#sentimental turn sorry but imagine him hearing his name from his baby's mouth for the first time n thats the first moment where he's like

[rueclfer]

Let’s just make a cute headcanon out of ur mispronunciation, what if key-go is how his baby daughter pronounces his name? I just know hawks would be a girl dad. 🥺

you are the backbone of this blog not even joking rn this is so CUTESYYYYY okay everyone stop making fun of me for my pronunciation and focus on this hc <3 <3 hawks not even correcting his baby hes just like mhm mhm yes

[satoruhour]

i need jealous racer geto hes js so whudurieiw and the way u write about himm🤭🤭

LUVRGIRL

a/n: eeuuughh idk whether to like this or not but enjoy nonetheless !!! not so much of racing but the sentiment is there lol. previous part (lloromannic) here / @screampied @kizoken @t4kio @redskyvenus @mysugu @suguruplsr @slttygeto ✶

wc: 6.3k

warnings: racer!geto, soft dom!geto, fem!reader, sprinkle of fluff, pet names, praise, ldr, phone sex, masturbation (both f and m), fantasising, daisuke is being annoying again!!!!, sorta jealousy plot point, brief dry humping, oral (f! receiving) / cunnilingus, clit stimulation, fingering, unprotected p -> v sex, breeding / creampie kink, implied multiple rounds, n*sfw under the cut

the next six months were torture, indefinitely. it was an endless heap of assignments, of deadlines, of long-distance calls with your love that you both were so close to booking flights of your own. university was brutal, too. on top of tuition fees and getting the materials for your classes, it was heart-wrenching to even look at the prices of the flights from your country to japan, so you bit down your pride and subjected yourself to settling for the long-distance arrangement.

“hey, baby,” geto mumbles sleepily and your frown deepens upon forgetting that tuesdays was where he slept early. you still had to call, though, but you realise it too late when he answers with that groggy, raspy voice of his. there’s some ruffling behind the call, no doubt the sounds of his bedsheets as he gets himself comfortable while you huddle at the small nook of your room that’s next to the window.

from here you can see the sun setting, a totally different story in japan where you can hear geto yawn and down a glass of water next to his bed.

“shit . . sorry su, i forgot—”

he scrambles to reassure you, awake and sat up, “no! no— no, it’s okay . .” you wince when you hear him yawn yet again, but this time he sounds a little more in the realm of consciousness. you’re unaware of the smile forming on his face just from hearing your voice, fidgety fingers squeezing and releasing the duvet over him, “what are you up to, my love?”

you hum into the phone and you’ve never wanted to backpack across the seven seas to see someone so bad before. now on month nine, your excitement’s become even more prominent at wanting to end the semester as soon as possible, willing your lips not to mutter out the arrangement you’ve been planning with his group of friends.

“just needed a break from studying for finals. i’m dying,” you lament over the line and your heart flutters at his chuckle, something you miss against your ears and skin immensely, “just wish you were here . .”

“yeah?” and you have to squeeze your eyes shut and rub your thighs together at the soft, rough yeah he mumbles out. you can imagine it too: sitting against his headboard half-naked while the duvet pools around his waist area. he’s sitting there like plaster sculpted by Monti while his hair flows around him. you almost squeal and your boyfriend only catches just the start of it.

“what? what was that?” he asks and your hand is clasped so hard over your mouth like a captor’s got your hostage, but you only let out a breath.

“n-nothing,” you laugh, picking yourself up from the nook and getting yourself comfortable in bed. it’s been a long day of studying, anyway, and your next exam isn’t until five days later. you could afford some downtime, right?

“but,” you sigh, turning on your side and sneakily slipping a hand into your pants, “my day’s boring. it’s all studyin’. why don’t you tell me what you did today, instead?” you can hear your parents already preparing dinner outside, but you press on and try to drain out the intrusive noises of cutlery and porcelain and the incessant calls of your mom to your dad for some help on the stove. 

“alright,” he drags the word out and laughs again, getting comfortable in his bed just like you do, but your end goals are entirely different, “but it is pretty boring as well. it was maintenance day today.”

“oh!” you remember him briefly mentioning that the other day — since halloween was approaching, there was bound to be more patrolling policemen around the streets and underground, so races had to be put on hold for the meantime. there was still other more secluded areas to race, but geto didn’t want to risk his Mazda being taken away nor for a stain to appear on his clean academic record.

“changing the crankshaft? i know the old one was giving you loads of trouble,” you mumble, feeling your cunt pulse and throb from the breathing you can hear over the line, “among . . other things.”

“yeah, my baby’s so smart for remembering, huh?” he praises, continuing to go on about his day. while it was merely taking-care-of-his-car day, it was still way more eventful than yours. he had went on a solo day out to your beloved café to relish in the good times, he had hung out with gojo for a while and drank some beer atop the mountain they frequented, even went out for some arcade fun.

“unfortunately—” geto’s low voice spurs you on. you’ve been lazily rubbing at your pussy, just humming into the phone while you only descend more and more into pleasure, “it’s taken a hole out of my allowance, i guess. my dad’s more generous with the parts that he gives me but at the same time i feel like he knows what i’m doing underground.”

he laughs and you fake a giggle, but your breaths are starting to get heavier with each sentence he utters, mind filling with flashbacks of how many ways he’s bent you over to fuck you, drunk on the phantom-like winds upon your ear that sound like he’s whispering all those filthy things to you. “and . . just missin’ my girl.”

“how’ve you been, baby?” he asks with a low voice, like he knows what you’re doing and the term of possession only has you sucking in a breath, fingers slip inside you after possibly a decade of teasing and you find it hard to answer. “darling?”

“y-yeah, ’m still here,” you pant out, afraid of being caught, but your voice quivers enough just for geto to catch on to what you were up to. he didn’t fault you, though (he never blames his girl), but there is a small smirk that forms on his face. he purposely lowers his voice even more, if it was possible, mirroring and mimicking your breathy tone when talking to him.

but with one hand that goes down to his pelvis, he doesn’t have to mimic you at all, hand palming languidly at his bulge. in the dead of the night, there wasn’t much need to keep his voice down in order to hear the pretty moans falling from your mouth; he does anyway.

it’s too shitty of a reception especially with your nokia’s, so he hears the artificial, metallic-like voice coming from his phone, but your sounds are just too lovely, transcending the robotic-ness of a phone call. and it’s like you’re actually there, smiling mischievously at him while stroking his cock and teasing him the way he liked to be teased.

“s-sugu?” you mumble, mind heading into the extremes and confident now that he’s just weirded out and silent, but it’s anything but that.

“yes, baby?” he hums, smiling to himself when he hears rustling over the phone and he can imagine you lifting your hips to remove your panties, tossing it somewhere across the room. “wanna tell me what you’re doin’?” 

you suck in a breath — so he knows — but suguru always knows everything so you’re whining into the receiver, pleasantly surprised when he replies with a deep groan that only makes you clench around nothing.

“that’s right . .” he drawls and you hear a soft thud over the line, and now you’re the one quieting your movements just to hear your boyfriend, the faint shlick shlick sounds of his hand along his cock. geto gasps when he squeezes his tip just like how you do it, pre-cum starting to leak. “need you h-here, doll . .”

you mewl softly and start the hand on your clit again, abandoning the tight hold around your phone just so you can use the other to slip your fingers into your warm cunt. it doesn’t even compare to the thickness and length of geto’s dick, but you have to work with what you have. with head turned toward the speaker, your boyfriend has gone non-verbal, too, moaning like a slut into the receiver.

“suguru, i’m— please . .” you whine softly, hips bucking into your hands, “doesn’t feel as g— good.”

geto coos inwardly at your needy voice, mouth falling open at his rock hard cock. it’s so hard that it hurts, left to merely fuck his fleshlight whenever he could and use his hand on other days. he missed your sweet fucking pussy so, so much, just picturing your beautiful arched back that lifts off the sheets and your shaking thighs. he imagines your perfect pout on your face as you finger yourself, unsatisfied, obviously, begging him with tugs to his hands and his eyes flutter close.

“i know, baby, and ’m sorry,” he mumbles, taking the nokia from his ear to put it right up to his relentless pumping and you swallow, the slick, wet sounds more clear now. “but you hear what ya do t’me, don’t you?”

“mhm . .” you trail off, thinking of his fat cock impaling you instead, and you follow his actions to a T, bringing it right to your sopping cunt and geto has to scrunch his already shut eyes just to wish that his hand was your pussy. your hand is getting tired, he’s sure, but you finger yourself so prettily his hand easily speeds up, giving his shaft periodic squeezes.

“so wet, suguu . .” you drag out his name, already feeling your high approach soon, but you want the both of you to cum together. “i miss you stretchin’ me out . .” a hiss from suguru, “i miss your cum spilling out of me.”

that has geto choking out a whine, “f—fuck, sweetheart, don’t say that. i do miss g-giving you all of my cum—”

the filthiness of everything contributes to all your senses, parents omitted from memory, your finals at the back of your mind and only focusing on the envelope that resides on your bedside table containing a plane ticket. in one week you’d be able to see him again — a sweet treat given to you by gojo and nanami with their combined expenses.

you didn’t even know how you could thank them and while nanami waves you off for any payback, gojo did say you could treat him to anything in that café. it was difficult not to be excited, a louder whine drawn from your throat again and he laughs breathlessly, voice down low and distraught.

“any particular reason w-why my girl’s so needy lately—?”

geto basically chokes out his question while you shake your head until you remember that he can’t see you, answering with a broken “no”.

you resist the urge to spill on the exact reason — your mind spiralling from the anticipation of meeting him, the many, many lewd memories you’ve made over six months, his just-woken-up voice — because he’d never let you live it down.

“c-close, suguru—” your thighs are squeezed tight around your tired hand, sensitive from the immense overstimulation, “’m g’nna cum soon—!”

“me too, my love,” geto’s eyes are back open, trained on his cock and watching the sheer neediness shown in his weeping tip and bucking hips. he needs this, he needs you, and once you’re submitting your final paper, he’s sure to look at flights right to your doorstep.

“i’m c—” you’re whining out, body totally turned over and lying on your stomach as you chase your high, fuelled by the deep guttural groans of your boyfriend. your lips and mind are only filled with suguru, suguru, suguru, not even caring that your sheets are soaked and your fingers are cramping.

“baby, baby, baaaby . . s—shit—” geto reaches his release first, mind filled with replenished memories of your tight pussy hugging his cock, spurts of white spilling all over himself with a loud groan and you’re left to listen out for the desperate sounds of your boyfriend miles away, lengthening his climax as he continues to pump himself. “cum all over your fingers, doll . .”

suguru coaxes in that sweet voice of his, mumbling deep into the phone only for you. “doing so, so good, aren’t ya?” the quietness on his end, the slow lazy stroking of his hand again, and you’re cumming all over your fingers, eyes blown wide from the orgasm that he talks you through while you ride it out on your mediocre fingers. your mouth is stained with endless profanities and moans mixed with geto’s name, muffled by the bedsheets you’re so harshly biting into to prevent any loud, unbecoming sounds.

“that good?” he asks with a laugh, yawning yet again and you feel guilty again—

“i’m sorry, s—”

“no. don’t, doll, don’t apologise,” suguru brushes his thumb over his thigh, partially wiping off the cum and partially hoping he can relax the furrow of your brow like he always does. “you’re frowning and your shoulders are up, probably, relax . .”

you sigh, another thing that geto values a lot and has taught to you; deep breaths and untensing all parts of your body.

“good girl, was that good?”

“the phone sex or the deep breaths?”

geto grins. god, he missed you so fucking much — “both.”

“both was very good, thank you very much,” you giggle, not paying much mind to the way you remove your fingers from your cunt, turning over to the bedside table to take some tissues, “although the sex was a little better.”

“aw, no wins for the intense, groundbreaking, spirit-calming deep breaths?”

you shake your head (you’ve got to stop doing that), “ehh . . it was alright.”

geto’s reluctant sleepiness grants you a few more minutes together, his words starting to slur more and more the longer you were on the line, but you can’t say you don’t enjoy it. with fatigue came the words laced with unhindered affection, murmuring softly about hoping to see you soon, to feel you, to kiss you, and you expressed the same sentiment back to him.

the other switches the output to speaker, wanting to take in the messily taken profile pic he set your contact with. a blurred, blinding smile with his face squished against yours; a little below the two of you, berry and cherry clutched within your palms, doing the same. “can my girl do her best for her finals?”

“i can’t promise the best, but i’ll try . . okay?”

geto hums, a soft smile on his face. he’s cleaned up by now, new sweatpants on and duvet pulled right to his neck while he stares at your face, the pixels of the nokia never diluting your beauty.

“attagirl. have a good dinner, lovergirl.”

that knocks some breath out of you, and you grin like a schoolgirl.

“have a goodnight’s sleep, loverboy.”

you bounce on your heels impatiently when the plane finally lands, waiting for the throngs of people on the flight to leave through the bridge, but it’s taking ages, speed walking once you’re out. you wanted to be the first at the luggage conveyor belt, you needed to be the first passenger of your flight to be out of the arrival doors.

without the rush of the people and the striking colours of your boyfriend’s friends’ hair colours, it wasn’t too difficult to run up to them for a big hug.

“(y/n)~!” gojo drags out your name, waving you over excitedly and bringing the both of you into a group hug. nanami is adamant on being the ever broody racer, but you catch the ghost of a smile when he wraps a careful arm around your shoulders.

“how was the flight, (y/n)?” the blonde’s firm but concerned voice cuts through the chaos of the white-haired man.

“don’t ask lame questions like thaaaat, nanami! you’ll just bore me—” and a resounding smack! is then heard, and gojo’s clutching the back of his head in pain, the other taking the opportunity to lead you away from gojo’s antics and offering to help with your luggages. without words, nanami already feels your nervousness, patting your back in solidarity.

“hey— hey! oi!”

gojo slams the door to his car. “okay, we’ve painstakingly tried to hold suguru back whenever he was about to book flights—” gojo mentions in the car on the ride there, taking way too quick turns for your liking with your luggage going to town in the trunk. its thumps against the roof and sides always seem to interrupt the conversation with the white-haired man, but he seemed too much in a hurry to care. “think it was almost eight separate times!”

“thank you— ah!” you almost lurch forward at the amber light, but gojo decided at the last minute that he was just going to run it — braking then speeding it up all over again.

“you know, for a racer, you’re a terrible civilian driver . .” you groan once you reach the mouth of the familiar car park that you frequented in your six months in japan, but now that gojo’s easily manoeuvres the car to a slow, the adrenaline of the fast drive changes into something of dread, of a dizzying feeling.

what if suguru didn’t want to see you anymore? what if he already booked himself a flight and was nowhere to be found? what if he’s cheat—

your hands are clammy, not even present to how gojo calls out from you from the driver’s seat. cautiously, he’s putting a hand on your shoulder (because god forbid gojo touched anything of suguru’s, both Mazda and girlfriend), and shaking you out of your daze.

you catch glimpses of his sentences: “all  . . talks about . . trust . . no girl has . .” but you stop his rambling with frantic slaps to his shoulder. you know you shouldn’t be jumping to conclusions but it’s hard not to when the scene is clear as day. suguru is never one to cheat — from the six months you’ve known him, from the many calls and check-ins the two of you do over the line.

defying time zones, fighting fatigue . . for this?

but you know better to list your lover as the instigator, especially from how this other girl was just hovering all over his Mazda, sticking her ass out and trailing her hand all over his finishing. that was one thing — but geto isn’t making any move to shove her off, only looking at her through hooded lids that could definitely drive anyone off. she wasn’t affected, though.

you’re not listening to gojo even when you step out of the car, already used to the curious eyes that rake over you and your figure — curiosity turns into recognition and then shock when they see how your boyfriend acts, but before you can actually make your way toward them, another man sidles up to you.

oh my god, it’s daisuke. you sigh loudly, knowing how gojo had dealt with him before and how much of an asshole he is, but all he does is look you up and down, not giving one fuck to how the subject of his embarrassment was sitting right in the driver’s seat.

“hey, babygirl.” you want to vomit from that one greeting alone, but you try not to pay him much mind. “what’s a pretty lady like you doin’ out here?”

“don’t your sorry ass have a girlfriend?” daisuke doesn’t even begin to digest the insult, and you think that he’s a masochist with how much he sets himself up for getting insulted, but then the girl’s eyes meet yours — she’s in his pictures, she’s in his wallet, you’ve seen her when this loser beside you blatantly brags about his girl. you’d feel sorry for her but it seems she’s as stupid as him.

they’re exactly that — realising you just walked yourself into one big jealousy scheme planned by the biggest jokers of the underground racing scene, your suspicions are confirmed when his eyes are also locked on his girlfriend with your boyfriend of all people, making sure she sees that he’s all up in your space. she’s doing the same, but when she actually tries to touch him is when geto finally does something, and the jealous burn in your heart quells a bit.

geto’s too smart to be mingling around with her, you hope, when you hear him mutter something to her and you smile to yourself when she cowers under his stare and words.

“you touch my fuckin’ car one more time and i’m sure to drive both you and your loser boyfriend, out of here forever. you can take your clown asses to another parking lot and race there and then i won’t have to see your faces any more,” his hold around his wrist isn’t harsh, but it is firm, and he prevents her from leaving until she gets his message, “plus i have a girl i’m obsessed with. take your lame jealous charade somewhere else and maybe go to couples’ therapy. you two clearly need it.”

and when she looks at you again — you think it’s how your identity settles in her mind — she yelps and finally runs away at the daggers you give, not even sparing a glance to daisuke who’s carefully scooching closer to you. but just as he tries to wrap his arm around your waist, your eyes catch suguru’s.

his eyes soften for just a moment; it was just like the café. his palms turn sweaty and he feels like he could collapse — but now you’re looking just a little different. he wasn’t sure if it was because of your hair or the tiredness from exams, but you’re still as stunning as the day he led you out of the parking lot.

geto cannot resist giving you a big grin, but it quickly fades when his gaze falls on daisuke beside you and a scowl appears. and while your body’s already distancing yourself from the man’s crusty ass lips, you feel a throb go right down to your core when the same annoyed glower forms across his features: eyebrows pulled taut, long strides, muscles bulging in the wifebeater he’s got on.

six months away from your man has clearly done things to you.

with one smooth swoop, geto has you pulled flush against him, not even looking as he uses his free hand to grab at daisuke’s neckline before he leans in to kiss you. it’s admittedly a little embarrassing, cause your body reacts so readily to him, tits pressed against his chest while your fingers tangle themselves in his long hair. he tastes like cigarettes and cherries like always and you moan softly into his mouth when his hands wander right down to your ass to give it a squeeze.

“satoru’s not very good at hiding secrets, unfortunately,” geto spills and you pout, surprise ruined by the loud mouth of his friend, but before he gives you his undivided attention, he tugs daisuke closer, roughly. “but that don’t mean i ain’t happy to see ya, baby.”

geto laughs at your flustered state, until his expression darkens again — “you have a lot of nerve touching my girl.”

“I—i didn’t! she was basically begging for me to touch her.”

“don’t you—”

“p-plus! my girl was all up over you too, so i thought i’d give her a little lovin’—”

geto almost smashes his jaw in. either way, he lands a clean punch to his face that has daisuke writhing on the floor, clutching his mouth in pain but that doesn’t deter daisuke one bit who sits up . . and then is immediately beaten down again with a boot to his chest. your boyfriend leans down and looks him straight in the eye.

“i’m cancelling my race just so i can make my girl scream my name loud enough for you, because you could never fuck her or anyone that good with your shit dick game,” geto scoffs, “and forget girls, you can’t even win enough races to rise up the ranks. you’ve embarrassed yourself enough, don’t you think?”

suguru doesn’t bother waiting for an answer, only ushering you toward his Mazda parked in the familiar corner, easily shooting a text to gojo to cancel the race as he mentioned just so he could . .

with windows down, you relish again in the tokyo night air, the hand that you miss so much on your thigh, the alluring voice he’s speaking to you in, the beauty of geto suguru. everything looked the same since you left, from the photos he’s put up on the dashboard, the berry keychain hanging from the rear view mirror, the outer orange coating of his car.

“i—”

“i’m sorry, my love,” suguru leaps forward to apologise, stopping the car abruptly. you’ve already reached your destination but, it seems he wants to say something first.

“why are you apologising?”

he frowns, bringing his hand to cradle your cheek. easily, you’re leaning into the touch, closing your eyes. “for ruining the surprise, for that stupid fight with daisuke, for letting my emotions take over.”

you mirror him, features also deepening in somberness. “you didn’t do anything — if anything, you were a victim of his girlfriend too. but . . seeing her be all over you, made me think the worst after not seeing you for six months.”

geto’s eyes soften yet again (he simply can’t help it around you), using both hands to hold you, now, and you float into his arms like a feather, like he’s in command. you let him guide you into the driver’s seat, faces so close and just hoping to touch after so many months apart.

“i . . i love you,” he swallows, brushing the hair from your face. you find that he’s shaking and breathing so heavily you’d think he was hyperventilating, but he gathers courage on a deep breath and continues, “i have since you left. right after, i went home to cry.”

“oh . .” your lip juts out, eyebrows downturned and eyes filling just a little, “oh, sugu . .”

“i just have always wanted to say it, i guess,” he chuckles, sniffling to hide his true emotions, “i just didn’t know whether i should say it over the phone where it would sound cheap; b-but, you don’t have to say it back, of course—”

you smile through tears, pressing a peck to his forehead in gratitude, “it wouldn’t sound like it to me, but i appreciate you waiting until i returned,” geto relishes in your lips upon his skin again, and he doesn’t think he could survive another day, another minute, another second without you, “i have, too, but i’m not sure when. it definitely includes the time you set alarms to wake me up for exams, though.”

he laughs freely at the memory now, of alarms interrupting his dinners and his parents asking “another call?”, but they let him do whatever, happy to hear their boy joking and laughing over the call with his mystery partner. you giggle, using your thumbs to wipe away the tears that did fall, letting the interior fluorescent light of the Mazda illuminate the features you love so much, all belonging to the man you pined over from many miles away.

“i love you too, suguru — stumbling into that random car park was the best thing i’ve ever done.”

“well, it might’ve not turned out as well if some other group had gotten to you first,” his thumb plays with your bottom lip and brings you to him, “’m just glad i got to ya in time . .”

“yeah? what if you didn’t at all?”

“then i would’ve made sure i’d find you in any way that i can, even if i had to beat up a thousand daisukes.”

that makes you giggle at little, a sliver of eye contact shared with your lover before he engulfs you in a rough kiss and your moan reaches the heavens, body so sensitive from being away from his touch that you jolt when he wraps an arm around your waist. 

“relax, baby,” geto chuckles, speaking against your lips, “take it slow.”

“but i don’t wanna . .” you whine softly, clinging to him in surprise when he pulls a lever next to his seat and the backrest falls all the way down.

“ah!” you grin, “new mod?”

suguru barks out in laughter, “ya caught me. i got it modified yesterday.”

“so you could do dirty things like this?”

he rolls his eyes with a blinding smile, just so, so happy he’s got you back in his arms again, “exactly that.”

the other willingly shows you just what the modification can take, both hands spread out on your ass and pulling you onto his crotch. your core already feels the half-hard bulge under him, using your hips to grind down even more along him. everything feels like too much, after so long away from him that you already feel your high approaching from simply grinding your clit against him and he teases.

“you g’nna cum, already?” he grins slyly, suddenly moving his hips to meet yours that has a broken mewl leaving your throat.

“b—been too long away from you . .” you admit a little sheepishly, using his shirt as an anchor while you continue to grind your cunt into his front, only your panties and his trousers separating the contact of skin. but with how your body jerks in pleasure, you’d think there was nothing between the both of you. “i need you, quick.”

geto says nothing but help you with small pants, the backlighting from the headlines accentuating your figure so nicely that he grunts out your name in between swears, soon stuttering your syllables once he feels you still on his lap with arched back and throbbing cunt. he can feel you, feel you squeezing around him even when he wasn’t in you.

“guess your fingers were pretty crap, h-huh?” massaging your sides, you hum in disapproval at his cheeky smirk, hoping to change that when he lets you do whatever: you pull him up by his shirt and open the door to his car, pushing at him to get out. you don’t day anything and he already knows what you want when you spread your legs, biting his lip at the wet patch on the pretty set you decided to don.

and even with witnessing this sight over and over, you’re never used to the way geto worships you, reveres you, when he kneels down on straight gravel. he doesn’t care if his pants are littered with small specks of dust and dirt, whether he knees start to hurt, but he only has his eyes set on your alluring cunt, finger delicate when he pulls your panties to the side but just brutal when his mouth meets your clit.

“su— s-shit—!” is all you can manage, hearing the other breathe through his nose once his mouth latches on your pussy. it’s something that he hasn’t tasted since long ago, and he’d be damned to let you go again, so he takes the opportunity to savour your arousal, switching between flicking and sucking on your clit like a starved man.

“she tastes so fuckin’ good hmmff—” his eyes meet yours and he feels you squeeze around nothing, making a show of letting you watch how his tongue circles your bud, down to your hole and up again, slurping up your juices sloppily. “i hope this pussy’s missed me as much as i missed her, yeah?”

“y-yeah . .” you moan out softly, legs moving apart more to get more of him, pelvis humping against his face so much that he has to hold it down with a hand. your pre is dripping all over his leather seats and onto the floor, but he makes sure not to spill any more from the way he scoops it up and prods at your entrance. 

“let your pussy do the talkin’, baby,” he mumbles drunkenly, pushing in a finger past your walls and the stretch is already so much better than your own. your jaw hangs open in ecstasy, body already bucking and craving for more when he pushes his thicker finger all the way in and it’s no problem for geto to slip the other in, “she’s sucking me in so well, can she do this to my cock too? hm?”

wordlessly, you’re nodding, catching a whisper of good girl before he’s back on your sopping pussy, sucking up and swallowing all of your arousal that it’s downright filthy, the noises echoing throughout the space. geto doesn’t waste any time pumping his digits, moving them in tandem with his tongue.

“s—suguru . .” you whine, struggling to keep your eyes open from the sheer pleasure, and you’re met with the vision that you can never get enough of — your racer boyfriend’s tongue out, hooded lids and soaked chin — and he grants you a little more of euphoria, groaning loudly into your pussy. with each minute, he’s only getting harder, unbelievably so, so your fantasy cut short when he removes his fingers and mouth with a pop! and laughs at your needy whine.

“you’ve been away too long, come,” geto stands to give you a kiss first, letting you taste yourself, “i need to be in you, darlin’.” 

and so when he first slips in, it feels like heaven on earth, his leaking tip nudging past your folds and right into your warm cunt that he whines so loudly, long hair falling all about his face and body. you’re not different, nails digging in his skin at the stretch that you’ve missed, cock so much longer and thicker than your fingers.

“t-this is better than any fleshlight, fuuckk . .” he mutters to himself, one hand holding your ankle up and the other holding your bent knee. he’s hoping the modification he made to his car wouldn’t give up on him, because he knows he won’t be able to hold back once you’ve adjusted. but when you start moving earlier than he expects, he doesn’t give you the chance, slamming right up to the hilt until you’re shivering and clenching around him.

“g—god, r-right there, sugu—” you preen, nothing but incoherent and repeated sentences mumbled by you over and over, “feels s’full . .”

“y-yeah? tha’ it?” you don’t need the shitty light of the abandoned parking lot to make you look beautiful, you’re doing it all on your own when your body arches towards him and your legs shiver in his hold, catching glimpses of just how wet you were — juices smeared along your inner thighs, a clear sheen of it along his length, all thanks to the lighting. “so sloppy, huh . . listen to ’er.”

geto emphasises his thrust, in, out, and in, out, just for you to hear your dripping pussy dragging along his shaft, one of the things of yours that makes him go insane. 

“all because of you,” you babble mindlessly, fingers expressing your need for him and he listens like he always does, body hovering over yours just to kiss you and because of that he’s thrusting all the more deeper into you as you break the kiss with a loud moan. geto laughs against your lips, hips making quick work to make sure he stays in his new angle, and he’s rewarded with your lewd pleas for him.

he’s ramming into you so perfectly, mushroom tip just barely brushing against your cervix each time that it has your mouth permanently open in pure pleasure.

“well . . you’re the only doll to get me hard and needy like this . .” he chuckles again, kissing down your neck to make sure you get blue and black into your skin, “and i fuckin’ love her for it.”

with a shaky hand you pull on his ruined ponytail, “s-say it again.”

“i love you,” suguru almost whispers, afraid of breaking the silence.

“again . .”

“i love you, sweetheart,” that makes you bend into his hold, undoubtedly.

“again, suguru—”

his hips are relentless, still moving even through his pussydrunk confessions, “i love you— i-i love you, i love you. so, goddamn, much— s-shiiit . .”

“m-me too, su . . i love you— i—” your arms trap him, circling around his neck and making sure he stays close to you and he pushes on your knees more, fat cock fucking into you in a more open mating press, knowing you’re close by how your toes curl and your stomach contracts, by how your pussy flutters around his mouth and soft needy sighs turn into wanton moans. he’s got you mapped out, memorised, all from his devotion to you.

“i know, baby, you’re close, y—yeah?”

he feels you nod, thighs starting to burn from the position but while your pussy keeps sucking him in, he’s sure to continue to slam into you, making sure all four walls of the parking lot hear the obscene sounds of his balls slapping against your ass.

“c’mon, cum with me, princess,” he murmurs, lightheaded with the tightness and warmth of your pussy. it’s a wonder he hasn’t cummed already, sneaking one hand in between your bodies to rub at your clit. your moans are rendered inaudible, only managing pathetic squeaks before you’re tipped over the edge and you’re whimpering so loudly into his car, cum dripping down and out your cunt and right to your ass.

your pussy flutters with geto’s continued thrusts, prompting him to reach his release right after with a deep groan, hips stuttering in your sensitive pussy until he’s spilling his load, white and hot. it’s just so, so goddamn much, stuffing your hole full of his cum that it has no choice to spill and dribble out when he removes his cock, the sight just so mesmerising to him.

“p—please,” your energy is far from used up, turning your body over just so you can present your ass to him. face squished into the driver’s seat, you use both hands to spread your cum-filled pussy, just asking for more and geto only smiles with a certain lilt in his voice. “need more, suguru . .”

“that’s my lovergirl.”

[prolix-yuy]

Chapter 3: I'm Not So Brave but I'm Gonna Give It a Try

Pairing: Din Djarin x F!Reader

Summary: An awkward moment. A rejection. A talk. A glimmer of hope.

Word Count: 1.9k

Warnings: M, grinding, allusions to sexual acts. While this story is not explicit, my blog and the content shared on it is 18+ MINORS DNI.

Cross-posted on AO3

A Sweet Response to Tragedy Masterlist || I Think of You Series Masterlist

You’re sure you’ll spot Mando as you head further from town, all shining valor, but he sneaks up behind you until he’s just by your shoulder, startling you hard enough that you stumble forward.

“Maker, Mando, we’ve talked about this,” you complain, shooting vibroblades out your eyes at him. He shrugs and chuckles, reaching down to pat the kid on the head. His hand is dangerously close to your crotch and you have to willfully wish away your imagination.

(down girl)

“Any surprises?” he asks, and you notice he’s not striding with purpose to the Crest. You might even call it sauntering, or meandering. You’re taking your time getting back, and the idea warms you. 

(Is he enjoying himself?)

“No, very quiet. Bean ate something that sounded like a mouthful of bones, but he enjoyed it. Did you get anything to eat?”

Mando takes one step for two of yours, his stride much longer as he rests his hand on his belt buckle. The swagger of it all is arousing you more than is appropriate with a baby on your hip.

“I’ll eat on the ship,” he says, alluding to your usual arrangement. Dinner with the child while Mando retreats to the cockpit for several minutes and wolfs down his own food. That’s all you can imagine occurs, what with the speed of the event.

(maybe you could change that)

You ask him about the refuel and his own stock-up run, which he details in quick sentences, many of the words he’s using foreign to you. You’re both being lulled into an easy, calm state, side by side as the light of the day warms your backs. The sparse smattering of trees envelop you both as the sounds of the town fade into the distance. The crunch of earth under your shoes echoes in your ears and the relaxation in your limbs makes you bold.

“Thank you for today, Mando,” you say, and as smoothly and slowly as you can manage, you reach out and slide your fingers into the palm of his hand swaying between you. Your squeeze just barely, letting him know you have him.

Mando’s feet falter and you both slow to a stop, the helmet turned down to your joined hands. You keep the gentle pressure there, rubbing your thumb in a circle on the back of his hand, but he’s still locked on to your touch, fingers restless but not curling around yours. 

(fuck stupid stupid kriff)

You drop his hand, trying to smile in a disarming way.

“Sorry!” you say, a little too high and cheery. You try to think up an excuse but there’s a lump in your throat, so instead you start walking again, the child making confused noises. After a step or two you hear Mando continue walking as well, making up the gap. Striding with purpose now, the Crest looming into sight, you feel the deep urge to drown yourself in the routine of restocking the ship. 

Mando says your name, morphing it into a question, and you look at him with a too-bright smile.

“I, hmm…” he starts, and you know he’s searching for the reason why he didn’t accept your touch. You beat him to it.

“It’s okay, it’s nothing,” you rush out, waving your hands. “I was just…I was being silly.” You rephrase. “Sentimental. I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable.” 

(must not be The Way)

Mando watches you for a moment, both of you still moving towards the ship, then turns his head and walks in silence. Mounting the ramp, you try to push the embarrassment of rejection down by pulling the supplies out in record time. Mando gets to his own tasks, putting items into his weapons locker (you don’t mess with that, not even knowing the combination for it) and climbing the ladder into the cockpit. Pushing the hover-carrier’s return-to-home button you shut the ramp, feeling the shudders and whirs of the Crest closing herself up from outsiders. 

You busy yourself with putting away the rations, your clothes, your new possessions on this ship. Your sleeping nook is well outfitted now, tucked into the hall storage cabinet just large enough for you (and Bean too, as long as he doesn’t have a growth spurt). The bed pad fits nicely, pillows and blankets making a comfortable cocoon of warmth. A piece of junk fabric hangs over the opening to provide some privacy. It’s perfect, a tiny refuge carved out for you. The child stays on your hip throughout, his weight comforting.

(It’s okay, you took a shot and it wasn’t the right time. Mando understands, you understand, you’ll be okay)

It’s when you’re putting your toiletries away, your toothbrush placed in the same spot as Mando’s, that you begin cursing yourself out.

(Stupid kriffing girl you’re going to ruin everything for what? Because you still have a crush on him? Grow up)

You put your forehead on the cool steel of the ‘fresher wall and take a few deep breaths. You thought Mando might be warming to you, that if you straddled him in the pilot’s chair (naughty) that he’d tumble into lust with you. But clearly that’s all it would be. If he couldn’t even hold your hand alone, far from prying eyes that could clock a Mandalorian’s weakness, then he must not harbor the same affection for you as you have for him.

The child tugs on the hem of your shirt and you sniff and wipe your face, pulling yourself back together.

“Okay Bean, let’s finish up then we can play,” you say, heading back to the hold. The child’s noise of agreement mirrors some of the sadness in your own.

After you settle the child at his favorite seat at the table, Mando calls down to you from the cockpit.

“Can you come up for a moment?” You get up from your seat at the table where you’ve been marking off your inventory checklist. Moving to pick up the child, “Leave the kid,” echoes after.

The request worries you as you settle the child in a little nest of wires you made while cleaning the hold. They’re bright and colorful enough that they help distract him when you both need to be out of the room for a few minutes. That and his silver ball should entertain him long enough for you to see what Mando needs.

Lifting yourself up the final rung, you don’t see Mando sitting in the pilot's chair. Instead, he’s looking out into the evening sky. It’s different from watching hyperspace, all deep blackness and cool light. The sky here is tinted indigo and cobalt, stars surrounded by halos of haze. A splash of umber signals the descending sun, a few glints reflecting off Mando.

“Everything okay?” you ask, eyes sweeping over his body to determine why he wouldn’t want the child here.

(Hurt?)

Mando turns to you, and in a step he’s closing the gap. You crane your neck up as he turns the helmet down, your breath coming in short pants. The visor pins you but its blackness is still a deep mystery.

“This is what I can give you, Mesh’la,” he whispers, low and sultry.

(And sad)

Just when you’re wetting your lips to speak, he backs you up against the wall of the cockpit. One thick thigh slots between yours, the unyielding beskar unforgiving against your soft core, your hands coming up against his chest plate in surprise. You try to form words, but for once Mando is filling the air, quietly so as not to disturb the child.

“I know how to fuck, and to fuck you good and often and how you like to be fucked,” he continues, one hand coming up to press his knuckle under your chin. You’re trying to be silent, afraid to break the spell, but feel your breath hitching into a soundless whine.

“I know how to protect you, and keep you safe.” His body covers you, cold and hot and all-encompassing. Your lips part as he drags his gloved thumb over your chin, ghosting against your bottom lip in much the same way as he touched you outside the ‘fresher.

“I’ll give you everything I know how to give,” he says, and his other hand captures yours, much in the same way you tried to earlier, and he looks down at your joined hands.

“But I don’t know how to give you this.” 

A wave of understanding washes over you. You let the breath out that you’d been holding.

(He’s never been more to someone than a bounty hunter or a lover or a warrior)

“It’s okay Mando,” you whisper, taking your hand from his tentative grasp and wrapping your arms around his neck. He pulls you closer, circling his arms around your back and curling down into you. Your hand strokes the back of his neck as if you could run your fingers through his hair. The cowl will have to do.

“I’ll take it, anything you’re willing to give. I won’t ask for more than that. I know how hard it is for you to offer it.”

The sigh you feel empty out of Mando makes you press your face into his cowl, relishing in the closeness of the embrace. 

(You’ll take what you can get to have him close to you)

“I’m sorry, Mesh’la,” he says, leaning back enough to press his forehead against yours. “I’m sorry if this disappoints you.”

(Kiss kiss kiss he still wants to kiss you)

“Never,” you murmur, “you’ve never truly disappointed me Mando. It’s actually kind of annoying.” You joke, and his arms squeeze you a little harder. His body shifts, his thigh rocking into you, and the moment turns from revelatory to arousing. You sigh, tilting your hips to better feel him.

“Dank farrik, you’re so…” A rough breath rasps out of the vocoder, the dizzying sound prompting you to roll your hips up his thigh. The breath changes to a rumble that vibrates against your chest. “Maker, I want to fuck you,” he growls, pushing you against the wall and wrapping his hands around your hips.

“Kriff, Mando, wanted to for weeks,” you whisper close to the helmet. “Wanted you to climb in the bunk every night since that first bounty.”

Mando groans, lifting you swiftly up to his waist, your legs wrapping around him. He slides his fingers underneath your waistband, fisting the fabric and dragging it down to expose your hips. The slide of the leather is electric on your skin.

“Can’t with the kid in there,” he huffs out, and you smother a laugh in his cowl.

“Time for him to get his own bedroom,” you shoot back, and your combined chuckles bounce off one another. 

“We might have enough time to…” Mando starts to say, dragging his knuckles torturously slow over your skin, when a curious “Patu?” echoes up the ladder. 

(DANK FARRIK) 

Mando groans and thunks his head against the wall, easing you down so your feet touch the floor. You could scream with frustration.

“So this is what parenthood’s all about, huh?” you say, and the shake of his helmet is part exasperation, part exhaustion.

“All the time,” Mando sighs out, moving to see what the child is trying to get into now. You catch his wrist before he leaves and press his gloved palm to your mouth, leaving a kiss among the blaster residue and dirt. “I mean it, Mando. I’m not disappointed.”

“Thank you, Mesh’la,” he says, dragging his thumb across your cheek with an affectionate tilt of his head. Much to your surprise, it doesn’t sound final.

(maybe not now) you think as he descends, (but also maybe not forever).

PREVIOUS || NEXT

[rinstars]

𝘠𝘖𝘜 𝘔𝘐𝘎𝘏𝘛 𝘓𝘖𝘝𝘌 𝘏𝘌𝘙 𝘕𝘖𝘞, 𝘉𝘜𝘛 𝘠𝘖𝘜 𝘓𝘖𝘝𝘌𝘋 𝘔𝘌 𝘍𝘐𝘙𝘚𝘛.

PAIRING: Gojo Satoru X Reader

GENRE: Angst

TAGS/WARNINGS: Hurt/Comfort (or not you decide hehe). Break-up. Falling out of love. Just hurtful shit. He loves someone else now but he didn't cheat. Can't explain shit omg just read sorry

NOTES: Listen to Madison Beer's new song Reckless while reading, the title is from the lyrics of this song !!

Hard as you try, there seems to be no anger in your heart. No burning rage that makes you want to set the whole world on fire. The urge to inflict the same kind of pain he's caused you not even making an appearance in your heart and mind. If it's resentment on the other hand, maybe you do bear some. Pain, too, if you're being completely honest. But you don't really feel like acting on it. Don't feel like looking for ways to release the negative emotions bubbling inside you. You just wanted to be at peace, wanted to cry everything plaguing your heart.

Maybe it's because he said it in such a soft voice, like he didn't want to hurt you but then not telling you at that moment will only make it worse, so he decides to. His palms were rubbing the back of his neck, eyes looking anywhere but you when he announced the feelings he's been desperately trying to contain.

"I'm in love with somebody else."

He wouldn't cheat on you. To the very bitter end he endured for you, and you knew that. He must've seen how desperately you were trying to save the relationship. How you still try to melt the cold that blankets over your relationship with your warm hugs, kisses lingering on his cheeks just a little bit longer than usual so you can make sure he feels the love that still blooms so beautifully in your heart.

"I understand." No matter how hard you swallow, the lump in your throat doesn't seem to go away, straining your voice. "I'll pack my things tonight and leave tomorrow."

"You don't have to go right away, Y/N," He looks at you sadly, almost pitifully, and you hated it—the fact that you're faced with the reality that it's all beyond saving.

He wouldn't run after you. Not this time.

You realized your high school days were over. He's not going to chase after you, hands on your waist saying sorry and kissing your neck under the rain every time you run away after an argument. He's no longer going to bring you flowers, thrusting it straight to your chest when he gets home because it makes him too shy to be even more sentimental than he already is.

Gojo Satoru is no longer yours.

"It's fine, Gojo." you smile at him, not missing the way he winced at the mention of his last name. Nothing like the usual "Satoru" he's been used to hearing for years. No baby's, no love's, just Gojo. Perhaps he deserved that. He's always been stupid with words, constructing sentences doesn't seem to be a thing of his. Yet this one request he was sure he would beg you for, if you were ever to refuse.

"Will," he begins, closing his eyes shut shortly after then taking a deep breath. "Will you share the bed with me?" He smiles at you sadly, guilt plaguing the beautiful frosted eyes you've always loved. "For the last time?"

Biting your lip to prevent it from shaking even more than it already it, you nod at him, heading to the kitchen as he looks at you with a confused expression. A sigh escaping his lips when you turn around to answer him.

"I'll cook us dinner before bed."

That night in bed, when you couldn't keep bottling it up anymore, you ended up crying in his chest. His arms around you as he runs his fingers through your hair. None of you spoke a word. After all, what do you say to a lover you'll be losing tomorrow? To another woman you think you probably will never be.

He assures you, though. It's not the fact that she's prettier, not that she's kinder, sweeter, or more well-spoken than you could ever be. It's just that he doesn't feel it anymore, doesn't hear his heart beat with you the way it did before—and he hates it, God, does he despise the realization. Yet, while he couldn't imagine his life without you, he thinks he also couldn't imagine a future without her.

You look up at him and he stares down at you, with eyes full of warmth and melancholy—but no longer of love. His frosted lashes almost a painful reminder of what your relationship has gone to—cold and unforgiving. His eyes speak to you the words he somehow couldn't bring himself to say.

He's sorry for hurting you, but he's not for loving her. After all, he just loved. Just started to harbor the same feelings he once did for you.

The morning was both harder and easier than last night. The closure you got before the separation more than you could have ever asked for—a temporary solution to your breaking heart. However, the pain persists as you get closer and closer to leaving the house you've spent so many years with him so he can stay in it and make new memories with her.

The door is heavy, heavier than the luggage he's helping you to carry. Turning back to him when you've stepped a foot outside, your eyes catch the sight of the necklace hanging around a chain on his neck—your present to him for your first anniversary. He must have noticed, delicate fingers suddenly wrapping around the ring.

"I'm not taking it off," Gojo Satoru smiles, goodbye dripping from every syllable of every word coming out of his mouth. "So never take yours off too."

You reach up to him for a last hug, arms wrapping around his neck as you let your tears fall the moment your face is out of his sight. He was your best friend, your anchor, your life support. He was everything to you and you like to believe that once upon a time, you were too.

You whisper your last I love you before driving off in your car, the response you were used to hearing every single time not echoing in your ears this time.

Gojo Satoru was more than a lover to you. He's taken up more memories in your mind than the thoughts you have for yourself, your heart filled with nothing but a space for all the love you would have given him for the rest of your life, had you been given the chance. You spent years experiencing the beautiful kind of love he could give and maybe, this time, it's time for others to experience it too.

The same fantasy you once did.

The sun shines down through your windshield, reflecting on the ring shining on your finger as it grips the steering wheel. The shimmer a bittersweet reminder that while he might love her now, he still loved you first, and you guess—no, you believe, that it's enough.

To be loved by Gojo Satoru and bask in the affection he once offered.

[kumzume]

SLAP! ft. goshiki tsutomu

wc. 1.7k :D

warnings. SMUT (duh), impact play, slight angst???, a lil fluff, cumming untouched, hard-ish dom!reader, sub!goshiki, established relationship, dom drop (???), shit ending but what’s new lmao

an. i realized i was neglecting this blog while Trying™ to work on desperate pt 2 &&& i was missing my baby goshiki so :p

♡´･ᴗ･`♡

“i’m sorry, you want me to what?”

you could feel the disbelief written all over your face, the absurdity of the situation ticking up the corners of your lips into an incredulous smile.

goshiki—bless his heart—sat fidgeting in front of you, his face painted in a bright pink shade while he played with his lithe fingers in his lap.

you just couldn’t believe your ears. your goshiki—the one who nearly fainted when he asked you out, the one who threw up twice before meeting your parents and the one who sobbed so hard through your vows he was impossible to understand—that same goshiki was asking you to do what??

“i-i asked if y-you would hit me,” he mumbled, eyes downcast as though to avoid rejection, “y’know, during sex.”

okay, so you weren’t having an early stroke when you heard him earlier.

he actually wanted you to hit him—pretty badly it appeared if the bulge pressing against the zipper of his jeans was anything to go by.

you took a deep breath in order to ground yourself and collect your thoughts. you knew your husband’s mind was probably going a mile a minute while he awaited your inevitable dismissal of the subject but you needed a moment to just think.

were you seriously opposed to this? i mean, throughout your entire relationship goshiki had always made accommodations for you, from little things like buying more pillows for his bed when you moved in with him to big things like scheduling time off for you when you got too stressed to take you on a vacation.

he’d always been there for you so why couldn’t you do this little thing for him? it was only sex and your relationship was so, so much more than that. giving him this was honestly the least you could do to repay him for all that he’d done for you.

with your mind made up and your resolve successfully steeled, you made your way over to your husband who looked about ready to keel over. you felt your heart clench in your chest, feeling rather bad about leaving him in silence for a good 5 minutes.

it took you a few short strides before you finally stood in front of goshiki, observing the shuddering of his shoulders and his pointed avoidance of eye contact.

you breathed out a soft sigh before bringing your left hand, adorned with your glittering wedding ring, up to his cheek, caressing the warm skin gently. despite his refusal to look you in the face, goshiki leaned into your touch, turning his face so that his petal soft lips were flush with your palm.

carefully, you lifted his face up so that he was finally looking at you. you weren’t at all surprised to see the tears growing in the corners of his eyes, threatening to fall over his lashline—he’d always been somewhat of a crybaby.

goshiki stared at you with such adoration and love that you couldn’t help the sharp exhale that escaped from your nose. his eyes fluttered shut as he moved just enough to take your thumb into his mouth, swirling his tongue around it and sucking serenely.

the sensation was nearly enough to knock you entirely off track but you quickly regained control of the situation. you slipped your thumb out goshiki’s mouth, your hand roaming to his jaw before gripping him tightly, his eyes shooting open and welling up with tears.

“‘tomu,” you began harshly, “tell me what you said before, hm? what do you want me to do?”

“yn pleas—“ your hand held him tighter causing a choked whimper to slip past his parted lips.

“ah ah ah ‘tomu, you know better than that.” from your place above him, you could see his eyes beginning to glaze over as he sunk into the comfort of your control. the sight never failed to get you, a warm smile almost overtaking your face but you swiftly stomped it out.

the grip on his face tightened once again as you leaned down to whisper in his ear. “what do you call me to get what you want ‘tomu?” the warm breath tickling goshiki’s ear sent a shudder crawling down his spine to rest hard and heavy in his pelvis.

“i supposhed to call you mish,” he finally responded, his words muffled by your fingers digging into his cheeks. you let the smile breach your face this time, letting go of his face before turning on your heel to make your way towards the bedroom.

you don’t turn around but you can hear goshiki knock over his chair in his haste to follow behind you. you grinned before schooling your face into an unimpressed mask.

the cool air of your bedroom hit your shoulders causing tiny goosebumps to arise but you ignored the discomfort to focus on goshiki. he had entered the room a while ago, his big bright eyes trained on the ground while he awaited your instruction.

he was so good. that’s what made what you were about to do just that much more fun.

“‘tomu,” you began, your tone harsh and unforgiving. “come here.”

your husband obliged, shuffling over to you until he was only a foot away. despite his naturally submissive nature, he towered above you, his body built from his years of volleyball and working out.

you allowed your eyes to trail down the dips and curves of his body, just barely hidden by his tight t-shirt, leaving little to the imagination.

now that just wouldn’t do. you needed to see all of him.

“take off your clothes.” he was quick to do exactly as you asked, his clothes growing in a pile on your floor until he was clad in only his tight black boxers that did little to hide his hard and leaking cock.

you grinned at the wet patch on the front of his briefs signaling that he was more excited than he let on. the more you stood there observing him, the bigger the wet patch grew and the more he began to squirm.

breathing out a faux-disappointed sigh, you reached out and weaved your hands into his purple strands before yanking him down to the floor, his knees crashing against the hardwood painfully.

the sound he released was so guttural that you nearly stopped the scene right then and there but the way he moaned your name and rutted his hips in the air at the pain had you hesitating.

you agreed to this, yes, but could you really go through with it? you mentally shook your head at the sentiment. no, you were going to hurt him and he was going to like it.

with a new outlook, your stare grew harsher and your words became more pointed. “what a little pain slut, getting off on this,” you sneered, enjoying how goshiki’s eyes filled with tears.

“miss i—“ SLAP! the sound rang throughout the room, echoing off the plaster walls. goshiki’s head was whipped all the way to the side, a bright red imprint beginning to form on his cheek. your hand stung at the severeness of the hit so you could hardly imagine how much pain your husband was in.

you were horrified at how hard you had hit him, your mind too embalmed in the dominant persona to think before you hit.

“oh fucking hell, baby i am so sorry,” your current whimpering voice a far cry from the bitter tone you had held only minutes ago. you immediately dropped to your knees before very carefully taking his heated face in your hands.

when one of your palms touched the affected area, goshiki flinched away from you and the pain. you felt your heart break in your chest at the gesture, his eyes remaining downcast and away from you.

“tsutomu, you have to believe me, i didn’t mean to hurt you,” you rambled while tears filled your eyes. you were repelled by what you had done, your mouth pouring out apology after apology.

“i just thought it was what you wanted but i shouldn’t have taken it that far and—“

“yn,” goshiki interrupted, one of his calloused hands coming to lift your chin so that your eyes met his. “it’s okay.”

he looked at you with such kindness and love but you just couldn’t accept it. “tsutomu, i hurt you,” you pleaded, your vision becoming blurry with yet another wave of tears.

through the liquid in your eyes, you managed to see goshiki shake his head before taking your hand in his and leading it down to the front of his boxers. your breath caught in your throat as your fingertips met with the wet—soaking—cotton fabric that engulfed his dick.

you looked back up at him with wide eyes which he met with a blinding smile. “i came,” he said nonchalantly, “you made me come.”

he came... from your slap?

if that wasn’t the hottest thing in the world, you had no idea what was.

“tsutomu, i...” you couldn’t finish your sentence due to goshiki’s slightly chapped pink lips being pressed to yours in a passionate kiss.

your eyes fluttered shut as you gave into him, your arms coming to rest in his silky purple strands while your tongue pressed itself into the warm cavern of his mouth.

goshiki pulled away first, resting his forehead against yours as he tried to catch his breath. your eyes remained closed for a moment while you tried to still your own rapidly beating heart but when they opened, you were met with his wide-eyed stare of adoration.

“i love you yn,” he muttered before kissing you on the nose and standing, not allowing you to respond. he pulled you up with him (you always forget how strong he is) before burying his face in your neck.

you giggled at his childish behavior, one of your hands coming up to stroke through his hair. “what do you need ‘tomu?” you asked, placing gentle kisses around his ear.

“need to shower. ‘m all sticky.” you both laughed at that before pulling apart and leading him to the bathroom.

“okay but if i have to clean off your dick, i expect at least two orgasms from you, mr. ace.”

“yes ma’am!”

“god, i love you.”

[spine-buster]

peaceful easy feeling ft. b.boeser | one

A/N: Here’s the beginning of my new mini-series!  I hope you all enjoy it.  It will definitely be a bit of an emotional rollercoaster, so be prepared!  There will be five parts!

SUPPORT MY WRITING HERE: https://ko-fi.com/spine_buster

CONTENT WARNING: parents with disease/sickness (Parkinson’s); swearing; sex; alcohol use; lots of emotions.

                                                                   *     *     *     *     *

Brock Boeser felt like he was at some sort of Alcoholics Anonymous meeting, with everybody around the circle introducing themselves and their similar predicaments.  The group was in a big meeting room at the local community centre, and when he walked in, he saw a group of dads playing basketball in the gym.  He sort of wanted to join them instead of being here, in this room, with all these people that he didn’t know talking about what they were going to talk about, but he’d done this back in Minnesota, at his mother’s behest with his siblings, and he was going to do it here, too, in Vancouver, to make her happy and ease her mind and to make sure that he was easing his own mind.  

“Um, hello everyone.  My name is Brock Boeser.  I’m from Minnesota, but I’m living in Vancouver.  And um, I’m here with you all because my dad was diagnosed with Parkinson’s Disease.”

“Hello Brock,” everyone smiled at him, and he smiled and nodded back.

“So it was your dad that was diagnosed,” the leader, a kind, older woman named Esther who had greeted him at the door and stuck with him until everybody sat down, egged on a conversation.  He knew she was doing it because he was new; everybody in this room probably already knew each other.  A part of him actually wondered if anybody knew who he was.  “When?”

“Um, he—he was diagnosed with Parkinson’s in 2010,” Brock revealed, stuttering it out.  He knew he’d have to be open at these things – open so people could empathize with him, open so he could empathize with others – but it was still tough for him to do so.  “But he—it’s—it’s not just Parkinson’s.  Two years after he was diagnosed, he was in a car accident and suffered a traumatic brain injury.  In 2017, he was diagnosed with lung cancer.  He beat it but then in June it returned to his liver and chest.  In July, he had a heart attack and his heart stopped beating for 15 minutes.  I was with him and—I—it’s—it’s a lot, as you can imagine,” he tried not to start crying right then and there.  Imagine that – first meeting with a Parkinson’s Society of BC support group and he’d bawl like a baby.

“Goodness me, Brock,” Esther said.  “He has support at home?”

“Um, well, money isn’t an issue now, but when I was growing up my mom worked three jobs to make sure we were all taken care of,” he revealed.  “I’d pitch in too wherever I could, obviously.”

“But it’s been tough for a number of years.”

Brock paused.  It had been tough for a number of years.  It had been really tough for a number of years.  He nodded his head.  “Yes ma’am.  I try to take it day by day.”

Esther nodded as well.  “I don’t know if you pray, Brock, but I know a couple of members around the circle do, and, well – you’ll be kept in all our prayers.”

Brock saw a few people nod their head.  Another older woman, probably his mom’s age, clutching a rosary; a Sikh man dressed in a casual suit; a younger woman, probably in her thirties, with short blonde hair.  He appreciated the sentiment.  He knew that people took prayer very seriously – that people suffering took prayer very seriously.  It was, realistically, one of the kindest things somebody could ever say to you: “I’m praying for you.”  “Thank you very much,” he said, nodding his head once.

***

There was an arrangement of cookies at the end of the meeting.  Even after the 90 minutes of everybody talking about their experiences and emotions, they apparently liked to stick around afterwards as well just to mingle.  It didn’t all have to be doom and gloom, he thought.  It didn’t all have to be about Parkinson’s or about sick people or losing your loved ones all the time.  Maybe some people just wanted to talk about the news.  Maybe some people just wanted to talk about sports.  The weather.  Anything.  Anything to make a connection with someone beyond something so tragic.  

After stuffing an entire Fudge-O cookie into his mouth, he looked up to see a young woman staring at him, holding her trenchcoat in her arms.  She was smiling to let him know she was friendly.  He was embarrassed because he knew she just saw him stuff an entire Fudge-O into his mouth.  “Hi,” he said, his mouth still full of cookie, the sound of his voice reflecting that fact.

“You’re Brock Boeser, right?” she asked sweetly.  “You play for the Vancouver Canucks?”

“Yeah,” Brock couldn’t help but smile.  He swallowed the rest of the cookie even though he didn’t really finish chewing it.  “That’s me.  Are you a fan?”

“My step-brothers are more so than I am,” she said.  “But I’m a fan of the team, yeah.  I’m Grace Gillespie,” she extended her hand to shake his.  “God, they’re not gonna believe me when I say I met you.  They’re gonna freak.”

Brock couldn’t help but chuckle slightly.  “Do you—I mean, do you want a picture?  I don’t mind at all.  I’ll sign an autograph on a napkin if you want me to.”

“Well…it’s a bit awkward to ask you at a Parkinson’s Society of BC meeting, but we could go to the Starbucks down the street and I could buy you a coffee.”

Brock was slightly taken aback at her forwardness.  He shouldn’t have been.  Girls came up to him all the time.  All the time.  And they were most definitely not shy.  But he wasn’t exactly expecting it to happen here, of all places.  A bar, sure.  Out with Petey or any of the other guys, absolutely.  But not here.  “Yeah…yeah sure,” he stuttered out.

“Then we should go,” Grace smiled.  She turned to look behind her.  Brock saw Esther picking up a few Oreos.  “Thank you for leading another great session, Esther,” Grace said.  

“Oh you are most welcome Miss Gillespie.  How is Hamish these days?  You didn’t speak much today.”

“He’s been doing fine lately.  His caregivers have been working around the clock for him.  They just work wonders, don’t they?”

Esther nodded.  “They are angels on Earth.  Anyways – we’ll catch up next week,” she said, leaning slightly on her leg to look beyond Grace and to Brock.  “I hope to see you here again next week, Brock.”

“Thank you, Esther.  See you next week,” he said, realizing he made the commitment before he could even realize what he was saying.

***

“I take that was your first meeting?” Grace asked as she set down the two lattes on the table against the window where Brock was waiting.  

“Was it really obvious?” Brock asked.

Grace shrugged her shoulders.  She didn’t want to make him feel self-conscious.  “It was the stuttering that gave it away, at least to me.  I know I stuttered a lot the first few times I came to these meetings.  I wasn’t the most comfortable talking about my dad’s condition to a room full of virtual strangers.  But within just a few months I realized the people in that room are the kindest, most empathetic, most amazing people that I’ve ever interacted with.  So I became a lot more open.”

Brock was transfixed by every word that Grace was saying.  “So you’ve been coming here a long time,” he said.

Grace nodded.  “My dad got diagnosed with Parkinson’s when I was fourteen.  I didn’t start coming here until I was about eighteen, though.”

Brock knew he shouldn’t ask.  He knew he shouldn’t.  But his brain had ulterior motives, and his mouth – well, his mouth listened to his brain, because it apparently needed to know.  “Is your—is your dad like my dad?” he asked.  “Does he have, like, other problems complicating things?”

Grace shook her head.  “No,” she said softly.  “But the Parkinson’s is enough for him.  I mean he was diagnosed just short of ten years ago and he’s already on puréed foods.  It’s not—I mean, you know as well as I do that it doesn’t regularly develop that fast.  But that’s…I don’t know how you do it.”

Brock didn’t know either.  Some days he didn’t.  “I just take it day by day,” he said simply, just like he said in the meeting.  “If I think about it too much…that’s when it’s bad.”

“I hear ya,” Grace said, taking a sip of her coffee.  “But let’s…not talk about this for too long.  Do you like Vancouver?  Do you find it nice?”

Brock appreciated the change in topic.  “I love it here,” he nodded his head, smiling.  “The city’s great.  The fans are great.  My teammates – I mean they’re amazing.  What do you do?”

“I’m a dance teacher at Goh Ballet – little kids and teens, mostly.”

He wasn’t expecting that.  She was drop dead gorgeous, sure – Brock wasn’t blind – but he wasn’t expecting to hear she was a dancer.  “Do you, like, dance in the real ballet?”

Grace snorted slightly at his phrasing of ‘real ballet’.  “No.  I pursued it only up until a certain point.  I was good, but uh, I stopped when my dad got diagnosed.”

“Why?  Don’t they always tell people like us to have, like, an outlet or whatever?”

“They do.  But I loved my dad more than I loved dance.  And I would have rather spent the time that I was spending on dance with him instead.”

He understood where she was coming from, and he wasn’t there to judge her.  “And your brothers you mentioned, did they help too?”

“Oh no no no.  Sorry – I should have specified.  I’m an only child.  Like, the only child between my parents.  But they divorced when I was six and when my mom re-married I gained two step-brothers, Jasper and Theo.”

“How was the divorce?” Brock found himself asking.

“You ever see footage of a nuclear bomb exploding?” Grace giggled as she asked the question.  It caused Brock to laugh too even though the analogy she was making was dreadful.  “It was awful.  The type of divorce nobody deserves, you know?  I became a pawn, basically, and my parents would only speak to each other through lawyers.  Even stuff concerning me.  It was bad.”

“That sounds horrible.”

“It was.  But it’s the only life I know,” she said.  “He was lucky my mom ended up marrying another rich guy.  I mean, my mom only marries rich men,” she giggled slightly again.  “That’s how Jasper and Theo became my step-brothers.”

“So your family has money?” Brock clarified.  “What’s it from?  Dad a lawyer or something?”

“Not exactly,” Grace said.  “My dad and his brothers own a private equity firm that started like this,” she pinched her fingers together, “and went like…” she continued, spreading her fingers and moving her hands around her like a bomb explosion.  “Gillespie Brothers Investments.  I’m sure as a Vancouver Canuck you’ve heard of them.  I mean they wanted to buy the Canucks before the Aquilinis.”

Brock hadn’t heard of them, but he now knew he’d have to do some snooping when he got home. “I haven’t heard of them.  But I mean – sounds like they were successful.”

“Three billion dollars is pretty successful to me,” Grace quipped.

“B—Billion,” Brock sputtered out.  “With a B.”

“With a B,” Grace nodded.  Brock had no idea he was sitting across from the daughter of a billionaire.  She didn’t act like a billionaire.  Not like Brock knew what billionaires acted like.  He’d never met one before in his life.  Well, besides Francesco.  “But tell me more about what you like about Vancouver.  What about the nature?  I always kind of fine a good long walk along the Seawall or through Stanley Park really clears my mind from all…this.  What about you?”

Brock smiled.  “I find the white noise of downtown clears my mind.”

***

“You want my number,” Grace said as a statement rather than a question as she and Brock exited the Starbucks.  They were kicked out.  They’d been there for so long that they’d been kicked out because they were closing.  Their coffees had gotten cold.  They hadn’t ordered new ones.  And now they found themselves on the deserted sidewalk, jackets put on hastily, and Grace came up with that.

Brock looked down at her.  They’d been able to look into each other’s soul for the past few hours.  “Of course I want your number,” he said.  There was no reason to hide it.  No reason to deny it.  No reason to have to wait until next week to see her again as they sat around in a circle in a community centre talking about their parents.

He took out his phone.  She gave him her number.  He texted his name to hers so she’d have his.  When that dance was done, she looked up at him.  “I’m really glad I met you tonight,” she said, her voice sincere.

Brock nodded.  “I’m glad I met you too.  I—I really enjoyed this.  And I mean—I needed it.”

Grace smiled, nodding her head.  “I needed it too.”

“D’you—” Brock stopped, trying not to get too far ahead of himself.  “D’you need a ride home?”

“Oh no no, my driver is right there,” she motioned her head towards a black Mercedes waiting by the curb.

Brock hadn’t noticed the car until now.  “Chauffeur?”

“Billionaire dad,” she winked.  Brock understood.  She took a few steps back before smiling one more time.  “Call me,” she said, before flipping her hair over her shoulder and walking towards the Mercedes and getting into the backseat.  Brock watched as it drove off, making a right at the end of the street.

He would definitely be calling.

[elizabeethan]

Spaces Between Us Chapter 13: You & I

The hardships of real life separated them six years ago, and Emma has been struggling to put that fact behind her ever since. But then, only after she’s convinced herself that she’s moved on and that her new life is enough, Killian Jones comes back.

A Captain Swan Modern AU

Complete

As my grandma used to say,"theyah." (she meant "there" and she would brush her hands together, but she had a very heavy a Maine accent) 

Thank you to everyone who read this, and to everyone who commented, left kudos, liked it, reblogged it, sent flails.... you're the best!!

Thank you, as usual, to my beta and friend @the-darkdragonfly​, and to @donteattheappleshook​ and @xhookswenchx​ for listening to my ramblings and helping me figure out the plot to this <3

Read the Rest

Read on Ao3

Read my Other Stuff

~~~~

His warm fingers tickle her awake, dancing delicately over the skin of her waist and making her giggle before she hisses at the bright sunlight stinging her eyes. “It’s too early for all that.” 

 “No it isn’t,” he argues, kissing a hot trail down her neck until his lips reach her breast. She swears she was wearing a shirt when she went to bed… “We’ve got to get up soon anyway.” 

 “Then why are you initiating what you're initiating?” 

 “I can be quick.” 

 She snorts, reaching her fingers into his thick hair and letting out an appreciative sound as he flicks his tongue over her nipple. “I’m sure you can.” 

 “Let me do my work in peace, please,” he chastises playfully as he drags his mouth down her stomach, tucking his fingers into the hem of her underwear and tugging them down her thighs. 

 “If you insist,” she sighs, letting her head fall back against the pillow and grounding herself as she scratches her fingers against his scalp. 

He certainly does take his work seriously, succeeding in his promise to be quick and getting her ready for him in just a matter of minutes. She pulls on his hair a bit harder and he lifts his head, looking up at her with shiny lips and a glint in his eyes before he wipes his chin and crawls up her body slowly, peppering kisses along the way. “Already?” he asks when he reaches her ear, and she giggles. 

 “You promised to be quick, I thought you’d be pleased to know that you delivered.” 

 “Oh, I’m very pleased. If there’s one thing parenthood has taught me, it's how to get my lady love off in a jiffy.” 

 “Shut up,” she laughs, though the sound is cut off quickly when he plunges himself into her, nearly to the hilt before he pulls back out and slides in again, slowly this time. She groans in appreciation for the way he stretches her, hitting everywhere just right as he sets a steady pace. 

 “I love you,” he whispers against the shell of her ear, tracing his tongue over the sensitive skin just below. “So much.”

 “I love you, too,” she whispers back breathlessly, then with a moan, “don’t stop.” 

 “You like it like this?” he asks, biting her skin and pushing into her at just the right angle. 

 She whimpers and nods, her nails clawing at his back. She’s so close already, his mouth bringing her halfway there before they’d even started, and when he reaches his fingers between them where she needs him the most, she cries out again. 

 “There,” she begs, her legs shaking as she holds him in place. “Oh, fuck, right there.” 

 When he whispers, “come for me,” with his tone commanding and gentle, there's little she can do but obey him. 

 He’s heavy on top of her, her chest heaving beneath him, but she wouldn’t have it any other way. She loves being here with him more than just about anything. The way he kisses her cheek over and over while they catch their breath makes her heart flutter more. 

 “You don’t actually have to go, right?” she asks jokingly as she runs her fingers up and down his back. “You’re actually just going to work? Won’t Will be mad if you miss a day, Mr. Mechanic?”

 With a laugh and another kiss to her cheek at the charming nickname she gave him when his friend hired him to work in his garage, he answers, “I bloody well better go. I promised Ruby I’d be there and I certainly don't want to be on her bad side.” She giggles, though he continues, “and I want to watch that bastard get exactly what he deserves.” 

 She nods, letting out a long, steady breath. Walsh’s trial is today, and while Killian isn’t allowed to testify because of his relationship with the victim-- her-- Ruby has a lot to say about that evening. At first, there was talk of Killian being unfit to serve and having made irresponsible choices because of his emotional connection with Emma. But after Ruby’s accounts of that night and the body camera footage, it was clear that he acted as appropriately as he ever has. Walsh shot first, and the sheriff responded using non-lethal force. And besides, Killian left the force on his own accord, anyway. 

 At first, she was almost angry that he’d lived. Part of her wanted the surgeons to let him die; another part of her wanted Killian to have taken a better shot. But he was shot himself, so the fact that he got him in the shoulder was pretty damn good. Plus, Walsh will never be able to fully use his arm again. 

 And… he’s probably going to jail for a long time. Which would be cool, considering the amount of times he’s been beaten up already.

 “There’s too much going on in there,” he murmurs, kissing her temple. “Tell me what you’re thinking?” 

 With a shrug, she says, “just thinking about what happened. It’s been a long eight months.” 

 He hums. “Aye, it has. Hasn’t been so bad, though.” 

 “No,” she agrees softly. “But I’ll be glad when this whole trial thing is over. Maybe we can finally leave this place.” 

 “Are you implying that you aren’t a fan of my apartment?” he asks through feigned offence. “I find it to be quite quaint.” 

 “Oh, it’s quaint,” she giggles. “I just feel bad making Henry sleep in a closet.” 

 “It’s not a closet! I pay extra for two bedrooms!”

 With a soft smile, she cups his cheek in her palm and says, “I’m sorry, my love, but that is a walk-in closet.” 

 He rolls his eyes, then rolls off of her and offers her his hand to hoist her off the bed. “Soon we can get him a nice big bedroom, promise. Once the trial’s over, there’s nothing holding us here.” 

 It’s true. While they haven’t fully talked about where they’ll end up when all is said and done, Walsh signed the divorce papers from his cell a few weeks ago. And with the pre-nup null and void, Emma took her half of his fortune and donated it to an organization that supports victims of domestic violence and their children. 

 “Henry’s appointment is at ten, right?” 

 “Yeah,” she nods. Starting him up with Archie has been a blessing. Emma had a lot of fears that he would handle the transitions with difficulty, but with Dr. Hopper’s help, he’s been well adjusted, and she couldn’t be prouder. 

 They struggled with how to tell him about his father, but she never wants to lie to him. They moved out of their old house with haste, grabbing everything they could as quickly as possible so that Emma wouldn’t have to be there for a second longer than she had to. And while Henry was confused, he didn’t seem overly upset. He enjoyed living with the sheriff for a few days, even creating a comfortable nook for Abby, before they sat him down and told him everything. 

 When Emma told her son that the man who’s been in his life all along isn’t actually his father, she thought he would be upset. In reality, though, he simply shrugged and asked if Killian’s house had macaroni and cheese. 

 When Emma told her son who his real father is, a few days after they moved in with him for both safety and stability, he cheered and gave Killian the biggest hug she’s ever seen him give anyone. 

 She still can’t think about that day without crying. 

 “So Sherrie is actually my dad?” 

 Emma nods. “Yes, baby. I’m sorry that this is so confusing.” 

 He ignores her sentiment and asks, “and I can call him daddy?” 

 “You can call him anything you want.” 

 Turning towards Killian, he asks again, “can I call you daddy?” 

 The look on his face is so heartbreaking that Emma’s tears flow freely. Killian looks up at his son, meeting his eyes with glassy ones, and nods. “I’d love that.” 

 “Have you got one as well?” he asks, shaking her from her memories as she wipes away a rogue tear.

 “Wednesday. You’re okay to watch Henry in the morning, right?” 

 “It’s not exactly babysitting, Swan,” he reminds her gently, and she grins at the name he uses and the fact that it’s finally her name again. 

 “I know, but…” 

 “Go and see Ingrid on Wednesday, love. I’m glad you’re still finding it beneficial to talk with her.” 

 Honestly, finding a therapist who happens to have experience working with victims of domestic violence in this small town was a surprise to Emma, but she’s found her work with Ingrid to be invaluable. While she’s known all along that what happened wasn’t her fault, and that she shouldn’t feel guilty about what she and her son went through for all those years, it’s been helpful to hear that from a professional as well. Ingrid reminded her that, while the physical abuse happened only near the end of their relationship, Emma was being emotionally abused the entire time she knew Walsh. She was trapped from the moment she met him, little by little being gaslighted until she believed that she would have nothing if she left him. As hard as it was for her to see how toxic he was at first, it was even harder to imagine leaving when she thought he had so much power over her.

 The guilt that came with finding out she put herself and her child through that for nothing was unmatched. Her feelings and thoughts about herself as a mother, about how she failed to protect her son, are something she’s been battling for months and will likely never be able to fully let go of. Finding out that Killian is Henry’s father gave her the freedom to leave, but it also gave her the most traumatic experience of her life and brought endless feelings of self-hatred, and that’s something she’s been working on coming to terms with, slowly but surely. 

 “Alright,” she agrees, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips as she walks past him towards the bathroom. 

 “I’ll go give him his nebulizer while you get ready.” 

 Stopping short in her path to the shower, she turns to him and smiles. “I love you.” 

 Returning her smile with his own, he says, “I love you, too, Swan.” 

 In eight months, he’s become more of a father than Walsh was Henry’s entire life. 

 ~~~~

 As he watches Walsh being escorted into the courtroom, donning his orange jumpsuit and shackles, Killian is reminded of the last time he saw the man who almost took everything from him. It was months ago, once he was finally transferred to the Storybrooke Sheriff’s Department’s jail cell. He was still clearly favoring his left arm, his right shoulder completely out of commission as a result of Killian’s rather good shot, and he felt a sick sense of accomplishment seeing the monster struggling to get comfortable on the firm cot with the sling wrapped around him. 

 “Need something?” he’d asked, although he wasn’t too chuffed to give the bastard anything that would take away his obvious malaise. 

 He scoffed and responded, “yeah, my pain meds would be nice. Are you always in the business of torture?”

 “Aye,” Killian responded without thinking, then he stood up and walked to Walsh’s cell, keys in hand. “I suppose I am. But I really only focus on torturing the absolute most wretched inmates. Like you.” 

 Walsh shook his head and laughed, but Killian didn’t miss the look of fear in his eyes as he inserted the key and swung the cell door open, shutting it behind him. “Talk about protect and serve.” 

 Killian hummed in response and nodded as well as he moved to stand over Walsh’s cot, staring down into his eyes with anger, the strength of which he won’t ever feel again. “The fact is, mate, I couldn’t care less about my duties as the sheriff. Not when the safety and happiness of my son and the woman I love are on the line.” Walsh laughed once more and rolled his eyes, so Killian moved quickly to thrust his open hand down upon his neck, pressing just hard enough to make the animal’s eye pop from his head. “You threatened them. You tried to kill her. You neglected the child you thought was yours for his entire life. You are garbage; a waste of oxygen. Trust me when I tell you that I will do everything in my power to ensure that you never live to see the light of day. You will never take a breath outside of a barbed wire fence. You will never eat anything but the slop they feed you. You will never experience pleasure for as long as you live. And I promise you, you will live for decades in an iron cage, right where you belong.” 

 He was quiet for a moment as his cheeks started to turn red and his eyes grew wider, before he finally gruffed, “I can’t breathe.” 

 “Perfect,” Killian responded. “Then you know exactly how she felt. Count yourself lucky that I’m not going to try and shoot you again.” 

 He released his forceful grip, shoving Walsh down onto the cot as he took in a forceful breath, before he turned and locked the cell, walking back to his desk and collecting his things. When his shift ended, Killian Jones walked out of the Storybrooke Sheriff’s Department precinct for the final time. 

 ~~~~

 Henry’s birthday is definitely cause for celebration. He’s turning six. It’s the first time Killian will be able to celebrate his son’s birthday. He’s finally with his Emma, with nothing stopping them from being happy together. There’s a lot for his family to be happy about. 

 “Daddy!” Henry calls as he sprints at full speed towards his father. “Daddy, can I have cake yet?” 

 “No, not yet. You haven’t even touched your lunch. And don’t let your mother see you running wild like that.”

 His more intensive therapies have been working as well as they can, but they know they have to be careful to avoid another serious attack-- one that might not end as well as the last had. Killian only just became a part of his son’s life. He doesn’t intend to lose him. 

 “But it’s my birthday,” he complains, rolling his eyes and giving him a look that could rival his mother’s. 

 “Your birthday isn’t until Monday.”

 “Well, it’s my tarty.” 

 “Your party.” 

 “I think I wanna ask mommy.” 

 Killian chuckles. “If mommy doesn’t tell you to wait until after lunch, I’ll give you five dollars.” 

 His eyes light up and widen immediately, cloudy gray perfectly complimenting the black pupils as he turns from him and runs straight for the door. He watches from the deck as Henry begs and pleads with his mother, giving her his best bambi eyes, before he sees her nod, the lad jumping for joy and shrinking excitedly. He runs towards the sliding door and pounds his fists against it, shouting through the glass, “you owe me five dollars!”

 With a sigh, Killian brushes past his son, ruffling his hair just a bit, before he wraps both arms around Emma’s waist, pulling her in for a hug from behind. “You really got me there, Swan.” 

 “Did I?” she asks. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” 

 She leans back into his chest, turning her head so that she can press a soft kiss to his jaw. “No? Are you telling me our son didn’t inform you of my poorly-made offer?” 

 With a giggle, she answers, “of course he did. That’s what you get for trying to negotiate with our six year old.” 

 He squeezes her a bit tighter, reveling in their loneliness in the kitchen. “He’s still five,” he reminds her, content to never let him grow up.

 “Yes,” she hums. “And what a big difference the two days will make.” 

 He pushes his lips against her cheek and says, “I’m afraid he’s getting too old. We’ll have to return him soon.” 

 “And what,” she laughs, “trade him in for a newer model?” 

 “Aye, that’s the price of fatherhood most men aren’t willing to pay. But I’m not like those other men.” 

 She doesn’t need to be facing him for him to know that she rolls her eyes. “You are absolutely ridiculous.” 

 “--ly in love with you,” he corrects. She does spin around now, turning to face him and burying her face in his neck as her arms hold him in her iron grip. “What is it?” he whispers into her hair more seriously. 

 “Nothing,” she responds softly. “I’m just… happy. It still surprises me sometimes. That we’re here and celebrating our son’s birthday together; that nothing’s stopping us.” 

 “Aye, love, me too,” he agrees, running his hands up and down along the contours of her spine. “I wouldn’t trade it for the world.” 

 “You won’t ever have to,” she reminds him with a smile as she pulls away just enough to look at him. “We won.” 

 He grins down at her, running his thumb along her cheek as he holds her jaw with his palm. With her ex-husband being found guilty on all charges, his life sentence without the possibility for parole means they’ll never be apart again. “Yes, my love,” he says, leaning down to kiss her chastely. “Let’s simply avoid the scorned husbands and attempts on both of our lives in the future, aye?”

 She agrees with a nod. “Yes, that sounds like a good plan. Fucking idiot got exactly what he deserved, though.” 

 He laughs and says, “as eloquently put as always. I couldn’t agree more.” 

 As it turns out, the prosecution lawyer was very experienced and was able to use Walsh’s statements of intent to kill his wife, as well as the loaded gun pointed directly at her and at the sheriff, to prove two counts of attempted second degree murder, plus assault with a deadly weapon, plus domestic violence, plus election fraud, plus embezzelment. Suffice it to say, Walsh won’t be seeing much daylight for quite some time. 

 Of course, the honorable man in Killian almost thought that sending his mistress’s husband to jail for life as a means to be with her was taking the cheap way out, but he got over those feelings very quickly. It’s not about Killian being with Emma, after all. Not really. 

 As their son laughs raucously on the swing set with his cousin, he sees exactly what it’s about. 

 “I suppose we should do the cake,” Emma finally sighs, lifting her head 

 “I suppose,” he concedes, squeezing her tighter in his hold and pressing a kiss to her temple. 

 ~~~~

 The afternoon rolls into evening, everyone finding a lawn chair or chaise lounge to relax in as David starts a fire and Mary Margaret prepares for an outdoor movie. Honestly, Killian’s son is spoiled with the grandeur of his sixth birthday party, with the giant white screen and the projector displaying The Good Dinosaur for all the children to enjoy. 

 Emma sighs happily as she leans back against Killian’s chest, taking his wrists in her hands and pulling his arms around her middle. She feels warm against him as the fire heats her skin and her sweatshirt, and he can’t get enough of the feeling of the weight of her body pressed to his own. 

 “I love you,” she finally whispers into the dark as the movie starts, the sounds enough to drown out her voice so that only Killian can hear.

 “I love you, too,” he agrees softly, sentimentally, squeezing her just a bit tighter. “More than just about anything.” 

 “Just about?” 

 He hums out a laugh and nods. “I’m afraid I love our son just a tiny bit more than you. That’s normal, right?” 

 “Yes,” she agrees softly, turning to face him and pressing a kiss to his neck. “I’m afraid I love our kids more than you, too.” 

 He smiles and laughs lightly against her, returning her soft kiss with one of his own as he sighs and looks on at their son happily enjoying his special day. “Wait,” he says as it finally dawns on him; the specific wording she chose and the coy smile she dons through a giggle. “Kids?” 

 She hums in agreement, nodding against his chest and pulling his arms tighter around herself until his palm is pressed to her stomach. “I found out this morning.” 

 “Emma,” he breathes, unable to comprehend her meaning. 

 “I was thinking if it’s a boy, we could name him after your brother. At least his middle name. Thoughts?” 

 “Emma,” he tries again, separating his arms and pulling away only far enough to help her turn towards him. “Are you…” 

 “Shh,” she insists, pressing her finger to his lips and grinning at him and she turns to face him head on. Then she whispers, “it’s a secret. I’m pregnant.” 

 He can’t breathe, a shocked sound coming out of his mouth as he leans towards her and captures her lips in his. She grins against him, holding onto the neck of his sweatshirt to pull him impossibly closer to herself. “You’re sure?” 

 “I’ll call the doctor on Monday to make an appointment, but I took three tests. All positive.” 

 “Fuck,” he breathes almost silently, trying hard not to alert those around them of their shift in mood but finding it near impossible. “Fuck, I love you. I thought…” 

 She shakes her head, cradling the back of his neck in her hands as she answers his silent question. “I probably never would’ve been ready,” she explains. They’ve talked about it in passing, and she’s insisted that her last pregnancy was difficult and that she’s still recovering from the trauma she’s endured and is therefore unable to consider the possibility of having another child. “If I had a say, I probably would’ve kept putting it off,” she whispers. “But… surprise.” She shrugs and grins at him.

 He kisses her, because he can think of no other way to express his feelings towards her than to show her what she means to him. There are no words to tell her exactly what she’s given him, not just now, but every second he’s known her. No words, except, “marry me.” 

 She giggles breathlessly, the air escaping her lips hitting the tip of his nose as she gasps, “what?” 

 With a grin, he responds more seriously, “marry me. Please.” He clears his throat and tries again. “Emma Swan-- love of my life, mother of my children-- will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?” 

 “You’re serious?” she breathes softly, careful not to alert the other parents present of the sudden shift between them. “You know I just got divorced, like, two months ago.” 

 “Aye, but I should've asked you to marry me seven years ago. The divorce is merely semantics.” 

 She laughs breathlessly again, disbelievingly, and nods her head before pulling him close to her. “Yes,” she whispers against him before pressing a passionate, if not also chaste, kiss to his lips. He can tell that she wants to deepen it, perhaps she wants to take him inside and show him how excited she is, but they're at their son’s birthday party and they have to keep things G-Rated. PG; nothing higher. “Yes,” she says again. Then once more, “yes, I’ll marry you.” 

 Andrew Liam Jones was born seven months later. He was monitored closely throughout Emma’s pregnancy to ensure proper development of his lungs, and when he was born, he screamed like a banshee to alert his parents of his healthy arrival. He weighed seven pounds, three ounces, and was twenty-one inches long. His big brother, newly renamed Henry David Jones following an amendment to his birth certificate, refused to leave the baby’s side until he fell asleep, needing to be carried out of the maternity suite by his uncle while his parents took in the bliss and terror of having a new life to care for. 

 Emma and Killian were married two months after the arrival of their second child, the small ceremony taking place on the secluded, rocky beach in Storybrooke, Maine. At first, Killian wanted to remove his family from the hellish town that nearly stole his life away from him, but she disagreed. This was where they were reunited. This was where they found each other again. This was where she found herself again. It’s where her children were born and raised. So, when she finds a beautiful, blue victorian style home on the outskirts of town and cries at how perfect it is for their family, at how close she would be to her sister, they place an offer. And they win. 

 They won when they found each other again and they know that they will never lose at anything ever again so long as they have each other. 

~~~~

~~~~

Tagging: @courtorderedcake @kmomof4 @stahlop @klynn-stormz @laschatzi @emelizabeth88 @lfh1226-linda @kday426 @elisethewritingbeast @timeless-love-story @captain-emmajones @gingerpolyglot @ebcaver @ilovemesomekillianjones @teamhook @superchocovian @itsfabianadocarmo @tiganasummertree @gingerchangeling @jrob64 @onceratheart18 @xhookswenchx @winterbaby89 @swampmedusa @ultraluckycatnd @dancingnancyy @love-with-you-i-have-everything @shireness-says @snowbellewells​ @hollyethecurious @ouatpost @daxx04 @the-darkdragonfly @donteattheappleshook​ @therooksshiningknight @eeteeaytay​ @xsajx​ @itsfridaysomewhere​ @alexa-fangirl-forever​ @jonesfandomfanatic​ @wefoundloveunderthelight​ @qualitycoffeethings​ @rapunzelsghosts​ @spaceconveyor

[inupibaldspot]

金継ぎ | KIN-TSUGI [ A Fruits Basket Fanfiction ]

Chapter 8

Upon hearing news that Isuzu was once again admitted to the hospital, Tsubaki went to visit. The hospital did not have fond memories for Rin yet she always ends up back here.

"305...305..." Tsubaki walked through the hallways as she check for the room Rin was in. Upon finding it, she smiled as she knocked the door and opened it. "Isuzu, I came to visit-"

However Tsubaki noted that she was not alone, she was visited by Honda Tohru. Tsubaki beamed at the visitor. "I see that you came to visit, Tohru-san!"

"Yes!" The girl twirled as she smiled. "I brought some jelly for Isuzu-san. Please help yourself with some if you want."

"I'm good." Tsubaki refused as she looked at Isuzu. Their relationship was rather awkward but there wasn't a doubt that after Tsubaki jumped after Isuzu when she was pushed by Akito, the zodiac member warmed up to her. "I bought some puddings as well."

Isuzu perked up as she looked at Tsubaki immediately. The woman smiled at her nervously. "You loved them a lot as a child. Do you still like them...?"

Isuzu pinked as she turned away. "I don't mind them." Her response made Tsubaki laugh as she put the puddings in the fridge.

"Actually...." Tohru started in an unsure tone. "I actually came here to ask something."

Noticing Tohru's hesitant voice, Tsubaki could guess what she was going to talk about. "Why don't we talk as we walk outside?" Tsubaki looked at Rin. "I'm sure Isuzu can use some fresh air."

As the group walked along the nearby park, Tohru started. "Akito-san told me that her existence is equal to that of God. I also heard about your story from Yuki-kun as well, Tsubaki-san. And that all zodiac members and Tsubaki-san will live with Akito-san. "

"Live in the same place, enduring. Is that bond the curse?" Tohru asked.

"We have no memory of the curse but God made that promise...many many years ago." Isuzu explained as Tsubaki simply listened quietly. "A promise to be together for eternity."

"No matter how many times reborn, we continue to be together, never to be separated, forever and ever." Isuzu explained. "We're bound by that promise. It may seem beautiful to others but to us it is nothing but a burden."

"That's why it's a curse."

"Is there no way to break the curse?" Tohru asked.

"I doubt even if Akito knows how." Rin replied. "Even if Akito knows, he has no reason to tell us."

"I expected someone close to Akito might know so I asked Gure-nii..." Upon hearing Shigure’s name Tsubaki stiffened, the said man was indeed very intelligent. Tsubaki doubts that he already suspects Kureno's curse being broken. "But he said he doesn't know."

"What about Kureno-san?" Tohru asked.

"He is no use." Rin huffed as she turned away. "He's no use since he only follows Akito's orders."

"Please don't say that he is no use." Tsubaki smiled at Tohru's reply but it only further irritated Rin as she said. "I'm only saying what is true."

Then the two became quiet as they slowly turned to Tsubaki, making her laugh. "I don't know how to break the curse as well." Making both Tohru and Rin droop in disappointment.

"But I'll tell you this...Not once has there been an occasion where all of the zodiacs, servant and God been born in the same era, till our turn there was never a complete banquet after the very first one." Tsubaki continued. "Also some of our forms are quite different. Hatori is a seahorse rather than a dragon...Kureno is a bird rather than a rooster."

"Slowly but surely the bond has been weakening. Sometimes I think to myself, if the reason for a complete banquet for our nearing farewell." Tsubaki smiled, her heart hurted as she explained. She wondered if it was the sound of the servant saddened. "Maybe not in this lifetime but this bond is sure to break..."

"That's not alright! If that happens then... Then..." Kyo-kun will leave...  Tohru then flushed as she apologized. "I'm sorry for acting rude."

Tsubaki chuckled. "Don't worry I didn't mind." She then tilted her head. "But then why do you want to break the curse?"

Isuzu as turned to look at Tohru. "The curse has nothing to do with so yet... what is it that you can't give up? What is it that is most important to you?"

Tohru opened her mouth to reply yet no words came out. She stood still as if even she was shocked at her hesitation.

Isuzu quickly noted Tohru's hesitation. "You don't have to tell me..." She continued. "Just don't go running off to see Kureno by yourself."

"If you're going to tell me not to overdo on my own." Tohru smiled at Rin. "Let's team up!"

Rin's eyes widened before she turned away and walked away from Tohru. "I don't need an unreliable partner like you."

Tsubaki smiled at the two girls, as her heart warmed. Isuzu has become much more kind...

 ......

 When people hear the word servant, in the Sohma family, it was to be looked with pity. Mainly due to the fact that the servant, if their God was not born, lived only till their fifties.

They would die very young since their soul's owner did not exist with them so they would desperately try and leave to go back to their God. They would die by accidents, take their own life or simply die a natural death. The servant was more fragile than anything else.

Imagine the uproar when people learned that the servant was born into the head family. Tsubaki heard that her father cried day and night, apologizing to the newborn baby who was yet to understand the world.

"I'm sorry I gave you a life where you would leave before you could fully enjoy the beauty of life." How ironic it was that he was the one who died young.

Her mother frowned but she did not weep like her father. "That's unfortunate."

The family who the previous servant belonged to was deeply insulted. The reason being the previous servant had died by hanging himself. The young servants born prided themselves and felt immense joy as they waited to serve their master and when they knew their God would not be born their heart will fall into abyss.

Tsubaki continued to play the instrument as she finally came out of her thoughts. Maybe it was due to the fact that they were in their new year’s banquet, Tsubaki felt quite sentimental as she pulled the last string of her kōtō, ending the beautiful performance of Hatori. After that their feast commenced and after they were done eating ,the banquet became less formal as the zodiacs members indulged themselves in small talks.

Tsubaki who was looking at the group noticed Yuki was in deep thoughts even though he was sitting beside Akito.

Akito turned to look at Yuki as she smiled. "You didn't run away this time? I'm happy you returned back to me so I'll forgive you..."

"It’s not the matter of forgiving or not." Tsubaki heard Yuki say, as her eyes widened. Did he just say Akito was wrong? "I'm sick of blaming others. I have become aware of my faults and areas I can improve."

"If I always blame someone or something, I’ll never change." Tsubaki stood up from her seat as she could feel those words meant Yuki has changed. And change meant leaving a part of ourselves behind so we can embrace a better part. Change meant leaving...

Before Tsubaki could interrupt, in a blink of an eye Akito stood up and hit Yuki with the sake bottle making it break into small multiple pieces.

"Yuki!" Tsubaki ran to Yuki who had blood dripping on his face as Kureno stood up and immediately restrained Akito who kept shouting at Yuki.

"Apologize! I said apologize!" Akito would have sure hit Yuki if Kureno had not retrained her. Tsubaki stood up to get Hatori who went outside.

"Sorry..." Yuki did as told. Apologizing to Akito was always the easy way out. Tsubaki returned with Hatori as they both went to Yuki's side.

"Because of you, my head hurts." Akito let go of the broken sake bottle as she walked away.

"Yuki, press this on your head!"

Akito turned around hearing Tsubaki's voice. Did she not hear me? I said my head hurt... Her older sister sat beside Yuki with a worried expression on her face. Shouldn't you be prioritizing me, Tsubaki?!

Akito winches as she feels another throbbing pain due to her headaches as she walks away

 .....

 "I don't want to talk with those people ever again...." Akito complained.

Tsubaki sighed beside her. "It can't be helped, we have to keep this up for formalities." Akito and Tsubaki had returned from a meeting with some of the people belonging to the main family. There, the head and the rest would have some tea simply for the sake of formalities. Akito hated these things.

"We'll return to you room now as Hatori will be coming soon for your checkup." Tsubaki explained as she walked behind Akito.

"Is there anyone I will be meeting after that?" Akito asked as she kept walking. Upon receiving a 'no' as an answer, Akito continued. "Then bring Kureno to me after that."

Tsubaki ignored the sudden pain in her chest as she nodded. "Of cour-... Hatori?"

Akito stopped walking as she stared in Tsubaki's directly. Along the long hallway, there was Hatori standing as if he was talking to someone and the next moment a hand reached out for Hatori making both Akito and Tsubaki stiffen.

"Hatori!" Akito cried in panic as she immediately rushed his side as she pushed him away. "How many times do I have to tell you to keep your distance from her?"

Hatori shook his head. "Akito, it’s not like that. She was only saying hello."

"That's right, I was only saying hello. What's so wrong about it?" The door further opened as the owner of the voice walked out. It was Sohma Ren.

Akito glared. "You leer at any zodiac man you see..." She took a step forward as she shouted. "Go back into your room!"

"If you continue to speak like that they won't like you anymore." Ren ran her hands through her hair as she something caught her attention. "You're here too, Tsubaki."

"Good evening, mother..."

"Mother is sorry for saying those things last time... So come to me later, we can catch up okay?" Ren took one step towards her, as her hands reached out to cup her face. But then it was slapped away.

"Stop meddling with our bond!" Akito once again stepped in. "We are connected in a world that you can't reach!"

"What nonsense!" Ren scoffed as she mocked Akito. "How many time do I have to tell you that those bonds aren't real love? That eternally unchanging concept you cherish is fake! It's just a fantasy..."

"I pity Tsubaki and the zodiac members who have to put up with you..."

These words snapped something within Akito, as in a flash she grabbed Ren by her collars pushing her through the numerous sliding doors and into the rough courtyard.

Hatori and Tsubaki ran after them. Akito glared at Ren as she sat on her, strangling her mother. "How about you tell me what real then?! Parental love?!"

"That is not perfect! Lots of parents abandon their children like most of the Sohma parents! Like you!" Hatori successfully pulled Akito away as Tsubaki held Ren who was coughing from the lack of air. The maids nearby upon seeing the commotion ran in.

Akito kept shouting as she tries to pull away from Hatori, ready to kill Ren. "Who are you to define what's real or not?! No has the right to deny the bond between me and the zodiacs or our eternity!"

Ren glared as she walked towards Akito, however Tsubaki quickly grabbed onto her but then it did not stop Ren from shouting. "The real thing exists! Akira-san and I have the real bond."

Akito tightened her jaw as she shouted on top of her voice. "I'll kill you!"

"Go ahead kill me." Ren opened her arms. "When I die, my soul will be in heaven with Akira-san! I have no need for any of you!"

"What are you doing?!" Tsubaki shouted at the maids who were nearby. "Do you think this is a show for you to spectate?! Take mother away from the head of the family!"

At Tsubaki's raised voice, every one stiffened. The maids gulped as they rushed in and escorted Ren away.

"She is cruel..." Akito cried. "Why is she so cruel...?”

Tsubaki walked towards her and embraced Akito. "We are here Akito...The bond still exists with you being in the center of all of it."

She felt Akito grip onto her kimono as her little sister kept crying. "We didn't leave you. We never will since our bond is for eternity..." After a while, Akito calmed down.

Tsubaki stepped away as Hatori then picked up Akito and carried her back to her residence.

 .....

 When Akito was young... When Sohma Akira was still alive, Akito was a lively child who really adored her sister.

Young Akito would always cling onto Tsubaki and Tsubaki would always tend to spoil Akito a lot, often she would get lectured by the head maid for that. This was a memory from way back...

So why was Akito acting like that in the present as well? Akito refused to let Tsubaki out of her side, often making her work in Akito's room.

A ring of a phone intruded the silence between Tsubaki and Akito. Akito looked up from her book as she stared at Tsubaki. "Answer the phone. Don't leave the room..."

Tsubaki was confused but nevertheless she nodded as she looked at who was calling her. It was Rin's homeroom teacher.

"Hello Sohma-san?" The person from the other side of the phone spoke. "This is Sohma Isuzu's teacher. I wanted to inform you that Sohma Isuzu did not attend her graduation ceremony."

Tsubaki's eyes widened. Akito clicked her tongue as she approached her. Rin's teacher continued. "I wanted to ask if I could get-" Akito snatched the phone away from Tsubaki as she then turned it off and went a step further to delete the contact.

"Akito, this was an important call." Tsubaki frowned as Akito went back to her seat as she flipped through a book.

‘'You know how I feel about Rin..." Akito muttered. "I don't want to hear about her so better also not call that person back!"

Tsubaki sighed but she listened. A few days later Tsubaki got another call. It was Hatsuharu.

Tsubaki was still with Akito. The latter raised an eyebrow as she muttered. "Who is it?"

"It's Hatsuharu." The answer gave satisfaction to Akito as her attention was no longer on her.

"What is it, Hatsuharu?" Tsubaki went straight to the point. "It’s rare for you to call me."

"Tsubaki-nee." Haru started. "Do you know which Hospital Rin is admitted in?"

Isuzu? Hospital? What was he talking about? She was totally confused. Tsubaki was never informed on such matter. "What do you mean?"

"Huh? You didn't know?" Hatsuharu was even more shocked. Tsubaki always kept tab on the zodiac members whereabouts more focused on Rin as the girl was reckless.

He sighed as his final hope was gone. "If you don't know then never mind. See ya~"

"Wait! Hatsuharu-" Before she could even inquire more, the call ended. Tsubaki then immediately stood up as she walked towards the door.

Akito shouted. "Where are you going?!"

"Akito..." Tsubaki let out a breath. "Apparently Isuzu has been hospitalized. I haven't gotten any words on the matter so I wanted to go check."

"Ahh~" Akito smiled. "I heard about it. I was told to inform you but I forgot. Apparently she is fine so you don't need to go check on her..."

Tsubaki turned to face Akito. "But still, I think I should visit her once-"

"Are you leaving me?"

Tsubaki bit her lips. "Of course not! I'll return as soon as I check up on her..."

"So you are picking her over me..." Akito walked up to Tsubaki as she slowly wrapped her arms around her. Akito then whispered close to her ears. "How cruel..."

"Stay with me... You know I love you more than anyone else. My heart breaks that I'm no longer your top priority." Akito spoke in gentle a gentle manner. "Choose me, Tsubaki Onee-san..."

Tsubaki's hands fell beside her all limb. Inside she knew she needed to go, something about this situation was weird and even Akito was acting suspicious. But then every time she tried to move, her body felt heavy as she ultimately fell into Akito's submission.

Days after that as similar to the day before. Akito still held Tsubaki close to her and would not let her go anywhere along. As Tsubaki flipped the pages she was reading, the door to the room was suddenly opened gaining the attention of both Tsubaki and Akito.

Hatsuharu stood by the door with a furious expression. The head maid showed up a second later as she shouted. "Hatsuharu-san,you may be a zodiac member but you can't barge in like that."

"Shut up." Haru muttered. "Get out of here, hag"

Tsubaki immediately stood up as she approached Haru. "Hatsuharu, you're being rude!"

Akito smiled as she then stood up from her seat. "It seems that Haru is here for me to speak something important." Akito dismissed the maid. "Now go ahead."

Haru lowered his eyes as his hands tightened to a fist. "Why did you push Rin?"

"Me? Push Isuzu?" Akito asked. "First time I've heard of it. Who told you that?"

"An oracle."

Hearing his response Akito giggled to herself. "As usual you're being stupid."

"Stop laughing." Akito in return glared at Haru. Haru seemed to get more furious as time went by. "Why did you do it? Were you trying to kill her?"

Akito hummed as she then turned away. "You believe in an oracle yet you don't believe in me, your God. You've always been kind to her. Why? Do you pity her?"

Tsubaki flinched as Haru punched the wall. "Because I believe her!" As he kept shouting. "You already know that yet you purposely keep asking me that. Where is Rin?"

Akito scoffed as her back faced Akito. "What a worthless conversation? Where did you get such ideas?"

"You always treated Rin coldly... not only her but to all girls." Haru asked as he took a step towards Akito. "You say and do cruel things without blinking. If you’re supposed to be God then-" Haru raised his voice as he walked towards Akito.

Tsubaki stepped in as she stood in between Akito and Haru. "Hatsuharu, back off. “ Tsubaki glared.

Haru stood his ground. "Why are you still by Akito's side? She always tormented you as well."

"I said back off, Hatsuharu!" Tsubaki raised her voice.

Hatsuharu let out a breath. "Just tell me where she is..."

"How persistent..." Akito muttered. "Stop asking. Stop always making me the bad guy every-"

Akito was cut off as someone entered the room. "We sent her to the hospital." It was Kureno. "Hatori nii-san took her by a car. She wasn't fully conscious but don't worry. I was told it wasn't life threatening."

"Huh?" Tsubaki let out a sound. "But Akito you said she was already in a hospital few days ago. What does Kureno mean by this?"

Kureno walked towards Akito. "You mustn't do things like that. No matter who you are there should be a limit to what you shouldn't do."

"Where was she?" Haru asked.

Kureno turned and looked at Tsubaki who had her eyes still widened with her face getting paler. "She was locked in the Cat's place." Akito gasped as she grabbed Kureno claiming her had betrayed her.

Before anyone could move, Haru grabbed Akito by the collar. "Cut the bullshit, you little bastard! Were you trying to kill her again?"

"What I was! It's because you choose her over me." Akito hissed. "You're the one who dug her grave."

Wordlessly Tsubaki placed a hand on Haru's as she separated them. Akito gleamed. "Tell him I'm right Tsubaki...Tsubaki?"

Tsubaki was crying. Tears were falling through her empty eyes. She shouldn't have trusted Akito so blindly. All she got in return was betrayal. She shouldn't have loved Akito.

"I'm sorry..." Tsubaki said as she walked away from the group. "I want some time alone."

Akito gasped as she quickly held onto Tsubaki's waist. What if Tsubaki left and never returned back to her. "No! Don't go Tsubaki..."

Tsubaki pulled herself away as she turned to Akito one last time before she left the room.

"You can't expect love in return when all you do is hurt others, Akito..." Tsubaki cried. "I'm tired of this...I'm so tired..."

 Next Chapter: "You Fought Well..."

masterlist

[localspiderboy]

I mean u don’t have to but billy Hargrove x male reader having sloppy sex in his car on rainy night 💁

Rainy Nights | Billy Hargrove x Male Reader *Nsfw*

Summary: Nothing better than sharing a cigarette with your favorite person on a rainy night.

Warnings - Smut, car sex, making out, slight dom/sub undertones, lots of pet names, the reader is receiving, reader on top, riding, uh bad writing lol

Authors notes- sorry this took like months I rewrote it 2 times and contemplated doing it again but I pushed through. I’m a sucker for Billy as you know and I could not resist writing this. Hope you like it! And I kinda maybe feel like possibly making a series to elaborate ore on their relationship I established at the beginning of this. Let me know if y’all want that! 🥺👉👈

If you don’t want to see NSFW work from me block the tag “lace spidey”

Word Count - 1618

Status: Edited

Hawkins, Indiana is a small town with small-minded people. If you were born here you stayed here, close to your family, and got a useless boring job. Then settle down and start a family of your own. Maybe that was ideal for some people but not for you.

You craved more to life than just sticking in this small town. However, things aren't all bad at Hawkins. There is one person in the whole town that understands your sentiment, who wants to leave as much as you. Billy Hargrove.

He serves as your escape from Hawkins. He is captivating and charming and somehow he makes it seem like this town isn't so small after all. Maybe it's because he's from California, or because of that tough-guy persona he has. Either way he takes away the stress that comes from living in a place likes Hawkins, and you do the same for him.

Laughter erupted from inside the Camaro that was parked on the side of the road. You leaned back in the passenger's seat, feet up on the dash, head thrown back and eyes closed as giggles left your lips. Billy always said he would kick your ass if you put your feet up on the dashboard but he always ends up letting it slide.

He sat next to you in the driver's seat, laughter escaping from his lips as well.

"That kid was scared shitless, it was hilarious!" You took the cigarette that Billy was holding in his fingers, bringing it to your lips. A couple of small giggles still leave your mouth before you inhale the smoke deeply, holding that warmth in your lungs for a moment before exhaling.

"He looked like he was gonna piss his pants." His head shook in amusement. Soon your laughter dies down, besides the small quiet chuckles from you, as you thought back to your day. It was silent besides the sounds of raindrops hitting the roof of the car. But the silence was nice, it made you feel like you had nothing to worry about.

"Shit I don't want to go home." You sighed as you sunk down deeper in the chair. At home, you would have to worry about the assignments you still have to finish for school and your parents pestering you about every little thing. Here in the Camaro, it felt like this was your world and it was simple and fun.

"Let's stay here a little longer."

Billy took the now small cigarette out of your hand, inhaling what he could before tossing it out the window. He leaned his arm against the center console, looking down at you with that charming smirk on his lips. He was also in no rush to get home.

"Yeah, and what makes you think I don't have other plans huh?" You challenged, sitting up and leaning closer to him. An eyebrow slightly raised as his gaze moved down to your lips.

"Oh, sweetheart—"

His voice was low, a lustful playful tone was laced in his words and it made a shiver go down your spine.

—The only plans you have, are with me."

By now you two were so close you could feel his breath right on your lips, all it took was for him to lean forward that caused the heated makeout session you were currently having.

You clenched tightly onto his shirt as he held a firm grip on the back of your neck. His fingers brushing through the short hairs at your nape. Billy dominated the kiss, his skilled tongue roaming through your mouth. He knew exactly what to do to get you riled up, even with just a kiss.

His grip on your hair tightened as he pulled away. A whine leaves your mouth as you lean forward, chasing after his lips.

The shit-eating grin on his face growing at your reaction. He licks at your lips teasingly before pulling away from you completely and reclining his chair.

"Come here, baby." He beckons you to his lap and you quickly oblige. A whisper of a curse escapes you as you sit and immediately feel his hard bulge against you. Billy held a strong grip on your waist, his hands spurring you on to grind your hips against him. Moans leaving both your lips as you do.

Fuck even just kissing Billy and grinding against him like this could bring you to your release right then and there. However, you had no interest in ending this too soon. Unbuttoning his shirt you allowed your hands to travel across his chest. His smooth skin and toned muscles felt so good against your fingertips. You let out a pleased hum as you felt him shudder underneath you when your fingers rubbed his nipples.

You could feel his hand moving to your pants, pulling them down just enough to get them out of the way, along with your underwear and you shivered at the feeling of the cold air on your skin. Billy's lips traveled down your jaw and neck nipping and sucking, making blotches of purple and red appear. His fingers touched your lips and you immediately took them in. The saltiness of his fingers was something so addicting and you couldn't get enough. Pulling away from your neck, he looked at you as you sucked on his fingers. Eyes half-lidded as you moved your head back and forth as if his cock was in your mouth.

"Shit- look at you angel." He groaned out, his voice deep and husky. You couldn't stop the moan that resonated in your throat. Everything about Billy was sexy and he definitely used that to his advantage.

Once he was satisfied Billy pulled his fingers from your lips. He wasted no time pushing a finger into you, swallowing the moan that left your lips as he kissed you. Eagerly you pushed back against his fingers that were somehow able to pleasure you in all the right ways.

Whispers of how good you were made you whine and clench around his fingers.

“Fuck you’re so tight around my fingers imagine how you around my cock.”

“Bill please-“ Your plea was cut off by Billy removing his fingers, though they were almost immediately replaced with the pressure from the tip of his cock pressing against you.

“Don’t worry sweetheart, you won’t have to wait for too long.” With a hand on your hips, he helped you lower yourself onto him. The moan that left his lips was borderline pornographic and it turned you on to no end. Whispering curses and gripping hard onto Billy’s shirt as you fully sat on his dick, already feeling so full in the best way.

This wasn’t the first time you and Billy have had sex but he still somehow leaves you breathless. “Go ahead pretty boy, fuck yourself on my cock~” His words sent a shiver down your spine, somehow adding to your arousal that was already through the roof.

At a steady pace, you lifted yourself up only to drop back down onto him, leaving open mouth kisses and love bites on his neck that would leave a bruise. Billy’s grip on your thighs was tight, lifting his hips to meet you in the middle. He muttered groans of how good you feel around him and praise. God those nicknames he called you turned you on to no end. Pretty boy. Baby. Sweetheart. Angel. It spurred you to do better so you could hear more.

Your pace got faster as you rocked your hips harder against him and one particularly well-placed thrust had you moaning and arching your back.

“Yeah, prince right there?” The smirk on his face was wide as you squirm on his lap, moving his hands to your hips he thrust up into you hard and fast, hitting your prostate every time. It was driving you nuts by this point only his name was leaving your lips coupled with moans and whines that often interrupted your words.

Your hand traveled down to your own cock, stroking yourself at the same pace his hips were moving. You quickly felt that familiar warmth in your stomach, burying your face in his neck you whined: “C-close, fuck I’m gonna-”

Quickly Billy gripped your hair, pulling you back so that he could look at you, with his lips close to yours looking right into your eyes he chuckled. “Gonna cum on my cock baby, huh?

Fuck go ahead darling, I want you to cum for me.” It was like his words were a trigger because almost immediately you came in your hand and on Billy’s stomach, long moans and curses leaving your lips you spammed as you arched your back, breathing heavily.

Billy didn’t let up the whole time, fucking you through your orgasm, he felt his own approaching as you clenched around him. His movements became less process as he got close and you were starting to feel the beginnings of over-sensitivity before he came into you. The moans that came out of his mouth were like music to his ears, he rocked himself slowly against you before coming to a stop.

You laid flush against Billy’s chest, both of you panting hard with his cock still inside you. You heard a breathless laugh from him as you kissed his bare chest, his sweat leaving a salty taste on your lips. Running his fingers through your hair he pulled your head up to look at him; his curls were sticking to his forehead and a thin layer of sweat coated his skin but he still had that classic smirk.

“Think you can go another round?”

[royalbluehues]

Healing

Title: Healing

Author: royalbluehues

Warnings:  PTSD. Nothing graphic, though. 

Pairings: William Schofield x Reader

Request:  Thanks! May I request a story where Schofield is another man after the war and reader wants her hubby back? He has nightmares, he never wants to go out, he barely talks to the reader. She understands that he will never be the same man after what he went through, but she wants at least a bit of her husband back. She doesn't know what to do to help him, but she will fight for their marriage.

Author’s Note: The story treks off the path of the request just a tad. I always end up making my stories fluffy without intending to. (Image found on Pinterest)

You had known it the minute he stepped off the train’s platform.

His shoulders were slumped and his eyes had a far away look to them. When he had brought you close to embrace you tightly, he had nuzzled his face within the crook of your neck and stayed there. 

His body was taught and stiff. 

Deep down within you, a small feeling poked at you, Something’s wrong. 

But you pushed that thought to the side, rather selfishly relishing the fact you finally, after nearly three years apart from him, you finally had your husband in your arms once more. 

And God willing he will stay there, you prayed silently. 

You raised one of your hands to tangle his locks around your fingers, squeezing your eyes tightly, “William,” you breathed out, savoring the way his name tasted on your tongue, then peppering whatever visible part of his face that was not tucked away into your neck.

Your heart was blooming with a mixture of gratitude, relief, happiness, and bereavement to the time that was pitilessly ripped from you and your daughters. 

He was filthy, despite his obvious attempts at a decorum of cleanliness. But his hair was matted, his uniform tattered, ripped, and stained with dark splotches in several places. 

You sided with your better judgment and not allow your mind to wander to what those splotches were. 

He finally lifted his head from his embrace, moving to lean back and look at you. His lips pulled upward into a lopsided smile. 

But you see it there: his large eyes betray his effort of solidity. Quickly as it comes, it goes. And before your mind could analyze it, he pulls you into a kiss. 

His lips feel soft, despite the skin being cracked. The calloused fingers grasping either side of your face are cold to the touch, his grip tight yet tender. You melt effortlessly into him, feeling the tension you’ve held in your shoulders, amounting since the moment he received his notice of deployment, give ease. 

When he releases you, you notice the tears that have swarmed in not only your eyes but in his as well. 

“I’ve missed you.” 

Once again, you’re flooded with a thousand emotions. Those three words have left you winded. They’re drowning you, pulling you so far beneath its current you’re left with the largest knot in your throat, threatening to release the moment you open your mouth to reply to him. 

It’s his words that have compacted so many meanings unspoken. 

Your tongue has turned leaden, your mouth is clenched shut, and the knot in your throat is only forming and growing every second that is passed. 

All you can do is stare up at him pathetically, eyes wide and brimming with tears that wait to fall.  

I love you. I’m so sorry. I want you. I feared for you. I feared for myself. I’ve missed you. I love you, I love you, I love you. 

Your heart feels full and empty all at once, and you tremble as his hands softly stroke away the wisps of hair that have fallen from your coiffed hair. 

When you open your mouth to breath, to finally repay the sentiment, your lungs betray you as they rack in a sob. 

He pulls you back into an embrace, only this time it’s you that is being hid away from the onlooking world, gasping for breath as your tears wet the lapels of his uniform. 

You feel him press his lips to the crown of your head.

“I know,” He tells you thickly.

---

It’s early morning as Will sits by the window of this home. He hadn’t been able to sleep, and rather than thrashing about in your shared bed, he figured it wise to detach himself lest he wake you for the third consecutive night that week. 

The heat emitting from the teacup clasped in his hands scalded his skin, but he chose to ignore it. The burning grounded him. Reminded him of where he was and where he wasn’t. 

He tiredly exhales a deep sigh, leaning his head against the crown molding of the window. He feels almost guilty for not staying in bed, remembering the constant visualizations of a warm bed- of your body warmly pressed into his side, the welcoming sound of a pair of bare feet that patter softly against the floor- all of which he painted to keep him sane in the trenches. 

But now that he had it after wanting it for so long, he always returned back to France, even when he tried to suppress it. 

It would be small things that would set off the memories: The sound of the leaves billowing from the wind, the clanging of a fork against a tin can, the smell of upturned soil, just to name a few. 

It was silly, he thought more often than not, of how different he was now. 

Though he was still William Schofeild, he really wasn’t. It was a notion he had to accept the first week he returned home to you and the girls. 

But he tried, by God, did he try. 

Whenever it would be set for judgement day to come, William Schofeild knew that he would be judged for what he did not do and what he did. But one thing that would serve him with certainty, was that he tried. 

He tries to uphold the station that he situated before he left. The role of a good father and a good husband. Not showing the cracks that were undoubtedly unfixable. Attempting to get back into the swing of things. 

Though he knew that his false bravado hardly went unnoticed by you. He would feel your suspecting gaze when he was teetering on reliving events as he stared off blankly into the space ahead of him, when he would leave his food untouched or his tea forgotten. He knew you had a hunch of what was happening when his daughters sat on his lap as they begged him to tell stories. 

“Girls,” you would scold them, emerging from the kitchen as you wiped your hands on your apron, “you know better than to be asking your father such things he wishes not to discuss.”

He would give a tight smile in response, “Nothing to worry about, Darling,” he’d say as he pressed a kiss on either girl’s head, “Perhaps I’ll do you one better, girls: I’ll read you a story with princesses and about great castles. Far better than hearing about daddy’s stories. I’ve no fairies or knights in mine.”

They would beam up at him, slipping off his lap as they ran back to their nursery to play with their dolls. 

He knew you knew when he would simply pick his book up once more, staring at the page he attempted to read for the nearly two hours- how you would hover by the entryway of the kitchen and observe him before disappearing to finish up the roast. 

He knew you knew because as he sat there, sitting and observing the outside world through the window, the heat prickling his skin, he could feel your presence in the room. 

He watched as a bird flew by, situating itself on the small tree only feet away from the gate.

You moved quietly, settling into the parlor chair by his.

“I’m sorry I woke you,” he tells you quietly as he turns to face you. You have a shawl over your shoulders, and sleep still evident in your eyes, and one hand atop your rounded belly.

You don’t meet his eyes, rather fixing your gaze on the same bird fluttering about. 

“You didn’t wake me.” You reply just as quietly, pulling the shawl tighter around you with your left hand, “The baby was kicking again.”

Will gives you a small smile, eyes glancing down at your bump,  “A rowdy one, he’ll be.”

He outstretches his arm to pass you his tea, and you accept, bringing it to your lips as you take a sip to fight away the chill lingering in the early morning. 

You hand it back to him, and the two of you so, passing the tea cup back and forth for the next minutes in comfortable silence. 

Finally, you speak. 

“William, I’m worried for you.”

It hangs in the air, and causes Will to shift uncomfortably in his chair as his right pointer finger plays with the handle of the tea cup. 

You fill the silence once more, turning to him now. “There’s something that’s wrong.”

His eyebrows furrow and his lips pull into a frown. Instead of replying he gulps down the remainder of the tea and sets it atop the window sill. 

“I know you do not wish to speak on it. And I apologize for bringing it up so early in the morning, but I’d rather it not be in front of the girls,” you spoke slowly, your right hand still grazing your stomach as a nervous habit. 

Will sighs deeply once more. This conversation was bound to be brought up eventually. 

He hangs his head, crossing his arms, trying to think of the correct words to say. 

“I can hardly imagine what you saw or what you went through, and I’m grateful for the ignorance that permits me to do so. But seeing you in these states,” you trail off, feeling the familiar knot take place within your throat, “it pains me because I do not know how to help you.”

You take in a shuddering breath, biting your tongue as you cast your gaze on the floor. “I wished so many times to take you away from there. To bring you back home where nothing could harm you. I would have given anything to ensure you were safe.”

William shakes his head, lifts it and turns to look at you. “You already help me. Just by being here, by my side.”

You wipe away at a tear that had escaped, knowing fully it was a pretty fib to make you feel better. “Don’t lie to me, William. I see it in your eyes.”

He gives you a small smile again that doesn’t reach his eyes, “Of course you do. I suppose that’s the price of marrying an observant woman.”

“And as an observant wife, it’s my duty to point upon when I think something’s wrong,” you murmur quickly, quietly. You're terrified to find him angered, so you shift your gaze to avoid his eyes. “I made a vow to you four years ago: to be by your side for better, for worse, for richer or for poorer,” you pause before finally mustering up the courage to face your husband, “and in sickness and in health.”

William’s gaze is on the teacup that he set aside, his large eyes saddened and reserved. He frowns, slowly rises from his chair, kneels before you and claps your hand in his. He moves to press his lips on the knuckle of your thumb, “I’m sorry I do not speak to you about it. About what happened.” He shakes his head, squeezing his eyes tightly, voice cracking. 

“I haven’t been fair to you,” He admits to you, “and I’m deeply sorry for that.”

You shake your head, a bit exasperated at how you jumbled your own words, in turn making him feel he was at fault, “No, my Darling. No, please do not take it that way. What I meant is that though it’s not my place to pry personal information you do not wish to tell, it is my place to point something that I see taking a toll on you.” You lift his hand so you can kiss them, “I-I just want you to feel better.” You sigh, “I’m rambling again. I’m afraid I can’t speak properly this morning.”

“I know what you are attempting to get across.” he mumbles to you, bowing his head to rest it upon your bump. “But I should make more of an effort to…” He furrows his brows, carefully selecting the correct word, “be open. But it’s difficult. How can I ask you to help me when I do not even know how to help myself?”

His words break your heart. 

You frown, letting go of his hand to stroke his head. “We will figure it out, and I will be there every step of the way with you, no matter what.”

“And if you grow tired of me?”

You stiffen. This time it’s his words that hang in the air. As he utters them, a cloud seems to block the early sunlight emitting through your window, casting a blueish-gray hue in your small home. 

“William never utter such mindless things again,” You scold him sharply. “I will never tire of you.” You allow your form to relax once more as your face softens, lightening your tone, “Is not carrying your child enough evidence?”

You hear him exhale a breathy chuckle and then feel him place a kiss on your womb. 

After a while, with you stroking his hair and him kneeling before you, you speak softly once more reassuring, “I love you. For the man that you were and for the man that you’ve become. I will be here for you. And though your healing may take time, it’s a step in the right direction. Never doubt that.”

The sun’s rays make an appearance once more, flooding the small room in a golden, promising light. 

.

.

.

Masterlist

[madpanda75]

“Taking Chances Part 7: All in the Family”

I’m back with the latest chapter where Rafael spends a Sunday with the Carisi family. So sorry it took me so long to get this out. Thank you so much for your patience and thanks for all of your sweet comments. Stay tuned for the next part ❤️

The clang of the bells of St. Thomas pierced through the Staten Island spring air, their melodic rings beckoning churchgoers for Mass. Rafael watched people dressed in their Sunday best walk through the red double doors of the stone cathedral as you drove the car into the church parking lot.

Turning off the ignition, you looked towards Rafael and gave him an expectant smile. “Ok, you ready?”

A sigh below past his lips. “Ready.”

“Are ya’ nervous?” you teased with a playful nudge to his shoulder.

“Me? Nervous?” Rafael scoffed. “Please, I do not get nervous,” he lied when in reality, he was a bundle of nerves. In his nearly twenty years as an ADA, Rafael had faced down cold-blooded murderers and rapists in the courtroom and yet he had never been more nervous than he was at that moment.

Ever since the unfortunate encounter in his office, he had been unable to shake Sonny’s voice from his head, a terrifying thought under any circumstance. What if your family shared his sentiments about the two of you dating? He could envision it now—a large Italian family shooting daggers at him as he walked arm in arm with you. It would be like re-enacting a scene from The Godfather.

You arched a brow at him, not falling for his cool facade. “Everything will be fine,” you reassured him. “Anyways, it's not my family you should be worried about. You should be more worried about bursting into flames when you step into the church.” You leaned towards him and whispered in his ear, “Especially after what we did last night.”

“How could I forget,” he purred. The image of you tied up and blindfolded to the bed, writhing in ecstasy as he licked whipped cream off your nipples was forever seared into his brain. He cupped your face and captured your lips with his, tracing the seam of your mouth with his tongue. You softly moaned and tilted your head, deepening the kiss when a tap on your driver side window caused you both to jump and split apart.

There was your older sister, Gina, standing outside your car with a smirk firmly planted on her face. “You might wanna watch where ya’ suck face, lil’ sis. Father Betino just walked past. See ya’ inside,” she said with a wink and headed towards the church.

You rolled your eyes and stepped out of the car with Rafael. “So which sister is that again?” he asked.

“That’s Gina. She just got engaged for the 11th time to a Wall Street broker. She claims this time it’s for real that he’s ‘the one’,” you explained, using air quotes before winding your arm around his as you walked up the stone steps. “Teresa, my other sister, strictly dates men who make six figures and above. I swear she considers Forbes to be her own personal dating ad. Ya’ already know Bella and Tommy, and of course there’s Sonny. Any questions?”

“Gina, Teresa, Bella, Tommy, and Sonny,” he softly repeated, trying to retain the information you had just thrown at him. “I think I got it.”

He opened the door, stepping inside after you to find your family waiting in the vestibule, their loud conversations echoing against the walls. Several children, who Rafael assumed to be your nieces and nephews, ran around the giant holy water font, laughing and squealing in delight. The door closed behind you with a deafening thud and the family chatter came to a halt, their attention now turned towards you and Rafael.

“Hi everyone.” You smiled and waved, being preoccupied with Rafael and work it had been ages since you had seen everyone. Your family swarmed you, sweeping you up in hugs and kisses. Spotting Rafael awkwardly standing off to the side, you reached out and grabbed his hand, leading him to your parents. “Ma, Pops, this is Rafael Barba.”

“Hi Mr. and Mrs. Carisi. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you,” he said and extended his hand to your mother.

“Please, call me, Julia,” your mom replied and shooed his hand away, pulling him into a tight hug. “It’s so nice to finally meet you, Rafael. We’ve heard so much about you.”

You tapped her on the back.“Ok, Ma. Please do not crush my boyfriend to death,” you joked.

When she let go, Rafael noticed how much you looked like your mother—the same warm eyes, same brilliant smile, same delicate nose. He briefly imagined what you would look like when you grew older and his heart fluttered at the thought of standing by your side in the years to come, surrounded by children and grandchildren.

Unfortunately that thought was quickly dashed when he noticed your father. Dominick Carisi, Sr. stood with his arms crossed, tilting his head as he inspected Rafael with a slight frown. It was the same look that Sonny had whenever he was eyeing a potential suspect. A look Rafael recognized all too well. Standing his ground under your father’s steely stare, he held out his hand.

After a pregnant pause, your father finally shook his hand. “You can call me, Mr. Carisi.” He wrapped a protective arm around you. “So, you’re the one my little patatina has been dating.”

“Pops,” you said in a warning tone.

“Oh Dom, relax.” Your mom waved him off, turning her attention back to your boyfriend. “So are you Catholic, Rafael?

“Ma, please,” you whined and gave Rafael an apologetic look.

“It’s ok, Y/N.” Rafael smiled. He knew all too well what it was like to have a prying parent. “I was raised Catholic. I used to go to St. Rita’s with my mother in the Bronx.”

“How nice. Maybe she can join us sometime,” Julia said.

“Ok, Ma. Why don’t you and Pops go grab our pew before the Marchese clan steals it from us again.” You gently lead your parents into the church. “We’ll see you in there.”

Your sisters walked past you both, greeting Rafael on their way inside to join your parents. Teresa gave you a subtle thumbs up and mouthed, “He’s hot,” before she ran to catch up with Bella and Tommy.

You stayed in the vestibule with Rafael, knowing he would need a minute or two to recover after meeting your family. “See that wasn’t so bad.”

Rafael let out a long breath. It was only 10:15 and he felt as if he had just ran a marathon. “They’re great,” he replied. “Hey, what does patatina mean?”

“My little potato,” you mumbled, your cheeks turning bright pink. “Apparently, I resembled a lumpy spud at birth.”

He laughed and took your hand, leading you into the church when Sonny burst in. “Sorry I’m late. I couldn’t find a parkin’ spot,” he said a little out of breath. Giving you a big hug, he then turned and noticed Rafael. His face instantly fell as soon as he locked eyes with the ADA. “Barba.”

“Carisi.” Rafael gave a curt nod of acknowledgement.

Your eyes darted between the two men like you were witnessing a tennis match. “You know this may seem like a crazy idea, but while you’re out of work, why don’t you call each other by your first name?”

“Fine,” Sonny conceded and opened the door to the church as the choir began to sing. “After you, Rafael.

Rafael shook his head. “Oh no. After you, Sonny.”

Sonny feigned sincerity and placed his hand over his heart. “Oh no, I insist.”

“No, I insist,” Rafael retorted.

By this point, Mass would be over and Rafael and Sonny would still be arguing about who goes first. “Hey Abbott and Costello, how about I go first.” You walked between the two men and grabbed Rafael by the arm. “What am I gonna do with you two?” you whispered, leading him down the aisle to the front pew where your family was sitting.

*****

Rafael was a lapsed Catholic. He hadn’t stepped foot inside a church since the SVU squad arrested Monsignor Mulregan for an underage sex trafficking ring. The lack of humanity he had witnessed over the years combined with his turbulent childhood had made his relationship with faith complicated.

But on this particular morning with you by his side, all the cynicism and doubt he had towards a higher being seemed to wash away. Rafael focused on the words being spoken. The words forever etched into every Catholic’s memory; no matter how long it’s been since they attended Mass. The same words he would speak every Sunday as a child sitting next to his abuelita. Stealing a glance at you, he softly smiled and wrapped his arm around your shoulders, feeling completely at peace.

After the service, everyone caravanned over to the Carisi home for lunch. Hearing stories of your childhood and working with Sonny over the years had made Rafael curious about your parents’ home. As you parked in front of 193 Sycamore Avenue, he was pleasantly surprised to find a red brick Victorian home with a front porch and bay windows. It was like a Norman Rockwell painting come to life. There was even a white picket fence.

As you walked up the steps with Rafael, hand in hand, you overheard your sisters talking and kids screaming, creating a cacophony at a dangerously high decibel. “Ok. Easy part is over. Now we have to go to lunch.” You let out a long breath. “Brace yourself, Barba.”

Before you could pull your key out, Teresa beat you to the punch and flung open the door. “Come on in, baby sis and Mr. ADA.” She winked at Rafael and took his coat, placing it in the entryway closet. “Hey, uh...Mr. ADA?”

Rafael blushed. “You can call me Rafael.”

“Ok, Rafael.” Teresa furrowed her brow as she took in his state of dress. “I couldn’t help but notice your Tom Ford designer suit. Tell me how much does an ADA have to make in order to afford that type of fashion?”

You glared at your sister, stepping between her and Rafael, who was still stunned at the intrusive question. “Mind your own beeswax, Teresa Emilia Carisi.”

“Break it up, ladies. Don’t make me get the hose,” your mom warned, popping her head out from the kitchen before turning to Rafael. “Make yourself at home.”

“Do you need any help?” he asked, finally finding his voice.

“Absolutely not. You’re our guest.” She smiled and went back to work.

“Come on, Rafi. Let’s get out of here before Teresa asks for your pin number.” Teresa stuck her tongue out as you led him into the living room.

Your father came bounding down the stairs with a newspaper in hand. He observed how you giggled and wrapped your arms around Rafael. Just as he was about to step into the living room and tell the older man to watch where he put his paws on his angel of a daughter, Mrs. Carisi called him. “Dom, I need your help!”

“Coming, honey,” Dom grumbled and gave Rafael a stern look. “Behave yourself in here. Remember to leave room for the Holy Spirit.”

You rolled your eyes as soon as your father left. “I’m sorry about my family. I know they can be a little much.” Taking his hand, you traced a prominent vein, following its path up to his wrist. It’s not that you were ashamed of your family. It’s just that you knew how they could be. Overprotective. Nosy. Overbearing. There was a reason why you had only brought one other boyfriend home, apart from Rafael.

“It’s fine, hermosa,” he reassured you before wandering around the living room, taking in the fireplace, the cozy furniture, walls filled with family photos, and a large sign that read “La Dolce Vita.” There were also enough statues of saints and the Virgin Mary that Rafael was sure that Mr. and Mrs. Carisi could start their own church.

Rafael spied a picture of you as an enthusiastic twelve year old with braces and butterfly clips in your hair. “That was taken at a Backstreet Boys concert,” you said with a sheepish grin.

A smirk tugged at his lips, noticing a family photo hanging over the mantle. A large picture that appeared to have been taken at JCPenney during the height of Olan Mills. You were a happy chubby baby being held by your mom surrounded by your siblings and father. “Huh, you really did look like a potato when you were little.”

“Jerk.” You playfully smacked him on the shoulder. “Can I get you something to drink?”

“Sure, what do you have?”

“Well we have water.” Winding your arms around his neck, you tugged him down for a slow tantalizing kiss. “Wine?” You kissed him once more. “An assortment of products made by the Coca Cola Company?” With a flirty giggle, you captured his lips again, fingering the hair on the nape of his neck.

He pulled away and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. “Water will be fine.”

“Coming right up.” You teasingly nipped his bottom lip and went into the kitchen.

Rafael sat on the floral printed couch and looked over at the picture of you at the Backstreet Boys concert perched on the end table. The longer he stared at that photo of you as a tween, the more apparent the age difference between you became. While you were fangirling over boy bands, he had already been working as a lawyer, making grown men cry on the witness stand.

He turned away from the photo only to find all of your nieces and nephews, some of which had suspicious sticky-like substances on their hands and faces, standing in the living room, staring at him like a pack of meerkats.

Rafael audibly gulped but tried to play it cool, remembering that children could smell fear.

A young boy, who looked about 8, with sandy blonde hair and blue eyes spoke first. “Are you Aunt Y/N’s friend?”

“Uh, yes I am,” he replied.

One of your nieces giggled. “Are you her boyfriend?”

“What’s a boyfriend?” asked another little girl with pigtails, who couldn’t have been more than four.

“That’s when a boy is friends with a girl but they kiss a lot,” explained the sandy blonde haired boy. From there it was an interrogation that would’ve put the FBI to shame with each of the kids asking him question after question.

“Do you kiss Aunt Y/N?”

“Are you gonna marry Aunt Y/N?”

“Are you gonna have kids?”

“Can I be in the wedding?!”

“Me too! Me too!”

“I wanna be a flower girl!”

“No me first! I wanna be the flower girl!”

“I can talk to dogs!”

Rafael’s head was spinning. He couldn’t get a word in edgewise over the kids and that dog comment left him completely stunned. Thankfully you and your father came in right before Rafael was sure the children were about to re-enact a scene from Lord of the Flies.

“Woah, what’s going on here?” You gave Rafael a sympathetic smile and handed over his glass of water while balancing a drooling baby on your hip. “Hey kids, why don’t we give Auntie Y/N’s friend a break. Uncle Sonny’s in the backyard and he has chocolate!”

“Chocolate!” The kids screamed and ran out of the room to go maul their uncle.

Rafael looked at you as if you had just offered him a seat on the last lifeboat during the sinking of the Titanic. You were about to sit down when you made a face and sniffed the air. Hoisting the baby in your arms up, you took a whiff of his diaper. “Phew, little man. Your diapers smell worse than the bathroom after your Uncle Sonny uses it.” The baby laughed in response. “I’ll be right back, Rafi. Bella, I’m going to change your offspring,” you shouted, heading up the stairs.

Dom Sr. placed a crudités platter on the coffee table and sat down in his usual chair in the corner of the living room. “So, I understand you work with Sonny.”

“Yes, sir,” Rafael said, reaching for a carrot stick.

“You know, Sonny was a big fan of yours. That is until you started dating Y/N.” He crossed his arms and fixed Rafael with an icy blue stare.

Rafael returned his gaze, refusing to back down. “This isn’t just a fling, Mr. Carisi. Y/N is very special to me. She’s my world.”

The older man was slightly stunned by Rafael’s admission. Before he could come up with a response, Sonny stumbled into the living room with a squealing little girl clinging to his leg. His clothes were wrinkled and his hair was a mess. The man looked as if he was coming back from fighting a war and he was on the losing side.

“Ok, Y/N. You win,” Sonny said, completely out of breath. “Go play with Nonni for a little bit. Uncle Sonny needs a break.” He set his niece down and ruffled her hair as he left to go help his sisters set the table.

The little girl ran up to Rafael and gave him a bright smile, climbing up on the couch next to him. “Hi, I’m Y/N.”

“Your name is Y/N too?” Rafael asked.

She nodded her head enthusiastically causing her pigtails to bounce up and down. “Yep. Mommy named me after my favo-wite aunt! What’s your name?”

“I’m your aunt’s friend, Mr. Barba.”

“Mista Bawba.” Little Y/N tested the name on her tongue.

Rafael bit his cheek to keep from laughing at the precocious child. “You can call me Rafi if you like.”

“Ok, Wafi!” She hopped off the couch and ran out of the room, returning in a matter of seconds with a book that was almost as big as she was. “Can you wead?”

Rafael chuckled a bit. “I think I can manage.” Y/N climbed back on the couch and made herself comfortable on his lap, ready for him to start. Glancing up, he saw Dom Sr. with a pleasantly surprised look on his face. He gestured for Rafael to go ahead. Clearing his throat, Rafael cracked open the book and began to read the story.

You came bounding down the stairs with a freshly changed baby only to stop in your tracks when you came upon a sight that made your heart flutter, soar, and anything else that might require a trip to the cardiologist. There in the living room was your boyfriend with your little niece sitting on his lap, making her giggle as he did funny voices while reading her “The Day the Crayons Quit.” The book you had gotten her this past Christmas.

Sensing your presence, he stopped mid-sentence and caught you staring at him. “Don’t stop now. This is the good part.” You immediately plopped down on the couch next to him and little Y/N. His expression softened and he paused, committing this moment to memory: you sitting by his side with a baby nestled in your arms. Locking eyes, you simultaneously knew that this was what you both wanted—a family. It never felt right with anyone else. But having a family with Rafael, there was no other way to describe it other than perfect. And he felt the exact same way.

*****

“How cute is that?” Gina cooed.

Teresa set the placemats down on the dining room table and went over to her sister. “I know. I think my ovaries just exploded.”

Bella nodded as she laid out the silverware. “Ma needs to get a mop cause I’m a puddle right now.”

Sonny walked in from the kitchen with an armful of plates, furrowing his brow when he saw his three sisters practically drooling. “What’s goin’ on in here?”

“Oh nothin’. Just watching the sexy Cuban man in the living room entertaining our children,” Bella said.

Sonny followed his sister’s gaze to find you and Rafael, surrounded by all of your nieces and nephews playing Candy Land, even your father had joined the game. “Rafael? Please,” he scoffed. “If you find uptight tiny men with overly coiffed hair attractive.”

Gina made a face. “What’s with you?”

“Yeah,” Bella chimed in, taking the plates from her brother and placing them on the table. “I thought you worshipped the ground this guy walks on.”

Sonny snorted. “That was before I caught them on Nonna’s table.”

“Oh yeah, Y/N told me about how ya’ cock blocked her.” Gina smirked and nudged her brother. “Sounds like our lil’ sis is getting satisfied.”

“I wonder if he has a brother,” Teresa mused.

Sonny groaned and plopped down on the dining room chair. “Not you guys too. Anyways, don’t start planning Y/N’s bachelorette party just yet. After tonight, I predict this relationship will start to fizzle out pretty fast.” He stood up and finished setting the table.

“Sonny, what did ya’ do?” Teresa put her hands on her hips and gave her brother a warning glare.

“Why are ya’ pointin’ the finger at me. I’m just sayin’ don’t expect those two to work out. There may be someone else out there for Y/N.” Sonny shrugged and grabbed a piece of garlic bread, taking a bite. “Someone more appropriate. Someone who’s not about to enter their twilight years,” he muttered.

All three of his sisters swooped in and surrounded him. There was no place to escape. He was trapped. Teresa narrowed her eyes. Gina smacked the bread out his hand.

“You better not fuck this up for her. I mean it. She’s happy.” Bella punched him in the shoulder.

“What’s going on in here?” Julia arched her brow, setting a large platter of ragu tagliatelle on the table.

“Nothing,” all of the Carisi children simultaneously said with innocent smiles plastered on their faces.

Knowing her children, Mrs. Carisi was not buying their act. “Uh-huh. Last time you said ‘nothing’. I caught you all fingerpainting the living room walls with chocolate syrup. Whatever you’re doing, stop. It’s time to eat.”

*****

“More parmigiana, Rafael?” Julia asked with a warm smile as the ADA devoured his food.

“Yes, please.” Rafael happily accepted the platter and took his second serving. “Everything is delicious.”

“I’m glad you’re enjoying it,” she replied. Mrs. Carisi had outdone herself. The dining room table was laden with various pastas, lasagna, mussels in a simmering broth, and bread. With each bite, Rafael could feel his stomach expand and yet he couldn’t stop himself from eating. By the end of the night, he was sure one of his buttons would pop.

Taking a sip of his wine, he noticed a painting of what looked to be a street market in Italy on the wall. Vibrant colors depicted vendors selling fruits, vegetables, and various wares on a cobblestone alley. Rafael lost himself in the artwork for a moment. He could practically hear the Italian women barter and bicker over the best price for tomatoes. “That’s a beautiful painting.” He turned to you. “Let me guess. One of yours?”

“Actually that was painted by my grandmother. It’s a market in Naples. My great-grandfather used to sell fish there every week and Nonna Carisi would go with him. She would paint to pass the time,” you remarked.

“You never told me that before,” Rafael said with a smirk.

“Nonna Carisi was an amazing painter,” Julia added. “She used to babysit Y/N. I would come home from work and find them both painting their next masterpieces.”

“Guess it runs in the family then.” Rafael gave you a sly wink.

Mr. Carisi softly chuckled. “I remember when I came home from the hospital after having my heart attack and Y/N announced at dinner one night that she decided to quit the MBA program at NYU so that she can devote her life to art. I swear, I almost had another heart attack right here at this table.”

You sighed, having heard this story countless times before. “Life is short, Pops. I would rather spend my time doing what I love and pursuing my dreams than being bored and miserable reviewing portfolio investments and marketing strategies, slaving away for the almighty dollar. Besides, aren’t you always saying that all you want in life is for your patatina to be happy?”

Mr. Carisi nodded and softly smiled. “Yes, I did and I’m proud of you and what you’ve accomplished.”

“I think Y/N is an incredible artist,” Rafael said. “When we first met, it was her passion for art that really struck me. Her paintings are absolutely captivating. She’s one of the most talented people I know.” He took hold of your hand under the table, running his thumb across your knuckles. Your sisters gave each other a knowing look, wiggling their eyebrows while your brother rolled his eyes. You blushed at his compliment and took a sip of your wine, never letting go of his hand.

“So, when do you two plan on tying the knot?” Gina asked.

You whipped your head around. “Gina?!”

Your sister feigned innocence. “What? I was just askin’. And anyways, time’s a wastin’, lil sis.” She held up her hand and showed off her 3.5 carat pear shaped yellow diamond engagement ring. “Tick Tock.”

Your mom’s eyes lit up. “You know, Nonna Carisi’s wedding dress is in the attic. We can head up there after lunch and try it on.”

“Just as long as you have the wedding in the fall,” Bella said and rubbed her belly. “It’ll give me time to lose the rest of the baby weight.”

Teresa shook her head. “No way. She should have a summer wedding. I bet my firm can book the Plaza for August.” She immediately took out her phone and started to shoot off a text to her assistant.

As your sisters argued over your wedding date, your mom continued, “Of course, we’d have to alter the dress. Nonna Carisi was a little hippy. God bless her.”

You turned beet red. The last time you were this mortified was when you were 16 and got busted making out in the movie theater by your parents. “Can we please stop this crazy conversation and come back from whatever insane alternate reality you ladies are living in and just enjoy our meal. Not another word about the Plaza, wedding dresses, or anything about my or Rafael’s future for the rest of the evening. Thank you.”

Everyone around the table was quiet and focused on their food until Rafael cut through the silence. “Just as long as our kids don’t look like a sack of potatoes, I’m good.”

Rafael’s surprise joke caused you to choke on your wine. He patted your back as you coughed and sputtered. Surprisingly, your father snorted a laugh. As the day progressed, he began to grow fond of Rafael. The laughter became infectious and soon everyone joined in. Well, everyone except for Sonny.

Suddenly, the doorbell rang. Sonny shot right up with a smug smile on his face. “I’ll get it.”

Your mom and dad eyed each other curiously from across the table. “Were you expecting someone? Dom asked his wife. Julia shook her head no.

You dropped your fork with a clang, instantly recognizing the voice of the person Sonny was greeting at the door. “Hey everyone! Look who’s here!” Sonny announced as he led Theo into the dining room.

All the color drained from your face, you looked as if you had seen a ghost. The shock of seeing your ex quickly began to wear off and was replaced with rage. White hot, explosive rage. As your blood began to boil, you silently debated who to kill first—your brother or ex-fiance.

@glimmerglittergirl​ @southern-magnolia​ @sweetcannolicarisi​ @delia26​ @obfuscateyummy​ @sass-and-suspenders​ @eclecticminded​ @thatesqcrush​ @katmstanton​ @amirightcounsellor​ @beltzboys2015-blog​ @letty-o​ @sonnysdoll​ @lyssa1385​ @sweetsummertime99​ @burningsorr0ws​ @gibbs274​ @izzythefanfreak​ @babypink224221​ @livxrafa​ @esparza-army​ @obsessionprofessional​ @ottosuricato​ @melsquared79​ @dreila03​ @frenchiefoxy​ @tropes-and-tales​ @thecraziestcrayon​ @goodluckfindingone​ @scarlettsoldier​ @youreverycolor​ @yeah-boiiiiiiiiiii​ @imjustreallynosy​ @graniairish​ @ashley-chi​ @lolacolaempath @cocomel0613​ @imagine-all-the-imagines​ @mysterioustrashadventures​ @that-girl-named-alex​ @scapricciatello​ @mrsrafaelbarba​

[baby-blossoms]

Bunny

Pairing: Sam x Reader

Word Count: 1454

Request: hi babe can you do a samxreader where the reader has a stuffed animal that she sleeps with but keeps hidden from them and dean finds out and makes fun of her and sam defends her and then like tells her he likes her or something it could end in fluff or smut idc i just really love your writing i found your page just this morning and have read all your supernatural stuff a few of the marvel ones lol

Warnings: Mentions of grandmother’s d*ath, cussing, blasphemy (taking the lords name in vain), mocking of reader by Dean. 

    Peeling your eyes open, you let out a soft yawn and rolled yourself out of bed. You didn’t bother to make your bed back up before heading straight to the shower. Letting warm water cascade down your bare skin always helped you to wake up and feel alive every morning. Having not slept very well last night, really needed it that morning in particular. You took a wonderfully drawn out shower, then hopped out and dried yourself off, finishing up your morning routine before going to head toward the bunker kitchen for breakfast. 

    You glanced at your bed as you walked past it, you had a gut feeling that you should make it, but you ignored it. You usually made it and hid away the stuffed bunny that was somewhere around your messy pile of sheets. The bunny had been given to you as a child by your grandmother before she was murdered. You had found out later in life through her restless spirit that it was a Crocotta that had taken her from you, it had used your voice to lure her in. Your descent into the world of the supernatural began there, and since then you had never turned back.

    Being a hunter of your status living with the Winchesters, it didn’t seem like sleeping with a stuffed rabbit every night was for the bravest or boldest hunters. So, you simply hid the bunny from everyone and kept to yourself regarding your sleeping habits. You had been getting a little bit too comfortable with leaving the bunny lying around once you moved into the bunker with Sam and Dean. Both of them knew you valued your privacy and didn’t ever enter your room without permission. 

    Making your way to the kitchen, you entered to find Sam and Dean sitting across from each other at the table digging into some eggs and bacon. Dean grinned at you around a piece of bacon, and Sam nodded to you in greeting, having just taken a mouthful of eggs. 

    “I left you some eggs and bacon in the oven.”

   Dean stated with a wide smile. You raised an eyebrow in surprise. Dean was usually not one to leave any food behind. It never bothered you, making your own breakfast wasn’t necessarily a chore, and it usually gave you time to think through your schedule for the day peacefully. 

   “You mean I practically had to punch you before you finally agreed to not eat every last bit of food.” Sam corrected. 

   “Yeah, that sounds more like it.” 

    You said, laughing at the distasteful look Dean gave to Sam. Sam grinned and laughed with you before focusing back on his breakfast. You joined soon after, then started on cleaning up the kitchen, knowing that Dean wouldn’t want to and Sam had made breakfast. It was only fair to contribute in some way. 

    Only when you heard your phone going off faintly from your room a little while later did you pause. Your hands were covered in soap, and you truly didn’t feel like rinsing them off in the middle of cleaning dishes just to check who was calling. On the off chance that it was a truly important call, you asked Dean if he could grab your phone for you. He agreed and make his way toward your room. It wasn’t until you could almost feel Dean crossing the threshold into your bedroom before you remembered two very important details. You hadn’t made your bed, and you had no idea where your bunny was on that very messy bed. 

    “Wait!” 

    You called, haphazardly rinsing off and drying your hands. You launched toward your room, hoping to the sweet lord that Dean didn’t spot the bunny before you did. You would never hear the end of it if he found the stuffed rabbit. The worst of your fears were confirmed when you stopped short of your door, watching Dean walk out of your room with a delighted smile. Your phone was clutched in one hand, and your bunny was in the other. Immediately Dean adopted a baby voice and questioned,

    “Now who’s this Lil guy?” 

Fuck. Your thoughts raced for a response. 

    “That’s…” 

Dean cut you off, still sporting his baby voice. He turned the bunny to look at him,

   “Let me guess, is your name bunny or bun? Maybe bun bun if you were feeling really creative.”

    You glowered at him, and advanced, attempting to get the poor bunny out of his hands. Naturally, Dean evaded you and laughed. 

   “What? Can’t go without your little bunny?”

Your frustration was growing quickly as you attempted to slap the stuffed animal out of his grip. Dean laughed harder at the fact you were too short to reach it, but his laughter was cut abruptly when the bunny was snatched from his grip unexpectedly.

    “Don’t be a prick, dude.”

Sam said, handing you the little bunny with a soft smile. Relief flooded over you, and you gave Dean a look that clearly translated to ‘go to hell.’ 

    “It’s just a toy.”

 Dean said with a mixture of amusement at you and annoyance at Sam.

    “No, it’s not.” 

You shot back, your voice laced with venom. You shook your head, knowing he probably wouldn’t care to hear what the bunny actually meant to you. You huffed and marched into your room, closing the door behind you. 

    You glared at your bed for a moment, almost wanting to blame it for such an unfortunate start to your day. Dean was going to bring this up every chance he could. Probably around people you definitely didn’t want to have any knowledge of it as well. Honestly, you were more concerned about what Sam might be thinking. You had always had a bit of a crush on Sam, but you couldn’t imagine he returned the sentiment, especially after he found out you were hiding a raggedy looking stuffed bunny in your room. 

    A soft knock on your door startled you out of your thoughts. You turned your glare toward the door, expecting Dean to come bumbling in, mocking you about the bunny. Instead the door slowly swung open to reveal Sam’s larger stature. Your glare cleared, and you simply stared at Sam in question. 

    “Is it alright if I come in?”

He asked. He brushed some hair out of his eyes and smiled softly at you. A swarm of butterflies swarmed your stomach. 

    “Of course.” 

You responded, returning his smile. 

    Sam entered your room slowly, closing the door quietly behind him. He steadily made his way toward you, only stopping a few feet from you. You tried not to stare too hard, and you found yourself feeling ridiculous for how flustered he made you. Sam reached into his pocket and revealed your phone, offering it to you. You gratefully took it from him.

    “Dean still had it, and I figured you wouldn’t want to see him any time soon.”

   Sam said with a chuckle. You laughed, responding,

   “How right you are, Sammy.”

Sam’s smile widened for a moment, 

    “I’m sorry about all of that, by the way. It’s pretty obvious the bunny means something to you. You carry it with you every time we travel. I didn’t say anything, but I’ve seen glances of it a few times before.”

You looked to him in surprise,

    “It was actually the last thing my grandmother gave to me before she was killed by a Crocotta. It used my voice to lure her in. The bunny is all I have left.”

Sam’s smile was replaced by a mixture of surprise and sadness.

    “I’m so sorry, Y/n…” 

    He said, just above a whisper. He sat next to you on the bed, slowly bringing you into a hug. The moment he touched you, it felt like a million sparks lit inside your heart, and a wildfire erupted in your stomach. 

    “It’s okay, Sam.”

You said dumbly. There wasn’t much else for you to say. 

Sam pulled away from you, shaking his head.

   “You never should have had to go through that pain.”

You placed a hand on his cheek, cupping it softly.

   “No,” you said, “you are the one who should have never had to go through all of this pain. You didn’t deserve any of it, Sam.” 

    Sam let out a shaky breath, then slowly leaned down to kiss you. His lips were soft and warm, and you felt like a thousand fireworks exploded in you. You smiled softly, kissing him back without hesitation. Sam pulled away after a moment, resting his forehead against your own and pulling you closer to him. 

   “I have to say, I’m so glad Dean found your bunny.” 

You couldn’t help but laugh.

[gotmilk5101520]

Trollhunters: Tales of Arcadia Watch Episode 7 To Catch a Changeling

How to catch a changeling for idiots.

“All right”

“Do your worst”

The Sword of Daylight. A weapon to kill trolls and cutting watermelon.

“What is this mockery?” Me seeing stupid shit.

“You want to take it for a spin?”

*Cries in Troll*

Yeah, no one will notice.

“Ridiculous garment” Agree.

“Sorry. Draal was training Jim”

“Draal?” “Training?”

“Yeah, he sorta made a home in my basement to look out for the place”

“Of course. When a troll is defeated in combat, it’s completely natural for them to take refuge in the victor’s domicile” So, this happened before?

And it’s gone.

“It was, eh... It was out of focus, and i did forget to turn on the flash” Once again, i went back.

And the flash was on.

Have some Jim is done with this bushigal face.

“I’ve not left the Heartstone in a century” This is what it’s like to be force to go somewhere, cause they say it’ll be worth it. But it’s really not. Wow Vendel is becoming the most relatable character in this series.

“I hate conspiracies”

“That is why i am dedicated to rooting them out” If Trump hired Blinky to root out all the conspiracies of him Blinky will end up making them worse for Trump. #LetTrumphireBlinky

“If it’s everyone, it must be a conspiracy!” I would say Donald Trump, but that would be insult to Blinky.

“Later”

“Oh, no. Claire”

“Claire? A changeling?” Changeling Claire au.

“No. When i thought i was gonna die, i wrote Claire a letter, too, and told her everything”

“Everything?’

“Everything” And what is this “Everything” you speak of? What did you write?

“There you are!” Mission: Avoid Claire. Mission Fail.

“You didn’t run into Miss. Janeth yet, did you?”

“Is she mad i couldn’t make rehearsal yesterday?

“Something kinda came up”

“Heh heh” Good of the episode to put flashbacks in for me, so i don’t have to do it myself. Also Jim implies that last episode happened yesterday (Out of universe, yeah it did) But i thought about it and today would be Monday, and yesterday was Sunday. Jim and Draal’s fight happened on a school day meaning that it was Friday. Jim and Toby getting arrested and Jim making the letters were on a Thursday, and Jim and Toby finding out about Nomura was a Wednesday. And then the school trip to the museum was a Tuesday.

“Steve filled in. That’s what understudies are for, right?”

“Uh, you haven’t heard?

“Steve isn’t the understudy anymore. You are”

“She’s tired of you never showing up”

“So she made Steve Romeo. And trust me, Steve isn’t happy about it either”

“As i was saying, every algebraic equation requires balance”

“Not unlike, say, actors in an ensemble!”

“For instance”

“Every piece of this equation plays an important role”

“That is, unless variable X”

“is a zero”

“X has no role”

“X doesn’t show up”

“X lets the equation down”

“Then, the entire play-”

“I mean, equation- falls part!”

“It becomes impossible!”

“Mr. Lake”

“How would you solve this mathematical problem”

Yeah i’m at a lost.

“Promoting Steve to Romeo wasn’t your idea. Plus, he’s been trying to leave” “Tell me about it. After class he told me off. Steve told me off. Steve. Of all people”

“And, honestly, i’d rather be on stage with you”

I’ve seen that face before. Marinette made that face, too, when Adrien touched her shoulder at the end of The Evillustrator.

New meme template.

“So, we find another changeling”

“Stop saying that so loudly”

“Do you mind?”

“Whatever” Like i said, his name is Changeling.

“Ailment or curse?”

“Oi, numbskull! I;m supposed to answer it!”

“But i already did answer it” Wait are Rot and Gut like one troll sharing a body or no?

“You’re gonna need a gaggletack”

“Unfortunately, you see, we’re a bit short on those. Very hard to get”

“But i got a bag of them right here”

“What in the world? If you’ll excuse us for one moment”

“Ey, what are you doing? I’m trying to drive up the price over here”

“I thought we were trying to help these nice lads” Rot doesn’t understand Capitalism. Good boy.

“Gaggletack?”

“Rare artifact”

“Exceedingly rare. An object of great mystery”

“It’s a horseshoe”

“Made of pure iron”

“Why would you put such a precious thing on a horse’s foot?” Great, what other things are “Rare artifacts” to trolls?

“Beware. Changelings are swapped with their human counterparts at birth. So, it is likely these troll-pretenders have dwelt amongst you for decades”

“They could be anyone”

“Used car salesmen”

“Tax collectors”

“Television executives”

“Donald Trump”

“Yes, especially Donald Trump”

Nope.

Nope.

“Shall i hear more, or shall i speak-”

“Steve!”

“Hey! Who did that? And can i leave the play now?” “No”

Another new meme template.

Nope, nope, and nope.

“You, uh, try this out on Mr. Strickler?”

“Come on. You really think he is one?”

Yes.

So close.

“Here you go, Mr. Strickler. Here’s your horseshoe back”

“Thank you, Miss. Nunez, but that belongs to Mr. Lake”

“Oh. Well that would explain the flying horseshoes” Wait “Flying horseshoes”? You mean Claire noticed the horseshoe that hit Steve earlier?

“So not going to ask” Jim should look on the bright side of this. Claire touched the gaggletack, that means she’s not a changeling, and that the real reason she invited him to her house was not to secretly kill him. Oh wait. That’s not till later.

“Claire” “Still here” When people forget you’re here too. Trust me, i know that feeling.

“You’re still coming home with me, right?”

“Oh, right!”

“Claire and i are gonna go too her house... for math stuff”

Toby is surprised by how that escalated quickly. And it’s not even the second half of season 1 yet.

Series creator, director of The Shape of Water, and the man that said “Monster Fucker Rights” Guillermo Del Toro. Voicing a dentist.

“For the glory of Merlin”

“Daylight is mine to make babies ogle”

“He really likes you” Jim would be a great dad. Wink wink Claire. Wink wink.

“Wonder what he’s thinking about right now” “No idea what’s going through my brothers mind right now” “I’m going to get kidnapped next episode and you will never see me again for a long time. Goo goo”

‘Wow, this novocaine you numbed my mouth with is really strong”

“I can’t even feel my hands”

“That’s because i didn’t inject you with novocaine, dear”

“I hit you up with a potent paralyzer”

“Why would you do that?”

“Well, it’s not everyday someone comes in with a gaggletack” The moment i saw this.

“Why don’t i take that, sweetie? It’s not very hygienic” I knew she was a changeling.

“See, the equation only contains powers of X that are non-negative integers”

“Does that makes sense”

“Is it supposed to?”

“Nah. That’s why it’s called algebra” Algebra never makes sense. It makes Kingdom Hearts make sense. #ReplacealgebrawithKingdomHearts

“I realized you’ve got a lot more going on than people think”

“I do”

“I do?” You may now kiss the bride. Okay guys, Jim and Claire are married.

“You can’t just write a letter like this and not expect a conversation. If you had written something like “I’ve most likely been slaughtered by a troll” I would’ve said: Understandable, have a nice day” “Wait, really?” “No! You are lucky, you’re cute and everything” “I... Uh... It’s... Wait what?” “Nothing”

“You have to battle monsters?”

“Saving the world in which we know? What monsters are you battling? Are they fuckable?” “Well- Wait what?” “Uh... What monsters are you battling?”

Have some Claire being done with her (Not yet, almost, but not really, not for another season) boyfriend’s bushigal.

“I mean, we all have stuff we’ve got to go through”

“But are you in some kind of trouble?”

“I... Yeah! Metaphoric”

“I was...”

“In an exploring stage”

“Not successful” Let it be known that Claire thinks Jim has depression, if not suicidal tendencies. And i did not get this from the wiki or TvTropes.

“There’s some sentimental stuff at the end which i thought was... kinda sweet” Umm. Can we read the full letter? I want to know what he said.

“Really?”

“If you ever need someone to talk to about “the monsters” you can talk to me”

“It can be our secret” Yeah. There are going to be a lot of secrets you two will be sharing. Also, you two could’ve kissed here as well. But whatever you tried i guess.

“Halt, changeling!”

“Or else my giant friend will tear you limb from limb!”

“Maybe later” These things always happens.

“Oh, it burns!”

“Oh, it’s just a painting” Paintings don’t kill trolls confirm.

Huh. After an entire episode of using it on everyone, and making me think it didn’t work, it actually does work.

“What’s that?” “Laughing gas”

*Laughs in Troll*

“Laughs in Troll*

“Hello? Wait how did you get my number?”

“Hey! What’s up, Nunez?”

“Hey Colby”

“Someone named Woby?” Claire can’t remember Toby’s name.

“Fighting monsters again?”

“Who are you, Jim Lake” Claire is getting sus.

Imagine walking into this.

“Perish, you worm!” “Wait, before you kill me, i have something to ask. You know Nomura, right?” “Yes” “Well she has a history with a troll named Draal. Do you know what their history is?” “No, this is the first time i’m hearing about it” “Oh, okay. Thank you. You can die now” “You’re welcome. Wait what?”

“Do you have some magic artifact that can clean this mess?”

“Yes. I believe it’s called a Tobias” Translation: “Clean it yourself”

“It appears Nomura has gotten her way”

“Another changeling has been chosen”

“And look who it is” “Enrich? Enquran? Enquin?” “Oh, for the love of. It says Enrique!” “Oh. Who’s that?” “Claire Nunez’s little brother!” “Which one is Claire again?” “The one you haven’t met!” “Well no wonder i don’t know who that is. I never met them”

Anyone is a changeling. Maybe i’m a changeling.

So who’s the worst babysitter? Jim or Marinette?

[anika-ann]

Nothing but the Truth - Pt.5

The Truth and Nothing but the Truth

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader        Word count: 4490

Summary: A fake dating AU. Lies always have consequences; you just never imagined they would look like this. You should have known better… Aka the one where shit hits the fan.

Warnings: a lot of swearing, rudely interrupted fluff, implied stalking, creepiness and sick beliefs leading to violence at its finest, kidnapping

Story Masterlist

Coming back to work was a true life-hazard.

First of all; you didn’t sleep properly. Basically not at all. You couldn’t get Steve out of your head, the feeling of his lips on yours and their taste, his hand on your face, on your hip, the sensation under your hands, the sincerity of his tone when he spoke about you two together— all of that kept you awake, ruminating in your head, lines between reality and fantasy blurring in the restless slumber keeping you company the whole night.

Second of all; there was a pile of paperwork to fill since you had been absent for the past two days.

And the worst of all; your colleague was there. And she was terrible at hiding her curiosity, downright gawking at you, her eyes following your every movement, every nervous shift in your posture, not single one of your sighs escaping her attention.

Hint: you were mostly sighing because you could feel her glare on you and you knew she wanted to ask about everything, but gave you the opportunity to start talking on your own, while being passively aggressive as fuck and driving you insane.

You didn’t have the slightest idea what to tell her, because you sucked at lying, you felt bad about lying to her in the first place, but you also signed an agreement on confidentiality.

So… where did that leave you?

You sighed again, leaning your back onto the backrest of your ergonomic chair and crossed your arms on your chest, spinning the chair to face your friend.

“Yes, Irma? Something on your mind?” you asked slowly and she grinned.

“What the fuck is happening?” she blurted out, using the swirling hair as a means of transport, wheeling to you and despite yourself, you snorted at her ridiculousness.

“Well, you’re staring at me the whole day while I’m working through this big-ass pile of papers, that’s what,” you shrugged light-heartedly, while your heart in fact sped up in your chest.

Why hadn’t you just kept your mouth shut and let her come to her own conclusions only?

“Har, har. Spill it. I leave you alone for two days…” You left her alone, thank you very much, because you hadn’t as much as shown your face in the office. “You’ve been ignoring me.” In that respect, she was correct; she had been blowing your phone and you blatantly ignored her. “You can’t escape me now. So…what the hell?”

“Huh?”

“Don’t play dumb,” she huffed, patting her feet on the ground again, her inching closer. “Congrats and all that, glad that the heart-eyes exchange that’s been going on for a while escalated and you finally got together, but what is all that interview and engagement bullshit?”

You groaned, turning back to your table, and let your forehead meet the desk.

Right. Irma was convinced that there was something going on between you and Steve (she very pointedly called it ‘eye-fucking’, god bless her for saying ‘heart-eyes’ just this once) ever since you had started going to lunch with him alone – courtesy of Sam being busy at the moment and hence not being able to join you two and your friendly lunch date.

“Got the sentiment, not the words, hon. Spill it.”

You huffed, your lips barely moving as you were practically kissing the table.  “It’s…” What was the word they always used? “…classified.”

“Oh come on! I’m your friend! And who am I gonna tell?” she exclaimed, half-offended, half-excited. “I’m totally harmless!”

She… had a point, right? Who was she gonna tell? She was your friend and she even covered for you when you messed something up, she was loyal to the company, being there longer than you and—and-

And you still couldn’t spill your guts to her.

Or could you?

Raising your head and meeting her expectant gaze, you kept your mouth shut as you reached for your phone and started typing.

Peripherally, you could see her frown in discontent and confusion.

“I’m sorry, are you ignoring me again, young lady?!”

You held up your index finger, sent the text and then you resumed to ignore her.

She rudely waved her hand in front of your face when you returned to the paperwork.

“It’s classified,” you repeated absently, distractedly reading over the lines of the document, checking for typos.

Irma threw her hands in the air and refused to leave, looking over your shoulder as your heart nearly gave out with the insane pace it was set up in.

Had she always been so nosy?

You almost jumped out of your skin when your phone started vibrating, lighting up with Steve’s face.

You hadn’t spoken or texted ever since the taxi dropped you off at your apartment after the interview. You had spent the rest of the night alone, perfectly content with a take-out and your intrusive thoughts about ridiculously attractive and kind supersoldier keeping you from some quality sleep.

“Your boyfriend’s calling you,” your friend pointed out, grin in her voice as you sarcastically thanked her for her observation and accepted the call.

“Hey- hey, Steve,” you stuttered to the phone nervously, not expecting him to react to your stupid text so soon, with a phone-call no less.

“Hey,” he greeted you courtly and you gulped, avoiding your friend’s gaze. You were dating Steve; whatever he was about to tell you, you shouldn’t look spooked when talking to him in front of anyone who wasn’t involved. “I assume you’re talking about your office-mate?”

“Y-yes.”

Your breath was knocked out of your lungs when he proceeded to tell you her full name, social security number, her marital status and names of siblings and parents.

“Yeah, that’s… eh, that’s her.”

Your colleague raised her eyebrow questioningly.

“Do you trust her?” he asked matter-of-factly. “Her records are clean, but we can’t have her telling tales anywhere.”

“Yes,” you confirmed, trying to sound firm.

The idea of confiding in someone who wasn’t an Avenger and didn’t have a penis was way too tempting and you started to getting giddy on the inside, already feeling the relief at the mere idea of spilling it to someone.

You melted into your seat when Steve spoke up again, his tone much more like the one you were used to, hell, softer even.

“I understand this must be difficult for you. You deserve to talk about it with your friends and I… I understand that maybe you don’t… you don’t want to talk about it with me. Just… you can, you know? You can tell me anything, doll,” Steve coaxed you, voice falling an octave.

Yeah? How about I tell you that I think I love you? What would you say to that? Can I tell you that? Because I really want to, especially when you’re using that stupid, stupid petname-

“…but I understand. It’s your call. If you trust her, you can tell her.”

There were literally no limits to Steve’s kindness, you were sure of it. You truly were doomed, weren’t you? How could you not love him?

“Thank you, Steve. I… really appreciate it. I… I trust you too, you know?” you whispered, momentarily forgetting he wasn’t the only one hearing you.

You could imagine the subtle lift of the corners of his lips – lips that kissed you yesterday, oh dear God, lips you dreamed of –, the gentle light in his eyes, yet with a tiny cocky spark in the irises… you could picture all of that only by hearing the tone of his voice when he answered.

“I hope so. You’re doing alright after yesterday?”

No. “Y-yeah. You?”

He sighed tiredly. “Work is work is work and the PR is sending me e-mails that are basically just streak of curses – I’m learning new words today –, because their phones won’t stop ringing. I’m fine.”

You chuckled, imagining Steve’s eyes widening and his cheeks flushing at every new swearword, probably a new term for a manhood.

“Aww, you poor baby,” you cooed, your lips automatically curving in a smile. “Do you want me to beat them up for you?”

“God, no!” he blurted out, sounding almost as if he panicked at the image of you trying to sock the employees of personal relations in their jaw. Whether his horror was caused by the fear for them or you, you’d never know. He chuckled then. “Thanks for the offer though.”

Someone tugged at your skirt and you realized that you were, in fact, not alone in the room.

“Anytime, Steve. Gotta go back to work now. Stay strong?”

“I’ll try. Same to you. See you for lunch?”

You grinned. “Yep. Sam already told me he will be our bodyguard. Brave man,” you teased Steve and you could practically see him rolling his eyes.

“Brave man,” he mimicked, as if jealous. “He sure is. See you then. Have a nice morning.”

Was it a hobby of his to cause your heart to burst with his insufferably gentle voice or something?

“You too, Steve. Bye.”

“You two are honesty disgusting. If I wasn’t so happy for you, I might puke. And did you just ask your boyfriend for permission to tell me? Really?!” Irma instantly chimed in and you shot her a look to cool her down.

“Yes. I told you: it’s classified,” you deadpanned. “I’ll tell, but not now, not here. Girls’ night?”

She pumped her fists in victory gesture and you sighed, mentally preparing for an interrogation. You had to go somewhere where they had no desk-lamps; she would aim it to your face for dramatic effect, you were sure of it. You couldn’t believe she was almost five years older than you sometimes.

“I thought you’ll never ask, future Mrs. Rogers.”

You grabbed the nearest paper, hoping it wasn’t important, and scrunched it up. With your perfect toss, it hit her square to the middle of her head as she unwisely turned her back to you.

She snorted in laughter, but let you breathe for the rest of the workday.

The evening couldn’t come fast enough.

Contrary to what you thought when learning you’d talk fake relationships with Irma in the evening, the day actually passed in a blur; a very exhausting blur filled with work, with a highlight of the lunch with Steve and Sam. You only attracted a few more glances than usual, people discouraged by the two Avengers glaring at them if they lingered with their eyes for too long. At the same time, Sam served as a mediator for you and Steve, keeping the conversation light and off potentially dangerous topics like kissing, so that was… nice.

Naturally, you thought the night would turn out nice as well. Which… it did? Kinda…? The alcohol helped.

Irma, the amazing friend she was, got you tipsy first, listened patiently and then proceeded to tell you that you were in some deep shit, totally screwed – or not screwed at all, to be precise – and that it would blow up to your face, because you could be terrible at communicating and voicing your feelings, which was why you were in this situation in the first place, because otherwise you and Steve already would have been a couple, you could have, if you just opened your damn mouth and told Steve how you felt weeks ago, after which he would have kissed you and screwed you against a wall or something, because eye-fucking, duh, I keep telling you that.

You had a wonderful girl-friend. Was it too late to call Sam?

But in the end, confiding Irma in felt really good and overall, it was a great night.

You should have known something was going shit all over it.

As tipsy as you were, you and Irma agreed to take a walk rather than call a cab, saving money and reducing the danger of throwing up.

What an idiotic idea since you lived over twenty blocks from each other!

The moment her door clicked shut behind her, you snuggled up into your coat and started walking; at much faster pace than before. Not that it was easy in the heels, because of course you were wearing heels; it was girls’ night and you wanted to feel pretty and you hadn’t anticipated walking a long distance in them.

Silly you.

Feeling the pleasant buzz of alcohol which had been warming you up before vanish, you shivered, looking over your shoulder when a particularly loud guy from a group of drunks by the near-by bar yelled how much he loved America.

You could relate, partly at least, by one half to be precise, because after your heart-to-heart with Irma, you were pretty certain you were at least a tiny bit in love with its infamous Captain, but who cared. You didn’t feel drunk anymore and other drunk people scared you.

Hell, everything seemed frightening to you now for some inexplicable reason, especially since another guy from the group catcalled you as he noticed you turning around to glance at them. You quickly whipped your head back and quickened your pace.

Turning around the corner, you sighed in relief when you heard them start singing, apparently not too upset you disappeared from their view.

It was only about a minute later, when a shiver ran down your spine, a premonition of something dark, shady, chilling. Vaguely remembering that glancing over your shoulder and actually spotting the person whose eyes you felt following you might only encourage them, you kept glaring ahead, yet couldn’t help but add to your tempo. Your feet were starting to hurt, but you didn’t give a crap, feeling your heart jumping to your throat, beating wildly, your chest feeling tight.

You were confident enough that people didn’t recognize you throughout the whole night at the bar, let alone identifying you as Cap’s girl on the night New York street; everyone was much more focused on the fact that their beloved Captain liked it so he put a ring on it, rather than actually giving you a second glance, you were sure. And contrary to the popular belief, people – even of New York – had other things to live than for Avengers’ romance.

Still, you were a woman – a stupid lone woman walking the street at night, in heels no less, and really, just how did you make such a stupid decision at your age? To be fair, you were fake-dating a man you likely loved, so the bar was set very low.

And because despite your poor decision-making you were still a grown-up, so you did the first thing that came to your mind.

No, you didn’t call a cab.

You called Steve.

You were surprised when he answered after two rings only; perhaps you shouldn’t have. Steve Rogers was always at his friends’ disposal.

Steve Rogers was also very sleepy when he spoke.

“Hey,” he greeted you, quietly and you could punch yourself for waking him up. Of course he was asleep! It was like… oh, two a.m. already. “Are you okay?”

“I’m sorry!” you blurted out instantly, feeling like an idiot.

Not because Steve was always asleep at two a.m. – in fact, you had the privilege to know that there were times when he was desperately trying to fill his sleepless nights with pretty much anything, as nightmares, his restless brain or the serum coursing through his veins kept him awake. You felt like an idiot, because there had been a little chance he actually would be asleep and you just ruined it for him.

“What are you sorry for?”

“I woke you up. I’m an idiot. I’m sorry-“

You would swear that even over your babble, you could still hear someone’s steps approaching and you squeezed your eyes shut, unable to walk faster.

“You’re not an idiot,” Steve’s soothed you, voice still rough with sleep. You could hear some rustle; bedsheets, you assumed. “What’s wrong?”

I’m shitting my pants, because someone is following me. I think.

You gulped, pushing yourself to speed up without breaking into a run and nearly sighed in relief when the person behind you resumed their pace.

“I’m on my way from the bar. It’s stupid but… I feel lonely?” you explained, lowering your voice and judging by the sharp inhale on the other end of the line, Steve understood you felt hella lot more than just lonely. “Could you… could you maybe stay on the phone with me? Please?”

“Of course I will,” he was quick to assure you, but you heard him moving around his room now. Could he be- “But I’ll do you one better. Where are you?”

“Steve, you- you don’t have to do that.” You instantly felt bad, mostly because the idea of him coming to get you sounded like heaven and it caused your gut twist in guilt, because you had no right to ask that from him. “You’re not obliged to—it’s not like– like you are-“

-my boyfriend.

“Hey. You might not be my fiancée, but you’re my friend. When my friend doesn’t feel safe, I’ll go get her so she will.”

You could weep at that, both regret you were nothing more but friend and at the tone he said it, warming you from inside out despite the fear still at your heels. You slowed down just a fraction, tension in your shoulders easing, your chest finally expanding as you inhaled generously, not realizing you had been barely breathing before.

“Thank you, Steve,” you whispered.

“Of course. Anytime,” he threw your earlier remark back at you and you couldn’t help but smile despite feeling shaky on your feet. He could be so damn cheeky sometimes.

“Apparently,” you hummed. “But seriously, thank you.”

“No problem. I might have already checked your tracker so I’m coming to get you, yeah?”

Oh. Right, you forgot about that; the trackers. You had got so used to the weight of the necklace on your chest that it was easy not to think about the fact that it contained a tracking device. You felt even safer now; if anything happened, they’d find you; which it wouldn’t, because Steve was on his way.

“Now talk to me. Did you have a good time?”

You smiled at his inquiry and continued walking, almost at peace.

“I mean, it wasn’t bad at all…”

Waking up from your slumber, your first thought was that your head hurt; the second was that the pain was so immense that you might as well be in hell.

Hell seemed to be very uncomfortable; your head lulled to your side, neck craned in such strange angle that it made the headache worse and something hard was digging into your spine, not to mention you could barely feel you bottom as the surface was as unwelcoming as the flat backrest and overall, hell simply sucked.

Where the heck had you fallen asleep? This was the least comfortably chair ever made.

With a groan, you tried to move your head to a less headache-inducing position, but your body felt so heavy.

What in the fuck had happened? How had you got- where had you-

Blurry images of a dark street, roar of a motorcycle, Steve’s sleepy and yet cheeky grin as he hopped off– ‘You look like the most handsome biker-gang leader, Steve’- “Will you be my stunning biker chick then?’– gentle hands taking your coat and slipping a leather jacket on, the comforting smell— the world swaying off of its place- darkness– pain-

Gasping, you forced your eyes snap open, even the dim light too sharp for your hungover eyes; several blinks that followed did little to sooth the burn.

With a heart in your throat, you took in your surroundings; the very first thing you saw was Steve and you could cry in relief. Whatever was happening, whatever your mind wasn’t ready to supply you with just yet, it would be alright. Steve was right here–

-hunched in a metallic chair, his wrists, shins, ankles strapped to it, thick leather strip over his chest keeping him upright, because he was- he was—your breathing stopped in horror when you noticed the thin wires leading from his body, needles piercing his skin on several places— unconscious, he was unconscious and-

With a cry of his name on your lips, you lunged forward, not expecting the resistance you met with. Your voice died in your throat as you quickly scanned your body, marking that you were very much strapped to a chair as well. God bless, no needles in your body, just some sort of tourniquet reminding you of check-ups at your GP-

Jerking with all strength you could gather, you whined in frustration when your restraints didn’t give, not moving even an inch.

Tears gathered in your eyes, your other senses engaging to build an image of terror – cold was seeping into your bones, the sharp stink of mould, sweat and urine filled your nose and you could hear periodic taps, drops of water falling.

Surging forward once more with zero result, you cried out, a sob breaking from your lips.

Your frantic gaze searched the room, devices you couldn’t even hope to recognize on your left, seemingly endless emptiness on your right. And if front of you-

“Steve!” you sobbed, clearing your throat to speak louder than in a broken whisper. “Steve!”

He was motionless; you squinted in the shadows, focusing on his chest, praying you could see it moving.

Tears spilled from your eyes, this time from relief; the expands of his ribcage were there, barely noticeable, but present.  

Your gaze followed the wires that led from his body to one of the machines and your stomach made an unpleasant somersault as you tasted bile on your tongue.

What the fuck was this nightmare?

The answer came from your right, a heavy metallic sound and creak, door shutting. You winced, not daring to breathe, your heart nearly beating its way out of your chest with the swift footsteps approaching.

Instinctively, you backed into the chair, ignoring how uncomfortable it was; that was the least of your worries now, being comfy.

A man of average height emerged from the dark, black hair the only thing visible from his head as he wore a plastic mask, nearly transparent with black lines in the place of eyes, nose and mouth.

You shrieked in terror when he tilted his head curiously.

“You’re awake. Good,” he stated, sounding pleased as he paced to the machines, ignorant to your paralysing panic.

You felt a tremble running through your body, your throat too tight with dread for you to speak; to demand what this was, how did you get here, how-

“The captain is taking a bit long though,” he mused and your gaze, following him previously as he flipped a switch, bringing another of the machines to life, swiftly moved to Steve’s crumpled figure.

A sting of longing and fear punched your ribcage and you finally found the courage to speak, praying it wouldn’t set the mysterious man off.

“What did—what did you do to him?” you whispered, voice hoarse from crying.

The man looked up, the smile painted on his mask making you want to throw up.

“Combinations of tranquilizers. Perhaps I overdid it.”

You would have doubled over if it wasn’t for the strap on your chest keeping you upright. The edge of your vision darkened, black embracing you soothingly for few seconds.

Perhaps?!

Your eyes swiftly found Steve once more, clinging onto the motions of his ribcage like onto dear life.

Christ, he’s lucky to be even breathing.

Needless to say, you would have been much more assured if Steve was awake and if he hadn’t had… had the—the-

“The… the needles?” you choked out, a sob bubbling in your throat as the image of multiple thin needles in Steve’s body burned itself into your retinas.

You’d never forget this sight in your life.

Fairly enough though, that might not be a very long time. The thought had you squeeze your eyes shut.

“Electric pulses,” he explained as easily as if he was telling you it was raining outside.

Electric- you wanted to cry and puke at the same time and most of all, you wanted to wake up from this fucked up nightmare.

“It should keep him less mobile once he wakes up. It took me quite a while to figure it out. Not an easy task to keep Captain America down.”

He seems down enough now, you thought wryly and shivered, your face twisting as you tried hard not to imagine what was being done to Steve’s body.

When you looked closely – really closely – you could see the tinniest twitches of his fingers.

Before hope could get a hold of you, you noticed the startling periodicity of those motions; he wasn’t waking up. It wasn’t him moving on his own account.

It was the pulses.

Your head spun, the whole world swaying aside, your eyes rolling back; you didn’t feel like your body belonged to you anymore as the wave of revulsion caused your insides to coil violently.

What kind of a sick monster did this to another person?

Tearing your blurry gaze away from Steve’s form, you shot the other man a loathing look, the force of hatred towards him nearly startling you.

“Stop that right now,” you hissed dangerously as if you weren’t strapped to a chair yourself, utterly helpless.

You had a feeling that the maniac smiled behind his mask, but you couldn’t tell for sure.

How did you not throw up just yet?

“You don’t make demands here.”

Electricity crackled in the air with whatever he did with the machines and you winced, your whole body tensing in horrible anticipation.

He was going to the same to you—he was about to-

“Now, I’m sure you’re curious what’s happening here…” Not really, no, Christ, just let us go- “…I brought you here to ensure your future commitment to each other will be proper.”

What in the-

He rose from his own chair, carrying what looked like electrodes towards you.

You balled your hands into fists, trying to break the restraints, but they didn’t even budge as the man leaned forward with a purpose; clasps joined to your cuffs and you felt your teeth clatter at the icy fingers of fear running down your spine.

He just wired you to a source of electricity.

Sick, he was such a sick person, whatever he had said meant–how could anyone just-

“What the hell are you talking about?” you breathed out, not having a clue where the strength to speak up came from.

“I’m simply gonna ask a few questions,” he replied, fastening the same clasps on Steve’s straps – as if the blond didn’t already have electricity coursing through his body making him fucking spasm every now and then – before turning to face you. “And you’re gonna tell me the truth. Nothing but the truth.”

Part 6

Tags: 

@mermaidxatxheart​ @bobertswagert​ @kakakatey​ @ccolz88-blog​ @joeyrumlow​@lovemeterwrites​ @jessyballet​

Dun dun dun.

Oops, this one got away from me a bit and it’s… morbid, I know. But we finally got to the title at least…?

[scullyfemme]

Timing -- Ch. 3

“You’re not Mulder.”

Dreamland time baby!!! 

Tagging @today-in-fic​ | Read it on Ao3

<- Previous Chapter | Start from the Beginning | Next Chapter ->

---

“Is this supposed to be a date?” Scully cocked a brow at the dusty Nevada road they were driving down. “You know Kersh will have our asses if he finds out about this.”

“Depends on if you want this to be a date,” he ignored the second half of what she’d said. They passed a mile marker. “Two more miles to go.”

“I’m all a-tingle,” She deadpanned.

She asked about his supposed “source,” who he claimed worked at Area 51, and she found herself thinking about his constant search for proof. For truth. Before they had embarked on this new phase of their relationship, it had started to drain her. But everything had a slightly new feeling to it now that they were together. Like when you finally clean off an old pair of earrings or shine an old pair of shoes and realize how much potential they’d had. To be honest, she was a bit excited to be out on the road with Mulder again like this, though she refused to let him know that. They hadn’t worked anything resembling an X-File in a while.

Still, her mind wandered to thoughts about the people who lived near here. Raising families and buying homes while they drove on, endlessly.

Will that ever be us?

He frowned. “What do you mean?”

She realized she’d spoken out loud. “I mean, uh- There are people who live around here. People who live normal lives. Nine-to-five jobs and a cookie-cutter house with a white picket fence and-” she stopped herself from mentioning kids, not wanting to re-open that wound for a casual conversation.

He glanced over at her. “Are you saying you want a nine-to-five job and a cookie-cutter-”

“No, no,” She cut him off, shaking her head. She couldn’t imagine a life in suburbia. “I just mean, like...settling down,” she sighed. “Something resembling a normal life.”

“Well, this is a normal life,” He argued. Seeing her look, he continued. “Normal for us, at least.”

“That’s true,” She said. They didn’t really have lives that lent to normalcy.

“But if you want something normal, then we can try something normal,” He said, reaching over and taking her hand in his, resting them on the center console. “What is it you want? The white picket fence? I can get one for my apartment, but I don’t know where I’ll put it.”

She smiled, her mind slightly more at ease. He’d made a joke, but she knew his sentiment was real. It had always been clear that that sort of life didn’t quite fit him, but he’d be willing to try it. For her.

The sound of tires squealing and the blinding headlights streaming through the car disrupted their moment, and they pulled their hands apart.

“Mulder.”

“I don’t know if we’re going to meet that crackpot after all.”

---

“Come on, Mulder, let’s go,” She tugged on his sleeve, shooting a glare at the man who had confronted them, who had an odd look on his face.

Mulder was uncharacteristically quiet as they drove away, and Scully repeatedly glanced over at him. She didn’t say anything, assuming that he was just stewing about not being able to meet his contact.

When they pulled up to the gas station, she decided to try to pull him out of his funk. “Are you okay, Mulder?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Well, you haven’t said anything since we left those men on the highway. Is something wrong?”

“I’m fine. Gas cap’s on your side.”

She frowned. He always got the gas. He’d even once made a joke about chivalry while she argued that pumping gas was hardly chivalrous. “Okay...if you don’t wanna talk about it.” She got out and started pumping the gas. 

Still in the car, Mulder turned the radio on, fiddling with the dial. Her phone rang, slightly muffled by the noise and the confines of the car.

“Mulder?” She called through the window. He didn’t hear her. “Mulder.” She repeated.

No response. Was he ignoring her? Maybe he just couldn’t hear her. She closed her eyes with a sigh of frustration, then left the pump to open the door and get her phone. The music blasted out of the car at deafening levels, but she got in anyway.

“Hello?” She asked, but couldn’t hear over the radio. Her lips pursed, she reached over and turned it down. “Hello?” No response. Whoever was on the other end had hung up. “Ugh.” She hung up and got back out of the car.

“Oh, Dana?” Mulder leaned over. “Want to pick me up a pack of Morleys please?”

Dana? “Since when do you smoke?” She eyed him with doubt. Was this some sort of joke?

He heaved a sigh. “Well, you’re not gonna be a Nazi about it, are you?”

The question genuinely stunned her and she didn’t know how to respond. Slamming the door shut, she went inside, lost in her thoughts. 

Mulder didn’t smoke. He’d never smoked. In fact, they’d had multiple conversations where they’d talked about how neither one could even stand the smell of cigarettes after all their dealings with the Cancer Man. So why did he request a pack? He hadn’t seemed any more stressed than usual or anything, so she didn’t understand what could be driving him to smoke.

She recalled their conversation in the car. Was that it? Had her questions about normalcy set him off? He’d seemed receptive enough to it at the time. Maybe it was actually bothering him and he was lashing out in some weird way, trying to push her away before she could ask about it again.

She pursed her lips, feeling a flash of anger. She put back the bag of sunflower seeds she’d grabbed on instinct and stalked out without getting the cigarettes. If he wanted to be a child and not talk about what was wrong, so be it. But she wasn’t going to encourage him. When she got back in the car, Mulder looked over at her expectantly.

“They were out,” She said shortly as she buckled in.

“Of Morleys?”

She shrugged, keeping her eyes forward. She was very clearly mad at him and he knew her well enough to pick up on that, but for some reason, he didn’t seem to. Or if he did, he didn’t say anything.

They drove for a while before she turned to him. “Mulder, if I said something that upset you-”

“God, this again?” He looked at her as if disgusted. “I told you I’m fine, Dana. Jeez, you’re just like my wife.”

“Excuse me?”

A panicked look crossed his face. “A wife,” He corrected. “You’re like a wife.”

She opened her mouth as if to say something, but she had no words. So that  was  what this was about. One discussion about settling down and he was pushing her away. She hadn’t even said anything about getting married. So much for no regrets.

Scully had half a mind to yell at him, to argue with him. But she couldn’t bring herself to. She didn’t want him to know just how hurt she was, so she sat back in her seat and sulked, staring silently out of her window for the rest of the drive.

---

“‘I’d give you his name if I had it?’” Scully repeated Mulder’s words back to him in an incredulous tone. Their meeting hadn’t gone at all like she’d expected it to. “Whatever happened to protecting our contacts? Protecting our work?”

He shrugged as if it wasn’t a big deal. “He asked. Hang on a second.”

She watched in disbelief as he went over to chat up Kersh’s assistant. Right in front of her. Scully stood up to her full height in indignation, her lips pressed in a thin line. She’d hoped that whatever streak of pettiness Mulder had displayed last night would be gone by now so that they could have a proper discussion about it, but apparently that wasn’t the case.

He noticed her anger this time as he got back to her. “What?”

“What is going on with you?” She couldn’t help but ask, despite not wanting to discuss this at work.

Mulder scoffed. “Will you please stop trying to pick a fight with me?”

“Mulder, you are acting bizarre!” She hissed.

He turned and looked back at Kersh’s assistant through the office windows, then looked back at her with a gloating smile. “Jealous?” He asked, then slapped her ass before walking off.

Scully’s jaw dropped in shock. Her face burned a bright red with the amount of embarrassment and anger she felt. Her hands curled into fists; she was absolutely fuming now, and she’d had it with him. Once they were off work, she was going to confront him. She might even need her gun.

She angrily chewed her lip as she sat at her desk, occasionally looking up to glare at Mulder as he played some golfing game on his computer. It was strange that he was playing a game at work, much less a golf game, but she couldn’t bring herself to care about that right now.

Her phone rang. “Scully,” She answered.

“Oh thank goodness. Scully, it’s me.”

She frowned. The phrase was a familiar one; she’d heard it from Mulder countless times. But Mulder was right there. And this voice didn’t sound familiar.

“I’m sorry, who is this?”

“It’s me, Mulder.”

“Mulder?” From his desk, Mulder waved dismissively, clearly thinking she was talking to him.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t call sooner," the voice continued. "Look, something really weird happened last night when that UFO passed over us.”

“UFO?” Her frown deepened. That was certainly a very Mulder thing to say, but there hadn’t been a UFO last night. And again, Mulder was right there.

“You don’t remember?” He asked. “You don’t remember. Okay, the man that you’re with, that’s not me. His name is Morris Fletcher. He’s an Area 51 employee.”

“Morris Fletcher,” She repeated as she wrote the name down. A thought crossed her mind. Was this Mulder’s contact? But why would he call her? And why would he claim to be Mulder? She considered getting Mulder’s attention so he could listen in on the call and let her know, but she decided against it. If he could be petty, so could she.

“That’s right.” The man said. “Everyone else seems to think that I’m him, but I’m not. I’m me. I’m Mulder.”

“Look,” She sighed. “I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing, but-”

“It’s not a game, Scully, I can prove it. I-” He stopped and was silent for a moment. “Well, I don’t know if this is a secure line. I don’t want to say anything too risky. Are you telling me that Mor- that Mulder hasn’t been acting weird?”

She opened her mouth to defend him on instinct but realized she didn’t have any defense. He had been acting weird. “Well, he-” She stammered, then turned in her chair to prevent Mulder from hearing her. “He, uh, he asked for cigarettes. And...flirted with some woman,” She added under her breath, unable to believe she was confiding in this random man.

“Flirted?” The man sounded disgusted. “See, Scully? I would never do that, you know that. First of all, I wouldn’t want to, especially not now. And second of all, I know you’d probably murder me for that.”

She hesitated. He was right, and it seemed like he was alluding to her and Mulder’s relationship with his comments. But it was just too crazy to believe. “I don’t know…”

The man sighed. “Scully, I love you, but things would be a lot easier if you just believed me sometimes. Look, just get out here as soon as you can, and I’ll prove it to you. I promise.”

I love you? “W- How will I get in touch with you?”

“You won’t. I’ll get in touch with you.” He hung up.

Scully hung up too, staring at the name she’d written down. Morris Fletcher. She’d look him up and have that call traced.

Mulder turned back to her. “Who was that?”

She shot him a glare. “None of your business.”

“Jeez, lady.” Mulder reclined back in his chair. “What’s got your panties in a twist?”

Scully shot up from her seat, fully intending to lash out at him, but stopped when a few of their desk neighbors looked up at her in surprise. She remembered where she was. Smoothing down her skirt, she turned on her heel and stalked out of the room, needing to cool off.

---

At the sight of Kersh’s assistant leaving Mulder’s apartment (giving Scully a catty look, to boot), she’d decided it was time to commit murder. She could excuse some of his behavior as weird immature lashing out because he was uncomfortable, but this was taking it way too far. She rapped at his door.

“Just can’t get enough, can you?” His voice sounded from inside.

She fumed at his audacity. “It’s me.”

The door opened and Mulder stood just inside, a cigarette dangling from his mouth and his shirt half off. He looked completely unfazed by her anger. “Oh, hey, Dana.”

Dana again. Since when was he calling her Dana? That was low-priority compared to everything else, though. She burst into his apartment and whirled around to face him as he shut the door.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Her voice was forceful, and she was grateful it wasn’t wavering.

He looked confused by her tone. “Oh, you know, just a little lunch break. What’s up?”

“A lunch break?” She whispered, so mad she couldn’t even speak. “A lunch break?” She repeated, louder. “You have the gall to tout some woman around right in front of me and then play it off as a lunch break?” 

He raised his arms in surrender. “Jeez, Dana, I didn’t know I owed you anything.”

“Owe me anything,” She mouthed the words in anger, then took a deep breath, trying to calm down so she didn’t actually murder him. “Mulder, if you- If you wanna break up, this is far from-”

“Break up?” His eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Oho! That’s what this is about?”

“Excuse me?” She asked. What else would this be about?

He ignored her, though, his hand going to his chin in amazement. “I can’t believe it. I’ve been wasting my time with that bitch when you and I were an item this whole time?”

Scully stepped backwards, looking and feeling like she’d just been slapped. She’d never heard Mulder call anyone a bitch before. And why was he acting so surprised that they were together? Was this some sort of ploy? Some sick game? A way to act like they’d never been together?

It’s not Mulder, a small voice in the back of her mind said. She instinctively brushed it off, but then thought back to that phone call. That man — Morris Fletcher — had almost made a convincing argument. And it wasn’t like she hadn’t encountered Mulder imposters before. She recalled the shape-shifting man who’d showed up at her motel room to try and kill her years ago. And Eddie van Blundht.

“Well, Dana,” Mulder started speaking again. “I’m real sorry.” (he didn’t sound sorry at all) “I think I just, uh, haven’t been myself. Whaddaya say we start over?” He moved closer and put his hands on her shoulders.

“Don’t touch me,” She stepped back from his grip, her anger flaring up again. She wasn’t going to turn to some crazy theory to excuse Mulder’s actions. And a half-assed apology like that certainly wasn’t going to fix anything. “We’re done.” She spat, then turned and stormed out of his apartment.

“Done?” He called after her. “Where are you going?”

She didn’t answer.

---

Scully blinked in surprise as Morris Fletcher’s wife slapped him and called him a son of a bitch. Not a good day for relationships, huh?

Still a bit stunned, she tried to get her bearings. “I’m sorry, um, Morris Fletcher?”

Fletcher — who looked strangely excited to see her — closed the door and guided her away from it. “Scully, it’s me,” He spoke quietly. “It’s Mulder.”

“Uh,” She shrugged off his hand and stepped back. Why was this man so close to her? “You’re the man from the other night? From Area 51?”

He opened his mouth to answer but was distracted by his wife shouting “Liar!” from the house.

“You phoned me,” Scully continued. “What is this all about?”

Fletcher looked frustrated. “I'm Mulder. I'm really Mulder. I switched bodies, places, identities with this man, Morris Fletcher. The man that you think is Mulder, but he's not.” He added, then seemed to notice his reflection in the window of the car. “Of course you don't believe me. Why was I expecting anything different?” He said, mostly to himself. 

She just looked up at him, wondering if this man was crazy. If she was honest, part of her wished he was right, if not to have some reasoning for Mulder’s recent behavior.

After a beat, he turned to her. “Your full name is Dana Katherine Scully. Your badge number is…” He thought for a moment. “Hell! I don't know your badge number. Your mother's name is Margaret, your brother's name is Bill. He's in the Navy and he hates me.”

He does hate Mulder, She thought to herself. But anyone could know that. Her brother would probably buy a billboard if he could.

He continued. “Lately, for lunch, you've been having this six-ounce cup of yogurt — plain yogurt — into which you stir bee pollen because you're on a bee pollen kick, even though I tell you you're a scientist and you should know better.”

She blinked at that. How did he know that? She didn’t even register his wife shouting something else.

“Look…” She floundered for something to say, some reasoning. It was just too crazy to believe. “Any of that information could have been gathered by anyone.” They often ate lunch in the bullpen, now. Tons of people saw her do that.

“Even the bee pollen thing?” He asked, incredulous. “That is so you, that is so Scully. Well, it’s good to know you haven’t changed.” He was nearly ranting now. “That’s somewhat comforting.”

Scully opened her mouth to retaliate. Whatever was going on, it was uncomfortable hearing some strange man act like he knew her.

He took her by the shoulder and guided her even further from the house before she could speak, though. “Look, what about this?” His voice was nearly a whisper, as if he was afraid someone would hear. “We’re together. Only you and I know about that.”

She stiffened. Shrugged off his hand again. “Mr. Fletcher, I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing, but lots of people tend to assume that my partner and I are romantically involved. I can assure you that’s not-”

“Oh, c’mon, cut the crap, Scully!” His voice rose in frustration. He gestured as if searching for something to say. “I can- I can get more specific!”

“I don’t-”

“I told you I loved you in the hospital after you saved me from that ghost ship,” He charged ahead without letting her stop him.

That got her attention. At least enough for her to listen.

“You didn’t wanna believe me,” He continued, slightly calmer now. “You thought it was the drugs. You drove me home after I was discharged and we had an argument about it, and then we-” He stopped and glanced behind himself, as if worried someone would hear. When he spoke again, it was nearly a whisper. “We slept together. For the first time.”

Her heart pounded with panic. How could he know all of this? “Mr. Fletcher-”

“Afterwards, we ate Chinese food and talked about how we shouldn’t tell anyone. You spent the night and woke up so sore from my couch that you said you’d never do that again, but you have.”

She was about to argue, but paused. He was missing something. “Something happened between those things.”

He smiled. “The Gunmen dropped by. You hid in my room like a teenage girl whose boyfriend’s mom just came home.”

She knew her face was flushed now. It was all too accurate. She shook her head. “Mulder and I have both been bugged before. Spied on. How do I know that’s not how you learned all of this?” It made her deeply uncomfortable to think of someone spying on her and Mulder during such intimate moments, but it was more likely than body swapping.

Fletcher sighed in exasperation. “You really do make me work for everything, don’t you, Scully?” He ran a hand through his hair — the same way Mulder did, she realized — then looked back down at her. “Okay. Ask me anything.”

She licked her lips in thought, trying to think of a good question. “What was our first date?”

He smirked. “Depends who you’re asking.”

“I’m asking you.”

“The cemetery,” He said with a small smile. “You laughed.”

Her throat tightened. Part of her wanted to believe him, wanted to believe that all of the craziness between her and Mulder today was because it wasn’t Mulder. But the investigative part of her brain pointed out that they’d had that conversation in a public place. Someone could have overheard. She searched for a memory, something she could ask him about where she knew they were totally and completely alone.

Try any of that Tailhook crap on me, Scully, I’ll kick your ass, Mulder’s voice sounded in her head.

She looked up at Fletcher. “What did I sing to you?” No further explanation.

He frowned for a second, as if confused by the question. Then recognition crossed his face and he smiled. “Joy to the World.”

Her lips parted in shock and she leaned forward, searching his face as if half-expecting it to open like some sort of skin suit, revealing someone else. “Mulder?” She whispered, her voice thick with disbelief.

“Yeah,” He smiled, breathless with relief and nodding emphatically. “It’s me, Scully.”

Her gaze wandered, her mouth agape. “I don’t- How?”

“Something flew over us the other night,” He explained. “A UFO or something. No one else seems to remember it but me. And Morris, I’m assuming. I don’t know how it did it, but all of a sudden I was watching you get in the car with Morris, only you thought he was me.”

She didn’t seem to be fully paying attention to him, though, still reeling at this discovery. After a moment, she looked away in thought. “I was so mad at him,” She murmured quietly, as if to herself.

“Morris?” He asked. “What did he do?”

“He-” She ducked her chin in embarrassment. “I caught him...fooling around with Kersh’s assistant,” She muttered, almost too quiet to hear.

“He what?”  His eyebrows shot up in surprise, which quickly turned to anger.

“I don’t- I don’t know if they actually slept together-”

“Oh my God,” He buried his face in his hands.

“But I saw her leaving his — your — apartment,” She said, looking thoroughly embarrassed by the whole thing. “She wasn’t fully dressed.”

Fletcher —  Mulder, she reminded herself — lifted his head up to look at her. “Scully, I’m so sorry. I wouldn’t do that, you know that.” He looked genuinely contrite, knowing how she must have felt witnessing that.

She nodded thoughtfully, feeling relieved despite the fact that she still wasn’t fully sure she believed him. That was more like Mulder. After a moment, she spoke. “So...what do we do now? I mean, how do we fix…” She gestured to all of him. “This?”

“Unfortunately, I’m still looking into that,” He said. “I’m gonna go back to ‘work’ and try to get ahold of something — a piece of evidence.” He leaned a bit closer. “Can you meet me tonight? I’ll need you to take it to the Gunmen and have it analyzed.”

She hesitated, not exactly excited for yet another four-hour flight back to Washington (and probably another flight back here). She thought for a moment. “Is that going to help us change you back?”

“I don’t know,” He admitted. “But it’s at least a starting point. Can you meet me, Scully?”

“Hold on, Mulder,” She lifted a hand as if to stop him. It would take both parties to switch bodies back. “We have to think about this. Even if we find a way to fix this, there’s no guarantee that we can do it without Fletcher’s cooperation. He might even know how to do it. But he definitely doesn’t seem interested in giving up your life anytime soon.”

“What are you saying?”

She chewed her lip. “I’m saying that...as much as it’ll probably kill me, I’m gonna have to gain his trust. Go along with his charade. I might be able to get some information from him in case we don’t find anything with this ‘evidence.’”

He smirked, and she thought she could see a ghost of Mulder’s smirk on that ugly face. “You’re not gonna kiss him, are you?”

Her face scrunched up with disgust, which was all the answer he needed. “Where do you need me to meet you?” She asked.

“I’ll get in touch with you.”

---

Mulder — Fletcher — had followed her. That was the only explanation. How else would he have known that she went back to Nevada? Or that she’d talked to “Fletcher?”

She’d been backed into a corner. Kersh had threatened her job, and there was no knowing how much she could help Mulder if she got fired. Plus, she needed to gain Fletcher’s trust.

Mulder approached her in the gas station, a paper bag in his hands. “Scully, I got it. I got the proof.”

She couldn’t bring herself to say anything to him, instead only looking up at him with guilt. He registered it a split second too late as multiple vehicles pulled up, nearly blinding him with their lights.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered before turning away, unable to watch as the soldiers barged in and took the bag from him before cuffing him.

“Scully?” His voice was more urgent now.

She looked back at him, her expression saying what she couldn’t out loud. I had to, Mulder. I’m so sorry.

She thought she saw understanding register in his face, but they were both distracted as Fletcher walked in, flanked by two other men. “Damn it, Morris,” One of them said to Mulder.

Mulder ignored him, though, completely losing it at the sight of Fletcher in his own body. “You! You son of a bitch!” He fought against the soldiers who were holding him. “You orchestrated this whole thing!” He continued struggling — fruitlessly — as the soldiers dragged him out of the store. “You bastard! Tell them the truth! He’s not me, Scully! Would I do this?”

At the sound of her name, she had to turn away again, pressing her lips together to fight the tears in her eyes. Did he think she didn’t believe him? That she’d willingly helped Fletcher do this? 

I didn’t have a choice. She kept repeating that in her head as if it could shake away the feeling that she’d just betrayed her best friend. Her partner. The person who trusted her more than anyone else in the world. 

She would fix this. She had to.

After a few moments, she felt Fletcher’s hand on her shoulder and had to resist the urge to shrug it off.

“You hate me now, right?” He asked. When she didn’t answer, he continued. “Dana, I’m sorry I narced on you to Kersh, but I was afraid you’d lose your job. I mean, when you stomped out of my apartment and I found out you were going to Nevada, I was worried you were going to do something crazy.”

She bit back a million retorts that built up in her mind, instead setting her jaw and turning to face him with a carefully even expression. “You did the right thing, Mulder.”

He blinked in surprise. “I did?”

She gave a tight smile. “I’ve been telling you for years you should play more by the book, haven’t I?”

He smiled with relief, unable to read her body language the way the real Mulder could. “Hey, it’s the new me.”

---

Two weeks suspension without pay. And on top of that, she couldn’t believe she’d agreed to dinner with Fletcher. Or that he’d asked. Was it really that easy to win him over after she’d nearly ripped his head off? A simple “you were right” and he thought everything was okay? She’d been even more stunned when he suggested a home-cooked meal. As far as she was aware, Mulder wasn’t exactly a master chef. In fact, she wasn’t sure what he could cook. Everything he did further squashed any doubts she had that Mulder — the real Mulder — had been telling the truth.

Still, she had to get Fletcher to cooperate. And she had a plan. She double-checked that she had her cuffs and gun before knocking on the door.

The sight of Mulder wearing an apron that said “something smells good” would normally be enough to make her bust out laughing, but unfortunately there was little to be found funny about this situation.

“Perfect timing,” Fletcher said. “Welcome.”

It wasn’t until he moved aside that she noticed how clean the apartment was. “Wow.” Her eyebrows shot up, genuinely impressed. A small part of her noted what a shame it was that it took some weird body-switching scenario for Mulder’s apartment to be cleaned. She was so stunned that she barely even noticed Fletcher taking her coat.

“You like, huh?” He asked a little too close to her ear. “Yeah, I thought it was time I stopped living like a frat boy.” He shrugged. “Come see the rest of the place.” Taking her hand, he led her through the living room and into the bedroom.

If the sight of Mulder’s clean apartment stunned her, then the sight of his bedroom — completely spotless and now including a bed — nearly overwhelmed her. Her jaw dropped at the sight. She was surprised to find a part of her actually missed the boxes and dusty Playboys. It may have been annoying, but at least it had been Mulder.

“Come. Sit.” Fletcher excitedly patted the bed.

“Um, no,” She started to back out, worried he was trying to trap her into something. There was a difference between going along with his act and going so far as to sleep with him. 

“Seriously, just check it out.” He reached out and pulled her by the wrist and sat her down on the bed. It moved under her way more than a normal mattress should. 

Oh, God. A waterbed? she thought, trying to hide her disgust. He sat down beside her and the movement of the bed knocked her off balance, falling back onto it. Her jaw dropped again as she saw her own reflection staring down at her, and her face flushed at the thought of being able to see herself during...  certain activities.

Fletcher propped himself up on his elbow. “D’ya hate it?” He asked, grinning devilishly.

She hesitated, trying to calm herself. “No, I don’t hate it,” she said, and unfortunately it wasn’t a complete lie. As awful as a waterbed was and as horrifying as an above-bed mirror was, at least Mulder had a bed now. Once this was all over, she might be able to actually stay the night here without stiff muscles. Perhaps just mild nausea from the waterbed.

His grin widened. “Well, alright then. Don’t go away.” The bed shifted nauseatingly as he got up and left the room. When he came back with champagne and accompanying flutes, Scully couldn’t stop her eyebrows from shooting upwards. Big plans.

He handed her a flute and she stared at it thoughtfully for a moment, deciding it was time for one last test. She was already certain that this man wasn’t Mulder, but as a scientist she needed all the evidence she could gather.

“Mulder,” She kept her voice light. “Remember that time we were lost in the woods down in Florida? And you got injured?”

He frowned, looking a bit panicked. “Uhh, vaguely. Why?”

“I just-” She shook her head with a frustrated sigh. “I can’t seem to remember the name of the song that I sang to you. Do you remember? The tune’s been stuck in my head all day,” She added, then started humming the chords to “Bad, Bad, Leroy Brown” to throw him off.

“Oh, that’s the, um-” Fletcher snapped his fingers a couple times, trying to remember. “The Jim Croce song. Leroy Brown.”

“Thaaat’s right,” She said as if she’d just remembered. “And that was what I sang to you?”

“Of course,” He turned his attention back to the champagne bottle. “I vividly remember that part.” He winked.

“Mhm,” She nodded, her jaw tight. She licked her lips and then turned to him. “Do you know what would really be fun?”

“What?”

She pulled out her handcuffs and dangled them in front of him with a cocked eyebrow. Fletcher looked like he’d nearly come on the spot. “Oh, yeah. Me first?”

“You first,” She smirked.

Excited, he couldn’t seem to take the cuffs from her fast enough. While he cuffed himself to the bed, she stood up and pulled out her gun. “Now what?” He asked, turning back, but flinched in surprise when he saw her gun aimed at him.

“You’re not Mulder.”

The panicked look on his face was nearly comical. “What?” The champagne cork popped at that moment, and Scully could already imagine laughing about that with the real Mulder in the future. “Baby-”

“‘Baby’ me and you’ll be peeing through a catheter,” She said, lowering the aim of her gun. “Your name is Morris Fletcher. It was Mulder who was arrested in the desert. Now, how do we get things back to normal?”

---

Fletcher had turned out to be completely useless and somehow knew nothing, but luckily Mulder’s source called while Scully was interrogating him. And after two more flights to Nevada and back — along with a nearly unsuccessful bar adventure — they arrived at the Lone Gunmens’ lair, flight recorder in tow.

Scully pressed on the buzzer. “Open up,” She called out. After a few moments, she started hearing the clicks and clanks that meant someone was unlocking the various locks.

Frohike opened the door. “Mulder.” He let them in, and Scully tried to brush off the fact that she hadn’t been greeted. It wasn’t even really Mulder, after all. “If I had known you were coming, I would have made more salsa.”

“We need your help right now,” Scully said, offering up the flight recorder to Langly.

“Who crashed?” He looked it over with interest.

“Who, what, why,” She said. “I need to know everything that’s on that data recorder.”

The three rattled off technical terms that she didn’t care to remember, then Byers turned to Fletcher. “Where did you get this?” He asked him.

What am I, chopped liver? “Groom Lake,” Scully answered. “Outside Area 51.”

“Dreamland.” Frohike raised his eyebrows. They had a brief discussion about some spy plane before Fletcher — browsing through an issue of the  Lone Gunman  — started giggling to himself.

“What’s with him?” Frohike asked.

“Ignore him,” she said.

“Mulder-”

“He’s not Mulder,” She corrected with exasperation. 

All three Gunmen turned to her with questioning looks.

“This aircraft.” She pointed at the flight recorder. “When it crashed it somehow resulted in a…a body swap. Between Mulder and…” She gestured to Fletcher. “This asshole.”

The three looked confused, both by the situation and by the fact that Scully was the one saying these sorts of things. They laughed nervously, but stopped when they saw she wasn’t laughing along with them.

“Asshole?” Fletcher sounded offended, putting down the paper and approaching her. “Listen here, lady, you probably wouldn’t have even realized I wasn’t Mulder if you two weren’t banging.”

Scully stiffened, feeling three pairs of eyes slowly turn to look at her.

“Banging?” Langly asked.

She clenched her jaw, thinking quickly. “No, he’s just trying to rile me up because I embarrassed him when I caught him with Kersh’s secretary.”

“Kersh’s secretary?”

“Ah,” Fletcher nodded in understanding. “Keeping it a secret, huh?”

“There’s no secret to keep,” She bit back, her eyes threatening murder. Fletcher seemed more amused than fazed, though, which only angered her more.

The Gunmen exchanged looks, unsure who to believe. Scully inwardly groaned. Great. Now the three most suspicious men in the world had reason to wonder if she and Mulder were together. That'll be fun to deal with.

“Who the hell are you?” Frohike asked him.

Fletcher explained who he was, then managed to rile the three of them up by claiming to be the one who came up with most of their stories. Scully let it continue at first, simply grateful that they were distracted from the topic of her relationship with Mulder. But then Frohike brandished his spatula.

“The name’s Frohike, you punk ass. What the hell did you do with Mulder?”

“Shut up, all of you,” Scully stepped in, then pointed to the flight recorder. “If you guys want Mulder back, then get me these results.”

---

“You don’t look too happy. Don’t tell me I’m gonna have to put two kids through school.”

Scully looked up at Mulder, hugging herself. She still couldn’t quite believe it was him. “I just got off the phone with Frohike.”

She explained how the whole thing had been reliant on completely random variables — ones that they had next to no chance of replicating. And even if they could, there was no guarantee that it would work.

Looking completely downtrodden now, Mulder glanced over to the car where Fletcher sat. “What about him?”

She followed his gaze and sighed. “‘Agent Mulder’ has become Kersh’s new golden boy. The son of a bitch confesses to Kersh more than I do to my priest. I’m just tagging along for the ride.”

He turned back to her. “What do you mean, ‘just tagging along?’”

She pressed her lips together. “I’m out of the Bureau. I’ve been censured and relieved of my position.”

“No.” His voice was nearly a whisper. “You can explain it to them like you explained it to me,” he said urgently “You have the data. You can make them understand. You can get your job back.”

She looked back up at him affectionately, appreciating his sympathy. But she felt no desire to continue at the Bureau without him. Or worse — with a fake him. 

“I’d kiss you if you weren’t so damn ugly,” she said, and meant it. By far one of the worst parts of this situation was that she wasn’t able to give him a proper goodbye. They’d known each other for years, but their relationship was still so new. Ever since it started, she’d been afraid of how it might end, but she’d never imagined it would be like this. Forced apart by some weird, random X-File. Not even a conspiracy, just completely random variables within a nearly impossible feat of science. She supposed it was some sort of poetic justice, maybe they even deserved it. Like so many other times before, a chance for happiness was being stolen away from her and there was nothing she could do about it.

Mulder smiled wistfully at her and nodded, looking like he wanted to kiss her anyway. They stared into each other's eyes the way they always did, and she wondered if he was thinking about the same things she was, but the moment was interrupted by Fletcher honking the horn.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer!” He called out, his head hanging out of the window.

“If I shoot him, is that murder or suicide?”

“Neither, if I do it first.” She squeezed his arm, then turned towards the car. 

“Hey, Scully.”

She turned back, and he held out a closed hand in offering. She held out her own, and he dropped some sunflower seeds into it before taking one back to put in his mouth. Yep, she thought, looking up at him. That’s Mulder.

She got in the car and watched him get in his. What kind of lives would they have now? She didn’t know what she would do when she got back home. She couldn’t even teach at the academy anymore. Maybe she would turn back to medicine, finally returning to what would have made her parents proud years ago.

She only knew two things for certain: she wouldn’t stop searching for a way to fix this, to bring Mulder back. And she wouldn’t stop investigating X-Files. What was his life’s work had become hers as well, and she could only hope that continuing to investigate them would help heal what was being broken at having to leave him like this. Maybe she would even find a solution to this problem buried in a random case.

And what about Mulder? She indulged in wondering what he would do with his life as she drove. He had a wife now. And kids. And a more regular job than theirs had been. That normalcy that she’d asked about, he was now forced to experience without her. No doubt he’d try to repair Fletcher’s marriage despite the fact that he wasn’t him and didn’t love his wife. That was just the kind of person Mulder was. He’d learn to like the kids, probably even grow attached to them. Despite his insistence on being a misfit and an outcast, he had a knack for dealing with others. When he tried.

He’d go to work, probably using it as a way to get the inside scoop on some X-Files. She knew he’d never stop investigating them, either. Maybe someday, by complete coincidence, they’d meet up again on the same case. They’d catch up, and it would be nice, except it wouldn’t be. Because it would still be Mulder, but it wouldn’t be him, not fully.

She wiped away a stray tear as Fletcher started talking, telling some story about the motel manager.

---

“Come on, Mulder, let’s go.” Scully tugged on his sleeve, shooting a glare at the man who had confronted him. She saw him light a cigarette as they drove away.

For some reason, the four-hour red-eye back to Washington felt like it was nearly the tenth one she’d made. She brushed it off, assuming it was just because they were always flying. Mulder — in the seat next to her — looked like he was trying and failing to sleep.

“Sorry your confidential source didn’t pan out,” she murmured, not wanting to wake anyone who was actually sleeping.

He turned to her with a smile, then took her hand. “Well, I guess you were right, Scully. Just another crackpot who watches too much Star Trek.”

They managed to get back in time to change clothes at her apartment and go to work, where the two yawned all day and barely got any actual work done. Luckily, their unauthorized trip to Nevada seemed to go unnoticed by Kersh. At one point, Scully opened her desk drawer and noticed what looked like two coins fused together. Where had that come from? She considered getting Mulder’s attention to show it to him, but decided she was too tired to hear a conspiracy ramble today. 

After work, they walked to her car (not having had time to drive him by his place to pick up his car before work). She yawned. “It’s Friday,” -which was strange. Wasn’t it just Monday? Maybe she was more tired than she thought- “are you staying at my place tonight? Or would you rather sleep alone?”

He yawned back. “I don’t know, Scully. After being treated to the comforts of your bed, it’s been getting harder and harder to fall asleep on my couch.”

“You should get your own bed, then,” she quipped, putting her car into gear.

“Then what would be my excuse for spending the night at your place?”

She snorted. “I can think of a few.”

They dropped by his place so he could grab some things, and she begrudgingly followed him up to his apartment, sleepily leaning against the wall next to his door as he unlocked it. His jaw dropped when he opened the door, then he checked his apartment number as if unable to believe he was at the right unit. 

“Mulder?” She straightened up. “What’s wrong?”

Wordless, he gestured into his apartment, and she turned to look. Her own jaw dropped at the sight of the spotlessly clean apartment with a few new tasteful decorations. They both stepped into it, mouths agape, and looked around.

“Mulder, did you...hire someone?” Her voice pitched up higher than usual due to her state of shock.

“No, I-” He stammered, then looked at her. “You aren’t joking with me, are you? Was this you?”

She shook her head, her eyebrows raised in innocence. “It looks nice,” she said, then turned to him with a cocked brow and a smirk. “But where will you put the white picket fence?”

He smiled and put an arm around her shoulder. “Oh, I was thinking right about here, in the middle of everything.”

She grinned at him, but he looked away, distracted. He’d noticed that his bedroom door was open and went over to it, peering inside. 

“Scully.”

“What?” She rushed over to look, following him into the room, but stopped short at the sight of a new bed. Standing proudly in the middle of his now-clean room. “Holy crap, Mulder. How- How did this get here?”

He shrugged. “Maybe it was a gift. Maybe someone overheard you badgering me to get one,” he joked, but she wasn’t paying attention to him.

“Mulder,” She muttered, leaning towards the bed and looking up. He followed her gaze and saw his own reflection looking back. Slowly, they both turned to look at each other with equal amounts of incredulity.

“Well,” He put his hands on his hips and sighed. “I guess...gift horse and all that.”

“Mulder, you’re not at all suspicious about how this happened?”

“Right now, all I care about is getting some sleep. And now I’ve got a bed.” He sat down on it and was startled by how much it moved. 

“A waterbed?” Scully’s eyebrows looked like they would just about shoot off her forehead.

He groaned and flopped back fully. “Just when I thought my back would get a break.”

[captain-mcdavid]

word count: 3.7k

smut: yes | no (phone sex? does that count?)

warnings: smut, swearing, the biggest cliff hanger yet (note: the other parts can be found on my masterlist)

[[MORE]]

The buzzer sounds on game two of round one and you blink in disbelief. They’re up two in the series now, when honestly you never even thought they’d win a game.

You glance over to your phone and you start to feel a little bit giddy. In about an hour your phone is gonna ring, and Josh’s name is gonna pop up, just like it has every night for the last while. It’s been two weeks since Seth’s party, and two weeks since you’ve seen his face in person and not on a screen. None of your issues have been resolved, only swept under the rug, and you think about them all the time, but as soon as you hear his voice you forget about everything.

It’s pathetic, honestly, the way you feel when you talk to him. God even just hearing his name gets your blood pumping faster.

At this point you’re pretty sure that there’s feelings from him too. He wouldn’t put nearly the amount of effort that he does in if he didn’t.

You just wish he would admit it to you, because there’s no way you’re bringing up that topic first. Josh’s second nature is to run away from feelings, and if you tell him before he tells you, chances are he’ll bolt. He needs to be the one to realize it, otherwise he’ll just feel trapped.

Tired of thinking, you turn on reruns of the office, dozing in and out of consciousness while you wait for Josh’s call.

Stirring in the entryway catches your attention, and you raise up on your arm to see Lindsay, frantically trying to tie a shoe while she digs in the closet for something.

“God damn, where is it?” She squeals, and then she stops dead in her tracks, turning with wide eyes to you she grins sheepishly, “Sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you,”

“It’s okay. I’m not going to bed yet.” You tell her, sitting up. “Where are you going?”

She slides a jacket on her shoulders, and fluffs her hair in the mirror, sweeping another coat of lip gloss onto her lips as she talks stiffly, “Emma’s boyfriends friend is having a party, I’m her plus one.”

“Have fun,” You say with a gentle smile. “Be safe, I love you.”

She blows you a kiss and opens her mouth to say something else when your phone rings on the coffee table, both your eyes go to it immediately and your first instinct is to answer, but you look up at Lindsay and see her reaction before doing so.

She looks disappointed, a crease appearing between her eyebrows.

“Wait, before you go can I talk to you?”

You silence the shrill ringing, and she shrugs.

“Depends, are you actually going to listen to me?”

“Linds.” You say, shoulders slumping.

“That’s him, right?”

You nod slowly and she rolls her eyes, raising her eyebrows as a sign to tell you to start talking.

“I really like him.” You say, and she’s jumping in right after.

“You’re gonna get played if you don’t do it fi-“

“I don’t think I will.” You interject, and she shuts her mouth, jaw clenching. “But, I have some worries, and I wanted to run them past you like a normal best friend, but I want your unbiased opinion.”

She avoids eye contact and you wait for a response. Your phone starts to ring again and Lindsay looks like she’s about to blow up, so you ignore it for the second time. “And I want to know if this does workout for us, that you’ll still support me...?” You end with a slight pitch change, voice cracking under the thought of her hating you if you go through with this.

She sighs dramatically when she hears you, stomping over to the couch to sit down. “Of course I’ll support you, you dumbass. I’m just worried about you,” She admits, and you try to jump in but she holds up a hand. “I’m terrified that he’s gonna hurt you and you’re gonna end up broken hearted. I know his reputation, and what happened with you guys before and I don’t want to see you like that again. I’m trying to guard your heart since you don’t seem to be.”

“Aw Lindsay!” You blush, wrapping an arm around her. “You’re the sweetest, and I appreciate that, but I feel different this time. I really think that we’re on the same page.”

“Okay...” She grunts. “Then I guess I can try and be a little more open to it.”

“Thank you-“

“Okay now what are these worries?” She says, pushing you to hurry up with a wave of her hand.

“Okay, okay!” You laugh, settling in to tell her about Seth’s party. “So, at Boone’s, when I went to get some space in one of the rooms upstairs, Josh came and found me, and he said that Seth told him he saw me, he asked how long I’d been there for. I told him I just got there, but then he let it slip the other night that he knew I was there before Seth told him. But he still let me lie, and I’m confused, why would he do that?” You ramble it all out in two short breaths, and Lindsay blinks back at you, standing from the couch.

“I’m sorry. You ask me to be supportive but when he does shady shit like that- I don’t trust him, but I guess if you do, ask. That’s the only way you’re gonna get answers.” She backs towards the door and you slump down.

“You don’t think I should just let it go?”

“Not with his track record.” She sings, opening the door. “Call his ass out. Bye!”

Just like that she’s gone, and you’re left with no more clarity that before.

It takes you about three seconds to decide that confronting him can wait until face to face, so this is gonna get swept for a few more days. You pick up your phone with a big grin, and press Josh’s contact, wandering to your room while it rings. You settle yourself in bed and then the line connects, and there’s loud music and laughing in the background. You furrow your eyebrows and then finally there’s a voice on the other end, but it’s not Josh’s.

“Hey, Y/N,” Boone drags out his greeting and you chuckle with a shake of your head.

“Hi, Boone.”

“If you’re calling to tell Josh to fuck off and stop phoning you, I can pass along the message,”

You can hear Josh’s distinct voice in the back, a bunch of curses flying out as you imagine him trying to wrestle Boone for his phone back.

“Thanks for the offer, but I think I’d like to tell him myself.” You reply.

“Okay, but don’t hold back,” He laughs, saying a quick goodbye that you hear distantly before a bunch of rustles and a door shutting.

“Hey,” Josh breathes and you smile brightly, “Sorry about that,”

“It’s okay,” You assure with a chuckle, clutching your blanket to your chest. “How are you?”

“I’m good,” He laughs, and finally the rustling in the back settles. “How about you?”

“I’m good too,” You say, “I’m really proud of you.” It’s not meant to sound as sentimental as it does, but he gets the point.

“Thanks baby,” His response makes your stomach flutter, and your cheeks actually start to hurt from smiling so much. “We’re pretty happy. Gonna take it back home now so hopefully we can get a few more wins.”

You sigh with a grin, shaking your head at how scripted he sounds when he talks about hockey. “Get pucks deep?” You tease, and he chuckles.

“You got it,” He replies, “Get pucks deep and keep it in their zone.”

Your laugh comes out like a school girls giggle and you hear Josh breath deeply on the other end, “I miss that laugh.” He admits and you go silent, biting your lip. “I just miss you.”

“I miss you too,” You whisper back.

“It’s been like two weeks.” He notes, and you blush, cause apparently you’re not the only one counting. “I’ve been thinking about you non stop,”

You’re about to respond again but he cuts in before you can start, “What are you wearing?”

You choke out a laugh at this and Josh stays silent on the other end. “Oh so it’s been those types of thoughts, hey? You miss me?”

“What are you wearing?” He asks again, and you shake your head.

“Just some shorts and a tank top, pajamas.” You tell him, and you can almost hear the smile on his face when he responds.

“The koala ones?”

You shuffle down uncomfortably on your bed, tugging at your fuzzy koala shorts. “Maybe.” You grumble, and he chuckles.

“I love those.” He notes, “Are you wearing underwear?”

There’s a very obvious smirk in the way he says it and you roll your eyes with a chuckle, “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“Bra?” He guesses again and you lean onto your side.

You hum and Josh grumbles, “Tell me.”

“You tell me first. What are you wearing?” You fire back, and he responds without missing a beat.

“A navy suit. My tie is undone though.”

“Underwear?” You inquire sarcastically.

He laughs and it’s like music to your ears. “Yeah I’m wearing underwear. Now your turn.”

Your smirk grows while you whisper the words, “No underwear, no bra.”

His breath hitches and then he groans, “Fuck I wish I was with you.”

You’ve never really done this before, anything risky over the phone, but the grit in his voice has you feeling just a little more confident than usual. “What would you do if you were?”

“You want me to tell you?” He asks, voice dropping an octave.

“Yeah.” You whisper, feeling a dull ache start to warm the space in between your legs. It’s very familiar at this point, something that’s been pretty frequent occurrence since he’s left.

“Where are you?” He asks, and you furrow your eyebrows at the topic change, but answer anyway.

“In bed.”

“Good.” He murmurs, “First, I’d take my tie, and I’d use it to tie your wrists to your headboard, cause then you wouldn’t move so damn much.” He laughs lightly towards the end but his words boast no joke, and they send shockwaves straight to your core. You almost moan from that alone, your thighs pressing together unconsciously, waiting for him to continue. “And then I’d take off your shorts, and kiss down your stomach, and your thighs,”

“Josh,” His name slips out like a warning, and he hums.

“What, baby?”

“I-“ You start, but you don’t know what to say, or why this is so awkward, but it is.

“Are you wet?” He breathes out, and you whine, nodding your head until you realize he can’t see you.

“Yeah,”

“Touch yourself.” He replies instantly, and you bite your lip, your hand pushing down the band of your shorts. You wiggle them off and spread your legs, running a finger up your slit to feel how wet you are. “Josh,” You mumble, finger tips dancing lightly over your clit. “I’m soaked,”

“Fuck baby,” He growls, “I’m so hard for you, fuck I wish I could touch you.”

His words make you whimper, the pad of your middle finger pressing against your clit to relieve some of the pressure.

“Finger yourself, make yourself feel good.”

You do what he says, slowly sinking a finger into yourself, you pump it in and out a few times before adding a second, whining when your palm presses against your clit.

“Josh,”

“I’m right here,” He rasps, sounding out of breath. If only that were true. The thought of him on the bed in his hotel room, pumping his cock while he listens to you, is literally making you dizzy.

“What are you-“ You start, but stop when he groans, sending shivers down your spine. “What are you thinking about?”

“Fuck, I’m thinking about your mouth. Wrapped around my cock. It’s all I’ve been thinking about since I saw you last,”

You smile a little, sighing when you rock down against your hand again. At least you’re not the only one dealing with separation hornyness.

“I’ve gotten off so many times thinking about you,” You admit, and he lets out another raspy moan, queuing a rock against your hand. “What are you doing?” You whisper, hoping he’s doing exactly what you’re imagining he is.

“Jerking off,” He replies, no shame. “I’m so close. Thinking about you,” He starts, his voice falling off at the end, “Spread out on your bed, so wet for me, trying to get yourself off, fuck it’s so hot.”

“I need more,” You whine.

“How many fingers are you using?”

“Two,” Your response comes out as more of a moan than a word and you hear Josh’s breath hitch.

“Add another.”

You do as told, slipping a third in, your hips bucking up instinctively. You grind harder onto your hand and moan boarder line pornographically.

“Fuck, Y/N. Keep moaning, I’m so close.”

You roll onto your side, pushing your fingers in as deep as they’ll go, rubbing yourself hard on the heel of your hand.

You chase the high, moans slipping out that fasten Josh’s breathing. “Keep going baby,” He coaches, “Get yourself off.”

His words and noises push you even closer, and you whine out his name while one last buck of your hips pushes you off the edge. You roll back over pulling your fingers while you grin, blissed out.

“Holy fuck,” He drags out the curse, his breathing slowing as you pant into the phone.

“Was it good?” He asks, and you let out a light laugh.

“It was okay.” You mumble, “No where near as good as you though. But I’ll see you tomorrow, that will have to tide me over until then.”

“Shit,” Josh grunts, and you furrow your brows. “I don’t know if I’ll actually be able to see you. Torts has us crazy dialled in. I don’t think he’s gonna let off the gas now,”

“What does that mean?” You ask, “When can I see you?”

“I don’t know... Maybe when the round is over? I’ve barely left the rink here, I don’t think it’ll be any different when we’re home.”

“Josh.” You deadpan, “That could be another week and a half.”

“I know, I know,” He soothes, “But it also could be only like, four days. And I’m gonna try my hardest to make sure that it’s only four days.”

You pout a lip out, and sigh loudly, hoping he gets the annoyed energy of it. “Sweep their asses.” You finally say, and Josh laughs.

“Okay.”

•••••

They did just that. And oh boy, was Josh was in for it. You can’t help the grin that spreads on your face when you look over the set again. A navy bra and belt with garters to match, the original underwear replaced with a pair of Columbus Blue Jackets panties.

You’re about to strip off and put it on when you hear the knock on the door. You practically sprint out, banging your fist on Lindsay’s door while you pass.

“Stay in your room Linds!” You warn, throwing your phone recklessly into the counter, flinging the door open before leaping into Josh’s arms. He doesn’t even stumble, catching you effortlessly while he walks further into the apartment, shutting the door with his foot.

You lean back in his arms, taking in his smiling face before you’re pressing your lips to his, kissing him hard.

He hums, setting you down on the kitchen counter. “I missed you so much,” He mumbles the words against your mouth and you smile into the kiss, wrapping your legs tighter around him.

He laughs, and pulls away, pushing you back by your hips. Holding you at arms length, he scans your body biting his lip while he presses his thumbs into the skin where the tops of your thighs meet your hips. “Fuck,” He whispers, and you pull at his forearms, trying to get him closer.

“Let me look at you,” He argues, pulling his arms from your reach. You whine but listen, hopping off the counter when Josh pulls the back of your leg towards the edge of the marble top.

You smile, turning with a chuckle while he manipulates your movements. You bend forward at the waist without command, knowing exactly what he wants from you. You wiggle your bum and Josh laughs, his hands grabbing at it right away.

When you stand up straight, you wind a hand around the back of his neck, humming when he hugs you.

He kisses your neck and you tilt your head more, welcoming his lips. “I think you got hotter.”

Instead of responding you just turn in his arms, desperate to feel his lips on yours. He lets you for a minute, and then he pushes down on your hips, and you fall back onto flat feet. “Easy,” He chastises, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

You glare at him and he chuckles, leaning down to kiss your forehead. With a little groan you tug on the ends of his coat, pouting a lip at him. “I can’t help it, I missed you.”

“I missed you too, but I’m expected at a party like right now,”

You blink up at him with a sultry smile and he smirks while you bat your lashes. “I can be fast,” It comes out as a whisper while you lean forward to brush your lips against his neck.

He hums and you smile again, hoping that he’ll give in.

You watch him intently while you run your hands down his back, slipping your fingers underneath his shirt. His skin is warm against your finger tips and all you want is to feel that warmth all over you, but he’s pulling away, making your hopeful grin fade to a deep frown.

“Come with me,” He says suddenly, and you laugh, shaking your head.

“I’m not ready,” You give a valid excuse, but Josh just rolls his eyes, so you jump in again before he can argue. “And it should be just you and the boys. I just want you for like 20 minutes before they get you for the whole night.”

He makes a conflicted face, refusing to make eye contact or even look at you. It’s amusing, how crossed he is. The effect you have on him is definitely a confidence booster.

“Josh,” You whine his name like a toddler and he chuckles, kissing your hand as he distances himself from you. “Please? I need you,” The last words slip out and Josh swears under his breath, his eyes scanning you up and down before he crosses back in one quick stride, pulling you into him until you’re bent underneath him, clinging onto his biceps while he kisses you hard.

“You can’t say shit like that,” He grumbles, his hand sliding down to rest on your butt. “I really have to go-“ He pauses to boost you back onto the counter and you wrap your legs around him, keeping him as close as possible. “And you begging for it like this makes it really fucking hard,”

Biting your lip you push your hips against him, which triggers a deep growl, his fingers grabbing the skin on your thighs tighter.

“We’ll be quick,” You insist, taking one of his thick wrists in your hand. He eyes you warily as you guide his hand over, his fingers fan over the waist band of your panties and you let out a breath. He moves a little bit himself now, his hand slipping into your panties, he holds eye contact while his middle finger slides through your folds. His mouth drops open slightly when he feels how wet you are, and you bite your lip. “See how much I missed you?”

“Fuck,” He murmurs, pressing the pad of his finger to your clit. You suck in a breath, jerking towards him. “Jesus, you’re persuasive,” He grumbles, pressing his lips to yours. “Fifteen minutes.” He murmurs against you, and you smirk proudly, pushing his hands off you to grab your phone beside you. “But before we go any further, I have a present for you, for playing so well.”

Josh furrows his brows and you unlock your phone, finding the picture of the underwear to show him before you hop off the counter, winking at him before starting down the hall.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” You hear Josh’s laugh behind you, grinning while you shut your door behind you.

You strip as quickly as you can, the bra and underwear going on easily, while you stare at the intimidating garments still on the bed.

You’re trying to get the stockings on as fast as possible, but you’re so excited you’re stumbling over your own feet. You hook the garter onto the lace of the stockings, and then throw your robe on, trying not to giggle all the way down the hall.

You toe back into the kitchen, but the whole demeanour has shifted, Josh has your phone in his hand, his shoulders are tense, his jaw clenched.

You slow, and play with the ribbon of your robe, carefully taking another step towards him. He’s looking at the phone like he wants to smash it on the ground, and you don’t know what’s happening, but you know it’s not good. “Is everything okay?” You whisper, scared for his answer.

He laughs harshly, and shakes his head, “I’m so fucking stupid,” He says, putting your phone back on the counter. All you can see is that it’s opened to a text conversation, someone has sent you a link and a message with too many emojis.

Your brain goes off on tangents and you’re truly terrified for what the message says, but you’re even more terrified of Josh’s reaction. When you look up again he’s half way out the door and your first instinct is to chase him, your body lurching forward as his name leaves your mouth in a strangled cry. He slams the door behind him and you’re so dumbfounded by what’s just happened that it takes you a minute to turn around and pick up your phone.

It’s a text message from Lindsay, with a link to the new episode of call her daddy.

“Professional Athletes” is the title, but the paragraph after is the kicker.

Just listened to this, hilarious. It’s got a lot of good ideas for Josh. Are you sure you don’t wanna keep fucking with him? This would be so funny, especially since he’s so invested. 😂😂😂😂😂