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proudfreakmetarusonniku · 3 years

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(/rp! also, huge trigger warning for assault, graphic violence, death, abuse, possessive behaviour, obsession, mental breaks, hallucination, really fucking creepy treatment of a corpse, unreliable narrators, the perspective of a villain, torture, manipulation, and gaslighting! this gets pretty fucked up).

When Dream sees Tommy for the first time, there is no dramatic shift, no acknowledgement that his life had changed forever. No knowledge of the fact. All he sees is a skinny little kid who's obnoxious and loud, and he catalogues him just as one of Philza’s strays and leaves it at that.

No, it’s when Tommy drives the sword into his chest for the first time, and Dream wakes up from his non-canon death smiling despite itself when it clicks. He’s not sure what “it” is, exactly, but it’s just something about him Dream hadn’t seen in anyone before that has him hooked, captivated from the beginning.

(There's the vague recollection that he was like Tommy once, a bright eyed naive youth too loud for his own good, but that’s not unique. It’s not that, at least not entirely.)

The conflict was not started by Tommy, nor was he of any particular threat to Dream, but he was fun. So he ignored the rest, and took the boy's music discs. He knew Tommy well enough that he’d fight for them, and fight he did, and even though Dream lost in the end he laughed all the while. He’d played many a game before, but none quite this fun!

They both know this isn’t where it��ll end. Only one hopes it will be.

——

Dream didn’t care much about Wilbur's little revolutionary movement at first. As long as he obeyed the rules, and stayed in the server, it wouldn’t matter whether he delusionally thought he was under his own governance or not.

This changed immediately when he learnt Tommy was involved.

L'Manburg, a name he didn’t bother to remember until he learnt Tommy named it, was tiny, barely any more than a scavenged old world vehicle and some trees. It’s populace was peaceful, only Wilbur even an adult. None of that mattered. It wasn’t that the nation was a threat, though he certainly wouldn’t dissuade his friends fear that it was. But fighting L'Manburg meant fighting Tommy, and Dream wouldn't pass up the opportunity for anything.

He grinned with glee behind his mask as he blew Tommy's strange dirt hovel “embassy” sky high, enthusiastically threatened Tommy before remembering half heartedly to threaten the rest of the nation. He made dealings, found weak links- a new immigrant to the SMP that joined L'Manburg after the war began, it turns out. He offered extravagant promises in exchange for their betrayal, hiding the strings attached to his fingers.

Oh, but it was all worth it when the person with the eyes of an old god lead the revolutionaries into a trap, all worth it when they descended on them at once. It was definitely worth it to kill Tommy, kill Tommy, see him scream and cry in pain and stumble trying to escape and him taking a shuddering last breath. Dream had never seen anything as beautiful.

(It was a war, and feelings like this were okay in wars, right? It’s not like he was obsessed, it’s not like he was a monster. He’d been trying to be good, and killing your enemies was good, right?)

He killed Tommy a second time, too. The boy with shaking hands and a leg hanging limp challenged him to a duel for his nations future. His loss was assured, and Dream knew Tommy knew that also. This one was quicker, Tommy dead between the arrow entering his skull and his broken body make a loud thud against the planks, but it was no less fascinating. If only he had infinite canon lives, Dream would happily give up any ambitions and spend eternity seeing the boy die in so many fascinating ways.

(No, what the fuck was he thinking? The SMP was worth more than some stupid kid, and Dream wasn’t so inept with morality to know torturing someone over and over, killing them, was wrong.)

(Yet, it was so tempting he was almost ready to renounce morality wholeheartedly.)

It eventually comes to the discs again, Tommy handing Dream his prized possessions for some silly little nation. Dream knew Tommy would do anything to get them back. Having so much control was addicting, even more than control of anything else. Dream had learnt long ago that if you didn’t have complete power over anything, people would take the power from you and make you hurt.

So why did he care more about control of some kid than avoiding his own pain?

——

Dream would have sided with Tommy. Really, he would have, but Schlatt just had the better deal.

He holds the book in his hands, power filling him. He repeats the incantation, sacrifices the blood from his veins. He stares into the face of a man near-identical.

“”Brother dearest,”” he says, voice level. “”What do you wish of me?””

Dream grins behind his mask. “”Tommy.””

—

Wishes must come true, Dream thinks, as he sits on the beach of Logstedshire, Tommy passed out and leaning against his arm.

Oh, what he’d give for this moment to last forever. Alas, it passes, like they all do. Still, Tommy's getting so obedient lately- barely even grumbling as he threw his item into the hole. Part of him missed when Tommy would fight back all the while- his pained screams were entertaining. Still, it was safer this way, and more enjoyable in the long run. He’d hate to have his little songbird break it’s neck against the cage doors, never to sing again.

He’s not sure when life outside of Tommy became a chore, but he remembers dimly that it wasn’t always like that. There was a Dream long ago that wouldn’t give up friends and family, who'd cry over losing them even if he’d cut their threads voluntarily. He wasn’t that Dream anymore, the numb feeling in his chest a sign of growth. It didn’t matter that everything outside of Tommy was so miserable, because just being around the boy was a feeling a hundredfold better than any happiness he felt before.

Still, he had duties and responsibilities. Ones that seemed so important long ago, so fulfilling. Maybe one day they’d feel like that again. He had plans, from what he learnt. Government had not left him satisfied, but- whatever you could call what his relationship with Tommy was, it definitely did. Family, he supposed, recognising the boys actions towards him and his brothers. If he could make the entire server like that, that’d be a happiness greater than any other, apart from how Tommy made him feel.

He spent time with Tubbo, getting further and further towards getting that stupid fucking ram boy to calling him a friend and giving him Tommy's disc, all he wanted from him.

(He wasn’t jealous, of course he wasn’t. The anger he felt whenever Tommy called Tubbo a friend, that wasn’t jealousy. That was just logical).

Far more interesting was checking on the prison's completion. When it’s completed, it’d truly be a thing of beauty. Of course, his favourite part was the main cell, that he’d put so much thought into. He’d included all the little things that made Tommy squirm, made his breath hitch and eyes dart around fearfully. That would be so much fun.

(Tommy would learn to appreciate the fun in time, too. He was a smart boy, if irritatingly yet fascinatingly stubborn. He just needed to be taught that if he listened and just played along, Dream could give him the world.)

It took far too long, but eventually it finished, and he could return to the ugly mess of tents and logs he’d made so sure Tommy could never leave. He always started shaking when Dream showed up, trying desperately to hide his fear in his voice, and it was absolutely adorable. Dream savoured it, savoured everything about Tommy as they spent hours talking. Everything, his hysterical laugh, his nervous glances for escapes, the way he flinched whenever Dream grabbed his shoulder, his wrist, the poorly hidden look of pain when he held tighter, just hard enough to irritate the bruises that painted his skin a canvas of black and blue, it was all perfect.

Only he could love Tommy this much, and in time he knew Tommy would learn to appreciate that.

——

The second time he used the book, a tower extended from the ruins of the makeshift prison he’d made for Tommy. DreamXD stated ahead of him.

“”Brother dearest,” he said, “why are you calling on me again so soon?””

“”Bring him back,”” he said, voice painfully numb.

DreamXD shrugged a shoulder, golden hair waving around like in water. “”Who?””

“”Tommy.””

“”I cannot,”” DreamXD said. “”He lives.”” Dream couldn’t help but smile at hearing that.

“”Then bring him back to me.””

DreamXD laughed, a sound like church bells. “”That would be unnecessary. Did I not already grant you the mortal?””

Dream clenched his fist hard enough blood dripped onto scorched earth. “”He left me-“”

“”And you shall find him, no matter what.”” DreamXD smiled under the mask. “”You are bonded to him, and neither death nor distance shall break that. Just look, and you will find him, til the end of time and even past.””

“”Thank you,”” Dream said, genuinely for once.

“”Only the best for my little brother and sister. And I know you would do the same for us, brother dearest.””

——

His planning had come to fruition for once.

They were alone, in the depths of the Earth, just him, Tommy, the fucking hilarious excuse for a “president” Tommy called a friend for some reason, and his axe.

Finally, he could bring his dreams to fruition. He could get rid of any loose threads, and claim what was rightfully his. And once he’d taught Tommy to be grateful, he could get to work on the rest of the server.

It’d be beautiful. Everyone would be his friend, his brother, his sister, something in between. There would be no more wars, just peace. Everyone would be safe, he’d know they’re safe and they’d never rip him to pieces and laugh at his pain. And oh, it’d like be hard work, breaking everyone into obedience but not too much to the point they become boring, but so enjoyable and satisfying. He’d almost be disappointed when it was over.

Tommy- his Tommy, his Tommy, was crying, and it was amusing but he almost wanted to reach out and comfort him and explain it’d all be for the best. He’d do that later, once he’d secured him and any loose ends were gone forever. He couldn’t afford weakness until they were alone, but Tommy made it so tempting.

The ram and Tommy hugged a final goodbye, and the adoration he had towards Tommy, hiding his fear behind a smile, made Dream fucking sick. He should know Tommy was his. They all should know. He’d teach them, when he made the server a perfect family. Even Tubbo, if Tommy begged enough. Dream would do anything to hear Tommy's pathetic, gorgeous begging, breaking through his aggressive walls, and bringing back some random sheep was easily in his brother's power.

See, he could be kind. He wasn’t cruel, he wasn’t a monster. He didn’t even care if he was anymore, fun was so much more important than nonsensical human concepts, but it wasn’t even true. He could be incredibly, selflessly kind, as long as he had a reason. They’d learn, once he fulfilled his dream.

The sound of a nether portal, of betrayal, shatters his dreams and at this point he wonders why he’s surprised.

——

He’d had doubts, during the weeks (months, years? he had no way of knowing) he’d been trapped in the cell, but Tommy being here with him confirmed his design was excellent.

Oh, Tommy was being fucking obnoxious- and Dream knew he was doing it on purpose- but he saw it in the way he never was able to look at the lava properly, the way he always woke up in a cold sweat calling for his daddy like the child he insisted he wasn’t. It was perfect.

(Of course it was, though. It’s not hard to build on something already perfected, and Tommy was the perfect little toy.)

Tommy was so frustratingly different though. He tried not to take it out on him- it wasn’t his fault that everyone else spread lies, planted nonsense in his head about Dream being bad and not trying to do the best for everyone but especially for him- but he struggled sometimes, and it was always so tempting to hurt Tommy anyway, and get lost in the melody of his screams. It wouldn’t teach Tommy anything though, and that’s what was important. He needed to teach Tommy what was best for him.

Tommy had unlearnt all the lessons Dream painstakingly taught him. That wouldn’t be an issue- it was so, so fun to teach- but he knew, painfully deep down in his heart that he could not hold Tommy forever, not yet. The lockdown wasn’t forever, and Dream had no escape route yet. Tommy would just forget everything again, at the hands of his “friends” that couldn’t love him as much as Dream did. They needed to learn far more than Tommy did.

(Except Ranboo of course- oh, the purple eyed boy had the silly naive thoughts in his head everyone seemed to have that friendship was anything but possessing another, but he agreed family came first, listened to Dream, helped him, even with clenched teeth.)

And when one day the frustration got to Dream one day and he was so furious he hit Tommy again and again against the walls of the prison and strangled him until he was cold all he could do was laugh and laugh and laugh.

It was so, so funny, because of course he’d be the one to destroy everything he loved.

——

This time, when DreamXD is called, he looks upon his brother with concern.

“”Brother dearest,”” he says, “”are you quite alright?””

Dream laughs, because of course he’s alright! The tears staining his face must be joy, because of course he’s alright. He’s holding Tommy here, with him, and he was quiet, he must be listening. He can’t be dead, he can’t be, then there’d be no point to any of this.

“”Drista has been concerned for you for quite a while, you know,”” DreamXD continued. “”Is this because of your mortal?””

“”He’s been ever so quiet lately,”” Dream said, with a voice hoarse from crying and laughter. “”I’m not sure to be concerned or happy with him.””

“”You’re not well, Dream.”” DreamXD said, with a tone of finality despite clearly being wrong. “”The boy is dead.””

Dream laughs. “”And yet he does not slip from my grasp.””

“”Then, brother, why did you call me?””

The silence pierces through air like a knife. Eventually, through hiccuping sobs, Dream says “”Just, please, bring him back.””

Tommy sputters to life with ghostly eye and pure white streaks and more bruise on him than corpselike skin and Dream thinks he has never been more perfect.

——

Quackity's left, he thinks, because the pain's stopped growing.

He laughs, because he doesn’t know what to fucking do anymore but laugh. He can’t give up the secrets of the book, of course he can’t. Family comes first, after all, and he dreads to think what the bastard would do to his brother. But the pain was awful, never ending in waves through his whole body, and he almost just wants to confess so he can die.

He cradles what’s left of his arm since the bastard cut it off at the elbow, and he sobs. He doesn’t even care to hide it with his mask. It’s not even the pain that hurts the most, even. It’s that Tommy's gone, and by the time Dream escapes- because he’s going to escape, he’s got to- he might be so far from his grasp even their fates being tied might not be enough.

“Of course that’s not true,” a fake voice says in his head, and wavy form approaches. Fuck, the blood loss must be bad today. It always is when he sees things. Usually it’s George or Bad or Sapnap, and it leaves him with a numb feeling in his chest that he’s familiar with, but today it’s Tommy, and that’s worse. It reminds him of what he cannot hold.

“Fuck off,” he mouths at the apparition, voice too tired and hoarse from screaming to speak properly. Not-Tommy laughs, and the sound is so similar to Tommy he almost thinks that his desperate prayers have been answered, Tommy is there again, but he reached his fingers forward and they go through his tired hallucination.

“You’re a real dick, you know that?” Not-Tommy says, and laughs again. “But I know you mean the best.” Dream shrugs his shoulder at the fake, and then curls up, new waves of pain curling up his arm.

“I don’t know why I was ever friends with that bastard.” Not-Tommy lies, and Dream wants to believe it. “You’re just having fun. He’s cruel.” Tommy would never understand that clear distinction, no matter how much Dream explained it, but the fake said it with such conviction it was almost enough for Dream to fall for it.

“When you get out, I’ll be there, Dream. And then we can all be a big happy family,” Not-Tommy says, the thoughts so obviously Dream's and not Tommy’s but- the idea that Tommy understood, that he saw sense, was so tempting, Dream allowed himself to believe it, just for a second. Just until the pain started anew.

Broken and bloody, Dream drifted into unconsciousness with a smile on his face.

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beom1e · 3 years

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PINK GUITAR

nobody had ever really noticed you before. you spent your entire life blending in with the crowd, despite dedicating your entire life to becoming a singer on stage. you’d always felt so unimportant and uninteresting. but to him, you were the bright splash of colour in a grey world.

PAIRING park jongseong x fem! reader

THEMES bassist! jay, vocalist! reader, fluff, highschool au

WARNINGS very light sex references

the energy of the club whenever a band was performing was your favourite. everybody was dancing and singing along to what they knew, using those few hours to push away all of their responsibilities and just relax. for many years, you had witnessed it from the crowd with a yearning to be up there creating that energy yourself.

having taken up guitar lessons at a young age with an innate desire to perform, you knew that one day you’d get the chance. or, at least you thought you would. auditioning for a highschool band seemed like an ingenious idea at the time, until you got the part as sub vocalist. the girl that had taken your place as lead vocalist happened to be sleeping with the band’s leader... and the rest was history.

but the lost opportunity wasn’t going to get you down. especially not as you were standing in that very same club, sipping on your drink and eyeing the competition on stage.

said competition was the small group that had taken over the school with their good looks and musical talent. there was heeseung as the lead vocalist, a sweet boy who had already graduated. then there was sunghoon, the lead guitarist that had every girl and guy alike in the palm of his hand. and jake, he was the drummer but spent most of his time trying to be the top of the class and flirting with his fangirls. finally there was jay, the bassist. you didn’t know much about him, just that he seemed very chilled out and insanely popular for that reason specifically.

something about jay always had you wondering, though. he’d meet your gaze as you were sipping from your drink, keeping his eyes on you. it made you feel seen, and you felt stupid for feeling that way. in what world would jay park be interested in you?

as the last song came to a end, you turned back and made your way through the crowd. there your own bandmates were, chatting amongst themselves.

being in their band was a temporary fix. you weren’t their friend, nor were you a necessary member of the band. although you could easily be traded out for someone else, you really didn’t mind. at least you had the opportunity to be on stage, even if it was out of the spotlight.

‘we should head backstage,’ you reminded your lead vocalist before stepping away from them. making your way through the staff only door and heading up the steps, you came face to face with jay.

‘hey, y/n,’ he greeted with a smile, moving out of the way so that you could get past him. you mumbled a quick thank you before fleeing the scene and finding your guitar. jake and sunghoon passed by you as well, talking loudly about something. and then heeseung, who smiled at you before following the rest of the boys onto the floor of the club.

your own band finally showed up as you were checking the tuning of your guitar. the four of you made your way onto the stage, the lead vocalist getting right into greeting everyone.

it was routine. you started the song off with the strum of your electric guitar, and the energy began to pick up. the lead vocalist sang, the drummer played the drums, and the bassist played his bass guitar. you had small singing parts, usually as the backup for your lead, but it was enough for now.

jay was watching your every move. from your black painted nails to the pick between your lips to the way you gripped the microphone and sang so beautifully. his favourite thing was your baby pink electric guitar, perfectly preserved and a huge contrast to the outfits you wore on stage. he was completely mesmerised by you, but you didn’t have a clue.

singing was your first love. you loved the rush of playing a guitar solo, but nothing felt better than expressing your emotions through your voice and lyrics. so every friday, as students began flooding out of the school gates, you headed to the music classroom for practice.

your piano skills were rusty, but you took a seat at the instrument anyway. although, there was one tune you would never be able to forget, which happened to be a song you’d written. your purpose in the band wasn’t to write music, so you’d never mentioned it to your bandmates.

as your fingers ran delicately against the keys, you began to hum. jay came to a stop outside of the classroom at the sound of your playing.

when you began to sing your lyrics, he felt himself mindlessly smiling. he always thought you had a better voice than your lead singer, and was confused as to why you were made sub vocalist. it seemed like you were overflowing with musical ability, and deserved a better place in your band.

‘that’s a pretty song,’ he stepped inside, making you jump. there was a horrible clash of piano keys coming together to make an awful sound that made you both cringe. ‘sorry, i didn’t mean to scare you.’

‘it’s fine,’ you turned around on the piano bench to face him. ‘how long have you been there?’

‘just since you started singing,’ he shrugged, but you felt your eyes go wide. nobody had ever heard your song before, so you couldn’t believe the first person to hear it was jay park. ‘oh... i’m sorry for invading your privacy. i just came here to pick up my guitar.’

‘seriously, it’s fine, jay,’ you reassured with a smile, watching him reach for his guitar. ‘but maybe knock next time so that i don’t almost have a heart attack.’

he laughed shortly at your words. as he was about to leave, he turned back around to face you. ‘you have a really beautiful singing voice,’ your cheeks began to heat up. ‘you know, heeseung has been considering leaving the band since he’s no longer a highschool student. so if you ever wanted to practice as a lead vocalist, the place is up for grabs.’

‘i think i’d like that,’ jay couldn’t help but smile at your words. ‘do you want my number so we can arrange a session together?’

sunghoon and jake were tired of hearing jay go on and on about you. he’d been jumpy all day waiting for you to show up, so much so that heeseung felt himself getting dizzy.

when you did arrive, everybody already looked exhausted. it reminded you a lot of your own band practices, since everybody in your band was always so dull and boring.

‘y/n!’ heeseung called happily, dropping down from a barstool to greet you. ‘finally, you’re here.’

‘did i keep you all waiting long...?’ you awkwardly looked around the room. but nobody seemed too annoyed, so you were sure you were off the hook.

‘no,’ sunghoon started. ‘just jay—’ jake reached to cover sunghoon’s mouth, cutting him off.

‘let’s get you set up,’ heeseung suggested, gesturing towards the stage. you followed him up, the other three boys finding their instruments. ‘just choose a song you want to try and they’ll start.’

he jumped back down from the stage to sit back on his bar stool. at first you felt awkward, standing up in front of the band’s current lead vocalist. it didn’t help that you couldn’t see the three boys behind you.

but after a while, you started to feel more comfortable. and it was fun, taking control of the songs with your vocals. every couple of songs, you’d take a snack or drink break and sit around on the stage with the boys, just chatting amongst yourselves. jay was unusually quiet, watching you laugh with his friends from the sidelines. it wasn’t jealousy, he just liked seeing you happy and carefree.

after the session was over, you packed up your pink guitar and said goodbye to the boys. jay followed you out, catching your wrist to spin you around.

‘you’re amazing, y/n,’ he spoke, holding back a smile. ‘i’m not going to force you to leave your own band, but i want you to know the position is being offered to you. so think about it, please?’

‘i will,’ you nodded, beaming with pride. ‘thank you for today, jay. i’ll see you on monday.’

you were sitting with your back against the tree, snack in one hand and a book in the other. considering it was a sunny day, you thought it was a great idea. well, you were wrong.

‘enjoying that, y/n?’ you lowered the book to see your lead singer standing in front of you. ‘i just came to see if the rumours were true.’

‘what rumours?’ you closed your book, setting it down beside yourself. she was standing with her arms crossed, an annoyed look on her face.

‘just that you’re the new lead singer for jay and his little buddies,’ the tone of her voice was mocking. a smirk was on her lips, as if this whole thing was nothing more than a joke to her.

‘well, they’re not true,’ you defended. ‘heeseung is leaving and jay asked me to practice with them. he said he really likes my singing voice and that they’ve been wanting a female touch to the band.’

‘well, they’re kind of true,’ she squinted her eyes, staring down at you. ‘if you want to fraternise with the enemy, then go ahead. but you’re out of our band, and we won’t be taking you back.’

‘fine by me,’ you stood, slipping your bag onto your shoulder. ‘good luck sleeping your way to the top, we all know that’s the only reason you got lead singer.’

as you tried to walk away, she just kept going on. ‘do you really think i’m that stupid, y/n? the only reason jay is offering you a place in their band is because he’s hoping to sleep with you.’

‘unbelievable,’ you turned back around. ‘can you just drop it? i really don’t care for your opinion.’

‘not an opinion, y/n,’ she stepped forward, a smug smile on her face. ‘just a fact.’ shoving past you, she disappeared inside of the building.

there was a knock on the door and you looked up from your lyric book. ‘hey,’ jay greeted, letting himself into the music classroom. ‘i heard what happened.’

‘hi, jay,’ you smiled weakly. ‘yeah, it was pretty bad... but please don’t pity invite me into your band.’

‘can i sit here?’ he gestured towards the piano bench you were occupying. you nodded, sliding over a bit to give him more room. ‘i’m not pity inviting you. with heeseung leaving, we need a talented vocalist to take his place. i’ve seen you sing and perform, and i just genuinely think you’re an amazing artist.’

‘thanks,’ you bit back your smile, looking off to the side. ‘that means a lot. but i do have one question.’

‘i’m sure i have an answer,’ jay shrugged.

‘please bare in mind that i really don’t see you as the type to do this,’ your words made him tense up. what could you possibly need to ask? ‘but ever since she mentioned it, i couldn’t stop thinking about it. you’re not asking me just because you want to sleep with me, are you?’

‘no,’ his answer came quick. he didn’t want you to see him as that type. ‘i can’t say that i don’t have feelings for you, but i wasn’t looking to pursue you. i’m sensible, keeping work and play separate.’

‘work and play?’ you laughed, resting your hand on his arm for support. ‘work hard, play hard type of guy? not very surprising.’

‘nah, that’s jake,’ he laughed along with you, eyes moving down to where your hand was. feeling awkward, you removed your hand and cleared your throat. ‘but seriously, the spot is yours. i’d love to see you up there thriving on stage.’

he stood from the bench, sending you one last smile before turning out of the room. shuffling your things into your bag, you ran to catch up to him. ‘jay, wait!’ you called, seeing him stop in his tracks.

‘yeah?’ he asked cluelessly. you got closer, a bright smile on your lips. leaning up, you pressed a kiss to his cheek. jay felt himself tensing up, his entire body warming up at the gesture.

‘thank you, jongseong,’ you smiled, then leaving him to stand there looking like an idiot.

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nicknellie · 3 years

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Anonymous requested: roommates Alex and Willie share a bed on the night of a storm and it becomes a habit, resulting with a confession and a kiss. (This was edited/simplified just to make it shorter.)

Sorry this has taken me so long to get round to! I absolutely loved the request and it was a joy to write, especially since I’m so stuck in my JatP feels for the anniversary. I’m always a sucker for a one bed trope too! I really hope you like it, thanks for the request!

Raging Storms and Lovesick Hearts

There were times that Alex wasn’t sure if moving in with Willie was the best decision he’d ever made or the worst. In many ways, it was a decision he would never go back on – living with Luke and Reggie had been fun during the day, but apparently neither of them had ever heard of sleep and decided to make that Alex’s problem, so now that he lived with Willie it was nice to finally know what it felt like to be well-rested. It was also great because he got to spend much more time with Willie, something he’d craved for as long as he’d known him.

But that was also sort of the worst thing about it all.

Being around Willie all the time was beginning to drive Alex a little bit insane. Not in a bad way, it wasn’t like he felt stifled or had grown bored or frustrated by Willie’s near-constant presence in his life. If anything, it was the opposite. Nowadays, he got to see every version of Willie, not just the smiley, put-together version he saw when they met up on odd weekends. Now he got to see tired Willie, just rolled out of bed, still unsteady on his feet from sleep; he saw even more of the kind, generous, fair Willie who offered to do the dishes whenever Alex cooked dinner; he saw the childishly exhausted Willie who crashed on the couch and slept for three hours every time he got back from the skatepark; he saw adorably sleepy Willie at night when it was nearing midnight and he was reluctantly going to bed, eyes already drooping closed; he saw paint-splattered Willie, brushes tucked behind his ears and shoved into his hair, headphones in, working tirelessly on some big piece that Alex admired every stage of; sometimes, he saw a version of Willie that made his heart ache, a broken version of Willie with tears running down his cheeks as he wiped furiously at his eyes as Alex did everything in his power to console him. He saw every version of Willie and he wanted them all so badly, but he couldn’t have any of them.

And sure, he’d brought this upon himself. When the guy he’d been pining over for exactly one year had asked if he wanted to move in, he could have guessed that it would ruin him, and he could have said no. It would’ve been easy.

But Alex had seen the smile on Willie’s face, the excited glint in his eye about the prospect of living together, and his affirmative answer had been out of his mouth before he’d given it a second thought. He was paying the price for his thoughtlessness now, condemned to watch Willie be anything but his for as long as they lived together. Frankly the whole thing was exhausting – he had to wonder if that was adding to him getting a good night’s sleep every night.

There was another reason he preferred nights now, not just because he could rest easily. Night was the only time he didn’t see Willie, the only time he could get a little respite from his aching heart, lie alone in the dark and pretend he was the only person on Earth. Maybe it was a little lonely and more than a little sad to think of things that way, but it was a change from his usual pining at the very least. He thought that having that time to escape his feelings was definitely doing him some good.

Until the night of the storm.

There had been warnings about it all week. Alerts popping up on Alex’s phone, breaking news plastered on every TV he saw, articles about finding shelter and stocking up on food just in case the storm was worse than they thought. It was only supposed to be a passing thing, been and gone overnight, but it was better to be safe than sorry.

It had been raining all day, a dismal drizzle, the kind of rain that was so fine you didn’t realise you were soaked until you felt your clothes sticking to your skin. But around midnight, everything kicked off. Alex lay in bed, toying with a fraying thread on the duvet cover, listening to the rain hammering against the windows hard enough to rattle their frames, the wind whistling as it bled through the streets outside, the claps of thunder loud enough to deafen as they came just seconds after bursts of lightning illuminated his entire room. He would be lying if he said he wasn’t a little bit frightened, but he curled up tighter in his bed, pulling the covers close, and tried to force sleep.

A knocking sound made his eyes snap open. At first, he wondered if he’d imagined it, or if it was the sound of something hitting his window, but then it came again. And yes, it was definitely a knock. A knock at his bedroom door. A knock on his bedroom door at half-midnight in the middle of a storm. And there was only one person it could be.

Alex stretched as he swung his long legs out of the bed and flicked his bedside lamp on. He pulled open the bedroom door, squinting in the sudden burst of light from the hallway, and was met by a timid-looking Willie with his hair braided back, wearing his pyjamas, fist still sheepishly raised as if to knock on the door again.

“Hey,” Alex said, voice low with fatigue. He tried to stifle a yawn as he scrunched his eyes, forcing the tiredness out of them. “Is everything okay?”

He must have not hidden his exhaustion as well as he’d tried because Willie winced before saying, “Sorry. Did I wake you up?”

“No, no,” Alex assured him, “I couldn’t sleep anyway. The storm is too loud.” Willie nodded awkwardly, casting his gaze around, seemingly trying to look anywhere but at Alex. It was strange – Willie wasn’t the type to avoid talking to someone, especially if it was Alex, who was suddenly left feeling very concerned. “Is it… Is that why you’re awake too?”

“Kind of,” Willie replied, a half-smile on his face that quickly flickered out of existence. He shook his head, taking a few steps back. “It’s silly. Don’t worry about it actually. I’ll go back to my room. I shouldn’t have bothered you.”

“Hey, no,” Alex protested, clutching Willie’s wrist as he tried to turn and walk away, stopping him in his tracks. Willie didn’t turn to face him, but did stop trying to leave, so Alex took that as a victory. “You could never bother me. And whatever it is, I’m sure it’s not silly.”

Slowly, Willie turned back around to face him, some mixture of hope and nervousness dancing in his eyes. When Willie looked down again, Alex followed his line of sight and saw that he still had a hold of Willie’s wrist. He dropped it suddenly, instantly aware that he’d been holding on too long and if he wasn’t careful Willie might take that to mean something that Alex definitely couldn’t have him knowing which would introduce a whole different kind of storm. (But before he let go, he could have sworn he felt Willie’s pulse racing; maybe it was his nerves, but maybe it was something else… something Alex didn’t want to get his hopes up about.)

“It’s just… I’m not really great with storms,” Willie admitted softly, meeting Alex’s eyes again. “They freak me out. I was just going to ask if I could… if I could, you know, sleep in here with you tonight? If it’s totally out of line you can say no, I get it, man, I won’t be up–”

Alex shook his head, not wanting to let him spiral, knowing that never ended up well for anyone. There was a pretty major part of him panicking over the fact that Willie was going to spend the night in his room, but that part was outweighed by the even bigger part of him that was worried and concerned for Willie, the part of him that wanted to protect Willie at all costs.

“No, no, it’s alright,” he said, interrupting Willie before he got too lost in his own head. “Come on, you can sleep in here. I don’t mind.”

It was only as the two of them backed into the room and Alex shut the door, blocking out all the light from the hallway and leaving them dimly lit by just his bedside lamp, that Alex remembered that his room was very small and ill-equipped for impromptu sleepovers. Which was to say, there was only one bed.

His internal panicking doubled in an instant. Because there weren’t many options here. He could make Willie sleep on the floor, which seemed incredibly harsh and unfair considering the state he’d just come to Alex in. He could sleep on the floor himself, which he really didn’t want to do because it would be cold down there and he didn’t like the idea of being able to see underneath his bed. They could relocate to Willie room down the hall where there was a small sofa that one of them (probably Alex) could sleep on, and they’d still be in the same room, but he knew they were both tired and switching rooms sounded like a lot of effort. Which just left sharing the bed, and truth be told, Alex was utterly terrified by the idea.

He was about to say something, ask Willie what he thought the best course of action was, but the words died in his mouth as he saw that Willie was already climbing into the bed. He already seemed much more at ease, the worry lines around his face softening as he closed his eyes. After yet another brief panic, Alex got into the bed again and laid down beside him.

He could hardly hear the raging storm over the incessant beating of his own lovesick heart.

The whole thing felt so intimate even though there was nothing overtly intimate about it. Really it was just one friend helping another, Alex being there for Willie when he was frightened, lending him a bed and a comforting presence. But they were so close, touching all along one side of Alex’s body, their breathing synced, the world around them slowly fading into nothingness until it was just the two of them.

After some time, it was impossible to tell exactly how long, Willie said, “Thank you, Alex.”

Alex sighed quietly, letting his eyes fall closed. He shuffled ever so slightly closer to Willie on the bed and as his tiredness overtook him he lost a little control over his inhibitions. Before he knew it, he’d thrown an arm around Willie’s waist, holding him close, their bodies curled together. When he registered what he’d done, he almost pulled away, but Willie relaxed into him so he let his arm stay where it was.

“Don’t mention it,” Alex whispered to the darkness around them. “I’m always going to be here whenever you need me.”

In moments, they were both asleep, the storm still raging outside.

When Alex woke up the next morning, the storm had all but died. He could still hear the gentle pitter-patter of rain drumming on the windows and roof, but the wind had long since ceased, as had the thunder and lightning that had lit up the night. He exhaled contentedly, relaxing against the warmth on the left side of his body, and nearly drifted off to sleep.

But then he realised what – or rather who – that warmth was.

The events from the night before came flooding back to his with all the ferocity of the storm itself. Willie coming to him in the middle of the night, how frightened he had seemed, how Alex had offered up his room, and how they’d fallen asleep tangled together. Now they had woken up in the exact same way, and Alex had no idea what to do about it.

If he moved, he risked waking Willie and that was a conversation he would rather avoid. But if he stayed still, Willie would eventually wake up and he’d still have to have that awkward ‘remember last night’ conversation. There was really no winning here. Even in a situation where he was cuddling the love of his life, he couldn’t come out unscathed.

So, he went for the slightly immature third option and opted to feign sleep, letting the whole thing be Willie’s problem whenever he woke up.

And eventually he did, not long after Alex. When Alex felt him stir and stretch, he tried to slow his breathing, keep his eyes closed only gently, and even let out a few fake little snores to try and sell the piece. His eyes were closed, so he had no idea if Willie even looked at him, but moments later Willie slipping out from his grasp and Alex heard the tell-tale creak of his bedroom door. Only when he heard it click shut did he breathe a long sigh of relief.

Honestly, he had thought that would be it. One night together and then Alex could get back to his nights of peaceful sleep. Only there were two things in the way of that:

One – suddenly, without Willie sleeping in his bed, Alex found that sleep was much harder to come by.

Two – after that night, Willie slept in Alex’s bed more often than not.

Alex really had no idea how it became so routine, but it did. About a week after the storm, Willie knocked on his door again and told Alex he’d had a nightmare, asking to sleep in his bed again. And who was Alex to refuse? So they’d slept in the same bed again, they’d woken up a tangle of limbs, and Willie had crept out while Alex pretended to sleep.

Then just two nights later, Alex’s resolve had broken and something had possessed him to go to Willie’s room and invite him back to his own. He had made up some flimsy excuse, something about his heater having broken and him needing warmth, but Willie hadn’t questioned it. They’d slept in the same bed again, they’d woken up a tangle of limbs, and Willie had crept out while Alex pretended to sleep.

And the very next night, they hadn’t even discussed it before the two of them just went straight to Alex’s room and climbed into bed together. They’d slept in the same bed again, woken up a tangle of limbs, and Willie had crept out while Alex pretended to sleep.

For something so focused on sleep, it was ridiculously tiring.

After it had gone on for a few weeks, Alex had to wonder if maybe this whole thing meant something. If maybe he wasn’t alone in his feelings. If maybe Willie felt the same, but had similar hang-ups to Alex – he didn’t want to ruin their friendship, didn’t want to embarrass himself by admitting to unrequited love, didn’t even know how to bring it up. Maybe sleeping by each other’s side had become something of a safety net for them, a teetering middle ground on the border of friendship and something else entirely.

And as Alex lay awake, head rested on Willie’s chest, listening to his heartbeat, he knew suddenly that he had to push it. No matter how much that frightened him, he had to take that leap and push them into the uncertain territory that was something other than friendship.

When he sensed Willie waking up, he did not pretend to be asleep.

He eased his head off Willie’s chest and rolled over to lay on his front, watching Willie as he blinked awake endearingly. Alex’s heart was practically beating out of his chest, but he knew he had to do it. He had to take that leap.

“Good morning,” he said quietly.

Willie smiled gently, rubbing at his tired eyes and pushing his hair out of his face. “Good morning, hotdog.”

“I think we need to talk,” Alex said without preamble. It wasn’t the most natural segue into the matter at hand, but that hardly seemed to matter right then.

Willie blinked, clearly a little surprised, but then he nodded. Alex took a deep breath, steeling himself, and let it out.

“I really like you, Willie,” he said, maintaining eye contact even though it was the most petrifying thing he’d ever done. “Like, a lot. So much that it’s been kind of driving me crazy for a year now. I’ve wanted to tell you how I feel for about a year now, but every time I tried all this doubt and anxiety just told me it wasn’t worth it and that you could never like me the way I like you. And I believed it. I never said anything, and I fooled myself into thinking I’d be alright if we were just friends. But after all this, sharing a bed almost every night and then pretending it never happened… it’s proved to me how much I need you. I can’t sleep without you next to me, Willie. I want you by my side all the time. All of you. So, if I’m not reading this whole thing dramatically wrong, then I want to finally ask you to… to be my boyfriend.”

For a long moment, Willie said nothing. He held eye contact, like he was searching Alex’s eyes for the truth, whatever it might have been. But Alex had said the whole truth. He’d let it all out, he’d told Willie he needed him. All he could do was hope that Willie needed him too.

The moment ended abruptly when Willie breathed out and almost silent, “Yes,” and then surged forward to kiss Alex.

He was kissing him.

This was a possibility that Alex had never allowed himself to entertain, a thought he’d never followed up, a scenario he’d never imagined. He had known that once he thought about kissing Willie, he would be ruined if it never happened. But the real thing was better than anything Alex could have thought up in his wildest dreams anyway. It was like a muffled explosion – both harsh and soft, near and far, dangerous and safe.

When they separated, Alex rested his forehead against Willie’s trying to get his breath back and his heartrate under control.

“I’d been wondering if I should say something,” Willie chuckled, stroking his fingers through Alex’s hair. “You beat me to it.”

Alex smiled and pressed another soft kiss to Willie’s lips. “Doesn’t matter. We got there eventually.”

The next morning when they both woke up in Alex’s bed, Alex didn’t need to feign sleep. He pressed a kiss to his boyfriend’s cheek and pulled him tighter. He thought that after months of missed opportunities, they definitely deserved a lazy morning in bed together.

#willex #jatp #alex mercer #julie and the phantoms #willie jatp #alex x willie #willie x alex #fanfiction #fanfic #writing #my writing #fluff #friends to lovers #only one bed #jatp fic #willex fic #first kiss #alive au

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scripts4dreamers · 4 years

Text

I literally JUST sat down, pt. 1

Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six, Part Seven

AN: Nuh uh, nope. Not this again. You did not sign up for this. Characters: Spencer Reid, Penelope Garcia, Derek Morgan, Aaron Hotchner, Jennifer Jareau, David Rossi. Pairings: Spencer Reid x reader Spoilers: None Warnings: Mentions of crime and violence, alcohol, eventual NSFW content

Prompt: After watching 7x07 “This episode is so scary man... Imagine just doing your job which is pretty morbid at times but oh well and then suddenly you have to go to this place where there's a lot of tornadoes and you're like well at least I'm inside and safe and then your boss is like "we gotta go right to these tornado places lol" and then you think "well that's scary but at least we have this handy dandy live map showing us exactly in real time where the tornadoes are so we'll be fine and then the internet is like "haha nope have fun dying in a tornado"

- @pirateismywayofspeaking who is a literal genius.

This will be a multichapter piece! So lemme know if you want to be tagged in subsequent chapters.

—————————-

Usually, when terrible things happen, people say the same few things: “I never thought it would happen to me! You never think something like this will happen to you until it does!”. You’d never really been that type of person. You were naturally cautious, and an ex FBI agent, you saw danger pretty much everywhere. You’d seen some of the worst things human beings could ever do to one another and, if you’d learned anything at all, it was that bad things happened everywhere and to pretty much everyone. There was nowhere that you could definitively say was safe from violent crime, but this was just ridiculous.

You looked around the ruined bookshop you’d poured the last year of your life into with a kind of detached sadness. Even before you opened the door, you could see the carnage. The shelves were upended, tables flipped, every vase in the building was smashed...except one. You sighed, stepping into the store, your eyes scanning the wreck with a practiced efficiency. No broken windows, the door was still locked when you’d arrived and your security cameras were blacked out, there were no signs of forced entry. If anything that made you more uneasy and, not for the first time since you’d left the bureau, you missed the weight of your gun against your hip. You crinkled your nose against the smell, the copper-iron of fresh blood that you were all too familiar with as you crept through your store.

“Son of a-fuck!” You swore loudly, cursing your luck as you took in the scene.

There was a body laid out in the middle of the Fiction aisle: face covered with a burlap sack, wrists and ankles bound with rope and blood seeping into the carpets you’d just had cleaned. Your training kicked in and you noticed, without meaning to, that the rest of the aisle was untouched. The shelves were upright, books in order, even the vase of white roses you’d put there the night before were all completely the way you’d left them. It was like he’d just completely bypassed the entire section.

Huh.

You looked up at the sky, “Really? Right now? You throw this at me, now? Unbelievable.”

There was a sinking feeling in the pit of your chest, along with a nervousness that you were telling yourself was irritation as you pulled out your phone. It had been a long while since you’d done this, but you still knew the number by heart.

“This is agent Jareau with the Behavioural Analysis Unit.”

“JJ, it’s me,” you said, “you’re not gonna believe this.”

——————————

You sat in the ruins of your store until the cops arrived, wondering who exactly you had murdered in a past life to end up with this kind of luck. You gave your statement without much incident, directing CSU to the body and alerting the detective to the abnormalities you’d spotted.

JJ had promised to get the team on the case as quickly as she could, and you knew JJ tended to get exactly what she wanted in that regard, you just didn’t know how you felt about that. It had been over a year since you’d left the BAU, since you’d done one case too many and just got fed all the way up. It really wasn’t any deeper than that. One day you’d come home and found that you couldn’t sleep. It had all just become too much, so you packed up your stuff, tendered your resignation, and started over.

It had been hard at first, but now you owned a fairly successful bookstore with a little coffee shop where you sold good coffee, and homemade biscuits. And it was nice. You felt good, kinda. You definitely slept better at night. Your life was finally starting to feel normal and now this? A dead body just happens to appear in the center of your bookstore in just weird enough a way to warrant a call to the BAU? No, you’d seen too much to consider this a coincidence. Whether you liked it or not, you were about to get thrown back into your old life head first, the life you’d worked so hard to get some distance from. So why weren’t you more...upset?

“Y/L/N?” A familiar voice called.

“In here,” you answered, your voice raspy from disuse. You cleared your throat and pushed yourself up onto your feet, “I’m in here.” You tried again.

The figures who stepped in were painfully familiar and you couldn’t help the tired smile that slid onto your face, your eyes going directly to the blonde woman walking at the very front.

“Y/N!” She greeted, her voice dripping with relief as she pulled you into a hug, “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine, JJ,” you assured her as you broke apart, the rest of your old team filing in behind her.

She eyed you like she wasn’t sure, pressing her lips into a thin line as she looked around the trashed store. Derek Morgan swooped in behind her, giving you a second hug.

“Long time, Y/L/N,” he smiled.

You sighed, “Wish it was under better circumstances, Morgs, but I’m glad you guys are here.”

“Y/L/N,” Aaron Hotchner greeted, giving you a firm handshake.

“Thanks for coming, Hotch, I’m sorry. I didn’t know what else to do.” You admitted.

“No, you made the right call. The BAU has officially taken on the case. Reid, Prentiss and Rossi are coordinating with the local PD from our headquarters, the rest of us are here to help,” he said, pausing and meeting your eye, silently asking the question you’d been waiting all morning for.

“No sign of forced entry,” you started, “the front door was still locked from the outside when I arrived.” You walked him through the crime scene, glass crunching beneath your feet as you went, “It looks like someone sprayed black paint over the security cameras I had installed, everything’s been smashed but there’s no cash missing from the register. In fact, they barely touched the front desk at all.” You explained, “And this,” you gestured at the Fiction aisle, “is where I found the body.”

Morgan stepped forward and, just like that, the team moved like a well oiled machine.

“White male, looks like he’s between the ages of 19 and 27.” Morgan started.

“His wrists and ankles are bound, but it doesn’t look like he struggled against his restraints at all,” you cut in, without meaning to, crouching down beside the body, “it could mean he was tied up postmortem.”

“We’ll have to wait on the M.E’s report to know for sure,” Hotch agreed, “Y/L/N, can I talk to you?” You nodded and let him pull you aside. He glanced over your shoulder and lowered his voice, “I know you’re out and we can do this investigation without you-“

“But?” You probed.

The corners of Hotch’s mouth twitched, like he wanted to smile, “But, I would also welcome your help if you’re willing to give it. The team is still a man down and, something about this scene has me thinking-“

“That whoever did this isn’t finished,” you agreed, sighing as you ran your fingers through your hair.

Everything was so messed up in your head. You just wanted to go back to bed and start this day all over again. Hotch looked at you and you recognized his brand of quiet concern. It was familiar and comforting, and it helped you process your thoughts.

“I can’t believe I’m saying this,” you frowned, “yeah. Yeah, sure, I’ll come back.” Hotch smiled and you wagged a finger at him, “But just for this one case! After that I’m straight back to my boring normal person life, alright?”

“Of course,” he agreed, something almost mocking in his tone.

“I’m serious, Hotch, just one more case.”

“I’m agreeing with you!” He insisted, already walking back to the rest of the group.

But he wasn’t and, much to your chagrin, you felt the familiar rush of adrenaline as you turned back to the scene of the crime.

“Hotch, Y/L/N,” Morgan called, holding something in his gloved hand, “you’re gonna want to see this.”

“Here we go again,” you sighed.

————————-

Walking back into the BAU had felt like stepping back in time. After you’d gotten everything you could from the crime scene there was nothing to do but brainstorm, but walking through those doors again...well, let’s say you hadn’t been prepared for how it would feel being back. For the most part, everyone had been glad to see you, especially Garcia, but you could tell that there were still some resentments bubbling under the surface. It made sense, the BAU survived by relying on one another, by acting like a family, and you’d left that family.

Still, there was a rhythm to this kind of work, a flow that was almost painfully easy to fall back into. You’d worked together for years after all, bouncing ideas off of one another like it was nothing and that kind of bond didn’t just go away.

“Admit it,” Derek teased, bumping your shoulder with his as you studied the evidence board, “you missed this.”

“I most certainly did not.”

“Oh you so did,” Spencer agreed, leaning against the table next to you and giving you a fond smile, “I’m sorry about the bookstore though, it was the only store in town with a proper selection of classics in their original languages.”

You shrugged, “I’ll get it up and running again soon enough, just as soon as we catch whoever did this.”

“Speaking of our UnSub, what do you think the relevance of him leaving the body in the fiction section is?” Spencer asked.

“Maybe he’s trying to say that this is some kind of fairytale?” Prentiss suggested, “Like he’s trying to draw us into his story?”

“Maybe, but this has gotta be more personal than that, right?” Morgan said, “I mean, this isn’t some body in an alley, it was dumped in an FBI agent’s coffee shop.”

“Ex agent,” you corrected.

“Sure thing, Princess,” Morgan teased.

“Why does everyone keep talking like that?” You asked.

“Because you leaving is ridiculous. You love this job,” He replied simply, “you’ve always loved this job.”

You opened your mouth to respond but, before you could, you heard the clacking of heels against the marble floor.

“Um, guys?” Garcia said, coming into the bullpen with a stormy look on her face, “we just got word from the officer who went to Y/N’s apartment.”

“And?” You asked nervously.

“They found something,”

“Another body?” Prentiss asked.

“No, weirder, a letter and what looks like a smiley face drawn on the wall in blood.” She said, pressing a button to display the new crime scene photos on the big screen.

Your heart froze in your chest.

There it was; a crude smiley face drawn right above your headboard and a crisp white envelope resting against your pillow. He’d made your bed too, some small part of your mind noted. How polite. Instinctively, you crossed your arms over your chest as you were hit with a mixture of panic and disgust.

“Of course,” you sighed, “of course there is. Why wouldn’t there be? It’s been that kind of day.”

“Do we know what the letter says?” Morgan asked.

Garcia nodded, “And it’s a doozy. The letter contains a poem written with letters cut out from magazines and newspapers. It reads:

Since there’s no help, come let us kiss and part.

Nay, I have done, you get no more of me;

And I am glad, yea glad with all my heart,

That thus so cleanly I myself can free.

Shake hands for ever, cancel all our vows,

And when we meet at any time again,

Be it not seen in either of our brows

That we one jot of former love retain …”

You could feel your friends staring and you tried to keep your face as neutral as possible. Your skin felt like it was on fire, and you could hear the blood pounding in your ears as you thought of a murderer setting foot in your space; him touching your bed, running his hands over the photos on your nightstand, defiling your possessions with his presence. You’d never felt so vulnerable and exposed, and bile rose up in your stomach like your body was physically rejecting the whole thing. Distantly you heard Prentiss and Morgan discussing theories, and you felt one pair of warm brown eyes staring into the side of your head.

Suddenly, you didn’t feel like joking around anymore.

“Sorry,” you muttered, standing up and striding out of the room without looking back, “I need some air.”

You were so angry by the time you made it out into the courtyard that you’d balled your hands into fists and your breath was coming out in short little bursts. Hot tears pricked at the corners of your eyes and your chest felt painfully tight.

“Y/N?” You heard Spencer ask.

You sniffed, wiping your face quickly, “Reid, hi. Sorry, I just-“ you let out a slow breath, “I needed a break.”

He nodded like he understood, tucking his hands into his pockets as he stepped towards you. You wanted to tell him to go away, to head back inside and leave you the hell alone, but the words wouldn’t come.

It had always been like this with Spencer. No matter how hard you tried to be tough and brave and put together, he saw right through you and broke down your defenses. At one point, he’d been the closest thing to family you’d ever had, in fact you thought you might…..

Well, it didn’t matter now. Over the last year things had changed, you’d grown apart. It happened, but the fondness was still there, and the trust, and those damn eyes.

“I get it, Y/N, I can't even imagine what this whole thing must be like for you,” he said, “having your home be violated like that….and the store?” He shook his head, “I know how hard you worked setting that place up.”

Your bottom lip trembled and, for the first time that day, you let yourself feel afraid as tears slipped down your cheeks.

You shook your head, “You know, when I saw the glass all over the floor, and all the books….I just felt tired, like bone tired. I wasn’t scared of that, but now?” You paused, glancing up at Spencer, as a tear slid down your cheek, “He was in my home, Spencer. He made my bed before he left, he wrote me a letter.”

Spencer worked his jaw and hesitantly reached out, touching your shoulder gently.

“We’ll catch him, Y/N/N, we always do.” He promised.

“And until then?” You asked, “Do I just pretend it never happened? Go home and act like it’s all okay?”

“No,” another voice cut in from behind you, “you rely on us. We’ll take care of you,” Morgan explained.

“Yeah,” Garcia agreed, her big blue eyes clinging to yours, “We’ve talked about it already. You’ll take turns staying with each of us a few nights a week and then, on the weekends, we’ll all stay with Rossi to go over the case. And we’ll spend every free moment tracking this son of a bitch down for you.”

Emily nodded and, for the first time since you had opened your store that morning, you felt your chest swell with something a little like hope. You knew the BAU was special, you knew that the bonds you’d formed over the years were damn near unbreakable, but this? This was too much. Seeing your friends rally around you when you needed them most just reminded you how much you loved them, and how much they still loved you. Even now. Spencer gave your shoulder a squeeze and you smiled back at him.

“I really missed you guys,” you said with a watery laugh.

Penelope crooned and threw her arms around your neck, pulling you into a familiarly bone-crushing hug.

“We missed you too, Sugar Plum,” she promised.

“Really?”

“Hell yeah!” Morgan smiled, joining Penelope’s hug.

“You know we did,” Emily agreed, ruffling your hair and pulling herself in close.

Your eyes found Spencer where he was standing just outside of the group hug, both hands in his pockets and a sad smile on his face. You pressed your lips together and, in response, he nodded.

“We missed you,” he said softly and then, as the hug broke up and you allude your way back inside, even softer, “we still do.”

----------------

Taglist: @ourfavoritesergeantbarnes

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gryffindors-weasley · 3 years

Text

Petals and Promises

Ron Weasley x Reader

Summary: A spring evening spent with Ron.

Word count: 2.5k

Warnings: none—fluff, kissing

You must say, the spring season was one that always brought with it a multitude of beauty. Whether it may be the newly blossoming flowers sprinkling colorfully just about everywhere in your slightly overgrown lawn and livening up your house, or the warming temperatures calling for open windows, even the rain showers that arrived whenever they so pleased—you can’t deny how much you love this time of year.

The air was warm yet still brisk enough for a blanket as you lay tucked comfortably within your hammock with Ron, the tattered flannel material draping over the two of you in ruffles of orange and red. It was enough to stave off the chill of the soft breeze that swept over your skin, gentle yet determined to send a shiver through you. Despite that, it brought with it the delightfully sweet scent of the flowers that surround you both, flourishing wildly in the flowerbeds and in the grass. It brought with it the ever so soothing sound as it weaved itself through brilliantly green leaves.

Perhaps the most enamoring thing to be admired out of everything was laying atop your chest, heaps of red hair blowing around softly on his forehead with every gust. The warm sunshine streamed through the branches above you, dancing across your skin, across his flushed cheeks in a golden glow. Ginger lashes curl and splay over the tops of those very cheeks, fluttering each and every time he blinked slowly as he fought valiantly to stay awake. His hand enveloped over top of your own, his grip tightening a fraction each time he needs reminding that you’re still tangled up with him. The unwavering hold on your hand had hindered your ability to turn the pages in your book, but you suppose it was worth the trouble, you knew it was.

It was his idea to come outside and enjoy the weather in the first place, particularly to enjoy it with you, though he simply enjoyed just being with you more than anything else. You knew full well he wouldn’t make it more than ten minutes without drifting off; you were right.

He didn’t entirely fit, his feet dangling over the edge, socks grass-stained and bunched at the ankles. The sunshine and singing of the birds proved to be far more soothing than he’d anticipated, and the way you’d been playing with his hair had him in and out of a slumber. That and the constant tickle of his hair on his face.

Reading the book propped open in your free hand was beginning to become a distracted effort, and you were only distancing yourself from the task the more time that had gone by. The gentle wind had a constant habit of crinkling and creasing your pages each time it’d brushed over them, eliciting an exasperated sigh from you. That, paired with the natural beauty all around you, the setting sun painting the sky in a palette of pinks and oranges; it was reason enough to pull your attention from the pages to elsewhere.

The windows of your sweet little home had been opened to let in the fresh air, the wind pulling the sheer cream curtain over your door blowing outward into daylight as it rests ajar, ruffling freely in the air before fluttering back to the ground for a few moments. Your two cats had wandered their way to the two of you through that very door, sprawled contently underneath your hammock as they relished in the evening sun. Occasionally, they’d paw curiously at Ron’s feet, always drawing a groan from him as he recoiled tighter into you until sleep had its hold on him once more.

You couldn’t have thought of a better way to spend your day if you weren’t honest; it was perfect in all aspects. One might think that the lives of two people with the ability to produce the most powerful of magic would forever lead chaotic lives, and that had been true less than a decade ago. But things were different now.

Magic was still present in your everyday life, it always will be and you would never tire of it. But it was seldom ever used to defend yourselves anymore, never used to harm another. It was used to wash the dishes when you hadn’t felt like it, to startle on another by switching the lights off from another room. It was used to douse each other with water in the backyard in goofy antics before the other could think of something more thrilling as payback. It was used to refill mugs of cocoa and coffee when you hadn’t felt like making anymore, to stir pots on the stove when you were far too caught up in dancing around the kitchen. Ron had learned that one the hard way when he nearly burnt the kitchen down when he’d been far too busy kissing you, admiring you like the lovestruck fool he knew himself to be.

Magic is used after a quidditch match gone wrong, to heal Ron with the most tender of spells and potions as possible. He refuses to go to St. Mungo’s whenever possible, preferring the care of you over anyone else. He claims your magic is much more powerful, though you knew all he’d really been wanting was you.

Magic was used for the fun you’d once imagined it to be as a child. There was far too much hurt and anguish by the hands of that very gift, and the two of you had been determined to use it for good, to use it for the lighthearted ways you’d always loved.

You had a home of your own, filled with moments to be cherished as long as your memory would allow. Filled with dancing in your living room at three o’clock in the morning, and never waking up without each other. To making a mess of the kitchen when baking a cake for the other’s birthday. Of silly anniversaries of things others might consider trivial. It was imperfectly perfect and it was bursting with a warmth and love you’d hoped to have; it was right for the two of you. It was yours.

In time, you felt the tips of his fingers dance tenderly across your wrist and up your arm a few inches more, the gentle touches bringing a soft smile to your face. They trace in unknown shapes for a short while, and unbeknownst to you he’d scrawled invisible ‘I love you’s’ there, his fingers soon splaying over your skin as he grabs your hand once more. You decide then and there that you’d never get any quality reading done beyond that very point, a soft sigh leaving your lips as you close your book and let it fall to the grass below you with a dull thud.

Your other hand brushes through his hair, a bit tangled as your fingers pass through it and you don’t fail to see the way he leans into your touch. Delicate purple flower petals are woven within the ginger locks, cream ones joining in from the two blossoming trees you lay between, and it looked soft and adorable. It was then that he lifted his head and looked at you, your fingers smoothing down his cheek. The smile gracing his lips was nothing short of adoring, and he was still very much groggy with sleep.

“Hey you,” he murmured, a soft laugh leaving his lips at the feeling of his hair sticking to his face. The humidity from that morning’s rainstorm had lingered, curling the ends of his hair.

“Hey, sleepyhead,” you beam, a laugh of your own escaping you as he makes his attempts to move.

His efforts were near futile as the hammock swayed and rocked and proved to be quite unforgiving, mere seconds from sending him tumbling out and onto the ground for what wouldn’t be the first time. But he manages somehow to avoid such a clumsy outcome, the swinging he so ungracefully caused now settling to a stop.

“What d’you mean ‘sleepy head’?” He asks, his words sleepily mingling into one another as his laughter fanned warmly across your lips.

The pad of your thumb brushed over his freckled cheek, the one that’d been significantly more pink than the other from having been pressed against you for the better part of an hour. Not to mention the sleep lines imprinted on his skin. You bit the inside of your cheek in an attempt to stifle your inevitable spill of laughter, thumb now swiping over the drool that had not quite dried at the corner of his mouth.

“You’ve been drifting off this whole time, perhaps the puddle of drool on my shirt will jog your memory,” you jest even though you felt tired yourself, his nose scrunching in protest to your words, “or maybe the snores that could be heard through the whole neighborhood.”

Your giggles intensified when he dropped a flurry of kisses to your neck with the full knowledge of just how ticklish it’d been. Giggles that were quickly muffled when he kissed you, his own having hummed against your mouth. His hair tickled against your forehead, brushing lightly against your cheek. He’d been due for a bit of a haircut; his hair had been dipping over his eyes, nearly dusting over his shoulders as it once had done when he was fourteen.

“Must you always tease me?” He mumbles, the corner of his mouth quirked up in a smile at the sight of yours.

“You make it so easy,” you counter, and he pressed kisses to your cheek. “How could I not?”

“So terribly mean, love,” he sighs, kissing you once more before wedging himself between you and the fabric of the hammock, tugging the flannel blanket up further.

“Yes, but I love you terribly,” you say, your nose bumping his as you look up at him.

The pale pink staining his cheeks is something not from the sunshine on his skin, rather your declaration of love. No matter how often you said it, it would always leave him blushing scarlet—you could say it a hundred times in a row and he’d flush each and every time it fell from your lips. His eyes sparkled blue-green beneath ruffles of ginger, his smile nothing short of beaming.

“I love you an awful lot,” he grins, still sleepy yet still so adoring of you as his eyes flutter closed.

Now it had been your turn to flush a rosy pink, an obvious fact that you tried your hardest to stave off as you leaned up and kissed the underside of his jaw. He tangles his legs with yours once more, pressing a kiss to the top of your head as he basks in the very moment with you. In the very way the sun glimmers over you, golden and glowing, shining upon someone who he feels is the embodiment of that very sunshine. He basked in the way the soft pink petals on the trees above you float down in a floral rain. In the way you loved him as wholly as he did you, and he couldn’t quite believe that wonderfully dizzying fact.

You yawn as you nuzzle your face against his t-shirt, picking at a loose string. Somehow, he always smelled of cinnamon, for as long as you could remember he smelled of just that. It was delightfully sweet and so incredibly Ron, and you couldn’t help but feel comforted.

“Have you finished your book?” He asks softly, the fatigue that still remained heavy having him merely hum his words.

“No,” you mumble, “too distracted.”

His chuckle shook you softly, the feeling bringing a smile to your face as you looked up at him. “What?

You narrow your eyes in a playful glare as you look at him, lifting your head from his shoulder. His smile widened at that, a soft gust of wind blowing his hair in his eyes but he hadn’t bothered to move it. “I’ve heard you reread the same line four times in a row.”

His laughter was immediate to trail after his words, more so when you swatted his chest. He tipped his head back, the action ruffling his hair entirely as he found your expression humorous. It was rather hard to stay mad at him, however, not with the way he looked at you so fondly and not that you were even mad to begin with. You exhale a sigh, finding yourself looking at him the same despite your reddened cheeks upon mention of your blunder. It must have occurred when he’d held your hand.

You drop your head to his shoulder once more, unable to fight your smile. “Not my fault.”

His response is another bout of soft laughter, and no doubt the most beaming of smiles. “Whatever you say, love.”

The same fatigue you had teased him for just moments prior had held its grip on you, your laughter dwindling as your eyelids grow heavy. You hum in a late acknowledgement to what he’d said, “exactly that.”

You splay your hand across his chest, interlocking your pinky with his. His smile went unseen by you, one of awe and knowing all the same. He knew what that meant. It was a promise as most would think of it as, a silent ‘I love you’ as the two of you know it to be. He knew exactly the day it first happened. At the Burrow under the light of the stars, he’d told you he loved you for the very first time. It was that night that you wrapped your pinky around his, joined hands settled in the grass between you. With it accompanied the very three words that made his heart race and his cheeks flush. It was then, that very first time that night, that it became an unspoken action worth a thousand words.

So he smiles, he curls his pinky around yours and he smiles. Your own grin is just as unseen as his, but you didn’t need to see each other to know of it.

“I love you,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your forehead, to your nose when you look at him.

“I love you,” you whisper, kissing the corner of his mouth in a tired attempt of a kiss. His smile was soft, and he still felt the tingle of your kiss as if it was the first time. He’s quite sure it’ll always feel that way. He knows it.

It was then that you tuck yourself against him, in the crook of his neck as the tattered flannel blanket settles warmly over top you both, the spring breeze brushing over your cheeks. You lay cradled within the canvas hammock that enveloped the both of you nearly in a cocoon. Your drowsiness was too hard to ignore by then, your eyes fluttering closed as his cheek pressed to the top of your head.

You were perfectly content to sleep there forever in the very arms, the very place you felt safest in. It was beautiful with the setting sun and the chirping of the birds. With petals falling in your hair and pinkies interlocked in a promise.

—

Tags: @vogueweasley @amourtentiaa @hahee154hq @anchoeritic @ch0colatefr0gs @harrysweasleys @snitches-at-dawn @awritingtree @writeroutoftime

#ron weasley #ron weasley one shot #ron weasley fluff #ron weasley x reader #ron weasley x you #ron weasley fanfiction #ron weasley fic #ron weasly imagine #ron weasley headcanon

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agoldengalaxy · 3 years

Text

Fun, Indeed

read on Ao3

“Every time I begin to think you actually have a brain in that head of yours,” he sighed, placing a hand on the small of Mobius’ back, guiding him to walk down the beach a little. “That...is why we are here.” He gestured to a small dock, to the place where it met the sand. An old man sat in a folding chair, a hat covering his face, and at the end of the dock was a striking, brightly painted red jet ski.

Mobius blinked a couple of times, attempting to process the information. “So let me get this straight,” he said, unable to look away from it, “you brought me to 2036 to steal some poor man’s jet ski?”

“Mobius. Oh, come on. Wake up.”

Somewhere in his subconscious, the TVA agent could recognize that annoying, hushed voice anywhere. He groaned, burrowing further into his pillow. And then something soft hit him in the face. He had a feeling that the God of Mischief wasn’t planning on leaving him alone anytime soon, so he groaned again. “What d’ya want, Loki?” he mumbled, opening one eye as whatever had hit him before was lifted from his face.

Loki stood over his bed, a huge grin on his face, still holding a pillow with the letters ‘TVA’ inscribed across it. “I want to show you something.”

Sighing, Mobius rolled onto his back, running a hand over his face. “And it was so urgent that you had to wake me up for it?” The TVA didn’t allow much time for rest; he supposed he should have expected his rest would be cut short by the man he was so often in charge of babysitting.

Not unlike a child, the other frowned, tossing the pillow onto his chest. “Yes. It has to be now. Come on, I don’t want your colleagues to be on my back again.”

“What did you do?” It was his first thought, and he didn’t feel the need to keep it to himself as he begrudgingly pushed himself to sit up, throwing the pillow back at him. “And how did you get in my room?” He was surprised, but then again, should he have been? Even without magic, Loki always found a way. Sometimes it was a good thing, and other times it was just aggravating. And yet, more often than not, it was endearing all the same.

“I beg your pardon, Mobius. You ought to have more faith in me. I didn’t ‘do’ anything.” Feigning hurt, Loki huffed, crossing his arms over his chest. The way his eyebrows knit together was a common expression these days, and yet Mobius found himself still unable to look away. It was replaced with a sly grin. To answer your second question, you left your door unlocked. Perhaps you are going senile.”

Mobius groaned, putting his face in his hands. “Don’t talk to me about getting old. You’re thousands of years old. I’m only fifty.”

“And that’s half of a mortal’s lifespan. Your point?”

Getting to his feet, Mobius waved a hand dismissively, then crossed his arms over his chest. “Alright, wise guy. You woke me up, so I’m the one asking questions. What is it you wanted to show me?”

Loki, seemingly pleased that Mobius had finally gotten out of bed, grinned and headed toward the door. “Look, we don’t have much time. You know how we can do anything we want, anything at all, and it’s of no consequence so long as a natural disaster occurs?”

“Right…” He already felt wary, not liking the excitement Loki was expressing as they left the room.

“I know you just hate breaking the rules, but I think you’ll want to make an exception this time.” Now Mobius really didn’t like the sound of that, but he also knew that whether or not he followed, Loki was probably going to keep going - or come back to drag him to wherever he was going. “Just trust me.”

Mobius couldn’t help but laugh at that. Whether it was sarcastic or not, though, he couldn’t tell. “Trust you? That’s funny.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a smirk tug at the corner of Loki’s lips. “Come now, Mobius, after all we’ve been through together? I’m trying to do something kind for once.”

And he couldn’t help but smile, too, though he hid it by ducking his head a little. “That doesn’t exactly reassure me, you know. Your version of ‘kind’ is different from most.” They reached a shimmering door, presumably left open by Loki when he’d come to wake Mobius. Loki didn’t bother waiting, just smiling a little more as he stepped through the doorway, leaving Mobius no choice but to follow him.

His shoes began sinking, and he looked down in surprise to find sand beneath him, sparkling in the sun. Brows furrowed, the sound of crashing waves surrounded him, and looking up confirmed it. The ocean’s waves weren’t very big, and the sun shone a light orange, dipping toward the horizon, bathing the beach in a warm glow. The beach was only home to a couple of people at the moment, and Mobius frowned as his eyes scanned the beach. “Is this…?”

“Japan, 2036,” Loki finished his thought, glancing down at the TVA bracelet around his wrist. “And if I’m correct, in about an hour, there will be a tsunami that will wipe out this town.” He let his arm return to his side then, looking over at Mobius, barely containing a grin.

The agent sighed, still unsure of where he was going with this. “...Okay. And why are we here, Loki?”

Loki rolled his eyes, taking him by the shoulders to make him look at him instead. “Oh come now, Mobius. You’ve always wanted to, haven’t you? Remember, none of this matters! They’re all going to die anyway, you can afford to have some fun without the TVA breathing down your back.” He leaned back, smirking as he folded his arms over his chest. “Or do you not know how?”

Putting aside the fact that every instinct in his body told him to say no, to drag Loki back to the TVA and continue with his work, one thing stuck out to him. Loki remembered. Loki remembered how much he admired jet skis, how he had never been on one but loved how they looked. And...no one had ever done anything so kind for him before. He never would have expected it from the God of Mischief.

Before he knew it, he was smiling a little, and he had to look away, feeling a blush creep up his neck. “Alright, alright. Jeez. Only for a little while.” While Loki grinned, Mobius turned and began walking toward the dock, shrugging off his blazer. His heart pounded, though he wasn’t quite certain if it was due to the thrill of doing something wrong, or something else entirely. He was careful to be quiet as he walked past the owner of the jet ski, who didn’t move at all as they passed by.

“Oh dear. Is he dead already?” Loki whispered, and Mobius laughed, hitting his arm.

“Shut up.” Leaving the blazer and his shoes on the dock, pants cuffed below the knee, he climbed aboard the jet ski, admiring the details. Loki stood on the dock, looking down at him, smiling, genuinely. Mobius raised a brow. “Are you coming?”

The smile faltered for a moment, replaced with slight amused confusion. “You want me to come with you?”

Mobius almost burst out laughing, but he settled on an eye roll instead. “Every time I begin to think you actually have a brain in that head of yours,” he teased, mocking him. “C’mon, Loki. You brought me here. Don’t tell me you’re scared now.”

“What, me? Absolutely not,” Loki scoffed, but Mobius didn’t miss the smile that returned as he shrugged off his own jacket, stepping down to sit behind him. Mobius did his best to ignore just how close he was as he started the engine, untying the rope.

Excitement buzzed through him, making it easy to focus on the water rather than the man behind him. “Alright. Here we go!” Revving the engine, he took a deep breath, grinning, and hit the gas. He started out slow, but as he moved past the larger waves, he increased the speed. Loki’s arms came around to embrace him, holding onto him tightly, keeping him from falling off.

“I suppose you do know how to have fun, after all!”

Mobius was pretty sure his heart stopped for a moment, and so he focused on driving, on the wind that whipped at his hair, the cold water splashing up against his legs. “Of course I do!” He could barely hear Loki, but he felt the way his chest rumbled against his back as he laughed. And Mobius couldn’t help but laugh, too.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so alive.

There was no telling how much time had really passed, but as clouds began setting in, Mobius slowed down, directing the jet ski toward the dock again. His cheeks hurt from smiling, he was out of breath, and he could feel Loki’s breath on the back of his neck, too. As he tied the jet ski up again, Loki slowly removed his arms from around his torso, getting up onto the dock carefully. When he turned around, he was grinning.

“See? Causing trouble isn’t so bad, is it?” He offered Mobius a hand, and he hesitantly took it, letting Loki pull him up onto the dock. The God’s dark hair was windswept, and his eyes were bright. Mobius’ heart lurched as they both knelt on the wood, inches from each other. He swallowed and opened his mouth to respond when he was suddenly shoved, pushed off of the dock with a small yelp. The water engulfed him, colder than he was expecting, and he pulled himself to the surface with a gasp, only to hear Loki laughing loudly. “Oh! You should have seen your face!”

Mobius frowned, up at him as he tread water, shaking his head. “I thought you wanted to have fun. This is not fun.”

At that, Loki grinned, kneeling down to reach for him again. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m having lots of fun.” Frowning, Mobius reached up for Loki’s hand - and in a brief moment, barely without thinking, he pulled Loki into the water beside him. Shock was the last thing etched upon his face before the splash took him downward, letting go of the other’s hand. A moment passed, and he surfaced again, pushing wet hair out of his eyes with an annoyed frown.

“And now I’m having fun,” Mobius said smugly, and Loki blew out a long breath.

“Hmph. I suppose I deserved that.”

“Yes. Yes you did.”

They knew not to stay too much longer. After all, the last thing they needed was to be caught in the tsunami, so they both swam over to the sand. Crawling onto land again, Mobius let out a long sigh, flopping onto his back for a moment. Loki did the same, not too far away from him, so they could both catch their breath.

The sand was warm on his back, which was appreciated after the cool of the water. He stared at the cloudy sky for a moment, then glanced at Loki, whose chest was rising and falling steadily now. “Hey.”

“What is it?” Loki turned his head to meet his gaze, raising a brow.

“...Thank you. For this.” He didn’t miss the surprise on Loki’s face, but he turned his head to look back up at the sky, suddenly unable to really look at him. “I’ve never really had any time for myself before. The TVA doesn’t leave much time for leisure. This is…” he chuckled. “This is probably the most fun I’ve ever had.”

There was quiet for a moment, and he was aware of Loki staring at him, so he pressed his lips together, turning to look at him. The other’s eyes were soft, and he was smiling a little. “Well, I am the God of Mischief, after all.” A beat. “I’m glad you enjoyed yourself.”

They stared at each other for a moment, Mobius’ heart beating hard in his chest. For a moment, he wondered if Loki had somehow put a spell on him. Suddenly, Loki propped himself up on an elbow, hovering right above the agent. Mobius was paralyzed.

Before he knew it, his face was being held by calloused hands, rough lips pressed against his own. He tensed, every inch of his body going rigid, because Loki Laufeyson was kissing him. After a moment, though, he realized he had two options; push him away, or kiss back. And...the choice was clear.

Closing his eyes, he reached up, placing his arms around his neck, and kissed back. He could feel Loki smile a little. It wasn’t exactly gentle, but it wasn’t too rough. It was perfect. It wasn’t unlike stories Mobius had read a long time ago, of fairy tales that were meant for children.

They probably could have stayed there all day if it weren’t for a large wave that crashed nearby, spraying them yet again with cold water. Loki pulled away, looking down at Mobius with a grin, water droplets dripping from his hair. “Fun indeed,” he purred, making Mobius turn bright red. Loki stood up, dusting himself off, and green engulfed him for just a split second, drying him completely. He turned to Mobius, who was still lying dazedly in the sand, and flicked a hand, using magic to dry his clothes, too. With that, he bent down, taking his hand, and pulled him to his feet. “We can’t stay here. Perhaps we ought to finish this somewhere else.”

People were running now. The tsunami was certainly on its way. Loki didn’t let go of his hand, and Mobius struggled to articulate, a dumb grin on his face. He couldn’t believe this. “Y-Yeah. Yeah. Perhaps we should.”

Laughing lowly, Loki opened a portal back to the TVA, and together, they headed back to Mobius’ room for the fun to continue.

#marvel #mcu #loki laufeyson #mobius m mobius #lokius #loki show #wowki #why do I love them so much already #god #mobius believes in loki so hard #okay anyway enjoy im trash #agoldengalaxy #my writing #my post

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toosicktoocare · 4 years

Text

I’ve been kind of playing with this ATLA Benders College AU, so I’m just going to roll with it.

ATLA Benders College AU

Snippet 1: Warmth Beyond a Bonfire

Setting: Junior Year, Sokka and Zuko

“You what?” Katara spits out sharply, hand tightening around her fork that’s raised mid-bite.

Beside her, Aang’s jaw drop, almost comically, his mouth full of food now on proper display, and Sokka grimaces.

“I said,” Sokka starts, drawing out his words slowly as if to dumb down the language, “I invited—”

“—Zuko,” Katara finishes harshly, the name alone leaving a sour taste atop her tongue. “You invited Zuko. The same Zuko who terrorized Aang for an entire year.”

“Now, Katara,” Sokka starts, smiling sheepishly and pointedly ignoring Aang’s eyes burning a hole in his face, “terrorize is a bit of a stretch, don’t you think? He had his reasons—”

“—Family troubles don’t justify his behavior, Sokka! I still don’t understand why you even speak to him.”

“He’s my roommate, Katara,” Sokka sighs, abandoning his fork on his tray. He’ll admit, he was far from pleased when junior dorm assignments dropped online a few months ago, and Zuko’s name was typed up plain as the day itself beside his. He remembers a burning anger swelling in his stomach, and in the days leading up to move-in, he filed multiple complaints to the resident director, both written and verbally, with Katara and Aang always backing him up one hundred percent.

Though, each complaint was always answered with a sigh and a rehearsed explanation. “The dean wants to spread out the fire nation students. He thinks it will help with their location-born reputation.”

Sokka thought it was stupid, and his annoyance, and muted fear, carried over into move-in day, diminishing only when he kicked his dorm door open, multiple bags in hand, and was met with warm, golden eyes, and a soft, hesitant smile that flipped his heart sideways.

Since then, he and Zuko have discovered a balance around each other, and, much to Katara’s dismay, an unlikely bond, one that’s civilized, and one that carries a seemingly one-sided something else that Sokka refuses to bring up to anyone, himself included.

“Your point?” Katara snaps quickly. “Look, Sokka, I know Zuko came back from summer break with a new hairstyle, but that doesn’t change the fact that he—”

“—I think he should come.”

The table goes quiet, with only Aang’s nonchalant chewing filling the silence. He ignores the mirror-like looks Katara and Sokka are shooting him and offers a one shoulder shrug in response.

“Maybe Sokka’s right,” Aang starts around his food. “We don’t know what happened to Zuko, but he does seem different now that he’s spent the summer with his Uncle. He even apologized to me.”

“He did?”

“Well, he slipped me a note in AB History that said ‘sorry.’”

“That’s it?” Katara throws her hands up, a huff slipping past her lips. “Aang, you can’t be serious about this. He hit you and mocked you for an entire year, and I thought he was going to kill you during the Bender Tournament. Do you really think it’s a good idea to be within bending distance at a bonfire, where he will very easily have the upper hand?”

Shrugging, Aang carries his gaze across the cafeteria to a two-seater booth in the back corner where Zuko’s currently sitting, nose buried in some novel with a fire bender and a water bender on the front. Katara and Sokka follow Aang’s gaze, and Sokka unconsciously sighs, dropping his chin in his palm as his eyes drink in Zuko’s hunched over posture and his soft, intrigued eyes.

“I just think he’s different,” Aang says, adding, “for real this time. Maybe he’ll make some better friends if he comes tonight. I think it will be good for him.”

“That’s the spirit!” Sokka pries his gaze back toward Aang, pushing forth a wide, toothy smile as he leans across the table to clap Aang on the shoulder. “We’ll meet you there!” He makes to stand, to return his tray and sneak in some quick studying before his next class, but Katara reaches out, digging sharp fingers into his wrist, and he pauses, frowning.

“Katara?”

“If he so much as looks at Aang the wrong way tonight, I’ll wash him all the way back to the fire nation.”

“Noted,” Sokka says, swallowing thickly, and he tugs his wrist free and makes a beeline to the exit, completing forgetting the tray still in his hand.

***

“I just want to make sure I’m understanding everything clearly,” Zuko starts, one brow arching as he watches Sokka fling clothes out his dresser. “Your sister and Aang were… excited when you told them I was coming?”

They’ve gone through this four times now, and still, Zuko can’t seem to convince himself that Sokka’s story is valid, not even in the slightest. He crosses his arms and nudges a shirt off the edge of Sokka’s bed with his socked foot before drawing his knees to his chest, back resting against Sokka’s headboard.

“Okay, fine,” Sokka drags out, tone low and dramatic, one Zuko’s learned to know all too well. “Katara wasn’t happy about it.”

“And Aang?”

“Aang actually was the one who suggested it would be good that you come.”

Zuko can’t control the wince that pulls across his face, and for a brief moment, he’s lost in hot, burning memories shrouded in anger, frustration, and pain. He sucks in a slow, deliberate breath, one that swells coolly in his chest, and he exhales, breathing out the memory, leaving only the present right before his eyes.

“Why?” His voice cracks, and he clears his throat.

“It’s Aang,” Sokka says, tilting his head, studying Zuko’s posture and the way Zuko always makes himself look smaller than he is. “The kid’s got a heart of pure, unbreakable gold. The point is,” Sokka adds when Zuko remains passive on his bed, “you’re coming tonight. It’s going to be super fun, and I need you to stop pouting and help me pick out an outfit.”

“I wasn’t pouting,” Zuko grumbles as he slips off Sokka’s bed and starts nudging through a pile of clothes on the floor, fingers tightening around a long-sleeve navy sweater with an oversized collar that Sokka doesn’t wear nearly enough, in his opinion. He holds it up silently, and Sokka studies it, tilting his head from the left, to the right, index finger tapping at his chin.

“This could work,” he finally draws out. “Pair this with my black skinny jeans, and some converses, and I think I’ll look quite dashing.”

Zuko chokes back a laugh, trying, and failing miserably, to pass it off as a cough, and his cheeks burn a bright pink when Sokka claps a hand to his shoulder and offers a tight squeeze.

“Now, for you,” Sokka starts, slipping out of his room and down the small hall to Zuko’s room, “do you still have that red, long-sleeve Henley?”

***

Zuko grits his teeth through a small shudder as the chilly October breeze seems to slip right through his thin shirt. He should have grabbed his coat; he tried, but Sokka insisted that his outfit was perfect and that the coat would hide him too much. Still, he should have grabbed it anyway.

Regret feels cold now, and he digs his fingers into his arms and follows Sokka over to the large fire, politely declining a beer as he snags a lawn chair that’s pulled up pretty close to the roaring flames. He watches, amused, as Sokka strides from person to person naturally, but then he can feel a different kind of itching heat, and he pulls his gaze around until he locks eyes with Katara, who’s standing on the other side of the fire, glaring daggers at him. He holds her gaze, guilt coloring his eyes, and she suddenly jerks her gaze away with a low huff.

“Hey, Zuko!”

Jumping, Zuko whips a wild gaze to see Aang taking the seat beside him, an almost blinding smile painted across his lips.

“Aang…” He clears his throat. “Hey.”

“Glad you came!” Aang drops his hand on Zuko’s arm, his smile faltering, and Zuko wants to jerk his arm away, to shrink away from the sudden, blaring look of concern etching over Aang’s face.

“Um, are you okay?”

“Of course,” Zuko snaps, face falling almost immediately after the harsh words fly off his lips. “Sorry, yes. I’m fine.”

“You’re shaking.”

Frowning, Zuko spares a glance down to see that he is, in fact, trembling softly. Beside him, Aang hops to his feet.

“I think someone has some blankets in the bed of their truck. I can get you one—”

“It’s fine,” Zuko spits out a little too quickly, halting Aang mid-step. “I mean, I’m fine. There’s no need.”

“You sure?” Aang’s hesitant, worry twisting ever-so faintly in his gut.

“I’m sure,” Zuko meets Aang’s gaze, and they stay like that, silent, for just a moment, before he’s the first to break away when he hears someone drop into a chair on the other side of him. “Thank you, though.”

“Of course,” Aang says quietly, gesturing over his shoulder. “I’ll just be… around. I really am glad you came tonight.”

Zuko nods, and his tense, squared shoulders slowly ease-up and unclench as Aang smiles and darts off toward a group of freshmen who seem to be far too confused and underdressed for an upper level bonfire.

He nudges his chair a little closer to the fire, an almost dangerous distance if he weren’t a fire bender, and he turns and falls into idle chatter with the person to his left, a freshman, he quickly learns, inquiring about FB 101.

***

“Sokka,” Aang elbows through a group of students surrounding Sokka, who’s mid-story about some absurd trip he and Katara took when they were in junior high. “Sokka!” he tries again, louder, muttering apologies as he slips toward the center, stumbling into Sokka’s side.

“Aang!” Sokka shouts, draping a heavy arm over Aang’s shoulder. “You guys, Aang is the most talented little dude. He’s literally the Avatar! I can’t believe I’m best friends with the Avatar!”

Aang smiles sheepishly at the shouts and catcalls that follow, and he slips away from Sokka’s heavy arm, latching onto it, instead, with strong fingers. “Can I talk to you for a second?”

“Well,” Sokka draws out, voice sloppy, drunken, “of course you can! Ladies and gentlemen, we shall continue this later!” He stumbles as Aang all but drags him away from the crowd, swaying and staggering all the way to a tree a little way away from the bonfire.

“Yo, Aang, what’s up?”

“I think you should take Zuko back to the dorms.”

“Why?” Sokka whines, blinking slowly. “He was just here.” He looks around, head heavy on his neck. “He’s having the time of his life. ‘S totally good for him here. He’s making tons of friends.”

“It’s not that,” Aang presses, gnawing at his bottom lip. He physically turns Sokka until they are both facing the bonfire, and Aang points toward Zuko, who’s standing frightening close to the fire, bouncing on the balls of his feet and rubbing his hands up and down his arms.

“Zuko’s fire nation, Sokka. I know it’s not that cold for us, but he’s freezing. He was already shivering when you guys got here, and it’s been three hours already.”

All at once, Sokka sobers up, forcing the alcohol that dulls his senses down to the very bottom of his stomach, and he frowns, brows furrowing, as he stares hard at Zuko. “I didn’t realize—”

“Not you fault,” Aang mutters distracted by the warm, tight, constricting hand of concern tugging at his chest. “Just… he really needs to be taken back. I took FB Analysis II. Their bodies don’t process lower temperatures because of their hotter climate. It can be dangerous…”

Sokka doesn’t stand around to hear more, already making his way toward Zuko, footsteps fast, fearfully deliberate, and in seconds, he’s at Zuko’s side, a guilty smile tugging at the corners of his lips when he gets a good look at Zuko’s pale face, paler than normal standards, and the tight clench of his jaw as if he’s physically trying to keep his teeth from chattering.

“Hey, Zuko. I’m beat. You ready to head back?” He goes for a casual route, knowing that Zuko will argue if he mentions they are leaving for Zuko’s sake and not of his own accord.

“It’s still a l-little early,” Zuko says, and Sokka doesn’t miss the small stutter.

“Yeah, too much alcohol makes me go all weird in the head. Not something I’m ready to unbag today.” He nudges Zuko’s arm, and Zuko holds his gaze, the two sharing a silent conversation despite the noise around them, and, after an endless minute, Zuko breaks the gaze with a nod.

“If you’re ready.”

Smiling, Sokka briefly slips away to say his goodbyes, and just minutes later, he and Zuko are starting on the five minute walk back to the dorms, the loud sounds of the party becoming nothing more than faint chatter and music in the distance the farther they walk.

Sokka stays close to Zuko’s side, eyes entranced as Zuko passes a small ball of fire from one palm to the other, the glow illuminating the cloudy puffs of breath in the cold air.

“That doesn’t burn your hands?” He finally asks, mentally wishing he opted for an interdisciplinary track so he could have taken more fire bending courses.

“It could,” Zuko says quietly. “But we’re trained to listen to how our skin reacts to the heat.” He drops the small ball of flames into his right palm and holds it there. “I can instantly feel the heat coat my palm, but it’s not unpleasant. I can hold it like this,” he pauses, raising his hand up a little higher, “until an almost icy prickle begins to stab at my skin. That’s when I know it’s been enough.” He brings his hand into a fist, extinguishing the flame, before he crosses his arms once more, absently rubbing his hands up and down to utilize the lingering heat from the fire.

Sokka drapes an arm around Zuko’s shoulders, playing it off as an easy gesture when really, he wants to offer Zuko as much warmth as he can the remainder of their walk. Worryingly, Zuko doesn’t scoff and pull away. Rather, he leans into Sokka’s side with a small shudder, and Sokka only tightens his arm.

“I’m glad you came tonight. Though, I’m sorry I vetoed the coat.”

Zuko huffs out a laugh that molds into a hiss as a chilly breeze slips across the two. “Nothing a hot shower won’t fix.”

“I give you full permission to take all of the hot water tonight.”

“Good,” Zuko says, a small smile creeping at his lips. “Because I wasn’t going to ask.”

***

Though the shower helped bite the edge of the cold off, Zuko still feels chilled through, even after standing under borderline scolding hot water for the better half of thirty minutes. He’s quick to change into something warm, a long-sleeve, thermal night shirt and a pair of sweat pants, and he snags Sokka’s hoodie off the back of his desk chair when he spots it, slipping it over his head as he walks into the living room.

He spots two mugs of steaming tea on the coffee table, and he eases himself onto the couch, craning his neck to see Sokka popping a back of popcorn in the microwave.

“Movie night?” He calls out, and Sokka whips around, a wide smile pulling at his lips.

“Figured since it’s still early, we could watch something. Your pick.” Sokka stops in front of the couch, head tilting, as he takes in Zuko’s still too pale skin. “How was your shower?”

“Fine,” Zuko says, swallowing back the urge to flinch when Sokka brings a hand up to his face. He closes his eyes, his mind pulling toward a war with the heart that’s thumping rapidly in his chest, but then Sokka just rests a warm palm to his cheek, and he almost reaches up to hold it there.

But, far too quickly, Sokka jerks his hand away, and it isn’t until the rather colorful string of cuss words that follow that Zuko opens his eyes, frowning.

“What—”

“You literally feel like a block of ice.” Sokka storms across their dorm suite, snagging blankets from both bedrooms, stopping at the thermostat on the wall twice.

“Sokka—”

“This is literally all my fault. I thought you looked way hotter without the coat, and now you feel like a fucking corpse.”

Hotter… Zuko’s eyes grow wide, but Sokka doesn’t seem to realize the true extent of any word currently slipping from his rapid tongue. He only blinks when Sokka drops both blankets on top of him, and he struggles to free himself from the tangled mess.

“Sokka, I’ll be fine.”

“You’re damn right you will,” Sokka snaps, slipping onto the couch and tugging Zuko until Zuko’s back is flush against his chest. “Because I will make sure of it.” He fumbles with the blankets, struggling to pull both over and around the two, and all the while, Zuko can’t seem to remember how words work, that he’s supposed to use some combination of his tongue, mouth, and vocal chords to produce sounds that form words.

After a few minutes of breathless rustling, Sokka’s content, rubbing his hands up and down Zuko’s arms from behind him, and Zuko’s stiff as a board, too afraid to move.

“Sokka, this isn’t necessary.”

“Are you starting to feel warmer?”

Zuko open’s his mouth to argue further, but at the question, he closes it. He still feels cold, colder than he’s felt in a while, but underneath the ice, he can feel a faint brush of warmth that’s threatening to crack the ice. Without really meaning to, he relaxes against Sokka’s chest, and he nods.

“Yeah, actually, I am.”

“Then,” Sokka mutters, “it’s necessary.”

#atla #avatar the last airbender #zukka #college au #modern au #fanfic #sokka #prince zuko #sokka/zuko #my writing #my atla writing #zuko #zuko/sokka #katara #aang #k so idk how anything works #i just ship these two #and i wanted to write a modern college au but bending was still a thing #will be happy to answer any questions about this mess lol

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miwtze · 3 years

Text

bathroom floor (matsukawa issei x reader)

cw: eating disorders, purging, its not angsty

wc: 5.6k

dunno why this is so long but no beta i die like a man

matsukawa could count on one hand the names of his classmates that he could personally remember. even then it was only the class president and the student council secretary seeing as they were the only two people that ever really interacted with him when he was there. on his breaks he was with hanamaki, in class his head was down, after school he was at volleyball practice; he didn’t really have a reason to remember anyone else. it’s not to say he didn’t try, people were just standoffish due to his large structure or wanted to mingle with toru through him. he simply believed it was a bother. that was probably until his first term of his third year when he was seated next you.

“matsukawa-san.”

“matsuk-” matsukawa groans, shifting his head to the left in hopes of identifying the offending voice. he cracks open an eyelid, shifting his head to figure out who’s the one pulling him out of his nap; it wasn’t his mom or his younger brother. as his eyelids adjust to the rays of light engulfing the room he comes to the realization that he is in fact not in his bed, but rather sprawled across his desk and staring down at his desk mate’s tights-covered legs. “are you okay?” he whips his head up at your voice, wide eyed and rubbing the side of his mouth with the back of his palms as he scowls at you. not with any bad intentions but he’s willing to run the risk of looking like a dick if it saves him from the embarrassment of being caught sleeping in class.

“what is it?” you cock your eyebrows at him fingers to your chin, deep in thought. what did he say that was so interesting, he doesn’t know but he sinks into himself, wishing you would just outright laugh in his face. you don’t laugh. instead you turn around and dig through your bag pulling out a can of coffee and an energy bar, gingerly playing them on his desk.

“we’re both on class duty this week and the chemistry kits need to be brought down to class by the time lunch ends. we need it for our next class.” he stares at his wrist watch. he would rather use the last fifteen minutes of his lunch break to nap but he really didn’t want to forfeit the coffee or energy drink. not that you looked like you wanted it back. “i tried to wake you up earlier but you were kind of like a dead man walking. saying things like ‘five more minutes mom’ and ‘i’ll get up in a bit’.” matsukawa can feel the back of his neck heat up, rising to follow you out of the classroom and towards the science building. “figured you must’ve had a long night or something.”

“there’s absolutely no way you caught me fucking calling out to my mom. you should’ve just woken me up before everyone heard me telling me mom to let me sleep in,” he sighs, matching the pace of your step to walk next to you. “like, dude, that is so embarrassing.”

you turn your head and smile at him, he thinks it’s a little teasing but thankfully filled with no condescend. “actually for the most part the classroom was empty during lunch today, it was just me and secretary-san. everyone else went to go eat outside since the weather was nice.” you stated reassuringly, brushing hair behind your ears. matsukawa removes the hand he placed on his forehead with a sigh of relief. two people hearing him call out to his mother is significantly better than the whole class hearing it. “i don’t even think secretary-san heard you since she was on the other side of the room, but she most definitely saw you hung over your desk sleeping.”

“you shouldn’t call people secretary-san that’s, like, super impolite. also, if everyone else went outside to eat why’d you stay back? did you wanna watch me sleep or something,” he states matter-of-factly. turning his heel into the chemistry classroom making a beeline for the chemistry kits. he could still feel his neck burning, but he knows it’s because you’re digging holes into his back with your eyes. “or do you just, like, not have any friends.” you snicker behind him.

“you have to check the kits before you grab them; we need twenty four of them. also i’m not sure what the secretary’s name is. i was in a different class last year,” you say beginning to look through the kits separating the usable from the unusable ones. “and my friends got detention together and left me behind. some traitors they are.” you feign offense with the back of your hand to your forward and head tossed back. he notices a small beaded bracelet adorning your wrist, right under a thin gold one. you laugh at his raised eyebrows as finish separating the kits. he’s surprised to say the least, everyone in class one was the book nerd type who spoke harsh words behind whispers. at least to his knowledge anyways. he definitely didn’t think you would be this cheeky or friendly, especially not to the six feet tall monstrosity he was.

“why didn’t you just get detention with them. it seems more fun than eating by yourself, i think. i like to eat with my friends but apparently my dumbass fell asleep. i’ll probably get my ear chewed out during practice for it.”

“the most fun about doing things you’re not supposed to is getting away with it. plus i had to catch up on some other things so it didn’t make sense to leave and do something stupid just to get caught,” you say with a sly smile, struggling to mange the twelve kits you had split evenly between the two of you. he grabs your twelve including his silently, he wasn’t an athlete at a powerhouse school for nothing. “oh i see you are nice.”

“did you think i was some megawatt asshole or something?”

“maybe not megawatt, but, like, a twenty four watt asshole?” he snickers at that, following you into the classroom. “due to your kind act of charity, i’ll take it upon myself to take the notebooks to the teachers after school so you can head to practice early to get your ear chewed out, how does that sound?”

“absolutely fucking terrible, but much appreciated,” he says, sliding into his seat and cracking open the can of coffee you gave him. “thanks for this too, i’ll get you bread tomorrow during lunch to make up for it.”

“nah don’t worry about it,” you say, turning your head to greet two girls bouncing into the classroom stopping at your desk to complain about detention.

true to your word, you diligently collect and return the class notebooks that day after school. in fact you’re so dedicated to the task that you do it everyday for the rest of the week, never once asking matsukawa or complaining to him. matsukawa thinks you do it as to not bother him. he’s not entirely sure that’s the reason though, seeing as you’re pushing your desk next to his to share his literature textbook with him for the third time this week.

“sorry matsukawa-san, i forgot my literature textbook again. please do some charity work,” you whisper leaning over to look at the pages. you frown at his notes.

“you don’t sound like you forgot, also don’t judge someone else’s notes when they’re helping you,” he teases, looking down at you redoing his notes in a more orderly manner. small neat writing surrounds his messy illegible ones, highlighting what to look out for on the next exam. you’re wearing a gold ring with a jewel the same color of your beaded bracelet, small and dainty stilling on an even smaller middle finger. he sighs but he knows your notes have been helping him.

“between you and me? i definitely didn’t forget, i just hate carrying that heavy thing around.” you pause to look up from the notes, to his face and then back down. “maybe i’ll have you do it for me since you’re all big and tough, or whatever gender stereotype will benefit me.”

“you shouldn’t openly boast about being sexist.”

“what, you going to tell on me or something?”

“no but what’s the point in having me carry the damn book around if you have to walk home with it.” he’d rather you just not bring it seeing as no one else in his class talked to him and the most you talked to him was when you both were sharing his textbook.

“i do believe that is exactly why i don’t bring it, matsukawa-san,” you say dryly, returning to your task.

when the lunch bell rings you push your desk back and say your words of thanks, turning your heels to skip to your friends. he watches as the light hits your legs and the tights you always wear stretch around your thighs.

dirty bastard.

he turns and flees to takahiro, who makes fun of the blush creeping up matsukawas neck.

on friday afternoon, before issei leaves for practice he places two packaged rice balls and green tea on your desk. you open your mouth to say something but your friend beats you to it.

“oh? what’s this? a confession of love?” your friend pokes your cheek with a baby blue painted finger and shoots a smirk through her long eyelashes. she reminds issei of someone.

your other friend, one with dyed roots and glossed lips, pulls her back giggling saying, “hey c’mon now! you can’t scare him away, but it is an interesting approaching seeing as most people would just give a letter or something.” you sigh, shooting him a withering look of apology.

“na-chan, aya-chan, you can’t say things like that about people. it makes them uncomfortable. sorry matsukawa-san, what’s this for?”

“doin’ charity work i suppose.” you roll your eyes. “you should show gratitude when offered something, ya know?”

“oh? so this isn’t for the snacks i gave you the day i caught you slee-” he cuts you off by pulling up a chair to your desk. practice can wait.

“you are absolutely the fucking worst.”

“since you’re sitting here, share it with me i don’t like rice balls much.”

“i have practice.”

“you’re the one who sat down.” he blinks. your friends have already ran off yelling things about a part time job or something. you open both the rice balls and place one in front of him. “i don’t think you’ll get beaten if you’re a couple minutes late, at least i hope not. i think that’s illegal.”

“you’re just full of requests, huh? i might as well become make-a-wish with the amount of things i do for you,” he says mouth full of rice, towering over you even after sitting down. you sigh between small bites of the snack. “what? you don’t like umeboshi or something? why are ya looking at it like it’s defiling your throat.”

“not to sound ungrateful or anything, but i unfortunately am rather picky when it comes to food. but since the great matsukawa-san has blessed me with a rice ball i will thankfully finish it.”

“you’re so fucking annoying.”

“oh but i’m just too cute for you to let that bother you, isn’t that right?” you grin picking up your trash and grabbing your bag. “bye! i’ll see you tomorrow.” you leave before he has the chance to reply.

he leaves a couple minutes after you, heading to the third gym. he notices a pair of all too familiar tights-covered legs ducking in between the third and fourth gym. against his better judgement he follows.

dude, what the fuck. first you’re eyeing up your friend’s legs and now you’re following a girl behind the gym? get laid, he berates himself.

he watches the girl turn behind the fourth gym and he recognizes you by the charm hanging on the side of your bag. now he’s really curious. he silently leans against the wall getting close to the edge, but remaining out of sight. maybe it’s a really weird confession. he wouldn’t want to impose.

minutes pass before he actually hears anything but it wasn’t the confession he wasn’t expecting. sounds of you’re gagging fill the air. he has to stop himself from turning the corner and asking you if you’re okay, only being able to turn his head to look at you. fingers down your throat and tears down your face.

knot of uneasiness ties at the pit of his stomach as he turns and flees, knowing he saw something he shouldn’t have. the butterflies in his chest burden him knowing that he’s festering a crush on someone who hasn’t shared any part of herself to him other than her kindness. issei doesn’t like that.

after practice that day he stays continuing to abuse the gym floors hitting one volleyball after the other, trying to focus on the burns on his palms instead of anything else. oikawa and iwaizumi head out before him leaving him alone with the gym keys to lock up when he’s done. he doesn’t finish for another two hours and he only stops then because his body is about to give out on him.

matsukawa begrudgingly makes his way to the teachers room when he sees you fumble around, barely able to walk straight. his eyes widen when he sees you drop your bag and fall into the wall.

“fucking dumbass.” you hiss and pick up your bag.

“hey man, you good?” your entire body freezes, almost as if someone hit pause on you. he calls your name, panic creeping into his voice. “do you want me to carry your bag? i can walk you home.” when he goes to step towards you you swing your head back to face him.

“i’m fine matsukawa-san. have a good evening.”

he watches as your small figure, drowning in a big cardigan, stumble away quickly, never once turning back. he returns the keys to wall excusing himself, thinking about the chilling tone of your voice as he walks home.

he has no idea how to approach you after that, as the weeks pass by he avoids mentioning it, questions piling up in his mind. he knows you can tell that he’s antsy (there’s no way you don’t) around you, but you still keep polite conversation and share his literature textbook with him. sometimes you leave snacks on his desk, he always accepts them. matsukawas latest hobby has been lying face down on his desk during lunch to eavesdrop on your conversations. he tries to reason that he’s just tired but he’s so far deep he knows he’s lying to himself.

“do you think guys like clips?”

“i don’t think they care enough to pay attention to stuff like that.”

“really? i can't speak for dudes since i don’t have a dick-“ matsukawa almost blows his cover by laughing at your words “but i think they would appreciate a cute hair clip. especially on a girl he’s into.”

“i feel like guys should get into clips. i think they’d look good in them.” all three of them hum.

“wanna see if they do?” you say standing up, he can feel you hover around his desk. your friends giggle already connecting the dots, even he connected them. “matsukawa-san, hey matsukawa-san. are you sleeping? psst” you whisper close enough to where he can feel your breath on his ears. he stays silent. he watches your feet turn around, he’s almost disappointed.

“dude, he’s sleeping. you sure he won’t beat you up when he wakes up?”

“that’s a bridge i’ll cross when i get there.” you turn back around, thin fingers grabbing tufts of his hair gently as to not wake him up and pins them down. one. two. three. four. there’s two on each side of his forehead, he can feel them. “so aya-chan? na-chan? what’s the verdict.”

“his head is down we can’t tell.” your friend says, he assumes is the blunt one in your friend group probably the one you call aya-chan. he sits up. “looks like you’ve crossed that bridge though.”

“good luck, but i was right guys do look good with clips,” your other friend laugh, but before you can turn around to face mastukawa he grabs you by your waist and pulls you down. you end up on his lap and if he wasn’t too busy tickling you, he would question the promiscuity of his actions.

“you know it’s super impolite to mess around with people when they’re sleeping. it’s probably considered bullying.”

“ah! mastukawa-san! i can't breathe, i’m sorry! i’m sorry!” you can barely get your words out, getting get off between loud laughs. people look over.

“are you sorry?”

“yes yes now stop please.” he stops tickling you but still holds an arm around your waist, you make no movement to get off his lap either instead turning and grabbing his face to do a one over. “oh my god, na-chan you were right!” letting go to turn your friends, who shoot him looks of apology. “guys look super cute with clips on! hey matsukawa-san if you wanna seem less scary you should wear clips, not that i think you’re scary.”

“i’m always right, i religiously study fashion magazines. that’s why you two always look so hot.”

“ah thank you for your diligence. maybe if you studied your math textbook we’d be able to hang out this summer but someone has to do summer classes.” you giggle at your friends banter reaching over to grab your phone.

“hey matsukawa-san, smile!” pulling and arm around him you bring the phone up. he smiles and throws up a peace sign and take a couple pictures. “you’re being oddly agreeable with this. give me your line ID i’ll send these to you.” you hop off and face him.

“you just want his line ID.” of course you do, matsukawa issei is a complete stud and you want him.

“and? he’s going to give it me regardless of my intentions.” you pass your phone to him and he takes it from your hand watching the cardigan slip through your arm revealing bruises trailing under your gold bracelet. he catches you staring and quickly you pull up your sleeves to you palms. “look! sweater paws.”

“you’re stupid, here.”

“she’s not that stupid. she’s top of our grade, you know?”

“why are you bragging when you have to do remedial courses,” matsukawa deadpans, trying to figure out what to call them since he didn’t know their names and he wasn’t about to call her na-chan.

“oh, this is natsume and that’s ayasaki.” you say catching his frown as you remove the clips. he nods. “do you want me to get you clips you looked really cute with them. we can match.”

“should we get him sparkly ones? like blue ones,” ayasaki questions.

“oh! and some white ones? so it matches his volleyball uniforms?” you add on.

“absolutely not, i only did it because she’s cute.” pulling you back down, you melt into him. i feel so small next to him, maybe it’s because his huge. i like it. a lot.

“no means no. hanamaki would not let me live it down.”

“well would you look at this matsukawa went and got him a girlfriend!” it was as if he was cursed, turning to see the shit eating grin plastered over hanamaki’s face as he steps into his classroom. oikawa and iwaizumi behind, following him inside. “and you let her put clips in your hair? what a simp.”

“im not a fucking simp, i was asleep and she’s not my girlfriend.”

“she’s on your lap.”

“it’s a punishment for messing with someone that was sleeping,” matsukawa states matter-of-factly. he hopes hanamaki will drop it, but of course he won’t. it’s hanamaki.

“so who is this girlfriend-chan? is she cute?” oikawa asks circling around his desk to get a good look at you. he bursts into a grin and he says your name, your first name. hanamaki repeats it.

“oh dude you scored. good for you.” hanamaki pats his back, turning to engage in conversation with you. “do you remember me? i was in your first year class. we never talked though.”

“ah yes i recall you almost got held back because of your math scores,” you say looking up from your phone, matsukawa’s phone rings in his pocket. iwaizumi laughs.

“it’s good to see you again! we haven’t talked since, like, middle school. hi natsume-chan! ayasaki-chan! you three still together?” they both look up from the magazine natsume was pointing at.

“oh but of course. you and iwaizumi still married?”

“absolutely not i would never-“

“yes! we’re going on a honeymoon soon.” iwaizumi smacks him.

“it’s good to see the three of you, though. i didn’t know you went here,” iwaizumi says smiling.

“well that’s because your head only thinks about oikawa and volleyball, no?” ayasaki raises her eyebrows, you and natsume hum in agreement.

“oh my how romantic,” you coon. “are we invited to the baby shower?” matsukawa laughs into your shoulder pulling you closer. he feels you’re small frame, the bulky cardigan doing nothing to hide the bones he can feel brush against him.

“you know for a punishment you both seem to oddly enjoy yourselves,” hanamaki points out. “but, dude, you were super cute before but you’re so pretty now! what’d you do? cocaine?”

“not all of us have debaucherous hobbies hanamaki-san.”

it only gets louder between the banter of his friend group and yours, but he can’t focus thoughts piling up on after the other. when the lunch bell rings, matsukawa has a headache and it’s not from the noise.

“first of all? fuck coach for making us do two practice games in a row, like, i get it we have inter-highs when we get back in the winter, but this is fucking brutal.” hanamaki proclaims, feet dragging. “second of all, he’s making us practice tomorrow too. i might as well jump off the tokyo tower.”

“do a flip on your way down,” matsukawa says pulling his phone out to check his line. he texted you about his practice matches and hasn’t been able to reply since then.

“you said it yourself hanamaki, we have inter-highs coming up. we want to go to finals and to do that we have to practice,” iwaizumi reasons, but even his voice is drowned in exhaustion. oikawa whines and begins to complain about ushijima at finals and matsukawa tunes out, having already heard this seven times today.

[you, 12:13 pm] good luck at your matches today, hope u win straight sets so u can go home fast. -w-

[matsukawa, 5:11 pm] only won one of the matches but both went into a third set im so fucken tired.

you reply immediately.

[you, 5:11 pm] bruh that’s terrible make sure to grab something to eat. idk what nutritionists would say but i’m sure they would agree with me

“do you guys wanna grab something to eat?” matsukawa interjecting oikawa’s vent, raising his eyebrows.

“oh my god mattsun, you’re absolutely genius,” matsukawa shoots him a shit eating grin. “let’s get ramen?” oikawa finishes. iwaizumi and hanamaki nod in agreement, the three of them dragging themselves towards the ramen shop on the main street.

[matsukawa, 5:14 pm] you should eat too, have you had dinner?

[you, 5:15 pm] no but ayachan and nachan want to grab food before we head home. we went to a cat cafe today look. (one image attached) cute right >///<

before he gets the chance to reply he hears loud laughing coming from the street crossing on to the one the four of them were on down. maybe the day wasn’t so bad because you walk out laughing at something ayasaki said. he’s stunned. bewildered. whatever the fuck kind of emotion he’s feeling he knows it’s because you’re just so pretty. he’s a lot for words as he gapes at you, eyes wide like saucers.

“look who it is! hi guys!” natsume shouts, dragging you and ayasaki with her, your arms are all linked. he can’t move.

“wow, it’s you three again! you’re always together,” oikawa teases, jabbing an elbow into mastukawas ribs. “there’s your little girlfriend,” he whispers, matsukawa can’t even respond, he’s just so flustered.

“whatcha guys up too, anyways?” hanamaki asks when the three of you arrive in front of them.

“oh we were hanging out and we wanted to grab some food before we head home, you guys just get out of practice? you look so fucking dead,” you ask shooting them looks of pity. oikawa sighs, about to respond when mastukawa reaches and brushed your hair behind your ear.

“you cut your hair.” and it looks good.

“in fact i did.” a blush covers your cheeks almost hidden behind the glow of the setting sun. maybe i’m talking to an angel, matsukawa thinks. “thoughts?”

“you look gorgeous.” matsukawa can’t even stop himself. when he catches what he says he coughs and turns away flustered. howling shouts come from hanamaki, iwaizumi and ayasaki.

“he’s right though, you look delightful. we’re going to get ramen do you guys want to join us?” iwaizumi asks, shooting a smirk to matsukawa. he doesn’t even have time to be panicking about the situation because ayasaki, of course, agrees.

when all of you are seated along the L-shaped bar in front of the cooks, you lean in to speak to matsukawa. you both are seated at the corner next to each other which was done intentionally by hanamaki and ayasaki. “why are you guys slaving away at practice anyways during summer break anyways? does the coach have a bounty on you or something?” you’re playing with your fingers, watching the server place your meal down in front of you.

“honestly dude,” he stops to let out the heaviest sigh you’ve ever heard. “i think at this point, irihata and oikawa teamed up to put us through hell and back.”

“homie you completely ignored my question, why?”

“oh shit my bad. we’re trying to get to get to finals, you know? inter highs start up right after summer break and oikawa has a bone to pick with the shiratorizawa captain.”

“so you guys are feeling the fruits of his planned revenge?” matsukawa nods, resting his face in the palm of his hand. you shoot him a look of pity, reaching over to pat his head, his hair is so soft. “don’t worry i’m sure you’ll get your revenge, if not you can call out for your mom again” matsukawa’s face flushes and he grabs your wrists pulling you in.

“you. i thought we agreed to never mention that again,” he hissed under his breath, looking around to see if any of the other third years were eavesdropping. they weren’t. “i thought we had an agreement. i thought we were comrades. i thought-”

“matsukawa-san, matsukawa-san shhh! i’m sorry it’s fun to tease you. i promise i’ll make it so only i can make fun of you for that.” you giggle. “since we’re comrades and all.”

“i don’t wanna be your comrade anymore.”

“here take my gyoza and stop pouting, you’re cuter when you’re smiling.” you reach over and place all your gyoza into his bowl shooting him a blinding grin. “but that’s not to say you’re not cute when you’re pouting.”

“if i’m cute, what are you?” you frown, is he calling me ugly. he waves his hand through the air as if to will away your thoughts. “not like that. you’re pretty, pretty fucking cute.”

“you know, you sound like you’re trying to convince yourself.” you watch him eat as you poke at your own meal. he eats well, you smile. as the seven of you finish up your meals, you excuse yourself to the restroom. matsukawa thinks it’s suspect considering most of your bowl is full, so he follows you.

you know man your reputation for a full on creep is just expanding.

as he steps into the bathroom he seeks you hunched over, cursing spilling past your lips along with the food you forced down. you freeze, turning to look at him as he locks the door.

“i’m almost positive breaking into a bathroom is some kind of crime,” you state as if matsukawa didn’t just see you force yourself to throw up.

“i’m fully aware i’m not supposed to be in here, but i got worried, sue me.” you raise your eyebrows as him resting your arms on the toilet seat. he grimaces realizing you’re sitting on the bathroom floors. in a public bathroom. “also if you’re going to go to the bathroom as least lock the door.”

“it sounds like matsukwa issei already knew about this.”

“stop talking about it like it’s a joke.” matsukawa says grabbing tissues to wet them and pass to you. ”at least get defensive or something. i had my suspicions, saw things i shouldn’t have. i’m sorry about that.”

“don’t apologize you didn’t do anything wrong. i’m sorry for worrying you, but i don’t see this as anything of your concern.” you reach over to take the napkins from him, but he instead cleans your face for you. wiping away the spit and tears gently.

“wash your hands.” his voice left no room for argument, so you wobbled your way over to the sink and finished cleaning yourself. when you finish and turn to face him he lifts you on to the sink, trapping you in between his arms. “it’s not my concern but i’m going to concern myself with it. you’re hurting yourself.”

“so what, i’d rather hurt myself then have other people hurt me because of the way i look.” you're eyes are glassed over avoiding his and your voice is shaking, the raw emotions spilling out in contrast to your deadpan face. you guess that’s why you’re attracted to matsukawa, you’re both hide behind laid back personalities storing away a barricade of feelings gently stirring and building up. “don’t involve yourself with me anymore. i know it’s just going to be another weight on your shoulders. you’re too caring to pretend like you didn’t see it.”

“you don’t deserve that, there’s nothing that warrants this and you know that.” matsukawa sounds desperate, you know that he probably is. “i won’t let other people hurt you, i’ll protect you i promise. so please don’t push me away.”

“you’ll protect me huh.” you lean back against the mirror to look up at him. “what does that even mean.” he blinks.

“well actually i don’t know yet, but i want to figure it out with you. i want to support you and help you because i don’t want you to be alone in this, you know?” matsukawa was fumbling his words, he was nervous he couldn’t make you stay but he hoped to every god that you wouldn’t walk away. “like, i know i don’t know what to do, but i’m willing to try and figure it out. i know it’s gotta be lonely especially when your friends are bent over backwards for magazine models, and like, dude, i like you so much and i just-”

“matsukawa-san”

“yes”

“are you confessing to me in the bathroom of a ramen restaurant?” matsukawa nods, shamelessly. you think this is the most matsukawa confession to exist, and you wouldn’t have it any other way. the boy you pined over since first year found out about your dirty little secret and didn’t turn you way. he offered his and and wore his heart on his sleeve for you, who are you to turn him away. “i don’t know where we would go from here either, but i’d like it if we figured it out together.” matsukawa leans in closer to you, grabbing you by the back of your neck gently and pulling your face into his before you can object. when you break away your frown deepens, “you just kissed me with vomit breath.”

“it’s okay you’re the person i’ll kiss with vomit breath since we‘re comrades.”

“you shouldn’t call your girlfriend comrade, it doesn’t give me butterflies.”

“oh? so you’re my girlfriend now?”

“what, you don’t wanna date me?”

“oh absolutely i do. i’m honored to have the pleasure of being your boyfriend.” matsukawa teases as he pulls you down. your reply gets shut down by a wave of texts that blows up matsukawa’s phone.

[hanamaki, 6:03 pm] ayo casanova wya dude ???? are you getting your dick sucked in the bathroom that’s dirty she’s too cute for that anyways we paid and we’re heading out >.< stay safe muah

[iwaizumi, 6:05 pm] we left but you’re going to have to explain yourself tomorrow.

[oikawa, 6:06 pm] mattsun!! tell us about your salacious bathroom endeavors tomorrow at practice <333

you follow him out of the restrooms, leaning over to look at his messages and laugh, point to your phone which shows a string of messages of similar nature from ayasaki and natsume.

as you and matsukawa walk hand in hand down the streets of miyagi you can’t help but notice the butterflies blossom from the pits of your stomach exploding towards your beating heart.

“i’m thankful you’re the one who found out i don’t think i would want it be anyone else.”

“i wouldn’t want it to be anyone else either.”

as the twinkling street lights cheered you on, you stepped forward towards the future knowing you had matsukawa to lean on.

#matsukawa issei x reader #matsukawa x reader #matsukawa issei #haikyuu x y/n #haikyu x reader #issei x y/n #tw eating disorder #tw purging #idk bro don’t read this #i hate this for real #/mattsun

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dreamingofaizawa · 4 years

Text

Short Stack -- Part 2

Here we go

Pro Hero! KiriBaku x Pro Hero! Fem! Reader

**18+ Fic**

Warnings: Angst, fluff, alcohol, swearing from obvious sources, biting kink, double penetration, anal, unprotected sex, the boys being great at aftercare

Word Count: 4.6k

Author’s Note: Still not great at smut, but fuck it (pun very much intended). Fight scenes are hard to write, but oh well, I’ll get better with practice. Love you guys ~

Part 1 - Part 3

Enjoy!

You didn’t think accepting Bakugou’s challenge would get you in such deep shit. You regret challenging him. He’s terrifying. But here you are, and there’s no getting out of it.

The three of you were in the agency’s separate training facilities, an arena with different training spaces, much like UA High’s USJ, only the spaces were designed to take on quirks of all kinds without taking much damage, the buildings were solid blocks of concrete with fake painted windows. You were standing in the middle of a clearing, facing off against Bakugou in an all-out spar using your quirks. Kirishima was standing a few dozen feet away, watching the unfortunate turn of events.

All of you were in your hero costumes. While Bakugou had his gauntlets to help him enhance the usage of his quirk, you and Kirishima couldn’t really use support items to help you, because your quirks just weren’t combat-oriented quirks. So your costume was relatively simple, allowing as much movement as possible for hand-to-hand combat. Black leggings, black halter tank top, black combat boots, and a black domino mask a lot like the one Bakugou wears, minus the extra spikes. On patrol when you weren’t fighting, you wore a black corset that had a cape flowing out from the bottom, and when you needed to jump into action you’d store it away with your quirk. Why? Because you’d been advised to make your costume more recognizeable and distinguishable from civilian clothing.

Now, you hadn’t even bothered putting on the corset, and were waiting to start facing off against pro hero Ground Zero. This almost definitely won’t end very well for you, but you can’t just let him win, so you drop into your stance and wait, staring at the towering figure a few yards away, ready to take whatever he throws at you. You need to keep as far away from his palms as possible, because if you get caught by that quirk it’s all over. So you just wait for him to move so he can’t read your movements as easily, and you know it’ll work, because Bakugou Katsuki is NOT a patient man.

Without warning he throws his hands behind him and fires off his quirk, propelling himself forward with impossible speed. But you’re still faster. You charge and duck under him as he throws a punch, immediately standing and sprinting away. He uses a blast from his palm to redirect his momentum with pinpoint accuracy, and propels after you. Thanks to his noisy quirk, you know how far and how fast he’s coming at you, and this time instead of ducking, you materialize a capture weapon much like the now retired Eraserhead used to use.

Quickly, you spin around and face Ground Zero, and as he swings you wrap his wrist with the material and dig your feet into the ground. Using his already insane momentum, you swing him around and slam him into the nearest building. He sets off a blast from his palms as he collides with the concrete, bracing himself and attempting to soften the impact. It worked. He was perfectly fine. Pissed off, but fine. Pro hero Ground Zero is absolutely terrifying.

The capture weapon vanished, and you braced for another round. There was no way he’d launch at you again. You’d already dodged him twice, managing to take advantage of his offensive tactics. This time, he charged without the use of his quirk, and you read his movements like the words on a book. When he planted his left foot to jump and flip over your head, you dropped to the floor on your knees, your back flattening on the ground and your feet just outside your hips. Just as he reached down to set off a blast at your face, you latched a quirk-cancelling cuff onto his wrist. As he tumbled, not prepared to lose his quirk, you materialized the capture weapon again, and wrapped up Ground Zero before he could regain his balance, completely immobilizing him.

After a few long seconds of silence and heavy breathing, Kirishima burst into laughter, “OH MY GOD IT’S JUST LIKE AIZAWA-SENSEI!! DO YOU REMEMBER BAKUGOU?!” At that, Bakugou snapped out of his shocked state and bellowed out a yell rivaling his quirk’s blasts. Kirishima just laughed harder. After a few minutes of Bakugou yelling and Kirishima dying of laughter, everything calmed. You unwrapped Bakugou and when you uncuffed him, he lifted his hand and popped off his quirk uncomfortably close to your face. It made you tense a little, but didn’t scare you like he probably intended to.

When you returned to sit with Kirishima, he asked how you learned to use the weapon the famed Eraserhead would use. “Actually, I learned from Aizawa-Sensei himself. Because of my quirk, I need to focus on close combat. I needed to learn as many different fighting styles and methods of restraining as possible. I actually approached a friend of mine that went to UA like you two, and he said he wouldn’t teach me because he was still learning, so we both learned from Eraserhead.”

“You know Shinsou?” Kirishima asked. “Yeah, I’ve known him since middle school.” His response was absolutely ridiculous. “Wow, he knew a cutie like you and didn’t tell anyone? How greedy.” You dropped your eyes to the ground and blushed hard at what just came out of the redhead’s mouth. “Anyway, we should get going. The sun’s gonna set soon and I think we’ve all gotta patrol tomorrow,” you quickly changed the subject. Bakugou agreed that it was time to pack up and go, so you went your separate ways.

The next few weeks passed pretty similarly. A few low-level villains popping up on patrol, hitting the gym whenever you could, running into either Kirishima or Bakugou en route, and occasionally going over to drink with the duo. There was shift change and the three of you all had Sundays off, and you’d go drink at their place on Saturdays, stay the night, and spend the day doing whatever the three of you felt like doing.

It was fun having people in your life. But soon enough you were spiraling again. You were just waiting for them to betray you and leave you lonely again. So when they began to get a little more physical with you, and you liked it, your paranoia screamed at you to run before they did. And there was another emotion swirling around inside you. Something that rivaled the paranoia and fear.

You really liked being around Bakugou and Kirishima. In fact, you were always sad to part ways with them. You ended up thinking about them way more often than you felt you should, and that scared you. You knew you were getting attached, but you didn’t know just how far you’d fallen until the day you were forced to either face your feelings and let them run free, or drown in your paranoid, lonely life.

It’s been a couple months now that you’ve got to know the duo that is Ground Zero and Red Riot. It’s Saturday, and the three of you were drinking and talking. Kirishima learned a while ago to drink a lot slower just to be able to talk more instead of passing out a couple hours in. The atmosphere in the apartment was strange, though, and it wasn’t just from the alcohol. After being around the two, it became obvious that they were a little more than just roommates, seeing as they’d kiss around you now. Well, it was more Kirishima kissing Bakugou’s cheek and the blonde getting flustered. It was quite cute.

But that wasn’t the reason for the weird tension in the air tonight. But you couldn’t quite place it. The two were being flirty. Like, really REALLY flirty. Ever since you met them Kirishima was flirty, and Bakugou eventually threw in compliments that your outfit wasn’t terrible that day. Tonight though, as you all sat on the carpeted floor, Kirishima was laying it on thick, saying how beautiful you were and he always looked forward to seeing you, and a buzzed Bakugou was playing with your hair. At least, you thought he was buzzed. You couldn’t really tell.

You didn’t entirely mind the attention, you were extremely touch starved after all. But you were still wary about their intentions, your trust issues and paranoia preventing you from enjoying much of anything. Of course, the alcohol in your system brought down your defenses a little, and the part of you that was afraid of being abandoned dwindled down and drifted to the back of your mind.

After Kirishima was done gushing over you, he spread out and rested his head in your lap, and Bakugou put his head on your shoulder, still playing with your hair as his other hand wrapped around your waist from behind. A comfortable silence fell, and you closed your eyes to enjoy the warmth from the two bodies. You opened your eyes and looked down, expecting Kirishima to have fallen asleep, but his ruby eyes were looking straight back up at you.

Suddenly a gruff voice rumbled in your ear. “We really like you (y/l/n). And that’s saying a lot. I don’t like anybody.” Kirishima nodded his head in your lap, agreeing wholeheartedly with the blonde. Your walls came right back up, the paranoia coming back to bite you in the ass, and you let out a nervous chuckle. “I...I don’t think-” you were cut off by Bakugou shifting behind you, moving so he pressed your back into his chest and wrapped both his strong arms around your waist. “I know how you feel about people getting close, (y/l/n),” the blonde growled softly in your ear, “And we don’t expect you to just accept us out of the blue like this. But know that we’re willing to wait until you trust us with your heart.”

Bakugou shifted again and wrapped his arms around your shoulders, burying his face into your neck and whispering the confession. “We’ll wait, princess.” “We’ve been waiting, little pebble,” Kirishima chimed. You tilted your head in confusion, and Kirishima answered the silent question. “We’ve liked you since a little bit after we met you. At first we just liked hanging around you cause you were fun. But then…” he trailed off, knowing he didn’t have to say the rest.

You’d always prided yourself on your ability to read people. But now you were cursing your ability. Because you could read these two from the beginning, and you knew they’d never lie or deceive anyone. You knew from the second Bakugou judged your tiny figure aloud and Kirishima rolled over laughing at his partner’s defeat that they were good people. People you wanted in your life. People you could be safe with. You knew you could let your walls down around them, and they wouldn’t dream of hurting you. You knew, from the start, you’d fall madly in love with them.

And they fell for you too.

And you were terrified.

Unrealistic and idiotic thoughts swirled in your head. What if they stop liking me later? What if I actually read them wrong? What if I end up hurting them? What-

Your thoughts were cut short. You had started to spiral, and you’d already zoned out and didn’t notice the two move around you. But now you were all on the couch, you were straddling Bakugou’s lap, face in his chest, and Kirishima was behind you, his arms hooked around both you and the blonde. What snapped you from your thoughts wasn’t the movement, but the lips that took purchase on either side of your neck.

The two men were peppering soft, gentle, comforting kisses along your neck and shoulders. Bakugou’s voice rumbled in your left ear, “It’s okay, princess. We’d never hurt you,” Kirishima’s voice in your right, “It’ll be okay little pebble, we can keep you safe.” You melted in their arms, and the fear you felt began to ebb away with each touch from the males. They made you feel so safe. Secure. Loved. You really could let your walls fall around them. They’d take your broken and abandoned brick house and build it into a castle. And for the first time in a long time, you let people in.

You nodded against Bakugou’s chest, beginning to tear up at the thought of finally getting close to someone and knowing you wouldn’t regret it. “I...I like you too. Both of you.” Suddenly their movements stopped. Bakugou sat up and looked at you, and Kirishima leaned around to look at you, both of them wide-eyed and frozen, like deer in headlights. “Are you serious little pebble? You really like us?” You nodded quickly at the redhead, who beamed with a wide smile, and Bakugou just dove back into your neck, placing quick pecks on every inch of skin he could find. You giggled at the sensation. “Bakugou it tickles!” He froze, and slowly rose from your neck with a devious and mischievous smirk on his lips. Your eyes grew wide, “Don’t even think about it!” Too late. Kirishima jumped backward and pulled you down on the couch, pinning your arms next to your head, your legs trapped under your thighs so you couldn’t kick.

Bakugou immediately attacked your belly with his fingers, making you squeal and squirm. After relentless torture, he paused his attack, and you breathed a little bit, tears prickling the corners of your eyes as you struggled to get oxygen back into your lungs. The peace didn’t last, though. Bakugou pulled up your shirt, exposing your belly, leaned down, and blew raspberries into your stomach, making you erupt in giggles and squeals all over again.

When you finally had enough and desperately needed to breathe, you materialized your wallet above Bakugou’s head and it dropped, making him jump and freeze. In between giggles you said, “That was me. I need to breathe. Give me a minute.” The two ceased their attack and let you go so you could get comfortable and breathe. Bakugou kept looking at you in confusion, and Kirishima asked the question that was probably on his mind. “How’d you drop your wallet on his head? Your hands were pinned! I had them pinned!” You giggled a little, realizing that they thought you could only materialize things into your hands. “I can materialize anything that I store anywhere I look. It doesn’t need to be in my hand,” you say with a small smile.

“But at the bar, you had your hand out.” Kirishima pointed out. “Yes, I did. Just to get your attention in the right place. Cause who would notice another set of keys suddenly appearing in the middle of the table if nobody was looking?” Kirishima nodded at your explanation. Then his eyes went wide, “So can you look at something and store it?” Again, you giggled, but this time it was from his slightly surprised, slightly excited expression.

You turned your head to the coffee table, two pairs of red eyes following your gaze. A coaster vanished from the table, and you looked above Bakugou’s head. Again their eyes followed, but as Bakugou looked up, it materialized and sat flat on his forehead. Before he could react, it vanished again, and appeared in your hand, before vanishing again and reappearing back on the coffee table.

“I try to keep from using it too much, because if it ever becomes useful in battle I’d like to keep it from being figured out. That, and I used to get accused a lot for stealing, so I just kinda stopped using it like that.” Kirishima had the biggest grin on his face. “That’s so freaking cool! Right Bakugou?” The blonde only shrugged with a small ‘eh’. Which, you learned, meant he agreed. After a couple minutes of talking about how you could use your quirk, you leaned back on the couch, took a deep breath, and glanced at the clock. It was currently 2am. That was fine, though, since you were all off and you could sleep in.

As you closed your eyes and relaxed, a nice silence filled the air. Though that silence was soon filled by the sound of fabric shifting and the couch dipping. You didn’t need to open your eyes to know that the two were now sitting much closer to you. You could feel their body heat at your sides. So it didn’t scare you and you didn’t jump when you felt two large hands come down on each of your thighs. It did, however, surprise you when you felt their weight shift again and felt their mouths on the sides of your neck again, this time their tongues lapping at your skin.

It made you gasp as your eyes shot open, your body reacting instantly to the feeling. Your chest heaved as they sucked marks onto your neck, your legs squeezing together involuntarily. The two pulled away from you, their pupils blown wide with lust taking in your pleasured expression. You were thankful to whatever deity was looking out for you, because you knew exactly what they wanted, and you wanted it just as bad. You had rid yourself of your clothing so fast the two men were confused for a second before they realized you’d used your quirk.

Without another second, you’d taken off both their shirts and jeans and dropped them in the corner of the room with your quirk, and this time they just raked their eyes down your body, taking in every bit of exposed skin. It didn’t take long for them to reposition. Now you were straddling Kirishima, and Bakugou was behind you, returning to the task of leaving marks on your body. Bakugou was moving down your back, sucking bruises down your spine and Kirishima was nipping at the plush skin on your chest, just under your collarbone.

Soon you were a whimpering mess, gasping and mewling with every kiss they placed against your skin. When Kirishima got more intense with the bites, you only got louder, and he took notice. He latched his mouth onto your shoulder and bit down, slowly increasing the pressure, making you let out a soft moan. His eyes widened a little when you told him to bite harder. He obliged and bit down, just barely breaking the skin on your shoulder, and you moaned out loud. Bakugou stopped behind you and came up to whisper in your ear.

“You like biting princess?” he growled and nipped the shell of your ear. You nodded, desperate to feel the pain again. You brought your hand up and tapped the junction between your neck and shoulder, right at the top of your back where you could feel a muscle twitch. “Right here. Please,” you whined, knowing that was the most sensitive spot on your neck. Kirishima leaned over and licked where you tapped, “Here pebble?” You nodded furiously, and before you could open your mouth to beg again, his sharp teeth sank into your neck. You nearly screamed out a moan, your voice mixed with pain and pleasure as you felt drops of blood glide down your back.

As quickly as he was there, Kirishima let go and licked at the wound he’d inflicted, soothing it gently. You didn’t notice Bakugou’s absence until he came back and wiped the blood away with a damp cloth and kissed the skin around the bite. You were delirious with pleasure, just from that one bite, and you could feel your arousal soaking your panties. Bakugou took no time at all to make that discovery, trailing his thick fingers over your clothed pussy. “Fuck, Ei, she’s soaked. So wet for us already little princess.”

You couldn’t quite comprehend what was happening as you were carried to a bed. You didn’t register whose bed, but that didn’t really matter. You were put down on your back, two undeniably stunning men looking at you like you were the last meal on the planet. You were so out of it you didn’t quite realize they’d already stripped you of your bra and panties, and Bakugou was flat on his stomach, blowing hot breaths onto your exposed folds. The sensation made you jolt, and you whined wanting more. Kirishima kneaded your breasts, pulling a pert nipple into his mouth and swirling his tongue over it before releasing it with a ‘pop’ and moving to repeat with the other, occasionally moving to your collarbone and leaving bites along your shoulders.

Bakugou lapped at your entrance, groaning from your sweet taste. He slipped the pink muscle into you, making you squirm at the feeling as he moved it around. He moved up, placing kitten licks over your clit as he slipped a thick finger into your heated core. You let out a soft moan as he slipped a second finger into you, curling them up to strike at the spongy spot inside you. It made you gasp sharply, and he smirked, knowing he’d just found what he was looking for.

He moved his fingers faster inside you, plunging them deeper and curling them up harder and faster, making you clench around him. A coil built up in your belly, tightening the more Bakugou moved his fingers. “I can feel you gripping me, princess. Cum for me,” he said, and attached his mouth to your clit, sucking and licking at the sensitive bundle. That was all you needed for that coil to snap, and your back arched off the bed, your legs shaking from the intensity of your orgasm.

Bakugou kept his ministrations, letting you ride out your high. Once you were panting back down on the bed, the two shifted positions once again. Bakugou behind you, holding you up against his solid chest, and Kirishima in front of you, wrapping your legs around his waist as he lined up his cock with your entrance. You didn’t even know when they’d gotten naked themselves. But as you got a good look at his cock, your eyes widened and your breath hitched. He was huge. Thick and long, a prominent vein running underneath from the base all the way up to his head, already dripping precum.

“Like what you see pebble? Don’t worry I’ll go slow, I know I’m not small. You ready?” he asked gently, and you nodded. He slid into you, hissing at how your walls clenched around him. “Fuck, baby you’re so tight,” he said as he slowly sheathed his cock, inching his way all the way inside you. You were mewling and moaning, loving the way he’s stretching you, your hands reaching up and looping around Bakugou’s neck behind you to keep you anchored. When Kirishima finally bottomed out, you were both panting hard, and he leaned down and kissed your forehead. “You’re doing so well baby. I’m gonna start moving okay?” You nodded, unable to form coherent words.

As he pulled out, you let out a high pitched moan, and he began to pump in and out of your dripping pussy. It felt amazing, but you desperately needed more. “Ki-Kiri- please, I n-need -- hah~” “It’s Eijiro, baby. Call me Eijiro,” he smiled softly before setting a brutal pace, making you moan out his name. A familiar coil tugged inside you, and you wanted so bad to be sent over the edge. Sensing your need, Bakugou traced two fingers along your bottom lip. You open your mouth, sucking and licking at his fingers. He pulls them out and reaches down to rub tight, precise circles on your clit. The tension in your belly snaps and you’re falling apart on Eijiro’s cock, mewling out his name while he keeps slamming into you.

As you’re coming down from your second orgasm, he slows and stills inside you, and pulls you off Bakugou into his chest. You feel the bed dip as the blonde repositions behind you. You turn your head to watch as he brings his fingers into his mouth, lubricating them with his saliva, and reaches down to prod at your puckered hole. His gruff voice reaches your ear in a whisper, “Relax for me princess.” He pushes one thick finger past the tight ring of muscle, and you mewl at the weird feeling, and as he pushes another in, you’re hissing at the sting.

He’s scissoring and curling his fingers in your ass, stretching you out to prepare you for his own cock. It takes a minute for the sting to subside. When he feels you relax, he spits on his cock and strokes with his other hand, making sure to slick his entire length. He removes his fingers and pushes the head of his cock into you, and you let out a whine from both the pain and the need for him to fill you up. Slowly, he’s sinking further into you with shallow thrusts, inching his way in until he bottoms out inside you. Eijiro moves inside you again and you’re gasping and clawing at his back.

As Eijiro slides his cock back into your pussy, Bakugou pulls out, and they’re moving back and forth in sync at a steady pace. You throw your head back against the blonde’s shoulder and let your moans and mewls slip out of you incoherently. “KATSUKI!!” you scream out when he suddenly snaps his hips up, slamming his cock into you. Eijiro follows suit, and the two set a bruising pace, rutting their hips up into you. You don’t even notice the pressure building in your abdomen until you’re spraying clear liquid over both of them, your body shaking from your third orgasm and overstimulation, and their hips begin to sputter, their pace becoming more erratic.

Eijiro is grunting into your ear, “I need to cum baby, where do you want me?”. You lace your fingers into each man’s hair, pulling them so you’re sure both can hear you. “Fill me up, fill me with your cum! Please fill me up!” At that, both men clamp their teeth down on your shoulders, pounding into you, and you’re screaming their names as they pump you full, painting your insides white.

All three of you are panting hard, trying to catch your breaths. Their cocks are still inside you, softening slowly, their seed dripping out of your holes. Katsuki is the first to move. He grabs the wet cloth from earlier as Eijiro puts you down on the bed. The blonde begins to clean your aching body, wiping down your legs and shoulders, cleaning off the cum and any blood that spilled from the bites they gave you. Katsuki finishes, tossing the cloth to the corner of the room, and Eijiro returns with a glass of water. He pulls you up to sit and sip from the glass as he holds it up to your mouth.

They take sips of the water themselves, and Katsuki leaves the room. Eijiro pulls you and tells you to sit up, and he lays down on his stomach next to you, laying his head on your lap. The position gives you a good look at his back, and your eyes widened at the sight. His upper back was marred with welts, little droplets of blood just barely seeping out, and you realized you did that, though you didn’t think you’d been scratching him all that hard. Soon Katsuki came back and cleaned up Eijiro’s back and spread ointment on both his scratches and your bites.

Once he was done, he put the ointment on the bedside table and the three of you curled up in bed with you squished between them once again. Your eyelids feel heavy, and as you feel sleep tugging at your mind, you let out a small chuckle, “If I can’t walk when I wake up, I’m gonna kill both of you,” and you drift into a deep sleep.

#kirishima x reader #kirishima eijiro x reader #kirishima eijiro #kirishima bnha #bakugou x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugou bnha #kiribaku x reader

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itsmoonpeaches · 3 years

Note

I hope my fic favor still stands! I was wondering if you could write a Kataang family fic? I've just been in a Kataang family mood lately😂 Thank you for being so sweet to me!!💞💞💞😭😭

It does, in fact, still stand! <3 This took a million years, but we have finally arrived. Hope you like it!

“Where are we going, daddy? I want to know,” Kya whined as she angled the top half of her body from the outer edge of Appa’s saddle. She was getting impatient, and she was insistent that everyone knew about it.

The wind was in her face, and her dark hair whipped around like a maelstrom that could not be contained.

She was an entire eight-years-old—practically an adult—and she was not entrusted with all the fun secrets Princess Izumi was. It was an atrocity to be sure. Just because Little Miss Prissy Firebender just so happened to be the Fire Lord’s daughter and older than her by a few years did not mean that Kya was not just as mature.

She heard a sigh come up from the front. The familiar indulgent tenor of her father who was steering their flying bison as they rode on it as a family. “Patience, Kya,” said Aang. “You’ll find out soon.”

“But why do I have to wait?” she moaned, flopping back into the soft middle of the saddle. Next to her, her older brother, Bumi groaned as her arm slapped him in the face.

“It’s our family vacation and your mother and I wanted it to be a surprise,” replied her father.

Her mother hummed in agreement at his side. Katara tilted her head, raising her eyebrow at Kya as she looked her in the eye. “I thought you liked that it was a surprise?” she asked, chucking. “Even Tenzin couldn’t contain his energy, and you know how your brother is. He tired himself out from all his excited airbending.”

Kya rolled her eyes, bringing her attention to the blue of the sky that passed them overheard. “Tenzy’s five. He’s a baby. He’s tired after everything,” she said. “Boom’s a baby too. He’s super tired.”

Bumi stirred, shooting up at her comment. He pouted right into her face. “Hey!” he shouted, sounding every bit as indignant as he probably should have felt.

Aang started laughing. Katara rubbed at her eyes. “This is going to be a long vacation,” she sighed.

Still, none of the bickering prepared Kya for what came next. The air had already begun to feel strange. Wet-like. Humid? She was practically wading through hot soup so high up, and she knew that was peculiar. Republic City might have been a place that sat right next to an ocean, but it never felt quite like this.

Appa roared, and then there was the telltale scent of sea salt. She should have noticed it before, but somehow it was more pronounced wherever they were. There was squirming from little Tenzin at the other end of the saddle, and a yelp from Bumi. Their lemur, Momo chittered a few times too, tail curling in and out like a cat playing with yarn.

“We’re here!” exclaimed Aang, and he flicked his wrists so that the reins steered Appa downward.

“Woah!” yelled Bumi, laughing as they started their decent. The winds were stronger in Kya’s face. “This is amazing, dad! You didn’t tell us we were going to a paradise!”

Blinking, Kya peered over the edge as well. Before her, she saw black sands. Pristine, onyx beaches. A bright azure cove stretched for miles, little dots of people milling about and playing some sort of game with a net. There were red and gold roofs that peppered the island, and emerald grass that swayed on the hills that made it up.

“Welcome to Ember Island!” laughed her dad. “The best place to sort out any problems and also to escape onto the back of a giant lion turtle!”

Katara smacked him on the arm, giggling. “Oh, don’t be so dramatic, Aang!” she teased.

When they landed, it was to alight on a private beach. There was a grand-looking house in the background with a cobbled courtyard. There were panels of rice paper sliding doors that were made to perfection, gold-leaf trim that shone in the sunlight at every corner of the red tiled roofs. Pillars stretched far and wide into various sky wells.

Kya ignored all of it in favor of leaping right into the ocean.

She splashed as soon as she landed, grinning with every turn she made and every spin. It was warm water, but refreshing in such a summery environment. She and her siblings stripped down to their undergarments as soon as her mother yelled at them for getting their clothes wet. She might have had to suffer having a bunch of liquid getting waterbended out of her clothes, but she would try to forget that.

“Water fight!” yelled Bumi, and they were throwing waves at each other. (Not that he had much of an advantage because Kya had maneuvered a rather large bubble of water over his head to annoy him. It did not help that Tenzin sneezed and caused a miniature tsunami that her father had to bend them out of.)

Kya tried to copy Katara and made a lumpy and misshapen surf board. She ended up having to ride behind her father’s legs in order to catch enough traction on a wave. Tenzin was too afraid to hitch a ride, and Bumi took turns between them.

At the end of the day when the sun was low and setting, her mother and father brought them to sit underneath a palm tree on the beach. Kya smiled, watching the painted colors of pink, purple, and yellow drift across the horizon.

“Who wants some fresh watermelon juice?” her mother offered, holding one large melon in each hand.

“Me!” cheered Bumi. Tenzin reluctantly agreed after him.

Katara placed one in Kya’s hands, and Kya spent the next few minutes sipping through the straw. It was sweet and tart at the same time.

“We should do this again sometime,” said Aang, leaning into the mishmash that was the rest of Kya’s crazy family.

Kya perked up at that. “Kyoshi Island? Can we ride the giant kois? Pretty please?”

Katara started to protest, but as usual, Aang agreed with an enthusiastic chime. More bickering started, but all Kya could do was sink back into the sand and let her toes work into the grains.

Today was a good day.

ao3 || ko-fi

#itsmoonpeaches ficlet #thatcroissantgurl #ask #kataang #kataangtag #katara #aang #kya #bumi #tenzin #lok #atla #atla fanfic #fanfic #avatar the last airbender #legend of korra

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desiraypark · 3 years

Text

Waxed

On AO3, I have a one-shot called “Round One”. It features Adam Sackler and his wife, Sunny Sackler (and a third party).

This one-shot features Sackler and Sunny early in their marriage--revisiting a time when Sunny got a Brazilian wax.

Before some of you get to click-clackin’, this isn’t an endorsement of hair removal. I haven’t gotten a wax in awhile but I personally like seeing my juicy ass fuckin’ box when it’s waxed from time to time. So, this OS is self-indulgent and in honor of my own puss and just pussies in general. Okay? Bye.

Characters: Adam Sackler x Sunshine “Sunny” Sackler (Blk/F OC)

Content: Smut, descriptions of a pussay, slight degrading talk, teasing, orgasm denial, cumshot, camera.

(Fun Fact: Sunny is definitely named after Lela Rochon’s character in Harlem Nights)

Sunny: Babe, I am so behind with work. Would you be okay with me scheduling a Lyft for you?

Adam: You know I fucking hate that shit.

Sunny: I know, that’s why I’m getting the Lyft for you. Or you could just catch a cab, babe. Whatever.

Adam: Why can’t you meet me at the airport?

Sunny: I can’t baby, I’m sorry.

___________________

“Babe? I’m home...”

Adam walked into the quiet apartment. Music with a thumping--but soft--beat played from the bedroom.

“How was L.A.?” Sunny asked.

He kicked off his shoes. “It was alright...”

Adam slid his suitcase in the corner and dropped his duffle bag beside it. Then, he walked toward the bedroom. Beyoncé’s “Rocket” played from the speakers. Pillows rested between Sunny’s bare back and their metal headboard as she sat centered on the bed--knees lifted with a small, round mirror between her thighs.

“Whaaat are you doing?” Adam asked, frozen in the doorway. He scanned the room, taking in the sight of a burning incense stick--getting a whiff of its sweet scent.

“Looking at my pussy,” Sunny answered.

Adam took slow steps into the bedroom. “I can see that, but wh--”

He froze beside her. “Fucking shit...”

Sunny was hairless. He knew that the flesh around her pussy was plump, but actually seeing it?

“You like it?” she asked, looking up at him with those gorgeous eyes.

“What’d you go and do that for?” Adam asked.

“You don’t like it...”

“I mean, I like it. I like it if you like it. I like it either way,” Adam rambled. “But what made you do it?”

She looked back down. “Haven’t gotten a wax since I was in grad school. But I always liked the way she looked without hair. So...”

Sunny’s eyes narrowed and met Adam’s, whose eyes were focused on her--listening intently to her explanation. “Juicy. And fat. Wouldn’t you agree?”

This time, Adam’s eyes narrowed. They became filled with lust. And mischief. “You fuckin’ slut...”

Sunny smirked. “What?”

“Is this why you were too busy to meet me at the airport? Because you were too busy playing with your fucking bald eagle cunt?”

“No, I wasn’t playing with it this time. Just looking at it...” Sunny answered coyly.

“This time?”

Adam began chewing on the inside of his bottom lip--his nostrils flared. He looked her naked body up and down.

“Oh, I did a lot of damage over these last few days. I got it done Friday,” Sunny responded.

She looked at Adam, then back at her pussy--the fat labia having expanded to expose her aroused clit. “From the moment I was able to, I’ve been using so many toys, just so I can see what my holes actually look like when--”

Adam quickly reached down and grabbed Sunny’s wrist. Then, gently, he took the mirror out of her hand and placed it on the nightstand. He pressed his knee into the mattress and leaned in close to her--lips just inches from hers, eyes burning through her skin.

“You made me wait at the airport for my shit alone. Then, you made me ride home alone--and I get here and you tell me that you’ve been playing with your fucking cunt without me?”

“I didn’t think you’d mind, honey,” Sunny said, her voice daring and suggestive. Her eyes were just as seductive.

“Lie down,” Adam commanded. He let Sunny’s wrist go. She smirked and slithered down the bed--letting her entire back connect with the mattress and her head hit the pillows.

“I’m pretty worked up from the last few days, sweetie,” Sunny said. Adam said nothing. He tugged at his belt and stared at her with furious eyes.

“I don’t think I’ll be able to cum again for like a week...” she added.

“That’s fine,” Adam said.

He pulled his phone from his pocket, tossed it on the bed near Sunny’s feet, and pulled down his pants. Then, he climbed in front of Sunny’s feet, grabbed her ankles, and bent her knees back--sliding closer to her as her knees met her chest.

He observed her pussy--lips juicy and plump, just as she’d said. Her clit and inner lips matched the lips of her face--plush brown meeting an interior of slick pink. Everything swollen and glossy from arousal.

He let his hands travel down her leg and the backs of her knees, then he held them in place--large hands pressing down on the backs of her thighs. With haste, he flicked his tongue against her clit, gathering her tangy juices on his tongue.

“Mmm...fuck...”

“You like that?” Adam asked.

“Yeah...”

“Tell me how much you like it,” he requested. Then, he wrapped his lips around her stiff clit and sucked.

“Fuc!! I like it so much, baby...”

“Hm,” Adam hummed. He let go of one of her thighs to free his dick from his briefs. “You like your own cunt so much you had to go get the fuckin’ hair ripped off?”

Arousal decreased in Sunny’s body. That wasn’t the most pleasing visual. But she answered. “Yes, I like the way it looks...”

Her arousal increased again. Her mind and body on edge once the aggression in Adam’s statement settled in her brain.

“Me, too,” he mumbled before giving her clit one more suck. Then, he sat up, held Sunny’s legs open, and without preparation or warning, sank completely inside of her.

Sunny winced and her jaw fell as the molecules of her body scattered and returned to their rightful places as they processed the feeling of her husband’s dick seemingly meeting her guts.

“Shit!” she finally shouted.

Adam brought Sunny’s legs together and held them against his chest as he slammed into her warm core--over and over and over.

“Still fucking tight to me,” he grumbled. “All those toys and you still only grip my cock. Isn’t that right?”

“Oh, fuck!” Sunny cried as she grabbed the thick blanket under her.

“Right?!”

“Yes, baby, yes!” Sunny answered. Her voice fell to a whisper when she sat up and stared into Adam’s darkened eyes-her breasts bouncing and her core full of him. “It feels so good, it feels so fucking good, don’t stop...don’t stop...don’t stop...”

Adam slammed into her harder and faster. Suddenly, he yanked his dick out, making her whine.

“Hold your fucking knees up.”

Sunny did as told--holding her knees back and keeping her intimate parts exposed.

As grunts and groans left his lips, Adam stroked and stroked until Sunny’s vulva, ass cheeks, and naked crack were painted with his cum. Then, while catching his breath, he reached beside him and grabbed his smartphone. He found the camera and took photos of his wife--a smile on her face, her knees lifted--her bare pussy and ass, now rightfully decorated.

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kanene-yaaay · 3 years

Text

Happy Birthday ~

Kanene’s note: DO YOU KNOW WHAT DAY IS TODAY? WEEEELLL, I sure hope so because I completely forgot ;-;. BUUUUUUT I REMEMBER VERY WELL THAT 4TH OF THIS SAME MONTH WAS @oliviaischillin1204 BIRTHDAY SOOOOO YAAAAAAY!!! Thank you so much for being such a lovely, wonderful, cool, amazing, sweet, crazy, fabulous person that I really look up to, Ollie! <33

Warnings, fun facts, random things and stuff:

* This characters don’t belongs to me! They all belong to Thomas Sanders and his series Sanders Sides!

* This is a SFW tickle fanfic, so, if you don’t appreciate this kind of content, please, look for another blog. There are a plenty of fabulous arts in this site!! ^w^)b

* This is Ler!Patton and Lee!Logan with Lee!Logan. Around 4.000 words.

* Sorry for any spelling, pontuation and grammar mistakes! Any and every advice is very very welcome! \(-w-)/

* Como é um presente, essa fanfic não será traduzida! Sleep a bit more today, drink water, give something nice to yourself and I hope you’re having a really nice day (Especially you, Olivia!!) <33

[~*~]

Logan opened his eyes, quickly turning off his alarm before it had the chance to wake Patton up. He held his breath as he turned to the other, observing his chest go up and down peacefully on his sleeping. The most serious one sighed in relief, feeling the butterflies flying in his tum- no, none of that silly nickname – stomach as he remembered which day was today.

Today was his birthday, an annual event which he usually wouldn’t give more attention to than to thank everyone’s well wishes, give himself a whole jar of crofter’s jam and take the day off from his non-essential tasks.

At least… things used to be like that before he met Patton.

A persistent wobbly smile found its way to his lips, thinking about the tradition the cat lover began after a few years of friendship.

He firmly shook his head out of the memories, putting his glasses on and looking at the clock to confirm his thoughts. Yes, it was six AM. Perfect. This year Logan decided he was going to be resilient and in any circumstance he would fall into Patton’s attics. It didn’t matter what it was. He was a serious, determined, smart and strong adult. He could endure some silly, untrue teases.

Logan sat on the mattress, careful to not bother his partner, firmly ignoring the buzzing feeling on his nerves taking over his entire body. He grabbed his phone and unlocked it, every and any distractions being very welcomed from the recordations beginning to swirl in his brain.

Then, in a flash, a shock hit him in the moment his eyes locked themselves in the picture being used as his new phone’s background. A picture that was not there the night before. A picture of him. Of his completely red face, his lips parted in a gigantic smile, eyes firmly closed, hair falling on his expression as his hands gripped there, doing their best to not stop the hand which wormed its way to his unbuttoned shirt.

Real Logan pressed his hand over his mouth, suppressing a surprised yelp that for very little didn’t echo on the room. Only then he noticed the bright notification on his screen.

The one wearing glasses needed a whole minute to tear his gaze apart from the background, feeling the butterflies to get more and more restless as he read the name of who sent him a message the day before, at exactly 11:56.

[Patt-on/Patt-off: Happy birthday, Lo-lo! Prepared for your b-day surprise?~ :3c]

Suddenly two arms involved his waist, leading him to jump and to the touch get a bit firmer, -yet so gentle, - pulling his back to rest on a warm chest, a head resting on his shoulder and tickly, whispered sentences being spoken absurdly next to his so ticklish ear.

“I gotcha. ~” A series of goosebumps ran across his spine and Logan attempted to squirm to his freedom from the nuzzling and muffled words seeming to buzz and spread in every inch of his neck, sensation being not even a bit helped by the quick pokes and pinches on his sides, “I gotcha, gotcha, gotcha ya, my tickly ticklish little squeaky toy!! Oh, no, what he is going to do? Hm? What is he going to do to escape from the Tickle Monster?”

“P-pa-Patton!” His hands flew to hold the wrists of the one called, who just rested his lips in the spot that connected his neck with his shoulders and chuckled before humming innocently. “Please, please! I ask for you to reconsider! We’re both intelligent, rational adults and I am sure that there is an answer which will satisfy both of us!” Small, fast raspberries were placed in that same spot and Logan, living up to his nickname, squeaked at each one, shrugging his neck. “N-no! No, no, no! Patton!! Don’t!!”

“Do you want me to reconsider?”

“Yes, yes!”

“You want me to reconsider giving you your so craved birthday little tickle, tickle tickles?”

“Falsehood!!! I do not- I can’t- I didn’t-” Logan sputtered, the blush on his cheeks gradually increasing. “I do not crave them!! Ti-tickles are silly and don’t like them!”

He sensed Patton’s smile more than he saw it. Instantly things felt like he didn’t make a so clever choice with his wording. “Oh, you don’t? ~”

Logan denied, the wobbly smile yet plastered on his face.

“Okie! I will not tickle you then, Logie Bear, okay?” The one wearing a star themed pajama yelped when the wrists on his hold twisted their way to gently intertwine their fingers, pulling their hands the way up to behind Patton’s neck, keeping them there until Logan locked his own fingers together. This left his torso, - owner of multiple of his ticklish spots, - open, a tingling already starting to wander across them. He wiggled. “Oh, no, no. Don’t worry, dear!” Patton combed his hair, leading the other to instantly melt into the touch. “We’re going to just talk. A chat between friends! No tickling!” He rested, then, his hands on the other’s ribs, his tune filled with joy.

“But the moment your hands go down you better be prepared because I’m going to tickle tickle tickle you silly-silly for hours and hours and hours until we’re both satisfied, okay my precious Squeaky Toy?!”

Logan’s smile only grew wider, for a second his hands trembled behind the other’s neck.

“Okay?” Patton questioned playfully, yet drops of seriousness painting his ask.

The one with blushing crawling down his neck bit lightly his lower lip, his mumble barely audible. “Light tickles during the talk?”

Patton felt his heart melt with all the cuteness, losing his façade as the tips of his fingers ran softly up and down Logan’s ribs, resulting in the aforementioned to let go of silent snorts and titters, which led the cat lover to squeal, hugging him. “Of course, precious Giggle Bug! You’re just so, so adorable and cute making such a sweet wish like this!”

“I despise you and your falsehoods. I am not cute.”

“Now, now, now, Logie bear! It’s very rude of you to try to lie for the Tickle Monster because he might will have to try to convince you to say the whoooole truth!” He sing-sang, wiggling his fingers teasingly in front of Logan. “A truth that maybe sounds like ‘I, the smart Logan Sanders, am an adorable, incredibly, horribly tickly ticklish Squeaky Toy and I just looove receiving tickle, tickle, tickles from the Tickle Monster!”

“FALSHEHOOD! I am no-nothing of this!”

“Okay!” Patton exclaimed happily, his index fingers traveling to scratch the skin behind his ears, circling and drawing shapes on the shell before slowly making his way to Logan’s red neck, quickly going back to the first spot when the other futilely attempted to protect his target.

“Soooo,” Patton made his voice the most low and possible tickly way, one more time, “are you telling me that you’re not cute? Not at all? That all that lovely blushy-blush spreading and running on your neck and these little ticklish- ops! I mean sensitive ears here are not even a bit cute?” The stars lover shook his head, attempting to hide his face on his elbow but giving up in the moment Patton took the opportunity to place a trail of butterfly kisses on his unprotected neck, receiving a squeal as prize.

“Aww, cutiepants, was that a squeal? So adorable!” Logan denied again, controlling his urge to low his arms when the other rested the tip of his nails on the spot inside his elbows, softly wriggling, teasing the nerves there. “But I do wonder why, I mean, we’re just having a good talk here, aren’t we?” He dragged his scribbles and traced down to his biceps, “just having some fun time with your cool friend Patton! No reason at all for you to be sweetly squealing or blushing or squirming like a wiggly wiggley worm! Unless…”

“This tickle tickle tickle your funny bone!” Patton gasped, delivering a poke right on the center of Logan’s armpits and making his arms to shot half of the way down before their owner could stop himself, giggling non stop. “Arms up, my helpless ticklish grumpy baby!! You’re already doing so well. I know you can endure it just a bit more!”

Logan scoffed, taking some giggly filled seconds of silence before re-adjusting his arms where they were. “Of course, I can. As I previously pointed, I am not such a childish thing as ti-ticklish.” Patton tried to stop himself from laughing, ending up snorting. “Stop laughing, you heathen. It’s the truth.” Logan gave a squeeze on the cat lover's stomach. A rare and small playful smile playing on his lips as the other yelped holding his hands away.

“Sure, sure.” Patton booped his nose before guiding his hands to the other’s armpit, waiting patiently for his friend to lock his fingers behind his neck again. An idea popped on his mind, resulting in his smile to get wider. “Hey, lo-lo! What if we sing a song?” He bounced as the other whined a protest, wiggling around.

“No, no, don’t worry! I am sure you already know the lyrics! Look, Wiggley Worm, I will start and then you follow me, okay?” Patton then positioned two fingers on the tickle spot, hearing Logan’s breath hitch as he began to circle his pits, the squirming increasing.

“Round and round the tickly pit

Goes the Logie Bear-”

“That is not how the nursery rhymes goes!”

“No? Oh, dang! I was almost certain that I was right! If only someone clever, cool and with an amazing voice who knew how to sing it correctly would help me…” Loud sigh, feigned sad head shake, “guess I will have to repeat it again and again and again and again until I recall the correct lyrics…”

The cat lover paused, for a piece of minute only hysteric titters and warm smiles filling the air.

“Round, round the helpless pit,

Goes the Blushy Bear-”

“No!” Logan yelped, slightly jumping in the same place as he felt the fingers walking, scratching their way to the center of the spot. “I can-” the rest of his words came muffled as he one more time attempted to hide his burning face on his shoulder. Guffaws escaping as Patton took, again, the opportunity to nuzzle and kiss his bare neck, “Wait, wait! I will sing.”

The attacker’s face brightened right away, stopping his tickling. “Are you serious?! Would you do that for your old Tickle Monster?”

“Y-ye-yes.” He cleaned his throat, uselessly trying to get rid of the chortles already accumulating on his chest, the figurative butterflies flying everywhere on his belly. “Yes, Ihihi can.”

“Okay, then! Whenever you’re ready!”

Logan tried to take a deep breath, however his concentration was immediately broken when the tingling sensation spread like lights across his torso. “Stohohop wiggling them! I cahahan’t sing whehen you doho that!”

“Okay, okay, blushy bear. Gotcha!”

He closed his eyes, taking another wobbly breath and failing spectacularly as the feeling of the fingers resting peacefully, so oblivious on his so exposed tickle spot felt almost unbearable. “No, nohoho! Stop!”

“Logie Bear,” Patton grinned bigger, sensing his heart to expand even further as the one with stars painted on his pajamas squealed on his hold, “This time I’m really doing nothing.” Logan growled, refusing to answer.

“Round, round the gard-EN,

Li-hihihike a teddy bear…”

Logan began to kick lightly, his sentence being more and more subdued by the high pitched laughter with drops of snorts.

“One step,” One squeak.

“Two steps,” Two squeaks.

“Aaaaand?” The attacker asked, his fingers hovering, barely grazing the skin.

“Ahahahand,” the laugh cut his phrase, his kicking increasing its speed, “ahahahand,” Logan shook his head, his arms about to give up and clue on his sides. Face burning, squirming becoming more frequent.

“Tickleoverhere!!”

Patton attacked. His arms went immediately down, his head hitting Patton’s shoulder with the force of his full laughter.

“Yes, yes! There is! There is that beautiful, wonderful, amazing laughter of yours! And and and these little snorts!!” His caring, evil friend beamed, his voice full of excitement. “It’s just the adorablest and cutest and lovely-est thing!!”

“NAHAHAHAHAHA!”

A few minutes full of scribbling, poking and scratching passed before the cat lover ceased the tickling, giving him a break effectively used to take sips of oxygen. Logan’s muscles relaxing as Patton again combed calmly his hair strands, snuggling him close.

“You’re okay?”

“Yes,” a breathless giggled response, but a response nevertheless. He suspended his arms again. “Yes, I am.”

“You’re so cute, Giggle Bug! Now, now,” Patton hugged Logan, his arms crossed on the other’s chest, leaving almost no room for squirming while his hands tapped his fingers on the soft skin of his pudgy sides, “I heard someone here has very, veeery ticklish sides that the Tickle Monster would just love to tickle, tickle, tickle! But, I don’t see to find where that ticklish baby is…” He began to dig on the spot, properly ignoring the loud snort and frantic wiggling from the star lover.

“I mean, it can’t be you, right, Logie Bear? Because you” Patton made sure to focus his tweaking on a rather… susceptible tendon which connected his sides with his back, holding his smile as the crackles exploded from the one attacked, who immediately started bouncing in the same place, “just told me you aren’t sensitive! Not even an itsy bitsy wiggly wiggley cutesy ticklish at all, right?”

“P-pahahha-PAHAHATTON!”

“What is it, baby Squeaky Toy?”

“Ple-please!!”

“Please what? I don’t think I understand what you mean, Lo-lo. There is a crazy, cutie patootie being tickled somewhere near and it’s hard to hear you with all that beautiful laughter!”

“It TICKLES!! IT TIHIHIHICKLES!”

Gasp. “It does??” But that statement only served for the other to knead further on his sides, skillfully squeezing and digging on every weak spot on it. In an explosion of energy Logan broke free from the grip, losing his balance and half falling from the bed, his hands instinctively stopping himself before he could hit the floor while his legs and waist continued laid on the mattress.

“Oh, my gosh! Logan, are you okay??” His only answer was the reminiscent laughter growing in breathless giggles. “Logan?”

When the other nodded Patton finally let his façade crumble and drop, wheezing laughter taking over his senses as his mind replayed the fall, “Oh my God! Your face, Lo! Your face was just-” and his next sentences came out silenced when he pressed his face on Logan’s arched back, snickering.

On Logan’s lower back.

The one who had just stopped his giggles did his best to hide a squeak. The sensation of Patton laughing directly on his skin together with his hitching warm breath sending electric, tickly goose bumps through all his torso. The urge to squirm and escape growing louder as his friend didn’t stayed still, lifting his head from there only to stare Logan again and immediately fall in another wave of laughter, once more shoving his face on that spot next to his side or on his spine or way too much close of his hip. The idea that this time Patton wasn’t even really trying to tickle him making the heat on his face and the urge to laugh somewhat worse.

“Ah!! Patton, stop!”

“Sorry, sorry!! I can’t, I can’t! You just screamed and fell and I-” Patton snorted and the poor ticklish Squeaky Toy tried to move his arms in an angle where he would be able to push his friend’s face away, only to realize he couldn’t do much more than mindlessly swing his upper limbs. Fuck.

It took about two long, slow minutes of quiet huffing before for the one wearing cat onesie to calm himself, wiping tears from the corner of his eyes and bringing his focus to his friend, looking at least a bit apologetically, even if the other wasn’t able to properly see it due his position.

“Sorrey, bear. I forgot how ticklish you are on your sides.” His eyes then noticed Logan’s face, furrowing his brow, “are sure you’re okay? Your face is a bit red there, kiddo.”

“Ihi assure yohou I aham. Please help mehe to get up.” Patton quickly nodded, an adoring gaze sprouting on his expression as he heard the other’s giggles, but decided to not point out, instead choosing to pat his back lightly in a reassuring touch and immediately pulling his hand when Logan jumped at his touch.

“Get away from my back!” The moment his words escaped in an impulsive act, Logan instantly clapped his hand over his mouth, trying to think in a way out of what he just brought to himself. A part of him – very small, pretty much overdued by the excited energy building again on his body, - wishing Patton didn’t get the meaning behind that phrase.

“Your back?” His tune sounded much like what Roman likes to call ‘Lost puppy’ and Logan signed in a mix of relief and disappointment.

Then Patton gasped, suddenly full of joy. “Oooooh!!! Your!!! Back!!”

“Nonono, no, no! Patton, be reasonAAH!” A shriek cut all his protests and rational thoughts when Patton lowered his head and gave a soundly, big raspberry right on the right side of his lower back, making all his way to the other side with more careful, well placed raspberries. “I can’t, I can’t! Plea-ase!”

“I’m not listening a ‘stop’!~” He rested a kiss on his spine. “And, awww, kiddo! Why did you never tell me you had such a tasty back before?” The cat lover ran his index finger on his spine, leading electric shivers to shoot all across his nerves. “Now you made the Tickle Monster really, reeeally hungry! Good thing that now he has a very yummy yummy snack-y back-y right here!!”

Logan tried, - believe me, - he really, really tried to form some sort of coherent sentence, however, the moment Patton’s lips collided with the back of his ribs, softly nibbling and making ‘oh nom nom’ noises as his free hands occupied themselves at unmercifully squeezing his hips, his thumbs clued on the little divot localized there, Logan’s belly laughter ran freely. It swirling around them both, the melody mixed with the sound of his hands bagging on the floor, legs kicking in a fruitless struggle.

Patton gave the other side the same treatment (‘They deserve that attention too, Lo-lo! The Tickle Monster needs to be fair and good so Giggles bugs like you will be all happy and cute and giggly forever and ever!’) before giving the astronomy lover a break, finally helping him back (ha-) to lay on the bed, on his stomach.

Logan closed his eyes, a smile resting on his expression as his snorts and chortles started to become more sporadic, the tingling still running on his tickle spot. His eyelashes opened only to find Patton’s face adorned with a smirk.

“Hello-lo-lo, my precious, adorable, sweetest Squeaky Toy! Enjoying your birthday tickles?”

“I hate you.”

“Boop!”

Logan whined, the tip of his ears blushing as he hid his face on his mattress. “You’re insufferable.”

“Nope, silly, I’m the Tickle Monster!” Patton snickered, ignoring Logan’s grumpy growl. “And I was thinking, what about if we played a game, Blushy bear?”

…

Silence.

...

“What game?”

“Weeeell…” Patton’s face disappeared not taking long for Logan to feel the part next to his side sink as his attacker adjusted himself there. A cold breeze touched his back as the hem of his shirt was pushed up until it touched his neck, Patton’s fingers quickly sliding and lightly scribbling the length of his back, leading him to squirm occasionally. “I was thinking about that very tiiiicklish tickle spot of yours and I realized… Do you know how much vertebras a human has, Lo-lo?”

“Yes, of course. Counting with the sacral and the coccyx we have about thirty-four vertebras, although, since they’re fused on the coccyx it can variate and result as thirty-three as well.”

“Ohhh,” Patton’s tune was solemn and, if it wasn’t for the feeling of his fingers still drumming on his skin, Logan could almost forget the imminent danger that question represented, “well, I have no idea of how much there are!”

“But I just told you-”

“So I think you will have to help me to discover it and lay veryyyy still so I can count them! You’re such a strong, lovely squeaky toy and I’m sure you can do this!” He placed an only one finger on the base of his waist, teasing the spot before going full on scratching, being so careful and, oh, so mindful to circle every single vertebra, prodding and poking each inch of sensitive skin there. His torso arched for a piece of time before hitting the mattress with force. “Oneeee, twoooo, threeeee…”

A jolt bolted from the spot and spread across his senses, resulting in Logan beginning to sputter halfhearted protests, his words interleaving with high pitched wheezy giggles, growing more and more louder as his friend got dangerously close to his shoulder blades. He squirmed and struggled and wiggled, hands firmly gripping the fabric under his fingers, his mind losing the count as Patton decided to re-start it over and over and over again, since-

“Now, now, Logie Bear. I know you just love to be such a lovely, absurdly ticklish squirmy little bear, but The Tickle Monster reaaaally needs you to stay still so I can tickle, ops! I mean, count all those tickly spots, oooops, I mean, vertebras of yours!”

Logan lost the track of time by the moment Patton ceased the attack, carefully massaging his shoulders to help him to relax and stop his giggles.

“Logan…” he asked when noticed that the other calmed himself, the blush getting weaker on his cheeks.

“Yes, Tickle Monster?”

Logan had to wait more three minutes so Patton would stop squealing, absolutely overwhelmed with joy.

“When I say you’re the most precious Squeaky Toy and that I could just hold you and softly graze my fingertips on your sides as I place raspberries and nuzzles and whispered teases about how much absolutely CUTE and ADORABLE you and you amazing laughter are and just hold your hands up so you can’t stop me when I tickly tickle your ticklish thighs but my grip will be loose enough so if you really want you could pry away but you won’t because you just love so much being tickle tickled silly and-”

“Patton! The question.”

“Oh, right! Er… uhh… How many vertebras there are…?”

“About thirty four or thirty three.”

There was a piece of silence before the words exploded in frantic sentences from his friend’s mouth.

“Oh my gosh, Logan! Logan, I just managed to count twenty! Logan, oh my gosh, where are your other ones? Are you in pain? We need to go to the hospital! I can’t believe you never told me you don’t have all of them kiddo! I’m going to-” The rest of his panic was muffled by Logan’s wheezing, uncontrollable laughter, which was doubled when the most professional one turned slightly around only to find Patton giving him that confused frown.

“Y-you,” he fought to take a breath, failing “You can’t actively count them just by touching-” and Logan didn’t know if it was the occasion, or the silliness engulfing them or even the so pure and clear confusion on the other’s tune, but he found it difficult to stop his laughing.

…

“So, your spine is okay?”

“Yehehes!”

“Oh, that is good, kiddo! Because now I’m going to give you something to laugh about, mister!!”

Then Patton bounced, attacking that horrible, forbidden spot between his shoulder blades, leading a loud shriek and even more wild laughter to escape from him due the new maddening – awesome, - sensation.

“Coothie coothie coo, Blushy bear!!”

“Listen to all that wonderful laughter! That's such a big, sweet smile!! Those cute little yelps, squeaks, and ah! Was that a snort?”

“Awwww, someone here is a tickly ticklish baby? Huh? Yes, you are! Yes, you are, my incredible adorable Squeaky Toy! Coothie coothie coo, bear!”

“You're so precious and so amazingly smart, wonderful, strong, cool and sweet! You deserve all the tickles tickles tickles from the Tickle Monster!!”

Tears of mirth began to accumulate on the corner of his eyes, and that was the cue for the other to begin to lessen the tickles, resuming his attack to sporadic butterfly kisses on Logan’s back.

“Stohohohop! I wihihill tell!”

“Aww, will you?”

“Yehehes, I will! Juhuhust cease!”

“Okay!” Patton gave a last nuzzle on his bare neck before his hand came down to comb his hair, giggling at Logan’s state. “Remember, it’s: ‘I, the smart Logan Sanders, am an adorable, incredibly, horribly tickly ticklish Squeaky Toy and I just looove receiving tickle, tickle, tickles from the Tickle Monster!’. Don’t forget to say every single word, Giggly Bear, or we will have to start it all over again!”

Logan whined, turning around so he wouldn’t be able to visualize Patton’s bright smirk. “Shuhuhut up. Urg. Ihihi- I, the incredible and smart Logan Sanders, am an a-ahahadorable, incredibly, horribly ti-ti-tichihihckly, ticklihihish S-squeaky… Toy… and…”

“Aaaand?”

“Dehehear Newton I despise your existence on this planet- and I just… loOove receiving tickletickleticklesfromtheTickleMonster. Thehehere! It’s said, leave mehehe alone!”

“It is, indeed!” Patton beamed, lowering himself to plant a soft kiss on the birthday boy’s temple, “Thank you for being such an adorable and great lee, Lo. Do you want some cool water? A snack? I can make it while you rest a little, okay? We could marathon Doctor Who again!”

“Yes. I think that would… suffice.” Logan smiled. A small, warm smile that made Patton feel like he could just melt for knowing it was being directed to him. “And… I also express my gratitude for your… birthday tickles, as you call it. It was quite…” he frowned, as if he was trying to recall something, “a-okay, I believe.”

“Aww! Thank you, kiddo!” And, if Patton lightly blushed with the compliment and both cuddled during the whole marathon, sometimes whispering soft, gentle compliments to each other? Well, shhhh, that is their secret to share, okay?

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seeds-and-sins · 4 years

Text

That One Woman

Pairing: Pagan Min / Reader

Rating: T (Strong language, violence, sexual undertones)

Description: Pagan Min saves you from the resistance, and you end up becoming his assistant, among other things...

Day one was like a roller coaster for you. You distinctly remember sipping from a cup of coffee, calmly meditating to yourself, thankful to be alive; when Pagan barged into the dining room and started making demands. The first demands had almost everything to do with what you were wearing...

"Oh Darling, you need to get out of those rags immediately. I don't need my assistant looking like trash. Have you ever heard of perfume? Yes? You need it." He insisted you soak in the bath for a bit, get your hair done, nails painted, you had never felt so feminine before in your life. Of course he arranged everything, had his best designer working on your wardrobe in the meantime. Your king's kindness had no limits it seemed. All the while, he paraded you around and lectured you on taking better care of yourself, "treating yourself" as he worded it. While before you never really had the money to do so, he made every effort to ensure that you knew that whatever you wanted was given to you immediately. After the work was done and you had left your quarters feeling ever so nourished and tender, he put you to work immediately.

"I need you to schedule a meeting with Paul for three this afternoon..." You followed closely behind him in stride, scribbling his words onto a tiny notepad he had procured for you earlier. "Make sure the kitchen cooks his favorite; steak and mushrooms, grilled onions, that special sauce-I don't fucking know what-with a side of mashed potatoes, broccoli, and biscuits..." You were already out of breath, he was a fast walker. As he spoke it was almost like he had taken you around the entirety of the mansion that was his home, before finally entering his bedroom, where his designer waited patiently for his daily fitting. "Oh, and try everything before it leaves, last time they overcooked the broccoli, and I was not pleased." You gulped, never having ever tasted for someone before, never having ever done anything like this before. In fact, you probably were the most under qualified person for this job and yet he picked you. Why?

"Yes, Sir." He made a noise of acknowledgement as his designer tugged on the sleeves of a bright yellow suit jacket over Pagan's outstretched arms.

"Also, I almost forgot, do check in with Yuma about the security issue we've been having in the west. She promised me a direct report by noon and its already ten, I do not see what's taking her so long."

"Yes, Sir." You waited another moment as he critiqued his appearance in the long sided mirror, posing, cocking his head from side to side, testing the look. You were wondering if he was going to say anything else, and when he didn't, you took that as your sign to leave and complete the tasks he had assigned to you.

"Oh, and dear?" You glanced over your shoulder curiously, he snorted. "Could you also find me a new designer..." His eyes then focused harshly down onto the poor man who had created the suit jacket. Pagan angrily started to rip the thing off, the mustard fabric floating down to the ground as the stitches were yanked out. "I am trying to look like a king, not a fucking banana!"

"Y-Yes, Sir." You stuttered out, exiting the room as swiftly as you could to avoid Pagan's wrath.

You wondered if the same wrath would ever be afforded to you. However, as time went on, as you soon became accustomed to his temper, his demands, the routines of his nation, he never quite yelled at you. Ever. One time you had made a mistake, the whole time wondering if he would at least make your death quick. At the very most, he sent you off with a light tap on the wrist and a warning, knowing you wouldn't be stupid enough to make the same mistake twice. Granted the mistake had everything to do with something as simple as how he liked his coffee, but he had killed people for far less.

In fact, what was once a stressful job at first, became plain fun. In the beginning, you didn't really have much of a choice but to become Pagan's assistant, but now you sat across from him, handling all of his important agenda, of your own free will. Not to mention, the gifts, he would surprise you with them almost every other day. You were practically spoiled under his supervision, sometimes even being allowed to sleep in if you had done your job well enough the day before. You didn't know why people hated your king, he was perfect in every way, you would worship the ground he walked upon if he allowed you to. Perhaps you were biased in the sense that if it hadn't been for him, your rags to riches fantasy never would have come true.

You had your own room, all brand new clothes, new shoes, all the food you could ever ask for, an entire library that he had dedicated to your hobby of reading, and an office that was the same size as your old shanty. Of course, with all the pearl earrings, luxurious bed spreads, the wonderful view, room service, security at every corner, why would you ever want to bite the hand that fed you? Of course, you would die for Pagan Min, because surely he had given you such a great life in comparison to your previous one, you'd gladly give your life for him.

And sometimes you wondered, if that was your only purpose, to make sure his affairs were in order and to make sure his food wasn't poisoned. It made sense, your undying loyalty didn't come cheap it seemed and you hadn't even realized it. These thoughts, these wonders, stemmed from the confusion that began this whole mess. Why did he pick you? A young nobody, he could have easily let you die that day. You were always too afraid to ask him the question though. You didn't want to sound ungrateful in your curiosity. You would sit across the expanse of mahogany wood as he shuffled through important papers and made signatures. Every so often sliding them across the table so you could organize them into the appropriate file.

It was hard no to stare at him, admire everything that was Min. That fluffy blonde patch of hair that sat on his head, how the strands flickered out in front of his reading glasses. The curve of the collar on his button up, how it lead down to reveal those few undone buttons at the top of his long sleeved shirt. His sleeves rolled up, taut to the crease of his arm, slender fingers sliding between slabs of thin white paper. Every now and again, those fingers would reach up to catch the tip of his tongue, and she would find herself licking her lips with desire, imagining that tongue on her own fingers.

"Darling?"

"Yes, Sir?"

"Do you have that paperwork on that shipment from Rook Islands by any chance?" You steadily weeded through the files, carefully removing the proper papers. You stood to step around the table and carry them to him. He didn't lift his head as he held his hand out, accepting the papers in his grasp. You moved to go back to your seat before he stopped you with the continuation of his words. "Volker sent me a letter again, the annoying twat, something about a mistake with the merchandise. You know anything about this?" He finally met your gaze, those glasses sliding down to the tip of his nose as he considered you. You searched your mind for an answer, truly wondering if you had made a mistake, or perhaps you had missed one of Volker's mistakes. You shook your head, twiddling with your thumbs out in front of you.

"Not that I know of, Sir."

"Hmmm," He crowned his fingers against his lips, sitting back in his seat, elbows on the armrest. "Well, you might as well have a look for yourself, might jog your memory."

"Of course, Sir." He gestured for you to come to him, sliding his chair back to give you room. Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion as he waved for you keep going.

"You can take a seat, if you will." You felt your breath hitch as you lowered your bottom down onto Pagan's lap. Your whole body engulfed in his warmth as he scooted forward and his arms snaked around your waist to bring forth the paper work again. His chin rested on your shoulder, the embrace extremely close, his strong cologne floating into your nostrils. His finger pointed at the discussed shipment receipts and the letter from Volker. You tried to focus on the words as you skimmed over them in your mind, but Pagan's close proximity to you and the very noticeable lump pressing against your backside was all the more distracting.

"U-Um..." You cleared your throat, finding yourself leaning back into his chest. He shifted his legs further apart and you couldn't hide the gasp as the hard lump was a lot more accentuated against the curve of your ass in this suddenly all too short pencil skirt.

"Yes, darling?" He whispered huskily into your ear, your entire body feeling overwhelmed by everything Pagan.

"I think everything is in order, Sir." You finally were able to form a coherent sentence surprised at yourself for being capable of doing so.

"I agree..." You inhaled sharply, his lips barely grazed the spot below your ear drum, along your throat. "I believe you deserve a reward for your hard work, right, my dear?" Yes, a reward, please. You wanted to beg on your knees, beg him for it all. The one thing he never gave you, never gifted you, praised you with. He chuckled, hands suddenly came to your waist and he scooted the chair back again. He forced you to stand with him and then he was gently turning you to face him. "I am sure you must be confused..." And you were, being Pagan's assistant meant that you knew almost everything about his life. One of those things was his overactive sexual exploits, people, men and women alike, were constantly going in and out of his room. "I swing for both teams, Darling, and I have been swinging for you for quite some time." While one hand resided on your waist still, caressing up and down over the fabric of your clothes, the other was now propped on the edge of the table and he came closer. "You must understand, this doesn't have to define our relationship if we don't want it to, but the tension is suffocating. I would like to just finally have my cake and eat it too..." His eyes centered expectantly on you, for a response, when he added. "All of it."

"B-But, S-Sir, I just don't understand."

"Ask your questions, but my patience is thinning, and..." He almost growled the words that followed, eyes scanning you from head to toe as he pressed his crotch to yours and you gasped. "I might not be able to contain myself much longer."

"Why, me?" You didn't think you could do it, but you did. And this whole journey with Pagan has been a game of figuring out what you could do. Your confidence had surpassed the highest summit in the world, you felt like you could jump into a volcano and still come to tell the tale, like you could fly into space and catch the nearest star. It was all because of Pagan, you owed so much to the man, and all he ever did was give to you.

"You must be joking?" He giggled deeply, like there was some inside joke that you couldn't ever know, but he was going to tell you the joke anyways. "Darling, few know there was only ever one woman for me..." He cupped your cheek, and the other came to sink into the strands of your hair. "Until I met you that is."

Return to Prompts

#pagan min #pagan min x reader #farcry 3 #farcry 4 #prompts list

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 4 years

Text

Omertà👄9

Warnings: noncon sexual acts (fingering, fucking, bondage, knifeplay, paddling); tags to be added throughout series

This is dark!Bucky and dark! Loki and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Your father was a bookie and taught you everything you know about numbers. After his death, you were taken on as a bookkeeper for Loki Laufeyson, resident crime boss in Manhattan. But can you keep your place in the background when a man from Brooklyn threatens to drag you to the forefront?

Note: This has no plot. Haha.

Hope you enjoy it. Thank you. Love you guys!

As always, if you can, please leave some feedback, like and reblog <3

You never truly expected Loki to take your advice. In fact, you suspected he had made his mind up prior to your arrival at Diablo’s. The offer, despite your forebodings, was accepted. The casino would only add to your mounting work and you didn’t see your days getting any shorter. Really, you had little hope of time that was your own.

After you left the underground club, you were silent as Thor and Loki parted for the night. The latter warned the former to stay away from the strip club and trouble. You doubted Thor would listen. Loki led you to his car without a word, merely pointing to the passenger seat as he opened his door.

You said nothing as he drove. You knew he wasn’t taking you home even before you noticed the divergence in his path. You didn’t expect him to. You knew he had something planned but with Loki, it was impossible to ever guess at what.

You’d never been to Loki’s place; never even thought to imagine it. As you saw it, he was either attending to his business or lost in a void. You imagined he thrived off his innate malice and needed little for human delights. Like a vampire or cursed immortal. But Loki was human and you knew all too well, flawed.

His building was lavish. You could guess as much from his finances. He spared little expense in his own comforts but his frugality ruled his business. He pulled into a finely kept garage below the tower of penthouses. You gripped your purse handle. Long ago, you’d grown used to being alone with the man but there was something much more unsettling about this circumstance.

He got out first as you tarried. You had no particular impatience to see the night through. He led you to an elevator and hit the button with his long finger. Inside, he was pensive as he bit his bent finger and his green eyes stared at the doors. When they opened, he reached for the accordion grate and unlocked it, sliding it to let you through.

You marvelled at the interior and tallied up each grandiose statue, painting, and carefully placed piece of furniture. It seemed he kept the best antiques for his own means. No chips, no scratches, and their authenticity could not be doubted.

You strode by the console table just to the left of the elevator. It’s curled feet bespoke the twenties, maybe the thirties. The marble top had been replaced, you could tell, but it was not too lustrous to offset the bronze framework. You tapped your fingers on its surface, a short row of books lined between bookends in the shape of curled asps.

You felt a tug on your purse as Loki’s shadow darkened your vision. He took your bag and set it beside the thick copy of Leaves of Grass. He crossed his arms as he took a step back and huffed. His cheek twitched and his eyes flared. He tutted and his long lashes batted.

“Well, you don’t think I brought you to admire the decor?” He taunted. “Do you think I’ve so easily forgotten your offense? So easily forgiven?”

You crinkled your brow and shifted your weight on your heels. You folded your hands and turned away from.

“I don’t… Why are you doing all this?” You uttered. “If you mean to leave him behind, what does it matter?”

“It isn’t about him anymore,” Loki’s heels clicked on the polish floor. “Darling, you made it about you.”

You spun back to him, surprised to find him within inches of you. You stumbled back and caught yourself.

“I didn’t want any of this.” You hissed.

“You chose this life,” He smiled. “You knew what it would entail, one day.”

“I tally your expenses,” You scowled. “Nothing more.”

“Clean hands cannot last long in this world,” He was quick as he grabbed your wrist. “Now you have a clear choice. That man, he wants his thrills but would he keep you as I have, hmm? I doubt he’d maintain the bounty after he tired of you. Why, today, you didn’t even see his face as you--”

“Is that what this is? You think I want him?” You sneered as he drew you closer.

“It isn’t about what you want,” He purred as his other hand went to your waist. “Your desires would land low on the roster. No, this is about what I want. About my empire. You would undermine it with some rodent from a downtown brothel.”

You looked away and bit your tongue. It was hard to disagree with him. You’d been found out in less than a day and what would it do to have others aware of your perceived disloyalty? Even if he did have a point, he had done enough. You could taste your lesson still; repugnant on your tongue.

“You’ve already made me suffer--”

“Suffer? That was nothing,” He wrenched you so that your elbow jolted painfully and your toe painfully dug into the floor as you righted yourself. “I would have every right to see the bounty fulfilled myself.” He pulled until you were forced to follow him. “But, fortunately for you, darling, there is much more fun to be had. For me.”

He dragged you down the hallway, twisting your arm painfully each time you fell behind. You gritted your teeth as he pushed open a door and shoved you inside. It was just a finely arranged as the rest of the penthouse.

The large king bed stood amid sleek ebony posts and its wide expanse was clothed in silver silk. The centerpiece to the mosaic of the room lit in the city’s lights through an entire wall of windows which stretched from ceiling to floor. The glaring scape of New York gave you vertigo as the drop mirrored itself in your stomach.

Loki brushed past as the door closed with a click. You watched him unbutton his jacket and hang it from a hook in the shape of a snake’s head. His aesthetic was in the least consistent. He cracked his knuckles as he turned back to you and worked at shedding his stiff vest.

“Since your listening skills remain so unrefined, we must pay special attention to those, mustn’t we?” He mused as he let the waistcoat fall onto the armchair in the corner. “So, you can start by first--” He raised his hand as your lips parted. “Well, that’s the biggest obstacle. That mouth of yours. I wouldn’t mind gagging you at all, darling.”

You clamped your lips shut and went rigid with anger. You’d done it the night before and you’d do it again. Just get it done and over with… though that had barely worked with Bucky. He had only taken his time.

Well, Bucky also didn’t have a bounty on you. In fact, he had nothing on you anymore. That fact was little solace now.

“Now, you keep those precious little lips sealed and get undressed,” He commanded as he strode across the room. “You will have about a minute, darling.”

You watched him cross to the carved dresser along the far wall. He opened the top drawer and paused to peek over his shoulder at you.

“Fifty-seconds,” He warned.

You tore your eyes from him and focused on yourself. You slipped your heels off and set them aside. Your arches ached but you didn’t expect the sliver of relief to last. Next you removed your shirt, the fabric dragging along the tender bruises along your neck and shoulders. You shimmied out of your tight skirt and left both atop his vest.

“Twenty seconds,” He intoned from behind you.

You unhooked your bra, your fingers clumsy as you kept your back to him. Then you rolled your panties past your thighs and the slid to your ankles. You stepped out of them and kicked them into your hand. You dropped them atop the rest of your armor and spun to face your foe.

Loki’s eyes glimmered as he beckoned you to the end of the bed. He gripped a length of rope in one hand as he watched you near. He stopped you between him and the bed and his hand travelled along your collarbone and traced the marks along your neck. He shook his head.

“Does he think to mark you as his?” Loki snickered. “We must make it clear who you belong to, darling.”

He twirled his finger in the air and you blinked. His jaw tensed and you turned slowly. You kept from hanging your head and stared at the regent headboard. He grabbed your arms and drew them back painfully. You grunted and he bound your elbows together so your chest was forced out. He tied them tight and your shoulders strained terribly.

Next he wound the rope around your forearms and wrist, your arms held together in an agonizing pose. You sucked in your lip to keep from whimpering. He tugged on the ropes, testing them and let you go. You pushed your head back as you tried to ease the pressure on your shoulders and back.

His long fingers stretched along your hips and he inched you back. He pressed himself to your back and you felt him inhale the scent of your hair. He released you quickly and came around you. He reached to his belt and nimbly unsheathed the slender knife there. Your eyes rounded and you fought to hold back your nerves. You had seen what he could do with a blade; you did not wish that upon any.

“Don’t worry, darling, we just want to make certain you remember who you belong too.”

He turned the knife so it was flat against your shoulders and dragged it along your breast. He flicked it so the point was at your nipple and traced around it cloyingly before he continued lower. He pressed enough to dip the flesh but not to slice as he brushed over your stomach.

Along the top of your pelvis he paused and smirked. He lowered himself to his knees and his eyes made the torturous descent from your eyes to the blade. He pushed a little more and you felt the skin split. You hissed as he slowly etched into your flesh. You couldn’t help the pathetic noises which slipped out between your teeth.

It seemed an eternity as he cut into you. The hot blood seared along the knife’s work and you closed your eyes as you bit into your lips. A taste of metal on your tongue. He finished and stood. You raised your head and made yourself look at the knife as he held it up. Your blood faint on the silver.

“Now, I think it will be obvious,” He didn’t clean the knife before he slipped it back into his belt. “Hmmm?”

You peered down at the coils of the snake marked in your skin. You were numb to blood but the sight almost made you sick. To see your body branded so permanently. To see him stamped into your form so completely.

“Some of my best work,” He marvelled. “Now, I know you’re stronger than that, darling,” He pushed your chin up. “And we’ve still much to go over.”

He winked and left you facing the bed. You didn’t move. You didn’t dare to. When you sensed him behind you, your entire body went rigid. You felt the leather along your ass just below your hands. He laid a careful slap there and a sharper one on the back of your thighs. You grunted and barely kept from falling forward.

He smacked you again with the leather paddle on your thighs. He rounded you and swatted the front of your legs three times as you winced and choked on your voice. He continued to circle you, each time laying a strike across your flesh. You thighs and ass were left raw and fiery.

When he tossed the paddle onto the long bench that faced the palatial windows, you let out a shaky breath. It wasn’t over, not even close, but you weren’t sure you could’ve bared much more of the leather bite. As he came close again he removed his tie then his lithe fingers moved to the buttons of his pressed shirt.

He stopped as he came before you and untucked the tails of the shirt. His eyes searched your face then explored your body and all he had already done. You were trembling and you knew he could see it, but he could also see the obstinacy in your clenched jaw. He gave a low snicker and pulled his shirt down his arms.

He was slender but toned, his slim figure lined with visible muscle. You stared blindly ahead as the blur of his body moved away from you. You heard the buckle of his belt, the whisper of his zipper. You didn’t close your eyes, as badly as you wanted to.

He came up behind you and his hands ran across your shoulders and down your arms, picking teasingly at the rope. He gripped your shoulders and shoved you. You stumbled and fell helplessly onto the bed with a violent bounce. Your legs hung off the end and he quickly flipped you. Your head snapped back and you were left dizzy.

He grabbed your ankles and lifted your legs. You squeezed them together as you felt his cock prod the back of your thigh. Your heart hammered in your ears and you bent your knees as you tried to kick him away. He slapped your ass viciously as your weight rested heavily on your bound arms.

“You have to make everything so fucking difficult,” He snarled and pinched you cruelly.

You struggled with him as he fought to wrench your legs apart. When he did, you turned your head, unable to look at him. His fingers delved along your folds impatiently. He felt around and you were ashamed of your obvious arousal. He chuckled and dipped his fingers inside; one, then two, then a painful third. He forced them to their limit and you shuddered.

“Tight,” He remarked as he worked his fingers in and out. “Darling, you’ve been keeping all this from me.”

You hissed through your teeth as he withdrew his hand. He rested your feet to his shoulders as he lifted your ass and dragged his cock along your cunt. You wiggled and whined. If you closed your eyes, you saw the coloured lights of The She-Wolf but if you kept them open, you drowned in the hopeless black and silver of this new prison.

He pushed into you, just a little, and gasped. He pressed your legs together and hugged them against his left shoulder. He impaled you entirely, the added pressure of your closed legs made you sputter. You choked on your spit as he held himself inside of you.

His arm clung to your legs, your back curled painfully, as your arms throbbed beneath you. His other hand grasped your hip and he pressed his thumb to the snake carved there. You exclaimed and he thrust sharply. Once, twice, three times. You could barely withhold your cries.

He took a breath and paused. He smeared the blood over your pelvis and he growled.

“Look at me.”

You held in a sob and turned your head straight. Your eyes met his and he smirked. He rutted into you suddenly, so hard and fast that your body jostled atop the mattress. Your eyes watered as your walls pulsed around him and your core thrummed. You pushed your tongue between your teeth and panted.

He sped up and you lost all control. Your eyes rolled back and your lips parted in a weak moan. Your legs tried to bend against him and your entire body buzzed as you came. You were drowned in sheer delight, only reaching the surface again as the clap of flesh echoed in your ears.

You were stunned and startled. By him, by yourself. He forced you further up the mattress as he climbed up on his knees. He didn’t slow as he pounded into you deeper and deeper. His lewd purrs seeped into you and turned to hedonistic snarls. You’d never heard him sound so… vulnerable.

His hips slammed against your thighs as his thrusts turned frantic and harsh. He threw his head back and slipped out of you suddenly. He continued to thrust against your folds, his cock rubbing against your cunt as he came.

He stilled and sat back on his heels as he caught his breath. He pushed back the strands of black hair which had fallen across his shining forehead and sighed. He took a breath and stood as he kept hold of your legs. He rolled you onto your stomach and dragged you back so that your knees hung over the edge of the bed frame.

“Say my name,” He grabbed the rope around your elbows and kneaded your ass with his other hand. “Say it!”

“Loki,” You cried out as his fingers slipped lower and teased along your entrance.

“Again,” He continued to play with you.

“Loki!” You hollered.

“That’s it,” He poked his fingers inside. “Keep it up, darling.”

278 notes · View notes

welllpthisishappening · 3 years

Text

But Once a Year (3/5)

This is a trick.

It has to be. Something Pan planned, or some nonsense only possible in Neverland, because one second Emma’s sitting outside the Echo Caves and wondering how exactly things could possibly get worse, and then the world decides to take her up on the challenge. She’s not where she was. Or when she was, either.

And the future isn’t entirely what Emma expects it to be, but that might not be entirely horrible and Christmas with a husband and a family that quite clearly loves her is only kind of messing with her head. God bless us, every one.

————

Rating: T Word Count: 9K and change, but also stuff happens AN: I cannot tell you guys how much I appreciate you continuing to appreciate this story. It’s exceptionally nice, and I think you’re wonderful. Here’s a whole slew of feelings and tradition and magic. Like, lots of magic.

Also on Ao3 if that’s how you roll || Or start from the start

————

This is a problem.

Multiple problems, honestly. Like, at least seven different problems that Emma can think of off the top of her head, and obviously the most pressing is getting back to the right part of her timeline, but only marginally less distressing is the overall domesticity of her life at this point of her timeline.

It’s more than the pillows. Of which there are just an absolutely ridiculous amount, actually. They hover in couch corners and fall to the floor with alarming regularity because, between the two of them, Hope and Lucy are something akin to forces of nature, hopped up on Christmas-type sugar and the cookies that people apparently just hand out on the street in Storybrooke. Someone’s always got some sort of baked good, freshly out of the oven — and while Emma’s discovered she’s particularly partial to Granny’s snickerdoodles, she can’t imagine any of this is very efficient.

For Storybrooke’s economy, or whatever.

There’s no bank. Emma looked. And asked. Several dwarfs, actually. All of whom immediately bowed and narrowed their eyes at her like she’d totally lost her mind, which seems pretty accurate at this point. Five days after waking up on that couch, with all of its pillows and questionable comfort, and only a handful of people actually know what’s going on.

Not Hope.

And no one actually told her to do that, but Emma figures it’s kind of like deciding to take her boots off in the house. Polite. Plus, a growing determination not to traumatize a ridiculously cute four-year-old, even when that four-year-old appears to be far more adept at stealing cookies than anything else.

Crumbs line the counter in the morning, and there’s usually a bit of evidence directly outside Hope’s bedroom door, signs of a late-night theft that shouldn’t make Emma smile. She does anyway. Can’t seem to stop it, which might be problem number four. Three is definitely Killian’s consistent lack of jacket, which admittedly is a very surface problem, but the button-up shirts are all ridiculously patterned, and trying not to ask who initially took him shopping is like, problem, three sub-a.

So, no one tells Hope that her mom isn’t her mom. Technically speaking, at least. They go through the motions, and Emma smiles when she’s supposed to, and she eats what is undoubtedly the world record for snickerdoodle consumption by a wayward princess, but trying to be herself, while also not being herself continues to be a rather daunting prospect.

Particularly because whomever Regina believed would know more about Neverland vegetation and its ability to ruin everything is taking their sweet time responding or showing up in Storybrooke, and they’ve tried what feels like several thousand things to get Emma back, but magic beans were a no-go, and some very fancy wand didn’t do anything except infuriate Regina with it uselessness, and it’s still Christmas, so there are apparently a metric shit ton of traditions and expectations, and—

“Wait, what?” Emma asks, perched on the edge of her desk in the station because that’s at least something she’s used to. Less so to Killian’s presence at the only other desk, and she doesn’t remember the only other desk being quite so close to her’s, but it’s entirely possible that’s a trick of her not-quite coherent mind.

Might be problem six. Maybe seven. Making it six gives it power, and acknowledges how much the state of his tongue continues to affect her cognitive abilities. Of which there were already very few, especially while she was exhausted in Neverland, and Emma’s not willing to risk anymore.

“It’s something of a requirement,” Killian says, not for the first time. Princesses have a ridiculous number of requirements, Emma’s rather quickly learned. And he can’t seem to sit straight in any chair. Also ridiculous.

“Does that not hurt your spine?”

Shrugging, he smirks at her and that’s been happening more often. Not that she’s keeping track, or anything. She’s just—aware, that’s totally the right word. Of him, and what he does with his face and his patterned shirts, and there’s been no bare arm again, but Emma’s still not really his wife, and she knows the hours he’s spent holed up in one of the copious rooms in their quasi-mansion have been dedicated to research.

And getting his wife back.

That’s fine. It’s fine. Definitely not a problem. Hasn’t even crossed her mind.

Emma doesn’t want him to want her. Like, ever.

And they’re waiting for her dad, anyway. To report back on some magical failing in Wonderland. Seriously, everything is so fine that it's almost a problem as well. It’s too fine. Everything is—

Great.

“Are you concerned about the state of my spine, darling?”

Melting is not an option — so far as Emma is aware of, but it’s certainly very appealing in the moment. When that moment includes tilted lips and an angled neck seemingly designed to ensure Killian’s hair falls artfully across his forehead, as if the strands are there to frame his eyes and the hint of light in them.

She takes a deep breath.

The light brightens. Or she imagines.

“A tree lighting, though,” Emma says, not-so-subtly changing the subject. Killian’s brows jump. Up his forehead and past those strands of hair she’s only passably obsessed with. “Isn’t that kind of...I don’t know, it’s not very fairy tale.” “Regina lights the candles with magic, if that helps.” “So why do I have to be there?” “The monarchy usually stands on a platform, waves lovingly to their subjects and—” “—God, how is there more?” Emma balks, but that only gets her a more powerful smirk and eyes that are far too blue to be fair, and they still haven’t painted the dining room. She’s not going to ask about that.

She’s not.

“This is something of the central hub for the rest of the United Realms,” Killian explains, “and with Regina and the Charmings here, it makes sense that people...flock.” “Like birds.” “Not the ones your mother can commune with, but I suppose the metaphor is appropriate.”

“Who decided to hold Regina’s queen election?” Eyeing her speculatively, Emma does her very best not to wither under Killian’s expression. She’s not altogether confident it works, but they’ve almost come to something like an understanding, and it’s very easy. This, them. No, not them. There’s no them and while Emma’s done her fair share of staring, there can’t be a them now because that will undoubtedly fuck with the timeline and probably everything else, just to keep inspiring problematic lists, and her increasing desire to kiss him until he also has to deal with wobbly knees is just something she’s going to have to deal with.

“Maybe I won’t remember when I get back,” Emma reasons, but that one word comes out as wobbly as her knees have been and Killian purses his lips. “Ok, fine—tell me something totally random, then. A fun-fact, as it were.” “Random.” “Do you not know what that means?” He rolls his eyes. “I know at least three more languages than you do, so—” “—No you do not!”

Nodding, Killian smiles over the edge of his coffee mug, and neither one of them mention that his proclivity to drinking a gallon of coffee every morning could probably be this so-called fun fact. “English, obviously, and—” “—Ok, I can clearly speak English,” Emma argues. She nearly bites her tongue in half at the force of Killian’s answering look, part amusement and even more heat and that only circles her back around to the melting thing.

“Aye, but I definitely know more curses than you do, so that’s got to count for something. Also that’s simply my base language, as it were.” She sneers. He chuckles. Into the mug, but it feels like the emotion behind it sinks under Emma’s skin and times up with her pulse, less erratic than it had been those first few nights, and she’s actually started sleeping consistently. “Then of course, I’m rather familiar with Latin.” “Dead, it doesn’t count.” “Impressive, though.” “Sounds like you’re fishing for compliments, Captain.” “Unnecessary, when I know you’ll be all wide-eyed and amazed in a moment,” Killian promises, swinging his legs to prop his feet on the edge of her desk. “There’s also Greek, and—” Waving her hands, Emma doesn’t explicitly try to swat at his legs, but he’s just so goddamn close, and still exuding heat, and she’s starting to have some assumptions about that as well. Of the possibly magic and decidedly—no she’s not doing that. They’re not that. Not like this, anyway. And Killian doesn’t immediately move, but that only lulls her into a false sense of security, the metal of his hook is cold enough that she yelps when it circles both her wrists.

“Fairy,” he finishes, and Emma refuses to believe he leans forward on purpose.

“No.” “You keep objecting to my facts and you’ll give a man a complex, Swan.” “Why would you know Greek, you’re a—” “—Fairy tale character?”

Emma presses her lips together. So as not to make an undignified noise. She’s already whimpered enough, and cried more than she thought possible and the hitch in his voice threatens to shatter several things. Moving her hands is impossible, which is probably for the best, but all of her would very much like to cup his cheek, if only to see if he’ll kiss the inside of her wrist, and she’s like ninety-two percent positive he would. “Pirate prince,” she corrects lightly, and does get her a smile. “Do you have an official title here?” “Captain.” “That’s it?” “Not impressive enough, huh?”

There’s no music on in the station, but they’re clearly dancing all the same — around each other, and the maelstrom of feelings Emma is doing a God awful job of ignoring, and at some point one of them is going to have to pull away from the other. In more ways than one.

“I didn’t say that,” she shakes, “and don’t bother telling me it’s another argument, I don’t care. I’m just—curious, I guess.” “About me?”

Nodding is the least dangerous response when she’s so worried about tripping over her own feet in this metaphorical waltz, but it’s one of the more accurate things she’s said since she got here, and now she’s got an excuse. No repercussions, nothing exactly permanent about these conversations, or this information, and no one’s told her whether or not she’ll retain her memories once she gets back, but they also don’t know she’ll get back so—

Fuck it, honestly.

“Yeah,” Emma replies, not bothering to gloat when Killian’s the one whose eyes go wide first.

“Oh.” “Is that unexpected?” “Maybe at this point.”

Humming, she files that away, preening slightly under the not-quite-compliment. “Not an answer though. Habit of yours.” “Not really, you’re just very demanding in this incarnation.” “Product of my situation, I guess.” He laughs. It’s something that happens more often here than it did when Emma knew him — knows him, whatever tenses get confusing in time travel. Still, the sound consistently manages to catch her off guard. Free and easy, and the magic that rustles in the back of her brain might deserve its own list.

Or another conversation with Regina. “The Royal Navy,” Killian says, an answer Emma nearly forgot she wanted. Her eyes widen. He looks triumphant. “See, told you.” “Like an Enchanted Forest GI bill, huh? See new lands, learn new languages.” “Something like that, aye.” “How’d you get to fairy?” “Did you meet the Lady Bell before—” “—I got yanked out of Neverland?” Emma quips, and it might be a defense mechanism. Making jokes, but she also hasn’t gone into detail about the plant-thing yet, and that might be because she doesn’t want to freak him out.

Anymore than he already is. He spends at least an hour in that room every night.

“Yeah, I did,” she adds,” after she kidnapped Regina and told us Greg and Tamara were dead, which...y’know—” “—Wasn’t the worst thing in the world?” “Does that make me a horrible person?” Killian shakes his head. “I don’t think so.” “Are you going to tell me you learned fairy language from an actual fairy?” “Not much else to do on a hellish island for several hundred years, and it’s a rather complicated tongue. Takes some practice.” “Oh, you’re doing that on purpose now.” The speed of his grin is like molasses. Emma assumes. She’s not sure she’s ever encountered molasses in real life. Even so, the whole thing is bordering on obscene and the opposite of the Christmas spirit and—“Alright,” she concedes, “learning fairy is actually pretty impressive.” “You flatter me, love.”

“What’s your favorite fairy curse word and do you think anyone would be totally scandalized if I used it during this super fancy, exceptionally royal tree lighting?”

Absolutely, goddamn obscene. The tip of his tongue finds the corner of his mouth, and his eyes get noticeably darker, Emma’s pulse picking up until she’s sure they can hear it on the other side of town, and there’s already barely any space between them, but that appears to be decreasing with every passing second. She’s got no idea who’s moving. She might be moving.

God, she hopes she’s moving.

Losing control of her limbs may send her off some ledge.

And she’s just about to throw caution to the seemingly ever-present wind that comes off the harbor, because the front of this patterned shirt looks particularly yankable, but the station door creaks, and a muscle in Killian’s jaw jumps and David clicks his teeth exactly once when he walks in.

“Interrupting something, am I?” “No, no,” Emma stammers at the same time Killian mumbles “absolutely not,” and neither of those things sound all that honest.

She’s never gone into cardiac arrest, but if this is what it feels like, it’s kind of disorienting.

“You hear about the tree lighting, Emma?” David asks, and that’s obviously where her inability to tactfully alter the course of a conversation comes from. Killian rolls his eyes towards the ceiling, slumping back into his chair.

Exhaling feels like an admission of guilt, but Emma can’t have anything to feel guilty about here, and she hopes Killian’s getting sleep. On the couch. He keeps sleeping on the couch.

Of course he does.

“Do I have to wear a gown or anything?” “It’s outside,” David says, “there are trees involved.”

Killian’s hook pokes at his chair arm. “Only one tree, as far as I knew.” “Why are you like this?” “You’re charmed by it, I know,” he chuckles, eyes flashing towards Emma. Coincidence, she’s sure. Her cheeks are very warm.

She’s very warm. Passably magical, maybe.

David sighs. “No, there are no gowns. It is in fact only one tree, and Em—you don’t have to say anything. Regina will thank people for coming, Snow will open up the meal and that’ll be that.” “Should I know what the meal is?” Emma asks, and her gaze doesn’t automatically drift towards Killian either. It just, sort of—meanders there, naturally. His tongue is still doing that thing.

“I was going to get to that part eventually.” “There’s kind of a reception,” David explains, “with cookies.” “Shit, how many cookies can one United Realm eat?” “An exceptional amount,” Killian mutters, and Emma might guffaw. While realizing why her other version had been baking so much before.

“You don’t have to do anything,” David adds, “just show up and smile, and you’ll get some cookies out of it.” “Will I not get cookies if I don’t smile?” Not able to stop whatever noise rumbles out of him, the force of Killian’s grin makes Emma glad she’s sitting down again. “I’ll swipe you some if you don’t.” “Very gallant.” “Happens from time to time.” Flirting in front of her father is wrong. That’s if this counts as flirting. As far as Emma knows, most of their banter has been a product of their mutually ridiculous lives, and whatever situation they’ve found themselves in at the moment, but this moment doesn’t hold any danger and it is so goddamn easy.

She smiles.

Killian beams.

David sighs again. “Anyone want to hear about Wonderland now? Or how the White Rabbit can’t draw any portals? Or—” “—This is a really extensive list,” Emma grumbles, and Killian’s smile is going to get stuck on his face. Permanently. She’s very charmed by the crinkles around his eyes.

“Tinker Bell is here.” Slamming his feet back onto the floor, Killian practically snaps to attention, and Emma’s body goes through another reaction she does not expect. What feels suspiciously like jealousy rattles down her spine, rooting her to the spot and drying out her mouth and David’s far too observant.

He clicks his teeth again. “When?” Killian asks, already standing and offering Emma his hand. She takes it, not thinking about what that means — or how it affects the half-green tint clouding her vision, and her heart misses a beat. As soon as his fingers lace through hers.

“Just now. Went to Regina’s, but I had to come here, so one of Snow’s birds told me.” “You can talk to the birds too?” Emma balks, stumbling while Killian all but yanks her towards the door.

“No, no, they carry messages now.” “Ah of course.” “Did Tink say anything yet?” Killian demands, David already shaking his head and they’re picking up speed. All but jogging down Main Street and towards Regina’s office, and the nickname probably isn’t important. It’s fine. Everything is fine. It’s all going to be good.

Even when the fairy in question snaps towards the office door as it swings open, practically lighting up when she notices Killian and Regina’s eyes go noticeably thin. Staring at Emma like she’s trying to read her mind.

Her fingers are still tied up with Killian’s. “Hook,” Tinker Bell exclaims, and she doesn’t have any visible wings so she can’t fly out of her chair. She tries all the same, arms that bump Emma as they hug her not-quite husband and he mutters a greeting. It takes a moment for Tinker Bell’s gaze to find Emma, trying and failing to keep her expression even, and Killian might chuckle.

She kicks his ankle.

“Emma,” Tink breathes, “it’s good to see you again, you have to get the hell out of this timeline.”

“So, that’s it,” Tinker Bell finishes, shrugging like Emma’s not dangerously close to fully breaking down and Killian’s thumb keeps tapping the side of her palm. Because he’s still holding her hand. Cool, it’s cool. She’s not totally preoccupied with that.

Regina’s totally staring, anyway.

“Will-o-wisps,” Killian says, “I thought that was a rumor.” More shrugging. There’s too much shrugging for Emma. “I’ve never heard of it in practice,” Tinker Bell reasons, “but can you think of another plant in Neverland that could do such a thing? That rumor you’re talking about always mentioned how it would draw a traveler in, bewitch them with lights and—were there lights, Emma?”

She nods. Swallows, or tries at least. But her tongue is expanding again, and her heart might be shrinking, and the whole thing feels like a very cruel trick.

“Pan would have known about all of that,” Tinker Bell continues, “and used it to his advantage. If he could get Emma to follow the light, then she wouldn’t be a problem anymore.” “But I didn’t actually move anywhere,” Emma argues. “There was no following the light.” Regina exhales. “Probably more metaphorical, giving into what the light offered.” “Which was?” “This, obviously. What we talked about, and what you thought you couldn’t ever have while you were stuck in Neverland, convinced of a whole slew of wholly negative things. So, there was no walking, but—” “—I wouldn’t have just run away!”

Voice cracking is a sign of impending mental breakdown, Emma’s sure. As are Killian’s tightening fingers, although she’s starting to depend on those fingers just a bit because sitting hadn’t even crossed her mind before and now that might be the only reason she’s still standing.

That keeps happening.

“Doesn’t sound like you had a choice,” Regina says, “if Pan wanted to tempt you, will-o-wisps seem like the perfect way to do it. See the light, get pulled into this future, he gets Henry, and everything he wants.” “But Henry is here. He’s—he’s a grown man, with a kid and—” “—None of that is set in stone,” Tinker Bell interrupts, magic roaring in Emma’s ears. Killian’s going to cut off the circulation to her hand. “With you out of the way, Pan’s got a straight shot at the heart of the truest believer, he can change what you would have eventually done. Make sure he gets the magic that’ll save Neverland. That’s why everything else is falling apart.” “I’m sorry, what?” “Magic,” David clarifies. “All of it acting strangely? Turns out that is because of you, kid.” Scoffing makes her lean forward awkwardly, but Killian doesn’t mention the strain it’s undoubtedly putting on his arm, and letting go of her hand is disappointing for about two seconds. Before it turns into his arm around waist.

Regina’s expression turns calculating.

“Again,” she says, “it’s what we talked about. Things falling apart because you got pulled off the board. Into this exceedingly tempting place.”

Widening her eyes at the unspoken judgement doesn’t do anything to alter Regina’s face, but Emma didn’t really expect it to and her eyes hurt. From not crying. She can’t possibly cry anymore. “I’ve never been to Wonderland, though. How could I fuck up its magic?” “You’ve been other places, love,” Killian murmurs, “and all of that has ripple effects. Savior saves one place, and other realms reap the benefits.” “Is Neverland in the United Realms?” “No.” “Just like that?” “Just like that,” he echoes, smile not quite reaching his eyes. “What do we do now, Your Majesty?”

Taking a deep breath, Regina lets it out almost immediately — staring at limbs and their out-of-place placement for a moment, before glancing at Tinker Bell. Who shrugs, again. Emma’s going to scream. Before she cries. Maybe then all the emotions will balance out. “We figure out a way to get Emma back to the right place, so she can save Henry and defeat Pan, then we hope that things haven’t been altered so much in the past that this version of the future crumbles entirely.” “What was that about no pressure before?” Emma huffs, David laughing under his breath and the feel of something on her hair is absolutely not Killian’s lips. “And honesty, what options do we have left? As far as time travel goes.” “Eh, we're far from exhausted on possibilities,” Regina says. “Just need to get creative.” Tinker Bell’s gasp is very loud. “Have you tried—” “—No,” Killian cuts in, sharper than anything else he’s said. “That’s not going to work.” “But you haven’t tried.” “Because it’s not an option.” “Oh, that’s very negative.” He hums, and Emma waits for the rest of the conversation. Another verbal volley, but it doesn’t come and Tinker Bell looks very disappointed. She’s got another migraine. “How long do you think we have until this future just—disintegrates?” Emma asks.

She counts to twenty-four before anyone replies. “Maybe a couple days,” Regina replies, “a week at most.” “So—Christmas, then?” “I bet he didn’t plan that on purpose, just one of those crazy happenstances.” “Yuh huh.” “Try and sound more convincing next time, that one sucked a bit.”

Hearing the so-called queen of these supposed United Realms utter the word sucked without a hint of irony is not what Emma expects to be the straw that breaks her back, but it is and her back hurts, and all of her aches, and saving people is her gig. She’s got to figure out a way to do that. No matter what.

She can’t do that while standing here. With three matching looks of concern, and one of absolute and total fear boring into the side of her head, and Emma’s also very good at running.

That would suggest she’s got control over her limbs, though. Stumbling down the stairs, she makes it about three-quarters of the way down before the whole thing is too challenging and her lungs appear to be disappearing, or possibly melting, and something in her spine cracks when she falls forward.

Hair brushes Emma’s knees, shoulders shaking with the force of her sobs and the volume of her breathing and the hand that lands on hers doesn’t surprise her as much as it should. “In through your nose, out through your mouth,” Killian instructs, only for Emma to flat out fail at that too.

Becoming a very frustrating theme. “Why are you so worried about my oxygen intake?” “It concerns me that you’re not, actually.”

Letting out a breath she definitely could have used, Emma’s head lolls. Towards his shoulder and the very solid nature of him, and he doesn’t try to roll her off. Just shifts his arm so it’s back around her waist and that does make it a bit easier to keep her lungs functioning.

“Was it all of reality collapsing, or Regina using that particular word?”

Emma groans. “Mind reading’s kind of a violation of privacy.” “Invoking my pirate excuse.” “That’s not a thing.” “Eh,” he says, and she hears the smile. That’s...nice. “Having no regard for laws is something of a requirement for piracy.” “This is not working as well as you think it is.” “I respectfully disagree. We’re going to fix this, you know that, right?” “I can’t imagine how.” “Sheer stubbornness hardwired into your personality.” Laughing hurts her very tight and anxiety-riddled chest, but Emma can’t help herself and she’d been right about the smile. Magic flutters under her skin, a steady pulse that’s slightly different than her normal pulse because it’s also more consistent and Killian’s nose is close enough to brush her cheek. If he wanted.

She wonders if he does. She’d like him to.

But that’s another problem, and more danger than anything Neverland could offer, and—“Fuck Peter Pan, honestly,” Emma proclaims, Killian’s response warm on her skin because it also includes a sound drifting close to a guffaw and she supposes his mouth is as close as his nose. What with the general structure of faces, and all.

He kisses her cheek.

Quick — barely there, really. Over before it has a chance to register, but Emma’s certain she’s been catapulted into the stratosphere, and he blinks almost hyperactively at her. She’s right about the palm thing too.

He turns into her hand as soon as it finds his cheek.

“Apologies,” Killian mumbles, retreating back into formalities and behind walls Emma had been clinging to only a few days before. Now they’re just kind of annoying. “Force of habit.”

“Was it the fuck Peter Pan that got you?” “You’ve always been something of a wordsmith.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere,” Emma smiles. “Can I—can I ask you a question?” “No need to preface it, darling.” That’s something like the eighth time that’s happened. In the last two days. Second in the last hour or so. Emma’s not counting that either. “Do you remember this?” “Currently?” “Don’t be an ass,” she snarks, but his hook is around her wrists before she can even try to lift her hands. “The will-o-wisp attack. I—well, it was my turn to watch and I was kind of wallowing because of everything that had happened, and—” Telling him she wanted to kiss him then and now and possibly for the rest of time is also very appealing. And terrifying. Emma bites her tongue. Coward.

“No,” Killian shakes his head. “I don’t.” “Is that weird?” “Decidedly.” “So, then—wait, I’ve got another question.” He lifts his eyebrows. Smirks. Has the absolute cheek to lift his thumb and brush tears away from her skin, and Emma resolutely refuses to acknowledge the shiver that goes through her at that. “What was with your huh’s, then?” “Last night, you mean.” “I said Echo Caves and you totally froze. Is that—” “Quite a lot of things happen in Neverland,” Killian finishes, “and not all of them have happened for you yet.” “Menacing.” He hums again, takes a deep breath that clearly isn’t a sign he wants to kiss her again. When he does not actually kiss her again. Fine, fine, fine, super. “Not all of it,” he says, although the words sound suspiciously like a promise and neither one of them blink when a bird flies through the open window nearby.

“Are those birds flying in sync?” “Stop talking, you’re going to get us in trouble.” “What was that about pirate code, or whatever?” Grinning up at him and his scowl, Emma can’t help but be a little proud that she’s managed to distract the great and passably royal Captain Killian Jones during the United Realm’s annual tree lighting. Which in retrospect, does seem kind of strange since Emma can’t imagine they actually have Christmas in the Enchanted Forest.

That’s a conversation for a different time, though.

For now she’s willing to keep playing distraction, and it’s very fun to flirt. With Killian, specifically. She’ll consider the repercussions of that later, too.

“As far as I’m aware,” Killian whispers, trying to keep Hope from jumping into the nearest snowbank, “your mother has instructed them to appear at certain and integral points in the ceremony. For dramatic effect.” “Kind of gaudy, isn’t it?” “A requirement of royalty, so it would seem.”

The muscles in her cheeks are starting to ache. From overuse, and that’s—another problem. Being here a tease. That one strand of hair that always manages to fall towards Killian’s right eye is the worst.

“How long have you been holding onto that particular opinion?” They haven't turned the tree on yet, so whatever light reflects in his eyes is more theoretical than anything. Regina must have practiced this speech at some point. No way this is all improvised, not with the dramatic pauses and introductions and— “Oh shit,” Emma mutters, the ends of Killian’s ears going red because Regina is introducing them and Hope is nothing more than four uncoordinated limbs and Henry snickers very loudly.

Ella elbows him in the side.

Emma likes her daughter-in-law. She hasn’t allowed herself to think about that title, or the granddaughter it comes with, but she’s getting very good at putting thoughts in boxes and only partially acknowledging what they mean and Killian's hand finds her again.

Magic rushes from the top of her head to the very bottom of her feet, standing a bit straighter in another pair of boots, and Killian’s whole body moves towards her. So as to make it easier when he openly gapes at her.

That must happen a lot too, though. No one bats an eyelash. “If you’re all done,” Regina drawls, but Henry isn’t and Ella can’t contain her laugh either. Mary Margaret looks overjoyed. Even as her birds break formation.

Emma nods. “All good.” “Gods, the whole lot of you are annoying. You know—” Waving one hand, candles burst into flame without a word, multi-colored lights appearing on every branch, and it takes Emma a moment to realize that everyone in the crowd is holding an ornament.

“What are they for?” she asks Killian, not bothering to lower her face over the cheers. People are cheering for the tree. “They’re wishes, Mama,” Hope cries. “From everyone!”

He nods when the four-year-old doesn’t explain anymore — already rushing towards Mary Margaret and her ornament. “That’s why people come from all over. Aside from the festive nature, and the talented birds, it’s an old superstition. Place an ornament where the candle was, and you’ll get your wish.” “What happens to the candle?” “Supposed to bring it home, and light that space with the feeling of the solstice.”

In any other situation, exhaling as forcefully as she does would be embarrassing. As it is, Emma figures she’s got a thousand excuses and the hand in hers gives no indication of letting go any time soon. So, seems like a wash. “Gods, that’s nice.” “Aye, it is.”

Hope puts an ornament on the tree.

So does Henry.

And Lucy. The list goes on and on, but all Emma can do is stand at the end of Granny’s counters and eat her weight in Snickerdoodles.

She's the worst, frankly.

Snow starts to fall just as Emma’s wavering between that happy medium of pleasantly buzzed and legitimately drunk, and she’s got to ask someone who doles out the liquor licenses in this realm because it appears Granny’s hand has grown a bit heavy over the years.

Lucy scampers towards the far window as soon as she notices the storm, already talking a mile a minute and detailing plans with Hope and Neal — and this happy medium makes it impossible for Emma to be too frustrated by that, but she also hasn’t actually asked what happened to Neal or why he doesn’t appear in Storybrooke, so it seems it’s more difficult to rid herself of the self-imposed asshole moniker than she’d like.

And the bell over the door rattles like it’s the goddamn town crier, another familiar face stepping through the frame. With red highlights in her hair. “Are we doing this, then?” Ruby asks, flanked by a woman Emma doesn’t recognize and another redhead who is obviously not Ariel and it’s strange to see Mulan out of armor.

“Cap?” Ruby presses, when no one responds quickly enough, “this is happening, right?” Glancing at a wary Henry and back towards a clearly confused Emma, Killian grits his teeth. While she does her best to come to terms with nicknames, and another tradition and Hope tries very hard to climb up Emma’s side.

So as to yell in her ear easier.

“It’s snowing, Mama. We’ve got to play!” Emma blinks. “In the snow.” “It’s a...thing,” Killian explains. “Gets almost—” “—Bloodthirsty,” Mary Margaret says, which is not the most shocking thing that’s happened so far, but Emma’s buzz is starting to ebb slightly and someone’s knocking on the door. Another redhead, with her hair in braids and what looks like suspiciously like a crown on her head and David lets out a joyful noise when he notices the guy behind her.

Mary Margaret tugs at the edge of Emma’s sleeve. She might be nearly drunk too, actually. If her slight wobble is any indication. “In the past,” she starts, “there’s been some notably magical snowstorms here. It was quite an event when Elsa first arrived, but then well—you helped save her, and her sister.” The redhead waves, as if she knows she’s being talked about and Emma can’t fathom how she makes that connection, but she’s getting better at puzzles. “And now,” Mary Margaret continues, “it’s become something of a ritual.”

Ruby gags. “Oh Gods, don’t say it like that. Sounds ruthless.” “Isn’t it, though?” Henry challenges. “The gist is, that Elsa shows up after the tree lighting with her snow powers and we have a snowball fight.” She’s too drunk for this. Definitely well past buzzed at this point. “A snowball fight,” Emma repeats, half a dozen nodding heads replying with equally large smiles and the almost audible sense of anticipation hovering around them.

Hope widens her eyes. It’s a very good trick. “She practices that,” Killian mutters, more mind reading that Emma doesn’t bother to point out because the redhead is shouting "come on, let’s go'' and that sounds like a command. And bloodthirsty is a very appropriate adjective.

Teams are quickly formed, alliances announced and the guy Emma realizes is named Kristoff claims “honor must be defended” enough times that it appears to be a catchphrase. Laughter rings out around them, dancing on the magically-induced snowflakes and off the lights, and there aren’t as many candles on the tree anymore, but some flames continue to flicker, casting shadows across faces and snowballs.

As they fly past Emma’s ears.

“Your aim could use some work,” Killian says, breathing heavier as he ducks behind a snow drift they’re using as a blockade. Emma sneers. “Where’d the kid go?” “Ours?” She nods. Tries not to die. Only marginally succeeds. Killian doesn’t appear to notice. Force of habit is a very strong rationalization, it seems. “She’s allied herself with her much more impressive brother, who—” Lifting out of his crouch, Killian cups a hand to his mouth, like that will help the volume of his ensuing insult. “—Has clearly been practicing snowball creation in the Wish Realm and only knows how to win by cheating!” “I learned it from you,” Henry calls back.

David’s laugh is loud enough to disrupt a whole flock of birds. Perched on the branches above his and Mary Margaret’s head.

Goosebumps make a glorious return to Emma’s arm — and quite possibly her soul, which only seems like an exaggeration until she notices the spots of color on Killian’s cheeks and the bits of snow clinging to his hair. His eyes get bluer when she brushes the moisture away. Have to, if only to explain Emma’s fluttering magic and fledgling pulse and a snowball slams into her left shoulder blade. “Gotta hide better,” Anna calls, the blonde behind her, who is definitely Elsa, shaking with the force of her laughter. Everyone keeps laughing. Everyone is so happy. It’s—

A goddamn Christmas Utopia.

“You did offer yourself up a bit,” Killian reasons, Emma gasping at the betrayal. Pulling on the front of her now-damp jacket, he tugs her back against his side and they’re very close. Too close. Possibly not close enough.

“And what would you suggest o ye master strategist?” “Little wordy, don’t you think?”

“I retract my compliment, then.” “Ahaha,” he chuckles, “a compliment, was it? Well that’s totally different, then. Now, if you just stay here with—” The rest of the sentence gets caught up in his grunt and groan and Emma’s not particularly disappointed to see Hope’s return to this side of the snowball fight, but she’s also fairly certain there was a me looming on the tip of Killian’s very distracting tongue and she’d like to hear that. Selfishly. “Oh, switched allegiances again, have you, little love?” “Henry can’t enchant the snowballs,” Hope says, like that’s supposed to make sense and it almost does because Emma has magic, but she’s never tried to use it on snow. At least not yet.

“I don’t—” she starts, only to cut herself off. At the overall circumference of Hope’s eyes, and the color of Killian’s and there’s something to said for sheer force of will. “Gimme a snowball, baby.”

Excitement immediately colors her daughter’s face, smile wide enough that it’s probably a record and Killian doesn’t say anything. Watches without a single shift of his chest, which means Emma is staring at his chest, but he’s also obviously not breathing, and her lungs can’t stand up to much more of this.

An admittedly lackluster snowball gets plopped in Emma’s upturned palm, and she blinks away the cold like this is old hat. Or something less lame sounding. Snow packs together like—well, magic, she supposes, a perfect sphere that isn’t quite iced over, but won’t fall apart when one of them throws it and obviously Hope’s got to throw it.

“Ok,” she says, nodding encouragingly. “Who did you want to take down?” Killian’s lips disappear. Behind his teeth. To stop himself from grinning like a maniac, or so Emma very quickly convinces herself.

“Uncle Kris,” Hope announces, and this family’s apparently only grown in the last decade or so. Maybe Emma should be more concerned about her heart. And its ability to burst.

“We can do that. Just—toss it up, and…”

She’s got no idea, really. Just generic hope, and a surplus of feeling, but Emma’s always been told that magic is emotion and she’s not sure she’s ever been more emotional, which is a scathing commentary of her life, but this is also her life and— Killian scoops Hope up, an impressive act of balance and dodging incoming snowballs, and Emma will use that emotion as a reasonable excuse for what she does next. Reaching forward, her fingers curl around the brace at the end of his arm, not able to actually touch skin because he’s wearing a leather jacket, and that’s only sort of messing with her mind. But the motivation is the same, and she’s got all those suspicions and thoughts and—

The most powerful magic in the world.

“Throw it, love,” Killian directs, Hope’s arm pulling behind her like she’s a professional baseball player, and Emma squeezes her eyes shut. Warmth curls at the base of her spine, inching up her vertebrae until it takes root at the base of her skull, spreading out through her brain and the rest of her limbs and he definitely kisses her hair again.

She’d been counting on that, just a bit.

Muscles loosen under her skin, no sense of tension or that ever-present anxiety Emma’s always just assumed was part of her genetic makeup. Shouts echo around her, in addition to the snow, but she can’t quite hear any of it over the explosion of magic between her ears, and Hope’s cry of success will probably be branded on Emma for the rest of her life.

She hopes so, at least.

Opening her eyes to find Kristoff sputtering, and Anna as impressed as she is indignant, Emma only barely has a chance to catch her breath before there’s a kid flying into her arms. It’s harder to hold her when she doesn’t let go of Killian. And Killian doesn’t pull away.

He watches both of them. Traces over Emma’s face, the same way she had in the hallway, and something happens. Something important. Passing between them, and cementing itself in her gut and her soul and his lips twitch. At her magic, probably. “Thank you,” Killian mouths, Emma nodding against Hope’s hair. She kisses it. Out of habit, or whatever.

Strands of hair are damp against Emma's temple by the time they traipse back to the house, Hope asleep on Killian’s shoulder. Enchanted snowflakes linger on the back of her jacket, hovering on her eyelashes for maximum effect and peak cute, which didn’t need any help if Emma’s being honest and she might be willing to err on the side of that particular feeling right now. So as to keep the feeling, all year long and maybe even indefinitely.

Or whatever they said about Ebenezer Scrooge.

After he learned to love Christmas. And other humans.

Emma’s still not thinking too hard about that particular word, though. So, maybe complete honesty’s something of a stretch, but the kid is undeniably adorable and it’s admittedly difficult to think straight when Killian is—

Killian. In italicized and underlined lettering, meeting Emma snark for snark, and snowball for snowball, and she really wants to know his Monopoly cheating strategy, but that’s a problem for an entirely different list because that list has impossible words and improbable feelings and he’s staring at her.

Where she’s leaning against their front door.

Using possessive and collective pronouns isn’t helping her cause.

“Are you alright?” he asks softly. For the benefit of the sleeping kid, Emma figures. Not the state of her pulse, or the magic he could feel, and the cyclical nature of time is just toying with her at this point.

She nods. “Better than, somehow.” “Oh, that’s a little negative, Swan.” “Kind of my schtick, isn’t it.” “Not always,” Killian says, another pair of words that shouldn’t sound like a promise and clearly do not care. Emma feels her smile. Like, possibly in the very core of her being. At least between her ribs, where the growing sense of belonging has decided to linger, this feeling of home and possibility and staying here is not a possibility. Tinker Bell will figure something out.

Emma will — that’s how Savior’ing works, after all.

“You know,” Killian adds, Hope humming into his neck and there’s quite a lot of neck. Emma might be staring at his neck. “At some point we concoct this very impressive buttered rum recipe, that’s notoriously good at warding off chills.” Digging her teeth into her lips does not do anything to disperse the butterflies in Emma’s stomach, but she’s also not all that interested in them leaving. “Concerned about my breathing and my overall body temperature?” God, she’s an idiot.

Flirting isn't quite second nature, though — and Emma’s even less accustomed to flirting as a two-way street, but this feels as easy as it has and will and there’s those tense-based issues all over again. Killian grins. Slow, and measured and inching almost close to lecherous, sparking a handful of other other ideas that—

Immediately disappears when the four-year-old wakes up.

Brushed teeth take precedence, as do picking out pajamas and Hope is in possession of more pajama sets than Emma knew could exist in one set of drawers. Then there’s a bedding routine, lifting comforters and crawling under sheets and Emma doesn’t know the story requested of her.

She’s got no idea what happens after Prince Charles spun around with his sword.

It’s got to be impressive, though.

“Oh, Hope I—” she exhales, fear creeping back into the forefront of her mind. Until fingers find they’re way back into hers, and they’re just as warm as they always are and it takes Killian less than three minutes to promise a different story on another night.

No tears are shed, so that’s got to be a victory and Hope’s eyes are already fluttering closed when Killian flicks off the light. Lingering in the hallway, Emma’s not sure what she’s supposed to do or where she’s supposed to go, but there’s a hook pressed into the small of her back and buttered rum turns out to have a ridiculous amount of cinnamon in it. “Shit,” Emma mutters into her glass, and Killian looks far too satisfied. “This is really good.” “Took some trial and error, but we got there eventually. Or get there for you, I suppose.” Sipping instead of responding is another cowardly move, one Emma won’t ever admit to and it doesn’t matter because he can read her mind. At least her face. Open book, and all that.

“I’m sorry.” Killian blinks. “For what, exactly?” “God, throw a dart. Everything I—showing up in your life and making the right Emma disappear, maybe, and that’s got to be fucking with you, and—” “—You’re not the wrong Emma,” he interrupts, with enough force to pull her up short. Buttered rum drips on her chin. So, she’s a picture of romance and flirting potential. “Just a little early, that’s all.” “Not what you said when I got here.” “Aye, well that was the bastard version of me. He’s a—” “—Bastard?” “Absolutely,” Killian nods, “and maybe a little unsure of himself when it comes to you.”

It’s her turn to blink. More than once, only a little concerned the scene in front of her will change, but it doesn’t and it won’t and there’s got to be a limit on time travel. Emma’s reached her quota by now, she hopes. “Because I’m a mess now? I mean, this version of me. Not the wife one.” “You’re worried about Henry. And I understand that, did then as well. I just—you want to know why the Echo Caves gave me pause? Because if you got tugged right after that, then all you’re sure of is that I think I could move on from Milah, but nothing else has happened for you yet. No promises or—” Swallowing, he sets his glass down and there wasn’t much room between them, but there’s even less now and Emma’s got nowhere to put her hands. Except on his thigh. Where it bumps hers. “Leaving behind that bastard who wouldn’t give you the magic bean was always something of a challenge, but you made me want to. Made it easier to do just that. Because eventually you do trust me, and you believe in me, and—”

He exhales. Licks his lips. Emma can’t move. “The thought of losing that terrified me,” Killian finishes.

They’ve stopped dancing. Are standing stock-still in the middle of the floor, while other people twirl around and wait for them to get their rhythm back. And Killian doesn’t blink, which is equally frustrating and overwhelming and a much more positive adjective that Emma can’t be bothered with because she’s too busy saying, “I...like you?” “Was that a question?” “Maybe,” she admits, “it’s not really my forte, and I told Neal a bunch of shit in the Echo Caves too, so—is...did my parents name their kid after him?” “Yuh huh.” “Don’t sound particularly pleased.” “We’ll get to that,” Killian says, “Rehash the liking stuff, please.” Maybe laughing at inappropriate times is actually his greatest talent. Emma’s head drops, bumping Killian’s shoulder, but then there’s an arm back around her waist and there’s so much of him, and that’s always been the problem. Opposite of a problem, really.

“You just—” Emma mutters. “Came back, for us and me and I...that kind of terrifies me too, but you always make sure if I'm ok, and that’s—not a ton of people do that.” “Becomes something of a habit.” “I’m going to ask you a question.” “Still don’t need to preface it.” “Are you Prince Charles in the story?”

Surprise is a good look on him. All of them are, but Emma’s already crossed one emotional threshold and like wasn’t really the word she was thinking about before. “Aye,” Killian says, soft enough that it’s difficult to hear.

“Does that make me the princess?” “In almost every story I tell.”

The warmth moves to her cheeks, and the same skin Killian’s fingers graze, coming dangerously close to the edge of her mouth and barely parted lips. “So, uh,” Emma stammers, “not our first time travel adventure?” “Gets confusing when you haven’t done that other part yet.” “Time travel might be overrated, honestly. But we get back, right? That’s—I mean, you’re here.”

Nodding, his nose replaces his fingers and it’s oddly endearing. “If you remember this in the past, I refuse to be held accountable, alright?”

“Seems fair,” Emma laughs, and she thinks she hears him swallow before he responds. “You give up your magic, for me—which is something else I never entirely pay you back for, but then we get pulled into the portal, adventures ensue, including that very impressive spin move, and then your magic comes back.” “How?” “With that wand Regina used before, that’s why she thought it would work.” “You’re skipping over things,” she accuses, and flirting might not be the only two-way street. He’s getting easier to read. “Was that was it you? Helping with my magic?” Shrugging isn’t easy when they’re so tangled together, but Killian’s ears are as red as Ariel’s hair and Ruby’s highlights and—“The only reason I magic’ed that snowball was because I was holding onto you. Control’s not something I’ve got much of right now.” “You would have been able to figure it out.” “Not with a kid waiting, and all those people and—” Problems be damned. Lists be damned. Time itself, be goddamned. “Paying me back is a stupid thing to think.”

“Swan.” Shaking her head, Emma moves before she can reconsider how incredibly dumb this is and possibly even more dangerous, but he keeps staring at her and it’s so easy and normal, and if she were someone who breathed with any sort of regularity, that wold be an appropriate analogy. Killian shifts too, so that helps.

And she definitely mumbles kiss me like some harlequin romance heroine, but he doesn’t laugh and he doesn’t object and the fingers that find her hair help ground her. To this plane of reality. Nice exists for about half a second, before it rather quickly evolves into need and desire and there are hands everywhere. Emma’s and Killian’s — tracing each other like this is the first time all over again, and her back arches once she clamors into his lap.

Rocking down at the same time he rocks up draws out several sounds Emma’s never heard before, and would not mind hearing on loop. Fingers search out skin, pushing into the tuft of hair at the nape of his neck, and she can’t tilt her head enough. To get the right angle, or more of his tongue and his tongue’s already swiping at her lips.

He groans again. When she opens her mouth, lets him trace as much as he’d like, and Emma would like even more, but she’s always been kind of greedy when it comes to him and really oxygen is vastly overrated.

She can’t keep her eyes open.

Can’t imagine how anything gets better than this, or them and there’s that pronoun again.

Both of their shoulders heave when they finally have to pull apart, more black than blue in Killian’s eyes and— “We’re really good at that,” she mutters, working a laugh out of him. That he presses against her neck. And under her chin. Drags across her jaw, and up towards her temple, kissing whatever he can reach and everywhere he lands and it takes a power she did not know she possessed for Emma to keep herself from demanding he take his clothes off as well.

She opts for the next best thing. “Thoughts on sleeping in your own bed?”

The eyebrows, honestly. Flying up, and reacting quicker than he can respond and Killian kisses her. Soft and easy, and as normal as anything. “Vast,” he says, mostly into her mouth, “and it’s difficult to fall asleep without you, so it’d be nice to actually do that.” “Yeah, ok. That works.”

#cs ff #captain swan ff #cs fic #captain swan #captain swan fic #but once a year #festive fic a thon 2k20 #MAGIC SNOWBALL FIGHTS #making a united realms solely to bring back frozen characters???#more likely than you think!!

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