#(to be continued on Tuesday! I mean maybe I’ll pop on for some asks tomorrow but certainly no threads) | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

palbabor-writes · 3 years

Text

Latibule pt. ii

Pairing: Sakusa Kiyoomi x Fem!Reader

Warnings: mentions of anxiety, kinda heavy petting? we still going slow up in this ride, adult language, eventual SMUT, oh & Kiyoomi being a blunt asshole

Words: 12,880

His usual spot at the cafe is taken, and he’s already decided to keep walking on, but somehow, somehow, he manages to catch your eye.

His feet are slowing, a stuttering breath stagnating in his lungs, all at once hopeful and bewildered, but before he can examine his fluttering emotions, you’re alongside him on the noisy sidewalk, passing him his usual evening drink, a pleased smile on your soft lips.

Suddenly, the world smells like velvety pine and heady bergamot, and he can’t stop staring down at you.

Notes: me: try to keep it at 7,000 words, also me: what’s a word count?

i owe my life to @wickedfaerytale & @albinoburrito for their edits and suggestions on this monster. i love you both & appreciate you to the moon and back.

Latibule

pt. ii: Four Set

a high set to the strong side/outside hitter

[ pt. i: an opening ] ||

[ You: 4:35pm ]

Hey! It’s me– from the coffee shop. Wanted to see if you were busy this evening? Maybe we can meet up when I get off?

[ Sakusa: 5:02pm ]

I know. Sure.

[ You: 6:21pm ]

Great! I’m off at 9:30. Want to meet at the shop?

[ Sakusa: 7:10pm ]

Read at 7:10pm

“Is he coming?” Kane asks, following you out of the coffee shop and pausing under the shallow awning, twisting his head, watching your back as you turn the key in the door. You tug against the handle, testing the hold, your hands heavy against the cool metal.

“I don’t know,” you sigh, eyes peering into the darkened depths of the cafe lobby. “It says he read the last text, but he didn’t respond. He’s likely busy. I have no idea how long they practice; he’s a professional athlete, and after seeing that game...well, I can only imagine how intense his training schedule is. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone move like that before it was so fluid, like watching quicksilver.”

“Eh? Quicksilver? What is this, a poetry slam? Who describes people like that? Still, I bet he does, like, 20,000 sit-ups a day. You can tell, even under that baggy jacket, that he’s crazy fit,” Kane ruminates, leaning against one of the stacked sets of metal chairs. “Damn. It’s kinda crazy to think about, you know? You and a hot pro athlete going out on a date.”

You huff out a laugh and give him a playful scowl. “Ugh, shut up, you’re so rude, Kane. And I wouldn’t say it’s a ‘date.’ We just exchanged numbers. That’s all.”

“Oh? I’m sorry. You’re totally right. All those googly eyes must have happened with someone else. Definitely not you and that six-foot monster of a man. I mean, usually the guy just sits at his seat and ignores us, watching those videos on his computer and taking his notes, or he gets his coffee and is on his way, but today he was practically sitting on the hand off plane, and staring at you.

Don’t gimme that face! You know I’m right. And–awe, look at you! So bashful! Oooh, you like him, don’t you? That’s so cute! Come on (Y/N), that’s so––ow!”

“Didn’t you say you had a paper to write?” you grumble, shoving your knuckles against his shoulder again. “There was so much whining from you tonight. Way worse than usual. So many, ‘hurry up, (Y/N)! I need to get home. What if this makes me bomb my paper! What if I fail the class because of this?’ What happened to all that? Huh? Suddenly you’ve got time to suss’ me out on the sidewalk?”

“Yow! So touchy! And this is totally workplace harassment, ya’ know! Jeez, that’s a mean right hook you’ve got. You didn’t even warn me! Eee, I’m gonna be bruised tomorrow!”

“Oh, shut up. You completely deserved that. Now go away and go finish your paper, you soon to be fail––”

“You said 9:30, right?”

The sound of Sakusa’s low voice startles you and you spring away from Kane, head whipping around and eyes wide. He’s standing a few feet behind the two of you, his shoulders curved into their usual hunch, eyes dark behind his fringe of curls. Under his golden jacket, a crisp white shirt is stretched across his broad chest, the bottom tucked carefully into the front of his jeans, and his MSBY bag is hanging against his back. His onyx hair looks heavy and you can see some lingering moisture, no doubt from a recent shower, glistening against the raven waves.

“Hey!” you call, unable to bite back the elated grin that’s suddenly curving the edges of your lips. Kane is right about one thing, you think, stepping closer to Sakusa’s stiff form. This is kinda surreal. “We just finished closing up. Uh, this is Kane,” you wince, gesturing to the smirking face of your coworker.

Shit. Stop it. You sound like an idiot. He knows who Kane is. You’ve seen them talking at the register before, but the rambling introduction keeps tumbling out of you. “He works here. He’s usually at the register, he’s learning, um, the bar and–uh. I don’t know why I’m telling you this, you’ve seen him before, uh, probably...definitely...ha, but, er–”

“And that’s my cue,” Kane chuckles, shaking his head at your janky attempts to introduce him properly to a man that he’s known, in passing, for over a year. “Nice seeing you Sakusa-sama,” he bows, tossing you a cheeky wink from his polite curve, “you guys have fun.” And with that, he’s gone, leaving you and the impassive Sakusa alone on the empty street.

A hushed quiet falls over the two of you as you adjust the straps of your purse, eyes lowered. Stop freaking out, you chide yourself, taking a deep inhale of air into your lungs, fingers padding aimlessly over the leather slings of your bag. Just talk with him. It’s always easier when you ask the questions first, since he’s not much of a talker. So ask him about something he can answer.

Volleyball. Yeah, ask him about that. It’s not exactly a groundbreaking conversation starter, but it will work.

Strategy set, confidence mounting, you open your mouth.

“So, how did your practice–” “How was your day–”

He speaks when you do, and the two of you clatter directly into each other, words smattering into nothingness as you both fumble into an uneasy silence again.

Hopeless, you’re both hopeless. It’s kinda funny, in a horrifically awkward way.

“Uh,” you grin, eyes finally lifting to his. “You first?”

The gentle thud of his heart echoes against his ears and his breath is hot under the cover of his mask. You’re so close. If he wanted to, he could reach out and touch you, could drop his hand from his pocket and let it slip into yours again. That thought makes his palms feel itchy, and he scrapes his nails down the skin, easing the ache.

Not yet.

He watches you as you shake your head, a glowing smile breaking across your lips. You’re not just pretty, he thinks, unconsciously drifting closer, you’re captivating. It’s like you’re some kinda homing beacon.

He’s a cautious guy, always has been. But something about you makes him want to blindly reach, to be nearer to you.

“Practice was fine. Where did you want to go?” he murmurs, fingers lifting, tugging his mask down his face.

He wants to kiss you.

It’s been on his mind all day, through the training, through the practice games, hovering over him, shrouding him with the foggy remembrance of the pressure of your lips. He’d fucked your first one up and he wants to try again, to do better. But it’s different when you’re expecting it, when he can see your gaze following the downward pull of his hand, your eyes hooded and watchful as he reveals the lower portion of his face to you. When you bite your lip into your mouth, teeth pressing before slowly letting the plump flesh spring free again, he nearly groans aloud.

He wonders if you’ll let him do it, let him kiss you, and that thought makes him feel lightheaded. You’re so close––No, he gulps, jaw clenching and shoulders straightening, his back arching upward and right foot jerking a step, pulling away from your tempting openness. It’s too much, it’s too soon.

Just wait, he reminds himself, be patient. Not now, not yet.

You notice his shift and look up at him curiously, popping your weight onto your other leg, one hand braced against your hip, but you still smile up at him, acknowledging his unspoken cues for distance. “Well, I was going to see if you wanted to get a drink.”

“I don’t like bars,” he blurts.

Your eyes widen and you suck a sharp breath into your lungs, lips falling into a half-formed ‘oh.’

No. He didn’t mean it like––Damn it.

Kiyoomi flinches, nose wrinkling and mouth pulling into a thin line. He’s not good at this.

“Mm, well, this is less of a bar and more like a gastropub. It’s small, laid-back. Plus, it’s a Tuesday night, they’re gonna be slow, and if they’re not, we can leave and try something else...”

“It’s fine,” he rectifies sharply. Again, he sounds too harsh. “I don’t care about any of that. If it’s slow or not. If you want to go, we’ll go. I didn’t...I didn’t mean to be rude.”

“Don’t worry about it. Besides, I didn’t think it was rude.”

Kiyoomi jerks his chin up, his mouth pressing into a pursed frown, peering skeptically at you, eyes narrowed. You let out a laughed exhale and tilt your head, quickly shrugging your shoulders, attempting to mollify his mistrustful stare. “I mean it!” you insist, waving your hand. “I’ll take someone who’s blunt any day of the week. It’s exhausting trying to read people who are good at hiding behind smiles, or false facades. You always know where you stand when someone is straightforward. Seriously,” you continue, grinning up at his abashed expression, “it doesn’t bother me. Be yourself. Besides, I like it. It kinda makes me jealous…”

“Jealous?” Kiyoomi echoes, watching you step past him and down the darkened street. His heart is beating out that uneven tattoo again, and it feels like he can’t catch his breath. What do you mean, ‘you like his bluntness’? No one’s ever told him that. No one’s ever told him to ‘be himself’ either. And, as if that wasn’t enough for him to chew on, now you’re casually saying that you’re jealous of his unapologetic retorts. It doesn’t make any sense.

“Sure,” you nod, slowing your footfalls, letting him catch up with you as you stride down the sidewalk. “I always lean on the polite side of things, likely because I’ve spent too many years in customer service, haha. So it’s refreshing to hear someone just speak their mind. Besides, you don’t strike me as someone who’s careless with what they say to others; you’re candid, but careful, you just don’t mince your words. Nothing wrong with that. Anyway, I’m babbling, again. Looks like you kinda have that effect on me, huh?”

His lips quirk at your admission and he steps a little closer, the fabric of his jacket wicking across your clothed arm as he matches your pace. “Is it far?” he asks after a time, watching as the lights of the main street twinkle between the lumbering edges of the buildings.

“Not much farther. But you might wanna put your mask up, we’ll go past the cross street and that area is always a little busy this time of night.”

[ Damn. That’s––The fact that that thought would even cross your mind–– ]

His hand is out of his pocket before he can blink, seeking the soft warmth of your curled fingers, cupping over your knuckles as he heeds your advice with his other, tugging his mask up and pinching it securely over the bridge of his nose. He can feel your eyes on him, but he doesn’t pause, doesn’t look down. He likely should have asked. After all, he doesn’t know you that well. But you ease your digits against his, your thumb curling over the joint of his ring finger, and his lips twitch into a smile.

You greet the girl behind the hostess stand with a hug and a few other members of the staff walk up to the table that you select, big grins and booming voices calling out jovial ‘hello’s’ and ‘good to see you’s’.

“You come here a lot?” Kiyoomi inquires, slouching against the cushions of the booth, obsidian eyes peering around the space. The table is off to the side, tucked away from the hustle and bustle of the main dining area and bar, and is half covered by a glass wall that provides the two of you with an extra buffer of privacy. It’s an ideal spot, and he’s inwardly grateful that you’d chosen it.

“I used to work here,” you answer, lifting your purse onto your lap before fishing around for something within the depths of the leather. “I–ah! Here it is. I always lose stuff in here, it’s like a black hole, no matter how many times I organize it, it goes right back to being a mess. Price you pay when you have a big bag, I guess.” You lift a small bottle of hand sanitizer out and dollop some onto your palm. He blinks, following the rapid motions of your hands as you clean them off with the solution. That’s...nice. Nice feels like a strange word for this observation, but it’s true. You spy his gwaping expression and hold the bottle out, nodding your head at his coiled fingers. “Want some?”

“Thanks,” he rumbles, mimicking your motions as he eases the cold sanitizer against his chapped hands. “So you worked here?”

“Yeah! I did this and the coffee shop for a while. I was behind the bar, mostly. It was a good job, but when things picked up with my degree plan, I had to drop it.”

“Ah,” Kiyoomi hums, pulling his mask off and tucking it carefully into the pocket of his jacket. “That’s why you knew it wouldn’t be busy.”

“Yup! Tuesdays and Wednesdays are always slow. This is likely the busiest it will get. They have food here too, if you’re hungry. Got some good sushi and the agedashi tofu is one of the best in the city.”

“I already ate.” [ Shit. ]

“Ohh-kay. Well, I’m probably going to get something. They’ve got non-alcoholic drinks as well. Should be at the bottom of the menu.”

“I said I don’t like bars, not that I don’t drink.” [ Fuck. ]

“Fair enough,” you shrug, cocking your head at his clenched jaw and averted eyes. “You see anything you want?”

“Sorry,” Kiyoomi sighs, lifting the paper menu and scanning the side that lists the specials.

“I told you,” your voice is soft, and he glances up at you, glad to see that you’re still smiling happily at him, “I don’t mind. Tell you what, if you go too far I’ll let you know, sound good?” You stretch your hand toward him, bunching your fingers, except for your pinky, which is waiting, outstretched, and reaching toward him.

“What?” he asks, chin dipping and heavy brows furrowing as he eyes your hand suspiciously.

“Whaddya’ mean, ‘what?’ It’s a pinky promise. You’ve never done this before?”

“I’ve never done this before,” he deadpans, blinking slowly.

You guffaw and the burst of joyous sound makes him snicker too, his shoulders easing from that all too familiar hunch, his head ducking, the faint stain of a blush seeping over his cheeks. It’s just a laugh, he reasons, annoyed by his flushed skin and twitching fingers. Why is he getting worked up? He takes a second to refocus, but when he does, you’re still waiting for him, your pinky wiggling, blithely enticing him.

“It’s easy,” you promise. “You just hook your smallest finger with mine and we shake once on it and boom, that’s an unbreakable promise. And, well, if it kills you then I guess you’ll go down in a book of world records or something.”

Kiyoomi scoffs at your jab and lifts his arm onto the table, holding his pinky out, waiting for you to make the last move, rolling his eyes at your dramatically slow approach.

Your touch is gentle, finger ghosting over the middle joint of his pinky, curling slowly, teasingly, before it wraps around the width of his digit. Then you give him a quick squeeze, swiftly bobbing your joined fingers in a mock shake. It’s over in an instant, but you maintain the touch, gradually untwining your crooked digits. “Your fingers are long,” you observe, eyes catching his before traveling back to that lingering connection, distractedly easing your fingertip down the line of his hand and pausing against the base of his wrist.

It feels like his entire arm is electrified and a fine shiver of goose flesh breaks across his warm skin. His mouth is open, lips parted as he sucks in a shallow drag of air and he can’t stop staring, wholly enraptured by your flirtatious strokes. When your eyes rake upwards to playfully find his, that pleased smile soft against your lips, he thinks he might just lurch forward and grab you.

“There,” you beam before pulling away. “Now that that’s done, what are you gonna’ order?”

He lets you place your drink order first, saying he needs to keep looking, that it has been a while since he’s had a drink, and he’s never been all that sure of his preferences, anyway.

It’s an unexpected admission.

If there’s one thing that you’ve been relatively sure of, it’s that Sakusa is a man who doesn’t hesitate. In the two years that you’ve known him, granted from the other side of the counter of a coffee shop, he’s always known what he wants and is confident in his selections. He can rattle them off by rote, by flavor, by taste, by temperature, so seeing him this off balance, a little frazzled and out of his depth, is a bit of a surprise.

He’s not fidgety, his hands are resting placidly in his lap, feet evenly placed on the floor, but you can tell there’s an underlying thrum of agitation behind all those half ducked glances he keeps giving you, his obsidian eyes sharp, gleaming like flints each time they linger against you. He’d laughed once, before you’d squeezed his pinky with yours, and then promptly fallen back into that sullen silence, answering your questions with one word quips or hushed murmurs.

It made you feel guilty.

He said he hated bars, so maybe you should have taken that admission a little more seriously. But out of all the places the two of you could go, this late at night in downtown Osaka, you’d figured that this was likely the quietest, the one where he’d feel the most comfortable.

“So you’ve played with them for two years?” you ask, giving your server a quick thanks as they sit your drink down. “That’s impressive. But you said you went to school for four? That’s different. I bet most players skip college and go right for the pros, so why didn’t you do that?”

“Volleyball isn’t everything,” he answers, tone clipped, matter of fact, as he watches you take a sip of your drink, waiting for the clink of the ice and the gentle clatter of the glass as you set it back down on the table before he continues. “I’m not invincible. Someday I won’t be able to play. And it makes sense to have a backup, something that I can do later.”

You pop your chin into your upturned palm, lips resting against your curled fingers. “True. You’re very thorough, you know?”

Sakusa’s forehead creases, and those two perfectly stacked moles lower over his right eyebrow. “I like to do things properly, that’s all. It just feels right. To take things one step at a time. I do that with everything. I guess most see it as something repetitive, or monotonous, all those basic tasks that you do day in, day out, but I like it. And if you think of them as mindful tasks, rather than mindless, then you can get to that point where those little things become pleasure, instead of drudgery. I know that I’m not guaranteed anything, but, if I’m lucky, I’ll be able to go out, to leave volleyball, satisfied. Knowing I did my best.”

It sounds stupid to his ears, pompous, and as soon as he finishes his preamble, he lets out an inaudible sigh, teeth worrying against the soft flesh of the inside of his mouth. Damn it. Why did he say all that? What’s the point? You’d only asked him about college and here he is, rattling off his ideologies and distant thoughts. Why did he–

“That’s...that’s a cool way of looking at it.”

His jaw is gritted, his face covered by a sheen of impassive blankness. But he looks up when you say that. He wants to see you, even if it’s only to take in your bewildered amusement. But you’re not giving him some piteous smirk, no, you’re looking at him like he’s helped you solve a long awaited puzzle, and your face is filled with the softest, haziest glimmer of ardent happiness that he’s ever seen. Your smile broadens, and he looks away, fingers feeling blindly for the pulse in his lowered wrist.

His heart’s pounding.

How do you do that? Then, as he tries to steady his shaking breaths, you lean back, lifting your glass to your parted lips to take a quick sip, a distant look in your eyes.

“You know, I’ve never really thought about it that way, but you’re right. I always have so much trouble explaining that mindset to new hires. Like, how do you tell them that, yeah, while this seems like a stupid thing we have you do, to keep busy during the slow period of the day, it matters in the long run. Take our cleaning routines, if you don’t clean something, and clean it diligently, then the gunk and grime builds up, and it’s harder to get out later. Things harden, become set in their ways, and I guess the same thing can happen to the pros too. It seems like most don’t go to school. They just slip right into the sport–after all, if you’re good enough to make it onto a division ranked team right out of high school, then there you go, that’s your end goal, right?

But I like that you took the little steps, the ones that people ignore, or try to bypass. It’s another sort of preparedness, really. Others may not see it that way, might think of it as wasted time, but you did what felt right for you and I know it’ll pay off. It’s–oh! Sorry! I’m babbling again! Ha, God, I’m gonna stop, okay?”

“You don’t have to,” Kiyoomi utters, arms lifting from his lap, pressing against the smooth wood of the table, ignoring the racing of his heart. “I liked it. I’m glad that you...I liked it. Keep talking. I like hearing you talk. And, uh, can I try your drink? I know nothing about gin, or whiskey, or whatever that is. I usually just stick to beer and sake.”

You bite your lip, a soft chuckle falling between the two of you, and press two fingers bashfully against your nose, covering your giddy smile and pushing your drink forward, toward his open palms. “It’s kinda nice to know that I’m not the only one who’s flustered. Hmm, but here. If you don’t drink much, then you may not have had this before. Sorry if it’s strong. Also, I go for brown liquor, so it’s got rye for the base.”

“Rye’s a whiskey, right?” he asks, pushing the tiny black straw aside and taking a careful swig from the rim of the glass. It’s got a smooth flavor, almost like the caramel notes of his doppio con panna, but without that cloying sweetness that sometimes sits against the back of his tongue when he’s finished. Instead of the hum of sugar, there is only a shiver of bitterness and then the quick bite of the alcohol is gone, passing over his teeth and down his throat in a single gulp.

It’s good.

Better than he expected. And he passes the glass back, his fingers holding against the cool surface, waiting for yours. “I’ll get that,” he tells you, an impish smirk lifting his lips. “It’s perfect.”

After that-and a second round of drinks-the night went a little smoother. He did his best to not lapse into unsociable silences and you did just as he’d asked of you and kept talking.

You traded the basics, where you were born, talked about your family, your education, degrees, pets, and, slowly, the uncertainty simply faded away.

You were easy to talk with, impossibly so; always ready with another question, a congenial quip, or an antidote about your own life. Soon he was regaling you about his cousin, Motoya, the latest antics of his teammates, his hopes for the upcoming season, for the 2021 Olympics, for anything that he could think of, anything to keep you in that seat, to keep you chatting with him for just a little longer.

[ It’s late, but that doesn’t matter. Keep talking, ask her something else. ]

Is it supposed to feel like this?

He’s never really had a relationship; not when he was in high school or college, and any of his half-formed attractions always fizzled out before they ever really started. He was too busy, too one track minded to notice, [ to care ] to find the time [ to make the time. ]

It’s certainly not love, [ Tch. Love at first sight, who believes in stuff like that anyway, this isn’t some movie, plus he’s known you for years, so it’s not first sight either ] not yet, but there’s another feeling that’s laced within this humming excitement that keeps bubbling to the surface, that has him hanging onto every word that passes from your lips.

It’s want.

He wants more, greedily so, and he hasn’t experienced that feeling, outside of volleyball, in a long time.

“I’m not too far from here. I’ll just hop on the train and then be back in my district. Easy-peasy.”

Sakusa nods at your jovial reassurances, hoisting his track bag higher against his shoulder, following you toward the lights of the street. It’s late, later than he’s used to, and his eyes feel heavy. The lull of the alcohol isn’t helping either, so he shuffles closer, bumping unevenly against you every few steps. You twist your head toward him, a faint smile on your lips, eyeing his lumbering form skeptically. “Sure I don’t need to walk you to your station, Sakusa? You look dead on your feet. Sorry I kept you out so late.”

“You didn’t,” he sighs, his words rasping past a yawn. “I wanted to stay. I’ll regret it tomorrow. For now, I’m fine.”

“Pfft, okay, well, I’ll look forward to receiving your annoyed text about me keeping you out past your bedtime in the morning then.”

Huh? Text? You want him to text you in the morning? Can he do that? Be the first person you think of when your notification lights up your dark screen, the first one that you reply to. Shit. What–what does that mean?

Sakusa slows, his hand reaching for you.

He misses your arm and snags your purse instead, jerking the straps, and by association you, a little harder than he intended. [ Damn it. His coordination’s off. ] You stumble backwards, shoulders bracing against his broad chest, and you blink up at him. You lift your face, looking at him curiously. He’s already peering down, and the glow of the distant street-lamps makes the onyx of his irises morph from jet to a rich blue. For a long breath both of you simply stare, content to watch the other, waiting for some kind of advancement in this stalemate.

You cave first. “Um, you alright?”

“What are we?” he asks pointedly, large palms running up the sides of your arms, his head tilting, dropping raven curls over his brow.

“Friends?” you reply, but it feels more like a question than an answer and you let the word hang, unsure what else you can say, what else he wants to hear. You feel a bated breath leave his lungs. It dips you back as his chest falls, slipping you minutely closer even as his hands droop limply from the curve of your shoulders. His eyes shift from yours and his lips fade into a thin line as he steps away, letting you slip from his grasp. The air between you changes, hardening back into that early uncertainty, and by the time you turn to face him fully, his hands are re-tucked into his pockets and his slouch has returned.

“What’s wrong?”

You know, but you don’t want to assume. You’d warned him after all; you’re not good at being blunt.

He gives you a frank stare, dark brows creasing, furrowing his expression. “Friends means I can’t kiss you.”

For a moment you can’t feel your heart. You know it’s beating, still diligently pumping blood through your body, but as that declaration leaves his lips it’s like your entire world has narrowed. He wants to...how can he just say that? Just blurt out whatever comes into his head and not care what happens after. Where do you find confidence like that?

You flash your gaze upward and he’s still looking at you, his unmasked face open as he stares, dark eyes watchful, half veiled behind his lashes.

He waits. He’s good at that, you think, feeling a smile creep across your face as your tongue passes over the swell of your lower lip. He instantly tracks the movement and takes a shallow step forward. You can hear his fingers coiling and uncoiling inside of the slick lining of his pockets, but that simple, near silent admission of his nervousness makes up your mind.

“Well,” you begin, eyes lowering, easing closer, pressing until you can almost feel the heat of him against you. Your hands lift tentatively, passing over the flat, honed planes of his chest until they come to rest against the top of his stomach. His nostrils flare at the tempered stroke but the rest of him remains stock still, wholly rooted to the spot, listening, observing, a glimmer of distant hope cresting against the back of his mind.

[ Yes. Keep going. Don’t stop. ]

Then, those final, all important words are leaving you, cast into the air.

“I wouldn’t say that.”

Before you can look up at him, his hands are hovering beside your ears, the ghost of his touch urging you upward as he lowers himself over you.

His lips meet yours with a gentle tap and you can feel his unsteady exhale pass over your mouth as he allows himself to linger against you. It’s more like a press than a proper kiss, but you indulge him, gripping your impatient hands against the thin material of his jacket, giving him time to adjust. He’s featherlight, his lips scratchy, but the lubrication that your swiped tongue has left behind eases the touch and he gasps when you lift to meet him, your lips gliding over his.

Then he’s wavering; like he can’t decide.

He shifts away, only to return moments later, lips never fully leaving yours, caressing until you’re doggedly chasing after him, a poorly concealed groan slipping from your throat. He hums appreciatively at your enthusiasm and steps impossibly closer, his fingertips tapping under your jaw and down your neck.

On one of his shuddering pulls you slip your tongue over his lips, tracing the seam, wordlessly asking for him to deepen the kiss. The sound he makes in return is garbled, caught against his throat and lost in the shuffle of his hands, his breath, his want.

His arms are like steel cables as they twine around your waist, holding you to him as he finally opens, his teeth clattering against yours in his rush. You smile against his eagerness and pop onto the tips of your toes, hands releasing his jacket, sliding up his face before you let your fingers coil into his obsidian curls, your teeth nipping against his dampened lip. He lets out another hushed gasp, the flat of his palm warm against your shoulder blades as he urges you upward.

“You’re — mmm, you’re too tall, Sakusa,” you complain, finally easing away from his greedy kisses, and grinning when he follows.

“Kiyoomi,” he insists, hands cupping, thumbs tracing the edge of your jaw, dropping another kiss against your upturned lips. “Call me that. I want to hear it.”

You laugh and he huffs impatiently against you, brows folding into that deep crease. “Not joking,” he grumbles, lips and breath hot against yours, “I want to hear you say it.”

When you manage, at long last, to pull away from him again, your eyes bright, lips kiss shined and swollen, he knows this image of you will be etched into his mind for weeks to come. It’s perfect [ you’re perfect ] and all he can think about is that he wants so much more.

“Kiyoomi,” you call, head canted at his staggered expression, eyes glittering with fond amusement. “You’re kinda bossy, aren’t you?”

He scowls at your question and tugs you back, kissing you until your laugh fades away and his name comes a little easier.

[ You: 9:18am ]

You sure you want to go there? I don’t care if we do something else instead, your call.

[ Kiyoomi: 10:54am ]

Got the tickets. See you after your shift.

“Bringing your phone onto the court–ballsy move Omi,” Atsumu leers, dropping his bag beside Kiyoomi’s, a troublesome smirk on his face.

“Shut up,” Kiyoomi snaps, darkening the screen with a click and placing the device beside his trainers. “At least I know how to keep it hidden. And you’re the reason we’re banned from bringing them out here at all. You and your stupid snapchat stories.”

“Omi! Ya’ big jerk! Be quiet, ya’ know yer’ not supposed to mention that app where the coaches can–”

“Miya!” a booming voice calls from across the gym, “You better not be doing what I think you’re doing! If I catch you on that phone, you can expect to do a hundred serves at the end of this practice match! Got it?”

Kiyoomi scoffs, a lackadaisical grin ghosting over his lips as he neatly dodges Atsumu’s elbowed jab. “See? I’m not the problem here.”

“Such a jackass. It’s a miracle (Y/N) is even giving you the time of day.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Kiyoomi bristles, heavy brows creasing.

“Means I don’t know what she sees in ya,’ you big dummy. Where you taking her this week?”

“Why do you care?”

“Damn it. Why do I bother? I mean really, am I some kinda masochistic or something? Yer’ terrible to talk with, but here I am, attempting some harmless small-talk. Cut a guy some slack, would ya’?”

“What are you talking about?” Kiyoomi stares, onyx eyes narrowing at Atusmu’s haggard expression.

“You! I’m just trying to have a conversation, you know, checking in, seeing how yer’ doing. Making sure you haven’t screwed things up yet. Ya’ know, being polite!” Atsumu glowers, golden hair falling over one umber eye as he flashes Kiyoomi a fixed glare.

“What would I screw up?”

Atsumu lets out a heavy sigh and shakes his head. “Tell you what, ask me that question again when you do, how’s that sound?”

“Miya–”

“Bringing your phone to practice, coming in late, or right before things kick off, yeah, you got it bad, don’t cha’? You better watch yer’self Omi.”

“The hell you talking about?” Kiyoomi sneers, chin lowering, steeling himself for one of Atsumu’s long-winded tangents.

“God, yer’ so dense, especially with shit that’s not volleyball. Come on, Omi, use your head. The coaches, the managers, they’re all gonna try and make you pick. That’s what they do. She’s a nice girl, and I’d hate to see her get caught up in all of that bullshit. Stop gaping at me like that! Like I’m not making any sense! I’m trying to look out for ya’! Not that you deserve it, being such a prickly asshole, and all...”

Kiyoomi sighs, lips pursing into a sharp point, his shoulders slumping forward, arms hanging limply against his sides. Fine, he’ll engage. Whatever. If it’ll get Atsumu to explain whatever the hell he’s talking about before the practice match, he reasons, then it’ll be worth it. “We’re going to the museum in Tennoji Park.”

Atsumu stares. “Damn. You agreed to go to a public park? In the daytime? That’s real big, if true.”

“I’ll serve every ball directly at the back of your head, don’t think I won’t.”

“Alright, alright,” the setter laughs, propping his hands against his hips. “Shocked yer’ not just staying close to that one restaurant. You seem like a, ‘this is what I like and I’m sticking to it’ kinda guy. Not one to branch out. You know, boring.”

“How do you know about the restaurant?”

“She told me about it?”

Kiyoomi curls his lip over his teeth. “When did she do that?”

“The other day, went by for a coffee.”

“Ugh,” he huffs, swinging one arm across his chest, stretching out the muscles of his biceps. “What else did she say?”

Atsumu grins, bracing his forearm against Kiyoomi’s shoulder, waggling his brows mischievously. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“Fine. I’ll just ask her.”

“Ughhh, zero fun. That’s what you are. Tell me, ya’ got a mode that’s not: ‘Sakusa Kiyoomi, ‘the world’s most boring man’,” Atsumu groans, head dropping as he lets his body hang limply off of Kiyoomi’s stiffened form.

“Shut up. What we do isn’t your business anyway, so enough with the questions. You’re just poking your nose in shit that doesn’t concern you,” Kiyoomi accuses, shrugging Atsumu’s heavy arm off of his, glaring.

Atsumu straightens, a quiet scoff puffing between his smirked lips. “Fine. So touchy today. And you think this crap ain’t gonna bleed into your playing? Yer’ way–”

“Line up!” the assistant coach booms, silencing Atsumu’s bristled retort. Kiyoomi opts to hold his tongue, letting the setter pace away from him, eyes narrowing while sucking in a steadying breath before he follows.

Damn it. He got so caught up in––Atsumu never told him what he meant.

It’s early afternoon and the broad concrete pathways of the park are mostly empty. The spring flowers are in bloom and the ginkgo trees sway in the crisp breeze that dips in from the sea. It’s a beautiful day, but Kiyoomi can’t shake himself out of his head.

He’d stared dutifully at the portraits in the museum, read the placards that rested below the painted screens and pottery, and listened when you asked him questions, or answered his own. He shouldn’t be like this, he fumes, adjusting the ear straps of his mask as the two of you step out into the bright sunlight once more.

Who cares what Atsumu was trying to imply. It was vague and unhelpful; likely meant to get under his skin, something that–

“You alright?” Your voice shakes him out of his thoughts and he looks down at you, brows unknotting, eyes softening as they rake over your curious face.

“Yeah. Miya said something at practice that I’m having trouble forgetting.”

“Oh? What?”

He tells you, and it feels like some of the tension leaves his shoulders. It’s nice.

Usually he’s guarded, quiet. Sure, he’ll let others know what he’s thinking with little finesse, but that doesn’t mean they know the truth of what’s on his mind. This is different. With you it’s easy to disassemble, unexpectedly so. It’s only been a month since the two of you started seeing each other, but in that time he’s opened up more to you than he has to anyone, outside of his family, and he’s still not sure if he likes that.

[ That’s a lie. He likes it; he does. He’s just not used to it. ]

“Make you pick?” you ask, skimming your hand over the red railing of the bridge, head cocked thoughtfully to the side. “He actually said that?”

“Mentioned it. Like I said, Miya talks in circles. I usually just tune him out, but this felt...different.”

“Hmm,” you ponder, easily keeping up with his long strides, your body close to his. “Well, maybe he means they, the coaches that is, don’t want you to be distracted? I could see that. I mean, you are playing at an extremely high level and next year is the Olympics. Damn, it feels strange to say that. I know someone who’s playing in the Olympics…”

“I know that. And I’m not distracted,” his tone is clipped and his chin ducks, his side swept curls fanning over his left eye.

You look over at his tensed expression and puff out an exhale of air. “Well, maybe he’s just messing with you? You said he likes to do that.”

“Told you, this felt different.” The words are sharp, punctuated by his clenched jaw and the forward roll of his shoulders, and you suck your teeth softly, staring across the shimmering surface of the pond as the two of you cross the last stretch of the bridge. You’re on the back foot here, a little unsure of how to reassure him, but you can tell he wants to shake this off, so you press the issue, hoping it’ll help ease that stiff tension that’s building in his shoulders.

“Okay, it felt different. How so?”

The words come without hesitation. [ This isn’t normal for him, but it’s also so damn nice to know that he can be this comfortable with someone. ] “Miya usually babbles. Goes on and on about the most inane things. But he also loves to chatter about his reasoning, and this time he didn’t. Instead of answering my question, he gave me that shitty smirk and changed the subject to something he knew would distract me––why else would he say he’d gone by the coffee shop?”

“I mean, I don’t know him as well as you do, but he seems like the kinda guy who likes to provoke–to see if he can get a reaction out of you and...I know it’s not much of a reason, but maybe that’s all that it was?”

Kiyoomi gives you a curt nod and picks up his pace, his hands coiling into clenched fists within the confines of his pockets. You follow him, unsure if you should strike up another line of conversation or let him simmer for a bit. You opt for the latter and turn your attention to the scenery of the parklands, quietly studying the picnicking couples and laughing clusters of children that jostle beside a nearby set of monkey bars. No matter his mood, it’s a lovely day and you’re still glad he’d agreed to come with you to the park.

But when the trail reaches the main street, you pause. “Hey, you wanna call it a day?” you ask, a soft smile on your lips. If he needs time, you rationalize, then you can give him that.

Kiyoomi jerks to a stop, his heavy brows furrowing as he stares down at you. “What? No,” he grumbles, voice muffled by the fabric of his mask.

You raise your hands in a gesture of supplication, palms facing his looming form. “It’s just...you seem like you’re upset...”

“I am upset,” Kiyoomi answers frankly, his breath heavy.

His honesty never fails to catch you off balance, and you laugh cheerfully at his stoic expression. Kiyoomi promptly fixes you with a perturbed stare, his eyes narrowing. “Kiyoomi, if you’re upset, then we should head back. You don’t have to stick around me if you want space, I totally–– ”

“I don’t want space. I want to be here, with you,” he bites, stepping closer, watching as your grin fades into a perplexed gape.

For a breath you’re flabbergasted, lips parted, eyes wide, but with a shake of head you step forward, your arm twining with his, and dipped forehead pressing against the sleek material of his jacket. “Alright, then stay with me,” you smile, hands squeezing against his coiled muscles, a pleased warmth spreading up your joined arms before flowing downward, into the pit of your stomach.

The contact, as muted as it is by the shell of his track jacket, makes him shiver and he can feel the thump of his heart speed up. It presses against his ribs and makes his chest feel tight and his head light, and when your fingers slip into the warmth of his pocket, your smooth digits tracing the knuckles of his hand, he lets out a contented sigh before lightly brushing his chin over the top of your bent head.

“Come on,” he murmurs, the rich tone of his deep voice dampened by the stretch of his mask, but you can still hear the creep of his smile within the clipped words, “I’ve got an idea.”

You’ve walked past the training facility plenty of times, so many that it’s a blip on your radar now, its jagged silhouette falling into the category of mundane, but never, not in a million years, did you ever see yourself actually passing through those glass doors.

It’s a massive space.

The blazing down-lights scatter brightness over the finely polished elastic flooring. You’d worn comfortable shoes to the park, but they still scuff loudly against the unfamiliar material so you stop gawping and look toward Kiyoomi’s arched shoulders.

“Uh, are you sure we can be in here?” you ask, trying to keep your voice down, but it reverberates around the vast space and you wrinkle your nose at the sharpness of the sound.

“Yes. I work here,” Kiyoomi answers simply, tugging his mask down and stopping just short of one of the white lines, cocking his dark head at your question.

“Okay,” you snicker, rolling your eyes playfully at his static features, “let me rephrase that, are you sure I can be here?”

“Why would you being here be a problem? Practice is done for the day. It’ll be fine. Worst case, Bokuto or Miya might show,” he replies, shrugging his shoulders, a faint smile passing over his lips. “So what do you say, you wanna try to play?”

A full-throated laugh bubbles out of you, and you shake your head frantically. “No way! You’ll either kill me with one of those terrifying spikes, or be bored out of your mind trying to teach me the ropes. Besides, I haven’t played volleyball since middle school, and even then, I’m, uh, not sure a quick rotation in a 40 minute P.E. class counts as playing. It was more like all of us kids screwing around and testing out how many times we could annoy our teacher.”

He snorts at your explanation and strides over to a dark red cart, digging one of his long arms into the depths before straightening and returning with a yellow and blue Mikasa ball that’s perfectly balanced within his broad palm. “Humor me,” he smirks, one brow quirking upward.

“Tch, I’m not wearing the right clothes...or shoes,” you bemoan jovially, but you’re already letting your purse slip from your shoulders.

“So whiny,” Kiyoomi tuts, stepping away from the cart and tossing the ball rapidly between his spread hands. “That doesn’t matter. Don’t worry, I’ll go easy on you.”

“Oh, you will, will you?” you tease, a beguiling smile lifting your lips. He looks so good in here, you think, admiring the flex and bounce of his hands, the lean coil of his powerful neck that peeks from underneath his track jacket, so different from the stoic man who walked beside you in the park.

As soon as he touched the ball, his entire demeanor changed. Within the space of a few seconds he’d gone from hunched and brooding to dauntless and firm, all of his early agitation and uncertainty forgotten as he slipped into the comfort of his element.

“All right, coach,” you sigh with mock dejection, “where do you want me?”

“On the other side of the net. See that line? The first one past the netting? That’s the attack line. Stand there.”

He’s clear-cut in his instruction, telling you where to plant your feet and how to stand with the correct form. You listen intently, nodding or asking one or two clarifying questions, and he’s patient with your queries, answering you swiftly and thoroughly, obsidian eyes keen as they follow your movements across the net.

“Alright, that looks good. We’re going to do a simple drill, the catch and throw. Don’t worry about setting the ball, or receiving it with your arms, see how it feels to position yourself under it, just make sure it never gets behind you, and catch it with both hands and toss it back to me. Try and keep it in an easy arc.”

You blink at him, pulling your lips into an exaggerated frown. “Just catch it? That sounds too easy…”

“It’s meant to be. It teaches you how to see the ball. If you’re wanting something harder, I can always up the speed as you get better at it. Now, you ready?”

You nod and the ball lifts from his fingers in a flash, gliding over the net cleanly, and you shift back, arms outstretched, feet planted firmly against the slick flooring. You catch it neatly and mimic his overhand toss, sending it back to Kiyoomi’s half crouched form. But the arc isn’t controlled and the ball paps against the tape of the net, screwing up the trajectory and sending it shuddering toward the gym floor.

“Shit,” you curse, wincing at your clumsy return, but he’s already moving, his form a blur. He slides under it easily, back curved under his well-muscled legs, all ten fingers spread, as he neatly catches the ball, sending it prettily back to your side.

You’re so mesmerized by the fluidity of his supple form that you completely ignore the returning ball and it slaps against the floor with a crack. Always the professional, he’s intently watching the ball’s trajectory and doesn’t notice your open stare at first, but once his dark eyes flash back to yours a faint blush seeps across the well-cut apples of his cheeks and he ducks his head, obscuring his flush with a cascade of onyx curls. “That’s one point for me,” he sighs, his voice low, tone gruffly catching over the words as he studiously avoids your awed expression.

“Points?” you repeat dumbly, snapping your mouth closed before popping your hands on your hips, forcing yourself out of your stupor. “Hey! You didn’t say anything about points.”

“It’s a game,” he counters with a shrug of his broad shoulders, “of course there’s gonna be points.”

“Pfft,” you chortle as you walk toward the discarded volleyball. “What happened to this is just a drill?”

Thirty minutes later your hands are aching and you move sluggishly as your feet squeak over the polished flooring of the court. Kiyoomi, on the other hand, looks perfectly at ease, his eyes hungrily stalking the track of the ball as it flies to his side of the court. When you miss the next lightning quick toss that he sends your way, you drop your head and lift your hands, palms flattened and facing toward him, signaling your defeat as a heaving exhale leaves your straining lungs. “I think that’s it for me. I’m about to collapse onto the floor, like seriously. This is not a joke.”

Kiyoomi huffs out a bemused laugh and ducks under the netting, pausing beside your half crouched figure. He peers down at you through the lazy waves of his hair. You look staggered from the constant shuffling and overhand tosses, but you smile up at him and he can’t help but return it.

“I may be down for the count, but it looks like you wanna keep going,” you say coyly, eyes shining under the brilliance of the lights. [ You’re so pretty ] He [ wants to kiss you again ] sucks in a shallow breath and mutely nods at your assessment. [ Don’t go. ]

“Well,” you begin, lips falling into a thoughtful pout, arms twisting behind your back, “In that case, I’ve got some things that I need to finish up, anyway.”

[ No. Don’t go. Not yet. ]

“I left my laptop at the cafe, so I’ll head that way. Maybe I can see you–”

“Use mine.” The words leave him with a sigh, his voice hushed, but you hear him and your head whips up.

“What–I’m sorry, what?”

“Use my laptop. It’s here, in my locker.” [ Should he have said, please? He’ll say it, if that will get you to stay a little longer. ]

“You don’t...that’s not necessary–– ”

“I know. I want to,” he closes the distance between the two of you, his hand ghosting up the line of your arm. “Stay. If you want to.”

You contemplate his request, tapping a finger against your bottom lip, the flicker of a grin catching at the corners of your mouth. Finally, you nod.

[ Good. ]

He can feel his pulse against his eardrums and he feels jittery now but through that excited haze he tells you he’s going to change into his gym clothes and grab it, that there’s an outlet under the scorer’s table that sits at the edge of the court, and that he’ll be right back. He’s not sure why he feels the need to elaborate, that’s not like him, but he’s doing a lot of things that don’t feel like him these days.

He likes you; he thinks as he steps toward the double doors that will take him into the locker room.

He likes you so much.

When he returns, he’s wearing a dark pair of shorts and a bright yellow shirt emblazoned with the words Itachiyama VBC across his left pectoral. The laptop is propped under his muscled arm and he walks slowly toward you, dark eyes watching you thoughtfully. But you’re not meeting his gaze. No, your regard falls to the curve of his calves and the sharp jut of his ankles before you track back up to his thighs and linger over the ripple and pull of the corded brawn that peeks from under the line of his shorts, and it takes him clearing his throat to lure your eyes back up to his burning face.

You’ve seen him in his MSBY uniform, and you’ve seen him in various outfits over the last month, but the way you’re watching him right now makes his skin prickle and the air around the two of you feels charged, like the smallest push could create some kind of reaction.

He pauses beside the table and waits for you to sit before he leans down, one leg shaking restlessly under him as he clacks his passcode across the black keys. He’s lifting his right hand to click ‘enter,’ when you cup your hand under his jaw.

Kiyoomi quavers under your touch, a low shiver slipping up his spine as he twists to face you, his heavy brows arched and onyx eyes wide. He’s perfectly level with you and so close he can faintly smell your lavender shampoo. It’s a nice scent, lulling and woodsy and he wants to shift closer, but before he can act on his instinct you’re already leaning upwards and using your fingertips to dip his head forward, your lips pressing a chaste kiss against his topmost mole, breath warm against his heated skin.

“Thank you,” you purr, delicately resting the tip of your nose against his curled hair.

It feels like his body is sputtering to a halt, his arms heavy, his head desperately following your touch as you shift back, a half groaned sigh tight against his split lips. His fingers are twitching against the cool surface of the table and he knows he must look like an absolute idiot when he lifts his eyes back to yours, but he doesn’t care.

He’s glad you’re going to stay.

“Question for you,” you ask from your perch on the scorer’s table, your fingers flying over the computer keys as you clatter out another email. “How the hell do your hands do that?”

Kiyoomi smirks at your curious amusement and flips his wrists deftly upwards, easing onto his haunches, flicking his fingers out and rolling his newly stretched wrists as he finishes his final cool down routine. “It’s called joint hyper-mobility. Most lose it when they get older, I’ve been lucky.”

The two of you have been at the training facility for hours. You’d dutifully finished up some last-minute work enquiries and partially outlined the basics for your upcoming grant proposal, while Kiyoomi worked on his spin rotation and spikes.

You’d watched him intermittently, teeth plucking at the swell of your lower lip each time he lept into the air for a jump serve, or dropped low to the ground as he dug another ball up from his hit to the nearby wall, so you’d noticed when he’d finished his first water bottle. He’d set the plastic down, the tap ringing hollowly over the quiet gym, and rose from your folding chair, making your way over, already asking him where a water station was.

When you’d returned, passing the newly filled bottle back to him, your fingers stroked up his arm and swirled faint patterns against his clammy skin as he steadied the plastic in his grasp. And later, when you’d refilled his second water bottle, you’d pushed some of his raven waves back, lifting onto the balls of your feet to tuck the dampened strands behind the shell of his ear.

He was a sweaty mess, but that didn’t bother you.

Usually he didn’t like for others to touch him when he was like this. Something about the sheen and prickle of the salty perspiration bothered him, [ disgusted him ] so he actively shunned his teammates when they sought high fives during a game, but this was different.

The instant your fingers alighted against his skin he’d felt a jolting lurch of electricity, but instead of pulling from it, he’d leaned into it, draping his broad palm over your tracing digits, or resting his warm cheek against your open hand, eyes half lidded as they watched for your reaction.

He liked this.

“Hey, Kiyoomi? Uh, hello, Earth to Kiyoomi! You listening?”

The sound of your voice jerks him from his musings, and he glances at you. “Hmm?”

“I said, how do you feel about a low-key dinner?”

“I’d prefer it,” Kiyoomi replies, easing from his haunches to his feet, rolling his long arms over his head as he stands.

“Yeah, but I mean...low-key, low-key.”

He fixes you with a flat stare, his face falling into that well practiced blankness, obsidian eyes dimmed. “What does that mean?”

“Well, I’ve got some things that I’ve been meaning to cook and, uh, I guess what I’m trying to say is...did you want to maybe have dinner at my apartment? I know you’re picky about how your food is prepared, so if you wanna go out instead, that’s fine too. I won’t be offended. I just wanted to– ”

“I’d like that, but...can you cook?” he rumbles, a teasing smile coiling against his lips.

“Oh, I see. No, you got me. Totally can’t. I just wanted to know if you’d suffer through burnt rice, and then lie and tell me you’d liked it, or some shit,” you threaten, sticking your tongue out and scrunching your face at his blatant leer.

“Don’t worry, I’d definitely tell you.”

“Pfft. You’re the worst, you know that? Now go shower. If we wait too long, we’ll hit rush hour at the station and I bet that’s pretty high on your list of things to avoid at all costs.”

Your apartment is small.

Well, compared to his. But his place is an empty shell, brittle, almost sterile in its vacant emptiness. He’s not there often, so why fill it with more than the bare essentials? It’s got what he needs, and he’s never been bothered by the Spartan coldness of the tiles and dark wood, that is, until he steps into your space.

There’s so much color.

The living room is blanketed in a mix of cheery yellows, warm reds, and deep purples. It’s not displeasing, but it makes him pause within the confines of the genkan, onyx eyes wide under his raised brows. It’s a difference. Now there’s an unexpected worry that’s pricking at the front of his mind.

“You coming?” you ask, poking your head around the cut of the wall that divides your living room from your kitchen, peering curiously at his tense expression.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, easing his trainers off of his feet. This place reminds him that there’s still so much about you he doesn’t know.

So, to alleviate himself from his lingering trepidations, he peers curiously around the apartment.

Most of your furniture is Western. And while there is a traditional chabudai beside your kitchen and a familiar kotatsu that rests beneath the glass doors of your balcony, the rest of the room is decorated with cushioned couches, stiff-backed chairs, neatly organized shelving units, a large tv and stand, and several side tables that hold a mixture of lamps, artfully stacked books, picture frames and candles.

He’s still gazing over the plethora of things when you appear beside his elbow. “I’m going to shower. Make yourself at home. The remote for the tv should be on the kotatsu. You alright with soba stir fry and okonomiyaki for dinner? It’s easy, well, quick...”

“That’s fine,” Kiyoomi breathes, voice muted as his eyes rake over one of your bookshelves. “You could have taken one at the gym, you know...a shower.”

“Oh-ho, sure! Like a shower at your gym doesn’t come with the awful possibility that one of your teammates or, god forbid, coaches could have walked in. Yeah, no thanks,” you chuckle, shaking your head as you pad over to the small hallway that separates your kitchen and living space from the rest of your apartment. “I won’t be long. Please do not rob me, kay’?”

Kiyoomi blatantly scoffs at your remark but doesn’t look up until he hears the click of your bathroom door. Instantly, his feet carry him toward your collection of books and miscellany, one long finger tracing up paper spines. He will not miss this opportunity.

He’s curious, ravenously so.

There are small bowls that are filled with a mismatch of silver and gold jewelry, peeling bound novels with English titles printed down their spines, and asymmetric jars that carry the weight of seashells that gleam translucent and bright against the dimming sunlight.

Beaming smiles radiate from your collection of pictures. Some are snapshots of you and others who look enough like you he assumes they must be your family, while other images are older, with people dressed in vintage clothing, the photos sheened in dull greys and time blown sepia rather than vibrant, modern colors.

Then there are the books. The room is littered with them. Most are organized within the confines of the shelves, but a few are stacked on the kotatsu and he flips open one cover, eyes scanning the orderly lines of Japanese that dart down the pages.

There’s just so much here, so many little pieces of you that are scattered about, and he wants to see...no, he wants to ask you about all of it.

Dazed, he leaves the open space of the living room and steps toward the kitchen. It’s less cluttered in here, and he can smell the faint tang of bleach and lemon as he moves onto the dark tiles. Clearly, the fastidious habits you’ve displayed at the cafe are ingrained into your daily routines.

Cleanliness and routine. You’ll always have that in common.

His roving observations falter at your fridge. It’s covered in a scattered array of playful magnets, pinning down lists and newer Polaroids and he steps closer, index finger extended once more as he glides the digit down the faded ink and shine of the photos. Resting atop one of the larger check-lists is a crisp slip of cardstock. It’s clearly been given pride of place and Kiyoomi curves himself downward, somber brows wrinkling as he reads the print.

The departments of Anthropology, History, Languages, and Education invite you to attend:

The Deans Meeting

10th Annual Conference & New Faculty Welcome Event

Thursday, April 23rd

6:30 - 9:30 p.m.

Graduate School of Human Sciences, Osaka University

(Number Attending: ____ *limit of one guest per invitee)

Kiyoomi straightens, raking a hand up through his loose curls. The 23rd? That’s a month...no...almost five weeks away. He slips his cellphone out of his jacket, thumb tapping over to his calendar. It’s a Friday...but good, there’s no game that day–however there is a team meeting. If he asks now, he should be able to be excused from the meeting and maybe the mid-day practice as well. You haven’t mentioned this event to him, he muses, fingers rapidly tapping the date into his reminders, but it looks important and he wants to go with you, if you’ll let him.

He hears the telltale shudder of your shower’s cut-off valve and he turns, ready to walk back to the neutral safety of your living room when he spies a haphazardly cracked doorway that clearly leads into your bedroom. His feet are carrying him around the low base of the chabudai, and before he can justify his impulsive [ curious, hungry ] reasoning he’s already leaning in, unabashedly looking over the space.

The room is dark; the dusky light of the sunset is muffled by the curtains that drape over the large window, but Kiyoomi marvels, obsidian eyes whisking over the small space, greedily taking in the neat folds of your downy comforter, the soft pillows that nestle under the headboard, and the fan that sits atop the tatami mats. It smells like you in here; the chilled air holds the gentle scent of rich florals and spice and he wants to step closer, but then his hand is catching against the doorframe and he jerks back, hurriedly gulping down a sharp breath as his black hair slumps over his hooded eyes.

It’s...it’s not...he shouldn’t have looked. It’s not polite, but damn, he almost doesn’t care.

What would it be like to step past that threshold? To walk into something that’s so saturated with you? He feels like his skin is too close, too heavy, and he wants nothing more than to stretch out on the cool sheets of your bed to ease that simmer that’s thrumming under his heated flesh.

Wait. A bed. You have a bed.

Shit.

Kiyoomi’s always been content with his futon, satisfied with the simplicity of it. He’s always considered beds to be a waste of space, unnecessary, after all, he’s just sleeping on it. Why did it matter?

Unanswered questions whir around his half cocked head. What if you don’t like futons? If you think they’re uncomfortable, or inconvenient? Besides, now he’s picturing laying with you on a bed, [ this bed ] not a futon. Kiyoomi wants to see you stretched out beside him, comfortable and happy, with that tantalizing smile and those playful eyes watching him, waiting for him. What side do you prefer? Right? Left? And then? What happens when you’ve picked your spot and settled in?

Would you want him to shift closer? Could he run his palms past your arms and down the sloping curves of your hips? Would you do the same for him? What would your nails feel like as they scratched faint lines along his sides, over the muscles of his abdomen, or down his back? You’d be so close. So close that every sigh that passed between your lips would be shared with him and he’d inhale every sound, his lips rough against yours. And if you arched into him, your hands urging him to straddle himself over your intoxicating softness, your thighs spreading as he lowers his hips––

The bathroom door clicks and the fevered daydream fades, his feet cumbersome and tangled as he lumbers back to the living room, his heart pounding in his ears. He doesn’t like this breathlessness, doesn’t like that his hands are trembling as he stuffs them into his pockets. Any second now you’ll be in front of him and he wants to hold you, to let the pull of your hands and the sleek drag of your lips satiate the feel [ throb ] of his unexpected [ visceral ] arousal.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to take that long, I just–– ”

The distance between the two of you is closed within a heartbeat, and his outstretched fingertips glide down the smooth line of your neck. You suck in a sharp breath, your body rigid under his hold, [ damn it, too fast ] and he drops his hands, easing you into the suddenness of his movement with lazy kisses against your warm cheek and neck, grinning when you lean into him at last.

[ Yes. Perfect. ]

You want him to kiss you properly, and you do your best to chase his lips, your arms folding around his bowed neck as you tap a few impatient kisses against his lowered forehead. But he ignores your temptations, not ready to move away from the intoxicating fragrance of your freshly cleaned skin. That soothing smell of peppermint and fresh lavender is near ambrosial, and he greedily digs his nose against you as his muscular arms drape over your sides, and his broad hands pause against the small of your back.

His sharp exhales against your shower dampened neck make you shiver but he maneuvers you closer, rubbing his lower lip against the dip of your shoulder before lifting to catch his teeth on your pulse. He knows just what you like now; he thinks smugly, tracing the flat of his tongue over a line of gooseflesh that bursts over your slicked skin.

In the last month he’s gained a steady mastery of your preferences when it came to his kisses. You preferred to start things slowly, to have him cup your face and stoke you up steadily, but once he eases down the intricate line of your neck, well, all that softness and coy sweetness would bleed into something else entirely.

You liked it rougher then; liked for these caresses to be charged with lightning fast pushes and pulls, your fingers alternating between the sides of his jaw or the coiled thickness of his hair as you swayed him closer, and that shift never failed to set his heart racing and often sent his tightly reigned control spiraling. But that’s not what he wants, not right now, so he’s careful to keep you at bay, distracting your breathless twists with a fresh set of nips and unhurried pecks against your throat.

He wants to lose himself in you; to blank out all the other worries. The differences don’t matter, not when he can hold you like this.

“Hey, Kiyoomi,” you gasp and only then does he stop his incessant assault, arms tensing as they clutch you to the broad slope of his chest, his dark waves falling heavily against your kiss glistened shoulder.

“Hmm?” he murmurs, his voice reverberating against your wet skin.

“What...what’s gotten into you?” you falter, distracted by the hum of his low tone and the soothing pass of his hands as they curve along your spine.

“Dunno, just felt like kissing you,” he lies impassively, lifting his head from you, obsidian eyes shielded by his mussed curls, the tops of his cheeks aglow.

You exhale a tight laugh at his serious, but utterly flushed expression. “Okay–so why did you stop?”

“Liked it that much, huh? I’m hungry,” he clarifies, a smirk curling his erubescent lips and you laugh, melting that jaunty grin into his usual straightlaced frown. “Tch,” he tries again, sliding his dark eyes away from your open bemusement, a pink blush staining the bridge of his nose. “It’s not that I...hmph, come on, don’t act like you’re not hungry, too...”

You were an excellent cook. Not that he’d fully meant his droll quip at the gym; after all, why offer to do something if you’re not good at it? But he’s glad he agreed to a home cooked meal.

Besides, there is something soothing about the whole thing.It was nice, watching you deftly maneuver around your tiny kitchen, turning on burners, setting timers, and arranging the ingredients in simple bowls and plates; it reminded him of the coffee shop. And he’s always liked watching you work. Your movements were always smooth [ elegant ]. You kept your hands close and your elbows in, so confident in the motions of your ingrained routines and the tidiness of your space, that you could easily carry on a conversation with him, your eyes careful to meet his over the top of the espresso machine.

But this is better than watching you in the coffee shop. There’s no divider now. There’s just you and him. It’s comforting and he wants to experience it again and again.

You let him set the plates out, chop the vegetables, prep the soba, and asked him to pick out some beer from your fridge, saying you trusted his choice and chuckling good-naturedly when he padded back to your side, four cans sticking icily to his palms as he asked a few [ five or six ] clarifying questions about the brews.He enjoys your cheerful teasing; he thinks as the two of you sit at the low chabudai; it makes him feel like he fits in, like he can be part of this side of you. You tuck your legs to one side as you sit, your shoulder gently bumping against his as you ease into a comfortable position on the tatami mats and Kiyoomi leans closer, indulging himself in the press long after you’ve picked up your chopsticks–a shared meal of of cabbage and onion okonomiyaki and salmon stir fry resting between the two of you.

It’s a simple thing, all of this touch, but Kiyoomi can’t get enough of it. Every time your arm brushes against his, or you ask him to pass you something from his side of the table, he wants to prolong the contact, to keep his fingers beside yours, or feel the warmth of your thigh and the jut of your hip as he shifts nearer.

He didn’t think he enjoyed being touched.

He always did his utmost to avoid it, shunning the clapped backs and constant high fives that always seemed to be prepackaged and expected in the contact heavy sport of volleyball. Not because he didn’t like his teammates [ sure, sometimes– eh, most of the time ] they were too much, but he genuinely liked playing with them. But he didn’t enjoy the balmy heat of skin on skin contact, or the worry of shared germs. Touching meant weakness. It allowed things to spread from person to person; it created variables, and more variables always meant things could slip out of his control. No, Kiyoomi valued the predictable, the known, the cleanliness and routine, and touch threw most of that out of the equation.

He doesn’t like touch.

Yet he’s craving yours.

It’s another thing that isn’t like him, he contemplates, passing his empty bowl to you, already missing that pleasing closeness you’d shared with him as you walk back into your kitchen and that stark absence makes him stand. It’s an urge, a compulsion, and it’s not something he wants to question so he listens to his instincts, feet planted firmly beneath him as he follows you, his hands lifted, reaching for you. When he tugs you against his chest, his dark head dropping beside yours, jet curls fanning beside your cheek and along your neck, he feels the ache within him settle and he lets himself wallow in the familiarity of crisp peppermint that sits against your skin. [ There. He can worry about the rest later, right now this is all he wants. ]

“I should go,” he whispers, the tip of his nose cool against you. He locks his forearms around your waist and sighs when you rest your temple against his.

He [ doesn’t want to ] should go.

“Yeah,” you echo, cupping your fingers over his crossed arms and stroking them over his goose-fleshed skin. “I work in the morning. So I need to be up early.”

His steady breaths match yours and he pulls you closer, humming contentedly as the curve of your back falls into the hollow of his chest. “I’ll go,” Kiyoomi stalls, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to the slope of your neck. He really should. There are only a few more trains tonight, but he can’t let go.

So he lingers, his heavy body leaning against yours, full lips dragging along your pulse as his arms loop tightly around you. You twist your head and he lets you return his caresses, groaning against the sweet pressure of your lips. You’re gentle with him, your kisses filled with restrained desire, and the gossamer touch makes him reach for more. When you pull away, your eyes shining in the gleam of your kitchen lights, he brings you back, his broad palms turning you to him as his chapped fingers tilt your chin, his arms cupping you so close he can feel the thud of your heart against his.

He [ doesn’t want to ] should go.

notes: @kugutsuu made me these lovely lines. aren’t they pretty! (｡•̀ᴗ-)✧

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blessednereid · 3 years

Text

LFLLLL Prologue: Mutual Pining

Masterlist

Series Masterlist

WC: 3.5k

Taglist: @rogershoe

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Lydia's House

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"Lydiaaaaaa!" You had barged into Lydia's house unannounced that afternoon. You had work that afternoon, but you called in sick, not physically, but emotionally. And only Lydia could help you.

"LYDIA LORRAINE MARTIN!"

"Y/n, what's wrong?" Lydia's mom, Natalie, had come out of her office because of your shouts.

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Martin, I didn't realize you were home. Your car wasn't in the driveway," you apologized.

"It's fine, dear. Lydia's upstairs taking a nap. You know how much of a heavy sleeper she is."

"Thank you, Mrs. Martin."

"Please, I've told you many times. Call me Natalie."

You nodded before heading upstairs, where Lydia's room was.

You opened her door, and as you thought, she was lying on the bed, snoring and drooling. A sight you had gotten very used to since you first met her in third grade.

"Lydia Lorraine Martin. We have a code-red!"

Immediately, Lydia jolted up from her bed and began flailing her arms in the air. She lost balance before falling off the side.

"Oh, MY- Ugh." You went to help her sit back upright on the bed, sat next to her, and laid your head in her lap.

"Y/n, what's wrong? Why did you wake me up?"

"We have a code red!!"

'Code reds' were what you and Lydia had when you caught real feelings for a guy.

When you were younger and in middle school, Lydia had gotten a crush on the cutest guy in your math class.

On Valentines Day, she wrote him a card and put it in his locker. The card said, "I think you're cute♡︎ What do you think about me?" Later that same day, she found out that almost all of the kids in your two's class had read the card. And on top of that, the guy was a huge jerk about it.

Since then, you and Lydia vowed to never catch feelings for anyone until you were at least twenty-five.

"Who is it, babe? What happened?" Lydia asked with a concerned tone.

"It's Isaac."

"Your partner for the World History project?"

"Yeah, him," you sighed. "We started getting closer, and he started talking to me, and we bonded over our moms' death, and there were carnival rides and vampires and freezy pops!"

"Woah, Woah, Woah! Slow down!"

"So basically, I did what you told me and took him to the county carnival, right? Then, he told me about his mom dying, and we talked about that, and then we went on rides and fought about their pace, and he was fine after like a two-hundred-foot drop. So then, we went on a rollercoaster, and after that, I was cold because I was wearing a light jacket."

"Okay, keep going…"

"So then he warmed me up by giving me a hug and then led me in the building, and we just hung out there until like five? Then when we were doing the slideshow, he started asking me about my room and shit, and when we were done, we watched that show I told you about, with the high school vampires."

"Oh, the babysitter one?"

"Yeah, that. So, he was actually interested. And then we just kept watching it together throughout the week since we finished the project. And then when we were presenting today, you know I have that stage fright. He just held my hand and calmed me down, and he listened to me after we were done, and he actually cared about it instead of dismissing it.

"Not that you dismiss it, Lydia." She nodded.

"Anyways, after that, GB had to talk to us, and she ratted me out about writing his name down, and then he got slightly mad at me but not really, and then I explained. And he just told me he would see me tomorrow for our movie night…" you trailed off, debating whether you should tell her the last part.

"So that's when you realized?"

"After that, I turned away, and then he kissed my cheek and whispered in my ear, 'see you tomorrow or something like that!"

Lydia chuckled. "So you have a code red?"

"Lydia, I have a hang-out with him tomorrow. I'm not gonna be able to fucking think straight!"

"Babe, just go and see how it goes. Maybe it's a 24-hours thing, you know? Just adrenaline. It affected you like this because you don't go out."

"Lyds, it's not like that. It's different."

"Y/n, that's what I tell myself before every hookup," she deadpanned.

"Okay, yeah. You're right. It's just a 24-hour thing."

"It's just adrenaline, babes. Nothing more, nothing less."

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Movie Night

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'Nothing more, nothing less…"

Those were the words that kept repeating in your head as you twisted Isaac's hair around your fingers around Isaac's hair as his head rested in your lap.

"Y/n, are you okay?"

You blinked rapidly.

"Oh, yeah. I'm fine!"

"It's just, you're not watching the show?"

"Oh, sorry. I was just thinking about something."

"Whatever you say, princess…"

Princess. The pet name made your heart flutter, and you thought you would explode.

"Give me a minute, please!" was all you said before picking up your phone and dashing out the room.

You headed to the bathroom and dialed Lydia's number right after texting her "Code Red Emergency."

"It's not a 24-hours thing, is it?" she said when she picked up.

"No…"

"Okay, here's what we're gonna do…"

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Previous Day

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Isaac

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He watched you as you turned around. His nerves crawled through his spine, and he curled and unfurled his fingers before finding the confidence–, no, before finding the ability to move.

When his lips touched the side of your face, his heart was set aflame.

'How did I just do that?' he thought. But entirely different words came out of his mouth.

"See you," he said, and he internally pumped the air when he saw your lips curl upwards into a smile.

When he reached class, his actions had finally sunk into his mind.

He went to his seat where his friend, Dillon Karis, sat beside him. Dillon was the only friend of Isaac, and they had known each other since middle school.

"Dude!"

Dillon turned his head to his friend, whose urgent tone caught his attention.

"You know that girl I was telling you about?" Isaac said enthusiastically.

Dillon scoffed. "You mean the one who's been taking up all your Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday nights?

"Yeah, I remember her."

Isaac rolled his eyes sarcastically. "Dude, I think I may actually like her…"

"Holy—" Isaac cut him off.

"Shut up!"

Dillon took two breaths to calm down before speaking.

"Explain. Now!"

Isaac threw his head back.

"I don't know. It's just the way she makes me feel." He smiled. "It's like… the way my mom used to tell me about how she felt about my dad? It's weird."

"Bro, you barely know her. Are you sure?"

"No, I'm not sure, but I think."

"Well, let me know. This is interesting. Shoulda brought some popcorn today, as I had planned," Dillon burst out laughing, and Isaac followed.

"Dude, I have to go to her house tomorrow."

"Why? I thought you already turned in the project."

"We have our movie night," Isaac said before realizing what that might sound like to his friend.

"Oh shit! So y'all already been going on dates?"

"No! No…" Isaac pointed his finger at his friend, signaling him to stop.

"Dude, so what are you gonna do?"

"I don't know…"

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Movie Night

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Isaac was now highly flustered as he laid his head in your lap. You didn't bring up the kiss, so he assumed he either made you uncomfortable or you didn't like him enough to care.

He looked at your face to see if there were any signals or indications, but he saw that you were completely zoned out.

"Y/n, are you okay?"

You blinked before saying, "Oh yeah, I'm fine."

Isaac raised his eyebrows before turning his attention back to the television.

When you dashed out the room with little explanation, Isaac took his emotional matters into his own hands. He had decided to get rid of his feelings, sure that they were unrequited.

He headed out of your room and knocked on Stiles' door.

"Come in!" he heard faintly, and he opened the door.

"Isaac, what's up?" Stiles had barely looked up from his work.

"I know we don't know each other that well, but I need some advice, and I figured that you probably know a lot about girls…"

"Not really, but I'm flattered you would think that. Please come in!"

Isaac stepped into the room and sat on Stiles' bed.

"Is this fine?" to which Stiles nodded.

"So, Isaac. Tell me what's going on," Stiles said before clasping his hands together.

Isaac took multiple deep breaths. He was about to ask your brother how to get rid of his feelings for you. Who does that?

"I have a crush… on this girl. And I know that she doesn't like—"

"You know, or you think?"

"I think, but she's given no sign of liking me…"

"Okay, continue."

"She doesn't like me. And I was wondering if you knew if there was anything I could do to… get rid of the feelings I have…"

"Oh boy. Isaac, I wish I knew. I'm in that same position. However! I wouldn't tell you if I did know. Because you never know, right? Unless they've told you that they don't like you, you don't know for sure. And even then, it could happen in the future."

That was not the advice Isaac was hoping for, preferring to put himself out of his misery before he could get in it.

"Alright, thanks, Stiles."

"No problem, bud!"

Isaac walked back to your room, where you were laid down on your back.

"Hey, where did you go?"

"Nowhere, I just needed to… uh.. get some air."

You squint your eyes, and even Isaac wasn't convinced by his lie, but he didn't say anything else before he laid beside you.

"Lydia is having a party next Saturday. You should come."

"Oh, I don't think—"

"Please, Isaac? It'll be good for you to get out of your house like Mrs. GB said."

He couldn't resist the tug on his heart when you flashed your pouting eyes, and he had to give in.

"Fine, I'll see what I can do. That's not a promise."

"Yay!" You exclaimed before pressing a kiss to his forehead. The action made Isaac's heart race, and all he wanted to do at that moment was kiss you.

In fact, it was all he thought of for the next few minutes.

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Isaac's Daydream

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"Love?"

"Yes, babe?" you responded to him.

"This is the spot. Stop going ahead of me."

You mouthed an "Oh" before laying down on the blanket he set by the flowerbed.

"So, whose house are we breaking into right now, Mr. Lahey?" you teased. You and Isaac were sitting in the backyard of a foreign house you had never seen, but you followed Isaac anyways.

"Yours."

You scoffed a 'what' as you had never seen the house in your life.

"Mines. Ours." He smirked.

Your face of pleasant surprise made his racing heart slow, as he thought you wouldn't like it.

"This is our house?"

"Well, it was my grandparent's house. They left it to me when they died. They said I can only get it when I turn 18, and now since we're together, It's our house."

You leaped onto his lap and kissed him feverishly.

"This is the best surprise ever!"

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Reality

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"Isaac!" You yelled, and Isaac didn't know what you had said before.

"Sorry! I just zoned out."

"It's not a problem."

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You

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"So, do you want to watch a scary movie?"

You actually weren't planning on doing any of what Lydia had suggested you do, which was to just come outright and tell him you like him.

Instead, you chose to suffer in silence, thinking there was no way possible that Isaac liked you back. And even if he had, you two would be better off as friends… Right?

At least that is what you chose to tell yourself.

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Isaac Leaves

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When the movie was over, Isaac went home, and you prepared for bed.

That night you dreamt of things you wanted in your life that you couldn't have.

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Your Dream

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"Hey, Isaac?"

You two were curled up together on a couch watching a movie, much like your reality. However, a few things were different.

"What are we having for dinner?"

"Babe, we're in a hotel, and the only restaurants have a pre-set menu. If you want food, you either get what they have, or we Postmates."

"But neither sounds good. I want Pasta!"

He sighed. "Then lets Postmates pasta, babe."

"But I want you to make it," you pouted.

"Okay, how about this." You turned to face him to hear his proposition.

"I get you dessert with the food they have here, and I make you pasta tomorrow?"

You smiled and wrapped an arm around his neck.

You hummed before saying, "That sounds perfect," and he kissed you with a burning passion.

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Morning

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"Y/N! WAKE UP!" Stiles woke you up from your dream.

"WHERE'S THE FIRE?" You flailed around before falling off the bed.

Stiles chuckled loudly.

"MIECZYSŁAW STILINSKI!

"IT'S A FUCKING SUNDAY!"

You groaned loudly before grabbing a pillow and throwing it at him, effectively knocking him down but not ceasing his laughter.

"Relax, Relax! Dad's taking us out for breakfast."

You rolled your eyes heavily. "Ugh, I hate you. GO! Let me change!"

"Wait! Wait! I have a question…"

"What?"

"What's going on between you and Lahey?"

You looked down and away from him. "Nothing," you murmured.

When you looked back at him, his eyes were narrowed, and his forehead was crinkled.

"I don't believe you one bit."

Your face heated.

"There's nothing going on, Stiles."

He scoffed. "We may be fraternal, but we're still twins, Y/n. Whatever, I don't like him anyway."

"Why not, Sti?"

He moved his face closer to yours, and you craned your head back for air.

"Because I'm your brother, I'm never gonna like any guy you date. None of them are worthy of my sister."

"Well, you don't have to hate him because nothing is going on."

"Hmmm... Sure," he stated simply before walking out.

You got ready, wearing an off-shoulder baby blue top that was slightly… starchy in texture, as well as a pink plaid miniskirt and black slip-on sneakers.

When you got downstairs, your dad and Stiles sighed a heavy "finally," and you mocked offense.

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Waffle House

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You got in the car and began driving. You looked out the window enjoying all the sights while Stiles tried to coax your dad into talking about cases.

Your dad turned and pulled into the parking lot of the Waffle House.

You sat at the counter and talked until someone came to get your drinks order.

"So, Stiles, when are you going to bring a date home?" your dad asked with a squint.

"Not anytime soon, He's still stuck on Lydia."

Stiles blushed. "Well, I mean, It's working. She knows who I am. "

"No, she doesn't. But… I do know this girl—" Stiles cut you off.

"If it's not Lydia, then no, thank you. I'm stuck on her like white on rice."

Your dad interjected your argument. "Stiles, you sound like a stalker. Normally, we arrest people like you."

"Okay, Let's change the subject. Y/n, wanna tell dad about Isaac or should I?"

You rolled your eyes. "Why should I? There's nothing going on?"

"Wait, who's Isaac?" your dad said while whirling his hand beside his head.

"He was my partner for a project I had for World History."

Stiles laughed. "We presented on Friday. What have you guys been doing in your room?"

Your dad's eyes widened. "Why is he in your room?"

"We just watch movies, Dad! We do nothing else!"

"I highly doubt that. In fact, why don't I ask Isaac right now?"

You blanched. "What do you mean?"

"He's coming up behind us," he said, looking past your head.

You began choking when you saw him in your peripheral version.

"Can I get you something t- Stiles!" Isaac popped up from behind you and began to ask for your drink orders.

"Hey, Isaac," you said as you turned around.

"Hey, Y/n!" His intonation was normal, his facial expression was off.

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Isaac

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"What do you want to drink?" he asked, though his focus was on your dad's squinted gaze pointed directly at him.

"Can I get a coffee?" Noah spoke up first. Isaac jotted down his order.

Stiles followed.

"I'll get an Arnold Palmer!" he said while raising his hand.

"Is that on the menu?" Isaac asked confusedly.

"No, but it's half of a lemonade, half of an iced tea in one glass."

"Okay… Arnold Palmer."

"Y/n," the lovestruck boy said with a smile. "What about you?"

The corners of your mouth turned up. "It's not on the menu, but is there an option for an iced coffee?"

"Uh, I'm sure there is." He knew there wasn't, but he also knew you didn't like hot coffee much.

"Are you sure? I don't want to--"

"It's fine, Y/n," he reassured.

He walked away and headed to the kitchen to tell the cooks the drink order.

"I need an iced coffee, a regular coffee, and A half-and-half lemonade-iced tea. Please," he added.

Isaac glanced outside the kitchen window and gazed at you softly. He admired the way your eyes glimmered in the sun and how your hair bounced with every gesture you made. From this, he began to appreciate how amazing your hair looked and how the light refracted off of it.

He smiled a lopsided grin as he watched the way your lips move. He imagined how they would feel on his. Soft. Smooth. He had the notion that you were probably experienced in that field, more so than he was.

No. He couldn't imagine that. When he thought about the things he just thought, it sounded creepy and perverted. Besides, there was no way that you liked him back, so even thinking about it would just lead to further heartbreak.

He grabbed your table's drinks and walked back, trying to ignore your smile because he couldn't stop the race that his heart ran whenever he saw it.

"Alright, here are your drinks."

"Isaac, can I talk to you outside?" asked Stiles.

"I'm actually working, so I can't do that. But, I can take your orders."

He jotted down each of your orders and went back to the kitchens.

╭╼|══════════|╾╮

You

╰╼|══════════|╾╯

"Stiles, I swear to God, I'm gonna hurt you."

"Not my fault you're over here pining after Lahey but won't do anything about it."

"Up your ass and off your high horse, Stiles!" You did your best to be quiet with your statement, but your dad still heard.

"Hey, hey!"

"Sorry, Dad," you and Stiles said simultaneously.

You watched the cooks prepare the food in front of you, but you hoped to see Isaac somehow, even though he was in the back.

You thought about his messy hair and how it felt in-between your fingers... How his eyes dilated with each smile, and the tiny specks of green in those ocean blue eyes were always able to calm you down.

You noticed how his lips were never chapped and how his cheeks looked like apples when he smiled, and the one dimple that was prominent in those moments as well.

You wondered if this was how Lydia felt for the boy that caused their entire concept of code reds or if you began to feel something much more for the boy with the shy demeanor and quiet voice.

When Isaac came back, you thought about how you could try to confess your feelings. But, you knew that if Isaac was barely willing to talk to you for a long time, it would be a snowball's chance in hell that he liked you the same way.

"Alright, here's your waffles and your hash-browns, Y/n. Your sandwich, Sheriff, and your All-Star breakfast, Stiles."

"Thank you, Isaac," you said with a smile.

He turned to leave before you called out.

"Um, Isaac!" He spun around on his heel at your calling with a questioning look on his face.

He walked back towards you, prepared to write something else down on his order pad.

"Movie night, tomorrow?"

He smiled. "Yeah, sure."

"Dorota, you cannot tell me you do not like him."

"Mieczysław, I do not."

Your dad cut in. "Sweetheart, and if you do?"

"I don't. Can we just leave it at that?"

#Love lost lovelorn love found #isaaclahey #isaac lahey imagine #isaac lahey #isaac x reader #isaac lahey x reader #isaac lahey x y/n #isaac lahey x you #isaac lahey fluff #isaac lahey smut #isaac lahey angst #isaac lahey x oc #stiles stilinksi imagine #stiles stilinski fluff #stiles stilinski angst #teen wolf #teenwolf #teen wolf imagines #teen wolf y/n series

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purrincess-chat · 4 years

Text

Marinette Dupain-Cheng’s Spite Playlist: Remix CH8

You guys have made it! Starting next chapter this story is going to look much different. This chapter also includes a couple never-read-before scenes, and the end of this one changes the course of this story quite a bit. I hope you’re all ...ready for it?

---------------------------

Previous First Next AO3

Chapter 8: Say Amen (Saturday Night)

“I’m impressed, Adrikins.” Chloe crossed one leg over the other. “It’s not like you to go on the offensive.”

“I don’t like seeing my friends get hurt,” he said while Jean Luke poured their tea. “Lila has gone too far.”

“I’m so glad you’re seeing things my way. With you on my side, I think we can have her running back to Italy in tears by next Tuesday,” Chloe said with a crooked grin.

“Well,” Adrien drawled in his token wishy-washy tone that Chloe hated. “I want to stop her, but I don’t want to humiliate or hurt her.”

She should have known.

“Adrikins, we have got to do something about that moral compass of yours.” Chloe rolled her eyes and took a sip of her tea.

“Just because she’s mean and selfish doesn’t mean she deserves to be completely mortified. There has to be another way.” Adrien chided.

“What if we send her a fake letter saying she won an all-expense-paid trip to Jamaica for two years?” Chloe suggested. “Then we have our pilot strand her in the middle of the jungle.”

Adrien gave her a disapproving frown.

“What? I’m just brainstorming,” she said. “All I’m saying is that I will spare no expense to make her disappear.”

“No harm, Chloe.”

“I liked you better when you were spineless,” she grumbled. “Where has all this new-found courage come from anyway?”

“I just thought about what you said.” He reached for a madeleine. “…And Lila confronted me.”

“I suppose I give you an A for effort.” She applauded him slowly. “If you could convince that bakery brat to join us, then we might get somewhere.” Chloe’s eyes narrowed when Adrien averted his gaze. “I can smell your guilt from here.”

“I don’t want Marinette to know about this,” he said. “I want her to continue to move on and be happy.”

“Why do you care so much about Dupain-Cheng? I’ve known you two were friends, but I didn’t think you were that close.” Chloe eyed him.

“Lila has caused her enough grief, and she’s my friend.” He shrugged. “She’s important to me.”

His newfound protectiveness didn’t sit well with Chloe. She turned her back for a few days, and now Dupain-Cheng had Adrien eating out of her hands. She would have to keep an eye on them.

“So, that’s why you want to do something about Lila now? To help Dupain-Cheng?” She asked, doing her best not to sound offended. “And here I’d thought you couldn’t stand to see me being unjustly ignored.”

“You’ve known Marinette longer than I have. Do you think she deserved to be treated that way by her friends?” Adrien asked.

Chloe shifted her gaze to her cup, taking a long, thoughtful sip. “No,” she said, “as much as I hate her, she didn’t deserve that.”

Adrien’s eyebrows raised in surprise, but a smile curled on his lips. “You’ve changed.”

“Don’t think for a second that I care about her,” she scoffed. Her cheeks burned when Adrien leaned against his fist with a smug grin.

“I like it. It suits you,” he said. She puffed her cheeks out stubbornly, prompting a laugh from Adrien.

“Well, if you’re not going to let me do things my way, and you don’t want Dupain-Cheng to know about this, then I’m going to need some time to think and pull resources together,” she said, getting back to the matter at hand.

“Thanks, Chlo.” He leaned back and took a deep breath. “Although…”

“Don’t ‘although.’” Chloe groaned.

“I just feel kind of bad for yelling at her like that,” Adrien said.

“Why? She deserved it.” She snatched a bonbon from the tray and popped it into her mouth.

“I know, but…” He clasped his hands together between his knees. “It still feels mean.”

“Your passion was short-lived, Adrikins.” Chloe rolled her eyes.

Adrien pursed his lips, clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “I’ll talk to her again tomorrow and give her one last chance.” When Chloe shook her head, he added, “If she says no, then we can figure something out. Something safe and not needlessly cruel.”

“You’re such a goody-two-shoes. Always thinking everyone can change and be nice.” She stuck her tongue out with a gag.

“Well, I never gave up on you, and now you’re a superhero,” he said pointedly.

Chloe flipped her ponytail over one shoulder to hide her smile. “Fine. Do whatever you want, but I’m still going to think up plans for revenge for when you inevitably fail.” She waved him away.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.” He crossed the room to kiss her cheeks in farewell before taking his leave.

Chloe clapped for her butler the moment the door shut behind him. “Jean Rousseau, how quickly can we have a case of live lobsters delivered?”

♪♫♪ Kaleidoscope Eyes ♪♫♪

“Wait, what happened?” Adrien asked that night over video chat. His Chinese notecards were scattered across his desk, abandoned the moment Marinette’s picture flashed on his screen.

“Clara Nightingale wants me to design for her! She came by in person and everything,” Marinette said. She laid prone on her chaise, legs kicking as she chewed her nails. “I’m so nervous, but she thinks I’ve got what it takes.”

“Of course, you do. You’re awesome.” Adrien assured her.

“Thanks.” She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “So, how was school for you today? Anything exciting happen?”

“Uh, just same old, same old. Lila being Lila.” He averted his gaze. “Nothing noteworthy to report.”

“That’s good, I guess,” Marinette said. “I take it Chloe hasn’t made a move?”

“Nope.”

“Give her time.” Marinette rolled her eyes. “By the way, my new friends still want to meet you.”

“I’d be happy to,” he said, thankful for the change in subject.

“Macy invited me to hang out at her house on Friday. Maybe you could come along if you aren’t busy,” she suggested.

“I’ll beg my father.”

“Awesome!” Her blue eyes sparkled when she smiled. She seemed so relaxed and carefree. Just as she should be.

He tapped his fingers on his desk, his conscience loud in his ears. “You know I’d do anything to help you, right?”

“What? I, uh, yeah I mean, we’re friends, so I’d do anything to help you too,” she stammered, cheeks pink. “Why?”

“No reason, just if you need anyone to bounce ideas off of for Clara, that’s all…” He cleared his throat. “Anyway, I should get back to studying.”

“Right, I’m sorry for calling and distracting you!” She scrambled to sit up.

“It’s fine. I’m glad you did,” he said. “Talk to you soon.”

“I’ll let you know how designing goes,” she said. “Good night, Adrien.”

“Yeah, good night…”

♪♫♪ Dancing With a Wolf ♪♫♪

“Did you finish filing those papers Mme. Mendeleiev asked you to do?” Alya asked after school the next day.

Lila suppressed an eye roll, cupping her hands to her cheeks. “Oh no, I didn’t, and I totally forgot that my mom set up a meeting for me with some ambassadors about a new idea I have to help special needs kids in third world countries!” She clasped her hands together. “I know you’re busy, but would you mind finishing that up for me? I will totally make it up to you!”

“No worries, girl,” Alya said. “Go save the world.”

Lila smiled triumphantly as she sauntered toward the locker room, looking forward to her afternoon off. The students here were so gullible. She’d never had such an easy time pushing her work off on others, and now that Marinette was gone, she could do whatever she wanted. Rounding the corner, she found Adrien standing by her locker with a solemn expression.

“Hey, Lila,” he said. “Can we talk?”

“Are you going to apologize for how you spoke to me yesterday?” She crossed her arms over her chest with a humph.

“I am.” He nodded.

“Well, go on then,” she said.

“I’m sorry for yelling at you,” he said.

Her shoulders relaxed, and the smug grin returned to her lips. “Apology accepted. I’m so happy that you see things my w-”

“I’m not finished.” He cut her off. “I’m sorry for yelling at you, but I’m not sorry for what I said.” Her eyes narrowed, so he continued, “If you continue lying to everyone and using them, you’re only going to hurt yourself in the end. People are going to figure it out eventually, and they’re going to be angry with you.”

“These people are blind. I’ll get away with it for as long as I want.” She brushed past him to open her locker.

“I know you think that, but you’re wrong,” he said, and Lila could see where this speech was going. “I’m going to give you one last chance, Lila. Tell everyone the truth.”

She rolled her eyes as she shifted her books. “Or what, Adrien?” She turned to him and cocked a brow. “What are you going to do? Tell everyone that I’m lying? Good luck. You see how well that went for Marinette.”

Her name sparked something in his eyes, and Lila smirked when his jaw clenched.

“I’m not going to expose you.” Adrien shook his head. “You’re going to expose yourself, and I won’t help you when you face the consequences.”

“We’ll see about that.” She reapplied her lip gloss before shutting her locker. “Sooner or later, you’ll see things my way, and when you do, I’ll be waiting.” She strutted past him with a wink, hips swaying.

“Is that your choice?”

She turned over her shoulder with an amused grin. “Oh, Adrien. One day you’re going to learn that not everyone in the world wants to be nice,” she cooed.

He nodded thoughtfully. “Suit yourself.”

At that she rolled her eyes and paced from the locker room. Adrien didn’t scare her because he was all talk and no bite—just one thing that she loved about him. Boys like him were easy to manipulate, and it was only a matter of time before she had him under her spell just like everyone else. All she had to do was wait.

♪♫♪ Cinderblock Garden ♪♫♪

Come to my garden.

When Marinette received the invite from Adrien, she swore she was dreaming, but the gates opening before her were the pinch in the side she needed. This wasn’t a dream. Adrien really invited her to his house! She should have changed schools ages ago.

“Marinette! This way,” Adrien called from the front door, a bright smile warming his face.

“This is the first time I’ve been invited to your house. I’m a little nervous…” Marinette admitted as Adrien’s bodyguard shut the door behind them.

“I had to beg Nathalie, but I think I have something that can help you with your designs for Clara.”

Adrien led the way through the large house, and Marinette soaked in as much of it as possible. It was the first opportunity she had to peek into Adrien’s life, and she wasn’t going to waste it.

Colorless walls and floors were sparsely decorated with lavish couches, untouched from the moment they were placed. Towering portraits spanned the walls, watching over each room with their solemn expressions. Goosebumps trailed up Marinette’s arms. Every object was meticulously placed, and each room resembled a museum display more than a home. She half expected an alarm to go off if she touched anything.

They passed enough tall doors to make anyone dizzy, though all of them were closed, barring Marinette off from what lied beyond. The Agreste mansion hid many secrets, some that even Adrien probably didn’t know. Adrien’s house felt more like a fortress than a home, designed not only to keep the rest of the world out, but to keep the family locked in. It was hard to tell from the outside, but moving through one gray room after another, Marinette started to see the house for what it was: a cozy prison built for a boy. No wonder Adrien was always eager to leave—it was easy to feel alone in a house like this.

She’d never considered what other barriers stood between her and Adrien. How many doors were between them? She liked to think she’d made it through a few, but the tall walls of the mansion with its many locked doors reminded her just how little she knew the boy in front of her. Would those doors ever open for her? And was Adrien even capable of opening them? She didn’t know.

“Your house is very…” Marinette searched for a word.

“Depressing?” He turned to her over his shoulder.

“I wouldn’t say that-”

“It’s okay,” he said. “It’s true. My father is a brilliant designer… of clothes, but his interior décor makes funeral homes seem cheerful.”

“Lonely,” she said. “I was going to say I can see now how you get lonely.”

“It’s not all bad,” he said as Gorilla opened the brown double doors, and they stepped out into the backyard.

The dreary aura of the house gave way to warm sunlight, and Marinette welcomed the change, taking a deep breath of fresh air. Rose bushes lined the yard, vines trailing up the house in knotted tendrils while dozens of butterflies fluttered between the flowers. Despite the ever-present roar of the city beyond the walls, the garden was a tranquil place.

“It’s beautiful,” she murmured, dumbstruck.

“My mother loved to spend time out here, and somedays I catch my father sitting on the steps with his tablet. I thought that maybe it could inspire you too.” Adrien rubbed the back of his neck, and when Marinette turned to him with a smile, he gestured to the stairs. “Come on. It’s even better down there.”

Adrien beckoned for her to follow, and she trailed her hand along the smooth stone railing, head leaned back to take in all of the greenery. Sunlight trickled through the trees, casting speckled, glowing patterns on the ground. Birds chirped in the bushes, the occasional tiny head peeking out between the branches. Everything was so lively here, living in perfect harmony—a direct contrast from the dissonance inside the house.

They came to stop in front of the statue at the center—Adrien’s mother immortalized in stone. Much like the rest of the portraits in the house, it was beautiful, but also sad. Marinette couldn’t imagine losing her mom the way Adrien lost his. He put on a cheery face, but Marinette knew that he was still mourning deep down.

“My dad loves having images of my mom around. It’s like she’s still here with us,” he said. “It probably sounds silly, but I like to sit out here and talk to her sometimes. It’s comforting.”

“I don’t think that’s silly.” Marinette shook her head. “You really miss her.”

“Yeah,” he said softly. “But I know she’d want me to be happy, so I try to keep my head up every day.”

Marinette hesitated, her fingers twitching toward his. It wouldn’t be out of line to take his hand. She just wanted to comfort him…as a friend. Despite convincing herself it was an innocent gesture, her heart still skipped when she finally mustered the courage to slip her hand into his. He welcomed it, giving her hand a tight squeeze.

“Thank you for bringing me here,” she said, “and for sticking by me through everything.”

Adrien turned to her, the sunniness returning to his smile as he shot her a wink. “I’ve got your back, Marinette. You’re one of my best friends, and I’ll always be here for you.”

Her cheeks warmed, and she turned back to the statue. It was strange. Normally hearing Adrien say such things would have sent her straight to cloud 9, and she would have spent hours replaying those words in her head. But her heart couldn’t seem to get off the ground. The light fluttery feeling was weighed by a heavy darkness as if it were still trapped in the house, unable to escape into the peace of the garden.

Then I guess we shouldn’t consider ourselves bffs if there’s so much we don’t know about each other.

Maybe we shouldn’t.

“Marinette?”

She blinked, and something hot slid down her cheek. Adrien stepped closer as she batted at it with a shaking hand, a wet sheen glistening on her fingers.

“It’s okay.” He pulled her into his arms.

She clung to him as more tears spilled over, burying her face in his shoulder. She hadn’t intended to make a habit of crying in the arms of the boy she loved, but given the circumstances, she couldn’t help it. Her tears came when they wanted and refused to surrender once they started. Luckily, Adrien was so perfect and understanding that he always held her close, whispering soft encouragement until her sobs quieted.

Marinette loved him with all of her heart.

“How can anyone live with themselves when they inflict this kind of pain on others?” Adrien murmured into her hair. “Lila Rossi really is evil.”

♪♫♪ …Ready for It? ♪♫♪

Chloe wasn’t surprised to see him that evening—she didn’t even pause her yoga when he entered. It should have bothered him more that she predicted he would cave, but Chloe had known him a long time. She knew better than anyone what his limits were.

“Have you thought about my request?” she asked, shifting into downward facing dog.

Adrien chewed his cheek, Marinette’s tears now dried on his shirt, and steeled his resolve. “If you and I were to plot revenge against Lila…what do you have in mind?”

#mdcsp #mdcspr #marinette dupain-cheng's spite playlist #marinette dupain-cheng's spite playlist remix #my writing

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moonlilith · 4 years

Text

stuck with you

↬ Pairing: Kozume Kenma x reader

↬ Timeline: timeskip

↬ Genre: Fluff ☁️

↬ Wordcount: 1,061

↬ Masterlist: HERE!

↬ AN: another self-indulge fic that relates to me sometimes even before quarantine has started. Im currently ongoing with online classes which I believe is making me lazier than I usually do but still it's better than when my classes haven’t started. And this is basically the rules that my country had mandated during the first wave of covid where we couldn’t go out like we do now. Anyhow, stay safe everyone and thank you frontlines, may god bless you all.

“What are you doing?” Kenma popped his head and looked at you questionably as he looked at the wall clock. It was close to 2pm and you haven't even got up from your bed. “I’m meditating.” You answer as you tugged the covers off you. It was a hot day, and it has been close to two weeks of total quarantine. Only the head households are allowed to go out and its only on Tuesday and Thursday so getting the groceries wasn’t an activity you can do now.

“Get up, y/n.” he said softly walking towards you and pulling your leg softly. “You’re not meditating, you’re sleeping and it’s only going to make your insomnia worse if you sleep during the day.” Kenma only sigh worriedly looking at you. He can't blame you for being so lethargic.

Before the lockdown, you were always moving around from one place to another and to Kenma, the current situation isn't that much different from his usual maybe for the university part, but his university decided to have a short break to adjust with the unforeseeable events.

“Get up and take a shower y/n. I have cooked some noodles and we’ll have to think early what we’ll eat tonight since food delivery is only until 7pm.” He walked towards the bathroom and got your clothes ready for you. You only send a glare at him but continue pouting when he pointed towards the bathroom.

You both were eating in silence and yet it saddens Kenma out to see his sunshine all worn down. You both knew this quarantine was for the best and knew how thankful you were to the healthcare profession, but you just can't help but feel the quarantine have been dragging you so down. “Let’s do this.” Kenma reaches for your hand on the other side of the table.

“Every day we’ll do a new activity, so you would be excited every day.Besides, I’m stuck with you and you’re stuck with me. ” You brighten up at the idea. “Hey! You made that sound like it’s a bad thing.” You pouted playfully. You had always been someone that just couldn’t sit still and Kenma was the total opposite. It still amazed Kuroo how someone like Kenma fall in love with someone as restless as you. Kenma gain the courage to confess to you right after they’ve won a game and you, you always had a crush on him.

“Hey babe, can you get the parcel at the door. I’m still streaming.” He shouted from his work room aka his game room. You obliged since you weren't actually doing anything. You picked up the parcel that the deliveryman left after he had announced that there was a parcel. It was contactless ofcourse to avoid the virus spreading around. You picked up the box and left it on the counter when Kenma went out of his room and picked up a penknife.

“Let’s open my present for us. Thankfully it didn’t sell out before I bought it because this is a quarantine essential.” He urged you to help him open the parcel and it was two Nintendo switch. “Babe!” You were in shock as you pulled out not one but two Nintendo switch. “You could have just bought one.” You told him again when he went ahead and open his as you still shocked staring at the box.

“If I bought one, I can’t play Animal Crossing with you. Now less complaining, more islandning.” You thought that was the last where he had spent money just for you to have a different activity. The next day, a parcel of embroideries set came. When you asked him all he said that ‘Tiktok says it’s fun.” The next was a painting set by numbers, and the other day was skincare set that Kenma sees everywhere in Tiktok.

The next day after he had done with his activities, he pulled you towards the gaming room. “Let’s farming.” He said briefly and you were confused until you see the ‘Stardew Valley’ intro. It was easy to get lose in the game. The next day, he taught you to play Valorant. It was intense and you play with Kuroo, Yaku and Lev too. It was fun, you must admit since you can’t physically see them.

The next after, you played Among Us but this time there was Shoyo, Kageyama, Tsukishima, Bokuto, and Akaashi. It was truly fun and scary to see how Kenma could lie straight to everyone faces but one thing for sure was that he refused to kill you which led to Kuroo calling him a simp. A term that you definitely have heard but didn’t know the meaning off.

“Love?” You peeked at him as he was scrolling through the online shopping site. “What are you doing?” You walked towards him. “Oh, I didn’t know you were up. I was looking for some fun activities to do.” You frowned looking at him, pulling him outside to the living room. “Let’s watch anime or kdrama for today.” He gave you a frown but still followed you out as you picked what show you wanted.

And as much as you hated how he was spending his money recklessly; you still love every inch of Kenma for going beyond just so that he could see you smile. You were getting ready for bed when you see that Kenma was still streaming. You decided to peek at him and slowly walked behind his chair, your hand looping around his neck before kissing his cheek. “Let’s just stick to watching shows or playing games and anything we’ve had for tomorrow and the next day it comes.” Kenma didn’t paused his game yet he took a glance towards you, “You’ll get bored--”

“As long as I’m with you and we’re together, I’ll never get bored.” You said kissing his forehead, forgetting that the stream was still on. “Ah, I’m sorry guys, I have to end the stream abruptly.” He said and pulled you towards the bedroom. “What? What about your stream Kodzuken, your fans Kenchis?.” You said pushing him softly, but he shook his head. “Kuroo’s right. I am a simp for you.” You only can tilt your head confused looking at him. “And my fans are not Kenchis.” He laid his head on your lap as you played with his hair.

↬ happy late birthday kenma!!

↬ luckily kenma is a rich btch that can buy the nintendo switch. i cant relate since im broke af and i still want to play acnh. and all i wanted is to have gaming dates with my s/o but first i need to find a s/o.

#haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x y/n #kenma x reader #kozume x reader #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu!!#timeskip kenma #kenma kozume

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cosmiclatte28 · 4 years

Text

Dream a Dream (Renjun x you)

a/n: Hello! It’s been a while, but happy new year! Sorry for not updating any stories, as I mentioned in previous post I have several stories stuck because of home works and a busy week.

So, here marks my first oneshot of Renjun and first oneshot after the Christmas project! Without further delay, here we go!

Warning : angst but of course it ends beautifully you can also see I am simping Renjun now :D

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　

For the second time, you sigh and look into your brother’s eyes trying to find help. The dining room suddenly feels so suffocating and you try to cower yourself to feel smaller in this room. Across you is your brother, Jeno, and on his right is your father beside you sit your mother.

“I have told you, you are not going to Japan, not to study there.” Your mother continues her rambling. It is dinner, but she doesn’t seem to care. The atmosphere is ruined, for you, to enjoy the heartful dinner.

You want to backlash at her words, saying that no matter what she says, you will find a way to get that scholarship offer and fly to the Rising Sun country to pursue a degree. However, you know better to be quiet now if you still want to try and coax her tomorrow.

Earlier you were saying that your application to your dream university in Japan is accepted, Jeno was delighted when he heard this but your happiness come to an end right the second your mother went into your room and snatch the acceptance letter. Her eyes widened and the next thing you know, she stormed out of the room with a hard look on her face.

When your father arrives home, everyone is seated in their chairs and mother decided to talk about the acceptance letter and how you are not allowed to go.

“I’ve told you (y/n), you are my only daughter and I do not want to lose my only daughter.” She at first calmly says this. Then she continues “Didn’t I tell you already that you’re beautiful, pretty, charming, and those traits are enough to ensure you a rich husband that will fulfil your life perfectly.”

Your father doesn’t seem to object nor care, well you believe he is already tired listening the same thing going on for the last three years. Since your freshman year in high school, you’ve been telling your family of your dream to study in Japan, but since day one, your mother objected. Her reason was not because you’re dumb or your family cannot fund the tuition, it’s merely because she believes a daughter shouldn’t live a hard life. Studying and working hard are the responsibilities of the men she said, and women like you just have to find the rich husband, dress nice beside them and be their good companion.

“Mom, I know, but the world has changed. I want to pursue my dream like Jeno hyung.” You politely speak up.

Her grip on the spoon stiffens and she looks into you sternly, “Jeno should earn his degree so he can work successfully and provide good wealth for his family. You darling, I am offering you an easier path and I know just the perfect place to find you the dearest, rich husbands. Now enough of this talk, finish dinner and help me clean up the dishes.”

Jeno kicks your leg under the table to at least send you a signal that he is going to stand on your side. His face shows he is sorry for you, but he knows now is not the right time yet to speak up.

Dinner ended and you help your mom to wash the dishes. Well you do have maids, but they do not stay the night at home. The maids are only here from morning to noon, dinner must be taken care by your mom and you.

“(Y/n), for the sake of god. Stop acting foolish. I’ve seen you sneaking around to extra science classes at school, instead of going to the socialite gathering I signed you up for.” She said in disappointment.

You sigh, well in your private school for elites there is a silly community where the rich gathers and make bonds, attend weekend parties or social events, and if you’re lucky win one of their hearts and got asked a hand for marriage.

“It’s just a science club, they’re fun and I only go there once a week.” You lie, you go there every Tuesday, Thursday, Friday and just pop into the community once in a month.

Your mother chuckles, “You think I am stupid? I know you do not attend the socialite gathering, you always go home to finish a lab report. I mean you being in your room, without any loud voice of the TV nor any sound of you calling anyone means you either read or do something. You don’t read because your books are in the library.”

You curse in your heart, she really is as smart as Sherlock, why can’t she allow you to use your similarly brilliant brain to study rather than prepare to be a good wife.

“I am texting the school’s principal to ban you from that science club, you must attend the community’s events. Also, stop seeing that man from your science club, Huang? Huang Renjun is it? He isn’t as noble as the others, instead I suggest you learn more about that son of NA CORPS, Jaemin.” she wipes her wet hands on the towel and leaves you speechless.

You stand in front of the sink, perplexed that your mother knows everything about your secret. More surprisingly she knows Renjun, now who is spilling the secret here?

You go up to your room and sit on your bed. Your eyes drift to the duffel bag you’ve prepared this week. Your phone rings and you pick it up with a big grin.

“Renjun-a!” you greet him as you fling yourself to the big soft mattress in your lavender room.

There is a soft giggle from the other end, “Hey there princess,” he greets. You blush at the nickname, Renjun has been your best friend since the first day of school. You share a table with him and he shares the same timetable as yours. He is a fun guy with angelic features, blonde hair, and beautiful voice. Both of you love nature and has been in the science club and scout team for three years. This Friday there is a scout camp going on until Sunday and Renjun had helped you sign up for it, since your mother would maybe die if she knows her daughter is not only a science club member but also a scout girl.

“So, are you packed up for Friday?” he asks just in case you need help from him to get supplies.

You shake your head, “No need. Mom actually thought I am going to stay over at Victoria’s house. Well she promised she won’t spill any tea and lie for me as I promise her Jeno’s number.”

Renjun giggles, he knows you will find a way and he has no doubt that 97% of them always work.

“Great then, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow. Good night luv, take care!” Renjun sends a flying kiss through the phone and you blush at this. He is not your boyfriend, but look at how comfortable he is to flirt around with you.

“Bye bye Injunie,” you squeak and close your phone right in time when the door opens and a wild Jeno appears.

“You’re staying in Victoria’s house?” he asks, apparently your mother told him not to pick you up tomorrow because you’re staying over.

You pull him into your side and glance on the door. “Shh, I lied. Keep it a secret, I’ll be in the mountain tomorrow. So, if there is no signal or bad reception.. please cover up for me.”

Jeno shakes his head, “Cover up? I need to lie again?”

You plead him with your puppy eyes he always lose to, “I’ll accompany you to the cat café next month for the whole week.”

He smiles “Nice, don’t worry I’ll pretend I know what you’re doing.”

You grin “Oh please work on the lie with Victoria, so if mom cross checks you two won’t be caught lying. I have put her name under your contact list.”

Jeno looks surprised, but just shakes his head. “Come here,” He pulls you into his arms and hugs you.

You breathe in and relax your shoulder, “I am sorry for what mom always do to you. I’ll try to talk with her when you’re away. Just take good care of yourself and have fun okay!” he ruffles your hair and kisses your forehead.

“Thank you hyung,” you whisper and detach yourself from him.

The next day, you’re very excited to finally leave behind your problems with mom and just enjoy your freedom in the camping grounds. It’s just near the mountain and the track is not hard. You and Renjun are a part of the officer team, considering the fact that both of you are senior here.

“Need help pitching that tent?” Renjun pops up behind you and you shake your head, “Nah, I’m good, almost done. Why don’t you help the juniors?” you point your chin at a group of struggling kids, well it is not surprising some of them are never raised this way but they have to choose one activity outside subject and the scout activity is always the one with least student. So, those who are late in registering will end up here.

You finish setting up your tent, help the others too and go with the activities. There’s nothing much to do, you just have to prepare dinner with Renjun while the other instructors will lead the troop to explore the areas and learn basic nature things.

You admit Renjun cooks better than you, although his cooking skills are just to the point where it is edible, yours are worse.

“How is this?” Renjun brings a spoonful of the red kimchi stew he is making, and you take a taste test.

Your eyes lighten up, “Hm this is way better than what you always make for me.” He sends you a death glare, but you’re used to it. “Hey at least I am saying something good.” You bump his shoulder and his smile relights.

“Look at the cute couple here, what are you two making this time?” A familiar mischievous voice makes the two of you turn your heads to sigh at the man coming to the cooking area.

“Haechan,” you sigh, “We’re not a couple and what are you doing here? What’s your duty?” you ask as you continue helping Renjun cuts up tofu and onions. Haechan is the most annoying yet dearest friend of yours.

“I am the guarding team, my job is basically in the night with Mark. Don’t worry, I won’t bother you two if you’re going to spend a time alone in the woods.” He winks and you throw him a spoon, that missed but he’s happily running away. Renjun stays quiet somehow after Haechan’s appearance but you don’t really take matter of it. He’s always quiet when he’s focused.

Dinner went amazingly well, all of the tired students enjoy Renjun’s kimchi stew and you’re glad you don’t have to wash the dishes, the students played a game and losing team has to clean up.

The night activity too was like the usual one, where we sit around the bon fire and tell stories. It is dark and now you’re alone with Renjun left by your side. He grabs a guitar someone brought and after taking glance around, Renjun picks the strings and start playing a piece of melody. You lean into his shoulder, something you’ve always done to him and watch as the starry night move above you.

“That is beautiful but why are you playing such a sad song?” you ask Renjun after the pretty angel plucks his last string. You cannot lie listening to a sad song in the night alone with Renjun hurts so much. You suddenly remember the small quarrel with your mom and you feel like you have to tell him this.

“Injun-a, do you know that there’s a lot of thing I want to share with you but sometimes I can’t find the right time to say it.” You avert your gaze away from his soft eyes.

“First and foremost, I am sorry that…” your voice trails off but Renjun stays there to listen, “I am sorry I cannot fulfil our promise to leave for Japan together.” You sigh.

It’s a small promise you made with Renjun on your first month of friendship and since then both of you have been working hard to get good grades and prepare the requirements for entering the university.

Renjun did not look surprised, but he is the best man in covering his feelings. Unlike Renjun who can read you like an open book, you cannot read him at all. He just plays with his fingers and after a while looks into your eyes.

“(y/n), I know it’s not your fault. Don’t blame yourself, besides we can still figure out a way to fulfil this dream of ours.” He calmly threads your hair.

You shake your head, “It won’t happen Renjun, mom looks final with her decision. I am so sorry you have to leave by yourself.”

The young man chuckles dryly, “If you’re not going, then I won’t too.”

You snap at him, “What do you mean? It is your dream too!”

He nods, “It is my dream, and yours too. Our promise is to achieve our dream together right? So if fate decides to leave one of us behind, screw it I’ll stay.”

You can no longer hold back the tears in your eyes, who are you to deserve him? He really is an angel in disguise, always putting your importance first before his.

“Don’t cry, I am not going anywhere if you’re not there.” Was his last promise before he engulfs you into his warm shoulder and hugs you as the last bits of fire flickers in the dark and went out.

It is dark now, with only the moon shining over both of your face. Your glazy eyes met his and without second thoughts, you bring your lips to seal his. When there is no sign of objections you hold it there, letting Renjun takes over instead. One of his arm makes his way to the nape of your neck, gently pressing your head closer to him so he can devour you. So this unexplainable emotions in your hearts can be set free.

It’s not passionate, it’s rushed, full of hurt emotion, and sadness. You feel pain as you try to remember just how soft his lips are, after this you may never see him again. Renjun finally lets go and under the moonlight you can see him wiping away a tear. Your heart cracks, “Injun-ie,” you bring your thumb to wipe his cheek, but he is faster to hold your wrist in the air.

Your face shows surprise, is he rejecting you? He didn’t wipe his tear. Instead, he asks you a question you never expect him to ask.

“Do you ever love me as someone more than a friend?” his sincere question laced with dreadful pain makes you close your eyes.

“I love you to the point that it hurts Renjun,” you reply in a heartbeat.

He closes his eyes and forces a sad smile, “Can you just once, tell me you love me?”

You want to ask him what he means by once? You’ll tell him over and over! But since you’re an open book to him, he answers you first before you can even gasp

“I know you’re forbidden to love me, I don’t want you to say that to me. It’s a sacred word prin- I mean (y/n). You should only say that to the person you truly love.” He looks down on his feet. Your heart burns when he refuses to even call you by his nickname.

He’s not dumb, he knows how this society of the rich works. It is always them choosing their daughter and son’s partner. He knows your mother doesn’t like him, merely because she never invites him to any of the tea party or dinner. The school knows that your family had made a promise to Jaemin’s family that if their children are of different gender, they will tie the bond. It’s just wonderful how the whole school, including Renjun, knows but not you.

Yes, you and Jaemin both know nothing. Both parents just try to make it look “natural” by sending their children to the same school, put them in the same group of community, and make them see each other as frequent as possible.

You stop crying and look into his eyes, “Renjun, you say I just have to say that word to the man I really love right?”

He nods, he knows he is dumb for saying that. He should’ve just asked you out to be his before you and Jaemin become a thing, but that will just hurt you and him. And having to hurt more is not something Renjun needs right at this moment.

“I love you Renjun,” you whisper sincerely. This may be the only chance you get to say it out loud to him. And the brilliant boy seizes his moment too, “I love you too, princess.”

You and Renjun stay together for a couple of minutes in silence. Because sometimes silence speaks louder, and emotions are conveyed better. You did not know where tomorrow will bring you, but at least you’re not regretting your decision tonight that being telling your true feelings to the person you love.

end.

(ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧ thank you for the supports

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ravenbrenna09 · 4 years

Text

Jij Verliest - Chapter Seven: Clips 9-11

master list

...

Donderdag 18:03

Sander: Hey, how was your stream?

Robbe: It was okay. Were you watching me? Because I literally just hit ‘end stream.’

Sander: No, I’m just now leaving work. Did you want to meet up for dinner?

Robbe: I can’t today. I’m going to meet my mom for dinner. Thursday is our weekly dinner.

Sander: Right, of course. For some reason, I thought it was Wednesday. Which is all the more reason for my text.

Robbe: What text?

Sander: Pack a bag when you get home.

Robbe: What for?

Sander: It’s a surprise ;) But make sure you bring a swimsuit and some shorts.

Robbe: What? What do I need a swimsuit for? Sander?

Sander: It’s a surprise, Robbe. The point is for you not to know.

Robbe: I’m not the biggest fan of surprises.

Sander: It’s a good one, I promise. Just getting some alone time is all.

Robbe: Okay. Does that mean I’m not streaming this weekend?

Sander: Just Saturday. I’ll have you home in time to stream on Sunday ;)

Robbe: Okay, I’ll pack a bag when I get home from dinner.

Sander: Great :) I’ll pick you up at 17:30 tomorrow? My shift ends at 17:00.

Robbe: I’ll see you then.

Sander: Yes :) Call me later?

Robbe: Of course. Wouldn’t miss it :)

…

Donderdag 18:28

As soon as Robbe stepped into her apartment, he could see the knowing look on his mama’s face. Her lips were upturned into a smile and her eyes followed Robbe into the apartment. As they were sitting down to eat their takeout (because his mama had to work late and was too hungry to cook), his phone vibrated on the table. Once the vibration started, the chorus of Rebel, Rebel played shortly after. Robbe rushed to turn it off, knowing it was a text from Sander, and fought the grin he knew was growing on his lips.

His mama watched his actions with a knowing look in her eyes. In an attempt to hide the blush on his cheeks, Robbe ducked his head. But avoiding her gaze did not stop her from asking, with a teasing tone, “Since when do you listen to David Bowie?”

Robbe giggled, feeling his cheeks flush a little more. “I’ve been listening to him recently is all,” Robbe said, shrugging. He bit his lip and didn’t look up at his mother. “His music is amazing.”

“Ah okay,” his mother said. From the light tone of her voice, Robbe could tell that his mother wasn’t buying it at all. She crossed her arms at the edge of the table and turned towards him with a critical eye. “Well, you certainly look happier than you did last week,” his mama said. She leaned towards him with a bright smile on her face and asked, “Does this have to do with Sander? Did you two figure things out?”

Robbe could feel the blush rising on his cheeks and dipped his head down a little further. His mother let out a giggle as Robbe said, “Yeah, we did and we’re together now.” His mama grinned excitedly at him, her dimples popping. “After work on Friday, he came over and we talked about what happened.” They didn’t talk until the morning, but Robbe was never going to admit that to his mother. “He spent the weekend and we went out to dinner on Tuesday.”

His mother smiled. “That’s so sweet, I’m happy for you,” his mama said. As Robbe placed his phone on silent and deposited his phone into his pocket, his mama dumped the contents of her to-go container onto the plate in front of her. Once his mama glanced up, catching his eye, she added, “I can’t wait to meet Sander.” Robbe swallowed. “I can see that he makes you so happy and that’s all I’ve ever wanted for you.”

“About that—” Robbe started.

“What? Does he not make you happy?” his mama asked, confused.

“No, no, he does,” Robbe said, smiling. “I promise.” His mama nodded her head. As Robbe struggled to find the words, she kept herself angled toward him as she cut up her food. “I was thinking about you meeting him.” His mama stayed quiet, keeping her eyes focused on him, but Robbe could still see the confusion and worry in her eyes… and he hadn’t even asked the question yet. “Sander and I were talking the other day and he has next Thursday evening off, so I was wondering if you might want to meet him then?”

“I’m not sure,” his mama said, taking a bite of her food. Once she swallowed, she continued. “I know how important he is to you. I want to make sure that I meet him on a good day so I don’t scare him away.” The words made Robbe’s stomach twist—because Robbe knew that she would never scare anyone away—but he kept quiet. “So, maybe, we’ll talk about it next Wednesday? That way we can put everything together and make sure it's a good day for me.”

Since the moment that his father had left them when he was 15, Robbe had vowed that he and his mama would be a package deal. Robbe loved his mama with everything he had and he wanted her in his life for as long as he could manage. Because his father left when things got too much, Robbe was left to help her with the pieces and took care of her on the days where she couldn’t get out of bed.

And his mother knew this.

Maybe it was why she put so much pressure on having a good day when she was meeting his boyfriends and why she was always sad when Robbe insisted on coming over on bad ones. On his mother’s bad days, Robbe felt it tenfold and took care of her because he knew that was what she needed. Sometimes, she welcomed his help, knowing that she needed to be taken care of occasionally. Other days, she despised it and it made her feel like a burden.

At the end of the day, Robbe loved his mama with every fiber of his being and he would always take care of her. His mama loved him just as much—if not more. Since the months she spent in the hospital, Robbe wanted to do anything he could to help her feel better. He knew that he could never completely help her the way that she needed—he wasn’t her doctor nor was he studying to become one—but he wanted to help with the little things, such as washing the dishes or helping with dinner.

And, if she insisted, he would wait so she could meet Sander on a good day, knowing that it would help relieve her anxiety.

It was why, instead of arguing, Robbe reached over to take her hand. She gripped his hand back, shaking slightly, and Robbe pretended not to notice. Running his thumb along the knuckles of her hand, Robbe said, “We can play it by ear. I just wanted to ask you before I asked him.” Smiling, Robbe added, “I just really want him to meet my mama.”

“I really want to meet him, too,” his mama said, sounding calmer. “Maybe we can talk on Tuesday and set it up.” Robbe nodded, grinning over at her. Before Robbe turned back to his food, she added, “But, if I’m feeling bad on Thursday, we can reschedule to the following week.”

“Alright, Mama,” Robbe said. “Whether it’s next Thursday or the one after, it sounds wonderful and I know Sander will be excited to meet you.”

His mama smiled, turning to her food. Letting out a laugh, she pushed herself to her feet and moved to the microwave as she took her container with her. Giggling, she said, “We talked so long that our food is getting cold. Do you want me to heat yours up, sweetheart?” Robbe shook his head and his mama smiled at him before turning back to the microwave.

…

Vrijdag 18:39

No matter how much Robbe asked, Sander remained tight-lipped about where they were going.

During their phone call after Robbe got home from his mama’s, he pestered Sander into giving him information but the only response he got was a teasing smirk and a, “Do you not know the definition of a ‘surprise,’ Robin?” Throughout the rest of the call, Sander had teased him about what they were going to do but gave no real details or explanations. The teasing had only increased the nervous and exhilarating buzz that was present beneath his skin.

Not knowing where they were going frustrated Robbe to no end.

However, at the same time, he was also eagerly anticipating whatever it was that Sander planned for their weekend getaway. Throughout his Friday afternoon stream—moved up to accommodate their trip—he was frequently phasing out of the match and getting killed when he shouldn’t have. About halfway into the second hour of the stream, his chat had a frightening realization and started screaming, or posting in all caps, “OH MY GOD, HE’S GOT A NEW BOYFRIEND,” which simply led to Robbe blushing profusely.

Once he ended his stream, right at 17:00, Robbe made one last check that he packed everything that Sander had told him to bring as well as other necessities. Swimsuit, shorts, shirts, underwear, phone charger, shampoo, toothpaste, toothbrush… Robbe had packed everything. Now, all he had to do was wait for Sander to arrive at the flatshare to pick him up. As Robbe paced around his room for the fourth time, his phone dinged, announcing Sander’s arrival.

Sander: I’m downstairs ;)

Throwing his bag over his shoulder, Robbe exited his bedroom and stepped into the hallway. Making sure to grab his phone and keys, he shouted goodbye into the nearly-empty apartment and practically flew toward the elevator. Outside the building, Sander was leaning against the passenger side door and grinned flirtatiously at him as Robbe approached.

“Where are we going?” Robbe asked, knowing he wouldn’t get an answer.

Sander leaned down to kiss him and Robbe eagerly stood on his toes to meet him. Sander’s arms wrapped low on Robbe’s waist, pulling them flushed together. Robbe wrapped his arms around Sander’s neck, tugging him closer. Sander let out a low noise before pulling back. “Come on,” he said. Sander stood from against the door, taking Robbe with him, and opened the door with one hand. “We better get going.”

Robbe raised an eyebrow. Sander’s hand on his waist guided him toward the door. “But where are we going?”

A teasing smile spread across Sander’s face. “Get in the car and you’ll see.”

“Sanderrrrrrr.”

Once Robbe got in the passenger side, tossing his bag in the back seat, Sander closed the door behind him and moved to the driver’s side. Before they drove off, Sander started the David Bowie playlist. While Robbe wasn’t surprised, he also recognized the playlist immediately. Whenever the two of them were together, the playlist was always playing. Sander turned up the volume, sending him a grin, as Robbe simply rolled his eyes. Before driving away, Sander leaned over to press one final kiss against his lips.

Throughout the drive, Sander held Robbe’s hand and quizzed him on the songs that came through the speakers. With each correct answer, Sander would beam over at him and squeeze his hand. Whenever he was struggling, Sander would give him hints and tease him the entire time. If he got a question wrong, Sander would tell him and remark that he needed to “study up” for his exam.

After an hour of listening to David Bowie, Sander exited the highway. Still gripping Robbe’s hand, he navigated down long roads without pausing. Even though he could sense they were getting close now, Robbe still did not have a clue where Sander was taking him. As Sander guided them with expert ease, Robbe stared out the window, his eyes finding the large trees that stretched to the sky.

Unexpectedly, Sander slowed down and the blinker of the car flipped on. After a few minutes of wandering down a dark, narrow road, they emerged into a clearing with a cabin perched in the middle of it.

The cabin was beautiful with a teal door that contrasted beautifully with the dark wood siding. The wall in front of them had large windows that peered into the living room and part of a beautiful kitchen. As Sander drove up to the cabin, Robbe could see a large backyard with a patio and possibly a pool behind the house. Once the car pulled to a stop, Robbe turned to Sander, who was staring at him nervously.

“Do you like it?” Sander asked.

“I do,” Robbe said. “But how much did this cost?”

“Didn’t cost anything.”

“Sander—”

“It didn’t cost me anything,” Sander said. He sat up in his seat and cupped Robbe’s cheek, swiping his thumb along his cheekbone and connecting the freckles. Without really thinking about it, Robbe leaned into his touch as Sander watched him with soft green eyes. “It’s Emilie’s cabin. When I mentioned getting out of town to surprise you, she offered the cabin. Normally, they come every weekend. I’ve been invited a few times. Alicia has a test on Monday so they aren’t coming this weekend.”

“Really?” Robbe asked.

“Really.”

Sander leaned forward, connecting their lips. At first, the kiss was gentle and chaste; but the realization of them being alone without having to worry about roommates or streams was enough to break the proverbial dam of emotions. They hadn’t stepped out of the car, but their kiss became deeper, needier, and borderline desperate.

Robbe tugged at the fabric of Sander’s work shirt, trying to pull him closer, but the hindrance of the console between them stopped Sander from being able to do so. One of Sander’s hands fisted at the hair on the nape of his neck, pulling enough to be pleasurable. His other hand dropped to Robbe’s waist, pulling his hips flush against the center, before slipping his hand beneath his shirt. Robbe gasped, trying to pull him closer, but to no avail. The console was still lodged between them.

Sander let out a sigh, breaking the kiss. “Come on,” he said, turning the car off. Reluctantly, he untangled his hand from Robbe’s hair and reached in the backseat to grab the bags. “Let’s go inside.” Robbe nodded. Before he could manage to snag his bag, Sander was taking it out of his reach and stepping out of the car. Robbe stared at him in disbelief before climbing out of the car.

As Robbe stared up at the cabin in awe, Sander wrapped an arm around him. Robbe turned toward him, snaking his arm around his waist. “So, you didn’t spend money on this?”

“Not a dime,” Sander said matter-of-factly. Robbe let out a sigh of relief. “If you and I go out to get some food to cook later, I definitely will pay for it though. But even if it was the priciest cabin in the world, I would still do it because there is nothing in this world that is too expensive for you.”

Despite already knowing the answer, Robbe said, “At least let me pay for something.”

“No.”

“Sander.”

“No,” Sander said matter-of-factly before pressing a featherlight kiss on his lips. Robbe whined, trying to pull him closer, but Sander simply smirked and moved to the front door. As Sander fumbled with the extra set of keys, Robbe stood back, watching him with an amused grin. After a few minutes, the teal door swung open and Sander pulled him into the safety of the cabin.

Immediately after stepping into the living room, there were two thumps somewhere behind him.

Robbe turned, catching sight of their bags abandoned on the floor, before Sander was claiming his lips again. Robbe wrapped his arms around Sander’s shoulders, bringing their bodies flush together. They stumbled against the wall—Sander’s hand protectively cradling the back of his head before trailing down his body. They could’ve kissed for minutes or hours or maybe even days, simply lost in the feeling of being together and alone.

After their kiss, which felt like a glimpse of forever, Sander pulled away from him.

His green eyes were blown wide and his lips were teetering on the edge of bright red. Robbe was certain that he didn’t look much better. But right now, he didn’t care. All he wanted was Sander, kissing him again, chasing that glimpse.

“Come on,” Sander said. He sounded as wrecked as Robbe felt, his impatience threatening to overwhelm him. Sander tugged at the hem of Robbe’s shirt, pulling him from the wall and into an unfamiliar hallway. Without question, Robbe followed his movements, walking backward with Sander guiding him. He bent down, his lips brushing against Robbe’s as he said, “I’ll give you the grand tour.”

#wtfock #wtfam #brenna writes #robbe ijzermans #sander driesen #jij verliest fic #twitch streamer!robbe #tattoo artist!sander #sobbe #rosander #wtfock fanfic #multi clip

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bvckiesbarnes · 4 years

Text

does that make me crazy?

Pairing: Mafia!Bucky x Reader

Word count: 1.6k

Summary: Reader is a waitress at a seedy bar. Bucky comes in to collect some payment and talk business with your boss. Things go wrong, and Bucky tries to get the truth.

Themes/Warnings: Mafia!Bucky, slight gun violence, slight swearing.

A/N: Requests are open! This is also my first Bucky x Reader fic so please be kind :)

You wipe down the bar top, idly trying to count in your head how many tips you got. You weren’t great at math but you still wanted to try. It was a slow night, typical for a Tuesday.

The bar you worked at was pretty seedy and it was situated on one of the many streets run by the Mafia. They were relatively safe if you payed the protection fee and didn’t make stupid decisions. You didn’t know exactly how much that fee was, but it wasn’t enough to go bankrupt, that’s for sure.

Just as you were finishing with the till, three people walked in. Two of them walked slowly, obviously assessing the room for threats. A woman with red hair and the type of attitude that says she could kill you with a single look inspected her nails, whispering something at her companion, an extremely muscular blonde man trailing two steps behind.

The man in the middle, though, is what makes you pay attention. He has full lips, artfully tousled brown, almost black hair and the most piercing set of blue yes you have ever seen. His jaw is sharp as a knife, broad shoulders filling out his jacket nicely.

You feel your mouth run dry and you immediately swallow, trying to get your tongue to work.

When you finally speak, you try to address all of them, your eyes lingering slightly on the man in the middle.

“Sorry, we’re closed,” you say, smiling apologetically.

The man in the middle doesn’t even miss a beat. “It won’t take a minute,” he says, a Brooklyn drawl lacing his words.

The moment he speaks, you recognise him. James “Bucky” Barnes. Notorious leader of the Mafia. The Mafia.

You are so fucked.

Trying to keep your voice steady, you straighten your back, trying not to betray anything. “Can I help you?”

“Is there any chance your boss is around?” Bucky asks, inspecting the bar and wincing slightly at the state of the stools, “I need to have a little chat with him. Tell him Bucky’s here.” His smile was all teeth, predatory and dangerous.

“Uh, yeah, sure, I think he’s in the back. Should I get him, or..?” You say, gesturing with your thumb.

Bucky just smirks, a lopsided thing that was far too innocent to be anything but. “That’d be great, doll.”

You give him a tight-lipped smile and rush to the back, not wanting to keep him waiting.

Your boss—Mike—wasn’t the best, but he wasn’t the worst, either. He usually pays on time, which is nice, and he only sometimes uncomfortably flirts with you. He’s only harassed you like, once. In New York that’s pretty good.

The world is fucked.

You quickly push the back door open. “Hey, Mike? There’s someone–oh, what the fuck.”

There’s a gun. Mike is holding the gun. In all your years in New York, this is actually the first time you’re getting a gun pulled on you. Fun. If you had a bingo card, you’d definitely win it with this.

Mike is breathing harshly, red in the face. Sweat drips down into his eyes. How he’s keeping them open is a mystery to you. “I know who’s here,” he whispers harshly, finger shaking on the trigger, “and I don’t wanna see him.”

The smart thing to do is back away. Tell Bucky to come back another time. For some reason, your brain wholeheartedly disagrees and decides to speak. “I don’t really think you have a choice,” you retort, voice steady.

Mike just turns even redder. You didn’t know a person could even have this much blood in one area. It seems unhealthy. “I swear to god I will shoot you,” he practically barks. “Tell him to go.”

“Okay, okay, let’s think for a moment here–”

“I am warning you–”

“I’m going!” You say, hands up in a placating motion. “Don’t shoot.”

You back out, keeping your hands up the entire time. You try your hardest to look normal when you go back into the bar, hoping that Bucky and his group don’t see through your façade. The moment you step back into that room all eyes are on you.

Except only Bucky is there.

This is gonna be bad.

You speak before Bucky can say anything.

“Hey, sorry, I think you just missed him, but I could leave a message or–oh you are very close.”

With each word you spoke, Bucky stepped closer, backing you into the bar. Your back hits the corner and suddenly you’re aware of just how close he is, the scent of his aftershave spicy and clean. It was intoxicating and, quite frankly, you didn’t mind it.

“Now I’m gonna ask you a question and I expect you to be honest with me, darlin’,” Bucky said, his voice low enough that you needed to concentrate to make out the words he was saying.

You swallow, catching the way his eyes follow the movement. He was a head taller than you, emphasising the feeling of being caged in. It made your heart race—and if you were being truthful—not just from fear.

He leans in a little closer, his hands coming up to rest beside your head. “Where’s your boss?”

Each word was spoken softly, but he may as well be shouting them for how loud they seemed in your ears.

“Not here—” you start to say, but Bucky just clicks his tongue, shaking his head.

“Now, I don’t get pissed off, easy. I like to think myself quite reasonable, actually,” he twirls a strand of your hair, playing with it idly. The casualness just added to the butterflies in your stomach which you firmly told yourself was panic and not anything else.

“Lyin’, though,” he continues, “gets on my nerves, and you don’t wanna be on my bad side.” The low, almost growl of his voice shivers down your spine. You look away, trying to break the tension.

Bucky gently grabs your chin, making you look at him. His grip is calloused yet soft. You could break out if you wanted, but something about him traps you in his gaze.

“So I’m gonna ask one more time,” he says, piercing blue eyes boring into yours, “where is your boss?”

A voice in your head tells you to shut up and avoid getting shot. Another voice tells you to answer, because something tells you he could do a lot worse than shoot you. A part of you also wanted to see how he’d react to your honesty, if he’d smile a genuine smile or if he’d just back off.

“He’s in the back,” you say, voice quiet but surprisingly steady.

A grin spreads across Bucky’s face, boyish and pleased. “Thanks, doll.” For a second it seems like he’s going to lean in, maybe drag his lips across yours, but the moment is broken when the door to the back room opens.

You startle, eyes immediately looking over to what moved. Bucky leans back slowly, unperturbed. The two people he came in with were holding your boss between them, bruised and bloody.

Bucky makes some quick hand gestures, obviously telling them to take care of it. How, you didn’t want to know. They left quickly, speaking in low hushed tones, strangely jovial considering what they just did.

Then, something clicked. “Hold on, he’s—”

“Yup,” Bucky says, popping the ‘p’.

“Which means you already knew where he was,” you say, the realisation slowly dawning on you.

“I wouldn’t be good at what I did if I didn’t,” he grins, leaning on the bar next to you. You’re relieved for the space it puts between you, since your cheeks were absolutely burning. Why was he so hot? Why couldn’t you be attracted to, like, an accountant, or something?

“So, if you knew, why did you ask?” You say, crossing your arms, trying to regain some dignity.

Bucky shrugs. “Wanted to see if you told the truth.”

Your brows furrow, and in a fit of boldness, you take a step closer to him. His eyebrow quirks up at that, smiling rakishly and running his eyes over you.

“And you needed to see that because..?” You ask, slightly annoyed now that the shock of the night was gone.

“Because I wanted to ask you to dinner,” Bucky says, writing something on a bit of paper he fished out from his pocket.

“You—I—what?”

“Dinner,” Bucky says, slow, as if he was speaking to a child, “it’s a meal you eat with someone you wanna get to know better.”

“Yeah, I know what dinner is,” you snap, annoyed at his condescending tone. This only makes him smile wider, making you bristle. “What I wanna know is why do you want to ask me to it.”

Bucky just smiles wider. “Come to dinner and I’ll tell you,” he says, sauntering over to you and handing you the piece of paper. “This number doesn’t connect directly to me, so don’t get any ideas, doll.” He stood just a bit too close, but you refused to take a step back. Instead you looked him in the eyes, straightening your back.

You were just about to ask about what you could do with a number before realising the world he comes from. Maybe it’s best to keep this to myself, you think, pocketing the piece of paper.

“I’ll pick you up at seven tomorrow,” Bucky says, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear. Before you could answer, he was already walking away, leaving you with the residual warmth left behind from his touch.

What a weird fucking night.

#bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #mafia!bucky #my writing #bucky barnes #marvel

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yungidreamer · 4 years

Text

Pampered

Summary: Finals are finally over and its time to relax a little before heading home, but not everyone really has a home to go to.

Word count: 2k

Content warnings: none, this is basically a little hit of domestic fluff

Finals time passed like a flash. On Monday morning, while Mingi prepared to go and take his test and Yunho continued to study and finish his take home tests, she took San out for a walk to get some extra food and supplies. They walked to the store close to them to get the few things that they needed, having fun in the very clear cold morning air. The storm had cleared and left a crystalline world in its wake. The sky was clear, the snow was a bright and pure white sheet that covered and softened every surface. Everything looked like a Christmas card, clean and white.

They successfully bought all the things that they needed and had a little bit of fun along the way. Fields of snow were too tempting, too perfect, to be left alone. She was the one who started it, lobbing a soft ball of snow at the back of San’s head as he walked ahead of her. When it hit him with a soft whoof sending a burst of powdery snow over his head and shoulders the battle was begun. By the time it was over and he had tackled her into a snowdrift they were both laughing, exhausted, and covered in snow. It was the most fun San had had in months.

They arrived home not long after Mingi got home from his final and his spirit was much improved by the sight of both of them entering the house looking like they were snow monsters more than people. He greeted her with laughter and kisses, cupping her cold pinkened cheeks to warm them.

“You know, I’m cold too,” San laughed.

“Of course,” Yunho broke into giggles, joining them at the door to use his large warm hands to warm San’s cheeks much like Mingi was doing with their girl, but skipping the kisses, which he wasn’t particularly sure he would have appreciated. The scene left everyone in stitches and raised the mood of the house in general. Yunho and Hong Joong returned to their studies while she, Mingi, and San spent the evening watching movies in the bedroom room to keep from distracting the others.

When Tuesday afternoon finally rolled around Yunho was finally done and Hong Joong headed back to his dorm to get ready to head home. They were all done and all free and it was time to relax and pamper themselves. Yunho felt like he had done well on his exam and started the holidays on a positive note. He came home to find that they had gotten the spa day prepared for his arrival. In the living room a calming natural soundscape was playing and the steam diffuser was filling the air with a mix of lavender and chamomile. They had drawn the curtains and lit a few candles around the room to create the mood.

“Welcome home,” Mingi greeted him with a hug and passed him a warm cup of cider. “You should hop in the shower and get clean so you can get on with your pampering.”

“Okay,” Yunho gave his cheek a kiss and took the mug from his hand. “Where is our girl?”

“She’s in the shower but she’ll be out in a minute,” Mingi smiled.

“I’m going to see if I can’t catch her,” Yunho’s eyes sparkled and he hurried back to their shared bathroom. Pulling off his outer layers as he walked down the hall, he hurried to the bathroom, catching her just as she was about to step out. With a mischievous grin, he pulled her back into the shower, insisting on washing her hair, which she had skipped, figuring she could do it before bed instead. But Yunho enjoyed taking the moment to take care of her, even if it was just a small thing.

Feeling clean and warm after their shower, they threw on some comfy clothes and headed out to join San and Mingi in the spa prepared living room. Mingi had laid out their favorite masks and beauty products on the coffee table and had put out cookies and cakes for everyone to snack on. San was seated on the couch, dressed in some comfy shorts and a t-shirt he had borrowed from Mingi. Beauty could get messy after all, Mingi had said as he gave him the clothes to change into after his shower.

“Where do I start?” San asked, grabbing a cookie and taking a bite.

“Let’s start you with a mask,” She suggested. “I have just the one I want you to try.”

“I don’t trust that smile you have,” He narrowed his eyes at her as she pulled a container off the table.

“It’s fun, I promise,” she laughed.

“Carbonated clay bubble mask,” San read off the side of the container. “What on earth?”

“Just wait,” Yunho assured him.

“Okay sit facing me so I can put it on you,” she instructed, sitting next to him. He narrowed his eyes suspiciously but did as she asked. She pulled out a tiny silicone spatula and opened the container. San peered inside at the shiny grey paste, still not sure what he thought about it. She spooned out a little on the spatula before bringing it up to his face. Over a period of a minute or two, she spread a small layer of it onto his face.

When she was done, she closed up the tub and set it back on the table, then chose one for herself and let Mingi put it on her face. The two boys took sheet masks that smelled like lovely fresh fruits. San waited and sat, letting the mask work on his face. At first it just felt cool and slick on his face, but after a few minutes it started to tickle.

“Here, look,” Mingi gave him a hand mirror to look at his face. San made a sound of surprise as he caught sight of himself. He looked like he had stuck his face in some sort of grey cloud. The slick mask had bubbled itself into something like a fluffy, airy poof.

“It’s cool, isn’t it?” Yunho asked.

“It’s weird,” he commented, poking slightly at one section.

“You can wash it off in like 10 minutes,” She told him from where she had stretched out in front of the fireplace. San sighed and leaned back in the loveseat, trying not to give into the urge to just sit and pop the layer of bubbles on his face.

“Ummm, is your dad going to be home for Christmas?” She asked him.

“Not really,” San sighed. “He’ll be there for a couple of days after I get there but…”

“Then you are coming over for Christmas dinner at my parents,” she replied, more as a statement than as a question.

“I don’t know,” he sighed. “I don’t want to be an imposition or something. You’re supposed to be with family and...I don’t want to intrude.”

“You aren’t an imposition,” she dismissed. “I already asked at Thanksgiving. Like, if you want you can just come over and stay for the whole break with us. But you can also just come when your dad leaves.”

“I don’t know,” San sighed. “I just feel like I am going to be a bother and just because my holidays are messed up, doesn’t mean yours should be.”

“Pfft, please,” she scoffed. “Oh my God, if we adopt you, I wouldn’t have to be the oldest anymore! Yooooou can be the oldest kid and I can be a middle child!”

“Love, I don’t think that is how it works,” Yunho laughed, casting her a look that was mostly obscured by the fabric of the mask on his face.

“Shhhhh, let me have my dream,” she shushed.

“I wish I could stay at your place for Christmas,” Mingi sighed, not looking forward to spending the holiday at his own home.

“Someday we can just do our own Christmas.” She shrugged. “I’d hate to think we have to wait until we graduate or something but...yeah. Anyway, San, you are coming for Christmas.”

“I don’t know,” San sighed. “You need to ask your parents again at least. And really I would be fine at home. I can take care of myself and you guys have already been so nice to have me the past few days already. It was like Christmas even without presents. You have the tree and everything.”

“I’ll call them later so you can hear the invitation from them,” she agreed, not willing to let him just be fine over the holidays by himself. “If you really don’t want to come, I won’t make you, but like if you think you shouldn’t come because you would be a bother, then you’re being stupid and you are going to come for Christmas.”

“We’ll see,” San gave her a smile. He appreciated the invitation even if he didn’t end up going. “Maybe after Christmas, or for New Years.”

“Oh that, too,” she spoke with such confidence that he almost believed her.

***

“Hey mom,” she said, stepping out onto the back porch after San had gone to bed in Mingi’s room.

“Hey honey,” her mother said cheerily from the other end of the phone. “It’s pretty late, is everything okay?”

“Yeah yeah and we are still coming home tomorrow,” she replied quickly, not wanting her mom to worry about why she was calling. “I asked at Thanksgiving already but...is it okay if San comes and stays for Christmas?”

“Is his dad going to be gone again?” Her mother sounded appropriately annoyed by the thought.

“Yeah at least for a good part of it,” she confirmed. “Can’t we just, like, adopt him...for a while at least until his dad realizes he is an idiot?”

“Of course he can come,” her mother assured her. “He is always welcome to come over.”

“I am sure you’ve probably already bought most of my presents but…” she sighed and shivered. “Can you take some back and get a few things to put under the tree for San?”

“Oh honey,” her mother could not have been more proud of her daughter. “When you get here we can go shopping and get a few things for him. You probably know better what he might want than I would.”

“Okay, that works, thanks mom,” she was relieved, not that she ever doubted her mom would say yes. “Can you have dad call San soon and invite him. He doesn’t believe me that he has an open invite.”

“Of course, I’ll tell him now,” her mother was quick to agree. “Was there anything else you needed to talk about?”

“No, that was it,” she said easily. “I’ll call again tomorrow when we are ready to leave. Tell dad I said hi, too.”

“Okay honey,” Her mother’s smile could be heard through the phone. “Sleep well, I love you.”

“Love you, too, mom,” she said earnestly.

“Bye.”

She ended the call and headed back inside the warm house. Locking the back door, she went through the house, making sure that all the doors were locked and turning off the Christmas tree lights and the other lights in the living room and kitchen. Mingi and Yunho had already headed to the bedroom when she had waved them off, holding up her phone to silently indicate that she had a call to make.

Assured that the house was safe and shut down for the night, she headed down the dim hall she could have walked down blind at this point. As she passed Mingi’s bedroom door, she heard San’s phone ring and then heard him answer it, saying her dad’s name as he did. Though she couldn’t make out exactly what they were saying, a smile spread across her face. She headed into the bedroom, deciding she didn’t need to eavesdrop, as she was pretty sure she knew what it was her father would tell him.

Masterlist

#ateez #choi san #song mingi #jeong yunho #ateez fluff #ateez imagines #ateez yunho #ateez mingi #ateez san #kpop imagines #ateez scenarios #romantic #mingi #yunho #san #mingi x reader #yunho x reader

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80s-roger · 4 years

Text

Not On My Watch - part one

pairing: dad!roger x mum!reader (mid80s)

note: R/N means random name, there will be part 2 sooooon. thank u for being patient and still being with me. i love u all and i’ll say again how much i missed yall. i have a dialogue prompt link in my bio if u have any requests!

summary: you’re divorced with queen’s roger taylor due to constant cheating and irrational behaviour towards you. but u have one person in common: your daughter, Laura aka your favourite human on earth. Your marriage with roger had its ups and downs but laura was the happiness in it. Now that she’s 8 and starts to realise how your terms with roger are, you finally tell her that you’re seeing another man except her father and she took it really warmly. She seemed excited to meet the new man unlikely your ex husband who accidentally learns about it by Laura, the weekend you would leave her at his place: on weekends you had some cute getaways with R/N because the court decided that Laura could stay or visit her dad on weekends and stay with him for five days each Christmas and easter vacations. On summers he has the right to be with her for two weeks.

warnings: angst from both sides

words: 2,290

masterlist // dialogue prompts

“Laura, are you ready?” You asked her as you were wearing your coat.

“Yes mum, I’m getting my backpack!” She answered from her room.

“Alright babe, your dad’s waiting for you!” You cringed at the last words; dad. You ended it on bad terms, but laura had nothing to do with it.

“I’m ready!” She ran through your place fully excited to spend her weekend with Roger. You kissed her before going at the parking, to get your car; that one Roger bought you for Christmas.

You shook your head trying to forget some explicit memories from you two in this car and started the engine, going to Roger’s house. It was a mansion compared to your ordinary flat. Maybe Laura would be happier with him, who knows.. Her attitude’s different when she’s with him like they’re best friends.

“Did you get all your stuff?” You asked her as you were reaching his home, just one turn and you reached the destination.

“Oh no.” She whispered at herself while checking her backpack.

“What is it, love?” You asked concerned.

“Mum, would you mind going back to get my pyjamas? I don’t have my pair here..” she looked sad.

“Of course, I’ll let you go to your dad’s now and I’ll come back in a quarter with your pyjamas. I won’t be late.” You smiled at her and dropped her by his door. “Let me help you carry the backpack.” You offered but she politely refused.

“Dad! Open up, I’m here!” Laura shouted when knocking his white front door.

You tried to keep yourself together when the door was about to open in any second. And there he is, wearing his daily comfy clothes and still looking hot on those. Yes, you were always in love with him, but in the end he wasn’t. Too much cheating while on tour made you extremely mad. You had a dignity to save and a child.

“Hello my little baby girl!” He leaned down to hug Laura. Their hug was long-lasting, they didn’t see each other since the previous weekend. “How is my blonde little angel?” He asked her with a smile on his face, he hasn’t looked at you yet, he’s really focused on his child and you don’t blame him.

“I missed you!” She said between their hug, to his ear while her arms crossed his neck and his hands rubbed her back.

“I missed you too! We are going to have a really good time! Uncle Fred will visit us tomorrow, he can’t wait to see you!” He kept that bright smile of his on his lips and so did she. But her smile got bigger at the second Roger said uncle Fred who happens to be her godfather too.

“I missed uncle Fred. How are his cats?” She laughed because she enjoys playing with them at Garden Lodge.

“I guess they’re fine?” He giggled. “Come on in, don’t stand here.” He kissed her and they both walked in and you were standing there like an asshole watching him ignoring your existence for about five minutes.

“Yeah. You have to take these too, huh? I brought your kid here, a thank you is appreciated.” You said annoyed stretching your hand with two bags towards him.

“Thank you, enjoy your weekend.” He had that selfish ego towards you, you would kill him right away. The choices you have made after the divorce looked right for your happiness. This man would ruin your state of mind if you lived under the same roof.

“I will, that’s for sure.” You winked. “I’ll just have to come back again to bring Laura’s pyjamas. Too pity you don’t have a pair of hers, while your closet must be full of forgotten thongs and cropped tops.” You mocked him right into his face and he was standing there watching you humiliating him.

“I thought we are no longer married, right?” He ironically asked. “Why so jealous?” He let out a crooked smiled.

“Fortunately we are not. And I don’t give a shit about you anymore.” Your ego was talking, you do give five shits about him. “But I don’t want my kid exposed to the fabrics your whores’ wear.” You angrily defended yourself and got back to your car but Roger continued the beef.

“Neither do I want my kid around new men. She needs only one father figure.” He was legit serious while defending himself.

“Is there another joke on its way because I have to leave. It was a good one though.” You ironically replied and left, leaving him unable to call you out.

Roger went inside his home, watching his only daughter fixing her stuff in the living room.

“Laura, will your mum leave this weekend?” He asked trying to catch bait.

“She leaves every time she brings me here.” She seemed unbothered.

“Where’s she going on weekends?” He would die in any second if he didn’t know what you’re doing on weekends and with who.

“She goes on road trips with R/N!” She raved and Roger’s inner Leo awakened.

“Hold on a second, babe.” He took her stuff away from the table to talk with her about it. Laura seemed like she screwed up. “Who’s R/N? Have you met him?” He asked on a serious tone.

“N- no. But she told me we are having dinner with him on Tuesday!” She was thrilled at the idea and Roger was on the edge of insanity. “Mum looks so happy when she talks about him, I’m very happy for her.” She smiled at her dad, having no idea what was coming next.

“Do you know anything else? Won’t you tell papa?” He smiled at her trying to fish her for good.

“She said she would leave right after leaving me here. She made her luggage for the weekend too.” She grabbed her stuff at her arms. “Can I go to my room now?” She politely asked.

“Of course, you can. I’ll let you know when food is ready. Oh and close the door at your room if you want to feel like you’re on your own.” He kissed her forehead and Roger was sitting at the couch, really thoughtful and confused. Laura obeyed his request and so did she closed the door. She didn’t know that her father would start an argument with you. He couldn’t deal with the fact you date another man beside him. That’s so selfish of him, isn’t it?

You came again at his place with the pair of Laura’s pyjamas, unaware of what was coming next. Seeing Roger every time he picks Laura or the opposite you get nothing but heartache and need to cry because you have been heartbroken for years. It took you a lot to stand on your feet again. Roger surprisingly, opened the door before waiting for you to knock. He seemed furious towards you and really nervous. Maybe he couldn’t handle the words he was about to throw.

“Uh, here are Laura’s pyjamas and a pair of clean clothes, guess you don’t have many or any.” You rolled your eyes.

“I bought these clothes.” He checked them by opening the bag.

“Yeah, I know, I just don’t want them in my house, they should stay here and be worn when she stays with you.” you arrogantly crossed your arms.

“Okay, that’s enough.” Flames were popping out of his eyes and he angrily placed his hand at the door’s side.

“Yes, you’re right. I gotta go.” You attempted to turn around but his hand prevented you from it. “What the hell, keep your hands off me.” You tried to get his hand off you. But he wouldn’t resist. “Roger!” You yelled.

“Who’s R/N?” He asked with so much jealousy on his voice.

“What’s it to you?” You bitterly answered trying to put his hand down from you.

“Tell me, or I’m not putting my hand down from your arm.” His raspy voice got shrill. You got scared of him for the first time.

“That’s none of your business Roger! You don’t have the right to invade in my personal life!” You defended yourself physically and emotionally.

“It is my business as long as Laura knows about him. Tell me, who’s he?” He demanded.

“I’d rather keep this for myself.” You toned up your teeth and so did Roger with your arm. “Stop it, you’re hurting me!” You yelled again and now he pulled you aggressively inside his home’s hall.

“Fine! Now that I don’t clasp your arm, you can talk.” He had his hands on his waist waiting for you to speak.

“You don’t have to know who R/N is. I didn’t have to know the names of all the groupies you have slept with.” It’s a fact. And he didn’t seem to bother.

“No, I have to know. No one’s allowed to sleep with you.” Oh God, this man has such a nerve.

“Excuse me? Are you serious?” You opened your mouth in shock, being unable to believe what he just said. “Am I your property or something?” you asked.

“No you’re my wife and my daughter must not meet that asshole. I will not let that diner happen.” He really pushes his luck.

“Firstly, I am not your wife, we divorced a couple of years ago. Secondly, watch your language, this man treats me better than you did all this time so you’re the asshole. Thirdly, you’re forcing me to get restraining orders against you.” You warned him and now he seemed less aggressive than before.

“That man is nothing but trouble between our family!” He is so mad that you date a man after so many years. It was him all the time. But at him, you were one of the plenty.

“We’re not a family! You ruined it. You ruined my happiness and now? You won’t let me date a man? Why? We are not married anymore! Unlikely you, you didn’t seem to bother while I was waiting for you to come home after touring. You were constantly doing it, with no regrets!” You shouted but he tried to lower your tone by pushing you to the wall so Laura wouldn’t hear any angry tone. Your tears would run any moment but you had to stay strong. You’re a strong woman, all this time you were strong. Roger was speechless. He knew you were right. But he’s selfish and so are you.

“You can’t present another man to Laura! She’s a child! At least I was doing it on secret!” His face was approaching yours, so the tone would be lower. He is doing it every time when he wants to take control. You couldn’t stop looking into his blue eyes. It’s like a trick of his, whenever you fight.

“You were secretly doing it because you didn’t want me to know. Not because of Laura. Now, stop looking me this way.” Your voice was smoother and your eyes stopped staring Roger’s. You would melt at any second.

“Have you had sex with him?” He asked with no signs of guilt or embarrassment.

“What the hell, my life’s nothing to do with you anymore. You don’t have to know.” Your eyes were back at his again. His warm breath hitting your face, his lips coming closer to your nose and slowly rubbing that area.

“I’m sure you don’t feel the same way whenever you have sex with him. It’ll always gonna be me.” He teased your skin with his nose, going to your ear, your cheek, your nose and later his lips against yours. Sending shivers all over your body, with his hands wrapping your waist and his legs covering yours.

“You do think a kiss of yours would change my mind?” You arrogantly asked, interrupting the hot moment.

“No, I’m just reminding you what we did. And how it ends up.” He smirked with his palms now on your cheeks.

“I don’t want to remember. You bring me pain and I don’t want it. I’ve had enough of this shit.” You said back trying to put him down.

“So you’re leaving me now for that guy?” He asked defeated. Okay.

“You were leaving me for other women, years and years. You always had the excuse I’m on tour but I do miss you. This is what I was settling for. Do you think I would feel guilty for falling in love with a man who’s not you?” The last sentence hit him right to the feelings. He was speechless. You opened the door again, leaving to meet your new partner at the train station. But you didn’t finish. “You’re right though. I don’t feel the same way when I’m with him. I feel better. I feel appreciated and loved.” You stepped out but before closing the door you said one last thing.

“If you’re curious, sex is better with him. Not that I have many experiences, but I think I can compare between two men.” You smiled, hiding the pain. You lied. Nothing feels like Roger. He hurt you, he mistreated you but you can’t lose feelings for him. You love him but you don’t want to revive the days before divorce. And now you left, started the engine and vanished from the neighbourhood. Crying and missing Roger. But R/N is just a distraction. He’s a good company, but there’s not the passion you used to share with your ex-husband.

“I fucked it up again.” Roger said to himself hitting his head with his hands. “I won’t let her be with him. She doesn’t love him.” He knew you really well. He was missing most of the times, but he knew you. He could read your thoughts.

#roger taylor #roger taylor imagine #roger taylor smut #roger taylor x reader #roger taylor x female reader #roger taylor x Y/N #queen #borhap #queen band #freddie mercury #john deacon #brian may

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iggy-of-fans · 5 years

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Of Being a Ladybug part 2

So, Paris is about 6 hours ahead of Metropolis . So if Marinette sent the message at say… 8 pm, and Jagged got it at 9 because he was at dinner, then getting lawyers straightened out and all that ...say Marinette starts school at 10 am, then it would be approximately 4am in Metropolis. It would be a 7 hour flight, meaning she'd leave at noon on Monday, and arrive at 2am on Tuesday.

The cons of being a reporter.

TUESDAY 2AM Paris

Lois was as excited as she was exhausted. Paris! She'd always wanted to go to Paris. As her taxi drove her past the Louvre and she could see the Eiffel tower in the distance, she couldn't help but remember the call she received yesterday.

"I know it's early, Lois, but I have a job for you in Paris" Bruce said from the other line.

"I'm listening."

"The satellites from the Tower have been picking up irregularities. Burning buildings, the Eiffel Tower toppled or completely missing, then the next pass everything is normal. Hal even claims he saw a giant baby on cams once. I've gone over all the pictures of the last year, a couple of weeks ago there… I can't explain it. I'll send you the images and we'll try to find a believable cover story for going in the middle of the school year like this"

"I understand, thank you Bruce. I'll book the earliest flight I can." Burning buildings? The Eiffel tower toppled? Nothing had been said in the news. If something on a grand scale like that were happening, they would already know.

"Thank you, Lois. I will of course pay for your accommodations while there," Bruce offered. A consolation for sending her around the globe for film effects.

She barely got a "thank you" out, before he hung up. She flopped back onto the bed, Clark raising an eyebrow at her. Of course he'd heard both sides of the conversation, so he obviously had his own opinion to share.

"Well? What do you think?" she asked him. If Clark gave it some weight, she might take it more seriously.

"A video was sent by the Mayor of Paris about a year ago, asking for help because his city was being overrun by stone monsters and their only hope lay with a couple of kids. I watched it and it looked like some cheap special effects and deleted it like the other publicity stunts people pull. Diana was the one to notice the inconsistencies with the Eiffel tower, and she swears she saw a couple kids flying on rooftops. It's why Bruce started investigating. But he has no reason to be in Paris at all, since Wayne Enterprises doesn't have an hq there, and he wants to save that excuse for if there IS any trouble. Anyways, try to enjoy your little vacation while you're there" Clark smiled.

"... Does Bruce know the mayor called for Justice League intervention?" Lois asked slowly. This… Was… Not… happening.

"No? I mean, just some publicity stunts, Lois. We get 20 of them a day" Clark dismissed. Lois was beyond words so she got up and started packing, and turned on her civilian phone to call for a flight. Before she could get dialing she got a call incoming.

"Penny? Is everything okay? WHAT? YES! Of course I do! That's huge! Yes, let me just call my boss…. Oh? Oh wow! Thank you! Yes, I'll see you tonight… Or I guess tomorrow for you…yes. I understand. Thank you" Lois couldn't believe her luck. She grabbed her JL phone and called Bruce.

"Bruce! I've got a cover! I've been asked by an old college friend to interview her client and a few others on Parisian TV. Yes, totally legit, she just called me… Penny Rolling. Yes, yes Bruce! I will keep my eyes open. Did you know the Mayor tried to call for JL intervention a year ago? No? Clark told me there was a video but thought it was a publicity stunt. Maybe try to find it and give me a heads up… okay… Thank you Bruce. That'll be perfect! I'll get to the bottom of this… Okay, thank you."

Finally done with the update she rushed to call the airline.

" NOON?!"

Before she could take in the breathtaking view any longer, the cab stopped. Lois paid the fare and stepped out and looked up. It was a beautiful hotel, owned by Mayor Bourgeois. The cabbie was loading her bags onto a trolley with a Bellhop waiting stoically by the doors. Just as Lois went to inquire about Penny, the door opened and out she came.

"You cut your hair!" Lois exclaimed, giving her friend a hug and a LA Bise.

"You, my beautiful ginger, are late! Had you arrived a few hours earlier you would have had quite the show!" Penny said with a smile. She'd always been jealous of Lois's hair.

"It's Paris, Penny. How exciting could it possibly be?" Lois asked jokingly, wondering just what her visit here would truly reveal.

I was going to end it here, but I believe I owe you all an action scene 😉

MONDAY 10AM PARIS

Ladybug flew over buildings in the direction of the explosions. She really wished she'd had a chance to see the classroom before leaving to see if she would have to once again go up against Alya. Or Lila.

Maybe if she was lucky it would be another unfortunate soul altogether. One she hopefully didn't know personally. Because it was starting to really take a toll on Ladybug, every time she came face to face with a friend or loved one.

Before she was ready she was at the scene. And she was shocked. The Akuma of the day was a barely visible outline of a woman. She had a flowy garment on and only became visible when she touched a person. The person would immediately admit to bad deeds, anything from finishing the ice cream container to more horrible crimes.

Ladybug watched as a couple hid behind a vehicle to escape the fate, only for the akuma to lift and throw the car, one handed, into another vehicle, creating another explosion. The akuma drifted ghost like towards the couple and became fully corporeal as she touched them, first the man ("I tapped your phone! I hated how much time you spent always going out!" he blurted out) then the woman ("I can't stand being with you!" she screamed back). Ladybug swallowed. This was not good. A non corporeal being with the strength of ten men and the ability to… Spill secrets? Ladybug wasn't sure, but didn't want to get too close before she had the full story. She went to grab her yo-yo to call Chat, only for him to pop up, baton swinging.

"What have we here? Another scary movie victim?" Chat asked, drawing all eyes to them. Ladybug wanted to scream. Or toss him off the building. Once! Just. ONCE!

"I… am Guilty Conscience. That voice that should tell you not to do bad… It Is too quiet in most people's heads. So therefore I shall make you scream your misdeeds to the world. No longer shall there be hiding behind white lies for innocence" the ghost whispered, yet to Ladybug she may as well have screamed.

"Che, you're out of your league! I have a picture perfect record!" Chat smirked, ever brash and fearless. Without a second thought, he jumped off the building towards the ghostly form. And just as Ladybug predicted, went right through her. She did not become solid upon contact with a human unless she so chose to. Great…

"Chat! Fall back, we need a plan!" Ladybug called, stepping back from the roof and readying her yo-yo.

"Just lucky charm her and we can go out for coffee!" Chat yelled back, swinging his baton uselessly through GC. Ladybug shook her head. She was almost 90% sure they'd need more backup.

"Lucky Charm!" she cried, throwing her yo-yo high. Down fell a teapot. Back up it is, she sighed.

"Chat! Fall back, I'm going for backup!" she called out again.

"Awe, but M'lady, I thought I was the only one you needed in your life!" she was sure he thought he sounded charming. She cringed.

"Not now Chat. I'll be back in a while, keep her from following me but keep your distance. No need to waste your energy for now."

Had she looked down, or paid more attention to her surroundings, she may have seen Lila hiding in an alley not far from the akuma. She may have noticed her trying to follow her. She may even have taken another route to get where she was going. Later she would regret not being more vigilant.

To be Continued...

Looks like me tag list is officially full. I'll try to send the rest in the comments!

@sidd-hit-my-butt-ham @kuroko26 @northernbluetongue @zelladane @chez-pezeater @luciferge @vixen-uchiha @bluerosette23 @mochinek0 @krunchy-tuna @treebrosha @geekydragonyt @vivilakitty @sassy-spocko @bluefiredemon-blog @mindfulmagics @thornangelic727 @sidefrienda @xxmadamjinxx @thepeacetea @pandocatxd @whomthefyck @lamestplaceintheworld @miraculous-ninja @mikantsume @unabashedbookworm @kandi-pie @2sunchild2 @redsparrow12 @shamefullove @cadencehood @thatonechickathottopic @yin-390 @tazanna-blythe @bb-basbusa @zazzlejazzle @fanfictionaddict13 @royalchaoticfangirl @god-is-dead-and-so-am-i @worlds-tiniest-spook-pastry @slytherinsheashire @imanerddealwith @tinybrie @angelisalise @graduatedmelon @trickstermiraculous @ayuchan07 @thatrandomfandomsgirl @sweatyruinsstudentbored @chloe-bourgeois-is-big-gay

#damian wayne #marinette x damian #daminette #marinette dupain cheng #maribat #marinette deserves better #maridami #marinette protection squad #Penny Rolling #Jagged Stone #uncle jagged #Aunty Clara #justice league #lois lane #clark kent #batman #batfam

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cuttingthe-painter · 5 years

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Vampire Boyfriend - Percy

My friend and I both both the same book of writing prompts and have started a challenge where we each write a story based off the same prompt. This is the first one I’ve done during this challenge, I hope you all like it! I apologize for any spelling/grammatical errors, I finished this at 1am and am very tired.

Prompt: a: He read me a poem. b: And you let him live?

Also do vampires count as a monster boyfriend? I’m gonna be self-serving and just say they do!

male monster x female reader

“He read me a poem,” you announced, busting through the apartment door. Avery looked up from her laptop, grinning at you like a madman.

“And you let him live?” You leveled her with a glare and dropped your bag, a solid thud filling the space between you two.

“It was cute,” you huffed, yanking off your mittens and scarf before unzipping your coat.

“You hate poetry,” Avery laughed. She closed her laptop and sat up, patting the seat next to her. You take your boots off before walking over to the couch and falling into her side. You let out a sigh as you sank into her warmth. “Tell me about this cute poetry, then.”

“So, Percy was walking me home from class, right?”

“Right,” Avery acknowledged, nodding her head to urge me on.

“Well, he was telling me about one of his classes where they discuss poetry. He was going on and on until I finally told him ‘I hate poetry.’ And you know what he said to me?”

“What’d he say?” Avery asked, motioning for you to grab the chips off the coffee table for her. You leaned forward and grabbed the Doritos, handing them to her before you continued.

“He said ‘you just haven’t read the right poems’ and laughed!” you exclaimed. You grabbed a chip from the bag, popped it in your mouth, and went on. “So Percy pulled a book out of his bag and opened to a bookmarked page, as if he had been saving the poem just to read to me. Honestly, Ry? It gave me butterflies.”

“I don’t know if it was that you liked the poem, or that you liked the idea of Percy reading you a love poem,” Avery teased, waggling her perfectly sculpted brows at you. You smacked at her playfully and sat up to your phone out of you pocket. You typed the name of the poem into google and pulled it up.

“Let me read it to you,” you offered, waiting for the link to load.

“Only if you make your voice all low and dreamy like Percy’s,” Avery snorted, using the chip bag to block your next swipe at her. You roll your eyes before clearing your throat and beginning to read.

“Outside the sky is light with stars;

There’s a hollow roaring from the sea.

And, alas! for the little almond flowers,

The wind is shaking the almond tree.

How little I thought, a year ago,

In the horrible cottage upon the Lee

That he and I should be sitting so

And sipping a cup of chamomile tea

Light as feathers the witches fly,

The horn of the moon is plain to see;

By a firefly under a jonquil flower

A goblin toasts a bumble-bee.

We might be fifty, we might be five,

So snug, so compact, so wise are we!

Under the kitchen-table leg

My knee is pressing against his knee.

Our shutters are shut, the fire is low,

The tap is dripping peacefully;

The saucepan shadows on the wall

Are black and round and plain to see.”

You finish reading the poem and look up at Avery to gauge her reaction. She’s staring at you, a sparkle in her eye and a smile on her lips. She lifts another chip to her mouth and chews thoughtfully, slower than she would normally chew. Silence sat between you both, feeling thicker with every passing second. Finally, she swallowed her chip and laughed.

“He read you a love poem!” she cheered, kicking her feet in glee and falling to her side on the couch. “What year is it! What did you say?”

“I said thank you? And told him it was a nice poem.” She stilled, slowly turning towards you. Suddenly, she kicked out, striking you in the leg. “Hey! What the hell?”

“You dummy! He read you a love poem and you said thank you? You might as well had said ‘Thanks but the feelings are not mutual!’” She mocked in a mediocre attempt at what you could only guess was your voice. “You’ve better not have blown it. Text him right now, ask him on a date.”

“I’m not going to do that, Avery! It’s fine.” She launched towards you, attempting to snatch the phone from your hands. You shot of the couch, cradling your phone to your chest as you ran to your room. “I’ll see him in two days!”

That night, you dreamt you sat on the porch of a cottage. The moon sat amongst the splatter of stars in the night sky, casting its glow onto you. Next to you sat Percy, dressed in a loose-fitting, white crew neck tucked into high waisted denim jeans. His normally dark, messy curls were tamed, gelled into a side swept wave. He sat with his right hand resting on your left, his fingers fidgeting with a ring on your finger. The stars reflected in his eyes as he turned to look at you. He opened his mouth to speak, but all you could hear was the roar of the sea in the distance.

The next day, you weren’t able to focus on any of your work. After hours of staring at your books and computer screen, you gave up any semblance of productivity. The weather that evening was significantly warmer than the evening prior. Perfect, I can get out of the house without freezing my ass off, you thought. You got dressed, checked yourself out in the mirror to check that you looked somewhat presentable, and went to leave the apartment. You could hear snores from Avery’s room as you walked down the hallway. She must be taking what she calls her “evening nap”, meaning she’ll be passed out until tomorrow morning. You grabbed your wallet, keys, and jacket and made your way down the block.

The night was warm, but accompanied by a chill in the breeze. The streets were fairly empty; cars buzzed by while you moseyed along. You weren’t sure where you wanted to go, but when the warm smell of coffee enveloped you, you made up your mind. The aroma of the coffee and pastries filled your senses when you pushed passed the door. The cafe was fairly empty, only a couple of tables were occupied and there was no line. You walked up to the counter and ordered yourself a chamomile tea, hoping it would help calm your anxious mind.

When you sit with your order, you chuckle, noting the irony of Percy reading you a poem titled after your favorite drink. Time is lost when you drink your tea and read. You had forgotten where you even were until you hear a familiar voice to your right.

“Is anyone sitting here?” a smooth, low voice asks. You look up, smiling when you met Percy’s bright hazel eyes. He pulled the chair out when you shook your head, sitting after he set his drink down. His chestnut curls fell into his eyes as he sat; he ran his fingers through them, moving them out of his face, before rubbing his pale hand over the shaved side. A lazy smile stretched across his face when he caught you staring. You looked down at your tea, attempting to hide the blush warming your cheeks.

“I don’t normally see you here. What brings you tonight?” Percy asked, lifting his cup to his full lips and taking a sip. You tracked the motion, acutely aware of the way it made your stomach flip.

“I was just feeling anxious around the house,” you explain, dropping our eyes and focusing on your hands on the steaming cup in front of you. “My mind has just been racing all day. I thought a walk would help, and then I saw the cafe and thought a tea would help.” There was an understanding look in Percy’s eye, he smiled reassuringly at you and knocked his knee against yours to offer some sort of comfort.

Under the kitchen-table leg, My knee is pressing against his knee.You furrowed your brow when the poem’s lines rang through your head, accompanied by a sense of déjà vu. Percy noticed the change in your demeanor and leaned forward, his hand reaching across the table to hold yours. His hand was unnaturally cold against your warmth.

“I could join you on a walk if you’d like,” he offered gently, his thumb absently rubbing circles into your skin. You nod, standing and pulling your jacket on. “Did you want another tea before we went?”

“Sure, that’d be nice.” Percy quickly stood and moved to the counter. You walked to the trash, listening to him order as you threw your cups away. Did he order you a chamomile? You assumed he would have just ordered you a typical black tea or something; you had never told him you prefered chamomile. Maybe he had noticed the scent of your tea while you both had been sitting.

Percy met you at the door, two drinks in hand. You took yours and breathed in the warm aroma, confirming that he did indeed order you a chamomile. You were about to ask how he knew when he opened the door and guided you out with a hand on your lower back. That was a new thing he had started doing; touching in general was something knew between you both. You fell into stride alongside him and settled into a comfortable silence. You were the first to talk, your voice soft amongst the sounds of the streets.

“Do you go there a lot?” you asked, tilting your head back in the direction of the cafe. “M’yeah,” he replied, swallowing a mouthful of his drink. “An old family friend owns the place, Rosie. I try to visit her every evening; it’s definitely easier Tuesdays and Thursdays since its on the way home from your place.”

“Did you grow up here? Is that why your family knows her?” you probed, excited to learn more about Percy’s youth.

“I guess you could say that,” he laughed, “I’ve lived a lot of places, but something always brings me back here.” His fingers brushed against your hand as you both walked, driving the butterflies in your stomach mad. You extended your pinky towards his, chasing the feeling. When your pinkies locked, he adjusted his hand and wove your fingers together.

“What brings you back?” His thumb began running those lazy circles over your skin again, as if it were an answer. You looked up to him, admiring the contours of his face as you waited for a response. His teeth tugged at his bottom lip while he thought; you focused on the motion, thinking about what his lips might feel like against yours. What his teeth might feel like on your skin. Heat rose to your cheeks at the thoughts and your heart fluttered in your chest. Beside you, Percy let out a shaky breath, gently squeezed your hand and pulled you to a stop .

“Can I show you one of my favorite places?” he asked, an emotion that you couldn’t place dancing in his eyes.

“Sure,” you answered, “I’d love that.” Percy guided you both through the town, only letting go your hand to let you text Avery your plans. Conversation always flowed naturally between you both, as if you had been friends for years, and this time was no different. You wanted nothing more than to curl up and listen to him talk to hours.

Vibrations pulsing in your pocket brought you out of your daze. You let go of Percy’s hand to shuffle your drink into it as your pulled your phone out. A message from Avery flashed on your screen; you typed in your passcode to read the message.

Did he shake your almond tree yet? A winky face and some questionable emojis accompanied the text. A snort tore from you when you read the poor innuendo.

“What’s so funny?” Percy asked, stepping into your space to look at the screen. You locked the screen and turned to face him, not realizing just how close he was.

“Uh, n-nothing,” you stammered nervously, breath hitching in your throat. His eyes flickered to your mouth when you spoke and you watched as his tongue darted out to run along his lower lip. You bit your own as you looked from his mouth back up to his eyes.

“Ah, well we should continue then, we’re almost there,” he murmured huskily. You let out a noise, hoping it was one of agreement, and started walking with him. When you finally saw where he was taking you, you couldn’t breathe. You had been here before. At least, in your dreams you had been here. An old cottage sat in the distance, overlooking the sea. A misty breeze welcomed you the closer you got, sending chills through you. You walked closer to Percy, searching for a warmth he didn’t have.

Once you were at the cottage, Percy pulled you to sit on the porch with him. Images of your dream flashed through your mind, Percy sitting, his hand atop yours, as you both looked up into the night sky.

“I feel like I’ve been here before,” you confessed, turning to meet his eyes. His hand moved to rest on yours, urging you to continue. “I don’t know why, Percy, but everything about you just seems so familiar.”

“That’s a good thing, I hope,” he said hopefully. You nodded and turned your face upwards, basking in the glow of the bright moon.

“The best thing.” “A toast then!” Percy exclaims, a clap sounding his joy. You laughed, watching him pick up his now cold drink. You followed suit, picking up your tea. He turned to face, drink raised. “To familiarity!” “To familiarity!” you repeated, raising your cup to tap his. He pulled his cup back, not letting yours touch his.

“And to you, my bumble-bee.” His cup tapped yours, but you didn’t feel it. All your senses clouded, your head spun. Hands steadied you, but you barely felt them. Visions flooded your mind, visions of you and Percy. Percy, in his waistcoat, walking you through a garden filled with roses. Percy, in a pale suit and straw boater hat, walking with you through the bustling city. Percy, with his white crew neck tee and high waisted jeans, having tea with you on the beach. Percy, in his fitted peacoat, drinking tea with you on the porch at your cottage by the sea.

Your cottage by the sea. The cottage Percy surprised you with after your wedding, knowing how much you loved walking along the shores at night. The cottage where you now sat, remembering every life you’ve lived with Percy. Every life where you had forgotten he existed, only for him to find you and help you remember.

“My bumble-bee,” he murmured again, moving his hand to cup your face. You nuzzle into it, inhaling his earthy scent and kissing his palm. His thumb ran along your cheek, wiping away a tear you hadn’t felt fall. “You remember?”

You did. You remembered every time you met him. Every time you loved him. Every time he asked you to join him, to take the bite and live with him forever. Every time you said no, too afraid to lose your humanity.

“I do,” you whispered, leaning into him. When he smiled, you noticed his fangs were out. You reached up and ran your fingers along them, careful to not let them prick your finger. Percy playfully bit at them before kissing them gently.

“Something always bring me back,” he cooed, pulling your face closer to him. “Come here.” His lips brush yours and the world fell away. All you knew was the feel of Percy holding you, his scent flooding your senses. His thumb caressed your cheek as he pulled away and rested his forehead against yours.

“I missed you so much, my sweet,” he breathed, “Every new life is more difficult than the last. I was starting to think you wouldn’t remember this time.” The sadness in his voice made your chest ache. You didn’t want Percy to have to feel that sadness, not because of you.

“Maybe this time, I stay.” Percy stilled, letting a moment pass before sitting back and holding your gaze. You couldn’t read the emotions flashing through his eyes. You sucked in a slow breath before continuing, “I think this time I’m ready for you to change me. I don’t want to forget you again.” Percy pulled you to his lap, cradling you against his chest. He pressed a kiss into your hair and rested there, breathing in your scent.

“Oh, my bumble-bee, I’ve waited for hundreds of years to hear those words.” He kissed you again, slow and soft, conveying the emotions his words couldn’t. He pulled away, panting slightly. “But there’s still time; you don’t have to make that decision yet.”

“I love you,” you whisper, nuzzling your head into his neck. He was right, there was still time to decide, but you’ve already made up your mind. He wouldn’t have to ask you again because this time, you wouldn’t be leaving him.

#exophilia #exophili #monster boyfriend #vampire boyfriend #my fic #stories #my writing #fluff #sfw #monster lover

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wonderrdies · 5 years

Text

fine line

summary: Boy and girl meet. Boy and girl fall in love. Boy and girl live happily ever after. Except boy is Harry Styles and even when love comes easy, it doesn’t come simple.

disclaimer: this is my first harry fic ever so... how terrifying. also, it is pure self-indulgent garbage and I Frankenstein-ed the shit out of it a dozen times so y’all are gonna have to forgive me. let’s do this. (btw thank you to @hsogolden for this challenge; there’s nothing quite like a goal that makes you force yourself to write)

warnings: some fluff, some angst, a tiny bit of smut and a whole lotta nonsense.

word-count: about 6,000 words

“Come on,” She yells up the stairs. “Daddy’s here!”

“Coming!” the four-year-old yells back, sock-clad feet hitting the stairs with a muffled thud.

“Jamie,” Harry calls, not as loud as they are. He knows his son can’t see him, but surely he can hear his voice; it’s not the biggest of houses. “Don’t run down the stairs. It’s dangerous.”

A quiet and frustrated okay, Daddy is heard in the background, and both the adults smile softly. Jamie’s a cute kid.

“I’m dropping him off at my mum’s and I’ll be back in a couple of hours, okay?”

She raises an eyebrow. “It’s Tuesday night. Don’t you have a song to write or whatever?”

“Can’t really miss my girl’s birthday, can I?”

She laughs, surprised, and the sound of it reminds Harry of the shy girl he met at a bar all those years ago. “It’s not my birthday yet, H.”

“Still,” Harry takes a second to look behind her and check on their son, who’s putting on his shoes while his backpack and a few toys are scattered around him. “Need any help, mate?”

Jamie mutters an agreement so She shifts in the door to let Harry in, and his own face stares back at him from a bunch of family pictures all over the shelves. He kneels beside his child and starts mindlessly tying his shoelaces, turning his attention back to her.

“You should dress up.”

“Harry,” she scoffs. “Is that an insult?”

“Nope,” he pops the p just as he finishes with Jamie’s shoes. “Get your stuff, Jamie. Let’s go see Nana.”

“Can we get milkshakes?”

“Sure, mate,” but She’s glaring at him. “Tomorrow, when it’s not so late, though.”

“But Daddy—”

“Tomorrow, baby.” She interrupts. With a kiss on their son’s brown curls, she says: “Go wait for Daddy in the car. And behave at your Nana’s. I love you.”

Jamie walks away with a “Love you, Mommy”, stuffed kitten under one of his arms and his half-closed backpack hanging on the other. Harry bends over to pick up his other toys but She stops him with a gesture. “Don’t bother, H. I’ll clean it up once you’re gone.”

“I was gonna take them with us.”

“It’s just one night, he won’t miss them,” She pauses. “Too much.”

“Guess mum will just have to entertain him, then,” he drops the toys on the couch and smiles at her. “Be ready, huh? I’ll text you when I’m near.”

“Okay. Where are we going?”

“Let’s get a drink. For old time’s sake.”

She nods, looking suspicious. Then his fingertips brush her cheek and her eyes soften.

“Let’s just not get wasted on a school-night, okay?”

“We’ll be alright, love,” he says, kissing the soft cheek he just touched. It feels like home against Harry’s lips.

------------------------------------------

7 years earlier…

Harry doesn’t notice her for a while. They’re both sitting at the bar counter, only one empty stool between the two of them, but the lighting is dim and the girl looks as closed off as one can get; stiff posture and hair hanging over her face while she stares straight ahead into the liquor shelf behind the bartender. Up until that point, she could be furniture for all he cares.

Tonight, up until that point, he had been reveling in his loneliness. Harry wasn’t one to enjoy being alone much, but after months of touring, family holidays, and being surrounded by more people than he can even imagine at any given time, he got the appeal of listening to his own thoughts for a while. Even if it made him a little restless after a few weeks of it. Even if he caught himself with his mouth open, about to make a random remark on the cute bartender or the questionable music at least twice. Even if he bounced his leg nonstop and grabbed his phone every five minutes, pondering on who to call for company.

So maybe he wasn’t reveling in the loneliness anymore. But he had dressed as ordinarily as humanly possible without wearing jeans (there were no pearls or high-heeled boots in sight) and was drinking beer instead of a Cosmo, blending in. He had to make the most of it. What could he tell himself that he didn’t already know? Maybe, Harry thought, I’m just not that interesting. If he couldn’t stand to spend half an hour hanging out with himself, had people been lying to him? He could feel the spiraling begin.

And then his song starts playing.

At the sound of his voice coming from the speakers, she turns her head. Her hair moves away with the movement, the corner of her lips twitching as if she’s about to smile. She doesn’t, but that’s when Harry notices her. The girl’s mouth moves and he’s pretty sure that if he were just a little bit closer, there’d be a faint whisper of stop your crying, baby, it’s a sign of the times. He wishes he could hear it.

He continues to shoot sideway glances, not wanting to make her uncomfortable by staring. He’s not sure he wants to be noticed, either. She’s a pretty girl singing along to one of his songs; there are many of those. He doesn’t really want to make a scene. But then again, what’s the chance that this woman won’t turn her head at all for however long they’re there?

Before he can worry about that answer, it happens. The bartender is cleaning the end of the counter to Harry’s right, and she shifts to order another drink. As soon as she does, their eyes meet. It doesn’t matter that he’s wearing a baseball hat or a beige knitted sweater and black slacks, she knows he’s Harry Styles. The more the thinks about it, the more self-conscious he becomes. Of course he’s hiding something; who wears that kind of outfit to a bar?

“Hey,” he softly says. He’s not sure how this will go, but so far it feels better than trying to entertain himself. Better than wondering.

Her hand shakes around the glass, empty except for the lime and melting ice, but her voice doesn’t quiver. “Hello.”

“Can I get your drink for you?”

“You don’t have to.”

“It’s fine,” he calls over the bartender. “Can we get another of what she’s having? And a Cosmo.”

What the hell, he figures. It’s not like any of the few middle-aged people in tables around them will see a pink cocktail and suddenly wonder “Isn’t that…?”. Either they recognize him or don’t. When the bartender nods, he turns back to her.

“You’re not from here, are you?”

She shakes her head no.

“America?”

“Not the United States, no.”

He’s about to guess Canada, even if her accent doesn’t sound like that at all, and make a fool out of himself when she says: “I’m not a native English speaker. I teach English back home.”

“Really!” his excitement is the first thing to get a smile out of her. It kinda throws him off for a second; it comes and goes quickly, but her whole face changes around it. Looking away for a second, he notices that their drinks are about to be ready. “Can I —” Harry gestures to the stool between them.

The girl nods, and he comes closer. Their knees touch when he sits.

“Are you here for work?”

“No,” the side of her mouth twitches again. “What about you?”

“I’m home. Just taking some time off.”

“At this time of the year? Sounds like a cool job.”

It’s a bad joke, but he plays into it anyway. “Meh,” Harry shrugs. “It pays the bills.”

“Good for you,” she laughs quietly. “I got this trip for my birthday.”

“Well, happy birthday!”

“It’s not today.”

The bartender places their drinks on the counter, the liquid sloshing around a bit, and a little bit of her gin and tonic spills over her hand. “God,” the bartender says. “Sorry, I’ll get—”

“Don’t worry,” she smiles as if to say it’s okay. Then she licks the back of her hand and then her lips. Harry moves uncomfortably in his seat.

“So,” he says once the bartender leaves, taking a sip of his Cosmopolitan. Way better than that shitty beer. “Am I the first or last person to wish you a happy birthday?”

“First. I’ll turn twenty-two in two days.”

“It was an honor to get it wrong, then.”

“Not very subtle, are you?”

He blushes. Actually blushes.

There’s a silent beat where she seems torn between laughing awkwardly or just straight up bolting out of the room, but the girl settles on chugging her cocktail while Harry stutters.

“I’m —” they start at the same time.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t —” he stops himself from saying he didn’t mean to flirt. He did mean to flirt. Harry just didn’t mean to be so shit at it. So he settles for: “I just noticed you singing along.”

She brings her drink back to her lips, as if asking for some time to think of what to say, but half a cocktail isn’t enough to hide her smile. He’s staring so intently that she tips the glass towards him and genuinely asks ��Do you want a sip?”

Harry just shakes his head no.

“Um, yeah,” the girl starts. “I’m a big fan of yours— your work, I guess.”

“Did you go to any of the shows last year?”

“I couldn’t,” she admits. “But I’ve seen some videos. You looked like you were having fun.”

The comment makes him smile. “I really was. Where are you from? Didn’t I go to your country?”

He realizes then that he sounds pretentious. Maybe she just didn’t want to go to the fucking concert; why is he questioning this stranger as if she’s missed his sweet sixteen? Maybe she’s not even a fan and just heard his single on the radio once. God, what a disaster.

The girl looks embarrassed, like she can’t believe she’s telling him this but won’t shy away from speaking. She tells him the name of her country and explains that she doesn’t live anywhere near the big cities where he played, so she couldn’t afford the trip.

“But if you’re ever passing by again…”

“I’ll let you know,” he says. She laughs quietly, but Harry isn’t really joking. He can see himself texting a nice girl and asking her to come and watch him sing. He’s certainly more impressive up on the stage than here, doing whatever it is that he’s doing right now. “Are you traveling by yourself?”

She hesitates to answer and it makes him cringe. “I sounded like a creep, didn’t I? Jesus. I don’t know what’s wrong with me today.”

“Don’t worry about it,” and there it is again, the wide smile that changes her face. Out of all the things Harry Styles could do to charm a woman, acting socially inept isn’t the one he figured would win over a foreign English teacher that hangs out at random London bars for middle-aged couples on awkward dates. But here they are and the more he fucks up, the more she looks relaxed.

Harry decides to take what he can get. “I guess I haven’t been getting enough practice talking to strangers lately.”

She’s still smiling, not as wide but just as bright. “I’d probably want a break from people too if I were you. I got here yesterday and I’m already done talking to strangers. I knew it’d be hard to get around in another continent but this is a whole other level; I can’t walk two meters without asking someone for directions.”

He raises an eyebrow, teasing. “Is Google Maps not doing it for you?”

“Shut up,” she chuckles. “Data is expensive abroad, y’know? But to be honest, I’m so fucking obtuse when it comes to maps. The thing is pointing one way and the next I know, I walked miles in the opposite direction. It’s much easier to have an actual person telling me where to go.”

“Yeah,” he agrees, licking his lips after finishing his drink. He sees her eyes flicker down to his mouth for a second, just like his did a few minutes ago. “You have a point.”

“I do?”

“Not really. I just didn’t want you to feel bad about being a confused old lady.”

That makes her laugh, and Harry feels his heart skip a beat. It’s nice to know she thinks he’s funny.

“But you can’t really be a confused old lady, right? Being a teacher and all.”

Like she said, not subtle at all. But he wants to know more about her.

“Bold of you to assume that most teachers are not confused old ladies, but,” she too finishes her second cocktail, pushing her empty glass away from her and closer to the one Harry just left on the counter. “I’m just a confused masters-student trying to look less confused so my students won’t give me shit about it.”

“Do you like it? The whole academic thing and teaching.”

Her smile is soft around the edges, and he can see the drinks catching up to her. “They have their moments, both working hard to understand the things I’m interested in and helping people learn another language. It’s all hard but worth it,” she’s quiet for a second. “Like most things in life, I guess. What about you?”

“Do I like being an academic?”

She rolls her eyes. “Your job, silly. Is it hard but worth it?”

“I guess it’s like yours in the sense that it helps me understand the thing I’m interested in, too.”

“Music?”

“Me,” he answers, and there is that laugh again.

“God,” she says, voice dripping with good-humored sarcasm. “I hate rockstars so much.”

“Don’t we all?” he sees her staring at their empty glasses, so he offers to buy her another drink even though she looks sleepy. Harry figures he’ll drop her off wherever she’s staying so she doesn't have to walk around alone and drunk.

“I don’t think I can do another one,” she says. “But maybe we could share it? I can definitely deal with half a drink. And I’ll pay for it.”

Before he can say anything, she calls the bartender over and orders another Cosmo on her tab.

“You didn’t have to,” he says, referring both to paying and asking for a cocktail she knows he likes.

“Don’t worry about it,” he thinks it’s probably the fifth time she’s said that in not even an hour. Huh. “God, isn’t it stuffy in here?”

He doesn't think so, so it’s probably the alcohol, but he agrees while she shakes off her coat. When the girl turns so she can hang the fabric over her bar stool, Harry can see, among other quotes and drawings on her arm, the words sweet creature above her right elbow.

“Nice tattoo,” he comments, feeling weirdly proud. It’s not like he doesn’t know hundreds of people get the words he sings on their bodies, but this is different. It’s like trying to know more about someone and realizing, somehow, you already do.

“Which one?” she asks. He reaches out and brushes his fingers over it. It gives her goosebumps. “Oh. It’s a nice song.”

“Why did you get it?”

It makes him feel like an annoying interviewer, trying to get a meaningful answer that isn’t necessarily there. But he’d still like to hear what she has to say.

“I’ve heard I’m not one of those,” is her answer. His hand drops from her elbow.

He frowns. “What do you mean?”

“I’ve been told I’m not the sweetest creature,” the smile is gone. She shifts in her seat as if just realizing an old bruise is still tender to the touch.

Before he can decide between asking more about it and risk her thinking he’s a nosy asshole or just give his uninformed opinion and claim that’s bullshit, a Cosmopolitan is put on the bar between them.

“Thank you,” she says to the bartender. He’d thank them too, but he’s staring at that suddenly serious face, wondering what else is there to know about that tattoo. About her.

“Doesn’t it become a reminder, though?” Harry asks, and she looks back at him, not understanding the question. “The tattoo. Doesn’t it remind you that someone feels that way about you?”

“Yeah, I guess” she takes a sip of the drink and slides it over to him, their fingers touching in the process; it’s only for a second, and her hand is gone before Harry can understand why he wishes it wasn’t. “But I got it so, when I think of how he saw me, I would know I’m the one who gets to say what I am or am not.”

Harry is curious but doesn’t really know what to say to that, and it shows. She cringes.

“I always do this, you know? I drink and start getting all sad and telling people about all sorts of stuff no one wants to know. I’m sorry, Harry.”

It’s the first time he’s heard say his name. It sounds good on her accent.

“Don’t worry about it,” he says, and it makes her smile because she realizes he’s been paying attention.

They share one more drink, and Harry pays for the third Cosmo of the night. By the time they’re finished with it, both of them are giggling and he has one of his hands on her bare knee. After the slightly-awkward oversharing, she proceeded to point out how a couple on the dark corner of the bar seemed, judging by their uncomfortable silence and resentful faces, to be on the brink of divorce. Harry asked her, mostly joking, if she had been around a lot of divorcing couples; she chuckled and then commented on how a dude sitting by the restrooms was probably fingering his girlfriend under the table. She never said no or proved to know about his family by asking him the same thing back.

But now the whole divorce thing was long forgotten. She and Harry had spent the last hour making up the most obnoxious stories about other customers and whispering them to each other, bodies getting closer and closer every minute.

“You know what I want?” she mutters. Between being shorter than Harry and slouching on her seat, her lips don’t reach his ear, so he can feel her breath on the side of his neck. He shivers.

“What?” he asks in the same low tone, eyes glittering with mischief and tipsiness.

Her left hand grips his bicep while she practically purrs: “I really want a milkshake.”

From the way his drunken-self gasps and moans God, yes, she might as well have said that she really wanted to suck his dick.

They pay for their drinks, shared or otherwise, and leave the bar. There aren’t many people out on the street at 1 a.m, but Harry still pulls his hat down a little.

“So,” she says. “Should I get us an uber? Where do British people get milkshakes? Is it far?”

“I’ll just call a driver.”

She looks taken aback. “Like a private one?”

Harry nods. “He’ll be here in a minute.”

And he is. She stumbles into the car along with Harry, sluggishly laying her head on his shoulder after closing the door.

“You didn’t tell me your name,” he murmurs against her hair.

So she does.

------------------------------------------

Between dinner, a few drinks and all the talking, they had already broken the not-staying-out-too-late rule. Turns out that rehashing a few days’ worth of parenting, teaching and music producing is time consuming even when you’re not having this much fun.

“One more?” Harry asks, pointing to her empty gin and tonic glass, the shadow of laughter still on his lips after a solid fifteen minutes of her getting progressively more aggravated about a student that “couldn’t, to save his own life, make anyone believe he read The Color Purple”.

“Yeah,” she says. “Share it with me?”

“Sure, love.”

He orders another cocktail, and She smiles at him even while thanking the waitress.

“What’s that look for?”

“Nothing,” She replies, still staring shamelessly. It’s easy after all these years. “You just look really good.”

“So do you.”

She shrugs, and before he can say that she really does look beautiful and that he wishes he could prove to her just how much he thinks so (which is a cheap but sure way of making her blush), the waitress places the new cocktail between them.

“God, that was fast,” She mumbles, impressed.

After She takes the first sip, they both start at the same time. “So—”

They giggle, but since She begins sipping again, Harry speaks.

“We’ll both have a couple of months off during the summer, so I was thinking… You could go home.”

“Yeah, I should start planning once the semester ends, I’m just so—” She sighs, and Harry understands.

“I figured you could go and spend the first few weeks, or even the first month, back home while Jamie and I do our thing.” She looks like she’s about to interrupt him, so he holds up a hand as if asking her to wait. “Hear me out. You go home, spend time with your family or your old friends or, y’know, yourself, because — and don’t even fight me on this — I know you need your alone time. And after you’ve had your break, we’ll meet you there and hang out until you need to get back to prepare for next semester and I need to sort things out for the tour. You can even go somewhere else by yourself before going home or we could do a family thing before coming back to the UK if you and Jamie want to. How does that sound?”

She doesn’t say a thing, doesn’t even smile. She just keeps looking at him while sliding the gin and tonic glass across the table so he can have his share. Harry takes two big gulps and waits for her to speak.

“I don’t—” She stops herself. “You thought of it all, didn’t you?”

“I tried,” he laces his fingers through hers. “So you wouldn’t have to. But, y’know, it’s just an idea. And I thought it’d be better if I brought it up early so we could plan everything properly and, in case you didn’t want help paying for them, the plane tickets wouldn’t cost you an arm and a leg.”

Still silent, She looks down at their joint hands.

“Thank you, H.”

“I didn’t do anything, love.”

He touches her chin so that She’ll look him in the eyes.

“I love you,” Harry whispers.

She doesn’t have to say it too. He knows.

------------------------------------------

6 years earlier…

“Hey, love,” Harry whispers from the other side of the phone call. “How are things?”

She smiles a tired smile up at her dark ceiling at the sound of his voice. “Things are…” The smile fades, replaced by a shaky sigh. “Things are fine, H.”

She means things are like they have been for as long as she can remember. Difficult. A shit-paying job where she feels like a failure most of the time, too much school work, family drama and all sorts of friendship insecurities. There are good days of course, but today just isn’t one of them. She didn’t want to ruin his call, the only silver lining of the night, by complaining. So things are fine.

“What about you? Is everything good over there?”

“Everything’s great. Had some really good wine earlier today, reminded me of you. You would’ve loved it.”

“Bet you were in a villa, feeling the breeze on your hair, staring at a gorgeous canal or some fancy shit like that,” she jokes.

Harry laughs. “Yeah,” is his answer.

Oh.

“I kinda wanted to talk to you about that, actually.”

“About what?”

She sits up on the bed, her room quiet except for the shifting of her body over the clothes she took off but didn’t bother to fold before laying down after work.

“You should come,” he answers on the phone.

“What?”

“To Italy.”

“Baby—”

“Come on, love. You always wanted to travel here. Come meet me.”

“Harry,” she sighs. “You’re insane.”

She can picture his face falling just by the sound of his voice. “Why?”

“It’s the middle of September; I’m working, I’m studying. I can’t even afford it. Do you need any more reasons?”

Harry sounds frustrated when he answers, and it brings tears to her eyes. So much for a silver lining. “You can take a day or two off, right? Or just stay the weekend. You know I’ll pay for your flight.”

“Baby,” she takes a deep breath, trying to not let her annoyance show. “I’m almost finished with my master’s; I won’t get it done by missing classes. And yes, you’ll pay for my flight, but that’s not the only expense that goes into traveling and I won’t depend on your money. You know this. We can go when there’s a holiday here. Or mid-December, when the semester is over. I’ll have saved some money by then. I love you for thinking of me but… I can’t, H. Not now.”

He mumbles something under his breath.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“I didn’t hear you,” but she knows he did it on purpose. “Can you say that again, please?”

“I said you’re making up excuses.”

‘You can’t be serious.”

“Of course I’m serious! You won’t even try.”

“How am I supposed to try? Either I can or can’t go. And I can’t.”

“You won’t even consider it,” his voice is filled with disappointment. It makes her blood boil.

“Harry, you sound like a child. Listen to me. Even if I went only for the weekend, I’d waste almost an entire day flying back and forth. We wouldn’t even have twenty-four hours together.”

“Don’t you think that sounds better than not being together at all?”

“I bet it does sound better for you, sitting your ass in a gondola, eating your rich-people cheese with your snobby friends, thinking of lyrics about fucking a girl that second-guesses putting you before herself while said girl is out there, flying to you so she can have a hug and a kiss and pretend that everything is fine.”

She’s crying by the time she stops talking, and she knows he can hear it. While she sobs, mostly angry but also starting to regret saying anything at all, he doesn’t say a thing. He could have stopped breathing altogether, considering how quiet the other end of the line is.

“Harry?” she half-pleads, half-scolds. “Talk to me!”

“I’m sorry,” his voice is uncertain, like he can’t quite figure out what to say and how to say it. “I guess I— I miss you. I’m being a prick.”

The weigh on her chest doesn’t go away with the apology, because she doesn’t know if he understands. And she just called his friends snobby and said she pretends to be happy. God. But she can’t say she’s sorry too because she won’t stop crying. She’s just so tired.

“Love,” Harry says, firmly this time. “Don’t cry, it’s okay. Have some sleep. Drink some water. We’ll talk properly tomorrow.”

“No,” she hiccups into the phone. “Wait. I’m—”

“We’ll talk, I promise,” she thinks he’ll hang up then when he hesitates, but he speaks again. “I’m sorry. I love you.”

The line goes dead. She cries herself to sleep.

------------------------------------------

"God," he pants against her bruised neck.

“What?” She teases. “Are you getting too old for this?”

“Shut up,” Harry laughs, still breathless. “I’m barely in my mid-thirties.” He pushes the sheets away and gets up, looking down at her naked body sprawled across the bed; if he wasn’t so tired, he’d be horny again. “Want some water?”

“Yeah. Thanks, baby.”

He walks out of the bedroom wearing absolutely nothing, which is one of the perks of a child-free house. By the time he’s back with their water, She’s wearing his teal button-up and brushing her teeth, messy natural hair framing her face.

“H,” she calls from the suite’s bathroom, speech slurred because of the toothbrush. She spits before continuing, “Can you sing me a song?”

Harry chugs his water and lays back on the bed, waiting for her without saying a word.

“Can you?” She asks again, climbing on the bed in all fours, hovering over him. “Can you?” A whisper against his mouth. But when he leans over for a kiss, she falls to the bed, suddenly grinning, and hugs his side. “Come on.”

“Such a tease,” he mumbles, already hugging her back and tangling his legs with hers.

Harry starts singing quietly, voice still a little rough even after the water, and he can feel her smiling lips against his chest.

Wise men say only fools rush in

But I can't help falling in love with you…

“How romantic,” she says quietly once he’s done.

“That’s me, only doing the best for my girl” he says smugly, which makes her laugh, but then he turns serious. “I love you, you know?”

“Love you too, H.”

Harry takes a deep breath. “Can I ask you a question?”

------------------------------------------

5 years earlier…

The paparazzi call her name on screen. There are not many of them, but it disturbs Harry nonetheless; three or four photographers outside a restaurant, just waiting for her and yelling at her once she walks out the door. She looks nervous in a way Harry can imagine other people not noticing, fidgeting hands and a fast walk. But her face is serious and dismissive while she walks straight ahead.

“Are you Harry Styles’ new girlfriend?” one of them asks from behind the camera.

Harry pauses the video, telling himself he needs to ask someone on his team how the hell they found out who she is just by a blurry picture taken through his car window a few days ago when she’s not even on social media, which is true. But he’s also not sure he wants to hear her answer. He checks the time under the video; it was posted less than an hour ago. He should call her and ask if everything’s okay, but he just presses play again.

“No,” she answers right away. Harry feels like he’s sinking.

Why the fuck did they not discuss this before she moved to England? What was he thinking when he resisted PR’s involvement? They should’ve planned for this, coordinated answers, made up their minds so he wouldn’t feel sucker-punched and she wouldn’t be thrusted into the spotlight with no warning.

“You were in his car last Monday!” someone says, as if telling her she’s a liar.

She doesn’t bother responding to that. They keep calling her name.

“What are you and Harry, then?”

She’s almost down the subway’s stairs and there’s not many seconds left in the video, so he’s not too worried about what happens next. Harry looks at his phone, expecting her to disappear from the frame so he can text her and ask her to come over so they can talk, so he can hold her and make sure she’s not freaking out. But she slows down, considering the person’s question. She turns her head to a camera somewhere to the right of the video he’s watching, curls falling down the side of her face.

Matter-of-factly, with amused eyes but no smile, she says: “Soulmates.” And then she’s down the stairs and the video ends.

Harry stays very still. Text notifications appear over and over, more than one person saying the same thing: apparently they found her on her university’s website, where she’s listed as a doctoral student. He doesn’t open the messages, though; doesn’t even breathe until there’s a knock at the door.

Everyone else just rings the bell or asks to be buzzed in. It’s her.

Harry walks to the door, bare feet sliding on the wooden floors, and opens it. She’s standing in front of him dressed in the same black skirt and pink sweater from the video, hair messy around her serious face.

“H,” she starts. The sound of her voice relieves most of the pressure in his chest. “I—”

He doesn’t let her finish; just kisses her like he would kiss a soulmate. She steps forward, dropping her bag and closing the door with one hand while the other busies itself holding onto the soft cotton of Harry’s worn T-shirt, the feeling of his tongue against hers making her dizzy.

They stumble into the couch, her hips sitting on top of his, breathing heavily against each other’s lips. Harry takes longer than necessary stripping her of her sweater, gripping every inch of exposed skin as if he could keep it to himself. “Harry,” She whispers, asking him to hurry. The pink fabric falls to the floor and his right hand instantly pulls at her hair, her back arching so he can get one of her nipples on his mouth. “Harry,” She breathes out again, tortured, and a careless move of her hips makes them both gasp. The hand that’s not tangled in her hair squeezes her tight so hard they’re both sure it’ll bruise.

“Lay back,” he says before sucking on her other nipple, teeth grazing her skin and making her grind into him with more purpose. Despite his words, Harry doesn’t move so she can do what he’s telling her to. “I want to—” he bites her shoulder, hard, “see if—” sucks a mark into the side of her breast, “you can move like that on my face.”

She moans at his words, his mouth, his hand on her hair, tightening by the second.

“No,” she licks her lips, but never finishes the thought. Her hand drops to the one he has on her tight and squeezes it. “Can you—”

“Yeah,” he mumbles, letting go of her thigh. His hand disappears beneath her skirt, and she can feel him pushing her panties out of the way. He swipes a finger against her so lightly she can barely feel it. “Is that what you want?”

“More.”

She lifts her hips, trying to get more friction on his hand. “Come on.”

Harry slides one finger into her, then another. Her mouth falls open in a silent gasp, and she feels like she’s stopped breathing altogether once he fucks into her fast and hard, thumb brushing against her clit.

“Kiss me,” she whimpers, riding his fingers frantically, the sweat dripping down her torso sticking to Harry’s T-shirt.

Their mouths meet at the same time he squeezes a third finger into her. She moans against his lips and holds his waist under his clothes, seemingly undecided between tugging at his shirt or his belt.

“H, let me,” she murmurs the words into his lips, still pulling at his clothes.

“No,” he sounds as wrecked as she does, which is saying a lot. “Cum for me first.”

Harry stops moving his hand, tries to tease her, but she barely seems to notice, moving so desperately that he hits all the right places without even trying. With a sob, she squeezes tight around his fingers and rides out her high while clinging to Harry for dear life.

Her head falls to his shoulder, face hiding behind her hair and in his neck.

“Good?” he asks, voice raspy, wiping his soaked fingers on the side of his pants.

She doesn’t say anything for a second, just breathing hard into his skin, then sobs again. Not with pleasure.

“Love?” Harry questions in worry. “What’s wrong?”

Her body starts to shake in his arms, tears mixing with the sweat on his T-shirt’s collar. He calls her name, scared out of his mind with what this could mean. Did she come here to say she couldn’t do this anymore? He didn’t let her say a thing before kissing her. He should’ve listened, should’ve waited, should’ve asked her what ‘soulmate’ meant when it couldn’t mean ‘girlfriend’.

“I’m sorry,” she hiccups, hugging him closer even though there’s not any space between their bodies.

“What are you sorry for?” he asks quietly.

“I know this is freaking you out. I just—” and then she’s sobbing again.

“Talk to me,” Harry begs.

“I love you so much, H,” he could feel the but at the end of the sentence.

“I love you too…” he swallows before asking, “Is this about the photographers? Are you upset they were around? ‘Cause we can fix that.”

She looks up at him, the tip of their noses touching. With furrowed brows and swollen eyes, she mumbles, “You gonna have them killed or somethin’?”

He’d laugh if he could. “Not really. I’ll do something, though. Whatever it is you need me to do.”

She rests her chin on his shoulder so he can’t look her in the eyes. In a whisper, she asks: “Can you freeze us in time?”

“What?”

“I’m scared we’ll lose this,” She confesses. “I’m so in love with you, Harry and I— I don’t want us to be boyfriend and girlfriend the way I’ve learned it, owing each other and the world explanations and parts of ourselves. I want us to choose to love each other every day because we can’t help but do so — a forever that looks like the way you offered me a drink, the way you flew out to meet me after our fight and promised we’d do better, the way you kissed me today; like it’s not simple but it’s easy. ”

Harry stays silent for a while.

“I’m sorry if it makes no sense,” her voice shakes. “I think I’m just desperate not to lose myself in you while getting to keep you and— I don’t know, it doesn’t sound as reasonable as I thought it would.”

He whispers her name.

“Yeah?”

“Being with you forever, one day at a time, sounds reasonable to me.”

------------------------------------------

“Do you want to marry me?”

“What?”

“Marry me, love,” he laughs softly. “Do you want to?”

She’s silent, tear-filled eyes staring up at him.

“You know how I knew it was time?” Harry asks, still in a low voice like they’re somewhere sacred. Home. “We built a family out of a promise we didn’t even have to make. A while ago, even before Jamie, you told me we shouldn't owe each other, and it’s true. I won’t ever ask you for anything you haven’t already given me, because that’s how you love me too. But I’ll ask for this because it’s ours and I know it’ll stay this way.”

They’re both crying, and her shaking hands try to wipe away his tears.

“I want to,” She says.

That sudden bright smile takes over her face like it did both years and minutes ago. It doesn’t take him by surprise anymore.

#FineLineFicChallenge #harry styles #fine line #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fic #harry styles fluff #harry styles angst #hsogolden

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let-me-write-shit · 4 years

Text

Like We Used To: 28

A/N: The dramaaaaaaa!!

*WARNING* discussions of abortion.

[Click Here For Previous Chapters]

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CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT:

The flight back home was painfully long and Elizabeth had no one sitting in her row to talk to. By the time she had landed back in England it was 9 AM on Monday, and she decided to spend the whole day by herself, relaxing. She knew that she should have gotten back to work and gotten as much done as possible so that she didn’t have to worry about completing everything before her and her friends flew to New York on Friday, but all the traveling was starting to catch up to her. Instead, she spent the day eating, watching movies, and napping.

The time difference between her and her boyfriend was easier to manage now that Harry was in New York. He seemed to have a good amount of free time right now, just having occasional meetings with his performance crew since his band wouldn’t be flying in until Wednesday, so they facetimed and texted a lot.

Tuesday she had planned to hang out with Kate, Mitch, and Sarah, so they four of them met up for a hike and some lunch. Harry had another meeting that morning, so they just texted each other their daily ‘Good morning, I love you’ texts and did their thing, Elizabeth putting her phone on silent to enjoy her time with her friends.

During their hike, the group continued discussing their plans for after Harry’s show in NYC, wanting to wander around the city, and discussed the headlines that were released from the Fashion Show after Harry and Elizabeth made their relationship public. The response seemed to be, for the most part, in favor of her relationship with Harry. And thankfully it hadn’t affected her work.

After a couple hours of walking, they eventually decided they were hungry and decided to grab some lunch inside to get away from the crisp autumn air. They settled into a booth, collecting their menus and discussing their orders with each other while Elizabeth glanced outside. Most of the golden leaves had dropped from the trees, swirling low on the ground from the breeze. Families had walked hand-in-hand with their children who were bundled in warmer jackets and boots. Pumpkins and chrysanthemums line the walkway into the old stone building they sat in, and the smell of warm tea and hot cocoa mixed in the air as people drank them to warm up. She grinned, dreamily. This was her favorite time of year.

Their drink orders were brought out and Elizabeth lightly blew onto the surface of her English tea before taking a little sip when Mitch pulled out his phone and furrowed his eyebrows.

“Lizzy?” Mitch questioned, looking up at her, “have you checked your phone recently?”

“No, why?” she asked, confused, pulling her purse up and digging through it.

“I just got a text from Harry asking if I was still with you and to tell you to call him ASAP.”

Her friends looked worriedly at her as she pulled her phone out, realizing she had dozens of missed calls from Harry, Jeffrey, and Lisa, and a few unread texts. Without hesitation, she dialed Harry’s phone numbers, looking at her friends in wonder. Almost immediately Harry picked up.

“Lizzy? What’s going on?” He asked.

She hesitated, hearing the worry in his voice, “I don’t know. You tell me.”

“You didn’t see any of my texts?” He asked, “It’s all over the internet.”

“No, I didn’t see your texts. What’s all over the internet?” she hushed, not wanting anyone in the restaurant to overhear her.

Her friends watched, puzzled by the seriousness of her tone. What could possibly have happened in the past four hours to make Harry and his team go into a frenzy?

He spoke, his tone sounding more upset than it had a second ago, “Kyle went to the press. He released a bunch of pictures of the two of you and made a statement. He said that you two were engaged. He said you were pregnant with his child. He didn’t go into specifics, but he made it seem like you had gotten an abortion and that’s why your relationship ended. Is this true?”

Elizabeth’s stomach dropped, heart rate speeding up. She could feel the color in her face flush and her friend’s noticed because they all sat up taller, leaning into her to make sure she was okay. Elizabeth nodded towards Kate to let her out of the booth and she slid out, ignoring the intense expressions of her friends as she quickly crept outside so no one could hear.

“Lizzy? Hello?” Harry echoed.

Elizabeth stuttered, “I-Harry...I didn’t….”

“So it is true?” Harry cut her off, disgust dripping with each syllable.

“No, it’s….well. Yes, it’s partially true, but I…”

“And you didn’t think to tell me?” Harry spat, “After our argument the other week. All that talk about ‘3 years of history with him but 12 with you. It’s no big deal. It’s over’. You were engaged to be married, Lizzy! You were pregnant with his child! How could you not tell me that?”

“Because I wasn’t ready to talk about it yet, Harry. It isn’t that simple! I wasn’t-”

“And I had to find out through news outlets? Do you even know how shitty that makes me feel?”

“Babe, please just listen. I-”

“No, you know what. I need a minute,” Harry’s voice sounded numb, “I’ll call you later.”

Elizabeth sighed, stomach churning when the call ended. She gripped her phone tightly, letting her phone fall to her side, tears forming on her waterline as she looked up to the sky trying to refrain from crying. A soft hand touched her back and Kate rounded her friend, her eyes wide with concern.

“Are you okay?” she hushed.

Elizabeth stood, looking her best friend in the face before she faltered, collapsing into her arms, tears pouring out. Kate wrapped her arms around Elizabeth, squeezing her tightly and letting her cry for a moment, gently stroking her back. Her sobs were shallow, trying to catch her breath. As she regained composure, Kate wordlessly asked what happened.

“Kyle went to the press. He told them everything.”

“Even-” Kate muttered, eyes widening in shock.

Elizabeth nodded, wiping her tears and runny nose, “Everything,” she repeated. “And apparently he’s trying to tell people I got an abortion.”

“No,” Kate breathed in disbelief. She kicked a rock on the ground, “What an absolute fucking prick! What did Harry have to say about it? He knows the truth, right?”

“I’ve never talked to him about it, Kate. I wasn’t ready. And now he’s pissed. He doesn’t even know the full story, but he’s furious that I didn’t tell him first. I mean, I understand, but I don’t know what this means for us now.”

“But he didn’t break up with you, did he?”

“No. Not yet at least.”

Kate nodded, giving her friends one more tight squeeze, “It’ll be ok. Just give him time to think. I’m sure by tomorrow he’ll have calmed down and be ready to talk. Mitch and Sarah will be flying out to New York tomorrow, maybe they’ll be able to get him to see things clearly. And on Friday we’ll be flying out and everything will be back to normal.”

Elizabeth nodded, taking a deep breath and shaking off her pain. This past year has been the most tumultuous of her entire life, so of course something like this would happen just as it starts going well for her.

“Come on, then. Should we explain to Mitch and Sarah what’s going on?” Kate motioned back towards the building.

She could see their new friends glancing out at them through the window, looking utterly confused. Elizabeth agreed, holding hands with her best friend and trekking back into the restaurant. Their food had arrived while they were outside and she noticed that Mitch and Sarah didn’t touch their food yet, waiting for the other two to return. They slid back onto the booth bench and explained in full detail what was going on, watching their expressions range from bewildered, to shocked, sad, and furious. Mitch’s fist clenched tightly against the table, listening as Elizabeth finished, looking out at the window.

“Oh, Lizzy,” Sarah consoled, reaching a hand across the table to take hold of hers. “I’m so sorry.”

Mitch shook his head turning back to face her, “Don’t worry. I’m sure Harry will be ready to talk by the end of the day before you even go to bed. And Sarah and I land at 2 PM New York time, heading straight to rehearsals from the airport. We got your back.”

Having the support of her friends meant the world, especially right now, and she was sure that they were right. Harry just needed a few hours to digest everything before he was ready to talk to her. She didn’t blame him, it was a lot of info to take in and the stress of traveling and work on top of it didn’t help much. But as the day grew longer and the sun began to set, she felt herself starting to panic. She tried her best to take her mind off of it, frantically completing work and sorting through all of her emails.

In attempts to reach out to Harry, she sent her boyfriend a couple quick texts, but didn’t want to bombard him with too many and annoy him even more. He never responded. By 2 AM, she realized that he probably wasn’t going to call her, and that she would wait until tomorrow late afternoon to reach out when she knew he’d be up.

However, when she woke up the following morning she was immediately drawn to the attention of several missed texts from Mitch and Sarah. Her messages were riddled with things like ‘I’m sure it’s not what it looks like’ and ‘We’ll talk to him, don’t worry.’ Instantly panicking, she went online to google Harry’s name. The first thing that popped up was a TMZ article that read ‘Harry Styles on a Romantic Night Out with Ex? We’re confused too’. She clicked on the link and pictures popped up showing Harry smiling and walking side by side with Camille, and another one with his hand on her back, leading her into his hotel.

Elizabeth felt her heart shatter into a million pieces. How could he do this to her? Her one request was that he didn’t hang out with his ex without her there, and now he’s bringing her to his hotel? He cheated on her? After he knew, at least partially, what she had gone through with Kyle? Harry knew how hard it was for her to trust people again. He knew that’s the reason it took so long to start dating him in the first place. He pushed their relationship when she was perfectly fine just hooking up with him. He told her he loved her, for fucks sake! He didn’t even know the full story, but he got pissed off anyway and decided to take it out on her by cheating?

No. She deserved better than that.

KEEP READING

#Harry Styles #Harry styles smut #harry styles fluff #harry styles blurb #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fan fic #harry styles fan fiction #harry styles fanfiction #smut #one direction #one direction smut #one direction fluff #one direction blurb

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ejzah · 4 years

Text

The Agent and the Lawyer, Part 9

***

2-3 Weeks Later

“Wait, is that hair?” Deeks asked pointing at the tv screen where a young woman had just walked up wearing a bizarre looking dress. Kensi nodded enthusiastically.

“Yup. That’s Krista. She’s definitely going to win this challenge,” she said, like it was perfectly normal to wear dresses comprised of wigs.

“Why?”

“Um, because she’s awesome.”

“No, I mean, why the hair dresses?” By now, Deeks wasn’t that phased by the bizarreness, but he was definitely morbidly fascinated.

“Because it’s art,” Kensi said, like it was obvious, gesturing to the screen again as she popped a French Fry in her mouth. “Oh, and that’s Angela. She is a witch with a B.” Deeks smiled, thoroughly amused at Kensi’s enthusiastic commentary.

Over the last few weeks, they’d had dinner together on a increasingly frequent basis. So far it was always at his place, which Deeks was fine with for the time being.

In that time, he’d discovered that Kensi had a truly awful sense of humor, had strange tase in TV, loved junk food, and was fairly messy.

The messiness had surprised him most; given Kensi’s military upbringing, he’d expected her to be neat and orderly. After her first few visits, he’d discovered that was not the case at all. She had a habit of shedding things and never returning for them.

Already he had a growing collection of her clothing and accessories, including a pair of sunglasses, a hoodie, a spare evidence glove, and for unknown reasons, a pair of jeans, housed in one of the spare bedrooms.

He’d also discovered that she was fiercely loyal and protective of her team. Although she couldn’t give him too many specific details, when she talked about her day, he could tell how much she cared about them all. It was like a strange little family.

If he was honest, it made him a little jealous. It had been a long time since he’d anything resembling a family.

“So you catch any bad guys today?” Deeks asked during a commercial. It was a question he’d started asking after their third dat-dinner.

“Yeah, but not before he murdered three people.” Kensi shook her head, finding solace in her food.

“You wanna talk about it?”

Nope,” she said firmly, turning on a bright smile. “What about you, how was your day?” Deeks sighed heavily.

“Well, not super great. Last week I got a client’s sentence reduced to community service. He got in an “ altercation” with his barber and broke the guy’s nose. Then today I found out he beat up his girlfriend. Which he was able to do because I kept him out of jail.” He realized his voice sounded incredibly bitter and he forced a smile. “Perks of being a lawyer, right?”

“That’s awful. Is there anything you can do?” Kensi asked and he sighed again, leaning against the back of the couch.

“Not really. The original complainant settled out of court for damages. This will be an entirely new case against him and he has the money to make it go away,” he said, turning his head towards Kensi. She had her bottom lip trapped between her teeth and he fought the urge to gently tug it free. That would definitely earn him an elbow in the ribs.

“You don’t have to represent him again, do you?”

“Hell no.” He’d resign before that. “I’m pretty sure he’d like me to and some of the other partners at the firm will probably try to push for it, but I’ll decline. I do have some morals.”

Kensi frowned at him.

“I know you do, Deeks,” she assured him. “You seem pretty disillusioned with the law right now.”

“I am,” he admitted. There was something in her expression he couldn’t quite identify as she stared at him contemplatively.

“If this is leading into another joke about my hair, I’m not really feeling it tonight,” he warned her and she rolled her eyes.

“I was actually thinking that maybe you need a change from being a fancy lawyer all the time.”

“What kind of change?”

“You could always accept Hetty’s offer,” she suggested and he snorted. Kensi looked mildly offended, leaning towards him earnestly. “I’m serious. I happen to know she hasn’t filled the position yet and she is still interested in having you.”

“I don’t know,” he said doubtfully. Kensi pushed the remnants of her burger onto the table, tucking a leg underneath her as she turned to face him.

“Four of the five last times I’ve come over you’ve had some issue with your law firm, whether it be the the actual cases, the other lawyers, or the way the law is so easily subverted. You’re obviously having serious questions about what role you play in that world,” she said with a shrug. Deeks shifted uncomfortably, but didn’t deny what she said.

He was quiet for a minute contemplating her suggestion. The day he’d gone undercover, had been one of the most terrifying and exhilarating experiences of his life. It had been nice to the bad guys not win for once, as brutal as their deaths were. Still, he wasn’t sure he really wanted to be around that constantly.

“You really think I would make a good consultant?”

“Well, you’re clearly a decent lawyer-“

“Such praise.” Kensi glared at him briefly before continuing.

“You definitely have enough confidence, you can handle us (not everyone can) and I think with a little training, you’d have no problem with criminal law. It might make a nice change.”

“But if I work with you guys, won’t that make this-“ he gestured between them-“a conflict of interest?” It was one of his bigger concerns. He wasn’t willing to risk his growing relationship with Kensi, whatever it might turn into, for a job he might not even like.

Kensi leaned a little closer, the scent of something (he thought it might be her shampoo) fanning across his face. This close he could see the distinct coloring of her eyes and he had to force himself not to get lost in staring at her.

“Well, in order for it to be a conflict of interest, you’d have to actually ask me out on a date,” she started, giving him a pointed look.

“Touché,” he said, earning a slight grin from her.

“Plus, Hetty’s pretty relaxed about relationships as long as they doesn’t disrupt the team in any way.”

“So you’d be fine with me being around almost every day?” Kensi gave him a once over.

“I think I can handle it.” She snatched a French fry off his plate and added, “Especially if you wear suits to the office.”

“Did you have any particular suit in mind?” he asked, his voice lowering as Kensi’s eyes skimmed over him again.

“I don’t hate that black one you were wearing for your LinkedIn picture,” she said, definitely flirting now as she leaned to whisper in his ear. A shiver went up his spine. “With a blue shirt.” Her nose just barely skimmed his cheek and he felt puff of breath against his cheek before she pulled back.

“Any other demands you want to make?” he drawled. Kensi shrugged, gesturing to his head.

“You might want to do something about that. Maybe wash it, run a comb through it.” He chuckled, shaking his head.

“Alright, if, and it’s still a big if. If I decide to accept Hetty’s offer, then I will definitely wear a suit and comb my hair.”

“Good,” Kensi said, grabbing her phone and slipping it into her back pocket. “Ok, well I need to skip out a little early tonight because Hetty wants us in early tomorrow. Something about mandatory safety trainings.” Deeks stood and watched as she tugged on her boots. “See you on Tuesday?”

“Sounds good,” he agreed. Kensi leaned back in to press a kiss to his cheek. She pulled away before he could react, her eyes twinkling.

“Have a good night, Deeks,” she whispered, smirking at him.

#ncis la fanfiction #marty deeks #kensi blye #au #the agent and the lawyer #part 9 #eventual densi #ejzah fanfiction

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luci-in-trenchcoats · 5 years

Text

Acting Your Age (Part 3)

Summary: Jensen and the reader continue to grow closer but the reader has a fight with her brother over her new relationship...

Masterlist

Pairing: Jensen x reader

Word Count: 6,800ish

Warnings: language, age gap

____

“No, no,” groaned Jensen in his seat at the rooftop restaurant Sunday night. You were already laughing though as he ran his hands over his face. “Please don’t remind me.”

“I think it’s cute that your first acting job was that,” he said.

“A show you used to watch!” he chuckled. “Oh, God.”

“It was a children’s show,” you said. “Then you really hung on to that horror thing, huh?”

“So you’ve never seen me do anything aside from the kids show?” he asked.

“I don’t even remember. I know I used to watch it. You could be a horrible actor for all I know,” you teased.

“I’m the worst,” he laughed. “Seriously.”

“Oh yeah. You had one of the longest shows ever. You must be horrible,” you said.

“At least I had a job,” he teased.

“I’m happily unemployed thank you very much,” you said.

“You only moved back like a week ago, right?” he asked.

“A little more,” you said. “I’ll take the vacation time.”

“I can’t believe I’ve never asked but what do you do?” asked Jensen.

“I’m a spy,” you said. Jensen raised an eyebrow and leaned back in his seat.

“Oh really?”

“Yup. Can’t tell anyone though.”

“Interesting. Very interesting. You like a James Bond kind of spy?” he asked.

“Oh, definitely,” you laughed. “I’m an interior designer. My firm worked with a big architectural firm over in London. I’ll probably do that again once I talk to a few firms in the city.”

“Nice. Spy stuff is your side job?” he said, a big smirk on his face.

“I don’t think I’ve been a spy since I was seven,” you said.

“Seven? Come on. You were goofing around until at least twelve,” he said.

“Maybe you were,” you teased. “Girls mature faster than boys though.”

“You’re telling me you stopped playing games and stuff when you were seven?” he asked.

“I started playing soccer a lot around that age. I don’t really remember. My siblings always had stuff going on,” you said.

“Well yeah but I mean, I used to play with my little sister, even when I was 18,” he said.

“Just different families I suppose,” you said.

“You didn’t want to bother them, did you,” he said. You turned your head and looked out at the street below, Jensen grabbing a roll from the basket.

“You know I did good in school so that I could get a full ride for college? Like excessively good?” you said.

“Jared mentioned you’re a bit of a smartie pants,” he said with a smile.

“I was the accident kid. My brother became a doctor, my sister went to school, Jared got some help from mom and dad during the early days...I was an extra expense. They never said that but I knew. They tried to hide it from me. I got lucky Jared did so well and could help them retire a little early,” you said.

“You have that classic Padalecki thing,” he said. “You all take care of somebody else before you take care of yourselves.”

“I know. I’m not saying I didn’t have a happy childhood or anything. I was aware of our situation was all,” you said.

“Well now that you're back home and have this new perspective on things, maybe you can take care of yourself more,” he said.

“I plan on it,” you said. “I might need some help in that department though.”

“I’m more than willing to volunteer my services,” he said.

“So at what age does the wisdom thing happen?” you asked.

“You just give less of a shit about certain stuff,” he said.

“What about acne?”

“Never goes away,” he said, tilting his chin up, rubbing over a small red bump underneath. “Getting old is fun.”

“You’re not old, trust me,” you said.

“Alright,” he said. “I think I will, kiddo.”

Your food came out and you made small talk, Jensen telling you about Austin some and places to check out. But halfway through dinner, his hair caught in the wind and he had this one piece that was sticking straight up, defying gravity even more so than all the other fluffy hair he had.

“What are you giggling at?” he asked after a minute.

“Your hair. It’s...it’s very fluffy,” you said. He patted his head and he eventually smoothed down the spot, more hair spiking up elsewhere.

“I get it?” he asked.

“Yeah, you got it,” you said. “God I love your hair.”

“Well thank you,” he said, a cute little smile on his face.

“You probably get told you’re handsome a lot, huh,” you said.

“I guess. In one ear, out the other,” he said.

“I could have sworn you just blushed though.”

“Well you’re special,” he said.

“I mean the hair has to make up for the appalling face,” you said.

“Oh does it? Here I was going to tell you how beautiful you looked,” he said, biting back a smile.

“It’s alright,” you said, grinning as you went back to eating.

“How’s the steak?” he asked.

“Delicious,” you said with a thumbs up.

“This place has really good dessert too,” he said.

“Do they have steak flavored dessert?” you asked.

“I knew there was a reason I liked you.”

“Do you have work tomorrow?” you asked as you walked around a quieter part of downtown after dinner.

“No. I got to pop in the brewery for a few and my agent normally sends me new scripts I might be interested in on Mondays to look over but that’s it,” he said.

“When do you think you’ll act again?”

“Probably after the new year. There’s this one job I really want. They were holding back all auditions though for a while. I got to film that and send it in later this week. That job would start in January,” he said.

“I hope you get it,” you said.

“Me too. Been a while since I auditioned for anything,” he said.

“I’m sure you’ll nail it,” you said. “Jared said he’s got a guest star role starting in two months.”

“He told me about it. Sounds fun,” he said.

“Still gonna do your checks with him?” you asked.

“He told you about those?” he asked.

“Once. Back around Christmas. You were texting him. You sent a little green check mark and he wrote one back,” you said. “He told me that’s your way of checking that everything is okay. You do it everyday apparently and if he’s out of cell service, he checks in when he gets back.”

“He’s your brother. But he’s my brother too,” he said.

“I’m okay with sharing him,” you said with a smile. “I’m glad you’re his friend.”

“Me too,” he said. “I know he wants to get to know you better.”

“I wouldn’t mind that,” you said, Jensen stopping at a street corner when the light was red. He hummed to himself and you felt his hand bump yours once and then twice before his wrapped around yours, lacing your fingers together.

“Your little hands are always so cold,” he chuckled.

“You’ll warm them up I’m sure.”

“Goodnight,” you said when Jensen was dropping you back off at Jared’s house. You leaned up and gave him a kiss, Jensen smirking through it.

“Goodnight,” he said when you pulled back. “Tomorrow night?”

“Alright. We can talk about our golf date,” you said.

“We could go Tuesday if you don’t have plans,” he said.

“Isn’t it supposed to be like a hundred out?” you laughed.

“How about you wear a cute little golf outfit and I’ll bring the sunscreen?” he said.

“Oh, I bet you’d like that,” you said, leaning against his truck.

“I mean I’d wear the skirt but I don’t have the legs to pull it off,” he said. You shook your head, smirking as he started to laugh.

“You are such a loser,” you said, giving him another kiss. “I’ll pick you up at seven.”

“Oh, you’re taking me out?” he said with a big smile. “Well now I’m even more excited.”

“You’re adorable,” you said.

“You know it,” he said with a laugh, the sound of the garage door opening. You looked over your shoulder, Jared walking out with his car keys in his hands. He gave you both a nod before he walked over to his truck and climbed in. “Night, kiddo.”

“Night, Jensen.”

He walked back to the car as you headed inside. You barely had your shoes off when you heard the garage open again, Jared back in the house with a toy in his hand.

“Toy was in the backseat,” he said, giving you a nod as he went past.

“Shouldn’t the kids all be asleep by now?” you asked.

“Your brother is spying on you,” called Gen from the family room.

“Oh is he?” you said.

“I’m not…” said Jared with a shrug, heading into the family room. You walked over to the couch, crossing your arms as you stared down at him.

“Gen. What is he up to?” you asked.

“Nothing,” said Jared.

“Jare, if you’re gonna be…” you said. “I’m not a child. You either give me my privacy or I’m gone. You’re the one that wanted to set me and Jensen up in the first place.”

“I think you’re going a little fast is all,” he said.

“He’s kissed me a few times, that’s it. I haven’t even made out with him. What’s fast about that?” you asked.

“Well you hang out with him every night now,” he said.

“We had a family party on Friday with plenty of people. We all went to dinner last night and then I went mini golfing with him and I hung out with him for like three hours tonight. What’s the problem with that?” you asked. Gen stood up and walked into the kitchen, giving Jared a look along the way. “What? Is he suddenly a bad guy now that we’re spending time together?”

“No. No, he’s not,” he said.

“Then what is it?” you asked.

“I think you should spend some time with just you is all,” he said. “Don’t throw yourself into a guy.”

“So you’ve decided you want me to just what, be your little sister that lives here and follows her big brother around when it’s convenient for him?” you asked, crossing your arms.

“No. I thought you wanted to start being yourself is all. I think you might have an easier time doing that if you’re not constantly-”

“Throwing myself at a guy?” you said. “You think I do that?”

“Y/N,” he said, rolling his eyes.

“You were younger than me when you met Gen,” you said.

“Gen’s not fifteen years older than me,” he said.

“Why do you suddenly have a problem with this! You were the one that tried to get us together,” you said.

“Maybe because you have a habit of going head first into a relationship and then it goes bad. He’s one of my best friends and-”

“Don’t worry. I won’t ruin your friendship,” you said. You jogged upstairs and into the room you were staying in, shoving some clothes in a bag before you were downstairs and heading for the front door.

“Where the hell are you going?” he asked, following you as you put on your shoes.

“None of your damn business,” you said, storming outside, Jared right on your tail. “Leave me alone.”

“Hey,” he said, grabbing your arm as you got to your car. You shrugged and he held on, Gen sighing as she stepped out onto the front porch. “I asked where you were going.”

“I don’t have to tell you,” you said, shrugging him off this time. You ripped open the backseat and tossed in your bag, slamming the door shut. You grabbed the drivers side door, Jared catching it once it was open. “Let go, Jared.”

“Y/N-”

“Maybe he is too old for me. At least he doesn’t make me feel shitty. But don’t worry about that. You can have your friend back,” you said. You climbed in and yanked the door shut, pulling out and on the road like that.

“Y/N,” you heard the next morning, your dad coming out to the patio in the backyard. “There’s someone here to see you.”

“I don’t want to talk to Jared.”

“Hey, kiddo,” said Jensen. You turned around in your seat, Jensen wearing a soft smile. “Can we talk?”

You shrugged, your dad heading back inside as Jensen wandered around to your side of the table and grabbed a chair, spinning it around to look out at the yard with you.

“Jared stopped over last night,” he said, resting his elbows on his hands. “He was pretty upset.”

“He’s sensitive,” you said.

“That’s not nice.”

“Maybe I’m not a nice person,” you said, not bothering to look in his direction, tucking your knees into your chest.

“I think he pushed your buttons,” he said.

“I’m not a child,” you said, closing your eyes. “Maybe I am. I ran home to my parents house last night after all.”

“Well I’m a lot older and sometimes I run home to my parents,” he said. You peeled open your eyes, Jensen still looking into the yard. “He’s really upset, Y/N. He’s in the house.”

“He doesn’t like that I hang out with you now,” you said.

“Well that’s his problem to deal with, isn’t it,” he said, turning his head. “He didn’t use some choice phrasing last night from what I heard.”

“He basically called me a slut,” you said. Jensen frowned, giving you a long stare. “He thinks I throw myself into guys.”

“Funny. I think the opposite,” he said.

“Oh yeah?” you scoffed.

“Forget the age difference. Just forget it. I don’t give a shit about it. I don’t want to be with someone that it’s going to bother them,” he said.

“It doesn’t,” you said.

“I know,” he said. “I know you told me about that British guy that was embarrassed of you and made you feel bad about yourself. I know you said older guys are less likely to cheat in your opinion. I think you got more than your fair share of battle wounds.”

“Everyone does,” you said.

“No, they don’t,” he said. “And I’m guessing considering how you aren’t super close with your family, maybe they don’t know those things.”

“Why does it matter? He’s right. Shit, I broke up with the British douche less than two months ago,” you said. “I’m already going on dates again.”

“You think there’s some kind of mandatory feel shitty period?” he asked. “No, there isn’t. I like you and I think you like me. That’s all that should matter.”

“You’re right but I can’t deal with going home to him after dates if he’s going to ruin my nights,” you said.

“You don’t have to live with him,” said Jensen.

“It’s going to cause drama if I did that,” you said.

“Well I’m not a fan of you being unhappy so someone’s going to have to give,” he said, looking back at the yard.

“You barely know me.”

“I like you,” he said, his face hard when he turned it towards you. “I don’t like people like that. I’m not some teenage boy anymore that gets crushes and nervous around girls. But you…I like when you tease me and when you laugh and you make me feel like I am that teenage boy again and it feels good and I’m not ending this because your brother doesn’t get that you are free to do whatever you want.”

You stared at him, his face softening some. He went to turn away when you caught his cheek with you hand, green eyes glancing back at you. You leaned over and kissed him, slowly, brushing your thumb over his cheekbone. He went with it, sinking into the movement before you leaned away.

“You didn’t come here for Jared, did you.”

“Not really, no,” he said. “Someone’s got to have your back.”

“You have a crush on me?” you asked.

“Yeah,” he said with a smile. “I do.”

“Good,” you said. “I don’t have to worry about blushing around you anymore.”

He chuckled and grabbed your hand, pulling you to your feet.

“You got to talk to your brother,” he said. “Maybe your parents too. They’re pretty worried.”

“I know. It’s an overdue conversation.”

“Are you gonna say anything?” you asked, sitting in Jared’s old room an hour later, the two of you crammed on the extra long twin sized bed.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, trying to make his body smaller. “I’m sorry about last night and...never being there to talk to.”

“I could have said something.”

“You tried to tell me when you were sixteen that your boyfriend cheated on you and all I could do that thanksgiving was go on about Gen,” he said. “When you were a freshman in college and it happened again? I was too busy to talk to you. No wonder you don’t like me.”

“Jared, you’re my brother. I love you,” you said.

“We never gave you the time of day once you got older, none of us did. We shoved you out,” he said. “We’re your siblings and we did that.”

“You guys are a lot older than me,” you said with a shrug.

“So any of these four douchebags that cheated, they ever do anything worse?” he asked.

“No. The last guy didn’t cheat,” you said.

“He made you feel shitty though,” he said.

“Not a crime,” you said.

“You’re not like me, right?” he asked. You titled your head, Jared tapping his own. “You don’t get like I do, right?”

“I went once,” you said. “Therapy. I got scared something was wrong with me. I just have bad luck with men apparently.”

“I’m sorry I said that stuff about you seeing Jensen. He makes you happy and I know you make him happy. And I love him but I’ll always pick you over him,” he said.

“I don’t want you to pick anyone,” you said. “I’m your little sister but we missed the you getting to be an overprotective brother phase. Just be my friend. Please.”

“I’m always going to be an overprotective brother,” he said, ruffling your hair. “I’ll be less of an ass though. I’m sorry. I-”

“I know you’re sorry, Jared,” you said. He hummed and stood up, going to his bulletin board and grabbing the baseball cap hanging off the corner. He wiped the dust off of it and carried it over, plopping it on your head. “Your Cowboys hat?”

“You used to annoy me to death, coming in here everyday asking if you could have it,” he said. “It was mine so I always told you no. Dad got you a white one for your sixth birthday. You were so pissed cause you wanted mine specifically. Never understood why.”

“Cause you said I could have it,” you said as you stood. “But you forgot.”

He sighed and pulled you into a crushing hug.

“It’s yours now,” he said. “Hey, next family vacation, you pick where you want to go. It’s on me. Just kids, I promise.”

“I’ve never been on one,” you said.

“Cause we’re shitty,” he said. “That’s over. I promise.”

“I always made excuses to not go,” you said, looking up at him.

“Well you’re going on this one. You can even bring Jensen,” he smiled.

“We’re not there yet,” you said with a laugh.

“Will you come home? You can have your privacy and I won’t ask about Jensen or dates or any of that, I promise,” he said. “Please?”

“Do you really think I throw myself at guys?” you asked, his head already shaking.

“No. I’m sorry. Friday night you seemed happy about trying to be yourself from then on and I was so happy you were doing that but I know that’s something easier said than done, especially if you’re trying to deal with a new relationship on top of that and I’m sorry I said it. You’re careful and I know you’re a little scared of this relationship and-”

“Actually not so much. Neither one of us cares about the age thing. Or the him being kind of recognizable thing. We’re just two people starting to date,” you said.

“I didn’t mean that stuff. I know now you’ve been hurt more than once. So has he,” he said.

“I don’t plan on hurting him,” you said. He smiled and nodded, giving you another hug. “Also, moving back was expensive as hell so yeah, I totally need the free rent right now.”

“Ah. So that’s what it is,” he laughed.

“You got an awesome pool too,” you said.

“I see,” he said with a smile. “You’re gonna come home then?”

“Yeah. Until I’m on my feet,” you said.

“Stay longer than that,” he said. “We want you to. We haven’t lived together since you were seven after all.”

“Alright,” you said. “We should probably start the drive home.”

“Let’s catch lunch with mom and dad first before we head out.”

“So what was my dad saying to you just now?” you asked, pulling onto the highway, Jensen riding back to Austin with you.

“He thinks I’m a little old for you to be honest,” he said.

“Seriously? I thought-”

“I’m joking,” teased Jensen. “I mean, yes, I don’t think I’m exactly what they envisioned for you in that department but they know me. They trust me with you.”

“I didn’t really want to have that parent conversation already,” you said.

“It’s fine,” he said. “I’ll dodge the bullet with mine as long as I can.”

“Right,” you said with a nod, giving him a quick glance before looking back at the road.

“Not that I have a problem with introducing you to them. I think that’s more of a maybe down the road kind of thing,” he said.

“Jensen, it’s cool. I promise. I’d like to go back to this being drama free if we could,” you said.

“I don’t think we ever had a problem with that,” he said.

“True. Do you still want to get dinner tonight?” you asked.

“You’re taking me out on a date. I can’t wait.”

“That’s a pretty skirt,” said Jared as you headed downstairs. “Is it one of Gen’s?”

“No. She got it for me for Christmas last year. I never wore it. I have a date with Jensen,” you said, fixing your shirt. “I look okay?”

“Well you’re not as ugly as usual,” he said.

“Too bad I can’t say the same about you,” you smiled.

“Yeah, yeah. You look fine. Where are you going?” he asked.

“Dinner downtown. I’m picking him up,” you said. “There’s a lot of restaurants here.”

“Yes there are,” he said. “Still, don’t think I’ve seen you in a dress or skirt since my wedding.”

“Shut up,” you said, grabbing your purse. “Don’t wait up.”

“I won’t. Have fun!”

“You look very pretty,” said Jensen as you started to walk along the sidewalk after parking downtown.

“Thanks,” you blushed. “You too.”

“Oh yes. A flannel shirt and jeans. So classy,” he teased.

“You make it work,” you said. He hummed and grabbed your hand, squeezing it for a moment before walking around to your other side, grabbing your right hand instead. You glanced at him as you walked past an alley, Jensen looking forward. “I have lived in a city by myself before. London.”

“I know,” he said.

“I did take a self-defense class,” you said.

“That’s great,” he said with a smile, walking around the corner, the restaurant down at the far end.

“You walk between me and the alleys though, huh,” you said.

“Yup,” he said. “Call me paranoid but better safe than sorry.”

“Sweet dork,” you said with a laugh.

“Your sweet dork, kiddo.”

“Bats?” you said after dinner, walking through the park with Jensen, stopped on a bridge, some other people around. “Bats are kinda creepy.”

“Come on. Baby bats are cute as fuck,” he said, a giggle escaping you. “We have one of the biggest bat populations actually. They help with the bugs. They normally fly out to go hunt around this time of night.”

“So I’m gonna see a giant swarm of bats? Do they bother people?” you asked.

“What, you scared?” he asked, throwing an arm over your shoulders.

“Pft, no,” you said. A mosquito flew in front of your face and you jerked back, Jensen chuckling when you went back to leaning against the railing. “Shut up.”

“They ain’t gonna do anything to you. They eat pesky mosquitoes,” he said.

“Good,” you said, Jensen rubbing your bare arm. “You take all the girls to see the bats, do you?”

“Oh no. Only the special ones,” he said, biting back a smile. “If you like this, we can go see some bugs and dirt tomorrow.”

“My dream come true,” you laughed. “Also, please no. I don’t like bugs.”

“We have more important plans, like golfing,” he said.

“I will go golfing once,” you said, leaning your head against his shoulder. “Once, Ackles.”

“You’ll have fun, I promise,” he said.

“What am I supposed to wear? A dorky outfit?” you asked.

“You got any of those long sleeve shirts for the sun?” he asked. “Wear one of those and some shorts and you’re fine.”

“Alright, alright,” you said, spotting a single bat float up from under the bridge. “What’s…”

You spotted more, Jensen chuckling when a large swarm of them flew out and you tilted your head all the way back.

“Cool,” you said with a smile, watching them take off.

“Told you so.”

“How’d it go?” asked Jensen the next day at the golf course, a bag of clubs on your shoulder as you found him outside.

“I rented my clubs and some shoes,” you said, setting the bag down . “And I’m already hot.”

“Come here,” he said, grabbing the bag and setting them on the back of the cart. He opened up a side pocket of his bag and pulled out sunscreen, slathering some on your face and neck for you, letting you get your legs as you readjusted your hat. “Cowboys fan?”

“Hm?” you asked. He nodded upwards and you smiled. “Oh yeah. Not into it like Jared or anything but yeah.”

“We’ll have to watch a game together some Sunday,” he said. “I make a mean bean dip.”

“I'm a sucker for tailgate food,” you said, following his lead and hoping in the passenger seat of the cart.

“So have you ever been golfing before?” he asked.

“Once when I was like ten,” you said. “I hated it.”

“Well I figured we’d only do nine holes so you don’t end up killing me,” he said.

“Hey, I lost the bet. I can take it,” you said.

“Alright. We’ll see how it goes. Let’s get out there.”

“Alright. Practice swinging your driver. Hold on to that sucker tight when you swing it,” he said. You spread your feet, Jensen making a strange noise but he didn’t say anything.

“Yes?” you laughed.

“Can I show you?” he asked.

“Sure,” you said. He stepped up behind you, nudging your feet farther apart.

“Sorry,” he said, taking a step back.

“It’s alright,” you said.

“Alright,” he said, getting close again, laying his arms over yours. “Keep your hands like this. When you swing back, use your hips and then when you’re moving forward, move them forward and let your back foot come off the ground. It let’s you keep the power through the whole swing.”

“Okie dokie,” you said. “Can you go first so I can watch?”

“Sure,” he said. You got out of the way from the woman’s tee, watching from the side as Jensen stepped up and hit his first ball, hitting it to the side of the fairway. “See what I mean about your foot?”

“Mhm,” you said. You set up your tee, taking a few light practice swings first before you stepped up.

“Don’t worry if you hit it out of bounds. We got plenty of balls,” he said.

“Okay,” you said. You stepped up to the ball, fixing your hands and making your stance wide. He gave you a smile before you looked down. You pulled back and swung hard, the ball going somewhere. When you looked up, Jensen had a dumbfounded look on his face.

“You’ve been fucking with me, haven’t you,” he said, a smirk crossing his face.

“What?”

“You hit the ball farther and more center than I did. You’re a golfer aren’t you,” he said.

“No way! Beginner’s luck,” you said.

“You’re serious?”

“Yeah. I’m horrible at golf,” you said.

“No. No, horrible is the opposite of the word I would use,” he laughed.

“Maybe I just have a really good teacher,” you said.

“That must be it. Let’s see if that was a fluke or what.”

“Golfing is more fun than I thought,” you said, Jensen smiling as you returned your clubs.

“Hey, if you worked on your short game, you’d probably break a course record,” he said.

“Hey,” said some guy around your age, walking over with a beer in his hand at the clubhouse. “You the chick that hit the ball onto the green on the sixth in one stroke?”

“Is that impressive or something?” you asked. The guy smiled and nodded, leaning against the counter, seeming to ignore Jensen.

“Oh, for sure. Would you want to maybe grab a bite for lunch?”

“Sorry. I got plans,” you said, glancing at Jensen.

“Your golf coach is welcome to join,” he said.

“He’s sort of my boyfriend,” you said with a smile. The guy raised an eyebrow at Jensen.

“You’re totally like nailing this married guy though for fun right?” he asked. “We can still get a bite.”

“Let’s go, babe,” you said, grabbing Jensen’s hand, Jensen chuckling as you headed towards the restaurant there. “Pretentious little douchebag.”

“You don’t need to defend my honor, Y/N. I get how this looks to-”

You grabbed his shirt and pulled him into a kiss when you saw the other guy walk around the corner, hearing him scoff as he went past.

“Well if you’re protective of me, I get to be protective of you from douchebags,” you said. “Got it?”

“Yeah,” he said softly. “You want to grab lunch?”

“Yeah. Thanks for taking me golfing today,” you said.

“I know you didn’t like it as much as you said you did,” he said.

“Maybe I got aggravated towards the end but I like hanging out with you, doing something you enjoy,” you said.

“Well I appreciate you trying it for me. After lunch if you’re not busy, do you want to come over and have a lazy day in the pool?” he asked.

“Sure. But would you want to come over to our place? Jared and Gen would love to get to hang out too,” you said.

“Sounds perfect, kiddo.”

“Hey,” you said two hours later, stepping outside to where Jared was laying on a patio chair, looking through his phone. “Jensen’s coming over to swim in a minute.”

“Cool,” he said, staring at you for a moment. “Neither one of you has heard yet, have you.”

“What?” you asked, Jared handing over his phone to you. There was a picture of the two of you kissing on your date the night before. “What’s this from?”

“A tabloid,” he said. “You probably want to avoid any of your social media for the near future.”

“Do I even want to look at these comments?” you asked, handing the phone back.

“No, not really. They’re pretty bad,” he said.

“Well...I don’t give a shit,” you said. “That’s other people’s problem, not mine.”

“What’s other people’s problem?” asked Jensen, wandering around the back of the house, setting a cooler down on the patio.

“Us dating,” you said as you walked over. “Apparently someone saw us kissing last night.”

“I see,” he said.

“Come on. Let’s go swimming,” you said, grabbing his hand and dragging him over to the steps and into the water.

“You know things like the guy this morning are going to happen more often,” he said.

“So?” you said, swimming out to the deep end and floating on your back. “I don’t care.”

“Don’t look at me,” you heard Jared say as you spun around, Jensen still in the shallow end, a slightly worried look on his face. “You heard her.”

“Y/N,” he said as you swam back. You stood up and stared him down, a small nod leaving him. “I don’t care either. I just want you to be happy.”

“Come play then,” you said, swimming back to the deep end, Jensen following this time.

“Hey, Jare. Why don’t you find Gen and grab that speaker that can go in the water so we can listen to some music?” asked Jensen. Jared hummed and left, your gaze going back to Jensen when you were alone. “There’s water balloons in the cooler.”

“Sneak attack? I like it,” you said with a smile.

“You sure you’re okay with the public stuff?” he asked.

“I’m sure. I didn’t need to spend that much time on my phone anyways,” you said.

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Shoot,” you said, following him to the shallow end and out of the pool.

“Why do you like me? We do fun stuff I suppose but I…” he said, watching you step in front of him.

“I like that you’re kind and creative and attractive and there’s a bunch of little things. But I like you the best,” you said.

“I’m sort of confused,” he said.

“You want me to be happy,” you said. “It’s such a simple thing but that means the world to me. You make me happier too. I want to be able to do that for.”

“You do. I haven’t dated in a while. I was starting to give up on the whole thing and then you swoop in and make me some shy boy around you,” he said. “S’not really fair if you think about it.”

“Never said I was going to play fair,” you said.

“Someone’s getting more flirty,” he said, resting his hands on your hips.

“You’re one to talk,” you said.

“I think you both talk too much,” said Jared, both your heads whipping up to see him and Gen on their bedroom balcony, each holding a water gun.

“You two think this is our first rodeo?” she asked, turning the super soaker in your direction.

“Oh, that is so not fair,” you said, Jensen grabbing your hand and the cooler, jogging around the side of the house before you could get hit more than once. You each pulled a few out, keeping an eye on the corners before you heard whistling come from the front of the house. They both stepped out from the garage, Jared smiling as he held the hose in one hand.

“Uh oh,” said Jensen.

“Yeah, I’d run if I were-” he said, just as you hit him in the chest with a balloon.

“Get Gen,” you said, Jensen taking off as you threw more at Jared, Gen wide eyed for a moment before she took off across the driveway, Jensen on her tail. You ran out of balloons quickly, Jared narrowing his eyes as you shrugged. “Uh…”

He took a step forward by the time you were spun around, Jared on top of you like that, hoisting you up over his shoulder.

“Oh my God. Do not drop me,” you said, Jared humming as he carried you and his water gun around to the back of the house where some squeals were happening.

“Only place I’m dropping you is the pool,” he said, slowing his walk and setting you down on the ground. He wrapped an arm around your waist, your feet in the air again as you looked across the pool, Jensen holding Gen’s gun and Gen in his other arm. “Ackles.”

“Padalecki,” he said.

“I assume you want a trade?” asked Jared.

“Not happening,” said Gen, ducking her head down and pushing Jensen into the pool, Jared tossing you in the next moment. When you popped back up, Jared was around to the other side, high fiving her.

“Dinner’s on you two tonight,” he said.

“Alright, alright,” said Jensen. “We lost fair and square.”

“Oh it was most certainly not fair,” you said. “Jensen’s supposed to push me in the pool, not you.”

“We’ll plan our revenge later,” said Jensen quietly, a mischievous little look on his face. “Won’t we?”

“For sure,” you said. Jared went back to put away the hose while Gen jumped in the water with the speaker, turning it on a station before she started to swim around the shallow end. “We don’t bite.”

“He’s a bit of a sore loser sometimes,” she said. “Never can tell with that one.”

“Oh no, I want our evil plan to be carried out when you least expect it. You’re safe...for now,” said Jensen.

“Oh joy,” she said, swimming over to you both, Jared returning after a moment, the boys swimming off, talking about dinner plans from the sound of it. “He really likes you.”

“Jensen?”

“Yeah. He’s not putting on his fake smile anymore,” she said.

“Fake smile?” you asked, the two of you swimming over to the edge, resting your arms on it.

“He’s forty one. He was over about a month back, had too much to drink. He said a lot of stuff about how he wished he had what Jared and I did, told us not to take it or the kids for granted. I think he’s very good at pretending it didn’t bother him,” she said.

“But he’s so smiley and happy,” you said.

“No, he’s really not, not in the past few years anyways,” she said. “He’d never admit it but I think he’s falling hard for you, real hard.”

“That’s okay,” you said with a smile, spotting one on his face when he looked back at you from the other end of the pool. “I’m pretty sure I’m okay with that.”

_____

A/N: Read Part 4 here!

#spn #supernatural #RPF #jensen x reader #au #jensen ackles #spn fanfiction #supernatural fanfiction #rpf fanfic #spn reader insert #jensen x #supernatural reader insert

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