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rhaenyratargeryn · 3 years

Text

A Series of Firsts, pt. I (Crow x f!guardian)

Rating: T

Summary: First confessions, first drink, first kiss. All in one.

It was hard to pinpoint the exact moment her perspective shifted. It was one thing to say, when you awake as a guardian, whomever you were in your past life is gone, and another to put it into practice.

Especially when you knew the person that guardian had been in the very recent past.

Especially when you were the reason that person had died.

Of all the things Crow had learned (mostly against his will) about who he was before he awoke to the Light, that was one thing she was glad he had not discovered.

Which was a whole other mess for her mind and her heart to work out. It was hard enough at the start seeing the face of the man who she had hunted, had chased over the stars with hatred in her heart and revenge in her hands. Hands that had fired the Ace of Spades into Uldren Sov until he breathed no more.

Uldren had been proud. Haughty. A prince in his status and his manner.

And now this man who wore his face was hissing at having scorched his fingertips on the crackling campfire after adding a log. He sheepishly blew on them as Glint shook his small chassis with a chiding air.

“I told you to use a smaller log.”

“By all means, show me how it is done, Sparky.”

Glint couldn’t scowl, but the way his edges tightened and he groaned said well enough that he hated the endearment.

“That’s what I thought.” Crow said with a grin, catching her eye as she watched him. The expression softened, his voice lowering, “How’s it coming?”

Right. She was supposed to be mixing up the stew. Pulled from her thoughts, she returned to stirring, mixing packets of dried vegetable and meat rations into the stock that was, in truth, mostly water. It was a typical meal for guardians on the ground. And… well, despite Zavala having learned of Crow’s real identity, it was too risky still to have him walking around the tower.

He’d needed to “get out and stretch his wings” as he called it, and so here she was. Camped out in the EDZ with the Lightbringer formerly known as Uldren Sov. The man she had killed. And now the man she was stupidly, and irreversibly already half in love with.

There had been moments. Lots of moments. Too many moments.

First she’d thought the affection stemmed from the fact he looked up to her. Just another new Lightbearer with an awed respect for the Young Wolf, Hero of the Red War, the “Chosen One”… it wasn’t like she had set out to be any of those things. She had just done what needed to be done. She recalled she told him that once and he had chuckled with such… fondness. His voice pitching low then as it did now or whenever they were alone.

Like their conversations were a secret. His words for her ears alone.

She set the pot over the flame on it’s hanger, noting that despite Glint’s criticisms, the flame was high enough and hot enough to use.

“You seem distracted tonight.” Crow said, letting his hood fall back. Even in the dark his eyes glowed faintly, the color of a sunrise.

She told herself the shiver that ran up and down her arms was from the chill in the air.

“I’ve never been a talker.” She said and settled back down next to him. It was near enough that one of them only had to reach out to touch the other. It would be too obvious to move now, she thought with a silent curse, frowning to herself.

“Is that so?” Crow said, his voice so earnest that for a moment she didn’t realize he was teasing her until she looked up and saw the faint smile on his lips.

Her traitorous heart skipped. Where was her Ghost? For that matter, where was Glint? They had both been here a moment ago.

“I thought… well… I thought maybe you were regretting bringing me along. I can’t say that last shot at the Fallen was my best moment.”

She had nearly forgotten. It was a small skirmish, something she could have easily taken solo. A Captain had swiped in close, nearly taking her arm off with his sword. Crow’s shot had missed, but it had forced the Captain back, giving her enough time to dispatch the Fallen herself. She had been surprised, but hadn’t given it more thought than that.

But now, in the dim light, she could see the same expression on Crow’s face he had worn when he came down from his perch and helped her bandage the shallow wound. It hadn’t been embarrassment, or even quite disappointment… but something else. Something deeper.

“It still saved me a very uncomfortable rez.” She said and the Crow just nodded, his brow pinched slightly as he cast his eyes aside. She turned, tilting her head to try to get back into his line of sight.

“Hey, I mean it. I would have regretted not bringing you along. This is so much better than being off on my own.”

Surprise flashed over his features, a deeper shade of indigo spreading across his cheeks. She suddenly found herself wishing a Taken portal would open up and swallow her whole. She turned away before he could see the same flush spread over her own face.

“… I agree.” Crow said and she risked another look over at him. He was smiling.

“One nice thing about being out of Spider’s lair— well, one of the nice things— I get to see you more often.”

She didn’t know what to say. The silence between them was only broken by the faint chirping of insects, the crackle of the fire and the faint bubbling sound of their dinner. Crow was looking at his hands, fidgeting with his gloves and picking at the fabric.

“Anyway. I appreciate that you humor a kinderguardian like me.” Crow began, his voice tinged with forced humor to hide the deprecation, “Letting me tag along—“

“I like it too.” She said, the words coming out so fast it came out more as “liketoo” than a comprehensive sentence.

The Crow had stopped fidgeting. The insects and the fire were overloading her senses again.

“… I really respect you. As a guardian, as a comrade. And… And I like to think of you as a friend.” Crow continued, “…and I like to think of you.”

He stopped.

“You like to think of me as—?” She prompted, breath held in her lungs.

He smiled, “That’s all. I like to think of you.”

Oh.

Crow’s confession had brought a permanent heat to his cheeks, his expression softening as if he were marveling that he managed to even get the words out. She was marveling them too. Or more like, feeling her thoughts collapse inward on themselves like a black hole.

“What... um. What does that mean?” She said, feeling dumb and fumbling and definitely not like someone with the title of “Godslayer”.

“I… “ he began, but whatever it was that had slipped forward was beginning to retreat once more, “…well, I… it’s… just a sentiment I suppose.”

It was now or never.

“I think about you too. Often. A lot. I think about you a lot. And… I know I’m this ‘role model’ and thought of as this untouchable big damn hero and everyone— no. Look. The point is, me too.”

To his credit, the Crow listened to her outburst with quiet attentiveness, even nodding once or twice in understanding.

“It just seems impossible.” He said at last, shrugging slightly, “I can’t imagine why someone like you—”

“Don’t look at the pedestal.” She said, her voice firm, “Just look at me. C’mon, you’ve seen how I eat. I talk in my sleep too, I know I do. I never clean my guns right and I’ve had half a dozen sparrow related rezes because I’m a shitty driver.”

That last one got a laugh.

“So let’s just focus on the win here, yeah? You like me.” She waited until the Crow picked up on the prompt and he nodded, confirming it, “And I like you. Now it’s out there.”

Crow let out a breath that turned into a nervous laugh, “It’s definitely out there.”

When it became apparent neither one of them knew how to go on, there was a soft sigh from somewhere nearby. Glint and her own Ghost glided out from the trees, coming to perch near their guardians.

“And what were you two doing?” Crow said, clearly relieved for a subject change.

“Oh, just— just patrolling.” Glint said hurriedly, earning what could be imagined was a wry look from her own Ghost. He turned that look on her then as if he were exasperated with her for something.

She had a funny feeling why the pair had left them alone.

—-

A day had become a week and then a week had easily fallen into the next. Devrim had even radioed in at one point to tell them to “leave some for the rest of us” after the fourth Fallen patrol they had decimated.

They worked well together, the awkwardness of the night before fading into routine. It surprised her how natural such a foreign concept like touch was to them. A bump on the shoulder with a closed fist, a silent congratulations for a good shot. The brush of their hands when they passed ammo or a water canteen. The touch of his arm, brushing against her own perhaps every thirteenth of a second when they walked too close together.

Even at the campfire they slowly had begun to draw nearer and nearer, their orbit closing in on the other. His, with an innocent like curiosity. Her own interest decidedly less innocent, but also still— cautious. She felt the pull of his light, new and bright. Her own had not shimmered so in a long time… he was naive, young and rash. He needed looking after, not another responsibility. The point driven even further home now by the way he teetered unsteadily even sitting.

Devrim had sent a patrol over to meet them with fresh supplies. One of them being a bottle of something he called “Gulchshine” which, judging by the smell, was maybe only one molecule away from pure ethanol. Crow hadn’t drank since he was revived. Which was the same as saying he’d never drank before at all.

“This is disgusting. I can’t stop drinking it.” Crow said, his voice not so much slurred as it was relaxed. Open and unguarded.

“What is that? Is that lemon? Or is it just my taste buds dying?”

“It… definitely seems like lemon.” She said, giving a tiny sip to the cup in her own hand. There was a citrus like bite beneath the taste of rubbing alcohol, but it was not near sweet or sour enough to mask the bitterness of the clear liquid.

“Like someone whispering the word ‘lemon’ from another room.” Crow murmured and took another sip, a shudder going over him as he swallowed. He brought the bottle to his lips again and with a chuckle, she leaned nearer and said in a soft voice,

“Lemon."

Crow nearly choked on his laugh. It was a nice sound, one she didn’t hear often enough from him.

“That exactly.” He said after he’d caught his breath, turning towards her with a grin. The smile faded at the realization of how close they were. His eyes half-closed and dreamy in their regard as he lifted a hand up to brush back a strand of hair from her face.

She could smell the alcohol on his warm breath, the moss of the greenery around them, the fresh air… could feel the warmth from the Earth beneath them and from his hand on her cheek. She reached out, holding him by the chin to keep him in place as she leaned forward and pressed a kiss, as faint as the sweet taste of citrus, on his lips.

She had not expected to do that. She equally did not expect him to curl his hand behind her head and pull her in, his mouth already open for another kiss which she happily provided. Crow groaned, an involuntary and needful sound.

Desperation. She could taste it in his kiss, in the way he tentatively returned the soft touch of her tongue, inexperienced but so eager to learn. To feel. He craved it in every gasp, every pull of his fingers through her hair. He wanted to be touched— with tenderness, with kindness. His body lit with it, his breathing fast and quick and his touch edging towards rough in its eagerness. Like he couldn’t get close enough. A wanting so strong and so foreign and yet familiar. She felt him struggle with it— with his body knowing vaguely what it wanted but his mind struggling to keep up.

So she guided him. Over and over. Kissing not just his lips but the highpoint of his cheek and the juncture where his jaw met his neck. She let her teeth rasp over his pulse, thready and rapid at his throat and relished in the way he shivered. She wasn’t sure when she had been settled into his lap, only that she enjoyed the way it made her just a fraction taller.

They were wearing too many clothes. She wanted to touch him, to run her hands over every expanse of his skin until he remembered her touch more than he remembered any bullet or beam or weapon that had ever struck him. The sudden movement of her hands to the hem of his shirt had an immediate sobering effect, his body going rigid beneath her.

“… too fast.” She said, nodding half at her self. She let her hands slide back up, resting her arms around his shoulders. Crow swallowed thickly and she repressed the urge to kiss his neck all over again.

“I’ve never— I mean, not that I remember…”

It made perfect sense. His uncertainty mixed with certainty. Moments of lucidness where he no doubt remembered past lovers, past kisses, and then for them to fade like starlight from his grasp. Despite the confession, the Crow didn’t look daunted, his hands still clutching to her waist.

“Do you want to stop?” She asked, shifting her weight back.

“I…“ Crow paused, his pupils blown wide, an eclipse on a sunset sky, “… I just want to touch you. Is… is that okay?”

“That’s okay.” She said, pressing a kiss to his jaw and relishing in the way he relaxed beneath her hands. His arms held her so tightly, their ribs pressed together hard enough for there to be a faint spark of pain. She didn’t care.

His fingers had found a spot beneath her collar, seeking out the soft skin at the nape of her neck. She turned her cheek against his, pressing and rubbing her lips against him more than actually kissing. Crow seemed dazed, a soft hum coming from his throat as she felt his eyelashes brush against her skin, his eyes closing.

“Is everyone this warm?” He asked, unthinking, “Sorry— weird question.”

“Probably has something to do with the Gulchshine.”

She pulled back, placing her hands on either side of his face and noting the warmth radiating from his skin.

“You’re flushed down your neck.” She said, observing the darker blue color that bloomed out over his skin.

“I’m not that drunk.”

She rose an eyebrow.

“I didn’t say I wasn’t drunk, just not that drunk.”

“So is this for me then?”

He didn’t answer, a sputter dying in his throat as he shook his head.

“I lied. I’m drunk.”

She laughed and kissed him again, just to be sure and he breathed into it like she was the very air he needed. An arm around her waist, his hand tangled in her hair, he followed her kiss by kiss, learning his own rhythm and occasionally trying something new. Discovering how he liked to kiss her. How he liked to be kissed back. It felt important. It felt special. These things only heightening the very intimacy of the act.

She’d never felt this way just from kissing someone before. Something she imagined they had in common.

“... if I knew it felt this good, I would have done it a long time ago.”

“You really are drunk.”

He made a questioning noise, his mouth too busy testing out the way she has kissed his neck on her own. He licked a long line up to her jaw. She had definitely not shown him that.

“People are more honest when they are drunk.” She clarified, her words veering towards breathless

“Glitch might have mentioned it.”

At the mention of the ghosts, both guardians froze, eyes drifting to where the two lights were perched, watchful but silent nearby.

They had forgotten they were there.

Oh god they had forgotten they were there.

“Don’t mind us.” Her own Ghost said, voice filled with dry amusement.

#destiny #destiny 2 #crow x guardian #crow x young wolf #the crow destiny #crow x f!guardian #fanfic #fanfiction #part two will be SPICY #hence why it will be moved to part two #so people can enjoy without spice

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birdsandspades · 4 years

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One Night Stand? (A Bakugou Oneshot)

-You were suppose to meet a coworker for drinks after work, but they never show. This is Bakugou's lucky chance to finally bring you home, if he can get Kirishima to shut up. Maybe he will have something up his sleeve, or perhaps under his shirt?

Teased smut, nothing too dirty.

Word Count - 3,777

- I‘m iffy on this entire story, but i’ve had it saved for awhile and I figured I would write it. Let me know what you think!

----

You rolled over, the sun shuttering across your face as you opened your eyes. You adjusted to the light, the room coming into focus around you. It was clean, minimal, nothing like your own.

The sheets were soft on your exposed skin, silk grey, expensive. You turned over, looking at the unmade side next you, it was still warm to the touch.

The room smelled like carmel, the sheets soaked in the scent as you buried your face in the fabric. It filled your senses, warm and inviting.

A few cupboards closed from the other room turning your attention to the slightly open bedroom door.

“Mmm, he’s already awake.” You hummed, looked at the clock on the wall. It was only 9:00 a.m. Early for a Saturday morning.

You lifted off the covers, stepping onto the warm floor. “He even has heated floors, how fancy.” You giggled, looking around for your clothing. You found your underwear, thrown on the dresser across the room, the rest of your clothing lost in the pile still scattered on the floor. You picked something out, a black shirt, definitely not yours.

You slipped it on, the hem covering just enough to be called modest.

The smell of breakfast filled the room, the sizzle of something cooking in the kitchen. You opened the door, making your way down the hallway. It looked different in the morning light, the pictures hung on the walls now viable.

You were sore, hand on the wall guiding you out to the kitchen. A consequence of last night.

You peaked a head around the corner, his exposed back to you as he stood at the stove.

“You're up early.” You smiled, walking over. You wrapped your arms around his waist, laying your cheek against his warm skin.

“Good morning, I didn’t expect to see you standing after last night.” He chuckled looking down at you.

----

You had been sitting at the bar for a little over an hour, slowly sipping at your drink as you watched the bartender run back and forth making drinks.

You slid up your sleeve to read your watch, 9:37 p.m. “How long is he going to take?” You groaned, leaning against the bar counter.

You had agreed to drinks with a coworker after work, something you usually would have protested. But it was now the weekend, and your case had been especially gruelling. Wrapping it up had been the best part of your week, scratch that month. Your new partner asking you out for drinks to celebrate had been the cherry on the top, but work had since ended and he was nowhere to be found.

You tipped your glass, draining the last of the liquor that pooled around the melting ice. The bartender made eye contact with you from the other end of the bar, shaking the empty glass in his hand and pointing to yours. You declined, flashing him a folded bill.

He printed the check and slipped it into a booklet, dropping it off in front of you before he greeted another customer. “Thank you!” You shouted over the music, wiggling the book before sticking the money inside. You closed the check book, sliding it back over to his side of the counter.

“L/N?”

You turned around, a smile pulling at your flushed cheeks. “Katsuki Bakugou, what are you doing here?”

“I just got off work, Kirishima forced me to come out.” He moved closer, a hand resting on the bar as he moved out of the way of a group pushing past. “What are you doing here? I thought they had put you on that neon district case up north?” He leaned in closer, lips brushing your ear as he squished you against the bartop.

“They did, we wrapped it up a few days ago. I just got back yesterday.” You rested a hand on his bicep as he glared behind him at the pushy people. The back of your neck growing red at the closing space between you two.

“With Shinsou right? I heard he had moved to your agency after Aizawa retired.” He waved down the bartender, slipping in between you and a random man at the bar. He pointed to the menu on the wall raising two fingers as the man nodded.

“Yeah, he was actually supposed to meet me here for drinks awhile ago...” You pulled your phone out of your back pocket, checking for any new messages. “I don’t think he’s gonna show up.” You turned off the blank screen, giving Bakugou a small smile.

“Well if you're sticking around I think Kirishima rented a booth. Your welcome to join us, dunce face flaked on us for a date night with his girlfriend.” Bakugou traded the bartender a bill for the drinks, waving for him to keep the change. “We're over on the other side of all this shit.” He motioned towards the dance floor, nodding for you to follow.

“Wait Bakugou…” You looked around the busy club, people flooding in through the front doors. It was after all a Friday night, the perfect time to visit the district's most popular dancing spot. He gave you a smirk, pushing into the crowd that was gathering around the bar.

“Why not.” You pushed your chair away from the bar table, turning to step into the crowd. You followed close behind him, or at least tried too. The dance floor thick with sweaty bodies as you slid through. You had seen the blonde tuft of hair only seconds ago, but it had been replaced with the glare of flashing lights as a new song picked up. The crowd pushed in, squishing you between two groups of dancing girls.

“Hey, fucking keep up!” Bakugou grabbed your hand, yanking you out of the mass of people. In the other were the two drinks he had bought, perfectly balanced in his large hands. “Your too short to be fucking around in the crowd idiot.” He smiled down at you, tugging you along behind him.

“Sorry…” You blushed, his hand warm around yours. It had been years since you last saw Bakugou, years since you were in UA together. But he still managed to make your head fuzzy with that confidence, the alcohol wasn’t helping the situation either.

He pulled you behind him to the private booths, escorting you through the gathered groups of people. Kirishima’s eyes landed on his friend, traveling down to his hand tightly enclosed around yours. He waved you both over, scooting out of the round booth.

“L/N!” Kirishima stood up from his seat, walking over to you with open arms as you walked behind Bakugou. He let go of your hand, walking over to set the drinks down on the table.

“Hi Kiri, how are you?” You wrapped your arms around him the best you could, the man had bulked up over the years.

“Good, married!” He flashed you the ring, his toothy smile bright as ever.

Bakugou put a hand on your shoulders, guiding you over to the booth. “Let's sit down at least, I'm tired of people rubbing up against my ass.” He complained in your ear, pushing you to sit down.

You slid into the seat, Bakugou moving in beside you.

“Do you guys want something to drink?” Kirishima yelled, walking away from the boothed section.

“Shitty hair I got you a fucking...nevermind.” Bakugou rolled his eyes, sliding the drink over to you. “Well I hope you like highballs.” He chuckled, taking a drink from his glass.

“It’s been what two years since I last saw you, what have you been up too?” You tried your best to shout over the music, the bass deafening.

“I can’t fucking hear you, come here.” He looped an arm around your waist, pulling you into his side. The friction of his jeans on your exposed skin left goosebumps on your leg, his skin hot under the dark denim.

“I said, what have you been doing these last two year!” Your lips brushed his cheek, breath tickling his ear as you spoke.

“I’ve been bouncing around agencies, they have me training idiot sidekicks for some fucking reason.” He playfully groaned, rolling his eyes.

“I can’t believe it’s been four years, since we graduated. I feel like we were in the dorms at UA just the other day.” You took a sip of your drink, whisky strong on the tip of your tongue.

“I’m glad, i’ve had way more fun outside of that fucking school.” He turned his head, Kirishima walking up the stairs with a bottle of sake. Kirishima waved the bottle at the blonde, empty glasses clutched in his other hand.

“I’m sure a top tier hero like yourself gets plenty of action.” You teased, sliding over as Kirishima moved in beside Bakugou.

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” He smirked, his teasing tone making your breath hitch.

Your cheeks heated up at the comment, eyes averting to your half full drink. You had never been brave enough to flirt with Bakugou, not even in school. He was intimidating, something you just didn’t do well with. But the liquid courage that burned in your chest was giving you the confidence to at least try.

“L/N?” Kirishima tilted his head, shot in his hand.

“Oh sorry...” You took the drink with two hands, thanking him as you set it on the table.

“How have you been? Last time I saw you was at Shotou’s agency last year.” Kirishima slid in on the other side of the booth, Bakugou pouring a shot beside you.

“Oh yeah, for that stupid ranking meeting. They called it after Ryukyu retired to discuss the popularity jumps we all had.” You took your shot with Bakugou, nose wrinkling at the taste.

Bakugou chuckled beside you, his arm resting behind you as he leaned back in the seat. “You got a pretty good boost from all the pro’s retiring last year.

“Yeah I got pushed up to number 15, they moved me to a new district after that.” You took a sip of your highball in an attempt to clean the taste from your mouth. “Your one to talk Ground Zero, number one hero after Deku moved to America.” You smirked up at the blonde, his red eyes narrowing.

Kirishima poured the both of you another shot of sake, “ She has you on that Bakugou.” laughing as he pushed the glasses back over to you two.

“Yeah I supposed she does.” Bakugou raised his eyebrow, an amused smile creeping over his face.

You drank with the two as the night continued on, the bottle emptying as you caught up with your old classmates.

“Wait a minute, so you're saying Bakugou had a fanclub in school?” Kirishima laughed, his face flushed. He had drank a majority of the bottle, the evidence clear from his intoxicated state.

“Yeah! A ton of girls had crushes on him. Shit even I liked you.” You chuckled, placing a hand on Bakugou’s arm. You felt the muscles tense, his heated gaze on you.

“No fucking way, Bakugou liked you in school too! He just wouldn't say anything because he thought you were scared of him!” Kirishima threw an arm over your shoulder, winking at his no longer buzzed friend across the table.

You looked at the man next to you, visibly flustered by his friend's comment. “Wait, I thought you hated me.” You giggled, pointing to yourself.

“No way, he used to bother me to move the patrols by your office so he could check up on you. He was always asking everyone about you at meetings too. Bakugou has been in love with you since first year!” Kirishima was holding his side, the look on his friend's face only making him laugh hard.

“Kirishima…” Bakugou reached across the table to grab his friend, fingers barely grazing his button up.

“Wait a minute, let me catch up here. So you're telling me you liked me the entire time I liked you, and I never knew?” You looked between the men, eyes stopping on Bakugou. He looked absolutely embarrassed, like his deepest darkest secret had just been told to the world.

Yes it was true, he had a massive crush on you. Yes, he did frequently check up on you. And maybe he had some glimmer of hope that he would be able to tell you tonight when he saw you at the bar all alone. But that wasn’t going to happen now that shitty hair was word vomiting every single thing Bakugou had ever told him.

“You two should go on a date! He always turns down anyone that asks him.” Kirishima leaned in, whispering to you. “I think it’s because he wanted to ask you out but he was scared you thought he was mean.”

“Ok, I think that's enough drinking! Let’s call it a night dumbass.” Bakugou slid out of the seat, ripping his friend out of the booth. You stumbled out of the seat, running behind them as they pushed through the dance floor.

You followed the bickering pair, the fresh air cold on your skin as you exited the club. Bakugou waved a hand, stopping a taxi outside the doors. “Get inside before I leave you out here for the night…” He helped his friend inside, pulling the seat belt over the wiggling redhead.

“Y/N…!” Kirishima tried to push past Bakugou, his head darting around the blonde's shoulders as he fought to close the door. The rest of his sentence was incomprehensible behind the closed door.

Bakugou leaned into the open passenger window, “Yeah, just take him straight home. You can keep the rest.” He handed the man a few bills, glaring at the beaming Kirishima as the taxi drove off down the busy road.

“Well that was a fun night.” You smiled, looking up at the irritated man.

He gave you a sarcastic chuckled, running his hand through his hair. “Yeah, fun.” He let out a loud sigh, looking around. “I don’t suppose you would want to go on that date now that you know about...everything?”

“It would be hard to say no with a confession like that.” You giggled, Bakugou relaxing at the confirmation.

“But...maybe you would want to take me home first?” You smirked, his eyes widening.

He returned the look, eyes darkening. A woman after his heart, confidant and you knew what you wanted. “ I guess I have made you wait long enough.” He chuckled, his hand wrapping around your arm as he pulled you along down the sidewalk.

That's how you ended up pressed against Bakugou’s apartment door, heated lips heavy on your own.

He fumbled with the lock while pressing hot kisses down your neck, his other hand digging into your waist.

“Just fucking open the door Katsuki.” You moaned, grabbing a fist full of his shirt as you pulled him closer.

“I would be able to if your big ass got out of the way.” He spun you around before pressing you back into the cold wood.

You gasped at the force, his lock clicking open as he pressed sloppy kisses down your shoulder. He pushed the door open into the dark apartment, chest pressing into your back as he moved the two of you inside.

He threw his keys on the table, spinning you around.

“Nice place.” You smiled, kicking off your shoes.

“Thank you, i’ll show you around later.” He grabbed the exposed skin under your ass to pick you up. Your legs wrapping around his waist as he slipped off his shoes. He pressed his lips back against yours, walking you through the hallways as he kicked open the bedroom door. He sat down on the edge of the bed, nipping down your jaw as he pushed you down on his growing bulge.

You moaned at the contact, hands moving down the hem of his shirt. You gave it a tug, leaning back as you tried to take it off him.

Bakugou untangled his hands from behind you, lifting them over his head as you pulled it up and over. You trailed a hand over his bare chest, fingers following the deep lines as you trailed down to his waist band. You roamed over the exposed skin, eyes stopping on his left peck. The shine of something metallic caught your eye, glistening in the light of the open window. Your brows knitted together as you stared at the metal ring.

“What is that face for brat?” Bakugou scowled, pulling at your own shirt.

You raised your arms over your head, eyes still on his chest as he pulled it off your head. “Katsuki is that a nipple ring?”

“What if it is?” Bakugou wasted no time attaching himself to the sensitive skin on your neck.

“I just didn’t think Bakugou Katsuki would be the type of guy to get a nipple piercing.” You shifted in his hold, chewing at your lips as he placed wet kisses over your chest.

You tried to push the thought from your head, submerging yourself in the feeling of the man wrapped around you. But the warm metal grazing over your skin was making that impossible. The more you thought about it, the funnier it became. Giggles bubbling up, escaping between soft moans as he grinded into you.

Someone had to have convinced Bakugou to get the thing. It was something he would have never picked out on his own. Maybe a dare, or a drunken decision. “Did Kiri convince you to get it?”

Bakugou pulled away, crimson creeping across his face as he turned away. He remembered you being nicer in school, but you were relentless with your teasing.

“I’m not even hard anymore, so fuck off.” He slid a hand under your thigh. With one move he flipped you off of him, throwing you to the side of the bed as he stood up to walk out of the room. He stomped his way out the door and down the hallways, lights turning on behind him as he made way for the kitchen.

You were close to tears, holding your sides as you buried your face in the sheets. Soft giggles turning to boisterous laughs as you held your sides. That was explanation enough. You rolled off the bed, wiping the threatening tears as you stood up.

“Wait, Katsuki! I’m still horny, even with that nipple thing!” You made your way out of the bedroom, trying to stifle your giggles.

“Fuck off shitty woman!” He yelled from the other room.

“I’m sorry, you can make fun of my All Might underwear.” You walked into the kitchen, no sight of the disgruntled man.

A hand dug into your waist, spinning you around. You were shoved into the kitchen island, lips hot on your ear. “ I would be careful what you say next, or you may not be able to speak tomorrow, let alone walk.” He nipped at your jaw, moaning as he pressed into you.

----

Bakugou turned around in your arms, leaning down to pick you up. He set you on the kitchen island, pressing his lips softly against yours.

You smiled into the kiss, reaching up to pull him closer.

He inched away chuckling. “I’ll burn breakfast if you distract me.” He scolded, walking back to the stove. You peaked over his shoulder, watching as he flipped the half cooked pancakes in the pan.

He checked everything cooking before walking back over to you, a smirk pulling at his soft features. He took your chin between his thumb and finger, tilting your head back and forth. “Wow, I really did a number on you.”

You blushes, pushes his hand away. “I could say that same thing.” You touched the now bruised love bites on his chest. Leaning down you pressed light kisses to each one, looking up at the smiling blonde. You gave him a playful bite, his hand pushing your head away.

“Oww asshole.” He laughed, rubbing his chest.

“Couldn’t help it, I like shiny things.” You teased as he walked over to the cabinet. He pulled out two plates, setting them down on the counter.

“Are you planning on making fun of this thing every time you see it.” He rolled his eyes, taking the bacon out of the oven.

“I don’t know, I think it’s growing on me.” You smiled, hopping off the island.

“Go sit down, i’ll bring it to you.” He smiled over his shoulder, turning off the stove.

You took a seat at the dining room table, looking around the spacious apartment. It was open, bright. Everything had a place, and it was perfectly positioned in it. The walls and open shelves were lined with photos, him with family, him with friends, him with fans.

Bakugou set a plate down in front of you, pulling out his seat next to you. “What's that look for?” He smiled, looking around the apartment.

“That's us, I don’t even remember taking that photo.” You pointed to a smaller photo on his bookshelf, positioned right in the middle of everything.

It was a photo of the two of you on the last day of school, the only day you two had talked to each other during school. Bakugou had been in front of you at the graduation ceremony, the two of you waiting to be called up. He had turned around half way through the ceremony to make a funny joke about Aizawa’s pink pants, it made you laugh.

“Oh yeah. My mom took that. She said she had never seen me smile around a girl or some stupid shit like that. I just like having it…” He shrugged, cutting his pancake.

“I was surprised when you turned around to talk to me that day. I had never talked to you alone before then.” You smiled, he kept a photo of you. You wouldn’t tell him now, but you had a newspaper clipping of the two of you together at the sports festival during your first year.

“Yeah, I wanted to ask you out before we graduated. I got nervous when you smiled at me, so I said something stupid about those dumb pants Aizawa had on.” He looked up at you, chewing on his lip. “You left before I could talk to you after graduation was over.”

“Well do you want to go out now? I don’t plan on going anywhere this time.” You took a bite of your bacon, looking up at him.

He laughed, rolling his eyes. “I think we're past that now dumbass. Eat your food, I promised you a tour.”

230 notes · View notes

there-must-be-a-lock · 4 years

Text

Coming Home

Dean x Reader

Word Count: 4980

Warnings: Smut. Relatively vanilla, but decidedly explicit.

A/N: For @impala-dreamer and the “Make Me Feel It” challenge. My prompt was “The Story,” by Brandi Carlile. To me, that song feels like letting your guard down and trusting someone to see you at your worst.

Major thanks to @fangirlxwritesx67 and @stunudo for the read-throughs and suggestions, and to @justcallmeasmodeus @thoughtslikeaminefield and @cracksinthewalls for listening to me grumble about this monster all day.

October, 2006

Dean can’t sleep, and what-fucking-else is new? Not like he was Sleeping Beauty to begin with, but it’s harder since Dad died. He tosses and turns on the lumpy motel mattress, listening to Sammy’s snores. His muscles ache and his eyes itch and he can’t stop clenching his jaw. It’s been a couple days since he’s managed more than a catnap at a rest stop.

If he pauses for too long, if he lets himself rest, the grief catches up and chokes him. Dean’s fine, or he will be. He just has to keep putting one foot in front of the other.

He gives up around 4am, leaves Sammy a note and trudges down the block to the all-night diner.

Left foot, right foot. Don’t look back. Don’t stop.

All the diners are starting to look alike. On good days, the familiarity is comforting. Today it just feels surreal, like he keeps driving and driving and never really gets anywhere, and the grey fluorescent lights make his vision skip and skitter strangely.

There’s one other guy at a table in the corner, a trucker nursing a cup of coffee; otherwise it’s empty apart from the waitress wiping down glasses at the other end of the counter. He blinks away the disorientation and sits down heavily on one of the cracked vinyl stools.

She sets down her rag and comes over, smiling, and it cuts through the grey and the cold and warms him from the inside.

He orders a coffee and a slice of pie, and he starts eating without really tasting anything. He feels fucking cold, like he brought October into the diner with him.

He watches the waitress tidying up, rolling silverware, cleaning the counter… Dean catches himself staring at her hips, the way she shifts her weight as she stands.

Maybe it’s the way she moves that’s got him distracted, maybe it’s just sleeplessness making his vision blur, but one way or another he misses his mouth entirely when he goes to take a sip of coffee. Blistering-hot liquid sloshes over his hand, and he promptly drops the mug. It shatters at his feet.

He looks down numbly at the splintered pieces as the puddle begins to spread. She’s there with a towel before he can really register what happened.

“Jesus,” Dean spits, finally snapping back into his body. “Fuck, I’m sorry.”

She just gives him a little half-smile and shrugs, and Dean slides off the stool to get out of her way. He tiptoes gingerly around the mess and grabs a handful of napkins to get the worst of the coffee off his lap. His cheeks are burning with embarrassment.

When she’s done, Dean perches back on his stool to shovel down the last few bites, ready to get the hell of her way, but she sets a fresh cup in front of him.

“Thanks,” he says automatically.

She quirks her lips in a tiny smile, and fuck, she’s cute. Dean tries to muster up his most charming grin, but it feels stiff and twisted on his face.

“Long day?” she asks softly. She’s watching him with her head tilted to the side like she actually wants to hear about it.

“I’m fine,” he replies. Smile, shrug, don’t think.

She looks tired, too. She’s got dark circles under her eyes to match Dean’s, but there’s something sweet and open in her expression that makes him feel comfortable, somehow. Something about her is warm, and Dean’s first instinct is to hold out his hands like he’s thawing them over a fire.

Her smile isn’t pitying, just empathetic, a sort of bone-weary been there, done that look.

“My dad died,” Dean blurts out.

He wasn’t planning on telling her that. It’s the first time he’s said the words quite so bluntly, let alone to a stranger. He’s not that guy, he doesn’t go around dumping his problems on other people, but… he looks up, meets her eyes. His chest hurts.

“I’m fine,” he insists.

Fine. Smile, shrug, don’t think. You’re fine.

Dean heaves in a breath. His ribs are being squeezed by some cold iron grip, and his throat is tight.

She reaches out across the counter and puts her hand over his, and she gives it a tiny, gentle squeeze.

“You will be,” she offers.

He’s not that guy, he’s just not, and the ache in his chest is this massive unbearable thing that’s about to split him open, and the longer she looks at him with that warmth, the harder it gets to hold himself together. And he needs to hold himself together. If he lets go, even just a little, he’s going to fucking drown.

Dean yanks his hand back like he’s been burned.

“Sorry,” she says. Her eyes look sad, but she’s giving him a tiny smile, like she understands.

“I gotta -” he chokes out, and he stumbles as he gets off the stool. He throws some bills on the table without really looking, and he turns to go.

Left foot, right foot.

He doesn’t look back.

***

March, 2008

“Fuck, Dean, just take this exit,” Sam says. He’s got that bite in his voice again.

“I’m fine,” Dean says. He burps and puts the cap back on the flask one-handed. He gets in the right lane, though. Time for food.

Signal. Turn. Brake.

Time’s passing strangely. He blinks and there’s another day gone. He hasn’t got that many days left. If he closes his eyes for long they’ll disappear.

He pulls into the parking lot of an all-night diner. Sammy jumps out and slams the door before Dean can even cut the engine, like a petulant fuckin’ kid.

Dean shivers, goosebumps running down his neck. He takes one quick slug from the flask, then another, trying to shake off the chills, before he follows Sam inside.

He hasn’t been sleeping. Better ways to spend his last weeks. He’s crystal-clear, though. He’s fine. Everything is bright and sharp and hard-edged around him. The whiskey just warms him up a little.

“Ordered you a burger,” Sam mumbles, when Dean sits down next to him. “To go, so we can get to a fucking motel.”

“Told you, Sammy, I’m fine,” Dean says breezily, and asks the waitress as she passes, “Could I get a coffee, when you get a sec?”

He ignores Sam’s glare.

The waitress comes over, and Dean gets a quick impression of a soft smile and curious eyes as she passes him a steaming mug. He takes a greedy sip and burns his tongue.

“Hot coffee,” he says hastily, setting the mug down to blow on it, and then he delivers the line with an almost automatic grin. “You know what else is hot?”

“Come on,” Sam mutters.

Dean finishes with a wink: “You.”

“You’re not gonna spill on me again, are you?” she smirks.

He looks up at her, really looks. Something about her smile says come inside, stay a while, like stepping in from the cold to the golden flicker of firelight.

“I remember you,” she says. “You were having a rough night.”

“Oh,” Dean says. “Oh.”

He stares as she introduces herself. It feels so far away, now. Feels like he’s lived a few lifetimes since then, but he hasn’t, not really; he won’t even have a chance to live this lifetime.

He shudders and wishes he’d brought his flask inside.

“Sorry,” she says, “Not a good memory to look back at, I guess.”

He shakes his head.

“No, I’m fine, just… took me a second,” he says, and recovers, pasting on a bright smile. “Don’t know how I could forget such a pretty face.”

Sam makes an exasperated noise next to him.

“Smooth,” she says dryly. “What’s your name, butterfingers?”

“Dean.”

“Well, Dean, if you make a mess again because you’re too busy flirting to remember where your mouth is, you can clean it up yourself this time. Okay?”

The words are light and teasing, but her smile looks like an apology, like she knows all too well how hard it is to look back sometimes.

“How ‘bout you let me make it up to you?” Dean offers. “Let me buy you a drink when you’re done here.”

She’s eyeing him up and down, and Dean flashes his most winning smile, even though he has a sudden inexplicable urge to hide his face. There’s a bell from the kitchen window and she turns without answering. Dean’s pretty sure he just struck out, and he’s more bothered by it than he’d like to admit, but then she’s back.

“Yeah, okay,” she says casually, handing over a couple takeout containers. “I’ll be done in fifteen.”

“Fuck’s sake,” Sam grumbles, as he counts out bills.

“Hey, you get your wish,” Dean says, grinning. “You get to sleep in a bed tonight. Motel’s right up the road, if I’m remembering right.”

“Yeah. Great.”

She’s talking to the cook, hands on her hips, and Dean catches a string of profanities. He smiles to himself and shakes his head, trying not to stare.

“I’ll meet you out front,” he says. She gives him a little wave, and he almost trips over his feet on his way to the door.

Sam shoulders his bag, jaw set, eyes tired.

“I can drive you,” Dean offers, guilt slithering through his stomach, but Sam shakes his head.

“I’ll walk. I can see the sign from here.”

“I just - I wouldn’t be able to sleep anyway.”

“Yeah. I won’t wait up.”

Sam turns to go, and Dean feels panicked, for a second. He’s going to blink and lose another day. He’s spent too many days sniping and snapping and being a shitty fucking brother.

“Sammy,” he says, and Sam looks back, tight-lipped. “Thanks.”

Sam’s expression falters, the bitter mask falling away and leaving sadness in its place.

“It’s okay, Dean, I get it,” he says, so quietly it’s almost lost to the wind.

Dean doesn’t watch him go. He gets in the car and fishes his flask out of the glove compartment. Then he leans against the hood of the car and eats his burger.

Chew, swallow. Don’t think about it.

He sees her through the window, coming out from behind the counter. Dean sets the takeout container on the hood and gets to the front door just in time to open it for her.

“So, where to?” he asks.

“Not sure,” she says softly, looking down at her feet and fidgeting with the strap of her purse.

“You okay?”

“I’m fine.”

Dean snorts. “I’ve told that one a few times myself.”

She rolls her eyes and laughs, sheepish. “Yeah, okay. I… I don’t usually do this.”

“Hey, no pressure,” Dean says. He holds his hands up and takes a step back. “If you say the word I’ll leave right now, no harm done. Okay?”

She’s evaluating him, and it feels like an x-ray, the way she stares. He can see the moment she makes a decision.

“I’ve got drinks back at my place,” she says, and adds sharply, “I’ve also got mace, so… don’t get any ideas.”

It’s oddly endearing, for a threat.

Her place is a tiny, cluttered studio apartment in a not-great part of town. When she opens the fridge, he sees a mess of takeout containers and bottles.

“Beer, tequila, whiskey…”

“Whiskey’s good.”

He looks around and realizes there’s nowhere to sit. There’s a single stool at the kitchen table, and an armchair in front of the coffee table; the only place big enough for two people is the bed. He looks at her, and she’s blushing, like she just had the same realization.

“Shit, sorry, this is weird,” she says, rolling her eyes. “I don’t - I’m in a really fucking strange place in my life. Everything is… temporary, I guess.”

“You and me both,” Dean mutters. He sits down on the floor, in front of the coffee table. She gives him a grateful little half-smile and hands him a glass.

“Tell me about it?” She settles on the floor too, cross-legged, rolling her glass between her palms like someone who’s very used to holding a drink.

They skip all the small talk, the flirtation and the easy questions, and they dive right into the things that Dean fucking hates talking about. Somehow he doesn’t mind.

This was supposed to be a simple pickup, one fun night, a distraction, and instead he’s sitting on this chick’s floor asking about her childhood, finding that he actually cares about the answers… this isn’t like any one-night stand he’s ever had. It’s so much more intimate than that.

The rules are different, with her. He doesn’t have to pretend to be fine. She doesn’t seem to pity him, when he talks about some of the fucked-up things in his life. She just accepts it. She accepts him.

He’s not sure how long it’s been, when he finishes his third drink, but he’s starting to go hoarse. She doesn’t ask if he wants another, just takes the empty glass out of his hand. Her knee pops audibly when she gets up, and they both laugh.

“I’m too old to be sitting on the floor, I think,” she says, heading to the fridge. “If I say we should relocate to the bed, are you going to take it as a come-on?”

He smiles up at her, exhaustion and whiskey making his vision blurry around the edges. “Only if you want me to.”

“Jury’s still out.” She looks down, cheeks flushed like that’s not entirely true. “But I think for the sake of my fuckin’ kneecaps… make yourself comfortable.”

He does. He sits back against the pillows, sinking into them. She comes over and passes him a drink, and he looks up at her, feeling oddly vulnerable stretched out on her bed like this.

“Be right back,” she whispers, and sets her own glass on the nightstand before she heads for the bathroom.

Dean closes his eyes, thinking, just for a second.

He wakes all at once. There’s bright gold sunlight streaming through the windows and a quilt on top of him. She’s curled into his chest, nose brushing his collarbone where his henley is unbuttoned. His hand is resting on the curve of her waist, tucked under her thin shirt. She’s just starting to stir; she shifts, settles closer, and he feels her lips on his throat.

Dean can’t remember the last time he felt this rested, or this warm.

He can’t remember the last time he wanted to stay somewhere. He wants to stay right here in this moment, taking in the tickle of her breath on his neck, the cheap pillowcase under his cheek, the sound of a siren in the distance.

She pulls back slowly, sleepy-eyed. Then she smiles. It feels like coming home.

His phone buzzes in his pocket, and he remembers who he is. He remembers that this isn’t his life.

He digs the phone out of his phone and snaps it open long enough to growl, “Be there soon.”

She’s still smiling, but her eyes are sad. Dean wants to stay, more than he’s wanted anything in a long time, and that’s why he makes himself pull away. If he lets himself have this, even for a morning… if this was his life? He’s not sure he could let himself be dragged away from it, hellhounds or no.

She takes the phone out of his hand and enters her number, “Just in case you’re ever passing through.”

“I doubt it’ll happen,” he says roughly. “But… if I’m passing through.”

Stand up. Deep breath.

He feels cold, the warmth leaching from his bones already.

This isn’t your home.

He doesn’t have a home. Now he never will.

She walks him to the door and he hugs her, barely feeling it, barely noticing the feather-light kiss she presses to his cheek.

“You okay?” she asks.

“I’m fine,” he says, and he turns to go.

Right foot, left foot. Don’t look back.

***

October 2008

If Dean doesn’t get out of this fucking motel, he might lose his fucking mind.

He paces the bathroom, back and forth, feeling brittle and edgy and hollowed-out. One more nightmare, one more argument, and he might snap. He’s sick of Sammy’s fucking face, and looking at his own in the mirror is even worse.

He sees hell whenever he closes his eyes.

He dials her number before he can talk himself out of it, and she picks up on the second ring.

“Hey,” he says hoarsely. “I don’t - I mean, I ended up coming through after all. I don’t know if you remember me, but… this is Dean.”

“I remember you,” she says. He can hear the warmth in her voice, even through the static.

She texts him the address: new place, same town. He tells Sam not to wait up.

He’s not sure why he’s nervous. He’s not sure what it is about her, but there’s something about this chick that he can’t shake. The important thing is that it’ll be fun. It’ll get his mind off things for a night. He rolls down the window and turns the music up.

Don’t think about it.

When she opens the door, Dean’s heart jumps crazily in his chest.

“So, do you want to go out, or...” Dean starts, as she closes the door behind him.

“Can we just pick up where we left off?” she asks, breathless.

Dean can smell the fresh, sweet scent of her hair. He feels dizzy, hot and cold all over, and when he leans in to kiss her it feels like falling. It’s deep, syrupy-slow, her mouth opening easily under his, intimate and familiar.

She lets out a barely-there whimper, deep in her throat.

“Bed,” he chokes out. He’s not sure he’ll make it that far.

He grabs her again, stumbling, as they practically fall through the bedroom door, and she whirls around to face him with this fiery, blazing look that makes him forget how to fucking walk. Her back hits the wall and he crashes into her. She slips her hands under his shirt and drags her nails down his lower back, and Dean gasps, grinding into her helplessly.

“Please,” he pants. He kisses her neck, bites her jaw, whispers it again: “Please.”

She yanks at the hem of his shirt. He almost rips her tank top. She shoves, sends him stumbling backward, and reaches back to unclasp her bra, letting it fall unceremoniously. Dean takes a step backward, still staring, so the edge of the bed against the back of his knees takes him by surprise. He sits down hard and scrambles back.

She pauses at the foot of the bed, letting him look. He rakes his eyes over smooth curves, speechless, as she unbuttons her jeans and shimmies them down her hips, and she crawls up the bed in nothing but plain black panties.

She straddles him, pushing at his shoulders until he falls back against the mattress. He runs his hands over her, up her sides, trying to memorize the lush pillowy swells and dips of her, the velvety feel of her skin. Her mouth is hungry on his.

She’s moving, slow and snakelike, rolling her torso so that he can feel the slight drag of her hard nipples up his chest, then twisting her hips, rubbing herself against him. It’s almost too much even through his jeans, all this hot rough friction. He grips her hips and rocks up against her, and she lets out a tortured little whine as she breaks away from the kiss.

She gets Dean’s zipper down, tugs, and he lifts his hips obligingly so that she can get his pants off. He kicks at them awkwardly, making a face, and she giggles; it’s a nervous giggle, and it dies in her throat when he rolls on top of her. He pauses with his hands braced on either side of her head, and she stares up at him, cheeks flushed.

“What do you -” he starts, and before he can finish the question, she reaches up and brushes the pad of her thumb over the curve of his lower lip. He flicks his tongue over it and watches her eyelids flutter. He ducks his head to kiss the hollow of her throat, then her collarbone.

“Thought about this,” she says. “I was kicking myself, after. For being too scared to make a move, for -”

She gasps when he slips his hand down the front of her panties, dragging two fingers down through silky-slick heat, running them up again, teasing before he pulls the thin fabric down.

“I was wondering,” he confesses. He hooks his hands under her thighs and holds her in place, and she shudders at the first brush of his tongue.

“I don’t do that - don’t invite strangers over,” she pants. “I don’t trust people, but you - fuck, do that again.”

“Taste so good,” he mumbles. It’s barely audible, the way his face is buried between her legs. She squirms, thighs shaking as he gets his lips around her clit.

The words are rushed, high-pitched, spilling out along with tiny gasps and sharp inhales: “Thought about your mouth, fuck. Thought about this. It was - you do a thing, with your tongue, and - right there, oh, fuck, just - you kept licking your lips, and... Dean. Dean.”

He sneaks a glance up at her. She’s arching her back, fingers twisting in the sheets, saying his name over and over in this broken, reverent voice. Dean feels raw and strange, like he’s the one spread-open and vulnerable here. He squeezes his eyes shut, tries not to think about it.

She practically convulses when he slips two fingers into her, but he’s holding her down with his other hand. He works her with his fingers and sucks in quick little pulses, lost in the way she tastes. She grabs his hair, pulling him down against her, gripping so hard it stings his scalp, and it’s so fucking hot he feels like he could come just from this: her taste on his tongue, her fingers in his hair, her ragged voice as she says his name one more time. She shakes and shudders as she comes.

“Gorgeous,” he can’t help but whisper, pressing a kiss to one of the stretch marks that show like pale tiger stripes on her thighs. The scar tissue doesn’t taste any different than the rest of her skin, but he kisses another to be sure, then drags his mouth up, nipping at the soft skin under her belly-button, licking a drop of sweat from the valley between her breasts.

She’s panting, cheeks stained pink and sheened with sweat, looking up at him with glittering unfocused eyes, and the clench of pure fucking desire in his gut hits him like a freight train. The first slick press of his cock is almost too much. He closes his eyes and sinks in slow, feeling the give where her body opens up and lets him in. Her breath hitches in her chest when he grinds down, as deep inside as he can be.

One of them is shaking, and Dean thinks it might be him.

He kisses the underside of her jaw, mouthing at the soft salty skin there, and rolls his hips, and the wet-hot surge of friction is so fucking good. Part of him wants to move, snap forward and give in, fuck into her hard enough to obliterate the swelling sensation in his ribcage. Part of him wants this to last forever.

He’s present in his skin in a way he hasn’t been in ages, frantic with all the input from his senses, lit up and fizzing with it. The strangled cry that rips from his throat sounds foreign, like an animal, like something wild… she digs her fingers into the muscles of his shoulders, tilts her hips up, and he’s so close to the edge of his control already.

The physical details of it, the actual act, that’s nothing new. It’s this feeling in his chest. It’s the way he feels like he’s about to shatter.

“There,” she groans. He opens his eyes enough to see her, and his vision is blurring, images of her coming through like shots from an unfocused camera: lips parting around his name, eyes rolling back in her head when he hits the right spot, sweat trickling down her temple to soak tendrils of hair.

Dean’s so fucking close, so fucking hard, it’s like his entire universe is narrowing down to the throb of blood pulsing in his cock, the way she’s clamping down around him as she grinds up to meet every thrust, writhing under him, pulling him close, her fingernails fiery points of pain at the small of his back.

This is so much more than he expected. He can’t breathe.

She lets out a gasp and a sweet little sob, arching up, and he can feel her all around him, soaking wet and searing hot, so good it blinds him. His hips jerk forward one last time, as if he could possibly get any closer to her. He gives in and lets himself go under.

The tension bleeds from his muscles, leaves him wrung-out and quiet. He keeps rocking into her, soft shivers of pleasure rippling through them both, as she reaches up and cups his face between her hands, tugging him down for a kiss. He rests his forehead against hers for a moment, close enough that their breath mingles in the damp thick air between them. He kisses the tip of her nose, then her eyelids. He moves back to pull out.

“Don’t go anywhere,” she whispers. “Stay.”

“Can I go like six inches to either side?” Dean asks, and she makes a face, giggling, as they shift over together, trying to move without putting any real space between their bodies.

Dean settles in between her sprawled legs, resting his head on her chest. Her heartbeat is slowing, gradually. He focuses on the sound of it, the feel of her ribs rising and falling under his cheek as she breathes, and she runs her fingers through the short damp hair at the nape of his neck.

He wants to stay right here, just like this.

He could pretend, for one night. He could pretend to be someone else, someone who gets what they want.

“If I fall asleep, wake me up in half an hour,” she says dreamily. “Let’s do that again.”

He can feel the waves closing in over his head.

Her fingers slow and then stop. Her heartbeat goes low and even.

When he’s sure she’s asleep, Dean shifts, doing his best not to disturb her. She doesn’t stir. He gathers his clothes and gets dressed silently.

She looks so peaceful: hair tangled, skin glowing, lips curled up in a smile. She looks warm. Dean’s chest aches. He sneaks one last glance at her before switching off the light and turning to go.

He doesn’t look back.

***

February 2010

Dean waits for a moment, staring up at the dark sky, but there’s no answer. He wasn’t really expecting one.

Deep breath. Drink. Swallow.

He wipes away the tears, steeling himself to go back inside and pretend that nothing’s wrong.

The wheezy voice echoes in his ears: going through the motions.

Deep, dark… nothing.

He wants to deny it, is the thing. He wants to deny it, but he can’t, even to himself, even to the quiet nighttime sky. But that dark nothing is easier than letting himself feel. When he slows down, when he rests, when he allows himself to feel anything, it all crashes over him, swamps him, fills his lungs and makes him choke.

Inside, you’re already dead.

When was the last time he felt alive?

He sees her clearly: head thrown back on the pillow, lips parted, saying his name like a prayer. If he lets himself remember, he feels a ghost of her warmth and a swelling, fluttering fullness in his chest.

Something inside him snaps.

He practically runs to Baby, flings himself blindly into the driver’s seat, starts the engine with trembling fingers. He hits the gas and the tires squeal.

The cold air slaps against his face, and his heart pounds, and he almost turns around five times before he hits the right exit. It’s not hard to find her place again, but it doesn’t occur to him until he’s knocking that she might’ve moved. She might not be home. She might have a fucking boyfriend who’s going to punch him in the face.

She opens the door.

He can see hurt and shock and something bright (hope?) flickering across her face, and then she looks him up and down.

“Dean,” she says softly. “Are you okay?”

“I’m -”

“If you say ‘fine’ right now I’ll punch you in the mouth,” she says matter-of-factly. There’s no judgement in her eyes, just familiar wide-open warmth. “It’s three in the morning. You snuck out, like a fucking asshole, and then I didn’t hear from you in over a fucking year. So. Are you okay, Dean?”

He has to force the words out; it feels like they’re scorching his throat.

“No. I’m not.”

He sways on his feet and sags against the doorframe. It’s pulling him under, one wave after another.

She wraps her arms around him and squeezes, holding him close, right there in the doorway. He runs his hands up her back and buries his face in her hair, taking deep heaving breaths that burn his lungs. It’s all he can do to keep his head above water.

She presses her lips to his pulse and whispers against his skin: “Come inside, Dean. Stay a while.”

She pulls the door closed behind him as he takes one shaky step, then another.

He doesn’t look back.

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writerpeach · 4 years

Text

Club Mimosa [Ch 4] - Empty

---

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You woke up the next morning in an empty bed after a night with Chaeyoung and had nobody to blame but yourself. The covers felt heavy as you pushed them off, unprepared to start the day.

Countless thoughts ran through your mind as you dressed for work, slipping a dull pair of slacks you had worn day after day, trying your tie in the same exact way so many times you could have done it in your sleep. The dreaded morning routine was thankfully interrupted when your phone buzzed and broke up the monotony.

Chaeyoung (7:45 am) > Thanks for last night. It was hot and I'm still sore.

Just wanted to say I'm not looking for anything but a good time, so if you wanna hook up again you let me know.

Enjoy work.

Well that was one less thing to worry about, and any potential feelings about Chaeyoung you might have harbored didn't matter now. You headed to work and took a look at Club Mimosa on the way. Still closed of course, not that it would have been open at this early hour.

Work was not enjoyable to say the least. The minutes felt like days as you caught up on what needed to be done, eyes glazing over as fatigue sat in. You leaned back in your chair and closed your eyes, and for the second time day your phone interrupted at the best time.

Hirai Momo (4:30 pm) > Hey, it's Momo. From the club.

You (4:31 pm) > Hello Momo!

Hirai Momo (4:33 pm) > You should come see me. It's been a while.

You (4:36 pm) > I would love to, but isn't the club closed?

Hirai Momo (4:39 pm) > It is, at least for a couple more days, but I still have access. Will you be off work around nine?

You (4:39 pm) > God, I sure hope so. If not, I'll force myself to leave.

Hirai Momo (4:41 pm) > Great! Meet me at the side entrance, it's around where my car was last time. And bring wine!

You stopped by a wine store on the way to the club and asked for a recommendation, something tasty and something not outrageously expensive were your only two requirements. You were in and out and left with a bottle of red wine on your way to meet Momo for the first time in a week.

The brisk walk to Club Mimosa was comfortable. The sun had set already, and even though the weather had already changed, the weather was fairly mild given the time. Not particularly cold or hot.

You turned the corner of Club Mimosa's building and headed towards the parking lot just minutes before nine, this time taking notice of the disturbing lack of garishness that made the building empty. Momo's flashy car was parked already, and it seemed she matched your punctuality.

As you approached, the door opened and out walked the familiar Japanese woman, surprisingly dressed casually this time in short ripped jean shorts, a dark jean jacket that hung off her shoulder and underneath was a plain white tee that had hiked itself up enough to give more than a taste of Momo's appetizing midriff. Even from your distance you could notice it was a little more than see-through.

You missed Momo's elegance but the way she dressed down gave that girl next door vibe, something you found even more appealing.

"Hey stranger," she said with a warm greeting smile, and you returned one of your own as you presented the bottle of wine in your hands.

"Ooh, can't wait to try it. I don't normally dress this casually, but I had some unexpected errands and didn't have time to change. Hope you don't mind."

"Of course not, you look great Momo. I didn't exactly have time to change either."

Momo grinned shyly. "Let's head in," she said as she grabbed a set of keys and unlocked the entrance. You followed her in as she flicked on a set of light switches and locked the door tight again behind her.

Momo led the way as she navigated through a long hallway connected to lockers and dark dressing rooms, multiple offices and break rooms. Momo flicked on more lights and you found yourself on the familiar floor of Club Mimosa right next to the bar. Seeing it devoid of loud music, loud drinking patrons was eerie.

"Since there's nobody here we can head up to the VIP lounge if you'd like."

You nodded and Momo slipped her jacket off and tossed it on the bar's counter, heading behind the bar and grabbed two wine glasses.

"Got anything to open this?"

"We wouldn't be much of a club if we didn't," Momo giggled as she searched through one of the drawers behind the bar.

"Here, you open it," Momo said as she handed you a corkscrew. "It always scares me."

"That's adorable," you said and Momo pouted. You unwrapped the seal of the bottle as Momo covered her ears, and the cork of the wine bottle slipped out with a dampened pop that you couldn't help but laugh at the weak noise.

"That wasn't so bad," you said, as Momo stuck her tongue out and left from out behind the bar, glasses in hand.

"Follow me, sir," she chuckled as she headed up the VIP area and up the winding stairs as you followed her up. The lights came on, although much dimmer than downstairs and ambient music played. The VIP lounge was much fancier than expected. The long circular couches were black instead of white, the booths more spacious and more comfortable looking, and the entire area had a general level of expected extravagance to it.

"This place is so different when it's...quiet," you said. Momo nodded in agreement as you sat down in the middle of the couch, placing the dark-colored bottle of wine on the table in front as Momo sat to the left of you, placing the glasses right beside the wine.

"Quiet is nice," Momo said, and she instinctively grabbed the bottle of wine, but you gently nudged it away from her.

"Let me pour for once."

"Okay," Momo said, with a cute shy expression. You poured her glass first and then your own, filling both a little more than halfway. You clinked glasses and Momo swirled the dark red liquid around in her glass, letting the aroma hit her senses.

"Smells amazing."

Momo brought the brim of the glass to her full red lips and tilted it back, taking a long sip of the wine and letting out a sound of satisfaction afterward.

"Taste amazing too. You picked well!"

"I didn't do anything. Sorry to say someone else picked it for me," you chuckled.

"Well, you should have taken all the credit, I never would have known."

Momo took another sip and adjusted in her seat, making sure her attention was on you. "How have you been?"

You didn't give as much care to the wine as Momo did and drank it right away. It tasted sweet and miles ahead better than the cheap bottom aisle bottles you always bought at convenience stores.

"Busy. This is the first time this week I've been able to see the sun going down. How about you?"

"Well I'm glad to have been responsible for that," she smiled. "It's been a strange couple of days. I'm not used to having free time, but this place should be up and running by the weekend though."

"Can't wait for the anticipated return."

"Maybe I should have them delay it," she giggled, as you met her with a confused look.

"Who needs a club when you have a beautiful hostess right in front of you? You don't even have to pay for my company tonight."

"Ah...when you put it that way."

Momo laughed. "I'm just teasing. It would be nice to make money again though."

"I have cash in my wallet if you-"

Momo shook her head. "You know I don't need it. I don't really need anything. What you can give me is what most of my clients can't."

"What's that?"

"Satisfaction."

You didn't know what she meant by that.

"You show respect for me. You're not drunk off your ass when you visit, and you don't look at me like I'm a meal like some of the obnoxious unkempt men that come in. I'm happy when you come in, I don't have many clients that I actually look forward to seeing."

Momo poured herself another glass and looked almost apologetic for her venting.

"That sounds...rough."

"Perks of being at the top. Being number one means you have to deal with a lot of shitty customers. Sometimes I wish I wasn't popular, things would be so much easier."

Momo took another long gulp of her wine. "I shouldn't complain, I'm sure the other hostesses would love to take my spot in a flash."

Momo sighed and quickly changed the subject. "So tell me...I heard that you had a little fun with one of our Korean hostesses."

"I-I...I don't know what you're talking about. Didn't even know there were Korean women working here," you said as you put on your best innocent smile.

"Yeah I bet mister."

"I guess you caught me."

Momo topped off her wine. "I don't blame you. Chaeyoung is hot. And feisty. I'd bang her."

You nearly choked on your wine at her abrupt confession.

"Chaeyoung doesn't have rules like I do, I get it..."

"Hey, that wasn't the only reason I-

"You don't have to explain. What or who you do is none of my business." Momo said calmly.

Momo polished off her wine and crossed her legs.

"But you know...that rule is only for first dates. I don't have anything for a second date," she said with a playful grin. The two of you made sudden unbreakable eye contact.

"Is this...a second date?" you asked.

"You tell me..." she smirked.

"Well...we're alone, and we're drinking, and if I didn't know better I'd say you were flirting just a little bit."

"Only a little? Guess I need more wine in me."

Momo rested her empty glass on the marble table in front. She leaned back against the couch with a smugly satisfied look plastered on her face.

"Well this has been nice," Momo said abruptly

"It has. Are you kicking me out?" you teased.

"I could never. Not even if you were the drunkest client in the whole club."

"I'll keep that in mind."

"Don't worry. Our date is just getting started."

Momo rose to her feet and carefully crawled over your lap before she took a seat down and straddled you, a smile etched across her full red lips. It was at this distance that you could see just how well Momo's shirt hugged her chest. You tried not to stare.

Momo bit her lips as she placed her hands on your shoulders, the sexual tension palpable as ever while you awaited her next move.

"If you're still trying to seduce me Miss Hirai, I have to let you know that's no longer necessary."

Momo blushed. "Seduce you? I would never."

Instantly betraying her words she slowly leaned in and you followed until your lips embraced, softly smacking against each other, tasting the wine on each other's lips. Momo's lips were unforgettably soft and warm, supplying a comfort as they pressed tight against your own as you wrapped your hands around her bare waist, the skin of her body warm and soft.

"I'm not used to taking the lead," Momo said as your faces were close enough to touch, taking in the intimacy of the moment.

"Then get used to it."

Momo's shyness twisted into confidence as she grabbed the hem of her shirt and peeled it off her tight body, leaving her ample breasts clothed in a lacy white bra that was every bit as elegant as she was. You noticed right away just how damn toned her arms were as if Momo needed another thing that made her even sexier.

She leaned forward to give you a good look of her plentiful cleavage, knowing nothing would stop you from staring at her sizable breasts.

"Do you like them?" Momo playfully asked.

"How could I not? I love them."

"Good," Momo said as she grabbed your wrists and guided your hands towards her scrumptious tits, helping you squeeze them. She whined as you both squeezed her breasts, and through the pesky constraints of her bra you could feel just how large and soft they felt.

"Take this off," Momo demanded, becoming more comfortable with being in control. You slid your hands around her slender waist, and at the same time buried your lips into the crook of her neck and sucked away on her sensitive skin. Momo whined again even cuter but had a sudden moment of panic.

"W-wait, you can't leave a mark. At least not where anyone can see," she giggled as you found the clasp of her bra and unhooked it, slipping it off her and freeing her perfect breasts as they bounced out of their restraints.

You didn't dawdle as you dove in, cupping both of Momo's delicious round breasts and squeezing, they fit into your hands perfectly as you kneaded them gently, the perfect softness and weight of them infinitely arousing you as they felt heavenly in your hands.

Momo's confidence turned into lust as you kissed each of her breasts, licking in between her generous cleavage before you turned and teased her nipple with your tongue, feeling it hardening as you flicked against it and earned a needy moan from her. Momo wrapped a hand around the back of your head as you continued your assault on her amazing breasts, licking and slurping away at both of her stiff pink nipples, encouraged by the continuation of her vocal approval as you stimulated her.

As you gave her chest a rest you felt your face being pressed against her big tits, Momo took the liberty to smother you in her cleavage. You had no complaints as you felt yourself being buried against what felt like the two softest roundest pillows in existence, and Momo couldn't help but giggle.

When she let go a small devilish grin washed over her lip as you explored every inch of her perfect round tits.

"You know...Momo means peach in Japanese," she said as her devilish lips formed a huge smirk on them.

"I did know that," you answered. "And it just so happens that peaches are one of my favorite fruits to eat."

Momo shoved herself off your lap, climbing on top of the table behind her. "Come eat me then. See how good I taste for yourself," she ordered.

Moving forward in your seat you quickly grabbed hold of Momo's shorts, unbuttoning and yanking the zipper down as you jerked them off her body, leaving her merely in a skimpy pair of muted pink panties.

You stared at Momo's clothed crotch like you were about to feast on an expensive steak, licking your lips at the mouth-watering sight.

"I've wanted to do this for so long. Ever since I first laid eyes on you and became your newest client. I've wanted you for so long, Momo."

"You can have me then. You can have all of me."

Momo leaned back with her ass resting on the edge of the table, spreading her delicious thighs and invited you in. You planted a soft kiss on each of her thighs and brought your mouth just in front of her crotch, licking a long stripe against the front of her panties that earned a soft gasp as you licked again, and again, and again, feeling the fabric becoming wetter with each swipe of your tongue.

"Don't tease me..." she whined, her voice plentiful of need and desire.

"You know that's just going to make me want to do it more," you said as you pressed one finger against the damp material of her underwear, tracing the outline of Momo as her panties became more and more ruined.

You let your focus drop from Momo's saturated panties and turned your attention towards her thighs, keeping a finger lightly pressed against the front of her core as you kissed and licked the soft delicate skin of one of her thighs, hearing cute whimpers escaping from Momo's lips as your tongue explored the skin.

"P-please..." Momo begged but you ignored her, intent on teasing her as you felt her panties becoming drenched. The desperation in her eyes was evident, but you didn't plan on stopping until you left at least one mark on one of those beautiful thighs, your lips sucking away until you had accomplished your goal.

You let Momo relax for a moment, eyes concentrated on the not so subtle wetness between her thighs, and when your patience ran out, you grabbed the ruined pair of panties and slowly peeled them off Momo's wide hips, pulling them down and disposing of them.

Momo's nude body was an absolute work of art, curves everywhere in all the right places along with full round breasts, killer thighs, and that amazing flat tummy. Her pretty pink pussy glistened with her juices, but before you could give yourself a taste you noticed the wine glass you had left on the table that still had just a bit of wine left.

You grabbed it and without any hesitation you tilted the glass over the naked midriff of Momo, pouring the leftover wine all over her perfect abs. Momo had a surprised look on her face but didn't seem to mind, nor did she as you slid your tongue over the surface of her abdomen, licking her clean of wine, making sure to not miss a drop as your tongue glossed over every inch of her tight stomach.

"Taste good?"

"Tastes even better now."

Momo seemed completely warmed up so you decided to forgo any more teasing, placing a palm on each of her warm thighs to help spread them wide, the delectable set of pink pussy lips in between whetting your appetite.

With a quick glance at Momo to seek approval, the desire and need in her round eyes let you know she was more than ready.

The empty club gave you all the time in the world, but you wanted to make every second count as you dove straight into Momo's pussy, taking the first taste as you gave her wet pink slit a slow long lick from bottom to top as Momo gasped.

You licked slowly in between Momo's wet folds, coating your tongue with her juices as you deliberately avoided her clit for the first few swipes, listening to the cute whimpers and moans that escaped from her that was the evidence of her satisfaction.

Momo's eyes closed as your tongue traveled slowly up and down her pussy, moving in between her delicious slippery lips until you finally reached her swollen clit, circling around it and flicking lazy strokes. Momo moaned loudly and you loved the look on her face as you pleased her.

You knew Momo needed more and you were happy to give it to her, flicking against her pink sensitive nub before taking her clit into your mouth, closing your lips around it and suckling it gently. Momo felt the pleasure immediately as her body jerked, and those constant whiny moans of hers became all the encouragement you needed.

"Oh my god that feels good...keep going..." she moaned, and nothing would keep you from eating Momo's pussy, keeping her clit in between your lips as you slurped on it messily, listening to the beautiful whines and whimpers as Momo lost herself.

"Fuck, oh fuck," Momo cried out as you devoured her delicious sensitive pussy. You felt the warmth of her soft thighs closing around your head, hearing the cutest of moans released with every movement of your lips and tongue, the scrumptious taste of her juices flooding your tongue encouraging you to never, ever stop.

Momo sat up just enough so she could reach a handful of your hair, running her fingers through it before grabbing on the back of your head, desperately trying to force your tongue even deeper inside her messy wet cunt. You kept eye contact with a very needy Momo, the pressure on her clit firm enough without being excessive, watching her becoming a squirmy mess with every flick of your tongue.

"I-i'm going to cum, don't stop, please don't fucking stop!" Momo cried out as you felt her thighs squeezing around your head even more, keeping you in the most perfect position.

It took no time at all for Momo to let loose, climaxing hard as her thighs shook violently around your head, toes curling and shrieking with pleasure. You struggled to keep your lips on her clit but did your best as Momo drenched your mouth and chin in her appetizing juices, letting her intense orgasm run its course as you lapped up every tasty drop she deposited into your lips.

When Momo came back down you gently removed your mouth and tongue from her clit, cleaning up her thighs as they loosened their grip and allowed you to breathe properly. You looked up at a still panting Momo, eyes glazed over and those delicious breasts heaving up and down as she recovered.

"You okay?"

"N-never been better."

You gently pulled Momo up by her wrists and leaned into another kiss, making her taste herself as she continued to catch her breath. Once she felt her senses regaining she looked up at you with a mischievous look upon her features.

"What?"

"You have too many clothes on," she said as she playfully shoved you back onto the couch.

Momo unbuttoned your shirt and helped you out of it as she slowly lowered to her knees, running a hand through her hair as she looked up. She practically ripped your pants off as she pulled them down and left you in your boxers, a sly look on her face as the bulge poking out met her.

She licked at your cock through your boxers with her wet tongue, leaving a damp spot as she traced the outline of your shaft dying to be released. She placed her lips at the head of your cock through the fabric, the familiar hot breath soaking through in a way that drove you wild already.

"I can tease too," she giggled as you felt the wetness of her tongue against the frustrating barrier of your underwear.

Momo didn't have your same patience though, she had a hunger that needed to be quenched. She made quick work of your boxers as she pulled them off your body, leaving both of you naked with piles of clothes everywhere. Momo's eyes went wide at your unleashed cock and she immediately grabbed it and slowly stroked, feeling every inch of it hard as a rock.

Momo placed her wet tongue flat at the base of your cock, slowly licking long stripes up and down your shaft. She knew already what drove you wild and she had the advantage now, flicking around your leaking slit before she traced alongside the sensitive head of your cock, smiling and keeping her eyes focused on you.

She made you wait as long as she needed to as she kept just a trace of contact on your cock with her tongue, moving her hand up and down your shaft lazily to keep you at her will.

"I'm going to make you feel better than you've ever felt before," she promised, and you felt the pressure of her full lips as she planted a kiss against the very tip of your cock.

Waiting one agonizing moment Momo parted her lips with your shaft, taking you into the warmth of her mouth once more. You moaned at the feeling of Momo's soft warm lips wrapping around your cock, the deep suction in her cheeks visible as she delivered pleasure in the form of a slow blowjob, lips moving forward just enough to please.

This must have been your lucky week, the second blowjob from a different hostess, each one feeling incredible and unique in their own way. As much you loved the sloppiness of Chaeyoung, Momo's blowjobs were on a whole new level - slow and sensual and infinitely satisfying. She loved for you to savor the warmth and wetness of her mouth as she took her time in building you up, letting you feel every electrifying pulse of pleasure shooting throughout your whole body.

You felt your shaft becoming wetter as Momo bobbed her pretty head up and down, moving with care as she let you feel as much of her mouth as she wanted you to feel, no more, no less. Her soft red lips moved with ease, coating your shaft with saliva as half of it entered her warm mouth. Momo did not like to keep her hands idle and began to caress one of your thighs, keeping the other with a firm grip on your cock as more than half of you entered her delicious mouth.

"God, Momo...that feels so fucking good...."

The praise helped, even if she knew what she was doing as she swallowed up your cock, hitting each of your sensitive spots that she knew about with the intent to reciprocate the pleasure you had given her, the gentle slurping sounds of her mouth as she sucked you off and made you feel weightless.

Momo really was an expert at this, and if she had wanted you to explode right then and there she would have made you and nothing could stop her. She took you inch by inch into her mouth until you felt her warm lips resting at the very end of your base, her lust-filled eyes staring up as she delivered the perfect amount of pleasure.

"Fuck, Momo..."

She kept control over you, not letting you relax for one solitary second as she hungrily took your cock in the very depths of her mouth again, and again, feeding on your needy moans as you melted away into the comfortable couch.

Momo used her silky soft lips and held them at the very end of your wet shaft one more time, staring into the contorting features on your face as she filled her throat with your cock for as long as she felt you could take it, keeping herself pressed against your base with zero gag reflex.

She slowly withdrew with a drawn-out slurp as she feasted on every inch of you before releasing with a loud pop, leaving a messy sheen of saliva stained on your shaft as her hands replaced the grip her lips formerly held.

Momo pumped your messy shaft as you gasped for air, delighted with the talent she had shown.

"How do you want me?" she asked as she ran her warm slick tongue across your entire shaft.

"You're supposed to take the lead, it's your choice."

"Such a gentleman. I want..." She paused, cleaning up everything your messy shaft leaked out with her talented tongue.

"I want to ride you," she boldly said, standing and straddling you once more as you felt each of her muscular legs meeting your thighs.

"Then ride me, Miss Hirai."

Momo showed her approval as she grabbed your cock, stroking it a few times before she lined it up with her entrance as you both impatiently waited for what was next.

"This is going to feel so good. For both of us, I promise."

"You're sure about this, Momo?"

"I've never been more sure about anything. I want this, and I am going to get what I want."

Momo smiled and lifted her body, using your cock to tease the wetness between her slick folds. She looked at you, waiting and testing each other's patience as she lowered herself down, and you both gasped as you entered Momo's tight pussy for the first time.

The two of you shared lustful glances, a feeling like nothing else as Momo's silky wet walls parted with your shaft, letting herself sink onto your cock inch by inch until half of you rested inside her. The warmth and wetness of her tight hole like no other as Momo's pleasure mirrored your own and you both needed more.

"You're so tight, Momo. And wet. You're drenched."

"I only have you to blame for that," she grinned as she lifted herself back up, trying to take more of your cock.

"Take your time, Momo."

She shook her head impatiently. "No, I want to feel it all. I need to feel all of your cock inside me, just like how I felt it all in my mouth."

Her eyes had a serious look of desire in them, one that you hadn't seen before. One that you hoped you would continue to see.

"You feel so good already," she moaned, her eyes closed as she savored the feeling of being stretched out little by little.

Momo relaxed her body and lifted herself up once more, and you both knew what was inevitable. When the moment was right she lowered her hips, and you felt every inch of your cock penetrating her tight slick pussy, juices and warmth enveloping all of your shaft.

"Oh fuck..." Momo moaned as she tilted back her head with neither of your bodies moving, both of you smitten with pleasure as she took the time to adjust. She slowly moved off your cock, her slick pussy lips keeping a tight grip as you watched only the tip of your cock remaining inside.

"Fuck this stupid rule, I should have slept with you last time," she said as she held onto your shoulders and slammed back down, impaling herself to the hilt again.

"No argument there."

Momo wrapped her arms around your neck and pulled you in close.

"We're going to make such a mess on this couch. It's a good thing it's leather," she giggled as she kissed you. She couldn't wait any longer as she began to move those sexy full hips, slowly riding your cock at a gingerly pace

She settled into a rhythm right away as her pussy gripped your shaft tight and refused to let go, her juices lubricating each motion with ease, those large beautiful breasts bouncing with every rock of Momo's hips.

"You feel so good inside me," Momo said.

"You feel good too. You're so beautiful, Momo," you replied as you watched the woman on top of your lap riding you, every curve on display, unable to peel your eyes off her perfect round breasts, their motion hypnotizing as they bounced in rhythm with Momo's body.

You couldn't help but fondle Momo's tits again, keeping your attention on them as you groped and played with them carelessly before using one hand and played with one of her stiff nipples, hearing her whiny moans increasing as she stepped up the pace and rode you faster, her thighs crashing against your own as you kept your hands full of her delicious chest.

"You ride me so well, Momo," you praised, but she was too far gone to respond. You let go of her breasts, content with watching them in motion as you held on to her waist, watching her features wrecked with pleasure, the sweat forming on her delicious body, and the way her pretty mouth stayed open as she delivered moans with every bounce.

Your cock was being drowned in Momo's slick juices, every inch saturated and soon you felt her wetness spilling onto your balls as her ass bounced on your crotch, keeping herself filled with every movement as the lewd slapping sounds of her filling her body with your entire cock intensified.

You felt Momo's hot breath against your ear as she whispered into it. "I love your cock so much. I don't ever want it to leave inside me. I'm going to keep riding you, and I'm not going to stop until I make you cum."

"Momo..." you moaned, and she only kept her pace faster, riding you without a care in the world

"Don't worry, it's safe. Whenever you need to cum just cum. Fill me all the way up."

Momo's lewd words only brought your arousal level all the way up as you snaked your hands around her waist and squeezed her plump round ass, still letting her do most of the work. Her hot dripping flesh clenched around your cock, and you felt her growing wetter with every bounce, moaning louder than you thought possible.

Momo kept the pace full speed, her warm thighs slapping against yours as your hands kept a firm grasp on her ass, squeezing delicate handfuls of the delicious flesh. Her pussy felt even tighter, her arms gripped tight, even more, and you both had gone long past your individual thresholds as it began to become too much to handle.

Momo spoke up first. "I-i, I'm going to cum!" she whined as she buried her face into your neck.

"Me too, Momo. You're going to make me fucking explode."

"Cum with me. Make a mess inside me, please," she begged.

It was impossible not to. With Momo's loud whiny moans in your ear, her beautiful big tits bouncing in your face and her pussy as tight as ever, it was too fucking much. You held onto her ass as she rode you wildly, only holding on long enough to let her reach climax first.

"I'm cumming!"

Momo shook violently as her walls pulsated around your cock, she squeezed your body tight as she came all over your cock, leaving a dripping mess that flooded your crotch, the intense pressure of her walls pushing you over that delicate edge from which there was no escape.

"M-momo, I-"

You groaned loudly as your cock throbbed and erupted inside Momo, filling her tight pussy with shot after shot of thick cum as you buried your cock and emptied your load deep inside her. Momo moaned as you unloaded every drop you had, and even when you both came down from your respective highs she kept you inside her cum filled pussy, your sweaty bodies pressed together and flushed in the afterglow of the act you had just performed on the expensive VIP couch.

You both looked at each other, tired, exhausted and ultimately satisfied with one enough. Momo's lips came in for one more lustful kiss before gingerly lifting herself off you, letting inch by inch release until she was no longer filled with cock but just the combined bodily fluids that slowly flowed out of her.

"You always cum so much," Momo proudly said, catching a breath, looking even more gorgeous as she was bathed in the afterglow of sex.

"You're the reason for that."

Momo grinned and lowered herself down again to clean off your cock, sucking and licking your sensitive depleted shaft and not wasting anything.

Once you were able to breathe again normally Momo broke the tired silence. "There are showers here we can use. Or..."

"Or...?"

"Or...we can shower back at my place," she smirked. "But we might be tempted to have another round if that happens."

"I guess we'll just have to take that risk."

It was a risk worth taking. The temporary shutdown of Club Mimosa meant you had the opportunity to be as selfish with Momo as you were able to. No greedy drunk businessmen to share her with for the next couple of days, and you planned to make every second of every day count.

Starting now.

#club mimosa #twice smut #momo smut #twice #momo #reader insert #male reader #kpop fanfic #kpop fanfiction

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bellakitse · 5 years

Text

a conversation between insignificant others

“Hey…have you noticed that our boyfriends are madly in love with each other?"

“You noticed that too, huh,” she answers dryly, letting out a huff of reluctant amusement.

Forest and Maria share a drink and a conversation and start a friendship.

For @saadiestuff who came up with this idea of Maria and Forest talking about Malex and it just didn’t leave my head all day. Hope it’s what you wanted!

Forest thinks about turning around and heading back to his car a total of four times from the parking lot of The Wild Pony and the door.

Four.

He thinks of the absolutely awkward foursome dinner at the Crashdown two nights ago and stops.

He thinks of Alex, sexy and kind and a little nerdy Alex Manes, who he could have seen himself falling in love with, who he does love already despite only having known him for two months and pushes forward.

For Alex.

He walks into the bar around 8 pm on a Wednesday, and it’s blessedly a slow night. Less chance of being overheard. He spots Maria behind the bar wiping down the corner she’s at, while the other bartender tends to a customer at the other end.

He doesn’t know her that well, having only met her a handful of times. All he knows is that Alex calls her his best friend with a complicated look on his face and that her boyfriend is in love with his boyfriend, and that his boyfriend is in love with her boyfriend.

He also knows there’s a very good chance she’ll tell him to go to hell after he talks to her, but he hopes not. Their respective significant others are in love with each other, and he thinks that has a way of bonding people, even strangers.

He sits across from her and flashes her a smile that he’s sure comes off as uncomfortable when she raises an eyebrow at him. There is something knowing about the look on her face, and Forest remembers that Alex has said more than once that Maria is psychic.

“Is Guerin around?” he asks after a hello. He doesn’t think he can have this conversation with her if he’s there, the look of death the angry cowboy gave him the other night as the four of them shared a meal was enough to last him a lifetime.

Maria's expression becomes even more aware if possible, and Forest wonders if she really is psychic, and it’s not just some touristy gag she plays up.

“Guerin won’t be coming around here anytime soon,” Maria answers after a moment and offers no further explanation as to why her boyfriend won’t be visiting her establishment when it’s a known fact around town that the Wild Pony is like Michael’s second home. He thinks about the last time he was in the presence of both of them and thinks he doesn’t need an explanation.

“So,” he starts, dragging the word out, and Maria looks at him, waiting. “Dinner at the Crashdown the other night was awkward as fuck.”

Maria lets out a sound that is too sarcastic to call a laugh; she pours him a shot of whiskey and one for herself. He’s more of a vodka man but doesn’t say anything. “I think the words shit show would be a more accurate descriptor.”

Forest makes a face, not sure if it’s the truthfulness of her words or the sting of the whiskey and nods, remembering the encounter.

He and Alex had shown up at the diner for a casual dinner around the same time as Maria and Guerin, and somehow between stilted hellos and a tension that you could cut through with a knife they had found themselves agreeing to share a booth. He and Alex, on one side, Maria and Guerin on the other, with Alex and Michael across each other.

The evening had gone two ways, painfully awkward conversation, where Guerin asked him pointed questions that left Alex and Maria glaring at him. Or even worse, moments where Alex and Guerin seemed to get lost in their own little world all but forgetting that they had company.

One particular moment had been when Alex’s milkshake had arrived, and the man had proceeded to dip his fries in the shake as Forest watched him. Alex, feeling his gaze on him, had shrugged and answered they tasted better that way, at the same time as Guerin.

The smile Alex flashed Guerin, was brighter than the sun as he asked him if he finally conceded to the truth. Guerin answered with a smile of his own as he shook his head. A teasing look entered Alex’s eyes, and he promised that he would get him to change his mind eventually. The soft loving look on Guerin’s face as he asked if ten years of trying wasn’t enough, and Alex’s just as soft ‘no’ had struck a chord with Forest and given the sadness in Maria’s eyes at the time it has struck a chord with her too. Obviously the question was more than just about fries and milkshakes.

“Yeah,” he agrees, snapping out of his thoughts, he takes a breath before he speaks, knowing that once he gives voice to it, he can’t take it back. “Hey…have you noticed that our boyfriends are madly in love with each other?"

Maria freezes, her hand jerks on the bar counter, and he watches as she clenches it to stop the shake. He waits silently, waiting for her to process what he’s said. He knows she knows, but knowing doesn’t make it hurt less, he knows that too. It hurts him, and he’s not as heavily involved the way she is, he feels bad for being the one to force this to the surface for her, but he has no one else that can understand the situation he’s currently in.

She tips the drink back and takes it down in one swallow. He gives her an impressed look, and if he was even remotely into women, he thinks, as she looks at him with a no-bullshit expression on her face, she’d be his type. Beautiful, strong-

“You noticed that too, huh,” she answers dryly, letting out a huff of reluctant amusement. Sarcastic, yeah, she’d be his type if he liked women. As is, he can see why she’s friends with Alex, they’re a lot alike.

She sighs as she pours him another shot and then herself one.

“Michael and I broke up after we left you guys that night,” she confesses, looking down at her hands and then back at him when he doesn’t say anything, a cynical smile on her face that makes him want to reach out and take her hand. “Not going to ask me why?”

Forest raises an eyebrow at her. “I came here to talk to you about how our boyfriends are in love with each other, and after I leave here, I’m going to go and break up with Alex. I don’t need to ask you why when I already know. Are you okay?”

Maria shrugs. “I thought I would be more heartbroken about it,” she admits. “I mean, I risked my friendship with Alex for him, it feels like it should mean more now that it’s done, but mostly I feel stupid for even starting something with him. It’s so obvious now how they aren’t over, no matter how much they both say they are, they’re-“

“-never going to be over,” Forest finishes for her, his own heart aching, he knows it’s true, and he’s already accepted it, but it doesn’t make it any less painful.

Maria’s expression softens, and she reaches out, placing a hand over his. “Are you okay?”

Forest startles at the question and the warmth behind it, letting out a breath. “I could have loved him,” he says quietly, running a hand through his blue hair. “I think I already do,” he says with a smile. “He’s really easy to love.”

Maria nods, and as someone who has loved Alex since they were kids, he figures she would know.

“He smart and funny, sarcastic and quick in the best way, he’s stupid hot and has no idea. He does that eyebrow thing of his that is so sexy; he’s nerdy in the cutest way and in the sack,” he whistles. “He does this thing with his tongue that I swear makes me sees stars.”

“I didn’t need to know that,” Maria snorts, shaking her head at him.

“Sorry,” Forest says quickly, giving her an apologetic look. “I overshare when things are awkward.”

“It’s fine,” Maria shrugs.

Forest gives her a grateful look, and it goes quiet between them, he guesses there isn’t much left to talk about when they aren’t with the people that link them anymore. “I’m sorry about you and Guerin.”

Maria looks away from him, and he worries for a second that it’s to hide tears, he’s never done well with people crying in front of him, but when she looks back at him, all he sees is a calmness and peace he didn’t see in her at dinner, almost like a weight has been lifted off her.

“You can’t fight fate,” Maria answers after a moment. “I’m sorry it didn’t work out for you too.”

Forest lifts his shoulders. “It was good while it lasted,” he answers and finds that he means it. He doesn’t regret a moment he’s shared with Alex, even now knowing that it was never meant to last.

Maria smiles, and it’s more real than any smile she has given all night. “You’re a good guy, Forest,” she says to him, smirking after a moment. “Even with the unfortunate blue hair.”

“Hey!” he protests with a laugh, relieved when she joins in.

She pushes his glass toward him. “A drink for the road?”

“Sure, I could use some liquid courage for my next stop,” Forest answers picking up his glass. “To us.”

Maria clinks her glass with his. “To us, the insignificant others,” she says dryly. “We could form a club.”

And well, he can’t argue the title and figures as shitty as it is to be in this particular club right now, being in it with someone like Maria makes it easier.

***

Two Months Later

“You run a bar,” he starts, giving his friend a side look as he pays for their coffees from one of the local vendors of the Sunday Farmers Market in the middle of town, a Bearclaw in his other hand. “Why are you up for this? Why am I up for this?”

“I’m up, because, they have the best limes and oranges for the bar here,” Maria says around a mouthful of donut. “And you’re here because you wanted to hang out, and this is the only free time we both had. Stop complaining. It’s 8 am, and I closed the bar at 3, you were in bed all night.”

“Yeah, but not alone,” he says with a smirk, thinking of the hot doctor he’s been hooking up with for the last two weeks. “I’m tired. He did this thing-

“Do not overshare,” Maria warns him quickly, with a small glare on her pretty face. “I don’t want to know.”

“Mean,” Forest pouts. “We need to get you laid.”

Maria shoots him a smug look. “Who says I’m not?”

“Ooooh, dish,” Forest demands with a wide grin, pouting when Maria shakes her head.

“We’re keeping it quiet for now,” Maria answers when he gives her a pair of puppy dog eyes. “It’s someone that will send ripples when people find out, so we’re enjoying it privately.”

“Scandalous,” Forest teases. “Can you give me anything?”

Maria looks at him, teasingly. “Blonde, leggy.”

“Hot,” Forest says with a smirk.

“She thinks so,” Maria answers with a smirk of her own.

Forest lights up, ready to grill her some more when he spots something out of the corner of his eye. He turns and sees Alex a few yards away, his faithful beagle Buffy by his feet and an angry cowboy all but plastered against his back as Alex looks at a table of handcrafted jewelry. He feels Maria shift and knows she’s watching too.

They stand there silently and watch as their ex-boyfriends interact. Guerin presses his face against Alex’s neck, and even from here, Forest can see that the man is half asleep. He grumbles something that has Alex laughing, turning around to face him. Whatever Alex says to Guerin, has the man smiling softly at him, before leaning in to kiss him tenderly. They stay like that for a moment, and Forest can’t look away, he feels an ache in his chest, still, but as he watches the brilliant smile on Alex’s face when Guerin breaks the kiss just to lift their interlock hands and kiss his knuckles, Forest finds himself smiling too.

“They’re shopping for my birthday,” Maria comments as Alex turns back to the jewelry and shows Guerin a turquoise earring and necklace set. She nods at his hand. “Turquoise is my favorite.”

Forest looks down at Maria and finds that she has a smile on her own face, a little sad, like his, but a smile nonetheless, and he feels a wave of fondness for her, grateful that out of all this, he gained a friendship with her.

He turns them around and away from the happy couple lost in their own little world like always.

Linking their arms, he leads them towards the limes she wants. “So tell me more about this mystery woman.”

#roswell nm #malex fic #malex #forest and maria friendship #my writing #michael x alex #so malex only appears in the end and from forest and maria's pov #i'm posting this and crossing my fingers that i don't get anon hate for it #i won't respond to it if i do so don't bother

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peterthepark · 5 years

Text

crush culture - [four]

party tattoos

pairing: steve harrington x reader (university & modern!AU)

summary: gold dresses, unspoken kisses, and impulsive decision making are always good starts to the new year.

warnings: strong language, uses of social media & alcohol, pure utter fluff fluff fluff, kissing, mentions of tattoos, bad dancing?

a/n: inspired by party tattoos by dodie :) sorry it’s taken me so long to update. this chapter isn’t long, considering i haven’t been active for some time. but the next chapter makes up for it! thanks for ur patience everyone!

Shelves line up Steve’s peripherals as he pushes the shopping cart. The rolling wheels squeak loudly beneath him while you hum and coo at the quirky party decorations that embellished the aisles. Having never hosted a celebration at your own place before, you had decided to entrust in Steve and his experience with parties to help you out.

Robin and Kate wanted a golden theme for the party, both of them being shockingly specific about the type of decorations you should buy, while they prepare the food and drinks. And now here you are, sitting cross-legged in a shopping cart as Steve hand a pack of gold solo cups to you. You pile it into the rest of the decor: paper plates, those little flag thingies you hang up on walls, white and black balloons, and of course, sparklers that would certainly be Instagram-worthy.

“How ‘bout these, Y/N?” Steve snickers, placing an oversized frame of glasses on his face. With a lopsided grin, he does a playful spin for you. You flick the glasses off his nose, laughing at him as he feigns a look of offense. “Hey! Chill!”

“We’re supposed to be shopping, not messing around, you idiot.” You scoff at him, quirking a brow as he puts the glasses back on the shelf. His hand subconsciously moves to rest on top of yours on the bar of the car; the gesture comes to you easily, and you don’t seem to mind the way his thumb runs over your knuckles.

“Okay, so what’s next on the list?”

The kiss hadn’t been brought up.

Not even once.

And you honestly think that maybe you must’ve dreamt it, seeing as Steve seemed to act like it hadn’t happened it.

The morning after said incident, you awoke to an empty bed and the familiar smell of freshly-brewed coffee. Steve was in the kitchen, speaking to Jonathan in a hushed voice. You didn’t care to eavesdrop, knowing that the conversation seemed to be none of your business. But Steve began acting differently towards you after that. He seemed more open, more comfortable, and happier around you. Yet, no one had the guts to bring up the late-night kiss.

“Steve, is this straight? Does this look straight to you?” You whine, glancing down at him with a frustration expression. The chair wobbles as you lean further to tape the hanging decorations to the wall, and Steve is quick to keep the chair still, not wanting you to fall and hurt yourself. “Does it look okay?”

“Y/N, it looks fine, but you’ve gotta be careful. You’re literally gonna fall.” He says in exasperation, gripping your hand to help you down.

“I just want this to look good. I’ve got King Steve here himself, I’m sure he knows what a good party looks like.” You tease, biting your lip.

Steve cringes at the thought of you knowing about his whole King Steve phase, and he ruffles his hair sheepishly at the smirk on your face. “Okay, who told you about that? Was it Jonathan? Like I know I was a complete dick back then, but man-“

“No, silly. Robin told me. I didn’t know you were such a playboy.” You walk past him, chuckling as he follows after you into the living room. “So, are you gonna tell me all about your whole high school experience or what?” You purr, arranging the fairy lights for the DIY photo booth that you made together.

Steve huffs, hesitant to even tell you about the person he was in high school. “I was such a dumbass back then. You don’t even want to know, Y/N.” He groans, kicking his feet atop of the coffee table.

“You’re also a dumbass now. We were all shitty people in high school, trust me.”

“Oh, really? Do tell.” He probes, leaning forward on his elbows.

“I fucked my chemistry teacher.” You reply nonchalantly, earning a sputtering cough and a loud exclamation of really?! from Steve. “I’m kidding! It’s a joke! I did get into a lot of rumor and drama shit, so I guess my high school life wasn’t as perfect as I try to make it out to be.”

Steve lets out a breath of relief. It’s not that there was anything wrong with you possibly screwing your chemistry teacher, it’s just... he honestly wouldn’t expect it from a sweetheart like you. Then again, sweethearts sometimes have hidden agendas.

He starts to look at the way your jeans hug your thighs and then his eyes skim over the expanse of your hips...

Fuck, dude. Not cool.

“Steve? Did you hear what I just said?”

“Huh?” You laugh at him, rolling your eyes at his dumbfounded stare. He shifts awkwardly on the sofa, and he’s praying that you didn’t see the way he was totally ogling you. Which you did.

He’d be in a treat for later then, because the dress you were planning on wearing was definitely far from anything he’s seen on you wear.

“I said, you should go rest before the party. It doesn’t start till like nine, and it’s only five right now. Maybe you’d want to take a nap or - or get ready or something - I don’t know.” You ramble shyly, setting out a couple bottles of champagne and wine. You look over to him, nearly knocking over the bottles when he licks his lips. Instinctively, he catches the bottle before it rolls onto the ground, blushing alongside you as your hands come in contact with each other.

“You tryin’ to get rid of me already, Y/N?” He smiles, pulling his hand away.

“I’m tryin’ to give you a break before we get blind drunk at this party. Take it or leave it, Harrington.” You nudge his shoulder, sharing a lingering gaze with him before you actually make him go home. “O-okay, for real though, go.”

“Alright! Alright!” He raises his hands up, hesitantly making his way towards the door. “Do I have to?” He turns, before you seriously shoo him away. “Okay, bye. I’ll see you later... Y/N.”

He winks teasingly, then he’s out of your apartment.

You sigh dreamily.

You love it when he says your name.

“It’s just tequila. Y/N, please, c’mon, do it with me!” Robin cackles, shaking your shoulders. The walls of your apartment rumbled as the speakers played music, blasting out throwbacks and current songs alike. Robin had dragged you to the island in the kitchen, expertly lining up half-filled shotglasses on the counter. She bounces on her toes, clasping her hands together as she begs you to take shots with her. “Please! Just this once!”

“Dude, the last time I drank tequila, I lost all control. Do you not remember how wild we got? I’m not putting myself through that again. I swear - Ro, there’s no way-“

Interrupted, Robin bursts into a gasp, spotting a familiar face from the front door. “Steve! Steve!”

She runs out to pull the chestnut-haired boy into the kitchen, holding him by the shoulders as she drags him towards you. His jaw drops slightly when he sees the gold dress hugging your body, and you don’t hesitate to greet him with a grin.

“If Steve takes a tequila shot, will you do it?”

Steve’s face breaks into a smile at Robin’s question, and he gestures at the shotglasses with raised brows. “I can’t say no to that offer. Y/N?”

You take a moment to stare at Steve, recognizing the mischievous glint in his eyes that ultimately causes you to give in.

“Ugh, okay. Yeah. Fine. Tequila.” You wave your hands about, pacing in your heels before you courageously down a shot with Steve. You both groan at the taste, screwing your eyes shut as it burns at your throat and tongue. “Bleh! Ugh, I already feel drunk.”

“Just two more shots.” Steve insists, placing his hand on your arm. He dips his head down to look at you.

“You know what? Who’s to say we were done anyways?” You smirk at him, before you hold out a shot glass for him to drink out of. You unknowingly part your lips as he grips onto your wrist to down the drink, gently pulling your arm away when he’s finished. He wipes his mouth, hissing at the spicy kick.

Parties were boring. Unless you’re blind drunk.

And in this case, parties were fun.

Because well, you’re blind drunk.

The flash of the camera goes off as Kate pulls you into her chest, squishing your cheeks together while Robin comes up behind to sandwich you between them. Classmates and mutual friends alike pile into your shared apartment, easily making conversation or dancing to the music in the living room. The sway of your hips is enough to show the liquid courage that was running through your body as you made your way over to Steve, holding onto his hand to pull him into the makeshift photo booth.

“What are you doing?” He drawls out, raising his eyebrows at you as you stand next to him in front of the backdrop. “Y/N, I look like a mess-“

“You’re hot, Steve. You need to chill out.” You slur, slinging your arm around him as Kate starts taking pictures.

And in the meantime, Steve knows how idiotic he looks in those pictures - mouth open, eyes wide and lips pulling into a smirk as he realizes that you just called him hot. He tries to ignore the way that your face feels against his face as you embrace him tightly and hold up a peace sign.

“Y/N?” Steve asks over the music, nearly shouting. “You look beautiful!”

Your gold dress glimmers under the disco ball that hangs from the ceiling fan, and you forget everything else around you as Steve’s eyes slowly drift down the length of your legs and heels.

“Thanks, Steve.” You reply, blinking up at him hazily. He hesitates for a moment, stepping closer towards you, before Robin quickly whisks you away towards another area of the apartment.

You glance behind you, meeting Steve’s eyes in the growing crowd of people. He raises a glass of beer at you, before he completely disappears in the sea of the party.

“No way. Absolutely no.” Kate groans, clasping her hand over her mouth as her gaze follows yours. “You brought a tattoo artist to the party?”

“More like I paid her to come.” Robin whispers, scratching guiltily at her head. “What? She’s hot! I just - I don’t know she seemed really nice and really sweet and yeah, cute. C’mon, K.” You shake your head at Robin with a smile, taking her hand in yours before giving it a squeeze. “You said you’ve always wanted a tattoo, Y/N?”

“I mean... yes, but... I’m also very drunk right now.” You laugh, rubbing your arms. Robin’s black lipstick tugs up at the corners, and she raises her brows at you with suggestion. “What would I even get?”

The buzzing needle pricks against your skin painfully. You hiss as Gemma puts pressure on your wrist, black ink forming words as she goes on. You shut your eyes, already regretting your decision as you tune out her comforting coos. Kate records you on Snapchat, while Robin laughs drunkenly in the background and praises Gemma for her work.

When she’s finished, you examine the plastic wrap around your wrist, fingertips hovering over the black words as you gasp in awe at it. Kate and Robin gush over it, and you start to become aware of the permanent decision you had just made.

Always indecisive.

Always impulsive.

But never unsure about your feelings for people.

Especially Steve.

After taking a few more drinks to numb the dull pain on your arm, you moved towards the balcony. You step out onto the glass-fenced terrace, shutting the sliding door behind you. Steve turns to glance at you, smile turning into an amazed laugh as you show him the state of your newly-tatted wrist.

“Oh, my god. You did not.” He huffs with unbelief, holding onto your hand as he looks it over. “You’re insane, you know that?”

“Only insane when I’m drunk.” You chuckle, shifting from one foot to the other before you put your arms on top of the fence. “Do you have any tattoos?”

“No. No, definitely not.” He answers quickly, waving you off.

“Ooo, I don’t know, Steve. Sounds a little bit like a lie to me.” You push his elbow with yours, burying your nose against your shoulder as you look up at him coyly.

“Okay, maybe I do. But I’m not proud of it. It’s a terrible tattoo, I got it when I was in high school and it’s - it’s stupid.”

“Oh, now you’ve got to show me!” You gasp, pulling on the sleeve of his top as he groans at you. You beg him, promising not to make fun of him in any way shape or form - no matter how stupid the tattoo could’ve been.

So, he preps you a little bit. You mainly think he’s stalling but he claims that he’s just preparing you for the worst. He’s trying to explain himself, yet honestly, you can only hone in on the way he gives you a blushing smile, all while using hand gestures to make light of his point. Fed up, you interrupt him, telling him you don’t quite need an explanation to whatever his damn tattoo even is.

He sighs at you, slumping over jokingly before he decides to untuck his top and tug down the waitband of his jeans to reveal the ink on his hipbone. The tattoo isn’t as bad as you had thought it would be. Steve was simply just overreacting, and maybe self-conscious at the fact that you’d be seeing such a tattoo on him.

“It’s not as terrible as you make it out to be, Steve.” You smirk, leaning over to look at the tattoo on his hipbone.

“Yeah, yeah. Save it.”

“I’m serious! It’s pretty cute.”

The black-inked heart with an arrow through it sits prettily on his fair, flushed skin. It was far from embarrassing, and it was far from a horrible design. You weren’t lying when you said it was cute. It seemed actually... endearing, to have a gentleman like Steve have such a soft-meaningful tattoo in a place where no one could really see it.

“Does it mean anything?” You tilt your head at him, chewing on your lip as he thinks over your question.

“I dunno. Guess I’ve... I don’t know, I guess I’ve always been a - a hopeless romantic? Do those even exist?” He asks aloud, running his clammy palms over his denim-clad thighs. He shrugs, “I’ve always - I’ve always been a little too crazy for love, so whatever, so... it’s a - a fitting tattoo for me, I suppose.” He stares off into the city line, eyes twinkling when he shifts his attention to you. “And what about yours? Any meaning?”

“It’s... it’s open to a lot of things.” You nod.

The words SEE YOU SOON are red with soreness on your skin, healing under the plastic wrap as you carefully let Steve trace over it with his thumb. You can feel his breath against your collarbone as he mindlessly bumps his arm against yours.

“See you soon?”

“I like to think that... people who are - who are meant to be in your life - but leave for whatever reason - are always meant to find a way back to you. It’s just... a lot of people come and go. Especially now. It’d be nice to find a person who’ll stay one day.”

“Deep.” He mumbles, earning a laugh from you. You don’t fail to realize that his hand has slipped into yours, and he holds it over the railing as the chilly Chicago air bites at your skin. “I hope that you’ll find someone who’s willing to stay, Y/N.”

You feel his eyes on you, and without hesitation, you turn your face to look at him. His cheeks are reddened, his cheekbones are accentuated under the moonlight and bright stars, but your more drawn to the way his lips pout together.

“And I hope you find someone who’s just as crazy about love as you are, Steve.” You smile.

He’s about to say something, to ask you a question that he had been longing to ask you for so, so long. But the cheers and drunken chants from the inside call you both back to the living room. The flatscreen TV broadcasts the Ball Drop from NYC, showing the masses of people that had gathered to celebrate the new year. Guests clink their glasses with one another as the countdown hits at the twenty-second mark, and you feel the heightened adrenaline of having a new year approach. Kate and Robin manage to find you, snapping last minute 2019 polaroids in the span of 10 seconds.

“Robin, kiss me!” Kate cackles jokingly, pulling Robin into a rib-crushing hug as they jump around in excitement. You laugh at them, taking your phone to record the moment around you as people begin to count the last few seconds.

Five...

You tuck your phone back into your bag, crossing it over your body as you wrap your arms around your front.

Four...

Steve mimics your posture, but he can’t help but look over at you, waiting for you to pick up on what he was very subtly trying to suggest.

Three...

“Y/N?”

Fuck it.

“Yeah?”

“About that kiss... on - on the night we went ice skating...” He scratches his neck, rambling. “I really - really enjoyed it. And you. Spending time with you.”

“Yeah, me too. I... I had lots of fun and I’m glad that you brought it up because well, I wasn’t sure if I had messed up or something since you weren’t talking about it.”

“Oh! Oh, trust me, you - you did everything perfect.”

Two...

“I did?”

“Yeah, of course. But... but I wanted to ask if... I don’t know if ice-skating counts as a - as a first date but...” He swallows nervously. “Would you like to go on a date with me? Like a real one?”

One...

You step forwards on your heels, cupping Steve’s cheeks in your hands as you kiss him intensely. Your fingers brush over his jaw, and his hands come to rest on the small of your back as he brings you further against him. Party poppers and confetti erupt through the apartment as the clock hits midnight, and you force yourself to pull away from Steve’s lips.

“I’m available next weekend.” You utter, catching your breath.

“Huh?” Steve replies with shaky hands.

You giggle at that, touching his arm. “I meant that I’m available next weekend for our date. If you want to go around that time.” You say to him with blushing cheeks, but never break eye contact.

“Oh, uh, yeah. Yeah, me too. I’ll pick you up again. Or we can meet there, whatever you’d prefer.” He smacks his lips together, unintentionally tasting your fruity lipgloss.

“Just text me. And we can plan from there.” You nod, pulling your hand away from him. Before he can say anything else that would embarrass him, Steve excused himself to go make conversation with Jonathan, who seems to have turned up with a few old friends from his hometown.

But at the same time, he couldn’t really focus when all he can see is you across the room, talking animatedly with your gold dress and your high heels and your captivating smile.

And those eyes.

The way you look at him.

The way you give him your undivided attention.

It drives him a bit crazy.

Steve swore that you were just another crush - just another girl who he’d try to get by and probably break up with in the following week after officiating things. But no. You had completely caused him to take a full 360, like literally: when you had hit him with your car, when you offered to bring him coffee, when you said yes to ice skating. He was already entranced by you.

It was supposed to be a crush.

Only a crush.

Nothing more.

But here he was - already falling in love, and he hasn’t even taken out on a proper date.

New year, new beginnings, right?

#steve harrington #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington series #steve harrington fluff #stranger things #stranger things x reader #stranger things x you #stranger things imagine #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fic #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things fluff #x reader #crush culture series

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turtle-steverogers · 5 years

Text

Mothman Unsolved

hi guys im laughing really hard cuz its 3 am and i wrote a fucking mothman au and its weirdly angsty but every time i typed ‘mothman’ i chuckled anyway lol enjoy

warnings: death, uh some panicking, a bridge collapses (this is based off the true events of the incidents yah oops)

ship: ralbert, past relmer, past spalbert

word count: 5576 im crying im so sad

November 17, 1966

“Let’s do something,” Race peered into his lover’s eyes, which were carefully masked by the darkness in the room, “Let’s go somewhere, live for a bit…” he trailed off for a moment, “be kids.”

Elmer pulled him closer to his chest, running a hand through his tangled curls, “I dunno,” he considered, heaving a breath, “M’kinda tired and it’s pretty late.”

Race propped himself onto one elbow, leaning down to capture Elmer in a searing kiss, “C’mon,” he whispered, pulling away just far enough to speak, his breath still ghosting Elmer’s lips, “Just for a bit?”

“A snake, Higgins,” Elmer said, sounding vaguely breathless, “You are a fucking snake.”

“So’s that a yes?” Race murmured, trailing a line of kisses from behind Elmer’s ear to his neck.

Elmer growled, “Fucking fine. Okay, yes.”

Race sat up, grinning as he bounced off Elmer’s bed and slipped on his shoes, “Great, let’s go!”

The drive was pleasantly invigorating as they sped along Route 62, the long stretch of road expanding in front of them. There wasn’t much in around the area, but it was theirs. Point Pleasant, West Virginia wasn’t known to be any large attraction. Rather, it was a small town of no more than 5,000 people where everyone knew everyone.

Neighbors never changed, townspeople never strayed. Everything was routine. Cookie-cutter. Imperfectly perfect in every way.

Race liked routine. He enjoyed the vacancy of the area and cherished the fact that nothing ever differed. It was oddly comforting knowing that no matter how fast life seemed to accelerate, leaving him breathless and scared, he always had the same home and group of people to surround himself with.

They sped forward, the road curving slightly as they entered the McClintic Wildlife Sanctuary. Race’s hand remained entwined with Elmer’s as he propped his feet on the dash, eyes wandering out the window and to the stars above. It was strangely warm for a November night, clear skies making way for thousands of visible stars and temperatures pushing towards the 60s. The two boys had long since abandoned their sweaters, relaxing with the windows down to allow the breeze to travel through the car.

“Ain’t we near the TNT Area?” Race asked, breaking the silence as they passed one of the old storage bunkers that scattered the area, leftover from World War 2.

Elmer hummed, glancing to the side momentarily before nodding, “I think so, yeah.”

“This place always rubbed me wrong,” Race commented as they passed another bunker, dug into the side of a ditch, “It’s downright unnerving.”

“We can turn around if ya want,” Elmer suggested, “we don’t gotta-”

He cut himself off with a gasp, involuntarily jerking the steering wheel to the side as what looked like two enormous red, glowing eyes materialized down the road. Race let go of Elmer’s hand, hastily taking his feet off the dash and placing them securely on the ground as the car’s wheels screeched against the pavement.

They were spinning. Fast. But the red eyes never seemed to move from in front of the car.

“Elmer, stop the car!” Race shouted, heart hammering in his chest. He willed himself to look away from the eyes and turned to his boyfriend, who’s gaze was transfixed on whatever was staring them down. His mouth was hanging open, but no sound was coming out. It was as if the sound had been erased from his vocal chords, leaving him utterly helpless.

“Elmer, love, look at me,” Race pleaded, reaching out to grab the steering wheel as they continued to spin at increasing speed. His stomach was flipping violently and he willed himself to hold down his dinner.

Elmer shook his head slowly, lifting one hand and pointing out the window. Fear spiked in Race’s stomach as he looked forward again, only to find that he was looking at what appeared to be a very large bird-man.

The creature was abnormally tall, landing somewhere between 7 and 8 feet. Its legs seemed to sprout far to the ground, disproportionately slim compared to its torso, which was wide and covered in feather-like fur. A large pair of wings, more similar to those of a bat rather than a bird were neatly folded behind its back and Race swallowed, utterly captivated. His eyes returned to the creature’s own and he felt his voice leave his body, brain turning to mush as he tried to form words.

Then, its wings spread and it glided upwards, wings staying stationary. Race’s awareness returned to him with an overcompensating gasp and he turned back to Elmer, who’s eyes appeared to be rolling back into his head. Race watched in horror as Elmer’s arms curled into his body as he began to convulse.

Race only had a second to scream as the car flipped on its side, Elmer’s head smashing into the driver side window. The sound of glass cracking echoed through the car, then everything went black.

November 17, 1967

Race sighed, hands curled around the mug of coffee he was nursing as he looked out over his front lawn. It was an overcast morning, the grey sky casting a gloomy mood over the area. It was as if the town was tired, sad, completely worn out.

Or maybe that was just Race.

He removed a hand from the warm, comforting ceramic of his mug and allowed his fingers to travel to his chest, where the locket that Elmer had given him still hung. He considered taking it off and opening it, but he couldn’t bring himself to. He hadn’t looked at the picture inside since before the events of a year ago.

He swallowed. It didn’t feel real. He couldn’t fathom that an entire year had already gone by since, since-

He huffed a breath, lifting the mug to his lips and taking a sip of the scalding drink, allowing it to ground him as the hot liquid traveled down his throat and into his chest. He winced, blowing out a breath to cool his mouth, but a part of him enjoyed the sting. It almost seemed to fill the hole in his heart that Elmer once occupied. Almost.

He stared out towards the town in the distance, watching as a traffic light turned from green to red. He flinched, glimpses of the horrifying creature and its awful eyes flashing through his mind at lightning speed. He shut his eyes, willing for the memory to leave. But he knew deep down that it would never.

He wasn’t alone in his experience, he knew that. Other sightings of that...that thing had been reported frequently throughout the year.

More reports of a creature with terrifying, red eyes, a large wingspan, and frightening speeds had been told and retold by those living in the area. It was every bit disturbing to Race as it was comforting. At least he wasn’t alone in his insanity.

He considered taking a walk, his legs itching to get up and move away from his place of solitude on his front porch. Standing, he chugged the rest of his coffee, placing the mug on the wood railing of his porch before traipsing down the steps, tucking the locket underneath his shirt as he walked off his property.

It was colder than it had been a year ago and he felt his teeth chattering as he drew his shoulder up, hands finding their way to his pockets. He watched his shoes hit the pavement, too worn to look where he was going.

It had been like that a lot recently. Small tasks seemed impossible. Simply lifting his head was too much to bear. Life seemed pointless without Elmer- his partner in crime, his other half, his secret and forbidden lover. He missed the thrill of sneaking out and stealing kisses, blind to the eyes of the town. It was a game. Seeing how far they could push their luck and limits without exposing themselves to unaccepting onlookers. But they loved it. God, did they love it.

Race pursed his lips, sucking in a breath around the lump of emotions in his throat as fierce longing thrummed through his system. He missed him so fucking much.

He hadn’t realized he was at his car until he was subconsciously pulling out his keys. He froze, catching sight of himself in the window. For a split second, he swore he could hear the sound of Elmer’s head making contact with the glass, the crack indicating the loss of his life reverberating in his brain. He shook his head, blinking. God, he was tired and it showed. Even in the shitty reflection he could see the dark shadows on his face.

He scrubbed a hand down his face, reaching down to pull open the driver side door. He climbed inside, anxiety bubbling up through his stomach and into the back of his throat, drying out his mouth and souring the taste on his tongue. It felt inappropriate to be driving then- as if he were betraying Elmer in some way.

Nonetheless, he jammed the keys into the ignition and steered the car with trembling arms onto the street. He drove numbly, unsure as to where he intended to go. That was a lie. He knew exactly where he was going.

Twenty blurry minutes later, he pulled onto the McClintic Wildlife Management Area. As the road began to curve, he slowed to a stop, nausea rolling in his chest. He could feel small spasms in his legs as anxiety turned to panic. Why did he come here? He knew he wouldn’t be able to handle it.

Abruptly, he lashed out, fist connecting with the hard leather of the steering wheel with a shout. He could feel tears painting his face, but he didn’t do anything to stop them. He needed this, goddamnit. Sobs ripped out of him- loud and agonising. He hunched forward, pulling at his hair as he tried to retain some semblance of control. But the grief was ruthless and all-consuming and he soon lost himself in it.

It was only when his sobs slowed to hiccups that he noticed the other car parked not far down the road. All breath left his body as he caught sight of the figure next to the car and he froze, eyes widening in fear. Not fucking again.

The figure turned and relief flooded Race’s mind as he recognized the shock of distinguishable red hair. It was a guy he’d seen around town. He was fairly certain he’d been in his homeroom the year previous.

The guy seemed to freeze momentarily as well when he caught sight of Race’s car, but he, too, relaxed when he realized that he was safe. They held eye contact through the windshield for an indiscernible amount of time. Bloodshot eyes peering into bloodshot eyes, a strange understanding emanating from one man to the other.

On a whim, Race turned off his car and climbed out. The guy kept his eyes trained on him, curiosity visible on his face. Race steeled himself, tentatively approaching him.

They stood, face to face, searching separately for what to say.

“It was here, right?” Race asked, voice low and sad, “You lost them here, didn’t you?”

The guy nodded, “Driving here at night. Almost a year ago. Saw that...that thing and then we swerved and the car flipped and...he was gone.” The guy’s eyes widened as he seemed to realize that he had just outed himself.

“It’s okay,” Race said, quickly, “I am too. Queer, that is.”

The guy’s tense shoulders seemed to deflate at Race’s words and he leaned back against his car, crossing his arms at his chest.

Race bit his lip, hovering awkwardly for a moment before leaning against the car as well, mirroring the guy’s position.

“What did you see first?” The guy asked, apprehension thinly veiled in his tone.

Race hesitated for a moment, eyes flicking to the spot where he’d first seen it.

“The eyes,” he muttered.

The guy nodded, “Big and red, right?”

“Mhm.”

Silence fell between them and Race forced himself to look away from the road where if he tried hard enough, he could still see the creature’s horrifying form. His stomach lurched as the whip-lash inducing, spinning motion of the car seemed to ghost over him. He shivered.

“Fuck that thing,” the guy said, malice biting at his words, “Fuck it for doing this to us.”

Race nodded, “honestly.”

More silence, then, “What’s your name?”

“Hm?” Race hummed, distracted, “Oh, uh, Antonio, but folks ‘round here call me Race.”

“Ah, you’re a Higgins, right?” The guy asked.

Race nodded, “Yup. What about you?”

“Albert,” the guy said, “Dasilva.”

“Right, right,” Race said, recognizing the last name, “Your dad owns the auto shop, right?”

“Yeah,” Albert said, “Gonna be mine soon.”

“Cool.”

“Yeah…”

Before he could help himself, Race asked, “Who was he?”

Albert looked at him, raising his eyebrows and Race stared back, guilt encompassing him.

“Sorry, sorry,” Race hastily exclaimed, “You don’t hafta-”

Albert smirked sadly, “It’s alright,” he interrupted, “It was, uh, Conlon. Sean Conlon, you know him?”

Race grimaced, “Went by Spot, right?”

“That’s the one,” Albert said.

“Yeah,” Race said, “was in my class for a few semesters in junior high.”

Albert set his jaw, “Yeah. Good guy. Kinda bruting, but sweet all the same,” he let himself look back towards the trees, deep in thought, “What about you?”

Race looked down at his sneakers, scuffing the ground with his toe, “Elmer, uh, Elmer Kasprzak?”

“Ah,” Albert sighed, “Yeah, his dad was a frequent customer. Also a good guy.”

“Definitely,” Race agreed, a heaviness hanging in the air between them.

“I miss him.”

“Yeah, me too.”

“I’m gonna find that thing,” Albert said, his voice taking on a new sort of determination, “and kill it.”

November 20, 1967

“Dasilva!”

Race approached the auto shop, sandwich bag in hand. He could see Albert’s legs poking out from underneath a 1964 Pontiac GTO.

A loud bang, followed by a resound, ‘shit-fuck!’, sounded from underneath the car as Albert apparently tried to sit up. A moment later, he slid out on his back, face screwed up in pain as he rubbed his forehead, where presumably, he had hit it against the car.

His eyes lit up nearly imperceptibly when he noticed Race and he smiled, beckoning him over, “Hey, Higgins, what’s up?”

“Ah, nothing. But here,” Race crossed to him, reaching into the sandwich bag and pulling out a grilled ham and cheese sandwich, “I broughtcha some lunch.”

Albert took the sandwich, eyebrows furrowing as he looked up at Race, something akin to amusement dancing in his eyes, “Thanks, but why?”

Race shrugged, pulling out his own sandwich and unwrapping it, “Dunno, really, just thought it’d be nice.”

Albert faltered for a moment, sandwich halfway to his mouth, “Yeah?”

“Eat it before it gets cold,” Race said, pointedly.

Albert chuckled, taking a bite of his sandwich, “Alrighty, thank you.”

Race chewed thoughtfully as he looked around the shop, taking note of the organized clutter. Some cars were suspended from the ceiling, while others were propped on the ground, but every car was in a different condition. Some looked pristine and new, complete with a shining gloss exterior. Others were completely wrecked to the point of unrecognizable, but every single one held a story.

“Do you like working in here?” Race asked, crumpling up the aluminum foil that previously held his toastie.

“Love it,” Albert said, scanning his eyes fondly around the garage, “I dunno, it’s just...calming, you know? Fixing things.”

“Calming how?” Race pushed, a strange part of him yearning to learn more about Albert- to hear what he had to say.

Albert took a measured breath, sorting through his thoughts, “It’s just,” he shook his head, placing his mostly-finished sandwich into the bag, “I’ve always loved it, like, working with my hands and being able to blow off steam that way. But after what happened last year with Sean, I...I was so lost and I felt so broken, you know?” he took a deep breath, composing himself, “The first thing I did was take the wrecked car here,” he pointed to the farthest corner from them where an old 1959 Ford Fairlane was displayed. The sides were still dented in some places, but altogether, it looked pretty stable, “Fixed it up as best I could and, I don’t know, it calmed me down.”

Race studied the car, letting the words sink in, “Was the car his?”

“Yeah,” Albert sounded distant, lost, “He loved that thing more than life itself. I don’t even know why, but it was sweet,” he paused for a moment, “I love it, too. It just feels like the last bit of him that I still got.”

Race fiddled with his locket, relating all too well, “Yeah,” he breathed.

Albert looked towards him, fixating on the locket for a moment, “That your piece of him?” he asked, nodding to it.

Race pressed the cool metal to his cheek, “Yeah.”

“Does it have anything inside?”

“Picture of us,” Race said, “But I haven’t opened it since before...yeah.”

Albert watched him carefully, “Open it when you’re ready.”

Race looked at him, a lopsided smile plastered on his face, “I will.”

They held eye contact, swimming in empathy, warmth filling their chests. For the first time in months, the cavity that Elmer had left in Race’s heart seemed to mend the tiniest bit.

November 25, 1967

A loud knocking at his front door awoke Race from his nap. He kept his eyes shut, allowing for his senses to return and distantly willing for whoever it was to go away. But whoever it was was adamant and the knocking only grew stronger.

Groaning, Race pulled himself off the couch and scrubbed at his face, stumbling towards the door, “M’coming, m’coming.”

As soon as he opened the door, a newspaper was thrust in his face. Race’s eyes snapped open, his heart leaping into his chest momentarily at the sudden movement, but he calmed down when he saw Albert’s red hair peeking over the paper.

“Jesus,” he croaked, voice still dripping with sleep as he grasped the newspaper, moving it away from his face, “hello to you, too.”

“Just read it,” Albert demanded, stepping inside the house without prompting and pointing at the headline, “there was another encounter with the thing last night. Some lady saw it in her yard.”

Race raised his eyebrows, speed-reading the article, “Mothman?” He said, cocking his head as he read the new term for the creature.

“Yeah, that’s how she described it, but think about it,” Albert’s hands were waving wildly at this point, “I don’t know exactly what you saw, but a moth isn’t so far off.”

Race looked up at Albert, realization dawning on his face, “Holy shit, you’re right.”

Albert nodded, an apprehensive glint to his eyes, “I say we go try and find the goddamn thing-”

“What!?” Race yelped, “Are you fucking insane-”

Albert held up a hand, silencing him, “Lemme finish. I say we find the damn thing and kill it.”

Race ignored the voice in the back of his head telling him to kick Albert out of his house and demand he never return with such idiotic ideas, “How would we even find it?”

“Okay, okay, so,” Albert pushed past Race, plopping down on his couch, “This thing is supposed to be a moth, right?”

Race eyed him warily as he sat down in the armchair across from him, “Yeah?”

“And moths are attracted to light, yeah?”

Race nodded slowly, “yeah...where are you going with this?”

“Shh, listen,” Albert’s leg was bouncing rapidly at this point, “we were both driving at night when shit went down,-”

“Oh my god, it was drawn to our headlights,” Race concluded, adrenaline ripping through his veins as the puzzle seemed to complete itself.

Albert clapped, a cheeky grin spreading across his face, “Exactly.”

Race leaned forward, holding his head in his hands for a moment, “Okay, how do we kill it?”

Albert seemed to stop short, “I’m not...entirely sure, but my dad’s got a couple guns, so that’s worth a shot?”

Race mulled it over for a moment, “Okay, yeah, I’ll do it, but I’ll need a bit to think this through.”

“Course, yeah,” Albert said, easily, “Come and get me when you’re ready.”

December 1, 1967

Race buttoned his jacket with vibrating hands, trying his best to mentally prepare for that night. He’d agreed to meet with Albert at the auto shop at 8:00 pm to search for the mothman, but he didn’t think he’d ever truly be ready.

He tried to focus on the grounding weight of his locket against his skin as he drove to the auto shop, his recollection of travel growing fuzzy as he neared it. The anxiety that had been present throughout the day was in full swing by the time he pulled up and he was grateful that Albert had offered to drive them to the TNT Area. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to handle being behind the wheel.

The prospect of willingly searching for the mothman seemed stupid, as if they were putting themselves directly in its clutches- walking into the belly of the beast. But closure seemed appealing and as terrified as Race was, the slim chance that he’d get to kill the godforsaken monster left a giddy feeling inside him.

Albert was sitting on the hood of his car, head tilted towards the sky. He didn’t look at Race as he approached, but he did shift over slightly, leaving room for him on the blue metal. Race clambered up next to him, crossing his legs under him as he followed Albert’s gaze to the sky.

“Stars,” Albert muttered, his voice low.

Race felt overwhelmed as he drank in the view of thousands of blinking specks, “Yeah.”

“There were stars that night, too,” Albert said, “So many of them.”

“Same with my night,” Race said, “It was a beautiful night, warm-”

“-Clear-”

“-Free-”

“-Perfect.”

They looked at each other, eyes glistening and hearts hammering.

“I’m scared,” Race admitted, breath hitching.

Albert reached out and cupped Race’s jaw, thumb brushing over his cheekbone. Race reached up and grabbed his wrist, holding on for dear life.

“I am, too,” Albert whispered, “Let’s do this for them.”

Race nodded, “For them.”

The drive was completely silent, save for the sound of both boy’s slightly too fast breathing. The nervous energy in the car was nearly suffocating, but Race willed himself to take a few exaggerated breaths as they neared the TNT Area.

The panic that had resided within him left a lump in his throat, threatening tears, and he gripped the center console, trying to calm down. Albert was chewing on his bottom lip, a breathless sigh leaving him every so often. It was clear that he was also barely keeping it together.

Somehow, Albert’s hand found Race’s and they grasped each other tightly, eyes never leaving the dark road ahead of them.

Then, they saw them. The glowing, red eyes, stark and shining in the bitter, black night. The world muted for a moment as Race’s stomach seized up, utter and absolute dread eating him from the inside out.

“Fuck,” He heard Albert breathe, “Shit, fuck.”

“I see it, too,” Race said, finding himself unable to look away from the enthralling eyes. It was as if the creature cast a spell on him, preventing him from wavering his stare.

All of a sudden, the creature took off, gliding flawlessly vertically. Albert cursed again, accelerating the car until it was pushing 95 mph. Race lost track of the red eyes, but soon, a creeping feeling tingled the back of his neck and he turned to the side.

Horror slammed him so hard he couldn’t even scream as he made eye contact with the creature, directly outside his window. Albert must have seen it, too, because a moment later, he shouted a curse and made a sharp turn, hoping to lose the mothman.

But it stayed on their tail, never losing speed as it ran beside their car.

“Albert, fucking speed up, fuck!” Race shouted, chest heaving as he tried not to throw up.

“I know, I’m trying!” Albert hissed, a panicked lilt to his tone. He sounded as terrified as Race felt.

Albert made a sudden U-turn, screaming as he tried to keep the car under control. They sped along for what could have been hours, but in reality was a few minutes, until the red eyes disappeared, no trace of the creature in sight.

Albert slammed the breaks, frantic cries escaping him. In the commotion, their hands had parted and Race reached a shaking hand over to Albert. Albert immediately clasped their hands together and lifted Race’s knuckles to his lips, trying to control his breathing.

“Hey,” Race murmured, trying to keep his own tears at bay, “Hey, look at me.”

Albert shook his head, breaths coming out short as he continued to cry.

Race reached his free hand up to brace the back of Albert’s neck, which was slick with sweat. He massaged it soothingly, taking a few deep breaths of his own.

“Shhh,” He cooed, squeezing Albert’s hand, “We’re safe, I promise.”

“We’re not, though,” Albert interjected, finally looking at Race. Their terrified gazes met each other’s, “We’re not as long as that thing is alive and we didn’t get a chance to fucking kill it.”

Race felt his adrenaline ebb away and he choked, “I know,” he said, “I-” he shook his head, “I don’t think we can kill it.”

Albert looked back towards the street, “Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

December 10, 1967

Race and Albert’s legs were tangled together under warm sheets, shadows dancing across the walls in Race’s bedroom. They had spent nearly every night since their latest encounter together, too paranoid to be without the other’s company.

Race stared at the ceiling, heart too heavy to drift off. Albert was resting across his chest, fast asleep and looking at peace, something Race was thankful to see. Neither of them had spoken about the incident, but the dark cloud of apprehension followed them relentlessly wherever they went.

Questions of their safety hung in the air, withering their sanity from the inside out, but they tried their best to move from day to day, carefully avoiding any news of further encounters.

The town was in chaos. Everyone had their stories and no one was safe. The mothman didn’t discriminate. Everyone was fair game for a sighting and it seemed that as the days crept along, nights passing quickly, more and more people fell prey to its peril.

A soft whimper from Albert brought Race back to the present. Concerned, he peered down at Albert, who’s face seemed to be screwed up in fear. He ran his fingers through his hair, hoping to calm whatever dream he was having, but his condition only worsened.

With a gasp, Albert awoke, his arms tightening around Race briefly before he scrambled to a sitting position. He looked wildly around the room, pupils blown wide in panic as he neared hyperventilation.

“Whoa, hey,” Race said, crawling forward and placing a hand on Albert’s knee, “He’s gone, he’s not here.”

Albert shook his head vigorously, gulping in air in an attempt to gain oxygen, “Water,” he rasped.

“You want water?” Race asked, gently.

“No,” Albert was clawing at his throat, “There was,” another gasp, “So much- fuck- water.”

“Where? Wait, you know what? Tell me in a second,” Race pulled Albert’s hand away from his throat, massaging his palm, “Gather yourself and then tell me what happened, yeah?”

Albert nodded, tucking his head between his knees as he tried to calm down. Race crouched next to him, diligently rubbing a hand down his back and continuously kneading his fingers until he was significantly calmer.

After a few minutes, Albert lifted his head, dazedly looking around before slumping into Race’s chest.

Race held him tightly, “What about water?”

“I was drowning,” Albert said, voice worn, but scared, “it was so cold...and...dark and there were...presents everywhere and...I don’t know. I couldn’t breathe.”

Race squeezed his bicep reassuringly, “It was only a dream, alright? You’re safe.”

“But what if I’m not?”

Race shifted so that he was looking into Albert’s eyes, “You are, I promise, okay?”

Albert glanced to the side, “okay.”

“Wanna try sleep again?”

Albert tucked his head into the crook of Race’s neck, “Please.”

Race guided them so that they were laying down and situated Albert back onto his chest, “I’ve got us.”

December 15, 1967

Race was running, feet hitting the ground hard as he willed himself to go faster. He needed to get to the Silver Bridge, he needed to get to Albert, he needed to find him before it was too late.

Stories of those who had dreamed of awful occurrences, which were soon followed by tragedy, had been frequenting the news lately and each and every one had a common thread: those who had these dreams had seen the mothman mere days before.

As Race neared the bridge, the sounds of cars honking reached his ears and he froze, awestruck as the clutter of cars that lined the bridge from end to end. The seemed to be stacked horizontally, bumper to bumper. The road wasn’t visible beneath the vehicles and Race’s gaze shifted through the crowds. Albert was somewhere in there, and he had to get to him before something bad happened.

He could feel it. The ominous lurking of catastrophe blowing in the frigid, Winter breeze. He wasn’t sure exactly what was going to happen, but it wasn’t anything good.

He stepped foot on the bridge, beginning to weave his way through the cars, but stopped dead when an awful creaking sound rang out directly above him. His head slowly turned up, mouth hanging open as he scanned the cluster of steel cables. They were taut, vibrating, working against every ounce of physics to stay put.

“Shit.” Race swore, head snapping back down. The goddamn bridge was going to collapse.

He began to run, pounding on the windows of pedestrians as he passed different cars, shouting for everyone to, “Run! Get out of your cars! Get off the bridge!”

Whether or not people listened, Race didn’t know. His mind seemed to tunnel on one target as he searched feverishly for Albert’s car, which was nowhere in sight.

The bridge gave a sickening groan and people screamed. Race willed himself not to stop running as he slid over hoods of cars and snaked between those who were running.

The sound of the bridge straining grew louder and Race could feel the panicked sobs rising in his throat. He couldn’t do this again, he couldn’t lose someone else.

He clamped his hands over his ears as a deafening crack echoed behind him. It was happening now. The bridge was going to fall.

He was distantly comforted by the fact that Albert clearly wasn’t in the center of the bridge, but he couldn’t help but look back as the middle crashed downwards, bringing cars down with it.

He gasped, unable to look away as the crevice seemed to grow, steel and metal barreling towards the water. It was nearing him, he was going to fall with it. He was going to-

A pair of strong arms wrapped around his torso as the bridge around him crashed down and he could hear a scream that matched his own echoing behind him as he plummeted towards the inky, black water.

The water was freezing and he could feel his lungs constrict as he was submerged. He kicked out, turning his body so that he was facing the person holding him.

Albert. Thank god.

Race held him back, both boys using conjoined efforts to kick to the surface, away from cars and bridge debris. Christmas presents floated around them, and suddenly, Albert’s dream became clear. It seemed to take hours, but eventually they made it to shore on the Point Pleasant side of the bridge.

They collapsed on the grounding, chests heaving and bodies shivering as adrenaline seeped away, leaving them cold and scared.

Then, they were hugging, holding on for dear life as they came down from the high of yet another near death experience.

“Jesus Christ,” Albert muttered into his ear, “Did that really just happen?”

They broke apart and Race held his face in both hands, numb fingers brushing over blue parted lips, “I don’t fucking know.”

Albert surged forward, capturing Race in a kiss. For a moment, Race felt warm, a spark in him igniting- a simple flame burning against the bitter cold. He kissed back, trying to convey every ounce of love and fear and sheer understanding into that singular action.

They were alive. They were safe.

January 1, 1968

Albert and Race trudged through the snow outside Race’s house, watching as their new adopted dog, Queso, bounded in front of them.

The events of the year previous still followed them like a shadow, but they were grounded. Since the collapse of the Silver Bridge, mothman encounters had ceased, no longer plaguing the people of Point Pleasant.

Things were far from okay, but as Albert and Race healed together, their love grew stronger.

They were okay.

anyway i guess thats what i get for watching too many mothman documentaries this weekend lolol

had to add queso in there somewhere

thanks for reading, chiefs

hmu to be added to my tag

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sincerelysaraahh · 7 years

Text

It’s A Small World After All

Valentine’s Day Special #1

Pair : Jensen Ackles x Reader

7. You’ve never had a valentine in your life but your best friend wants to break that curse. She forces you out to a club/party and tries to find you a guy to spend the rest of the night with. But she fails when almost every guy there is either taken or a total fuck boy. Until she bumps into an old friend. Small world.

Requested by anon.

Warning : Language.

Word Count : 1,913

“Come on, smile!” Aria, your best friend nudged your side. “At least pretend like you’re having a good time.”

You watched as she took a swig of her drink, eyes glancing around the crowded bar.

“I-I just want to go home.” You muttered. Gently playing with your straw, feeling as though the night was nothing more than a waste.

“Look, we can go home after you meet your soul mate.” She smirked. “Or a one night stand mate.”

You rolled your eyes, adjusting yourself on the stool.

“Seriously Aria, it’s just not gonna happen.”

“With that attitude it won’t.” Aria leaned on her elbows and sighed. “Look, I made you a promise, and I don’t want to let you down.”

“Hey, you won’t ever let me down.” You stated. “But let’s face it, we aren’t-”

You were interrupted with cold drink running down your leg that was spilt from the dunk guy beside you.

“Shit! I’m sorry!” He slurred his words.

Taking the only napkin you had, you began to dab the liquid, growing annoyed.

The stranger was able to get a better look at you, and with all the alcohol in his system, he felt confident.

“Or maybe I’m not sorry.” He began. “Shit, I shoulda spilled my drink on you a long time ago. Damn you’re so fine.”

You only flashed a soft smirk, still not responding.

“What’s your name sweetheart?” He asked, hovering over you. “Do you maybe wanna get out of here? Have some fun.”

Clenching your jaw tightly, you glanced at aria, who knew exactly what you were thinking.

“Hey buddy, how about you stop hitting on MY girlfriend and go find someone who is too drunk to care about your ten dollar haircut.” She snarled, with a shitty grin plastered on to her face.

But of course, the guy was too out of it, he only focused on the word girlfriend.

“Wait, you two are lesbians?” He asked.

“Yes, so you’re definitely not needed here.” Aria continued.

The stranger tapped his friends shoulder, catching his attention. “Dude, these girls are fucking lesbians! That’s so fucking hot!”

You let out a sigh, growing impatient with the drunk. It was obvious you weren’t interested, but he didn’t care.

“How about you two make out, prove your lesbians.” The friend smiled.

Aria propped up to her feet, her shitty grin not once faltering. “Or how about you two make out. Give us one hell of a show.”

“We aren’t gay!” The friend cackled.

“Oh come on! It’s 2017! You don’t have to be gay to kiss someone of the same gender.” She exclaimed. “Come on, just stick your tongue in his mouth, it’d be so hot.”

The guys slowly took a step back, shaking their heads. “We have to meet up with the rest of our party.”

“Aw okay, well have fun!”

The boys turned without another word, obviously feeling uncomfortable of the situation.

You however couldn’t help but burst into laughter.

“Fuck, they were annoying.” Aria exhaled.

“Yeah, this bar seems to be filled with those kind of guys.” You stated.

Aria let out a long sigh, feeling defeated. “Fine, we can go.”

Your eyes lit up, the moment you have been waiting for. To finally go home.

“Seriously?”

“Yeah. It’s obvious you don’t want to be here. And these dip shits aren’t worth shit, so let’s just go.”

You pulled her in for a quick hug, flashing a soft smile. “Thanks for trying though.” You said.

The both of you started for the door, pushing passed the crowd, and forcing your way through.

But as you we’re just about to open the door, the door swung open and immediately you ran straight into broad shoulders. Almost knocking you off your feet.

“Shit!” You yelped, trying to stable yourself.

Suddenly, you felt an arm loop around your waist, keeping you steady.

“What the hell man! Watch where you’re going!” Aria exclaimed. “You okay?”

Before you could respond, the stranger apologized profusely, looking over you to make sure he hadn’t hurt you.

As your eyes met, you felt your breath hitch to the back of your throat. He was beautiful beyond belief. With taunting emerald green eyes, and lips so full, you could only imagine just how soft they were.

“I-I’m fine.” You whispered.

Aria glanced at the stranger, and immediately her anger subsided. “Jensen?!” She said with her brows raised.

The stranger looked up to your friend, a smile growing by the second. “Aria!” His arm left your waist, and he pulled your best friend into him. Giving her a quick hug.

“Holy shit! Long time no see.” She chuckled. “You look good!”

Jensen shrugged, “aw thanks.” He said. “How’ve you been? I haven’t seen you since Mackenzie’s eighteenth birthday party!”

“I’ve been great! Just been working, what about you?! I see the show has been doing great.”

You stood there awkwardly, as they went back and forth. Your eyes couldn’t help but glance at Jensen. There was just something about him that made so captivated.

“Shit, this is my best friend Y/N.” Aria said, interrupting your thoughts. “Y/N this is an old friend, Jensen Ackles.”

You slipped your hand into his, and immediately you felt chills cover you.

“Nice to meet you.” He smiled, his voice creating your legs to shake.

“You too.” You forced out.

His gaze held yours for what seemed like forever. Almost giving the illusion that you two were alone.

That was until someone cleared their throat. Breaking the trance.

“Crap, this is my brother Jared and his wife Gen.” he muttered.

“Hi, nice to meet y'all.” Jared smirked.

“You girls want to join us?” Jensen asked. “I mean, it’d be nice to catch up and stuff.”

Aria glanced at you, then back to her old friend. “Actually we were just about to-”

“We’d love to.” You blurted out. “I-I mean the nights still young.”

Aria chuckled to herself, shrugging her shoulders.

“Let’s drink!” She exclaimed.

—-

(A couple hours later)

A few drinks in, and you could feel your lips start to tingle and your mind begin to haze.

You sat there, listening to some great stories from the set, and getting to know the boys and Gen, who you absolutely adored. She was completely amazing with her quirkiness and kind heart.

Aria seemed to have a great time as well, catching up with Jensen and cracking jokes with Jared.

But even with all the fun and chaos, you caught yourself glancing at Jensen, and even slightly flirting with cute little remarks and facial expressions. It was hard to contain it.

Jensen felt himself slowly gravitate toward you. The way you smiled, and laughed and talked, drew him in and he didn’t want it to end.

“Come on, let’s go dance!” Gen pulled at Jared’s arm.

He only chuckled and did as he was told. Following his wife to the dance floor, leaving you with Jensen and Aria.

“So before we bumped into each other-” Jensen teased. “What were you girls doing?”

“Actually, we were here to find a valentine for Y/N!” Aria blurted.

You shot her a glare, pursing your lips. But she wasn’t paying attention.

“She has never had a valentine in her life.” She continued.

“Okay, thanks for making me look pathetic!” You forced a chuckle.

Jensen flashed a smile, seeing you grow embarrassed was somehow adorable to him.

“Well, I’ll be your valentine.” He said, still holding his gaze on you.

For a second, you froze. Until aria nudged your side.

“Y-You don’t have to.” You exhaled. “Don’t want you to feel obligated or anything.”

Jensen let out a laugh, as he began to shake his head. “Trust me, if I didn’t want to, I wouldn’t have suggested it.” He winked.

“Well shit! Now that she has a valentine, I need to go find one.” Aria cackled. “I’ll be back.”

Before you could even think of a response, she was gone. Now you were alone, with Jensen.

“Can I just say, you’re really beautiful.” Jensen said with a soft smile playing on his lips.

You looked up at him, feeling your stomach flutter from the compliment. He was buzzed, obviously it was just the alcohol, right? Whatever it was, you didn’t want to ruin it.

Who knows when you’ll ever see him again.

“You’re not so bad yourself.” You stated.

Something overcame you. Maybe it was the way he looked at you, or the way he made you feel. But somehow, you felt a spark ignite in you and suddenly, you leaned over the table and crashed your lips to his.

His hands tangled into your hair, pulling you in closer. Tasting you with his tongue.

All at once, everything around you seemed to fade into the distance.

It was perfect, like a scene from a movie. You didn’t want it to stop. And maybe you wouldn’t have, if it weren’t for Jared.

“Okay! Get a room you too!” He exclaimed.

You jumped back into your seat, feeling the heat radiate off you as you began to grow with embarrassment.

Jensen couldn’t help but giggle behind his hand. Most likely feeing the same thing you did.

“I mean, that was hot but not sure how other people feel about it.” Jared continued to tease.

“Shut up.” Jensen cackled.

“Usually, id take the girl out to dinner first.” Jared shrugged. “Just saying.”

Jensen glanced at you, his cheeks aching from smiling so much. “Want to dance?” He asked, ignoring his best friends comments.

“Sure.” You smiled.

His hand slipped into yours, and lead you to the dance floor. His body pressed against yours as your bodies began to sway with the music.

“Sorry about that.” He muttered.

“It’s okay!” You chuckled. “Jareds funny.”

Jensen shrugged, “eh, don’t tell him that. Or he’ll never stop.”

As the song went on, you were both lost in each other. The way his body felt against yours felt like you had finally found the missing puzzle piece. It fit perfectly.

“Sorry for kissing you.” You exhaled.

He scrunched his brows together, looking into your eyes. “Don’t be sorry for that.” He said. “Trust me, you can kiss me whenever you want.”

There it was again, that same spark you had back at the table.

“So I was thinking-” Jensen drawled out.

“Oh yeah? Don’t think too hard, don’t want to hurt yourself.” You teased.

Jensen chuckled to himself. “So I was thinking maybe I can take you out tomorrow?”

You swallowed hard, looking for bluff.

“Like on a date.” He continued. “I know we just met, but for some reason, I want to keep getting to know you.”

Your stomach was fluttering so much, it was begging to ache a bit. But you held on to every word, locking your gaze on his face.

“There’s just something about you Y/N. And I really don’t want to go on with my life thinking what if.” He stated. “So, would you like to go out tomorrow?”

Without a word, you propped up on to your toes and gently pecked his lips.

As you slowly pulled away, Jensen couldn’t help but smirk. Fluttering his eyes open.

“So is that a yes?” He chuckled.

Giggling along with him, you nodded. “Yes, I’d love too.”

The song continued playing in the background, making Jensen pull you in closer. His scent being the only thing you breathed in.

“Happy Valentine’s Day.” He whispered.

#Jensen #Jensen Ackles #jensen ackles x reader #jensen ackles imagine #jensen ackles fanfic #jensen imagine #jensen x reader #jensen fluff #supernatural #supernatural cast #Supernatural Fan Fiction #SPN #spn imagine #spn fanfic #dean winchester #dean winchester imagine #dean winchester x reader

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skswriting · 7 years

Text

in sickness and in health

Rating: PG-13 (cussing can always be expected from Min Yoongi) Pairing: Kim Namjoon/Min Yoongi Words: 3,305 Summary: Yoongi doesn’t argue and that worries Namjoon, who takes in the worse than usual bags under Yoongi’s eyes and the almost deathly quality of Yoongi’s cheeks. His forehead is blazing under Namjoon’s palm and Namjoon watches as Yoongi leans into him, vulnerable and sick under his touch. “You have a fever,” Namjoon tells him quietly. AN: just a little sugamon fluff as i completely ignore everything i have to do ao3

Namjoon wakes up in a puddle of his own sweat, hair sticking to his forehead, the blanket tangled around his legs, and Yoongi shivering beside him.

“Fuck,” he mumbles, the word low and stuck in his throat, “’s hot.”

He stumbles out of the room, pulling his tank top away from his body and making a face at the wetness of it. The thermostat is set to 86 degrees and Namjoon groans again, dialing it back to 75 and heading to take a shower.

The coolness of the water quickly washes away his sweat and he sighs, standing under the water for probably longer than necessary and if Yoongi was awake he’d probably bang on the door and tell Namjoon he was wasting water.

Speaking of Yoongi, it’s a little odd that he’s not awake yet. Namjoon wraps a towel around his waist, though it’s not like Yoongi hasn’t seen his dick before, and heads back to their room.

“Yoongs?” he says softly, afraid to wake the older man, but Yoongi is already sitting up. He’s hunched over a little, hands pressed over his face and Namjoon furrows his eyebrows, “You okay?”

“I feel like shit,” comes Yoongi’s muffled voice but Namjoon can hear the scratchiness in it, the raspy tone Yoongi has, “Did you turn the heat down?”

“Yeah it was like a fuckin’ sauna in here.”

“And now it’s like a fuckin’ igloo.”

Namjoon frowns, pulling on a pair of boxers and slipping a shirt over his head, “Let me feel your forehead.”

Yoongi doesn’t argue and that worries Namjoon, who takes in the worse than usual bags under Yoongi’s eyes and the almost deathly quality of Yoongi’s cheeks. His forehead is blazing under Namjoon’s palm and Namjoon watches as Yoongi leans into him, vulnerable and sick under his touch.

“You have a fever,” Namjoon tells him quietly.

Yoongi snorts, “No shit Sherlock. Your hands feel nice.”

“Here, lay back down, I’ll get you another blanket,” Namjoon pushes on Yoongi’s shoulders and Yoongi struggles against him.

“Can’t. We have a deadline to meet and we still-”

“You look like death incarnate and you’re seriously going to tell me you’re okay to work? Lay the fuck down.”

“Don’t take that tone of voice with me,” Yoongi quips, but let’s Namjoon manhandle him under the blankets.

“Then stop being so goddamn stubborn all the time,” Namjoon throws back and Yoongi kicks his leg up and hits Namjoon’s side lightly, “Go back to sleep. I’ll check on you in a bit.”

“I don’t need you to take care of me,” Yoongi protests, “What are you- don’t tuck me in I’m not a child!”

“Your attitude right now says otherwise,” Namjoon deadpans and Yoongi grumbles, “I’ll be back. Do not get up.”

“You’re not the boss of me,” Yoongi says, always the one to try and have the last word. Namjoon just pats him condescendingly on his hip, grabs his phone, and slips out of the room.

He dials a number and puts the phone up to his ear. After a few moments, a soft voice picks up on the other line and Namjoon sighs into the receiver.

“Mom? I need your help…”

An hour later Namjoon has managed to make a decent breakfast of lopsided pancakes with cinnamon in them like Yoongi likes and some liquid medicine he found in their bathroom cabinet. Namjoon can’t remember the last time he bought medicine, but apparently Yoongi is adamant on keeping it stocked. There are throat lozenges, bandages, and enough Advil to last them for years. Sometimes, Namjoon really loves Yoongi.

“Yoongi?” Namjoon calls quietly, pushing the door open with his hip as he balances Yoongi’s breakfast and medicine in his hands, “Are you awake?”

“Joonie?” Yoongi mumbles, voice sounding worse as its more scratchy and laden with sleep, “Joonie lay down with me please, I’m so cold.”

Namjoon can feel his heart squeezing in his chest as he softly sits down on the edge of the bed so as to not jostle Yoongi, but the point is moot as Yoongi rolls over and curls himself around Namjoon.

“You need to eat something,” Namjoon tells him, threading his fingers through Yoongi’s hair.

Yoongi makes a small sound and shakes his head, “Don’t wanna.”

“You didn’t eat dinner last night, so you need to eat something or you’re gonna make yourself sick. You also need to drink some water and this medicine.”

Yoongi just shakes his head again, pressing his face into Namjoon’s thigh. Namjoon scratches at Yoongi’s scalp and Yoongi sighs under his ministrations, opening a crusty eye to look up at him.

“At least eat half of one? I almost burned my arm making these and now I have to wash so many dishes and I-”

“Okay, okay, Christ,” Yoongi groans, slowly pushing himself up and letting the blanket pool around his waist, “Hand me the goddamn plate.”

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea; your arms look a little weak. Here, let me feed you.”

“Namjoon you are not-” Yoongi tries to look intimidating by glaring, but it’s not as effective when his bangs are sweaty and he’s shivering in his boxers and t-shirt and his lips are twisted into an unconscious pout.

Yoongi’s mouth is poised and open to continue to complain and refuse, but Namjoon rolls his eyes and takes the opportunity to pop a piece of pancake into Yoongi’s mouth. Yoongi chokes on it for half a second before he glares vehemently at Namjoon as he chews.

“I can feed myself,” he grumbles, keeping his mouth firmly shut until Namjoon has another piece speared and ready to go.

“I know you can, I just don’t want you dropping anything in the bed because then I’ll have to clean it so you’ll stop bitching even though you’re the one who-”

“Okay I get it!” Yoongi huffs and then coughs, doubling over as he wheezes.

Namjoon frowns, placing a comforting hand on Yoongi’s back as he rubs at his blazing skin, trying to help ease the irritation. Yoongi straightens up after a moment and his eyes are red-rimmed and glossy from how hard he’d been coughing.

“Did you bring any milk?” Yoongi asks, voice low and scratchy and Namjoon honestly feels bad for him.

“No, my mom said it’ll irritate your throat.”

Yoongi squeezes his eyes shut and a small, coughing tear cascades down his pale cheek and Namjoon is quick to wipe it away.

“Let me get you a glass of water and then you can take your medicine okay? If you promise not to drop the plate I’ll let you feed yourself,” Namjoon teases, threading a hand through Yoongi’s hair and even though Yoongi looks pissed he leans into Namjoon’s touch.

“I’m going to kill you,” is all Yoongi says as he accepts the plate from Namjoon, “Please hurry.”

Namjoon nods and kisses his finger to boop Yoongi’s nose before he bounces off the bed, causing Yoongi to let out a small shout as Namjoon slips out the door.

When Namjoon gets back into the room, a glass of water in his hand, Yoongi is chewing slowly and glaring at the bottle of medicine. Honestly, Yoongi hasn’t stopped glaring since he woke up.

“I can’t take liquid medicine,” he bluntly tells Namjoon, who raises an eyebrow.

“Why?” Namjoon exchanges the glass for the plate and sets the plate on the end of the bed.

“I can’t stand the taste, it’ll make me throw up. Especially grape,” Yoongi winkles his nose, “It doesn’t even taste like grape. It tastes like death.”

“Then why did you buy it?” Namjoon laughs, grabbing the bottle from the bed side table.

“Because you like liquid medicine,” Yoongi informs him, “Do we have any pills?”

“Mom said you should-”

“Well your mom isn’t the one taking the medicine, is she?” Yoongi snarks and Namjoon raises an eyebrow, a flash of irritation running across his face.

“Don’t talk about my mom like that, she and I are only trying to help,” Namjoon tells him, a hard tone in his voice.

“Well you’re doing a pretty shitty job; milk doesn’t irritate your throat it coats it and stops you from coughing.”

Namjoon grits his teeth. He hates when Yoongi gets like this, all prissy and upset because he’s not feeling good and taking it out on everyone else, namely Namjoon and Namjoon’s mom who thankfully isn’t around to receive his abuse.

“I can’t take the liquid medicine and I’m going back to sleep, so leave,” and Yoongi unceremoniously pulls the blanket over his head as he turns over onto his side, back facing Namjoon.

“Fine. Have a nice nap, asshole,” Namjoon snaps, angrily bundling up the plate, glass, and medicine, “Hope it fucking helps better than my mom and I.”

Yoongi is silent as Namjoon leaves, loudly shutting the door behind him.

Namjoon is seething as he throws half the pancake away, dumping the glass and plate so harshly in the sink he’s surprised he didn’t break them and throwing the medicine somewhere on the counter. He stands for a moment in the kitchen, gripping the counter tightly with white knuckles as he breathes in and out. He knows it’s just Yoongi’s fever and irritation talking, but Namjoon is still allowed to be mad about it. No matter how bad Yoongi feels doesn’t give him the right to talk badly about Namjoon’s mom.

Part of Namjoon wants to leave, go to studio and hash out some ideas with Hoseok, because he’s mad and he doesn’t want to be around Yoongi if he’s going to be like this. But he also knows that no matter how mad he may be at Yoongi in the current moment, he’ll feel bad about leaving Yoongi alone five seconds after he steps foot outside their apartment.

Sighing, Namjoon lets go of the counter to settle himself in the living, where his laptop is. His headphones at home aren’t the best to work with, but at least he’ll be able to get a little bit of work done. So Namjoon tries to relax into their slightly shitty couch and put some jingles together.

Namjoon has and always will be the kind of person who gets utterly sucked into their work as he hunches over his laptop, foot tapping slightly as he moves some levers around on his program and presses a few buttons to change instruments around. His shoulders are tight and his leg is bouncing from a combination of anxiety and tiredness and he can’t remember the last time he blinked, but the jingle is coming along pretty well. He still has the last few seconds to figure out, because their client had specifically requested that it be catchy and attention getting, but he’s pleased overall with the tune.

But even if Namjoon is engrossed in work, it doesn’t mean he doesn’t notice Yoongi awkwardly standing beside the couch, shuffling his feet even though Namjoon can’t see it from the way their comforter is wrapped around him like a cocoon. Namjoon isn’t going to acknowledge him though, at least not yet. He’s going to let Yoongi sweat this one out a little.

Eventually Yoongi gets tired of standing because he takes a seat at the far end of the couch, away from Namjoon but with his body angled towards him. It’s obvious Yoongi is waiting for Namjoon to say something first, but Namjoon isn’t going to give him the satisfaction.

Yoongi stays quiet and still for a few minutes, silently watching Namjoon work, but after five minutes he scoots over on his cushion a bit. And then three minutes later he’s scooting over on his cushion a bit more. And then a minute later he’s doing it again, until he’s on the middle cushion, the comforter brushing up against Namjoon’s arm. Namjoon still doesn’t acknowledge him.

He feels Yoongi lean into him slightly, the pressure getting harder against Namjoon’s arm. Namjoon still doesn’t look up. From his peripheral he can see Yoongi’s eyebrows are knitted tightly together, upset Namjoon won’t say anything. Yoongi continues to lean into Namjoon, putting a little more weight on his arm each minute until he’s fully resting against Namjoon, head laying on his shoulder and his legs tucked under his body.

Finally, Namjoon thinks Yoongi has suffered enough, so without saying anything he fully straightens up, which causes Yoongi to flail for a few minutes until he falls face-first into Namjoon’s lap, his arms uselessly trapped inside his blanket cocoon.

“Ouch,” Yoongi whines, struggling to sit up or even move, “Joon that hurt my nose.”

“Sorry,” Namjoon supplies, but he doesn’t sound sorry at all.

Yoongi seems to catch onto this because Namjoon can see the little downturn of his lips as they morph into a frown and he gives up picking himself off Namjoon’s lap, settling for turning his head so he can at least look at Namjoon. Namjoon feels a little bad when he sees Yoongi actually looks guilty.

Neither of them are one for beating around the bush, which is good for their relationship because there’s no cat and mouse game trying to figure out how to fix fights. They fight, they give each other time to cool off, they come back together and talk it over and make up.

Now is one of those times as Yoongi says in a soft voice, maintaining eye contact, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have been a dick earlier about the medicine and your mom. Especially your mom. You didn’t tell her, did you? She already hates me, that would just make it worse.”

Namjoon shakes his head, “No I didn’t tell her. I didn’t want to hurt her feelings.”

Yoongi’s frown deepens, “Thank you.”

They’re silent for a few seconds, Yoongi looking imploringly up at Namjoon.

“I didn’t mean it, you know that right? Anything I said. I was just sick and mad at myself for being sick and I took it out on you and I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry Joon, I really am.”

Namjoon nods, “Good, you should be. It was uncalled for; I would have went and got you pills if you had just asked.”

“I know you would have, you’d do anything for me,” Yoongi acquiesces, forehead wrinkled.

“I don’t know about anything,” Namjoon laughs and Yoongi’s face smooths out, “Apology accepted.”

Namjoon helps Yoongi up into a sitting position and Yoongi offers him a weak smile.

“Let’s go back to bed, more sleep will do you good.”

Yoongi nods, relief evident on his face, “I’m going to hate myself for saying this later, but thank God. I have such a hard time sleeping when you’re not there.”

Namjoon grins cockily at him and Yoongi rolls his eyes, “I was right I already hate myself.”

Namjoon laughs as he manhandles back to their bedroom, but he’s not sure how much it can be considered manhandling if the other party lets him. Regardless, they fall into bed together, Namjoon unrolling Yoongi from their comforter so he can drape it over the both of them. Yoongi settles overtop of Namjoon, one arm wrapped around Namjoon’s waist and the other under Namjoon’s neck. Namjoon in turn has one hand on Yoongi’s back, rubbing at his still hot to the touch skin, and the other on Yoongi’s cheek, petting soothingly at his face.

Yoongi must not have been lying about sleeping better with Namjoon, because he’s out in seconds. Namjoon just smiles and continues to hold him, placing soft kisses against his nose every so often.

Yoongi feels and looks better when they wake up, later in the night. He’s still hot to the touch, but his cheeks have gained a little color and he’s actually hungry, so Namjoon makes the both of them ramen.

“Thanks Joon,” Yoongi tells him as they slurp at noodles on the couch, knocking his arm into Namjoon’s.

“You’re welcome. Honestly, I should get a prize for putting up with your sick ass.”

“You do get a prize: me.”

Namjoon snorts and swallows some broth down his air pipe, choking as he also laughs at Yoongi’s cheesy comment. Yoongi in turn glares at him with dusty cheeks, the embarrassment clear on his face which he only cements further by saying, “Serves you right.”

When Namjoon gets his breathing under control, he grabs his and Yoongi’s bowls to set them on the coffee table, despite Yoongi’s complains. And then he attacks Yoongi’s face with kisses.

“Namjoon!” Yoongi shouts, unable to defend himself against Namjoon’s larger stature, “Namjoon you’re crushing me!”

“My cute baby. My sick baby. My cute sick baby,” Namjoon lands as many kisses on Yoongi’s face as he can with Yoongi’s thrashing around, “I’d take care of your sick ass every day for the rest of my life if it meant I got you as my prize.”

Yoongi lets out a bark of laughter as Namjoon kisses his ear particularly loud, finally giving up fighting against Namjoon and instead places a hand on the back of Namjoon’s neck to bring him into a kiss. Namjoon smiles at his success as he settles more comfortably on top of Yoongi.

“Every day huh?” Yoongi asks, barely moving back from Namjoon to speak, “In sickness and in health, you could even say?’

Yoongi’s eyes are sparkling, the happiness radiating off him even in his sick state, looking so striking under Namjoon and Namjoon can’t believe he gets Yoongi all to himself.

“For richer or poor,” Namjoon says, laying a hand lovingly on Yoongi’s cheek.

“Until death do us part,” Yoongi finishes, quietly, bringing Namjoon down for an infinitely softer kiss.

“I love you,” Namjoon says into Yoongi’s mouth, tilting Yoongi’s head back so Namjoon can kiss him deeper.

“I love you,” Yoongi tells him.

It’s a beautiful, comfortable moment that Yoongi ruins by sneezing into Namjoon’s face, who shouts and throws himself off the couch, falling onto the floor as Yoongi laughs.

Namjoon ends up getting sick and Yoongi ends up peacing out.

“I love you but I am unequipped to deal with sick people, sorry,” Yoongi shrugs, like it’s no big deal as he puts his high tops on, ready to go to the studio to work with Hoseok, “I called Seokjin to come take care of you. I’ll let you know when I’m on my way home so you can tell me what you want for dinner. Bye.”

“What happened to ‘in sickness and in health’?!” Namjoon shouts after him, the sound of the door closing being his answer, “What an asshole.”

Fifteen minutes later, the door to their apartment is jiggling open and Namjoon hears what can only be the rustling of the bags Seokjin had brought over.

“Can you believe how much of an asshole Yoongi is leaving me in my time of need? I swear, he’s such an ingrate-”

“What a way to talk about your boyfriend who went to get your sick ass medicine,” Yoongi sniffs from the front door, struggling to kick his high tops off with no hands.

“I don’t know why you wear those, you’re always complaining about them,” Namjoon observes, comfortable on the couch as he watches Yoongi almost fall over.

Yoongi points a threatening finger at him, “Do you want me to leave you to rot?”

“Kind of, yeah.”

Yoongi rolls his eyes, finally getting his shoes off and making his way to the kitchen, “I called your mom and she told me how to make that soup your grandma used to make you when you were younger. Don’t blame me if it ends up tasting like shit.”

Namjoon smiles as he snuggles down into the couch, feeling utter contentment, despite the looming death, that’s only heightened when Yoongi comes in to briefly check on him and presses a kiss to his forehead.

“Sleep well Joon.”

#bts #bts fanfiction #bts imagine #min yoongi #min yoongi fanfiction #min yoongi imagine #kim namjoon #kim namjoon fanfiction #kim namjoon imagine #sugamon #sugamon fanfiction #sugamon imagine #rating: pg-13 #skswriting

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