Once she was gone, I rushed to Elsa. “Come ‘ere, baby,” I said as we hugged each other close.

She let out a sigh of relief. “I was gonna lose it if we didn’t get to talk soon. Alone.”

“I know,” I said. “This is a lot to go through without being able to actually talk.”

She nodded. “About Cassia…” I knew exactly where she was going.

“We have to take her with us,” I finished.

“She has nowhere to run. If she’s left here she’ll be dead by tomorrow night.”

“I know, Els.” I grabbed her hands. “You don’t have to convince me. It’s what we have to do.”

Elsa continued, “And I’m not saying that we have to adopt her or anything, but I just want her to be safe. Once we’re back we can find somewhere for her to—”

“We are fucking raising that child, Elsa.” I interrupted.

“Oh thank god,” she said, as I pulled her in close once more. “Do you think we should tell her?”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“What if she doesn’t want to come? We’re running out of time, so maybe we shouldn’t give her the option if she might fight it,” she explained. “This is the only way she’ll be safe but if she doesn’t want to leave Pompeii, there’s no way we could make her.”

“Given that she’ll have to hold onto us while we kiss and break the vase…” I added.

“Or we grab her at the last second.”

“Right,” I said. “Either way, you have a point. We shouldn’t give her the option in case she would choose to stay.”

Elsa’s face suddenly went pale as she pointed behind me. I turned to see Cassia standing with her arms crossed.

“If you two wanna have a kid you’re going to have to learn how to talk quieter. It’s so easy to eavesdrop on you!”

My mouth was stuck open while I tried to form words.

“What did you hear?” Elsa asked in a low voice.

Cassia’s demeanor changed from snarky to… almost shy. “Um… Well, if it helps you to know, I’d really like to go with you. Away from here. Please.”

“Of course,” I stepped forward and wrapped her up in a big hug.

“We’re going to get you out of here,” Elsa joined in. “And if you want, you never have to be lonely again.”

A soft voice came from the middle of the hug, “I’d like that.”

“Now let’s find that damn vase,” I said, pulling away from them.

“Language.” Elsa looked at me pointedly, with a glimmer in her eye.

Cassia laughed at Elsa. “I already know how to swear, weirdos.”

This kid was going to be an adventure.

——————————————-

A few minutes later, we found the vase in a bedroom. It was sitting on a side table near a window, which was actually just a square cut out of the wall. We were going to have to hurry with the way the sky was looking out there. I was not about to let us get buried in burning ash right after vowing to expand our family to include our new little Pompeii friend.

“Alrighty!” I said, clapping my hands together and rubbing my palms. “So… now what?”

“What did you do to get here?” Cassia said. “Kiss a bunch? Ew.”

Elsa cleared her throat. Yeah this was a little more awkward than I hoped.

“Um, yeah, so,” I began, “maybe you can stand right next to the vase here, Cass. And then Elsa and I will…” I glanced at my reddening wife, “do our thing, and when we bump into the vase, at the last second, you grab onto us.”

Cassia stared at me.

“Does that makes sense?” I asked. “We only have one shot at this.”

She blinked. “Oh. Yeah, that sounds easy. You just… you called me Cass.”

Shit. “Sorry, was that ok?” I grimaced.

“I like it,” she grinned. “I like it a lot.”

“Awesome!” Phew. I didn’t want to fuck things up with our kid before we even got home. “So, you stand right here and just ignore everything about what we’re doing except for where we are. Then grab us as soon as—”

“As soon as you hit the vase, yeah. Got it.” Cassia pushed us toward the doorway. “Go be gross.” Elsa and I stumbled over to the open entryway of the room. We ducked out of Cassia’s view for a moment.

We both leaned on the wall and took a second to breathe. I gazed over at Elsa. She had a lot of emotions running across her face; embarrassment, relief, worry. I took her hand, causing her to look at me. “Hey.” I said. “Whatever happens this time… we did everything in our power to fix things.”

“I know,” Elsa sighed. “There’s just so much to process. We probably caused the deaths of everybody here, but at least we could save one person - and that’s if this even works to send us all home, which if it doesn’t, means we’re all going to die the same fate, which maybe we deserve—!”

I cut her off with a kiss: short, but long enough to send my message. “Shhh babe. It won’t do any good to obsess over that right now. If we survive, we will absolutely be marching ourselves to therapy, but for right now, we gotta get in there and get our butts back home.”

She nodded, her shoulders relaxing a little as if some of the tension eased away.

“Now, you gonna kiss me or what?” I asked with a smirk.

——————————-

I flung my arm wildly about, searching for the bottle of Tylenol on my bedside table. Would that even be strong enough for the fierce pounding in my skull? Instead of my familiar nightstand, I felt cold linoleum floor. I blinked my eyes open. Dim yellow spotlights gave a soft glow in the dark space around me.

Oh.

It all came back, just like that. I rolled over and saw Elsa sprawled out next to me —why am I always the first to wake up?— and the small form of a girl just beyond her. Cassia! She was clothed in a very sensible t-shirt and leggings combo. Thank goodness she didn’t pop into the museum in her old tattered cloth.

It didn’t seem like anyone had noticed our little …blip, so I quickly slid my two girls across the floor to keep us out of view from the hallway. As I pulled Cassia by her wrists, I noticed the vase sitting on a podium, looking exactly as it had back in Pompeii. It had bright colors and no evidence that almost 2,000 years had passed, or that it had technically shattered twice. Huh. Isn’t that the weirdest thing?

I sat on the floor next to Elsa and Cass while they continued to sleep off their travels, and I wondered how the vase actually did what it did. Was it a magic vase? Did that guy Oaken know he made something so powerful? Did he make other enchanted pottery? Something told me I would never have the answers to those questions. I certainly wasn’t in any rush to go back and ask him. Nope, ancient time traveling wasn’t really my thing after all.

It wasn’t long before Elsa woke up, and Cassia wasn’t far behind. We probably should’ve prepared her a little for life in the 21st century, as the simple museum lightbulbs were freaking her out. Just you wait, little lady. You have no idea how much your world has changed!

Once we calmed her down a bit, Elsa and I held hands with Cass, and began walking out of the room that changed our lives. Well, we took a few steps anyway, before I halted.

“What’s that noise?” I asked. “That jangly noise?” It was coming from the kid. I raised my eyebrow at her.

Realization dawned on Cassia’s face as her hands found her pants pockets… and pulled out fistfuls of glittering jewelry. “Oops?” she said, nervously.

Elsa’s jaw dropped. “Did you take those from the mansion?”

“I found them upstairs,” Cassia said, looking down at her clean black tennis shoes. “It was all just laying there, and the world was ending.”

“It’s okay,” I said quickly, not wanting her to think we were upset. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

I wondered if those pieces of jewelry had ever been recovered from the archeological site. I could see the headlines now: Priceless Ancient Pompeii Artifacts Vanish from Museum! I chuckled to myself, shaking my head.

“Hmm?” Elsa prompted.

“Ah, nothing,” I said with a smile. Then I pointed to the red, glowing Exit sign above a nearby doorway. “Hey, you wanna get out of here?”

#elsanna #submission #february 2021 contest #prompt: ancient worlds #cw: homelessness

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readysetstarker · 5 years

Text

KINKTOBER DAY 8: JEALOUSY/POSSESSIVENESS

Read on AO3

hey, y’all. remember how i said that i couldn’t work on a sim!tony fic w/o thinking of @cagestark? this is the fic i was referencing. i’m so glad i can finally post it, bc god i enjoyed writing this one so much. i honestly might come back to this and make it longer, but who knows? y’all enjoy!

warnings: peter is an adult. sim!tony and dark!peter. daddy kink, choking, cheating, slight degradation, some of it coming from peter about a stranger.

—

Peter hated Tony so goddamn much.

He knew he looked angry and didn’t bother trying to hide his glower. Tony stood across the busy ballroom with his arm around the waist of one woman in a short black dress, and his other arm was extended to tilt up the chin of another, with a silver-sequin dress so flashy that it nearly blinded Peter. His eyes, a dark crimson, altered by the Extremis and radioactive venom racing through him, followed every move of Tony’s fingers on both women.

The wine glass in his hand would be so easy to shatter. He could break the glass holding his drink and use it as a makeshift blade to slice her throat open, really give Tony something to get between his fingers other than her dark mahogany hair.

As delectable as that thought was, he settled for something tamer and less flashy: the attention of the older man just a few feet down from him at the bar. He wasn’t much taller than Tony, with dirty blond hair slicked back and a smile that would make anyone who saw it swoon. Anyone who wasn’t Peter, that is. Still, he’d do for the time being.

He let the man buy him a drink, then two drinks, then three. Let his hands wander a little too low and grab at his ass, let him lean in so close that Peter could smell the brandy on his breath and the lingering scent of mint. He refrained from sending the man through the floor-to-ceiling window behind them when he felt fingers dig into his ass and flashed a sultry smile when the man suggested they “find somewhere more private.”

Peter could do private. He could also send Tony a look over his shoulder when the man took his hand and pulled him off towards a side door. Peter caught Tony’s eyes and simply waved before the ballroom disappeared, and they were left to wander the connecting hallway to find an empty room.

An unlocked conference room proved to be a sufficient hideout, and Peter had barely taken a step inside before he was shoved hard against the table, and the man was on him. He kissed like an inexperienced high schooler, groped like one, too. Did his partners enjoy this or just put up with him for a pretty face?

Either way Peter kissed back. (Maybe he could teach the man a thing or two, make this kiss a little more enjoyable.) He threaded his fingers through the man’s gelled hair and let him manhandle him until Peter was sat on the table with his legs wrapped around the man’s middle and his hard cock digging into Peter’s hip. Peter had never been so soft in his life.

A hand that was a little too rough groped at his flaccid cock. Peter hissed and had to bite back against punching the man so hard he broke his ribs.

“What’s the matter, princess?” he slurred into Peter's neck. Peter was sure he was being drooled on. “You having trouble getting it up? Too nervous? That’s okay, Daddy can help you.”

Peter's stomach churned. The fingers blindly and clumsily grabbing at his cock were too rough and uncoordinated to feel good. If anything, they hurt and annoyed him. He was now seriously considering throwing the man through a window and giving up.

Until the door to the conference room opened just as his belt was undone, and over the man’s shoulder, he could see Tony, eyes burning with anger as he took in the scene before him. Peter’s eyes flashed when they met his, and he snaked his arms around the man’s shoulders, heels digging into the small of his back to bring him closer.

“Oh, Daddy,” he moaned into the man’s ear, giving his neck a long, wet stripe with his tongue. His eyes never left Tony’s.

“You want me to fuck you on this table, babe?” The man slid his other hand around to cup Peter’s ass and rock their hips together. Peter felt nothing when the man’s filthy clothed cock rubbed against his thigh. “Want Daddy to make you scream?”

“More like snore, if that soft little thing is anything to go by.”

Oh, Peter thought, he speaks.

The man he had lured away from the crowd jumped and let out a startled yelp. He couldn’t have torn himself away from Peter faster if Peter had put a foot between them and kicked him into the drywall. He was still half-hard when he turned around, eyes wide and hands flying up in surrender. Even in the dark of the room, the only source of light a streetlamp from outside, Peter could see his face going pale.

If he was being honest, Peter was surprised the man hadn’t pissed himself.

Tony stepped into the room and let the door fall shut behind him. His eyes were on Peter as he took one step inside, then another, hands shoved into his pockets.

He tilted his head to the side and pursed his lips. Peter leaned back on his hands and hiked one of his feet up onto the table so that his legs were spread. In any other circumstances, Peter knew this would have enticed Tony. Instead, it only seemed to piss him off. His eyes were shining in the darkness, icy blue and cold. Tony's face never changed from his calm stare, but Peter could feel the anger rolling off his skin, could see the rage burning in the pools of blue.

“I don’t remember you being so desperate that you’d fuck any piece of garbage that bought you a drink,” Tony said. His voice was smooth, unbothered.

Peter sucked his bottom lip between his teeth and failed to fight off a proud smirk. He tilted his head to the side as well, fingers drumming on the mahogany table he was sat on. “That’s rich coming from you. I saw you with the whore in silver. Did it turn you on, seeing her in your colors? Fuckin’ dirty old man is easier than me.”

Tony sniffed, swallowed. He clicked his tongue.

“I never let them touch me like that, baby boy.” Tony jerked his head towards Peter’s playmate, who was now whimpering and knocking his knees together. What a cliche, but Peter wasn’t given time to let his thoughts linger on it before Tony’s hand was enveloped in silver, and the light from his repulsor was near blinding after so long in darkness.

The gauntlet purred to life with a shot charging. The light cradled in its palm grew brighter and brighter with each passing second, and Tony pointed it right at the man’s chest. His eyes left Peter’s to the trembling man before him and, ah, he had definitely pissed himself now.

“Should I kill you for touching what’s mine?” Tony asked. His words were ice. Peter’s cock jumped in his slacks, growing harder by the second as Tony advanced on his previous partner until the gauntlet was flush with his chest. “You put your filthy, disgusting little hands on my boy. Though, I have to hand it to you, I’ve never seen his cock so soft in my life. I’m actually more offended that you couldn’t get him hard, if I’m being honest.”

“Bold of you to claim me as yours when you’re out there ogling women. Go find that brown-haired whore and let my Daddy treat me right, for once.” Peter leaned back on his elbows, arching his back just right. Even if Tony couldn’t see him, he could catch the other man’s attention.

Tony turned his head so fast that Peter was surprised he didn’t crack his neck. He chewed on his thumb nail and smiled at Tony. The quiet anger in his eyes made Peter’s heart skip and thud in his chest.

“Oh, my sweet, sweet boy.” Tony dropped his hand and sauntered over to where Peter was laid out on the table, settling himself in between Peter’s spread thighs. He took a moment to rake his eyes down Peter’s body, drink in the sight of his pretty little boy with his legs wide apart for a stranger, and his jaw set tight.

The gauntlet whirred to life again, and the man fell to his knees and begged for mercy.

But Tony never showed mercy.

It was why Peter loved him.

He let his hand fall from his lips as Tony’s fingers wrapped tight and hard around his throat, and Peter could feel the recoil of the repulsor’s blast rock through Tony’s body into his. He felt the splash of blood on his cheek, smelled its coppery tang, and heard the body fall to the floor. A few wet breaths escaped his bloody chest, a weak sob, and then silence.

Peter was so hard that he hurt. He squirmed under Tony’s grip tightening around his neck, whining as Tony forced his head down and back until he was lying against the table’s flat surface. He opened his mouth to speak, but his voice was nothing but a wheeze.

Above him, Tony chuckled and leaned over him.

“I ought to teach you a lesson, Peter,” Tony growled. His lips were inches from Peter’s. If he leaned down just a little, just enough, Peter could kiss him. He could part his lips and let Tony’s tongue taste the drinks that had been bought for him, the mouth of the other man. “Ought to fuck you here to remind you of your place. You know who you belong to, Peter.”

Peter licked his lips, grinning when Tony used his gauntlet to twist his fist into Peter’s clothing and hold him down on the table. He let out a little moan when he heard it whirring.

“Do your worst,” he said and hooked a leg over Tony’s hip.

#starker #peter parker x tony stark #ironspider #kinktober 2019 #nff #my work #cagestark #since ur partially to blame for this lmao

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arckook · 4 years

Text

around and around - five

pairing: cho seungyoun x reader, kim wooseok x reader

au: idolverse

warnings: none

wordcount: 4.6k

description: you’ve had a one-sided crush on your close friend seungyoun for who knows how long, but things don’t stay so black and white when he introduces you to his new groupmate kim wooseok.

Jamiezzz

*sent image*

everyone look at our baby seungyoun at this photoshoot manz looks a fool

Beoneon

I think hyung looks good though?

Hyunggu🤪

Hansol can you read the mood. She’s trashing Seungyoun-hyung because he actually looks good

Beoneon

Oh ya I see it now

Jamiezzz

y/n y/n y/n where are you

respond

dont leave me alone here with these boring men

You sigh, reading over the recent messages in your friends’ group chat. Shaking your head slightly, you set your phone down in your lap, watching through the large mirror in front of you as your hairdresser lays the bleach onto your hair.

“I’m surprised you finally agreed to going blonde!” she says, looking excited to do something more interesting with your head. You tend to stick with a darker look, because it’s easier to take care of.

“I just want a change,” you tell her, smiling.

And it’s true.

You almost feel like one of those girls who has gone through a crazy breakup, and does something drastic to her hair to try and cope emotionally.

You’re just not going through a breakup, and also not doing it yourself so you don’t piss off your management.

You glance down at your phone again and see a few more texts.

Hyunggu🤪

Boring? BORING?

Jamiezzz

boring boys can you tell me if it’s just me who thinks seungyoun and y/n are acting weird

this is a necessary callout bc its making me feel uncomfy

Beoneon

Do you have to make them feel awkward…

Jamiezzz

so you DO agree

Beoneon

I never said that

Hyunggu🤪

I agree

They keep ignoring us in the gc

Whichever one of you shows up here first is not a loser

Jamiezzz

boy are you 12? tf kind of tactic is that

Youn

There’s nothing wrong. Sorry I haven’t kept up much with you guys the past couple of weeks!

Hyunggu🤪

“tF kInD oF tAcTiC iS tHaT”

You read over Seungyoun’s message a few times, your eyes drawn to his name, to his contact image. It’s one of the only pictures of him that you’ve taken yourself- from one of the first times you’d even met him. He put on these dumb sunglasses and pushed his hair all the way back and flat against his head. It looked stupid, but at the time you thought it was funny and endearing enough to set at his photo.

There’s nothing wrong.

For some reason, you can’t bring yourself to believe that he actually feels that way.

You still feel sick to your stomach when you think back to his expression that night, when you told him you didn’t want him to take you home. Not that you didn’t want to be taken home… that it was him that was the problem.

He’s probably confused.

But you can’t explain it. You can’t.

“I think a more silvery blonde will look good on you,” your hairdresser chirps, cutting into your thoughts. “Would you be open to that?”

“Oh, sure,” you answer, knowing your voice sounds a little half-hearted. “Can you cut some layers too? I’m curious what that would look like on me.”

“Totally!” she says, folding up a foil. “It’s going to look so good!”

A few hours later, when your new hair is completely bleached, toned, colored, cut, and blow-dried into a flowy and shiny curtain of silver-blonde, you post a picture of the new look on your instagram, feeling a little better from seeing yourself look so different.

“Y/N-ah!”

You turn to see your group members, who all came from the dorm to get you from the salon so you can all get lunch together.

Eunmi oohs and ahhs at your hair, running her fingers through it. “It actually looks soft!”

“That’s what happens when you don’t bleach the shit out of it like me,” Jiseo says, pinching a piece of her own hair, currently a faded minty green color, and cringing at it.

“Yeah, you should cut it, Unnie. Your ends look bad.” Soohyun says to the oldest, who sticks out her tongue.

“Now three of us are basically blondes,” Eunmi pats your head. “I’m the only brunette left.”

“Don’t worry, Y/N won’t last long,” Jiseo jokes as she takes your hand, slotting her fingers in the spaces between yours. “She’s just going through emotional turmoil.”

“I am so not,” you mutter as the four of you start walking through the building towards the parking garage.

“Y/N-unnie isn’t going through emotional turmoil, she’s just trying to look good for her new man,” Soohyun says, snickering even before Eunmi and Jiseo snap towards you, eyes wide.

“What?” Jiseo exclaims, and all you can do is glare intensely at Soohyun.

“That is also not accurate,” you grit your teeth as you talk.

“It so is,” she sing-songs, swinging her bag in front of her as you all keep walking. “His name is Kim Wooseok. Don’t worry, he’s handsomer than Cho Seungyoun.”

“Don’t say that about Seungyoun,” you tell her with a frown, but she just shrugs.

“It’s not like I called him ugly.”

“Isn’t Kim Wooseok his groupmate?” Eunmi wonders aloud, seemingly over the fact that Soohyun referred to him as your man.

“Yeah,” you answer simply.

“Is that who you’ve been meeting up with the past few weeks?” Jiseo asks, which nearly makes you jump out of your skin, stopping in your tracks with wide eyes. Your leader glances over at you, a knowing smile on her face. “Y/N, did you think I didn’t notice you sneaking out whenever we had time?”

“I…” you trail off, a little embarrassed. “Um… yeah… I thought that.”

“Ooo-hoo-hoo!” Eunmi grins, and shoves you gently. “So it is like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like that,” she says suggestively, and you smack her arm.

“No, it’s-”

“Y/N-unnie sends him selfies,” Soohyun adds, making you groan and the other girls ooh and ahh even more.

“Yah, L/N Y/N!” Jiseo physically grabs and shakes you, her lips pulled into a wide smile. “I know as a leader I should scold you, but this is great news. You can finally get over Seungyoun.”

“Why does everyone keep saying that?” you whine, throwing your head back in frustration. “We are just friends!”

“Oooookay,” Jiseo hums, as you all exit the building into the parking garage. “Anyway, check out this spot I got. Someone was leaving right as we came in.”

“Lucky,” you comment as the car comes into view, glad of the change of topic.

The four of you get into the car, you and Soohyun automatically going to the backseat as you have done since the very first time you all went somewhere together.

You glance down at your phone as the girls start discussing where you should go to eat, and are surprised to see another notification from your groupchat.

Jamiezzz

*sent image*

so y/n can post on insta but not respond to her best friends i see how it is😔

Beoneon

Woahhhh Y/N your hair

Jamiezzz

you can compliment but she’s not gonna respond😭😤

You sigh, your front teeth latching onto your bottom lip.

You feel bad, to put it plainly.

It’s not like you’re intentionally trying to ignore all of your friends… you just feel uncomfortable talking when you know Seungyoun will read it.

You

thanks vernon :)

sorry weve had a lot of shoots and stuff recently i dont have much time to be on my phone

Hyunggu🤪

She’s alive

Jamiezzz

wait y/n are you sleeping and eating :(

you were sick

You

im ok

Jamiezzz

take care of urself and ur new awesome hair girlie

You

sure thing

“Y/N-unnie,”

You turn your head to see Soohyun looking over at you, her brows furrowed. “You look stressed.”

“...No,” you smile, shaking your head. You reach over and take her hand, squeezing it. “I’m totally fine.”

“And then they made me wear this,” you find the picture you’d been looking for in your camera roll and turn your phone around, displaying the bizarre outfit you’d had to wear for a recent magazine spread. “Like, what is that? I’m embarrassed that documentation of this even exists.”

“It’s not that bad,” Wooseok hums, taking a bite of his cake. He does it delicately, and with a degree of elegance, like he does pretty much everything.

You huff, turning your phone off and setting it down on the table. “Well, thanks, I guess. I’m still in shock though.”

“By the way, Y/N,” Wooseok starts as you dig your fork into your own dessert, lifting a sizable chunk of the cheesecake to your mouth. “Why do you keep asking for me to meet up with you?”

You frown as soon as the words leave his mouth, setting the fork with your cake back down on the plate. “What?”

He shrugs, but it almost looks tense. Wooseok avoids meeting your eyes as he talks, instead trailing his fork around on the plate in front of him. “We agreed on me not spying on Seungyoun for you anymore. That was the whole reason we met up and ate together, but you’ve still been contacting me.”

You lean back in your chair, regarding him with furrowed brows and teeth latching onto your lower lip. “I don’t… are you saying it’s bothersome to meet up with me?”

Wooseok’s eyes flash up. “I didn’t say that. I’m just-”

“Well it feels like you’re saying that.” you cut him off, grip on your fork tightening as you look down at the table. “You could have just turned me down if you don’t like seeing me.”

“You’re not a bother, Y/N,” Wooseok says, and since you can practically hear the apology in his voice, you glance up to meet his gaze. It’s one of the few times you’ve seen him truly frown. “I shouldn’t have said it that way. I’m sorry.”

“I don’t really know what you’re trying to say,” you mutter, looking away again. “I didn’t just cut you off after the ‘no more Seungyoun updates’ thing because I like you and I want to be friends with you. Sorry if you didn’t feel that way.”

“Y/N-ah,” Wooseok says, clearly trying to get your attention, but you ignore him, because you feel a little hurt. “Y/N-ah. That’s not what I meant.”

“Okay, then what did you mean?” you ask, knowing bitterness is seeping into your tone.

“I just thought that… you might be trying to make up for asking me that favor in the first place.” at this, you look up, confused. Wooseok fidgets a little, which is uncharacteristic for him. “I could tell that you were feeling uncomfortable about it that day that I came to get you from Jimin-ssi’s place. I thought you might be feeling guilty, so I was going to tell you that you didn’t have to be.”

“...Oh.” you say.

It’s quiet for a second, because as a somewhat emotional person, you need a moment to recover from what you thought was about to become a total betrayal of your friendship with Wooseok, and you think he might feel a little awkward.

After you’ve had a minute to contemplate what he just told you, you sit up and take that bite of cheesecake you’d been preparing before, looking at Wooseok with all (probably not all, realistically… but most) of the distress wiped from your face. “You’re kind of right. I did feel guilty about it due to certain circumstances, but that’s not why I keep in touch with you. I just like you. And it’s fun having a friend that isn’t friends with the rest of my friends.”

One corner of Wooseok’s lips turns up, in that almost smirky way that he often does. Subconsciously, you think. “I’m glad to hear that.”

“...Can you apologize one more time though? Because that kind of upset me for a second.”

At this, he chuckles quietly. “I’m sorry, Y/N.”

About twenty minutes later, after Wooseok has documented the outing with a picture of you and the food (he says he likes doing that because he can’t post pictures of most of his idol friends on social media) you leave the dessert cafe and head out onto the streets of Seoul together. You’re in a quieter area with a lot of parks, but since it’s nighttime, there’s not many people around aside from the occasional group of teenagers or drunk couple.

Eunmi is currently covering for you by having told your manager that the two of you went out for dinner together even though she’s actually just at her brother’s house, so you’ll have to meet up with her soon and go home. But for now, you’re enjoying walking around in the cold air with Wooseok.

He’s been quiet for a few minutes, though, and you’re considering questioning it when he finally speaks up.

“I know you said that day that you didn’t want to talk about it,” Wooseok starts, looking straight ahead as you two walk through a park. “But I can’t lie that I’m not curious. What made you not want to hear about Seungyoun anymore?”

You glance over at Wooseok, biting hard on your lower lip. You’re not sure if you really want to say.

He looks to the side to meet your gaze, and holds it. “He’s seemed uncomfortable too, the past couple of weeks. He was in his room when I got back after taking you home that night, and Seungwoo-hyung said he went straight there when he came back to the dorm. Did something happen between you two?”

You tug on your fingers, pulling at the fabric of your gloves, and look away from Wooseok, coming to a stop. “Not really. I mean, a little bit, but it wasn’t like…”

You sigh, feeling without being able to see the judgemental look Wooseok is definitely giving you right now. “Basically, Seungyoun-oppa brought a girl with him to this get-together thing. I didn’t even know he was coming so it was kinda a shock, but she seemed nice and Jimin-unnie even said they were friends so I went with it. But this girl got me alone with her at one point and asked…” you sigh again, clasping your hands together. “She wanted me to pretty much do what you were doing for me. See what Seungyoun was saying about her, get him to like her and make her look good to him. I guess that… it just made me regret having asked that of you. Maybe it’s also because I was kind of drunk, but I almost threw up, too.”

“...Oh. I see.” Wooseok says plainly. You glance up to see his expression, expecting the judgemental look, but he just looks… concerned? “You never asked me to make you look good to Seungyoun, though. You just asked me to tell you what he says about you. Those are different.”

You shrug. “I guess. It felt the same, though. That’s why I wanted to tell you that you don’t have to anymore right away. And I really wanted to leave. There was no way I was going to be able to hang out with this girl after she told me that she’s in love with him.”

“In love with him?” Wooseok scoffs. “What’s her name? That seems dramatic to me.”

You crack a smile. “Her name was Sahee.”

Wooseok gives an unimpressed look. “Well he’s never even mentioned her, so I doubt that she’s that important to him.”

You shrug again.

After a moment, Wooseok continues. “So nothing happened at all between you and Seungyoun?”

You rub your arm, sending a grim smile his way. “Geez, you really want to know, don’t you?”

He tucks his hands in his pockets. “It’s just that I can tell something is weird between you two, and I don’t even see you at the same time.”

“Well, it wasn’t much,” you say, accepting your fate and just deciding to tell him. “Sahee must have told him I was feeling sick, so he came to check on me, and wanted to take me home. I told him I’d take a taxi… that was after I texted you. He was insisting at least on taking me downstairs but I didn’t really want to see him in that moment, plus it’s not like I was actually planning on a taxi, so…” you shake your head, sighing once again. “I don’t know. I guess I kind of hurt his feelings in the process.”

“If you were rude to him you should think about apologizing,” Wooseok says bluntly.

Wow. Absolutely no mercy.

“Yeah, I mean… I figured…” you mumble, crossing your arms. “I don’t really know if it was rude though. It was more like… uncalled for.”

“That means rude in most people’s vocabulary,” Wooseok says with a sigh, then starts walking again, which means you have to as well to keep up. “Anyway, he keeps being mopey so even if you don’t apologize, text him or something.”

“Can’t you tell him to text me first?” you mutter, not intending for Wooseok to hear, but you guess that he does by the glare you see him shoot you from your peripherals.

“No.”

You groan. “Okay, maybe tomorrow. No promises though.”

“You’re such a kid,” Wooseok says, but when you look over, he’s smiling. “Want a ride home?”

“You don’t have to,” you say, but he shakes his head.

“Just accept. I’m avoiding going back to the dorm for as long as possible because Eunsang and Dohyon decided they wanted to host a ‘video game night’, and I don’t want my ears to bleed from the inevitable noise.”

You laugh loudly, already being able to imagine how much that would get on a lowkey person like Wooseok’s nerves. “Alright then. I’ll accept the ride home.”

You have a preliminary recording session the next day for your group’s next album, which is set to come out in March. Jiseo wanted you all to come in just to check out the current tracklist the company has agreed on and maybe start recording some vocals to see if it feels right.

You’ve been at it since the morning, and now that it’s lunchtime, you’re sitting in the room connected to the studio with the girls, who are all on their phones like you. You finished eating a while ago, and now you’re just staring at the messages you have with Seungyoun. You’ve never deleted his tab on your phone, so if you scroll up far enough, you’d be able to read the first ever text you sent him. Which was, if you remember correctly: “Hi Seungyoun-sunbaenim! It was nice to meet you :)”. That was the day after you were first introduced.

You sigh, setting your phone down and dropping your forehead to the table.

“What’s up with her?” Jiseo says with her mouth full.

“Maybe you were right about emotional turmoil,” Eunmi muses.

You lift your head up. “Do you have to gossip about me when I’m right here?”

“Duh.” Soohyun says, so you reach over and smack her arm (gently, you may add), which she whines dramatically at.

“What? Did something happen with Kim Wooseok yesterday night?” Eunmi asks, and you groan.

“No, unnie. Can you stop trying to act like he’s my boyfriend?”

“No, I cannot,” she responds, sticking out her tongue.

“Leave her to her emotional issues,” Jiseo says, once again through her chewing. “Eunmi-yah, Soohyun-ah, let’s go back in since you’re done eating. Y/N-ah, just come when you’re ready.”

“Thanks, unnie,” you tell her honestly as she leads the other girls out of the room, Soohyun scrunching up her nose at you before she closes the door.

You grab your phone again and look at the screen.

It’s been a while since you last texted Seungyoun. Not since November. It hits you that it’s been months since you had a real conversation with him, and you feel bad all over again.

Hey :) I just wanted to say sorry if I was acting weird at Jimin-unnie’s house that one time. I felt really sick and I think the alcohol was getting to me.

You type out the message, but your thumb hovers hesitantly over the send button. You end up pressing and holding on delete until the whole thing is gone.

Oppa, sorry for being rude that night. I wasn’t feeling well.

You read that one over a few times, and delete it too.

Seungyoun-oppa, I can’t remember well, but I think I was kind of rude to you that day at Jimin-unnie’s house. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean anything by it

You bite your lip, and then in a sudden moment of “who gives a fuck”, just hit send.

And then immediately groan at what you’ve done.

“Dumbass,” you mutter to yourself. “You remember everything.”

With a shake of your head, you get up and start gathering the takeout your group members had left on the table, probably thinking they’d just clean it up after. You throw everything that’s empty away, and then close up the containers of what isn’t done, stacking it in the middle of the table.

And then your phone starts ringing.

You nearly knock over the stack of styrofoam boxes it surprises you so much. You hurriedly walk back to where you were sitting, and pick up your phone, going cold when you see who’s calling.

“Fuck,” you whisper, your screen enveloped by that dumb picture of Seungyoun in the glasses. At least he’s just calling and it’s not Facetime.

You hit answer, unable to actually miss his call on purpose, and bring the phone up to your ear. “Hello?”

“Y/N-ah?” Seungyoun’s voice sounds out immediately, and the tension in your body skyrockets as you sit back down in your chair. “Is this a bad time?”

“No, I have a few minutes,” you answer, glancing through the window in the door to the recording studio, where you can barely see Jiseo and Soohyun with headphones on, Eunmi most likely recording some background vocals.

“Oh, good,” he breathes. “You… you got home okay that night?”

“Yeah, um, there were tons of taxis around,” you nod even though he can’t see you.

“Good,” Seungyoun repeats. “Were you really sick? Or did it pass the next day?”

“I think it was just the alcohol,” you try to reassure him. “I hadn’t drank for at least a month before that.”

“You don’t always drink like that, right?” he asks, then sighs, almost sounding a little strained. “It kind of worries me.”

“Why would you worry about that kind of stuff?” you ask, frowning. “You know I don’t get drunk easily.”

“Yeah, but look at what happened,” Seungyoun retorts. “You looked like you were about to pass out but you didn’t even want me to take you home. Someone in their right mind doesn’t act like that if they’re not totally wasted.”

You nearly let the words slip out: “There was more to it than that”.

But you snap your mouth shut before they do.

“I just feel like…” Seungyoun sighs again, sharper this time. “You never let me be worried about you. You brush it off every single time. It’s frustrating, Y/N.”

You’re at a loss for words.

Just... what?

“That’s not-” you start, then let out your own sharp sigh. “I don’t see how that’s a bad thing, though. You already have so many things going on, and I don’t want to be a burden, so-”

“When did I ever say that you’re a burden?” Seungyoun exclaims, interrupting. “You just assumed that! It’s like you want to be friends, but you don’t want me to actually care about you or be there for you!”

“That is not true,” you snap, your grip on your phone tightening. “You don’t know what you’re talking about, Seungyoun.”

“I know exactly what I’m talking about,” he responds, note of frustration evident in his voice. “You haven’t been the same the past few months. You just haven’t.”

“Whatever,” you say, knowing it’s bratty. “You think you know everything but you can’t even see how oblivious you are.”

You know you’re edging on dangerous territory here, but the way he’s talking to you is making a frustration at him swell up that you’ve never felt before.

“Oblivious?” Seungyoun scoffs, a sharp laugh following. “Come on, Y/N.”

“What, you think it’s funny?” you question, hearing the hostility in your voice. “Did you stop to wonder what your friend Sahee was saying to me on the balcony? Did you even notice we were out there together before she went to tell you I was sick?”

“What are you even talking about?” he asks. “This isn’t the point right now-”

“It’s exactly the point, you don’t think you’re oblivious, but you were friends with her for years and never noticed that she’s in love with you!” you snap, your voice rising in volume over the sentence.

Seungyoun is silent after that, and the sense of regret starts to seep in instantly as you realize what you’ve done.

“...What did you say?” he asks, his voice quiet this time. “Sahee told you that she’s in love with me?”

You don’t answer, but he must take it as a yes.

Seungyoun is quiet still, but you can picture him, wherever he is, throwing his head back, pushing his hair through his fingers in agitation.

“Fuck,” he finally mumbles.

“I’m sorry,” you say, your voice small as your throat starts to close up. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

“No fucking kidding, Y/N,” Seungyoun says sharply. You can hear his grit teeth through the closed sound of his words.

You breathe in a heavy breath, trying not to start crying even though you can feel the tears welling up. “I’m sorry. Oppa, just pretend I didn’t say that-”

“L/N F/N,” he says, and you stop immediately. “Just don’t.”

You sniffle, holding the phone away from you so he can’t hear you as the tears start rolling down your cheeks.

“Fuck,” you hear Seungyoun repeat. “Fuck, I can’t believe this… all that time and she never told me?”

You hold back a sob, almost choking on it.

It almost sounds like he’s talking about you.

This is why he can never find out.

This is why you’ll never be able to tell him.

You let out just the first broken part of the kind of shuddering breath you take when you’re crying, and Seungyoun’s mumbling stops.

“Shit, Y/N-ah? Are you crying?”

You can’t find the voice to answer him, just trying hard not to openly cry.

“Y/N-ah,” he repeats. You hear Wooseok’s voice in your head from yesterday. Y/N-ah. That’s not what I meant.

“Y/N-ah, please don’t cry. Fuck, fuck.”

“I’m sorry,” you manage to get out, your voice tight and thin.

“No, it’s okay,” Seungyoun says quickly. “Don’t cry. I’m sorry. I’m not mad at you, I’m just shocked, listen, it’s okay, okay? Y/N-ah, don’t cry. I swear I’m not mad.”

“I’ll hang up now,” you say, taking another shuddering breath. “Please don’t tell Sahee I told you.”

“Don’t hang up,” Seungyoun scrambles to tell you. “L/N F/N, please don’t hang up right now-”

You pull the phone away from your face and tap the red button, and set it facedown on the table. It starts ringing again right away.

“What the hell is going on in here?” Jiseo’s voice sounds out from the doorway to the recording studio. You look up, and she gasps. “Yah, Y/N! Why are you crying?”

“Unnie,” you whimper, wiping at your eyes. “My heart really hurts right now.”

“Hey!” Jiseo shouts into the other room. “Everyone get in here!”

She walks over to your, pulling another chair up and quickly wrapping her arms around you, the ringing of your phone becoming background noise. “It’s okay. Whatever it is, it’s okay.”

Ring.

It doesn’t feel okay to you.

You are still in love with Cho Seungyoun.

And he will never know.

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langdxn · 4 years

Note

Hey hey! I really liked the Richard fic you recently posted, I haven't seen many people writing for him! Could you write some smut for Richard? Maybe something where the reader and him sneak around the clinic in the middle of the night bc they both can't sleep and end up having sex somewhere? 👀I'll leave it up to you, I just really love your writing!

Awh thank you very much anon, I’m so glad you liked it! Richard’s our soft boi and I love writing for him so much, I had to give him a new aspect here just for fun. Hope this is what you were looking for, anon! ❤️

You weren’t usually this nervous introducing yourself to clinic newcomers.

After gazing at him from your dark corner of the lounge for three weeks straight, convincing yourself there would never be a right time to greet Richard, you decided the perfect time to approach him would have to be at 4am on a Wednesday.

“Can’t sleep?”

Richard’s focus remained on the TV set, volume low to not wake the rest of the clinic.

“Me neither,” you sighed, slumping into the seat beside him. Uncomfortable, its padding had seen better days, but the clinic wasn’t there to make life easy for you.

“I’m Y/N. You’re Richard, right?”

A nod.

“Jonah’s been talking about you. Won’t shut up about you actually. It’s not all nice things but that just means he likes you, at least in Jonah’s language anyway.”

Richard’s gaze dropped to his lap, clearly unwilling to discuss his roommate. Your plethora of inane icebreakers was wearing thin already.

“I’m not taking their meds either. You think they’d have noticed when there’s a pair of insomniacs sat wide awake in the lounge that should’ve been out for the count four hours ago.”

He stifled a snicker under his breath, curling his long brunette hair behind his ear. Assuming this stony silence couldn’t last forever, you rose to your feet and stood in front of him, completely blocking his view of the flickering screen. Outstretching a hand before him, you smiled warmly.

“Walk with me?”

He took a second to deliberate, quirking an eyebrow and meeting your eyes with his, before taking your hand as you whisked him away.

Treading out into the humid summer night, you headed for the tire swings as Richard trailed obediently. You picked a swing in the middle, leaving Richard no choice but to sit beside you. He took a seat tentatively, gazing at you for the next instruction.

“So what do you think of this place so far?”

“Could be worse,” Richard huffed, you flinched slightly at the first words you’d heard escape his lips.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” you laughed dismissively, scuffing your sneakers in the dust beneath your feet. “I could still be living with my parents.”

Concern suddenly washed over his face, brows furrowed as he looked at you softly.

“What did they do?”

“Ah, you know,” you started swinging nervously, gliding your feet back to throw yourself forwards. “Threw stuff whenever I said something out of turn. Threw me out the door when something didn’t go their way. Argued more than they talked. Packed suitcases, smashed plates, the usual.”

“That—that’s not the usual,” Richard muttered, crossing his feet as the momentum of your swing carried him away.

“Yeah, I know it isn’t. Just makes it easier if I pretend it’s what everybody else does.”

A tense pause between you allowed you to hear the crickets in the summer night, a cacophony of natural nocturnal creatures that also avoided taking their sleeping meds.

“My parents couldn’t understand what was wrong with me,” Richard sighed solemnly, you scuffed your feet on the ground to halt your swing. “They just left me here so they could get on with their lives.”

“That’s not the usual either,” you murmured.

“Yeah, I know.”

Richard slammed his feet into the dirt, sliding from his swing to lean against the tree, a slight pout scrunching his lips.

“Hey, don’t worry,” you shushed him as you untangled yourself from the tire swing and stopped in front of him, your sneakers bumping his. You raised a caring hand to brush his brooding brunette fringe from his eyes and gently cupped his cheek. “Fuck them. We’ve got each other now, right?”

“Why are you being so nice to me?” His deep blue eyes sparkled even in the dim light, a troubled gaze meeting yours.

“Because we’re in this together, Richard. We’re two fucked up kids stuck in this shithole until they decide we’re mentally fit to be released back into the real world.”

“Oh and it also helps I’ve had a crush on you since I first saw you.”

You winced at your blunt delivery, almost hoping he hadn’t heard you.

He definitely heard you.

Richard snaked both his hands around your waist and drew you into him, enveloping your lips with his. Your hands draped around his neck and pulled him closer, fireworks bursting in your mind as you melted into his touch.

Trailing his grasp down to your hips, Richard spun you both around until you were pressed up against the sharp bark of the tree, your hair swinging recklessly around you and wooden nodules resting in the small of your back as he allowed his hands to wander up your chest. Grabbing handfuls of your breasts, he kneaded lightly at the flimsy nightdress between you. Unadulterated moans slipped through your conjoined lips followed by a searing path of heat coursing down between your legs, willing your shaking knees to hold you up.

His soft fingertips journeyed down to clutch your thigh, wrapping it slickly around his hips allowing him access to your already dampened panties.

“I’ve wanted to kiss you ever since I got here,” he hummed against your lips as you pulled him in deeper, nibbling the tip of his tongue to draw him into your mouth as a contented grunt escaped him.

He reluctantly broke away from your kiss to glance down and take in the view of you curled around him, clinging onto him, rivers of arousal spilling from your core down onto his jeans.

“You’re so beautiful,” he cooed. You shared a knowing glance, he traced a finger towards your panties, scooping them aside in one smooth flick, exposing your folds enough to slide two fingers inside you.

You threw your head back against the tree as he curled his fingers against your walls, tracing gentle flicks inside you as your hands hesitantly wandered to unbutton his jeans. Retrieving his cock from its denim incarceration, you gently pumped a few times before his hand slipped out of your cunt and helped you line up with his length. He edged his hips into you until his tip parted your entrance, his eyes firing into the back of his head on contact.

“Fu—fuck, you’re so tight,” Richard murmured as he slipped inside you, disguising his soft moans by planting hot kisses up your neck.

Your heavy breaths and lazy scratches under his shirt spoke the words you couldn’t find as he increased the tempo of his thrusts into your dripping walls, the sounds of your slapping skin echoing around the basketball court behind you.

“You’re so wet for me,” he moaned, setting a torturous pace peppered with gratuitous grunts falling from his tongue. Richard felt the unmistakable tugs of your walls as pressure began to build deep inside you and smiled.

“You’re close already?” He thrust his hips into you like punctuation, forcing helpless moans from your parted lips. “I need you to say it for me, babe.”

His relentless pounding into your walls had rendered you entirely speechless, so much that you couldn’t remember the last time you spoke to Richard while he was rutting into you. You cupped his face in your hands, planting rushed kisses across his cheeks and lips pleading to let you tip over the edge of your climax.

“Richard, I—I’m gonna—I’m gonna cum—“

“It’s okay Y/N, I’ve got you,” he husked, holding you flush to his chest and curling his hips deeper into you. “Let go for me.”

Your clouded eyes rolled up to the night sky as your orgasm took control of you, Richard’s spread hands digging into your hips as he gave in to his own release, pouring slowly against your walls with a loud, unrestrained moan.

As you caught your breath coming down from your high, you met his piercing blue eyes with a warm, caring gaze.

“I better tell Jonah the only way to get you talking is by screwing you against a tree at 4am,” you chuckled, earning you a cheeky glare from Richard as he slipped out of your dripping folds.

“I better tell Jonah the only way to shut you up is by pounding you against a tree at 4am.”

“Fuck you, Richard,” you slapped his chest playfully, carefully unhooking your legs from his waist to drop to the ground.

“You just did, babe.”

#the last time i saw richard #cody fern #richard x reader

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mythicvls · 4 years

Text

WHAT’S CRACK’A’LACKIN Y'ALL ?!?! my name’s sun AND i live in the cst time zone. ( T E X A S BBY 🤠 ) i hope ya’ll are all having a good day, afternoon, night !! whatever time it may be where you are out there in the WORLD. sorry i’m a bit late but i’m super excited to get this show on a roll. <3333 . i suck at intros, so pls bear with me., buuuuut !! i’ll be introducing, brianna and leo . one is your crazy inventor who works in the forge, and the other is your uptight hero who is obsessed with doing everything by the book. if you wanna know more about them, check out what’s below !! like this and i’ll go to your messages to spam u with love. THANKS .

♡ —— MEET BRIANNA !!

[ PARK CHAEYOUNG, SHE/HER, CISFEMALE ] — [ BRIANNA BANG ] is a child of [ HEPHAESTUS ] with the power of [ TECHNOKINESIS & ENHANCED CRAFTING ] . they were born in [ 1997 ] and have been in nemean lion since [ 2013 ] . with the change, they [ HAVE GRADUATED FROM ] the [ TECHNOLOGY ] role which makes sense since they’re usually [ CREATING NEW GADGETS & GETTING OTHERS TO TEST THEM OUT ]

( ABOUT PAGE )

its ya girl , brianna bora bang !! aka bree !! daughter of hephaestus and one of the smiths who works in the forge .

growing up, bree’s childhood was relatively calm and uneventful. she was raised by her single-mother, who worked as a mechanic and though they didn’t have much , her mom still managed to get by , supporting them both the best she could. :’))

tbh, bree didn’t think a lot about her family’s financial situation when she was little. though, with that said, she was a bit of a pain.

not because she asked for, or constantly wanted material things, but rather, from a young age she had a knack for taking stuff apart and trying to put them back together again. fascinated by figuring out how certain devices worked.

that habit eventually turned into bree taking things around the house, and makings ‘ improvements’ or crafting something completely new with the different parts she’d collected from items lying about.

her mother living pay check to paycheck , was certainly in awe of brianna’s talents, but the young girl’s creative outlet definitely caused some strESS !!

as one can imagine, she got in a lot of trouble as a kid. having a bit of a mischievous streak coupled along with her curious and imaginative tendencies. her mom wasn’t too happy when she came home to find the vacuum deconstructed , with brianna claiming there was a certain component she needed for the jet pack she was planning on creating

throughout her life, bree was always gathering attention, whether is was due to her odd personality, or the things she was creating. however she was especially attracting people’s attention when it came to the science fairs she enjoyed participating in while she’d been in elementary and middle school --- bringing something completely unexpected to ANNIHILATE ( as she would say ) the competition.

but, brianna created so much buzz, it wasn’t uncommon for her to end up in local news papers as a young ‘genuis’.

one time, even recruits from MIT came to check out to see what all the talk had been about.

when expressing their interest in her, her mother politely declined their offers. thinking bree may have been too young to consider making decisions like that at the time.

[ yet, because of the news circulating bree, nl had been another group to approach her mom, along with hephaestus in hopes to provide brianna a safe haven from the potential threat of monsters (etc.), though her mother also refused that offer at the time ]

SO basically, bree just vibed through her early years creating a bit of mischief and making cool stuff with her handy dandy tool box ( or more like her mom’s tool box lmfao)

she went about every day life as a regular kid, completely unaware of her relation to hephaestus until she neared the age of sixteen.

as she got a bit older, her mother fell in love with a pretty well-off guy who worked as an developmental engineer for the united states milt.. they got married and brianna then had a new step father in her life. despite him being much more strict with her. more than what her mom had ever been , they all got along pretty well. more than anything , bree was jus happy for her mom.��

and, it was a plus that they weren’t struggling as much as they originally had been thanks to his financial help.

however, due to an unfortunate turn of events , and a christmas tree having caught fire; their house burnt down. her mom and her stepfather were rescued by the fire department. unfortunately the same couldn’t be said for bree. watching the house engulfed in flames, they worried frantically about their daughter who’d still been trapped inside. but when bree had escaped through the fire by herself , uninjured and not suffering any burns whats so ever. her step-father , along with the fire fighters that had come to help , were hELLA FREAKED OUT.

her step-dad was straight up like, i don’t fuk w demons.

and it was after the incident that her mother finally revealed the truth to bree about her biological father, and eventually gave her the option of going to nemean lion. which was information brianna’s mom had for quite some time, but had chosen to keep it to herself , simply cause she wasn’t 100% comfortable with bree leaving her so young.

THANK GOODNESS THEY NEVER EXPERIENCED A MONSTER ATTACK.

though with what had happened, and her step father’s reaction, bree and her mother came to the agreement that it was probably best if she left for nl.

she eventually moved in after a couple months of trying to make things work at home ( a compromise she made with her mom ). it didn’t work out sadly, and as soon as she turned sixteen, brianna became an official resident at the hotel. having stayed at nemean until now !!

when she first got to nl she pretty much just embraced the change. throwing herself into training and what not, trying to figure out where her place was , all that teenage stuff. ‘tryina find urself uwu’ .

AND she did go on missions quite a bit before the change happened !! having enjoyed tagging along to make some extra money, but her obvious calling was always at the forge.

brianna now and before, has always had a reputation for walking around nl trying to convince people to give her latest weapons or gadgets a go !!

before the change happened at nl, bree was sorta all over the place. ( A MESS !! ) but her goals have become more focused thanks to entering the technology track. so once again, she embraced change with open arms.

she’s totally digging the improvement that nemean lion has made.

after graduating from her track relatively fast; working on stuff is what she mainly does nowadays.

she’s most often found at the forge. cause when she gets an idea, she’s gotta get it done. she has no chill.

yeah, brianna is smart. but on the highkey, she’s only really knowledgeable in her field of expertise.

SO, SHE DOES HAVE THAT CHAOTIC STUPID ENERGY COURSING THROUGH HER VEINS. if you ask her to do something dumb, she more then likely is gonna be down / say yes. skdjlfsjd

though bree isn’t necessarily materialistic, she is kinda obsessed with money, and making money. $$$$🤑🤑 part of it has to do with not having had much growing up, and she wants that security YA KNO. but also , she doesn’t feel totally comfortable asking her mom/step-dad for money. so she out here making her own!!

money is a big motivator for her.

overall, brianna is a brash, outgoing, oddball who is incredibly determined and hardworking.

cause she’s always tryina get that promo, she can come off a bit opportunistic, selfish, and conceited when it comes to her inventions. typically she means well, she’s just a bit on the crazy side.

she has those mad scientist vibes.

POSSIBLE CONNECTIONS !!

first friend brianna made at nl ( someone who was around in 2013 )

people she often trained with / went on missions with before the change happened

friends she’s known for a while here at nemean lion

loyal customers who commission weapons ( etc.) from her regularly. cause she likes you, she’s always down to give you a good deal.

double trouble --- just two chaotic souls, come together to do fun shenanigans.

other people who work at the forge with her

brianna’s go to guinea pigs !! basically she goes to ya’ll when she comes up with a spicey new gadget, weapon, invention, knowing ya’ll are almost always game to get your hands on what she’s got for you.

impulse control --- pretty self explanatory, this person just settles her down. probably a mom friend who keeps her from doing dumb impulsive things.

people she just bothers bc she’s got a cool idea for you, but maybe you’re just like nah.

this person has been on the end of one of brianna’s failed inventions that didn’t turn out so hot. so now you REFUSE to try anything for her again.

people in the ambassador track she is constantly trying to get seen with her gadgets for that promo. she really wants to sell her inventions / sell her patents to big companies. $$

exes !! maybe there was DRAMA, or maybe it was a super chill split. if you wanna snatch this up, we can really do whatever ur vibin’.

enemies

frenemies

a mentor when she first arrived at nl ( someone who was around in 2013 ) they really helped her have an easier time adjusting to everything when she moved in at sixteen.

♡ —— MEET LEO !!

[ KIM DOYOUNG, HE/HIM, CISMALE ] — [ LEO PARK ] is a child of [ ATHENA ] with the power of [ ENHANCED OBSERVING & ENHANCED STRATEGY ] . they were born in [ 1996 ] and have been in nemean lion since [ 2011 ] . with the change, they [ HAVE GRADUATED FROM ] the [ HERO ] role which makes sense since they’re usually [ TRAINING or READING IN THE LIBRARY ]

( ABOUT PAGE )

the son of athena, and a graduate from the hero track !!

honestly, leo’s life before nl was pretty boring.

he grew up in a super small town and was raised by his grandparents after his dad pretty much bailed .

leo was an incredibly bright kid. he learned to read as well as write at a crazy young age, but because he was brought up by his grandparents his taste pretty much reflected his upbringing. he likes super old music, movies. etc. and he’ prefers considerably less exciting pass times such as reading books or playing games like chess. he always goes for a walk super early in the morning too which is something he picked up from his grandpa.

leo’s grandparents took care him when he was very little, but as leo grew older he found himself returning the favor and instead helping his grandparents as they themselves aged over the years.

no one in his household was aware of leo’s ties to his biological mother athena. mainly cause his father never explained anything before he left the family to be on their own.

leo’s life dramatically changed after he experienced a monster attack when he’d been fifteen years old.

basically some demigods from nemean lion saved the day and thankfully nothing terrible happened. but leo’s identity as a demigod was finally exposed to himself and to his family.

he had a really hard time saying goodbye, as he worried how his grandma and grandpa were gonna do without him. however, he feared putting them in danger above all else.

he was then taken to nl, where he spent his time up until now.

after he was rescued, leo couldn’t help but look up to the others who regularly went on missions and hunted monsters. naturally, he worked hard with the aspiration to be like them.

a lot of that also had to do with why he picked the hero track when the change had come about at nl.

if it wasn’t for moving, leo would have never realized his supernatural abilities. and it was through persistence and intense training that he was able to develop his powers over time, as well as pretty fast.

he has always been incredibly dedicated and disciplined.

tbh he kinda has those old man vibes, even when he first arrived at fifteen.

he takes missions and everything a little too seriously.

he doesn’t really know how to have fun either. so when he is on hero duty, he is super STUBBORN about doing everything by the book. trying not to get too crazy and always wanting to make sure extra precaution is taken.

he’s not about them risk. he really wants to ensure that there’s little to no damage that will be done if he can help it.

comes off grumpy most of the time, but it’s like 95% bc he kinda just sucks when it comes to people.

social interaction is not his thing which is why he could have NEVER gone into the ambassador track lmfao.

LEO IS A RULE FOLLOWER, NOT A BREAKER.

though he’s diligent, responsible and honest, he can also be EXTREMELY gullible, too straightforward, and at times, come off as nagging or bossy.

overall, he just wants justice, and to ensure things are done right. but he’s not the best communicator, so instead of being diplomatic about it, a lot of the time he’s just like, ‘i’m right, you’re wrong’dkjsldjf

POSSIBLE CONNECTIONS !!

people leo has known or been friends with for a while

other demigods who he used to train with or currently trains with regularly

( friendly ?? ) competition --- likely another hero who has graduated from the hero track

someone currently training in the hero track who has asked to shadow leo ( BONUS POINTS IF THEY ARE CHAOTIC AND LEO IS DESPERATELY TRYING TO WRANGLE THEM IN FROM THEIR WILD WAYS, ESPECIALLY WHILE THEY ARE OUT DOING HERO TINGZ )

the demigods who saved leo when he was fifteen ( someone who was around nl in 2011 / before )

unexpected duo----no one would have thought these two would be super close. after all, they are polar opposites, but this person gets leo to come out of his shell

leo is super uptight, and because of that, this person enjoys messing with him.

another person that frequents library just as much as him

maybe leo lowkey has beef with someone because every time he wants to check out a book, the mysterious person ‘insert muses name’ always has checked it out before him. one day when he’s talking about it, he finds out it’s YOU!!!!!!! how it plays out is up to whatever u’re feelin. but turns out they have the same taste in books.

other people that are also uptight like leo and that’s why they get along so well

enemies---for whatever reason the two don’t mix

someone leo has an unrequited crush on , bc he’s lame

#nlintro #・⨯˚ 💖 ooc ⤻ 𝘪 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘢 𝘣𝘦 𝘢 𝘤𝘰𝘸𝘣𝘰𝘺 𝘣𝘢𝘣𝘺 .#this is kind of a mess #im also sorry this got heLLA LONG!!!!!!#but i'm super excited yalll #pls excuss all my typos its very late where i am #uwu <3333

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curlyshepards · 5 years

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Look, Pony and Curly have a day, where they have a little mini picnic at Pony's favorite spot to watch a sunset, and then after a while Curly just leans on Pony as Pony starts reading. And at certain points of the book he'll stop Pony and just ask random little questions.

I don’t ship purly but this was super cute and inspired me except I tweaked it a lil bc im a hoe for angst!!!! still, thank you for giving me inspiration after my mental dry spell and I hope you like it regardless!! (also idk if read more will appear for mobile users who follow me so if it doesn’t, I apologize)

It was always the same, this time of year. Never any easierand yet not all the way as bad.

Three years and the brink of winter, the last of autumnshowcasing the ground around them, almost but not-quite-there-yet dead leavescrunching underneath their sprawled bodies. It was only pushing six, but thesun was already beginning to set, casting an orange glow across Ponyboy’s face.

Puberty had hit the kid hard sometime in the middle of highschool. It was almost an overnight change—to Curly, at least. One day he was theCurtis baby, all doe-eyed and lost and vulnerable and helpless after the lossof his best friend and the seemingly never-ending court case. It was unnatural to seetheir kind go before a judge and leave still a free man. Tim had sworn they’dfind something to pin on the kid, yet he walked out innocent. A fuckin’defiance of nature. But then he was Curtis, baby, and his lips were attached tothe junction of Curly’s neck outside of Jay’s diner, where damn near anyonecould see them and hand them their asses. His long fingers gripped his curls,tugged, grinned at the older boy’s startled groan and Curly thought yeah, fuckthat judge, ain’t nothing innocent about this kid.

Ponyboy lets out a content sigh as Curly rests his head onhis lap. Both boys lay on their backs, basking in the last of the sun beforethe nightly breeze set in and Curly would have to fight his boyfriend for hisleather jacket—that was currently serving as Ponyboy’s makeshift pillow—back. Fornow, he was comfortable enough to watch the steady rise and fall of his chestand pretend that things were okay.

“Thanks for coming with me,” Pony mumbles, absentmindedly twirlinghis fingers through Curly’s hair. His voice cracks, all raspy and tired fromthe near hour-long silence that had stretched between them. He never had beenmuch of a talker, that was Curly’s role, but with the changing seasons broughtan even quieter version of himself, more introspective than anything. The firsttime, Curly had tried to get in his mind, tried to get him to talk, tried tofind answers in Darry. But this was Ponyboy and what he didn’t want to give,Curly wouldn’t take. It was better that way. Still, Curly hated that annualwedge being driven between him and his boyfriend.

Curly sighs quietly and reaches up, finding the fingers inhis hair and pulling them away, tangling them together on Pony’s thigh. “Thanksfor letting me.”

Thanks for not pushing me away this time. Thanks for includingme. Thanks for letting me see this side of you. Curly sneers. For better or forworse, right? His words had enough of an edge that they forced a flinch out ofPonyboy. Curly’s eyes are closed, but he can feel his boyfriend retract intohimself and he sighs. “I know it ain’t easy, baby.” Then again, nothing isthese days.

“Just miss ‘im.” Ponyboy gets defensive, like Curly will ripinto the memory of Johnny Cade the moment he gets his hands on it. “Wouldaturned nineteen this year.”

“I know.” And God, does he know. I know you miss him. I know youwere best friends, that he understood you in a way no one else did, was therefor you in a way no one else could have been. I know his death changed you,that the one person who kept you soft was taken away. I know that you lovedhim. Just fucking admit it, it’s killing me inside.

Curly wills the confession like a prayer. But just like God,Ponyboy isn’t listening.

“Nineteen.” He repeats. “Sometimes I forget he was just akid.”

Kid was a loose term. The guys on their side of the trackshad been forced into maturity a little too early. Legally, yeah, they were justkids back then, but Curly couldn’t remember a time he had ever felt like one.

Curly almost swears, because he’s never been one for heartto hearts and this is foreign territory. But then this was his boyfriend, the boy who’d been on his ass aboutcommunicating and trust and then turns around a few months later just to shuthim the hell out, forcing him into the endless tug-of-war between what he should do and what he wants to do.

“When—” He stops what he should be doing, because he doesn’t know if this is theroute he wants to take, if this will effectively drive his point, if it’s evenworth it anymore. Maybe they could makeout instead, he could just get Ponyboy’smind off of things. The area he’d brought Curly to was secluded enough thatthey hadn’t seen a single living thing since they’d gotten there—unless youcount the bear that Curly swears he saw through the trees, but he won’t bringthat up again unless he wants to start another fight.

Fuck it, he decides, Ponyboy needs to hear this.

“When Dallas died, Tim came to see me out in reform school.Knew it was bad the minute I saw him, he never just visits, you know? There’salways something. But, anyway, wanna know what he said?” Curly opens his eyes to lookat his boyfriend, just to find those green eyes already staring back at him. Soopen and so easy to get lost in. He loses his train of thought and decides tobacktrack, swallowing thickly.

“I was a mess, don’ know why I took it so hard, but I did.Tim did, too, I could see it, but he wouldn’t talk about it. And I said, ‘Whatthe hell do we do now?’ and he gives me that look, you know, like I was anidiot for even asking.” Curly takes another breath. “He said we keep going,because what the hell else can we do? But I don’t think that means we gottamove on, baby, we just gotta keep living for the ones that didn’t.”

He stops there, for good this time, because if he says one more word he mightthrow up, and he thinks if his brother ever heard the goddamn speech that justcame out of his mouth, he’d be sent home with a black eye.

Ponyboy isn’t Tim, though. He’s a far fucking stretch, andinstead of decking him in the face he rubs his thumb along the back of hishand, fingers tightening almost instinctively.

“Tim’s got a way with words.” Pony smirks.

Curly shrugs, “There when you need him to be.”

If Pony disagrees, he doesn’t say it. Instead he leans overto dig in his backpack, pulling out that infamous copy of Gone with the Wind,the one he always carried around with him this time of year, like a bad habithe just can’t break. Its’ pages are crumpled, corners folded and chapters marked.

The book dangles lazily from his hand, pointer finger tuckedalmost possessively between the pages and running along the note written inside.Curly had read it enough times that he could picture the nurse’s mercilessscribble. A dead kid’s soliloquy.

If it had been Curly up in that hospital bed, skin blisteredto hell, he doubts he would have wasted some of his last breaths on a note likethat. He’d focus on the important things, not making sure Dallas Winston wouldwatch a sunset in honor of his death. He didn’t understand the depths of it, probablynever would, but he racked that up to just being Ponyboy and Johnny.

“Johnny let me read this to him back in Windrixville.” There’sa small smile on Pony’s face. His eyes, though, are distant, filled withexhaustion that seems too heavy for a seventeen-year-old. “Knew it was one ofmy favorites, and it helped pass the time. Sometimes I’d try to get him toread, but he didn’t like it real much, so it was usually me.”

Pony flips through the pages and Curly watches. He noticesthat the first half of the book is worse off than the other, like he’d never quitebeen able to get that far, always stopping before it’s supposed to be over. And people might call Curly an idiot, but the irony wasn’t lost on him.

He shifts so that his head is on Ponyboy’s stomach. Thesky is a soft orange by now, and it’ll be dark real soon, but he decides hewants one more thing before they leave.

“Read it to me.”

It’s not a question or a request, but Pony knows that if hedoesn’t want to then he doesn’t have to. And Curly thinks, even just for asecond, that he’d have every right to refuse. Instead Pony just tilts his headto the side, looking at the curly haired boy close his eyes. “You said booksain’t your thing.”

“They ain’t,” Curly replies, wishing his boyfriend wasn’tsuch a know-it-all. It’s a disease, he swears, but he smirks nonetheless andpeeks an eye open at Ponyboy, “But you are.”

Seconds pass and it’s quiet between them, long enough thatCurly starts doubting himself. Maybe he had stepped too far, maybe this was asentiment he’d do just fine staying out of, maybe he needs to learn thatwhatever it was between Ponyboy and Johnny, whether something was there or it’sall just his own jealousy, he needs to let go. Because he’s the one here, afterall. Picking up the pieces of a boy that Cade had left behind.

But then Ponyboy is smiling. It’s small and shy but it’sthere and every thought of Johnny flees his mind. Curly pushes himself up on anelbow and leans over, pressing his lips to Pony’s in a soft kiss. They part andtheir foreheads press together, the smile still on his boyfriend’s face as hegives a small nod.

“Yeah, okay.”

Curly grins in response, gives in to the urge of one morekiss before laying his head back down, settling himself in for the story.

They spend what little time of sunlight left reading, Pony’smelodic voice flowing through the air. Curly, for the most part, keeps quiet,only butting in when he doesn’t understand a word—The hell’s that mean?—or wantshim to repeat something simply because he likes the way it sounds coming out ofPonyboy’s mouth.

Neither of them speak after the reading stops, choosinginstead to lay there in silence through the better half of the night. It’s notCurly’s usual scene, but it’s something Ponyboy needs, and he reckons it reallycould be worse.

And, even if it’s for a brief second, he wonders if DallasWinston ever had someone to show him a sunset.

#mellow-child #ask #curly shepard #Ponyboy curtis #my writing

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