#again no thoughts head empty my brain short circuits the moment i try to write lmao | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ellsbclls · 3 years

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White Winged Dove

warnings ➛ COUNTRY!TOM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! MY BELOVED!!!!!!!! smut, baby! (PLEASE do not interact if you are a minor), hurt/comfort, minor angst, happy ending: guaranteed!, a handful of swear words, and y/n has no choice but to have a country accent, i don’t make the rules here. extended warnings will be under the cut!

word count ➛ 9.5K

authors note ➛ i saw that gifset of tom taking a shower in cherry and my brain short circuited, so here! have a cupcake!

synopsis ➛ Tom feels like his world is falling apart, so he turns to you, the only person that reminds him of home.

extended warnings ➛ nsfw, fingering (f receiving), dirty talk, praise kink, multiple orgasms, unprotected f/m intercourse (please practice safe sex, kiddos! wrap it before you whack it!), a tiny tiny tiny sliver of blood!play if you squint with one eye closed.

You remember the night in waves, docile, fleeting waves that tease the rim of your consciousness before reeling back. Golden whiskey licks at the seam of your lips with each pass of the bottle, and the pond is glittering beneath the blinking trails of all the lightning bugs — tens of hundreds of fireflies, dancing in the night’s misty skyglow, rivaling the pale moonlight.

You remember the night in waves, but he is a mighty current.

You can’t scrub the memory of him from your mind, that bleak, hopeless expression that hollowed out his features. You remember how your heart split into a million little shards the second it appeared, and just when you thought there was nothing left to break, his fragile voice pleaded for you to take him somewhere, anywhere, as long as it was far.

By the time the sun spilled past your window pane, you were nothing but a drowsy amalgamation of lithe limbs, coated in morning glow as it spilled through the glass.

But behind your eyelids lives an imprint of the night before — a shimmering reflection of the night sky, and the moments that unraveled beneath its sweeping gaze.

9:17PM — You’re belting into your hairbrush, not a care in the world, and pouring your heart and soul out to a crowd of none. Somewhere between all of your clumsy twirls and impromptu choreography, you stumble over the shoebox that was poking out from under your bed, and a flurry of damp tresses and musical giggles fan across your comforter.

The walls in your house have always been notoriously thin, but what could you possibly expect from the weathered planks of wood paneling that lined your bedroom? You could hear your father’s creaky footsteps whenever he ransacked the fridge for leftovers in the dead of night, and the heavy thump of laundry that your mother would throw down to the basement, but once your radio crackles to life, and Stevie’s enchanting croon permeates the air, all those subtle nuances fades to a dull, lifeless roar.

With each passing note, the white winged dove becomes you, and you soar above endless miles of Mississippi wood. There’s not a soul that can drag you back to the outskirts of town, force you to confront what may become of you when you land, there’s no room for trepidation where you go. There, in your own little corner of the woods, it’s just you, Stevie Nicks, and the moon.

And, technically, Thomas.

Minutes have gone by, you still can’t find the strength, nor the energy, to lift yourself up, and as your downy blankets hug your tired frame, you remain blissfully ignorant of your peeping tom.

Thomas, affectionately penned Tommy, has been your best friend, your confidante, since the very first day of kindergarten. You had pulled a pack of scented markers from your tiny, pink barbie backpack during free time, and he had pulled out the empty seat beside you, plucking, sniffing, and ultimately discarding each and every pen until the box was empty. When you asked him which one was his favorite, he asked you the very same in response, just so you’d “coincidentally” have a shared affinity for coconuts. He was oddly endearing, which is a trait that’s always stuck with him. So, even at a young age, you never wondered if he was just using you for your nice possessions, or trying to take advantage of your courtesy — he always offered himself to you at face value, and you never stopped taking as much of him as you could get.

Had you been aware that your childhood friend was waiting expectantly at your window, you may have handled your alone time with a tad more discretion — but you weren’t, and each act of your private concert forces him into an even harder position. To what extent does he let you embarrass yourself before he makes his presence known, and for how long will you bury your head in the sand before the embarrassment mulls over? He sees your stage dive as a golden opportunity, and seizes it before you begin to stir.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Three short, mild raps, uttered in quick succession, jostle you from your lavish daydreams like a bucket of ice water, and you have to squint just to make out his fair features amidst all the darkness shrouding them.

“Tommy?” A flash of his soft, earthy hues tame the wild drum of your heart, confirming your suspicions, and you fight the urge to chuckle when he innocently waves at you.

“Well don’t get all shy on me now. Come in.” You open the window just enough for him to slip through its frame, allowing your eyes to graze the sculpted plains of his back, and admire, albeit shamelessly, how his muscles ripple beneath his fitted t-shirt.

Yet, there’s something about him being in your room, towering over fixtures that once towered over him, that makes you feel uneasy. A part of you adores the way he instantly makes himself at home, but the remainder is doused in fear, fretting over his wandering hands and what they may discover, surveying little trinkets and souvenirs that decorate your desk.

“Hasn’t changed much since the last time I was in here, has it?” He notes, absentmindedly shaking the contents of a snowglobe your grandma brought you from New York, a miniature skyline of Manhattan continuously buried in a flurry of snow. Most of your playdates took place in his house, so as your friendship flourished past elementary school, and the time that spanned between your meetings grew shorter and shorter, you’d found yourselves frequenting his home for all of your endeavors. It was just easier that way.

That’s the sole reason you rarely visited your room. It surely wasn’t the suffocating atmosphere that plagued your home, or your hormonal, angst ridden brain convincing you that you’d scare him to the high heavens if he caught a glimpse of your relationship with your family — how dismal it is. How you build entire worlds, cycle through dozens of bountiful lives, in the luxury of your mind in hopes of retreating.

You’d be lying if you said the poster of Zac Efron, now lurking precariously behind his shoulder, wasn’t a glaring reason as well.

“Yeah, couple things here and there, but it’s pretty much the same.” You try to be discreet as you wander around your own room, Destination: Tiger Beat. Once you reach it, you rise up on your tiptoes to cover as much of the poster as humanly possible, but scramble for an excuse once you notice him turning. “You actually left something the last time you were here. It’s on the top shelf.”

RIP! The poster is crumpled in your grasp no sooner than his back turns to you. You’d have to give a formal apology to your wildcat once you were left to your own devices, but until then, he was banished to the most unsuspecting corner of your room.

“Jesus Christ Y/N,” His thumb fondly strokes a small, yellowed testament to your friendship, a weathered page of loose leaf etched in awry plumes of ink that perfectly encapsulate his very essence — egregiously passionate, regardless of the outcome. He had written it when he was about seven, intending to give it to the “girl of his dreams” once he met her. You can still hear his sweet, little voice echo between your ears, endearingly mistaking his r’s for w’s. “You kept this?”

“Of course I did.“ Candor coats your tongue before you catch yourself, the tail end of your answer turning to dust as soon as it hits the air. You can’t bring yourself to admit just how many restless nights you’ve allowed yourself to clamber up that oak dresser, just to read that letter over, and over, and over again, praying that if you had stared at it for long enough, his messy scrawl would transform into the words you yearned for most — that it was meant for you, that he’s loved you from the very start. “Wasn’t sure if you were planning to repurpose it for some other lucky gal.”

You lock eyes with him for the first time since he appeared at your window, and stowed beneath his reservation are faint embers of warmth, kindling behind ebony curtains as you indulge in the hearth of his gaze. Lifetimes seemingly pass before his eyes are flickering back down to his hands, and it prompts you to offer him the note. “You can have it back.”

“No, you keep it.” Your brows pinch together, and a thousand questions collect on the tip of your tongue. You wonder if he recalls the same memory you do, if he remembers the significance buried in that little scrap of paper, but ultimately choose not to dwell on it. He knows just how much you love to collect memorabilia — keep cherished memories stowed away for safekeeping — he’s just being thoughtful. “Consider it undeniable proof that I know how to read and write.”

“Ain’t nothin’ in here about knowing how to read.” You tease, catching your tongue between your canines as a smirk conquers your lips.

“Ya got me,” He chuckles, smile reaching for, but never quite meeting, his faraway stare. You are so accustomed to his teasing quips, his usual flair for the dramatics, that this half-hearted attempt at replicating it fills you with discomfort. He tries to punctuate his words by tossing his arms to the sky, but they don’t reach high enough to convince you that he’s okay. Something is plaguing him, and you won’t settle for anything less than the truth.

“Tommy,” His name is sweet on your tongue, all honeyed vowels and soft, descant consonants that command his attention. “What’s wrong?”

“No, nothin’, I just-“ he’s avoiding your eyes, which is a clever strategy on his part. If eyes are the windows to the soul, then his are a stained glass mosaic, a vibrant display of all his emotions, and you — you are but an avid observer.

“Hey, look at me,” Two slender digits underline the curve of his jaw, and with a firm grasp of his chin, leave him no choice but to meet your gaze, tender and resolute all the same. “ You don’t have to tell me anything if you’re not ready, but I can tell when someone’s been rode hard and put away wet.”

“I just, I need to get out of here, and I thought I’d ask my favorite distraction to accompany me.” He stumbles over his words, faltering over his messy façade, but you’d rather this over nothing at all.

“And where might we be goin’?” You query. You can tell that this is going to be a long night, but luckily for him, you don’t have any plans that can’t be rescheduled. Your adoring fans will just have to wait another night.

“Somewhere… Anywhere,” He murmurs hopefully, and your heart nearly sinks to the floor. You’ve never seen such a chasm of joy, not in those bright, amber orbs you study so adamantly. You’d almost deem it pain, whatever’s tugging at the frame of his optics, whatever’s depriving them of that usual, warm glow. “as long as it’s far from here.”

9:39PM — “Watch your step.”

“Can you help me?” You whine — one hand reaching out for his assistance, the other firmly clasped around a bottle of Jack Daniels. There is an awkward incline just below you, only a few inches off the ground, but tall enough to make you stumble, and he could already see you bumping your knees on the way down, so he offers his elbow as a point of leverage.

“Atta girl, you’ve got it.” He coos, reluctantly abandoning your grip once you’re safely on the ground.

Mystical, and buzzing with life, you introduce him to the farthest corner of the woodlands. Whenever the walls of your room become suffocating, your legs always give out right about here.

Your secret hideaway.

Where you let your most worrisome thoughts roam free, and when those thoughts seemingly wander into nothingness, you chalk it up to wishful thinking, and fail to realize that they haven’t disappeared, they just don’t belong to you anymore. They belong to the babbling brook, constantly replenishing itself and its inhabitants with fresh, spring water, belong to the frogs and crickets as they fill the night with their moonlit ballad, they belong to the night, and it’s reflection, as it wades across the face of the creek; dotted with lightning bugs or the cosmos themself, you weren’t sure. All you know is that you always returned, as if a piece of you was tethered to the very spot.

“Where are we?” He wonders aloud, raking his fingers through his downy, chestnut locks as he explores his surroundings.

“I don’t exactly know.” You confess, making yourself comfortable on the ground. Most nights, you slip off your shoes and sink your feet into the brook, but you know Tom like the back of your hand, know what kind of ideas might venture through that rascally mind of his when he spots you near the water. So, you play it safe, pulling your knees up to your chest as you peer up at him from a safe distance. “It’s nice, though. Quiet. Good place to let your thoughts wander.”

“You ever take a dip in here?” Predictable. You stifle the urge to laugh at his query, sinking ivory veneers into your pillowy bottom lip, and shake your head in response. “Hell, if I were you, with my own nature-made swimmin’ pool, I’d bring all the boys around.”

“You know I don’t waste my time with no silly boys.” You sigh, sending him a wistful glare.

“You sure about that?” He counters, mimicking your perked brow with eerie precision.

“Oh, I’m sure.” You huff. God doesn’t build boys the same way he built him, he took his time crafting that statuesque frame, implemented hawk-eyed precision for each and every beguiling detail you’ve come to adore. He is a man, tried and true, from his sharp, angular structure to the neverending bounds of his heart, but rather than inflate his ego moreso, you let him assume the worst. “You can take a dip if you want, though. I wouldn’t mind.”

You wonder if he can tell just how little you’d mind as a mischievous glint highlights his amber hues, but before he can even open his mouth, you’ve already pinpointed the source of his glower, already voicing your adamant refusal. “No, absolutely not. Not a chance, Tommy.”

“But why not?” He whines, bellowing over your feeble chant, conjuring the most convincing set of pleading eyes he can muster. “It’s dark, it’s humid, and ain’t no one around to tell us not to.”

“Sounds like all the more reason to not do that.” You scoff, scooting further away from him and the strength of his hopeful gaze.

“I hate to pull out the big guns, but... what if I told you that it’d make me feel so much better if you accompanied me?” You’re left to wonder what the big guns are supposed to be, if they aren’t the way he is encroaching on your personal space, crawling up the length of your legs until there is only a sliver of space between you.

“I’d remind you that there are much drier ways to make you feel better.” You could feel your warm breath fanning across his lips, distracting you with the scent of minty toothpaste and your vanilla chapstick, ultimately failing to notice his hands, and how they’re positioned just below your waist.

It would only take one swift move to reach the small of your back, two to scoop you up in his arms, and about six more to drag you into the pond — kicking and screaming, but successfully so.

And he doesn’t chance it.

SPLASH! You’re no sooner submerged in the brooks’ murky depths, reaching out for lily pads and cattails that fail to provide you leverage, and your screams bubble into thick, smothered embers of a once irate flame. He better pray you never emerge from usunder, because he’s merely a howl away from being swept up in the tide — the tide being your arms as they force him to the bottom of the crick.

“Y/N,” your name scrambles between the slosh of the water and the pounding in your ears, but you manage to break the surface and blink spare drops of water from your eyes.

“I was drowning!’ You gasp, struggling to keep your head above water as you kick, and splash, and writhe around in the stygian abyss.

“In two feet of water? I beg to differ.” You can barely make out his comeback over his fit of giggles, but a part of you would rather this bright, teasing version of himself that what you’ve been dreading beforehand. Taking his outstretched hand, you stumble to your feet and, much to your dismay, find yourself standing in about two feet of water (which, in your defense, is a far more daunting threat to someone your size as opposed to his). You cool his inflating ego with a cold splash of water, dispersing tiny droplets from your fingers as they wave in front of his face.

You splash around in the water for what feels like forever, transforming stray lily pads into makeshift hats, dressing to the nines in the latest collection of aquatic couture, and as the moon casts a pale spotlight on the babbling brook, you occupy it’s centre, huddled in one another’s embrace, swaying back and forth amidst the shallow pools.

10:02 — You're still wet.

Drenched, really.

You’ve resorted to wringing out your hair with your bare hands, twisting the dampened locks between your fists until water pours from the follicles. You’d never once pondered the benefits of freshwater landings, but you were about to find out. A glare threatened to slice through the air, but immediately wavered at the sight of him — desolate, void, so lost in his thoughts that you’d wondered if he were even there.

God, you’re worried sick. You’ve dealt with bouts of sadness, sprinkles of melancholy, but this was downright depressing. You wouldn’t even know what to do if you tried, and that’s what worried you the most.

Thomas, your best friend, your crush, your light — the best parts of you all wrapped up in a clumsy little package while the best parts of him threaten to snatch up your heart, as if it wasn’t already his.

“Tommy?” You break him out of his reverie, but press on, scooching closer to his form, dangerously standoffish, like an uncaged animal winding up to attack, until you cross the threshold into his personal space. With a sturdy hold on his bicep, he melts into the palm of your hand, practically leaning all of his weight into you, stealing a reprieve you didn’t know he needed. “You can talk to me, y’know. It’s just us.”

“She left, Y/N.” The evening air seems still, in perfect tandem with your breath as you fear what might come out once you finally exhale. You know he’d shove all of his feelings down if he caught you shedding a single tear, and this isn’t about you, it never has been. So you hold your breath, latching onto the heavy silence that follows his confession, and pray that your chest is strong enough to smother the sob bubbling beneath its surface.

Fortunately, he takes your silence as a cue to continue. “The closet was empty, and all her cookbooks were gone. I looked downstairs and there was nothin’ there.” You don’t know if he’s finished, watching as he toys with a loose string on his jeans, but he breaks his own silence with a newfound waver in his voice. “I had a feelin’ she was ‘bout to leave, but I didn’t think it’d be so soon. I thought I had a lil’ bit more time to say goodbye.”

Edie was a good mother, the best of mothers, and never had she drawn a line when it came to who she nurtured. When you were little kids, you’d race each other to his house once the school bell rang, tiny little bodies weaving through the stalks of corn that prefaced the farm. She would follow the shuffling crops with a heavy eye, leading you to the porch with her raspy, whimsical chime, and crouch down to envelop the both of you in a tight hug when you emerged. She was the best of mothers.

But she wasn’t the best of wives. You were both far too young to notice the signs — the nights where you found her sound asleep on the sofa by her own volition, the packed suitcase that hid underneath the stairwell to the basement, the hesitance that laced her tone when she said I love you to his father — and something tells you she wanted to keep it that way.

Her son didn’t need to worry about his parents, and how fast they were falling out of love, and whether they really loved each other in the first place. Her son just needed to be a kid, and that is a belief she devoted the best years of her life to.

But he isn’t a kid anymore.

That’s why she fled in the middle of night, leaving nothing but a ruby encrusted ring on his dresser — her class ring. The same one he’d snatch from her jewelry box whenever she wasn’t looking. The same one he used to propose to you at the wee age of four, promising you as much of the world as a toddler could imagine.

Tears prick at the corner of your eyes as he recounts every detail, and every fiber of your being yearns to just schoop him up in your arms, hold all his broken pieces together with the strongest embrace you can muster. He doesn’t deserve that type of pain, shouldn’t have to relive it, and yet he takes it upon himself to tell you everything, to relive it for your own selfish gain.

You grow envious of the way the moon trails kisses down the slope of his nose, across the high rise of his cheeks, and over the swell of his bottom lip. There were times where you’d find traces of his mother in Tom’s features, lining the curve of his warm smile or, when the sun hit them just right, speckling his earthy hues with tiny rods of gold. Tonight, he is shrouded in a celestial spotlight, mesmerized by its waning body, and if you squint just enough, you’ll find her longing stare hidden beneath his own.

“And the worst part is that I ain’t even mad at her. Not even a lil’ bit.” He concludes, talking more to the sky than to you. “Not even at all.” When his gaze falls back to you, you can only try to cover up the betrayal, wipe the back of your arm across your tear-stained cheeks before he notices they’re even misty.

You inevitably fail, expelling a wistful sigh as he pulls you into his side, comfortingly running his hand over your bicep as he murmurs sweet nothings into the night.

“I’m so sorry. I-I didn’t want you to find out like this,” You furrow your brows, and wonder just how he would want to break the news to you. Would he let you find out for yourself, or would he bring you out to the plantation, and let you sink into the soil until the news began to blossom in the fields? Would they be cornstalks? And would they reach for the sky just like her? “I didn’t wanna make you cry, but... I didn’t know where else to go.”

“It’s okay.” Your voice is a wash of dulcet tones, fingers soothingly raking through his damp tendrils in a silent bid to comfort him. “It’s okay, I’m a big girl. I can take it.” You’re quick to clamber to your knees, wrapping him up in an airtight embrace, keeping him from wallowing into a puddle of tears. “I’m right here, Tommy.”

“I know,” he sputters, with an edge of sorrow to his tone.

“I’m right here, I’m not goin’ anywhere.” You promise.

“Don’t say that” He whispers, and shatters any trace of consolation looming over the encounter. Your brow furrows, your heart pounds against your chest, and for a fleeting second, you feel like you're caught in a lie. What if he knows? What if he can tell just how much you’d surrender to be with him? What if he doesn’t want it?

“Why not?” You’re near hysterics, praying that the intensity in your eyes makes up for the tremor in your voice. “Why not? I didn’t say anything I didn’t mean.”

“I just don’t want you to make a promise you can’t keep, Y/N.” That sullen gaze resurfaces, chills the air with it’s haunting presence — that hollow stare which fosters the remnants of a bright, contagious joy, and carves a pit, just as empty, in the well of your stomach, one that aches to be satiated. He tucks a stray piece of hair behind your ear, but his palm lingers against your cheek, trying to smooth out the heavy creases in your expression with the gentle stroke of his thumb. “Hell, I don’t want you to promise that in the first place. You deserve more than all this, you deserve the best this life has to offer you, and I’m not gonna keep you from all o’ that.”

You’ve lost track of your heart long ago, it’s dizzying tempo rivaling a hummingbird, nearly undetectable as it flitted uncontrollably, knocking against your ribs until its ultimate descent to the pit of your stomach.

You pray that he can one day see everything that you see in him, that loving himself is as easy for him as it is for you; you hope that there is a life where he never has to feel as small, or inconvenient, as he confessed, and you wish that this would eventually be that life.

You decide that it’s time to put an end to wishful thinking.

“Let me make something clear to you, Thomas.” You cup his jaw, firmly, and utter each word without a trace of uncertainty. “I’m not sure exactly what I want from life yet. I don’t know if I wanna spend the rest of it in this little ol’ town, or just pack my things and go as far as the wind will take me. I couldn’t tell you if I tried, but… that’s okay.” Slowly but surely, your lips give way to a sheepish grin, feeling lighter, freer, the further into your declaration. “It’s okay, because there’s one thing that’s for certain, and it’s that I’m all yours. It don’t matter how far I go, I’m always gonna come home to you.”

The silence is deafening.

All your emotions hang in the air, crippling your air supply with insurmountable regret. But his gaze is what terrifies you the most; just as suffocating, but in a way that sweeps the air from your lungs. You knew that there would always come a time where all the unrequited feelings you’ve harbored would finally boil to the surface, fueled by the hope that maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t as one sided as you thought; but under the void of his empty gaze, you wonder if you’d made a huge mistake.

Or maybe there really is nothing — nothing to reciprocate, nothing to subdue you, nothing to salvage what little remained of your friendship after such a loaded confession — and so you scramble to assemble an apology convincing enough to overshadow your lapse in judgement.

But he doesn’t even spare you the chance, swallowing your half-hearted excuses with the firm press of his lips, pouring a lifetime of ardent desire, of longing, into the hollow of your mouth. It’s crystal clear that you’re his, the realization comes borderline cathartic. There has never been a day where your heart has not beat for him, and only him, forever threatening to spring from your chest and return to its rightful owner. The days, the months, the years of back and forth felt like a cruel jest from the fates, but now you were here, bundled in the warmth of his strong embrace, tongues curling against one another in an endless battle for dominance, and you would endure it all over again if this was where it lead

He searches for some sign of absolution, paws up and down your back in hopes of grounding himself, and you reverently provide, mustering what little strength you have left to crawl into his lap, brushing against the growing bulge in his jeans without a trace of subtlety, offering him the most sacred parts of you in hopes of bringing him home.

“Y/N,” he sighs raggedly, a half hearted attempt to gain your attention, one that proves unsuccessful as his pleas whittle into a frail, insipid shadow of what they could be. You’re too busy acquainting yourself with the plains of his body, embedding a trail of deep red marks into the column of his neck as your hands slip beneath the hem of his t-shirt. He’s built like a greek statue, you don’t even need to discard his shirt to indulge in the taut muscles tensing beneath your fingertips. “Y/N, darlin’, wait.” He interrupts your greedy ministrations by fastening his digits around your wrists. This is the point of no return, you can feel the fragile divide between friends and lovers, splintering beneath the weight of your heart, and yet you fail to concern yourself.

His digits are free to roam the high plains of your cheeks, pioneering the flushed expanse with beacons of soft, arching butterfly kisses until there’s no skin to cover, ultimately pressing his forehead against yours. ”You don’t- I don’t want you to do anything you don’t wanna do.” Seems almost redundant, you muse, to wonder if you want him when you’ve made it abundantly clear that you’d follow him to the ends of the earth. You are a pillar of salt, and as he showers you in a knee buckling torrent of kisses, you melt into the palm of his hands. If the way you’re draped against his form isn’t evidence enough, then the wetness pooling between your thighs most certainly will be, he’ll come across that confirmation once he tends to the spot you need him most.

You trace the cleft of his chin in delicate pursuit, whining as he tears his lips from their languid path, and peer through your inky lashes to meet his gaze once more. “I want this, Tom. I want you.”

“You have me. I’m all yours.” He echoes your words back to you, reverently, delivering a sacred vow from the hearth of your soul, ove you have, and will continue to, dedicate your humble living to, and you seal that promise with a bruising kiss.

The weight of his palm melts into the small of your back, pulling your chest flush against his own as it sweeps up your spine, and you moan against his lips when your nipples press up against his sturdy chest, aching to be freed as they strain against their gossamer confines.

You’ve only had the pleasure of making out with Tom for less than five minutes, but you can already tell that it ranks high on your list of favorite pastimes. Soft, pink petals brush against your own like they’re a flourishing canvas, and he’s trying to even out the brushstrokes, but all he leaves is a scorching flush in his wake, and your clothing, despite being bathed in pond water, do little to ease the blistering heat. It’s suffocating you, and you begrudgingly tear yourself away so that you can rid yourself of the article.

Besides, the less fabric separating you from his anchoring, toned embrace, the better.

“I’m all dirty,” Your meek voice collapses into a fit of giggles, and your feeble attempt to wring out your clothes is thwarted by his hands, venturing up, up, up, and under the hem of your skirt at a teasing pace, savoring the feeling of your warm, silky skin beneath his fingertips. You can tell he’s as desperate as you are, confronted with acres of new terrain to explore, and only so little of his patience to spare.

“I know, I’m sorry angel.” His voice is soft, and soothing, and riddled with mischief. Even if there is even an ounce of truth in his apology, you can still make out the devilish grin that toys at the corner of his mouth. “May I, m’lady?” He croons teasingly, flashing those whiskey glazed hues in a way that you could never refuse.

“Proceed, good sir.” You counter in the most refined timbre you can dictate, a low chuckle escaping his lips as he bunches the hem of your dress in his palms, hoisting it over your head to expose the breathtaking contours and curves of your body. You can’t remember what compelled you to forego your bra, but the thought is soon pushed to the corner of your mind, making room for the warm, fuzzy feeling that conquers your insides when Tom lays his eyes on you, bared to him and only him. His gaze alone makes you feel like you are a spectacle to behold, the most enchanting vision to ever cross his line of sight. If there was even a speck of insecurity buried deep in the back of your mind, the sight of Tom’s eyes, blown wide with adoration as they worship every sinful inch of your skin, instantly quells those fears.

He struggles to find his words, to occupy this infinite silence with anything, everything, as his calloused palms caress the sides of your waist, but all he can manage is a husky growl. One that prefaces the reappearance of his tongue, and its feverish descent from the column of your neck to the tops of your breasts, bathing your skin with gluttonous, broad strokes, and coaxing pretty, little whines from the back of your throat.

There is something so unhinged in his actions, so carnal, it summons another wave of arousal to pool against your soiled panties, knowing you have such a strong clutch on his resolve. Though, another branch of your mind races at a mile a minute, consumed by the endless possibilities that come equipped with Tom’s skill.

You try not to dwell on the little flings that came before you, especially now, in the afterglow of your confession. The taunting, pitious gazes you shared with his hookups in the hallowed halls of your alma mater, toting a reminder that they could indulge in everything you yearned for, scorched you more than the thought of the act itself — but the rumors were just plain inescapable. If even a fraction of them hold a candle to the truth, then you are in for one hell of a night.

“You’re just as sweet as I imagined, angel.” Angel. The nickname sends sparks flying in the well of your stomach. “Can’t wait to taste that perfect little pussy. Just know it’s gonna be even sweeter when you cum all over my fingers.”

You whine softly at his words, but clench hard around nothing, aching to be filled by those unbearably long, slender digits. Nothing could have prepared you for the scene unraveling below you — his lips latched around the stiff peak of your nipple, a husky groan reverberating around the pebbled surface, and head slightly moving against the palm of your hand as your fingers tug at his chestnut locks. The long, covetous laps of his tongue mingling with the vibrations of his contented little hums make you desperate for more, arching, writhing, trembling against him in hopes of finding a semblance of relief for the ache between your thighs.

“Tommy, please.” You plead in the most convincing, fucked out tone you can muster, but he doesn’t budge, showering your other bud with a flurry of quick, relentless kitten licks. Even mother nature joins in his relentless teasing, making you squirm as the gentle breeze blows cool, summer air against the glistening bud.

This is torture, a blissful, euphoric form of torture that, despite your irritability, you would surrender to time and time again. But you fail to notice just how hard your canines puncture the swell of your bottom lip, too immersed in the stroke of his tongue, in the ghost of pleasure that stirs in the pit of your stomach each time you rut against his clothed cock. A sharp, metallic tang seeps into your mouth, hitting the tip of your tongue and forcing a trembling whimper to the front of your mouth.

The pitiful sound piques Tom’s interest, and before you can wipe the blood from your lip, your face is already cradled between his palms. “Fuck, Y/N, look at you,” His eye were wide with concern, and your heart sputters over the blistering scorch of need his compassion arises in you. “C’mere.” Dropping his forehead against your own, his tongue tentatively brushes the curve of your lips, lapping up every last drop of blood that is smeared against it. He applies pressure to the wound, cauterizes it with a searing dance of bloodstained brims, as his one hand weaves into your damp locks. You barely know how to respond, but your body compensates with an untapped sense of hunger, scraping your teeth against his lower lip as you desperately claw at the toned valley of his back.

“Please, Tommy, please. I’m dripping.” You mewl, teetering over the perilous edge of delusion, foraging between your stomachs in search of his free hand. Yet another wave of arousal pools between your thighs at the sight of him, with his puffy, saliva stained lips slightly parted, and his eyes blown wide with the insatiable need to indulge himself, to spoil you. Once your fingers circle around his wrist, you guide his hand to the apex of your thighs and urge him to feel for himself, applying the lightest of pressure against his fingers, urging him to caress your tender lips through the sodden barrier of your panties. To feel what he’s done to you. “You feel that? It’s all for you.”

“All for me,” he echoes back, mesmerized, cognac hues fading into obsidian orbs as he rubs deliberately teasing circles over your covered clit. “And you ask oh so pretty. Let me take care of you, my pretty girl.” Before you even get the chance to reply, he’s pushing your panties to the side, dipping the pad of his middle finger between your silky folds — feeling, exploring, acquainting himself with the tight ring of muscle that he plans on stretching open.

His hesitation is nothing more than a plight at this point, you are more than willing to take anything he has to offer, and he can gather that much from the wild gleam in your eyes, so he slowly works one finger into your snug, velvety walls and curses under his breath at how heavenly you feel. You’re unlike anything he’s had before, far exceeding the lengths of his imagination as you softly clench around his digit, and it only takes a few seconds to adjust to the lithe intrusion, your walls already twitching against his shallow, testing thrusts, before he adds another.

“So fuckin’ perfect, darlin’. Love the way your pretty little cunt takes me.” A thin sheen of sweat coats your forehead as he rocks his digits at a leisurely pace. Tom is obsessed with the tiny frown forming between your brows, almost like you’re confused by the amount of pleasure building between your legs, struggling to keep your eyes open, your juices spilling past your opening to trickle down the palm of his hand. To say your experience is limited is a bit of an understatement — the whopping two men you’ve slept with prior were merely amateurs in comparison to your lover. Even if there was enough air in your lungs to articulate it, you don’t have the heart to tell him that you’ve never been fingerfucked. Period. The embarrassment almost swallows you whole.

But even without anything to compare it to, you’re convinced that you’re receiving the upper echelon of experiences.

As his pace quickens, prodding against your pulsing walls with an onslaught of keen, ravaging thrusts, you’re too busy gasping for air to notice how he’s switched his angle. Now the heel of his hand is rubbing against your bundle of nerves with each stroke, applying just enough pressure to light a spark without ever setting you off, and as the pads of his fingers pound against your sweet spot, you are reduced to a limbless puddle in his hands, doused in an ethereal glow that only he could surface. “God, Y/N, you look like an angel. My pretty little angel— ‘bout to cum all over my fingers.” he panted, voice biting the air with a wolfish gleam, canines peaking past his thin lips.

“Tommy, I’m so close.” You aren’t sure if you can hold on for much longer, dangling on the coattails of insurmountable bliss, finding a new reason to fall apart with each lewd kiss or sharp thrust. Your orgasm is already creeping up, threatening to crash over you each time he plunges into your slick heat, but you know that you want to feel him — all of him — stretching you to unimaginable lengths as he sinks into your tight little hole for the first time. “I wanna feel you. I wanna- I need to cum on your cock.”

Tom’s brows meet in the middle, and you wonder if you’ve strewn too far, surrendered the remainder of your common sense to lust and her shameless palms. “Such a filthy little mouth for such a good girl.” He whispers, wondering aloud, his free hand abandoning the nape of your neck to cup your jaw as his thumb sweeps over your bottom lip, applying just enough pressure to drag it down before letting it spring back to its pouty default. “You will, angel, you will, but I gotta get you ready first.” He reassures you, and you remember just how prominent his length is, straining against the denim cage of his jeans, and attribute his wavering tone to the sheer restraint he’s been exhibiting. But you have to admit — if his fingers are only a fraction of his length, then you are not sure just how much of him you’ll be able to handle. The thought sends you barrelling toward your climax, but not without the help of his thumb, pressing up to rub fervent, clumsy circles against your clit, his husky tenor cooing sweet words of encouragement into the space just below your ear. “I can feel you, angel, let go for me. I’ve got you.”

With one final thrust, he buries his fingers to the hilt, caressing your g-spot with a tentative come hither motion, until you are ridden with overwhelming waves of pleasure. All you can feel are your tender walls tightening around his fingers, and your thighs starting to tremble under the weight of your high. But he is spellbound, mesmerized by the swirling vision of you at your most content, eyelids hanging low over your blown out hues, your hips absentmindedly grinding against his hand, meeting his timid rhythm as he tries to work you through your aftershocks.

Emptiness soon replaces the stretch of his fingers once he slips them out, but a twitch of excitement follows the path of his slick hand, and you can’t stop from outright moaning at his shameless display.

“Just what I thought,” he murmurs. You are too captivated by the sight of his lips — pink, and kiss-weathered, and frankly obscene — opening wide to welcome his slick fingers, gracing his taste buds with your juices, and humming around them as they coat his tongue in an intoxicating elixir . “Open up, pretty girl,” You‘re torn from your trance by the pressure of his digits, knocking against your bottom lip, begging for entry. “Come taste how sweet you are.”

Hollowing your cheeks, you graciously welcome his fingers, putting on a show as you swirl your tongue between the two digits, moaning softly as the bittersweet taste that hits your tastebuds. You aren’t prepared for the shallow, tentative thrust of his digits, or how he starts up a slow, steady rhythm against the back of your tongue — but god do you welcome it, softly gagging with each steady downstroke, spit already dribbling down your chin as you try to keep up with his quickening pace.

“Atta girl, that’s it.” He offers you a ginger smile, one that makes the tears pooling in your eyes worth gagging for. “Good girl. Good, good girl. I wish you could see how pretty you look.”

You try to reply over his digits, but your words are muffled and faint as they thud against the wall of your lips. Luckily, he’s coherent enough to notice that you’d like to speak — and who is he to stifle that sweet little voice of yours? “Thank you,” you pant, fluttering your tear-stained lashes up at him as you clamber to fill your lungs, disputing your feverish pleas as you wriggle away from the outline of his cock. The sensation of his waterlogged jeans rubbing against your sensitive bundle of nerves has you keening over him, pushing you further from his crotch, and closer to his embrace, back arched with a near-feline agility.

“Can I?” you ask, kneading your palms over his thighs, feigning innocence as you inch closer and closer to his zipper with each upstroke, and he nods, granting you permission to free him from his denim confines. In one fluid motion, your one hand unzips his fly as the other helps him kick off the remainder of his offending items, and you have to resist the urge to drool at the sight of his cock springing from his boxers, let alone his sinfully perfect, exposed form.

He’s a little bit larger than you expected — what he lacks in length, he makes up in girth, but there isn’t much to make up for in the first place. His shaft is decorated with pretty, ivory veins, ones that would no doubt twitch beneath the hot, heavy weight of your tongue, and the crown of his cock is flushed, glistening with a thin sheen of precum that makes your mouth feel conveniently dry. Your walls twitch at the disheartening reminder of your emptiness, but all out spasm as his fingers eclipse the circumference of his cock, using your juices to leisurely pump himself.

“You’re so pretty.” You sigh, a flurry of giggles floating beneath your words as you reach out to touch him, hovering just above the tip in order to send him a cautionary glance — one he hurriedly accepts, nodding his head fervently as he stutters into his grasp. A rosy hue blooms across the valley of your cheekbones as you encircle him, covering whatever he can’t as he all but bucks into your palm. His heart strains against his chest upon the realization that his hand easily dwarfs your own, watches your smaller fingers barely curl around his engorged shaft and fights the urge to cum right then and there.

No, he needs to feel you.

“Are you sure?” He asks once more, granting you a final chance to salvage what little scraps remain of your childhood friendship, but you are already committed, determined to devour every last, glorious piece of him, to prove that he is the rightful owner of you, all of you, every shimmering shade of you.The sentiment would be almost derisive if not so loving, so noble, and yet you dismiss it with three, chaste kisses upon the outline of his profile — against his forehead, the notch on the bridge of his nose, and finally his lips, warm and inviting.

“I’m certain.” You promise, merely a breaths width away from his lips.

You have never been more certain of a decision in your life, desperate to feel him nestled deep inside you, to blur the line where he begins and you end. Your fingers curl around the base of his cock, their pressure neither here nor there as they coax a hiss out of him, and you line him up with your entrance, tossing your head back as you waste no time breaching your needy hole with the bulbous head of his cock.

It’s blindingly clear that you have been given the reins, what with Tom’s finger’s seeking refuge in the soil beneath him, a low groan rumbling beneath his chest, his eyes rapt with an unspoken urgency as they survey the spot where you connect, and you relish in your paramount. Your knees dig deeper into the ground as you lower yourself onto him, and with little resistance, your walls steadily welcome inch after inch with a searing embrace, etching every delicious ridge and vein of his length to memory until he bottoms out, and you’re left with an overwhelming sense of fullness. There is a dull pain laced in the stretch of your opening, intermingling with the remnants of your last orgasm, and as you twitch and pulse around his girth, he appears like an dream before you, sifting through a thick haze of desire, wispy curls clinging to the thin sheen of sweat coating his forehead, and eyes blown wide with ripples of pleasure, of lust, that long to be indulged.

Once you’ve adjusted to him, you test a few shallow, tentative rolls of your hips, lifting yourself off the tiniest bit before filling yourself up again. He just feels so perfect, like god spent a little extra time molding him just for you, rubbing against parts of you that have never known such ecstasy until now, and you struggle to find a rhythm amidst all these new, dizzying sensations. “Poor little thing, you’re so worked up, you barely know how to take my cock.” It’s funny, how he can make such degrading words sound so sympathetic, and regardless, your body responds long before your brain can register, wildly spasming around his cock. It doesn’t take long for his fingers to return, digging into the curve of your hips to assist you, working you over his length in long, plundering strokes that steal the air from your lungs. “That feel better, angel?”

“Mhmm,” you shakily nod your head, fingers finding purchase in the broad expanse of his shoulders as you dig your nails into the freckled expanse, flooding his senses with the weak little uh, uh, uh’s tumbling from your lips each time you’re impaled on his cock. If he could lap up every hitch of your breath, every wayward sigh, he’d be drunk off the height of your unbridled joy. Hell, he can barely sustain himself as is, ravenously lapping up the beads of sweat clinging to your temple, swirling his tongue around your earlobe in its descent. Yes, yes, he’s swept up in sultry waves of you, and as your pelvis kisses his, as the air is filled with the sounds of your hips snapping against his own, he’s less and less concerned about emerging from your enchanting depths. “You got another one for me, angel? I can feel you squeezing my cock, baby, I know you got another one.” He’s delirious, clawing at the altar of your hips, and nowhere near as close to finishing as you are, but god is he eager to tear another orgasm out of you.

You, on the other hand, are a furnace, taunting flames of embarrassment licking up your insides, pooling in the small of your back, racing up your cheeks, at such arduous lengths as to mix with the coil of pleasure tightening in your core. Tom seizes the opportunity to find some leverage, pulling his knees up to rest on either side of you, planting his feet on the ground so that he can thrust up into your sopping cunt at a punishing pace, and you both can already feel the tell-tale signs of your building pleasure. “It’s okay, Y/N, you can let go.” Nothing more than a faint whisper, you indulge in the way his cock massages your inner walls, how your name sounds so filthy, yet beguiling, as it slips from his slightly ajar lips, how it blends so well with the weak little moans of his own name rolling off your tongue. “Let go for me. I wanna feel that perfect little pussy cum all over me.” His hand dips between your sweat slick forms, firmly swiping his fingers over your hypersensitive bundle of nerves, turning circles into your favorite shape, and his change in position makes the crown of his cock curve into your g-spot each time he pounds into you — so your helpless to the crescendo of pleasure that washes over you.

A broken, startled shriek tears through your lungs, and you topple over his thighs, digging crescent shaped indents into his knees as you surrender to your climax, walls fluttering and contracting over his length as he works you over the edge.

“Oh, what a good girl.” He coos encouragingly, reaching his hand out to cup the weight of your breast, swiping his thumb over your peaked bud as his pace eases up, and it isn’t until now that you realize he’s leaning back, holding himself up by his forearms while he drinks in your pleasure-ridden form. “My sweet, sweet girl.” You can tell he’s holding back by the way his hips still stutter up into your overstimulated heat, how his cheeks, his forehead, all of his features are set with a heavy flush, how you aren’t filled to the brim with his cum — and you simply won’t allow that.

“It’s okay, Tommy.” You whisper, carefully lowering yourself until your chest is aligned with his own, sharply exhaling as you feel him push up against your tender core. Your eyes are soft, and dazed, and oh so pretty, glittering beneath a thin layer of unshed tears, but this is about him, it’s always been about him, and as his cock twitches amidst your spasming walls, you firmly believe that you can handle another orgasm if he can coax it from you. “Keep goin’, it’s okay. I want you to fill me up. I wanna feel all of you.”

“Y/N—” His voice is stern, but your lips are fierce, stealing whatever argument may have been building in the cavern of his mouth as you weakly tilt your hips downward, offering yourself to him once more. When he muscles up enough strength to tear himself away, he only finds a bounty of understanding, of devotion, of love, teeming at the brim of your eyes, and he needs no words to indulge himself, to yield to a mesmerising whirlpool of you, you, shimmering you.

Tom wraps one arm around your back, holding you close to his chest while you scatter soft, lingering kisses to his shoulder, smoothing his palm over your damp tresses as he hoists one leg over his hip, prying your legs even further apart so he can fuck up into you — impossibly tighter, and tormentingly more responsive as he slams into your overstimulated cunt. You can feel every square inch of him now, every long sweeping vein, the tiny sliver of skin hidden beneath his tip, it’s all crystal clear as he plunges into your weepy core, and you’re so cockdrunk, so fucked out of your mind, that you don’t even notice your hips slanting down to meet his thrusts. You’re just that greedy for another orgasm, hellbent on tumbling over yet again as he fills you to the brim.

It doesn’t take long for him to work himself to that precipice once again, the coil in his stomach pulled taut with your whimpered chant of his name, with each strong pulse of your cunt tightening over him. He buries himself to the hilt one last time, stuttering into your hips with a loud, frenzied groan, and finally teeters off the edge, dragging you down with him as you sink your teeth into his shoulder blade, pumping his hot seed into you, coating your walls with hot spurts of cum as you milk him for every last drop, the crude sound of your arousal mixing with his own making you shudder.

You both lay there for a second, safe in each other’s warm embrace, basking in the aftermath of your fortuned affair, and you cowered beneath the sky and it’s constellation clad ceiling, feeling infinitesimal, but oh so contented, beneath its glorious gaze. There, wrapped up in one another, two splintered halves mending, healing, into the whole they were destined to become — the sky was but a star in comparison to your light, your bright, everlasting light.

How did we get here? You wonder. How, oh, how is he finally mine?

You follow the steady rise and fall of his chest, the way the moon lounges across his curly lashes in a silver chaise — you survey him at his most vulnerable — and determine that you have more than enough time to find the answer. As long as he’s here, by your side, you don’t plan to wander too far.

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING! PLEASE LIKE, OR LEAVE A COMMENT, IF YOU ENJOYED!

TAGLIST: @devotion @reawritesthings

#tom holland #tom holland x reader #tom holland imagine #tom holland smut #tom holland blurb #tom holland oneshot #I CAN NOT BELIEVE I ACTUALLY FUCKING FINISHED THIS #the way this magically climbed from 4.7 to 9.5k in one day will never cease to amaze me #and i hope that this spawns a new love and excitement for country boy tom because i love arvin but #BOY does that man scare me a lil bit #this is more like a . . hart of dixie type of country #more apple pie! less homicide!#I ALSO DONT KNOW WHA THAPPENED TO THE SMUT THIS IS LIKE 40% SMUT #anyway i really do hope yall enjoy #mine*

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es-kay-zee · 4 years

Text

Lust | Lee Know x Reader

I had plans to make this kinky as all hell, but I somehow ended up going the opposite direction with this. oh well, it was still pretty fun to write. I’m also sorry if there’s parts of it (or all of it?) that don’t make any sense. I didn’t proofread it at all and my head was just empty while writing it.

I was kinda liking it at one point, then I overthought about it and now I think I hate it but I put in all this time so it’s getting posted. I just feel like it kinda went all over the place

Warnings: officemate! au, sexual tension (maybe? Idk, i tried), fem! reader, fingering, oral sex (fem receiving), protected sex (yay!) there’s like a split second of softdom! Minho, but other than that moment there’s not really any dynamics.

Requested: Yip

Word count: 4.6k

_______________________

It didn’t take a genius amongst your co-workers to be able to tell what was going on between you and Minho. Everyone could see the way you looked at each other. They could see the way you took extra time at the printer, considering it was right next to his desk. You would stand there for longer than necessary, just watching him work. How his fingers would type away on his keyboard, the sleeves of his button-down rolled up to his elbows. God, what you would do to have his fingers inside you.

No, you can’t think like that. He’s just your co-worker. He may be hot as all hell, but this is a professional environment, right?

It was also painfully obvious to everyone how Minho looked at you the same way. Just as you would spend extra time at the printer, he would spend extra time at your desk whenever he had to hand you some files. He would try to make some idle chit-chat with you, but really, he was just staring at your lips the whole time. While you would admire his hands and arms, he would admire your lips. He often found himself wondering just what your mouth was capable of.

Don’t get him wrong, he didn’t only see you as some pretty thing around the office. He also admired your dedication and work ethic. He loved how much effort you put into your job to ensure you produce the pest quality of work. But he wasn’t stupid, he could see just how hot you are.

But he’s not allowed to think of you in that way. He’s not allowed to spend many a night imagining your hand, your mouth wrapped around his cock instead of his hand. After all, you’re just co-workers. And it’s all professional, right?

That’s what you both keep telling yourselves.

It’s a normal Friday, not long before midday, and you’re zoning out at your desk, trying to figure out what the hell you were going to do over the weekend. You’d originally had plans to meet up with a few friends, but they all cancelled on you, leaving you with nothing to do on the approaching Saturday and Sunday.

You’re dragged out of your thoughts by someone waving a small folder in front of your face.

“Hey, earth to y/n?” You snap your attention onto the figure in front of you, quickly realising that it is, in fact, Lee Minho who’s standing at your desk. You hurriedly fix your posture, sitting up straighter and clearing you throat quietly before responding.

“A-are those some more files that need doing?” The way you stutter over your words has you internally cringing, hoping he can’t tell the effect he has over your body.

“Yeah, they’re the latest invoices that have come in. These ones need to be paid by Tuesday and then these ones need to be paid by Thursday,” he explains to you, holding up the two separate folders in his hands.

Reaching out your hand for the folders, you feel your fingertips brush against his once you grab them. You withdraw your hands as quickly as possible, feeling your heartbeat pick up slightly as the subtle contact. Your gaze lingered on his arms for a moment, his sleeves rolled up just the way you liked. Minho is so effortlessly attractive that it’s unfair.

You pry your eyes away from his forearms, away from the veins you can see running along his arms, instead looking at his face. The moment you look him in the eyes, however, you can’t help but think that maybe staring at his arms would have been the better option. His eyes were just as pretty as the rest of him, but the way he was looking at you right now, the way he was staring so intently at you, had you cowering slightly under his gaze.

“So, you had lunch yet?” he asks, breaking the silence that had fallen between the two of you, resting his hands in his pockets.

“Not yet, was just about to head up to the cafeteria shortly,” you reply, your eye focus being caught by his stance. You can picture it, him standing over you just the way he is now, hands in pockets, forearms visible, smirk on his face. Just imagining him standing there like that, looking down at you like you’re some sort of prey while you’re on your knees for him. Slowly undoing his belt and-

“Well, I was gonna head up now. Wanna join me?” you are once again pulled from your wandering thoughts by Minho, but the damage had already been done. You could feel your neediness throbbing in your pussy, your slickness slightly coating your underwear.

“Uh, sure,” you say, quickly locking your computer and grabbing your lunch.

You walk with Minho back towards his own desk so that he can pick up his own food before making your way up stairs to the third floor. Once you both make it to the cafeteria for the shelves. You grab your mug before making yourself a coffee, Minho doing the same next to you.

You both head towards a back corner of the large room, finding two seats at a small coffee table. A small conversation begins between the two of you, somewhat awkward, but not uncomfortably so. The occasional silences weren’t left empty, instead being filled with lingering glances at one another.

You make it through all your food and just over half of your coffee before it happens. Disaster. Minho has looked away from you for just a moment and the sunlight cascading through the enormous floor-to-ceiling windows hit him in just the right way. It made him glow in the light, distracting you while you took a drink from your mug. You weren’t focusing on anything but how delicious he looked in front of you, ending up with you tipping your mug up to far and spilling it all down your front and onto your lap.

Your small yelp snaps his attention back to you and you both just stare down at your soiled clothes. Heat rushes to your face when you realise the exact repercussions of what’s just happened, and the heat spreads when you notice that Minho has also realised it. Your white blouse drenched in coffee; the material becoming see through. Minho’s gaze lingers on your chest for a moment too long for between normal co-workers, your bra entirely visible through the now coffee-coloured fabric.

Minho clears his throat before speaking. “Uh- I’ll g-get something to help clean that up,” he stutters out, standing up as quickly as possible before rushing off to grab some napkins. It’s not long before he returns, a whole stack in his grip.

He places them on the table, taking his seat again. Picking a couple napkins back up he turns his whole body towards you. Your breathing stutters when he leans in close to you, your eyes looking deep into his as he freezes in place.

He’s torn. Torn between wanting to help you for your sake, wanting to help you for the sake of being able to touch you, and not wanting to overstep any boundaries. He can hear his heart hammering in his ears, and he wonders if you can hear it too. Especially with how close the proximity currently is between you two.

He takes a deep breath before making a decision about whether or not to help you clean up. He reaches his hand out, carefully beginning to dab at the spilled drink on your lap, fully expecting to be told to stop.

You tense under his touch, but not out of discomfort. It’s the way his hand moves along your thigh that has you frozen. Your thigh. One of the more sensitive parts of your body, and his hand is rubbing back and forth along it. The contact causing your brain to short circuit as you feel the heat begin to pool in your core.

“Um… Make sure to soak these clothes before you wash them. That should help get any stains out,” Minho says, trying to ease the tension.

“Oh, yeah, thanks. I’ll be sure to do that,” you reply, his voice snapping you out of your stupor. You pull your bottom lip between your teeth, trying to ignore your growing arousal.

Minho has to fight back his own increasing need at the sight of you nibbling on your lower lip, wanting little more than for it to be his own teeth tugging at the soft flesh. But what really gets him, is you taking a few napkins and beginning to dab at the coffee on your shirt, unintentionally pulling his gaze back down to your chest. Now he was fighting back groans, trying desperately to let the sounds die in his throat before you get the chance to hear them. That would be too embarrassing for him to handle.

It’s not long before you sigh a heavy sigh, giving up the hopes of being able to save your outfit and keep your presentability for the workplace, accepting it as a lost cause. Minho stops his own wiping at the sound, looking at you instead, waiting for you to speak.

“You know what, this is a mess. I might as well just head home for the rest of the day. There’s no point sitting here at my desk all day like this,” you say, looking down at your clothes. “Besides, most of my work is done for the day anyway.”

It’s only when you lift your head up when you finish speaking that you realise just how close Minho’s face is to your own. Close enough for you to feel his breaths against your cheek. Your eyes dart down to his lips, but only for a split second, not wanting to make your arousal so obvious. Minho, however, notices. But luckily for you, he decides not to say anything about it. Yet.

“That sounds like a good idea. Uh… here,” he says, removing his blazer jacket and holding it out to you.

You reach out and grab it, your fingers once again momentarily connecting with his as you take the item he’s passing you. You both rise to your feet and you give him a confused look, wondering why he’s handing you his blazer.

“I figured you wouldn’t want to walk around with a see-through shirt,” he explains in response to your unspoken question.

The heat returns to your cheeks at his statement, quickly pulling the clothing item on and buttoning it up, making an attempt to cover yourself.

“Thanks,” you say. There’s some part of you that doesn’t really want to cover yourself, that wants Minho to see you. But you push that part aside. After all, you’ve got to maintain some sort of professionalism. “We should probably head back down now.”

“Yeah.”

You both gather your belongings, taking your mugs over to the dirty dishes rack and placing them in along with all the other dishes. Yet another silence befalls the two of you as you make your way back down the stairs to your floor, the quietness neither comfortable nor awkward. Something in between.

Finally reaching your floor, you make a beeline for your desk, aiming to grab your bag and get out of here as quickly as possible. But before you grab your things and head into your boss’s office to say that you’re leaving early, you pause, turning back to Minho again, stopping him before he gets too far away.

“I’ll get your jacket back to you on Monday if you want. I’ll even get it cleaned to make sure there’s no coffee on it.”

He takes a moment to think, once again torn between options. One being just saying okay and letting you just bring it to work with you on Monday. And the other option… Well, if the way you were almost whining when he was touching your thigh earlier is anything to go by, then the second option might just work out for him. Fuck it.

“Or you could bring it over to my place? Tonight? I-if you want to,” he says, making sure to keep his voice only loud enough for you to hear, not wanting any nosy co-workers listening in.

Your entire body feels like it’s on fire as you think of the possible outcomes of you going over to his house, albeit under the guise of simply returning his blazer. You can already feel yourself growing wetter at the thoughts running through your mind. You blink rapidly, shaking your head slightly to yourself, remembering that you have to answer him instead of just standing there daydreaming all day.

“You’re in luck. I was gonna go out for a few drinks tonight, but my friends all cancelled on me. So, it turns out that I’m available,” you say, fighting hard to keep your voice steady and to not let on just how needy you were.

“Well, you could always have those drinks with me while you’re over,” he offers, stepping closer to your desk.

“I could.”

You both smirk at each other, knowing exactly what the outcome of tonight will be. Minho searches around your desk for a moment, eventually finding and grabbing a sticky note and a pen. He scribbles something down before handing it to you.

“That’s my address. See you at 7?”

“Sure thing, see you then.”

He smirks at you again before finally heading back to his own desk and you finally head off home, being sure to stop in and let your boss know you’re leaving.

______________________

Before long, 7 o’clock rolls around and you’re sitting in your car, parked on the road-side, opposite Minho’s house. Checking yourself in your rear-view mirror quickly, you make sure you look presentable before getting out of your car, his blazer draped over your arm. You’re somewhat nervous as you approach his front door, reaching up and knocking. It only takes a short moment before the door swings open, revealing Minho. He steps backwards, holding the door open as he gestures for you to enter. You step past him and into the house, taking in his appearance while he closes the door behind you.

His outfit is simple, a plain t-shirt and a pair of jeans, but to you he looks damn fine. His jeans are tight enough to show off his thighs while not being too tight that it would create any struggle to remove quickly. That’s handy. And his shirt leaves his delicious arms on display. You look up at his face just to see him staring at you in the same way you were just starting at him. Like you’re the single best thing he’s ever laid his eyes on.

“Hi,” you say, bringing his attention back to the current moment. He blinks a few times, taking a moment to recollect his thoughts.

“Hey, you look really good.” He gestures towards your dress. You chose one that was simple, yet effective at its job. You wanted to wear something that showed off your legs, something that would get his attention. And judging by the way he kept looking you up and down, it was working.

“Here’s you blazer,” you say, holding it out for him.

“Oh yeah, thanks,” he replies, having already forgotten that he’d even let you borrow it in the first place. “I’ll just go put that away. Feel free to make yourself at home.”

He dashes off down the hallway, presumedly towards his bedroom. To take the moment alone to take in your surroundings, noting how Minho’s house had a very homely feel to it.

You take a seat on the couch while you wait for him to return. And it doesn’t take him long to do just that, already walking back up the hallway towards where you are. He heads to the kitchen first, grabbing a couple of glasses.

“I have some wine here. Want some?” he offers.

“Sure,” you say, knowing that soon enough the drinks will be abandoned in favour of other activities.

It’s not long before Minho approaches you, two glasses of wine in his hands. He hands one to you before taking a seat in the spot next to you on the couch. Directly next to you. He’s so close that the side of his leg rests against yours, but you’re not complaining.

“Try not to get too distracted by me again,” he says, a cheeky grin plastered on his face. “We wouldn’t want you to spill another drink.”

You both laugh at his teasing statement, but your mind focuses on the word again and you realise that he did know the causing of today’s earlier mishap. Well, that’s a bit embarrassing.

The next short while is filled with more idle chit-chat, a measly attempt at wasting time before getting down to business. The entire time you’re talking, Minho’s arm is resting along the back of the couch behind your head and he’s very shamelessly eye fucking you. In his defence though, you’re doing the exact same thing to him.

“Do you want another glass?” Minho asks when you finish your wine, placing his hand that’s not currently resting on the back of the couch on your thigh. You let out an audible breath as his hand softly caresses the flesh, the feeling sending pools of arousal directly to your heat. As his fingers slowly trail further up, beginning to disappear under the skirt of your dress, you know that he’s not really offering you another drink. It’s his way of moving the conversation along, of asking you if you’re ready to do what you truly came here for.

And you’d be damned if you weren’t ready.

His fingers continue to travel higher, skimming along your inner thigh, avoiding where you desperately need him. You bite your lip, trying to stifle a whimper. It doesn’t work, and it instead draws Minho’s focus to your mouth. And he’s back to thinking about your mouth, how your lips would feel wrapped around his cock. The idea alone has him growing painfully hard in his jeans. Hell, he’d do anything to have your lips on him, in any way.

“M-Minho, please,” you whisper, wanting him to stop his teasing caresses and finally touch you the way you want. The way you need.

“Please what?”

“Please t-touch me.”

“Touch you? I am touching you,” he says, stopping his hand’s movements and instead just resting it in place.

“No, please touch my p-pussy,” you say, your hands coming up to cover your face, embarrassment coursing through your body, causing your face to heat up.

Normally, Minho smirked at you, getting a kick out of how flustered you are.

“Ah, I see. Well, if you want that to happen then you have to prove to me how much you want it.”

And that has you whining.

You quickly manoeuvre yourself so that you’re straddling Minho’s lap, tired of waiting for him to provide you with some much needed friction. Your hands rest on his shoulders, his own flying to your hips when you slowly, experimentally grind down on him. Your actions get the best reward, in the form on a shaky moan from Minho, and that’s the moment you can tell that this whole thing is affecting him just as much as it’s affecting you.

When he told you to prove it, he was expecting you to just get more flustered. He certainly wasn’t expecting you to make such a bold move. You roll your hips against him again, this time drawing a moan from yourself. One of his hands slides up your back, grabbing the zipper for your dress and slowly sliding it down. Once he has it undone, he pulls the dress up and off your body, revealing your lack of bra underneath. Shit, he hadn’t even noticed earlier that you weren’t wearing one, he was too distracted by your legs. He looks up at you, his own lust-filled eyes meeting yours, watching you lean in closer to him. Closer, and closer.

And then your lips – those oh so pretty lips – were on his own, moving together in a rush of adrenaline and lust. There was no delicacy in the kiss, only pure wanton desire as your hands roamed each other’s bodies. You’d both been waiting for this for so long. Craving it.

His hands slide down to your ass, kneading the flesh. He’s quick to stand up, keeping you held up, your legs wrapping around his torso. He carries you down the hallway, only breaking the kiss for a split second at a time to make sure he didn’t bump into anything, before he would dive back into your lips. Your kisses were intoxicating, addicting. Minho just couldn’t get enough. Even when he finally made it to his bedroom, dropping you down onto the bed, he still doesn’t pull away. It’s only when you pull away for breath that he stops, you both panting deeply from the lack of oxygen for so long.

Your hands glide across his linen-clad chest, the fabric warmed from his hot skin. He groans lowly at your touch, desperately wanting more. One of his own hands finds it’s way to your breast, his thumb rubbing over the hardened nipple.

His touch is soft, gentle. He’s testing the waters, wanting to figure out what you like, what touches really get you going. He knows he’s on the right track when your back arches slightly at the contact, and he grazes his thumbs over the nub again, harder this time.

You can feel how soaked you are, your underwear beginning to stick to you uncomfortably. You buck your hips upwards, trying desperately to get some sort of solid friction going, the aching between your legs bordering on painful. Sensing just how strong your need is, Minho pulls away from you, moving down the bed until he’s laying between your thighs, his fingers already dipping into the waistband of your underwear.

He wastes little time in pulling the fabric down your legs and tossing them off to the side. And now, finally, after so long of wanting it, he’s able to gaze upon your pussy, glistening with your juices.

“Holy shit, you’re so wet you’re dripping,” he exclaims, looking up and making eye contact with you. And it makes you clench around nothing when you look at the man that’s remained on your mind with his head between your thighs.

“Only for you,” you reply, even your voice dripping with need. Minho looks back down at your soaked cunt and, in the split seconds before his touch, every nerve in your body and mind comes alive with electricity. He licks one long stripe along your entrance, and the moan you let out is obscene. And he loves it.

Minho is filled with a new determination, a determination to make you moan over and over again. To have you feeling so good that you’re screaming his name.

He circles his lips around your clit, working the nerve bundle with his mouth while he brings a hand down to work your entrance. He slides a digit it, immediately curling it in search of your special spot. He quickly adds a second finger, continuing his search for your g-spot. He knows he’s finally found it when your hands go flying to his head, threading into his hair, tugging hard. He groans at the sensation, loving the way your hands feel in his hair. God, everything you do just turns him on, and he begins to unconsciously rut his hips into the mattress. He continues working your core while you moan uncontrollably.

“F-fuck, Minho. I’m s-so close,” you manage to whimper out, but he already knows. The way your walls tighten around his fingers over and over tells him everything he needs to know.

“Do it, baby. Cum for me,” he says, and you don’t have to be told twice, your orgasm washing over you with more force than you expected. He finger-fucks you through your high, only stopping when your body stops convulsing in waves of pleasure. He pulls his hand away from your core, a whine escaping you at the empty feeling. If he could make you cum that hard with just his fingers and mouth, how on earth are you going to survive cumming on his cock?

He crawls back up your body, placing his arousal-coated fingers at your lips. You open your mouth with no hesitation, immediately sucking the digits in, swirling your tongue over them as you sucked. The sight alone almost had Minho cumming in his jeans. For so long, all he’s wanted is your lips around some part of him, and while he also wanted to be graces with the visual of you sucking on his cock like your life depended on it, he was more desperate to just fuck you.

He wastes no more time in ridding himself of his clothes until he’s completely bare, reaching into his bedside table draw for a condom. positioning himself above you once again. He’s about to open the condom packet before you stop him, taking it from his hands opening it yourself. He moans when you slide the condom down his length, your hands feeling better on his cock than his own ever could.

The moment you lie back down, he lines himself up with your entrance, not wanting to go another moment without being inside you. He pushes into you, not stopping until his hips rest against yours, the room filling with moans as your bodies finally connect. His cock stretches your walls so perfectly, like two puzzle pieces made for each other.

After a brief pause, he slowly pulls back you, only to thrust back into you. He repeats the motions, gradually settling into a solid pace, not to fast and not too slow, a perfect balance of the two.

He drags his lips up the soft skin of your neck placing sloppy kisses as over, being sure not to leave any marks. As much as he wanted to mark you where it was visible, he couldn’t. He didn’t want you to have to go through the hassle of covering them each day at work while you wait for them do disappear. Instead, he opted for sucking bruises into your collarbones and along your chest.

Your brain felt like static, unable to string together a single coherent thought as Minho continues to thrust into you, pleasure radiating throughout your entire body. The knot in your stomach grows tighter for the second time during the night, and from the way Minho’s thrusts are getting sloppier, you can tell that he’s close to his own end as well.

He slides his free hand in between the two of you, fingers finding your clit. He rubs circles into the bundle of nerves, and you feel yourself unravel, his fingers being the final to push you over the edge. And it’s your fluttering walls that has the same effect on Minho. You both ride out your highs together, him spilling into the condom and you around his cock. Your loud moans are music to his ears, while his are the same to yours.

Once you both come back down from your highs, Minho pulls himself away from you, quickly disposing of the condom before coming back to lay next to you.

Your body feels heavy, your brain foggy and distant, a tiredness falling over your entire being, exhausted from your orgasms. You groggily roll onto your side, curling your body up into Minho’s and almost instantly drifting off into sleep. He wraps an arm around you in return, feeling sleep approach for him as well. He rests his face against the top of your sleeping head, placing a chaste kiss to your hair. And just before he let himself fall asleep, he made sure plan out in his mind what he was gonna cook you for breakfast in the morning; pancakes.

#stray kids smut #lee know smut #skz lee minho smut #skz smut

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vermillionbones · 3 years

Note

I'd love to hear more of your Phobditor HCs!!

ohoho thank you for enabling me anon i am going to kiss you directly on the mouth /pl

also slight warning for spoilers to the new(??) ending of project nexus!! i don't talk explicitly about what happens in general, but the stuff involving phobos is mentioned in the very first hc so for those of you who don't wanna be spoiled you can just skip that one lol. grab sum popcorn lads this one's a long one snbcnkcnvmv

Phobditor HCs!!

rbs very much appreciated 👉👈

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so i hc that phobos didn't actually get banished at the end of MPN, but he did get his ass handed to him to the point where he was so injured and drained of energy that he couldn't use most of his abilities. he went into hiding for a while and eventually found the AAHW, which he proceeded to join since he didn't really have anywhere else to go. after he'd healed and returned to his full strengh the auditor recognised how potentially useful he could be as a second in command, but ofc he'd have to earn her trust first. normally i don't try to make things make sense like this but since the auditor isn't actually in MPN i thought i'd at least try lmao

the auditor: ruthless girlboss by day, feral spouse-adjacent shithead by night

phobos is basically the same but instead he's manipulate mansplain by day and malewife manwhore by night /hj

before they got closer they'd never really physically interacted w/ each other, so phobos kind of assumed the auditor would be at least slightly painful to touch [cuz yknow. she's made of fire lmao]. plus he'd witnessed her setting things and people on fire with her bare hands before and he'd rather not get turned into a walking bonfire, thanks. the closest she'd ever been to touching him previously was like flicking the antenna on his helmet to piss him off

but like way, WAY later he finds out that audi can actually manipulate the temperature of their flames to an extent, so when they touch his hand for the first time he's really surprised when they're just like. pleasantly warm. kinda like the fuzziness you feel after you drink something hot but on the outside of your body

however this has also resulted in phobos using her as a mobile safety blanket lmao. sometimes if it gets too cold in the office he'll wander up to her and bug her until she folds a wing around him and tucks his head under her chin

when he's being a shithead sometimes she'll just pick him up by the back of his jacket and drag him off like a disobedient kitten lmao

They don't really have a super crazy height difference normally [i hc that audi is around 6'3 and phobos is 5'10 if he's not slouching] but sometimes she just morphs herself to have a several-foot height advantage just to fuck with him. like she'll appear in his office as this 9-foot-tall behemoth and he'll just be like "?? excuse me?? ma'am?? you can't do this to me???"

before he got to know her better, phobos had no idea the auditor preferred she/they pronouns over they/it like the agents around him seemed to think. he never made a big deal out of it and never explicitly brought it up, but he remembers to switch it up for her every now and then. plus whenever audi overhears him doing that she gets all fuzzy inside sfbfnckvj

phobos really likes her wings. he actually might be a little jealous of them, but he'd never tell her that sfvngk

ever since audi found out about this, they tend to subtly unfurl them and use them to gesticulate more when he's around. occasionally she'll use the claws at the peaks of her wings on touchscreens in place of a finger n stuff. she's also [gently] swatted him upside the head with a wing a few times when he was being a dickhead, but it doesn't really hurt him lol

she also lets him pet them when they're not busy. contrary to what he'd assumed, it doesn't actually feel like a whole lot to her - she's described the feeling as something similar to how it feels to have someone tracing their fingers along the back of your hand

phobos stims sometimes!! he has a bad habit of masking while he's working since a few of them are vocal and he doesn't want to distract anyone, but if he's just hanging out with audi he's totally chill. one of his more common ones is when he thinks out loud, either quietly narrating his current train of thought or saying unrelated words - usually confirmations like 'yeah' or 'mhm' - out loud cuz he thinks they're fun to say. occasionally he'll start humming low in his throat kinda like a microwave cuz he likes how his voice feels in his chest

also when he's standing idle sometimes he holds his arms closer to his chest and fidget with them

the auditor doesn't stim, but to people who know them well their wings are like big signs that can wordlessly describe how they're feeling [which is like my favourite thing to write cos wing emoting is really fun skdjbknk]. occasionally they might subtly flutter their wings when they're very pleased or receive good news, or flare them out when they're irritated/stressed

i always forget that phobos is actually like super powerful in canon so i hc that audi does too lmao. like it always slips her mind that he can teleport too so she'll dramatically disappear after telling him off for doing some dumb shit and fuckin scream when he somehow appears in the same room as her less than a second later

phobos has a red and black lava lamp in his office!! he'd never admit it but he got it cuz it reminds him of audi :]

phobos loves watching audi in combat for some reason. i mean he already likes watching them do stuff so he can backseat drive, but he's also quietly admitted that her fighting style is interesting to watch

he can't really put it into words, but it's because the way they fight looks incredibly effortless and fluid, mainly due to them having so much time to adapt to and understand their powers [both their original powers and the ones granted by the halo]. when phobos' own abilities started to surface he was incredibly unstable and struggled to properly harness them for months, so he thinks it's nice to watch someone who actually knows what they're doing for once.

much to the auditor's surprise, phobos is actually a bit insecure behind all that confudence, particularly about scars. after being close to her for a while, phobos came out of his shell a bit and explained how he managed to grant himself his powers/abilities, which is something i'll absolutely go further in depth with later [via a longer hc that i'm gonna post eventually lol] but to summarise he basically infused himself with raw madness in what he's eloquently dubbed 'the incident'. Of course, doing that to himself didn't come without consequence, and he's permanently scored with a variation of lightning & burn scars on his forearms, thighs, and most of his torso.

for the longest time, the most casual thing he'd wear even around just her was the long-sleeved sweater he wore underneath his trench coat, and he refused to change even if he was literally overheating. though eventually after he told her about what happened he felt way more comfortable and now whenever they're in their shared room audi practically has to throw a shirt at him to get him to wear one sbkcjcnk

the auditor has a sort of subspace/pocket dimension where they can store different items and recall them at will. normally it's pretty empty, but ever since she grew to like phobos she's started keeping miscellaneous things in there for him. sometimes she pulls out a drink or snack that he likes, sometimes she pulls out a little water gun with phobos' name scrawled on it and shoots him with it when he's being a shithead

they are both,, SO fucking touch-starved. like they will not let go of each other [at least if they're not currently in the middle of something or around agency employees] cuz internally they're both just going "wow!!! that's a hand i'm holding!!!!! there's a hand holding my hand!!!! wow!!!!!! i love this!!!!!"

having one eye isn't exactly the best thing for depth perception, especially when you're really tired, so sometimes audi has to hold phobos' hand and guide him around in the mornings because he can [and has] walked into walls and counters

even since before they became a thing, phobos had been a little envious of the auditor's halo and the powers it granted her. he used to subtly try to yoink it from her, maliciously at first but far more playfully later, where he'd like lightly grab it and give it a gentle spin above her head like a mobile. but his infatuation with the halo kinda died after she decided to let him borrow/try it out once by allowing him to link with it

by linking i essentially mean like wearing it, but the halo is so powerful that you can't just 'wear' it without letting it bond with a part of you

long story short, he went into it with far too much overconfidence & cockiness and the halo violently rejected him, kind of like how it rejected the auditor once. he wasn't at all prepared for the sheer amount of power that surged through him the moment it started to link with him, so it essentially short-circuited his brain and knocked him unconscious for the better part of a week. when he woke again, the auditor told him he was lucky his head didn't explode and calmly suggested they never tried that again, and he felt inclined to agree.

of course, he still toys with the halo while the auditor's properly linked with it since he knows it can't link to more than one host at a time. and despite his seeming ease and "it's in the past" sort of mentality about the whole event, if someone mentions the concept of him actually taking the halo and linking with it again, he'll shudder and shake his head, saying it's not his place to do so.

the auditor has no doubt it delivered a pretty harsh blow to his ego [being rejected by the thing that would make him a god would prolly do that], but knows he's too prideful to admit that.

audi likes listening to phobos when he goes off on super long monologues, especially if they're like those super cheesy villain monologues. like he could literally be talking about anything and she'll sit there to hear him out, especially if it's less related to work and more about himself

the auditor is super deliberate in the way they pronounce things and they tend to casually drawl their words out to further cement their cool, unbothered boss persona. however the way she talks doesn't really intimidate phobos anymore since he's also been next to her right after she's been woken up, when she's mumbling quietly & slurring some of her words together. he knows the big scary boss side of the auditor is just a persona used for everyone but him, so he feels a lot more at ease with them even when they're trying to be scary

even after being together for a while, phobos still has no fucking idea what the auditor is made of. like he's admitted to her that he's genuinely clueless, and if she lets him he'll spend like 99% of their downtime quietly interacting with her flames [read: curling his fingers through them and petting them] while he muses about his hypotheses for how stuff like her liquidy-shadow form works. they were a little suspicious of his motives at first, but after they relaxed they realised he was just genuinely curious and willing to share his concepts to see if he was right

they have like. the smoothest banter anyone at the agency has seen. like it's super cheesy back-and-forth stuff that wouldn't sound out of place in an 80s sitcom, but it just kinda flows out when they're both comfortable. and ofc they'd deny it if anyone mentioned it but they literally banter like an old married couple lmAO

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

#madness combat #madness auditor #madness phobos #phobditor #this ended up being way longer than i anticipated but writing this was the most fun i've had in months /gen #oh and sorry if the formatting is a little fucky lmao #i tried to keep related hcs closer together while setting different ones apart if that makes sense??#gfnsbkjck i had to refrain myself from writing more about certain hcs like audi's wing emoting or phobos fucking up his link with the halo #if anyone wants me to elaborate on those i won't shut up about them ever LMAO #still tysm anon this was very very fun /gen #gel.txt

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ruzek-halstead · 3 years

Text

meet me in the afterglow: first date

request from @felicitysmoaksx: i would like to see a continuation of the “i’m so stressed out during finals that i show up to the exam in my onesie and you tell me i look cute” university au. maybe like their first date?

read the original fic here

Luke and Julie ended up at a 24-hour diner a few minutes off campus. There was a light wind blowing through Julie's curls, and she was glad her onesie was so warm and fuzzy. Luke seemed perfectly at ease in his sleeve tank, but then again, she could feel his warm skin every time her wrist knocked against his arm. Her hand was still loosely clasped in his. She expected it to be slightly awkward; she had just met Luke and this was unlike anything she had ever done before. In her past four years of studies, she didn't have much time for a social life, much less a boyfriend. But there was no way she could've turned down his invite after the entirety of the situation.

When they reached the exterior of the diner, Julie spotted various empty booths. There were a few students who were quite obviously studying, what with their textbooks and highlighters strewn around the table, but it was generally quite empty. Even though it was relatively empty, Julie was still hit with a wave of anxiety with being seen in this onesie by everyone in the diner. It was dumb, she knew that; she had completed her exam in front of people with this onesie and even walked across campus with it. But for some reason, she couldn't shake the uncomfortable feeling. When Luke moved forward to open the door, he stumbled back and realized Julie had stopped walking. Their intertwined hands pulled him to a stop. He noticed Julie's worried eyes and moved closer, ducking his own head to catch her gaze. "Hey, what's wrong? Are you okay?" God, Julie wanted to scream. This is not how their first date was supposed to be going. "This is going to sound weird," Julie laughed nervously. "But I'm feeling super self-conscious about this onesie right about now." Luke's facial features softened, and he stepped even closer. He let go of her hand to bring it up close to her face; Julie's breath hitched and he stopped his movements. "Julie, believe me when I say this, you look stunning in that onesie. Honestly, I’m too distracted with your beauty to even notice anymore.” Her brain was short-circuiting and no words were coming to mind. His green gaze was so captivating, she couldn't look away. But they were standing outside the diner and she had to do something. His hand that stopped mid-air dropped back down, outlining her arm through the onesie to intertwine their pinkies. Julie felt her knees begin to shake. She swallowed hard. “Well, I am pretty hungry.” That was the most her incapacitated brain could come up with currently, but the comment sent a brightening smile to Luke’s lips. “Great,” he added, once again pulling open the front door. Julie took a deep breath to regain her confidence. It didn’t matter what anyone else thought; it only mattered how she felt. And if she was being honest, she felt pretty damn good after hearing what Luke had to say. There was a sign at the front saying ‘seat yourself’ so Julie slid into a widow booth. Luke slid in across from her, his vibrant smile still on full display. It had been quite some time since Julie went on a first date. It was also pretty obvious that she was out of her element, but Luke seemed perfectly okay with taking the lead. “So, what’s your major, Julie?” He waited until their waitress came over to hand them menus and bring two glasses of water to ask his question. He was casually perusing the menu, but inside, he was dying to know more about this mysterious girl. “You mentioned something about an Evidence course?” Julie glanced up from her menu with a soft smile. She hadn't really gotten a chance to celebrate the fact that she was officially finished her major, (however, she couldn't think of a better way to celebrate than a date with an incredibly cute and caring guy). "I was in Criminology. That was my last exam ever, actually." Luke's eyes widened comically, a large grin spreading over his face. "Congratulations, that's amazing!" He cheered, reaching over to softly squeeze her wrist. "Wow, I should be taking you out to a five course meal — not this." Julie's eyes snapped up to meet his. He was grinning and he looked confident, but Julie could see the underlying insecurity beneath. It was intriguing to see, given how comfortable he had been since they'd met. "This is perfect," she replied evenly, meeting his eye with assurance. Luke matched her smile. The waitress came back to take their order, smiling knowingly at the adorable couple. Luke ordered a chocolate milkshake with a cheeseburger and fries, while Julie also ordered a chocolate milkshake and a chicken caesar wrap with sweet potato fries. “Perfect. I’ll put that order in right away and it’ll be out soon,” their waitress assured them with a bright smile. “What about you?” Julie asked, straw between her lips. She didn’t miss the way Luke’s eyes flickered down for a nanosecond; it gave her all the confidence in the world. “Your major?” Luke took a moment longer to reply (yes, he was composing himself, what about it?). “I’m actually a music major.” Julie’s eyebrows lifted in surprise. “Oh, really?” “Yeah. I was just taking that course as a filler,” he explained. “That was my final exam too.” Julie’s face lit up in excitement. “Doesn’t it feel great?” “Unbelievable,” he chuckled. “A little scary because what the hell am I supposed to do now?” Julie’s smile dimmed a bit. She was in the same boat and she had been avoiding thinking about it for as long as possible. However, she was still young and there was always the possibility of going back to school (although, her current outfit and mental stability would argue against that). “But we’re not going to think about that right now,” she replied with a coy smile. Luke opened his mouth to rebut, but he was instead distracted by the mouthwatering scent of their food arriving. He was mesmerized, but Julie was straight up emotional about it; she truly thought she might cry. “Oh God,” she mumbled, her senses completely overloaded. “It’s been so long since I’ve had proper food. Does coffee count as a food?” Luke was already shoving fries into his mouth. “Definitely not,” he replied through a full mouth. It definitely wasn’t first date etiquette but Julie was so hungry, she couldn’t be bothered to notice. Not that she cared anyway, she was quickly gnawing down her wrap, nearly forgetting to breathe. Once Julie was satisfied that her hunger was appropriately satiated and she could finally multi-task again, she took a sip of her milkshake and turned her attention to Luke once again. “So, music. How’d you get into it?” Luke was momentarily surprised at the question, but he was more than happy to speak about it. Music was everything to him; he could talk about it all day. “Honestly, it kind of just happened. A cousin of mine used to have a guitar and we taught ourselves to play.” “Are you any good?” Julie meant it to come out teasingly, but it really ended up sounding more flirty than anything. “Maybe you should find out.” Luke very easily matched her tone and Julie found herself sweating before him. “How do you propose I do that?” Well, she may as well continue with the ruse. She had leaned forward in the booth, resting her chin in her hand. “Lucky for you, I have a band.” Julie’s brain immediately stopped all function. He was attractive, he had amazing biceps, he was sweet and respectable and he was in a band? “You — you’re in a band?” Julie cringed at the obvious fumble in her words. He can’t just drop that on her and expect her to be okay though. An unconscious smile spread across his features. “My best friends and I are in a band. We try to play gigs whenever we can; you know, exposure.” “Oh — you play gigs,” Julie swallowed. God, her throat was dry. “Does that mean you have original songs?” Luke nodded again; he looked so excited. “My band calls me the Shakespeare of songwriting. Can’t help myself.” Julie’s brain started screaming at her again: HE WRITES SONGS. Julie grabbed her glass of water and drained it halfway. “That’s awesome. Uh — so, are you the guitarist?” “Lead guitarist,” he smirked with pride. “I’m also the lead singer.” Julie squeezed her water glass so tight, her knuckles turned white. Luke’s eyes dropped to her hand and his smirk only widened. He was full-on torturing her now and he knew it. “How the hell are you even real?” Julie was never known for her subtlety. Luke should know that by now since she basically went off on him in the exam room already anyway. He wasn’t, however, expecting that random question. His eyebrows rose in surprise, but Julie didn’t elaborate. Instead, she seemed to be almost glaring at him. He laughed, a hint of nervousness in his tone. “Excuse me?” “You’re a guitar player in a band, you write songs and you sing them. You’re ridiculously sweet and kind and I haven’t seen any red flags yet, which is literally unbelievable nowadays. You’re somehow interested in me and you’re ridiculously hot. There must be something else going on here because there is no way in hell that this is real.” Luke could only blink at her. He took a moment to mull over his next words before he relayed them with a frown. “If you’re impressed by my kindness, which should just be basic human behaviour, then men clearly need to do better.” Julie bit her lip as she sighed. “Sorry. That was a lot. I just mean—” Luke interrupted. “You seem to be really surprised that someone like me could be interested in you and I just don’t understand,” he explained, brows furrowed together. “What you and I see is clearly different. I see someone intelligent and dedicated enough to her studies to block out everything else and get it done. I see someone beautiful, no matter what they're wearing. I see someone who doesn't think as highly of themselves as they should because I've only known you a few hours and that's enough for me to know that I want you in my life." Now it was Julie's turn to blink. "Sorry," Luke popped out a smirk, "That was a lot." "Listen," Julie breathed, openly avoiding eye contact as she started her explanation. "I'm not, nor have I ever been, that successful in the dating department. This," she motioned between her and Luke, "Has never happened to me before and I'm not entirely sure how to handle it. So, I'm sorry if I'm butchering this." Luke instantly reached forward to grab her hand. "You're not." "Are you sure?" She laughed nervously. "I've given you more than one reason tonight to think I'm certifiably insane." Luke looked up from their conjoined hands with an earnest smile. "I hate to break it to you, but it's going to take a lot more than that to drive me away." Julie considered it for a moment. "You know what, I'm okay with that." "Good," he laughed. He stood up from the booth. "I'll be right back." Julie took this opportunity to momentarily reflect. In the span of twenty-four hours, she had gone through a range of emotions like something she'd never experienced before. But she had successfully completed her exams, and thus, completed her major. She could now take a break from school and decide how she wanted to proceed. Somehow the worst week of her life ended up as one of the best. Luke returned a few moments lately, shoving his wallet back into his back pocket. "Alright, we're all squared away. You ready to go?" Julie nodded with a smile, easily following him outside. "Thanks for the meal, Luke. I needed it." "Of course." He was unable to lose the grin from his face. "Hey, is it alright if I get your number?" Julie almost tripped over herself in taking out her cellphone from the pocket of her onesie. They exchanged phone numbers with a smile. "I live just around the corner over there," Julie motioned with her index finger. "But tonight was great, and I had a lot of fun." Luke's eyebrows furrowed together. "Oh, that's great. But I'm walking you home." "You don't need to do that," she replied automatically. "I want to." Well, Julie couldn't dispute that. Luke once again reached for her hand and Julie led the way. She knew it would be an exceptionally short walk, but he kept the conversation going for all of it. It felt like he couldn't get enough of talking to her and it seriously made Julie's heart squeeze with affection. When they reached the doorstep of Julie's building, she turned to him with nervous eyes. "I would love to take you out again," Luke murmured quietly. The energy around them had suddenly changed and Julie was hyper aware of his thumb stroking her palm. "I would love to see your band," she replied, because honestly, she still hadn't gotten that image out of her head. An immediate grin broke out on Luke's face. "Then it's decided," his eyes softened once again as he took a step down. "Get some sleep, Julie. Celebrate your achievements by forty-seven hours of sleep." "You know what?" Julie threw her head back in a laugh. "I think I just might." His eyes were sparkling as he observed her laughing. It was the best sight he'd seen in ages. Julie could see his hesitation and decided he'd done enough already (especially through her multiple freak-outs over the course of the day). With his small step down, he was finally at her height. She took a small step forward and pulled him closer with a soft hand of the back of his neck. She met his wide eyes as she moved closer and pulled a smile as she pressed her lips dangerously close to his lips. She kept her hand where it was and only moved back to glance in his eyes. His own hand slid behind her back and she savoured every moment of his touch. No words were needed. All they needed was the mere presence of each other. Julie finally pulled away, throwing a shy smile in his direction. "Goodnight, Luke." He was grinning the widest she'd seen since they met. "Goodnight, Julie."

#julie and the phantoms #jatp #juke #juke fics #jatp fics #juke au #jatp au #luke patterson #julie molina #julie x luke #luke x julie

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fndmxreader · 3 years

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fandom: harry potter. pairing: remus lupin x reader | the reader simps for lupin because isn’t that all what we do daily ? summary: connected to the self indulgent series where the reader is a slytherin muggle born witch working alongside the teachers at hogwarts. note: this series will bounce around a lot involving timelines, but a lot of them don’t really have a coherent story line anyway. movie setting: prisoner of askaban. pov: she/her pronouns.

you were looking off into the distance in a daze, end of pen in mouth as your writings came to a halt and instead getting caught up in thoughts. your summer hadn’t been great, if you were being completely honest : your muggle friends were getting on your case regarding being missing for a year, you knew at some point you had to pick : the wizarding world or the muggle one, living two lives was absolutely exhausting, living them meant being two types of people - like one example, you had accidentally used a levitating spell to put a cup back and last minute your friend walked in, smashing on the floor as your hand flinched down to your side.

“ what was that crash ? “ “ i put the mug too close to the counter, “ you had laughed nervously, quickly walking towards the glass to pick it up “ it fell off as a result ” “you’re clumsiness is going to be the death of you “

that was only one of the close calls, there were far too many to keep track of, including dropping hints to the wizarding world in conversation, only to stutter and try and say you were referencing a bizarre indie movie from overseas. at this point you were trying to pick would it be even possible to choose a side ? it seemed impossible just to pick one over the other, especially knowing that no matter what route you take it would result in an empty, hollow feeling left inside of chest. you’re not sure who you could go to for guidance, you weren’t familiar with any muggle borns your own age, and talking to a pureblood or half blood would go in vein, the latter would understand to some degree, but ultimately it’s not the same and with it being so complicated, listening to people who barely got it would be a waste of time and only twist the knife in gut.

“ everyone, i would like to introduce you to remus jo - “ �� that was all you really heard dumbledore say before ears blocked out the world like static, everything beyond the screaming in your head made everything else seem like a distant hum with no tune, a crackle of a tv that can’t quite catch signal. your pen tapped against your bottom lip, perching against it as you eyebrows knitted together in deep thought.

maybe professor dumbledore could help, he wouldn’t get it but maybe he could shred some light on the situation ? he was always good at that.

“ miss l/n - “

perhaps it’s all just being blown out of proportion, work leave would surely be something the muggles would understand that. even if they are after photos, work gossip and other details -

“ y/n “ between the firmness and the sudden block of your view as the men stepped into eyesight causes you to flinch, reeling away from nothing in panic as you try and grasped your surroundings once more, blinking up in a rapid succession that causes concern to flash on the two men’s faces. it takes a moment to register where you were, the surroundings, what the hell was going on in general...

“ huh ? “ your tongue pokes out to roll against your bottom lip, eyes wide as you stared up at dumbledore, only for sight to break away from the one your most familiar with to the new guy... you won’t lie to yourself, you weren’t ready for seeing someone like him, especially in your state. his eyes were beaming with life, amusement dancing behind dark hues as a faint smile tugged at lips, hands pushed far into pockets as eye contact seemed to lock, your lips part to say something, anything but much like before your brain seemed to short circuit, this time for an entirely and much more embarrassing reason, “ huh ? “ you repeated again, cheeks coming to life with colour as you kept looking at the new guy.

“ this is professor lupin, y/n. the new defence against the dark arts teacher - “ speaking slower now, and you’re rather grateful for the approach because you really needed things to stop going by so quickly, the whole world seemed to flash in front of you at lightening speed.

“ oh “ a pause, then it really began to register “ OH ! “ it was the most beautiful example of a pin drop ever to grace hogwarts’ walls ( yes, dumbledore will be thinking about it years to come ) - you jump up rather clumsily and hold your hand out to the man “ hi, sorry - i was just ... never mind, hi ! “ you repeated again, the embarrassment settling deep within bones, making itself at home in the creases of mind that would take weeks to weave out. but regardless of the mocking in head, you do your best to not feed it and give it anymore attention... at least for the time being. lupins much bigger hand wraps around yours, a firm but gentle grasp as he finally takes the moment to speak himself.

“ that’s quite alright, i can tell that we disturbed you. in fact i believe we should be the ones apologising, however professor dumbledore here insisted on the introduction - “ it came easily, between tone of his voice and the warmth of his hand, you’ve never felt safer, it was like being in a warm hug beside the fire on the night of winter; you mentally slap yourself for acting like a teenager towards a complete stranger. your eyes however, narrow towards dumbledore, in a way blaming you own pathetic display on him. a faint smile on his lips as he made up some excuse to leave the pair of you alone, not at all hiding the way his eyes twinkled with amusement at the scene that played out.

your hand flexed around remus’, far too busy sending daggers at dumbledore walking away than the fact you were still holding the older man hostage, not helping the murmured “ ugh, he can be such an arse sometimes - “

“ i believe that’s apart of the charm “ remus chimed, your eyes moving back to his as you smiled up at him once more, less tense than what your face was previously “ um, miss l/n ? your hand - “

“ oh, fuck, sorry - “ instantly your arms folded across your chest, the blush only darkening your cheeks “ i promise i’m not this socially inept, well, at least to this extent - “

“ oh, don’t fret. i’ve met much worse people, i myself tend to panic in social situations. they’re not my forte “ you shoulders relax, though you can’t help but note that he seemed surprisingly at ease even with the confession. your eyes dance around the staff room, much to your own relief they seemed to be back to focusing on their own work.

“ well, you’re doing much better than me if that’s any help. so, you’re teaching dark arts - ? “ then the conversation seemed to spark to life without much spluttering after that, eventually both sitting on the couch and bonding over lessons; including how you got your position in the first place, your arm rested on the back of the furniture as your body turned fully to him, the longer the pair of you were sat there, the more they progressed beyond work and more into personal ones, about experiences outside of hogwarts and within the walls, not helping the fits of giggles that bubbled in your chest.

“ being a slytherin comes with the natural title of ‘dark pranks,’ most of us tend to live up to the name. people demonise us, so we give them a reason to continue it. that certainly doesn’t end at our humour, i think it shows more than ever in that aspect - “ you giggled again, head shaking “ i remember my friends putting a real snake in one of the gryffindors bed covered in animals blood, the girl panicked for weeks - but they started it ! “

“ i must say being a gryffindor myself, i feel like i should be offended on behalf of them. then again, my friends here were trouble makers as well. their pranks could... “ wrist rolled in the air, and while there’s a hint of pain twisting in features and a haunted look that seemed to cover bright eyes, there was still a fondness in how he spoke “ extremely, well and truly out of hand ? “

“ ahah ! “ it’s like a triumph, finger pointing at the others face “ you can hide behind the fancy wording all you want, professor. but you gryffindors can be just as over the top as the rest of us, if not more so ! “ he knocks your hand away from his face playfully, grin widening as mock offence does its best to take over features.

“ firstly, you may call me remus, second of all, i will agree with nothing you say, i would never stoop so low. “

your heart skipped a beat at the notion.

“ you may call me y/n, only when you admit i’m right - “

a nice joke to push down the giddiness of calling him by his first name the short hours of knowing him.

“ how very slytherin of you - “

“ how very gryffindor of you to point that out, remus “

the back and forth banter eventually came to a halt, as minutes ticked by it was time to go to the great hall for food and to sort out the new years. you and remus walked in a comfortable silence, a lightness surrounding you both as it showed in your steps, and showed in the way his lips remained locked in a subtle smile. you were left with one feeling... finally, dumbledore hired someone worthwhile. you would also give him a hard time for that awkward bow that he did at dinner.

#remus lupin x reader #harry potter x reader #hp x reader #teacher!reader series.#the man. the myth. the good doggie -#MSODHSOIDHSOIDH #harry potter corner.#god this took days to write i dont even know why im sorry im a sham

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ilovelollipopx · 4 years

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hmmm would u like to do a sett x fem reader smut oneshot? ;) i rly love ur writings!! ^-^

{An:At first, I was hesitant to do it because my smut writing isn’t very good as you can tell from the Yasuo smut but I tried my hand at it again, hope you enjoy it!}

Summary: Just as you had given up waiting for your tall human vastayan to come home he shows up late, but don't worry he’ll make up for it~

Warnings: Smut really

Words: 2178

Sett had those days where his stay was prolonged at the pits till nightfall and others where it ended fairly shortly. You didn’t really care too often about how much time he spent there, it was something he enjoyed and proudly started from the ground up in Ionia of all places. That was nothing short of a feat. On rare occasions, you would accompany him there and watch the fights with him. Today wasn’t one of those days though as you didn’t feel like visiting.

So here, waiting idly in the kitchen, one of those days where fights were short was the Boss’s significant other, you. Steam rose from the platters set out on the table you resided at, the aroma was anything than pleasant. The burnt smell was not hard to smell but about 83 percent of the dessert was at least edible. Opting out for takeout was a much more desired option, the two of you could try out that new ramen place that had opened close to where your house was located.

But thinking of a nice bowl of ramen combined with the summer heat that glazed over the lands of Ionia was not what you needed. It was too late though, you began to grow impatient and the need for sett to arrive faster was irritating. The more you thought about him apparently the hotter it became. Opening windows only seemed to cool you down slightly and as clouds would pass and the sun would lower just a tiny inch ever minute the longer that desire would arise.

The apparent expression of brows being furrowed gave away that you were more than just frustrated, by this time hours had passed by, only a few if anyone was officially counting. A mild sour feeling was there for a short notice, the sinking feeling of dread and disappointment. Worrying about Sett’s safety wasn’t even a thought that passed by, the tall half-human vastayan pummeled a guy into a stand just because he was getting too touchy with you.

Letting out a huff as cool breeze flooded pass your shoulders the sound of wooden legs that belonged to the chair that had just been pushed in resounded creeks. Followed by the windows being slammed closed with a quick flick of the lock. Despite if he showed up soon or not it was already afternoon, and it would be a far longer walk if the sky was to darken soon. Opening the door as soon as you were prepared to leave was quick, although you would’ve continued if the first thing that was to collide with your form wasn't a very smooth chest.

Grunting and stumbling back into your house with a firm grip still on the door. The pain that had run through your head and nose had subsided rather quickly just as it arrived. One look at who had stood before you was all it took for a sour frown to edge its way in.

“Well Hello there beautiful” he smiled as his frame towered into the doorway, one of his arms behind his back.

Confused your head leaned back to get a good look at him and you scoffed,

“Don’t hey Beautiful me where have you been?” your arms crossed looking up for a proper answer.

Although the one answer you didn’t expect was a gift as the arm hidden behind his back moved in front of your face revealed an assortment of your favorite Ionian flowers, a large bundle at that. Your cheeks had warmed at the sight as you became flushed and your brain short-circuited for a minute.

“I had to make sure the flowers I was getting l were not some cheap knock-offs”

With those words said the thundering emotions that had harbored up while waiting for him to arrive had drizzled away.

“I.. uhm thank you” answering as you took the flowers presented and taking a moment in time to sniff them quickly relishing in the floral fragrances for a second before turning around to find somewhere to place them. Hopefully, a bucket of water would do as you weren’t the type of female to just keep vases around the house just for moments like these. The door had closed and shortly after putting the bucket of flowers on the table in your kitchen the feeling of warm muscled arms snuck around your waist pulling your body closer to his taller frame. He leaned his head down and tucked it in your neck intaking your scent, and you sat there taking in the familiar smell of his natural musk as well as the smell one would have after a nice soaking bath.

Suddenly Sett had lifted you up and spun around chuckling, your giggling mixing with his filling the empty house. Eventually, the two of you calmed and you turned around to face him before tugging him down by the fur on his coat for a kiss. Not resisting one bit as his body leaned forward to deepen the kiss. His rough lips against your soft ones pressed against each other longingly. The two of you regained your composure as you leaned away from each other.

“Why’d you make me wait so long, do you even know how much I missed you?” your voice spoke just above a whisper.

Sett smirked a shimmer of mischief flashing his eyes for a moment, in a swift motion he lifted you up by your thighs and your legs instantly wrapped around his waist as to not fall. Although with his hands moving closer ass you doubt you would fall anytime soon.

“Well then if you missed so much how about I make it up to my favorite gal” his husky voice filled your ears, that was all it took for you to melt in his touch.

“Oh that sounds like a good way to make it up to me” you purred

In such a short time, the two of you had already made it to the bedroom. Sitting on the edge of the bed with you in his lap in a needy way he jerked your hips closer to him as he enveloped your lips in a kiss. Hands sliding across thighs slipping under your dress gripping firmly on your butt making your skin prickle. Just with a touch, he had you heated. As time progressed you had become bolder in touching him knowing a few spots to get him riled up. Splaying your hands across his chest you began to caress upwards until your fingers had been entangled in his soft fiery locks of hair. Tenderly you began to slowly tease his ears knowing damn well they were sensitive. Pulling apart from kissing you both leaned apart letting your foreheads press together gazing into the eyes of each other.

“You know your the only one-.. who makes me so needy like this?” he murmured struggling to keep his composure

In response to that, you smiled a small giggle escaping those tantalizing lips of yours,

“I better be the only one who can make you melt under my touch”

He hummed in response as his hands moved to the back of your Ionian gown unraveling it and relishing in the outlines of your body, taking his time feeling up against such plush skin. As Sett slipped the gown off your shoulder the breeze passing in from the window against your now bare skin had you shudder. Your hands weren’t idle either as they had begun to push off his fur jacket, he paused in his actions helping you get it off faster. Now that both of your tops had been removed Sett had taken in time to just bask in the beauty that was sitting in front of him. His gaze didn’t make you shy or second think about your figure, he made sure to always make you feel comfortable during times like this. Even as he wasn’t working you enjoyed the thought of the boss having all his attention on you. Each of you mapping out each other’s bodies so that the next time celestials forbid he is gone for much longer once more that you’d remember the embrace you two were in.

Slowly he leaned you backward a steady hand making sure you didn’t fall so he could expose your chest much more to him. Arms wrapped around his neck you became intoxicated in his touch wanting much more of it. Becoming all hot and shaky once his lips latched on to your breast sucking and lapping it with his tongue as his free hand roughly massaged the other. In an instant, you threw your head further back wanting to just push him away to stop, but knowing all too well that you wanted more of that warm fiery feeling that tingled your senses.

You whined and whimpered under him getting quite impatient as he switched his attention on your breasts. The growing feeling of the bulge growing in his pants was getting more and more harder to ignore as you had been writhing under his touch rolling against his hips in a sloppy attempt to please yourself. His grip tightened and he pinched your breast breaking his lips away grinning at the sight of you, hands moving to rest on your hips as you lulled your head forward into the crook of his neck letting out a sweet gasp. A sudden rush of adrenaline had hit in a burst as you had become extremely bold.

Pushing him down on the bed you adjusted yourself so you were straddling his hips now.

“Well look at this the boss being bossed around by his lady hard to believe” he purred fully allowing you to top him

Smirking you teased as you slipped off on to the side as you patted his chest, “Well The Boss’s lady says take off your shoes and pants”

He took no time in complying with sitting up and removing his signature pants and kicking off his shoes. By the time he laid back down with his arms under his head waiting your panties had already been thrown to the floor. Hopping back on his waist you purposely sat dangerously close to the bulge in his underwear fighting to be released. Leaning down you closed in for a kiss moaning as you began to buck your hips against his. As soon as you did this his arms quickly moved from underneath his head and slithered to settle on your waist.

You continued to dry hump against him your fingers sprawled out on to his chest occasionally digging into his skin as the fire was pooling in your abdomen. The room filled with grunts and pants as you continued to grind on him his grip becoming more intense the more time passed.

“Dammit..” you cried out as Sett had jerked your body forward in a sloppy attempt rock in sync with you.

With no underwear on you could feel how wet his boxers were now because of your juices allowing you to feel more of his dick twitch against your entrance as you slipped up and down against it. Your movements soon became much more desperate and sloppy as you quickened your pace in random moments. Simply drowning in pleasure in order to edge yourself closer to release you steadied yourself with one hand as the other begin to pinch and twist your already hardened nipples sending sparks throughout your body.

“Fucking hell Sett” you cried out as just a couple more thrusts and you’d become putty.

That was all it took, in a matter of seconds you clenched on to him as your body pulsated as you tensed and jolted still had relished in the intense pleasure. You simply panted as the warmth that had been pooled was released, lowering your upper body down on his chest as he continued to grind against you.

Sett however was near as well as your orgasm had edged him on more his grunts increasing and the grip on your body had tightened which was sure to form a bruise with his strength. Repeatedly each time his hips grinded against yours until he arched his back holding your body as close to his as he relished in his climax. You felt his release through his boxers as his grip loosened, there you lay on his chest as you both regained composure. The feeling of him cumming against your entrance was hot, but what had turned you on again was the thought of him doing it inside of you.

He knew it as well, that it had turned you own as you slightly rubbed against him. Taking it as the ok he switched positions hovering over you taking a short moment to take his soaked boxers off and throwing them to the ground as his dick sprung out still in the mood for more. The sight of you naked and needy was enough to replenish the stamina he had barely lost.

Pulling you by your hips he formed a smug look on his face as he lined himself up with your entrance.

“Well look whos ready for round two, let’s see if you can keep up with the boss”

#league of legends #sett lol #sett the boss #league of legends sett #sett x reader #sett #league of legends headcanons #league of legends imagines #league of legends x reader #league of legends imagine #league of legends headcanon

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ohsnapcracklepopfriends · 3 years

Text

Back at it again with another Carraville disaster fic. Very out of my comfort zone to write and I did like no research but here it is.

Jamie had always been a person who felt. He felt everything so much more intensely than the rest of his teammates: every emotion, every win, and, perhaps most importantly, every loss.

He just felt so empty when Ricardo saved that penalty. He felt the life, the hope, the fire leave his body all at once. He was on autopilot as he trudged back to the line of players on half field. Everything had gone to shit. Stevie had missed a penalty. Stevie. If that wasn’t a sign that they were cursed nothing was.

Fucking Ronaldo stepped up like he hadn’t crushed enough of Jamie’s dreams. He kissed the ball and set it on the pitch. Jamie didn’t even think about punching him, his heart just sank. It sank even further as he stuck it in the right corner.

As they screamed and tackled Ronaldo in jubilation, Stevie sunk to the ground. Jamie heard a sob from his left. He looked over and saw Rio was also on the ground. The sound could have also come from Lamps and John who were crying into each other’s shirts. The Portugal players swinging their shirts was a gut punch. The English fans seemed to be shell shocked.

Jamie looked around at the English bodies collapsed on the pitch. He looked over to Stevie. Neville sat on his heels on Stevie’s left. He grabbed Stevie’s arm and seemed to whisper something in his ear. He pulled Stevie up and pushed him into Jamie’s arms. Jamie held Stevie’s head against his shoulder and dragged them towards the tunnel.

Before they could disappear to the depressing safety of the dressing room, they heard a sudden uptake and noise behind them. It was Neville. Gary Bloody Neville shaking hands with the Portugal players. Unlike the Portuguese, not even trying to mask their giant, smug grins, Neville was the picture of neutrality, a steeled neutrality. His eyebrows were furrowed like they usually were. His lips were slightly protruding but nothing close to a pout. Jamie only looked away when he felt Stevie’s knee start to give out under them. He slung Stevie’s arm around his shoulder to support his weight and carefully brought them to their lockers.

There were already a few players in the dressing room when he and Stevie hobbled in. Heads were buried in hands. Jamie pretended not to hear the sniffling and sharp breaths of his teammates. Hell, if he were alone he’d be sniffling too.

A few minutes later Beckham herded the stragglers in. John was still a wreck--Rio too--though the rest of them had calmed down a bit. Lamps was no longer sobbing but Jamie could see the big wet stain on his shirt and his red-rimmed eyes. Neville led Walcott in, a hand around his shoulder. He brought him over to his locker and sat them down on the bench in front of it. Neville was shirtless, his muddied, white England kit draped across his left shoulder, the one not occupied by Walcott.

Sven came in a few minutes later. He was alone, not with Grip as he almost always was. He said a few words before leaving them alone. It was probably a good choice. None of them were best pleased with him. Jamie certainly blamed him, though not exclusively. He blamed Ronaldo. He blamed the ref. Most overwhelmingly, he blamed himself. If he had fucking scored that penalty they would’ve had a chance. If he just hadn’t hit the bar. He should’ve practised more, taking penalties. Not that there was even a thought in his mind before the game that he’d have to step up and take one. Jamie just wanted to punch something. A wall. Himself. Anything would do.

Jamie looked up from his feet when he heard some small giggles coming from the left side of the dressing room. The sound was coming from Walcott. Soft, little, reluctant giggles escaped from him as Neville quietly told him jokes with a slight upturn to his lips. Jamie decided he was a good target--not Walcott, Neville--and got up.

He approached Walcott. “Can I borrow him for a minute?” Jamie didn’t dare look at Neville in all this, just took Walcott’s nod as a sign to grab Neville by his arm and drag him into the hallway. Beckham stuck his head out after them, a look of concern on his face. Jamie sighed.

“I’m not gonna hurt him, Becks. Promise. Go back inside.” Beckham stuck out his pinkie finger for Jamie to curl his own around. This act seemingly satisfied him enough to close the door leaving them alone. Jamie took this opportunity to slam and pin Neville against the wall. The shirt balanced on his shoulder fell to the floor in a grass-stained heap.

“Thought you said you weren’t going to hurt me,” Neville joked once again.

“You don’t fucking care, do you?” Jamie snarled. Neville’s eyes widened under him. “You don’t care about this team. You don’t care about this country. You don’t care about those fans.” Jamie removed his hand from Neville’s bare chest and was using it gesture wildly as he talked. God, it felt good to feel something. Murderous rage wasn’t his first choice emotion but it would certainly do.

“I knew you were stupid,” Neville said, “but I didn’t know you were this bloody thick.” Jamie ignored the way his eyes narrowed, the way he sucked in his cheeks. Jamie grabbed at the badge on his shirt.

“To me, this means something. It means that I have a little more respect when we’ve just broken the hearts of every fucking person in this fucking country. It’s not a fucking joke to the rest of us in there.” Neville snaps. After a shocking display of strength, Jamie finds himself pressed against the wall.

“It’s not a fucking joke to me. I care about this country and I’ve played for this country a hell of a lot more than you ever have or ever will. Just because I can step my arse up and be mature about the whole fucking situation doesn’t mean I don’t have fucking feelings!” Jamie was stunned for a second. He wasn’t sure why Neville pushing him against the wall knocked him out of it so much, but he tried quickly to regain his composure and, most of all, his anger.

“Didn’t seem mature to be having a laugh with Walcott ten seconds after we get knocked out of the World fucking Cup!” He huffed, “I mean JT’s sobbing on the floor in there, mate, and you and Walcott are having a fucking giggle? Bollocks.”

“You just don’t get it, do you?” Neville asked, clearly not looking for a response, “I’m the fucking captain, Carragher. My job is to pull that group of lads together and made sure they don’t get so drunk tonight they get run over by a bus.”

“Last I checked, Beckham was the captain and you were just his little puppy dog sidekick.” There was a flash in Neville’s eyes. Almost like he’d gone too far. Almost like he’d struck a nerve. Good, he thought. Neville recovered quickly though.

“Wore the bloody armband tonight, didn’t I?” He was so smug about it. If he hadn’t promised Beckham he wouldn’t damage him, Jamie would’ve punched him square in his ugly nose. He told Neville as much and Neville, the bastard, laughed at him. Jamie was seriously reconsidering his promise. “It’s not my fucking fault that you missed a penalty. Seriously couldn’t wait for the ref to blow the whistle? You scousers always ruin everything.” He could tell at this point that Neville was trying to wind him up. What he hated the most was that it was working.

“It’s like you want me to punch you. Bet you’d like that, wouldn’t you? You that touch-starved? Not getting any from you precious Becks?” There it was. He struck that nerve again. He could see it in Neville’s eyes. In a moment, Neville was moving. Jamie expected him to storm off or to punch him. He can safely say that the exact last thing he expected was for the Manc to kiss him.

It wasn’t biting or rough like Jamie would’ve expected--again, not that he was expecting this in the slightest. It really was a kiss, all soft, romantic like. Gary’s shockingly smooth lips just pressed to his as his left hand held the back of Jamie’s head, right hand gripping the badge of his shirt. Gary’s eyes were squeezed shut in determination. After about thirty seconds, Jamie’s closed too despite his best efforts. Then, as quickly as it started, Gary pulled back. He stayed put though. He swayed on the balls of his feet in front of Jamie, waiting for him to respond. Jamie swore his brain was short-circuiting.

“Know why Beckham keeps you around, now. Bet those lips are good at other things as well.” He blurts it out without thinking. He immediately wishes he’d shut up when he sees the slight smirk to Gary’s lips disappear.

“You fucking bastard,” Gary mutters as he shoves Jamie back against the wall, hard, and walks away. Jamie slides down the wall to sit on his heels. His fingers brush against his lips reminding him of the smooth, firm pressure. Fuck.

#carraville #my fic

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whump-town · 4 years

Text

Moments Too Late

Part two!

I don’t know it’s fun writing all this college nonsense (while ignoring my own college nonsense) and I think I’ll probably write a chapter three because this is giving me a little kick and it’s fun

Warnings: panic attack, briefly mentions Derek’s childhood, Carl Buford, and the insinuations of what that entails

Part One is Here

The quad, a great expansion of grass covered in a sea of moving sweaty twenty-year-olds, is nearly unaware of the scene played out before them. A mismatched group of a twelve-year-old, a Chicago born here on a scholarship football player, a brightly adorned orphan, a blonde basket case, an alcoholic, the Italian mobs missing link, and somebodies lanky older brother don’t typically need so much attention. They’re the sort to pass quietly through college. The blonde basket case might make honor roll and the football player might be seen in the back row of some newspaper before an injury takes him out but that’s about it. For them, that’s a point of pride -- not being noticed.

Derek knows from the pull of Aaron’s shoulders to the rattling sound of his breathing as he stumbles away from them that he’s having a panic attack. He watches Emily step to follow, knows she means well but will only make things so much worse. “Stay,” Derek shouts at Emily. Alliances mean everything to them, young and dumb and alone in a world not yet fully accessible to them. They need the little promises -- that Spencer will only eat red skittles out of the bag, that JJ will carry rocks in the pockets of her pristine clothing to give to Penelope, and that Derek sides with Emily.

Out of shock, Emily rocks to a stop. Derek’s never yelled at her.

“I’ll go,” he offers, not waiting for anyone to argue even though it looks like Dave might try. “Don’t follow.”

Aaron’s spider-like legs carry him quickly but he’s got nothing on the suicide’s Derek’s football coach has had him running for the past six months. Derek pulls them hip to hip, glad that the sun and the chatter pull all attention away from them. They look like tipsy girls on their way back from a party, stumbling into one another heads pulled in as if to discuss something of great importance.

Derek’s never been so thankful their dorms are on the main part of campus.

“Hey--” the RA, some poor kid just trying to put himself through college, watches Aaron and Derek come barreling into the building. He’s not on duty but he’d gone to get one of his kids the extra key to their room and been on the ground floor to watch Derek loop his arm around Aaron. Nearly having to pick the older boy up by his hips to plant him back on his feet. He’s got a split second to decide what to do.

To his defense, he knows Aaron and Derek. Aaron is a sophomore and never causes anybody any problems. Hell, he spent spring-break in the dorms and didn’t tell anyone the hot water went out. He just showered with freezing water for a week. Derek is a football player but not the sort that drags in all their muddy crap all over the carpets, when Derek comes in from practice there’s not a trace of his existence. When the two are together, they’re the least rowdy group to deal with (even though one or both has at least three or four more people in their rooms).

So, the RA looks at Aaron, looks at Derek, and decides whatever those two are doing… they can handle on their own. “Don’t fucking run! This isn’t a barn!” Hmm, just another job well done. Nice.

Derek looks over his shoulder, smiling despite how hard his hands shake with his anxiety. “Right!” he offers. “Sorry!” He’s not worried about tearing past everyone they see or that pulling Aaron’s heavy ass behind him is making his biceps burn. He’s worried about the tears Aaron seems to have no control over or how broken, how lost he looks. “Just a second,” Derek promises, throwing his weight into the bathroom door. The communal showers are empty, not many people take showers at two in the afternoon, and that’s what Derek’s banking on.

“I -- I --” Hotch goes where he’s pulled. His face numb and his feet heavy, it takes his brain a moment to really compute where he is. “What are we--” he coughs on a breath that doesn’t come outright. Whimpering and pulling his hands in towards his chest, trying to soothe the feeling of his sternum chipping away to shoot hard bone fragments of pain down his arms and up his throat.

His cry startles Derek enough to spur him to further action. Grabbing Aaron by two fist fulls of his ratty old sweater, a beige monstrosity that Aaron will never admit to having bought at Salvation Army with the last twenty dollars he owned, Derek pushes him into the shower. Holding him against the wall as he sputters against the shock of the freezing water beamed at his chest. Caring about neither of their clothes, he ignores his shirt wetting and sticking to his shoulders and back.

“Derek please--” Aaron cries, weakly pushing at Derek’s arms. He’s too disorganized, too frantic to push the stronger boy off. It’s nothing for Derek to grab Aaron’s thin wrist and pin them to his chest; not an issue of strength but it pains Derek to watch Aaron sob and try and pull himself free. If anyone were to walk in they’d think Derek was hurting him but this is just all Derek knows will help.

Derek feels Aaron’s body start to take to the cold, become too shocked to panic. “Just breathe,” he instructs. “Just calm down.” Carl Buford had been the person to teach Derek about this little trick. Naked and terrified and too trusting in all the wrong men. Buford had lifted him and dunked him in a freezing bath, shushing him when he’d scrambled madly out of the painfully cold water. Buford had held him, pinned Derek’s thin arms down, and held him down in the water. Buford held him close until he calmed down, Derek nearly felt safe once again as if the atrocities done to him never happened. He considered maybe they hadn’t.

“Shit,” Derek scrambles closer, grunting when Aaron’s knees just give out from beneath his body. They both as they hit the floor, a clatter enough to draw attention to them. Derek hits his elbow against the wall, sending sparks of pain through his nerves. “Alright, alright.” Aaron’s teeth are chattering but he’s not fighting, he’s not panicking. “Just --” he didn’t think this far ahead. To the aftermath. He needs a towel and someplace warm but not too warm. “I’ll be right back.”

He leaves Aaron sitting on the floor, curled as far as he can get from the water but just limply leaning into the wall. Temple resting against the wall and arms wrapped around his body and fingers clenching the wet material of his shirt. Staring vacantly at nothing.

He runs to his own room where his towels are sitting in his clean clothes basket from where he cleaned them three days ago but hasn’t needed to put them away just yet. He grabs two because he’s not sure what the damage is and it’s likely they’ll both need one. He’s in such a state he nearly busts his ass. His sneakers slipping in the water dripping off his clothes. He lands with a plop on his hands and knees, brain short-circuiting for a moment as all he takes in is the sting of the skin on his knees and the ache of his wrists.

In the hall, legs of a fawn not yet certain how to move its knees, arms wrapped tightly around each other, and jaw clenched tightly to prevent his teeth from clacking together and sounding out his painful retreat back to his room Aaron shuffles down the hall. Derek catches sight of just his drenched clothes, hanging pitifully off his frame and weighed down by the water, and can’t help but be frustrated but not entirely surprised.

“I told you to stay,” Derek fusses as he jobs up behind Aaron. He wraps a towel around his shoulders, wincing when Aaron looks up at him and Derek gets a good look at his face. Aaron’s always had bags under his eyes and he’s naturally just very pale but the cold has drawn any color out of his face leaving behind only the darkly contrasted proof that though he might tell them he’s sleeping well that he’s lying. That’s where you have to be careful with a man like Aaron -- they have long ago mastered the art of redirection and lies. A skill he learned at his mother’s hip as she dabbed concealer over his eye. Redirect their attention to protect yourself. It hasn’t failed him yet.

Well… except for today and, evidently, every day before that.

Derek allows Aaron to keep shuffling in the direction of his room with the assumption that the room will be a nice warm space to get comfortable. The problem is supposed to be in getting Aaron out of these clothes; Derek knows he won’t strip in front of him. Not that Derek is going to enjoy himself watching Aaron -- mostly because he’s a little afraid of what those oversized sweaters are hiding but also because Derek typically prefers women.

What Derek isn’t taking into consideration is that Aaron is a borderline masochist.

“Why is it so cold in here?” Derek takes a step back when Aaron manages to get the door open. Shivering at the cold air that comes rushing out.

Aaron shrugs, lips blue and jaw starting to betray him. “Can’t sleep under the blankets if it’s too warm,” he offers as if Derek might be the silly one here. But they both are really, standing in the doorway of a dorm shivering in soaking wet clothes. “Whatever you say, boss,” Derek mumbles with an eye-roll, stepping around Aaron. They’ve all grown very familiar with the layout of each other’s rooms. Even when new school years bring new floor layouts, some of them are more reliably the same than others. Emily is a bit of a wild card but people like JJ and Aaron have the same habits. And Derek knows where the changes of clothes he’s looking for are.

He’d borrowed a pair of Aaron’s slacks last semester for an advising meeting with people from his major and they’d been snug. Snug is an understatement -- he thought his ass was going to bust out of them. He’d even had to have Penelope bring them up two inches because, despite being the same height, Aaron has freakishly long legs. Derek would never comment on this, Aaron might come across as your normal brooding angst but he’s kind of sensitive. Though the others might not think so (given Derek’s nature to push and shove at everything Aaron says) Derek values Aaron’s friendship tremendously and Aaron knows that when Derek pushes it’s to understand boundaries and because he trusts Aaron.

“Oh my God,” Penelope exclaims from the doorway. “What did you do to him?”

Aaron jumps, wrapping his arms around his naked chest in a hurry. He shuffles back, trying to put some distance between himself and Penelope standing in the doorway of his room. Glancing at Derek as he does so, pleading with the other boy to do something and get the attention off of him.

Derek tosses a pair of pajama pants on Aaron’s bed, motioning for Aaron to turn and pay them mind. “Get out of those clothes before you get sick.” Turning his own attention to Penelope he averts her, shuffling her back until their both out the doorway. Giving Aaron the privacy he needs and letting her air-out her loudly proclaimed worries as he does so. “Baby girl,” he says over her rapid speech. “Baby girl, hey. Hey, he’s fine. Look at me, he’s fine.”

Penelope stops, mouth open and brows pulled down with great concern, “Derek, he’s soaking wet and pale--” She stops and really gets a good look at him. Standing before her in a shirt clinging to his skin and shivering slightly in the air-conditioned hall. “And-- And you’re soaking wet too. Derek Morgan, what did you do?”

Derek grimaces in preparation for how crazy he knows he’s about to sound. “I--I threw him in the shower.”

Penelope raises an eyebrow, waiting for him to continue.

“He was…” Derek hesitates. He’s not entirely sure how much he should tell her, for the sake of Aaron’s privacy. If it was Spencer, there would be no doubts but Aaron is far more complex than that. “Sometimes cold showers can help nerves and so I directed him to that solution.” Leaving out the bits about Aaron’s panic or maybe anxiety attack, his vulnerability, and the wrestling that took place to get him there Derek feels he’s left Aaron’s virtue intact. A win. “It sounds crazy,” he admits, “but it helps, I swear.”

Penelope considers what she’s just been told and while she would like to implement further comments on the terms and conditions of a shower (even if it’s a cold one) with Derek Morgan, she just narrows her eyes and knows that Derek always seems to know what’s best. She trusts him. “So, he’s better now? Asides from the pale, shivering bit?”

Derek nods, “yeah but in my defense, he’s always pale and shivering.” Which is true, no matter where they go they carry blankets and jackets something to offer Spencer and Aaron when they inevitably get chilled.

“Okay,” she caves. That seems to settle some of her own anxiety. She looks sadly to the shut door separating her from Aaron. “Okay,” she repeats again, deflating at the thought of her poor Aaron sitting on the other side. Hurt and upset. “Do you think there’s anything we can do?” She looks to Derek, so hopeful that he’s come up with some solution she hadn’t come up with on her own.

Derek shakes his head, “I don’t think so, Penny. I think we’ve got to let them work it out. It’s not about us.” He sighs and he’s frustrated that it’s true but he can’t amend Emily’s words and he’s not so sure she can either. With a sigh he opens Aaron’s door back up, peaking in to see where the other boy’s gone.

Aaron’s climbed into his bed, lights off, and back facing them, covered in his mounds of blankets.

“I hate it when they fight,” Penelope whispers.

Derek takes one long look at Aaron, watching his back move as he sleeps. Panic attacks are draining, he’s just glad Aaron’s sleeping for once. “Yeah, me too.”

#criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #aaron hotchner #derek morgan #penelope garcia

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riceccakes · 4 years

Text

for @savethewaffle (we won’t talk about the prompt you sent me in my inbox😅)

She planned everything, down to the pencil she would use to write notes during the orientation. It was the only way Adora could maintain her stress, the only way to ease her anxiety, and while it helped, the pit in her stomach only grew heavier as she neared the university.

No amount of mechanical pencils could calm her down now.

She studied the orientation agenda, prepared her answers for all the “Get To Know You” questions, Adora even knew what she would order in the university cafeteria. So, how could she have forgotten to look at the school map?

After stepping foot on the campus center, Adora looked left and right, noting the millions of signs saying all the same things: “This way.” This way to what? How could there be so many arrows? Which signs was she supposed to follow? How was everyone else not as stressed as she was?

Adora checked the time, orientation check in would start soon. Coming early was out of habit, needing to maintain her schedule and follow her checklist bullet point for bullet point. Now, it was a blessing because the extra time would be used understanding where the hell she was going.

Her heart rate was increasing, if she didn’t move, Adora knew she would explode. She let her feet guide her, walking down the concrete path until it rounded a corner. Ahead of her were a group of girls. Their relaxed expressions and comfortable laughter let Adora know these girls were older than her. She looked at the time again, she wanted to be one of the first people on the check in line; she needed to know where to go.

Mustering up all the courage in her system, Adora walked up to the girls just as they finished laughing again. Each one of them turned their heads towards her, a silence fell over them.

“Um, hi, I’m Adora,” she began, losing focus as she eyed one of the girl’s biceps, “do any of you know where to go for orientation?”

They exchanged looks, a particularly mischievous smile grew on the girl in the center. She was much shorter than her friends. Adora’s breath caught in her throat, did all girls have smiles that pretty? She saw the girl’s tail waving behind her.

“Yeah, Huntara, she needs her Orientation ID number, right?”

“You’re absolutely right, Catra, that’s all she’ll need.”

Orientation ID number? Did Adora miss an email? How could Adora have forgotten so much? She didn’t know her Orientation ID number, she didn’t even know she had one.

“Oh, I, uh,” Adora felt her tongue dry up. Catra draped a piece of her hair behind her shoulder, how could something so simple be so beautiful? “I don’t, um, I don’t think I know my Orientation ID number? I must have missed something or It....”

Huntara and Catra bursted into another fit of laughter while their other friend rolled her eyes.

“I’m sorry about them, they always mess with the freshmen on Orientation day.”

“Oh, you’re no fun, Scorpia,” Catra stepped forward, putting a hand on Adora’s wrist. She whispered, “I would’ve kept this up if that weren’t the cutest reaction from a freshman we’ve seen.”

Catra’s hand left her skin but her tail wrapped around her fingers for just a second before she stood again with her friends, “If you go through these doors, follow the hallway all the way down and take a right, you’ll see a table with a big Orientation sign, check in there.”

Adora stood there for a second, staring at this group of girls, at their smiles (warm, strong, alluring), at their eyes (friendly, powerful, mysterious), at their demeanors (welcoming, dashing, confident, self-assured, Catra, Catra, Catra). Suddenly, Adora realized her mouth was hanging open.

Catra laughed again, her head falling back. Adora didn’t even know she walked closer to them until she felt Catra’s touch again, blessing her shoulder, “Go on, dummy. I’m sure we’ll see each other again.” Adora felt her squeeze her shoulder lightly, why did her arm feel like jelly now?

Had Adora completely lost her mind? Before she could even say goodbye, the outside campus turned into concrete walls covered by posters and sign up sheets and Adora desperately wanted to get one final look at Catra. She looked down at her feet, they were clumsily moving, one in front of the other, following the directions Catra gave her.

Catra; The velvet sound of her voice echoed in Adora’s mind, the way Catra’s head fell back when she was laughing played over and over. The universe must’ve loved Catra, as it had sent a perfect gust of wind to blow through her cascading hair. The tingling sensation in her arm hadn’t gone away, but what even was this tingling sensation?

“Your name?”

“Huh?” Adora looked down at the table in front of her, Adora looked at the woman sitting with a clipboard and glasses resting on her nose. “Oh, sorry, uh, I’m Adora,” the woman continued to stare at her and Adora’s felt her tongue dry up, “Grayskull. Adora Grayskul?”

The woman checked her in, gave her a name tag, and a university tote bag before sending her through the double doors on the left. Adora found an empty table and started looking through the tote bag. Some pens, a pair of university sunglasses, and the upcoming semester’s directory. Adora had to do a double take, wholeheartedly believing Catra was on the cover in a cheerleader’s uniform. Upon second glance, the girl looked nothing like Catra.

What was going on? Why couldn’t she think straight, why could Adora only think of Catra?

And why did Adora keep breaking her pencil lead? All during the orientation, Adora would be ready to write down whatever the speaker said but slowly found her mind wandering back to the little fang that hung outside Catra’s mouth when she wasn’t smiling or laughing or doing anything for the matter. She thought about her jelly arm, how even after Catra’s been gone, the lingering sense of her touch etched itself into her skin. How could one encounter, especially as short as theirs, short circuit Adora’s brain?

The pit in her stomach was no longer from anxiety but rather, the pit in her stomach grew out of aching to be near Catra again. Just thinking of Catra’s tail lingering on her fingertips, of her soft hands on Adora’s skin, of the way her eyes captivated Adora beyond compare; it made the pit heavier and heavier and Adora couldn’t bear to carry the weight, so why couldn’t she stop thinking? She imagined getting to be the one whose hand touched Catra, watch her fingers gently flow through her hair and twirl a piece in hopeless spirals until it fell out of her hand. Could she hug Catra? Just a quick embrace? Could she bury her head in the crook of Catra’s neck and take a deep breath of her scent she wished she knew? (All three girls smelled wonderful, as much as Adora didn’t want to admit she had been taking deeper breaths the closer she was to them.) Could she hold Catra’s hand, let their fingers intertwine, have Catra show her around campus and bring them to the back corner of the library where no one could see them and push her up against the books and--

What was Adora doing? Half the orientation had gone by and all she had written down was the date and a few scattered lines from when her pencil point broke. This needed to stop, but how? Perhaps, seeing Catra again would help. Maybe it would stop her brain from grinding its gears and she could get her final taste and then get a grip. Even if just to see her for a moment, in passing, in a glance; her daydreams were too much for her to handle.

Paranoia wasn’t the right word, was Adora having delusions? Some sort of foolish fantasy that made her think Catra was around every corner, behind every open book, sitting in every chair of the classrooms they visited on the campus tour? Her heart rushed everytime she thought she saw Catra, any time she thought she heard that angelic laugh, and everytime she learned it wasn’t that godforsaken girl, her heart twitched and panged and fingers desperately wanted to find the girl for just one touch; couldn’t they make it even?

She wasn’t even sure how she answered the small group questions, she couldn’t even remember the other students’ names. She wished she could, it felt incredibly rude not to, but Adora was far too occupied with how Catra would look next to her in pictures. Too much, Adora thought, too fast, let’s scratch that. Instead, she thought of Catra in front of a camera, that smize being the perfect picture to capture, how that one look could say the million words Adora needed to clear in her head. None of her thoughts formed sentences, everything was hazy, she was too entranced with Catra’s whole entire being to even try and sort out what was going on.

It had been a few hours since she ate breakfast, maybe all she needed was food. She was thankful for the lunch time, grabbing every boxed lunch that looked good to her and found a seat in the corner. It faced away from the general crowd, her mind needed to rest, it needed to refuel; eating the Italian sandwich, chicken nuggets, burger, slice of pizza, cookies, chips, salad, grapes, and four juice boxes would help, right? It would be enough food to last her the rest of the day, through the night, hopefully through the rest of her existence because if this didn’t stop her from thinking about how beautiful Catra was, nothing would.

“Hey, Adora.”

Mid bite on her burger, Adora stopped and looked up. She blinked and blinked and blinked until Catra’s eyebrows furrowed and her face frowned. Was it really her, was she not dreaming?

“How do you....”

Catra’s head twitched in confusion, “You told me earlier? And,” she pointed to the nametag on her shirt and Adora thought she would pass out right there. “Okay, dummy, why don’t we put this down,” Catra said, taking Adora’s arms and helped place the burger back down on its tin foil and taking a seat next to her. “Do you always eat this much?”

“I,” Adora just finished the third juice box, how was her throat dry? “I’m just hungry.”

Catra snorted, crossing her arms, “Clearly.”

Adora stared at her, her memories hadn’t done justice. Did she even actually look at Catra the first time they met or did Catra just get more beautiful in the few hours they were apart? Adora couldn’t breathe, her face felt hot, her hands were clammy, hell, even in her tee shirt and leggings, Adora felt like she was in a sauna with no way out. Catra stayed with her arms crossed, surveying the cafeteria around her, effortlessly looking like she had walked out of a fashion magazine. Was she even real? No one else in the cafe joined them, and Catra and her friends looked like Greek goddesses, could she be dreaming? What if she was still in bed, curled up in a little ball, drooling on her pillow while her mind decided to be a big asshole and make her think her cause of death would be heart failure from meeting the prettiest girl on Etheria.

What a jerk her brain would be.

But, another student passed the table, saying hi to Catra before walking out the door. Catra only waved, bringing her eyes back to Adora and smiling, “You gonna keep staring? Maybe I should charge you if you’re gonna stare at me like that.”

“What? I,” Adora tried to break the eye contact but she was drawn in, far too deep to return to reality.

Catra exuded confidence, like she didn’t give a single fuck about what anyone would think of her. In that moment, Adora decided this was why she was fawning over the girl. Adora had never been the confident type, she never walked into a room like she owned it. It was something she’d wanted since she was a little girl, to be looked at and think, “She knows what she’s doing.” It was why she planned for hours, days, weeks for this Orientation that would only last a couple more hours and still, she failed at following through with her hopes. Catra wouldn’t have, Adora thought, Catra couldn’t.

Catra laughed, leaning forward and pulling her phone from her back pocket. She cleared her throat, placing her hand out. Adora stared at it and almost gave Catra her own hand but was thankfully stopped when Catra passed her phone over. Adora found hers and put it in Catra’s hand, watched as she typed and snickered and took a picture of herself before giving it back. She looked at her own phone and gestured to use it, Adora shook her head and wiped her hands, putting in her contact info.

She passed the phone across the table, Catra frowned and Adora thought she was about to die and that wasn’t what Catra had wanted.

“No picture?”

“Oh! I, well,” Adora tried to push a piece of hair behind her ear but there was no such piece to do so; her ponytail was perfectly kept and there were no loose strands. What was she doing? She looked like a complete fool in front of Etheria’s most beautiful person, what kind of first impression was that? Adora gulped, wishing she could start this day over and prepare herself to be an idiot. “I’m not the best with photos.”

Catra waved her off, pointing her phone towards Adora. She scooted some of the food further up the table and leaned back, smiling as she brought her phone back down. She showed Adora the picture, it was awful and embarrassing and Adora wished she could erase it but Catra’s smile was bigger than she’d seen it earlier and it was everything Adora had wanted to see for hours.

“Gosh, you’re such a dork,” Catra laughed, locking her phone. “Good for pictures, though.” She got up, pushed in her chair, leaned over and placed her hand on the side of Adora’s chair, “Text me, okay? I’ll give you the real tour of campus, I’ll even pay for lunch.”

As Catra turned around to leave, her tail lingered on Adora’s hands in her lap before she disappeared through the doors and out of the building. Adora stared at the doorway, suddenly understanding why honeydew and mint would be her new favorite scent.

Catra was beautiful, Catra was breathtaking, Catra was everything Adora wanted and fuck, did she want to kiss her.

#savethewaffle #catradora #college au #catra #adora #gay panic #spop #i love my friends #so happy i met you #laila i hope youre almost done with your fic #i literally love this so much #ricewrites

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ibelongtowrath · 4 years

Text

It’s Always Been You - Mammon x Reader

I decided to take a break from writing solely smut, and wrote some angsty fluff and some light smut for my 2nd favorite boy Mammon.

If you've read my other stories you know I've mostly written super-detailed, super-explicit smut, so this is quite new for me haha. I thought of this story in the shower and banged it out in a few hours. I couldn't NOT write any smut in, but it's definitely minimal.

I had fun writing this one, I hope you enjoy!

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

It’s you. It’s always been you.

Sure, Mammon’s been around for a while and had his fun. He’d dated a couple witches here and there, but never wanted anything serious. He was too busy enjoying himself, spending his little heart out with his precious black credit card, not caring about much else besides himself and the things he wants. He is the Avatar of Greed, after all.

It’s all he cared about...until you came along, that is. You came to the Devildom, and his view of the world did a complete 180.

Curse you, he thinks.

Curse you and your ethereal, otherworldly beauty that makes it hard not to stare at you. Curse your soft, full lips that make him want to wrap you in his arms and kiss you until your lips swell. Curse your perfect smile, the one that lights up your entire face, and the way your eyes crease a little bit on the outside when you do. Curse the way you pull your hair into a ponytail, showing off your pretty little neck that he wants to pepper with loving kisses. Curse the gorgeous curves on that beautiful body of yours, and the way you tug your skirt down and wrap your arms around yourself when you’re self-conscious.

Curse it all...because you’re leaving in a month, and he hasn’t been able to tell you any of these things.

It’s not like he’s never had any opportunity to - he sees you every day, after all.

But he also sees the way you talk to the other demons. He hears the cute lilt in your voice you say “good morning!” to everyone at the breakfast table, your skirt lifting as you bound into the room. He sees the way you blush profusely when they tease you, like when you left your journal on the table and Asmo began reading a passage out loud.

He sees you hug Levi and celebrate when you’re playing a game together and win a hard boss battle; he watches you and Satan smile at each other when discussing the new novel that was just published by your favorite Devildom author.

He sees and hears these things, and it makes his blood boil with envy. Mammon is the Avatar of Greed. He shouldn’t care about anyone except himself - hell, it’s practically written into his DNA.

But it’s you. It’s always been you. He was the first demon you made a pact with when you first arrived in the Devildom and to RAD, much to his chagrin.

You annoyed him at first, of course. Here you were, a measly human, yet everyone made a fuss over you. You broke rules, you spoke your mind, and almost got yourself killed a few times. Somehow, all these things helped you work your way into Mammon’s greedy, ice-cold heart.

He’s labeled as a tsundere by Levi, the resident otaku, and he sees himself in every aspect of the definition. All his brothers can see how he feels about you, in spite of the many ways he tries to hide it.

And yet...you’ve always treated him equally. He’s insulted you, been an arrogant fool, and yet you’ve still welcomed him with open arms. Another thing he needs to add to his list of things to curse you for.

Lucifer announced that you have a month left at dinner, and Mammon felt a confusing wave of emotions wash over him in that moment. There was anger, there was sadness...there was a whole torrent of things he wasn’t used to feeling.

He needs to tell you how he feels, or he’ll live the rest of his thousands of years he has left in total regret.

Even if it’s unrequited, he doesn’t care - at least he wouldn’t have to live with the anguish of never knowing.

Later that same night, Mammon lays in bed, staring up at the ceiling. His room is filled with material things - a pool table, high-tech stereo speakers and a projector, even a car on the upper level. He owns all these things, but he can’t fill the empty hole in his heart - a hole that will surely get bigger once you leave for good.

His D.D.D. charges on his nightstand, and he reaches over to grab it. It’s 1:15 in the morning. His fingers hover over your name in his contacts as he debates whether or not to send you the message. He remembers you agreeing to help Levi in a tournament later this week, and he hopes you’re still awake practicing.

Mammon’s fingers move faster than his brain can catch up with, and he hits send before he has a chance to hesitate.

Hey Y/N - can you stop by my place for a sec?

He waits in silent agony for a few minutes until his D.D.D. pings. Your name flashes across the screen, and his heart jumps in anticipation.

Yeah. I’ll be there in a few. Just finishing up this match.

Your reply sends the torrent of emotions flooding through his body again. Mammon lifts himself up out of bed and walks over to his couch, waiting for your knock on the door.

It comes about ten minutes later, causing Mammon to leap up from the couch. He coughs and composes himself. He waits a few seconds before opening it, desperately trying to make it seem like he wasn’t sitting around and waiting for you to come.

You step into the room. Your eyes are as bright as ever, and your hair is pulled into a loose side ponytail. You flash a smile at him, that gorgeous smile with those pretty lips, clasping your hands together at the front.

“So...what’s up?” you ask Mammon.

He opens his mouth to speak, but suddenly, the words won’t come out. He watches you as you tilt your head, looking confused.

Before you can even react, Mammon wraps his arms around you, pressing you into his chest in a tight embrace. Your eyes widen in surprise. Your arms are pinned to your sides, and you’re unable to move. But...you don’t mind.

What’s going on? you think to yourself, more puzzled than annoyed.

“H-hey, Mammon,” you say, then cough, trying to cover up the awkward stammer. “I can’t hug you back if my arms are stuck down here.”

Mammon stiffens, then loosens his grip on you, finally allowing you to move your arms. You bring them up and wrap them around his back, pressing your head into his chest. He takes one hand off your back, lifting it to stroke your hair. You close your eyes, savoring the comforting motion.

The two of you stand there, locked in an intimate embrace for what seems like several minutes. Mammon loses track of time, never wanting to let you go, his head resting against your soft hair.

After some time, you step back and he lets you; he looks down at the ground while he raises an arm up to scratch the top of his head, a crimson blush spreading across his cheeks.

“I, uh, I-I...” Mammon falters, as though his brain is short-circuiting and he forgot how to speak.

“Y/N,” he says. He speaks your name so tenderly, so full of emotion you can feel your own cheeks beginning to sport their own lighter shade of crimson.

“Y/N,” he says your name again. “I-I...I know you’re leavin’ soon. A month. And I...I know ya probably don’t feel the same way about me. I’m sure one of my brothers stole your heart. Probably Lucifer or Satan, those charmin’ bastards. But anyways...I...I really care about you, and I-”

“Mammon.”

Your voice cuts through his stammered speech, and Mammon pauses, his heart clenching in anticipation of your next words.

“It’s you, Mammon,” you whisper, the slightly higher pitch of your voice betraying your calm demeanor. “It’s always been you.”

Mammon gapes at you, unsure if he heard you correctly. He’s praying he heard you right, heard you say those beautiful words he’s been dreaming of you telling him every night.

“You’re the first demon I made a pact with, remember? You’ve always told everyone how you’re my first man...well, you are.”

He watches the adorable way you bite your lip and blush, wanting nothing more than to reach his hand out and stroke the soft skin of your adorable cheeks.

He wants to kiss you so badly.

“W-well, ya couldn’t have told me that sooner?!” Mammon exclaims.

“A-ahem,” you cough again in a poor attempt to cover up your embarrassment. “It takes two to tango, doesn’t it?”

He laughs and, unsure of what to say next, decides to let impulse take over. He gathers you into his arms again, looking at you tilt your head up at him as he lifts his hand, stroking your cheek gently.

The gesture is so tender, so soft, you feel your own cascade of emotions swelling up inside of you. You reach up and grasp his hand in yours, squeezing it gently. Mammon cups your face, then leans down to meet his lips with yours.

At the touch of his lips on yours, you experience something you’ve never felt before. The feelings tormenting your heart finally subside. As Mammon leans in further, deepening the kiss, you start to feel a sense of...

Home.

So many times, you’ve heard others talk about love. They say when you’re in love, you feel butterflies in your stomach. They flit around, gripping your heart with a nervous, jumpy feeling every time you see your lover. They tell you that you’ll stumble around, falling head over heels.

No. That’s not what love is.

This love you feel for Mammon is nothing like butterflies fluttering around your body, wreaking havoc on your heart. You feel comfortable, at ease. You feel like where you’re meant to be is wrapped in his arms.

You feel like you’re home.

At the touch of your lips on his, Mammon feels his icy heart thawing. Suddenly, he no longer wants things only for himself. No, he wants to give you his all - he wants to give you the world. Anything you want, he will give you, be it material or a piece of himself. He’ll give you his entire heart.

Mammon is unsure of how long the two of you stand there, lips and arms locked in a tight embrace. All he knows is that he never wants it to end.

You break off the kiss after a while, taking a moment to breathe. You inhale, then giggle, looking into Mammon’s sapphire blue gaze, flecked with pools of gold.

“I’m yours, Mammon. Yours and only yours,” you declare, staring into his gaze.

You’re his.

He kisses you again, but this time it feels hungrier, more fervent. You kiss him back, igniting a fire deep within him. He feels your hips grinding against his leg, and a small moan escapes from his lips into your mouth. He meets his tongue with yours as you roll them together.

Mammon’s hands dance up the curves of your hips and waist, and you hook a leg around him, pressing yourself closer against him. He reaches down and cups your ass, then suddenly lifts you off the ground, carrying you towards his bed. You laugh, the lovely lilt of your voice like a calming wind chime ringing throughout the room.

Mammon turns, sitting on the bed so that you’re in his lap, your legs on either side of him. He feels you pull at his shirt, urging him to remove it. He obliges, his defined abdominal muscles on full display. You run your hands up and down the length of his long torso, delighting in the way the ridges of his abs move your fingers up and down as you do so. His breath hitches.

Leaning back, Mammon watches you as you remove your own shirt, the sight of your naked breasts bouncing free in the dimmed light of his room drawing out another sharp breath from him. His hands reach up, cupping and massaging them, then rolling the sensitive bud of your nipples between his fingers. He leans down, tonguing your nipple and eliciting a moan as you wrap your fingers in his snow-white hair.

He tugs at your shorts, starting to pull them down. You stand in front of him and nod, giving him your full permission to remove them. Mammon looks at you then, the beautiful sight of you, and keeps his eyes trained on yours as he pulls your shorts and panties down your legs, discarding them on his floor.

You climb back on top of him, tongues meeting in a fevered dance as you grind your hips against his, feeling the hardened bulge at the front of his sweatpants. He reaches a hand between your sensitive folds, feeling how wet you are with your passionate arousal.

Mammon feels your moan against his lips, and the way your hands reach down, pulling his pants and boxers down until his dick springs out. He angles you forward with his hands, his length teasing at your entrance. You roll your hips over him, the wet heat of your walls clenching around him as you move up and down in a steady cadence.

Your bodies dance together as one, paired with fevered, passionate kisses as the two of you make love in a hypnotic rhythm. You roll your head back in the pleasure of the movement, your hair falling in shiny dark rivulets cascaded across your back.

Mammon has never seen anything so beautiful before. He watches you then, your bare breasts bouncing with every roll of your hips, your beautiful curvy silhouette in the dimmed light of the room.

You are his, and he is yours.

And in that beautiful moment, you are together as one.

Your climax follows shortly after, leaving you gasping in ecstasy. He chases his own release as you come undone around him, feeling his heat as he spills into you.

Mammon lies on his back after, your head resting on his chest. He strokes your hair, feeling your eyelashes fluttering against his skin as you struggle to stay awake.

“Hey, Y/N,” he says, cutting through the silence.

“Mmm?” you respond sleepily.

“I love you.”

“I love you too, Stupidmammon.”

“Oi! I thought we all forgot about that stupid nickname from Levi’s dumb game,” huffs Mammon.

“Nope. Never.”

He sighs, starting to feel his own losing battle with the sweet embrace of slumber.

“Hey...can we make love every night ‘til ya have to leave?” he asks, running his hand up and down the curved ridge of your spine.

“Okay,” you respond. Barely a few seconds later, Mammon hears your light snore, causing him to chuckle. You’re adorable, even when you snore.

It’s you. It’s always been you...

Mammon drifts into sleep, happy that you’re his.

He doesn’t have to hear you say it solely in his dreams anymore.

#idk i banged this out in a few hours #hopefully there's no errors cause i didn't have anyone proofread lol #obey me #obey me mammon #mammon #obey me swd #obey me shall we date #shall we date obey me #obey me!#obey me: shall we date #obey me fanfic #obey me fandom #fluff #a little smutty #obey me fluff #obey me smut #om mammon #swd mammon

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anavkourfic · 3 years

Text

here’s an excerpt from the scrapped first chapter of no place for firestarters! the only issue with it is that it’s in the wrong pov—originally, i wanted to write this story as switching between lio and galo’s points of view and started out with a galo chapter, then decided to make everything in lio’s pov, rendering this chapter in its current form unusable.

anyway, here it is!

***

Galo works forty-eight hours straight after the Parnassus falls.

It’s a whirlwind. Galo barely has time to give Lio a celebratory fistbump before they leap into rescue operations. The crew splits up: Remi, Varys, and Lucia go out into the city to do search and rescue on the crash site; Galo, Aina, Ignis, and Lio stay in the cire to get the Burnish out of the Promatech pods. They free Lio’s generals first, both of whom hug him so tightly Galo’s surprised his spine doesn’t snap, then move on from there.

Galo learns a lot of things in this process: that the burnish all seem to know and care deeply about Lio, that the pods weren’t designed to be reopened, that even though Heris Ardebeit is helping them with the rescue effort, she still can’t see what she’d done wrong. Ignis eventually escorts her elsewhere, out of range of Lio, Galo, and Aina’s combined fury.

Though, that fury is nothing compared to the look in Lio’s eyes when they get to the first empty pod.

Galo thinks at first that someone has already emptied this one—they have civilian EMTs helping as well, spread out through the engine to cover as much ground as possible—until he sees that the arm and leg cuffs are still closed and intact. They’re thick, so it usually takes monster bolt cutters or the jaws of life to cut them, but these haven’t been touched. It doesn’t make sense, unless someone managed to slip free. Which, also difficult, since the cuffs have been tight enough that it’s hard to clip them without also cutting the person they’re trying to free.

“Did they put in empty pods?” he says, scratching the side of his head. The generator behind them sputters, echoing along with the many others in the cavernous space. “It doesn’t look like there’s anyone–“

“Stop.”

Lio’s voice is sharp, and Galo stops immediately. He sees that Lio’s looking down at the floor of the pod and—oh. Oh. There’s a pile of ash on the floor. Galo’s mind goes back to the cave, to Thyma, and oh. Shit.

“Serial numbers,” Lio barks, whirling around to where Aina’s helping a Burnish to the stairs of the scaffolding “Do the pods have them?”

Aina balks for a second [Galo would too in her position; Lio looks almost like he did with the dragon, minus the colour palette change and the flaming hair.] but she says, “I’ll ask Heris. She’s in medical, and I’m headed there anyway.”

“I d-didn’t see anything,” the Burnish says. She doesn’t look that much older than Lio, but Galo has no concept of how the Burnish age; they could be twenty, or sixty. “Sorry, boss.”

Lio’s expression immediately softens. “It’s alright, Alexis, I wouldn’t have expected you to.”

“I want to help,” she insists. Galo notices her legs are trembling; she’s on the verge of collapsing, but she’s still giving Lio a fierce stare. “Please, I want to help–“

“You need to recover first,” Lio shuts her down. “Talk to me again when you’ve gotten some sleep and you’ve eaten something.”

Alexis gives him a noodley salute, and then Aina helps her down the stairs. Lio watches her go, then turns to the pod again. His hands clench into fists.

"Do you need me to get something to write stuff down with?" Galo asks tentatively. "If there are numbers. Or anything else?"

Lio doesn't respond for a long moment, but then he nods once, and Galo runs off.

It sucks. There's probably a stronger word for it, but Galo's brain is too foggy to come up with something more eloquent. So he just mutters, "This sucks. This fucking sucks," as he looks for a notepad.

The pods do have numbers; Heris says they're "for inventory" [Lio's jaw clenches so tightly Galo hears it click shut] and that there's "subject data for each one." Lio logs each number in a pocket-sized notebook, strings strands of caution tape that Galo found in the back of Burning Rescue's truck across the entrance to each pod, to make sure no one tries to step in.

"We need....urns, or something," Galo says to Ignis, when he's taking a water break and explaining the situation."Lio keeps talking about a mass grave, but I can tell he doesn't like it."

"I'll see what I can do," Ignis's face is unreadable behind his sunglasses. He's been assigned the leader of rescue efforts, meaning he gets to deal with all the bureaucratic and organizational stuff that makes Galo dizzy. "There are a few favours I can call in."

When he relays this to Lio, he gets back a "Nothing happens without my say-so," and then, a few minutes later, a very quiet, "Thank you."

Getting everyone out of the core takes up the first twenty-four hours, and then Galo suits up to help with search and rescue. Turns out that a giant spaceship falling out of the sky from several hundred feet can cause damage in a pretty large radius. He finds and frees people in fallen buildings, in piles of rubble, in the cavernous cracks around the Parnassus's launch site. And then there's the non-people related things: flooding because of burst pipes all over the city, a couple fires from damaged electrical equipment, a terrifying gas leak that nearly causes an explosion by the main medical tents. There's so much damage, and so many casualties, it makes Galo's chest ache if he thinks about it too long.

He sees Lio in bursts—working to help clear ground to set up tents for displaced people and the Burnish, talking with a group of medics from the nearby hospital, giving orders to a mixed group of volunteers and Burnish who are well enough to help. Galo grins and waves to him when he can, feels like he’s walking on clouds when he gets a half-smile and a wave in return.

After two days, Ignis calls all of Burning Rescue into a tent for a meeting.

“The SAR teams from the next cities over came in about an hour ago,” He says. “That means we’re off shift. Seventy-two hour mandatory rest time. No exceptions.”

Galo would normally argue, but the exhaustion’s starting to set in, and the numbers are adding up in his head—two full days of rescue work, ten hours from Lio's dragon to the Promare going back home, a week or so in Kray's prison. Galo's not great at math, especially when he's tired, but however many hours it's been, he hasn't gotten decent rest in a while. And not getting decent rest means he’s nowhere near a decent rescuer.

The rest of the team seems to share the same sentiment. No one argues. Ignis claps his hands.

“Let’s pack up. Galo–“

Galo snaps to attention.

“Sir!”

“Bring me Fotia and his generals. I need to ask them something before we go.”

“Yessir!”

The group disperses. Galo stops by the supply tent to grab a water bottle for Lio, chugs one himself before going out to find Lio and the others.

He doesn’t have to look far. He pushes aside the tent flap and runs directly into something skinny and green. Said skinny green thing yelps and then, with a whirl of motion, Galo's on the ground, flat on his back, and there's a very pointy boot in the middle of his chest. Galo beams.

"Lio! I was looking for you!"

Lio blinks, then seems to realize what happened and leaps back. "Fuck, sorry, sorry." He's still not wearing a shirt, and he looks cold, shaking just a little.

"No, it's fine!" Galo picks himself back up, wincing a little. That didn't do any favours to his bruises from the fight with Kray, or the other fight with Kray, or the time he fell off the Parnassus, or the other time he fell off the Parnassus. [It was a significant pile of rubble.] "Didn't mean to startle you. Do you judo-flip everyone you run into?"

"No," Lio ducks his head, the faint hint of a blush high on his cheekbones. It's cute, actually. Galo's brain short-circuits for a hot sec before he remembers what he was doing.

"Oh! I got you some water," He offers the bottle. "Though, that's probably why you were going in there, huh?"

"It was," Lio takes it. "Thank you."

He tries to open it, but his hands are too shaky. Galo reaches out to help.

"Here, let me–"

"I'm perfectly capable of doing this myself," Lio replies stiffly. The blush has spread to his ears now. He's embarrassed, and Galo would find it adorable if Lio wasn't also so frustrated."

"Doesn't mean you have to," Galo says. "Plus, your hands look pretty busted."

Lio looks down at one palm, torn and blistered. His fingers tense, just a little bit, like he's expecting something to happen. Galo realizes he's trying to call the fire to his hands, to heal the cuts. There's a flash of pain in his eyes, then he drops his hand and shoves the water bottle in Galo's direction. "Fine."

Galo cracks it open with only a little bit of fumbling. ["Wow, these caps are actually tighter than I thought." "The indomitable Galo Thymos, bested by a water bottle..." "Hey, I can do this, just give me a minute!"] Lio accepts it with another quiet thank-you.

#excerpt #promare #npffs #my writing

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phantom-curve · 4 years

Text

find the strength, find the melody pt. 5

this is still a working title. I just can’t decide if it fits or not, so feel free to offer any suggestions! once I finish this fic I’m going to go back and reblog it in it’s entirety and I promise I will finalize and update the title for all the reblogs to make it easier to find in the future. I’m probably also going to post the completed fic to AO3, possibly with some slight editing updates. I’ll add the link once that’s active.

also, I want you all to know that I almost missed a typo in this chapter that would have had Julie biting her nip instead of her lip so you’re welcome for that.

also also, this chapter solidified my decision to write this fic from Luke’s perspective once I finish Julie’s. my god, the things happening in this boy’s head during this scene had me taking a bath and calling my husband for cuddles at 2pm. HE’S JUST TOO SOFT. Reggie and Alex will be more prominent in his story. their characters are so fun to write, but harder to work into Julie’s story until it’s closer to the end.

to be fully honest, I’m not entirely happy with the cut-off on this chapter, but I felt like y'all deserved all 3,084 words after a 6 day hiatus so I had to pick a slightly more awkward end spot. hope it makes up for taking so long to update!

tag list (lmk if you want me to add you!): @blue-hat-girl, @lwhoscribbles, @bluefyoto94, @5sosmukefan, @moonlightxnder, @leahthewonder, @kat-maybe-not

Julie didn’t expect to see Luke the next day. When her alarm went off at 6:45 that morning, she woke up with a start, heart racing as memories of last night flooded back. She had been ready to defend herself and Luke to her father, but it had been business as usual in the Molina household. Her father had gotten up like normal and gone about his morning without any hiccups from a very cute, unexpected teenage boy showing up. Julie could hear him leaving for work now, calling up a loving goodbye to her in between shouts at Carlos to hurry his butt into the car. When she peeked out of her window at the studio it looked exactly the same as it always did, empty and still. For a moment, she was sure that she dreamed the entire thing.

Something felt different in her soul though. Realigned, like a part of her she didn’t realize was missing had finally made its way back home. Everything in her body felt lighter as she got dressed and floated down the stairs to grab her breakfast. She was riding high on cloud nine, humming actually humming! under her breath as she moved around the kitchen, when a loud rap at the back door startled her. Flynn would have just walked in so it couldn’t be her. Her dad, too, would have simply run inside if he had forgotten something. It wasn’t until she was already reaching for the door handle that she recognized the electricity sparking in the air. She opened the door to a now familiar pair of puppy dog eyes waiting on the other side.

“I thought I told you to leave by 6:30 so my dad wouldn’t see you.”

Julie tried to make her voice snappy, but it was so hard when he was standing there, bobbing and weaving in the early morning sunshine, eyes shining, lips curved into the sweetest smile. He took her words in stride. His smile stretched as his head dipped with a charming amount of bashfulness. She realized with a jolt that he had been doing that for days now, ever since she ran into him after her meeting with Ms. Harrison. Just rolling right through every punch she threw at him like it was nothing. Her walls slipped a little lower.

“I thought I could make you breakfast. You know, as a thank you for last night.”

Her brain short circuited. Luke Patterson...wanted to...make her breakfast? She had to turn the words over in her mind a few times before they began to make sense. Julie studied him for a moment, noticing that he seemed much more like his normal confident self this morning. Gone was the unsteady boy that had stood in her mom’s studio doorway last night. Still, one shoulder was hitched a little higher than the other, his fingers flexing against the backpack strap slung over it. His face was open and eager, but she could detect the hint of nervousness that he was trying to cover up. She caught a faint whiff of jasmine as a slight breeze blew past them and immediately zeroed in on the damp wisps of hair curling around his neck. The thought of Luke in her shower, using her soap was almost her undoing. Desperately trying to get a hold on the situation, she leaned against the open doorway, crossing her arms across her chest in what she hoped was a nonchalant movement.

“I thought we were going to pretend last night didn’t happen.”

His smile faltered a little bit, his free hand flying up to scratch at the back of his neck. His bouncing shifted to rocking, and Julie felt the change in his demeanor like a punch to her gut.

“Yeah...okay...I mean if that’s what you want. I’ll uh, see you around, Molina.”

His voice lacked its typical singsong quality, rejection flattening the lilt she had become accustomed to. Pain bloomed in Julie’s chest, familiar and foreign all at the same time. It wasn’t like the pain she was used to, wasn’t connected to her mom or her music. This pain was all about Luke and the fact that she had just hurt him for no reason at all. Shame rolled through her stomach in a nauseous wave. Luke was already adjusting the bag higher on his shoulder, turning away from her, body language all but screaming “leave me alone”. It didn’t stop her from reaching out and laying a hand against his shoulder.

“Luke.”

His name was a plea and an apology rolled into one. She felt the ripple of his muscles as his body reacted to it, dropping her hand only when he turned to face her. Their eyes caught, the air sparking between them.

“What were you going to make?”

His brow furrowed in confusion, his eyes never leaving hers. She knew she had to do better, but God, it was hard to face your feelings after bottling them up for so long.

“For breakfast. I usually just grab a Pop-Tart to eat on my walk to school. Do you actually cook every morning?”

Luke was still staring. Julie bit her lip, the tail end of a nervous giggle that she couldn’t quite suppress all the way slipping out. The sound seemed to jolt him out of whatever trance he was in. In two seconds, he was back to bouncing on the balls of his feet, arms loose at his sides once more.

“Yeah, I do.”

The shy smile on his lips did something to Julie’s insides that she wasn’t willing to investigate just yet.

“Usually eggs, but sometimes waffles or pancakes on the weekends. Bacon if the boys are coming over. It’s the most important meal of the day, ya know.”

His eyes were bright again, practically glowing like they usually did when he started talking about something he was passionate about. Julie had only ever seen him like this when he was going off on another music related rant in class. Who knew breakfast foods could be so inspiring?

“Well, that sounds a lot better than strawberry Pop-Tarts.”

She turned, leaving the door open as she started to walk back towards the kitchen. She could hear Luke hesitate in the doorway, but all it took was one look over her shoulder and he was rushing in after her, quietly closing the door in his wake. They walked to the kitchen in silence, Julie trying to figure out what the hell was happening in her head and heart the entire time.

The instant Luke entered the kitchen it was like she was seeing a completely different side of him. He was quick and sure with all of his movements, taking only a few minutes to find everything he needed without even asking her for guidance. The muscles of his forearm rippled as he whisked the eggs together, the flick of his wrist just as mesmerizing now as when he played guitar. His confidence on stage had always been awe-inspiring, the way he moved and the energy he gave off undeniably cool and sure, never an ounce of doubt that he was anything other than amazing. It was a way for him to prove he was the best of the best, show that he had fully earned the title of “Rockstar”.

This moment in her sunny kitchen showed a quieter confidence. Nothing flashy or showy, just Luke doing something he clearly enjoyed for no other reason than the fact that he liked it. The rock god attitude had always been surface-level hot, sure, but this kind of domestic comfortability was an entirely new level of attractive. Julie felt her mouth go dry, the tips of her ears growing warm the longer she watched him. He hummed under his breath, the sound reverberating in her soul and sending little shivers up and down her spine. It wasn’t until he was sliding a plate of steaming scrambled eggs and toast in front of her that she finally recognized the melody. Her breath caught and he met her eyes with a gentle expression.

“I told you already, it’s an incredible song.”

He grabbed his own plate and lowered himself into the chair next to hers at the bar. He immediately began shoveling eggs in his mouth. Julie took a few bites of her own food, pleasantly surprised at how good it was. Then an ugly thought took over her brain. She dropped her fork, turning to stare at Luke with a dark intensity she couldn’t control.

“Did you...did you play my mom’s song?”

She couldn’t keep the betrayal out of her voice. It echoed in the room, low and hollow, like the sound of tomb closing. Luke’s own fork fell with a clatter.

“Julie, no.”

His voice was just as desperate, filled with pain and apology.

“I swear to you, no. I wouldn’t do that. I knew what it was as soon as I found it. I couldn’t hurt you like that. I never even showed it to Reggie or Alex.”

She believed him. The look on his face, the tone of his voice, proved to her that he wasn’t lying. Then, his cheeks turned a very light pink.

“I just...sometimes...I would read it. Not around the guys.”

He was quick to add that part in there, like he was assuring her he could protect the things that were important to her. Like he was promising to protect her. She could tell he was a little uncomfortable with the revelation, but he pushed through anyway.

“Just like...at night before bed...or when I was stuck on a song and needed some inspiration.”

His eyes rose to meet hers, some tender emotion she couldn’t identify lurking in their oceanic depths.

“I meant it when I said you’re an incredible songwriter. Sometimes...”

His cheeks darkened, ears flaming red to match.

“Sometimes...it was almost like I could hear you playing it.”

The last part was said so quietly she almost missed it. She felt her face go slack. Who was this guy and what had he done with the normal, cocky Lucas Patterson? The gentleness of his words, the way his eyes were drilling into hers like he could see all the way down to the depths of her soul, had her blinking against the sudden emotion clogging her throat.

“Last night was the first time I ever played it.”

The confession sprung from her lips without second thought. She had to do something, anything to break whatever tension seemed to be thickening between them with each passing second. Luke tilted his head, another warm smile gracing his lips.

“You were even more amazing than I could have ever dreamed. You’re like a human wrecking ball, Julie. It’s insane how talented you are.”

So much for breaking the tension. Julie sucked in a breath, her heart stuttering in her chest. It was only then that she realized how close their bodies had become, each one leaning farther into the other as their conversation went on. There were only inches between them now, Luke’s lyrical voice curling into her ear with a delicious intimacy she couldn’t help but crave. If she got any closer to him their foreheads would touch, their nose would brush, their lips would...

And just like that she was on the ground, her backside stinging from slamming into the hardwood so abruptly. Luke blinked down at her, eyes still swimming with that damnable affection, but also tinged with confusion. In her desperate attempt to bail, she must have leaned too far back, falling off the barstool before she could even realize what would happen. She shook her head to clear the spell Luke had been spinning before looking past him to the clock on the oven.

“We should probably leave for school now unless we want to be late.”

She ignored the breathy way her voice came out, pushing herself to a standing position. Without making eye contact, she wove her way around Luke. He was like a block of ice in his chair, still poised to lean into her completely. She scooped up their half-eaten breakfasts, plopping them loudly into the sink before slipping her arms through her backpack straps. Nowhere left to hide, she turned back towards the brunette boy.

He stared at her for a long moment, the hot frustration in his gaze burning through her and making her want to squirm. For a second, she thought he was going to push it, but then his eyes closed for what felt like an eternity. When they opened again, he seemed resigned. She could detect just a hint of his previous fiery intensity, the rest of it shrouded behind an almost forlorn veil of acceptance.

“If that’s what you want.”

There was a deeper meaning to his words that Julie wasn’t prepared for. Her breathing faltered, the silence between them heavy with the things he was leaving unsaid. She almost gave in. Almost asked him just what, exactly, he wanted right now. But she didn’t need to ask him because she could read it plain on his face. It terrified her. And Julie had become an expert at avoiding things that scared her in this past year. So, instead, she gave him a tight nod and zipped out the front door to wait for him outside.

In the clear sunshine of another beautiful LA day, she was finally able to breathe again. Out here, away from the thick tension of the kitchen, it was easier to tell herself Luke was just being nice. Easier to pretend their little moment inside was just some friendly banter. Easier to ignore the implications of Luke’s serious words and caring tone. She gulped in deep breaths, willing her head and heart to cool down. She heard the click of the door latching shut behind her, turned to see Luke standing there, a small pout on his lips, face entirely unrepentant. Good lord she was in trouble.Then a realization hit. She clung to it, desperately hoping it would get them back on a more neutral page, pull them out of whatever had been simmering between them all morning.

“Where’s your car? I know you didn’t drive over here last night.”

Luke’s face changed immediately, chagrin taking over every feature. His mouth opened and closed a few times before he shoved his hands in the front of his jeans.

“I uh...I only live a few houses away from you...”

Now it was Julie’s turn to gape like a fish. Luke Patterson was her neighbor? Since when?

“My parents...we moved to the neighborhood a couple years ago. I...uhm well...”

His hand rose again to scratch at his neck, and she had never wanted to grab at him more than in this moment. That movement was slowly beginning to drive her crazy. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and blurted it out in one garbled sentence.

“Iusedtohidearoundthecornerandlistentoyouandyourmomplayinthestudiopleasedon’thateme.”

Julie was so stunned she nearly tumbled off the top step as she staggered backwards. Only Luke’s quick reflexes saved her from falling flat on her back for the second time that morning. His eyes darted around her face, clearly trying to figure out if she was about to lose it on him or not. Julie struggled to process the info dump she had gotten from Luke in the last couple of days. All of her preconceived notions were slowly being proven wrong and she wasn’t entirely sure how to deal with that. Life was easier when Luke was just another selfish, swaggering upperclassman. How long had she been in his orbit? Years it sounded like. The realization was staggering.

“You...you listened to us play? Why?”

Luke still had his hands wrapped around her wrists. Julie couldn’t find it in her to break the connection. Her voice came out more broken than she intended, memories of sunlit days singing with her mom invading her mind. Luke remembered those days too?

“Haven’t you been listening?”

His voice was strained, his eyes boring into hers like he was trying to telepathically force her to understand. His fingers flexed against her skin, the movement causing a flurry of butterflies to erupt in her stomach.

“You’re a star, Julie Molina. I couldn’t help getting sucked into your orbit.”

Julie felt her eyelids flutter, her chest squeezing like it was going to burst from the rapid inhale/exhale she couldn’t seem to calm. He said her name like a prayer, his lips turning it into something holy and sacred. She was drowning in Luke’s gaze, a riot of emotions swirling around in her brain. Somehow, because he was Luke and apparently he knew her better than she ever expected him to, he could tell that his declaration had gone a little too far. Easing back, he released his hold and rocked away from her just a bit to give her the space she so desperately needed. His eyes were still impossibly soft, bordering on adoration as he watched her come to terms with his bold announcement. Finally, once Julie was pretty sure she had come back down to Earth, he jogged down the front steps.

“We can still drive if you want to, but I think it’s a pretty nice morning for a walk if you’re up for it.”

“Okay.”

It felt like the smallest possible acceptance she could offer him, but the way Luke lit up in response made her want to melt. Head still swimming, she made her way down the steps on shaky baby deer legs. Luke didn’t push, just fell in step with her as easy as pie. Every once in a while, his fingers would brush against her hand, and it took every scrap of will power to keep herself from just reaching out and linking their hands together.

They passed a house bursting with flowers out front. Julie’s eyes caught on an explosion of bright red in the corner of the yard. Dahlias. Her mother’s favorite. It felt like a sign, and another part of Julie’s soul slipped quietly back into place. The next time Luke’s hand knocked against hers she shyly allowed their fingers to tangle. She didn’t need to look to see the smile break out on his face. She could feel the warmth of it filling the air around her like her own personal sun. He squeezed just once. Just enough to acknowledge the move for what it was. She didn’t let go until the school appeared in the distance.

#y'all know the EXACT pout face I'm referencing in this one #also i love working show dialogue into fic dialogue #also also soft boy Luke is going to be THE DEATH OF ME #FUCKING KILL ME WITH YOUR SOFTNESS LUCAS I AM READY #Mads writes #Mads speaks #bless these babies for giving me less angst and more fluff this time #julie and the phantoms #jatp #juke #julie x luke #luke x julie #palina #julie molina #luke patterson #juke fanfic #jatp fanfic #find the strength find the melody

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mirismuffins-ovo · 4 years

Text

Plant Palace 🍀Pt 3

Warning ⚠️ [mpreg]

John was in a content sleep until it was morning once again. Jolting out of bed scaring the shit outta Bitty when he raced to the bathroom emptying his stomach into the toilet like he’d been doing for the past few weeks. He almost fell when he was running but he made it by a hair. John was a tired mess,whimpering tiredly in pain when he pressed too close to the toilet and hurt his sore irritated feeling chest. He massaged his pained chest and cleared his burning throat. “I’m getting pretty tired of this…” He whispered frustrated and glanced down at his stomach that’d been annoying him more now. “Just overwatering” he tore some foliage from his hair and threw it into the toilet. He’d heard Eddie get out of bed and walk in,John flushed the toilet standing up tiredly. Only turning around after wiping his face clean of tears

Eddie was not pleased by the wake up call with Bitty getting scared and running over his face as John threw back the sheets. He sat up startled by the loud footsteps followed by gagging and a splash in the toilet down the hall. Tossing back his own covers, he stomped down the hall and lightly tossed open the door to see John trying to hide the tears.

“That’s it. I’m tired of holding my tongue. I’m taking you to the doctor.”

A look of fear replaced John’s tears, looking at him with wide eyes.

“I’m tired of seeing you like this! You keep pushing it off and I thought you were doing better, but you’re still sick from the time you were at my house.” He snapped a little before calming down. “You should’ve told me it was only a fear of doctors that you had a problem with. I said I’d be here for you. I’d hold your hand the whole time while they checked you out to make sure you were well.”

John stepped back and he couldn’t help but become more anxious tears spilling down his face. The anxiety had set in and he stared up at Eddie shaking.

“I can’t go to the doctors Eddie” He sniffled and wiped his face,his arms crossed over his pudgy chest. “I’m perfectly fine okay?” He whimpered knowing it was a lie. Eddie had stepped forward and reached out to John to grab him. Unable to control the thorny vines that’d suddenly sprouted from under his skin and spiraled out covering John's arms. John felt his alarms going off in his head when he realized his body was reacting in defense to his stress. “Eddie I-“ He didn’t know what to say as he stood staring up fearfully now more than ever.

Eddie stepped back, watching as the vines wrapped around his boyfriend, burying him. He just watched, jaw to the floor as he watched it all unfold, fear appearing on the man’s face before vines covered him up.

It was like his brain short circuited. What the hell had he just witnessed. Clearly there was still a vine thing in front of him. Things started to make sense. The petals in his red hair, the sunlight making him glow, the excessive water a human shouldn’t drink, the random topic of Abnormals. He was being tested.

The singer sat back on the bed, looking away from the vines for a moment to gather his thoughts. John had been Abnormal this whole time and he pushed him to tell him a secret. For one thing, Eddie knew he wasn’t terrified. John never meant to harm him or the place so he wasn’t a dangerous Abnormal. Calling the hotline was a thought ripped up and burned instantly. Why would he? John was scared. He honestly didn’t know what to say, he could only do.

He scooted closer to the vines, reaching out for a clump, ignoring the thorns and held them like he would hold a hand. Guilt filled his body as he sighed.

“I’m sorry John… I keep fucking this up. Just be okay, please.”

John heard him and he still couldn’t stop shaking,but it didn’t seem like Eddie was the kind of person to call him in. So when Eddie grabbed his thorn covered hand he froze,it had to be hurting him,it had to be. John tried to calm down as much as he could. He retracted the thorns into the vines which slid back gently into John's quivering body. He looked up at Eddie still somewhat afraid but more sorry than anything “I’m sorry..” His hand rested in Eddies and he suddenly gave Eddie a tight hug,pressing his face into Eddies chest as he cried. “I should’ve told you..” He said in a broken childlike voice,his small swollen body smooshed against Eddies taller frame.

Eddie wrapped his arms around John, holding him close and tight, trying to keep his own tears at bay.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. I’m sorry too. I shouldn't have pushed you.” He said quietly into his ear. “I’m just glad you’re alright.” Eddie held him as John cried into his chest, shaking like a leaf (no pun intended).

Once John had calmed down, Eddie moved him back so he could see his face and wipe away the tears. The shorter man’s eyes were red and swollen, face pale from being sick and freaking out.

“Y-you can explain more when you… you feel up to it.” He breathed still trying to understand everything. This wasn’t about him, this was about John. “D-do you need anything? Water? Sunlight? Uh…” he trailed off, not sure what the younger man needed. “Dirt?” He kind of meant the last one as a joke, trying to sound funny rather than so serious and hoping he didn’t cross a line.

John gave a small snicker at the comment about dirt “I don’t need dirt super often” He took a deep breath and felt a bit better now after he stopped crying. He let out a small gasp when he felt a sharp pain in his tummy from one of the babies kicking. It was probably one of them affected by his distress. “I can’t see normal doctors…”he huffed softly as he guided Eddie to the bed needing to sit down from his weak legs. He shook his head and rested his face in his hands,John stared down at the floor, his eyes burning. “I didn’t mean for you to find out this way” He rubbed his arm slowly,before he brought his hands to wrap his stomach “I don’t..know what’s happening to me Eddie,but it’s dangerous to get involved with the abnormal world.” John looked up at Eddie with his glossy emerald eyes,still puffy from crying. He couldn’t have Eddie get hurt.

“Would you ever… have told me?” Eddie asked. “I mean I understand why now…” He waved to the entirety of John.

He could see the younger man wince and rub his belly.

“If there is a doctor you can see, I still want you to get looked at. I only know little on Abbies. That could be a tumor, if you guys get them… it could be the excessive water gain…” He sighed, taking John’s hand again, lucky he only got a few scratches, nothing super dangerous. “Do you want me to get involved? I don’t want to be pushing the boundaries I already am. Like I said before, I’ll be here holding your hand every step of the way if you allow it. I don’t want to leave, but if you want me to, I will.”

He was serious. He showed it in his eyes and the tone of voice. He wasn’t going to leave because his boyfriend was an Abnormal. Even if he was, he never saw him as one. He saw him as John and only John.

John turned away from Eddie and sighed before standing up and brushing his fingers through his hair.

“Eddie..I-“ He paused and thought about it words for a moment “If you get involved with me as an abnormal,you can be charged with harboring an enemy of the state” John walked a bit closer to Eddie and gently touched his face with his pale hand. His look was adoring and loving “I want you in my life,and I have to say I’ve fallen for you but-“ He slowly rubbed Eddie's cheek with his thumb. “You could get hurt” John was always afraid of those he loved getting hurt,he couldn’t have those he cared for ripped away from him again. “The abnormal world here is underground and secretive,there’s no way for you to get out once your in it”

“I know it’s a dangerous place! But I’m not like those people who get scared after they see something that isn’t ‘normal’. There is no ‘normal’! Humans, no, people, have been fighting for equal rights and will continue to do so. Blacks wanted freedom and they did! LGBT wanted to be loved and they are! Abnormals could be who they want to be and they can be! It’s just your turn in the cycle of accepting this ‘normal’.”

Eddie was so upset at thinking John wouldn’t want him there, after all he said too the day before about Abnormals. He still stood by what he said. Just like humans, they can get help instead of being dragged off and be experimented on. He felt touched that John cared for him not to get hurt, but he was in it since the two flirted in the shop. There was no going back. Even if they split up now, they would both be in pain.

“I’m already in.” Eddie chuckled. “I got in the moment I fell in love with you.” He looked up at John with tears in his eyes, and the goofiest smile.

John blushed profusely at that and his lips curled into a soft smile. He pressed himself against Eddie in a hug,his words were sweet but his worries were still real. He felt the squirming in his stomach again but he tried to ignore it. “ I can try to go to one of the doctors I know of if you think it’ll help..I just don’t know if you should come” John gently pulled away and looked at Eddie searching for any sign of dismay in his face. “Abnormals stigmatize trusting Normies as much as they Abbies” John saw Eddies expression change slightly and he pursed his lips. “I’ll see if he’ll let you come” his voice was soft and loving knowing Eddie wanted to be with him every step of the way. John sat down next to Eddie and he pulled something out from under his mattress. A small tweed journal when he opened it,it was cryptic writing but it was a list of addresses and names of other abnormals in town “ I can go today if we leave now” John could read it with ease.

Eddie relaxed when John finally agreed to at least getting checked out. He hugged him back and watched as he went to pull the journal out.

“I can go today if we leave now.”

“I know I just said I’d be there for you, but if you don’t want me to be, I can stay here, watch Bitty and prepare tea and snacks. Whichever makes this safer. But I won’t ever leave you. I’ll be waiting for you.” He stood up, walking over to the botanist and gave him a hug, assuring him this was all going to be alright.

John nodded while he began to get ready getting dressed in one of his new outfits. He shimmied into some jeans and tucked the front of his sweater in.Eddie had begun to get dressed in his own clothes.

“It'll be safe here luv,you can stay and eat something ,I won’t be long” he .”I should be back within the hour.Oh! Can I borrow your keys for the car it’s not a long drive and riding my bike has been harder lately” John knew how to drive but he had to IDs one a fake ID in case he was ever pulled over,his hair was photoshopped to be brown in it to hide the fact of his almost abnormal hair color being real. When Eddie handed him the keys, John got on his tiptoes and gave the taller man a kiss.He’d grabbed his water bottle and gave Eddie a small smile at the door. “I love you..” His shy voice said just before he left through the door. Hopping into the old truck and beginning his journey to the underground doctor. Following his books notes until he reached a nice looking house and he rang the doorbell.

#mpreg story #mpreg kink #tw: mpreg

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deniigi · 4 years

Text

@pomegranate-belle and @puffins-studio have kindly convinced me to share with you all this little bit.

It’s of Electric Sheep but if Android Matt had a Mike who’s been looking for him since they were separated as youths (right before Matt started to become an android)

Title: Seventeen years

Summary: bounty hunter Mike has been taking jobs in nyc, searching for his lost twin. A chance encounter with a blonde woman who steals his heart helps him find him.

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

Seventeen years, ten months, 18 days.

Mike had lived out of the city longer than in it. Rochester was as close as he’d gotten in foster care, but work had dragged him through occasionally, and frankly he was grateful for it.

He’d told himself seventeen years ago that he’d get back.

So here he was, reflecting on life outside the cell of a guy screaming bloody murder.

Dude was a bot-trafficker.

The shit made some serious dough, Mike had seen it himself. But you know what else made some serious dough? Bounty hunting. I.e. Catching the people who got pissed off about other people makin’ some serious dough.

These days, they were all bot-traffickers. Mike could barely remember a time when he was chasing jewel thieves and counterfeiters down alleys anymore. It was all bot-this and bot-that—which, to be fair, was kind of the same thing as a jewel thief.

Property was where the real money was at. And bots? Hoo boy, the best kind could cost a penthouse.

Mike thought it was good for them that they had no idea how much they were worth. He found it kinda sweet if he was honest. This screamin’ bot dude’s collection of androids were all tucked up against each other in the other room, performing ‘maintenance’ on each other like a pile of cats. They were community-minded, bless ‘em. It made Mike smile a little bit.

Of course, so did the paycheck.

Yeah, the paycheck helped, too.

He got a job for the city. He took it without asking too many questions.

It didn’t matter how much city jobs paid, Mike always went ready for a double-shift there.

The last time he’d seen Matt had been when their social workers had untangled their hands at St. Agnes. Both of them had been wailing like toddlers, like they had been in front of Dad’s casket.

Up until that point, everyone had assured them that they’d be kept together—that no one was going to try to separate them. They were twins. People would understand that you couldn’t just take the one and leave the other. They had an unbreakable and psychic bond, clearly.

But then one day the social worker hadn’t answered Matt’s question when he’d asked about it again, seeking reassurance.

Mike’s stomach had dropped then. And sure enough, the next thing they knew, people were throwing around words like ‘specialty care’ and ‘high-risk’ and ‘better in the long-run.’

Mike had gone to a foster home screaming and fighting in the back of a sedan. Matty stayed behind, allegedly to be placed in some kind of group home with more ‘supportive’ care.

That was seventeen years ago--almost eighteen years ago.

Mike only knew what Matt looked like these days because he shaved every morning in the bathroom mirror. But, he told himself, not for much longer.

He hadn’t become a bounty hunter for the looks. He’d done it for the money and the job experience. Could he track a criminal? Hell yeah. He’d been one. He knew how they thought. More importantly: could he track a brother?

He could, actually. He was a Murdock; he knew how they thought.

The job in the city was whatever. Took half an hour and a big smile to corner the gal like a rat. She went to the highest bidder; Mike went back out on the prowl.

Chances were that Matt would be drawn to Hell’s Kitchen. And chances were that he would be searching for Mike as Mike was for him. He was an idealist like that. Like Mike.

Awwww. Old habits die hard.

Hell’s Kitchen had changed over the years, but it still felt like home when Mike put a foot in the boundaries. He knew these stoops and all these torn posters. He knew that skyline and that raggedy flag pole.

The names on the businesses changed—some got new lights, some got new windows, but all in all, the feel was still there.

He set out to find Matt in the old, old haunts. Stopped by the church. The old kids’ home. They still hadn’t seen him, no, Mike. Sorry, my son.

He took a waltz down memory lane by the docks.

He found the greasiest looking coffee shop he could and sat at a sticky table, people-watching through the huge half-wall windows for about an hour.

Nothin’ yet.

His coffee was cold when he left.

He ran into a girl at a bar that night under green and red neon lights. They danced close. She told him he reminded her of someone she knew, and Mike thought that that was just a lovely coincidence, sugar, wasn’t it?

He invited her to his hotel room. She accepted.

He woke up to waves of amber grain strewn across this pillow, sticking to his lips, and the smell of something powdery and floral in the endless line of this lady’s neck.

God, she was like a swan. Mike ought to buy her breakfast.

He did because he was a gentleman. He left to go grab a sandwich from the bodega outside but came back to find the bed and the room empty. There was a little note on the pad next to the bed that said ‘thanks, handsome’ with a smile face next to it and a number.

He eased himself down on to the bed and stuffed a sandwich in his mouth to grin around.

Her name was Karen.

It wasn’t their last night. Mike saw her when she was in the city and they had a well-worn routine after a few months.

Every time, a new bar, a new club, a new drink. But the same dance and then the same chase and collapse.

She told him nothing about herself, and he loved that about her. She passed fingers through his hair. She trailed them across his jaw, bristly stubble or no.

And then the next morning, she was gone, and Mike was sighin’ like a blue bird in spring.

Valentine’s Day found Mike in the city. He didn’t delude himself with thinking that Karen was available—he wasn’t that full of it.

But he did think that even a lady as lovely and possibly taken as Karen deserved a bouquet of flowers from a ‘friend.’ So he took a meander down to a wholesaler and chatted up one of the makers until a collection of spring tulips graced by baby’s breath found their way into his hands.

Karen, he suspected, worked somewhere in an office. Her ever-present, practical pencil skirt said so, and the way that she frequented Josie’s told him that she lived in the area around 9th and 52nd.

It wasn’t hard to snoop. It wasn’t hard to trawl through the local business websites in that area, peeking at staff pages until low and behold, the golden grail herself appeared smiling on try number 7.

He smiled back at her photo and went back to get the name of the place and the address only to pause in his tracks.

Nelson & Murdock.

Karen worked at a law firm called Nelson & Murdock.

Huh.

Well. Good for that Murdock. Mike hoped he was out when he brought these flowers in.

The firm was dinky and crammed up two flights of stairs across from an orthodontist’s office. Mike pitied Karen for having to spend her days watching droves of traumatized middle schoolers leave that place with wires crammed in their faces. The flowers even looked like they were wilting in the hallway.

Mike gave them a pep talk on his way to the door.

He knocked but no one answered, so he turned the knob and a handful of people where sat looking nervous in the waiting area. The front desk was empty. Abandoned.

Oh, Karen.

Ever at work like you are at play.

Mike made his way over the desk and caught sight of a familiar fluffy little ball on a keychain at the edge of the desk.

It was adorable.

He found a scrap of paper by the phone, reached over and snagged it and a pen to leave a little love note when he felt a tug at his elbow.

He forced down the irritation and turned back with a smile. An older lady with huge bifocals squinted at him.

“Mr. Murdock,” she said. “I’ve got to go move my car. Don’t you give up my place, you hear?”

Mike forced himself to hold his smile.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I think you’ve got the wrong guy, madam.”

Murdock must have looked smooth as hell for Mike to have been mistaken for him.

The lady squinted left, right, and center, then scoffed and pinched his arm.

“Cheeky boy,” she said. “I’ll be right back.”

She left.

Mike’s brain short-circuited for another few seconds before declaring that whole situation unresolvable, bizarre, and emphatically not his problem. Sorry Nana. Go to the back of the line like everyone else.

He went back to writing his card.

“Matt?”

He didn’t mean to look up. It was a reflex, man. It came with the twin-territory, and this time it brought a moment of panic as Karen’s brow dropped stormily and her fists found her hips.

“Where the hell have you been? We’ve been calling you all morning?” she demanded.

Mike’s palms started sweating.

Did Karen? Not? Recognize him?

Had he misread this whole love affair? Or maybe it was the daylight that was confusing her?

It had to be the daylight, right?

“Matt,” Karen said, irate as could be in that pretty blue and white top. “Don’t just stand there. Say something.”

Ahahahahahaha.

Too close. Too much.

“MATT.”

Out we go, back to the hovel from which we came.

---

He breathed out hard in the street below and turned back to look up at the window of Nelson & Murdock. It was flung open and he didn’t give Karen the opportunity to get her nose out of it. He hurried off into the crowd, ducking and squirming until he was sure that he was good and gone from sight.

Then he found an alley to clutch at his heart in.

It had been years since someone had called him Matt. Sometimes he took the name on as a false one, when working for especially shitty shit-heads. But Karen??

Mike was positive he’d introduced himself as Mike. ‘Michael’ but more like Costello than Abbott, he’d said. Karen had laughed.

What the fuck, man? What the fuck?

He looked at the flowers in his hand.

A waste.

Hhhng. Alright, well. There was for sure to be someone needing cheering up at a bar somewhere. Might as well spare them for the Singles Awareness Gigs sure to be happening soon.

---

He ended up at Josie’s because he always ended up at Josie’s, but this time with barely anyone in the place at 3pm on Valentine’s Day, she actually noticed him and gave him an eyebrow. He chose to ignore it in order to wallow in self-pity and raised his glass to his lips.

It didn’t make it.

He stared in stunned silence at the hand suddenly covering his glass.

“I don’t think that’s a wise idea, pal,” Josie said.

Mike gaped at her in shock.

“I? Paid for this?” he said.

There was a long moment of awkward silence.

“Jesus, I’m so sorry,” Josie said. “My bad. I thought you were someone else.”

Someone else?

Someone—

WAIT.

“Someone else? Does someone who looks like me come here?” Mike blurted out with zero grace before he could stop himself. “Does he—do you know his name? Is he—does he—”

Josie frowned hard at him.

“You’re not Matt,” she said after a long moment. “I always thought you were Matt.”

Matt!!

Matty!! MATT. You little shit. You perfect, darling, little shit. Out here, comin’ to Josie’s like a chump—possible alcoholic Matt!

Okay, wait, roll that one back—one problem at a time.

“He’s my brother. I’ve been looking for him for eighteen years, we were separated in foster care—do you know where he lives?” Mike asked with no filter to be seen for miles.

Was it professional of him?

No.

But were hugs at airports ever professional? Exactly. Get off his case.

He beamed wide at Josie, but her face did not reciprocate the gesture. Actually, it seemed to be doing the opposite and that made this little squirming feeling start up in Mike’s gut.

“Christ,” Josie said. “I’m so sorry, man.”

Wh-what?

“You’re gonna need a double.”

What did that mean?

“Take this.”

No. No, what did that mean?

“Take the shot, kid. Trust me. You’re gonna need it.”

---

No.

Just.

No. No, no, no, no, no.

Josie rubbed her fingernails against her cheek and sighed.

“His owner brings him along,” she said. “Lets him work at their law firm with him—he’s made the papers, sure, but you know. It’s all kind of colored by the fact that he can’t really do shit without permission.”

Mike rolled the tumbler in his hand around.

Nelson, eh? So called ‘owner’ of the android called Matthew Michael Murdock.

Ahahahaha.

Get ready to die, motherfucker.

“But he tries to drink—Matt does,” Mike felt himself say.

Josie didn’t want to look at him.

“Sometimes, it’s like he forgets he’s a droid,” she said. “Usually, he’s got someone with him to keep him out of trouble.”

Fuck.

“I’m sorry, Mike,” Josie said. “It’s a load of bull.”

FUCK.

He set the tumbler down.

“How much do I owe you?” he asked.

“It’s on the house,” Josie said. “Best of luck.”

Yeah.

Thanks.

---

Matty was—

Mike made it back to his hotel room before sinking to his knees by the bed. God had never heeded his prayers before, but things were different now.

Matty couldn’t pray for the both of them anymore. He was—He was--

Mike had to—

God, please.

Please. Give him back. What once was lost had to be found.

What once was lost, God.

Mike had lost him.

He’d lost him forever.

Give him back.

---

He typed Matt’s name into the search engine on his phone and made it through one whole article before he was kneeling before a much harder, much more porcelain altar.

He tried again in the bathroom this time, sat on the floor with his back against the tub.

The bot that someone had made out of Matty looked so sweet. Like Mike, but softer in the cheeks. Younger. Forever 22 or something close to it.

He was still blind, despite all his other modifications and he was a little famous in the field of robotics. Not that the bot appeared to care. The articles claimed that the bot had recovered and retained memories prior to what they kept calling his ‘transition.’

What they meant was when he’d been transformed into a human weapon. An inhuman weapon.

Matty, I’m so sorry.

---

There was only so much self-pity a man could wallow in before his ass started to fall asleep. But more than that, Mike was a Murdock. The tingling in his limbs was lost to the ever-increasing roar of fire in his ears.

That bastard. That bastard lawyer.

Taking Matt after everything he’d been through and turning him into some prop to be used as a showpiece in a grand legal theatre.

Fuck no. Fuck that.

Mike wasn’t fucking this up twice.

---

Nelson & Murdock was closed by the time Mike once again found himself outside its doors. He stared at the sign’s heavy black letters and gave in to the devil raging, hot, underneath the skin of his chest.

He left the shattered doorglass on the ground as he made his way to the opposite stairwell.

---

Karen.

---

She lived nearby 9th and 52nd. She was probably going home to her handsome hubby, who’d shower her in chocolate and wine and flowers. But on the way, she’d make a stop. She was a working gal. She wouldn’t have had time to pick up a gift in return before her shift started.

Mike found her at Walgreens, talking on the phone to someone while she petted every teddy bear on the rack in front of her.

He didn’t feel sorry.

She didn’t scream when his hand found her face. He didn’t give her the chance.

---

He ditched the hat in the back storeroom of Walgreens and took Karen right through to the loading dock. She thrashed hard.

Mike could barely feel the movement. He was on the lookout for eyes.

An elbow found his ribs and a foot his toes before he got them far enough from view that he could let her go to readjust his grip, and when he did, he got her against a wall, panting.

This lady was tough. But in a flash, she mouth dropped open and her wrists went limp in his grip.

“Mike?” she asked after a second. “Is that you? What are you doing here? Why are you—”

“Where. Is. My brother?” Mike cut her off.

Karen recoiled until her head hit the bricks behind her.

“Your—”

“My brother Matthew,” Mike snapped.

The rush of traffic settled into the silence.

“Oh my god,” Karen whispered. “He’s your brother?”

“Yes. He is, as a matter of fact, and whatever you think you’re doing to him, I will do to you and that fucking lawyer ten times worse,” Mike said. “So you’re going to help me or I’m going to—”

“I knew I knew you.”

He felt himself go stiff.

“Matt talks like you,” Karen said softly. “Just like you.”

Wh—he did?

Karen’s fingers brushed the tops of Mike’s hands. They were cold.

“Mike,” she whispered, sounding for all the world like she was on the verge of tears, “He’s going to be so happy to see you.”

Wh—she’d—she’d take him to Matt?

“Of course,” Karen said. “He’s one of my best friends.”

They were friends? How were they friends? Was this a sick joke?

“No. It’s not. I met him years ago it’s just—I didn’t realize you were—okay, there’s just one problem,” Karen said.

---

Uh?

“Sensory input! Greater than! Processing—PROCESSING—processing—”

“Matty,” Franklin Nelson said with both of his hands out in front of him. “I see that we are very excited.”

“SENSORY INPUT—”

“And I love your enthusiasm, and I know you love your enthusiasm,” Nelson continued. “But if you don’t settle down the tiniest fraction of an inch, you’re going to blow a fuse and—”

“SEN—sen-S-S-SEN—”

Uh?

“This is excited,” Karen explained while Nelson wrestled Matt into sitting for the second time since Mike had arrived at the door.

This was excited?

“He’s normally much more in tune with himself,” Karen said. “But I think you’ve jumpstarted some shit that even his additional processing power isn’t enough for.”

Additional what now?

“It’s a long story,” Karen said over the saddest sound that Mike had ever heard.

They both looked over to where Nelson had successfully gotten Matt back to sitting and was now coaching him through whatever the bot-equivalent of breathing exercises were.

“How long?” Mike asked.

Karen’s blue eyes pitied him.

---

Okay, okay, okay. So. Nelson? Not a threat. Definitely a boon.

Matty?

Hng.

Heavy.

“I’ve literally never seen him this excited,” Nelson said. “And I’ve known him for seven years.”

No shit?

“No shit, we met at Columbia,” Nelson sighed. “I’m sorry about this.”

It was fine. Mike deserved this. Probably.

Jesus, what the fuck had they replaced Matt’s muscle’s with? How was he this warm and this heavy and not human all at the same time.

He’d seemed to have decided that Mike needed a full-body hug and while the first ten seconds had been cry-worthy, the last minute or so was getting a little suffocating.

“Matt, let him go,” Nelson pleaded. “He can’t breathe, bud. He’s gotta breathe, he’s not like you—”

“Subject: Mike. Michael Murdock,” Matt said brightly, scrambling off Mike out of no-fucking-where and getting way too far into Nelson’s face.

“Mike, yeah, you said,” Nelson said.

“Mike. Born October 21—”

“I get it. He’s your twin.”

“—at Metropolitan General Hospital at 11:32pm—”

“Matt, you’re info-dumping friend, we don’t need this. We believe you. Don’t give me his social. Don’t—”

“—Social Security number 6—”

“MATT. End request. End search term. Exit page.”

Uh?

“He did this with the DA last week when he got too riled up,” Karen said sympathetically. “We have no clue where he finds it or better yet, where he even stores it.”

“—my brother, FOGGY.”

“Yeah, I fuckin’ see it, man. It’s before mine very own eyes. Y’all are identical. It’s weird.”

“I missed him.”

“Tell that to him then. Stop touching me, ew. No. Go douse him with your weird fuckin’ eye fluid—atta boy, good job—NO. NO CLIMBING.”

Mike…was not prepared for the care and keeping of Bot-Matt. He had to admit that now. All those plans of snatching Matt out of the hands of these evil, evil people were breaking up into little fragments of puzzle pieces and he’d never felt more like shit because god.

He was supposed to look after his brother, wasn’t he?

Wasn’t he?

“I’m so sorry about this,” Franklin Nelson said with Matt leaning almost completely out of his grip and making that horrible sad noise again. “But I think I’m gonna need to cool him down a bit.”

---

Mike couldn’t stop rubbing at his face.

Matt was sprawled out across Nelson’s bed like he was sleeping in the sunlight. The wires plugged into the back of his neck slipped off the edge of the bed and led all the way to a laptop that was just about sweating with how hard it was working.

From the side, it looked like he was human. Absolutely, unequivocally human.

Younger than Mike now, though. Permanently halted at 24 years old. No wonder Karen hadn’t recognized Mike early on. Matty’s jaw was still slim where Mike’s had hardened square like Dad’s. The only facial hair he had was in his eyebrows and eyelashes—there was no reason to add stubble to a bot. It was just more maintenance. Just another aesthetic modification.

“I’m sorry, Mike.”

Mike turned to Nelson.

He didn’t look or talk like a single one of the bot traffickers than Mike had dragged in from the cold—and he’d done the full range of them, from the cackling madhatters to the cooing, babytalkers to the silent so-called geniuses. Nelson exhibited only exasperation.

The story that Karen told about his and her early encounters with Matt made it seem like Nelson honestly considered Matt to be human, like him. Like all of them.

“You helped him,” Mike said quietly.

“If I’d have known that he had you, then I would have helped him find you sooner,” Nelson said. “But I thought he was on his own. He never mentioned anyone else. I should have asked.”

No. No, that was—That was okay, somehow.

“We got separated a lifetime ago,” Mike said. “People thought that I’d be easier to adopt. And clearly he had other things going on.”

Nelson winced.

“That’s shit,” he said.

“And wrong,” Mike sighed. “I don’t even know what to do now. I can’t take care of him like this. I don’t know the first thing about droid maintenance or computers.”

Nelson considered him.

“Well, the good news is that you don’t have to—take care of him, I mean,” he said. “Matt takes care of himself. He’s actually really good at it when he’s not blowin’ his top about some damn thing. You’ll see when he wakes up. And on top of that, he’s already got a mechanic, so when something goes wrong that he can’t fix, we take him to Parker and he does the heavy lifting there.”

Mike swallowed.

“You guys really have it worked out,” he realized.

Nelson sighed.

“Like I said. I’ve known him for seven years. We’ve lived together ever since.”

Woah. Wait. What now?

Nelson turned exhausted eyes onto him.

“I co-signed for his loft, but he just comes and spends all his time here when he’s not out smashing faces. Claims my bed. Steals all the sun spots. Makes me only shit coffee in return.”

He—Matt—Matt had his own apartment? He could do that?

“Sure? Why not? He owns half the firm, too,” Nelson said. “I mean, they wouldn’t let me put it in his name, technically. So it’s through a wildly complicated, uh—let’s call it a ‘thing’ for simplicity’s sake. But yeah. If anything happens to me, full ownership goes to him. But as far as we’re concerned, it’s half and half. The only thing Matt can’t do is practice law on his own, so we have to double-team pretty much every case.”

Mike needed to sit down.

“Oh, for sure. Just not there. I’d recommend out of range, here. Sit here,” Nelson said.

---

Matt woke up when Karen snuck around the bed to remove the wires from his neck. He scrambled up and fell right over the side of the bed onto Karen’s feet.

She swore. He groaned. Nelson pointedly did not come back into the room.

This time, though, when Matt got back up, Karen pulled him in the direction of Mike and took his wrist. She held out a hand for Mike.

Mike’s heart fluttered.

He gave it to her and Karen put his hand directly in Matt’s palm.

There was silence.

“Mikey,” Matt said after a long moment.

Mike’s eyes started burning.

“You came for me,” Matt said.

Mike couldn’t make his throat work. It took two goes to find his voice.

“Yeah,” he croaked. “I sure did.”

“You ain’t singin’, though,” Matt pointed out. “Why aren’t you singin’?”

Because he was cryin’, man. God, give a guy a break.

“Matty, what did they do to you?” he asked.

Matt made a strange sound as he mulled over the question. A kind of whirring noise.

“Made me into a droid, dumbass,” he said.

Mike laughed before he could stop himself.

“Can I have a non-lethal hug?” he asked.

Matt whirred.

“No promises,” he said.

----

#mike murdock #matt murdock #electric sheep #don't mind me just making myself sad #blame Maddie for this one #fic #ficlet

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florenceandthemachine · 4 years

Text

@hearteyesforbuck asked:

I have been dying for a meet-cute au where Eddie takes Chris to the gym once a week and they box a little together before Eddie spars; usually Chris sits by the ring and reads but one day Eddie finds him laying on a bench, lifting an empty bar while this really cute blond guy spots him and gives him encouragement ....

guess who’s asks are still broken?

Tumblr keeps adding the “Read More” into the ask box, which breaks the entire post when I try to post it. Why is it happening? No idea, but if anyone knows how to fix it, please let me know, this is getting really old.

anyway, fun fact that I just learned about myself—if you want me to dedicate 100% of my brainpower to writing 4.5k of something in one sitting, you just throw in Christopher Diaz.

Eddie liked to think of himself as some kind of a “do it yourself” kind of dad.

Most of the time, that was a good thing.

Kitchen faucet broke? No worries, Eddie has some plumbers tape and three different YouTube videos telling him how to fix it.

Car wouldn’t start? Not a problem, Eddie bought the full repair manual offline and knows his way around a wrench.

Christopher needed forty gluten free, egg free, dairy free cupcakes for class tomorrow? Eddie was perfectly capable of... admitting when he was outmatched by a stand mixer and calling thirteen local bakeries to see if they delivered, because his car still wasn’t starting.

Point is, if there was a way he could work on something, Eddie would at least try it—and needless to say, that got a little complicated where Christopher was involved.

Eddie still wanted to do a lot of it on his own. Chris was his kid, and no one else's, and he didn’t even like being away from him while Chris was at school—he wasn’t sure if that was guilt stemming from leaving Chris as a kid, or guilt about introducing Shannon back into his life only to have her wind up dead, or guilt about... well, pick-a-thing, but he was pretty damn sensitive about what he perceived he could do to help his kid.

Which is why, when Chris’ physical therapist gave Eddie some suggestions about how Chris could work on strength training at home, Eddie dove completely into the deep end, head first, no floaties.

Working on Chris’ fine motor skills had been cake. Writing, drawing, arts and crafts, even playing video games, all helped improve Chris’ hand eye coordination (and if Eddie ran out of room on the fridge for Chris’ masterpieces and started framing them instead, well, that was his own business, no matter how nosy the busybodies at Michael’s got).

Working on his gross motor skills, though, that was another story. They could go on walks, sure, and they did every day. Eddie could hook up the trail-a-bike to his own once or twice a week so Chris could ride along with him, without worrying about his balance, but those were both leg heavy activities—and while it was great that Chris was building his core strength and leg strength, Eddie wasn’t about to just strap a wrist weight to Chris’ arms and call it a ‘well rounded workout’.

Short of more physical therapy, Eddie was at a loss as to what to do—so when Google Maps pushed him off the 101 to avoid a wreck on his way home from work and he got caught by a stop light right next to "Ricky’s Boxing Gym”, Eddie felt like his prayers had been answered.

Over the next few months, they had set up a pretty good routine. Eddie would bring Chris to the gym, they would hop into one of the many rings, and he and his son would get a half hour of quality time, three times a week. Eddie had his own set of boxing mitts, and Chris thought that spending a half hour trying to punch his dad’s hand was the most fun a kid could have after school. Chris would tire himself out and sit on the bench, drawing or reading for a while more, while Eddie would actually spar with one of the staff members, get his own workout in, and then they’d go home.

Nine times out of ten, they’d stop for ice cream or pizza, and completely undo any of the workout they had actually done, but Eddie thought that was a small price to pay for the whoop of joy Chris let out when he actually managed to hit Eddie’s glove dead center.

Eddie’s sparring partner of choice (well, after Chris) was Tommy Kinard. He was nice enough, and kept Eddie on his toes, giving him plenty of time to look over to Chris to make sure he was safe, and happy, and occupied, and (“Dad, I’m fine! Go punch someone!”) okay, maybe he was helicoptering a little bit. He hadn’t really thought it was a problem until Kinard went on paternity leave, leaving him in the capable, and brutal, hands of Boscoe.

Boscoe was a beast. He didn’t know her first name—didn’t know if she had a first name—but what she lacked in pleasantries she more than made up with strength. If Eddie was being honest, though, he kind of loved it; even after the first day they sparred together, when he wound up limping into the 118, proudly admitting to Hen that he had been beat up by a girl.

The thing was, Boscoe was intense, and while that was a good thing, it gave him less of a chance to helicopter over Chris.

Which, okay, maybe that was a good thing too. Whatever.

He knew the gym pretty well by that point, and knew the people who worked there, knew he could trust Chris with any of them—which is why when he looked up after dodging a jab from Boscoe, and saw Chris absent from his bench, he only panicked a little bit.

When he managed to take a wider look around the gym and saw a familiar pair of shoes laying down on a workout bench, the rest of him obscured by a bigger, bulkier body, that panic went from 0-60 real quick.

“Hey!”

He only barely managed to dodge a glancing blow from Boscoe as he ducked beneath the ropes, grabbing a towel to blot at his face as he hopped down. His voice was little more than a quick bark through the gym as he stepped around another group of machines, his frantic pace slowing a little as he got into earshot.

“... yeah, come on buddy, you can do it! Come on, give me one more rep! You got this little man!”

Fuck, had this stranger actually given Chris a set of weights?

His temper was white hot by the time he finally got around the front of the machine, opening his mouth to shout, to get a manager, to do something, but the words died in his throat as he took in the scene before him.

Because Chris was definitely on the bench, and he definitely had his hands on the bar—the bar that was completely devoid of weights, Eddie noticed, the same bar that had two much larger, stronger hands attached to them. Hands that were probably doing all the actual work of lifting the bar, because Chris was laying back, unable to speak, because he was giggling so hard.

The bar landed back on the rack with a dull thunk as Chris pulled his hands back, sticking them straight up in the air triumphantly as he sat up. The man behind the bar gave a big show of leaning against the frame of the bench dramatically, fanning himself, giving Eddie a full view of an employee shirt, name badge, and the gym logo stitched across the polo he was wearing.

Whelp, that was almost very embarrassing for him.

“Holy cow, that was such a good job! Man, you have got to be the strongest kid I’ve ever met in my life!”

“Dad, did you see me? Buck says I’m super strong!”

Eddie had to admit, he was a little thrown by whatever was happening here, but Chris was obviously having a good time, and he felt the white hot anger dissipate into something a little less angry and a little more embarrassed.

“That was some pretty impressive work, buddy! Have you been holding out on me?” Eddie dipped down and tossed a few playful jabs at Chris, selfish only because he wanted to prolong the joy his son was obviously feeling, but it was all worth it as he was handsomely rewarded when Chris started giggling again.

The man—Buck, Eddie gathered—laughed, drawing Eddie’s attention upward, and for a moment, his brain short circuited, because there was no way on earth a gym rat could be this... pretty.

Because damn. Buck was pretty.

Pretty enough that Eddie was easily distracted, waxing poetic (internally, thankfully) about beefy arms and a plush lip that he didn’t notice what was happening until Buck stuck a hand out, smiling, and Eddie could only guess what was going on. He reached out and took the hand, his own smile hitching as Buck’s face slipped into confusion.

“Uhh—”

“...I was asking if you wanted me to take your towel for you and get you a fresh one.”

Oh. Right. Towel.

Eddie’s face burned as he pulled the towel off his shoulder, handing it over, giving a too-tight laugh as he nodded his head. “Yes! If you could get me a new towel so I could strangle myself in embarrassment, that would be great.”

Well, at the very least, that got Buck to laugh again—death would be worth it if that was the last sound he heard. “Sorry I kind of stole your kid. He was wandering in between the machines, and it’s my first week off of the evening shift, so I just wanted to make sure he didn’t get hurt—but then he started asking about all the weights and pulleys and stuff, you have a really smart kid!”

Total Gym Hottie (Buck, his mind corrected. If he was going to drool over someone the least he could do was use their name) was complimenting his kid now, and Eddie was so star struck he was actually proud to say he didn’t stumble when Buck nudged his shoulder, head jerking back to the ring he had abandoned.

"...anyway, I think strangulation is the least of your worries, if I know that look, Boscoe has an entirely different death planned for you if you don’t get back in the ring. Go on, I’ll help little man here wheel you out on a gurney when she’s done with you.”

Buck sounded way too positive about that, and it was all Eddie could do to groan and walk back to the ring, tail between his legs.

Sure enough, even after he had the next day off, he was still sore when he walked into the 118 for his next shift.

Buck became easily, seamlessly, a part of their routine, in a way that probably deserved a little more insight on Eddie’s part, but insight was for suckers. At least two days out of the week, their schedules aligned—Eddie and Chris still worked on their exercises, but now it included Buck giving a dramatic play by play on the sidelines, talking up Chris like an announcer, or just otherwise causing shenanigans.

It was worth it, easily, because while Chris was certainly never a negative kid, Eddie had never seen him in brighter spirits. And Buck... well, anyone that could find a way to help out his son in a way that Chris clearly enjoyed earned an instant gold star in Eddie’s book. The fact that he was easy on the eyes wasn’t a bad thing, either.

“Diaz, I swear to God—”

Eddie only barely ducked under Boscoe’s extended hand, forcibly rooting himself back in the moment, looking guiltily back to her instead of watching Buck and Chris.

“—can you pay attention for like three minutes so I can hit you without feeling bad about it?”

Eddie tried, he really did, but it was hard. A few weeks had gone by since their initial meeting, and Eddie had gone from “wow he’s pretty” to “full high school crush” in no time flat. It wasn’t his fault, though—because what sealed the deal wasn’t the moment Buck had switched to tank tops over polos, or how happy Eddie was to spend time staring at Buck’s magnificent ass (and it was really, really magnificent, let the record show), it was how he interacted with Chris that sent him over the edge.

Buck was good with Chris, but somehow that was the understatement of the year. He was kind, and he was bubbly, and he was just in sync in a way that Eddie wasn’t even sure he had reached, and Chris was his son. Buck was patient in a way that seemed effortless, easily slowing himself down or changing what he was doing when he noticed Chris struggling, wether it was in going over a math problem while Eddie got the crap beat out of him or just showing him how some of the different machines worked.

Hell, right now, Eddie had his hands securely around Chris’ hips as he lifted the other male to a chin-up bar, helping Chris count out the pull-up’s he was doing—and while all Eddie could hear was Chris’ laughter, all he could see were the thick cords of muscle attached to Buck’s arms, lifting Chris like he weighed nothing.

Eddie wondered, not for the first time, if Buck could lift him like that.

Like she was a horrible mind reading pervert, Boscoe smacked him with an open hand—not hard enough to hurt, but not soft enough that he was going to ignore it.

“Diaz, this will be our last session together. Kinard is back next week—” Another punch, a quick jab that Eddie blocked with his forearms. “—so the least you could do is focus on me and not the apple of your eye over there.”

“Buck isn’t the apple of my—fuck—my eye, grow up.” Eddie huffed as he threw out a punch of his own, his hand knocked away violently, only barely dodging the sharp hook that Boscoe sent to him.

“God, I was talking about your kid, Diaz. You’re embarrassing yourself.”

Oh.

Ignoring how red his face was, Eddie grumbled and threw another quick jab, though he missed completely as Boscoe stepped back, a grin on her face, and Eddie knew better than to trust that look. The last time he trusted that look, he had been talked into fighting bare-handed, and he still wasn’t sure his knuckles would ever really work again.

“You know, Kinard is supposed to take you back as a client, but I bet if you asked nice enough...”

Oh no.

“Hey, Buck!”

Oh no. Eddie looked up in horror as Buck easily lifted Christopher onto his shoulders—god, so much muscle—and jogged over, with the nerve to not even be out of breath when he smiled up to the pair in the ring. Eddie bit his tongue and leaned over to high five his kid, fully prepared to deal with whatever terrible thing was about to come his way.

“Kinard was supposed to take Diaz here back after he’s off leave next week, but I know he wanted to ease back into things after being away from the gym for a few months. You think you could spar with him in the interim?”

Oh, no, didn’t seem to cover it anymore. Eddie was having a hard enough time focusing on the task at hand when Buck was in the same building, he would be signing his own death certificate if he had to stare Buck in the face, and then try to hit said face. He hadn’t even seen Buck break a sweat before—he didn’t know if his little bisexual heart could take it.

He was somehow both relieved and regretful when Buck shook his head, looking plenty apologetic as he pulled Chris up and off of his shoulders, making sure that he was steady on his feet before he leaned up against the ropes. “Sorry, Eddie. I don’t really box, and besides, I think Chris and I are making real progress while you get your butt kicked. Show him the guns, Chris!” Buck said, and Chris immediately started some classic strong-man poses, Buck posing dramatically behind him, and Eddie felt his heart melt for two entirely different reasons.

Buck turned around mid pose as the door chime went off, giving Eddie ample time to count out the individual strands of muscle fiber in the moment before Buck relaxed, turning with a smile back to the gang in the ring. “Lena, that's my next client. Chris, Eddie, I’ll see you both next week, yeah?” He said with a grin before he fist bumped Chris and waved to Eddie, slipping back into Professional Buck mode. Eddie waved back, brows almost in his hairline as he looked back to Boscoe, who was scowling at him.

“So—”

“No, Diaz.”

“Wait, why not? Buck gets to call you Lena!”

“Beat me in the ring as often as Buck does and I’ll consider it.”

Eddie had his mouth open to retort when Chris cut him off, pushing his glasses up on his nose as he tilted his head. “Can I call you Lena?”

She didn’t even hesitate a moment, nodding her head seriously. “You can absolutely call me Lena, squirt.”

Chris promptly stuck his tongue out at his dad, and Eddie reacted in sort, falling to the floor of the ring as he grabbed at his chest. “The nerve! Betrayed by my own child, my own flesh and blood!”

Chris looked thoroughly unimpressed, sitting back on the bench as he started to pack up his schoolwork. “Lena, can you tell my dad to stop being such a drama queen?”

It wasn’t until they were both in the car, that Eddie, thoroughly beaten down by his son, his trainer, and his own brain for providing a play by play of Buck that day while he was in the locker room shower stall, really thought about what Buck said.

He didn’t box. Which was strange enough in a boxing gym, but whatever, there were plenty of machines that Buck could be working on instead.

But them Boscoe (god, he couldn’t even call her Lena in his head, it felt like she would figure it out and beat him to death) basically admitted that Buck regularly whooped her behind the ropes

If Buck wasn’t boxing in a boxing gym, what the hell was he doing?

As it turned out, Eddie didn’t have to wait long to figure it out. Barely a week had passed before Eddie had received a call from Chim, all but begging Eddie to switch shifts so he could take the girl he had been seeing out on a proper date. The switch was a no brainer—Maddie seemed like a great girl, and as much shit as he gave Chim for... well, being Chim, he obviously wanted to see his teammate happy, especially when the only thing he would have to change was a gym day from a Monday to a Sunday.

If he had known that this would be the day that sealed his fate, he probably would have reconsidered the switch all together.

The gym was packed—which probably wasn’t surprising for a weekend day, but damn, Eddie had been glad he booked a ring with Kinard ahead of time. It was nice to see a familiar face in the gym anyway, one that wasn’t trying to beat the crap out of him in the ring, and once Kinard joined up with them, it was easy to shoot the shit. Eddie congratulated him on his step into fatherhood, ruffling Chris’ hair as he did—not that Chris noticed, busy scanning through the machines for a familiar blond head.

Not that Eddie could judge, when he was doing the same thing.

“Hey, I’m gonna toss my stuff in a locker. See you out here in a sec?”

“Yeah, sounds good! Buck and Boscoe are almost done in their ring, we have it next.”

Eddie was halfway to the locker room before what Kinard had said clicked in his brain, and he immediately did a 180, making a beeline to the rings set up on the far side of the gym, easily spotting the pair when he knew what to look for.

It was no wonder that neither he nor Chris had recognized Buck when they walked in—he was literally drenched in sweat, his usually fluffy blonde hair dark and slicked to his forehead, scowling around his mouth guard as he danced around Boscoe.

Boscoe, who Eddie had never seen so worked up. Damn, she really hadn’t even had to try during his matches. Wasn’t that a blow to the ego.

No, Buck definitely wasn’t a boxer, because this was a dance. Every move he made, he made with his entire body, his energy flowing through each form, moving easily and gracefully in a way that shouldn’t have been possible with such an incredible amount of force and flat out violence. He almost felt dazed as he followed Buck’s movements, but in the best possible way, his eyes snapping back and forth as he tried to trace where one hit ended and the next began.

“Wow.”

Eddie was glad that Chris said it, because he still couldn’t find the muscles needed to pick his jaw up off the floor. He didn’t know if Chris had followed him over to the ring or if his Buck-radar was just that good, but for the time being, Eddie was more than thankful for the minute distraction as he ruffled his kids hair again.

Boscue was moving more desperately as the match continued, launching into a series of quick jabs, but even Eddie could see where that was her downfall. Buck knocked her arm back with her last punch and sent a kick straight for her shoulder, but then he twisted his entire body off of the mat and his other leg was in the air too, and Eddie instinctively sucked in a breath as Buck locked her neck between his thighs. They both came crashing down to the mat, struggling impressively until Boscoe slapped Buck’s thigh twice, and then—

—and then Buck was all smiles again, beaming as he released her and took a knee on the ring, helping her back into a sitting position, spitting out his mouth guard with an excited moment of praise for her technique.

Eddie could not compute. This was his downfall. Eddie is dead, long live Eddie.

“Holy cow, Buck! That was amazing! You’re like... you’re like a ninja crime fighting super hero!”

Well, that was one way to put it.

Buck’s head whipped around at Chris’ excited outburst, lighting up when he spotted Eddie and Chris near the bench, eagerly scooting forward into a sitting position closer to the ropes.

“Thanks, little man! That was some mixed martial arts, it’s super fun. I’ve been teaching Lena for a few years, she’s getting pretty good!”

Buck’s grin slid into something a little more proud and pleased as he looked to Eddie, and Eddie felt every muscle in his body tighten as Buck’s gaze burned through him.

“What did you think of that leg lock, Eddie? Total knock out, right?”

Oh fuck, was Buck flirting with him now? That had to have been flirty, right? Come on, Brain, do something.

“... legs.”

“...my legs?”

“Buck, your... your legs.”

Buck’s smile looked a little more pinched as Eddie groaned, shaking his head. “Okay, I, I’m sorry, but I have to ask you this or I will completely die. Can I take you out to dinner sometime? I know a great place off the strip, you’ll love it, my treat.”

The look on Buck’s face was skeptical, at best, but at least he wasn’t shutting him down, giving Eddie the benefit of the doubt (and giving him a moment to get his brain back online). “Because of my legs?”

“No. Well, okay, you have amazing legs. And arms, though, and like... a stupidly handsome face, and I would be blind not to notice those things—” shit, Eddie probably sounded like such a shallow asshole right now. “—but I’m asking because you’re really smart. And you’re kind, so kind to Chris too, and you’re patient, and... Buck, you’re really really sweet. And I would love to take you out for a dinner date the moment you can look past my apparent inability to form a single coherent thought.”

After a moment that felt much longer than the three seconds it was, Buck sighed and leaned past Eddie, looking critically to Chris. He slid down to his stomach, squinting as he dropped down to eye level with the boy. “What do you think, Chris? Should I give your dad a shot?”

Well, at the very least, Buck was asking the one person that Eddie knew he always had in his corner; and sure enough, Chris delivered. “I think so. Dad really likes you.”

That’s his boy.

“Last week he spent my whole entire physical therapy appointment telling Dr. Wilson how much help you gave me and how nice you were and how much he appreciated it. It got kinda annoying.”

...well damn, Eddie wasn’t expecting to be called out by his own kid like that, but if the suddenly soft look Buck was giving him was any indication, it might have been the necessary push to get him to understand how serious Eddie was.

Eddie tried to keep his excitement tamped down when Buck nodded, sitting back up. “I’ll tell you what, I’ll make you a deal. Only because you managed to ask me out before I could ask you.”

Wait, Buck wanted to ask him out anyway?

“If you can land three hits on me in three minutes—should be easy after spending a weeks with Boscoe—then you can pick the time, the place, and I’ll even talk Lena in to letting you call her Lena. But if you don’t...” Buck reached through the ropes to help Eddie up, tossing him a wrap for his hands as he did. “... then I get to pick the time, the place, and you start training with me in MMA instead of going back to boring old boxing.”

Eddie blinked at him in abject horror as Buck dipped his voice low, seeing with terrible clarity exactly where Boscoe had learned her terrifying grin.

“That way you can see my leg choke up close and personal. Deal?”

The stakes were too high, and Eddie couldn’t say no.

He was screwed.

He was elated.

But fuck, he was screwed.

(Three minutes later, Buck asked if Eddie was free on Friday at seven, promised to pick somewhere nice, and gave him a searing kiss before he disappeared into the staff locker room. Eddie, on the other hand, needed a spatula to peel himself off of the floor of the ring.

He had never been so happy that he could barely move in his life.)

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