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studioxlii · 3 years

Note

18 and Junhee pls!! Xx

"to be fully seen by somebody, then, be loved anyhow is a human offering that can border on miraculous."

proof read: kinda

warnings: none

note(s): the format might be garbage, im mobile.

Love is a weird thing but so are the conditions that come with it; the limits that people decide need to be in place. You understood boundaries or not wanting to take too many steps before you knew the relationship would hold but some things never sat right with you. It took a few years but it wasn't until you overheard some of your project group talking that it finally hit you; most people you knew didn't want to date their best friends for two reasons.

1. It could ruin their friendship. This reason was obvious and of course you understood.

2. They'd seen way too much.

You remember hearing those words and your head lifting, confused and wondering what that could even mean. When you were in a relationship that would eventually progress, weren't they just going to see those things anyway? You never could let that thought go, not once you decided that would only make it better; it would make a relationship stronger. Well, in your eyes.

Dating was something that seemed to come easier to you before those thoughts started polluting your mind; no one seemed to understand or see you in a way you really wanted. The ideal person for you was someone who saw everything; the bad days, the good days and the maybe okay but not so great days. It was really starting to mess with you. By not wanting to date certain friends, were you restricting yourself from the relationship you really wanted?

Only one person, one friend, knew you better than you knew yourself, you were positive of that. Your best friend of nine years, Junhee, had probably been through almost every bad thing possible in life with you. You began recalling all the situations you'd been in with each other that were memorable; the things you wouldn't have faced with anyone else because you didn't want anyone else to see.

'Do you remember when you got your belly button pierced?'

And that's when it began.

The question came out of nowhere, breaking the silence of your apartment and leaving Junhee to look up from his book confused and blinking. 'Uh.. yes?' His response came out slow, hesitant like he was missing some weird in-between the lines meaning of the question.

Your head tilted, finally looking over at him. 'Do you remember the way you squeezed my hand to the point it was purple because it hurt so bad you nearly passed out?'

His features flushed at the ridiculous memory being forced back into his head. 'You mean the same day you had to cling to me, crying because your first tattoo felt like your leg was being seared off?'

You hated crying in front of people for any reason but you couldn't go alone; you'd never go alone for something like that. You just nodded in response before returning to your own book, continuing to read like you hadn't brought the subject up at all.

Your first date after you began recalling things and getting far too deep in what could only be sentimental thoughts went okay. A friend of your friend's, Sehyoon, who was an art major and knew of you but didn't know you; he'd never really integrated himself into the small friend circle on campus but Byeongkwan spoke highly of him.

He was sweet; a gentleman. Pretty much anything you could really ask for but you noticed little things; minute things that didn't even matter. You felt like you were being unreasonable or judgmental despite only picking out things that didn't match. Didn't match what, exactly?

He wasn't Junhee.

The realization had you suddenly shooting up from your seat, interrupting the poor male's answer to your question about his major and spilling out several apologies as you even fought to put money down for your own food. It took quite a few more 'I'm really sorry's before you were speeding out of the small restaurant; you'd make sure to call him later.

You found yourself in the only place that made sense: banging hard on the door of the RA for your building, hardly caring if you disturbed anyone else.

'What?' was the greeting you received from a very frustrated Donghun, wanting nothing more than to be left alone again. And yes, you called each other your friend.

'We have a really, really big problem.'

Being a mutual friend and despite not wanting to get involved in anyone's "drama", he spent two hours talking you out of it, down from it and against it, reminding you just why your newfound feelings for your best friend were a problem. He even reminded you of your comment, three years ago, about how you could never possibly like Junhee; how he remembered that and you didn't, you didn't care to ask.

You returned home a wreck, tired and wanting to burn your own emotions. Were you really uncovering some unconsciously buried feelings or did you just like the fact that he /saw/ you? He'd seen you nearly on your deathbed sick.

He'd seen you living in a depression nest for two weeks, barely able to get out a bed and eating nothing but honey buns and cereal.

He'd seen you grieve family members and pets; seen you walk into the rain and scream at the top of your lungs because of how lost in despair you'd been.

He'd seen you drunk and stupid; he'd seen you the night after a one night stand and hungover to the point you wanted to fight the sun.

He'd sat by you absolutely throwing your guts up.

He had seen every single side of you and you'd seen the same from him but it only started to stack further and further.

You knew his favorite songs because God forbid he only have one. You knew his favorite color, favorite food and his weird retirement plan that involved a tiny petting zoo of his own that he refused to just call a farm. Your pins for everything were each other's birthdates and he was the only other name on your bank account. Why?

Staring down at the menu you'd seen over a hundred times, you were sure, you couldn't decide on just what sounded good and part of you just wanted everything. Those moments staring at words that started to blur, you noticed Junhee hadn't touched his menu and kept shifting around, visibly uncomfortable for reasons you couldn't possible figure out.

'It's unlike you to not be going off about the food here.. or already having ordered your favorite drink that, I recall, you said you'd die without if you didn't have it every time you came here,' you began, closing the menu and setting it down with narrowed eyes, 'what's going on?'

'It's stupid. Just.. order and get some food, I'll probably just eat later. I'm not really hungry.'

That was a bold faced lie and you knew it, the concern growing. 'And, what's the oh-so-stupid reason, exactly?'

It took him a minute, shifting more and acting like a child who had gotten in trouble. 'I, uh.. I can't really..' he gestured around, lips pursed and growing even more upset by the second, you could tell by the way he was trying to stop himself from frowning. 'Can't really afford it.' You were college students, it wasn't the world's biggest secret if you couldn't afford something.

'Do you really think I'm just going to eat in front of you?' You snorted, avoiding any comment that would further his being upset over the situation, 'Don't worry about it and order, okay?'

Financial struggles were no quiet matter between the two of you and never had been since you started school. Junhee lived off campus in an apartment with two shitty roommates, a terrible part time job and parents that pretty much didn't care if he perished on the side of the street somewhere. You, on the other hand, which you didn't like bringing up, were doing fine but only because your parents dropped something of an 'allowance' into your account for foods and necessities.

You ignored his attempt to argue and told him if he didn't order something, you were going to do it for him; he shut up.

The next day, you took a trip to the bank.

You could feel eyes on you as you splayed across the couch, staring at the ceiling and contemplating life and all of it's annoyances. No question left you but even if you wanted to say something, you were cut off.

'So, are you going to tell me what's going on? For the past.. three weeks? You've been asking me all sorts of weird stuff,' Junhee inquired, frowning thoughtfully, 'Are you testing me or something? Trust me, yes, I remember every single second I've spent with you. I remember every word you've said, the names of every guy you've been with and the ones I'd like to fight. I remember every birthday and gift I've given you and the ones you've given me. Yes, I remember your favorite things and everything so, what's the deal?'

It sounded sentimental at first but then you noticed that all too familiar waiver in his voice and out of the corner of your eye, you noticed his hands fiddling with the chain bracelet that had adorned his wrist for five years; he wanted to cry. A crying Junhee was something no one ever wanted on your hands and you briefly recalled a phone call from a very panicked Byeongkwan because of just that but you were letting your thoughts get off topic.

'I think I'm in love with you.'

'If you don't want to be fri-'

You were both cut off as your head turned to finally look at him, soaking in the unreadable expression on his features when someone busted through the door; 'Look!'

Both of you looked towards your two friends that invited themselves into your door, one holding a new cat and the other looking just as pleased with the announcement but it gradually dropped. 'Shit, did we interrupt something?' Of course, you always knew when you finally and truly confessed to someone that it would be Byeongkwan who ruined the whole thing; you used it as an escape, though, reminding yourself of what the confession could do to your friendship.

'New minion, I see,' you chimed, sitting up and ignoring the question, both of them, as you rose to greet Donghun's new pet. You were ignorant to the looks shared between the three boys and you were happy about that.

Now, you just had to avoid it ever coming up again until it was forgotten.

Junhee, however, didn't want that to happen.

After about an hour of chitchatting and ignoring the gaze of your best friend, you excused yourself under the excuse of having a meetup for a class, despite it being your dorm, and managed to weasel your way out. There was really nowhere to go, no one to talk to and you surely didn't have any plans for the next week; you ended up at the café on campus. It was quiet and filled mostly with a few students doing work and the two members of staff behind the counter, one eventually joining you at the table. He didn't say anything, waited for you to stop your dramatic Disney scene and acknowledge him.

'Would you date me, Yu?'

Taken a bit off guard, he ended up snorting. 'I can't tell if this is a trap or you want the genuine answer,' he replied, crossing his arms atop the table, 'but, on the hand that it's serious.. probably. I mean, I definitely wouldn't turn you down. We've known each other for a few years, hang out on a regular basis.. get along and have a lot of similar interests. So, yeah.'

The answer made your lips draw into a deep frown and you tapped your fingers against the cup, soaking up every word. 'Even though we're friends? What if we broke up?'

A soft 'ah' came from him as he realized what was really going on and he shrugged, thinking it over for a minute or two. 'We're both adults and I don't believe either of us would do something so that the breakup would be something that could ruin our friendship. I understand it would be like.. friends then it being intimate then back to friends, but I think both of us are mature enough to deal with that and not let it bother us too much.' He spoke like he'd been through it several times and in reality, it had only been once, a small fling with a mutual friend but they still seemed pretty okay. 'Is this about Jun?'

'Does everyone know?' You groaned out, releasing the cup to lean back and rub your hands over your face in defeat, 'I.. I told him I think I love him then Kwan and Donghun showed up and I bailed because now I don't actually want to face him or admit to ever actually saying it. I do! I do love him! I don't.. I don't want to lose him, you know?'

You could see the way the latter looked at you, sympathetic and calculating what words wouldn't just stress you out further. 'Look.. I know you don't want to hear it from me or anyone else for that matter because you want to keep saying it'll ruin your friendship when in reality, you don't like the idea that you could hurt each other, I was the same way with Donghun, so I understand.. but, you should really see all this from an outsider's point of view. Junhee looks at you like you hung the moon and you look at him like he painted the stars; yes, it's been like that since I've met you and a reminder, it's been years. I don't know what took you so long to realize it or if you've just avoided it this whole time but anyone would have to be blind not to see it. Now,' he sighed deeply as he finished and straightened, 'I think you should probably go and talk to him about it considering you just confessed then ditched but it's your choice. I don't think you have anything to worry about.. for either of you. You're the most loyal person I know, so I have no doubt you'd ever hurt him in a way that would ruin you guys and he can barely swat at a fly or sit still through hearing thunder, you think he's going to do something? Regardless.. one of these days, soon, you'll have to face it and I really hope you don't go into it with the cliché reason of your friendship being ruined.'

The words sank in slow and you wanted nothing but to cry your eyes out because he was right; he always was and you hated it. It took a while for you to speak and he seemed okay with that, briefly leaving you to fill a couple orders before returning. 'I know you're leaving for break tomorrow.. tell him before then.' Those were his last words before he bid you good luck and a good night, heading back to his own dorm, most likely to call Donghun now that he'd projected just a little bit.

Irrationality was a word that would be in your character description box and the word stupid could very well be right next to it because when you got home, you packed your bag and decided to leave early, not bothering to let any of your friends know. You needed time and you were being selfish, so selfish to the point you thought maybe he'd just hate you when you got back.

Oh boy were you wrong.

Two days into being back home and confiding in your mother who promptly smacked you upside the back of the head, you found yourself sitting on the porch and moping, split between what to do. You suspected the boys were a bit angry with you when you noticed the ample amount of texts, voicemails, social messages and phone calls that had gone ignored; you caught a glimpse of the absolute book Yuchan took the time to send you, leaving you kind of scared to even open it. It didn't take long for the guilt to set in but you chose to wait until you were back on campus to deal with it.

Or at least, that was your plan.

'So, I know you've never been a fan of confrontation but.. you've never been the type to run away.'

The sudden voice startled you as you hadn't even noticed anyone pull up and of course, upon looking up, you were met with the face you were trying to avoid the most. Junhee stood at the end of the sidewalk looking pitiful and shifting his weight in a nervous manner. You didn't bother trying to speak, not knowing what to say but you did wait for the rant, the berating that you deserved; that wasn't who he was though.

He even stayed quiet for a minute or two, making his way closer to sit on the steps, looking up towards your figure. 'Did you mean it?'

You could have answered right away, poured your heart out and let out the tears you'd been holding in since the moment you left. Instead, you stayed quiet and pulled your knees closer to your chest, not trusting your own voice. He didn't relent though, reaching out to lightly nudge your knee.

'That's all I need to know.. did you mean it? If.. if you didn't I can just leave and we don't have to bother with it again.'

'And, if I did..?' Finally finding your voice, you looked over to him, chewing hard on your lower tier, nervous and kind of wanting to throw up.

You could see him thinking it over before a faint smile showed up. 'I'd most likely cry.. but I'm going to cry either way,' he began, shrugging his shoulders while moving up to sit next to you, 'I'd also tell you that I love you, too and I've been trying to tell you that for years now.'

The confession made your heart flutter, your skin burn and the butterflies being kept back burst in delight in your gut. 'Even.. after everything we've been through? Everything you've seen..?'

Junhee nodded. 'Mhm. I'd go through it all again and what do you mean? I've seen nothing but you.'

#fairieswritings #a.c.e #junhee #clicheprompts #a.c.e scenarios #a.c.e reactions #a.c.e x reader #a.c.e imagines #a.c.e drabbles #kpop #kpop scenarios #kpop drabbles #kpop reactions #kpop imagines

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dewykth · 4 years

Text

—acquainted (m)

“there he goes again. wishing for too much. silly boy, doesn’t he already know he will never have you the way he wants?”

muses. motorcyclist!taehyung x reader words. 2.3k+ contains. smut, angst, unrequited feelings, a fatal love affair notices. explicit sex scene, infidelity (don’t), slight degradation

He should really stop this.

The thought crosses Taehyung’s mind for the fifth time as he exits his apartment complex and mounts his bike. It’s there the whole forty-five minute drive it takes to get to your house. The high rise buildings disappear with each passing mile, replaced with modern, ostentatious estates. You live on the far end of the city, where The States is imprinted on a granite slab right in front of an opulent water fountain. He punches in the memorized gate code, pushing the intruding thoughts to the back of his mind.

The palatial homes never fail to make Taehyung’s mouth drop. His eyes traverse over every inch of the vast lush mansions. It’s all he can do, because he’d never be able to afford such a luxury. Taehyung barely manages to scrape up his rent money in time, hardly getting by with his shitty 9 to 5. But a boy can dream, he supposes.

His bike drives up the path to your residence, and he parks behind the separate garage, just like you tell him to. Away from any prying eyes. Old rich people are nosy, you had excused, they don’t have anything better to do. Taehyung believed you, not like he’d know any better.

Your house was the most impressive. Strikingly beautiful white marble, making the other houses on the block look stale in comparison. It suits you, he thinks.

A statue of an angel sits atop a platform, water shooting out of the top and into the vast pool surrounding it. It’s beauty is supposed to catch the eye of anyone entering your home, but Taehyung’s been here too many times to count. It isn’t as impressive as before.

He reaches the familiar mahogany-coloured doors, and his fingers find the doorbell before he can think of turning back. He pushes it once, twice, then takes a step back.

Why is he here again?

Taehyung told himself that it’d be the last time. That he wouldn’t come back again, that he’d cut whatever this was short, that he’d stop seeing you. That was what he had said the last time he saw you, yet here he is again. Taehyung isn’t like this. He doesn’t fuck someone more than once. He doesn’t go over anyone’s house to fuck. So why is he standing at your door for the third time this month?

He’s playing a dangerous game.

Taehyung likes to think he’s a man of control, but everything is different with you. Your number appears on his phone, and hearing your voice calling out for him is enough to make him break. It’s stupid, he’s stupid. It’s a Friday, half past five. The time you ask for his company is usually on Saturdays. The days Taehyung should be out clubbing and finding someone to take home for the night. Not be standing in front of your three-story mansion like a fool.

He should leave. He should leave and never step foot in this neighbourhood again.

The doors open, and Taehyung finds it baffling that there’s a twinge of disappointment in his chest at the sight of one of your housemaids. It’s not like you greet him at the door every time he comes over. You never do.

The maid says nothing, beckoning him to come inside. He does, because he has no fucking self-control left. Taehyung follows the petite woman up the stairs, and even though he knows his way around the grandiose manor, he lets her lead him anyway. They turn a corner at the end of one of the many hallways, and Taehyung’s heart starts ricocheting against his ribcage once he catches sight of the familiar ivory door at the end of the hall. The woman stops a few feet away from it, bowing before taking her leave. He watches her before reluctantly turning back.

What the hell is he doing here? He should go. You don’t even know he’s here yet. He should turn back, he should go home and tell you something came up.

But Taehyung is frozen, feet glued to the floor as he stares at your door dumbly.

Breathe. Count to ten. Then leave.

He can’t seem to move though, not even to knock on the door. It seems he doesn’t have to though, because it is swinging open before Taehyung can count to three.

The sight of you takes his breath away, which is nothing out of the ordinary, and all thoughts of leaving fade away into the endless abyss of his mind. You’re wearing that stupidly gorgeous smile of yours, the one that Taehyung likes to think is reserved only for him. He hates it, he despises how weak you make him feel. How fragile you’ve made his heart.

He shouldn’t be here.

Leaning your head against the door, you raise a brow at him. “Are you going to stand there all day or are you going to come inside and fuck me?”

And something switches inside him.

Taehyung pushes you inside, hands coming to the back of your neck to pull your lips to him. He kisses you fervently, with urgency, like he’s been starved of you for years, even though it’s only been two weeks since he last touched you. Too long.

His tongue slips into your mouth when you gasp in surprise. Taehyung twirls you around, pushing you against the door. His hands come to rest on either side of your head, and his lips leave yours in order to nip at your neck.

You gasp, “Mhm, I missed you.”

Taehyung tries to not let your words get to his head. It’s not like you mean them. “Did you, baby?” he murmurs against your neck, “Or did you miss my cock?”

You smirk, tilting your head to the side to make more room for him. “Maybe both.” They’re empty, he reminds himself.

Your hands go to his hair, tugging slightly and Taehyung can’t stop the soft moan that escapes his lips. He spreads your legs, hooking one of them around his waist. You get the message, jumping slightly to wrap your other leg around him. Taeyhung’s hands go under the silk robe you don, squeezing your bare ass as he kisses you again. He blindly leads you to the large bed near the middle of the room, setting you down on the thousand thread count sheets.

Taehyung hastily opens your robe, dick hardening at the sight of the black lace lingerie adorning your body. “Is this for me, baby?”

You only smirk in response. His lips meet your neck once again, placing open-mouthed kisses down to the valley of your breasts. Taehyung sucks hard, teeth nibbling softly at your skin and you moan, “mmhh, Tae, no marks.”

He growls at your words, resisting the urge to bite down onto your skin. But he obliges, moving his lips along. Taehyung’s hand slips behind your back, fingers expertly unclipping your bra. He doesn’t bother to slip it off, instead pushing the fabric down before his lips latch around your nipple. You gasp, back arching into him prettily.

Does he really think he could ever stop coming back to this?

His tongue swirls around your bud before he sucks harshly, just the way he knows you love. Your hands find his hair once again, tugging on his black curls. Taehyung moans around your breast while his other hand comes to your neglected one, pinching your bud in between his fingers. “F-fuck, Tae, please.”

His mouth comes off of your breast with a pop, a trail of his saliva connecting your wet nipple to his red lips. Taehyung smirks, “Please what, baby?”

He loves to see you begging for him. Needing him. He needs you just as much. “Please, touch me, anything.” you squirm when his fingers start to dance up your thigh, and he can’t help but chuckle.

“Ah, baby, you’re gonna have to be a little more specific.”

“Your fingers,” you gasp at the feeling of Taehyung’s fingers ghosting over your heat. “I want your fingers, please.”

Anything you want, he’ll give it to you.

Taehyung slips off the lacey fabric, throwing it across the room. His fingers come to lightly toy with your clit, and his eyes widen at the sheer amount of wetness. “Baby, you’re so wet and I’ve barely even touched you.” You whine at his teasing, hand coming to grip his bicep. “I told you, ah, I m-missed you.”

Empty.

Taehyung slips his fingers inside, making scissoring motions to make room for him. You’re a mess, moaning and clutching at his bicep with such force he’s sure he’ll see your finger indents tomorrow morning. Taehyung doesn’t mind it, even when he wishes he could mark you his just like you do to him.

He’s a fool to think such things.

“Nngh, fuck, Tae, please. I want your cock.”

You look beautiful like this, quivering underneath his touch. A blissful expression etched onto your flushed face, lips swollen from your teeth. He wants this vision of you to stay in his head forever. Where he can pretend you’re his, he’s yours, and you belong to one another.

Where you come undone in his own bed, not the one you share with your husband.

Taehyung grits his teeth.

Too much. He wants too much.

Taehyung slips his fingers out of you, ignoring your whine in favor of turning you around. He angles your ass up high before hastily removing his leather jacket. His tattooed fingers quickly undo his belt, and he pulls his jeans down. Taehyung’s cock springs free, and he grabs the foil wrapper from his pocket, ripping it with his teeth before slipping it onto his shaft. He lines himself up with your entrance, holding his breath as he slides into you.

And, god, he could never get enough of this.

You both release simultaneous moans of ecstasy when he bottoms out, and Taehyung thinks he’s far too gone already.

He grips your hips, sliding out until only the tip is inside of you before slamming his hips back into you. You whine, head dropping to the mattress as Taehyung continues to fuck you at a brutal pace. He watches the way your hands grip the white sheets as you moan about how good his cock feels.

Taehyung is on cloud nine, addicted to the way you feel around him. You’re a drug, and he can’t get enough. He can’t stop coming back to you. Taehyung wants more, more, more.

“Such a slut,” he grunts, “moaning for another man on your husband’s bed. Tell me, baby, does he fuck you like this? Does he make you feel this good?” He can feel you tightening around him as he spits out the words, angered. It doesn’t deter your loud moans, if anything it turns you on even more.

His hand comes down on your ass hard, and you release a muffled moan into the mattress at the pain that just feels too good. “I asked you a question, baby.”

Your head lifts, and your arms struggle to hold you upright as Taehyung continues to fuck you just right. “Only y-you- nngh, only you fuck me this good, Tae.”

And he knows they’re just pretty words. That it’s just to flatter him. As soon as this is all done and you’ve gotten what you want, Taehyung is left with nothing but a shadow of your empty promises.

But Taehyung lets himself pretend for now, just for the sake of his pleasure. He pretends the ring on your finger is his, and you only want him. For his pleasure. He feels you tightening around him, and his hand travels to your weeping pussy. Taehyung’s fingers skillfully rub your clit, knowing just what to do to send you over the edge. You whine loudly, and with one last flick of his wrist, you’re coming undone, moaning out for him. Taehyung grunts when your walls contract around his length. He thrusts sloppily into you once, twice, before he’s reaching his high with your name on his tongue.

The sound of your heavy breaths overlapping his filters through the room. Taehyung collapses next you, blissfully staring at the angels delicately painted on your high ceilings. He belatedly registers that you’ve moved away from him, now standing beside the expansive bed as you wrap a silk fabric around your frame. Your eyes meet his, and you smile before placing a kiss on his cheek. Your lips leave the spot tingling, and Taehyung can’t seem to take his eyes off of you, wanting to revel in this fleeting vision as much as he can.

“Thank you.” you say before walking to your bathroom. Your soft-spoken words hang in the air as Taehyung sits up and the door shuts behind you. This is how it always goes. You never ask him to stay. You never invite him for another round. You never ask for more. So why does it hurt so goddamn much this time?

The ride back to his apartment is always the worst part. The coming down of his high, when the effects of your presence wear off. When the actualities of this relationship sets in and the devil on his shoulder fights with the demon in his head.

She doesn’t want you like you want her.

That’s fine. I only want the sex. Just like her.

Liar.

But no matter how many times he tries to lie to himself, it’s useless. Because, no, Taehyung doesn’t just want the sex. He wants you in his arms. He wants to lay with you in his bed. He wants you to be there when he wakes up. He wants to cook breakfast for you in the morning before eating you out on the countertop of his kitchen. He wants it all.

There he goes again. Wishing for too much. Silly boy, doesn’t he already know he can never have you the way he wants?

He’s playing a dangerous game.

No, he’s already lost.

#bangtanhq #btsguild #btsbookclub #btsgoldnet #cypherwritersnet #taehyung x reader #taehyung smut #taehyung x you #bts smut #bts fanfic

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fortheloveoffanfic · 4 years

Text

Midnight Musing

John Wick x reader (A/n- Another one of those things that i wrote but saved for when I had nothing else.)

Warnings- Some angst, but mostly fluff.

“A road need not be paved in gold to find treasures at its end.” -Alan Brennert

Y/n felt small in John's arms and he could feel the slow rise and fall of her chest, matching the soft sound of her even breathing. The flimsy silk of her nightgown, smooth and soft against his bare stomach and chest, felt almost as fragile as she did, and he could feel the warmth of her breath fanning his neck.

With the exception of a pale yellow glow washing the room through pulled curtains, their bedroom was dark as John sunk deeper into his thoughts. The stroke of midnight had long passed and Y/n had been asleep for no more than a couple hours. She had succumbed to slumber quicker than she usually did when they talked over the phone and John had reckoned that it could have been because he'd done quite a good job at wearing her out after she'd come home from work. Though, Y/n would always argue that she slept better when he shared the bed with her.

It had been nearly a month since they'd last done that; shared a bed. John had been gone on a job in Europe. He had estimated two weeks, but things had gone awry and he’d been forced to stay back until he could get it done. When it was finally over, John had taken the first flight back, intent on surprising his love. And surprise her he did. Y/n was pleasantly stunned, and extremely excited when she’d come home earlier that evening, only to find him in the backyard playing with Dog; haphazardly dropping her bags on the kitchen counter and running out through the open screen door only to leap into his ready arms.

"I missed you," is what she had mumbled, her face buried in the crook of his neck, holding onto him as if her life depended on it.

"I've missed you too princess," John had returned, only pulling away so he could lay a proper kiss on her lips. It had felt like ages since he'd had her lips on his, tasted the undertones of her favorite coffee creamer mixing with something uniquely Y/n, something that always felt so surreal and magical, that John could hardly believe that she was there.

He felt like that a lot. That was how he had been feeling that night too, laying in the dark, their roles reversed as he clung to her for fear life. It wasn't really that John had a hard time believing in Y/n's existence, not really, for a man like him could never be afforded such a singular though. No, it was that he couldn't, for the very life of him, fathom why, out of every man in the world, she'd picked him. What could she have seen in him to make her ignore the monster that resided within and love the lonely, at times broken, man beneath?

John’s eyes glazed over as his troubling thoughts consumed him. Y/n was the nicest person he knew; a kind heart and gentle touch that could still the quickest hearts and ease the worst pains, at least, to him. They had met on an off chance, it had been one of those days where John was reminded that he wasn’t really like everyone else, his life wasn’t normal and that he was a brutal killer walking among men. He had just left the Continental after returning from a job the night before and must have looked like the perfect contradiction; dressed impeccably in his usual suit though with cuts and bruises littering his face. The limp in his step had significantly slowed him and the soreness in his muscles was evident every time he shifted.

Y/n had been walking towards his direction, latte in hand, eyes glued to her phone, trying to solve some work problem or the other; she was a nurse practitioner, but John hadn’t known that yet. He had been so caught up in his thoughts that he didn’t really see her until they clumsily crashed into each other, her scalding hot coffee drenching his shirt. Y/n had apologized profusely, and John had done his best to reassure her that it was fine. She had even offered to pay for his dry cleaning, but he had politely declined.

That might have been the end of their interaction, until she saw the fresh cuts on his face, worry for a stranger tugging at her pretty features, eventually insisting that he come back to her place so she could make sure he was okay. John conveniently neglected to tell her that the hotel’s doctor had already done that and Y/n couldn’t didn’t even seem bothered that she was inviting a strange man into her apartment.

Three years after that day; Y/n had long moved out from her little apartment in the city and into John’s house, and by then John hardly ever needed the Continental's doctor, not when he had a trained professional waiting for him at home. Home. That was what Y/n had turned his house into; a home that they shared. Formerly plain walls were now lined with pictures they’d taken together on birthdays, anniversaries and vacations. Dresses, navy blue scrubs and other articles of women’s clothing had joined his things in the closet while Y/n had made it her mission to liven their backyard with happy little flowers of varying colors.

John was more than grateful, in fact, he’d often think that there wasn’t a word that was enough to encapsulate just how lucky he was to have Y/n. Even if he couldn’t fathom her reason for staying. How could someone so inherently good, optimistic and pure, love a man as jaded as him? Even after he had come clean about his life, expecting the bloodshed and shear horror of it all to scare her off, Y/n had stayed. Even after she’d seen him at his worst, broken down and frustrated when a target just slipped out of his grasp, she had assured him that it would be okay. Even when he showed up at her apartment, after just six months of dating, clutching his side, bleeding onto her floor, barely able to hold himself up, she had nursed him back to health.

John simply couldn’t get it.

He took lives, and Y/n saved them.

She was like an angel among them and he was the corruption that she let into her life.

John was so far gone that he hadn’t even realized that Y/n had stirred awake, until she called out to him softly, “John?” she whispered, she always whispered in the dark, even when it was just the two of them; she’d once told him that it was because the dark was so quite that speaking loudly might disturb it, “What are you doing up?”

“I, umm...” he trailed off, trying to look at her in the low light. By the grace of the moonlight, he could see that her hair was fanned out on the pillow, lone strands falling over her face, “I was just thinking.”

Y/n craned her head awkwardly, glancing at the alarm clock behind him, “At two am? I think there might be more convenient times for thinking Jonathan,” she teased, “Are you having trouble sleeping?” Her mood sobered when he didn’t quite laugh at her quip.

“I guess,” he shrugged, “It’s just.....” John hesitated, though, eventually asking her anyway, “Do you ever think about why you love me?”

“I...” Y/n hesitated, pushing herself up on her elbow, grazing the fingers of her free hand on John’s cheek. She couldn’t guess what had brought that on, or what he meant for that matter, but she could tell that something was bothering him. John was a man of very few words, even less so when they involved talking about his feelings, but she never needed vocalization to know that he was letting his thoughts get the better of him. It usually came out in the way he held her or looked at her, as if he was hoping she could make it better, soothe his mind the way she’d often heal his body. “What are you talking about?” Y/n furrowed her brows, brushing some of his hair behind his ear, letting her thumb slide over the apple of his cheek.

John dragged his lip through his teeth, seemingly thinking on it for a moment, “I mean, why are you with me? When you could be with someone who’s good, like you, someone who’s not a murderer and who’s job doesn’t put you in danger. How can you love me when I’m everything wrong in your life?”

Y/n stammered, her eyes going wide, her hand finally relaxing, cupping John’s cheek. Emotion tugged at her heart and Y/n worried on her lower lip. She hated that he’d think like that sometimes, like he didn’t deserve her, especially when Y/n knew that John deserved every bit of good in his life. He wasn’t just the Baba Yaga, the Boggyman or the man to fear, in fact, to Y/n, he wasn’t that at all. To her, he was John, the man who’s arms felt like the safest place on earth, the person who worried about her when he was away, risking his life, the love of her life and the man of her dreams. She hated the mere thought of John feeling less as if he was any than that.

Scooting closer, Y/n leaned forward to greet John’s lips with hers, “When are you gonna stop thinking like that, huh?” Even if only by pale light, John could see Y/n’s eyes questioning him, the glassiness of worry sparkling beneath.

Letting his large, work-worn hand skim Y/n’s side, settling in the dip of her waist, John, trying to dismiss her concern, teased; “When I pinch myself and realize that this was all a dream,” probably the best one he’d ever have.

Scoffing, Y/n pinched him on the bicep for purpose, smiling softly when John winced dramatically, “There, I pinched you for both of us; we’re both awake and you need to stop thinking about yourself like that,” Y/n sighed, her frown deepening, the ‘v’ between her brows prominent, “You’re not everything wrong in my life,” she quoted loosely, “In fact, John, you’re the best part of it. My favorite person, the man I love more than anything or anyone else in the world and the only man that I can imagine spending my life with. Why would I ever want to question that?”

“Because I’m-”

“You’re not a monster,” Y/n cut him off, tangling the tips of her fingers in his dark hair as she cupped his cheek, already remedying the bellying sea of worry in his mind. Her touch was cool and comforting, reminding John of the wonder that she was. “You’re a good man, who got dealt a shitty hand. But that doesn’t make you a bad person, and if it does,” she teared up, the words caught in her throat. Sniffling, Y/n continued, “Then I’d still take you over the best of men, because to me, there’s no one better. I wouldn’t trade a second of our time together, in fact, I’d give up anything to have more. John,” she breathed his name, smiling quietly, “You’re not what everyone says you are, what you think you are. You’re so much more than that, and I know sometimes you can’t see in yourself what I see in you, but I’m reminded of it everyday. I love you John. I love you because you’re strong and brave, because you’re determined and have a huge heart, and you’re over-protective sometimes, but it’s cute,” she giggled softly. “My point is you don’t need to be different for me to love you, and you’re not what’s wrong with my life. But you are the only thing that seems right sometimes, and I’m so grateful to have you.”

Blinking back tears that he hadn’t realized were there, John smiled, just enough for Y/n to notice. What did he ever do to deserve her and everything she gave him? John didn’t think he’d ever know. What he did know though, was that he was grateful too. So, so grateful to have an angel in disguise, loving him despite his flaws, to have someone that made letting go seem impossible. “Thank you, I love you,” he whispered, kissing Y/n again, his lips locking with hers in the sweet expression of their love.

“I love you too,” Y/n said against John’s lips, her body flush against his, his soft strands laced with her delicate fingers, his muscled arms keeping her close.

When they broke for air, Y/n’s forehead was pressed to John’s and they laid nose to nose, “Don’t ever leave me,” he pleaded a distinct urgency in his tone as John curled his stocky fingers in her silky tresses.

“Wouldn’t even dream of it,” Y/n reassured him, quick pecks supporting her words.

“Good,” John hummed. He knew that no matter what he though of himself, Y/n would always love him, but suddenly, he needed ultimate assurance. He wanted her to always be with him, always love him. He wanted to always love her too and make sure that she knew it. So, right there, without any prior plans and at two am when most of the rest of the street was sound asleep, blissfully unhampered by his turmoil and haplessly unaffected by her soothing grace, John blurted those two sealing words, not really as a question, more like a pleading statement, “Marry me.”

Without any hesitation, Y/n knew her answer, even if John’s request came seemingly out of no where. It was the same answer she’d have in any other instance. Giggling, Y/n hooked her leg around John’s waist, kissing him passionately, which arguably was an answer in itself. “I’d love to marry you,” she eventually murmured sweetly against his lips, when they had rolled over so Y/n was laying on top of him.

John held onto her tight, feeling her excited heartbeat against his own, her lips working perfectly in tandem with his. It was set, in words that were as sure as stone; Y/n would be his, forever, and he’d be hers.

As they kissed, the grey in his mind seemed to melt away, becoming a problem for another night. John would never know what he’d done to deserve Y/n, and maybe, he might never see the man that she saw, but he did know that as long as she was in his life, everything else was minute. His job was just a job. His pain was just pain. And it had all led him to Y/n, so really, it was worth it.

******

Tagging- @harrisongslimited @magnificentclodpiebanana @keandrews @greenmanalishi

#keanu reeves #john wick #john wick x reader #john wick x you #keanu reeves x you #keanu reeves x reader #john wick fanfic #keanu reeves fanfiic #ff #fanfic #fanfiction #keanu reeves fanfiction #john wick fanfiction #midnight musings #fluff

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idga-buck · 4 years

Text

use somebody || five

pairing: harry x plus-size!reader

word count: 1,800

warnings: mentions of sex, douchebaggery, and shitty attitudes toward women

summary: a night out has harry asking question he usually stays away from

challenge: @baezen‘s the Other Guys Writing Challenge

previous // masterlist // next

He didn’t know you. Not really. A one night stand, a handful of parties, one long yet entertaining car ride and most recently a clandestine tour of another man’s wine cellar that he’d definitely be thinking about later, but in reality you were still strangers to each other. He still didn’t want you to get the wrong idea. Now that he’s hustling down the winding walkway from Darius’ back patio to the street, he doesn’t waste time trying to figure out why he cares so much.

“She’s not my girlfriend,” he tried, kicking up his feet in a jog to catch up. The jingle of the chain clipped to his belt loop was louder out in the open and he self consciously tucked it into his pocket. He thought he heard you say you didn’t care, but you didn’t stop walking away from him either. “Would you look at me?” You spun quickly to face him and Harry nearly found himself putting the ass in asphalt as he tried not to plow through you. You’d caught him off guard and suddenly he wasn’t sure what to say. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.” Smooth.

After a few tense seconds, your hands dropped from your hips and dangled freely in a resigned posture. “I’m not hurt, Harry, you don’t owe me anything.” His immediate response was to argue, but he hardly knew what he disagreed with. “You’re a grown ass man, kiss whoever you want,” you shrugged. “Just because I’m not looking for a relationship doesn’t mean I wanna screw up someone else’s.”

“It isn’t a relationship,” he defended even though he believed you. You didn’t look upset. You didn’t look happy to see him either and he selfishly wanted that part back. Textbook people pleaser and he was kicking himself for it. “She calls me when she’s bored.”

“So you were bored?” You clarified and he didn’t like it. He didn’t kiss you because he was bored. He was bored, but he wanted to kiss you. That fact hadn’t changed since he met you. He might have forgotten for a moment, but the second he spotted you, it all came back to him. Not because he was bored. No.

“I didn’t say that,” he frowned awkwardly.

“You came out tonight… with a girl that only wants you when she’s bored.” Yeah, so? “Either you’re a gigolo or you were bored too.”

Harry was almost certain there was a wrong answer, but he wasn’t sure if there was a right one. You must have sensed his nervousness because the grace you offered in the form of a teasing smile felt like cool water splashed over his face, the fever instantly gone. Once he could breathe again, Harry grinned back and shoved his hands in his pockets, stepping up next to you as you resumed walking down the hill. “I’m not a gigolo.”

“Too bad,” you laughed and he knocked his hip into yours. You returned the gesture and he stumbled a bit off balance…. and now all he could think about were those hips, wider and clearly more powerful than his. He knew what it felt like to grip them tight. The term “for dear life” came to mind. But what else would they do to him if he was given the opportunity? He was more than a little eager to find out.

“So…” he slurred, looking around the car lined street, significantly quieter than the house. “We’re not going back, right?”

“Right,” you laughed. Before he got the chance to suggest something stupid like going back to his place, you saved him from the embarrassment. “I’m starving,” you looked over your shoulder at him and Harry grinned back.

“I can always eat.”

He’d said it so confidently fine with spending more time with you, but he hadn’t expected to be standing in front of a fancy restaurant at 9:30 on a Thursday night. He certainly hadn’t padded his wallet for something like Taix when he left his apartment thinking he’d be dipping into a party and then out of that girl’s bed well before midnight. The only thing padding his wallet was a condom and unlike all of the cash folded behind it, it apparently would remain unused.

“No one just craves French cuisine,” he teased, hoping you’d agree and pull him away for a burger and fries.

“I do,” you quipped back, not even bothering to look at the menu. You were on a mission and as a waiter in a crisp white shirt and black bow tie approached, Harry guessed he was about to find out what it was. Short ribs and a beet salad. A weird craving. “I’ll never finish it all, so get something different and have some of mine.” It was a genuine offer, he could tell and he smiled back. A small, shy little quirk of the lips that made you frown and the smile fell away completely. He’d planned on offering to pay for your meal, but with the wine that was promised to be paired with the meal, it was going to be well over $50 for you alone. Beyond what he was able to swing that night.

“Uh, French onion soup looks good.”

“And for your entree?” The waiter probed. Shit. Harry looked back at the slick leather folder in his hands and realized he’d ordered from the Hors d’oeuvre menu. After hemming and hawing for too long, you politely asked the gentleman on your left to give you a few more minutes to decide and Harry was equally relieved and embarrassed.

“Ok... What’s the deal?”

“What do you mean?” Harry didn’t have to look across the table to know what you were getting at.

“Get the Steak Frites, it’s good and you said you wanted fries,” you said simply, as if it was obvious. It was anything but. He tried to argue and you pushed back, but not rudely. It was a good place, you pulled him from his plans, he deserved something tasty to close out the night. All good and valid points. Harry didn’t have much by way of macho pride, but the miniscule amount he kept tucked away was a little sore anyways.

“I can’t afford this place,” he admitted sharply before tucking his forehead into his hands, realizing that the surrounding tables had heard him. It wasn’t like it was shocking. He was wearing a leather vest and his shoes had distressed blue and white stars stitched above worn rubber soles that were more gray than white now. It wasn’t a fashion statement, it was just him. Clearly he didn’t belong there. He wished he could ignore that for you, for no other reason than wanting to see you again. The way the night was going, he wasn’t sure he’d get another chance.

“You couldn’t afford to eat at the Roosevelt either, but you did,” you pointed out and he rolled his eyes.

“This is different,” he said through his teeth. He wasn’t mad, just uncertain. He couldn’t get his footing with you and it was frustrating. Yes he’d taken you up on your offer to linger at the expensive hotel after sex, but having dinner after a steamy make out felt different. He just hoped you wouldn’t ask him how since he had no clue. It just was.

You waited a moment, but when he didn’t have anything else to add, you nodded and waved the waiter back over to your table with a smile. You reached across the table and squeezed his forearm gently. Harry looked up from his shame and smiled back, still awkward but appreciative. Finally, you were leaving and he could stop making an ass of himself.

“Steak Frites,” you said and his eyes widened to the size of the dinner plates he couldn’t afford. You asked about cocktails and Harry knew his mouth hung open, having a conversation in code right in front of him about whiskeys he’d never even heard of. But you can’t make a real Old Fashioned out of Old Crow. Not in a place like this. Once the garçon was satisfied with the order, you turned to look across the table and held out your hand. “It’s on me, Harry. I was the one that wanted to come here, it’s only fair.” He took your hand and didn’t let go until he had to, dishes and drinks suddenly occupying the middle of the table and your attention.

Half way through the meal, which even Harry had to admit was the best he’d had in years, pride be damned, a stout gentleman in a heavy white coat emerged from the kitchen expressly to interrupt your meal. He planted a big kiss on each of your cheeks and Harry stumbled slightly while trying to stand with his hand outstretched. It was batted away and he received the same treatment, stiffening at the feel of a thick mustache against his cheeks. The conversation was short lived and that’s when Harry learned your secret to scoring tables at fancy French restaurants without reservations. You have to know the chef. Duh.

Once the conversation was just the two of you again, Harry felt more at ease, forgetting the venue and the price of the drink warming his rapidly filling belly. He didn’t feel out of place when it was just the two of you joking and sharing anecdotes like you had in the front seat of his car. It was surprising how easy it was. He was so pleased even the beets tasted better. Usually they were like chewy dirt discs to him, but off your fork, they were divine. Maybe it was the hand that fed him that was divine. Either way, the night ended too soon. The bill paid without him even pretending to reach for his wallet. The rip of Velcro against a faux Parisian backdrop would have been too much embarrassment and he was glad he hadn’t gotten the soup so his wallet could stay firmly tucked in his back pocket. You called a car like it was nothing and asked if he needed a ride after having walked from Darius’. He started to decline, but your face told him not to. He’d be a damn fool to deny himself a dark backseat with you pressed up against him, so he held the door for you and slid in until there was no room between you. Your head was a comforting weight on his shoulder and Harry had to remind himself that it wasn’t a movie. Or a real date. Or a date at all. What was this?

He didn’t get the answer before his apartment was pulling up on the right and he scowled at the balcony through the car window. Before he could reach his door, you leaned out the window, chin propped up on your folded hands to harass him once more, thank him for his company, and remind him to call you if he decided to run away from any other obnoxious parties. He told you to call him if you had any more cravings for expensive cuisine and were feeling generous. You laughed and waved before slipping back into your seat without another glance. The car drove off, taking you with it, and Harry stood on the sidewalk with his heart beating fast, wondering what the hell he’d gotten himself into.

#use somebody #harry x reader #sorry to all the HP blogs that get diverted to this shit show #spread (2009)#plus size!reader #nerdy frog dad #you are a sensitive guy #sebastian stan character fic #sebastian stan characters #sebastian stan imagine #sebastian stan fanfiction #togwc #the other guys writing challenge

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lovelyirony · 5 years

Note

Hello friend! I'm in a mood and just feel like reading something sad. Could you pretty please maybe write some sad winteriron? Maybe something to do with terminal illness but it's up to you!

Being human means that there are many things that could happen to you and you can’t help it.

Like cancer.

Or being hit by a bus.

Maybe a heart condition that you didn’t know about until you were thirty-two, had weird chest pains, and then found you didn’t have genetic testing done and neither parent told you about any extensive medical history because they both were estranged from the family.

Okay. That was specific.

But Tony was laying in a hospital bed and the doctors told him that he wouldn’t live past forty and he would die of heart failure.

He feels like he should be hit harder by this. He only has eight years left to live. He shouldn’t be in his kitchen making eggs, he should probably be hysterically calling Rhodey and Pepper and Happy and asking them about funeral arrangements and what he’s going to do and quite possibly if spending the extra money to get the executive suite at the fancy hotel in Switzerland is worth it.

Except he doesn’t want to.

Death is a messy process. Not for him, they assured him of that. But everyone asks you questions and your loved ones. You have to figure out where to bury someone if they didn’t do it beforehand. Sometimes you have debates about cremation. Other times about how much you want to spend on a casket.

He really doesn’t want to look at Rhodey or Pepper or Happy when they talk about that because he knows that their faces will break into tears and he will see the tear tracks when they go home to their houses and cry some more.

Nonsense.

If he can hide it, then he will. He doesn’t want to be a bother, it would be...unfortunate.

Besides. He’s lonely at the top, and there’s no climbing back down the mountain. He won’t pull a Scrooge and get visited by three ghosts.

So he lives.

He pulls some risky moves, but nothing that makes Pepper have the “are you up to something serious that could potentially cause my midlife crisis to go off-schedule” talk.

Again.

He donates more money to charities and helps people pay off medical bills and walks around New York late at night to wonder why he’s going to die in eight or maybe even seven years instead of the proposed twenty to thirty. (What? He wasn’t going to be too generous, he knew himself.)

Tony wonders sometimes if he will meet someone and they will make him want to live so much more than he can. It will be like those romantic dramas with rainfall and hair plastered to foreheads and passionate kisses that leave some of the older women teary-eyed and wishing that their husband would do something like that.

But he’s a genius, so he knows statistics like the back of his hand.

There will be no one.

Eight turns into seven. He celebrates by getting absolutely slammed on New Year’s Eve and wakes up to the shittiest radio station blaring. He’s pretty sure they’re playing Maroon 5, which fucking ugh.

New Year, new resolutions. He doesn’t bother to make one.

“Why not? You usually make a joke one,” Rhodey says.

“We are all going to die,” Tony answers. “Why make a resolution if I don’t want to? If I were to die in a year, it wouldn’t really matter.”

“Okay Lord Byron,” Rhodey says, rolling his eyes. “You want Hot Topic giftcards for your birthday? Huh?”

Tony laughs.

Rhodey always knows how to make him laugh.

Tony doesn’t know how he’s going to make Rhodey laugh when he’s dead. So that’s a breaking point where he stares at the wall and starts to write random memories down, like the time they snuck up onto a hotel’s roof to see the city wake up and the wind chapped their lips and Tony swore that he’d never leave Rhodey.

Except he is.

And he realizes that he needs to let Pepper and Rhodey and Happy know that he loves them a lot. So he starts the letters.

He writes a letter to Pepper to remind her about how much she regrets getting light blue nail polish every single time she gets a manicure, and she should never get it. (Yes, even for a wedding she’s in, get something, anything other than that.)

He writes a letter to Happy that is basically just wondering about how they can troll asshole celebrities that they know. He doesn’t know, but maybe he will find some dirt so that if Happy ever falls on dire times, he will have some extra cash flow coming in. Not that Tony would let that happen, but say Happy ever did. Maybe someone stole his bank information. Who knows what will happen in seven or six years.

Summer still sucks. He thinks maybe he’ll like it more, now that he knows that his heart is going to quit. But it still smells like piss and garbage on the streets of New York, people are still blasting shitty music and riding bikes too dangerously, and he still feels gross by two p.m. when he goes outside to face the world.

Not even the treat of shaved ice helps this.

“At least I won’t have to face another one in seven years,” Tony murmurs. “Thank god for that.”

Seven turns into six.

It’s around this time when an attractive redhead shows up at his office, bends down a bit lower than necessary, and Tony gets the feeling that SHIELD should really train their agents a bit better if they want something out of him.

He organizes a meeting with Fury, walks in, and states that they cannot afford him.

“You know that your help would be particularly useful,” Fury says.

“For you to get what?” He asks. “Don’t bullshit me with some answer about compassion. Peggy Carter was kind, but she wasn’t a damned saint.”

“There are new...developments.”

Like the fact that they’ve found Captain America. And Bucky Barnes didn’t fall off into a random ravine, so the four different conspiracy theory documentary videos that Tony watched last year were about five hours of wasted time.

They need somewhere to stay. Fury wants Tony to foot the bill.

“What, can’t ask the government for funding?” Tony asks. “I’m sure if they can up the budget for military every year, that covers Cap and his old pal. Hell, I bet they’ll even open up the champagne fridges.”

“They don’t know about it.”

“And why would that be? Because you’d rather have idols to yourself?”

It’s a low-blow. But Tony agrees to take them in. He just doesn’t want to see them, notably because his father was a bit of a Captain America fan, Tony had had a crush on the former sharpshooter when he was a younger guy, and it was all kinds of messed up.

But he gives them their own little apartment, one of his safehouses.

“This ain’t little,” Steve mutters to himself, unpacking a box of plates. Natasha has been nice enough to show them around and tell them about the changes she finds relevant. She forced them to listen to what she called ‘the goddess of pop’ in the car, and Bucky nearly clawed out the stereo after “Toxic” came on.

“Fuckin’ palace,” Bucky mutters. “Who’s is this?”

“A man in high places,” Natasha answers. “He doesn’t want to be known. Doesn’t exactly play well with others.”

She leaves them be, and there’s so much that has changed. Steve is still looking for any sign of the past he can find in Bucky, and Bucky...

He’s not who he used to be. He doesn’t remember half the shit that Steve does. Perks of having your brain so fried up that you can barely remember your middle name.

They eat together in silence.

“I guess...I guess we have to figure out who we really are,” Steve says. “Because you’re not who I remember, and I’m not...I guess I’m not either.”

Bucky nods.

“Do you reckon we’ll like going out dancing?”

The answer is a strong no, although Steve has to say the drinks have improved a hell of a lot more. He likes the ones that come with the small paper umbrellas. He doesn’t know where they get them, but it gives him an idea for an art project.

Tony doesn’t hear much about the wonder boys. He doesn’t want to, not really. Natasha just says they’re getting more and more adjusted and she has evidence of Steve Rogers going clubbing.

“Oh my god,” Tony groans. “Romanoff, do not.”

“It’s funny.”

“I don’t wanna know.”

“What, you jealous that you’re not dancing with him?”

“Hardly. Blonde and beefy isn’t my type.”

“Then what is?”

“Classified.” Tony answered. “Now, is there anything else you want SHIELD to suck out of me?”

“Well, my manicure funding is getting rather low...”

Tony snorts, but points towards the door.

His chest hurts. It’s been happening. He’s actually gotten used to it. In a way, he’s more concerned when it doesn’t hurt. He went to another specialist. They say his death sentence is signed, even if they don’t word it like that. Here’s how it is usually worded:

“I have a colleague who works at insert-clinic/hospital-here...I can refer you to Dr. So-and-So?”

They can. But it’s another list of referrals of so-and-so’s and clinics and appointments at the most inopportune times.

All for nothing, because Tony knows that he can’t be fixed. The human body sometimes works like a machine. But it’s not one. It’d be like Tony calling a dog a wolf. Similar, but no one wants to bring a wolf into their house as a pet.

He gets a phone call from someone named Deputy Director Hill.

He needs a new arm.

Barnes needs a new arm. Of course he does. Tony should’ve expected that, of course. Hydra isn’t exactly known for revolutionizing prosthetics or being particularly kind to their projects that they work on. So Tony automatically has a one-up.

He gets Barnes to come to this mechanic garage, surrounded by old tin signs and vintage cars that cost more than most of the monthly rent of penthouses in New York.

Bucky does a double-take.

“Howard?”

“I hope not,” Tony answers. “Hop up on the chair for me, please. I’m getting you a new arm.”

“This is fine,” Barnes automatically spouts. Tony can see the damage from here, and can even point out that the arm’s reaction time is probably the worst it has been currently.

“If you want to stick to your Great Depression ideals, then by all means be my guest and go bitch in a grocery store about prices,” Tony responds dryly. “But if you want an arm that’s gonna be actually good, then sit.”

So he does.

Tony looks incredibly similar to his father. But there’s something different about him. Something softer, almost. Bucky didn’t know Howard nearly as well as others did, but he knew that Tony wasn’t his father.

“How are you adjusting to the city?” Tony asks.

"Still the shithole we all know and love,” Bucky swears. “I think the rats got bigger.”

“They did. It’s amusing and horrifying at the same time. You ride the subway yet?”

“Yes and I’ve come to terms with it. Lots of new things to learn about it.”

Barnes’ visits become more frequent. They talk about New York stuff. Tony tells him all about the fun events that have happened that he missed while he was doing time as an icicle.

It’s nice, talking to him. Tony finally has someone who understands fatalistic humor and doesn’t respond with

“That’s scary, Tony.”

“What do you mean?”

Bucky just says “cheers” and decides to tell Tony about the time he nearly died in 1992 because he lost his footing on the Eiffel Tower.

Tony laughs, and laughs harder than he thought he had in a long time.

Six turns into five.

Bucky gets closer, and they have...something. He’s not sure what it is yet, but he knows that they go on breakfast dates most of the time and he knows the coffee orders by heart.

“I think you’ve found someone,” Pepper says, teasing. “Look at you.”

“Yeah, look at me,” Tony murmurs.

He has five years left. That’s plenty of time to date someone and break up, right?

Except.

It’s...wonderful to date Bucky. They go all over, have fun trying the shittiest restaurants in town, and even get Steve to get out more and socialize with the group.

They date and celebrate holidays together and have fun candles and--

Five turns into four.

“Not that bad,” Tony whispers to himself when he’s getting ready for bed.

“What’s not bad?” Bucky asks.

“Nothing, sweetheart,” Tony says. “Just got a new toothpaste.”

They watch It’s a Wonderful Life and Tony can’t really focus, not when he’s thinking about the fact that he still hasn’t picked out a design for his urn.

Not when he realizes that he needs to break up with Bucky and make it a whole big scene so that no one will talk to him. It has to be about two years before the date, he thinks.

He goes to another Dr. So-and-So. They say he might actually have one more year, but who knows.

He doesn’t.

But he wakes up with Bucky every day and they make breakfast, and he thinks that maybe he could tell him? Maybe?

The words get stuck in his mouth.

He can’t.

He meets with his lawyer for the will.

“Why making sudden changes?”

“Just like to shake things up,” Tony says with a smile. “Never know what’s going to happen, right?”

“You are right about that,” the lawyer says. He’s a bit uncomfortable. Tony Stark looks at him like he knows that his life is short and that something else will come up. But it’s not the lawyer’s job to ask if things really are okay, and it’s not like Tony would tell him anyway.

So he makes the changes to the will.

Tony looks at Bucky as he’s napping, face so peaceful.

He can’t ruin that.

#lovelyirony writes #for some reason tumblr never lets me put in a 'read more' link until like after i've done all this shit so here's to hoping this works #winteriron #:(#hope this fits the sad theme anon #tony stark #bucky barnes #rhodey #pepper potts #happy hogan #steve rogers

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collective-laugh · 5 years

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Detective AU - Muriel x MC Chapter 3

Chapter One Chapter Two

Taglist: @a-zoidberg-aesthetic @lesbiancountess @fartkittyonline@yaysam @y-all-dnt-ve @countgoatman-and-drleechboy @julians-chest-hair @softarcana @vesuviass @caterpiller-tea@zaemoultrie75901 @saltywerewolfrebel @obsessedwiththearcana@thatsaltyseaman @xburningwitch @i-dont-speak-wolf @missrabbitart

Chapter Three: Morality

Muriel lights a cigarette as soon as she’s locked the front door, turning the neon lights off as she hugs herself, arms wrapped around her torso and the heavy winter coat that covers her. She eyes the cigarette a moment, taking her bottom lip between her teeth, but says nothing, following him as they make their way down the street.

The only light is that of the street lamps and the soft glow of the cigarette, and he has half a mind to offer what’s left of it to her.

The half of his mind screaming at him to fork it over wins, and he holds the little burning stick to her. She eyes it, a bemused little smirk on her lips, before accepting the half smoked cigarette, “Thanks.”

He hesitates, unsure of what he ought to say, so he settles on a late, “Don’t mention it.”

She eyes him, obviously still thinking about what had just happened in her office, though he was certain she was trying to read his mind; tear him apart, bit by bit and understand just what the hell he was.

“I haven’t been out in...forever.” She smiles, a million miles away, “Thanks for letting me tag along.”

He’s blushing a thousand shades of red, he’s certain and lights himself another cigarette so he can busy his hands. Instead of saying anything smooth or suave or...charming, like the guys in the pictures, he says, “You don’t have to keep thanking me for everything.”

She rolls her eyes, sucking on the end of the cigarette with renewed vigor, “You sound like Asra.” He thinks of saying something along the lines of how they were raised together, but she continues, “I think that all the good people in this world deserve to be thanked for the good things they do.”

Immediately, he says, “I’m not a good guy.”

She arches a brow, challenging him, obviously not believing him in the slightest, “Really? You’ve given me no evidence to believe anything else.”

“You don’t exactly know me.”

She stops in the middle of the sidewalk, holding her arms out like she was the Christ, and says, “Okay. Prove me wrong.”

He tries not to smile, watching the way her eyes light up while she challenges him, “I’m gonna be late for work.”

She grins, smug as he’d ever seen any one person, “I don’t know if I believe in good and bad people, but I do think people are more inclined to one or the other.”

“And what makes you think I’m any good?”

She shrugs, “Asra trusts you, and you took me out to dance when I complained about missing it. So…” She tosses the butt of her cigarette into a puddle on the side of the road, “I think you’re a good person, and you deserve to be thanked.”

Muriel pouts, not willing to argue with her and not willing to believe that he was a good person, especially with the things he’s done. He pushes his hands into his pockets, letting the cigarette dangle from his lips, and he considers the idea that morality could really be so black and white.

It was unlikely, and the idea depresses him anyway.

They walk in awkward, companionable silence for a long minute, Muriel doing his best to come up with something to say to break the pause in conversation. He finishes his cigarette, considering lighting up another one right away, but thinks better of it.

“Tell me something about yourself, Muriel.” She prompts, wringing her hands together before explaining, “We’ve known each other for years, and I hardly know anything about you.”

He hesitates, and nearly refuses her completely. Instead, he mutters, “...like what?”

“Like…” She stretches the word far longer than she needed to, “what do you like to do in your spare time?”

Muriel furrows his brow, as if he genuinely didn’t know what he liked to do when he wasn’t working or sleeping, and realizes that that’s the extent of the things he does. “I have a dog.” He offers, hoping that that might satiate her questions for now, rather than her pressing him for more about him.

She is a detective, after all, and he should have known that as soon as he gave her an inch, she’d try to take a mile, “Really? So you like animals?” He can’t tell if she’s genuinely trying to be nice or if she’s picking his brain apart.

He shrugs, “Yeah.”

She bites her lip, and then asks, “Do you have a favorite flower?” She must realize that it’s an otherwise outlandish question and adds, “Asra told me you like to preserve them.”

He wonders just how much Asra’s told her about him, but by way of answering, he pulls out a small, pressed flower from his back pocket, and she pauses, looking it over with a soft smile, “Forget-me-nots.” He explains, feeling a little ridiculous for carrying the damn thing around and showing her.

She smiles, wide and bright and honest, and says, “It’s beautiful.”

He shoves it back in his pocket, embarrassment flushing across his face, and he shrugs, “It’s okay.”

She pauses again, racking her brain for another question, before settling on, “Is there anything you want to know about me?”

He asks the first question that comes to mind, “Where are you from?”

Shit. Shit, shit, shit.

“Oh, I don’t actually remember that. I get...flashes, you know? Little memories.” She shrugs, “Asra tried to tell me a couple of times, but whenever I start remembering things, I get these migraines that just…” She shakes her head and rolls her eyes, “kill me.”

Muriel swallows, hard enough for his Adam’s apple to bob, and he feels shitty for asking something about the one touchy thing, bringing up the worst possible subject he could have gone for. She doesn’t look offended, surprisingly, but that does little to quell the shame bubbling in Muriel’s chest. He feels like shit, like he ought to apologize, but the words turn to ash on his tongue, unsure of how she’d feel about that.

“What do you think of the whole...Nadia thing?” She asks, blessedly changing the subject. It’s something neither of them were too keen on brooching, but he found it favorable to the hole he’d dug himself in.

“I think it’s a case.” He shrugs, “It’s from a mob wife. You’ll be paid handsomely.” It was a no-brainer, considering the hole that she and Asra found themselves in, but the implications of the law gave her pause, for good reason.

They spend the rest of the walk in silence, and Muriel is thankful for that.

The Rowdy Raven lives up to its name, at least in the idea of being rowdy. It was loud, far more than Muriel would ever find himself comfortable with, but he had to afford food somehow, and working at this dump was the safest bet.

He isn’t surprised to see Dr. Devorak there as he slips in the back door, the detective only a step and a half behind him, and he sighs, knowing he’d have to kick him out within the hour if he got too, well, rowdy.

“What time do you get off?”

He realizes for the first time that she came with him with the intent of staying for the rest of the night. It was nine o’clock now, and he wouldn’t get off until five, and given the big day she had tomorrow, she needed to get some semblance of rest.

Fuck, he dug himself into a hole.

“Not until five.” He swears internally, wondering how he could have forgotten that she needed an escort home, and that he wouldn’t be there to protect her from Vesuvia, “But I’ll find someone to walk you home before then.” He promises, trying to think of someone, anyone who he knew well enough to bring her back to the office.

He’s not happy with who he comes up with, but he figures he has no other option.

She arches a brow, challenging him again, “You think I need someone to walk me home?”

It’s late, and he’s definitely not in the mood to argue with her over the fact that Vesuvia would chew her up and spit her back out, so all he does is hand her a few crumpled bills from his pocket and says, “Enjoy yourself. I’ll send someone soon.”

He’s gone before she can protest or complain, clocking in and taking his post by the front door, taking over for Brudmila, and she’s left inside, money in hand. Ultimately, she decides that the best idea is to make her way for the bar. Muriel gave her money, for some reason, and she figures she ought to enjoy herself tonight before whatever tomorrow was going to bring her.

“Can I have a mai tai, please?” She orders, feeling small, but she was determined to have a good time.

The bartender nods at her, accepting her money, and as she waits for her drink, she hears, “Well, well, well, what have we here?” She would have rolled her eyes, would have scoffed and ignored the man, had she not known exactly who the owner of the poorly masked Russian accent was.

Julian tries - he really does - to hide the fact that he wasn’t from the States, but despite of his many, many talents, hiding his native dialect was not one of them.

“How are the headaches, detective?” Julian asks, leaning against the bar.

She shrugs, smiling at her friend, “Tolerable. How’s work?”

“Steady.” Julian waves the bartender over and orders a Salty Bitter, “And yourself? How’s work?”

She thanks the bartender for their drinks and takes a long, well deserved drink from the mai tai, eyes widening reflexively, “Nonexistent. No one seems to be looking for anyone anymore.”

Julian scoffs, “No one knows where to look for their missing people.” Julian nudges her with his elbow, “You need to get out of that hole in the wall and into an actual job.”

She rolls her eyes, “Right, because those old geezers are gonna hire me.” She waves at herself harshly, “The best I’d get is to be a goddamn receptionist.”

Julian shrugs, “It’s actual work, though.”

He had a point.

She sighs, “I didn’t come here tonight to depress myself.”

He waggles his eyebrows, “You came with talk, dark, and broody, hm?”

“And I didn’t come to talk about him.” She cuts him off sharply, doing her best not to smile, “Dance with me, doctor?”

“Gladly.”

Muriel has to break up a fight between two assholes within the first half hour of his shift, but it doesn’t stop him from keeping tabs on her, making sure that she’s alright. He doesn’t want to over stept, and certainly doesn’t want to send her home with Doctor Devorak, considering how drunk he knew the doctor was bound to get.

When he sees them dancing, he notices just how good they look together.

He tries to focus on his work.

#arcana #the arcana #the arcana game #muriel #detective au #muriel detective au #detective #muriel x mc #slowburn #muriel x apprentice #muriel x female apprentice #tw swearing #swearing #fluff #muriel the arcana

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everymovie2020 · 5 years

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Single White Female (1992)

Date watched: 12 October 2019

Continuing on with my Saturday afternoon 90s thriller-fest, another movie I haven't seen in a really, really long time. Single White Female is really something.

First of all, can we talk about the apartment she lives in? This massive apartment with hardly any furniture, in downtown Manhattan, in a heritage building, with no air-conditioning or fans or… much of anything, and it's falling apart, and she just lives there alone? HOW?

I mean, it's 1992 so like, obviously the rent is cheaper, but fucking hell. She is right in the middle of downtown Manhattan and it's a massive apartment. How the hell does she afford it?

And I mean, even when Jennifer Jason Leigh moves in – she's only working in retail, so… HOW DO THEY AFFORD IT?

Oh wait – it's rent controlled. I just remembered. I'm not sure what that means but I know from Friends and Sex and the City that it's a good thing to have in New York. Okay, so fine, the apartment is explained. I'll allow it.

Plot:

Bridget Fonda lives in a sprawling Manhattan apartment – SPRAWLING. She's dating Steven Weber, and they're going to get married, but then she finds out that he fucked his ex-girlfriend. So she drops him, but she's sad about it because she really loved him.

She puts in an ad for a roommate, interviews a bunch of options and finally settles on Jennifer Jason Leigh (who I'm now going to refer to as JJL because three names is a killer). JJL moves in, they bond, they become friends, they get a puppy – even though Bridget did not want the puppy and JJL manipulated her into keeping it – and then Steven Weber comes back into the picture in a big, big way.

The problem is that JJL is either in love with Bridget or simply obsessed with her. At first I thought it was straight up lesbian love, but it's more than that. You see, JJL had a twin sister who died when they were young, and she's trying to replace her with Bridget. But then there's kissing. So I don't know.

Look, I love my friends, but I don't kiss them, is all I'm saying.

So when Steven Weber comes back, and the relationship starts up again, suddenly JJL needs to move out. So she kills the dog (oh, I'm sorry, it "accidentally dies"), she tries to sow the seeds of doubt into Bridget's mind about her relationship, she is just basically very unsettling and manipulative, and then one day she cuts and dyes her hair the exact same style as Bridget.

It is bananas.

And she thinks Bridget will be cool with it.

It is bananas. The logic is bananas.

So Bridget is finally starting to cotton onto what we, the viewer, have known this entire time – bitch be crazy. But Bridget is too fucking nice, right? Which I think is a fatal flaw a lot of women have, because… here you have this person, who you are friends with, who you've been living with, who you are bonded with, and now all of a sudden the red flags are showing but you're trying to extract yourself as gracefully as possible without resorting to acting like a total bitch, and it keeps blowing up in her face.

In order to make Steven Weber out to be a cheater and to prove to Bridget that… men can't be trusted, I guess, JJL dresses up as Bridget, goes over to Steven's hotel room and gives him a surprise blow job, and when he wakes up mid-blowie and realises it's not Bridget, he tries to get her to stop but she's on a mission and he comes anyway. Then he's wracked with guilt, and she's like, "You liked it," and I'm like, "You just raped him," and she's like, "You're a cheater, once a cheater always a cheater," and he's like, "Fuck you," and I'm like, "You just raped him."

Then Steven Weber is like, no fuck you, I'll tell Bridget what a psycho you are, and then she stabs him in the head with a stiletto heel.

It bums me out that he died. He really didn't deserve to die. Yeah, he cheated on Bridget, but she'd forgiven him and they were moving on. It was supremely shitty of JJL to stab him in the head with a high heel. It's just rude.

So JJL goes home, tells Bridget she's moving out (spoiler alert – she has other plans) and sets about cleaning the apartment. Then while JJL is out, a very specific news bulletin tells Bridget that a man was killed in the same hotel as Steven Weber, and even reveals the room number, so when she rings the hotel she pretty much confirms that he was the one killed.

That is when JJL's evil scheme is revealed – she's planning to frame Bridget for murder and then kill her and disappear into the wind, making it look like a murder suicide. And the reason she was frantically cleaning the apartment was to get rid of her fingerprints, though I find it laughable that she thinks that just by cleaning her room she would get rid of all of her fingerprints throughout the entire apartment after living there for a few months. Nice try, JJL.

Anyway, they fight, and then they go up to the gay friend's apartment (JJL knocked him unconscious what seems like a few days ago and he has just been chilling in a bathtub since then? You're led to believe he's dead but like, he's been unconscious in a bathtub for days. No food or water. He would not be a well man. Also, when they show him in the bathtub, they show his very loyal ginger cat sitting on top of him and purring loudly, so it is my belief that the ginger cat was taking good care of him), where JJL ties Bridget up to a chair. So now the plan is that Bridget has convinced her not to kill her, and they are going to run away together with new identities and brown hair, but of course Bridget's actual plan is to escape, and they fight, and then JJL is getting the upper hand when the guy everyone thought was dead (except the kitty, the very loyal ginger kitty) bursts out of the bathroom and saves the day.

But then he gets knocked out again, and JJL ties up Bridget and then goes down to the basement to get a human woman-sized suitcase to put her body in (at this point I'm like why the fuck don't you just take her back down to her apartment and kill her there like you were going to, but wtf do I know), when Stephen Tobolowsky turns up to "save the day".

Now I haven't talked about him before because I honestly forgot about him until this very moment, but here's the deal – he owns a fashion business and Bridget has provided him with fashion software. He then tried to come onto her and demand that she sleep with him (very #metoo), and she told him to fuck off. So he has been withholding her last payment, but she's a smarty who put data erasing software into her computer program if they failed to pay her.

The whole reason he goes around to "save the day" is because he was going to scream at her to stop her data erasing program even though he didn't pay her for the work done and he also sexually harassed her, and he acts like saving her is a real chore for him, and then he gets killed. So like… sucks to be Stephen Tobolowsky?

I may have gotten this somewhat out of order, but two people intervene trying to help Bridget and both of them get taken out. She finally almost gets the upper hand and almost escapes in the elevator, but JJL forces her way in and they fight all the way down to the basement. It's there that JJL strangles Bridget and thinks she's killed her, but in a perfect 90s horror movie twist ending, when JJL goes back to Bridget's lifeless body to drag it to the incinerator – seriously, PEOPLE WOULD'VE NOTICED IF SHE WAS MISSING, THIS PLAN IS SUPER FLAWED, AND YOU CAN'T TELL ME THAT YOU LIVED IN A BUILDING FOR MONTHS AND DIDN'T SEE ANY OF THE OTHER TENANTS, JFC – Bridget is gone.

Anyway, they fight again and Bridget finally kills the bitch, and all's well that ends well – except for Steven Weber, the dog, Stephen Toblowsky and I'm guessing the gay friend would probably have some lingering health issues as well, and of course not to mention the trauma Bridget has gone through that will undoubtedly affect her entire life.

So that's Single White Female in all its early 90s glory – I mean, if you're looking for a snapshot of the fashion of the very early 90s in New York, this is your movie, because holy shitballs there's some interesting looks. And I don't even know what to categorise Bridget's hair as. It's a sassy little cut and it's super out of fashion now, but I remember that look being all the rage.

#single white female #1992 #movies #Movie Reviews #bridget fonda #jennifer jason leigh #steven weber #stephen tobolowsky #a heroic cat #a heroic gay friend #new york real estate #seriously that apartment was unattainable let's face it

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eloqvents · 4 years

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♡ ◟ ° › lucy boynton, female, she/her, twenty three ⋯ ❛ thank you for applying to SEX AND THE TITTY, ELODIE MONET ! before we start this job interview, i would just like to go over a few questions. you said your best attribute was DEBONAIR, right ? well, word around town is that some people find you to be a bit more GUARDED… but, nevermind that. i’m actually more curious about whether you were actually caught DRUNKENLY SERENADING OUTSIDE OF YOUR EX’S HOUSE AT 3 AM last year ? oh, you were ? that’s unfortunate. on the bright side, i heard that you excel at COOKING …. so that’s cool ! now, one more question … your last manager said that you’re hiding THAT YOU PRETENDED TO GO TO REHAB TWO YEARS AGO BECAUSE YOU WERE PREGNANT, is that true ? — haha , just kidding ! they didn’t say that, i just read that about you online . anyway , you got the job ! ❜ 】 eri, pst, she/her.

hello all ! it’s eri once again with another muse bc we just can’t get enough. anyway, please excuse how shitty this intro is going to be bc i am lacking sleep.

ok to start off, her parents are loaded so she’s very wealthy. original from la, her father was a well-known producer and her mother a stay at home mom. long story short, their marriage was a far cry from a happily ever after. growing up watching their parents fall apart, elodie and her brother latched onto each other and he remained her wall. it was painfully obvious however that their father favored the other, whether it be because he was the only son, or how musically and theatrically inclined he was... and she found herself thrown off to the side much like her mother, except a lot stricter rules set in place that she found herself easily breaking. curfew? forget it. no boys? she was sneaking them in all too often.... but even more easily having her girl “friends” over for sleepovers with no questions asked. she began resenting her father early on and it only grew the more rules, until finally she threw all caution to the wind and fell off the expected monet route.

by 15 she was known as the party girl. she did her school work most of the time, kept good enough grades to keep her parents off at least that aspect of her life. going out every weekend, never coming home on time or just refusing to answer her phone. she was a hellion, with no cares in the world, and she simply lived with no worries and absolutely no care or respect toward her parent's wishes. they virtually gave up on controlling their daughter by the time she was 17, clearly making her own choices and took no bother in chastising her as they knew their efforts would get them nowhere.

despite the dysfunction of the family, they did vacation to stone harbor every summer which had become some of elodie’s favorite memories of her younger years ( i would love any plot referencing her coming back every year and what not ok )

at 18 she had a choice. college, or follow her heart. new york was calling, as much fun as she had in la... it just wasn’t quite it. and new york was so exciting. the following summer she found herself back in stone harbor, unable to resist the tradition but instead opting to stay the summer..... except she never left. with all the fond memories she held in the place, and finally being far away from her family, she felt like she’d found herself. or at least the closest to home she’d ever had.

we gonna skip ahead to her getting pregnant three years ago, which is something she told no one (not even the potential father). the day she found out she was packing her bags and leaving stone harbor with no word, instead of leaving a note for her roommate ( plot wanted ) at the time, and sending out a group text explaining she had decided to go to rehab. it seemed like a good excuse, not a complete lie considering she did not touch any alcohol or substance during her pregnancy. she instead went and stayed with her aunt and uncle in london.

she went back and forth on what she wanted to do, spending her days swaying back and forth between keeping the baby and starting a fresh life or putting it up for adoption. but after a particularly painful depressive episode, she decided for the safety of both of them she had to give her baby girl up. this is when her aunt and uncle said they would take the baby in, not wanting to separate family, and it is a secret she’s kept in to this day.

coming back from rehab, she had changed. at first cold, extremely depressed, and she wanted to stay away from her prior addictions but within a few weeks she was right back into it. drinking nearly daily, taking whatever pills or drugs were offered, although she was much more cautious when it came to sex. becoming quite a bit pickier when it comes to men, however her love for women only seemed to grow.. likely due to the fact she could not get pregnant that way.

she’s had her ups and downs, about six months ago she came back from a few months at rehab once again after an especially harsh bender that landed her in the hospital. sobriety has continuously and still continues to be a struggle for her. she swore up and down that she wanted the help after begging her parents to pay ( not wanting to dip into her own hefty inheritance ) for her to go back, although within a month she found herself dabbling in other substances, occasionally taking a little too many of her medications at once, and having a drink, or two, or three....

while she was staying with her aunt in france, she spent a lot of time cooking with the elder woman and it became the most therapeutic thing to her... at least without getting high.. it’s become one of the only things that can genuinely distract her, although she does become a master chef when you add a little pot to the mix, but she hardly counts that against sobriety anyway.

personality-wise elodie doesn’t really hold back her opinion, and although she won’t go out of her way to avoid stepping on toes, she will try to make things as least confrontational as possible. in her opinion, life has shoved her around enough and she prefers to not allow anyone the excuse to do it too. but........ in those cases she will probably show her temper and make sure people know she isn’t going to be walked all over. she’s very upbeat, tries her hardest to be excited for life each day ( or pops an extra xanny if it’s a particularly hard day ). however.. her bad days are bad. if she’s down enough its nearly impossible to get her out of bed for anything other than a shower. some are harder than others, especially nearing the birthdate of her daughter delaney ( 2 currently ).

a few more facts bc this is long uh: she writes a letter every day to her daughter and saves it in a special box kept secret in her room. she dabbles in poems and other types of prose, and has a goal of one day writing and illustrating her own childrens book in dedication to her daughter. she has a lot of money and could technically afford to not work, however she took a bartending job at sex and the titty for side cash and to send a monthly check to help support her daughter. and laaaaastly, she is kind of a hopeless romantic and loves romcoms way too much. she is 100% the type that believes very strongly in love but just ... sucks at it. she’s scared to commit herself but she’s also not afraid to shout from the rooftops ??? rn she’s trying to work on herself so

oh and here is a playlist and pinterest for her even tho she wasn’t here for the task:)))

connection ideas ( plots page currently in progress )

an ex who she serenaded drunk at 3 am bc that rumor is definitely real

possible baby daddy

her old roommate that she bailed on, can be positive or negative

a best friend, like the blair and serena type ( minus all the fighting ... or not ) that can tell each other and count on the other for anything

exes in general, good, bad, ugly, any and all.

slow burn ??? or the one that got away ??? or maybe they just keep missing each other ???

maybe an enemy or someone she had a falling out with in the past

ANYONE SHE USD TO HANG OUT WITH IN THE SUMMER BEFORE ACTUALLY LIVING THERE. gimme them long term friendships / relationships

a good influence // the person who tries to help her not keep fucking her life up

alternatively .. the bad influence that encourages and participates in a lot of not so good activities with her

tbh i just want anything and everything so throw any ideas at me bc i’ll probably be in

listen i know i forgot like 239523852 things and rambled on too much but i just love her and could go on forever.

#stone:intro #uh hi i am so sorry for how long this is pls dont hate me #if you dont wanna read it just lemme know and i can paraphrase the important stuff ok

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niallismymuse · 5 years

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Chapter 3

Tessa spent the days leading up to the camping trip working as hard as she possibly could. She needed to finish the projects she had already started, because if she left without completing them, a tight knot of anxiety would squeeze her chest until she couldn’t focus on anything but the work that needed to be finished. It would ruin her trip.

She ignored the roommate problem entirely; it was something to worry about after the trip, purely because she didn’t have enough time to interview applicants until she was home anyway. And even if she did, she didn’t want a practical stranger living in here when she was gone.

It had nothing to do with the still-cold silence between her and Jess. Nothing at all.

She had texted the group chat and informed them that Niall was coming. Melody had been excited, and Ryan had cheered simply for more testosterone. Lyrica had seemed excited too; apparently Niall knew how to throw down some alcohol, which was mostly what they did on this trip.

Jess hadn’t said a word.

And it was fine. Whatever. The Christmas gift would remain unopened and at her apartment, for now at least.

She kept in constant contact with Niall over text, telling him what he should bring and informing him that he would have to share a bedroom with Ryan. He seemed excited. It’s been a while since I’ve done something as spontaneous as this, one of his texts read.

This wasn’t that spontaneous – he had a couple days to prepare – but she understood what he meant. It was hard to uproot your system when it was work, and mostly just that. Sometimes at parties, she didn’t know what to do with herself, like she had forgotten how to act after hours of being on the computer.

Well, usually she drank some tequila in those situations and got over it quickly enough. Tessa loved to dance; she wondered, briefly, if Niall would dance with her at the cabin. While she hadn’t been an avid listener, she knew enough about his One Direction days; he hadn’t been much of a dancer then.

She could throw it down, though. Maybe that would be enough for the both of them.

Tessa sighed and took her headphones off, before rubbing at her tired face with her hands. She was going to work herself to death. And ever since having Niall over the other night, she felt like her work hadn’t been quality. Her mind was moving in lopsided circles, like a flat bicycle tire. Work. Niall. Work. Niall. Was this video even worth her time? Did Niall like her as a friend or did he like her like her? Did this concept make sense, and would it translate onscreen? Would Niall have a good time at the cabin?

Eventually, she had to stop and take a break from everything – the video she was working on, and her own brain. Tessa tossed her mouse aside and pushed herself up from her desk, rubbing at her temples and closing her eyes. She exhaled slowly, feeling her shoulders slump as she let all of her anxiety filter out of her. Maybe she needed to go to a yoga class, or something similar, and stretch it out.

As she was weighing the pros and cons of heading to the local gym to see if she could catch a class, her phone rang. Curious, she picked it up and bit her lip when she saw who was calling. It was her mother.

With more apprehension than she was willing to admit, Tessa accepted the call and lifted the phone to her ear. “Hello?”

“Oh, so now you answer me. You’ve been avoiding me for days, and you better have a good reason for it.”

She barely restrained herself from rolling her eyes. Tessa loved her mom, she really did, but she was often overbearing and some people (like her husband) would even say that she has controlling tendencies. She hadn’t spoken to her since before the pictures of her and Niall had blown up on the Internet, though Maria Jenkins had tried her best to change that. She had been calling every day.

Tessa decided to go with something somewhat close to the truth. “I haven’t really felt up to talking to people, Mom.”

Her mother changed tactics immediately. “Aw, sweet girl, I can’t even imagine the stress you’ve been under, especially with what’s been in the news.” She paused, giving Tessa a chance to chime in with exactly what had been in the news, but continued when she remained silent. “But you can always talk to me, and you can always come home for a little bit. We’ll take care of you and get you right on track.”

Maria had been trying to get her back home since Tessa had left to attend college, years ago. She had never anticipated that her only child would want to leave the nest so soon, and she took any chance she could to remind Tessa that she could always come home if anything was too hard, or if she was struggling.

Privately, Tessa was pretty sure that if she agreed and went home to stay for longer than a holiday, she would never leave again. She had a sneaking suspicion that her mother would try to find a way to keep her there forever – visiting while on breaks from college had been trying, at best. She nearly became a fugitive from her mother one winter break, sneaking out of windows at night just to get out of the house.

“I’m good, Mom, thanks. I’ve just been relaxing around the apartment.”

“Good, good.” There was a weighty pause, and then when her mother spoke again, she sounded almost concerned. “That man…he’s treating you good, right? In life and about this whole paparazzi situation?”

Tessa felt her eyes nearly well up. Of course, her mom was worried about her. She loved her, after all, and vice versa. “Oh, Mom, we’re not together…but he’s a very good friend to me, yes.”

She waited to hear how ‘friends don’t kiss each other’s cheeks like that, Tessa’, but her mother merely sighed instead. “Okay, my girl. I trust you. Just…call me, okay? I miss you. And if everything gets to be too much, you can always come home, even if it’s just for a day.”

Tessa hung up a few minutes later, after chatting about some lighter topics. She felt both better and worse. Better, because her mother did truly love her. Worse, because she was a shitty daughter.

With a sigh and a shake of her head, Tessa tried to put everything out of her mind. She grabbed her purse and her wallet and walked out of her apartment. If she hurried, she could make the 3:00 yoga class, and since she was already dressed in athleisure wear, she booked it out to her car.

Tessa just needed some time to think and to absorb.

✩✩✩

Suddenly, it was New Year’s Eve, and Tessa was packed and ready to go. She was just waiting for Niall to pick her up around noon, and then they would drive up to the Big Sur Campground.

They had decided yesterday to drive up together. She was a little nervous – the drive was on the long side, and there would be nothing to do but either talk or sit in silence. What if she said something awkward? What if she accidentally revealed she had been wondering if he liked her?

Tessa used to be the type of woman that would straight up tell someone if she liked them, but she referred to those times as her college years. She hadn’t done that since junior year of college, and anyway, that method had given her Bryan, an ex, who was a fucking loser.

Besides, she just…didn’t feel like Niall liked her back. He threw off so many different signals, it spun her mind around in circles. She didn’t know how to figure him out. All she knew was that she liked him, and that they were driving to the cabin together.

Someone knocked on her door. She didn’t have any more time for internal freakouts. Tessa took a deep breath and did what she did best – repressed everything until she had time to drink some wine and sort it out. She grabbed the straps of her duffel bag and opened the door. Niall was standing there, smiling down at her. “Hey, Tess.”

He nearly took her breath away. He was dressed in dark jeans and a neat, evergreen-colored, long-sleeved shirt. His hair was flat along the top of his head, with minimal styling. His eyes were shining. Niall was, quite honestly, the most beautiful man she had ever seen.

“Hey, Niall. Are you ready to go?”

“I should be asking you that,” he replied, amused, and pushed his hands down inside his pockets. “Are ya?”

“I am.” She smiled and pushed the door open further. “I’ve got my bag and everything.”

“Here, I’ll grab it for you.” Niall paused, holding his hand out – not trying to take her bag, but offering to carry it. She obliged him and handed him the straps. He blinked and adjusted his grip, feeling the weight of her bag. There was the distinct sound of glass clinking together, and his eyebrow shot up. “Is there alcohol in this bag, Miss?”

“Absolutely, Sir, for it is almost time to get lit. It will commence upon arrival.” Tessa replied with a formal air, and Niall burst out laughing. She smiled and stepped out of her apartment, shutting the door behind her and locking it, before setting her key inside her purse.

“This camping is sounding better and better.” Niall shook his head as he grinned like a child in a candy store. He then started off and led the way out of the building, choosing to take the stairs down rather than wait for the elevator. She didn’t mind, trotting along beside and slightly behind him – she was always cautious now walking down stairs, as she had been known to fall down them as a child.

“I prefer to call it glamping, myself.”

They walked out into the bright, but chilly Los Angeles morning. Tessa was grateful for the long-sleeved shirt she was wearing, since the wind had a bite to it, but Niall hardly blinked as he unlocked his Range Rover and popped the trunk, placing her luggage inside of it. He snapped it shut and then gestured towards the passenger seat. “After you, Tess.”

She clambered inside the car, feeling distinctly, for the first time, the acute difference in their lives. Yes, she made good money, but she was positive she couldn’t afford this car. Which was fine, because she dearly loved her own car, but still.

She knew he had money; he was a major popstar, of course, she would be blind not to see it in the little things (like the beautiful watch he wore, his shoes, etc.), but Niall never bragged. He was quite humble, actually. It was only in moments like this that she remembered that he was a step firmly above her financially.

This can only be as awkward as you let it be, Tessa reminded herself, so don’t. You’re not beneath him, in any way.

So, once more, she pushed it away and buckled herself before smiling gamely at the man sitting next to her in the driver’s side. “I’m glad you’re coming, Ni.” She had never used the nickname before, but it felt right.

Niall turned to face her and reached over and patted her on the knee before resting his hand lightly there. She felt her cheeks redden and bit down on her lip, but he merely squeezed her knee and murmured, “I’m glad too.”

He pulled his hand away and started the car; the engine rumbled on with a quiet purr, but Tessa was too busy gathering herself to comment on it. Niall plugged the address to the Big Sur Campground into his GPS and then smoothly reversed out of his parking space before pulling out of the lot and into the LA traffic. And thus, their trip began.

Tessa was silent for a few minutes, as she didn’t want to distract him – the traffic could be, and currently was, quite atrocious. But after a little while, Niall glanced over at her quickly and then back at the road. “Are ya comfortable? You’re awful quiet.”

“Oh! Yes, it’s really nice in here. I just didn’t want to distract you from driving.”

Niall chuckled. “Oh, the traffic doesn’t bother me. We’ll be out of here in no time.” Indeed, his fingers were loose on the steering wheel – there were no white knuckles, which she might have had if she were driving.

“How does this not bother you?” She asked, genuinely curious.

“If you think this is bad, you should see London’s traffic. I would say it’s a bit worse.”

“Damn.” She was impressed. “This is pretty shitty, too. And it’s only 12:15!”

“Well, it could be worse. We could be driving at five in the evening.”

After that, the nervous spell she had been under was broken, and they casually talked and laughed all the way out of LA. It only took about forty minutes.

“And now, five hours until we’re at the campground.” Tessa mentioned after glancing at the GPS on his phone, and then laughed.

“Want to listen to some music along the way? You choose.” Niall told her and gestured towards the stereo.

“I…don’t really listen to much music, really.”

Niall shot her an incredulous glance. “What the fuck? What do you mean you don’t listen to much music?”

Tessa made a face and shook her head. “I don’t spend a lot of time actively listening to it, I mean. I turn on the radio when I’m in the car, but besides that…”

“No Spotify or anything?”

She looked at him quickly. “If you’re worried about it, I’ve listened to all of your music, you know.”

Niall blushed, his cheeks going ruddy. “I…I wasn’t worried about that…I just…music is such an enjoyable experience, something everyone needs to relax or have fun with.”

Tessa couldn’t help it; she reached over and pinched his red cheek, making him scowl. “My favorite song is ‘You and Me’, by the way.”

His scowl softened. “Thanks,” Niall answered softly, his cheeks turning an even darker shade of red.

She could tell he was still a little embarrassed, and she was enjoying it, but she decided to lessen his suffering. “How about you play me some of your favorite songs, then?”

He cleared his throat and then nodded his head towards his cell phone. “Pull up Spotify, and you’ll see a Playlist titled ‘X’. Shuffle that one.”

Tessa did as she was instructed, and immediately a song by Fleetwood Mac popped up. She was familiar with the general tune of it but not the words, so she merely listened. Niall, however, immediately perked up and began to sing softly along, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel. She found herself entranced by his voice, by him, and couldn’t stop herself from watching him.

Niall was aware of her gaze on him; she could tell by the little smile that was lifting up the corner of his lips just slightly. But he didn’t stop singing along, and so she didn’t stop watching him, her smile appearing to match his.

Eventually, a song turned on that she knew, so Tessa belted it out as loud as she possibly could – though she was pretty sure Niall was trying to be louder, judging by his cackle of delight – and even started dancing, shimmying her shoulders and generally making a fool of herself. Niall was singing along or trying to; he was laughing so hard she wasn’t sure how he could sing, much less drive.

It was the most fun five hours she had spent in years. So fun, in fact, that she was almost disappointed when they pulled in to the campground and parked by the check-in building. Tessa ran inside and grabbed the parking pass that was provided upon arrival for guests. They were in Cabin F, the last in the first loop of cabins. As they drove down the dirt lane towards their cabin, she could see that it was actually quite secluded – there were trees surrounding it almost entirely, and it was about fifty feet away from the closest cabin.

Two other cars were already parked in the driveway, and a wave of apprehension hit Tessa right in the gut. Jess and Lyrica were already here – as were Ryan and Melody. She had figured that they would arrive before her and Niall, but seeing that they had…yes, it was apprehension she felt. About Jess, none of the others.

Jess hadn’t even spoken to her recently, not even through the group chat that they had all made to keep updated about the trip. Tessa wasn’t stupid – she had posed a direct question to Jess only once, and when that had gone unanswered, she had stopped trying. And now she was about to go on a camping trip with her.

She was going to need a lot of wine to get through this trip. Luckily, she had anticipated that, and all of the wine needed was currently in her bag, plus some.

And, yes, there were some clothes in there too.

Niall parked behind the other two vehicles, and Tessa immediately hopped out. Niall quickly followed suit, and together they took their luggage out of the back of his car. Right as they began to make their way up to the cabin, the front door flew open and Melody rushed outside, Ryan hot on her heels.

“Tessa!” Melody squealed, charging down the stairs and launching herself towards Tessa. She wrapped her in a tight hug, squealing all the while. “We’ve been waiting for you guys! Hi!” The last word was directed towards Niall, who took the whole scene in with a smile. Ryan, still up on the deck, mouthed ‘drunk’ and pointed sharply at Melody. Tessa was already well aware – she could smell the tequila on Melody’s breath.

“Wow!” Tessa replied cheerily, giving Melody a quick squeeze back. “You have had some drinks today lady, haven’t you?”

She saw as Lyrica and Jess came out onto the deck with Ryan. Lyrica waved. Jess did not.

“Well, we’ve been waiting for hoouuurrrrsss for you and Niall! And it’s 5 o’ clock, you know. The drinking hour.”

Tessa laughed. Niall had already met her friends before at that house party Lyrica had thrown back in June, but she thought it might be helpful to introduce him now. “Melody, this is Niall. Niall, this is my friend from college, Melody.” She smiled, and Melody immediately straightened up and plastered her best ‘professional’ smile on.

“It’s lovely to see you again, Melody,” Niall replied formerly, before tossing in a wink. Melody giggled, covering her mouth.

“And up there is Ryan, and well, you know Lyrica and Jess.” Tessa continued to smile, trying her best not to allow any tension to radiate through.

Lyrica started walking down the steps from the deck, and Jess followed, her hand entwined with her girlfriend’s. “Tessa, I’m so glad to see you! And you too, Niall.” Lyrica grinned and came over to hug her, Jess staying a few feet back. “We’ve missed you.”

Really? Tessa asked herself, but she hugged Lyrica back, because she loved her like a sister, and Lyrica was definitely the more mellow of the three of them, the peacemaker, and it was evident that she was trying to fill that role just now.

“Hey, Jess,” Tessa added after a moment, making eye contact with her best friend over Lyr’s shoulder.

Jess smiled and gave a little finger wave. “Hey Tessa, Niall. Nice to see you.” And there it was. There was no warmth in her voice when she said her name, no affection, nothing. But there was no coldness, either; just plain indifference, like she was an acquaintance just met instead of a best friend with over a decade of strong history.

She looked good, though. And when her eyes landed on Lyrica, they sparked with happiness. And despite their current issues, Tessa didn’t begrudge her that.

“Well, let’s get this party started! Get on in here!” Ryan charged down the front steps and took both her bag and Niall’s, grinning widely. “Niall, I hope you don’t mind man, but you and I will be bunking in the same room. Separate beds, of course. Tessa and Melody are sharing too, and obviously, our resident lovebirds have a room together too.” He gestured towards Lyr and Jess.

Tessa, of course, had already warned Niall of this, so he took it all in stride. He reached over and clapped Ryan heartily on the back. “Sounds good mate. Lead on.”

Ryan led the way inside. They entered into a living room, which had a small TV and a couch with some armchairs situated next to it. Just past the living room was the dining room table, already covered with wine and beer and all sorts of other alcoholic beverages. To the left of that room, and out of sight, was the kitchen. Two hallways led from the living room, and Ryan took the one on the left side. At the end were two doors right across from each other, and he deposited their bags outside their respective rooms. He then whirled around and clapped his hands together before rubbing them together. “Tessa, I’m assuming you brought some goodies for us?”

She smirked, and crouched down beside her bag, unzipping it in one fluid motion. Nestled inside were two bottles of wine, a bottle of tequila, and another of vodka. And beneath that, obviously, were her clothes, but no one cared about that.

Melody cheered, reached down into the bag and grabbing the wine. “Our Queen Tessa has brought us gifts!” She called and danced her way towards the dining room table down the hallway, which held all of the other alcohol that was brought.

Niall shook his head, looking both amused and delighted. “You got some good shit, Tess.” He reached down and grabbed the tequila, looking over it and turning it in his hands.

She grabbed the remaining bottle of vodka and lifted it high in the air, a queen ready to knight her warriors.

Niall looked at her steadily, waiting for her to speak.

She smiled. “It is time to get lit.”

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villainscomplex · 4 years

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the corner of first and amistad

i can’t believe it rlly took me getting neck deep into haikyuu to yeet my writers’ block smh

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Ukai Keishin grows weary of the city.

He’s a country boy at heart, born and raised in a place where he can glance outside and see the stars anytime at night. The crickets sang to him when he jogged through the chilled night air, lungs cold and body warm.

Here, the cacophony of cars keeps him awake at night. People are only polite because they have to be. There’s nothing but the black sky above him, empty of the starlight he’d taken for granted as a kid.

When he’s twenty-two, he moves to the city to make a better life for himself. By the time he’s twenty-six, he’s just tired, in a bone-deep wary sort of way. He takes up smoking a year and a half in. It isn’t as if it’ll kill him any more than this place will, after all.

Sleep seldom comes easy. He turns in around ten every night, but without fail he’ll toss and turn until two or three. After that, he finally gives up and rises again. Sometimes, it’s easy to occupy his mind with the same two late-night television channels until he passes out or the sun comes up. Sometimes, he’s too restless.

Tonight is such a night.

His apartment is on the third floor of the complex. The rent is spiked high for such a dingy, busted place, but it’s barely in his pay range and he’s lived here for the past four years, so it’s home now whether he likes it or not.

Despite the time he’s been here, it hasn’t changed much. It’s the same ratty couch and low table that serves more as a catch-all than anything else. The carpets are stained with things he doesn’t care to question and the occasional bugs aren’t favorable, but at least he hasn’t seen any rats thus far. The appliances are liable to break and there’s been two break-ins at the complex since he’s lived here, but not at his apartment.

The window to the fire escape whines in protest as Keishin shoulders it open. It doesn’t have a particularly good view unless the viewer is fond of brick walls and dark alleyways, but Keishin doesn’t particularly care about his view. He shuffles out in his cotton pajama pants, no shirt, no shoes, bleached hair loose around his face, armed only with his lighter and a single cigarette.

It’s three a.m. and the city is still awake. The cold air bites at his face as he flicks his lighter several times without success, attempting to light his cigarette. Finally, it gives him a feeble enough flame to light the end, and he takes a long inhale. Distantly, he hears the sounds of the cars on the busy streets. There are sirens somewhere in the distance, high and wailing above the blinding lights and dark skies.

He exhales into the chilled air, watching the smoke curl into wisps and fade into the darkness.

Everything feels kind of muted, like he’s the only thing living in this moment, like the city is bearing down on him all at once, softly requesting his humanity in exchange for blinding lights and endless noise and eternal pleasures.

God, he misses the stars. He misses the serenity of the country, even with its mosquitoes and nosy people. It was so easy to forget the world there, in his quiet bubble of serenity.

He shifts from foot to foot in a half-hearted attempt to warm up, exhaling another breath of smoke from between his teeth. He considers, not for the first time, that this is a bad habit he needs to break, but it’s the only thing that never fails to ease him on nights like these.

Keishin snubs the last bit of his cigarette and turns to flick the butt off the railing and go inside, but scuffling sounds and muffled voices give him pause. He watches as two men, hoods flipped up over their heads, wrestle a third into the end of the alleyway. The third man is visibly afraid, even from this distance, short black hair ruffled, glasses askew, and clothes disheveled.

Probably a mugging. They happen commonly in the area. Keishin sighs. It really isn’t his concern, but he’s not a bad person at heart.

He raises his hand to his ear like he has a phone – not that they’ll be able to tell from where he is – and his voice. “Yes, officer? There are two men here attempting to rob someone,” he starts, watching out of his peripherals as the three men down below start, their heads whipping up.

He starts in on the address, but the two would-be robbers have already abandoned their mission and raced out of the alleyway, leaving the third man unceremoniously dumped on the cold concrete.

Keishin watches him stumble back to his feet, seemingly disoriented. He sways a little like he’s been drinking, and then adjusts his glasses and peers up at Keishin properly.

“Oi,” Keishin drawls, finally flicking his forgotten cigarette butt, “it ain’t safe to wander around these parts at this time of night. You stupid or somethin’?”

“I guess so,” the man replies, voice soft and grateful. “Thank you for helping me. I figured it’d be safer to walk intoxicated than drive, but I guess I should have just gotten a cab, huh?”

So he’d hit the nail on the head. Tipsy businessman, probably out drinking with equally irresponsible coworkers. Keishin has a nasty feeling this guy is a magnet for trouble. He looks too nice. With a quiet groan, he drops his head against the cold metal of the railing, debating -- not for the first time, as usual -- his life choices.

“Fuck’s sake,” he mutters to himself, and then, louder, to the man, “306. You’d better sober up before you get mugged again.”

He doesn’t even pause to wait for a reply, going back inside and shoving the window shut behind him. If the dude decides not to take him up on the offer, it isn’t Keishin’s problem. He’d tried and that’s all he can do.

Suffice to say, he isn’t actually expecting the soft, hesitant knock a few minutes later.

Keishin opens the door and fixes the man with a scrutinizing look. “I was right,” he decides, “you are too trusting. What if I tried to kill you or somethin’, huh?”

Up close, the man is visibly shorter than him and narrow, all messy black hair and wide, brown eyes. His face is scuffed, undoubtedly from the earlier alteration, and tinged red, which Keishin assumes is from drinking.

The man blinks back at him, confused and a little scared. “...You’re not going to murder me, right?”

Keishin snorts and steps out of the way to let him come in. “‘Course not. Murder aftermath sounds like a pain in the ass to handle.”

The man seems a little hesitant, but he shuffles in, nonetheless, and promptly bows at the waist. Keishin jumps.

“Thank you for helping me even though we’re complete strangers!”

Keishin grimaces. “It’s not a big deal,” he says, reaching past the man to shut the door, “you don’t gotta bow or nothin’. Any properly raised person woulda done the same.”

The dark-haired man straightens up slowly, frowning. “Most people here would have turned the other way, I think.”

Maybe so, Keishin thinks, offering out a hand. “Name’s Ukai. Ukai Keishin.”

The man smiles, gentle and warm, taking it. “I’m Takeda Ittetsu.”

After the initial introduction, Takeda settles in on the couch with a cup of water while Keishin starts some tea and puts on a proper shirt. It doesn’t really matter too much anymore since their first meeting isn’t really all that orthodox to begin with, but Keishin has nothing if not some manners.

Takeda seems to be sobering up more or less, but he’s clearly still tipsy enough that he’s a danger to himself on the city streets at this hour. Maybe it’s just Keishin wanting the company, but he thinks Takeda doesn’t seem like he’s in any haste to leave regardless.

They talk some over tea. Takeda tells him he’s a teacher – no, he laughs, when Keishin brings it up, I’m not a businessman in that sense – and he teaches high school literature. He seems all too happy to talk about the antics his students get into.

For the first time in a while, Keishin forgets about the city.

When he wakes in the morning, draped awkwardly on one end of the couch with a blanket over him, Takeda is gone. There’s a note on top of the TV, where Keishin luckily sees it quickly.

It’s a hastily scribbled thank you and goodbye.

Keishin crumbles it up and throws it away, stepping out for another cigarette.

Things return to what Keishin has come to call normal. He doesn’t think about Takeda Ittetsu or the brief warmth that had come into his shitty apartment the moment the teacher had crossed the threshold. He works, he comes home, and repeat. Occasionally, he goes to the gym. Generally, sleep evades him.

“Keishin,” his mom says over the phone, days later, her voice hardly audible over the bustle of people on the sidewalk, “you’re twenty-six already. Haven’t you found a nice girl yet? You’ll be thirty before you know it and then it’ll be much harder for you!”

He’s watching the traffic light impatiently, waiting for it to change so he can cross. The walk sign on the opposite end seems to be taking its sweet time, though. Keishin just wants an excuse to get off the phone.

“Ma,” he sighs, “I already told you, it’ll happen when it happens. I don’t have time for a relationship right now, anyway.”

It’s the easiest thing to tell himself. The light finally signals for them to walk, and Keishin hurries across the street with the rest of the crowd. A man jars him from the side and he nearly drops his phone. Instinctively, he checks his pockets and-- Sure enough, his wallet is gone.

“Ma, I gotta go,” he grumbles, hanging up as he shoves through the people after the man. God, he’s not in the mood for this today.

The man breaks into a run the moment he realizes he’s being pursued and Keishin races after him. His wallet is the last thing he can afford to lose, and of course the one day he forgot his chain is the day he gets pickpocketed.

“Oi!” He shouts, irritated and exhausted, shouldering through people. At this rate he’ll get--

He watches the guy suddenly eat shit, feet coming right out from him.

--away.

Huh. Keishin slows to a stop and yanks the guy up by his collar, snatching his wallet back with a snarl. The man has a bloody nose from hitting the concrete so hard, and Keishin can’t help the little sting of pleasure from the karma.

“Oh, no,” says another voice from behind him, “I didn’t mean to make him hurt himself! I just meant for him to trip up a little, but he was going so fast-”

Keishin turns around. Takeda Ittetsu stands behind him, looking distressed out of his mind and suspiciously like he’s close to panicking. Keishin puts the pieces together. Takeda’s presence, the man abruptly wiping out.

“Did you… trip him?” He asks slowly.

Takeda straightens up when he’s addressed, gaze darting to Keishin’s, and then away again. “I, um. I saw you chasing him a-and he reminded me of those two from that night I almost got mugged and I just… reacted?”

Keishin drops the man in favor of howling with laughter. He barely even notices when the almost thief scrambles away. “Damn!” He laughs, slapping Takeda on the back so hard that the man stumbles and his glasses slide halfway down his nose. “I didn’t know you had it in ya, sensei!”

Takeda fixes his glasses, glancing up at Keishin. “Neither did I.”

He finds out Takeda had been waiting for a taxi to head home. He’s got a bag full of books over his shoulder. Keishin’s admittedly a little surprised – in a place like this, running into someone twice by coincidence isn’t a very easy feat. He hadn’t thought for a second he’d meet Takeda again.

“I was on my way to get groceries,” Keishin tells him, “so it woulda been a pain in the ass to lose my wallet. Normally, I have a chain for it, but I completely forgot to attach my new one after my old one broke.”

“Oh,” Takeda’s eyebrows rise, “that’s a really good idea. I didn’t think about a chain.”

“Can ya even wear one as a teacher?”

Takeda considers this. “No,” he finally admits, “probably not.”

“You’re doomed,” Keishin remarks, patting the other man’s shoulder. “In any case, thanks for your help with that. I’d better be off.”

“Oh, wait!” Takeda scrambles after him. “Let me thank you properly for the other night.”

“Huh? I think you’ve definitely repaid me plenty just now.”

“At least let me treat you to drinks or something,” Takeda persists.

Keishin gets the feeling this guy is a very, very stubborn person. He frowns a little at the determined furrow between Takeda’s wide eyes and the little, persistent downward curl of his mouth.

In hindsight, this is the exact moment Ukai Keishin could have pegged himself as screwed.

“Fine,” he sighs, “but not alcohol. I’ve seen firsthand how you handle that. Coffee or somethin’ is fine.”

Takeda visibly brightens. “Great! When works for you? I don’t have any other plans today, and tomorrow is Sunday so I’m off too, but during the week I’m not done until about three if I'm lucky…”

Keishin considers the fact that this sounds suspiciously like a date, but ah, what does he know? He hasn’t been on a date since he was twenty. Besides, he barely knows this guy.

“We can go now,” he replies, deciding it’d be best to get it out of the way immediately, “I can do my grocery shopping later.”

Takeda takes him to a small cafe near the local dog park. It’s a little more out of the way, and Takeda offers to pay for a cab, but ultimately they end up walking there. Takeda is naturally a slow person, but he tries to speed up and Keishin tries to find a middle ground for them.

It’s only a little successful.

“Yeah, unfortunately,” Keishin says as they arrive, opening the door, “I’ve been working at the same convenience store since I moved here four years ago. It’s not the worst. I work at this hole-in-the-wall flower shop, too.”

The bell overhead jingles to announce their arrival. One of the employees calls out a greeting as the two men join the short line. Keishin eyes the menu.

“Well, that just means you’re committed, doesn’t it?” Takeda asks. “I didn’t take you as the flower type. Do you enjoy it?”

Keishin assumes that’s short for you look like a thug, but he takes it in stride. It's not the first time someone had that impression of him. He shrugs noncommittally at the question. He does enjoy gardening, but doing any enjoyable thing for money tends to suck the joy out of it, so he’s not really sure how to answer that. Besides, they’re at the front of the line.

“Get whatever you want!” Takeda tells him.

Keishin ends up getting a medium coffee, nearly black, and dumplings. The dumplings are surprisingly good – a compliment coming from someone as picky as him – and Takeda looks a little terrified at the idea of his nearly black coffee, having gotten a disastrous, caramel loaded abomination himself.

They don’t stay, but they don’t go their separate ways. The dog park is only a little busy, so they sit on a bench nearby, watching some of the dogs playing around. Keishin likes dogs, but he definitely doesn’t have time for those, either. He’d hate to get one and have it on its own most of the time.

“I love dogs,” Takeda voices his thoughts, “but my apartment complex doesn’t allow them.”

“Mine does,” Keishin says, taking a drink of his coffee, “but I don’t really have time or the means to take care of one right now.”

His phone rings again in his pocket. Takeda glances sideways at him as he fishes it out and glances at the caller ID. It’s his mother, probably annoyed after he’d hung up on her earlier. Keishin doesn’t want to deal with it right now, so he ignores the call and mutes his phone.

“You aren’t going to answer it?” Takeda asks tentatively.

“Nah,” Keishin shakes his head, “it’s my ma. She’s just harassing me about my love life, s’all. I ain’t even thirty and she’s tryin’ real hard to make me get married as soon as possible.”

Takeda pauses. “How old are you?”

Keishin grins sideways at him. “Awfully forward, ain’t you?” He asks, and when Takeda looks apologetic, he continues, “I’m kidding. I’m twenty-six.”

Takeda pauses, drink to his lips. “Wait,” he says, “you’re younger than me?”

Keishin’s eyebrows rise. “How old are you?”

“I’m twenty-nine,” Takeda says.

Keishin snorts, nearly chokes, and then doubles over laughing. “Damn, really? I thought you were my age or a little younger! I guess it makes sense with you bein’ a teacher and all, but you definitely don’t look like you’re almost thirty.”

“I’m not sure if that’s a compliment or an insult,” Takeda admits.

“I wonder,” Keishin remarks, downing his coffee.

They watch the dogs a while longer, but inevitably, Keishin needs to leave. He has to get his shopping done, get home, and go to his night shift at the store. Takeda looks as though he wants to say something more, but ultimately, they say their goodbyes and go their own ways.

Keishin puts Takeda Ittetsu in the back of his mind again, convinced that he’ll more than likely never run into the man again.

Fate has a funny way of proving him wrong, he supposes.

He takes Takeda for a rational person, but this time might just prove him wrong. Keishin stares down at the unsteady dark-haired man, frowning. He’s not sure why Takeda ended up here again, drunk again, but here he is, dressed down in a blue sweater and missing his glasses at eleven at night. He squints back at Keishin, smiling a little lopsidedly.

“Why are you here?” Keishin finally asks.

Takeda beams. “We’re friends! I wanted to see you! Also, I think my coworker has my house keys,” he slurs.

On god, this man was going to be the death of him. Keishin sighs, but he moves out of the way to let Takeda stumble in and shuts the door behind him. He doesn’t bother with a shirt this time.

“Please don’t throw up on my carpet. There’s too many weird stains as is.”

Takeda hears him, he assumes, watching as the teacher locates the bathroom very rapidly on his hands and knees. Keishin starts some tea again. When Takeda returns, he drops down on the couch and burrows underneath the blanket that had been abandoned there, groaning softly.

“M’sorry,” he mumbles, when Keishin nudges him to hand over the tea.

Keishin watches his head resurface from beneath the blanket, still squinting and hair even messier. He isn’t sure how Takeda is this bad at holding his alcohol, or why he keeps doing it despite knowing he’s bad, but Keishin isn’t really one to judge. Besides, he’s still thinking about the whole we’re friends thing Takeda had dropped on him at the door.

Are they friends? He doesn’t want to dwell on that too long.

“It’s fine,” he waves it off. “Drink that and get some rest. You can worry about everything else in the morning.”

He rises from his crouch and crosses to the kitchen to clean up some. Takeda only finishes half the tea before he’s out cold on the couch. Keishin fixes the blanket over him and shuts the lights off, locks the door, and retires to his room.

Sleep evades him.

He spends the first hour staring at the ceiling. When this grows painfully boring, he rolls over to check his phone. TV isn’t an option tonight with Takeda sleeping in the living room, but clearly he isn’t going to be getting much sleep tonight himself. At two, he finally caves and rolls back out of bed.

Keishin slinks quietly into the living room and grabs his new lighter and box of cigarettes off the table, creeping to the window and carefully shuffling it open. Mercifully, it doesn’t squeal this time.

Keishin slides out onto the fire escape, sitting on the outside windowsill so he can listen if Takeda wakes. His new lighter produces a flame immediately, and Keishin lights a cigarette, putting it to his lips. The sting of smoke is familiar, as disgusting as it is. Really, he needs to stop depending on this habit.

There are sirens somewhere in the distance again.

“Ukai?” Takeda’s groggy voice floats from inside the apartment.

“Did I wake ya?” Keishin asks, glancing back.

“No,” Takeda blinks back at him from the couch, squinting to see. “Why are you awake?” “I couldn’t sleep.”

Keishin exhales another breath of smoke and Takeda wrinkles his nose.

“That’s a bad habit,” he says softly. “Do you do this often? Come to think of it… It was the same situation when we met, wasn’t it?”

Yes, Keishin thinks, but he doesn’t reply out loud. Things have changed since then. Not just for him in particular, but for both of them as a whole. Back then, Takeda had just been a complete stranger that Keishin had saved out of the goodness of his upbringing, if not his heart. He takes another drag and exhales into the chilled night air. Goosebumps prickle over his exposed torso.

He can feel Takeda’s gaze on his back.

“Oi, sensei,” he says into the air, “you’re a good person. Stay that way, yeah? You gotta be careful 'round here. City like this'll eat your humanity.”

“Ukai,” Takeda asks softly. “Why do you make yourself suffer like this? You’re a good person, too.”

Keishin takes a long drag of his cigarette. For a moment, he considers not answering. It would make it easier. He could just finish his cigarette and go to sleep. Takeda probably isn’t going to remember any of this in the morning anyway.

But he finally exhales.

“I stopped focusing on what made me happy,” he breathes, “it makes life a lot easier.”

He almost misses Takeda’s whisper.

“Not from where I stand.”

Keishin leans back on his hands, cigarette in between his lips and gaze fixed on the starless sky. It's lonely.

“...Go to sleep, Takeda.”

In the morning, there’s another hastily scribbled note. Ukai, it reads, I’m so sorry about my state last night. Thank you again for letting me stay.

There’s a phone number at the bottom in lieu of a signature. Keishin plugs it into his contacts.

Somehow, slowly, Takeda Ittetsu slowly becomes a cornerstone of Keishin’s life. They see each other frequently and text even more. Keishin gets scolded about his phone more than once at work and he feels like he’s a teenager again. Takeda visits often and somehow makes a home in Keishin’s shitty little place, and sometimes Keishin goes to his own cramped apartment, simple and flower-filled and very much Takeda.

But somehow, Takeda ends up back at Keishin’s house every time he goes drinking without fail.

It occurs to Keishin, one night, when a half sober Takeda is slung over the arm of his ratty couch, hunched over a trash can, that Keishin isn’t so tired of the city anymore. He misses home certainly, but in the near year he’s known Takeda now, he’s become more at ease. It’s easier to breathe now.

“Oi,” he knocks a glass of water lightly against Takeda’s head.

Takeda looks up, glasses disheveled, hair messy, and eyes glazed over. He’s in various states of disarray, but even under the dim lighting of the apartment, there’s something so brilliant about him that Keishin thinks he might be a little in love.

Takeda shifts to sit a little more upright and curls his fingers around the cup of water, but Keishin doesn’t quite let go. Takeda squints at their overlapped hands.

“You don’t work weekends,” Keishin states more than asks, “so come back home with me this weekend.”

Takeda frowns unsteadily. “But we are at your house.”

Keishin releases the cup. “No,” he says, “home. Back in the country.”

“Oh,” says Takeda, but then he puts the cup to his lips and doesn’t reply.

Keishin wakes in the morning to Takeda sitting on the kitchen counter, a cup of hot tea in his hands and a pensive expression resting on his features. He’s a little surprised because even now, Takeda is usually gone by the time he gets up, having left a note or a text. He’s still in some sort of state of disarray, though he looks as though he’d made an attempt to clean up.

“Morning,” Keishin greets, bending to dig through the refrigerator.

“Good morning,” Takeda replies absently, frowns, and then continues, “Ukai, did you mean what you said yesterday?”

Keishin glances up in confusion. “'Bout what?”

“Me- Me coming back… home with you?” He won’t meet Keishin’s eyes.

“Ah, I didn’t think you’d remember that,” Keishin admits. “I guess. It was kind of a spur of the moment thing, so you don’t gotta worry about it if you don’t wanna. Figured it might be nice to have a break, s’all.”

“Okay.”

“Huh?”

“Okay,” Takeda repeats, pushing his glasses up his nose, “I’ll come.”

Keishin grins crookedly. “Okay.”

So they go.

Keishin had already taken the weekend off, having planned to go home this weekend anyway. Sometimes, a break is just a good change of pace, even if he's finally gotten himself in a good state of mind in the city. They leave in the late afternoon, after Takeda is finished at the school, and head straight to the train for the long ride ahead.

It’s dark by the time they arrive, and Takeda is out cold, leaning heavily against Keishin. He nudges the other man awake and guides him out of the train. Takeda’s awake the moment the cold air hits his face. It’s even colder here than in the city since it’s further north, but it’s more open for the wind as well.

“Wow,” Takeda breathes, and for a moment, Keishin isn’t sure what he’s talking about.

He follows Takeda’s gaze up and his breath steals away in a manner that he’d nearly forgotten. The stars blanket the sky above them, brilliant little pinpricks of light across the expanse of swirling darkness, flickering and blinking down at the earth. The more rational part of him knows they’re nothing impressive, nothing more than massive balls of gas billions of miles away from them, but it does nothing to diminish the fact that he’s desperately missed the sight of them.

“I’ve seen stars in theory,” Takeda says, “but I’ve lived in cities my whole life. I’ve never… seen them in person.”

Keishin smiles. “Trust me, it’s not a sight you’ll ever get tired of.”

Takeda gazes at him then, and Keishin isn’t sure what he sees in the other man’s eyes.

He apologizes in advance, later, for his parents. His mother is, as expected, overbearing, but nonetheless excited that Keishin has a friend to bring home. She gives him a curious little sidelong look that he pointedly ignores.

They crash as soon as they hit the pillows. Saturday blows by in a whirlwind of meeting up with old friends and getting back to old hobbies. Keishin remembers the stings of a volleyball on his hands as surely as he’d been in high school. Setting is still second nature. Takeda watches from the sidelines, eyes wide and attention rapt, and if Keishin shows off a little for his sake, nobody says anything about it.

“There’s one more place,” Keishin says, as the sun dips below the horizon later that evening, “I always went there as a teen. It should still be fine, I think.”

It’s just nearing the end of the autumn, in any case, so he thinks it should still be around. The weather is getting colder every day. Keishin absently drapes one of his two scarves around Takeda’s shoulders and takes the lead into the back parts of town where he’d run wild as a boy.

They crest a hill, breath forming white clouds in the chilled night air, and sure enough, red cloaks the tree-dotted area on the other side. Spider-lilies. Takeda gasps at the crest, gazing down in awe even as Keishin carries on, picking his way towards the central cove.

“I loved it here in high school,” Keishin admits, “I got into gardening for a while over it, but that ain't easy in the city, so it kinda fell to the wayside.”

"Is that why you work at the flower shop?" Takeda asks.

Keishin hums noncommittally. "Maybe."

He drops rather unceremoniously into a slightly emptier patch and lays on his back, staring at the sky. Takeda carefully sits beside him, tucking his knees up for warmth. The ground beneath them is cold, and Keishin knows the flowers won’t be alive for much longer.

“I always came here to stargaze. I’d sit for hours. It was kinda a safe haven, I guess.”

He looks to Takeda, expecting him to be looking at the sky, but to his surprise, the man’s dark eyes are fixed on him, glittering in the darkness like they’re reflecting the starlight itself. Keishin’s heart does a funny little thing in his chest, something he’s started to become comfortable with associating with Takeda.

“Ukai,” Takeda says, voice soft, as if he’s afraid of being heard, lips parted and one hand raised like he’s going to reach out.

“Aw, man,” Keishin tells him, “don’t look at me like that. I don’t know if I can stop myself, then.”

“Then don’t,” Takeda whispers, leaning in to meet Keishin’s mouth halfway.

His mother gives him another knowing look when he smiles privately at Takeda the next morning, but he pretends, once again, not to notice.

“In hindsight,” Keishin tells him, years later, when they’re thirty-two and thirty-five, living together with two dogs, five years into their relationship and counting, “I think you started a lot of the changes in my life that I ended up desperately needing.”

Ittetsu laughs as he rolls over, tucking his arm around Keishin’s waist. “You should learn to listen to your elders better!”

Keishin snorts. “I don’t have to take shit from a cradle robber like you.”

“Cra-?!”

Ittetsu sputters indignantly, and Keishin howls with laughter. Five years ago, he’d nearly forgotten what it felt like to laugh so freely.

Nowadays, he can’t even imagine living how he had before. Maybe when autumn comes around again, he’ll take Ittetsu back to the spider-lily field. Maybe he’ll buy a ring this time.

“I think I should save pretty teachers from getting mugged in alleys more often, don’t you?”

#haikyuu #ukatake #ukai keishin #takeda ittetsu #my writing #writing #haikyuu fanfiction

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ftgage · 5 years

Text

*stumbles into the room w shades on & a margarita in one hand* beezus again...fair warning i just got back from chili’s & i’m tipsy cause my roommate spent like $100 on alcohol for me...a fcking king !

「 herman tommerass. cis male. 」have you seen gage rowland around yet? i hear he decided to be in AUDAX for their SOPHOMORE year as a CRIMINAL JUSTICE major. the 21 year old SHEEP is known to be kindhearted, resourceful, dull witted and irresponsible. ➨ the muse is written by beezus. she is 21+, in est.

(this intro might be a mess but gage is an old muse of mine so i know him like the back of my hand i swear....& i haven’t fixed my theme yet so forgive me eep i’ll do that when i’m sober later)

trigger warning mentions of neglect, alcoholism, drugs, violence, homophobia

stats:

full name: gage michael rowland

nicknames: none (someone give him one)

date of birth: march 16th, 1999

age: 21

sexuality: homosexual

religion: agnostic

occupation: student/escort

likes: black eyeliner, socks w slides

dislikes: watching movies

tattoos: none

piercings: ears, nose, cartilage

backstory:

gage was born & raised in new york by a single mother. they didn’t really stay in one place they kinda lived everywhere in the area. hopping from home to home for a majority of his life. his mother has never had a stable career. she can go from being a waitress to a babysitter in like three days because she’s so quick to give up. she’s an irresponsible, lazy, struggling alcoholic and that’s all gage has ever known her as. he never met his dad but the man wasn’t any better. the two of them just weren’t fit to be parent’s and his mom unfortunately never stepped up after his dad walked out

before going to college he never had his own bedroom. they could only ever afford shitty, run down, one bedroom apartments and his mom would shove him onto the couch so she could have men over whenever she wanted. he didn’t mind much because he had a really old xbox that he’d play until he was so exhausted he just passed out. that was his nightly routine throughout middle & high school

his mom wasn’t abusive...she’s a very loving women & cares about gage when she really needs to but for the most part he was on his own growing up. sometimes when they were in between homes he’d have to hunt down friends & sleep on their couches. he was only nine the first time they were homeless. she hardly spent money on him so he had the same wardrobe all through out elementary school despite growing out of it. they also never had food in the house so he’d work for free at local deli’s...like sweeping their floors & stuff & they would throw him some food ! if it weren’t for kind neighbors he wouldn’t have eaten

when he was a kid he got bullied pretty harshly for being poor. like...these kids would steal the shirt off his back & laugh because they knew he didn’t have another one. he grew up in a pretty bad neighborhood :/ when he got a little older...probably around thirteen he started to come to terms with his sexuality & he didn’t feel the need to hide it at all ? he was a happy, bubbly kid that was comfortable in his skin. but there was a lot of homophobia in his neighborhood & they didn’t take too kindly to him. he got beat up pretty severely & it happened often. partly because he had a big mouth but mostly because they didn’t like how flamboyant he was.

flash forward to when he was fifteen & he started experimenting with sex. he met this older guy in his neighborhood that took a liking to him (this guy was like forty-five ew) & they started hanging out a lot. after knowing each other for a few months the guy asked gage if he would meet up with one of his friends & gage being the innocent babe he was just said ok ! so he meets up w this guy & long story short this guy got him into being an escort...at only fifteen :/

he’s been working as an escort ever since & it’s done a lot of good for him ! he was v v popular & was getting paid like 10k for dates back in new york. he saved up money for a few years while he was in high school & eventually made enough to buy his mom a house (not that she deserved it). even though his childhood was shitty he’ll always love her...he’s away at school now but still sends her as much money as he can so that she doesn’t have to work. he’s such a giver & takes care of the people he loves...even when they don’t take care of him *cries*. business is slower while he’s at school but he still makes enough money to pay his tuition & support his mom. he doesn’t spend much money on himself because he already feels like he’s kinda selfish just for going to school

he’s a criminal justice major because he wants to be a probation officer one day ! he wants to be the nicest most lenient probation officer he can be...& he wants to be able to get his homies off the hook that’s his mentality w it. he’s a sheep as well because....he’s not smart enough for that app

personality:

such a sweet fucking boy i swear. not only does he take care of his not so great mother but he’s also big on taking care of his friends. the type of guy to give a drunk girl his shoes, pay for everyone’s hangover meals, pay for all the ubers....he really milks himself dry for other people honestly

he’s really gullible & kinda dumb. will say yes to just about anything, doesn’t know how to use a microwave without burning something, can’t follow instructions for shit either

i’m sure he has to go through A LOT of tutoring to keep his grades up to par but he really does try his best *gives him a gold star*

he has a really bad habit of letting people use & abuse him. like there’s been plenty of times where he’s gone to meetup with someone that was suppose to pay him but instead they just...had their way with him & hauled ass & yea it makes him feel like shit but he tries not to let it get to him :/

when he was six yrs old he told his mom that one day he would own all the legos in the world & she called it stupid so now he has a collection of legos ! i’m proud of him :) he has a lego house that he built when he was twelve & he keeps a couple grand stashed in it for a rainy day...& if someone were to steal it he wouldn’t care about the money he’d just be sad that they broke his lego house :(

appearance wise he always looks pretty disheveled, might smell a little bad because he’ll buy a shirt from the thrift store & not wash it, he never spends a lot of money on stuff for himself. the nicest clothing items he owns are things that sugar daddies have bought him & he only wears them on dates

he does a lot of expensive drugs & drinks a lot of expensive alcohol because it’s given to him & he doesn’t know how to say no

he looks tired & worn out all the time because he 100% is but tries to keep a smile on his face anyway...if you ask him how he’s doing he’ll always say he’s doing well because tbh compared to how his life was as a child he kinda is ? he’s not hungry anymore, not struggling financially, putting himself through school...i love him

he’s gay but doesn’t exclusively sleep w men. he has just as many sugar mamas as he does daddies. older women really love him ! he’s young, pretty & dumb...again he’s a giver so he’ll give head to just about anyone

he does an unhealthy amount of cocaine which explains why he’s so awake & talkative all the time. it’s offered to him so he takes it ? someone stop him. he see’s a lot of men that will pump him w drugs just to take advantage of him & he knows it the back of his mind that it’s happening but the money & the buzz is too good

ending this like an essay because i’m drunk at this point omfg so in conclusion gage is a sweet boy w a big heart that get’s kicked around for no good reason love him

#tw drugs #tw alcoholism #tw violence #tw homophobia #nothing detailed #this got messier as i typed because i cant feel my fingers or my brain #intro

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ibelieveinahappilyeverafter · 5 years

Text

Villainous Heroics - Chapter 14

This turned into the longest chapter of the story thus far and this whole thing spawned from what was supposed to be a 1k word intro to the actual chapter. Well... I hope you enjoy, at least!

And before I forget, this story has fanfiction of it's own! Check out "trying to take care of you" by H_C which involves a story divergence after Chapter 12 of this story.

Enjoy!

Click here to read the work on Archive Of Our Own.

Click here to read the work on Fan Fiction Net.

If you found yourself enjoying this, then check out my Fiverr gig.

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Summary: Eraserhead is an underground hero who is constantly busy and doesn’t have time to be dealing with new villains - even if they aren’t all that villainous and make the night interesting.

Present Mic is the latest up-and-coming villain in the world and he has a point to prove to everyone out there - as long as he doesn’t keep getting distracted by Eraserhead.

Aizawa Shota is someone who soon learns that there is more to someone than the mask they show to the world - especially when it comes to playing heroes and villains.

Yamada Hizashi learns that there is more to heroics and villainy than he could have ever thought - especially in a world where some heroes still care about those lost in the shadows.

(Inspired and dedicated to corndog-patrol’s Villain!Mic AU on Tumblr.)

<<First/Chapter>> <<Last Chapter>> <<Next Chapter>>

Chapter Fourteen

Within a single day Hizashi had managed to tear one of the stitches in his shoulder, drop his keys down a storm drain, lose his time card that would allow him to clock in for his shift, had missed lunch because his boss didn’t trust him to take one without his time card, and, to top it all off, the same boss had also rejected his request for overtime even though Hizashi was pulling almost sixty hours a week.

He was sore, he was tired, and all he wanted to do was go home and sleep, but, no, instead he was staring at the door that lead into his shitty apartment complex, remembering with vivid detail the way he had dropped his keys into the drain earlier in the morning. His emergency key was also inside because he had used it a few weeks ago when losing his last set of keys in a fight.

Hizashi stared at his door, vaguely hearing Snowball meowing for him, before he turned and shambled his way back down the stairs, trying to keep his shoulder as still as possible. The over the counter meds he had taken had stopped working hours ago and Hizashi wasn’t sure if it was a good thing or not that he was hardly registering the pain anymore.

Feeling his phone buzz after he was halfway to the little convenience store a few blocks away, Hizashi sighed and dug it out, glancing at the message preview, ‘Yamada-san, can you take my afternoon shift? I know you open but I need to pick up Yuki from his father’s…’ Checking the sender, Hizashi groaned as he closed his eyes.

Kameyo was a single mother with a four-year-old who just received a quirk that changed his sweat into acid. There was no way she could afford to lose her source of income or even lose too many hours. If she didn’t find a replacement for her shift, then their boss would probably cut her back by fifteen hours at least. Fuck.

‘Consider me on the job, Kameyo-san!!’ Hizashi debated not sending the text for a moment before he went through with it, watching until he got confirmation. His phone then flickered to show a low battery warning before shutting off altogether.

Hizashi stared down at his phone and felt like everything he wanted to say was vibrating and buzzing throughout his body, pushing him closer and closer to some sort of edge. He didn’t realize he was shaking until he was winding his arm back and throwing his phone away from him as hard as he could, swearing and just barely holding his quirk back as he realized he threw it with the shoulder that had been shot just a short while ago.

“Huh. And here I thought you couldn’t swear.” Hizashi went utterly still, fingers clutching at his shoulder as if that would hold him together. It didn’t seem to be helping as everything felt even worse at realizing just who those words belonged to. After all, Hizashi could be deaf and blind and he would still know that voice. Apparently, the gods hadn’t made him suffer enough recently. “You know, it’s pretty irresponsible to be going around and throwing phones.”

At that, Hizashi slowly lifted his gaze up, swallowing as he saw Aizawa, in full pro hero gear, was holding Hizashi’s undamaged phone. If it had hit the ground, it probably would have cracked and Hizashi would have been even more screwed. It took a few moments to find his words, Hizashi almost tired enough to forget he wasn’t Present Mic in that moment. Fuck why did Aizawa always have to make things so difficult.

“Sorry, Aizawa-san. It’s… been a long night.” His body shook like there was a festering wound embedded under his skin, Hizashi rubbing at his throat and looking back down, doing his hardest to not scratch. He was an adult. He could handle himself, now.

“Mm.” Startling at the tap to his cheek, Hizashi glanced up once more, Aizawa patiently holding his phone out for him to take. “Then you won’t mind if I escort you home. Last time you were out this late you almost got shot.”

“I can promise that’s not a regular occurrence,” Hizashi said quickly, frowning a bit at the disbelieving snort. Maybe as Present Mic he got into trouble, but as Hizashi he was boring at best and uninteresting at most. “Besides, I, uh… can’t go home.”

“Why not?” With the man’s goggles resting on his forehead, Hizashi saw the way Aizawa’s eyes narrowed, a glint of red in the very center as he stared him down. Hizashi wondered if Aizawa knew how terrifying he could be.

“Oh, well, uh…” Trailing off, Hizashi ducked his face down and mumbled the reason quickly, praying Aizawa wouldn’t push.

“My quirk isn’t super hearing.” Ah, but then again, it was stubborn and brilliant Aizawa who could never let things go.

“I… dropped my keys down a storm drain.” The dreaded, awkward silence Hizashi was expecting never came and instead there was a quiet little laugh. As well, instead of feeling embarrassed, Hizashi felt something tight within him start to relax, Aizawa trying to hide his smile in his scarf. There was no hiding the amusement in his eyes, though. If he and Aizawa were anyone else, Hizashi might have called that look fond. “Yeah, like I said, it’s been a long night.”

“Come on,” Aizawa chuckled, walking forward and grabbing the front of Hizashi’s shirt before spinning him around and tugging him along to get him moving back towards his apartment. Hizashi was relatively sure Aizawa didn’t know where he lived, so the man had probably just made a lucky guess. “Do you leave your windows unlocked?”

“In this neighborhood?” Hizashi scoffed, trying not to flinch at the look Aizawa gave him. It was the same one he always gave Mic and it had Hizashi tucking into himself and fear that the other knew. “I keep one unlocked for emergencies in case I get broken into or something, but it’s not the one over the fire escape.”

“That’s fine, I can get in and then unlock the door from the front.” Right. Okay. Aizawa was helping him back into his apartment. Maybe he was trying to see where Present Mic lived? “Lead the way, then.”

Nodding and moving to walk beside the man, Hizashi chewed on his lip for a moment before working up his courage. “Um, Aizawa-san… Why are you helping me? I mean, surely a hero has more important things to deal with,” Hizashi aimed for a jovial tone and a laugh, but it must have fell flat because Aizawa looked so serious when he looked over at him.

“I think you’re plenty important, Yamada-san.” This man was bad for his heart. “And don’t bother with the honorifics. They make me feel old.”

“I hardly think you’d be considered old seeing as you’re still in your twenties.” There was a burst of deep, thrumming laughter, Hizashi almost tripping over his feet at realizing he had made Aizawa laugh.

“How old do you think I am?” Ah, that question when paired with a laugh meant Hizashi was about to feel deeply embarrassed.

“I don’t… Twenty-six? Twenty-seven?” That seemed about right. Aizawa was messy and often had tangled hair and stubble, but his face was still smooth and young.

“I’m thirty-one,” Aizawa laughed again, this laugh softer and more subdued. “I’m honored you thought I was the same age as you, though.”

“Wha- What?” This time it was Hizashi whose laughter bubbled over. “Well, good news for you, Aizawa-san, we are the same age.” Aizawa stared at him as if he couldn’t believe it, Hizashi trying to smother his laughter.

“You should make it more obvious.” For a gleeful second, Hizashi could pretend that the man was blushing. “And I thought I told you to stop with the honorifics.”

“Mm, alright, but only if you promise to do the same,” Hizashi said, his nerves disappearing in the wake of Aizawa’s smile before they got the chance to grow.

“I suppose we have known each other for a few months, now.” It was only Aizawa’s calm and relaxed pace that made Hizashi realize the other had been talking about the coffee shop and not the face they were arch enemies. It was hard to believe that Aizawa had known his civilian self for months and yet they had never talked beyond those short few minutes in the coffee shop every other morning. “Is this your complex up here?”

“Oh, uh, yeah.” Hizashi had never been overly embarrassed about the places he had lived in his life, but the fact that Aizawa was seeing his shithole of an apartment made him feel nervous and like he needed to explain himself. “It doesn’t exactly look the best, but it’s not all that bad. It’s just, you know…”

“It’s a place to live.” Aizawa had an expression that could almost be called soft, the man giving him the trace of a smile. “It reminds me of where I lived until I graduated U. A.”

“Oh.” Actually, now that he thought about it, Aizawa had mentioned something about growing up in a neighborhood like this one. “You lived somewhere like… here?”

Aizawa was silent a moment, looking to the ground and then back to the complex as he nodded, “I lived over on Block 27 in this area.”

For a moment, Hizashi’s mind was completely silent. That was enough to shock him, but what Aizawa said took precedence because what, “You’re shitting me. You- Block 27?”

“It’s a bit on the outskirts and no doubt my complex was torn down, but yes.” Aizawa looked over at him, raising his eyebrows. “Are you-”

“I lived three blocks away from there for almost four years when I was in my last few years of school. Are you kidding me? You were right there-” Hizashi’s anger was shot through with a spike of pain, Hizashi unable to do anything but gasp and clutch at his shoulder.

“Yamada!” Hands were catching him by his arms before the pain could knock him over, Hizashi unable to even appreciate the fact that it was Aizawa holding him as he tried to block out the pain. “What happened? Are you alright?”

“I-” Hizashi winced and grit his teeth and closed his eyes for a long moment. “I messed up my shoulder a few days ago and I haven’t taken anything for a while, is all.”

“Come on, let’s get you inside. Which door is yours?” Aizawa tugged him along even as Hizashi mumbled the door, hating himself for how weak he was when he honestly almost blacked out while walking up some steps.

He felt himself propped up against the wall, the cool concrete soaking through the back of his jacket and dragging out a small sigh of relief. He heard a mutter from Aizawa, but before he could question it, the man was patting at his cheek.

“Oi, stay awake, alright? I don’t want to pick your lock when that’d just fuck up your ability to use a key on it in the future. I’ll go around through the window and let you in as soon as I can, alright?”

Cracking his eyes open, Hizashi swallowed down a million words before settling on a quiet, “Sorry.”

“For what?” Aizawa frowned, looking as if he honestly didn’t know. The man was too nice for his own good, honestly.

“I’m a grown adult,” Hizashi muttered, gritting his teeth for a moment when the pain spiked again. “I should be able to take care of myself and not waste a pro’s time with this.”

“You’re not wasting my time, Yamada.” Aizawa stared at him as if he was holding back words of his own before turning away. “I’ll be right back.”

“Do you even know what window to look for?” Hizashi yelled, completely unsurprised when Aizawa vanished without an answer. Honestly, that man.

Leaning back against the wall, Hizashi tried to calm himself down and focus through the pain. He had been through a lot worse than a shot shoulder, but damn if it didn’t hurt when he was trying to take care of the wound on his own.

One of the EMT workers at the bank that night had been in possession of a minor healing quirk so Hizashi at least avoided a trip to the hospital, but it was still a nasty wound. It was also easily identifiable as a bullet wound - especially to a pro hero that was so keen on helping him out. Jeez, it wasn’t like their coffee was that good.

Pushing himself off the wall, he startled as his door swung open with an anticlimactic little swing, Hizashi letting out a quiet laugh, “Wow. That was pretty fast. Consider me impressed, Aizawa… Ah.” Hizashi blinked, staring at where Aizawa’s arms were full of a purring Snowball. Aizawa was absolutely beaming. “I see you found my cat.”

“I thought you would be the type to have a small cat.” Aizawa didn’t look willing to let Hizashi’s cat down anytime soon, but Hizashi supposed Snowball was a pretty great cat. This was also the most Hizashi had ever seen Aizawa smile, which was… equally wonderful and unnerving.

“He is small!” Or, well, he had been, at least, before Snowball’s sudden growth that still left Hizashi scratching his head some days. The cat was barely even a year old, after all, if that.

“Do I need to teach you the difference between small and massive?” Aizawa said, cocking an eyebrow with a hint of a smirk.

It took more effort than it should have to push down all the dirty jokes that sprung to mind. He was Hizashi right now, not Present Mic. And Hizashi needed to shuffle his way inside to at least get his shoes off, although he ended up staring at where Aizawa’s boots were already on the ground. It looked like he had taken them off after climbing through the window and somehow that, of all things, made Hizashi remember just how stupidly in love he was with this man.

“I’m not sure what breed he is, you know. I thought he could be a maine coon or a forest cat, maybe, that was thrown out by a breeder or something, but the structure is all wrong. You know, he does shed.”

“If I was worried about shedding fur, then I wouldn’t have my own cat,” Aizawa snorted, finally letting Snowball down and moving to help support Hizashi as he kicked his shoes off. Hizashi was trying not to laugh at seeing the black jumpsuit was already covered in fur - most likely the reason it took Hizashi a few moments to realize what Aizawa had said.

“You have a cat?” That… made sense, but it was also stupidly cute. He suspected Aizawa had a cat, at least, but it was nice to get that confirmation. “You know you have to tell me their name, now.”

“Only if you tell me his name,” Aizawa said, nodding down at Snowball. Hizashi was happily about to tell the man before he remembered with horrifying clarity that it was Present Mic to tell the man that he had a cat named Snowball. It was already dangerous enough just talking to him like he was, now.

“I, uh, maybe next time. Right now I should really get inside and check on my shoulder and everything.” Did Aizawa even suspect anything yet? Hizashi hadn’t realized how comfortable he was until just that moment, but if he slipped too much… it wouldn’t be too hard to connect Yamada Hizashi to Present Mic. Villains had already done it themselves, after all, with that Trigger dealer, and Hizashi knew that Aizawa could find out through the police station any time he really wanted to know.

Actually, now that he thought about it, why hadn’t he? Maybe the first few times could be explained away as not caring enough, but after all they had gone through, Aizawa had to have looked into it by now, right? Nothing had changed, though, between them - both as Present Mic and as Yamada Hizashi. Was he just not worth it, then? That had to have been it.

Hizashi wasn’t worth the effort and Aizawa had never bothered to try and figure out who he really was, because why bother with something that wasn’t even interesting. He had read all of this so wrong. To think he once thought there was a chance. No. There was no way-

“Yamada.” Jerking at the sharp tone, it was only Aizawa’s hands on his arms that kept him from jerking back and hurting himself. “Did you hear anything I just said?”

“Oh- Sorry, no, I’m- It’s been a pretty bad day. Sorry, I should let you get back to your patrol. Can’t leave these streets undefended, after all!”

“I was saying that you should at least let me help you look over your shoulder.” If it wasn’t for Snowball’s meows and purrs, there would have been absolute silence in the apartment.

“What? No- Why would you want to?” One sentence and Aizawa had managed to throw all of his fears and questions into doubt. “You’re a pro hero who’s supposed to be underground. I probably shouldn’t even know your name.”

“I doubt you’re about to run out in the streets and tell every villain there is my real name,” Aizawa laughed, moving to close the door that Hizashi had left open since he thought Aizawa had been about to leave. “Come on. You’re looking ready to pass out.”

“You don’t have to do this, you know,” Hizashi muttered, unable to bring himself to fight as Aizawa led him further into the apartment. “I’m not much a fan of pity.”

“Pity is the last thing I feel about you.” There was something in those words, but Hizashi was nowhere near the proper state of mind to try and figure it out. “Which door leads to your bathroom?”

“Second on the right,” Hizashi sighed, managing a small smile as Snowball led the way with loud, vibrating meows, Aizawa looking to be holding back laughter. “Sorry. He’s as loud as me, sometimes.”

They fell into a more comfortable silence this time around as Aizawa pulled and pushed Hizashi until he was sitting on the edge of the tub, a first aid kit opened beside him. Aizawa looked like he was hesitating before finally meeting his eyes, “Would you be okay if I helped you get your shirt and jacket off? If you want to keep the shirt on, I can try to work around it.”

“Oh.” That was… oddly sweet. It might be safer since Hizashi didn’t know what he would do with Aizawa’s hands on him, but, well, he was always a bit selfish. “Sure, just let me know if you need help or something, I guess.”

As Aizawa started to work, Hizashi clamped his mouth shut and tried to suppress any and all noises as Aizawa worked his jacket off first and then his shirt, slow and methodical with each movement. He was so caught up in staring, he almost missed the quiet, “Talk to me, Yamada.”

“Oh, man, I think you’re the first one to ever ask for me to talk. Most people are always trying to tell me to shut up.” There was no joke that maybe he should go back to being silent, Aizawa only calm and relaxed as he nodded like he wanted Hizashi to keep talking. “This is a distraction from the pain, isn’t it?”

“Yes.” At least he was honest. “Tell me something that’s been on your mind, tonight. Something that made this day such a bad one.”

“I mean, I already told you about the keys,” Hizashi said, scrambling for words and scrunching his eyes shut as Aizawa started working the shirt around his hurt shoulder. “Um, okay, the phone thing- I threw it away because it died right after I took on a coworker’s shift because of a bunch of reasons, so now I need to work morning and afternoon, tomorrow.”

“Do you normally pick up more shifts than you can handle?” Aizawa asked, Hizashi letting his silence speak for itself. “Thought so. You seem the type to cause yourself stress to save others from it.”

“Ah, how rude to assume things of someone you barely know,” Hizashi teased with a forced grin, Aizawa’s hands faltering against him before he was moving to prod at his shoulder. For the first few moments, Hizashi had to control himself from saying or doing anything stupid as he felt callused fingertips trailing against his skin and searing a path into him that he would likely never forget. It then took everything in him to not activate his quirk when Aizawa pressed against the edges of the wound because that would let Aizawa know who he was for certain.

“Sorry. It doesn’t look infected, but it doesn’t look all that good, either.” Aizawa seemed to know what he was doing and Hizashi didn’t bother to try and look. It had been bad enough when he had to change the bandages on his own the first time and had almost fainted. He wasn’t aware he had completely silenced himself, however, until Aizawa was patting at his side, startling him. “Talk to me, Yamada.”

“Oh, um- Right. My shifts- I don’t mind. She’s been through a lot, more than me, it feels like, so I don’t mind helping her. It’s our boss that’s the real jerk- I mean, you know those cat muffins we sell? What am I saying, of course you do, you always buy some.”

“They’re cute,” Aizawa said simply, Hizashi wanting nothing more than to coo over the man and tease him and maybe sneak in a kiss or two to the cheek and maybe- Ah, okay, right, pain was very good for focusing his thoughts. “What about the cat muffins?”

“I was kind of at fault for when we brought them back, right? Since I was the one to ask my boss about them, he decided that I should be the one to make them, so my usual morning shift got moved to where I have to come in an hour or two early. I mean, I’ve adjusted, by now, but it was awful when it started.”

“You… You make those muffins?” The small, soft tone of awe had Hizashi’s heart tripping into overtime, the look in Aizawa’s eyes making him hope for a second. The moment of hope was probably the cruelest joke of them yet. “Why would you go through all that? They can’t sell that well.”

“I…” It was because he had worried about his ‘enemy’ not eating in the mornings. He had seen this scruffy and tired man and worried because he knew how much work he put into everything he did. Aizawa had seemed sad about when they stopped and Hizashi had wanted to see him smile, or be given that small smirk of his, or even just look like he didn’t have so much weight on his shoulders. He wanted to thank the hero so badly, so he had done what little he could to try to help. “I guess I don’t really have a reason.” He had several.

Aizawa seemed to know there was more he wasn’t saying, but he finally shook his head, Hizashi shivering as he felt some sort of cream spread over the wound after Aizawa dabbed at it with some disinfectant. Aizawa’s voice felt more like a balm than the actual medicine, “You, Yamada, are something else entirely.”

“Guess I am,” Hizashi chuckled weakly, smile feeling a bit more real when Snowball, tired of being ignored, jumped onto the edge of the bathtub and shoved himself against Hizashi’s side. Aizawa looked like he was trying not to laugh, Hizashi giving one for him. “You know, I actually really like all his purring and meowing. It makes this place feel less quiet.”

“That’s one of the reasons I love my own cat,” Aizawa said quietly, digging through the first aid kit again. “She makes the room feel less empty.” Hizashi had been about to respond before he felt a bandage pressed against his wound - probably to keep it from bleeding considering his torn stitch. “Sorry. There’s nothing in here to really numb the area.”

“I have a bottle of wine somewhere,” Hizashi managed to wheeze, grinning a bit at Aizawa’s laugh. He must have started going silent again, because he felt Aizawa give him a little nudge as he started wrapping his shoulder up tightly.

“Talk to me.” Fuck, why was it that both as Mic and Yamada it was always Aizawa that wanted to hear him talk. Hizashi didn’t know how to deal with that and now it was coming at him from both sides of his life. “It can be about anything.”

The pain spiked for a moment and the words were tumbling out, “Fuck, okay, uh, it’s hard to believe that we used to live only a few blocks away when you were growing up? High school, right? That’s around the time I lived there- Fuck, we could have seen each other and never even known.”

“Almost done,” Aizawa said quietly before his tone picked up. “And we never met. I think I would remember someone with hair like yours.”

“Nah, I used to keep it really short,” Hizashi laughed, the sound pained more than anything. “I wonder what would have changed if we had met back then or more than just in passing, maybe. That would have been fifteen or sixteen years ago, right? Jeez, that’s half our lives. We could have known each other for half our lives if things had been different.”

“I don’t know… I think I like this version.” Aizawa sounded further away. Prying his eyes open, Hizashi saw the bright lights of his bathroom that were almost blinding since he wasn’t wearing his sunglasses, Aizawa sitting back with a small smile. “The torn stitch didn’t look good, but they’re all dissolvable, so you shouldn’t have to go to the hospital. This bandage should last a few days, too. By then you should be healed enough to be able to change them on your own.”

“My hero,” Hizashi laughed, taking a moment to try and relax as Aizawa put away the first aid kit as if he did this frequently. Considering the fact he was a pro, he probably did do things like this frequently.

When he focused back, he saw that Aizawa was holding out a glass of water and a couple of pain relievers. Hizashi took them gratefully, near draining the cup of water before he looked back up, trying not to let Snowball knock him into the floor where he was trying to get more attention again.

“I know I’ve said this before, but you’ve seriously saved me this time around.” There was a quiet laugh, Hizashi biting his lip for a moment as he remembered the conversation he and Aizawa had after the hero had recovered from that USJ attack. “The world could use more heroes like you.”

“Maybe.” Aizawa clicked his tongue, Snowball leaping into his arms in a heartbeat. The sight of the stern hero Eraserhead holding a loud, purring cat was enough to make Hizashi laugh up a storm. “What about you, Yamada?”

“What about me what?” Hizashi asked as soon as his breathing was under control, giggles still slipping out of him.

“Did you ever want to be a hero?” There was once a time where that question would have sent him into a panic, but this was Aizawa and he wasn’t Present Mic. Besides, it would be nice to be honest, for once.

“When I was younger,” Hizashi finally said, standing up slowly and carefully as he set his now empty glass down on the edge of the sink. “In our society, it’s all kids want to be when they grow up, after all.”

“What changed?” Aizawa didn’t look like he was paying much attention, but Hizashi knew how sharp and clever this man was. If he let slip even one clue that he was Present Mic, Aizawa would connect the pieces together in no time at all.

“I… think it was a lot of little things, honestly.” He didn’t want to lie, but there was no harm in being careful. “I started thinking differently not long after middle school. That’s when everything really changed.”

“It’s a shame we never met.” The man’s voice was soft as he let Snowball back down, and when he looked back up, his gaze was even softer. “I think we would have been decent friends.”

“Oh, hero…” His only saving grace was that for once he spoke the silly nickname in Japanese instead of English. “You give people too much credit.”

“I think you give yourself too little credit.” Aizawa stared at him and Hizashi watched as his smile turned into something he could only call beautiful. “I have a feeling that you would be an amazing hero, Yamada.”

Jeez… Aizawa Shouta was far too much of a hero.

It had taken almost another hour, but soon Hizashi had been tucked away in bed with his door safely locked, Aizawa back out on patrol while Hizashi set huddled up in blankets with a cat purring on his stomach.

“Block 27…” With his hearing aids out, Hizashi could only rely on his thoughts to really know what he had said. He usually thought over everything silently at night, but these thoughts felt too big for silence. “Friends, huh?”

Eraserhead was a hero that was better than them all. Not only had he stopped to help a civilian he didn’t even really know, but he had stayed with Hizashi long enough to even help him with his shoulder - and he hadn’t even asked what had happened to him.

Hizashi wondered what would be different if they had met when they had been going to high school or even junior high. If they had met, would Aizawa somehow have managed to convince him that he could be a hero? Would Hizashi have tried for U. A.?

There was no way to know, but Hizashi indulged for just a moment in the idea of being childhood best friends. He thought about the two of them meeting, both deathly silent until Aizawa managed to coax words out of him like he had in the bathroom.

They could have gone to U. A. together. There could have been a day where Hizashi would grow to love Aizawa as much as he did now, but in that version he would have called the man Shouta and would have been less scared to share his feelings. Hell, maybe they would have been heroes, together, too. Above all, there was a chance that they could have been friends from the very start.

It was a nice little dream, but then Hizashi remembered their long nights of chasing each other and fighting in the streets, sharp words flying just as quick as fists and weapons. Their relationship here, if it could be called that, was fast and unsteady and went from fighting with all they had to Aizawa sitting with him silently on a rooftop in peace.

It was mad, and crazy, and it shouldn’t make sense no matter how he looked at it, but Hizashi agreed with one thing Aizawa had said that night.

No matter how bad his life was at times or how confusing it all got to be, Hizashi could honestly say that he liked this version of it all. It made him more appreciative of all the good that was in his life - like tonight.

He was tucked away in bed surrounded by covers and a large cat, his shoulder had been carefully cleaned and bandaged, and he had managed a conversation with Aizawa that was just that. A conversation with Aizawa as himself. Sure the rest of his life was a wreck that was slowly unraveling, but with nights like these…

With nights like these, where Aizawa smiled at him and told him that he would be an amazing hero, well.

Hizashi almost believed it.

#bnha #boku no hero academia #mha #my hero academia #erasermic #villain!mic #corndog-patrol #villainous heroics

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sympathetichorror · 5 years

Text

OKAY i got a couple of responses so here’s the first chapter of my WIP tentatively titled “little stranger!”

i’d love comment/critiques but please be kind

[word count: 3,034]

Dad bought Mikey the Rickenbacker for his tenth birthday, back in ‘64. The Beatles had hit it big and Mikey had decided that he wanted to be a rockstar too, so without hesitation or any real kind of money in his pockets, Dad went down to a music shop in Austin and picked up the same kind of guitar that George Harrison wielded. At the time, Dad had given up hope on making Mikey into a sports star, so he decided to try to make him a rockstar. Rock music was masculine in Dad’s eyes, and if Mikey was a big man rock star who could pull in girls like those English boys did, even with their floppy hair, then the rumors about Mikey being light in the loafers couldn’t be true.

But Mikey, being Mikey, was over the rockstar dream by the time he unwrapped the guitar on his birthday, much to Dad’s ire and disappointment. The guitar got hung on the wall of abandoned dreams in the basement, alongside Mikey’s old baseball glove, football helmet, and cleats. I was only six at the time, but I used to sneak down in the basement all the time to steal glances at the mystical instrument, which hung just high enough to be out of my little reach, not that my fingers were big enough to do anything with it. By the time I grew tall enough to be able to take it off the wall, Dad gave in and let me have it.

He didn’t want me to have it at first because he didn’t see the guitar as a “ladylike” instrument, but once he realized that Mikey was never going to be the guy in the letterman with a beauty queen on his arm, he didn’t care anymore. An unladylike daughter was bad, but significantly less bad than a queer son. He already had a queer son, so what was the harm in letting me, the often ignored second child, be a little unladylike?

That guitar was the only thing I took with me when I went to New York to try to find Mikey. Well, I took some clothes and all the money I’d saved up babysitting, but nothing else besides those necessities and the guitar. I didn’t want anything else. I wanted to leave everything behind in Lampasas to die in the Texas heat - the bullying, the rumors, the cruelty, Mom’s bruises, Dad’s growing pile of empty beer cans, all of it.

Mom might not have been able to gather the guts to save herself, but I was determined not to let myself have the same fate as her. So at seventeen, fresh out of high school and full of teen angst, I took a bus up to New York City to try to find my brother, who’d disappeared into the concrete jungle four years ago, just after he got out of school.

It took a while, but I did manage to find Mikey, though he now went by the name Oscar and was nearly completely unrecognizable from the brother I’d once known. At the same time, he never looked more like himself, even if himself looked rather ridiculous in leather and feathers and unkempt hair. He was an artist now. He’d been fronting a band for the past couple of years, a band that was the even poorer man’s version of the New York Dolls, but he was having a ball nonetheless.

That was two years ago. Now, Oscar was deep in a heroin addiction, unable to do anything but turn tricks and shoot up. I was the breadwinner of our little fucked up household, bringing in the money for everything other than drugs. I was the artist now, though I wouldn’t know if I’d call myself that necessarily. I fronted my own little punk group and I did my own shit my own way, and that was all I’d say about myself.

“I’m heading out!” I called to Oscar through the bathroom door. “You good?”

“I’m good!” Oscar yelled back throatily.

There was no doubt that he was in there slumped over the toilet, either from being too doped up or not doped up enough. I didn’t know which it was and I didn’t really care. So long as he wasn’t dead as I was leaving, I didn’t care. I probably should care more about my brother and his current state of absolute drug addiction, but at this point, I couldn’t. I’d cared too much for too long, and I’d learned that if he didn’t care, I couldn’t care either.

With that, I threw my guitar over my back and headed out of our little shithole apartment. For a New York apartment on the budget we had, the place really wasn’t that bad - but rats and mold and pushers still filled the place. If only Ma knew where we were living...she’d probably keel over just hearing a description of it.

But Ma wasn’t here. She was back in Lampasas with her bruises and probably more broken bones at this point. I called her once in awhile to let her know that I was doing okay and that Mikey had yet to die. I didn’t bother to tell her that he’d changed his name and become nearly totally unrecognizable from the son she’d last seen almost four years ago now. She’d had enough heartbreak in her life thus far. I didn’t need to add to it. Besides, that was Oscar’s story to tell her, if he ever got the guts and decency to call home sometime. He never had, not even once, since moving to New York.

“Hey, what took you so long?” Lenny asked.

I glanced down at my watch, then looked up to my bandmate and said, “I’m five minutes late. It’s only five past eight; that’s hardly late at all.”

“Yeah, but you’re hardly ever late,” he reminded me, keeping up with my strides as we hit the Manhattan streets.

We were too broke to afford cabs unless we were buddies with the drivers, so we walked the city for the most part.

“Well maybe you should find something to do to occupy your time other than hanging out around my building waiting for me,” I suggested with a wink.

Lenny rolled his eyes, but laughed. “Hey, things have been rough since I got kicked out of Marcia’s place.”

“I can’t be sorry for you for that,” I said, tucking my hands into the pockets of my beat up leather jacket. “You’re the one who decided to fuck her best friend on the floor at her place...you kinda deserved that one.”

“Yeah, but I mean, I never told her that we were like, a thing,” he told me, trying to justify his actions. Seeing the serious side-eye I was giving him, he sighed and relented, “Still, I guess I coulda told her that we weren’t.”

“Exactly,” I said.

We walked in silence for a bit, only the sounds of the ever-rowdy city filling our ears.

“You still think I’m a piece of shit for that, don’t you?” Lenny pressed.

His expression was serious - he was genuinely concerned that he’d permanently tainted my opinion of him. Lenny was the one of the closest things I had to a best friend. That position used to be occupied by my brother, until he went and fucked himself all up. He was definitely my best guy friend and my favorite guy out of the three of them who played in my little “band” with me. We both had similar stupid senses of humor and not-so-secretly harbored major loves for David Bowie. Lenny said he was the only guy he’d go gay for, and I couldn’t fault him for that.

We’d went and seen Bowie with Iggy Pop and Blondie a couple of weeks ago at the Palladium, and Lenny had nearly shit himself out of excitement and arousal. I was just as excited, of course, but I had a much better poker face than he did.

“I don’t think you’re a piece of shit, I think you did a really shitty thing,” I clarified. I gave him a small smile, seeing as he was still desperately waiting for my approval. “But that can be remedied...you can always learn from your actions. Just no more treating women like shit, right?”

“Right,” he nodded eagerly. “I won’t sleep around and I’ll--”

“You can sleep around,” I interjected. Seeing his surprised expression, I added, “As long as you’re being safe about it and you’re telling girls that they shouldn’t get their hopes up, that is.”

“Right,” Lenny said again. “Will do, Kathy.”

“Good,” I said. “The last thing the city needs is another misogynistic asshole in a band.”

That got him to laugh, which I was glad. I laughed alongside him as we rounded the corner to go into the back entrance of CBGB’s, the one reserved for the ‘artists’ that would grace their stage. We were one of those groups that got to use the door, though we weren’t big names like the people we opened for. Then again, in the grand scheme of things, we weren’t even that big.

“Jesus Christ, Kathy, don’t you have better clothes to wear than those in the middle of winter?” questioned Terry G., one of the bouncers/security guys. He was far beefier than he was brainy - I doubted he even had the brains to play ‘Blitzkrieg Bop’ - but he was a nice guy nonetheless.

“Naw, I’m fine,” I told him with a polite smile.

“Your lips are turning blue,” he informed me. “And your cheeks are all chapped.”

He was right, but I brushed him off, repeating myself, “I’m fine, really. A little cold never bothered me.”

Lie. That was a big fat lie. The thing I hated the most about New York was the cold. I loved the cool autumns, the mild springs, and even the sticky city summers, but the frigid winters were the one thing that made me miss Texas.

“Well, either way, you guys should get inside,” Terry G. said. “The other two Black Eyes are in there waiting for you.”

“Thanks,” Lenny said, speaking for the two of us as we hopped the couple of stairs into the building.

By the other two Black Eyes, Terry G. meant the other two guys that played in our little band, Phil and Keith. Phil was on the bass, Keith was on second guitar, Lenny was on the drums, and I was on guitar and vocal duties. We were quite an odd foursome, having come together after our stints in other bands didn’t work out. Phil was hanging onto the New York Dolls look with his platforms, scarves, and eyeliner, while Keith dressed more like an accountant, in button downs and ill-fitting blazers. Lenny was the one who went the most wild with his punk style, loving the safety pin and spikes look, enjoying sticking up his hair with loads of Aquanet, and always working on bettering his impression of Johnny Thunders with that lip curl thing.

I, the lone female in the band, was also the most boring looking, except for my Kool Aid red hair. I’d cut it all off when I moved to New York, and now that it was long enough to graze my shoulders again, I’d decided to go a little crazy with the dye. I didn’t love it, but I didn’t hate it either, so we were working with it. Lenny and the guys were insistent that I keep it for a while - they said it was good for our image, that it made me stick out, which was exactly the reason that I kind of, sort of hated it.

“I always thought it’d be a cold day in hell when the two of you showed up after the two of us,” Phil joked as we entered the green room. He had a cigarette dangling from his teeth and bright blue glitter accentuating his eyes.

“It is like negative ten out,” I informed him dryly. “So that might have something to do with it.”

It was March, almost April. It shouldn’t have been this fucking cold still, but it was, and I hated the cold more and more each day.

“Haha,” Phil deadpanned. “Funny.”

“Are my drums all set up already?” Lenny asked. He helped himself to one of the beers in the cooler in the corner of the room, downing half of it in on impressive swig.

“Yeah, Keith and I took care of ‘em,” Phil nodded. We kept our spare equipment at Phil and Keith’s place, since they were the only ones with any space to put all of it. “We’re just waiting for someone to tell us it’s time to go out there and do the damn thing...unless you wanna do a quick soundcheck?”

The question was rhetorical, and he knew that. I shook my head to verify, though. I wasn’t one for soundchecks. That was too much effort, and unnecessary effort when playing at a place like CBGB’s. The louder and fuzzier, the better, or so I’d found.

“Hello hello, shiners,” came an all too familiar voice.

Before I knew it, I was being squashed in a hug by Ray. Every time I saw him I was shocked by how tall he was, more than a foot taller than me, to be specific. I should’ve been used to it by now, after everything, but I wasn’t. I lingered in his arms for a moment, taking note of his old familiar scent that I still loved - Camels, Pabst, and a dash of that cologne I couldn’t remember the name of.

“Hey, thanks again for asking us to open for you,” I said as he released me from the hug.

He pressed a light kiss to the top of my head before completely separating himself from me, something he still did everytime we saw each other, despite having been broken up for four months and some odd days. I’d been keeping track of the days for some time without really meaning to, but I quit when Lenny told me I should forget about it and try to move on to a new dick.

“Of course,” Ray said. He grinned down at me, his dark eyes glassy. He must’ve shot up not too long ago. “If I can’t have you playing with me, I’ll have you open for me, anytime, gladly.”

“Thanks,” I said. Glancing to Phil and Lenny, I said, “We all really appreciate it.”

That was true. Ray’s band, Raymond Garbage and the Trash Junkies, always pulled a big crowd. Their crowds were the good kind too - the people who really loved the punk scene for what it was, not the posers who crept it to check out what the whole ‘punk’ thing was all about. Ray and the guys were good, but their sound wasn’t the kind of sound the punk inspectors came to see, nor were we. Those curious spectators came for the Ramones or Blondie, not the Trash Junkies and the Black Eyes.

“‘Course,” Ray assured us, but mostly me. “Someday I’ll be opening for you guys.”

“I doubt it,” I said. “But that’s a nice sentiment.”

“It’ll happen,” Ray said. He flashed me that charming smile of his that’d won me over, rubbing at his eye. “Excuse me, shiners, I’ve gotta hit the little boys’ room before you go on.”

With that, he made his exit, much to my disappointment. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t wish that Ray and I were still together. I didn’t know if I loved him anymore in a romantic kind of sense, but I missed him. Sure, I saw him all the time and in reality we were closer than ever, albeit in a platonic way, but I still missed what we had. I missed waking up in his bed with my head on his chest and his fingers in my hair, and how we stayed up all night talking about Nietzsche or reading Vonnegut novels to each other.

“We need to get you fucked by someone,” Phil said, breaking the silence left in Ray’s wake.

“I’ve been getting fucked by plenty of people,” I said.

That was true. Since breaking up with Ray, I’d become just as promiscuous as anyone out here on the Bowery. Well, maybe not just as promiscuous. I refused anyone who refused a condom, which ended half of my encounters before they could ever happen. Still, I’d shared a bed with more people - mostly men, a couple of women - than I bothered to keep track of. A few weeks ago, I truly realized that the promiscuity thing just wasn’t for me. I was a monogamist at heart, and I’d learned that the hard way. I hadn’t stopped sleeping around, though. Once you got in the cycle, it was hard to get out of it.

“Clearly it hasn’t been good, though,” Phil replied. “Or else you wouldn’t keep on staring at Ray like he’s some sort of messiah.”

“She doesn’t wanna get fucked, she wants a nice guy to settle down with,” Keith chimed in, emerging into the room. His gray tartan blazer was so oversized that it was bordering on ridiculous. He stopped and thought about it for a moment, and said, “No, maybe you don’t want to settle down now, but you get what I mean.”

“What I need is to not date for a while,” I sighed. I flipped my guitar so it hung around me the right way, absentmindedly fingering out my arpeggios.

“Amen to that, babe,” Phil said, holding his bottle of gin up to me in praise.

He, Keith, and Lenny all took long gulps of their drinks. Lenny finished his entire beer, slamming the can into the wall. I was the only one not drinking, per usual. I was damn near being a teetotaler, something I got a lot of loving shit for around here.

“Black Eyes, you’re up,” said one of the CBGB employees, ducking their head into the room. “And just a heads up - you’ve got a bit of an unruly crowd out there tonight.”

#personal #iwrite #finally updating my writing tag on here!#be kind i love kathy but i appreciate constructive criticism!

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eryiss · 6 years

Text

Gambler’s Luck: Chapter Fifteen

Summary: A drunken night at a bar; that’s how it always starts. A few shots, some self loathing and a decision you would never make when sober. But for Laxus Dreyar, the morning after doesn’t include regret, copious amounts of aspirin and a stranger in his bed. For he only made one drunken decision, becoming the personal driver for professional gambler - Freed Justine. [Fraxus Multi-Chap]

You can read it on FanFiction, Archive of Our Own or under the cut. You can also catch up using the chapter list here. Hope you enjoy ^.^

Chapter Fifteen – The Masquerade

From: Freed

Hi. I should be outside of your apartment in a few minutes, just so you're not taken unaware. I've also got more than one mask with me, so you have some choice over the matter. I'll see you in a few minutes.

Drawing his eyes away from his mirror, Laxus pulled his phone from his back pocket and quickly read through the text he'd received. He had been standing in his bathroom after adorning his suit – a blue and black three-piece fit with a chain on the waistcoat – combing his hair and covering it with enough hairspray to keep it slicked back throughout the night. Looking at himself in the formalwear that, just months prior, he wouldn't have been able to afford gave him a slight lift in mood; a relief, since he hadn't been able to distract himself from the earlier events of the day since he'd arrived home at his apartment.

After leaving Cana in the rain, which he felt guilty about despite knowing she wouldn't take it personally, he'd walked around for a while as he stewed in his anger. Eventually, he'd returned home to shower and ready himself for the party. Despite managing to make himself look as though his day had been normal, his mind had constantly flickered back to his mother.

Silently scolding himself, he unlocked his phone and went to reply to the message. He'd promised himself that, form this point, he wasn't going to let his mother affect his life like she had before, he wasn't breaking that promise.

To: Freed

Ok. Can you come to the door instead of using the horn. Upstairs neighbour doesn't like me and probably would use it to get me kicked out or some crap. Thanks.

From: Freed

Of course.

Laxus pocketed his phone again and took a final glance at the mirror. He fixed the single hair that was out of place, covering it with hairspray for a final time before leaving his bathroom. He slowly began to walk around his living area as he waited, the sound of his new shoes squeaking slightly the only thing filling the room. He glanced out of his window to see that, thankfully, the earlier rain had died down; he didn't have a coat that he deemed as suit appropriate.

With a small sigh, Laxus thought about how the evening could go. He hadn't told Freed about his plans to meet with his mother, thinking it would overcomplicate matters. This, in turn, meant he hadn't told Freed his mother had not shown up. Laxus didn't know if he could make it seem as though he was fine throughout the whole party. He hoped that he could, Freed had invited him in good faith and probably didn't want his crappy mood brining it down. If he had to hold up some kind of façade, then he would try his best to do so.

He eventually decided that pacing around his living room wasn't a good way to pass the time as he waited for Freed, so sat down and absently scrolled through his phone. He tried to ignore the deafening silence of his empty apartment, which seemed to taunt him as it became harder to distract himself from the events earlier in the day.

Thankfully, just as the silence began to wear away at his resolve, a sharp knock came from the door.

The blonde was on his feet a moment later. He quickly unchained and unlocked the door, opening it

to see Freed standing before him holding a large wooden box and wearing a suit. A pretty sharp looking suit too; it was entirely black, expensive looking and completed with a bow tie. Laxus also noticed that Freed had his hair tied up in a high ponytail, in the same way that it had been in the morning they had shared together. Laxus wondered if his awkward compliment had anything to do with that. Whether or not that was true, it was undeniable that formalwear was an incredibly good look on Freed.

He realised after a moment that he was probably staring at Freed, so quickly stood to the side and motioned for Freed to come in. He hoped that the slight warmth he could feel in his cheeks wasn't visible; Freed didn't mention anything if it was.

"Evening," Laxus greeted, closing the door behind Freed.

"Good evening," Freed smiled, walking further into the blonde's apartment. He placed the large box on the kitchen counter, carefully unlatching it. "I thought it would be easier for you to decide on a mask here rather than in the car. That's okay isn't it?"

"Yeah, that's fine," Laxus nodded, walking towards the box he assumed the masks were in. "Is there one you want specifically?"

"No, mines in the car," Freed smiled a little. "Pick whichever you prefer."

When Freed opened the box, Laxus was presented with three masks of varying designs. The left most one was, Laxus expected, the most traditional as it was made up of a black fabric with a small pattern etched into it. The middle was the most intricate, with a neatly painted design covering it made to look like it was flaking slightly but covered in elegant swirls. The right was the most interesting, made from a metal with multiple intricate carvings and sharp edges.

Laxus looked over them all. His hand reached out to the simple looking one, but he stopped. Yes, it was probably the lightest and would be the easiest to deal with, but he just didn't feel it. His eyes kept flickering to the right most one, which he realised was the one he wanted to wear. He was making decisions on what he wanted now, why should this choice be any different.

Leaning forward, he carefully picked up the angular mask. It wasn't as heavy, or as cool, as he had expected, but it was defiantly made of metal. He carefully placed the mask against his face, noting that it seemed to fit the structure of his face well. He smiled a little, lowering it and looking to Freed.

"This one okay?" He asked, nodding to the mask.

"Of course," Freed nodded. "Actually, I picked that one specifically because I thought you'd like it. I'm glad that you do."

Laxus offered a small smile and a nod, keeping hold of the mask. "The car's outside, right? We should probably leave pretty soon, wouldn't be shocked if asshole kids upstairs noticed you leave and they're already trying to rip of the tires off to sell."

Freed let out a single laugh but nodded, closing the box of masks with a small smile. At the time of purchase, he hadn't been sure about the mask Laxus had chosen. The store claimed it had been kept in storage and hardly ever been used because of its non-conventional design, so he felt relieved that his assessment of it being representative of Laxus' personality had been proven true. It also, from the few moments it had been held against Laxus' face, seemed to highlight mans face in a way that was highly complementary, which Freed wouldn't complain about.

Soon, the two men left the apartment building and walked onto the rain-soaked pathway, which was slowly starting to dry. Parked outside the building was a car that Laxus had never seen before. Freed had insisted that this was Laxus' night off and that he should not have to drive, so he had hired a driver – and a car, it seemed – to take them to and from the party.

Although it wasn't greatly illuminated by the dingy streetlamps, Laxus identified the brand of cars immediately. It was a Rolls Royce. A luxury, brand new Rolls Royce limo. Outside of his shitty apartment building, waiting for him, was a car synonamous with luxury and wealth.

"Fuck," Laxus whispered, turning to Freed. "How much did this-"

"Don't worry about it," Freed cut him off, watching as the chauffeur left the driver's seat and opened the door for them. "I promised for this to be an enjoyable night to distract you, and I'm a man of my word if nothing else."

He walked towards the open door, nodding to the driver as he climbed in. Laxus followed and let out a small thanks, which the driver nodded back to. The blonde found himself in a weird middle ground where half of him was focused on the fact that, financially speaking, he was massively out of his depth and felt as though he didn't belong. The other half of his mind told him that he should have turned back to the window of his neighbour's apartment and stuck his middle finger at the old woman who constantly invaded his business and had a sense of antagonising superiority. Getting into a car like this would wipe the sneer of her wrinkled old face.

But he didn't, instead getting into the back of the car. Again, he did a double take, the interior was just as luxurious. The seats were large, upholstered with white leather. Dividing the back seats from the driver was practically a wall, with a closed drinks cabinet below a large TV screen which presented the words 'Blue Pegasus Automobiles.' Laxus hesitantly sat down, as if expecting he'd disrupt the car in some way.

"You needn't look so worried," Freed chuckled a little. "Just enjoy yourself."

"Sorry, just a culture shock," Laxus smiled a little sheepishly. "I mean I knew you had money, but this just feels like… it feels like another level."

"Perhaps if I brought the car. But hiring it for the night isn't nearly as expensive as you'd think," Freed assured him, not seeing any point in telling Laxus that he'd called in a favour from a friend to get one of the most luxurious models at a heavily discounted price. Instead, he leaned forward and opened the small drinks cabinet. "Something to calm your nerves?"

"Yeah, thanks," Laxus chuckled a little. He saw some scotch – some luxury damn scotch no less – and nodded when Freed motioned to it. "On ice, if there's any of it."

Freed nodded and shifted, revealing to Laxus a small bucket and some glasses. As Freed poured them both drinks, Laxus leant back and took in his surroundings. This was the difference between the life with his mother and his life now. If he had continued to live under his parents' shadow, he would probably be distracting himself from any problems in Mira's bar with an overabundance of alcohol. But he wasn't, he was going to the party of the elite in a car he would have never dreamed about entering months before. He was better than his past self, this encapsulated it, and Freed had a pretty big part to play in it.

The luxury itself wasn't Laxus' main focus. It was the consideration. Freed didn't have to invite him as a guest, but thought it would help Laxus, so he did. He could have let Laxus drive their normal car, but he wanted him to enjoy the night as much as possible so hired a driver and a different car. Laxus would have been happy with any mask, but Freed had not only given him choice, but picked one specifically for him.

His parents wouldn't have put that much consideration into anything. They wouldn't have fucking shown up.

"Here," Freed's voice cut across Laxus' train of thought before he could truly become angry again. He was holding out a glass of scotch with a small frown; obviously Laxus' face had shown at least a little of what he had been feeling.

"Thanks," Laxus forced a small smile as he took the drink.

Freed hadn't said anything despite the small amount of concern on his face, which Laxus was appreciative of. They both took a sip of their respective drinks, Laxus placing his glass in the holders that separated their chairs. He buckled himself in after noticing Freed had done the same, leaning back and trying to get his focus back on the fantastic car, rather than the issues with his parents. He could keep the façade up for a night, that was all he needed.

Through the cars speakers, the driver's voice asked if they were both ready to depart. After raising an eyebrow at Laxus, who nodded, Freed pressed a button on the armrest and said that they were. A small red light beside the button Freed was pressing – Laxus assumed it meant the driver could hear them when lit – went out and the car began to move.

"You ever wish you could have a driver like that," Laxus asked with mirth in his voice, trying to assure Freed he was fine without broaching the topic. "Open the door for you and ask when you're ready, you're missing out on all that crap."

"Perhaps," Freed said with a small grin. "But the people who get all that crap miss out on the joys that come with being driven around by a mongrel."

"Mongrel?" Laxus raised an eyebrow, genuine amusement forming on his face. "That what you see me as?"

"You've certainly got the scruff for it," Freed's voice showed how obviously teasing he was. "I would have thought you could comb your hair at least for today."

Laxus frowned. He knew Freed wasn't being serious but, given the time he had spent making sure his hair was entirely slicked back, he shouldn't have offered him anything to tease about with his hair. When he pulled out his phone and checked his reflection, he saw that the small amount of hair that had gotten out of place before had returned, much to the blonde's annoyance. He moved his hand to fix it, but Freed stopped him by gently catching his hand before he could reach his head.

"Don't," Freed spoke almost softly. "There's a charm to having it like that."

With a small nod that was probably too curt, Laxus was almost sure that he was blushing. Not only had Freed complimented him but feeling Freed's hand on his own was a new experience that Laxus wasn't averse to. He was sure that it had happened before, it must have, but it felt different. Maybe because, at least for the evening, they weren't employee and employer. They were friends.

Soon, the car fell into a comfortable silence. It seemed Laxus had achieved what he wanted in diverting the evening away from his issues, and they were both happy to listen to the gentle music playing. Laxus couldn't identify it, but it was a pleasant enough instrumental that gave the drive a relaxing atmosphere that Laxus was thankful for.

The ride to the library lasted a short while. It was in the lavish city centre that housed the tourist attractions and the most elite members of society, whereas Laxus lived on the fringe of Magnolia which was significantly less extravagant in looks. As the car travelled through the streets he was more familiar with, Laxus half felt as though they were attracting the attention of anyone who saw them. He supposed he should have expected that kind of reaction; the car did stick out compared to the second hand, older models that mainly populated outer Magnolia.

Slowly, the library came into view. Multiple luxury cars, well dressed people and even the odd photographer could be seen outside the doors. Laxus suddenly felt out of his comfort zone again, but Freed chuckled a little.

"Ignore the photographers. They won't care about us when there's celebrities and politicians around," Freed assured him. "And if they do take a liking to you, it's not as if you could be identified."

Laxus smiled a little, suddenly aware of the mask that was resting on his thigh. It reassured him slightly; he didn't need to worry about being out of his depth or not fitting in. He wasn't restrained by who he was – not by his crappy apartment, his lack of a designer suit, or by his shitty parents. For the night, he was a guest of Magnolia's elite and had as much right as anyone else to be there and enjoy himself.

When he looked up, he caught Freed carefully removing his hand from his head. Now covering the top half of his face was an intricate mask, also made of metal with multiple detailed and elegant looking carvings. It was a little smaller than the one Laxus had picked out but seemed to fit with Freed's image perfectly.

Freed really was a damn handsome man.

Before Laxus could be caught thinking of his praises, however, he picked the golden looking mask up and looked at it. It had two long pieces of silk coming from the side, obviously used to tie the mask in place. He carefully lifted it to his face, frowning a little as he wondered how he would keep it in place as he tied it.

"Would you like me to do it?" Freed offered, as if hearing Laxus' thoughts.

"Yeah, thanks," Laxus nodded a little.

He shifted in his seat, so his back was to Freed, keeping the mask against his face in a way that was comfortable and hindered his sight as little as possible. He soon heard a slight shifting from behind him and felt the gentle tugging of the ribbon as the mask was tied behind him.

As Freed began to carefully tie the silk into a tight bow, he noticed that Laxus' shoulders were hunched up slightly. There hadn't been a shift in his posture when Freed had leant over, so the action of tying the mask hadn't caused it. Obviously, Laxus was tense for some reason, and Freed just hoped that he would get more comfortable as the night went on. The night was meant to act as a break from stress, after all.

The car soon pulled to a stop, the driver exiting it and opening the door for them. Freed left first, nodding to the driver and slipping him some money with the assurance he would be contacted when they wanted to return home. Laxus shifted to the open door, where he saw Freed offering him a hand to help him out. With a small frown, he took Freed's hand and left the vehicle.

Freed had a pretty strong grasp. Laxus half expected it to be more delicate, but he wasn't disappointed by the revelation. In fact, he found himself rather pleased, for whatever reason.

The two masked men walked up the marble steps of the Grand Magnolia Library. As Freed had said, the few photographers present were occupied by people they saw as more important – Laxus could have sworn he recognised the young woman with silvery blue hair in a short bob that three members of press were fawning over from some pretty decent TV dramas. They were soon at the entrance of the building, where Freed pulled out two small cards from his jacket pocket and showed them to the bouncer, who moved aside to let them both in; Laxus nodded to him in a silent greeting as he walked inside.

Already, the room was filled with masked people in expensive clothing. Intermingled with them was a mask-less waiting staff, walking around with trays of drinks and food. There was a constant sound of talking, although Laxus laid eyes on a small band in the corner of the room, playing a cover of some popular song in a jazz style. In was an intimidating sight, but Laxus didn't exactly feel out of place, which he hadn't expected.

"Champagne for the two of you, sirs?" A waiter said as he approached, holding a tray of filled glasses.

"Thank you," Freed smiled, reaching up and taking a glass. Laxus followed his lead and took one as well.

"Thanks," He nodded, voice gruffer than he had wanted.

At this, the waiter nodded and walked away, going to greet someone else who had walked in. Freed guided them away from the doors and further into the library. Now out of what would be the reception area on a normal day, they walked to a less crowded wing, the calmer atmosphere of the new room welcomed by the blonde.

The ceilings were high and housed multiple lavish, identical chandeliers which illuminated the room perfectly. The walls were covered by bookshelves, each filled with leather bound books that were immaculately kept. Perfectly carved pillars were illuminated by spotlights to highlight them, and a small metal balcony hung half way up the wall, so all books could be accessed if someone needed to use them. In the middle of the room, multiple circular tables that were immaculately dressed covered the carpet. It was pretty damn impressive, to say the least.

"Damn," Laxus mumbled under his breath, taking a sip of his champagne. He then looked to Freed with a small grin. "Kinda different to the libraries I grew up with. Was half expecting the band to be shushed by some middle aged with glasses on a chain."

"Who somehow manage to wear a faded pink cardigan without it hindering her authority, I assume," Freed smiled. Laxus nodded, grin widening. "I'm sure, if we came back tomorrow, we could find someone like that without much trouble."

"Probably pissed that someone was eating near the books," Laxus smirked, Freed nodding with a smile. "D'you know if there's a specific time we have to eat?"

"I don't think so. Apparently, the organisers went in favour of a gourmet buffet instead of a traditional mean," Freed explained, walking further into the room. "I imagine that, later in the night, it'll be opened, and you'll be able to get something whenever you want."

"Okay," Laxus nodded. "Would have thought that the people who come to parties like this would wanna be waited on hand and foot, though."

"I think it's meant to be fashionable," Freed chuckled a little.

Laxus smiled at the comment, which seemed to be a joke at the expense of the pretentious rich people and their obsession with trends. The blonde was glad to hear that Freed also had more of an outsider view when it came to rich people, despite the fact he was one himself. Although Laxus knew Freed wasn't going to suddenly start looking down on him, he had a small amount of concern that Freed would change a little for the night to fit in with the crowd. He was glad to have that doubt put to rest.

"Although, it's a good decision. I've been to parties like this before and a three-course meal equates to three bites of pretentious and underwhelming food," Freed smiled a little as he continued. "The first time I came to one, I ended up leaving early and going to a little pizza place. The food there was actually quite an improvement."

With a chuckle, Laxus nodded and absently imagined a younger Freed, dressed in a stupidly expensive suit, eating some greasy monstrosity of a pizza in some dingy little store and sticking out like a sore thumb. It was a though that elected a single laugh out of the driver.

He shouldn't have doubted Freed, he realised. If Freed had proven himself to be anything, it was considerate. Whenever he'd called on Laxus' services as a driver, he made sure to give him a decent amount of time for Laxus to be prepared almost every time, and also tried not to interrupt any plans Laxus had previously set up. Even inviting him to this party was done because Freed was considerate. He should have known that Freed wasn't going to let him feel alienated or as if he didn't belong. He knew Freed was trustworthy enough to not do something like that.

Unlike his fucking mother, apparently.

The blonde silently scolded himself in his own mind. He'd managed to make it pretty far without her entering his mind, and he wasn't going to let her ruin it. He was with Freed, someone he actually could trust.

His attention was brought back into the room a moment later, when he realised that he had been looking at Freed throughout his short inner conflict. The other man had a small frown on his face, and Laxus expected he would have seen a small raised eyebrow of confusion if Freed's mask hadn't hidden it.

"Are you okay?" Freed asked, voice showing a small amount of concern.

"Yeah, I'm fine," Laxus assured him with a small smile. He could tell Freed doubted him, so quickly tried to change the topic of conversation. "Your, erm, your mask is a little uneven. Hold on."

Without thinking, Laxus reached forward and gently nudged the mask so it was completely straight; not that it was visibly uneven beforehand. After making sure it looked as good as he could get it, he retracted his hand slowly. He tried to ignore the fact his knuckles had unintentionally gently ran across Freed's cheek in an almost tender way, allowing him to feel both how soft his skin was and the impressive bone structure of Freed's face.

After he pulled back he knew he had a small blush, and he found himself wishing he had been given the option to wear a mask that hid his now reddened cheeks.

Both men were silent for a few moments. Laxus turned away slightly, not wanting to show Freed his blush if he could avoid it. He wasn't sure if Freed had even noticed the small amount of contact, and didn't want to find out; at least if he wasn't sure, he would be able to convince himself Freed hadn't felt anything. He took another sip of his champagne, hoping to think of something that would restart their conversation again. Thankfully, that burden was taken away from him.

"Freed?"

Both men heard a female voice come from behind them, making them turn. They saw a blonde woman in an extravagant looking dress approach them. She smiled when she saw it was, indeed, Freed.

"Oh thank god, it is you," The blonde continued. "These businessmen are so tedious. I thought you weren't coming to these things anymore."

Laxus watched as the woman took Freed into a hug, which was reciprocated. The woman was wearing a mask made of intricate patterns of metal that resembled flowers, intersplices with blue gemstones. She smiled as she pulled away, eyes straying towards Laxus.

"I thought this one might not be so detestable," Freed explained, before seeing the two blondes look at each other. "Oh, my apologies. Lucy, this is Laxus, my friend and, of course, guest for the evening. Laxus, this is Lucy Heartfilia. She's an author, but we really know each other from coming to these kinds of events and only talking to each other."

Lucy smiled at Laxus and offered him a hand to shake. "It's nice to meet you."

"You too," Laxus nodded, shaking her hand. Her grip wasn't as delicate as he expected, which made him think back to when Freed had helped him out of the car. The dying blush resurfaced a little, but he tried not to fell put off by it. Instead, he continued speaking. "So, an author? Anything I might have heard of."

"Maybe," Lucy smiled again. "I go by the name L.C. Heartfilia. But the most recent one was called 'Compositional Being', it was pretty popular."

Laxus thought for a moment. The name was familiar to him, as was the title of the book. He frowned, before he remembered that the crappy morning show that he listened to on the radio when he was still driving the garbage truck once reviewed it. Pretty positively, too.

"That's the one people were obsessed with a couple months back?"

"Probably," Lucy said, seemingly a little embarrassed. "Did you happen to read it?"

"No," Laxus didn't hesitate in his answer.

From the corner of his eye, he saw Freed let out a small snort. He happened to be taking a sip from his champagne at that time, meaning the sudden exhale shot the alcohol around his glass. Laxus half wished he could have seen it directly, because it would have been pretty fucking funny. Instead, he kept looking at the blonde woman, who was actually smiling a little more.

"Thank god," She sighed, making Laxus frown. "I mean, I know officially I should be offended or whatever, but pretty much everyone I've spoken to have been making it out like it's the next great novel and that it'll change the world, when we both know it won't. And the people who haven't read it are pretending that they have and it's just really awkward. So, it's nice someone hasn't got the note to treat me like I'm some sensitive five-year-old."

"Glad I can help?" Laxus replied, as it was the only thing he could think of saying.

Freed, who had evidently recovered form his near miss of having expensive alcohol up his nose, placed his empty glass on the table they were standing by. He didn't say anything, but he was glad that Lucy saw Laxus in the same way that he did: a welcome break from the pretention and stupidity of the people their class were forced to socialise with.

"I heard a rumour that it would be turned into a movie," Freed said, re-joining the conversation. "Is there any truth to that?"

"Yeah, actually," Lucy smiled again. "And the director wants me to be a pretty big part of it. Say's I get the final say on the script and I get to help with the casting. We picked the lead last week, actually. Yukino Agria, do you know her?"

"Yes. Is she here tonight? I think we might have walked past her when we came in," Freed frowned a little, and Laxus thought back to the woman with silvery blue hair from before.

"She is. You can meet her if you like, she's actually pretty down to earth. You'd like her."

Freed frowned a little. He had planned to spend the evening with Laxus – he was the reason Freed had decided to come, after all – and he doubted Laxus would enjoy talking to an actress for however long it would take. Freed himself had a passive interest in acting, but he would enjoy talking to Lucy more as she had been the reason these parties had been tolerable in the past. He slowly turned towards Laxus before answering.

"You wouldn't mind, would you?" He asked with a small amount of hesitancy.

Laxus took a few moments to realise that question was aimed at him, but he smiled when he did. This was further proof of Freed's thoughtfulness in relation to him. He probably assumed he wasn't interested in some actress he barely knew, which was a correct assumption, and was making sure Laxus would be okay if he went, despite not needing to. Freed really was a damn good guy.

Unlike some people- no! She was not ruining the evening.

"Nah, go ahead," Laxus assured him with a grin. "I'm not some kid, right? I can look after myself. Besides, if I get bored it seems like the only thing I need to do to fit in is suck up to any author I find and eat small amounts of food, right."

Lucy laughed at his assessment of the other party guests, and Freed smiled a little. "You're sure?"

"Positive. Go talk to people."

"Thanks," Freed smiled. "I'll try not to take too long."

Laxus nodded with a small grin. Lucy claimed that she enjoyed meeting Laxus and was soon directing Freed out of the wing they'd retreated to and towards the main hall of the party. Laxus watched with a small grin, before finishing his glass of champagne while finding amusement that Freed had assured him he wouldn't be left alone for too long. Considerate fuck.

Just before leaving the room, Freed looked over his shoulder with a small amount of concern. He'd noticed that Laxus had been a little vacant from time to time and wondered if something had happened. He felt guilty for leaving him, even if Laxus had assured him it was fine.

"You okay?" Lucy asked, noticing he'd stopped.

"I'm fine," Freed assured her. "But, if I get distracted for too long, could you sit with him please? He's not used to this, and I think maybe something's happened. He might appreciate the company."

"Yeah, of course," Lucy smiled, patting him on the shoulder.

The two of them started to walk again, Freed sending one final glance over his shoulder as he looked to Laxus with a frown. He couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong, and he needed to make sure Laxus was feeling okay the moment he could get back to him. He just hoped Laxus could manage on his own for a short while.

~Later~

For what seemed like the tenth time in the last thirty minutes, Freed glanced over his shoulder. He looked towards his guest for the night, who was sitting at one of the heavily dressed tables. He was engaged in a conversation with Lucy, one that had commenced fifteen minutes prior. Freed couldn't begin to guess what the two strangers would have to talk about for that long of a time, but he was glad Laxus at least wasn't alone.

Freed's plan of keeping his conversation with Yukino short hadn't worked out as well as he wanted. He'd exchanged pleasantries and made general inquiries that an actress would expect, all of which hadn't lasted too long. But, once that conversation had ended, someone else dragged him into a new one.

The longer Freed was forced to leave Laxus, the worse he felt.

He had kept an eye on the blonde. Lucy had, true to her word, kept Laxus company in his absence and probably explained why he hadn't yet returned. Her being there had been the only thing making him conform to the social niceties instead of abruptly ending the conversation and walking away without a further word.

Thankfully, he expected he'd be able to get away from the endless stream of conversation soon. He was talking with the director of Lucy's movie – someone Freed expected had been sent over to him as it gave him an easy way out of conversation – who seemed quite relaxed and uncaring for the social rules of being at such a party, so probably wouldn't care for a conversation ending suddenly. Freed couldn't remember the man's name, but he had gaudy pink hair and was wearing an equally gaudy red suit.

"Sorry, kinda got off track," The director grinned a little sheepishly. "So, what d'you do then?"

"I gamble a little," Freed said, turning back towards the other man. "Although, sometimes I wonder if that's an accurate title considering there's practically no risk in me losing."

"So you're a challenge then?" The director grinned widely. "Bet I could kick your ass. What d'you play? Poker? I'm king at poker."

"Well, if that's true then I'd quite enjoy dethroning you some time," Freed smirked.

The director started to talk about how that certainly wouldn't happen, in a short but light-hearted tirade in which he explained he wouldn't lose to anyone. Seeing as he seemed to be getting lost in what he was saying and that the conversation didn't particularly need another person at that point, Freed took the chance to look over his shoulder again to make sure Laxus was okay.

Lucy wasn't talking to him anymore. She had been dragged away and, by the forced smile she wore, wasn't enjoying the conversation she was in. Still at the table, Laxus was now alone and looked a little lost for a moment, before trying to hide it. Freed turned back to the director, stopping his small monologue.

"Well, if you're as good as you say you are, we'll have to play together some time," Freed interrupted, glad the other man didn't seem offended. "Lucy has my contact details, so ask her to set it up. If you'll excuse me?"

"Oh, 'course," He grinned. "I'm gonna hold you to that though."

Freed nodded and took the chance to leave before it left. He strode across the marble floor, walking at a pace that clearly showed anyone who saw him that he wasn't looking for conversation. His eyes were solely on Laxus, and he wore a small frown that got more obvious the closer he got.

Something had been a little off with Laxus all night. Even when Freed had arrived at Laxus' apartment, the blonde had seemed a little self-contained. It didn't make sense that he didn't want to come, both Laxus and Mirajane, when Freed had visited her bar, had assured him he was looking forward to it. As he got closer to his guest, he knew that he would have to find out what had happened if he wanted Laxus to enjoy his evening; or at least he would try to find out, if Laxus didn't want to talk about it, then he wouldn't push the matter.

"Hey," He greeted, Laxus looking up. "Sorry that took so long. I think they see me as a novelty, I'll try not to let it happen again."

"Nah, you don't need to worry about it," Laxus grinned, but Freed felt as though it was forced. He couldn't be sure. "Your friend kept me company anyway, so I had someone to talk to."

"I'm glad," Freed smiled, taking a seat beside Laxus. "What did you talk about?"

"Nothing much. I asked about her book. She asked how we know each other," Laxus shrugged a little.

Freed nodded and looked at Laxus with a small amount of concern in his eyes. If the situation were different, he would have just assumed that Laxus was annoyed at him for leaving him for as long as he did. But Laxus had been subtly caged off for all of the night but was acting as if he wasn't. It was obvious he had something on his mind, and that it was bothering him, even if he was trying not to let it affect him.

The gambler considered how he should broach the subject for a few moments. He watched as a waitress offered them both a drink, and when Laxus raised his hand in denial before hunching up again. Freed also refused the offer, politely, but decided that there was no point being subtle with the blonde.

"Is there something wrong, Laxus?" Freed said, somewhat quietly.

Laxus looked up, eyes a little wide below his mask. He obviously must have expected Freed not to have noticed his mood, or perhaps he'd simply hoped that Freed wouldn't have noticed. His expression wiped the shock away quickly, replacing it with a gentle grin.

"I'm fine," He said, voice forcing a jovial attitude.

"Please don't bullshit me, Laxus," At Freed's cuss, Laxus looked up from his lap. "If you don't want to talk about it, that's completely your choice and I won't push it. But, I don't want you to feel as though you can't be yourself around me."

The blonde was quiet for a moment, before sighing. "It ain't because I'm here, I'm actually enjoying it more than I thought. Its just that… it doesn't matter. Don't worry about it."

Freed didn't say anything immediately. He was glad to have his assumption of the party not being to blame for Laxus' mood confirmed, but that did bring up another problem. If the party wasn't to blame, it meant something else was, and it seemed as though Laxus wasn't in the mood to talk about it. That was fine, Freed wasn't going to push the issue, but he still wanted to make this an evening where Laxus could get away from his troubles.

"Would you like some air?" He offered, Laxus looking up. "And some privacy, perhaps."

"Privacy with the press?" Laxus joked a little. "Some air would be nice, though."

"Come with me."

Not leaving any space for arguing, Freed took Laxus' hand in his own and pulled him up. Laxus allowed himself to be dragged out of the wing he'd been taken to and into the main reception area. He was taken up the grand staircase until he was on the third floor. The lights still illuminated the building and it wasn't as if they'd ducked under a velvet rope, but Laxus half wondered if they were meant to be there as they were suddenly alone. He focused on this, rather than the fact he and Freed were holding hands, even if it was just because he was being dragged throughout a practically abandoned library.

Freed took him to the corner of the large room, where he opened an unlocked fire exit. They were met with a sudden blast of cold air and the sight of a tiny looking balcony with a steep set of metal stairs. Seemingly knowing where he was going, Freed released Laxus' hand and climbed the steep staircase. Laxus followed suit, shutting the door behind him.

After climbing the staircase, Laxus was shocked with what he saw. It was a rooftop garden place, fit with multiple flowerbeds, the flowers filling them halfway dead; benches scattered both near the edge and in the middle of the roof; and what looked like a water fountain, though it wasn't in use. He took a step forward, appreciating the area.

"Didn't know this place existed," Laxus said, walking towards Freed.

"Most people don't," Freed smiled. "It was meant to be an outdoor reading area but was opened in the middle of winter, so nobody wanted to come out. By the time the weather changed, almost everyone had forgotten about it, so they keep the main entrance locked up. The only reason we could get in is because they can't lock the fire exit."

Laxus nodded, looking around. He walked to the edge of the building, placing his hands on the waist high wall. The sky had gotten darker, meaning Magnolia was illuminated by streetlamps and buildings. Although Magnolia wasn't anywhere near the biggest or most grand city in the country, it had a damn good skyline. Laxus relaxed a little, the cold air a welcomed break from the stuffy library full of people.

Freed took a seat on a bench beside Laxus. He watched his guest with an unreadable expression, his ponytail slightly lifted by the wind. Perhaps it was wishful thinking, but Laxus seemed a little more relaxed. Maybe it was the change in environment, or maybe it was because he'd shown something was bothering him, but Freed was thankful for the change.

They sat in silence, allowing the sounds of the busy sitting to sooth them. Laxus continued to lean on the wall of the garden, and Freed waited to see if Laxus wanted to speak.

Eventually, Laxus moved. He pushed himself off from the wall and turned, walking to the small stone bench Freed was sitting on and joining him. He could still see the skyline of the city, could still hear the gentle clicking of cameras below them, still smell the slight aroma of the flowers that surrounded them. Laxus placed his hands behind him, leaning back and looking directly up at the sky. Freed watched him with a mixture of caution and curiosity. Silently, Laxus let out a long sigh and turned his head towards Freed.

"I was meant to meet my mother today," He sighed, making Freed frown.

"Okay," The gambler spoke softly. He'd immediately focused on the most important word in the statement. "Meant?"

"She didn't show," Laxus let out a spiteful laugh. "I don't know what I expected. Because this is what she does. She lets people down. She fucks you around and leaves you to deal with the consequences. I don't know why the fuck I thought that this time would be any different?"

Laxus' voice cracked a little at the end of the sentence, and Freed tried to hide the sympathy in his eyes. Laxus, despite the fact he was clearly hurting, seemed to have relaxed a little more at his exclamation. Freed expected that he would appreciate getting everything off of his chest, so the gambler remained quiet and allowed his friend to talk for as long as he needed.

"You know, I really did think she was different," He looked back up again. "I thought, why would she bother coming all this way to see me, why would she try and reconnect with me, if she wasn't serious? Y'know, I didn't think she'd do that kinda shit if she wasn't serious. And now, honestly, I can't shake the feeling that it's me that's done something wrong."

"You haven't," Freed said with force. "Trust me, this is not your fault."

"Then why the hell didn't she come?" Laxus' voice cracked again, and he looked Freed with tears forming in his eyes. "What the hell changed? Two weeks ago, she was talking about how much she wanted to get to know me again. About how she realised she was wrong and wanted to make it up with me. What the fuck happened, because against every fucking bit of logic that was screaming at me, I was gonna try and make something with her. And she fucks me around again. So, either she's just some twisted bitch who enjoyed hurting me, or…"

Laxus let out a groan of frustration and looked back up again. Freed could see his hands screw up and his muscles clench.

"Or she realised she was better off without me after she saw me." He finished, voice almost fragile.

Freed couldn't think of the words that would make Laxus feel any better. He wished he had them, but just didn't know what they were. He couldn't assure Laxus that he was wrong about Sophia's reasoning, because he didn't know what had changed the woman's mind. He didn't know anything, other than Laxus was desperately hurting and it wasn't getting any better.

Without saying a word, Freed carefully placed a hand on Laxus' clenched fist. Although it didn't seem to calm the blonde, Freed wasn't batted away, so gently squeezed his hand. He hoped the small contact did something to sooth Laxus, if only a little.

"I'm sorry," Freed whispered.

"It's just- it's just shit," Laxus' voice was equally as quiet. "I mean, I just don't get why it happened to me. Why did I get stuck with a mother who fucks off and leaves me whenever I need her, or an alcoholic bastard of a father who can't keep out of fucking prison! Why is it that, when my life finally starts to get fucking good, I just get shit on again!"

He was yelling by the end of the sentence, and Freed could feel Laxus' fist clench tighter still. The gambler turned completely so that he was looking at Laxus, who still had his head tilted back and was looking at the sky.

"Laxus, I know you might not believe me, but I want you to listen," Freed spoke softly. Laxus remained quiet. "You haven't done anything wrong. You're not to blame for anything that's happened to you. And, even if it seems like life does seem to shit on you, you are still a good person and you certainly deserve better than what you get."

Laxus didn't reply, but Freed could feel his hand unclench slightly and saw his muscles relax. He let his head droop a little, chest heaving slightly but he seemed a little calmer. Freed carefully stroked Laxus' fist with his thumb, again getting no obvious rejection that would cause him to stop.

Silence fell between them again, and the calm atmosphere relaxed them both. Freed continued to gently stroke Laxus' fist, and they both looked over the Magnolia Skyline. The sound of cars passing by remained, as did the clicking of cameras from below them. Life continued on around them, but for the two men, the world was simply the roof. Simply one another.

"Sorry for exploding on you," Laxus said softly, looking towards Freed again. "You're one of the good things going on for me right now, I shouldn't have done that."

"I don't care," Freed said immediately. "I'm your friend, do it any time you need."

"Thanks," Laxus nodded. "And thanks for what you said. Hell, maybe I'll believe you one day."

"I hope you do," Freed whispered.

Laxus smiled softly, not moving his gaze away from Freed's face. They were closer than he thought, but that didn't matter. He was sure in his mind now, Freed was his future. At their closeness, he could feel the cold exhales of breath coming from Freed's lips and gently colliding with his own. He didn't care, he was going to experience every damn aspect of the other man.

His eyes slowly roamed across Freed's features. He took in his soft expression, the gentle look in his eyes, the angular and sharp features of his face. His gaze eventually settled on the man's lips, soft looking and inviting, before flickering back to Freed's eyes.

They were so close.

He seemed to be acting on instinct. He raised his hand – the same hand Freed had been stroking moments ago – and carefully cupped one of Freed's cheeks. Freed glanced at it but said nothing before reigniting eye contact. The soft skin of Freed's face sent tingles up Laxus' arm, the same tingles he hadn't realised had occurred each time their hands had connected. He tentatively stroked the man's cheek with his thumb, again Freed did nothing to stop him. In fact, his eyes seemed to soften slightly.

Freed was right. He deserved better than what he got. He deserved this. He deserved Freed.

Slowly and almost cautiously, he tilted his head and leant forward a little. He could see Freed practically mirror the action, sending a rush of exhilaration and bravery throughout the entirety of his body. He allowed his eyes to close, missing Freed doing the same. He continued to lean forward, putting himself in fate's grasp.

A second later, their lips were connected in a soft, needed kiss.

And so it begins. I really hope you all enjoyed this chapter, it was really fun to write. Also, i mentioned a lot of things in this chapter that i had reference pictures for, so you can see them below if you want. I hope you enjoy ^.^

#fraxus #freed justine #Laxus Dreyar #Ft: Gamblers Luck #freed x laxus #fanfic #fairy tail

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meshugana1 · 6 years

Note

Could you turn me into an attractive maid? My friends keep making fun of me about how I'm single because of my looks, my shy and timid personality. Plus, I need a job to pay off a bunch of debts.

My breath grew cold and heavy in my lungs like I had inhaled a block of ice. The center of the room felt like it was dangerous all of a sudden and every cell in my body screamed for me to avoid it. I couldn’t though, this was about personal growth. I wanted to slap myself but that would look really weird. Come on, come on, you can do this Jack. You’re the man, this is easy as pie. The scene played out before me. I had unconsciously crossed my arms as a woman asked a seated man about airfare to the Bermuda triangle. “What do ya want air rates for? We don’t even know if there’s no airports there anyway,” the travel agent said.“Well yes but ships always go missing in there,” she said.“Yeah, but we at least know there’s a couple docks so it’s probably safer.”“Probably? How often do ships go missing there?”“All the time. Every ship we send never comes back.” Come on Jack, jump in.“If no ships ever come back how does your company have such positive reviews?”“Well, no one’s come back to give us a bad one.” The crowd surrounding the pair chuckle and laugh, all but me. I’m still too nervous, a million lines and ideas are all competing in my head and it’s all too much. I’m sure a vein is throbbing somewhere in my head.

“Hey man, I thought you said you’d get up there tonight? I’m bummed I didn’t get to see you freeze up in front of everybody,” Alan said. He was the lovable asshole that first suggested I come with him to his improve class to ‘break out of my shell’. I was perfectly fine in it, but it still got lonely. It was over nine years since my last girlfriend, and I’m not even sure how that one happened. “Sorry, I just got a little sidetracked thinking of what to say,” I said as I popped two Tylenol to squash the headache I gave myself. “That’s the fuckin problem dude, you don’t have to think in improve. You just do, ya know?” I didn’t know in fact. I can’t remember the last time I didn’t take a weekend off to plan out all the conversations I was going to have the following week. I was always just so scared of saying the wrong thing. “I’ll try better next time, I need to get to my night job or that dick boss of mine is gonna fire me.”“Ya know, I’ve heard you call him dick, asshole, fuckhead, motherfucker, cocksucker, pissant, and douce, but I don’t think I heard his name yet.”“Yeah, I may not like it but I really need the money. I have those student loans I took out remember?” This made Alan laugh, way harder than I thought was necessary. “Oh yeah, you were all set for a law degree and you got kicked out like the first day cause you called some woman ‘the most fuckable MILF you ever saw’.”“Yeah.”“And who did she turn out to be, again?”“The dean, alright? She was the dean.” Alan laughed so hard I thought he was actually choking. Part of me wished he would.

I waited for Alan to recompose himself, he was the only one of us who could afford a car. I scanned the dimly lit hallway of the rec center. Looking for anything that could take my mind off my friend’s enjoyment of my situation. I saw a worn out cork board on the opposite wall lined with various ads. Better than listening to him choke on my misery. One said there was a snowmobile trailer in like new condition for sale, only $8500. Another advertised an old woman’s piano class, three times a week for only ten dollars a lesson. That was actually pretty good. A bright pink one hidden beneath a wanted poster from 1993 proclaimed the need for a groundskeeper at a country estate and offered to pay a hundred dollars an hour plus room and board. “What!?”

A hundred friggin dollars an hour? I work a total eighteen hours a day between both my jobs and I barely bring home three hundred a week! “What’s wrong?” Alan said.“This lady want’s to pay someone a hundred dollars an hour to mow her lawn and stuff!”“No way, let me see,” Alan said grabbing the flyer from me. “Oh dude, that’s that old Haderly place like five miles outside town.”“So?”“Dude, she like a shut-in. But from what I hear she’s a total babe and makes all her money from doing cam shows online. No way you can work for a woman like that.”“Wow, I’m not used to hearing you so mature Alan.”“What? No, you can’t work for her cause you’re shy, short, and um, a homely guy. She’s not gonna want to hire you. She probably wants some super stud around to ogle at and get her in the mood. Sounds like a job for me!” Now it was my turn to laugh. He might have had a little nugget of a point, but he wasn’t exactly much better looking than me.“Don’t you dare. If anyone needs this job I do. You make plenty of money at your job.”“Not a hundred fucking dollars an hour. Don’t worry, when I’m loaded and she and I start dating we’ll let you live in the attic or something,” he said with a smile.

It was an expensive Uber ride out to the property, but one hours wages from this lady would pay it back and more. It was early, the sunrise only just began to blind me as I walked down the path to the house. My fingers traced along the flyer as I walk, I would have called but there was no phone number on it, just this address. The air was so clean and filled with moisture I could hardly believe it. And the yard was nothing less than colossal. I had no idea there were even yards like this in the area. It looked like you had to measure it in acres. It took me nearly thirty minutes to walk it straight down the middle, no wonder the salary was so high, this was a full-time job. I was finally close enough to make out the detail on the ornate wooden doors when I saw another door at the side of the house open wide and a man stepped out. He was huge, built like a brick house and wore a really tight white shirt and jeans combo. He raised a Panama hat to his head and looked over the property with a steely gaze. Was this guy the lady’s husband? Not a second later did he reach back and grab a shovel and rake from the same doorway. Oh shit, was he a groundskeeper? Am I too late? Fuck, no wait. This place is huge, maybe she needs two? Oh please god need two, the ride back is gonna kill my wallet.

The closer I get the more beautiful the house looks. This might actually be an old plantation home. That would make sense given the size of the yard. I can tell it’s solidly built as I step on the porch. Not a single creak or grown from the wood at all. I take a second before I knock on the door to check my appearance. My shirt is tucked, my shoes are clean, and my hair feels good. Ok, you’ve reversed this a hundred times since last night. Knock on the door, she answers. I say hello and offer a handshake, not too firm. We exchange names, I ask about the job. She asks my qualifications, can’t be too complicated for yard work. She either says yes or no, shake hands again and say thank you. Then I go home and wait for the call. Easy. I turn to knock on the door only find it already open, with a very beautiful woman laying against the doorframe.

“And how can I help you young man?” she said. Her hair was a light brown color, accented with thin streaks of white. Her face looked beautiful despite light evidence of aging. He skin was still tight, but there was the odd wrinkle here and there. She wore a burgundy silk robe that failed completely at masking her impressive figure. Her hips made waves in her robe as they rested on the bawdy flesh. She looked like an ex-playboy bunny. “Young man? How can I help you?” she said. I hadn’t realized but her sudden appearance had thrown me off. “Oh, um, well,” I said. I fumbled with my hands trying to produce the slip for her. “I, well I was hoping that you could maybe hire me as a gardener. I mean the groundskeeper job,” oh god. I totally fucked this up. She had a questioning look on her face as she grabbed the flyer. “Well first off if you’re begging for a job you should probably lead with your name.”“Right, it’s Jack. I mean I’m Jack,” goddamnit Jack, you totally fucked up.“Thank you, Jack, my name is Irene Haderly. Secondly, I’m sorry to say that I filled that position over two years ago. This is just an old flyer, you probably already saw my groundskeeper, Samson, this morning. He’s more than enough for the property. What I really need right now is a maid. My last one quit about a month ago and it kills my knees cleaning this place by myself. So unless you want that job I can’t really help you.”

I knew it was too good to be true. I never catch any breaks, I’m gonna be in debt for the rest of my goddamn life. But as she turned her back to me I felt this little ball of white-hot anger in my stomach grow. I was pissed at everything. My shitty apartment, my negative bank account, my stupid shyness, and it just sort of exploded. “Does the maid job pay just as well?!” I said. God, even angry I’m pathetic. But my whiny ejaculation seemed to peak her interest. “It does, actually. Even better, one-fifty an hour plus room and board. You would be expected to live here while you’re employed by me, and there is an appearance code that needs to be followed, are you up for that?” It was even better than I hoped, except for the appearance code. “Um, you’re not going to make me crossdress, are you?” Hell for that much money I wouldn’t even mind. “No, no. Nothing like that. You would, of course, need to sign an agreement, I lose maids so often I would just feel better if you made a commitment to working and living here. Would six months be alright with you?” Six months? At one-fifty an hour? With no expenses? “Could we make it a year? That sounds great!”

I followed her inside and boy it looked awesome. It was the first time in my life I had an occasion to use the word opulence. I followed her down a naturally lit hallway, the sunlight blinding me on more than one occasion until we reached her office. She removed a simple looking brass key from her robe, it looked kinda heavy but I don’t remember seeing its outline in her clothing. “Now, other than tending to your duties, the only rule of the house is that you are never allowed in this office unless accompanied by me. Is that clear?”“Yes, ma’am.” That’s a pretty easy rule to follow. She handed me a fairly wordy looking piece of paper and told him where to sign. I had finally dotted the last I and crossed the last T, “Alright, ma’am, I think I’m done.” She smiled in a very loving way. “Perfect, now we just need to get your appearance up to snuff, follow me,” she said. This was the most nerve-wracking part. Was she actually going to make me crossdress? She said no but the thought was still chipping away at me.

I was both happy and confused when she lead me instead of her closet to a side room in her office. It looked like a pantry filled with mason jars. It looked like they were filled with various spices, maybe she made her money with some artisanal spice company. But why bring me here? She looked like she carefully considered each jar, then she reached up and grabbed a small one and dumped the contents into her hand. She brought her hands together and rubbed the spice into her hands repeatedly. She brought her hands close to her mouth as she rubbed and it seemed like she was whispering into it. “Now, this is going to feel a little weird but don’t worry, it won’t hurt a bit.”

What? She lifted her palm to my face and blew the dusty spice in my face before I could ask what she meant. I coughed violently as the powder flew down my throat and into my eyes. “What the hell was that!?” I said trying to rub the powder from my face, oddly enough though, she was right in that it didn’t hurt at all. “Sorry, I thought you read the contract? This was all explicitly stated.” I was about to tell her that nothing in there said anything about getting sand blown in my face, but all that came out was slurred speech. My knees were getting weak too. I didn’t feel any pain at all. But it was like I could feel the little bits of powder burrowing into my body. My vision got really fuzzy but I could feel everything so much clearer. I could feel really big, powerful hands grab my shoulder and cradle me in even more powerful arms. I knew we were walking but I didn’t know where until I was placed on a bed. It felt like little tacks all over my body just scratching the surface of my skin. It was heavenly.

My whole body felt like the head of my dick when I masturbated. I tried to reach down for my cock but my whole body felt like jelly. Then after what felt like an eternity, it started to die down. I could finally feel how heavy I was breathing and it was like a had weights on my chest. My back was arched somewhat awkwardly too, but overall I just felt a bit out of sorts. My vision was still cloudy, like my contact lenses had fallen out. Without them, I could barely see a foot in front of my face, but I could make out the shapes of two people on the opposite side of the room. One was Ms. Haderly, but the other one took a little thinking before I could recognize Samson’s broad shoulders. “Finally awake I see, well good. You woke up a lot faster than some of the others.”“Woke up? Did you drug me or something? This isn’t some kinda kinky snuff thing you have right? Please tell me it’s not.”“Don’t be silly, you just had to be altered to fit the appearance requirement, and you turned out pretty great too If I do say so myself.” What was she talking about, turned out great? Oh shit, this was totally like the human centipede. In a moment of cinema-induced paranoia, I reached a hand behind me and, for a brief moment, fully expected to feel the face of some other poor guy who got caught in her trap. I did end up grabbing a lot more flesh than I usually did, but it wasn’t someone else’s face.

It was my own ass, but it felt gigantic. My bottom was, at its apex, a boney little thing that only by the most generous definitions could be called an ass. This thing I had my hand digging into though, this was a real ass. It was curved, meaty, springy and pretty responsive to touch. I could feel the blood rushing all sorts of places as I fondled my way to understanding. Unconsciously my thighs rubbed together, and when they did I noticed a distinct lack of testicular pressure when I did that though. I wasn’t alone in the room but I really had to be sure. With my free hand I reach to my crotch I closed my eyes and uttered one last prayer and tried to grab my dick. Instead, my palm slaps into a flat, slick, cleft.

I’m not some super macho guy, so being emasculated wasn’t exactly earth-shattering to me but who wouldn’t start freaking out after losing something so important? Other than my ass and my chest my body felt so light and wispy. I felt a rising nervous energy in my toes and I started bouncing on my heels. Ms. Haderly moved to my side quickly. “Now I know this is a shock, I would be pretty flustered too. But let me just explain what’s going on, okay? Samson, why don’t you leave us to some girl time?” He didn’t say anything as he turned around and left. I still teetered on the edge of a meltdown, but if she did this to me she was the only one who could undo it. So I just listened.

“You have probably guessed already but I’m something like a witch. And you may not believe me but this was all spelled out in that contract, and I wasn’t kidding about the pay scale. Every hour you live here you’ll make one-hundred and fifty dollars, now a young guy like you probably needs cash like that. And this is only for a year. Now do the math, 24 hours a day at one-fifty an hour, you’ll be a millionaire by then.” That stopped me in my tracks. That was so much money it was crazy. “Why do I have to be a girl though?” “That’s just the way the magic works. Aside from the looks, which are much improved by the way, it also comes with the knowledge of how to execute your duties. That and, well let’s just say the job comes with some really great benefits,” she said. Her nails glided along my thigh, and her hand reached and grabbed what I assumed to be one of my breasts. I hope that’s what it was because I still couldn’t see well, and they felt amazing to be held. She moved in closer and kissed me. Her much larger chest pressed into mine and her tongue darted around my mouth. When she separated I didn’t need my glasses to make out the sultry face she was giving me as she licked her lips. “So, what do you think?”

She led me to my room a half an hour later, it was towards the front of the house on its left side. The room was directly beside Samson’s it seemed. When I stepped in, from what little I could make out, it was huge. It looked bigger than my crappy studio by three times. She guided me over to a bed and for a second I thought we were going to resume what she started upstairs, but instead, she told me to get dressed and start going through the list of chores. I suppose I shouldn’t be too surprised by the uniform she wanted me to wear. It looked like a sexy french maid’s costume, but the thing I was excited about was the glasses on top of the pile of silky clothes. I wasted no time or thought in putting them on, and oddly enough they were my exact prescription. The room instantly became clear and I took in its full rustic splendor. A room like this in the city would cost no less than six thousand a month, and it was mine for just the cost of my cock and balls.

I was nervous as I crept into the hallway in my new uniform, but not nearly as much as I expected or was accustomed to. This was the most flesh I had ever had exposed while still being dressed. My legs were encased in the thinnest white fabric stockings I could have imagined. The air passed right through and stroked my legs as if they were naked. My heels actually confused me in his easy I took to walking in them. They were over five inches tall, and at first glance, I had no idea how I could walk in them without undergoing training. But as my feet slipped into them it felt just like riding a bicycle, and not once did I even buckle in the slightest. The bra and panties went on in much the same way, but the feel of the silk underwear still caused a blush across my body. They were tight and the panties clung to my new sex, creating a slight camel toe. The bra seemed like it was intended to make my, really rather impressive, chest pop and call attention to itself. There I stood, dressed only in my new underwear and heels, like a lot of porn I had watched, with a chest that begged to be touched. I really wanted to, like really really. But Ms. Haderly had given me a list of chores to get to, and if she could do this to me to help my work go easier, then I really didn’t want to picture what she could do when she was mad.

My incredibly short skirt bounced as I walked the halls and cleaned the rooms, with a feather duster no less. The house was kept mostly immaculate and only required light upkeep. Still, the house was large and the sun was setting by the time I had finished. I had been required to make Ms. Haderly both lunch and dinner, now I hadn’t made much more than Kraft mac n’ cheese for the last few years, but as I entered the kitchen I flitted about like a master chef. Before I knew it I had made her a hearty seafood salad for lunch, and that evening I made her a two-course meal, a simple Caprese salad and a roast beef for the main course. She even praised the meal, saying it was simply delicious. I had no idea magic could make someone so effective at something so complicated.

Not only the cooking was different, but I seemed to have an intimate knowledge of the layout of the house, and my own timetable, and well…I seemed to just do everything in the sexiest possible way. I don’t think I ever bent my knees once the whole day, always at the waist and displaying my round ass to whoever was lucky enough to be behind me. My walk was punctuated with a side to side thrust of my hips with every step. Whenever I was in Ms. Haderly’s presence I always had my hands clasped in front of my stomach, which squeezed my breasts together making them look even larger. Honestly, I didn’t mind as much as I would’ve as a guy. I wasn’t good looking, not hardly, but now I was hot. Like really hot, and I kinda loved flaunting it. The sun was finally gone and as I returned to my sizable room, I ran into the groundskeeper Samson as he returned to his.

I had never actually been introduced to him. A few times I saw him through the windows as I cleaned them, he mostly didn’t wear a shirt all day. That was concerning me. Normally I would be jealous of his intense physical fitness, he was as big as Schwarzenegger and as toned as Bruce Lee. I was jealous that I didn’t have his body, just not in the way I normally would be. He still didn’t have a shirt on and his body glistened with sweat and his tanned chest and face were planted with small, light patches of dirt and dust. “Oh, nice to see you awake. I’m Samson. So I guess you’re staying then?” he says. His rock solid arm reaches up and rubs the back of his neck. His body is so toned I can see each individual muscle move when he shifts his weight. “Y..yeah, it’s really good money, ya know?” My thighs rubbed together absentmindedly, feeling much hotter than I thought they should. “Yeah, that’s what drew me here a few years ago. What was your name again?” he said.“It’s Jack, but you can call me Jaclyn if you think it sounds better,” I said, blushing harder than I had for a long time. “That’s a pretty name, suits you much better now. It’ll take some getting used to though believe me,” he said.“Wait, did she…?” I said.“Yup, two years ago. My name was Samantha, if you can believe it,” he said. I very easily could. I moved my hands behind my back and took a few steps forward, hips rolling with each step. “So, did she change everything on you too?”

Not five minutes later I was thrown on my bed as he used his powerful muscles to strip me bare. I undid his denim jeans with my teeth and his hard cock slapped against my face, the heat of his solid manhood made my glasses fog up. We were just about to get into it when we heard a that clear near the door. It was Ms. Haderly, dressed in the same robe from this morning. I was horny as hell but nervous, terrified I had broken some unknown rule. “You naughty, little servants should know better. You need to wait for your mistress before getting started.” She stepped forward and her robe slid off revealing her still tight and erotic naked body. She joined me on the bed and began to lick and tease Samson’s cock. Her hand was pawing at my supple ass. It was then that I had made up my mind, this was the best job ever.

The end. Hope Y’all like it!

#gender-bender #male to female #MTF #maid tf #request

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