Tumgik
#you all can feel free to keep sending boops if you wish though
skyward-floored · 29 days
Text
Okay I'm starting to get dizzy, I think I'm done for the day XD
15 notes · View notes
angstywishes · 2 years
Note
Hands ✨
ok so this took me a minute because i. may have gotten a little carried away with it. buuut introducing irene and jasper finally! ^_^
(CW: needles, hand trauma/fingore obviously, toxic behavior, possessive whumper, some blood of course, this is kind of just abusive buildup till it gets to hand gore)
(wc: 920 oh my god)
“You have such nice hands,” Irene hums thoughtfully, running a thumb over the metacarpal bones, feeling the individual bumps breaking up the soft flesh. “It’s a shame you’ve done so much damage to them with all that work.”
Jasper is trying desperately to hold still. Just.. Hold still. Maybe she’ll get bored if he holds still. Maybe she won’t do anything at all.
She tilts her head inquisitively, deep in thought. Jasper hates it when she does that. When she looks like she’s coming up with an idea. There’s always a more than likely chance it will be something that hurts.
“You know, with a little work, we could make this into art.” She’s inspecting his hands closer, and he feels his heart in his throat. Art. She says it like nothing could be more normal. Like she means finger painting, or nail art. But he knows better.
He avoids looking at her, though he can feel her eyes boring into him. Like a sculptor trying to find the shape in their clay.
“Don’t you think? Maybe some embroidery, or some carving..” Irene idly fiddles with Jasper’s fingers. Her eyes light up with an idea. “I could stitch them all together and you’d never have to ruin your pretty hands again.”
He swallows, hard, eyes focused on the floor. What can he say? What can he do? His fingers twitch in Irene’s hand, and she laughs a bit.
“Don’t be nervous. It wouldn’t take long, if you held still.” She uses her free hand to lift Jasper’s chin, forcing eye contact. His green eyes reflect her white teeth as she smiles softly. “It might even be convenient, you know. It would make it so much easier for me to leave you at home all alone.”
Jasper finds it in himself to speak.
“What if — What if you need my help with things, though?” His mouth feels dry. He’s grasping at straws, really. “Holding, uh, needles, or something?”
“Silly, I can do that without your help.” She boops his nose affectionately. And Jasper wishes he were still able to fight back, as Irene stands up to go find her good thread. He wishes he could still run out that door. But wishing doesn’t do much for him now.
“Irene,” he rasps desperately as she returns, needle in hand, “Please, don’t — don’t do this.”
Her face falls. He regrets opening his mouth.
“Jasper..” She sits back down next to him, hands shaking a little. “You understand that this is for you, right? I’m doing this for you.”
He can’t tell if her shaking is from anxiety, or anger. Maybe both.
“And — All I want to do is show you how.. Important, you are to me. You know that, right? Right?”
Her voice is getting slightly more shrill as she continues, her hand tightly gripping the needle. She curls her fist around it, and slams it into the table, making Jasper flinch.
She takes a deep breath, and smiles again.
“I’m.. Sorry, Jasper, what were you saying, again?”
“..N.. Nothing, Irene.” He ducks his head, and puts his hands on the table in front of him.
Irene’s smile becomes more natural as she lifts one of Jasper’s hands, sighing softly.
“That’s what I thought. Now, this won’t take too long.”
It’s a lie.
The pain is excruciating — the needle sends a shock through his nerves, and the thread trails through for what feels like forever.
He can’t bring himself to watch the white thread being pulled through and turning red.
He bites down on his lip to keep from screaming. Irene hates it when he screams, but every stitch makes him want to cry. His hand twitches in pain, pulling one of the stitches tight, and he loses out against instinct as a sob pries itself free from his throat.
Irene pulls the next stitch tighter, and he presses his forehead into the table to suppress his cries. He wants to curl his fingers into his palms and hide, but he can’t.
“You’re being so good for me, Jasper,” Irene says gently, and Jasper whines in response. He doesn’t want to be good. He just wants to go home.
His hands won’t stop shaking, which makes everything hurt worse.
“This would be going so much faster if I were using my sewing machine,” the artist muses. Jasper stops breathing for a moment. “But your hands are too big, so this will have to do.”
Thank god, thank god, he can start breathing again.
He feels lightheaded. He can’t tell how long has passed since they started — Every so often his vision goes white with pain.
The needle moves in and out of the sides of his fingers, doubling back and stitching again for strength. The thread is blood red. The needle is so sharp it slides right through him like he’s nothing. He thinks he might throw up.
They must be done by now, surely. He can’t take any more.
“There we are,” Irene sings, “Oh, it looks so pretty!”
Jasper can’t look. He won’t.
He brings his teary eyes to his hand, and chokes out a sob. His fingers are completely stitched together. He can’t even bend them properly. He screws his eyes shut, not wanting to look anymore.
At least it’s over, he thinks.
“Do you like it?” Irene’s voice cuts through him. Despite everything, Jasper swallows every terrible thing he wants to say and nods.
“Good!” She puts down his hand. “Now I can move on to your other one.”
12 notes · View notes
momolady · 3 years
Text
Werewolf Boyfriend: Dante 3
Tumblr media
What happens when a  lone wolf starts to hate the lone part? You find out personally.
Female Reader x Male Monster (both cis)
It’s hard to talk about. You figured you would be done with crushes by now in your life, and you never expected to have feelings for the guy who’s actually the werewolf you’ve been afraid of for three years. Dante has become one of your favorite people to talk to, and there are times you forget what he actually is. Not only that, it’s hard to make your argument sound like an actual issue when all you can say is ‘I like this guy I met on vacation’. Rather than the truth, which is, ‘Three years ago I met this guy as a wolf, then met him again as a human, and now I like him, even though I was scared of the wolf.’
“Well, does he feel the same way?” Miri asks after you’ve spilled most of the beans. You still keep Dante’s secret identity close to your chest.
You shrug. “I don’t think so. It’s hard to tell over texts.”
Miri glances out the window at the rain. “Well, I know the place he works at. It’s expensive and fancy. You should at least go for the free vacation. And it’s one-on-one time. You can find out if he feels the same, or if you two are supposed to be friends.”
“I don’t want to take advantage of the offer,” you protest.
“He offered, and you said he would be working a lot.” Miri motions to the envelope under your elbow. “You’re mailing him an invitation to the play, so you know you want to see him.”
You tuck the envelope back. “Yes, I want to see him.” You wish you could just get out all your thoughts and concerns now. There’s more to the situation than Miri knows, but the only person you can talk to about that is the person you’re talking about.
Miri beams. “Then go have an amazing winter vacation. Take my skis, and my teddy.”
You frown. “Teddy? Your Care Bear?”
Miri gives you a sarcastic look. “You work in theatre , how do you not know what a teddy is? It’s lingerie.”
“Ew,” you cringe. “I don’t wanna wear something Arnie has jizzed on.”
Miri rolls her eyes. “Do you even have any sexy lingerie? Just in case anything comes up? A snowstorm traps you in the cabin, and you seek his big hairy arms for warmth?”
“Just how many romance novels do you consume a week?” you scoff.
“Only my AO3 account knows for sure. But that isn’t the point, young lady. You still haven’t answered my question. What do you own that is sexy?”
You scrunch up your face as you think. “I have a shirt with Betty Boop on it.”
“Oh my god, no.”
Later on, you send Dante a message asking for his address so you can send him the invitation to the play. You don’t expect to hear from him until much later that evening, but he replies fairly quickly.
“Shouldn’t you be working?” you ask.
“I got injured today at work, so they sent me home.”
Your heart nearly stops. “You got hurt? Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Didn’t think it was something I had to share. It wasn’t anything bad, they just sent me back to rest as a precaution.”
“Well? What was it?”
A picture comes through of his foot, which is bandaged and bruised to heck. “Some kid on a snowmobile ran over me.”
“How is that not serious?”
“I can still walk.”
You grumble under your breath. This isn’t new, you’ve always fretted when your brother or dad got hurt during one of their hunting excursions. You spent a summer doting on your brother when he broke his leg falling out of a hunter’s watch. “Are you icing it?”
“I stick it out the window from time to time.”
“I’m being serious!”
“I’ve had worse. Really. This is no big deal to me. If my invite the other day seemed weird, I’m sorry. Most of my friends already work here, and the idea I could actually invite someone was a surprise.”
“It wasn’t weird,” you reply.
“It’s just when my boss mentioned it, the first person I thought of was you.”
You can’t take this. Those last eight words are making your heart tumble and leap.
“I’ll be working most of the time,” he says. “So you would have a whole cabin and the amenities of the place to yourself.”
“I’m very flattered,” you answer. “Let me figure out my schedule. Right now the play is only getting started.”
“It’s okay, no worries. I’ll be here until March.”
You won’t be able to go to the winter resort until after the play deuts, and even then it’s questionable. Luckily, your production staff are handling things better than the last time, so you feel okay about requesting time off. You figure the first week of December won’t be too bad. You’ll leave after having Thanksgiving with your families, and go directly to the resort. You’re nervous, especially since your feelings for Dante have been shifting. It’s no longer a crush, but genuine feelings mixed with real friendship.
Once you get off the shuttle that takes you from the airport to the resort, you feel a sense of calm come over you. This will be good for you, and quite possibly help you completely conquer your fear. Your dreams have helped.
The front of the resort is like any other, a big building meant to look like a cabin and decorated for the holiday season. While attendants unloaded luggage from the shuttle you look around, hoping to see Dante before you go inside to find out where you’re staying. You see your luggage come off the bus, but right as you reach for it, one of the attendants hefts it on his shoulder.
“Is something wrong?” you ask in alarm.
It isn’t until he lifts his head and you see his dark blue eyes that you recognize him. “Seriously? You didn’t even notice me?”
“Dante!” you exclaim. “I didn’t recognize you with the beard.”
He strokes his beard and grins. “Yeah, I grow everything out during the winter.” He nods his head towards a snowmobile. “Come on, I’ll get you to the cabin.”
“What’s everything?” you ask as you follow him.
Dante takes off his hat and puts it on your head. “You’re gonna need this.” He attaches your luggage to a shelf on the back, then helps you on. “You’ll want to hold on,” he says as he revs the machine up. He puts on goggles and places thicker mittens over his gloves. Then he speeds off and you cling to him, placing your face against his back. He pulls up to a cabin just outside the fancy rental ones. It’s smaller than the rest, but it still looks nice, although the view is mostly dense trees. Dante helps you down and takes your bag for you.
“I’ve got your room set up and I went shopping the other day, so maybe you won’t starve,” he says with a smirk.
Inside the cabin is warm, filled with a faint cinnamon scent. Considering it’s for employees, there’s nothing very fancy about the place aside from brightly colored rugs that look like they were made in the nineties. Dante takes you to a room in the back and lays your luggage on the bed. “This is all yours for your stay. This door is the closet, that door is the bathroom. And the WiFi password is on the back of the heater remote.”
“It’s nice,” you remark. “Thanks again for inviting me. I usually don’t get to travel much. This year has been a bit different for me.”
Dante takes off his gloves. “Same here.” He runs his fingers through his thicket of hair. Back at the cabins, it was shorter, now, but now it’s becoming long enough to tie in a ponytail, maybe even braid.
“I wish I grew hair like that,” you say. “It takes mine ages to grow out.”
“Kind of goes with the territory,” he chuckles. “You don’t like the beard, do you?”
“No, it’s great! I mean...” You quickly cover as he starts to laugh. “I’m just not used to you having it yet!”
“It helps up here, keeps me from getting too chapped. But I’ll let you get settled and unpacked. I have to go meet the next shuttle and do a tour.” He takes his hat back from you. “Make yourself at home.”
As the front door shuts, you stand there in the silence. The snow outside muffles all sounds, but you can hear birds and people shouting in the distance. You open your bag, and as you begin to unpack, you find a stowaway amongst your belongings - a brown paper bag with Miri’s name scrawled out on the front. She’s written a note too. “I got you a present! Enjoy being a snow bunny.”
“Dear god, what have you done?” You open the bag and find clothes inside. There’s a matching set of bra and panties, lavender with black straps and accents, a matching silk robe, and a pair of fishnet stockings. “What sort of slutty fairy godmother are you?” you grumble under your breath. You shove all the things back into the paper bag, then stuff the bag into a drawer. You finish unpacking, then hook your phone up to the WiFi. Then you lie on the bed for a while, just dicking around on your phone.
After a while, you hear the door open and shut. “Hello? Anyone here?”
“No.” You get up off the bed and walk out to see a snow-covered Dante shucking off layers at the door. “Off already?”
“It started to snow pretty hard, so the tour got cancelled.” He peels off the final layer to reveal the dark red flannel he’s wearing. “I brought some of the fancy coffee from the gathering hall.”
You smile as you look to the big cups on the counter. “How fancy?”
“The bag of beans costs thirty bucks.”
You take one of the cups and breathe in the deep, heavenly scent. “Oh god, I wish I was rich.”
Dante points to the fridge. “There’s creamer and stuff in the fridge. Sugar is in that ugly bear jar.”
“Ugly bear?” You finch when you actually see the sugar jar. It’s kind of green, and the glazed elements look gloopy. The bear's face is saggy and tight in all the wrong places. “Why won’t you put it out of its misery?”
“I think it’s cursed.” He walks off to another room. You open the fridge, shocked to find a large amount of cinnamon-flavored products. There’s cinnamon creamer, cinnamon cakes, cinnamon cream cheese, cinnamon vodka.
Dante reenters wearing black sweatpants and a long-sleeved tee. “How are you enjoying it so far?”
“The WiFi here is amazing.”
Dante grins and laughs. “Is that all?”
“Today is my lazy day, I’ll do stuff the rest of the week.” You sit at the kitchen table and watch as Dante goes to the fridge. “You like cinnamon or something?”
“It’s good for the heart.” he says as he pours a lot of creamer into his coffee.
“Yeah, but with all that stuff, your blood must taste like a Red Hot by now.”
“Probably.” He shuts the fridge and joins you at the table. “I remember when I was a kid and some lady gave me a piece of cinnamon gum. I loved it so much.”
“You took candy from a stranger?” you ask.
He shrugs as he takes a sip of coffee. “I was thinking about ordering from the cafeteria tonight for dinner. They have a lobster bisque that’s amazing.”
“I’ll never say no to lobster,” you say with a smirk.
The first night with Dante is nice. The cabin is cozy, and the lobster bisque is amazing. You end up talking most of the night about what to do at the resort. He tells you about shortcuts around the slopes, tips you off on the best food at the cafeteria, all the inside knowledge.
He goes to work the next morning before you get up, so you enjoy the quiet before deciding to go out and about. There’s an arcade at the gathering hall, where you spend a lot of time playing old video games. You even have a round of pool with some teenagers trying to escape their parents for a while. You go back to the cabin later than you planned, and take a long, hot soak in the giant bathtub of your bathroom. You play on your phone until you get hungry, and decide to make pancakes for dinner.
Right as you’re tossing the first pancake, Dante comes into the cabin, shaking snow off. “I’ve never come home to someone cooking before,” he remarks in surprise. He takes off his scarf and approaches the counter. “You could have gone to the cafeteria.”
“I was craving pancakes.” You pour more of your special mixture into the pan. “My grandpa taught me the best recipe for them.”
“I won’t say no to that.” He goes back to his room to change, and comes back out in sweats and a long-sleeved shirt again. “What did you end up doing today?”
“I hustled some kids at pool.” You push a plate of pancakes towards him, then slap some more butter into the pan. “Go ahead and eat. I found a Pente board in the closet today. I was thinking we could play a bit.”
He arches a brow. “Pente?”
“It’s like Go but it’s different, I can teach you. My grandpa and I played all the time, so I was excited to find the board here.” You finish off your plate and join him at the table to eat.
Dante offers you some hard cider, which you enjoy. You share drinks while you teach him to play Pente, showing him how and where to move the shiny stones and ways to win. As the night goes on, you both sit over the Pente board, talking more than focusing on the game. “Seriously, you can tell me. Have you ever met a vampire?” you giggle.
Dante rolls his eyes and grins. “I seriously don’t know. All I know is that they’re albino and super-territorial.”
“What about ghosts?”
He shakes his head. “I don’t know.”
“Slenderman?”
He makes a move on the board. “Didn’t care for that movie.”
“Mothman?”
“Nice guy. I’m godfather to his kids.”
You stare at him as he grins impishly at you. “All I know is werewolves. That’s pretty much it. Whatever else is out there, I am either unaware or blissfully ignorant.”
You fidget in your seat. “Well, what about werewolves?”
Dante’s smile fades away, and he keeps his serious gaze on the Pente board. “What I know isn’t great. My mom was a loner, went from place to place on a whim. Sometimes we associated with other werewolves, hung around long enough for my mom to get what she wanted, and we were gone again.” He becomes quiet as he looks at the board, looking beyond it really. “When I was sixteen I woke up one morning to find her gone. I didn’t even want to look for her.”
“Oh god, I’m so sorry!” you exclaim. “What’d you do?”
Dante sighs and he pushes his hair out of his face. “I joined up with a pack that I knew about. They put me to work as a hunter, getting supplies for the rest of the pack. I was expendable. I got caught quite a bit, put in jail, served some time. I kept moving along, doing what my mom taught me. But I got so tired.” He looks at you with those dark blue eyes. “Werewolves have no connections. We’re raised to believe we are both human and feral, allowed to succumb to our wild side while taking advantage of human comforts. It’s not always a bad thing, not always a good thing.” He looks away and scratches at his forearm. “That’s why I was so scared when you saw me. I didn’t want to go back.”
“I don’t know what to say,” you murmur.
“There’s nothing to say, really.” He looks back at you. “I left that world. I just want to live, find a home, and take care of something.” He shrugs. “I didn’t want to be like my mother or the packs I had traveled with. I wanted to care about something other than myself.”
“So you never saw her again?” you ask quietly.
“I don’t really want to. Not now, anyway.” He sighs heavily. “I’ve never told anyone any of this. It feels nice to finally share these things.”
You smile at him warmly. “About that night,” you start. “What were you doing when I caught you?”
He chuckles and shakes his head. “Look, you’re my friend now, and I really don’t know what to say. It’s embarrassing.”
“Were you pooping? Constipated?”
Dante’s smile is both painful and genuine. “No! I was...” he sighs as he struggles with it. “There was this deer,” he says. “I hated him. Absolutely hated this deer. He would show up, make a mess with the trash can, and then trample through it. I was trying to end his reign of tyranny that night.”
“You were going to kill a deer because he was an ass? You turned into a werewolf to hunt out of pettiness?”
Dante nods. “Yeah.”
You lean back in your seat. “I preferred the pooping answer.”
“It was stupid! I told you it was embarrassing for me.” He runs his fingers through his hair, and something magical happens. In the glow of the fireplace and the warmth of the alcohol in your veins, and his own unique charm, you realize your feelings are growing deeper, taking root as they begin to blossom.
“Would you ever shift in front of me?” you ask.
He looks surprised, even a touch worried.”I thought you were afraid of that?”
“It’s you. I shouldn’t be shitting my pants at least.” You smile shyly. “It’s up to you, though. I don’t want to force anything. You’re my friend, after all.”
Dante’s warm smile grows. “Maybe,” he murmurs. “It’s nice being able to hide that side of myself around someone.”
You can’t deny you’re falling for him, werewolf and all. “It’s been a relief for me too. I’m not so afraid anymore. Maybe next summer I can actually go camping again.”
“It’s late. I should really go to bed.” Dante stands up and stretches. “I didn’t realize how much time had gone by.”
“Yeah, I’m getting pretty tired.” You clean up the game and set it aside. “Good night.” You want to kiss Dante so badly. You linger, and he does as well.
“Good night,” he bids as he goes into his room and closes the door.
You sigh heavily. “Sweet dreams I guess.” You go into your room and flop down on the bed.
In the middle of the night you hear something in the living room. You get up and wrap a blanket around yourself. Dante is by the fireplace, adding wood into the fire. His back is turned, so he doesn’t see you. He’s shirtless, so you can see his bare back has scars all over it, as do his arms. Your stomach churns as that caretaker desire revs up inside. Dante turns slightly. “What are you doing up?”
“I heard noises.” Your voice cracks.
He turns to look at you, and through the hair on his chest and belly you see more scars. “Go back to bed. I’m just making sure we don’t freeze to death.”
You want to approach and hug him, but you hold off. “Okay, just checking.” You close the door behind you and cup your hands over your face. He looked so sexy, but you felt so guilty thinking those thoughts after seeing the scars.
The next couple of days are quiet, unassuming, and a little awkward. Realizing the depth of your feelings, as well as why Dante keeps himself covered, you have no idea how to approach him ‘normally’ anymore. You're able to have a good time with him, but you feel as though you’re holding back. When you’re leaving, he takes you to the shuttle to see you off. “Let me know when you get home.”
“I will. Thanks for having me again, I really enjoyed this.”
His smile is shy, somewhat restrained. “I have the month of April to myself. Maybe we can meet up again.”
You smile brightly. “I’d like that. Oh! Don’t forget, you can come see the play too.” You hesitate getting onto the bus. There is still so much you want to say. “I have a trundle bed I never use, so...”
Dante motions to the bus. “Best get on.”
You quickly give him a hug, one you don’t want to part from. It lingers on so long that the bus driver honks the horn.
“Go on now, get.” Dante shoos you onto the train. You watch from the window, waving goodbye until you can’t see him anymore.
Upon your arrival home, Miri pokes her head out of her bedroom, looking like the cat who ate the canary. “So? How did it go?”
You glare back at her viciously, and she flinches. “Yikes. Not good?”
You plop down at the table and sigh. “It was great. I had fun. I really enjoyed being able to hang out with him.”
Miri cocks her brow. “But?”
You lean into your palm. “But I think we are only friends.”
“So... my gift?”
You point to your luggage. “Never even left the bag.”
Miri sits down with you and pats your hand. “Hey it’s okay. You at least have your answer now. You can move on.”
You pout as she holds your hand. “I think I like him more than I wanted to admit.” You almost feel like crying. “I hate being human. Why can’t I be a robot?”
“Aww, babe!” Miri hugs you tight in her arms. “It’ll be okay. I’ll go out and buy ice cream later, and we can cry on the sofa.”
“Sounds nice,” you mutter. “I just gotta tell him I made it back safe.” You take out your phone and send Dante the update.
Later in the day, he answers. “Good! Glad you made it home.”
“I bet you fucking are,” you grumble at your phone screen.
Another text pops up. “It’s kind of lonesome now. I’ve never had a cabin to myself so this is weird.”
You pout as you read his messages.
“Thanks for coming. I really did like having you.”
You whine to yourself as you reply. “I usually don’t like the cold, but I had fun with you. Maybe again next year, another friends’ vacation.”
“Yeah, friends’ vacation.”
584 notes · View notes
hunflowers · 3 years
Text
okay inspired by dwd suit wearing harry :) enjoy *nose boops*
Tumblr media Tumblr media
You haven’t seen Harry in a couple months now. At least not physically, what with guidelines for his new movie and the restrictions of quarantine in general.
Whenever his name does pop up on your phone you can’t hide the smile that breaks out onto your face, especially when it’s a facetime call so you can see him in real time. This day however was a little different. He texted you bright and early -- at least for him because of the time difference -- saying he won’t be able to talk much because a busy day lies ahead of him. A frown nestled into your features at the misfortune, but you replied back with understanding.
Whenever his name does pop up on your phone you can’t hide the smile that breaks out onto your face, especially when it’s a facetime call so you can see him in real time. This day however was a little different. He texted you bright and early -- at least for him because of the time difference -- saying he won’t be able to talk much because a busy day lies ahead of him. A frown nestled into your features at the misfortune, but you replied back with understanding.
It came as a surprise a couple hours later though, when he texted you a picture of himself in a full body mirror, adorned in a caribbean blue suit and a matching striped tie, with the message of Do you like it?
Your mouth dropped at the sight, and you’re pretty sure a bit of saliva slipped past your lips too. His hair was parted in meticulous manner that truly gave him the proper 50s vibe, and his clean shaven face was the true cherry on top that had your heart beating in your chest. You wanted to pull him close, preferably by the tie around his neck, and plaster lipstick stains across his jaw while carding your fingers through his hair, tugging slightly as you rocked your hips together.
You had to close your legs at the wormhole your brain was going into, biting your lip into your mouth as you wished he were next to you. I like it a lot :(
Why the sad face?
Because I want to rip it off of you.
You giggled as you saw the daunting three dots appear then disappear a few times, before he replied with a quick Don’t start. He’s at work, so it’s selfish to rile him up especially when it seems he’s about to shoot his next scene, but you couldn’t stop the wink face you sent back along with:
Can’t stop thinking of me on my knees for you. 
Wouldn’t you like that? 
Unbuttoning your pants and pulling the zipper down with my teeth just like you taught? Leaving the whole suit on as you fuck my mouth? 
Hearing me gagging for you, choking on you as I feel you down my throat.
As much as you think you’re making him suffer, you’ve punished yourself just as badly. You were mindlessly watching your current TV fixation, sipping on a glass of wine, but now all you could think about was him and how he wasn’t by your side to help you out. 
When Harry hadn’t responded for a couple minutes, you had half the mind to shove your hand in your panties and finish the job, and you were about to do it too, but you heard the familiar text tone. You pulled your phone close to you and read his daring message, causing you to bite your lip back into your mouth. 
We’ll finish this later.
But then about an hour or so later you got another text from him, this time a picture of him in a brown suit with another tie to match. He said nothing aside from a teasing smiley face, because he knew the game he was playing. The brown one brought out the color of his eyes more, making you ogle just a little harder than the first, and making you crave him even more.
So, you got up from your spot on the couch and marched up to your room to find something to send back. You searched high and low for something worth your time until you finally found a time-piece. A light blue, see-through babydoll dress that you hadn’t worn since your first anniversary together. It came with a matching light blue thong and lace collar piece that you remember Harry practically frothing over the sight.
You quickly changed into it, and pulled your hair back before stepping closer to the full-length mirror in your closet. You angled yourself in a desirable way, and even brought your free hand’s thumb up to your mouth and nibbled on the tip of it as you snapped the picture. Satisfied with the photo on the fourth try, you sent it with a taunting caption of a typed heart.
He opened your message almost instantaneously, but had left you on read which caused your heart to sink a bit in your chest. But, you attributed it to him being called to set and picked your chin up and waltzed back downstairs in your new attire. You picked up your wine glass and continued with your show, simply waiting.
As time ticked on and your body grew sleepier, you were tempted to call it a night and text him saying you would continue this — whatever this is — tomorrow. But you kept your determination, because you missed your boyfriend and even if he couldn’t touch you, you knew he was going to make you cum. And besides, just when you started doubting him, that’s when he decided to ring you.
You picked up the phone giddily, the connecting ... under his name taunting you before his beautiful face popped up on your screen. You were ready to chirp a greeting at him, excited to talk to him after a long day but he was quicker to the punch.
“Y/N... y’had to send that while I’m working, did ya? Fuck, babe, do you understand how difficult it was to focus on set with that at the back of m’mind?” He ran his ring-less fingers through his shorter hair, and you noticed he was back in his hotel room. That’s a good thing, you thought, now you had no restrictions.
You pouted at him mockingly, “Oh no, you poor thing.”
He blinked at you once, then twice, before stating, “Get up. Let me see you.”
Because you were still downstairs, you trekked back up to your room, going over to the original mirror you took the photo in before flipping the camera around and showcasing yourself. You toyed with the hem of the dress, picking it a bit to give him a better viewing of your panties, to which he groaned in response.
“I’ve missed that little number. Remember the night you wore it? Could hardly walk for days after.”
You let out a breath at the thought, bringing your hand down and slightly grazing your throbbing clit for him to see, just at the mere thought.
He continued, “But that’s why you put it on isn’t it? Because you know it’s my favorite and I’m not there to put my hands on you. You wanted to get back at me for the pictures I sent — which, hardly even compare.”
You nodded your head in response, flipping the camera back around to face you as you stepped out of the closet and onto your bed. “Want you to miss me just as much as I miss you.”
“Oh, baby.... Words can’t describe how much I miss you. Look, I’ll show you how much I miss you,” and then the next thing you know, is he’s flipping the camera around and showing you his very hard cock.
You couldn’t help but moan at the sight, your free hand dipping into your baby blue thong and swiping your dripping folds and circling your wetness across your clit. “Show me how much you miss me too.”
You flipped your camera back around, letting him see your fingers slowly working your clit, hidden beneath the fabric of your panties. He groaned, telling you to give him a closer look, so — as comfortably as you could — you pushed your thong to the side and angled your phone so he had a better view of your soaked pussy.
“Shit Y/N– Push two fingers inside, imagine it’s me doing it,” he told, and you could see his fist beginning to pump his cock at a faster rate, him most likely imagining your smaller hand stroking him just like you usually do. You listened to him, inserting your ring and middle finger inside your wet hole, while keeping the heel of your palm pressed against your sensitive bud.
“Baby... I need you so bad,” you whined, softly hitting your front wall as you curled your fingers, before fastening your movements — like you know he would.
You watched him spread his precum around his shaft, paying extra attention to his tip before he thrusted his hips up into hand. “Ugh- I know baby, I need you too. Just a little while longer. Fuck yourself for me, y’can do that can’t you?”
You hummed back, picking up the pace of your hand, going the extra mile and pushing a third finger inside, causing you to screw your eyes shut in ecstasy.
“Wish it was you fucking me right now. Your big cock inside my tight pussy - shit - you fill me so good.”
You heard him groan at your words, mumbling a quiet ‘keep going,’ because he’s always been a fan of your dirty talk.
“Want your hand around my throat... squeezing me as I squeeze you. Wish you were hitting the spot only you could reach. God, want to feel me stretched around you, leaving me sore for days after you’re done. Do you want that too?” You felt the heat in the pit of your belly begin to stir, your palm pressing harder against your sensitivity.
“Could imagine your face pressed into the mattress as I take you from behind. Your tits in my hands — I miss them. Want m’mouth sucking on you... can’t cum yet, don’t even think about it, Y/N.”
You whined at the restriction, feeling your impending high reaching you. So, you helped him to his quicker. “H, H, H... miss having my lips around you. Love when you mess up my lipstick and it’s smeared all around you, mixed with saliva and cum. Never forget about your balls either, I kiss ‘em and suck on them, give them just the right amount of attention. Know you love when I press my finger into you too, hearing you moan until you’re coming down my throat.”
Back and forth for a few moments all you both could do was moan, wishing the other were by your side as you sent yourself into euphoric oblivion.
“Can I cum now? Please, please,” you begged, rubbing fast circles on your clit.
“So close, babe, so – holy fuck — so close,” he murmured, twisting his wrist and keeping more of his focus on the base of dick now. “G’na cum with me?”
You whispered a ‘yes’ in response, your thighs beginning to shake as your toes curled into the bed sheets. Within seconds, hot lava coursed through your body as flashes of white danced across your eyes, you back arching off the mattress. You could hear Harry hitting his climax, your eyes opening quickly to watch him spray his orgasm all over his fist and stomach. 
You nestled your head into your pillow as you brought the phone back up to your face, your eyes falling close as you let your body relax. Harry turned the camera back to him, getting up from his position to wash himself. You would get up eventually too, but you just laid and calmed yourself in the mean time as you watched him.
“Miss you,” you mumbled, tears threatening to break past your waterline as you wished you could snuggle up to him.
He looked at you, his mouth forming into a pout as you could hear the sink water running from the bathroom. “I know. Just a few more weeks and I’ll be home.”
729 notes · View notes
yeojaa · 4 years
Text
( SOMETHING COMFORTING. )
Tumblr media
Jeon Jungkook loves Overwatch, drinking games, and Halloween.  What he loves more than that?  You.
pairing.  gamer!jjk x named f!reader.
genre + rating.   idol!au set in room filled with bunnies and a cotton candy machine that’s exploded.  it’s just that fluffy.  (but also explicit cause why not.)
tags / warnings.  established relationship, gaming (overwatch), dorky weeb references, mentions of drinking, yugyeom makes an appearance (!!), fingering, soft soft soft love making in the shower. 
wc.  9.7k
beta reader(s).  the lovely @kerikaaria​​​ read through this to make sure i didn’t get too nerdy.  tysm!  💛  i may like further changes once my beloved @hobi-gif​ gets her hands on it but i’m a potato who wanted to post this quickly.  oops... 
author note.  this fulfills the “jeon jungkook” square of @btsholidaybingo​‘s bts holiday bingo 2020 and this is the couple from angels & airwaves.  while this story isn’t super plot-driven, it’s meant to be a little peek into the lives of a couple that live in my mind rent-free and continue to make me soft and gooey inside.  i hope you enjoy it!   
Tumblr media
You don’t know how he talked you into it or how it really happened.  You remember, faintly, the mention of a party.  Something about it being a small thing - just a few close friends, the members, etc.  He’d said it so offhand, like commenting on the sky or asking for another package of Choco Boys, so you hadn't given it a second thought.  If it was important, he’d bring it up again and if not, well, you hardly remembered it anyway.  Win-win or whatever.  
So you’d given up some intelligence points, traded them for space to fit more gaming knowledge.  Somewhere along the line went your memory too - the conversation wiped from your brain like Will Smith had lasered it clean. 
“Zarya’s one!  Zarya’s one—“  You’re not sure how many times you can repeat yourself, shrieking through comms to a team that doesn’t seem to want to listen.  You’re blasted into oblivion, Mercy’s prone body launched across the map as you watch your Rein fall too.  There’s an irritation bubbling in your stomach, fizzing uncomfortably like the Japanese honeydew soda you’d had at lunch.  “Zarya’s actually one!” 
No one cares.  She’s healed by the time you respawn and make it back across the map. 
“Jesus—“  Your push-to-talk remains off for that flippant comment, distaste colouring your words a bitter shade of blue.  You almost want to let your Ashe get headshot by the enemy Widow, only switching the stream from damage boosting to healing when your teammate starts spamming their hotkey.  
I need healing!  I need healing! 
What you need is a team that listens to your calls or at the very least communicates in some way.  Doesn’t seem like it’s going to happen though.  There’s near radio silence in the voice chat, the only other person remotely helpful being your bouncing booping Lucio that’s trying to keep a flanking Tracer off point.  Stupid.  You almost feel bad for him, Guardian Angeling to him when no one else seems to want to offer any support. 
Ah, the life of a support player in masters ranked.  So infuriating and yet— nope.  Just infuriating. 
You lose the first round with 1:56 to spare, to no one’s surprise.  Okay, maybe to your Reinhardt’s surprise.  He’s being surprisingly chipper in text chat, sending WP and a dorky smiley face.  You think he must volunteer at the local animal shelter and buy coffee for the people behind him in the drive-thru.  He’s far too well-adjusted, not shooting off a single accusation to anyone on the team.  A silver lining, you suppose.  
Your second round starts well enough.  Your comp is solid - as much as it can be in the current off-tank dominated meta.  Hog, Zarya, a private profiled GM Widowmaker, Tracer, Lucio, and you as Ana.  You’d prefer to play Mercy - find the most comfort in her skill set - but on an attack map, you’re not risking a headshot right out of spawn.  Broken maximum damage good stuff means healers are squishy and you don’t have your usual DPS to boost.  (He’s off doing god knows what - maybe filming an ad for Samsung or breaking the internet with his permed man bun.)
You make it through the choke without much ado.  The enemy Rein is wildly out of position, eager to make some big brained play that goes terribly wrong.  Your Lucio chuckles through voice and you join him, tossing a nade when your Zarya looks like she’s about to die to a poorly executed 360 shatter. 
“You winning?” 
It’s your boyfriend peeking over your shoulder, so close you nearly scream, mouse launched across your desk with the intensity of your reaction.  You hadn’t heard him come in, the stupid sneaky bastard as quiet as a mouse.  
(It’s not your own fault.  He knows you can’t hear anything when you’ve got your headphones on, the noise cancelling in your state of the art Sennheisers not something to scoff at.)
“Jeez, Kook!”  You want to be more mad.  Really, you do.  You’re scrambling across your desk to retrieve your mouse, squeaking a quick apology into team voice when your hero stays in one place for too long.  Luckily, Hog - previously sweet kind Rein - throws his big fat piggy self directly in front of you, effectively saving you from an otherwise miserable death at the hands of Torbjorn. 
“What?”  Jeon Jungkook has the audacity to look scandalised, shiny eyes so wide and innocent they feel more as if they belong in an early 2000s anime. 
You’re not even looking at him when you huff - too invested in your Overwatch game to give him the hell he deserves.  All you manage is a swift don’t scare me like that! as you pump your tanks back to full health.  
You notice Jungkook hasn’t moved away, still peering curiously over your shoulder.  You know he hasn’t had much time to play lately, too involved with appearances for their comeback, his schedule too packed even for you some days.  You don’t blame him when he pulls his chair up behind you, rolling into place so he’s just within your periphery. 
It’s a little distracting;  he smells good, like his - and by extension your - favourite laundry detergent and a fruity, nectarine-heavy shampoo you’d picked up for him when he’d run out of his usual.  You notice then that his hair is wet, just the wrong-side of too damp with droplets beading over his neck.  Moisture soaks into the top of his shirt and you think it might be more soaked than you can see;  it’s hard to tell when it’s a jet black shirt, one of the many he keeps in your closet for the nights he stays over.  You realise then that he must’ve been home far longer than you’d thought, if his freshly washed pink cheeks are any indication.  (Because he takes seriously long showers, nearly doubling your water bill in the year you’ve been together.) 
You want to ask what he’s doing here - you’d sworn he was busy for the next few days - but can’t find the adequate brain power to do so.  You’re playing an incredibly high skill character (your words) and if you don’t get this goddamn shot on your Lucio to keep him up, your team is going to die (your ego’s words). 
‘Ask Kook about his day’ gets scribbled on a paper on the desk in your head and filed away under To Do Later in your overflowing brainiac filing cabinet. 
“Can we pleaaaaase focus their Zarya?  She has grav.”  Though you offer the tidbit of information, you don’t assume it’s going to be relied upon.  Your team is well on their way to taking first point - surprisingly - and there’s still nearly three minutes left on the clock.  If the six of you idiots can keep it together and kill that goddamn Zarya, there’s no doubt in your mind you’ll win the game. 
Alas, fate is but a cruel mistress and said Zarya gets said grav off, sucking your own Russian tank and Tracer-turned-Soldier into her hell void.  Not even your well-timed nade can save them from the Genji that dragon blades directly into their faces.  Your poor Lucio dies to the same ult and you imagine you or your Widow are next.  Your Hog’s just respawning, his lumbering silhouette not even on screen.
“Rip,”  says your boyfriend - like the sound, not the letters - from beside you, a droplet of water splashing across your wrist when he shakes his head.  He looks disappointed - as if he’s the one that’s lost the match.  It makes you laugh, the sound tripping off your tongue despite the overwhelming rage you’re currently battling.  
“Rip is right,”  you mumble back, tossing yourself off the map.  If you’re gonna die, it'll be on your own terms.  Jungkook chuckles at that.  
By the time you respawn, both you and Widow are joining a fight that looks like it’s going surprisingly well.  There’s no one on point and you’re capping uncontested.  Widow even headshots a wayward Moira.
“You should go top left.”  
You don’t turn your head.  Jungkook’s always been a bit of a backseat gamer, whether he’s watching your stream while he’s out of town or sitting right beside you.  Sometimes, you love it;  other times, you hate it.  Most times, though, he’s right.  He has surprisingly good game sense, despite being lower ranked than you (something you remind him of constantly, without shame). 
“Can we go top left?”  You parrot into your speaker.
For once, your team listens, most of them running up the sidewall with Widow right down main.  Not for the first time you wish you were playing Mercy, if only to be able to damage boost your sniper while she distracts the enemy team.  Still, you make due, taking your boyfriend’s next piece of advice when it comes, unsolicited.  “You should be back right by the stairs.  You can see up the hall and still heal Widow on top.”
You’d kiss him if you weren’t so intently focused, unable to tear your gaze from the screen when the enemy team seems to pluck their strategy directly from Jungkook’s skull and hold conservatively on point.  Amazing.
“Your Zarya has grav.  She’ll probably throw it on point so you should nade as soon as you get in and Widow can pick them off without full charge.”
If he were anyone else, you’d probably be giving him hell for mansplaining your favourite game to you.  As it stands, you follow his instructions to the letter and the Team Kill marker flashes across your screen. 
“Told you,”  he quips, ever the snooty dork you adore. 
“I was going to say thank you.”  Just not right now.  You can’t multitask quite like he can. 
If you could look over, you think you’d see him grinning from ear to ear, buck teeth and dimples on full display.  “I know.”
As it stands, the other team has trouble getting on point fast enough and you’re left with a whopping 3:56 left on the clock.  Thank freaking god.  You can win this, you think.  Easy.  No problem. 
“Go Ana on defense.”  At some point, Jungkook had gotten up to find a snack and he returns now, bag of shrimp chips in his hand and packet of matcha Pocky held between his teeth.  You open your mouth for a stinky tasty treat and he shoves four crisps in, unceremoniously and with his signature dummy grin. 
You manage to crunch crunch crunch through it all but shoot him a glare the entire time.  He only smiles wider, all perfectly white enamel and enough cuteness to make your heart skip a beat. 
“Do you just want to play?”  You don’t mean it seriously.  You don’t mind him watching and you know he enjoys pretending like he’s better than you.  It’s a strange give and take but one that’s uniquely yours, built over nearly a year of online friendship and another year of a real-life relationship. 
“Nah, I’m snacking.”  He punctuates his response as a child would, shoving a handful of chips into his mouth.  You wonder, briefly, why you love him so much when he’s a certifiable goon. 
The third match begins and you’re not too proud to say you spend most of it following Jungkook’s directions.  He tells you to sleep the enemy Genji trying to scale the right wall - you do.  He tells you to nade once their Rein gets in because your own Rein is going to shatter - you do.  He tells you to do the macarena and— okay, that, you don’t. 
You sweep the match, leaving the other team without a single tick.  
When it comes to the final round, he seems to have lost interest in the game, instead rolling himself back to his computer with a parting, wayward ruffle of your hair.  You don’t blame him but you thank him nonetheless, blowing a kiss before he settles his headphones over his ears. 
You, of course and unsurprisingly, win the game.  There’s nothing like using a Sym portal onto point when they’ve got a Bastion set up off point and no shield to protect him from the back. 
Satisfied, you don’t bother requeueing and instead force yourself into your boyfriend’s personal space, draping your arms across the idol’s neck as he scrolls through YouTube like a zombie.  “We won,”  you sing-song into his ear, proud and a little smug. 
“Of course you did.”  He sounds equally smug and you suppose the win does belong to the both of you.  He’d been a great coach. 
“What’re you doing here?”  It’s pure curiosity offered in the form of a kiss to his cheek, fingers locked across the broad expanse of his chest.  He’s delightfully warm beneath you, familiar and unyielding as you sink over the back of his computer chair.  (You can feel the chair creaking as it reclines.  You don’t care.) 
“Whaddya mean?”
The look he levels you with makes you think you’ve grown a second head.  
“Your schedule said you had a thing tonight.”  You remember, because you’d been disappointed.  Halloween was one of your favourite holidays and all you’d wanted was to watch some campy horror movies and use him as a personal eye shield and security blanket combo.
“We have a thing,”  he states, like he’s talking to a moron.  You know it isn’t meant meanly, too emphatic and amused to hurt your feelings.  
When you echo his words (“We?”) you swear you see him roll his eyes in the reflection of his computer screen.  Luckily, he laughs, sweet and cracky, somewhere high in his throat - a barking hyena.  It’s so cute - your favourite thing in the world - that you don’t have it in you to shame him for it. 
“Yeah, we,”  Jungkook repeats around something close to a snicker.  “Halloween party, baby.  Seriously— you forgot?”
It’s then and there you have two crises:  (a) you don’t have a costume and (b) Halloween party?  You didn’t think idols had those.  Weren’t they all too hip and cool to get together to dress up and act stupid?
(You know the answer is no.  Exhibit A being the costume-wearing dance practices BTS put out.)
“I don’t have anything to wear.”  It’s truly the one thing holding you back, creasing the soft skin between your brows to resemble a peach.  It’s also nearing seven in the evening and you’re absolutely certain you’re not going to find something so late in the day. 
To your surprise. Jungkook looks flabbergasted, that same you-have-two-heads stare wrought across his face.  It’d be endearing if it were directed at anyone else but with it trained on you, it’s rubbing you and your confusion the wrong way.  Why’s he looking at you like that?  Why’s your memory so bad?  Why hasn’t he said anything to answer all of life’s questions? 
“You said you’d go as witch Mercy.”
All at once, you’re pulled back to the offhand conversation, the pleading in his eyes, your half-asleep acceptance.  It’s the memory you’d lost somewhere along the way in upgrading your in-brain video game storage.  A conversation had in bed, his cheeks so big and full of joy they’d waned his eyes into crescents, and your uncoordinated answer because you’d just wanted to go to sleep and not think about anything after indulging in a few too many mochi cream buns. 
“I— don’t remember that.”  You’re lying through your damn teeth.  Your parents would be devastated, all their hard earned money wasted on the braces-straightened enamel that was now letting lies pass. 
“But you did!”  He’s like a kid being denied candy, rounded bottom lip dropping into a pout that should, frankly, be illegal.  It’s far too powerful on him, paired with those Bambi eyes that scream don’t eat (hate/deny/etc.) me!  You can only scowl at him, because you know your own puppy dog eyes only work 100% of the time half of the time whereas his track record was immaculate. 
“Okay, but I forgot to get the—“
“I have it!”
Jeon Jungkook has an answer for everything, it seems.
“I picked it up on the way here.  It’s in your room along with my costume.”
The knowledge of his own intrigues you, squarely centring your curiosity on that and not the fact that you apparently need to get tested for early onset dementia.  “Who’re you going as?”
“You’ll see.”
Tumblr media
Your costume is spectacular.  You can’t even find it in yourself to put up much of a fight when your boyfriend reveals it like you’ve won the lottery, throwing his arms wide in a flourish. 
It’s incredibly well made, intricately tailored in a way that makes you worry how much it costs.  (When you bring it up to him, Jungkook simply shrugs.  You think it’s as much a gift for you as it is for him.)  It’s witchy and eye-catching, the belt hung across your hips clipped with an actual book - hollowed out, thank god but also poor thing.  The hat that sits on your head is neatly crumpled, sitting at such an angle you worry whether you’ll need to avoid too-low door frames.  Your wings - well, you’re almost too afraid to touch them;  Jungkook has to help you pull them over your arms, falling into near hysterics when you twitch your elbow the wrong way and smack him right between the eyes.  
“I don’t think I can pull this off,”  you state, somberly, despite the fact that you’re not terribly self-conscious.  (You were, once.  Being in a relationship with someone that worships your body has helped with that.) 
The top of your outfit is fitted, boned and ribbed and snapped together in all the right places.  Leather stands in stark contrast to your skin - summer-soft and gently golden - and hugs curves that don’t quite exist, falling short in a way that has you glaring down at your own chest.  You’ve never wanted a Playboy body but in this sort of costume, it practically demands it.  (You try not to dwell on the fact that you’ve been conditioned to want to look like an impractically designed video game hero.)
From the foot of your bed comes a snort, a derisive sound that draws your attention.  Jungkook’s unabashed in how he admires you, stare roving over every inch like he’s about to devour you.  You’re not sure how you can feel so soft for him when he looks completely the opposite, jaw set and expression sharp.  A Greek god carved from hardened honey, dressed in Balenciaga blue.  “You look great, angel.”
Your heart skips a beat - plays a funny little game of tag with itself - and you can’t help the smile that comes, brought to life by his reassurance.  It isn’t necessary to rebuff him then - eyes rolling, laugh spilling - but you do it anyway.  “You have to say that.  You’re my boyfriend.” 
“I don’t have to say anything,”  he retorts, levelling you with a look that has your insides molten.  It’s the look that reads don’t test me but also I love you and you’re my idiot.  It’s your favourite look in the world, lending wings to your flimsy heart.  “You look great because you always look great, no matter what.”
“What about when you found me in the shower ?”
Jungkook hesitates then.  He’s no liar and he had almost had a heart attack the first time it’d happened.  He’d been minding his business, half-asleep and battling the need to piss, when he’d noticed you curled up in the bathroom.  How he hadn’t realised you were missing from bed, he’s not sure.  All he knew was that you’d terrified him, mentioning something about invading refrigerators when he was pulling his dick out of his boxers.
His scream was what had woken you up;  yours was what had him bashing his head into the wall, foot slipping on the soft pink bathroom rug.  You could laugh about it now but at the time, you’d thought he’d cracked his skull right open, shouting his name so loudly the neighbours had complained.  
(Lucky for you two, they were a nice elderly couple who sometimes had you babysit their grandson.  They’d laughed it off when you’d apologised with a loaf of fresh bread and a bandage wrapped around your boyfriend’s head.)
“Okay—  that was scary.  I thought you’d crawled out of the drain or something.”  A shudder rolls through Jungkook’s body, shaking him from his shoulders all the way down to his knees.  It’s a strangely adorable reaction from someone who looks like he could bench press you.
“You’re calling me the Grudge?”  You’re deeply offended, gloved hands clasping over your chest as if to pull out the treacherous dagger he’s just lodged there.  He only rolls his eyes, leaning forward to catch you in his arms;  he’s relentless as he drags you to him, side of his face pressed to the bare skin of your thigh.  His cheek’s searing but you’re not surprised;  Jungkook ran hot, keeping you warm in winter and sweltering in summer.  (Ah, the price you paid for love.)
“Yeah, you haunt me in my dreams.”
“That’s not the Grudge, Kook.”  Your scoff earns you a pinch, right where the top of your stockings end.  It blooms red beneath his fingers, a little reminder of his competitive I’m-never-wrong nature.  You swat his hand away, not too bothered when it only finds a home elsewhere, hooked behind your knee.  Jungkook had a habit of needing to be in constant contact.  A little quirk of his you adored.
“I’m serious.  You look—”  You should clock the look on his face, the wiggle of mischief up his nose.  A dead giveaway shining bright - a beacon.  “—bewitching.”
If the book weren’t attached to your hip, you’d be clobbering him with it.  Instead, you’re left to whack him with the equally intricate Caduceus staff, booping it over his shoulders.  You feel like a certain shamanic mandrill, Jungkook the idiotic lion that’s asking for an earful.
“Shut up!”  You’re laughing despite yourself and he is too, holding you so recklessly close it’s hard to hit him without hurting yourself.  All part of his plan, you suppose.  “You’re so freaking corny.”
“It’s because I’m a-maize-ing, ang—”
Another wap! to the head, shielded only by a tattooed hand that curls over his ear.  
“Okay!  Sorry!”  Except he doesn’t look very sorry.  More pleased that you’ve stopped the assault, dark hair pushed back from his forehead as he stares up at you.  You hate how he’s so handsome - how you forget yourself when he smiles that smile, nearly yeeting your whole heart directly into the sun.
“Are you going to put on yours yet?”  
It’s quarter past nine already and all you’ve done is rope him into eating some chapaguri - you’ve been obsessed with it since a few weeks ago - and play real life Witch Barbie.  You have a feeling if you don’t get him into his own costume soon, you’re never going to leave the apartment.  (Not that you really mind.)  
Your boyfriend - bless his heart - pretends not to hear you, suddenly intently focused on an indiscernible spot past your hip.  It’d be more believable if he was glued to his phone or doing anything remotely interesting.  Instead, you stare down at him and count the seconds until he realises just how silly he looks.  It usually comes around six, paired with a forced chuckle and that lisp you love. 
Today, it comes after the fourth count. 
“You’re gonna think it’s lame.”  Well, of course you will.  As his girlfriend - and one of his best friends, you’d like to think - it’s your relationship-given right to shame him for his more often than not absurd ideas.  It’s what you deserve for suffering through all his bad jokes and 3 AM Instagram spams. 
With a hand on his cheek, you squeeze the apple like you’ve seen a certain member do a million times.  “So?”
He’s not really sure how to respond to that, mouth drawn into a pout that reminds you of children’s television show about penguins.  It’s unfairly adorable.  Still, you push.  Jungkook’s bad at saying no to you - always has been, even before he really knew you.  From “one more game!” to “bring me bingsu”, you always got what you wanted. 
(Which wasn’t to say you asked for a lot.  You were happy - more than that, ecstatic and over the moon - with the bare minimum.  A selfie while on the plane, some shoddy cinematography during dance practice, a voicemail to wake up to.  You didn’t love Jungkook for all the things he gave you;  rather, you loved him for who he was, who he’d always been even before you knew who he really was.)
“Don’t laugh.”  By the look on his face, you’re worried it’s something awful.  The cheesiest thing in the world come to life to haunt you on your beloved spooky holiday. 
It turns out to be the opposite:  one of your favourite characters realised in the form of your achingly handsome boyfriend.  He looks so good you’re not certain whether it’s your attraction to him or him in that particular guise that’s stronger.  You figure it doesn’t matter one way or another.  For tonight, they’re one and the same. 
“Joker?  Seriously?”  You can’t hide the delight.  It colours every syllable, sets them glowing like a neon sign.
Your boyfriend only rolls his eyes, as if he’d predicted this reaction.  Dressed as he is, the movement is impossible to miss, brought into focus by the white domino mask.  “Don’t sound so excited.”  It’s an actual concern of his.  He’s seen you sink upwards of ninety hours on the video game, playing it in the early hours when he’s fast asleep and you’re battling another night of insomnia.  
Once, he’d asked whether you loved him or Joker more.  He hadn’t liked the answer (joking as it was) and had spent the better part of the evening pouting. 
This time, you’re sweet as pie, eyes so dark and twinkly he wonders whether he’s staring at the night sky.  You wonder the same yourself almost every night, lost in the constellations of his irises.  It’s the most intimate form of stargazing you can afford, a luxury you indulge in frequently.  You’ve mapped the different formations, named them in honour of all the special moments you’ve shared;  you think to label one for this night too.
“You look so good.”  You don’t hesitate to brush his hair from his eyes.  It’s still relaxing from the perm he’d gotten days ago, curling like classic calligraphy over his eyes.  It’s surprisingly soft between your fingers, silk despite the constant heat styling.  Bastard.  “I can’t believe you’re going as Joker.  You don’t even like Persona 5!”
By how Jungkook looks at you then - the same way he did the first time you met standing on the street corner in Dotonbori and a hundred more times since then - you realise it doesn’t matter.  He’s dressed this way because you like the character.  
“Oh,”  you say, because there’s not much more to say.  Nothing that needs to be said as he grins down at you, so heartbreakingly handsome you’ll never get used to it. 
“Yeah,”  he parrots back, a little smug.  
Tumblr media
Bangtan’s golden maknae is having the time of his life.  He’s four cups deep into a game of beer pong that’s played like the Wimbledon classic, back hunched, jaw set.  You’d think he was battling it out for the title of God of Beer Pong if you didn’t know better.  (You suppose he is.)  
“Angel, come here!”  He’s giddy - slightly glazed in the eyes - as he waves you over, a red-gloved hand beckoning you to his side.  Despite how good he looks in the costume - every weakness of yours encapsulated by the intricate dress shirt that hugs him like a second skin - the gesture is decidedly adorable, an eager puppy seeking unconditional love.  There’s simply too much affection in his voice, so much sugar-spun love that you can’t deny him (even as you consider jumping his bones at a party full of people).   
He’s shining as bright as the sun and you want nothing more than to live within his warmth.  
With your fingers twined, he pulls you to him, drawing you tight against his side like he doesn’t need that same hand to throw another ball.  You don’t mind.  You know he’ll sink it even with his left hand.  
“I’m winning,”  he states, as if it weren’t wildly obvious by the fact all cups remain untouched on his side.  
Across the table, Yugyeom’s eyes roll so far back you want to laugh.  Jungkook’s competitive side is endearing at best and infuriating at worst.  Luckily, his competition is enjoying himself too much to give him shit.  
(He’s also probably too drunk to, given how badly he’s doing.)
“I see that.”  You’re not a big drinker yourself but you like seeing Jungkook in his element.  He thrives in this sort of setting, showing off all the talents he has and then some.  It’s just another stage to him, somewhere he can prove himself (even if it’s over something as small as how good his bounce-shot is).  “How many games have you won?”  Because he’s been at this table for the last hour, dropping his competition like flies.
“All of them.”  God, his ego.  You know you shouldn’t stroke it but you can’t help it, brushing a hand through his tousled hair in the way he likes best.  Fingers over his scalp, thumb rubbing soothing circles across the nape of his neck.  He nearly melts then, tilting his head into the gentle caress.
“Good job, Kook.”
You’re so lost in your own little world that poor Yugyeom has to pull you both from it, launching a poorly-aimed white ping pong ball at the two of you.  To no one’s surprise, it careens past your heads, hitting the wall behind you and disappearing off to god knows where.  
“Can we play?”  Again, that eye roll, visible just past the bandages that loosely wrap his cheeks.  You know he’s only teasing, that he’s actually quite a fan of your and Jungkook’s dumb coupling (he’s told you), but you return his mockery with a raised hand, thumb and forefinger waving in salute.  
“Losers don’t get to complain.”
The idol throws a hand to his chest, the gesture bordering on sloppy from the liquor that threads his limbs.  Still, it’s cute, earning a sweet laugh from you and a witch’s cackle from your boyfriend.  (How fitting.)  “I’m hurt, Yoojin-ssi.”
It’s Jungkook’s turn to tease, brattiness flipped on like a haywire lightswitch.  “No, you’re just bad at games!”  He’s a sniggering schoolgirl, lines wrapping the delicate skin of his nose, streaking joy into the wrinkles beneath his eyes.  Slightly-too-big front teeth are on full display, his expression the embodiment of an “uwu” emote.
That riles Yugyeom up, powder puff of hair bounding over to you before you have time to blink.  In the next moment, your boyfriend’s half-wrestling with him, their arms locked around each other like some sort of weird four-limbed octopus.  (Video game protagonist vs. hot mummy— who will win?)  You jump back just in time, avoiding a wayward fist and laughing merrily.  Idiots, the both of them.
“You guys have fun.”  And then you’re gone, off to busy yourself with people who won’t accidentally give you a black eye or knock over the nearest thing not bolted to the ground.  
You can still hear them tussling when you latch yourself to the back of a certain blond.  He’s dressed like one of your greatest nightmares - an actual clown, drawing inspiration from a certain 2017 blockbuster - and yet somehow still manages to look good. You don’t understand it and frankly, you’re a little envious, but such was life. 
“Jimin-ssiiiii.”  
“Ahhhhhh, stop!”  It’s the same reaction he always has, paired with wiggling shoulders and sweet laughter that bounces around the room and stirs to life your own.  Indisputable and lovely, the sound is brighter than the sun or the lights that currently swing through the chandelier lights above your heads.  “You two are ridiculous.”
“He’s ridiculous, not me!”  You know it isn’t true.  Separately, you and Jungkook were idiotic enough, finding humour in the silliest things (funny threads on r/Relationship_Advice and four year old Vines).  But together?  It was a two-person circus, graduate professors at clown college.  
You absolutely loved it. 
“Sure, sure,”  the dancer hums, delightfully disbelieving as he takes another shot.  One of three lined up across the counter, clear in little orange cups made to look like pumpkins.  A whiff tells you they’re strawberry soju - your least favourite flavour.  You decline with a wrinkled nose and waving hand when he offers you one.  Jimin shrugs and downs the next, delicately wiping the corner of his mouth when he misjudges the pour.  “Aren’t you drinking?”
You wiggle the half-empty Cass bottle in your hand in response and receive a scoff, different bottle - green, unopened - thrust into your other.  
“Drink this!”  
“You want me to drink an entire bottle?”  You’re incredulous.  Jimin’s seen you on the edge of intoxication and more than a little sloppy, giggling like a schoolgirl.  It’s not unbecoming - you know better than to get blackout - but laughable nonetheless.  Something to record and post on Snapchat with a voice-altering filter.
“It’s Halloween!”  The pumpkin shot glass makes you go cross-eyed before he’s knocking it back too.  “Live a little!”
Who are you to say no to the recent birthday boy?  It would simply be bad manners and you were nothing if polite (though, you’re sure some might beg to differ - Yoongi, maybe?). 
The remnants of your beer are swallowed down in the next moment, so quickly you almost choke on it.  Your life flashes before your eyes, Jimin’s hand on your shoulder as he beats breath into your body.  “Don’t die!”  He cries, despite the fact that it’s his fist that’s making it worse, doubling you over with hacking coughs.
“K-Kook’s g-going to kill you—”  
“No, you’re fine.”  He’s reassuring you just as much as himself, laughing too loudly as you straighten up.  You wonder how red your face is when he takes your place, slapping his own knee as he shakes with amusement.  “Your face, oh—  Your face.”
It’s not meant to be offensive but your buzzed brain demands payment for each giggle.
The base of the green bottle collides with the back of his knee - gentle, gentle - just hard enough to have him properly toppling over, collapsing onto the carpet like a frail old grandpa without his cane.  You can’t help the snicker that careens off your liquor-laden tongue.
That is, until he’s pulling you down with him and the two of you are a giggling, giddy mess, tucked beneath the edge of the bar as you laugh together.  It’s a chorus of sound, unrelenting and building the longer you both sit on the floor.  Jimin’s practically hunched over, head caught between his propped up arms.  You imagine it’s a funny sight - two people in their twenties acting like college freshmen.
“Baby?”  It’s your boyfriend, amused and confused as he stares down at your and Jimin’s prone bodies.  He’s got that dent between his brows, the colour of his eyes all but swallowed up by the way his cheeks press wide with his smile.  “What’re you doing down there?”  
“Just hanging out,”  you answer, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.  At your side, Jimin’s still trying to collect himself, parroting your words around his lungfuls of quieting laughter.
“Are you drunk?”
You’re not, but that doesn’t stop you from gasping, overdramatic and with your unopened bottle of soju held aloft.  A modern day olive branch.  “No?”
Jungkook snorts and then all at once, he’s close.  Too close - smelling of beer and your favourite cologne of his, citrusy and woodsy and every other nice thing you like.  It fills your senses just as his smile does, blindingly bright and bunny-like.  Even behind the mask, his good looks take your breath away.  You must be staring up at him idiotically, all one hundred and sixteen pounds of ooey gooey tenderness.  “You sound drunk, angel,”  he teases, warm red-covered palm coming to cradle your cheek.  It sears heat everywhere it touches, guiding the same hue over your skin.  It creeps up your chest and over your ears, standing in contrast to the material of his gloves.  “Pretty.”
(He really is, you think.)
“Get a room,”  comes Jimin from beside you.  There’s no malice in his voice - just soft affection for a couple of lovesick idiots.  
“That’s the plan,”  Jungkook replies, as if he’d been waiting for the moment.  It skips off his tongue and settles into your ears, tipping your head curiously as you stare at him.  He’s never been very shy about wanting you - at least, not since you’d made things official, so many months ago - but you’re surprised by the insinuation.  When he speaks again, you realise your brain has been rolling around in the gutter, fallen out of your ears like candy from a worn pillow case.  “Want to head home?”
You do.  You really, really do.   
Tumblr media
When you stumble into your apartment - the same one with the polka-dot welcome rug and crisp white paint - you realise you were perhaps wrong about how drunk you are.  Everything’s coming at you quite quickly, the ground beneath your feet somehow suddenly rushing at you like Mach Five.
“Whoa—”  There’s an impossibly solid warmth against your back, fingers locked around your wrists that feel more like flimsy chicken feet.  “Careful.”
Your boyfriend’s keeping you upright while stepping out of his boots - impossibly expensive supple dark leather - and you’re giggling all the while, practically sinking against him as he does his best to shuffle his shoes away and get you further into the hallway.  “Sorry,”  you offer in a terrible stage whisper, smiling wide when you catch sight of his, small and endlessly amused.  It slips across his face even as he tries to bite it back, warring with the patience he holds in spades.
“Let’s just get these off.”  He means the boots - the intricate, vaguely absurd things that creep up almost the entirety of your leg, neatly wrapped and knotted midway up your thigh.  Dexterous as he is, it’s a task to unravel the strings and thread buttons when you’re weighing on him like a bag of bricks.
You’re fumbling for the tops, haphazardly smacking his hands away.  “Here, let me.”  
Somehow, you manage to get them off in what feels like record time.  (In reality, it takes a good five minutes of futility before they’re left on the ground and Jungkook’s swept you into his arms, seemingly over waiting for you to do much else.)
“Oh, my prince charming,”  you tease, clinging to him like a koala.  You’re locked around him, practically suffocating him, but he doesn’t seem to mind.  He’s used to it when you’re this way, just a little too much liquid courage turning your level of affection to eleven.  “Or are you the court jester?  That’s what Joker is, right?”  It’s a joke and a bad one at that.  Still, your boyfriend indulges you, depositing a forced laugh against your shoulder as he navigates to your bedroom.  
“You’re drunk.”  He says it more kindly than you expect.  Perhaps even more kindly than you deserve.  You know he’s not exactly sober himself, his gaze verging on heavy-lidded.  There’s sleepiness blending seamlessly with intoxication, softening the edge of his jaw, the narrow of his stare.  It’s terribly tender, skipping your heart when you look at him dead on.
It comes without thought.  You have to tell him.  Your drunk brain and your puppy dog heart demand it.  “I love you.”
Jungkook returns the confession with humour, eyes sparkling despite the haze of alcohol that dims them down.  As always, he indulges you, giving you support in the form of his heart and his hands.  (Literally, he’s still holding you even though you’ve reached your destination.)  “Love you too.”
“Is it time for bed?”  You’re surprisingly tired, despite the fact that you’d slept until late in the afternoon.  You certainly wouldn’t mind falling face first into your mattress.
“You need a shower first.”  It’s a simple statement of fact, you know that.  You’ve got at least ten pounds of makeup on and your hair’s the furthest thing from soft and silky, carefully coiffed to mimic Mercy’s signature style.  You still pretend like you’re just a bit offended, scowling into the face of your boyfriend even as he rolls his eyes, already somehow able to read the words written into your expression.  “I meant we and no, I’m not calling you stinky.”
He’s stolen your thunder, as he so often does.  You pout, as you so often do. 
“Okay,”  you relent, finally, moving to rest your head against his shoulder.  You could get down - walk on your own two tired feet - but you’re enjoying the closeness, how warm and real he feels in comparison to the swimming surroundings.  “Will you wash my hair?”  You don’t really need to ask but do anyway, because you like the sound of his voice when it’s so close.
“You know I will.”  Because he always does when you shower together (and it falls on a designated hair washing day - that was important).  
You offer your thanks with a kiss, laid right over the jumping pulse in his neck.  When Jungkook hums in acknowledgment, you feel the way the muscles constrict, his Adam’s apple jumping beneath your lips.  You zero in on it with laser precision, mouthing over his throat.  Somewhere above you - against the shell of your ear - he exhales a laugh, breath hot.
“We’re showering, baby.”  As if that’s meant to stop you.  He, more than anyone, should know how adamant you get, singularly focused on whatever’s got your attention.  He’s been on the receiving end of it more than enough times, strung into playing another one, two, ten matches of Overwatch or hunting down the limited edition Funko Pops that now sit proudly on your white shelf (and behind your plants and on the ledge by the front door).
“We can shower and have fun,”  you mumble into the expanse of his chest.  He’s so pleasantly warm, unyielding and firm and so, so comfortable.  You think you could live in the feeling of his arms.  (You’re lucky you get to.)  You don’t even mind the sudden cold of the counter or the space that forms between you when he sets you down, because he’s still caging you in where it matters most.  “Right, JK?”
It’s a nickname you rarely use now - one that only comes out in times of desperation.  You’ve never quite understood why it affects your boyfriend the way it does, stuttering the rhythmic beating of his heart, but you love it nonetheless.  It makes you grin, high on power and giddy with nothing but sweetness.  
He’d explained it to you once.  Jay was how you’d met him, the version of himself you’d loved first.  Jungkook was the side of himself he’d wanted to give you but couldn’t.  JK was the in-between - the chaos and the calm.  Hearing you say it brought back all the memories of year one and he liked that.  You could only laugh at his sentimentality and tuck the piece of knowledge somewhere deep, to be pulled out in instances like this.
“Right, angel.”  You don’t miss the colour on his cheeks - so pretty you reach your hands out to cup them, squishing them between your palms like an old grandmother testing a watermelon.  You continue to hold him until he pulls your hands from his face, guiding them to the edge of the counter with gentle pressure.  “Gotta get undressed to shower,”  he chides, that twinkle in his eye that makes it hard to look away.
Really, how can he expect you to do anything when he’s got an entire unexplored galaxy hidden in his irises?  It’s an absurd ask.
“Or I’ll help you.”  
Your clothes fall away while you’re still staring up at him.  
First, the gloves, peeled from your fingers with utmost care.  Kisses fill the spaces between each finger, passed from knuckles to wrist, all the way up to your elbow.  You squirm when his teeth graze the sensitive underside of your bicep.  He stifles a snicker into the skin.
Next goes your cape and wings, hung on the door handle.  His mouth warms the suddenly bare skin, pressing affection into the line of your shoulder, up over your neck.  You don’t squirm this time, instead humming a noise of delight.  You hardly notice when the corset goes next, undone by surprisingly nimble inked digits.  There’s hardly a moment to savour the freedom - you can finally breathe - when his hands replace the cups, palms eager over your chest.  He doesn’t hesitate to hold you, pinching your perked nipples with a sly grin.
“I thought we were going to shower.”  The words are barely out before turning breathless, stolen by the way he easily palms your breast, dropping his face into the crook of your neck. 
“We are, angel,”  Jungkook teases, rolling your bud between his thumb and forefinger, other hand moved to splay across the now-bare small of your back.  It’s almost embarrassing how easily you fall into him, drawn against him like a moth to a flame.  “Just need to get you warmed up first.”    
“The shower’ll be warm,”  you say - or think you say, anyway.  It isn’t quite articulated, half your brain left somewhere at the party (or maybe caught dead centre in the coil that’s tightening in your stomach).  
“Do you want me to stop?”  It’s so quiet you almost miss it, too distracted by how he slips the rest of your costume off.  Shorts, thong, stockings, silly witch’s hat.  “Tell me if you want me to stop, baby.”  Ever the gentleman, he’s patient, meeting your glazed stare with something close to concern.  You almost laugh in his face then - stopping short only when you note just how serious he is, the tell-tale set of his jaw shining like a familiar beacon.  
You return your hands to his face, palms cradling his chin like he might break otherwise.  “I never want you to stop.”  
That’s all Jungkook needs before he’s slotting himself between your legs, mirroring your motion with hands creeping up the side of your neck, fingers ascending into the roots of your hair.  He holds you close and kisses you like it’s all he’s ever wanted.  “I love you,”  he breathes, speaks against the corner of your mouth.  
You parrot the words back at him and he grins, stepping away in the next moment.  He laughs when you pout, offering a kiss in apology as he undoes the buttons of his dress shirt, slipping the soft cotton off.  You stop then, entranced by the revealed skin, how it shifts with each adjustment of muscle, sinew tight over his arms and shoulders.  You wonder, not for the first time, how you’d managed to luck out so spectacularly.  
“Start the shower.”  
You hop down with the direction, slipping past him to do exactly that.  You don’t miss the way he rotates, brings himself closer as you move away.  The magnetism is undeniable - always has been.
“I love you,”  he states, again, bare against your back as you hover by the edge of the glass door, one hand stuck past to test the slow-warming stream.  He’s solid, familiar and comfortable, as he slinks his arms back around you, heat burning the shape of his hands over your ribs, the shape of your hip.  You think he might mark himself there, just as neatly as the floral ink does.  You wouldn’t mind.
The water is welcome, bathing the both of you in steam when you step inside.  It’s an incredibly relaxing feeling, being caught between the spray and the hard body behind you.  You hum a noise of pure delight, turning your face toward the one that nuzzles itself into your neck, and bring your hands to rest over his, fingers slotting between ink.  
“Hair?”  You’re not in a terrible rush but you like redirecting his attention (pretending to, at least) - the teasing that formed the base of your relationship presenting itself in the quiet reminder.  It earns the laugh you expect, muffled into your hair, featherlight over the delicate shell of your jewelled ear.  
“Patience, baby.”  It’s something Jungkook tends to say a lot, whether waiting in queue in Overwatch or in bed, with you a complete mess.  He repeats it easily, like he’s the poster boy for the virtue.  (He isn’t.)
“What am I waiting—”  The question dies, swallowed whole by the gasp he draws from you with a wandering hand.  Fingers slip across your stomach, digits deftly seeking out warmth as if you weren’t already enveloped in it.  It’s a touch that’s tantalisingly slow, unfairly light, but it still makes you keen when it drags over your lips.  A single digit pushes past muscle - so shallow you’re not sure you’re not just imagining it - before retreating, dragging your slick back up to your clit.  The moment the pad of his finger makes contact with the sensitive bundle of nerves, you almost jump.  Would, if he weren’t caging you with his other arm.  
You feel the cold of his teeth bared against your neck then, the throaty laugh that pulls out of his chest and deposits itself into your hair.  “Patience,”  he repeats, swirling his fingers over your clit, his mouth moving in tandem with the twist of his wrist.  He peppers love and affection in the form of kisses, presses devotion with the edge of his teeth, soothes all your nerves with a sweep of his tongue. 
“Kook,”  you sigh, already well on your way to being a boneless mess.  There’s tingling in your toes, fizzing in your stomach, butterflies in your chest.  A whirlwind of emotion and sensation that he stirs to life effortlessly.  
“Relax for me.”  You do so because it’s easy, because he’s so devastatingly good to you.  
The figure eights skating over your clit cease, fingers dropping further down to nestle against your cunt. He pauses there, almost experimentally flexing against the muscle that aches and clenches around nothing, eager for more.  You think he’s smirking by the way his lips form with his kisses, a little lopsided and devilish.  (You wish you could see him.) 
A single digit enters you then, to the third knuckle as if your body was made for this, for him.  (It was.)  He coos against your neck when a garbled mess skips off your tongue and nearly laughs when another slips in alongside it, turning the mess into nonsense.  Despite how badly you want it - need it, really - it’s a sensation that’s too much and not enough all at once, toeing the line between pleasure and pain.  
It was how Jungkook loved you - recklessly, shamelessly, in no half measures.  With more love than you could ever hope for, giving you things you didn’t even know how to ask for.
“Relax, angel,”  comes as he begins scissoring both fingers inside you, stretching you out with an otherworldly amount of care.  Even your neglected clit is given some sort of relief - anything to ease the sting of two long fingers - his thumb gliding over it with each stretch of your walls.  He knows exactly where to touch you, how much pressure to apply, and you’re melting, lost in the feeling.  
When he’s had enough and he curls his fingers within you, seeking out that particular spot, you’re trembling, caught off guard.  Heat builds quickly with the precision of which he taps against that spot;  it starts low in your back, climbing each vertebrae of your spine until you’re quivering in his arms.  
“K-Kook.”  It’s both a plea and a demand, nonsensical as he guides you through your orgasm, keeping you upright against him when your knees feel like they might give out.  
“I’ve got you.”  And he does - hook, line, and sinker.  He holds you steady as the pleasure crashes over your head, keeps you anchored to the here and now and the pleasure that rolls through you like a relentless wave.  It sinks beneath your skin, settles heavy into every atom, and he never lets you go.  He’s got you.
When sensation returns - slowly, so slowly it feels like you’re stuck in the Twilight Zone - you only want to turn.  See him, hold him, whisper sweet nothings as you kiss him silly and thank him for his service.  Instead, you’re held in place, two hands firm upon your hips even as you crane your neck to look over your shoulder at him.  You should recognise the look on his face.  “Kook?”
“My turn.”  It’s a statement more than anything, a kind heads-up as he nudges you forward.  There’s that same twinkle in his eye, the only source of light around the pupil that’s blown out, otherwise engulfing the constellations he so normally offers you.  It’s a black hole and one you’d gladly get lost in.  “Hands on the wall, baby.”
You’d never been one for shower sex - it’s too small a space, too much happening at once, a guaranteed freak accident waiting to happen - but you can’t deny him when he asks so nicely.  (It really hadn’t been that nice but you were a certified sucker for one Jeon Jungkook.)
Hands find themselves on the wall, palms flat, fingers splayed.  In the same instance you wiggle your hips, there’s a ghosting touch over your spine.  It trails up and down, soothes the residual heat that lingers, and then slips higher, palm gentle over your throat.  His thumb rubs reassuring circles over the nape of your neck, pressing gently into the sensitive spot behind your ear.  It’s distracting and you realise much needed when he sinks into you with one fluid press of his hips, filling you so full you can’t help the gasp that bounds past your lips and bounces around the glass enclosure.  “Oh fuck,”  he sighs, his grip on your hip tightening incrementally.
He sounds like sin and feels like heaven.  
“Always so good for me.”  Another thing he says, often and without prompting.  It still feels just as good the umpteenth time, sparking pride deep in your chest as he pulls out and drives himself back in, staring in rapt fascination at where your bodies meet.  “Always so perfect for me.”  
“Because I love you,”  you quip, more than a little out of breath and jostled by the way he thrusts into you, measured and with enough force to shake your legs.  
“Love you too, angel.”  He doesn’t need to say it back - you know, can feel it by how he holds you, drives you to brink of insanity with his cock - but he does it anyway.  He always says it back, no matter what, even if he’s half-asleep or distracted.  He’ll never stop saying it.
The hand on your hip falls, slinks across your hip and between your legs, and you’re pushed further forward, his feet gently kicking yours further apart.  Jungkook assaults your clit then, timing each pass with each thrust.  An attempted glance back has fireworks going off before your eyes, specks of pleasure lighting up your vision;  it’s a technicolour lightshow, framing the way his face scrunches, brow set and jaw hard.  He’s determined, focused on bringing you to another orgasm before he hits his own high.  You assist him as best you can, swiveling your hips and grinding back against him even as the coil pulls impossibly tight in your stomach, barely held together by threadbare strings. 
“Kook,”  you whine when the tension becomes too much, hands scrabbling across the wall of the shower.  The same overwhelming tingle sparks beneath your skin, entire body trembling like a leaf when the head of his cock brushes that spot inside you at just the right angle.
He doesn’t relent, rhythm turning almost punishing as he drives you over the edge, launching you headlong into your second orgasm.  You’re not sure how you stay upright, near sobbing when you crash into euphoric bliss, neither his fingers nor his thrusts ceasing.  It’s almost too much and yet you know how close he is, so you push back, whimper words you know he wants to hear.  
“P-please, Kook.  Please.”  You’re reaching a hand back, desperate to interlace your fingers with his.  He gives in easily, catches your hand in his own and plants it on the swell of your hip as he chases his own release with desperation.  “Come for me, Kook.  Fill me up.”
Jungkook does just that, balls tight as he spills himself inside you, hand at your throat so tight you’re seeing stars.  Somehow - with the feeling of him grinding into you, overcome with so much sensitivity - you come for the third time, crying very real tears as the sensation washes over you.  It’s weaker than your first two but unravels you all the same, seeping the energy from your limbs.  You’re grateful for how well he knows you and the fact he catches you before your arms collapse, pulling you to him with gentle movements.  
“I love you,”  he whispers against your temple, out of breath and sweat-slick despite the water that rains down upon you.  
“I love you,”  you answer, pressing a kiss to the hand that still twines with yours.  “But I still need you to wash my hair.”  It’s cheeky and you know it so you don’t even mind when he bites into the meat of your shoulder, leaving a pretty red mark that’ll bloom for the next few days.  “Ow!”
“You’re a brat.”  Said even as he’s reaching for your shampoo bar, teasing it through your roots with practiced movements.  He’s careful despite his scathing tone, gentle despite how he glares at you from the corner of your periphery.  Each tangle is neatly undone and not a single bubble gets in your eye, much to your joy.  
“I thought I was an angel.”  You’re taking a page out of his book, speaking in fluent pout.
He catches your lips with his own, pushing your lathered up head beneath the steady stream when he withdraws and speaks.  Suds run across your cheeks, eyes shielded only by the hand he keeps steady along your hairline.  Even so mean, your boyfriend is still terribly nice.  “You’re my angel - but you’re still a brat.”  
You can’t argue with that. 
Tumblr media
tag list.  @neverthefirstchoice​ @youwannabelostandnotbefound​ @snackhobi​
671 notes · View notes
jamestrmtx · 3 years
Text
Wish Upon a Night Sky - [Beastars | Various x Reader]
[Female, Sheep Reader | Slow Burn]
Act Five - Between Rain and Thunder
[Act One Link] | [Act Four Link] | [Act Six, Scene One Link]
"How's it going?" the bunny asks, peeking over your shoulder. "Is it out yet?"
You lift the shirt off the soapy water and wring it dry, doing it twice just to be sure. She watches the whole process, more curious than you would expect someone to be over something as mundane as cleaning. "It's…" Your words trail off, eyes scanning the fabric to make sure it's completely gone. "It's out!" you exclaim, pride showing when you stand up. You turn to her and show her the results of your work, the juice's stain now nowhere to be seen. "It just needs to dry out!"
The smile in her eyes fades as so does the one in her mouth. You look towards the direction of her gaze, seeing rain pouring outside. While you assume she's bummed out over not being able to dry the shirt outside, her actual words take you by surprise. "I need to go check on the flowers," she says. "Think you could hang that shirt over the fan?"
"Sure." You frown, set the shirt to dry, and hold Haru back when you see she plans to go without an umbrella. Her eyes point down at the sleeve of her shirt, that simple action making you pull back, flustered. "Could we go together? I have an umbrella with me."
She nods, warmth returning to her face. "Sounds good." Her gaze moves on towards the fan, now set on high and with her once stained shirt clean and waiting to be dried. "Are you still trying to make up for last time, or do you really mean it?"
"Wh- Why do you ask?" you sputter, finding cover by taking your umbrella and holding it against you. 
"You showed up at my door the second I told you the stain wouldn't come off." Her smile grows, ears twitching with what you can assume is excitement. "And even when you clearly had trouble trying to remove it at first, you still kept at it until it was gone." She boops your snout and meets with your eyes, a teasing glint resting behind them. "Are you making up for last time? Or do you just want to be friends?"
Thunder crashes from afar just as you're about to answer, sending the umbrella to the floor. You make haste to pick it up, though the bunny beats you to it and holds it out for you. "I, um…" You hesitate in your words, regaining calm and taking the item from her hands before continuing, "If you want to, then… I'd like that."
Haru keeps her hold on the umbrella even as you take it. Curious, you face her again to see a stoic expression, brows furrowed as she frowns. "Are you still nervous over being at this school, (Y/N)?" she asks, holding it tighter and tugging you closer with it for emphasis. "I don't blame you, if you are." She pauses and lets go, though she still keeps her gaze on yours. "I've been studying here for longer than you have, and it's still hard not to be on-edge. Even more with what's… happened recently."
Her eyes move on back to the window, rain still present, but having lessened its strength compared to last time. "Let's go outside first," she says, breathing in. "We can talk better around the flowers. They make for good company."
You nod, though you still keep the reminder of thunder in mind. You walk out with her alongside you, opening the umbrella right before stepping out. Puddles are already forming on the ground, and the scent of wet earth's prominent in the air. The wind blows strong and hard, stinging your arms and legs, and sending a shudder down your body with the change in temperature. "Let's stay far from the trees for now," Haru suggests, locking her arm with yours and using her free hand to point at a flower bed nearby. "That looks like a good spot."
She stops when a figure shows up in the rain, silhouetted by it and how far the person stands by, still a good distance away from Haru and yourself. Her gaze narrows as she looks at that direction, moving towards your arm next. She holds you stronger, tugging for you to continue.
"Are you… feeling okay?" you ask, voice muffled by the sound of drops falling against the umbrella. "Should we turn back, Haru?"
The bunny shakes her head, facing up at you with a smile. "Just thought I saw an old friend," she replies, winking at you. "No need to worry, (Y/N). I'm with decent company right now." She highlights her point by pulling you along with her again, keeping her hold on you as you both fight your way through the rain. A few distant thunders make you both take caution not to walk too near the trees.
When you make it to the flowers, these are already overcome by water. Haru takes action in an instant, letting go of you to kneel down in front of them. Then, she takes the bucket and shovel next to the bed, beginning her work. You crouch next to her side and hold the umbrella up at an angle to shield the both of you from the rain. Her ears perk when you step closer, signaling over her being far more alert than her exterior lets on.
"It's okay," you whisper, looking back to the place the figure once stood at. "There's no one there anymore."
Her ears fall and she nods, another smile showing through. "Thank you."
You nod back and stay silent, watching the bunny work with the garden. She takes care not to hurt the flowers as she scoops excess water away from the beds, throwing it in a bucket and emptying it every few minutes. She appears to appreciate the quiet, body relaxing as she continues working. 
At one point, you find yourself looking for another way to hold the umbrella, wanting to help her out more. When she sees you fumble with it though, she lets out a laugh and swats your hand away when you try to join in on her work. "Just cover up for me, (Y/N)," she says, giggling. "I'm not asking you to do anything else, so there's no need to get so worried over this."
You let out a sigh, holding the umbrella tighter as you stare down at the puddles. "I'm just... used to it," you reply, words faint.
"You acted the same way with the stain." Her remark makes you grow rigid. You dedicated a good twenty minutes of your time just to get that stain off. How much harder it was to remove without the materials you had at home had led you to improvise and work harder than normal for it. "Old habits die hard?"
You hum, smiling at her when she looks up at you. "...At my home," you begin, taking in a breath, "your worth is measured by how much you can do and provide."
• • •
Hope y'all have a decent New Year's Eve! This's the last update of this year, so here's to wishing 2021 is a little bit better for all of us. It's unrealistic to say things will be back to normal at the drop of a hat, but there's no harm in staying hopeful for a better future.
Take care, and stay safe! ❤️
72 notes · View notes
luckysevenwrites · 3 years
Text
Night Club
I’ve decided to make a bunch of one shots about NCT 127 as long term couples. Starting from how they met and going through them just being a couple. These all will have a seprate Master list. It should show on my page as M. list Long Term Couples. Right now I will be doing it just for NCT. I don’t know how many post I’ll make. I’ll probably stop once I lose inpriation. 
I am open to suggestions on what to write about when it comes to each of the couples. So feel free to give me some ideas on what you would like to read about!
This one is about Y/n and Taeyong and their first meeting with one another. 
You loved dancing, it was the one time where you would let the world fade away and let the beat from the music pump through your veins and guide you in your movements. About three songs ago your friends had left you on the dance floor and you continued to dance. There had been a few people who had tried to join you but quickly left when they realize that they could not keep up with you. You did not care though you were not here to find a dance partner. You were here to get lost in the music. It is as the next song starts up that you notice a person off to the side of you. Their dancing without a partner as well and are dancing well. Their movements are fluid and are dancing like they have been doing it all their life.
           Stopping in your movements you watch them as they move to the beat. You cannot look away from them. They must feel your eyes on them, as their head turns towards you. You cannot make out their face from the baseball cap that is hiding their face yet, you feel their eyes on you. You almost look away when they motion you over with a quick jerk of their head. You do not know what makes you move towards them. Maybe it is the fact that they can dance, or your curious to see if they can keep up with you, or that you can keep up with them. Whatever the reason you find your feet carrying you towards the man.
           He does not hesitate in placing one arm around your waist and pulling you towards him. You stumble for a moment before finding your footing and before you know it, you are dancing with the stranger. The two of you are moving seamlessly together, like you have been dancing partners for years instead of only dancing with one another for a few seconds. The stranger smiles down at you and you wish that there was better lighting in this place so you could see his face better.
           “You’re good,” you shout over the music. You feel his chest rumble from laughter causing you to smile up at him.
           “So are you,” he shouts back. You like the sound of his voice it is as deep as you imagined but it fits him. “Do you want to get out of here for a bit?”
           You hesitate for a moment wondering if it is a good idea or not to leave with this stranger. You really should not you tell yourself. Just because they are a good dancer does not mean that they are a good person. But there’s something about him that makes you trust him. You nod your head and let him lead you outside. The two of you walk a few feet away from the door but stay close where people can see you both.
           “I have to get going but I wanted to talk to you before I had to go,” he tells you, lifting his baseball cap off of his head to run his fingers through his jet-black hair. This is the first time that you get a proper look at his face. He is beautiful you think. With his higher cheek bones and cute nose that you suddenly have to urge to reach out and boop.
“I’m Taeyong by the way.”
           “I’m Y/n,” you smile at him as he blushes, before replaces the baseball cap back on his head. Taeyong stuffs his hands in his pocket and looks down the street before back at you. You are beginning to realize that there are two sides to this man. The confidence dancer and the soft man in front of you.
           “This might be me moving too fast, but I like you and want to get to know you better. And, and I’m just wondering if I gave you my number would you use it?” He looks so sweet standing in front of you like this nervously shuffling in front of you, asking you for your number.
           “Maybe, you’ll have to give it to me and wait to find out.” You smirk unable to resist teasing him just a little bit. Shaking his head at you Taeyong lets out a breathy laugh before holding his hand out for your phone. You give it to him and watch as he puts his number in your phone.
           As he is doing this a van pulls up alongside the two of you. Taeyong glances over at the van and gives a quick wave before looking back at you. He hands you back your phone. Before you can put it back in your pocket Taeyong traps your hands in his. Looking up at him he gives you a boyish grin.
           “I really hope you to hear from you soon Y/n. Thank you for a fun night of dancing,” Taeyong gives your hand a squeeze and then disappears into the van.
           You watch as the van pulls away and rounds the corner. You never thought that you would meet someone while dancing at a club. But the butterflies in your stomach and the smile that you could not stop from spreading across your face were telling you that you were glad you did. You open your phone and pull up Taeyong’s numbers.
I had a fun time too. Hope to see you soon.
You send the message then find yourself a cab. It’s when you’re almost home that you feel the buzz of your phone letting you know that you have a message. You smile wondering where all of this will lead to? Leaning against the car window you close your eyes and relive the moment of you and Taeyong dancing, you hope that it will lead to something wonderful. There is something about Taeyong that holds the promise of it being something good and you really hope that feeling is not wrong.
23 notes · View notes
71tenseventeen · 4 years
Text
Into That Bad Night-Timestamp 4
Tumblr media
Warnings for violence, torture, threat of sexual assault, violent death, and murder. If that’s not for you, you’ll want to skip this one. 
Thanks to @ljummen and my amazing beta @hrroyalgeekness. She spends 95% of her beta time dealing with my comma issues-so much patience! 
Also thanks to @ljummen​,  @8771eh​ and @hrroyalgeekness​ for being scary as hell in their extensive knowledge of horrible torture techniques. 
Also, as always, thanks @cakemakethme for the kickass banner. 
Timestamp 4 below the cut: 
Sid frowns down at his phone, thumbing through the short contact list once more. As if there is someone he could have missed out of the five people listed there. 
It’s not like he doesn’t know anyone; he knows lots of people. It’s just that most of them aren’t people he knows well enough to ask a favor like this, but even if they were, he wouldn’t trust any of them. 
Friends, or something like them, had come and gone a lot but he hadn’t really trusted anyone since Nate and even that was shaky towards the end. He glances at the list again with a sigh. The three guys he knows from around town are out. His new boss at Malkin Foundation is obviously out, and he doesn’t know anyone else there well enough yet. 
That leaves one person. 
Sid bites at the inside of his lip, thinking it over. He trusts Zhenya, but this is way outside of the realm of something he would ever normally dream of asking a client for. He’s never even called Zhenya before. But he’s spent the last three weekends with him, and Zhenya told him what feels like a hundred times that he should call if he ever needs anything. Sid’s never taken him up on it but now—He doesn’t have any other option with the receptionist staring at him impatiently. 
His hands feel shaky as he dials, fighting the urge to end the call before it even goes through. 
It only rings once. 
“Sid?” Zhenya’s voice sounds tense. 
“Hi,” Sid’s voice is shaky as he steps just outside the clear glass doors, so that the receptionist can’t hear his conversation. 
“You okay? Something wrong?” 
“No. I mean I’m okay. Nothing’s wrong and I’m, um, sorry to call you. I just um, I know this is last minute and I wouldn’t even ask if I didn’t have to…” 
“What you need?” he asks in a gentle tone that’s usually reserved for those quiet moments after Zhenya has just taken him apart in bed.  
“I just, um. Well I’m having my wisdom teeth removed today, and I was going to take Lyft home, but they said they won’t let me do that, and I have to call someone I know to pick me up, or they won’t do the surgery. I’m really sorry to ask.” 
“Sid, I tell you million times, you need anything, you call. Of course I help. Glad you call.”
Sid breathes a sigh of relief. “Thank you, Zhenya. I really appreciate it. Whoever you send won’t have to do anything except come inside to check me out and drive me home.” 
Zhenya is quiet for a long moment before Sid hears some shuffling. “You tell me address. I take care of it.” 
--
Zhenya frowns at the sign on the door.
“Boss?” 
Zhenya turns to Tanger with a scowl. “Paint chipped on sign.” 
“Let’s hope they’re better at oral surgery than door maintenance.” 
“They better be,” Zhenya mutters as he pushes the door open, leaving Tanger to keep an eye on the parking lot. He really wishes he’d been able to send Sidney someplace different, but it’s too late for him to do anything about it now.
Inside, the receptionist greets him without looking up, and he crosses his arms to wait until she does. It only takes a few seconds for her to realize and glance up, doing a double-take before asking, “Can I help you?” 
“Yes,” Zhenya replies flatly. “Here for Sidney Crosby.” 
“Oh, ok. He’s not finished yet but feel free to have a seat.” She gestures to the chairs scattered around the small waiting room. 
Zhenya huffs, unimpressed, before turning back to her. “How he doing?” 
“What?” 
“I ask how he doing. He’s have oral surgery, yes? Want update on his status.” 
“Oh. Well that’s not something they usually update me on.” 
“Then find someone who know,” Zhenya snaps impatiently. He’s never had a problem dealing with people who aren’t in the business—it comes with the territory—but today he has little patience for it. Seriously, how hard is it to get a patient update? Again he wishes he’d known about this ahead of time, so he could insist that Sidney go somewhere better. 
When she hesitates, Zhenya glares at her until she finally stands. “I’ll see if I can find something out.” 
He crosses his arms, shifting irritably while he waits. 
She’s back within a couple of minutes, followed by an older woman in scrubs with pictures of clowns all over her top. Zhenya fights the urge to roll his eyes. “How Sidney?” 
“They say he’s doing fine. They’re nearly done, no complications.” 
“Mmm. Please keep me update.” 
He turns back to the receptionist who is clearly not happy to have his attention back on her again. “He prepay?” 
She opens her mouth to say something but stops herself, tapping at some keys on the computer with a sigh. “Mr. Crosby is on a payment plan.” 
Zhenya pulls out his wallet. “I take care of it.”
Once he’s tucked the receipt away in his pocket, he finally turns away from the receptionist and starts to pace the waiting room. No one else comes in besides Tanger, who only briefly makes an appearance to update Zhenya on a business matter. The receptionist stares at him for so long he finally turns his back to her. 
“What’s her deal?” he asks in smooth Russian.
“Nosy,” Zhenya replies, scowling. “She gave me a hard time getting information about Sidney. I have no patience for it today.” 
“Please don’t kill the receptionist.” 
Zhenya gives Tanger a flat look. “I have more self-control than that.” 
“Do you?” Tanger grins, already heading for the door. 
“Get back to work,” Zhenya grumbles, cranky. 
He asks for another update after fifteen minutes, and this time she’s smart enough not to argue. The nurse is clearly annoyed when she returns, and Zhenya simply does not give a shit. “How he?” 
“They just finished and are waking him up. You should be able to take him home soon.” 
“Good.” 
It’s a relief when she finally emerges another twenty minutes after that and leads Zhenya to the recovery room. Sidney is relaxed back into the chair, and at first Zhenya doesn’t think he’s even awake. The moment he asks the doctor how things went, though, Sidney cracks his eyes open and gives Zhenya a bright, dopey smile. 
“Shhenyaa,” he slurs happily and gives a funny little wave before dropping his hand back down heavily. 
Zhenya is so glad Sidney called him for this. 
He grins as he comes closer, raking his fingers through Sidney’s hair. 
“You good wif your hans,” Sidney beams up at him while he tries to talk and Zhenya laughs.
He has a lot of questions for the doctor about how the procedure went (they say it went fine but Zhenya will most certainly be confirming that with an oral surgeon of his own choosing) and what kind of aftercare Sidney will need.  
Sidney interrupts, snagging Zhenya’s sleeve clumsily. “Iss okay,” he warbles at the doctor. “Shenya always takes care’ve me. He keeps me safe.” 
Zhenya raises his eyebrows and he can’t help feeling a little smug.
Sidney is clumsy but manages to walk with Zhenya’s arm firmly around his waist. He keeps grinning up at Zhenya and stumbling over his own feet, but they manage to make it almost all the way through the lobby without incident. Almost. 
Zhenya is pulling the door open when Sidney says it. 
“I like your dick. S’big.” 
Zhenya snorts, choking a bit on his laughter, hustling Sidney the rest of the way out without looking back. 
--
Tanger drives, so Zhenya can sit in the back with Sidney as he keeps drifting in and out. Each time he opens his eyes, he smiles dopily at Zhenya and says hi to both him and Tanger.
“You have good hair,” he says to Tanger in a dreamy voice. 
Tanger grins. “Thanks.” 
“S’not as good as Shenya’s though,” he says absently, looking out the window at the passing buildings while Zhenya barks out a loud laugh. 
“Where we going,” he asks, eyes fluttering again. 
“Taking you home with me so I can take care of you.” 
“Thas nice,” Sidney says and he’s out again. 
--
Zhenya manages to get Sid all the way to the bed before he blinks a few times, glancing around. “S’not home,” he slurs. 
“I know. Think I can take better care here. Is that okay?” 
Sid shrugs and lets Zhenya guide him to lie down. “S’good. Haysh’ll lea-me alone here.” 
That draws Zhenya up short. “Who?”
“Don’ like him,” Sidney says, not really paying attention, eyelids already fluttering. 
“Who bother you, Sidney? What they do?”  
But Sidney’s eyes have already slipped shut, and he’s starting to snore softly, leaving Zhenya frowning. 
He pulls off Sidney’s shoes and pants, getting him tucked in before he calls Tanger. “Put surveillance on Sidney’s building tonight. Want to know anyone who go near his apartment.” 
“On it.” 
--
Waking up is like fighting his way to coherence through several layers of thick cotton stuffing. 
Sid is so tired and drifty; he wonders why he’s even bothering. 
Then he hears it again. “Sid? Need you wake up and take medicine.” 
It’s a struggle to get his eyes open and even more of a struggle to process Zhenya carefully helping Sid to a sitting position and pushing his hair back. “Zshenya?” he slurs, remembering now that his mouth is swollen and sore. Nothing makes sense.
Zhenya grins at him with a chuckle. “Look so confused. Cute.” 
He boops Sid’s nose gently with his thumb before reaching to the side table, and it’s then that Sid realizes he’s in Zhenya’s bed. Had whoever picked him up taken him to Zhenya instead of home? 
“Time for meds. I have glass of water, need be very careful, okay?” 
Sid nods dumbly because he can’t really wrap his head around all of this right now. He takes the medicine, though not without difficulty. He realizes he’s maybe still a little numb in spots when water rolls right out of his mouth the first time he tries. Somewhere in the back of his head, he’s pretty sure he’ll be embarrassed about that later but right now he just stares at Zhenya once he’s managed to get the pills down. 
“Why’m I here?” 
“You think I’m send driver to take care after surgery? No chance. I come get you, bring you here. Need someone take care of you after thing like that.” 
Sid ponders that. Zhenya came to get him, not a driver. Now that he thinks about it he has some hazy memories of being in the car with Zhenya while someone else—the guy with the hair maybe?—drove. Sid glances back up and manages to warble out a belated, “thank you.” 
“How you feel?” 
Sid has to think about it. His brain is still so fuzzy from the anesthesia. Finally, he shrugs. “Okay.” 
Zhenya looks skeptical but doesn’t argue. “You want lay back down or sit up for awhile.” 
Again it takes Sid a few seconds to comprehend and decide on an answer. “I think—stay up? Is that okay?”
“Of course. Come, I get you set up on couch, we watch movies and I let you wear fuzzy slippers,” he says, winking at Sid with a cheeky grin. 
--
Zhenya grins at Sid’s soft snores, tucking a blanket around him. He’d lasted all of ten minutes on the couch before he’d mumbled something about his meds, and then he was out again. 
His phone rings and he gives Sid one last glance before ducking into the kitchen to answer Tanger’s call. “Yes?” 
“Flower’s watching the apartment. He said one guy already came to Sid’s door, the landlord, apparently. I checked him out—Martin Hayes.” 
Zhenya narrows his eyes. “Hayes. What you find out?” 
“Few run-ins for petty crime on his official record, but nothing that stands out.” 
“Sid behind on rent? Problem with apartment?” 
“Not that I can tell. The ledger in his personal apartment shows Sid’s current and has been for the last eight months.” 
Eight months—right about the time Zhenya hired Sid for the first time. But if it’s not a money issue then why is Hayes at his door? 
“Find out what he want with Sidney, then. Be discrete.” 
“You know I will.” 
Zhenya hangs up with a frown. He doesn’t know what’s going on but he intends to find out. 
--
Sidney is in and out for the next couple of hours. He doesn’t remember much about the times he wakes other than feeling a little loopy and confused. And Zhenya. 
Zhenya is right there every time, grinning as he takes care of Sid, makes sure he has everything he needs. Sid’s still not fully clear on how he wound up at Zhenya’s apartment, recovering from oral surgery, but he’s got a nagging feeling he may have embarrassed himself, if the number of times Zhenya laughs and calls him “cute” is any indication. 
He’s glad when the anesthesia finally seems to have burned out of his system, and he’s a little less fuzzy-headed. He’s not numb anymore and it seems like a victory to be able to feel his own lips again. 
He works his way through some cooled broth Zhenya brings him before he finally gathers his thoughts enough to ask, “I thought you would just send someone to pick me up.” 
Zhenya waves his hand dismissively, “Like I tell you earlier, not trust just anyone take most good care of you. 
Sid flushes, picking at the blanket. “Oh. Well, um, thank you. I, uh, I hope I wasn’t too much of a pain.” 
“Not pain at all,” he grins wider. “You very relax, cheerful. Most chatty I ever see you.” 
“Oh god. I hope I didn’t say anything stupid.” 
Zhenya’s smile definitely brightens at that. “Nothing stupid. You say my hair better than Tanger, and,” he pauses, grin changing to an unmistakably cocky smirk. “In waiting room you say how much you like my dick. Both things true.” 
Sid groans loudly, carefully covering his face with his hands. “Oh no, oh god, I didn’t.” 
“Did,” he replies cheerfully. 
Sid sinks lower, cheeks flaming as he keeps his eyes covered. “I can never go back there again.” 
“Good. I not like place anyway, paint chipping on door. I send you to my guy for follow-up. He take most good care of you. You can tell him how much you like my dick.” 
Sid groans again, pulling the blanket up over his face. 
--
Zhenya waits until Sid is carefully working his way through a bowl of jello before he brings up the landlord. “Who Hayes?” 
He prickles a little at the way Sid freezes. There is definitely an issue, and Zhenya wants to know what it is. 
“What, um, why?” 
“Earlier when I bring you here you say Hayes won’t bother you here.” 
Sid blanches a little, staring down at his bowl before he takes a deep breath. “He’s the landlord of my building. I just don’t like him.” 
“How he bothering you?” 
“Most of the time he’s not. He just, um, he asked me out, and I said no. It’s not a big deal.” Sid trails off with a shrug. 
Zhenya thinks about that for a moment before asking quietly. “I’m need to have talk with him? Can make sure he leave you alone if you’re not want to date him.” 
Sid’s eyes snap up to meet Zhenya’s. “I don’t! God no. But you don’t have to do anything. I told him no already.” 
He believes Sid, knows his tells very, very well by now, and he can tell Sid means every word he says. 
He also knows that there’s more that Sid isn’t saying. 
Zhenya is more than familiar with Sid’s tendency to diminish bad experiences, and he doesn’t like it. But he doesn’t like the uncomfortable look on Sid’s face, doesn’t want to stress him out right now, so he finally nods. “Okay. But want you to know, can call me any time, for anything. Anyone bother you, you need ride, need anything, you call.” 
Sid bites at his lower lip, looking so uncertain so Zhenya leans up a little, grabbing Sid’s wrist. “Hey. I mean. We friends, yes? You on Evgeni Malkin good side, you always taken care of. Is nice perk.” 
Sid gives him the smallest smile. “Okay.” 
“That and best dick.” 
Sid groans, turning away again but not too quickly for Zhenya to see him grinning. 
--
Sid spends most of the next two days with Zhenya fussing over him and managing his recovery. Eventually, though, Zhenya has pressing business matters and Sid has work at the Malkin Foundation to get back to. 
Even though Zhenya insists Sid can take whatever days off he wants without penalty, he doesn’t want to do that. It feels so good to have a real, reliable job again, and even though he hasn’t known them long, he likes most of the people in his office. He doesn’t want special treatment just because he’s, well— it’s none of their business what he is to Zhenya. 
It’s Friday and Sid thinks about Zhenya as he gets ready for work. it’s been almost two weeks since Sid last saw him, and he’s really hoping Zhenya will call tonight. He’s in a good mood when he heads out the door, so he’s entirely unprepared to come face to face with the landlord. He feels his stomach twist with dread and he tries to avert his eyes quickly. “Oh. Hi, Mr. Hayes. I’m just on my way to work.”
“Oh Sidney. You know me well enough to call me Martin, don’t you think?” 
“I’d rather not.” 
“Mmm, suit yourself. You should stop by the office and see me on your way home this evening.” 
Sid’s stomach clenches. “I probably have to work late,” he forces out before dodging to the side and rushing towards the stairs. 
Hayes doesn’t follow him, and Sid breathes a sigh of relief. 
It’s a decent day, but Sid’s feeling a little sour after the encounter with Hayes this morning. To make matters worse, Zhenya doesn’t call and Sid really doesn’t have a reason to be upset about that—but he is anyway. 
He stops by the grocery store after work, picking up a pint of ice cream as a treat before heading home. He’s pleased when he makes it past the office with no sign of Hayes and he bounds up the stairs, anxious to dig into his banana fudge ripple. 
He stops short when he gets to his door and finds it padlocked shut. Something sick twists inside him as his jaw drops open but before he can even process what he’s seeing, he hears the voice behind him. “Looks like you don’t have the key to that particular lock.” 
Sid takes a deep breath before turning to face Hayes. “What are you doing?” 
Hayes doesn’t move out of the way, stepping closer instead, trapping Sid against the door. He cringes away when Hayes raises a hand and runs his finger down Sid’s cheek. “You’ve been avoiding me.” 
“I told you I don’t do that anymore.” 
“You had no problem doing it when you were about to be evicted.” Hayes’ smile is predatory and Sid has to close his eyes for a moment against the painful memory. 
“My rent is paid up, and it has been for a long time.” Ever since he met Zhenya, to be exact.
“Is it? Hmmm, I feel like maybe I remember you paying this month but I can’t be sure.” 
Sid swallows hard. “You know I did.” 
“I’m not so sure I do. You might need to convince me, Crosby.” 
Sid shakes his head, feeling his stomach retch. “I’m not going to do that. You can’t do this to me, my rent is paid.” 
Hayes shrugs. “What are you going to do about it?” 
And that’s really the bottom line because Sid knows he’s right—there’s very little he could do about it. Cops are a joke and would never believe him, anyhow. His choices are to comply or likely lose everything he’s worked so hard for. It may not be much but it’s his. 
Swallowing hard he casts his eyes around, stalling, but there’s nothing and no one. Anger bubbles up inside of Sid at the situation. “I’m not touching you,” he snarls, before turning to bound down the steps. Once he’s outside he starts running, anxious to get as far away as quickly as he can, tears stinging at his eyes every step of the way. 
He eventually slows to catch his breath, dropping sadly onto the bus stop bench. 
It’s not fair. 
He’s going to lose everything, and there’s nothing he can do about it. 
Except. 
Maybe there is. 
You need anything, you call. He knows Zhenya meant it. And he’s so tired of being pushed around. In that moment, he realizes that what Zhenya does for a living simply doesn’t matter to him anymore. 
He takes out his phone and stares at Zhenya's number for a moment. When he hits call, it’s a lot easier than he thought it would be.
--
Zhenya knows something’s wrong the second he hears Sid’s trembling voice on the other end of the line. 
“What wrong?” 
“You said, um, you said I should call if I needed anything.” 
Zhenya’s on his feet before Sid gets the last word out. “Yes. What going on?” 
“I, um, my landlord is—he locked me out of my apartment. But I swear I’m not behind on rent!” 
Dark anger fills Zhenya’s chest at the mention of Hayes. “Where you? Somewhere safe?” 
He’s out the door before Sid has even finished answering him. “Stay where you are,” he says firmly. “I’m on way. You call immediately if anything happen.” 
“I—okay.” 
Sid looks sad and scared when Zhenya spots him at the shitty little diner he waited in. He’s shaky as Zhenya escorts him to the car, eyes turned down like he’s afraid. As soon as the car starts moving, Zhenya closes the privacy window and turns to Sid. 
“Tell me what happen,” he coaxes, as gently as he can.
Sid still won’t meet Zhenya’s eyes as he starts talking. “He locked the door with a padlock. He’s trying to say I didn’t pay my rent, and that I have to—” 
Zhenya can’t stand the way Sidney’s hand is shaking. He squeezes it and does his best to be patient. 
“He says I have to fuck him, or he’ll say I didn’t.” 
It takes everything Zhenya has to keep the rage from showing on his face. For the first time, he’s glad Sid’s not looking at him because he doesn’t think he quite manages. 
“That not going to happen; he not going to touch you.” 
“Zhenya, I—there’s something else you should know.” 
Zhenya hates the sadness etched all over Sid’s face right now. 
“It’s my fault,” he stops, taking a deep breath before he goes on. “Before, um, before I met you I got behind on rent, and I had to—” Sid pauses again before whispering, “I didn’t know what else to do.” 
Zhenya sets his jaw, not wanting Sid to see his anger and misinterpret it. 
Hayes is a dead man. 
But not before Zhenya makes him pay. 
“You did what you had to. Have to survive, Sid. No one judge you for that.” 
“A lot of people would.” 
Zhenya swallows back his anger at everything Sid has had to deal with. “Not me. Never me.” 
“Thank you,” Sid whispers sadly. 
Zhenya scoots closer and slides an arm around Sids shoulders, tucking him in close at his side. “Not worry anymore. Glad you call, I’m take care of this.” It’s enough for the moment to feel Sid’s body relax just a little at those words. 
“I’m not, um, I’m not asking you to do anything...bad. I just need help.” 
Zhenya grasps his hand and squeezes. “I’m powerful man, Sidney,” He says, without a hint of humor. It’s true and he’s not going to pretend otherwise. “If I’m want new landlord for your building, I’m get. Is no shame in ask me for help. I’m just going make sure he not work there anymore, not bother you anymore.”
He’ll be sure of it because Hayes will be dead, but he’s not telling Sidney that. 
Zhenya is patient. He’d like nothing better than to be making Hayes hurt right now but making sure Sid is okay is more important. Once home, he gets him settled, makes sure he eats and tries to reassure him any way he can.
He sticks close until Sid finally drifts off, looking young and sweet with his curls splayed on Zhenya’s pillow. He pushes Sid’s hair back, says a few quiet words to make sure he’s really out and pulls the door shut as quietly as possible. 
Fleury is waiting outside the front door. “He okay?” 
“For now,” Zhenya says, bitter anger spiking again. “Want full time coverage on Sid from now on. You want job?” 
“Absolutely.” 
“Want recommendations for who alternate with you by morning.” 
“Not a problem.” 
“He’s sleeping now. Call if necessary.” 
Zhenya steps into the elevator with a single-minded focus. Hayes is going to pay for every second he ever spent with Sidney Crosby.
--
He’s sitting on the chair and has the audacity to look irritated when Zhenya enters the room. White hot anger surges through Zhenya, but he doesn’t say a word, taking his suit jacket off instead, enjoying watching the color drain from Hayes’ face when he sees Zhenya’s holster.  
“You’ve got the wrong guy. This has to be a mistake, I—”
“Shut up,” Zhenya says coldly, crossing the room to stand in front of the chair. He stares down at the man for a moment, filled with dark, angry emotion before he backhands Hayes, knocking him out of the chair with one powerful motion. 
“Get up,” Zhenya says, voice full of venom. 
Hayes tries to obey, but Zhenya knocks him down again. Over and over, Zhenya hits him relentlessly until his face is a bloody mess, and he’s sobbing, begging Zhenya for mercy. Only then does Zhenya stop, leaning over to yank the man’s head back by his hair, relishing his cry of pain. “You fucked up when you fucked with Sidney, and now you going to pay.” 
Even though the blood and tears, Zhenya can see understanding dawn in his eyes, giving way to nothing but pure fear. Zhenya smiles cruelly. “Now we can begin.” 
He strides to where Tanger stands by the closed door, handing over several lengths of rope that he had ready.
Zhenya makes short work of propping Hayes back up in the chair before binding his arms and legs tightly to it with Tanger’s help. He circles the chair then, slow, calculated. 
“You take advantage of Sidney when he have no other options then you try to do again tonight, even when he say no.” 
“Please, I didn’t know he—” He’s cut off by another sharp backhand, and he wails in pain. 
Zhenya shoots him a disgusted look. “Pathetic coward, can’t even take like a man.” 
He pulls a tire iron from where it sits on the metal shelving and flashes a cold look. “Now you gonna cry some more because you gonna pay.” 
Without any more warning than that, Zhenya swings the tire iron hard and fast, connecting with the man’s right knee cap. “Hurts?” Zhenya brings it down again, this time on the left. “Good.” 
Hayes hands and fingers are next, followed by his ribs, shoulders, elbows—anything Zhenya can break without actually knocking him out, though at this point, Hayes is barely clinging to consciousness. Zhenya casts the tire iron aside when he’s finished, starting to circle the chair again. “You gonna die tonight, and no one ever gonna know what happen to you. But don’t worry, they gonna find pieces of you so your Mama not have to wonder if you alive or dead.” 
The man sobs at the words, trying to plead for his life again, even while blood is dribbling down his chin. Zhenya crouches down to meet his eyes, barely visible now through the swelling. “You sorry for what you did?” 
“Yes!” comes the warbled response. 
“Good.” 
Zhenya stands and gives a single nod towards Tanger who crosses to the other side of the room to the utility sink, casually plugging the drain and turning on the water. 
Zhenya starts unbuttoning his shirt, ignoring Hayes’ pleas for mercy as he gets the last button and peels the shirt off, leaving him in dress pants and an undershirt. He continues to ignore the whimpering and begging as he cuts the ropes and hauls Hayes up by his hair and shirt. 
He puts up a fight as Zhenya drags him across the room, but it’s pathetic at best, and Zhenya sneers at him in disgust. How dare he ever think he could force Sidney into anything he didn’t want, could take advantage of him when he was scared and in trouble. Anger builds and roils in his gut again as he yanks the man to a full standing position. Pausing only to say quietly, “You never gonna touch Sidney again,” he thrusts Hayes’ top half forward, plunging his head and neck under the cold water and holds him there, easily over-powering him as his struggling quickly weakens.
It takes a few minutes, but Zhenya holds him there just a little longer. When he finally lets go, the man doesn’t move, body draped limply over the edge of the sink, and Zhenya relishes the satisfaction that rolls over him.
He’s done what he came to do. 
--
Sid feels Zhenya slip into the bed and instinctively nestles against him, pressing his ass back without a second thought. They haven’t been together since before his surgery, and he really hopes Zhenya wants to tonight. He grinds his hips back a little harder and feels a soft huff of laughter at the nape of his neck. 
“Yeah?” Zhenya asks, voice silky and deep. 
“Yeah,” Sid breathes. “If you want to.” 
Zhenya makes a low, growly noise. “Always want. You sure you okay for it?” 
“God yes.” 
Zhenya’s only reply is the hot, wet slide of his tongue below Sid’s ear. 
104 notes · View notes
bonesaldente · 4 years
Text
Caliginous I Darth Maul x Reader
Chapter 14: The Survival
Final Chapter of Part I
(see notes at the end for more)
ao3
previous chapter
chapter overview
words: ~3200
____
The morning air is chilly on your bare arms. Elbows leaning on the balustrade, you stare at the masses of water. They’re constantly in motion, never in one place for too long, yet still essentially the same wherever they are.
You never held much love for your guild, not for the people part of it and not for what they made you - a killer, cold, but not cold-blooded enough to not care. Dangerous enough for people to be wary of you, but not menacing enough to command people. You hold power, but only over yourself, and even that doesn’t seem to be yours entirely.
No, you don’t like the guild, but you can't imagine a life outside of the path they chose for you; there is not much you’re good at outside of fighting and murdering. Whatever you do, you always seem to revert to the same old ways.
“What’s on your mind?”
You didn’t hear Maul join you on the balcony, but seeing him stand next to you from the corner of your eye pulls you out of your thoughts.
“Just thinking. Lots of ‘What ifs’, nothing worth mentioning.”
He hums quietly.
“I sometimes wonder what would have been if I hadn’t been made what I am now. If I had been born free.”
It’s easier to talk like this when you are able to just stare off into the distance, not having to face anyone.
He doesn’t stop you, so you keep talking.
“Maybe I would be a bounty hunter. Live on my own terms, don’t rely on authorities but do things myself.”
“It would fit your skills,” he agrees.
You shrug. “Maybe in another life. I am with you now, and I intend on staying. That is,” you face him, “as long as you want me to.”
“Do you truly still question that?” The corner of his mouth twitches in a hint of a smile.
“I’m just making sure,” you mumble. “To be honest, I don’t know what I’d do if I were alone. This galaxy is too big to travel on your own.”
He looks at the sky in thought, blinking slowly.
“I won’t leave you alone.”
*
Morning came around faster than you expected it to. A service droid knocked on your door to drop off trays with food shortly after the sunset, delivering the first real food you’ve had in weeks.
It’s strangely casual to eat at that table with Maul; it doesn’t feel like you two are currently taking over a system, while also waging a war against the Jedi.
“I don’t like the Naboo… but their fruit is good,” you admit while the sweetness fills your mouth.
“Is it?”
“Try it,” you push your plate over to him, but he pushes it back without taking a piece.
“My species is carnivorous,” he explains, exposing his prominent canines to illustrate his point.
“Huh,” you tilt your head. How come you didn’t know that?
“You’re missing out, then.”
His nose crunches up in disgust. “It doesn’t seem all that appealing.”
When he moves his face like that, the black inking on his nose gives him a very youthful look, and you have the terrible urge to boop his nose.
Where are those thoughts coming from all of a sudden?
You just shake your head, proceeding to munch on the vast array of fruit, perfectly content with your choice of food.
“Gunray expects us in an hour for another briefing. We will then wait for my master to give us more intel on the plan of the queen, then we will come up with a strategy. It is likely we will have another encounter with her and her protectors soon.”
You sigh quietly, already dreading the moment you have to let him walk into a duel again. “Yeah.”
You just hope it won’t be so soon.
*
“We are sending all troops to meet this army assembling near the swamp. It appears to be made up of primitives.”
The blue hologram sways with the movement of the droid projecting it into the air.
“This will work to our advantage,” Lord Sidious remarks.
“I have your approval to proceed, then, my Lord?” The Neimoidian sounds nervous, not just because of your and Maul’s presence anymore, but also because of the hooded man speaking to him. You can’t blame him; Sidious gives you, too, a queasy feeling in your stomach.
“Wipe them out,” Sidious orders. “All of them.”
The transmission ends, and with it the tenseness in your muscles.
“They will try to use the battle as a diversion,” Maul points out.
“We shall prepare droid forces in the palace and ready ourselves for a possible ambush,” Gunray agrees, bowing to him. “And we can monitor the situation in the palace from the surveillance room.”
He leads the way along with his lieutenant, Maul and you following with a distance.
“He is concerned for his personal safety,” Maul murmurs, so that only you can hear it. “He fears they will capture him and hold him accountable.”
You lean in but don’t take your eyes off the billowing robes of the green skinned politician.
“He does seem like a coward.”
You barely manage to suppress a yelp when suddenly, he grabs your arm and pulls you behind a pillar, hidden from the view of the two oblivious men still walking.
His lips clash into yours with an urgency you can’t quite comprehend, while he pushes you into the stone of the pillar.
The surprise at his sudden display of affection hardly gives you time to enjoy it, and he pulls away much too fast.
“I… just got a feeling,” his eyes look troubled.
“A force-feeling?” You inquire, already knowing the answer.
A small nod confirms your guess.
“Should I be worried?”
He scans your face for a second.
“You already are. But no, you should not,”
“Well,” looking over his shoulder, you see the men have almost rounded the next corner, “I think we need to catch up with our green friends.”
He nods, but doesn’t pull away from you for another moment, something else hiding behind his glowing eyes, something you’re not sure you want to understand.
Everything is going to be alright. It has to.
*
“I thought the battle was going to take place far from here. This is too close!”
Your eyes are glued to the screen, which has just changed to an overview over the yard, where blasterfire can be heard from a distance, tanks smoking and exploding.
You track the movement of the attackers, trying to anticipate their next destination. Until now, the Jedi have been mowing through the droids as if it were nothing, slowly and steadily bringing down the palace’s defenses. The group of politicians in the room is growing anxious, and rightfully so.
“The hangar,” you finally pipe up, watching the men pile through an entrance on the west side. “They are headed for the hangar!”
“If they get a hold of the starfighters they could issue an attack on the droid control ship and shut down our army!” The viceroy exclaims, dread lacing his voice.
“We must move now.” Maul decides. “Focus your forces on the hangar.”
“But they do nothing against the Jedi, as long as-”
“I will take care of the Jedi.”
So this is it.
Secretly, you have been hoping the droids would be enough to finish the Jedi. A foolish, naive wish, but still, there is disappointment swirling in your blend of emotions.
“We should evacuate this room… To the throne room!” the lieutenant suggests, watching as another tank blows up.
The mood in the surveillance room shifts - the politicians didn’t expect to get caught up in an actual battle when they came here.
“I will stay here,” you quietly notify Maul.
It’s the only way I can still watch over you, remains unsaid.
The doors open and the people start to crowd out, Maul following last, waiting until the last man has turned his back to you two. Again, something is in the air, something that he is sensing but not telling you.
“See you in a bit?” You ask timidly.
“Yes,” His gloved hand brings you into his chest, your ear right over his jugular where you hear his steady pulse. The sound of life. You wish you would never hear anything else again. One hand holds your head close, the other intertwines your fingers briefly.
“Yes,” he repeats, with more resolve this time around.
It physically pains you when you have to let go, but you both know that you have to.
You keep yourself from watching his retreating form, telling yourself that you are overreacting and imagining a goodbye where there is only a “see you later”.
You click through the holocam views until you have found a good view on the hangar.
A full on shootout is happening, and several starfighters have already taken off. Droids are falling left and right, cut in half or hit by a deflected blaster bolt.
There is no sound, but it is clear they are speaking to each other now, planning their next steps. They start moving to the gate, but when it opens, it reveals none other than… Maul.
Looking as menacing as the first time you met him, he makes the group freeze in place. Your fingers tremble, knowing that a fight for life and death is about to start.
So much to lose… and what is to win? For you, it doesn’t matter if the Trade Federation will be able to have some kind of treaty with Naboo. You don’t even care if there will be two Jedi less to travel the galaxy; All you really want is for Maul to make it out of there alive.
The people surrounding the Jedi run through a smaller exit on the side, but it’s obvious that Maul is far past caring about anything other than the two targets before him. He removes his hood and drops his robe at the same time that the Jedi do, not once looking away from them. Even through a low resolution, flickering screen, the tension is evident.
With a practiced twirl, Maul ignites first one end of his red lightsaber, then the other, balancing it in front of his body.
The two Jedi follow his example and present their blue and green blades.
For a moment, it’s as if time stands still, the only indication of its progress your heartbeat thumping in your ears.
And then, the duel begins.
You wince, unable to breathe while watching the flurry of blue, green and red. They move much too fast for you to follow with your eyes, yet you can’t peel your eyes off the screen. It feels as though even blinking will cause you to miss something, and you can’t, you cannot miss even a second of this fight. What if he gets injured, or worse, while you’re not looking?
The duel moves closer to the generator complex. You watch the men balance and jump over narrow catwalks: A drop from this height would be deadly, and that’s without two men with lightsabers viciously attacking you.
You suck in a sharp breath when Maul manages to catapult the Jedi who looks like what they call a ‘padawan’ over the edge with a kick behind his back.
For the fraction of a second, you take your eyes off your lover and instead watch the blond man fall, huffing in disappointment when he manages to hold on to a ledge.
The next moment, Maul himself is sent flying, fortunately landing on a lower catwalk. He narrowly blocks the next attacks while still on his back, and you heave out a sigh of relief when he is back on his feet, out of the vulnerable position.
They get closer to the edge of what the holocam can capture, and you fumble with the keypad for a few seconds to get a better view.
When the different angle appears, everything is tinted red. It takes you a minute to understand that you’re looking at red force fields that separate the power generator room from the rest of the palace. Maul and the Jedi are on different sides of the fields, putting a pause on the intense fight. The Jedi master is meditating, while your Sith is pacing up and down like a wild animal, like a predator.
They must feel a change in the force, because simultaneously, they ignite their sabers again, just seconds before the force fields retract row by row. Immediately, the Jedi master is back on Maul, both of them moving backwards, inching closer to another deep drop, something that looks like a reactor shaft.
The padawan is once again separated by a force field, shuffling to a halt right before it closes. Both of you are stuck watching your partners fight; and what a fight it is. The exchange is faster than ever this time, yet everything seems to slow down to slow motion when Maul stuns the Jedi by knocking the handle of his lightsaber against the man’s head, then rams the blade right through his chest.
Your entire body relaxes in your seat. Just one more to go, this shouldn’t be a problem. Everything is going to be alright now. He has killed one of them, all that’s left is the padawan. Yeah, this won’t be a challenge. You’ll be reunited in no time and-
The field retracts once more and like a beast set loose, the padawan charges at Maul. It is an incredibly fast paced fight, faster than with the master, so fast that you have to force your eyes to focus on the spectacle.
A small gasp escapes you when his lightsaber is cut in half, one half flying off to the side, the other remaining in his hand when he is pushed on his back again.
“Get up, get up,” you mumble, watching as the padawan flips over him. Maul, of course, jumps back up before the other man can land any strikes, elegantly evading his attacks.
Their sabers clash, interlocking for a second, then Maul pushes the padawan back, using the force to shove him over the edge, sending him falling a few feet down the shaft, where he just barely manages to hold on to a pipe.
From your angle, the ground partially obscures your vision on the man, but an early sense of victory fills you. Now, you two will be able to leave and make your own decisions. You’ve proven your worth, and now-
Your skin feels numb.
You are still breathing, but there is no oxygen reaching your lungs. Reality seems so far away, so disconnected, as you stare. You stare and watch the Jedi padawan leap, summoning his master’s abandoned lightsaber, flying over Maul’s head.
And then, suddenly, Maul is falling.
Your body goes cold, then hot, then back to cold, bile rising up your throat.
A shaking hand clasps over your mouth, and it’s only then that you realize that your entire body is shaking.
Your vision blurs, all you can see is the padawan running to the body of his master, crouching down next to it.
Maul is just… gone. Disappeared, down the reactor shaft. How could this happen?
It’s not true, it’s not true, he can’t die, it can’t be,-
Trembling, your breaths coming out short, accompanied by a desperate sob, your fingers find the keypad again, and you rewind the footage. You have to see it again, you just have to, despite already knowing what’s coming.
The padawan jumps, Maul turns, the green blade slices right through his stomach.
You rewind again, and the same footage plays out in front of your eyes.
You rewind again, and again, until the images are burned into the back of your head. When you bury your face in your hands, instead of darkness, the same images welcome you. There is no escape from your emotions, but you still try.
 You don’t know where you’re going, all you know is that you need to get away. The sounds of blasterfire still echo in the corridors, but they are far away.
You wish they were here.
You wish you weren’t alone.
Passing a statue that looks familiar, your sense of orientation returns to you. If you turn left here, you should reach the hangar.
But do you really want to? Can you?
No, you can’t. You’ll break down, that much is certain, but do you have a choice? Could you live with yourself, not having gone to look with your own two eyes?
You pass multiple piles of droid remains, and some dead bodies clad in the maroon color of the Naboo guard, which does little to soothe your sorrow.
The hangar, too, is deserted, and you head straight for the high gate that you watched the men disappear through just minutes ago. Before everything changed.
The gate opens after you press a button on the control panel and you fall into a sprint to the generator. There is a glimmer of stupid, unreasonable, unjustified hope in you still, and the closer you get to the scene, the faster you run.
You round a corner and immediately crash into someone, stumbling backwards and barely catching yourself before falling.
Your jaw drops.
The man before your eyes is the Jedi padawan, the one who took everything, the one who killed Maul, staring at you with wide eyes as if he hadn’t just destroyed your life.
Behind him lies the body of his master - he must have dropped it when you ran into him.
He still hasn’t moved, and neither have you. He could kill you, quite easily probably, with as distraught you are. Maybe he should - it certainly would be more pleasant than Darth Sidious deciding to dispose of you. The thought alone sends you into another fit of shivers.
The padawan holds your stare for another moment, then he lifts his master’s body again and staggers past you.
You watch him leave in shock. He is not going to fight you? He is not going to even ask you why you are running towards the reactor? And you? Shouldn’t you at least try to get revenge for what he did? The killer of the one person you loved is right here, and you are letting him get away just like that.
But you are a survivor. You have always been.
And if letting the Jedi get away means you will live to see another day, then so be it. You will survive purely out of spite, and one day, you will get revenge.
You start running again, until the reactor shaft appears in your vision.
And of course he is not there. How would he? You watched him die, how could your desperate mind even let you think he might still be there, alive, hanging on to a pipe just like the Jedi did?
You sink to your knees, the tears running freely now, and you feel so, so alone in the universe.
 You will live, if only to live the days that were taken from him. There is still fire glowing in your chest, and the looming darkness that being alone presents will not be able to extinguish it.
‘Your purpose,’ his voice resounds in your head, ‘is to live.’
When he said that, you thought he meant that you are of no use to the cause if you are dead.
Not, that should he die, you shall live.
 “I will live,” Your whisper echoes through the air, the only answer you get the repetition of your own words, combined with dry sobs from somewhere deep in your chest.
You will live.
_____
So! Angst!! That's always fun :)))
I have already started planning and mapping out my ideas for a part two that's set during the Clone Wars era. I plan on posting a little teaser soon, but the story itself is still going to take some time. Also, my classes are starting again, so I don't know how much time I'm going to have.
I already have so many ideas for things I could do in a part II, and I'm really excited to share them in the near future :)
Thank you to everyone who has read this. It means the world to me when I hear somebody likes what my garbage brain produces.
All comments/messages/asks are welcome anytime, and I’m still going to be active on here <3
Everyone on the tag list: Unless you don’t want me to, I’ll keep tagging you for part II, if that’s ok :)
____
@princessayveke​ @spaghetti-666​ @larawl @noiralei @secretnerd00 @bagpipes606 @zabrak-show @brilliantbutbatty
39 notes · View notes
signs-of-the-moon · 3 years
Text
Moon Rise: Chapter 50
"Look, they've come back!" Lightpaw exclaimed as Whitestar and the rest of her patrol made their way into Grassclan's camp. At the young apprentice's call, the rest of the clan had begun to gather around, eager to hear news of what came from the meeting with Treeclan.
"Well? What did Blazestar have to say for himself?" Chicorynose asked, tail wagging with anxiety.
"We are to settle this war the day after tomorrow," Whitestar responded, body tense. Swiftcloud flanked one of her sides and could feel the leader's dread through her fur. It was almost overwhelming. If her clanmates were not pressed so closely around them, Swiftcloud would have withdrawn to calm herself.
"Which means we only have a short time to prepare," Chicorynose murmured, eyes darkening.
Whitestar nodded, looking at each of her warriors as she spoke. "For the rest of the day, up until sundown tomorrow, I want every able bodied cat to train. We must ensure our skills are sharp so that we may claim our victory."
And so that we don't lose any more warriors, Swiftcloud added in her mind, figuring the same thought might be running through Whitestar's. She gave the leader a glance, able to tell her prediction to be true by the turmoil on the other molly's siamese face.
"I'll send everyone out, then." Chicorynose turned, already prepared to order partners and apprentices to team up and get to work.
Swiftcloud and the others on her patrol had been dismissed from training for the evening. They'd be on a long journey, and Whitestar knew all too well the dread it had caused them all. Swiftcloud was grateful for the break, although she didn't allow her time to be wasted. She wanted her skills as sharp as the rest of the clan's, especially after being unconscious for three days.
Across the camp, Swiftcloud spotted one of her mates laying beside the fresh-kill pile. Shadowfang looked to be at peace, having a rest after being out at The Dip battle training with Quailbelly and Thornpaw. Swiftcloud almost felt bad to disturb him. But a mischievous idea crossed through her mind. One that she knew she couldn't pass up.
"Hey, Shadowfang?" she meowed, drawing her mate's attention as she padded over to him.
Shadowfang glanced up at Swiftcloud, gnawing on the leftovers from his dinner. He gave his lips a satisfied smack, then sat up straight to acknowledge the white and black patched she-cat. "Yeah?"
Swiftcloud smiled innocently, wiggling her nubby tail. Before Shadowfang could comment on her odd behavior, she threw herself onto him, mouthing at his ear and tugging on it playfully. She pushed with all of her strength, trying to flatten the him to the ground. Shadowfang squirmed beneath her, swinging his head side to side in an attempt to throw her off his back.
"Hey, quit it!" Shadowfang hissed, laughter in his voice. He rolled over a little, batting at Swiftcloud's whiskers. Swiftcloud growled at him playfully, leading to her being squashed by the larger cat's flank. Swiftcloud squealed, wiggling from beneath the black tom. She jumped up momentarily, allowing Shadowfang to spring to his paws. He turned, pouncing onto his mate so her could nibble on her shoulder, giving her ear a cuff. "Take that!"
"Foolish Shadowclan cat, I'll make crowfood of you!" Swiftcloud yowled dramatically.
"Foolish, am I?" Shadowfang played along. "That is where you're wrong. You'll never defeat me, Swiftstar. For I, Shadowstar, am the most powerful clan leader in the world!"
"We'll see about that!" Swiftcloud retorted, rolling onto her back. She kicked up at Shadowfang's underbelly, with claws sheathed, trying hard to throw him off of her. Shadowfang continued to nibble on her shoulder and neck, earning thrill filled squeals from the patched molly. With one more effort filled kick, Swiftcloud managed to move Shadowfang from on top of her. She scrambled to get paws, darting away from the tom with a taunt. Shadowfang growled playfully, crouching to the floor. Her pelted after his mate a heartbeat later, gaining on her with ease. He pounced once more, tussling with her on the grassy floor. Squeaks and trills of laughter floated in the air between them as they rolled, their witty banter growing more and more dramatic. It felt good to play around with Shadowfang again like this. It reminded Swiftcloud of one of the reasons why she'd fallen in love with him. She enjoyed his playful spirit. Shadowfang never failed to make feel young and free. And though Swiftcloud was already both of these things, she knew that she'd truly felt this way whenever Shadowfang was around. To her, Shadowfang was joy; he was an adventure waiting to happen and a life full of experience. To Swiftcloud, Shadowfang was home.
"What in the name of the earth and stars are you two up to?" A voice called out to the playful mates, gaining both of their attention. Swiftcloud glanced at the cat who had spoken them, a bright smile blooming on her muzzle.
"Play fighting!" She chriped. "Care to join us, Misty?" She invited.
Mistyleaf shook her head, rolling her eyes playfully. "Silly furballs," she mewed as he booped Swiftcloud's nose, cuffing Shadowfang over the ear when he sat up. "How about we share tongues instead? Then you can tell Shadowfang and I all about your visit to Treeclan," Mistyleaf proposed.
Swiftcloud perked up the idea, agreeing without a second thought. The mates padded over to the edge of the clearing, entangling themselves with one another while they talked and groomed. During their chat, Swiftcloud's thoughts would wander. She realized while Shadowfang represented a life of freedom and fun, Mistyleaf stood for comfort. The silver molly was safety, trustworthiness, and softness. She was the calmness in the calamity. The voice of reason. To Swiftcloud, Mistyleaf was sanctuary. And together, both her and Shadowfang were the pure definition of love. Swiftcloud knew she could never adore any other cats more.
The moon soon climbed to its peak in the sky, summoning hard working warriors home, and putting them to sleep. Swiftcloud, Shadowfang and Mistyleaf rose from their resting place padding into the warriors' den. They settled back down together in their shared nest, passing on wishes of good rest and sweet dreams before closing their eyes until morning light.
When dawn graced the clearing the following day, Chicorynose and Tigerfang were all too eager to rouse everyone in the clan from their collective slumber.
"Up, up, up! Let's get out there and work our tails off. We only have a short time left before the great battle!" Chicorynose caterwauled, earning a collection of groans. "I've already taken the liberty of gathering the apprentices in the clearing. Go and grab your 'Paws and partners, let's head out."
"I'll see you two later," Shadowfang said to the mollies in his nest. He stood up, giving his shoulder a few licks. "I'm gonna take Thornpaw and Lightpaw out to the Mountainclan border today, with Frostfeather and Pansypaw. Actually-- Swiftcloud, do you wanna come along with your apprentice?"
"No thanks, I already have plans to bring Tulippaw and Tabitha to The Dip today," Swiftcloud replied, standing with a stretch. Shadowfang shrugged, muttering out a "fair enough" before he padding out of the den.
Swiftcloud bid him an extra farewell, turning to groom Mistyleaf.
Mistyleaf purred gratefully, nudging Swiftcloud with her muzzle. "You should go too. And I've got to help Goldensong prepare herbs."
Swiftcloud whined slightly but ultimately agreed. She gave Mistyleaf one last lick on the cheek before heading out of the warriors' den, ready to get the day started. A chilly wind ruffled her short fur as she emerged into the open. Her pawpads tingled from the cold ground beneath them, making her take careful steps as she made her way over to her apprentices.
Tulippaw trilled as Swiftcloud approached, rushing forward to tuck her head under her mentor's chin.
"I missed you!" She practically yowled, a wetness pooling at the edges of her eyes as she pulled away to look at Swiftcloud. Swiftcloud purred, licking the younger molly between the ears. She was well aware that Tulippaw had caught wind of the lie Snowfrost told. That Swiftcloud might not last the next quarter moon. Tulippaw had already lost one mentor. Though they were not close, Ambereye's death had still effected her. Starclan only knew how broken Tulippaw would become if anything ever happened to Swiftcloud. Luckily, Swiftcloud had no plans on dying any time soon. She was healthy again, and strong. She was determined to prove that to the brown and white she-cat. To give her the reassurance she needed.
"Alright, 'Paws, let's head out," Chicorynose meowed as she padded over to the apprentices. She turned, noticing the other she-cat besides the group. "Oh Swiftcloud! Are you tagging along?"
"I was actually planning on taking the apprentices myself today," she mewed in response. It has been a while since she had gotten to train Tulippaw. And she hadn't gotten the chance to assess Tabitha's skills just yet.
"Oh really? Where were you planning to go?"
"The Dip," Swiftcloud explained her idea for the day. She was willing to go into greater detail, if it meant she could convince Chicorynose to let her have the apprentices.
"What a coincidence! That's where I had planned to take them. How about we all go together then?" Chicorynose proposed. Swiftcloud thought about it for a heartbeat, agreeing to the plan rather quickly. It had been some moons since she'd been out training with her own mentor. And though she had graduated from her apprentice training, she still appreciated any lessons Chicorynose would still give. Tulippaw and Tabitha seemed excited by the plan, racing over to the bramble tunnel ahead of the warriors. Swiftcloud and Chicorynose chased after them, rushing to keep up as they made their way across the meadow. The wind grew more bitter as they hurried along, making Swiftcloud pray for the fresh warmth of Newleaf to grace the Land's Star sooner rather than later.
Eventually, the Dip came into their line of sight. It welcomed the Grassclan cats to its sandy center as they made their way down it's steep slopes. The walls of The Dip provided some shelter from the wind as the four mollies settled within the heart of it. Swiftcloud was grateful for the protection and knew she'd feel warmer just as soon as they would begin training.
"You're in charge today, Swiftcloud. Let's see what kind of training regimen you've got set up for these two hyperactive apprentices," Chicorynose commented.
Swiftcloud nodded, looking at each young cat in turn. She thought for a moment about the best course of action before speaking; "Tulippaw, you and Chicorynose will spar first. Afterwards, I'll be assessing Tabitha's skills. Then the two of you will practice some advanced techniques together, while Chicorynose and I train."
"Awesome!!" Tulippaw perked up at the chance to show off her skills. Tabitha and Swiftcloud shuffled off to the sidelines, keeping away from all the action that was about to unfold. Swiftcloud watched Chicorynose pad across the ditch, turning tail to face her opponent. Tulippaw stepped close to the center, eyes narrowed to focus on the other cat in front of her.
"Alright, Tulip, give me everything you've got." The deputy challenged.
Instantly Tulippaw dropped into a crouch, flexing her claws in excitement. Chicorynose mirrored her stance, stalking the apprentice around the base of The Dip, ready to pounce or defend at any given moment. Tulippaw watched her aunt carefully, eyeing her legs specifically. Chicorynose took notice and dropped down to protect herself, probably thinking she'd already bested the warrior in training.
Be careful of your line of sight; never give away your target with your glance, Swiftcloud was prepared to say, waiting for the apprentice to try and sweep her faux enemy's feet from under her.
But the attack never came. Instead, Tulippaw leaped without warning, springing onto Chicorynose's back. She scraped her paws against the older molly's flanks with sheathed claws, yowling out a battle cry. She'd managed to throw Chicorynose off her guard.
Well done.
Chicorynose fought to get Tulippaw off her back, gaining the upper paw for half a heartbeat when Tulippaw willing let her go. But as the brown and white molly's front paws touched the ground, she turned, kicking her back legs out. This pushed Chicorynose forward, knocking off her balance. She struggled to keep herself from toppling, widening her stance to catch herself. Tulippaw turned once more to smirk.
"Not bad," Chicorynose praised. Without another word she surged forward, swiping at Tulippaw's face. She changed paws every few heartbeats in an attempt to distract the apprentice. Tulippaw did her best to dodge the blows, getting hit once or twice. Though she managed to maneuver or block most of them. But Swiftcloud knew Chicorynose didn't really care whether Tulippaw took damage from her attack. What she was really after was backing her opponent into a corner. It was a technique Swiftcloud knew well, having been subjected to it often during her own apprentice training.
Tulippaw took a pace away each time Chicorynose swiped. Eventually, she ended up with her rear pinned again The Dip's wall. Chicorynose took this oppurtunity to pounce, slamming her body into Tulippaw's. Tulippaw hit the wall with a thud, sliding against it as she collapsed on the floor. She wasn't injured-Chicorynose would never have hit Tulippaw that hard-but the impact was enough to throw her off her paws. The deputy then set herself upon the younger she-cat, effectively pinning her. After struggling to get out of her aunt's grip, Tulippaw finally went limp in defeat.
"Great try," Swiftcloud purred as Chicorynose let Tulippaw sit up. She padded over to her apprentice, nubby tail held high. "Yknow you almost had her for a heartbeat. But you weren't paying much attention to your surroundings. A Grassclan warrior must always be aware of what's going on around them, from the ground to the sky. Many predators and cats will try to take advantage of you by attacking from unexpected directions. Or by tricking you into a spot you can't escape from. You have to always be guarded, and clever. Other than that, your blows hit hard, which is good, and your fighting stance is almost flawless. I'm very proud of your progress. You're going to be great tomorrow."
Tulippaw beamed, her glee as bright as the Greenleaf sun. She stood to shake some dust from her pelt, then gave a little bounce.
"Do you think I'll make a good warrior someday?" She asked hopefully.
"'Good?' No." Swiftcloud smirked. "I bet you're going to be one of the greatest warriors Grassclan's ever known. With enough training you'll end up being the best Fighter. If that's the job you choose to have. And you're already a very good hunter!"
Tulippaw giggled, giving her mentor a lick on the shoulder respectfully.
Swiftcloud turned. "Alright, Tabitha, it's your turn now. Let's see what Chicorynose has taught you recently."
"Really?" Tabitha seemed unsure. "But I thought I didn't have to fight in the battle tomorrow?"
"Of course you don't. But it's always good to test your skills. Even without your claws, you need to know how to defend yourself. If not for anyone else's sake, then for the kits and queens."
"For the kits and queens... Alright, I'll give it a try." Tabitha padded to the middle of The Dip, trading places with Tulippaw. She didn't seem nervous, despite previous hesitation. But she certainly seemed uncomfortable. Tulippaw wrapped her tail around Tabitha's briefly, giving it a reassuring shake before she moved to settle at the edge of The Dip besides Chicorynose.
Chicorynose lifted a forepaw to wrap around the apprentice's neck, pulling her close to her fluffy chest. With her free paw, she rubbed her niece's head playfully, earning yowls of protest as the young cat struggled to get away.
Swiftcloud chuckled seeing the two of them play, directing her attention back onto Tabitha soon after. She decided she would be taking it easy on the pregnant apprentice. But not enough to where she would be unable to learn. And certainly not to a point where Tulippaw may assume the queen was being coddled.
"Ready?" Swiftcloud checked as she watched the plump queen drop into a fighting stance.
Tabitha nodded curtly. "Whenever you are."
Swiftcloud dashed off from her spot immediately as the challenge began, running around Tabitha, trying to use her weight against her. Her growing belly made her slow, which granted Swiftcloud a bit of an advantage. Tabitha swung around to keep up, kicking out a back leg in order to defend herself. She managed to land a hit, shoving Swiftcloud away by a mouse-length. Then she turned like a snake, baring her fangs as if to warn her enemy of her sharp bite.
Swiftcloud rushed ahead without hesitation, throwing a front paw blow at the plump brown and white tabby. Tabitha caught Swiftcloud's paw in her mouth, biting down on it and pulling her second mentor closer to herself. Swiftcloud let out an astonished shriek, finding herself crushed beneath Tabitha's weight as she was pulled closer to her body. Swiftcloud swung wildly beneath the apprentice, hitting her with her paws in a mock scratch. Tabitha's heft pressed her opponent harder against the earth, her teeth fastening themselves into Swiftcloud's scruff. When the warrior had tired herself out, the training queen pulled her out from under herself, throwing the patched molly across The Dip with little effort. Swiftcloud narrowly avoided hitting the opposite wall, skidding to a half just a whisker-length in front of it. She smirked over at Tabitha, panting to catch her breath.
"You're a fast learner," she remarked, recalling how little time the apprentice queen had been part of the clan.
Tabitha lifted her head proudly. "With two of the clan's best warriors as my mentors, it's easy for me to learn."
"I think that's enough sparring for you two today," Chicorynose meowed, stepping forward. "Why don't you go practice some moves with Tulippaw now, Tabitha? I think my old apprentice may need a refresher course in the meantime."
Swiftcloud perked at the deputy's comment, an excited smile blooming on her muzzle. She did feel a little embarrassed, being beaten by a cat who'd only been training for a moon. She was more than happy to take on another lesson by her beloved mother figure. "Yeah!"
Tabitha and Chicorynose traded off, ready to face their new opponents without apprehension. Swiftcloud immediately dropped into a stance, bracing herself for whatever the deputy may throw at her.
The four mollies trained until the sun began to dip towards the horizon. Their bodies ached from a successful day of working by the time they climbed from the confines of the Dip. Swiftcloud was confident that the group was prepared for what tomorrow's battle may bring. But for the time being, all she would let herself focus on was getting home and resting. Worrying about the war's end could wait for her until sunrise.
3 notes · View notes
angelofthequeers · 4 years
Text
Miladybug
Disclaimer: I don’t own ML.
I signed up to be a backup gifter for @mlsecretsanta and my giftee turned out to be @chimpukampu so I hope you like this fic!  ❤️💚
AO3 link
“Where’s…Adrien?” Marinette pants when she’s tumbled into her seat, only barely on time for school which, to be fair, is a step up from being outright late. But there’s no familiar blond head in front of her!
“Home sick,” Nino says. “Poor dude’s got a nasty cold.”
“You reckon his dad’ll let him rest and recover?” Alya says, making a face. “Or is he just gonna learn at home?”
“Probably that one,” Nino says.
“Ugh. He’s got the worst dad, I swear. My mum would tie me to the bed with blankets and force-feed me homemade chicken soup.”
Ms Bustier clears her throat, cutting the conversation short. But Marinette can’t concentrate. All she can think about is poor, sick Adrien, and how she should maybe swing by later that night before patrol with a box of delicious baked goods…but no, she can’t. Between her love for Adrien and the feelings for Chat Noir that she’s trying to shove a lid on, it’s the last thing her tangled heart needs, not to mention that she’d probably end up a flustered mess like when she’d given Adrien the Snake Miraculous and then he’ll think she’s totally uncool and won’t want to talk to her and she’ll have blown her relationship with him on both sides of the mask and –
Marinette shakes her head with a soft groan and forces herself to pay attention to the lesson. Dwelling on it won’t do anything except send her brain spiralling, which is never a good time for her.
Once school’s over, she distracts herself until patrol time making a get well soon card for Adrien, even though she probably won’t have the guts to even sign it, let alone deliver it. Besides, the universe will probably kick her in the gut if she does; after all, she’d forgotten to sign her Valentine, and she’d signed Adrien’s birthday present, but her signature had somehow vanished. Tikki perches on her shoulder, munching on a cookie while Marinette sticks a scarlet heart to the front of the pink card and then sprinkles a touch of pink glitter on it.
“What do I even write?” she says when she opens it. “Dear Adrien, get well soon! Love, Marinette.” She groans and thumps her head on her desk. “No! That’s the most generic message ever! And “love”? Gah! That’s too – too – coupley!”
“I thought you wanted to be a couple,” Tikki teases.
“Yeah, but not through a get-well card when he’s sick!” Marinette says. “Ugh, this is a disaster!”
“Well, it’s almost time for patrol,” Tikki says. “Why not head out a little earlier to clear your head? Then you can work on your card when you get home!”
Marinette exhales and lets her shoulders slump. “You’re right, Tikki,” she says. “I’m freaking out over nothing!”
“Hey, I didn’t say that!”
“Yeah, yeah. Tikki, spots on!”
As Ladybug, all her worries seem to melt away once she’s swinging through the sea of lights that make up Paris. Although she could make it to the Eiffel Tower in less than a minute, she decides to take the scenic route and keeps a nice, relaxed pace through the city. At one point, she even closes her eyes and lets herself plummet, laughing at how the wind whips through her hair and howls in her ears, then opens her eyes and throws her yo-yo just in time to stop herself from crashing into the ground.
Even though she’s early, Chat Noir is already at the Tower when Ladybug lands on the platform at the tip, her pigtails a windblown mess and her cheeks flushed warm with blood. He gives her his signature smirk, although it’s lopsided.
“Milady!” He lets out a giggle. “Get it! Because you’re a ladybug! You’re milady…bug!” He squints at her and adds, “You don’t look like a bug, though. Your eyes are…” He laughs again. “Pretty!”
“Uh…” Ladybug lets her yo-yo swing. “Is there an akuma? Did you get hit?”
“What! Noooo! No akuma!” Chat Noir lets himself fall onto his back. “I’m happy, miladybug. Bugaboo. Angel. The light of my life!”
Her brow furrowed, Ladybug edges towards her oddly-behaving partner and nudges him with her toes. He giggles again and looks up at her with glazed green eyes.
“Okay, what happened?” she says, crossing her arms. “What did you do?”
“I’m sick!” Chat Noir beams as though Ladybug had just revealed her identity to him. “I have a coooold. But I’m so hot!” He flexes his biceps and says, “In more ways than one, miladybug!”
“God help me,” Ladybug mutters. “What kind of cold could you possibly have that would make you like this?”
“It’s not my cold!” Chat Noir winks. “It’s – it’s the meds! I took cold tablets!” He frowns and adds, “Why are they called cold tablets if they’re not cold? You don’t keep them in the fridge. Maybe you should, though!” He gasps and covers his mouth. “I’ve found the secret, miladybug! I’ll cure colds! Maybe I shouldn’t be a ps – a physicist. I’ll be a biologist!”
So, Chat Noir wants to be a physicist? Huh. Adrien likes physics too.
“A bi-ologist!” Chat Noir says with a rasping laugh. “Because I’m bi! Geddit, miladybug? And I’m bilingual! I’m learning Mandarin!” He gasps. “Are you bi too? Are we balanced? You on this side –” He holds his left hand out. “And me on this side!” He holds out his right hand. “For justice! Lady Justice! Milady Justice!”
“Okay, okay, no patrol for you tonight, kitty,” Ladybug sighs, sitting cross-legged next to him. He immediately shuffles over and rests his head in her lap, and a deep sound rumbles deep in his chest. “Did you just purr?”
“Mm-hmm!” Chat Noir sighs and nestles his head further in her lap. “Cats purr when they’re happy. And you make me happy, miladybug. You’re my – my catnip! I can’t get enough of you!” He twirls his finger near his temple and says, “You make me gaga when you’re around!”
Despite her best efforts, Ladybug can’t stop a giggle from escaping her. It seems that cold and flu medication sends Chat Noir high as a kite and removes any filter he might have. This could be problematic, although she can’t quite put her finger on why because even without a filter, he shouldn’t just up and spill his secret identity.
Right?
“Are you an angel, miladybug?” Chat Noir sighs. “You’re glowing.”
“That’s just the city lights, silly,” Ladybug says and boops his nose. He purrs louder in response.
“Your eyes are so pretty,” he says. “So – so – blue! Just like my friend.”
Alarm bells start to sound in Ladybug’s head. “Chat –”
“Marinette!” Chat Noir blurts out. Ladybug freezes. “You know Marinette, right? Of course you do! You told me to protect her from Nathanieeeel.” He sighs again and says, “Can I tell you a secret, miladybug?”
“Um, I don’t think –”
“I think I like Marinette. She’s so prettyyyy…and she’s always standing up – everyone stands up! No one can sit forever! But she stands up strongly. And she tells off Chloe. I wish I could be as cool as her.”
“Chat, I think you need to shut up now,” Ladybug says, trying to extract Chat Noir from her lap while also trying to deal with the warmth pooling in her gut at his words. Rather than listen to her, however, he utters the words that knock her entire worldview off its axis.
“She’s so beautiful when she’s positive,” Chat Noir says with a strong purr. “She’s the only person in my class who’s never touched a pretty black butterfly, apart from me.” He wrinkles his nose. “Wait, no, they’re ugly. Hawkmoth is ugly. But not Marinette! She’s beautiful. I’m used to disappointment. But she’s strong. Of course she is. She’s a baker’s daughter!” His eyes unfocus. “I wonder if she could carry me like a sack of flour.”
Ice explodes in Ladybug’s stomach, coating her insides. She’s the only other person apart from him that hasn’t been akumatised in their class? But – no, that can’t be – the only other person in Ms Bustier’s class who hasn’t been akumatised is…
Something behind Chat Noir’s mask seems to shift. The blond hair and green eyes are no longer unfamiliar. Now they’re – now it’s Adrien looking out at her with his drug-glazed eyes and lopsided grin –
No. Way. She’s been rejecting her crush all this time for herself! He’s starting to fall for her civilian identity, and he never would’ve let this slip if he’d known it was her behind the mask, drugged or not! And now he’s just gone and blurted it all out to her and outed his identity! What the heck is she supposed to do?
A soft snore snaps her out of her panicked thoughts. Chat Noir has dozed off in her lap, curled up like a cat and letting out little purring snores with each exhale. Before she realises what she’s doing, her fingers are carding through his hair, bright scarlet against soft gold like a rose on sea sand. Okay. She just has to be rational about this. She needs to talk to someone before she has her looming meltdown.
“Spots off,” she whispers. Pink sparkles wash over her, dissolving the ladybug suit and freeing Tikki. The kwami gasps, her eyes bulging as she takes in the scene before her.
“It’s okay,” Marinette says softly, still combing her fingers through his hair. “Adrien’s asleep.”
“Ad – oh.” Tikki’s large blue eyes are fixed on Chat Noir. “You know. How?”
“He’s high on cold meds,” Marinette says. “He let a few things slip. Things I couldn’t just brush off. Like how we’re the only two people in our class who haven’t been akumatised.”
“That would do it,” Tikki sighs. She darts into Marinette’s purse and emerges with a macaron, devouring half of it in one bite. “And you’re not…upset? Freaking out?’
“Oh, I’m about two seconds from losing my mind,” Marinette says rather evenly, still stroking her kitty’s hair. “I think it’s just a delayed reaction. And I don’t want to wake him up or freak out Paris and make them think there’s an akuma.”
“Poor Adrien.” Tikki darts down to press a tiny kiss to Chat Noir’s forehead.
“It makes sense now,” Marinette says. “Why Chat’s so…Chat. I mean, his timing could use some work, but of course he’s going to be that open when he’s Chat.”
“It’s not like he’s a different person as Chat than as Adrien,” Tikki says.
“Yeah, I know that,” Marinette says. She sighs and leans down to follow Tikki’s example and kiss Chat Noir on the forehead. The inevitable meltdown in the next few hours as she tries to process this is going to be huge. “Adrien has his dorky moments. How did I not see it before? He literally told me it was a ‘knightmare’ after Darkblade was defeated! And you knew!”
“Of course I knew,” Tikki says. “I saw him when you were facing Dark Owl. But are you really upset that I didn’t tell you?”
“No, no…it was my decision to keep our identities a secret. I guess I’m just trying to process.”
“Maybe you should process at home,” Tikki says. “You’re clearly not going to get any patrolling done, and it’s probably best for Adrien if he’s at home to rest.”
“But he’s…so peaceful.” Marinette starts to stroke a finger down Chat Noir’s nose over the shiny leather mask, just like her mother used to do to her as a small child. Chat Noir lets out a loud purr and nuzzles against her thigh.
“The longer you try to suppress this freak-out, the stronger it’s going to be when it sinks in,” Tikki says. “And super suit or not, the best thing for Adrien right now is to be resting at home. It’s not exactly warm out here.”
“That’s…true.” Marinette huffs and carefully shifts Chat Noir’s head so that she can stand up. Chat Noir lets out a tiny mewl when his head touches the cool metal of the Eiffel Tower, rather than the warmth of Marinette’s legs. She can’t help but let a laugh slip out when, absurdly, she realises what Chat Noir might have to say about Tikki’s wording. “That silly cat. He’d say suppurress and then give me that grin of his when I groan. I can’t believe I’m in love with this dork!”
“You’re in love with him?” Tikki says. Marinette braces herself for a freak-out that never emerges. Huh. Maybe it really is waiting until she’s home and her brain isn’t currently trying to process a million past interactions at once.
“He’s Adrien,” Marinette says. “Of course I’m in love with every side of him. And okay, so I might have been catching some feelings for Chat, but I’m just going to ignore that. And bury it deep down. Really deep down. And then let it blow up as I scream into my pillow and you float there and try to calm me down and offer me advice about how it’s all going to be alright and I’ll start shrieking about our three kids and hamster and island home and my parents will just assume I’m going on a lovesick ramble again –”
“Marinette!” Tikki says loudly, cutting off the rest of Marinette’s babbling in her throat. “Maybe you should get Adrien home while you’ve still got some semblance of higher brain power?”
“Right. Right. Of course.” Marinette runs a hand through her hair, accidentally pulling some strands out of her pigtails. “You’re right. Tikki, spots on!”
Once transformed, Ladybug scoops Chat Noir into her arms bridal-style and then leaps across the buildings of Paris in the direction of the Agreste mansion. To be honest, there’s a part of her that’s praying to see Adrien in his room, to maintain this charade of Adrien and Chat Noir being two separate people, even though she knows rationally that after Chat Noir’s rambling just before, there’s no way he could be anyone else. But sure enough, when she swings smoothly through the window into Adrien’s bedroom, there’s no one there.
Well, then. Guess there’s no more deluding herself. Chat Noir and Adrien Agreste are the same person. The boy she’s been turning down is the boy she’s been so in love with for so long.
“He can’t detransform like this, can he?” Ladybug mumbles to herself once she’s laid Chat Noir down on the bed as reverently as someone might set down their new bride. Chat Noir snuffles and curls in on himself, then lets out a tiny snore, and Ladybug’s insides melt into goo at just how…adorable he is.
If she’s honest with herself, Chat Noir’s always had a bit of her heart that Adrien never had. It would’ve been easy – so very easy – to let herself fall for him. But how could she do that when her heart belonged to Adrien? How could she let herself give up on the boy she loved?
Except that now, she doesn’t have to. The two boys who’ve staked claim to her heart are one and the same. It’s not as though her feelings for Adrien have transferred to Chat Noir now that she knows they’re the same person. It’s more like…acknowledging the duality of Adrien and Chat Noir has unlocked her heart, allowing herself to fully love both sides of the same boy, simultaneously so similar and yet so different.
Ladybug blinks and shakes her head. Of course she’d stand there and wax poetic over her sleeping kitty. But how is she supposed to detransform him without waking him up to have him say the words? She can’t really leave him there as Chat Noir in case someone comes to check on him and finds a leather cat superhero where the sunshine prince of Paris should be. She bites down on her lip to stifle her laughter at that thought, to avoid waking him.
“Forgive me, mon minou,” Ladybug whispers. She takes his hand in hers and starts to slide his ring off, ever so slowly, making sure that he doesn’t wake up and start freaking out that someone’s trying to remove his ring. She freezes when he grunts, but his head just lolls to the other side and he continues to snore softly, his exhales whistling just like hers do when she’s all clogged up from a cold. Poor kitten.
In a flash of green light, Chat Noir is replaced with Adrien once Ladybug finally gets the ring off. Plagg comes tumbling out and whips around, no doubt to investigate why he’d been forcibly freed from the transformation, so Ladybug just raises a finger to her lips, Plagg’s Miraculous in full view, and then carefully twists the now-silver ring back onto Adrien’s finger. Plagg watches her silently, his bright green cat eyes rather eerie in the rolling shadows of Adrien’s room cast by the lights outside his window.
“I can’t believe he’s my kitten.” Ladybug sits down next to Adrien, careful not to disturb him, wincing when he forces in a particularly loud gulp of air. She resumes stroking her finger down his nose just as she’d done on top of the Eiffel Tower and he seems to lean into the touch with a soft purr, although that could just be her imagination.
“Thanks for taking care of him.” Plagg’s voice is soft, both in volume to not wake Adrien up and in tone, unlike his usual crassness. “I tried to get him to skip out on patrol tonight.”
“He should have. Silly kitty.” Impulsively, Ladybug bends down and smooths back Adrien’s soft hair to press a kiss to his forehead, her lips lingering on the hot skin. She won’t kiss him on the mouth, not while he’s asleep; that’s a privilege that she has to earn when he’s awake and aware. “I wish I could help.”
“Kid, trust me, when I tell him Ladybug kissed him, that’ll help him plenty,” Plagg says. Then he smirks, his fangs glinting in the dim light. “He’s gonna freak when I tell him Ladybug knows who he is. Maybe he’ll finally shut up about his lady and her silky hair like night and her bluebell eyes –”
“Plagg!” Ladybug hisses as blood rushes to her cheeks. “Don’t be a turd!”
Plagg just cackles quietly. “You should go, Pigtails,” he says as he zips down to snuggle on the pillow next to Adrien’s head. “I’ll watch out for him. Wouldn’t want to be late for school tomorrow, would ya?”
“You and I both know I’ll always be late, Ladybug or not,” Ladybug say. But she still rises from the bed as gently as she can, then turns back to leave one last kiss on Adrien’s forehead. “Sleep well, mon chéri.”
“Gag me,” Plagg mutters. Ladybug rolls her eyes at him before heading for the window, tiptoeing so that her kitten can sleep peacefully. She her yo-yo to catch on a nearby chimney, blows a kiss back at Adrien, then leaps out into the cool Parisian night.
“Don’t worry, Adrien,” Ladybug murmurs as she reflects on the action-packed events of the past hour, praying that she makes it home before it really sinks in and she starts to scream, because the last thing she needs is to scare the living daylights out of Paris. “I’ll carry you like a bag of flour tomorrow. Just you wait and see.”
331 notes · View notes
sinfulserpents · 5 years
Text
Oh Me, Oh My! | Henderson! Reader
Tumblr media
Steve Harrington x Henderson! Reader
MASTERLIST
Warnings: violence, kidnapping, STRANGER THINGS S3 SPOILERS!!
Summary: Returning to Hawkins after college didn’t work out, you find yourself once again thrown into the dangers that come with the upside down. You didn’t expect to be kidnapped by Russians, yet again you didn’t expect to have your best friend accidentally confess his feelings to you.
word count: 2.6K
I CHANGED SOME OF THE DIALOGUE TO SUIT MY STORY. I DON’T OWN ANY OF THE STRANGER THINGS CHARACTERS; THIS IS PURELY A WORK OF FICTION.
“Hey! Don’t touch her! I swear to God, if you touch her I will kill you! You hear me? I will kill you!” 
Steve’s yells echoed through room that he was being held in, tied to a chair with Robin. Your piercing screams made his heart rate spike and he wished he was with you right now; protecting you. 
“Y/N! Listen to me! I’m going to help you! Don’t fucking touch her!”
“Steve,” Robin’s voice paused him from his struggle against the belt keeping him in place. “We’re going to get her, you just need to keep calm.”
“Calm?! How can I keep calm when they’re hurting her! Oh God, Dustin’s going to kill me!”
“We both know that you don’t give a shit about what Dustin will do to you right now, you see those scissors to the left?”
Looking to his left, Robin quickly shook her head. “My left, Steve.” Looking to his left, Steve nodded when his eyes caught sight of the scissors. “If we both jump at the same time, we can reach them and cut ourselves free. On three,” 
Robin stated, making sure that Steve was ready, “one, two, three!” 
The two of them both jumped at the same time and Steve tried to drown out the sounds of your cries and whimpers to focus on getting to you. The pair celebrated when their plan worked and made quick work of trying it again, only to misjudge their landing and end up on the floor; still tied to the chair.
“Fuck!” Steve groaned, his cheek resting on the cold floor. It was silent for a few minutes and that’s when he realised that he could no longer hear you. “Y/N! Can you hear me?!”
When he didn’t receive a response, panic settled in. He could make out Robin trying to comfort him, but it was no use. He couldn’t imagine what the Russians had done to you – he didn’t want to.
“Hey morons! If one goddamn hair on her perfect head is out of place, I’m going to fucking end you!”
“Steve!” Robin hissed, Steve lifted his head slightly and realised that the men keeping them hostage were now at the open door. One of them had you lazily thrown over his shoulder; he walked over to the pair as they were lifted into upright seated positions and dropped you at Steve’s feet with a thump.
The guy cursed something in Russian as Steve struggled against the belt trying to reach you.  Your mind was foggy as you tried to sit yourself up, you could hear the sound of muffled voices and you placed your palm against your forehead; willing some of the pain away. 
You knew that the Russian men had drugged you with something, but as far as you could tell there were no side effects as of yet. Your ears rang as a hoarse scream made your eyes widen and that’s when you saw the same men injecting Steve and Robin with the substance. 
“Hey! Don’t touch him! Stop!” 
Raising your hand weakly out in front of you, it limply fell back to the floor to keep the upper half of your body up. The sound of a door shutting signalled that the men had left and you let your body fall to the floor. 
Steve grimaced when he finally got a good look at your face. Your right eye was red and had a dark purple bruise forming around it, your bottom lip was split and bleeding and your neck looked like someone had attempted to strangle you. 
“Y/N,” your head lulled to the right as you stared directly up at Steve who looked almost as bad as you. “What did they do to you?..”
A small smile grew upon your face, but you quickly stopped when a sharp pain shot throughout your cheek. 
“What did they do to me? You should see yourself Harrington,” you laughed, pointing to your neck. “They injected truth serum right here, truth serum Steve! What idiots!”
Steve let out a deep chuckle, pointing to his own neck. “Me too! Absolute morons!”
You both started laughing despite the pain you were feeling, soon being joined by Robin, who threw her head back onto Steve’s shoulder.
“Truth serum isn’t real!” She giggled, letting out a snort. “I don’t even feel anything! Do you guys?”
“No!” Both you and Steve yelled at the same time; the three of you bursting into another round of laughter. Looking up towards the boy who’s smile was beaming, your eyes slightly widened. 
“Hey Steve! How does your hair still look so good?!”
Steve’s loud laughter boomed throughout the room, “that’s the power of Farrah Fawcett, baby!”
The sound of rushed footsteps approaching, pulled you all away from your moment of happiness, as you all watched the door in anticipation. 
“Hey morons! Hurry up, I’m tired of waiting for your entrance!” Robin screamed, making you chuckled.
The door suddenly swung open and your eyes lit up when you realised it was your brother and Erica Sinclair who was holding a pole that seemed to be sending shocks of electricity into the air.
“Dusty!” You happily yelled, raising your arms above your head in happiness. Dustin’s eyebrows furrowed as he stared between you, Steve and Robin who seemed overly excited to see them.
“What’s wrong with her?” Erica pipped up, causing Dustin to roll his eyes before responding to the girl who he wouldn’t admit was quite entertaining. 
“Nothing, let’s just get the hell out of here.”
                                                         ——-                                                            “Hey, Henderson! You still look drop dead gorgeous with all those bruises.”
Letting out a dramatic groan, Robin shoved Steve’s shoulder causing him to stumble into a bunch of boxes in the elevator they were taking up this time. 
“You’re so bad at flirting Steve!” Robin rolled her eyes, crouching down in front of him. Your giggles made Steve’s heart race a bit faster as he looked up at you leaning against a storage rack. 
“What do you want me to do Robin? Just tell Y/N that I’m in love with her?!” 
It was as if time came to a halt as your eyes slightly widened. Everyone was silent until Dustin threw his hands up in exasperation, before kneeling next to Steve who hadn’t moved from the position he fell into. 
“I tell you to do one thing Steve! One thing – to not fall in love with my sister!”
“How could I not Dustin! Look at her! She’s perfect!” Steve exclaimed, raising his hand in your direction. 
“Are you drugged? I need to know if you’re going to die – at least then we can pretend you didn’t just confess your profound love for my sister like this!”
“I don’t do drugs, dad,” Steve sarcastically sneered, poking Dustin’s nose with a small ‘boop.’
“Let’s go” 
Dustin helped Steve to his feet once the elevator stopped, signalled for everyone to follow him. You all stumbled out, Dustin making a quick plan to take you all into the cinema to hide from the Russians that were searching for you.
With a lot of giggles and hushed scoldings from Dustin, you all made your way into the cinema. Dustin sat Steve and Robin next to each other and tried to get you to sit with him, but Steve only clung onto your arm and pulled you onto his lap; causing Dustin to roll his eyes for the thousandth time. 
“Hey Harrington,” you smiled, pulling Steve’s attention away from the screening of Back to the Future. 
“Yeah?”
“Nothing, don’t worry about it.”
With a wide smile and soft blush to his cheeks, Steve gave you a quick peck on the cheek. The both of you stared at each other, before being forced to look away by Robin standing up and rushing out of the cinema with a quick ‘I’m so thirsty.’
The both of you rushed out of the screening after her, stopping when you found a water tap. Each of you took turns drinking for a couple of minutes each, shoving the others out of the way to have another go. 
“I think I’m going to puke,” Steve stated, a burp bubbling up in his throat. Robin quickly agreed and without even checking on you, they agilely ran towards the closest bathroom. 
“I’m going to wait here!” You called, even though it was no use. “Or maybe I should try to find Dustin.”
                                                            ——-        
“When was the last time you peed your pants?” Steve hazily asked Robin, his head rolling side to side against the tiled bathroom wall. 
“Today..”                 
“What?!”
“When the Russian doctor took out the bone saw!” 
“Oh my God!”
“It was only a little bit though!” She defended herself, showing a small gap in between her fingers - a giggle escaping her lips.    
“Yeah,” Steve shook his head, giving her a light laugh, “it’s definitely still in your system.”
“Alright my turn!”
“Okay, hit me.”
“Have you ever…” Robin thought for a moment, before the question hit her. “been in love?”
“Yup, Nancy Wheeler. First semester, senior year.”  Steve admitted, making a gun figure with his hand and pointing it to his heart - pretending to shoot himself. Robin only rolled her eyes at his response.
“Oh my god, she’s such a priss.”
“Umph, turns out; not really,” Steve half-heartedly defended his first love. 
“Are you still in love with Nancy?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“I think it’s because I found someone who’s better for me,” Steve confessed, shrugging his shoulders although the girl in the other stall couldn’t see him. “Ever since Dustin got home he’s been saying ‘you’ve got to find your Suzie. You’ve got to find your Suzie.’“
Robin scrunched her eyebrows in confusion, “wait, who’s Suzie?”
“Some girl from camp – I guess his girlfriend. To be honest with you, I’m not even one hundred percent sure she’s real. But, that’s not really the point-” 
“You’re in love with Y/N.”
“Yeah,”  Steve rushed out, running his hands through his hair, “and I’ve ruined every chance I’ve had with her, because she’s amazing! She’s unlike every girl I’ve ever known. She doesn’t hesitate to risk her life to save her dingus brother and his friends - she fought off Billy Hargrove when he attacked me. She’s perfect.”
Robin was silent as she listened to her new found best friend spill his heart about the girl he’s in love with - the girl she’s in love with, and her heart broke. 
“Robin?” Steve hit his palm against the stall wall pulling the girl away from her thoughts. “Robin did you just OD in there?”
“No..” She responded with a sigh, pulling herself up against the wall. “I’m still alive.”
Steve’s face scrunched up in concern and he pulled himself under the gap separating him and the girl. 
“The floors disgusting.”
Steve just shrugged his shoulders, “yeah, well I’ve already got a bunch of blood and puke on my shirt, so.. What’s wrong?” 
“Steve, do you-” Robin took a deep breath before looking at the beaten boy opposite her, “do you remember what I said about Click’s class? About me being jealous and like, obsessed?”
“Yeah?”
“It isn’t because I had a crush on you,” she tried to explain, hoping that Steve wouldn’t let what she was about to admit ruin their new friendship. “It’s because… she wouldn’t stop staring at you.” 
“Mrs. Click?” Steve only slightly shook his head and looked at Robin in confusion; the girl laughed at his cluelessness.
“Y/N Henderson. I wanted her to look at me, but she couldn’t pull her eyes away from you and your stupid hair and I didn’t understand because you would get bagel crumbs all over the floor and you asked dumb questions, and you were a douchebag! And you didn’t even like her.”
Robin’s eyes began watering, but she could feel the weight lifting from her shoulders with every word she was spilling. “I would go home and just scream into my pillow.”
“But, Y/N’s a girl?”
“Steve…”
“Yeah?” Steve was still clueless for a few seconds before realisation set in, the both of them sitting in silence before Steve let out a soft ‘oh.’
“Oh,” Robin imitated.
“Holy shit! Y-you’re in love with Y/N?”
“Yeah, holy shit,” Robin agreed, her heart feeling slightly lighter now that someone other than herself knew. “Steve, did you OD over there?”
“No, I just - I’m just thinking.”
“She’s in love with you too, Steve.”
“Nah, I- Look at me! I’ve always had the worst luck with girls, Y/N’s too good for me-”
“Steve,” Robin cut off the boys rambling, grabbing his hand. “Y/N Henderson is in love with you. Head-over-heels in love. I know because she looks at you the way I look at her and if you don’t admit it to her when you’re not drugged by Russian truth serum, you’re going to lose her.”
“Robin I-”
“You just need to be brave and do it Steve; ask her out, because you will be the luckiest guy in the world when she’s finally yours.” The both of them sat there on the cold linoleum floor, a silent agreement in the air. 
“There is another girl out there for me, and she’ll be just as amazing for me as Y/N is for you,” Robin squeezed Steve’s hand before letting go, both of their eyes darting to the door that swung open. 
“Okay, what the hell?!” Dustin screeched, Erica and you stood either side of him making Steve and Robin burst out laughing. 
“Are you guys okay?” You asked, stepping in front of your brother who was about to start scolding the pair. Robin just beamed up at you while Steve responded. 
“We’re great Y/N!”
“Good! Now that the drugs have worn off and we can all think clearly, we need to get the hell out of this damn mall.”
Helping the pair to their feet, you began gesturing for everyone to leave; holding the door open for everyone. Dustin and Erica exited first while Robin squeezed Steve’s shoulder, whispering a ‘be brave’ in his ear before walking out of the bathroom.
You waited for Steve to leave, trailing behind the others when Steve decided that he should take his shot before it was too late. Be brave. Stopping in his steps, he twirled around to face you.
“Y/N..”
“What’s wrong Steve?”
“I- uh, I need to tell you something-”
“You love me,” you cut him off, letting a smile raise up on your face. Steve started sputtering denials before he noticed the grin you were sporting and let out a ‘what?’ “I heard you back in the elevator. I love you too Steve.”
“Y-You do?”
“I’m surprised you didn’t notice ages ago. I’ve loved you since the day we met in fifth grade when you accidentally knocked me off the slide and then jumped off after me, hurting yourself and landing us both in the nurses office.”
“I never apologised for that,” Steve laughed, wiping his hands on his disgusting Scoops Ahoy uniform.. 
“I knew you were sorry when you started crying about hurting me instead of your broken arm,” you took his hands in yours. “Maybe - if we get out of this alive - you can finally take me out on a date?”
“When we get out of here I will take you on as many dates as you want.”
Rising up on your tip-toes, you placed your hand on the nape of Steve’s neck before finally pulling his face down to kiss him. He didn’t waste a second, placing his hands on your hips and pulling you impossibly closer to his body; returning your kiss with just as much ferocity and love. 
“If you two nerds are done making out, can we please escape from these damn Russians?”
“Dustin!”
2K notes · View notes
kookieskiwi · 4 years
Note
hi 👉👈 can we have a part 3 for the i shouldn't have fallen in love with my best friends 🥺🥺 like an aftermath of everything or like small problems they have 🥺🥺🥺 thank you 🥺 i really enjoy reading your work though hihi ✨
(I’m not too good at angst so you get fluffy fluff aftermath) see the bottom for my notes
Part 1, Part 2
It had been about two months since you all made things official and to say the least, these past few months had been full of nothing but love. Now that your feelings towards each other were clear you were shown so much more affection as well as giving it back.
All in all you had never felt so loved until this point in your life, with not only one but seven boyfriends you were never left thinking you were a burden. Sure this wasn’t a conventional relationship but it worked better than many others simply because you all had each other.
A normal day involved waking up besides one or more of your beloved soulmates which instantly made your day. Sometimes they’d catch you just starring at them as you tired to memorize every detail about them, and other times you catch them doing the same to you. “Why are you staring babygirl?” Jimin would ask in a teasing manner with his groggy sleep ridden morning voice which in itself made you want to crawl in a hole. He’d pull you in closer by your waist before rolling himself on top of you effectively trapping you beneath him. You basically melted beneath him or any of them which they knew and they used that to their advantage. “How can I not stare when you are one of the seven most beautiful men on this planet?” You cooed bringing your fingers up to stroke his cheek then jawline before cupping his face gently. He leaned into your touch which comforted him, your soft skin on his was a feeling he wished to cherish. Every touch you shared with them seemed to be so much more intimate than it actually was.
“I see, so when we stare at you you can no longer tell us not too.” He countered with a knowing smile, he was right; if your statement backed your actions it would support theirs too. “That doesn’t count, seven against one is unfair.” You pouted booping his nose softly with the tip of your finger. His nose scrunched up in protest to your actions, a habit he aquired from Jungkook and yourself. “Who said we were against you,” he stuck his tongue out before rolling off you so you could get ready for work. “We’ll finish this argument later,” you huffed entering the bathroom to begin your day.
-
After showing and getting yourself together you’d change into your scrubs for the day which changed depending on if you were working in the children’s ward or the other ward for the day. For the children you had put in a new protocol so they would feel more comfortable; all staff were to wear colorful or patterned scrubs. Many times before treating a patient that wasn’t in a life threatening situation they would be distracted by the images and colors of the uniform and they wouldn’t pay attention to any needles or injections you brought.
“I see today you’re at the main ward, I’ll be sure to tell the others so whoever is dropping by today knows.” Namjoon said as he saw the standard black scrubs that you wore to the main ward. Taking a sip of his coffee he kept eye contact with you as you smiled while shaking your head. This was another thing that had become a routine, each day one of them would visit you during your lunch break and if you weren’t there at the time they’d wait until you got out of the operation room. “You know you guys don’t have to visit each day,” you told him grabbing your to-go mug to prepare your coffee for the day to come. He sighed placing down his mug before coming up to you and back hugging you, he buried his nose in your hair to breath in your scent. “I know but we want too, you deserve it after everything you do all day.” He answered placing a kiss atop your head.
-
Even after everything they had started doing you also began to do a few small acts of affection since you were gone most of the day. You’d leave small snacks and sticky notes around the house sometimes making them specific or leading them on a treasure hunt. It was a mindless action you had started doing when they complained about being bored without you. They’d also revive video messages from you at work when you had a small break in between or you weren’t busy, to you it was the small things that mattered.
Between the members themselves a few had work but it was never a set schedule like yours, some days they’d be free some they’d be in their offices. If a day they were in their offices fell when you were off your go visit them during their lunch hour or if they messaged you saying they needed a hug.
“You have to stop sending me flowers, my office is begining to look like a florist shop.” You said to the men who you were laying in bed with. The long and hard days you had gotten so used to started becoming less dreaded because you knew you’d come home to these men who loved you and were there every step of the way.
“Nope, never. You deserve all the flowers in the world princess.” Jin said from beside Hoseok who along with the others agreed completely. “Okay then maybe we’ll just send one a week?” Taehyung suggested when he saw the look on your face, they all knew you loved flowers; they were so beautiful and colorful that you couldn’t refuse. But they also knew that the flowers eventually died and it was hard to clean dead petals off surfaces. “That sounds wonderful.” You compromised given them a smile before cuddling into Yoongi and Jungkook who held you close, “I can’t believe this is real,” you murmured closing your eyes in hopes to sleep soon. Yoongi’s chest rumbled when he let out a tsk bringing his hand up to your face. “This is real baby and we will keep reminding you fo that every day until you get it through that thick skull of yours.” He told you tapping your forehead lightly which made a smile grace your beautiful lips.
“We’ll love you forevermore my love, there won’t be a day that goes by in which our love for you or each other will falter.” Jungkook promised gently pecking your plush lips in a sweet and meaningful kiss which left you wanting more as always.
“Forever?”
“Forever.”
(REQUESTS ARE STILL OPEN!! Send an ask in and I’ll write whatever you want, you can use my quote and theme list here: Drabble Quote and Theme or you can come up with your own! Also don’t be afraid to ask me any questions at all! Much love, kiwi 😘)
20 notes · View notes
thenovelartist · 4 years
Text
A Bride for the Prince, chapter 15
A03  ~ < Previous  ~  Next >
It had been an interesting night to say the least. First, Gabriel had spotted a very angry Lady Volpina storming around the castle, her presence as subtle as a hurricane. He’d caught her in his son’s room earlier, his son very clearly running away by scaling the walls of the castle, shirtless, at that.
Good lord, how embarrassing. He thought he raised his son better than that.
However, all thoughts of what had possibly happened between Lady Volpina and his son had vanished from his mind when he saw a surprisingly scandalous sight.
“Nathalie.”
“Yes, your majesty?” the woman who had been trailing behind him asked.
“You wouldn’t happen to know why my son is running off with a woman in the middle of the night, would you?”
Nathalie choked before looking out the window alongside Gabriel. “I don’t, sire.”
Obviously, he thought. First he caught his son climbing out of his bedroom window, and now he was running off with some woman, unchaperoned into the night?
But then his eyes narrowed. “You wouldn’t happen to have an inkling who that is, do you?”
Nathalie was speechless once again. “I can narrow it down to a few based on her hair and stature.”
“And Lady Bug falls into that category?”
Nathalie narrowed her eyes into the night once again, though they were nearly out of sight. “I would say so.”
Gabriel hummed. “Summon my head knight to do some investigation however he sees fit. Hurry before they run away.”
“Yes, your majesty.”
“Shh!”
“You shush!” Marinette hissed back, grin on her face stretched so wide her cheeks hurt.
“You’re gonna wake up the castle.”
“You’re making me laugh in the first place.”
Adrien chuckled. “I’m not doing anything.”
“You know exactly what you’re doing.”
“Yeah, nothing! You’re the giggly one. Keep it down.”
Marinette covered her mouth to hold back another round of giggles as Adrien pulled her through the halls of the castle. After finishing up the treats he’d brought her in her room, he insisted he take her out to the pond. She was too awake to sleep, and he seemed the same. That, and Marinette hadn’t wanted him to leave, so it was impossible for her to say anything other than ‘yes’.
However, they’d been nothing but giggles and laughs since sneaking out of her room. It was all his fault, really. If he would stop being a dork for two seconds, maybe they could get to the garden silently enough, but as it were, he’d make a comment that would send her giggling before he’d playfully shush her, and next thing she knew, she was biting her tongue before she actually did wake up the entire castle.
They’d barely made it out the back doors when she slipped on the stairs leading down into the garden. She squeaked in shock, but Adrien was quick to catch her.
She blushed, first in embarrassment for tripping over her own feet as she did, but then that shifted to embarrassment over how their chests were pressed together and how his arms were keeping her there.
“You okay?” he asked, his rumbly voice vibrating through her chest.
“Y-yeah,” she managed, voice weak. Her heart was racing, and she hoped he couldn’t tell.
With a smile, Adrien helped her back to her feet, letting go of her only once she no longer needed his support. Funny how she felt so cold without it. “Once a klutz, always a klutz,” he teased, reaching up to boop the tip of her nose.
Her cheeks were positively burning, but she pretended they weren’t as she scoffed, playfully smacking him in the chest. “I resent that. I’m a lady now, don’t you know.”
“Oh really?” he challenged, his eyes sparkling with amusement.
Be still her heart. It was racing at the playful gleam in those wonderfully green eyes of his, reminding her of one of the many reasons she had fallen so madly in love with him.
At her lack of answer, that gleam faded, along with his smile. “Marinette?”
That snapped her out of her reverie. “Sorry. I… I just got lost in thought.”
He tilted his head in curiosity but didn’t say a word. Instead, he grabbed her hands and pulled her along. “Come on. Let’s go before we’re caught.”
With a grin, she followed close by, never letting his hand go as she ran by his side through the gardens. They fell into a comfortable silence. The night sounds of crickets chirping with the occasional owl hooting were the only noises. Without the distraction of conversation, Marinette’s thoughts were free to roam wild. Thoughts that revolved solely around Adrien.
It would only be a matter of days before she was gone, no longer playing the role of her lady. But that meant going back home, a place far away from Adrien. Her heart broke at the thought, barely holding together. A single light touch would send little pieces of her heart scattering all over the place.
And that touch took the form of Adrien stopping, turning to look at her as he took both her hands in his. “Are you okay?”
In an instant, she realized they were at the pond. When had they arrived? They were only just running from the garden…
She forced a grin. “Yeah.”
“Liar,” he softly chastised.
Her heart thumped at his voice, one gentle and knowing. “You know me that well?”
“You’re holding my hand tight, too,” he said, raising their joined hands up into her line of sight. He then used their conjoined hands to tug her closer, just close enough to press the backs of her hands against his chest.
Her heart was already in pieces, yet he found a way to destroy it even more.
“What’s going on in that head of yours?”
She bit her lip, then shook her head, forcing a grin on. “Nothing.”
He was completely skeptical. “Really?”
“Really,” she tried to assure, taking a step backwards and not able to look him in the eye. “Let’s find a place to sit.”
Skeptical look still on his face, he pulled her along to a grassy spot near the pond. With a tug of his hand, he guided her down next to him. “I know you said it’s nothing,” Adrien said, giving her hand a squeeze. “But please, Marinette. Something’s bothering you, and I want to know what.”
She sighed, knowing that she had to address the tension, no matter how much she wished to avoid it. Not because she didn’t trust him, but because she knew if she started down this path, there would be no returning, and her heart would pick up all the damage along the way, never to be put back together again. She braced herself to look at him. “I’m leaving.”
His eyes widened slightly, horror at the realization clear in them even in the moonlight.
She bit her lip. Now or never. “And I wish I didn’t have to… but I can’t stay.”
“Why not?”
Her brow furrowed. “Because I think we both know it’s obvious that out of all the ladies here, I’m not going to be picked as a bride.”
Adrien paused, the look on his face one she couldn’t quite place.
“Adrien?”
“Well…” He squeezed her hand. “I think you’d make a fine bride.”
She scoffed. “To who?”
“Me.”
Her heart outright stopped.
He took her other hand in his, holding both to his chest as he shifted to kneel in front of her. “Marinette.”
She was finding it shockingly hard to breathe at the moment.
“When we first met again, after all these years, I couldn’t help but want to spend every moment with you to make up for lost time. It was so natural. But…” His expression turned serious. “But then, somewhere in the midst of all that, I started falling for you.”
“Adrien.” His name slipped off her lips unbidden. But it caught his attention all the same.
He stared at her, his eyes wide with something that looked like hope. “Yes?” he whispered.
Her breathing was coming in ragged pants. He had fallen for her? It felt like a dream, too perfect to be true. “You… you’ve…” She took a shaky breath. “Really?”
His smile returned as his hands tightened their grip on hers. “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, I have. And it’s gotten to the point that… that I just don’t want to let you go.”
She felt tears in her eyes. Yet, despite that, she couldn’t help but laugh. “You fell for me, too,” she said, as though trying to convince herself it was true. “You fell for me, too.”
“Too?” Adrien prodded carefully, breaking into her thoughts.
She sniffed, pulling one of her hands back so as to wipe the tears from her cheeks. But Adrien beat her to the action, carefully swiping away the tears before they could fall too far. “I’ve fallen for you, too,” she said, clinging to his wrist as he cradled her cheek. “I don’t want to leave you, Adrien. I… I just­­—”
“I love you.”
For the second time that night, her heart stopped.
“I’ve fallen for you completely and totally,” he said. “I love you.”
Her breath hitched at the admission. He loved her. He loved her. Tears were coming even faster now. “I love you, too.”
In an instant, he leaned forward, wrapping her in an embrace. She didn’t waste any time in returning it, no matter how awkward their position. However, Adrien lost his balance as he shifted to accommodate her hold on him, and they fell backwards to the ground, though Adrien still did not let her go.
“You can’t leave now,” he whispered, his voice pleading with her. “I won’t let you. I forbid it.”
Marinette’s grip on him tightened as her heart danced in her chest. “Adrien.”
“I love you,” he continued. “And knowing that you love me means parting from you is impossible.”
As much as she wanted to revel in those words, she couldn’t yet. “And I want to say that I’d never leave your side,” she began. “But what about…”
“What about what?” he challenged, shifting so as to lean on his elbows over her.
“A lot of things,” she said, somewhat breathless. Her hands still rested on his shoulders, though she was no longer clinging to his shirt. However, her position allowed her to feel the muscles of his arms, ones hardened from years of training. It made her stomach twist into even more knots. “Like, how I’m not really Lady Bug even though everyone at the castle believes me to be. Or how I’m part of the women the prince could chose to be his bride. Not that I’ll be chosen but—”
Suddenly, she found herself silenced by a finger pressed to her lips. Instantly, her lips became hypersensitive, buzzing to his gentle touch. Her breathing came in rapid pants now as she looked up at the smiling man above her. “You worry too much.”
“But,” she began, her lips brushing against his finger as she spoke. She was almost disappointed when he moved it away. “I… I don’t want anything to prevent me from being with you.”
The moon gave off enough light for her to watch his expression soften. Gently, he ran the back of his fingers over her cheek. She sucked in a breath at his touch, her heart momentarily stopping before taking off at a wild pace. Her gut twisted and turned, making her almost feel sick with longing.
“Marinette,” Adrien began. “If I told you that I don’t want you to worry and that we would work out whatever arrangement we needed to to ensure we would be able to live a life together, would you just trust me to be able to pull it off?”
She swallowed, words stuck in her throat. “I want to—”
“Then trust me,” he said. “Leave everything up to me. And I promise that I will do everything within my power to ensure you’re able to stay by my side. I don’t want to be parted from you, Marinette. I love you. I love you far too much to let that happen.”
Though she had her doubts that were nearly impossible to ignore, she also couldn’t ignore the determination and hope that was carved into his expression and dripping from every word he spoke. “Okay,” she relented. “Okay, I trust you, Adrien.”
His resulting grin eased the knots in her stomach a little bit, and she couldn’t help but return that smile.
Gently, he brushed his fingers against her cheeks again, stirring that fluttering feeling in her chest. His hand then brushed back the hair from her forehead, trailing all the way behind her ear, then down to cup the back of her head.
“Adrien?” she mumbled, her own hand instinctively cupping his jaw.
Without a word, he leaned forward to press a kiss to her forehead. She gasped in surprise, her face flaming suddenly as her skin buzzed from the contact. He then pressed a kiss to the bridge of her nose. She hummed, liking the sweet touch. Next was the tip of her nose, and she couldn’t help but let loose a giggle at that one.
She swore she felt his lips curl into a smile, too.
Then a kiss to each cheek followed the kiss to her nose. With him now hovering so close, it was easy to wrap her arms around his shoulders, holding him tight and close.
She hoped she knew where his next aim would be. Yet, he hesitated, shifting to become closer still yet not laying a kiss to her lips.
The realization that he might still be shy as her warmed heart her as well as fortified her resolve. It was a comfort, in a way, and she found herself able to relax. One of her hands found the back of his neck, the other grabbing hold of his bicep.
And that seemed to be all the encouragement he needed to meet her in a soft, sweet kiss.
It was short, lasting a second or two at most, but when he pulled away, Marinette was left breathless. Her heart was positively pounding because she had just kissed her very best friend. And she really wanted to do it again.
He seemed to read her mind because his lips were back on hers soon enough. This time, the sweet softness was replaced with a needy longing, drawing out this kiss much longer as their mouths met over and over again.
“Marinette,” Adrien hummed between kisses. “I love you so much. Please, say you’ll be my wife, and I’ll do everything I can to make it happen.”
She whined, confused. Didn’t she say yes already?
Oh well, if she didn’t, she’d be happy to tell him as many times as he needed to hear it. “Yes, I’ll gladly be your wife.”
“Perfect.”
It is, indeed, she thought has he stole yet another kiss from her. And another after that.
And another after that.
74 notes · View notes
vanchlo · 4 years
Text
The Assistant / Chapter Twenty Five, “A New Hope”
Tumblr media
// FIND OLD CHAPTERS HERE //
hi!!!! i hope you’re all doing okay and hanging in there during this crazy time in the world. please know that im thinking of you, and please stay safe and healthy!!! id love to hear what you think of this chapter so plz like reply with thoughts or send me an ask??? id love to talk to anybody about this story bc it sounds weird but i love this story too???? like tell me what was your fav part??? what do you predict is gonna happen? 
thanks so much for still reading after all of this time, and i hope this chapter distracts you from some of the crap going on in the world ♡♡♡♡
                                            *SNEAK PEEKY TIME*
“But some moments when I’m so deep into my work, a thought pops into my head making me think that I’ll look up and see him there. Or some days I even think I hear his voice. Or I think the text I just got was from him. 
None of that happens. 
And it upsets me far more than it should. Some days I’m just better at ignoring it. 
I couldn’t have wished for a better “new job,” but sometimes I miss him. And I don’t know what to do about it. Because there isn’t anything I can do. I know I made the right decision to leave, but in the moments I get overwhelmed and frustrated with learning new tasks, I wish I could be sitting back in that desk down the hall from his office.”
                                   PART TWO: THE STRANGER
The noises here are all new and hard to get used to. The printer works differently. It’s like a maze in order to find the department I work in. There are key codes I have to put in and doors I have to scan my badge at. There are so many more names to learn here, and new phone extensions to master. 
But I like it. 
And I think I’m getting the hang of it. Slowly but surely. 
“It’s Becky, right?” a voice says, pulling me from my chaotic thoughts. 
I blink, looking away from my steaming cup of tea and to the face smiling at me. 
“Uh yeah, it is. And you’re . . . Molly, right?” 
“Yeah, wow! You’re good at names!” she laughs before sipping from her own cup of tea and taking a seat beside me. “How are you liking it here so far?”
“It’s good so far, thanks,” I reply, picking up my tea and blowing on it. Avoiding her round brown eyes, I think hard about where I’ve seen her before. She must be in the same department if she’s in this break room. Hmmm. I hate it when I can’t remember things even though it’s on the tip of my tongue. 
“You used to work for Styles and Lawson, did I hear that right?” Molly asks before taking a long pull from her mug. She crosses her legs clad in black slacks that end at the polka-dotted blouse hugging her large chest. 
If I got a pound for every time somebody has asked me that here, I wouldn’t even have to work here. 
“Yeah,” I say, trying not to sound how annoyed I am to have to answer this question for the hundredth time. I told my new boss this once, and somehow everybody in the Administration department now knows it. 
“Interesting. It looks like you stayed in the same world coming to work at the courts,” she remarks and I nod blankly. 
Yeah, as if I haven’t heard that one before in the last month, too. 
I continue to smile and nod at her repetitive questions. I sometimes answer them and then listen to her drone on about her three kids until the small hand reaches the 6 on the clock and my break is over. I’ve never been so excited before to go back to work. 
Sitting down at my desk, I almost smile at the way the cushion welcomes me back. Framed pictures smile back at me. 
Skye and I. Robbie and I as kids in matching outfits. My dad. My grandparents. 
The same ones I had on my old desk. At his firm. 
My chin arrives in my hand and a heavy sigh falls from my lips. The little pink clock on my desk tells me it’s only 12:30 in the afternoon. 
I wonder what he’d be doing right now. 
My eyes fall shut with a groan. I try to shake my head free of those kinds of thoughts. The very thoughts I’ve been trying to push away this last month. But after so long, it’s almost too hard. I thought that the more time that passed would make it easier, but some days it’s harder than others. 
I really like it here. Everybody is nice and helpful. My boss is easygoing, supportive, communicates well, and helps me with any questions I may have. My workload is realistic, it’s familiar, and I enjoy it. 
But some moments when I’m so deep into my work, a thought pops into my head making me think that I’ll look up and see him there. Or some days I even think I hear his voice. Or I think the text I just got was from him. 
None of that happens. 
And it upsets me far more than it should. Some days I’m just better at ignoring it. I couldn’t have wished for a better “new job,” but sometimes I miss him. And I don’t know what to do about it. Because there isn’t anything I can do. I know I made the right decision to leave, but in the moments I get overwhelmed and frustrated with learning new tasks, I wish I could be sitting back in that desk down the hall from his office. I tell myself that I just miss the familiarity. But I know that I also miss him. 
His sweet cherry smile. 
His contagious laugh. 
His bizarre outfits that I looked forward to every day. 
His twinkling green eyes. 
The taco dates. 
The late-night hangouts in his office with wine coolers and take away. 
The silly yet frustrating Scrabble games. 
His smell. Sandalwood mixed with bergamot and cedar. 
And his jokes.
His raspy deep drawl. 
And his warm bear hugs. 
Pressing my fingers into my temples, I blink hard. The thoughts disappear for a second, but not long enough. I lift my head and settle my fingers on the letters of the keyboard.  The login screen is only blurry for a moment, and the moment passes. But the ache in my chest and the racing inside of my skull doesn’t stop. They only continue as I open up a document and continue my work, as I continue missing him. 
I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to stop.
12:30 right on the dot. 
The black second-hand ticks past the three nears the four, and then the five. Fat snowflakes fall against my foggy window, blanketing the rest of London in its opaqueness. The words of David Gilmour and Roger Waters tickle my ears, but I don’t listen to them. The thoughts whirring around inside of my head keep them out. 
I wonder what she’s doing right now. 
Is she liking her new job?
Are they being nice to her?
Did she already eat lunch?
Are any blokes flirting with her?
Does she have her own desk?
What kind of place does she work at now?
Is she happy?
That thought weighs heavier than the others, and I feel it. My lips part and a long sigh leaves them. 
Knock knock! 
“Yeah?” I call out, not bothering to turn around. The bustling of double-deckers, cars, and people on the streets are more entertaining than any emails I should be reading. 
“Harry, are you going to join us?” I hear a familiar voice ask. 
“Yeah, ‘ll be there inna minute,” I answer, ignoring the tone of Myles’ voice. 
The sound of the door closing trickles past the music and into my ears. My head falls into my hands and I let my eyes close. My fingers find their way into my hair and I remain there for a second, feeling my breaths leave and enter me. 
I miss you, Becks. 
A few breaths later, my fingers fall. Now, they find the closed laptop sitting near me and the leather book atop it. Next, my feet find their way to the door. But they stop in front of it. All of the moisture in my throat suddenly disappears, and a giant old lump appears in its place. 
Oh, not again. 
I breathe in and out and wait until it passes. 
My ringed fingers wrap around the handle and turn it. Swallowing past the lump, my feet move again and down the hall. Knuckling at my eyes, I round the corner and quickly wipe at my eyes. 
“You okay, Harry?” Myles asks me, welcoming me when I sit down beside him in the large meeting room. 
“Yeah, jus’ got somethin’ in me eye,” I tell him, gulping hard. But there’s something in his ocean blue eyes that says different. He’s been a blessing putting up with my shit and excuses, but I think he knows more than he lets on. He’s always cared more than he shares. 
He pats my arm before he turns to face Jennings who begins to talk. “It’ll be alright, it always is,” he mentions in a whisper. 
I nod and turn my attention to Jennings. But no matter how hard I try, I can’t. I can’t focus, and I can’t believe him. Because the chaos of my mind continues. And so do the pictures of her scattered around in there. And so do the feelings, because no matter how hard I try to shut them off, they stay. Even after a bottle of brandy. But the alcohol doesn’t make me stop missing her, and hating myself for messing up. And for losing Becks. 
+
Alex Trebek’s voice welcomes my ears as I step foot into my flat. I jump when I hear Skye shout back at him. 
“What is Little Women!” she nearly screams, and her arms fly into the air when she gets it right. “Yessssss!” she exclaims, cheering for herself. Her pigtails the color of snow and blue cotton candy dance in the air around her. 
I laugh with a shake of my head, sighing as I shrug off my coat. 
“Oh hey, Boops,” she greets me, garnering an eye roll from me. 
“You know not to call me that,” I reply, closing the closet door that now holds my peacoat damp from the winter flurries. 
“I think I’m one of the few people allowed to call you that,” she replies, and I give her a glare in return. 
To no surprise, it doesn’t do anything, because she just picks up another gummy worm and feeds it between her lips coated in neon pink lipstick. 
“What, did your clients cancel their haircuts and colors because of the blizzard?” I ask her, padding over to the kitchen island. 
“Yeah, bloody idiots forgot how to drive in the snow or something,” she nearly hisses, but it doesn’t last long because she yells another answer at the tv. “What is the Mariana Trench!”
“Skye, we have neighbors you know,” I scold her as my eyes search the shelves of our refrigerator. “Also, would it kill you to do some grocery shopping, perhaps before we’re snowed in?”
“Yeah sorry, I meant to but I forgot.”
“What’s new,” I mumble under my breath. I grab the first thing of leftovers I see and pop it into the microwave. Rice and broccoli from last night. It’s just so exciting eating healthily. “You’re on grocery shopping duty next then.”
“Have you seen Harry yet at your new job?” Skye pipes up, ignoring my question. I truly wonder how many times I roll my eyes at her in one day or even one hour. 
“No, I told you that I’m in like the way back in the admin department in the courts. He would be on the other side in the actual courtrooms where the cases are held, silly.”
“Oh well sorrrrrrrrrry,” she retorts and then yells another answer at the tv. “Who is Martin Clunes!”
The microwave beeps as I reach up into the cupboard and pull down a mug at random. It has superheroes donning its sides - Batman, Superman, and Wonderman. An old one of my dad’s. But that’s not who it makes me think of. 
“Funnier is not a word!” 
“Oh yes, it ‘s! Jus’ look it up in tha dictionary, or better yet, on yer phone,” he giggles in reply. Shaking my head, I type the word into Google and feel a smirk begin to warm my cheeks. 
“Oh god, what ‘s that look for? I know that look’s no good.”
“So funnier is a word, huh?” I counter, feeling the smirk inch up my cheeks slowly. Turning my phone around, I show the Google page to him and watch his face morph into denial. A sneaky grin lines his lips as he resists to roll his eyes. His head falls next with a defeated sigh and he punches the pillow. 
“Don’t you roll your eyes at me, Harry Styles,” I tell him, my lips letting loose a laugh. He joins me before groaning and taking his word off of the board. 
“I needa break,” he huffs. The sofa whines from his shifting weight and I hear his footsteps trailing behind him. 
“Tea break?” I ask and hear a pleased ‘yes’ in return. 
“Here lemme, ‘s my turn anyways,” Harry insists, and I feel his hand on my back. Facing him, he winks a hazel-green eye at me. “Go pick yer word, Becks. Lemme take care of tha tea.”
I nod and begin to turn to walk away. I almost stop when I feel his long fingers rub a circle into my back. But I don’t, because they’re gone before I can blink. A silent sigh drops from my bottom lip as I walk away from him. 
You have no idea what you do to me, Harry Styles. 
The thoughts being sewn together in my mind revolve around something other than the Scrabble tiles sitting in front of me. Instead, they’re about how well the skinny blue jeans hug his legs and another asset of his. And how the black and blue flannel he wears makes him look insanely cozy. My God. 
“Don’ think so hard, Becks,” Harry titters, and I pull my eyes away from the Scrabble tiles that were beginning to grow blurry. I look to him with a question on my face and find him laughing with those eyes on me. “Can’t find any good words, eitha?”
“No,” I say with a shake of my head. I let my head fall to the back of the sofa I’m curled up against. 
“Tha’s fine. Why dontcha put it t’ tha side an’ we can do somethin’ else?”
“Like what?” I ask, moving our racks of tiles to the coffee table where the board sits. 
“I dunno, you can pick,” he answers. As I grab for the remote, I hear the pouring of water and the clinking of spoons. 
Yawning, I sink into the sofa and press the power button. The television screen comes to life in front of me and the last thing watched appears. I flip through the channels, and after a couple of programs, I arrive on a familiar scene. 
“Oooo, Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince,” I hear, turning to find Harry arriving on the sofa next to me. I take the steaming Marvel mug in his outstretched hand with a ‘thank you.’ 
“I didn’t know you liked Harry Potter,” I mumble before blowing on my tea. After deciding it’s far too hot, I sit forward and set it down on a coaster. 
“Oh, I love it. I read a few o’ tha books when I was younger, an’ ya can’t find a betta movie. There’s nothin’ like these,” he answers, eyes already glued to the screen. He sets his tea aside with a clud on the table. “Here,” Harry says, and I look over to find him draping my velvet black star blanket over me. And him. 
“Mmmm, thanks,” I mumble happily, pulling it up to my shoulders. I feel him move around next to me before finally getting comfortable. 
“Yer welcome, bug. I think this issa good way t’ spend tha resta tha night. Too cozy an’ tired t’ do anythin’ else,” he comments with a laugh ending his words. 
I nod and tip my head to the side, not expecting to find his shoulder right there. I freeze and peek a look up at him. He notices and glances down at me. All he does is smile at me before his eyes go back to the scene on the television. 
I decide to stay there and he doesn’t seem to mind, only intent on commenting on the scene happening where Dumbledore first meets Voldemort. “Oooo, I like this part here. They make it look so cool with tha wisps o’ memories, an’ tha lighting ‘s incredible an’ so spooky.”
“Mmmmh, I always liked Tom Riddle, because of how creepy he is. And he’s much better looking than Voldemort,” I comment. 
“What?” Harry laughs, taking a peek at me. His thick eyebrows are scrunched in a disbelieving question as a smile pinches his dimpled cheeks. “But Tom Riddle ‘s Voldemort, ya goof.”
“Yeah I know, but like his younger self is far cuter than the noseless bald bloke he becomes,” I try to explain, but he only shakes his head with a few giggles. 
God, I think I could listen to that sound for hours on end. 
“Ya don’ make any sense, sometimes,” Harry chuckles. 
“Come on, yes I do! Wasn’t it like with every Horcrux he made he just started looking weirder?” I counter, nudging his shoulder with my own. 
“No, ya silly! It was cuz he was so deep into tha dark arts-.”
“Including making the Horcruxes!” I almost shout in argument. I watch the realization embed into his features, and I know I’ve won. 
“Okay fine, yer right. Well kinda. From what I rememba it has t’ do with that, an’ cuz he was a Slytherin an’ Parselmouth so he wanted t’ look like a snake. Y’know, tha lack o’ hair an’ nose? I also read that it could also be cuz he was one o’ tha last descendants of Salazar Slytherin,” Harry continues, words of admiration falling out one after the other. 
“Woooooow. I didn’t know we had a Harry Potter geek in the house,” I say, trying to stifle a laugh, but it doesn’t work. 
Another eye roll. 
Then possibly the most adorable pout I’ve ever seen as he moves away from me with a whimper. 
“Oh, I’m sorry,” I laugh, trying to pull him back over to me. But he’s so tall and long, that I have little success with my noodle arms. “Harry, I was just kidding.”
“Sure ya were,” he pouts, keeping his back to me as he settles on the other side of the couch. 
His name leaves my lips in a laugh. My fingers remain around one of his biceps, and I pull, but he doesn’t move an inch. I give up with an exaggerated sigh and my own whimper. 
Plopping myself back in my spot, I hunker down underneath the blanket. Pretending to watch the movie, I wait. 
“Yer not gonna get me with that pout,” Harry says all of a sudden. 
Taking that as a dare, I slowly look over at him. With knitted eyebrows and my bottom lip sticking out. A smile appears on his lips and blush fills his cheeks. His hands fall from his shoulder-length hair he’s just put into a bun. 
“Fine, ya got me. I can’ stay mad at that face,” he relents with words dipped in sugar. 
“You’re not the only one who can do a good puppy dog pout,” I comment as the couch dips with his movements. I feel his shoulder bump back into mine. I try not to smile too big as I tip my head to fall back against his shoulder. 
“Ya comfy, bug?” Harry mumbles next to me. 
“Mmmhmmm.”
“Good, ‘m glad me shoulder’s all comfy for ya,” he says, and I can hear the smile in his voice. I see it in all its glory when I chance a look up at him and find him smiling down at me. 
It’s like looking into the sun. And like all of the times before - I never want to look away. 
I swallow hard, feeling the lump forming inside of me. 
“Can you please not bring him up anymore? It’s not helping the fact that I’m trying to forget him,” I spit at Skye, setting the mug down hard on the granite countertop. 
“Sorrrrrrrrrry. Goodness, what’s gotten into you today? I thought you were liking your new job, Ree.” 
“I am, I just don’t want to talk a-about Harry anymore,” I reply, pressing the button to open the microwave. The smell of broccoli and garlic trickles past me. 
“You can’t even say his name,” she laughs, and I groan as I stir the broccoli and brown rice around in the hot glass bowl. “Heeeey, I’m sorry, okay? I don’t know why you gave up on him, you could always go back and finish your . . .” 
Skye’s words trail behind me as my feet pad down the hallway to my bedroom. You’re not helping me to forget him, Skye. 
You’re only making me remember him, and I’ve been trying so hard lately not to. 
My quilt several shades of pink welcomes my return as I plop onto my bed. Shoveling a bite of broccoli and garlic rice into my mouth, I grab the remote and turn on my tv. Reaching for the Fire Stick remote teetering on the edge of the table, I push it and instead of grab. It clatters to the hardwood floor and I groan in response. Setting my dinner on the wood table, I regrettably leave my bed to retrieve it. Flicking on my lamp, I squat by the table and peer into the space behind my table. 
There it is. The long black rectangle waits for me there. But just as I’m reaching for it, another rectangle catches my eye. This time, it’s a white one. 
“Huh?” I mumble, feeling the stiff paper welcome my hands. 
I flip it over and the light catches on it. The long envelope stares back at me, and so do the letters on its front. My name in black pen interrupts the white expanse, but that’s not the writing that I’m focusing on. It’s the return address. 
Styles and Lawson 418 Stevens St.  London UK
Turning it over, I finger at the sealed edge. I don’t realize I’m doing it, but I bite at my bottom lip as I debate whether to open it. I can’t stop wondering what’s inside, and the postage date of December 18th only makes my curiosity burn brighter. And the fact that I’ve never seen this before in my life. 
“Skye, why do I have a letter from Styles and Lawson that I’ve never opened or seen before?” I yell to her through my half-open door. 
“Oh, that? I put it on your bedside table when it came that day. How am I supposed to know why you haven’t opened it?” she quips, as dumbfounded as I am. 
“It was behind my table, so it must have fallen.”
“Ya think?!” she replies with her usual loud volume, followed by another Jeopardy shout. 
I rip it open without another moment of hesitation. The paper makes a satisfying sound. A matte white paper looks back at me. The numbers and watermark on it tell me what it is. My fingers recoil instinctively when I touch the glossy object. I instead pull it out by its edges. 
Splashes of red and green and long-forgotten faces stare back at me. Myles. Mickey. Rose. Jennings. Myles. Rory. And Harry. Their faces are followed by the words “Merry Christmas from all of us at Styles and Lawson. Wishing you a happy Christmas and a fantastic New Year!” in a blocky white font. Little holly berry branches decorate the corners of the picture. A picture taken months ago at one of their big meetings, I assume. The sun is shining in through the window, and Harry’s hair isn’t as long. Everybody’s arms are around each other and a big goofy smile sits on his face. Tongue out and all. 
I do it before I can stop myself. My finger dances around the outline of his face, and down the black and maroon suit he wears in the picture. Probably the only printed picture I have of him, and one of the few I have in total. But there are enough burned into my brain that I’m already trying to erase. 
I toss them both onto the floor, leaving them behind my table where I wish they would’ve stayed in the first place. I return to my broccoli and rice and play a new video on YouTube. It does a good job of drowning out his voice in my head, but not good enough. 
I want ya t’ come back, Becks. I want us t’ try again . . .. . . .. 
+
Shades of brown dance around in the steaming water. I watch them twirl together and meet one another. The water slowly grows darker and darker as steam rises off of the surface. 
“If you stare any harder, I think your superpowers will come out and it’ll explode,” somebody says wryly.
“Wow, I didn’ know you were a comedian,” I respond, wrapping my fingers around the warm metal chain. 
“I didn’t know you were eco-friendly all of a sudden,” Myles says, nodding his head towards my cup of tea. “Or a little kid, with that dorky thing.”
“Oh shuddup,” I respond, watching the brown liquid fall from the pink silicone pig tea infuser. “It makes me feel good tryna save tha environment, an’ this li’l thing ‘s bloody cute.”
“Sure, if you’re a bleeding first-grader,” he responds with a titter, pulling a mug down from the shelf. 
“Yer jus’ jealous,” I quip as I pry off the pig’s head and dump the soggy tea leaves into the waste bin. 
Myles laughs and walks around me to the black fridge to take out the carton of milk. I blow on my steaming mug, watching little waves form in the brown water from my breath. A little water tornado forms from my next breath. I watch in fascination as it twirls around in the mug before finally tapering out. 
“You okay, Hare?” Myles asks, his voice taking on a softer tone. A friendly tone. “You haven’t seemed like yourself lately. You haven’t even been drinking coffee much, and that’s odd.”
“I’m fine,” I answer, bringing the mug to my lips and avoiding his eye contact. Setting the mug down on the counter, I chance a look inside the fridge and wonder what to have for lunch. 
“Is it Becky leaving? Is that why you’ve been acting differently?” Myles prods, nearly pulling a sigh from my lips. Or a groan. 
“I said ‘m fine, My,” I nearly retorted, my eyes glazing over the lone yogurts and forgotten sandwiches occupying the shelves. Slamming the door, I walk away and pick up my phone from the table in the center of the room. Maybe some takeaway. 
“Hare, you know you can talk to me about it,” Myles insists, throwing his hands up in the air. I ignore him, typing something on my phone, but I can see him out of the corner of my eye. 
Like he often does, he uses his hands to talk and they jump in the air only to fall with an exasperated sigh. Then they comb through his tousled blonde hair. 
“I hate seeing you like this, and not knowing how to help,” he continues softly. I give up, pressing the lock button on my phone and shoving it into my pants. 
I finally face him and look in his distraught brown eyes. 
“I miss her, Myles! I connected with Becky, a-and I screwed it up. I called her a liar and Amber was harassing her tha whole damn time without me knowing!” I confess, feeling the weight of the words fall from my shoulders as I finally say them. But the emotion rises in my throat, no matter how hard I try to hold it back. “She was amazing! She put up with me shit, and yet she stood up fer herself when she needed t’. She was funny, she was smart, she was beautiful, an’ I fooked it up!” The emotion eats at my words and by now, the horses are already out of their gates. And I don’t know how to corral them back in. “I hate feeling this way, but I dunno how you can help or even how I can help myself, Myles. So ‘m not g-gonna be myself ‘til I learn how t’ get ova this.”
I don’t know what to do. I steal a glance at him and find the sadness in his eyes is worse than before. I can’t handle it, and so I lift my feet and soon I’m walking out of the room. Leaving my tea, and the god awfully cute tea infuser pig. The one she got me before she left. 
“I saw it and immediately thought of you.”
“Wow, thanks, that makes me feel all warm an’ bubbly inside.”
“No, silly, I just mean it looked like something you’d like. And since you drink tea so much. And you’ve been buying metal straws and bamboo toothbrushes . . It seemed fitting. And isn’t the little piggy just so cute?”
“Yeah, I guess yer right . . . it really ‘s cute.”
Winding my way around coworkers, I suddenly find myself in front of the elevator stabbing at the buttons. I don’t even register which one I’ve pushed, because I want to be anyplace but here. Today is worse than most because anywhere I look there’s a memory of her stuck there. And they jump into my head and start playing before I can stop it. 
The elevator doors open with a ding and I step into the empty four walls, gladly. Rubbing at my eyes, I stab at the button for the parking garage my car is at. With a sigh, I feel some of the tension boiling inside of me leave. I get rid of the warm tears painted under my eyes and blink hard until my vision is clear again. 
Suddenly, the doors open and I nearly curse out loud when I see who’s waiting. The look on his face says that he feels about the same way. I step to the side, allowing him room to join me. He almost changes his mind, but he steps on and presses the button for 17. An awkward silence surrounds us as the elevator hums to life, dinging with each floor it passes. 
“Can I ask you a question?” I blurt out loud, doubting myself the second the words pass the threshold of my lips. 
His confused gray eyes rise and lock with mine, a question on his face. “What?” he answers, nearly annoyed with me. 
“I’m sorry, we’ve neva really talked and ‘ve neva been very nice t’ ya-,” I try, but he stops me. 
“Yeah, you haven’t, Harry, and so why should I? The last time I did a favor for you it didn’t really turn out too great,” Asher responds sharply, moving further away from me shaking his head. Pulling his phone from his pocket, he changes his focus to that. 
I look away and bite at my bottom lip. 
Way to go, Harry. 
But then the words are being shoved past my tongue and I can’t stop them. 
“I . . . jus’ wanna know if she’s doin’ alright,” they say, and I’m not even sure if he heard me with how quiet they were. 
Staring ahead, I see his head of blonde quiffed hair rise. He doesn’t say anything right away, but instead, he seems to think about it before he raises his head fully. 
“She’s okay,” he responds, with certainty to his words. And with those words, they take a little more of the tension I feel coating my body. 
“Good, ‘m glad t’ hear that . . . Is she uh liking her new job?”
“Yeah, she said it’s good. I dunno if I should be telling you this, but uh she found a clerk job in town. The same sorta thing as what she did here, which is good and makes switching jobs easier,” he continues, and I soak up every word because they’re about her. I wish I could hear these words from her mouth. But I can’t, and that’s my fault. 
“A-an’ they’re good t’ her there?” I continue, not knowing how to articulate the rambling thoughts in my head. 
“Yeah, they are,” Asher says, looking at me briefly. I look back and I watch his expression soften. “She’s doing well, Harry. She misses it here sometimes, but she’s adjusting and I think she’s where she needs to be right now.”
He doesn’t get to say anything more, because the elevator doors glide open. 
“Thank you, Asher . . I really mean it,” I tell him, giving a small smile. He nods and steps off and out of sight. 
And thus began our random elevator talks. I looked forward to them, even if they only lasted a couple minutes. And even if I only got to hear a vague update about her. And even if it made trying to forget her harder. 
+
The halls are quiet. A ghost town from earlier in the day where hundreds of feet traveled, and even just twenty minutes ago. But it’s the lunch hour, and everybody else has the same idea as me. To leave. Now, my black mod boots are the only sound on the speckled floors. The tall ceilings hide fluorescent lights and the gorgeous stained glass also hides, but from the snow. Identical snowflakes fall in the sky outside, and I pull my coat tighter around me in preparation to join it. 
The snowflakes melt in my hair and try to fly into my face, the wind pushing them this way and that. My car takes forever to warm up, making me curse myself for forgetting my matching violet hat and mittens on my desk. It only has just begun to warm up when I pull up in front of the towering brick building. Flocks of people rush to the doors from their cars, and the other way around. The vents blasting out warm air hush when I turn the key, bringing the chill with it. 
Well, this is it. My lungs heave a nervous breath and I try to sike myself up to even just open the door. But my thoughts get the best of me, and strings of what-ifs and doubts circle in my mind. 
What’s the point?
What if it turns out the same way as before?
What if I can’t do it?
What if I’m not good enough?
What if I made the right decision to leave?
Why should I try again?
What if I don’t like it anymore?
How can I do it by myself again when I never could the first time?
What if I fail?
Finally, I open the door and get out before I can stop. And I decide to leave all of the what-ifs and doubts there. Behind me. I focus on picking up my feet and putting one in front of the other until I’m standing in front of the familiar doors I haven’t stood before in a long time. 
The warmth welcomes me and so does the familiar smells of books and fried chips. The smells I always associated with this place. Lines of people fill the entrance and conversations paint the air. The Christmas decorations are long gone, and new knick-knacks and flyers replace them. Instead, cheesy Easter decorations line the bulletin boards. Yellow baby chicks. Pink fluffy banners. Easter eggs colored in patchy by tiny hands. Colorful signs advertise local events, reminders, schedules, and many more things I don’t have the time for. 
Pushing back the sleeve of my coat, I peek at my watch. I have 20 more minutes until I have to be back at work. Oh goodness, I hope I won’t regret this. 
But I don’t think I will, because I’m finally doing something about all of the nagging thoughts and ideas I’ve had the last few weeks. And I’m proud of myself for at least taking the first step. 
Stopping in front of the Information Desk, I’m met with a cheery smile asking me how they can help me. 
“Hi, I was hoping to speak with an advisor, a Mrs. Shepherd,” I begin, feeling the words roll off my tongue with hesitance. I’m surprised with myself for even remembering the name.
“Do you have an appointment with her?” she responds, looking away from her computer she types on. 
“No, I uh was just on my lunch break and I was hoping to meet with her to speak about something.”
“Alright. I’m going to need your name and what your question is for her,” the lady replies, looking between her computer screen and me. I pause, focusing on the fake yellow chick sitting atop her screen. Her heavily lined eyes wait for me behind her pink framed glasses, and her curly brown hair dances in the wind from her mini fan. 
“My name is Rebecca Holte, and I wanted to speak with Sally about finishing up my last 30 credits of my law degree.”
28 notes · View notes
oliversaluki · 3 years
Text
Friend Like Me
You only turn Fourteen Once. Taking a look at Ollie and the gang and how they celebrated his last birthday with everyone in New York before everything changed.
July 23, 2000.
This was Oliver Twistes Birthday. But it wasn’t Oliver Twiste’s. But could you blame a four year old for not remembering his birthday. You probably couldn’t even remember your Mother’s face when you were four. Not enough to recall it after being abandoned in the middle of New York without a second thought.
So Little Oliver had a made up birthday. 
Something that Rita and Dodger and Tito and everyone told him was important. A birthday was a day to celebrate Oliver’s life. A day to celebrate him in any way they could. And for them it wasn’t much. 
But that was okay, whenever Ollie woke up on his birthday morning he expected hugs and maybe a cupcake or even a chocolate bar someone had lifted during the grocery store run. It didn’t matter as long as Ollie woke up and everyone he loved was with him.
And as Ollie woke up on this 14th birthday that’s exactly how it started. When he walked out everyone was there huddled around a small coffee table singing him happy birthday. 
Ollie happily plopped himself at the head of the table as they all sang. He never needed anything more than this. Ollie loved everyone in this room more than he could ever communicate. And as long as Roscoe and DeSoto didn’t show up today then everything would be even better.
As soon as the singing stopped everyone rushed forward landing on top of the kid. Someone was messing with his hair, someone else was trying to tickle him and Ollie’s laughter rang out through the small apartment. Through the walls that were too thin as their neighbour banged on the wall to tell them to shut up.
In unison everyone yelled back a fuck up to them sending Ollie back to the ground in a fit of giggles. 
“You’re not old enough to swear.”
“Who told you what the word Fuck meant.”
“Dodger are you teaching Ollie bad things again.”
“Why are you blaming me?”
“I’m 14 now! I can swear too especially at mean people telling me to shut up on my birthday!” Ollie teased lifting his voice so he knew the neighbour could hear him.
“I DON”T CARE IF IT”S YOUR BIRTHDAY NOW SHUT UP.” 
Ollie pouted at the man yelled back. “Fine I guess it doesn’t help.” 
Everyone else grinned back at Ollie. How couldn’t they when he had perfected that pout years ago, using it to get out of all types of trouble before and apparently to get off scot free for swearing.
“Either way kid we’re taking yous out for the day. Save that pout for later. We’re doing some free running.” Ollie scrambled out of the dog pile as he looked over everyone settling on Rita who just sighed and nodded.
Words of course were spoken, something along the lines of keeping Ollie safe and bringing him back in one piece but Ollie didn’t listen instead tackling Rita in a hug. He wanted nothing more than to follow the footsteps of Dodger and Tito. Maybe too much to a fault but they were basically his brothers and what fourteen year old kid didn’t want to be like the people that he looked up too.
Rita was cool but she was a girl. And Ollie wanted male role models. After all he was a boy who wanted to do boy stuff. Not sing like here. Not that it was a girl thing but free running looked so cool. Whenever Dodger and Tito ended up on roofs looking over everything and everyone Ollie looked up at them with wide eyes wishing he was up their with them.
To get this chance.
Ollie wasn’t going to waste it.
“Thanks Mom!” Ollie kissed her cheek before running back into the room he shared with the others to pull street clothes falling over in his rush to get his pants on.
“I’M OKAY!” Ollie called out after he had scrambled up and out of the blanket that tripped him. The jeans were torn and the shirt was worn out but they were what Ollie feel the most comfortable. It wasn’t anything that they owed to Roscoe or his Dad. This was something that Ollie had stolen himself. He hadn’t put anyone in debt because of this. 
His shoes though he didn’t have a chance to steal those. As young as all of them were and the stunts they pulled sometimes their shoes suffered way too much before they could even be handed down to him.
Not that Ollie minded if they were handed down. It was just something that one of his favourite people used. What was wrong with that?
Shoes on Ollie stood as tall as possible. He was a whole year older and he needed to act like it. He was cool, calm and collected. And then Tito’s arm wrapped around his shoulder messing up his hair and Ollie whined pretending to struggling.
“My hairrrrrrrr. I looked so cute though.”
“You had bedhead kid, I think Tito made it look better.”
Ollie pouted at the room huffing while they all laughed, his own smile threatening on his face.
“OKay fine I had a bed head and now it look better can we goooooooooooo.” Ollie whined even when Rita walked up and fixed his hair her hands softer than what Tito did and Ollie could now be certain his hair did look better compared to sticking up everywhere. 
“Be safe. I want your cute nose back in one piece.” Rita booped his nose and Ollie grinned up at her.
“Okie dokie. I’ll make sure my nose comes back in one piece.” Ollie teased.
“I’m telling you that was taught by Dodger. Don’t blame us.” 
Rita rolled her eyes kissing the top of his head as the three boys set off Ollie’s hands finding theirs and holding on tight. He couldn’t lose them in any crowd if he was holding onto them. Even if Ollie couldn’t see them anymore they would be right there within arms reach.
Adults were less likely to walk in between them, Ollie had noticed that too and as long as one of their dominate hands were free they could easily still lift a wallet or two and if Tito let go of Ollie’s hand to do so as long as Ollie was holding onto Dodger he was okay. Or vice versa depending on who’s left hand he was holding.
It didn’t even matter that it was first thing in the morning. New York was bustling. Tourists trying to get somewhere before it got crowded. Suits trying to get to their cubicle where they sat their whole lives to get a dollar.
Even on their birthday.
A future that wasn’t attainable to Ollie in the first place but one he didn’t want. He wanted to be out here. Exploring. Seeing the world. Ollie wanted to be with these boys. Ollie wanted to go old with them.
Ollie wanted to make them proud and he didn’t think becoming a suit and sitting at a desk all day would make them proud. Even when they pushed him to go to school and they forged all the paperwork so he could.
Now all the legal paperwork thanks to Roscoe. Not that he would thank him. He was mean and he hurt his friends and scared Ollie. He pushed him around especially when Ollie accidentally said things in his accent but it wasn’t his fault that Roscoe’s accent sucked so much that it stuck in his mind.
He didn’t like him.
Not the way he liked Dodger and Tito and Rita. Especially Rita. Ollie loved her. She was the one that raised the sun and hung the moon for him. 
Neither of the older boys tried to lift anything instead just joking around nudge each other, Ollie swinging their hands as they walked. Forcing their way through the crowds and those that rushed. Even with their looks Ollie kept walking forward.
At an empty parking lot Ollie was exposed to his first time. Dodger and Tito showed off when Ollie finally let go of their hands. Jumping over railing and down steps. Climbing up trees onto to jump onto the second level of a car park. 
Ollie was mesmerized looking at them. They could be like fairies with wings on their back just flying through the air. And Ollie wouldn’t know any different. Even when they fell and rolled to protect themselves Ollie thought they were the best. 
How could anyone beat them?
How was Ollie to ever match up?
They told him what they did and how they did it. What they looked for but it was always a feeling for them. Training they had done for years and having fallen over and over and just getting back up time and time again.
Ollie started small trying to jump onto railings and running over them. Tripping only a few times. But keeping his nose intact.
A natural, they said. Looking back now Ollie was sure they were just being nice as he only jumped over a railing and around flower pots while they practiced climbing the car park and jumping down. Ollie had to get used to the jumping from a much lower level. But he had moved from starting on the rail and jumped and landing on the flower beds. Sometimes on the flowers. (Sorry flowers)
They continued like that until a whistle rang out. Ollie couldn’t even focus on the sound before Dodger grabbed his hand pulling him into a run. “Time to put some of that to the test, kid.” 
Ollie followed holding onto Dodger’s hand trying to look back and see who was chasing them. But Dodger and Tito only looked forward so Ollie followed blindly. He only let go when Dodger gave him a smile. No one could run and jump with Ollie holding onto them. 
Jumping down a few levels both boys stopped waiting for Ollie to make the jump down to them half catching him when he jumped barely giving it a second thought when he jumped. It they were there waiting for him he would be fine.
That simple jump was enough to stop the cop running after then and when they ducked into an alley looking around the corner for the officer they watched him curse at the stupid hill. Yelling out about how kids should be in school.
And sure they should but why be in school when it was his birthday! Considering how important they made it sound it was better to be together when they celebrated someones birthday.
“This is why all cops are stupid. They can’t even deal with a wall.”
“How can you trust them when they lose against a wall.” 
Ollie grinned and giggled grabbing onto their hands again when he had regained some of his breath.
“No one tell Reets what just happened.”
“We’d never be able to take the kid back out.”
“My lips are sealed!” Ollie mimied his lips zipping close even with Dodger’s hand within his. 
“Your lips are sealed. Nice.”
“We’ve still got some time.” 
Glancing at the watch they had definitely lifted from some suit Ollie shrugged trusting them enough to know how to read the watch because Ollie sure as hell didn’t know how to tell time. This is why they had digital clocks all over the place.
“Well we could go get a chocolate bar or something.” 
Ollie nodded at the suggestion. He could be part of his own chocolate bar heist. This was turning out to be even more fun than he expected.
They slipped into a big brand name store separately, each other them had a different pattern one where no one would run into one another until they were outside. Nothing to tie the three of them together. Watching their own tails. It was easier to run if only one got caught.
A distraction could be made without putting them at risk either.
Ollie didn’t have to worry about it. The store was quiet but that just meant less people were working. Slipping a chocolate bar each of his sleeves, Ollie didn’t take a second look back. He didn’t rush to the exit but instead made sure no one was looking at him as he wandered around before making his way out being the last one to the meeting spot. (Designed on purpose so he wouldn’t freak out waiting for them - one time that happened and Ollie had accidentally shut down for the rest of the day)
Holding up their spoils the boy grinned at the six bars. They would be having a great dessert tonight. None of them were the 99cent shit either. Go big or go home on a birthday after all.
Tucking the bars into their pocket Ollie took their extended hands again this time running through the crowds of people back to apartment Dodger pulling out his key.
“We’re home!”
“My nose is still in one piece and we didn’t run into any police!” Ollie exclaimed both Dodger and Tito giving each other a look behind him as Ollie ran into Rita’s awaiting arms. Again looking back Ollie was sure some silent words were exchanged but considering Ollie continued to learn free running and then parkour from them it hadn’t been too bad.
“We have a surprise. Close your eyes.” Doing as requested Ollie sat at the table with all the chocolate bars in the corner of the table Einstein and Fagin rolling their eyes at the spoils.
Covering his eyes with his hand Ollie swayed side to side as he waited for whatever the surprise was. Rita pulling his hands away only for Ollie to open his eyes to an ice cream cake.
The blue icing curled perfectly around to spell his name and his age. The Oreos on top. All treats that were just that treats. Something they didn’t waste money on unless they had extra. And rarely did they have extra when feeding a bunch of growing boys. That kept growing out of their clothes.
“Ice cream cake?”
“Ice cream cake.” Everyone choruses lighting a candle for the boy. “Happy birthday kid.” Rita’s arms wrapped around his shoulders and Ollie leaned into her.
I wish for all my birthdays to be surrounded by my family. Ollie wished blowing out the candle with a grin. This treat was expensive and one that couldn’t just be stolen. Not considering his name was on the cake too.
Ollie was only able to manage a thank you to everyone. And a “We got chocolate too.” at the very least and soon his hair was a mess once more but as the cake was sliced and served Ollie didn’t care. 
July 23, 2000.
This was Oliver Twistes Birthday. Now Oliver Saluki. Ollie never checked when his real birthday was. It always would be the day that Rita found him. That was the day that mattered to him.
1 note · View note