#i just imagine amber digging him up and when he pops out she's just like | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

lil-smutier · 2 years

Text

• Movie Night with MatsuHana •

You were both watching a movie, (a Disney one, Mattsun had decided to pick it.) however, due to covid-related travel restrictions; you couldn’t physically head over to Miyagi from Tokyo to visit your boyfriend, instead, you both were having a movie date online instead.

It wasn’t like you weren’t a fan of Disney movies, there were plenty of them that had managed to land a spot on your ‘favourites list’, - including Onwards, which Issei often made fun of - but… you couldn’t help but crave your date’s touch, having been depraved from those gentle head-pats and fleeting kisses due to this stupid pandemic. Frustration being your main drive, you decided to take a risk for once, quietly shuffling in your desk chair so that your lower half was at least somewhat hidden from view. Your eyes flicker over to the screen of black hair ruffled from a shower he took a little earlier, drifting down to his hooded eyes to try and confirm that he was focused on the movie.

Once you were sure of it, you took your chance, slipping a hand down between the inner part of your pants and the outside of your panties, the lace and fabric only aiding the slow, teasing circles you rubbed into your clit. A new character popped up onto the screen as you slipped a finger into your cunt, saving you the embarrassment from your sudden gasp, “Doll? You alright?” The low timbre of your boyfriend’s voice sounded through your headphones. You nod, swallowing once, then twice before replying to him, “Y-yeah, just surprised that this character was in th…this….movie.” you honestly don’t know what triggered you to even try moving your hand while speaking, but you supposed that it was the thrill of getting caught that turned you on even more.

How would Mattsun react?

Would he be upset that you interrupted your movie date?

….would he help you out?

Feeling your cheeks flame at the thought, it only spurred on your naughty intentions, fingers pumping in and out at a more rapid pace the more you imagined the consequences you would have to face if you were caught:

The movie stops suddenly, no more audio filing through your headset as you freeze, wrist coming to a quiet stop as you slowly and guilty turn to face the camera; knowing very well now that Issei is looking at you, and not watching the movie he was previously. Had you been making too much noise? “______? Are you still with me?” You squeak, the sound dying in your throat before you slowly drop your chin to the base of your throat, cautiously raising it again, speaking shakily, “Yeah…Yeah! I am Issei, wh-what’s wrong…?” your lover gives a thoughtful hum.

“Oh, nothing’s wrong doll. It just seems that you’re having more fun doing something…else.”

You swear his voice dropped a couple octaves, the tone smooth like silk sliding off a metal board, he moves too, readjusting himself so he’s leaning against the edges of his thighs, elbows digging into the flesh of it while his fingers weave together to hide a sinful smirk. “You really think I didn’t notice your glossed over look Doll? You’re so out of it, I’m not even there or doing anything…don’t tell me Disney gets you going?” He’s teasing, you note grumpily, wondering if you should just turn around and get back to business without showing him anything when he starts speaking again, “Little slut— you couldn’t wait to ask me for permission before playing with your cute little cunt hm? I bet you’re already soaking from how long you’ve been going at it.”

You’re silent, too stubborn to let him win, but also too stubborn to fight back and deny whatever he just said. The taunts keep coming, “What’s wrong? Can’t handle it already? Or can you not cum without me Doll? You need my large cock in that tight cunt of yours, squeezing me ‘till I have no choice but to fill you up—“

The abrupt, sharp ‘ding!~’ of your laptop snaps you out of your daydream. Hanamaki Takahiro - yours and Issei’s best friend since you three were first years in highschool - had joined the call too, bullshitting about how he was bored, (without work again) and with literally nothing better to do, he decided to join your movie night. It didn’t exactly bother you that Makki tagged along as a third-wheel during your movie nights; Mattsun wasn’t one for PDA, and neither were you - usually - so it didn’t feel like he was butting in, or awkwardly standing in the middle of anything. Plus, it wasn’t the first time he invited himself, the first had been when a girlfriend dumped him, leaving him to need a recharge with a comedy movie….but that’s a story for another time.

The problem right now was that you were three fingers deep in your dripping cunt, and you couldn’t just edge yourself because of terrible timing. Luckily, your date had not seemed to notice the heavy blush on your cheeks all the way down to your neck, nor did he notice the wide eyed, glassy look you directed to the strawberry blonde when you exchanged greetings. You were in a dilemma: on one hand, it would be extremely risky to try and finish yourself off when your boyfriend’s (and your) best friend was also in the call, but on the other hand, if your own date didn’t notice what you were up to up until this point, why would Makki? Hell— Issei knows what you look like when you’re cumming stupidly on his cock and he didn’t sense anything up with you; what made you think Hiro would??

It’s been going on for a good 5 to 10 minutes now, fingers still pumping in and out of you slowly, teasingly, so you wouldn’t alert the two men with your noises or vigorous movements. You weren’t really paying attention to the movie anymore, - more focused on cumming so hard on your fingers that you go blind for a bit - but it must’ve been a pretty interesting scene, Makki was smiling and smirking for a long while now.

Eventually, the movie was paused, not because of you, but because a certain ravenette had to go to the bathroom during the 1 hour mark. You sighed heavily into your microphone, tired of having to edge yourself for so long because you couldn’t reach that speed that made you go wild without drawing attention to yourself. A throat being cleared directed your attention back onto the remaining man relaxing in his chair, gaze so intense that you swear you could feel it burning into you, even through the computer screen. “Are you going to tell him, _________?” You swallow, moving to remove your hand when he clicks his tongue, halting your movements, “You just need to answer my question Princess.” the command was smooth, disguised by a charmingly predatory smirk and pretty petname.

“Makki I— “ you hesitate briefly, “I don’t know what you’re talking about—“

“Oh you don’t?” The response was quick and cynical, a small huff of laughter following with his next words, “So if you lift your hand and show it to the camera right now, I won’t see it covered in slick?”

An involuntary shiver runs down your spine as his torment, and you shake your head shyly in silence; not trusting your voice anymore at this moment in time. “Oh?” The thought is airy, floating within the thick walls of tension that you both have seemed to build through the digital screens in front of either of you… that airiness is shot down like a dart to a balloon in a second when the distant sound of an toilet flush and door closing echo through your room and head, as your boyfriend waltzes back over to slip on his headset, a new message pops up in your chat icon:

‘If you don’t tell him now, I will.’

You panic minutely, using your clean hand to do the quietest keyboard smash you think you’ve ever achieved as you send back distressed emails to Makki about how he wouldn’t, and that you will tell him. ‘I will! I promise.’ You notice the aforementioned male’s eyes dart downwards before back up at the movie, - now playing again - with a smug smile. A thought ran through your mind, technically, Makki wouldn’t actually know if you told Issei what you were up to right? It wasn’t like he was going to be upfront about it and ask him, - there were still lines even best friends wouldn’t cross - so what was the harm in keeping this little secret.

Hanamaki, apparently.

Another message appeared into your chat box, the words italicised and bolded: ‘Time’s ticking Princess~’ you barely had time to stop your mouth from dropping to your desk in shock, what the fuck?? ‘How do you know I didn’t tell him?’ Why did you challenge him… you chastised yourself mentally, having not forgotten the taller's sadistic streak when it came to dealing with you and bets or challenges. At first, thankfully, he didn’t seem to say anything, just cocking a playful eyebrow while reading your message; no response came in either, and you weren’t sure whether you should’ve felt relived or terrified that he was up to something.

Around another half hour passes and you’re almost whining into your headset, no, you hadn’t stopped yet; even considering the silent threat the bored male had posed, it was an all or nothing in your mind, either that or it could end up in something sexy. Hand still moving as frantically as it could without being too out of the ordinary, you begin to shift uncomfortably here and there, the ache in your wrist finally seeming to outdo the pleasure with your position. Then, everything stops. It’s quiet through your headphones; the deafening sound locking you in place with horror filling your features, “Doll?” the sound is low, but sure, and you have to physically force your eyes to meet your boyfriend’s, who’s so graciously eyeing you like you’re his favourite meal at a buffet.

Unable to stop yourself, your eyes then dart to your best friend, looking like he’s about to explode into chuckles and giggles at your stunned expression. “Focus on me.” Sensing you were started to fall into that cloudy haze you both enjoyed thoroughly, Issei spoke, the tone more of a stern statement rather than a demand of sorts. Swallowing, you nod obediently, making your eyes meet again before opening your mouth to speak, only to be cut off - “I put on this movie so we could enjoy our time together, but I suppose I have been neglecting you otherwise hm?” at that, you hear (and frown at) Makki choking on a laugh, rushing to mute himself while he burst out into hysteria.

Mattsun squinted briefly at his best friend, choosing not to comment on the sudden break in tension when he saw how your shoulders eased at the laugh too. Maybe he too, was too pent up from not being able to touch you for about 4 months in a row now… your voice pulled him out of his thoughts, the sound soft and shy, “M-Makki told you..?” Ah. So she knew, the curly-haired male groaned, you knew — you knew Makki was watching you, and yet you still went on teasing yourself with those tiny fingers of yours. He honestly didn’t know why he was so aroused by that; a lazy nod answering you while his view drifted back to his best friend’s who’d seemed to have calmed down, unmuted and now just staring (whether it was back at him, or at your now unmoving hand, he wasn’t quite sure).

“B-but—“

“I told you I would do it Princess,” the latter smiled, “you should’ve just been a good girl and told Mattsun yourself yeah?”

The words hit you like a train, causing your body to jolt in a heartbeat as your insides clenched around your curled fingers while you reached your orgasm. You swear you could’ve gone blind at how hard you came, but that idea was shot down when you blinked away the tears to see a now very flushed Makki and a very, very sly Mattsun. Both men sported a tent in their sweatpants at your sensitivity, and the pink-haired male’s humour and sarcasm from earlier had faded into something more hungry, wanting. Hiro was the first to break the ice, cursing and scoffing with both pride and surprise, “Shit— you really are a little slut for Issei huh, want to be a good little girl for him,” he calculated his next words, watching your boyfriend’s expression carefully, “be a good girl for us?” to all three of your surprises… Mattsun swore.

God forbid that your sweet and pure exterior was tainted by him already, but letting Makki in on this night might really be a treat for both him and you, if all of your reactions were anything to go by. He knew that either of you were aware that his vulgarity was more towards the fact that he was growing progressively more turned on than wanting the situation to stop. Closing the tab showing the movie, he pulled out his cock, eyelids fluttering at the sudden cold that hit it when it was exposed to the air; waiting for the other to do the same before passing another order to you to readjust yourself so your entire body was in frame for them to leer at.

You were flushed, toes wiggling as you tried to balance your legs over the armrests, thighs hanging awkwardly over them as your shining cunt was on display - fingers still in it too, Hiro murmured to himself, nearly salivating at how you were still twitching and clenching down on them even though a few minutes had passed since your first orgasm. “Is she sensitive?” He asked before he could stop himself, earning a huff of breath from his schoolmate, “Yeah, very. Won’t you show him Doll?” you knew better than to deny your boyfriend, especially when your mind was getting too clouded at the promise of more, more, more. Your hand began thrusting again, this time with proper speed, the wet sounds of exit and enter being picked up by your microphone along with high pitched whines and whimpers that managed to sneak their way through as well. It didn’t take you long this time to reach your limit, that coil snapping in you within minutes from the heavy gazes of the two men in front of you as your release continued to drench your fingers until they created a sticky translucent web when you spread them to the camera.

“F-fuck—“

You’re not quite sure who that sound came from, if you were being honest; your mind too far gone with post-orgasmic haze to really focus on the two men jacking themselves off to your lewdness. “You like being a little slut Doll? Like putting on a show for Makki?” A loud whine rips it’s way out of your throat in response, brain too mushy to actually form proper sentences right now, but thankfully, your friend replies for you, “Bet you she does Mattsun, look at her, we don’t even have to be there to fuck her stupid, ain’t that right Princess—“ he cuts himself off with a sharp inhale when he flicks his wrist just right, moaning when you give a sudden outburst of babbles about “Yes! Yes!” And “Wan’ to take you and Hiro together ‘Sei—“ Matsukawa swears he can hear the blood rushing through his head with how hard he is right now, twisting his wrist and swiping the head of his cock with his thumb as he nods dumbly along to your words, agreeing that he’d do that, yes, he’d give you the world if it would make you happy.

Through the fog, you can hear Makki mumbling to himself too, about how good you’re gonna be for them, about how hard you’re making him right now. All the while you’re still pumping your hand, you don’t really remember when you started moving again, but you feel something break in you, thighs threatening to shut close as they pull at the armrests you precariously flung them across. And then you’re squirting, the near transparent liquid flowing out of you in spurts as you nearly shriek and pant, thrashing violently in your seat while yanking your fingers out of your twitching cunt; body trembling from the exertion. You hear a litany of “o-oh fuuuuck… shitshitshit—!” before white covers Makki’s chest, still clad in the dull grey hoodie he had not taken off in his haste; grunts echo from Issei’s call too, his voice cracking once, twice, before he too cums into his hand and on his keyboard.

All of you are panting, chests heaving as you try to get your breaths back from such intense orgasms. When you do, you start giggling, still high off the haze while you look at your camera with a gleeful smile on your face, “Wha..what?” Issei chuckles too, wanting nothing but to reach out and stroke your cheek for being so, so good to them. “Nothing, just happy, aren’t you glad I didn’t say anything now Makki?” A pair of grey eyes meet yours, delighted at your question, “Definitely…fuck,” he laughs, looking down at the now dried release on his sweatshirt, “we should really do this again, when we’re all together.”

“Sure, if you’re up for it Doll? Think you can live up to what you promised?”

“Of course ‘Sei.”

#hanamaki smut #hanamaki takahiro #hanamaki x reader #matsukawa issei #matsukawa smut #matsukawa x reader #mattsun #makki #makki smut #mattsun smut #Spotify

40 notes · View notes

zukoszukhoes · 4 years

Text

Don’t Speak- Zuko x Reader

// Soulmate au- Zuko x reader

// summary: In the Fire Nation, when you turn 16, the first words your soulmate will say to you appear on your wrist. Just after y/n’s 17th birthday, they don’t think they’ll ever find their soulmate. Until a certain prince, back from his banishment, comes to stay at their family’s estate on holiday. Suddenly, y/n is faced with a complicated problem; after all, what do you do when your soulmate is the crown prince of the nation you hate?

//part 2 here

//warnings: none, just some angst and a little threatening

// (Y/M/N)= your mother’s name

“(Y/n), the royal procession is here! Come quickly!” The head maid, Lotty, cried into your room.

Shit! You thought, lurching up from your bed. You’d gotten so engrossed in your book you’d forgetting to keep track of time. And now your hair was a mess, your clothes were wrinkled, and you still couldn’t find your shoes. Your father was going to kill you when he saw you.

“Lotty, have you seen my shoes? The ones we got last week for the procession?” You shouted, throwing on your banquet wear as fast as you could.

“It’s in the closet!” Lotty called back from the other room, her voice panicked. Having visitors always put Lotty on edge.

“No, they’re not!”

Lotty rushed in your room, face scrunched up with stress and hair resembling a bird’s nest. “What do you mean they’re not in the closet?” She screeched.

“I checked the closet and I’m telling you they’re not there!”

“Spirits, child! Could you at least try and be organized?!” Lotty cried, digging into the closet. She emerged a minute later with the shoes held triumphantly in her hands and shoved them into your chest. “Now, go, quickly! The prince will be here any minute!”

The prince. The words echoed bitterly in your mind. Despite being the child of a powerful Fire Nation government official, living in the Fire Nation brought you no joy.

Growing up, you’d watched as the Fire Nation conquered the rest of the world. You’d been taught that it was the right thing to do, that you were sharing your success to create a better world. But when your father told you of the lives lost-on both sides- you couldn’t help but hate the war, and the Fire Nation. To you, it was all senseless killing, poorly disguised under the name “progress.”

When you heard about the prince’s banishment for speaking out against the Firelord’s war plans, you’d hoped it meant that he was a fair, wise, and just person. And, that maybe, one day, he would come back and be the Firelord the world needed him to be. However, when you learned he’d killed the avatar in Ba Sing Se, you knew in your heart that he was just as evil as the rest of his family.

Still, your reservations about the royal family did not deter your own family from idolizing them. After all, the Firelord had given your father a respectable job, a good home, and a steady living. Being a high-ranking government official had opened all kinds of doors for your family. So when the Firelord asked your father to host his son, Prince Zuko, while he was meeting with his war generals, how could he say no?

“You’re late.” Your father grumbled as you fell into line in between him and your mother. “Why, on today of all days, did you choose to be late?”

“I’m sorry, father.” You replied, fixing your shirt surreptitiously. “I lost track of time.”

A horrified gasp escaped your mother’s lips. “(Y/N)! Your mark!” She whispered, grabbing your wrist.

In the Fire Nation, everyone had the first words their soulmate would every say to them imprinted on their wrist. However, it was considered improper to display your mark in public. Anything having to do with soulmates was considered private, intimate, and extremely personal. To show your mark to the public, when you haven’t met your soulmate yet, would be considered betraying your soulmate’s trust before you’d even met them. Your parents seemed to believe in this idea more than most. They’d gone to extreme lengths to make sure no one other than themselves, Lotty, and yourself had seen the mark.

You glanced down, reading the words you’d read a hundred times over: “Your shoe is untied.”

“Here,” your mother huffed, handing you her own wrist cuffs. Her mark was gone, disappeared the first day she had met your father. You slipped on the cuffs, watching the words disappear under the bronze metal. “And next time, be more careful!” Your mother scolded you.

You rolled your eyes. But before you could respond, the front gates opened. A palanquin, painted blood red with regal gold detailing, appeared through the gates. Held up by four exhausted-looking palanquin bearers and flanked by guards, it was a statement of royalty that could not be ignored. You couldn’t help but roll your eyes at the pomp of it all.

“It’s a bit excessive, don’t you think?” You snorted. Your father glared at you, but cracked a smile nonetheless.

Gauzy white curtains fluttered in the wind as the palanquin bearers strode their way up to the house. In between the curtains you caught a glimpse of a high ebony ponytail, a flaming crimson scar, and two golden, piercing eyes. Eyes widening with surprise, you quickly averted your gaze, a shiver racing down your spine. What was that? After what seemed like an eternity of waiting, the palanquin finally stopped in front of your family.

“Please bow for Prince Zuko of the Fire Nation!” One of the guards barked, dropping to one knee. Immediately all of the other guards followed. You slipped into a low bow, watching out of the corner of your eye as the palanquin bearers parted the curtains for the prince to descend.

You’d expected to find the prince revolting. When you imagined meeting him before, his image only conjured anger over the war, anger over all of the injustices you’d heard of over the years. But when the prince emerged from the palanquin, you didn’t feel anger; instead, you felt your heart skip a beat.

Tall and regal, Prince Zuko had a commanding presence that seemed to wrap around your heart and squeeze. You’d always heard that the royal family was cold and calculated- but the prince reeked of raw emotion. He did not smile- or show any expression at all- but his presence emanated raw angst. And those eyes. Once again, the flash of molten amber met yours, one eye haloed in dark red, and sent a jolt down your spine. Looking into his eyes, you felt as if you could watch the gears in his head turn and twist as he studied you. All of his turmoil, rage, and sorrow swirled in those pools of amber, shaking you to your core. He narrowed his eyes, his gaze of liquid gold seeming to find something interesting in you.

You knew it was improper to hold his gaze for so long, but you couldn’t look away. He was incredible, yet turbulent; beautiful, but terrifying. Part of your brain saw him and thought he was nothing more than a teenage boy. The other part screamed that he was nothing but another killer.

“Prince Zuko, it is an honor to have you with us,” your father greeted in a booming voice. He clasped his hands behind his back and stood to attention, looking very much like the important official he was. “I am Executive (L/N). This is my wife, (Y/M/N), and my child, (Y/N).”

“Thank you for hosting me. It is a pleasure to meet all of you.” Zuko replied, his voice quieter than you expected.

“We hope the home is to your liking. If you need anything at all during your stay, feel free to take full advantage of the staff,” your mother said with a gracious smile.

The prince dipped his head in a subtle nod. “I appreciate your hospitality.” He paused, gaze sliding to yours once again. His eyes narrowed ever-so-slightly. “You’re (Y/N)?”

You simply nodded. It seemed better not to speak than to speak and say something out of turn (which, as your mother liked to complain, was a frequent and annoying habit of yours).

The prince walked forward until he was standing just a few paces away. He continued to study you up and down, face devoid of emotion. Finally, he remarked in a flat tone, “Your shoe is untied.”

Immediately all of the blood drained from your face. Underneath your cuff, your wrist burned. Your mother let out a small gasp, her excitement palpable. But you felt nothing but dread.

This is impossible. It has to be! Your thoughts raced frantically. Your heart began to thump loudly in your chest, fueled by panic-induced adrenaline. It had to be fake. It had to be.

Because if it wasn’t, than that meant that the crown prince- heir to the throne- of the nation you hated was your soulmate.

You glanced to the side and caught Lotty’s eye. She was practically jumping up and down with excitement, coaxing you to say something. Of course, she, your mother, and your father all knew your words. They knew that Prince Zuko’s first words to you were the first words your soulmate would say to you. No doubt they thought this was a good thing, a cause for celebration. How could they not realize Prince Zuko being your soulmate was the last thing you wanted?

A bead of sweat traveled down the back of your neck. Your father nudged you inconspicuously, prodding you to say something. But you couldn’t. Because those words would cement you as the crown prince’s soulmate.

Suddenly, an idea popped into your head. If speaking would make you Prince Zuko’s soulmate, then you just wouldn’t speak at all.

You clamped your mouth shut, choosing to nod again instead of replying. The prince raised an eyebrow, tension thickening in the air as he waited for a response.

“Excuse my (Y/N).” Your mother laughed suddenly, breaking the tension. She placed a hand on your shoulder in a seemingly harmless gesture, but her nails dug into your skin. “They can be so forgetful sometimes!”

The Prince’s eyes never left yours. “I understand.” He said flatly. His gaze lingered on you a moment longer before he turned away, towards your father.

“You must be tired after your journey. Let me show you to your quarters.” Your father said, lowering himself into a bow.

“Thank you.” The prince replied. He nodded to the palanquin bearers to bring his luggage forward.

“Come, right this way.” Your father directed him towards the entrance. They walked inside, thankfully releasing you from the prince’s presence.

You exhaled slowly, feeling some of your anxiety melt away that the prince was gone. However, your mother’s tension was clearly rising.

“What were you thinking?” She hissed, nails digging deep into your shoulder. “Refusing to speak to a royal! Spirits, (Y/N), I knew you could be headstrong but- but- this!”

Quickly, you looked around for the prince before turning back to your mother. “You heard what he said to me. It matches.”

“I know!” She squealed. “All the more reason to speak to him! You don’t want to insult your future husband more than you already have, do you?”

“Future husband?!” Heat rushed to your cheeks. “Spirits, mother, I just met him!”

“Darling, he’s your soulmate.” Your mother’s voice softened along with her grip on your shoulder. She smiled gently, her other hand raising to caress your cheek. “You two will be together, whether you want to or not.”

You swatted your mother’s hand away, a furious blush scorching your cheeks. “We don’t know that he’s my soulmate. After all, I haven’t even spoken to him yet.”

Your mother’s eyes narrowed and she leaned back, crossing her arms. “So that’s why you refuse to speak to the prince?”

You simply looked away. Lotty caught your gaze, concern swimming in her eyes.

Your mother scoffed. “Don’t be a coward, (Y/N). You have a great opportunity here. You could rule alongside the Firelord, and bring glory to our family!”

You turned away, anger simmering inside of you. “I’m not a coward. And I don’t want to rule beside the Firelord.”

Your mother opened her mouth to reply, face red with rage, but before she could, a servant came out of the front doors and rang the dinner bell.

“This is not over.” Your mother glowered, sweeping past you towards the dining hall. You sighed, about to follow, but stopped for a moment. Glancing down, you groaned. Your shoe really was untied.

~~~

The night was cool and clear. A breeze drifted lazily through your open window, bringing sounds of toad-crickets and beetle-sparrows with it. The last embers of a dying fire crackled in the fireplace. Under your mountain of blankets, you should have been fast asleep. Instead, you were wide awake, the day’s events replaying over and over again in your head. Having a soulmate was terrifying enough, but having the prince of the Fire Nation as a soulmate? That was something else entirely.

Throwing back your covers, you slipped out of bed, abandoning your futile attempts at sleep. You lit a candle and silently left your room, making your way towards your favorite spot in the house. It was a small balcony situated just off of the hallway leading to the servants quarters. Small and hidden from outside view thanks to some nearby trees, it was the perfect place to hide and think. You often found yourself seated there on nights you couldn’t sleep, listening to the cicada-frogs until you were tired enough to go back to your room.

You quietly opened the door to the balcony, looking forward to the solitude, but that night it seemed you had company.

Prince Zuko sat on the weathered stone, staring up at the stars with a dying candle next to him. His head turned as you opened the door.

Panic flared in your chest and you immediately receded, but before you could retreat fully, the prince’s voice called out to you, “Wait!”

You paused, your heart hammering in your chest. Your mind screamed at you to ran back to your room and forget the interaction had ever occurred, but something compelled you forward. Slowly, you opened the door and stepped out onto the balcony.

Zuko was staring at you inquisitively, like you were a puzzle he was trying to piece together. A slight blush colored his cheeks. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to take your spot. I couldn’t sleep.”

You didn’t respond.

The prince’s face suddenly soured and his hand curled into a fist. “Why won’t you speak to me?” He yelled, features scrunched in rage.

Your eyes widened, a jolt of fear electrifying your heart, until you remembered who you were. Yes, you were technically one of Prince Zuko’s future subjects. But you were also not one to be bullied.

Crossing your arms, you glared at the prince, daring him to yell at you again.

It seemed to work. The rage melted into annoyance. Zuko huffed, blowing a stray lock of hair out of his eyes, and turned his attention back to the stars. “You’re very frustrating.”

You cracked a smile and slowly relaxed a bit.

“You have a nice house. Do you like it here?” Zuko asked, doing his best to appear nonchalant.

You grinned and shook your head, as if to say, Your tricks won’t work on me.

Instantly, Zuko’s demeanor changed. He become more guarded, more shrouded in angst. “Do you want to know the real reason I’m here?” He started suddenly. He waited for your slow nod before continuing. “My father thinks there’s a spy here.”

Shock sliced through your chest despite your attempts to appear indifferent. A spy? At your house? You shook your head. It was impossible.

Zuko turned to you again, his gaze suspicious. “Maybe I should be looking at you more closely. Maybe you won’t speak to me because you’re the traitor.”

A laugh burst out of your mouth. You, a spy? You certainly had your qualms with the Fire Nation, but your town was tiny and your father barely let you talk to anyone outside of his own circle.

“I know you hate me!” Zuko snarled. “Everyone knows you hate the Fire Nation and the royal family. Who else would betray their country but you?”

You stayed silent, unsure whether to be afraid of Zuko or laugh at him. His anger was impressive to be sure, but it was all bark, no bite. It was a facade to protect himself from his true feelings. You could see that it in his eyes.

Finally, Zuko looked away, a frustrated groan escaping his lips. He leaned against his knee, his other leg sprawled out on the cobblestone. He radiated nonchalance, but there was an uneasiness in his stature that betrayed the turmoil raging beyond his perfectly-measured exterior. Slowly, you reached out with your hand and placed your palm on his shoulder, trying to convey as much compassion as you could in the touch. You knew Zuko didn’t really think you were the spy; if he did, you would have already been in a Fire Nation prison.

The prince shrugged your hand off, still refusing to look at you, but you could see some of the anger dissipate from his frame. Cautiously, you sat down against the opposite railing, keeping your gaze on Zuko. For a minute, the two of you simply sat in silence, you waiting for Zuko to say something and Zuko too proud to do so.

Finally, Zuko broke the tension with a sigh. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have yelled at you. Things are just a bit... complicated, at the moment.”

You found yourself nodding in agreement.

Zuko glanced at you from the corner of his eye. “You can talk, can’t you?”

You smirked teasingly. Zuko grunted and looked away, running a hand through his unkempt raven hair.

“Good. Glad to know I didn’t just yell at a mute person for not being able to speak.”

A quiet laugh escaped your lips. Zuko whipped his head to you in surprise, his blush deepening. Despite your determination to hate the prince, a blush of your own warmed your cheeks.

“I’m... glad I was able to talk to you tonight. Even if you didn’t talk back. Lotty said you’d probably come out here, but I wasn’t sure if you'd be here,” Zuko said.

You frowned. Of course Lotty had told him where to find you. She may not have been your parents, but she definitely thought highly of the royal family and would be thrilled if the prince was indeed your soulmate.

“Don’t blame her. I asked her to tell me,” Zuko reassured you quickly, seeing your frown.

You nodded; of course you didn't blame her. Suddenly, you yawned, a wave of fatigue washing over you.

“You’re tired.” Zuko stated, regaining the calm, princely demeanor he wore earlier in the day. You nodded again, crossing your arms to keep yourself warm in the cool night air. “Let me walk you back to your room.” He offered, standing up and holding out his hand. Quickly, you shook your head, launching to your feet. If one of the servants saw, rumors would no doubt spread like wildfire. Besides, you were trying your best to dislike Prince Zuko, and every second you spent with him was waning away your hatred. It was better to stay away.

Zuko’s outstretched hand fell to his side. His face settled into a steely glare and he raised his chin slightly, trying his best (but failing) to appear unaffected. “Fine. Until tomorrow, then.”

You paused, part of you wanting to stay back. Instead, you bowed hastily and retreated from the deck, quickly walking back to the safety of your room. When you were safely nestled under your blankets, heart racing from the encounter, you finally allowed yourself to breathe fully.

In the matter of a few hours, your life had become more complicated than it had ever been before. There could be a spy in your midst, you may have found your soulmate, and that soulmate may have been the crown prince of the Fire Nation. Despite the thoughts running through your head, however, you found yourself yawning. Burying yourself deeper into your pillows, sleep slowly tugged at your brain, sinking you deeper and deeper into darkness. But your thoughts of Prince Zuko spiraled with you, until, when you finally tumbled into sleep’s warm embrace, it was Zuko’s amber eyes that watched you fall.

~~~

The next morning, you decided you needed to do whatever possible to avoid the prince. You couldn’t risk another meeting with him, especially after your meeting from the night before, which had left you with certain... sympathetic thoughts towards Zuko. So when Lotty came into your room that morning, you proclaimed sudden illness and told her to leave you for the rest of the day. “To prevent the sickness from spreading to the prince,” you had claimed. Lotty, thankfully, had obediently left you alone and promised no one would come to see you. However, you still felt defenseless in your room, susceptible to a visit from Zuko. Thus, you found yourself following a path towards the back of the gardens, searching for seclusion. The gardens, lush, green, and sprawling across a whole acre, provided plenty of solitary clearings and hidden grottos to hide in. As you walked through a tunnel of trees towards the back edge of the gardens, you felt the tension from the past day melt from your shoulders. Vines spilled from trees and onto the path, dotted with Fire Lilies in bloom. The intoxicating smell worked its way into your muscles and dissipated the stress. Finally, as you reached the end of the path, you pushed through one last wall of leaves, feeling the last of your anxiousness fade away with the promise of solitude-

You gasped and immediately withdrew, your heart beginning to thump in your chest. Where you were sure you would find solitude, a moment of peace and quiet, you found something else entirely- Lotty. And, to make matters worse, she was speaking with Prince Zuko.

Luckily, the pair didn’t notice your presence. They were too busy arguing to notice you behind the wall of vines.

“Please, your Highness, have mercy!” Lotty was saying, a tremble in her voice. Peeking between the vines, you watched her sink to her knees in front of the Prince, her head bowed and hands clasped together.

Zuko’s face was scrunched up in anger, cheeks red. Faint wisps of steam curled outwards from his clenched fists. “You are a traitor to your country. How dare you ask for mercy, after all you’ve done?!” He shouted.

“I know I don’t deserve it. I know I don’t deserve your kindness. But, please, your Highness... for the sake of the girl... for the family... spare me!” Lotty whispered, face wide-open and terrified.

“When I was thirteen, my father permanently scarred me for speaking out of turn. If I didn’t receive mercy, you won’t either,” Zuko snarled. “Espionage is a far worse crime than foolishness.”

Your eyes widened. The spy. Lotty was the spy!

Lotty, the woman who had practically raised you. Lotty, the woman who had cooked for you, cleaned for you, and taken care of you your whole life. Lotty, who loved the Fire Nation so ardently- had betrayed your family to the rebels.

You sagged against the tree, shock paralyzing your limbs. She had betrayed you. And now, she was going to receive her punishment.

You forced yourself to look back through the curtain of vines, hands shaking.

“I’m sorry, Prince Zuko-” Lotty gasped, shielding her face. Zuko had a blazing fireball poised in his hand.

“Apologies won’t save you now.” Zuko growled. Raising his arm to strike, the fire cast monstrous shadows over the scene, highlighting Lotty’s terrified expression. You watched as her eyes widened, fraught with the knowledge that she was about to meet her doom- and before you knew what you were doing, you were running towards her, screaming at Zuko to stop.

“Don’t you touch her!” You cried, skidding in front of Lotty just as Zuko prepared to strike.

Zuko’s fireball disappeared.

Chest heaving, you glared daggers at Zuko. “If you want to get to her, you’ll have to go through me.”

Zuko’s mouth dropped open in horror, his face becoming pale. “No,” he whispered, a look of horrible realization dawning over his face. He ripped off the cuff on his right wrist, exposing his pale skin and the black words inked into his flesh:

“Don’t you touch her.”

His eyes met yours, panic filling his gaze. “What does yours say?” He whispered, his voice eager yet terrified.

You slipped your cuff off and your own words came to light. The words on yours and Zuko’s wrists began to turn golden from the inside, shining brighter and brighter until the words vanished from your wrists in a blaze of light, confirming the worst.

You and Prince Zuko really were soulmates.

Except, after seeing what he was capable of, you knew you'd never love him.

#atla #avatar aang #hello zuko here #atla x reader #avatar the last airbender #prince zuko #zuko x reader #zuko x you #zuko imagine #imagines #atla imagine #soulmate au #atla soulmate au #zuko #atla fanfic #atla zuko

2K notes · View notes

cudan2 · 3 years

Text

One Last Surgery

Spring Break Shadowing Part 5.1

Carlisle Cullen x Reader

Word Count: 2,043

Summary: You finally find out the reason for going to the children’s hospital, but you’re more distracted than usual today and Dr. Cullen can tell.

A/N: Tell me why part 5 of SBS takes up over half of the whole series? I’ve had this sitting in my drafts for 5 months because I keep adding more to it smh. Now it’s too long so I’ve decided to split it up into 3 parts (in addition to parts 6 and 7). I’m making the final edits the rest of this part now - 5.2 should be posted in like two days.

Anyways, this is technically the beginning of #1 and #2 on my headcanon list.

Masterlist

XXX

Morgan Stanley Children’s Hospital is only across the street from Doctor Cullen’s office, but it seems to take forever to get there. You trail the doctor like a lost puppy through a skyway and a series of corridors before eventually reaching the right building. Different is definitely an understatement.

Gone are the linoleum-tiled floors, the abstract paintings lining the hallways, and the stark white walls. Instead, there are bright colors everywhere you look. Artwork featuring various galaxies and planets scatter throughout the hospital, and giant stars are imprinted along the floors; even the whole atmosphere just feels different.

You don’t get much time to analyze the differences though. Doctor Cullen is wasting no time to reach the destination, and his long legs aren’t making it any easier to keep up.

“Not that I don’t like surprises, but any chance you can tell me what we’re doing in the children’s hospital now?”

“Impatient, are we?” Doctor Cullen chuckles. He stops at an elevator and pushes the up button, only giving into your question once he catches a glimpse of your pout. “Alright, you win. Are you familiar with a cleft palate or cleft lip?”

The elevator dings, the doors sliding open with it. You shake your head no and get on the elevator with him. He presses the button for the floor and then leans against the wall, arms outstretched on the handrail, and gives you an explanation.

“A cleft is a gap or split occurring in the roof of the mouth, upper lip, or both. It is due to improper joining of the tissue during fetal development. There are no definitive known causes as of right now, but it’s believed that the environment and genetics can play a role.

The hospital has its own craniofacial team, but I was asked to join this particular case given its more complicated nature. Hanna became one of the first patients I treated when I came to Columbia,” Doctor Cullen finishes fondly, a smile gracing his lips.

“What makes this case complicated?” you ask.

“Hanna was born with a bilateral complete cleft lip and palate, meaning her lip cleft is two-sided and continues into her nose. It took quite a few surgeries to repair the lip, but now the next step is to repair the palate.”

The elevator reaches the floor and dings. You follow Doctor Cullen out and continue prodding him with more questions, which he is more than eager to answer. It’s incredible how knowledgeable he is. Granted, it is his job to know these things, but you couldn’t begin to imagine yourself being able to even scratch the surface of these topics, not to mention give a mini lecture on it.

You’re soon standing at the door to a patient room while the doctor asks Hanna’s parents if you can observe. They readily agree, and Doctor Cullen motions for you to come in.

Inside the room, you see an infant that can’t be more than a year old – Hanna. She’s sitting upright on the bed, leaning against who you assume to be her father. You notice two fading scars going up into her nose above her lip. Her mother is waving a stuffed toy around her, but Hanna’s attention is fixated on the blonde doctor.

“Y/N, allow me to introduce you to Hanna’s parents, Anthony and Linh Pham. And this is Doctor Giselle Adamou, who will be working with me on the surgery,” Doctor Cullen gestures to the older doctor in the room.

“It’s nice to meet you all,” you say politely.

Pre-op goes differently than what you’ve gotten used to observing this week. There is no case presenting given the lack of residents on the case. If anything, this is what you would expect out of a non-teaching hospital.

Doctor Cullen re-explains the procedures to Hanna’s parents, but halfway through, Hanna crawls to the end of the bed where Doctor Cullen is and attempts to stand, arms outstretched as if to say, “Up! Up!” Bewilderment is not a word you would have associated with him, and yet you catch the brief widening of his eyes that betray his usually calm demeanor.

“I think she wants you to hold her,” Linh comments.

“I can see,” Doctor Cullen muses. “Do you mind?”

“She’s all yours.” Linh picks her daughter up from the bed and hands her to the doctor. The sound of Hanna’s elated laughter fills the room, and you can’t stop a small smile from appearing on your own face. A cute baby and a gorgeous doctor? You don’t know who to thank for the sight.

Meanwhile, Hanna starts playing with various pens in Doctor Cullen’s breast pocket while Doctor Adamou continues where her colleague left off. You try to pay attention, you really do. Like Hanna though, your attention lies on someone else, and that someone else happens to be Doctor Cullen.

The more you study him, the more the minute features you never noticed about him before seem to pop out to you. Under the bright fluorescent lighting of the hospital, the dark purple circles under his eyes are more apparent than ever. How ironic for the preacher of health to lack sleep himself. His eyes, which you normally consider to be a vivid golden, are darker than you initially thought them to be. They are liquid pools of dark amber, speckled with dustings of gold and flecks of black. There isn’t a single blemish on his face that you can see either, further confirming your belief that this man is truly the most attractive person you have ever met. Either that or he must have one hell of a skincare routine.

It’s unnerving how young his appearance is. Skincare and diet can only do so much for a person, right? Doctor Cullen has to be at least 35 at the minimum, yet he could easily pass off as someone from your own school.

“Any last minute questions?” you hear Doctor Adamou ask and snap back into reality. By missing nearly everything the older doctor talked about, you already know you’ll be so screwed if and when Doctor Cullen decides to interrogate you on this case.

Neither parent has anything left to say, so Doctor Cullen gives a reluctant Hanna back to her mother. She lets out a cry and his expression softens.

“I know, sweetheart. I’ll miss you too, but I need to get ready for your big surgery, okay? I promise you’ll see me again in a few hours.” His soothing voice does wonders for her. In an instant, Hanna quiets down and her frown is replaced with giggles and smiles again. She waves the two of you off, and you both take your leave with Doctor Adamou trailing behind you. You’re not even halfway out the door yet when Doctor Cullen starts testing your knowledge again.

“Y/N, what procedure will we be doing to repair Hanna’s cleft?”

You do not have this one in the bag whatsoever. You wrack your brain for information that could help you, but Doctor Adamou interjects before you get a chance to say anything.

“Why does it not surprise me that you’re treating students like interns already, Carlisle?”

“I am merely advancing the education of next generation’s doctors,” he responds.

“Whatever you say,” she laughs. “Don’t scare off Y/N though, or we won’t have any doctors left in the next generation.” She turns to you after picking up files from a nearby counter and says, “You come running to me if he pushes you too hard, alright?”

You grin. “For sure.”

“Good. I look forward to seeing you both in the OR,” she says before heading off.

You like Doctor Adamou. Each surgeon you’ve met here so far has had such different personalities, yet each also has the charisma and confidence to take control of a room and command respect. You, on the other hand, could barely get your own friends to listen to your own words. How are you ever going to get on the level of all the amazing doctors around you?

“She saved you there,” Doctor Cullen comments, leafing through Hanna’s charts as he walks you into an empty elevator to the operating floor. Oops, it’s just your luck that he noticed your lack of attention during the pre-op. “It’s unlike you to be distracted. Penny for your thoughts?”

The elevator doors shut, and he looks up from the chart, his eyes falling onto yours. He has that twinkle in his eyes again – the one that brings warmth to your cheeks and could make anyone weak in their knees. You know it’s silly, but a single look from him could make you spill any of your deepest and darkest secrets, yet a part of you also knows that he would keep it. You’re not naïve – you know it’s dangerous to put so much faith into a man you only met this week – but there’s something about him that told your instincts to trust him from the very beginning.

Call it intuition, or maybe it’s just plain stupidity, but you sure as hell aren’t going to tell him about how you got distracted because of his pretty face.

You hesitate for a moment and let out a sigh. “How do you do it?” He quirks a brow, momentarily perplexed, and you attempt to find the right words. “How do you make all of this look so easy? How do you know what the right thing to say is? Or trust that what you’re doing is even right? How did you know if this was all meant for you? This is really dumb, but it seems like everyone here was born for this job, and then there’s... me.”

There’s a slight sense of dread starting to form in your stomach. You’re unsure if what you asked even made any sort of sense and wonder if you gave too much away. Giving any reason to second guess your abilities is like digging your own grave when it comes to this career. Expressing uncertainty is one of the biggest taboos of the cutthroat world that is pre-med because schools would not accept students that aren’t absolutely, totally, and completely sure about this path.

You’ve wanted this for so long, yet there’s still a part of you that doubts if you would be enough.

Rather than going straight to gowning and scrubbing in for the surgery, Doctor Cullen grabs your hand and leads you down to an abandoned hallway, only letting go once the two of you are hidden in an alcove away from any prying ears or eyes.

“What are you doing? Shouldn’t you be getting ready for surgery?”

“We have a few minutes to spare. Y/N, please know that I understand how you feel,” he says softly. “There was a time when I questioned my own abilities as well… whether my perseverance could overcome adversity. It took quite some time to reach where I am today. However, without enduring those trials and tribulations, I would not be here. With time comes experience, and it is that experience that allows me to perform my job the best I can.”

His voice reminds you of a gentle breeze, rustling the leaves of a tree on a cool summer night when he continues speaking in hushed tones. It brings a blanket of reassurance, a sense that things would eventually be alright.

“I have said this before, but I see enormous potential in you. You still have a great deal of time to grow and develop your skills. It’s easy to get caught up in comparing yourself with others, especially given today’s societal standards, but I believe you are much more capable than you may think you are. Everyone’s journey is different and yours may not necessarily be as linear as you would prefer. In due time though, I have faith that you will succeed.”

What he says is exactly what you needed to hear.

The swell of tears pricks at your eyes and start blurring your vision, but you blink them away quickly, fighting the urge to wrap your arms around the doctor.

“Thank you, Doctor Cullen.” Your voice is barely above a whisper.

“You’re very welcome. Now, I believe there’s a little girl waiting on us.”

XXX

Tag List - Message me to be added or removed to either this series or the rest of my fics!

@jelly-fishy-babie @notahappytree @anxiousgoldengirl

#carlisle cullen #carlisle cullen x reader #carlisle cullen imagine #twilight #twilight fanfiction #twilight imagines #twilight renessaince #twilight saga #twilight reboot #twilight renaissance #doctor daddy cullen #you guys can't tell but this whole story was one large self-insert #i started writing this at the beginning of the pandemic #was in the midst of my junior year and about to apply to dental schools #basically got rejected from all 19 schools i applied to only for one to rescind their rejection and offer me a spot for next year's class #it's a school in new york too!!#what are the odds?#for anyone struggling out there or feeling like things aren't going the way you want them to - life has a way of working out eventually #twilight fanfic

93 notes · View notes

anonymous0writer · 3 years

Text

how you get the girl | wonderland s.s

author: @anonymous0writer

wc: 1946

warnings: none!

a/n: i literally wrote this right after the first because i love this so much

summary: as the heat rises, so does the curious tension between a certain green-eyed beauty and a handsome dark-haired boy. the impending end of their idyllic last summer looms, prompting stiles to admit a long-held secret.

The pale, smooth skyline of azure and the sprinkle of voluminous clouds lay over the horizon, the air thick with early summer humidity, the only relief a tepid breeze that snaked through the trees and appeared in short bursts like a shy child. Summer had grabbed Beacon Hills in a sudden burst of a heatwave and refused to let go; residents of the town taking to smaller clothes and long hauls to the beach for a break of the unbearable heat. Windows were down in cars, letting the speed of the car create the racing breeze that offered peace and houses had their AC’s turned up, people huddling in rooms to keep the heat at bay.

In the particular case of Lydia Martin and her friends, refuge was found in the small, prettily decorated guest house positioned off the clear blue watered pool of the Martin residence. The teens were slumped along the edge of the pool, legs dipped into the cool water in an attempt to cool themselves down.

Scott McCall sat at the pool’s edge, his mop of dark hair stuck to his forehead in sweaty clumps, the boy mumbling a soft curse before he tore off his thin shirt and leaned forward, dropping into the gleaming, turquoise pool with a loud, attention grabbing splash. His friends, a collection of girls and a boy best friend added to their tight circle of companions rose their brows and looked on in mild amusement. Scott’s dark head popped up from under the water, his lips breaking into a goofy, lopsided grin.

“It’s so nice.” He entices, grin still slanting across his face.

Delaney, her tall figure hunched and her long legs plunged into the refreshing, cerulean water, returned Scott’s infectious grin. In a hurried movement, she scrambled to her feet, her dark hair tied closely to the nape of her neck and her patterned, red swimsuit hugging her generous curves. Stiles covertly watches his friend with amber eyes, the memory of her lips crushed softly against his and her candied taste rushing over him a sudden waterfall. The dark-haired boy is pulled out of his reverie by the flying droplets of chilly water produced by Delaney’s cannonball into the wide pool. Stiles shakes off the memory with a comb through his thick, unruly umber colored hair, telling himself the tall beauty was drunk and didn’t appear to have any recollection of the delicately passionate moment. Some minuscule part of the boy wished that his feelings for Delaney were somehow reciprocated, but the sharp tang of alcohol on her lips crushed any foolishly childlike hope. Despite accidentally overhearing the news of Delaney and Brett’s inevitable breakup, Stiles saw how much his friend liked the broad shouldered lacrosse player. He was a fool for ever thinking anything different.

“Stiles!” The shriek of laughter snaps Stiles out of his daze again, Lydia’s mouth forming his name again as she beckons him to join the rest of their friends. Stiles studies the idyllic scene of his friends in a sentimental attempt to burn the memory in his mind, wishing to stay in this short second of time forever. Malia, her light hair pulled into two tight, now soaked braids, is seated on a laughing Scott’s broad, sun-kissed shoulders as his hands grip the curve of her thighs to stabilize his girlfriend. The couple is laughing and splashing wildly at a howling Delaney. Her dark hair came loose of its tie, the curls floating in the water as she tries to move sluggishly through the water to escape Scott’s sporadic splashing. Lydia is behind her, her hands clutching Delaney’s as the girls try to shield themselves. Stiles' tan face breaks into a beaming smile, the edges of his mouth tugging up and showing off his dimples. An ache to live forever in this idyllic moment forms under the pulse of his heart.

“Stiles, c’mon!” Scott encourages, his dark ochre eyes soft and welcoming.

Delaney looks up, her sage eyes watching as Stiles peels off his half-buttoned blue flannel, exposing the pale, freckled chest of his wiry frame and the sharp cut of his hips. A fierce blush rises to her freckled cheeks as the boy nimbly climbs into the crystal water. The haze clouded memory of Stiles’s soft, fluffy dark hair in her grasp and the lingering taste of his salty lips flashed in her mind, making her cheeks reach hotter temperatures than the humidity of the air. She knows the dark-haired boy remembers the kiss, but she wonders if he meant to kiss her back or if he was just caught up in the ‘we’re all leaving, so what matters anymore’ rationale. Delaney swallows sharply, turning her attention to the game of chicken being organized. Stiles offers to carry Delaney on his shoulders, choosing her as a teammate without a beat of hesitation. Delaney meets his coffee colored eyes for a charged second before she grabs his freckle spattered shoulders, feeling the heat of his skin against her palm. Once seated on his shoulders, she tilts violently to the left, but Stiles steadies her with his hands. His long fingers dig into the tan skin of her thighs, laughing as Delaney pats his damp hair in a gesture of thanks.

The inseparable group dissolves into laughter, enjoying the cool water to beat the heat of the short summer. The lingering threat of their assured end is shoved in the backs of their mind, using it to push themselves further into the moment. The five teens were desperate to outrun their doom.

___

The embers sparked and hovered dizzily around the flickering orange flames, casting dancing and flickering shadows of gold on the ground. The day had crawled away slowly, finding a hidden place to stay as the night descended around the sky, blanketing it in heavy dusk. Delaney lay tucked sleepily in a chair arranged before the sultry fire, limbs folded and sweatshirt obscured face leaning against the fabric back of the seat. Her dark, still damp hair was tied at the nape of her neck and falling out from under the scrunched edges of her hood. Her hands played idly with the frayed strings of the Cyclone hoodie that didn’t even belong to the chartreuse eyed girl. It was Stiles, the boy having given her his worn, and former lacrosse hoodie when the girl expressed the chill of the night air years ago and she’d failed to give it back. Delaney tugged the sweatshirt up to hide the bottom half of her face, imagining the dark-haired boy’s heady scent still lingering on the maroon, velvet-like fabric. Part of her knew she never made a real attempt to give the hoodie back, liking the way it fit on her curvaceous body and the way she could carry a piece of her favorite person around.

“Hey, Del?” Scott’s soft, low voice floats over her, prompting Delaney to lift her exhaustion-heavy head and peer at her friend. “We’re going inside, it’s cooling down. Wanna come?”

Scott was standing tall, dark eyes warm and kind as Lydia fluttered at his side; Malia already retired to the house and deeply asleep on the old pullout couch of Lydia’s basement. Stiles was still seated next to Delaney, the two staring in relaxed silence at the flickering flames of the slowly decaying fire. Delaney’s pale eyes slid to the boy next to her, watching to see if he made any twitch to move into the house, and when Stiles gave a soft shrug and continued his supervision to the glowing embers, Delaney refused gently.

“I’m good. We’ll go inside soon enough to watch the movie.”

Scott gave a nod and turned away, leaving Lydia to grin at her curled up best friend.

“Alright. Don’t stay too long, you may fall asleep.” Lydia jokes, a slanted smile gracing her pretty, delicate features.

Stiles’s coffee eyes trailed over Lydia’s features, studying her softly and giving her a small smile before the red-haired girl danced into the house with a swish of her hips. His eyes lingered, his reverie of the fire broken for a brief second by Lydia’s glorious presence.

“Stiles,” A soft plea of a voice came from the brunette next to him, her eyes worrying over him.

Stiles turns, finding Delaney already watching him, no doubt catching his rapacious gaze on their cherry haired friend. His cheeks blaze pink lightly, barely perceptible in the thick dark of the night. Stiles plows a hand through the thick locks of his dark hair, still sodden from the sun-filled hours spent in the turquoise waters of the large pool. He watches as Delaney blinks, her dark lashes fanning over the smooth plains of her cheeks slowly before she lifts her eyelids; which seems to take a strenuous amount of work by the speed of the flutter. Stiles’s breath hitches, the way it does when something snatches your breath greedily, sneaking it away as you take in the sight before you. A flash of Lydia’s perfectly serene and porcelain appearance flickers in his mind, crashing with the charming innocence of Delaney and the exhaustion tugging at her actions. Suddenly, Stiles is caught between them two, suspended between the devoted years of yearning for the beloved ginger and the sense of serene happiness and unrelenting comfort from the dark-haired beauty. Stiles swallows thickly, forcing the war of attention from his mind and refocuses desperately on the flare of the dying fire.

“Do you want to play something?” Delaney’s soft voice lures him farther into the pull of her magnetism.

“Like what?”

“Twenty questions? Something that doesn’t require me to move.”

“Sure.” Stiles agrees, leaning further back in his seat, feeling the heat of the fire shimmer over him in pleasant waves. His sepia eyes flutter close, drinking in the night with his other senses. “What are you thinking of right now?”

Delaney’s pink lips quirked up at the corners, her dimples showing softly. Stiles loved to remake games, except this time these were just straight up questions instead of making it more complex. She leaned her own head back, closing her pale eyes and relaxed, letting the exhaustion from the day’s activities calm her.

“I’m thinking about you.”

“And what about me?”

“Is that another question, Stiles?” Delaney laughed, the sound sweet and short, hovering in the air. “You know you only have twenty.”

A beat of silence followed before Stiles’s soft, raspy voice answered. “What about me?” He repeated.

“Do you like Lydia?”

The question hung in the air, a pivotal moment of truth that could alter their relationship in ways they couldn’t have imagined. Delaney’s throat was tight, her question a risky plea that flew right over Stiles’s head. Stiles didn’t realize Delaney’s secret attempt at revealing her feelings despite how poorly she hid it; raw emotions and the truth written over her olive skin. Her sage eyes scan Stiles’s profile, optimism playing in her irises like a splash of black paint against a white wall; stark and obvious. Stiles turns to face her, russet eyes locking onto hers as they stare at each other. Hope catches in the girl’s throat, hard and dangerous. Stiles’s eyes run over his best friend, slow and steady as if he’s trying to figure out the answer from her face. As the brunette boy stares, he’s lost. Fallen in the depths of Delaney’s charm and small, gregarious smiles and easy nature. The boy can’t stop himself from getting pulled into her orbit, and at this moment, he doesn’t try to stop it. He loses the fight gladly, finding peace in the solidarity of his best friend. At this moment, Delaney is the only answer. Delaney is the answer.

“No, I like you, Delaney.”

#stiles stilinski #stiles fanfiction #stiles imagine #stiles stilinksi imagine #teenwolf #stiles x oc #stiles x delaney #stiles teen wolf #taylor swift #taylor swift 1989 #1989 era #songfic

22 notes · View notes

shewantedtobeasecretgirl · 3 years

Text

12. Granny Out of Control a.k.a. headless chickens, Gene Simmons’ girlfriend and Rapunzel

In the previous chapters: Judy and Stone act after their embarrassing encounter in the shower as if it hadn’t even happened; they implicitly agree on not telling Mike that his one-night stand was just the consequence of Judy’s revenge-fueled rumors about Stone’s sexual preferences. Ed loses his voice so the show has to be canceled, Jeff offers to give guitar lessons to Judy instead in his spare time. Granny buys a metal magazine to learn more about Seattle-based rock bands; the picture of Pearl Jam makes her think the perfect match for Judy isn’t Jeff but Stone. Krisha picks Effie up in the city to tell her that Kelly Curtis and Susan Silver have plans with her as a photographer; she also gives her the list of codenames the band and crew members use at hotels. Effie also joins her when she feeds Stone’s unsociable cat, Red who is incompatible with all girls who try to approach him.

„I don’t know, man… Are you sure you saw them?”

“Don’t piss me off, Schmitty, of course I’m sure. I know whom and what I saw.” I mumble as I put the flashlight back between my teeth. I can’t believe I’m doing this. Not only makes he me do this stupid act, he even drives me crazy with this weak-minded questioning in the meantime. The guy obviously watches too much TV. Especially detective shows about drug cartels.

“But let’s go over it again. Maybe you were wrong or misunderstood the situation or…”

I sigh, and take the flashlight out of my mouth only to direct the blinding ray of light in his face.

“Okay, but this is the last time. And I’m only willing to tell it again because I have nothing better to do and because technically, I can’t do anything else until we finish this. Open the bag and hold it.”

“Yes sir... so you went having a shower…”

“Not that it matters if I went showering or shitting but yes, I went to the restroom.”

“And you opened the door…” he goes on with the storytelling like a small child who already knows his favorite bedtime story by heart.

“And there were they, standing at the sinks…”

“Stop. Are you sure it was them?”

“Of course I am, I could recognize Judy and Stone from miles!”

“Are you 100 % sure?”

“No, I’m only 99 % sure because there’s a very small chance that they both have doppelgangers right in this town but let’s say I’m very likely to have seen them.” I confirm while I start portioning the green leaves into the plastic bag Schmitty is holding.

“And they were…”

“…basically naked.”

“Basically?” he asks like he’d never heard the word before.

“Yes, basically.”

“How do you mean “basically”?”

“What? I’m fucking around here with sharing my weed with you and you’re already high? Unbelievable…”

“No-no-no, seriously, man, you didn’t say “naked”, you said “basically naked”. Define the difference. It’s important.” he flails fussily.

“Stop shaking the bag, it’s difficult enough to do this only with one hand. So, uh, they weren’t completely naked, they both were wearing a towel…”

“The same towel or…?”

“Hah, interesting idea, but no, they both had their own towel on. But I assume none of them was wearing any underwear…”

“That’d be normal, I mean, after showering… but that’s the weakest point in your theory, them having a shower at the same time… it sounds so unreal.”

“Yeah, I thought the same until I found the only logical reason.”

“What? That you only dreamed the whole thing? Or that it was just an intense trip due to the shrooms Mike gave you?”

“I know it sounds unbelievable but at this point, I’m pretty much convinced they did it on purpose.” I close the bag and throw it at Schmitty who hides it immediately in the inner pocket of his jacket and pats himself on the chest satisfied.

“Thanks. But I can’t follow your thinking, Scully. Why’d they secretly meet in the shower?”

“I don’t want to shock you but… I think they had sex right before. I almost entered but then I glanced them and they were almost naked, both giggling and Judy was groping Stone and… I backed out, I was so surprised, I didn’t even know what to do…”

“But they hate each other.” Schmitty protests shaking his head.

“And? Since when can’t people who hate each other have sex with each other?”

“Man, this is too much to me, Stone has Amber at home, Judy is like a nun, they can’t stand each other so obviously, they have sex??? Bullshit, that’s all I can say. I don’t know what you saw but it definitely couldn’t be a post-coital scene.”

“Look, I don’t understand the exact reasons either but…”

“I’ve always been told that as soon as we start touring, girls will try to drag me in the tour bus all the time but I imagined it somehow different…”

We both freeze at the hearing of Stone’s smug giggling and our surprise only grows when we recognize the voice that belongs to his companion.

“Sorry for ruining your wet rock star dreams but it’s impossible here to talk to someone face-to-face, even the walls have ears in this crew.”

Schmitty and I exchange a meaningful look and to his nod, I turn the flashlight on the lowest level. Walls might not have ears here but this bunk bed curtain we’re hiding behind definitely does. Even four, to be exact.

“So what’s the purpose of this conspired, hyper-secret meeting, Camden? I’m hungry so let’s get over with this as fast as possible!”

Hungry, yeah, I can imagine. So you prefer quickies, Stoney?

“I just wanted to talk about yesterday.”

Schmitty stares at me with popped eyes, even his jaws drop of shock.

“Ha. So you were thinking about it?”

“Yes but not the way you think. I’m not gonna tell you tirades about how much I regretted it or stuff because I didn’t. I only want to ask if you talked to Scully about it?”

Schmitty grabs my forearm, digging his nails into it, his other hand is shaking uncontrollably.

“No and I don’t know why I should force it, I mean it happened, it’s embarrassing enough for both of us so let’s draw a veil over it.”

“It’s embarrassing for both of us? Do you really think I give a damn about that? I mean, okay, I lost control, which doesn’t happens really often to me but who cares, I can handle the consequences. You feeling embarrassed, now that’s the last thing I care about. But have you already thought about the feelings of your friend at least for one single second?”

We both furrow our eyebrows and her words probably found their marks since Stone doesn’t answer, which makes Judy go on with the pep talk.

“Okay, neither of us is going to say a word since we both have selfish interest in keeping it in secret but if Scully shoots his mouth off and he finds out about what happened… just think into it, it’d ruin his self-esteem. I mean, it’s inevitable that it turns out later but the best strategy is discretion. Now, it’d be too fresh for him, let’s wait until he forgets about this little… intermezzo.”

Schmitty covers his still opened mouth in complete horror and even I start feeling uncomfortable now that my intuition is basically confirmed.

“So, would you finally promise to talk to Scully?”

“Dunno… I’ll consider it.”

“Jesus Christ, Gossard, would it hurt not to piss me off once in a lifetime?”

“To answer your question, yes, it would but this time it’s not about you, Miss Fussy. I was just thinking that we should let it slide since after all, it’s not as a big deal as you think.”

You fuck her and then try to ditch her? Come on Stone, I thought you were better than this.

“I mean, you make such a fuss but I don’t think Scully would let it slip, he’s probably already forgotten about the whole scene. And if I came up with it, he’d just start overthinking it; when he knows he has to shut his mouth, he becomes gossipy all the more.”

Ha, thanks Stoney but just for the record, I don’t gossip, I just process things by discussing them with other people, see also at “coping mechanisms”…

“It’s you who’s overthinking it. Just stop protesting and do what I ask you. I even use the word “please”.”

“Fuck, okay, I’ll see what I can do, just leave me finally alone with this. Can I ask you something too?”

“It depends…”

“Could we stay here for ten… fifteen minutes? You know, it’s about my reputation…”

“Fuck off, Gossard!!!”

We both exhale with a deep sigh when we hear them leaving the bus.

“Holy. Shit.”

“Holy. Fucking. Shit. Dude, you were right!”

“Of course I was right, I always am, you just never believe me.“

“But… damn… I didn’t see that coming… Gahhh.” Schmitty facepalms, rubbing his forehead worried.

“I’m surprised, though, I thought they didn’t notice me.”

“Apparently, they did. Jesus, I doubt there’s something serious between them but now that I heard it with my own ears, it all makes sense! They hook up, they are both embarrassed since they are enemies, plus the Amber-factor… and poor Jeff, he has a massive crush on Judy and she knows it, maybe she tries to have two irons in the fire… So she convinced him to keep the fling in secret not to ruin her chances at Jeff… She looks so innocent and now she turns out to be an actual snake… Do you think Karrie knows about it?” he jabbers staring desperately in front of himself.

“Whoa, stop, dude, are you insane? She’s not a bitch, they just made a mistake and she freaked out. Her worrying about Jeff sounded genuine, after all, Stone is no perspective for her, he’s got that… he’s got Amber, whatever she is for him. And I don’t think Karrie knows anything, even if she does, she’ll pretend she doesn’t.”

“But this changes everything! Jeff is our friend too and I don’t want to lie to him.”

“Trust me, he’ll never ask “And tell me Schmitty, have Judy and Stone had sex?”, so you don’t have to.”

“You’re making fun of me but you know too how dangerous information these are so you’d better have a good idea what are we going to do know.”

“I’ll tell you, Schmitty: we’re gonna act casual. Just watch me.”

***

„There’s no chance I could reach that string. Just… no. I don’t have that muscle, I’m done.” I moan as I desperately try to stretch my pinky finger to play the next chord following Jeff’s instructions.

“Hey, relax, just reach a bit further, you’ve almost got it.” he chuckles and makes an insecure move to help me out but he changes his mind in the last moment and pretends he only wanted to scratch his arm. And I pretend not to have noticed it.

“No, it’s impossible, I can’t twist my wrist that much. I don’t have freakishly long fingers like Stone, it’s enough.” I give up and put the guitar aside. We’ve been practicing for like one hour, I played him my still rudimentary sounding song idea, of course without telling him what exactly it was. He improvised a bass line to it on his acoustic bass guitar, his fingers are still running back and forth over the strings despite the fact I stopped playing. When I was a kid, Grandpa would tell me that if you cut the head of a chicken, it can still run around for a few seconds before collapsing, maybe it’s a similar phenomenon. Or maybe it’s like when a freight train hits a car and it pushes the vehicle in front of itself for miles before stopping. Headless chickens and train wrecks, why am I thinking about stuff like these while hanging out with a nice guy?

“I’m sure you can do it if you practice it. Look, my fingers aren’t long either.” he raises his palm. Is he expecting me to measure mine to his by placing them together? Could we rather just draw them around and compare the drawings like small children? Okay, he’s got strong, manly hands, that’s not bad at all. But how can he stuff those thick fingers between the strings? And those jewelries, God, they are terrible. Would he mind if I asked him to put them off?

“No, I can’t. I’m not good at these moves, I’ve already tried to play the violin, it didn’t go well. It went awful.” I protest, rather to overtalk my racing thoughts than to argue with him. I hope he’s not going to ask me about the details, I don’t feel like telling him that story at all.

“Okay, it was you who asked me for help, so…” he shrugs with a half smile, his fingers are still nerve-wrackingly torturing the instrument.

“Actually it was you who offered to help so…”

“Fair enough. I don’t want to force it so… if you want to finish all your future performances by saying “sorry, now comes the chord which is incompatible with my wrist so go the fuck home” – then okay, I don’t care.” he puts down the guitar. I try to decode the expression on his face, is he disappointed or just casual or…?

“How do you do that?” I ask quickly, I can’t bear that look.

“What?”

“This… everything…” I flail helplessly.

“I don’t know… I think I got bored with doing nothing and wanted to try something new and I realized I could do everything instead of nothing.” he leans back with a challenging smirk.

“Geez, you spend too much time with Stone.” I roll my eyes. “I mean… I played you something and you immediately knew what to do with it. Your head is full of ideas and variations, can you hear the harmonies instinctively or…?”

“I don’t know… when I hear a melody, I start hearing the other parts in my head… but sometimes I just mess around and try different things to check if they can work as a song or as an idea that I can use later. I try to keep my ears fresh, I fight against crafting only bass lines in my head, that’s why I pick up the guitar from time to time. You know, if a bass player never leaves his comfort zone, after a while, he’ll tend to operate only with the same five or five notes, it’s like a tunnel vision… or tunnel hearing…” he ends his explanation with a shrug and a lopsided smile, as far as I’ve observed, he does that pretty often.

“That’s amazing… I envy you so much. I’ve been studying and playing music for as long as I can remember but I’ve never felt that… sense of liberty? I practiced my ass off, I learned everything I could, at Juilliard, we basically dissected classical musical pieces into single notes and… I developed some weird perfectionism in the meantime, I know how good music is supposed to be composed but… I myself just can’t do it. I was so busy with studying other people’s works that I couldn’t develop the ability to create something, it’s like… my knowledge paralyzed my creativity… Or that’s just what I keep telling myself because I1m not willing to accept the fact that writing music is a gift you can’t just earn by practicing and learning…”

“Maybe you’re right.” he shrugs again and his reaction somehow hits me hard; I don’t know why, though. “I think I’ve already mentioned you that I took piano lessons but I hated it. I found literally nothing intriguing in it, it was boring, I’ve never been into Beethoven or some shit like that.”

“What?” I frown. I didn’t expect him to like the same things I do but… could he just show at least a little interest in what I like? I even talked about art and skateboarding with him. Okay, he doesn’t owe me anything, we’re not dating and all but if he ever wants something from me… okay, he probably doesn’t, it was obviously just a stupid gossip.

“Hey, I didn’t mean to trash your music, it’s just not for me, I appreciate it but I don’t like it. I’m just a Montanan jerk, did you forget?”

“You’re not a jerk, don’t say that… I’m just… nothing, forget it.”

“No, if you want to say something, don’t swallow it. Did I hurt you?”

“You didn’t… I’ve just spent my entire life playing classical music so I can’t imagine how someone is able not to like it at all.”

“Same here with sports.”

“God, I hate sports!” I exclaim and I immediately begin to laugh realizing I’m not better than him either.

“You see? But speaking of your music studies, there’s one thing I’ve always wanted to ask.”

“No.”

“No what? Am I not allowed to ask the question?”

“No is the answer to the question.”

“But I haven’t even…”

“Trust me, it’s no.”

“If you say so…”

“I’m just kidding. Most people attack me when they learn I’m a musician asking if I’d sing or play something for them, it’s so annoying, it’s like the “grunge question’ of classical musicians…”

“Okay, I get it.” he smiles. “But that’s not what I was about to ask.”

“Thank God. So, I guess you don’t want me to teach you reading sheet music either, because that’s usually the second question, which is usually asked by people with no musical hearing at all...”

“No, it’s more of a… personal one.” he hesitates squinting at me for the final permission.

“Hit me.”

“Why are you here?”

“Here? Like, here and now, with you or…?”

“No, I mean, why are you here, with the band? You graduated from one of the most prestigious music schools on Earth, you could conduct top choirs or whatever… and you’re here, loading our shitty van every single night, smelling sweat and cigarette smoke, spending days in a tour bus with beer drinking ugly dudes… Why? I guess Juilliard graduates can pick whatever job offer they want so...”

“I’m here for the money.” I answer without thinking and it immediately sounds false. Am I? Really? “I came here for the money, I don’t deny it, I had no job and however terrified I was, something told me I had to take this opportunity.”

“But… as a classical musician trained at Juilliard… why this job? I just can’t get it.”

“Well… I’ve known for a very long time that the music of baroque era is in which I’m the most interested. It’s, you know, a passion to me, it’s like punk was to you. And if you want to be really good at it, you have to go to the place where it comes from. Here in the States, you can basically hear nothing that was written before Mozart.”

“Europe?”

“Exactly. So in my senior year, I applied for a scholarship of the music academy in Leipzig.”

“And…?”

“And I won it.”

“So you studied in Europe too?”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Why?”

“Because my father died a few months before I graduated and the small firm he ran died with him… it was a very complicated period so I asked the academy if I could postpone it by one year.”

He’s chewing his lower lip and speaks up only after digesting for a few seconds what he’s just heard.

“And they refused your application?”

“No, they sent me a kind acceptation letter in which they cited their scholarship regulation that said postponement is allowed once. So I moved back to Seattle and started teaching.”

“Oh. I guess something came up one year later too.”

“Well yeah, my sister’s almost dying, that came up.”

He exhales with a deep sigh, I have the feeling he already knew all the details, he just couldn’t do the math. Maybe Karrie told him our family saga. I don’t mind, though, I don’t feel like telling him those stories either…

“Well, that’s a lot… but it also sounds like… you gave up your dreams.”

Now it’s me who can’t do anything else but shrug.

“Maybe… or maybe, it was just a warning from the universe. I’m not religious but I do believe that everything happens with a reason, maybe you can’t find it out ever because it’s something bigger than you or your shitty little life. My family needed me and they still do, or at least they need my two hands I can make money with so… plus, I’ve always been terrified of performing. I have worst stage fright, I doubt I would be able to conduct in the spotlight of the world’s biggest concert halls… anyways… have you ever heard about famous, female conductors?”

“Normally, I’d say you’re a coward and you should follow your dreams but I understand the family factor, of course. And I don’t want to act like a hypocrite either, I could have looked for another graphic design program too when mine was canceled in Missula.”

“But changed your dream instead.”

“Exactly. And maybe that’s what you should do too if universe or God or Buddha or the spirit of Johann Sebastian Bach is trying to message you that you picked the wrong dream.”

“Are you trying to say I should switch my brain to believe loading shitty vans and smelling Scully’s and Schmitty’s stinky feet is my real dream?” I giggle.

“If that’s your way, than go for it, girl!” he plays the overly enthusiastic motivational trainer. We crack up but none of us is laughing heartfelt. His face finds finally rest in a genuine, encouraging smile. “Let’s raise our glasses to the new dreams!”

We both reach our hands to clink our imaginary glasses.

“To the new dreams!”

***

I’ve been on the road with them for days and nothing. Not a single move or a sound that’d confirm we’re following the right traces. And I’m thirsty. So thirsty. But they are so envious, I know they are hiding spare water in their stupid spacesuits or what but they claim they have nothing to share. Sure. I would never drink recycled pee, anyway. But those two moons look pretty cool, the night sky compensates me for every inconvenience I’ve experienced since we started chasing that gross sandworm… everything for the melange…

However important my mission is, it gets interrupted by three quick, impatient knocks on the door.

“You’ve been shitting in there for forty-two minutes! I know you’ve finished and you’re just reading! I have to pee! Get the fuck out of there! Why do you have to do this all the time?”

Maybe because this is the only place where I can have some progress with my current reading undisturbed? I reluctantly close the hardcover volume of Frank Herbert’s Dune and glance lazily at my wristwatch.

“First of all, it’s been only forty minutes. Second, it’s shorter than a blink of an eye, if you measure it in cosmic time. Not even applicable.”

“Okay, I can use astronomical metaphors too. My bladder is a red giant that is about to explode so…”

“I’m coming, I’m coming, geez, urinary incontinence? You should see a urologist.” I remark opening the door. He basically tosses me out of is his way and almost slams it on my nose.

“It’s rather you who should see a doctor, fuck, Stone, what did you eat? Uuugh, I’m dying.” I hear his muffled indignation.

I lie down on my bed and stuff the pillow under my nape. I turn the pages back and forth for a few times until find the place where I was before Mike kicked me out. So, back to those goddamn pervert Fremen fuckers…

I barely manage to read a few lines, when Mike comes back and throws himself on his bed, unmuting the TV that is showing underdressed ladies caressing their own body and telling their erotic fantasies in seductive voice. I clear my throat. No reaction. I do it again, this time longer and louder. Nothing.

“Sorry, am I bothering?” I ask sharply but our guitarist seems to be completely immersed in the curves. “Okay, busted. I know you only went to the toilet to jerk off. You only watch Playboy TV and noname porn channels, you really need to get laid.”

“Done, last night. Remember?” he answers slowly and mindlessly, his eyes are still glued to the screen.

“No, because I wasn’t there, thank God.”

“You’re just envious because you have to practice celibacy, otherwise Amber would cut your balls off.”

I squint at the girls over my book.

“Not that I feel tempted. Jesus, I’m sick of these… udders…”

“Hey, watch your mouth! Those ladies deserve more respect! Especially her!” he points at the blonde, blue-eyed, busty woman on the screen who is dropping her lingerie standing at a bath tub.

“Why, who is she?” I look back at the text in front of me, not that I understand a word of it. Since I receive no answer I turn my head towards Mike only to see he sat up in the meantime and stares at me offended. “What? I have no idea.”

“That’s Shannon Tweed!!!” he flails outraged.

“… who is…?”

“Who is a goddess, Playmate of the Year in 1982 and last but not least, the girlfriend of Gene Simmons!”

“Oh. So she’s old as dirt.” I summarize laconically.

“Stone, what’s wrong with you? What’s wrong with her? What’s wrong with big boobs? I thought you liked them… I mean, you are the guy who’s entitled to do anything with Seattle’s most spectacular pair of bosoms so…”

“Hey, you’re talking about my girlfriend!” I grunt.

“I’m talking about your girlfriend’s tits!”

“Exactly, that’s it! Don’t talk about my girlfriend’s tits! Anyway, how do you know what they look like?”

“Hey, first, I’m only talking about them. It’s called freedom of speech, First Amendment…”

“What the fuck, parts of the Constitution are printed now on beer tags or did I miss something?”

“…second, it is very difficult not to know what they look like, they basically poke your eyes out!”

“Only talking, ‘course.”

“Certain female anatomical features attract men’s eyes, it’s in our genetic code. Don’t even try to make me believe those features had nothing to do with you ending up with her. Wait!” he exclaims with a finger snapping. “Oh, I get it already. You miss her! That’s why you can’t stand the playmates on TV! But you could have said, it’s not a shame…”

“Dr. ‘Cready, expert of constitutional law and anatomy, psychotherapist. I’ve just said I don’t feel tempted…”

“Because those boobs” he points at the screen “are forbidden fruit and remind you of those boobs in Seattle.”

“You’re pointing in the wrong direction, Michael. You’re pointing at boobs in Indiana.”

“Whatever. You miss her, admit it. My boobies are over the ocean, my boobies are over the sea…”

“Stop!”

“My boobies are over the ocean so bring back my boobies to me…”

“Shut the fuck up!”

“BRING BAAACK, BRING BAAACK, BRING BACK MY BOOBIES TO ME, TO MEEEE!”

“I’m only saying that even huge breasts can be boring after a while.” I overshout his off-key singing.

Mike suddenly stops singing and just blinks at me completely frozen.

“You mean… you want to leave Amber?”

“Jesus, what did I do to deserve this?” I bury my face in my hands. “I mean… imagine your favorite food!”

“But that’s… risotto…?”

“Perfect!”

“But risotto doesn’t look like boobs!”

“Jesus, of course not, just imagine it!”

“Okay. Mmmh, it looks delicious. I can even feel its smell.” he moans with closed eyes.

“So you want to eat risotto now, right?”

“Oh yeah, I want it more than anything.”

“And if you could… or had to eat risotto every single day, would you feel the same?”

“Uhm, probably… not.” he opens his eyes.

“And here we are. If you’re in the position where you can play with huge breasts every day, it’s not such a big deal anymore.”

“Hm, makes sense…” he lies back. “But wait!” he sits up quickly again.

“What?”

“In that case, risotto wouldn’t be my favorite food anymore.”

“Yeah, probably…”

Congrats Sherlock. I drop my book on the nightstand, by now, I basically gave up all hope for finishing the chapter I was reading.

“But that means that you prefer small boobs now!”

“I didn’t say that but obviously, smaller tits have their appeal too. And there are girls who would look ridiculous with big breasts.”

My mind begins to wander involuntarily… Yeah, Amber is a bombshell and she drives me crazy whenever she’s around but I’ve always had a thing for more fragile looking girls…

“Who are you thinking about?” Mike asks greedily like a curious puppy.

“Jesus, no one.” I scoff frowning. “I mean, very slim girls look better with… proportionate breasts, you know, like small apples…”

I catch myself cupping my hands, what the hell, am I honking imaginable tits in the air? Okay, I have to talk to Eric to fly Amber here, I’m going to put an end to this, I’m pathetic.

“Say an example!”

What? I don’t know whom I was thinking about, I don’t even know if I was thinking about an existing person, maybe I was just fantasizing about freaky phantom breasts, I couldn’t even see them, it was just a desirable cleavage… and round hips… and shapely thighs…

“I can’t!”

“Just say an example, I don’t know, someone famous who looks like that, or someone who we both know…”

“Kylie Minogue?” I groan in agony. Hopefully I satisfied Mike’s need for a new protagonist for his erotic dreams because he only nods with an appreciative pout.

The ringing of the phone on the bedside between us interrupts our intellectual conversation and we both stare at the device surprised and confused for a few seconds, it’s usually us who call family members and friends, not the other way around. Finally, I decide to pick up.

“It’s Stone.”

“…” No one answers but I can hear some indistinct noises coming from the other end of the line.

“Hello… who’s that? Wo am I talking to?” I ask, and Mike pulls closer to the speaker of the receiver too.

“Ah… excuse me… I must have dialed the wrong number… you’re obviously not the Notre Dame Hunchbach…” an old female voice answers.

What the hell? Is this a prank call? Old people make phone pranks too?

“Who?” I mouth to Mike who mouths “Judy” as a response. Ah, yes. She also chose a codename, not that anyone is interested in her. “You’re talking to Dr. Hugh Jeego, but who am I talking to?”

“Ah, you must be Mr. Gossard. I’m Mrs. Albertson, Judy’s grandma.”

I almost drop the receiver.

“Ugh… uhm… hi, Mrs. Albertson, it’s nice to meet you… I mean, even if not in person but… I guess you wanted to call Judy so…” I make an attempt to finish this awkward intermezzo but she cuts me off.

“Actually, I am glad that I can talk with my Judy’s new colleague, this job is so different in comparison to what she worked earlier, you know, she taught in a school…”

“Yeah, I know…”

“…and now she’s with a rock band, and there are so many rumors about musicians, they drink and do drugs and…”

“We… we don’t drink… that much… not before shows…” I answer and Mike nods approvingly opening a beer can with a loud fizz. “… and we prefer herbs…”

“And mushrooms…” Mike adds.

“Shut up, you ruin everything!” I hiss between my teeth while I cover the microphone with my palm.

“Who was that?”

“It was… it was Mike, our lead guitarist.”

“Ah, Mr. McCready!”

Mike pats his chest proudly.

“Exactly, Mr. McCready…” I flip him the bird.

“I hope my Judy takes care of herself, she tends to become obsessed with work, she even forgets to eat… does she eat properly?”

“I’ve… I’ve seen her eating… so I guess she does…” I try to reassure her but I’m afraid I don’t sound very convincing; after all, the eating habits of Miss Smarty Pants don’t belong to my main interests.

“I wish she ate more, she’s so skinny, isn’t she?”

“She is… I mean, she’s slim. But like… not too slim. Her body is proportionate… I mean, physically, anatomically… her shape is feminine… and when I say “feminine” I mean she’s not malnourished…” I babble and the small apple tits appear in front of my eyes again, Jesus, I’ve started losing my sanity… For some reason, Mike feels necessary to grab the receiver and yell a gratuitous, cheesy tirade into it.

“My learned colleague is trying to say that she’s a very pretty young lady, with all the respect, of course. She’s the most virtuous girl I know, she behaves well, you can be proud of her, Mrs. Albertson.”

Yes, Mrs. Albertson, exactly, your grandchild behaves well, she brought condoms only enough for a whole fuckin’ football team, safety first… I snatch the receiver out of Mike’s hand and lift it back to my ear but before I could finally get rid of the old lady, the TV catches my attention. While we were listening to the phone call, the harmless playmate fantasies ended and the channel started airing hardcore porn. And either was the petting part very short or it didn’t even exist since the “characters” are pretty much in the middle of things and before we could react anything to avoid the disaster, the actress starts screaming rhythmically.

“What was that noise? Are women with you too?” the old woman inquires suspiciously.

“Turn down the volume, for fuck’s sake!!!” I scream-whisper to Mike.

“No, we’re alone, Mrs. Albertson… we’re just watching TV… Murder She Wrote, someone is being killed!” Mike improvises aggressively poking the remote. “It’s not working…” he groans with a miserable expression.

“Oh, I like that show… which episode? Maybe I turn on the TV to watch it too...”

If you knew… In the meantime the man starts moaning too so the obvious noises grow even louder.

“Oh, the murderer is being killed too!” I try to win some time for Mike, I admit, it wasn’t the most creative lie I’ve ever said…

“I’m saying it’s not working, it must be contact failure or low battery…” he explains beating the remote against his palm at full strength, creating a counterpart to the sound of the bodies snapping against each other on the screen.

“It’s the episode about the slasher.” I maintain the conversation and then address Mike again. “Then use the power button on the TV device or throw it the fuck out of the window, I don’t care, just do something!!!”

“Ah, great idea!” his face lights up and finally, he walks to the TV and turns it off. I swear, I thought for a second he was going to choose the window version, like Keith Moon. I’m sure he was considering it but found the box too heavy.

“It’s over…“ I transmit to Mrs. Albertson.

“It ended with a cliffhanger, what a shame…” Mike remarks and I can barely suppress my snorts.

“I hope for a happy ending…” I grin, Mike presses his pillow against his face, while the poor lady obviously doesn’t even know what to say. After a few seconds of silent, body-shaking laughter, he rearranges his face muscles and takes the receiver away from me.

“It was a pleasure to meet to you, Mrs. Albertson. Judy is a great girl and as far as we know, Effie too, please, hug her for us. I hope we can meet you in person too, when we get back.”

“I admit, I’m relieved, I want you to know I think you are just darling guys. And now, I call the Notre Dame Hunchbach, as I intended to. Goodnight, Mr. Gossard, Mr. McCready.”

“Goodnight, Mrs. Albertson.” we sing in unison.

After I hang up the phone, we stare at each other silently for long moments, before we burst out laughing hysterically.

***

Great. She’s late. She promised she’d be waiting for me at the bar counter at 9 p.m. I’m doing the third circle in this goddamn place and she’s nowhere to be found. Okay, RCKNDY is actually my favorite place and I was happy when Krisha offered to meet me here to unveil Kelly’s and Susan’s “great idea” about which I only know at this moment that it concerns my photos. The cigarette smoke irritates my throat and some unknown band is in the middle of sound check on the stage, the indistinct guitar noises and the female lead singer’s instructions blast at random moments from the speakers causing me mild heart attack every single time and making the crowd members overyell them. Despite the early hour, the place is packed; I can barely struggle through the mass of flannel-wearing guys and girls. Early hour… what am I talking… now that my lifestyle converges on clinical death, both metaphorically and literally, I usually spend my evenings in front of the TV wearing my pajamas. It’s good Krisha picked this day, Mom is working at that new side job again so I didn’t have to make anything up to prevent her from asking suspicious questions.

I visited the restroom to kill some time but it just made me frustrated all the more since I involuntarily became the audience of a bunch of girls, one of them was gushing about the kissing skills of her current crush… gah, I can’t believe I turned into this sour bitch, just because I’ll end up as a spinster, she’s entitled to have some fun…

Almost fifteen minutes have passed by and she still hasn’t shown up yet. I can’t hang out with Victor either, he’s helping with putting the finishing touches at the sound check. I guess I have to wait then. I pick a bar stool and try to decipher the list of beverages on the wall.

“What can I get for you?” a red-haired bartender girl asks. Her question catches me off-guard, since my good old answer “beer” hasn’t been an option for a while and I didn’t have enough time to consider the alternatives. She’s chewing gum with a bored face, reminding me of a ruminant… a hot ruminant.

“Uhm… I… ugh, I haven’t…” I jabber and she reacts with an impatient eyeroll, the countless bracelets are clinking around her wrist as she runs her fingers through her red mane.

“I’d like to have a virgin mojito.” I utter the first thing that comes to mind. She acknowledges my choice with a scornful scoff… Yeah, in case I haven’t felt embarrassed enough yet, she makes obvious that she’s the sexy and cool femme fatale and I’m a straight-edge cripple in a boring, worn, brown jacket.

“Hey, here you are!” someone grabs my shoulders.

“Me? I’ve been waiting for you for like… hours?” I frown while Krisha settles down on the bar stool next to me and places her beer on the counter.

“Gosh, sorry!” her eyes pop as she checks her wristwatch. “I arrived too early and went to the executive office to meet a few friends.” she points at some people talking in front of a door that probably belongs to the office rooms. “That’s Alex, he runs this place, he’s a good friend of Stone, by the way. And that girl next to him works here too, she’s the girlfriend of Regan.”

I observe the girl she’s talking about, she has a nice, bright smile. Fantastic. Krisha knows everyone here… and I have no idea who these people are, and by the way, I’m nobody.

“Regan?” I furrow my eyebrows. “It’s a unique name, I swear I’ve heard it but I can’t place it…”

“He’s also an old friend of mine. And of Stone of course. You might know his name because he played in Malfunkshun with Andy. I mean Andy Wood.”

“Wood.” we say the name at once. “Of course I know his name, I didn’t grow up in a cave…” I explain, maybe in a sharper tone than intended.

“Oookay… “ she raises both hands defensively. “Actually, Regan almost became the drummer of Mother Love Bone, until they replaced him with Greg Gilmore. They made Stone fire him, I was thinking “okay, that’s it, he’s gonna hate us forever” but somehow, he managed to convince him by using logical reasons. If you ever want to fire a drummer, just call him because he’s your guy.” she nods meaningfully and takes a sip of her beer.

“Based on my sister’s opinion, drummers probably leave the band willingly, after having spent some time with him.” I remark dryly. “Thank you.” I reach for my drink and slide the money towards the phlegmatic redhead. I suppress a smile when I see her realizing with disappointed face that I spared the tip. What was she thinking, seriously?

“Oh yes, I forgot your sister and you sew Stone-shaped voodoo dolls in your spare time. By the way, Regan has played with a guy called Shawn for a few years, he’s a huge talent. The dude is a Prince-freak, which is somehow odd in a city where you can’t make a single step without stomping on a distortion pedal but he’s an awesome singer. AND they are planning to jam with Stone as soon as he gets back. I can give you the address of their rehearsal room in case you want to assassinate him…”

“No, thanks, I already know where he lives so…”

“Right!” she slaps herself in the forehead.

“Anyway, can I finally learn why we’re here?”

“Soon. We’re waiting for someone… I’m going to introduce you to someone… who has a job offer for you!”

“Wow… let me guess… healthcare branch has discovered me and they want me to be the face of some firm’s dialyzer portfolio?” I squint at her as I loudly slurp my cocktail.

“Damn, you nailed it!” she bangs her fist against the counter. “Anyway, I’m not going to tell you anything until she arrives, you need to be punished for the self-deprecating joke.”

“Spank me…” I mumble but my retort stays unnoticed since Krisha stares in an indefinite direction next to me sending an enthusiastic wave towards someone.

“Look, Jer is here too.” she points at the target of her smile and I follow her gaze only to recognize Jerry Cantrell… he’s wearing black jeans and a black leather jacket with a white tee.

“Wait… didn’t… didn’t you mention… I mean, you dated, didn’t you?” I ask confused, trying to form coherent sentences. It’s not going well.

“Yeah, we did.” she wiggles her eyebrows.

“But exes are supposed to hate each other…” I try not to turn around too obviously, so I remove a non-existing hair from the shoulder part of my jacket. While he’s slowly walking through the crowd, I notice he’s holding hands with a long, brown-haired girl. She has a perfect body and she’s probably completely aware of it since the tight leather pants highlight every curves of her. Sure, a 10/10 chick for a 10/10 guy, that’s how world has always worked… His hair is let down… I catch myself smiling, Dad insisted on calling him Rapunzel…

“It was just a summer fling and we realized after a few dates that we weren’t made for each other. So no one got hurt.” she shrugs. “Anyway, we share the building with the management of Alice in Chains so we knew we would run into each other all the time. The music scene of this city it’s like a big, incestuous family so…”

We both crack up.

“Oh no…” she sighs annoyed, staring over me again. I don’t know what’s going on in her head but it must have to do something with another twenty-eight people I’ve never met. “DON’T TURN AROUND!” she yells at me when I try to check the cause of her reaction.

“Why, what’s…?”

“It’s too late, I guess she’s already noticed us… or hasn’t she? Bow your head…” she leans on the counter, letting her hair cover her face.

“What the fuck?”

“I said bow your head… avoid eye contact… shit, I don’t have the nerves for this right now…”

“Krisha? Oh my god, it’s you, I haven’t seen you for ages!” I hear a powerful female voice from behind my back.

“Oh, hi Amber, it’s nice to see you!” Krisha groans with a painful smile, lifting her head and letting herself be pulled in a half-embrace resigned. I have to bite my lips to prevent myself from giggling since she sends a cross-eyed grimace to me over the girl’s shoulder. So she must be Stone’s Amber.

“Hey, are you here with your little friend?”

And that must be me. I involuntarily straighten up as much as I can but despite the high bar stool, I’m still shorter than her in her heels. I wonder if Red peed into these ones too… Now that I’m checking her out properly, I realize somehow she doesn’t belong here. Mini dress, heels, perfect makeup… That’d be Stone’s type?

“Uhm, this is Effie, she’s the sister of the band’s new monitor engineer…”

“Ah, Julie, you see, I know everything…” she knocks on his temple with her index finger a few times. “I’m Stoney’s girlfriend.” she grabs my hand and shakes it aggressively. I don’t correct her, I just exchange a quick look with Krisha, her eyes confirm that it wouldn’t make sense anyway.

“And… are you going to stay for the gig too?” Krisha nods towards the stage after a few moments of awkward silence.

“Oh, no, I’m going partying with my girls, I just checked in, I wanted to say hi to Alex and ask him for a favor. We’re organizing a grunge-themed fashion show and this place would be a perfect place for it.”

“A what?”

Krisha’s face radiates shock and disgust at the same time.

“You know, this grunge thing is blowing up, the firm is about to launch a collection, you know, flannel shirts, jackets, shorts with leggings, so we’re looking for a grungy place to present it…” she explains with huge hand moves. As she begins to explain the details of her brilliant idea, I get immediately distracted. Not only because my mind is desperately trying to ignore this nonsense but because I spot Leather Pants Chick at the same sport were Alex and his colleague were standing a few minutes ago. Only a few seconds pass by until her partner arrives too, he immediately pulls her closer by her hips as he leans against the wall… they engage into a make-out session without hesitation. Jerry digs his fingers into her hair and as things are getting more intense, his hands slowly wander along her back until they reach and firmly grab their destination…

I swear it wasn’t so hot in here when I arrived, I can feel my face is burning, I’m sweating like I was in hell… Yeah, being forced to watch a hot guy smooching with a girl who isn’t you but in exchange, is much prettier than you, that’s how I imagine the first circle of hell. I can barely peel myself out of my jacket, my elbow gets stuck when Amber grabs its sleeve. I’m still a little dazed-off and stare at her expressionlessly while I’m trying to pick up the threads of conversation.

“...exactly like this one, thrift clothes are so trendy now, where did you get this one?”

She shakes the sleeve of my jacket impatiently, making me realize that’s what she’s talking about. Should I tell her the truth? That it’s not from a thrift shop, that it’s original, that Judy and I pooled the money we earned at our summer jobs together and made an agreement about taking turns on wearing it six years ago?

“I can’t… can’t remember…” I manage an effortless answer.

“You have a great taste, we three should do a thrift store tour together.” she rants on.

“Totally.” Krisha tries to seem enthusiastic but she rather reminds me of a snarling serial killer.

“Okay, I have to go, oh my god, I’m late and I haven’t even talked to Alex. We could hang out in the city next week, call me, Krish! And bring your new friend too!” she winks at me. “See you, later girls!” she finally leaves us alone, the quick tapping of heels echoes in my head even after she has disappeared behind the office door. Krisha grabs her glass and drinks its content for one sip.

“Ah, I feel much better now.” she sighs. “I’m afraid my phone is about to die. I may not be able to make phone calls for a while.”

I snort into my drink.

“I must say, she’s not the girl I’d imagine as Stone’s girlfriend.”

“Trust me, she’s not the girl whom anyone would imagine as his girlfriend. But seeing them together is always like a free circus ticket, it’s pretty funny, especially when you have coke and popcorn too.”

“Sooo… where’s the mysterious person who we’re waiting for?” I look around, although I have no clue what physical characteristics I should look for, I don’t even know if we’re talking about a man or a woman. As my gaze slowly wanders around the room, I admit to myself unwillingly, that I exactly know what I’m looking for. Long, blonde hair, black leather jacket and a white shirt. The realization makes me blush, I feel like in those good old high school days, trying to casually encounter my current crush who doesn’t even know I exist. Why am I like this all the time? Why? I’m such an idiot…

“Okay, I check Alex’s office, maybe we misunderstood each other and she went in without me noticing her. And I’m sure Alex needs some spiritual support too, the recovery will be tough for him. Do you wanna come?”

“No, I… I’d rather wait here.” I answer quickly, flushing, I’m stupid, stupid, stupid… “So it’s a she?” I shout after Krisha but she just waves me off laughing.

So… what was I thinking? I could have join her and meet her cool friends but I chose to drink here alone, not that I don’t feel lonely enough. And I ran out of drink in the meantime too… I want to procrastinate the next round until the other, friendlier bartender shows up again but unfortunately, the red-haired demon spots my empty glass and elbows on the counter opposite me with a challenging, patronizing smile.

“May I bring you a next lemonade?”

I’m about to snap back but a pleasant male voice over my head makes me change my mind.

“One more of this, whatever it is. And the lady is my guest.”

20 notes · View notes

langdxn · 4 years

Note

Oof wife, I miss you help me with the thought of Xavier + breeding kink…Delicious 😈

EEESH I’ve waited SO LONG to do this, thank you wifey! Hope you’re well! 🖤🖤🖤 (gif by @langdvn)

A new feeling washed over Xavier at campfire truth or dare. A fresh pang of unease bolted through his body, an almost out-of-body experience as he watched himself unravel beside the dying embers of the fire.

“Come on babe, you asked for truth so answer it,” Montana goaded you, eagerly twirling her bleach blonde hair in her fingers. “Do you, or do you not, wanna have Xavier’s babies?”

Your hand fired up to cover your mouth in a pathetic bid to disguise your nervous laughter. Ray slapped his thighs and leaned in close, an exhilarated smile beaming back at you as he waited for your response. Chet’s smug grin burned into your other cheek, but there was no sign of the bleached actor in question.

That most important of conversations between a serious couple never happened for you and Xavier. Despite three blissfully happy years together, you’d never once thought he was the kind of guy that wanted to settle down — a free spirit, an aspiring actor that didn’t need tying down to a certain state or home when he needed to be halfway across America on set for weeks on end. You’d always wanted kids one day but you were fairly certain you couldn’t convince Xavier of the same.

“Well yeah, sure,” you trailed off helplessly, eyes darting at the floor and idly kicking the bark around your sneakers. “Maybe one day, yeah. When we’re both ready.”

“I fucking knew it!” Ray cheered wildly, punching the air enthusiastically. “Xav, you hear that? You’re gonna be a daddy!”

“Shut up, Ray.” Ever the peacemaker, Brooke jabbed him in the ribs, received with an exaggerated ouch and a frantic rub of his side. “Xavier, don’t listen to him.”

“Nah nah, do listen to him,” Chet piped up, instinctively flexing his muscles as usual. “When are you guys gonna start making babies already?”

The actor leaned forward from his position in the shadows, his face slowly bathed in the amber glow of the fire. As his features came into focus, Xavier looked concerned. Scared. Conflicted. Your answer had clearly shaken him up, leaving him fiddling nervously with the cuffs on his lavender jacket.

“Yeah, yeah I heard,” he sighed, almost wishing the words wouldn’t tumble from his lips as he stubbed out the last of his joint. “Listen, I’m gonna call it an early night guys. It’s been fun but I’m totally wiped.”

Boos and hisses echoed around the campfire as he bolted to his feet, brushing down his white pants and walking wearily in the direction of the boys cabin. Eyes shot over to you, your friends grinning manically as if they expected you to follow him.

“Babe, he’s going to burn all his condoms now he doesn’t need them anymore,” Montana jibed loudly as the rest of the group erupted into gossip and laughter before she grabbed hold of your arm and leaned in to whisper to you. “Go to him, he needs you.”

“But he— he looks mad,” you panicked, brows furrowed.

“Trust me, please, he needs to make sense out of all that,” the blonde pulled on your sleeve and gestured you toward him. “He’s a bonehead, you need to spell it out for him.”

“I hope you’re right, ‘Tana,” you sighed, hesitantly grabbing your jacket and speeding to follow him.

“Xavier, wait!” You called out as he raced ahead of you, feet barely touching the ground until he swung the cabin door open and bundled in. Cursing yourself as your legs couldn’t carry you fast enough, you tumbled through the door to find the cabin empty. Gaze firing across the room and finding nobody in any bunks, only the pale moonlight flooding through the windows to light the interior. “Xav, are you okay?”

The cabin door creaked closed behind you, spinning you on your heels to find Xavier stepping slowly toward you.

“Listen, I know that was a bit crazy but I didn’t mean right now—“

As his sneakers bumped against yours, his hands gently wandered your body and his head dipped into the crook of your neck.

“Truth or dare, baby girl?” Xavier whispered, fluttering butterfly kisses into your sensitive skin as he stripped you slowly, softly, sensually, your clothes pooling at your feet.

“Uh, truth?” You replied hesitantly, unsure of where he was going with his line of questioning, taking his lead and shedding his clothing in return.

Once he unhooked your bra, your last remaining attire, Xavier cupped your face in both hands and smiled at you warmly, his piercing blue eyes staring straight into your soul.

“Will you have a baby with me?”

Your breath caught in your throat as you both stood together in the middle of the messy, dimly-lit boys cabin, completely stripped.

“Are... are you sure?” You stammered frantically as he stepped you back until you bumped into a blunt wooden desk behind you. “You know they were just joking out there, right?”

“Answer the question, honey,” Xavier pressed firmly, holding his lips a tantalising inch from yours while carefully hitching you up onto the desk, wrapping your bare legs around his waist.

“Well yeah, yeah, of course I do, but you’ve got your career—“

“Screw my career,” he husked, one hand journeying to his hardening length and lining himself up with your entrance. “Sly Stallone was 30 when he did Rocky, I’ve got plenty of time to make it. Just say the words, baby girl.”

Your eyes locked, gazing at each other like the first time you met. All the moments of love, lust and companionship between you, they all boiled down to this one moment.

“Okay, I’ll be clear,” you wrapped your arms around his neck and dug your heels into the back of his thighs, drawing him close until the tip of his cock, dripping impatient beads of precum, edged through your folds. “Xavier Plympton, breed me.”

“That’s my girl,” he purred, capturing your lips in a heated kiss mingling both of your tense moans as he rocked his hips forward and buried his length inside you.

“So…” you stumbled through broken gasps as he slowly bottomed out inside you, rolling your hips toward him to keep up with his glacial pace. “How long have you kept this quiet?”

“A couple years,” he hummed almost matter-of-factly as he groaned watching his cock pouring into your cunt.

“Years?!” Your eyes nearly popped out of their sockets, a quirked eyebrow aimed straight for the man currently revelling in the feeling of your walls wrapped tightly around him after years of using condoms.

“Sorry, I just didn’t know how to bring it up,” he punctuated every word with a curl of his hips, sending your eyes darting to the ceiling as he grazed your sensitive spot.

“It’s easy really, Plympton, just rip off the rubber and tell me you’re gonna fuck a baby into me.”

“Well,” he grasped your hips firmly, fingertips delving into your soft skin as he growled hungrily. “I’m gonna fuck a baby into you.”

Xavier ramped up the pace of his determined thrusts with the words rolling off his tongue, increasing to a frantic pace as he slipped through your swollen folds. Your back arched eagerly into him, digging crescents into his back so fervently you were sure you’d drawn blood in the heat of the moment.

“What—what are we gonna tell the others?”

“That I’ve got super sperm and I knocked you up on the first try?” His childlike grin stretched further across his lips as his tip crashed into your walls, leaving a burning throb in your core signalling your own climax was near. “If I get you pregnant now, you’ll be showing by the time we leave here after the summer.”

“You want to show me off to the rest of the counsellors?” You rolled your hips into him as he pounded you relentlessly into the wooden desk.

“Who wouldn’t, baby? You’re smokin’ hot even when you’re not carrying my child...” Xavier trailed off as he fixed a flat expectant palm on your abdomen, sending a bolt of heat to your cheeks. “Just imagine how radiant you’ll look when you’re pregnant. I’m sorry babe, I’ll never be able to stop holding your bump.”

“As long as you won’t stop fucking me when I’m huge,” you pleaded softly as your walls constricted around him.

“I can’t believe you’d suggest that—fuck, I’m close… lie back for me, baby,” he quickly gestured you down to the desk as he grabbed a sweatshirt from his bunk and tucked it beneath your hips, his thrusts stuttering frantically. “Let’s knock you up, babe.”

“Kiss me while you impregnate me, Xav.”

You pulled him down to you, using your last snap of energy before the pressure inside your core unleashed a tidal wave of arousal over his length as he pulsed within your folds. The cabin echoed with your blissful moans into each other’s mouths and the obscene slick of his thrusts as Xavier released in tandem with you.

Winding down his rolling hips, Xavier watched your folds to make sure he’d filled you properly. Bottoming out one last time, he sighed contentedly and met your loving gaze.

“Our parents are gonna kill us when we get home,” you bit your bottom lip before Xavier planted a haunting kiss on them.

“Then let’s never go home.”

#Xavier Plympton #xavier x fem!reader #xavier plympton fanfiction #xavier plympton imagines #xavier plympton x reader #xavier plympton x reader smut

273 notes · View notes

cavalierious-whim · 3 years

Text

Pawfully Yours (FE3H)

FE3H | Sylvix | General | Complete

Sylvain finds a cat and falls in love.

###

A/N: I’m finally reposting some older stuff from my last tumblr blog. Read here on AO3 for better formatting!

###

Sylvain has always been a dog person. There’s nothing quite like cuddling with a soft and warm ball of fluff or the heavy weight that sinks into the mattress on top of the blanket as you sleep, or inevitably getting drool in your mouth when you pull them close, crying into their fur as you vent your frustrations about your shitty life into the scruff of their neck.

Sylvain has no idea what that’s like. Not one bit.

When he moved to the city, he had to leave Daisy behind. Ingrid on the surface had made it seem that she was more than aggravated to have the Golden Retriever unloaded onto her. Sylvain knows better. Ingrid’s always had a soft spot for Daisy. She’d let the girl sleep in her bed on the occasional platonic sleepover. Dorothea didn’t even have that pleasure half of the time and she was the girlfriend.

It’s led to a rather quiet life and Sylvain is still adjusting to an empty apartment in the not-so-great-but-you-might-not-get-murdered side of town.

Three months into his new home is when he notices the cat. It’s a small thing with sleek black fur. It looks too healthy to be a stray, but judging on how the creature responds to those getting close, Sylvain doesn’t think that it has an owner either. It seems too proud to slum it as a pet, walking along the dingy alleyway that Sylvain cuts through as a shortcut to work, tail swishing and held high. Proud, even.

But then again, maybe that’s just a cat thing. Sylvain doesn’t know, he’s never really given a cat much thought. He doesn’t know why he decides to pity it.

One day, Sylvain brings a can of tuna and popping the top off, he sets it down on the ground. The cat watches him carefully from ten feet away, sitting on his haunches haughtily. Warily. Carefully composed.

“For you,” says Sylvain, not sure why he even bothers to speak to it. It’s a cat. Cats don’t understand humans. Even Daisy had never understood him, tongue lolling out of her mouth as she responded to just the sound of his voice, and not the content of his words.

Still, the cat seems unimpressed, large amber eyes half-lidded as it looks from the can of fish to Sylvain. And if Sylvain doesn’t know any better, that’s what he would think a frown looks like when spread across a feline face.

Sylvain frowns right back. “Well then,” he says. “I see that I’ve wasted my time. Never again.”

He’s wrong through. Sylvain cuts through the alley every single day, a soiled apron slung over his shoulder and a takeaway cup of coffee in his hand. And sometimes, he brings the dumb little cat an old and stale pastry from the shop, because there’s no harm if they’re just going to toss the old food, right?

Sylvain doesn’t stick around to see if the cat actually eats them or enjoys it, or if it just bats the food away with a hiss. He kinda wants to pet the thing though, because it’s fur looks soft and Sylvain’s feeling lonelier and lonelier as the weeks pass by.

Eventually, he has the crazy idea of maybe adopting the pitiful thing. It’s like any other day that he’s posted up an offering. He breaks an old cheese pastry into several pieces and tosses them onto the ground. And this time, he waits, crouched down, elbows resting on his knees.

The cat comes closer, but it seems pissed off, body stiff and tail twitching angrily. Amber eyes narrowed in suspicion. He sniffs at the pastry and then snags a small bite. Then it spits out the food, clearly not a fan.

Sylvain swallows thickly. “So like, if you want a roof over your head or something, I can bring you home.”

The cat pauses like it understands him. It’d been pawing at the pastry, playing with it when it stops, head snapping up as it looks to Sylvain. Then the cat’s mouth opens, fangs long and sharp, and it says with surprising clarity, “Fuck off.”

Sylvain had imagined it, that was the only explanation. It makes more sense than a cat had opened his mouth and spoke to me. Anything makes more sense than that, so Sylvain chalks it up to too many shifts at the cafe, too many hours of schoolwork, and maybe a smidge of not eating enough.

He keeps cutting through the alleyway because it’s the fastest way to work. Sylvain’s a perpetual oversleeper, the kind that sets five alarms and sleeps through all of them, only to roll out of bed with five minutes to spare.

And he can spare that five minutes if he takes the back way, no matter how dark and creepy it seems at three in the morning and on the way to his early shift.

The cat’s made himself scarce. Sylvain now knows that it’s male because of the shockingly handsome voice it carries. More proof that he’d absolutely made the entire thing up in his lonely misery.

Sylvain doesn’t expect to feel sad about the disappearance of the cat, but it’d sunk in deeper than expected. Even if the cat had seemed eternally annoyed-- as far as a cat could seem at least-- he’d been cute, and Sylvain liked bringing it treats. There’s not a lot left that makes him feel good about himself.

That morning, Sylvain pauses because he’s got a moment. The alley is dark and there’s no sign of the cat. Sylvain sighs softly and says, “I’m sorry if I offended you or something. I just thought that maybe a home would be better than an old alley.”

It seems silly to talk to a cat, but he feels a little bit better and he continues to work with a little bit more pep in his step. And later that night he leaves a pastry behind, just in case.

The cat slinks out from under the dumpster once Sylvain’s out of sight. In his wake is a tuna roll, a fluffy pastry filled with tangy fish salad. The cat likes this one, not that he’d ever admit it.

Sylvain rarely works the night shift, mostly because he’d rather wake up at the butt crack of dawn and get his day over with. But sometimes it’s inevitable. Sometimes a coworker just needs a shift covered and Sylvain’s a nice enough guy to agree.

And he doesn’t want to risk getting fired, even if he doesn’t think Byleth is a vindictive manager.

It’s probably a bad idea to cut through the alley at ten at night, but Sylvain’s tired and weary, and he just wants to get home. Not to mention he’s got a container of day-old tuna salad in his hand that he needs to leave the cat, otherwise it’ll just wind up rotting away in his fridge.

He opens the container and places it on the asphalt near the dumpster, waiting for just a moment as he crouches down. Just in case the cat decides to show his face. He doesn’t. Sylvain frowns and with a sigh, pulls himself back up.

There’s a shuffling behind him and he turns to look, only to be slammed against the dumpster, head cracking against the hard metal. Sylvain’s vision swims as he tries to push against his attacker, but then he stops dead. There’s a knife held close to his neck. Sylvain can feel the soft scrape of it as he swallows.

“Wallet,” the man behind him says, a hand gripped tightly around Sylvain’s arm that’s wrenched behind him. He’s stockier in his build, pinning Sylvain against the dumpster easily.

“Hey look man--” The knife digs deeper into his skin, cutting just barely. Sylvain’s not dumb enough to push the situation further. “Yeah, okay,” he says. “Back pocket. My phone’s there too, opposite side.” A pause. “You know, just in case you want that as well.”

He can’t help the cheeky reply, but his assailant doesn’t seem to hear him as he rifles through his pockets. The man pulls the wallet from Sylvain’s pocket, flipping through it.

And then there’s a shout as the man is wrestled to the ground by someone else that Sylvain can’t see. There’s a scuffle, some odd yowling, and then the distinct sound of a punch, bones crunching sickly under the hit.

Sylvain stands stock still, still pressed against the dumpster, not moving. Just in case.

“Useless, aren’t you?” Sylvain freezes at the voice, taking in the acerbic tone. “It’s bad enough that you waltz through here every morning, but you should know better than to do it at this time of night.”

Sylvain turns but he doesn’t find the cat, he finds a man standing there instead, finely boned face tugged into a snarl. He shakes out his hand, knuckles already bruising from the solid hit that he’d gotten in. Sylvain blinks. He’s handsome in a feline sort of way, hard edges to his jaw and circles cut deeply underneath his eyes. His black hair is tied into a ponytail high on the crown of his head.

The man toes at the assailant who’s out cold on the ground. “I’d get out of here,” he says. Then he looks to Sylvain again, unimpressed. He stalks over to the container of tuna salad and toes at that too, lips pulled into a grimace of disgust. “Really, now. If you won’t eat it, what makes you think that I will?”

“Um--”

The man blinks slowly, catlike, and with subtle grace. “Do I need to explain it to you?”

“No,” says Sylvain quickly. “No, I just--” A pause as he rubs at his head. “The cat?”

“It’s not the cat ,” says the man with a snarl. “It’s Felix.”

“Felix,” Sylvain repeats.

“I won’t repeat myself.”

“Thanks,” Sylvain blurts. “For, you know.” He gestures to the man on the ground.

“It’s a one-time thing. I don’t reward stupidity,” says Felix as he picks up the container and tosses it into the dumpster. Then he looks to Sylvain again, shoving his hands into the pockets of his navy blue hoodie. “I like the baked ones with the fish and cheese. They aren’t so bad a day past.”

Felix doesn’t meet Sylvain’s face, instead, stalking off without another word.

Sylvain smiles.

Sylvain leaves a pastry that he pilfers from the bin after every shift. It’s not always Felix’s favorite, but he doesn’t complain. Either way, they disappear into his belly, leaving Felix to lick his paws clean after a tasty meal.

He doesn’t turn into a man again, but he does walk Sylvain through the alley. And then sometimes further. If Felix follows him to the coffee shop, he knows that he’ll get a small lid of cream.

It’s a strange routine that concerns an even stranger man. What is Felix, Sylvain wonders? A cat? A man? Both? Neither? He’s real and solid as the day though, and Sylvain knows that he hadn’t hallucinated anything that’d happened.

When winter comes, Sylvain worries. It’s cold and crisp outside, not preferable for a street cat. He wonders if Felix has somewhere warm to sleep, which is why he eventually asks.

“Surely you can’t stay out here all season,” says Sylvain one night, as he watches Felix pull apart half a savory ham and cheese tart. He’s not sure if cats should eat one of those, but maybe with Felix, it’s different. The cat never complains.

Felix pauses mid-bite to look at Sylvain. Then he drops the tart, hisses lightly, and runs off. Sylvain blinks. An answer is an answer at least, and Sylvain stops asking.

One day, it snows. Gautier is a cold and dismal place in the winter, but the snow comes later that year than anyone expects. Sylvain’s wrapped head-to-toe in a heavy jacket, a scarf, and thermals.

Felix follows him to the coffee shop that morning and against Sylvain’s better judgment, he opens the door to the storage shed out behind the shop. “It’s not much,” says Sylvain, “but it’s not in the snow.”

Felix gives him a long look before bolting inside.

Later that day, Felix strolls into the shop as a man, walks up to the counter, and slaps five gold coins onto the counter. Sylvain stares at them and then back to Felix, who immediately bristles.

“I didn’t fucking steal them,” says Felix. “I have a job.”

That’s news to Sylvain and he can’t quite picture it. This is only the second time they’ve met face-to-face, but he has a distinct feeling that Felix isn’t a people person.

Felix points to the fish and cheese pastry in the case. “It’s my favorite.” There’s an awkward pause as he closes his eyes in a near wince and continues with, “Look, I need to talk with you about something, alright?”

Sylvain rings him up, throws in a free cup of coffee, and fifteen minutes later they’re settled into the soft armchairs near the back of the cafe. It’s cold and bitter out, so they’re alone.

“You once offered a home,” says Felix, his hands wrapped around a warm ceramic mug. Sylvain’s coworker Annette paints them and they never get used. Felix huddles closer to it though like he’s trying to leech the warmth from it. “Does that offer still stand?”

Sylvain’s mouth parts in surprise and Felix turns bright red, looking anywhere but his face. “Look, it doesn’t mean anything,” says Felix. “But it’s getting cold out and it’s hard to find somewhere to bed down for the night where I won’t freeze to death.”

“So, my apartment,” says Sylvain.

“I’d be a cat,” says Felix. “I’d stay out of your way. It’d be like I’m not even there.”

Sylvain frowns. “I offered because I wanted a pet.”

Felix bristles. “I’m not a--”

“I know,” says Sylvain quietly. “I wouldn’t ask you to be since you’re… well, you know.” But Sylvain doesn’t know, so he gestures to Felix vaguely. He’s still trying to figure Felix out.

Felix sighs. “It’s only for the winter,” he says. “You won’t see me like this much. It’s not easy to… well, it’s not preferable.” He leaves it at that, which piques Sylvain’s curiosity.

“You can have the entire couch to yourself,” says Sylvain, half in jest.

Felix finishes his coffee quietly and then stands. “I’ll think about it.”

And he must, because when Sylvain leaves his shift in the late afternoon, Felix follows him all the way home.

Felix is never a man, he’s always a cat. Sylvain thinks that he prefers being a feline, though he’s not sure why. When he comes home from work, Felix is often curled up next to the warm glow of the fireplace. He leaves it lit because Felix can handle whatever might happen if something bad does.

As winter passes, Felix moves closer. He’s less annoyed. He sits on the couch next to Sylvain, his tail twitching softly against Sylvain’s thigh. Sylvain talks to him about any and everything, and he knows that it’s probably annoying, but Felix hasn’t yet told him to stop. So he doesn’t.

Sylvain gifts him a collar on Yuletide as a joke. Felix stubbornly wears it, because he’s testy about the weirdest of things.

When the New Year comes, he’s a man again. They’re nestled into the couch, Felix having shoved his feet across Sylvain’s lap with a cursory glance. Sylvain immediately pulled them closer, kneading at his arches.

Neither of them thinks more of it. Or maybe they both think of everything about it. Felix is impossible to read, but Sylvain thinks that he’s starting to recognize his moods. Even the most ornery of cats can’t turn down softly placed affection.

Sylvain wonders if it’s weird to fall in love with a cat. It’s a momentary thought because then he remembers that Felix isn’t just a cat and that there’s probably weirder things out there than Sylvain’s love, or the cat that’s also a man.

They watch New Year’s festivities on the television.

“I hate the noise,” says Felix when the fireworks start. “Too loud.”

“It’s not so bad in the city,” says Sylvain, hands still wrapped around Felix’s cold feet.

“It’s the worst day of the year,” says Felix. “Everyone’s drunk beyond reason and they roam the streets doing shitty things. Like kicking cats.”

There’s a lot to unpack there and Sylvain looks at him. “I’m sorry,” he says, and it’s an earnest apology.

Felix huffs, lips curling into a sneer. But then it’s gone as he relaxes into the couch. “No, it’s--” A pause, the air pregnant between them. “I’m not out there tonight, so it’s okay.”

It’s not, because Felix isn’t the only street cat to ghost the streets of the city. Still. “You’re welcome,” says Sylvain, squeezing his feet lightly. Felix kicks at him just because he can.

Winter ends sooner than Sylvain likes, but Felix doesn’t leave. He seems intent on staying and neither of them says anything, even if he’s a man more than a cat nowadays. Felix disappears during the day for his proclaimed job. He even cooks dinner sometimes and those are the kind of nights that Sylvain likes to cherish because Felix gets weirdly soft.

There’s a weird morning as Sylvain’s about to shuffle out the front door and Felix stops him.

“Is there something wrong?” asks Sylvain.

Felix doesn’t immediately answer and when he does, he says, “Have a good day.”

Sylvain assumes the worst because it’s an old habit that he can’t quite break. “Oh shit, you’re leaving aren’t you? Felix, you should know by now that you’re welcome to stay--”

Felix grabs Sylvain by the lapels of his jacket and pulls him forward, pressing a kiss against his lips. It’s short. It’s a little bit sweet. Felix seems to have no idea what he’s doing. Sylvain loves it, hand reaching out to grasp at Felix’s elbow.

When Sylvain pulls back, he asks, “What was that for?”

Felix’s hackles raise, immediately on the defensive. “Whatever, it was--”

“It’s not a complaint,” says Sylvain simply. “I liked it. It also sends some confusing signals.”

“What could be confusing about a kiss?” asks Felix.

“You don’t seem the type to do that,” says Sylvain.

“I’m not.” Felix pulls away, brushing at Sylvain’s shoulder to distract himself.

Suddenly, Sylvain gets it. Felix isn’t good with feelings and he’s not sure if it’s because he’s really a cat-- or maybe it’s not that at all. Sylvain still hasn’t figured out the details of all that nonsense, nor has he asked Felix outright. But Felix seems the kind of person who’s a doer, not a thinker, so he did the only thing that he thought would send a clear message.

Or maybe Sylvain’s overthinking something that’s really quite simple in the end.

“I love you too,” says Sylvain quietly.

Felix’s hand pauses and Sylvain watches him swallow. “Fool,” says Felix, but it’s more affectionate than angry, his voice cracking sweetly as he tries to find his words.

Sylvain smiles, pulling him back for another kiss. It’s longer this time, but just as awkward. Felix sinks into it, fingers curling tightly into Sylvain’s jacket as they hover in the doorway. When they part again, Felix says, “What an absolute fool.”

“The most foolish,” says Sylvain.

There’s a beat as Felix stares back at him like he’s looking, really looking at Sylvain. Felix sees him. And for once, Sylvain doesn’t mind. He’s never liked people seeing him for who he is, but Felix is different. He’s wormed his way into his heart and Sylvain doesn’t want to let go.

“But I wonder,” asks Sylvain, “what’s that say about you?”

Felix could have reacted a hundred different ways. What he does is pull Sylvain closer again, pressing their foreheads together. “Obviously I’m an even bigger idiot.”

Sylvain laughs, before swooping in once more.

#fire emblem three houses #fe3h #sylvix #sylvain/felix #felix x sylvain #sylvain jose gautier #felix hugo fraldarius #fanfiction #fire emblem fanfiction

9 notes · View notes

holeinotomemind · 4 years

Text

MLQC Fanfic: Hearts of Storm - Ch 2 - My Jupiter?

WARNING: NSFW/18+ fic. No smut in this chapter, but eventual smut, dub/non-con, eventual 3P, spoilers, long dragged out fic and angst. Not morally correct. Turn away if this is not your thing. Pairing: Shaw x MC, Gavin x MC, Shaw x MC x Gavin AO3 Link: [here]

Notes: [See full notes on AO3] Catch up post. Special thanks to Lutz, Sonicaj and Kinako for beta-ing. Another slow chapter, but we're getting somewhere. I promise!

USB key in her hand, Yui hurried onto the bus. She didn’t know how she managed this past week, staring at the Ferris Wheel and the Merry-Go-’Round filled with so many sweet memories which were now bringing her so much pain.

Those were memories she wanted to cherish for the rest of her life and she wasn’t ready to taint them by associating them with this pain that was threatening to rip her heart into shreds. But life had a strange way of being cruel to her. The more she wanted to avoid it, the more she needed to confront it.

She went to work at the amusement park hoping that she’d be selling admission tickets or being a janitor in some absurd corner of the park, but instead she was given the job of handing out balloons in front of the carousel, the exact same one where she told Gavin she couldn’t imagine being with anyone else but him when they were standing in for the wedding shoot. The only saving grace was that she was in a bear suit, meaning nobody could see her face when she broke down crying at the memories with tears streaming down her face.

Yui was able to befriend her target quickly, but it took her a full week before she was able to get the information she needed. She was at her limit after a full week of staring at the things that reminded her of what would never be anymore. Now she left the park as soon as her shift ended, fleeing as if being chased by an invisible monster.

She took a seat at the very back of the bus, where no one would see her, leaned her head against the window and closed her eyes. She could feel her hands shaking and she had to take several deep breaths to calm herself.

“It’s over.” She muttered to herself. She could return to keeping those fond memories pure. There was no need to force herself to face reality every single day as she worked at the park anymore.

She didn’t realize she had been clutching the USB key in her hand with so much force until her hand stung from it digging into her palm. She loosened her grip a little and remembered that she should let Shaw know she completed her mission. She took her cell phone out from her purse, but as she was about to press the call button, she realized her hands were still shaking.

She didn’t want to call him in this state of mind. She would have felt too exposed. Putting her phone away, she decided to wait until she was home and calmer first. Sighing, she leaned her head against the window again, staring out at the moving scenery with hollow eyes.

Her mind drifted and she wondered what Gavin was doing right now.

Would he be on a mission? Or perhaps this was his day off? It was late now. If he wasn’t on a mission, he would probably have gone to bed now. He liked to sleep early on his days off, unless he was with her. Then he would have stayed up later after their dinner or movie dates to take her home.

A voice pierced through her thoughts and Yui realized it was the bus’s PA system announcing a stop. She looked up at the monitor and belatedly saw that the bus was already two stops past the one she was supposed to get off of.

She quickly jumped out of her seat and got off behind the other passengers before it was too late. Looking around she realized she never gotten off on this stop before, but was not entirely unfamiliar with the area. It was, in fact, not far from her place, so she decided to just walk her way home. It’d help her clear her head at least.

It was late and most shops were already closed, but they had their lights on in the windows, showcasing their products to passerbys. Yui leisurely walked by, stopping in front of a few shops displaying items that caught her eye.

Then, she noticed a liquor store she had never seen before. The word “Open” flashed on the neon sign hanging on the door. As she walked up to the shop window, she noticed a sign that said imported liquor and underneath it an assortment of red and white wines from all over the world. What caught her eyes, however, were the green and white beer cans sitting unassumingly in the corner.

Her heart raced.

Before she knew it, her hand was already pushing open the door to the store. Walking over to the beers, she picked up a six-pack and looked at the label. She wasn’t imagining it, they were the same fruit beers she had with Gavin when they went on that island holiday.

She bought them without thinking.

And that was how she ended up on the rooftop of her apartment an hour later, staring idly at the night sky.

Her phone buzzed for the nth time. She stared at it for a long while before sighing and picking up.

“Why didn’t you pick up?” As expected, it was Shaw. He sounded annoyed, but at the same time there was a hint of something else. She tried to identify it, but her brain wasn’t cooperating and she gave up.

“Didn’t wanna.” Her words came out slurred as she aimlessly stared at the four empty cans lying on the ground.

“You drunk?” His voice deeper now and sounded as if he disapproved.

She frowned. Who was he to disapprove of her? That twenty year old obnoxious little brat, who drinks coke mixed with pepsi.

The noise of a plane flying above caught her attention. Her eyes traced it across the night sky which was clearer than usual tonight.

“Go away.” She pouted and hung up the phone. She wasn’t in the mood to deal with him tonight, not when the moon was shining down so gently on her.

Yui tipped the can against her mouth and realized she had finished her fifth can of fruit beer. She could feel her face burning up as she grabbed the last one and popped it open. She took another swig before she looked up to the sky once more.

The moon was hanging in the sky and beside it was a star shining bright.

She giggled. She wasn’t sure why, but it felt funny to her. Ironically funny.

She reached out a hand towards the star, wanting to touch it. The brightest star to the southeast, he once said. The star that always showed up to stand guard over the moon.

But it was too far. No matter how much she stretched out her arm, it was still out of her reach. Tears began to fill her eyes as her vision blurred and her smile faltered.

“Gavin, the moon is shining bright tonight, but where are you?” Her voice trembled as tears began to roll down her face. “Where’s my Jupiter?”

“What are you doing out on the roof in the middle of the night?” A male voice broke the silence that she was so sure would have been her answer.

Slowly she turned her head towards the voice and saw the silhouette of a tall male walking towards her. He stopped a foot in front of her and she craned her head up to try to see his face, but the combination of alcohol and tears blurred her vision. She couldn’t quite make out his features, but she recognized those amber eyes.

Those were the eyes she had been dreaming about day and night ever since she came here. Those colors of bright amber, she wouldn’t mistake anywhere. They belonged to the person she loved so much.

Wanting to make sure he was real and not a figment of her imagination, Yui reached up a hand to touch the man’s face. When she felt his warmth under her trembling fingertips, tears fell down her cheeks anew.

“Gavin,” she whispered inaudibly under her breath the name that she had repeated a million times in her head.

She felt his long fingers circled her wrist, pulling her hand away from him.

No! She panicked. Quickly, she searched his eyes. Her vision was still unclear, but she could sense that he was looking at her with annoyance and frustration.

“Please don’t look at me like that.” She pleaded, couldn’t bear it.

Terrified of his rejection, she jumped to her feet. Dizziness from all the alcohol she consumed hit her hard at her sudden movement and she stumbled towards him. She fell face first onto his broad chest.

She felt him putting his hands on her upper arms, trying to push her away from him. Yui shook her head violently, quickly wrapping her arms around his waist. After all this time, she could finally feel the warmth of his body again, could finally embrace him again. She wasn’t about to let him push her away.

“Let go.” She heard him say, voice stern.

“No.” She refused, hugging him even tighter. “I don’t wanna let go. I missed you, so so much.”

“I said, let go.” He shoved her away so hard that she was forced to take a step back from him. But Yui could feel his hands still holding onto her upper arms, making sure she didn’t fall over.

His small gesture of care gave her intoxicated mind hope that, perhaps, he didn’t truly want her to let go. Maybe he was upset with her and she just needed to be bolder to show him her true feelings, she convinced herself.

Shrugging off the arms holding her, she stepped towards him again. Cupping his face with both of her hands, she stood on her tiptoes and pressed her lips onto his. She closed her eyes, kissing him again and again, the way she remembered he liked best, desperate for him to want her back.

Her lips quivered when he didn’t react to her. His mouth remained closed, his body almost rigid. She could taste the saltiness of her tears as she realized her Gavin didn’t want her anymore.

Defeated and embarrassed at the rejection, she awkwardly retracted her shaking hands. She averted her eyes to avoid seeing the disgust he must have in his eyes now. Tears streamed down her face, falling silently on the ground.

“S-sorry… I shouldn’t have…” She stammered as the ache in her chest intensified, so much so that it took all her willpower to keep herself standing upright.

But before she could take a step back away from him, she felt his hand tighten around her arm, yanking her back against him. His other hand gripped the back of her neck forcing her head up. She only had time to let out a surprised gasp before his lips came crashing onto hers.

His tongue forced its way into her mouth domineering her senses, not allowing any room for her to retreat. His kiss was like a storm, sweeping her off her feet so that she had no choice but to follow wherever he leads.

The sharp edges of his jacket zipper dug into her palm as she clutched it, trying to hold on. Gavin had never kissed her like that before. Even during their most intimate moments when they hungered for each other, he was always gentle with her, but this kiss was different. This kiss was rough and all-consuming, as if he was ready to engulf her whole.

Yui was confused at the change but wasn’t about to complain. Her love was here with her now, wanting her just as much as she wanted him. The only thing she desired more at this very moment was for them to melt into each other, to become one so that they would never have to part again.

She didn’t know whether it was due to the kiss robbing her of the needed oxygen or it was the fruit beer she previously drank that caused her mind to become increasingly hazy, but she didn’t care either way. She mewled into his mouth as she clumsily tried to kiss him back, determined to show him how much she loved him, wanted him.

She could feel his hand trace down her spine before he snaked his arm around her small waist, pulling her even closer to him. Feeling his hard length pressed against her stomach, revealing his desire for her, she let out a small moan.

Tears fell from her eyes again, this time in joy. She was so happy to know that he still wanted her.

When he finally broke the kiss, they were both breathless. She gazed up at him and saw him looking back at her, seemingly searching for something in her expression. But when he frowned, she grew afraid.

She was frightened at the prospect that he might have regretted kissing her and he was about to leave her again. Frantically, she circled her arms around his neck, pulling him close to her and begged, “Please don’t leave me.”

He froze at her words for a moment. Then as if he made up his mind, he let out a small curse under his breath before he picked her up and hoisted her over his shoulder.

21 notes · View notes

mimiplaysgames · 4 years

Text

And There Are Storms We Cannot Weather (Ch. 1)

Pairing: Terranort x Anti-Aqua Rating: M Word Count: 4,457

Summary: If light won’t give Aqua her family back, she’ll use darkness to free them instead. There’s just one problem: him.

Read on AO3

A/N: Happy TWO-YEAR fic anniversary to me!! I’m releasing this a week ahead of the big day, I was just too excited to keep it to myself. This is such a rarepair (strangely? WHYYYY) and it’s exhilarating and liberating to get on something different! It’s an Enemies to Friends to Lovers fic and it’s such a scary thing to work on. I need to thank my two betas: @steadyknight who is my sharper edge and will push me to my limits, and @lyssala who is my soft embrace and will keep me hopeful. Together, they balance this piece out and without them, I would not have the courage to post this. Thank you both so much for your insight, encouragement, and critiques. ;-; ;-; ;-;

~*~*~*~*~

Laced With Nitroglycerine

If she asks anyone in the world whether she exists, they’d say no - they don’t remember her, after all. They don’t even know why she disappeared in the first place, nor do they want to.

At least, no one today remembers her. She led a whole life a long time ago, and she spent twelve years recounting those memories like they were printed in a book, word for word. Each one of her loved ones has a text of their own, and if she had her way, she’d have them all on a shelf along with hers, together.

But there are empty spots on her shelf now. One is dead.

Another is sleeping, and she can’t retrieve him without the right key, unless she risks losing her mind.

The last one is unaccounted for.

So she traces her steps like she’s reading backwards, and watches people from places they don’t notice: within the cracks in between cobblestone, where they step on her; by the dumpster, where they abandon waste all over her, never realizing they’re burying her; under the storm drain, where they don’t bother to look; inside of closets, where they’re too preoccupied to peek.

After hours of eavesdropping useless conversation, she decides staying in Radiant Garden isn’t worth her trouble. She leaves, heading nowhere until she’s distant enough to wonder where she belongs.

Nowhere is a wasteland, with only a graveyard. And a man.

When the man sees her coming, he’s delighted to see her again, the way a child imagines a demon would be: lips curled, showing both rows of teeth, and a hungry glare where she’s the feast.

He looks the same, but he doesn’t, golden eyes ambered and deep which pierce through her. His hair is whiter than the sun - there’s no denying his presence, even yards away in the middle of an unmarked Keyblade burial site.

"All worlds begin in darkness, and all so end. The heart is no different - such is its nature. In the end, every heart returns to the darkness whence it came."

These are his first words to her, rich and smooth like the hum of a distant earthquake.

His glee cackles, an indication that he is no different from the very last moment she's seen him and that he has changed in every single way imaginable.

“I fell into darkness for you,” she says, her voice icy.

“Come again?”

She doesn’t lend a second for thought. He will not play dumb today. He will take responsibility.

Gliding across the sand, Master Aqua whips out a Keyblade - tacky blue slamming against ornate silver, her ugly Keyblade bouncing off of his as he knocks her back.

He sneers when he glances at her weapon. “Interesting choice for plunder.”

She grunts. She shrieks. She won’t give him a chance to talk (who cares what she stole?). Aqua slams her Keyblade against his, again and again and again. He’s going to take responsibility for leaving her behind. She will make it hurt.

He parries, sliding his blade up against hers to throw her off balance. Then he steps forward, and disappears in a puff of smoke. Pops back up, too close for comfort and erasing the space between them.

Close enough to grab her. Enough to take a faint whiff of cologne every time he takes a massive swing of his heavy Keyblade.

She dodges, floats, kicks dirt in his face - anything to break the air between them but still he comes charging at her, chest open for a strike and yet he gets too near to allow her a clear shot.

Like he knows she wants to. He knows what his weaknesses are and leaving his body exposed isn’t one of them.

Damn him.

They trade blows, metal to metal in beats and uppercuts, always blocked, clanking away and making enough noise to wake the dead.

Then without warning, he lurches back to keep his distance, strutting her in circles like he’s the predator.

If that’s the case, then he truly cannot grasp what he’s dealing with.

“Following ghosts from your past, are you?” he says, keeping his Keyblade flexed. “No, I am mistaken. You walk among them.”

“You’re not who I’m looking for.”

“On the contrary,” he coos, “I am.”

Digging into his pocket, he pulls out a metal and glass trinket, dipped in a color bolder than the earth beneath his feet.

"Give it back," she growls, as quiet and collected as a feline stalking prey.

The warm-orange Wayfinder dangling in display catches the sun when he wiggles it, before he clasps the entire thing in his large hand. He shoves it deep into his pocket like he's making a show out of taking something precious away from her.

“It is mine,” he says with a smile as sarcastic as a snarl.

Part of her should have known. The Realm of Darkness is not the only monster with teeth, and the moment she freed herself left her exposed to all that is hungry in the outside world.

When she steps forward, he steps back, his grin brimming like he’s excited. She throws herself against him for another hit.

He replies by playing coy, using switch and bait tactics to avoid every one of her attacks until she tires out. She's smart enough to realize it but she's too angry to care, telling her body that it can finally rest when he’s stopped breathing.

A lurch back when she lunges, a swerve when she's too close - he blends in and out of darkness to put distance between them just so she wastes her time catching up. He’s amused, beckoning her to come near with a finger. Come, is what he’s saying when he does this, I’m over here.

It's only when she starts getting furious, when darkness starts smoking off her skin, that he finally loses interest in taunting her.

She's used to attacks that stun; she's dodged and blocked against them all her life, but his have an extra kick, an extra surge of that desperate need to be stronger, faster, better, bigger.

Power is seductive and he's addicted to the girth of his muscles, into the way he slams his Keyblade onto hers, in the way his shoulders flex and tense with gusto when he pushes hard enough to make her stumble, in his prowess with dark magic that allows him to be too fast for his size.

He's a cheater, put simply. He cheats the laws of physics when he teleports, when he launches himself across the field like a bulldozer, when he floats around and mocks how hopelessly she chases him.

"So unrefined," he says about her flurries and fireworks, her ghosting and her flashy waves of purple. "You are deafening the desires of your heart," he continues like he's giving advice to a boring child, his posture suddenly lax like he has nothing to fear.

"I listen to it." She doesn't. It's abandoned her, silent as a weep when she turns to herself for answers.

"Clearly.”

"Shut up."

It's not like she doesn't know how her heart feels - angry and bitter enough to propel her forward, to make that Keyblade glow darkly and launch fireballs, blinding him until she follows through and meets him face to face, Keyblade to Keyblade, grinding and sparking and trembling. There's enough hatred and misery mixed in their magic to pool darkness together, a mass so dense it could stain stardust with black ink.

"You will do better by paying attention," he smirks, and she wants to punch it out of his face. His eyes scan her own, so deep and slick in gold that it reminds her of what she truly is: the same as him.

She spent many foolish years indulging in fantasies of what she'd make with their bodies once they were both reunited - making war was far from it.

"Give in," he says smoothly, their Keyblades shaking by this point. "Let your heart speak for itself."

She nearly spits at him. How dare he tell her how to do anything?

"Yes." He approves of her reaction, like he's getting off on it.

She’ll make him regret speaking to her like that.

Dropping to her knees and sweeping with a kick, she trips him, disappearing from his line of vision and leaving him stranded with nothing but dead Keyblades.

Aqua doesn't have much to say with words anymore. Her phantoms would pull their weight with that kind of hard work.

They creep from the Keyblades, stalking him until they finish their lap and vanish. Meant to be disorienting, they're a message, a filter for her pain so that someone out there knows. So that someone listens because dammit, she's been talking to herself for too many years.

"You left me to rot alone--"

"I waited so long for you to come get me--"

"I only wanted to go home--"

"I don't know what I did all this for--"

"Did you not care about me enough?"

“Traitor…”

"You will drown with me--"

But the bastard is not intimidated. He strides, barely giving them much of a glance as he rolls his shoulders and stretches his neck. He's not moved by her words when he should be.

So she slithers, comes right behind him for a direct hit but he's suave and self-assured, blocking her with the force of a boulder.

It's hard to say what catches his attention, what with her shrieking when she misses such an easy target. His eyes drink her face like he's reading her, down her ink-stained arms to her pauldron and ripped sleeves, like he's undressing them.

"What a wasted opportunity," is all he has to say.

He counters - three grounded steps forward with furious swings before a horrendous slam to the ground, darkness lapping at her face and tossing her backward. She stumbles over her feet, her still-foreign Keyblade forsaking her grip.

Aqua spits dry sand out of her mouth; this place is out of her element. He stands in her way, proud and reserved, brushing hair out of his face. Seeing him do that makes her blood boil and her mood miserable.

"It is not a wasted effort, however," he says, towering her, enjoying how he's looking down on a woman on her knees, clutching her chest and gasping for breaths. "What power would you hold if you simply-"

"What do you care?"

"I can offer you a better existence," he says, one hand at his waist, his Keyblade not fading away in the other. "Something with more class than a beggar in the desert."

"Who says I'm begging?"

"You are a commodity, a great asset."

“For what?” She scoffs. “To be a Seeker of Darkness? Summon Kingdom Hearts? None of that is my problem.” Looking him in the eye, even from the ground, makes her feel tall. “I’d rather swallow acid than stand next to you.”

He's smug. "Your heart is weaker than I expected, fleeing the inevitable like a wounded creature."

"It is not weak," she says, emphasizing the sharpness of that last word with a tisk.

She realizes she’s good at this - pretending to know what she’s about even though she wonders if she's truly gone apathetic.

What she wants right now is to scratch that smile off his face. "Neither is Terra's."

"Terra?" he asks like he has forgotten who that is. He searches the horizon, his lips curling with captivation when he remembers a game he's won. "Terra yearns for my confidence."

Whatever ego-rubbing he's feeding off of, it emanates in clouds of smoke licking the skin of his fingers. "Terra desired strength.” He holds a fist in the air, flexing the forearm. “Witness how powerful he is now. You can have the same, whatever you desire if you learn to control it."

She scoffs, rolls her eyes.

"You know nothing of the darkness,” he says.

Nothing? No. “I am darkness.”

She screams. She knows plenty, years' worth. Master Aqua hates darkness. Master Aqua reeks of it.

They come, hundreds of Heartless in reply, desperately crawling over each other like they will each die if they're too slow.

She hears them, trickling like raindrops... help help help help help.

At first, he's proud, waving his arm in grandeur like he’s announcing their arrival. He’s expecting they're here to be used as his example.

Yet he's the one insinuating she knew nothing. What a fool.

It's delicious to see him hesitate when they don't answer him.

Aqua laughs, twisted enough to remind her he's not the only one who's changed. "They're mine," she informs him.

With her horde, she's finally mutable, melting into their group when they save her, ebbing with their movements.

Until the man with Terra’s face is surrounded by a tornado of monsters. Until they are face to face again, and he's shaking to push her off of his Keyblade.

Her claw grips the armor on his left arm and he braces himself as she scratches the metal.

“Smile at me like you used to,” she commands, bringing her face closer to feel his breath.

He doesn’t obey. His teeth are locked in a snarl, his eyes occasionally darting to see if his blind spots are in danger - not in fear, but in fury.

Refusing her is the wrong answer. "What I want with all my heart is to take you back," she tells him with savor in her voice. "I swear, no matter where you are, I will be close. I will make sure you are never too far away from me. I will fix you."

He throws a mean glare before he knocks her off and teleports out of the eye of the storm, forcing her to open her Heartless barrier open and chase after him.

Now he gets serious. He slams the ground with his Keyblade, and the dirt under him ripple like the deep sea in the middle of night. From there, he floats, casting a spell, a summon - a Guardian of sorts - and the colors start weaving shadows.

Aqua and her Heartless have a heart-to-heart link. She doesn’t need to say anything for them to know what she wants. They leave her, twisting in a tidal wave with the intent to crash into him directly while she deals with his new threat on her own.

The shadows underneath her feet converge and slither. They are cold and slimy, the touch of something lurking underwater brushing against her legs.

Bursting out of the ground, it grabs her by the leg and thrashes her around like a toy. The momentum of it makes her dizzy, and she limps in its hold.

She shivers at the sight.

Empty yellow eyes, but angrier. Mouth taped by bandages like it’s injured. An empty shell in the middle of its chest, like it feels less than a regular Heartless. It’s huge and broadchested, and the first thing that comes to mind is the exact moment when she first met this creature. It hurt.

It hurt her.

Disappearing from its grip in a puff of smoke, Aqua comes at it from above, Keyblade in hand.

Her Heartless know to circle back away and pummel into the beast from behind. It takes a direct barrage of her grunts and strikes with her Keyblade - and her very kicks - to its face, until she’s too pissed off to have mercy and she starts coming at it with her worst blasts and explosions.

She’s found the man’s weakness - this creature. It raises its hands to cover its face from another one of her surging powerballs when the man throws himself in between, blocking with a barrier. Juggling both her and the tidal wave, he knocks out her attacks with large shockwaves while commanding the Guardian to deal with the Heartless - blast by violent blast, creep by unnerving creep.

The Guardian hides and stalks her Heartless, targeting the ones in the middle: the ones less aggressive and are only there to fill numbers. The lost. The confused. The children.

Each time it leaps from the ground and takes a hard strike, Heartless are ticked off, lost to nothingness forever in just one shot.

Aqua gasps.

Every Heartless vanquished is a sting somewhere, like a knotted string pulled from the surface of her skin until it cuts off her circulation. Then it snaps - from her back, her bicep, her face, her own heart, like a slap of rubber. Each and every one.

They’re gone. They’ve suffered enough crawling around the Realm of Darkness, and now this. It’s not fair.

Aqua calls them nearer to her. Together, they are sturdier, and she pets one of her Heartless - the youngest yet the oldest one of the group - to make sure it’s alright.

Man and beast teleport far enough away to add yards between. His shoulders heave with breath, and he staggers ever so slightly before straightening, like he has to remind himself that there’s something to be proud of.

The Guardian is dismissed, and the man opens up his arms and bows to her.

Stalemate. Surrender. It doesn’t matter. All she feels is pain when she promised herself after she left the Realm of Darkness that she’d never feel it again.

“Equal powers,” he says, hiding his defeat in his smile, “equal strengths. Equal truths.” She doubts that. “You are a worthy enough adversary, and yet I’ve bided enough of my time on you.”

He turns over his shoulder.

“Don’t you dare walk away from me,” she spits, her knees shaking.

It’s uncanny for an enemy to expose his back - traditionally his weakest spot - but he doesn’t consider it.

“You came here looking for ghosts, were you not?”

“It has nothing to do with you.”

“The graveyard is the perfect place to find one,” he says, waving his hand to beckon her. “This one is exactly who you’re looking for.”

Whether he’s taunting her or amusing himself, it’s easy to tell but hard to differentiate.

“You’re lying.”

“Suit yourself.” He continues on his way like he’s talking to himself. “The departed never linger.”

He doesn’t wait for her to catch up. Is he telling the truth? He’s smart, she’ll give him that. Smart and obnoxious, but he can’t afford to boldly take her to a trap.

If he pisses her off, she can finish the job. He’s weak enough now, and he should know this.

Aqua follows, her Heartless obedient and staying close. She eyes his shoulders, tracing the muscles to his spine. The most vulnerable spot is right at the brain stem.

He’s so much the same, and yet his stride has more bravado, more of a direction of where to go, like he’s solved all of his problems that plagued him in his young life.

“Tell me,” he says, glancing over his shoulder, “how did you escape the Dark Realm?”

Aqua doesn’t answer. It’s not his right to know.

“Peculiar,” is all he has to say about her silence.

She stops. “You’re wasting my time-”

“Here.” He gestures with his arm toward a blunder of rocks and boulders that have recently been blown off from a plateau high above.

Some of the pieces gleam in the harsh sunlight.

“This…” she hisses.

Armor. Chunks of it, sliced and abandoned in gold and red, next to a humongous, dull Keyblade laying flat on the ground. A scrap heap instead of a memorial, like all the rest.

She feels the man watching her as she gapes at the rubble before her.

“A lingering spirit,” he explains, his voice laced with a touch of condescension. “But no more. He spent far too long waiting for repentance until he was depleted of his will.”

She glares at him, golden eyes to golden eyes. His lashes are still luscious and as long as ever, lips slightly chapped as they always are. His lips are the same, but the smile is ugly. It twists, mischievous, like he understands exactly who’s responsible for this mess.

There is so much anger unspoken for but she doesn’t need words to tell him. Her fingers twitch, ready to slash him across the chest... but she’s drawn back by the very armor that needs her, pulling her heart heavily towards the ground. She doesn’t want to look at it but she knows it’s there, waiting for her to take care of it.

She can’t leave it now.

So she stares, waiting for the man to cower in her sight, refusing to be the first to step down.

But he notices what she’s trying to hide, and smirks. “You’re bound by his chains.”

His words pump her blood, her heart banging in her ears.

“Be wary of dead weight,” he says softly, his eyebrows pulsing upward. “Tied to your ankles, it will make you sink.”

“I know enough about drowning,” she quietly says.

He cocks his head, leaning forward. “There are depths you still cannot fathom.”

She inches closer to him, and can feel his breath on her lips. “We’ll see how hard you struggle to swim,” she whispers. “From now on, every breath you take is a gift from me.”

Something flickers in his eyes, and he smiles to himself.

Straightening up, he leaves her for silence, taking a step into a portal of darkness until it zips up behind him.

She hates him. Hates him for that stupid smirk he’s always wearing. Hates how good he is at reading her so easily, for knowing at first glance that she’d stay behind with the rubble when he turned over his shoulder.

She hates him for not letting her grieve her losses in peace.

The Realm has made good work of numbing her for twelve years, and now she takes a piece of it with her. Any surge of emotion - despair, nostalgia, yearning, wishing, and yes, even love - fades, leaving her stuck between yelling and not caring. Escaping the Realm should have been triumphant - not really deserving of applause, but it should have been the most important moment of her long life.

Standing here, in the midst of this mess, she wonders if waiting has been pointless all along.

Spurts of Heartless crawl toward the armor - they’re curious, as much as she is shaken by the sight. They’re attracted to what she feels, and because this armor makes her feel something, their interest spikes.

“Don’t touch,” she commands, and they squirm away.

First she takes the helmet under her arm. With the other, she grabs the torso by the neck rim, dragging it behind her. A few yards away is an indent carved into the plateau, right under an outcrop. It’s cooler there because the sun can’t touch it.

She takes laps, bringing in gauntlets and leg braces, all by herself. Finally, she drags that enormous Keyblade through the dirt, leaving a trail. It’s bigger than she remembers.

In the cave, she assembles the hips upright on the ground, right against the rock. Balances the torso on top. Lays the legs in front. Tries to attach the arms, but they simply fall.

Then the helmet. Sand spills out of the folds. One of its tall ears is chipped halfway, among other missing bits that tell her it was bashed in the face. Its visor is cracked, the damage running deep when she traces it with her finger. She imagines a pair of deep blue eyes behind the glass, but all she sees in the foggy reflection is her morphed face, gold eyes staring back.

“You broke before I did,” she says spitefully. Then the spite fades away, just like everything else. “I waited a long time for you, and…”

And it looked like it waited a long time for someone, too.

No matter how many times she wills her Heartless away, they always come back. Like puppies, they want to know what’s next. They just don’t have the words to ask.

“He’s not too far, don’t worry,” she says. Whether she’s saying it to her Heartless or to the armor, she doesn’t think too hard about it. “But this comes first.”

She balances the helmet on top of the torso, taking extra time with it. The last step is to lean the Keyblade next to the suit, against the rock. She’d rather have it here than among the nameless Keyblades out there - at least this can be a proper shrine, something to tell strangers who walk by that this was assembled with care. That someone who is nameless to them has been loved by those who remember him.

It’s better than the treatment she’s gotten, and she’s okay with that.

There’s still so much to fix.

Years of study have taught her that hearts are connected, and if a friend is in danger, she’d feel it.

Now that she’s spent enough time fighting with this version of a man, she can replay how his twisted heart beats (morphed, melted? Something is off with the way his heart thuds).

He’s traveling farther with each second, landing in a world that’s relatively close. He’s not in danger, not in the slightest, but it’s impressive how darkness makes it so much easier to track him than light could ever do for her. This is exactly why Heartless have an upper edge over people, lusting after hearts all the time, and she can almost feel it beating as though she has a hand over his chest.

Stepping out into the sun, Aqua and her pets are the only shadows in a world where nothing can escape its glare. A brighter light creates a darker shadow, and therefore the desert makes her the most powerful being here. Puffs of darkness spit up with dust with every step she takes, and Aqua conjures her own dark portal. It won’t be hard to find him.

There are no rules when dealing with a madman.

But he’s not the only one.

#terraqua #anti-aqua #dark aqua #terranort #terraquanort #kh fanfic #kingdom hearts fanfiction #antiaqua #there's too many tags just for her #i'm so excited to start this though!!!#and so intimidated #holy shit #what am i doing #my fic

38 notes · View notes

maviemesregles · 4 years

Text

A Holiday There Is: Boxing day

I absolutely loved writing one-shot fic "Twas two days before Christmas" for Tumblr prompt and had no intentions whatsoever to continue this story. Even though I fell in love with this Claire and Jamie myself. But I've received many comments asking me to write more. There'll be more coming your way and can be found on AO3 in chronological order.

Thank you for reading, giving likes and wanting me to write next instalment. It blows my mind.

Loads of love. xx

P.S. And loads of love to my Anne 💜 @eclecticstarlightconnoisseur

AO3

Claire closed her eyes, lips curling into a Cheshire cat-like smile. She leans back, the coolness of the pub stone wall feels pleasant on her heated skin. She hears the crackles of ice in her Gin & Tonic. Taking a sip, she feels her mouth explode into millions of stars as the drink slides over her tongue. The lime bites her tastebuds. She finds making a coherent sentence becoming more challenging as she consumes her third cocktail. Claire cautiously opens one eye to peer around the crowded room. The pub is warm and dimly lit, buzzing like a beehive with the sound of conversation, laughter, glasses clinking and slow soft jazz. Outside, it’s raining cats and dogs, the passersby hold onto their umbrellas as a buttress against the stormy wind. Ah, London.

Inside, it smells of cigarettes and well-worn aged-wood. It’s toasty but has become too much for her liking. It makes the soft curls at her nape stick to the skin. But she doesn’t dwell on it too long as she sees Jamie coming back from the bathroom. It is still a mystery to her how just the sight of him makes her edges soften and a tight knot appear in her lower belly. Claire takes another sip of her G & T, feeling the bubbles roll between her lips causing a prickle in her mouth. She is lost in thought, considering how she doesn't like mysteries. But she decides to solve this one called Jamie Fraser.

His bright hair shines with all the possible shades of red, even the ones she could not name. His jeans hang low, exposing the sliver of skin beneath his sweater like he doesn’t care. Claire has to hide a laugh inside her jumper sleeve when Jamie runs into a decoration hanging from the ceiling. He is so tall it brushes against his forehead. He curses. Surely something in Gaelic, Claire thinks.

“All right?” She says, saluting her glass to him.

“All right.” Jamie pours another glass of whisky for himself. He says something about waiters forgetting the salad she had ordered and if she wants him to go and ask... Claire barely registers the actual words, his Scottish burr is as smooth as melted butter, turning her blood boiling hot with need.

“Shall we have a toast?” Fraser leans his glass to hers, eyes never leaving her face.

She licks her lips and Jamie shifts his chair closer to hers, so he can drape his hand across her back.

“To unexpected meetings.” Beauchamp lifts her cocktail.

As Jamie’s thumb draws intricate patterns on her shoulder their conversation drifts into discussing one another day, the never-ending rain, and how good their drinks are. Claire mentions the documentary she saw recently on BBC and Jamie shares his love for Paolo Nutini’s music. They both agree that the guy is a bloody genius.

Claire lets herself melt into him, her body relaxes against his. Her head falls down Jamie’s shoulder, hand lays atop his thigh. The Scot draws her closer and she can feel his lips brushing her forehead softly.

They sit for some time allowing the silence to surround them. Absorbing the atmosphere around them, the malty smell of good beer, of holiday decorations with their piney scent, and the howling of the wintry wind outside.

“So, Sassenach, do ye sleep without yer bottoms?” Jamie smirks at her.

She gives him a side-eye and laughs. He finds himself helpless around her. He feels lost in the face of feeling that somebody finds him truly funny. He watches as her lips, delicate pink and inviting, curl into a smile. Her giggles explode into laughter. Her smile could burn him from inside out and Christ, he would not mind being reduced to ash.

“Is that a trick question, Fraser?” She leans back on her chair, pops a cherry tomato into her mouth feeling it burst with sweet juice. “It depends on the occasion.”

Claire glances at him under her lashes and Jamie feels a hot lump stuck in his throat.

Suddenly he remembers a picture of her in a red dress (God, that neckline) that she sent him in response to his “I hope ye have a merry and very happy Christmas, Sassenach! XX”

He did not know that Claire’s breath hitched when he snapped a selfie of himself as a response. He looked dashing. The smart white shirt and half loosened tie made her let out a shaky breath.

Neither did he know that just within two days he’d encounter the Sassenach again.

On Boxing day head buzzing with business decisions, he walked toward the cashier at Ralph Lauren in Harrods, grasping a pyjama pants in his hands. That’s when his eyes noticed the mass of curls and he heard her high-class English accent moving among the clothing racks.

“I’ll take the top.” Her hands clutching the pyjamas top from the same set he was going to purchase.

“I’ll take the bottom.”

Claire looked at him over her shoulder and he drowned in the whisky coloured depths again. They had a good laugh about the fact that this set of nightwear brought them together again. Jamie teased her for buying the pyjamas in men’s section and Claire asked him something that made her heartbeat in anticipation.

“How often do you come to London?”

Then Jamie had asked her to grab a drink and she led him to her favourite pub in Hackney.

* * *

“Care for a dance?” Beauchamp stands up, holding her hand out for him. She feels a bit crazy and just slightly drunk with the alcohol she had and with him being so near. The smell of his cologne, amber wood and sea coast, and the memory of his lips learning the lines of her body, causing her to be a little reckless tonight. But who cares?

Jamie takes her hand, his fingers run through hers, her little anchor to hold on to. He leads her through the crowd. He feels his cheeks burn hot just from the nearness of her. When Claire’s hands wrap around his neck, he pulls her closer, fingers dig into the tender skin on her waist. She smells of lime, bright and juicy; of the lingering remnants of her flowery perfume and the smoke in her hair; she smells of hope, of the future.

Her cheek is against Jamie’s. His stubble brushing against her skin, a bit scratchy, but she doesn’t care. For a second Jamie thinks she trembles in his arms, but he assumes it’s just his imagination.

But she does tremble. Claire closes her eyes and lets him lead her. They sway slowly to the rhythm of the piano.

She feels weightless and care-free. She feels warm, warm from his body pressed so close against her as they dance. Her heart beats frantically, something quite usual when Jamie’s around.

When she opens her eyes she sees him looking at her. The roses bloom bright pink in her cheeks and she drops her gaze.

“Would I embarrass myself if I'd say I like ye, Sassenach?”

She looks up at him. And kisses him breathless. Her mind went blank. And they danced some more oblivious to the fact that the music has stopped. Nothing matters besides them being together here. In the city with the rain washing over the streets, the city of the alleys where time never stops, and the corner shops where bright vegetables spilt a paint blot in this grey winter.

Within the confines of their own universe, time suspends as they walk together, hand in hand to Jamie's car. When he kissed her eyelids and under eyes asking “What if I kissed ye here?” she did not know she ever needed to hear such questions from a man. But her knees went all wobbly and she ached so deep down the marrow of her bones. Her heart thuds in her ears. His hair is the colour of burnt butter in the evening darkness of the car. There is a question on the tip of her tongue. Would you like to stay?

Jamie knows now that she lives in the pastel pink Victorian house.

She whimpers and sighs as his lips chart the map down her body. As he loves her with his mouth, she knows she cannot part with him just now.

Later Jamie learns that the sun crawls into her bedroom about seven in the morning and that she does sleep without bottoms.

#outlander fanfiction #outlander fic #A Holiday There Is #maviemesregles #Jamie Fraser #claire beauchamp #claire and jamie #outlander modern au #alternate universe #boxing day #smut

97 notes · View notes

boneandfur · 4 years

Text

Rosemary Lane [4]

CHAPTER FOUR

Love and scandal are the best sweeteners of tea. - Tom Jones, Henry Fielding.

When Rosamund at last slumps down to breakfast, Woods informs her that her cousin has gone out riding with the Englishmen and the Turk, and that the ladies are at their needlework in the sitting room.

"This is not the house party I imagined." Rosamund flops down on the chaise, opening one eye to look at Briar. "Since when do you embroider useless things, Briar?"

Briar looks up from her sewing. Her eyes are dark with purplish shadows, as though she has not slept a wink. Well, that makes a pair of us.

"Lisette is showing me how to embroider a rosette." Briar holds up her sampler, showing Rosamund a lumpen attempt.

What a waste of silken thread. But she does not say it. "Where did you learn to stitch so fine, Lisette? We did not get a chance to learn much about you last night, besides the fact that you were a..." Rosamund stumbles over the words in her head, not wanting to offend. " ...a dancer."

Lisette looks up from her stitching, and Rosamund sees she is mending a hole in a fine lawn handkerchief, worn very thin in places, as though it has spent many years in and out of pockets. There is a dark stain near a clutch of blue flowers, and Lisette covers it with a fine-boned hand, looking straight at Rosamund without flinching. "Yes, in the ballet. First in Paris, and then in Vienna. And you, Briar?"

Rosamund is taken aback at the girl's cheek. "Briar was my maid!" She slaps a hand over her mouth, and Lisette's eyebrows rise.

"We were friends first." Briar continues working at the rosette, her mouth a set line, giving away nothing. "Grew up in Grovershire, a day's ride from here. Wherever we went, we went together, like each other's shadow." Briar picks a green floss, for the vine, and continues stitching, childish and clumsy. "So when Rosamund found out her true father was the Earl of Edgewater, I came here with her, as her maid. That was back in '16." She looks away, there is a wet gloss in her dark eyes.

Rosamund realizes that Briar is working on a man's handkerchief, and dark jealousy claws at her throat. "Yes, Briar, you were quite busy that summer, were you not?" She cannot resist the dig, and it makes her feel both guilty and satisfied, all at once.

"Ah, the summer of '16." Lisette's voice is wistful. "When I danced in The Goose Girl."

"I thought you danced in Sun and Moon?" Rosamund stabs her needle into the fabric a little too hard, it bites her finger and she pops it into her mouth. "Or was that just some romantic embellishment?" Because of what you are. But she does not want to say it aloud. After all, aren't all cats grey in the dark?

"When Maximilian came through Vienna in August of 1816, he was captain of a troop of mercenaries, headed to the Rus." Lisette's eyes are far away, and she sets down her needle, swept up in the memory. "'I have nothing to offer you, Lisette,' he said, 'Except my heart, and the wide, wide world.' What could I do, then, but follow him?"

It is only because he had money. If he had been a poor man, you would have laughed in his face, Rosamund thinks, and she remembers the summer of 1816, and the look on Luke Harper's face when she told him she could not live on love, nor should any woman be expected to. She had never seen him again. "Well, your life has indeed been a fairytale, Miss Lisette."

Lisette looks up from her stitches, and there is an old sorrow in her eyes for a brief, heartrending moment, but then it is gone, and there is nothing outside but the corbies, whirling and diving in the watery light, no sound of marching boots, no fife and drum. "Never that, Lady Rosamund. Do not ever think it. Maximilian and I have chosen to be happy --" As if happiness is such a thing that can be chosen -- and Lisette looks out at the dark line of forest, beyond the windowpane, where frost etches a silvery web of fate.

There is more to this tale, Rosamund is certain of it, but Lisette begins to stitch again, a small smile playing about her lips, she will not say more. "Where do you come from? Where is your home?"

"My home is with Maximilian. The place where I was born is no more, madam. It is just a mad dream of exiles, flung to the ends of the earth." Stitch, stitch, stitch. The impossibly small stitches mend the hole in the fabric, as if it never lay over a man's heart as he fought for something bigger than himself, half a world away -- a field strewn with corpses, men and horses falling all around him, the sky streaked red and black, and the sound of the cannons so loud that they could be heard by a girl in Brussels, tending to the wounded as the armies began to retreat.

Rosamund does not know the tale of that little scrap of cloth, she never will. All she sees before her is a girl who has not been made to know her place, not as she and Briar have been made to, and it makes her feel a fury with the European sense of laissez-faire, that Cousin Maximilian might take a mistress and live openly with her, and no one on the Continent will bat an eye. Meanwhile, her own affair must be hidden in shadow, or else she will be an outcast, as if she is not enough of one already, held to a higher standard by the stain of her very birth.

But Rosamund presses on. "So you have no home. Is that why you came here, to sponge off my largesse, like common thieves?"

"Rosamund!" Briar snaps, and Rosamund feels a confused sense of hurt, as though she is the one in the wrong here.

Lisette stands up, pinning Rosamund with her eyes, and the look in them makes Rosamund shrink back against the chaise, wanting to slink away and go to earth, like a fox who runs from the hounds. When Rosamund drops her eyes, Lisette turns on her heel, and addresses Briar. "Will you not show me around the grounds, Miss Daly? I detest being cooped up inside, and need to feel the sun upon my face."

"Oh -- yes, of course! Let me just fetch a shawl." Briar hurriedly gathers her sewing things, and stands to go. "By your leave, Lady Rosamund."

No, you may not have leave to go, I am not done with this conversation! But she has already gone too far, to say that would be beyond the pale, and Rosamund bites her tongue and nods, feeling as though she has not given anything at all.

•••

"Sinclaire and I will find a tavern." Hamid rubs his hands together so gleefully that Marlcaster would think he planned for Maximilian's horse to throw a shoe, only a stone's throw away from the village. "We shall reserve a private parlor, and order something to stave off the chill."

"I'll require a pitcher!" Maximilian calls after them, and Marlcaster thinks that Maximilian could probably drink two or three pitchers, remain upright on a horse, ride into battle in his evening wear, and still come out on top through sheer luck. Watching Maximilian saunter through the village streets, pausing to peer through the windows of a curiosity shop with his eyes lit up like a little boy's makes Marlcaster certain that it's all been luck that has brought them here, just the roll of the die.

"Look! They have an automaton!" Maximilian bounds inside before Marlcaster can stop him, leaving him to tie up the horses with not a small measure of irritation. It surprises him, how much inner conflict he feels, wanting and not wanting to return to Edgewater, to take Rosamund in his arms, and--

"Well?" Maximilian pokes his head around the door. "Are you coming?"

•••

The inside of the shop is cluttered on every surface with junk: tops carved with skulls, bone rattles, and a wall entirely covered in pinned butterflies; their wings lightly lifted by the breeze from the door, which sets them all to quivering, the sound like a thousand blades of grass, rustling, rustling in the cool of the morning. A clock gongs the hour somewhere in the back of the shop, and all the cuckoo clocks burst out all at once.

Ku-ku! Ku-ku! Ku-ku!

Marlcaster flinches, nearly dropping the toy theatre he has been holding, a paper and wood replica of Shakespeare's Globe. When he looks up, a plague mask looms from the shadows, the beak long and curved, like a hook. He flinches, hand going instinctively to the pommel of his sword.

The figure holds up two very human hands, and whips the mask off to reveal a girl, with hair like a copper coin and amber eyes, not more than nineteen or so. "Pax! Pax, sir!" She holds out a hand, Marlcaster stares at it, then back at her face. "I am Mena. Welcome to my shop, gentlemen."

"Tremendous!" Maximilian startles them both by bursting into laughter, clapping loudly. "May I?" He plucks the mask from the Mena’s fingers, tying it around his head, and dashes off to admire his reflection in a concave mirror.

"Will you be buying the toy theater, sir?" She has an odd accent, Marlcaster tries to place it and cannot, it belongs to everywhere and nowhere. "They are quite popular."

Marlcaster looks down at the intricately illustrated plates, thinking of the little boy he once was, thrilled beyond belief to play for hours at producing plays for his baby step-brother, Harry. When Harry grew, he would assist Edmund, until his imagination surpassed the plays that came with the theater, and the two of them were putting on original shows for their mother and the Earl.

A regular little Davy Garrick, his mother had called Harry. Marlcaster looks down at the toy theater, tracing a finger along the painted scenery, and then back up at the girl. He clears his throat, suddenly thick with emotion. "Yes, wrap it up."

"And for you, sir?" The girl turns to Maximilian, who has opened the backs of one of the cuckoo clocks and looks up in faint alarm. She glides across the cluttered space, her full skirts whispering, whispering, and she stands on tiptoe to whisper something into the tall man's ear. He flushes, Marlcaster cannot quite make out what they are saying. She places something in Maximilian's hand and his face turns dark. He whirls from her, the look in his eye making Marlcaster shudder. He should not like to face down a foe on some foreign field with a look like that in their eye.

"There is nothing here I wish to buy." Maximilian's voice is harsh, he clutches something in his fist so tightly that the bones in his hand are white.

"Sir --" Mena moves forward, and stops. "You may like to know the history of the piece --"

"I know it," Maximilian growls. "For three days and nights, I lay on a blood-soaked field, not knowing if I should live or die, that sigil ring on the hand that lay next to mine." He prowls the edge of the tables, picking up curious things without seeming to really see them at all: a pinned fairy in a jar, an iridescent purple shell, an intricate dagger. "Was this whole shop stocked by Death's plunder, then, madam?"

Marlcaster looks at the shop-girl, Mena, she has flattened herself to the wall, and he opens his mouth, feeling he should say something to stop Rosamund's cousin. "Lord Maximilian --"

"He did not die on that field to have his identity stripped from him by craven thieves!" Maximilian roars, his face like thunder. With an incandescent howl of fury, he sweeps his arm across the nearest table, sending everything upon it crashing to the floor. He opens his fist, and the sigil clatters on the floor in the ringing silence. Then he pulls his hat down, and storms from the shop, the door slamming nearly off its hinges behind him.

"I'd better go after him," Marlcaster says apologetically. "Send the bill to my club in London, Sir Edmund Marlcaster at White's, and I shall see that you are compensated for you troubles."

Mena plucks at his sleeve as he turns to go. "I shall have the toy theater delivered to Edgewater, where you are staying, sir."

"How did you... Never mind." As he leaves the shop, he feels eyes on him at the window, but he does not turn around. If he did, he might see that those eyes turn curiously scarlet for a moment, before the heavy curtain falls.

•••

Marlcaster finds Maximilian on the town green, his fingers tracing names on a copper plaque affixed to a simple marble obelisk. The snow is falling more heavily now, soon the whole village will be under a blanket of white. Unbidden, he thinks of the Frost Fair of '14, when Harry rode an elephant across the Thames, when he'd thought they would always be young and golden and immortal, and never know the pain of one who is taken too soon.

"I should go back." Maximilian stands very still, his head cocked, listening. "I should not have acted so ignobly. I forgot myself." He pulls his collar up, against the chill. "That's the trouble with staying in a place for too long -- you gain a local reputation."

"I lost a brother, too," Marlcaster says casually, offhand, as though discussing the weather. He gives Maximilian the space to compose himself, glancing up the street where smoke puffs out of the tavern's chimney. "Step-brother, I should say. His name was Harry. Died in a hunting accident. the year before he reached his majority." The old hurt again: though it happened near seven years ago, not a day goes by that he does not see Harry in a sunset, or hear his laughter as he passes children at play. "It never leaves you. I should have been the one who protected him."

Maximilian's voice is flat, his brown eyes stripped of emotion. "I ran off from Cordonia when I was a lad of fourteen, to follow the drum of war. I was always the joke, the fool, the one who could do nothing right. Came home after the Battle of Paris in '14, to find the old man dead and my brother Duke in his place, and it was as if I'd never gone to war and made a man of myself."

Marlcaster does not know what to say. He has never seen Paris, he has never been to war. In 1815, while Maximilian Beaumont danced at the Duchess of Richmond's ball and then fought in Quatre Bras at dawn in his evening wear, Edmund Marlcaster was frittering away the rent monies in a gaming hell in Seven Dials, and the next eve dancing the reel with a green-clad girl at a country fair. He never lay in Hell for three days beside the dead body of his elder brother, instead, he watched as his little step-brother was lowered into the ground.

He raises a hand, as if to give comfort, and then drops it, offering Maximilian a pinch of snuff instead.

For a long moment, there is no sound but their inhalations as they snort the snuff off the backs of their hands, then:

"It wasn't your--"

"And then the Corsican monster came back, and I quit the Cordonian shore to run headlong back into the only thing I knew, the only thing I was ever good at. And he followed me, to try to understand." Maximilian clenches and unclenches his fists, shoving his hands deep into his pockets, and begins to walk toward the tavern, the snow swirling around his patched military cloak. Just before the tavern door, he turns around, and his eyes are bleak as a wasteland. "So do not tell me that the fault is not mine to bear, Mr Marlcaster, sir."

#n*fw #marlcaster x mc #briar x marlcaster #long post #my fic #litrotica #'erotica #rosemary lane

29 notes · View notes

kurokoros · 5 years

Text

howling for you | sp x oc

Title: howling for you

Rated: M (a/b/o smut)

Words: ~4K

Pairing: Sweet Pea x Jones!OC

Summary: Sweet Pea may be Alpha, but she’s never been Omega material.

AN: This is my first go at an a/b/o dynamic fic. There is knotting. There is dirty talk. You have been warned. I may be persuaded to write another part to this if people ask nicely.

Sweet Pea knows she’s there without having to see her. As soon as she slips through the front door of the Whyte Wyrm an arc of fire floods through his veins and pools low in his abdomen. The smell of the bar, sweat and sex and cheap beer, is clouded with something sweet. His pupils dilate. The pool cue hits the ball too hard, sending it rocketing off the side as his misses his shot.

Before Fangs or Joaquin can say anything he’s straightening from the pool table and storming across the room, the other Serpents not daring to get in his way. Before she can get far, his big hand latches around her wrist and she lets him drag her to the far corner of the room, away from the bar and the crowd around the pool table.

Jubilee gasps as his hands slam against the wall on either side of her, boxing her in as he leans down, breath hot against her ear. “What the fuck are you doing here like this?” he snaps, angling his body to keep her out of sight of the prying eyes from the rest of the pack. This close her scent is even stronger, sweet and intoxicating, honey and vanilla and jasmine. There’s something else there too, something thick and heady: arousal. And he’s not the only one who can smell it.

She peers up at him through thick, dark eyelashes, her amber eyes alight with mischief. “I’m just having a little fun.” Sweet Pea’s gaze swirls with something dark and his jaw clenches, his teeth grinding together. Jubilee rises up on her toes, heels giving her a boost as her lips press against his jaw, ghosting his flesh. Her hands slip beneath his jacket and flannel, her fingertips dipping beneath the black shirt beneath to trace the heated skin of his hip. “Afraid you’ll have competition tonight?”

Sweet Pea growls, low and rough as it crawls from deep in his chest, a warning, but it’s not for her. He’d never hurt her. He’s always been aggressive, temperamental, but not with her. Not unless she wants him to be. And Jubilee has always been good at riling him up.

He may be an Alpha, but she’s never been Omega material.

And coming here now, smelling like absolute heaven, in the middle of a rut, it’s about as brazen as she could get. She’s always been a spitfire, stubborn as all hell, and he should have known she’d show up here like this, practically dripping with want—knowing it would set him off.

It’s not just him either. Every other Alpha in the room noticed as soon as she stepped into the bar, and in the past maybe some of them would have tried something, but Sweet Pea’s made his claim on her clear with blood and sweat and his scent clinging to her like a second skin and Jubilee has broken enough bones to ward off anyone trying to touch her without permission.

That doesn’t stop them from looking.

Another low sound rumbles in the back of his throat as her lips move to his neck and the tattoo there, not quite kissing him. “Come on, Doll.” Sweet Pea wets his lips and drops one hand from the wall near her head so that his fingers are teasing her upper thigh, flirting with the hem of her dress. “You know better than that.” He noses at her, drinking in her scent. Usually it would calm him, but right now all he wants it to drag her into the bathroom and fuck her hard, make everyone in this bar remember that she’s his and he’s hers.

A shiver wracks her as his hand creeps higher up her leg, his fingers stroking the sensitive skin of her inner thigh. There’s an ache already forming between her legs, a heat pooling in her stomach, and when he chuckles against her ear she bites her lip.

Sweet Pea leans back and almost groans at the sight of her, all smoky eyes and burgundy lips caught between her teeth. Her dress is short and black and hugs ever curve of her. Her arousal only grows as he looks at her, eyes dark with want.

Her head cocks to the side and her expression becomes coy. “Maybe you should remind me.” Her fingertips slide along his sides, lifting the hem of his shirt just enough to reveal the enticing shape of his hip bones.

He shudders as he imagines her mouth on him. “You’re playing a dangerous game, sweetness,” he warns her, clucking his tongue.

Her smile turns wicked and she feigns slipping out from under him, but he’s quick to pin her between him and the wall again, careful not to hurt her. She inhales sharply as he crams his knee between her legs and grinds his thigh against her. Jubilee’s fingers fist in his shirt and he swallows down a moan at the way her arousal flairs, practically dripping from her.

He’s hard and hot against her thigh and Sweet Pea rolls against her lazily, soaking in the soft sounds slipping from her. His mouth is on her then, his teeth scrapping against her neck. Sweet Pea suckles on her skin, working hickeys down the length of her neck as a reminder.

The rest of the bar ignores them, for the most part. They wouldn’t be the first couple to hook up at the Wyrm, hell this wouldn’t be the first time they’ve had a quick fuck in the back, but even now Sweet Pea can feel the curious gazes of some of the younger members, drawn in by her scent.

Possessiveness flares in his chest that isn’t usually there and he rocks his knee harder against her sensitive heat, drawing a strangled gasp from Jubilee. That dark, animalistic part of him wants them to watch as he gets her off with nothing but his mouth on her neck and his thigh crammed between her legs, wants them to see how good he makes her feel as she whimpers and moans his name, her thighs quivering around him.

He could take her right here, bend her over the pool table and fuck her until she can’t walk.

His teeth dig into her shoulder a little too hard and her hips jerk against his. “Sweets,” she pants. The hands on his chest are suddenly flat palms pushing him away. “Sweet Pea, stop.” It comes out quiet, just loud enough for him to hear, and he stills against her, mouth leaving her with a wet pop as he comes back to his senses an apology already on his tongue. Jubilee is grasping at him then, her hands gentle against his face, reassuring. “Not here,” she says, and then, “take me home.”

They barely make it through into the house before he’s shoving her up against the front door, his chest pressed against her back and his bulge grinding against her ass, big and imposing even through the layers of their clothes.

It’s almost embarrassing how loudly she moans at being manhandled.

“Sweets,” she chokes out, trying to rock her hips back against his, desperate for friction. Being this close to him is making the ache between her legs unbearable and her stomach twists as he rolls against her, but it’s not enough.

His face is pressed against her hair again, then her neck. He huffs, breathing deeply. “You smell so fucking good,” he mumbles, lips hot on her neck. Jubilee trembles beneath him, wet and wanting as his hands slam against the wall on either side of her.

It’s suffocating in the best way. He’s hard and hot against her ass, hands boxing her in, and her back is on fire where he’s pressed against her. He’s so much bigger than her and she whimpers at the thought of him fucking her from behind, making her beg for it.

He’s thinking the same thing, picturing her trembling and clenching around his cock, his cum dripping from her, too spent to do anything but scream his name as her eyes roll back.

“Sweet Pea, please.”

“What the fuck were you thinking?” he asks her again, hands on her thighs, hiking her dress up higher. “Coming into the bar like this, a wet, dripping mess in the middle of a rut.” Sweet Pea slips a hand between her legs and traces her slit through her flimsy, lacy panties. She moans, hips rocking into his hand. He shoves her underwear to one side, two fingers teasing her drenched folds until she’s squirming and whining.

“Needed you,” she chokes out, breathing heavily. Her forearms are braced against the door, her temple resting against the cool metal. He doesn’t enter her, but god she wishes he would. The heat is almost unbearable. She’s already drenched and he’s barely touched her. She’s sweat-slicked, and the moonlight pouring in through the window makes her glow like some kind of goddess. “I tried, but—” His fingers drag against her clit and the raw pleasure makes her shudder. Sweet Pea gropes at her ass with his other hand, her dress bunched up around her hips. “Your hands are better,” she finishes.

The image of her touching herself is what makes him snap.

He chuckles, low and throaty and hot against her ear. “You wanna play dirty, baby?” His hand cracks against her ass in a sharp slap that makes her yelp. The sting only lasts a second and he soothes her reddening skin with a soft caress. The chill of his rings is a delicious contrast to the heat of his palm. “Lets play dirty.”

Sweet Pea’s hand leaves her aching center and he yanks her around again, barely giving her a moment to breathe as he slams her back against the door and grabs her thighs hard enough to bruise. He lifts her easily, she’s so tiny, and presses her back against the door. His mouth is on hers instantly, swallowing the breathy, mewling sounds coming from Jubilee, who locks her legs around his hips.

She arches into his chest, grasps at his shoulders, his arms, yanks at his hair until he’s snarling against her. Her hips are grinding into his and she gasps each time the button on his jeans catches on her clit through her underwear, the sensation of the cold metal foreign.

It’s all teeth and tongue as he carries her through the dark room. Sweet Pea only parts from her long enough to yank that tight, black dress over her head and toss it on the floor. Jubilee’s fingers tangle in his hair, tugging harshly as he drops her down on a smooth, cool surface. The table.

Sweet Pea rips away from her, his hand pressed flat against her back, his heat leeching into her skin. The palm of his hand drags up her spine until his fingers find the clasp of her bra, a pretty lacy thing that matches her panties. He looks down at her, appraising, and his cock twitches at the sight of her, lips swollen and eyes hooded, pupils blown wide with arousal. Jubilee’s chest heaves, strapless bra barely covering her breasts. Her legs are spread wide for him, her underwear damp, and she’s practically shaking with need.

Seeing her like this, so wet and ready for him, only makes him harder and he grits his teeth to keep from moaning.

The snaps on her flimsy bra give away easily beneath his strength, and she gasps as he tears it from her, tossing it aside like her dress. The cool air causes her nipples to peak and Jubilee bites her lip, unsure what he’s going to do next.

The calluses on his fingers are rough and she keens as he tweaks her nipple, rolling it between his fingers before palming her breast. It fits perfectly in his hand, soft and smooth, and he’s oddly gentle as he leans down and kisses her chest. Sweet Pea squeezes her breast and rubs her nipple as he leaves another dark bruise on the top of her breast.

Jubilee sighs and arches into his chest, her eyes fluttering shut.

His hand slipping back beneath her underwear to tease her dripping slit, his fingers becoming slick. Her scent grows, clouding his senses. Honey and vanilla and jasmine. His jeans have become painfully constricting, and he snarls as her face contorts with pleasure when his thumb rolls over her clit.

He wets his lips. “What do you want, baby?” he murmurs, rubbing her clit harder. She rolls up against him and he grabs her hip with his free hand, keeping her firmly in place.

She pants out a soft, “you,” and he chuckles.

“Cute.” Sweet Pea purses his lips, amusement fading away. He pinches her clit and she squeals. The hand in her panties slips away. Leaning down, he presses his mouth against her exposed ear, a low warning in his voice. “Jubilee, tell me what you want or I’ll stop.” It’s almost too much, thinking about leaving her aching for him.

With a groan she complies, a desperate need for him coiling in her stomach. She’s wound tight and ready to burst. Jubilee’s hands tug at his hair again. “I want you to fuck me with your big, hard cock,” she tells him. And then, because she’s never been easily submissive, she leans in until her lips ghost against his and teasingly adds, “Alpha.”

Growling, Sweet Pea backs away from her. “Turn around and put your hands on the table.”

He’s done playing.

When she doesn’t comply fast enough, Sweet Pea yanks her off the table and shoves her down. The hard edge of the table digs into her belly, the wood cool against her front, and the rough treatment only makes her keen and jerk back against him as he ruts against her ass.

“Don’t move,” he demands, a snarl mixed in with his words as he hooks his fingers around her panties and pulls them down her thighs. They pool on the floor by her feet.

Jubilee bites her lip, cheek pressed against the table. She can’t see him from the angle, but the clanking of metal behind her makes her breath catch. Sweet Pea practically rips at his belt, nearly tearing the leather before he pops the button on his jeans.

He groans as his hot hand wraps around his cock, stroking slowly and smearing the thick fluid beading at the tip as he presses against her from behind. Both of his hands grip her waist and he yanks her back. Her ass hits his hips with a muted slap and Jubilee moans as his cock slides between her thighs, rubbing her clit. The sensation of him grinding against her, covering his cock in her slick, makes her sob. A shier runs down her spine.

“Oh fuck,” she breathes, “Sweet Pea, please.”

He doesn’t keep her waiting. Sweet Pea thrusts up against her, thick cock spreading her lower lips as he shoves deep inside. There’s a moment of pause as they both get used to the feeling.

Sweet Pea leans down, chest pressed to her back, and she shudders at the skin on skin feeling, electricity prickling between them. The heat of him presses along her spine as Sweet Pea looms over her, growling against her ear as he trails wet kisses along her flushed skin. He noses her neck sweetly, then her exposed cheek.

And then he starts to fuck her.

She’s already on the edge by his second thrust. The wet sound of his cock pounding into her makes her eyes roll, and she moans each time his hips slap against her ass. He drives himself into her, cock hard and hot and perfect as he grinds against her sweet spot with each thrust. Sweat builds on her back as he slides over her.

“Such a good girl,” he’s telling her between harsh thrusts. “You’re so wet, baby. You feel so fucking good around me.”

One hand slips around her hips to roll against her swollen clit. Jubilee sobs and twitches beneath him, hips jerking back against his. She whimpers his name and rocks back against his hard cock as he murmurs nonsense praises against her hair. “That’s it, Doll, just like that.”

It’s all she can do to keep breathing each time his thick length fills her from behind, stretching her wide for him. Her wet walls clench around his length with each rough thrust, but Sweet Pea never slows.

He rolls her clit between her fingers and she’s pulled taut as a sudden climax crashes over her. It slams the breath from her lungs and she chokes on his name, eyes squeezing shut at the pleasure that coils in her gut and snaps.

Sweet Pea doesn’t stop fucking her. His fingers don’t slow and it’s all too much but not enough all at once. She’s a twitching, dripping mess and he just keeps fucking into her from behind, huffing against her neck and snarling.

A hand fists in her hair and she screams as she’s yanked backwards. Her back curves off the table, her sweaty palms sliding against the slick surface beneath her. Sweet Pea’s hand leaves her oversensitive clit and slides up her stomach slowly. He palms her breast again, nipping at her ear as he guides her head back against his chest.

She whimpers when he rolls her nipple between his thumb and finger. “You gonna cum for me again, Jubilee?” There are teeth on her neck and she’s panting like she’s in heat as he fucks her fast and brutal. “Gonna cum on my cock like a needy little bitch?”

In response she clamps down around him, writhing and sobbing beneath him. “Yes,” she gasps. “Fuck, Sweet Pea, yes.” She’s so far gone at this point, it’ll only take a few more precise rolls of his hips to make her come undone beneath him. “You’re so fucking big.”

The base of his cock starts to swell, and the knot grinds against her clit with every harsh thrust. Jubilee inhales sharply, so close to coming again. His grip shifts, hand leaving her hair to grab her throat and squeeze just enough for her to feel it. There’s a hitch in her breathing and Sweet Pea grins against her shoulder, muttering “that’s a good girl,” as he nips at her skin. “Fuck, if you could see yourself, all spread open for me and dripping.” His hand disappears between her thighs and the knot of tension in her gut unravels.

Jubilee comes hard on his cock for a second time, thighs shaking.

Sweet Pea lets go of her neck and pins her back against the table, covering every inch of her. His teeth dig into her shoulder at the same time he bottoms her out, hot, thick cum coating her walls as his cock swells, the knot keeping it from spilling from her spent pussy. She whimpers as his teeth pull from the curve of her shoulder.

He thrusts into her a few more times, slowing until he’s unmoving behind her.

Jubilee shivers when his lips press against the back of her neck, Sweet Pea leaving a slew of kisses down to her shoulder where a faint bruise is already forming where he bit her. They’re softer than before, sweeter, and a ragged sigh pulls from her chest as he shifts inside her, the two of them still locked together by the knot.

Knotting isn’t something that always happens, but when it does it’s more intimate, the two of them tied together like this. Sweet Pea buries his nose in her hair, drinking in her sweet scent as his hands stroke up and down her sides, nonsense praises being mumbled against her ear; Jubilee’s legs quiver, her body lax and loose from the euphoria. His hips move against hers, pressing his knot deeper inside her, and she whimpers at the small, sensitive aftershocks that ripple through her.

His palm pressed flat against her abdomen is the only thing keeping her from collapsing against the table.

The knot loosens eventually, and Sweet Pea’s cock slides from her with a slick, filthy, wet sound. Cum drips from her, sliding down her thighs and sticking to her skin, dripping onto the floor. It’s messy, they’re both sticky with sweat and fluids and the room smells overwhelmingly of sex, but the feeling of his cum dripping from inside her is absolutely erotic.

Sweet Pea presses a kiss to her temple and strokes her hip before pulling back. A low growl rumbles in his throat at the sight of his cum sliding down her quivering thighs. It’s enough to have him half-hard again, and the thought of bending her back over the table and fucking her raw again makes his cock twitch, but Jubilee whimpers, sensitive and spent, and he knows that’s not what she needs.

Reluctantly, he releases his grip on her, and Jubilee sags against the table in response, heels making her unsteady. He leaves her long enough to slip into the small kitchen and cleans himself off before grabbing a damp washcloth for her.

She’s right where he left her when he returns, slumped against the table and panting. He chuckles at the sight, fondness swelling inside his chest. A hum rumbles through him as he presses his lips to her shoulder blade, and Jubilee sighs, exhausted and content.

With a hand on her hip, he coaxes her to turn around. She’s shaky, but stays on her feet. Sweet Pea’s lips quirk upward fondly. He crouches in front of her, hands on her thighs to keep her upright in her heels. Once he’s sure her legs won’t buckle, he removes one hand from her skin.

Sweet Pea helps her out of her heels and she kicks them aside. He cleans her gently, lips against her thigh as he wipes the mess of fluids from her skin. Jubilee sighs at the feeling, her hands running through his hair absentmindedly, brushing his bangs away from his sweaty temple.

She winces as the cloth brushes against her swollen clit. “I know, baby,” he whispers, kissing her sweaty thigh.

When he’s done, Sweet Pea slides her panties back up her legs, hands on the back of her thighs as he kisses her hip, then her stomach beneath her bellybutton. He stands slowly, hands hooked under her thighs, and Jubilee is boneless against him as he lifts her off the ground. She sags against him, curling into his warmth, and he kisses her temple.

“You okay, Doll?” he asks as he sets her down on their bed. Concern is thick in his voice, and worry flickers in his eyes as he looks her over, because he can be rough and hard to handle, and she’s so small beneath him.

Jubilee only hums and curls into his side when he slips in beside her. “Yeah, Sweets,” she murmurs, rolling over to kiss his chest above his heart, limbs draped across him. “I’m good. Really good.” She’s sore and sweaty and messy, but satisfied. The ache is gone for now.

His arms wrap around her protectively and he sighs as her lips press against his jaw. “Thirty minutes and we go again?” he jokes, fingers teasing the curve of her ass and making her squirm.

She giggles and shifts so that she’s straddling his hips. He’s still half-hard beneath her, cock grinding against her thigh lazily. “You’re insatiable,” she tells him, leaning down to kiss him before he can complain. It’s slower, sweeter than before, and she pulls away reluctantly as his hands start to wander again. “Only if I get to be on top.”

#riverdale #sweet pea imagine #sweet pea x oc #serpentcentral #swubilee #riverdaledrabbles

123 notes · View notes

memesiders · 4 years

Text

Part 8

Death x OC Office AU

“What’s that on your neck?” Neema asked, jumping down the last step of the stairs leading to the school. I frowned and ran my fingers over my neck, uncertain of what she meant. She shook her head and pointed to the left side of my neck. “It looks all red.” I slapped my palm over the mark, blushing brightly. The memory of Death biting my neck played on a loop in my head and I silently cursed; was it noticeable to anyone else? Had everyone seen it and just didn’t say anything? The thought was mortifying.

“It’s nothing,” I said quickly. “Just a rash.” She placed her hands on her hips and tilted her head, giving me an unbelieving look. “It’s nothing, I swear.”

“Mhm… Then why are you covering it like that?” I bit the inside of my cheek and lowered my hand slowly, hoping it wasn’t anything she could figure out. She got on her tiptoes and tried to get a closer look but I pushed her away, turning so she couldn’t see it.

“Look, I have ten minutes before I’m supposed to be back at work, so let’s go.” Neema rolled her eyes and we started away from the school, heading home.

“You know you don’t have to pick me up,” she muttered. “I can get home just fine on my own.”

“I know that,” I replied, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “But I wanted to walk you home today.” That wasn’t a complete lie, right? I did want to walk her home, the main reason being that I was afraid of seeing Death or Amber right now. I was worried if he saw me, he’d ignore me or tell me that what I did was unacceptable. Maybe he’d even fire me, I didn’t know. I was terrified to see Amber because… well, she always managed to keep Strife away and if she could do that, I didn’t even want to think of what she’d do to me.

It wasn’t that I thought she was into him, but she seemed to have a lot of respect and care for him, like a friend. If she thought I was using him, there was no doubt in my mind that she’d snap me in two.

We crossed the street and Neema moved out from my grasp and wrapped her arms around one of mine, resting her head against my shoulder. “I know you’re bullshitting, but that’s alright. I’m just happy you’re not upset with me.” I frowned and looked down at her, petting her hair.

“Why would I be mad at you, Neem? You haven’t done anything wrong.”

“I know, but you were upset the other night and I wasn’t sure if you were angry with me or not.” I scoffed and shook my head.

“Never. I was just being a bitch because of my hangover and what happened at the party. I’m sorry I made you feel like I was upset with you.” She squeezed my arm and I smiled, kissing the top of her head. We reached the apartments a few minutes later and I gave her a big hug. “I love you and you haven’t upset me at all, promise.” She squeezed back tightly, burying her face in my neck.

“Okay, I was just nervous. I love you too, ZiZi.” We split apart and I waited until she was inside before I started back for the office, rubbing my hands against my sides. It was starting to get too cold out. Halloween was just around the corner and winter was coming with it. Pretty soon I’d start working later, too. Just another week or so and Nora would be heading out as soon as I came in.

It was nerve-wracking to think about working all by myself, without her help or guidance. I was getting a better grip on how everything operated, and I was probably fine without her, but there was still a lot of fear of messing up or getting booted before my three month trial run was up. My stomach churned at the thought of reaching the three months and not retaining my position. I’d screwed up so much these past few weeks that it was hard for me to imagine keeping my job, but damn if I didn’t want it badly. I liked where I worked, I didn’t want to lose that. I had to strap on my big girl shoes and stop acting like I was ungrateful for my opportunity.

I hurried inside once I reached the large black skyscraper, rubbing my hands together as I was hit with a gust of warmth. Thank God. I hurried back to my station and plopped down into my seat, sighing with relief. Nora smiled at me and turned in her chair, legs crossed.

“Cold outside?” she joked. I looked at her and nodded hard.

“Very. I’m gonna have to invest in a nice coat for this winter,” I answered, teeth still chattering. I rubbed my arms and leaned back in my seat, letting out a cold breath. “Anything happen while I was gone?” She shrugged and grabbed a few packages from under the desk.

“These came in for Shelly and Jenna. They need to be delivered.” I sighed and nodded, taking them from her hand.

“I guess I’ll be delivering these, then.”

She nodded. “Oh, and Amber stopped by for a minute, looking for you.” My heart went into my throat. I gripped the packages tightly, my fingers turning a pale brown, almost white.

“Really?” I chewed on the inside of my cheek. “What did she want?”

“I don’t know. She just asked where you were and told me to give you that.” She gestured to an envelope on the table that I hadn’t noticed before. I swallowed, finding it hard to do even that, and picked it up. The envelope shook in my hands and I carefully opened it, pulling out the small note inside.

Please come back after your shift

It wasn’t Amber’s handwriting; I had seen her signature before. Is it Death’s? The warmth I’d started to earn back instantly drained again. This is it; I’m done. He’s gonna fire me for kissing him, right? No workplace romances or some shit like that. I forced the terrible thoughts down as Nora gazed at me with worry.

“Sweetheart, are you okay?” she asked gently, lightly touching my arm. I put on the best smile I could muster up and nodded, attempting to act nonchalant about the whole thing.

“Yeah, I’m good,” I lied, shoving the note back into the envelope. I stuck it into my purse and zipped the bag up, kicking it back under the desk. “I just have to go see Death again after my shift ends.” Her lips formed a frown.

“Is something wrong?” I shook my head quickly.

“No, nothing’s wrong, promise.” I picked up the two packages and stood. “I’ll be right back, gonna go deliver these real quick.” She nodded hesitantly, obviously skeptical of my answer. I wasn’t the worst liar in the world, but I certainly wasn’t the best. I gave her a thumbs up and headed to the fourth floor, clutching the parcels tightly to my chest. I closed my eyes and took deep, calming breaths.

Stop thinking of the worst-case scenarios, damn it. Maybe he just wants to clear the air and doesn’t want you to think that there’s something else between you? Or you left something in his office and he wants to give it back? I snorted at that scenario. If I’d left something in there, he’d have had Amber bring it down, or even delivered it himself. Not everything has to be terrible. I physically shook myself off when the elevator dinged, the doors opening up.

The fourth floor was the best, in my opinion. Everyone was talking and joking while also doing their work. There were pictures of families and funny memes on everybody’s desks, accompanied by trinkets and toys like bobble-heads and Funko Pops. I smiled as I stepped out and headed down the rows of desks, saying hi to everyone that greeted me. It was amazing that anyone got any work done with as much chatter and laughter there was. Nora told me that the fourth floor was one of the best when it came to getting stuff done. It was probably because of how kind and pleasant the atmosphere was.

I couldn’t imagine what Death’s reaction to the commotion would be if he had to work down here. I chuckled to myself, picturing an ever-increasing look of annoyance and anger on his face. Yep, he’d absolutely hate it. This was probably more Strife’s style. I reached the end of the aisles and greeted Shelly as I reached her cubicle. She looked at me and smiled, giving me a small wave.

“Hey, Aziza,” she greeted back. “I’m guessing you have something for me?”

“That I do.” I handed her one of the packages and her smile widened, her bright hazel eyes shimmering with excitement. She tucked some neon yellow strands behind her ear and tore open the packaging, squealing happily when she pulled out a small box. I cocked my head a little and smiled, arching a brow. “Do I even want to know?”

“I’ve been waiting for this from the South Office for almost two weeks now.” South Office was Strife’s building. I stared at her, waiting for her to continue explaining, but she never did. Her smile fell a little. “Sorry, it’s top secret so I can’t really tell you what it is.” I nodded and shrugged.

“Well, it made you happy so it must be something good.” Her smile grew again and she nodded furiously, her bangs bouncing against her forehead. I said goodbye to her and went back to the elevator, heading up a few floors. I wonder what top secret stuff she had delivered? Was there a mole in the company or something? Was someone embezzling? Oh, oh, maybe she has to dig up dirt about a competitive company and had to enlist Strife’s office for help and-

The elevator dinged again and I jumped, yanked out of my thoughts. There you go again with your extravagant thoughts. I smiled to myself and shook my head, stepping out into the ninth floor. Up here, there was no personality to be had. Everyone was quiet and typing away on their computers, a few people talking on their company phones. There were barely any pictures and absolutely no bobbles to be seen. It was the type of floor I was sure Death wanted them all to be.

I wonder if he assigns people to the floor he thinks they’d fit in best? It didn’t entirely make sense, seeing as the fourth floor was IT and the ninth floor handled accounting and finance, but it was strange how everyone on each floor had the same energy; no one felt out of place. I made my way to Jenna’s cubicle and knocked on the desk. She whipped around and looked at me, unamused.

“What?” she asked, rubbing the side of her head. “I’m pretty busy here.” I held up the package and shook it lightly. She took it from me and sighed, tossing it on the desk. I leaned against the cubicle wall and arched a brow, looking between her and the package. She took off her thin rimmed glasses and cleaned the lenses, looking at me again when she put them back on. A vein in her forehead was starting to jut out.

“What? Something else?” I shrugged.

“Just curious; what were you expecting?” I asked. She scoffed at me almost dramatically, and rolled her eyes.

“How the hell did HR let you slip past them? There’s no way your application should’ve been on the boss’s desk at all. Incompetent, nosy-”

“Sticks and stones, Jenna, sticks and stones.” She clenched her jaw, blue eyes narrowing at me. She pointed towards the elevator and jerked her head in its direction.

“Scram, before I report you.”

“For what?” I scoffed, pushing away from the wall.

“For anything I want, just go!” I had the urge to stick my middle finger up at her, but I suppressed it and gave her a sickeningly sweet smile instead.

“Fine, I’ll leave,” I said politely. “Call me when you manage to get that broom handle out of your ass.” I flipped around as she gasped and went back to the elevator, resisting the urge to run back and break her jaw. We hadn’t gotten along the first time Nora had introduced us, and I had a feeling we were never going to. I smashed the lobby button and shook my head, gripping the railing tightly. The last thing I’d wanted was to deal with some uppity bitch. She’d probably love to see me fired.

The doors opened up a few moments later and I shoved away from the railing, storming out. I went back to my seat and fell into it, rubbing my temples. They were starting to throb lightly. Probably because of all the stress, I thought.

“I take it Jenna was in a mood,” Nora asked. I looked up at her, frowning.

“I wanted to punch her in her throat.”

Nora laughed.

#death x oc #death #darksiders #office au

10 notes · View notes

hotoffthepressfics · 5 years

Text

Broke But Not Broken: Chapter 2

MASTERLIST

Part II

Previous | Next

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Word Count: 3,250

Summary: CiCi Continues to help you get set up for the night. The two of you seek a place to stay from a roguish gentleman. ;)

Warnings: Angst

Inspiration/Chapter Soundtrack:

“Used” - Wyvern Lingo

“Strip Me” - Gavin Mikhail

A/N: There’s only a tiny bit of Bucky in this chapter, but he’s gonna be making lots of appearances after this so buckle in! Enjoy!

Once you had left the small thrift store CiCi took you three blocks over to a little mom and pop place that was still open. Once you were seated in a booth towards the back of the diner and CiCi had ordered for you both the two of you sat in mutual silence. The plump, middle - aged woman waiting on you smiles sweetly as she places your drinks on the table. You watch her go, then reach for the steaming mug, and bring it to your lips. You sip your tea slowly, fingers laced around the ceramic mug allowing the heat to seep through your skin.

You glance up to notice CiCi is once again studying you for about the third time tonight. She leans forward setting her elbows on the Formica tabletop. Fingers steepled she rests her chin against them. You lean farther into the booth fidgeting uncomfortably under the new scrutiny. You bow your head and stare into the dark amber liquid in your mug. CiCi inhales a long breath bringing her hands away from her face.

"Alright baby, now I could sit here all night makin' up all sorts of stories for you, but I'd much rather know the truth. Now tell me, what's your story?"

Your cheeks heat and you try to sink even farther into the booth, but it doesn't give. Your eyes flick back to CiCi's face. She looks at you expectantly. You breathe in slowly, trying to stall as long as you can.

"T - " your voice is croaky. The air exerted to speak itches your throat and you cough. You take a long draw from your mug. Clearing your throat, you attempt again.

"T – there's... nothing to tell..." You give a noncommittal shrug of your shoulders. You hope the gesture is enough to hide the dread that was surging back through your veins. You press your hands harder against the smooth sides of the mug to keep them from shaking.

CiCi had given you nothing but patience and kindness since you had met. However, that didn't mean you were ready to lay bare all your personal details to her. Not yet. It had been nice to forget for a moment. To pretend that your life was just starting from the moment you stepped off that bus. You worry your bottom lip between your teeth, afraid to meet CiCi's eyes again. In your experience refusing to respond could get you very hurt.

CiCi snorts, "Well now that is just a bold –faced lie. Honey, no one gets this twitchy and nervous from nothin’... but," she leans back, and splays her hands out in surrender. "I know we just met. You don't wanna tell me what's what that's your business."

You can feel the guilt weaving around your heart; she has been so nice.

The less anyone knows about me, the safer I will be. He can't find me if I don't exist anywhere.

"Can I at least get your name?” CiCi played with the handle on her own mug, seeming to appear uninterested.

You weigh your options for a moment. You could lie. Come up with a false name. The idea made you unhappy. Out of everything that had been stripped away from you, your name was the only thing you had left that was yours. It was your identity. The last link to who you used to be.

"Y/N. Just Y/N." You barely speak above a whisper, still uncertain if you should reveal this small bit of truth about yourself.

The widest smile breaks out across CiCi's face and you feel the guilt subside. Your waitress comes to your table then, the plates of food balanced in both of her hands.

"There you are, is there anything else I can get you ladies?" Her kind eyes dart between you and CiCi.

"We’re mighty fine now hun, thank you." CiCi dismisses the waitress. She gives you both one last smile as she walks away.

"Okay Miss Y/N. Let's dig in to our meal here and start to fatten you up. It hurts me just looking at you. Lord knows if a good, stiff wind blew down the street I'd have to hold onto your or else you'd blow away." CiCi gave you another toothy grin and winked. You couldn’t help but smile sheepishly.

"After we finish here let's get you set up in a place to stay." You quickly swallow the bite you were working on chewing.

"I-I- I don't have much, just a - "

CiCi raised her hand up to silence you. "Hush, don't you worry. I know someone who's got some room to spare for the time being."

You stare at her, watching as she brings the slice of grilled cheese to her mouth. She realizes you are watching her and drops the food back onto the plate. She grabs her napkin from her lap.

"What? Did I smear some lipstick on my face or something?" She pulls the chrome napkin dispenser towards her to inspect her face.

"Why?" You swallow thickly, inhaling slowly to prevent the sobs that were bubbling to the surface. "Why are you being so nice to me? You don't even know me."

She straightens and pushes the dispenser back into place, "Lord almighty, she can say more than five syllables!"

You continue to stare waiting for an answer. CiCi chuckles.

"Why? I don't know." She shrugs "I guess because I recognized the look in your eyes in that alley. I've felt it in my own before. I didn't have any help from no one then, but I fought my way back from it. I guess I just wanted to offer you the help I wished I had had back then." She levels her gaze to you.

"I don't know your story. I don't need to know it. You ain't never gonna have to tell me if you don't want to. But life is messed up enough as it is. Turning a blind eye to another's hurts makes ya mean, and honey, I am too fabulous to be mean." CiCi preens and fluffs her hair.

You let out an involuntary laugh that breaks the dam of your control. Tears pour down your cheeks. Cici's face softens and she reaches an outstretched hand to you. You tentatively place your hand in hers and she firmly wraps her fingers around it. You pull a napkin from the dispenser and wipe at your nose.

"Hey," she shakes your hand gently. You glance to her and take in the somber expression on her face.

"This moment is only temporary. We are gonna get you a place to stay and then we are gonna get you back on your feet. Okay?" You nod and draw in a ragged breath. CiCi releases your hand with one last squeeze.

"Good, now eat up.”

•••

A thirty-minute ride on the C train across town and about a mile walk from the station exit brought the two of you in front of a brownstone apartment building. It looks sturdy and well built, albeit a little aged. You keep close to Cici as she climbs the steps. She turns to the list of residents by the call buttons. When she came to one with the name “Barnes” she repeatedly punches in the button. A series of short, obnoxious buzzes burst from the intercom. A minute passes before a longer buzz and click sound from the entry. CiCi pulls open the door and holds it for you. You scurry in.

Inside you can see rows of mailboxes followed by a small hallway ending at an elevator. You wait as CiCi walks back towards it and presses the button to call it down. You take the elevator to the fifth level. CiCi takes you down the hall of doorways stopping when she reaches the third on the right. She rhythmically wraps against the wood. A crash sounds on the other side followed by a slew of expletives.

You cringe and step closer to CiCi. A lock scrapes against its metal holding and the door is yanked open. A tall man with dark brown, saggy hair and scruff to match leans on the door frame and squints out at the pair of you. It takes a moment for him to register who he's seeing.

"Jesus, Cees! Do you have any idea what time it is?!" The man swipes his hand across his face.

CiCi stands with arms akimbo, one eyebrow cocked in derision.

“Oh, I’m sorry baby. Were you sleeping? I just assumed you’d be busy with company tonight.”

The man chuckles and adjusts his position so his back is against the frame.

“Naw, no dames breaking down this door tonight but you sugar.”

As he turns out towards the hall you notice the glint of metal come from his left arm. You pull back from CiCi to take closer look. You thought you were imagining it, but no. This man’s entire left arm was made from metal. You duck back, afraid to be caught gawking.

“Oh Bucky, you charmer. We both know I’m too woman for you and my man keeps me plenty happy.”

The man, Bucky, places his right hand over his heart as though he's been wounded. "Ouch, not pulling any punches tonight are we CiCi?"

By now Bucky notices you timidly standing behind CiCi. He gives you a wicked grin.

"How about your friend then? She looks like she could use some fun and I'm always game to make new friends."

You glare at him. CiCi's tenacity was apparently enough to make you bold, but not enough to help you stand your ground. You shuffle closer to her. He laughs.

"Down you dog. We didn't come here so you could practice your wooing skills. We need an apartment. Your apartment." CiCi explains.

Bucky blinks. "I thought you said you weren't here for me to practice "wooing". I've only the one bed in here, but I am very good at sharing."

CiCi smacks his metal shoulder. Bucky feigns injury, rubbing the spot she hit.

"Cut that out! You know exactly which apartment I'm talkin' about!"

"Ah," Bucky blows out a breath, settling his hands on his hips. "See that's gonna be a no Cees. Gotta keep that open for when... you know, B – Day hits."

You furrow your brows in confusion. B – Day? What was that supposed to be? You move slightly out from behind CiCi to look at her face. She rolls her eyes. Reaching back, she pulls you out from behind to stand between her and Bucky. You squeak and stumble a bit. CiCi places her hands on your shoulders.

"See this sweet young thing here? She's in need of a place to stay. Seeing as you're not entertaining for the time being means that... B – Day has been avoided for another day," her emphasis on the phrase drips with sarcasm.

Bucky glances down at you, fully taking you in for the first time. You droop into CiCi's hands, all the bravado you had gained evaporating under his inspection. You focus on the space between his feet and yours, willing your legs to stay put and not flee. The silence seems to stretch forever. Finally, Bucky sighs.

"Hang on."

You glance up slightly to see he has left the doorway. A moment later he comes back with a set of keys.

"Here. Apartment 406. You gotta be a little rough with it, the handle likes to stick a bit." You see his hand stretch out to you, key dangling from his fingers. You take the keys from him, briefly meeting his eyes for a moment. He winks and quirks the left side of his mouth. You flush and quickly drop your gaze.

Unable to stand the attention any longer you feint to your left and slip out from CiCi’s grasp. A couple more steps down the hall back towards the elevator you stop and prop yourself up against the wall to wait for CiCi. You hear Bucky whistle.

“I knew my flirting skills were subpar, but am I really that bad?”

CiCi reaches over and pats Bucky’s cheek.

“She’s just a little skittish, that’s all. Don’t take it too personally. Thank you for your help baby. Now go get some sleep. You look like hell.”

Bucky chuckles. “Goodnight Cees,” he leans farther out of his doorway to call out, “goodnight doll!”

You flinch. CiCi shakes her head and walks over to you as you hear the sound of Bucky’s door click back into place.

“C’mon little miss wallflower,” CiCi croons as she slips her arm around you. “Let’s get you set up for the night. I am beat!”

•••

A trip down to the third floor to CiCi’s apartment, who apparently lived in this building as well, and back up to the fourth brought you in front of the door to 406. Bucky hadn’t been kidding when he said you needed to be rough with the handle. It took you and CiCi twisting and butting up against the door to get the thing to pop open. As soon as it gave in you struggle to keep yourself from sprawling out across the apartment floor. CiCi straightens and wipes her brow.

“I’m gonna have a talk with Bucky about that door. Can’t have you throw in’ out your shoulder every time you wanna get in!” She chortles to herself as she leans back out the door and grabs the items she brought up with you.

“He’s the super for the apartment. He’s pretty good about the upkeep ‘round here. Though it seems he’s kind of let this one go…” CiCi runs her hand along the door jam. She shakes her head.

“I suppose it’s in preparation for B – Day.” She waggles her eyebrows at you. You stand in the middle of the apartments living area. The space is sparse. A battered recliner sits in a corner closest to the window looking out onto the street below. You see the fire escape ladder cross the window frame. Turning slowly on your heel you observe an ajar door to the left of the window and chair. That must be the bedroom. Another turn and you see the kitchen. Once again pretty bare but for the appliances you assume come with the apartment.

Completing your inspection of the place you turn back to CiCi and incline your head to the side. You give her a puzzled look.

“What… is “B – Day”?” CiCi gives a nod as though she knew this question was coming.

“It stands for Bitch – Day. Bucky is a good soul, but he has very poor taste in women and even poorer decision – making skills. I won’t get into his business but there has been many a time he’s brought a crazy bitch home only to find its much harder to get them to leave. So, he keeps this apartment below his to sneak away until they’ve decide it’s not worth sticking around.” She waves her hand around to take in the whole space.

You tense a little when she mentions his apartment is right above what would now be yours for the time being. You glance back at the window and out to the fire escape. The one that connected the upper level to yours.

CiCi perceives your discomfort as though she’s reading your thoughts. “Don’t you worry none sweetheart. He may seem like a scoundrel, but he’s a good one. He won’t try to come here now that you’re here.”

That seemed true enough. Bucky appeared to be a good man.

I had thought the same of Colton, and look how that had turned out…

You try to relax your shoulders. Silently, you walk towards the bedroom door and push it open with your hip. Feeling blindly against the wall you find the light switch and flip it on. Inside this room a full bed was pushed against the far wall to the corner. This allowed it to be hidden from the window. Your tension lessens more. At least you’d be able to see all the entry points from the safety of the corner.

Breezing by you CiCi began laying out the blanket and pillow she’d taken from her apartment and set up the bed. You place your bag of newly purchased clothing next to it and proceed to help smooth out the bedding. Once it was complete CiCi stands back and admires her handiwork.

“Alright! Well I think that will set you up for the night Y/N. Tomorrow we’ll see about getting you set up with groceries and hunt you down a job. You gonna be alright up here alone hun?” She swivels to you. You nod tiredly.

“Good. Get some sleep baby. It’ll be a bright new day for you.” Cici softly rubs your cheek before turning to go out the door.

“Thank you, CiCi.”

“You’re welcome, hun.” And with that she heads out.

You face back towards the bed taking in the meager belongings you’d accumulated that night. Some bought; even more borrowed. You feel the weight of it all pull at your shoulders. It had been a long, emotional day.

But you’re free. You’re alone and safe. Free.

You sift through the other items CiCi had left behind finding a camisole and light, silky night shorts. You assume she meant for you to sleep in these, but they felt too much like what you’d been forced to wear day and night before. Even if they were a little less… provocative.

He isn’t here. He didn’t choose these.

Exasperated with yourself you strip out of the night’s outfit and pull on your sleep attire. After you finish you go into the bathroom connected to the bedroom. Switching on the lights you push yours limits farther and peer into the mirror. You tug the hair tie of your braid out and begin to hand comb through your hair, wincing as it strains the hair on the sore spot of your scalp. That guy earlier tonight had yanked a lot harder than you supposed.

You mentally tally all the essentials you’ll need to purchase, like a tooth and hairbrush, while avoiding looking at the bruises peaking through the camisole. Some were almost healed. Others rather fresh from only being dealt a few days before.

You push aside the memories threatening to drag you under. You didn’t want to relive those moments. No here where a new life was so close to beginning. You turn abruptly and cut the lights off. You walk into the center of the bedroom. The bright lights above you and the thin clothing cause you to feel exposed and raw. You inhale through your nose and blow it out of your mouth fighting the hysteria, but you’re too exhausted. You kneel and sift through your clothes once more pulling out the gray sweater you got. Hugging it close, you pull it over your head. The heavy material seems to pull you back to your senses. Steadying you.

Taking a walkthrough of the apartment once more you double and triple check the locks to the windows and door, making certain it’s all secure.

Going back into the bedroom you shut the door and bolt the handle lock. Deciding to leave the light on you crawl onto the bed, curling into the blankets provided by CiCi. You wiggle your way into the corner of the bed, away from the window and facing the door, and fall slowly into a fitful rest.

EVERYTHING TAGLIST:

@booktvmoviefangirl @lowkeybuckyb @mrsdaamneron @xxashy999xx @c-ly-g @coal000 @rroguebones @ghostlyrose2 @part-time-patronus @emelielwh @peaceinourtime82 @buckysforeverprincess @geeksareunique @amnahs9695 @v-2bucky @scarlet-skywalkers @lokilvrr @thisismysecrethappyplace @sacre-bluhm @tatertot1097 @until-theend-oftheline @amoonagedaydreamer @marvelouspottering @littlemarvelfics @averyrogers83 @chuuulip @thatfanficstuff

BUCKY BARNES TAGLIST:

@bloodiedskirtts @igotkatiepowers @misplacedorphan @superwholockwannabe @moonstruckhargrove @ladysergeantbarnes

BBNB TAGLIST:

@imaginecrushes @that-bearshark @jademox @theraputicwritings @marvel-fanfiction @aubri1313 @xcriminalmastermindx @regulusirius @jacquelineisawkward @lostinspace33 @directionerfae @rainbowkisses31 @marie-is-in-the-dark @msgrungie @mrsbarneswillseeyounow @getmedeacon @owhatshername1 @drunkinthemiddleoftheday @mizzzpink @aveatquevale- @sweetlydecaf @absolukeyrh

#bucky barnes x reader #james bucky barnes x reader #james barnes x reader #bucky angst #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes series #bucky fluff #james bucky barnes fanfiction #marvel fanfiction #modern au #the winter soldier

72 notes · View notes