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highqueenofelfhame · 3 years

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I’m not posting a tag list for this part because it’s late and I’m exhausted and wanna get it out for you guys. If it does poorly I’ll go back and tag but right now I’m just very over tag lists. Follow the “#hqoe f&f” tag or “falsehoods & fistfights” or “Hqoe writes” tags to more closely follow my work. You can also follow @highqueenofelfhamewrites and turn on post notifications if you want to be notified of my writing! I’m not doing this to be mean, I’m doing it to save time and frustration when the tagging system fails (as it often does)

Hugest shoutout in the world to @punkassbookjockey26 for being the best beta in the entire world. She helped so much with this update!! Give her a pat on the back.

Part One // Masterlist

Rowaelin // 5681 words

~*~

For the last several hours, the clatter of her clicking keyboard and the flipping of pages had been on a continuous loop. At some point, Aelin had opened Spotify and forgotten to turn on any music, clearly content to keep to her rigorous work pace in near-silence. The door to her office was closed, and no one had stopped by to bother her since she’d arrived. Only a handful of phone calls had disrupted her this morning, which meant she had gotten plenty of work done.

Except that it wasn’t morning at all— it was two in the afternoon, and she couldn’t quite figure out how the hell that had happened. She was still squinting at the time on her computer screen when a firm knock sounded at the door, and she called out, “Yes?”

“Have you eaten today?” At the sound of Rowan’s voice, Aelin’s head whipped toward the door. She was unable to stop the smile that spread wide across her face or stop herself rising from her chair to meet him. Aelin perched against her desk, accepting the brown paper bag he held in his hands. No, she hadn’t eaten, not since her half a bagel and cup of coffee before she arrived at work. She’d left a banana in her car for a snack but hadn’t wanted to run back down for it.

“Barely. I didn’t even realize it was past lunch,” Aelin sighed, looking back up at his face. Rowan was grinning down at her as she tore a bite of croissant off and popped it into her mouth. The man looked criminally good, wearing jeans that hugged his legs in all the right places and a white button-up shirt. He rolled his sleeves up to his elbows, and her eyes lingered on his tattoo that swirled down to his fingertips.

“Can I kiss you in here?” His question caught her off guard, a laugh bursting from her lips. “Because this whole…” Rowan gestured to her outfit. “It’s really doing it for me.”

“You like librarian Aelin?”

“Yes,” he said, leaning down to press his lips to hers. The get-up he referred to was a pinstriped pencil skirt that hit just above her knees and patent black stiletto heels that had her only a few inches shorter than him. She had a red tank top tucked into the skirt and, at some point, had discarded her white cardigan over the back of her office chair. Her lips matched her shirt in a bright, matte, red lipstick that she’d neglected to touch up throughout the day. Still, when Rowan pulled away, his mouth was tinged with the outline of hers. “I like this a lot. Fuck.”

“For the record, you can kiss me anywhere you want to,” she told him. “Especially in my office, especially when the door is closed.”

“Noted.” Rowan tugged on her high ponytail before sinking into one of the leather armchairs in front of her. Aelin continued to munch on the variety of pastries he’d brought for her while his eyes seemed to be glued to her legs. Aelin wondered if he was thinking about laying her out on this desk and having his way with her here, but she also knew he wouldn’t let that be their first time. No matter how badly she wanted it to be.

“To what do I owe the pleasure, Mr. Whitethorn?” She asked, nudging his thigh with the toe of her shoe. The way he raked his teeth over his bottom lip before looking up at her told her that, yes, he was thinking what she was thinking. The way he quirked his brow at her also told her that, no, it wasn’t going to happen.

They were kind of dating, in the sense that they had been on a handful of dates. They had shared many heated kisses against the door to her apartment when he dropped her off, but he was being such a godsdamn gentleman about all of it that they hadn’t had sex yet. Aelin would have fucked him in the bathroom of the bar that first night, and they both knew it. But something was holding him back. To be fair, she couldn’t place all of the blame on him. She was holding back as well. Whatever this was between them felt like something that could be extraordinary, and she didn’t want to be the one that fucked it all up because she couldn’t keep it in her pants.

“I have a fight on Saturday, and I was really hoping you would want to come. Obviously, I would give you tickets, plus however many extra you want to bring whoever.”

“Just Aedion, I think.” Her cousin would likely die to be personally invited to one of Rowan Whitethorn’s fights, the same way Aelin knew he’d been having a bit of a mental breakdown when he found Aelin with him at the bar.

“Not your friends’ cup of tea?” He teased with a grin.

“Not even really mine, but you get like, almost naked for these things, yeah?” Rowan’s head tilted back as he laughed, reaching out to catch her fingers between his own. He squeezed them, shaking his head at her. “I’m just saying, any female fans you have are not because they want to watch you fight. I Googled you.”

“Of course you did.”

“And if coming on Saturday,” she paused, fighting the twitch of her lips at the innuendo, “is what gets me to see you sweaty and naked, I will be there.”

“Apparently, you can find that on Google also.” Aelin started to jerk her hand from his, but he laughed again and tugged forcefully enough that she dropped into his lap, his arms settling around her hips.

They didn’t have sex on her desk by the time he left, but he did have a trail of lipstick down his neck and red smudges on his collar.

~*~

There had only been a few times where Aelin had seen Aedion this excited. He was practically jumping out of his skin, trying and failing to keep his wide grin at bay. The whole way there, he’d talked about Rowan’s stats and how likely it was for him to win this fight. Apparently, it was very likely, and according to Aedion, if anyone bet against Rowan in the gambling pools, they were going to lose a lot of money.

This version of Aedion was almost completely opposite the one that had shown up an hour late to the bar a few weeks ago, only to find Aelin perched in his personal hero’s lap.

By the time Aelin spotted a familiar head of golden blonde hair making his way through the crowd, Rowan had stayed true to his promise. He’d bought her not one but two drinks, and she had a very happy buzz flowing through her.

“Aedion!” She hadn’t bothered to get out of Rowan’s lap; she liked the way his hand felt on her thigh, the other twirling a piece of hair around his finger while he talked to the tall, broody one— Lorcan.

“I’m sorry I’m late.”

“It’s okay; I made friends! And a fiancé!” Rowan laughed then, sticking his hand out for Aedion to shake.

“I’m the fiancé. Rowan Whitethorn. You must be the cousin she’s been waiting on.”

“I got held up at work. Aedion Ashryver, nice to meet you.” Despite the cool and collected exterior Aedion was giving off, Aelin knew without a doubt that he was dying inside. She spent several nights curled up on his couch while Aedion and his friends watched Rowan’s fights, though she’d never cared enough to pay attention. Usually, she disappeared to his guest room to read a book or snuck out after an acceptable amount of time to hang out with her own friends.

Aelin had heard about Rowan’s victories time and time again. When Aedion showed her different self-defense moves, he would say that Rowan Whitethorn took someone down with the same simple maneuver. To say that he admired Rowan would be an understatement. He damn near idolized him.

“Nice to meet you? That’s what you’re going with?” Aelin asked, mouth dropping open as everything Aedion had ever said about the man beneath her flooded her memory. Aelin looked at Rowan, shaking her head and pointing at her cousin. “All I ever hear about when you have a fight coming up is ‘Rowan Whitethorn this’ and ‘Rowan Whitethorn that.’ Yet now he’s here, and all he says is nice to meet you. Unbelievable.”

“Rowan doesn’t look like someone who particularly cares for fan service. Though if I’m wrong, correct me, and I will rectify that immediately. On my knees even, if he decides he’s interested in men at all.”

Aelin’s lips dipped into a drunk pout as she said, “I saw him first.”

“Technically, I saw you first,” Rowan interjected, a teasing tone in his voice. “And you rejected me.” A wrinkle appeared between her brows as she looked up at Rowan’s handsome face, disliking that she was already being ganged up on.

“I’m sorry— you rejected him?” Aedion sputtered in disbelief. Aelin flicked Rowan’s nose, and just like that, they settled into an easy banter that tugged on Aelin’s heart entirely too much.

Now, though, Aedion seemed to be nearly vibrating out of his skin with excitement. At will-call, they’d learned Rowan had set aside special floor seating just for them. When they walked into the arena, Aelin was pleased to see Rowan’s group of friends from the bar. She’d spent the most time with Fenrys than anyone else, and he welcomed her with a big hug, insisting she sit beside him instead of Lorcan. Aelin was more than happy to oblige, as Lorcan didn’t seem to have a taste for her. He didn’t even bother saying hello.

They settled into their seats, Aelin sitting between Fenrys and Aedion, both of whom had skipped the pleasantries and moved right into a conversation about the upcoming fight. Aelin leaned back into her chair and took in the surroundings. There were bits and pieces she remembered from her time barely watching matches with Aedion, but it was still different than what she expected. There was a large octagonal ring in the center of the room surrounded by black fencing that had to be about six feet tall. She wondered briefly if the fence was to keep people out or to keep the fighters in.

People were milling about, but Aelin realized that the arena itself was three levels high, and seats were piled around the room from floor to ceiling. There had to be thousands of them, and from the look of the crowds filing in, there wasn’t going to be an empty spot in the house. She hadn’t realized that MMA had such a following.

After about twenty minutes, the lights dimmed and the booming voice of the announcer filled the arena. People cheered wildly as the introductions for the fight were made and the sponsors were thanked. And finally, Aeling knew it was time. The announcer over-dramaticized the entrance for the first fighter and Aelin watched as a lean-muscled man walked up to the ring. He entered through a gate on the side, and people cheered as he made his rounds. Aelin sat on the edge of her seat for the announcer to start his next introduction, ready to see Rowan walking through the tunnel, when a different name was announced and a different man came strolling out. The confusion must have been all over her face when she looked at Aedion because he leaned forward with his elbows on his knees.

“Rowan is the main event,” he said. “Which means there are a few fights before his.”

“Seriously? You mean I have to wait?” Aedion nodded and her scowl deepened. “How long?”

“Looking at the schedule, Rowan’s fight is slated to start in about two hours.”

“Two hours?! I have to wait two hours!?”

“Come on, Ace. It won’t be that bad. Just try to enjoy it.” Aedion turned away and was immediately drawn into the fight that had begun in the ring just a few feet in front of her. Aelin pouted, remembering all the reasons why she never stuck around to watch these matches with Aedion previously.

“All I wanted was to see Rowan sweaty and half-naked. I literally don’t care about anyone else,” she grumbled, mostly to herself. Beside her, Fenrys chuckled and threw his arm around the back of her seat as she settled back. Aelin frowned down at her phone, opening Snapchat to get a quick photo of her expression, which she promptly sent to Rowan.

It took him a good ten minutes to reply back to her, and it seemed he knew why she was pouting because the text across his photo simply said be patient.

After that, she didn’t want to bother him, and whatever pre-match rituals he may have, so she settled for scrolling through various social media apps to bide her time. When she found herself restless, she gave in and opened her book app to continue reading a romance novel she’d started the day before. The male love interest may have been a boxer and may have been incredibly sexy, and she may have downloaded it after searching for fighting-related books.

She had just reached a particularly steamy part of the book when she felt Aedion nudge her arm. Godsdamn him, the leading male was just about to give the girl the orgasm of her life when he’d interrupted. Aelin scowled up at her cousin, but the expression morphed into one of incredulity and excitement when she heard Rowan’s name announced, and he walked out into the arena.

Aelin immediately perked up in her seat, sliding her phone between her thigh and the chair. Rowan strolled out like a king surveying his kingdom, and the cheers were deafening. He wore absolutely nothing but a pair of forest green athletic shorts that left little to the imagination and some sort of fist guards over his hands. A wicked grin formed on his lips as he jogged up to the ring and hoisted himself up over the side with practiced ease. There was a very dramatic introduction, one that had the entire crowd screaming and getting to their feet. Aelin couldn’t help but join them, giving a standing ovation to the man she’d spent so many stolen hours with lately. Beside her, Aedion was absolutely losing it. It only made her smile more.

Even as the arena quieted while the referee explained the rules, nobody returned to their seats. Everyone stayed on their feet, and Aelin could understand why. Once the fight started and the hits and kicks started to get thrown around, she found herself filled with a restless energy that she couldn’t push down. Every time his opponent’s fist swung toward him, her heart began to beat frantically in her chest.

But Rowan ducked and dipped out of reach almost every time. The way the muscles of his arms and legs rippled every time he took a swing at the other man, Cairn, her mouth went dry. She hadn’t walked into the arena tonight expecting to find anything about the fight beautiful, but it was. The way that Rowan’s body moved was like watching a dance unfold before her. Every swing of his arm or swift kick of his leg sending her heart racing just like it had when she’d watched ballets growing up. It felt like such a bizarre comparison to make, but Rowan Whitethorn’s body was nothing short of a work of art.

But there was also a ferocity in it. Where ballet was soft and demure, Rowan was a force of nature. His face was hewn from stone, each strike with his hands or legs precise and controlled, but with an element of chaos surrounding it. He unleashed himself on Cairn, throwing punches and kicks swiftly, so quick that Aelin could not keep up with where the next one was going to land. With brutal efficiency, Rowan managed to get past Cairn’s guard to deliver several painful-looking blows in quick succession that had the crowd collectively wincing. It seemed that Aedion’s idolization hadn’t been misplaced.

Rowan breathed heavily, sweat dripping down every inch of his torso. His abdominals flexed with every exhale, showing off every hard line and sharp curve. The tattoo that swirled down his left side glistened under the bright lights of the arena. He looked like a god, and Aelin discovered that she found it quite difficult to keep her mind from falling off into the gutter when he looked like that.

When he made the final blow, a hit to Cairn’s face that had him unconscious before he even hit the floor, Aelin was surprised by how wholly turned on she was. He dominated the fight and looked damn good while doing it. Rowan was announced as the winner, fierce triumph written all over his face as the crowd completely lost their minds. Pride swelled in her stomach, and she couldn’t help her wide smile as she cheered along with the thousands of people in the arena. Even though it was televised, it felt special when he made eye contact with her and grinned before exiting the ring and heading her way.

Of course, he was intercepted about a dozen different times by dozens of different people offering their congratulations. When he finally got to her, he dipped down and hugged her tightly to his chest, pulling her feet off the ground. She could feel the heat of his body through the thin layers of her clothing, scorching her skin. The smell of him, a musky scent of sweat and the pine body wash she had come to associate with him assaulted her nose and she breathed him in deep. She felt the want ratcheting up in the most delicious way and knew that she would no longer be content with a night of only being pressed against her apartment door. Their kisses, no matter how desperate they had been, wouldn’t be enough to sate the need she felt for him. She needed all of him, and she needed him as raw and unrestrained as he had been during that fight. He pressed a kiss to her cheek as her feet met the floor, and he stepped back.

“Sorry, I’m sweaty.”

“You were amazing.” Amazing didn’t quite cover it, but it was the only word she could think of that came anywhere close.

“Does that mean you’ll come out with me tonight? To celebrate?” She wanted to say yes immediately. But with him in front of her, covered in sweat and looking like the only thing she wanted her mouth to touch for the foreseeable future, Aelin shook her head as her bottom lip tucked between her teeth. The disappointment began to cloud his handsome face, but she shook her head faster as though it would dispel his negative thoughts.

“I was kind of hoping I could steal you away. Celebrate with you alone.” Her voice was low and sultry, and she almost laughed because she could see him calculating just what that meant. The two of them. A celebration. Entirely alone, with no one else around.

“I— yeah. Yes. We can— yes. I have to wrap up here and then we can go to my place?” At all of his stuttering, she couldn’t help the bright laughter that bubbled out of her as the usually confident man in front of her stumbled a bit. His attention was drawn away temporarily when Aedion clapped Rowan on the shoulder and began to spew his admiration and congratulations. Rowan took it with grace, thanking him for coming while trying to keep his eyes off Aelin’s face. The way she bit her lip clearly wasn’t helping because his eyes kept dropping down to her mouth.

When a member of his team told him he needed to hurry— he had a short press conference post-fight and still wanted to shower before— Rowan dropped a chaste kiss to her lips and headed back to the locker room.

Aelin waited not-so-patiently, standing on the outside of Rowan’s group of friends in the parking lot while they talked. Aedion fit right in, pointing out the highlights of the fight with renewed vigor. He still seemed to be riding the adrenaline high from watching Rowan fight , and Aelin was sure he would implement something of what they saw into her self defense training.

When Rowan finally came out, they all cheered and shoved him around their little circle in celebration. He was grinning from ear to ear as he reached for Aelin and pulled her into his side, dropping a kiss to her hair. It was impossible to stop the tug she felt in her stomach, something between excitement and nerves. Everything inside seemed to be tied up in delicious knots as she leaned into him, enveloped by the scent of his body wash, the smell of pine equal parts comforting and arousing. “Where are we going tonight?” Fenrys drawled, throwing his arm around Vaughan. The quiet, dark-haired man tried to shrug out of it, but it only ended with him in a headlock.

“I will actually be stealing him away,” Aelin said before Rowan could even get a word in. Rowan’s hold on her shoulder tightened as he squeezed, and she squeezed him back where she had her arm around his waist, secretly thrilled that he was as on board with this plan as she was. His friends groaned in protest but Aelin and Rowan laughed. Lorcan looked particularly displaced about the revelation and was the first to step backward out of the circle and bid farewell. It didn’t take long for the others to follow and for Aelin to lace her fingers through Rowan’s and tug him toward his car.

While their pace could be described as leisurely, Aelin felt anything but. Now alone, she felt that want from earlier return with a vengeance. Rowan squeezed her hand, and her mind immediately wandered to those strong hands touching elsewhere, all over. A quick glance up at him left her reeling when she caught his gaze on her, and swore she saw every dirty thought that crossed his mind. It excited her, knowing that despite his cool, calm exterior wrapped around all of that cockiness, Rowan Whitethorn was just as affected as she was by what was to come.

When they arrived at his car, a sleek, black sports car that was perfectly him, Rowan opened the passenger door for her, ushering her in. Aelin turned her head towards him, and under the parking lot lights, she could see where Rowan had taken a bit of a beating.

Ducking inside the car, Aelin turned to look at Rowan, her thumb coming to brush over a bruise that was forming on his cheek. It was already a blue-purple color, indicating that it would only look worse over the next few days. Luckily he hadn’t taken too many hits, so this seemed to be the worst of his injuries. There was one other place near his temple that had drawn a little bit of blood but it was already on the mend, cleaned by the medics backstage.

“I’m okay,” he reassured her, his hand coming over to rest on her thigh. Aelin pulled hers away, startled by the softness in his voice. Her eyes searched Rowan’s for the lie that he was more hurt than he let on, but she saw nothing. She supposed it should have comforted her that Rowan knew what his limits were, but still, it seemed crazy that this man before her was the same one that had attacked Cairn in the ring and ended the fight in the first round.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” she said, her voice echoing the softness of his own.

“You just saw me get pummeled a few times and you’re worried about hurting me?” His voice dripped with disbelief, remnants of a laugh bubbling out. Aelin shrugged, cheeks stained a rosy blush.

“I don’t want to accidentally push on places that hurt.”

“I can assure you that anything you inflict upon me will be the sweetest kind of pain,” he promised, lacing his fingers with hers and bringing them to his mouth to press a kiss to her knuckles as he started the car and drove out of the dimly lit parking lot. Those knots in her stomach unspooled themselves into liquid heat as her bottom lip slipped between her teeth. “Don’t do that.”

His voice was rough with want, and it scraped over her, leaving small goosebumps on her skin. She shivered in anticipation, and ached to hear more in that deep, rumbling timbre. Reaching out a hand, she coyly ran her fingers slowly, softly up the taut skin of his arm. “Do what?”

“Bite your lip like that when I can’t kiss you.”

“If you drove faster, you would be able to kiss me,” Aelin teased, leaning over the center console to press a lingering kiss to his shoulder. Rowan’s knuckles turned white where he gripped the steering wheel, glancing over at her as the car rolled to a stop at a red light. Soaking up the opportunity they’d graciously been given by the gods, he deftly captured her chin and crushed his lips against hers, kissing her in a way that stoked the smoldering want inside her into an inferno. She felt the sinful slide of his tongue brushing against hers, of his teeth tugging over her bottom lip like he wanted to take a bite out of her. Aelin hoped that he would.

When he pulled away, Aelin’s eyes stayed closed, her lips stayed parted. A shaky breath tumbled from them, filling the tense silence in the car. It took everything in her to sit back in her seat and let him drive. If she were to do what she truly wanted to do, she would have him pull over and climb with him into the backseat, his apartment and privacy be damned.

Aelin wasn’t so sure that Rowan would stop her if she tried to coax him into it. How they had managed to go this long without tearing each other’s clothes off was a mystery to her. As she looked over at him, her eyes lingered on those strong hands gripping the steering wheel, hands that she wanted gripping her in the same way. She desperately wanted to have his fingerprints bruised into her thighs, to see the imprints of his teeth all over her chest. The idea of his back being covered with the marks of her nails only fed that growing fire within her.

The drive seemed to take an eternity, consisting of stolen kisses at stop signs and longing looks. It was hard to keep her hands to herself, and that seemed to be the case for Rowan, too. By the time they reached his apartment, his hand had drifted so high up her thigh that it was burning a hole straight through her jeans.

Rowan held her hand loosely while they walked inside the building and to the elevator. As soon as the metal doors slid shut, however, he was tugging her toward him and pressing her back against the wall. His hands slid from her hands to her waist, dropping down to her thighs to lift her up on the railing. Aelin couldn’t help the moan that she breathed into his mouth, her fingers twining into his hair while he tugged at her lip.

When the elevator dinged on his floor, Rowan was dragging hot kisses down her throat. It seemed to be too much for him because he had to take a moment before he pulled away. Rowan’s mouth stayed against her neck while he caught his breath causing goosebumps to rise all over her skin. The doors were beginning to close again when he finally pulled away and shoved his hand out to stop them.

Aelin laughed then, sliding down from the railing and tugging him down the hall toward his apartment. At the door Rowan fumbled with his keys, pressing kisses to the side of her neck as the lock tumbled and gained them entrance.

Any restraint he had left seemed to dissipate as soon as the door was shut and locked. Once again her feet left the floor as he carried her to his room and laid her down on his bed. Their kisses were hungry, starving as he lifted her shirt and tossed it onto the floor. His hands made quick work of the rest of her clothing, and before long they were just skin on skin, his mouth drifting lower and lower down her body.

All of it was pure ecstasy, almost too much for her to handle. It didn’t take long before she fractured beneath his mouth, her nails digging into his back, scratching desperately over his skin as he moved back up her torso to press his lips against hers.

When he pulled back to look at her, something had shifted. Gone were the frantic kisses, replaced by deeper ones that stole her breath from her lungs. An impossible feeling was tugging at her heart as their bodies moved together beneath the sheets. This time when she fell over the edge, Rowan went with her. Their bodies were so tangled it was hard for her to think clearly enough about where he started and she ended. Their gasping moans were a harmony she wouldn’t soon forget as he collapsed on top of her.

Aelin’s heel pushed down the strong muscles of his thigh, his calves, silently begging him not to move. His lips ignited sparks over her collarbones as he settled atop her while her fingers ran softly up and down his sides.

Eventually Rowan rolled off of her, and she would have frowned had he not tugged her into his side a heartbeat later. Aelin draped her leg over his waist and nuzzled her face against his chest, pressing a single kiss over his heart.

The last thing she remembered was the feeling of his hands in her hair and his low humming of a forgotten melody as she drifted off into a blissful sleep.

~*~

Soft kisses were being dropped over her bare back, leaving a trail up and down her spine. Aelin hummed in approval as a grin spread across her face. Her eyes were still closed, ignoring the rays of sunshine that were likely illuminating her face, when Rowan pressed a kiss to her cheek and the corner of her mouth.

“Good morning,” she said hoarsely, her lack of voice another reminder of everything that had transpired last night. She had woken Rowan a handful of hours after their first time, rolling on top of him and placing teasing kisses over his neck and chest until his calloused hands guided her into position. That time, Aelin had been control, her hands gripping the headboard through wave after wave of pleasure. There was an ache between her legs that made her want to beg Rowan to touch her despite how exhausted she was.

“Hi, baby.”

Aelin’s smile widened as she rolled onto his back and looped her arms loosely around his neck. Rowan kissed her properly then, long and slow until she was sure they were going to go for a third round in under twelve hours.

“So beautiful,” he murmured, fingers brushing her hair back from her face. Aelin wanted to snort in response, knowing last nights makeup was likely smeared around her eyes and she reeked of sex and sweat. But there was such reverence in his tone that she couldn’t bring herself to disagree, his green eyes bright in the morning sun as they traced over every feature of her face. “I still can’t believe you’re here.”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Her hand moved from his neck to the side of his face, thumb brushing lightly over the bruise that marred his skin.

“You saw me fight. You watched me beat the hell out of someone and you didn’t turn and run. You didn’t balk. You still wanted me.”

Aelin was positive the confusion was written all over her face from the downturn of her lips to her furrowed brow, but still she said, “Has that been a problem before?”

“Yes.” Rowan pressed a series of kisses over her face starting at her temple and ending at her jaw.

“It’s not a problem for me,” she promised, voice barely a whisper against his cheek. Rowan was quiet for a moment, turning his face to look at her. “You’re a fighter. That’s what you are. I wouldn’t want you to be anything but what you are.”

A mix of emotions fluttered across his face, whatever he felt being a catalyst for kisses to her forehead, her cheeks, nose, and finally her lips. When he pulled back, he looked hesitant and unsure. It was the first time Aelin had ever seen him like that and it felt raw. Like he was exposing a part of himself he seldom did. She was ready to ask him what was going on when he kissed her so thoroughly she’d nearly forgotten the conversation at hand.

“What if I wanted to be something else?” Rowan gazed down at her, teeth grazing over his bottom lip. Again, she swore she saw uncertainty on his face and in his tone as the question rushed out in a single breath.

“Like what?”

“Like your boyfriend.”

She couldn’t help the joyful laughter that bubbled up and out like champagne. Rowan grinned too, so widely that his dimples were deep in his cheeks. Her thumbs ran over them as she kissed him, both of their smiles making it almost difficult. It was too cute, the way he’d seemed almost nervous and bashful in his delivery. It felt like high school all over again in the most innocent way.

“You can be that, too.”

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random-imagines-blog · 4 years

Text

Perfect {Christian Bale x Reader Oneshot}

Requested by: Anonymous Wordcount: 1838 Summary: Christian proves time and time again how much he loves you. Song: Perfect by Ed Sheeran

Although you had been married for five years now, Christian kept finding ways to surprise you. He never stopped trying to woo you, although he had put both the engagement and wedding rings upon your finger. When you got home from filming, after a good four months abroad, you had expected to see him sitting on the couch, anticipating your arrival, but that wasn’t what you got. What you had come home to was candlelight from different parts of the house, rose petals strewn down the hallway, and a note upon the table where you often set your keys, hand written with your name on it. You picked it up and read it outloud in a whisper.

‘Y/N,

Darling, I’ve had the last four months to think about what I was going to do when you finally came back home to me. You know me, I couldn’t just sit around and wait, I had to think up something. Do something. A balloon and a banner wouldn’t have been enough, so I had to use my imagination. I came up with a thousand different things, and made a hundred different plans but this is the one that I settled on. This is what you inspired me to do. So follow the path, and meet me where I’m waiting for you.

Yours forever,

Christian.’

You pressed the piece of paper up to your face, and could smell his cologne. He must have been wearing it when he wrote this. And he had used his best handwriting too, not the scribbles that he usually did when he was jotting down notes or taking a message. You set the paper back down carefully, for you wanted to save this note. You kept every love note that he had ever written for you, even the first one that he had slipped under the door of your dressing room after you first met and had a connection on a film that you worked on together. You had a metal, fireproof box of them in your closet. It was worth the investment. You didn’t want anything to happen to them, and planned to show them to your children one day to prove that your husband, their father, was a romantic. Okay, maybe not all of them. There were a few that were for your eyes only.

You took off your shoes and left your luggage by the door, following the rose petals in your bare feet. The carpet felt soft and familiar after spending so long in your trailer, which was not nearly as nice as this house. You blew out the candles as you went on, noticing that there wasn’t much wax dripping so he must have lit them right before you came in. Still - you didn’t want to cause a fire for the sake of romance.

The petals lead you to the French doors which opened up to the backyard. The doors were open, a breeze coming through, ruffling at the tied-off curtains. Outside, strung up amongst the patio and the backyard, were paper lanterns. They were usually only used for parties and entertaining, but there didn’t appear to be anyone else out there but Christian.

When he saw you, he lifted his phone and pressed a button. A song started to come through the speakers. You recognized it from the radio, but you couldn’t claim to know it well. It was sweet, and it was warm, very much like the air out here tonight. You even noticed that he had put on the candles which acted as mosquito repellant, which you were very thankful for in these hot and muggy months. You walked down the stairs to the grass below, raising an eyebrow at him as the blades tickled at your toes.

“What’s all this?” You asked.

“A little welcome home,” He said, taking your hand giving you a spin. You giggled, and finished it by spinning right into his chest. Now you were understanding the meaning of the music, because he began to sway with you. You rested your head against his chest, listening to the sound of his heartbeat. You didn’t realize how much you had missed the little things. The feeling of his hand against yours. The way that he dressed up for tonight, wearing a button up and nice trousers, just to see you. You were flattered, and honored as always.

The song seemed to know exactly how you were feeling. The lyrics were describing what was happening, right around you, and it made your heart shoot higher. God, you loved this man.

“I missed you,” He said softly into your ear. His breath tickled against your skin, and it sent a shiver up your spine. You smiled against him, your eyes drooping closed to fully take in the moment.

“I missed you too,” You admitted, humming contently. “But you didn’t have to go through all of this. I would have been happy with the banner and the balloons.”

“I know,” Christian chuckled, kissing the top of your head. “And that’s why I knew I had to do this. Because you’re deserving of so much more than a banner and some balloons.”

“You did bring balloons though right? You know I love those things,” You joked. Everything was absolutely perfect so far. A homecoming that you didn’t think that you deserved, but one that you sorely needed. He always went above and beyond for you - so you knew that you had to start planning what you were going to do for his next homecoming. He was always working on some project or other, so he was bound to be leaving your side soon. But now wasn’t the time to think about such negative things.

As the song came to an end, Christian’s lips finally met yours in a kiss that more than made up for being gone for so long. You pressed yourself against his body, trying to make it last longer, but he pulled away much too soon. You pouted at him, wondering what was going on.

“This wasn’t it,” He said, squeezing your hand. He lead you through the grass, over towards the pool house. There was a light breeze over the clear water, which looked enticing enough to jump in now. Perhaps before the night was over. You did get some sleep on the plane, and were feeling pretty well rested. A little skinny dipping adventure sounded like the perfect way to end the night.

The lights were on inside of the little structure. You never actually spent that much time in it, using it as storage, so you were eagerly looking forward to seeing what was in there which Christian thought so important. He opened the door for you, and when you stepped inside, you saw that everything had changed. There weren’t any boxes piled up or pool toys or Christian’s tools anymore. All of that stuff had been unpacked, put away and then buried behind a fresh coat of paint and new floors.

Not only that, but a table and two chairs were set inside, and the smell of your favorite dish came wafting over as you stepped inside. By now your cheeks were starting to hurt from having to support your smile for so long. “How did you know I was starving?” You chuckled, stepping further inside to see the candlelight had spread from the house to the poolhouse as well. Long, tall candles were on the table, sitting on either side of a vase with a couple of your favorite flowers, freshly picked.

“I know you,” Christian said with a grin. You slapped his arm playfully, but he didn’t stay by your side long to take the abuse. He moved past you to the chair, pulling it out for you, the part of the perfect gentleman. You took the seat, feeling like a pile of honey from how sweet he was being to you. “And I know you hate airplane food.” He added on, taking his own seat.

“Very true,” You admitted. The man really did know you better than anyone. You really didn’t think that you would ever love another human being this much, but he blew your expectations of romance right out of the water. “So, you redid the pool house,” You noted, cutting into your food.

“I thought it was about time,” Christian said, looking away from you for the first time of the night to take in his own handiwork. “I was thinking about adding more to it - making it like a playhouse.”

“A playhouse?” You asked, putting your fork down in surprise. “For who?”

“No one we know ... yet,” He said, a coy expression on his face. You knew exactly what he had meant though - you’d had these conversations before. Before you even got engaged, you wanted to be on the same page about having children one day. You wanted to share everything with him. Not just your heart, your career or your house - but the experience of parenthood as well. Thinking about a couple of little Christian’s running around, with big sweet versions of his eyes - it was almost too cute to bare. But the time had never seemed right, not with the fame and your constant projects. But he hadn’t taken on a job in six months, you realized. It made you wonder if he was serious about settling down for a while.

“Do you really mean that?” You asked, your own schedule wide open. Now was actually the perfect time if you were going to try for kids. You were financial steady, the house was paid off, you didn’t have to rush off for work anytime soon. And Christian could be there for you throughout all of it.

“What better time than now?” Christian asked, continuing to eat like he hadn’t just dropped that bombshell on you. You picked your fork back up and continued to eat, imagining throughout what could be done with this place. You’d need many more shelves for the plethora of toys that your children were going to have.

“Could you be any more perfect?” You asked, sliding your foot up his thigh as a little tease of what was to come later.

“Is that a challenge?” Christian asked, raising an eyebrow at you from across the table. “What if I told you that I planned to also clean the dishes tonight, and be the one that picks up all of the rose petals. You don’t even have to lift a finger.”

“Then I’d say yes, you can be more perfect,” You said, giggling. You hadn’t even thought about how annoying it could be to pick up each individual rose petal.

No matter how much you felt like you didn’t deserve all this, he had a way of making you feel perfect in return.

#Christian Bale #Christian Bale x reader #Christian Bale oneshot #celebity #celebrity oneshot #oneshot #x reader #request #christianb

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hi-hey-haechan · 4 years

Text

Requested: 7 and 102 for Donghyuck

THIS ISN’T SHOWING UP IN THE TAGS. I’M SO MAD

7: “Oh, you want me to give your phone/book/item back? Make me.”

102: “I know for sure you’re hell of a lot louder than that.”

Remind me again why you chose reading over Netflix?” you inquired, looking over at your boyfriend. Donghyuck’s brown hair was messy, sprawled against his pillow, and his hair fell forward, tumbling down his forehead. His sparkling brown eyes moved left to right as he read the fairly thin novel in his hand.

“This is a novel based on one of my first video games, ‘Five Nights at Freddy’s.’ I gotta figure out what happens to the creepy yellow bunny costume,” he explained, not even sparing a glance at you. “One more chapter, I promise.”

“Are you saying that children’s souls trapped in robots are more important than me? Love you, too.”

“Hey, don’t guilt me into putting my book down. I love you. Just give me a few minutes.”

As a result, you sat on your phone, scrolling through Instagram, waiting for him to finish. However, your feed was full of images of your boyfriend from the latest stage performance. You weren’t complaining - he looked incredible, as always. However, Donghyuck on stage...he did things to you, and he didn’t even know it.

Impatience bubbled up in you. Each time you looked at him, his eyes were completely trained on the pages. You wanted his attention, since you were his girlfriend. After five long minutes of drooling over his stage pictures, you longed for him to at least acknowledge your existence.

Impulsively, you reached over and plucked the book from his hands. He wasn’t expecting the sudden swipe of the novel. It was easy for you to snatch because of his loose grip on the book, as well as not knowing your intentions to begin with.

You slid the book under your hoodie and laid back on the bed, so your back was on top of the ratty paperback. He wouldn’t be able to get his book back now.

“Hey!” he whined indignantly, “that was so mean and so unfair! Give it back!”

You decided to tease him, excited to see how far he was willing to take this to get back his book. “Oh, you want me to give your book back? Make me,” you challenged.

He began immediately, kissing your lips in an attempt to get the book back. His lips were soft and plush against yours, sweet and gentle. Your heart twinged, fluttering in your chest. As the kiss continued to kiss your mouth, your hands moved up his back to tangle in his soft, fluffy hair, which always managed to look gorgeous. You lightly tugged on the strands with your fingers, knowing how it got him riled up. His plump lips kissed you back passionately, and you allowed yourself to get lost in his warm scent, the sound of his lips kissing yours, and of course, him. He was trying pretty hard to get the book back, if he was kissing you like that. When he parted his lips, his tongue darted into your mouth, dominating the kiss as you made out.

Seeing that you wouldn’t let up, the warmth of his lip left your mouth, only for his plush lips to kiss your neck instead. At the smallest brush of his lips against your skin, you shuddered. His lips pressed a careful trail of kisses down your neck. Warmth radiated and tingled off the sensitive skin, his breath and hair tickling your jaw and shoulder. When Donghyuck’s tongue poked through his lips, you let out a gasp. His tongue was hot and wet against your skin, causing you to allow a quiet moan to elicit your swollen lips.

Still, no access to his book. Donghyuck went to the next level, seeing that even hickies wouldn’t get you to give up his book. His hands slipped under the hoodie he recognized as his own, and he slowly mapped out the expanse of your bare torso. The skin was soft under his touch. The feeling of him touching you so sensually made this all the more intimate, and you couldn’t help but give him a faint smile.

His hands moved upward slowly, lightly caressing your waist and stomach. Still, they traveled higher, until suddenly, he lightly squeezed your breasts., realizing that you weren’t wearing a bra under his hoodie. Out of surprise and shock, you arched your back, losing yourself in the feeling.

Donghyuck took that opportunity to steal the book back from under you. He held it tightly in his hands with a devilish smirk, and you pouted, both in defeat, and the lack of his hands on you. However, what he did next surprised you. He threw the book across the room and said, “I think I’d rather pleasure you than read, right now.”

And that’s exactly what he did. You sat up upon his request, and he pulled the hoodie up and over your head, leaving you in just your underwear. When you laid back down, he didn’t hesitate to attack your nipples with his mouth. You let out a quiet sigh, trying not to give him the satisfaction of hearing how good he made you feel. Your fingers tangled in his hair, and the feeling of his tongue on your chest was making you see stars behind your eyes.

One of his hands slid down your body slowly, before he lightly touched your clothed core. He felt how wet you were, even though he hadn’t even touched you, and you blushed. Just the feeling of him barely ghosting your sensitive area with his fingers was making it difficult for you to hold back your moans.

He removed the final piece of clothing on you, and he pushed your legs open. You felt quite exposed, especially since Donghyuck was practically eye-fucking you. He admired every part of you, and though his pupils were blown wide with lust, you could see how much appreciation he had in his eyes, just looking at you.

“You’re so beautiful,” he told you. When he made eye contact with you, you felt so much in your heart that you covered your eyes with embarrassment. He was just looking at you, and the amount of intimacy held in the eye contact at that moment melted your heart, while also accelerating its beating. He grabbed your wrists lightly and removed your hands from your eyes. Your boyfriend leaned down to press a sweet kiss to your lips.

The kiss only lasted a few seconds, and he scooted downward on the bed so his head was situated between your legs.

His tongue flicked out, licking a stripe against your core. The hot sensation against your most sensitive area caused your back to arch off the bed. Your fingers tugged on his hair gently, trying to anchor yourself, in a way.

He sucked on the area for a second, and it took everything you had to not cry out his name. You weren’t gonna last long. He dipped his tongue into your hole, exploring your walls with his mouth. This time you couldn’t help but let a few quiet whimpers and moans escape your mouth.

“I know for sure you’re hell of a lot louder than that.” he said against your folds, feeling your center vibrate with every word. You decided to not deprive him of the satisfaction of hearing you, nor would you continue to force yourself to be quiet when you were on cloud 9. Moans and whines escaped as his tongue worked magic against your pussy.

His tongue ran over your clit, eliciting a high-pitched whimper from you. Donghyuck’s tongue circled the swollen nub, never actually licking the part you needed him the most.

“Please,” you moaned out, tightening your grip in the silky strands of his brown hair. Finally, after so much anticipation, his lips covered your clit, and he began to suck on it harshly. Your thighs shook around his head, and you lost full control of your mouth, sighs and grunts of pleasure escaping your lips.

You felt one of his fingers enter you, stimulating you further. He pumped his finger in and out of you, feeling how wet you were. Another finger entered your hole, causing you to cry out. Two fingers was a stretch, but they filled you up so well. His digits curled expertly against your g-spot, sending waves of pleasure through your entire body. Sinful sounds left your mouth, and you were practically flying.

The sounds of his tongue lapping up your arousal, as well as the squelching of his fingers inside of your dripping wet hole, filled the room, only adding to your pleasure. Heat pooled in the bottom of your stomach, and you felt yourself growing closer and closer to your orgasm.

“I-I’m gonna cum,” you breathed out quickly, barely able to form the words amidst your pleasure.

He sucked on your clit a final time and pumped his fingers quickly, curling them in all the right places. The string that was pulled tightly in your stomach snapped, and you felt so much pleasure that your vision went white. Your senses were heightened, and all you could cry out was Donghyuck’s name. Your thighs shook around his head, and your back arched and toes curled. He stimulated you through your high, your walls convulsing around his fingers and tongue.

Donghyuck finally broke away from you. His mouth was shining with your wetness, and his hair was even messier, thanks to the way you tugged on it so harshly.

“If stealing your book leads to you eating me out like that, you should expect me to steal your book or phone more often,” you said, panting.

#nct smut #nct dream smut #haechan smut #00 line smut #donghyuck smut #nct imagines #00 line imagines #nct #nct dream #nct dream imagines #nct 127 #nct 127 smut #nct 127 imagines #haechan imagines #haechan #lee donghyuck #donghyuck

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dragonrajafanfiction · 3 years

Text

Tokyo Love Story (End) Star Hearts and White Roses

Thank you for reading.

*quietly lays down a bouquet*

The rain is an unrelenting downpour over Tokyo. Large drops pound on your head and run down your face as you stagger through the empty fields that surround a large industrial park. The square warehouses and expansive parking lots are lit only by basic utility street lamps. The city lights in the distance beckon you, but you have to be at least 5 miles away.

The wet grass pulls against your bare feet, wraps around your toes, hides dips and rises. Your dress pulls at your legs. The white and red fabric is dark with mud and Chance’s dried blood. You pant and gasp in frustration and kneel down. The bronze deadpool claw knife flashes and tears through the fabric. The fine fabric pulls apart as easily as tissue paper. The sound of the ripping cloth is satisfying. Your legs are free but you’re in no hurry to rise.

You gather the torn fabric in your hands. It’s clear that Chisei was not pursuing you. There is not a soul in sight. The world was completely empty and quiet. There’s nothing but rolling fields and desolate service roads in all four directions. And at the center of this emptiness, you sit, alone in the darkness and the rain, abandoned by the world.

The dress had been so beautiful and you finally felt beautiful. You felt happy and excited. Chance was so handsome. His arms were so warm, as warm as the water running down your cheeks now as you squeezed the torn fabric in your hands and raised your face to the sky.

You didn’t allow yourself to cry if you could help it but your body didn’t ask permission. You cry as though newly born, eyes squeezed shut, limbs shuddering, body flushed, screaming. You bury your face into the torn fabric in your hands, pressing it hard against your eyes, unable to breathe.

You couldn’t stop asking why, you couldn’t believe how much it hurt, you couldn’t understand how Chisei could do that to him -- do that to you. Why didn’t he wait? Why didn’t he believe you? You were sorry, so sorry, that you weren’t strong enough to be a match for Chisei, that you froze instead of protecting the berserking Chance.

But you were unaccustomed to crying. While you still whimpered and sobs forced their way through your trembling lips, you stopped. You had to walk. You had to keep going.

A shadow passes over your head, obscuring the clouds. You look up into the metal ribs of a black umbrella. Z is standing next to you in his suit, a large umbrella in one hand, shielding you from the rain, a bouquet of bright white roses tucked under his arm. “Is this what love is? Making promises you know you can’t keep?”

You bitterly conclude that the question was rhetorical and decide not to answer.

“If it is… that’s a problem. Because I always keep my word.” He looked down at you, but there was nothing mocking or condescending in his eyes.

“Z… you knew I had so little time left. Why did you save me and not leave me in Black Swan Bay?” You ask.

"Surely I have a plan right?" He replies.

“That plan couldn't have included him?” You turn your pale face up to him.

“No. I can’t save everyone. I told you my power is limited. I’m using most of it on you. You mean that much to me.” He produces a handkerchief and gently cleans your face. The last of the remaining makeup, the tears and the rainwater washes off.

“I know Caesar makes big claims about keeping you alive… but I’ve known how to do that from the very start. It’s okay to tell him about what’s in that folder, but as you do… remember, I’ve always been by your side.”

The yellow folder was wrinkled, wet and spattered with blood but you’d kept it with you, tucked in your torn dress.

“I’ve called a car for you to take you home. Wash up, and rest and don’t forget to log your star-hearts.”

The mention of star-hearts sprouts fresh tears. “Chance…”

Z shakes his head in confusion. “I don’t understand… you hardly knew him. You didn’t even know his real name.”

“I don’t know your real name!” You snap back.

“Touche.” Z smiles slightly.

“I didn’t have to know him. He was … so much like me. I wanted him to live...” You chew your lip and squeeze your hands together to stop crying.

“I see.” Z rubbed his chin. “If he did live, would you have married him in Hokkaido? Because I guarantee you wouldn’t have lived long enough to raise his children. The key to your survival is here in Tokyo. That’s all I’ll say for now.”

He offers you his hand and helps you stand and you lean on his arm as he supports you to the service road. You stand in the pool of light under a street lamp while Z stays in the shadows. “The car will be here soon.” He hands you the bouquet of white flowers.

“Thank you, Z.”

He pats your arm and smiles. “Just a little longer…”

You look down the road and see the headlights ahead, and like that, Z is gone.

You get into a ride-share vehicle. It’s already warm and there’s a blanket. There’s even a package of food, ramen from a local place, but you don’t have the stomach to eat. The vibrant nightlife of Tokyo is suppressed by the torrential rain. The sidewalks are empty. The street vendors are closed.

At Club Takamagahara, it’s past midnight. When you slide open the door, the men aren’t here. It doesn’t look like they’ve been here since they left for the Kabuki theater. You slowly pile the wood in the stove and light it, sniffling at intervals. You fill the barrel with water.

You take Renata’s picture from the yellow folder and carefully hang it in your closet, over your bed, clipped to one of the shelves. Then you hang Chance’s gold chains next to it. Then you put the bouquet of white roses under them both. Sorrow fills your chest and your vision blurs. But you don’t cry again. You just sit silent while the water heats.

You open the cigar box and pick out one of Caesar’s best cigars and you tilt it in the arms of the buddha statuette he liked to use as an ashtray. You light the tip and it starts to burn, filling the room with the sweet smoke of tobacco. You place the bloodstained folder on the table stand next to the TV and strip down to nothing. You take the beautiful period-style hanfu and throw it into the stove to burn. You settle into the warm bath and stare blankly at the wall. With the smell of tobacco, you don’t feel so lonely.

You stay in the bath until you hear footsteps down the hall. The footsteps halt a bit away. No doubt Caesar smells his own tobacco and this is something strange. You assume he must be listening with his Scythe Itachi and decide to test him out. You speak very softly. “Wooo… It’s me. The ghost! I’m haunting your cigar…”

You’re rewarded with a laugh from Caesar. “What are you doing, MC? Have you taken up my habits now?”

The door slides open and Caesar abruptly halts, startled. Chu Zihang, not expecting Caesar to stop, runs into his back. Caesar shuts the door again. “MC!”

From behind the door, Chu Zihang quietly complains.

“She’s bathing,” Caesar hisses.

You call them. “No, don’t mind me. I’ll kill the mood plenty if you have impure thoughts. Don’t worry.”

The door slides open again. You’re sitting in the barrel with only your head above water, your hair fanning out behind you. You must have looked like you were crying because Caesar immediately became serious. You never cried at all. For you to cry this much, something truly terrible must have happened.

Caesar’s mind was probably jumping to a million conclusions, and all of them rape, so you say it bluntly. “Chance is dead. Chisei Gen killed him.” It hurts to say it. Your heart was twisting in your chest. Your lungs spasmed and you squeezed your hands under water.

Just as you promised, the men suddenly don’t care that you’re in the bath. Caesar’s eyes are fiery. “Damn, that Tortoise found you?”

“He wasn’t looking for me. He was looking for Chance. And I just happened to be with him.”

“So he was the one sitting next to you in the theater then.” Chu Zihang said.

“He’s…” You close your eyes against a painful switch to past tense. “He was a member of the Devil Clan. Chisei called him a Code: Orange, Rank A hybrid. He was in the MC Romance Contest and reported to Kazama that we were here.” You run your hand through your hair.

Chu Zihang lowered his eyes. “You must have liked him. I’m sorry.”

“Not now please.” You whisper and point to the blood stained folder. “He gave me that. And told me I have only a year to live, probably less, before I end up like him.”

Caesar moves to the folder and starts flipping through it. He notes the blood on the pages. “You’re not hurt.”

You shake your head. “I wasn’t the target.”

“This isn’t death servitor blood.”

You bite your lip hard as your throat constricts, the tears forming a sheen on your eyes. You don’t look at him, keeping your eyes forward.

Caesar doesn’t continue that line of questioning. “Who are these kids?”

“They’re the ones I knew in Black Swan Orphanage. They were all like me. At age 20, they would be euthanized as deadpool.”

Caesar takes a breath and puts the folder aside. “Ruri Kazama told us all about Black Swan Bay. My dear, you didn’t tell us half of all you went through. But it explains a lot about who you are.” He walked over to where you were using the cigar as an incense and picked it up, taking a deep drag before returning to the folder. He begins to read it carefully. “Chu… fill her in please.”

Chu Zihang nods dutifully. “It’s our decision that… for the best of the team, we need to get Lu Mingfei and the Uesugi Clan Chief out of Japan. What’s going to happen next will be extremely dangerous as we believe that both the Devil Clan and the Hydra Clan are both trying to awaken the White King. There is no power greater than the White King, so our likelihood of death is higher. Caesar wanted to give you the choice to stay or go.”

“I won’t leave Japan. I’ll stay.” You keep your eyes forward.

Chu Zihang looks at Caesar uncertainly but he’s absorbed in what he’s reading. He turns back to you. “Did Chance explain the play to you?”

“Yeah, we got up to the part where Yamata-no-Orochi was buried in the Takamagahara to hide the White King from Hybrid contact.”

“Correct. We believe that the person who sank the Lenin ship was trying to awaken the Yamata-no-Orochi. If the White King inside of it reaches maturity then the beast will turn into the White King. Our only hope of stopping it will be to kill it before it matures. You mentioned that you heard something big, moving around under Tokyo. You wouldn't happen to know it’s location would you?”

Chu Zihang started to remove his jacket and set his things down.

“No, unfortunately, I didn’t listen long enough to do that. It was also very far away. Too far to be certain of location.” You speak robotically, not moving.

“There’s something else you need to know. Do you know the name Bondarev?”

You turn your head to Chu Zihang, eyes wide and dead. “Where did you hear that name?” You asked, your voice clipped and pointed.

Chu Zihang looks at you, calm and expressionless. “Ruri Kazama admitted that Bondarev is Masamune Tachibana.”

Your lips part in a look of silent indignation. “You can’t be serious.”

“That would explain his Russian accented Japanese wouldn’t it?” Caesar glances up from the folder he was reading.

“Bondarev killed Renata.” You turn back to the wall. You couldn’t believe you were sitting across from that guy, drinking tea at Genji Heavy Industries. The man with the blood of Renata and now Chance on his hands… and all of Chance's family!

Chu Zihang lifted his head and straightened his back. Caesar pressed his lips together and then glanced away from you, taking a deep breath. “Oh… yeah this just got really personal… I wasn’t going to leave Japan without that guy six feet under anyway but now?” His smile was frightening.

Chu Zihang nods. "As a witness you are invaluable. If you couldn’t recognize Bondarev's disguise as Tachibana, no one could."

"Bondarev was a handsome fellow. What was most notable about him was he was never affected by cold temperatures." You say.

"I feel bad smoking in front of you." Caesar says. "Are you sure you don't want one?"

"The cigar smells like you. So I lit it for comfort." You curve your arms around your knees.

Caesar's eyes widen and the cigar drops slightly in his lips. He gave a soft, shy chuckle. "My bad. Go on."

Chu Zihang continued. "Ruri Kazama told us that he was studying Deadpool and breeding it in the Genji Heavy Industries building. He showed us photos. The beasts in that tank aren’t ancient people, but people of our era, turned into monsters. I fought a deadpool that knew Kendo. The one with the swords. I was wondering how an ancient creature would know Kendo. Now I know."

You nod. "I saw the tank with my own eyes. My elevator malfunctioned. Remember. It took me down to the lower basement where I saw the beasts. "

"Why didn’t you tell us?" Caesar asked.

"It didn't seem relevant." You shrugged.

Caesar continued to stare at the photos. "Vera seems really young."

"Yes, she was a sweet girl. She could barely speak because of a stutter." You chuckle. "But she boldly asked me to dance the Christmas Ball with her. When I didn't answer right away, she said, 'I'll take that as a yes!'"

"She looks … ten."

You stay quiet for a moment. "Yes. But she still would have turned into deadpool in the ten years after that photo was taken. So even if she wasn't killed then, she'd still be dead by now."

"Masamune Tachibana isn't the only one creating Deadpool. The leader of the Devil Clan, the so-called General King, performed human experiments on hybrids here using the same methods. King General and Tachibana appear to have the same goals." Chu Zihang said. "You mentioned that you might not have been the only one who survived Black Swan."

"The General King must be Dr. Herzog then. I have to correct you. They're not survivors. They're the ones who blew it up. But they were killing before then. I personally witnessed Herzog and Bondarev kill Anton, a young man Herzog had raised as a son. Once I reached the end of my useful life… Herzog would have shot me too. Even though I considered him my father." You whisper.

Tears burned your eyes as you're struck with a sudden epiphany. "It really makes sense now. Chance was at the end of his useful life when he was offered the suicide pill… the purple vial. I convinced him to not take it. When he didn't take it, an assassin tried to kill him but, when the assassin failed, Chisei killed him. None of these deaths were natural. Tachibana specifically sent Chisei there, and even Chisei mentioned that he had experienced similar circumstances before. He even anticipated the assassination! But he was too stubborn to listen to me! So he again served as a weapon to kill an innocent man!"

"If the King General created Chance, he could also monitor him. Chance died just like Anton. Chance fought hard to survive but no…" Your voice catches, as you laugh. "Chance didn’t have a chance did he?...Shit."

The ripples from tears spread into the bath. "We had no way to escape. Chisei said if Chance lived quietly he would monitor him in a safe house in Hokkaido. Chance never would have made it. Either Bondarev or Herzog would have had him killed before he left Tokyo."

You draw your arm across your eyes. "What's more, he has to be monitoring me! I was sitting right across from the so-called Tachibana drinking tea. Do you think he wouldn't recognize me? His precious research subject? My file is not in that folder. He probably pulled it. When Bondarev or Herzog knows I'm about to die, when I'm no longer useful for research, he will come to kill me."

Chu Zihang nods. "Remarkable. Even though you did not hear Ruri Kazama’s words, your words echo and corroborate his testimony. It's clear the men from Black Swan Bay and the men running affairs in Japan are the same."

Chu Zihang turned to Caesar who was still reading the file.

"Whoever wrote this file seemed to have a lust for Khorkina." He muttered. "This is so unprofessional."

"Not surprising. Khorkina had the biggest chest, but she also had a pretty terrible personality." You smirk a bit. "Do you like her?"

Caesar shut the folder. "Not my type."

"Then why are you reading all that?" You turn and look at him.

Caesar averts his eyes from your body in the bath. "Because you've been carrying the burdens of their deaths this whole time alone. This is the most you've ever talked about them. Now that I've committed their files to memory, you don't have to carry it alone any more."

You slump against the back of the barrel and rest your head against the hardwood. You laugh, but your eyes and nose run, your pretty face creased with pain. "I bet you say that to all the girls."

Chu Zihang hands you a towel and you wipe your face of tears and snot. "Now is the worst time to talk about these things, but we have to discuss them. I believe your testimony is enough for us to act against both Yakuza organizations in the name of Cassell College and join Ruri Kazama as an ally."

Caesar said. "I would agree with that as well. I'm not sure if Ruri Kazama and the Devil Clan will be accepted by Cassell officially as they don't allow for hybrids of his type to join, but if they can help us prevent the awakening of the White King, then that will be an incentive for them to forgive them."

You blink. "Doesn't that mean I'm against school rules too?"

"He mentioned that." Chu Zihang nodded.

Caesar chuckled. "I think Kazama likes you. He outed our faces to reporters as leverage for cooperation. But not yours."

You wrinkle your nose and then stare blankly at the wall as grief turns to numbness. "Well, if he likes me, he'll need to be satisfied with what's left of me." You say. "Part of me is in the Arctic sea, the other part is on a train to get married in Hokkaido. If he doesn't mind fighting the other lion for the remainder, he can have me."

The computer game system logged the star-heart winners for the night. Ruri Kazama with one for giving you Renata’s picture, Z with one for giving you white roses to mourn. Chance, however, had three. One for his fight against Herzog’s poison pill, one for his fight against Bondarev’s assassins, including Chisei, and one, for the fight against his own blood.

#Dragon Raja

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raleighcarrera · 4 years

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bright

rising tides | robin tora x mc (josie thompson)

josie and robin have one last day together in cedarport before robin heads back to northbridge for the holidays. for @choicesdecemberchallenge day 2 (snow)

~4.2k words | T

her mom sighs at her when she bounds down the stairs, made-up and wide-eyed before nine o’clock. “is that all it takes to get you out of bed this early?” she asks, hardly bothering to hide the disapproval from her voice, “a cute boy?”

josie fixes her hair in the mirror in the hallway by the door, mostly ignoring her. “we have plans to meet for breakfast,” she explains, voice even, “that’s usually an early-morning activity.”

“just breakfast?” her mom asks, in a way that makes josie avert her eyes from her reflection in the mirror, where she’s seated on the couch behind her.

“well -- breakfast is the start,” she murmurs, winding a scarf around her neck. she’s pretty sure there’s snow in the forecast today.

“i just want you to be careful, josie.” it’s far from the first time she’s said as much. since she got off the bus from college, her mom has expressed plenty of concerns about robin, especially as things around town elevated. no amount of arguments could deter her from being wary. “you do still barely know this man.”

“that’s not true,” josie argues, voice light. the last thing she wants is to get into this again now. they’re burning daylight. she’s going to be late. “and i’m not fighting with you about this anymore.”

she slips her hands into her mittens, grabbing the wrapped present on the coffee table and heading towards the door before the conversation can continue. “be back later,” she calls over her shoulder, skipping out the door and almost immediately sliding on a patch of ice. “shit!”

“language,” chides her mother, before she pulls the door shut, regaining her balance with a huff.

thank god she’s meeting robin at the diner.

snow crunches under her shoes on the walk across town, just a dusting left over from while she was sleeping. cedarport is quiet and peaceful around her as she makes her way to main street, her eyes lighting up when she sees the person waiting for her outside the diner, pink-cheeked from the cold.

she only has a split-second to study robin and his scarf and peacoat before he turns and notices her, grinning brightly as his eyes rake up and down her body. he pulls her into a tight hug as soon as she gets close enough to reach on the sidewalk.

“hey,” he murmurs into her ear, lips warm where they brush the side of her face. “good morning. you look like something out of a christmas catalog.”

“is that a compliment?” josie laughs, resisting the urge to dig her fingers into the soft wool covering his broad shoulders.

“sure is.” robin pulls back enough to look her over again, then abruptly lifts her hand into the air to spin her around. “and if you were in a catalog, i’d rip your pages out and hang them up in my room.”

“that’s some pretty smooth talk for someone cute enough to make my heart stop.” her hand lifts, then, to tug on the lapel of his coat playfully. “this is quite the look.”

robin’s chest puffs out under her mitten. “you like it? only the finest, for my last day in cedarport in 2020.”

silence settles around them heavily. it’s not like he’s never coming back, she reminds herself, not for the first time. it’s barely even two weeks that he’ll be gone, and even then, robin’s only going to northbridge. without traffic, he’s just thirty minutes away.

but he won’t be here.

josie clears her throat, dropping her hand down into his. robin’s not wearing gloves, and his fingers are so cold she can feel them through the fabric of her own knit mittens. “we should get a table,” she prompts, “you promised me pancakes.”

robin’s frigid hand squeezes hers. “and all the coffee you can drink,” he agrees, reminding her of what he’d had to say to get her to agree to breakfast plans in the first place. so -- she’s not what some (anyone) would call an ‘early riser.’ sue her.

there’s an open booth in the corner of the diner that’s perfectly secluded from the rest of the room behind a potted plant, dousing her with an instant relief that feels so good she’s almost guilty. is it so wrong if she doesn’t want to see or speak to anyone on robin’s last day in town?

evidently not, judging by the way robin smiles fondly at her from across the table as he shrugs out of his coat, cupping his hands in front of his mouth to blow feeling back into his fingers. “private back here, eh? don’t feel like sharing much today?”

“shut up,” she returns, kicking him gently under the table. instead of wincing, robin just bumps her foot back with his, curling his ankle over hers and tugging her leg to his side of the booth. she rolls her eyes, ducking her face behind the giant menu in front of her.

not that it matters. when the waitress arrives, robin orders pancakes and hash browns and coffee and hot chocolate for both of them, snatching the menu out of her hands before she can protest. after the briefest moment of trying not to be charmed by it, she gives in and lets herself smile stupidly at him again.

“it’s going to be so weird, not seeing you every day.” it’s true. since she came home in the summer they’ve practically lived in each other’s back pockets, in one way or another.

the expression on robin’s face softens. “i know.” though he only looks sad for a second, and then he brightens, drumming his fingers on the tabletop. “tell me about what you guys are doing, though. any thompson family traditions?”

“well, we already did the tree,” she hums, tilting her cheek into her hand. “but on christmas eve we usually stay up late watching cheesy old movies. and my mom makes a big breakfast in the morning. normal stuff.”

“you mean you actually get up before noon?” he teases, eyebrows arched high on his smug, handsome face. “you must really love christmas.”

“okay, i’m not that bad,” josie laughs, forcefully wiggling her foot free from where it’s trapped between robin’s shins to kick him again. “just because some people are, like, up with the sun --”

“the early bird gets the worm, josie.”

“-- doesn’t mean that there’s anything wrong with sleeping in.”

robin holds up his hands placatingly, grinning wide. “okay, okay. forget i said anything.” amusement flickers in his gaze as his eyes dip to the present in the booth beside her. “were you planning on carrying that thing around with you all day?”

“well, we can’t start with presents,” she murmurs, uncharacteristic embarrassment making her avert her eyes back to the formica tabletop between them. “the whole day would seem less special compared to that.”

“a day with you could never not be special,” he declares. then, his voice quiets, and he allows, “but, fair enough. i’ll hold off, for now.”

she blinks. “you didn’t have to get me anything.”

there’s a loud laugh from the other side of the booth. “you got me something.”

“yeah, but -- you didn’t know that.”

the way he’s looking at her makes her feel too warm, given how cold it is outside. her toes are still frozen in her boots, but her face feels like it’s on fire. “call it a hunch,” robin smiles. “reporter’s intuition.”

“your nose just knows, huh?”

“exactly.”

he doesn’t take his eyes off of her even as their plates start to arrive at the table, one after another with two mugs for each of them. it’s only when robin has a whipped cream mustache from drinking his hot chocolate that he shifts to grab a napkin, so he’s not looking at her when he says, “it’s too bad you couldn’t have come back to northbridge with me. my mom would’ve loved to meet you.”

oh, no. she was already too warm -- now she’s positively sweating. “really?”

robin’s eyes glitter affectionately when he nods. “sure. i mean -- you’re in so many of my stories, whenever i call. of course she already knows all about you.”

that makes her groan. josie drops her face into her hands, covering her flush. “so she thinks i’m a troublemaker.”

without lifting her head, she hears the bark of robin’s sharp laugh and can picture his wide grin perfectly. “she knows that i’m the troublemaker. she thinks you’re my perfect match.”

oh, god. she’s going to die of embarrassment, here, in the hometown diner she used to close out after high school football games. “you’re kidding.”

josie parts her fingers to peer at robin from between them. predictably, he is grinning as hugely as she’d imagined he would be. his pancakes are already cut chaotically, haphazardly divided into unequal shapes and sizes. she swallows, dropping her hands to work on her own -- slicing them into methodical, even triangles.

“no way,” robin answers sincerely, voice so eager it makes her stomach flip. it’s weird, how he just -- does that. no one she’s ever dated has been so forthcoming before, but robin says what he’s thinking and compliments her without prompting pretty much all the time. she never has to guess what’s on his mind or fish for praise, and he acts like it costs him nothing to be so open and honest -- so vulnerable, even after only knowing her for six months. “i think she’s glad i finally found someone to balance me out. if it weren’t for you i probably would have been arrested by now.”

her face still feels too hot, even as she arches an eyebrow at him from over her pancakes and jokes, “probably? try ‘definitely.’”

he shrugs good-naturedly at her while he tucks into his own food, like he hasn’t even noticed how utterly mortified she is, or that if he has, he’s chosen to find it cute and charming.

the pool of syrup on his plate is at least an inch thick over his jagged pancake rhombuses and trapezoids.

and, god, she is fond of him. for his chaos and so many other things. if robin’s mom thinks she’s the one balancing him, she should’ve known josie when she felt hopeless -- when it seemed like the stricklers of the world were everywhere and there was no point in fighting them because she was just one person who everyone thought was a nuisance with little more to offer apart from a big mouth.

there’s no denying just how good he’s been for her. and while she certainly sees how her temperament could be beneficial to someone as wild as robin, it seems inaccurate not to make note of how much she’s changed for the better since graduation in may, largely because of him.

he dimples at her as he shovels hash browns onto his pancake plate, right into the syrup. “you’re staring.”

“just wondering who’s going to keep you in line next week. you know, since i’ll be here and all.”

“believe me,” robin sighs, “i do know. but -- my brothers are actually worse than me. so i think my mom is going to have her hands pretty full.”

“hmm.” her lips twitch into a smile as she pushes her perfect pancake triangles around in her modest river of syrup. “when was the last time you were all together?”

“probably... god, it must’ve been last christmas,” robin answers, sounding surprised as he mentally tallies the time. “but julian lives abroad now, so. it happens.”

“that seems like the perfect excuse to travel, to me.”

“you’d think.” robin’s lips twist sardonically. “but when i was working at the times i barely had a few hours to sleep, let alone vacation days. that’s one of the reasons it’s so much better being on my own.” his eyes lift from his breakfast and settle on her face again. “i finally have time to pursue the things i want.”

“corny,” says her mouth, but she can feel the way her eyes are practically bugging out with over-exaggerated cartoon hearts.

“i know.” the words are said like they’re a heavy burden to bear, though the glance he sneaks up at her before he smiles gently and scrapes up the last of his syrupy hash browns makes her feel like she’s had twenty cups of coffee instead of just one.

it’s snowing again when they step outside after the check’s been paid (by robin, despite her insistence that just because she’s still unemployed doesn’t mean she’s broke), full and ready to face the cold. her teeth worry her bottom lip as she wonders if the new weather will push up his departure time, in an effort to get back to northbridge before he’ll have to drive in the snow.

as if he’s reading her mind, robin’s hand swings out and clasps hers. “so, what’s next on the agenda?”

“well -- i finally wanted to show you the ice skating rink,” she starts, “if you still have time?”

he turns his head and looks at her like she’s speaking a language he doesn’t understand. “we’ve got the whole day, josie.”

“you should really leave before it gets bad, though. i wouldn’t want you to get stuck --”

robin stops her on the sidewalk, lifting his free hand to her shoulder. “okay, so we’ve got most of the day. the point is, i’m going to spend as much time with you as humanly possible, even if i have to drive up to northbridge in the dark in a blizzard afterwards.”

bewildered by the intensity of his insistence, she simply answers, “okay,” changing their course to head towards the lake.

robin is just as hilariously bad at ice skating as she’d assumed he’d be, though his clumsiness is just another hopelessly endearing facet of his personality. she about dies ten thousand or so times from how sweet he looks tripping over himself trying to impress her, or wobbling across the ice with both of his freezing cold hands held tightly in hers.

they take slow turns around the lake until the afternoon crowd of teenagers rolls in and they have to rush across the park to find someplace private to walk together. despite his unbelievably slow go at something passable, robin still beams, “that was fun,” when they’re alone again.

she can’t help her laughter. “you were awful.”

robin’s mouth drops open in exaggerated shock. “it was my first time!”

“you were like a baby deer,” she teases, “just -- wow. it’s a good thing you’re pretty.”

he sniffs, faux-offended. “like you’re one to talk.” his head swivels to squint up at the cloudy, dim sky, and she watches, completely fascinated, as slowly drifting snowflakes settle on his eyelashes and the tip of his nose. her heart slows to a stop that resumes in a frantic double-time when robin blinks and turns his gaze on her, pleading, “tell me it’s finally time for presents.”

it is, but only because they can’t delay the inevitable forever. he will have to leave soon, and -- that’s just reality. it could be worse, she reminds herself, for the fourth or fifth time. it’s only northbridge.

so why does it feel so terrible, even as they settle on a freezing cold park bench together with their shoulders pressed close?

she sets robin’s gift aside to take his hands in hers, lifting them up to eye-level for inspection. “you’re turning blue. i can’t believe you came out here today without gloves.”

“well, i don’t know if you’ve noticed, but i’m very reckless,” robin deadpans, squeezing her hands. he looks unbelievably pleased with himself as she starts to laugh. “so -- that present.”

“oh my god, you’re horrible,” josie tsks, shaking her head. “it’s so obvious you’re the youngest sibling. here, mr. impatient.”

the wrapped box is thrust into his lap unceremoniously. robin doesn’t waste a moment before tearing into the snowman-adorned paper excitedly, his eyes wide when the lid lifts and the tissue paper falls away, revealing the leather journal embossed with his initials.

he’s silent as he lifts it reverently into his hands, turning it over. “do you like it?” she asks, unnerved by how quiet he’s being. robin’s never quiet. “i did the leather stamp myself, so --”

josie’s rambling is cut off abruptly as robin leans forward to kiss her, dropping the journal back into the box to slide his freezing cold hands into her hair. the ends of her curls are starting to get wet from the snow but she hardly notices how badly they’re both dressed for the escalating weather with the way he seems intent on pulling every last breath out of her lungs.

“i love it,” he declares hoarsely, when he pulls back just enough for her to see the cloud of his breath through the cold, “it’s perfect. you’re perfect. fuck.”

“fuck?” she questions breathlessly, eyes dead set on the wet line of his mouth.

“uh huh.” his confirmation is nonsensical, and yet she understands him perfectly. robin darts back in for what she assumes is meant to be a quick kiss that swiftly captures her full attention, leaving her sighing against his lips as his icy hands press against the back of her head to keep her in place. this time, when he dips away, he says, “i want you to be my girlfriend.”

she blinks, stunned. there’s snowflakes all over his beautifully genuine face. “okay.”

robin looks just as stunned as she feels. her head swims deliriously as she considers the possibility that he might’ve thought she could have said anything else. “okay?”

“yeah.” she swallows, then wets her suddenly chapped lips. “i’d really like that.”

his face splits into a grin, though she only catches the briefest flash of it before he’s kissing her again, enthusiastically sliding his mouth against hers in time with the way his hands greedily pull her closer. robin looks utterly dazed when they break apart for the third time, shaking his head in wonder. “you have to stop distracting me. i was going to give you your gift first.”

she laughs, brushing snow off his cheek with one hand. god, but he’s irresistible with a cold-flushed face. she must be in deep if she even thinks the way his nose is running is cute. “i’m not doing anything.”

robin’s eyes drop back to the journal in his lap. he nods at it when he says, “this is something. to me. it was -- thoughtful.”

well, it should be. pretty much all she does lately is think about him. “i mean, you are in my thoughts.”

he huffs, looking torn. she realizes he’s trying to stop himself from kissing her again when he pulls back with great restraint, hand fumbling in his jacket pocket for what must be her present. “just wait until after i’ve given you this to say stuff like that, okay? i can barely concentrate as it is.”

“sorry,” she murmurs, slipping her mittens off and turning the small box over in her hands. it’s impossible to tell what it is from its size alone, so she works on the paper, delicately lifting the sloppily-taped-down corners up and running her nail along the seam to slowly pull the plain red wrapping off.

it’s a jewelry box, soft crushed velvet turning damp from the still-falling snow. she pops it open and is surprised to see a dainty four-leaf clover necklace winking back at her, one tiny stone glittering from the pendant.

“you’re my lucky charm, you know?” the sound of robin’s voice tears her eyes away from the necklace and sets her gaze back on him. there’s a quiet intensity on his expression that’s impossible to look away from, his tone pitched to match it. “my life’s done a completely one-eighty since i met you, josie. you’re just... god, you’re one-of-a-kind.”

his look turns sheepish. he rubs the back of his neck shyly. “this was the part where i was going to say the girlfriend thing.”

she doesn’t even know where to start. it’s impossibly overwhelming, thinking that robin likes her as much as she likes him. there’s so many things about herself she assumes should be detractors, to someone like him.

but he’s the only person she’s ever met that she hasn’t had to hide a single flaw from. and he never saw any of her personality quirks that way, anyway.

her fingers fiddle with the silver chain in her lap. “did you -- you practiced that?”

“a potentially embarrassing amount of times,” he confirms, though his grin conveys anything but embarrassment. she understands the sentiment exactly; it’s hard to care about anything, just then.

she hands him the necklace and twists wordlessly so robin can help her get it on. he does, sliding the clasp into place on the first try -- impressive, given he must have little to no feeling in his fingertips, this late in the day -- and smiles at her when she spins back around. “perfect fit.”

god help her, but they are. somehow, despite the fact that it makes no sense and how life isn’t actually supposed to work in the strange and mysterious ways that always happen in romantic comedies, where your literal perfect match who compliments you in every way possible randomly falls into your lap -- they are.

“i love it,” she murmurs, more than mildly overwhelmed. none of her past relationships had ever felt like this. “thank you.”

“thank you.” his eyes search her face, making her hold perfectly still, lest she disturb whatever it is he’s looking for. “you’re remarkable.”

“and you’re a flatterer,” she teases, pressing one last, lingering kiss to his lips before sighing, “who’s going to worry his mom sick driving through a storm. you should really get going.”

robin’s arms tighten around her. “i don’t want to,” he answers petulantly. “you can’t make me.”

one eyebrow arches skeptically. she digs her fingers into the ticklish spot at his side, and he practically leaps off the bench, pouting at her all the way. “unfair,” robin laughs, “you know that’s a dirty trick.”

“dirty, but effective.” it’s really coming down, now -- thick, fluffy white flakes that are starting to accumulate on the grass up to their ankles. soon there’ll be too much snow for her to walk the rest of the way home.

“i want so badly to make a joke,” robin sighs wistfully, hugging the journal to his chest. the gold stamped r stares back at her from behind his forearms. “just know i’m restraining myself for you.”

“how noble,” she snorts, pushing carefully to her feet, too. no matter how much they both dawdle, today has to end sometime. “can i walk you to your car?”

“i feel like i should be the one asking you that,” he muses, “but, yeah. that’d be cool.”

they trudge through the snow slowly, the weight of their impending goodbye almost stifling. cedarport is pointedly quiet around them, deserted and hushed with the heavy snow that’s starting to come down hard. if they weren’t in such a miserable situation, it’d be beautiful.

robin’s car is covered enough that it’ll need to be brushed off before he can drive when they finally stop at the side of it, but he makes no move to get going, turning to stare at her again.

“want me to drive you home?”

she shakes her head. it’s a short walk from this part of town, and, anyway, “you really should go before it gets worse. the visibility’s going to be bad as-is.”

“well, maybe that’s a sign i should stay one more night, then.” robin’s grin turns cheesy, too-wide and suggestive. “would you stay the night with me? so i don’t get lonely?”

josie laughs, reaching out to smack his shoulder. “your mom is expecting you, you dork. and i don’t want to fall out of her good graces.”

“fair enough,” he sighs,��“because you definitely are.” there’s a beat, and then he grows more serious, lifting his hand to her cheek again. “i will miss you, though.”

“i’ll miss you, too,” she returns, suddenly shy under the full force of his attention. robin’s smile widens as his cold hand cups her jaw. “but -- i’ll text you nonstop, so. it won’t be so bad.”

“i guess there’s a silver lining to this after all,” he says, before closing the distance between them to kiss her one last time, so throughly she’s left shivering for reasons that have nothing to do with the cold.

it’s an hour before robin finally texts her, but she’d expected that, given the weather and the evening traffic. they’re in the middle of dinner, at her house, but she pulls her phone out under the table to sneak a glance at it and is so lost in her thoughts she almost falls out of her chair when charlie asks, “okay, why do you look like that? it’s making me sick.”

stuffing her phone away hastily, she rushes to say, “it’s nothing,” even though the words just got home. i already can’t wait to get out of here and see you again run through her mind on a loop for the rest of the evening.

#rising tides #robin tora #robin tora x mc #choicesdecemberchallenge20 #myfic #long post #listen i understand that this is not the default name but #i don't like the default name so let me live please #thank you and enjoy ❤️#robin fan club party of 1

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fucking-zawa-sensei · 5 years

Text

Opulence - erasermic fanfic

Title: Opulence

Pairing: erasermic

Rating: Explicit

WC: 9k+

Summary:

When they’re done, when Hizashi is finally, finally laid bare and beautiful across their sheets, still shimmering and sparkling and flushed a delicious pink, the blond is breathing heavily, sweat drops gathering along his hairline and in the ridges of his collarbones.

He looks absolutely filthy in the best kind of way.

Notes: An incredibly late birthday gift for my friend, @rootistabootus(it has been 4 months girl I am so sorry), who can always make me smile any day, any time, who sends me the best memes, who supports my love for characters she doesn’t even know, who is quite possibly one of the bubbliest, most positive people I have ever met. Who makes me feel like I can do anything, who inspires me to create and take risks and stop letting fear dictate my life. She’s selfless and one of the hardest workers I have ever met. Her optimism is fierce and strong and makes me think that anything is possible. Thank you for always being there for me and making my life that much brighter. You are an actual piece of sunshine fallen down to Earth and I am happy to have the opportunity to bask in your endless warmth. I love you!

Read full fic here on AO3

Opulence

It was a normal occurrence, something that happened probably once a month at least.

Hizashi would come home, door swinging open and caught just before smacking into the opposing wall, the telltale clack of expensive heels giving away that this wasn’t a post-patrol late night entrance. His costume boots sounded the way all heroes’ did: like nothing at all.

Underground or not, every hero needed to be capable of stealth when the situation called for it.

With villains who had guns for fingers and steel wire hair, the situation often called for it.

Hizashi rarely dressed up for the studio either, unless he had a celebrity guest joining him on air. Shouta still remembers the glittery gold suit pants Hizashi wore when his favorite DJ was in town. It was hard to forget, with the way they threw speckles of rainbow light across every surface in their bedroom each time Hizashi opened the closet on the rare nights when Shouta forgot to pull the blinds shut.

Modeling was something that came with any popular hero’s list of duties, along with interviews, commercials, cameos in movies or TV shows, presentations at hero schools, the list went on.

The more public you were, the more the public wanted you.

Hizashi hadn’t gone the way of selling albums or cologne in magazines. Instead, he’d used his agency’s desire to sell his body in print and pixels to gain himself a spot in the fashion industry, a passion he’d had for as long as Shouta had known him. He once saw the young hero-in-training cutting out swatches of colors and patterns and pasting them inside his notebook, erasing any useful study material beneath.

Not like Hizashi ever needed to study.

Shouta didn’t quite understand the difference between couture and editorial, but he liked the way Hizashi’s smile looked when he ran his fingers over a sequined body suit or a faux fur shrug.

He never paid it much mind when his husband came home from a photoshoot, knowing the first place Hizashi would go was the bathroom to wash off any lingering glue and makeup, working gel and temporary dyes out of his hair. He’d spare a glance, curious to see what the other man had been zipped into that night, Hizashi somehow convincing designers to gift him the outfits more often than not, but that was about it.

Here and there he’d make a comment, a low whistle if it was particularly sexy, something more snide, like, that is not staying here for more than a week, if it was something they both knew Hizashi would never wear outside the house again. Shouta can still remember the great purge of spiked leotards and pointed shoulder jackets they’d been forced to endure last year when they’d run out of room in the closet for their actual clothes.

Tonight is different.

Tonight, as Shouta casts his eyes over his shoulder from where he is spread out on the couch, half-finished book in his hands, he is unable to turn away.

The smirk on Hizashi’s face, as he tilts his head up from where he’s bent down, unlacing the long, knee high black stiletto boots hugging his calves, said he hadn’t expected anything less.

Shouta’s eyes can’t pick one thing to focus on, generously grazing over every curve and dip in Hizashi’s body, all deliciously on display.

Hizashi’s shimmering, gold nails release their hold on the metallic painted laces, his hands running lightly over his knees, and then his fishnet covered thighs, before settling on his hips as the blond straightens into a standing position. He leans back a bit, the way he always did when he was feeling confident and hungry for attention, cocking a hip seductively.

That grin, accented by glimmering, glitter dusted lips, stays in place.

Shouta’s gaze is ravaging his husband.

Tonight, they’d put him in a long sleeved leotard, something Shouta was pretty used to seeing. This time, though, the material was all a shiny, smooth faux leather, with a delectably deep plunge from Hizashi’s collarbones down to just below his navel, his belly button piercing shiny and vibrant like all the other accent pieces to the outfit. Shouta is pretty sure they must have the suit taped over Hizashi’s nipples because there was no way it would be staying in place otherwise.

He also knows for a fact that they didn’t have Hizashi take out his nipple piercings, as the little ball studs were just as prominently on display as the perky flesh they were slipped through.

The whole suit looks like it was engineered to be one size too small, hugging Hizashi’s lean frame like a second skin, accentuating the angles of his hips and the deep V between them, the curve of his biceps as he shifts his arms, even his ass, never particularly all that large, looked plump and delicious with the hall light falling over the tight fabric. It left nothing, absolutely nothing, painstakingly nothing, to the imagination.

Shouta knows before his eyes dare to fall on the space between his husband’s legs that the bulge will be there, but he doesn’t expect Hizashi’s manicured fingers to wind up in his view as well, casually caressing the growing mound as Shouta continues to stare.

As if this wasn’t enough, as if the thought of his husband walking from their apartment’s parking lot and through the lobby in this incredibly sexual outfit wasn’t already getting Shouta’s throat to dry up, whoever designed this shoot had decided to take it a step further.

Hizashi had a natural beauty that was impossible to deny, and a sinful ability to turn on the heat when needed.

So why they’d decided he needed to be slicked up in a shimmery, glittering body oil was beyond Shouta.

As he finally rips his eyes away from the blond’s fingertips, still stroking over his erection as it pulls against the taute fabric, he sees Hizashi’s chest looking dewy in the same way it did in the moments before orgasm. A fierce, unrelenting heat begins pooling quickly in Shouta’s lower belly.

“Like what you-”

“Yes,” Shouta cuts off Hizashi’s teasing words, clichéd and useless. Of course he liked what he saw. Who wouldn’t? The whole point of dressing Hizashi up like this was to make any witless fool who picked up the magazine have to resort to using it to cover themselves up.

Hizashi exhales softly through his nose, one arm coming up, hand moving toward his face, and it all feels like it has slowed down, like each miniscule movement takes one whole rotation of the little hand around the analog clock hanging on the wall next to the kitchen entryway. Shouta watches the way the fabric relentlessly constricts around Hizashi’s body, as his hand runs through his hair, disrupting all those flawlessly smooth locks. They hadn’t styled it in any way tonight, letting it all fly free over the man’s broad shoulders. The golden shine of Hizashi’s hair broke up the predominantly dark outfit nicely. Shouta could see why they’d made the decision, but it certainly isn’t helping the uncomfortable way his jeans are getting tighter by the second. Hizashi lets his hand fall carelessly to his side when he’s done running his fingers through his hair, a few strands getting caught on his lip gloss and his long, fake lashes. Hizashi blinks slowly, eyes downcast, and Shouta doesn’t think it’s possible to get to the bedroom fast enough.

Judging by the way Hizashi’s next breath brings forth a small shudder as he releases it, he’s feeling the exact same way.

Shouta isn’t one to rush anything, though.

He closes his book in one hand, his middle finger still stuck between the pages, and slowly, slowly, leans forward, never breaking eye contact with Hizashi, to set it on the coffee table in front of him. Still bent over, he extracts his finger just as languidly, licking his bottom lip as the digit slips out. Hizashi swallows loud enough for Shouta to hear it from across the room.

“Are you going to take those boots off anytime soon?” Shouta asks, falling back against the couch, sinking lower into the cushions and lazily letting his legs spread wide. He lets one of his hands fall into his lap, just close enough to his crotch to stroke one finger lazily over his growing erection. He rests his head against the cushioned back and tilts it toward Hizashi, wearing a smirk of his own now.

Hizashi might have got him going with his outfit, but Shouta knew exactly how to get the other man just as riled up.

Hizashi hated waiting, and more than that, hated when his pleas for attention went ignored.

Shouta watches as the corner of his husband’s perfectly painted lips twitches. The blond flips his hair over his shoulder, brushing away the pieces that had stuck to his gloss, before sliding his legs and feet out of the high boots. The fishnet stockings go all the way to his toes, as does the body oil, despite never being in the photographs.

Hizashi steps up out of the entrance way, one hand still firmly planted on his hip, and begins sauntering across the hardwood floors like he’s gliding across a runway at fashion week. Each and every step pulls at the tight clothing, the light catching every curve, every dip as he moves, one foot in front of the other, bare thighs rubbing against one another, his hardon pressing up against the leotard, his slicked chest rising and falling with heavy, hot breaths.

The hand not stroking himself through Shouta’s pants is now curled into a fist beside him. Shouta clenches his jaw to stop himself from jumping off the couch as Hizashi finally stops in front of him. The blond’s last step is a powerful stomp that leaves his legs spread wide in a triangle, one hand still firmly planted on his hip, the other comes up to run over his own chest, fingers impossibly sliding beneath the bodysuit. Shouta watches with interest as Hizashi’s fingers make their way to the small bump of his nipple, everything so easily visible despite the fabric. Hizashi’s eyelids slip closed, long lashes caressing his upper cheeks. He throws his head back, letting his mouth pop open, as he pinches and rubs at the sensitive bud. Hizashi lets out a moan that Shouta knows is only half real, is entirely constructed just to get Shouta even more bothered than he already is, but it doesn’t matter.

His mind doesn’t care if Hizashi’s putting on an act.

His mind is hardly there anymore, all the blood gone rushing down to Shouta’s crotch the moment his husband had passed through the door.

So when Hizashi finishes gasping and tilts his head back up to stare down at Shouta, he stops playing games.

Shouta’s hands latch onto that deep plunged neckline and pull.

Hizashi comes all too easily, as if he’d planned the whole thing, as if he knew full well he’d end up straddling Shouta’s lap, their clothed cocks rubbing against each other with each and every panting breath they took.

He probably did.

Shouta doesn’t particularly care if it’s all going to Hizashi’s plan. He’s too busy fastening his mouth to the blond’s throat, kissing and licking over his adam’s apple, his collar bones, his jawline.

An annoying little voice in the back of his mind thinks I hope this oil is edible, but it doesn’t stop him from enjoying the soft, supple feeling of Hizashi’s skin beneath his lips.

It’s made all the more better when one of Hizashi’s hands comes to his chin, pulling his face away from the other man’s collar bone and toward his mouth. He knows when they part he’ll have that glittery lipstick all over his mouth, that they’ll be laughing about it tomorrow morning, still tangled together beneath their sheets. Shouta’s stomach jumps in the same way it does each time he looks outside the school’s windows and across the courtyard to the other side of U.A.’s towering building, where Hizashi and he cross paths during third period, separated by far too many walls and windows and trees, but the other man never failed to send him a large, shining Present Mic grin.

It was the little things that got Shouta’s heart skipping, which brought a light pink flush to the tips of his ears.

Right now, though, his whole body was warm, as Hizashi’s tongue drags him back to the present.

The blond’s thighs tighten around Shouta’s, and Hizashi shifts positions, bringing his chest closer, pressing into Shouta’s, so he can settle his ass over Shouta’s achingly hard cock. He starts grinding on Shouta’s lap, bringing a gasp from his lips. Hizashi hums into their kiss as Shouta’s hands move from the blond’s hips to those two plump cheeks, digging his nails in just hard enough to get a rouse from the other man, but not enough to leave a mark. He never liked bruising Hizashi, though the blond sometimes seemed to enjoy rougher treatment. Shouta didn’t think it was good to have any tender spots on your body when you were a hero, no matter how many times Hizashi insisted no villain was ever going to get close enough to his ass for that to be a problem.

Hizashi’s hands make their way into his hair, curling around Shouta’s wavy, unruly strands. He pulls, just enough to get Shouta moving back, their lips separating, both gasping, panting for air. Hizashi stares down at him, his hips stilling as he catches his breath.

“Y-” Hizashi tries to start, but clearly needs another second. He swallows, takes another breath and says, “You ready to cut me out of this thing?”

Shouta raises an eyebrow, a smirk coming to his lips.

“Are you saying you can’t get out of that yourself?”

Hizashi rolls his eyes, “I’m trying to be sexy, Sho!”

Shouta doesn’t give in.

“I think it would be sexy if you did a little strip tease,” he says, squeezing his hands around Hizashi’s ass cheeks, making the other man jump.

“F-fine,” Hizashi says, an additional blush rising to his face atop the lovely glow that had already formed during their kissing. “I don’t know how they packed me in here and I don’t know how to get out.”

Shouta snorts as Hizashi’s eyes dart away, his lips coming dangerously close to a pout, and Shouta’s heart skips.

Hizashi could come home bare naked and he’d never be more attractive than like this, natural, guard down, no personas or masks or other personalities fighting for attention, just pure Hizashi.

Shouta releases his grip a bit, bringing a hand up Hizashi’s back, rubbing soothingly across the smooth faux-leather. Hizashi’s eyes and mouth soften at the touch, before he leans back in for a less hungry kiss.

This one feels like it lasts too little, but the message it leaves is far more than just lingering, it’s persistent, unending.

I love you.

Hizashi smiles as he pulls back, head titled just enough to the side to make Shouta see him in another time, japanese maple trees framing him, the orange autumn glow shining through their leaves and cascading over Hizashi’s shoulders.

Hizashi’s thumbs brush along Shouta’s scruff covered jaw.

“Bedroom?” Shouta asks on the tail end of a breath he’d been holding for far too long, bringing his hand to Hizashi’s front, finally dipping into the space left bare by the deep plunge neckline, casually playing with the longest jewel that hangs from Hizashi’s belly button piercing. He turns it over between his thumb and forefinger, watching how the lamp light beside the couch plays in all the little rivets of the small stone.

“Please,” Hizashi begs, his hands dropping down to Shouta’s shoulders, squeezing at the same time as he jerks his hips forward just enough to get some friction on his aching cock. They let out matching hums of pleasure and the heat in Shouta’s belly becomes more insistent.

“Then let’s go,” Shouta says, his voice deep.

For how weak his legs feel right now, he still manages to wrap his arms around Hizashi’s back and lift them both out of the chair, the other man quickly crossing his long legs around Shouta’s waist. Even this feels like too much, too similar to all the times Hizashi and he had pressed one another up against one of the many walls of their home, too distracted by the others’ body to make it anywhere near a horizontal surface. Hizashi had always joked it was a double workout, could be counted as training, but the hungry look the blond gave him each time he slipped his thigh between Shouta’s, rubbing up against his crotch before hoisting Shouta up the wall, said keeping in shape was the last thing on Hizashi’s mind.

Admittedly, Shouta gives a couple glances toward the smooth, sturdy surfaces framing their hastened walk as he carries Hizashi down the hall. The other man doesn’t help, doesn’t seem to care at all that Shouta’s hands are digging further and further into that faux leather as Hizashi sucks harshly under his jaw and along his collar where his shirt has been pulled down by Hizashi’s weight.

Read the rest here...

#erasermic #aizawa shouta #eraserhead #present mic #yamada hizashi #erasermic fanfiction

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spooky-fran · 5 years

Text

Home (Bobby, LITG)

Summary: Getting caught up in a summer storm leads to cuddling with Bobby.

Word count: 1964

Inspo: this, this, and this. . . pre-disaster recoupling.

─── ☆ ★ ☆ ───

Summer storms are a force of nature that tend to stun people. They’re imperfect little moments of sudden downpours combined with the loud booming of thunder. Lightning that streaks across the sky lights up the world, making it feel less like summer and more like a something from a movie. In the midst of the humid air, summer storms come and go with a flick of a switch

You, however, doesn’t mind getting caught in the rain. In fact, you saw summer storms as an unexpected source of clarity. You think of summer storms as these unpredictable nets that you get caught in, but sometimes, you need to get caught. You need to be stopped when life goes haywire—you need to be given a chance to refocus, to have a break from life.

It’s why you love summer storms. Why summer is your favorite season. Well, that, and the fact that you like the feeling of the warmth of the sun caressing your skin. It’s only natural, given that your entire life, you’ve been under the same monotonous cloudy English skies with no reprieve except for family holidays. Summer storms were special to you, and you could easily picture some of the life-changing moments in your life that had occurred during such storms.

You just never expected to get caught up in one in Mallorca. The island tended to have the perfect weather; the kind you’d expect to be featured on reality TV. It’s a picture-perfect paradise.

Nothing could ever go wrong—other than the obvious drama of the game—yet somehow, it’s absolutely raining cats and dogs outside when it shouldn’t be.

You don’t hear the first few drops of rain splattering on the earth. You’re curled up, your sleeping form in a ball in the middle of one of the daybeds, the pages of the novel you were reading starting to crumple beneath you. The last few hours had been spent flicking through pages and getting lost in a different world. One moment you had merely been trying to ditch the drama of the villa and the next, you had been lulled into a peaceful calmness. It had been such a peaceful change of pace that you had fallen asleep, not even noting the foreboding breeze that ushered in some thick dark clouds or the fact that a light drizzle had fallen at first.

What awakes you is a yelp. It jolts you awake, making your heart race in your chest, but it doesn’t wake up your mind fast enough. At first, you’re so confused, so disoriented from falling asleep unexpected—so you stay curled up for a few more seconds, but another yelp causes you to sit up on the bed.

You scrunch your eyebrows as the noise repeats. You don’t know where the sound is coming from, but as you look around, you find yourself looking out at the distant shapes that you know to be a part of the Villa. It’s hard to see anything at all. The sky is significantly darker than it had been before you had fallen asleep. Rain is pelting down as if someone’s dumping a never-ending bucket of water.

As you squint, trying to see through the haze, you make out a familiar shape. A body. It’s running towards the villa, searching for cover from the torrential downpour. A flash of lightning reveals more, lighting up the earth for a second as it streaked across the sky, but that’s all it takes. You’d recognize Bobby anywhere.

He’s pretty far away, but you can tell that he’s close to being soaking wet from head to toe. Water drips from his dreads and onto his bare chest, which is shiny as he pants. His purple swim trunks cling to him, as if he had just gotten out of the pool recently, but you couldn’t be sure, as you hadn’t seen him since breakfast.

Usually, all the islanders spent a lot of time basking in the sun either poolside or by lounge chair. It wasn’t uncommon for people to take a dip in the pool every now and then, seeing as It was readily available.

Bobby had probably been one of them, and because of that, he got caught in the rain. By the looks of it, he wasn’t the only one, as you heard a few other voices ring out, but he was the only one still out there, running for cover.

“Hey!” you call out, waving your hand towards him, hoping he could hear you. Although it wasn’t safely indoors, the daybeds were covered and so far, you hadn’t been rained on. “Bobby! Join me on the daybed!”

You don’t hear a response other than a faint yelp, but it doesn’t take long for you to hear feet padding on the ground. You look towards the noise.

There he stands, in all his glory.

He’s shivering slightly and his chest is heaving from the exertion, but there’s a smile on his face that lights up the world. You don’t even notice the smile that sneaks onto your features, but you beckon him over with your hand. As he walks over, you close your book and lightly toss it onto the other daybed.

“Oops,” you mutter, looking over and seeing the bookmark fall out of the book. Before you can think further about it, you find your eyes gazing over towards Bobby. His toned arms are on display, as is his chest. He’s got his hands together, twiddling his fingers before rubbing them together as if for warmth.

He looks… a little nervous?

“Hey,” he says softly. His smile, which isn’t that big grin of his, is light and content, so you figure it’s probably something else, such as being caught in the rain, that’s bothering him.

“Hey babe,” you reply, contentedly. You give him a once-over and you’re suddenly wrought with worry. In the light, without the haze of rain pelting down, you can see more clearly how much he’s shivering. You gasp, “Bobby, are you alright?”

He doesn’t even have time to answer before you leap out of the daybed. You stumble a little, your body still slightly asleep, but you ignore it. You immediately go towards a pile of towels on a nightstand nearby. Unraveling the towel, you outstretch it between your hands before walking towards Bobby and wrapping him in it.

“I just got caught in the rain… What are you? My mum?” he asks with a grin, looking down slightly at you. His face is only inches from yours and you can see the individual droplets dripping from his hair and running down his neck.

You roll your eyes playfully. “You’re shivering.”

“Maybe I’m just excited to see you.”

You reach a hand out to touch his face. It’s warm to the touch, but it reddens as you run your fingers over his constellations of freckles. “I’m serious, Bob, you’re soaking wet.”

“AWW, you worry about me!” he teases. “I was right! You’re like my mum.”

“If that’s a kink of yours, I might have to rethink this couple…”

“What! No!” his voice cracks.

You snicker. He glances down and realizes that you’re just joking. It’s the smile you can’t keep off your face; you’ve got a poker face usually, but sometimes, you couldn’t help keep in your amusement at your own jokes.

“Low blow,” he remarks, but you can tell he’s not being serious either. He smirks slightly, pulling the towel closer to him and cuddling into it. He dries off a little more as you return to your spot on the daybed by clambering up and then bouncing towards the middle. He moves towards the towel pile and grabs another one before dropping his towel to the ground “Hey, move over!”

“No! You’re still wet!” you squeal, dodging him as he jumps into the bed and shakes his hair around like a dog and giggles. Droplets of water fly everywhere, making you back away an inch, but you can’t look away, not even if you tried. He’s always got you entranced. The smile doesn’t even leave your face; it never does when he’s around. He makes you feel like only the two of you exist, he makes the world stop. “Bob—”

He’s got a Cheshire Cat grin as he stops shaking his head and looks at you. Your eyes meet and you think you see a twinkle in them. You don’t even get time to register it before he throws himself at you, flinging his body towards you with open arms.

At least he’s somewhat dry, minus the hair.

He’s laughing—you love the sound, it’s probably one of your favorites by now—and you feel his weight knock you off back onto the bed before your yelp even comes out. You’re suddenly lying down on a pillow with Bobby above you, the same grin on his lips as his elbows hold him up in a plank position.

You’re surprised, but you mask it with a lazy smile. Drawing your hand up, you stroke his arm, “You just can’t help but get on top of me, huh?”

You watch his face burn. You love how cute he looks when he’s flustered, and you can barely stop yourself from leaning in and kissing him. He sputters a little, before letting out a laugh.

“You know it, gorgeous.”

He leans in ever so slightly and you can feel his breath on your skin. You can’t tell if he’s leaning in for a kiss or if he’s just getting tired of planking, but it doesn’t matter. You meet him halfway, cupping his face, your lips meeting his as if they were two puzzle pieces that fit together; it had always felt so right kissing him, as if you’d done it hundreds of times before, even if the sensation felt new each time.

It’s a sweet soft kiss that lasts for a moment. The next ones are quicker and full of more passion. Your hands end up in Bobby’s hair and you barely noticed as he shifts so he can run a hand in your hair.

You’re breathless, utterly euphoric, when he slips. His entire weight shifts onto you and knocks the rest of the air out of your lungs, his arm smacking your face as your lips disconnect. By the time you can breathe again you find the embarrassment written on his face. You can’t help but let out a laugh.

“I’m so so—”

You cut him off, reaching for his hand and interlocking your fingers with his. “Don’t worry. It happens.”

He still groans, leaning away and unlacing your hands. You watch in confusion as he lifts himself up and starts to move away, trying to hide his face. He lowers himself down and lies on your bare stomach, his arms wrapping around your midriff. His cheek is pressed on your skin, the warmth of it making your heart skip a beat.

You can’t keep the smile off of your face. You can’t see for yourself, but you can tell it’s the dopy kind of smile—the totally lovestruck type. You can’t help but reach your hands out.

One ends up in Bobby’s hair, running through it as soothingly as you can muster. By the sigh of contentment, you can tell it’s comforting. The other hand ends up resting on his upper back, just below his neck. His muscles tighten slightly before relaxing as you begin to draw shapes.

You watch for his face to appear, but he snuggles into you instead and you can feel him smile. You both fall into a comfortable silence illuminated by fairy lights and the pattering of rain. It’s tranquil, and you can feel bliss coursing through you. It feels like home.

─── ☆ ★ ☆ ───

A/N: Here’s the fluff I promised. I started this after last week’s update but apparently it rained in this week’s update, so I guess I’m just a psychic or just predictable. Also, this is highkey the first piece of writing I’ve posted on tumblr, so don’t roast me for taking forever to get to the point,,,

#mutuals i know in real life do not @ me i hate confrontation and being perceived #litg #litg bobby #love island bobby #litg fic #love island the game #litg s2 #my writing #august 2019

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moonb-eam · 5 years

Note

the star !! ✨✨

em!!!! 🧡 thank you for the prompt, darling!! 😚 hope you like it!

the star: renewal, hope, rest

“i feel at peace”

possible AUs/settings/ideas: star-gazing, lazy days, cuddling, spirit au

tarot prompts

it’s possible that i may have….out-fluffed myself

not to you (not if it’s me)

also available on ao3

Lucas wakes up and, for a moment, forgets where he is.

He’s cold, and his neck is at an uncomfortable angle, propped up on something solid, the muscles and tendons pulling when he shifts slightly.

He opens his eyes, slowly, blearily, to face scuffed brown fabric, a mysterious stain that looks like it could be coffee, a hole where white stuffing is beginning to leak out.

Eliott’s sofa.

He rolls onto his back, the scratchy wool blanket wrapped around him sliding off with the movement, pooling to the floor in a heap of mossy green. He strains his ears for any sound in the apartment—a boiling kettle maybe, or a closing cupboard. But, nothing.

Still asleep, then.

Or, not asleep but not. Not himself.

The events of the night before feel like a fever dream when Lucas tries to recall them: the vague text message from Eliott at two in the morning, Lucas’s subsequent panicked sprint to Eliott’s apartment, Eliott’s quiet plea for Lucas to stay, please stay Lucas. I can’t…I wanted to be alone, I think I need to be alone, but can you stay? Please? It helps, knowing you’re here.

Lucas can remember how small Eliott looked, asking that, the way his entire body had seemed to shrink in on itself. As if he knew what he asked for was hopeless. As if he knew this was going to be the thing that made Lucas walk out.

He can remember how he’d wanted nothing more than to hold him, to press his face into Eliott’s hair and tell him that everything was going to be alright, that there was nothing Eliott could tell him, nothing he could ask him, that would make Lucas leave, because Lucas loves him. He loves Eliott more than the stars love the moon.

All he had said was, I’ll sleep on the couch, okay? And I’ll be here, for whenever you need me.

Eliott didn’t reply to that, only let out a choked sob and nodded. He had disappeared back inside his room, the door shutting softly behind him. Lucas had laid his fingertips on the wood, resting them there for a moment, imagining that he could feel Eliott through the door: the soft material of his t-shirt, the warmth of his skin, the gentle heaving of his chest with every breath. He pressed his forehead into the door, eyes shut, hoping for something impossible, something like Eliott being able to feel his touch, to feel how much he loved him, how much he wanted to be close to him all the time, all the way through chipping paint and solid wood, across a cold floor to a warm bed, underneath a thick duvet that was surely wrapped around a trembling body by now.

Eliott. I love you.

Eventually he pulled away, heading to the closet at the end of the hall to find a spare blanket and pillow.

Now, Lucas sits up, cracking his neck from side to side. He never did find a pillow, only that thick wool blanket that smells like a forest floor. It’s the one he and Eliott had taken to an outdoor cinema, on a blisteringly hot night back in the summer, where they drank cheap red wine straight from the bottle and kissed under the twilight sky and barely paid attention to the film, too wrapped up in one another.

It was, as far as nights go, a perfect one. So vastly different from the night Lucas just experienced, the murky, drowned end of a day spent worrying about where Eliott was, when Lucas hadn’t heard from him for days.

Lucas swings his legs off of the sofa, heels hitting an icy wood floor, toes curling into the mossy blanket. He drops his head into his hands. He feels hungover even though he went to sleep sober.

You should have known, he tells himself harshly. You should have known he was having an episode. You’re supposed to take care of him. How can you say you love him if you can’t even take care him?

Lucas pushes himself up from the sofa, scrubbing at his eyes and willing his mind to leave him alone, even if just for a moment, a moment, so he can figure out what to do for Eliott, what Eliott will need from him right now.

Coffee. He’s going to start with coffee.

He fills an entire carafe, enough for himself and Eliott, if he comes out of his room. If he wants any. While the coffee steeps Lucas leans against the counter, lost in thought, absently chewing on his thumbnail.

What does Eliott need from you right now?

He doesn’t know.

He texts Eliott’s parents, but his mother tells Lucas she’s already heard from him, that she knows Eliott is okay, but still thanks Lucas for checking in with them. He opens Eliott’s laptop on the kitchen table and finds an email from one his professors, telling Eliott not to worry about the class he missed, that he can make up for any missed work the following week.

And suddenly Lucas is getting teary-eyed while reading an email on Eliott’s laptop, standing in Eliott’s kitchen in his boxers and a t-shirt. It’s just. Eliott took care of everything, and Lucas is so proud of him, almost dizzyingly so. It’s a small thing, a small way Eliott is taking care of himself, but Lucas knows Eliott, and he knows that, really, it’s a big thing.

He’s so proud of Eliott. He really is. So when his own mind decides to ask, You’re supposed to take care of him, but he doesn’t even need you for that, Lucas feels frustration curl in his chest like smoke. He wants to take a match to his thoughts, wants to drown them in the bottom of the sink.

That is not what this is about. You are not Eliott’s caregiver, you’re his boyfriend. You’re here because he wants you to be here. He said that it helps, remember?

It’s a comforting placation, and Lucas holds onto it. A flickering flame he shelters from the storm of his own self-doubt.

He pours himself a cup of the coffee that’s been left steeping for too long, now. He stands on Eliott’s tiny balcony and stares blankly out into the greying, muggy skies of Paris and sips at coffee that is as bitter as tar, sweetened only by the thought of Eliott’s voice, by the memory of how his smile tastes.

By mid-morning Eliott still hasn’t left his room.

Lucas drains the rest of the coffee, wraps himself in one of Eliott’s hoodies he finds hanging in the entryway, and logs into his own email from Eliott’s laptop, downloading his readings for class that week.

He doesn’t actually have any pressing work, but he gets ahead, reading through the PDFs at Eliott’s table, his legs curled under himself and a plate of toast at his elbow, typing lazy notes into a Google Doc.

He sees Eliott for only a moment, a ghost of a boy disappearing around the corner to the bathroom. He doesn’t speak to Lucas when he passes by again, returning to his room as silently as he left it. Lucas waits a minute, then another, before he stands, dipping his head outside of the kitchen. The slice of toast he’d left for Eliott is still there, but the cup of tea is gone, and that makes Lucas smile.

It rains for a little while in the afternoon, while Lucas is cleaning Eliott’s living room, folding the mossy blanket back into a neat square, straightening the sofa cushions, tidying the notebooks and pencils scattered across the coffee table. He doesn’t mean to look, but one of the notebooks is open, one page covered entirely in charcoal smudges, blurred streaks broken up by fingerprints and scratched-out words. On the other page, there’s a single line written in clumsy scrawl at the top of the page:

What does peace feel like?

Lucas breath is caught in his throat. He finds himself reaching for the page, his fingers aching, as though he’ll be able to feel Eliott through the curve of every etching, as though he can unwrap Eliott’s layers from this alone, from pressing his hands between the pages.

His phone buzzes and he startles, fumbling for it in the deep pockets of Eliott’s hoodie. It’s a text from Yann, asking Lucas if everything is okay after last night. If Eliott is okay. Lucas gently closes the notebook, sighing. Even if he is Eliott’s boyfriend, he shouldn’t look through his private work. Just because he’s in love with Eliott doesn’t mean he has the rights to every part of him.

He doesn’t text Yann back. He calls him.

Yann answers on the second ring. “Lucas? Everything okay?”

“Yeah.” Lucas’s voice is hoarse to his own ears. He clears his throat, rubbing a hand over his eyes. “Yeah, it’s okay. Eliott’s doing better, I think. He’s sleeping right now.”

Yann hums knowingly. “Okay. And what about you?”

“Yeah, I’m just…uh. I’m, you know. I’m here.”

“You sound tired. Did you sleep at all last night?”

“A bit.”

There’s a pause. “Lucas, are you sure you’re okay? Do you want me to come over?” Yann’s voice is coloured dark-blue with concern, and Lucas can see his face so clearly, the point of tension between his eyebrows, the downward tilt to his mouth. He’s worried about Lucas.

“No, no. Thanks, but I’m alright.” Lucas sighs. “I’m sorry. I’ve just been…having some weird thoughts today. I dunno. Maybe it’s because it’s been so quiet here.”

“Thoughts about what?”

Lucas sinks to the edge of the coffee table, stretching his legs out in front of himself. “I dunno.” He repeats. He shrugs even though Yann can’t see it.

“Okay.” There’s a rustle on the other end of the line. “Well, if I know you, you’re beating yourself up about something.”

“I’m not.”

“Uh huh.”

“I just hope I’m helping him, you know?” Lucas blurts out. He stops, but there’s a heavy silence on the other end of the line. Yann waiting him out. “I want to be good for him. As good as he is for me. I don’t want to be…useless.”

“Lucas.” The word is weighted with affection.

“I dunno. Yeah. It’s stupid.”

“It’s not stupid, but it’s not true. You know why? Because literally everything you do for Eliott is because you love him. Because you want to make him happy. Usefulness has nothing to do with it. That’s why we fall in love with people, not with wrenches.”

Lucas snorts. “What?”

“I said what I said. Lucas, you are good for him. Trust me.” Yann pauses. When he speaks again, his voice is soft. “You know, he tells me about it all the time. Eliott does. About how good you are to him. He said to me me once that he doesn’t know what he did to deserve you.”

Lucas exhales slowly. His eyes travel to the windows, where the sun is tilting down in the sky, dropping into a oil spill of colour. It’s later than he thought it was.

“If you ask me, you two deserve each other. Falling over yourselves to be the most selfless, or the most loving or whatever.” He can practically hear Yann shaking his head. “Romantic idiots.”

Lucas makes an offended noise.

“Come on, you know what I mean. You love each other.”

Lucas nods. “Yeah,” he mumbles.

“Alright, then.”

There’s a beat of silence. Lucas is still staring out the window, at where the sun is falling down, down, and he’s thinking about ordering some food for dinner, and he’s thinking about how lucky he is to be surrounded by people like Yann. Like Eliott. People with hearts like mountains.

“Hey,” he says. “Yann, listen. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. If you want, you can call me later, okay? It’s just Arthur coming over to game tonight, so it’ll be chill. Or even, come over here.”

“Yeah. Yeah, thank you, again.”

Yann laughs gently. “No worries, Lulu. Take care of yourself.” And he hangs up.

Lucas taps his phone against his bottom lip, smiling to himself as he pulls his gaze from the oil-spill sun across the living room to Eliott’s closed door.

He told me once he doesn’t know what he did to deserve you.

What does peace feel like?

Lucas winds up ordering pizza, because he’s cheap, and because he’s starving.

He winds up ordering a large, with Eliott’s favourite toppings on it, because he’s in love.

Lucas props open the door to Eliott’s balcony with a potted plant, moving the chairs aside and dragging out the sofa cushions along with the big wool blanket. He brings the box of pizza outside, along with two glasses of water, and waits, draping the blanket around his shoulders and hitting shuffle to a playlist on his phone. He turns off all of the lights in the kitchen except for one over the stove, then plugs in the string of fairy lights Eliott has wrapped around the iron fence surrounding the balcony.

He knows Eliott might not come out, and that’s fine if he doesn’t want to. But if he does, Lucas wants the world that greets him to be a nice one. One with all of Eliott’s favourite things in it.

Despite the muggy morning and mid-day rain, it’s a clear night. The air is cool, the chill of an early autumn night settling itself deep into the bones of Paris, but the sunset is spectacular, dark orange bleeding into a bright and vivid purple, both colours chased down the horizon by deep indigo, a blanket of stars coming to put the city to sleep. Lucas has never liked how the days get shorter, and shorter, and shorter as the Earth tilts on its axis but right now, there’s something comforting he finds in the falling dark.

“What is this?”

He jumps on the spot, craning his neck around because he knows who it is, it could literally only be one person, and there’s Eliott, standing just outside of the entrance to the balcony. His hair is sticking up in every possible direction, his sweatpants are tucked into a pair of thick wool socks, one sitting a lot higher than the other, his black t-shirt is slouching off of one shoulder and he’s tired, clearly tired, the delicate skin under his eyes coloured purple and blue, hollow under the low light.

He’s frowning slightly, sluggish and slow.

Lucas can’t stop smiling.

“I got us dinner.” He says simply, gesturing to the open pizza box. “There’s a glass of water for you, too.”

Eliott’s eyes flick down to the food. Like a reflex, his stomach growls, and he winces. “But what’s…” He gestures vaguely at the fairy lights, at Lucas’s makeshift fort of blanket and cushion. “What’s this?”

“Uh.” Lucas smoothes a hand down the blanket. “This is just…for you.”

Eliott raises his eyebrows. “For me?”

“I wanted to make it nice for you.”

“Oh.” Eliott says softly. He chews down on his bottom lip, shifting on his feet where he’s still standing at the entrance, like he’s scared to enter the little universe Lucas has built. “I wasn’t sure if you’d still be here.” He says at length. “I was surprised to find you.”

Lucas feels his heart clench. “Sweetheart,” he murmurs, and slowly, he raises a hand, offering it to Eliott. Eliott hesitates to take it, and Lucas amends, “If you want to be alone, that’s okay. Do you want to take the food and go back to your room?”

Eliott shakes his head. “No. No, I want…” He meets Lucas’s fingers with his own, their hands folding together. Lucas can’t control the happy sigh he lets out at the feel of Eliott’s hand against his own, and it makes Eliott’s head snap up. When he sees Lucas staring up at him, a beaming smile on his face, he gives a small smile back.

Lucas tugs gently and Eliott steps onto the balcony. He stands there for a moment, eyes roaming from the food, to the lights, to the sunset, and he really is so gorgeous, Lucas thinks. He’s ethereal. He puts all the heavenly beings to shame just by existing.

“This is beautiful.” Eliott says softly, then he’s lowering himself to the cushions, folding his long legs underneath himself and curling into Lucas’s side. “Thank you.”

Lucas grips a corner of the blanket in his fist and wraps his arm around Eliott, creating a cocoon of warm, earthy wool for the both of them. “It’s nothing.” Lucas whispers into Eliott’s hair, and Eliott smells a bit like sleep, like he’s spent too long in bed, and his fair feels a little greasy under Lucas’s cheek but he’s here. He’s warm underneath Lucas’s arm and he’s breathing and he’s here and Lucas has never meant anything more than he means those words. It’s nothing. I’d do anything for you.

“It’s not nothing.” Eliott disagrees. He pulls back a bit from Lucas, but his eyes stay low “It’s not. You stayed. All night and all day, you were here.”

“Of course I was.” Lucas says. He gently nudges Eliott’s chin up with his thumb. “Hey. Of course I stayed.”

“I really didn’t think you would. I actually…” Eliott sighs and draws further away, the blanket slipping off one of his shoulders. He reaches for the glass of water Lucas set aside for him. “I expected you to leave.”

Lucas stares at him. “What do you mean? Eliott, if you really wanted to be alone, you could have told me.”

Eliott takes a long drink, waves a hand out flat towards Lucas. “I’ve been…down the last few days.”

Lucas nods. “I know, and I’m sorry I didn’t see any of the usual signs, or—”

“Lucas, please.” Eliott sounds desperate, desperate to speak without being interrupted. Lucas presses his lips together firmly, mouths sorry to him. Eliott inhales sharply, his shoulders rising up towards his ears. “I know you mean well, Lucas, but you can’t talk about signs like my mental illness is an incoming hurricane.”

Lucas’s eyes drop down, chastened.

“I’m not mad.” Eliott presses a finger into Lucas’s bent knee. “I just want to explain. I didn’t have a manic episode, but I was down. I was depressed. And that happens. Or sometimes I’m just manic. There’s no pattern to this, Lucas. It never makes sense, not even to me.” Eliott takes another drink of water. “So, I was down, and I didn’t tell you about it because, I don’t know. I didn’t want to bother you, I guess. Or at least, I didn’t think it was anything too serious. But then I’m working on some homework for an art class, where the professor posed us a question to think on. The questions was: What does peace feel like? And it was when I was working on that, that I…” Eliott shrugs. “I couldn’t grasp it. I tried to write some things down but I got frustrated, and I scratched it all out, and in the end it looked like complete chaos, and I lost it because. That’s what I am. That’s what the inside of me looks like. What it feels like, sometimes.” Eliott’s voice cracks, and he masks it with another sip of water.

Lucas feels like his chest is caving in on itself.

“And I realized,” Eliott continues, “that peace feels like you. That’s how I feel, when I’m with you. But that, that scared me.” Eliott stares at Lucas directly now. “You can’t love another person like that, where they’re your entire life. And nobody can be loved like that. Everyone will get hurt, that way.” Eliott shakes his head. “But at that point, I was spiralling, and all I wanted was to see you, to have you make everything quiet, but that was also one of the reasons I was spiralling, because I rely too much on you.”

“Eliott.” Lucas whispers. He tries to say a million things with his name.

Eliott shakes his head again. “I didn’t want to call you, but I did, and then when I saw you it was such a relief, but I was so angry at myself for wanting to see you. For needing you. So I asked you to stay and went to my room and I thought, maybe when I wake up he won’t be here. But you were. And you are still here, which is.” Eliott picks up Lucas’s hand and presses a kiss to the back of it. Then another. “I know it’s not true.” He says quietly. He rests his cheek against their clasped hands. “I’m learning to take care of myself. I’m becoming strong on my own. Actually my,” he huffs a laugh, “my therapist says I’m doing really well, but she also says that it’s good to have someone who can help me when everything is too much. She says it’s not wrong to need others, sometimes.”

“It’s not.” Lucas says, squeezing Eliott’s hand.

“I know.” Eliott smiles at him, eyes wet. “I do. But it can be one thing to know, and another to believe.”

Lucas nods, and gently cards his free hand through Eliott’s hair. “I’m sorry I didn’t listen, at first. Thank you for telling me. Thank you for trusting me.”

Eliott shrugs. “Thank you for being here.”

They say I love you at the exact same time, and it makes them both smile, Lucas laughing when Eliott’s stomach growls again.

They eat pizza and sit together under the wide open sky of the little universe Lucas built, watching the stars blink to life as the night grows long and restless.

“This feels like peace.” Eliott says quietly, tucking himself back under Lucas’s arm. “Being here with you.”

Lucas presses a smile into his hair. “Yeah?”

Eliott nods, kissing where Lucas’s shirt dips low on his collarbone. “And watching the stars, seeing the moon rise. That feels like peace.”

Lucas think for a moment. “Watching the rain fall from inside.”

“Taking a deep breath of fresh air.”

“Going for a walk at midnight.”

“Listening to a really good song. Just closing your eyes and listening.”

“Laughing so hard you cry.”

“Drawing something, letting it carry you away.”

“Eating pizza.”

Eliott laughs, and kisses Lucas’s neck, letting his mouth linger there. “Being held by you. Feeling your hands on me.”

Lucas nods, like he’s agreeing, but he also whispers, “Orgasms,” and Eliott smacks him in the stomach.

“Lucas.” Eliott groans, but he’s laughing, properly laughing, and it’s the first time Lucas has heard that in days.

“Hearing you laugh.” Lucas says. His free hand comes up and smoothes across the corner of Eliott’s bottom lip. “Your smile. That’s it, for me.”

Eliott’s smile softens. His lashes swoop in one slow blink. “Do you…want to stay the night? I know you’ve been here for a while, but if you want to, then. I want you to.”

Lucas is already nodding. “I want to. I’ll sleep on the couch again, if you like.”

“No, no. That’s okay.” Eliott presses himself impossibly closer. “But thank you.”

“No problem.” Lucas runs a soothing hand down Eliott’s back. “Just let me know if you change your mind, sweetheart.”

Eliott’s melting into him, the remaining tension in his body falling away bit by bit, and Lucas can see how exhausted Eliott is, can see how much the last few days have taken out of him, and he’s so proud of him, of this boy who’s more beautiful than the stars and has the heart of a mountain and is stronger than most people will ever know.

“If I’m going to stay,” Lucas says, Eliott shifting against him, “then I want to take a shower.”

“Okay.” Eliott agrees easily.

“Do you want to join me?” Lucas asks, brushing Eliott’s hair back from his forehead. “I’ll wash your hair for you.”

“Oh.” Eliott murmurs. “That sounds nice. Yeah, let’s do that.”

Lucas stands first, gathering the empty cups and pizza box and bringing everything inside, Eliott coming in after, the blanket wrapped around his shoulders, trailing behind him like a ceremonial robe.

Lucas unplugs the lights, and it’s dark inside Eliott’s apartment, but neither of them bother turning on any more lights. It’s easy enough for them to get around, lit up by the bright stars, guiding each other with tightly held hands.

It’s dark, and they’re both moving slowly, a bit clumsy, but we’re not worried.

We know they’ll make it there.

#prompts #eliottamoureaux #tarot prompts #fic tag #elu fic #also!!!#for the anon who sent this prompt and the high priestess #i will definitely fill the high priestess so keep an eye out for that!!

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pennys-th0ughts · 5 years

Text

The Bond (Chapter two)

The hot and dark liquid went down my throat as thin small lava rivers going downhill, something that made me rip off the last veils of stupor from an overslept morning. Amara had made some blueberries pancakes and the smell was flooding the kitchen in every direction possible. The soft perfume of the fruits lying on a black glass bowl mixed with Amy’s was making a citric-floral combination that, to me, was a little irresistible. Amara came to me and wrapped her arms from behind; she sank her face in the hollow of my neck and kissed me tenderly. The contact with her soft skin gave me goosebumps and sent a delicious shiver down my spine that made me close my eyes just to enjoy the warmth of her breath. Once she had me at her mercy, she began playing with my hair, interlacing her fingers and pulling locks of it in a way that only she knew it would put me under an unbreakable spell.

– ¿Is it me or are you looking for an exciting way to start the day, princess? – I asked feeling I was losing the battle of restraining myself against her sensual charms.

– I will leave that to your own judgement, Robert – Amy playfully winked at me with her green eye.

She kept massaging the back of my head but pulling my hair a little harder this time. She was definitely decided to make me lose my temper by making the walls of my will to crumble, brick by brick. Amara finally merged her lips with mine, got her hand under my shirt and started sliding it over my chest slowly. The tip of her index finger met one of my nipples and their greeting lasted a couple of minutes. Amy’s circular movements made my chest skin get tense and by the time she let go my already sensible nipples, I was going through a rough boner my pants were hardly keeping at bay. Amara undid my belt and unbuttoned my pants and I immediately felt my underwear expanding, giving some room to my private parts.

– You are sailing in dangerous waters, darling…

Amy shut me up placing one of her fingers on my lips, got her hand under my underclothes and began giving me a delicious hand job. As she started speeding up the pace, as my grouting began to get louder until she muffled the noises with her mouth one more time. Amara was feeling really horny that morning and it didn’t took so long before she took her underwear off and take a sit on my lap. The movements of her waist were intoxicating and delicious, like the finest wine being tasted for the first time by the wisest palate. She was the sweetest wine and I was starting to get really drunk.

– ¿Am I doing it okay, daddy? – She boldly whispered and bit my earlobe.

Every move she was making and every word she was teasing me with were only fuel to the fire she had lit on me and I feared that everything will end up in a very big mess, but she didn’t and kept on going with her naughty little game. Amara was pressing herself against me so strongly that her walls began feeling tight which meant only one thing, she was ready and she was inviting me to cum inside.

– Let it go, daddy – she demanded pulling my hair backwards.

Amy sucked my lower lip and bit it after and that was it. I couldn’t hold up myself much longer and I finally released all the tension of my body to my lower abdomen. Slowly I started feeling how every muscle relaxed and tasty little spasms invaded me, running down from the back of my head to my toes. Same reaction took over Amara’s body. She was exhausted but I could tell in her expression that she was satisfied; she lied down on my chest without leaving her place and softly caressed my cheek.

– That tasted better than breakfast, princess – I dared to point that out in a mischievous tone-. I could get used to this.

Onyx showed up at the kitchen’s door and sat there while judging us in silence with his amber eyes. Then he started washing his face with one of his paws. Amy and I got dressed and picked some of the clothes up that were still scattered all over the floor. We exchanged looks of complicity and laughed since Onyx should be thankful for not witnessing a short conditioned movie minutes ago. Being also judged by a cat during such intimate moment would have been a way too embarrassing experience to bear with.

Outside the streets were being filled by an early afternoon sun and a warm breeze. Spring was just blooming like some wild flowers in the countryside; sparrows were crowding the trees and harmonizing cheerful little songs along with the rest of the nocturnal beings. Another day was slowly coming to an end leaving behind the soft perfume of rosebuds. Amara led the way to the quarry’s lake. She was excited about the idea of taking a dip in those turbid waters with no clothes on and I was starting to be dragged by the same idea.

A pale white moon was high above in the sky, shedding some light upon us, bathing our bodies silently with blueish tones. Amara was in the lake and all I could see were her slim delicate curves moving like the small waves around her. I was enjoying my little private show in silence, capturing every single detail with my blue eyes and sending them right where I wanted them to be. In the distance, Amara looked like a mystic creature, untamed and hussy; the perfect portrait of the mythological mermaid that existed only in child fairytales. Her wet silhouette seemed to be pearled by the moonlight. Suddenly she went for a deeper dive and vanished of my sight. I was started to get worried when few minutes passed and she didn’t come up to the surface. I stood up and began dissecting every inch of the lake searching for her when my eyes turned their usual color to an amber yellowish one. The spectrum of tonalities and shades were clearer which meant that I could easily see in the dark. I was getting in the lake when I finally saw her little head popping out of the water. The feeling of relief made me sigh deeply and smile like a fool at the thought of being so overprotective, but I couldn’t help it.

Amara started her way to the shore and once I had her in front of me, all soaking wet and naked, she wrapped her arms around my neck and rested her head on my chest; as mine rested on hers, my hands holding her waist began shaking. The burning feeling was slowly crawling upwards through my arms as if I was placing them on a bonfire. Amy took my shirt off and motioned me to sit on the grass; then she continued undressing me provocatively without leaving her tenderness behind. I was undoubtedly at her mercy and actually I didn’t mind to be part of her dirty little games that often. Such level of trust and commitment had strengthened even more over time and that, ironically, instilled certain fear in me. The only fear I was afraid the most: losing her.

The look on my face must have been of complete distraction since she had to wave her hand in front of my eyes to make me snap out of it.

– Robert, – she chuckled- ¿you alright?

I shook my head until my eyes got fixed in hers then I took her face between my hands and laid a kiss on her plump lips.

It was an overwhelming hot morning when the end of everything I knew began. A suffocating day that reminded me the hell I came from and how far I have travelled to put it behind, a place where darkness and shadows were the main features of a faceless creature which primary mission was to consume and destroy. I was an abominable entity that survived because I kept on feeding on so many people’s fears and nightmares, I was nothing but a bad seed that successfully made its way and bloomed in-between the human’s mind cracks of insecurity, sorrow and loneliness. I was a rotten fruit and all the darkness a person can barely imagine. I had been designated one mission: to conquer the weak and kill the rebel minds, to infest another world in decay and turn it into a nest for the beast to breed and multiply. I was a messenger of death and death will follow me wherever I go, no matter how hard I try to deny my true nature, it would always remind me what I had been created for.

The blue cover book Amara was holding in her hand flew through the air and its pages got torn up violently ending up most of them scattered on the floor. As the object crashed on the concrete, so did her body with a thud. I saw everything happening in slow motion and the powerless feeling that flooded my body froze me on the spot disabling almost all my motor functions except for my eyes and my breathing, everything else had been shut down like a machine having a malfunction. The chaotic noises came first, later, a deathly silence and finally the indistinct screaming. Amara was crossing the street when the careless driver hit the break but he didn’t make it on time and his reckless intent to cross when the light was turning red resulted in a fatal tragedy for many people. A few got injured because of the shattered glass that flew in every direction and some metallic parts coming from both cars got detached, but only one was killed.

My knees threatened to collapse but I made the effort to not to fall, my eyes were already full of tears and the knot in my throat was chocking me more and more. I ran to where Amara was lying without looking around me. My eyesight was fixed only in one place preventing me from looking anything else. Amara’s body was severely injured and it was easy to see the many broken bones the car crash costed her. Her black hair was dyed in red because of the pool of blood her head was resting on and her beautiful but pale face was distorted with pain. I knelt by her side and got the chance to see a slight smile on her lips before she passed away. That was her own way of telling me that everything will be okay. That was her way of saying goodbye.

I took Amara’s lifeless body in my arms and whispered something to her ear that no one would be able to hear then I picked her up and disappeared using one of the sewer holes taking advantage of the shocked and curious audience still focused on the car crash.

Her body started to get cold but the expression on her face was peaceful, as if she was in some kind of deep sleep. I put her body inside the circus wagon I used to live in for so many decades and closed the narrow door. I sat down at the edge of the small stage and thought for long minutes. I was feeling empty and trapped in my own cobwebs. The desperate sensation was drowning me, dragging me into the darkest and unspeakable depths of madness. For a moment my body felt light as a feather. Suspended in the air by invisible threads, that were tied up to my hands and feet, my limbs began moving on their own making me dance incoherently while a voice very similar to mine started laughing diabolically. “¡Dance, Pennywise, dance!. Pennywise the dancing clown…”

A deathly hauling came out of my throat that forced me to fall on my knees. I covered my ears to stop hearing the guttural voices that kept spinning around me like some kind of dying swarm until the noise became louder and unbearable. There is when I gave up to my most compassionate side and decided to do something I knew I shouldn’t do, something that was punishable by death in case you get to have a soul and if you didn’t then you would surely be condemned to be torn in pieces and live an endless agony until you would be finally gone. I breathed in profoundly and encouraged myself to proceeded. I still had time but I was lacking of the most important component of this body switching ritual, the final vessel for the soul.

Amara had the little bad habit of leaving one of the bedroom’s windows slightly open. I opened it up and got inside trying not to look suspicious and making the less noise possible to not scare Onyx. Once inside I searched for him in the living room. He was peacefully sleeping in his bed next to the fire place. The moon was pouring its light inside the room from one of the windows and it looked like a soft blanket covering Onyx’s carbon black fur. I walked towards the cat and sat down in front of him, then, I gently patted his head to wake him up.

– Something terrible has happened, my little friend, – I lifted him up and fixed my eyes with his. Onyx didn’t turn his gaze away and kept looking at me as if he was capable to understand what I was saying- and I'm going to need your help.

I could feel his tiny heart accelerating and a crystal like little tear rolled down one of his cheeks. A mixture of bewilderment and sorrow oppressed my chest once more; the mortal creature and I didn’t need much more than to look at each other to understand each other. Onyx had finished creating a special bond with me and that was all I needed.

To replace someone’s old body the new one needed to make space for the soul thus it had to die. Amara had died not long ago and Onyx’s body was in perfect shape and healthy, but his soul needed to leave his body in order to Amara’s could take place in it. What I was about to do was against nature laws and every possible human right, but I didn’t care. I was blindfolded by sadness, rage and guilt, to not see it coming. My sense of perception was sharp and got more accurate over the years going beyond of any other kind of human perceptive skill but what happened this day I just couldn’t foresee it.

Onyx was lying down next to Amara’s broken body in complete silence as if he was getting ready for what I was going to do. In his amber eyes there wasn’t a hint of fear but deep sadness. Noticing his restlessness I hurried myself to begin with the body switching process.

– This is not going to hurt my little friend – I comforted him and patted his little head.

I placed four fingers on his eyes closed and two on Amara’s and began singing an ancient chanting which origins belonged to the world of my dimension. I repeated the key words three times, took a red thread and tied up Amara’s hand to Onix’s paw. Suddenly the cat stopped breathing.

Some minutes went by and everything around me was nothing but silence until something extraordinary happened. I lifted my hands from their eyes and Amara’s had turned amber. Another couple more minutes went by until Onyx finally started breathing again and there is when I cut the red cord. In that moment I felt an indescribable relief as if I had been holding my breath under water for a long time. I took the cat in my hands and picked him up carefully; I started slowly rocking him in my arms like a newborn child waiting patiently for him to open his eyes. When he finally did, I locked my blue eyes on his and felt an overwhelming joy warming my chest. And there they were, those beautiful blue and green eyes, those living marbles that stole my heart the first moment I saw them…

I want to thank the collaboration of @sunflowerskissed for helping me picking the name for the cat.

This story was made in commemoration of my little furry friend Taco, who passed away not so long ago.

I miss you dearly buddy 💔

#penny's thoughts #pennywise #short story

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buckyscrystalqueen · 6 years

Text

Matching Crazy: Part 3

Pairings: Negan x Reader

Warnings: Swearing, PTSD, Fluff, Angst

Word Count: 5,530

Part 1 / Part 2

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The bar was packed for the re-opening. You were grateful that you had insisted on having four women at the bar because if you had stuck with the old manager’s schedule, the two girls on the bar would have been swamped. You hadn’t stopped moving long enough to even smoke a cigarette since the doors had opened.

“(Y/N)!” Dwight, one of the club members called out from the pool tables as you walked past him with a tray of drinks balanced expertly over your head. “Can we get some drinks over here?”

“Dwight, you are just as capable of walkin’ up ta that damn bar as I am.” You yelled back as you dipped past a group of college age girls that were drooling over Dean as he played pool with Simon.

“Aw, come on!” Dwight whined as you came to a stop at the table you were serving.

“Alright, four whiskey cokes, three shots of tequila, and one pineapple upside down shot.” You said as you laid out the drinks with a smile. “That’s forty-six fifty.”

“Oh.” One of the guys at the table said as they all looked at you, expectantly. “We’re regulars. We have a thing with the manager…”

“Forty-six fifty or y’all can get the fuck out of my bar.” You repeated as you put the tray under your arm. “We’re under new management and as that new manager, I don’t give a fuck if y’all used to come in here for free. Pay up, or get the fuck out. Or, I can go get Negan and see if he thinks you fall under the free drinks cap. Your call.” The group of four instantly reached for their wallets as you pulled out a pad of paper from the back pocket of your jeans to add another tally to the apparently endless list of ‘free drinks’ people expected thanks to the last manager. You shook your head and thanked them when they gave you sixty bucks and told you to keep the change. With a nod, you headed back up to the bar to ring out the order and pick up the next table’s drinks.

“How’s it going, baby girl?” Negan asked from where he stood in the shadows between the two parts of the bar. You sighed and shook your head as you stopped moving for the first time in almost six hours to say hi to the man you hadn’t seen all day.

“Twenty seven.” You said as you showed him the notebook. “Twenty seven tables since we opened that expected free drinks.” You glanced up at him with small smirk and a shrug. “Haven’t had to bust anyone’s mouth open, though so we’re doing good so far.” He nodded his head and handed you your notebook.

“Sales looking good, then?”

“Far as I know.” You responded as you stepped over to the bar and put the empty tray and the payment down for Arat, who was the bartender responsible for floor drinks that night, to load up for you. “I don’t know how your girls behind the other end of the bar are doing, and but I should know after inventory so we’ll see.” He nodded and grabbed the back of your head to kiss your forehead.

“Come find me when you have a slow spell.” You nodded your head as Arat told you the next load was up before she turned to help Laura with the people at the bar until more floor drinks were ordered. With a glance at the ticket, you scowled, and looked over at Dwight and his shit eating grin.

“You’re a pain in my ass.” You said as you carried the tray over to him and the Saviors he was playing pool with.

“Just keeping you on your toes, (Y/N).” He laughed as he handed you just a tip since the club drank for ‘free’. You marked their beers on a different page to pull the payment for them later in the night before collecting the empty bottles so you could go do your rounds to get more drink orders in.

You headed down the row of booths that lined the front and side walls of the bar, trying to figure out a way to deal with the club’s drinks, which where the half price drinks paid for from their membership dues at the end of the month wouldn’t affect your margins, when someone slammed into you, causing you to fall hard into the wood panel between a set of booths. You turned as shouts filled the room, and you had just enough time to dodge a massive, mountain of a man who had been pushed by two other guys while waiting for Regina to get them drinks.

“Dean!” Dwight yelled at the same time you grabbed your tray with both hands and swung it into the face of one of the guys who did the pushing.

“Whoa!” Dean yelled as you punched the other guy in the throat.

“Outta my bar!” You roared as you stood on your tiptoes, grabbed the guy who had been pushed’s hair, and yanked him toward the door.

“Give him here.” Dean tried as he reached out to take the guy.

“I got him.” You said as you muscled the man toward the door by his hair, and a pressure point behind his ear. “Get them.” The room filled with whistles and cheering as you pushed the guy out the door and kicked him toward the street with your knee high, flat bottomed boot. “Don’t step foot in this bar again.”

“Damn, girl.” Dean said as he shoved the other two guys out the door behind the first. “You don’t even need security here, do you?” You shrugged as you high fived a random bar patron on your way back to work.

“Didn’t need security in the desert, don’t need it here now.” You picked up your tray, and threw your hair back over your head with a huff. You looked around at the couple dozen people that were watching you, and simply shrugged. “Yea, y’all fuck around in this bar, y’all answer to the club and a tiny ass Marine. Now, who needs a fucking drink?” You were met with a round of cheers and applause as you stepped over to the closest table to grab empty glasses and put in an order for another round.

——

“Hey trouble.” Negan said with a chuckle as he came into your office as you counted out the register drawer Michelle was using. “Heard you had a fan-fucking-tastic night.” You nodded as you finished counting the drawer, and put everything over one hundred dollars to the side to give to Sam for the bank.

“Busy.” You said with a nod as you wrote down the total she actually had in her drawer, and picked it and her close of sales receipt up to show Negan. “Found one of your thief’s.”

“How much?” He asked as he looked at the two different totals.

“Over thirteen hundred after the free drinks she gave away, and the cash she skimmed off the drawer because I know she didn’t serve anyone from the club.” You told him as you showed him the Partender inventory count you had each girl complete in their section before they could leave. “Told you Partender would be worth it.”

“I’ll deal with her ass tomorrow.” He said as he set the receipts down on your desk. “How’d the other girls do?”

“Good.” You said with a nod as you grabbed the other sales receipts. “The biggest problem we’re gunna run into is the club’s drinks. We’ll have to get them to just purchase from only one girl you trust or have one of the harlots take care of them from over here. Their drinks alone at half price were close to three hundred bucks, and it’s money I have to pull from dues to pay for.”

“Hey, don’t fucking stress it.” Negan said as he lit a joint, and passed it to you to start calming you down for bed. “Just fucking work it out with Sam tomorrow. If I have to have a fucking harlot running drinks from over here to keep the numbers even than that’s what I have to do.” You nodded your head and sat back in your chair as you looked up at him.

“You’re really cute, you know that?” He smiled down at you as you reached out to pull him toward you by his kutte.

“You think so?” He asked as he took the joint from you and laid it in the ashtray on your desk. You shook your head slowly, and leaned back farther in your chair as he put both his hands on the arm rests.

“Don’t have to think.” You said as you slid your hands up his chest to hold on to his neck. “I know. Anyone with eyes can see it.” You smiled as you leaned forward to whisper in his ear. “And according to the little whispers, I’m not the only one that thinks that. On top of that, if the whispers can be believed, you want a little taste of a certain Marine.” He groaned in your ear as you pulled on his brown dappled grey hair.

“Well shit, sweetheart. I’d have played fucking ball weeks ago…” He leaned back to search your eyes with his eyebrow raised.

“I know you would have.” You nodded as you cupped his jaw in your hands and brushed your thumbs across his scruff. “But I needed to trust you first. Trust as much as I can for now.” He nodded in your hands as he reached up to brush a lavender strand of hair behind your ear.

“I’ve got all the fucking time in the world, baby girl. No matter how bad I wanna fuck you, I can wait until my Queen is ready.”

“So I’m your Queen?” You asked as you wrapped your legs around his thighs, and pulled him even closer.

“Since the day you stumbled into my fucking bar, baby girl.” He nodded as he let you pull him closer to your face. “There’s just something about you that makes every other fucking woman pale in comparison.”

“I am pretty fucking awesome.” You said with a smile as you barely brushed your lips against his. He instantly captured your lips and held on to the back of your head to keep you exactly where he wanted you. You whined a moan against his lips and wrapped your arms around his neck, allowing him to let go of your hair and pick you up off the chair.

“Let’s go to bed, baby girl.” He said as he squeezed the backs of your thighs. “I’m fucking beat.” You nodded and leaned back to look at him.

“I need five minutes to put the money away, and shut down in here. I’ll meet you in there?” He nodded as he reluctantly put you down.

“Don’t keep me fuckin’ waitin’.” With a nod, you gave him a chaste kiss, and turned to clean up at the end of the day.

“I won’t I promise. I’m exhausted, too.” He gave you a light spank and headed out of your office, making sure to grab the joint from your ashtray on the way.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Negan knew that smoking weed to help with your nightmares wouldn’t last forever but he was absolutely not expecting the night he was about to have. He had you pulled back against his chest, held tight in his arms when you lurched against him hard enough to almost knock the air out of his lungs.

“No.” You cried as you used your arms and legs to push back against him to get away from whatever was terrorizing you. “No, don’t hurt me.”

“Baby?” Negan said softly as he pulled you even tighter in his arms, and tried to get to your wrists. “Who, baby girl?”

“The man.” You choked as tears started falling down your face. “He’s gunna kill me.”

“OK.” Negan nodded as he put his leg over yours to keep you in place so you wouldn’t hurt yourself. “I’m here…”

“No don’t!” You screamed as you stared wide eyed at the open bathroom door in the glow of the TV’s light.

“OK, OK.” He tried as he folded your arms across your chest and held them in place with one hand. “I’ll protect you. It’s…” His words were cut off by your screams as you gripped his arm tight, and continued to try to push back into him. Which didn’t make Rick Grimes bursting through his bedroom door any better.

“Hands up. We have a warrant.” Rick said as he shown a flashlight in your direction, which only made you freak out more.

“No!” Negan roared as he tucked his arms around you to conceal the fact that you were naked from the three sheriffs in the room, and not giving a damn about his own nudity at the moment. “She’s fucking fine! She has severe PTSD, and is having a fucking night terror!”

“The man!” You sobbed as you clung to Negan like a safety net, and fought against him to get away. “No, please!”

“Fucking please!” Negan roared as he curled into you even more to get away from the officer trying to rip him out of bed.

“Leave him.” Rick said with a nod as he held up his hand to his subordinate. “Give her space.” Negan let out a sigh of relief as he looked past the bright light at the man that absolutely hated him, and continued to try to hold you down.

“It’s alright, baby girl.” He said in your ear as Rick stepped toward the door, but stayed in the doorway with his back turned to the pair of you. “It’s alright, I got you. I won’t let that son of a bitch hurt you.” He continued to comfort you for almost ten minutes before you finally cried yourself back to sleep. Rick let him hold you a minute more before glancing over his shoulder.

“Strange to see a softer side of you.” He commented softly as his officers escorted Dean and Simon out of the clubhouse.

“Can I get her fucking dressed, please?” Negan asked roughly as he pulled the blankets up and grabbed a pair of sweats for himself. “I’m gunna have to have someone come fucking…”

“Quickly.” Rick interrupted as he grabbed the door and pulled it tight to his side so no one could see you. “But I’m not doing this for you.”

“I know.” Negan growled as he jumped out of bed to hunt down one of his white t-shirts and a pair of underwear for you. “What’s the fucking warrant for?”

“Assault. You, Dean, and Simon.”

“Lawyer.” Negan said as he kneeled on the bed, and got you dressed as quickly and carefully as he could. “I want my fucking lawyer, and my fucking phone call.” Rick nodded and glanced back again when Negan pulled open the room door and held his hands out to be cuffed.

“Figured as much. You’re under arrest for assault.”

——

Sam was peacefully sleeping when his phone began ringing incessantly at almost five in the morning. He rolled over away from Jess, and squinted at the too bright screen before flipping the phone open with a sigh.

“Yea?” He rasped.

“Get your ass up.” Negan snapped. “I got shit for you to do.”

“Dad, it’s fucking…” Sam tried as he laid on his back, and rubbed the sleep from his eyes.

“And I am sitting in fucking lock up!” Negan shouted over his son, his patience long since gone. “Now get the fuck up. I need you to fucking get ahold of that son of a bitch, Lawson. Bullshit assault charges. Then, I need your ass back at the fucking club. (Y/N), had a fucking night terror, and if she wakes up to an empty fucking bed, she will fucking bolt if she remember it. So go fucking sit with her, and when she fucking wakes up in less than a fucking hour to see if I’m still in fucking bed like she has every fucking morning for the past three weeks, light a menthol cigarette for her, turn on some Goddamn war movie on Netflix, and fucking tell her I’ll be back soon.” Sam’s brow furrowed as he pulled back the phone to look at the screen for a second, not believing what his father was asking him to do.

“You want me to do what?” He asked as he sat up in bed and scrubbed his hand across his face, knowing full well that he had zero say in this matter.

“Just fucking do it, boy!” Negan roared before the officer policing the phones hung up the call for him being too disruptive. Sam growled as he threw back the blankets, and grabbed his jeans off the dresser in front of him.

“Sam?” Jess said, sleepily.

“Go back to bed, Jess.” He breathed as he grabbed a shirt from his drawer and threw it on. “Got some club business to deal with.”

“OK.” She said with a nod as she reached out to grab his pillow to cuddle with. “Be safe, baby.” He nodded as he threw on his kutte and grabbed his shoes, phone, and wallet.

“Always.”

——

You felt like something was off when you woke up around six-thirty. You felt unusually cold, and the pjs you didn’t remember putting on were tangled around your body. You pulled at them sleepily, trying to get them off, when a voice you weren’t expecting rushed to stop you.

“Please don’t strip!” Sam cried from the far side of the bed. You screamed and lurched away from him, landing on the floor with a loud ‘oof’.

“What’s…”

“He got arrested.” Sam interrupted as you yanked the blanket off the bed to hide behind. “Told me to come sit with you in case you woke up so you wouldn’t freak out, and leave.”

“What?” You asked as you tried to wrap your sleep fogged mind around what was going on. “Why did he get arrested?”

“Assault, apparently.” Sam said as he grabbed the hard, green cigarette case Negan held his joints in. “He has court in an hour or so and I’ve already called his lawyer. He just didn’t want you to be alone.” You nodded your head and scooted toward the bed just to grab the joint.

“Well that was nice of him.” You said as you scooted back across the carpet to sit against the wall. “OK, so why would I leave?”

“You had a night terror.” He said as he propped his foot up on the bed, and ran his fingers through his still sleep tangled hair. “He was worried that if you remembered, you’d get scared and leave. Probably because if you remembered, you’d maybe think you scared him off. That’s what I used to think when I had mine as a kid. My mom would sleep with me after mine so I wasn’t scared.” You nodded as you leaned up to grab an almost empty cup of water to use to as an ashtray.

“Can I umm… can I ask what happened to her?” You inquired hesitantly as you kept your eyes focused on the joint and glass in your hands. “I wanted to ask Negan but he doesn’t strike me as the sharing type in that aspect.”

“She passed away about twenty years ago.” Sam almost whispered as he looked down at his lap. “She had cancer.”

“Sam.” You gasped as you looked up at him with a shake of your head. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s OK.” He said with a nod and a tight lipped smile. “Dad doesn’t talk about her. It changed him, drastically. He became this harsh, shell of a man. The club became him existence. He couldn’t handle losing her. Dean turned out the same way.”

“But you didn’t.” He nodded as he looked over at you.

“I was close to my mom. Real close. She used to tell me I was too soft for the club life. But after her passing, I just… I was just so angry at everything. So I joined the club, got it out of my system, unlike Dean and my dad. But the downside is once you’re in, you don’t walk away from that. He gives me a little leeway, but once you’re Negan…” Your brow furrowed as you put out the last bit of the joint on the side of the cup.

“What’s that mean?” Sam blanched ever so slightly as he realized what he had said but you shook your head before he could back track. “Look, I think I already figured it out. Kinda hard to miss when you’re trained to pick up subtle clues around ya.” He took a deep breath and exhaled forcefully through his nose as he rested his elbow on his knee, and rubbed his mouth with his large hand.

“Once you become part of this club, you usually don’t leave it for one reason or another. Whether that be out of fear or need, you don’t leave. And between you and me.” He said as he leaned across the bed toward you. “If you can, I’d go. Go back to your family…”

“I ain’t got a family, Sam.” You said with a shake of your head. “If I leave, I got nowhere else to go, and honestly, I don’t really wanna go. I came here from the streets, unable to hold down a job, unable to keep a roof over my head, or even feed myself once a day. I can’t get help from the VA for who knows what reason. I’m screwed out there. Negan takes care of me…”

“I know.” Sam said as he sat back against the headboard with another sigh. “You remind him of my mom. And no matter how much I hate to admit it, he needs you as much, if not more than you need him.”

“I know.” You nodded as you put the glass aside, and ran your fingers through your hair. “I can tell.” He stayed quiet for a few moments as you stretched forward to grab your pack of cigarettes off your bedside table.

“It’s a messy, hard core life.” He said as he got up from the bed, and slowly headed to the door. “Jail time, prison time, constantly having to watch your back. I hate that Jess is in it, but just like my dad will you, I protect her. But no matter what you do, don’t ask about the club. The less you know, the better it is for you. If you don’t know, you won’t see the inside of the cell. But being Negan’s old lady, you’re putting a target on your back one way or another. Just keep your nose clean, and make sure you separate your relationship with Negan and your job at the bar from what goes on when Negan leaves for the day or for the weekend or however long he goes and whatever he does.”

“Don’t ask, don’t tell.” You said as you exhaled your cigarette, and ashed it in the glass. He nodded as he pulled open the bedroom door.

“I’m gunna put the offer on the table one last time. I get why you’re staying, trust me, I do. It’s the same reason I stayed all these years. Family, security; I get it. But if you want to think about it, and you want to go, you have the clubhouse to yourself for about two hours. And I’ll never bring it, or this conversation up again. I hope you can do the same.” You nodded your head, and reached up to zip your lips closed.

“Sam.” You called out softly as he stepped out into the hall. He looked back over his shoulder at you and you gave him a small shrug. “I cain’t go back to what I was.”

“I know.” He conceded with a small smile. “Go back to sleep, (Y/N). My dad’ll be back soon.”

——

Negan was exhausted when he finally made it back to the club house, and wordlessly beelined back to his room. A small smile pulled at his cheeks as he quietly pulled the door closed behind him so he wouldn’t wake you up again. You had ditched the shirt but not the boy short lace panties he loved on you after Sam had left, and went back to sleep after a full hour of mentally debating what Sam had told you. Your fading hair was half fanned out around you and half covering your face, and the blankets were once again kicked down by your feet despite the fact that you had goosebumps covering your skin.

The president leaned back against the door for a moment, and simply stared at the gorgeous woman in his bed, wondering how the hell he had been so lucky for you to just wander into his life like you had. Someone so pure despite everything you had seen and experienced, and some how, you were his. With a sigh, he pushed off the door, and headed over to the bed to go back to sleep for a couple hours. You stirred slightly when the bed shifted beside you, and you reached out, blindly toward him.

“I’m here, baby girl.” He whispered as he pulled up the blanket over both of you. You opened your eyes the slightest, and moved your hair out of your eyes.

“No.” You groaned as you scooted across the bed, and quickly snuggled into his chest with a huff. “Sleep.” He chuckled as he wrapped you in his arms and rubbed your bare back to bring some warmth back into your body.

“I can sleep now.” He said as he tucked your head under his chin. “I’m fucking home.”

“Shhh!” You breathed as you put your leg over his and your arm around his waist. “You wake me up any more’n this and you’re gunna be in fucking trouble for me almost sleep stripping in front of your son.”

“Not my fault.” He claimed as he kissed the top of your head.

“Yes, your fault.” You breathed as you started to fall back asleep again. “Never my fault.”

“OK, baby girl.” He sighed with a smile. “It’s my fault.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Let me ask you this.” You said as you and Negan waited for the waitress so he could pay for your ‘date night’ lunch before he headed out of town for a few days. “How the hell are you gunna leave this cute face behind?”

“Fuck if I know.” He chuckled as he leaned back in his booth. “Guess I’ll just jump on my damn bike and drive off into the fucking sunset without looking back.” Your jaw dropped for a half second before you reached out and playfully whacked his arm with a scowl.

“You’re horrible.” You said as the waitress finally dropped off your bill. “Horrible, horrible boyfriend.”

“You fucking love it.” He laughed as he pulled out his wallet and thumbed out a few bills. He threw them in the book and left it on the table before getting to his feet and offering you his hand.

“Oh, don’t you try to kiss my ass now.” You teased as you took his hand and got out of your chair. “You’re in trouble. Now, I’m gunna have ta burn the bar down to spite you.”

“Oh, please do.” He said as he held open the door for you. “You better make sure your ass is in that bar if you do.”

“Hey!” You screeched over his laugh as he dropped his arm over your shoulders. “You’re not nice!”

“I know.” He repeated as he handed you your helmet and got on his bike. “But you know I fucking hate leaving you.”

“I know.” You smiled as you buckled your helmet, and gave him a chaste kiss. “I’m fucking awesome.” He huffed but nodded as you got on the back of his bike. He turned it over and backed it out of the parking spot to head back to the club so you could both get ready for work and the club run respectively. It probably would have gone over a lot smoother had it not been for the young man standing on the corner of the parking lot.

“The fuck is this shit?” You asked as you looked at the guy who looked to be a couple years younger than you with a cardboard sign reading ‘Homeless Vet. Please help. God Bless.’ while wearing not only Class A Army dress blues with the braid on the wrong side, but unregulated tan boots, and a Marines cap. Your blood boiled, and you shook your head at the sheer injustice of it. “Negan pull over.”

“Wha…”

“Pull over!” You said louder as you let go of his waist, and unbuckled your helmet. Without asking again, Negan pulled into a parking spot, and you lurched off the bike before he could even think to put the kickstand down. “Take it off!” You screamed as you stormed toward the man who was proclaiming stolen valor. “Take it the fuck off right fucking now, or I’ll kick your fucking ass.”

“The fuck you talking about?” The kid said as he took a step back at the same time Negan grabbed you around the middle to hold you back.

“The fucking uniform, mother fucker!” You roared as you snatched the sign from his hands and ripped it in half. “You fucking lying sonovabitch! What fucking branch did you serve in, huh? Because I know you ain’t a Goddamn Marine in Army blues, and I know the fucking Army ain’t using fucking Marine caps. So what fucking branch are you, you lying stack of shit?” You could see they guy debate slightly as he looked between the tiny, crazed woman in front of him and the six foot two biker that was holding her back.

“I’m in the Army.” He responded, only partially confidently.

“You’re a Goddamn liar!” You screamed as you struggled against Negan’s arms. “You’re a fucking disgrace to this fucking country! I’m a fucking Marine, mother fucker! I fought for my fucking country, not you!”

“Like hell I didn’t.” He tried as he took a step back to try to leave. “I was in Iraq for six years.”

“You were in Iraq for six fucking years? OK. What was your fucking unit? Where were you stationed? What was you’re fucking MOS, huh?”

“You know what, lady?” The kid said as he turned to walk away. “You better be lucky your man is holding you back or I’d kick your ass for being so disrespectful to me.”

“Wrong fucking thing to say, fucker.” Negan said as he instantly let you go. You took off like a bullet and lunged at the man, knocking him to the ground in a second despite the fact that he had at least six inches and fifty pounds on you.

“If I ever, ever catch you in this fucking uniform again, I swear on my fucking life I will kill you!” You yelled as you got a few good punches in while the guy simply laid on the ground, and covered his face. After a few moments, you forced yourself to stop attacking before you did some serious damage. “You should be ashamed of yourself! Go home, and fucking burn that shit, now!” You turned on your heel and came face to face with not only a couple bystanders recording the confrontation, but also Deputy Grimes, and his partner.

“Really?” Rick asked as he looked between you and the kid that was now crying on the sidewalk.

“If y’all arrest me for kicking his fucking ass like he deserved, y’all best arrest him for fucking stolen valor.” You said as you held out your hands to get cuffed.

“He threatened her.” Negan said as he casually looked down at his nails, knowing that Rick wouldn’t dare arrest you, after the incident he saw a couple weeks prior.

“Just… get out of here.” Rick sighed with a shake of his head as he pointed at you. “Don’t pull this shit again.” With a nod, and a salute, you walked past him to head back toward Negan’s bike as he looked over at one of the bystanders with their phones out.

“When you upload that shit to the internet, send the fucking link to the Sanctuary bar’s website.” The girl nodded as she started to fiddle with her phone while Negan caught up to you with a laugh. “Well fucking look at you.”

“Fucker deserved it.” You said as you grabbed your helmet, and waited to get back on the bike.

“Well, I’m glad I don’t have to fucking worry about you when I leave.” He teased before giving you a chaste kiss. “Need to get you a damn baby-sitter twenty-four seven…”

“Shut up and take me home!” You laughed.

Part 4

#Negan x Reader #Matching Crazy #Negan thirst squad #Negan's thirst squad

17 notes · View notes

stonegirl77 · 7 years

Text

Central Perk

(yes, it’s a Friends reference. No, it has nothing to do with a coffee shop....)

So, at this point I feel like I should explain.

I suck at writing endings. No. Really. The number of fics I've written only to not finish, or to have real problems writing the ending…. It's very annoying. Well, short fiction allows me to practice writing endings. Lots of endings. And so, last year, there was the prompt list running around, I saved it, because someone actually prompted me from it (thanks, @dresupi!), and now I'm writing a Drabble a day, or most days, until I'm done with the list.

Thus the FlashFiction DrabbleThon 2k18 was born.

So, for today’s offering: “We’re both sitting on this park bench, I’m reading and… oh my gosh are you sketching me? Let me see!” Steve/Darcy, because, of course.

Darcy didn't know when hanging out on park benches with national heroes had become something she did. However, every Sunday during the spring had found her on a park bench in Central Park, reading a book with Steve Rogers. Now it was late June, and spring had turned into summer, sweaters and jeans morphing into skirts and sundresses and sunscreen as the weather grew warm.

Darcy glanced over at her companion as she finished a chapter and flipped the page. The glancing was easily done, as Steve had pulled her feet into his lap about five minutes into their trip, resting his sketchbook on top of her sandals. It wasn't that the action was too unusual - Darcy was usually leaning on Steve while they watched TV. Or Jane. Or Thor. She was a cuddly person, ok? And Steve didn't seem to mind. Not if the bashful smile he'd thrown her as he picked up her feet was anything to go by.

And of course, there lay the problem. The difference between Steve and Thor, even Steve and Clint or Steve and any of the other Avengers, was that Darcy had the oogly-booglies for everyone’s favourite American. Her heart skipped a beat every time he slung a massive arm around her shoulders, her breath caught in her throat when he smiled only at her - it was a problem. Because apart from anything else, Steve was a friend. One who dragged her to art museums as enthusiastically as she dragged him to comic stores. And Darcy knew Steve didn't have many friends.

So you will not take that away by making things awkward, Darcy reminded herself. Besides. With people like Maria, Shannon, and Natasha around, why would Steve even look at me?

All of that, however, didn't mean she couldn't sneak a look at her favourite person every now and again.

Darcy let her eyes wander, briefly, from his ridiculously blue eyes, transfixed by whatever he was drawing, down his nose, to the Patriotic Jaw of Freedom - and ok, maybe she spent too much time looking at Steve. Darcy returned her attention to her book, and made sure it stayed there until they were ready to leave.

“Coffee?” Steve asked as they were making their way back to the Tower. “And a donut?”

“You know the way to my heart,” Darcy replied glibly. “Caffeine and baked goods.”

She wanted to sneak a look at him, even as she kept here eyes fixed firmly forwards.

They stood shoulder to shoulder in the line, Steve’s arm barely brushing hers.

“You get some good drawing done?” Darcy asked.

Steve ducked his head. “Yeah,” he said. “Think so, anyway.”

“Well, as you've never let me see any of it,” Darcy said, “I'm going to continue thinking of you as Van Gogh with charcoals.” She frowned. “Not that I'm exactly sure what that looks like, but I'm sure it's amazing.”

“You have too much faith in me,” Steve said.

Darcy just shoved him. Well, she tried. He outmassed her by too much for her to shift him anyway. She just ended up leaning into him.

“You're ridiculous,” she said.

“It's our turn,” Steve said, ignoring her with a small smile on his face. “Hi,” he said, stepping forward to the cart. “Two coffees, a croissant and a donut, please.”

Darcy let him order - any trying to pay on her part has long since been squashed, when Steve had shown her exactly how much he earned. And that it was something he genuinely wanted to do. Nothing she should feel beholden to do.

That's why she noticed a scrap of paper fall out of Steve's sketchbook as he put his wallet away. She dipped, picking it up, and was opening her mouth to tell Steve he'd dropped something when she saw what was drawn on it.

“Oh,” she said instead, staring at a drawing of her. She was on a couch, on the couch in the common room at the Tower, drawn from what must be Steve's perspective as she had her feet on his lap. Except that - her legs weren't that long, were they? And her face - that smile - she didn't recognise it. Was that really how Steve saw her?

“Your coffee,” Steve said, startling Darcy into dropping the slip of paper again. She dove for it, catching it before it hit the ground.

“What's that?” Steve asked, moving behind her to look over her shoulder. She felt him still as he recognised his drawing.

“It fell,” Darcy said, “I picked it up.” She turned, holding it out to Steve.

He put her coffee in her hand, taking the drawing.

“Let’s….” Steve began.

“Let’s start walking back?” Darcy suggested, and Steve nodded.

“Yeah. That.”

They walked in silence for a minute or two, leaving the cart behind and heading back into the woods of the park.

“You know, you really are a good artist,” Darcy said finally, the silence getting to be too much. She was getting over her surprise, reasoning away her appearance in Steve's sketches. After all, if he liked to draw people, why wouldn't he draw her? She was around a lot. All the Avengers were probably in his sketchbook. It didn't mean anything. “Although I think you were a little generous.”

“What?” Steve sounded surprised. “I don't…”

Darcy shrugged. “Perspective is one thing, but my legs aren't that long.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Steve swallow. “Um, Darce, they kinda are.”

Darcy turned her head to look at him, and found Steve's face growing red.

“What?” she asked, copying him.

Steve looked at her, then to the ground, then at her. “You know you're beautiful, right?”

“Darcy’s jaw dropped. “I …. I don't?” She said. Steve Rogers thinks I'm beautiful?? The mind boggled.

Steve shook his head, a soft smile appearing on his face. It reminded her of the smile she'd been wearing in Steve's drawing.

"Darcy, if you'd been around when Bucky and I were growing up," he said, the Brooklyn coming back into his voice as he spoke about his past, "all the fellas would have been lining up at your door. You look like a pinup," he said.

"Really?" Darcy didn't usually need this much reassurance. Her self-esteem could use work, sure, but she could take a compliment. Just not, apparently, with Steve Rogers looking at her like she was candy in a candy store.

"Look." Steve juggled coffee and his sketchbook for a second, opening the book so Darcy could see.

There she was, laughing at the table with Jane.

Snuggled under Thor's arm.

Sleeping on a beanbag.

Smiling, dancing. She was there, with the others, on every page.

Darcy leafed through, speechless.

"That's why I didn't show you the book," Steve said, and she glanced up at him. He met her eyes squarely. "I know, I shouldn't have drawn you without permission. I'm sorry."

"Stop it," Darcy said, continuing to leaf through. "We don't mind." She looked up at Steve again, which was totally why her last sentence came out breathier than she meant it to. "Or at least, I don't mind."

How could I mind?

"I just…" Steve started, and Darcy looked up from the book again. "It's not that looks are all-important - you're smart, you're funny, you're interested in everything, you make a mean Pop-Tart - I just… you're beautiful to me, and I thought you should know."

"Steve," Darcy breathed. She closed the sketchbook, pulled it towards her, and went up on her toes.

She meant to kiss him on the cheek, she really did.

But when Steve realised what she was doing, he threaded a hand into her hair and dipped his head, connecting their lips.

Darcy could only stand there, kissing Steve - kissing Steve - and wondering how the hell her lazy Sunday with her unattainable crush had turned into her kissing the man of her dreams.

Steve pulled away, just far enough to rest his forehead on hers.

"Darcy," he began.

"If you try and take that back," Darcy cut over him, and he began to laugh, using his free hand to bring her even closer.

"Not going to," he promised, and kissed her again, briefly. "Been wanting to do that for months now."

He offered his elbow, and Darcy threaded her arm through it as they strolled through Central Park.

"Well that was an interesting trip to the park," she said, resting her head briefly on Steve's shoulder.

Steve chuckled. "We just gotta avoid Tasha on the way in - she's got the pool for this weekend."

"There was a pool?!"

#steve rogers #darcy lewis #captain america #shieldshock #fanfiction #avengers #avengers fanfiction #flashfiction #flashfiction drabblethon 2k18

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bangtangurlarmy · 7 years

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Cliché || Namjoon

Request - cookie-monster104 asked:I really love your page and I love the fanfics you post as well. Thank you so much for everything Can I request Namjoon x Reader where he is planning to propose to the reader at her birthday and does it anyway. Thank you I was hoping if you could wish me a happy birthday please thank you for everything once again😊😊

Pairing - Kim Namjoon x Reader

Genre - Fluff

Summary - He decides just a bouquet of flowers is not enough for your birthday; but a dip on one knee with a velvet box is just what he deems perfect.

You were so psyched. You didn’t think you’d ever been so excited for your birthday like you were right now. Heck, the last time you even remembered being excited was back when you turned 10. What a milestone.

It felt like Christmas. The anticipation of piles of gifts under the tree, lights adorning every cranny of the house, aroma of freshly baked cookies and ginger bread and a doze of sweet, sweet caffeine.

And that pile of gifts you anticipated, was actually your boyfriend, Namjoon, who’d spent the night with you, but had totally not stayed awake with you until 12 a.m. despite your protests. He was there, his back to you as he struggled to get (probably over-cooked) eggs off the pan and onto a plate; a beautiful substitute for cookies/ginger bread. And those lights that were supposed to be hung around the house, were definitely the streamers readied for the party later tonight.

“JOONIE!” You could’ve sworn he’d dropped the eggs on the counter and had hastily picked it up with his fingers before dropping it on the plate and wiping his suspiciously oily fingers on his pants, turning around with a goofy smile. You didn’t mind.

“Doll, you weren’t supposed to be up until, like-” He looked at the clock on the kitchen wall that clearly read 9 a.m., “-twelve.”

“Yet, I see and smell food.” You wrapped your hands around his waist, grinning up at him, your chin propped against his broad chest. He smiled back, his hand coming up to ruffle your hair - you're definitely going to wash your hair.

“That’s for me, but since you’re awake...” He turned around with you still leeched onto him, his long arm reaching for the plate before placing it atop the table behind you. “You can have it.”

“Aw, I’m touched.” You stood on your tip toes, and pecked his lips, letting go of him to sit down.

“Come here, Y/N.” He pulled your hand, jerking you back against him. You crashed against his chest, your eyes wide as you looked up at him. He laughed a cute laugh before he cupped both your cheeks, his eyes twinkling with familiar and heart-wrenching adoration before he mumbled, “Happy birthday, baby.” And he kissed you, so, so, so gently you felt yourself turn into slime. Maybe your body gave away, or your knees had actually buckled, or he was just feeling the mood, because in seconds, he had you sitting on the table (not on your plate, of course).

It got deeper, his kiss holding much more feeling than you’d ever felt and you felt a sudden rush of emotions tackling your insides, your arms not able to pull him closer enough. Eventually, he had to pull away, his forehead pressed to yours, your eyes open as you watched his lips stretch into a dreamy smile.

“What are you thinking about?” You asked innocently, still breathing heavily from the birthday kiss. He let one of his hands feel you, outlining your jaw, grazing your neck seductively, feeling the outline of your breast before he rested it against your waist. You could see a sudden burst of nervousness in his eyes, but he said instead, “Nothing.”

Now he knew what his friend had been feeling when he was about to propose to his girlfriend.

“Yoongi Hyung, I deeply apologize for mocking your absolutely respectful feelings regarding the proposing of marriage to your wife.” Namjoon said heavily, watching the mirror as he let the older work on his suit for the evening. While the party was nothing grand, Taehyung had insisted that it be a kind of grand that could only be found in houses. Hence, the touch ups for the thumb-fiddler Namjoon.

“Shut up, Joon.” Yoongi’s voice came out muffled through his pursed lips that held in between them the flower that was supposed to go in the breast pocket of Namjoon’s coat.

“This strangely feels like the matrimonial ceremony already, brother.” Namjoon said again, his voice remaining heavy. Yoongi sighed and wondered if his nerves always gave away like how it was doing right now, turning him into a strangely philosophical asshat.

“I swear to god, Namjoon, even Hoseok did better than this.” Yoongi glared half-heartedly at the taller boy, and while he carefully attached the flower to his pocket, he could feel Namjoon’s heart racing. He’s really no joke, Yoongi thought with a roll of his eyes. He remembered vaguely back to when it was Namjoon who fixed his suit for him for his wedding. He almost broke down - and that was his wedding. This was just the proposal and yet Namjoon looked like his brain had abandoned him.

When he was done, he took one final look at the younger, his heart feeling heavy with happiness and pride. Everybody was growing up. Next thing you know, Jungkook would be marrying.

He didn’t dwell too much on it - there was plenty time - and guided Namjoon out of the room - because he seemed to need it.

And he could’ve sworn that the shutdown part of Namjoon which was supposed to be handling this had literally jumped to life at the sight of his to-be fiancee.

You stood with your back faced to him, a beautiful metallic silver gown clad to your body, accentuating just the right parts, the spaghetti strap of the dress criss-crossing on behind you, letting it fall loosely at the small of your back - leaving most of your skin bare.

Namjoon, as though in trance, made his way to you and was thankful for when Yoongi’s and Hoseok’s wife moved away at his arrival, standing close to the rest of the girls, the boys watching from the kitchen. You turned around, a smile breaking apart your lips - a smile so beautiful, Namjoon felt his heart race so fast it became numb.

He felt himself reaching for your bare hand, his fingers curling with yours before bringing it up to his lips - pressing a kiss on your knuckles, while still staring at you.

“Joon...” You said, dazed at his god like looks. The suit fit him perfectly, and his hair was pushed back and parted sideways, revealing a glorious amount of forehead. You were swooning.

He cupped your cheek and leaned in to press a firm kiss to your parted and red glossed lips, your eyes fluttering close at the feeling. In that moment, everything drowned to leave just the two of you with each other, his eyes gazing at you like you were the most beautiful girl in the world.

You were the most beautiful girl in the world. And he was glad he was going to ask you to be his forever.

“Joon, maybe you should just do it.” He heard a familiar voice echo from behind him. Either they were too uncomfortable with the way you both were just staring at each other, or they were too happy to keep this for later. Namjoon couldn’t agree more.

Confusion flickered across your incredulous eyes. “Do what?” You asked softly, the girls giggling behind her.

“Just you wait, Y/N.” One of them teased playfully, while you watched Namjoon with a tiny frown.

He chuckled his deep, soft laugh. “Y/N...my love,” His hand reached inside his trouser pocket, and he remembered vaguely registering the fact that his hands were shaking while he pulled out a silver velvet box out - a color that he’d tactfully matched with the gown he’d gotten you.

Your eyes never left his to see what was coming, but you’d caught a shiny glimpse of it and right then, you felt your pulse quickening, and your heart hammering so loudly in your chest, tears beginning to pool out of instinct. But mainly, purely out of happiness.

He dipped to one knee, and somewhere from the tiny crowd, you heard a feminine whimper as they watched you two closely.

Your eyes went repeatedly in and out of focus, until he opened the box to reveal an equally silver ring, the diamond shining so boldly, Namjoon having chosen it because he felt it matched your personality.

And he couldn’t have felt more right as he saw a tear slip your eye.

“Will you be my wife, Y/N?”

Your head nodded this way and that, your lips quivering violently as you held in your sobs, your trembling hand coming forward to let him slip the ring in. When it finally rested on your ring finger, he raised to his feet and instantly gathered you in his strong arms before pressing another kiss to your lips, and somewhere around you, a loud pop sounded.

Namjoon felt the confetti running down his body and yours, both of you pulling away at the same time, and right then there was a click.

“Courtesy of Vante!” Taehyung announced, making you both turn around with dreamy smiles on your faces, another click sounding at just the right moment.

“Happy birthday!” Everybody screamed, coming in to give you a group hug.

You couldn’t have ever asked for a better birthday gift than this.

HAPPY NAMJOON DAY!!!! WHAT AMAZING TIMING!! ITS THE OTHER WAY AROUND BUT EH.

A LEADER THE WORLD WILL NEVER FORGET - YOU ARE OUR GALAXY, NAMJOON!

#happy namjoon day #kim namjoon x reader #bts #bts x reader #bts fluff #rap monster #bts scenario #bts imagines #kpop #kpop bts #kpop scenarios #min yoongi #jeon jungkook #kim seokjin #jung hoseok #park jimin #kim namjoon #kim taehyung

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tmae3114 · 8 years

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10 Days of Hero Shipping

Day 8 7

Whoops, I’m a tad late with this one! Believe it or not, I actually had this entirely written and just... forgot to post it.

So here it is now! Some fluff stuff for Day 7 - Feelgood

(today’s isn’t fully written so beach episode will be tomorrow :p)

Ro & Tomix

“Have you been aboveground at any point since you started working on this?”

Tomix glances up from his notes, blinking a few times at the warrior leaning in the doorway of the house he has temporarily claimed while he’s in Ravenloss. He can really only see half of her, one arm holding onto the doorframe and one leg out to make sure she doesn’t fall. Whatever the other half of her body is doing, he’s not sure, but with how she’s standing on her toes and wobbling slightly, he’s guessing the other leg isn’t on the ground.

“...no,” he answers, when he processes the question.

Her eyebrows slant and the visible part of her nose wrinkles in a way that he’s learned by this point indicates disapproval.

“That’s not healthy,” she says.

She pivots on her toes, twisting her entire body and swinging her other leg around – proving that it definitely wasn’t on the ground before – so that she ends up fully in the room. She doesn’t stop her movement there, instead hooking her ankles against each other and dropping into a crosslegged sitting position, the momentum from her spin having carried her forwards enough that she’s more-or-less right in front of him now.

Which really makes the movement sound much more elegant and graceful than it was, as she almost fell over three times while doing it. (It’s rather clear that it’s not a manoeuvre she’s particularly practiced in doing out of armour, given two of those occasions looked almost like overbalancing or over anticipating her own size)

He turns the page in his notebook and continues writing, paying no attention to her comment.

“It’s really not healthy,” she says, elbows pressed into the crooks of her knees and hands resting in her lap as she leans forwards. “Going without sunlight for a long time is bad for you. It makes you get sick. Sometimes you need to let yourself take a break, Tomix,”

He lays his pen down, letting it roll across the page to rest in the dip in the middle of the book, and looks up to meet her eyes. They’re wide and open and sincere.

In silent reply, he lifts both hands towards his face. He doesn’t break eye contact for even a moment as he traces deep crescents underneath both his eyes with his index fingers.

Ro splutters and draws back. The higher angle combined with the flickering candlelight makes the dark bags under her eyes stand out even more starkly against the pale of her skin.

“My poor life choices dinnae negate yours,” she says, sounding more mock offended than he thought it was possible to be.

“Is that so?” he replies, feeling the corner of his mouth twitch up into a smile despite himself. “Because I was under the impression you were talking about health, and, last I was aware, sleep is rather important for that,”

“You dinnae get to criticise my sleep schedule when you dinnae even have one,” she says, without a trace of heat in her voice.

“I was under the impression that you don’t either,”

That seems to be the point that she concedes defeat to, shutting her eyes and dipping her head slightly as she shakes it, shoulders shaking slightly with quiet laughter.

“Okay,” she says, the outer corners of her eyes crinkling upwards in indication of a smile. “Okay, that’s fair,”

For a couple of moments, they drift into companionable silence. There’s the soft sound of fabric shifting as Ro plucks at the end of her sleeve with a finger, soon joined by the gentle scratch of pen on paper as Tomix briefly returns to his work.

“I actually came down here to do something,” Ro says, breaking the silence. Tomix almost wants to ask if said something was nagging him about his health, but there’s something in the softness of his tone that makes teasing feel a bit out of place.

He sets his pen down again, a gentle tap against the paper. He looks up, ready to continue talking.

And then he stops.

For a moment, what he’s seeing doesn’t register.

And then his brain catches up with his eyes and he realises that there’s a pool of dark purple fabric around her neck where there usually isn’t and-

-and for the first time, he can see the entirety of his friend’s face.

She smiles, a small, thin, wavering thing that nonetheless shows her teeth.

“Surprise,” she says, voice taut and strained and only barely audible, in a way that makes his heart clench because he knows it has everything to do with fear.

She’s told him the stories before, of course. The reason she started to wear the mask, the reasons she still wears it. She’s told him what’s behind it as well, though seeing it - the clearest sign he’s ever had that his friend isn’t human, a fact all too easy to forget - is something else entirely, because he knows what seeing it means. Knows what she’s doing, knows what she’s trusting him with.

There are many potential ways to respond to this but only one that sits at the forefront of his mind and heart and feels like it is right.

He knows there’s no other response to give.

He smiles back in kind, similarly small but only out of nature, and leans forwards to clasp her hand.

“Thank you,” he says.

He doesn’t get the chance to finish fully, to elaborate on what that thank you is for (thank you for trusting me, mostly, but not entirely) because that’s the point that she all but surges forward to turn the hand holding into a hug.

It’s also the point that she starts crying, though the tears turn into laughter halfway through.

“Thank you,” she says, voice muffled by the fact that her face is buried in his shoulder. A part of him wants to tell her there’s nothing to thank him for. He doesn’t though. Instead, he simply stays quiet, and tightens the hug the slightest amount.

Eventually, he feels her start to shift away, and they both let the hug end.

She smiles again, this time bright and wide, showing even more of her teeth but this time unafraid to do so. Her eyes are bright too, with the left over glimmers of tears and the happiness that comes in the absence of fear both. Though there remains the slightest shadow hiding in the back, her fear is dissipated.

And nothing proves this quite so much as the fact that she leans over to lightly shove him in the shoulder and, through the grin now on her face and the almost dry tear tracks and the quiet of an emotional moment passing, says

“You really do need to take a break, though,”

It startles a small laugh out of him in kind and he mirrors her gesture, lightly shoving her shoulder.

“I will take a break,” he says “when you take a nap,”

“Deal,” she says, quick and fast, smile quirking up into a little bit of a smirk. “I’m holding you to that now. C’mon, the sun is still up up there,”

And she stands, pulling him to his feet via the hand that neither of them have stopped holding yet.

(It’s the long way out of Ravenloss, of course, given that the portal doesn’t work in the day. It doesn’t feel particularly long, though, not filled with talking and laughter and camaraderie. Before any time at all feels like it has passed, she’s pulling him up out of the dark caverns into fresh air and sunlight.

There’s a quiet part of Falconreach, just enough out of the way to feel calm and peaceful, near the gentle sounds of running water and in the path of the sun. That’s where she pulls him to, talking all the while.

She leans her head against his shoulder when they sit down and doesn’t let go of his hand.

“Is there a reason you’re halfway to sleeping on me?” he asks, after she shifts position a couple more times.

She blinks up at him, looking almost half asleep already. Her mask is back up but he can tell that she’s smiling.

“Dinnae trust you not to count the walk here as a break and go back to working while I’m sleeping,” she says, without preamble.

He laughs and admits defeat because that’s fair enough.)

#10 Days of Hero Shipping #dragonfable #Hero Bhaltair #Tomix Danao #dragonfable fanfic #okay honestly I literally looked at the 'tragedy' and 'feelgood' prompts and internally went 'challenge accepted'#and then wrote angst for her fluffiest friendship #and fluff for her angstiest friendship

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