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katsie · 2 years

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broken and hoping

She didn’t use her key. Instead she rang the doorbell to her own home, like a stranger. Because it wasn’t her home anymore, at least not after today. Most of her stuff had already been picked up by professional moving trucks, but there were a few things left. She’d debated sending her friends or her family to pick it up, but ultimately decided against it. She wanted to do this on her own, to prove to herself she was strong enough to get through this. She even dressed up in her favourite jeans to try and make herself feel better. It didn’t hurt that she knew they were his favourite as well. She had also done her hair and make-up to try and distract from her puffy face.

She heard him coming down the stairs in a light jog like he always did, she could picture him. She tried to shake it from her mind, but it refused to let go.

The door swung open and he stood there, staring at her. She hadn’t seen him since she left. He was usually polished, in smart trousers and fitted shirts. His stubble was always perfect, his hair the same. But now his hair was tousled like he’d just gotten out of bed, his stubble overgrown, and he was wearing sweats. He looked exhausted.

She frowned, refrained from reaching out to touch his face. Then she took a deep breath. “Hi.”

“Hey,” he said and moved out of the way. She stepped inside and he closed the door behind her. The air was thick with tension, neither knowing what to say. He stuffed his hands into the pockets of his sweats, bringing his shoulders forward as if shielding himself.

“I’m gonna go upstairs, clear out my closet,” she said.

“Okay,” he said, and watched her jog up the stairs as she always did. He walked into the kitchen and put the kettle on. He readied a mug for them both, pouring in two tablespoons of her favourite instant coffee. He’d ridiculed her when he first found out. “It tastes like shit,” he’d said but she had just stuck her tongue out at him. It was the cutest thing he’d seen. Then whenever he’d slept over at her place, he’d help himself to some. Over time, he’d learn to like it. He even preferred it over the fancy stuff, though he knew it was more sentimental than anything.

When the kettle went off, he poured in the water, then added six teaspoons (yes, really) of sugar in her mug. He stirred it, then brought both with him upstairs. He found her in their bedroom, folding her clothes and putting them into boxes. He watched her for a moment, watched as she sorted her clothes into the carefully categorised boxes. He never thought he’d meet anyone else as organised as he was, but sometimes he wondered if she might actually be worse than him. Or better. Depended on how you chose to see it.

He held both of the steaming mugs in one hand, knocked on the doorframe with the other. Her head whipped up, noticing the mugs. A small smile tugged at her lips because she knew exactly what it was, and she both loved and hated him for knowing her well enough to understand it would be exactly what she’d want right now.

He stepped forward and held the mug out for her, and she accepted it with a small smile.

“Thank you,” she said.

“Of course,” he said, stood for a moment, then decided to sit down on the floor opposite her. He made sure to give her space, sitting down by the wall, leaning against it. Watched her close her eyes and sigh with happiness as she took a sip. She was so beautiful. God, what had he done.

When she opened her eyes, she caught his gazing at her with a longing look in his eyes, and she blushed. Cleared her throat. She took another sip, then put the mug down and continued clearing out her clothes from the closet. She froze when she pulled out a hoodie. Her favourite hoodie. His hoodie. She swallowed, trying to rid herself of the growing lump in her throat, but to no avail. She folded it in her lap, held it, stared at it. Should she keep it? Would it be a painful reminder of how it all crumbled, or a joyous reminder of all the good times they’d shared? She didn’t know, and so she put it aside.

“I’m sorry,” he said, and when she looked up at him she could see his eyes were glassed over. The lump in her throat grew. She tried to swallow it away again. It still wouldn’t budge. She looked away and continued to busy herself with the packing. When she was finished with the clothes, she closed the boxes and moved to the bathroom. He stayed put, watching her walk back and forth. He couldn’t help himself from remembering the first night they’d shared in this flat, the first night they’d slept in this bedroom. She had come out of the bathroom in just her knickers and one of his t-shirts. Fresh-faced and damp hair, jumping onto the bed with a grin on her face.

“Much better,” he’d said with a dopey grin, framing her face with his hands. Brought it to him and kissed her. She snorted a laugh as she pulled back and looked at him. “Please, you love it when I doll myself up and wear something tight and fancy,” she’d said.

“I do,” he’d agreed, bringing her back so he could kiss her again. Slid his hands down her sides, giving her bum a pinch, then hooking them under her thighs and lifting her to straddle on top of him. She’d looked down at him through her lashes, and his breath had hitched in his throat. He’d brushed some of her hair behind her ear, letting his thumb brush over her cheek. “I also love it when you take it all off at the end of the day. Because I love you.”

He cleared his throat, shook his head, sniffled, blinked away the tears, rubbed his eyes.

“Do you–” he cleared his throat again “–do you need any help?”

“No,” she replied from inside the bathroom. Then, “No, thank you.”

Not long after she came out, carrying a box. He got to his feet quickly, picked up two of the boxes with her clothes. She didn’t argue.

They went downstairs, he balanced the boxes and opened the door for her, then helped her over to her car. They did three rounds before her car was full, and he closed her trunk for her. Then he turned to her, his eyes locking with hers. It was clear they both wanted to say something, but neither did.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, and she covered her face with her hands.

“Please,” she whispered. “Please don’t.”

He took a deep breath and looked up at the dark sky, the sun having set hours ago. “I fucked up.”

She didn’t say anything, because there was nothing she could say. He had fucked up, badly. She knew it. He knew it.

“I–” She took a deep breath and quickly wiped away the few spilled tears. “I hate you.”

He winced as if she’d slapped him.

“I have spent countless hours, days, crying, trying to forgive you. To believe you when you said you loved me–”

“I do love you–”

“How could you?” she snapped, glaring at him. “How could you possibly love me, then go and screw some random girl?”

The tears were now flowing freely down both their faces.

“I…” He failed to answer, stumbling over his words.

“I hate you,” she cried, and he closed his eyes. “I hate you for everything you’ve put me through. For letting me open up to you, for making me love you, for making me happy. For giving you power over me.”

He looked away, wiping his nose with the sleeve of his jumper.

“I wasn’t like this. I was strong, independent. Never let anyone get close enough to hurt me. But you tore down all of my walls, you let me believe I was safe, and I would give anything to be able to forgive you. To be able to move on, move past this, but–” She choked on her own words, forcing herself a take a breath to soften the sobs. He turned back to her, regret and guilt in his eyes as he stared at her.

“Do you remember what you told me, when you asked me to be your girlfriend?” she asked.

He nodded.

“Say it,” she said, her tone icy.

He winced again. “I’ll never hurt you.”

“I was stupid for believing you, but I wanted so badly for you to be the one I would be happy with. The one I could always rely on, that would always be there for me, always have my back.”

“I meant it,” he said.

“You cheated on me!” she screamed, not caring if the neighbours heard her. “You cheated, Suresh.”

“I know,” he said and walked up to her. Their chests pressed together, their faces only a few inches apart. They could feel each other’s breath on their faces. They stared at each other through teary eyes. He dared cup her face with his hands, brush away the tears on her cheeks with his thumbs. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” she whispered, her hand reaching up to linger on his. Then she removed it from her face, placed her key in his palm, and took a step back. “That’s what hurts the most. I can’t forgive you. I can’t, I…” She took a deep breath. “I just can’t.”

He closed his eyes again and listened to her footsteps as she walked away. The car door opened and closed. The engine revved to life. Then she was gone.

He stepped back into the flat and closed the door behind him, leaning his forehead against it. He knitted his hands into fists, his knuckles whitening. The pain and guilt and rage built up inside his chest, and he gritted his teeth together as his fist smashed into the door, then again, and again, and again. He slipped to the floor, banging his head into the hard wood one, two, three times. Dragged a hand through his already tousled hair, not bothering to suppress his sobs. He stared up at the stairs, forced himself to climb them, stepped into the bedroom. Now his bedroom, no longer theirs. The mugs were still placed on the floor, no longer steaming. He didn’t want to remove the cup. It was, in a sad way, the last piece he had of her. Everything else was gone. Her clothes from the closet, her shampoo from the shower, her perfume from the dresser, her favourite mug from the kitchen. Her bedside table was cleared out, only his shoes occupying the hallway. He sat down, back against the bed, and picked up the mug he’d given her. She’d drank it all, as he knew she would. He held it tightly, as if he was trying to hold on to her, wishing, hoping, begging for this all to be a horrible nightmare he could wake up from. That he would find himself in bed next to her at any moment, her adorable light snoring and charming scrunched-up nose welcoming him as he woke.

But he was never going to experience that again, because he’d broken the best thing that had ever happened to him.

@future-mrs-suresh @luckyqueenreign

#litg fanfic #litg #litg2 #suresh #litg suresh

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moonlight-prose · 2 years

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EPIPHANIES IN DISGUISE

→ 01. OPEN AND SHUT

a/n: i've been gone from writing anything for this man for a long time, but i'm back and here with a new series. as someone who's been obsessed with mysteries since i was a kid, i had to write one with javi in it. this whole fic has been planned from start to end so i know how it will end, but it's up to you to figure out for yourselves what happens next. the journey begins now. enjoy!

summary: one call from steve changes javi's plans for retirement. one call from your friend changes your entire life.

word count: 4.6k+

pairing: javier peña x fem!reader

warnings: not explicit yet, angst, anxiety over a situation, blood (lots of blood), a knife wound, death, even more angst. i think that's it.

NEXT CHAPTER | SERIES MASTERLIST

PRESENT DAY; 1:00PM

He detested the stench of cigar smoke.

It’s why he chose cigarettes as the thing that would inevitably kill him. Although even he was trying to quit. Trying. He wasn’t succeeding. There was a difference. Well…at least for him there was. Wrinkling his nose as the shop owner lit up a cigar, he tried to keep the stab of annoyance to himself. He could handle a few more minutes in this cramped space, inhaling the scent that reminded him of childhood memories lost.

He couldn’t do it.

Pushing open the door he nearly stumbled over his own feet to breathe in some fresh air.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” he muttered, rumaging through his pocket for a nicotine patch and finding nothing but an empty box and a lighter.

While he no longer kept cigarettes on him at all times, he still carried a lighter. What for? He wasn't sure about that one. It held no sentimental value, wasn’t a gift from someone so carrying it was ridiculous. Except it reminded him of what he was trying to get away from – a habit that he indulged in because he couldn’t find anything else to rid himself of the madness that inhabited his mind. A constant echo of noise that never seemed to vanish.

“Drink. I need a drink,” he said under his breath, rubbing his forehead as he walked down the desolate street.

There wasn’t a lot to do in this town. Really there was nothing to do. Except he had to get out one way or another and either he walked around aimlessly, or he stayed home and helped rebuild the fence. A month of working outside – sweating profusely through every shirt he owned – felt like enough labor for a decade. Of course, that wouldn’t stop him from going back outside later when the sun finally retired for the night.

If he didn’t help, no one would.

Down the street he could hear the crackling music of a speaker that no longer technically worked from the open door of the bar. He didn’t hesitate to walk right in. Taking off his sunglasses, and leaving them to hang on the front of his shirt, he found the stool he usually occupied. Sure, it was a shit place. A hole in the wall bar, but it served good whiskey and these days that seemed to be in short supply.

“Hey Javi.” He greeted the bartender Freddie with a simple wave and a forced out grin. “How’s life been this week?”

He watched as the whiskey was set down in front of him and nearly wilted at the sight. Leave it to him to kick one addiction before another more dangerous one came by and caught his attention. He wouldn’t drink forever – a lie – but one right now one wouldn’t kill him. Also a lie. Downing the drink, he felt the craving for a cigarette fade slightly. Which only led him to signal for another, gaining a look from Freddie. Javier knew that look. Hell he had worn that look once before when it came to dealing with his superiors at work.

“I’m still alive,” he muttered, ignoring the vibrations coming from his cell phone.

“How’s everything at home?”

How exactly should he answer that question? Javier didn’t want to admit it, but he was bored with life. When he held his position at the DEA he at least was given work to do, but now…he couldn’t decide if he wanted to find another job or allow his life to waste away. Hell maybe he’d end up as a permanent bar goer. Residing in this very spot until he was old and gray.

“It’s-” Another buzz interrupted his words and he sighed, knowing he should have turned it off the second he stepped into town. “It’s life.”

The familiar name Steve popped up once more, giving him a small moment of hope. Getting to his feet, he tossed down some cash with a bit extra for Freddie’s conversation, and rushed out of the bar. The sun was already starting to go down. Somehow the day managed to run away from him faster now that he moved home, but he didn’t mind. Not when he felt like each day extended every time he woke up.

“This is Peña,” he said, the old tone he reserved for answering work calls came back the second he saw his old partner's name.

“Javi.” He felt himself deflate slightly at the sound of Steve’s voice. Finally, some semblance of normal had returned to his life with one simple phone call.

“Steve,” he replied, digging the keys to his dad’s car out of his pocket. “I’m guessing you’re not calling to congratulate me on retiring?”

His laugh came through the already shitty line. “No, no actually I need some help.”

Javier froze, hand paused on the wheel – the door still open – as the words registered. First and foremost when Steve called for help, he assumed the worst. It was a natural instinct that came with the job. One he couldn’t stop from happening. Like a flash of lightning he went over everything he saw in the news in the past few days; nothing horrific and certainly not enough to warrant a call from his friend.

“Is everything okay?”

“Yeah – well sort of.” Another pause had Javier’s heart hammering in his chest. “I’m in New York.”

He exhaled. “What the fuck are you doing over there?”

“Found a job,” he replied.

“So, you’re working with the big leagues?” The familiar rumble of the car’s engine turning over brought a sense of ease he needed. Especially after being caught off guard like that.

Steve chuckled, inaudible conversation echoing behind him. “Someone was murdered-”

“Do I call you Detective Murphy now?” Javier asked, putting Steve on speaker as he drove down the dirt roads.

“Not quite. It involved some pretty heavy drugs, so they asked for a DEA agent to assist them. Which is why I’m here.”

“So I’m congratulating you then,” he said, lips quirking upwards in amusement. “What am I doing to help you?”

The more he thought about it, the prospect of finally leaving this small town again left him with a pit in his stomach. Yet simultaneously a wave of relief. Ever since he was old enough to talk he wanted to be like his dad. He wanted to have the life of peace that his parents had, but the longer he stood amongst said peace he felt restless. The urge to flee always returned eventually, he just never thought it would be calling him there.

“I have another job that’s been offered to me – a government office job. Connie and I agreed it's better if I stay out of the field for a while. I offered you as my replacement.” A shout echoed behind him, the echo of a loud horn accompanying it.

Javier hadn’t heard city sounds in so long and maybe that’s what kept him from turning down the job. Did he want yet another job that kept him up at night; that tore more from him than he would ever get in return? Or did he just want another reason to run away? No matter what the truth was, he found himself saying yes before he turned the corner towards his home.

He couldn’t live here forever – no matter how many times he convinced himself that this was his destiny in life.

“Is there anything special about it I should know about?” Javier asked, stopping the car in the driveway, unable to get out yet.

“Not really.” He heard the familiar echo of papers flipping. “Other than the person they suspect as the murderer claims that they didn’t do it.”

Javier scoffed, shutting off the engine. “Don’t they always?”

“That they do. So can I tell them that you’re in?”

He watched the front door open as his pops stepped out to sit on the porch and watch the sunset. For the past few months he had joined him. Reminiscing on a time where his mother had been with them. He wanted to believe he was this man; a family man who stayed put when the job was done. Except even he knew – his life wasn’t at the point of retirement yet.

After all, the chaos had yet to begin.

“Yeah,” he said. “Tell them I’m in.”

YESTERDAY; 5:00PM

The blaring ringtone on your phone echoed off the walls of the elevator. Two more floors and you would finally be off work, free to do your own thing. Yet luck never did play in your favor. On the third floor down your boss decided to join you, talking incessantly about the presentation you meant to attend.

In all honesty you were preoccupied with talking your mother out of setting you up with yet another family friend. To her you were helpless in actually finding someone to love. A fact that wasn’t true in the slightest.

Or at least that’s what you liked to believe.

“Sorry,” you said, nearly dropping your bag as you rummaged for your phone. “It’s probably – oh shit fuck – my mom.”

The last thing you needed was for your boss to see what a disorganized human you were, but that seemed as inevitable as your mom trying to control your love life. Catching your boss staring at something, you followed to where his gaze fell. Staring up at you like a pink middle finger was one of your tampons. That sight alone was enough to have you shutting your eyes in horror.

What did you have to be horrified about?

Surely your married boss had seen a tampon before. Except the nausea inducing reminders of being ladylike, lessons from your mother, came rushing back. Every one of them.

“Sorry.” You repeated yourself in the hopes that the message would get across. Only to see he was smiling at you. At this point you weren’t sure if he found it amusing or if that smile screamed pity.

Instead of paying attention to him anymore, you grabbed the tampon and shoved it in your purse; the constant ringing of your phone still going in the background. You didn’t bother looking at who was calling – too stuck in your mind. Whether or not this situation would die down easily or you’d have to relive it over and over again, you didn’t know. All you knew was that you could ignore it for as long as possible.

Hopefully your boss would do the same.

The minor amount of luck you seemed to harbor came at exactly the right time as the elevator doors opened and let you out. Before your boss could acknowledge the situation entirely, you bolted. In the hopes that you wouldn’t have to come in contact with him again towards the near future.

“Hello?” you said, ignoring the chilled weather outside. You had forgotten your jacket in your apartment. Which meant you would have to deal with the cold.

The line clicked dead before you reached the end of the block. Searching through your recent calls you realized that Jasper had called you, but before you could call him back you were being shoved forward. You loved New York – you did. Except there times like this where you wished people were polite about crossing the street. Rather than have a full blown confrontation with the person, you swiftly walked across the street. Stewing in your annoyance.

The day couldn’t get any worse – you were sure of that. After handling a travesty at your job, the last thing you wanted was to endure that embarrassment in the elevator. Getting home was your number one priority at this point. You could deal with everything tomorrow when you would have to – inevitably – return to work.

It’s not like you despised where you worked, or even what you did, but some days felt like they dragged on for an eternity. Eventually there came a time where you preferred staying home rather than going into an office every damn day of the week. Your weekends were your only solace. Yet unfortunately for you – tomorrow was Tuesday.

Heading downstairs towards the subway, you didn’t feel the buzzing in your purse as someone called you again. Instead, you were focused on trying to get past people without tripping or running into them. It seemed that the place was busier than usual at this time of day. Either that or you managed to somehow get here earlier.

“Excuse me.” You stepped through the crowd, managing to jump on the subway seconds before they shut the doors.

Once more the buzzing in your purse went unnoticed by you. The sound of the subway moving drowned out everything else. If you had your headphones you’d put them in, blocking the deafening echo of the train, but you left them in your jacket pocket.

You were quick to start counting down the minutes until you were home.

Fifteen missed calls.

After getting in and tossing your purse on the bed to change clothes, you finally settled down to check your messages. You’d been planning on calling Jasper back. You just didn’t expect him to call you fifteen times. The panic set in faster than you expected – scenarios of what could have gone wrong now playing through your mind. It must be bad if he was spamming you with calls, one right after the other until you picked up the phone. You should have picked up the phone.

Shoving your feet into your sneakers, you grabbed your keys and wallet – not bothering with your bag. The phone rang on speaker as you moved quickly through your apartment, only to come to his voicemail. So you tried again and again and again. Until you had surpassed him on the number of missed calls he sent you. If he wasn’t answering the phone either he didn’t have it near him, or things were wrong.

Being the paranoid person you were – you settled on the second option and rushed out the door. You figured it was better to show up at his place and have nothing be wrong than to ignore it and hear the bad news tomorrow.

“Taxi!” you screamed – loud enough that the people walking behind you jumped.

Normally, you would have apologized. You seemed to always apologize for something and that would have been no exception. Only now you couldn’t be bothered for the reactions other people had towards you. A friend might possibly be in danger and that left you with a sick feeling in your chest that quickly spread to your stomach.

You knew Jasper wouldn’t have called that many times unless something happened. He rarely called you regardless. Texting seemed to be the easier route to reach him and you never questioned why; you just went along with it. Digging your phone out of your pocket, you began to dial a different number, mumbling to yourself as the phone rang.

“Hello?” her voice came through clearly, giving you a small sense of relief.

“Ria,” you said, jolting when the driver hit the brakes harder than necessary. “What the fuck! Have you heard from Jasper today?”

“Is everything okay?” You could hear her shuffling in the background, most likely walking through her apartment.

You pinched the top of your nose, trying not to let the situation get to you even further. Maybe you were overreacting. A part of you considered turning back and waiting to see what happened, but something in your gut kept you from doing that.

“I’m worried about him. He called me fifteen times and I’m not sure if I should be panicking or-”

“Okay,” she cut in. “Breathe first before you pass out.”

She was right. Deeply inhaling, you tried to let go of the incessant worry that ate at your insides. He was fine. He had to be.

Ria’s voice brought you back down to Earth. “I saw him a few hours ago. We got drinks after his shift ended.”

You smiled, feeling your chest lighten as she said the words. “Did he seem okay? He usually doesn’t call on the phone.”

“As far as I could tell. He did have a few too many drinks, but I figured it was because he had a hard day at work.”

“Should I check on him just in case?” you asked, trying to keep your voice steady.

Ria’s confirmation of Jasper’s appearance left you feeling better about the situation and yet still…something felt wrong. This might just be you losing your mind after a stressful day. You couldn’t tell at this point.

“If it will make you feel better then sure. He might need someone else to talk to. He didn’t really tell me much earlier,” she replied, the calm nature of her tone giving you something to latch onto.

There was a reason Ria was your best friend. In college – with the stress of life and school combining – you needed someone who understood. She just happened to be that person; even now she kept you from losing your senses completely. You inhaled deeply again, trying to calm the slight racing of your heart as the taxi pulled up towards Jasper’s apartment building. What was the harm in checking on him? It would ease your worries and like Ria said, he might need someone to talk to.

“I’m here,” you said, handing the man what cash you had left in your wallet. “I’ll call you later.”

“Tell him I said hi,” she responded, the smile prominent in her voice.

Tucking your phone into your back pocket, you found the spare key he gave you in case of emergencies. You hoped that you wouldn’t have to actually use it, but you were nothing if not prepared. Neighbors you recognized greeted you on your way up, asking you about your day and making small talk. Most of it you forgot the second it was over, but Jasper’s next door neighbor Mrs. West words caught you off guard.

“What did you say?” you asked, turning to face her as the elevator slowly made its way up to the eighth floor.

“Oh just that his new girlfriend is quite the looker.”

Girlfriend…

“Jasper doesn’t have a girlfriend,” you said. Or at least he never told you about one.

She paused, glancing at your obviously disheveled appearance. “Well…all I know is she was blonde. Never got a good look at her face, but he sure liked her from the way he smiled.”

You felt like an idiot. Of course. Jasper never made phone calls, but what if he wasn’t the one using his phone. You figured he would find someone eventually. After all you hoped for it. Only if this person was calling you from his phone for absolutely no reason, you weren’t sure if she thought you and him were together, or he actually did call you. Somehow your brain switched gears entirely. Rather than nearing a level of serenity where you were prepared for whatever you found – you were panicked once more.

“Thanks for the information.” You offered Mrs. West a smile as the elevator doors opened to his floor. “Have a good night!”

Jasper had a girlfriend. Definitely not what you expected to hear tonight, but it was better than all the scenarios that ran through your mind on the way here. If he had a girlfriend that meant he was safe. So, you smoothed your sweater down in the hopes of looking partially presentably. Enough to meet someone new and make a good impression.

You spotted his door down the hallway. The ongoing debate of staying or going home seemed to spark back up in your mind the closer you got. You could go home right now. Write this off as you being paranoid for a friend and stop at a store to buy some wine. Only the longer you stood in front of the door, the more you felt like you had to follow through with this. You had to see he was okay with your own eyes.

Knocking, you felt a tightening sensation begin in your chest.

Silence followed, drawing up your worry yet again. You could have left; turned around and forgot this whole situation. You were about to, feeling stupid about your emotions – only to hear something.

“Jasper?” you called through the door, hoping he could hear you.

A crash echoed from the inside, striking you with panic. The spare key was being slotted into the lock before you could debate once more about staying or going. You turned the door handle, breathing slowly to keep your heart from leaping in your chest. That sound could have meant a number of things. He might have dropped something or ran into a wall.

Ria always told you to never jump to conclusions, but at a time like this it was difficult actually following her words.

“Jasper is that you?” you asked, heading towards his bedroom. “You called me earlier. I just wanted to see if you were-”

The words died in your throat as you watched him stumble out of the bathroom, his hands clutching a knife that was embedded in his stomach. Your own stomach turned at the sight of his blood dripping down his forearms – leaving a trail on his hardwood floor. He choked out your name, attempting to walk towards you, but landing on his knees.

You didn’t think twice about the blood or the fact that he was clearly still drunk from earlier. All you could focus on was the thought that you had to save him. There was still time; there had to be. Falling to your knees beside him, you helped him lay on the floor – shoving a pillow that was beside the bed under his head.

“Wh–What happened?” you stammered, forcing down the bile that rose in the back of your throat.

The smell of his blood stung the inside of your nose. You weren’t sure you would ever forget that scent after today. Staring at the knife he still held onto, you recalled old cop shows saying to never pull it out. That would cause the wound to bleed profusely, killing the person even faster. So, you grabbed a towel, pressing it into the wound as you reached for your phone.

“It’s okay,” you muttered, trying to ignore how his blood was practically dripping from your hands. “You–You’re going to be okay. I’m going to call an ambulance.”

“B–bud.” His voice snapped you back to the present.

“I swear you’re going to–” Fighting back the sharp sting of tears, you forced a smile to your face. “You’ll be okay Jasper,” you whispered, cupping his face even though his blood remained on your skin.

“I’ll–I’ll be se–seeing you,” he choked out, his lips pulling tight in a grin that resembled a grimace.

You never thought you’d have to hear him say those words to you. You wished more than anything that you showed up an hour earlier. Anything to prevent this from happening, from him actually fulfilling the only promise he ever made to you. The same one you made him. Your phone dinged, alerting you of an ambulance heading your way, but even you knew – Jasper would never see the outside of this room again.

“You just have to hold on a little longer. The–they’re on their way.”

He tugged lightly on your arm, his eyes shifting around as his breaths began to grow shallow. You made a promise; he was reminding you of that. So, leaning forward, you pressed your forehead to his, allowing the tears to fall freely. One last goodbye – one last embrace.

“I’ll be seeing you,” you breathed, holding back the sob that nearly forced its way to the surface.

You felt it the moment he finally let go. His eyes fluttered shut, arm slumping beside him as a breath washed across your face – his last one. For a moment you waited with baited breath in the hopes of hearing him inhale again; of feeling his heart thump beneath your skin. Instead, you were left with the harsh slice of nothing. A sob tore from your chest, filling the near deafening silence as you practically lay over his body.

“Jasper?” you asked softly, trying to stir him awake.

This wasn’t real. None of it was. It couldn’t be.

Only he never woke up and there you were, staring at his peaceful face – a knife still protruding from his stomach. One you recognized, but couldn’t exactly place. You figured it didn’t belong to him, or maybe it did. At this point you couldn’t even tell whether or not you were awake or dreaming.

Oh – how you hoped you were simply stuck in a nightmare.

You weren’t sure how long you knelt there, staring into space with a dead look in your eyes. Hours could have gone by before you were stirred by the thumping outside of the apartment. Had you locked the door? You couldn’t remember and at this point that felt like the least of your problems. Something in you had snapped, leaving you numb to whatever happened around you.

The door slammed open as police officers and firefighters entered the room. All of them pausing at the sight of you there. You lifted your hands, hoping that if you shut your eyes tight enough, all of this would go away. You wouldn’t be kneeling on the floor beside your friend. His blood – still soaking into your jeans and covering your hands.

Only now it was too late. You were being told to lift your hands as the officers headed towards you; one coming up behind you. A part of you wanted to tell them what happened; how you tried to help him – keep him alive while they got here – but you were stuck. Unable to even open your eyes, because the sight of Jasper remained before you.

It was the cold touch of handcuffs on your wrists that yanked you out of your state of shock – shoving you back to reality. “I didn’t do this,” you said, your voice cracking with emotion.

“You have the right to remain silent-”

Once again you spoke up, fighting against his hold. “I didn’t do this! I swear. I didn’t-”

“Save it for questioning,” the officer grumbled behind you.

You nearly tripped over your own feet as he roughly shoved you out of the apartment, the hallway slowly filling up with neighbors and officers. Sobbing silently, you bit down on your bottom lip until the taste of copper filled your mouth. You shouldn’t be here; this shouldn’t be happening.

He pushed you forward again, pausing as two men practically sauntered into the hallway. “Murphy,” the officer greeted. “The victim’s inside.”

“His name is Jasper,” you snapped, feeling another wave of tears nearly spill over.

Glancing to your side, you caught the sight of Mrs. West standing by her door – a distraught look on her face. It felt like an eternity had passed since you were standing in that elevator with her. Perhaps it had. That seemed like that only sensible conclusion you could come to as you stood there – in handcuffs.

Trying to keep yourself from shattering even further, you breathed evenly – repeating Mrs. West’s words in your mind. He had a girl with him before you. There was someone else. Proof you didn’t do this. Except the reality of your situation only seemed to weigh on you even more with each step towards the elevator.

His blood was literally on your hands.

To any other person that meant one thing. This was an open and shut case; which meant one more thing.

You were fucked.

#javier peña #javier peña x fem!reader #javier peña x you #javier peña x y/n #javier peña fic #javer peña one shot #javier peña fanfiction #pedro pascal #my writing #i'm nervous af to post this #so if it flops then you didn't see it

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gryffindors-weasley · 3 years

Text

For The Very First Time

Sirius Black x Reader

Summary: Sirius Black just might be more sentimental than you think when he takes you on a trip down memory lane.

Prompt used: “Sorry how do you spell that?”

Word Count: 4.1k

Warnings: mild angst, smoking, fluff, kissing

A/N: This is for @sweeterthansammy ’s 1k writing challenge! I hope you enjoy. Flash backs are italicized, and the prompt I used is bolded!

The weather was a little bit chillier now that the sun was dipping down in the sky, chilly enough for a sweater or a light jacket. Something you didn’t have much time to think about with the spontaneity of Sirius’ plans and just how urgent he’d been making them out to be. Really, there was no rush and he knew that, of course he knew that, but he was far too eager for his own good and you knew that.

You were certain he’d under dressed when you found him standing by the front door, leaning against the frame in that tattered old jean jacket. The one there’s no chance in him getting rid of, not in a million years. It’s got a myriad of holes here and there in the faded, washed out denim, the cuffs having seen better days as the frayed material dangles down half torn. A miscellaneous pin from James is still on there, even that bright yellow smiley face is stuck on the collar that you’d put there ages ago. It was more than a well worn article of clothing, that much was for sure.

You managed to break away from James and Lily’s conversation, more so Lily, and any other time you wouldn’t have minded a single bit. You absolutely wouldn’t have, but with Sirius calling you from the floor below in the small Potter home, you find yourself having no choice but to give in to saving the conversation for later in favor of quieting the raven haired wizard.

You walk down the stairs until equally tattered converse come into view, then those same old black denim jeans, the those frayed jean jacket cuffs. You smell the distinct smell, something that’d only further been confirmed as you reach the very last step.

“Either I’m a fool, or time just stopped,” he says, flicking the ashes from his cigarette as he smiled down at you.

The corner of your mouth quirks up, the kind of smile he knows isn’t a hundred percent sweet.

“I think you’re just a fool, Pads,” you say, that smile widening a fraction. There it is. He walked right into that one and he knew it, rolling his eyes. “And I don’t think Mr. Potter would approve of you smoking in his beloved family home.”

“Which is exactly why I’m standing outside,” he grins before bringing the cigarette back to his lips, throwing his hands up as he takes one step backwards through the threshold of the doorway just so he can officially say that he is in fact outside and not at all breaking the rules of the residence.

Sirius Black liked to bend the rules when he could, he liked to walk on the wild side just about every chance he got no matter how trivial it may be. He claims it’s the only way to be, claims that’s what having fun is all about and anything less is boring. Nonchalance is simply in his nature.

“Yeah, I’ll bet you are,” you counter, hopping off the very last step when he tugged on your hand to urge you out the door.

He pulled the door shut behind him and stopped you in your tracks, making you turn on your heel before you could take another step forward. You look up at him with a narrowed gaze and await an explanation as to just why it is he’s gone and stopped you when all he’s done the past ten minutes is tell you how desperately he’d wanted to go. So you stand and your stare and you watch as smoke blows past parted lips, lips that quirk upwards in a smile as he looks at you.

In that moment, he dips down, pressing his lips on yours in a kiss that’s as smoky as ever and the gesture alone has your smile pressing into his kiss. A smile that’s genuine just as much as it’s teasing.

“I thought we had somewhere to be?” You say, breaking away as you look up at him with a raised brow.

“We do,” he says, taking another puff before you snag the cigarette right from between his fingers, dropping it to the little stone walkway before putting it out beneath your boot.

You take notice of his pursed lips that fight a smile, at the squinted gaze he’s got set on you as you spin on your heel and walk ahead, leaving him to stand there and stare after you for a fleeting moment or two. You’ve got all the amusement in the world sitting on your expression and he doesn’t even need to see it to know it, he can tell just by simply hearing the laugh fall from your lips. He can see it as he catches up to you within a second’s time.

“How very rude of you,” he says in faux offense, but it’s not too long before you feel the tips of his fingers brushing against yours.

“How very generous of me,” you counter, and his scoff doesn’t go unheard.

The next time you look up at him, he’s got those sunshine yellow shades on, those obnoxiously yellow sunglasses that sit on his nose seemingly more often than not. James had gotten them for him at the town fair just a few years back, a gift just for laughs that he’d gotten with the rest of his tickets. They were bright and they were bold and very much fitting for the year nineteen-eighty-one, but he’d gone and kept them. Of course he did.

Sirius Black kept every single thing his friends have ever given him no matter how ridiculous or trivial it may have seemed. Even when he was just a child still stuck in his dreaded family home, he’d saved a shoe box from a pair of dress shoes he absolutely hated wearing, one pair of dozens that inevitably got scuffed up just a little too much for the liking of his parents before they’d gone and bought him a new pair to look more presentable for the family image. Aside from that, he’d kept a shoe box, one that he had tucked under his bed.

Inside were all the letters that James and Remus had sent him by owl over summer break, each and every letter even if it was simply James complaining about some nonsensical thing or a joke or if it was Remus writing to see if he’d gotten his Hogwarts letter yet. He kept all of them. He kept the four leaf clover James had stumbled upon, and he kept that special quill Remus had swiped from Snape. He never knew his best friend had a knack for being mischievous until that moment.

He’d read those letters on his best nights and his worst, read them just for so. They were tattered and worn at the creases where they were folded, but he didn’t plan on getting rid of them any time soon.

Over the years that sentimental collection grew and grew, adding to it a myriad of pressed flowers and leaves from Lily, and bookmarks from Remus, postcards from James that were the absolute most ridiculous he could find. You added to it with miscellaneous letters and a guitar pick you thought he might like. He never used it, he didn’t want to ruin it. He kept that feather boa you’d found and even that lucky coin. He kept it all.

Sirius Black was more sentimental than he let on, he’s got a softer heart than he showcased to most, he kept every one of those things no matter how stupid or trivial it may seem to someone else. But he’d never in a million years admit it. James had found it once, but he never said a word about it.

“You never did tell me where we’re going,” you say, kicking a pebble out of your way as you walked along the cracked sidewalk.

“I believe that’s the point of a surprise, love,” he says, and you catch his smile as you look up at him, lips pursed as you nudge him with your elbow.

“You’re terrible at surprises,” you tease, your smile in your voice and had he not been wearing those sunglasses at sunset, you’d have been able to see his eye roll. But you knew him well enough to know he’d gone and done it regardless of the visual confirmation.

“Have I ever told you you’re a pain?” He asked, his chuckle following his words as he grins ahead, glancing down at you briefly.

“Yes, and I take that as a compliment,” you say, hearing his continued laughter as he shakes his head.

You try and put the pieces together, try and pick up any hints to put together any form of information that just might lead you in the direction of where you could possibly be going. It was in town, that you knew for certain. It was somewhere, local otherwise he’d have taken Mr. Potter’s car. The attire was no use in a giveaway because there was not a single chance there’d be an occasion where you’d find Sirius taking you somewhere in which you’d need to dress to the nines. The days of pristine suits and freshly polished shoes were far behind him, he hated dressing up with everything that he had.

He didn’t even dress up above and beyond for James and Lily’s wedding; well, he did, but he dressed down his suit with a half loosened tie that wound up being a headband and that tattered pair of converse. And he even wore those same old yellow sunglasses.

It was early evening, and things don’t tend to stay open for that much longer, so that narrows things down just a little bit more. Makes things just a little bit clearer, but it all proved to be not as helpful as you’d like it to be.

The small town was dotted with street lamps casting the area in a warm glow as it began to get darker and darker outside. The surrounding trees held reddening leaves that dropped and fluttered to the ground when the breeze sifted through them. And it’s only then that it hits you, the smell of coffee and spice that wafts through the air the closer you get. The sweetened air the closer you got. You even heard that familiar little clang of the bell over the door.

It wasn’t until then that you’d realized that maybe this was his surprise, that it absolutely was judging by the way he’d been biting the inside of his cheek to stifle his grin.

“Sirius Black, is this what I think it is?” You ask, your brow raised as the corner of his mouth quirks upwards.

Your question is answered when that smile breaks through, when you do indeed stop in front of the door to that ever familiar coffee shop and he holds the door open for you to step inside. It’s noticeably warmer than the chilly weather outside, cozier than ever as the smell of coffee washes over you. It looked just the same as when you were here last, felt just as inviting as it always did.

There were a few carved pumpkins sitting outside the door, an assortment of fall decorations littering inside the small shop. Each of the little wooden tables have cozy orange table cloths, and string lights are hung. The entirety of the shop smelled like fall festive drinks and what was left of the pumpkin rolls and muffins, not to mention the sweeter than sweet scented candles that were lit.

He tugged on your hand as he stepped up to the counter.

“Can I get a black coffee with two creams and a hot chocolate?” He asks, dropping your hand to dig around for his wallet in the pocket of his jacket.

That was another thing, Mr. Potter had gifted him that very same wallet a handful of years ago. It was a hand-me-down, but that was the least of his concerns when he was given the leather wallet. He didn’t care about the scratches or worn corners. That was the first real gift he’d ever gotten that had true thoughtfulness behind it.

He remembered your order like the back of his hand, and he’d gotten the same thing every single time.

The drinks were ready in no time and he put some money on the counter with a little extra for a tip, handing you yours as he headed towards that ever familiar table tucked away in the corner by the window.

He ran his hand through his hair, sitting those sunglasses back on the top of his head once more to push his hair out of his face. Your smile was fond as you looked at him, a stubborn chunk of black hair dipping over his forehead and brushing against the tip of his nose anyway.

“Remember this place, love?” He asks, a knowing smile playing on his lips.

“As if I’d ever forget,” you say, a laugh leaving your lips.

Of course you did, it was hard to forget the one and only place you’d met Sirius black in a few years back.

It was a hectic afternoon, customer after customer flooding into the coffee shop especially now that the fall season was sweeping in at last. Things were always busy around this time of year, things were always busy around this time of day, so you’d come to expect the rush hour by now after all this time you’ve worked there.

Things were fairly simple once you got the hang of it, once you were able to do things with a practiced ease and it made the line of customers a little bit easier to move along. Most of them you knew by name, most of them you knew their orders because they never failed to get the very same thing each and every day that they came in. Some of them came in every day, some of them came in every week, some of them even had a select day of the week that they stopped in for their usual order.

It was one of the things you liked about working there. The regular customers were friendly as ever and made the workload a little easier given the prior knowledge of just what they get and how they like it, and it makes the time fly just a little bit faster.

The day hadn’t been your finest, you’d gone and spilled half a cup of hot chocolate on your apron, one you didn’t have the time to swap out and you’re quite sure you’d still had a smear of flour on your face from catching up on baking that morning before opening time. But that clumsiness was only in your nature and it was everything you expected from yourself.

“Y/n, can you cover up front? There’s someone waiting.”

That clumsiness only heightened at the sight of a new face, one you don’t believe you’ve seen frequent the shop before. He’s got a mess of black hair he keeps tucking behind his ear, yellow sunglasses dangling from the collar of a Queen t-shirt as his gaze focuses out of the window to his left. He’s got a pack of cigarettes tucked in the front pocket of his jean jacket and pin on the other.

You quit your staring, you quit while you were ahead as you smoothed your coffee stained apron.

“What can I get for you today?” You ask, capturing his attention as he looks at you.

You swallow thickly as your gaze meets gray eyes, a half smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. You take notice of the dimple in his chin and the strands of dark hair that dip down over his forehead as he leans against the counter.

“Just a black coffee with two creams, please,” he says.

“Your name?”

“Sirius.”

You nod with a smile as you snag a cup and the marker from your pocket, turning on your heel to head towards the coffee as you uncapped your marker before you very quickly made that realization and spun back around. In the process, you nearly tripped over your own two feet and you can feel the heat blossoming in your cheeks.

“Sorry, how do you spell that?” You ask, biting the inside of your cheek.

You hear the softness of chuckle as he looks at you, surprisingly not out of mocking even with the way you just made a fool of yourself in front of him. He spelled it out for you with a smile, and you turned away without tripping this time. You made his drink just how he’d asked, your heart racing in your chest the entirety of the two minutes it took to make it as you thought about his smile.

You tried your best to stall, to steal a little bit more time before you had to go back to the counter to face him once more. To give yourself a little more time to let the heat in your cheeks cool off.

You pressed on the lid to his cup and took a breath, turning around and heading back to the counter where he stood leaning against it still.

“One coffee with two creams for Sirius,” you say, setting the to-go cup on the counter as he dug around his pocket for some money.

He counted it out in his palm as his hair fell in his eyes, quickly brushed away as he ran his hand through his hair and set the money down in exchange for his drink, and a little extra for a tip.

You notice the way his gaze lingers on you for a little bit longer, you notice it as the seconds pass and your heart races. It lingers on you and you can see the way the corner of his mouth quirks up as he does, spinning the cup in his hand out of an absentminded habit as his gray gaze finally meets yours.

“You’ve got a little something on your face, love,” he says, pointing to his own cheek as a signal for your own face.

Your hand shoots up immediately to swipe across your cheek, the heat in your face flooding back once more as you swipe your fingers across your skin, pulling back to see that dreaded flour on your face that you knew was bound to be there from that morning.

“Oh, uh, thank you,” you say with a laugh and a smile, his following soon after as he nods.

There’s a sort of tension that simmers as you meet his gaze once more, as it bounces to his smile and you’re not quite sure if time actually stopped or if this is some cliche moving moment happening to you in the middle of your shift, or neither and you’re just being ridiculous. That, it’s probably that one.

Either way, you find yourself interrupted by the ding of the bell to your side on the counter from a customer growing impatient, a call of your name sounding over your shoulder just behind you. It all brings you back to reality.

“Have a nice day, Sirius,” you say, watching as he nods.

“I’ll see you around.”

With that, he offers you that same smile that had your mind on it for a ridiculous amount of time, that smile that made your heart race, and he turned away and headed out that door with a little ding of the bell over the door. He headed down the sidewalk as he snagged a cigarette from his pocket, lighting it before he disappeared around the corner.

“You’re thinking about it, aren’t you?” Sirius asks, grabbing your attention as he gazes at you over the rim of his cup, gray eyes full of amusement.

“About what?” You ask, playing into it with a half smile even though you know you’re bound to be met with a tease.

“That time you tripped over your own two feet. I mean, do I really have that effect on people, love?” He jest, feeling you kick his foot just under the table.

There it is.

“Must you be so cocky, Pads?” You ask, your gaze glimmering with amusement as you purse your lips.

“I’m afraid I must,” he says.

You roll your eyes as you sip on your drink, eyeing the smile forming on his lips. “What?”

He chuckles as he shakes his head, his gaze dropping down as he swirls his drink in his hands and bites the inside of his cheek. His stare is more amused than ever as he looks at you again, that same lingering gaze set on you in the very same way it had been all those years ago and you knew it couldn’t have meant anything good. If it was anything like that very first time, you were bound to feel your cheeks grow hot even though you’ve known the troublemaker for years.

He doesn’t say anything at first, quiet as he lifts his hand and swipes it across the top of your lip and all the way to the corner of your mouth. He’s just as amused as he wipes away some hot chocolate that’s been left behind from your sip, his chuckle immediate.

“You’ve got a little something on your face, love,” he says, and you hear that teasing tone in his voice that he’s always got, that mischief dancing in his eyes.

“I truly think it’s you that’s the pain,” you huff, biting back your smile.

He chuckles. “‘S that so?”

You nod as you smile at him. “Very much so.”

He bites his lip momentarily as he looks at you, that pesky chunk of his hair falling back down in his face. “I take that as a compliment.”

He used your earlier words, of course he did, that’s just how Sirius Black is. Taunting and teasing in the most lighthearted of ways and that’s something that’s always been so, that’s something that always will be so forever and ever.

He’s got the tip of the arm of his sunglasses between his teeth, having given up on using them to hold back his hair as he looks around the little coffee shop where it all began, as he looks out the window at passers by, the corner of his mouth quirking up when he feels your gaze on him. It widens a fraction as he feels you get up, feels you swing around the edge of the table to take a seat in the booth bench next to him rather than sit across from him.

You’re quiet for a few moments as you rest your head on his shoulder. The foot traffic in the shop was dwindling as it neared closing time, growing less and less busy until it was starting to become just the two of you there. But you weren’t so focused on the details, not when you’ve been in your own little world with the one stealing your attention right next to you as you sat in your usual booth in the corner.

This was it, this was where it all began, this was where you’d met the chaos that is Sirius Black. The chaos that’s brought nothing but good into your life, nothing but a thrilling excitement that only he could bring.

You lift your head and look up at him, his gaze falling on you within a moment’s time. You see that smile, that smile that makes your heart race a mile a minute. You see it and you mirror it as you look at him. It’s only a matter of seconds before you lean up and press a kiss to his lips, soft and sweet and tasting of hot chocolate and coffee and a little bit of that smoke that never quite left his lips.

You kiss him before you wrap your hands around your cup, feeling his eyes on you. You take a sip as you stifle your smile, the arm of his glasses between his teeth once more as that smile he’s got remains as you look at him. You smile when you look away, head shaking as you nudge his foot with yours.

This is where it all began a handful of years ago. This is where you met Sirius Black for the very first time.

—

Tags: @nancybycrs @pogueslandia @hahee154hq @snitches-at-dawn @writeroutoftime @awritingtree @lilypad-55449 @medalloway-blog @vicouscirce @mon4907 @violetrainbow412-blog

#sammy's 1k celebration #sirius black #sirius black fluff #sirius black x reader #sirius black oneshot #sirius black x you #sirius black imagine #sirius black fic #sirius black fanfiction

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luimagines · 3 years

Note

Hey, could we get the boys kissing the reader please?

Masterlist

Absolutely!

If the reader gets to give the boys kisses, it's only fair that they get kisses in return!

Fair warning, these are more or less platonic.

Content under the cut!

Twilight

“Twilight I think I died.” You blurt out one day.

Twilight stops what he was doing and tilts his head on your direction. “Run that by me again?”

“This is all a dream isn’t it?” You gulp and pull your hair a bit to feel something. “Did I die? Am I dying? How do I know you’re real?”

Twilight pauses and puts his things down. He walks toward you and puts his hands on your shoulders. “What on earth are you talking about?”

“Before I met you, I got hurt...bad... And I had a dream.” You say.

Twilight then bends down and kisses you nose.

The action stuns you and you blink in an attempt to process the absurdity of it.

“Did that ever happen in your dream?” Twilight bites his lip to keep himself from smiling. This was supposed to be serious- you might have been having a crisis.

“No?” You answer with a small child like shake to your head.

“Then you’re not dreaming.” Twilight answers simply.

“Is that how that would work?” You reply.

“Do you want it to?”

“Yes.” You nod and walk with Twilight to help him out with his earlier chores. “I don’t like thinking of the alternative.”

“It’s you’re dreaming I’m sure our group is more than wiling to find ways to induce your awakening.”

“Like what?”

“Throw you off a cliff? Set you on fire? Get the cuccos nice and angry-”

“I’ll take your method over that thank you very much.”

Wind

“It can’t be that bad.” You roll your eyes and put your hand son your hips. “Why do you hate it so much?”

“It’s the principle of the thing.” Wind explained. “If I went back home and they found out I did this, I would never be able to live it down.”

“Would you do it for a Scooby Snack?” You ask instead with a teasing grin on your lips.

“I don’t know what that is.”

“Is that a yes or a no?”

“Please don’t make me.” Wind whines. “I’d do anything.”

“If it’s any consolation, it’s not my idea either.” You sigh and cross your arms instead. “But the faster we do it the faster we can get it over with. It’s not like we have to talk about it ever again.”

“No please-” Wind gets onto his knee, saying your name and crawling to you that way. “-You’re my last hope. Don’t let this be the end of it.”

“Now you’re just being dramatic.”

Wind grabs your hands places a clumsy kiss on your fingers as he pleads. “Can’t it be anyone else? Please! Please, please please please please!”

“Oh my goodness! OK! I’ll go talk to Time and Twilight and see if we can get Legend to do it or something.”

“Yeeees.”

Hyrule

“My everything hurts.” You whined and rolled over, grasping your side in a vain attempt to relieve the pressure there. “Was I stabbed? I feel like I was stabbed.”

“You were, in fact, not stabbed.” Hyrule kneels by your side and lifts your hand to access the wounded area a bit better. “But you did land really harshly on the rock below us. So try to take it easy for a minute, ok? We’ll have you fixed up in no time.”

“Who is this we you speak of?” You sigh as the pain lessens and take a deep breath, trying to sit yourself up. “I just see you.”

“Yeah, Wild is on his way over, so it’s about to be we.” Hyrule snickers.

“I see... Thank you ‘Rulie.” You smile a bit and loosen up your muscles. “How did I even fall to begin with?”

“Bad bomb placement.”

“Ah.” You say, as if that answers your question. “Well that explains everything then.”

Hyrule looks up at you and sees your face. “You’ll be ok.”

“I mean I hope so.” You shrug and Hyrule leans in to place a small kiss on your forehead.

“Wha-”

“Magic enhancer. Good for one extra minute of healing time.”

“You’re a dork.”

“You love it.”

Warrior

“I hate this.” You groaned as you walked through the dungeon. “Why are we here again?”

“Because we have a mission to clear the darkness and this is a hotspot. We clear this area and then we can move on to the next until we’re all done.” Warrior shrugs, fully understanding the sentiment but not wanting to ruin his reputation.

“This suuuuucks.”

“I knoooow.” He snickers.

“You’re making fun of me but I know you feel the same way.” You tilt your head back and look at him by shifting your eyes.

“Yeah but you don’t see me complaining.”

You groan louder in response, purely out of spite at this point and shove him slightly by the shoulder.

“Is there anything I can do to make it better?” Warrior asked teasingly.

“I want a sick prize at the end.”

“I can wager in a kiss.”

“Not from you.”

“No?” Warrior laughs louder and spin on his heel, walking backwards as he talks to you just a little ways ahead from where you are. “Am I not worth enough?”

“I have only the highest of standards.” You deadpan.

“I’ll have you know that my kisses are completely worth it.” Warrior twirls his hand upwards for fan fair.

“Doubt it.”

“I’ll prove it.”

“Doubt it.” You grin.

Warrior rolls his eyes but lets you catch up to him before leaning over suddenly and kissing on your hair line.

“Cheap shot.” You snort and push him away. “You’ll have to do harder than that. I bet the prize at the end is cooler anyway.”

“Tough crowd.”

Time

“Time, would you be a dear and help me out with one little thing?” You called out, fighting one of the knots that kept your bag to Epona’s side but Twilight was no where to be found so it’s not like he could help you.

Time looked up and saw you struggling with the bag and the rope that held it in place. An amused smile crossed his face and he got up to make his way over to you.

You huff and stomp your foot when it refuses to let go just in time as the man himself makes it to your side. “What seems to be the problem?”

“I can’t get my bag out!” You whine. “Twilight does such ridiculous knots and I can’t figure it out.”

“Let me see.” Time rolls his eye and steps into your space, checking at the problem in front of him.

It was way more complicated than Time would think Twilight would purposefully do. It looked staged.

Luckily he knows his pup well and managed to get it untangled with seconds.

“How?” You frown and pout. “How did you do that? I thought I would have needed to get my knife or Legend to get rid of the spell.”

“Twilight doesn’t like spells or magic in general.” Time smirks and sees the opportunity in front of him.

You reach out your hand to take the bag with a sigh. “Yeah, yeah I know. Thank you, I was getting frustrated.”

Time grabs your hand with his free hand, bringing it up his lips and places a kiss on your knuckles. “A hero’s work is never done.”

“A-ah.” You blush with wide eyes. “Right.”

Wild

“I have no idea where to go from here.” Wild sighs and places his hands on his hip, keeping the wooden spoon angled away from his clothes.

“What’s up? Need help?” You stand up and walk toward him.

“The stew needs something. But I don’t know what.” Wild huffs and chews on his lips as he thinks.

“Salt?”

“I don’t know. Maybe?” He picks up his slate and takes the rock out, chipping small pieces off before stirring to dissolve it.

He brings the wooden spoon to his lips to taste it but he doesn’t seem satisfied with the result. “It’s better but not enough.”

“Can I try?” You offer and move closer to the pot.

He sighs and gives you the spoon with a bit of the broth. It’s delicious as expected but he’s right. A bit lackluster.

You smack your lips together and move it around on your tongue and try to figure it out. “Maybe Goron spice? Not enough to feel obviously but anything spicy tends to heighten existing flavors.”

Wild thinks about it before going through with your suggestion. He stirs for a hot minute before his eyes light up at the taste.

He spin to you with enough force to startle you, but before you can move away he grab your face with his hands and brings you forward giving you a whopping kiss onto your forehead. “That’s just what it needed. Thank you!”

You wobble for a moment when he pushy you away but you smile regardless. “You’re welcome.”

Legend

“And here we have the best of the rest, Mr. Fancyprance Mcfickle Bottom.” Legend knelt to the ground after speaking and place a kiss on the back of your hand.

“I take it back. We’re doomed. We’re never going to be able to sneak into the gala.” You lament and take your hand out of his gasp.

“How dare you doubt my acting skills.”

“Can you at least try to take this seriously?” You stress. “This is a big moment for the kingdom, if one thing goes wrong tonight, we’re all going to pay the price.”

“It’s not like any one going to die if we don’t do well toni-”

“Did you not read the note?” Your stare widens. “I can’t believe you. There’s going to be an assassination attempt. It’s why we’re even going to begin with!”

Legend pauses as he considers your words before sobering up and standing taller. “Alright. From the top. This is what we have to do.”

“Thank you.”

Four

“Ok, I have no idea where you’re taking me, but it better be good because I’m a lot less graceful when I’m blindfolded.” Four said over his shoulder as you guided him through the underbrush.

“Just trust me.” You grin. “You’re going to love it.”

“I hope so.”

You giggle and continue to push him ahead. “Ok, wait here I’ll be right back. Don’t take it off just yet.”

“You are so lucky I trust you.”

“Good.” You dash off and grab a small parcel that was hidden in a hollow tree truck.

You run back to him and pull his hand in front of him, placing it gently on top of his palms. “There. Open your eyes and open the box.”

Four grips the wrapping and takes the blindfold off with one hand. “What is it?”

“A gift silly!”

“Ok, yeah, but what’s inside?”

“Open it and find out!”

He smiles and gently rips the paper that covering the little box, eyes widening as he recognizes the design within. “How did you get this?”

“I save up for it. It’s a thank you.” You bite you lip and take a small step back. You’re beginning to feel a little flustered by his reaction even if you think you have no reason to be.

Four drops the paper wrapping and opens the box. “You got me this?”

“Yes. I thought we established this.”

Four beams and doesn’t even open the box all the way before he runs at you and practically tackles you over. “Thank you!”

“You’re wel-”

Four take the breath to plant a big ol’ smooth on your cheek, silencing anything else you were going to say.

“Thank you thank you thank you!”

It’s the happiest you’ve seen him.

You can’t even get your thoughts together before he give you another hug and dashes away from you to enjoy his gift.

Or brag about it to the others.

You wanted to avoid that, which is why you brought him all the way out here beyond the camp...but you can never really tell what he’s going to do next.

You smile regardless and touch the spot on your cheek.

At least he likes it.

Sky

“I have no idea how you do this Sky.” You gulp and lean over marginally over the edge. “I hate free falling. How is this a fun thing to do?”

“It’s not so bad when you can trust your loftwing to catch you.”

“I don’t have a loftwing. You keep using that word and I have no idea what you mean.”

“You’ll be fine anyway. The water will catch you.”

“That’s not remotely as reassuring as you think it is.”

“You’re over thinking it. Stop thinking.” Sky laughs a little as he gets closer to you.

“Easier said than done.”

“Trick yourself then.”

“How?”

“A distraction would be a good start.” Sky hums.

“And how to suppose I distract myself?” You deadpan.

Sky shrugs before leaning over and giving you a kiss on the cheek. It stuns you enough that freeze on your spot and Sky takes the opportunity to spin you around by your shoulders and promptly shoves you off of the cliff side.

He dives in right after you when he sees your head pop out of the surface, laughing as he goes.

#linked universe x reader #linkeduniverse #oof #Legend's is short #I'm so sorry #same with Sky #linked universe

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madamedevien · 3 years

Text

Infernal Heat

Hey! It’s been a while - I really miss you guys. Anyway, I know that a lot of you were keeping up to date with my Mammon x GN! Reader fic...while I’m updating it regularly on my AO3, I thought that I’d post the chapters that I’ve got here as well. I’m planning for it to be a 4 chapter fic, but let’s see how that goes! Warnings in tags (both here and AO3) - monster fucking comes into play much more come Chapter 3 and 4. The biggest thanks to @mawwart for their inspiration and @popcherrypop for reading over what I had all those months ago and actually helping me find direction. I’ve got a bigger/cheesier spiel on AO3, but anyway. Fingers crossed that the ‘Keep Reading’ line shows up here...

Chapter 1: Embers

The Great Mammon had woken up in a mood. He'd felt this creeping up for days now and he wished that it would just come and go already. It was hella distracting to have a constant tug of warmth and want in your gut, y'know? And it was annoying to feel the incessant need to primp and to add to the nest of pillows, blankets, sentimental and decorative items that now overtook most of his bed. But he was due a heat cycle. Annoyingly, he felt that it was probably going to settle in properly on that particular day and he'd been wrangled into going shopping by you. And for whatever reason he'd agreed. Not because he had a crush on you or anything. Damn, he couldn't even remember what you two were meant to be shopping for, that's how addled his mind was. Mammon really just wanted to stay put and perfect his nest. Maybe show it off to you. Although he wasn't sure if you'd appreciate the fact that he'd stolen a few items of yours while on laundry duty to tuck into said nest. Or that he wanted to maybe do something kind of nasty to a piece of your clothing. If not you.

But would you want to? To see his nest? To lay in it, lay with him, to mate with him? He wanted you to. So very, very badly. He didn’t feel like he deserved you but, oh, to say that he wanted you was a vast understatement. Fuck.

He groaned and threw one of his tanned arms over his eyes. The silveret realised that he was going to have to partially dislodge his beautiful nest to pull out Goldie (he couldn't go shopping without her - the very thought was offensive!) and that he was going to have to get rid of his raging boner before he faced you.

So into a cold shower he trudged, loudly cursing the whole time.

---

Longest shopping trip in fucking history.

It seemed like you were in need of freakin' everything imaginable. He wasn't to know that you were actually just taking your time because it'd been a while since the two of you had some time to yourselves. The demon had been acting strangely around you the past few days, although he was completely oblivious to just how weird it’d been for you.

And today, the Avatar of Greed just wasn't engaging. Questions went unanswered, as if he hadn't heard even when clearly looking at you, no boasting or sulking occurred, no bets or harebrained schemes hatched...he didn't even take you up on your offer of Hell Sauce Noodles! The demon was completely disinterested in all of this - the only thing he was interested in was you. He was also trying very very hard not to let his thoughts slip into anything inappropriate. Which was probably the single most difficult thing he’d had to do in all of his many years. Mammon wanted to take your hand and lace your fingers together; to shamelessly nuzzle your cheek in front of everyone on Silent Avenue. The thought made his heart swell. Better yet, if you were mated, he could kiss you in front of the whole crowd before publicly mounting you and-

Damn, it was hard to keep lewd thoughts at bay. He could feel his cheeks burning and looked away when your concerned expression turned to him.

On the trek home (finally!), he fell into a lazy pace behind you and Mammon couldn’t help it as you walked together. His cerulean gaze raked over the beautiful curve in your neck - the space was perfect. In his mind, he could see how perfectly his head would fit and how the mark he could leave there would only accentuate the beauty of your skin. It’d be a gorgeous brand that would loudly proclaim to all, ‘I am mated to THE Great Mammon, the Avatar of Greed and Second of the Seven; don’t you dare even think to touch me’. The very notion only caused the flush of heat over his skin to worsen and his breath to hitch; he wanted to tear into his flesh to relieve himself of the insufferable and fiery itch.

The same thoughts washed over his brain again and again like some cruel tide, even once you'd passed through the doors of the House of Lamentation.

It took only a scant moment. He didn’t even think. The silver haired demon was aware that he was losing his mind due to his damned biology, but he didn’t realise that he was so far gone that he would do something so stupid. It was only your screech that alerted him to the fact that he had pulled you tight to his chest, that he was actually in the process of sinking sharp fangs into your supple skin. The sudden realisation made him tear off of you in surprise.

Beel had been the first to burst through a doorway and into the corridor. The redhead stopped dead in his tracks and stared wide-eyed at the two of you; you with your hand clamped over the section of your neck that had been bitten, and Mammon an arm’s length away from with a look of abject horror painted over his handsome features. Stupid Mammon, indeed. The next to burst in was Lucifer, who looked ready for a proper melee. The sound that had come from you had genuinely startled the older brother, not that he’d admit that if asked. As his garnet gaze took in the scene before him, his mouth twisted unpleasantly. “Mammon…” Lucifer’s voice was dangerously low. Mammon shook his head urgently in response, “Nonono, Luci, it didn’t - I mean, yeah, it is what it looks like an’ I didn’t mean ta, but it...it’s not deep enough. Y’know?” The second brother sounded desperate. Mammon anxiously twisted his rings around his tanned fingers and had to fight back the tears that threatened the edges of his vision. He could have hurt you. “Oh, I think you’ll find that it’s more than deep enough.” Lucifer stalked toward you and put his hand on top of the one you were using to cover your wound. “Let me see how much damage the fool inflicted on you”. Mammon could see the frown that pulled at your mouth as you revealed the bite mark to his brother. No proper damage - the indents might linger, but no blood had been drawn; no skin had been broken.

“It was more from the surprise than pain, Lucifer. I just wasn’t expecting someone to bite me, you know? That’s the kind of thing that I’d expect more from a very hungry Beel.” Your attempt to lighten the mood only made the Avatar of Pride’s expression sour further - but Beel muttered a small, “Fair”. Lucifer sounded positively glacial when he spoke again. “Beelzebub, please take our brother to his room." The Avatar of Gluttony nodded solemnly, gently taking the second eldest’s shoulder. Mammon stared miserably at the floor, guilt clearly written on his flushed face although he couldn’t bring himself to say anything. He didn’t trust himself to. Not after such a stupid stunt. As the other two made their way up the stairs, Lucifer pinched the bridge of his nose.

This wouldn’t be pleasant.

It was no surprise to Mammon that Lucifer texted him shortly after the whole ordeal. He was just thankful that Lucifer hadn’t decided to come up to his room and literally tear into him after biting you. Of all the people to bite in the entire Devildom, it just had to be you didn’t it? Lucifer: Mammon. I have strictly instructed the household that you are not to be disturbed until I have given the all clear. You will stay in your room and I will bring you provisions at regular intervals. If you need anything, you will let me know. Are we clear? Mammon: Yes. Lucifer: Good. He waited, hopeful that Lucifer would provide an update on you. After an eon of waiting (which was actually all of seven minutes) he decided to ask. Mammon: Are they okay?

Lucifer: They are. And they will continue to be so long as you stay in your room and do not venture out. Ensure that you lock your door and remember to take your pheromone blockers as well or the whole house will reek of your mating scent. What were brothers for, if not a good motivational speech? --- Chapter 2: Flames Even with Lucifer’s reminder, Mammon had forgotten to take the pheromone blockers and to lock the door. He’d been far too distracted; worrying about your state of health, whether he’d damaged your relationship beyond repair, still trying to keep the lewd thoughts at bay, his instincts fretting over the piece of nest that had been dismantled earlier… It was a lot to be preoccupied with, okay? Without the pheromone blockers, the corridor outside of Mammon’s room was thick with the sweet perfume of a demonic male in heat. It was rich and cloying, the kind of scent that would cling to one’s clothes much to the annoyance of the other residents (Asmodeus excluded). Mammon, however, didn’t care. He was too busy now attempting to cool the heat in the pit of his stomach and to regain some clarity of mind. An attempt at sleep had been made once his nest had been repaired and Goldie tucked into her rightful place, the lights turned down low and his clothes discarded to some far corner so that he could crawl into the nest in a comfortable state...but how could he sleep when obscene images of you kept popping into his head? At first, he had tried to keep some semblance of his mind. The demon didn’t like to lose control during his heats. If he could keep his mind, he would keep to his more humanoid forms - and that was what he wanted. Because if you did, by chance, happen upon him...well. He didn’t want to scare you. Before he allowed himself to spiral into the anxiety of your imagined reaction, he reached for his ridiculously large bottle of lube. If he was going to dwell on the thought of anything, it was going to be how good he knew you’d feel… --- Mammon wouldn’t have been able to say how much time had passed. He had brought himself to orgasm more times than he could count - but it only seemed to just take off the edge. A demon’s heat was never an easy thing, but why was this time around so damn difficult? Satan would have been able to answer that with ease, the smug bastard; if a demon chooses a mate they will, naturally, be most inclined to couple with said mate for optimal breeding. To not couple with a chosen mate could make a heat worse - but to withhold coupling at all? Well, it would be a foolish endeavour. The Avatar of Greed hadn’t realised just how he was slipping ; wings and horns had appeared without him even registering and his fangs had dropped to a predatory length (which he only noticed when he had apparently attempted to put a mating mark on a pillow covered in one of your stolen shirts that he’d been desperately rutting against, much to his embarrassment). His breathing was rough. Mammon was equal parts exhausted and invigorated. He wanted nothing more than to let his knees fall out from under him so that sleep would hopefully take him - he wanted to stalk down the hall and into your room and fuck you senseless. And if Lucifer found out? Well, Mammon would love to see him try to pry you from his arms. The very thought made him snarl, his grip on his cock tightening. It was enraging to even think that his brother would dare, a thought that had him so preoccupied that he didn’t hear the door click open. His blue eyes slipped over to you and the wet sound of him furiously fucking his fist stopped abruptly. It was impossible to tell which one of you was redder. This was not what he had been expecting. “Uh-” A rasp of your name interrupted you. “Didn’t Lucifer tell you not to come?” He watched as you nodded dumbly, “Yes”. Heavy breath was the only noise to pass between you several beats. The demon in front of you was wondering whether this was fate; you weren’t running, you looked interested and, fuck, you smelled so good. You smelled aroused and it made him growl; “C’mere then”. The way that you slammed the door and scampered toward him practically had him preening in pleasure. Just as eager, Mammon scrambled over to meet you, flustered yet excited, and hauled you up close to him. He bumped your foreheads together. From here it was easy to see how incredibly blown his pupils were, to feel how desperately ragged his breathing was. You were dangerously close. “Now, see here, I'm gonna give ya one chance to go. ‘Cause if I kiss ya, I’m not gonna be able to stop. I won’t be able to let ya go. You’ll be stuck with me for the whole fuckin’ ride, ya hear?” Holy shit, his voice was so strained. “Then kiss me, you dummy.” No repeat was necessary. Mammon threaded his fingers into your hair, hesitating for only the briefest moment before pressing his lips to yours. When you responded in kind his fervour, his deep rooted greed, quickly followed. He’d wanted to kiss you from day one and not a moment had gone by since without him imagining it. This felt so incredibly right. But he couldn’t ignore the heat curling in his gut. He needed you, wanted you. And as far as he could tell, despite the dark whispers in the back of his mind saying otherwise, you seemed to feel the same.The way that you returned his greedy kisses, how your fingers had twisted sharply in his hair, how you didn’t seem to mind the messy clicking of his elongated fangs against your blunt teeth as he tried to figure out how best to navigate your mouth in this form - how could he deny that he was wanted? Mammon's only regret when looking back on this evening with you would be not savouring your body laid bare for him for the first time. His mind was too heat-addled to appreciate it; he was unable to slowly peel off your layers and to have the sentiment returned in kind as he had previously fantasised about. In his mind’s eye, he had a whole big romantic gesture planned if you had decided to sleep with him. Previously, he had imagined how he would make love to you and treasure every moment of it...but alas… Your clothes were quickly stripped from you, sharp fangs nipping at new skin as it was exposed. There was no delicate treatment here and he paid no heed to the sound of torn material. When he next plundered your mouth, it was far smoother than the first time - he was a fast learner, after all. The only complaint that he had about kissing you was that it muffled those beautiful noises of yours. When he broke the seal of your mouths it was to gently toss you back toward the top of the bed, deeper into his nest and into the comfort of a ridiculous amount of pillows - to properly secure you into his nest. To see you like that felt...good. It felt right. It was clear that was exactly where you belonged. The very image had him growling in satisfaction as he took the opportunity to crawl over your body, his fingers gripping at the meat of your thighs and hips as if ensuring that you were truly there with him. Thankfully, his nails had not yet turned into talons or they would have pierced through you with ease at the way that he handled your flesh. Mammon had to take a deep breath when he looked at you this time. He needed to make sure that he didn’t hurt you while doing this - it was the last thing in the world that he wanted. It was unusual for the Avatar of Greed to put the needs of others before his own...but you weren’t just some ‘other’. You were you. His very own treasure, his very own mate. Reluctantly, a hand left your body to fish for something buried within the nest. “You’re fuckin’ gorgeous,” He coated his fingers generously in lube, desperate to ensure that he would cause as little pain as possible, “Just fuckin’ perfect”. Two fingers slipped into you as Mammon spoke, his tone low and hoarse. Never had he imagined just how difficult it would be to hold himself back like this, nor could he have been prepared for just how much desire he felt in that moment. The sensation of your hot core wrapped around his fingers had him shamelessly rutting against your thigh, a poor attempt at taking the edge off of his lust. A human really had no business wrecking him like this. His heat cycles were normally pretty boring - desperate rutting for a day or two and then back to normal life. You had no right to set his skin aflame like this, no right to have him feel like he could cum just from the noise you made once he had three fingers fucking into your heat. The way his blood was rushing in his ears was deafening...and he wanted more. It didn’t take too long for it all to get too much. Even all of the dark hickies that he had furiously littered your neck, chest and shoulders with weren’t enough to distract him from the wet sound of his fingers preparing you or the stunning sounds he managed to pull from you when he got the angle of his hand just right. Mammon would never admit it, but he kind of missed his target. The point of removing his hand from you had been to slip himself right in. Instead, as he kissed you he rolled his slick cock against your sex...which, to be fair, had felt better than your thigh. And if the sound that you’d made in response was anything to go by, you thought so too. He liked that noise. A lot. So he rolled his hips against you again, groaning in response to you. Ever eager to please, the greedy demon found a rhythm that you both seemed to enjoy in the interim. “Ya like that, huh?” Mammon wasn’t sure where the cockiness in his tone was coming from when internally he felt so nervous. It was those very nerves that quickly had his hand moving to guide his cock to your entrance and thrusting into you before you could retort. Mammon didn’t realise it would silence both of you. By no means was he a virgin. The Great Mammon would have it known that he was a proper Casanova type, thank you very much. He just didn’t realise how different it would feel coupling with someone that he truly and deeply loved. The heat causing that deep need to breed the closest thing with a pulse didn’t help things, of course. It was...incredible, for lack of a better word. Divine. Mammon choked on an Infernal curse once seated completely in you and had to literally bite his tongue to keep an anchor on his self-control. All of that hard earned control was thrown out the window when his name passed your lips. There was no hesitation in how his hips pistoned, fucking into you relentlessly. His hands manoeuvred to cradle the back of your knees and he pushed your legs back to allow him more access to your body, his fingers gripping hard enough to bruise. The noises that left him were snaps and snarls of Infernal praise, not that he realised. The only thought on Mammon’s mind was his primal objective of breeding you until neither of you could move ; it didn’t matter whether you could actually fall pregnant or not. No logic or worry clouded his mind with these thoughts. All he could focus on was filling you with his seed until he couldn’t any more, the thought of your stomach tender and round because of his affections toward his mate... Mammon’s first orgasm came with an embarrassing quickness. When he spilled inside of you, his teeth sinking into the tender flesh of your chest, he was quickly filled with a relief and warmth that he hadn’t felt in ages. For the first time since his heat had set in, there was true clarity in his mind. While his natural instincts weren’t completely quelled, it was enough for him to actually think with something other than his adamantly pulsing dick. His relief quickly fell to mortification, the shadows of which were clear on his features when he pulled back to look at you. His cheeks were tinted red both from exertion and embarrassment ; he hadn’t paid enough attention to get you to climax. He was quick to stutter out your name, mouth tripping on the words that were trying to get out of his mouth as his sluggishly content brain tried to supply words just beyond reach. “What, isn’t The Great Mammon going to make me cum?” Your sass fanned the flames in his loins. A playful snarl was made in response, “Oh sweetheart. I’m going to make you cum so fuckin’ hard you black out. You won’t be able to feel your legs by the time I’m done with you”. And so The Great Mammon set to work. --- Mammon hummed contentedly as you lazily played with the hair at the nape of his neck hours later. This was perfection. Strong fingers stroked your thighs as he enjoyed the sensation of you wrapped around his hips, the pleasure of you sat on his lap while cuddled up together in your nest. The demon toyed with the thought of pushing his hips up just to make you gasp from the overstimulation, but decided against it. Although he was loath to admit it, you needed rest - because Mammon had been good to his word, ensuring that you both had more than your fair share of orgasms. But this was good. The fire in his gut had died down to crackling embers, although he knew it would flare up again soon - but you would be there to help ease him through it. And you even seemed to like helping him out. What was the phrase… ‘mutually beneficial’? Somethin’ like that. His eyes fluttered open when he heard your chuckle. He couldn’t help but wonder if you knew how freakin’ stunning you were when you smiled like that. “What?” When your eyes met his, he was pouting frowning. The laugh that you let out only made his brow furrow more, “I said what. What’s got ya laughin’ like that, huh? You should be out like a freakin’ light by now”. It wasn’t until you replied that he realised how obvious it was, “I didn’t know that demons could purr”. Mammon squawked loudly and attempted to divert your attention - he sounded like a damn motor! It wasn’t fair! He wasn’t even able to control the way he was going off… It was embarrassing. “Well, yeah, y’know, sometimes. We’re incredible ‘n mysterious creatures us demons, y’know! Demons are capable of things that your human mind couldn’t even comprehend! Anyway, ’s not like ’s all the time or anythin’ like that…” He tried to occupy himself and forget about the heat radiating from his face by playing with your hair - but he could feel you smiling against the crook of his neck. “Yeah?” “Yeah.” The incredible and mysterious demon sounded more like a petulant child (well, a purring and petulant child). “So, when do you normally purr?” “I dunno. When we’re happy, I guess?” “Does that mean I haven’t made you happy before?” The way that he spluttered was definitely worth teasing him. “Who said that ya haven’t made me happy?! ‘N besides, this is different!” Even Mammon couldn’t deny that he was now pouting, but he tried to focus on the feeling of your fingers running along his shoulders. It was nice; soothing, even. Until he felt a sharp tug on the back of his neck. “Ouch! You gotta be more gentle than that!” The look of surprise on your face made him want to curl in on himself. “Mammon - are those feathers?” “Phffft,” The greedy demon rolled his eyes and tried to deflect your query, “Shaddap. You dunno what you’re talking ‘bout”. When your mouth opened again, he did take the opportunity to thrust sharply into you. At the gasp, he lurched forward with a passionate kiss. Simply to shut you up, of course. No hidden agenda. His pleased purring melted into a deep rumbling, the fire in his belly stoking itself back to life. It was impossible for him not to roll you over to allow him to bask in more of your shared passion. The laughter that ensued, laughter that he was sure was aimed at him, only made his heart swell as much as his cock.

#obey me #obey me mammon x reader #obey me mammon #obey me shall we date #deVien writes #deVien writes for asmo #Infernal Heat #Smut #mammon x gn! reader #mammon x gender neutral reader #Gender neutral reader #Mating cycles #Heat cycles #mating cycles/in heat #Feral Mammon #Monster fucking #Well gradual monster fucking #Insecure Mammon #Kind of a breeding kink but that's more instincts

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ellewriteswrongs · 3 years

Text

picking favorites (a @tsbandau drabble)

if y’all aren’t emotionally invested in @underdog-arts ‘s band au, idk what y’all are even doing /j

anyway, here’s a wholesome family drabble insp. by the band au and my (not-so) subtle obsession with remus and janus. also subbing to their patreon is the best $5 i’ve probably ever spent, no joke

“Honey, you can still pick up Ry, right?” Janus called down the hallway, carrying a basket of laundry on each hip before depositing them in the hallway to put away later. Remus was seated in their shared office catching up on emails as Janus began packing up leftover pasta into containers to take to their show scheduled that night.

“I told you I got ‘em,” he agreed, banging the last clumps of his protein shake into his mouth with the heel of his hand. “I’m gonna’ jog to V’s and grab the van.”

Janus nodded to themself out of instinct before faltering, their brow furrowing.

“Wait—Re, that’s like three miles,” they challenged, dumping the dirtied dishes into the sink. “Just take the fucking car.”

Remus’ snort laugh was audible from down the hallway.

“They asked for the van!” Remus cackled. “And I, for one, do not disappoint. Apparently making my kid’s friends think they’re cool is worth a three-mile jog.”

Janus rolled their eyes, albeit fondly. This was, unfortunately, not news.

Riley was having an…interesting phase. It wouldn’t be abnormal for kids their age if it weren’t for the fact that their parents were ridiculously competitive, and all of their parents’ friends were eager to get in on it.

As soon as Remus attended career day in Riley’s first grade classroom, resulting in the entire class of six-year-olds marveling at the fact that their friend’s dad was a “rock star.”

Janus loved that conversation over dinner that night.

They weren’t jealous. No, in fact, it was probably overdue for Riley to have a bit of a “Daddy’s kid” phase, considering how joined at the hip they were with Janus for multiple years now. But they wanted to win.

Riley could make their own decisions about picking a favorite parent. As long as that decision was Janus.

“You’ve gone so-oft,” they sing-songed, smirking as Remus appeared in the kitchen behind them, wrapping one hand around their hip and pressing a kiss to their temple. “Ry’s got you wrapped around their finger.”

Remus have a flash of his crooked grin.

“Yeah, well…at least I know where they get that from.”

Janus rolled their eyes, trying to hide their reddening face.

“Sap,” they grumbled fondly. “Hurry up and get on with your run before you’re late to pickup. And tell V I said hey.”

Remus gave an exasperated chuckle and affirmation, but pocketed his keys and wallet nonetheless.

The jog to Virgil’s apartment wasn’t a particularly strenuous three miles, being downtown and all, and Remus was far from out of shape. Still, three miles was three miles—especially in the late afternoon sun. Needless to say, Virgil wasn’t thrilled to have a giant sweaty man on his doorstep, but he handed over the keys nonetheless.

The van was old, still clinging to its axels from when Remus himself purchased it from an old neighbor and declared it the band’s “tour bus.” It was nice enough at the time, especially for the price he paid, but it certainly wasn’t still around for anything more than sentimental value.

Mainly just Remus refusing to get rid of it.

That, and the fact that, for whatever reason, Riley thought it was the coolest thing ever.

The drive wasn’t long, only the sitting in traffic of other parents in minivans trying to get into the school parking lot. He…wasn’t a fan of that part of being a parent, that’s for sure. He could do without any other parents, thank you very much, but at least it was fun to see how obvious all of them were in their distaste of both him and Janus, compared to how much their kid absolutely adored them.

A fact that was only proven when Remus eventually made it to the parking lot and exited his van, only to be met with ear-splitting squeal of “daddy!” and an armful of six-year-old.

He can’t deny how, even after all these years, the title still makes him feel all warm and fuzzy inside. Like…he is a dad. That’s his kid! How fucking rad is that!

He happens to spot a few other parents, along with some of Riley’s friends that he recognizes, and he offers a quick wave with the hand that isn’t mussing up his kid’s hair.

“You brought the van,” Riley points out with a toothy grin that Remus can’t help mirroring. He can’t help the knot in his throat when he spots the gap in their teeth from their first ever lost tooth—which only meant they were getting much too old and Remus would really appreciate it if they would slow the fuck down.

“I told you I would, didn’t I?” Riley nods, bouncing on Remus’ hip just a bit out of excitement. “I gotta’ warn you though, JJ’s getting pretty jealous.”

Riley laughs before sticking out their tongue and making a fart noise in Remus’s face.

Remus is, for the thousandth time, bewildered at how Riley couldn’t possibly be more like Janus if they tried. And mostly smitten. He has the coolest kid on Earth, after all.

“They can suck my butt!” Riley squeals and Jesus Christ, Remus is going to have a heart attack right there in the parking lot. He’s gonna’ have to grill Jan again to make sure those two aren’t secretly biologically related.

“Hey, your words not mine, squirt,” he smirks, opening the van door and strapping them into the car seat. “And your early bedtime if you let JJ hear any of that.”

He finishes with a pinch on their nose before closing the van door and getting back in the driver’s seat.

Riley, as soon as the radio turn on, starts protesting very aggressively to listen to “your songs, daddy! Play your songs!”

Thankfully, he has a CD burned with some of their…cleaner songs for that exact purpose.

Riley, for lack of a better word, was ‘singing’ along at a volume that Remus would’ve otherwise found hilarious and impressive if it wasn’t right in his ear. Still, there was a certain fondness that came with watching his kid’s excitement over his work—something that, as usual, was paired with thrashing within the confines of a car seat and headbanging their little heart out.

Along the drive Remus made every attempt to stop the barrage of the screamo singer in the making, but all were ultimately unsuccessful. At least…until he pointed out one particular building out of a strip mall assortment.

“Hey, you see that store right there? The one with the red sign?” He spoke up, catching Riley’s eager attention in an instant. They placed both hands on the van window to look out.

“What is it?” They asked, squinting to try and read what was on the sign.

“You know the snake on my leg?” Riley nodded, quieting down. “That’s where JJ took me to get it.”

They paused, seemingly putting some pieces together in their head.

“How come you only have one?” They asked, still kicking their legs against their seat. “JJ has lots, how come you don’t have lots too?”

Remus chuckled, continuing along the road as the light turned green.

“‘Cause I don’t need another one. They’re very expensive, you know.”

“Is it ‘cause you’re a wimp?”

Remus choked on his own spit.

“N-no,” he choked out, laughing. “No I’m not, I just think it looks better this way.”

He didn’t bother looking into the backseat to see what Riley thought of that answer, but if the return to karaoke that followed was any indication, they were not impressed. Still, he’d probably take the teasing over the screaming, but kids are kids.

Even as they pulled into their driveway, Remus had to strategically dodge Riley’s flailing limbs in order to un-fasten the seatbelts on their car seat and actually get them in the house. Apparently the music was not as vital to the ‘sing-along’ as he’d hoped it was when he turned the car off.

“Alright, alright, calm those legs down before you knock my teeth out, will ya’?” Remus teased, placing Riley on his shoulders where they instantly took fistfuls of his hair to hold on. Riley toned down the velocity, but otherwise did not stop. “Careful, squirt, if you wanna’ kick so bad, I’m signing you up to play soccer.”

Riley stopped almost instantaneously, gripping Remus’ hair even tighter as they headed back inside the house, Riley’s tiny backpack slung around Remus’ forearm.

“Nooo,” they wailed, half punctuated by laughter that echoed through the house.

“What are we complaining about?” Janus spoke, leaning against the doorway across the room with a fond smile.

“He said if I kick him in the teeth I have to play soccer,” Riley whined, attempting to climb down from Remus’ shoulders on their own. Janus snorted a laugh before swiftly crossing the room to collect their child and place them on their hip.

“Wow, your daddy’s so mean,” Janus agreed, raising a challenging eyebrow as they stood in front of their husband. Remus pouted before bending down to steal a kiss.

“Gross,” Riley giggled, pressing a hand on each of their parents’ faces to separate them.

“Gross?” Janus smirked. “Well in that case, maybe your dad was being a bit unfair.”

Riley turned to Remus to stick out their tongue at him.

“I mean, soccer? That’s just ridiculous,” Janus continued, a mischievous glint in their eyes. “We’ll obviously have to sign you up for football instead. A punt like that has got to be put to good use.”

Riley immediately went back to their dramatized complaining, this time reaching desperately for Remus to get him to take them back from Janus—to which Remus just held up his hands in mock innocence.

“No can do, kid,” he smirked. “The punishment has to fit the crime, after all.”

Riley continued their attempts to wiggle out of Janus’ unyielding grip.

“Never!” They declared, trying a different approach of reaching over Janus’ shoulder to escape from behind. “I won’t! I won’t do it, I promise!”

Remus and Janus both knew they wouldn’t actively try to hurt either of them, but sometimes it was just more fun to assert rules when it came with shrieking laughter and climbing their parents like a jungle gym.

“Well, now you know where we stand,” Remus spoke in false authority, reaching for one of Riley’s tiny shoes and holding it up to address it as if it were in control of their legs. “I better not see you around these parts again, ya’ hear?” He added in an over-the-top western accent, gesturing to his face.

Riley squealed with laughter as he held out his hand for a handshake and they shook it with their accused foot.

“Alright, alright, you two,” Janus intervened with fond exasperation. “Snacks are on the counter, take it or leave it.”

Riley whipped their head around to peer into the kitchen, cheering when they spotted two plates on the kitchen counter, each with a toaster waffle piled high with blueberries.

“Second…breakfast!” They cheered, drumroll-ing on their leg before whooping and slinking out of Janus’ grip and climbing up onto the kitchen barstools. Remus, giving a fond eye-roll at the enthusiasm, turned to drape his arms over Janus’ shoulders from behind, perching his chin on top of their head.

“They get it from you, you know,” he mumbled, smirking at the scoff it earned him.

“Shut up,” Janus grumbled, the smile evident in their voice. “That is all you.”

“Babe, sports are a threat in this house,” he teased. “You’re telling me that came from me?”

“Yeah, I’ll take that one,” they chided, turning around to face their husband. “As long as you’re aware that the energy, the volume—honey, that’s all you.”

Remus quirked his brow with a proud smirk.

“Or maybe it’s the fact that they sleep for fourteen hours and we haven’t even had eight in the last six years,” he challenged knowingly. “You know, I happen to remember that back in the day…that bed was hardly even for sleeping.”

Janus snorted, their face reddening slightly.

“Is it bad to think of those as the ‘good old days’ already?”

Remus swept a piece of their hair out of their face.

“Hell no, dude. We lived like kings back then,” he chuckled. “How ‘bout this—I’ll get Ro to take ‘em to the park or something this weekend and I’ll dick you down just like old times, ‘kay?”

Janus sputtered out a cackle, smacking Remus on the chest before covering his mouth with their hand.

“Fucking christ, they’re like two yards away,” they hissed, still laughing. “I am not going to be the one fielding questions about what getting dicked down means, oh my god.”

“You say that like they listen to anything when there’s food in front of them,” Remus countered, nodding in the direction of their kid as Janus rolled their eyes with a chuckle.

“Now that, is from you,” they grinned, jabbing him in the side with their elbow.

“Hey, it’s not my fault you’re serving up delicacies like toaster waffles,” Remus said, raising his hands in mock defense.

Janus gave him a look before crossing their arms.

“Yeah, well, you’re lucky I know you can’t go two hours without food. Go on, there’s one for you, even if it’s probably cold by now,” they teased as Remus excitedly kissed their forehead before practically running to the kitchen. He hopped up to sit on the counter, folding each toaster waffle like a blueberry-filled taco before funneling them into his mouth.

Janus followed close behind—at a normal pace, thank you very much—and took the actual seat next to their kid, sipping at the cup of tea they had left on the counter before the two had returned home as they listened to Riley regaling their day at school.

———

Realistically, Remus probably should’ve seen it coming. He was a couple days past his previous record of days as Riley’s “favorite” and he knew he likely didn’t have much longer before Janus dethroned him again, but he certainly hadn’t expected the scene he walked in on that night.

He had heard hushed laughter coming from one of their house’s bathrooms that evening, assuming at first that Janus was just handling Riley’s bath or something like that, but as he cleaned up the mess from their dinner and finished washing the rest of their dishes, he was surprised to find they were still in there. So obviously he had to investigate.

He knocked on the door, rolling his eyes fondly as shushing and giggles came from within.

“Everything good in there?” He teased, leaning against the door. “I gotta’ say, I’m a little hurt I didn’t get invited to whatever club this is that hangs out in the bathroom.”

More giggles followed by the oh-so familiar sound of Janus’ shushing.

“I guess I’ll just have to find out for myself what all the fuss is about,” he sing-songed, slowly creaking open the door before letting out a snort laugh at the scene before him.

Janus was seated on the edge of the bathtub, wash cloth in hand, as Riley sat on the sink counter, covered on all limbs with temporary tattoos. At least the pieces of tape that Janus had cut into circles and colored black to look like ear gauges were admittedly cute.

“Oh, I see how it is,” he smirked from against the doorframe.

“JJ said you’re a wimp,” Riley proudly announced. “I was right.”

Janus stuck their tongue out and made a spitting noise and…yeah, that was their kid alright. Not that Remus would have it any other way.

#anyway.......i would die for them #my writing #tsbandau #sanders sides #ts remus #ts janus

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haikyuuhoo · 3 years

Text

Contemporaneous - Chapter 1

Pairing: Atsumu x F!Reader

Summary: In which you are so incredibly lucky to exist at the same time as Atsumu Miya. Or, perhaps, it’s the exact opposite…

Words: 2.6k

Warnings: Swearing, inconsistent chronology (sorry I just liked it better that way), that’s about it so far

A/N: Okay, here’s ch. 1 finally! Mostly background, setting the stage, all that. Things will probably move quicker in upcoming chapters because I’m busy and have a hard time thinking of filler plot lol. Enjoy, please let me know what you think!

Prologue | Chapter 2

All of your best memories were with the twins.

Not like that was a hard thing to accomplish—pretty much all of your memories were with the twins.

The good memories, the bad memories, and all the ones in between. They were the biggest constant in your life and you felt so lucky to have them.

Sometimes you got emotional about it, and they teased you for it, but you wouldn’t have it any other way.

“H-Hey, why are ya crying?” Atsumu had asked one time at fifteen when the three of you sat outside of the 24-hour convenience store near your house at 2 in the morning, each of you holding your own popsicles you’d snuck out to get.

“I just love you guys so much,” you said with a sniffle, wiping your nose on the cuff of your sleeve.

Osamu grimaced, looking down at you. “Y-Ya don’t have to get all emotional about it. We’re kind of stuck with ya.”

You frowned, giving him a light punch in the shoulder. “Just say you love me too, dummy,” you huffed.

His eyebrows knitted together. “We love you,” he sighed before wrapping an arm around you to give you a side-hug.

Atsumu wrapped his arm around you as well and gave you a grin. “Yeah, but please don’t cry anymore. It’s kinda embarrassing,” he laughed.

“Oh, shut up,” you whined, though you felt comfort flood through you at the feeling of being sandwiched between your two best friends. “You know I get sentimental when I’m tired.”

“Doesn’t make it any less embarrassing,” Osamu mumbled, but a smile played on his lips.

You hummed and closed your eyes for a moment. “Well get used to it, you’re not getting rid of me.”

The twins were like your personal bodyguards. If someone messed with you, they messed with the Miya twins—and no one wanted to mess with the Miya twins. You first learned that when you were nine years old.

The air left your lungs, palms and knees scraping against the ground as you were pushed from the swing you’d been sitting on.

“You’re so lame!” one kid teased from behind you, shrill voice barely making its way to your ears as tears began to prick in your eyes.

“Yeah, where are your dumb friends? They must not like you if they aren’t even playing with you!” another said as the three kids who were picking on you moved to stand in front of where you still remained on your hands and knees, head hung in an attempt to hide the way you were crying.

Atsumu and Osamu had been punished for fighting during in class and the teacher made them stay inside for the first ten minutes of recess. You told them you’d wait for them by the swings; you didn’t really hang out with anyone else anyway. This group of kids didn’t like that though, telling you that the swings were their hangout spot during recess. You told them you’d leave after a couple minutes—you didn’t really want to just stand around and wait for the twins. What was the harm in swinging for a bit?

The harm was too great for the kids currently bullying you, apparently, and they decided to shove you off of the swings.

Your hands and knees burned from the scrapes you’d gotten, and you pushed your palms against your legs to try to make it stop stinging.

“Aww, are you crying?” the third kid laughed, and you looked up at them, face wet with tears.

“Oh my god, she is crying!”

A chorus of laughter sounded in front of you, making you cry even harder. Your face grew hot with embarrassment, tears leaving silvery streaks on your skin. And then suddenly, the figures of the three kids in front of you were shadowed as someone approached them from behind.

Two someones, in fact.

“Leave her alone,” Atsumu said, his voice causing a terror to run through the bullies in a way you didn’t think was possible for a nine-year-old.

The twins had a few bandages decorating their arms and faces, evidence of all the spats they got into with each other. But even after being kept in from recess they were already willing to fight again—just not with each other this time.

“You’re really pathetic,” Osamu continued, arms crossed over his chest as he gave the terrified kids an apathetic look.

“Yeah, get lost before I punch yer stupid face.” Atsumu stuck his tongue out, and somehow, the intimidation worked.

The bullies scurried off and Osamu helped pull you to your feet. “I’ll take ya to the nurse,” he offered, looking at the scrapes on your hands.

“And I’ll go beat them up,” Atsumu said, eyes still angry as he watched the kids run to the other side of the playground.

“No, it’s okay,” you sniffled, reaching up to wipe your eyes.

“Yeah, you’ll just get in trouble again, dummy,” Osamu reasoned with his twin.

Atsumu sighed and turned to you, shoulders slumping when he really took a good look at you. “’M sorry we weren’t here,” he said as the two of them started walking you back to the building so you could get your cuts cleaned up.

“‘S okay,” you said again.

“No it’s not! They’re dumb for picking on ya,” Atsumu argued. He let out an annoyed grunt when the three of you got inside. “Wish they’d get kept in from recess for being idiots…”

Being a family friend also meant that you got along with the twins’ parents too—especially their mom. She treated you as if you were her own daughter, and sometimes she joked that she wished you were because the twins were so hard to handle.

You were so close with them that sometimes you would go over to their house even when you knew the twins were at volleyball practice.

When you were twelve, she’d decided you were probably old enough to watch one of the shows she enjoyed, and so you started going over to their house after school to watch TV dramas with their mom while you waited for them to come home from practice.

“Y/N,” Atsumu whined one day as soon as he saw the two of you. He hadn’t even taken his shoes off and he was already complaining. This was the fourth day in a row they came home to find you watching television with their mom. “What’re ya doing? Yer supposed to be our friend!”

“Shut up,” Osamu mumbled, taking his shoes off and removing his jacket. “You’re so embarrassing.”

Atsumu frowned, eyes going wide as if he was pleading with you to come hang out with them instead.

“‘Tsumu, you just got home. We’re almost done with this episode, and then I’ll come hang out!” you reasoned with him.

He huffed, finally reaching down to take off his shoes. “Sometimes I feel like ya like her more than me,” he grumbled, earning him a smack on the back of his head from his brother.

“Keep up the attitude and she will start liking Mom more,” Osamu hissed.

You were always at their games. And when I say always, I mean always. You were the loudest member of the cheering section, and there were countless times when you didn’t even have the voice left to congratulate them on their victories.

One thing you never did, though, was boo them. They were your best friends—and you were close with the rest of the team too—so you never had the heart to boo them when they messed up.

Atsumu confronted you about it once when you were seventeen—they hadn’t even lost—after he’d had a tough game.

“Y/N,” he said, face stuck in a frown as he approached you.

You gave him a grin, wrapping your arms around him as you pulled him into a hug. “Congrats, ‘Tsumu!”

“Don’t congratulate me,” he hissed, stiffening in your hold.

You frowned and pulled away from him. “Why not? You won.”

“Because I sucked. You should have booed me.”

You rolled your eyes, waving a hand dismissively. “You’re so dramatic. Everyone messes up, ‘Tsumu. It’s not that big of a deal.”

“It was close! I could have cost us the match!” he argued.

Now it was your turn to frown at him. “So you botched a few serves, it’s not a big deal. Your sets were great. Besides, I’m not gonna boo my own team, Atsumu—” He grimaced at the sound of his full name. “—and I’m most certainly not going to boo you.”

“Losers don’t need applause.”

You scoffed. “You aren’t a loser! I swear sometimes you’re so hard on yourself for no reason. People have bad games. I’m not going to ridicule you for it.”

“You should!”

Your jaw clenched. You hated when he did this to himself.

“I deserve ta be booed, ta be yelled at, ta be told what a piece of trash I am because I almost screwed this up for us!”

“It’s not going to make you better, you dumbass!” you finally shouted, shoving his chest.

Atsumu stumbled backwards a few steps, heartrate increasing. He couldn’t tell whether it was from the adrenaline of the game, his disappointment in himself, or your actions. You’d never pushed him like that. Sure, you bickered and things of that nature, but this time you seemed genuinely angry.

“You’re one of the hardest working people I know and seeing you put yourself down like that when all you had was one bad set makes me want to punch you in the face!” Your heart was pounding, the sound deafening you as your hands clenched into fists at your sides. “I don’t give a shit about those people in the stands, they don’t really care about you. I’m your best friend! I’m not supposed to beat you down, I’m supposed to pick you back up!”

His mouth opened and closed a few times, words getting caught in his throat as he tried to gather his thoughts.

You pushed past him with a scowl. “I’m gonna go congratulate ‘Samu. Don’t talk to me until you’ve got your shit together.”

Osamu had been standing with Aran, Suna, and Kita by the entrance to the gym. They’d been chatting, but it had gotten cut short in favor of watching your interaction with the setter.

Osamu was in shock. He’d never seen you like that, which was saying something considering how long he’d known you, and it was kind of refreshing to see his brother get put in his place like that.

“That was kinda hot,” Suna said absentmindedly, eyebrows raised in amusement.

The gray-haired twin turned to glare at his friend. “Say that again and I’ll punch you.”

“Osamu,” Kita scolded.

“Sorry, Kita-san.”

Of course, with years and years of memories and friendship with the twins, you couldn’t help but think it was more than luck that brought you together. And even though you believed the three of you were fated to be together, as you got older something just felt different.

The summer before you started high school you had started to think that maybe you were fated to be more than just friends with Atsumu when feelings for him started to blossom. You tried to ignore them, far too shy and inexperienced in the ‘liking boys’ department to know how to deal with this new sensation.

You tried not to let it change your friendship with him, but there were times when you’d feel your face grow hot or your stomach flutter when you were around him.

At first, you didn’t like this feeling at all.

The twins had always been your comfort—your safe space. And now you were nervous to even be around Atsumu. But at the same time, all you wanted to do was be around him.

You hated it.

You hated the way you immediately perked up at the sound of them coming home when you should have been watching TV with their mom, now too distracted to even pay attention to the end of the show.

You hated the way you wanted to comfort Atsumu in a way that was so much more than friendly when he was beating himself up.

And you loathed the way you felt jealousy bubble in your veins at the thought of Atsumu liking someone else.

So you did your best to push the feelings away when you were around them.

But when you were alone, they all tumbled out, and you decided to take up journaling as an attempt to deal with the feelings. You felt embarrassed, as a teenage girl does, to have a journal filled with all of these thoughts, so whenever you were finished writing you hid it in your sock drawer lest one of the twins find it and tease you about it for weeks.

When you started high school and the twins joined the volleyball team, they were instant phenoms. And in turn, they garnered a lot of attention—especially from girls.

It upset you, if you were going to be honest with yourself. Not only because you couldn’t really hang out with your friends in the halls or during lunch without being interrupted by their gang of fan girls, but also because you despised the girls who flung themselves at Atsumu. It killed you to see them batting their long eyelashes and talking to your best friends with their cute voices, all while you sat to the side like some kind of unwanted piece of stale bread. And it especially killed you when Atsumu started returning their affections.

It scared you. It all scared you. The feelings, the girls, high school—you were terrified. You didn’t want to ruin things between the two—three—of you with your feelings, but the girls made you so insecure. So instead, you wrote in your journal.

You wrote down all of your feelings for three years.

You didn’t speak a word of them to anyone, no less the twins.

And there was a page you came back to almost every day, even though you had written it during your first year:

The odds of existing are slim,

so the odds of you and I existing at the same time

must be next to impossible,

and I think that’s beautiful.

Maybe the universe does work in my favor after all

because I got the chance to get to know you.

You stared at the page, not even realizing tears were forming in your eyes until one fell and landed on your hand that pressed down on the page. It was a habit to hold it open, but it wasn’t even necessary anymore—you’d opened your journal to this page enough that it stayed open on its own.

When you’d written it, it was a happy thought. But now, three years later, it didn’t feel so happy. Atsumu was getting busier and busier with volleyball, and that meant he only got better, and when he got better his fanbase grew.

You were starting to feel like a second choice.

Scratch that, you were starting to feel like a tenth, twentieth, fiftieth choice.

You craved the attention he gave those girls. You wanted him to grin at you like that. You wanted to be more than just his best friend.

But you felt like you were running out of time.

It was ironic, considering you believed the universe brought the three of you together with the intention of you being side by side forever.

Maybe, after all this time believing it, you were finally starting to realize that you were wrong.

#atsumu x reader #atsumu miya x reader #atsumu miya #miya atsumu #atsumu #atsumu x reader angst #angst #haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x reader angst #haikyuu angst #miya atsumu x reader #my writing

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daveyjacobss · 3 years

Text

skeletons in the bathroom

racetrack higgins x reader

summary: it’s spooky season, and is there anything scarier than having to confront and admit your feelings for one of your closest friends? (or, in which y/n is helping race get ready for a halloween party and desperately trying not to think about how much she wants to kiss him.)

a/n: i did it!! a halloween fic out for october 2020!! sorry it’s so late in the month, life has been very hectic with an overload of assignments and plenty of politics induced stress. anyway this is unedited so sorry in advance but i hope you like it :)

masterlist

__________

This had been such a bad idea. Why on earth had she agreed to this? What kind of astounding lack of brain cells had led to her saying yes to attending her own goddamn funeral?

"Albert, you would leave flowers at my grave, wouldn't you?" She turned to look at him just in time to see him roll his eyes. Jojo and Finch, sitting across from them at their table in the library, both stared at her with equally confused and amused expressions.

"Y/N if you tell me you're gonna die one more time, I'll literally kill you myself." Albert fixed her with a halfhearted glare, brushing his hair out of his face. She groaned and dropped her head down on top of her arms, resting lazily in the tabletop. Jojo laughed quietly at her, but she didn't have the heart to give him a death stare in return.

"Out of curiosity," Finch started, effectively abandoning his work, "what kind of flowers would you want?" She lifted her head, pursing her lips in concentration as she thought the question over.

"I don't know, either something really pretty or something ridiculously dramatic." Albert sighed beside her, finally putting his pencil down. Jojo had stopped actually trying to get work done a half hour prior. "Like, some pretty marigolds or daisies would be cool, ya know? But, also, a single red rose would have a very nice effect." Jojo nodded along with her.

"What about black dahlias?" He asked. Y/N perked up at that.

"Oh, yes! Definitely achieving that she-was-probably-murdered-and-the-killer-is-leaving-flowers vibe." She high fived Jojo while Finch shook his head at them. Albert hit her from her right side—lightly, but she let out a loud "ow!" anyway.

"Can you stop moping and acting like you're gonna die? You're the one who got yourself into this mess." She went back to being miserable immediately, groaning again for effect.

"Will someone please explain why she's dying?" Finch asked, directed more at the other two boys than at Y/N. Albert rolled his eyes again.

"Race asked her to do his makeup for his skeleton costume before the party tonight and she said yes, but now she thinks she's gonna die when she does it." He punctuated his words with a pointed look at her which effectively communicated all of his exasperation as well as the sentiment he had been expressing to her for almost two years, that she should just go for it and ask Race out. She ignored it completely.

"I am going to die!" She threw her hands in the air for dramatic effect, giving Finch and Jojo her best 'I'm in despair' look. "I'm gonna have to be ridiculously close to his face—and his lips—for way too long! I'm gonna either go insane and launch myself out the fucking window or die of embarrassment."

All three boys laughed at her. Insulted, she crossed her arms over her chest and pouted at them.

"Y/N, it'll be fine," Finch said, pretending to wipe tears from his eyes. "Anyway, why can't you just ask him out already and not have to deal with the funeral arrangements?" She offered him her best deadpan stare.

"C'mon, Y/N," Jojo chimed in. "What's the worst that can happen?"

"Oh no, don't get her started," Albert groaned.

"The worst that could happen? Are you kidding?" She looked at them incredulously. "Well, for starters, I could tell him I like him and then he could be disgusted because why would he ever like me back when he's him and I'm me, and then, because he was your friend first and things are super awkward between me and him, we drift apart, and then I lose all of my friends and I die alone with no one to leave black dahlias on my grave in order to entertain my dramatics." Finch blinked, staring at her with wide eyes as if he couldn't quite believe what he had just heard.

"Hold on," Jojo spoke up again, face contorted with anger. "He would not be disgusted. Even if he didn't like you back, which he does—"

"Does not," she grumbled.

"Does too," they all answered in unison.

"He wouldn't be mean about it," Jojo continued.

"And we wouldn't stop being your friends," Albert added.

"Plus, even if we suddenly become arch enemies I'm totally still leaving black dahlias on your grave for dramatics," Finch grinned, winking at her. That got her to laugh a little, smiling back at him.

"I just..." She sighed, her shoulders slumping. "I don't want to ruin anything, and I don't want everything to change between us. I'm fine being his friend, that's enough for me. It's just hard to keep my feelings in check when he gets too close to me." Her eyebrows furrowed while she fidgeted with her fingers, not liking how vulnerable she felt while telling all of them that. Albert's arm slid around her shoulders, bringing her into his side. It was awkward and uncomfortable leaning across the gap between their chairs, but she enjoyed the comfort anyway.

"You don't have to do anything you don't want to," he said gently. "You have our support either way." Jojo and Finch nodded, both smiling encouragingly at her. She smiled back at them, moving to gather up all of her papers. The boys followed suit, shoving everything back in their backpacks.

"Thank you," she said quietly just as they were all pushing their chairs in.

"Anytime," Albert grinned brightly, throwing his arm around her again and leading them out of the building. A wind blew as they walked out into the October sun, sending a chill through her body and causing her to lean into Albert's body for warmth. They all started walking in the direction of their on-campus apartments, pointing out the most colorful trees and joking about the upcoming party with easy smiles.

"Speak of the devil," Jojo muttered from behind her. She went to turn back to look at him and ask what he meant, but Albert pulled her more securely against him and she laughed.

"Hey guys!" Finch called out, waving wildly. She looked in the direction he was facing and saw Race walking in the opposite direction with Romeo across the street from them. She felt heat rush to her face automatically, lifting her hand in a small wave while sporting a shy smile. Albert and Jojo waved enthusiastically with Finch, receiving an equally energetic wave from Romeo and a small wave from Race. Y/N tilted her head in confusion, frowning. Race never missed the chance to make an ordeal out something as small as seeing his friends across the street, was something wrong? No one else seemed concerned, though, and their small group kept moving. If anything, Finch and Jojo seemed amused, snickering quietly behind her and Albert.

They parted to go to their respective apartments, all three boys giving Y/N a hug goodbye. She took full advantage of their attempts at comfort, holding them tightly and burying her head in their chests. Once she was back in her apartment, her roommates thankfully back home for the weekend, she dropped her bag on the floor and took a deep breath. Race was set to come over a little while later to get ready for the party, that left her some time to clean up a little. He wouldn't care if the apartment was dirty, but she couldn't get rid of the urge to make sure the counters were decluttered and the bathroom where she would be doing his makeup smelled nice. Plus, at least it would give her something to do to distract herself from her ever growing anxiety.

She was definitely going to die.

__________

Race was ten minutes late, but Y/N had already figured he would be when his "omw" text didn't come until a minute after he was supposed to be at her apartment. He grinned at her when she opened the door, arms (adorably) holding the straps of his backpack that she assumed was carrying his costume.

"I wasn't sure if you would want me to put on the costume before or after the makeup," he said as he walked in. "So I just brought it to change into." She liked the way he looked so comfortable in her apartment, facing her casually with his hair messy from the wind. She smiled softly at him, unable to contain her ever present joy at seeing him.

"Before, definitely. If you put it on after you might mess your face up." He nodded, already shrugging his bag off his shoulder.

"Your room okay?" He asked, gesturing in the direction of her bedroom.

"'Course. Just don't mess with anything in there." She playfully pointed a finger at his chest and he laughed as he moved into her room and closed the door behind him. She walked into the bathroom, taking deep breaths and trying to tell herself everything would be okay. Her and Race were friends, and she was perfectly capable of helping him with his Halloween makeup like a normal person. Maybe. Hopefully. Kinda. Probably not. God, she was hopeless.

He found her in the bathroom obsessively reorganizing the makeup, dressed in his full skeleton getup. She smiled when she saw him in it, happy that he hadn't picked something with a good that would have concealed his beautiful curls. With his lanky stature and gangly limbs, the costume worked perfectly for him. He grinned back at her, doing a little shimmy that made her laugh.

"You like?" He wiggled his eyebrows at her and she shook her head in a amusement.

"It looks good," she confirmed, their usual joking banter hindered by her nerves. "We should get started so we have enough time, I still need to get changed and finish my makeup, too." She patted the bathroom counter and he followed her hand, hoisting himself up so he was sitting on the counter facing her, swinging his legs.

She tried not to think too hard as she started on his face, going in with a layer of white before anything else. She could feel his breath on her wrist, but she tried not to think about it. Thinking about it meant her own breath would hitch and then, because their faces were so close, he would notice. She brought a hand up to his jaw to steady his face and resolutely did not think about how easy it would be to pull him to her and kiss him.

Part of her wanted to listen to the boys. She wanted to say fuck it and tell him how she felt about him. She wanted to flirt with him while she had him at her mercy like this, wanted to lean in and put a hand on his thigh for balance just to see how he would react. She wanted to know if his breathing would change, if his heart would skip a beat, if he would look at her with wide eyes or if he would simply smirk and carry on. Or maybe he wouldn't do anything, because it would nothing but a meaningless gesture to him. But, god, she wanted to try. And she wanted to kiss him so badly.

Still, the other part of her triumphed. The part that told her he didn't feel the same way about her, that to him she was just a good friend and if she went and did something stupid she would ruin that.

She asked him to close his eyes and he did so obediently. She took the chance to look at his lips while he wouldn't be able to notice, realizing how quiet he'd been the whole time so far. Once his face was fully covered with white he opened his eyes and she took a small break, giving herself some time to calm down her erratic heart beat. He kicked his legs out again without her standing in front of him to block them.

"So," he started, staring down at his feet instead of looking at her. She tilted her head slightly, waiting for him to continue. "You and Albert, huh?" Her eyebrows furrowed and she stopped short as she went to grab a brush, paused in confusion. "What's going on there?"

"What do you mean?" She asked, trying to laugh to diffuse whatever tension had just overtaken the room but only managing a nervous chuckle.

"You two looked pretty cozy earlier, outside. Do I gotta start preparing myself for you to be acting all gross and couple-y whenever we go out now?" His voice sounded strained, like he was trying to force the question to be casual. She figured it was because he was upset Albert and her wouldn't tell him something like—which, they totally would if that was at all a possibility. Which it wasn't. The whole idea was so ridiculous a strangled laugh bubbled out of her throat.

"Oh, god no. There is nothing romantic happening between me and Albert." She looked down at her hands, avoiding having to look at his face. "No, it was just cold, you know? And he was trying to comfort me because I was upset." Suddenly he was there, standing in front of her. He gently tilted her chin up to look at him and used his other hand to grab hers.

"Babe, what's wrong? Are you okay?"

She was going to cry. She was going to burst into tears, standing in her own bathroom with Race's touch overwhelming her senses. It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair that he was so handsome and funny and kind and loving. It wasn't fair that whenever he looked at her she felt like no one else existed. It wasn't fair that she couldn't breathe with his hand still resting just under her chin. And the universe was just playing dirty having him call her babe like it was nothing, like it didn't make her heart swell in her chest. Like it didn't absolutely break her. She was definitely gonna cry, her eyes already watery.

His concern only seemed to increase when he saw the distraught look on her face. He tried to take another step toward her but she moved backward, detaching herself from his hands. She breathed deeply, running her hands through her hair as she tried to keep herself from sobbing. He looked so worried—so sad—and it just wasn't fair.

"I'm—" Her words got caught on the lump in her throat. "It's nothing, really. I'm just being dumb." He looked at her disbelievingly.

"Y/N c'mon, you're clearly upset, let me—" He cut himself off at the way she back away from him again while he reached out, hurt flashing across his face. "Here, why don't we just skip out on the party? I'll stay here with you and we can watch old Disney Halloween movies or something." She wanted that so bad, she wanted that more than anything she had ever wanted. But she couldn't, it would only hurt her more.

"No," she sniffled, regaining her composure. "No, you should go. I might stay back, I dunno. But I don't wanna keep you from having fun."

"Hey." His voice was soft, the corners of his lips turning upwards just slightly. He was so beautiful she could have died over it. "I always have fun with you, party or not. If you don't go, I don't go."

"God, Race. You can't just—you can't say things like that." She huffed while he blanched in confusion. "It's not fair."

"What? I don't—"

"Listen, I'll finish your makeup, yeah? And then we'll go to the party and we can pretend like this never happened. Okay?" He nodded mutely, slowly positioning himself back on the counter. The concern wasn't gone from his eyes and his mouth was set in a frown, but he complied.

Not crying was a constant effort the entire time she finished his skeleton makeup. She felt her lip quiver at more than one point and Race's eyes kept darting down toward it. She did her best to keep it steady, not wanting him to see her cry. He had seen her cry before, of course, over classes and movies and the like, but there was a special kind of shame associated with him seeing her cry over him.

It wasn't until after she was done that he spoke up again. "Do you not want to be alone with me?" He asked it so quietly she was sure it must not have come from him, used to his loud, boisterous voice. Her heart broke all over again.

"That's not it, Race. You know that, right? It's not your fault I'm upset." It wasn't, really. If she was going to blame anyone it would all be on herself.

"What, then?" The joking tone was back in his voice, clearly trying to diffuse the tension and brighten the mood. "Too afraid you won't be able to control yourself around me?" Yes. "I know you'd love to jump these bones." She laughed despite herself, playfully hitting his arm. Her reaction made him smile again, and she was glad. He always knew how to cheer her up.

It only took a little while longer for her to change into her costume (just a regular witch in shades of black and purple) and put on her makeup. Race watched her as she put on her dark lipstick, making her nervous and subsequently causing her hands to shake, but she made it through alright.

They left just a bit before the party was supposed to start, Y/N shivering in the cold air as they walked. Race glanced at her a few times, seemingly conflicted, before cautiously wrapping an arm around her. She leaned into his touch and he gripped shoulder more firmly, pulling her into his side. When they stopped to let a car go by she turned to him and wrapped both her arms around him, basking in his warmth. Race was like a heater, generating warmth from the day she met him. He returned her embrace, rubbing her back soothingly.

"Are you sure you're okay?" He mumbled into her ear. A shiver went down her spine at his voice so close to her ear, but she nodded, holding him tighter. They were later to the party then they should've been, having spent a good amount of time in that embrace. It had made her heart all fluttery, not to mention the way it did somersaults every time Race looked at her for the rest of the walk (which was a lot, he must have been really worried).

She expected him to split off once they entered, going to look for some of his other friends, but he stuck by her side. It made her smile, the butterflies in her stomach going wild. They went to grab drinks together and ran into Finch.

"Hey!" He smiled dopily, clearly a little tipsy already. "The makeup looks great," he gestured at Race's face. "And you two look so cute together." Heat rushed to Y/N's face as she quickly took a sip of her drink in order to avoid having to respond. Race simply laughed.

"Yeah, Y/N did an awesome job, right? I knew she would, though. I could feel it in my bones." Y/N groaned and Finch cringed.

"That was awful, dude." Race grinned proudly anyway, waving as Finch left to go back to the friends he was with.

"Did you pick this costume just so you could make bad jokes?" Y/N turned to face Race, raising an eyebrow. He winked, which was all the answer she needed. She wanted to give some sort of sarcastic remark in return, but the wink made her giggle nervously. He seemed content with her response all the same.

About three thousand skeleton jokes later (he had literally greeted Davey by saying "bonejour." Davey had promptly turned around and left the two of them without saying a word), Y/N and Race were sat on the couch together, chatting amicably. She felt better with a bit of alcohol in her veins and a few buckets of false hope from the fact that Race hadn't tried to leave her side once the whole time they'd been there.

"You're such an idiot," she laughed uncontrollably as he relayed a story about him following a squirrel across campus the week prior.

"What can I say?" He grinned cheekily. Her smile dropped.

"Don't you dare—"

"I'm a bonehead." He knocked on his head for good measure.

"Okay that's it, I'm leaving." She moved as if to get up before Race reached out to grab her arm.

"Y/N, no!" He managed to get out through his laughter. "Don't leave me bonely!" She stared at him in disbelief.

"You're the worst," she groaned as she let him pull her back into her seat next to him.

"But you love me anyway." He poked her side and she looked at his face. The makeup looked good, she had to admit, but she wished it had been able to mask his face better. Because looking at his face was still looking at his face, makeup or no makeup, and she had a bad habit of getting caught up in looking at his face. His features seemed to tense, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed harshly. "Drinks!" He said suddenly, breaking their staring contest and practically jumping out of his seat. "I'm gonna go get us more drinks." She nodded, eyebrows furrowed as she watched him scurry off. That had certainly been strange.

"Fancy seeing you here." She turned to see Albert falling into Race's spot beside her, grinning around his own drink.

"Hey," she smiled, adjusting her witch hat.

"You and lover boy work things out yet?" She punched his arm and he gaped at her.

"Shut up," she hissed. "It's not gonna happen, let it go." He rolled his eyes.

"You sure? Because, from what I've seen, he hasn't stopped staring at you all night." She glared at the redhead, pouting.

"Stop giving me hope, asshole. It just makes this worse."

"Makes what worse?" She looked up to find Race standing in front of them, two drinks in hand. She took one from him with a smile.

"Nothing," she shook her head. "Albert's just being annoying."

"Isn't he always?" Race asked with a smirk the same time that Albert said "hey!" Deciding this would be her best chance at payback for teasing her about her crush on Race, she pushed Albert off the couch. Race laughed loudly, stepping over his friend to return to his seat. She smiled brightly at him and he grinned back, bumping her shoulder with his. She had to take a drink to stop the flustered laughter from escaping her throat.

"You two suck," Albert groaned from their feet. It only made them laugh more, still giggling even as Albert stood up grumpily and walked away without saying goodbye.

"Your costume looks really good, by the way." She turned to Race, her smile faltering. "I didn't tell you earlier, but I like it." He said it so earnestly, looking right into her eyes. The only thing she could think of was hoping the boys were ready with those black dahlias, because she was a total goner.

"Thank you," she said softly, lost in his gaze. She thought about them in the bathroom, how she had wanted to put her hand on his thigh just to see how he would react. Thinking of what Albert had said and taking another gulp of her drink, she did just that. She leaned forward and put her hand on his thigh to steady herself. He froze. It was hard to tell over the noise of the party, but she thought she might have heard his breath hitch. She couldn't look away from him, her eyes once again finding his lips.

"You spent so long on this makeup," he muttered. "And it looks really cool." She tilted her head in confusion.

"Huh?"

"I really don't wanna ruin it. I'm sorry."

"Why would you—"

But then he kissed her, so no question she could have asked mattered anyway. He was kissing her. Oh, Albert was gonna laugh so hard when he heard about this.

She kissed him back fervently, one of her hands tangling in the curls at the back of his head while the other remained on his thigh to keep herself steady. One of his hands rested lightly on her waist, squeezing just slightly, while the other caressed her jaw. It felt like in the bathroom earlier that night when he had tilted her chin to look at him, but so much better.

He pulled back before she was ready, eyes still closed as she unconsciously chased his lips. She opened her eyes to see his makeup smudged and definitely some her lipstick on his lips, a warm feeling settling in her chest. But his mouth was pulled into a frown and it sobered her quickly. He was pulling at his hair, his eyes wide with panic and sorrow.

"I'm sorry," he panted. "You're upset, I shouldn't have done that. I've been trying to cheer you up and now I've, like, totally taken advantage of you when you're vulnerable and—"

"Race." He looked at her, face practically begging for forgiveness. She reached for his hands with a small smile. "You're not taking advantage of me. I was only upset because I thought I didn't have a chance with you." She shrugged slightly, averting her eyes. He gaped at her.

"You didn't have a chance with me? Are you kidding?" He tightened his grip on her hands, pulling himself closer to her. "Y/N, I've been pining after you since, like, the day we met. You're ridiculously out of my league." She looked at him with wide eyes, meeting his gaze. They both broke out into grins at the same time before she was leaning in again and he was following.

He tasted like candy and alcohol and she couldn't have asked for anything better. They slid closer to each other on the couch until her hands were clasped together behind his neck, playing with his curls, and his were holding her waist. She couldn't get enough of him. She didn't think she would ever get enough of him. They were both breathing heavily when they pulled away again, foreheads resting against each other.

"You know," Y/N breathed. "If that whole 'just the two of us spending the night at my apartment and watching old halloween movies' offer is still on the table...." He laughed quietly, his head falling to the crook in her neck.

"Definitely still on the table." He pressed a light kiss to her neck and she was dragging him into a standing position immediately, fully ready to get away from all the other partygoers. She wouldn't be able to handle it if his hands wandered any further than they had already gone, she needed time to breathe and process—preferably away from the crowd.

He held her hand and lead her through the sea of people to the front door. Jojo caught sight of them as they made their way out and, presumably seeing their joint hands and messed up makeup, whooped at them. Y/N laughed and Race stuck his tongue out at his friend.

"Which movie do you wanna watch first?" She asked as they walked back, holding onto his arm and leaning into his side.

"Oh, definitely Halloweentown." She smiled, pulling him in for another kiss. He chuckled when they pulled apart. "You know, I would say a skeleton pun right now, but I don't have the guts to ruin this moment."

"Oh my god, Race."

__________

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sparkandwolf · 3 years

Text

I Know You (read on ao3)

Pairing: Stiles Stilinski/Derek Hale Rating: General Summary: “I thought I’d find you here,” Derek said, placing a gentle kiss on Stiles’ temple. He could barely feel Derek’s lips through the thick hair he had let grow during his senior year. He was never expecting to rid himself of his signature buzz cut, but it wasn’t exactly a priority when battling the danger they so often faced.

“Am I that obvious?” Stiles asked.

“To me,” Derek said simply, squeezing Stiles’ shoulder.

For @sterekvalentineweek day one: Hopeless Romantic

Stiles sat on the hood of his jeep, staring up at the school that had been both his nightmare and his home for the last four years. There were so many memories that surged through his mind when he read the bold letters that had been fixed too many times for him to count.

Beacon Hills High School.

He thought back to the first day he had attended, still harboring a ridiculous crush on a girl way out of his league and ready for four years of being no one with his best friend. He never realized how much his life would change. He no longer loved Lydia - not in the obsessive way he had when he was a kid, at least - and he and Scott were no longer nobodies to anyone who mattered.

And there were more people who mattered to Stiles than when he started his high school adventure. As if on cue, soft footsteps crushed the pavement behind him. He would usually jump to the ready, grab his trusty baseball bat for protection, but he recognized the cool cologne wafting toward him and the warm body that slid beside him that fit as perfectly as it always had.

“Derek,” Stiles sighed happily, leaning into the arm that found its way around his shoulder. He breathed in Derek’s scent but didn’t look over at him, still taking in the building in front of him.

“I thought I’d find you here,” Derek said, placing a gentle kiss on Stiles’ temple. He could barely feel Derek’s lips through the thick hair he had let grow during his senior year. He was never expecting to rid himself of his signature buzz cut, but it wasn’t exactly a priority when battling the danger they so often faced.

“Am I that obvious?” Stiles asked.

“To me,” Derek said simply, squeezing Stiles’ shoulder. Stiles found himself blushing at the admission. Derek had been the biggest surprise to come out of his four crazy years. His best friend turned into a werewolf, he had seen multiple dead bodies and defeated the evilest creatures he couldn’t even believe existed, and still, falling in love with Derek was something he never thought would happen.

“Yeah?” Stiles whispered, leaning his cheek against the leather jacket he still hadn’t gotten Derek to stop wearing. Not that he really minded. He pulled it off better than anyone else really could.

“In fact, I know a lot about you, Stiles,” Derek began, sliding off the front of the jeep until he stood face to face with Stiles. “I know that graduating is something you should be celebrating with the pack instead of sitting here on your own. I know that you’re probably worried to be at your house because your dad is gonna be a sentimental mess after today. I know that when you come to the school, it’s because you’re trying to remember every single thing you can because deep down you worry about losing it all.”

Stiles shook his head, prepared to argue, “That’s not--” He stopped himself, though, seeing a seriousness in Derek’s eyes he didn’t expect. “Is everything okay?” Derek nodded and took Stiles’ hands in his, licking his lips as he huffed out a nervous laugh.

“I come here sometimes, too. I go to that spot in the preserve where I first met you and Scott, I go to the police station to check in with your dad so we can both keep an eye on you.” Stiles raised his eyebrows but stayed silent. As much as he wanted to argue against that, too, Derek seemed like he had something to get off of his chest. “I go to your house and sneak in your window like I used to before you realized how ridiculously in love with you I was, and I come here. This place that kept you marginally safe during the day so that I had time to sleep and try not to focus on you.”

“I kept myself safe just fine, thank you very much,” Stiles said, but there was no heat in it. His heart was too full and his stomach tumbling with nerves as Derek stared over at him with so much love in his eyes, he couldn’t find it in myself to be angry.

“You did, didn’t you?” Derek considered, rubbing his palms on Stiles’ thighs before holding onto the edges of his jacket like he didn’t know what to do with his hands.

“What’s up with you?” Stiles asked, reaching up to cup Derek’s face softly. He leaned into Stiles’ touch and his eyes settled closed before he took a deep breath.

“I know you have plans. Big plans that mean moving away from here, from the pack. I don’t want to-- I would never want you to change those. You have proven to yourself and everyone around you that you’re so much more than this town has to offer and--” Derek gulped and reached into his pocket blindly, never taking his eyes away from Stiles’ that widened with every passing second.

“What are you doing?” Stiles whispered, momentarily stunned as Derek knelt down on one knee, gazing up at Stiles with such passion in his eyes, Stiles almost gasped with the emotion behind it. “Derek…”

“I talked to your dad. I mean, I talk to your dad often, but I-- I asked him when I could propose to you. He suggested - well, more like threatened me within an inch of my life - to wait until after graduation or at least until after you turned 18.” He pulled out a bright red box from his pocket and opened it slowly, revealing the most stunning ring Stiles had ever seen. There were two black bands surrounding a dark wooden center and the style of it matched both of them perfectly.

“You’re serious?” Stiles asked from where he sat unmoving on the hood of the jeep. He was torn between launching at Derek and kissing the life out of him and staying frozen in place until he was sure Derek wasn’t playing a disastrously unfunny joke on him.

“I had this whole plan to do up the loft with these fancy lights and bouquets of roses or some other romantic flower and have soft country music in the background--”

“You hate country music,” Stiles interrupted. Derek beamed at him.

“I do. But you love it, right?” Derek pointed out and Stiles could only nod. “We know each other, Stiles, and I knew that you wouldn’t want some ridiculously cheesy proposal that probably would’ve been destroyed by something with our luck.” Stiles let out a surprising laugh that brought him out of his shocked stupor.

“And what did you decide on instead?” Stiles asked slowly, sliding off of the jeep so he stood in front of Derek, resting a hand on his shoulder to urge him to continue only so Stiles could say yes.

“Well, I went to Scott’s, thinking you would be there and he said you had left about an hour ago. Then I went to your dad’s and he talked me out of panic after he got over blubbering about you graduating and then said that you hadn’t come home. I knew you had to be here,�� Derek explained. Stiles saw his fingers trembling and it was so out of the ordinary, he wasn’t sure what to say. “I wasn’t going to do this here, at a place where more bad things happened than good, but--”

“It makes sense for us,” Stiles chimed in again, glancing over Derek’s head to stare at the broken sign he would never have to see again if he didn’t want to. “Every place in this town is filled with horrible memories, Derek. I would literally bet you to find a place that one of us hasn’t gotten hurt or someone hasn’t died,” Stiles huffed out a laugh and gazed back down at Derek. “This makes sense because this is the best memory we could possibly make at the place where the worst possible things have happened.” Stiles took a deep breath in and pulled Derek to standing so they were eye to eye and he could see the happiness on Stiles’ face. “Ask me, Derek,” he demanded.

Derek let out a choked laugh that Stiles thought held unshed tears and whispered, “Will you marry me, Stiles? Make me the happiest man in Beacon Hills?”

“Before I say yes, I’m gonna make fun of you for being such a hopeless romantic for the rest of our lives, you know that right?” Derek rolled his eyes and playfully smacked Stiles’ cheek before the gravity of Stiles’ words seemed to register in his brain.

“But there’s a yes in there?” Derek asked, his smile breaking through any annoyance he might have felt for Stiles as it usually did.

“There’s an emphatic yes in there, you idiot,” Stiles said and before he could speak any more, he surged into Derek’s arms and captured Derek’s lips in his. They had kissed hundreds of times before and each one had his heart stuttering more than the last but Stiles wasn’t sure if any would ever top that one. When they finally pulled away to breathe, Derek grabbed Stiles’ hand and slid the ring onto his finger. Stiles held his hand out to take it all in and felt his own tears spring into his eyes.

“Now who’s the hopeless romantic?” Derek asked, wiping the one stray tear that escaped from Stiles’ cheek. Stiles shoved at his shoulder but grabbed his jacket to pull him closer before he could stray too far.

“Still you, buddy, because I bet if we go to your loft to secure this engagement, there’s gonna be lights and roses decorating the entire place.” Derek flushed and stared up at the sky for a moment before leveling his eyes with Stiles’.

“And how do you know that, Stiles?” Derek asked, holding Stiles delicately in his arms as if afraid the moment would be broken if they weren’t attached.

“Because I know you, Derek, and I love you.” The words were far too simple, but Stiles didn’t know what else to say. Derek was right; they knew each other and loved each other more than Stiles had ever imagined. He glanced up at the school that had haunted him and for the first time in four years, he smiled.

#sterekvalentineweek2021 #sterek #sterek fic #stiles stilinski #derek hale #derek x stiles #stiles x derek #my writing #this was so fun to write #i do love a good proposal fic 🥺

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joonsgalaxy · 4 years

Text

true care |07.5 (m)

→ pairing: bodyguard!Jungkook x female reader

→ genre: fake dating au, fluff/romance, angst, smut

→ word count: 2.3 k

• summary: your (endearingly) shy bodyguard—hired by your father—would do anything for you. even though you roll your eyes at his persistence and pretend there’s no need for him to follow you to every and any place you go, there might be many more hazards in your life than you let on. and you might end up needing him in more ways than you—or your father—would ever think.

! warnings: mentions of toxic past relationship throughout the series; mentions of guns, alcohol

↠ chapter 7.5: you’re my painkiller

chapter list

a/n: it’s been a whileee. i know. this chapter is kind of an introduction to the 8th one. or basically a part of it. i just really really wanted to post something. i’m rusty. hope it’s not too bad. love, kyu

Jeongguk had run it in his mind a million times before. He hadn’t been counting exactly, but he was almost certain the number was rather accurate. He had explored all of the possible scenarios, all of the hazardous circumstances that could occur in various surroundings. That was what he ought to carry out as a bodyguard. And that was how his brain worked anyways.

He’d think a lot, calculating his every step in all those imaginary situations. Perhaps, he’d overthink a lot, but to be fair it only seemed to be an appropriate trait of his personality for this kind of a job. Fact is, you can never particularly know in what kind of a mess you’d end up. He was obliged to be prepared for anything. He was being paid for it. Well, not only for that, apparently. Jeongguk also had to pretend to be your boyfriend, at least around your friends.

But this night wasn’t about that, not anymore...

He was embarrassed. Deeply embarrassed. He had been before—when you saw the neighbourhood he was living in for the first time—and he was now—when it was the second time of you being here. This time, though, it was eminently different. This time you were inside the house. Inside his humble apartment. Sure, he’d move to another place soon (thanks to the rewarding job), but for now he couldn’t offer you much, except the view of the old playground for kids through the window and a cup of coffee that was probably at least three times cheaper than you were used to having. You refused the offer of coffee, though. And Jeongguk had no idea if you were being honest, when you said it would only magnify your anxiety. Perhaps everything that Jeongguk owned wasn’t good enough for you. It only made sense.

Is there anything he can help you with? ‘Yeah,’ you said. ‘I’d like to change—these clothes stink.’

He'd never think that you, by your own will, would express the eagerness to come to his place. Would borrow his clothes for the night without a smidgen of hesitation. This was rather... peculiar. Unexpected. Not in a bad way. Certainly not. This small apartment, where he spent his tolerable and not so tolerable days in, was the place you'd try and find some solace at. At least for the night. And that meant something, right? Had to.

'I don't want to go home,' without any effort, it seemed, of hiding the anguish within you, you let Jeongguk know your immediate thought once the incident was over. You had already given your statements to the authorities, and Jeongguk could see how drained you were from all that had been occurring that evening. 'Can we go to yours?'

He was taken aback by the request. Please, you added, when he found himself hesitating.

He couldn't say no to your soft voice and jaded eyes. Perhaps he should've.

And yet, here you were. There was no going back now.

As you were sitting there in his own shirt and sweatpants, he thanked God everything ended well that night. He wasn't sure how he'd be feeling now if anything had gone wrong. If anything bad had happened to you. There shouldn't be any kind of sentiment involved in this job, sure, but hell, Jeongguk was certain he'd lose his damned mind if anyone hurt you in any way. And not only because it would mean he failed at his responsibility to protect you, but also because... he was smitten. Kind of pathetic, if you think about it. Ridiculous, really, for he'd only met you a few weeks back.

The sigh you let out whipped him back to reality.

'I'm fine... you're fine... Mr. Ri is completely fine,' you said; the words were laced with certain kind of confusion, as if it wasn’t true. 'And still, there's this unpleasant feeling in me. I can't get rid of it.'

Jeongguk was sitting across the room from you. And even though his studio apartment was tiny and there wasn't much space between you two, his feet were itching to move even closer to you. He wished he knew how exactly he could comfort you.

'It's... disgusting. And all over me.'

It was so quiet. Unusually quiet in the room. Not even the annoying buzz of mowing the lawn could be heard. Nor the roars of cars pulling into the parking lot. It was as if the world around you needed to take a break too.

The walls in the building were basically paper thin. Jeongguk could usually hear some sort of sound at any given time of the day. The clatter of dishes in someone’s sink; the vexed parent reprimanding their child; the friction between a couple coming to life in a form of a loud quarrel. And sometimes it would comfort him in a way. Remind him of how diverse the world really is. Of how many different stories are unfolding around him. Just how many various things people have to deal with, all of them just as important. Quite humbling.

Even though it was silent at the moment, he didn't miss the sounds. The only thing he was certain he would miss when you leave his apartment, was your voice.

'Honestly? I'm glad I'm not home right now. I would most definitely lose my mind. My dad...' Anxiously, your fingers toyed with the hair tie on your wrist. Pulling, releasing, pulling, releasing. 'He would be asking me a million questions. Or he would just straight up avoid me.' Over and over, your skin was slapped with the result of your distress. Jeongguk wondered if you even felt it. Felt the sting of the stretchy thing making contact with your soft skin. Perhaps it was numb.

It was something you'd do a lot when being fretful—repeat certain movements absentmindedly. He'd seen it during the party; the night you looked breath-taking, the night you forced him to sit at the same table as you, even though it was not planned by the event organisers. He would still look back on it from time to time. Still was wondering why you did that exactly.

'You know, I think I've mentioned this before, but I've gone through something similar in the past. The reason behind my disagreement on my bodyguard carrying a gun with him...'

Jeongguk couldn't remain still on the chair while you were in such an emotional turmoil. He shot up from the seat and crossed the room, gingerly plopping down on the bed right beside you. And though he deliberately left some space between you two, his hand dared to land onto yours; he carefully set it aside from your wrist that could already be seen irritated by the hair tie.

You glanced at him, and the look in your eyes was rather soft, grateful perhaps. Even so, Jeongguk drew his hand back, placing it in his lap. He would sooner slam his head against the door than make you feel uneasy by his close proximity. You already seemed so fragile.

'We don't have to talk about it if you're not ready,' he assured you, when you stayed silent for a few another seconds.

'During your service,' you said after a while, 'did you see lots of violence?'

'There wasn't much during training. Though, I went on a couple missions that could be classified as pretty serious, I guess.'

'Were you scared?'

He thought about it for a moment, let the silence hang in the air akin to a fog above fields in the mornings. He figured there was no point in hiding anything. 'Yeah. There were moments I was terrified.'

Gently, in a shy manner you ran a hand across his duvet on the bed. 'How did you deal with it?'

For him, this felt deeply intimate. Almost inappropriate. You were finding out about his personal stuff in his own apartment. Your skin was touching the fabric he would later tuck himself into. And the necessity to ignore the closeness for the sake of both of you was crushing him.

'I kept reminding myself of what I was there for. I tried to turn deaf ear to the emotional side of myself. To use the rational one.'

'Did it work?'

'Sometimes.' Jeongguk shrugged. 'There were moments I almost lost it. There were moments I watched someone else losing it. Those missions... They were not for the faint hearted. But no,' seeing the worried look on your face, he quickly added, 'it wasn't all guns and death, don't get me wrong. Mostly waiting, watching, hiding, holding one's breath. Well, that one because of all the smoking other guys did.'

He saw a faint smile flicker upon your lips. That made his heart warm.

The boy could tell there were a bunch of messy, hurtful things happening to you in your seemingly ideal life. And he could also tell that a handful noxious thoughts were tormenting that mysterious mind of yours. He had a feeling you were your worst enemy, as cliché as it might sound.

You were a private person, didn't let just anyone in, so he could only see the tip of the iceberg.

'You didn't pick up smoking then?'

'Nah.' Jeongguk should his head. 'Not because it's gross,' he felt the need to add, 'or that I think I'm above all that. Quite the opposite, to be frank with you. I know if I start smoking, I may never stop.'

'Oh?' You looked a little surprised. 'Your will, to me, seems to be made of titan.'

A corner of Jeongguk's lips twitched in an ironical smile.

'In a way, it certainly is. But I'm only human. I've seen the strongest men get hooked up on that shit, like finishing the whole pack of smokes in two hours and then losing their mind over the fact that there's none left. The withdrawal and the stress that came with it made them vulnerable, they lost their vigilance. You need to stay sharp at all times on this kind of job. I need to stay sharp on this kind of job.' He vaguely gestured toward you. 'So yeah, maybe I have the will not to pick up smoking, even if it could help me feel nice for a moment, but my body isn't addiction-proof, and that's when it gets tricky.'

There was a gentle nod from your side of the bed. 'It's good to be able to admit that to yourself. Not everyone can do that, even if it doesn't seem that complicated.'

'That's true.'

Jeongguk saw you getting lost in thought for a second. Then you chuckled in a derisive way; you were mocking yourself. The sound made the boy's heart ache a little. 'All that talk about you being in the military...' you began, 'and you're working for me now. Like who honestly cares what I've been through, when there are people such as you, responsible for mine and others' safety? You risk everything. For others. My God.' A sigh escaped your lungs. Jeongguk didn't know what to say. Who cared about what you've been dealing with? He did. But he wouldn't tell you that. Not now. This was already getting too personal. 'Most of the time I feel lost, and I feel this sadness just kind of sitting there on my shoulders, and... do I even have the right to feel this way? My life is pretty much perfect.'

'Nobody's life is perfect,' Jeongguk reminded you, adding, 'You have every right to feel. No matter what sort of feeling comes over you. No matter when or where. It's only natural. You’re only human, too.’

‘Yeah. I just feel like...’ You hesitated. ‘Like I don’t possess control over anything in my life anymore.’

Jeongguk exhaled a long breath. Decided to try and lighten the mood up. ‘You know you’ve still got control over me.’ He was your father’s employee after all.

You snorted with laughter. A success.

‘Just give me any order and I’ll do it.’

You looked at him almost challengingly. ‘Any order, huh?’

Jeongguk nodded, innocently.

It didn’t take much time for his mind to go back to the night of pure indecency between you two. It hit him like a train. All the orders uttered by your soft, slightly tipsy, yet remarkably alluring voice. All the risky and obscene actions he did there right beside you in the back seat of your car.

He felt his cheeks bloom in red.

Were you thinking about the same things as him right now?

The playful smile on your face morphed into one that didn’t seem as obvious, but Jeongguk thought it certainly looked just a dash more wicked. ‘Yeah?’

Even if his heart was starting to pound in his ears, and even if he knew there definitely was a possibility he would appear as a total idiot, he answered, ‘Yeah.’

Everything felt still in the moment that came after. What now? Was he a bad person for secretly wishing you would ask him to do something filthy again? For wishing he could feel that same adrenaline rush once again? Was he a bad employee?

There was a shift in the air. He watched your smile falter. And then your eyes, as captivating as ever, followed their way from Jeongguk’s orbs to his lips.

He thought his heart would jump right out of his throat.

‘Then kiss me.’

#jungkook x reader #armiesnet #bts fic #jeon jeongguk #jungkook fluff #jungkook smut #jungkook angst #bts fanfic #bangtan fic #jungkook scenarios #bodyguard au #bts fanfiction #jungkook series #bts series

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thevioletjones · 3 years

Note

31, because I can’t see it fitting Ian/Mickey easily and know you’re a good enough writer to prove me wrong ☺️

Thanks! I tried. 🙂

Prompt 6: “I can’t keep kissing strangers and pretending that they’re you.”

Ian’s Box of Crap

Being currently unemployed, Mickey didn’t have much of a leg to stand on when attempting to deflect Ian’s demands that he get chores and household tasks done while his husband was out earning an honest paycheck. He wasn’t even allowed to shake people down anymore, let alone pull robberies, or get back into the drug trade. Ian had made it clear that divorce wasn't off the table if Mickey deliberately did something stupid that got him thrown back in prison for a long stretch.

He didn’t much like being told what to do, but what he liked even less was not having Ian in his life. He’d had to go too many years without him in the past, and nothing good ever came during those times. Unfortunately, Ian Gallagher was it for Mickey Milkovich. That meant that he actually had to stay in line and put in the work if he didn’t want to lose him again. Ian wasn’t as soft as he used to be. Never really had been at his core, but the maturity of age had cemented his backbone rather rigidly, and Mickey was actually loathe to piss him off too badly these days.

So he did the bullshit grunt work requested of him, just to keep the peace. He was tired of fighting every day of his life, and what was the point of marrying Ian if they weren’t going to try and make each other happy?

In the past couple weeks, Mickey had done everything from laundry and dishes, to vacuuming and mopping. He’d patched up a couple of big holes in the wall that Frank had made, and fixed the loose parts of the wooden outdoor steps and banisters, both front and back. He’d even gone so far as to babysit the tiny, helpless Gallagher spawn a few times, which had been interesting and somewhat terrifying. Then Ian had given him this look when he caught the scene one afternoon, eyes shining, smile beaming. It reminded him of that brief time they’d helped take care of Yevgeny, which made Mickey’s head spin. He didn’t need Gallagher getting the whole ‘having kids’ thing back in his head right now. Mickey was in no way ready for all that. Hadn’t been the first time, and they’d all seen how that turned out.

Today, he was supposed to clean out the attic. He told Ian that asking someone outside the family to do it sounded like a bad idea. How was he supposed to know what shit the Gallaghers wanted to keep, and what they wanted to get rid of? What if he made a mistake? If anyone had asked him what to keep from the hoarded piles of shit in the Milkovich house, he would’ve laughed in their face, then set everything on fire. Mickey wasn’t the sentimental type. So did Ian want him to just toss everything?

Ian had rolled his eyes, clarified that Mickey was a Gallagher now, and given him a run-down. Anything that had obviously been made or cherished by a Gallagher kid, any family photos and albums, or small boxes of keepsakes, those stayed. Anything that wasn’t being used by anyone, but could be of use and handed down to the youngest or recently shacked up of them, set them aside to be put in rotation. Anything that worked, but they already had one of or didn’t need, donation box (because apparently they actually sometimes donated shit to the local shelter). And anything that looked completely unnecessary for anyone, throw it in a Best Choice trash bag, but don't take them to the curb yet. Ian would go over everything when he got home to make sure it was sorted correctly.

“So you’re gettin' me to do all this boring-ass grunt work, then you’re gonna have to go through it anyway? What the fuck, man?” he’d asked.

“It'll make the whole thing way easier on me, so can you just shut the fuck up and do me the favor? I’ll blow you later for your trouble.”

“Like you wouldn’t be doin’ that anyway.”

Ian had shrugged. “If you don’t, I won’t.”

“Threatening to withhold sex? That’s a bitch move if I ever heard one.”

“Whatever, deadbeat. You want me to support you, gotta help out when I ask. A blowjob would just be a bonus, because I’m generous of spirit.”

“I’m not gonna forget this hardcore manipulation, Firecrotch. I’ll get my revenge eventually.”

Ian merely kissed him on the nose. “Sounds like a plan. See ya.”

And he was out the door.

“Asshole,” Mickey’d muttered under his breath.

And now, a few hours later, here he was; sitting on the dusty, hard planks of the weird-smelling Gallagher attic, sorting through the memories and forgotten things of the family he’d married into less than six months ago. He’d dawdled as long as he could on the couch, eating junk food and watching his favorite daytime game shows, judge shows, and salacious ‘who’s the baby daddy?’ shows. The only hint of fun left in the remainder of his day was in the bong and the beer he’d brought with him up the rickety ladder. After every box sorted, he’d take a rip or two and chase the smoke with a long swig of cheap alcohol.

The most interesting things he’d found so far were some old pictures of Ian when he was little, his hair a curly mess, and his pale skin covered in dark freckles. His smile was too big for his face, and he looked goofy as all hell. Nothing like the hot hunk of man he was today. It was the Ian Mickey remembered from Little League a million years ago. And maybe he’d set one of the photos aside to keep for himself and taken some pics of others with his phone, so what?

Mostly he’d had to sift through little Debbie’s ridiculous girly shit, and Frank’s completely random assortment of insignificant trinkets with a side of what looked like bondage gear. He’d since moved on to a group of boxes obviously labeled by Carl when he was younger. He recognized the scrawl, occasional backwards lettering, and lack of possessive apostrophes. The words were short enough not to be atrociously misspelled, and consisted of a Gallagher first name in plural, followed by: ‘box of crap.’

Everybody had one, including Fiona, who hadn’t taken it with her when she’d left Chicago, and the kids she’d raised as her own, behind. The most scandalous item in there was a dildo of decent size that Mickey definitely would’ve packed in his suitcase if he’d been the one moving away as a single chick. The thought crossed his mind to pilfer it for his own collection, but he figured that Ian would be weirded out by the association. Sex toys were probably the only thing Gallaghers never shared between them.

Carl had a box of his own, semi-well-hidden compared to the others, and Mickey discovered why when he’d managed to get the copious amount of packing tape off. It was full of straight porn mags with big-tittied women and shaved pussies, underneath an array of dangerous weapons the family had forbidden him to have when he was underaged. He found everything from nunchucks, to throwing stars, to switchblades, to brass knuckles. No guns or attempted homemade bombs, thank fuck. He chucked the porn in the trash pile, cuz nobody needed to see that shit, and set the switchblade aside for himself, deciding to give the rest to Ian to sort out.

He saved Ian’s box for last, opening it up to find a grab bag of old army decorations, tattered paperbacks, comics, a bunch of loose paper covered in scribbles, and a stack of notebooks.

Mickey didn’t realize Ian was such a huge nerd that he’d kept his high school notebooks, but giving a quick flip through the first two revealed they weren’t school-related at all. He remembered Ian going through a phase when he was always writing shit down, ranting about having great ideas he needed to save for posterity. Before he went to the hospital. A manic phase. Probably one of many he’d cycled through, yet Mickey had missed some of those extremes.

Everything had been so chaotic then. He’d pushed Ian away, then gotten the same treatment in return. Their typical messiness pervaded everything back then. And now, he had in his hands Ian’s unfiltered thoughts about what happened back then.

“Fuck,” he said to himself, setting the notebooks down and going for the beer/weed combo again.

There were exactly two ways to go about this: he could put the notebooks back into the Ian box and not invade his privacy, or he could skim through them and hone in on the interesting relevant bits and maybe get a few long-pondered answers. On the one hand, Ian would probably get pissed if Mickey read them. On the other hand, Ian never had to know about it, did he?

It really wasn’t much of a choice… he’d always been curious as to what the hell was going through Ian’s head back in the day. They’d never exactly been great at talking things out, and he didn’t have it in him to try and make Ian relive some of the lowest moments of his life just to give Mickey some peace of mind. Plus, they were always facing some new bullshit obstacle head-on, so the past always just kind of got lost in the shuffle of their present difficulties.

Mickey took a deep breath and opened one of the notebooks again. The pages weren’t dated, and a lot of it didn’t make much sense. There were many lists with lines crossed out, but they didn’t describe things ‘to do,’ more like an endless inventory of concepts and feelings. The thought patterns were totally abstract, and Mickey couldn’t really make heads or tails of them. It hit him sharply in the chest when he realized that when Ian had been out of it, he’d really and truly been fucking out of it. These seemed like the crazed rantings of an unmedicated schizophrenic babbling on public transportation. It pained Mickey to the core, and it scared the shit out of him too.

He flipped through it fairly quickly, then opened the next one. It seemed to be calmer, more legible, and less unintelligible. It was more like a diary with bad poetry sprinkled in, and it only took a few pages for Mickey’s own name to jump out at him among the wall of words. It must have been written during Ian’s lost months, after going AWOL from the Army when he was 17.

He described running away from Chicago, scamming his early enlistment, crashing and burning his way out of bootcamp, shaking and selling his ass as a club boy, snorting, smoking, and swallowing all manner of substances, and crashing anywhere from penthouses to flophouses with sexual favors sprinkled in liberally. It was like the chronicle of a person going mad and coping in all the wrong ways. It surprised Mickey how emotional it made him to read these things in vivid detail. He’d completely forgotten how worried he used to be about Ian. When he was gone, when he went missing again, and when he started doing irrational things that could’ve ended so much worse than they did.

Ian was the one that had to live out all the drama and trauma of his disorder, but Mickey was the one caught on the sidelines, not having a single clue what to do or how to fix it. He’d never felt so useless or helpless in his entire life, even through all the bullshit he’d suffered growing up with Terry as a father. Maybe it was because of his age, or how Ian made him feel a certain way he’d never felt before. He just remembered hating it, and being so fucking sad.

These pages reminded him that through the mania, Ian was a bottomless well of sadness himself.

It was tough text to get through, and more than once, he felt like maybe he shouldn’t be reading it at all. Ian had never intended for other people to see his innermost thoughts, even Mickey. But it was impossible to stop now that he’d opened that floodgate. It was like reliving a part of their shared history through the eyes of his partner in crime. It was too fascinating.

After countless pages of dark tales from the void, Mickey came upon a page that was actually addressed to him. Surely, Ian had never intended to hand it over, but it was his nonetheless.

Mickey— I never had the balls to tell you this, But you’re the only boy I’ve ever loved. I thought you loved me too, But now I’m not so sure. I’m so confused and I go back and forth, Never really knowing what to actually think, Or what the truth is. All I really realize now is that I can’t keep kissing strangers and pretending that they’re you. It took you forever to let me, And now I just do it with anyone, Cuz I don’t fucking care. I just miss you, And I wish you were here. But also, I don’t, Cuz I don’t want you to see me like this. I’m having a great time on my own adventure, But also not. You shouldn’t be a part of it right now. You’re on your own strange journey, I guess. Maybe one day we’ll be on the same road together again, And also for the first time, since we never really were.

Mickey barely had enough time to sniff and wipe away the stray tear that had fallen, when his husband’s voice startled him out of his reverie.

“You’re still up here?”

“Jesus Christ!” he cried out with a visible jolt of his body.

His head snapped toward the attic hatch, where Ian’s dumb red head was surveying the musty space. Mickey let the notebook fall from his grasp, but Ian was already climbing the rest of the way in before it occurred to him that he was about to be caught red-handed with journals that were supposed to be deeply private. He could only flip it closed and grab his beer to polish it off, before Ian was crouching in front of him and taking a seat.

“Can’t believe you actually did this for me, to be honest,” Ian said with a chuckle, glancing at the bong. “Anything left?”

“Baggie’s right there,” Mickey replied nodding his head to the left.

“Nice.”

Ian got distracted with loading a bowl, so Mickey very subtly tried to nudge Ian's notebooks aside with his foot, like maybe if they were slightly farther away, he could claim complete innocence as to knowing what they were.

He watched Ian take a couple hits before passing it to him, and Mickey welcomed the opportunity to temper his suddenly sullen mood.

“How was work?” he asked between hits, before passing back to Ian.

Ian snickered and furrowed his brow. “You never ask me about work.”

Mickey shrugged. “Don’t mean I don’t care.”

“Uh huh.” Ian looked even more skeptical, and finally glanced around at what Mickey had in his vicinity. That sent his brow up high, in a decent imitation of Mickey’s usual expressiveness. “Oh. That my box?”

Mickey gulped and nodded. “Yeah. Just sorting it out. Should’ve just left the whole thing for ya. Sorry.”

Ian’s gaze snapped to his face. “You read stuff.”

It was a statement rather than a question.

“Just a little,” Mickey admitted. “I shouldn’t have. Fuck, I’m an asshole.”

But Ian only shook his head. “Nah, it’s okay.”

“You don’t have to say that. I’d be pissed.”

“I’m not. I promise.”

“Really? You’re not mad?”

Ian shook his head again. “No. Actually, I’m kinda relieved.”

“How the fuck so?”

“It's all stuff I wanted you to know. I mean, part of me used to be really ashamed, maybe still is, but… another part of me always just wanted to be totally honest with you. In a way I haven’t ever been with anyone. Even Lip. But I didn’t have the words to say it, you know? And I know a lot of it is just scary rambling. I don’t even understand what some of it means, but the stuff that’s real… the lucid stuff… it’s depressing as fuck, but it’s the truth. We didn’t always tell each other the truth, but we showed each other. And this was something I couldn’t really show you. So maybe you were meant to find these. Do my dirty work for me.”

“Damn, Gallagher, that’s kinda heavy. These were… kinda heavy. Made me feel shit I’d forgotten about, you know?”

Ian nodded. “Yeah. I haven’t read ‘em in years, but I remember. It’s why I wanted to put ‘em away, I guess. Plus, I didn’t want someone else snooping around and finding out too much. I mean, you never know in this house. It’s possible every fucking Gallagher already read them, but I hope not.”

“Ian…” Mickey started, but didn’t know exactly what he wanted to say. Words of reassurance? It was all in the past, and Ian was doing so well now. He was diligent about his medication, and he hadn’t spun out of control since before prison. Anything Mickey said now would just be cold comfort, since that notebook version of Ian barely existed anymore. Ian was always afraid that it would recur, but Mickey wasn’t. They were truly in it together now, and he’d never let Ian cross the threshold into the uncontrollable. “I wish I coulda been what you needed me to be back then. However impossible it was. Some of it was my fault.”

“It wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t even my fault, really. It was some shitty shit that happened to me. I reacted the only way I thought I could. There’s no use in either of us wishing we’d done things differently now. At least we got the right outcome, right? We’re together.” He clasped their left hands so that their wedding rings touched. “Forever.”

Mickey couldn’t help but snort. “Okay, you didn’t have to get that gay about it. I already had to suffer through a buncha your faggy teen poetry. I deserve a break from the high drama of it all.”

Ian laughed, kissed his hand, dropped it, then smacked him on the cheek. “Fuck you.”

“Just say when,” Mickey responded with a smile.

“After we go through all this shit, Romeo. Explain the piles.”

“Well,” said Mickey, pointing to the nearby corner, “Carl has a shitload of contraband in there. Weapons, not drugs. Frank has some shit that might be S&M gear, not sure, then aside from your lunatic journal ramblings, everything else is boring as shit. Oh, and Fiona left a big blue dildo.”

#ian x mickey #fanfic #gallavich #fanfiction #asks #answers

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bosspigeon · 3 years

Text

hurts like hope

Pairing: M!Detective/Mason Word Count: 3100 Summary: Detective Juniper Fenn tries to figure out just what the limit on his incorrigible hope is, and when he’ll finally be able to stomp it out.

Hello I Am Here With More Self-Indulgent Character Study Nonsense. For $8000 a month, I Will Stop.

CW for vague descriptions/references to sex

Nothing has ever hurt Juni like hope has.

He wouldn’t call himself an optimist by any means. He’d probably settle on “optimistic pessimist” if pressed, which means always expecting the worst, because at least then he’s either right or pleasantly surprised.

But in spite of that philosophy, there’s a stupid, naive part of him that won’t die, no matter how much it’s beaten down—his dumb, desperate hope.

He hoped doing the best he could in school, never getting into trouble, never arguing with Mum or making her feel guilty for leaving him behind would show her he was good enough to acknowledge in more than impersonal letters and distracted phone calls on major occasions.

He was always disappointed.

He hoped working a job he didn’t care about, that didn’t suit someone as soft-hearted and anxious as he was, would make him feel closer to the memory of his father, would make him feel like he was doing something good enough to make people care about him like they did Dad.

Disappointed again.

He hoped letting Bobby walk all over him, use him, and placate him with saccharine-sweet murmurs of “Oh, angel, you’re so good to me” would make him see Juni as more than just a convenience, a doormat and a stepping stone to bigger, better things that would always matter more than Juni’s ever mattered to anyone.

The repetition got exhausting, after a while.

When he meets Mason, he thinks he’s given up on hoping. At that point, he just wants something for himself. He wants to be selfish. He wants to be wanted, even if it’s just for a tumble or two. Even if it’s just because his stupid, special blood suddenly means he’s catnip for supernaturals. Even if it doesn’t mean anything.

I’m doing this for me, he tells himself when Mason’s touching him for the first time, when strong, calloused hands are dancing up his sides, and he tries to shrink away, suck in his gut, and Mason squeezes with a pleased little growl that makes Juni whimper. I’m doing something for me, for once in my fucking life.

The lights are off. They crashed through the door without turning anything on, but Juni knows Mason can see him just fine anyway, and he wants to squirm, wants to hide, but Mason distracts him with a very thorough kiss, his touches gentle until Juni responds positively, his sharp eyes picking him apart, like figuring out what the detective likes is the only assignment that’s ever mattered.

And then Mason calls him stunning, and he’s done for.

He’s sure that’ll be it. One and done, and Mason will forget all about the messy, bumbling detective now that he’s whet his appetite. It hurts to think about, it hurts to hope, so he doesn’t.

(That’s a lie. He does. He always does, because he’s stupid.)

He tries to bury the hope like he’s done before, but it’s no use. Every time Mason sits as close to him as possible without physically touching him, every time he gives him one of those long, smoky looks, every time he puts out a cigarette when Juni asks or just doesn’t light one at all, every time he touches Juni with a gentleness that feels almost reverent, like Juni is something worth treating carefully, it fights back harder, hopes louder. In just a few months, the vampire’s got Detective Juniper Fenn’s fragile little heart on a string, and he doesn’t seem to know it.

If he did, would he even care?

Juni gets his answer before long.

He’s only seen me naked.

He told himself he wouldn’t hope. He wasn’t hoping. He knows better. He should know better.

But he hoped, and it hurt, and it’s exactly what he deserves, isn’t it? Once bitten, twice shy, and all that, but Juni’s been bitten so many times, and he never shies enough for it to matter. He walks right on into the hurt with open arms, like a moth to a flame, to a fucking bug zapper, and just licks his wounds until the next flame comes along to reduce him to ash all over again.

When will he learn?

If nothing else, he’s resilient. It’s one of the few things he’s got going for him. He knows how to roll with the punches and pretend everything’s fine, because he’s been doing it since he was old enough to know crying for his Mum wouldn’t do anything but give him a headache. So he runs out of Haley’s in tears—she’s known him since school, so she knows he’s a crybaby and won’t tell a soul—but at least he knows how to calm himself down before he walks into the station. He plasters on a smile, cracks a few jokes, and everything’s fine and dandy.

And then Juni’s fucking ceiling explodes and his room floods, because nothing can go right in his life. At least it wasn’t some supernatural attack this time, he supposes. Small mercies.

Of course, it’s got to be Mason who greets him, when he’s soaked to the skin and covered in plaster, and still recovering from seeing Mr. Yu naked.

And Mason apologizes.

The hope he thought had finally, finally died the slow, painful death it deserved springs back to life in his chest like one of those inflatable clown punching bags. He wants to be annoyed, because an apology doesn’t mean a whole hell of a lot if you don’t even know why you’re apologizing, and it feels more like Mason’s blaming Juni for having feelings (stupid, stupid feelings) rather than actually taking accountability for causing hurt, but he’s an idiot, so of course he reaches out, takes Mason’s hand, and asks the dumbest question he’s asked in his life. And he still has to Google literally every odd sound his car makes, because the poor thing is held together with duct tape and dreams at this point.

“What does this mean for us?”

And he’s blown off again, and when the hope shrivels up this time, he wants to grind it into the dirt with his heel, salt the earth so nothing grows there again, because really, when is he going to fucking learn? He wonders how Mum just turns off her feelings, and if that sort of thing can be taught. He wonders if she’d make the time to teach him, now that she’s “trying.”

He wonders if Dad was as much of a raw nerve of a person as he is, but it’s not as if he can ask anyone about it.

"You two… One of you is going to have to make the big leap, and he has no idea how."

Felix has never been shy about needling Juni about his ridiculous and obvious whatever-it-is with Mason (calling it a crush seems as childish as it is reductive, since he doubts it can be called a crush anymore once you’ve, uh, had sex) but this time it comes out... Softer. Gentler. Definitely annoyed, groaned out with a hearty eye roll, as if the two of them are personally responsible for all of Felix’s woes, but still... kind. Kinder than he expected, and that is enough to throw him off for Felix to leave him behind before he can even shake him and ask him what the hell that’s supposed to even mean.

No idea how?

Mason’s confusion when he apologized strikes a new chord, suddenly. Mason doesn’t know how he fucked up, just that he did. In a normal circumstance, with a normal guy, Juni would assume he was just being a dick. Of course he didn’t do anything he saw as wrong, he’d just be apologizing to get back into Juni’s good graces—and also his pants. It was certainly Bobby’s MO.

But these aren’t normal circumstances, are they? And Mason’s not a normal guy.

Juni doesn’t want to think about what he saw in the mirror at the carnival, but if he were any good at not thinking about things that upset him, he wouldn’t be in this mess. He squeezes his eyes closed and shakes his head, trying to clear it of the splashes of red, of the screaming, and he swallows until he can calm himself down.

At least he can distract himself with drumming up signatures for the blood drive. He thinks he can. But Mason is there, and he’s distracting, aloof and unamused and annoyingly gorgeous, and Juniper Fenn never professed to be a terribly strong man. There’s a gut-deep urge that draws him to the vampire, an itch under Juni’s skin to get close, poke at that sneering facade and see the softer bits underneath.

Juni’s seen so many of those softer bits, far more than he thought he could ever get when he tumbled into bed with Mason for the first time. He honestly expected to be ignored entirely once he gave him what he was after in the first place, but instead he was given little fragments of something more, and sentimental idiot he is, he’s been hoarding them and trying to cobble together something from the scraps he’s been given. So he drifts closer, pulled helplessly into Mason’s orbit, and he doesn’t even know what to say, so he just laughs awkwardly and needles Mason about not helping.

Which… works, somehow?

It doesn’t exactly go where he’s expecting it to go, conversation-wise, and he’s left reeling with Mason’s stark, shameless honesty. There’s something that warms him, knowing that the vampire seems to, if nothing else, respect him, in his own way? That anyone, much less someone as difficult to impress as Mason, thinks he’s good enough? Not just good enough, but ‘better than pretty much anyone’ he knows? Juni’s known Mason long enough at this point to understand some things about him, and one of the most obvious is how loyal he is. Loyalty is everything to Mason, and he’s fiercely protective of those that have earned it.

Juni’s fingers are slack enough with surprise that Mason can take the board from him and wander off to frighten the general populace into signing up for the blood drive, and Juni is left with his heart fluttering in a very damning way.

Don’t be an idiot, he tells himself fiercely, shaking his head as if that will rid himself of the pointlessly painful affliction he’s tried for years to shrug off. Just because he likes you as a person doesn’t mean he wants anything else with you.

Whatever weirdness still lingers between the two of them, Unit Bravo’s company makes what would have been a really boring, lonely task actually pretty fun, between Felix dancing around and chatting happily at any citizen of Wayhaven drawn into his orbit, Adam and Nate working together like a well-oiled machine to collect and transfer signatures, and Mason looking genuinely confused whenever someone is brave enough to weather his thunderous expression for the chance to chat with him, however briefly.

It’s nice to be with them all, and their comfortable rapport and playful banter makes it surprisingly easy for Juni to brush his confusing feelings aside and just be, for a while. At least until the banter halts sharply, and every eye is looking over his shoulder. “Hello, angel.”

Juni closes his eyes and stiffens, jaw clenching as a shudder ripples through him. No, no, no, not him. Not today.

Juni's relationship with Bobby was never terribly comfortable, but he’s always been something of a boiling frog cautionary tale. Bobby is not the sort of person who ever turns off the persona. He was rarely ever just Bobby, and Juni knows that hasn't really changed. While they dated, even when they were dumb kids, Juni was always stuck in the shadow cast by someone so desperate to stand in a spotlight they stepped on everyone they claimed to love in order to feel even a shred of that artificial warmth. Juni supposes he wasn’t much different, only the artificial warmth he craved came from Bobby.

He has no idea why Bobby is still so hung up on him. Juni always got the feeling he was never more than the road of least resistance to Bobby. He was easy. Low-maintenance. Didn’t kick up a fuss over being talked over and ignored, because not only was he used to that sort of thing, he was just so grateful to be anyone’s anything, he’d let the man get away with murder just to keep that illusion of happiness.

“What the hell did you just call him?” Mason snarls, stalking to Juni’s side. Juni’s trying to keep calm, trying not to turn into a complete disaster of a person under the sudden stress, but his fluttering awareness of the vampire is crashing into his shrieking fear of confrontation and turning into a messy cocktail that he knows all four vampires can sense. Vaguely, and a little frantically, he wonders if he just smells like anxiety all the time, if anxiety has a smell. It probably does.

“I… always call him that.”

He does, always has, and back when Juni was blindly obsessed with everything he pretended Bobby was, he convinced himself it was cute. Looking back, it always felt sleazy and fake, but Juni’s a master of nothing more than he’s a master of ignoring his own discomfort.

“Not anymore you don’t.” Mason takes another step forward, and for a moment Juni’s terrified he’s going to start a goddamned brawl in the middle of the square. There’s a mean little part of him that wouldn’t completely hate that, but thankfully that’s outweighed by the sensible part that knows he’d be the one stuck dealing with the aftermath. He’s reaching out to try and stop Mason from escalating things further when Adam, thankfully, intercedes.

And then Mason returns to Juni’s side, and a strong arm slips around his waist and hauls him close. His heartbeat goes crazy, and he can only be grateful that none of Unit Bravo are telepathic, because he’s sure his brain is making godawful dial-up noises. It’s a struggle to maintain politeness, but he does his best. Bobby, at least, seems to realize now is not a good time to try and pick at Juni’s defenses, with four government agents backing him up, one of whom has a possessive arm looped pointedly around him.

"Just because he's being polite, doesn't mean he wants you here.” Well, Mason’s greatest skill is reading people, and he’s probably figured out that Juni’s go-to defense mechanism is to pretend everything is fine and dandy and smile, smile, smile no matter what. Still, his protectiveness (if that’s what it is?) makes Juni’s stomach squirm. Mason’s almost baring his teeth at Bobby, who hopefully will not notice that his canines are a bit sharper than a normal human’s should be. “So piss off.”

Thankfully, Bobby is the sort of person who doesn’t like to start fights he’s not sure he can win, so he leaves with, of course, a sleazy parting shot that makes Juni shudder. He really, really hopes Bobby doesn’t find him when he’s alone. He’s got enough mental stress on his plate at the moment, thank you very much, Bobert.

He tries not to make a sad little noise when Adam ushers them back to work, which means Mason pulls away from him, but he’s not sure how successful he is, given the long look he gets from those smoky grey eyes. He throws himself into the work of cleanup to avoid anymore uncomfortable conversations, because he thinks he’s exceeded his quota for the day.

Of course, he thinks that, but he never knows when to quit, and he winds up sidling up to Mason again, fueled, once again, by hope.

He wants to smack himself with a rolled-up newspaper.

What’s the definition of madness, again? Doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different result? He wonders if Mum still has his old therapist on retainer. He bets she’d have a field day with whatever the hell he’s doing now. She’d probably be able to retire with the royalties from a paper picking apart his myriad neuroses and subtle self-destructive tendencies. Maybe he should ring her. Someone deserves to profit from his ridiculous inability to take a bloody hint, and it’s certainly not going to be him.

But, God, Mason’s hands are on him, tugging him in, and he’s helpless under that stormy stare, he had not a chance in hell to resist, not when Mason is being soft, and open, and what the hell does any of this mean?

Juni sometimes wishes he’d resisted when Mason first started teasing him, turned him down, tried to keep things professional and friendly rather than stumbling all over himself at the first sign of interest. He wouldn’t mind at all if Mason just wanted to be friends, because at least then he could still be close, still bask in the steadfast loyalty and companionship of a man who would take a bullet for any one of his team—his family—and Juni could keep his heart intact. But he knows without a doubt he never stood a chance. So he sinks into the attention, leaning into it like a flower towards the sun, bares his soft throat and softer heart and hopes against hope he won’t be torn open and left to bleed.

It’s never gone well for him before, but optimistic pessimism and all that. He’ll either get exactly what he expects and deal with the painful consequences like he always has, plastering on a smile until he can go cry alone and listen to sad music to remember how to face the world again, or the battered, bruised hope that won’t fucking die will finally, finally be rewarded.

Mason’s smile when Juni pitifully asks “That’s it?” leaves him breathless and dizzy in a way just a smile has no right to, but it’s so warm, so open and sweet, it blindsides Juni when he’s already weak. He’s completely helpless. Absolutely done for. Nate’s disapproval is hardly a blip on the embarrassment radar, because Juni is floating.

And, as if Mason isn’t satisfied with just completely rendering him a puddle, he hops off the table with a quick peck on the cheek and saunters off to clean up, leaving Juni’s scrambled thoughts to chase themselves around in a circle. It was just a chaste little kiss. It shouldn’t even mean anything.

Of course, to Juni, it means everything.

For once, just once, without mentally whacking himself with a broom, Juni tentatively allows himself to hope.

#the wayhaven chronicles #specialist agent mason #specialist agent m #twc fanfic #twc detective #pidge writes #oc: juniper fenn #HERE IT GOES HERE IT GOES AGAIN #this one technically comes before the other one ive posted #i just posted that one first bc of the way things appear on tumblr #so you hit this one first and then that one #that makes sense right?#hhhhhh anyway here's some more character study nonsense for juni #bc thats where im at i guess #its all v long and disjointed but thats what my brain is doing so uh #¯\_ (ツ)_/¯

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revasserium · 3 years

Text

運命なんて

commission for @mika-ze; thank you so much for commissioning darling, i hope you like it u__u

things like ‘fate’ hirugami sachirou; 3,016 words of fluffy fluff fluff

one. he remembers it like recalling a dream just dreamt, the image so clear a moment ago and yet fading by the second -- he watches as if through a running stream, the water crystalline in the way it distorts the memory. he doesn’t think so much as he knows that the two of you will be friends, or perhaps more, for a very long time.

he’s all of six years old.

“what’s your cat’s name?”

you look up with eyes the color of molten chocolate, the spark in them just as sweet, just as shy and curious and perhaps, a little apprehensive. your glasses are a bit too big for your face, but you push them up with a finger as you frown up at him, the sketchpad splayed in your lap, charcoal dust smeared across your hands.

“tiger.”

“huh?”

“her name is tiger.”

he blinks.

“why?” he asks.

you shrug, glancing over at the large tabby cat in a walking vest, tethered to a long leash, currently pawing her slow way around the base of a rather ginormous tree. at least, compared to the both of you -- most things are ginormous compared to the both of you.

you frown even harder, and he plops down on the bench next to you; the dog park is filled with, well, dogs -- and one leashed cat. yours.

“because that’s what she’ll grow up to be.”

hirugami squints at you, unsure if he should be the one to break it to you that your cat, large and orange though she is, will not grow up to be a tiger.

he decides that he’ll leave that daunting task to someone else, so he just shrugs and looks back at his own puppy, yipping as he chases a stray tennis ball down the length of the park. neither of you mentions the large sign by the door that says only dogs allowed.

two. middle school is a mess, as middle school is wont to be. but hirugami thinks that if he does what he’s supposed to, practices all the right things, studies hard enough, that everything will be fine. everything should go just the way it was meant to go all along.

he’s almost right. almost.

“everyone say hi to mika, she’s transferring in as of today.”

hirugami blinks, because he needs to (basic bodily function -- he learned that in science the other day, something called biology; he’ll have to ask his parents about it when he gets home), but also because he’s surprised.

it’s you.

“mika,” he says to himself, frowning slightly to himself as he familiarizes himself with the shape of your name in his mouth -- he thinks it’s a nice name. cute. sweet. with a little kick.

he spares a moment wondering why he’d never asked for your name all those times he saw you at the dog park with your cat, tiger. then he spares moment musing upon the fact that he knew your cat’s name before yours but you hadn’t seemed to mind.

“hirugami-kun? do you mind showing mika-chan around school during break today?”

he gets to his feet, his back straight as straight can be, shoulders back, chin up -- posture perfect. he bows and says yes, sensei, of course. when he gets back up, it’s the find you standing by his desk, staring at him with your eyes (your glasses are still a bit big for your face; he spares a moment to wonder if they can grow with you before ridding himself of so ridiculous a sentiment).

“didn’t know your name was... that,” you say, sitting down in the desk next to his.

he looks over, slightly distracted by the charms on your backpack (are those even allowed in school?).

“didn’t know your name was that either,” he says back, because he’s feeling a little childish today. one of the very few days in a week, if he may say so himself (he says so).

break comes as it always comes, and he pushes out of his seat, waiting for you to follow. instead, you give him a brief bow before scurrying off out the door, faster than he can stop you.

“hey -- !” he chases after you, because the teacher had put you under his care, at least for the duration of break, and he’s not about to slack on such a show of trust. you’re surprisingly fast, he thinks as he follows you up four flights of stairs, at the end of which he finds a door clearly labeled do not enter, swinging. he pants as he pushes through it with cautious hands.

“hello? are you up here?”

you turn on him with a scowl on your face.

“shh!”

he’s about to frown at you, about to tell you that it’s not okay to just race off like that and it’s also not okay to go through doors labeled do not enter but he’s halted in his tracks.

hirugami blinks.

clutched in your arms is a very, very large tiger.

no, not an actual tiger -- your cat tiger. but he does have to admit that tiger is starting to look very much like an actual tiger. a small one perhaps, but for a cat, she is very large indeed. her vest looks just as fitted as it did before, and he wonders if things really can grow with the people (or cats) who wear them.

“wh -- you --” for the first time in a very long while, he finds himself at a loss for words.

nothing he’s ever read or practiced or learned or studied or accidentally overheard his parents talking about has prepared him for this.

after a moment, you grin, swinging tiger slightly in your arms. she meows, licking lazily at her own mouth, seemingly unfazed by the way you’re holding her, her legs hanging straight down, almost skimming the ground of the rooftop the both of you are currently on.

the wind picks up and you walk towards him.

“wanna pet her?”

“uh...” hirugami stares as you bring your cat towards him, holding her out with both arms. tiger regards him with an languid sort of look before yawning.

he doesn’t have time to answer before you’re dumping tiger into his arms, almost knocking him off balance because wow he didn’t know a cat could be quite so heavy.

“she’s cute, right?” you grin as you pat tiger’s head now that she’s firmly curled against hirugami’s chest, purring loudly. he gulps, looking down at the large cat. and he can admit that with her round face and her orange fur and her big, green eyes, she could indeed be considered cute. so, he nods.

you laugh, a delighted sort of noise, which startles him, because he’d never really heard you laugh before either.

(at the dog park, he mostly sits next to you while u scribble or sketch, him occasionally peering over and pointing at a random blob with a that’s nice and you answering with a grunt of something that sounds vaguely like thanks.)

“i think she likes you,” you say, scritching tiger behind an ear. tiger mewls, apparently pleased and closes her eyes, folding herself into hirugami’s arms.

he thinks it’s weird, the feeling of feeling a cat’s purr rumble through him. like a tiny little furry motor running, running, running. it makes him shiver and he finds himself smiling.

he forgets to tell you that it’s against the rules to bring pets to school.

three. you go to a game of his, and you don’t really cheer, because you don’t really like places with a lot of people, but you go. and he thinks that it means a lot that you did. you find him after with your smile (that he’s now familiar with) and your glasses (which are still a bit too big) and a milk flavored popsicle (which he’s actually never had before but always wanted to try).

“here,” you say.

“thanks,” he says.

he takes it, studies it for a second before taking a bite. it’s cold against his teeth, but it feels good sliding down his throat; he’s still sweating from the match after all, but they won, so it’s all good.

“my mom’s making okonomiyaki for dinner tonight, wanna come?” you ask.

he takes another bite of icecream.

“didn’t she make that last week?” he asks, frowning when he realizes that it’s a terrible question because he was there last week, and he remembers. and it was delicious.

you nod anyway, because you don’t seem to mind stupid questions.

“yep! and you had a lot, so she’s asking if you wanna eat some more.”

he looks down at the now half-finished popsicle.

“sure, if your family doesn’t mind.”

you laugh, a sound he’s also now familiar with. a sound that he thinks he likes.

“of course not -- we wouldn’t invite you if they did.”

he nods. right. stupid question. he seems to do that a lot with you -- he wonders why. but he finds that he doesn’t mind. because after all, you don’t mind.

and he likes --

“sachirou!”

he turns to find his sister smirking at him. he tries not to scowl, not because he doesn’t like her, but he really doesn’t like her boyfriend -- and she’s always got a boyfriend.

“oh, is this the famous mika-chan? hi there, i’m shokou, sacchi’s older sister,” she grins, offering you a hand.

hirugami feels a wave of heat wash into his cheeks and he’s not entirely sure why. probably because she’d just called him sacchi, a nickname that he really doesn’t like because one of shokou’s boyfriends gave it to him and it stuck. shokou thinks its funny. hirugami, decidedly, does not.

“hi. yes, i’m mika. nice to meet you. are you the one with the boyfriends?” you ask.

hirugami’s eyes go wide as he whirls back around to look at you.

you’re blinking up at his sister like it’s a perfectly normal question to ask someone upon first meeting them (it’s not, but he probably won’t tell you that later either).

shokou laughs, ruffling hirugami’s hair. he shakes it out after, huffing slightly.

“yep, that’s me. so he’s told you about me, hm?”

you shrug, apparently losing interest in her, “just in passing. anyway, i was inviting him over for dinner. mom’s making okonomiyaki and he had a lot last time, so she’s inviting him over for more.”

“yeah, i’ll come,” he says, blurts out, more like, his cheeks feeling hotter than ever. he refuses to look at his sister as he grabs his sports bag and heaves it over his torso.

“i won’t be home too late,” he says, waving over his shoulder as he brushes by shokou, his eyes trained somewhere on the floor in front of him. to your credit, you fling yourself into a hurried bow before dashing off to catch up to hirugami. he’s a fast walker when he wants to be, and right now, apparently, he wants to be.

four. high school is an even more of a mess, as it is wont to be. but he finds that it’s not so bad with you.

he still goes to the dog park with you, and tiger. although tiger seems to be getting on in years. she doesn’t move so nearly as much as she used to, and the hairs around her face are turning a distinctly whitish-grayish color.

“that’s nice,” he says, pointing at your sketchbook. your drawing has gotten much better, and you’re thinking of going to design school. he thinks you should; he doesn’t tell you that it makes him feel a little queasy to know you won’t be in the same school as him anymore.

you smile up at him (some time ago, that smile had started to look like home).

“thanks.” you reach up to tuck a hair behind your ear, your glasses no longer too big for your face because he’d insisted on getting you a new pair last year for your birthday.

you go back to your sketch of a boy -- they never have faces, the people you draw. and when once, he’d asked who they are, you’d gone a strange shade of red and shook your head --

“no one -- th-they’re no one! just... just random people.”

he’d wanted to ask why they looked like him sometimes, but he figures that artists, you know? (he doesn’t know, really. but he pretends he does because it makes you happy.)

he doesn’t know how it became like this, with you -- comfortable, he thinks. and in all honesty, it’d never been uncomfortable, so he supposes that by that logic, it’s always been comfortable. but still, it’s a thing more than mere comfort -- a thing that’s like... settling into a warm bath, or taking the tape from his fingers after a whole day’s practice (sometimes, you come to his practices, and you still don’t cheer, but he thinks that it means a lot you’re there).

“i think tiger’s gonna die soon.”

he blinks, because he needs to.

he blinks again, because he’s surprised you’d said it so plainly, without even looking up from your sketch.

he doesn’t know what to say (and that’s okay, he’s learned), so he keeps quiet instead.

your fingers pause; you turn to look at him, there’s something in your expression he doesn’t quite recognize. maybe... fear, or perhaps sadness of a kind that he’s never come into contact with. a kind of sadness that sinks its claws into your very soul and squeezes till every drop of blood is gone -- you purse your lips and swallow.

you look back down at your sketchbook, but you make no move to start sketching again.

hirugami hesitates for a moment before putting his arm around you. it’s the first time he’s done anything like this, but it feels like the right time to do it, his body tells him, before his mind can quite catch up --

you lean into him, and you sniffle. he pats your arm before sliding his large palm along your back.

“i’m just... scared,” you say, still not looking up.

“what’s there to be scared of? death isn’t that scary, y’know -- its supposed to be just like falling asleep,” he says, looking down at the top of your head. he can smell your shampoo -- sweet, vanilla. you used to use green apple, and then you used lemon-orange for a while. but he likes the vanilla too. he likes it because it’s you.

“no -- it’s not that...” you shake your head.

he waits.

“i -- i’m scared cause... tiger’s always loved me, y’know? we grew up together... and she’s always been there for me. when i was happy, when i was sad... and...” you hiccup and he pats you on the back, “and if she dies then... who’s gonna love me that much?”

hirugami lets out a small laugh, and finally, finally, you look up at him.

he meets your watery eyes with a steady gaze of his own.

he smiles.

“i will.”

you blink up at him. probably because you need to. but also probably (he’s a actually very, very sure) because you’re surprised.

he cocks his head, “objections?”

you blink again.

he hums happily as he tucks you into his side again, a large, floaty feeling filling his chest (he thinks he knows what it is, but he’s in no hurry to give it a name).

“good. now let’s go get some dim-sum. the place you like is doing a promotion.”

he gets up, reaching down to take your hand. you let him. and he thinks that that must mean something.

(it does.)

five. “i’m going out!”

shokou peers at him from over her sunday morning coffee.

“going to see your girlfriend again?” she teases.

hirugami hasn’t told her yet, because there isn’t much to tell, really.

so he smiles, and instead of his usual answer of not answering at all, he gives his head a firm nod.

“yep.”

he steps into his shoes as his sister nearly chokes in the kitchen, the sounds of her coughing echoing down the hall.

“wait -- what? you actually asked her out?”

he turns and fixes shokou with a smug look, “what do you mean? i hang out with her every sunday.”

shokou sputters, and the sight of it brings him more joy than it rightly should.

“y-yeah, but you never admitted that she was your girlfriend before!”

he cocks his head at her.

“what difference does it make? not everyone feels the need to announce their relationships like you do.”

shokou scowls even as he sends her a cheery wave over his shoulder, opening the door and stepping out into the mid-september chill.

you’re waiting for him outside the gate, like you always are. you open your hand and he takes it, the pair of you setting off down the street.

you peer up at him and grin.

“did you tell shokou?”

“not in so many words.”

you laugh, nudging him slightly.

he laughs too, swinging your hands between you.

the pair of you pause outside the gates to the dog park, looking over at the ginormous tree under which the pair of you first met, under which tiger is now buried, safe and sound, with her favorite vest and leash and your solemn promise to love her forever.

and hirugami’s equally solemn promise to love you forever (for her, but for himself too. mostly, he thinks, for himself).

after a moment, you set off towards the dim-sum place.

“i think i’m gonna become a vet,” he says.

you nod, “good. just make sure to pick a school close to mine, okay?”

hirugami laughs again, letting the sound breeze through him like the autumn wind (the best wind, you say).

“i don’t like the thought of not going to school close to you,” you say.

he nods, firmly. certainly.

“yep. me too.”

#haikyuucreations #haikyuu!!#hirugami sachirou #hirugami x reader #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu imagines #hirugami sachiro x reader #hirugami sachiro #hirugami x you #haicuties #hirugami #floofy floof floof #commissions #woof! that w as fun!!!!#i actually rly liked writing hirugami's character - idk how close i am to his actual character a la furudate sensei's imaginings #but i tried! and !!! pls ! notice ! the way ! he treats u! vs how ! he treats! everyone else! (his sister)#the boi is WHIPPED From dAY NUMERO UNO I TELL YOU #and mika <3333 thank u for #commissioning me!!! this is my first official commissioned work ! and im very happy with it #so i hope you like it too #pls tell me if u have thoughts!!! feedback is important for any writer <3 #and i told u the glasses are a nice thing :D i love thINGS that can REOCCUR like REOCCURING THEMES and YES #anyway i feel like its a very hirugami thing to do to just be like 'yah i'll love u what of it' LMFAO #and then give his sister shit :)#anyways yay!!!!!! first commission done!#oh and for those of u wondering the pronunciation for the title is #unmei nante #idk i thought it was a very... hirugami thing. i could be wrong haha but it sounds nice

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claudiasjeancregg · 3 years

Text

we can find each other this way, i believe

for the tww flowershop au, created here!!

for ariel and bianca, and everyone who’s helped create this lovely universe<3

title from Come and Find Me by Josh Ritters, a song @aerielz introduced me to that we both now think should be this au’s anthem. seriously, listen to it.

Toby opens every morning, bright and early. Comes with the job of owning the shop, he supposes. But still, it wouldn’t be unreasonable for Sam to relieve him of the duty for once.

He hears a shuffle at the door, keys jingling, and looks up without a word.

“Morning, Toby!” Donna breezes in, all sunshine and cheerfulness even at 6 AM— she’s exactly who people expect to work at a flower shop. He is decidedly not.

“Hey, Donna,” he mutters, lost in thought. Something’s happening this morning, something big that’s lying in the back of his mind, almost close enough to remember but just out of reach.

“Is there- do we have a big order we’re doing today?”

She frowns. “No, not that I know of, at least. Why, do you want me to do something?”

He shakes his head, giving her a sideways look. “Aren’t you busy enough?”

“Yeah, I really am,” she sighs, dropping her keys on the counter and jumping onto it, like his remark had been some invitation to vent. It had not been, as a matter of fact.

“I love my job, don’t get me wrong. But Josh doesn’t let me do anything! I’m stuck working on bacon in the back-“

“Bacon? Is that some tattoo shop slang I'm not aware of? Or— Donna, please don’t tell me it’s a sex thing.”

Donna gives him a petulant look, eerily similar to how his older sisters looked as kids when they hadn’t given what they wanted. “You’d think so, but it’s actual bacon. They seem to think I’m training to be a butcher, not a tattoo artist.”

Toby lets out an uncharacteristic laugh and sits next to her, mind filled with images of a future Donna with dyed hair and full tattoo sleeves.

She shoves him off the counter. “What?”

“Come on, it’s funny! You’re Donna Moss, you really want to work at a tattoo parlor?”

She turns her head firmly, staring straight at him. “Yeah! Yeah, I do. I want to work everywhere and learn everything and not just be Donna Moss, the blonde ditzy girl who can’t stick to a major.”

Well, he can understand that. Donnatella Moss is an interesting girl, the opposite of what he had expected to find in someone as— well, as blonde and sweet and young as her. But ever since she had walked in, incessantly asking questions about his shop and practically begging for a job, Donna hasn't stopped surprising him. She’s eager to learn everything about everything, flower meanings and proper bouquet arranging and the ins and outs of running a small business. She’s a business major— well, sort of. He said that tentatively because Donna had changed majors over and over again through the years he had known her. But this one seems like it’ll stick. She has a knack for business, enough of a knack that she had been able to talk herself into jobs at two stores on the same block.

As much as Toby judged her at first, he has to admit that she knew what she was doing. And he doesn’t want to lose one of his best employees— not that he would ever tell her that— but he isn’t about to hold her back from something that for some reason, she seems very interested in.

“Okay. Then I say do it. If that’s what you want, the shop can operate without you.”

“Uh, you know I’ve already been working there, right? I don’t need your permission for everything, you ass.”

The combination of Donna’s snark and the ridiculously big grin on her face almost makes Toby laugh.

“Hey, I’m still your boss. I should have gotten rid of you when I had the chance,” he groans.

“I mean, I already have a job lined up! It’s been like two weeks, I’m sure they’d take me full time if I asked—“

“Shut it, Blondie.”

“Don’t call me that.” She rolls her eyes, but the whisper of a smile on her face gives her away. “Speaking of working at a tattoo parlor—“

A smile grows on her face as Toby shifts uncomfortably in his spot.

“Donna, I swear—“

“Oh, don’t even try and deny it, just tell me how you're going to woo her.”

“Woo her? What is this, one of your Cary Grant movies? This isn’t the 1930s.”

“Um, Cary Grant was the 1940s. Well, and 50s. And I know what year it is, the year doesn’t matter,” she says with a bright smile, pushing herself off the counter and landing solidly on the tile. “Every girl wants to be wooed, Tobias. You work at a flower shop, she’s upstairs, give her a rose or something!”

“God, it’s like I haven’t taught you anything. A rose is nowhere near the most romantic flower, it’s too cliche,” he mutters. He’s barely listening to her response, though, too busy imagining what would happen if CJ knew the full truth behind the bouquets he gives her every morning. His gift for her every single day, love and adoration and strength, placed delicately in a vase and arranged to perfection. And she still thinks it is just a decoration for her shop, a way to brighten up the waiting room in between the burly guys and terrifying girls who frequented the tattoo parlor. CJ had no idea what the flowers really meant.

Donna grabs a handful of blood red roses, camellias and carnations from the shelf— a handful that had probably been painstakingly put together and shelved by him, or Sam, or Ginger, or even Donna herself two days prior— and threads one through her hair with a concentration and precision Toby envies. She holds the rest out to him with a knowing look.

“Sometimes cliches are cliche for a reason.”

A retort dances on the tip of his tongue, a retort that will surely remind Donna he isn’t about to take romantic advice from a woman whose only experience is with douchey ex-boyfriends and her new boss— the boss she had pined after for years, long before she had been given a job.

But he doesn’t get a chance to answer before the old bell rings on the door, pulling him out of his thoughts. Toby looks up— and in less than a minute, he’s finding the customer the exact right flower to give to a new neighbor (forsythia, for anticipation of good things to come, apple blossoms, for good fortune, and peppermint, for cordiality).

It reminds him of the flowers he gave to CJ when she first moved in, after they met for the first time. He still remembers the way she looked, walking into the shop, her ever-present grace and fire shaking him to his core. The customer leaves and he’s left to stare at his wall of flowers, nothing to focus on but Ginger and Bonnie’s quiet whispers in the storeroom and the pounding rhythm from the deafening music upstairs. He only sits for a minute before his mind drifts back to thoughts of CJ.

And in a second, like someone had whispered it into his ear, he remembers exactly why today was a big day. Six months ago, she had started her tattoo shop. Five months and three weeks ago, he’d seen her face through a glass door and his heart had practically stopped. She said she likes surprises— a small detail that’s managed to stay in his memory for all these months, like a diamond buried in sand waiting for someone to come along and lift it out. And if his father had been able to charm her with flowers, so can he. He’s a hell of a lot more likable than his father. But that isn’t the point, Toby reminds himself. The point is to celebrate his friend’s victory. If there was ever an occasion for flowers, this is it.

He decides to create a bouquet that reminds him of her— daffodils and dahlias and daisies, gladiolus and ivy and yellow jasmine and kennedia. He doesn’t dwell on what they mean for too long, the sentiment behind the flowers obvious to him but hopefully not to anyone else. His plan fails in a remarkably short time.

“Hey, boss— well, that’s a very romantic bouquet,” Ginger points out with a curious glance, poking her head out of the back room.

“Boyfriend or crush?” Bonnie adds on as she hugs her girlfriend from behind.

Toby doesn’t answer. He’s too busy trying to think of a way to get out of this conversation— apparently, the sentiment was obvious to everyone. The downside of working in a flower shop was that the romantic flowers never went unnoticed. They all know the bestsellers, of course, the red roses and tulips and orchids, typically bought by a regretful boyfriend who they all knew was going to be dumped in 2 to 6 business days. But a bouquet like this either means a customer had done a hell of a lot of research, or someone in the shop had picked the flowers themself. So, in a few seconds, Toby’s private, meaningful bouquet is about to become everyone’s business.

“I don't know,” he mutters. He can’t even think of a feasible lie— he’s too busy trying to calm his heartbeat that’s pounding in his chest, faster than the most enthusiastic drummer in a Macy’s Thanksgiving Day parade.

“Uh, I think it’s a crush,” Ginger notes. “Gladiolus and daffodils? Seriously—“ She shakes her head, the amused reaction of someone in a happy, stable relationship who had forgotten what it was like to be one of the lonely hearts. “—It screams unrequited love.”

Toby’s head snaps up at that. “Love?” he sputters. “That’s just- I don't know. I think it’s just a crush.”

He’s showing all his cards, now, and one of the girls is bound to figure out who put together the bouquet in a minute or two. But he doesn’t care. He turns around, about to walk to the cashier and hoping no one stops in.

“So,” Donna steps into his path with a knowing glance, the glance of someone who’s very obviously been listening this whole time. “You made the bouquet, right?”

“Donna—“

“Oh!” She lets out an excited squeal and throws her arms around him, before realizing exactly what she was doing.

“Donna,” he sighs.

“Right. Sorry. But is this-“ she lowers her voice. “This is you wooing, right?”

Toby lets out an exasperated groan. But she’s right, of course. This is, in some twisted way, his idea of wooing. Donna spends the rest of her shift giving him tips on what to say to CJ while simultaneously filling orders in the storeroom, a combination that leads to more than a few mistakes on her part.

But eventually, she leaves, and he’s left with a too-long lunch break to contemplate how to give CJ the gift. They’re just flowers, he reminds himself. Don’t make it weird, Ziegler. But his gift is more than just flowers, it’s a reminder that there’s someone rooting for her. A reminder that he’s proud of all she’s done in this past six months. Well, that’s what he hopes it’ll be.

Toby hears the bell ring and looks up— for once, he’s not expecting to be CJ. But it is. She stands outside and meets his eye with a careful glance, more anxious than usual. This is the moment he’s been waiting for, he thinks as she comes in.

“I got you coffee,” she says without a greeting.

He can’t stop staring at her. God, she’s beautiful. Tattoos dance down her back like battle scars, tangible reminders of her strength every time she walks into a room.

“Thanks, CJ.” Donna swoops in with an easy smile and gives Toby a nudge, silently telling him to stop staring like a pervert and to say something. Or maybe her look said none of that, and he was just projecting.

“You’re- uh, thanks for the coffee,” he says abruptly, turning back to the task at hand.

“It wasn’t for you.” She smirks as she says it, eyes dragging over his body in a way that made Toby feel like a live wire. He can feel her eyes sparking with electricity as she watched him stock the new shipment of flowers.

God, she makes him act like such an idiot.

Toby can't imagine what CJ must think of him, the owner of the shop downstairs who has a huge crush on her and couldn’t form more than a few sentences when she was in his line of sight. She’s just so strong, so pretty— not that beauty is all that mattered to him, but it’s practically impossible not to notice her deep brown eyes and hair that flowed down her back like a cascading waterfall. And her grace, the way she commands all the attention when she walks into the room, how she is sharp but never cold, never mean. And her genius amazes him— he isn’t one to be overly complimentary of another person, but she’s taken a part of the building that hadn’t had customers in years, and turned it into a lively, successful tattoo parlor. He knows they’ve only talked a few times in the months since she had started her shop, but her very presence brightens up his store.

She is like a sunflower, light following wherever she goes.

And maybe she has no idea who he is, beyond someone she talked to occasionally who brought her flowers for her shop. But for some reason, he still finds himself desperately wanting to know more about this woman with a million tattoos adorning her arms, this woman who knew his father and loves Donna as much as he does and has turned a lifeless corner into a booming business. He wants her, and it feels inevitable, a predestined fate that was sealed the moment he first saw her.

CJ leans her arms on the counter and lets her head fall. He isn’t sure what to do. So he doesn’t ask questions, doesn’t press, just pulls out a chair and motions for her to come sit in it. That lifts the awkwardness out of the room, thankfully, as she collapses into the chair next to where he’s working. They sit there for a while, just like that. And then he feels her breath on his shoulder and suddenly can’t think of anything but how good she smells, and how easy it would be to turn around and pull her closer. She’s like a magnet, this woman. It drives him crazy.

“Toby?” Her voice is soft, delicate, nothing like the steely way she usually speaks.

“Yeah,” he swallows, preparing to answer a question about why he acts so weird whenever she’s there.

“What’s the bouquet for?”

He turns around and follows her eyes to the bright bouquet of flowers still on the counter— the bouquet he made for her less than 20 minutes ago.

“You,” he manages to say. Her eyes widen, a delighted smile growing on her face. “I mean, it’s your sixth month here. I figured you deserved a gift for the shop’s anniversary. I know it’s not much, but—

“No.” She stops him, hands over her heart like he’s touched her deep inside, in a place behind her walls and behind her cool facade, the place where her strength lives. It pulls on his heartstrings, the thought of her choosing to trust him with that. It lights him up inside— the thought that he made her happy, even for a minute, hits him in a place he didn’t know was able to feel so deeply.

“I- really? I mean, thank you, it’s beautiful.”

“So are you.” He regrets the words as soon as they leave his mouth. Who said stuff like that? He isn’t some cheap hack trying to pick her up at a bar, he’s her friend.

CJ’s eyes are wide as she tries to pick out the meaning of his words. He worries he stepped over the line, ventured into the unknown territory they have yet to allow inside their newly-forged friendship.

“Well, you certainly are a gentleman,” she laughs a little bit. It didn’t feel like a joke. The air between them is taut, filled with more tension than a magnetic field. CJ leans in, just a little bit. And suddenly Toby wants nothing more than to lean into her, to pull her close and show her how much he had meant his words. But instead, he pulls away. She was like the sun, and he knows that if he leans in, they will collide. They will burn bright and flame out in an instant. She matters too much to him for it to be a fling, and right now, that was all they would have. Toby grabs the bouquet and holds it in between them.

“Here,” he breathes, hoping she’ll stay for a while longer but also knowing that if she does, his resolve will crumble in a second. “Congratulations.”

CJ gives him a cautious, slightly confused, smile— “Thanks.”

She takes it from his hands, fingers brushing as he lets go. She blushes, the pink on her cheeks complimenting her black camisole. He watches her go, the bell ringing as the door slams shut. He hears it again a few minutes later, a few customers filing in to fill the stretch of emptiness that happens in the hours when he’s the only one in the shop.

He doesn’t love CJ. He barely even knows enough to like her, but that is something that happened without him even noticing. Like a wave crashing against the shore, he didn’t realize until he was drowning in it. CJ Cregg is an enigma, a woman who can make anything happen and does, a woman who makes him feel like he’s breathing in electricity.

Life’s a funny thing, Toby thinks. No one ever sees the big things coming, until suddenly your estranged father is dead and you’re the sole owner of his flower shop.

It’s startling, how much the last year has changed him. The thing he always was ashamed of growing up, something he never quite understood as a kid, has somehow become his solace. It’s grasped onto his heart, this lively little corner of DC, and refuses to let go. He even finds he’s minding the shrill bell above the door less as the months go by, and the silence more than more. A customer walks in, and Toby rises to help him. He pushes the thoughts to the back of his mind— his unnecessarily morose self-reflection can wait. He has a job to do.

#ahhhh i did it!!!#i’m sure there are many mistakes but. here you go. this is obviously for the #tww flowershop au #tww #tww fic #my fic #fic tag #cj x toby #aleena writes #okay guess i’m doing this!!

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 4 years

Text

Hot Blood [2]

Warnings: non-consent sex; oral, intercourse

This is dark! (mob) skinny Steve and explicit. 18+ only.

Synopsis: Steve Rogers is on the rise in the New York underground as you’re trying to keep your own place there.

Note: Here’s the second half. I’m TRYING to slow down a bit because I’ve become a bit manic and scrambled and all over the place so hope you guys don’t mind maybe revisiting some of my stuff while I try to clear my mind.

Thanks to everyone for their patience and feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 Let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

There was a flurry of activity at the tall brick building you pulled up to in Brooklyn. Bucky drove around the back and killed the engine. Steve sent you a look before he climbed out. You grabbed your small bag and got out as Bucky closed the driver’s door.

Steve led you to the back door of the building as Bucky trailed you and pulled out a cigarette. As you entered, the distant banging of hammers and buzz of voices rose from above. You were surprised by the interior as it did not reflect its facade; the aged brick hid the newly laid layer of decadence.

“Mind the noise,” Steve said as he strode across the lobby. “First two floors are finished but they got a dozen more to do.”

You glanced around at the stone statues and gilted frames. A little Versailles in the heart of New York. No doubt prompted by overcompensation and egoism.

“A borough is an empire on its own, I suppose,” You mused as you neared a bust of a naked woman.

“No, but New York is,” He neared and ran his finger along the curve of the stone woman’s hip. “It will be.”

“Big plans…” You stopped yourself from finishing; for a small man.

“Too many plans,” He drew away and looked at his watch.

“Buck,” He called to his henchman who flicked off his cigarette. “Would you use the goddamn tray?”

“Sorry,” Bucky snickered. “Habit.”

“Mmm,” Steve grumbled. “Take her up to a room. Lock it, will ya?”

You glared at him and gripped your bag tighter. He glanced at you as he felt your anger radiating towards him.

“Don’t worry, doll. I’ll have the tailor come by and get you all set.” He smiled. “Considering that hole you were living in, I think you’ll like it here.”

“You can tell your tailor to fuck off.” You snapped.

“Ah,” Steve’s hand flew up and he grabbed your chin. “That’s not very ladylike language.”

“Get off of me,” You smacked his arm but he didn’t flinch.

“There are gonna be rules, got it? First, you’re gonna start acting like a lady and watch your tongue. Then you’re gonna get rid of these,” He let go and pulled on your lapel, “And mind your place, woman.”

You bit down as you brought your hand up. He reeled at the slap which echoed through the lobby and Bucky’s figure loomed in your peripheral. Steve raised his hand to halt his henchman and touched his cheek. He took a breath.

“That’s the only one you get,” He said slowly. “Understand? Cause I’ve been more than patient with you. You still got your piece.”

“Empty,” You intoned.

“Still,” His eyes flashed. “And your head.” He pointed at you. “And a very clear choice here, doll. This can be easy or difficult. Now it seems you prefer the latter but I don’t think we ‘share that sentiment.”

“No, we don’t,” You said.

“Bucky,” He gestured to his man. “Get her out of my sight.”

Bucky grabbed your arm and drew you away as Steve walked across the marble floor. Your shoes slid over the stone and you were forced up the stairs by the bulky henchman. He dragged you to a pair of double doors and wrenched the right one open. He shoved you inside.

The door slammed and you heard the lock slide into place. You cursed and kicked it before you spun to look around the room. It was as big as, if not bigger, than your apartment.

The walls were decorated in a pale blue paper that bore regal curlicues and the polished floor shone even without the light of the glass lamps. The furniture was carefully arranged and no doubt expensive. You dropped your bag on the side table by the door and inched further in. You removed your hat and played with the brim. You needed to learn to shut your mouth.

🌆

It was about an hour before the lock sounded. The door opened inward and you rose from the chair with the French legs. A man with round glasses struggled to drag in a rolling rack of garments. When he was inside at last, the door closed and the lock slid back into place.

He glanced around as he adjusted his spectacles and seemed taken aback by you. He sniffed as he came closer.

“Oh dear,” He said. “Hmm. Uh, hello, Miss, I was sent for a fitting. I’m Stuart.”

You crossed your arms and scowled. He shook his head and turned back. He grabbed a pale green dress from his collection and faced you again.

“This might fit,” He said. “Miss.”

He nodded to the screen on the other side of the broad bed. You looked between him and the painted divider. You didn’t move.

“Mr. Rogers told me you required a wardrobe,” He said aghast, “And I must agree with him.”

“And if I refuse it?” You challenged.

“You’ll have no protest from me, I have been duly paid to come here and offer my services. However, I know my client well and I am certain you can predict his reaction yourself.” He explained. “Whether or not you go along with this, is not my job.”

You huffed and reached to your belt. The man blanched as you removed your holster, gun still secure, and set it on the side table.

“It’s empty,” You assured him. “If it wasn’t, I’d not be here.”

You took the dress from him and disappeared behind the screen. You swore under your breath as you hooked the hanger over the top of the barrier. You removed your jacket and unclasped your suspenders. You slipped your shoes off and balled your socks inside them. You unbuttoned your shirt and tossed it a top your jacket on the small stool about a foot away. You added your trousers to the pile and stood in your underwear.

You grabbed the dress and pulled it over your head. The a-line skirt fell just to your knee and the delicate embroidery along the panels of the bodice stretched from chest to waist. You hadn’t worn a dress in years and it was just as awkward as you recalled. You stepped out from behind the screen and braced your hips in disapproval.

“Fits quite well,” Stuart mused and neared his rack again. “That means… the red, yes, oh, silver, the lace skirt…” He began to take hangers down and toss each piece on the chaise not far away. “Enough to see you through until I can make adjustments.”

You frowned and shook your head as you watched him. He passed you and you watched him gather up your former clothing. You blocked him before he could return to his rack.

“What are you doing with those?” You asked and reached to your waist instinctively.

“Mr. Rogers bid me take them with me.” He said plainly. “My assistant will be by later with undergarments… I just need your measurements before I go.”

You sneered at him as he dumped your clothing on the side table and stirred around in his pockets.

“I can assure you, miss, given your temperament, this is as unenjoyable for you as me.” He neared with his tape measure and you dropped your arms.

“Doubtful.” You grumbled.

🌆

There was an oval mirror in the corner behind the screen. You spent a while looking at yourself in the ridiculous dress before you distracted yourself with hanging the rest in the long closet. Stuart’s assistant, Olly, was shown in an hour after the tailor had left and gave you a collection of negligee and silk underwear. You hid them in the drawers and tried to forget about them.

Steve, for all your spite, was a man who acted quickly and effectively. And, you guessed, impulsively. You doubted you were the first woman to laugh at him but you didn’t wonder much on his wrath. It was his ilk; yours too. The underworld was run on tempers and wounded pride.

You sat in an armchair as you fiddled with the gun, flipping the chamber in and out, listening to the roll. You heard the door handle and stopped. You spun the gun in your hand and pointed the empty barrel at the man who entered. Steve’s brows drew together as he saw you. His lips twitched and he removed his hat. He left it on the side table beside your bag.

“You waiting on me?” He asked coyly.

“If I had a bullet, perhaps I would be more excited for your arrival,” You set the gun on the small round table beside you.

“Go on,” He stood across from you. “Stand up. Let me get a look.”

You stared at him. You didn’t move. His gaze travelled to your legs and he tapped his toe.

“Hurry up, would ya? We’ve got places to be.” He sneered.

“Places to be? Oh?” You still didn’t rise.

“Look, doll,” He lowered his voice as he stepped a bit closer. “I know you think I’m just a skinny little shit but let me tell you, I’m a whole lot more. You stand up so I can get a peek at you or I’ll get you up myself and do more than look.”

Your nostrils flared and you grabbed the gun. You swung it at him and he dodged it. He caught your hand as you stood and tried again. He twisted your wrist and you gritted your teeth as he forced you to release it. He caught it with his other hand and shoved you back.

“You just can’t help yourself,” He growled as he tucked your gun into his trousers. “You’re lucky I have more self-control than you.”

You crossed you arm as he looked you up and down.

“Nice get-up but not for tonight,” He went to the closet and slid it open. “Even so, you’ve been busy.”

You were silent as he pulled out a pale blue dress that shimmered in the light. Thin straps, low cut, skirt flowing to the floor. You cringed as he turned back to you.

“I am not stupid, doll,” He neared and held out the hanger. “You think I’m a joke. You’re one of the most stubborn gals I’ve ever known. I like that.” He waved the dress until you took it. “But I don’t work alone. You wanna step on my toes, I have no issue calling in back-up.”

You glared at him; silent.

“I’ve seen Bucky do terrible things to men; his own size, bigger. I heard of worse from his years in the war. It changed him and when I tell him to do something, he doesn’t think, he does. He doesn’t see a man or woman, trousers or skirt, he sees a job.” Steve warned. “He’s all smiles til I say ‘sic ‘em’.”

“You must watch a lot of pictures, Mr. Cagney,” You sniped.

“Listen, when it comes down to it, you’ll prefer me to him,” He said. “Me to any man in this city. I could let you go,” He pointed at you. “Could, but I’d have to put a price on that pretty little head.”

You frowned and folded the dress over your arm.

“Where are we going?” You asked quietly.

“A party,” He smiled. “To celebrate my recent victory.”

🌆

You hated the gown and the shoes. The way the woman had done your hair. Steve had left you to change and been quickly replaced by an older woman with fake blonde curls. Once a Jean Harlow fan or merely grasping at her fading youth?

She set your hair and grabbed your chin as she powdered your face and lined your eyes. She was pushy and said her name was Muriel. She talked a lot. You could barely keep track of her gossip. She painted your lips a deep shade of red and looked you over. When she finished, she left you as swiftly as she’d come. You ignored the mirror and the stranger in it.

When the door opened once more, you were at the window. You stared down at the sidewalk, pondering the way down. It would be a painful and slow death. So you had to wear heels; was it worth that?

“Doll,” Steve’ voice made you tense and you turned to face him. “You look… wonderful. Like a real woman.” He neared and his eyes lingered on vee of the dress. “Forgive me, you are a real woman.”

You crossed your arms but quickly dropped them as it only served to push your chest higher. Steve held a velvet box. He placed it on the table between the arm chairs and snapped it open. He lifted the silver chain from it and held it up to sparkle. Small diamonds decorated the slender necklace; the centerpiece a large sapphire.

“I’ve never seen a woman look at a jewel with such disdain.” He mused as he neared.

“Only at you, right?” You japed. He almost smiled.

“Sure, doll,” He seemed calmer as he gestured for you to turn.

You let out a breath and did. He carefully looped the necklace around your neck and clasped it. You spun back to him and wobbled in the heels. You kept yourself from tripping and he smiled as he reached to touch the sapphire.

“Gorgeous,” He said. “If not lacking grace.”

You drew away from him and his hand brushed your arm. He grabbed your hand and stopped you. He came up beside you and hooked your arm through his.

“You behave…” He purred. “And I just might take it easy on you.”

🌆

You recognized many men at the party. It didn’t make it any easier. Once, you had faced them with a gun on your hip. With a sense of dignity. You lowered your head as Steve swept you along and he stopped to push your head up with two fingers.

“Be proud. You’re mine.” He whispered as he turned back to his path. “One day, this whole city will be mine. I might just take you with me.”

You didn’t like that. He spoke of you like a possession. But you shut your mouth and focused on not tripping. As you gained your balance, you struggled to stop as Steve pulled on your arm. The man across from you, Harry Carligne, squinted at you as he greeted your escort. As he tried to take you hand, you just stared.

“I know you,” He pulled back and realisation smoothed the wrinkles in his forehead. “Holy…”

“Where’s Carol?” Steve interjected.

“She found out about Lucille,” Harry laughed. “Who you will find flitting around somewhere.” He glanced at you again. “My, my, how did you tame this creature, Rogers?”

“He didn’t,” You said tersely. “Keep your paws off me.”

“Oh ho,” Harry grinned. “You’re definitely braver than me, Rogers.”

“I told you, I like a challenge,” Harry’s smile fell as he caught the edge in Steve’s voice. “Plus, I’ve heard that women with sharp tongues are the best fucks.”

Your eyes rounded and you gaped at Steve in disgust. You tried to pull away from him and he snaked his arm around you and pulled you closer.

“Besides, I’m sure the mouth is good for more than just talk.” Steve chuckled. Harry joined in loudly and you snarled at both of them.

“I’m thirsty,” You insisted as you tried to wriggle away.

Steve’s arm stayed firm and he waved with his other hand. A server appeared with a tray and Steve took a champagne glass from the lot. He handed it to you.

“Drink up, doll,” He said and returned his attention to the other man. “Now, Harry, we got some clean up to do in Queens…”

🌆

The night was long. You didn’t miss the whispers of the men or the women attached to them. It also didn’t escape you that you looked like one of those women now. Some were wives, some were mistresses, and some were paid by the hour. You weren’t quite sure where you fell yet.

And Bucky hovered ever in your peripheral. He was Steve’s watchdog. Those Steve talked to were also aware of the other man. They were nervous. He had a reputation you had yet to see proven. You could live without the evidence.

You were relieved to be away from the party guests but less than to be once more beside Steve in the back of the ivory roadster. He was close, his fingers tapped on his knee as he was quiet. Bucky drove, yawning here and there. You were tired yourself but antsy due to the man next to you.

You flinched as Steve’s hand fluttered over onto your leg. He felt the fabric of your dress and leaned closer.

“A few slips,” He said. “But you did well, doll.”

“I thoroughly despised it,” You grumbled.

“But you looked good,” He cooed. “I like this dress… makes me think about what’s underneath.”

“You’re a dog.” You snapped.

He chuckled and his hand slid further and crawled along the crease where your thighs met. You pressed your legs together but he didn’t push. He merely traced a line around your hip and his fingers danced along your arm. He grabbed the back of your neck and pulled you to him. He kissed you and you slapped his chest. He winced but didn’t stop.

You shoved him but it only seemed to drive his fervour. He squeezed the back of your neck as he poked his tongue past your lips. The car came to a stop and he finally drew away. He glanced out the window but as he turned back to you, you slapped him.

“Animal.” You hissed.

He touched his cheek and his blue eyes glinted in the dim. He let out a heavy breath and tore his hand away.

“Get her,” He barked at Bucky. “Drag her, if need be.”

Steve got out of the car as the other door opened and you found yourself being ripped out by the henchman. As you found your footing, Steve came to face you.

“We’re gonna go back to the room, doll,” He said curtly. “And this can stay between the two of us or I can have my man hold you down. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind the show.”

You glanced over at Bucky. His expression was dull and his grip firm. He shrugged. He tugged you forward as Steve spun and led the way to the tall building. Inside, it didn’t seem so extravagant anymore and your steps echoed on the stairs. The hand on your arm was like a shackle.

The same door, the same room, you were ushered inside and Bucky let go hesitantly. The two men watched you, waiting. You didn’t move and Steve nodded to his henchman.

“Stay close,” Steve said quietly.

Bucky nodded and showed himself out. Steve faced you and brought his hands up to grasp your arms.

“I don’t wanna call him back,” He said. “Do you?”

You shook your head as a chill crept up your spine. You hadn’t felt this way in a very long time. You were afraid. You told yourself it wasn’t the thin man before you, it was the one outside, but deep down, you knew it was both.

“Alright, take the dress off.” He said. “Just the dress.”

You unhooked the back and slid the straps down your arms. Steve walked circles around you. You looked to him as you braced yourself. He loosened his tie as you let the gown fall to your waist. You shimmied out and exposed the creamy lace-trimmed panties and bra beneath.

“Sit. On the bed.” He ordered.

You stepped out of the dress and slowly crossed to the bed. You turned and sat on the end. He neared as he pulled his tie from around his neck. He put it over your eyes and you grabbed his wrist. He shook you off and secured it around your head so you were blind.

“Don’t even think about taking it off,” He warned. You dropped your hand and he stroked your cheek as he backed away.

You listened and shivered in your scant clothing. The underwear, the garters, the sheer stockings, and the strappy heels. You sensed him before you again. He ran his hands over your shoulders and down your arms. He brushed them back up your sides and groped you through your bra.

“Take this off,” His hand dropped and he pulled at the lacy trim at your hip. “And these.”

You stood in the pitch black of the blindfold and carefully undid your bra. You paused and you felt a tug on the front. You swept it away and hooked your thumbs in the top of the panties. He hummed and you rolled them down until they fell to your ankles. You untangled your feet and felt him step closer.

“Turn around. Get on the bed.” He commanded. “On your knees.”

You turned slowly. You stopped yourself from touching the bed.

“No.” You said. “No.”

“If I have to call him in, I won’t stop him from joining.” He rasped.

You bent and felt around. You managed to find your way up, lifting your knees carefully onto the mattress. He slapped your ass and you flinched.

“Further.” You crawled towards the middle. “Just like that.”

You waited there for a time, still on your knees. You felt the bed shift. His hand was suddenly on yours and he pulled it towards him. He pressed your fingers to hot flesh and wrapped your hand around his cock. You were surprised by his girth and as he slid your hand up than down, his length was no less impressive. He squeezed your hand tight.

“Not laughing now, huh?” He taunted.

You stopped and he nudged your hand. You just sat there with your hand around him, unwilling to move. Unwilling to accept this.

“Fine,” He slapped your hand away. “I’ll just use your mouth.”

He moved quickly and grabbed the back of your head. He yanked you forward and you fell onto your hands. He pushed down until you were on your elbows and the head of his cock prodded your lips. He rubbed it back and forth.

“Doll, I won’t tell you one more time.” He snarled. “Bucky’s right outside that door. I’ve seen him break men’s jaws as if it was nothing. What do you think he’d do if I told him to open your mouth for you?”

You gulped and shuddered. Your parted your lips reluctantly and he pushed inside. He grasped the back of your head and held you there as he hit the back of your throat. He urged himself deeper and you slapped his naked thigh. His fingers tangled in the tails of the tie.

You couldn’t help the noise which slipped from you as he pushed himself deeper. You held back a gag and squeezed his slender leg. You shook as he stilled you a lingered in your throat. He wiggled his hips cloyingly.

“Never would’ve known you had such a nice ass in those suits,” He slid back and slammed back in. You choked on him and he repeated the motion. “But that dress… perfect complement.”

You kicked your feet as he thrust steadily. He didn’t seem to notice the constriction of your throat around him as you struggled to hold back the wave of nausea. Or the way you struggled to breath around him. There was only his airy moans and sickly sound of his cock as it glided in and out of your mouth.

He finally pulled out and you struggled not to keel over. You wiped the spit from your lips and he grabbed your hand. He placed it on the mattress and held it there.

“Don’t move,” He said.

You were awe-struck by his pushiness. By the authority that radiated from him. He climbed off the bed and you reached to the tie as the sweat gathered along its edges. You were surprised by a pinch.

“I said don’t move,” He came around behind you and smacked your ass. “You keep those hands on the bed.”

You slapped your hand back down as he climbed up and his legs pushed between yours. Your stockings rubbed against his skin and he ran his hands up and down your back and around your hips then along your thighs. He tickled you and you felt his cock as it poked at you.

“You think you were funny yesterday?” He kneaded your ass as he leaned against you, his smooth length pressed against your cunt. “You really know how to use that pretty little mouth.”

You were, for once, speechless. It was one thing to deal with a man on his level, but to be bent over before him, was another.

“Where’s that voice now, doll?” He drew back and dragged his tip along your folds. “I wanna hear you.”

He pushed along your entrance, the head of his cock dipped in just a little before he pulled out. He rubbed himself along your cunt again and repeated the act several times. When he shoved himself further in, you squeaked and clapped your hand over your mouth. Another pinched on the tender flesh of your thigh.

“You moved,” He growled and impaled you entirely. Your walls were snug around him. “I know listening isn’t your strong suit but we’ll work on that.”

He eased out of you and paused. You let out a breath and he slammed back in. You flinched and grunted through your teeth. Your fingers curled in the thick duvet and he did it again. He thrust into you, each crash of his hips jolted you.

His hands brushed over your back and he grabbed your shoulders so that you arched. He rutted into you without restraint. He panted as you quivered against him. You moaned suddenly and clamped your lips shut. He chuckled and sped up.

“Is that it, doll?” He taunted. “Is that the spot?”

He bent over you and snaked his arm around your front. He pressed his fingers to your clit and dragged his lips along your shoulder. He bit down as he started to draw circles around your bud. You gulped as the ripples spread through you. You whined and finally let loose a sharp cry.

“You’re close, I can’t feel it,” He said and slammed into even harder. “And I know you can feel me.”

You’d lost control. You couldn’t let up and he wouldn’t. You moaned louder and louder, almost snarling for more as your flesh clapped loudly. The bed rocked beneath you and you dropped your head forward as you came. Your walls pulsed around him and you pushed back so you could take him deeper.

His hand never stopped, even as your arms shook and threatened to collapse in your rapture. You were stunned by your second orgasm and the third. Your arms folded and you were on your face as he grasped your hips and guided them firmly against him.

He sank as far as he could and swore. He pulled out quickly and you felt his harried strokes as he pressed his tip to your ass. His hot cum spilled over you and dripped down your thigh. He slowed and sighed as he grazed your throbbing pussy with his fingers.

He backed up off the bed but you didn’t move. You couldn’t. You listened to his soft footsteps and felt leather against your ass. He caressed you with the belt and pulled back.

“You moved again, doll,” He rasped as he brought the belt back down and you exclaimed. “You don’t like the easy way, do you?”

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