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sugawaraxo · 4 years

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COCKWARMING THE PRETTY SETTERS

warnings: definitely smut

characters: tooru oikawa, tobio kageyama, kenma kozume, koshi sugawara

a/n: i’m taking request btw :) my inbox is open. also, this is kinda long so grab your popcorn haha

oikawa

- oikawa is obsessed with you whether he wants to admit it or not

- which is wild because no one would’ve expected him to ever be more obsessed with anyone other than himself

- but here you are

- and he LOVES being around you

- just being in your presence makes him all giddy and smiley

- though he does try to compose himself whenever you guys are around his teammates but usually fails

- he’s not obsessed in a weird or creepy way, but just enough for you to know that he’s all about you and only you

- and you love it

- and of course oikawa’s obsession with you rings no surprise that he’s obsessed with being inside you

- as long as he’s close to his pretty y/n, he’s happy

the two of you had just finished a long and strenuous two rounds of sex and were more than ready for bed. but when oikawa got out of bed to get towels for the two of you to clean up with, you felt extremely empty. you were exhausted, that’s for sure. but a big part of you just wanted him filling you up again, even if nothing else happened. you pout, knowing that your attentive boyfriend would notice when he came back, which he did.

“hm, what’s wrong pretty girl?” he asks softly as he starts to gently clean his mess off of your stomach with a warm towel.

“i want you inside of me again.” you say in an almost whisper, a little embarrassed by the words that just left your mouth and he laughs lightly.

“you’re so cute.” he says as he tucks a piece of hair away from your face and gives you a kiss. “but i’m so tired.” he finishes, then plops down on the bed beside you, big spooning you.

“no, we don’t have to have sex again, i’m exhausted too. i just want you inside me.” you say shyly. you feel his dick twitch behind you and can’t help but smile a little, knowing you’re about to get what you want.

“oh, like cockwarming?” oikawa asks and you nod in response. “hm, ok. yeah, we can do that.” he smiles before kissing your forehead. he was already big spooning you so he was in the perfect position to just slip it in. he pulls down his shorts just enough so that his member could spring free, then pulls the panties that you were wearing under one of his shirts down just enough for him to have access to what he needed. he teases your folds with his tip a little bit, causing you to tense up. then he slowly pushes himself inside you, it not being too difficult with you still being wet from earlier. the two of you moan in unison, both sensitive from your previous interactions. once he’s fully in, he stays there and wraps his arm around your waist as he plants a soft kiss on your shoulder.

“does that feel good? is that ok?” he asks before pressing more soft kisses on your shoulder and your neck.

“it’s perfect.” you coo and he pulls you a little closer with the arm he had slung over your waist.

“goodnight princess.”

“goodnight oikawa.”

- you definitely have morning sex when you wake up

kageyama

- let’s be real here, he really doesn’t know what any kinks are

- he just learns what he likes and what he doesn’t like from you and waits for you to tell him if it’s a kink or not

- you end up having to tell him that basically anything sexual can be a kink after he keeps asking you “is that a kink?” every time you two do something new in bed

- you find his lack of knowledge on the subject adorable though, even though you constantly tease him about it

- he honestly just goes with the flow and follows your lead in terms of sexual things

- not that he’s the submissive one, you just know more about sex so sometimes you have to give him extra guidance

- he doesn’t mind it though, he wouldn’t wanna learn it from anyone else but you

- and you just so happened to teach him his new favorite kink

you two are making out on kageyama’s bed. it starts off innocent at first but slowly progresses into a messier and more heated kiss. you’re on top of him, tugging on his hair while he grips onto your hips. you begin slowly grinding against him causing him to moan softly into your mouth. his sounds were always so pretty and always instantly made your core pulse. you continue grinding on kageyama, giving both yourself and him pleasure. but it isn’t enough. in one swift motion he flips you over so now he’s the one on top. without detaching his lips from yours, he pulls his member out of his pants and lifts up the skirt you’re wearing then slowly pulls down your underwear, revealing your wet core.

“pretty.” he mumbles before licking a teasingly slow and soft stripe up your folds. you moan at the sensation and shut your eyes in pleasure. he continues to please you with his tongue before inserting two fingers into you. it hurts a bit more than usual but you shrug it off because the pleasure outweighs the pain. he continues with this for a few minutes more before he can’t take it anymore and positions himself at your entrance. he slowly begins pushing himself in, but as soon as he’s all the way in, you yelp in pain.

“ow ow ow! stop!” you groan, and kageyama does as told.

“what’s wrong? s-should i take it out?” he asks, concern laced in his voice.

“no no, keep it in just let me adjust to it.” you say. the day before, you and kageyama had some hardcore sex. you had unintentionally somewhat intentionally made him jealous so that he would punish you, and oh that he did. but your poor pussy was suffering the consequences.

“ok princess, i won’t move. just let me know when you’re ready.” he says softly and you smile at his sweetness. he starts kissing you again, this time more deep and passionate as opposed to the sloppy, heated kiss that got you here in the first place. you were slowly beginning to relax around your boyfriend while he was losing his mind trying not to bust inside of you. something about not moving but still being inside you, feeling you around him. the anticipation. it’s driving him crazy.

“oh no, i’m gonna cum.” he says shyly as he pulls away from the kiss and accidentally cums inside of you. he hides his face in the crook of your neck in embarrasment and you just giggle at him, as that isn’t the first time that’s happened.

“is, is that a kink? not doing anything, just being inside you? because i think i have that kink.” he mumbles into your shoulder.

“it is actually, it’s called cockwarming.” you say as you gently stroke his hair, trying to relax your still clearly embarrassed boyfriend.

“hm, well can we never do cockwarming again, that was embarrassing.” he sighs before finally removing his head from the crook of your neck and looking at you.

“i don’t think it was embarrassing baby, i thought it was cute. but if you don’t wanna do it again we don’t have to.” you reassure him and he blushes at your compliment.

“maybe we can do it again sometime then, but for now it’s time to get you cleaned up.” he says before picking you up over his shoulder and taking you to the bathroom.

kenma

- anyone who knows kenma knows that he is always preoccupied with video games

- whenever he’s playing, it’s fairly difficult to get his attention

- as his girlfriend, you’ve somewhat learned to accept this, even though you would like more attention from your boyfriend

- but you take what you can get, knowing that’s just how kenma is and you wouldn’t ever wanna change him

- but sometimes you get needy

- really needy

- and kenma isn’t always the best at reading that

- so you take it upon yourself to get the kind of attention you’re craving from your boyfriend

kenma doesn’t really get flustered too often. but when he does, oh anyone in a ten mile radius can tell. the first time you saw him really get flustered was when he gave you his hoodie while you were out on a date. it had gotten colder than you expected so he gave you his jacket to keep you warm, and as soon as you put it on, the boy went red. he couldn’t even form coherent sentences at first and you thought it was the most hilariously adorable thing ever. ever since that day, you’ve worn his clothes whenever you wanted his attention; hoodies, sweatshirts, t-shirts, you name it. today is one of those days. kenma has been gaming all day in some sort of tournament and you’re beginning to get frustrated because of how badly you’re craving his touch, so you pull out the big guns. you put on one of his favorite hoodies, one that you’ve never worn before, and head into his gaming room. he’s sitting is his gaming chair deep in concentration, shooting at someone and talking to who you assume is kuroo on his headset. he doesn’t even notice you at first until you come sit in his lap, your legs resting on either side of his as you lay your head on his shoulder.

“hi kitten.” he whispers away from his mic before placing a gentle kiss on your lips and you hum in response. you played with the hair at the nape of his neck for a little bit before your overwhelming feeling of neediness comes back. you lift your head from kenma’s shoulder, now somewhat blocking his view of his computer screen.

‘i want to feel you inside me’ you mouth to him. he hadn’t even realized what you were wearing until right then, and his cheeks blush bright red. he places a finger under your chin and uses it to pull you in for a kiss. “go for it.” he whispers to you as he pulls away, reverting his attention back to his game that he had forgotten about for a quick second. you easily slip his member out of the sweats he’s wearing and give it a few strokes to get him hard. you were wearing absolutely nothing under his hoodie in hopes that this would be the outcome, and when he notices that as he glances from you back to his computer screen every so often, he mumbles

“dirty little kitten, this is exactly what you wanted hm?”

“mhmm” you respond and he smiles.

you continue what you’re doing and position kenma’s tip at your hole before slowly sinking down on it. your breath hitches at the feeling of being filled up, while kenma clenches his eyes shut and bites his lip in order to hold back his moans. once he’s fully inside you, you lay your head on his shoulder again and just stay there.

“hm, that’s it? you just wanna cockwarm me?” kenma asks curiously.

“mhmm. just wanted to feel you inside me, that’s it.” you say sleepily, slowly drifting as you shut your eyes.

kenma can’t help but smile, “you’re adorable.” he says before planting a kiss on your cheek. you smile a small smile in return before dozing off on kenma’s shoulder, him still buried deep inside you.

every so often you would move around in your sleep and kenma would have to bite his lip to hold back a moan so the friends he was playing with wouldn’t hear, but it was worth the risk because he loves just being this close to you, and you do too.

sugawara

- suga’s high sex drive really surprised you when you two first started dating

- his kinkiness surprised you too

- you thought he would always be very gentle and vanilla

- but you were very mistaken

- not that you’re complaining though

- he’s always open to trying new things

- so when you bring up the topic of cockwarming, he’s intrigued

“is that something you wanna try bunny?” he asks after you finish explaining to him what exactly cockwarming is.

“we don’t have to if you don’t want to, i just think it’d be interesting to try.” you shrug

“i agree.” he says, before leaning over to start kissing your neck. that’s your weak spot, so you take this as suga saying he wants to try right now. the two of you are currently on the couch, in the middle of watching a romcom but clearly that romcom has been forgotten as suga continues to make little love bites on your neck. you lift his chin to kiss him because you know if you don’t stop him now, he’ll cover your whole body in hickies. the kiss is soft, but passionate and you can feel yourself quite literally melting into it. somehow you end up straddling suga, still lost in the kiss. you suddenly notice a pair of familiar fingers making their way down to your most sensitive area. he teases you, rubbing his fingers over your pajama shorts, knowing you’re getting needy because of the way you’re starting to softly moan into his mouth. he takes this as a sign of you wanting more and breaks away from the kiss so he can take off your shorts and your underwear, with a little bit of help from you. once your bottom half is completely naked, he grins and begins kissing you again. the sensation of your bare core against suga’s sweatpants was teasing you, so you began moving your hips to get some friction. suga moans a little at your sudden movements and you can feel him getting harder. he pushes you up off of him slightly so that he can pull his sweats down, them ending up just hanging around his ankles. now both of your bottom halves are naked, and you’re staring at each other in anticipation.

“sit on it bunny.” suga instructs and you follow his orders, sitting down on his length and feeling every inch against your walls. that feeling when he first inserts into you will never get old.

“mm, suga.” you moan. he instinctively thrusts after hearing your pretty noises, completely forgetting what you guys were supposed to be trying.

“no, don’t move.” you laugh at him and he blushes apologetically.

“sorry, i couldn’t help it. you’re just so pretty.” he apologizes and you melt.

“it’s ok suga, you’re adorable.” you smile. “i’m gonna turn around now, but keep you inside me and we’ll finish the movie just like this, yeah?” you say.

“yeah.” he nods in agreement. without pulling suga out of you, you turn so that you’re no longer straddling him but sitting in his lap with your back facing towards him, your face now facing the tv. you guys finish the rest of the movie exactly like this, you sitting on suga’s lap with his member deep inside of you and suga occasionally thrusting up into you just to get your reaction.

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your-daily-biaswrecking · 3 years

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I wanna say that namjoons dad bestfriend drabble was so freaking hot….🥵🥵🥵 maybe part 2? 🙏 when they make out in family house of yn? And her dad is next room 👀 i am so dirty pls forgive me😂

can't believe it took me so long to answer this... okay, so, my requests are not open but i decided to clear up my inbox a bit, starting with this one. as for this part 2... i know it could have been just a short scene with pure smut, but i wanted the drama of the plot, okay? also i'm not doing another psa: this is wrong and pls don't do this, it's just fiction

part 1

Namjoon knew he had to stop this. This... Whatever it was the two of you had. He had found excuses to come see you multiple times throughout the winter, always missing you too much and being unable to stay away for too long. But when you surprised him, secretly coming back to your hometown to be with just him for a week, he wasn't as happy. It was the first reminder of how different your worlds were; he was a grown man minding his career, at an age where he should be seeking marriage and kids. And you? You were skipping school to see your crush.

"I think my daughter has a boyfriend," his best friend casually told him one day soon after that. Namjoon froze, his heart the only thing reacting to those words. But his friend went on nonchalantly, pointing to his ignorance. "I don't mind, of course. I've only told her one thing, and it's not to get pregnant. I don't want her to go through what her mother and I went through, you know? She's at this age... you know? She needs to enjoy her age."

Namjoon... The grown man who should be seeking marriage and kids was fucking this girl. All those times he came inside you, filling you up a little too aggressively– as if deep down he wished he'd knock you up and keep you to himself forever.

He had to end this.

When he told you those same words –you need to enjoy your age, you need to be with a peer– you seemed more mad than hurt. But perhaps you understood. You weren't stupid, you too knew this was wrong. Perhaps you were just waiting for it to happen, waiting for the excitement of doing something against the rules to die out and the realization of the responsibility to hit him. You didn't blame him. But you were still annoyed. Stopped talking altogether, the only news he got from you now came from your father. You did get a boyfriend, or so he was told. And you were doing well with your studies and you were generally living a great student's life.

Summertime and you were here again. Along with your so-called boyfriend. Namjoon was so pissed off when he saw the skinny, mussy, sweaty boy that seemed to either be very slow or high off his ass all the time. And you seemed pleased with yourself.

"You really had to bring him here?"

You chuckled– an evil laugh, he thought. "I thought you'd be happy to see me dating someone my age." When your eyes met his, you made him feel like your positions were switched. So confident while he was almost throwing a tantrum. "What about you?" you asked. "Dating anyone your age?"

On that topic, Namjoon had more than enough women showing interest. And your father, for some reason, was dead set on finding him a wife. All those blind dates he had to escape from! He was simply not interested. He didn't want to admit it was because he was still thinking about you; that no one else would ever be a good replacement for you. He didn't want to because he didn't plan on coming back to you; he had to be the adult, the mature one, and stay away. It was the logical and the right thing to do. He didn't want to admit that, despite all of his intelligence and reason, he still thought about you... Because if he did this would no longer be just some attraction, just some fucking around. If he admitted it was more, what would happen then?

No... this was good. You had already moved on. Enjoying your life the way you were supposed to, a life he had no room to be in. All he had to do now was follow your example.

"Namjoon..."

That text was sent past 2 am on a rainy night in October. The only text he had gotten from you in months. That was all it said yet it made his stomach tight as if you had moaned his name in his ear. As if he knew exactly why you had texted him; needy in the middle of the night, that measly boy surely unable to satisfy you, knowing exactly who could help you at that moment. Fuck... Perhaps if he replied right then things would go back to how they were a year ago. He didn't. And you didn't text him again.

"Joon! You are staying for the holidays, right? You should spend Christmas with us." Your father was more than happy to share that day meant to be with family, with his best friend. Namjoon was like family anyway, wasn't he? When he tried to come up with an excuse, the other insisted. "See? If you were married now you would have someone to spend Christmas with, but you're not, so you'll come to spend it with our family. My daughter's coming home tomorrow, too. Ah. Could you pick her up 'cause–"

"No. I can't. Too busy."

The man laughed. "It's okay. But I am expecting you for dinner on Christmas!" he said with a pointing finger. "I'm not taking no for an answer."

And so there he was. Sitting right across from you at the table. In the months that had passed, you had gained some weight and he thought you had never looked better. Your face a little fuller, your jeans straining against your round thighs and hips, your breasts fitting your curves just right. The body of a grown woman. All Namjoon could think about was feeling you against him again. And he was mad again... Did your stupid boyfriend have the chance to fuck you like that? He didn't deserve you.

"You didn't bring that boy with you this time..." he commented.

"What, Eric?" your mother answered for you. "They broke up."

Namjoon raised an eyebrow, eyes never leaving yours. "Really? How come?"

The corner of your lips turned upwards. "He was just... Too much of a kid."

He hated the way he sighed in relief, the way excitement bubbled in his stomach. He shouldn't be as happy to hear that as he was... He glanced at you again, your hair that had grown longer pushed back to expose your neck. It was getting harder and harder for Namjoon to keep his mind from wandering off to inappropriate things. Along with other parts getting hard.

And then your father spoke. "Joon. You know she's graduating next month, right?" His eyebrows shot up high on his forehead because no– no, he didn't know that. "She's looking for an internship and I thought–"

"Dad..."

"–you could help her get in your company? Maybe you could put in a good word for her?"

"Dad!" Your tone and the way your eyes widened towards your father's way betrayed the fact that the topic hadn't been new, and that you were clearly against the idea.

He looked at you until you finally turned back to face him. And surprising both himself and you, he said: "Yes, of course."

"I'm going to sleep," you announced after the dinner was over and you had helped clean up the table. You gave Namjoon a long glance before you disappeared down the hallway. Your parents had moved to the couch, TV on for some music and a game of cards keeping them busy when their friend asked to go to the bathroom. And you heard a soft knock on your door. "I'm assuming you know that's the wrong door you're knocking at," you spoke before you opened. Already in your sleeping outfit that consisted of an oversized t-shirt and just your panties.

"You knew it was me?" Namjoon whispered, eyes still stuck on your thighs.

"My parents don't knock."

You let him in, closing the door behind you and leaning on it as you looked up at him through your lashes. You both stayed silent for a moment, your breaths the only thing filling the empty, badly lit room. You noticed how he wet his plump lips and bit them while he was examining your face. So close you could smell his aroma, the one you never forgot.

“You don’t have to… you know,” you spoke, referring to your father’s idea. “I know you want to avoid me.”

Namjoon exhaled from his nose as if he was annoyed. “I- It’s not that I want to…”

“I know.” You gulped, finding your mouth wetting too much at the wish of kissing him, along with other parts getting wet. “You don’t want to— you have to.” You dared place your hands on his chest, and instead of pulling away, he leaned into your touch. Feeling his heart beat fast under your fingertips like the way he was breathing. He was slowly losing his mind but he knew he wasn’t the only one. “You don’t have to push me away,” you continued in a low tone. “I know what I’m doing. I’m the one coming to you.”

“Little one…” he rasped, and it had you catching a moan in the back of your throat. Oh, how you longed for his pet names, his voice calling to you lovingly. He stepped even closer. He knew he shouldn’t be there, he shouldn’t be doing this right now… But how could he stop? He wanted you so bad. His hands cupped your cheeks, lips just a breath away from yours, brushing against you as he whispered: “Come work with me… I wanna see you every day.”

The fabric of his shirt pooled in your palms as you grabbed him, closing the tiny gap between you. Both of you sighing in a mixture of relief and impatience as your lips crushed together. The softness only lasted a few seconds before you were moaning and Namjoon was pinning you on the door, deepening the kiss by slipping his tongue in like he was trying to devour you. Your arms wrapped around him while his hands traveled down your body, groping you like you were his stress relief toy. Your hips, your ass… He broke the kiss and buried his face in your neck.

“Ah- daddy,” you whined, grinding on him.

Namjoon felt like he was about to cry. “I missed you so much!” he choked out right before latching his teeth on your skin. Your naughty fingers were struggling to unzip his pants quickly and it made him chuckle instead of sob. “Fuck—” he growled. And he pulled back to stare at you with dark eyes. “Such a little slut, so desperate for my cock.” There he was; the Namjoon you knew so well. His words made you shiver.

“Please, daddy. I need you right now.”

He placed a hand on the door right next to your head, while he freed his dick with the other. “Your parents are right outside.”

Ignoring his words, you discarded your panties and took him in your hand, biting your lip. “I can’t wait any longer, need you to fuck me right now, plea-ase!” you whined a little too loud and Namjoon growled, grabbing your legs and lifting you until you straddled his waist, back on the door.

“Gosh, you’ll get daddy in big trouble, baby.” Tip of his cock brushing your wet folds, making your mouth drop. “They might come looking for me.”

“Quick,” you sobbed. “Be quick, please, just— ah!”

He slipped inside and you both gasped. Your legs were shaking at the feeling, eyes rolling back and a moan as quiet as you could manage rumbled through your neck. He got as deep as he could, face scrunching as if he was in pain. You kissed him.

“I’ve missed you, daddy. I’ve missed this so much.”

His head was spinning as he was trying to find the right words, the words that could describe exactly how he felt about you. “I- I-”

Laughter echoed through the house— your mother. You both froze. Namjoon glanced at the doorknob, and then he grabbed it; your parents could walk in at any moment. He didn’t stop though, nothing could stop him now. He angled his hips and started thrusting into you; fast and sloppy because the clock was ticking.

“Daddy…” you mewled, unable to do or say anything else.

Namjoon clasped a hand over your mouth. “Shh,” he demanded. “You better not start screaming like the little whore you are, or they’ll hear us.”

His words had the opposite effect of what he wanted; making you moan harder. And the fact that he had his big hand over your mouth made you not care to keep quiet. Your choked whines along with the wet sounds of his dick slipping in and out of you could definitely be heard from the other side of the door, perhaps even from that couch your father was on had it not been for the music.

“Shit, you—” he growled. He finally dropped his hand from your mouth, wanting to grab your ass to lift you higher, fuck you better.

Your head fell on his shoulder before you decided to bite down on it to stop yourself from screaming as Namjoon’s thick dick drilled into you with no mercy. “So-o good…”

“Yeah?” He sounded out of breath already, yet cocky. “Did you forget what it’s like to have a real man fuck your pussy, baby? That little boy didn’t do shit, did he? He can’t fuck you as good as daddy, right?”

Your nails dug in his back and you felt your brain so rotten like he was about to fuck you to sleep. “I… don’t know…” you mumbled.

Namjoon stopped. He pulled his head slightly back but he couldn’t see your face. “What?” Your body squirmed, trying to chase that high he had just denied you. “What do you mean—”

“I don’t know what he was like,” you whined. “I only thought of you.”

Another laughter, loud voices coming from that couch. It didn’t scare him that much this time, his heart was already racing and he only gave that direction a glance before he was pulling your head back to look into your eyes. Only then did he notice the tear stains on your cheeks, and you sobbed, choked as he thrust into you again.

“I only thought of you, daddy…” you repeated with a whimper. And it had his eyes rolling to the back of his head, pumping into you a couple more times, hard, before he spilled his seed deep inside.

A whisper. “Fuck…” Panting and groaning as he was trying to come to, and you watching his glistening face as he grimaced and bit his lip. He let you down, resting his forehead on the door while he still struggled to collect himself, and you basked in the pride it gave you. You tucked him back in his underwear and zipped him up with a smirk on your lips, seeing how he finally started to be able to focus his eyes on you.

You opened the door slightly and peeked out; your parents were still playing cards on the couch, they didn’t notice you just like they probably hadn’t noticed how long Namjoon was gone for.

“You should go back,” you whispered as you came back into the room. Namjoon kissed you quickly like he was trying to catch you off guard. And then he grabbed your chin, staring down at you, breaths still coming out too hard.

“Don’t fall asleep, baby. I’ll come back to finish what I started when your father goes to bed.”

You smiled, pushing him slightly back yet he wasn’t budging. “Go…” you prompted as you started feeling his cum sipping out of your cunt and slowly running down your thighs.

Namjoon smiled too. “Really. I’ll eat you out till you pass out, baby, I promise.”

In the dark of the room and the rush of the moment, you decided you had no reason not to let your thoughts slip out. “I wish you could just come to sleep in my arms.”

He got a little serious. And he kissed you again, slower than before. “I’ll see what I can do.”

He left through that door, meeting your parents that were happy to see him yet didn’t even bother to point out his long absence. Sitting next to his best friend while his breathing was still shaky from fucking his daughter.

Shit… That girl will get him in so much trouble…

Masterlist

#bts #bangtan #namjoon #rm #kim namjoon #request #drabble #fanfic #oneshot #smut #dilf namjoon #bts drabble #bts smut #namjoon drabble #namjoon smut #namjoon one shot #namjoon x you #namjoon x reader #kkklaudiaaa17

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thinkingoutlouddblog · 3 years

Text

butterfly effect: one

His mouth is slightly ajar, surely shocked to be seeing the girl of his past so far from where he had left her. I myself try to compute what I am seeing, but my brain is running so fast from the adrenaline, the gravity of what is occurring hardly registers.

It’s Harry, and he’s here and the two of you need to get out of there right now.

Word Count: 6k+

Includes: mob!h, mentions of blood, scary dudes late at night, and the set up for my favourite story I’ve ever written!

A/N: guys I am so excited about this story! I swear writing this is the only thing holding me together (so don’t let it flop lmao). It is 2AM pray for me.

My inbox is open for anyone who wants to chat about this series! I love to gab, and constructive criticism is very much appreciated. I want this to be as good as possible!!

butterfly effect masterlist // my masterlist

now

It is not until it is already too late that I realise I should have just ordered an uber.

Alex was very insistent that I order one home from my late shift at the pub. He had even offered to split the cost, knowing without needing to ask this was the cause of my hesitation. It wasn’t that I couldn’t afford it. Strictly speaking, I could. I was just keenly aware of the amount of material I could buy with the amount a late night uber in London would cost me. I would never take him up on his offer. He needed the money just as much as I did.

“It’s okay, I’m good for it,” I gave him a little smile. He was sitting in front of his mirror in his room, midway through getting ready for work. I had simply come to say goodbye before I left for my shift when he had grabbed me by the hand and demanded I ordered an uber home.

“Babe, you have to promise me.”

“I promise!” I stared exaggeratedly into his eyes as I spoke, emphasising my honesty.

In that moment, I made peace with the money I would be losing from my fabric budget. I calculated this budget, of course, by subtracting living expenses from my weekly income. My best friend wanted to make sure I got home safe, wanted the peace of mind while he was working that I would be fine. Who was I to say no to that?

“Make sure you text me when you get into the uber and once you make it up to the apartment.” My chest flooded with warmth at the love and care in his voice. It was moments like these I really sat back and thanked my lucky stars that Alex was in my life.

So, of course I was just going to bite the bullet and order the uber. Of course.

Except, well.

I couldn’t help but think how quickly I got from our place to work. We had picked the apartment just one short month ago, heavily considering the advantage of its walking distance to my work. The King’s Arms was just one block up and down the road. It was barely a fifteen-minute walk. Shorter than that if I took the shortcut down the alleyway back to our block, saving me from walking further down the road and looping back around. It would probably take me longer to get home via uber, once you account for the time spent waiting for it to arrive.

A ten-minute walk home wouldn’t kill me, surely.

The contemplation was pushed from my mind for the duration of my busy Saturday night shift. It was my least favourite shift of the week, as I spent each week chasing after middle aged men getting rowdy in the excitement of watching whatever sport was on TV. The King’s Arm was small, but it was a local favourite known for its homey pub meals, reasonably priced pints and good atmosphere. Much to my contempt they didn’t keep a large staff pool, preferring a smaller, well-trained, reliable bunch. Which was great in theory until it left me to run around like my hair is on fire on a night as busy as tonight.

I was capable of serving everyone well and in a timely manner, but it wasn’t exactly a stroll in the park. More like a seven-hour long sprint, with a half hour break in the middle.

As the final game for the night ended, the crowd slowly but surely thinned until just a couple of small groups remained.

“Hey y/n, are you okay to lock up by yourself if I head home in five?” my manager, Rachel asked me half an hour before close. “I have some time I need to take back,” she added in explanation.

“Of course, you go get out of here.” I knew she wasn’t lying when she said she had some time to take back, putting in all sorts of extra hours to keep the place in tip top shape. I liked Nicola, and I had certainly been working there long enough to handle a couple of customers and lock up by myself. Even if I didn’t like Rachel and thought she was slacking off, I couldn’t exactly argue. She was both my boss and the owner’s daughter, probably not far off becoming the owner herself.

“Are you sure?” She asked, eyeing the few men still seated, probably triple checking she didn’t think they were any kind of threat.

“Yes,” I laughed, “now scram, before I change my mind.”

“Alright if you insist,” she said, already making her way towards her bag.

“Ring me if you need anything! Good night!” She called over her shoulder as she exited through the kitchen door. The cook had gone home ten minutes earlier, the pub serving only drinks the hour before close at midnight.

“Night!” I called back.

I made quick work of what little cleaning there was left to do, and gently reminded the remaining patrons we closed in half an hour. To my surprise they were agreeable and friendly, one of them instantly assuring me, “Don’t worry love we’ll be out of your hair soon, won’t make you stay back late.”

Usually the kind of people that were in the pub this late had no care for closing time, believing that pertained simply to whenever they decided they wanted to leave.

True to his word, everyone was out with ten minutes to spare and I was able to clean their dishes and tables with the remaining time they had granted me. I locked the door to The King’s Arms at 12 o’clock on the dot and riding the high of such an easy close, took not a moment in deciding I was in fact going to walk home.

To Alex: Just ordered an uber!

I felt guilty lying, but I would rather lie than have Alex worrying over nothing. I would be home in a flash, keys secured firmly in between my knuckles the whole way. I felt far safer on the move than waiting out the front of work for an uber anyway.

I kept a fast pace, left only to debate whether I took my shortcut or stuck to the street. I checked over my shoulder, and seeing absolutely no one around, made a quick right turn into the alleyway between two buildings.

I grabbed my phone from my back pocket as I heard the ding of a text notification. I glance down at my screen, reading as I walk.

From Alex: Amazing! I should be home in a couple hours, text me when you get home safe. Love you x

I don’t register the hushed growling tones as I continue making my way down the alley, still looking down at my phone as I type a simple ‘love you’ in reply. It isn’t uncommon to hear the conversations of tenants on the lower levels of these apartment buildings as you walk down the street. Walls are thin and many windows generally left open. It is easy to consign this particular conversation among the other non-threatening city sounds until I eventually look back up from my phone.

I am immediately faced with a most unfavourable scene, under the single light that illuminates this alley, are the two men who I now recognise to be the source of the argument I had barely registered. The first man is tall, dressed in all black, thick muscles protruding through his t-shirt. He towered over the second man who contrasted him starkly in his bright red adidas tracksuit. The tall man’s presence would be dominating the space, even if he didn’t have his dark forearm pressed firmly against the smaller man’s throat.

I clamp a hand over my mouth, stopping myself from yelping stupidly and drawing attention to myself. They haven’t noticed my presence. A witness to whatever it was that was occurring here.

“See all I’m hearing is excuses, bruv,” the tall man’s accent is distinctly that of someone from South London. His tone is aggressive, but even. He knows he has the upper hand and it is clearly not his first rodeo threatening people. This is exactly the kind of person I could’ve avoided encountering by simply ordering an uber.

I snap out of my shocked daze and start to turn to make a swift and stealthy departure. I’m no fool. I know there is a definitive gang presence around here. I also know, if you leave them alone, they too shall (hopefully)leave you. All hopes of making such an exit are of course foiled as soon as my foot connects with an empty beer bottle on my first step.

The two men’s heads snap towards me instantly. I expect the shorter man to ask for help, to say something, but his mouth remains clamped shut. Gang business. He is in a bigger mess than someone like me can ever save him from. The taller man’s eyes narrow. After the briefest moments of standing there frozen, caught, I spin on my heel and run as fast as my feet can carry me.

I run back to the route I should have taken, cursing myself all the way for being naïve enough to believe that nothing bad could happen to me on something as simple as a walk home from work. That women who were raped, kidnapped and murdered from off the street were somehow removed from me. That was something only on the news in my world. Not something that was possibly about to occur.

My heart hammers in my chest as I make the split-second decision, I am safer running all the way home than running as far as I can from the scene of the crime. I’m going to run all the way up the stairs to my fifth-floor apartment, and I am going to lock the door behind me. I turn the corner back up to my block, not slowing down for a second.

I am so quick in fact, that as I come flying around the next corner towards my apartment, I nearly barrel straight into someone. He was clearly walking with some pace too, because he narrowly prevents us crashing into each other head on, but he is a second too slow in his reaction time because I trip straight over his feet. I hardly even see him, even as I am falling straight over him. All I see is brown hair and a dark suit before I’m staring straight at the pavement flying towards my face. I barely manage to throw my forearms out to break my fall as I hit the pavement at speed.

“Jesus,” the man mutters, but the only thing I can hear is my heavy breathing and my own blood pounding in my ears.

I’m on the ground now, I register for a second before my flight response kicks back in.

I don’t even feel the sting of the scrapes with the adrenaline coursing through me, already attempting to scramble up and get as far away as possible from this stranger. “I’m so sorry!” I manage to call as I pick myself and my keys up, gearing up to get moving once more.

“Honey?”

No. It absolutely could not possibly be. There was only one person on this planet who had ever called me by that name.

I stop dead in my tracks. That voice. It’s deeper than I remember but undoubtedly familiar. Familiar seems too simple a word. That voice had echoed around the halls of my brain for years. Even now, six years later, it was not gone but buried, waiting for a simple trigger to spark my memory and bring that beautiful sound back to the forefront my mind. Some days I swear I remembered it like I had just heard it moments ago.

Except now, I really had heard him.

Slowly, I turned to face him.

It’s Harry, and he’s here and the two of you need to get out of there right now.

Before he can verbalise any of the questions on the tip of his tongue, I grab his hand in my own, and yank him forward as I continue running home.

Realistically, I know that we now outnumber whoever it was that may be coming after me and I know even six years since I’ve last seen him, I am always safe with Harry. He proved that in many ways, and more than once, while I knew him. I was not, however, willing to risk the tall man pulling a knife on Harry. I didn’t even want to put him in a situation where it was a battle of fists. Though I did know from experience he could more than hold his own.

“What’s going on?” he yells as we run down the street, rapidly approaching the exit of the alleyway I had fled.

I gradually reduce our pace until we are speed-walking past the alleyway. Tempted as I am to see if they are still there, I keep my eyes trained forward, praying they aren’t there watching us as we pass by.

As soon as we have cleared it, I’m straight back to my running pace, forcing Harry to accelerate speed once more.

“I’ll explain inside,” I call over my shoulder in answer to his earlier question.

Now that I felt a degree safer with Harry’s presence, I had the capacity to feel thankful I had opted for a boiler suit and converse for tonight to accommodate for the Saturday night rush. This run would have been hell if I had worn a skirt and a heeled boot instead.

“Inside where?” He’s laughing as he speaks and as the fear loosens its grip on me, the déjà vu begins to battle for dominance. That laugh had brightened my every day for long enough to leave a mark on my soul. Fleeting as it was, that single sound reignited the shine it had once left.

His question was answered when we came to a screeching halt in front of my apartment. It took me two tries to input my security code correctly, my brain and hands both moving quickly, but not quite matching up. Eventually, the door clicked, and I was able to swing it open, tugging Harry in after me.

I didn’t stop dragging him along behind me until we had taken all five flights of stairs up to my apartment two at a time.

“y/n…” he attempted to grab my attention when we first entered the building, but I was not to be deterred until we had reached the absolute safety of my apartment. I shushed him, not wanting to receive a noise complaint from my new neighbours. I supposed having such a thought was a good sign, my consciousness beginning to register it was not in any imminent danger.

I huffed and puffed as we landed at the doorstep of apartment 5B, the place I loved to call home. Harry, I noticed, was barely short of breath. He had always been a runner when we were in high school. I wondered if he kept up the habit even now.

My hands shook as I located the correct key on my chain, body still shaking from the excitement of the events of the past five minutes. I struggled to align the key with the lock with my left hand, unthinking of the fact my right was still firmly in Harry’s hold.

“Let me,” he murmured, already moving his right hand to take the key. I said nothing, simply surrendering it over to him.

His hands were steady as anything as he turned the key, granting us entrance into my home. I released a breath I didn’t realise I had been holding. I finally stopped just past the door, my back to Harry as he shut it behind him. I took a few deep breaths, trying so desperately to ground myself.

Was any of this even real? The sketchy characters I could believe in a heartbeat, Harry Styles’ presence, however, was harder to grasp.

But there his hand was, in my own, even if I couldn’t see him.

Harry stood back and let me take this moment to myself, keenly aware of how much I needed it. He knew I needed to take pause and re-centre myself otherwise I would only shut down. He was also aware of my injured state though, even if I wasn’t.

“y/n, you’re bleeding.”

“Oh,” my head snapped back to look at my arm. In the rush to get home, the blood from the scrapes on my arm had run down my arm and dripped into our connected hands. I quickly released my grasp on him. “Jesus, I’m sorry.”

“A little bit of blood never hurt anyone,” he quickly dismissed. “Unless you’re the one that’s bleeding, in which case you better get cleaned up as soon as possible.

“Luckily you have me here to play nurse. Just lead the way to the nearest bathroom,” he gave me a little cheeky grin, clearly trying to lift your spirits. The subtle playfulness is not as natural as it once was, but it is certainly reminiscent of our old dynamic. The surrealism of this whole thing goes straight to my head, clouding my ability to form full, coherent thoughts.

Somehow, I manage to come out with, “I think you mean our only bathroom,” in response.

He grunts a laugh, but he hasn’t missed the use of the word our.

I walk like a zombie, leading him through the hallway past the living room and the kitchen to the bathroom. I hold my forearms up in an attempt to redirect the flow of the blood and prevent it from dripping from my fingertips onto the floor. As I slowly came out of survival mode, my awareness of the stinging of my forearms became increasingly prominent. I was sure my hip and knees were going to be bruised pretty badly too. I really hadn’t managed to slow down at all before all my momentum came crashing into the cement.

“Do you have a first aid kit?” He asks upon our arrival to the bathroom.

“Under the sink.”

My eyes trail over the mess Alex and I had left in our rush to get ready.

I tend to procrastinate getting ready for as long as possible, busying myself with just about anything else. Generally, it will be tidying up the mess I’ve made during the day, only for me to create a whole new one in my hurry to get ready for my shift on time. Alex on the other hand, always leaves plenty of time to perfect his look before leaving for the night. Despite having the time to do so, he never cleans as he goes. Leaving his many products and deliberated outfits spread far and wide. Luckily most of his mess was confined to his bedroom, the only trace of him in the bathroom skincare and hair products (though there wasn’t a limited amount of those, either).

“I’m sorry for the mess,” I speak quietly watching Harry get his bearings, standing helplessly as I bled, hands still raised.

“Nonsense,” he doesn’t look at me as he speaks, jumping into action.

Harry turns the faucet on in the sink before opening the cupboard door and grabbing the first aid kid out. It was actually sort of a miracle Alex and I had one. It had been on a list of “Things You Need for a New Apartment” I had googled, scared we were missing important things. At the time, I had deliberated longer than necessary over whether to get one. I couldn’t remember the last time I had required anything more than a band aid for any given ailment. The deciding factor had been the memory of Alex getting into a couple of scrapes while out over the years. It had never been anything major, the worst injury he ever sustained being a bruised jaw, but it was better to be safe than sorry, I decided.

Turns out, that decision was for the best.

He gently touches his fingertips to my right arm, which had copped the brunt of it. With the softest touch, he delicately guided my arm under the stream of water. As I stepped forward to lean over the sink and wash away the dirt of the footpath, he stepped backwards, giving me my space.

I winced at the initial contact of the water as it ran red. I risked a glance at my reflection. Sweaty brow, the light lazy work makeup I had applied half off my face. I quickly diverted my gaze back to my injured arm. This was not exactly how I pictured our reunion. I had hardly ever even pictured it, I was so sure that I would never see Harry again.

I wondered if this silence was as heavy as I thought it was. Everything about him felt so familiar, yet so different. Up until this moment it felt like being in the presence of a friend, but now I realised, he was closer to a stranger.

I knew the person he once was, a sweet but fucked up kid who had been forced to become a man too early. Someone who had his walls a mile high around almost everyone. Almost. The boy who painted his nails on lunch breaks and was friends with everyone but somehow also no one. Until he was friends with me. Then he was the boy who always sat to my left from the first bell of the school day to the last. Back then, I knew him from the inside out, just as he knew me.

He was my greatest joy of those years. Then he was my greatest heartbreak. Now, he was just some guy I used to know who I had plucked straight up off the street, looking very out of place in what was clearly a designer suit in my tiny apartment.

He looked through the first aid kit as I ensured the entirety of the scrape was rinsed. It extended most of the way from my elbow to my wrist, but more pressingly in my mind, it now stung like a bitch. Once the water rain clear as it ran off my arm, I moved onto the much smaller and shallower scrape on my left elbow, working quickly to get it clean.

Most of the bleeding had stopped, only a few spots on my right arm still dotting with blood. I leaned over the sink to prevent the water from dripping onto the floor.

I cleared my throat, nervous to break the silence.

“Can you please grab me that towel?” I nodded my head towards the black hand towel hung behind Harry.

His eyes snapped upwards from the first aid kit he had been busying himself with. I was sure he had been surveying it more thoroughly than strictly necessary, trying to detract from the awkward energy which had crept up on us. We made brief eye contact through the mirror. My breath caught in my throat. The moment was over as soon as it began as he turned wordlessly to grab the towel.

He holds it in his hand, hesitating before handing it over, “Did you want me to…?” he trails off, growing awkward in his offer. He regretted the words as soon as they were out of his mouth. She barely knows you, back off, he tells himself.

“No that’s okay,” I speak gently, and he quickly passes the towel to me. I get to work patting my arms down delicately.

“Thank you though,” I add, hating the unsure look on his face. I meet his eye, giving him a smile I hope is reassuring.

“Okay, let’s get you sitting down so I can fix you up,” he returns your smile with a slight upturn of the right side of his mouth.

I relocate to the little dining table Alex and I had bought at Ikea just a week prior. Harry isn’t far behind, washing his hands before joining me to tend to my wounds. He lays out everything he is going to need from the first aid kit before holding his hand out. Like an idiot, I stare at his hand without moving for a beat too long before jerkily offering my right arm up.

He laughs silently as he turns my arm over, analysing it carefully.

“So, do you often go for runs at midnight?” He asks as he unscrews the lid on the Vaseline.

“Yeah all the time. I just don’t normally take people from the street with me.”

“Is that all I am? A person on the street?” He tries to keep his tone light, but I can tell he was hurt by my choice of words.

I expect to feel guilty, but a burst of anger I thought I had long gotten over flares in my chest. It isn’t as red hot and overwhelming as it had been years before – I’d definitely had my fair share of time to cool off – but I’m still surprised by the sting of it.

He was the one that made himself a stranger to me, and now he’s upset when I’m stating the fact that he made a reality.

Despite myself, I tried not to come across too harshly in my response. I was never one for confrontation.

“I mean, I haven’t heard from you in six years.”

He is very careful not to lift his eyes from my injuries as he carefully applies the petroleum jelly. I stare down at him, desperate to catch his eye.

There’s a pause as I wait for him to offer some kind of explanation. Some perfectly good reason why my best friend and first love left town without telling me why, or where he was going, and then never contacted me again.

When he doesn’t fill the silence, I sigh as quietly as I can manage. You don’t really know him, I remind myself. I practically kidnapped him, I can’t just go asking him to rehash history. It was so clear that he was what he had wanted me to be. History.

“I just mean, I don’t really know you anymore. I’m sorry I grabbed you like that, I just,” I hissed at the sting of his first aid, “I was walking home from work and I saw these really sketchy looking guys.”

“Sketchy looking?” He finally looked up at me, raising an eyebrow questioningly.

“Well I guess they didn’t really look sketchy in their appearance particularly, it was more the fact that one of them was practically choking the other. They were arguing over something. I think it was something to do with some of the gangs around here,” I attempted a nonchalant tone, not wanting to worry him. The less phased I seemed, the better. I had caused him enough trouble. The only thing that was probably stopping him from running for the hills and never looking back (again) was guilt.

I go on to explain how I’d kicked that stupid beer bottle and taken off running, “which is when I ran into you. I’m really sorry about that, by the way. I’m so glad I didn’t take you down with me I think I would’ve died of a mix of guilt and embarrassment right then and there.”

“It wasn’t your fault, Ho-“he cut himself before his mouth could form that name he had so affectionately given you. “I’m the one who feels guilty, if not for my big, slow feet you wouldn’t have bit the dust.” I laugh at his turn of phrase.

His face suddenly grows serious. “Your head is okay, right?”

Instinctively, my left hand shoots up to the back of my head, ghosting over the slight bump hidden under my hair. The scar tissue was ever so minimally raised, only perceptible to a knowing touch. I retract my hand bashfully, slightly embarrassed by my knee jerk reaction.

“It’s fine,” I match his serious tone, before lightening it up, “as you can see, I managed to break most of my fall,” I gesture to my right arm he has paused work on.

He holds my gaze for a moment longer, discerning whether he thinks I am downplaying anything. He picks up the dressing, moving onto the next phase of his treatment plan.

“And they don’t feel broken? You can move your wrists okay without too much pain?”

My heart swells at his concern. I stamp out the small joy as soon as it flared up. It’s guilt that’s fuelling him. Nothing else.

I shake my head no. He looks up once more, having missed the gesture in his concentration. “Sorry! No. All bumps and bruises. I’m fine honestly, I probably majorly overexaggerated the whole thing and freaked out for nothing. I’m really sorry about all this, its so late at night.”

“Don’t apologise,” he says firmly. “It’s not your fault and you did exactly the right thing by making a break fo’ it. You never know what could’ve happened. Ya’ know. Out late. By yourself. In the dark.”

My face burned red with shame, but also defiance. I knew what I did was stupid and extremely risky, but I also didn’t think I needed a lecture about it in this moment. The fear still coursing through me and my scraped-up arms were surely lesson enough.

“I could say the same thing to you,” I countered.

We both knew my argument didn’t hold up very well. He was a man out alone at night. There was obviously a risk there, but it wasn’t the same.

We also both knew, I wasn’t really trying to start a debate. Just signalling to him I didn’t want to get into it and wanted to move on.

“I was walking to the tube from a mate’s place,” he explained simply, letting me off the hook.

He had begun to tape the dressing down to my skin, securing it safely. He worked expertly. Even if I didn’t already know, I would have said this was one of many times he had done some at home first aid.

“In a designer suit?” I questioned. There were two things I was asking, but also not saying. Was this the kind of ‘mate’ you wine and dine before going home with them? And what happened to that poor kid from Holmes Chapel I once knew?

“I came straight from work.”

Jesus he wasn’t giving me a lot to work with in the way of details.

“Oh,” I say lamely, not wanting to pry. As much as I could tell myself (and him) that I didn’t really know him anymore and he was basically a stranger, it still hurt to be treated like one. We used to be so open with one another. The one thing I ever kept from him was how I truly felt about him.

“I work in finance,” he offers up after a beat of silence. “It uh- I’m pretty lucky to have the job I do,” he alludes to his financial standing, obviously wanting to acknowledge the contrast comparative to how I knew him. A boy not even of eighteen, fending for himself while trying to complete his high school education.

My face practically split in two with the size of the smile on my face at his words. “I’m so happy for you, Harry,” I say, hoping he can see how genuinely I mean it.

“Thank you.”

“Are you happy, H?” The question slips out before I can stop it. Internally, I kick myself. Externally, I try to keep my face neutral, yet interested. That’s a perfectly normal question to ask. Totally.

“Um,” he switches to my left elbow, making quicker work of the smaller wound. “I think so. In my experience you never realise how happy you are until you aren’t. But still, I think I am.”

“Good,” I say firmly. “I’m glad.”

“What about you?” He turns the questioning back on you. “What’s your story?”

“Oh, you know. The sad story of the girl chasing a dream,” I nodded my head towards the sewing machine stationed at the other end of the table.

“Don’t say that!” His tone jests, but he is serious as he speaks. “I think it would be far sadder if I discovered that your talent was going to waste. I’m really glad to hear that actually,” he half says the last sentence to himself, concentrating on fixing his dressing properly on the more difficult angle of my elbow.

“There you go,” he gleams as he admires his handy work. “Good as new.”

“Thank you so much, Harry. I’m so sorry for all this-“

“Not your fault,” he quickly dismisses.

“Even so, I’m sorry for all the trouble. I’ll pay for an uber home for you or something,” I try to come up with something to offer him that can even begin to repay him for his help.

“Are you going to be okay by yourself?” His brow creases in concern.

“Oh, Alex should be-“ I smack a hand over my mouth, realising I never texted him to let him know I had gotten home okay.

“Oh fuck,” I remove my hand from my mouth. I gingerly fish my phone out of my back pocket, muscles beginning to protest, the impact of that fall settling in.

Four missed calls and a flurry of text messages. My phone had automatically turned onto ‘Do Not Disturb’ mode as scheduled at 12:30. I hadn’t been notified of any of it and he had definitely assumed the worst.

“Is everything okay?”

“I forgot to text him and let him know I made it home okay,” I don’t look up as I speak, opening our text chat.

From Alex: I’m coming home

Received ten minutes ago.

“Your boyfriend?” He questioned, keeping his face impassive. That had my head shooting up.

“Uh-“ I began, but cut myself off as the unmistakeable sound of heeled feet running up the stairs to our apartment ran out loud and clear.

Shit.

Before I could even think what to say next, Alex’s key was in the lock. The door swung open, smacking the wall with the force of it.

Both Harry and Alex’s brows hit their bloody hairline I swear. Or more accurately, Lexie’s.

There my best friend and roommate stood, in full drag, light catching the sequins of the pink mini-dress I had sewn myself. If I weren’t standing there with the guiltiest expression of my life, I would be thinking about how stunning she looked.

Harry looked between the two of you, as Lexie did the same. Both trying to catch their brains up to what they were seeing. I myself was at a loss for words. I probably should have started with, “Lex, I am so sorry,” but Harry broke the silence first.

“Wow, you look amazing,” he breathed, transfixed by the look Lexie had created. Drag was an art form, and she was quite the artist. He was not the first to become enchanted upon first look, and he certainly would not be the last.

Lexie narrowed her eyes at Harry, jaw falling slightly open at the audacity of the acknowledgement in this moment. She had little patience for besotted strangers in moments like this. Her narrowed eyes moved to mine, face filling with rage.

“Lex-“ I begin, but am cut off for what seems to be the millionth time tonight with the simple raise of her hand. The close of my mouth is instant. I was not about to make this any worse.

“Bitch, if you do not have a very good explanation for this,” she breathes deeply, trying to gain her composure, “I am going to fucking kill you.”

********

As soon as he is out of your apartment and onto the street, his phone is in his hand. Fingers not able to press to type the message fast enough for his liking.

From Harry: We need to talk. I saw her.

As soon as the message was delivered, he was returning the calls he had silenced in y/n’s presence. The moment she had turned her back and left him to wash his hands, he had turned his phone to airplane mode.

“Jesus Christ bruv, I thought you were dead,” Michael joked as soon as he picked up.

The two of them had parted ways for what should’ve been five or ten minutes. Harry hadn’t seen it happen, just heard the clatter of the beer bottle as it skated along the ground and the screeching halt in the argument. He had been waiting patiently for Michael to finish working in the shadowy doorway to the side. He hadn’t seen a thing, and he was sure from his concealed position, whoever had seen Mike hadn’t seen him. So, he obligingly offered to take a walk, ensure she hadn’t gone calling the police.

He had just been bored. Ready to go home and have a drink with Michael so he could have a bitch and a moan about work. It always left him feeling better when he returned on Monday. He was killing time, that was all. He hadn’t expected to stumble over the girl who had changed everything.

Harry didn’t take time to explain his extended absence, moving straight along to what he had called for. Just like Mike, he preferred to skip the pleasantries.

“I need you to subtly divert as much traffic from this block as possible,” he didn’t ask. He never asked. It was always an instruction with him. In this business, asking nicely didn’t exactly lend itself to going far.

“What’s this about?” Harry gritted his teeth. He did not enjoy having his authority questioned. The only reason Michael would get away with it was because of their pre-existing friendship. Even then. Harry was not exactly in a forgiving mood. Made all the worse when Mike added, “This isn’t about that girl from the alley is it?”

Michael had his answer when Harry said only, “Get it done or I’ll have your fookin’ head.”

chat with me about butterfly effect!

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stephspurs · 3 years

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A Family Affair | Euro 2020 Football Fanfiction

hi guys and gals! Part 7 sees friendship strengthened, decisions being made and love ultimately hurting. As always, please enjoy the next part and let me know what you think is going to happen in part eight! I actually love hearing from you all so please don't be too shy to reach out and message me - I love a good chat LOL Love always, Steph xx

Part 7 | settima parte

warnings; love sucks man. word count; 1850 writing tools; third person until dashed line, first person thereafter. next update; Monday 09/08 5pm AEST. Updates are three times/week (Monday, Wednesday & Friday)! Tags (as requested by users); @footballffbarbiex @obsesseds-world @abysshaven link to fic masterlist here

“bella amelia, cosa ho fatto per meritarmi questa telefonata?” (beautiful amelia, what did i do to deserve this phone call?) Jorginho spoke his second-native tongue down the line to the British girl, calling him way past her self-appointed bedtime of 9pm.

“Jorgi, ho bisogno del consiglio di un amico” (Jorgi, i need the advice of a friend). Amelia, almost desperately, pleaded down the line to the boy who became her therapist.

It had been a few days since Amelia & Jack’s facetime where they sat and listened to the countless offers the successful girl had waiting in her voice message inbox. Being the person that she is, Amelia needed to distract herself from obsessing over the messages so she threw herself into her job. Spending too many hours over her paid allocation at Juventus training ground, getting administrative work done for the season ahead.

Was this her way of nesting? Or empty-nesting? Was she subconsciously preparing the club and her boys for life without her? Getting them ready with a season's worth of set pieces and tactical plays that would secure them an outstanding 37th victory? On the flip side, was she preparing for her new role in England which she had yet to accept. There was no harm in her taking her intellectual property back over to the motherland. The two clubs did not compete in the same tournaments, perhaps only the Champions league - but who's to say that whatever club she does pick will make the Champions League? There was no doubt Juve would be there - all of her preparation would ensure they would be. Whoever took over her role simply just had to show up and keep the boys in line.

“ok tesoro, parlami.” (Ok darling, speak to me). The Italian settled onto his couch, espresso in hand, waiting to hear the younger girl's problem.

“So I've spoken with Kyle & Jack now, and have told them of my predicament. They both are very heavily favouring one side - but I need a voice of reason. If you happen to express the same sentiments that they both did, then maybe that's all of the reassurance I need to make this final decision.” Amelia switched back to her native tongue.

After spending the better part of an hour discussing in great depth the offers that she was receiving from the 5 english clubs, Amelia felt just as confused as she did before calling the Chelsea boy. No surprise that Jorgi was team Come to the Prem & Join Chelsea, but the italian midfield maestro had also brought her back down to earth from cloud nine and reminded her of what, or who, she was leaving behind.

“Now I don't like telling you what to do, but you need to discuss this with Fede, Amelia. He doesn’t deserve a lot of things, but this is something he does.”

So that's where Amelia found herself the next morning. Sunday’s in Italy were reserved for espresso and long walks in the sun. This particular Sunday must have been reflective of the internal turmoil she was facing, uncommon for the season, the sky above her was overcast and a light drizzle had started to set in on her walk to the charming Italian’s townhouse.

______________________________________________________________

“pensavo fosse un mito che gli inglesi portino con sé il tempo the” (i thought it was a myth that british people bring the weather with them) Fede said as he opened the door, and his arms, while looking down the two steps at me.

“Very funny” I said as I gave him a hug. He always was so good at hugs. I’m going to miss them. Snap out of it Amelia - you don’t even know if you’re going to go yet. Oh she knows she's going. She also knows what club she's going to. No she doesn't, you be quiet. I’m here rooting for her Italian romance. If I had an angel and devil on each shoulder, their conversation would speak my internal monologue as such.

Walking through to his kitchen, putting on a coffee and saying hello to his dogs, Fede stood in the doorway and watched me move around his kitchen as though it was my own.

“I’m convinced you got British bulldogs because you just can’t help but love the English” I cheekily smiled up at him from my crouched position in the middle of his kitchen, giving the two bullys the best head rubs.

“Sure, you keep thinking that Amelia” Oh, the way he says your name Amelia, so foreign, so romantic. He says it the same way any other Italian would say it, he’s nothing special. Be quiet, let them have their moment.

“Lets go and enjoy these out in the courtyard, is your sun shade still up? It should hold out the rain right?” Amelia spoke rushedly as she poured two espresso cups and walked towards his back door.

“Tesoro, why are you so unsteady today? Is something troubling you?” Fede spoke worriedly, noticing my little nervous habits coming out to play and speaking faster than my mind could comprehend. Better to just get this over with i think, for once we agree on something.

“Ok i need to tell you something, and i need you to let me get it all out before interrupting me. Can you do that? This is something i’ve been working up the courage to speak out loud, let alone speak it to you”

Fede took a sip of his espresso, holding my eye contact, before putting his cup back on its saucer and leaning forward, elbows on his knees. He thought he was ready for what i was about to say, expecting it to be yet another long winded speech as to why i want to put a label on our situationship. Oh boy, how wrong he was.

“After the success of the european tournament, i have received a lot of praise and recognition for my skills”

“And you deserve every bit of it amore, every bit and even more” Oh dear, could my heart hurt anymore?

“Fede, I asked you not to interrupt me…”

“Ok ok, sorry, continue”

“So, I have received a lot of recognition both here in Italy as well as from my home country of England. In saying that, I have received a few offers from clubs in the premier league that want me to bring my approach, the italian approach, to the english game. It's a real step up in my career and it's something I am seriously considering. I’ve spoken with some of the boys back home and also Jorgi, they all think that this is the next step for me. I’m far too comfortable here, I can't grow in my comfort zone. I think I'm ready for a new challenge.”

I held eye contact with the 27 year old, I wasn’t about to let him know just how vulnerable I was feeling here in front of him. Something Fede could always do was read me, and read my emotions. If he knew how exposed I felt, how easily I could be swayed over this decision, then he would make it his life's mission to do so. I had made my mind up that I was going, but there was also a part of me that decided if he was to give me what I was after I would be open to the possibility of staying.

“So it seems that you have asked for the opinion of everyone else in your life, and made your decision, before even considering mine.” He slumped back in his chair, and rubbed two fingers over his lips while looking off into the small courtyard garden.

“Fede, I have made my decision. But I wanted to talk to you about it, I owe that to you. You have made my time here so memorable, so fantastic, so filled with love that I wouldn't even consider not including you in this.”

“Is there anything I can do to make you stay? Do you want me to ask you to be my girlfriend? To tell you I love you? To move in with me? Let me know what you need from me to reconsider this decision” He began to get frustrated with me, pulling the cap off of his head and running his fingers through his hair.

“That’s exactly it Fede! I don’t want to ask you to do that, you should ask me to be your girlfriend on your own! I don't want you to tell me you love me if you think that's what I want to hear - I want you to feel like you love me! I don’t need anyone to tell me what I want to hear, what I want to hear is what you truly feel. And if there is something i have learnt about you in the last few years is that you can’t hold back your feelings with anything! If you were in love with me it would have burst from you a long time ago. I think that you do love me Fede, but as someone to come home to instead of no one at all.”

“You know Fede, i don’t have any regrets over this. You mean just as much to me now as you did the very first time we crossed that boundary and blurred the lines. You’re just my type, you only call me late at night, you can’t decide if you’ll be your own man or mine. I hate to say it, but you really are just my type. This decision has nothing to do with you, it’s something i have come to make all on my own.”

I had stood up now, looking down at the 27 year old. I needed him to understand exactly what I was saying, how serious I was. This was the moment I could get it all off my chest, instead of just letting the relationship play out on his terms.

“I leave on Friday, I let the club know this morning. There's nothing that can be done now Fede, this is my decision. Please respect it, and me”

He stood up, his almost 6’1” frame towering over me. Looking down, face of steel, I could see everything I needed behind his eyes.

“hai ragione ti amo Solo non nel modo in cui meriti di essere amato” (you're right, i do love you. Just not in the way you deserve to be loved). He pulled me into his chest, both arms wrapping around the back of my shoulders, left hand holding my head in the crook of his neck. My arms wrapped around his back from below his arms, holding him tight enough that they crossed over and I could grab the sides of his rib cage. This was the closure I needed.

“I’ll give Jorginho a call and make sure he looks out for you”

“How do you know what club I'm going to?”

“I saw the way your eyes sparkled when you mentioned its name, it was the same sparkle that used to come out when you said mine…”

Part 8. | parte otto

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robinofinashiro · 3 years

Text

“look, i know we don’t know each other that well, but i’m still worried about you. no one deserves to be alone.”

characters: hoshiumi kourai x fem! reader / slight miya atsumu

request status: OPEN / please send any reqs you guys have! my inbox is currently empty and im lacking in any kind of writing inspiration...like seriously lacking lmao. there could be a part two if any of you are interested in one.

you looked at your now ex boyfriend, trying to keep your tears at bay. the two of you were standing outside the bar, not knowing what you were planning on saying the man you loved as you saw him with a girl on his lap, laughing and giggling at whatever he was saying.

“you could’ve just broken up with me, it would have saved me time and effort,” you told him with a stone cold face. you could tell Atsumu was in a straight panic, not knowing what to say or do, “honestly, I would have handled the break up a lot better than you would have assumed I would have.”

Atsumu reached out to grab your hand but you quickly snatched it back, putting it behind your back, “no, you don’t get the right to hold any part of me anymore. whatever you were doing, do it with the girl you were just with,” you exclaimed, a laugh of bitterness leaving you, “but I don’t want that girl, I want you!” he yelled.

you rolled your eyes, not believing a word he was saying, “no, you wanted a girl to fuck with on the side while I waited for you at home. you’re just angry you got caught, Miya, that’s all,” you stated. Atsumu felt stray tears falling down his face as you noticed a familiar face with snow white hair popping out of the front of the door.

“as wrong as this is to say, I was always preparing myself for this. my grandmother always said to have a envelope of cash and money as runaway money in case I ever needed to get away...” you played with you finger nails before looking up to him for one final time, “I’ll be moved out in a few days. the apartment is under your name and I don’t mind getting a new place,” you added on.

Atsumu saw you walking away, not believing that you were actually leaving him. he grabbed your ankle, practically putting on a scene for everyone who was hanging out in the front of the building, “Atsumu, this is embarrassing for you. quit it while you still have some dignity left, jesus christ,” you said not realizing the mantrum that he was throwing, “you really should’ve thought this all out before you decided to cheat. I always had one rule and you knew it. I could quickly replace you as fast as we got together and this was your one chance.”

you kicked yourself out of his grip, walking into the bar to have yourself a drink. you saw the girl who was on Atsumu’s lap not wanting to look you in the eye as she sat on her chair in shame, “enjoy him girlie because as you can tell, he’ll quickly replace you when he gets bored,” you tipped your glass of dark liquor to her in a ‘good luck’ type of way before finding an empty seat.

that familiar snow white hair you saw earlier happened to be Hoshiumi who was walking towards you. you being the former Inarizaki manager made you know the names to the most popular players from each team they played so Hoshiumi was no stranger.

“hey,” you heard his voice say over the music. you gave him a smile with a small wave, not wanting to say, “you okay? I accidentally overheard your situation with Atsumu earlier,” he asked, pulling the seat out from the other side of the table.

you shrugged knowing that all the raw emotions from the argument and what you just had saw hadn’t settled in yet, “I don’t know,” you said truthfully, “my boyfriend of three years was cheating on me and if I’m okay right now, I know I won’t be tomorrow,” you explained.

Hoshiumi nodded understandingly, “do you mind if I sit with you for the rest of the night?” he asked quietly, in a sort of shy way, which was odd considering Hoshiumi was just as hyperactive as Hinata Shoyo from Karasuno way. “look, i know we don’t know each other that well, but i’m still worried about you. no one deserves to be alone.”

you felt that pang in your heart as you saw the warmness on Hoshiumi’s smile. you tried to contain your tears as best as you could but Hoshiumi saw right through that. he tracked down the waitress and ordered the two of you another round of drinks, your choice of course as he tried to focus the conversation on anything that wasn’t Atsumu or your breakup.

from that night forward, Hoshiumi was by your side for the entirety of your breakup. he was of help when you needed an extra hand to move all your things out of your shared apartment with Atsumu.

it didn’t sit right with Atsumu at the fact that Hoshiumi was seemingly close to you all of a sudden. he had saw him that night at the bar but he didn’t think he would take advantage of the situation and so quickly. never once in the entirety of your relationship with Atsumu did you ever mention befriending Hoshiumi and so closely but seeing the way he was helping you move out and making sure you were okay threw him way the hell off.

once you were finished taking your things out of the apartment, you looked to Atsumu and wiggled the set of keys that were on your keychain out. you gave him one last look before handing them to him, “so I take it that you won’t accept the job with the Jackals?” he asked.

“I think you know that answer, Miya.”

you walked out of the apartment, leaving a teary eyed Atsumu at the door as Hoshiumi waited for you at the front of the building. your place a few minutes farther from Atsumu’s place. it wasn’t as nice of a place in comparison to how you used to live but it would do until you found a job.

“what are you plans now?” Hoshiumi asked as he helped you unpack things from the box. you shrugged again, “I really don’t know. Atsumu had gotten me a job with the Jackals and those were plans for quite a while but considering that relationship is long gone, I guess I really have to start looking for a job before I go broke.”

Hoshiumi laughed, feeling his phone buzz multiple times. he looked down to see a few texts from Ushijima and Kageyama. to your luck, the Adlers had also gotten a job opening for a few positions with a team. Hoshiumi had mentioned to the team that he knew someone that could possibly take the position of the old manager and they had been grilling him about it since.

the pre-season was about to start and they needed an experienced manager and quick. considering your qualifications with Inarizaki and the degree you got in college, he knew you would do well on the job and all you would need is a bit of polishing up in order to be great if not even better than their former manager.

“listen, I don’t know how willing you will be to accept what I’m about to say but Schweiden has an opening for a positions and one of them is to be the team’s manager and assistant. I might’ve pushed your name because I know you’ve done the managerial position before and we need a manager as soon as possible.”

your eyes doubled down in confusion as Hoshiumi showed you the hiring paper. you quickly skimmed it down seeing that you had the qualifications for the job. you saw that it was a text from Kageyama Tobio that read if you had accept the position yet before their coach killed them.

“wait, how long would I be there?” you asked, gripping his phone. you looked at you, now slightly confused himself, “what do you mean? you’d be there as long as you want or until you quit. the position is permanent.” you read the application again and smiled, “I just got this place but tell them I’ll be available for an interview at any time.”

Hoshiumi tackled you into a hug, his hyperactive attitude running rampant again, “THANK YOU! THANK YOU! the team is gonna be so happy, I know it!” he exclaimed, quickly dialing his coaches number as you sat there, taking in your all new reality.

after a run through of a few interviews, the Adler’s ultimately gave you the position as their manager and assistant. they found you the most suitable as you had experience under your belt and got along with most of the team. well...as best as you could considering Kageyama and Ushijima weren’t really the talkative type to begin with.

the move to Tokyo was a bit easier than expected. Hoshiumi quickly helping you into your new apartment as he showed you around the Adler’s gym and even the town when he wasn’t busy. you had your own office since you were assisting the team’s coach with a few office related things but most of your duties were strictly to the team.

with your new job came new team photo’s for the year as well as your organizations employee id photo. your uniform consisted of black leggings or athletic shorts if Tokyo was particularly hot that day and a Schweiden sweater/t-shirt on game day. on non-game days where you had to be in your office, the general uniform was business casual unless it was Friday’s where you could wear your game day uniform.

the team photo day was around the corner and the Adler’s even had a few professional makeup artist for anyone who wanted to have their makeup done for the photos. Hoshiumi and to your surprise, Kageyama, landed in the makeup chairs right next to you as they both wanted to be concealed so their under eye bags weren’t as prominent.

“you ready for the pics?” Hoshiumi asked with an excited smile. you nodded just as excitedly, “working in volleyball again feels so weird but I can’t wait for the season to start!” you exclaimed as Hoshiumi gave you a high-five in agreement.

unbeknownst to you but known to the entire team, Hoshiumi had fell entirely head over heels for you. his heart eyes weren’t a secret to anyone besides you and if everyone was being honest, they really wanted Hoshiumi to get a move on with asking you out so he could stop coming to practice with a lovesick puppy look on his face.

after all of you were called to the gym to take the photos, they had all the players and coaching staff take their photos first before any managers and front office staff had their turns. while you waited for your turn, you were talking with the other manager so was an ex player of the team and had recently retired due to permanent injury to his arm.

“so how do you know Hoshiumi?” he asked as he saw the wave Hoshiumi was giving you. you smiled and waved back, “he was a friend of mine through high school and we just kept in contact since. Kourai and I are basically best friends if I’m being honest,” you explained.

he gave you a look before giving out a belly laugh, “just best friends? you have to got to be kidding. there’s more to your relationship with Hoshiumi than just best friends,” he admitted. you were a bit taken back by his answer as you asked him to explain, “come on, it’s not obvious? the decoy is in love with you. he follows you everywhere and has heart eyes for you and I can sense the feeling either is mutual or it’s starting to be on your end.”

you sat in silence, debating whether or not what he was saying was true. you had never taken into account romantic feelings Hoshiumi could have for you and vice versa. you knew deep down, you did harbor feelings for Hoshiumi but up until this point, you had never put it to the forefront of your brain.

“managers! it’s your turns now!” the photographer said. you nodded, going up to the small set up they had.

they had you do a bunch of different poses. one photo of just you smiling, another of you holding a volleyball, and a few with the other manager on the team. they had informed you that this year, they would be displaying team player photos along with head manager photos in the front of building, right outside of the gym to show appreciation to the entire team.

after the photo’s were finished, your head was still playing the conversation you had earlier. the idea of dating Hoshiumi did not sound so bad in the long run and you knew that it now wouldn’t come off as a surprise if you did in fact show feelings to him.

“Kou, what are you doing tonight?” you asked as he helped you with your bag after practice. he shook his head, saying nothing, “wanna come over? I wanna pig out on food before the season officially starts,” you giggled seeing his excited face as he grabbed your wrist and practically dragged you over to his car, exclaiming you both could get food and snacks.

the night came down to you watching a few movies from both of your childhood and basically talking/snacking the night away. it eventually got to the point where you moved closer to Hoshiumi, trying to find warmth as your AC was on full blast and you both were too lazy to get the blankets you had underneath your couch to actually get warm.

“hey Kou,” you said, trying to get his attention. he looked down to you, a warm smile on his face, “would you ever...be interested in dating? I heard a few members of the team saying that you liked me and for a while, I didn’t want to believe that but I figured there was no harm in asking because I totally feel the same,” you finally confessed.

Hoshiumi sat there, mouth wide in surprise as your heart basically fell your ass. your thoughts were immediately plagued with the idea that you had ruined your entire relationship with him but that was quickly put to rest as grabbed your closer and held your face as softly as ever before placing a kiss on both your cheeks before reaching your lips.

“honestly, I was about to ask you out tonight too. I’ve been having these feelings for a while now and I’m glad you finally confessed. I’ve truthfully liked you since the night I saw you with Atsumu but I didn’t want to make it seem as though I was being pushy.”

you laughed, pushing yourself away from him a bit as he dipped you down once again and kissed you again. you ran your fingers through his hair as he kissed your neck a bit and parts of your upper chest.

“you’re the best. I literally thought the best day of my life was the day I got the job for the Adler’s but this beats it by far!” he exclaimed, hugging you now. you laughed, shaking your head at his excitement, “I could say the same,” you giggled as you kissed him again.

a few weeks finally passed as the season was in full swing now. you were working a few days a week and going out on the days you had off with Kourai. the only dreadful part in all of this was that the Adler’s were playing Msby soon and you knew that you would in fact be seeing Atsumu during, before, and after the game.

Hoshiumi could see the slight nervousness and panic on your face the day of the game against the Black Jackals. you weren’t as excited as you were usually were and you were responding to the team in snippets and very short sentences. the team could sense your shift in attitude but didn’t bother to question it.

“hey, you okay?” Hoshiumi asked, pulling you to the side a few minutes before warm ups. you gave him a questioning look, “I can see you’re nervous and I’m pretty sure it’s probably because of Atsumu being here,” he assumed as you reluctantly agreed.

he sighed, bringing you in for a hug, “you don’t have to work today. I can make up an excuse that you got sick and say you’re in your office watching the game,” he said. you shook your head, “no, it would be immature of me to miss a game because of that fucking idiot. I’ll be okay, I promise,” you whispered, giving him a kiss of reassurance before letting him go.

a few feet behind, Atsumu had saw the entire interaction happen. his heart was admittedly broken, seeing the way you were kissing and hugging Hoshiumi. he hadn’t known that you were working with Scheweiden nor did he know that you were even dating Hoshiumi.

when the team had walked into the gym, he had saw your photo in the hallway entering the gym. your smile was one he missed and he felt himself get angry all over again. it had been months since the breakup but you had yet to unblock him from any social media so all of this news at once broke him.

the game was a lot more intense than they assumed it would have been. Hoshiumi and Atsumu playing to 100% and even getting into small scuffles. you had saw the interactions and knew it was probably because of you but were arguing when it came down to plays so it didn’t look as immature on the court.

ultimately, Schweiden won the game, beating the Jackal’s by a landslide in their last set. you were smiling at Hoshiumi as the game ended, bringing him a water and giving him a kiss before handing off the waters to Ushijima and Kageyama next. you had ran out of the gym for a few seconds to refill waters for a few players when you ran into the last person you expect.

“if you can excuse me Miya, I need to refill these,” you said, not even looking at him in the eye. he moved out of the way, seeing thew way you refilled the bottles as quickly as possible. once you were done, you were about to head back into the gym when he stopped you, “how are you?” he asked shyly.

you sighed, “fine Miya,” you said curtly. Atsumu growled in annoyance, “are you together with-,” “with me!” you heard Hoshiumi’s voice scream through the hall. you smiled at the sight of him as he pushed you behind him and sizing up the much taller Atsumu.

“this had nothing to do with you, Hoshiumi.”

“oh but it does! she’s my girlfriend, our manager, and a member of the team so whatever you need to say to her, you can say to me!” you laughed at Hoshiumi’s confidence as Atsumu looked at him, rage filling his eyes, “what? what’re you gonna do? hit me? you’d get suspended and look like a complete idiot to the entire V-league!”

“do we have an issue?” Ushijima asked, looking at Atsumu and Hoshiumi as Sakusa followed him, “no issue at all,” Atsumu gritted as Hoshiumi wore a proud grin on his face.

“that’s great to hear. come on ( your name ). Hoshiumi you better be in the gym in the next minute.”

“lets go Atsumu, you don’t win anything out of creating a scene,” Sakusa said as he grabbed his friend and tried dragging him out of the hallway. Hoshiumi waved at Atsumu as cockily as possible, “remember Atsumu! not only did we win the game but I also won your girl!” he screamed.

Atsumu went to jump but was pulled back by Sakusa and Bokuto as you walked out of the gym again to grab Hoshiumi. he grabbed you by the wrist and kissed you in front everyone that was in the hallway. Atsumu could hear Bokuto telling him to calm down but he wanted nothing more than to run over to Hoshiumi and kick his ass before reclaiming you as his again.

#haikyuu!!#haikyuu #haikyuu imagine #haikyuu x reader #atsumu miya #atsumu miya imagine #atsumu miya x reader #atsumu miya x you #hoshiumi korai #hoshiumi korai imagine #hoshiumi korai x reader #hoshiumi korai x you #sports anime #sport anime

105 notes · View notes

ezrasarm · 4 years

Text

Only You

Pairing: Frankie Morales x demi fem!reader

Word Count: 1.8K

Summary: Frankie stands up for you when Tom acts out of line.

Warnings: Conflict, Tom being a dick, swearing, ✨protective✨ Frankie, fluff

A/N: There seemed to be some interest in a continuation of More Than Friends and a thought popped into my head so here it is! This is set an undefined period of time after More Than Friends. If you would like to learn more about demisexuality there are some wonderful resources here at demisexuality.org and my inbox is always open if you’re curious …or you have HC ideas ...or just want to scream. AH! I almost forgot to thank @dishonouringmycow for beta reading, helping me with ideas and the ‘plot a murder’ line!

[Masterlist]

“You’re a woman, right?” Tom says abruptly from across the table a few moments after the conversation seemed to have lulled itself to a pause. Taking a few moments to notice you were in fact the only apparent woman at the table for him to be addressing, you nodded.

“Last I checked, yeah.” You laugh, as Tom hunches over a little more to look down at his drink.

“Can I get an opinion on something?” He asks, glancing up at you as he resettled his grip on the bottle between his hands. You give Frankie, who was sat next to you in the booth with an arm looped around your shoulders a subtly confused glance to see if he knew what this was about only to get a shrug in return.

“I’ll try my best,” you say as he reaches for his phone and places it in front of you to swipe between two photos. You didn’t exactly know who they were of, but you recognized what was happening immediately. Tom had talked your ears off about his wife’s affair at this point. He was obsessed and while you, Frankie and the rest of the guys had tried to be supportive at first, it was becoming more and more of a concern to you all. You had thought you would bring it up with him tonight when you saw him but when you got to the bar and he seemed fine- cheerful even, you thought maybe he had made some progress. Maybe you didn’t need to intervene. That was until you looked down at the phone.

“Tom,” You sigh, looking between the pictures of two men you had never seen before. The ones you assumed he suspected his wife was cheating on him with. “I’m not Molly.” You say with a sympathetic look in your eye when you look up at him again.

“Yeah, yeah, but if you had to choose.“ He said, waving away your comment to swipe between the two photos for you again. To choose? Choose what? Which one seemed most likely to wear flip flops instead of sneakers? Which one you would lend a quarter for a shopping cart at the grocery store? Which one you’d choose to help you plot a murder? You knew what he meant but you didn’t see how your answer would help, or if you even had an answer to give.

“I don’t know, they’re both good-looking I guess.” You shrug.

“Just pick one.” He insists a little more forcefully than before. You knew he wasn’t always the happiest drunk but you had never seen him this way before and you weren’t a fan.

“I think there’s a lot more that goes into your wife’s decision to sleep with another man than appearances.” You interjected. You didn’t know Molly particularly well and you weren’t defending her but you knew Tom hadn’t been acting like much of a husband in recent years and who were you to blame if she went looking for affection elsewhere.

“You’re overcomplicating the question.” He groans in frustration. “Don’t worry about Frankie, he’s got thick skin. He knows you’re looking.” Looking? Looking at what exactly? The ceiling? The ground? The bottom of your glass in hopes that if you couldn’t see him, he wouldn’t see you and you might be able to drop the subject? You’d hardly noticed the way your hand squeezed Frankie’s a little tighter under the table much less if it was reassurance for him or yourself but you could feel your patience running thinner as what had started out as mild irritation morphed into sheer discomfort with the situation.

“Tom, I know nothing about these people!” You scoff far more defensive than you had been before. You didn’t want to have to make up an answer but you were getting pretty darn close. You could understand aesthetically. Guy number one’s hair was nice to look at, guy number two had kind eyes, guy number one had a little bit of scruff that reminded you of Frankie, guy number two wore a Black Keys shirt that you liked. None of these things made you feel anything though. Not like Frankie did. But Frankie wasn’t the answer to the question Tom was pressing you with.

“No- Just at a glance, gut reaction, which one would you rather fuck?” He says and you’re not sure if your mouth drops from the shock of him asking you that point-blank or at the gall he would need to have had to ask you such a thing in front of your boyfriend but before you can even think to come up with an answer, Frankie steps in.

“Tom!” He snaps. “She doesn’t want to answer the question! Now back off.” He says quite firmly. Something you knew wasn’t easy for him given that he was a close friend and someone he looked up to. He thinks that should be the end of it but Tom is quick to try and wave it off as though Frankie was the one acting out of line.

“C’mon man! Let her speak for herself!“ He says, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back in his seat a little more.

“Tom, you’re drunk, you’re pissed off and you’re hurting but that does not give you the right to harass my girlfriend!”

“Harass your girlfriend? All I did was ask her a question-”

“Her answer is not going to change what happened!” Frankie just shy of shouts, managing to turn a couple of heads from nearby tables. You realize now that the frustration that had been building up over Tom’s pity party for the past three months had been affecting Frankie as bad if not worse than it had you. “It’s not!” He reiterates a little quieter now as though trying to recover from his sudden outburst. “Your wife screwed another man. That fucking sucks but it’s not going to undo itself anytime soon. So I don’t know what you need to do to process that but you’ve gotta get this out of your system and figure out a game plan for what you’re gonna do next because you are making it harder and harder for us to feel sorry for you right now.” Frankie lets out a heavy sigh and a slight shake to his head when he brings the bottle that his grip had tightened on so much throughout the conversation that his knuckles had gone white, up to his lips.

You watch as Tom’s jaw ticks to the side and he smooths a hand over his face, a minuscule nod as his gaze drops to the table. The silence hangs thick in the air for what feels like an eon until Benny shoulders into the booth on the other side of you just about squishing you against Frankie who has since adopted a similar posture to Tom.

“Who died?” He asks, tossing you a goofy look that makes a smile tempt your lips as you shake your head and Will slides in across the table from you.

“No one.” You assure him as you graciously accept the fresh drink Will places in front of you. “Speaking of not dead... Anyone heard from Santiago recently? It’s been a while, he’s got me worried.” You say in an attempt to change the topic despite you and Frankie both knowing you had spoken to him hardly 24 hours ago. Your attention seems to slip away from the response though when Frankie’s hand squeezes your knee in a silent thank you and you let your face tug into a soft smile when you look up at him, content that you’ve successfully changed the topic and made it stick.

***

“I’m sorry,” You hear Frankie say from next to you as you make your way out the door armed with the excuse of having to work in the morning when in reality you could sense that you and Frankie both were getting a little tired of being social tonight.

“For what?” You ask, brows furrowed in confusion as the cool air hits you and you plunge your hands into the pockets of your jacket.

“I’m sorry he was being such a jerk to you in there.” Frankie clarifies and you find yourself stopping halfway across the slowly emptying paring lot to turn and face him.

“He’s going through a lot right now.” You reply carefully, your exasperation from earlier having worn off by now only to leave the pity you had felt when he let his gaze drop after Frankie had told him off.

“That’s not an excuse for his behaviour though.” Frankie insists and you nod.

“Maybe not.” You muse. “But I know how much he means to you and I don’t want to get between that.” You shrug. “He needs you.” You say. “He needed to hear that from you.” You clarify, reaching your hand out to lock your fingers in his. Knowing Frankie he’s likely beating himself up over snapping at him like that already when you’re sure his conscience should be clear. He did everything right. “Thank you for standing up for me.” You smile on a lighter note and watch as a similar expression brightens up his features.

“You know I’ve always got your back, right?” He asks and you nod in return, hardly realizing the way your feet have managed to shuffle you closer to him as he dips his head down to kiss you. You can just about feel his breath fanning your upper lip when-

Bonk

The bill of his cap collides with your eyebrow and you both break out laughing, your hand bracing you on his arm as you hunch over in hysterics and you wind up stumbling slightly with the few drinks in you before you bump into his chest which still shakes as he holds you to him in an attempt to keep you both from toppling over. You’ve hardly recovered before he musters a “Is this better?” and you glance up to see the salt-stained cap placed backwards on his head instead which only makes you burst out laughing again as you flip it around to place it backwards on your own head.

“I far prefer being able to do this anyway.” You hum through your persisting smile when you slide your hands up to tangle your fingers in his messy hair.

“This is a good look for you.” He teases, eyelids lazy with contentment as his hands grip your hips and tug you just a little closer to him.

“You’re a dork.” You beam with an amiable shake of your head “Let me kiss you.” You plea and he obliges.

You pick Frankie.

[Masterlist]

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#frankie morales x demi!reader #frankie catfish morales x reader #frankie catfish morales x you #frankie morales x you #frankie morales x reader #ace!reader #demi!reader #demisexual!reader #asexual!reader #frankie catfish morales #triple frontier fanfiction

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ashyblondwaves · 3 years

Note

For smutty one liners prompts, 10 or 13?

Hello! Sorry this took two months to get to, but look at me. I am here! This is the last smutty one liner prompt that I have, so let’s celebrate me doing my thing and getting through them. I’ve had so much fun! There are plenty more prompts in my inbox to write that may or may not be smutty, but this here is the last of the one liners.

Title: Take Me Out to the Ballgame

Sentence: “Jealousy seems to be a great motivator for you.”

Rating: Explicit

Citi Field was immaculate; the grass was the greenest that Vision had ever seen, cut on angles in a criss-cross pattern and sprawling out to the bleachers. It looked so much bigger in person.

Neither Wanda nor Vision were big baseball fans initially. They started by leaving games on for background noise which turned into suddenly watching intently, cheering on the home team as Vision explained the rules of baseball for Wanda while she nursed the twins. Somehow, they'd actually become fans.

When Tony presented them with the tickets and the offer to take care of Tommy and Billy, they jumped at the chance. They hadn't been out together since the twins were born 6 months prior and they really needed some time alone together.

Their tickets - naturally - were incredible. Front row on the third base side, right by the Mets' dugout. The players were out on the field warming up and preparing the evening's game.

"Look!" Wanda whispered, pulling on Vision's shirt. "It's Francisco Lindor!"

The Mets' new shortstop was Wanda's favorite. She said she admired his drive and tenacity and his skills at the game were something special. The way he always was able to stop a ball from going into the outfield was almost magical. Something she could appreciate.

It was almost as if Lindor heard Wanda call his name. He stood up from his stretch position and looked toward the stands as Wanda waved a small wave and bounced where she stood.

Vision looked over at Wanda. Her behavior was uncharacteristic. He knew that Lindor was her favorite, but he wasn't expecting her to be... absolutely giddy about seeing him. Something bubbled inside him, a deep gnawing feeling like a sprocket had come loose and floated around inside him. It was like nothing he'd ever felt before growing hotter as he watched his wife flag down the fit baseball star and grab for the hat Vision had bought her for him to autograph.

The initial interaction was innocent enough. A fan asking for an autograph of someone she admired, but soon it turned to chatting and laughing and Wanda flipping her hair as she smiled at the handsome baseball player.

It was then that Vision decided that he didn't like this man talking to his wife. Not one bit.

As Lindor handed the signed hat back and walked away, Wanda was still smiling, watching as his strong legs took him back to the field to warm up. It seemed that everyone but Vision was smiling.

"What was that?" Vision asked, his voice unusually low.

"I was meeting a player," Wanda said innocently, tapping the brim of the Mets cap on Vision's head. "We should have gotten yours signed too."

Something in Vision snapped again. Something deep in his system was malfunctioning, he thought. He grabbed Wanda by the hand, pulling her up the stairs and closer to the concession stands.

"You were flirting with him," Vision said, placing his hands on his hips. "And he was flirting back."

He wasn't yelling, but the accusatory tone in his voice conveyed his anger perfectly.

"I was meeting a player," Wanda repeated through gritted teeth. "And how dare you accuse me of anything else!"

Wanda stormed off, Vision not far behind. They weaved through fans and around concession stands until Wanda flung the women's bathroom door open and rushed inside. Vision stayed on her heels, not letting the bathroom get in his way when suddenly a stall door was in his face. He heard the lock click and laughed to himself.

"A lock won't help," Vision said, phasing through the stall to see Wanda standing there, arms crossed, her eyebrows furrowed in anger. "I didn't like seeing you talking to another man like that."

"Like what?" Wanda whispered angrily. "I wanted an autograph!"

"And you thought it was reasonable to flirt to get it?" Vision asked, stepping even closer to Wanda. "You're mine!"

Wanda froze, her eyes looking Vision up and down. As if she didn't recognize the man standing in front of her. And judging by the way her eyes darkened and her shoulders drooped as she heaved out a deep breath, she liked it.

He'd never spoken to her that way before, but it was too late to try and take it back. And part of him didn't want to, anyway.

Instead, he pressed Wanda against the bathroom stall, his hands roaming her body frantically. Like he needed to commit her to memory before she ran off with a handsome baseball player and left him alone once and for all.

Competent hands slide up Wanda's body, taking a breast in each hand and squeezing just hard enough to get a reaction from her. She squeaked out a high pitched moan, puffing her chest to press her breasts into Vision's kneading hands and then he snatched them away, leaving Wanda empty and aching.

Wanda then returned the motions, running her hands up and down Vision's chest and under the hem of his shirt to touch his skin in a frantic momentum, trying to get him to respond to her advances. He simply looked at her, not letting on whether or not he was enjoying himself.

Without breaking eye contact, Vision's hand settled between Wanda's thighs, the thickness of her jeans making him unable to feel anything but how warm her core already was. He wanted to feel how wet she was for him. To have evidence that she was enjoying what he was doing to her.

"Clothes off," Vision commanded, phasing out of his own clothes. His cock was already hard, bouncing with each breath he took as Wanda continued to stare at this virtual stranger in front of her. "Phase out."

She was slow to obey, choosing instead to tilt her head at Vision and look his body up and down.

"No," she whispered, crossing her arms over her chest. "You acted like a fool back there. And if you're going to fuck me in here, I want you to do it as yourself."

Vision knew exactly what she wanted. He sighed at her defiance but knew that if it was going to get her to phase out of her clothes, he would do it. His body glowed gold as his human disguise disappeared and was replaced with red skin and vibranium. He gave her a look that seemed to say "Is this better?"

With nothing more than a proud smile, Wanda phased out of her clothes as Vision drank her in. Soft skin, breasts full for nursing, the tuft of hair between her legs. Vision needed to feel her wetness. His hand moved back between her legs as two fingers slid between her folds. She was wet, alright. Vision collected it on his fingers and then brought the glistening digits to his mouth, tasting his wife's unique tang. And that's when he let out his first moan, he could never hide that, though he didn't have much to compare it to, he loved how she tasted.

He teased her with his fingers, sliding them in and out of her as she hitched her leg up and started to rock her hips, driving herself down onto his fingers. When that slight color rose to her cheeks, it told him she was close to coming and he snatched his hand away, tasting her again as she whimpered her disapproval.

Then, Vision came barreling back toward her, picking her up with ease and hastily placing her on his cock, sheathing himself inside her in a single motion.

"You're mine," he repeated, lifting Wanda up and down on his cock. The sound of skin slapping echoing in the stall. While all the talking should've drowned out most of their noises, they still had to be quick. Anyone could have seen Vision enter the woman's room and gone to fetch security.

"Mine," he repeated.

Wanda threw her head back, arms wrapped around Vision's neck as a moan escaped from low in her throat signaling that she'd given into Vision's possessive act as his cock moved in and out of her at a rapid pace.

"Claim me then," Wanda challenged as Vision lifted her off his cock for just moment. "Make me yours."

Vision moved forward until Wanda's back hit the stall and he trapped her there with his body, snaking his hand back between her legs and sweeping through her wet folds again, this time to find her clit. One swipe with his thumb and Wanda was calling his name.

"Vis," she moaned, "Keep going."

Without warning, Vision pushed his cock back into Wanda and started to push into her vigorously, his fingers toying with her clit in time with his thrusts. He could tell she was close. That pink to her cheeks, the way she held her breath and closed her eyes. He sped up his movements, and felt Wanda clench around him as her body tensed and she shook above him.

Her voice quivered as she murmured, "I'm yours."

Wanda's words just encouraged him further. The jealousy coursed through his body and he slammed into Wanda, his pelvis hitting her sensitive clit. She yelped, echoing a little louder than usual. He dropped his head to Wanda's neck and took her soft skin between his lips and sucked hard, knowing he'd leave a mark. Wanting to leave a mark.

Wanda's body was spent but Vision wasn't done. He continued to drive into her until his own orgasm hit and he was coming inside her, emptying every last ounce of himself into her before pulling his soft cock out and letting her down.

"There," Vision said, breathlessly, phasing back into his clothes and human form "You can keep some of me with you through the game."

As Wanda phased back into her clothes she spoke, still gasping for air while being a little off balance.

"Jealousy seems to be a great motivator for you."

#scarletvision #scarletvision fanfic #wandavision #wandavision fanfic #wanda x vision #wanda maximoff #the vision #wanda and vision #fanfiction #marvel #marvel fanfiction #smutty one liner prompts #scarletvision drabbles

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imaginesforthosewhoseekthem · 4 years

Text

So I think I’ll take asks again

Hey all! I’m back. I’ve been thinking lately, I decided I wanted to be more motivated to write imagines again. I wanted to get more of a taste for writing back and I would always start here whenever I did.

I have nuked the inbox. I’ve emptied out the entire thing because the asks have been there for so long that there is just no point anymore. I will make a short list of fandoms that I will do. Not a LOT, but enough so that there are options for people that are not in certain fandoms to have more choices.

I am mostly just going to be doing general headcannons to start with, nothing for like the main plot of a story because I will be caught up in other things and I may not have time to research and this is really just to dip my toe back into writing because depression stops me from doing the things I love and I need to ease back into it.

So the fandoms I’m going to be doing are

Obey Me! (That one is probably the easiest for me cus I play that everyday)

Rusty Lake (If there are people that still want headcannons for that, I will deliver)

Monster Prom/Monster Camp

Seduce Me the Otome/Anything in general by Micheala Laws

Thimbleweed Park (I’m pretty obsessed with that game and I need more content of that here and other places)

Edna and Harvey

Coffee Talk (WHY...ARE THERE NO FANFICS ABOUT THIS ONE?! It is LITERALLY “Coffee Shop AU: The Game!”

Helltaker

These are the fics that will probably come up in the future as a DEFINITE maybe. I still need to play further into the games to know the story if I’m going to write them. So do not request these just yet, but I will keep them in mind.

Mystic Messenger (I’ve been doing pretty well at this so far. I got good endings in Yoosung, Jaheee and Zen’s Routes. I still need to do Jumin and 707 as well as V’s and Unknown/Seran/Ray. Can’t afford the deep story ones yet, so let’s just see how we do.)

Sally Face (I’ve done at least two of these and they haven’t been weird so far, so a long as it’s not sexual or oversteps some boundaries, that’ll be just fine)

The Arcana (I started playing this game to see what the hype was. I’m on the prologue right now and I don’t get it just yet, but maybe I will, I don’t know. But for fans of it, I will consider

Night in the Woods (I do own this game, but I think I should spend time with more characters and play this a few more times before I do.; That will take a while given how long Night in the Woods is

Little Nightmares (MAYBE. I know enough about the first game, I think this one should be on hold until I played the second. Even so, I’m not sure what exactly to write about this)

Welcome to Hell/Mystery Skulls Animated/The Vampair series. (I watch these animations CONSTANTLY. I dunno if anyone wants it, but It’s there to consider.

Sam and Max (Please don’t be weird with this one. I only consider this one to be funny with it)

And the things I will NOT do for the predicable future

We Happy Few (I know I started this blog around it, but I’m just not that into the game anymore. I wasn’t even motivated to keep up the separate blog I made for it and my mods for THAT gave up. So no. Sorry. I ain’t doing this. If I ever go back to it, I will SAY SO, but for now, no.)

Anything not listed above (I get some of you are in different fandoms, I was personally tempted to put the show Gotham up there, but I haven’t seen every episode yet. Plus some fandoms you have to tread VEEEEEEERY lightly to not get mauled by fans. And some of you wonder why I mainly stick to lesser known stuff. Plus we all have different tastes, I probably don’t even KNOW what you suggest to me)

The ask box will be left open for maybe a week, so let’s see what everyone wanted while I was gone

#obey me #rusty lake #monster prom #monster camp #seduce me #thimbleweed park #edna and harvey #coffee talk #mystic messenger #the arcana #sally face #night in the woods #welcome to hell #mystery skulls #the vampair series #sam and max #little nightmares

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hockeylvr59 · 4 years

Text

It Started with a DM || Jake Debrusk

Requested: [ ] yes [x] no

Authors Note: Just another little something that demanded to be written. I was honestly debating on whether or not to write it and then JD went live today and obviously it was a sign.

Warnings: features quarantine as a setting, some cursing.

Word Count: 3,828

~~~~~~~~~

Being quarantined alone was well, to put it simply, lonely. As a freelance photographer, you were for the most part out of work. You didn’t have a significant other to keep you company, there wasn’t space at your parents’ for you to go home, and your apartment didn’t allow pets. On top of all of that, sports were canceled. Specifically hockey.

The combination of all of this left an empty hole in your heart and lots of time on your hands. Missing hockey was the whole reason you started watching twitch streams. If you couldn’t have hockey at least you could have hockey players playing video games. You’d started with Zach Hyman and Mitch Marner because Toronto was on a shortlist of teams you were fairly indifferent about. But after a week or so you found yourself watching David Pastrnak because he was on almost daily around dinnertime and it gave you something to listen to while you cooked. Watching Pasta’s streams had led to your introduction to Jake Debrusk and it was silly how the sound of his voice and his laugh brought a smile to your face. It was even sillier because you were absolutely not a Boston fan. Especially not after they knocked your Hurricanes out of the playoffs last season.

Still, each time that your phone received a notification that Jake had come online you immediately stopped whatever you were doing to watch. You weren’t part of the group that regularly played with him and Pasta, nor did you even really participate in the chats, you just watched. And for a couple hours each time, you felt a little less alone. For weeks this continued, with you only popping in to chat to wish Jake’s sister a happy birthday when he let her take over his stream for a little bit. To be honest you were just grateful for something to do. Never did you expect to log on one day to find a whisper sitting in your inbox.

Jdebrusk: Hey. Saw you’ve watched quite a few of my streams. Just wanted to reach out and say thanks.

You weren’t shocked by the fact that he could see a list of viewers, you kind of expected that. What shocked you was the fact that he actually cared enough to reach out to some stranger who he had never actually interacted with before. You weren’t sure what had pushed you to respond, maybe it was the Southern friendliness or maybe it was something else but after typing and deleting a response multiple times you finally pressed send and then immediately closed your browser in a failed attempt to not freak out.

Yourusername: Pretty sure I should be thanking you for sharing your time with us and making things a little easier.

____

With no one you followed coming online to stream for a few days, you didn’t even check the site to see if Jake had responded. But when you next logged on and saw a message notification once again you found yourself getting nervous for no reason as you opened it.

Jdebrusk: Well you’re welcome. Feel free to join in the chat anytime. Streaming has helped keep my family from driving me insane.

Yourusername: I’m more of a lurker. It’s just easier. And family can be a lot but be grateful you aren’t just staring at 4 walls every day.

Stepping away from your computer you grabbed your camera and attempted to go for a walk to take some aesthetic shots. As you slipped your memory card into the computer a while later, you noticed another notification.

Jdebrusk: Fair enough. You quarantining alone?

Yourusername: yep. But I guess it could be worse. I could live where it’s snowing in May.

Jdebrusk: Can I ask where you’re at?

For a split second you debated giving up this information but it didn’t seem like giving away your state could hurt.

Yourusername: North Carolina.

Jdebrusk: Nice! Cool state. Been there a few times.

Yourusername: I’m aware. No need to rub in sweeping my team, Debrusk.

Jdebrusk: And she’s got a sense of humor ladies and gentlemen. Well, or he...I guess I don’t even know that. AWKWARD.

Yourusername: She works.

Jdebrusk: Cool cool. So a hurricanes fan huh?

Yourusername: Yeah. My family would probably disown me if they knew I was talking to a Bruin.

Jdebrusk: Yowza.

Yourusername: So if anyone asks I’m only here for Rocky appearances. ;)

Jdebrusk: She’s only here for my cat. Got it.

You couldn’t explain why talking with Jake felt so easy but it did. When he came on to stream next you chirped him through whispers the entire time and seeing his reaction in real-time as he read them had you giggling uncontrollably. By the time he got off, you were just waiting for his comments to come streaming your way. Instead of some long-winded rant brushing off all your jabs you just got a single comment in response.

Jdebrusk: It’s not fair that you can chirp me and I don’t know anything about you.

Yourusername: What do you want to know?

Jdebrusk: I mean your name would be a good start. Age might also be important...you’re not like 12 right?

Yourusername: Would I be quarantining alone if I was 12? I’m 24. Y/N.

Jdebrusk: right. Right. Y/N from Carolina. Who likes cats. Got it. Are you a student or…?

Yourusername: Freelance Photographer.

Jdebrusk: Alright. Nice. Do you do like weddings or nature stuff or what?

Yourusername: A little bit of everything. @wildflowerphotography is my company name if you want to go on insta and see some of my work.

No reply followed and you tried not to dwell on it. Instead you poured a glass of wine, lit a few candles, and settled into your bathtub, trying to relax for bed. Still nagging thoughts lingered in your brain. Was sharing your company page too much? He probably wasn’t asking for you to promote yourself, he was just being polite right? Though you hated yourself for letting it bother you, you were the type of person who overthought everything...which thinking about it was probably why you were still single.

Your anxious thoughts lingered and you tossed and turned all night before finally pulling yourself out of bed the next morning. It was only as you dug through your company dms, responding to a few potential clients that wanted you to take socially distant photos for them that you stumbled upon a familiar username.

Jdebrusk: You took all of those? Holy shit that’s talent.

The timestamp showed the message was sent only twenty minutes after you gave him the username and you sighed to yourself before chuckling at the fact that Jake was too lazy to switch back to twitch to respond.

Wildflowerphotography: Thanks. I’m really proud of them all.

It was still early in the morning so there was no way he was awake with the two hour time difference so after making yourself some breakfast you took another short walk, trying anything to get your mind off of the loneliness that felt worse today than most days. Your mood had definitely been a rollercoaster recently with higher peaks and lower lows than normal. It was something you were trying to manage the best you could but sometimes it was just hard.

With the rest of your afternoon spent binging a random tv show you didn’t even look at your phone until dinner time, but waiting for you was another dm from the Canadian hockey player.

Jdebrusk: You should be.

Jdebrusk: So listen...this is probably weird but can I get your number so I can stop wading through a bunch of dms and whispers I don’t care about and just talk to you?

It was a fair question but to be blunt, today was probably the worst day for him to ask because your anxiety-riddled brain kept wanting to know why he even cared about talking to you. You didn’t know what he was looking for from all of this but your mind immediately assumed the worst. So instead of just being open with him, you blew him off, completely ignoring his message. And when he logged onto twitch next, though you wanted to watch, you forced yourself to avoid that as well.

Three days passed before another message appeared.

Jdebrusk: You okay? You didn’t watch the last stream. I’m sorry if I fucked up. I’ll back off if you want...I just want to know that you’re okay.

The concern he was expressing was honestly something you didn’t expect and you found yourself crying as you read it over and over. Jake was nothing but a joyous person and the last thing you wanted was to bring him down with the mess of your own mind.

Wildflowerphotography: you didn’t fuck up. I just...this is all on me okay.

With your phone left open to your message string with him you watched as little dots appeared before vanishing repeatedly. Eventually a new message appeared simply containing a string of numbers composing a phone number. Jake was putting the ball in your court and a few minutes later the part of you that was aching to hear his voice won the mental war and you found yourself dialing the number.

“Y/N?” Jake questioned the second he answered and a shaky sob slipped from your throat at the sound of him speaking your name for the first time. “What’s going on?” He murmured and by his tone you could tell he was both confused and concerned. You wanted to speak, wanted to pretend everything was fine but you’d already gone over the edge and it was too late for that now. Another sob spilled through your body and you faintly heard Jake mumble a curse. “Do you want me to just talk to you? I’ll just keep talking okay and you can hang up if you want.” He offered. And talk he did, you weren’t even sure what he was telling you, you were more focused on the grounding sound of his voice itself rather than the content of the words he was speaking. Eventually your breathing steadied out and the elephant sitting on your chest lessened allowing you to murmur his name.

The second he heard your voice he paused mid-story.

“Thank you.” You whispered into the phone.

“Are you okay?” He inquired, his voice tentative like he was worried anything he said would push you back over the edge.

“Better.” You admitted. “Not great but better.”

“I’ll take better.” He insisted. “It’s nice to actually hear your voice.” He added, causing your cheeks to flame up unconsciously. You opened your mouth to apologize again for your breakdown only to be stopped as he insisted you not do so. “But really...are you okay?” He repeated his question and you sighed.

“It’s been a rough few days mentally for me.” You admitted. “But I will be okay.” You added.

“Okay enough to stop ignoring me?” He teased and when you let out another shaky breath he backtracked. “It’s okay, I get it. I was just worried. You don’t have to talk to me ever again if you don’t want to.”

“I do want to.” You breathed. “Talk to you that is.” As if he sensed you had more to say, Jake remained quiet, only the sound of his breathing coming through the phone.

“I guess...you should probably know that I tend to overthink things. I want to talk to you. Hearing your voice makes my entire day. I just...I guess I’m just confused on why you want to talk to me. What your intentions are, etc. And you...you don’t have to answer that just...that’s where my head is at.”

Jake was silent for a minute before his voice reached back through the phone.

“I’ll be honest, I don’t know what this is either. But I’m intrigued by you and I guess my intention is just to get to know you better if you’ll let me.” Jake’s honesty was refreshing and you nodded even though he couldn’t see you. “And if I can make your day just by talking...well that’s a pretty sweet bonus.”

______

Quarantine continued to drag on, paused only by some carefully planned photo sessions with your distance lenses getting extra abuse. You continued talking to Jake, mostly through text but with the occasional phone call. He’d whine about the crap he was getting from his sister when he’d disappear to talk to you but he’d insist that it was worth it in the next breath. Between the streams, the phone calls, the texts and the memes he’d send you, suddenly you felt a lot less alone, at least emotionally.

A month since your first phone call had passed before Jake sent you a text that made your heart stop.

JD: So how come I send you pictures all the time and yet I still don’t know what you look like?

For weeks he had been sending you photos of him snuggling with Rocky or hanging with Jordyn and there had even been a shirtless workout pic or two which had left you debating whether a cold shower was appropriate. At the same time, you hadn’t worked up the courage to send him any photos in return other than ones you took of nature on your walks or snippets from photoshoots you’d done. Trying to downplay it all you sent back a teasing response.

YN: What can I say I’m a behind the lens person.

JD: Y/N...c’mon I just wanna see how beautiful you are.

Leaving him on ‘read’ you sighed and bit your lip not sure how to respond. You were afraid if he knew what you looked like that he wouldn’t want to talk to you anymore and you weren’t sure what you’d do if you lost something that had sort of become a saving grace in this crazy time.

JD: Is this one of those insecurity things? Is that why I haven’t seen you yet?

It was starting to amaze you how well Jake could read you. It had been a long time since anyone was able to see through the walls you put up, see behind the camera that you hid behind, but it had only been a month or so and already Jake was starting to read the silences between the words.

JD: Do you want me to get Jordyn to pump you up? A picture isn’t going to change what I think of you…

YN: You don’t know that.

JD: C’mon YN give me a little more credit than that. You know I’m not that shallow. I like you okay. I like the woman that chirps me. I like the woman that listens to me and always knows what to say. I like the woman that sees me as Jake and not Boston Bruin Jake Debrusk. And since none of that is based on your physical appearance I’m going to like you no matter what you look like.

YN: Promise?

JD: Yeah Y/N, I promise.

Scrolling through your camera roll you attempted to decide on which of the few photos of yourself made you look at least somewhat pretty before biting the bullet and attaching it to the text conversation. The moment you hit send you winced and your anxiety didn’t ebb until your phone rang in your hand.

“You’re stunning.” Jake’s voice breathed lowly the second the line connected. “Just as beautiful outside as you are inside which I wasn’t sure was even possible.” By now you knew when Jake was trying to play something up versus when he was being genuine and his voice now was 100% the latter. But taking compliments about your body was never something you’d been good at so you didn’t know what to say in response.

“I hope you believe me.” He added. “I knew you wouldn’t believe a text even if I sent it 100 times so I hope you can believe me, hearing me say it.”

“I...thanks Jake.” You finally mumbled. You did believe that he was being honest, he had no reason not to be with you living thousands of miles apart, but at the same time, you still felt uneasy about it for reasons you’d never fully be able to explain.

___

Tearing down the last barrier of anonymity seemed to open up a new world between you and Jake. If it was even possible you communicated more frequently, adding facetime calls to your usual methods. Seeing the way he looked at you while you talked sent heat flooding through your body and you quickly came to the realization that you were falling hard for him.

That knowledge was terrifying and once again you wanted to pull away, protect yourself from getting hurt. But then Jordyn stole her brother’s phone and called you, raving about how when all of this was over you had to agree to meet her brother in person because she had never seen him like this over anyone. Talking with Jordyn reminded you that Jake didn’t have to go to all of this work, didn’t have to deal with your crazy emotions if he didn’t think you were worth the time and effort. It may be a pandemic but surely there were women in Edmonton willing to break social distancing rules if it meant scoring someone as wonderful as Jake. But yet each and every night he was on the phone with you, taking the time to get to know all of the things that make you tick, your likes and dislikes, your hopes and dreams.

And it wasn’t just Jordyn that knew about you. You’d been on the phone with Jake when both of his parents came outside and when he’d asked them to come back in a minute because he was talking to you, they just called out your name in greeting and waved.

“Your parents know my name?” You’d asked and Jake ducked his head shyly before replying. “I mean yeah…” He stated. “My mom can’t wait to meet you.” You were sure from Jake’s point of view that it was probably comical how wide your eyes went at his statement.

“Jake what...what is this...are we just friends or…?” It wasn’t a question that you ever anticipated asking but it was out there now. From the other side of the screen, you watched Jake adjust his ball cap over his overly long hair.

“Fuck...Y/N…” Jake started and you opened your mouth to assure him that friends was fine, that it was what you wanted too because if you didn’t put your heart out there than you couldn’t get hurt. Before you could speak though Jake continued. “No...we’re not just friends. I think you know that as well as I do.” He admitted. “I don’t know exactly what we are. I...I was hoping to meet you in person when I asked if you wanted to be my girlfriend. I know...I know that none of this is ideal because even when this is over there’s going to be the whole long-distance thing but...I can’t deny that I have feelings for you y/n. I don’t want to deny it.”

“I don’t want to deny it either.” You said softly, fingers tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “I mean...if you’re willing to put up with my emotional baggage…” You shrugged.

“You have feelings for me too?” Jake questioned, his normal confidence suppressed. “I have no problems supporting you through dealing with your baggage if you’re willing to do the same with mine. I know I’ve fucked up in the past as a boyfriend and I don’t want to do that to you.”

“I think I’m kinda sorta falling for you.” You stated anxiously, unable to meet Jake’s gaze through the screen until he breathed your name.

“So can we agree we’re something more than friends and that we’ll figure out the details as part of returning to the new normal?”

“Yeah...we can agree to that.” You nodded.

_______

The new normal had finally arrived and that meant that you were going to see Jake in person for the first time. The two of you had been “more than friends” for what felt like forever now but had realistically been a few months but with each passing day you knew you wanted more. You still didn’t know how it would all work with him playing in Boston and you owning a company in North Carolina but you were ready to figure it out together if it meant that you could finally have him for real.

Jake’s plane was scheduled to land in ten minutes and you were running so far behind. Your senior picture photoshoot had run over and traffic was a mess. You’d texted Jake apologizing but upon getting your text he’d quickly waved your concerns off declaring that he’d just get an uber and meet you at your apartment. It would be a better first meeting anyway because you wouldn’t be time-restricted by parking or pick up zone rules.

When you finally pulled into your parking lot you checked your phone to see if Jake had arrived yet. It wasn’t until you reached the front steps of your building that you noticed someone sitting there, bags beside them. He looked up at the same time that your brain processed that it was him and he was really there and tears instantly prickled in your eyes. As you rushed to close the distance, Jake stood to catch you as you threw yourself at him.

No words needed to be said as you tugged his mouth down to your own, kissing him for the very first time. It was nothing like you had expected but at the same time it was everything and at that moment you knew that this was it, you were in love. It had been such a long wait, but the feeling of his arms wrapped around you, his lips against yours was well worth it. It was cheesy but you knew that the physical chemistry was only this strong because you already knew each other inside and out and now that he was here, now that he was finally yours, things could only get better.

Being with Jake despite the distance wouldn’t be easy but now that you knew the way he felt, the way he tasted, the scent of his cologne, you were willing to do whatever it took to make it. If you could fall in love during a global pandemic, you could do anything and it would make a great story to tell the grandkids one day about how they only came to exist because of a direct message on a streaming site while the world was quarantined.

#jake debrusk #jake debrusk imagine #boston bruins #boston bruins imagine #nhl imagine #nhl imagines #hockey imagine #hockey imagines #bbruins #030 #tw: quarantine

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oikawaplssteponme · 4 years

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𝑨𝒍𝒘𝒂𝒚𝒔 𝒀𝒐𝒖: part 6

“It’s always been you. Has it always been me?”

✨part 1

✨part 2

✨part 3

✨part 4

✨part 5

pairing: Tobio Kageyama x Fem!reader

rating/warnings: a few swear words but that’s it :)

synopsis: You liked him. He liked you. Easy right? Well, maybe not as easy as you thought.

a/n: hiii💓 thanks again for all the love on this fic, it means so much!! this is chapters 11&12 and i really like these so i hope you all do too! i wanted to give you guys some fluff before things take a turn ;) as always, the taglist is open and so is my inbox :)) enjoy xx

•

Eleven: Promise

You took Kageyama’s hand and walked until you reached the boba place. Kageyama ordered a black milk tea and you got a strawberry milk tea.

You sipped on your drinks upon reaching your house. As you grabbed your keys to open the door, Kageyama sighed.

“I’m sorry,” he said suddenly. You looked at him, confused.

“Sorry for what?” Kageyama looked down at the ground.

“I’m sorry we lost,” he mumbled. You let out a sigh. You stepped towards him, gently lifting his head to look at you.

“Kags, I’m not upset that you lost. I know that you tried your best. I’m so proud of you no matter what, okay? You did good,” you reassured him. He looked like a sad little puppy. He didn't say anything, he just pulled you to a hug. You held him tightly, rubbing your hand up and down his back.

“Let’s go inside, okay?” you said breaking away from the hug. Kageyama nodded and followed you inside.

Kageyama was exhausted. You came to realize that if he lost a game he would cancel it out with a nap. He sat on your bed and you laid in between his legs, your back resting against his chest. You laid there for sometime, just enjoying each other's company. You could hear Kageyama’s breath, rising and falling slowly. The television was on quietly but neither of you paid attention to it.

“Kags?” You whispered.

No response. You turned to see Kageyama, asleep. You chuckled to yourself and got up from the bed. You dimmed the lights in your room so it wouldn’t be so bright for him. You grabbed him a blanket and laid it over him. He shifted to his side once the blanket fell into place. You couldn’t help but admire him. He looked silly as he slept, trying to find a comfortable position. You turned off the TV and sat on the other side of your bed to give him as much space as he wanted. You could hear his faint snoring, it was adorable. You tried not to make any noise that could wake him but you couldn’t help but giggle at your boyfriend. He was all wrapped up in the blanket like a little dumpling. You decided to throw away the empty cups of boba. So you got up from the bed again and went to throw them away downstairs. When you got back, Kageyama was awake, sitting up on your bed, still wrapped up in the blanket.

“I thought you were sleeping silly,” you smiled.

“I was but then you left,” he pouted. Your heart swelled up.

“I was only gone for a few seconds,” you explained. Kageyama yawned.

“A few seconds too many,” he whispered. You smiled.

“Well I'm back now, don't worry.” Kageyama looked at you with puppy dog eyes.

“Lay with me?” he asked. You felt your face get warm. You nodded.

You made your way over to Kageyama. He lifted up the blanket to cover the both of you. You nestled yourself next to him. He wrapped his arm across you to pull you closer to him. Your back was against his chest, his breath traveling down your spine. Kageyama’s other arm rested under your head. He held you tightly. You seemed to fit perfectly next to him, like a missing puzzle piece. You wouldn’t want to be with anyone else.

“Kags?”

“Yeah?”

“Promise me it’s always just gonna be me and you,” you blurted out. You didn’t realize you actually said it until the words let your mouth. A promise like that held a lot of weight and you knew that. Still, you wanted an answer anyway. Kageyama kissed the back of your head.

“I promise.”

•

Twelve: dance with me

*BUZZ*

You slowly started to wake up when you heard a phone buzz. You had fallen asleep for god only knows how long. You found your head resting on Kageyama’s chest when you woke up. His arm still wrapped around you. He was still asleep. You sat up and started to search around for the phone. No surprise that it was Kageyama’s phone.

“Kags?” you said. You gently pushed his shoulder to hopefully get him to wake up. He was a deep sleeper.

“Babe your phone is ringing.” You clapped your hand over your mouth once you realized what you had said. You hoped he didn't hear you. Kageyama grumbled.

“Just ignore it,” he said, pulling you back towards him. He was still half asleep and his voice sounded raspy.

“It's two texts. You should probably check them,” you explained, handing him the phone. Kageyama sighed and sat up, taking the phone. His hair was all messy and he looked as if he could have kept sleeping for another hour.

“Oh shit, it's almost midnight,” said Kageyama.

“No way?” You checked your clock and it read 11:47pm. You two must have slept longer than you initially thought.

“My parents just wanted to know where I am. I’ll tell them I’m gonna spend the night at Hinita’s,” explained Kageyama. You looked at him with wide eyes.

“You want to spend the night?” you asked.

“I mean I’m already here and it's so late that I probably wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep anyway. Is that okay with you?” You nodded frantically. Kageyama laughed. He got up and turned the lights up in your room back on.

“Mind if I take a bath?” Kageyama asked. You shook your head.

“Nope not at all,” you said. Kageyama smiled and grabbed his volleyball bag and headed towards your bathroom. Once he left, a wave of panic came over you.

Okay uh Kageyama staying over at my house. Alone. With me. My parents are again away on business so that solves that. Oh my god what the hell do I do? Calm down Y/N, he’s stayed with you a million times. For goodness sake you just slept in the same bed as him. Well, not in that way. Oh my god what if he wants to… nope nope can’t think about that. Okay uh so guys usually take less time in the bathroom so that means I have approximately less than ten minutes to figure out what I’m gonna do. Well I mean I should probably change into my pajamas. Well I usually sleep in just a t-shirt so probably not gonna do that. Uh, t-shirt and shorts is a safe bet. Yeah okay.

You rushed over to your closet and picked out an oversized t-shirt and shorts. In all honesty, your ass hung out of the shorts a little but that was the least of your worries right now. After you changed you headed downstairs and searched your kitchen for anything worth eating.

Great so we have nothing to eat and I’m starving and Kageyama is probably also starving. I’m literally the worst host ever. Wait, I think we have popcorn. Wait that's stupid. Well shit there is nothing else so popcorn it is.

You grabbed a packet of popcorn and threw it into your microwave. While it popped, you ran back upstairs to check if Kageyama was out of the bath. You didn’t hear the water running so you assumed so. You then ran back downstairs to grab the popcorn and put it into a bowl. You rushed back to your room and sat on the floor with the popcorn. You leaned against the bottom of your bed, trying to catch your breath. You heard footsteps approaching. Soon entered Kageyama in a pair of sweatpants and no shirt. You could literally feel your pupils grow.

Jeez, did he do push-ups before coming in here?

“I didn’t have a clean shirt in my bag, I hope you don’t mind,” he explained. You pressed your lips together to stop yourself from having the dumbest smile on your face.

He has no right looking like that, I swear.

“Nope don’t mind at all,” you managed to get out. Kageyama smiled and reached out his hand for you to grab.

“Why are you on the floor silly?” he asked. You wondered that too.

“You know what I wish I knew.” You took Kageyama’s hand and he pulled you up. Lifting you up with more strength than he initially thought, you crashed into his chest. Kageyama wrapped his other arm around your back to keep you close.

“Hi,” you said nervously. Kageyama chuckled.

“Hi,” he said back. You looked into his deep eyes. You could get lost in them with just one glance. His hair was still wet. You ran your fingers through it. You were dumbfounded by the idea that he was actually yours.

“Did you call me babe earlier?” He asked. You flinched.

“Uh no, very much I did not,” you said with a burning face. You playfully pushed Kageyama away. “That is gross and cheesy and I would never.”

Kageyama laughed. “Well I thought it was cute.” You tried to hide your smile.

You and Kageyama sat on your bed and talked for some time. You played some music while you two talked. The hours seemed to pass so quickly with him. You listened to him talk about volleyball and terminology that you didn’t understand but you enjoyed listening anyway. He could talk forever about his teammates and you let him. His face lit up when he spoke about the things he was passionate about. You found it adorable. Kageyama was in the middle of a sentence when you became distracted by your favorite song playing on your phone.

“Oh my gosh I love this song,” you sprung up from the bed and stood in front of Kageyama.

“Dance with me,” you held your hand out for him to grab. He gave you a nervous look.

“Y/N I don’t know how to dance,” he protested. You huffed.

“That’s why I’ll show you. Please?” You begged. Kageyama couldn’t say no to you. He’d do anything for you. He grabbed your hand and you let him to the middle of your room.

“Okay so you’re gonna put your hands here and mine go here.” You grabbed his shaky hands to put on your waist then you rested your arms on his shoulders to wrap around his neck. You moved closer to Kageyama.

“Okay now all you really need to do is kinda sway back and forth. Just feel the music,” you explained. Kageyama was hesitant. He took small steps side to side, still keeping you close.

“Y/N I'm not very good at this…” he whispered. You smiled.

“You’re doing perfect. Okay now take my hand and give me a little twirl,” you said. Kageyama did as he was told and took your hand. He spun you slowly but the smile on his face was priceless.

“See that wasn’t so hard? You’re a natural,” you reassured him. His eyes were bright. You continued to sway back and forth. You moved to rest your head against his chest. You could hear his heartbeat in perfect rhythm. At that moment, it seemed to be only you and him in the world. No one else mattered.

“You’re beautiful,” said Kageyama suddenly. You stopped in your tracks. You looked up at him, feeling your face get warm. You ran your fingers through his hair and gave him a smile.

“You’re beautiful,” you said back.

Kageyama pulled you in to kiss him. You stood on his feet to reach him, doing anything in your power to get as close to him as possible. You wrapped your arms around him tightly. This kiss felt different than the ones in the past. This kiss felt like everything was falling perfectly into place. You adored him. And he adored you. He never wanted to let you go. He held you like his life depended on it. The world melted away and it was just you and him.

[taglist OPEN: @vangoghpoets @vangoghmusings @lilnuances @jennasquishy8 @ladybird-00 @moonlightsof @maii-thirsts @tamaguchi @seiijixcia @killuaking ]

#haikyuu!!#haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x y/n #haikyuu #haikyuu tobio #hq #tobio fluff #tobio x you #kageyama #Kageyama x reader #always you. 🌸

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littlespoonevan · 4 years

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me??? writing andreil in 2020???? it’s more likely than you think!

okay this has literally been in my inbox for like, two years probably?????? i don’t even know if the person who sent me this still follows me or is even on tumblr anymore but i refused to delete it bc i knew one day i’d come up with the right circumstance for andrew to reach 1000% sakdjfha i hope this one lives up to the significance of that number <3

Andrew hates surprises. Neil knows Andrew hates surprises. But…he really wants to surprise him.

The thing is, as fun as it is to rile up the press with the Minyard-Josten rivalry, being on different pro-teams sucks.

The thing is, long-distance is fucking killing them.

The thing is, Neil misses Andrew. And he thinks Andrew misses him too.

So he’s been talking to his manager, had told him that he wants to change teams when the season is over. If he were any other player Neil wouldn’t have the luxury of being able to approach another team, especially so early on in his career, but his skill combined with the amount of press he brings in – good or otherwise – makes him an intriguing asset.

And apparently Andrew’s coach is a secret romantic who feels bad about how much effort he and Andrew put into trying to see each other despite their schedules.

Or at least that’s what Neil’s manager sardonically informs him when he gets off the court after his last game of the season. Between coming down from the high of the game and the news that he finally, finally, gets to stay with Andrew, Neil almost collapses in relief.

He showers and gets changed on autopilot, absently thinking that he should spare himself a moment of sentimentality to say goodbye to his teammates and the year they’ve spent together. But Andrew is waiting in the parking lot and Neil hasn’t touched him in over two weeks and really, he doesn’t give a fuck about anything else right now. So he hikes his gear bag higher over his shoulder and slips out one of the side entrances before anyone can waylay him.

Andrew is leaning against the hood of his car smoking a cigarette when Neil steps into the parking lot and Neil clamps down on a cheek-splitting grin when he catches sight of him. Fuck, he missed him. He feels a thrill run up his spine just at the possibility of being in his orbit once again.

“Hey,” he calls out when he’s close enough.

Andrew takes one last drag of his cigarette before tossing the butt aside and standing up straight. His face doesn’t betray much but Neil can see anticipation in the tight line of his shoulders.

“Hi,” Andrew replies when they’re almost toe to toe. His fingers reach out to curl in the front of Neil’s hoodie and Neil releases a quiet breath, letting their foreheads ghost against one another.

Andrew flicks his gaze up to meet his for a moment – a brief pause to silently say yes or no? Because it’s been five and a half years and they don’t really need to ask anymore but sometimes it’s still nice to check.

Neil nods and feels his lips curve up into a smile even as Andrew leans in to slot their mouths together. It’s a chaste kiss because they’re still in the middle of the parking lot even though the place has mostly emptied out by now but still- it’s enough to make excitement at the thought of more bubble underneath Neil’s skin.

Tonight’s game had been a home one so they’re staying in Neil’s apartment and Neil mentally reminds himself to contact his manager tomorrow about not renewing his lease. But the thought leaves him almost as quickly as it comes because Andrew leans back with a look that Neil can’t help chasing and he can’t help stealing one last kiss. And then Andrew’s huffing his version of a laugh and pushing Neil’s face away before deftly stepping out of the space Neil had inadvertently crowded him into to round the car to the driver’s side.

Neil blinks for a second, feeling dazed, before he quickly follows suit and climbs into the passenger seat. He can’t wait to tell Andrew the truth but he wants the moment to be right.

He wants it to be one they can allow themselves to get lost in together and that won’t happen in the car so instead he opens his window a crack, lets Andrew mess with the radio stations until he’s found something soft and mellow and leans back against his seat with his head rolled to the side to watch Andrew drive.

Andrew casts a glance at him when he’s been driving for about five minutes and scoffs, muttering out, “Junkie,” under his breath before he takes one hand off the steering wheel and reaches over to lace it with Neil’s.

Neil smiles to himself and closes his eyes.

Later on, when they’ve thoroughly made up for the past two weeks apart, they’re lying in bed – Neil on his stomach, half-leaning up on his elbows while Andrew lies on his back, idly running his fingers down the line of Neil’s spine as he gazes up at him.

And it’s such a quietly peaceful moment that Neil knows now is the time to tell him.

“So, I have some news,” he starts cautiously and Andrew lifts a lazy eyebrow, looking mildly interested but otherwise not reacting.

“I’m not renewing my contract for next season,” he says and that does surprise Andrew, even if his only reaction is the tiniest widening of his eyes.

“Don’t tell me you’ve given up on stickball already,” Andrew drawls, but his hand his flat against Neil’s back now, lightly pressing.

“Not exactly,” Neil hedges with a nervous laugh. He glances down at Andrew’s chest for a beat, at his own knuckles gently pressed against Andrew’s ribs, and he takes a breath. “Your coach agreed to sign me.”

Andrew’s body goes impossibly, impossibly still and Neil tries his very best not to panic.

“What.” Andrew’s voice is flat with no inflection but Neil pays more attention to his eyes, at the flicker of emotion hidden there. Something that looks a little bit like barely-concealed hope.

“I’m fucking sick of commuting,” Neil says. “And I’m sick of missing you. I don’t want to do it anymore. My lease on this place is up soon and when it is…” He leaves the rest hanging in the air between them.

I’m coming back to you. I’m staying with you. Please tell me you want me to stay with you.

Andrew doesn’t speak right away but he doesn’t extricate himself from Neil’s body either so Neil is counting it as a good thing. His gaze sticks on Neil’s shoulder for a moment, the bad one mottled with the iron scar, and his hand leaves his back to reach up and close over it. Neil swallows at the contact but doesn’t say anything, knows well enough to wait him out.

“We’re going to be on the same team,” Andrew says slowly and Neil nods.

“I wanna stay with you,” he whispers and part of him thinks back to the early days all those years ago when Andrew had offered his tenuous protection in order to let Neil find a home. Neil had found a home alright but it hadn’t been a dorm room in Palmetto.

“Andrew, say something,” he requests softly, keeping his voice low in attempt not to show how anxious he truly feels.

Andrew’s throat bobs – the only thing giving him away – and then he looks Neil in the eye and says, “1000%.”

Neil breathes out a wet laugh, head dropping down in relief, and Andrew’s other hand snakes its way into his hair, twisting through the curls at the back of his head. He tugs lightly until Neil raises his head again and then Andrew’s there with his hooded eyes and his calm expression and his barely-there smile that only Neil ever recognises as a smile and he’s murmuring, “C’mere,” right against Neil’s lips.

Neil kisses back with a hum, following Andrew down until Andrew’s head is back on the pillow and Neil is leaning over him.

They kiss until Neil’s lungs are burning, until one of his legs has overlapped with Andrew’s under the sheets, until Andrew’s hands are inextricably tangled in Neil’s hair and eventually, when they pull away, they only get far enough for Neil to press his temple against Andrew’s forehead, still sharing each other’s breaths.

“So I’m guessing you think this is good news?” Neil comments causally, letting out a breathy laugh when Andrew shoves him away. He lands on his back, a stupid kind of happy as Andrew leans up and over him.

“Just this once,” Andrew says seriously, “one of your dumb ideas actually has merit.”

Neil beams at him. “Just tell me you’re fucking happy and be done with it,” he teases, grin widening when Andrew rolls his eyes.

Andrew kisses him again, lips smudging against the corner of Neil’s mouth before connecting with his chin and then his jaw and then, hardly loud enough to hear, he says, “I thought I already did,” against Neil’s neck.

And Neil’s heart contracts because he did. That stupid fucking percentage has never meant what Andrew always claimed it did and Neil understands that. Understands it’s just another of their own little rituals that allows them to freely say “I love you” when those words feel too heavy for them.

“I know,” Neil replies quietly, letting his own hand settle on the base of Andrew’s neck before sliding up to thread through his hair. Andrew pushes back up on his hands to meet Neil’s eyes and he balances on one arm so he can fit the palm of his free hand to Neil’s cheek, thumb brushing over his scar.

And Neil reminds himself once again that they beat all the fucking odds.

“I’m happy too,” Neil tells him with a lightness he hasn’t felt since they were both still at Palmetto together and the thought of separation was only a looming mirage in the future.

Andrew nods – an acknowledgment or an agreement – and then dips down until he’s covering Neil with his entire body and his cheek is resting on top of Neil’s chest.

Neil holds him and thinks he’ll never have to miss him again.

#andreil #andrew x neil #neil josten #andrew minyard #the foxhole court #aftg #my fics

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ghostmartyr · 4 years

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So if you, like me, have nothing to do but wonder about the state of my inbox, you might rightfully be wondering how I plan to deal with the obscene backlog I have spent so many years failing to deal with.

If you have never wondered that, fear not, that doesn’t exclude you from finding out.

Today we’re just going to go through my entire slew of unanswered asks, and instead of answering them, I am going to provide excuses for why I didn’t do anything with them.

For added fun, several of the asks were in my Drafts.

I will not be cutting out the comments I started to make.

I will no doubt regret this.

Let’s have a time, shall we?

I don’t even know what year this is from. If I remember correctly, I didn’t get back to you because I thought about trying to reason out who would legitimately win, and there were too many points for both sides. I kept intending to come up with a proper answer, then time went by and this got buried.

Though the actual answer is probably “it depends on who gets the main character sticker at the time.”

...

Well.

I can tell you this is multiple years old.

We, as humans, aren’t equipped for time travel.

I didn’t answer this one because I didn’t feel like it was asking for one, and I’m only reproducing it here because it is really, really funny now.

Two years old. Plus change.

I think the entire reason I never replied to this one is that it cheered me up whenever I scrolled down enough to see it, so thank you.

You know, I entered the link at the time. Really, I did. But then came trying to come up with a comment and what can you really follow that with?

(Click the link.)

Okay then.

I still feel no need to respond to this, so that’s probably why I didn’t to start with.

Historia and literally anyone.

I don’t remember why I didn’t answer this, which usually means some combination of feeling tired and not being in the mood to scroll down to where it was.

Oops.

The thing is, this crosses dangerously close to being a fic idea. Fic ideas take time and effort. You can imagine the absolute dread I felt at having to engage with either concept.

It would have been a lot of fun to do, though. Hats off.

See, again. This is a very interesting concept that requires thought. I can tell you when I received it I was in no mood for anything that required anything of the sort.

I wrote a fic that is possibly never going to see the light of day now where they hang out in a kitchen with hot chocolate together and bond through unstated trauma and Frieda attempting to make things better.

That probably contributed to interfering with imagining how they would actually get along.

Anyway, I ship them slightly in that fic AU. Don’t @ me.

Oh dang. I remember this.

I actually really wanted to answer it, but the problem is that I wanted to come up with a good answer. Every character, tiered by their chances. A full Hunger Games edition of what went down and who killed who.

Then I didn’t.

Anyway, turns out the answer is that no one feels the need to chop of rocking chairs in a hurry, so she’d last a long time!

I didn’t answer this because I try to avoid responding with, “I don’t know.” My secondary answer would probably have been, “By being killed.”

Not that there’s anything wrong with those answers, but unless there’s been a tonal trend in asks, I assume that pithy answers that don’t actually have any meat behind them would not be appreciated.

I would stick to him probably being killed, though. But some signs do point to him being relatively immortal.

Hm.

Hmm.

I don’t know why I didn’t answer this, but I would guess it had something to do with me caring very little about Ymir’s thoughts on anything outside of her little clutch of people. And ongoing trauma of repeated dead/alive Ymir commentary killing off my desire to come up with a good answer.

Sorry?

I... have no idea why I didn’t answer this? Maybe I didn’t see it?

Anyway, yes.

There’s a longer version behind that yes, and I’m sure that might have contributed to never getting around to answering this. ...Assuming a past where I did actually see this one.

I have a confession.

I don’t really like crossovers.

There’s a sliding scale of degree, but that’s basically why this didn’t get a response.

Ah, we’ve landed on a recurring theme.

Sometimes, answers involve me thinking about the entire cast.

The usual consequence of that is I don’t have the energy for that, so nothing ever happens with these.

Oh, this one’s easy.

I had no fucking clue.

No ideas, head empty.

That didn’t seem like a good answer, so here we are, probably around a year later. I still have no clue. If I were forced to write a singing duo AU, I would probably just put some adjectives and nouns into a blender and flip a coin.

Names are hard.

I think I didn’t answer this one because I felt like I’d answered similar asks before. And I’m not really sure when this is from, but it’s possible canon complicated coming up with an answer that wasn’t distressed screeching.

Something something give Connie and Mikasa hugs, not partial about where they get them from.

Apparently not. Oops.

I can’t remember why I didn’t respond to this one. It’s possible the oodles of bad parenting proved too distracting to formulate such a post.

Sometimes I get an ask, and my immediate, gut reaction is, how the fuck should I know?

If I can move past that, the ask is answered.

If I can’t, the ask continues its descent through scroll hell.

I am sorry. There are no answers here.

Yeah, this is just the same as the above, just with I have no idea.

It’d probably be a Madoka Magic deal.

Huh. I don’t remember passing this one over. If I were to guess a timeline, I was probably too bitter over potential post-timeskip looks that I never got to be interested in focusing on the characters lucky enough to get good ones.

Go Connie for being less short, I suppose.

This clearly belonged to something that I was doing, but time has eroded the context, so I am simply left with failure and disappointment on all sides. Sorry.

Aw, we’re getting into the boring part of the inbox now, I think. Not because of the questions; you guys are always great. But I can’t think of a reason why I wouldn’t have answered this, which leads me to think that the reason was I was too tired to put words together.

That’s a boring reason, so maybe I should go into Drafts for the next few...

Yeah, still unfairly prejudiced against crossovers. I am no fun, etc. etc.

I have no memory of it, but I feel like I didn’t answer this because there was no way I could match this kindly anon’s enthusiasm.

You go, random internet person.

You have good ideas.

Oh no.

Uh.

See.

I know exactly why I didn’t answer this one.

I am so sorry, Anon.

I really didn’t care.

I am filled with affection for you because you clearly do, but uh.

...I basically put this on Read.

This has a very simple, ie boring, explanation. Any time someone asks about the cast as a whole, I want to think about the cast as a whole, and that takes a lot more thought than most of the asks I get. Cue putting it off. Cue it getting lost in scroll hell. On and on we go until we end up here.

Anything that opens with kilometers is something that requires more brain power than I have had in the past year.

Also I think I got this during a spoiler week, so I saw it, but I was trying not to look at it, and then it got lost in the post-chapter asks.

That happens a lot.

We might see it more soon.

If I can’t come up with words more than “-shrug-” I try not to answer.

...Good news, though!

The manga did my job for me!

I feel like I answered some variation of this. That might be why I didn’t answer this specific one.

The wiki does a better job keeping track of the timeline than I ever have. I probably didn’t answer this because it would involve trying to remember which volume actually name-dropped a number of weeks or months. Searching for lines I know a character said is pretty easy, but searching out lines I have a vague feeling of someone providing? That tends to hit the frustration button with the force of a truck.

But yeah, if you ever want to know how long something took, the wiki is absolutely your friend. They do good work.

Consider: “What if” questions are hard, and I am lazy.

This is actually one I really did mean to get to, sorry. It’s an interesting thought, and I miss Sasha.

...I clearly did a magnificent job answering your asks, friend.

Prediction asks are hard for me; I feel like I’m throwing darts randomly into the air and the dartboard is still deciding if it’s going to show up. So uh. I guess I just kept putting this off until it didn’t get answered.

This post is going to have so many apologies. Implied and otherwise.

I continue to be the No Fun Police who accidentally-on-purpose avoids crossover commentary.

I feel like I didn’t answer this one entirely because seeing it in my inbox gave me far too much joy to have it lost in a sea of posts.

This is what my inbox was made for.

I have no idea when this was from, but I see your emotions and appreciate them, Anon.

...Did I not see this one?

Hey, Anon who probably doesn’t remember sending this: This is a good ask and deserved some good attention, and I’m sorry I missed my shot at it. Good thoughts.

I didn’t answer this one entirely because I knew I couldn’t match the energy of it, and responding with anything less felt heretical.

That is one hell of a mood, Anon.

This is definitely from the era of, “Can’t think, brain empty.” Sorry about not getting back to you, I just really couldn’t organize my thoughts well enough to come up with an answer.

I feel like I didn’t know what this was continuing from and was too exhausted to ask.

LOOK YOU CAN SEE I WANTED TO ANSWER THIS BECAUSE IT’S A DRAFT.

Too many things, Anon.

I liked so many things about all of that. Trying to turn that enthusiasm into words wasn’t agreeing with me, so I put it in Drafts and told myself one day I’d do the most awesome post detailing everything.

Intentions, huh?

Every time I tried to take a normal screenshot with formatting Tumblr just laughed at me, so that might have been a contributing factor.

Dang, I’m really sorry. This is another one of those cases where I wanted to take my time with a response, and I took too long.

I, uh.

Am guilty of not being too interested in pondering Ymir’s thoughts on Levi or Erwin.

That’s it, that’s the explanation.

Yeah, I just couldn’t come up with an answer here? Or someone else asked? Or several of my friends decided to be annoying about lists on Discord? I don’t even know.

Presumably there could be a list.

There is not.

Honestly, I just couldn’t figure out how to follow that starting sentence up. A thought exercise on Armin, Historia, gender, and themes sounded really interesting, and I put it in Drafts so as not to forget it being interesting.

Then, you know. This post sort of paints the picture.

Ah.

Man, I really was looking forward to putting some proper thought into this. That’s the problem with having so many things I love in one place, I guess. Symbolism? Historia and Ymir? Mikasa? So many good things! Where do I start!

With paralyzing indecision that results in not a lot. Sorry, Anon. This really did light up my day when I got it.

Here’s the thing about me and writing:

I often fail to.

(I love both these ideas, though.)

Yes.

Do I know why I didn’t get around to answering this?

Absolutely not.

But yes, I’d agree with that.

GOOD NEWS!

The manga actually gave us some of them together in the future.

I occasionally giggled over their shared distaste.

It was a good time.

And this is another one I just do not know why I didn’t answer, whoops.

This never got answered because I couldn’t come up with an answer.

Broad questions are scary because they can go just about anywhere and I didn’t know how to handle that level of commitment.

I think I didn’t answer this one, A), because words are hard, and B), because mostly I just wanted to listen to more of your wondering and less of mine.

I probably could have answered this by saying I don’t have any, but that seemed rude, so I didn’t respond to it at all.

Yep.

Frieda is worthy of my time and effort.

Landing this in Drafts instead of my inbox.

Where the lighting makes it more obvious that hope has gone there to die.

I think about it so much too.

I find the answers fundamentally upsetting.

That is probably why I did not provide an answer here.

That is a lot of kids to make up headcanons for.

So I didn’t.

She’s eaten by dogs before she develops a personality.

Since that seemed like the wrong thing to say, I said nothing, and into Drafts this went.

‘I have no earthly clue’ seemed similarly unhelpful.

At this point, we understand that there is no mystery to my backlog.

This one hurts.

-sees the 112 reference-

Wow does it hurt.

As I hope is obvious, I really, really loved this question, and kept meaning to carve out time to work on it specifically. What went sideways was trying to put words to how EMA functions. I knew the feel of what I wanted to express, but every time I tried to write it, it came out wonky.

I’m very sorry I couldn’t do anything for this, because I was thrilled to spend time with it.

I didn’t answer this because Fuck Marley.

It’s nothing against you. At the time, I simply wasn’t in any mood to consider any version of Marley. Even the canon version was too much for me, so giving it my time in a roleswap AU had me hissing.

Roleswaps in general are amazing, and I love them a lot. A dedicated person could make a fantastic one based around Marley and Paradis. I think it would probably be cool af.

But I was so tired of Marley when I got this, I just couldn’t make myself think about it. Sorry. It’s a fun idea.

I didn’t answer this one because I kept trying to extend my response past, “I think he just really likes baseball.”

I think he just really likes baseball.

My feelings on that as a quality answer are derogatory.

Mm. The ones where I actually tried to get something started hurts.

Ultimately, this ask was a larger demand than I could make my brain work through at the time. I made sure to write down the tl;dr version of Sasha’s, because I found that desperately important, and not something that people talk about much, but the additional weight of trying to think of themes for multiple characters made it hard to progress.

Me, looking at the prompts: Hi my brain left me.

Sorry, Anon. Too many gears were moving for me to get a proper feel for what I wanted to do with this one, so I ended up ditching it. ...I was planning to finish it, though. Eventually. See, I even put the quote in the Draft version as a reminder of what I was doing, so I could get back to it right away.

Yeeeeah, this is just one more to the “I will give this wonderful thing all the time it deserves!” pile.

The pile is stored in the Failure Corner.

Perfectionism is the enemy of progress.

You guys really like crossovers.

I love that for you.

-spends two years ignoring you-

I mean, I just didn’t know what to do with the rainbows.

They sure are there.

They sure are pretty.

I sure couldn’t come up with a comment to add.

...I don’t know why I didn’t answer this. Possibly because I think it’s fine? I’m not too attached to it, and spent the whole manga period wanting to watch an anime version instead, then we got an anime version.

I’d guess that my general “meh” feelings interfered with responding here.

No idea why I didn’t answer this.

Yes, and good for you.

I support all thoughts on giving the Reiss kiddos personalities.

I think I didn’t get back to you on this because I wasn’t sure how to encourage you to keep going so I just sat awkwardly on my hands and felt weird about not saying anything.

...Thanks for sharing!

I love how it’s the little things that date these.

Unfortunately, we’re now at the point where 90% of the reason I didn’t answer was because I was too sick to muster up anything approaching enthusiasm.

Or because I’d just finished answering a bunch of chapter-specific things and was burnt out.

This felt pretty self-explanatory to me, so I felt like that gave me permission to ignore it.

Also, it mentions Marley.

I might be slightly petty.

Really though, I think what stopped me from giving a proper answer is that the question of what an author is trying to say throws me off a little. I work better thinking of it in terms of what the story is saying, with the author just happening to be the hands that wrote it all down.

I don’t know. This was probably another case of feeling like I should give this more of my time than I was able.

I couldn’t decide.

That’s it.

That’s the reason.

Everyone needs to give Mikasa a hug.

My blog title for a hug.

-the crossover snake hisses and consumes another-

I am so sorry.

This is fun.

I probably should have just gone with posting and saying so, because I am genuinely charmed by this. I tend to feel like I have to add something to asks to justify the post. That policy maybe didn’t need to be a thing.

I love my anons.

I want that to be clear.

Really, I do.

I especially love their willingness to embrace my crackpot logic.

Still.

Sometimes, the only response one can have to Schrodinger’s Ymir is to ignore its existence, find a pillow, and scream into it for the rest of time.

This replaces typing.

-looks at Armin-

-looks at Eren-

Yeah, don’t know why I didn’t answer this one, either. I blame tiredness? Sorry about that.

I feel like I didn’t answer this one because it felt like work.

This is where I start considering that making this post was a mistake.

I could have just agreed with you and gone about my day.

Probably should have.

Did not.

Another one for that, “had nothing to add so I just left it in a corner, abandoned and unloved,” pile.

There is an apology section at the end, but we’re not there yet.

This one I don’t think I noticed.

Alternatively, I did notice, and wasn’t sure “Yes,” would pass as a good enough answer.

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

Okay, time to really just get into it: I think for the remainder of my inbox, I didn’t answer because physically, I was just too damn exhausted, and I kept waiting for a point in time where I’d feel better. Sorry to put a limit on the personalization, but in the end, that’s all there was to it, and rephrasing it a dozen times will make me crazy.

And here we are.

Well.

Good grief, do you guys even have any clue how much I like all of you?

Obviously there’s a lot of guilt in the above, because I can’t tell you how much I wanted, each time, to give a great answer that would make you thrilled you messaged me. I am so sorry to all of these I didn’t get to. There were days when the alerts in my inbox were the best thing to happen to me, and I never wanted to let any of them go without acknowledgment.

I try to say thank you as often as I can in my responses, because that’s as close as I can get to reminding you all, constantly, that I am grateful for your participation. The only times I don’t say it is when I worry that it’ll look like it’s being done out of habit, not genuine gratitude. Or when I think you might take it the wrong way if I say thanks for a basic conversation. Because you provide me content and make me interested in things I might not normally look twice at.

There are so many instances of people saying hi, and thank you, and wishing everyone well here.

I haven’t been active in the larger fandom in two years, but I have always been so happy that you guys kept dropping by my space anyway.

You are a pleasure and light in my life, no matter how much snark I might throw about.

Thank you all.

#attack on asks #tl;dr #long post

23 notes · View notes

cagestark · 5 years

Note

Winterspider prompt if you're game! There's a meme about a poor college student being robbed; the robber, upon learning just h o w poor, stopping and giving the (empty) wallet back and being sincerely concerned. "You... you live like this?" What if the winter soldier/bucky barnes breaks into struggling college student Peter parker's apt and all his pre-serum steve instincts are triggered by the state of the place and how /tiny/ Peter is (abo/soulmates/soulmarks/werewolf au for spice up to you)

Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five

This prompt came into my house and stole my money. This is CHAPTER ONE. Because I was so inspired that I’m officially making this my first multichap fic. I hope this will appease you for now…And I hope you can forgive me for making it winterironspider (I’m a sucker for starker/winteriron so it all just clicked together nicely). Please come back into my inbox and let me know what you think so far.

Warnings in this chapter: graphic descriptions of being poor. Bucky says fuck A LOT. Peter is 24 but Bucky keeps calling him “kid” because he’s so small. Sickness. 4.1k

Bucky can pick a lock in ten seconds flat.

It’s a science: tension wrench goes into the keyhole, the slightest torque is applied, then his favorite pick—the Bogota with three rakes, as of late—goes in and he scrubs the hell out of it until the plug turns. Easy as fucking pie.

The hard part (and he’s not counting the guilt, the horror he would feel if Tony ever discovered how Bucky makes the money he uses to buy his lover trinkets) is scoping out the right apartments. He sticks to NYU residence halls, early mornings and late at nights because the security is usually lax enough to let him through without even checking his ID—if they ask? Oh fuck, I left my wallet in my Uber. Maybe he hasn’t left yet, one sec—and then he’s out of there.

Today, it’s the Lafayette Hall between China Town and TriBeCa, reserved for graduate students seeking their Master’s Degrees in science fields.

It should be empty. On campus is an expo featuring innovators from Sphere Fluidics, Fasmatech, AcouSort, and NanoTemper Technologies which—according to the flier Bucky read online—are huge names in the science industry, all displaying their scientific discoveries from the last business year and scouting for fresh blood.

Any science major worth a shit will be there, he imagines. But it’s mandatory for NYU grad students. Score.

Content that the apartments will more than likely be empty, Bucky chooses the first hit at random after taking the elevator up: apartment 2B. It’s furthest away from the security camera at the other end of the hall—not that Bucky has ever left behind a reason for those cameras to be checked. It’s the principle of the thing, really. He keeps his back turned, hair in his face, both hands gloved (thank God it’s always cold and dreary in NYC, so his gloved hands don’t draw any attention) while he scrubs the lock. It takes him no longer than it might for anyone with a legitimate key, and then the door is open and he is in.

Bucky can see decently in the dark, the light from the hallway disappearing as the door is carefully closed behind him. Holding his breath, he stills himself, calls upon his enhanced senses, and listens: but there are no sounds coming from the apartment. Empty.

Then he actually takes in the place, and he realizes that that word fits in multiple ways.

The apartment is vacant, he thinks at first. There is the basic furniture all the NYU apartments come with: a refrigerator, a couch, a coffee table. But there is no television, no end tables. There are no curtains on the window across the room—and wow, what a lovely view of the brick building across the alley. The entire place smells musty and unused. Maybe it really is empty—

But no. Little signs of life appear. There are shoes by the door, ones that saw better days many, many days ago. On the wall, a photograph is tacked there, unframed, of two boys on either side of a pretty, dark skinned girl. A plastic grocery sack is dangling off of the drawer handle of one kitchen cabinet, sagging with contents that he can’t make out through the opaque plastic.

Someone does live here, they’re just terrible at decorating.

With careful, silent steps, Bucky moves deeper into the apartment. He doesn’t bother looking for a wallet—that will be with the owner—but usually there is money somewhere else. If he’s really lucky, he’ll find whatever he’s looking for.

Today, he wants blank CD’s. Last night, Tony showed him a movie where the teenage love interest burned—(“why’s it called that, Tony? You don’t burn the thing, do you?”)—a CD with love songs. It was real romantic shit; something Bucky never got to do. Something that he longs to do with this amazing man in his life. He can imagine the look on Tony’s face when he listens to a compilation of all the awesome music he’s introduced Bucky to, and it makes his heart race.

The Best Buy downtown sells a pack of five CD’s for $6.99 plus tax which brings the total to $7.61. That’s all that he needs. He could probably take that and more from any one of these apartments and the occupants would never notice. He isn’t hurting anyone. He doesn’t want to hurt anyone.

Then—jackpot. On the counter is a line of change: neat stacks of quarters and dimes, taller piles of nickels and pennies. Palming it, he cups one hand under the counter and slides the coins home into his hand. A quick count tells him that it’s just $2.30. It’s probably change for the vending machines downstairs, maybe fare for the bus. Nothing that will break this grad student’s bank.

For a moment he contemplates leaving the apartment. He’s almost got a third of what he needs for the CD’s. But breaking into another apartment just escalates the risks he takes, unnecessarily so when the rest of the money could very well be in the bedroom or even in the pocket of some jeans resting on the bathroom floor. No. He’ll press on.

Walking silently, he brings up the floorplan of the apartments in his mind (NYU had all that shit online; didn’t they know how unsafe it was? This world made information so available). The bedroom is on the left, past the kitchen. In the dim light through the window, he can see the door, open, a dark gaping mouth that he slips through soundlessly. It is even darker here, and he stands still waiting for his eyes to adjust further. It’d be no good to go fumbling around in the dark, knocking into furniture.

It only took moments, but as soon as he could make out dim shapes, he heard it. A little whimper. The rustling of sheets. Everything in him went still except for the blood in his veins, propelled by his furiously pounding heart. Someone is here. Bucky broke into an occupied apartment. He is standing in the doorway to a bedroom and there is someone sleeping in the bed.

He gets a glimpse before he can slink back into the living room, and what he sees stops him in his tracks. It is a boy—or a very small man, perhaps, considering these apartments are for graduate students only. The boy is wearing just a pair of boxers, some dark color—red or navy or even black, perhaps, since colors are distorted in this low light—but there is no hiding or distorting how thin he is. The shadows between his ribs are little valleys to the pale, jutting mountains of bone, rising with his fast, shallow breaths. The collarbones protrude, limbs fine-boned and so skinny that Bucky could probably wrap his fingers around an entire ankle or bicep. His face is smushed against one pillow so features are indistinguishable, but the mop of messy curls on top is unmistakable.

There is no bed. There is no bedframe, no mattress, no box spring. A pile of threadbare blankets and sheets are entwined into a makeshift nest, like the kid is some little bird.

After taking in the sights, he takes in the smell. It’s strong—damp and musty, like the windows have never been opened. The pungent scent of sweat. The overly sweet scent of cough syrup, though the two bottles on the nightstand are upended and empty.

Mostly, the acrid smell of sickness. A bucket is beside the bed, and the smell of vomit gets stronger the closer he comes—why is Bucky walking forward? He should be walking away, far, far away.

The boy whimpers again, rolling onto his back more. Sweat coats his skin, and the rapid rise and fall of his chest is even more pronounced in this position, tummy a hollow little thing. This boy is sick, very sick from the smell and the heat that Bucky can feel when he places his hand above the boy’s head, hovering over the skin.

“Ben!” The boy shrieks. Bucky jerks away and nearly topples the trash bin of vomit. His heart is pounding, thinking I’m so sorry Tony, so sorry that I’m going to get caught and get arrested and that you’re the only person in the world I’ll have to call, and if you don’t want to bail me out I’ll understand, I really will—but the boy sleeps on, lips moving. He is dreaming the feverish dreams of the sick.

Carefully, Bucky stands. He backs from the room. On his way out, he takes in more details even if he doesn’t want to: a name-badge for the building and NYU campus (which he takes, which he should have seen on his way in and known that it would be wherever the student was—complacent, he’s gotten too fucking complacent), the silver duct tape on the bottom of the kid’s shoes which holds them together. The past-due notices on the refrigerator. The paper plate resting in the sink, plastic cutlery that has been washed and re-used countless times. The kid is poor. So fucking poor.

And he can’t help that it reminds him of another sickly poor boy from nearly a hundred years ago. He remembers it like it was yesterday, fuzzy memories that Princess Shuri helped turn clear: a thin pale Captain America, the chest-deep coughs that would rattle his whole frame when he was sick, sitting by his best friend’s side through the night just to mop his brow and make sure he didn’t choke on his own sick. His stomach aches, twisting inside out with phantom hunger pains. Stepping into that apartment made him feel like he’d entered a time machine back to the Great Fucking Depression.

Another thought comes: what if the kid needs a fucking ambulance? What if he’s in there, brain frying from his fever? What if he throws up and aspirates? That will be on Bucky. There’s no way that he can walk away from this—not if it could add an(other) life, like a notch, to his murderous bedpost.

Palms sweating, he looks down at the badge he left with. Peter B. Parker. It’s a cute name—Bucky’s always had sort of a thing for alliteration. The picture of the kid is shy with the closed-lip smile and the rampant curls falling onto his forehead. He was skinny to begin with, but not malnourished like he is now. The badge will let him come in through the back doors. Because apparently he is planning on coming back.

Bucky pulls out his cellphone, mostly unused, and makes a call. While he talks, he takes the stairs down so that he doesn’t lose the call in the elevator.

Tony picks up on the second ring. “Hey Bucky, everything alright?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?” In the background he can hear the sound of a door closing, and Tony’s voice grows more familiar, softer and more comfortable. He must have been around company but left.

“You only ever call if you’re about to break the law,” Tony says fondly.

Is he really so predictable? Well, in this case, he’s already broken the law, though that’s hardly a point that he wants to make. “No. it’s—nothing like that. I was just wondering about the credit card you gave me.”

“Oh? Thinking about blowing the dust off it?”

“Yeah,” Bucky mutters. He hates it—hates being like the other million people in Tony’s life who just take his money. The fear that this man who has helped Bucky salvage himself, salvage the will to live life, to carve out a life he wants to live…the fear that he’ll think Bucky is just with him for the money is unconquerable. Tony gave him the leather wallet and the credit card years ago, and Bucky has never once used it. “Just a bit. Twenty dollars. Thirty at the most, Tony, and I swear I’ll pay you back—”

“Hey, hey, no need for the freaking out. Mi dinero es su dinero, polar bear. Buy whatever you need.” He pauses. “Are you in any trouble? I don’t know if you need me to emphasize this, but there’s probably no trouble you can imagine that I can’t get a person out of.”

“I’m not in trouble,” he says, hoping Tony doesn’t notice the unconscious inflection on the word I’m. “But I’ll remember that. I promise.”

“Okay. Great. That’s all I need to hear. Thai, tonight?”

Bucky can’t help but smile. He pushes open the back door to the building and steps out into the street, angling his face away from the security camera at the alley entrance on instinct. The wind is blistery, whipping his hair around his face. “I’ll be there.”

Tony hums. “I can hardly wait.”

They exchange declarations of love and say goodbye. Bucky feels a little choked up, how he always feels after hearing Tony say that he loves him. His eyes sting—but that’s just the wind. Honest. Down the street is a pharmacy and Bucky ducks in, head down. There’s an entire aisle for cold medicines, and he takes far too long examining all the bottles. Thank God there are ones that seem to treat everything: headaches, fever, nausea, cough. Everything except for the kid’s destitution.

He sees the chicken noodle soup and he grabs some of that as well.

Checking out is awkward; Bucky slides the card upside down at first. Then he’s unsure: credit or debit? He clicks credit since it’s first, but then he has to sign and he has a new dilemma. Should he forge Tony’s signature or put down his own? The card has his name on it, but it’s Tony’s money. In the end, he writes his own name. Forging feels too…familiar.

With less than twenty dollars spent, he trudges back down the block to the apartment building, and it isn’t until he’s swiping the key to get into the back door that he realizes he has no fucking idea what he’s going to do. Knock on the kid’s door? Hey, I broke in earlier and saw you were sick and out of medicine, here’s some. I’ll put the change I stole back on the counter. Sorry to fucking bother you?

Bucky Barnes, former assassin for Hydra, absolute dumbass.

Absolute persistent dumbass. Because he knocks on the door. He really fucking does. And when no one answers, he knocks again and again until he hears movement on the other side of the door (a chest-rattling cough that makes him shudder) then the door is cracked open and a bloodshot, honey-brown eye is staring out at him.

“Hi,” Peter croaks. His voice is wrecked, and it immediately does things to Bucky. Things that are wrong, especially considering that his voice isn’t croaky because of a cock nudging too persistently at the back of his throat, but because he is fucking sick. “Can I help you?”

“I’m here to help you,” Bucky says. Peter’s eyebrows furrow. It’s cute. He’s wearing a shirt that is far too large for him, and pajama pants so long they slip down past the backs of his heels. “I’m—visiting one of your neighbors down the hall. You’re keeping everyone up with your cough, kid. I brought you some medicine.”

Peter opens the door wider, so that Bucky is seeing all of him instead of just a two-inch section. He rests against the doorframe because he’s swaying, struggling to keep on his feet, and he is so tiny, so, so tiny. The smell of him is foul, but Bucky would never mention it. “Gosh,” Peter says, and Bucky is horrified to see tears, real fucking tears fill his eyes. “I didn’t know I was keepin’ everybody up.”

“Whoa, whoa,” Bucky says. People say that, sometimes, to horses that are likely to buck off their rider or men who pull out guns in gas stations. Bucky figures that he should probably use either of those situations as reference for what to do now, because how to comfort a crying kid was not in the Winter Soldier’s repertoire. “Don’t shoot.” Fuck. Try again. “I mean—it’s not your fault. You’re sick. Obviously.”

Fat tears roll down Peter’s cheeks. It impedes his breathing even more, until Bucky is afraid that he’s going to choke on his own phlegm. When he speaks, he tries to keep his voice even and clear through his hitching breaths. The shirt slips off his shoulder, bones protruding. “I-I-I know. It hit m-me a-all of the sudden. But now it won’t go away.”

“Have you tried going to the doctor?”

Peter’s smile is downright tragic. He looks like he wants to reach out and pat Bucky on the cheek, call him a sweet summer child, ask him what pipe he smoked to have such a dream. “I d-don’t have insurance. I’m still trying to p-pay off my debt from last year when I had my tonsils removed.”

“And they—what—they won’t treat you? Just because you needed treating once before? They’re fucking doctors!”

“I know,” Peter whines, rubbing a wrist at his leaking nose. The door opens even wider. “Would you like to come in?”

Bucky sees the irony. He really does. A half hour ago, he was in this apartment robbing the kid. Now he’s standing at the kitchen counter watching Peter make ramen noodles (“my aunt always said that when someone is in your house, you should treat them like they live there”). He nearly burns his hand on the pan, and that’s when Bucky moves to take over, stirring when appropriate, adding a packet of flavoring. Peter pulls one bowl down from the cabinet—the cabinet that is unbearably empty from the quick glimpse Bucky gets of it.

“I only have one bowl, I’m sorry,” Peter says, face red, eyes downcast. His hands shake while he ladles the soup and noodles in. He gives Bucky one of the plastic spoons—it’s clean, he knows—but the whole thing is so fucking sad. When Peter glances over the counter, muttering something about some missing rent money, that’s it. That’s it for Bucky.

I’m taking him home with me, he thinks, nudging his spoon against the noodles in his bowl.

“I’m Peter, by the way,” the kid introduces himself. Then his face goes white, shaking intensifies. “Excuse me.”

Bucky hears him vomiting even through the walls between them. There isn’t much to come up, but the retching lasts forever it seems, the boy dissolving back into tears. Instinct says to go to him, but Bucky doesn’t want to be anymore of a fucking creep than he already is. When the vomiting turns to coughing and then to gasping, Bucky decides fuck it. He is a fucking creep. But he’s not going to let the kid pass out and crack open his head.

Peter is in the bathroom, bowed over the toilet, curls matting to his forehead with his fever. Bucky goes through drawers until he finds a washcloth and wets it from the sink, the water stinking of iron, to at least dab at the back of the kid’s neck. He shivers, but sighs into it, his wheezing breaths slowing.

When at last he leans back, his cheeks are red and wet. “Thanks,” he croaks. Bucky just mops at his forehead, avoiding the comical look of relief and pleasure on his face.

“You need a doctor.”

“Can’t afford it,” Peter mutters, reaching out to flush the toilet. Bucky practically carries him back to the kitchen-living room combo, setting him down on the threadbare couch.

“I’ll pay,” Bucky says. Then he winces—because it isn’t really his money. It’s Tony’s money. How can he just promise Tony’s money to this kid? But he can pay Tony back. No matter how long it takes or how hard he has to work. He’s got decades and decades left to live. He’ll spend them all trying to repay Tony’s kindness and love as it is. What is this one extra debt?

“What?” Peter asks, his eyes glassy with fever. “You can’t.”

“Why not?”

“A trip to the doctor costs hundreds of dollars, not to mention if I’m really sick, I’ll need medicine which will cost even more. I’m not taking that kind of money from you.”

“I’m rich,” he half-lies.

Peter looks him up and down, the worn boots, the soft but unremarkable jeans, the gloves that he’s still wearing even though they are indoors. While he doesn’t look destitute, the idea comes across loud and clear: Bucky sure doesn’t fucking look rich.

He sighs. “Fine. It’s my boyfriend. He’s rich.”

“You want me to take your boyfriend’s money? I’m—what? I don’t know you. I don’t even know your name.”

“My name is Bucky,” says Bucky. “And my boyfriend is Tony Stark.”

Peter’s mouth clicks shut. His eyes clear a little, the name cutting through the sickness. “Tony Stark.”

“Yeah.”

“The billionaire.”

Bucky can feel himself smile against his will. “Genius, billionaire, philanthropist, superhero. Yeah, he’s the one.”

Peter reaches out and puts his burning hand against Bucky’s forehead. “Maybe you’re the one who is sick,” he teases weakly.

“I’m serious,” Bucky says. He pulls out his phone and Googles it—hopes the kid doesn’t see the tab of Lafayette Hall dorm room floor plans that was previously open. Then he brings up the tabloids. He and Tony aren’t in the news as often as they were years ago when they first started leaving the Tower together to do couple-things, but the articles last forever. There’s a nice one detailing all about Tony’s promiscuous love life, how everyone thought the bisexual ways of his youth were just a phase. Until Bucky.

The pictures are clear. Peter’s eyes nearly pop out of his head. “You’re dating Tony Stark. Oh my god. I’m—I’m his biggest fan. Oh my god. I think I’m going to pass out. I’ve—” the kid goes red as a beet, “I’ve had a crush on him since I was like, like this tall.”

Judging by the height of his hand when he holds it up, Peter’s been harboring his crush on Tony since ever. And yeah, Bucky gets it. His lips can’t help but quirk upwards—Peter is so fucking cute, even with he way his cheeks are hollow, eyes sunken. He lights up when he talks about Tony. Bucky is the same way. Tony inspires that in people.

“I’ll pay for you to go to the doctor. See? I can afford it.”

Peter gnaws at his lower lip. “But why? I don’t get it. Because I’m keeping everyone on the floor up? That doesn’t—this is weird.”

“Because you remind me of someone I used to know. My best friend, from when I was a kid. He’s—he’s not around now. But you two would have gotten along well, I think. And he would’ve kicked me in the ass if he knew I just walked away when I knew you need help.” He can see the indecision on the kid’s face, the wavering teeter-totter of what he wants to say (yes yes yes) versus what he thinks he should say (no, but thank you). Bucky has an ace up his sleeve: “Why don’t you come back to the Tower with me? Meet Tony. He’ll tell you all this himself.”

“I couldn’t!” Peter nearly shrieks. He coughs, and Bucky waits patiently for him to finish.

“You could. You totally could. You will. I’ll call a car—”

“Oh my god,” Peter whispers under his breath, his whole tiny body going lax and weak like a woman from Victorian times, likely to swoon at any moment. Where are Bucky’s smelling salts? “Oh my god,” he says, soft and to himself. “I’m going to meet Tony Stark.”

Bucky can’t help it. He grins, pats awkwardly at the kid’s shoulder—and Jesus, he’s a tiny little thing, still burning up under Bucky’s grip. “He’s going to be thrilled to meet you.”

Peter insists on showering and changing his clothes. Bucky steps out into the hallway to call Tony back and warn him—and ask him to send Happy or one of the self-driving cars. Anything to avoid taking a cab or the subway.

“Twice in one day,” Tony says when he picks up the phone, forgoing a greeting. “Aren’t I a lucky man?”

“I’m the lucky man, ‘s far as I can tell,” Bucky says lowly. If he closes his eyes, he can imagine Tony’s expression, the ridiculous fond face he makes when he looks at Bucky. “I had a favor to ask of you, though. A big one.”

“Anything for you, frosted flake.”

“Send a car to the address that I text you? And—order Thai for three?”

#winterironspider #starker #multichap #chapter one #bucky breaks in #peter is sick #tony is tony #tw: poor #tw: sickness #winterspider #cagewrites

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norabrice1701 · 4 years

Text

An Offer Received - Part V

A Jaguar Villain Tom Hiddleston Character (Thomas Conrad) fanfic

Pairing: Thomas Conrad x Fem!Reader

Summary: In which Mr. Conrad makes his move and you have a front row seat.

Rating: Controlling behavior, f-bombs, Conrad being Conrad

Previously: Part IV - 5 Minutes

GIF credit to the original poster via the Tumblr search! (just, you know, replace the t-shirt with a bespoke suit)

Part V - 5 Days

You hadn’t slept well in days now.

Your wrists had ached long after he released the knots of his tie, the discomfort a constant reminder of that afternoon and everything it represented. If your night in his bed had felt like surrender, that afternoon felt like the ultimate submission. He seemed unbearably pleased with himself when you both dropped to his desktop, exhausted, sticky, and heaving for breath.

But the fallout from that encounter had been equally as disturbing.

Even through the humiliation of answering his questions and the mind-numbing pulse of pleasure, you didn’t forget that he had sacrificed a meeting to be with you, offering you your first glimpse at a timeline.

“Believe me, this time next week - it won’t matter.”

Of course, you could figure out the implications. It wouldn’t matter because the world as everyone knew it would...would just...cease to exist? Change? Upend? You didn’t have an accurate word for what he would do.

But that wasn’t the worst part - the worst part was waiting. And continuing to wait. And now…? Now, two weeks had passed since he uttered that statement. Had something happened? Did you miss his great revolution? Had someone betrayed him? You didn’t understand, and you didn’t dare ask.

And, to make things worse - five days had also passed since Sebastian Barnes disappeared.

Honest-to-God disappeared. No one had heard from him. His flat was pristine, undisturbed. His car parked in its assigned spot. The office security cameras recorded him leaving and his car pulling away, but after that…well. It was anyone’s guess and the police had no leads. Simmons had been doing a decent job serving as interim Head of IT, but he couldn’t wait for his boss to return.

You didn’t dare ask Conrad about him, either. But of course, you suspected him. Between binding your wrists and his innovative use of cufflinks, he made clear his displeasure over Barnes’ treatment of you. Sure, Conrad was hellbent on world domination, but was he really the type of man to make men disappear? To murder?

A chill ran down your spine as you glanced to Conrad’s closed double doors. It made sense that he’d have to get his hands dirty to achieve world domination. But did Sebastian Barnes really pose that much of a threat?

You took a sip of your coffee, trying to push your sleep-deprived thoughts aside and glancing at the clock. 6:46 am. Plenty of time to run through your inbox before starting on the day’s to-do’s. And you needed to be on your game today – you were attending a production strategy meeting in three hours. Sure, it was Barton’s department now, but you still watched it like a hawk, taking extra pride in its continual success.

You recognized the hissing hinge of Conrad’s doors, the click of the handle closing. It was second nature to glance up, offering a polite smile as you waited for his instruction or request.

Even now, it still amazed you how he looked flawless every day without end. Today’s suit was a sleek charcoal that reflected an almost dark navy under the office lighting. A pocket square matched the crisp, pristine white of his shirt. He approached your desk, smoothing the front of his jacket and fastening the front button. His gaze met yours, sharp and bright. “Time to go, darling.”

Time to go? Wasn’t the work day just starting? You shook your head, smile faltering. “I don’t understand, sir. Your first meeting isn’t until 9 am.”

“Time to leave this world behind.” The corner of his mouth curved. “Time to build anew.”

The words stunned you. This was actually it? Today was the day? Your heart leapt and your stomach lurched as you struggled to form a thought. “Today?”

“Right now, in fact. No time to waste.”

You glanced to your desk, numb. Did you grab your laptop or coffee? Perhaps purse and phone? What would be left to come back to after…well, after. You didn’t even have a clue where you were going.

“You needn’t worry about any of your things. You won’t need them.”

The surety of his voice unnerved you. And, yet, moved you to action. You pushed up from your seat, grabbing your coffee tumbler. You couldn’t handle this without more caffeine. He started in a brisk clip for the door, reaching to hold it open for you. You passed through without acknowledging the gesture, feeling his hand quickly fall to the small of your back, steering you through the maze of office corridors.

Eventually, you reached the south end of the main building and he pushed the button for the service elevator. You knew better than to ask, despite the rising tide of anxious nerves that threatened to reject your last drink of coffee. Instead, you took a deep breath and another sip as he led you into the elevator confines.

He extracted a slim key from his pocket, inserting into a keyhole as he pressed the ‘LD’ button three times. A rather puzzling gesture. The loading dock was the lowest level for the service elevator, and only the employee elevators went the next two levels down to the parking garage.

His soft chuckle startled you as the key disappeared back into his suit. “You needn’t look so worried. Or, perhaps, it’s confusion? Either way, you’ll have your answers soon enough.”

You wanted to smart off. To tell him just how unhelpful that was. But you just swallowed another mouthful of coffee instead and told him what he surely wanted to hear. “Yes, sir.”

The elevator doors slid open to reveal…to reveal -

You nearly tripped over your feet, bowled over at the sight before you. The elevator had opened onto a platform overlooking a covered dock on the water of the city harbor that berthed a sharp, sleek submarine. A small group of people moved about, bustling ropes, hefting boxes, calling out actions. The forward most hatch on the bow was open and a box emblazoned with ‘Dole Bananas’ rested beside it, the yellow fruit bright in the glow of high-pressure sodium lights.

This had to be it. The Operation ‘Blue Sea’ submarine prototype. Sure, Conrad had continued to funnel funds into the project account, but it had never occurred to you that he was actually pursuing the submarine - outfitting it to be his…well, his hideout, his floating command center, his place to stage global change.

Conrad’s amused chuckle sounded low in your ear. “Close your mouth, my dear.” His hand fell again to the small of your back, a guiding gesture. “Can’t have you catching flies before we cast off.”

Your feet moved of their own accord down the metal stairs as he followed swiftly on your heels. “You can’t be serious…that – that is your plan? Surely, we’ll never make it out of the harbor.” You scrambled to recall what you knew of submarine films. “There have to be submarine nets...radar, sonar….”

“And I’m insulted you haven’t given my development team enough credit.” His voice carried just above the din of preparations. “Operation ‘Blue Sea’ was conceived with the sole purpose of developing a stealth, reconnaissance submarine befitting the modern technological age. And we’ve had four years to perfect it ever since the government decided it wasn’t a practical investment.”

You stared at the gleaming black hull, at the sail that rose to an intimidating height. Claustrophobia had never afflicted you before, but you’d never been on a submarine. Your head went light at the prospect of being confined in that tube beneath the crushing ocean depths.

He stopped short, turning towards you with a questioning gaze. “Your watch, please.”

Suddenly the weight of your LOKI smartwatch felt like lead as you held it up yet drew it protectively towards your chest. “What for?”

His nimble fingers reached for your wrist, efficiently undoing the clasp and pulling your watch free. It dropped to the metal with a clink before he brought the heel of a pristine oxford down on the watch face.

You jolted as it cracked under the blow, and again as he brought his heel down a second time. The screen winked to black and he stooped to retrieve it.

“No unauthorized GPS devices.” He tossed the damaged watch casually into the dark water of the submarine bay.

You sighed, overwhelmed at the situation. Lamely, you waved your metal, insulated coffee tumbler. “What about this? Maybe there’s a hidden GPS tracking device in here...”

He arched a brow, impossible to tell whether in displeasure or disbelief. Maybe both. “You’re welcome to keep it if you can climb ladders with only one hand.”

Your gaze stole up to the sail and the access ladder, watching a sailor scale up to the top. You knew what waited on the other side. Another ladder...one that led nowhere but inside.

Coffee wasn’t strong enough right now. You really needed tequila or bourbon.

Raising the tumbler to your lips, you downed the rest of the dark, bitter liquid. You chucked the empty tumbler aside, hearing the metal exterior connect with the metal decking. You licked the last drop from your lips. “Well, you said no time to waste.”

His eyes wrinkled with tells of amusement as the corners of his mouth pulled to a faint smirk. The tip of his tongue darted out to wet his lips as he lifted a hand gallantly towards the gangway. “Ladies first.”

You tried not to focus on the murky water as you stepped onto the serrated metal, gripping the handrails as you felt the gangway roll with the bobbing submarine. Conrad followed right behind you, raising one hand in a signaled gesture to the dock workers.

No turning back now.

The kitten heel of your pumps plinked off the hull as you navigated the unsteady surface to the sail ladder. With one hand in front of the other, you started to climb. Thank god you wore slacks today. A hand extended at the top of the ladder, and you accepted the sailor’s steadying grip as you stepped off. The gentle swaying motion of the submarine was far more pronounced at this height, and you hoped seasickness wouldn’t set in.

“After you, miss.” The sailor motioned down at the open hatch, an almost inviting glow emanating from it, offsetting the hull’s dark exterior.

Your gaze caught Conrad’s as you stepped onto the ladder. He looked so impossibly pleased that you wanted to punch him. Maybe you could try later.

Taking one step at a time, you descended into the calm buzzing activity below. You weren’t entirely sure what you expected of the interior - all you had to go on were Hollywood movies. But the control room was whitewashed clean, lined with some of the expected pipes and valving, but banks of sleek consoles and display screens dominated the space. A small uniformed crew hunched over stations, giving status reports to a central man who stood, coordinating the controlled chaos. No one paid you any mind as you stepped off the ladder, moving to one side.

You studied the openings in the bulkheads that extended both fore and aft, but you had no clue what lay in front or behind. Would you even have free reign of the submarine? Would you be treated as a guest? A prisoner?

Conrad stepped onto the landing beside you, and the groaning squeak of metal sounded above you. With a gasp, you looked up just in time to see the last vestiges of exterior light swallowed up by the black hatch, the watertight lock mechanism sealing into place.

“Lion and Fox secure.” The man - supposedly the captain - standing front and center called into his radio. “Prepare to set sail.”

Conrad stepped up to the man, conversing in low tones that you couldn’t quite make out. As best you could tell, the man took his orders from Conrad, of course.

“Very good, captain,” Conrad said louder, stepping back, “take us down and blackout mode, if you please.”

The captain opened a shipwide channel, sounding the order for dive preparations. The blaring of a klaxon horn made you jump as you stiffened, squeezing your eyes shut. You really didn’t want to know the minute the ship slipped beneath the waves - the thought of nothing but these walls between you and endless water….

“Darling, breathe,” Conrad’s gentle, soothing voice sounded in your ear, “in and out, slowly. Just breathe. You’re going to be alright.”

“Am I?” Your words rushed out. “We’re in a fucking prototype submarine. How do you know it’ll even work! How...how can we already be diving...we haven’t even left the dock - are you sure it’s deep enough-”

“Shh, now,” his arm wrapped around your waist, both in comfort and warning, “it won’t do for you to make a scene.” He tugged you along at his side, turning to the captain. “You know your course.”

You let yourself be pulled along through the forward bulkhead, leaving the steady buzz of the control room behind. A narrow corridor along the curved hull snaked along a collection of rooms that stretched to the hull’s other side. He opened the first door, guiding you in.

The room that greeted you looked so unassumingly ordinary. Half office, half living room - crisp furnishings, clean walls, and pleasant decor. If it weren’t for the couple of camouflaged pipes and the rushing sound of ballast tanks emptying - you could almost, almost believe that you were back in your office.

“I’ll forgive you this once,” Conrad started softly, “but do not publicly cast doubt on my plans again. This prototype, as you called it, has made over thirty dives. I’ve personally overseen the testing of every system on board, and accompanied her through trials in open water. We’ve already proved all of the city’s best anti-submarine defenses inept.” He pulled you tighter against him, his scent wrapping around you. “I have not come so far, so close, to leave anything to chance at this late hour.”

You looked up at him, still reminding yourself to breathe. “How long?”

“How long...will we be at sea, or can we stay at sea?”

You didn’t like the implication of the last option, but you had to know. “Both.”

“We will be at sea for five days, but we are well provisioned to stay at sea for three months, if needs must.”

“Three months?” How was that even possible? How could you go for three months without touching solid land? Without escaping him, without….without….

Soft lips pressed to your forehead. “There, there…just keep breathing.”

“What…what am I supposed to do? I-I’ll surely go crazy just sitting around here….”

He pulled back with a quizzical look. “Then, why would I continue to pay you?” He motioned towards the desk, and you registered the presence of a laptop. “You’ll find a remote connection to your office laptop. LOKI’s resources are at your disposal just as they ever were.”

You struggled to understand. Did he really just expect you to keep working...like it was any other day? “I don’t get it,” you looked back to him, “won’t LOKI have to take a hit or go down or something…in order for you to rise up?”

His brow furrowed. “Well, that would certainly be a waste. Especially considering that LOKI will need a new CEO in short order. My attention can only be divided so many ways.”

You froze on his words, stunned at the implications. Were you presumptuous enough to actually ask…?

He could probably see the question swirling in your eyes. Especially if the grin that teased his lips was any indication. “A new CEO who understands all the company’s workings and has set upon building a strategy of success that should only continue to flourish.”

“You can’t…fuck, you can’t be serious.”

He winked and turned around just as quick. You almost had to second-guess yourself – he had fucking winked.

His voice carried over his shoulder as he reached for the door handle. “Best of luck with today’s production strategy meeting.”

Silence descended and you wanted to scream.

What the fuck?

Up Next: Part VI - 5 Empires

#tom hiddleston #villain #the art of villainy #hiddlesedit #good to be bad #world domination #loki #fanfic #an offer received #wannabe writer #tom hiddleston x reader #tom hiddleston x you #not rpf

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kirishwima · 5 years

Note

hello! if it’s okay, can you please write some head cannons on the RFA members comforting a sad/crying MC because someone at her school said something racist to her? This happened to me in class and I’m feeling a bit upset and would like some cheer up! T-T

awe i saw this in my inbox and had to get to it as soon as possible. Anon I’ll gladly fight these students for you! That’s not only immature but also shows just how stupid these people are, please don’t ever bear any mind to them.

Here’s RFA ready to cheer you up!!

YOOSUNG:

* He opened the messenger while in his last class of the day, tired and just looking forward to getting home to rest

* Yet the conversation going on in the chat made his plans do a complete 180-MC was talking with Zen about what happened at school today, quoting the horrible things some other students said to her

* Yoosung was furious. What was wrong with these people?! Who gave them the right to make fun of others like that, especially a person as wonderful as MC?

* He grabbed his stuff and left the class in a hurry, ignoring his teachers’ questions of where he was going. Instead he opened up his phone and called Seven, immediatly telling him what was going on, asking if he can help dig up who these students were.

* Whilst waiting for Seven to do his magic, he called MC next, the fatigue in her voice breaking his heart. He told her exactly what he thought about those people, and before she could interrupt him, he told her exactly what he thought about her-how he considered her to be the most wonderful person he’s ever met, how her kindness and patience helped him get out of the dark place he was in, how in his eyes she could never be anything less than perfect.

* Hearing her voice break as she tried to reply made him wince, tears filling his own eyes.

* “MC, I’m coming over right now. I’m bringing chips and video games and we’re playing and I’m not leaving until I see you smile!”

* He spent the day with MC, making sure she’s better before leaving, and once Seven found the students that made fun of her-he wasted no time in giving them a piece of his mind, along with the hacking of their social media thanks to Seven, turning all of them into Winne The Pooh furry art fans.

ZEN:

* He’s on the phone with MC during a break with rehearsals, asking her how her day’s been, when she tells him what happened.

* When he hears her cry he freezes, eyes wide. She was crying?! These idiots with empty freaking heads made her cry?! He’d fight every single one of them, no questions asked.

* He would push the thought away in the meantime, focused on making MC feel better.

* “Darling, you shouldn’t give such people the light of day. They’re clearly in over their heads, and have zero common sense. How could anyone ever say anything rude to you? You’re a godess! A literal angel! These idiots know nothing, and they don’t deserve to even glance your way.”

* If she keeps crying, then Zen’s protective mood is ON. He’ll leave the rehearsals early to go to MC’s place, bringing with him his favorite type of face masks and a carton of MC’s favorite ice cream, spending the evening pampering her and talking about everything and anything.

* He won’t forget about these people that dared comment on MC like that though. He’ll get their names. And when he finally sees them face to face, he’ll absoloutely punch each and every one of them.

* No one messes with Zen or his loved ones. N o. O n e

JAEHEE:

* She’d met up with MC for a cup of coffee after her classes ended, and was shocked to see her near tears, her bottom lip trembling as she tried to hold back her sobs.

* Jaehee immediatly ran to her, grabbing her gingerly by the shoulders as she looked her up and down for any signs of injuries that could cause this pained look on her face.

* “MC, oh no, what happened? Did someone hurt you?”

* MC told her all about what happened, about what these people said to her-and Jaehee’s blood was boiling. If this were an anime, you’d be able to see the menacing aura gathering around her, flames shooting out of her eyes in fury.

* Lo and behold, as they’d met near MC’s school, the person that made that racist comment was walking past nonchalantly, not even noticing the two girls across the sidewalk.

* Jahee realised this must be the person as MC tensed as she saw them, eyes wide. Jaheee confirmed it with MC, and with a decisive nod, she let go of her, walking across the street and towards that person.

* She tapped them on the back so they’d turn to face her, and after politely asking who they were to confirm their identity, she smiled her usual buisness smile and threw a mean kick to their shins, letting them drop to the ground with an anguished cry.

* As confident as ever, she turned and walked back to MC, bringing a hand around her shoulders as she led her into the cafe. “Now, let’s go get a nice cup of coffee and some delicious desserts. With a little bit of sugar and spice you’ll forget all about today’s incident, and I’ll remind you of your true infinite value every time you even try to remember it” Jahee said, this time with a sweet, sincere smile.

* Don’t mess with Baehee is the moral of this story folks

JUMIN:

* He was at work when Jaehee knocked on his office door, telling him he should probably take a look at the messenger-MC was clearly upset, but refusing to tell anyone the reason why, and if someone’d be able to pry it out of her, it’d be Jumin.

* Shocked, he immediatly called MC, hearing the sniffling and her soft sobs as she answered the phone.

* “Tell me what happened. Now.” he commanded, his tone more grave than MC ever heard it be before. With a gulp she told him exactly what went on, and he listened patiently, nodding to himself as she finished.

* “Give me their name MC.” He left no room for arguement, and so MC did, confused as to why.

* At that, Jumin’s voice softened, his tone back to the lovely friendly one MC was so used to.

* “Thank you. Now, need I remind you of your worth? You are as dear to me as Elizabeth the 3d MC, you are the kindest and most pleasant person I’ve had the pleasure of meeting, and no immoral fool could ever change that with their ignorant comments. You’re wonderful, and I’d never say this lightly.”

* He’ll stay on the phone with MC for as long as it takes for her to feel better, working through paperwork in the meantime, and even skyping MC if she wants so that they can hang out even virtually. He’ll be there for her until she’s better, and will refuse to hang up until he can get a genuine smile out of her.

* And as for the person that hurt her...well, pay no mind to them. They’ll be sure to keep their distance from now on.

SEVEN:

* He’s always texting MC while she’s in class, being the big ol’ rebel he is, and this day was no exception-he was trolling with her in the messenger, when she went radio silent for a while.

* He sent her a private message in the RFA app, asking if everything was okay.

* Knowing there’s no way to hide from Seven of all people, MC told him the truth, explaining the racist comment this person made.

* Seven was shocked. What sort of trash-loving idiot would ever dare to insult MC in any way shape or form? Do they have no common sense? Do they not realise there’s no person nicer and sweeter than MC?

* His revenge plot begins instantly. No fool will be left unpunished.

* “Have no fear, your angel 707 is here! All I need is a name my princess, and as your hero of justice, I’ll seek out vengeance for your honour!”

* MC was confused. After more consistent pestering and teasing from Seven, she gave him simply the first name of the person that made that comment, not knowing just how much power a name can hold for a hacker such as Seven.

* He kept sending her memes and jokes throughout the day, until he called her late in the evening when he knew she’d be out of class.

* He joked around with her on the phone for a while as he typed away at his computer, when he halted in his movements, his tone far more serious.

* “You know their opinions and comments about you mean nothing right? I mean-of course you have to know it. You’re the greatest person I know, and you’re really really dear to me and-I don’t just go around saying that lightly you know! Your positive energy is infectious, and you should never, ever let one simple idiot bring it down, ever!”

* He stayed on the phone with her for longer, and before hanging up, he simply said “Oh, by the way, you might want to check your social media.”

* Confused, MC opened her facebook’s homepage-and realised what had happened.

* Seven had hacked into this person’s page, and created a bot that’d constantly post the entire script of the Bee Movie from their account every 2 minutes, repeatedly, non-stop, for at least 3 hours now.

* When would it stop? Well, never. Not even if they deactivated their accounts and got wiped off the face of the earth, not if Seven had something to say about it.

* Don’t mess with cats and hackers, the saying goes, but Seven added a twist to it; don’t mess with cats, hackers, and MC!

-send me mystic messenger headcanons/prompts for the characters to react to!-

#i hope this cheers you up a little! <3 #mystic messenger #mysme #mysme prompts #mysme headcanons #mystic messenger headcanons #jumin han #yoosung kim #jihyun kim #luciel choi #seven zero seven #mysme zen #hyun ryu #mysme v #mysme 707 #jaehee kang #Anonymous

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