#if god was a woman she’d make you beg but only if you earn the right to do it: the movie? | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

dreams-and-drabbles · 1 year

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If we're talking Mysme, I'm begging you for Zen content, he's my one true love that I never moved on from, I stopped playing for him 🥺💕

Also, God, do I love Julian from Arcana just 😍

Firstly, yes, just yes. Julian owns me. He and his stupidly attractive little smirk and that eyepatch and his tendency to just pop up out of nowhere, just yes. Yes all the way. Secondly, ah, Lovely Zen… You, as always have wonderful taste, Right Brain. I hope you enjoy this~! Also, forewarning— I know nothing about the film industry, besides the small bits of research I did to write this. As such, please forgive any inaccurate in the writing of this one-shot!

🤍 ᴛʜɪᴇꜰ ᴏꜰ ʜᴇᴀʀᴛꜱ 🤍

[Zen x Reader]

Really, it was no surprise you’d fallen for him…

Zen or his actual name, Hyun Ryu, was charming in personality and drop dead gorgeous.

He treated everyone around him well, and genuinely seemed to value the crew he worked with.

It was a shame, you thought, that he’d likely never notice you.

The two of you were only working together throughout the course of his current film. You were in charge of costume design, and as friendly as your interactions were, they were only that.

Friendly.

Civil.

Your interactions with one another were only ever on set, and despite how often the two of you had to interact, there was always a rift between the two of you. Your job was to make him shine, after all, and he really didn’t need much help with that…

You let out a soft sigh, earning a concerned glance from Areum Cho, a coworker and friend of yours.

She was a fairly well known singer, and was behind the vocals of the film’s opening song.

The two of you had worked together on a project before, and you’d been excited to run into her here, as well. While you’d kept in touch, the film industry kept you both incredibly busy.

She was a huge fan of romance anime, and had taken a personal interest in your crush on “Zen”.

“Hmm, I recognise that starstruck look. Still pining over the male lead, then?”

Your friend questioned, her voice slightly raspy.

She’d probably worn it out singing.

“If you know me so well, then do you even need to ask?” You retorted, before taking a long sip from your boba tea.

The woman shook her head, her white streaked hair bouncing, as she did so.

It was her signature trait, and was due to an incredibly rare genetic mutation.

Sometimes, you envied how unique her appearance was.

Although, you knew her condition came with several complications as well. Poor Areum burnt horribly in the sun, for one.

Still, to you, who felt painstakingly normal—

People like Areum Cho and Hyun Ryu may as well live in different worlds, and yet—

“Well, I’d like to say I know you well, but we really never seem to have much time, do we? Anyhow, tell your wingwoman what’s up! You’re killing me with all the suspense.”

Areum questioned, gesturing wildly with her hands.

You shook yourself from your thoughts, knowing that they wouldn’t do you any good.

Overthinking never did you any good, yet you seemed to have a habit of doing so.

“The usual. I helped him with his costume, made a few alterations, we talked a bit, and then I finished, and he left.”

Aerum stared at you with wide eyes, before shaking her head disappointedly.

“You’re never going to get anywhere, if you keep up like that, and no, don’t give me that look. It’s entirely possible that you could get somewhere, but you have to approach him about something other than work. Tell me, have you talked to him about anything other than costume design?”

You frowned, pursing your lips at her question.

“He doesn’t like cats…?” You managed, an embarrassed flush crawling up your cheeks.

Aerum laughed, her eyes sparkling with mirth.

“That’s basic information. He’s allergic to cats. Next time, ask him if he has any hobbies. We still have a month on set, so operation get [F/N] with the Male Lead can still work~!”

Aerum chirped, before making jazz hands.

You sighed, rolling your eyes in amusement.

“You watch too much anime.”

You said, earning a laugh from the singer.

“Guilty as charged~! I have to go record now that my voice has had a rest, so good luck to you~! Remember to ask~!”

Aerum waved a cheerful goodbye, leaving you alone with your thoughts…

You hated to admit it, but she had a point.

You hadn’t even tried to talk to him normally, but the idea of actually talking to him, was rather intimidating.

It was just a silly puppy crush, anyways..

Still—

How could you know what would happen if you never tried?

You felt a headache building up, Aerum’s earlier words were playing on repeat in your thoughts.

It was ridiculous.

You were acting like some lovesick teen.

“[F/N], we need your assistance backstage.”

The director’s voice pulled you from your musings, and you gave the older man a polite smile.

You stood up from your seat, your expression curious, as you trailed after the director.

“Of course. Did something happen with one of the costumes?”

You asked, your brows furrowed in concern.

You’d worked hard on those costumes, and took great pride in your designs.

The artist in you was screaming at the thought of one of your creations falling apart; before fulfilling its intended use.

The director sighed, his lips pressed into a firm line. He offered you a sympathetic smile, before nodding at your question.

“Yes, unfortunately. There was a bit of an accident with one of the props we were using for a stunt.”

Your earlier headache returned with a fury, as you took in his words.

Unfortunately, situations like this happened fairly often in the film industry, however it was a less common occurrence in the later parts of filming. As of now, you only had a month left on set, which meant the movie itself was almost finished.

“How bad is it?” You asked, slipping into your more professional tone.

The director sighed, “I was hoping you could assess that. It would be nice if the costume was salvageable.”

You shook your head, your expression thoughtful.

“If it’s a matter of salvaging it, then it’d likely be best for me to go ahead and replicate it. I’ll have to alter one of the doubles, which costume was it?”

You questioned, your gaze on the director.

“It was the suit for the third night of the masquerade.” The director spoke, his tone tired.

“Ah, the scene with the murder? No wonder. I’ll take care of it. Please send Hyun my way once you’re finished here, so I can start working on the new suit.” You asked, your tone polite.

The director gave you an appreciative smile, before adjusting his glasses a bit.

“Thank you, [F/N]. You’re so hardworking. It’s been a pleasure having you here on set.”

You shook your head at the praise, the compliment making you feel slightly flustered.

“You’re too kind, director. I’m just doing my job.”

The director chuckled, giving you a friendly smile.

“Nonsense! We’ve worked together for over a year now! In fact, I’m having drinks with some of the others on set after rehearsal. You should come!”

You frowned, about to decline, when Aerum’s words made their way to your thoughts.

“I’ll consider it..”

The director beamed, before giving you a nod, and heading backstage.

You made your way back to the design room, and immediately pulled out one of the suits for night three of the masquerade. It would need a bit of work, so that it could fit Zen’s form, but that was your area of expertise.

After around half an hour, you heard a knock on the door. You cupped your hand to your lips, so your voice would reach further out.

“Come in!”

The door opened, and in walked the subject of all your anxieties, the ‘Lovely Zen’, himself.

He smiled at you, his expression a bit sheepish.

“I’m sorry about the suit.”

You waved off his apology, offering him a smile of your own. “That’s fine, it’s literally my job to fix things like this. Did the murder get a bit too grizzly?”

You joked a bit, your tone dry.

Zen’s brows shot up in surprise, and he nodded, before chuckling a bit.

“Yes, I didn’t know you’d memorised the scenes.”

You grabbed your ruler, and grabbed his arm to begin taking measurements.

“I design costumes for said scenes, and it would be less enjoyable for the audience, I think, if the clothing did not fit the character. I research the characters in my free time, as well. I try to stay fairly close to the original source in terms of design.”

You prattled off, heading to the table to grab your notepad.

The actor laughed at your words, causing your cheeks to burn slightly.

“It’s not that funny, is it?” You asked, your tone a touch softer.

Zen shook his head, giving you a smile.

“On the contrary, I admire your work ethic, are you a fan of theatre, then?”

You nodded in response to his question, a small smile on your face. “I’m a sucker for a good story.”

Zen hummed in response, his expression thoughtful.

“I am too. That’s what makes acting so fun for me. I get to be part of so many different stories. Still, I worry sometimes that they only cast me due to my dazzling looks. All of my roles seem to be of the same sort…Tall, dark, and handsome.”

You snorted at this, shaking your head in amusement.

“Sure, maybe appearance wise. I’ve seen you in other films, however. For one, your role as Zorro was incredibly different than the Sherlock, you’re playing in this adaptation.”

The actor’s eyes widened in clear surprise, and he studied you a bit more closely.

“You’ve watched my films?” He asked, shock evident in his tone.

“I’ve watched several films. I’m a sucker for a good story, remember? They’re also great for inspiration, but yes, yours were among those numbers. I appreciate the arts, and your acting is incredible. That’s fact, not flattery.”

You affirmed, surprised at how open you were being today. You’d never been this talkative with Zen, the majority of your interactions being for politeness’ sake—

You blamed the pep talk from Aerum. She’d always been very good at getting into your head.

Zen grinned at your words, his eyes sparkling with amusement.

“Well, I’m still flattered. I heard from the director you’d be joining everyone for drinks after rehearsal today. I think that’s great. You’ve always seemed a bit reserved.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, as you had clearly hadn’t agreed, you’d only promised to think about joining.

“Ah, that… Also, what made you think I was reserved?”

You responded, attempting to divert the conversation’s focus.

Zen chuckled, inclining his head towards your face. “Well, for one— You avoid socialising with most of us. Actually, I think I’ve only ever seen you speak to that singer girl. Even then, I don’t see you talk to others much.”

Your eyes widened in surprise, and your cheeks burned at his words. “You watched me?”

Zen hummed, a sly smile on his face.

“Well, it’s hard not to notice you, when you’re the only one by yourself on set. Most everyone else generally has at least one person they talk to, and the singer girl doesn’t count. You seemed to know each other before we started filming here.”

You rolled your eyes at his assessment, a playful pout forming on your face.

“Well, that’s not very nice. First you tell me I have too little friends, and then you say the friend I do have, doesn’t count. Also, her name is Aerum, and yes, we were already friends before we started working together on this set.”

You joked slightly, your tone light.

The actor gave you a charming smile, before winking at you.

“How about I fix the issue, hm? I’ll dazzle you with my presence as your first friend on this set.”

You grinned, setting the notepad to the side, and moving to work on the suit.

“I think I’ll take you up on that incredibly generous offer. Be careful not to dazzle me too much, okay? I need my eyes to finish your costumes.”

Zen nodded, his expression one of mock seriousness.

“Of course, I wouldn’t want to get in the way of my future costumes. That would be tragic.”

You grinned, your eyes taking on a mischievous note, as you jokingly mused aloud.

“Ah, yes. I can see the headlines now: Young fashion designers eyes melted after gazing at the ‘Lovely Zen’ for too long. They had to find a new costume designer, of course.”

Zen sighed dramatically, his lips curled up into a smile. “The curse of being beautiful is just too much for some to handle.”

You snorted, releasing him from your grip, and taking a step back.

“Yep, it sure is. Take a look and see for yourself.”

You said, gesturing to the replacement suit.

Zen glanced at you, his expression amused, before he nodded at your words.

“I’m good to go, then?” He asked, his tone softening some.

You nodded, offering him a smile.

“Yep, you’re entirely free.”

He hummed, glancing at you curiously.

“Will you be joining everyone for drinks tonight?”

You averted your gaze, before sighing.

“It’ll be awkward. I won’t know anyone there, unless Aerum goes, and even so…”

Zen’s brows furrowed, and he gestured towards himself. “You’ll know me, too. Of course, I won’t pressure you or anything. We can always meet up another time, if you choose not to go.”

Your eyes widened in surprise, and you offered him a small smile. “That’s fair…You’re serious about the whole friend thing, then…?”

His brows furrowed, and his expression took on a more serious note. “Of course, you’re stuck with me now that you’ve agreed to be my friend. No take-backs, okay?”

You snorted, shaking your head in amusement.

“I could think of worse people to be stuck with. Plus, you’re cute and funny. I don’t think it’s a bad deal at all.” You joked lightly, before realizing what you’d said.

Your cheeks burned, and you waved your hands frantically in embarrassment.

“I mean— Gosh, sorry. I mean you are very cute, but I swear it wasn’t my intention to hit on you or anything like that.” You floundered, wishing you could disappear on the spot.

You were brought back to reality by Zen’s laughter, and your mortification furthered.

“You’re surprisingly cute yourself, [F/N]. I wouldn’t mind if someone cute like yourself was hitting on me.”

You stared at him, your eyes wide, before averting your gaze embarrassedly.

“I’d have to…hype myself up…to hit on you.”

You admitted, rather lamely, earning another bout of laughter.

“Hmm, in that case…Would you mind if I hit on you, then? I can be dazzling enough for the both of us, and I’ll admit I’m a bit curious about you. I heard your taking friend earlier. Operation Male Lead, or what not? You can tell her it was a success.”

You stared at him blankly, your brain whirling.

“We literally just had one conversation, right? I’m definitely not that interesting…”

The actor chuckled, shaking his head.

“I’ll be the judge of that, besides I’m asking to get to know you. Trust me, the last thing I would want is to dive head first into something. Although, I’m relieved at your concern. I’ve had the fair share of people who are only interested in me because of my fame.”

You shook your head at that, a frown tugging at your lips.

“That’s stupid. You’re gorgeous, yes. You can act, yes. What does any of that matter if you don’t have a good personality? I’ll admit I may or may not be crushing on you some, but that’s because I’ve had the chance to interact with you. Well, kind of, in a professional sense.”

Zen laughed, shaking his head at your words.

“Most people would say I’m vain, you know?”

You shrugged, grinning helplessly. “To be fair, I’d be the same way if I had both your looks and talents. Regardless of that, it’s what you think of yourself that matters, right?”

Zen hummed, his expression softening a bit.

“That’s true. You’re interesting, [F/N]. I meant what I said about getting to know you.”

You hummed, offering him a smile. “I guess I’ll be joining you all for drinks, after all.”

He laughed at that, giving you a wink.

“I’ll point out the good stuff, then.”

You nodded, a small smile on your face.

“I’ll hold you to that.”

Zen beamed, his lips quirking upwards in a teasing grin.

“I’m looking forward to it.”

#thanks for the ask!#mystic messenger #zen x reader #kind of?#it’s a slow burn?#lots of flirting?#they’re hmmmm—#they have chemistry.#lots of chemistry.

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cassieuncaged · 5 months

Text

Ghosts - Part 2

A Laurie Strode Character study.

Chapter 1

2 of 2

TW: firearms, mentions of death, mentions of murder, PTSD, survivor's guilt, weed, drinking, language, etc.

WC: 1 K

A/N: Got this written faster than intended. Laurie and her friends are all 18.

AO3 Link

1978

“You gonna die a virgin?” Annie mocked over a contraband bottle of beer. They’d been holed up in the upstairs bedroom, flipping through a Playgirl Linda stole from the corner store. Lore hugged her knees to her chest, unknowing of the massacre to rain upon Haddonfield in the coming days.

“I’m just waiting.” Clutching nervously at her cream soda. “Until the time is right, I guess.”

“The time is never right,” Annie chuckled knowingly, wise beyond the years she’d never see. The sheriff’s daughter took a hearty glug of cheap alcohol, eyes flitting to cracked window to check for headlights. Her father had an upstanding reputation and wouldn’t hesitate to make an example of his own child’s taste for rebellion.

“Totally,” Linda added airily, gum snapping as she flipped through the dirty magazine. Laurie averted her eyes, earning the cheerleader’s unabashed giggle at the gesture. “Have you ever even seen a penis?”

“Even if she did, she wouldn’t know what to do with it.” Annie added in that mincing voice, ripping her supposed friend limb by metaphorical limb. Then they were both cackling like the Weird Sisters in Macbeth, a play they’d been reading in English class.

“I saw that picture of Burt Reynolds,” she added meekly, suddenly wishing her nose was buried in a book. Or even an innocent copy of Tiger Beat fawning over Donny Osmond or Shaun Cassidy. Linda snorted.

“Doesn’t count if you can’t see anything.” Was all she added before the other two entered their own side bar conversation. The ‘Straight A’ student was happy to be excluded, practically begging to be left alone to her thoughts.

They had all turned eighteen this year. And while Laurie happily matured into an empathetic and intelligent young woman, the other two seemed to regress to giggly girls who only cared about cute boys and where to score weed.

She didn’t even like the stuff; it made her throat itch every time she took a puff. In fact, Laurie only ever smoked to fit it. Taking a little sip of her sweet soda, she wished to be home listening to her records or helping her mother with the dishes.

Laurie Strode didn’t mind being well-behaved.

Years later, she’d claim it helped her survive.

2018

Good god, did she despise true crime podcasters. Reporters were one thing, Diane Sawyer’s schlocky interview was another. But there was something especially irritating and disgusting about armchair detectives.

There was never a grave they weren’t clamoring to desecrate, a scab that wasn’t destined to be picked again and again until there was nothing but a raw nerve. But mostly it was the way they all treated her like a sideshow act at a carnival.

Laurie Strode was a curiosity to most folks, a heroine in fable instead of the mortal woman she strived to be. No one cared that she’d dreamt of being a writer that lived in a big city with countless stories to tell. Instead, she’d become stuck in Haddonfield, like a mouse in a glue trap. There were still stories to be told, though she didn’t really want to share them.

The masses didn’t give a damn. They demanded her nightmare be relived time and time again, for popularity and clout. An old woman with PTSD didn’t deserve the privacy she craved apparently. Decades earlier she’d considered writing a tell all book to appease those who craved the macabre.

Then Karen was born. All she wanted was to protect her child.

That didn’t matter much as two strangers set up sound equipment in a sparse living room, making comments about the wood paneled walls and the flannel sofa. All them hailed from the UK based on telling accents.

A new development. She’d never attracted any interviews from half a world away. It was a feat, one that Laurie despised.

“Testing…One, two, testing.” The woman, Dana, sat on the edge of a worn cushion. A rectangular contraption sat wedged between her pale fingers. A microphone, Laurie figured. Technology had changed so much, becoming all powerful yet continually shrinking. There were memories of bulky cameras propped precariously on tripods, a boom mic falling into frame when she was interviewed at her parents’ house. The one-year anniversary. It aired on network television after Three’s Company.

Laurie was lost in her thoughts, wondering if the gate had been locked after the visitors had been let in, if she’d wrapped a new piece of barbed wire atop the chain link fence in the backyard, if the bars across the basement hatch would deploy if needed.

There were so many ‘if’s’ hurtling through her brain until the man, Aaron, spoke. His voice was deep and rich, somewhat calming in the eye of the storm they were unleashing.

“We’re talking to Laurie Strode today, sole survivor of the Babysitter Murder’s that took place in Illinois.” He paused for a moment, leaning forward onto the ladder-back chair which he sat. Dana held the mic closer to Laurie, waiting for an introduction that wouldn’t come. He continued diligently.

‘This year marks the fortieth anniversary of the infamous slaying. Do you have anything to say before we ask a few questions?”

“I have a question,” she cleared her throat, swallowing down a mouthful of bile before she begins. Laurie doesn’t look at Aaron, but past him, focused on the dusty window, “Do you believe in the boogeyman?”

1978

Dr. Loomis has to physically restrain the thrashing young woman as Michael burns in the hospital corridor. There isn’t time to dawdle, lest they become ash themselves.

But Laurie can’t leave. Not yet.

She needs to see the devil be reduced to nothing, to know he can’t haunt her. But he doesn’t crumple as the flames lap at him, masked face still blank at the rubber refuses to melt. The figure doesn’t flinch, inhuman in how lifelessly he stands in the face of death.

Her jaw drops for a moment, wondering if he’s even a man. Maybe he’s a ghost, a shell of something that was, something will continue to reappear until she takes her final breath. Ceasing to move further, the doctor yanked her away and through the metal doors.

Lights flash as paramedics arrive, followed by the local news truck.

In one night, her friends had been brutally butchered, a nurse skewered on a scalpel, a doctor pelted with hypodermic needles.

But what unfolds in front of her is the real nightmare. One she’ll never wake up from.

#halloween #fanfiction #laurie strode #michael myers #character study #back story #halloween 2018

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fruitcoops · 3 years

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hiii i've just spent the last 36-48 hours reading your works and oh dear do i lOVE your writing and this universe :') . i dont know if you are taking requests but i think it would be kinda interesting (and low key hilarious) if you would write the lions reacting/reading thirst tweets? idk if this is a dumb idea or not but just like some of them reacting to them and going "well i'm actually gay/married so.. no!.. but thank you!"

Part two of the six-month celebration, everyone! Thank you thank you THANK YOU to everyone who submitted comments--I had over 60 come in, and while I couldn’t include them all, reading them was a true joy. The Lion Pride channel was something I started writing on a whim; I never expected it to grow like this <3 Much love to all of you!

TW for alcohol mentions and thirst tweets (nothing explicit)

“Why do I always fear for my life around you?” Sirius asked as Marlene settled into a cushy chair to the side of their table.

She smiled, catlike, and crossed her legs primly. “Because only Finn appreciates me.”

“That’s just the Aries connection, Cap,” Finn said with a smug grin.

“We’re both Leos, Harzy.”

“Eh, close enough.”

Remus raised an eyebrow at her. “You should probably start asking questions before this devolves further, Marley. He’s gonna keep digging himself a hole and we won’t get anything done.”

Marlene’s smile returned with a vengeance. “That’s where you’re wrong, Loops! We’re not doing any questions at all today.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Read it and weep.” She tossed a small posterboard at him like a frisbee; he caught it, barely, though both Talker and Sirius had to duck out of the way. Marlene faced the camera and winked. “Welcome back to Lion Pride, everyone! Today I’m here with Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, James Potter, Thomas Walker, and our wonderful cubs to react to your comments on our videos!”

“Bet you thought we’d never see ‘em, huh?” James asked.

“The comments fall into four categories: thirsty, funny, mean, and sweet. I will be reading two of those groups, and my lovely fiancée will be reading the others because she is the human embodiment of sunshine.”

“If you make Dorcas read the mean ones, I’ll be sad,” Leo laughed.

Marlene gave him a look of disbelief. “You think I’m passing up a chance to roast you guys? Puh-lease. We’re starting off strong with some thirsty, thirsty comments! Loops, you’re up first.”

“This is going to be fun,” Sirius said, leaning back in his chair.

She cleared her throat, then turned a smoldering look on their table. “I didn’t know I had a freckle kink, but then Remus Lupin appeared and now here we are.”

“Oh, shit,” Remus muttered, covering his face with his hands as the others howled with laughter.

“Lupin has been looking sexy as hell on the bench for years now. I'm so glad people are simping over him like he deserves,” Marlene read. “And there’s a little heart emoji, just for you.”

“This is every one of my nightmares come to life,” Remus said, though his voice was muffled by his forearms.

James lifted his glasses to swipe away the tears of mirth that had gathered in his eyes. “Are you kidding? This is everything I have ever wanted.”

“Y’know, it is so good to see people drooling over this hot piece of ass at last,” Finn sighed, reaching over to ruffle Remus’ hair as his face turned bright red.

“One more, and it’s a good one,” Marlene warned. She licked her lips, then had to take a moment to laugh before speaking. “I feel like Remus Lupin is the type of guy to bake you muffins—”

“Accurate,” Leo said.

“—but is also a kinky motherfucker.”

Remus’ mouth dropped open as the table erupted into cheering. Logan pumped both fists in the air and Sirius was laughing so hard no sound came out; Talker sank so low in his chair that only his head and shoulders were visible as he applauded.

“Why do people comment these things?” Remus asked, barely above a whisper. “Holy fuck, I’m engaged!”

“Speaking of…” Marlene raised her eyebrows and Sirius smile drooped.

“Oh, no.”

“Oh, yes. Buckle up, Cap!” She rolled her shoulders out. “Get someone who looks at you the way Sirius Black looks at a hockey puck.”

Remus snorted; James’ laugh was so short and sharp that it set everyone else off as well. “That sounds like I have a hockey puck fetish!” Sirius complained. “Which is so, so not true!”

Finn made an ‘ehh’ noise, and he leaned around Remus to smack the back of his head. “Hey!”

“Next one!” Marlene announced. “Sirius Black was my bi awakening.”

A beat of silence passed. “Is that it?” Sirius ventured, looking nervous.

“Yep.”

“Aw, man, that one’s lame,” Talker said, shaking his head. “Everyone thinks Cap is a little hot.”

Remus shot him a look. “A little?”

“Fair. Marley, I dare you to find one person who wouldn’t tap that.”

She rolled her eyes. “Me, though that dovetails nicely into the last one for our lovely captain. Ahem. I understand why Remus is with Sirius: he's hot as hell and rich, I'd hit that too.”

“Oh, fuck, you’re right,” Leo gasped. “Why didn’t I think of that?”

Finn and Logan turned to him in unison with a mix of disbelief and offense written all over their faces. “Dude.”

“First of all, Leo, you found yourself two hot rich boys,” Remus interrupted. “Second, that comment is forgetting that he’s funny, and smart, and nice, and—”

Seconds after the initial cover, Sirius took his hand off Remus’ mouth as if he’d been burned. “Did you just lick me?”

“Moving on! This is in all caps, so be prepared.” Marlene shuffled through her posterboards and turned to Leo with an ominous smile. He glanced toward the camera in mild fear. “What does a person have to do to get some hockey player ass?! Like why is Leo Knut so fine?!”

“Amen!” Logan called as Leo blushed.

“According to six of the seven people at this table, the answer to that first question is to be a hockey player,” Talker laughed. “The world may never know the answer to the second, sadly.”

“Lily could play hockey,” James said, resting his chin on his hand. Every single one of the others rolled their eyes. “She could! She’d be so good at it, too.”

“We know,” Finn groaned. “You only mention it every other day.”

“Speaking of the lovely Mrs. Potter,” Marlene began with a sly look as she held up a new card. “Do James and Lily Potter need a third? Asking for me specifically.”

James paused, dumbstruck, while the others drummed their hands on the table. “…no?”

A general sigh of disappointment went up. “I was really hoping he’d say yes,” Leo said.

“Ask Lily next time,” Remus recommended.

James turned to him and blinked slowly. “What are you insinuating, Loops?”

“Oh, nothing.”

“Don’t worry, James, you’ll like this one,” Marlene assured him. “James Potter is the ultimate dilf.”

“You’re damn right I am!” James whooped. “Vindication, bitches!”

“Marley, what have you done?” Talker whispered. “He’ll never shut up about that, now.”

“Oh, never,” James all but cackled. “I’m officially a dilf, you guys!”

“I hate you,” Sirius groaned.

“Tremzy, are you ready? We’ve got a couple very special ones for you,” Marlene said.

“Anything to get us out of this hell,” Logan begged.

“In that case: Logan Tremblay’s ass is better than Sidney Crosby’s. I said what I said.”

A pleased flush rose to his cheeks as Finn and Leo high-fived over his head. “Really? Thank you!”

“And they would be correct!” Finn announced. “Best ass in the league.”

“Come on,” Remus scoffed, though he was smiling.

Marlene cleared her throat to get their attention. “I don’t think I can legally read this on air without being censored or getting the video taken down, but…”

She turned the board around; all seven of them leaned forward to read it, then slowly looked at Logan, who turned vivid red. “Mon dieu. Is that—someone commented that on a video? Like, for people to see?”

“I feel like I need to bleach my eyes,” Sirius said just as Finn began shaking with silent laughter.

Leo’s face fell. “You wrote that, didn’t you?”

“I did,” Finn wheezed, scooting forward to fist-bump Marlene. “We wanted to see what you guys would say. Fuckin’ hell, your faces.”

“Alright, Talkie, are you ready?” Marlene asked around her laughter. “Seeing Thomas Walker with a baby makes me want to have his babies…please hit me up.”

He held up his index finger and took a second to laugh before responding. “If that’s Noelle, yes. If that’s anyone else, I’m flattered, but absolutely not.”

Logan made a face. “Ew.”

“We have two more,” Marlene warned. “For some very special people that aren’t here today, but I think you’ll like them anyway.”

Sirius narrowed his eyes. “I don’t trust the look on your face.”

“Daddy Dumo makes me swoon.”

A muddle of horrified noises echoed through the studio as all seven of them cringed. “Oh, my god, that’s my dad!” Logan yelped, covering his ears. Sirius looked vaguely ill and Remus’ shoulders crept toward his ears; James shuddered.

“The worst part is, we all know he can get it,” Finn said with a grimace. “God, I feel like I just heard someone talking about my parents having sex.”

“I’m sure he’ll love to hear that,” Marlene laughed. “Last one, from one of our truth or drinks.”

Remus went pale half a second too late. “N—”

“Hope Lupin is a milf.”

A broken noise escaped his mouth and he clamped his hand over it while Talker rubbed his back in sympathy. Sirius shook his head. “Somehow, that’s worse than Dumo’s.”

“Whoever sent that in, show some respect!” Leo said indignantly as Remus bonked his forehead against the table. “Hope Lupin is a lovely woman!”

“I think they noticed that particular fact,” Marlene pointed out, earning herself several scandalized shouts of her name and a whine from Remus. “That’s all we have for thirst comments! Are you ready for some funny ones?”

“Anything,” Remus pleaded. “I am begging you, anything else.”

Marlene shook her head as she stood, still smiling, and kissed Dorcas on the cheek when she entered the frame. “Go for it, love.”

“Dorcas!” they all cheered, lighting up immediately.

“Hey, guys, it’s been a while!” She curled up in Marlene’s vacant spot and took her own posterboards out from underneath the seat. “Alright, let’s rock and roll. Pascal Dumais is the team dad and nothing will change my mind, and Tremzy is the annoying youngest child.”

“That is so accurate,” Sirius laughed, leaning just out of range of Logan’s playful punch. “Whoever commented that has no idea how right they are.”

“We’ve got a whole sibling dynamic thing going on,” Talker agreed. “Tremzy’s the baby of the family, Cap is the quietly chaotic middle child, and Pots is the older brother that starts shit and inevitably gets blamed for however out-of-control it gets.”

Dorcas nodded. “You are one hundred percent correct. In a similar vein: Pots was the dad jokes friend before he was even a dad.”

“Painfully so,” Leo confirmed, shaking his head as they all groaned in agreement. James looked rather smug about the whole thing. “So many puns.”

“Oh, you’ll like this one,” Dorcas mused as she drew a new card. “If Tremzy looked directly into my eyes for even two seconds, all of my problems would be solved. I am sure of it.”

“Yes,” Finn and Leo said in unison.

“It’s something about the eyes, I think,” James added. “They just stand out so much that it’s a little startling straight-on.”

Logan looked to the camera and stared at it, unblinking; it zoomed in slightly on his face. “Everything will be fine,” he said with mock solemnity. “Your problems are solved.”

“Well, that was terrifying,” Sirius said drily. “Got any more for us, Ms. Meadowes?”

“Of course I do! We’ve got quite a few for Loops and Leo.” She took a sip of her water before getting comfortable again. “My favorite thing about these videos is that we can all see Loops get steadily buffer as the season goes on. Good for you, king!”

“Flex! Flex! Flex!” the six of them chanted; Remus rolled his eyes, but slid his sweater sleeve to his elbow and flexed his forearm, resulting in enough hoots and hollers that they could probably be heard a block away. Talker fake-swooned into Leo’s arms and Remus lightly whacked him on the shoulder.

“Remus Lupin looks like he has squishable cheeks,” Dorcas read aloud.

“He does!” James cooed, scooting over and reaching out.

Remus narrowed his eyes. “I swear to god I’ll bite you.”

Sirius cupped his face between his palms and kissed his nose, then pinched both his cheeks gently. “Ta-da!”

“How many of these do we have?” Remus asked, though his voice was a bit muffled by Sirius’ hands.

“Just one more for you, and it’s my personal favorite.” Dorcas assured him. “I love how the team probably had no impulse control until Loops joined.”

Sirius let go of his face and dissolved into laughter as Finn nearly fell on the floor. “Oh my—you think he has impulse control?” Talker slapped the edge of the table as he shook his head. “Absolutely not. Hell no, Loops is the first person to do stupid shit with us.”

“Yeah, I just don’t get caught,” Remus added around his own laughter. “Everyone thinks I’m such a hardass goody-two-shoes and it lets me get away with so much more than you delinquents.”

“Speaking of delinquents,” Dorcas continued. “This one is from our ‘Taste Testing Sexy Alcohol’ video: ah, yes, now I know how to do a body shot. 10/10, very educational video.”

“Do not take educational advice from us,” Finn blurted instantly. “I know this is a joke, but please exercise caution. That video was a ton of fun but a nightmare to recover from.”

Sirius winced at the memory. “I took two naps and then wished for death for a full day.”

“On a lighter note, who’s ready for some Knutty appreciation?” Dorcas smiled at her cards. “I've only had Leo Knut for a season and half, but if anything happened to him, I would kill everyone in this room and then myself.”

“Big mood,” four of them said simultaneously.

Leo turned to the camera with a concerned look on his face. “That’s a meme reference, but are y’all okay?”

“No,” Dorcas answered. “Especially not this next person: Sometimes I do something productive and then I remember @LeoKnut is a 19 year old professional athlete who radiates happiness and with two of the hottest boyfriends the good lord has made, and then my bowl of packaged ramen seems less impressive.”

“I’m proud of your ramen,” Leo said, even as the corners of his mouth twitched in a smile. “And I appreciate the note about my boyfriends, because they are definitely the hottest people the good lord has made.”

Talker stuck his lip out in a pout. “Rude.”

“Sorry, Talkie, I’m biased.”

“Last one before Marlene comes back, so you’d better enjoy it!” Dorcas announced. “Did the Lions effectively utilize girl power when they wrecked toxic masculinity, yes or yes?”

“Can we utilize girl power?” Remus wondered, resting his shin on his hand. “Isn’t that exclusively for, y’know, women?”

“We can utilize himbo power,” Finn suggested.

James gave him an offended look. “Not all of us are himbos!”

“Okay, but you definitely are.”

“I am not!” James held up his fingers to count. “There are only, like, three qualifications, right? I might be strong, hot, and respectful, but I’m not dumb so it doesn’t count!”

“Pots,” Remus said quietly, hiding his smile for half a second. “Buddy, that was four things.”

James paused, then sighed in resignation. “Ah, fuck, I’m a himbo.”

“You really are.”

“At least we don’t promote toxic masculinity.”

They raised their waterbottles in a ‘cheers’ motion as Marlene and Dorcas switched spots; Marlene stretched her arms over her head and grabbed the new boards. “I’m back, beloved himbos. Talker, Leo, you are beloved by the people and have no mean comments. Cap, we’re starting with you.”

“Are they actually mean mean?” he asked.

“Sirius Black seems like a little bitch. Not in a bad way, necessarily. He just. Seems like he'd be a little bitch."

Sirius raised his eyebrows. “Oh, okay. That answers one question.”

“He’s not a little bitch,” Leo said. “Pouty on occasion, but not a little bitch.”

Remus gave him a long look, then shook his head. “Yeah, I mean, you teared up a little when Hattie got a splinter in her paw but didn’t even yell when you almost sliced your finger off while making dinner.”

“Duality of man,” Finn said sagely.

Marlene cocked an eyebrow. “Finn O’Hara’s hair kind of reminds me of Garfield the Cat.”

“Alright, that’s just rude.”

“It does not!” Logan gasped at the same time Leo made a noise of agreement.

Finn turned to him in utter betrayal. “Nutter Butter, I thought you liked my hair!”

“I do!” Leo defended. “But they’re not entirely wrong. It’s very orange in the sun.”

“I’m never going to forget that,” Finn muttered, staring at the floor.

“Ugh, it bothers me so much that Lupin just objectifies Black all the time!” Marlene read in a high-pitched, nasal voice. “No respect in that relationship!”

Sirius raised his eyebrows. “Pardon?”

Marlene stared at it for a moment, then shrugged. “Yeah, I have no idea what videos they were watching. Do you feel objectified in your relationship, Cap? I know the opinion of total strangers really bothers you a lot.”

“I’m really glad you picked up on that,” he said with false gravity. “Yeah, it’s such a bummer when my hot fiancé says I look nice. Such a blow to my self-esteem.”

“That was supposed to be a roast against me,” Remus said, looking amused. “Talk about backfiring.”

“Are you ready, Pots? This one’s pretty brutal,” Marlene warned. James nodded and Finn linked their hands for moral support. “James Potter is a swiftie and you cannot tell me otherwise.”

He furrowed his eyebrows. “…yeah? That’s true? T Swift is a regular occurrence on the locker room playlist.”

“Also, James Potter looks like someone who would think black pepper was spicy.”

“Now that one is mean,” he complained as the others burst out laughing. “It’s not my fault I have sensitive taste buds!”

“Oh, honey,” she said under her breath as she took a new card. “Get ready, Tremzy. This first one is short and sweet: Logan Tremblay looks like a lesbian.”

“That is not an insult,” Logan laughed. “Every lesbian I know is rad as fuck. I wish I looked that good in a leather jacket.”

“I just realized Logan doesn’t look short cause he’s next to bunch of hockey players, he’s short cause he’s 5’9.”

The smile slipped off his face in a millisecond as the others roared with laughter. “Quoi?”

“Oh, she got you good,” Sirius gasped, patting his shoulder clumsily. “Holy fuck, can I frame that?”

“That’s not what it says.” An edge of distress appeared in Logan’s voice. “Marley, that’s not what it says.”

James sat on the floor with the heels of his palms pressed against his eyes. “You’re fucking—whoever sent that in, you are my new favorite person. Jesus.”

“Do you need a second to recover before we move on?” Dorcas asked as she draped her arms over the back of Marlene’s chair. “The next one is our biggest section by far.”

“It’s the sweet ones, yeah?” Leo asked.

“Right.”

“It might be a good idea to do those before Lo spontaneously combusts.”

“Agreed!” She swapped with Marlene and hauled a short stack of posterboards out from their hiding place with a smile. “A hug from Dumo can probably solve any issue.”

“Facts,” Logan said. “I could really use one right about now, too.”

“Has anyone noticed how blue Leo Knut’s eyes are?”

“Yes,” the six of them chorused.

Finn gave him a dreamy look. “Every single day.”

“When I first read this one, I thought I wrote it,” Dorcas said with a snort. “Someone give Marlene a raise. No reason why, I just love her.”

“Can we do that?” Sirius asked, looking toward the camera crew. “Can we lobby to give you guys raises? Because you definitely deserve it after all the bullshit you deal with to make these videos watchable, and Marlene, you’ve drawn the short end of the stick ninety percent of the time.”

“How?” she called off-screen.

“You have to actually talk to us and try to get answers.”

“Fair.”

Dorcas finished scribbling something down on her notepad. “Just making a note of this conversation for future reference. Moving on! Sirius Black and James Potter are a prime example of hockey husbands, and I adore them.”

“The ironic part of that is that we’re both in committed relationships, but we’re basically married,” James mused.

Remus shook his head. “You guys are so married. Lily wanted to get you matching rings for your birthday, Pots.”

“That would be so cool!” they said in perfect unison. Remus turned to the camera and spread his hands in a case in point motion.

Dorcas stifled her laughter before moving on. “This one is cute. Give Remus Lupin all the hugs! I feel like I could tell him he’s an inspiration and he’d be so nice about it—” She paused to glance up at them. “—this next bit is in parentheses: all the LGBT Lions give me that vibe, but Cap and Knutty are super intimidating so I wouldn’t have the guts.”

Leo’s face fell and Sirius’ eyebrows pitched. “I’m not intimidating!” Leo protested. “I thought we already went over that! Loops gives fantastic hugs, but I want some, too.”

“He definitely deserves all the hugs in the world, but I promise I’m nice,” Sirius said, a bit softer than usual. “Is it because we’re tall?”

Dorcas half-shrugged. “Probably. It’s a little startling at first. Oh, I could’ve written this one, too: The Venn diagram of men I trust and the Gryffindor Lions is a full circle.”

Talker beamed at the camera. “Thank you!”

“So many hockey guys are such douchebags,” Logan said with a shake of his head. “I’m really glad we don’t do that shit.”

“Me, too.” Dorcas slid her old card under her chair. “Sirius Black’s hair looks so soft and I just want to touch it so bad.”

“It is so soft,” Remus agreed immediately. “You have no idea.”

“Everyone wants to touch Cap’s hair,” Finn said, sighing. “It’s so majestic.”

“I need a haircut.”

“No, you don’t,” Remus said as he tugged a stray curl. Sirius hummed.

“This one is from the interview some you did with Jules and Katie: these hockey boys being so soft with kids is my aesthetic! Like, it’s just so adorable to see these big, intimidating dudes be so, so sweet! Love them all!” She turned the card for them to see. “And then they added a heart at the end.”

“It’s impossible to be around those kids and not be happy,” James said. “They’re just too cute and wonderful.”

“Yeah, I love kids.” Finn nodded. “Especially the Dumais and Jules. They’re a hoot.”

“Jules would die if he heard you say that,” Remus laughed. “The hero worship is still going strong with most of you.”

“This one made me laugh when I first read it, but it’s really sweet,” Dorcas informed them. “Anyone else feel like we were deceived these past five years into thinking Cap was this hard-ass man, when in reality he's a cuddle bug who definitely captures and releases spiders instead of squishing them?”

“You weren’t deceived, I was just closeted,” Sirius said. “Also, I absolutely squish spiders.”

Remus gave him a look. “No, you do not. That’s my job. I’m the catch and release person if I can get away with it.”

James shook his head. “The third week of practices you saw a spider and threw me at it.”

“You did what?” Finn asked.

“There was a spider in my stall,” Sirius sighed, looking as if he would rather be anywhere else. “And Pots and I were talking so I didn’t see it until I almost sat on it, and my brain decided the only logical thing to do would be to grab him and shove him toward the spider.”

“That was after you shrieked,” Talker added. “Like, literally shrieked. I’ve never heard anyone make a noise like that.”

“Alright, alright,” Sirius grumbled. “We get it, I don’t like spiders.”

Remus shrugged. “But you are a cuddle bug. They got that part right.”

“We’re in the final two!” Dorcas announced. “This one has some pictures to go with it, so it’s on my phone. Fuck Romeo and Juliet, I want what these bitches have.”

“It’s us!” Leo cooed as the phone made its way down the line. In the upper corner of the screen, the photo appeared—it had been taken in New York, and Logan’s whole face was alight with happiness as Leo and Finn each pressed a kiss to his cheek. The camera caught him mid-laugh, so his eyes were closed and his chin was tucked slightly into Finn’s Strand hoodie.

“That’s my screensaver,” Finn said with a grin, pulling his phone out and turning it toward the camera without moving away from Leo. “One of my favorites.”

“I forgot you took that one,” Logan murmured. He hooked his chin over Leo’s shoulder and kissed his cheek; the four others at the table gave soft are you seeing this? looks to the camera and Dorcas smiled.

“Pots, I think yours is next. I hate to break it to you, Talkie, but they didn’t get any of you and Noelle.”

“We don’t take a ton of pictures together,” Talker said as James took the phone. “I mean, we take a bunch of selfies, but we don’t live close enough to each other to actually post that often. What picture is it, J?”

James was staring down at the picture with an unbearably sweet expression. “It’s our wedding. That’s my favorite one, actually.”

Like Logan, they had been captured while laughing—Lily was bent slightly at the waist as James clapped, his glasses just as askew as the flower crown on her head. It was impossible to tell who had told the joke originally, but they were both radiant in the sunset.

“That’s a really good one,” Sirius said with an unreadable look on his face.

“Well, well, well, fancypants, you two got a video.” James wiggled his eyebrows and Remus leaned in to see.

“What kind of video? One of our tikt—oh. Oh, this is so cute.” He shifted his chair over as the short edit began to play. “D, who made this?”

“A fan.”

“It’s really impressive,” Sirius said without taking his eyes off the screen. The edit was a series of photos, both on and off the ice; Sirius knocking their helmets together, then Remus looking back over his shoulder, then both of them in the water playing chicken in the sun. It was a slideshow of their life and their love.

“Can you send that to me?” Remus asked when it was over. “Cause that’s super cool.”

“Sure thing. Are you guys ready for the last one?” When they all nodded, she drummed her fingers on the posterboard and cleared her throat. “Arthur appreciation hours. He deserves it after managing to control the team.”

A cheer went up—all seven stood and applauded, half-laughing and half-whooping. “Miracle worker!” Sirius called.

“Best coach in the league!” Finn added.

“Most tolerant man to ever walk the earth!” Remus raised his water in a toast and they tapped the plastic edges together, nearly spilling all over the table.

Dorcas’ eyes crinkled in a smile as she turned to the camera. “That’s it for today, Lions! Tune in next time for more content of our boys, and thank you for such wonderful comments!”

288 notes · View notes

lilacsandwhiskey · 3 years

Note

Angst prompts 12 - Tom 💛

Choices

Pairing: Tom Holland x reader

Warnings: language, angst, not necessarily a happy ending but maybe a part 2 in the works, perhaps?

angst prompt from @your-fluffy-murder-writer

Tom hated the way he couldn’t lay down and feel comfort in what he was sure was the most comfortable bed in the entire city. The hotel room was seemingly too large anymore, knowing there was one less body occupying the room.

He swung his legs over the left side of the bed, his feet hitting the cool carpet. He glanced at the clock. It was only 11:02pm, but everyone else had already fallen asleep in the suite. He tiptoed into the small kitchenette, grabbing a beer out of the fridge, thankfully stocked by Harrison earlier that evening. He took himself out to the balcony, sitting back on the cold metal chair that decorated the outlook.

Tom sighs as he pressed the bottle to his lips, sweat from the bottle falling onto his chest. He’s quick to rub them away before setting the bottle on the tiny garden table in between the two chairs. His fingers fumble with the other side of the chair as he stares at it, as if the one face he wants to see will appear. But he knows it won’t.

His mind takes in the still bustling city below him. He knows if you were here, you’d be whispering softly stories you’d made up about each person that walks around on the street. “They definitely are on their first date.” You’d say at the awkward hand holding couple crosses the street. “She looks like she’d drive a Benz. I’d like to drive a Benz.” Tom found himself letting out a laugh through his nostrils, immediately feeling tears sting the back of his eyes. If only you were here to make those comments.

Tom wondered what you were doing right now. It took everything in him not to call you, for the first time sober. There was no doubt drunken calls had surfaced on the nights he’d gotten absolutely hammered. Harry would try to stop him, but Tom never listened. He’d shove his brother away from him, closing the door and locking himself in there. He wasn’t proud of it. It didn’t exactly help his pride that you never once called back.

“You’ll always choose it over me.” You cried. “Every. Single. Time. You’ll choose anything it all over me.” This wasn’t the first time this had been a fight. Tom groaned, pushing his hand through his brown hair. “It’s my fucking job.” “When will you realize that I know that? But you’ve changed. I haven’t even gotten a text from you in over two weeks. I’m not going to be in a relationship with a radio silent telephone. I deserve more.”

And that’s when you left. You had enough and you finallt chose your feelings over your own. You were supportive of Tom and his endeavors, everything about his job, you supported. It wasn’t until the partying and clubbing commenced more than usual, earning you not even a check in text. You felt selfish for getting upset but you also recognize that what the two of you had going on wasn’t healthy either. If he wanted it to work, he would make it work, you told yourself.

Tom was awoken by clanking in the kitchenette. The place would be home to him for the next two weeks, so there was no question that Harry had ran out to get groceries for the three of you. Tom rolled out of bed, not before grabbing his phone. Did he ever call you last night? He checked. Nope. Thank God.

Tom made the decision then to try to get over you. No response to any of his calls or messages was a response to him. With a shaky sigh, his feet carry him to the kitchen, only to hear the tail-end of a conversation. “I miss when y/n would make us those cheesy eggs in the morning.” Harry said, cracking an egg over the pan. “She’d always put the right amount of cheese.”

With a groan, Tom looks to his brother and best friend. “Don't ever say her name again.” Tom pleads, sitting down at the stool. Tom knew his whim of a decision to forget you would be more difficult than not. Harry and Harrison share a look that goes unnoticed by Tom. “Sorry mate.” Harrison responds, giving Harry one more look.

The rest of breakfast goes as normal as it usually could. Tom craved more than his breakfast though, and the craving was almost overbearing to the real food in front of him. He looked over at the stool next to him, where you would be if you were still with him. He imagined what this morning would look like - the type of morning you’d shared several times before. Your knees pressed into his thigh, feet perched on his own stool instead of yours to get closer. Your body would be turned towards his as you scraped your food off your plate, laughing among the people he loved so much.

One thing Tom struggled the most with, was when you decided to leave, you left the family too. Tom wasn’t sure if you still communicated with him, but there was no doubt some hurt when Tom had announced your break-up. You’d become so close to all of them, that you sitting here next to him in the morning eating breakfast would have been domestic. Your laughter would have lightened the thickened air between all of you. You’d crack a joke or two, pushing Harry’s buttons like you always did.

The first time Tom ever saw Harry genuinely get upset at him was when he told him. Harry took it the hardest - he had grown close to you. Of course, Tom had other girlfriends in the past that Harry had met, but he had never gotten so protective over someone like he had you. He was sure you were it for Tom. So when Tom announced it at a family dinner when his mom was poking about your whereabouts, Harry’s chair screeched loudly, a napkin was thrown on his plate, and out the back door he was to the garden.

“You really fucked up, didn’t you?” Harry hadn’t even turned around to notice Tom’s presence. He knew already. “Why do you assume it was me?” “It’s not an assumption, Tom.” Harry is quick to turn on his feet to meet his older brother. “You pushed and pushed her away. We warned you. She begged for you to give her a sliver of that reassurance you gave her in the beginning but you couldn’t get it through that thick skull of yours.” Harry’s words cut like a knife but Tom knew he was right. “I’m sorry.” Tom whispered. “I’m not the one you should be apologizing to.” Harry pushed by his brother, inside to help clean up before he was gone to their own home.

Harry apologized soon after but didn’t fail to mention that he was still pretty upset. To Tom’s knowledge, no one had spoken to you. But that wasn’t true. Harry was the first to reach out, someone you confided in. He was like your little brother after all, you’d spent a few years by their sides. Then everyone found it in them to call or message you. You had ran into Nikki at the grocery store. She spotted you down the aisle looking at pasta. You turned to see that familiar face, that familiar smile. “Y/n.” She said, before you opened her arms and allowed her embrace. She didn’t fail to express how much she missed you, which only made getting over Tom harder.

Leaving Tom was one of the hardest things you’d ever done. When you made the decision, it wasn’t quick. You lingered for months. You thought there would be a change that would snap you back into the relationship you held so dear to your heart.

The phone calls were fairly continuous for a while, a drunken Tom confessing he was wrong. You’d squeeze your eyes shut listening to the messages, telling yourself not to cry. Your finger hovered over his contact several times. But there was one thing you knew - you couldn’t say hello to him and risk another goodbye.

——————

Tom was onset for his newest movie - one about a girl and a boy finding theirselves back to each other after a rough breakup. It was a rom-com, something Tom had always been up for, but it felt different not having you by his side during filming. Though he’d had a rather great break, he spent the majority of it sulking and attempting to prepare.

Tom saw several familiar faces walking onto set, familiar with the director as someone he’d worked with times before. “Where’s the lady?” He asked, shaking Tom’s hand. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Harry’s face drop into a frown, attempting to insinuate that it wasn’t a good subject for now. “Uh, we ended things.” “Oh man, I’m sorry to here that.” The director gave a sympathetic smile before calling for the objective of the scenes today.

Tom felt jittery as it was determined that they would be working on the break-up scene. He stood in front of his co-star, preparing body language to show they were angry. His co-star looks to him, feeding her selves thoughts to bring tears to her eyes.

“You never cared, did you?” She spits. “You know I did.” Tom remembers how small he’s supposed to feel in this moment before the anguish begins. “You are better off without me. Just say it.” “I can’t.” “Why can’t you?” The woman is hiccuping through tears. “Because… I love you.” “You’re pathetic. You’re a liar. You’re lying to me.”

Tom recalls his actions are to become angrier with each degrading comment. But in that moment - he’s sparked. “You really think I don’t love you?” “How could I when you treat me like this?” Tom feels the tears rushing to his eyes, face turning red. “I would do anything for you.” “Then do it! Stop treating me like this!”

This felt all too familiar. A fight way too familiar. The actress is doubled over in tears, and Tom’s character is to feel urged to hold her and apologize. He does, tears streaming down his own face. If only he’d handle your arguments differently. If only his fuse didn’t get the best of him.

“God, I’m so sorry.” Tom mumbles, holding the actress close. He becomes aware of how it’s not you he’s holding. He becomes aware of how this could have been different if he would just listen. The scene continues with mumbles I love yous and a tired girl packing up her clothes.

Tom watches in the corner, real tears falling down his face as he remembers watching you sling things into bags. You had slammed pictures down on the way out. And he knew it was goodbye.

“And… cut! Absolutely beautiful acting, you two! Don’t think we could’ve had you do that better.” The director gushed. Tom was still fed with a lump in his throat. The director reports they can take five, bringing Harrison and Harry walk to the curly-haired boy. “You okay?” Harry asks, squeezing his shoulder.

Tom hesitates, eyes staring forward. “No.” He lets out. “I fucked up. I should’ve handed it all better. Why did I hurt her?” Tom knew people were probably wondering why he was unable to snap back to reality. But that was thing - that conversation had been a reality and it cut too deep.

“I’m in love with her. I am. I know she won’t give me the time of day anymore. But God, I’d do anything for a second chance.” This was the first time Tom had let himself really feel his heartbreak, and he knew it wasn’t the time. So like the great actor he is, he snapped out of his trance and prepared to listen for directions as they called for everyone back.

Tom made his way to the crew, Harrison following close behind. “Keep an eye on him. I’ve gotta call to make.”

Harry walks out into the warm summer sun. He’s quick to pull his phone out and go to the number he needs. With a couple of taps, the phone is ringing. The ring is broken by a simple hello. “Y/n? Hey! Got a minute to talk?”

#tom holland angst #tom holland #thomas stanley holland #tom holland imagine #tom holland one shot

112 notes · View notes

darwin-xf · 3 years

Text

Love is a Verb

His dick knew things.

In general, thinking with your little head not your big one got a bad rap.

But for him? The opposite seemed to apply.

Of course he’d been mortified when he sprung to life in her hand the night before, with Scully in full on doctor mode, acting so clinical and detached. While he was so very very exposed.

A wave of anger arose in the wake of his humiliation. At her. Which wasn’t fair. She was doing him a favor, after all. Examining him, because they were stuck in a crap motel in the middle of nowhere Florida, the day after a hurricane, flights snafued, roads clogged with debris. And him with a sea monster bite on his neck and an angry itchy red rash on his dick to match. She was caring for him, just like she always did. Even though neither one of them was exactly comfortable about the prospect.

But now, considering what that moment of vulnerability had led to, he was glad it happened. And hardly surprised.

And when his big head has been muddled and confused on a night a few weeks before? His dick had shown the way forward. When a different woman had laid her hands on him, slipped her tongue into his mouth.

He didn’t want her. He felt like a block of wood as she kissed him and touched him. And yet he let it happen. His mind filled with a fuzzy gray static as she whispered to him how she needed him, how she’d never stopped loving him, until she was kneeling on the floor in front of him. She opened his pants and he let her, hungry for something she was offering. He would think a lot about that later.

But then his dick was in her mouth. And she worked it, employed all her little tricks. And still it stayed soft.

Until, giving up, she stood. She crossed the room and poured herself a scotch. He tucked his junk in his pants and zipped up. Not even embarrassed.

“You love her,” Diana said, her back to him.

He nodded. “I do.”

“But Fox,” she said, closing the distance between them, sitting down next to him, “She doesn’t know you like I do. There’s so much I want to give you...”

She launched into the pitch he’d heard from her before. Since she returned, she’d been whispering to him whenever she could get him alone, offering him access. “There are so many things we can accomplish together, Fox. Why would you want to keep toiling in the dark when you can shape the future of the human race? You’ve more than earned your seat at the table. And your voice is needed there...”

Though he never really felt engaged in these conversations, his big head listened to what Diana had to say.

But the little one was more persuasive. Not to mention more persistent. The truth was, Scully had been the only one able to get him off for months. Though of course she hadn’t touched him.

His extensive collection of salacious videotapes these days stayed tucked in their hiding places, moldering in their cases. The magazines delivered to his door each month, Penthouse and Hustler and Escort and Razzle and Club, remained stacked on his entryway table, their spines uncracked, their pages unperused. Most with the black no-see-um wrapper still intact.

A fact Scully discovered while visiting his apartment a few weeks before. She turned up on the late side one evening, work on her mind, files in her hand, her body tucked dutifully away in some dark suit.

“Oh that,” he said when she placed her palm on the towering cache of smut, popped an eyebrow in his direction. She had spent enough time in his space to understand that this was a departure from his usual behavior, where his porn was concerned. Whereby he’d rip the covers off the mags as soon as they arrived and leaf through them, looking for anything particularly good. He’d turn down the corners of memorable pages then leave them piled haphazardly around his place: on end tables, under the fishtank, next to his bed.

The explanation was not something he was prepared to share. So he thought fast, and invented something on the fly that seemed remotely plausible. “Yeah, the boys tell me that those are going to be collector's items soon. Print is dead, Scully. Everyone making the switch from atoms to bits and bytes. Paper’s so pulpy and inefficient. I have a book on it somewhere...” He riffled through his bookshelf, glad to escape her excruciating gaze. He plucked out a book and handed her a copy of Being Digital by Nicholas Negroponte. “He’s a smart guy. You should check it out.”

His effort to distract her was in vain. She put the book aside without glancing at the cover and continued to silently cross-examine him. He pretended to be interested in another book he’d pulled at random, but the moment stretched on uncomfortably. "I thought I could get more for them if they remained in pristine condition,” he said as he paged through the book he wasn’t reading. For all he knew he was holding it upside down. “You know how people keep their Star Wars toys in the boxes with the cellophane on?”

She shrugged, unconvinced. But she moved on, willing to let it go. Her stacked heels clacked obnoxiously against his hardwood floors as she slowly made her way into his living room.

He doubted she wanted to know the real reason. Though he was pretty sure he could turn the tables on her if he blurted it out. It would serve her right for the way she roamed around his apartment and let her eyes light on his stuff, storing her little data points in that mind, trying to figure him out. But maybe one day the tea leaves of his pitiable life she seemed so eager to read would finally speak to her. Maybe it would occur to her what was actually going on.

Which was that every time he touched himself, he imagined it was her hand. And he would try to switch things over, open one of his skin mags— his trusty strategy for years when it came to getting his thoughts off his partner and back where they belonged —but it wasn’t working anymore.

He’d listlessly page through the glossies, looking for a promising spread, land on some blowjob scene and eyeball it for a while. But when he got down to business it, was her mouth on him, warm and receptive, her eyes on his face, his hands in her coppery hair. He’d smolder for a while, thinking of her lips, her strong small hands, and always her eyes, then feverishly work himself up. And the magazine, forgotten, would slip away onto the floor.

On the bright side, his inappropriate intrusive fixation on his FBI partner was saving him two hundred bucks a month he used to spend on phone sex. The last time he dialed in he couldn’t even get it up. So he spilled his guts to one of his regular providers, droning on for forty-five minutes about how he had it bad for his partner, all the things she did that made him crazy, the reasons he couldn’t tell her. Realizing even therapy would be cheaper, and feeling like a terrible cliché, he’d quit calling those numbers.

His videos were his last line of defense. Their absorbing input had always been able to capture his attention, so he’d try one of those. It might work for a few minutes, but the real action was behind his eyes. In his mind it was her heels digging in to the small of his back as he plunged into her tight little cunt. She’d be beneath him hot and panting, open her mouth to moan and he’d stuff his fingers in, slide them wetly against her tongue. Soon he’d be picking up the pace... The television would blare fruitlessly in the background, rife with bad dialogue and silicone silo tits and oh babys. The money shot would come and go, unseen by him, and the screen would fade to black.

The reason porn had quit working was simple: in his fantasies, she always comes too. Usually more than once. He’d start slow, imagine he was taking his time kissing his way down her body. That could take a while. Then he’d tease her, rubbing the fat head of his cock up and down her slit. When she begged him to, he’d slip inside her and slam his hips forward. He’d hold there, bottomed out, and kiss her sweet mouth. Then he’d slide it in and out, looking into her eyes, feeling every inch of her.

Soon he’d need to fuck her harder, faster. He’d reach down to tease her clit until she was thrashing and pleading. Then she’d say his name, and her face would change, and she’d come on his dick. He’d watch her ride it out, humming with pleasure as her warm wet circles broke against him and travelled up his body in waves. Till his nuts and his gut and his heart and his throat and his brain were replete with her. Finally he’d come, imagining he was cradled by her hips and rocking, buried deep inside her, spilling his secrets into her ear.

In his dirty busy mind he’d already had her so many places and ways: in showers and motel beds, in cars and elevators, bent over his desk at work, the door unlocked, her skirt bunched around her waist, her drugstore pantyhose dangling from her ankle. Quick or slow or sweet or mean, acrobatic or missionary, rough or tender. Or both. God. Even boring. Just the two of them in his bed, nose to nose under the covers, whispering and giggling and whiling away a Sunday morning.

And the most pathetic and woebegone detail? Sometimes his fantasies contained no sex at all. He wanted to watch a movie with her feet parked in his lap. He wanted to shop for groceries with her and hold her hand on the walk home. To spend a weekend with her on the Vinyard and show her his old high school. He wanted to rub her back when she was sad and play footsie with her under the table during boring budget meetings. He wanted to gather her close and kiss her eyelids and hold her in his arms as she fell asleep. To watch her to rise naked from his bed and pull on his clothes she’d just stripped from his body. On red eye flights he wanted to leave the arm rest up and snuggle with her under those dingy felt blankets. To read to her while she soaked in the tub and find the nooks and hollows of her body where she was ticklish. He wanted to make her giggle, make her laugh, make her cry happy tears. He wanted to make her wet just with his voice. To lay in bed and watch while she got dressed for church. He wanted to kiss her in front of her idiot brother, maybe even slip her a tasteful amount of tongue. To shower with her before work, to soap her up and shampoo her hair. He wanted to stock his fridge with an assortment of her gross non-dairy yogurts.

Scully. Before she’d even descended into his office and introduced herself, he assumed she was a plant. Or a dupe, a patsy. Why else would a promising and talented young agent be conscripted to his lonely, disrespected division? Most likely she’d already agreed to keep tabs on him, to cast his work in a negative light. And even if she hadn’t, he was certain she’d be manipulated, using the lever of her obvious ambition, into doing so. He also suspected, since she’d spent most of her time thus far in the FBI in the lab or the classroom, that she was a house cat. The kind of agent who might hold romantic notions about working in the field, but who would soon balk at the grueling, unpredictable hours, the endless travel, the physical grind. And blanch at the dangers. It’s no kind of life for anybody who wants a life.

By the time their flight touched down in Oregon on that first case, he knew for sure that she was fun to spar with. And all kinds of smart. And even sort of cute. And while it can obviously be helpful to have a partner if things go sideways, he remembers hoping that didn’t happen to them before she washed out and retreated back to the lab. Because he suspected this itty bitty pathologist with zero field experience and impractical footwear? Would be more likely to become a liability than properly cover his flank.

After they’d worked a half dozen cases together, it was fair to say he’d reconsidered the hasty assumptions he’d made about Scully. Which is to say she surprised him at every turn. Except on the couple of occasions when she’d astonished him, leaving him flat-footed and slack-jawed in her wake. Against all odds, he had himself a partner. Which is not to say he fully trusted her. Not yet. And he doubted she’d hang around much longer.

But still. He’d learned that she was game. Skeptical and rational, but up for anything. She never complained about bad food or lumpy beds. And courageous, staring down firearms pushed in her face without blinking. She was fearless and cagy, and could take a punch or dish one out. And in the next moment she could soften, to connect with a suspect or a victim, to care for a child, or for him. She believed deeply in what she was doing. When he bumbled into trouble, which he seemed to have a knack for, she more than had his back. Yet when she’d sided with him and blew off her buddies from the Academy? It wasn’t loyalty to him she was demonstrating, but to the victims. To the truth. Above all, Scully was honest.

In some ways, he knew her so well. Yet all these years later there was there were aspects to her he could only guess at. Scully, he’d come to understand, was a deeply private person. Didn’t give pieces of herself away in idle conversation, like most people do. The fact that he was a trained and skilled profiler didn’t seem to help. In his fevered mind he’d become preoccupied with the things he didn’t know about her. Like how, exactly, does she like to be touched? He thought about that a lot. Is she a morning sex person? (God he hoped so.) Is she loud in bed? Or more quiet and intense? A little repressed, or wild and uninhibited? He could imagine it either way. Is she bossy? Submissive? A little of both? What does she taste like? Does she talk dirty? Will she like it when he does? (Because he definitely does.) How would he tease her? What are her kinks? Does she like it rough? And if he wanted to go down on her for hours, would she be okay with that?

So, yeah. He loved her.

That switch had been flicked for him on a steamy summer evening, a moment when he’d been staring down the real possibility of losing her. She walked away. He followed her, flew out his door like he’d been shot out of a cannon. Stormed up to her where she’d turned to face him in his hallway. Fists clenched, voice raised, he was in full on fighting mode. But he wasn’t fighting her. He was fighting to keep her. So instead of telling her off, as his body language suggested he might, he told her what she meant to him. How he needed her. Things he hadn’t even realized before they came out of his mouth. But all of it the truth.

She’d been girded and resolute, her body rigid and self-contained. But then she broke, like a marionette whose strings had been cut, she softened and stepped into his embrace. He looked in her impossibly blue eyes glinting with tears and realized with dreadful certainty that, Christ, he was going to kiss his partner. More than that, if she let him, he was going to pick her up and carry her back through the door of his apartment and lay her down and fuck her.

That plan had been derailed, but the urge for him remained. And not long after, he gathered his courage and, with all the earnestness he could muster, he’d looked her in the eyes and confessed.

So he’d told her that he loved her. But had he shown her?

That was a thorny question, and it made him uncomfortable to consider it. Because he had to admit that for the most part, he hadn’t.

It was strange, but once his feelings for Scully had shifted, his behavior toward her had become less loving. For one thing, he didn’t let her in on that fact that she’d become the only featured player in his secret late-nite fantasy theatre. But more than that, he found himself especially irritable with her. Dismissive. Self-centered. Sometimes even cold.

When he was looking for an excuse to be angry with her, he told himself a story that she’d rejected him. Because, oh brother. But he’d seen her eyes go wide for an instant, felt her animal panic. She’d pored over his hospital chart and had to know he wasn’t high. So he’d concluded that she didn’t want him. Didn’t love him.

And Fowley’d chosen that inopportune moment to skip back over the pond and make a play for his ass. And though he had no interest in rekindling that relationship, just having her around reminded him of all the reasons it just might be a bad idea to get tangled up sexually with your partner.

More than that, even though he knew that Scully felt insecure because of Diana for several legitimate reasons, he hadn’t bothered to reassure her that she had nothing to worry about. When Diana called him and invited him downstairs for lunch, he’d go. Mostly to be near his files, and to mine the trashcans for cases when her back was turned. But he’d steal away from the bullpen, not tell Scully where he was off to, or why. He let her twist in the wind, wondering who Diana was to him and what her reappearance meant for their partnership.

It would make sense that once you’ve discovered the person you love, the person with whom you want to spend the rest of your days (not even to mention nights), the person who is, quite possibly, it for you? That you would try to make that happen. To lock that down. And yet he seemed to be doing everything but.

Even after she’d been shot by Ritter, and he’d almost lost her again.

And why was that? How to explain this puzzling behavior.

Maybe she didn’t want him, and he was just protecting himself.

The thing was, when he was being honest, he knew that wasn’t true. When he’d been about to kiss her in his hallway, she’d looked confused at first. And then concerned, with real fear flashing in her eyes. But by the time his lips were hovering over hers? They were on the same page. She’d gone molten in his arms, and her mouth awaited his, wet and ready. His body remembered how she’d opened to him, with her sweet breath and her fingers on his neck. He knew in his bones how that encounter would have ended, if not for that stupid fucking bee. Recalled it every chance he got.

As a psychologist, looking at the situation objectively? He’d have to conclude that he was engaging in some epic self-sabotage. Yup.

That night in her apartment when Diana had made her intentions clear, he’d agreed like some kind of docile sheep to join her. To scrum up with the other chosen few at El Rico Air Force Base as Armageddon loomed and save himself at the expense of the rest of humanity. And Scully, even though he wasn’t by her side where he belonged, was still fighting. For him, For them. For the truth. For the future.

And to repay her for her steadfast faith in him and devotion to their work? He was flirting with the one thing that could tear them apart. With inflicting a betrayal that could send her packing for good.

They’d dodged a bullet that night. More than that, they’d gotten their files back, and were free to resume their work. And by any measure he should have felt relieved. But he woke the next morning with a hangover worse than any he’d ever gotten from liquor. He looked in the mirror to shave and realized he couldn’t even meet his own gaze. He was ashamed. And he had to admit that he’d been seduced by Diana after all. Not into bed, but into complacency.

Needing some time and space to think things through, he called Skinner and redeemed a few vacation days. He threw some clothes in a bag and set out driving, not sure of his destination.

On the road, heading north, armed with this new clarity, he mulled things over. How was he going to feel, he wondered, when he succeeded and chased her away? That seemed to be his end game, after all. He knew what he’d do. He’d track her down to wherever she’d absconded to and interrupt her as she attempted to reboot her life. Then, looking desperate and half mad, he’d profess his love.

But it would be too late. She would conclude, quite logically, that he only wanted her when she was leaving. And even if she loved him like he hoped she might, she would not settle for that. Not Scully. And it would be selfish of him to ask her to.

It hit him then, with complete and utter clarity, that he had no idea how to love someone. He’d had bad models and a dearth of life experience in that arena. He knew how he felt. But love is a verb. It’s about what you do. She had taught him that.

He was good with the grand gestures, sure. Tracking her down at the bottom of the world and fishing her out of an enormous alien vessel, for example. Then breathing life back into her and hauling her to the surface while sidestepping rabid lizard monsters who swiped at them with razor-edged claws? Check.

But she needed more. For him to find mundane ways to express his care and concern, perhaps. To show her how much she mattered to him. How much he valued her and all the ways she contributed to their work. To his life. She needed to see that he put her first. She deserved these things. She had earned them. And he knew wouldn’t let him glimpse her secret self, let him know her like he desperately wanted to, until he gave them to her.

He wasn’t sure he could do it. But he knew he had to try.

He decided to start right away. He’d been thinking of her all morning, of course. About celebrating their return by pressing her her against a wall in their office and pushing into her, fucking her breathless and senseless before lunch, to be exact. But he hadn’t thought of her at all, he realized. Not really.

Scully. She’d be there right now, in the basement waiting for him, their first day back where they belonged. Wondering where he could be with half the morning gone. Bewildered as to what might be keeping him from reclaiming his precious turf. Maybe she already talked to Skinner and knew he was taking a few days off. Maybe she’d be worried. Or pissed. Or worse, wondering if he was enjoying a morning lounging in bed with a treacherous leggy brunette.

At the next rest stop, he pulled off and powered up his cell phone. He was relieved to see that he'd missed a call from her. She hadn’t given up on him yet.

Rather than listen to her message, he dialed her back. She answered on the third ring.

“Hey Mulder,” she said.

“Hey Scully,” he said. “Are you in the office?”

“I am,” she said. “Where I thought for sure you would be. Skinner told me you were on vacation. What’s going on?” Her voice was brittle. Defensive.

“I will be, Scully. I’ll meet you there. And soon. But I need to take care of a few things first.”

“Okay,” she said thoughtfully. “What kinds of things?”

“I, ah, I need to get my head straight before coming back. I’ve been mixed up. About some stuff.”

“I see,” she said.

They were both quiet for long seconds.

“How are you?” he asked.

“Me?” The question surprised her. “I’m good. Enjoying the quiet. Working on expense reports. Glad to be out of the bullpen.”

“You sure? You were popular, Scully. I think Agent Kargoll was working up the nerve to ask you out.” Mulder would glare at him as he brought her a donut on a little plate in the mornings. He’d leave it on the corner of the desk if she wasn’t in yet, like an offering to the high priestess.

“Yep,” she said. “I noticed that too. Reassigned in the nick of time...”

“I did my best to scare him off...”

“He was persistent, I’ll give him that.”

“He seemed like a nice enough guy. You could do worse than landing a boyfriend who arrives bearing gifts every morning...”

“I could do better, too.”

“No doubt,” he said. “What would be better than that?”

“Hmm. Why do you ask?”

“Research,” he said.

“Research,” she repeated. “Okay. Let’s see. The bearing gifts is ok. But maybe someone with some sense of what I actually like?”

“Let me jot that down,” he said. She snorted a little laugh. Which warmed him all the way through. “It’s true, Scully, you’re not a big fan of donuts. I benefitted from his crush on you more than you did.”

“I tried to wait until he had his back turned before handing those off to you...”

“You’re very kind,” he said.

Just then a truck blew by on the highway, laying on the booming brake, rocking his car.

“Where are you?” she asked.

“I, ah, hit the road this morning. Just to think. Just to drive. But I suppose I’m heading home. To see my mother for a few days.”

“Everything okay?” she asked. He heard the concern in her voice, the fear that she’d be needing to tend to him trepanned and shocky, bail him out of jail. The usual.

“Yeah,” he said. “Or it will be. I really think it will be.”

“Allright Mulder,” she said after a long beat. “I’ll be holding down the fort. Drive safe. And keep in touch.”

“I will. And save me some of that paperwork, Scully.”

She laughed and hung up.

He had, in fact, visited his mother. She was glad to see him, and he stayed a few days, helped her out with some chores around the house. Got on a ladder and plucked the muck and leaves from the gutters, shifted some dusty furniture from the basement to the curb.

And he absorbed the silences of that house, his mother’s sadness, the way every possession, every exchange seemed steeped in a deep, abiding misery.

He remembered his mother different. Laughing, for example. Playing bridge with her friends, toying with her strand of pearls as she leaned in to gossip. Teasing him with a glint of joy in her eyes. Before Samantha had been taken.

It had broken her. Broken all of them. Now she ghosted around her own home, tending to her roses, watching television. Always alone. He lived much the same way. This was all that was left.

All because his father had been unable to protect them from the men he worked with, no matter how noble his intentions. The same men he had been tempted by Fowley to join up with, if he was telling the truth. Now they were reduced to ash. He had no idea what remained, but he knew he and Scully would find out.

By the time he climbed in his car to come home, he was committed to not making his father’s mistake. And to living differently. Less stubbornly solitary. To inviting some goodness into his life, no matter how strange it felt.

And last night, when it was actually happening, when he was wrapped up in bed with Scully in real life, it had been so vivid, so peculiar. As he rolled his naked frame against hers, time slowed down. In his head he heard the seconds ticking away distorted by doppler effect, whomp whomp. Felt his stiff prick slide against her buttery thigh, painfully slow. Pressed his ear to her chest. Imagined the steady squeeze and release of her heart beneath her breastbone. Heard the whoosh of her blood through her veins.

Looked up at her flushed face, this beautiful untamable breakable beast.

And he loved her.

He’d told her so.

Now he needed to show her.

Thanks for reading. Check it out at Ao3 This fic stands alone, but is also chapter 10 of Bedside Manner

#the x files #today in fic #msr fanfic #msr #mulder x scully #x files #fox mulder #dana scully #x files fanfiction #the x files fanfic

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morsking · 3 years

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uhhhhhh to better grasp why rin is a host for both ishtar and ereshkigal and why sakura is a host for both kama and parvati you’re gonna have to read the vn since that is the only place where you will be treated to the different dimensions of both their characters and dispel any illusions and misunderstandings the ubw anime created (about rin in particular). i can explain it well but if you have the ability to, you should read the vn to really let it sink in and appreciate things more organically.

there are times in the anime where rin feels like a caricature of herself since she appears so confident and fun-loving and tsundere about it (the vn sometimes does this too but manages to balance things out a little better) that it overshadows how rin is also in her own way extremely repressed.

rin, while fashioning herself the ruler of her own world and a competent genius is still someone shackled to her duty as the last living tohsaka heir and denies herself a more profound and fundamental happiness because she reasons so long as she is the tohsaka heir, she can never be sakura’s sister, and wrongfully believes that sakura has moved on without her and belongs with the matous oblivious to what zouken has done to sakura for almost 11 years because it’s easier to think that sakura doesn’t care about her anymore than to confront all she’s taught and has lived for for so long is wrong and that she has a chance to make it right. rin however finds ways to keep running into sakura just enough that her true desires betray her efforts at keeping her distance, and if sakura just said “you are my sister, please let’s live together again” no doubt rin would be so torn to hesitate yet so hopeful to as to want it to be real.

rin’s apparent emotional independence and reputation is a product of her purposefully distancing herself from making any real human connections because she has no idea how to be emotionally available from years of stifling aristocratic conditioning. if she puts herself on a pedestal, it’s easier for others to not approach her and see through her facade. apart from that, as much fun as rin could possibly have by herself there is still something that will keep her from feeling truly fulfilled, and that’s the lack of opportunity (and emotional bravery) to reconcile with sakura. it’s also easier to forsake sakura and threaten to kill her when she’s out of control because acknowledging the horror of killing her own sister would break her own convictions and denounce her, and the tohsakas, as murderers and frauds. ishtar is that side of rin that finds being herself and living as the person in charge of her own existence. ereshkigal is the unhappy part of rin that yearns for more than what she’s been given but feels too guilty and too bound by responsibility to seek it out, and therefore denies herself her wish to connect with the person who would make all the difference in the world (sakura for rin, guda for eresh).

sakura is a naturally kind, gentle, yet strong-willed individual who has experienced that which would break and utterly annihilate most at a spiritual level. sakura only survived what she did because her mental fortitude, much like shirou’s, is so exceptional she will always retain her sense of self even if pushed to the very brink of suffering. despite that, she grew up extremely bitter, depressed, and with a disposition that utterly gave up on the world that abandoned her to the point where she wished others to fail and suffer at whatever they endeavored. if her life was pointless and fruitless as to be thrown away, why shouldn’t everyone else’s be too?

it’s really not until she met shirou that she began to change her mind and desire to have more than just numbness. a boy who just wouldn’t give up no matter how many times he couldn’t clear that jump, and accepted the outcome without regrets, second-thoughts, and self-loathing left such a deep impression on sakura that she wanted that thoughtless drive to live freely and greet tomorrow as a given to be hers as well.

little by little the broken doll with lifeless eyes restored more and more of her inner kindness and good faith, both because she gained a will that did more than just curse, and because there was someone who showed her what a real home, a real family looked like so she’d believe in love and happiness again. but much like rin, sakura struggled to believe she deserved happiness. years of abuse crushed sakura’s self-esteem, and thought her suffering made her unlovable and unnatural. her desire to be both loved and pitied clashed against one another, and were also contradictingly one and the same. it would be easy to be pitied, that means she would’ve been right about her hatefulness all along and she can just fade away along with the pain her baggage might’ve caused others. but if she’s loved, then how will she ever make herself worthy of it? how could she ever justify to herself that she’s being given love that hasn’t been earned? and even worse, what if she’s given love that can be lost?

sakura hides all the things that risk her losing all the love she’s accumulated, a desperate selfish tactic employed by a scared girl deathly afraid to lose the only light she’s ever known. if all her anger, bitterness, cowardice, jealousy, scars, and self-hatred were exposed, what would shirou think of her? once he does find out what she’s gone through, she pushes him away. she really believes she’s done for and has nothing else to come back to. even as shirou keeps asserting he does still want her in his life, she keeps hurling all the terrible things she’s done to him and herself without him knowing: that because he’s kiritsugu’s kid she spied on him for zouken, that she used him to run away from zouken and shinji, that she tried to kill herself, that she’s not a virgin, all to get him to reject her for good while guiltily clinging to the hope that he will still choose to love her in spite, or because of all that.

even after sakura’s killed shinji by accident and transforms into dark sakura, a part of herself is weak towards shirou. a part of herself lashes out when he’s around because she’s still rejecting him hoping he’ll forsake her so he’ll live without getting hurt by her while also begging for him to see how much she’s suffering so he’ll save her, going so far at the end that she tells rin to run away with shirou, having decided to kill herself alongside the grail. rin however, sees through sakura’s attempt to earn pity, but in her own fit of duty-induced forced apathy threatens to kill sakura herself before sakura has the chance to wipe herself out (jesus, rin) rather than comfort her and tell her she wishes for her to live. rin though fails to follow through with her plan. just as she overpowers sakura, she throws away all her lies and embraces her sister, telling her how she really feels, and the very first sincere expression of love her sister has shown her in a decade is enough for sakura to stop dead in her tracks and crumble in grief until shirou arrives to save her and insist that she deserves to live so that all the suffering she both caused and experienced and all the people she devoured can be given meaning. this parallels into how kama as beast iii/L wishes to render all love obsolete by drowning the universe in love to the point where all love becomes meaningless and kama no longer has to be hurt by love, with their defeat marking a change in their beliefs about the world and themself.

parvati tells you as much that she’s taken over sakura’s good side. she’s the earnest hardworking woman who is full of benevolence and enthusiasm after her purpose has become clear. however, what parvati doesn’t understand is that sakura’s good qualities are intermixed with her darker ones and fundamentally cannot ever be truly separated, and that’s why parvati also connects with sakura’s tendency to hide the ugly things about herself out of fear she’ll be rejected, and that it’s wrong and harmful for her to do that to sakura as much (if not worse) as it is for sakura to do it for herself alongside all the people that could be affected by that dishonesty.

apart from the obvious gross reasons, there is in fact a good justification for kama’s ascensions in fgo. their ascensions go from child to adolescent to adult to demonstrate that kama has a parallel to sakura’s personal growth. they are both individuals who, after being betrayed by their own kind (the gods and the tohsakas) and having their bodies destroyed (kama becoming the cosmos, sakura being devoured by crest worms and having her dna rewritten), have lost faith in who they were before and the world around them. kama starts out in sakura’s child body: the young girl who was sacrificed for a greater purpose and whose heart has been filled with depression, cynicism, and hatred for the world around her. their childish disposition however, marks that kama has truly been reborn and is going through the process of recreating their identity after it was shattered by trauma.

when kama is in sakura’s adolescent form, that signals that much like sakura around that age, they still cling to some anger and bitterness, but have begun to ease into forming new connections and their desire to be identified with love becomes complicated as it is both heavily resisted yet profoundly wanted. it is kama at their peak self-loathing, directing hatred to themself as much as their child form did to everyone else.

when kama shifts into sakura’s final adult form, it marks the period where they both have had some of their faith renewed in their existence. while it is still very difficult for them to truly know what love is and whether or not they’ve earned it, they nonetheless make it clear they want to believe in it again with the help of the person they’ve placed their trust upon (shirou for sakura, guda for kama). as the god of love, for kama to learn what love is is for kama to once more understand what it is to love themself again, and like sakura at the end of heaven’s feel finish constructing their brand new identity and move forward in a way that their happiness and reforged self-confidence can dignify their suffering and make up for all the damage they caused others and themselves.

this isn’t to say that pseudos as a concept are inherently good or anything. they are still very flawed because when mishandled for fanservice (and it happens a LOT) they do far more to displease both fans of the mythological figures and fans of the original fate/stay night characters simultaneously than to appease them both by robbing all characters involved of their complexities. regardless, that doesn’t mean that these gods wearing the faces of these girls is entirely pointless, lazy, and thoughtless. on the contrary, these girls were chosen because of all the different facets they have that match their possessors’ demeanors and themes, and i hope that this knowledge can help people see the connection with more clarity.

#anyway ooku event spoilers and vn spoilers for those who wanna go in blind #you don't have to reblog this if you don't feel like it i mostly typed this all out for myself #because i got tired of seeing either bad or somewhat disinformed pseudo servant takes #and needed to say something to keep my sanity

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elentiyawhitethorn · 3 years

Text

When Passion Rules the Game | Part Two

CW: language

Part One//Part Three//Masterlist//2228 words

There was something Aelin had to do today.

She had been lying in bed semiconscious, held tightly by strong arms for a few minutes now. And there was this nagging sensation at the back of her mind that something important was happening today.

Maybe to do with Fleetfoot. No, Dorian was staying over because his girlfriend was pissed at him, as she tended to be, and he had promised to feed and walk the dog in exchange for a couple days on Aelin’s couch.

What, then?

Was she missing some sort of event? Like… work? Did Aelin work? She probably did. Most people had jobs. What was hers, then?

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. Aelin did have a job. And not only was she supposed to be on time on a regular day, a new employee was joining the office, transferring from his position in Doranelle. Whitethorn. Yes, Rowan Whitethorn. That was what she had to do today.

Aelin jolted into a sitting position the second she remembered. All tiredness vanished from her body, leaving her an anxious wreck. She had a fucking job.

Someone groaned in their sleep, protesting her sudden movements. Aelin glanced over to find the hot guy from last night reaching for her drowsily. Mournfully, Aelin shook off his grasp and crawled out of bed, landing on the floor unsteadily. She spotted her dress on the floor and reached for it, tugging it on as quickly as humanly possible. Then she grabbed her heels, knowing putting them on would only slow her down.

Her underwear… had been in the man’s pocket last she checked. Fuck. She’d just have to leave it. And damn if that didn’t upset her; it was her favorite pair.

Sighing, Aelin exited the bedroom with one last backward glance at the sleeping man. Then she navigated her way down the thankfully simple hallway and to the front door.

Half an hour later, Aelin was at work.

She had raced home, getting lost only a couple of times. Then she had stripped and taken the fastest shower of her life. Pulling on a pantsuit and flats, Aelin had ignored her growling stomach, desperate for breakfast, and bolted out to her car. In which she had broken about five different traffic laws trying to make it to work. She had probably set the world record for getting out of a one night stand’s bed and to her job.

Maybe no one would notice. Maybe she wasn’t actually late, and her watch, and her phone, and the clock on the way to the elevator were all an hour off. Maybe her new employee, who she was supposed to make a good first impression on, would believe her if she said her dog had been run over by a train. So many maybes.

“Where the fuck have you been?” a voice hissed. So much for no one noticing.

Aelin glanced over at Elide, her assistant and closest friend. “Who, me?”

Elide crossed her arms. “You’re an hour late.”

“I was just…” She waved her arms vaguely.

A death stare was all she received in return. “I don’t care whose bed you find you way into on your own time, but I expect you to make it to work, especially when you have a new employee.” Elide could be terrifying when she was angry, and she often acted as more of a mother to Aelin than an assistant or friend, despite the fact that she was two years younger.

Aelin winced. “Is he pissed? Did you tell him he got the wrong time and I’m actually early? Where is he?”

Elide sighed. “By the gods’ good grace, I suppose as a second chance for you to pull yourself together, he isn’t fucking here.” She didn’t curse often. When she did, it meant run in the other direction.

“He’s not here? Like actually?”

“Yes, like actually,” Elide said, sarcasm dripping from her tone. “I don’t understand what’s wrong with the world. His first day of work, and he’s not here. Go to your office. Now.” Elide thrust a cup of coffee Aelin.

Knowing better than to argue with the petite woman, Aelin nodded guiltily, grabbed the coffee, and headed back. She closed the door behind her, taking a seat behind her desk. Then she took a much-needed sip of caffeine.

She was really an hour late, and Rowan Whitethorn still wasn’t here? As relieved as Aelin was, she was also pissed. What right did he have to be absent of his first day? That took some nerve. He better have a damn good excuse.

Aelin tried to catch up on some paperwork while she waited, but her mind was far away, in the bedroom of the sex god she had encountered last night. She drank some more coffee.

Not five minutes after she sat down, a firm knock sounded on the door.

“Come in,” Aelin called, scrambling to put some papers in front of herself and pretend she had been doing something of consequence.

The door opened to reveal Elide. “Mr. Whitethorn here to see you.” Her voice was innocent enough, but the look on her face said, You may have been spared by the universe, but I will come for you later.

“Send him in,” Aelin said impatiently. How dare this man be… five minutes later than her? The nerve!

Elide backed away, revealing a figure. A figure that Aelin knew. She froze.

Tall, well-built, silver-haired. Green eyes and a light stubble, probably forfeiting shaving for making it to his new job. A long-sleeve buttoned shirt covering what Aelin knew to be a tattoo. A long and sexy tattoo. He looked like a wreck, circles under his eyes and a guilty, terrified expression. He must be concerned he was going to be fired, and he was almost certainly regretting last night. Aelin knew the feeling.

Aelin could see the exact moment he recognized her, his steps faltering and his guilt and fear turned into surprise. Elide sent a confused look to Aelin, and she quickly mastered her shock. “Please take a seat, Mr. Whitethorn.”

His eyes no less conveying the rude awakening he was feeling, he walked forward and took a seat on the other side of Aelin’s desk.

Satisfied, Elide said, “Let me know if you need anything,” shutting the door behind her. And then they were alone.

“You’re Aelin Galathynius,” the man stated in disbelief. Rowan.

“And you’re Rowan Whitethorn,” Aelin said dryly. “A pleasure.”

Rowan blinked. “You—”

“I expect you not to be late in the future,” Aelin said, not bothering to acknowledge him.

“But… Aelin… fuck.”

Aelin frowned, taking a deep breath. “We are going to pretend last night never happened. Nor will there be any repeats. As far as I’m concerned I’ve never met you before.”

Rowan opened his mouth. Then closed it. Then opened it again.

“It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Whitethorn.” Aelin stood and extended her arm over the desk.

“Aelin—”

“Miss Galathynius,” she corrected sharply.

“Miss Galathynius,” he repeated, still dazed. And from the prominent marks under his eyes, he was as tired as she. “Nice to meet you, too,” he finally replied, shaking her hand. “I’m sorry I was late. It won’t happen again.”

Aelin almost shivered when his strong, calloused hand grasped hers, and she was instantly flooded with shame. This man, her employee, had had those fingers inside of her. He had gagged her and bound her and spanked her and called her a slut. And she had begged for him.

She pulled her hand from his grip a bit too sharply. “Good, it better not,” Aelin said, pretending that nothing had happened, pretending that her face wasn’t flushed with humiliation. She was a fucking CEO, and now this man probably wasn’t thinking about that, or about all the work she had put into making it to this position. He was likely thinking about what she had let him do to her. Maybe he was even thinking about trying to do it again. Gods damn it all to hell.

Glancing at his wary posture once more, Aelin slid her coffee cup to him. “Drink. You’ll need it.”

Needless to say, they had a long day.

—

“Was it worth it, Aelin?” Elide asked with a frown.

She and Dorian were on one of Aelin’s couches, Aelin herself sprawled across the other one. Apparently Elide was not over today’s late appearance.

“Was what worth it?” Dorian asked, giving Fleetfoot a rub.

Elide sighed. “She came in an hour late, a whole hour, because she got held up in some dude’s bed, or so I’m assuming. Nearly missed meeting with a new worker.”

Aelin remained silent.

“Ooh, sounds like fun,” Dorian said, earning a glare from Elide. “Well? Was it worth it?”

“No,” Aelin said flatly.

“That bad?” Dorian asked sympathetically.

Aelin shot him her best glare. “Fuck off.”

“You weren’t this pissed off this morning,” Elide said. Sly little bitch.

“You fuck off, too.”

“What happened?” Dorian pleaded. “I have no gossip these days. Manon won’t let me back into the apartment until I apologize for staining her favorite dress. I am literally starved for anything.”

Aelin couldn’t even bring herself to laugh at his conundrum. Instead, she buried her face in a pillow and let out a muffled yell.

“Hey, what’s wrong, Lin?” Elide asked, all annoyance gone from her tone.

As much as she didn’t want to talk about it, she also wanted to scream to somebody. “Remember Mr. Whitethorn, the new guy?”

“Yeah,” Elide said hesitantly, probably thinking this no longer had anything to do with last night. How wrong she was.

“Remember how he was also late this morning?”

“Yeah…”

A moment of confusion passed before Elide and Dorian started yelling at the same time. They were speaking over each other, so it was hard to decipher, but Aelin caught a few ‘what the fuck’s, ‘oh gods really’s, and ‘you did not!’s.

“Shut up,” she moaned, banging her head on the couch. “I’m so fucking screwed.”

“Seriously, Aelin?” Elide asked in exasperation.

“Don’t you fucking dare,” she snapped. “I didn’t know it was him.”

Dorian laughed gleefully. “He slept with his boss.”

Aelin grunted.

“Was it bad?” he asked.

She grunted again.

“Was it good?”

Aelin’s silence had Dorian cackling. “How good are we talking?”

“I didn’t say it was good,” she muttered.

Elide snorted. “Just answer the question so we can decide how much we need to make fun of you.”

Aelin scowled. “Miscreants.” She blushed. “It was pretty good.”

Dorian just about howled. “We need details.”

“We do not!” Elide protested, but she was laughing.

“Ugh!” For all of Aelin’s complaints, she was a total gossip at heart and sharing with two of her best friends always made her feel better. Not that she was going to give them any actual details. “We hooked up in the bar’s bathroom. And then I was in his apartment. Fuck, I was in my employee’s apartment! I was in my employee’s bed!”

They both laughed. Traitors.

“Tell us about him,” Dorian said suggestively.

“I will not, damn it. I’m done talking about it.”

“Come on. At least tell us what happened this morning.”

Aelin debated it. “I woke up. And then I remembered that I had places to be.” Elide snorted here. “I pulled on my dress and ran out the door. I went home for like five minutes. Then at work, some little bitch yelled at me for being late.” Aelin glared at Elide, and Dorian grinned. “And then that little fucker walked in my office.” Aelin detailed the rest of the day, from the initial conversation, to the awkward interactions later on, to their uncomfortable farewell as the work day ended.

Elide was giggling hysterically by the end of it, pleased that Aelin had been thoroughly punished for being late. And then some. Dorian was overjoyed, because he was a little shit. Aelin wanted to murder them both by the end of it, but of course, they had made her tell them. She needed to talk about it, if only because she couldn’t stop thinking about it.

Elide left after a little while, leaving Aelin with a threat to be on time tomorrow. Dorian stayed on the couch, and Aelin went back to her room very early, with a lot of sleep to catch up on.

In bed, though, sleep did not come. Aelin just couldn’t stop imagining last night: the way Rowan’s cock had filled her deliciously, the way he had brought her over the edge three times, and probably would have done it more if he’d felt like it.

No matter the shame that welled up inside of her for the thoughts that were coursing through her mind, Aelin just couldn’t stop wanting him, couldn’t control herself from feeling wet at the thought of their handshake this morning, his fingers gripping her strongly. The fact that she knew his name made it so much worse. Now all Aelin wanted to do was scream his name to the gods.

It took every molecule of willpower in her not to slide her fingers down her body and imagine they were Rowan’s. Instead, she eventually fell asleep with her hands clenched into fists and tears of frustration and self-resentment drying on her cheeks.

In other words, Aelin was screwed.

———

Tag List:

@aelin-bitch-queen

@autumnbabylon

@evolving-dreamer

@feysand-loml

@flora-shadowshine

@gracie-rosee

@infernoqueen19

@julemmaes

@lemonade-coolattas

@live-the-fangirl-life

@midsizewitch

@morganofthewildfire

@nehemikkele

@realbookloverproblems

@rhysandswingspan

@rowanaelinn

@sexy-dumpster-fire

@sleeping-and-books

@story-scribbler

@swankii-art-teacher

@thenerdandfandoms

@yesdreamblog

#rowaelin #tog #when passion rules the game #my writing

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princessofcurses · 3 years

Text

[1] Take it.

Part 2 Ryomen Sukuna x Fem!Reader Written from the perspective of Sukuna My first post! I wonder if anyone will read it? It's kind of long. The sexy stuff starts happening about halfway through. This is just one chapter so some things might not make sense. Let me know if you liked it and want more! Preface: A woman sorcerer challenged Sukuna. Her technique was able to nullify his, ending in a draw between the two. Frustrated at his inability to kill her, he decides to “take her” in “another way”. The cocky brat rejects him easily but he’s determined to win her over little by little when she visits him the next day.

She left quickly after our battle. I wanted to chase after her. She hadn’t even told me her name but the way she mocked me riled my soul up. A fire began to burn in my core and soon, I felt it in all of my blood. I was almost unsure if I wanted to kill her or fuck her. I hadn’t met a Jujutsu sorcerer as strong as her before, strong enough to go toe-to-toe with me. And strong enough to resist me. I couldn’t kill her so right now, I wanted nothing more than to fuck her. I can win in other ways. I wanted to earn her affection and make her mine. With her by my side, nothing would be able to stop me.

The next day, she came back to me. I was delighted.

“You thought about it, didn’t you? Did you rethink your stance?”

She replied to me with disgust.

“I’m here to waste your time and keep you from killing.”

I scoffed.

How can I win her over? After my ‘sex with hundreds of women’ comment last time, she obviously wants nothing to do with me. I can’t force her into submission because she neutralizes my techniques and she can use it against me. Should I buy her affection? Maybe gifts would do.

She noticed I was in thought and she used the pause to take a seat at the base of the mountain of skulls. She pulled out a book and began to read. She was bored with me again. She is so fucking infuriating. I wanted so badly to kill her but I couldn’t. So I thought I wanted so badly to ruin her and make her feel so good she submits to me. But she pretended I didn’t exist.

I jumped down from my throne to be closer to her.

“What’s your name?”

Without looking up from her book, she said just her first name.

“Akahime.”

“Oh? So you’re one of the heavenly twins. The red princess.”

“Mhm.”

Her one word replies irritated me. Women have died just getting too close to me and now there was one who not only rejected me but could stop me too. My usual approach wasn’t working so I tried being more direct.

“I want to talk to you.”

She immediately responded.

“I told you I’m not interested.”

“Please.”

She closed her book with both hands and put it down. I felt pitiful almost begging her just to speak with her.

“You’re annoying.”

I winced at her comment.

“What if we talked over dinner?”

“We wouldn’t be able to go anywhere without you being noticed. Plus, you might just try to kill everyone.”

“Then I’ll have one of my servants bring us something. You didn’t bring food, right? You’ll get hungry eventually.”

She put her index finger on her chin and looked up. She had a cute thinking face. If I could hear her thoughts, she probably cursed in her head that she forgot to bring something to eat.

“Okay, fine. I want an omakase from the most expensive sushi restaurant in Japan. I also want a bottle of sake. It better be warm too.”

This little brat. She’s a foot shorter than me but she treats me as if I’m the small one. I sighed in exasperation and I snapped my fingers for a servant to quickly appear. Akahime wondered where they came from.

“You heard her. Fetch. Quickly.”

They scurried out of the lair. I went to take a seat beside her. She looked uncomfortable and moved farther from me once I sat down. I sighed.

“I won’t bite. I just want to talk.”

She turned to me and smiled.

“Let’s talk over dinner!”

Ugh. She’s really cute, even when she’s nicely rejecting me. I was losing my composure. I was so frustrated that she wasn’t giving a single thing. I wanted to get on top of her and show her just why women come to me. But she might just leave altogether.

“Okay, looking forward to it then.”

I made my way back to my throne. I leaned my elbow against the armrest and held my head up with my hand. I wondered, what could I say to make her trust me? It felt like an eternity had passed once the food arrived. The servant laid all of the sushi out. Akahime and I sat on the floor. I poured her some sake and she took the small cup with a smile.

“Thank you, Sukuna!”

She could look so sweet. I was taken aback from it, considering how cocky she had been the entire time. She must really love this restaurant.

“Itadakimasu!”

We clapped our hands and she immediately went for a piece of salmon.

“I love this place! Oh, you ordered the omakase too? Wow, so you have money?”

Her personality completely changed.

“I’ve eaten at this place a couple of times. I like their omakase too. And yes, I have money.”

Maybe gifts were the way to go. I quickly wrote down some items for my servant to get.

She picked up a piece of toro and presented it to me with her other hand.

“This is my favorite.”

She plopped it into her mouth and she closed her eyes and smiled.

“Mmm!”

The way to her heart is through her stomach, I guess. We continued our dinner and I kept refilling her cup. She drank happily, finishing it quickly each time. Blush started to form across her cheeks and nose. We had just finished eating too.

She sighed.

“Ah. I feel like I ate too much.”

Her words slurred a bit and she put her head down on the table.

“I’m going to fall asleep right here.”

I helped her keep her head up.

“No, don’t do that. I got you something.”

My servant entered and set down a futon for her.

“I got you a futon to sleep on. It’s stuffed with goose feathers.”

She looked at me and then the futon with amazement.

“Wow! I have to lay on it right now!”

She finished the rest of the sake in the bottle and crawled over to the futon. I had the perfect view of her ass and I could see the outline of her panties. A chill went through me.

She laid out on the futon and cuddled the pillow, which was stuffed with goose feathers as well.

“Do you like it?”

“Yeah, it’s really comfortable.”

Her smile was so charming and the way she looked up at me with sparkles in her eyes made me want to have her right at this moment.

“I got you something else.”

My servant handed her a white and flowy off-the-shoulder nightgown. She sat up and took it from the servant, who left quickly.

“I’m going to wear it now. Close your eyes.”

I covered my eyes but couldn’t help but peep through the cracks. She had stripped down to her panties and I could see her perky breasts and perfect ass. She clumsily slipped on the dress.

“Okay. I’m done changing.”

I uncovered my eyes and saw her unobstructed in the dress. She looked so dainty and was being so sweet. Was this the same girl I fought with? The same girl that I lost to? I examined her, thinking that she looked so innocent. I hungered for her. The off-the-shoulder part made her look even more enticing. I have good taste.

“It looks good on you.”

“Did you pick this out? I like it.”

“I did.”

We made eye contact for a few seconds and then she abruptly turned her back to me. She sat back down on the futon, swaying a bit from side to side. I thought for a second. Could this be my chance to close in? I didn’t want to respond. I might anger her and she’d tell me to leave her alone. I took a seat close to her instead.

“Did you enjoy the dinner?”

She was all smiles, not a hint of maliciousness or cockiness she had shown me before. My heart ached a little because of it.

“It was delicious and the sake is great! I feel good right now. Thank you, Sukuna.”

She said my name again and a chill ran down my spine. I wanted to make some contact with her. Just my index finger to her face or putting my hand over hers. I fucking hated this. I was doing so much to make her comfortable just so she wouldn’t push me away. Never in my life have I ever had to work for a woman’s affection. It pissed me off to no end. Why couldn’t I just have her already? The dress on her was making me lose my shit. The soft outline of her breasts in it. I didn’t want to take my eyes off of her. I just wanted to devour her.

She gave me a look of disapproval and then put her hands in my face to obstruct my view.

“Stop staring at me like that! I’m not a meal.”

Her hands were so small. I wanted to hold them in mine but instead, I grabbed her wrist. She had a surprised look which slowly sank to annoyance.

“Did you want something?”

Since she didn’t try to break free from my grasp, I kept holding her wrist up. I thought of the right words to say. What could I even say?

“I want you.”

She gently took back her wrist.

“I can’t help you.”

I brushed the hair in her face behind her ear.

“Why?”

A look of innocence took over her facial expression and the blush from the alcohol reddened even more from the blush of her reservations.

“I'm no stranger to foreplay but I want my first time to be with someone who’s also never fucked before.”

The way the crude word escaped her lips while she looked like an angel turned something on in me. I started to get erect and I wanted to let myself lose control. I don’t care what she does to me. I just want to touch her once.

“I have a lot of experience. I’ll figure out how to please you quickly.”

Her look had a hint of sadness.

“I won’t compromise on this.”

God damn it. Why did I have to be such a whore? I can’t even remember anyone I’ve had sex with.

“Can I just touch you then?”

I braced myself for rejection. Her head tilted to the side. I wonder if she was actually thinking about it.

“Sure.”

I was shocked. I wanted to jump her right then and there but I had to control myself. I was being given a little and I was more than happy to take what I could get. She let me choose what position I would touch her in. I had her lay back on my arm and I cradled her like a baby. My hand just touching her soft skin and shoulders made me want to shudder but I needed to keep my cool in front of her. I raised my hand slowly to caress her face. We made eye contact and her glossy stare at me made me want to see what other faces she could make.

Holding her face in my hand, I tilted it and leaned in to kiss her. She didn’t protest. It looked like she was going to keep her eyes open during it, so I kept mine open as well. Our lips met and it felt like the air was knocked out of me. Her lips were so soft and I tasted a bit of her. She’s so sweet. I looked up to ask her.

“How was that?”

“That was nice.”

I kissed her again, taking the pace slow. I put my hand on her back and gradually moved it down. I stopped at her ass to grab it lightly and I think I felt my cock twitch just now. As we shared another kiss, this time I lightly put my tongue in her mouth and brushed against hers. She stayed still at first but then she kissed me back, just the way her tongue moved said to me that she knows what she’s doing. My thoughts corrupted as I thought about my cock in her mouth. I imagined her tongue twirling around my head. I began to drool. Some of it spilled down her chin.

She pushed me up. I gasped a bit being separated from her lips.

“Ugh. You’re getting your drool everywhere.”

“Sorry.”

I wiped it off of my chin and hers. I then leaned back down to press my lips against hers again. I couldn’t get enough of her. She tasted so sweet. I grabbed and squeezed one of her breasts and then I pinched her nipple and rubbed it between my index finger and thumb. She gasped. She was so responsive to my touch. I moved my hand under her dress to play with her exposed nipple and she let out a soft moan. I stopped kissing her to see the look on her face. Her eyes stared back at me with a lusty gaze. I needed more of her right now.

I sat her in front of me with her legs draping over mine. My hand found its way between her thighs. It was so warm and when I rubbed her pussy through her underwear, I felt the wet fabric. I shivered. I kept thinking that I needed to be inside her right now. I swiftly slipped her panties off and lightly teased her opening, coating my fingers in her arousal. She was so wet and it was driving me fucking crazy. I moved up to her clit and began to rub it slowly. Her eyes widened and she let out a sultry moan. Fuck. That’s sexy.

I quickened the pace, making sure to rub every little spot on her clit. Her moans were more frequent and her breathing was heavier. It became hard for her to focus. I pressed the issue by leaning into her and kissing the nape of her neck. She was so warm and aroused. I loved seeing how submissive she became once I started pleasing her. She had little to no protests.

I moved my middle finger down to slowly slide inside of her. She yelped softly and it took everything I had not to take her right now. I wanted to bury my cock deep inside of her but you know she would never let you. I was a bit eager so I put my ring finger into her as well. Her walls were warm and soft and she was already so tight on my fingers. I was about to beg her for her pussy right now. Instead, I started fingering her at a leisurely pace. She clenched around my fingers and I felt her moan down my spine. I whispered in her ear.

“How does that feel?”

I faced her. She looked like she was in a daze. She was struggling to speak. I smirked. I had her exactly where I wanted her.

“What happened, brat? Nothing to say now?”

She tilted her head to look at me with scrutiny and I knew it wasn’t time for that yet.

“I didn’t mean that.”

We continued on and I used my other hand to rub her clit. Her moans were so loud and they provoked me. I pressed in different areas of her pussy looking for the perfect spot. Each time I had touched a new place, she moaned even louder. She was so sensitive and it excited me to no end.

We were face-to-face.

“Look at me.”

She tried to focus but she was too lost in the pleasure I was giving her.

I took my fingers out of her to snap them. We then made eye contact.

“Look. At. Me.”

She nodded and I put my fingers back in her. I was just about there. I pressed on that spot, what do they call it nowadays? I don’t know. Well, it’s the spot that evokes orgasms. I pinned the spot and her eyes widened.

“Sukuna…”

“What is it, princess?”

She gasped and she whined out.

“You’re so good.”

My heart stopped for a moment from her sweet comment. Fuck. What is she fucking doing to me?

I fingered the spot harder and rubbed her clit faster. The way her pussy sucked on my fingers alerted me that she was close. I had to see the look on her face once she cums. Then I would have won one of our little battles. I varied my movement to keep her engaged. I would switch from rubbing her clit up and down to rubbing it in circles. Then I would alternate from softly fingering that sensitive spot to playing with it roughly. The air was drowned in her moans and it was so satisfying to finally get her in my hands. This was the grand finale for her.

We made intense eye contact with each other. She was in ecstasy but she also looked a bit scared. She knew what was about to happen too. I wanted to establish a little bit of dominance right here.

“Say you’re sorry.”

“Huh?”

She didn’t hear me, she was too lost in the feeling.

“Say you’re sorry for being a brat.”

Her head perked up and she was a little confused. She looked a bit nervous and she seemed choked up. I touched her slowly and I gently smiled at her. She was struggling to speak.

“Or do you want me to stop?”

With a worried look on her face, she shook her head.

“Then say it.”

I gave her a cold and stern stare, and tears began to form in her eyes. I picked up the pace in my rhythm again, rubbing her clit agonizingly and fingering her pussy. I wanted to let her know this was just a preview of what I could do to her. I held her right there. I’d push her over the edge as soon as she says it.

“I’m… I’m…”

She stuttered but she was about to spit it out right now. Half a second before her orgasm hits, she bursts into tears and cried out loudly.

“I’M SORRY!”

She wails as her orgasm consumes her. I pulled her close to me and embraced her while she came. It started in her pussy and traveled in waves to the tips of her fingers and toes. She was shaking. She tried to catch her breath and I felt so fucking satisfied. I held her while she cried and whimpered. It must have been overwhelming for her.

I took a hold of her chin and tilted her head to give her a kiss on the lips.

“How was that? Has anyone ever touched you like that?”

She looked down, shy and embarrassed.

“Not like that...”

I gave her another kiss. Her eyes were still teary and I wiped the moisture from her cheeks. I wanted to take it further so badly but she looked exhausted.

“Are you going to bed now?”

I hoped she wouldn’t but she laid out on the futon.

“I think so.”

She yawned and squeezed one of the pillows tightly in her arms. I pet her head once then got up.

“Good night then.”

I walked away wondering if I should contact one of my concubines. I was dying for Aka’s touch but I wouldn’t get it and I desperately needed release. If she found out though, I might ruin the little bit she was giving me. Do I really have to jerk off tonight? Me? The King of Curses?

“Sukuna.”

She sat upright and her head was perked up, watching me leave. I turned to her in surprise.

“Yes?”

She wanted to say something but she was struggling. She looked a bit frustrated but then she shook her head.

“Good night.”

Drive a fucking stake through my heart why don’t you? I walked to my bedroom and laid out on my futon. My erection was poking through my kimono, trying to free itself. I rubbed my erection through my underwear and kimono and I thought of how soft her lips were. I let the garment drop to the floor and slipped my underwear off. I grabbed my cock and groaned, stroking it up and down. I closed my eyes and imagined her crawling over to me in her dainty dress. How she would look up at me with her hungry eyes. The face she would make as she slowly sits on my cock for the first time.

I stroked myself faster, focusing on the head for a bit and then going down the entire shaft. My breathing was heavier and I got closer and closer. I started to think that maybe I should have asked her for a hand or blow job. I knew releasing myself would leave me nowhere near being satisfied. I felt pathetic. I felt like I was stooping so low for some brat but just picturing her smiling at me steeled my resolve. In my thoughts, she asks me to cum inside of her. I think of coating her insides with it, her virgin pussy being filled up for the first time. I groan loudly and blow my load all over my thighs. I then picture her thanking me for fucking her and I breathe deeply, trying to catch my breath. My cock was still upright and unrelenting, aching for more. I knew this wouldn’t be enough. I sighed and went to clean myself up.

MIGRATING TO A NEW BLOG @baji-san

#sukuna smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #sukuna x reader #jjk smut #sukuna #jujutsu kaisen smut #ryomen sukuna #ryomen sukuna x reader #jujutsu kaisen imagine #sukuna imagine #fem!reader #sukuna fluff #jujutsu kaisen fluff #mine #jujutsu kaisen

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bookishofalder · 3 years

Text

Saviours Coffee House [Prologue]

Summary: Negan hires a new manager.

Warnings: Language! We’re starting off tame, but get ready because future parts get dark. WC—+2.7k.

A/N: Even if you aren’t a The Walking Dead fan, you might like this story—it’s a coffee shop A/U, I really only take the characters from TWD!

Now

Your eyes were only on Negan as he stalked forward, his normally bright eyes dark with fury as he clenched the baseball bat in his hands. You’d never seen him so angry...you’d never seen anyone so angry. Apprehension coiled in your gut, your mind blank, a doe caught in the headlights. You knew you had to move, to stop him—but part of you almost didn’t want to.

It was the part of you that had been beaten and broken over and over screaming for it to end. Screaming for you to let it happen.

And fuck, you wanted to listen to her.

Maybe you would.

—

Way Back

Negan Dean was sat at his desk, staring at the computer monitor in front of him without really seeing it. His mind had wandered away from the shop's accounting, the task he needed to complete. He had reason to be distracted, though, as he was in desperate need of a new manager, and he had a few interviews lined up that afternoon.

He’d put off rehiring for too long, left the manager position open and simply worked himself to the bone, running the place and leading it. But it had been months.

He’d needed to keep busy, after Lucille...no, he wasn’t thinking of her today. He needed to get the accounts sorted, have some lunch, and then start the interviews.

That was today’s game plan, and he was sticking to it. The extra work had finally caught up to him, as he knew it would. He was ready to step back because he was fucking exhausted and wanted to focus on his role as the owner of the Saviours Coffee House, behind the scenes. He needed a full-time manager to run the floor, someone smart and competent and good with people.

Simon had been on his ass for a while now about it, but he’d resolutely ignored his long-time friend, too stubborn for his own good. He knew Simon was right. But it was going to be on his fucking orders that a new person joined the tea—his family—even if it meant he’d fallen asleep in his office some nights, slumped over his desk in pure exhaustion.

Negan finished his task and stood, stretching out the kinks in his back, before making his way out onto the loft that overlooked most of the shop below. He had a few couches up here, and a little kitchenette next to his office, the area acting as a staff room in many ways; customers could not come up. At the opposite end of the loft, a door led up to the next floor, which was Negan’s condo. He’d bought the entire three-storey after the recession, gutted the whole thing and, working with a crew of mostly friends who had various trade jobs, renovated it entirely.

Negan was proud of Saviours Coffee House, a dream that he hadn’t always had come to life in the walls of what used to be an old, relatively small, textile factory. Now situated in the heart of downtown, it was the perfect spot for an edgy, laid-back place to unwind, meet friends, go on dates. Hell, Negan loved looking down and seeing a customer stay the whole day as they worked, even if they only bought one coffee. As far as he was concerned, the moment you spent a dime in his place, you were a customer for the day. And that had been a hit with many of the locals and students from the nearby university. Open five-thirty in the morning till eleven-thirty in the evening, Saviours welcomed all. So long as you kept your feet off the fucking tables and minded your manners.

In his former life, Negan worked as a high-ranking guard at the nearby penitentiary. It was a minimum-security, well-funded place where non-violent criminals ended up. He’d loved his years there, but after getting stabbed for the second time (the first was when he was young enough that he’d bounced back almost instantly) he decided to retire.

He sunk all of his savings into this dream, and years later had a lot to show for it. He’d also met a lot of down on their luck men in his time as a guard, so after Saviours became successful, he started a hiring program for white-collar criminals who completed a local, not-for-profit reintegration program. He only kept two on at a time, and most moved on after saving up enough.

Currently at the bar was Dwight, who’d been with Negan the longest now, having started just over a year before after getting out from serving time for drug possession. If Negan was proud of anything, it was Dwight. He’d seen the man evolve from a quiet asshole who barely grunted when customers paid, to a friendly bartender who mixed both amazing lattes and delicious cocktails, even if he grumbled about it. He was a fixture here now as much as Negan—and probably more well-liked, but Negan didn’t care about being liked. As long as people were happy, he was just fine.

It was the post-lunch lull now, so Dwight was wiping up the counters and switching the signs around from daytime menus to evening. Maggie, who had been working at Saviours for about two years, was wiping down the tables while Fleetwood Mac played over the expensive Bluetooth stereo system. He’d asked Maggie if she wanted the job, but she’d only laughed before telling him plainly that she had no desire to work full time or see him that much. He’d figured as much, seeing as she was in university, but he had wanted her to know it was hers if she did want it—she’d earned it.

Dwight was happy where he was, and didn’t want to upset the balance in life he’d worked so hard for, which Negan respected. His newest employee, also a convict hire, wasn’t up to scruff to become the manager, as much as he liked Paul, or ‘Jesus’, as everyone called him. He was a nice kid, worked hard, but seemed content working three part-time jobs. That had left Rosita and Tara, both part-time and students, and then Carol, part-time and not interested as she worked as a volunteer at the Children’s Hospital and didn’t want to give that up.

Which left him where he was now, stomping up the steps to his place to have a quick lunch before back-to-back interviews of promising contenders for a job he wished like hell he didn’t need to fill.

“Jesus. Fucking. Christ.” Negan slammed his hands onto the marble counter in frustration as Dwight watched him. He smirked as he tidied up the barista station.

“That bad, boss?” Dwight was shit at keeping the amusement off of his face. Negan scoffed, glancing behind him to ensure no customers were listening, but it was busy enough now with the after-class and work rush that the cacophony of voices and music allowed him to speak privately despite the location.

Negan held up one hand, holding his thumb and index finger a sliver apart. “I’ve got this much fucking patience left. Only one candidate wasn’t a god damned catfish and I didn’t like him,” He sighed, nodding gratefully when Dwight pointed to the espresso machine, knowing Negan needed his usual five o'clock pick-me-up. “I’ve got one last one; Daryl's friend. If she doesn’t fit, I’m going to have to beg Maggie—and you know she’ll love that too much to say yes.”

With a laugh, Dwight nodded in agreement, expertly moving about making Negan’s latte. “Carol seemed pretty sure you’d like her, said Daryl thinks of her like a little sister and when he heard you were looking for someone he was adamant she’d be perfect.”

Negan sighed, “Yeah, and I like Daryl so if this doesn’t work out and I have to start hating him I’m going to be real pissed off. Thanks, D.” He added when Dwight passed over the piping hot drink, still grinning at Negan’s displeasure.

Dwight dipped his head forward, eyes behind Negan, “I think that must be her, don’t recognize her and she’s dressed too nice for this place.” With that, he turned away and started loading dishes into one of the dishwashers. Negan turned, eyes scanning for the potential candidate, and he didn’t have to look far.

Because there you were, right out of a fucking dream.

Dwight had been right, you were dressed far too nicely for Saviours, but perfect for an interview (which instantly gave you points over a few of the previous interviewees). You were weaving by a few men who were standing at a high table and hadn’t yet noticed Negan, which allowed him to survey you.

The pretty green dress paired with a smart leather jacket and shiny kitten heels gave off an air of sophistication, accentuated your curves beautifully, and rendered his mind to mush for a brief moment. You wore your hair down, and it fell in elegant waves around your shoulders. Fuck, though, if you weren’t the prettiest woman he’d ever laid eyes on.

He thought Carol had mentioned you were in your mid-twenties, but you walked with more confidence about you than one usually saw in those formative years. Already impressed, Negan pushed himself away from the counter, stepped forward and smiled.

You looked around, his movement catching your eye, and returned the smile warmly as you approached. No doubt, you’d looked up their social media, seen pictures of Negan. Any smart candidate would do that, and Negan could already tell you were a clever girl. He called your name over the music, and you nodded, extending your hand

Negan took it into his and shook, enjoying how small your hand was compared to his. You were curvy and petite in the best ways, so much shorter than him but fully voluptuous, and you dressed like you knew you looked damn good, fuck whatever society said about beauty standards. “Mr. Dean, it’s great to meet you, sir.”

Negan grinned down at you, then pointed toward the staircase to your left, “Come on up, it’s quieter in the office.” And he led the way.

When he glanced back to make sure you were following, Negan saw you looking toward Dwight, giving him a friendly wave. He gave you a nod, a near smile, a pretty decent result from the house grump. He needed a manager who could get along with everyone, so right there was another point in your favour.

Closing the door brought the loudness of Saviours down to mere background noise, the evening crowds were always loud as shit. Negan loved it, the differences between the start and end of days, the energy. He gestured toward two armchairs he had, hating the process of sitting behind a desk to interview like he was some hot shot lawyer. He preferred the less intimidating, friendly way. It was just a coffee shop, after all.

A damn good one, though.

When you settled, Negan took his seat across from you, suddenly feeling a little distracted under the gaze of your bright eyes. “Well I’ll get straight to it; you come highly recommended by both Carol and Daryl. I won’t lie, I’m a pain in the ass to work for and I’m looking for someone who can handle hard work, long hours and most importantly, get along with my people. You really think that’s you?”

You were sitting with your back straight, legs crossed at the ankles, hands in your lap. You looked entirely at ease, meeting Negan’s eyes straight on as he spoke. When he finished, you leaned forward almost imperceptibly, your response instant.

“I’m exactly what you’re looking for, sir. I love people and get along with everyone. Do you think I’m best friends with Daryl and don’t know how to deal with a pain in the ass?” At this, Negan smirked, “I’m hardworking, and I have no other major commitments, so full time and long hours will suit me just fine.” You had a lovely voice, which was probably why you’d stayed working at the sales call centre for years before now.

In your resume, Negan had noted the year gap in wor—you had stopped working for the call centre just over a year ago, though it was noted you were a freelance writer and kept income that way. But he found it curious that you’d been working since you were a teenager and yet hadn't worked a solid job in a year. And now that he’d met you, he could see you were the hardworking type. Carol hadn’t known why you’d been away from a job for so long, stating that Daryl knew but didn’t tell her. He had said it didn’t matter, and that was good enough for Negan.

“Well, I’ll admit, on paper you’re ideal, which is why I scheduled you last today. I wanted to have time to read you.”

“And,” You interjected, a small smirk on your lips, “You know that keeping someone waiting the whole day for an interview will shred their nerves and leave them more susceptible to letting their true colours out.”

Negan stared, surprised, “Can’t get much past you, eh?”

You shrugged, “It’s a good tactic. But I assure you, I’m just as competent in the evening as the morning, and I think if you give me a chance to prove myself, you’ll be very happy with hiring me, Mr. Dean. I want to work here, you have an amazing place. It’s a part of this community, and the reintegration program is something I respect greatly, I have no issues working with men hired from there.” You paused, adjusting yourself slightly, palms falling open on your legs, “And, I’ll be frank, I want a job that has long days, that’ll keep me busy and tire me out and let me build relationships with customers. When I found out you were hiring, I jumped on the chance for Daryl to have Carol put in a good word for me. It just seems...right, to work here.”

“What about your writing, do you still do that?” Negan watched your face closely, and it didn’t waver, instead, your smile widened.

“I can write anywhere, anytime. And I make my own schedule with whatever commissions I take on, so it’ll be easy to write on my days off, or breaks if I don’t have a day off,” You pointed at Negan’s phone, which he’d set on the wide arm of his chair, “I can also help with writing any social media or website content, I know Carol mentioned you wanted to expand that presence, and I’m comfortable with that sort of work.”

Negan considered you, letting a comfortable silence fall as he thought over your words. You did seem eager, excited, and the fact that you’d researched what he was looking for impressed him further. Breaking eye contact, he glanced down at your resume once more, though he couldn’t think of anything else to ask. If he was honest with himself, he was ready to hire you after the first two minutes.

“I like you,” He said, thrumming his hands on his knees, “When can you start?”

“In the morning? Or I can go home, have my dinner and come back dressed more appropriately for work, if you need me straight away, sir.”

Negan shook his head, both as a response and in an attempt to toss away the thoughts that stirred up in the back of his mind every time you called him ‘sir’. “Tomorrow morning is perfect. And since you work for me now, you can call me Negan, asshole, or shithead, no more ‘Mr. Dean’ or fucking, ‘sir’, okay?”

When you smiled at Negan, it was the most dazzling he’d seen yet, bright white teeth and sweet dimples making his heart stutter. Damn, you really affected him. He needed to get a gri—you were half his age, for Christ's sake.

“Thank you, Negan,” You stood, holding your hand out and grasping his when he offered, your head tilting back to look at him as he stood before you. “Really, I promise I’ll make you proud.”

“Kid, I don’t doubt it.” He replied softly, and for a moment you simply looked at one another. Negan wasn't sure if you felt it, but he did; it was a spark. Fleeting, but strong enough that he knew life was about to get interesting again.

Taglist: @mermaidxatxheart @paintballkid711 @ladydmalfoy 🤍

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deluluass · 3 years

Text

misericordia

It's finally here T^T Here's to reaching 100+ followers! Thank you so much everyone!!

Content Warnings: rape/noncon; nsfw; somnophilia; description of dead bodies; includes some elements of cosmic horror; dystopian-ish au; biblical references/imagery; angel! Ushijima

To name is a barren tree: fruitless and, ultimately, the workings of this kind.

The earth will soon be without form, and void; and darkness shall remain the face of the deep.

The Spirit of God no longer moves in the face of the waters.

Names are for nothing.

But, for any cause done here, to name is essential. As it was in the beginning, when there was still a beginning (but it has not ended yet, so the beginning shall still stay), to name had been the first task.

So when asked for a name, the mouth was able to conjure:

“Ushijima Wakatoshi,” the body said.

And as it is the way of the Created, the body became he.

And as it is the way of the Created, proof was immediately demanded for the name.

And as it is the way of the Created, once found on the chest, Ushijima Wakatoshi was then welcomed.

You weren’t there when the world ended.

In fact, so, too, was your father's father. The sky had cracked open and the oceans had already split up the old lands for as long as anyone could remember.

Before the city became a city in truth, the people had just been strangers, seeking shelter after everything fell apart, only to be abandoned by those who’d promised protection.

That didn't mean, however, that things got better for your lot once someone swept in and established order and peace and stability and whatever it is those at the top had to say to justify them being there.

If your father were to be believed, you had been sleeping in your mother’s womb, still a tiny beating heart, when the longest winter happened ("winter"; they still called it that when there had been minute differences between hot and cold).

Supplies were short; food was scarce; so when you finally clawed your way into a world breathing its last, your mother couldn't help but bleed into the sheets until your cry outlived hers.

But your father barely recognized you during his final days. That’s why when your neighbors call you a liar for saying “I was born on a Spring,” you shrug it off and think you might as well have been born on a Spring.

There’s no way of knowing. The story had always changed every time you asked him.

Sometimes he blamed you, sometimes he told you it’s not your fault. Nothing you could do about it. Spring it is, then; you told yourself.

Spring always looked so... different, in the drawings Granny made, anyway.

No one here actually knows her age. Granny had always been Granny; as permanent to this place as the walls enclosing the city.

She rarely left her quarters, that crone, and could barely stand on her own without your help. Worse, she could no longer see. What use is a blind artist, the others would laugh.

It’s their loss, you’d retort, mocking her like that. Because then they’d miss the way her gnarled and knobby hands would glide with unwavering purpose if you asked her to, strokes bold and not a space wasted.

“You never learn,” she croaked once finished, jostling the wrinkled piece of paper to your lap. “Why throw away your rations for this piece of junk?”

Granny retched, “Incurable fool.”

At this point, she would grumble about suffering in the old pig’s (her words, not yours) kitchens for nothing, and always, without fail, you’d feel a smile break on your face. It hurt, honestly, but after an entire day of frowning over the dishes you had to wash and the floors that needed scrubbing and all the other orders yelled your way, it was worth it, anyway.

“I know you’re laughing. My ears still work, mind you.”

You felt your belly shake as you giggled, brushing the paper with worn fingers, staring open-mouthed at the piece before you.

“This is amazing, Granny,” you sighed.

“Idiot,” she repeated. “It’s the same thing as the one before. And the one before that.”

And for good measure, Granny added, “Idiot. Not like you hadn’t seen that one.”

When all you’d done was take her hand in yours and place a pack of food along with a thin roll of paper in her feeble grasp, Granny finally asked, “Why do you keep coming back here, girl? Asking for the same thing.”

There wasn’t any of that surly frown now.

And looking at her like that, without the crabbiness that sharpens her features, that oddly makes her look younger and in control of herself, you find that you don’t have an answer this time. Arrested by the realization that her shoulders slumped lower than you’d thought. And that she’s getting thinner.

“Why?” you whispered back, feeling traces of charcoal stick to your palm.

Maybe it’s because there’s no other way that she’d accept food, unless she does something in return. She kicked you out the first time you intended to give her the ration you’d earned.

(Or maybe it's because you know what they'd do, once they find out she's no longer making trades.)

Why, indeed.

Maybe it’s because you hadn’t really seen things grow before.

You might work at the Governor’s place, at the heart of the city and everything else that matters, but grunt workers like you are prohibited to get anywhere near the farm, let alone actually enter it. So, really, there's no other way of seeing what growth looks like.

Maybe it’s because you can only do that when you witness her in her craft. You really don’t have anything to compare it with, but you’re sure life from soil works the same way.

Everything must come from something. And that something must be quite the artist, if they're anything like Granny.

Birthing roots from the ground of what was once a blank piece of paper with a flick of the wrist; growing into large trunks, strong branches, then into an abundance of leaves and blossoms.

Trees drawn on both sides of the paper, always with a smattering of grass and flowers in the middle. She said they used to grow here, when she was just a girl. And if you begged hard enough, she’d add a stray butterfly fluttering around the corner.

You hummed thoughtfully. “Maybe I just love seeing you, Granny,” you grinned.

“Crock of shit.”

“Really!” You grabbed your knapsack as you stood from your seat, folding the paper with care. “Hey, Granny, guess what? Don’t give me that face— I’ve already saved just enough and you know what that means?”

She snorted.

“Listen,” you pouted. “I’ll finally be able to get those pigments! I heard they don't cost that much and if I trade next-”

“Don’t.”

She tilted her head and faced your way, misty eyes pinning you. "How much does paper cost you?"

You gulped.

Then, with a swiftness that surprised you, she grabbed you by your tattered sleeve and gritted, “I may be the blind one here, but I think I see a lot more clearly than you do. You can sweat and bleed for those pigments, but I will never paint.”

You felt a sting in your eyes as she continued, “I know what you’re doing. And I’d be the greater fool if I let you work yourself to the bone for some pipe dream."

"Content yourself with coal, girl. That’s all you’re gonna get from this place. Dirt and rust and smoke. Go sneak into that damned farm. Go steal some of those fuckers’ riches. In fact, while you’re at it,” she laughed dryly. “Steal them all and run away from here. If you really want to live.”

“Only,” she said, too soft that you had to sit back down to hear her, “Only, stop hoping, my child.”

Her chest wheezed as she breathed, like air passing through the holes of a rundown machine.

You kissed the back of her hand before you left.

The wind howled and threatened to topple you as you walked back to your building, hard rain slapping you across the face when you picked up into a run. They didn’t descend in small drops anymore. As you get older, thunderstorms are to be expected once evening falls, lingering for weeks only to suddenly bring about an irritatingly humid day.

But tonight, the large cavern above that parts the dark, heavy clouds into opposite streams seem to yawn wider, closing itself lower and lower into the earth that you swore someday it’ll devour the city whole.

Mud water in your boots, you grabbed onto your soaked coat and climbed the steps of the decaying piece of slab you call home, mindful that you won’t slip and break your skull against the thick beams, twisted metal jutting out of the corners.

A solitary lamp flickered through the window of the room next to yours. Little Soo-jin must be having nightmares again, you thought with a frown.

You were about to knock on their door when the sirens blared, echoing louder across the city than the boom of lightning, followed by a grating squeal that could only be an opening gate.

Your knuckle froze over the chipped wood.

The last time the alarm rang, the people were greeted by the body of a young council member, brought by a small and wounded troop who’d accompanied him outside the city.

Soo-jin’s mom peered through the murky window, meeting your eyes after both of you stared into the direction of the gate closest to your zone, as if seeking you for an explanation. You only gave her a shrug.

“Someone must have died,” you said.

“No, he’s not dead. That’s why you’re bringing food to his room, aren’t you?”

You stared at the girl stubbornly shaking her head.

“I- I know, but! Didn’t you hear? They said they found him full of bullet holes and I—”

“Even if you’re serving a rotting corpse, as long as Cook orders it, you follow.”

It was admirable that she’s refused for this long. If it were you, you’d have been sacked the moment you opened your mouth to say no. You wiped your hand with the towel next to the sink, having finished the work assigned to you, and watched the ongoing bout in the kitchen.

“Why can’t you just ask the others? Marga’s not doing anything!”

“Marga,” the older woman hissed, “is with the others. Almost everyone is in the meeting room. So if you don’t take your butt up there, I’m gonna have no other choice but to tell Cook.”

You winced. This can’t be good.

You cleared your throat. “I can do it,” you said.

The tray was shoved to you faster than you can drop your raised hand. You would have found it amusing, considering that you’re sure they couldn’t even recognize you, but the idea of being in the same room with a half-alive man does make you feel uneasy.

Not that it’s anything new for you; you nursed your father until the fever took him, after all. You just haven’t lived long enough to get used to it yet. But you steeled yourself and did your job, because it’s not as if you had any choice.

You prepared yourself for anything as you entered one of the many guest chambers. Bullet holes, rotting corpse, entrails held together by stitches.

And when you announced your presence and gripped the tray tighter so as to not spill the soup on the sprawling carpet, it’s not really surprise that caused you to stumble upon your words when you saw the man sitting on the bed.

It’s more of an embarrassment, of sorts.

You must’ve entered the wrong room, you thought. You immediately checked around to make sure no one saw you talk and almost grovel to an actual sculpture.

Because that’s what he was.

The Governor’s estate houses floors and floors of rooms that you hadn't explored yet. But there was one that, if no one would bother to keep track of the workers, you had the habit of sneaking into.

Thinking about what it took for this family to have all those sculptures there hurt your head, so you stopped a long time ago. You chose, instead, to just admire the marble wonders in all their beauty, always looking back down at you with majesty and pride.

Just as he's doing right now.

Chiseled torso wrapped in bandages; sharp jaw that could cut; eyes the color of olives, gazing deep.

"That is for me."

You snapped your head down.

"Huh- uh, yes? Yes!"

His deep voice still rumbled through you.

"Yes, I'm sorry," you muttered, heat rushing to your face as you placed the tray on the table next to him, inflaming when you realized he didn't mean it as a question.

That is for me.

Not a question. A question means you can answer. His words brooked no other response but obedience, reminding you of your place.

Much like those sculptures, every time you'd spent too much time inside the room and you'd get the feeling that you're not supposed to be there, too filthy to be anywhere near what you think is the closest thing to perfection.

And the truth would settle on you like a heavy weight: that no amount of beauty can ever breathe warmth if it cannot live and grow.

The same way that despite the sunshine filtering through the floor to ceiling windows, surrounding him in blinding light as he sat on the bed, you can't shake the impression that this is the coldest this room has ever been, with him here.

So you anticipated his orders; a single word or maybe a glance that would tell you he wants you gone. Just either one of those and you'd run out of this room in a heartbeat.

But neither came. The man (you still didn't know his name) remained silent, staring at the food like they've insulted him specifically, and now he's questioning the collective audacity of the soup, bread, and bowl of fruits laid before him.

Maybe they don't serve those where he came from. He's from the North, after all, made evident by the small eagle etched on his chest, just above a pectoral. The last visiting Northerner you served who also bore that mark threw a rag at you (she missed) for "mixing the bathing oils incorrectly."

You stayed in your position and asked, "Is the food not to your liking?"

He didn't say anything, but he did shift his attention to you.

And what a mistake that was. How does this man go about life with such a severe presence?

"Er..is something..wrong?" you sweated, suddenly fascinated by the vases behind him.

Glaring back at the food, he answered with a deep "no" and breathed out. His large arms rose and fell along with it, straining the bandages around the muscles.

Oh, right. Right.

You perked up. "Do you need help?"

Stepping closer to the table, you gave him a tightlipped smile and a sheepish "excuse me" before taking the spoon in your hand.

You scooped a thick serving of soup, your palm hanging under it, and waited.

And waited.

The man looked at you the same way he looked at the bowl of fruits earlier.

"What are you doing?" he said, gravel-voiced.

You're gonna lose this job.

Why did you think you could feed him like he's an ailing, decrepit old man? Or a literal child? He's built like he commands an army (and he probably does).

You are definitely gonna lose this job.

"I- I'm sorry!"

You jerked away, your hip hitting the table, the impact shaking it and causing the plates and silverware to clatter against each other.

"O-oh no, I'm-" The spoon in your hand fell as you attempted to set things properly, soup spilling to the carpet along with the utensils.

You're gonna lose this job and you're gonna starve to death.

"I'm sorry! I'm so so sorry!"

Dropping to your knee like your life depended on it, you picked up the myriad of similar looking spoons and forks and placed them back on the tray.

You kept your head downwards, bowing as you'd been repeatedly taught, and shut your eyes tightly.

"I thought that you hadn't healed yet and needed help and- and-" you huffed.

"And I thought that I should feed you but- no-no!" You looked at him and flailed your hands in front of you. "No! I didn't mean feed- I meant- I meant no disrespect please forgive me!"

Not a word was spoken in that second that spanned an entire year. But just as you'd accepted that the worst has come, he said:

"Then, feed me."

Wait.

Wait, what?

"I don't.. understand..?"

"Then, feed me," was what he told you. And so matter-of-factly, at that.

So you did, desperate to keep the only thing keeping you alive.

Though your hand trembled and you wished to be anywhere but here— even the wasteland waiting outside the gates, with all its unimaginable threats, seemed like paradise —you took a loaf of bread from the basket and brought it closer to his mouth.

Lines marred his forehead as he chewed. You were about to ask, self-destructive that you are, whether you should get the sweetened roll instead, thinking he found the one in your hand too bland. But you don't have the luxury to risk digging your grave any deeper.

You kept quiet and pointedly removed him from your line of sight, choosing to count the tassels hanging off the canopy instead.

Once he's eaten all that's left of the pastries, you dipped your hand into the bowl of fruits and took a grape in-between your fingers and, as much as you can, you steadied your hand to avoid touching his lips.

It didn't work.

You shuddered at the contact, curling your toes in your boots to avoid squirming.

This has got to be the weirdest day of your entire life.

Not a hint of unease was shown. He continued to close his plump lips around the tip of your fingers and crushed the fruits with pointed canines, making the hair on your body stand on end. What if he bites you? Would you bleed?

The man seemed to like them more than bread. A sense of urgency rose within you as he went through the berries and sliced mangoes like this is the first time he's had them.

Can't say you blame him. The last time you ate something that resembled a fruit, a real fruit, was when Granny persuaded (coerced) a young boy in her complex to steal one from his employer. That boy has a child of his own now.

You felt your mouth water, your stomach growl and command that you take the bowl from him and shovel its contents to your mouth, as you watched him devour the sweet and tangy meat, the smell of it sickening as it is strangely compelling.

He raised his head and met your eyes.

Shit.

The apples, you thought as you looked back down to the tray. They're the only ones left soaking in the bowl, those apples. After this you'd be out of this stuffy room and you'd laugh about this later with Soo-jin and her mom and Granny too if she's not cranky.

You could still feel him staring at you as you fed him a slice, the apple crisp when he took a bite.

Juice trickled down your hand, the sticky extract tickling your arm as it slid to the crook of your elbow, and you were about to wipe it with your other hand, when you felt a wet tongue probe the gap between your fingers.

You gasped. "Sir..!"

You stepped away. Tried to, anyway, but with a firm hand, a hand that's not injured, after all, he gripped your wrist and continued to suck a digit.

"This is- sir!" struggling out of his hold, you pleaded with him to let go, please sir let me go, even as he only looked at you, his eyes dimming when he grabbed your waist to bring you closer.

He licked your hand, lapping at the trail the juice left behind, and when you thought he would release you, he took your hand to pluck another slice from the bowl.

Your legs gave up beneath you, forcing you to sit on his stretched lap, his hard body scorching you through the sheets, as he ate the apple from your palm, slurping the leftovers dripping from it.

"Don't cry," Granny told you once.

"Especially when you feel like crying," she said. "Don't cry."

You'd never really been good at listening, but now, you decided to suck in your breath and keep those tears at bay. You can cry and laugh about all this later.

Because you might be jobless after this, but you will certainly have a damn good story to tell over the fire once you finished kneeing him in the nuts.

So: one.

Breathe.

His teeth scraped your soaked hand.

Two.

You rested your hand on his shoulder.

Three.

You braced your leg, moving it between his thick thighs, and then, as you clutched his bandages, you—

"Ushijima-sama."

The door swung open.

"Pardon the intrusion, but the Council members requested-”

It was Secretary Hara.

“Oh."

Secretary Hara: a lanky, dark haired man with glasses who's always at the Governor's beck and call. He was here, carrying a small stack of papers, and gaping at the scene before him.

You and the esteemed guest. Who's still suckling at your skin. On the bed.

He grinned, full of humor and disgusting. “Well,” he said.

At least you weren't crying.

A question, shared only by the Heavens, began when the Lord fashioned the flesh out of the dust of the ground and said,"You are made in My image and likeness."

It was not their way, before that: to question. (One of them did, once, but that is a different story).

They have no need for questions.

They hold the highest seat, below only to the Creator, unencumbered by the trappings of the earth.

They have no need for questions.

So it remained unasked, lingering in fragments in the House of the Lord.

The question comes to him now.

For the flesh is a cage. It is ephemeral and prone to decay.

It is fitting for this kind to have it, with all their qualities bound to the material world.

You are the very epitome of these.

Graceless. Stumbling like a newborn foal. Too many apologies. Too many questions.

God is not here, he thinks as you insist on asking what does not matter.

“Is the food not to your liking?” and “Is something wrong?” and “Do you need help?”

Indecisive, too. Reneging on your promises. You said you’d feed him and then you said you wouldn’t.

Ushijima Wakatoshi is a mere flesh, locking inside divinity your kind would never understand. Yet he felt its tedious demands gnaw at him when he saw you. Something so impermanent should have no right for constant sustenance.

But he knows, just for this time, that he needs it. That’s why he tells you to feed him, as you said you would. After all, it is your way to serve. And, for all your many inadequacies, God has granted you bread and water and fruit to sate your appetites.

Thus, for as long as he is flesh, he will do as it tells him to.

When it urged for the taste of fruit, for the cloying sweetness of its juice, it is only right that he heeded its call and had his fill.

How dare you object. His light is brighter than yours; God has granted it so (and yet you were given the will that they never had). And even in flesh you are beneath him. You are easily held and defeated.

The ache in his belly did not cease, each gulp he took heightening his senses, shouting for more, more, more as he took you with his tongue. And he realizes that this is what the first of your kind may have felt like when they disobeyed. The first act of betrayal.

(For what is the wrath of God to the cries of the flesh?)

And with that, Ushijima Wakatoshi finds, since donning this useless flesh, that it is not at all easy to gratify.

Not in the least.

There are so many rules in this mansion that even Cook’s effort to batter them on your head could sometimes be futile, given that their number is just as big as this place. But, there is one, among all the convoluted and at times nonsensical decrees, that you are not allowed to forget:

Unless you’re among the core staff, you can never enter the East Wing.

The East Wing is where all the important things happen, see. It goes without saying that someone as lowly as you cannot pollute that hallowed ground.

Today seems to be an exception.

When Cook barked that Secretary Hara wanted you in the East Wing first thing in the morning, you had a feeling that you just might not live to see the next day.

You didn't speak unless spoken to. You didn't look unless told to. The things you should've done much earlier.

"How are you liking the work here so far?"

Secretary Hara pushed the pen to the side and leaned back against the leather swivel chair.

"It's a job," you mumbled, to which he only replied with a breathless chuckle. You didn't see the point in bootlicking any further. Besides, Granny hated that the most; so you avoided doing it as much as you can.

There's only one conclusion for you here, anyway. No matter how severe the punishment. And it's back in your room, with a uniform that needs sewing for a job that you no longer have.

He tapped his fingers against the lacquered table. "You're right," he said. "Work is work. Despite your place in this society."

You wanted to roll your eyes. Secretary Hara has never been any of the workers' favorites (not that any of you had your "favorites," but if you could, you avoided this guy). He had this astonishing effect, too, in which he can actually bring people together. All because everyone hated him.

He's a slimeball, is what he is. If one needed lessons in kissing ass, he was your man.

"Do you know why you're here?"

You're getting fired. End of story. Now can I please just go? is what you want to say. But losing your job doesn't usually take this much time and attention. Normally, it was Cook who'd grunt "You're out" and that was it.

So you shake your head.

"I'm promoting you," he said. "Congratulations."

Somewhere, beneath that condescending smile of his, is a punchline that you're sure he's deliberately keeping from you. Just so he can be the only one who gets to laugh.

"I-" You balled your hand to a fist. "Why?"

He scoffed. "What are they teaching you in that rathole? Honestly."

They taught me not to be rude to people I don't know, you little bitch.

"Drop the coy act, it's okay," he sneered. "It's cheap and it won't work on me."

Oh, now you really want to get fired. If only to kick his teeth in. "That man," Secretary Hara continued. "Ushijima Wakatoshi. You were all over him and you seriously don't know who he is?"

You gritted. "Secretary Hara, what happened- it wasn't- I didn't want it."

But he only gave you that look. As if to say, "Sure. Let's go with that." When it'd pass and the need to pummel him became stronger, he stood up and stepped towards the tapestry draped against the wall.

It was a map, the city a pinprick on the corner. Secretary Hara faced it, dusting the spotless surface, his back to you.

"Ever wonder what keeps us here?" he started, hand still on the map. "This city of ours?"

"The," you licked your lips. Where was he going with this? "The river..?"

Secretary Hara clapped his hands, his voice lilting like he's talking to a toddler as he said, "That's right. That's good. Excellent."

"So you do know some things, after all." His fingers crawled towards the long line of blue stitched beside the city. "And do you wonder what would happen if, say, that river begins to dry?"

You felt your eyes widen. You covered your mouth with a palm.

You're not supposed to know this. Why is he telling you this?

He scratched the thick clump of blue thread and continued, "These great cities. They have their energy; their military."

Your eyes followed his hand, moving farther and farther away from the pallid brown surrounding your city, towards the bright yellow West, stopping at the bright green East. "Some of them are blessed enough to not be surrounded by a literal desert."

Then, with a careful hand, he moved to the very top and said, "And the North…the North has it all."

The North was a sprawling, intricate web of threads, eating away the entire tapestry.

"The Ushijima clan rules the North. Much longer than this city has existed. And they’re so engrossed in their wars that they’d never glance our way if we don't give them at least half of what we make,” he spat. “These great people haven’t had contact with us in years."

Secretary Hara finally turned around, grin still in place. "But now one of them owes his life to us." He walked back to his desk, sitting on its edge. "Perhaps the heavens sent him here."

When you remained silent and looked at him with eyes that you wished had the ability to kill, because you know now what they wanted from you, Secretary Hara only shrugged.

"He asked for your name, actually," he said, tilting his head. "Lucky you. He didn't bother to learn ours."

You stood your ground. "No, sir," you said. "I won't."

He pulled a thin piece of paper from a pile sitting next to him. "You're not gonna do much," he said as he began to read. "Just show him around the city. Be his friend."

Friend.

"But I- No. I can't." You stepped forward. "Please."

He looked away from the paper. "Zone 42. Room 0312."

"What.."

"Granny," he said. "That's what you call her, isn't it?"

No.

"They say that for a blind old lady she's still somehow miraculously trading to keep a roof over her head."

Phantom touches crept to your arm, slick and nauseating like cold sweat.

"You must take it from her. Though you're not related," he said. "Apparently, you're so hardworking, you even work the night shift. When you don't have to."

You released a shaky breath. "I'll..I'll start," you croaked. "I'll start right away, sir."

Secretary Hara folded his arms, victory plastered all over his gaunt face.

"Thank you," he chimed. "I'm glad you understand. It's for your own good too, y'know."

The uniform they gave you chafed against your skin. Tugging at the sleeves did not help, the pristine fabric too coarse and stiff to budge. Your only comfort was the folded paper hidden in your pocket, fading at the edges every time you touched it.

You have to admit, however, that you did look...well, you did look clean. Not as much as him, though. And not just in the sense that he's out of the bandages now. Last you checked, and that had been a few minutes ago, he was still sporting a couple of scars on his forehead.

Despite that, you don't have to look behind you to know what's captured the people's attention as you strolled the capital. Or, who, to be exact.

Some were outright ogling; some happened to glance once and then immediately looked away with a blush; some made the laudable effort to not look.

A mirror of what you're doing right now.

They gilded him with gold, which is a redundancy if you ever see one. He was wearing the most expensive pigment, something that only the Governor's family could own: a deep violet tunic emblazoned with golden vines, swirling from the middle to the collar; paired with dress pants that you could probably trade for a whole month's worth of food.

You kept your distance as you walked in front of him. "Just show him around the city," was what Secretary Hara told you. That didn't mean you had to talk.

And it's not as if he had any complaints, either. He followed you through the rows of glass houses that adorned Governor's lane, not a word spoken about the sights.

Even when you'd attempted to speed through the dizzying streets, he kept his pace, long legs allowing him to stride close to you. By time you'd reached the plaza, you were already out of breath and in need of rest.

But you didn’t.

You remained standing a few feet away from him, the paper in your hand opened to reveal those great trees and thriving field, as he sat under the gazebo overlooking the square; a place reserved only for council members.

The smell of the sweetmeats and oranges in front of him reached your nose (Secretary Hara has a cruel sense of humor, you belatedly realized, when you were handed a bag of food that had a note saying “treat him well”). You fought the itch to cast out what little you’ve had for breakfast.

Children were playing around the sandbox, the staff of whatever family they belonged to guarding them. In a way, their job wasn’t that different from what you have now.

Except, it’s not a child you were threatened to accompany. With the feeling of his gaze burning your nape, it seems like you’re not the one doing the guarding as well.

And you didn’t feel every bit like the adult you are when he called your name.

You felt frighteningly small, as you yielded with a pathetic, “Ushijima-sama.”

He only looked at you. Those green eyes telling you exactly what he wanted.

People are watching. You can’t mess this up.

“Sir,” you said, hand still in your pocket, that frayed paper your anchor. “It is improper.”

Irritation swept through him, his sharp features harsher when dissatisfied. But you can’t give up, even though it’s sending a chill down your spine and he seems like he’s about to throttle in broad daylight. (And he doesn’t have to do much, you know. He can crush you with one hand.)

“Why- why are you here?” you hissed. “R-really?”

You don’t shut your trap when you have to, girl. That’s your problem.

“Because- because I’m not gonna be your..thing.” The paper was dampening in your grip. “While you do whatever it is you do, Ushijima,” you huffed. “...sama”

Ushijima did not blink, his stare unwavering as he turned towards the small crowd strolling below. There’s a part of you that wishes to put yourself in his place, like a king on his throne. What does the view look like from up there? Are the people beneath just multicolored ants moving from afar?

“A few of my kind have suddenly sided with yours,” he said. Then, briefly returning his gaze to you, “I had to see what draws them here.”

He linked his fingers together. “Before I do what must be done.”

You stifled a chortle. “Do what must be done” your ass. Does that include harassing people, too? “God only knows,” you whispered.

“You believe in God.”

You were the subject of his relentless attention again. You groaned, averting your eyes to a small girl, probably around Soo-jin’s age, who plopped down to create a heap of sand, much to the consternation of her nanny.

“No,” you replied in a thin voice.

“Why?”

“I don’t know.” Where is this question coming from? “Always seemed like a lot of work,” you said.

The little girl was making a castle. It’s apparent to you now that she has little pail by her side, shovel in her grubby hand. The frill of her dress caught most of the sand as she stacked them atop each other.

“And I’m pretty sure God has more fun things to do than worry about me,” you added, just because.

The castle reached her knees when the girl stood up.

"God has left," Ushijima said. "A long time ago."

And then she kicked it. The thing crumbled to a mound, the breeze scattering it back to the sand.

You did chuckle this time. The Northerners sure are strange. "Really? Where’d God go?" you hummed, looking up to the sky.

The sun was blanketed by waves of clouds, as usual. "Somewhere nicer, I hope," you sighed.

You closed your eyes and thought of that nicer place. It would have to be far, far away from here. Maybe it would even have those trees that Granny loved.

"Cherry trees."

You opened your eyes and gawked at him.

He was still gazing at you.

"You are attached to it," he told you, like it's nothing; like your heart's not wreaking havoc against your ribs with each word he utters. "On that paper."

Pulling it out of your pocket, you stumbled to him and unfolded it for him to see. "You- you know what this is? A 'cherry tree.' That’s what you call it?"

"Yes." Ushijima's eyes did not leave yours. "That is the name you people have bestowed upon them."

"Are you sure? Are you absolutely sure?"

You didn't let him answer that because, just like the fool that Granny accused you to be, you took his hand in your trembling one and laughed, somehow managing to drag him out of the gazebo.

It took a while before you finally let go.

Much has changed along the way, he felt this as the air grew hotter; the sound of bustling people louder and less constrained with inutile mortal etiquette. You seemed less wary of him here.

The hand that held his tightly was still brushing against him, as you talked incessantly about the pieces of paper plastered across the wall. They all looked the same, yellowed and infested with mold at the edges, but you insisted otherwise.

“See here?” You pointed to the one on the bottom. “Granny drew the leaves differently. They look like flowers don’t they? They are, aren’t they? I knew it! So they are flowers.”

There was a cot in the corner of the room. He sees you there in slumber, surrounded by rocks and scraps of metal and bits of gemstones held together by strings, each strand hanging on the crevices of the roof, gleaming every time they move.

You tapped his arm repeatedly. “Oh, oh. I put these two beside each other. Notice that the shades are different? This one is lighter while this one has more shadows to it.”

"Do you get it now?" you asked him, expectant.

Humans are baffling creatures, Wakatoshi thought. Because when he said nothing, you only laughed (you seem to like doing that) and told him to “follow me; hurry.” You didn’t hold his hand this time (you should’ve, he preferred it when you did).

“My bad. I hadn’t shown you yet,” you huffed as you grabbed a rag and set aside buckets of rainwater that obstructed his path.

Behind a curtain of sackcloth and ashes, draped at the furthest side of the wall, was a crack big enough to let a person through, corroding steel bars protruding along the broken concrete.

Wakatoshi ducked to enter the room next to yours. It was hollow, save for bits of gravel and a window obscured by dust. You paced to it then wiped the thick glass with the rag you brought with you.

“That hill is always there in Granny’s drawings,” you said, taking the paper in your pocket and setting it parallel to the scene revealed by the window.

Your smile was wide, as if you were admiring a land lush with vegetation, or wildflowers at least. When it was far from that. It was a vast desolation, beyond the gates and the brown earth fractured. But, just as you said, there is a solitary hill sitting along the horizon.

“Those trees- cherry trees,” you started, face radiating with mirth. “It’s the same but.. different each time.” Your breathless laugh makes him feel just as winded. “How is that even possible?”

“I know they can’t be just...green.” A finger traced the outline of the leaves. “Because these are real and they actually grow and- and they change.” And, as if it’s a secret, “Unlike the ones at the capital.”.

“If only Granny would paint them for me,” you whispered, the smile on those lips waning.

Wakatoshi couldn’t stand it. So, he grunted, “You are wrong. This one is green.”

He took the paper from your hand. “They only change colors once they bloom. White, first. Then, pink.”

This knowledge is trivial; if it can be considered knowledge at all. It is a speck in the infinite matters that simply exist— have existed, in this world. Yet such a thing has put that look in your eyes.

Perhaps it is not inconsequential at all.

“Pink?” you breathed, grinning incredulously at him.

You turned away and closed your eyes, your voice cracking as you murmured, “I see.”

There's a blood pumping organ within his chest. A vital piece that keeps you humans alive. It beats constantly, never ceasing. If it does then it means you are dead. He is flesh, for now; it follows that if it halts, then he is fodder for the earth.

How is it, then, that he is still here? He’s sure he felt it stop, the air knocked out of his lungs, as you looked back at him, eyes welling with tears when you said, “Thank you.”

Thank you, you told him, smiling.

Ah.

Wakatoshi gets it now.

This is what God must have seen, when your kind looked up and sang, “I love you, my God; I love you; I love you.” And when you knelt and dared to turn those eyes for others that are not God, he suddenly understands why they were ordered to rain fire and brimstone upon your great kingdoms.

Because he, too, would smite anything, burn it to the ground and salt what is left, if it would so much as receive a whit of your sweet, soft words.

“They used to grow here,” you sniveled. “Granny said so.”

“And I thought, maybe if Granny added a bit more color- maybe they'd feel more…I don't know..real..?” Laughter rings in his ears once again, pealing like bells. “Yeah..They'd feel more real...Though, she did get mad at me,” you winced.

“I just thought,” you sighed, your shoulders touching him. “Wouldn't it be nice if I can wake up one day and find them growing again? Right here.”

God created a garden for your kind once. It is gone now, but Wakatoshi wonders what you’d say, how you’d look at him, if he shows it to you. Your head against the grass, fingers laced with the lilies of the field, the taste of fruit on your lips, your thighs dripping with honey and dew—

Wakatoshi felt his loins stir, but he didn't say anything, except, “The soil here is poisoned.”

You snapped towards him, brows drawn together. “I know,” you said.

“A sapling cannot grow on this wasteland.”

“Yes, I’m not stupid.”

“That could have been any hill.”

“I know.”

His throat is parched; his hands a pair of useless things. He can hold galaxies in them, sink ships and level seas by the order of God had this body not trapped him. (He can free himself, but then you’d die). Now he doesn’t even know what to do with them as he rushes out a hoarse, “I have upset you.”

He refused to let you take the paper from him. You didn’t seem to mind.

“No,” you sighed. “No, of course not. Forgive me, Ushijima-sama.”

You bowed again. An act of servitude.

“Please, let me escort you back to the capital.”

He does not understand. He only told you the truth.

But you turned your back to him and the light in your eyes has gone and he wants to chase it back the same way he wanted to run after God when the parting happened, leaving the Heavens mourning until their wails split the firmament open.

Wakatoshi yearns to have you closer. He yearns for that smile and laughter back on your face.

Wakatoshi yearns.

But, that cannot be.

After all, that is just much too human, is it not?

The rain drenched Wakatoshi to the bone, droplets falling from his lashes to his cheeks, when he walked through the nighttime storm.

He didn't bother to dry himself.

After he'd reached your room and shoved the door open, the clap of thunder covering the noise, Wakatoshi decided to undress himself, shedding all articles of clothing until he was naked as the day God created your kind.

Wakatoshi felt the chill bite his skin. But that had nothing on the way you easily dismissed him earlier, by the time you'd reached the abode of this city's leader.

You left him and he could no longer see your face and yet that fierce longing in his chest stayed, creeping to every part of him, making a home in his belly.

Until he recognized the feeling for what it was.

Hunger.

Hunger, he could fathom. And when one feels it gnaw at one's flesh, what does one do, but eat?

You were sleeping on the cot, just as he'd imagined you to be. It's enough to keep him warm: the sight of you, at peace under the glimmer of the trinkets dancing above as a lamp burned lowly.

The mattress sank under his weight when he sat next to you. His much larger hand took yours, locking your fingers together to rest his cheek against it, bringing it beneath his nose, and feeling his heart race as he breathed in your scent.

He remembers the first time he did this so vividly. You tasted like apples and sin; and though there's none of that now, his mouth still waters as he savors your skin, his tongue traveling to your arm, just as he did then, leaving bites along the way.

You barely stirred when he lifted your shirt to reveal your tits, the sheen of sweat along the valley forcing a growl out of him.

Do you feel it, too? When you drag him further down to earth, debasing him and bringing him so low that now he is nothing but a hungry flesh and a mouth made of obscenities.

"Fuck," he grunts, as he took his cock, heavy and hard to touch, and rubbed the head with his fingers.

Perhaps he is lower than human now. Perhaps it does not matter. What is God to this hunger, anyway?

(This hunger is bigger than God.)

The cot was pitifully small as he straddled over your chest, breathing still shallow, and spat on his hand before wrapping it around the thick shaft. The tip of his cock touched your nipple as he fondled with the other one, thumb and forefinger pinching and pulling until you let out a tiny mewl.

Hearing it had him falling to his knees.

Wakatoshi moved off the cot to kneel on the floor, the better to suckle on your tits, to lick and nibble on the skin below it, on your stomach, until he's seeing red and ripping your loose pants down to your thighs.

He pumped his cock harder as he caressed the folds of your cunt. You groaned, arching your back and offering yourself to his mouth, when he started to lap on your clit, sticky liquid coating the swollen bud as he swirled his tongue to spread the juices dripping from your hole.

Your entire body was singing for him, even when all you'd managed were squirms and muted whimpers. He felt your skin twitch beneath his lips, as he cupped his balls and drove his hand faster around his throbbing cock, gripping his fist tighter.

Oh, he sees you on that garden, clinging onto him as he drives himself into you, pounding your cunt as you beg please, just as you did before, please, please, fuck me harder I am yours I am all yours.

But, for now, he settles himself with the violent shudders of your body, flooding his mouth with cream, as he releases his seed on his palm.

Wakatoshi rubbed it against your leaking cunt, quivering still in his hand.

There is something that must be finished, first, before he takes you, in truth. He cannot have you conscious (for now.)

He covered you back in your clothes, after. Then, Wakatoshi lingered on your face.

"Fearfully and wonderfully made," he whispered, a mere guttural sound amidst the rain pouring outside.

Here lies salvation, he thought, as his fingers brushed your closed eyes.

And here, Wakatoshi thought as he brought his lips down to kiss you, here lies damnation.

He wiped his blood on the doorposts and lintel before he left.

You woke up to silence.

Your nether regions ached and, really, the temptation to not go to work today was insanely strong. But the sun was already bleeding through the window and there's a heavy feeling on your chest.

And like wearing a shirt on backwards, you immediately knew that something was not right.

The sound of the door slamming open echoed through the building as you ran outside.

There was nothing.

Not the sound of people going about their day nor of children risking the wrath of their mothers with their games. The only thing you could hear was the buzzing noise of a fly circling around your ear.

You didn't bother knocking on your neighbor's room, rushing inside to shout for Soo-jin and her mom, stopping only when you found them sitting around a small table.

They didn't turn around to greet you.

"There you are," you panted, putting your hands on your knees. "I'm so sorry for barging in like this."

Even little Soo-jin, who never failed to jump into your arms given the opportunity, kept her back to you.

You stepped towards her. "Soo-jin," you whispered, placing a hand on her thin shoulder.

"Soo-jin, hey," you chuckled, your trembling fingers shaking her bit. "H-hey, what's wrong?"

Her head nodded down, like a doll grabbed all too suddenly, then it lolled to the side, rolling until she bared her neck, until you saw her face.

Her mouth hung open.

Inside the cavern were tiny black lumps that took you a second to realize were flies feasting on her molars. And when you lurched and sank to the floor, it was only then that you saw her staring back at you.

Bleached eyes, wide and whitened to the core and pupils like spoiled milk.

"N-no." Your vision was cloudy, freezing dread settling at the pit of your stomach when you saw that the same happened to her mother. "Who- who did this?"

Your voice strained out as you stood, mind moving faster than your legs.

Granny. Go to Granny.

Though you already know, don't you? You don't have to see her to know her fate. Because as you sprinted out of the room, leaping down across the steps, out of the building and into sand and concrete, the smell of sulfur followed you, choking you along with the sight of bodies sprawled on the ground.

Insects creeping out of nostrils and every other orifice, faces that you'll never have the chance of knowing and faces that you'd grown up with, hands reaching to the heaven as if at prayer.

You are alone. You are alone in a city filled with rotting corpses.

There was an uncontrolled animal inside your body, fighting out of its cage in a fit of rage as you craned to look up, further up.

The sky was on fire, the fissure in the middle gaping wider and wider and sucking in a mass of swirling clouds dipped with blood and orange.

And there. There, look. Standing atop the towering walls.

Beyond the heat wave was a figure, burning bright that you had to squint and you wanted to look away, you had to look away, but you can't go out like this, not without a scream and a curse at your lips.

What did you do, you were shouting, Who are you, you were screeching, feeling the veins in your neck stretch and pop as you walked closer and closer.

Wings as far as the eye could see stood atop the fallen city.

Spread out to span the horizon and folded at the middle to conceal whatever it is pointing a flaming sword towards the sun.

You tasted iron at the back of your mouth, but you did not stop. The earth beneath you swallowed your feet as it turned to mud with each step you took.

And with the flap of its wings, the sound of metal banging against each other reverberated louder.

There were children howling in pain, somewhere, behind you, in front of you, beside you. You staggered forward and for the life of you, you do not understand why you keep trying, because the ground below wasn't even soil anymore.

It took another step before you fell.

And it was like one of those dreams.

But this time you don't wake up.

You bawled out and thrashed your legs as water rose above you, slamming against your chest and filling up your mouth and burning your nose until it's all you could see, until you're floating in darkness and water is rushing to your lungs and you were flailing upwards, catching that spot of sunlight, but the more you kicked your feet and swung your arms, the more it tugged at your heavy legs and the less you could breathe and the further it got—

You were sinking, the clanging of a giant bell everywhere still, as the water pulled you down, and in the deep, below the nothingness, was a massive cleft illuminated by the barest of light, slowly opening to reveal an eye, and no sound came out though you know, though you felt your throat release a shriek, horrifyingly small, so, so small compared to that glass green pupil that illuminated the darkness, rapidly contracting and dilating and then blinking as salt and fire streamed deep in your skin, but they were looking at you from all sides, a thousand eyes flanking you and judging the weight of your soul with their unforgiving gaze as you tossed and turned in the waters.

I am going to die here, you thought. I will die here, you cried.

But something was pulling at your waist and despite clawing and jabbing at it, desperate to keep it away from you as you wailed get off me get off me, it gripped you tight, hauling you upwards until you were gulping and breathing in cold air.

Through tears and the piercing cry that ripped out your throat, you felt strong, warm arms cradle you close.

Along with a deep voice, familiar and conjuring a long lost memory.

It lulled you into hiccups and dry sobs, gentle as it whispered.

“Do not be afraid,” he said. “Do not be afraid. Do not be afraid.”

#tw noncon #tw non con haikyuu #yandere ushijima #ushijima wakatoshi x reader #ushijima x female reader #dark content haikyuu

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imagine-loki · 3 years

Text

What bout Trust, Chapter 15

TITLE: What About Trust CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: Chapter 15 AUTHOR: fanficshiddles ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine Loki owns a bookshop on Midgard. He had to do something there to try and avoid getting any attention. But he’s not fond of having customers, is rather grumpy and guarded. But then he meets a bright, bubbly and trusting young woman who doesn’t recognise him. To his dismay, he finds himself becoming rather fond of the mortal. RATING: M

So many thoughts ran through Cleo’s mind after discovering the truth about Loki.

She had spent most of the evening looking through footage of him from when he had tried to take over Earth. And she’d watched the video of him saving everyone at the park lots too. She couldn’t believe she had never recognised him in the first place. And suddenly a lot of things made a bit more sense.

Her friend, Ethan, was over and trying to console her.

She was so angry, upset, disappointed. Everything moulded into one.

‘He certainly seems like he’s not a villain anymore, but can anyone truly change quite like that?’ Ethan muttered.

‘It’s not… It’s not about what he did in the past. It’s the fact he lied to me. He didn’t tell me who he really was.’ She sighed and tried not to get choked up for the millionth time.

‘I’ve never seen you so upset before, Cleo. I know you love him, why not go speak to him and see what he has to say? Think about it, if you were in his position and did what he did… and you were wanting a new start, maybe you’d lie about your name, too?’

Cleo put her elbows on the table and her head in her hands with a sigh. She couldn’t help it, she started crying again. Her emotions were all over the place.

Ethan moved over and hugged her. ‘Hey, it’s ok. It’s going to be ok.’ He soothed her and rubbed her back softly.

Thor had nipped out to get some food in for himself and Loki. Well, himself mainly since Loki said he didn’t feel like eating.

‘Loki, there’s someone who was outside that wants to speak to you.’ Thor said and stepped to the side when he entered Loki’s place.

Loki frowned, it was Ethan. Loki had met him once or twice before at some of their friends’ gigs with Cleo.

‘Look, I don’t know what exactly you’ve told Cleo about yourself. How much of it has been true, what hasn’t. But right now, you need to go and speak to her. Go clear things up. She at least deserves an explanation.’ Ethan said to Loki.

‘She’s scared of me. She won’t want anything to do with me.’ Loki said sadly and turned away from him.

Ethan pinched the bridge of his nose. ‘Look, I know you’re a God and a Prince. But for the past few months, you’ve just been ordinary Luke to me. So I’m going to carry on seeing you that way. Now you get your ass over to Cleo’s and you damn well give her an explanation as to why you’ve lied to her. Or you will lose her, for good. And she is NOT scared of you, far from it. She’s pissed off and so upset, rightfully so.’ Ethan snapped at him.

Loki was irked at first, how dare a mortal tell him off like that. But when Loki turned around to glare at Ethan, his face softened. He realised he was right.

He ran a hand down his face and sighed. ‘You think talking to her will help?’

‘Well it won’t make anything worse! She deserves a proper explanation. I know she wanted to be left alone, but she’s had time now. Go and explain to her.’ Ethan said firmly and pointed at the door.

Loki narrowed his eyes at him as he grabbed his jacket and headed for the door.

Ethan felt proud that he had managed to tell Loki off like that. But when Loki left, he let out a big sigh of relief. Thor chuckled at the mortal who was shaking slightly as he leaned against the back of the sofa for support.

‘Geez, that was scary.’ Ethan said as he put his hand over his chest.

‘You did well.’ Thor laughed and went over to pat him on the shoulder. ‘Sometimes that is what Loki needs. I just hope they can talk it out, I have never seen my brother so broken and upset before. He really loves and cares for her, he was just scared she would turn him away for who he was. For what he did.’

Ethan nodded. ‘I understand. But Cleo is the last person on Earth to judge someone in that way. Hell, I remember when the New York incident happened, one of our friends was mouthing off about what an asshole Loki was. Cleo piped up that there is always two sides to a story, and everyone deserves a second chance. That the Avengers aren’t all that good either… No offence.’

Thor smiled softly. ‘None taken. I know what she means, we all have our darker sides. I certainly hope she still thinks the same way.’

Loki teleported instantly to Cleo’s home, he was about just walk inside but thought better of it. He knocked on the door cautiously, his heart was hammering against his chest as he waited. But he was relieved when she finally answered.

But his heart shattered into millions of pieces when he saw her. The usual sparkle and brightness was gone from her eyes, in just five hours he had managed to tear her up so badly. He had never felt so guilty and broken in his entire life.

‘Cleo… I’m so, so sorry.’ He began, a tear fell down his face as he was unable to stop himself. ‘Please, can I come in and talk?’ He begged, she could hear the desperation in his voice.

Cleo closed her eyes for a moment, to try and stop herself from crying. She nodded and stepped to the side, letting him in. Saying nothing yet.

Loki walked into her home and he went to the living room. He wasn’t sure whether to sit down or stay standing, but he opted to stand. As Cleo stayed standing with her arms around herself.

He took in a deep breath. ‘I know that what I did in New York and Germany was awful, I regret it every single day. It’s not something I am proud of, at all. But I would never hurt you, I would never’

‘Luke… I mean, Loki… I… I know you wouldn’t hurt me. It’s not what you did before that’s upsetting me. Or who you really are. It’s that you lied to me. You didn’t tell me the truth.’

‘I… I couldn’t. When I first met you, I went to my usual lie that my name is Luke. I’ve used that for a long time, since I decided to start a life here. I hoped for a quiet life, where I could just be in peace, without any hassle from SHIELD or people who knew what I did and wanted me dead. But then, I started to fall in love with you. I have never felt the way I do about you before, Cleo.’ Loki sat down now and clasped his hands together on front of him, trying to keep it together.

Cleo sat down too on the opposite sofa.

‘I wanted to tell you… I so badly wanted to. But every time I bottled it. I’m a coward, and I hate myself for it. I was scared and worried that I would ruin what we had… But I knew I had to tell you, I was going to, but then the tree fell and’

‘How am I supposed to believe you now? I want to, Loki, I really do. But I’m struggling. Everything I thought I knew about you, is a lie.’ Cleo interrupted.

‘No, no... Everything I’ve told you about myself, is true. Just minus where I come from and my name.’

‘And that Thor is your brother!’ Cleo yelled at him. ‘That you’re a God. A Prince. And your parents?’

‘I said my brother was an idiot and annoying, that’s not a lie. And my parents are deceased, and I was adopted. It’s just a little bit more complicated than I told you.’

Cleo shook her head and tears started running down her face again. ‘I just wish you’d told me sooner. What hurts the most, is that you felt you couldn’t tell me the truth sooner. After our first date, or even after we first slept together would’ve been better. But you didn’t, for so long.’

‘I know, and I was a fool. I am a fool. But I was scared, Cleo. So scared of losing you, the only person in my life that has ever mattered to me so much. I love you, Cleo. So, so much. I didn’t want to lose… I don’t want to lose you.’ Loki cried.

‘I don’t want that either… And I do love you, too. But I just, I can’t believe you didn’t tell me sooner. I don’t know what to do, Loki. I do understand why you didn’t want me to know initially, but keeping it for so long is what is hurting me the most.’

Loki momentarily put his head in his hands before looking back up at her. ‘The last thing I wanted to do was to hurt you, darling. Please believe me. I was scared and selfish, I can’t take that back. As much as I want to. I’ve hurt you, I know. I want to make it right, to earn your love again.’

‘What about trust, Loki?’

He felt his stomach dropping.

‘Please, Cleo. Give me one more chance, I promise you there will be no more lies. Ever. And you can trust me, always.’ He pleaded.

‘I… I don’t know if I can. I do love you, I do. But I, I don’t know if I can trust you again. Love is nothing without it. And I feel like I trusted you completely, with anything and everything.’

‘Don’t say that, Cleo. Please, I’m begging you to just let me try again. Let me work on gaining your trust again. Please.’ Loki actually got onto his knees on front of her and begged her with his hands clasped on front of him.

Cleo’s eyes widened at the sight of him doing so. She saw what he did years ago in Germany… Had everyone kneel for him. She knew that kneeling for a human was not something he would do lightly.

But it still didn’t make it any easier.

‘I… I’m going to need time, Loki. Please.’ She whispered, wiping her eyes and looking to the side.

Loki nodded and slowly got up to his feet. ‘I understand. Take as much time as you need… But I do truly love you, Cleo. You’re my world.’

Cleo looked down at her hands in her lap, unable to stop crying as Loki reluctantly left her home.

When Loki left, he went down the nearest alleyway and he screamed, cried, hit the wall. He couldn’t believe what he did to her. To his Cleo.

He wished he could turn back time and start over, to tell her the truth from the start.

He couldn’t cope with the thought of not having her in his life.

#Loki #Lover #Submitted fic #what about trust #chapter 15 #fanficshiddles

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atlafan · 3 years

Text

Burning Love - Part Three

a/n: the third and final part of this little series is here! I hope you enjoy! Feedback and reblogs are helpful! Support me here if you’re able! (not proofread)

Warnings: cocky!Harry flirting, a tiny bit of angst, fluff, and smut!

Words: 8K

Pairing: Harry x OC (kindergarten teacher Danielle Robinson)

Masterpost

Having a firefighter as a boyfriend was anything but boring. Sometimes Harry was called away in the middle of the night for backup, sometimes he had to straight up sleep at the fire house if someone was on vacation, and sometimes he was cooking up a storm so the guys coming back from a fire had plenty to eat. Danielle would sometimes help cook as well. The guys really liked her turkey chili.

Danielle’s classroom knew who her boyfriend was too, and they loved it when Harry would come by for a visit. He’d bring them little coloring books, or sometimes he’d get Doodle to come for an even better surprise visit.

When they were together three months, Harry made sure no one was in the fire house so she could come to his office, and he gave her a little strip tease. She had practically been begging him to play the part of the sexy fire fighter and he was finally doing it for her. The only condition was that he got to bend her over his desk and fuck her. She even let him hit it raw, it was the greatest mutual gift in the world. Also hearing her moan out, “You’re hitting it so good, don’t stop, Harry!” over and over was pretty nice too.

Yup, things had been going pretty well for the new couple. Even though they were still in the puppy-love phase, it wasn’t all sex all the time. Harry would sometimes come over and help her late into the night as she was crafting activities for her class the next day, or he’d go to the art supply store with her because Danielle never made a list and she would often forget at least one thing she needed for class. Harry always remembered what she’d forget. Danielle was also a big help with the fire department’s fundraising efforts. She made the best hash browns anyone had ever had at the monthly pancake breakfasts. The deputy fire chief even got them a matching set of aprons. Things were going so well that she even started to let him call her Dani.

One Sunday afternoon they were walking through the grocery store together. Harry liked pushing the cart for Danielle as she mumbled to herself about what she needed for the week. She liked that he joined her because he could pick out the snacks he wanted to leave at her place, and vice versa. They were walking down the coffee aisle, Harry liked Hazelnut and Danielle liked French Vanilla.

“Dani?”

Danielle looks over in the direction of the deep voice that said her name. Her eyes widen when she realizes it’s her ex, Oliver.

“O-Oliver?”

“Oh my god, it’s so good to see you!” He exclaims, throwing his arms around her. She doesn’t reciprocate. “It’s been what, three years?”

“Something like that.” She swallows, and hooks her arm around Harry’s waist. “This is my boyfriend, Harry.”

“Hi.” Oliver shakes Harry’s hand. “You shop here a lot?”

“Yeah…this is the grocery store closest to my apartment, why?”

“This is my first time as this specific store. My fiancé lives in the area, and we’re choosing to buy a house here so her son won’t have to switch elementary schools.”

“Her…her son?” Danielle wanted to smack him.

“Yeah, guess he’s like my son now too.”

“Olly? Did you find the decaf tea?” A woman long blond hair, and a slightly swollen belly comes rolling her cart down the aisle with a little boy sitting in it. “Oh…Danielle…hi.”

“Hi, Rory.”

“Miss Robinson!” The boy exclaims.

“Hello, Joey.” She tries to say with a smile. Danielle wasn’t sure how she could have been so stupid. Joey took the bus to and from school, and she had only ever spoken with his father. She also didn’t make a second glance at his mother’s name on his contact list since it was under Lorelei.

“Joey raves about you all the time.” Rory says, trying to cut some of the tension.

“Mumma, it’s Chief Harry!”

“Aw, nice of you to remember me, buddy.” Harry says. “Um, we’ve got frozen stuff in the cart, so we should probably get going, right, darling?” He says, looking at Danielle, and she feels thankful for him finding a way out of all this.

“He’s right, we should really get going.”

“Guess we’ll be seeing more of each other, huh, Dani?” Oliver says with a soft smile.

“So it would seem.” She looks at Joey. “See you tomorrow morning in class, Joey.”

Harry pushes the cart as they walk away. She was beyond mortified. They get in line and pay for their things. She had driven there, but she has Harry drive back to her place. She was quiet until they got inside her apartment to put the food away.

“He, uh, seemed a little delusional there, no?” Harry says.

“He’s always lived with his head in the sand.” She scoffs. “Rose colored glasses, you know?”

“Did you not know that-“

“No, I didn’t realize that Rory, the person he cheated on me with, had a son. I knew that she was a married woman. They got divorced because of Oliver.” She shakes her head. “Joey’s father is such a sweet man, I can’t believe I never put the pieces together.”

“How exactly did they meet?”

“The first school I worked at was a K-5 a few towns over. Rory was the principal’s secretary, she still is, I think. I brought Oliver with me to a holiday party, and they got to talking. She’s a couple of years older than he and I are. I don’t exactly know how things progressed from there, but apparently she’s pregnant with his kid, they’re engaged, and they’ve bought a house! Isn’t that just kick you in the crotch, spit on your neck fantastic?”

“Remind me to never watch Friends reruns with you again.” He chuckles. “I can’t believe he had the nerve to hug you like that?”

“He hugged me like that because he’s still in love with me.”

“What do you mean?”

“Until I blocked him on literally every platform that I could, he would send me these messages about how he fucked up and that he’d do anything to win me back. He’s in a loveless relationship. He’s made his bed and now he has to lay in it.”

“Does Rory know it’s a loveless relationship?”

“I doubt it. If I had to guess they probably got engaged after they found out she was pregnant. It was probably her way of trapping him.” Danielle rolls her eyes. “You know what they say, once a cheater, always a cheater.”

“Well,” he comes around her to hold her from behind, kissing her cheek, “you don’t have to worry about that or pay it any more thoughts, alright?”

“Yeah.” She smiles and turns to kiss him. “I just hope I don’t start running into them all the time now.”

“We could always go to the market near my place, or we could do the online order thing.” He shrugs. “Whatever you wanna do. I just don’t want that idiot making my baby upset.” He pouts at her and she pouts back.

“I love that I get to be your baby.” She sighs as she nuzzles into his chest.

“Me too…I…I love you, Dani.” He kisses her forehead before she looks up at him.

“You do?”

“Mhm.” He smiles. “Guess there’s no perfect time to really say it, but that’s how I feel.”

“Oh, Harry, I love you too.” She kisses him, and blinks some tears away. “Like, a lot.”

“Let’s get these groceries put away, hm? Then I’ll fuck you on the counter. Would you like that, sweetheart?”

“I would, very much so.” She chuckles.

It was the last day of school, so Danielle had both of her groups in the morning. There was a small ceremony for the kindergarteners to commemorate them being able to move on to the first grade. They each got a personalized certificate with some type of achievement they earned in Miss Robinson’s class. She spent two weeks working on them. Once it was over, Danielle had to clean up her classroom for the summer.

“Happy last day of school, babe.” Harry says as he walks in, holding a small bouquet of flowers.

“I think you should ask for a separate office here with how often you come to visit.” She jokes as she takes the flowers. “Not that I’m upset, but what are these for?” She smiles.

“You made it through another year with a group of five-year-olds, thought you should have something nice for it.”

“Well, that’s very thoughtful, thank you.” She kisses his cheek. “I’m just finishing up here and then we can grab lunch.”

Harry nods as he waits for her, helping her take a few boxes out to her car. He thought she looked gorgeous today in her light blue sundress. They enjoy their lunch together before Harry has to go back to work.

“Wanna come to my place tonight?” She asks before they part ways.

“Sure.” He pecks her lips. “Want me to bring dinner?”

“No, I can cook. I’ve got stuff to make a taco salad.”

“Okay, I’ll see you later.” They kiss again and off they go.

Things had gotten quite domestic with one another, and Harry was really starting to like it. He also really liked that she was about to be off for the entire summer. Sure, Harry had bonfires, lawn mowers, grills, and other things of that nature to worry about, but his group of volunteer fire fighters would be coming on once again, so it freed up a little more time for himself. He’d be able to take a vacation with Danielle if she wanted. Or he could just take a ton of long weekends so he could spend some time with her. He wasn’t exactly sure what she did over the summer, but he figures they’ll talk about it soon.

When Harry gets to her apartment later that night, he realizes soon means tonight. Danielle was running around her apartment in a tank top and shorts boxing things up and packing.

“Hey, uh, what are you doing?” He says, startling her.

“Oh! I didn’t even hear you come in!” She gasps and clutches at her chest. “Sorry, I’m just trying to get my shit together. I always save this stuff for the last minute.”

“Are you moving?” He asks, almost frantic.

“What? No.” She chuckles. “But I do need a lot of my things with me for when I go up to Seabrook.”

“Seabrook?”

“To my parents’ summer house. I told you they had one, they’re snowbirds, remember?”

“Yeah, you mentioned that…” He swallows. “Are you going for a long weekend?”

“No, I’m going for the majority of the summer. I was actually sort of hoping you’d be able to water some of my plants, but if you can’t I can ask the neighbor again.” She goes over to him and gives him a kiss. “Come on, I set dinner up in the kitchen for us.”

They both go into the kitchen and sit down with their taco salads.

“You’re sort of blindsiding me a bit, babe. I mean, you’ve known you were going to New Hampshire all this time and didn’t think to tell me?”

“I figured I’d come back on weekends.” She shrugs. “You’re going to be working all day, so I figured you wouldn’t really mind if I wasn’t around as much.” She takes a bite of her food. “I also thought maybe you could come up and visit…you know, meet my family.”

“It’s gonna be torturing not being able to come over and see you after work.” He pouts. “But of course I’d love to meet your family.”

“I know…that’s sort of why I was keeping it to myself. I’ll miss you just the same, I hope you know that. This is just really precious family time that I wait all year for.”

“I get it.” He sighs. “What weekend would you want me to come meet them?”

“I’ll have to ask my parents what weekend would work best for them. The first couple of weeks are spent catching up with their friends, and whatnot. The house is in a fifty-five and over community.”

“And you won’t mind driving back on weekends?”

“Not at all.” She shakes her head. “All of the traffic will be going the other way, and the beaches are always so crowded on the weekends. It’ll be perfect.” She smiles at him and leans in a bit. “Plus, I’ll be coming back to you with sun kissed skin. I’ll have lots of tan lines to show you.” She winks and it makes him chuckle.

“Alright, alright. I get to use more time off in the summer, so I’ll be able to take lots of long weekends. We have more of a crew because a lot of our volunteers are teachers, so they have more time to help out.”

“That’s good! I’m so happy the school year is over with. Did you see I put the flowers you got me in a vase?” She points over to the vase in her kitchen window.

“I did.” He nods, a smile growing on his lips. “M’glad you liked them.”

“I loved them.” She kisses his cheek. “You’re so sweet to me, Harry.”

“You’ve turned me into a total mush ball.” He sighs. “But I suppose that’s not a bad thing.”

“You were a mush ball the second you walked into my classroom for the first time.” She smirks.

“And you were a flustered little thing.” He smirks as her face falls. “Ah, she can dish it out, but she can’t take it.” He kisses her temple and takes their now empty plates to the sink. “When are you heading up?”

“A couple of days.” She sighs. “I hate packing so much, it’s the worst.” She groans. “I just keep telling myself I’ll be relaxing on a screened in porch soaking in the ocean breeze with a book in my hand before I know it.” She flops down onto her sofa and Harry sits next to her, rubbing her back. “At least I’ll see my niece and nephew soon too. I love getting to spend so much time with them.”

“Tell me about them, I wanna know as much about your family as I can before I meet them.”

“Really?” She sits up to look at them.

“Mhm.” He puts a pillow on his lap. “Come lay one me. I’ll play with your hair while you talk.”

“If I didn’t love you before.” She giggles, and rests her head in his lap. He starts scratching at her scalp and she sighs. “Okay, so, my dad…”

They both fell asleep on the couch that night talking. Harry told Danielle a lot about his family as well. In the wee hours of the morning, Harry carried her to the bed, and they both snuggled up while they got a few more hours of sleep.

“Danielle, it’s the middle of the night! Where are you going?!” Her brother Clark asks her in a panic. “Shit, are you crying?”

“I…I just got a call.” She sniffles as she throws her hoody on. “I have to get home.”

“Why, what’s happening.”

“H-Harry’s deputy chief called me…there was a really big fire a few hours ago, and a wall collapsed on him, and now he’s in the hospital.” Tears were streaming down her cheeks. “I have to get home to him, Clark, I need to be there when he wakes up.”

“You’re in no condition to drive, especially not for two hours. I’ll go with you. Let me just go to Isabelle.”

“You don’t have to do that, I’m fine.” She wipes her eyes. “I’ll let you know when I get there. I’ll be back in a few days, I’m sure of it.”

She rushes out of the house and gets into the car. She had the radio practically silent, and she was sucking down an iced coffee. Caffeine put her anxiety into hyper drive, but she needed to stay awake somehow. Harry wasn’t even supposed to be at that fire. He got called in as backup, but he wasn’t supposed to go inside. He went in looking for the family’s new puppy.

Once she gets to the hospital, probably looking like a mad woman in her pajama pants and oversized hoody, she checks in and asks where Harry’s being kept.

“Please, I’m his girlfriend, I need to-“

“Dani!” The deputy chief, Ralph, comes rushing towards her. “He just woke up, come with me.” He yanks her by the wrist before the nurse at the desk can say anything.

“Is he okay?”

“He will be.” Ralph nods. “Here we are, go ahead in. Take your time with him.” Ralph smiles, and Danielle returns it.

“Harry?” She says just above a whisper.

“Hey, baby.” He gives her a soft smile. “What are you doing here?”

“I hopped in my car a second after Ralph called me. I was so worried.” She sits on the edge of his hospital bed.

“I’m okay, sweetheart, just a few scrapes and bruises.”

“Harry…your arm’s in a sling.”

“Just a sprained wrist, it’ll heal up real soon.”

“How can you be so calm about this?” She asks as she curls up next to him. He throws his arm around her and sighs.

“Because if I let every little accident scare me, I wouldn’t be able to do my job properly. This is what I signed up for, babe.”

“Did you at least find the puppy?”

“I did, shielded the poor thing from the wall that collapsed on me. M’gonna have to go on light duty for a while.”

“Which means what exactly?”

“Lots of administrative work…that I can do remotely. So, I was thinking…maybe I could come up to Seabrook with you for a little longer than a weekend.”

“I’d love that! We can drive back up together. Everyone’s excited to meet you.”

“I’m excited to meet them too.”

After Harry rested up for a few days at home, with Danielle doting on him even though he told her she didn’t need to, the two drive up north together.

“Auntie Dani’s back!” Sarah exclaims as she bursts out of the porch.

“Sarah!” Isabelle yells after her. “We don’t run out of the house, no matter how excited we are to see Auntie.” She picks her daughter up. “Sorry, Dani.” Isabelle chuckles.

“No worries.” Danielle laughs. “This is my boyfriend, Harry. Harry, this is my sister-in-law Isabelle.”

“Hi.” Harry says, and Isabelle gasps when she sees his arm in a sling. “Just a sprained wrist, m’fine.” “It’s nice to meet you. This must be Sarah, yeah?”

“Hello.” The little girl smiles.

“Come on, everyone’s inside getting ready to head down to the beach.” Isabelle says.

Harry and Danielle follow inside. She takes him into the kitchen where her parents, Robert and Donna were finishing up their coffee.

“Dani!” Donna smiles. “How was the ride back up?”

“Fine, not a lot of traffic once we were out of the city.” She smiles. “This is Harry.”

“The hero that saved the puppy!” Robert says.

“I’m no hero, just did my job. It’s nice to meet you both. Thank you for inviting me to your home.” He shakes both of their hands.

“Are you kidding? We were over the moon when Dani said she’d be bringing a boyfriend with her.” Donna says. “Honey, why don’t you help Harry get settled and then meet us down at the beach?”

“Okay.” Danielle nods.

The two bring their things inside while everyone else makes their way to the beach. Danielle helps Harry put his clothes away in the dresser.

“So…are we alone right now?” Harry asks casually after putting his things away in the bathroom.

“Um, yeah. Everyone went down to set up at the beach, why?”

“Well…” He sits down on the bed and tugs her to sit on his lap, straddling her. “I haven’t been able to do much the last few days, and I’d like to make up for it.”

“Harry.” Her face flushes. “I can’t just fuck you here.”

“In the privacy of a bedroom? Here I was thinking this would be the perfect place.” He rolls his eyes.

“I just…” She bites her bottom lip. Before she can say anything when she opens her mouth again, he’s kissing her. “Fuck, okay, but we have to be quick. And no leaving marks, I don’t need to feel like a teenager at the age of twenty-seven.”

“How about no marks in any visible places?”

“Harry, I’m gonna be wearing a two piece, a lot is going to be visible.”

“Your ass?”

She whimpers softly and kisses him again. They both fall back on the bed, careful not to hurt his wrist. Danielle ended up riding his dick since he couldn’t really prop himself up with hands at the moment, but neither of them minded. It was a much-needed release for the both of them. Once they’re both cleaned up, they change into their bathing suits and go down to the beach to join her family.

“Auntie Dani, do you wanna dig a moat with me?” Ryan asks her the second she sets her things down.

“Sure! Just let me get some sunscreen on, okay?”

“You’re already looking a little red.” Clark remarks, and she glares at him. “Nice to meet you, Harry.”

“Same to you.” Harry says as he sits down in his beach chair.

Danielle peels her coverup off, and lathers up in sunscreen before grabbing a sand toy to help Ryan dig a moat. Isabelle was down by the water with Sarah.

“Harry, do you like seafood?” Donna asks him.

“I do.” He nods.

“Wonderful, I thought it would be nice to go out to eat since you’re here with us now. Celebrate having a full house and whatnot.”

“Oh, well…that sounds nice, thanks.” Harry smiles at her.

“I hope you won’t be too miserable working from inside the house…there’s no central air or anything.” Robert says.

“Oh, it’s not a problem. Heat doesn’t exactly bother me.” He smirks, and Danielle flicks some sand at him. “Oi, what was that for?!”

“No fire fighter jokes or puns.” She points a finger at him warningly. “We’re on vacation.”

“Come on, that was a good one, admit it.”

“I will do no such thing.” She looks at her parents who were chuckling at the exchange. “Don’t encourage him, it’ll only make it worse.”

“Anyways,” he side eyes her and then looks back at her parents, “I’ll probably just set up on the porch when I need to hop onto email. My deputy chief is taking on a bit more for me for the next couple of weeks.”

Harry never really saw himself being a dad someday, but as the day went on, and he watched Danielle interact with Sarah and Ryan, he suddenly understood why women would get baby fever seeing a man hold a baby. He may have only been with Danielle for five months, but fuck…he wanted to be the father of her kids. Yes, he got to spend an entire week with her and her classroom, but it’s not like he got to witness her loving on any of the kids. The way she cradled four-year-old Sarah to her chest as she napped, or splashed around in the water with Ryan, well, if he had ovaries they’d be bursting.

Seeing her help them at dinner was just as cute too. Sarah insisted that her booster chair be places next to Danielle, and Danielle ended up helping cut up Sarah’s chicken fingers. Then Harry got to witness Danielle tucking Sarah and Ryan in for the night to give Clark and Isabelle a break.

The two decide to turn in a bit early since it had been a long day. Danielle was sitting up in bed reading her romance novel. Harry was reading the same one. They had formed a little book club with another once they found out they liked the same genre of fiction.

“Dani?” He says to her.

“Hm?” She says without looking at him.

“Do you think you wanna have kids of your own one day? Or are your kindergartners enough kids for you?”

She immediately closes her book and looks at him. She was a little shocked.

“I…I always thought if I met the right person then I’d want to have kids. Like, turning that love into something physical, you know? What’s got you asking me about kids all of a sudden?”

“In all honesty…watching you with Ryan and Sarah today sort of sparked my interest. You’re so good with them in so many different ways. I…I mean I never really thought twice about having kids, but if you and I decide this is a long term thing…I’d love to be the person you have kids with.”

“Thought you didn’t like playing the what if game.” She leans in and pecks his lips.

“I don’t.”

“Okay, so, it’s not an if with us, Harry, it’s a when.”

He smiles and kisses her tenderly.

“You’re the love of my life, you know that?” He says against her lips before kissing her again.

The school year was just about to start again. Classes would begin just after Labor Day. How were Harry and Danielle spending their long weekend? Well, she was currently bouncing up and down on his dick reverse-cowgirl on her couch while he sucked a nasty bruise into her neck, rubbing her clit with one hand, and kneading one of her breasts with the other. She felt like she was drooling from how good everything felt. The two of them had both tanned nicely over the summer, and now they Danielle was fully back in her apartment, Harry was taking full advantage.

“Fuck, fuck!” She pants. Harry was thrusting up into her, pounding against her g-spot.

It was how she liked it, she didn’t care if she was sore later, and he was happy to give it to her like this. She turns her head slightly and she licks into his mouth to suck on his tongue. He replaces his tongue in her mouth with two of his fingers, which she was happy to suck on while his fingers continued to work her clit. They had been together for a while now, and sometimes when you were a little older, time didn’t make much of a difference when you were trying to check off certain boxes with the person you loved most. So, Harry just blurts out what he’s thinking.

“I think we should move in together.” He grunts, and she gasps around his fingers.

“Wh-what?” She says, whining because she’s so very close. This wasn’t the type of talk she enjoyed during sex. “Harry, please, I’m almost there, can we talk about this after?” She tugs at his hair, making him groan.

He grips her hips, helping her rock faster on him, and she goes to rub her own clit. He was fucking so hard and deep that she thought her spine was going to crack in half, but she didn’t fucking care. She wanted it. He hits it just right again, and her eyes roll into the back of her head as her back arches, her body molding into his as she rides it out. His come shoots up inside her a moment after, and he presses his lips to her temple. She tries to move off him, but he wraps his arms around her tummy to keep here there.

“Can we talk now?” He breathes, his breath hot on the shell of her ear and she whimpers. “I really think we should live together.”

“And whose place do you want to live at, hm? We’re both pack rats, Har. We both need home offices, we both-“

“Just answer the question: do you want to live together?”

“Yes.” She looks over her shoulder at him. “I do.”

“Okay, then.” He smiles and gently lifts her off of him. “Right when we started dating, I got pre-approved for a home loan.” He wraps her up in the blanket she has on the couch and carries her into the bedroom so they can both lay down before cleaning themselves up. “I put the house hunting on hold, obviously…I’d need to get pre-approved again since the three-month window they gave me lapsed, but…I can afford a pretty decent house.” He smiles fondly at Danielle. She had that after sex glow to her, and it always made him melt.

“You…you can afford a house?”

“I can.” He nods. “Been saving up for a while. I was sort of hoping…well…we could look at houses together. I could buy it, and then we could split the mortgage payments, or I could just pay the mortgage and you could take care of the utilities and other bills. Whatever makes more sense.” He shrugs. She blinks a few times and then licks her lips.

“I just…wow, I can’t believe you wanna do something so huge with me. Buying a house with someone is a pretty big deal.”

“I feel like it makes more sense to buy the house first, and then save back up for a wedding later, but that’s just me.” He gives her a smug look and her eyes widen. “I think that’s why the divorce rate is too high, not enough people live together before they get married.” A grin starts to form on her lips. “Don’t look at me like that, we’ve talked about long-term stuff before.”

“We’ve talked about hypothetical babies, not buying a house. Do you already have a realtor?”

“No, and we don’t really need one. We can just look up the houses we wanna see and contact the realtor that’s selling the home. A friend of mine did that and they said it was a way better experience.”

“I can’t believe this.” She shakes her and then giggles, throwing her arms around his neck. “You wanna be us a house! I wish I could help with the down payment, but my student loans have prevented me from putting a lot into my savings…”

“It’s no problem. You’re able to afford this place on your own, so I figured you’d be able to help with bills and stuff.”

“I definitely will be able to.” She kisses his cheek. “Let’s go take a shower and then we can start looking on realtor.”

“Eager.” He smirks as she tugs him up from the bed.

“Now’s the time to buy! All of the snowbirds who are looking to make the big plunge to warm weather full time will be looking to get rid of their houses, and with the school year starting we don’t really have to worry about competing with families. It’s perfect, Harry!”

It was, it really was.

By the beginning of October, the two were moved into a stunning home with four bedrooms, and four baths. They got just about everything on their wish list, and anything they didn’t, Harry said he could make happen. Danielle was able to pass out candy for Halloween to the kids in the neighborhood, which delighted her to no end because a few of her new and previous students stopped by. And when it came time for Thanksgiving, even though they weren’t full unpacked, Danielle was able to host a fabulous dinner for her family.

It wasn’t always perfect, they disagreed on paint colors, furniture, curtains, and rugs. They usually found some way to compromise, though. Sometimes Danielle had trouble checking her attitude at the door. There was one evening she got home a little later than usual, so Harry got dinner started. A nice gesture on his part, which she thanked him for. However, when it came time to clean up, she wouldn’t stop huffing while she loaded the dishwasher.

“Alright, what’s wrong?” He finally asks. “Why are you reorganizing everything?”

“Because you never put anything in here right.” She snaps. “Bowls and cups go on the top rack. Look at this! You put one of the little plates up here, how the fuck is that supposed to get cleaned properly?” She says as she moves the small plate to the bottom rack. “You also don’t load the silverware correctly. Did you want me to stab myself?! I’m usually the one that has to unload it.” She huffs again after throwing a pod in and turning the dishwasher on. She crosses her arms and looks at him. “I’m your girlfriend, not your mother.”

“I never said you were.” He crosses his arms as well, astonished at her tone.

“Yeah? So, did you think that your dirty socks and underwear just magically picked themselves up and put themselves into your hamper? Did you think that the bed magically gets made? Did you think that the broom and dustpan do a little fucking dance and that’s how the shmutz on the floor gets cleaned up?!”

“You’re making it seem like I don’t do anything to help out around here. I’m the one that rakes the leaves and mows the lawn, I’m the one that has to stop what I’m doing to come kill a bug every time you yelp, I’m the one that takes care of all the trash in the house-“

“Only when I say something about it overflowing. I have to tell you to do everything!”

“Look, I’m sorry I don’t load the dishwasher in the way that you’d prefer, but the dishes get clean, so-“

“No, they don’t. I either have to run it again, or I wash the stuff by hand. We’re gonna have kids someday, Harry, I don’t want them picking up on your bad habits.”

“My bad habits?!” Okay, now he was getting angry. “I have to ask you to clean your hair out of the shower drain. In fact, your hair is fucking everywhere! You never wipe off the mirror after you pop a pimple, which you know you shouldn’t be doing anyway.” He rolls his eyes. Her face falls into a deep frown. “Not so much fun when someone’s pointing out your flaws, is it?”

“Fuck off.” She turns on her heel and makes her way out of the kitchen.

“Oh, so that’s how it’s going to be. You’re going to start an argument with me, but you’re not going to finish it?” He says as he follows her out to the staircase.

“You asked me what was wrong, and I told you.” She states.

“Yeah, but you didn’t have to be such a bitch about it.” Her eyes widen with anger at that, and her nails press into her palms. She starts stomping her way upstairs. “Dani.” He sighs. “Shit, I didn’t mean to say that.” He follows her up the stairs.

“But you did.” She goes into the bedroom and almost shuts the door in his face, but he catches it, making his way in. “You men are all the same, you know that? Any time a woman calls you out on some crap, she’s a bitch.”

“You got upset over something as insignificant as loading a dishwasher. You know we’re lucky to even have one? There are people who don’t have the luxury.”

“Yeah, I know! And I’d probably be the one to always be washing the dishes.”

“If it bothered you that much, then why didn’t you say something to me before?”

“Because I didn’t want to come off as naggy! I don’t want to be one of those women that’s always telling their partner what to do and how to do it, but holy fuck, who actually raised you?! I mean, some of the things you do, I just don’t understand.” She shakes her head.

“We were obviously raised differently.” He sighs. “You know if you just told me-“

“But I don’t want to have to tell you! I don’t want to have to ask because I shouldn’t have to.”

“I’m not a mind reader, Dani!”

“I’m not asking you to be! But when the sink is full of dishes, do you think you could take care of it without me having to mention it? Do you think that when the trash is full you could just bag it up and take it and put a new bag in? I can’t tell you how many times I’ve accidentally thrown something out without a bag being in the barrel. It drives me bananas!”

“Okay, I’ll…I’ll try to be better about those things. I don’t want you to feel like you’re having to pick up after me.” He runs a hand through his hair.

“And…I’ll try to not just explode on you when something’s been bothering me.” She sits on the bed and lays back. “Ugh, I just had a long day. Kids are starting to get colds, and the meeting I had after school just wouldn’t end, I’m supposed to get my period in a couple of days so I feel bloated and gross.” Harry sits down next to her and rubs her thigh. He looks down at her with a soft smile. “Listen to me.” She sighs. “Here I am complaining about stupid things when you literally put your life at risk every time you go to work.”

“Don’t compare us, babe. You’re allowed to feel annoyed and stressed.”

“How do you always stay so calm?” She tugs him down to lay with her.

“I don’t know. It’s hard to stay upset when I have such a cute girlfriend.” He kisses her cheek and she giggles.

“I’m sorry I got so mad.”

“It’s okay, baby.” He kisses her cheek again. “We’re bound to have an argument once in a while. The most important thing is that we always make up afterwards.” He starts kissing on her neck and she bites her bottom lip.

“Harry, I just told you that I feel bloated and gross, and-“

“So, let me make you feel not gross.” He says as he moves on top of her. “Let me love on you, darling, it’ll help you destress.” He moves her up the bed until he’s situated between her legs. He undoes her pants and drags them down her legs. “Are you wearing boxer-briefs?” He questions.

“Y-yeah? I started buying them a little while ago. They’re more comfortable, and they breathe better. Plus, no panty lines.”

“How did I not notice this?” He blinks.

“Because I usually change when I get home into something a little sexier.” She chuckles.

“Actually…” He tugs on the band and lets it snap back against her skin. “You look pretty sexy in these.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

He tugs them off of her and kisses on her tummy. He parts he legs and licks around her folds. She sighs and lets her body rest into the mattress.

“I really feel like I don’t deserve this since I was so nasty to you.” She says as she cards her finger through his hair.

“You can make it up to me by letting me fuck your mouth afterwards. Seems like you could use a break from running it, hm?” He sucks on her clit, making her groan, and she nods.

“Yeah, seems fair to me.” She gasps as he licks into her warm center, and uses his thumb on her clit. “Would you make me come a few times, though, at least?”

Her gives her a devilish smirk, which she takes as a yes while he continues to work his tongue in and out of her. He gave her four orgasms before crawling up her body and stuffing his throbbing down her throat. Feeling her nails dig into his hips as he thrusted in and out of her was everything he needed. They didn’t do stuff like this often. He didn’t want to be one of those couples where certain types of sex or positions were used as punishments. But he knew Danielle genuinely enjoyed feeling a little bit of pain, not that they’d ever talked about it. He didn’t want to embarrass her by bringing up one of her very obvious kinks. Whenever he did fuck her throat, though, she always moaned around him, and she’d end up drenched between her legs all over again, so he knew she enjoyed it. He also made sure to love on her right afterwards, praising her, telling her how good she did for him, and he’d get a glass of water for her to sip on while he cleaned her up. They had good, healthy relationship in many aspects. He loved her, he really fucking loved her, and he never wanted to be without her.

“Dani, fuck, I love you, I love you so much, shit!” He cries out as he comes down her throat. He pulls away from her carefully and she smiles up at him after swallowing. He wipes a few stray tears away from her cheek.

“I love you too.” She says, voice hoarse, but still there.

“Do you feel like taking a bath tonight? I could rub your shoulders for you.”

“I’d like that, yeah, thanks.”

A couple of months later, and it was fire safety week once again. They made it through their first holiday season together, and his thirty-third birthday. Now they had been together an entire year, owned a home together, and were looking into potentially getting a dog. Harry had told her all about the senior dogs at the shelter, and Danielle sort of liked the idea of not having to train a puppy, even if they were undeniably cute.

All of the kids in both of Danielle’s groups knew that Chief Styles was Miss Robinson’s very special friend because she had a picture of the two of them on her desk, and one of him as her desktop wallpaper. It was no surprise that some of the kids teased them a bit, and asked some personal questions, but other than that the week was going well as it usually did. When Friday rolled around, it was time for the kids to put on their performance for the fire department. It was an assembly all of the grades came to, along with the other teachers. Once the four songs, and a skit, are over, Harry goes up to give his thanks just as he did last year.

“Thank you all so much for another fantastic week. Fire safety is extremely important to learn at a young age. I know we had a lot of fun together, but remember, when you’re missing Chief Styles, don’t call 911 to talk to him. Have your parent or guardian come down to the fire house, and we can say hello there, alright?” That was usually where the assembly would end, but today things were going to go a little differently. “If I could have all of the kids back up on stage for a moment? Parents, I promise this won’t take more than a couple of minutes.”

Danielle was visibly confused because she hadn’t planned anything else with the students, and Harry hadn’t mentioned adding anything special today. So, she sat in her seat in the front row and watched. She leaned over next to one of her colleagues.

“Do you know what’s going on?” She asks.

“Just watch, Dani.” Her colleague says, and Danielle sits up straight in her seat again.

All of the kids were holding a piece of paper in their hands. It was facing blank towards the audience. Some of them were giggling as Harry and the other fire fighters placed them in certain spots. Ralph gives Harry a thumbs up, and he starts speaking into the microphone again.

“Not a lot of people know this, or maybe they do, I don’t really know, but last year was my first year getting to host fire safety week with the lovely Miss Robinson, and over this last year she’s managed to steal my heart, giving me the great privilege of calling her my girlfriend.” The kids behind him snicker and giggle. “You said you’d all be cool, come on.” He looks over at Danielle, who still really had no idea what the fuck was going on. “Miss Robinson, could you come here for a moment?”

She nods, and gets up slowly, walking over to him. He takes one of his hands in hers.

“What are you doing?” She whispers.

“You’ll see.” He winks. “Miss Robinson has taught her kids how to spell lots of interesting words already this year. She teaches them how to sound things out, and all that good stuff. I had a chance to teach them something this week and they’ve been dying to show you.” He tugs her to the side so the whole audience will be able to see. “Alright, kids, flip your papers over to show Miss Robinson.”

She gasps when she sees it, cupping a hand over her mouth as her eyes start to well up. All of the papers spelled out: M I S S – R O B I N S O N – W I L L – Y O U – M A R R Y – M E ? She looks at Harry, who was now down on one knee, holding up a gorgeous ring in a little black, velvet box.

“It says, Miss Robinson, will you marry me?” He says to her with a beaming smile.

“I can see that.” She says, wiping some tears from her cheeks.

“Will you?”

“Yes! Oh my god, yes.” Everyone in the room cheers as Harry slips the ring on her finger. He stands up, and kisses her, not to vulgarly because there were kids around, but enough to show how happy he was that she said yes. “When did you have the time to plan all of this with them?”

“Got their parents’ emails from one of the other teachers.” He smirks. “Are you surprised?”

“I’m shocked!” She turns to her students. “You all kept such a big secret from me!” They crowd around her to hug her as she opens her arms for them.

A ton of the teachers, parents, and fire fighters all come up to the congratulate the pair. Once all of the fuss is over, and the cafeteria is cleared, Harry and Danielle go back to her classroom so she can pack up her things for the day.

“Do you like the ring?” He asks nervously.

“Are you kidding, I love it! It’s so beautiful, baby.” She pecks his lips. “I can’t wait to call my parents, I’m buzzing! Think of how cute Sarah’s going to be as a flower girl. Oh, and they’ll start calling you Uncle Harry, how sweet!”

“Gonna have to let Ryan be a groomsman, or I think he’ll try to kill me.” Harry chuckles. “He’s quite protective over his Auntie Dani.”

“And don’t you forget it.” She presses her finger to his chest. He leans in and kisses her tenderly. Normally, Danielle didn’t like getting so lovey dovey in her classroom, but she figured she had a good excuse in case anyone walked in. “I still can’t believe you planned all of that and pulled it off. Those kids usually can’t keep a secret.”

“I promised them all a ride in one of the fire trucks if they kept their mouths shut.”

“Damn, that was really smart.” She chuckles.

“I’d say so.” He smirks. “Do you feel like going out to eat tonight to celebrate? Ralph and his husband were hoping to treat us.”

“Sure.” She nods. “I’ll just need to cancel my yoga classes really quick.”

“You can still teach your classes if you want. I can just tell him we won’t be ready until later.”

“No, see, I wanna go home, and stay there for a bit.” She tugs on the suspenders that were keeping his fire pants up. “I’d like to celebrate with you privately first, Chief Styles.” She takes his hat off and puts it on her own head before catching his bottom lip between her teeth and sucking on it. He groans into the kiss, and she lets his lip snap back. He had inadvertently put her into one of her ‘Chief Styles/Miss Robinson’ moods, which he wasn’t upset about in the least. “How’s that sound?”

“Well, Miss Robinson, I’d say it sounds like you’re trying to seduce me.” He smirks, and she rolls her eyes. It was her least favorite joke.

“I can’t wait to be Danielle Robinson Styles so that you can’t make that stupid fucking joke anymore. I’m not a forty-year-old woman seducing a recent college grad!” His face softens immensely. “What?”

“Nothing.” He puts his hands on her hips and gives her a squeeze. “I just…I didn’t think you’d want to change your name, is all.”

“Harry, I’d be proud to be called Mrs. Styles. Think of how cute it’ll be after we get married and I have a new class, and then when you come in for fire safety week, I’ll be able to say my husband, Chief Styles.” She pouts at him.

“Alright, it’s time we get you home before my stiffy pops through my pants.”

She giggles as she grabs her bag, and they both rush out of her classroom, and out to the car. They held hands the while way home, not wanting to be apart from one another’s touch for even a second.

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