#this sounds meaner than i mean it but i am Upset right now! | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

writefightandflightclub · 2 years

Text

Captain of the team

AKA: Santi’s a dom unless Will’s in the room

(Fem!Reader x Triple Frontier boys)

Summary: When it comes to group sex, you need one F to spell “fuuuck” and 3 M’s to spell “Mmm” (AKA, Santi’s not as straight as he thought, and other things he learns when the boys dick you down together.).

Genre: Porn with some plot.

Rating: EXPLICIT AS ALL HELL. DO NOT READ OR INTERACT UNLESS YOU ARE 18+ ⚠️

Word count: 20k. LONG, but broken into sections.

Author’s note: I know the TF x group sex / gangbang / poly sex has been DONE. The existing examples are stellar ✨ and each so unique that I haven’t really wanted to tackle it myself! Tbqh, I probably didn’t do anything fresh with the beloved trope (and oh boy this evolved so much as I was writing and became something entirely different to what I was shooting for) but I hope I managed to put some small spin on it, somehow, that means you enjoy reading this?! One huge disclaimer: Benny’s not there, I’m sorry, I know some of you will be exceedingly upset with me (but don’t hate me bc neither is Tom, okay - so bear in mind I could have been even meaner to you! 😂) Finally, READ THE WARNINGS to decide if it’s your thing. It’s far softer and ultimately more loving than it sounds when I just list out all of the explicit acts they perform (for real, who says gagging on dick can’t be romantic though, lol, it’s actually a thing that can be so personal 😆), but there are defo things in there which might not be for everyone! So, you’ve literally been warned! If it’s not for you, that’s fine! P.s . This is the theatrical release, I guess. The Director’s Cut went further with some of the kinks (I am a slut for some consensual degradation), but maybe you can convince me to share some deleted scenes, who knows? 😉 I also left it very open for prequels and sequels.

Warnings: EXPLICIT SMUT: all consensual - some consent happens off-screen. MMM on F Gangbang -> mixed M/F + M/M group sex. Things the boys to do reader (as part of planned, consensual scene): service kink; degradation; name calling (toy, slut, whore, good girl etc.) oral sex inc. gagging / brief rough oral, cum swallowing; cum play; spitting in mouth; slave/master dynamics; dom/sub dynamics (sub!reader); brief ball play (sucking, resting on face); P in V sex (unprotected); creampies; cumshots (on face / body); masturbation; fingering; oral sex (receiving); orgasm denial; anal sex (unprotected); gangbang (ish, no DP, sorry!); light slapping (clit); light choking; kissing; aftercare and lots of check-ins / love 💕 Other explicit stuff: rimming (f giving m receiving); first time having explicitly queer sex; MM anal; MM blowjob; M eating M’s cum; sub!M; MM kissing; slight praise kink including terms such as “good boy”/“baby boy”; hair pulling; slight size kink; aftercare. (ask if you’d like more info on any of the above warnings!). General warnings: alcohol mentions, Catholicism mentions, language, mild angst- implied past relationship fuck-up (vague). Disclaimer: this is not a guide to real-life sexual activity. It’s a fantasy fic! Be safe! 😊🧡

Shout-out: to @astroboots because CiCi’s Santi is basically canon to me now. Definitely influenced this Santi calling Frankie “Frank” in this fic. I didn’t used to do that but it’s the only way I can hear it now! 🙈You’re all gonna want to RUN to check out CiCi’s Homecoming series tbh, for the most beautiful Santi/Frankie/reader relationship. Trust me! 🧡 Also, I have to shout-out the OG and flawless TF gangbang fic by @mylifeliterally, the amazing Santi/Frankie threesome by @adverbedly, @autumnleaves1991-blog’s amazing Santi x reader x Benny series, and @charnelhouse’s TFboys x reader series. (What are you even doing in THIS fic to be honest because you NEED to read all of these RIGHT NOW instead!!) I’m sure there are more I need to mention too but sorry that they escape me for now! (LMK if you wanna be untagged!)

Also a huge thank you to everyone who helped me understand American football a little bit! So sorry I used my new-found knowledge in such a crude way 🍆💦😅

THEY’RE GONNA NEED A BOAT WITH HOW WET THEY’LL GET YOU 😂

Pre-Game

“You okay, baby? You ready?”. Will dips to plant a soft kiss on your temple, the moment before you enter the scene far more romantic than you’d ever have expected.

As his large, warm hands inch slow and steady down your back, over silk and lace and skin, you feel a molten heat surge in your core. A slick builds between your legs simply owing to the fact he’s fully clothed and you’re dressed in something barely there, feeling on display as his eyes rake over you.

“Yes,” you nod, a subtle hitch in your breath which grates your words - makes them husky. “Very ready.”

A knowing, confident smile inches over Will’s face and it makes you hot for him - his easy manner a clear sign of the trust and bond between you as you prepare for what lies in store beyond the door. And, even though you mirror his ease, his comfort, his piercing blue eyes study you carefully just to be sure that you want this. With affection, feeling reassured, he dips to press another tender kiss to the middle of your brow, his blond beard tickling your nose.

With a surge of confidence as you feel Will’s arousal press against your hip, you loop your arms around his neck and plant a sweet, lingering kiss to the corner of his lips. You can’t help the devilish grin which claims your face, and, feigning a coyness which you expect Will to see straight through, you bury your words against his cheek. “Do you… think they’ll enjoy me?”

Will’s chest shakes up against yours then, with a deep, resonant chuckle. It isn’t mocking - instead it is familiar, reassuring- and you can picture the creases radiating from around your golden boy’s eyes like beams of warm sun. “Don’t act all shy now, angel,” he says, tone as tender as his touch, meaning even his dirty words sound flowered. “This whole deal was your idea, you filthy little thing.”

Your lips quirk again into a mischievous smile. It was your idea, that’s right, but still, you’re not past fishing for compliments from your big strong man. “But will they? Enjoy me?” you purr.

Will’s eyes sweep over you - or as much of you as he can see with you held so close. That means your face and lips and tits, and a hum of appreciation reverberates in his chest. “Baby. How could they not?” he praises, voice thick and dripping like warm honey. “You’re delectable. Delicious.”

You love him like this, slow moving and teasing and all restrained. Will can end you with the barest of touches, as it makes you crave what you know the man is capable of unleashing. The latent power of him. The force of him.

Even now, you gasp as he gingerly grips your chin, tilting your head to the side and you follow his lead, offering your neck to him freely. The air itself grows syrupy as he sinks his pink mouth to your skin, all supple warm tongue and ticklish brush of blonde goatee against your pulse point. You whimper, as he works a chain of kisses up to the shell of your ear, decorating you with a string of glistening pearls. “So pretty,” he whispers, praises, and his voice shivers down to your bones, making you heat from within. As you whimper for him, you feel the curl of a satisfied smile against your cheek - a shifting scrape of facial hair and muscle. “So pretty… and we’re about to ruin you, Princess.”

Fuck. At the mere suggestion of what is to come, a deep note keens in your chest, breathy and pitching-up at the end - a cracked-open sound already.

You can feel Will getting excited too, the press of his warm firm body all bulges - pecs and biceps and bulk and increasingly, that thick, straining mass beneath denim.

You pull away from him though, sultry, teasing, and his lips and eyes and hands and his whole damn being chase your skin - the feel of you. His cock even fills to reach for you, the tenting arousal evident in his jeans.

“Mmmph,” Will sounds, tone petulant as he immediately feels the loss of your warmth in his arms. “Can’t I have you all to myself just a little bit longer?”

Well, now there’s a thought. The smouldering look he’s giving you is certainly tempting; but, you resist this pleasure, in favour of the pleasures in store. “No, handsome,” you coo, in a husky tone which you hope sinks all the way into his crotch. “Remember? Today you have to share.”

A gulp trails down Will’s throat and you feel some pride in it - he’s so hard to fluster - and then he is sweeping his eyes over you just once more, head to toe this time, and shaking his head in utter disbelief at the sight of you -“Goddamn”. Next, he slides his warm grip down your arm and along the underside of your wrist. As a pleasant hum beds down under your skin he raises your hand to his lips, the pad of his thumb gently stroking back and forth as he plants a kiss to each of your knuckles like some gallant prince. And then, adjusting his erection with a downwards tug on the crotch seam of his pants, he offers you an adoring, doe-eyed grin. “I can’t wait to watch you, angel. You’re gonna look so good taking care of us.”

Then, with fascination, you watch his expression and manner subtly shift. You watch him enter his role, and his eyes are sterner and colder as he turns to you. You feel a thrill deep in the pit of your stomach as he reaches one arm -roped with popping veins- up to the back of your neck and squeezes, driving you on towards the door with a measured shove, his voice a deep, dark drawl now. “Now get in there, slut, the boys are waiting.”

They are.

Waiting.

Waiting with one express purpose.

Today, Will is going to share, and together, they are going to ruin you.

First Quarter, Second Quarter

“Fuuuck,” Frankie keens, his voice deep and frayed and stuttering apart like an engine struggling to start as your mouth sinks down on his length, again and again and again with a delicious glug.

Frankie should know fine well he’s supposed to play into the role; to get a little rough with you - that’s what you want - but apparently what you’re doing to him feels far too divine for that, because instead of... anything, his head is thrown back on to the lip of the couch, his eyes screwed shut and breaths entirely ragged. And his hands? His hands are wildly fisting for some purchase, claws sinking into whatever is nearby.

Well, “whatever is nearby” happens to be the sturdy thighs of Santi and Will, respectively, sat at either side of him, both entirely rapt while watching this whole thing go down - go down your throat that is.

“Jesus. Fuck is right, Frank,” Santi says in awe, his own hard cock twitching in his pants and he has to shift in his seat - has to unzip his fly to make room because he’s too full. Too full and tender as Frankie twists, burying his head in his buddy’s neck and moaning right next to his ear, hot breath fanning over Santi’s neck and making him shiver - sending a glorious prickle crawling under his skin and all the way to the tip of his dick.

Santi’s never thought about his friend in that way -at least, not before right now, not that he’d admit- but the other man’s noises are… certainly doing something for him. Something in the crotch area, specifically.

Goddamn, so is the sight of you. Holy shit, look at you, in this silly little outfit, half your tits and ass hanging out, and that smug, self-satisfied glint in your eyes. That look in your eyes as you accommodate Frankie almost all the way. How fucking pleased you are with yourself because of the fact you have all three men sat hard and straining before you and so eager to be… serviced.

“Please, she isn’t even trying. Stop teasing and make him come, honey,” Will commands coolly, reaching across Frankie’s lap to grab you by the back of the head in his broad, sure grip. To do Frankie’s job for him and drive you down on the man’s length until you are spluttering with it.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Santi exclaims as Will holds you there and you take it, all the way, and -fuck- he had expected this would be a fun experience for him, sure, but he’d never realised how much he would enjoy watching. Watching Will’s brow burdened with purpose, face stern and all angles and his piercing blue eyes cold and hard and intimidating. Watching Frankie lose it, eyes screwed shut and lips parted and squirming - almost bucking off the couch in ecstasy and desperately clawing at anything he can touch like something feral. And those noises out of his mouth? Holy shit.

Finally, and last but definitely not least, Santi is awed by the sight of you, so dutifully gagging on Frankie’s length as Will holds you down. Holds you until you can’t take it - until you tap out with your palms on their thighs and he allows you to surge off of him, all spluttering noises and cock swollen, spit-shined lips, still linked to Frankie by gossamer threads, and that alone would be enough - more than enough to tip Santi over the edge but you don’t relent there though; no. Next, your hand wraps around the slick base of Frankie’s cock, making him look huge in your grip, your liberal spit inching down over his balls and you begin to pump, your tongue and lips working all over Frankie’s shaft and his artfully contoured head until he is undone and filling your mouth up.

Fuck, that’s a pretty mouth.

Fuck, that’s a pretty cock too.

Santi’s own arousal throbs, in dire need of some attention by now, and so he grips himself in the circle of his hand and squeezes a little. Squeezes; however, he immediately has to stop. Has to stop pumping himself or he’d nut at the sight of Frankie still pulsing his seed into your throat, flooding over your tongue, that deep crimson flush over the ruddy head of him, and fuck, you’re swallowing it down and all the while you’re looking at Santi. Looking at Santi and giving him the eye since it’s no use looking at Frankie - the man’s head buried in Will’s chest by now, the larger man smoothing his hand over his cheek and his patchy beard and helping him come back down with a smug grin plastered over his chiselled features.

So, here you are instead, eyeing Santi like nothing he’s ever seen -as though you’re promising him “you’re next” even as you swallow Frankie’s load down with relish, his hot cum slipped down your throat and the residual salt tang of him being licked from your teeth and lips and fuck if Santi doesn’t wanna kiss you while you still taste of him.

Santi doesn’t kiss you though. Doesn’t make a move to. Doesn’t make any move at all. Just sits there with his jaw slack and his dick in his hand as though he’s not good at this. As though he’s forgotten all the ways he can take a woman apart or all the ways he might get his rocks off. Instead of making a move -the thing he does, the thing he’s fucking known for- he’s holding his own dick in his hand and he can hardly believe what he’s seeing. Can hardly believe it’s true.

It all feels unreal; something akin to the moments after an explosion when all there is is ringing - blurred noise and slurred sound and blurred reality except this time it’s a good thing, his body vibrating; humming with pleasure already and you haven’t even touched him.

You haven’t touched him… yet, but the dark promise in your eyes hints at what’s coming.

He’s next.

And so, after doing a thorough job of milking Frankie for every drop, draining his balls dry, you lift off the man’s softening dick with a pop, his flushed head shined and sucked clean, and yet you only look hungry for more.

Hungry, and you bite your lower lip and dip your head - playing all deferential - and you look to Will. You look to Will, and Santi always fancied himself in charge but it’s obvious now - it’s Will, isn’t it? The only fucker in the room holding it together, sitting there with a shit-eating grin and looking about as fucking pleased with himself as you do while he watches his woman dismantle his buddies, taking them apart piece by mother-fucking piece.

“Enjoying yourself, baby?” Will asks you in his deep, steady drawl and you offer him a wicked smile. You are brazen as all hell, looking your fucking boyfriend in the eye while your lips and chin are still shined with spit from gagging on Frankie’s size and Santi can’t handle how fucking hot you are. How this is the hottest fucking thing he’s ever done, ever seen, and you still haven’t even touched him.

“Yeah, I thought so, you fucking whore,” Will scolds, his expression darkening, the smile dropping from his face and his words gathering dark. “Give Pope’s cock some attention now, you greedy little toy.”

Fuck. He’s next.

Santi’s next and he feels already like he’s floating outside of his own body. Floating like he’s in some fever dream, but somehow Will’s voice drags him back into the room. “You good, Pope?” Will asks with just a hint of amusement as his buddy is lost for words, and Santi finally shivers down into his own body. Will’s voice is steady - deep and earthy, and Santi realises suddenly that it always did ground him, even in the heat of battle. Always brought him back to the moment, giving him comfort and purpose, Will a constant calm amidst choas.

Santi blinks wordlessly still -has he even fucking said anything this whole damn time?- his jaw dropped open and his lashes fluttering as though he’s a shy virgin or some shit. “Uh… uh-huh,” he insists, voice grogged by lack of use, and a slow pearly smile drags over Will’s chiselled features. “Good. Want a turn of her?” he offers, and fuck, was his voice always so deep? Did it always hit so deep?

Does he? Does he want a turn? Hell, yeah he does. He’ll probably nut in you in seconds but yes - yes he fucking does, thank you very much.

“Yes,” Santi rasps, and the word barely comes out, so he tries it again. “Yes. Yeah, I do. Please.” Fuck if he knows why he’s being so damn polite about it, but it is what it is. He needs you. He’d beg for it if he had to but look at you, so willing.

“Yeah you fucking do,” Frankie praises as he comes back down to earth, still panting as he turns his head back from Will’s chest, bringing his voice tantalisingly close again to Santi’s ear, his lips so close to the bare skin at the column of his neck that if he leaned a little he could kiss him. “Shit. Feels so good in that wet little mouth, man.”

Christ, Frankie talking dirty is something else.

“Give him a turn,” Will orders coolly, eyebrows raised and head dipped and tone stern like he won’t fucking tell you again. The Miller brother is apparently the only one of the lot of them hitting the brief, even as his own erection sits nestled beneath the band of his black underwear, his jeans unzipped to offer breathing room to the veiny, straining mass of him.

This brief, this idea? It was you - it was all you, and then suddenly it was all of them too.

You had this fantasy, see. About being used. But not just being used by anyone. Being used by them. About them all watching the game -or whatever, something on the flatscreen. Ignoring you mostly, except for when you were serving them. Bringing them snacks, beers, anything they asked for, whilst wrapped up like a present in this obscenely skimpy little outfit. And then, the scene progressing. Serving them in other ways too, while they treated you like a little toy, made for their pleasure. While they watched the game or whatever and barely acknowledged you except when they were using you to get off.

You’d been very clear about that. Very explicit about how you enjoyed being degraded a little. You’d wanted them almost bored with it.

Well, it’s funny then, isn’t it? Because Santi has never been further away from bored in his goddamn life. He has never been so riveted, so captivated, and all he’s done so far is sat with his dick in his hand and fucking watched.

You flash a bratty, insolent look to Will as he speaks - God you’re a minx, fucking delicious - and the man licks his lips at the sight of you, kneeling and compliant and eager and about to be used all over again. Santi watches Will work his throat around a hard swallow. Watches his eyes darken with lust all his own and he knows the man’s envisaging taking his turn with you. And on the flip side, Santi is engrossed with the way you are held rapt as well, bound and controlled effortlessly by Will’s cool, quiet authority. Speaking of: “Stop distracting me from the game and suck on Pope’s cock - I won’t be pleased if I have to make you.”

Well, Santi’s definitely not going to argue with that plan - and it looks like you’re not either. He’s certainly not; not after the noises Frankie was just making. “Yeah, yeah,” he encourages, whisper soft, tipping his chin up as you slink towards him on your knees, an utterly devastating glint in your eye. “That’s it, hermosa,” he encourages, voice sunken with need and barely there - as if he’s never given an order in his fucking life. Never spoken a word in his fucking life. “Come put your mouth on me.”

Christ - never mind Frankie coming apart- he couldn’t have looked further from bored while you sucked him off and Santi’s not sure he’s got the memo either. You want him to be mean, but look at you. He just wants to fucking worship you.

He loves you too much to-

No. Wait.

No. He parks that thought for later. Buries it even. Maybe for a therapy session where he can talk about why on Earth he’d fall for his best friend’s girl.

Instead, he focusses up. After all, it’s not like he isn’t into the idea of all this - not like he doesn’t get the premise of all of them treating you some kinda way. For sure, it turns him on too - more than he could have realised.

Even the discussions beforehand had gotten Santi as hard as a rock. In the weeks leading up to this, he can’t remember ever jerking off quite so vigorously or so often. Can’t remember coming quite so hard in a long while. The conversations about which skimpy little outfit you would wear, and the fashion shows which followed. Talking about exactly what you liked (and didn’t), exactly what they could do to you (and what they couldn’t). What you could do to them and all the ways how. You’d all been meticulous about planning it - Will especially, of course, like it was a fucking military operation. Hell, Santi could swear they’d done less prep pre-Lorea.

Everyone was clear on their role; but, now that Santi has you here, on your knees like this, fuck if he doesn’t want to give you every shred of his focus and attention like you deserve.

Luckily, he’s a generous lover - if you want him to be mean, he can do that for you. Can give you what you need - take care of you like that. “Yeah, come here,” he coaxes you, his voice finally coming back to him, laying a sugared-trap. “Open your mouth,” he commands - still softly, still brandishing his ruddy, veined length in his hand, a purple flush creeping over the head of him. Shifting his hips forward on the couch so that he can smack you in the cheek with his need-laden cock a few times for good measure, before dipping the head of him into your wetness and warmth, letting the heaviness of him fall over your tongue and the weight of his hand settle on top of your head. “There you go, baby girl,” he soothes as you take him, opening up around him and getting used to his girth. “That’s it. Such a good little toy.”

Shit, Frankie wasn’t wrong, you feel good - and a cracked, disbelieving laugh even keens in his throat, his hips jolting up on instinct as he seeks to bury himself balls-deep in your mouth.

“Hnnng. You look pretty getting sucked off, Pope,” Frankie rumbles next to his ear and fuuuuck.

Santi could nut right now. “Unnf, you fucking asshole, Frank,” he curses, as he feels a jolt of pleasure zip along his length - making his whole body tingle.

But, thankfully -and he’s not even sure how- Santi remembers his role, and maybe that’s a good thing right now. Maybe it’s a good thing that he can simply guide your head down on his shaft like you’re a little toy. That he can simply sit there in his baseball cap, jeans pushed down around his hips, obnoxiously chewing his gum and ever so casually fucking into you. Watching the flickering flat screen and focussing on the background drawl of the commentator instead of how good it feels between his legs. Maybe it’s a good thing - because if Santi directed his full attention to you, like he wants to - if he directed his attention to Frankie or even Will, each of them languidly stroking their hard-ons in his periphery... If he did that, he’d come undone right there and then, and after so long waiting for you, he is keen to make this last.

That’s all very well, except - ohhhhh. Ah. Jesus, where did you misplace your gag reflex all of a sudden because he’s fucking buried in you to the hilt, your nose settled all the way down into the patch of dark curls, forehead pressed against the slight softness of his stomach.

Grabbing your hair in his fist, Santi pulls you off him urgently, his hips stuttering, breathing deeply until he can regain some morsel of control.

You look at him then - how you had looked at him once, so many years ago; before Will - your gaze veiled with innocence and lashes batting up at him and devouring him and wrecking him and he can hardly tear his eyes away.

Apparently the others can’t look away from you either, resonant hums of approval coming from his right, hands pumping their stiffened cocks with increasing vigour.

Still, Frankie pauses his own ministrations for a moment as Santi gusts out a breath, warm and sweating and shuddering and on the edge. “Come here, idiota,” the man breathes, deceptively soft, gingerly lifting the baseball cap from off of Santi’s head and rifling a hand through his grizzled curls for good measure.

Santi tries to ignore all of it. You, the look of you, the feel of you. The way Frankie’s small act of service makes his stomach flip. The way your hands are pressed flat and snaking up his thighs. The way Frankie’s hand lingers on his head a little longer than necessary, fingers raking through the length at his crown. “Better?” Frankie asks him, in a familiar tone. A tone that says he promises to always be there when Santi is in a pinch. To be there whether he’s bleeding out on some jungle floor or whether he’s too drunk on your mouth to take his hat off while you suck his balls dry.

“Better?” Frankie repeats, and Santi imagines answering his question with a kiss, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t yet, but as he turns his head to his buddy there is the hint of a promise there too. A promise that he’ll get his turn as well. A promise Santi would be keen to chase if you weren’t sucking his soul out of his dick like you’re trying to exorcise him from his own body. “Fuck. Look at this, boys,” Santi says in awe before he even really realises what he’s saying. “Fucking look at this pretty little slut choking on my cock.”

The boys chuckle next to him, throaty and deep and gruff and it does things to him, especially as your tongue circles diligently around the tip of him. “She loves your cock, Pope,” Will drawls. “Uhhh. Look at her - the little cumslut’s so hungry for your load.”

Santi wasn’t ready. Ready and willing, yes; but not prepared. For how much he’d enjoy being watched.

And, uhhhhh, holy shit, apparently you liked being talked about like this - like you’re not even there as they compare notes - because next, you hum pleasantly around his length. You suck him more vigorously and reach your hand up to squeeze and tug his balls, and Santi tips his head right back, moaning into Frankie’s neck as you work him.

Jesus, the man smells good.

“Fuuuck, cariño,” Frankie breathes, a tremor in his voice and Santi isn’t even sure. Isn’t sure whether his buddy is talking to you or to him; but part of him doesn’t much care - either way he likes it.

Santi is on the edge. He’s on the edge and, in this moment, he looks to Will, a helpless, sideward glance. He looks to Will because of course he does. Because that’s who everyone looks to when they’re in need, when they’re needy, when they need an order, and he watches Will tug his shirt off over his head, putting his rippling muscles on display, his latent power obvious and primed and his blue eyes intent on your mouth and Santi’s cock filling it. Looking at him too. Enjoying him too.

Fuck.

Santi’s eyes screw shut then and he’s not faring much better than Frankie had by this point - not that’s he’s complaining - the sight of you and sound of Frankie and raw power of Will almost too much. Almost. Too much and yet somehow he wants… more.

“Wait ‘til we’re all done with you. Gonna paint you with cum, baby. Fill all your greedy holes, huh?” Santi moans hard when Will says that, and his eyes would roll back into his head -probably- if they weren’t already fluttered closed, long dark lashes fanning on his cheek.

He wants to. Wants to paint you. Fill you. But Santi listens to Will and he can almost imagine the man is talking to him. About him and not you.

That thought, along with the wicked sensations you’re delivering gets Santi far too close to the edge all over again, and so he tugs on your hair to have you release him from the wet, slippy channel of your throat. His busted knees quaking beneath him -so much so that he thinks this might be it, might finally be the moment they decide give out- Santi stands, tugging his tee over his head and tossing it aside. Shifting his jeans and boxers further down his thighs with a jangle of his belt, baring his ass to Frankie and Will and not caring.

And then… Then, he looks back at you, kneeling ever so obediently and expectantly at his feet. With a grunt, his brow burdened with a furious need, Santi takes his length in his own fist and begins to pump, with a pace suggesting he’s about to spill his load. You simply smirk deliciously, raising an eyebrow and tipping your face up towards him before closing your eyes and bracing - flinching at intervals as you await the sudden spurt of thick ropes of come being dumped over your face. “Nuh-uh. Open your mouth, you little slut,” he growls, enjoying this power play, the mischievous glint in your eyes encouraging him. “Open your mouth. Gonna come over your tongue and I don’t want you to swallow. Keep it in there, understand? Let me see it.”

He hears a needy, awed moan from behind him and meanwhile a whine slips from your lips - the sounds a divine contrast of hard and gruff and sweet and liquid.

You answer him, making the closest sounds to a yes Santiago as you can with your mouth open wide for him, pink tongue glistening. E, aaa-eee-aaa-ooo.

And then, Will is standing too to get a better view. Frankie also. The men stand until they’re all crowding you, lengths brandished as you kneel. They are stood forming a gaggle around you, delivering mumbled, awed words of both praise and degradation, the syllables mingling with the wet, rhythmic fap of Santi’s hand and then…

Liquid.

Warm and sudden ropes of salt sprayed into your mouth, over your lips, across your cheek as Santi’s aim falters in the moment. As he stutters his hips into his hand and paints you with his thick, pearly seed.

“Good girl. Good fucking girl,” Will praises.

“Show me,” Frankie asks in awe and you stick out your tongue, almost proudly. You exhibit your face covered in his load and slipping from your smooth skin, coursing down towards your jaw.

Then, Will grabs the underside of your chin in his hand and stoops over, his long, toned body hinging at the hips. “Yeah, show us. Keep that pretty mouth open.” You moan, flowered vowel noises and Will just grips you harder, tipping your chin up and ceremoniously spitting in your mouth.

Well, fuck.

If Santi could come all over again - if it was possible - he thinks he would in that moment, watching Will do this to you and you loving it. Listening to him order you around. Telling you to swallow down Santi’s load then show them all your mouth is empty. Dragging your head towards his crotch so that he can rest his balls over your mouth and nose, rubbing them on you and moving the remaining come -his come- around your face.

Santi wonders if Will might take your mouth too, but he’s still showing some restraint it seems. Still patiently waiting his turn, and so instead, his touch softens around your jaw. He strokes your cheek tenderly despite the mess of spit and seed. “You good, baby?” he asks you softly, checking-in. “You liked that, huh?”

Will brings you to standing and you grip his forearms to steady yourself and you smile - a bright, beautiful smile that knocks Santi for six. Then, you tongue the remaining pearls of him from your lips before wiping your mouth on the back of your arm. “Fuck, yeah.”

Will looks at you and the energy between the two of you is sizzling. Alive and consuming and Will’s hard as a rock between your bodies and God, Santi would love to watch the man take you. Would love to watch his primed, coiled muscles in action, dominating your form. It’s not like he hasn’t thought about it before. Hasn’t imagined it.

“Let me feel you, huh?” Will purrs, his lips twitching into a smile. “Let me feel how wet you are?”

Santi watches, his jaw dropped open all over again, still reeling from that orgasm and still unable to tear his eyes away from you. Unable to move away as Frankie wraps and arm around his bare shoulders and tugs him a little closer into his side, even as he puts his dick away and pulls up his jeans.

Santi and Frankie both watch, as Will’s hand winds around your hips and ass and disappears in between your thighs, and they don’t see his fingers spear you from this angle but they see it play across your face, the flutter of your eyes and the knitting together of your brows and the way you almost collapse into Will, arms bundling into his sturdy chest as you are finally allowed a morsel of pleasure for yourself. They hear Will’s halfway wicked chuckle as he works himself inside you, his arm pumping, roped with popping veins and tendons. “Fucking dripping,” he drawls, managing to sound impressed and scolding all at once as you languish against him, and Santi swears he can hear your slick being forced out of you.

Then, Will abruptly removes his hand from beneath your excuse for a skirt, earning a groan from you and revealing his two middle fingers to the other men. They are glistening up to the knuckle with your juices, which he smears unceremoniously along your chest as he wipes himself clean on you.

“Think you’re having too much fun, whore,” Will scolds, tugging your outfit down over your tits and grabbing one breast harshly in his broad grip, giving it a tug. “Don’t go forgetting your place, Princess. This isn’t for you, understand?Fuck. Santi should move, he thinks. Say something, do something. Anything. Totally should; but he can’t. He’s rooted to the spot, Frankie’s arms still wrapped around his shoulders. “Now go and get some beers and make yourself useful.”

Will’s tone is harsh yet playful - just as playful as the look in your eyes as you nod deferentially in response to his command, and the small exchanges are not lost on Santi. He sees when Will crooks his finger and massages that spot just behind your earlobe. He sees his blue eyes search yours until you give him a soft nod of reassurance, Will dipping to whisper that he’ll be right out before his eyes follow you adoringly out of the room.

Then, standing there like a fucking Adonis, shirtless and powerful and with his jeans wide open at the crotch, the band of his boxers slung under his shaft and balls and not a hint of embarressment or self-consciousness as his erection looks fit to burst, Will turns the scope of his attention towards the remaining people in the room. Of course, that’s Santi and Frankie. “Well?” he asks, surely knowing the answer already. “Enjoying my girl?”

Santi lets out a choked sound which he hopes passes for “yes”, and to his side Frankie expels a throaty chuckle- a noise that Santi always thought was one of the most beautiful in the damn world but which sounds even more gorgeous post-BJ, apparently. “She’s a dream, man.”

She -you… you are a dream, alright.

Will’s eyes sparkle with pride and he slaps Frankie on the upper arm, before turning to Santi. “You okay, Pope? You look wrecked.”

“Yep. M’good.” He is good, and his whole body is still humming pleasantly.

Still, Will steps a little closer to smooth his palm across the stubble on the smaller man’s cheek, before -to Santi’s surprise- dipping to plant a smacker of a kiss to the centre of his forehead. “You beautiful fuckers,” he grins, smiling at the both of them, and then, an aside. “Take care of him, Frankie, while I check on my Princess?”

“Got it.”

Santi should feel offended at the insinuation he needs taking care of, perhaps, but as Frankie’s warm eyes fall on him that thought falls out of his head and he simply staggers backwards, seating himself on the couch with a huge, contented sigh, his legs all nervy and shaking.

Will turns back briefly when he reaches the door, with one final thought. “There’s some water and-“

“-Go. I know how to take care of him,”Frankie insists, almost defensively, and, with a nod, Will takes his cue to leave. Then, Frankie crouches before Santi and smooths a hand on top of his thigh, his voice hitting far different when directed towards him. Somehow fuller. Richer. “I know how to take care of you, huh, pendejo?

“Yeah, Frank,” Santi admits, and he doesn’t know why his chest tightens with emotion in that moment, but it does.

Meanwhile, Frankie reaches over to the cooler by the couch and grabs a chilled bottle of water. “Good. Now drink up. Judging by the size of your load you just lost half your bodily fluids. Christ.”

Santi’s chest shakes with a hearty chuckle. “Was fucking good man. I’m still shaking.”

“Yeah. Yeah, man… and we’re just getting started.” Frankie slaps his hand on to Santi’s thigh, but then it just… lingers there, his touch warm even through the denim.

Santi’s softening cock twitches inside his jeans. It’s not lost on him that Frankie is in the same position you were moments ago. Not lost on him at all.

The two men lock eyes then, and Frankie abruptly clears his throat, surging up from the floor and reaching up to tame his mussed hair. “Stop staring and drink up, pendejo,” Frankie warns, and Santi softens the intensity of his stare.

Still, Frankie’s words echo in his mind, and he can’t help but stare just a little, especially as the man zips his jeans up over his softening length, his trimmed pubes still peeking out above the waistband.

We’re only just getting started.

Half-time

“Hey, beautiful.” Will announces himself before slipping up behind you in the en suite, gently wrapping his arms around you as you gargle mouthwash - getting the residue of cum from out of your mouth before round 2.

After you spit, he settles his hand at the back of your neck, his thumb stroking back and forth. “You okay, baby? Not too rough? Too… anything?”

“No. If anything you’re going easy on me, Captain. Sent me away after two dicks,” you sing-song.

Will chuckles. “It’s not you I’m worried about. Honestly, I think Pope needed a minute. Talk about living up to his call sign - I think you actually made him see God.”

“Hmm. Well I have been told my blow jobs are a religious experience,” you guffaw, spinning in the loop of Will’s arms until you face him, getting to see his bright smile head-on. “Really though, is he doing okay?”

“Mmm, yeah,” Will reassures, a little frown appearing at his brow. “I just wonder… if things take the direction I think they might, are you good if we change the scene up a little?”

“What did you have in mind?”

“Let’s just say, it would involve a different kind of teamwork.”

“Okay,” you nod, and Will is surprised that you don’t ask for more details. “I trust you to keep us safe, baby.”

Will’s eyes glow with more than a little pride at that - a pride which quickly shifts into hunger. “God. Let me kiss that dirty mouth of yours, hmm?” You tip your chin eagerly towards him and he swipes his tongue into your mouth, his hands slipping down to knead the meat of your bare ass beneath this skimpy outfit. “Mmm. Can I feel how wet it got you again? Please?”

“This is merely the staging area, Captain Miller. If you want to sample me you’ll have to wait your turn downstairs.”

He swipes his tongue into your mouth again, the kiss hungrier. “Hmmph. Good thing I like waiting.”

You smile and wriggle playfully out of his grip. He makes it easy - he unhands you immediately - and you finish straightening yourself up in the mirror. “Now… do I still look pretty?”

“Even more delectable.”

“See you in there?”

“Mmm-hmm. Okay, baby.” He dips to steal another quick kiss, his tongue shoving over yours and earning a horny groan from him. “You still taste of cum, you slut.”

“Love you too,” you coo with a teasing, devious smile.

Will winks as he sweeps out. “Damn. I’m a lucky man.”

“You sure are,” you tease. “Now go join the other lucky fuckers downstairs and I’ll be right with you.”

As Will sweeps out and you watch his broad form disappear, with a final glance over his shoulder and a charming yet hungry smile, you feel somehow like you’re the lucky one.

Quarter Three

Santi isn’t ready for it. Well- that’s not quite true. He is ready and willing, but he isn’t prepared. Isn’t prepared for how good it feels. How good it looks.

He watches Frankie pull you into his lap and pop your tits from out of this silly little outfit. He watches the man gather your breasts in his broad palms and mouth at your nipples, while you make these pathetic, delicious little noises which send blood thumping straight to his cock.

He watches you be dragged off of Frankie by Will, big strong Will, as a punishment for your moans - for the way you had begun to grind your heat down on to Frankie’s denim-clad erection to get yourself off. And, it wasn’t lost on Santi that seeing Will hoist you off of the other man -seeing that latent strength in action, for the first time in a long while- was a thing of beauty. Something that made his whole body tingle.

Then, Santi watches you being a little brat about it, until Will begins to call you the kinda names which make you bite your lip and squeeze your thighs together. Names which make you wilt against him even as his hand is clasped around your chin and jaw, dragging you up until you are standing taller. Names he doesn’t mean because the man fucking adores you - that much is obvious.

You trust each other, and it’s a beautiful thing to witness. More than that; you make Will trust himself. If you didn’t, there’d be no way Will would wrap his hand around your throat like this. No way you’d let him. Not after what he’s done.

In awe then, Santi watches. Watches as Will moves and manipulates you so easily. He transports you to the table, bending you over it to reveal your exposed, tight little holes to everyone in the room. Making a show of you -if you can’t be a good toy I’ll get your holes out for everyone to see- Santi and Frankie both instinctively standing and crowding around you, hungry for a better view.

You moan as Will pulls up this flimsy little strip of fabric passing for a skirt, pushing it up past your hips and putting all of you on display for them, the globes of your ass and meat of your thighs, and that perfect glistening slit.

Will grabs your hands and holds them behind your back as you squirm your ass and hips on nothing. “Oh you like this? Little whore wants some cock, is that it? That why you’re acting up? You a thirsty little slut? A fucking attention whore?”

With a grunt, Will snakes his broad hand up your back to pin your torso down on to the surface of the table. With his other arm, his thick fingers skim idly -haphazardly, roughly- over your heat, and they come away glistening with you. Santi is rapt, as, with firm, indiscriminate pressure the man begins spreading your slick around, playing with it, spreading it over your clit and lips and one finger circling your little asshole, making the rim of it gleam, all inviting. He can’t look away as Will slaps your pussy, watching the way you writhe and moan for him so beautifully when he does it.

Santi is so aroused he almost feels light-headed.

“Fuck you’re wet. You’re enjoying this. Being on display, aren’t you? I’m just going to leave you here until we’ve all had a go, hmm? Until your holes are full of our cum.”

Santi is so hard it’s bordering on painful.

Then, without warning, Will spears two fingers inside your heat, all the way to the knuckle and you yelp, a high-pitched noise which bottoms out into a deep, chesty groan, a shiver of pleasure undulating right through your body as his girth drags through your walls and over your g-spot.

“Ready for some cock, alright,” Will confirms. “Shall I show them how to use you?”

“Yes. Yes please,” you beg, voice all throaty and undone.

Fuck this is better than anything Santi’s ever seen - in real life or in porn.

“So needy. Where do you want it?”

“In my pussy. Please.”

Then, just like that, Will’s perfect, pretty length is sunk into you, his hips pistoning back and forth, allowing no time for you to adjust to his size and taking you anyway.

His eyes roll to the sky as he is gripped by your tightness and Santi’s own cock pulses; aching, needing something.

Then, Santi is watching Will flip you on to your back, spreading your legs wide open and getting you to hold them there as he grips your ass in his palms and slams you down on to his length, his arms all bulges and his sculpted abs undulating as he works his hips.

The sounds are something else. The obscene wetness, the slap of balls against skin, the staccato grunts of Will and your cresting moans which give way to fast, abortive moans, your lips dropped open in a silent scream of pleasure.

Then, Will hinges at his hips to bring his chest down towards yours, one arm bracing against the table and the other gripping your jaw.

“You a filthy slut? You love having me balls deep in your cunt while my buddies watch?”

Will knows exactly what he’s doing. Knows that the fresh angle makes his stomach grind down on your clit. Knows how his power gets you off. Knows just what you like. Indeed, you moan a throaty affirmative, and Will clamps his free hand on your jaw until you open up for him, dipping to spit right in your mouth and over your cheek as he continues pumping in and out of you, pleasure ripping through you and maybe just a hint of pain too - only in a way you like, never more than you enjoy.

Fuck.

“Open your eyes and look at them while I fuck you. Look at them, all hard for you. Look who’s gonna be inside you next.”

The juxtaposition between the hardness and softness is something else. Will’s tight body slamming you so hard the whole table rocks, heavy balls slapping, muscles firm and pumped as he holds you in place; and yet the softness too. The lilting curve of his lips against your cheek when he folds to whisper in your ear. The unconscious kiss he plants just behind your earlobe. The way a large portion of his strength is still reined in, because he doesn’t want to hurt you; would really never hurt you in ways you didn’t like.

You start to whine and squirm all of a sudden like you’re close and Will laughs, drawing back to be perpendicular to your body, slapping your clit with a firm hand and making you yelp. “Oh no you don’t,” Wills scolds, and before you can find your release he denies you, pulling out at the last minute and groaning deep and low as he pulses creamy ropes over your stomach, cock twitching as he ekes out every drop to paint you with, watching his load pool and glisten on your belly. He grins down at you as his breaths steady, the man recovering remarkably quickly. Thriving from it. Somehow able to find words when Santi is rendered speechless and he’s only watching.

“Pope, you want a go of our little toy next? Fucked her open but she’ll fit you like a glove.”

Does he? Of course he fucking does; but he’s also fascinated by the planes of Will’s shirtless body. By the way he manipulates you so effortlessly - throws you around and puts you where he wants you - exactly how he wants you. He’s also fascinated by Frankie, his long, thick cock slightly incongruous with his lithe, soft frame. And, he’s fascinated by you. That look on your face as you hold your own legs open, unfulfilled and your pussy fluttering on air, your red-stained lips dropping open and your eyes fluttering shut.

Santi swallows, and he wants to make a move but he doesn’t. Instead, he thinks about how Frankie’s cock might look filling you up, all that size disappearing into you.

“Wanna watch Frank fuck her,” Santi says at the same time he thinks it, immediately nervous that’s he’s said the wrong thing as soon as the words are past his lips - but then Will is saying okay then and holding his damn hand out to Santi and Santi takes it and he feels safe with Will. Big strong Will, who Santi’s never called that in his head ever before today but hell, apparently now he is, and pretty Francisco, his hair curling up about his ears from writhing his head about the couch cushions and his eyes and his stomach all soft but his voice so fucking gruff and hard. And then there’s you. You all over again, and Santi might be a lapsed Catholic but, fuck, you could make him believe in heaven.

Everywhere Santi looks there is something gorgeous; someone gorgeous, and then Will is slapping the subtle curve of Frankie’s ass with a hearty, locker room chuckle as the man lines himself up with your entrance, that thick head notching against your hole. And you.

Oh god, you. Santi knows he’s meant to be mean, but wants to stroke your hair and shush you as Frankie fills you rough and balls deep, you beautiful thing.

“You okay, baby?” Will asks you, breaking the scene for a moment. “You ready for him?”

“Yes, m’good. Please Cat’. Fucking need you.”

Frankie makes a strangled sound in his throat at how desperate you are for him, and Santi finds himself pumping his length in the circle of his hand. He has to. He needs some friction.

“Tease her a little and she’ll beg you, ‘Cat,” Will offers. “It’s fucking beautiful.” Then, the hunk of a man turns his attention towards Santiago, and a heat prickles across the back of his neck, his body standing taller and stiffer - muscle memory firing as though he’s about to get an order. Standing to attention for Will, in so many ways. “You okay, Santiago? Still with us? You need to stop or take 5?” Fuck, there’s something about Will first naming him in that voice which gets his dick gets even harder than he would have thought possible.

Then Will is closer. Slipping his hand around the back of Santi’s neck to better search his eyes, but his touch trails and lingers on him a little longer, calloused pads of fingers smoothing up and into his hairline.

“Yes. Yes, I’m good,” Santi confirms, his voice sunken by need, wet and liquid and no sand left in his throat.

For a split second, Santi imagines his tongue buried in Will’s mouth - imagines the rough friction and rasp of stubble against beard like he could light a match, but then he is suckered in entirely by the sweet sight of you.

You and Frankie.

“Please. Please Frankie, fill me up,” you plead pathetically and he pushes -no, glides- inside your wetness, his hands gripping your hips and a faltered moan falling from his plush lips as he bottoms out.

“Fucking beautiful,” Will praises, looking like the cat that got the cream as he witnesses some other dude spearing his girl wide open. And fuck, it looks like Frankie is stretching you to your limit.

Santi’s cock is aching in his own hand as he watches it - watches Frankie’s dick surging in and out of you, gleaming with your creamy juices. Watches the way his size spreads your lips apart, making them all flushed and glistening as they cushion him. Your little asshole just visible when Frankie pulls out - all tight and puckered and begging for a cock too, he’d guess.

Frankie bottoms out again with a cascading groan - jeez this man is a vocal lover - and then he’s moving, pumping into you, bending his knees and getting the perfect angle to fuck up into you - the perfect angle for him, not for you, even if you do seem to be enjoying it.

“Look at Frankie go,” Will bids him, and Santi’s cheeks flush at the man’s knowledge he is looking; watching.

“She feel good, Frank?” Santi asks with a swipe of his tongue along his lower lip, and Frankie replies in the affirmative, his words barely intelligible; and then, Santi asks you a question. A question which makes his heart throb in his neck when he realises how desperately he wants the answer. “Does Frank’s cock feel good inside you, baby?”

Does it? Does it feel good? It looks like it would feel good.

You spill profuse praises, causing Frankie’s legs to tremble as he fucks you, and then Will is moving, coming up next to your face to shut you up and pressing his dick towards your mouth. “Come here baby. Lick up the mess you made of me.” With an obliging hum you wrap your lips and tongue around the head of him, sucking diligently on him even as Frankie’s cock is pounding you, sending shockwaves rippling through your flesh.

Santi watches as Will reaches to roughly knead your breasts and pinch your nipples, and he sees a shudder course all the way down your body like a wave, your hips adjusting to a new angle around Frankie and making him tip his chin to the sky and breathe quick and ragged to stave off his end.

“Fuck, she likes that. Do that again, William. Feels fucking perfect on my cock.”

You laugh. You laugh musically with Frankie deep in you and Will thumbing your nipples and it’s actually fucking beautiful. This messy, beautiful thing, and your laugh brings Santi back to his body.

To his needy body.

Santi palms himself, focussing on the head of him, just enough pressure to stay rock hard - not that he reckons he’d have any trouble while watching this.

Fuck, Santi thought he’d be more… dominant but he… he just…

He swallows.

He wants Will to tell him what to do. He wants Will to tell him what to do to you. What to do to Frankie… because he wants to do everything and he’s too spoilt for choice to choose and…

Fuck.

He wants…

“Santiago,” you croon, desperately, voice hoarse with need and stretching out the vowel sounds and extending your hand towards him. Your attention on him for a moment, even if you’re getting dicked down by two delicious specimens, Frankie filling you and Will gradually engorging all over again in your mouth until he’s stretching your cheek. And Santi almost turns around and looks behind him when you moan his name because it can’t be him you need, can it? Don’t you have everything you need? “Santi, please,” you beg, and the effects of your wanton plea ripple through each of the men. Frankie fucks you harder, ensuring your eyes meet his again, albeit briefly before they roll back into your head. Will’s face lilts into a crescent smile at how deliciously filthy you are, and Santi…

“My woman needs you, man. Come get involved Santiago,” Will offers with an easy, agenda-free smile. “Sure she can take three. Put it wherever you want. Or, hey. If you’re not gonna get your dick wet just yet, come and torment that little clit of hers and make her clamp down harder on our pal Frankie.”

God - Santi should have gone to Will. He should have gone to Will all those nights he was trying to wank himself off in his army bunk. Should have had the Captain slot in beside him and whisper orders in his ear because it’s the only damn way he can mobilise. Because he needs Will’s cool, calm authority. Always needed it to feel safe.

Needed that but…

…He needs you too. Has needed you. And, Santi tics his gaze over to you, arcing up a thick, suggestive eyebrow - and ever so briefly it’s like you’re sharing a moment just the two of you, even as Frankie’s thrusts shunt you back and forth on the table. Even then, your eyes trail up and down Santi’s body and your tongue darts out along your lips like a silent invitation. And so, Santi comes to stand alongside the table edge, looming over you all splayed out like this. He gets in a position perpendicular to you, where he can just about touch his cock to your lips and reach his hand down towards your mound at the same time too.

Slowly, so slowly and in such juxtaposition to everything that is happening to you, Frankie’s thrusts growing harder and faster and increasingly sloppy, Santi smooths his palm down over your chest, your stomach, and on towards your little hatch of hair, quickly finding that swollen nub and skimming over it with the barest of pressure.

You jolt from it, a shockwave careening through your body and causing your spine to arc away from the table like a bow.

Frankie makes a choked sound then and so do you, but you’re moaning around Will’s engorged dick -your hands on both him and Santi and dipping them alternately into your mouth, sometimes both at once, their cocks frotting up against one another’s - and so that figures. “Holy shit, she likes that, you beautiful motherfucker,” Frankie rasps, voice almost entirely sunken. A delicious bead of sweat shimmying down from his temple which Santi half imagines he’d like to taste. “Just clamped down on me like a fucking vice.”

With a smug smile at making you feel good- making Frankie feel good- Santi builds the pressure. Starts with circles. Then, starts flicking and squeezing and strumming your needy, swollen clit, your moans suffocated around his own dick, but your jerking body and jagged breaths around his shaft a dead giveaway that you like this.

“Give me some more lube down there, Frank,” Santi requests, and his buddy -though increasingly undone- obliges him, puckering his lips and letting a shined glob of spit land on your clit with a soft smack. Well- Frankie always did have good aim.

And then, as Santi works you, you are practically bucking off of the table; however, there are 6 strong hands holding you in position. In position so that you can be filled and pleasured how they like. Your own hands and mouth busy with two dicks and you could stop, if you wanted. Anytime you needed to. You could tap out if you wanted, but you don’t. You like this, and so instead you use your hands to reach for them, to reach for more, to reach for him.

You moan around Will’s cock as he pushes deeper into your throat - deeper and in counter rhythm to Frankie’s thrusts. “So humiliating how much you like being used, Princess,” he coos at you.

Santi is riveted as Will surges out of your mouth, and then your moans are suddenly unfettered; abortive whines and pants and burgeoning waves of sound from deep in your chest. To the other side of him, Frankie’s percussive grunts and groans are the perfect complement to your carnal noises, perfectly in time with the slap of his balls against you, and Will’s still whispering dirty things, dirty words cascading down to you and Santi’s tormenting your clit and all of this- all of this is only taking you higher.

Santi could come again. Could come already, but he’s slipping his fingers further down, further down your lips and folds and he’s hitting the shaft of Frankie’s cock too and it feels warm and ridged and contoured, the feel suggesting veins and weight and he’ll be damned if he comes before he witnesses the two of you reaching your end. And maybe - maybe it’s coincidence but as soon as Santi is touching him too, Frankie seems to be losing it, his rhythm uneven and his grunts increasingly broken and his hands clamping harder on your thighs, leaving indents like claws and half-moon crescents where his short nails dig into your flesh.

Santi is overcome by it. By the need to feel you, to feel you both, so he crooks his forefinger and he reaches down and he finds room against Frankie’s shaft to slip a finger inside you with him, stretching you just a little more, and he finds that you can take it. That you like it. And maybe… maybe it shouldn’t fit- Frankie already an impossible stretch- but everything is drenched. So slippery. Obscene wet noises like ruined fruit. Both of them inside you as he brings his other hand across to massage your clit, his palm pushing down on your lower abdomen, and he can feel it. He can feel it when you clamp down, he can feel when Frankie comes undone and his orgasm zips all the way up from his balls.

Santi’s touching both of you as you are bucking off the table with no chance of going anywhere. As Frankie is spilling his load into you, slamming deeper into you, as deep as he can get, all of his length disappeared inside you all the way down to the groomed tight curls where Frankie’s happy trail meets the base of his dick.

Santi’s not even inside you. Not inside your mouth or pussy but he swears he feels just as good from watching Frankie fill you. By the fact he helped you both come undone.

He and Will both simply watch, both intent on you and Frankie, and a disbelieving, awed sound slips involuntarily past Santi’s lips as Frankie delivers his load, thick and creamy ropes pulsing out of him and filling you. Santi’s fractured moan deepens as he watches Frankie slip out and his cum and your arousal slipping with him, a mess of gleaming, white liquid pulsing from your fucked open hole, and your legs left quivering and jerking as aftershocks tear through you.

It looks fucking delicious.

You look delicious.

Frankie looks delicious, his shaft shined with your juices as he withdraws. He looks delicious as he dips forward, hinging at the hips to shove his tongue hungrily over yours in gratitude, whispering sweet things to you. Shoving over the same tongue that was on Santi’s cock only moments ago - almost as though he’s tasting him.

No, Santi wasn’t prepared for this. For how good it would feel and look.

Santi’s part of this and even then he’s jealous. Doesn’t know who he’d rather be. Him, with the privilege of watching you get fucked and filled up. Frankie, burying his length into your tight hole. Or… you. You, being filled up and used like that and…

…There he is again, untethered from reality like the moments after an explosion, ringing in his ears and blurred sounds and-

“Santiago,” Will says suddenly by his ear, deceptively soft, and Santi turns, grateful for his guiding force. Will slips his hand around the back of Santi’s neck again, gripping him securely. A grounding touch too, and with effort, Santi lifts his dark, lust-blown eyes up to Will’s baby blues, suddenly acutely aware all over again of the aching, straining mass between his legs. Of Will’s size and mass too. His height and muscles and power - not only his strength no, but the quiet, cool authority that has always felt like safety to him. “Santiago,” Will soothes, with the subtle brush of a thumb up and down the column of his neck. “Is there something you need, hmm? Something you… want?”

Santi’s throat bobs around a hard swallow and he averts his gaze from Will, shuffling from foot to foot.

Yes. There is something that he needs. Something, but he can’t…

The words…

He looks to Frankie, brown eyes meeting and Santi’s mouth drops open and closes wordlessly, Frankie’s tongue darting out to whet his pillowy lips and his eyes filled with something Santi can’t name and can’t place.

He looks at you.

He wants so many things but he…

He can’t name them.

So, he looks to Will. He looks to Will because everyone looks to Will when they’re in need, when they’re needy, and Will’s eyes narrow as he contemplates something. A smile twitches at his lips as he lands on a plan of action - always the one with a plan of action.

And so, experimentally, Will smooths his hand over Santi’s hair, making him hum, making him push his curls ever so subtly back into Will’s grip. You do this too - Will knows fine well what it means. “Want me to pull on your hair, Santiago?”

“Uhh. Uh-huh,” Santi admits, voice hollowed-out by need. Heat blooming in his cheeks and flushing his neck and chest. That prickle over his skin again because Will knows. Will knows what he wants. What he needs.

Then, Will obliges. Tugs the ex-soldier’s head back and his chin up and Santi emits a weak, needy sound that could only be described as a whimper.

“Want me to tell you what to do, Santiago?”

Fuck.

Santi’s heart is hammering in his chest and he doesn’t know why. He doesn’t know why but he knows it feels right. He knows he trusts Will. With his life, and with this too.

“Please,” he croaks, and again, Santi immediately worries that he’s said the wrong thing, but only for a moment. Only for a moment because then Will is nodding okay. Will’s nodding okay and then he’s standing up taller, drawing up from Santi. Raising his chin. Asserting his authority. “Always were such a good soldier, Garcia. Should have known you’d like taking orders,” Will drawls, with a satisfied lilt to his deep voice.

“Fucking dickhead,” Santi fires back immediately, and Will tugs harder on his curls.

So help him, he likes that.

“Get on your knees, Santiago, you insubordinate little shit,” Will delivers in a commanding tone, causing a shiver to skitter all along Santi’s spine.

It’s experimental, Santi realises. He doesn’t have to do it, and even now he recognises there is plenty of slack in Will’s tone -in his expression- for challenge. For disobedience. “Get on your knees and lick up Frankie’s cum from the toy.”

Oh yeah. There’s definitely plenty of room for challenge; but Santi doesn’t take an inch of it. Instead, his legs shaking, he positions himself and drops to the floor before you. He settles there like this is second nature. As though he’s ever done this before, naked and hard and kneeling, and his palms settle on his thighs. He settles there, distinctly aware of Frankie and Will stood either side of him. Of you, lying there obediently with Frankie’s cum still pulsing out of you - after he’s used you, made a mess of you.

And Santi looks up - looks to Will, because of course he does. He looks to Will like you do. Waiting for permission. “Taste her then,” Will orders, casually pumping his semi in his hand, quickly swelling again. “Taste Frankie’s load.”

Santi rises up on his knees. He rises up like he’s free. Like everything suddenly makes sense. He cups your ass in his hands and then with a moan and shiver of anticipation from you, suddenly he is sinking his mouth to the mess of you, Santi’s writhing tongue shimmying and thumping and circling against your sensitive clit, sending jerky aftershocks through you.

Next, his tongue is trailing down to your fucked open entrance and he is lapping Frankie’s salt from you. Slurping obscenely and tasting the delicious tang of it flooding over his tongue, his cock so hard it almost hurts; aches. So hard as Will fists his fingers into his crown of curls and drives him more deeply into your heat. As you moan and shiver under his mouth. As Frankie practically gasps at how much Santi is enjoying tasting him.

“Holy shit,” Frankie keens, a cracked-open noise like a revving engine struggling to start - a telltale tremor in it.

“Good, Santiago,” Will praises experimentally, and in response Santi moans into your heat as the words makes his cock throb. “Clean her up. That’s our good boy.”

God, his dick. So hard. So desperate for any friction. Aching.

“Mm-hmm.”

And Santi’s thinking about everything. About what he might do next. About how he could fuck you. About how he could fuck into you and have Frankie’s release coating his dick. Your juices all over him making him slick. About how he could fuck Frankie out of you. How he could claim you for his own. How he could be claimed himself if only-

-His cock aches.

He needs to touch himself -needs some relief- and he reaches down, fingers finding his velvety shaft.

“Fuck,” Frankie revs, voice levelled with need. “You look so pretty on your knees, Santiago,” he praises, and Santi almost spills over his own knuckles right then and there before he’s even really touched himself.

But he doesn’t. He doesn’t because he’s waiting for something.

Waiting for…

Will commands him to get up. His legs feel like jelly but he just about manages it. He orders him to fold your legs back towards your chest. Tells him to fill you up like Frankie had. That the toy needs to be all used up.

Santi does as he’s told. He doesn’t need much convincing to slip into your inviting tightness anyway, does he? And, god, he’s only just slipped inside -just the tip- and it already feels so good. So good that he’s breathing in long gusts of exertion, trying to stave off his end and barely able to move because he’d nut before he’s even really fucked you. The way you grip him so tightly and the way it feels when the head of him nudges just right against your walls is something else. The warm grip of you on his shaft and the sight of Frankie’s cum being scooped out of you with every shallow thrust impossibly hot.

Santi’s whole body shudders, and then his eyes are rolling back in his head and suddenly Will’s directing. Will’s directing because it needs to be harder - not these pussy ass thrusts - and he needs to ruin you, and then Frankie is there. Frankie is warm, his chest at Santi’s back and his hands clamping around the man’s hips to fuck him harder into you - to guide the pace and depth.

Then Santi is moving. He’s moving because Frankie is fucking him into you and Will’s egging him on and you’re quaking around him, Frankie’s hardness an increasingly insistent pressure at the small of Santi’s back. Those big hands clamped on his hips and ass, that push and pull controlling his pace and thrusts, making each one longer and deeper than the last, and Santi can sense his balls drawing up, getting so tight, and his whole body getting ready to spill into you. It feels so fucking good.

“Looks like we have two toys, huh?” Will purrs. “You want that, Santiago? Wanna be a good toy for me and Frankie?”

He does. Yes.

Fuck, he wants that.

“Y-Yes. Yes,” and his own voice is barely recognisable, buried under layers of need, his hips stuttering and jerking and his legs nervy and he thinks he could fall over. Thinks he would fall if Frankie wasn’t sturdy at his back and so he leans into him. Leans into him more and all of a sudden Frankie’s gruff noises are fanning over his neck, over the shell of his ear. All of a sudden Santi is turning his head to the side and then he’s merely an inch away from Frankie’s lips, only the ghost of a moment between them.

Fuck.

The ghost of a moment, and with it Frankie loses control of the pace, the interruption to the rhythm and the slightly changed angle and how fucking wet you are causing Santi’s dick to momentarily slip out from you.

For a moment, you and Santi are joined in a crescendo of desperate moans in protest at the sudden lack of sensation - no, no, no- more more more, don’t stop- and Santi thinks about reaching down to guide himself back inside the warm embrace of you but he’s holding your legs, taking the weight of your hips as he suspends your lower half off the table, so instead, before either of them think about it, Frankie’s hand is reaching down.

Fuuuuck.

Frankie’s hand is reaching down and winding around Santi’s sensitive shaft, and he would moan at the feel of his buddy’s girthy fingers on his dick but the sounds are dying in his throat. Dying in his throat and fuck he’s close. He’s close, and as soon as Frankie’s hand is sliding down his lubed shaft and the head of him is engulfed by your plumped lips and wet heat all over again? He’s losing it.

“Come for me,” Will says firmly, and he thinks this time, that he really is talking to him too. Talking to both of you.

This.

This is what Santi has been waiting for. For Will’s permission and Frankie’s touch and you. Always waiting for you and he’s there. Fully present in his body and caught between you and Frankie, his orgasm ripping through him as a single word from Frankie falls over the shell of his ear. A gruff wrecked voice, deceptively soft: “Cariño,” and this time Santi thinks Frankie really could be talking to him too.

With that -with all of this- Santi is spilling himself and you’re clamping down around him too, wringing him dry and convulsing on him, hard, and Will is holding your head and shushing and stroking and praising you.

Santi is emitting ragged sounds from deep in his chest as you drain him dry, Frankie’s hand still squeezing the base of him, and all of a sudden he is releasing everything. His load, this weight from his chest, these sounds - almost like sobs but of pleasure. Sounds muffled only by Frankie’s tongue shoving over his, finally, pushing past the seam of his lips as Santi turns his head once more and the two men lock lips, the kiss hungry and tentative and unexpected and yet somehow entirely inevitable all at once.

The kiss eventually crests and breaks, just like Santi’s orgasm. The come down happens, yours and his, and for a moment the room is held in a cocoon of jagged breaths and breath taken away; pleasant hums and hands smoothing and lips meeting, soft wet sounds and hushed tones, and the soft slip of Santi surging out of you and his come and Frankie’s slipping with him.

Then, there are hands on him too. Careful hands. Reassuring hands. Familiar ones.

Will’s hand winding around the back of his neck again, into his buzzed hair, except this time his other hand is slipped around his waist too, gently pawing there. “You good, Santiago?”

“Yes. Good. Fucking. Soul left dick. Need a minute.” Will nods and slaps his cheek playfully and then they’re all back to you. Back to you and Will is massaging your thighs and you’re giggling disbelievingly and it’s beautiful.

You’re beautiful.

You made him feel so good.

And… Santi is fine.

He is.

He’s fine.

But even so he rasps a hand over his stubble and can’t help but notice there is an elephant in the room.

The elephant in the room is that he can no longer look Frankie in the eye.

He can’t; because then, he might give it away.

Might give away that he’s satisfied. That he couldn’t be more satisfied… yet at the same time?

There’s still something else he wants.

“Let’s take 5, yeah?” Frankie pipes up, sounding shy, sounding distant, and Will agrees, helping you off of the table and rubbing your legs until the blood comes back to them and you’re reaching for him and kissing him and he’s accepting, enjoying the gentle slip of your tongue against his, letting him know you still belong to him.

And, looking for his own embrace, Santi turns. He turns to search for Frankie, but he’s already quietly slipped out.

Already gone.

Gone, and it leaves a longing.

Yes, Santi knows there’s something else he wants, and he doesn’t know if he can find the words.

After all, it’s been this long -has been years- and he has never quite been able to say it.

Timeout / Huddle: amend the play

You all get cleaned up, get some snacks and water, and gather in the master bedroom for a much-needed change of scene.

The air is still heavy and thick with tension, hard swallows down throats and eyes glancing off of bodies and hands skimming skin, leaving searing, liquid trails of heat in their wake.

The pace is slower. More gentle, sensual. A different scene. A different feel.

But still, it’s clear this is not over. That there is more pent-up desire to be fulfilled.

You’re still nude under your silk robe, and shirts and pants have been hastily thrown on by the boys for this conversation, but no-one has made any move to end this.

Everyone still wants. Still needs. That much is apparent. Everyone is satisfied in some kind of way but still needing something more; and the group of you are never ones to leave a mission incomplete. You always get the job done.

Even so, it’s also clear that something has shifted. Maybe for all of you since the scene was planned - sketched out. Something is… different.

You’d talked at length about how the parameters might shift, of course. About what could happen in the moment, theoretically. About different feelings and desires and dynamics that might arise. Complex ones. Unexpected ones. Difficult ones. Pleasurable ones.

But this is far more than theoretical.

You think you all know it. Think you all have a pretty good idea; but it can’t come from you.

It has to come from him, and so this time, all eyes fall on Santi.

“Is there… something else you want to try, Santiago?” you probe, as gently as possible, all too aware -from personal experience- of this guy’s tendency to bolt when things get heavier than expected. More… emotional. More invested.

“Why are you all looking at me?” he asks, sweat gathering at his temples as though he’s literally burning under a spotlight, his heavy brows drawn down over his hooded umber eyes.

“We just want to make you feel good,” you purr. “But you have to tell us what you want first, honey.”

You look at him levelly. Letting him know: It’s okay. You’re safe. I promise.

Santi’s lack of protest is a subtle acquiescence in itself - you know him well enough to know that- but you’re going to need a hell of a lot more to go on than that if a single thing can happen. “So, what do you want?”

His Adam’s apple bobs in his throat. “I-“ his eyes glance off of Frankie, and it’s a subtle tic but it’s a glaring admission all at once.

You don’t want to push him - to push this- but it feels so close. So close, and so you think you can give this one more try. You sigh gently and you slip a palm up to Santi’s face, the texture of his stubble rough and warm under you, and his eyes flutter closed as he leans gratefully into your touch, a weight settling on his brow all the same.

He doesn’t give in - he’s stubborn- and so you go with a hunch. “Do you want to be filled up too, Santi? Like I was?”

Santi’s eyes blink open - widening, a flush creeping all the way down his neck, his tan skin flushed with an undertone of crimson.

He looks to Will. Looks to Will like he’s said the wrong thing even though he hasn’t said a thing at all, but Will leaves plenty of room.

Leaves this wide open.

Makes him feel safe.

Still, when Santi remains silent, you look at Will helplessly. Maybe things are done for today. It’s okay if things end here. After all, there can’t be any pressure. “We don’t have to keep going - it might be best if we leave things here and-“

“-No,” Santi protests, his voice weak and yet his assertion forceful. A plea.

You note that Frankie whips his gaze back up from the spot on the duvet he’s been intent on for 10 minutes in that moment, seemingly holding his breath as he waits for Santi to reveal his desires. You swear you can see his heartbeat pulsing -raging- through his corded neck when you look closely enough.

“No?” you prompt, doing your best to stifle a smile. To play this off as casually as possible.

“I. Want That. What you said,” Santi admits, his voice shot through with rare nerves.

You imagine you hear Frankie gulp next to you, but Santi’s looking down at his hands - now clasped firmly in yours. “I. Fuck. I think I want to try that.”

You nod encouragingly. He’s safe with you. You promise. “Okay.”

Will says something next, perhaps going on a hunch too. “Want Frank to fill you up?” It’s experimental. The words slack. Leaving plenty of room. Plenty of room, and Santi doesn’t take an inch of it.

Santi and Frankie’s eyes lock for a moment and you bite your lip, holding your breath as you wait to see how this is going to go down, the air suddenly as close and as suffocating as molasses.

You keep your voice gentle. “That okay with you, Frankie?”

Frankie clears his throat shyly, but the huge tent he’s pitching in his pants right now -as well as the deepened colour of his cheeks- is a dead giveaway. “Yep.”

You could swear Santi releases a held breath when Frankie confirms.

Okay. Good. You’re halfway there. “Santiago?” you probe gently.

“Yeah. Yes. Please.”

You exchange a glance with Will and he gives you a gentle nod. “Do you two want me and Will to stay or-?”

Santi and Frankie both reach for you immediately and in tandem, as though to pin you down before you can disappear, and each of their heavy-lidded, needy expressions sends a thrum of heat and happiness crawling under your skin. Your lips quirk up into a smile, and Santi’s still reaching for you, looking between your eyes and lips and moving close enough that he is almost straddling your lap.

God, he’s pretty when he’s all needy like this.

You read his intentions. “Wanna kiss me, Santiago?”

“Yes please, hermosa.”

Wow. If he’s going to keep asking so nicely you won’t be complaining. You kinda like it, in fact. You’ve never seen him so polite.

“Kiss each other then,” Will suggests to the both of you. “Put on a show for us. Get me and Frankie hard so we can fuck you in your tight little assholes.”

Well…

Now there’s an inspired idea you can all agree on.

Always the man with a plan, your boyfriend.

No wonder he rose through the ranks really, is it?

Quarter Four

Santi surges towards you and you meet him, both of you raised up on your knees on the bed as your lips gravitate towards one another’s. And then, he’s devouring you. Kissing you deeply and hungrily, the movement of his jaw scraping his stubble over your cheek and -no doubt- leaving you raw.

He wants you. He wants you here. He wants you to be part of this. He wants all of this at once. He wants, and it feels like too much but it also feels like everything he ever wanted.

“Can I get you ready for Frankie?” you ask wantonly, your voice husk and syrup, and Santi takes more than a moment to catch your drift.

Oh. Oh.

Well, Frankie’s big. He probably shouldn’t deny a little assistance.

“Yeah,” Will purrs. “Come here, baby. Lick his asshole. Get him ready for Francisco.”

A moan shudders out of Santi even at the thought of you rimming him - of that pretty pink tongue lapping at him, and he could almost come apart if it wasn’t for Will. Will directing him to get on all fours on the bed. To position himself face down ass up. To spread his cheeks open for you.

Fuck.

Is this how you had felt earlier, Santi wonders, your holes all exposed and on display?

It feels… good.

You don’t waste any time in heeding Will’s command, and Santi swears he’s having an out of body experience as he feels the mattress dip to his rear with the weight of you, as he feels your breath against his entrance and your hands gripping the globes of his ass, all three of you making sounds of appreciation at the sight before you.

And then… Jeez.

The feel of your tongue is something else. First, you gently bend his hardened shaft back so that you can lick along the underside of him, your tongue then shivering up to his balls - which you suckle into your mouth for good measure, releasing them with a gentle pop. Then, from his balls your tongue dances over his perineum and finally, you circle around his puckered rim, around the sensitive flesh at his tight ring of muscle, and his moans are muffled right into the bed as he buries his head.

“Fuuuccck,” he praises, and you giggle smugly against him even as you continue your ministrations, your tongue swiping and probing and then gradually pushing inside, dipping into him and making his whole body tremble.

He moans again. Moans as your thumb circles the wetness of him and teases him there until he is eagerly pushing back on you, wanting you to ease in. You do - you push your thumb deeper inside, finding his prostate and pressing down, gently at first and then harder, stroking over it and almost making him shoot his load right then and there. Especially as he hears Frankie moan from somewhere behind him.

“Have you had something inside of you before?” Will asks.

“Yes.”

“You can take him?”

“Nothing as big as Frank. But I think so.”

“We’ll take it slow, cariño,” Frankie reassures, and Santi doesn’t think the man has ever sounded hotter - in control and assured and somehow deeply soft too, a well of caring and emotion brimming under his straightforward tone.

Frankie has got you. Whether you’re bleeding out on a jungle floor or about to be fucked in the ass by the man - he won’t let you down.

And fuck. What you’re doing feels good. Impossibly good, and from behind him Santi hears you mewl, your breath fanning against his ass as though you are being taken care of too. He’s not sure who might be warming you up or how but he can’t say he minds either image.

“I know you can take it, baby. You can take me all day long. That ass is mine, huh?” Will says with a swift smack to your ass, causing you to jerk and your thumb to slip slightly deeper inside Santi.

Oh, fuck.

He has to fight not to nut right now, but he wants to save his load. He wants to save it so he can make Frankie feel good. Judging from the sounds to his rear, Frankie is already enjoying this, and so -of course he does- Santi plays it up a little, feeling slightly smug, enjoying the attention, writhing his ass and increasing the volume of his wracked moans.

Santi is so very conscious he’s being watched. The two men behind him watching you open him up, Frankie emitting a beautiful groan as you replace your thumb with two fingers and Santi accommodates you with ease, and then he doesn’t even need to play it up. In fact, he’s having to reign it back in and he’s squirming and backing-up so you fill him deeper and swallowing down his moans and-

“There you go. There you go, Santiago,” Will praises, and Santi doesn’t think he’s ever felt such a sense of pride in his life as when Will praises him. “Francisco, have him suck on you and get you all wet.”

Frankie does just that, needing little to no encouragement to shift to the head of the bed and kneel before the other man, bringing his dick to Santi’s lips as you continue to deliciously pulse your fingers in and out of his tightness. “You want to? Want to open up for me?”

Santi responds by sinking his mouth eagerly on to Frankie’s length. It’s a new sensation- he hasn’t sucked a dick before- but he immediately loves how full he feels. Loves the weight of Frankie over his tongue and the taste of skin and salt. Loves the textures of him.

Pretty Francisco.

Pretty Francisco and his big pretty delicious cock.

Frankie seems to enjoy it too -Santi’s mouth on him- as before long he’s pulling out, insisting he’ll bust a nut if he stays in there too long, shuddering with need.

Will talks over at him. “I get a feeling our sweet Santiago likes to be told he’s a good boy. Think you can you be nice to him, Francisco?”

“Yeah. I can be nice to him,” Frankie chuckles. “That okay with you, pendejo?”

“Yeah, starting when, asshole?” Santi jokes, even as his voice tremors with need, and then he is being moved by strong pairs of hands - moved into position on his back as Frankie scolds him - “careful, or I might stop being so nice,” - and then all of a sudden, both unexpected and inevitable, it is happening.

Frankie’s hard shaft is inching inside of his eased open hole, stretching him out and filling him up until somehow, the dull burn is giving way to searing pleasure, and Frankie is buried all the way.

Next to Santi, Will has you on all fours as he fucks into your ass, slamming you hard and fast and burying that perfect dick in you just like you need him to, your hand winding in between your thighs and punishing your clit in time with his thrusts.

Will goes to town on you, because he knows you can take it, knows what you like, what you need, and meanwhile, Frankie - his sweet Frankie- is far more gentle. More gentle until Santi adjusts to his girth. Allowing him to set the pace and dictate the angle, his knees held up towards his chest as he holds himself open.

“Feel good?” Frankie enquires, a subtle concern etched into his handsome features, even as he hums with the feeling of Santi gripping his dick so tightly in his ass, his pink tongue darting out to skim over his lips.

Feel good? Good? That’s a fucking understatement, even before Frankie is really even moving. And, in response to what seems like an absurd question in the moment, it is all Santi can do to let out a choked, disbelieving laugh.

“Use your words,” Frankie scolds, his voice deep and delicious, and that command causes Santi to raise his arms and grab the pillows above his head for dear life, as though they might give him any purchase against the man’s deepening thrusts.

“Yeah. Feels good, Frank. Feels amazing.”

“Yeah?” Frankie says, the pace and force of his thrusts increasing as soon as he’s sure Santi’s enjoying this. The concern dropping from his features. His palms pressing down on the man’s thighs to keep them crushed up towards his chest, and Frankie sinking a little weight into his arms so he can deepen the angle of penetration too.

It’s good. It’s more than good; it’s divine.

And yet, Santi has seen Frankie fuck. With his own two eyes. Has seen Frankie fuck you. Hard. And he knows he’s still holding back.

Santi nods towards you, where you are getting railed into oblivion, tits bouncing and being gradually shunted up the bed by the sheer force of it, Will continually having to drag you back down on to his cock. “Francisco,” Santi pleads, almost bashfully. “I… I… want it like that. Please.”

“Like that how? All fours?”

“No. Just… harder. Fuck me harder, Frank.”

Frankie picks up the pace a little, testing the waters, sending a white hot, blooming pleasure shooting through Santi’s core. Still, he’s the one in charge here and he’s not about to let Santi forget it that easily. “You’re actually telling me how to fuck you? Curses under his breath. “I know you didn’t just try to top from the bottom, you little brat.” There is a warning in Frankie’s voice, but there is that undercurrent of humour too - an ease developed through years of back and forth between the two men - his endlessly familiar tone cut with a harsh, playful edge that Santi enjoys.

“Sounds like a fucking challenge,” Santi sasses back, and that was both his biggest mistake and his greatest idea, because with that, Frankie slams into him with far greater force, fucking him until he’s almost seeing stars.

“Uh- uh - fuuuucckkk.”

“You’re lucky you look pretty getting fucked by me, Santiago,” Frankie chides, but there’s so much warmth there too.

So much warmth and Frankie’s hard and soft and oh so familiar and entirely new and despite himself, even as he’s being drilled Santi can’t help but laugh. Can’t help but laugh because it’s unexpected, because it’s wonderful; but then Frankie is fucking him harder, and Santi’s laugh digresses to a moan and he’s keening for him, his hands raised above and behind him, searching for something to hold on to, and he figures he must look some kind of way getting fucked like this - being opened up so deliciously by Frankie - because you’re looking at him. Looking at him like you are rapt, captivated, even though Will -big strong Will- is buried deep in your ass. You’re looking at him, your eyes trailing from his flexed arms down his chest and flared ribs and soft stomach where his gleaming cock rests, nestled like a treasure between his thighs, knees curled back almost to his chest and Frankie’s soft stomach slapping up against his balls and sending jolts of pleasure slamming through him as he drives harder, faster, deeper.

Santi feels… boneless. He feels… liquid.

He feels something wet and liquid on his stomach and he realises his cock is weeping creamy fluid, Frankie fucking milking him, making him slick and God. God it feels good and it’s too much and it’s everything, but then Santi is reaching out for something -something else- and it’s you. Your hands clasping together in the space between you and holding on for dear life as you each get filled all the way up.

You lock eyes with Santi and hum approvingly at the sight of him, until Will is scolding you -I know he’s pretty baby but you focus on me when I’m fucking you, understand?. Scolding you but there’s no menace in it - you’re both smiling, that is, until Will is baring his teeth in a snarl at how good you’re making him feel.

And then, Will succeeds in reclaiming your attention by ramming you harder, and your eyes are rolling back in your head and Will is thumbing your clit and now you look like you’re almost seeing stars too.

All over again, everywhere Santi looks there is something beautiful; someone beautiful, all of them creating something beautiful, together, and Santi is smiling and he never knew that sex could feel like this. Never knew it could feel so fucking hot -hot like fire- and yet so joyful too.

So joyful and Frankie is fucking gorgeous like this, his hawkish face intense and handsome as he bears down on Santi, concentrating on not coming undone, breaths gusting from the circle of his plush lips and his thick length hitting Santi just right, and Santi idly thinks it’s apt that the pilot should have an aerial view.

Then, Santi vaguely hears Will ask you a question to the side of him. Something about whose dick you want to come on, but then he’s growling and gathering you up in his arms and raising your torso off the bed, his chest at your back as he snaps his hips forward and up as he buries his seed deep in your ass, and it gives Santi ideas.

“Harder,” he pleads at Frank with a flutter of his pretty eyelashes, and this time, oh thank God, this time, Frankie gets the memo.

This time, Santi’s got his knees up to his chest and Frankie’s hands are gripping his ample hips and Santi looks down. Looks down at Frankie disappeared into him. Looks up at the man’s smooth chest and broad shoulders. Looks down at himself, and he doesn’t usually like his stomach since he retired from the service but it looks good like this; good for Frankie, soft for Frankie, and he’s being railed and shunted further up and up the bed and he feels good. He feels so good with this white hot pleasure sparking in his core with every thrust, with the slight friction of his own length against his stomach as he’s filled. He feels so good that he is the one making Frankie emit such pretty, sexy as hell noises; making him feel good too.

Frankie’s filling him and it’s everything, and it’s enough, and it’s more, but suddenly Santi understands how you had felt earlier when you had called out for him, even as you had everything you needed.

He understands and he calls out for you now too. Calls out for you as Frankie fills him and he climbs ever closer to his peak. Closer and he’s filling him up and you’re watching him and Santi reaches out and it’s as though you know exactly what he needs. As if you know what he needs and you smooth your hand over his curls, over the stubble at his cheek. “Okay, baby boy. Okay. You’re okay,” you soothe, and his eyes roll back in his head with this divine contrast of soft and hard, being pounded and soothed, praised and used, and then he’s looking at Will all over again. Looking at Will because of course he is. Looking at Will because he wants permission. “One more orgasm. Give us one more baby boy.”

And then, just like that, everything is shifting. Suddenly you’re all talking and agreeing and moving and he is agreeing and pleading. Pleading that you straddle him and put his dick inside you. That you ride him while Frankie fucks his ass, and then, all of a sudden it’s happening.

It’s happening, and Santi’s being rocked between the motion of the two of you, both filled and filling, and it’s like the tide, one pleasure reversing and replaced immediately by the other, in and out, and it’s so good that he can’t take it. So good that the pleasure feels like it’s about to burst out of him everywhere.

So good he’s shaking, tipping his head back and moaning more deeply than he’s ever heard himself moan, and he sounds pathetic, desperate, wonderful, and then Will’s drawing Santi’s head into his lap and stroking his hair - telling him how well he’s doing. How well he’s doing letting you ride his dick, your hips undulating skilfully on him and your walls dragging over his contours. For having Frankie moving inside of him, so thick and stretching him open and him taking it so well, so deep.

“Feel good, baby boy?” you ask him, fully prepared to stop if he can’t handle the stimulation, if it’s overwhelming, and Santi could swear it is too much. That it is too good, and yet his hands somehow clamp down on your hips to keep him buried inside you and he’s begging. Begging all three of you, don’t stop. Don’t stop. Please.

Santi’s here, caught in a web of pleasure, and his enjoyment seems to build you all up too. Seems to drive you all further toward that peak together, and for a minute, with you all around him and inside him and above him he feels like he’s at the centre of the goddamn universe.

He doesn’t know what he’s done to deserve this. Any of this. To deserve the sight of you as you surge up, arms reaching behind you and head twisting so Frankie can kiss you, full and deep. What he’s done to deserve your lips on his next as you fold forwards, hinging at the hips and shoving your tongue over his. What he’s done to deserve Will’s praises and the dirty affirmations which cascade over the both of you.

“Yeah - you belong to me, don’t you, even with this other dick in you?” Will rumbles in his deepest, darkest voice - and Santi screws his eyes shut and imagines for a moment he’s talking to him. Imagines he’s talking to him, and then, quite plainly, he is. He really is. “You too, little one. I’m letting them fuck you. You’re mine too. You belong to me, you got that, Santiago? Mine to take care of.”

Santi can’t describe it. Can’t describe the elation he feels with Will’s words in his ear, and his fingers raking in his curls. Your tongue in his mouth and your pussy wrapped around his length. Frankie’s dick buried in him and his hands clamping down around his hips. All of you taking care of him.

He feels like he belongs.

He belongs to Will. He belongs to you. He belongs to Frankie. And he feels - he wishes, he hopes- that you’re each saying it to him now, in your own ways. Saying everything that he’s ever wanted.

He belongs. He belongs. He belongs.

To you, and you, and you.

“You okay, baby boy?” You purr right next to his ear.

Then, Frankie’s voice sounds from above him too. “We’ve got you. Come for us. That’s it. Come on. That’s it, baby.”

Santi screws his eyes shut again and focusses fully on the feelings and sensations. The sounds. The sights are almost too much.

He feels your laboured, quickened breaths fanning over him as your bury your head in the crook of his neck. “Fuck, I’m gonna… Frankie, you close too?” Frankie grunts yes, he is. “Come with Frankie, Santiago,” you plead, directly into the shell of his ear. “Come with me.”

Fuck. He’d go anywhere with you.

“Come on,” Frankie encourages, fucking him more roughly as his seed pulses deep into his ass.

And, between you all, you are hard and soft and Santi’s spilling and Frankie is too, all warm and thick deep inside him, and Will is awed, watching like he is witnessing some divine confluence. Santi feels it too. Feels the divine here. He feels the God that he always missed whenever he was dragged to Sunday service. He feels like this is something so perfect it shouldn’t be possible.

It’s like belonging.

It’s like being loved. If that’s not sacred, what in the hell is?

“Holy fucking shit,” Frankie growls as he comes, and his noises merge with your more incoherent, throaty moans -louder than he’s ever heard you come- and yet Santi is silent. Silent as though in prayer -at least, the way the Catholics do it- head thrown back in a noiseless cry, little cracked sounds and fissures all that escapes his throat as a full body orgasm tears through him.

He clamps down and squeezes Frankie dry. He almost bucks you off of him, throwing you forward until your arms have to steady yourself with your arms at either side of his head as pleasure blows through him like an explosion. Like a Big Bang.

Then after, it is calm.

Santi is levelled.

Santi has this ringing in his ears and this blurred vision and everything seems unreal. Seems unreal until touches and voices start to ground him again. Until the weight of bodies and palms settles him back down to Earth.

There is softness and shushing and stroking and he’s lying on the bed and he’s being taken care of. Being taken care of by his squad who have his six, whether he’s bleeding out on the jungle floor or coming down from the best orgasm of his life. Soft touches and soft words abound, and only now, in this moment, does Santi realise his cheeks are wet with tears - getting wetter- and even so, despite this emotion, despite how much he hates feeling vulnerable, you’re collapsed on top of him, boxing him in with your arms and legs, and he’s never felt more safe in his goddamn life.

You come down to Earth first. You always were the anchor or the group. Holding everything in place. You kiss him, and his lips are trembling as they meet yours and he can taste the salt of his own tears on your tongue.

Then, there’s Will. The leader. The Captain. The one who always knows what to do. Who knows right now. “Taking my girl for a second, Frank, will you look after this one?”

Then, that just leaves Frankie. His Frankie. The heart of the group. His joy. “You okay, Santiago, you kinky mother fucker?” And Santi can’t help but laugh. Can’t help but laugh that yes. Yes he is okay -more than okay- even as he has tears streaming helplessly down his cheeks.

“Kiss him better, Princess,” Will says softly, and Santi finally opens his eyes, seeing Will carrying you, your legs wrapped around his waist, arms slung around his neck, and he dips you down so that you can reach Santi, swiping your tongue tenderly along his lips until he grants you access.

“You too, Frank,” Will commands, and then Frankie obliges, lying -half-collapsing, in all honesty- on his side on the bed. Then, he is bringing Santi’s face towards his with a tender palm on his cheek, and slanting his mouth ever so softly against his, his moustache tickling against Santi’s upper lip.

And, finally, when you and Will leave the pair of them, momentarily, to get cleaned up, Frankie becomes big spoon, curling around Santi’s form and whispering something into the man’s ear. Whispering something that makes Santi look entirely blissed out.

“I’ll take care of you, pendejo.”

Overtime

“There’s gotta be a joke somewhere here?” Frankie insists. “What do you call you two subs sitting in a bathtub?”

“Oh, ha ha,” Santi says, tone thick with sarcasm, merely causing the other man’s eyes to crinkle in amusement.

“I’ve got it,” he comes back, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “What’s the difference between you two and the USS Seawolf?” Santi emphatically rolls his eyes, and Frankie takes that as a clear invitation to deliver his punchline. “Nothing. You’re both subs and filled with semen.”

Okay, it wasn’t that funny, but it has tickled Frankie, and neither of you can resist that man’s infectious, throaty chuckle - despite best efforts, in Santi’s case.

Well, Frankie isn’t entirely wrong, is he? You had certainly been more than filled up. Your core hums pleasantly with the memory of it.

Then, after the fact, Will had lifted you away. Had stolen a moment alone with his love, to properly check in with you. To kiss you slow and deep and hold you close. To praise and fuss over you.

He’d also figured that Santi might do well if he wasn’t being crowded - that leaving Frankie to take care of him would be the best call. That Frankie would want that too; he went on a hunch. And, since then, everyone had been cleaned up and checked-in with and -to Will’s insistence- had rehydrated. Any immediate physical needs had been addressed, and emotional ones too, as far as possible.

There were soft kisses and hugs and caresses, sweet words of praise, and some good-natured words of teasing too, the moment Santi was ready to assert himself again.

Then, all that was left to do was to bask in the afterglow. That, and Will had run the two of you a bubble bath while he and Frankie had disappeared to shower in the en suite.

Now, you and Santi are sat at either end of the claw-foot tub luxuriating, legs overlapping and folding around one another.

Frankie is seemingly sticking with the two of you for just a little bit longer as well, his forearms resting on the bath edge and his chin on top of that, his eyes closing and a satisfied hum escaping him as you fondly card you fingers through his messed-up mop of hair, putting his ‘do back into place even as you know it will look tidy for all of 5 minutes.

Feeling a rush of affection for the man, you dip forward to kiss him on the cheek, and then you run your index finger down from his brow, tracing the profile of his hawkish nose, the line of his moustache, over his lips and shapely chin, and you can’t help the smile that curls your lips as you appreciate him.

“He’s kinda pretty, right?” Santi says, tone imbued with fondness too, and just a gentle teasing edge.

Frankie hums again, and then his eyes slowly peel open, creasing at the corners as he looks at Santi. “And you get uglier everyday.”

The challenge in Santi’s eyes is kind of delicious, and if you weren’t so spent it might even get you horny again. Still, you have other things on your mind for right now. “Why don’t you go nap, Cat’?” the man is obviously tired, stifling yawn after yawn - and yet, refusing to relinquish his post. “Sure Will’ll tuck you in, sweetie.”

Frankie looks apprehensively between the two of you.

“We’ve got everything we need. Really.” You pump your eyebrows, hoping that somehow you convey: I’ll take care of Santiago.

And so, confirming that you’re sure one more time, Frankie finally concedes, leaving you and Santi alone in the bath.

Santi looks at you, coming back to his cheeky old self -clearly, as his eyebrow ticks up suggestively- but there’s no real intention behind it. You can tell he’s wiped-out too.

“Sometimes I think this is actually the best bit,” you share, as though this is some insider bit of intelligence Santi might covet. “You can drag the aftercare out for days with Will, he’s a soft touch.” You toss the man a wink.

Despite your light-hearted tone, Santi’s eyes mist over then. You’re not a mind reader, so you can’t quite place it, but if you had to guess you’d say there was a look of regret there. Santi gets that look in his eyes on occasion, when you talk about Will -when you’re happy about Will- and so you’re not overly concerned. It registers like an old ghost, and, as usual, it is covered over in a matter of moments. Buried all over again.

“Did you have fun?” Santi asks you instead.

Wow. Did you have fun? Well, you can’t help the grin which splits your face then. “Couldn’t you tell I was having a good time? I thought you were intelligence.”

“I had some clue,” Santi grins, a lazy, charming smile which disarms you a little, in spite of yourself. He’s good at those. Good at making you feel beautiful, his dark eyes glinting at you.

“What about you?”

Something indiscernible passes over his eyes again. “Yeah. Yeah I did,” and he rasps his hand over his stubble, leaving a trail of bath bubbles in the wake of his hand which fizzle on his skin. There’s something more there too, though. You can feel him wrestle with it. That’s usual. Standard Garcia, but you’re surprised that this time, some words actually find their way out. “You know,” Santi says, a sudden seriousness burdening his brow, and you can’t help but tense up a little. “I always regretted fucking up with you.”

You draw your knees up to your chest, hugging them close, feeling like you’re wandering into dangerous territory; quickly erecting a perimeter around your heart. “Oh?”

“Yeah,” Santi breathes out. Seems to release something on the exhale. “But now… I’m glad I fucked up. Because what you and Will have… You’re incredible. I see how happy he makes you, and… you deserve that. I… I never could’ve…”

Your eyes mist up, mirroring his, and you have to bite back a swell of emotion which surges in your chest. For a moment you can’t speak. You can only reach for one of his wet hands and clasp it in yours, interrupting the flow of his words and dragging his deep brown eyes up to yours. “Santi. You could have. For whatever it’s worth now? You could have.”

Santi smiles thinly. Nods. And you’re not sure whether your revelation is a sad one or a happy one, but regardless, he draws you to him with a hand around the back of your neck, dipping to plant a chaste, fond kiss on your lips, your foreheads resting together, just for a moment. It’s not an apology exactly, but somehow it feels like one. It doesn’t even matter - you forgave him long ago anyway.

You smile back at him - a thin, watery thing which you quickly gloss over; and then you each release a breath. You each let it feel lighter. It is only then that you realise how much it had been weighing on you all this time.

Then, your eyes gradually sparking with gentle humour, you distract from this thing between you. You arrange a bubble beard along his jaw, your bright laughter and his resonant chuckle eventually echoing around the tiled room.

He looks at you then like you’re beautiful, his head tilted to one side and you reel a little, his natural charm entirely disarming. Always was that way. “God you can take a dick,” he grins. “And you look good doing it too.”

Despite yourself, you laugh - a dirty, smug sound. “Look who’s talking, Pope.”

And, okay, it’s not the smoothest segue, but you’ll take it. “So… you and Frankie… that was…” you tick up an eyebrow. “…unexpected? Right?”

Santi pouts his full lips, nodding slowly. Expression impassive. “Yeah.” He doesn’t say anymore, even though you feel like he wants to; still, you don’t push him. He’s bound to be emotional right now, and tired, and vulnerable. Santi has bolted for fewer reasons than that before and the last thing you want to do is push him away. Maybe it sounds silly, but you only want to protect him - which has always proven tricky when Santi’s biggest enemy is himself.

So, instead, you chew over a different question, as though you’re about to ask him for the Earth. “Will you come lie up against me, Santi?”

Santi hesitates for a moment. Doesn’t make a move to come closer.

In the space he leaves you almost want to beg him. Don’t run. Don’t run from this. Not me. Not Frankie. Not Will. Not this time.

To your surprise though, he shifts in the water, and he slots his back against your chest, allowing himself to be nestled safely in the loop of your arms. Allowing you to take care of him, for once.

You hold him close to you, and with the weight of him against your chest, somehow, it releases a different weight you’d never even known you were carrying. Not since Will. Not since you were happy.

By the time Will comes into the bathroom to check on you, Santi is dozing against your chest.

You wonder if Will is going to be pissed, somehow, but instead, his eyes glow with admiration as he watches you -the two of you-Santi nestled against your chest, and a smile claims his face at the sweet sight.

He gives you a wink, no agendas behind it, and you love him for it. “You okay, angel?” he whispers with a staggeringly beautiful smile. “Need me to relieve you of brat duty?” He dips a hand in the water. “Water’s almost cold.”

Your eyes crinkle and you swallow a laugh. “He asleep?” you mouth.

“Looks like. Frankie’s zonked out too. Shall we put this one to bed as well?”

“Yeah,” you nod. “You sleepy?

“Not really. Hungry though. Guess fucking your ass really worked up an appetite.” He grins. God. How does he do that? Make you feel so safe and so ignited all at once?

Your eyes light up and you bat your eyelashes at your love in hope. “Snuggles and pizza with my Captain?”

Will’s lips twitch with amusement and adoration in equal measure.

“If it helps you decide, I took three dicks today. Think I deserve it,” you purr.

“Ok, Angel,” Will laughs robustly. “Can do.”

Post-game analysis

After a decent nap, Santi and Frankie join the two of you in the lounge.

Everybody is feeling more rested, eating the leftover pizza, and idly watching some shit 80s action flick that Frankie knows every single line to. There is intermittent chatter too, as everyone reclines on some couch cushion or other.

You and Santi are bunched up in the middle, your head reclined in Will’s lap and his in Frankie’s, the two seated men at opposite ends of the couch. Banter is flying around, and you and Santi are quickly being dubbed the mischief makers and more than playing up to it too, perhaps unconsciously trying to tempt some fun consequences.

“Look. Can we address the true elephant in the room, Pope?” Will sniggers, mid-way through one of the random digressions from the movie. “I thought you were a dom, man.”

“Yeah,” Frankie titters gleefully. “Santi’s a dom until Will’s in the room.” His comment earns him a hearty laugh from you and Will, and pure daggers from the man in question.

“Shit. You wanna watch out or, next time, I’ll prove to you just how well I can dom,” Santi says indignantly. And then, all over again, he tenses up. Feels instantly as though he’s said the wrong thing. That he’s been far too presumptuous. That he’s given far too much away about his wants. Why? Because a repeat performance was never agreed upon. Was never supposed to be on the cards. Still, with effort, his voice comes back, even if this time it is far smaller. “I mean… if there…” he gulps, his mouth suddenly as dry as cotton. “If there’s gonna be a next time.”

A tense silence falls over the room - an awkwardness for the first time today. And for one last time, all eyes converge on Will.

“Why are you all looking at me?” he wonders casually, chowing down on a slice of ham and pineapple without a care in the world.

“Because you’re in charge, Captain,” Frankie says without missing a beat - in all seriousness.

“Well - that’s not quite true,” Will chuckles.

“No?”

“No!” he replies, and his voice becomes suddenly wistful. “No, dumbass. We’re a team.”

Santi feels it.

Feels choked up.

Feels that expansive happiness swell in his chest again. That limitless relief.

He belongs. He belongs. He belongs.

And he feels his heart thudding in his chest.

“Sure, but baby - every team needs a Captain,” you say to his right, in a tone sure to massage whatever shred of ego Will has left.

Will huffs out air disbelievingly -increasingly amused as everyone continues to look towards him, as if to ask, “Well?”

And so, Will can seemingly no longer stifle the smile that crosses his features. “Okay. Well. We clocked… 11 orgasms this time.” That’s Will - Will counts everything. “Next time, squad?” Everyone’s breath is bated, hanging off his every word. “I think we can do a little better.”

At that, Santi lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, and Frankie’s arm settles over him, perhaps with relief too, giving him a gentle squeeze. In turn, Santi reaches out and wraps his arms around your leg, and with all of you around him like this, Santi finally feels like he belongs.

He only hopes this feeling can last.

THE END.

If you liked this, please consider swinging by my pinned post 🙏You can find my masterlists there. I have a ton of Triple Frontier, Oscar character, and Pedro character content, so please do have a browse if you’re interested! 😀

Most importantly, thanks so much for reading! I’d love to know what you thought so any comments, ask or reblogs will always be received with endless gratitude! 🧡🙏

#frankie morales x reader #santiago pope garcia x reader #will miller x reader #triple frontier #Pedro pascal #Oscar Isaac #charlie hunman

1K notes · View notes

aseriesofunfortunatejan · 2 years

Text

Here's another AA4+ rant, because I clearly haven't posted enough of those. Note that I'm not like, upset and crying and sobbing and screaming over this, it's just a part of the games I never liked.

Why is so much of AA4, 5 and 6 spent being ridiculously mean to Apollo?

I'm aware or the tone of the series. Witnesses are often poked fun at one way or another - but they're most often a caricature, made to be funny, and the mockery goes right over their head, when it's stated out loud.

Then there's also Edgeworth, especially in AA1, who gets violently dunked on every now and then, and don't get me wrong, it's hilarious. But he is the main antagonist and sometimes an arrogant prick, and some of the funniest jokes against him are accidental: Ema would have never said that stuff to his face, and she wouldn't even have said it if she knew it was about him. Gumshoe tells on his Wright brainrot because he doesn't realise what it implies. No one knew it was HIS car! And most importantly, this is all in the midst of most characters being completely enamoured with him. Wright, Ema and Gumshoe stan him a little too hard. (Bitch me too.)

Back to Apollo, though. I feel like everyone is just constantly making fun of him, and to his face, no less. (I feel the need to mention that Apollo isn't at all my favourite character, so this is not coming from a place of feeling hurt that my fave looks like an idiot.) Besides, the jokes are always the same. Yeah, we get it, he's loud... But I thought you were his friend? (Or secret sister? Or third dad? Or other lawyer who depends entirely on him because the writers forgot about you?)

I guess it doesn't help that whatever compliments Phoenix tells to Apollo feel disingenuous to me, though that is most definitely due to AA6's specifically awkward writing. Trucy using him for her magic tricks would be a lot more refreshing to see if he weren't already being ridiculed and insulted all the time.

It gets worse in my opinion when some of the mockery is based on things he can't help. Like, look at that poor guy... He's afraid to step on a ladder and he can't even swim. AND you're making fun of him on top of that? (To be fair, I don't remember him being made fun of for not being able to swim. What I want to put across is that he's obviously struggling.) I feel like making fun of Edgeworth for having a surprisingly gaudy sports car is not on the same level.

But in actuality, I don't believe the content of the jokes to be the main issue here. I'm just pointing out that Apollo struggling to do most things is not a funny part of his characterization to me personally. What I think matters the most, is how the jokes bounce on their recipient.

Apollo kind of just... gets a little hurt. Mainly, his reactions read to me as someone who is used to being made fun of and has accepted that it won't change. Honestly, that sounds fucking awful. Talk about a toxic workplace... (inb4 AA7 comes out and reveals that Apollo's decision to move was motivated by a wish to feel actually appreciated.)

By a certain point, it's just beating a dead horse. The text and scenario make it feel like he's simply being bullied, and usually with no real reason. People are just meaner to him than they are to each other. It's funny when Edgeworth has to suck up his ego and reveal that it's his office, his car. It's funny when he gets dunked on for something he said during the trial and goes "NGOOOOH!" with that specific face. It's not that funny to me when Apollo goes "yeah okay I guess I'm as loud today as I was yesterday... I mean I like being the way that I am but you know..........". It's not that funny when Sad Monk goes "you're so putrid omg you're so stupid and bad and ugly and you'll go to hell" before he can even say anything, or, to cite something else because Sad Monk is his own issue, when Klavier points out that he has a forehead. (Yes I know, it's a beloved nickname in the fandom, sorry... I genuinely just don't get what's funny about it. Especially the repetition of it.)

To a certain extent, this applies to Athena as well. Though I'd say her being completely cast aside in AA6 gives a different context to this side of her characterization. But yeah... Her outfit sure is yellow and Apollo's sure is red!

This clearly doesn't speak to a personal vendetta the writers of these three games have against Apollo, but rather to the weakness of their writing. The jokes want to be as lighthearted as they always were, but their repetition and multiple layers of bad writing make them feel a lot less fair, and a lot more like boring filler. To me, each mean joke towards Apollo is a failure to imitate a fair and well-timed call-out from the previous games.

#/neg #ace attorney #can you believe i initially forgot one 'not' in this intro #jan essay

10 notes · View notes

goldentournesol · 3 years

Text

The Receptionist and the Profiler (Six)

Chapter Six: Lifted Burdens

(Spencer Reid x f!Reader)

Series Masterlist

General Masterlist

The word reverberated around her brain for days after she heard it. Her brain was mocking her and she knew it.

Girlfriend. Girlfriend. My girlfriend.

Over and over again.

A heartbroken Y/N went home that day to an extremely livid Penelope. Y/N was the one calming her down instead of the other way around.

“How could he be so stupid?! I mean, he’s a genius, but he’s still the stupidest person I’ve ever met! Oh my God, I’m gonna kill him! A girlfriend?! He’s out of his mind!”

And although Y/N agreed with every single word Penelope’d said, there was little she could do about it now. She had shown Ashley around just like she had with every other new agent. It would have been a lot easier to hate her if she wasn’t so...nice. You know, even though her father was a serial killer and all.

She was so normal. And Spencer seemed happy around her. That’s all she could ever ask for, right? So why was it still so painful every time the three of them were in a room together? Why was avoiding all the team members’ apologetic stares as they witnessed a moment between the couple turning into a sport? Well, she knew exactly why, but she didn’t really want to give that thought the time of day.

Derek was almost as livid as Penelope when he’d learned of the new relationship. It took everything in his power to not chew Spencer out.

Spencer, on the other hand, was convinced that this was the only way he’d ever get to get over Y/N. Besides, she’s married now, what’s everyone so upset for? Is his happiness too much to ask for? Although, he did find it odd that Y/N wasn’t wearing rings on any of her fingers. He would have thought that a newlywed wife would have been much more excited to show off her ring. It was also quite strange to hear that Anderson transferred to a different unit. But he stopped himself from thinking about her too much anyway. Stopped himself from thinking about how much her eyes stopped twinkling as much as they used to. Or how her smile always seemed a little less bright than he was used to.

Stop, Spencer. You have Ashley now. He reminded himself.

Ashley was a nice girl. They’d met a few times before they began dating. He first met her when Rossi took him to the Academy to speak with some of the recruits who were interested in joining the BAU. Then, after that, he’d ran into her while he was guest-lecturing at her university. She’d been taking extra classes to get her degree faster and ever since then, they’d kept in contact. They’d met again while Spencer was on his medical leave. He had practically begged Rossi to take him to any lectures. Despite being a homebody through and through, Spencer had had enough of sitting at home waiting for his knee to heal. He needed to get out of the house and do something. Ashley had been the one to suggest a date and Spencer was shocked to say the least, but he accepted. Who was he to deny a pretty girl a date when the love of his life was already married?

Coming back to work was exciting to say the least, even if he wasn’t authorized to go into the field yet. The rest of the team still had to go though, which made the bullpen kind of eerily quiet.

He tried to spend most of his time in Garcia’s batcave to be able to be a part of any video calls with the team, despite the fact that Garcia could barely look at him without wanting to crush the rest of his bones (it’s all in the name of love, she swears). Him being in Garcia’s cave made it practically impossible for Y/N to go in there as often as she normally would. She’d normally spend her entire breaktime with her, they’d chat, eat, and watch kitten videos on repeat. But now Dr. Genius was occupying her space there and it left Y/N sulking out in the empty bullpen.

Now, Spencer wasn’t completely oblivious to the way the team was acting around him. He’d noticed a decrease in Penelope’s affectionate terms, he’d noticed Derek’s disapproving stares, even JJ was being short with him. Maybe it had something to do with him dating the new agent.

“Hey, Garcia?” Spencer asked from his seat next to her, he was currently going over a case file as she sorted through VICAP.

“Yes, Reid?” She asked, obviously not paying attention.

“Do you guys um, not like Ashley or something?” He asked tentatively, fiddling with his pen between his fingers. That got her attention because she turned in her chair and looked at him.

“What gave you that idea?” She asked with signature Garcia concern.

Spencer shrugged and pursed his lips together, “I don’t know, you’ve all just been acting super weird since I got back and every time I’m with her around you guys it’s super awkward.”

He saw Garcia take a deep breath and she slumped her shoulders, “No, Reid, we do like her a lot. I guess you can say we just weren’t expecting it. I mean, you’d just gotten shot and then came back with a girlfriend, it was kind of...surprising.”

“Why is it so surprising? Is it so surprising that someone actually finds me interesting?” Spencer almost scoffed, that had come out way meaner than he’d intended.

“No, of course that’s not what I meant, you know that!” She exclaimed, tears already threatening her eyes, “It’s just...we all thought it would...y’know, take you a while to get over Y/N.” She tiptoed around what she really wanted to say. Spencer held back a roll of his eyes.

“Well, I am. So...so you can all stop being so weird. Besides, what does it matter how long it takes me to get over her? She’s married now, remember?” Spencer said, not even trying to hide the bitterness behind his voice.

Garcia’s face drained of all emotion all at once, “What?”

Spencer analyzed her expression before shrugging, “What?” He asked, feeling like he was missing something.

Suddenly, she began laughing in disbelief, “No, no, no. There’s no way.”

Spencer’s impatience and irritability grew, “What are you talking about?”

“Spencer! Y/N has been living with me for the past 3 weeks, you big idiot! I’m not saying anything more to you. You need to be talking to her right now, not me.” He felt as though his brain took ages to process what she’d told him.

“What...why would she be living with you?” He asked, his brain raking through all the possibilities. Garcia shook her head and refrained from speaking to him for the rest of the day. The dread set in as he realized.

He’d only seen Y/N at her desk whenever he had to leave the batcave for something. Most times she’d just send him a polite smile but they rarely engaged in any conversation. Her energy has been cut in half lately.

Near the end of the day, Spencer trudged all the way to the kitchenette on his crutches to make himself a fresh cup of coffee. While reaching up to grab his mug, he tried to balance on his crutches but was still very wobbly. The result of his wobbliness was a shattered mug on the floor of the BAU’s kitchenette. Spencer winced at the sound and sighed a deep sigh.

He heard quick footsteps to where he was, “Is everything okay? Are you hurt?” Y/N stood in front of him, taking in the scene. He hadn’t heard her voice in days, it was the closest thing he’d felt to relief hearing from her again.

“I-I’m okay, I just dropped a mug while trying to make a cup of coffee.” He huffed frustratedly, upset that his mobility was compromised.

“Spence, next time you can just ask me or something--or someone else, it doesn’t have to be me, but I mean, I don’t mind doing it, if you asked.” She stumbled lightly on her words, cheeks reddening. Spencer smiled in response and nodded, touched at her kindness, “Now, step back and let me help you clean this up before someone gets hurt.”

Spencer took a step back, the feeling of guilt overwhelming him as he watched her pick up the pieces and sweep the floor, “I’m sorry...about that. You didn’t have to help me out, thank you.”

Her face cracked a smile and Spencer felt the hunch in his shoulders loosen slightly, “Come on, it’s really nothing. How’s the um, knee?” She pointed slightly as she brought down another mug and began to fill it with coffee for him.

He sighed, “It’s not great. It hurts sometimes, like a lot, but it could have been worse I guess.” He shrugged, unable to keep his eyes off her captivating face. If he thought the science of reading microexpressions was interesting, reading her face was on a whole other level.

“I’m sorry, Spence, I really hope you feel better soon.” She spoke while adding the perfect amount of cream and sugar. He could tell that there was something weighing on her heavily as she seemed to drift further away as she watched the swirls of the cream dance in the mug.

“Thanks, Y/N/N. Um, what about you? Are you okay?” He asked, noting the way she immediately snapped back into shape almost as if she’d been caught slipping. Her facade was back on as if it hadn’t slipped for a nanosecond.

“Yeah! I’m great.” She smiled, not meeting his eyes, Spencer was about to ask about her current living situation when she spoke quickly, not leaving a pause, “How about I walk this back to your desk for you?”

“Um, you don’t have to do that. I can take it.” Spencer frowned, feeling already guilty enough.

She giggled slightly, purposefully glancing at both his hands wrapped around his crutches, “Got a third hand I don’t know about, Spence?”

Spencer grinned in defeat, realizing what she meant, “Right…” He sheepishly began to walk back to his desk, is Garcia needed him she would call. She set the cup down and flashed him a smile before turning around and walking right back to her desk where she stood for a few seconds as if contemplating something then continued on in the direction of Garcia’s office.

“Garcia...I did something bad.” She confessed sheepishly stepping into the office and closing the door behind her, feeling somewhat like a child who hadn’t followed instructions.

Garcia turned around in her chair, “Oh no, sweets, what happened?”

“I talked to him…” She flopped down onto the chair next to Garcia’s and pouted. Garcia couldn’t hide her smile and shook her head.

“And…?” Garcia looked expectantly at her.

“I don’t think I can ever get over him, Pen.” She suddenly frowned, picking at a frayed thread on her skirt.

“Well it’s not gonna happen overnight, sugarplum. Tell you what, why don’t we have a girls night out when the team gets back tonight. Maybe you could get a little lovin’.” Garcia added suggestively but Y/N rolled her eyes and huffed playfully in response.

“Yes to girls night, no to getting any “lovin’”, I don’t think my heart can physically handle anything else.”

“Ughh, alright. But um...there’s something you should know…” Garcia began.

“What is it?” Y/N pushed.

“So...you know how Reid is a certified genius and stuff...yeah...he’s quite possibly the most obtuse man I’ve ever met.” Garcia spoke.

“Yes, we know this, what is it, Pen?” Y/N asked, growing more impatient and anxious.

“I found out today that he had absolutely zero clue that you called off the wedding.” She said.

“What do you mean? How did he not know?” Y/N almost laughed at the absurdity.

“I guess no one told him. I think we all got so caught up with him getting shot that no one told him. Y/N, I’m telling you, up until 1:22 pm today, he thought you were married to Grant Anderson.” Y/N almost grimaced at the mention of her almost-husband.

“Well, what good is it now, he’s got little miss Ashley, who, by the way, IS NOT invited to girls’ night.”

But she was, of course she was. But it wasn’t just her, oh no, the entirety of the BAU had invited themselves out.

Everyone was stuck in their own little conversations around the table and Y/N felt like the odd one out. She looked up from her glass to see Rossi and Hotch deep in conversation, Derek and Penelope were in the middle of a story to which Emily and JJ were listening intently, and finally, the cherry on top, sitting directly across from her, was Spencer and his precious Ashley sitting practically glued at the hip with his arm around her shoulders. This was supposed to be a girls’ night out, and here Y/N was, feeling as miserable and insignificant as ever.

“I’ll be right back.” She said to no one in particular as she got up from the table, not that anyone noticed or heard. Spencer caught her leaving out of the side of his field of vision but Ashley quickly began telling him another story. Y/N had almost made it out of the bar when a familiar voice stopped her.

“Y/N, hey!” She turned to see none other than Anderson himself, looking quite put together and smiling very largely at her.

“Hey! Um, you out here too?” She smiled awkwardly and looked around for his friends.

“Yeah, came out for drinks with the guys from the White Collar Crimes division. Hey, you should come say hi.” He nodded his head towards a table full of men. Y/N glanced back at her table and saw that no one was looking for her so she shrugged and agreed.

She sat at the table and they all immediately brought her into the conversation, which made her mood lift significantly.

Had Grant always been this funny? She thought. As the guys settled down after their stories, Grant turned to Y/N.

“Can I get you a drink?” He offered nicely and she thought about it. She spent 11 years with this man, what could one drink possibly do?

As they sat at the bar and chatted, Y/N noticed that Grant was being extra gentlemanly and just...nice.

“So, yeah, this is my life now.” He tilted his beer at the table they were at previously.

“They’re really nice guys, I’m glad you’re happy at work.” She smiled and nodded. Grant smiled back and studied her for a moment.

“Um, so...I was wondering...I mean, do you...are you still sure about all this?” He gestured between them, “It’s just that we get on so well and I um, really wouldn’t mind doing it all over again for you.” He ended his sentence with a genuine smile.

Y/N’s smile faltered from a grin to a sad smile, her eyes flitting across the bar to look for Spencer, who had been keeping a close eye on her since she left in case she was in trouble. Their eyes met for a moment but nothing longer.

“Yeah, I’m sure.” She nodded with finality. Grant followed her eye-line and felt some jealousy stirring up inside.

“Wait--is this all about Reid?” Grant stared at her incredulously.

“What?! No! Of course it isn’t. We weren’t working out, I already told you.” She defended quickly, but Grant was unconvinced. He gave her a look and she avoided his eyes, “Me and Spencer are just friends, I promise. We kissed like, once, it didn’t even mean anything.”

“You kissed? When?!” Grant’s eyes immediately filled with rage, looking across the bar.

“It doesn’t matter, look, can we just step outside for a second, get some fresh air?” She tried to reason with him but before she knew it, Grant was out of the bar stool and marching his way over to the BAU’s table. Y/N followed him quickly, trying to minimize any damages.

“REID!” Grant yelled in the small bar, quickly alerting all the agents. Spencer’s worried eyes flitted to Y/N’s.

In one swift motion, Grant lunged forward to attack a still-seated Spencer, eliciting a frightened yelp from Ashley next to him.

But thankfully, Derek was much quicker than Grant and effectively took him down yelling, “What the hell is wrong with you, man?”

Hotch and Rossi visibly relaxed upon watching Derek drag a livid Grant outside the bar. Mortified, Y/N grabbed her things and ran out, unable to meet any of their eyes. She flagged a cab and tried to stop the sobs from tumbling out of her.

Needless to say, the next month was the most awkward month she’d ever been through. Anderson was lucky he’d only been suspended without pay and not actually arrested for attempted assault of an FBI agent. She was downright mortified after what had happened at the bar and had fully retreated into herself, having finally moved out into her own apartment. Her pickiness ended when she realized she couldn’t stay with Garcia anymore.

Even JJ had tried multiple times to set her up with one of Will’s friends, but Y/N always refused. Invites to bar nights were turned down and ignored. Her days consisted of waking up, going to work, coming back home, pretending to unpack but in reality avoiding it and ending up sitting on the couch with a pint of ice cream. The entire team felt for her, but Spencer especially felt for her as well as felt like an absolute moron. Not about what had happened at the bar, he didn’t really care if Anderson had beat him up, maybe he deserved it for making her feel this way.

He watched curiously from his desk as Derek and Penelope walked through the glass doors of the BAU and stood at her desk. Penelope placed a heavy cookie tin on the raised part of the receptionist’s desk, the sound making Y/N look up from her computer.

“Morning, lil’ mama.” Derek grinned at her.

“Morning, D. Hey, Pen. What are you two up to?” Y/N’s gaze shifted between them suspiciously, “And what’s this?” She referred to the cookie tin.

“Oh, you know, just your favorite homemade chocolate chip cookies.” Garcia said with a smile. She watched as Y/N’s face lit up and immediately reached for the tin but Penelope held it securely.

“Uh-uh-uhh,” Derek taunted with a smirk.

“What? Why can’t I have the cookies?” Y/N huffed.

“These, my love, are a bribe and I’m not afraid to admit it.” Penelope said with a dramatic upturn of her chin.

“Oh no.” Y/N said.

“Oh yes.” Derek and Penelope both said. When Y/N rolled her eyes and was about to refuse, Penelope opened the top of the tin and Y/N took a peek and was hit by a whiff of heavenly chocolate chips.

“Fine, I will listen to your offer, but no promises.” She tried to stay strong even though the scent of the cookies was already driving her mad.

“We thought you might say that, which is why the entire tin is the bribe.” Derek said smoothly and Y/N’s jaw dropped.

“That is low, chocolate thunder!” She exclaimed and Spencer unwillingly smiled at her reaction.

“Anyway, you get this entire tin of cookies IF you agree to come to Rossi’s tonight.” Penelope offered and Y/N paused to think about it.

“I don’t know, Pen…” Y/N began.

“Come on, pretty girl, we miss you. You haven’t been out in ages.” Derek tried. Y/N’s heart pulled in her chest, maybe she did miss them too.

“Alright, fine, fine! I’ll come.” Y/N crossed her arms, trying to hide her smile as Derek and Penelope celebrated with a hug and a cheer, “Now, give me these!” She stood and grabbed a cookie, quickly taking a bite and visibly melting back into her chair from the taste.

“See? I told you that would work. No one can say no to my cookies.” Penelope whispered to Derek as they separated to begin their days.

She finally got some motivation to empty her bags and boxes when she returned to her apartment. It was mainly because she had to look for an appropriate outfit to wear. Ever since she’d moved, she’d been picking out her work clothes and pajamas from her suitcases, rewearing all the blouses and skirts that don’t need ironing, but it’s time to start taking care of herself again. Perhaps she felt like the clothes she was wearing didn’t belong to her anymore, she decided that she’d take herself shopping soon. After a relaxing shower, she picked out a black satin blouse and tucked it into a pair of fitting blue jeans.

Arriving at Rossi’s, she took a deep breath before ringing the bell.

“Ciao, bella!” Rossi graciously greeted, hugging her tightly, “We’re all so glad you could make it. Come on in, dinner is almost ready.” Rossi’s warm greeting eased the anxiety that bubbled in her chest. She was also greeted warmly by everyone in the room when she walked in. Penelope pulled her to sit next to her immediately.

“You look stunning!” Penelope complemented, making Y/N blush.

“I agree, you are looking hot as hell, mama.” Derek chipped in, making her laugh.

“Oh, hush, you two.” Y/N rolled her eyes and accepted the glass of wine that Emily offered her. She sipped on the wine, glancing at Spencer over the rim of the glass. He caught her eye and sent her a small smile. Y/N sent him a small one back before feeling herself shut down as everyone around her started conversations. She hadn’t noticed just how much she depended on Spencer for conversation in outings with the BAU until his attention was taken away. He would always stick to her side but now he had someone else’s side to stick to. With no Anderson and no Spencer, she really had to fend for herself. All night, she felt this indescribable weight on her shoulders. She did everything to try to get rid of it.

Soon, one glass of wine with dinner turned into two, then somehow turned into two rounds of whiskey. Before she knew it, she was up dancing with Derek and Penelope in the middle of the garden. They all had migrated into the backyard after dinner, where most people were chatting and eating dessert.

“Spencer, are you listening to me?” Ashley’s voice cut through Spencer’s daze.

“I’m sorry, what?” Spencer turned to her, he’d been caught up watching them dance, secretly wishing it was him she was grabbing onto for support instead of Derek. If it wasn’t for his damn knee, he would have joined them in dancing.

“I asked you if you wanted another slice of cake.” Ashley said, with a small smile on her face. She was nice, but she wasn’t her.

“Oh, no thanks, I’m good.” He shook his head and reverted his attention to the dancing trio. She was finally smiling, he hadn’t seen her smile that wide in so long. Her laugh was heard across the garden and somehow it seeped right into Spencer’s bloodstream. The familiar feeling of jealousy creeped up on Spencer as he watched her twirl herself in and out of Derek’s arms.

“See? Aren’t you glad you came out tonight?” Derek smiled as she twirled back against his chest.

She nodded and smiled, a tad bit too tipsy, “Yeah, I guess.”

Penelope grinned and pulled her away from Derek, “Alright! Quit hogging her, I wanna dance with her too!” Y/N laughed and wrapped her arms around Penelope, burying her face in her shoulder.

“Thank you for everything, Pen.” They swayed and Penelope squeezed her harder.

“Anytime, sugarplum.”

“Alright, I’m just about beat. I need some dessert.” Y/N said, pulling back and dragging them both to where everyone was.

While eating dessert, she watched as Spencer continued to converse with Ashley and felt her blood boiling beneath her skin. Or maybe that was the alcohol, she wasn’t sure. It was like a cloak of clarity cascaded upon her. Before she knew it, she was standing in front of everyone and speaking loudly, loud enough to halt the ongoing conversations. With her eyes on Spencer, she only ever had her eyes on Spencer.

“Spencer, I called off my wedding because of you. And now we’re not even friends. You were my best friend, the closest person to me. I don’t know what happened, but I miss you. I don’t want things to ever be this weird between us again. And--and I shouldn’t have been with Grant, I know that. There were so many reasons not to marry him, but the truth is I was ready to ignore every single one until I met you. I asked myself why I waited so long to get married and I thought I just wasn’t ready but I knew I didn’t want him,” she paused to swallow, her tears blurring her vision, “I want you. And now you’re with someone else, and that’s fine. She’s wonderful and she makes you happy and that’s fine,” A few tears escaped and she realized what she was doing, “and I think I’m drunk and I shouldn’t be driving home so if someone could drop me off that would be great.” She dropped her plate on the table and quickly made it inside, leaving a group of agents completely stunned.

And just like that, the weight she’d grown so accustomed to seemed to dissipate from its place on her shoulders.

previous chapter/next chapter

feedback is always appreciated!

taglist: @hopefulfangirl24 @spoiledtunaprincess @ellvswriting @drreidshands @pumpkin-reads @ssa-pretty-boy @thebadassbitchqueen @youareperrrfectls @literaila @greeny-kitten @reidcm @holytrashvoidpersona @hopebaker @word-scribbless @fellintotartarus @criminalmindzjunkie @jpegjade @randomfandomshitposts @differentkettleoffishalltogether @imjusthereformggcontent @confused-and-really-hungry @theseuscmander @purifycrowley @l0ve-0f-my-life @mrs-dr-reid @reidseidetic @onceuponathreetwoone @mosleylanes @eevee0722 @fear-less-write-more @andiebeaword @shameleswhorehourstm @missyredbean @moonshinerbynight @mggpleasedontlookhere @midnight-snac @justpeachykeeeen @meowiemari @sizzlingclamturtlesludge @unded-bride @nazdaniels @hercleverboy @itsmyblogandillreblogifiwantto

COMMENT ON THE CHAPTERS/SEND ASKS TO BE ADDED TO MY TAGLIST (so sorry if you asked to be tagged and i missed you)

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #Spencer Reid fic #dr spencer reid #Criminal Minds #criminal minds fanfic #Criminal Minds Fanfiction #criminal minds fic #CM #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid angst #spencer reid masterlist #the receptionist and the profiler #spencer reid series #spencer reid x ashley seaver

345 notes · View notes

thedevilsmemes · 3 years

Text

PINTEREST QUOTES I USE IN MY MUSINGS BOARDS ~ A SENTENCE MEME - PART 2

Change pronouns as / when needed to preferred pronoun.

“I do not do justice, I do damage. I do not do empathy, I do damage. I do not do forgiveness, I do damage. I do not do mercy, I do damage.”

“Like, you can boss me around in sexual situations but you better not try to tell me what to do in regular life.”

“I’m fine, I’ve had worse.”

“I’m meaner than my demons.”

“If I cannot bend Heaven, I will raise Hell.”

“Well, aren’t you a little ray of pitch black?”

“He was like a storm.”

“You want to play dirty? Fine, let’s play dirty!”

{ feels an emotion. } “Who the fuck authorised this?!”

“What the fuck? What the fuck is this? What the fuck?”

“Judge if you want. We are all going to die. I intend to deserve it.”

“Goddamn right you should be scared of me.”

“They wanted a monster; I decided to give them one.”

“Seduce and destroy.”

“What the fuck is intimacy? How does that work? Letting… people be close to you? What the fuck?”

“You couldn’t kill me if you tried for one hundred years.”

“I’ll do this my way.”

“I am severely emotionally unstable.”

“What, from the bottom of the heart, the fuck?”

“I’m sorry, I don’t take any orders. I barely take suggestions.”

“I send my best regards from Hell.”

“I like my coffee how I like myself: Dark, bitter and too hot for you.”

“Me and God, we don’t get along.”

“Be brave, Angel.”

“Self care is drinking three pots of coffee and getting into a knife fight with God.”

{ takes gulp of vodka straight from the bottle } “My day was fine.”

“Have I stabbed you? No. Then I am being nice.”

“Holy Shit! I’M the demon living in my house.”

“Sir, that’s my emotional support knife collection.”

“I want an ancient elaborate dagger with my name engraved into the blade as a gift. The only romantic gesture.”

“ ‘Are you a top or a bottom?’ I'm a threat!”

“Stop being so defensive! I’m just trying to hit you with weapons.”

“The more knives you have the more valid you are.”

“She’s strong but she’s exhausted.”

“She loves moonlight and rainstorms and so many other things that have soul.”

“My darling, you can’t see it can you? How like the moon you are. Both of you so timid in yourselves; hiding pieces from the world. Then, there are those rare moments when you are both full, and it becomes hard to look away. You are beautiful.”

“Calm her chaos but never silence her storm.”

“She wears strength and darkness equally well. That girl has always been half Goddess, half Hell.”

“She has been through Hell, so believe me when I say, fear her when she looks into the fire and smiles.”

“She’s proof that you can walk through Hell and still be an angel.”

“She is both hellfire and holy water. And the flavour you taste depends on how you treat her.”

“Even the mountains can not hold all you have been carrying.”

“Storm with skin.”

“She’s thunderstorms”

“Kindness is a language that the deaf can hear and the blind can see.”

“Sometimes it takes only one act of kindness and caring to change a person’s life.”

“You have a heart of gold.”

“Butterflies are the Heaven-sent kisses of an angel.”

“She who is brave is free.”

“Clever as the Devil and twice as pretty.”

“Shut up. I wear heels bigger than your dick.”

“Girls who run in heels should be feared.”

“Family is everything to me.”

“She’s an old soul that believes in chivalry, romance, and love.”

“I hate getting flashbacks from things I don’t want to remember.”

“I run on coffee and grace.”

“I’m glad I’ve got boobs… the last thing I need is people making eye contact with me.”

“Tell me to put on my big girl panties one more time… and I’ll take off my thong and strangle you with it!”

“Please read all my posts in a sarcastic tone. You know, for full effect.”

“I have one nerve left and you’re dry-humping it, go away.”

“If I offend you, cry me a river. I’ll bring snacks and a raft. I will literally float down your tears, eating chips and working on my tan.”

“When she is happy, she can’t stop talking. When she is sad, she doesn’t say a word.”

“Music becomes my best friend when nobody else understands me.”

“Act like a lady, think like a boss.”

“I know I have friends but I feel I have no one to talk to about the shit that goes on in my head.”

“She was special. She combined a mean angel and a kind devil.”

“So much pain for someone so young.”

“She’s one of a kind.”

“Red lips and wine sips.”

“Brave girl, it’s time to love again.”

“She is intelligent.”

“Sometimes, when I say ‘I’m okay.’ I want someone to look me in the eyes, hug me tight, and say, ‘I know you’re not.’ ”

“Because I’m not the kind of girl guys fall in love with.”

“I fear I will spend my life, waiting for a love story that doesn’t exist.”

“You’re a woman, use it; bring every man you meet to his motherfucking knees.”

“She denies it but, the truth is, she’s falling in love with him.”

“Hearing your heels click on the floor sounds like power.”

“She loves deeply, regardless of the love she gets back in return and it’s both her biggest strength and biggest weakness…”

“Experience raised her. Hurt taught her. Neither defined her.”

“She was not fragile like a flower was, she was fragile like a bomb.”

“Life is short; make every hair flip count.”

“I’ve always been someone who looks ‘too deep’ into something or someone. That’s because I realised from a young age that there’s always more than what meets the eye.”

“If I say ‘first of all’ Run away because I have prepared research, data, charts, and will destroy you.”

“Underestimate me, that’ll be fun.”

“You think I’m sarcastic? You should hear what I don’t say!”

“She’s a combination of sensitive and savage.”

“Stay classy, sassy and a bit bad assy.”

“She’s battling things her smile will never tell you about.”

“Ain't you ever seen a princess be a bad bitch?”

“I was told I was dangerous… I asked why? They said ‘because you don’t need anyone.’ That’s when I smiled.”

“She’s been through hell and came out an angel. You didn’t break her darling, you don’t own that kind of power.”

“Watch me. I will go to my own sun and, if I am burned by the flames, I will fly on scorched wings.”

“Her messy hair is a visible attribute to her stubborn spirit. As she shakes it free, she smiles, knowing wild is her favourite colour.”

“She’s strong. But in the back of her mind she doesn’t think that she was meant to be this strong for this long. And she wonders if there is a man out there, somewhere, who understands this.”

“She’s not for everyone and she knows it. People find her different and strange. She dances in the rain, she laughs when she cries and loves through her pain. People fear the unknown and they never knew a girl like her.”

“Don’t tell a girl with fire in her veins and hurricane bones what she should and shouldn’t do. In the blink of an eye, she will shatter that ridiculous cage you attempt to build around her beautiful bohemian spirit.”

“You provoke her until she roars and then get upset at her for becoming the monster you created.”

“Rip out his ego with your fresh nails.”

“She isn’t the sunrise; she’s the fucking sun.”

“You can’t touch a woman who can wear pain like the grandest of diamonds around her neck.”

“Watch your tongue around her. She will bear her fangs and tear you apart with all the grace of a Queen.”

“If you won’t embrace her madness, then you’ll never taste her magic.”

“Beauty may be dangerous but intelligence is lethal.”

“She is water. Powerful enough to drown you, soft enough to cleanse you, deep enough to save you.”

“Heavy is the crown and yet she wears it as if it were a feather. There is strength in her heart, determination in her eyes and the will to survive resides within her soul.”

“I wish that I could say that I am a light that never goes out, but I flicker from time to time.”

“Spoil me with loyalty. I can finance myself.”

“Shoutout to all the people with brown hair and brown eyes! We basic as fuck but we cute!”

“I feel a nap coming on.”

“Is horny an emotion?”

“I just really like thigh-highs.”

“Even though she looks innocent, she is really a perverted demon.”

“She didn’t sob or wail. Her pain was horribly discreet but as persistent and almost as silent as bleeding from an unstitched wound.”

“I don’t rise from the ashes, I make them. I’m the whole fucking fire.”

“Beautiful but destructive.”

“I’m aiming for the ‘she’s a badass and cute as hell but I wouldn’t touch her without asking’ look.”

“Loving me must be so fucking hard and I’m so sorry.”

“Some women are lost in the fire. Some women are built from it.”

“You glow differently when you’re actually happy.”

“She’s magic, that one.”

“Kicked out of Hell.”

“Red hair: the crown you never take off.”

“You’ve got a fire inside.”

“She doesn’t need a warrior, she is one. What she needs is a devout heart, and strong arms to hold her after her battles are won.”

“You are the love that came without warning: You had my heart before I could say no.”

“You want battle? I’ll give you war.”

“True evil is, above all things, seductive.”

“The Devil’s got nothing on me, my friend.”

“Haven’t I fallen far enough?”

“I’m not like them, but I can pretend.”

“I don’t like being told what to do.”

“Now I grow wings and rage, and learn how to kill.”

“Life is tough, my darling, but so are you.”

“Though she be little, she be fierce.”

“I know what this is; It’s just myself, talking to myself, about myself.”

“You underestimate my power.”

#roleplay memes #rp memes #roleplay sentence starters #sentence starters #rp starters #sentence memes

76 notes · View notes

hoardcloneheadcanons · 3 years

Text

The Season 1 Villain: Mr. Blackwood

Summary [ A time travelling Martin Blackwood accidentally bullies his past counterpart and a young Jonathan Sims into getting together in order to gang-up on him]

Yesterday Is Here is a time-travel fix-it fic of the Magnus Archives by CirrusGrey found on AO3 that I highly recommend. It helps emotionally cope with the tragedy of the actual series and it’s very well written.

I have my own ideas on what would happen in the fic if the time travel went slightly different and Martin showed up first, which now lives rent-free in my head as an AU to an AU. I’m hoping by writing it down I can free myself of it’s grip over me. If you don’t want spoilers for the fic, or seasons 1-4 of the Magnus Archives, stop here.

In the fic Jon and Martin from the Archives have been married and survived the apocalypse together. Both use the Helen’s doors to travel back in time to season 1 of the Magnus Archives and prevent most of the tragedies from happening. Jon uses his spooky Archivist Powers to threaten Elias, extorting him for money and preventing the appocolypse. And both Martin and Jon dispose of the main villains of season 1 and 2.

But some shenanigans happened in Helen’s doors that make it so Jon shows up first and Martin doesn’t show up until two months later. Here’s my idea of what would happen if those positons got reversed.

-The Archival Staff call Future Martin Mr. Blackwood to differentiate him from their present-day Martin. I will also be doing so, from here on out.

-Jon is, of course, skeptical, and keeps insisting that this must be some long lost brother of Martin’s who is trying to scam them (Or even his father, despite Mr. Blackwood not looking much older than Martin). Mr. Blackwood proceeds to list small intimate details about each of them (how they take their tea, things that happened their last birthday. Stuff that would be very essentially Martin to know) but also sounds very impatient the entire time. He does not have time for Jon’s feigned skepticism and denial and does not hide it.

-It becomes clear very quickly to the Archival staff that Mr. Blackwood is a lot meaner than Martin. He doesn’t make tea for people unless he’s trying to corner them to talk to them, He’s willing to kill spiders rather than release them. Murder doesn’t seem that out of the question for him. And while both Martin and Blackwood are big people, Matrin Hunches and keeps his voice soft and tries to seem smaller. Blackwood does none of that and will push his way through people and/or loom sometimes.

-As a result Tim starts jokingly referring to him as the Anti-Martin. When Mr. Blackwood starts mentioning that there should be a Mr. Sims showing up, Tim insists on making a list of traits that he bets Mr. Sims will have based on him being an “Anti-Jon”. The traits include: Wearing only bright colors, not-giving a fig about archive policy, believing all the statements (even the dumb ones), smiling, being nice to Martin, being social and (on a day where Jon was being particularly annoying) being cool.

-A few of them are totally off the mark, but many of them are actually frighteningly close to the truth.

-He ropes Sasha into it too. They decide together that Sims and Blackwood have a one-sided relationship where Sims is absolutely besotted and Blackwood either barely tollerates him or is seducing him for his Head Archivist pay.

(It’s funny because Jon isn’t making much more than any of the Archival Staff)

-Blackwood is fairly nice to Sasha who is reasonable and listens to relevant threats. Tim appreciates him for confirming and advancing the research he’s done on Robert Smirke and the Circus. But Martin and Jon hate him. He bullies them both in different ways.

-Blackwood keeps trying to convince his younger self to grow a spine, make some boundaries. He keeps trying to tell him that he can’t fix things by being nice to everyone. Martin does not appreciate it.

-Mr. Blackwood will occasionally talk like Martin’s Mum and it makes it hurt more. Not exact sentiments or sentiments but familiar phrasing and tones. Blackwood doesn’t know he’s doing it.

-Meanwhile Blackwood takes away all the “real” statements from Jon (the ones that won’t record on the computer) and spreading them out amongst the archive staff. He insists that reading them will turn Jon into an eldritch creature that feeds on human trauma and gives people nightmares. Jon thinks this is a load of absolute bull. (If you must read them, Jon, at least don’t read them outloud. Type them up or something. Don’t be stupid.)

-Jon’s the type of person who needs to know and asks all the uncomfortable questions, so having someone take away the only real information bothers him. Even if Tim, Sasha and Martin have the information it still bothers him to not know.

-Jon is also really insecure about deserving his job, and desperately trying to prove himself. So having a man burst in and tell him how to do his job stings.

-Mr. Blackwood also isn’t delicate when pointing out Jon’s skepticism is dumb. He says all the things Martin thinks but is too polite to say.

(”I’m sure there’s a very natural reason for Carlos Vittery to be wrapped up in spider webs upon his death”

“Are you serious? Jon, if you keep up this ridiculous denial you’re going to walk yourself right into something’s mouth just to prove a point. Or worse, send someone else into it. And you of all people should know supernatural spiders are dangerous.

“What do you mean, I of all people?”

“I think you know what I mean, Jon.”)

-Jon and Martin actually end up hanging out because they bond over their mutual dislike of Mr. Blackwood.

-Jon defends Martin agains Mr. Blackwood and vice-versa.

-The first time it happens, it’s Jon defending Martin and Mr. Blackwood acts surprised.

-(I don’t know why we should trust you. Even if all this supernatural nonsense is true there’s no reason we should take you’re word on how it works! You barge into the archives telling everyone what to do, fear mongering with tales of secret societies trying to cause the apocalypse, you upset Martin all the time “for his own good, you-”

“-wait, wait wait- Martin?” “When did you start caring about Martin?”

“What do you mean? He’s one of my archival assistants, of course I care about him.”

“Jon, you bully him more often than I do.”

“I-No I don’t.”

“You make it very clear what you think of his work and competence, Jon. And you send him to all the worst assignments. He let’s it happen because he knows he’s not the best at research, and he knows you’re under pressure from Elias, and he really tries not to take it personally, but it hurts him Jon. It builds up and it hurts him, even if he never says it does. So yes, forgive me if I think you’re being a bit hypocritical.”)

-Jon apologizes to Martin after that and really tries to be nicer because he does not like the idea that he’s as bad as Mr. Blackwood. He watches what he says around Martin a lot more closely after that, and keeps an eye on Martin’s reactions.

-Jon will tell Martin that he thinks he’s nothing he’s like Mr. Blackwood. He doesn’t see how they could be the same person. Martin is so caring, and helpful, and kind, and warm, and Blackwood isn’t. Jon is so wrapped up in his frustration that he does not know Martin is blushing as he says this. Martin suddenly has to go make a cup of tea. Right then.

-The next time it’s Martin defending Jon against Blackwood. Blackwood is happy that Martin is starting to assert himself but is exasperated that it’s only occuring because of his own failed attempts to get the archive staff to trust him. He suddenly wants his own Jon to come back so badly so he can tell him how ridiculous this entire situation is. So they can laugh together at how Blackwood advanced their younger counterparts’ relationship progress by at least 3 years by accidentally becoming the villain of their story, so Jon can tease him about it.

-The third time it’s Jon once again defending Martin, saying that Blackwood went too far, that he sounds like Martin’s mother and he made him cry. Mr. Blackwood realizes that, yeah he does absolutely sound like his mum and he has to leave and reasses his actions. He hadn’t realized he was picking up her specific way of critisizing-well-himself. It’s just how he talked to himself in his own head- which- well- which wasn’t great.

-Jon is so surprised that he managed to actually get one-up on Mr. Blackwood that he takes everyone out for drinks and insists on paying. Which is a nice distraction for Martin.

-It also, Blackwood notices, means Jon is getting closer to his archive staff and hanging out with them. It gives him a bittersweet hapiness. He’s so happy that they’re all closer in this timeline, that he managed to force Jon into socializing and Martin and Jon to get close. But he realizes he did it by being the outsider and interloper that they’re defending against, and he’s not quite part of this new group of the archive staff. He’s happy for them, just lonely. Even Sasha and Tim, who he gets along with more than Jon or Martin, are wary to trust him. He’s not telling them everything. He has to fight against Elias without the aid of spooky Eye powers and he’s unsure of when Elias is listening, so he’s not mentioning everything. He’s not telling them who killed Gertrude Robinson. He’s being evasive on the reasons he does not trust Elias, and about what power succeded at causing the apocalypse.

-As the days go by with no sign of His Jon/ Mr. Sim’s coming back his old connection to The Lonely intensifies and he becomes able to turn invisible and go by unnoticed again. The archive staff notice that he becomes spookier and sadder and- slightly less human and it decreases their trust in him.

[Check My Blog for a Part 2. I am writing this in one sitting, but this particular document has become long enough.]

#The Magnus Archives #Yesterday is Here #Fanfiction #Archive of Our Own #Martin Came First AU #Mr. Blackwood AU #weaponizing my own writer's block

5 notes · View notes

sakura-blossom28 · 4 years

Text

Modern Day Romance

Chapter 3

Bit of a dull chapter to get things moving, but I’m excited for the next part! I think Hinata seems a little meaner then she would typically be written, only because I’m writing from experience!! I’m hoping that in later chapters I can write the story so that they would be closer to how they actually are (namely Naruto and Hinata) I do want them to be more in the story but for now, they have to be “uncaring friends” even though they’re not like that normally!! So please bear with me!

Please let me know what you think! I don’t own Naruto

Ch 1 / Ch 2 /

Gaara: Are you sure I’m your type?

Sakura looked at the message. He had every reason to be suspicious, but it was the 21st century, weirder things would happen if a bubbly girl and a seemingly gothic guy got together. Gaara didn’t seem disinterested in her, but if she didn’t answer the right way he might just think she’s an airhead like everyone assumed she was. That fact frustrated Sakura to no end. People always assumed that she was just a dumb girl who only liked pink and frilly things. She was much more than just her appearance. How many times had guys dropped her because they assumed too much about her based on how little they knew of her?

Sakura: A better question would be am I your type?

This was her actual fear. Maybe he was just curious about her and he had no intention of getting to know her. Seeing the three typing bubbles caused so much anxiety for Sakura that she got out of the app to text Hinata, but she stopped. Hinata wouldn’t care about this. They made it clear to Sakura that their friendship was fading. Before she could wallow too much, a new message from Gaara popped up. Moving hesitantly, Sakura opened the message.

Gaara: I don’t think I really have a type. As cliche as it sounds, it’s on what the inside that counts. I would have to get to know you first to see.

Well, at least that’s promising, Sakura thought to herself. But another message came through before she could reply.

Gaara: But I do think you are very pretty.

Sakura blushed madly at the compliment. Sure she knew she was fairly attractive, but it had been so long since a boy had complimented her. Even though she had been on a few dates and talked to a decent amount of guys in the last few months, they never really made a comment about her appearance. When she dated Sasuke the only thing he ever said to her was that she looked ‘nice’ and that was only after she had to prompt him. Seeing the type of person that Gaara looked like, he was the type to mean what he says.

You need to calm down. Play it cool, don’t dive in headfirst or you’ll get hurt all over again, the voice reminded her. It was right, she needed to play it cool and not get over-excited.

Sakura: Oh thank you! That’s a good way to look at people, especially on here. Most guys on here kind of have a one-track mind that I’ve seen, so it’s refreshing to see that! I do think you’re handsome. :P

Gaara: Not to be too forward, but what are you looking for?

He was direct and to the point. Sakura was shocked. Being on dating apps for about a year, not once had a guy asked her this question outright. Gaara seemed to direct and to the point type of person. Maybe this was what she needed, to be more upfront about what she wanted. Why did she always hide how she felt when she was dating someone? Sakura felt like she was walking on eggshells when she was around Sasuke like if she upset him just the tiniest bit he would fall apart right in front of her.

Sakura was a strong and independent person, she was dependable to her friends, could help them with any problem they had, but when she had a boyfriend she lost all of her confidence and personality. Meek was not a word she would associate with herself, but with Sasuke, that’s exactly how she acted. Sure he never opened up to her, but Sakura didn’t help by hiding how she actually felt when he ignored her for all those months. Why was she always trying so hard to please these guys who in the end didn’t care about her one way or another? It was time she took a step forward and demand to be treated fairly and would take nothing less.

Sakura: Well I think what I really want is just to connect with someone. I just want to be able to be myself! I wouldn’t want to rush into something, but if it’s the right person it should just be easy!

Gaara: I couldn’t agree more.

They talked for the rest of the night getting to know each other. They worked in similar fields so it was easy talking about work and the frustrations that their patients gave them. Sakura felt herself opening up to Gaara. She felt no fear in saying anything embarrassing to him about her interests or any opinions she had. He was very intelligent and could keep up when she brought up her love for the medical field and all the side cases that her mentor Tsunade gave her.

He was polite and kind when responding, never saying anything inappropriate. Sakura didn’t think his mind worked like that. Gaara gave off the vibe that he was pretty straight-laced even though his siblings that he told her about did not. Sakura was fascinated by him. There was just something about him that always left her wanting to know more.

The days past as they kept talking. Sakura built up the courage to ask for his number after talking for a solid week. She claimed that it would be easier for them to talk, but really she just wanted to move things along. Even though Gaara was so smart, when it came down the flirting he seemed clueless. Thankfully Sakura found that endearing. But it was a good thing because they hadn’t met yet and she didn’t want to get too hot and heavy to have them meet and not feel anything.

It only took a few days after exchanging numbers that Gaara asked if she would be willing to go on a date that weekend if she had time. She was ecstatic. Oh, how she wished Ino was here. They would be dancing around her room like they used to do in high school when a boy they liked talked to them. Ino would insist to help Sakura get ready and pick out her outfit. They had so many happy memories and now Ino did all that with her roommates. Sakura debated texting Ino, but she still had this imaginary guilt about bothering her.

Sakura: Do you mind if we do something different than dinner?

Gaara: That would be alright with me. Do you have something else in mind?

Sakura: Not really… Give me a day and I’ll come up with something!

Gaara: If you don’t mind I could plan something if you like.

This surprised Sakura. Out of all the boys that she dated none of them ever offered to plan a date. If they did it was because a friend wanted to do an activity and invited them along. Being a control freak Sakura really didn’t mind doing the planning, but it felt like a nice change of pace. Plus he was offering to do something for her which was very nice.

Let him do it. Let’s see if he’s as good as we think. It’ll be a way to see if he’s worthy of you, the voice whispered sweetly into her mind. It would be interesting to see what he could come up with.

Sakura: That would actually be great and so sweet! Thank you :)

They set the date for Saturday for an uncertain time until Gaara came up with something for them to do. Sakura felt excited again. Maybe this would be a good thing for her. But the fear of the unknown was still at the back of her mind. She wanted a relationship so bad, but she wouldn’t settle anymore. Sakura just hoped that Gaara was different from the rest. But now Sakura was different too. She would never let anyone make her feel like she needed to change just to make them like her. Sakura relaxed back down onto her couch and tried not to think about what Gaara would plan.

Ch 4

#Sabaku No Gaara #gaara x sakura #gaasaku #Sakura Haruno #Hinata Hyuga #My writing #modern au #dating au #naruto

18 notes · View notes

whereyoursoulresides · 4 years

Text

DiC Dub. vs Sub, Episode 21/25 - “Jupiter Comes Thundering In”/”Jupiter, the Brawny Girl in Love” Pt 2

After so long, here is part two!!

Because of the massive break in between the two, I’ve had to switch gears a little with my explanations, but hopefully they’ll still appear coherent! Without further ado, the remainder of this episode of Dub vs. Sub!

Previously, I covered the manners in which the episode begins to establish the foundation for both diverging character arcs. Propped with knowledge from both Beryl and Kunzite, Zoisite takes his charge with perfect grace and professionalism. Meanwhile, DiC's Zoycite is introduced as being far keener, promisingly relentless, and a more dangerous adversary. If Zoisite was concealing his fangs, as it were...then we were introduced to Zoycite flashing hers.

If it sounds like I'm bashing a dead horse with this difference a lot, perhaps it's also because the DiC dub seems to do so with as much vigor. Certainly, I can't assume writers' intentions when they re-wrote the character for DiC. However, DiC seemed to find as many opportunities as they can to showcase Zoycite's contrary presentation of Zoisite's original character as often as they can, even when they didn't necessarily have to...

This bit of exposition was given right at the very beginning of the DiC version when no such introduction was made in the original. Possibly, DiC made this change to ramp up the story's dramaticism. However, DiC's reputation for obvious exposition leads me to believe otherwise, especially when it starts cropping up in later episodes more frequently, and for no other reason.

(For example, yes, I understand that the following screenshots are referring to Lita / Makoto. However, if you look at Zoycite’s arc as a whole, it is also an excellent setup to the infamous “Disguise” episode...and I feel it is also a great representation of why DiC so desperately wanted to sow these character changes into Zoycite. For if they hadn’t, and Zoycite remained exactly as Zoisite in all manners except gender... how different would “she” be, a beautiful female soldier fighting for love, than another titular character we know?)

Anyways, I digress, and will return to the above bracketed point once we reach that particular episode. In the meantime, please enjoy the following comparisons remaining from the episode below...

1. Zoycite’s keenness, and further proof that DiC can’t stand empty sound space, even if it’s to imply a character’s softly - and ominous - coming).

2. I wish there was a way I could put audio clips in these tumblr posts, because I do love how both these characters are still portrayed with a sense of play...Zoycite’s acrid, saccharine poison, and Zoisite’s breathy, cotton-candy kiss of death.

3. If I could put in audio clips, this is where we would hear Zoycite’s syrup literally curdle - her voice rips into an edge of monstrous roughness, similar to other other monster-of-the-day characters that were also portrayed by the same actress. Meanwhile, Zoisite’s actor speaks with a softness of a snake beginning to gently suffocate you..

4. Goddamnit Zoi, you are so fucking cute, I will never get over how you call out your own name like you’re a fucking pokemon <3.

(Side Note: Zoisite’s use of his own name may seem vain, but I tend to read it less as a form of vanity, and more of a form of cute-speak. It’s yet another way he downplays the perception of his potential: to evoke the sense of adorableness, of femininity, a way to startle the opponent into a sense of lowered security. Honestly, I’m sure this isn’t so much of an actual farce he puts on and is genuinely how he expresses himself, both on the job and at home, but it works! Note that in the future, whenever Zoycite uses the same tactic, she never says it in the same, diminutive cute way. Her spell-cast is always aggressive, shouted in determination and confidence).

(Extra Side-Note: Another +1 for how many times Zoycite will say she is excited to please Queen Beryl. I’m keeping count for an explicit reason. Infer that what you will, and please imagine it with the same kind of “ding” that’s heard in CinemaSins.)

5. I mean, apart from the usual (Zoycite’s kneejerk reaction is to be antagonistic, while Zoisite is actually only politely informing Makoto that she does not have to engage, etc, ...he literally does not coax, mock or challenge. We will see later that Zoisite treats physical bloodshed and confrontation as unnecessary and only as a last resort, while Zoycite is spurred by challenges) - I also love how Zoycite’s dialogue also reflects this difference. I’ve talked at length at how Zoisite is always unfailingly and elegantly polite before, and now look at Zoycite’s speaking mannerisms: uncouth, aggressive, and filled to the brim with attitude when the opportunity arises. ‘SCUSE ME, indeed!

6.Further point regarding Zoycite and Zoisite’s divergent opinions of physical or violent confrontation: one disparages it, considering it barbaric, and that he is above it (often literally). The other laughs in the face of it, and has no qualms dishing it out as a threat...or is more than ready to follow it through.

(Also: buzz off omfg)

In fact, we see their opinions play out beautifully below:

7. After being punched, compare these reactions: one promising brutal threat, and the other fucking gobsmacked it even happened. Also, their differences in priorities.

While that may sound like I’m making a dig at Zoisite, I am legitimately not. I know this scene tends to be one of the ones that famously evoke the idea of Zoisite’s vanity, but I tend to read it another way. Yes, Zoisite’s face is precious to him, and yes, it could also be read as a stereotypical portrayal of a feminine gay character.

However, this scene is not meant to illicit laughter. Nor it is not meant for us to startle with incredulity of how silly it is that he is upset his face his hurt. In this scene, Zoisite is truly shocked - his words are less an angry tantrum and more a statement of startled fact. He hadn’t anticipated Makoto could get that close to him, could actually touch him, much could actually strike him. And, in a place that is fiercely protective of, not because of his vanity...but because it is a precious commodity in the main force that drives his arc. (Yes, it’s Kunzite.) It’s no surprise that Zoisite’s beauty and “beautiful face” gets mentioned so often at key moments in his character development. His arc starts with a punch in the face, rises with gentle caresses, and - after a similar injury - crashes.

All of these subtleties, however, are swapped entirely in Zoycite’s case. Her face is not a fragile commodity by which she holds dear...in fact, it is of little importance to her. Her immediate concern is vengeance - more so than the injury on her face, it is her ego is bruised, and damn anyone who dares to make that mark.

Anyways, before I digress further, let’s round back up to the remainder of the episode. These last few scenes only continue to consistently show the differences in Zoycite’s and Zoisite’s professional approach. There isn’t as deep to note, with one exception at the very end...

8. If you haven’t already caught on, Zoycite really wants this fucking crystal.

9. Up above, DiC makes as much of an effort to showcase how much joy Zoycite derives from her job. Being a Negaverse warrior is an excellent honour - your true self - and boy, is she enjoying exerting her power over those below her. Zoycite’s ambition is demonstrated not as an ideal professional characteristic, but the potential in her to throw a coup if she wanted to. She is power hungry, and that grows recklessly to dangerous heights as her arc progresses. Notice that Zoisite says none of these things...because it isn’t power he seeks. He approaches his subject with almost professional indifference: he seeks no more than the objective of his task. And don’t worry, “it will only take a moment”.

10. This has always been one of my favourite scenes. I just love how Zoisite politely “nopes” out, while Zoycite - and I fully believe it - has a fucking victory celebration. (Don’t think for a moment Zoycite is just jesting, she probably told Malachite to set out the champagne before she left on the mission!)

And again, note the increased victorious laughter, where there was none before...

And FINALLY, the one ODD thing that happens a LOT throughout DiC’s version of this character arc. Remember how I mentioned in a previous instalment that DiC seemed to like to inject extra dialogue and laughs that could exposit Zoycite as a fundamentally meaner character than Zoisite?

Hey look, it happened again:

Like, this may not seem like much of a deal, but think about it. We had a scene earlier where Zoisite’s words basically remained the same in conversion (the “order” scene). We’ve had many instances where the original dialogue/script did not need to be changed, and yet was tweaked in just certain places. This seems like a wholly unnecessary change, so why do it?

The answer is: in changing Zoisite’s gender, DiC encountered a whole other problem. And that problem was: a female solider character, who’s primary motivation was love, a love that could be read as more complex, established, and equally both inspirational and problematic ...could end up becoming an unintentional role model for DiC’s demographic. Figuratively speaking, the tragedy by which we all love Kunzite and Zoisite’s humanity for carried a message that DiC feared might be misconstrued as another example of a miracle romance - because at that point, superficially, the character would no longer be any different than Sailor Moon. iIf Zoycite also fought for love, then her motivations would blow a hole right in the Power of Love message that DiC’s Sailor Moon stood for. And, if she was as dedicated to Malachite as Zoisite was to Kunzite - questionably so - it would also rip a massive hole in DiC’s message of Girl Power.

I’ll talk more about this in greater detail as those essential scenes crop up throughout the arc. For the time being, let’s simply observe that for all the animosity Zoycite gets in the DiC version (even by other characters in the same universe), that Zoisite was never perceived in the same way, even by his enemies. And there’s a reason for that.

#DiC Dub vs Sub #DiC Dub vs Sub Analysis #DiC Dub Analysis #dic sailor moon #90s Sailor Moon #Shitennou Syntax #Dark Kingdom Meta #Negaverse Meta #bssm sailor moon #zoisite #kunzite #zoycite #malachite #episode comparison

23 notes · View notes

collapsingintojupiter · 4 years

Text

Sunshine and StormClouds: Chapter 13

Catch up:

Chapter 1 Chapter 1.5 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12

I feel like I’m just writing a rollercoaster at this point lmao.

Characters: Roman, Roman’s mother (abusive), Logan, Virgil, Patton.

Trigger Warnings: (Brief) physical abuse; briefly mentioned memories of abuse; references to abusive/unsympathetic Janus/Deceit; descriptions of an RSD episode.

It had been a long day. Too long, Roman thought, kicking at a rock as he trudged along the sidewalk. School had gotten more confusing than ever, and even with Logan’s help he was struggling to keep up with all of his classes. It just felt like too much, like all he wanted to do was dig a hole and curl up under the dirt for a long, long nap.

But...he had to push through. He had to keep pushing through, like he always did, and--

A whine interrupted his thoughts and Roman spun around, nearly tripping over his own feet in surprise. He didn’t see anything at first, and let out a soft whistle, crouching down and looking around the nearly empty parking lot he’d been passing. Whatever it was whined again and he edged closer to the noise, finding himself on his knees near a parked minivan.

And there it was. A small bundle of black and brown fur, huddled up against the tire. It was shivering and tiny...too tiny. Roman hesitantly reached out a hand, his heart dropping at how the dog flinched.

“Hey...” he whispered. “Don’t worry, It’s okay...I won’t hurt you, I promise...I just want to help…” Inch by inch he slid his hand forward, until he could ever-so gently run a finger along the dog’s shoulders. I can feel his ribs through his fur. Roman moved slowly and steadily, until he was able to carefully pick the tiny creature up.

“Hey, what are you doing!?” Roman jumped, hitting his head on the side of the car with a yelp.

“Is that a dog? Is he yours?” He slowly looked up, wincing at his throbbing head as he found himself face-to-face with a stout brunette.

“Uh...n-no, ma’am. I don’t know whose dog it is. I was hoping it might be yours.”

“I’m afraid it isn’t.” The woman’s voice softened as she looked at the tiny puppy cradled in Roman’s arms. “I’m sorry I scared you. I would offer to take it home, but my apartment doesn’t allow animals.”

“I...I can take him,” Roman lied, flashing a smile at the woman. “Don’t worry, I’m sure my mom will be fine with it.” Also a lie. But...strangers made him nervous, and he just wanted to leave.

“Hmmm, alright. Might want to put up some Found posters, ‘n case he belongs to someone,” the woman said. “Anyways, goodnight, and good luck with him.” With that she climbed into her car and drove off, leaving Roman alone with a puppy his mother most definitely would not want. And by the looks of the puppy...if it did have an owner, it wasn’t one he’d give it back to.

“I’ll take care of you,” Roman whispered. He gently slid off his backpack, putting the puppy beside it as he pulled his sweatshirt off and gently bundled it up in it. “There you go, that should keep you warm.”

For a brief moment, Roman considered calling Logan. Or Virgil. Or even stopping by their house, but...what if they didn’t want the dog? What if he was just bothering them by stopping by at this hour? They probably didn’t want a dog; maybe Patton would be scared of it, or allergic. He couldn’t risk that.

Roman didn’t have the money to take it to a vet, or the heart to take it to a shelter. Both were far away, anyways, and it was getting dark. Without his sweatshirt, it was cold.

Looked like he’d have to take it home and take his chances.

“I hope Mom likes you,” Roman murmured to the puppy, glancing over at Logan and Virgil’s house as he passed by. He could see their kitchen; see the husbands eating dinner, and little Patton in his high chair. For a brief moment, his heart felt warm. He smiled to himself, then ducked his head and kept walking. It was just a dream, and a dream too good for him.

Roman continued on, and the streets felt colder and emptier than before as he approached his house; a house where he knew there was no warmth or kindness waiting for him. A house that was only a house; and not a home.

Please don’t be drunk, Roman begged the universe, as he reached the front door and opened it.

He stepped inside, and found that the universe was apparently deaf tonight. He smelled his mom before he saw her, sprawled across the couch with a glass of wine in her hand...and not her first glass.

“Hi honey,” she called, as Roman slid off his backpack and hesitantly approached her. “What’s that you got?”

“I...I’m sorry mom,” Roman swallowed. “I uh, I found a puppy…”

“You brought home an animal!?” In an instant his mother’s expression changed, a snarl on her face as she staggered up from the couch. “You get that horrible thing out of my house! Now!”

“Mom, please, I promise I’ll--”

He was cut off as she slapped him, stumbling backwards and nearly dropping the dog in the process. It whimpered, and if anything the expression on Mrs. Emmerson’s face only got meaner when she heard it.

“I told you to get the rodent out of the house!” she screamed. “I hate those stupid, worthless things! All they do is cost money! You don’t have money for a dog! I don’t have money for a dog! If you want it so bad, then you can sleep in the street with it! Now go!” she pointed furiously at the door, and before Roman could process what was happening he was outside in the cold again.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, looking at the empty road; at the puppy in his hands. “I’m sorry…” he could feel the exhaustion crawling up his spine; the cold seeping into his tired body. The Sanders’ house was so far away, back down the road...

With trembling hands, Roman pulled his phone from his pocket.

---

“Spajetti!” Patton shouted, his face covered in the red sauce as he stuffed the noodles into his mouth with his hands. Virgil was laughing so hard he was crying, while Logan snapped picture after picture of their ecstatic son.

Virgil doubled over and fell out of his chair, which made Patton giggle and even got a laugh out of Logan. He started to get back up, still laughing when the phone rang.

“It’s Roman,” he said in surprise as he pulled it from his pocket, the laughter fading from his eyes as he answered it. “Hey Roman, what’s--”

“I’m sorry Virgil, I’m so sorry,” Roman stumbled over his words; he was crying, Virgil realized.

“Hey, whoah, sorry for what? What’s wrong?”

“I...I found a dog...I’m so sorry, I don’t know what to do...I...my mom...she...I can’t…I’m sorry...”

“Hey, Roman, listen to me. I’m coming right now, okay? Don’t apologize for a thing. I’ll be right there.”

“Thank you so much…” Roman sniffled, then hung up. Logan looked at Virgil, a look of question in his eyes.

“I’ll be right back,” Virgil said, pulling himself to his feet. He leaned over and kissed Logan on the forehead; then Patton. “I’ll be back before you know it, Sunshine,” he whispered.

He went to the car and started it, pulling out onto the street and making his way towards Roman’s house. Thoughts whirled around in his head; memories; memories of the same tremor in his own voice, the same tears in his own eyes.

No. He didn’t want to think about it.

He let out an audible sigh of relief when he found Roman on the side of the road, wearing only a t-shirt in the freezing wind. A tiny something was bundled up in his only south of warmth.

It means you’ll give blood til there’s none left to bleed...

Virgil shook his head and got out, pulling off his patch jacket as he approached the boy.

“Are you okay?” he asked gently. Roman sniffed and looked up, giving him the tiniest nod. Virgil draped his patch jacket around the teen’s shoulders, glaring at him when he tried to stutter an apology; a protest.

“You’re cold. Take it,” he ordered. Roman shut his mouth and swallowed hard, getting into the car without a sound when he opened the door for him. Virgil got into the driver’s seat, glancing at the boy as he started back towards their house.

“Roman, you’re okay,” he said softly. “You are not in trouble. I am not upset. Logan will not be upset. I promise.” He paused, then added: “I’m proud of you, you know.”

“Proud?” Roman asked, sounding both surprised and exhausted.

“Yes. For caring. It takes a lot of courage to do what you did.”

Roman didn’t answer him; turning and looking out the window as they finished the drive to his house. They pulled into the driveway and Virgil stopped; then turned to look at Roman.

“Listen, kid. You may not be able to believe me right now, and that’s okay. But you are brave. You’re a good kid, and Logan and I do care about you. And I--we’ll both do whatever it takes to help you understand and believe the truth.” He sighed; he knew his words were falling on deaf ears, but he had to say them anyways. “For now, let’s take care of that puppy, okay?”

“Okay,” Roman whispered. He got out; letting Virgil lead him inside. Logan was waiting with Patton in his arms.

“Look who’s here, Sunshine,” Logan said, as the child reached excitedly to Patton.

“Ro-Ro!” he shouted. “Hi Romin!” At that, even Roman couldn’t help but smile.

“Would you like to hold him?” Logan asked.

“Y-Yes, please.” Virgil gently took the puppy from his arms, and Logan passed Patton to him while the two fathers looked over the small dog.

“He’s not in very good shape,” Logan said, gently pulling back the sweatshirt wrapped around it. “Some food in its belly and a bath should help. We’ll call Remy; he’s good with dogs. I’m sure he’d love to help as well.”

“Thank you,” Roman whispered. “Thank you.”

“Of course,” Logan said. “Now, Roman, would you like to watch Patton, or would you like to help with the dog? It’s up to you.” Roman looked at Patton, then at the tiny puppy in Virgil’s hands.

“I...c-can I help with the puppy, please?”

“Absolutely.” Virgil nodded to Roman, handing the dog back once the boy had given Patton back to Logan. “Let’s start with some food. I’m thinking a scrambled egg, and Remy can bring us some dog food when he comes over. Does that sound good to you?” Roman just nodded, holding the tiny creature close to his chest as Virgil got out the egg carton and a pan.

---

“While I’m cooking eggs, I feel like making extra. Would you like some?”

“Um, yes please, sir.”

“You don’t have to call me sir, kid.”

“R-Right.” Roman stood awkwardly by the counter, Virgil’s jacket still around his shoulders as the warmth of the house began to seep into his body. He could feel it chasing the cold and anxiety away, and tried to focus on taking deep breaths.

Safe. Safe. I’m safe here. It’s okay. It’s okay. His frazzled mind slowly but surely cleared, as Virgil cooked up the eggs and he remembered just how hungry he was. Luckily, Virgil made a lot, and suddenly there was a plate of scrambled eggs in front of him. A small plate was brought out for the puppy, and Roman sat down cross-legged on the kitchen floor beside it as they both ate.

The puppy ate eagerly, and so did he. Virgil watched them with a look Roman might’ve called fond, if he wasn’t so exhausted and convinced that everything hated him. He knew it was his ADHD and the accompanying RSD, but he couldn’t control it. He couldn’t make the hurt stop hurting.

All he could do was wait it out.

And eat his eggs.

---

Remy came to pick up the dog shortly after Virgil and Roman had finished bathing it. The thing was so small it fit in the sink, where it shivered and trembled as the two gently washed it with warm water and brushed out its fur afterwards. The barista promised to take care of it and bring it by to visit once he’d brought it by the vet’s office, and to let Roman name it.

Virgil tried to convince Roman to stay with them for the night, but he insisted on going back to his mom. He had school tomorrow, he said, and no amount of convincing would keep him away from the hellhole Virgil knew awaited him at home.

He knew it too well. Far, far too well, and he hated it more than words could say. He hated knowing this kid was doing exactly what he had done, and that he couldn’t stop it. He couldn’t make Roman understand, just like Logan and Remy hadn’t been able to make him understand.

He had to be patient. He had to wait.

“At least take this home with you,” Virgil said at last. He pressed a container full of the leftover spaghetti into Roman’s hands; it was still warm from their earlier meal. Roman was hesitant to take it, but eventually he did. Then he pulled his sweatshirt on, tucked the container under his arm, and disappeared back into the cold dark.

#sunshine and stomclouds #sanders sides #sanders sides fanfiction #fanfiction #my writing #roman sanders #logan sanders #virgil sanders #patton sanders #baby!patton #remy sanders #unsympathetic deceit

16 notes · View notes

dessiekarma · 5 years

Text

My Harem is Entirely Bad Boy Types (Kirisaki Daiichi x Reader) Pt. 1

Chapter 1: I’m Finally an Anime Protagonist!

“Please (Y/N)! I promise I’ll pick him up from your house after practice and keep him for tonight…for the whole weekend!” Hara said, practically on his knees.

(Y/N) turned her head away stubbornly and held the bundle in her arms tighter. She made no move to get up from the bleachers.

“You said that last time and never showed! He’s our responsibility and you need to do your share of the work!”

“I will I promise, just not right now!”

“Hanamiya is going to be here any minute. If you don’t get her out of here he’s going to be upset. You know he’s been a bitch ever since we lost to Seirin.” Furuhashi said glancing at the time on his phone.

“He’s always been a bitch! And he’s gonna take it out on me.” Turning to (Y/N) the young man pressed his hands together pleadingly. “Look you can bring him to my house and I’ll take him or better yet wait for me outside and just pass him off to me when I’m out of practice. From there I’ll deal with him.”

“DEAL with? You mean take care of! And why, so you can sneak out a different way and leave me waiting with a baby outside the gym? I don’t think so!”

“If I let you stay my captain is gonna be so pissed off and I am not running suicides because of you!”

“Your captain can kiss my ass!”

“Ahh you can’t say things like that! Look you’re a new transfer so I get it, you don’t know Hanamiya but I’m warning you you’re gonna leave here in tears.”

“And you are too if you don’t help me with this kid!”

“Oh my god stop yelling.” Seto drawled sitting up from one of the back bleachers. “Why don’t you just take the damn thing and go home for today? Then you don’t have to worry about the captain meeting your girlfriend.”

“She’s not my girlfriend! Besides he’ll be pissed if I bail on practice!”

“But is that worse than the possibility of your girlfriend telling him to fuck off?”

“I think Seto has a point.” Yamazaki said bouncing the ball against the gym wall. “Tell Caps you got sick or something.”

“I guess. Will that satisfy you? I have to miss my practice to help.” Hara asked frowning at the girl who only huffed in annoyance.

“Oh you have such a sad story to tell. I’m sacrificing too here! Do you know how much he cries!? I’ve missed countless episodes of new anime!”

“You’re comparing sports to anime? I have to practice to get better, you can just watch the same episode the next day!”

“Ummm and risk spoilers?”

“You’re such a spoiled brat! I don-”

“Why haven’t you guys started?” A deep voice rang through the gym. Everyone turned their heads to see their captain stroll in tossing his bag onto the floor.

It wasn’t long until olive eyes spotted the unfamiliar face in the room. (E/C) eyes met his unblinking and a small stare off began. Hanamiya rose a brow at this poor lost soul that wondered into his gym.

“Who the hell are you?”

“You look…” (Y/N) began, still staring.

“Please don’t.” Hara whispered knowing this wasn’t going to end well.

The black-haired male had to stifle a blush from how intently the girl was staring at him. Thankfully a scowl covered that just fine.

“Here, hold my baby.” The young woman said shoving the blanket at Yamazaki. Reaching out her phone she quickly typed something in before holding up an image of some anime character,

“You look just like Kiyoshi Fujino from Prison School! Only meaner! Seriously you have the lock of hair between your eyes and everything!” The girl finally blurted out with an overly enthusiastic smile.

Hanamiya didn’t know what to say. Something was clearly wrong with her, to talk to him so comfortably. With a click of the tongue he marched up to her, placed his hand on her head and turned her back towards his team.

“Okay who’s is this and what the hell is it doing in my gym?” Hanamiya said with his finger poking directly into her cheek.

Everyone stayed quiet, though Yamazaki attempted to pass what he was holding to Seto who shoved it right back. A small game of hot potato quickly ensued before piercing cries filled the gym. If the fires of hell weren’t in Hanamiya’s eyes before they were sure burning now.

“Whose baby is that? What the hell is going on in here? I was only five minutes late!”

Somehow the screaming baby ended up in Hara’s hands as he tried to rock it back and forth to stop the crying.

“If I don’t get an answer everyone is doing suicides until midnight.”

And just like that everyone, including the unknown girl, broke out in explanation at once. Some were making hand gestures while others added sound effects and mimics to drive their points home. However not a single point was reaching Hanamiya’s ears in the jumble of voices.

“Oh my god its like having a gym full of children. One at a TIME!” This silenced everyone.

Furuhashi being the most level headed and with the calmest voice decided it be best if he explained lest the whole team suffer. He cleared his throat before beginning.

“The baby is Hara’s and that girl’s. He brought her here and the rest of us have nothing to do with it.”

“What!” Hara shouted only causing the baby to scream again at the loud sound.

The captain tried taking that information in and it was surprisingly more difficult than he imagined. Looking down at the girl whose head was still in the palm of his hand he looked back at Hara and then back again. Sizing her up he directed his next words to her.

“You let HIM do you? Pfft have some self-respect.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Hara exclaimed not expecting this interaction to go down this way.

“Ahh no! It’s not like that.” (Y/N) began explaining, however Hanamiya already released her and was walking over to Hara.

Hooking a finger into the fold of the blanket he pulled it down so he could see the baby’s face. The moment it was revealed he didn’t know whether to laugh or just be more confused.

“What the hell? This is a doll!” Hanamiya said with an amused tone. “I knew you couldn’t pull her.” With that he flicked the doll on the cheek only for it to begin screeching again.

“Hey! This thing records mishandling actions!”

“Don’t call him a thing!”

“Okay enough with the misleading conversations, Hara what the hell is happening?”

“Well (Y/N) is in my health committee and we got paired up. The supervising teacher saw it in some American movie and now we’re stuck with this dumb assignment for the semester. It tracks everything and needs to be fed, burped, changed its honestly like a real baby and its ruining my life!”

“Ruining your life? Why don’t you tell your captain why I’m here?!”

“She says I n-”

“I’ll tell you why I’m here! We’ve had this baby for an entire week and he hasn’t been helping me at all!”

“That’s not true!”

“Yes, it is! The only time you lift a finger is when the teacher is around! But other than that you leave him with me the rest of the day and night. You never ask if we can watch him together or if I need a break and offer to take him. No, you just assume that I’ll pull your weight with this project.”

“Well you are a girl. Isn’t this more natural for you? I mean that’s like your Main purpose in life.”

“You sexist piece of shit!”

“Listen! As much as I don’t care, why the hell do you think sticking around here is going to help him take responsibility.” Hanamiya asked looking a little creeped out at the life like doll.

“Because I know you can’t change some people through kindness…but you can make their lives the eighth circle of hell until you get what you want.” (Y/N) replied with a pout directed at the clearly unhappy Hara.

Hanamiya was dead silent before nodding.

“Alright she can stay.”

“Excuse me!?”

“Come on Hara how can you possibly abandon the mother of your child?” Hanamiya said snatching the baby away from him and cradling it. “Have some sympathy for a single mother!”

“We literally break people’s legs!”

“But not young girls’ hearts!” Hanamiya mocked, sticking his tongue out at the male.

“Whatever happened to ‘don’t do anything I wouldn’t do’?”

“Well I would never leave a girl alone to care for my baby. My mama didn’t raise a deadbeat. A fucking psycho asshole, maybe, but no deadbeat.”

“This is bullshit! You just want to watch me suffer!”

“Yes! And as much as I want to torture Hara I don’t want this to backfire on myself. So keep that thing from crying, don’t be loud yourself, I don’t babysit, and lastly…”

Hanamiya looked back at the bleachers to see (Y/N)’s bag sitting there. Anime keychains dangled from every zipper along with patches of favourite characters sewn into the fabric. “You’re an otaku?”

(Y/N) nodded.

“Don’t ship any of us or your ass is out of here. Understood?”

“Perfectly!”

Hanamiya handed the baby to her before holding his hands out for Yamazaki to throw him the ball. Catching it quickly he motioned for his team to get on the court. Dribbling the ball slowly he turned to (Y/N) once more.

“By the way did you give it a name?” The male said nodding to the baby.

“Makoto. But I just call him Mako.”

“Swimming anime, right?”

“Why do you know that?” Yamazaki called out but was ignored by his captain.

“I didn’t name him, Hara did.”

“Oh…really?”

“Yeah I said I wanted to give him a cute name and he chose that.”

“uhhh…”

“Is something wrong?”

“That’s…uh… my name.”

The team heard the exchange and were stifling laughter while Hara looked like he literally wanted to dissolve into the floor.

“…We aren’t off to a great start with that no shipping rule.”

~~~~~~~

“How come he never cries with you?!” Hara whisper yelled at his napping teammate. Seto patted the mechanical child laying on his chest and shrugged.

“Its always asleep when I have it. If you want it to cry I can try to make a basket with him?”

“Yes!” Yamazaki said perking up from his spot on the bleachers.

“NO! That witch will string me up to the basketball net if you tried.” Hara mumbled.

“Witch? You should be lucky you got someone tolerant enough to put up with your shit!” (Y/N) says sneaking up behind Hara and poking her fingers into his sides. “I should have gotten a hot and sweet guy to be partnered with, but I’m stuck with you.”

The boy jumped but regained himself fast enough to deliver a smack to the girl’s forehead.

“I’ll have you know girls think I’m extremely handsome.”

“Your mama doesn’t count.” Hanamiya said while tying his shoes.

“No but yours does.” Hara quipped not missing the finger Hanamiya threw him. Turning back to (Y/N) he saw her giggling before a thought seemed to pop in her head.

“You know, I joke but I don’t think I’ve ever actually seen your entire face. What do you guys think?”

The other five players looked at each other in bewilderment.

“I can’t say I’ve seen more than this. Any of you?” Furuhashi asked to which he was met with silence.

“Hey pin your bangs back.” Hanamiya said sitting up straighter and leaning closer.

“No way! Let’s just drop it.”

“It’s just your eyes, what are you hiding?” Furuhashi asked curiously.

“Do you have a lazy eye?” Seto asked seriously.

“No!”

“Heterochromia?” Furuhashi asked after thinking for a bit.

“Come on guys…”

“Leave him alone, maybe he has super thick eyebrows or something.” Yamazaki said cooly as if he didn’t care about the matter at all.

“What’s wrong with thick eyebrows?” Hanamiya glared back slowly.

“Nothing!”

“NO its nothing like that.”

“So what’s the reason? Are you a cyclops?” Hanamiya asked taking the baby from Seto out of boredom and bouncing it in his lap.

“Leave me alooone!”

“Oof, do you have scars?” (Y/N) asked with an otaku twinkle in her eyes and a sultry dip in her voice.

“What the fuck? Are you into that? Anyway who cares?” Hara mumbled with his arms crossed.

“Please! We have a child together and I’ve never even seen your face.” (Y/N) said tugging on his arm.

“Fine, I’ll show you my eyes and you show me your tits. We do have a child together after all.” Hara said with a nasty smirk on his face that faltered when he saw the girl place a hand to her lips in contemplation.

“Is she seriously thinking about it!?” Yamazaki exclaimed on behalf of the whole team.

“I wanna see too.” Furuhashi remarked taking a step closer.

“His eyes or her chest?” Seto asked suddenly a little more awake.

“Yes.”

“Nah I’ll save the flashing for a bigger, better exchange.” (Y/N) said shrugging and taking a seat.

“So that possibility is still on the table?” Hanamiya asked half joking and half legitimately curious.

“Surprisingly you managed to bring a girl of interest into this gym, unlike the last one Yamazaki brought in.” Furuhashi remarked to Hara.

“Hey, I never asked her to come to my practices.” The accused male spoke out with a pout.

As if suddenly remembering something Hara perks up and turns to the girl.

“By the way I’ve been meaning to ask why do you keep coming to all of our practices? I thought the whole point was you wanting a break? You’ve been here every day this we-”

“Did you read that Attack on Titan chapter?” Hanamiya asked suddenly sitting one row above the pair.

“Of course!” (Y/N) said suddenly putting all her attention on him. It would seem that the two had managed to find a common interest. Hanamiya wasn’t a superfan like her but he appreciated the story.

“That was a pretty brutal way to go. I thi-”

“Ahh spoilers!” Yamazaki said clasping his hands over his ears.

“Read the manga!” Both Hanamiya and (Y/N) shouted out exasperatedly.

“Oh by the way I brought more sports drinks for you guys.” (Y/N) said digging through her bag producing small bottles along with some snacks. “Furu you said you preferred pears to protein bars right? Seto, I found these coffee flavored protein bars. Hanamiya you didn’t tell me what you like, so choose anything! A pack of gum for Hara and Zaki you’re usually hungry so I brought you a few snacks to choose from.”

“Ahh you’re the best! I knew Hanamiya made a good choice asking you to stick around.” Yamazaki said reaching for a drink only to stop and cringe at his rambling.

“You asked (Y/N) to stay?” Hara asked with surprise. “I didn’t think you’d ever actually go and recruit us a manager.”

“He didn’t ask me to be your manager. More like told me that for being a nuisance the least I could do was help out a bit. I just bring you guys food and run a few errands.”

“Yeah I mean if she’s already here cause of Mako why not make her more useful?” The captain said with a shrug.

“It would give me something to do while I’m here an-” (Y/N) stopped as her phone chirped in her pocket. She quickly pulled it out and held a finger up as if to say give her a moment. “Hey lov- Oh I’m just here at practice…umm sure.”

Placing a hand over the receiver she whispered to the team.

“I’ll be right back.”

The guys watched her walk out hearing her conversation fade away.

“Hey, what can you tell me about (Y/N)?” Yamazaki asked quickly as if it was on the tip of his tongue for a while.

“What do you mean?” Hara asked skeptically.

“I mean you don’t mind if I go for her? This whole baby momma thing is just an assignment, right?”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” Furuhashi spoke up.

“What? Why not?”

“If she’s going to be around for a while dating her may make things awkward.”

“How!?”

“Well one nobody wants to see you two making out in here.” Seto stated lazily.

“And if it doesn’t work out it will cause a bunch of tension. Don’t you think so Hanamiya?” Furuhashi said looking to his captain for approval.

Hanamiya lifted his hands in a questioning manner.

“I don’t really care who you do or date. If things get awkward you can both jus-”

“Umm hey Hara I’ll take Mako back home with me, something came up.” (Y/N) said having jogged back into the gym. Her face appeared a bit flushed as she held her arms out for the baby.

“You aren’t staying today?” Yamazaki asked placing a hand on her shoulder.

“No I really need to go.”

“Well is it an emergency? I don’t like people skipping out on practice.” Hanamiya said shooting her a challenging look. Surprisingly she simply shook her head.

“I’m sorry but missing one day won’t hurt, right?”

“Hey, if its an emergency I can call my driver to take you home.” Seto offered.

“No, I already called my own and he’s coming to get me. Thanks guys!” (Y/N) finally gathered all of her things along with Mako and headed for the exit.

“Practice starts at the same time tomorrow!” Hanamiya called out to her only her to continue walking as if she hadn’t heard him.

“What was up with that?” Yamazaki asked with concern laced in his voice.

“Time of the month maybe?” Hara asked with a shrug.

“Are you sure it wasn’t serious she left right after that phone call.” Yamazaki pressed on.

“It’s probably nothing let’s practice.” Hara said standing up and taking a ball out onto the court.

When nobody moved for a second Hara sighed in frustration.

“If it was anything serious she wouldn’t have come back in to get Mako. There was probably some anime update or a sale on merch a friend told her about. She’ll be back tomorrow I guarantee you.”

~~~~~

“It’s been a week and a half. ‘She’ll be back tomorrow.’” Yamazaki mocked Hara as he chased a cherry tomato out of his salad.

“You’re just mad because you couldn’t ask her out before she ran off.” Hara said rolling his eyes though no one could tell.

“Wait is that why she left!? Do you think she heard me talking about her and it scared her off?!”

“I don’t think that’s the case. She’s been ignoring me in class too if it makes you feel any better.” The violet haired teen said sipping from a soda can.

“That’s actually worse.” Hanamiya spoke absentmindedly drumming his fingers on the table.

“Who cares? If she doesn’t want to come around then what’s the big deal? She’s making it easier on me to pass this dumbass class project and she didn’t do much for the team. Or were you planning on asking her out too?” Hara directed the question at Hanamiya.

“What?! No way I called dibs!” The tomato went shooting across the room.

“’Dibs’. What are we 11 years old?” Furuhashi deadpanned.

“No, I wasn’t going to ask her out. But when I invite someone into my gym I expect them to be there until I tell them they can leave. You have no clue what’s up with her?”

“None, maybe she just doesn’t want to be around us. It wouldn’t be the first time and I give her props for lasting so long.”

“Instead of speculating we can just ask.” Seto offered lifting his head up from the table.

“I’ve tried she won’t talk to me in class unless its about Mako.”

“Ask her now. She always hangs out in one of the choir practice rooms during lunch.”

“How do you know?” Hanamiya lifted a brow at his teammate. Seto looked up at the ceiling for a bit as if mulling over an answer.

“I don’t know she mentioned it once, I think. Look we can ask and if you don’t like what she has to say at least you have an answer.”

“Fine lets go.”

“So what? Five of us are just going to gang up on one girl?” Furuhashi asked wearily. “If she gets scared this could blow up in our faces.”

“We’re just talking. What’s she going to do call the police?”

“I’m just saying coming on too strong is going to freak her out.”

“Well then I’ll talk to her and you guys can hang out in the hall until I clear you!” Yamazaki suggested.

“That’s actually not a stupid idea but we’re sending Hara.” Hanamiya said thinking it over quickly.

“Why?!” Both boys exclaimed.

“(Y/N)’s known Hara longer she’s probably most comfortable around him. Besides he’s the only one of us who would have a reason outside of basketball to talk to her.”

“No! I’m not begging her to come back!” Hara mumbled.

“You’re not begging just questioning.” Furuhashi said packing up his lunch box. “If we’re going to catch her we need to leave now.”

Hara groaned but reluctantly followed his teammates across the campus.

“So what does she do in the practice room?” Yamazaki asked Seto trying to acquire as much info on her as he could. The tan male pulled his backpack higher up on his back and shrugged uncomfortably.

“She just screws around on the piano and sings. She’s pretty good.”

“You’ve heard her sing!? How?! We’ve only known her for a few weeks!” The questioning male pouted slightly.

“Yeah she gets to basketball practice pretty early and she’s always singing anime openings. I think she figures I’m sleeping or something.”

“Well now I have to hear her too!”

“You might get your chance.” Hanamiya mumbled motioning his head to the slightly ajar practice room.

All five males crowded the door way and peered inside. (Y/N) was sitting in front of the piano with a large pair of earphones on. She appeared to be bopping her head to the music and fiddled around with the piano trying to get a tune just right

“Okay so do I just wait for her to come out or go in and say I need to talk t-”

Suddenly the girl found the right keys and caught the boys’ attention as she played a repetitive little tune.

“That sounds kind of familiar?” Hanamiya questioned racking his brain for where he’d heard the tune. Hara scoffed and crossed his arms.

“Knowing her otaku ass, it’s probably some anime ope-”

“His palms are sweaty, knees weak, arms are heavy.

There’s vomit on sweater already, mom’s spaghetti.”

The guys had no reaction to their newly acquired half teammate suddenly busting out into a full-blown rap song.

“You better lose yourself in the music, the moment.

You own it, you better never let it go.

You only get one shot, do not miss your chance to blow.

This opportunity comes once in a lifetime!”

“She’s good and at the same time I feel like this is really wrong.” Yamazaki said with his jaw still slack.

“Thank you. And it probably feels wrong because you’re spying on me.” The girl at the piano suddenly said as she completed her verse.

Taking off her earphones she turned to the door with a clear look of frustration. It was only then that Hanamiya felt truly stupid when he realized her earphones hadn’t been plugged into anything.

“I told the guys you were a pretty good singer, I didn’t realize you were a decent rapper too.” Seto tried to compliment the girl hoping to smooth things over.

He saw her cheeks flush a deep red but her angry face didn’t soften one bit. Looking away she attempted to move around the group of boys.

“Thanks. My next class starts in like ten minutes I need to go.”

“No you don’t.” Hanamiya said grabbing her arm and yanking her back. “We didn’t come all the way down here for you to not talk to us.”

“What’s there to talk about?”

“You stopped coming to practice.”

“I decided it was too hard to take Mako back and forth so it’s easier if I just keep him.”

“See I told you!” Hara said throwing his hands up in the air. “She doesn’t want to be here so let’s ju-”

“Now why do I think that’s the most bullshit excuse I’ve ever heard? Oh right because not too long ago I find you in my gym being a fucking crybaby about pulling Hara’s weight, now suddenly you’re saying its easier to do the exact opposite?” The dark-haired male hovered over (Y/N) threateningly.

“So what if I’m lying or not? I don’t want to go.”

“Also bullshit because you told me that you loved coming to practice. And see the thing is Kirisaki Daiichi basketball has one big rule; once you’re in you’re not out until you graduate or get kicked out.”

“Look guys its nothing personal I just can’t be around you.”

“No come on! Don’t pay attention to the scare tactics just be honest.” Yamazaki said stepping forward. “Are you scared? Is it eating too much time?”

(Y/N)’s eyes finally softened before she let out a disheartening sigh.

“It’s my boyfriend.”

“You have a boyfriend?” Yamazaki asked shocked and slightly disappointed.

“He says he’s just not comfortable with me being around the team so much.”

“So what you just do whatever he says?” Seto asked bewildered, (Y/N) didn’t seem like the type

to let someone walk all over her.

“No but we’ve been together for a long time and he sort of gave me an ultimatum either I stop

hanging around you guys or he would break up with me. And I know how stupid and controlling

that sounds but he honestly just cares.”

“Well what class does he have right now we can go talk him into letting you do what the hell

you want.” Furuhashi said in a clipped voice.

“He goes to my old school, Tōō. You might know him, he’s on the basketball team.”

Hanamiya was sure he misheard. A basketball player from Tōō who didn’t want (Y/N) around

him. The whole ‘I’ll break up with you’ mind game made perfect sense now.

“I guess that’s it then we might as well leave.” Hanamiya said with a shrug and began walking

away.

“What? You dragged my ass clear across the school and we’re just leaving?” Hara said looking

100% done with the entire situation.

“You heard what she had to say. I don’t want someone’s doormat associated with the team.”

“I’m nobody’s doormat.”

“Your boyfriend told you who you could and couldn’t hang around with and you jumped at the

snap of his fingers. Don’t kid yourself.”

“This is one thing. He’s never asked for something like this before. He’s a level-headed calm

cool guy. Sure maybe this is some dark jealous side to him but I can respect him enough to hear

him out.”

“Well you heard him out and what did he say? That we’re dangerous? Have we hurt you in any

way?”

“…No.”

“Then use your own fuckin brain to think for yourself. He says we’re dangerous but you

know we aren’t. Doesn’t your experience mean more than his assumption?” Hanamiya smirked

at the girl knowing she would have nothing else to say.

“If you like spending time with us just tell him that! You’re allowed to have guy friends and now

that we know you have a boyfriend, we won’t make any moves on you.” The orange haired

teammate said with a friendly smile.

“I don’t know, Zaki.”

“Come on, he isn’t actually going to break up with you. If anything, he’ll be glad you stood up

for yourself.” Hanamiya said urging her on.

(Y/N) looked around at the guys questioningly before nodding. She had bailed on them without

notice and it hadn’t been sitting right in her stomach that her boyfriend asked her to not be

friends with the team. She’d heard horror stories and knew that their personalities were

difficult. But so was Aomine’s and her boyfriend seemed to tolerate him just fine.

“You’re all right. I’m going to call him right now and tell him that I’m staying part of the

basketball team or hanging out, whatever the hell I was doing before. Excuse me for a moment.”

The girl said as she walked into a nearby room with her phone already dialed.

Hanamiya let out a chuckle followed by a content hum before walking towards the exit.

“You aren’t going to wait for her?” Hara asked skeptically.

“No, why would I?” A familiar tone echoed from the captain’s mouth.

“You’re not actually letting her back on the team, are you?” Furuhashi asked though his tone sounded as if he already knew the answer.

“Seriously? All these mind games got me fucked up here. Do we want her back or not?” Hara asked smoothing his fringe down.

“Of course not. Maybe before she pulled this weak ass shit on me, I would have considered keeping her around but now? She’s dead to me.”

“Come on, dead to you? Seriously?” Seto asked with his hand up in a questioning manner. Leaning over to Hanamiya he whispered to him, “Didn’t you want to ask her to be our manager or something? We actually really need one of those.”

“Yeah and? We’ll find another, dumb girls like her are a dime a dozen at this school.”

“You’re not really going to do that to her, are you?” Yamazaki asked with wide eyes.

“Why not? She’s flaked on us once. Turn your back on me and I turn my back on you. She will end up leaving again when her stupid boyfriend asks, so why give her that chance?”

“So, now I have no boyfriend and no team.” A cracked voice came from behind the group of boys. The tears running down her face had clearly already been there prior but there was no doubt that they were building more so now. “You’re right though. Sorry for wasting you guys’ time.”

(Y/N) wiped her eyes, walked up to a locker to retrieve her bag before powerwalking out the music building.

“I kinda feel like an asshole.” Seto said watching as the girl disappeared before something in the practice room caught his attention.

“Yeah that’s probably not a new feeling.” Hara said not sure what else to do in this situation.

“Wow this was a MAJOR dick move.” Yamazaki cringed to himself.

“I didn’t think Imayoshi would actually break up with her.” Furuhashi said a little stunned as well.

Hanamiya had an unreadable expression on his face. Almost as if he’d expected everything yet was still thrown off. The team saw him close his eyes and run a hand through his hair.

“Shiiiit.”

“To make matters worse, she left Mako in the practice room. I should probably go give him ba-”

Before Seto could finish or Hara could take the baby, Hanamiya scooped him up and started sprinting outside.

“Do you think he’s going to apologize?” Seto asked uncertainly.

“I doubt it but I won’t risk missing it on the off chance he does.” Furuhashi said taking off just as quickly.

The rest of the team followed.

Outside Hanamiya saw the wind blowing through the many cherry blossom trees this bougie ass school had planted all over the ground. Pink petals drifted down slowly but through it he could see (Y/N) sitting on a bench not too far away.

As he drew closer he slowed his steps. (Y/N) seemed to notice him but had no reaction.

“You forgot Mako.” Hanamiya said handing him to her, which she willingly took.

“Thanks.”

The wind was the only sound between the pair for a few tense seconds.

“I didn’t think your boyfriend was going to break up with you. I didn’t think you’d let him, I assumed you were just gonna do whatever he asked.”

“The funny thing is that neither did I. We’d only been dating a little while, but I thought we were perfect for each other. I didn’t think something like this would be what ended it. I mean I never get jealous. You should see the girl on Tōō’s team. She’s smart, gorgeous, killer figure and friendly but I never said a single thing because I trust him but I guess he doesn’t trust me. I mean it’s not like I’m on a team with Kise Ryouta.”

“You’re saying none of us are as good looking as Kise?” Hanamiya asked with a straight face which caused (Y/N) to actually crack a smile.

“You know what I mean. I thought he was my forever. It just wasn’t supposed to be this way.”

“Yeah well it is this way so suck it up and move on. I wanted you as manager because I you seemed stronger than this.”

“But you said-”

“I was obviously joking. I thought you had a pretty thick skin when I first met you, don’t tell me you’re secretly a wuss.”

“I’m not. It’s just, I guess after what happened with-”

“Get up and get over it. I’m sure you’ll get over your shitty highschool boyfriend.”

(Y/N) was standing in front of Hanamiya finally looking at him with dry eyes.

“I won’t baby you and neither will anyone else. You need to be as strong as any of the guys. I won’t have people talking shit about anyone on my team.”

“On the team? Really?”

“Don’t get sentimental on me either. We need a manager. You’ve dealt with all the shitty paperwork for the school and logging practice hours with the least annoying side effects. Plus, we just unintentionally talked you into ending a long-term relationship, you can’t find that kind of gullible-”

“I’m not gullible!”

“Okay whatever. Point is you’re easy.” Seeing a heated look rise in her face Hanamiya backtracked just a bit. “Not what I meant. Look you’re an easy person to be around, we don’t find many people that are compatible with us on your level. But if you become inconvenient or start stressing me out there’s no reason to keep you around got it?”

“You’re an ass but yeah I do.”

“I know and good.”

(Y/N) smiled at her new captain and he stared down at her with his usual hard cold eyes. The corner of his mouth twitched softly before a gentle breeze blew several pink petals into his face.

“What fresh hell is this?” Hanamiya grumbled spitting away the petal stuck to his lip.

“Achoo! I really need to get inside. Achoo! I have the- Achoo!- worst allergies to pollen and Achoo! You know what let’s just go!” The young woman managed to get out between her sneezing fit.

Hanamiya was busy swiping the pink layers of Satan out of his face and picking them from his hair that he didn’t realize his team was standing not too far from them.

Once all of them were back inside the four teammates couldn’t help but stifle laughs at their captain and new manager.

Somehow the petals got all over Hanamiya and (Y/N)’s nose and eyes had gone bright red.

“I can’t believe you’re our new manager!” Yamazaki said excitedly to (Y/N) who finally stopped her sneezing fit.

“I know I’m really excited.”

“I’m sure you are. Being the only girl it’s gonna be like having your own reverse harem.” The orange haired male said with a large grin.

“This would be the worst harem ever. You guys are all the same archetype.” (Y/N) said with a small laugh.

“What does that mean?” Hara asked, still not as knowledgeable about anime.

“You guys are all the bad boy type. Then again a harem with all bad boys could be fun.”

“What’s she talking about?” Furuhashi whispered to Hara.

“I have no clue.” He whispered back with a shrug.

“I guess this makes me an anime protagonist!” (Y/N) said smiling.

#Knb #kirisaki daiichi #kiridai #hanamiya makoto #hanamiya #hara kazuya #hara #seto kentaro #seto #furuhashi kojiro #furuhashi #yamazaki hiroshi #yamazaki #knb x reader #kuroko no basuke #xreader #imagine #scenario

170 notes · View notes

itskaysno · 4 years

Note

ok! so my idea was jack and ryan talking about being immortal or something like that? sorry this is my first time prompting somebody

Hey anon! I know you didn’t say cowboy au but I heard it. Don’t worry I got you.

Words: 2.5k

There aren’t many things that can surprise Jack anymore. He was born and raised in the wildest thickets of the West and he’d become Sheriff over a lawless land to bring it to order.

He’s damn near seen everything that one could think of.

He’d never thought that he’d see the Vagabond crying over him but there he is. James Ryan Haywood himself crying quietly above him while little droplets of his tears hit Jack’s face. Jack stares at him in wonder.

“Am I dead or somethin’?” he wonders out loud and then lets out a hoarse curse as his head impacts with the hard ground, his eyes closing again as colors burst between his eyelids. “What the fuck did you do that for?”

The silence is what really tips him off that something ain’t right. Ryan isn’t really the type of man to let any kind of question go unanswered and he never let the opportunity to talk Jack’s ear off go unused. He opens his eyes again and Ryan is staring at him.

His face is pale and drawn with a furrow in between his wide blue eyes. The expensive clothes that Ryan wears are now torn and dirty almost beyond recognition and there’s blood slowly trickling down from a cut above his eyebrow. Jack drags himself up to a sitting position even though it nearly makes him throw up.

Ryan kneels down next to him, quick as a flash. “Here, you’re gonna need something to drink,” he says, bringing his cateen up to Jack’s lips with a shaking hand.

Jack takes a sip to try to assuage him but then realizes just how thirsty he actually is. He takes over for Ryan and has to make a conscious effort to not drink every last bit of it. When he slowly brings down the significantly lighter canteen he finds Ryan staring at him intently.

He doesn’t look surprised or scared anymore. Instead there’s a look that Jack has only seen once or twice before when the two of them had accidently been trying to outsmart a group of bandits who’ve been terrorizing nearby towns. It’s a look of calculation or something close to it.

“What happened?” Jack asks, slowly looking around them.

In front of them there’s a roaring campfire with smoke drifting off into the quickly dimming afternoon sky. There are several logs placed around the fire as if whoever is looking after it is getting ready to make it last for as long as possible. Ryan’s horse Flash is laying down with a red blanket layed over it. His eyes are closed but his ears flicker around.

“What’s the last thing that you remember?” Ryan asks.

Jack takes a deep breath, “I was on the way to try and find that horse thief that I told you about a few weeks back. I saw him draw a gun on me and I went to duck. Now I’m here.”

Ryan stares at him for a long moment before he starts cursing low under his breath, walking away from Jack shaking his head. Jack watches him go - he’s more than used to Ryan’s small outbursts. It’s more than worth it for the brilliance and the help that he’s brought to Jackston

He really does need to get up though. His legs are stiff and aching and his back is damn near killing him from laying on the hard dirt for a spell. He makes his way up and over to the campfire and collapses onto one of the logs

The heat of the campfire hits him like a furnace and his entire body quakes as the warmth spreads through him like a wildfire. Huh, he hadn’t even realized he’d been that cold. He glances back over towards Ryan.

Ryan has stopped his pacing and his shoulders heave in a sigh before squaring up and heading towards him. If he’s about to tell Jack that he’s killed that man in some sort of weird atoning way then it’ll be the weirdest day that he’s ever had.

Instead Ryan walks up to him and then drops down to his knees. His face is solemn and serious, his hat placed over his heart, and the joke that Jack had been about to make gets caught in his throat.

“You didn’t duck.”

Jack stares at him for a long moment before reaching up to try to clean out his left ear with his finger. “Excuse me?”

Ryan clears his throat. “When that man shot you…it went straight through your head Jack. I’m so sorry.”

If it was any other man Jack would’ve called them an asshole and moved on with a laugh. This is Ryan though who had snapped at one of Jack’s deputies when they had made poked at him for saying a small prayer over a dead bandit. Ryan who treated death as if it would strike him like a rattlesnake from the underbrush if he didn’t respect it.

He wouldn’t joke about this but Jack can’t help but crack a half-smile, “Well, this sure as hell don’t feel much like the heaven I imagined.”

Ryan doesn’t smile back - in fact he just looks miserable. The redness around his eyes haven’t faded yet which gives his whole face the awful impression that he’d just come back from a funeral.

“It doesn’t feel like the one I’d imagined either,” Ryan says, his hand hesitantly settling on Jack’s knee. “I’m sorry but this is about the only one that you’ve got for now.”

Ryan steadily meets his gaze and anger suddenly flares up in his gut. It was just like Ryan to suddenly come out of nowhere with this kind of upsetting joke.

“Don’t you start joking about those kinds of things,” Jack says and Ryan stares steadily back at him. His lips don't’ curl up into a half-smirk like they usually do on his meaner jokes. “I’m serious. This isn’t funny.”

Ryan stares at him for a second longer before he laughs his head bowing down to hide his grin. “I almost had you though didn’t I huh?”

The relief that bubbles up in Jack’s stomach makes him slap Ryan’s shoulder. “That was so fucking mean! Don’t do that shit Ryan!”

“I won’t do it again, I promise. It’s just how many opportunities like this does one have?”

Jack rolls his eyes but nevertheless helps Ryan up when he holds out a hand. “I’ll forgive it if you give me a ride back to town but if you ever do that again my boot will be in your ass you hear me?”

“I hear you,” Ryan laughs walking towards Flash to wake him up, the next sentence barely hits Jack’s ears but sends a shiver down his spine from the morose tone. “I hear you.”

“Creepy bastard,” Jack mumbles to himself.

The few hours it takes to get back to get to the town is far quieter than it usually is between the two of them. Ryan deep in thought and hopefully a bit of remorse as he walks next to Flash and Jack.

Jack wants to say a couple of things more than once but he resolves to leave it between them. It was a harmless joke in poor taste which he’d seen and heard more than a few times. It would be unfair to hold this one against the man.

When they make it Jack heads his way towards his jail to check up on things and Ryan disappears into the (what the fuck where inns called? Hotels yet?? check) like he usually does.

The rest of the night it’s like there’s a burr in Jack’s boot though. His mind racing as he gets more and more time to slowly go through the scene that had happened earlier instead of the knee jerk reaction. Ryan had been in traveling shows before - Jack knows - hell he’d met him while Ryan was in the traveling circus throwing knives. He’d seen the tattered copies of plays that Ryan kept in his luggage.

Ryan could put on a show but him crying? That had seemed so real.

Finally when his watch tells him that he’d been thinking about this for more than three hours he makes his way towards Ryan’s room. The sun has fully set and the saloon is full of people and the noise makes him peek his head in. It’s the average sort of chaos that occurs when a bunch of men get drunk together. Nothing that required him to step in and put off talking to Ryan.

The disappointment and anxiety in his gut at not having to stop makes him cringe at himself. He wasn’t really the type to get nervous bout talking to people but he had no idea how to talk about this topic.

He gives Maria a friendly wave as he walks through her lobby and she gives him a smile before she moves into the backroom. Jack slowly climbs the stairs to the second floor and makes his way towards Ryan’s room.

The deep breath that he takes does nothing to settle his nerves but he knocks anyway.

There’s the quiet sound of muffled cursing and a long bang before the door opens. Ryan stares at him for a long second. “Is there something you need Sheriff?”

“I was wondering if I could talk to you for a few minutes?”

Ryan grimances looking back towards his room. “I - Can this wait or does this need to happen right now?”

“You got a lady in here?” Jack asks faux seriously and Ryan laughs.

“Nah, nothing like that. I’m just packing and it’s a mess. I’m sure that I could make a place for us to sit down.” He gestures for Jack to go ahead and come inside before darting back into the room.

Jack follows him automatically and then suddenly what Ryan had said hits him over the head. “Wait, did you say that you’re packing?”

He glances around the room and there’s a few piles of folded laundry on the bed and on the chairs next to the stand alone table. The sorting system is beyond Jack.

Ryan hums, moving things from the chairs. “I got a telegraph from a friend. He said that he needed me to head back to San Francisco as soon as I can.”

Jack’s gut clenches. “Do you - Do you think that you’ll come back?”

There’s a long moment where Ryan puts down one of his beloved plays and looks at him. The low light of the candle isn’t enough so that Jack can make out his expression but the quiet moment of silence tells him more than enough.

He strides across the room and kisses Ryan. The same way that he’s kissed him more than thirty times in the few months that Ryan has been here. The panic is slowly settling in his stomach.

Ryan responds as easily as he ever does. The guilt that threatens to choke Jack not even seeming to touch him. Then just as quickly as the kiss had come Ryan gently pulls away. His forehead finding Jack’s and resting there.

“I don’t know how long I’ll be gone but I’ll come back so none of that,” Ryan says, gently mocking him. “I’ll be sure to write letters though so don’t change your address.”

Jack laughs a little. He’ll never leave (insert town here) and they both know it.

For a second though he thinks about it. Going with Ryan to see this friend of his with him. To go more than a week away without worry gnawing away at his gut.

Ryan pulls away. “What was it that you were going to talk to me about?”

“Oh,” Jack says, moving back in for another kiss, “Nothing important.”

That morning he sees Ryan off on the 8am carriage towards San Francisco and then he gets himself back to work. He gets a letter two weeks later that’s four pages long and makes him smile wider than he has in a long while.

A week after that he finds himself in a shootout.

He aims at the man who had just killed one of the finest locksmiths that resided in the South and fires. The loud bang of the gun goes off and -

Jack doesn’t actually remember much about it after it happens.

He does know this though. Screams bounce around in coffins, his nails become bloodied and bruised only to be magically fine the next time he wakes up.

Dying from asphyxiation is it’s own kind of hell that he never wants to repeat but dying from a mouthful of dirt is even worse.

He doesn’t know how long he stays stuck in that limbo. His body is six feet below and too weak to make any progress up until something hard hits him square in the stomach. Then dirt slowly starts to disappear off of him and then hands start traveling up his body.

He has just enough sense of mind to think about how fucked up it would be if these were grave robbers who happened to stumble onto his animated corpse when suddenly he’s faced with the overwhelming light of a lantern.

“He’s alive! See I told you!”

It doesn’t matter that it sounds like it’s through several layers of cotton. Jack would recognize that voice anywhere. His eyes catch on Ryan’s baby blues ones and suddenly his eyes are burning in emotion. If he had the energy he’d be crying.

“Jack? Jack, you go ahead and rest now. We’ll get you out of here.”

Despite the ever creeping weakness Jack manages to nod his head. A hand smooths back his hair.

He closes his eyes and lets the soft embrace of nothingness take him away.

The next few weeks go by as if he’s in a daze. They make their way to San Francisco and Jack idly wonders at the huge amount of people coming and going from place to place. A fight breaks out in front of them on the way towards Geoff’s house. His hand reaches for his badge and closes around empty space.

He ignores Ryan’s concerned look and puts his hand back in his lap. Blood and teeth splatter onto the ground before they turn the corner.

Ryan tiptoes around him like he’s worried that Jack will break if he approaches him directly. Geoff - that friend that Ryan was talking about apparently - is much more direct but Jack can’t quite comprend what he’s trying to say.

Then, one day he blinks himself back into existence. He’s in Geoff’s sitting room a book that he can’t remember opening laying down on his lap. Geoff and Ryan are quietly playing chess by the window.

“I’m ready to hear what you have to say,” he says, and Ryan’s head whips around towards him.

Geoff slowly makes a move on the chess board before turning to him with a small smile hiding under a huge beard, “Well, then. It’s nice to finally meet you, Jack Patillo.”

#Anonymous #kay writes a fic #immortal au #ryack #ragehappy

35 notes · View notes

storiesaboutcole · 5 years

Text

Request 10 (My first Riverdale imagine, what?)

From anonymous: Hi! Could you make a request where y/n is older sister by a few years and jugheaf likes and conquest her? Gracias!

From omgitskwistelsblog: Hey can you do a jughead imagine where you're a blossom and jughead cheats with betty and you make their life hell for a little bit and you're meaner than cheryl and she's really surprised by that cuz u r a sweetheart and in the end you and jughead get together again? Please? Thank u!!

I just thought I’d combine these two requests to make it more interesting since they are more or less the same? I do however need to apologize in advance if that I sorta changed the plot a bit and if I don’t translate your requests the way you hoped it’ll be translated. Let’s take it way back to season 1 shall we? Because I just love a lil throwback. I hope this will work. And I know this will sound nothing Riverdale because of the importance of Bughead, but hey, this is called a fiction for a reason, right?

You were at Jason’s memorial with the rest of your family as Cheryl stood in front of everyone, listening to her speak about Jason. Your aunt Penelope was trying to stop Cheryl,yet again, but you quickly reminded her that she’s just going to make things worst for everyone and for herself.

“Even though we were twins, I used to demand I have my own birthday party,” Cheryl muttered, adding, “Until one year, out of the blue, Jason convinced me we had to combine them into one. It wasn’t until years later that I found out why. It was because no one wanted to come to mine. And JAson didn’t want me to know...”

Hearing Cheryl’s words made you all teary. Your boyfriend Jughead, squeezed your hand tightly in his, as he was sitting next to you. “Are you okay?” he whispered. He knew you were very close to both, Cheryl and Jason. And Jason’s death was affecting you as much as it was affecting Cheryl. You knew about Jason’s plans to run away with Polly, as you were Polly’s best friend after all.It was a secret you swear to both Jason and Polly that you’d never tell. The fact that Polly was pregnant with Jason’s kid. No one knew about it. Not even Cheryl. Or your boyfriend, Jughead. When Jason proposed to Polly, you were the first person Polly told. You could only cry for the fact that Polly would never get to see Jason ever again. You just wished that Polly would be safe, wherever she was.

“I’m so sorry Jay-Jay. We failed you. All of us,” Cheryl sobbed. You immediately got up from your chair to hug your grieving cousin.

You stayed by Cheryl’s side throughout supper, to protect her from your aunt Penelope. And that’s when you realized that Jughead was nowhere to be seen. You searched the entire house for him, but, not even Archie nor Veronica has seen him. You the realized that Betty was gone too. That could only mean one thing.

You quickly ran to get to Jason’s room and heard Nana Rose telling Betty about the ring Jason gave to Polly.

“Nana Rose!” you interrupted.

"Did you know that Polly and Jason’s engaged?” Jughead whispered, pulling you to the side. You shrugged. “You knew, didn’t you. Why didn’t you tell me, Y/N?”

“It’s not my secret to tell, Jug.”

“Wait,” Betty turned to face you. “You knew all these while that my sister is engaged with Jason and you didn’t say a thing to me?”

“Like I said, it’s not my secret to tell.’

“I can’t believe it, Y/N! You knew I am seeking answers about my sister, my family. Do you know where Polly is?”

“No.”

“Tell me the truth!”

“No! I don’t know where she is, okay? Maybe you should ask your dad! He’s the one who keeps wanting to send her away!”

“So Polly did tell you something? Come on, Y/N. You’re her best friend. You must know something.”

“Like I said, ask your dad, Betty.”

.......

“Hey, Archie, have you seen Jughead? It sure feels like I keep on losing him lately,” you sighed.

“You mean you didn’t know about Betty and Jughead’s stealth operation?” Kevin asked.

“Kev!” Archie stopped him.

“What stealth operation?”

Kev looked at Archie for validation, but Archie shook his head like he was reminding Kevin to stay quiet.

“Come on, Archie, tell me. Is it about Polly? I need to know. She’s my best friend, remember?”

“I mean, she deserves to know too, Archie,” Kevin agreed.

“Okay, okay. But, you must promise me that you’d never tell anyone, especially Cheryl, okay?”

“I promise.”

“Betty and Jughead figured out where Polly is and they are trying to rescue her.” Hearing your boyfriend’s name in the same sentence as Betty’s name made your heart ache a little. You sort of realized that he was spending so much time with her lately.

.......

You were at Pop’s, all by yourself when you saw your boyfriend walked in.

“There you are,” he smiled. “You have no idea what I’ve discovered today.”

“I can’t have any idea if you keep on hiding things from me now, can I?”

“Wait. What? Are you mad at me or something, Y/N?” Jughead chuckled.

You gave him a side eye.

“Hey, what’s wrong,” he placed his arm around you.

“Why didn’t you tell me that you knew where Polly was?”

“I wanted too, but Betty wants to-”

“And why are you spending so much time with Betty lately? Do you like her or something?”

‘Wait, what? Y/N, you can’t be jealous of me and Betty. You know me and her have been friends for ages.”

“I kinda knew that you always had a crush on her. Polly told me,” you sulked.

“Hey,” Jughead pulled you in closer so you could lean your head against his frame as he comforted you in his embrace. “I love you, okay? I am just helping a friend out and I am sorry if you feel left out. You know how invested I can be when it comes to solving mysteries.”

“Promise?” you glanced at him.

“Promise,” he smiled as he kissed your lips.

......

Jughead hadn’t realized that you were discretely following him from behind.You just knew that something was up with him. He felt distant. Like all he could ever think about was Betty. When you saw him climbed up a ladder to get to Betty’s bedroom, your heart began to race. You began to imagine all the worst possible scenarios in your head. When you saw that there was no car in front of the house, you felt relieved. You quickly made your way to the front porch of Polly’s house and searched for the keys she had always kept hidden under a rock in the lawn. You let yourself in and you walked straight up to Betty’s room.

Your body instantly froze when you saw Jughead and Betty kissed. You were right. Something was definitely going on between them. You just couldn’t believe that Jughead would do this to you. You were right. You were absolutely right.

“Jughead? Betty?” you croaked out, holding back the tears in your eyes, swallowing the huge lump in your throat.

“Y/N? What are you-” You walked away before Jughead could finish.

“Y/N. Y/N, wait.”

Jughead was quick on his feet, therefore he managed to get to you before you could even exit the house.

“I can explain.”

“Okay. Explain,” you sobbed. “How could you, Jug? I trusted you.”

“I-”

“And with Betty? Really? I feel so stupid. You two have been lying to me the whole time. I just knew it!”

“Y/N... I-”

“You know what, Jughead? You two can go to hell. I hope you two are happy,” you cried, slamming the door behind you.

......

It’s been weeks since you last saw Jughead. You made some lousy excuses to skip school and you’ve blocked all of Jughead’s attempt to reach you.

“Okay. You are pathetic.” Cheryl moaned when she saw you still in bed at at 2PM.

“Urgh! Go away cousin!”

“Wake up. Because you are going to love what I’m going to tell you.”

“What?”

“Both of our archnemesi, Betty Cooper and Veronica Lodge, will be at a little shindig at chowderhead Archie’s house.”

“I don’t have a problem with Veronica,” you told Cheryl.

“She’s best friend’s with Betty Cooper. You need to have a problem with her, cousin Y/N!”

You blinked when you saw the smirk on Cheryl’s face. You knew your cousin had some plans of sabotage up her sleeves and you want nothing more than a proper revenge on Betty Cooper for stealing your boyfriend.

“Wanna team up for a little destruction, Y/N?”

......

The look on Jughead’s face when he saw you walked into Archie’s place was priceless.

“Did you really think that you could have a party without inviting moi?” Cheryl said after making a grand entrance at Archie’s house. You were eyeing Jughead when you realized how upset he looked. You knew it was his birthday and the last thing Jughead would ever want is a birthday party.

“Archie, where do you want the kegs?” Moose asked.

“Screw it. One in the kitchen, one in the backyard.”

You saw how disappointed Jughead looked and you felt really sorry for him. He left the room filled with people he’d usually avoid in school, leaving Betty and her friends there to watch the entire school wreck havoc in Archie’s living room.

You walked up to Betty with a smug. “Did you really think Jughead would appreciate a birthday party?”

“Y/N, not now. I didn’t invite you and your gangs here, okay?”

“What about his dad?” you muttered.

“What?” Betty asked, tilting her head confused.

“i invited his dad here,” you admitted. “You should know that it would mean the world to him if his dad remembers his birthday.” You nearly sob when you told Betty that intimate information. It was something that Jughead never told you but you knew because you witnessed how dejected he was, countless of times, wishing that his father would always be there for him.

“Y/N... I...”

“That’s a vital information, Betty. I am surprised you missed it.”

“Y/N, look. About Jughead and I. I am truly sorry for what we did. I guess... we just fell in love. Or has always been in love...”

“Do you really love him Betty?”

“I do, Y/N... Very much.”

“Then maybe you should go and look for him then.”

“Y/N...”

“I should grab a drink,” you told Betty, avoiding further conversation with her. You were suddenly reminded of the heartbreak that you were going through. You still love Jughead, that’s for sure. But he doesn’t love you back. He has Betty now.

A tear fell from your eye when you headed to the kitchen. Chuck saw you and followed you from behind.

“Still thinking about trailer boy, huh?” he chuckled.

“Go away, Chuck.”

“Come on,” he breathed near your neck, making your skin crawl. “Let’s forget about trailer boy and have fun a little.”

“Stay back!” you warned him.

“Or what? Come on, Y/N. You don’t have to act so pure, okay? You’re a Blossom, and we all know how dirty a Blossom can be,” he laughed.

‘Stop!” you cried when he started to run his hand up your thigh.

“Oh, come on, Y/N. I know you’ve been lonely lately.”

“Well screw you!”

“Yeah? Well, look at you. All alone and pathetic. Not even Jughead wants to be with you. I gotta say, the boy has good taste to court Betty. I bet he is tired of screwing a grade C Blossom over and over again, huh?” Chuck smirked. You felt disgusted and started crying. Jughead would have defended you in a heartbeat if he was still boyfriend. But Chuck’s right. You’re alone now. You’ve lost your best friend Polly and now, Jughead.

You stepped out of Archie’s house and sat on the stairs. You buried you head in your palms when you heard someone called your name.

“Y/N?”

You looked up and saw Jughead’s dad standing in front of you, carrying a huge box of present in his hand.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“Yeah, I’m okay,” you wiped away your tears. “Jug’s inside, hiding if you can’t already tell...”

“I figured. Don’t think my boy had this many friends,” he chuckled, before adding, “Y/N, I should thank you for calling me today. I really appreciate it.”

“He’d love to see you here, Mr Jones,” you smile.

“Are you sure you’re okay, Y/N?”

You only nodded.

“Look, I don’t know what my boy did to you and if he ever hurt you, let me know.”

“Jughead... he’s... He is the sweetest Mr Jones,” you told him. “And he has Betty now. He is in good hands.” You admitted.

“Don’t be too humble, Y/N. I know you were always there for my son when I couldn’t even bare the responsibility of a father,’ he gave you a forlorn stare.

His words made you cry even more.

“I’m sorry, Mr Jones. I got to go,” you sobbed as you walked away from Archie’s house.

.......

You heard the bell at Pop’s chime while you were sitting at the back booth. You were about to order another Cherry Cola for yourself when Jughead suddenly appears in front of you, with a glass of cherry coke and chocolate milkshake in his hands. Your eyes immediately saw the cut and bruises on his face, like he’s been assaulted.

“What happened?” you asked him.

“Can I sit here?”

You nodded and Jughead slowly slid into the empty space next to you. You and Jughead sat silently and awkwardly for a few seconds. He then cleared his throat.

“So, my dad came. Thank you, Y/N. I really appreciate what you did.”

“Partied too hard?” you chuckled, pointing at the cut on his face. The corner of his lips were bruised and you were certain that someone at the party had beaten the shit out of Jughead.

“Chuck,” Jughead chuckled.

“What?”

“I heard what he said to you,” he admitted. “I’ve never lunged at anyone that fast my entire life.”

“Jughead...” you touched his face. He flinched a little indicating that he’s still hurting from the fight. “Sorry.”

“No, Y/N, I’m sorry. For everything,” he exhaled, grabbing your hand and placed it tightly in his. “I screwed up, didn’t I?”

“Jug. I get it. Feelings change. People change. You’re lucky to have Betty. She’s perfect for you and it’s not nice if she sees us like this,” you pulled away from him.

“Why are you so selfless, Y/N? Even after what Betty and I did to you, you’d still want to put her feelings first before yours... You’re... You’re really special.”

“Because I know how a heartbreak feels like.”

“Y/N... I’m sorry.”

“Jug....”

“I ended things with Betty.”

“What? Why? She loves you very much, Jug. I know she can be easily misunderstood, but trust me Jug, I’ve know Betty since she was born. She’s good for you. Don’t ruin that.”

“Betty doesn’t love me. I am just her second choice after Archie,” Jughead shook his head.

“You know that’s not true.”

“Really? And you know that’s not true?”

“Yes.”

“How so?”

“Because she told me how much she loves you. You know she’s good for you.”

“And what makes you think you’re not good for me?”

“You chose her over me, remember? And I guess I carry the Blossom curse. No one will understand a Blossom. Also...”

Jughead placed his lips against yours before you could even finish mumbling. You instantly froze, not really knowing what to do in that situation. Part of you wants him back. But another part of you resisted.

“Jughead, stop. Please.”

He was taken aback by your reaction.

“I can’t do this, Jug. Not to Betty. I am sorry,” you told him. “You just broke up with her a few moments ago and here you are with me? Are you serious Jughead?”

“Y/N... I’m... I’m sorry.”

“I know... Me too. But until you figure out how you really feel, I think we should stop seeing each other.”

#riverdale fiction #jughead jones #riverdale jughead #betty cooper #Bughead #cole sprouse x reader #cole sprouse imagine #cole sprouse fiction #cole sprouse #Lili Reinhart

37 notes · View notes

abdicatedarchive · 3 years

Text

a fight you don’t come back from || wren and chanel

𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍: chanel’s dorm room // spring 2021.

𝐅𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: wren x chanel.

𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐆𝐄𝐑𝐒: uh oh, language.

𝐃𝐄𝐓𝐀𝐈𝐋𝐒: honestly this whole argument is really upsetting and i don’t want to give details.

Wren was out running trying to not think about the messages on his phone. That shit got him so worked up. He was positive Jesse was just gaslighting him, but then Chanel liked his comment! Wtf was up with that? Would she seriously do all of that with him yesterday and then even consider being around Jesse like that? One of his friends, and he knew she knew that. Wren didn't like letting things so surface get to him, but it got under his skin so easily. Thinking about her switching up on him, so soon too. Like he was just somebody to use. He knew he was worth more than that. He headed into the dorm and went up to her door and knocked very loudly. Luckily for him Juliette was not in there or it would have been very startling for her. "It's Wren" he said, as his breath came down to normal. When she opened the door he just started talking, "what the actual fuck Chanel, Jesse?" he said as he rubbed the nape of his neck. He was boiling with rage, but he was doing his best to keep it down. It wasn't working very well.

Chanel was busy looking through her Instagram with a pleased smile on her face, the bathing suit pictures always did well. But of course, she was secretly hoping Wren would see it, give a like, maybe even comment something. She'd give it some time though, there was no need to freak over nothing. She was Chanel Hampton, of course he'd like the picture. Then the sound of someone knocking almost made her drop her phone. There was no way Juliette was banging on the door like that, but it still pissed her off. Who the fuck needed her that badly? The moment she heard Wren's voice, the smile instantly appeared on her face. "Coming!" she yelled out happily, before opening the door. Unfortunately, Chanel didn't even have a chance to say hello, "... what?" she asked, furrowing her brows at him. "What about him? Are you like, okay?" He seemed really upset, and she wasn't sure why.

He was unbelievably pissed at how happy she sounded when she said she was coming. Nothing was okay, and he was so insanely jealous. Even if it was a joke she was playing into it. "They're clowning me in the group chat and you're totally egging it on like you'd get with Jesse" said Wren, realizing how crazy he sounded but he wasn't done. The words started spilling out of him, "but of course you wouldn't let this just be a good thing" he said mentioning between the two of them. There wasn't even a them. It was all just pretend, "not that there even is a thing, not if it's gonna be like this" he said, his brow furrowed. He felt jealous like a boyfriend, but he knew that wasn't his place which only made him madder that he felt this strongly.

Chanel narrowed her eyes in confusion, she seriously was at a loss for words. For a moment, she didn't understand where Wren was going with this at all, but it slowly hit her. Jesse's comment on her picture. She did like the comment, but she just enjoyed the attention, from anyone really. It meant nothing to her. But to see Wren so upset about this, that was sort of new. These were usually the kinds of things she would get jealous of. But there was a silver lining, he was jealous. So he had to have some kind of feelings for her, right? Then he kept going, and his words started to hurt more and more. "Like what?" she asked, the anger building up in her now. Chanel thought things were moving in the right direction, but now he was saying that there wasn't anything going on between them? Was there really nothing to this for him? "I am not going to get with Jesse, ew. I mean, like, no offense, but no. It was one dumb comment, and I didn't even respond. If this is what you're so worked up about."

"Like what? Like its me versus everyone on the planet to get your attention" said Wren, it was kinda cute when they were dating and she wanted to get him a little mad so he'd be a little more aggressive in the bedroom. But that was high school and it was clearly a game. With them broken up it was not like that at all. "You know what, I am fucking worked up. Clearly this is not working". Wren did not think he was going to come out of this with such a grand proclamation. To be honest with himself, he regretted everything that was coming out of his mouth right now. Not to mention he was making a fool of himself, it was obvious how much he cared. It was embarrassing.

Chanel immediately rolled her eyes at Wren's first statement. "Oh my god, you're being ridiculous." She thought it was so obvious that he got all her attention. Even when they were younger, Chanel gave all her attention to Wren, so much that she was scared he secretly found her annoying and would leave her for someone better. Her expression softened after Wren finished speaking, was he really done? Again? Just like that? "Are you ... are you fucking kidding me? Now you decide that this isn't working, because of some comment on my picture?" Wren just never wanted to try, he always left the first chance he got. It's like she was never worth it. Why was she never good enough for him? "What was all this? Some grand attempt to get one last fuck before you ditch out on me? Again?"

Wren's insecurities were at the forefront. That he was never attractive enough for her. Not outgoing enough. Not healthy enough. That he let her in too quickly and she knew too much of his baggage. "Don't ever say I ditched out on you. You didn't include me" he yelled, "you're the one who ditched Chanel!" Wren was furious, she had chosen to leave him out when they were seniors. She was the one who decided to do everything on her own and that is why she was so lonely. They were close, their arguments were always like this. Up close and personal. They were the kind of close physically and emotionally where they knew how to hurt one another. Truly hurt one another. He turned down the yelling and his voice got low, intending to hurt her. Which was not good, but he was so fueled with rage "and if I was going to make a grand attempt to get one last fuck, you wouldn't even be able to stand right now"

Chanel hated herself for how she went about everything senior year, she never thought it was going to result in her relationship ending. If she was able to take it back, she would. Maybe this was the time to finally say sorry, as if that would actually matter at this point. But she was so angry, and she did feel left behind by Wren. "I made a mistake!" she yelled back. "But I didn't leave, I wanted to work through it. You left me, you immediately gave up." Their fights always got nasty, and it usually ended with her regretting whatever stupid thing she told him. But in the moment, she just wanted to hurt him, even if it meant lying to him. Chanel was visibly taken back by his last comment, and she had half a mind to slap him, but she didn't. There had been guys along the way that spoke to her like that, but to hear it from Wren disgusted her. "Oh is your confidence suddenly kicking in now? You sure have a lot to say for someone who's only fucked one girl. I'll be generous and say two if that makes you feel better, but I'm sure there's no more than that." she glared him up and down. "Nothing's really improved from last year."

"I left because you gave up on us way before I ever left" he yelled, "I wasn't the one keeping shit from you". Chanel really knew where to hit. Which just fueled the rage and confusion more. "There is more than that, not that anything could ever compare to your number" he said, holding his eye contact as he watched her look him up and down. Poking at her number was most definitely not okay, and he didn't really think about her like that. Only when he was insecure did he think about all the other girls and guys she had been with, and how they were better looking than him. God, it drove him crazy. Chanel was really the only person who did it for him, at the end of the day when he had been with other girls it had either gone really badly or he had to think about Chanel the whole time.

"No I did not, I was trying to keep what we had." Chanel's blood was boiling. To think the one person that made her the most happy in this world was also the one that upset her the most. But Wren knew where to go if he wanted to hurt Chanel, he knew everything about her, or at least she thought he did. He kept going on and on about how she never let him in. Sure she didn't always talk about her issues, but he could see it for himself, especially the ones she had at home. He was always going over to her empty house when they were kids, she was at his house almost ever night for dinner when they were together. Chanel being alone was no secret, why did she have to be even more of a hassle and vocalize it to him? She held back any tears that were fighting to come out when he spoke, being the meaner person seemed easier than showing how hurt she was. Even thinking about Wren being with other people drove her crazy. "I mean, you were the person that lied about not being a virgin, I wouldn't be surprised if you're lying about this too. That's what you do, talk a big game but always fall short." Chanel was straight up lying at this point. She couldn't even find someone that came close to Wren once they had broken up, it was incredibly frustrating.

She didn't seem to be hurting at all, and his heart was on fire. It was so painful for them to be talking like this. Like it was really and truly all over. "Lying is more your thing" said Wren bluntly. He wasn't going to be backing down. But he wasn't afraid of making an exit. Especially since she was criticizing something he was so sensitive about. Wren was deeply insecure that he wasn't a good partner for Chanel in the way that she needed. Had she been lying the whole time they were together? It drove him crazy, "I'm just gonna go. Enjoy your night" he said harshly as he headed out the door. He headed right out of the dorms and went on a run to get the rest of his frustration out. Lawrence was only a few feet away from the dorm before he broke down crying, he was so mad at himself for being so unkind. For treating her so poorly, but he was still so angry at her. How did they get like this? How did they let each other do this?

Chanel bit down on her bottom lip once Wren started speaking again. Not only was she holding back tears, but she was at a loss for words at this point, mainly because she was lying to him during this conversation. It just showed her that she never learned from last time, and that she was no better than before. "Whatever." she mumbled as he left the room. The moment the door closed, she immediately began to cry. She was so frustrated with herself. Chanel still thought the whole issue with Jesse was stupid, but she of course had to make everything worse. Her and Wren were finally at a good place with each other, she hadn't been that happy all year, and it was all ruined in the matter of minutes. She was still upset with Wren, especially with everything he said to her tonight, but she was even more upset with herself at this point. [ END ]

#wrenxchanel #threads || chanel and wren #chanel and wren || 019 #wren: thread

0 notes

istigmatias · 5 years

Text

Just a small bit of my thoughts about the Runaway Max book. Possible spoilers.

First off, this book is written solely with season 2 in mind. Literally the only even brief mentioning of anything in season 3 is when Max’s mom, Susan, mentions that the mall is still under construction and fumbles with the name of it. That’s it. So right off the bat you know that Billy is going to be the villain that season 2 was designed to paint him as. That is fine. They had that goal from the start and they succeeded.

I admit that there is a tone difference between the relationship shown with Billy and Max from season 2 and 3. However, while I understand people being upset about the age difference with when the two met in the book verses the show. Yeah, the book version fits better with the tone of season 2. However, I’m not going to bitch out the writers over it and claim they fucked it up. Why, you may ask? Because the author of the book is a third party who is not on the writing team for the show. Official Novel, does not, equal 100% accurate and canon. All it means is that the author went through the correct channels and got permission to write the novel and therefore will not be sued for publishing the work. It also means they had the ability to ask questions. This does not mean they were given all the keys to the story. We do not know when the book began being written so we don’t know how far along season 3 even was. It could very well have been in the infant stages and everything could have changed as things progressed.

On the same note of the tone shift, some may think it is weird that Max went from being scared of her step-brother to being scared for him. The book does show that this change isn’t out of nowhere. There’s a scene where Billy pisses Neil off to the point he gets beaten. Once on the floor of the kitchen his father pulls off a belt and beats him more. Max, who was at the table watching tried to stop it by telling Neil to stop. Neil then responses with,

Neil turned, and for a second, looking into his eyes was like looking right into the sun, blank and dazzling. Then he smiled a tight, mechanical smile and turned back to Billy. “Is this the son I raised? A worthless loser who needs a little girl to fight his battles for him?” pg 135-136

Once Neil leaves Max gets down on the ground and asks if Billy is okay. He tells her to get away from him. She offers to at least get him some ice and he yells at her to go away. So, at the very least, we see that despite Max blaming and hating Billy for infecting and destroying everything she once called her own she still knows he doesn’t deserve the treatment Neil gives him.

Despite all the terrible things Billy has done being a puppet of the Mindflayer is not something that should happen to him. The only plus side of this is if he would have survived season 3 I think it would have scared him straight. Maybe not all at once, but now this villain of a figure has pretty much discovered there are bigger and meaner creatures out there. Things that make even his abusive father look like a piece of cake.

Here’s a big one. I don’t think Billy is the racist people make him out to be. I know, I know, I am more than aware of what is said in Season 2. However, once again, that season’s design was to make him someone you hate. With great success, clearly. Dude is a god tier asshole, second only to his father. Yes, he has done horrible things to people (Mainly children). However, I don’t see the racist angle.

One of the main reasons I believe this is because in the book every time Max goes into explaining something about her step brother she usually backs it up with a flashback from around the time this aspect was discovered. Racism is only mentioned once in the whole back and this is the paragraph which takes place during that conversation Billy has with Max following seeing her argue with Lucas.

He was leaning close, staring right into my face, and he sounded serious and scary. He was acting like he was looking out for me, but I knew what he really meant. We weren’t just talking about being friends with boys. Neil --and, I guess, Billy-- had a lot of opinions about anybody who wasn’t white and Lutheran and a man. Neil said it was just that different kinds of people belonged in different worlds. That it was about property values, or crime, or a million other coded things, so that he didn’t have to say what he really meant. People like that. pg 128

The thing that bothers me about this paragraph is these aren’t Billy’s words, they are Neil’s. She does not give any examples of Billy being racist. They lived in California, she had to have seen them at least in the same room. Yet there is no example. She gives exampled of Billy being a piece of shit in the form of burning an animal that is already dead AND breaking the arm of her best friend just because they stood up to him.

The comment Billy makes as he warns Max of there being bad people in the world and Lucas being one of them, could be taken in a racist tone. I’m going to deny that. If you choose to take it that way, cool. That’s isn’t my view though.

Max in that moment is almost like the audience in that she hears this vague comment and allows something else to influence her interpretation. She hears Billy’s comment and based on what she knows of Neil, assumes that Billy is more or less the same. She also mentions that Lucas is one of, if not the only black kid in school. Plus, he’s the only one Billy sees around Max not once, but twice, until the end where he sees everyone. He zeros in on Lucas because as far as he knows, the kid the root of the problem. [ If Max is assuming Billy is racist based on what she knows of Neil then it could be said that, Billy is assuming Max is a shitty judge of character based on what he knows of Susan. ]

Regardless of if you believe the racist angle, there are other ways to view that scene. For example, the view season 3 gave where when Billy saw Max fighting with Lucas it made him think of what his own parents were like and his “Stay away from him” comment was a way of him to try and keep her safe in a messed up “I hate you, but I don’t want you to go through the things I’ve seen” kind of way.

Or, from an emotional manipulation kind of way. In the book when Neil and Susan said they would be moving to Hawkins, Billy was pissed. He pulled her aside shortly afterwards and told her that this was her fault and, “I’m going to destroy you for this.” You could say that he wasn’t to keep Max miserable and didn’t like her making friends. Of course, even that is a weak stretch especially with this other moments where Billy almost seems to be giving tough love - the love. Like his comment shortly after the previous one of, “You’re lucky I’m around to watch out for you. Remember that.”

This book makes me hate that Neil wasn’t in the third season. I really wanted to see him get in flayed Billy’s face and I wanted Billy to strike back for once.

#.└≺ puller of strings ( ooc ) ≻#;[ My thoughts on Runaway Max #;[ I have more but my thoughts are running away with me.

0 notes

royalfoxfics · 7 years

Photo

Art by Twin Doodle

Ao3

FF.net

Chapter 1 The 14th of May

In which Chloe cries a lot, Adrien has an identity crisis, and Plagg is there.

Despite what most of her classmates would assume, Chloe Bourgeois adhered to a very strict schedule. Every Tuesday she had her nails done at her favorite salon. Every Friday, after she was given her generous allowance, spent the afternoon going to the same expensive stores, in the same order, to ensure that her wardrobe was stocked with the latest fashions, even though her white blouse and yellow cardigan never went out of style. Every Sunday afternoon was spent with Sabrina, either playing superheroes or making plans to keep their “peers” in line. Every second Thursday of the month she attended her father’s staff meeting so that she knew what to say and how to act at the next public address. And every year on the fourteenth of May, she cried.

No matter what day of the week it was, no matter what obligations she had scheduled, Chloe Bourgeois disappeared from the eyes of the world on May fourteenth, and was not see again by anyone, until the next day when she would back to her normal, self-centered, intolerable self. She always made sure to fake some generic illness building up the day prior, in case she had class or some important function she was supposed to attend as the mayor’s daughter that day. So far, no one seemed to have caught on that she always got food poisoning on the same day every year, but anyone that knew Chloe Bourgeois knew better than to be anywhere near her when she was feeling ill and even more irritable than usual, so she was always left alone.

Completely alone.

She spent those long twenty-four hours sitting in her room and crying until she had no tears left. She didn’t put on makeup. She didn’t shower. She didn’t see or speak to anyone. Even on the rare occasion that her father came to see her, her personal butler would tell him that she was asleep and not to be disturbed before he had even reached the elevator. She only ate at the end of the evening right before she fell asleep from emotional exhaustion, and even then, it was only some simple bread and expensive mineral water. She couldn’t stomach anything more than that with the guilt and anger churning in her stomach.

All she did was cry and think. She thought about all the unnecessarily horrible things she had done to random people that year. She thought about all the completely necessary horrible things she had done to Marinette that year, though she almost felt a little bad for some of the meaner stuff. She thought about how horrible a daughter she was, about how she couldn’t really be the perfect little political asset her father needed her to be. She thought about Adrien, and how they had gone from being practically family, to rarely speaking unless she was throwing herself at him to convince the world she was smitten with him. And most of all, she thought about how disgusted Sophia Agreste would be with the monster she had become, and how much of a complete coward she was for not doing something to change it.

In fact, despite all the monsters, bad guys, superheroes, and all-around magic that had forced its way into Chloe’s daily life, she had stubbornly done her best to keep to her regularly scheduled life of being a rich and vindictive brat. She forcibly ignored any hint of magical consequence that may have flared up from time to time, despite the innumerable chances she had had to change her ways. Only once a year did she allow herself to even consider doing something that could upset her life of luxurious monotony.

On May 14th, at around four o’clock, Chloe’s hand hovered over her phone for a good five to ten minutes. She spent that entire time trying to will herself to pick it up and make a call that she had been trying to make for the past 10 years. A call she hoped might finally be the start of her finally turning her life around. But every year, fear and her own obstinace would ultimately win out over her guilt, and she’d give up in disgust.

Or her arm would get tired from hanging in the air for so long and then she’d give up in disgust.

It was just another part of her strictly scheduled life. But a schedule was a good thing. It meant safety and predictability. It meant control, and she needed control. If she didn’t have control then the carefully maintained lie that was “Chloe Bourgeois” would collapse. Even when she was facing near certain death at the hands of some punily named super villain, she always kept control. Whether she was whining about how the worst her would be murderer was doing was ruining her hair as she hung suspended over a pool of boiling soup, or complaining that she was going to be late for a spa appointment while she was being chased around by a dozen mind controlled minions, she always kept up the uncaring rich girl persona.

Granted, most of what she complained about really did get under her skin to a degree, so it was easy to just play it up a little.

However, on one particular May fourteenth, over a year after the first Akuma attack and the appearance of Ladybug and Chat Noir, Chloe had finally picked up the phone. She had even gotten as far as opening her contacts list and finding the name she wanted. It was the closest she had ever come to making the call, but even though her finger was trembling less than an inch above the screen, she knew she wouldn’t do it. She could already feel her courage drain as she looked at smiling face of Adrien Agreste.

What would he even think of her calling him on the anniversary of his mother’s death? He probably didn’t even have his phone on anyway. He was probably with his father placing flowers on her grave, something she should have done years ago.

She curled her finger back into her fist and closed her eyes in defeat. There would be no call this year either. No heartfelt apology and tearful reunion with the only real friend she had ever had.

But there is a saying that fate helps those who help themselves, and while Chloe’s courage had failed at the last second it seemed that the world had either taken pity on her, or simply had enough of her attitude and was willing to provide that little bit of help she needed to get started.

And it started, fittingly enough, with a bit of sarcasm.

“You know, as advanced as those things are, I think you still have to push the buttons to make them work.”

Chloe’s head jerked up in surprise. The phone slipped out of her hands and fell to the floor as she stared at what, impossibly, seemed to be Adrien Agreste himself leaning against the satin draped archway leading into her bedroom. Her jaw fell open and she stared bewilderedly at him from her seat on the bed. She blinked several times as Adrien, or at least what looked like Adrien, smiled casually and waved at her. The two stared at each other a long time until Chloe finally closed her eyes and took a deep, collective breath.

“You are not Adrien,” she said finally.

[kw1]

“Really?” the not Adrien asked in surprise, looking down at himself. “I certainly look like him.”

“You are not Adrien,” Chloe insisted, keeping her eyes shut. “Because Adrien isn’t here.”

“Ah, I see.” Not Adrien said. “Although the evidence would seem to say otherwise.”

“On the contrary,” Chloe said coolly, opening her eyes and fixing him with her best look of daunting bravado. “I know Adrien isn’t here because it is impossible for anyone to be here. Nobody could open my door without the key, and nobody has a key except for my butler and he would have announced you if he had let Adrien in, which he wouldn’t because he’s not supposed to let anyone in. So, you are not here.”

“Fascinating,” the person who logically wasn’t there replied. “So if I can’t be here, even though I obviously am, then that can only mean…”

Chloe took another steadying breath and finished, “You’re a hallucination. I’ve finally lost my mind, and I’m hallucinating Adrien Agreste in my bedroom.”

“Well, technically I think I’m still in the hall leading to your bedroom,” the hallucination corrected, looking down and adjusting his feet so they were completely behind the potted plants. “And how do you know I’m not the real Adrien Agreste just coming to visit my oldest, dearest friend?”

Chloe glared harder at whatever or whoever was with her and growled back, “Adrien doesn’t want to see me. Not after the way I’ve treated him. Especially not today…”

The anger left her voice at the end and she had to look away. She felt the tears coming again and she let them fall, not caring if she had imaginary company.

“So you do remember.” The fake Adrien said softly. He sounded slightly surprised, and she scoffed at him.

“Of course, I remember,” she said. “I was there.”

Silence hung in the air and Chloe began to wonder if the hallucination had disappeared. Turning around, she saw that he had simply moved. He was now sitting in profile on the loveseat at the foot of her bed. He looked at her and gave her a quick uncertain smile.

“Well, all the more reason for me to be here,” he said brightly. Then his face fell and he added, “Maybe I’d like to spend her anniversary with someone who loved her too, for a change…”

“You,” Chloe shook her head, “Adrien has his father. I know he always complains about Uncle Gabriel being heartless but he couldn’t just leave his son alone on… on today. I’m sure they’re…. having dinner or… visiting her or… something…”

It was the hallucination’s turn to scoff at her. “You have no idea what he’s like, Chloe.”

“Shut up!” She snapped, turning away to face the wall again. “I don’t have to listen to someone who doesn’t even exist make me feel even worse about today!”

There was another long silence as Chloe felt the hot tears building up again. Beating up on herself was one thing, but hallucinating Adrien to make her feel even worse about leaving him alone like this, that was really crossing a line with herself, she thought.

“Why not just call me and find out?”

Chloe sighed and she wiped her eyes.

“Because you hate me,” she said quietly.

“I don’t hate you, Chloe,” the hallucination argued but Chloe spun back to face him and stood up yelling,

“The real Adrien hates me! And if he doesn’t hate me he should! All I do is throw myself at him and creep him out like some kind of creepy stalker creep! He’s the nicest boy in the world and I take advantage of him nearly every chance I get! He used to be my brother, and I nearly kissed him at his own birthday party! Ech!”

Chloe nearly wretched and sat back down on the bed, burying her face in her hands to try to hide from the memory.

“Yeah, about that…” the hallucination said, also sounding quite uncomfortable. “Glad to hear you don’t think of me that way, but why did you suddenly start acting like I was your boyfriend once I started going to school?”

“Because I’m a Lesbian and I knew I could use you as cover without you ever wanting to actually go out with me,” Chloe replied, still distracted from the horrific and shameful memory.

“Well, you could have at least asked me about it first,” the hallucination replied rolling his eyes in annoyance.

There was another pause and then Chloe slowly straightened up and quietly repeated,

“I’m a lesbian.”

She looked almost bewildered by her own statement and she said it again, though this time with more confidence.

“I am a lesbian.”

“Yeeessss, I heard you the first time Chloe.” the hallucination said slowly, arching an eyebrow at her.

Chloe smiled and ducked her head back down to her hands. She her body began to shudder and it became apparent that she was giggling.

“Uh… Chloe?”

“I’m GAY!” Chloe exclaimed, throwing her arms and legs out and falling back onto the bed in a fit of laughter.

“Yes. Yes, you are.” The hallucination agreed, awkwardly watching as the girl on the bed continued to laugh and laugh until fresh tears began for form in her eyes.

As she lay there completely oblivious to everything but herself, a small back creature with lime green eyes flew out from the hallucination’s shirt to stare at her as well.

“Uh, you sure this is the one you want to pick?” it asked, looking at Chloe uncertainly. Hallucination Adrien gave it a warning look and shoved it back into his shirt pocket.

Eventually, Chloe’s laughter ran its course and she simply laid on the bed, still smiling and giggling every so often as she tried to catch her breath.

“Enjoy your new discovery?” the hallucination asked, but Chloe just dismissively waved him off.

“Please, I’ve know I was gay since I went to the Agreste swimsuit fashion show when I was eight. I just… I’ve never said it out loud before.” She gave another contented giggle and smiled. “It feels… nice.”

The hallucination smiled back too. “Well I’m happy to be the first one you’ve said it too.”

“Please, you don’t count,” Chloe countered. “You’re not even real.”

The hallucination huffed, and crawled forward onto the bed, the mattress sagging under his weight.

“Chloe.”

“Hmm?”

The hallucination reached forward and flicked her sharply on the nose.

“OW!” Chloe sat up rubbing her nose and glared at Adrien. “What the hell was that fo-” Her voice faded out as she stared at the satisfied smile of the boy sitting next to her.

She looked him up and down several times and then reached out and poked him. He let himself lean back a little with the poke. Still smiling he said,

“Hello, Chloe.”

Her face went as white as the silk sheets they were sitting on.

“You can’t tell anyone!” She screamed, grabbing him by the shoulders and shaking him. “I’ll give you whatever you want! How much do you- Shit! You’re richer than me. I’ll, Ah, Uhm. I’ll destroy your- um. No one will ever- crap. My father will hear of- NO!!”

Chloe was hyperventilating and panicking so much she seemed to be terrifying herself with her own threats. Her eyes were unfocused and she was shaking badly as she held on to Adrien with all her strength. Scared that she might hurt herself, or at least traumatize herself, Adrien did his best to calm her down before she passed out.

It took several minutes of rubbing her arms and pleading with her to just breath before Chloe seemed to come back to reality again. She was still crying and trembling, but he had gotten her to let go of his shoulders and take one of his hands instead. He used his other arm to pull her into a slightly awkward one armed hug. She continued to tremble, but he gave her hand a reassuring squeeze every so often and eventually she started to squeeze his hand back and nod when he talked to her. Her tears began to slow, and he breath evened out a little.

“Just breath Chloe,” he asked again, giving her hand another squeeze. That was what you were supposed to do to comfort someone wasn’t it? It was what he had always done for his mother when she was in the hospital. “It’s going to be all right. Okay?”

Chloe sniffed, and tried to dry her eyes. “I’m just… I’m sorry, I… Please don’t tell anyone about me. If my father ever found out I could be disowned and have to live off the streets in a box and… and have to eat pizza or starve or… something I don’t know, just please Adrien, you have to keep this a secret!“ She looked at him such sincere fear, although it was hard for him not to grin at some of her more specific fears.

“Chloe, I… Look, I promise I won’t tell anyone,” Adrien assured her.

“Really?” she asked. He had never seen her look so vulnerable before. Her eyes were red and puffy from all the crying, and her face was completely bare of all make up. She didn’t look like Chloe Bourgeois anymore, just a terrified girl who was in dire need of a hug and a fresh box of tissues.

He squeezed her hand again and gave her a comforting smile. “Come on Chloe, am I the kind of guy who would out anybody like that? Much less my oldest, dearest, most gayest friend ever?” He added, jokingly grabbing her around the shoulders with both arms and very awkwardly hugging her in mock plaintiveness. Despite her recent panic attack, she laughed at his overly dramatic theatrics.

“Okay I believe you!” she tittered, putting her hand on his face and shoving him off when he tried to jokingly rub their cheeks together. He laughed and let go, leaning back to give her space and look her over. She stuck out her tongue and then began fixing her hair so she could pretend to ignore him. He chuckled. They were both being childish, and it felt wonderful.

“It’s not like this news to me anyway,” he said, sitting up and straightening out his shirt.

Chloe stopped part way through redoing her pony tail and looked at him quizzically. “...What?”

He gave her a deadpan look. “You’ve never been exactly ‘subtle’ about your love of other women, Chloe.”

Chloe scoffed in mild outrage and looked at him with her mouth agape. “Excuse me? I have never once let even the slightest hint slip, to anyone, that I was anything less than straight. In all of my sixteen years never once have I so much as let my gaze linger to long on another female.”

“When we were kids you always insisted that you were the one who got a kiss from the princess whenever we played superheroes.” Adrien countered flatly. Chloe just scoffed again.

“I was the hero, you were the side kick. Everyone knows the hero is the one who gets the kiss.”

“You pestered dad constantly if he could design matching wedding dresses instead of a dress and tux after you saw him designing the autumn wedding line one year.”

“That could have been for a double wedding! They were… quite popular at the time I remember. Anyway he drew it up for me didn’t he? So, he couldn’t have thought it was a bad idea.”

“You had him wrapped around your little finger the same as mom did.”

“Oh, what-ever.”

“And then there’s your oh so well hidden crush on Ladybug-“

Here Chloe actually put up her hand to stop him. “Okay, Ladybug doesn’t count. There isn’t a man, woman, or cat in Paris that isn’t in love with Ladybug.”

Adrien opened his mouth to argue, but upon reflection simply said, “…touché.”

Chloe gave him a victorious smirk and lowered her hand. They both savored the nostalgic feeling of bickering with each other for a minute or two.

“I’m glad you came here today.” Chloe said quietly. “It’s… I just miss her a lot, you know? And I really missed you too, even if I’m the reason we…” She started to cry again, and Adrien pulled her into a hug without a second thought. She wrapped her arms around him too and buried her face in his shoulder.

“I missed you too, Chloe.” He whispered, tears forming in his eyes too.

The two of them hugged and cried for a long time. After they finished they reminisced about their times together, about their memories of Aunt Sophia and, to a lesser extent, Uncle Gabriel. He had never been the most attentive parental figure to either of them, spending most of his time in his office working on designs until Aunt Sophia drug him out to spend time with his family, but Chloe was still shocked when she heard the extent to which he had distanced himself from his son.

“I’m so sorry, Adrien. If I had known I…”

“It’s okay.” He said, after taking a deep breath. “You had your own problems to deal with. It can’t have been easy growing up alone in here either.” He said, looking around the luxurious, but coldly impersonal looking penthouse. Aside from a few stuffed animals on the bed, there wasn’t much visible in the apartment that showed off any actual personality.

“It’s not that bad.” Chloe said, following his gaze around the room. “I’ve got everything a girl could ask for, literally.”

“Except freedom to be yourself.” He argued. Chloe looked away.

“Everything has a price…”

“Chloe,-’

“So how did you get here?” she asked suddenly. “I was serious, nobody is supposed to be allowed up here. Serge’s not even supposed to let my father up here today.”

Adrien looked unhappy about her defensive change of topic for a second, but then he seemed to change his mind and gave her a mischievous smile. “Well, you should probably lock your terrace door if you don’t want visitors.”

Chloe blinked and looked at him as if she hadn’t heard him correctly. “…huh?”

“The terrace.” He repeated, pointing a thumb over his shoulder. “Or veranda or whatever you call it in a hotel. You really should put a lock on it or something. Any half decent cat burglar can just walk right in.”

Chloe looked from him to the glass doors just visible through the large windows of her bedroom.

“I guess, but what does that have to do with… Wait… do you mean you?” She laughed. “Adrien, please. There is no way you climbed up five stories to my balcony.”

“It’s easier than you think,” he said with a smile. Her laughter died a little but she still looked at him skeptically. He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “I actually, uh… I didn’t come here to talk about mom. Though I’m really glad we did.”

Her expression softened.

“Me too,” she told him. She gave him a grateful smile. “So what did you come here to talk about? However you came here, anyway.”

He didn’t answer at first, but instead he reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a small wooden box. The wood was so darkly varnished it looked almost black, but it was streaked with bits of deep red highlighting along the sides. On top was an almost oriental looking design painted, no, carved in to the wood and given that same blood red color. On one side were two hinges that she could tell at a glance were made of real gold.

From the size and hexagonal shape, she quickly guessed it was some kind of jewelry box, but while design looked antique, the shine of the varnish and the dark rich color of the red paint made it look new. She was sure of three things however:

First: old or new, it was definitely handcrafted, and very expensive.

Second: it was part of a set. The design and craftmanship was exquisite but not overly ornate. The creator could have gone into far more detail but chose not to. The only time Chloe had seen such restraint used on something as ornamental as a jewelry box was when it was part of a set and all the pieces had to be identical. Going by the level of detail, she guessed there were around six, at most seven boxes like this in existence.

And third: it wouldn’t go with a thing in her wardrobe.

She looked from him to the odd box with a questioning eyebrow. Adrien just gave her an apologetic smile for some reason.

“Since your trusting me with your big secret I guess it’s only fair if I tell you mine?”

He didn’t sound entirely sure of himself, so Chloe gently put one hand over the box.

“Adrien, it’s okay. I trust you.” Even she was surprised by how sincere she sounded, but it was true. It was a little scary actually, trusting someone not because she had paid them off or had threatened them to keep quiet, but simply because she believed that they wouldn’t hurt her if given the chance.

“Besides,” she added with a shrug. “I doubt you could be involved in anything even remotely scandalous.”

Adrien looked honestly offended. “What? I’ll have you know I have one of the most scandalous secrets in Paris. Something everyone in the world is just dying to know!”

“In this little box?” she asked, plucking it from his hand and holding it up for closer inspection. “What’s in here, the designs for your father’s fall line?” She made to open the lid but Adrien quickly stopped her.

“Actually, that’s for later,” he replied, carefully taking the box from her and setting it on the bed behind them. “But I think you’re going to want to try on what’s inside way more than any of my dad’s designs.”

“Oooo,” Chloe said, reaching for the box again. “Now I have to know what’s inside.”

Adrien caught her wrist again and tutted at her. “First things first Chloe, there’s someone I want you to meet.”

He stood up, pulling her attention away from the tempting box and standing in front of her as he reached into his inner shirt pocket again. At least, that’s what she thought he was going to do. Instead he just held his shirt open slightly and a small black… thing flew out of his shirt and did a few quick loops in the air before saying,

“Finally! If I had to listen to you two be all ‘happy family’ any longer I was gonna start throwing up rainbows.”

Under normal circumstances Chloe would probably have screamed and begun throwing the closest object within reach at the site of any strange, black, flying, and potentially magically corruptible creature, regardless of whether it seemed to be literal bosom buddies with Adrien or not. But between wallowing in her grief most of the day, her accidental step out of the closet, and her long awaited reconciliation with Adrien, she was just too emotionally drained make such a dramatic reaction so she instead settled for,

“…oh.”

“Chloe, I would like to introduce you to Plagg, my Kwami.”

“Cool,” she said, watching the little creature give her a dismissive wave as it looked around. “…What’s a commie?”

“Kwami,” Adrien corrected, watching Plagg as he ignored Chloe and flew about to room, probably looking for something to eat. “And he’s kind of a… guardian spirit sort of thing?”

“Oh…” Chloe said again, watching Plagg fly around. “You know, I’m starting to think I’m hallucinating again.”

“Well could you hallucinate me up some Camembert,” Plagg asked as he checked under the bed. “I’m starving here!”

“Camembert?” Chloe repeated, looking from Plagg to Adrien in confusion, and slight disgust. Adrien put his hand to his own face in embarrassment.

“Plagg, would you cut it out already! There is no cheese here so could you please just join the conversation?” Plagg grumbled at him, but flew back to hover next to Adrien.

“Thank you.” Adrien said, exasperatedly. He turned back to Chloe. “Chloe, you are not hallucinating, but you are about to see something amazingly unbelievable.” He added with a grin.

Chloe just frowned at him pityingly in response and looked over at Plagg. Plagg looked back at her before looking at Adrien and also gave him a befuddled look.

“…What?” Adrien asked.

“Kid, how exactly are you going to convince her that she isn’t hallucinating, if you’re about to show her something unbelievable?”

“Yeah, sorry Adrikins, but you’re not really helping your case here.”

He looked at her flatly before reaching out to flick her on the nose again.

“Okay okay already!” she yelped, scooting back on the bed and covering her smarting nose with her hand. “You’re real I get it! Now stop hurting your poor oldest dearest friend already.”

He smiled and held up his hands in a show of peace while Plagg very animatedly rolled his eyes at them.

“Alright, let’s get a move on already. The soon we finish here the sooner we get to the food!”

“Fine,” Adrien conceded. He and Plagg moved around to the foot off the bed and made sure he had ample space. “Now watch closely. You are the only person to ever see this.”

“Well, aren’t I the lucky one?” Chloe said, rolling her eyes. Then her brain caught up with her snark instinct. “Wait, see what? Plague isn’t your big secret?”

“Plagg,” Adrien corrected. “And kind of, he’s only part of it.”

“Will you just show her already!”

Adrien grumbled something about no one appreciating a proper build up and finally proclaimed,

“Plagg, claws out!”

Chat Noir always loved the transformation process. Putting on the ears and mask with a swish of his hand, directing the sparkling energy from his chest outward to form his suit, and finally feeling his tail burst into being to complete the ensemble. He felt unbelievably cool nearly every time he transformed. He expected his first audience to be stunned into silence, or perhaps gasping and stammering in shock and confusion. He certainly didn’t expect laughter.

And yet, that was exactly what Chloe was doing. Laughing. She saw his confused and slightly hurt look and tried to stifle her laughter.

“Sorry,” she said unconvincingly, still smiling from behind her hand. “Sorry just… you actually choreographed a whole transformation sequence for Chat Noir? You even stuck a pose at the end and everything. I just… wow. No honestly, it’s super impressive how dedicated you are. I should totally come up with one for Ladybug too! Of course, I actually have to put on my suit.”

Chat Noir let his arms fall to his sides and stared at her. “Uh, Chloe? You do understand what’s going on, right?”

“Of course, I do Adrien. I understand completely,” she replied earnestly. “And really it isn’t that big a deal. I mean, yeah you went way more into it than most, but that kind of dedication is something to be admired.”

“Chloe, I think you’re missing something here,” Chat said carefully. “I mean, you did see the whole thing, right? Plagg sucked into the ring, magic sparks, Adrien Agreste turning into Chat Noir right before your eyes?”

“And an excellent performance it was.” Chloe replied, smiling encouragingly. “Seriously, I’m blown away. You’ve gone just all out on this. It’s almost like I’m looking at the real Chat Noir.”

Enhanced senses or not, Chat Noir couldn’t believe his ears. Stammering he frantically gestured at himself and exclaimed,

“You are looking at the real Chat Noir!”

Chloe gave him a patient look. “Adrien, I’ve spent quite a bit of time around the real Chat Noir and can know for a fact that you aren’t him. It’s a very good costume, and I’m not quite sure how you did the actually change, but I can tell it’s you under that mask. I mean it only covers your cheek bones.”

Chat Noir continued to gape at her in disbelief. With a sigh of pity, she stood up and walked over to him.

“Look, mask aside there are a couple other little details you missed. Just a couple little things.”

“Like what!?” Chat Noir screamed. Chloe pursed her lips and gave him a look that said she did not appreciate his attitude.

“Well, for a start, your hair’s all wrong,” she snapped, reaching up to take one of his stray locks between her thumb and forefinger. “Chat Noir’s hair looks like a bunch of bananas turned into a wig. Yours is much to… uhm…” She faltered, blinking at the “banana” styled bundle of hair she was holding as if she only just realized it was there.

She quickly let go of it and shook her head dismissively. “Never mind. You’re off on the eyes too of course. Chat’s eyes are much more… uhm…”

As she looked into his eyes she blinked again, as if suddenly able to see them properly for the first time. “Well, er… Chat Noir is much Taller than…” She paused, holding a hand level with the top of Chat’s head.

“…Shorter?” she tried again, moving her hand up so it was level with the tips of his ears. She faltered there too. And on the next correction she tried to make. And the next. And the next.

Chat Noir’s confidence began to come back as Chloe began circling him, pointing out a flaw, and then trailing off when she realized it wasn’t a flaw at all. After the twentieth time, where she tried almost desperately to say that his bell was crooked, she stopped and just stared at him in wonder.

‘About time,’ he thought.

“What’s the matter” he asked, giving her his best Cheshire grin. “Chat got your tongue?”

The pun seemed to be the last straw, as Chloe took a step back, clutching at her head and said, “But you can’t be… Adrien?”

His triumph was short lived as Chloe stared at him in shock just a moment longer before suddenly wincing in a contorted grimace and clutching her head with both hands. Her knees buckled and she would have collapsed on the floor had Chat Noir not cried out in alarm and bolted to her side to catch her. As he steadied her, she put one hand on his shoulder, while the other remained clutched to her head in pain. He helped her back to the side of the bed again and let her sit down. She refused to lay down completely when he tried to make her, but after a few seconds she was able to open her eyes again.

“Are you okay?” Chat Noir asked. He felt stupid the moment the words left his lips.

“No.” Chloe spat, rubbing her temples and keeping her eyes pointedly fixed on her own lap. “I feel like someone just cataclysmed my head.”

“Sorry,” he said meekly. He sat next to her awkwardly, unsure of what to do or if he was even still welcome in her company. Chloe stopped rubbing her head and looked up at him. Her eyes looked frustrated, then confused, then amazed.

“It really is you,” she said, sitting up and staring at him in awe. “You’re Chat Noir.”

“The one and only,” he said, masking his anxiety with his signature charm. She gave him a single scoff and shook her head, smiling.

“How did I not see it? How did I not recognize you immediately! You don’t even change your voice!”

Chat Noir Shrugged. “Ehe, it’s all in the attitude.” This only made her look more worried and confused so he added, “I think there must be some magic that keeps people from recognizing me. I mean, both of my faces are on TV nearly every day, but no one’s ever put them together. I should probably ask Plagg about it actually...”

“Well, thanks for using me as your guinea pig,” Chloe grumbled, going back to rubbing her temples.

Chat winced at her tone. “Chloe, I’m sorry. I swear, I had no idea it would hurt like that!”

Chloe took a deep sigh and put her hand back in her lap. “It’s alright. I’m not mad at you, I just… I feel so… blonde right now. It’s like there was wall separating Adrien and Chat Noir in my brain. They just couldn’t have any correlation with one another at all. But when I started looking for reasons why they couldn’t, when you were right in front of me, it was like that wall just… broke. I’m fine now, but… wow.”

Chat Noir hummed in response as he thought about her description. It certainly sounded like magic alright.

After a while Chloe broke the silence.

“So…” she said, innocently looking around and casually swinging her feet. “Chat Noir huh?”

“Yep.” Chat confirmed.

“Hmmm.” Her eyes slid over to him with a hopeful glint in them. “Don’t suppose you’d be willing to tell me who Ladybug is too, huh?”

Chat gave her a playfully chiding look.

“Hey,” She said with a shrug, “a girl’s got to have her priorities.”

“…touché,” he conceded with a nod, then added with a sigh, “and between you and me I’d love to know too.”

“Wait.” Chloe blinked in surprise. “You mean you don’t know who your own partner is?”

Chat Noir shook his head sadly. “Our kwamis are pretty big on us keeping total secrecy, even among other miraculous bearers.”

Chloe gaped at him.

“Hold on, you two protect your secret identities so much you don’t even know who each other is? But you’re telling me?”

“Because I have a very important reason to,” Adrien said excitedly. He adjusted himself so his entire body was facing toward her. “Chloe, do you know why I became Chat Noir?”

“…So you could hit on Ladybug?” she ventured.

“No. Though being close to my lady was an unexpected perk,” he admitted. “I got my miraculous the same day I tried to go to school the first time. My dad wouldn’t let me though, and he made Gorilla and Nathalie bring me back. I felt like a prisoner! Then I found my Miraculous and met Plagg. Becoming Chat Noir gave me the freedom I wanted for so long! I can do anything like this! Be anyone! Adrien Agreste has to be Paris’s poster child and be a perfect little gentleman twenty four seven, but Chat Noir can do anything he wants!”

“As long as he’s being a hero,” Chloe reminded him. Chat smiled.

“Everything has a price,” he parroted. “But it’s so worth it, Chloe. I get to be dashing, charming, funny, and most of all free! All I have to do in return is fight some bad guys once in a while and hang out with the most wonderful woman in Paris.”

“While nearly getting killed in the process,” Chloe added while rolling her eyes. Still, there was a wistful look in her eyes as they settled on his ring, and that was all the encouragement Chat needed. He grabbed the ornate wooden box from behind them on the bed. She looked from him to the box curiously.

“It is amazing, Chloe. And I can’t think of anyone else in Paris who would appreciate that freedom as much as I do.” He offered her the box.

Chloe looked confused a second longer before her eyes went so wide they seemed in danger of popping out of her face.

“You mean this is a…”

“Uh hu,” he said, grinning.

“You want me to…”

“Yeah!” He nodded enthusiastically.

“Are you…”

“I am,” he cut her off again, looking her in the eye and letting his excitement give way to certainty.

Truth be told, he hadn’t come there expecting to offer it to her that night. He had just meant to see if he could lay some ground work with her, maybe test her to see if she really was as bad as she made out to be with their classmates, find out why she acted so flirty with him. She had far exceeded all far his expectations and he was certain she was the one for the job now. He just knew it in his gut. Now all he had to do was wait for her to accept.

“Are you out of your mind!” she yelled furiously, standing up and staring at him in horror.

Of course, Chloe always had a way of surprising him.

“…What?” he asked, completely lost as to where he had gone wrong.

“I’m Chloe Bourgeois!” she said in way of answer, gesturing to herself franticly.

“Yes,” Chat said slowly, not seeing the problem. Chloe groaned and slapped her face.

“Chloe Bourgeois, the queen bitch of Paris!”

“language,” Chat chided, but Chloe was in no mood for it.

“I am the single most horrible person in Paris, Adrien! I have bribed, blackmailed, and bullied every man, woman, child, and retail worker to ever cross my path. I publicly humiliated a boy for asking me out with a jeweled broach! Then I had a girl locked in a bathroom so that I could stand next to you in a picture to prove how straight I was! I’ve gotten other students suspended by threatening the principle, Hawkmoth should give me a medal for the amount of Akumas I’ve made for him! There isn’t a person in Paris who hasn’t wished that Chloe Bourgeois was dead.”

She wrapped her arms around herself and stared at the floor. There was a glow of light and a crackling sound and she turned to see Adrien Agreste standing in front of her again.

“I never did,” he told her.

Chloe actually gasped. She was sure that if she had any tears left she would have started crying again, but they had been spent. He walked over to her and took her hands gently.

“You’re family Chloe. I could never wish you were… We’ve lost to much of our family already.” He wiped his eyes. “But you’re right. You are pretty terrible to people. I’m the one who has to clean up your mess you know. I’ve fought every Akuma of every person you hurt. I’ve heard every one of our classmates talk about how you ruined their life. I watched the caring girl I used to love like a sister and play super heroes with be called pure evil by my friends! It broke my heart every time I heard someone try to say your name, because your right, Chloe Bourgeois is the most hated person in Paris. I can’t even argue that anymore!”

Chloe looked down at the floor between them, ashamed. “I can see why you’d think I’d make a good superhero,” she quipped, bitterly.

Adrien looked at her carefully for a moment and then said, “You know, I’ve been meaning to ask you something for a long time, Chloe.”

“Are my sunglasses prescription?”

He actually was curious about that, but Adrien refused to let her changer the subject this time.

“Why? Why do you act like this, Chloe? What happened to you?”

“…Why shouldn’t I act like this? I’m rich, I’m beautiful, I’m the Mayor’s daughter. Why not enjoy it?”

Chloe tried to crossed her arms again but Adrien kept his grip on her hands. She wriggled awkwardly for a second but still refused to look him.

“Is it because if me?” he asked, his voice barely more than a whisper. “Is it because I left you alone for so long?”

Her heart nearly stopped when she heard the anguish in his voice. “What? No! Adrien no, I left you alone after she died, remember? I’m the one who stopped visiting and left you alone in that house!”

“But I could have gone after you!” He argued desperately. “Something happened to you to make you like this, and I should have been there to help you after mom…”

“…Life happened to me, Adrian.” Her voice was mournful as she turned and looked out the window and gazed out over Paris. “There’s nothing you could have done to protect me from that. Most kids get normal families and like the people their supposed to, but they have to work till they’re eighty just to afford a carboard box to live in. I get a penthouse and some magic words that get me whatever I want, but I have to be the person I’m told to be. That’s how life works. You read your lines off the teleprompter, or you sit in the audience.”

Adrien watched her and the city for a minute before asking, “Did you ever want the box and the family instead?”

“No.” Chloe’s expression hardened. “I wanted it all. The family, the penthouse, the girlfriend, even the box too just so it’s mine. I wanted all of it, Adrien.” She scowled. “But you’re not supposed to have it all. So, I make do with what I have and hate the people who have what I don’t.”

“Chloe,”

“I hate them, Adrien! I hate all our stupid perfect classmates with their perfect little families. I hate all those stupid peasants who don’t have to worry about their father disowning them because having a gay daughter might hurt their chances of becoming prime minister someday. I hate Marinette for being such the perfectly perfect back stabbing bitch that everyone thinks is so wonderful! I hate you and Ladybug for saving me all the time when I don’t deserve it! I hate everything!”

She practically screamed the last words before collapsing onto the floor. Her body was wracked with dry sobs and her mind was dizzy with hate, pain, and dehydration. Adrien looked at her helplessly. He had no idea what to say, or what to do. Fortunately for both of them, there was still one person left in the room.

“So the world sucks and it’s not fair.” Plagg said, floating off from his spot on the bed where he had been watching them. “Congratulations, you’ve already figured out what takes most of you humans’ half your life span.” He landed in front of Chloe, who looked down at him with a tired, and angry expression.

“Look,” he told her seriously, which came as quite a surprise to Adrian. “I’m the Kwami of destruction, so I’m not really good the comforting thing but here goes. You’re going to die.”

To his credit, that did get Chloe to stop sobbing. All she could do was stare at him, then look over at Adrien, who looked like he wanted to die too now rather than be affiliated with Plagg in anyway.

“Just hear me out here.” Plagg insisted. “You are going to die right? You’re human, that’s what humans do. They live for a little while, and then they die. We Kwami’s have pretty long life spans, but we spend most it asleep in our miraculous until some human needs us, and even then we usually only stay awake until their done with us. So you know what I do when I wake up? I enjoy it. Every second of it. No matter who owns me, if we’re on the good side or bad, I try to enjoy it, cause my time is limited, and so’s yours!

“I’ll be honest, cause life is too short to beat around the bush you know, I thought Adrien’s brain had gone overripe when he said he wanted you to have the miraculous. But after gettin’ to know you better tonight, he’s right. You should have it. Because you’re miserable. You get what life’s all about, having fun, and you can’t join the party so you gotta make it miserable for the folks that can. I can respect that. But,”

Plagg flew back to the bed quickly and returned carrying the box. He placed it on the floor between them and continued.

“What the kid tried to explain before is this is your ticket in. Everybody hate’s Chloe Bourgeois right? From the sound of things, you want a break from her more than anyone. Well with this you’ll get a second life! Sure you’ll have to risk it fighting a few monsters, but Ladybug’s magic fixes everything anyway. But for a little bit of work, you get a clean slate. No, fathers, no expectations, you really do get to be whoever you want. And trust me, the ladies love the mask.”

“You should know,” Adrien added to Chloe, giving her a knowing smile.

She was stunned however. Clean slate? It was impossible. Everyone in Paris knew who she was, she’d be recognized instantly. But then, she hadn’t known who Adrien was even after he showed her, so maybe no one would know who she was too. Still, what Plagg really suggesting what that she could be…

“A gay super hero?” Even when she said it out loud it sounded ridiculous.

“Why not?” Adrien asked excitedly.

“Seriously, not the first time it’s been done.” Plagg told her.

“Yeah, but not in Paris?” Chloe chided him. “Being gay isn’t illegal but they aren’t openly welcomed either.”

“It’s the city of love,” Adrien said, making a dramatic swoon. “Nobody really cares. Besides, what better way to meet the ladies of our fair city then by swooping them off their feet to safety.”

“Yeah because that’s worked so well for you, hasn’t it lover boy?” Chloe replied, rolling her eyes at him again. Adrien wilted somewhat.

“Well… It’s kind of hard to sweep a girl to safety when she’s actively fighting the danger”

“The point is,” Plagg said, trying to keep them from getting side tracked again. “If freedom to flirt is what you want, this is how you get it.” He tapped on the box again.

Chloe looked from him to the box and bit her lip. She looked to Adrien but he just smiled and nodded. Nervously, she reached down, and picked up the box. Slowly, she began to open it.

“I am a cat! Just hanging out!”

Everybody jumped as the second verse to Jagged Stone’s number one hit began blaring through the air. Chloe nearly dropped the box on Plagg and had to clutch at her racing heart while she glared at Adrien as he frantically searched his pockets for his phone to silence the alarm.

“Seriously Adrien?”

“Hey, it’s a good song” he said, finally fishing the phone out and silencing it. “We gotta go. Nathalie will be calling me for down for dinner soon.”

Plagg made his enthusiasm for the evening meal well known as shook her head Chloe stood up to escort them out. A few minutes later, Chat Noir was strolling out onto the terrace with Chloe following behind with an amused expression.

“So, you do the whole dance every time?”

Chat Noir looked up at the sky and sighed exasperatedly.

“It’s not a dance it’s… You know what, forget it. You’ll understand soon enough.”

Chloe hummed in agreement and looked at the box she was still carrying.

“You know I’m still not sure about this, right?”

“It’s worth it Chloe.” Chat told her, hopping up onto the railing. “Look, why don’t spend tonight just relaxing and taking it easy. Just hold on to the box for now and we can get started on teaching you the ropes tomorrow after school?”

Knowing it was Adrien under that mask, Chloe suddenly felt very uneasy seeing him balancing precariously over a five-story drop. She knew Chat Noir never fell, but she still reached up and grabbed his arm anyway.

“You know you could just walk across the street. We can literally see your front door from here,” she suggested. He smiled at her and squatted down on the rail to look her eye to eye.

He carefully removed her hand from his arm and held it between his.

“True, but remember what Plagg said. Our time is limited, so enjoy it.” And with that he let go of her hand and launched himself backwards into the air. Chloe almost screamed out his name, but caught herself before she did. Instead she just huffed and shook her head as she watched Paris’s favorite cat pole-vault and backflip his way to the back of the Agreste Mansion.

“Show off.”

With an affectionate smile she turned and went back inside. Chat was right, it was nearly dinner time, and for the first time she was ending Sophia Agreste’s anniversary without her stomach churning with bad butterflies. She grabbed her mineral water and drained the whole bottle in one go. Not very lady like, but then, who cared really? Catching site of herself in the reflection off one of her windows she cringed. Had she really spent the entire afternoon with Adrien looking like that? It was a good thing he was family, anyone else would have to be killed for seeing her in such a state. Making her way to the bathroom grabbed another bottle of mineral water and put the box in a place of honor atop her Ladybug pillow, before stepping into the bathroom to freshen up.

She thought about what she would like Serge to bring her for dinner as she ran herself a bath and tried to keep herself from dry sobbing again after getting a good look at her swollen red eyes. She didn’t notice the heavily varnished box begin to slip from atop the round and fuzzy ladybug pillow. No sooner had she closed the door than the box fell off the pillow and the bed and bounced off the stairs, popping open and releasing an orb of golden light.

Author’s Notes:

Regarding the lateness of this chapter: As you can tell, this chapter took a lot longer to write than was anticipated. I blame Chloe. Entire pages were deleted and completely rewritten several times because the girl would just not stop talking I kept losing the plot thread. I think I must have written another chapter’s worth of just rambling between Chloe and Adrien. Several times I’d have to stop writing the conversation I was working on and go back to see if I have already written it somewhere else in that draft. There was a lot of Chloe’s character that had to be gone into, or at least touched upon in this chapter, and I’m still worried that too much was crammed in at once.

Regarding Adrien: Adrien is a cinnamon roll. He’s got a bit more of a lip on him now after spending a year with Plagg, but he is still a cinnamon roll. Just to clarify, he knows which Kwami is in the box, although he hasn’t met them personally. A bit more about this will be gone into in later chapters, but that is one of the key reasons he picked Chloe over, say, Nino or Alya. The moment he heard “Queen” he thought Chloe.

Regarding Plagg: Plagg is a really fun character to write once I figured out how I wanted to write him. I can summarize my take on him in one word, nihilistic. In two words, positively nihilistic. As he said, he’s the Kwami of destruction. He understands better than anyone how fragile and fleeting life is, and rather than despair at it, he embraces all the time he has and encourages those around him to do the same. I think this maybe a fairly cannon interpretation of him too, though I’m ashamed to say that he only clicked with me as I was writing the final draft of the ending. Originally, I just had him complain that they kids were wasting time and he sped of the process so he could go eat finally.

Regarding Chloe’s hatred of Marinette and her fears of being disowned and of Pizza: Two of these will be gone into in detail in later chapters, one not so much. I leave it to you to guess which.

#Fanfiction #chloe bourgeois #Miraculous Ladybug #Adrien and Chloe sibling love #Sorry for the wait everyone #hope you like it!#Chlolya #Chloya

18 notes · View notes