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cellophaine · 2 years

Note

hi, happy new year! first & foremost i love all your work, highlight of my 2021; it always got me giggling & kicking my feet LMFAO i was wondering if you could do a slow burn (the reader could be a vigilante working alongside daredevil), & it’s the enemies to lovers trope, with the italicized oh/ah for realization, angry love confession & all, if you know what i’m talking about. & one of them goes “please-“ in a breath of a whisper & the other just slams their lips into theirs. sorry if this is a lengthy request LMAO do what you want with it!

I'm very sorry for the 10-and-a-half-month-long wait! This was a long request, so I did try to put everything together in a way that makes sense. I hope you'll enjoy it!

Futile Devices

Pairing: Matt Murdock x GN!Reader

Word Count: 8222.

Warnings: Violence. Light angst. Enemies to lovers. A tiny mention of decapitation. Blood. Injuries.

Author's Note: I wrote this with a female reader in mind, but there's no mention or indication of Reader's gender.

Holy shit, this is the longest thing I've ever written. I hope you guys won't be bored to death lol.

*The events in this fic took place after Daredevil season 3*

GIF Credit

The familiar click of the coffee pot registered somewhere in his keen hearing, but he didn't seem to notice. Matt was going through a series of motions, scrambling his eggs, flipping his bacon, getting his plate and mug ready for his breakfast, all while his mind walked on a frenzied march he couldn't keep up in the recollections of that night. That night was long gone, five days into the past, but it was still fresh and present to Matt, no matter the logic he came up with. He tried, and failed. Again and again. It haunted him in his few hours at nights of lying awake, and his days of paperwork and court affairs. Matt had to admit this could be something worse than he initially thought.

The last thing he needed was a new assassin in town.

Thin as a hair thread. That was how close Matt was to failing to save another's life. A criminal's life, but a life regardless. He almost lost it to the hands much more brutal than him. Much more merciless. Even more so than when Matt lost himself, haunted by his mistakes and Elektra's death, tormented by his own malice, of what he would be capable of had he let his pain consume him whole. The fact that someone was out there with such force and cruelty was alarming. It wasn't your ruthlessness that confounded Matt; he was no stranger to it, but everything about you.

You evaded his sweeps and blows as if they were nothing, as if he was only a martial arts enthusiast and not the Devil of Hell's Kitchen. The gracefulness in your moves made you look like a ballerina to his enhanced senses. The sharp gusts of air from your movement cut his skin like a dull blade, and Matt suspected the purpose was not to hurt him, but to warn. You rendered him almost helpless, meeting him for every strike. A good match in all the wrong ways, for all the wrong reasons.

You had the agility and deadliness of the Hand's lifeless soldier, which made Matt think you were one of them. Still, the steady rhythm of your heart said otherwise. It was as real as the sharpness of your dagger when it slid across his forearm. Your mercilessness was not the most fatal part of you. The precise delivery of your weapon almost took a life, and even though Matt prevented that from happening, he felt as if letting your victim live was your decision, not his. He was only a witness who was at the right place, at the right time. Your escape was silent and swift, leaving no trace for him to follow. No matter how hard he tried, he could only detect a subtle scent of wet earth in the air, and nothing else. Since then, Matt had spread himself thin, patrolling the Manhattan area, even as far as Brooklyn, asking for his friends' help in places he couldn't reach, like a confused hound dog on a blind chase. The clues he picked up were only fragments of a bigger picture you were a part of. Days passed, and the seed sprouted from his curiosity of you kept growing, yet his search gave him nothing to attach you to.

Not until tonight, when your ruthlessness struck again.

You took hold of the man's collar, tugging on his tie, making sure that it sat tightly at the base of his throat. His face turned a dangerous shade of red, blending in with the crimson liquid and purple bruises all over his skin. His mouth opened to take in desperate gulps of air as you wrapped the remaining blue-striped tie around his neck, making a noose.

"Pl-please … don't do this. I have a wife an-and … a daughter. I have a family. Please!"

You sighed, bored and fed up with what he told you. In the face of great danger and near death, they always said the same thing. You would know since you had lost count of the men and women who had told you they had families. Unfortunately, none of them was alive to testify that.

"I know you do, Eddie. I had one too, at one point. But they're all gone now …."

You tugged hard on his tie, making him choke on the restricted and precious breaths. His face, stained with tears, only stroked your confidence. You almost had him. Just a little more, and you would have your next victim. Or victims, if he was so generous as to inform you.

"Tell me names. Better yet, point me in their direction, and I just might spare you."

Eddie shook his head, whimpering pathetically.

"I can't. They'll know it's me. They'll kill me."

You ran your beloved weapon along the side of his torso, hinting at the possible chance of you cutting him up at any moment like he was a rag doll. You rested the edge of your blade against his bloated stomach while he tried to stay away from it as much as possible with his legs and hands bound. There was no use in doing that, but he desperately tried, wriggling and struggling against the confines.

"It's either me or them that will end your life. So choose."

You dipped the blade into his side. It wasn't too deep, just enough to draw blood. The metal parted his flesh with little resistance, smooth and easy as if cutting through a leaf. The man before you cried out in pain; his prayers were half screams, half cries and all the agony. He sputtered, choking on the words he desperately tried to get out.

"Imani! Imani Campbell! She's the head of security f-for the Stromwyns. She and h-her team have access to everything!"

You pulled the blade free, patting his face softly as you cooed at him.

"There we go. Wasn't that easy?"

The man sobbed uncontrollably. Blood seeped out from his dress shirt, staining the fabric a dark red. You registered a soft thud from behind; the sound, accompanied by a low voice, made its presence known.

"Let him go."

The deep timbre in his tone was familiar, even though you barely exchanged a word that night. Only grunts of exertion. Twirling the dagger in your hand playfully, you took hold of the hilt once more before slamming it into Eddie's temple, knocking him unconscious. What you might have to say to the man behind you might fall on Eddie's deaf ears since he was only a thin thread away from passing out, but you preferred not to leave that up to chance.

You turned around to face him, fastening your bloody dagger to the strap on your thigh. Your gaze assessed him as you took a few steps forward. The man from the night before returned with a fresh bandage on his forearm, courtesy of your blade.

"I'm sorry. Who are you?"

Your voice was light but alert. You pushed your tongue against the roof of your mouth, keeping the smile off your tone. You wondered what he had to say.

"I should be the one who asks you that."

You chuckled to yourself. An expected answer, but different from what you anticipated from him. You figured as much.

"I thought you should know who I am already, considering what you've been up to lately, Matt Murdock."

The muscles in his body were pulled taut in his straightened posture, locked up in alarm, and you didn't miss that.

"How do you know my name?"

You tsked, shaking your head in mock disappointment.

"Don't feign innocent now. You were looking for me, trying to sniff me out like a dog."

His hands balled tightly to the sides, and you could see the tension in his jaw, even from a safe distance away.

"How do you know that?"

"By doing the same thing as you did. I like to be five steps ahead of everything, you know? That's how I stayed out of your radar."

You were prepared and well-versed to the point it felt like a game. A game of hide-and-seek, catch-and-release. Just simple as that. You spoke over your shoulder as you turned on your heels, returning to the unconscious man.

"Now excuse me, I was in the middle of something."

He was silent and fast. Before you could give Eddie the second slap to his cheek, Matt seized you with his arms around your torso and dominant arm, dragging you away from Eddie. He backed you into the cement railing; the hard and rough texture dug into your back. He pinned your arms back, spiking pain and discomfort along your body. Nothing you could handle. Your heart rattled in your chest as you looked up at him; his laboured breathing reverberated and mirrored your own. You stayed like that for a few moments, studying each other. You felt no fear, yet your heart thundered, your blood pumping for something else.

To your surprise, he smirked as if he had caught onto your wandering thoughts and foreign feelings.

"You're not scared. You're not even frustrated. You're… excited."

You held your tongue, waiting for him to continue his assessment.

"Perhaps this has something to do with me. Having someone on your level."

You huffed a biting chuckle, your eyes trained on the part of his face exposed to you. Plump lips accentuated by light stubble, adding softness to his rugged intricacy. A strong jawline that you wouldn't mind caressing, stroking the scruffy hair on your fingertips. And putting your dagger to it. You would place your fingers on the delicate pulse on his neck while you did that, feeling the panic coursing underneath his skin. But you suspected your foe wouldn't be scared off by a sharp blade that easily.

"Maybe I do like a challenge. At last."

Fearless to the point of arrogance. Matt was dumbfounded, then it clicked: you didn't know who he was. You might be new to this city, its politics and underground scenes. Maybe you were here on a chase for something, someone dangerous, following the trail of blood, corruption and murders. It led you to his territory, which he had slowly but steadily returned to protect. When Matt told you as such, a skip in your heart told him he was right. You went still against him, and goosebumps rose along your skin. Still and rigid, a stark contrast to your confidence and playful manner just moments ago.

Either way, whether you were familiar with the area or not, Matt had to clarify one thing.

"You must stop what you're doing."

"Which is …?"

You dragged your sentence, feigning innocence. The slight lilt in your voice should irk Matt, but to his surprise, it didn't. It glided on his eardrums, soft and soothing, which had started to distract him. Just a little bit, Matt assured himself. He lied some more when he told himself that your body, pressing snugly against his, was not the reason for his slipping focus. Not at all. Your body was warm; Matt could feel it even through your suit. The unconscious man's blood on your gloves enveloped his acute sense of smell, steering him back to the conversation he was having with you.

"Killing those criminals. Taking lives that aren't yours to take."

You fell silent, and Matt could hear the grind of your teeth. The muscles in your jaw grew taut, and he had no doubt that he had struck a nerve. Matt paid extra attention to another scent entering his olfaction. Subtle, yet refreshing, like wet earth … after the rain. And all of a sudden, it made sense to him. Perhaps you used a scent like that to blend into the element around you, becoming one with your surrounding. Leaving no trace. Just like that night when he first met you. The more Matt learned about you, the more fascinated he became. But he wouldn't have known that yet. Not at that moment.

You pushed yourself up, pressing your chest flush with his. Your voice was low in contrast to your guards, which were high and tall, and you hoped they wouldn't topple over.

"Just like you said, they were criminals. I don't kill anyone that doesn't deserve it."

Your answer didn't satisfy him by the way his jaw clenched, his lips curved downward in disapproval.

"What they do is wrong, but that doesn't mean they deserve death. Two wrongs don't make one right."

Your hands tugged on the skin and bone shackles he had on you, but he wouldn't let up. Your skin prickled in frustration.

"I'm weeding the bad out. You should thank me since I'm doing you a favour."

He tightened the hold on you, making an imprint on your wrists.

"They deserve second chances for redemption. How can they change for the better if they're not given a chance to do so?"

Okay, now you were beyond annoyed. Who the hell did he think he was? To walk all over you, to jeopardize your mission. To act as if he was the one with authority.

"Stop with the fucking lectures! Not all of them deserve that."

You thrashed with all you might, desperate to escape his hold. But Matt held on.

"They're humans. They make mistakes, just like you and me."

That snapped something inside you, something that had always been there. You tipped your head back and slammed your head to his face. Matt let you go as he held a hand to his nose. You delivered a sharp blow to the base of his throat, right below his Adam's apple, effectively choking him. He sputtered, taking a few steps back, holding his throat while you followed him like a predator. Anger and grief took over, like a storm waiting to be unleashed.

"Spare me that bullshit!"

You grabbed his shirt, gripping it and pulling him back to you before throwing him against the brick chimney.

"If you know so much about the way this …"

Matt held a hand to his nose, swiping the runny liquid onto his hand. From the feel of it, a small part of his nose was splintered, but other than that, no serious and long-lasting damage. You took hold of him again, throwing him against the bricks.

"… thing works, then tell me. Tell me how it feels to have my entire life stolen from me. To have my family taken away, to have those barbaric so-called human beings abuse me, torture me, put drugs and chips inside of me like I'm no less than a toy? I'm nothing more but a weapon, a tool for their profit. And when I finally escaped and tried to have a normal life with a normal guy, they found me and took that away too?"

You leaned closer, and Matt could sense something other than his own blood. The salt of your tears, the blood rushing in your veins, fueling the rattling rhythm of your pulse.

"Tell me, Murdock. Tell me how it feels like to come home one day, and find your love's decapitated head on the bed you shared, in the only home you've ever known?"

And then there was nothing, only your heavy breathing and his; the wind died down, and the city carried on. Matt thought about the accident years ago, losing his sight, then his father. Stick came as abruptly as he left, and that was how he spent most of his teenage years alone and aloof. Matt couldn't shut out the clamour of crimes happening around him; he was helpless to it. When he decided to do something, to take charge, Matt lost more than he gained. Still, there was Foggy, who brought so much joy to his life. Foggy's presence was a blessing. Then came Elektra, who made him feel heard and understood when no one else could. Being with her was an ever-changing mesh of euphoria and affliction that stuck with him, before and after. The fights he had fought for the better only brought more pain to his life, full of losses.

The words manifested on his tongue, but he didn't say any of them. Your pain was your own, and it was immeasurable. Matt held both hands out in a gesture of peace. And when he spoke, the words were ripped right from his heart.

"I am sorry for everything that happened to you. I won't say that I understand everything what you went through. But I do understand why you're doing this. Trust me, revenge is not everything."

"No, you don't know anything about me."

Your tone was sharp. Final.

"Let me guess, you have some sob stories too?"

He swallowed hard, and you knew you were right.

"I guess that's why we turn out like this, huh? Inflicting pain on others because we can't bear our own."

It hurt more than the healing wound on his arm, than the forming bruise on his throat. It was as if your dagger had sunk into his chest and twisted until his heart was nothing but a mangle of tissues and vessels. He protected Hell's Kitchen; he had kept it safe with his violence. Deep under the overlapping layers of his good conscience, he knew it was another way for Matt not to face his own pain. The past year was the embodiment of that. No matter how much time passed, he knew that time would always stay with him, reminding him of the destruction he had made.

"Stay out of my way if you know what's good for you."

You turned on your heels, stepped onto the ledge and jumped. Your gracefulness landed you on the fire escape as you descended, blending in with the surroundings once more. Matt tipped his head back onto the warm bricks and caught his breath, deep in thoughts and the scent of you lingering behind.

Wet earth. Fresh rain. The saltiness of your tears.

Matt came home to his empty apartment; frustration and pain burned his skin, grating his insides. His throat hurt, the wound on his arm throbbed, and his nose stung, but at least it had stopped bleeding. Matt knew he would have to take it easy for the next few nights. Matt peeled off the dirty suit, undoing the hand wraps quickly. Standing in his boxers, he went to the kitchen and turned on the kettle. The small machine hummed as it heated the water inside as Matt prepared his tea. While waiting for the water, he went to the bedroom and grabbed a zip-up hoodie and sweats before gingerly them on, careful of his injuries. Matt went through the motion automatically because he didn't allow himself to stop and think. Not yet. The kettle whistled a high-pitched note, dragging him to the kitchen. Water was poured, tea steeped, and honey added. Matt settled down at the kitchen table with his mug, hissing softly as his aching muscles voiced their discomfort. Matt closed his eyes, letting the steam of chamomile soothe his eyelids before diving into everything he knew about you. Which was not much at all. But he had more now than he knew of you six nights ago.

Rubbing his throat, Matt took a sip of his honeyed tea. He recalled the sound of your voice, the inflection of it when you were angry. The piercing rawness of it when you cried. He got to learn another part of you that he had tried to reach. You were in the position to knock him out swiftly, to kill him even, but you didn't. You spared him of your own volition. He might not know your name, but he knew your pattern now. You struck precisely, seizing someone on the weaker links and climbing up. However, singling out one of the lawyers on the retainer for one of the most notorious crime families gave him a clue of what you came to New York for. Even though it was out of character for you, it gave him a hint of where you could go next, and Matt wasn't going to pass out on this chance. The crime family you targeted was someone he had an interest in himself. The Stromwyns. They were a force to be reckoned with, and from what he knew of you, you acted alone. It was personal from your history with them, and he suspected you wanted to take them down yourself. Matt would admire your bravery if it wasn't so reckless and incredibly foolish. But on what ground could he judge you, considering that he did the same thing?

Your fist curled tightly, your knuckles drenched in blood and mangled flesh of your own and your victims. But you wouldn't stop, not until you got what you wanted. A swift punch followed another on Imani's broken face. Her bodyguards and associates laid unconscious a few feet away, leaving only your ragged breaths and the woman's pained whimpers echoed in the destroyed meeting room. You usually wouldn't strike them at their base, where they could easily call for backup, which they did, but you felt particularly reckless tonight. You were up for a challenge, and you almost paid for it. The searing pain on your side was the throbbing proof. You wanted to speed your investigation along, too impatient to wait. You had done enough of that. Still, this stubborn woman before you wouldn't give in. You could feel your temper rising, and soon, you wouldn't be able to control it. Imani was a delicate knot in an elaborate scheme that you couldn't solve by cutting her string short. You didn't take out her whole team for nothing, especially when your venture for revenge ended up being something bigger, something more sinister than you thought.

You gave Imani's face a slap. She came to before you, despite her drooping eyelids.

"I know the Stromwyns are planning something big. Tell me what it is."

She gave a bloody smirk, her teeth stained red. She tried to keep her head straight, her eyes bored into you.

"No."

"Should have saved that energy telling me what I want."

Another jab, and she fell to the floor. You propped her up against the table, pulling out the blade concealed on your thigh.

"One last chance. I won't be so lenient this time."

The thumps of his boots made it to your ears, and you felt the air change slightly. Maybe it was just you. His footsteps drew closer on the once pristine marble floor behind you, entering the crime scene. You closed your eyes, already knowing what he would say.

"Don't do this."

You didn't bother standing up to greet him this time.

"I've killed before. This will change nothing."

"Believe me. It will."

His tone was the same. Kind, soft, imploring for the part of you that no longer existed. Yet, he still searched for it, drawing it out. You would lie if you said you couldn't feel the tug of his kindness and patience on your heartstring. It was just that you couldn't afford to follow his call.

"Why are you still trying? Why waste time on me?"

You had to know whether it was his Catholic guilt, and you were his charity case, or it was something else entirely. It wasn't like New York's shady marketplace lacked assassins for hire. You knew that as much.

"I was you before. You think you're irredeemable. But you're not. You still have a chance to turn around …"

Your real name on his tongue sounded foreign to your ears. It affected you in a way you didn't think possible. The sound triggered the alarm going off in your head, screeching in your ears. You slowly rose on your feet, exhaling an unsteady breath. You had isolated yourself and made acquaintance with no one. The shock of Matt finding out shot unnerving prickles along your skin. You used his name in vain to gain an advantage, while he used yours in the hope of steering you back to yourself with such an intricate tenderness. And that made you angrier than ever.

You closed the distance between you, wielding the dagger between your skilled fingers.

"Who do you think you are? Waltzing in here with your talks, when you're doing the same thing as I am–"

"I don't kill–"

"Same - fucking - shit! Just because you don't kill doesn't make you better than me."

Your words were punctuated with each swipe of your weapon, which he easily dodged. You were blinded with rage, with a wave of anger so potent that you could only release it when your blade had sunk into his flesh. You knew deep down if you stopped, your weaker emotions would get the better of you. Your fury consumed you whole, fueling every step as you advanced toward the infuriating figure that seemed to have so much trust in you.

"Stop it! I know you have it in you to stop. I know it feels good to get revenge, but it will ruin you."

Matt only dodged your blows and not once fought back. It only fueled your boiling rampage.

"Shut up! Just … shut up and fight back!"

It was harder to ignore his voice and what he said now. His words were like vines, slipping through the cracks of your control, taking root quickly. But you were broken; no one could mend you. You had long accepted that you would never be someone you once wished to be. This was your life. Full of rage, violence and loneliness. That was how you would die. Your demons would always follow you, then, now, and when it was your time to depart this world. You were beyond saving.

The quiet click of a gun made you whip your head toward the sound. You couldn't see clearly through the veil of tears that had started trailing down your cheeks. That was when you realized that you had been crying. It was such an appalling recognition that you didn't register the bullet leaving its chamber. Everything that happened after that was so fast your mind couldn't catch up. You could only feel. You felt the rough contact of his body against yours when he tackled you, the hard marble floor on your back when you crashed. Matt continued to shield you with his body over yours as a few more shots rang out. He cried out suddenly as a bullet hit him; his body jolted but didn't move an inch. You tried to push him off you so the two of you could run for cover, but he wouldn't budge. Suddenly, it became eerily quiet except for some empty clicks, followed by a sharp cry of pain as Imani got up and took off toward the exit. You pushed Matt off, getting yourself ready to run after her, but you ceased acting on your instinct. Matt tried to rise with one hand braced on the littered floor, his lips parted to expel a pained groan. Your foggy mind replayed the feeling of him lunging for you, saving you from the bullets' line. You blinked, watching as your whole body trembled, the bloody blade unsteady in your hand. Your target had escaped, but that was the least of your concern right now. You looked to your saviour, fixed on the ghastly look on his almost unmasked face. His eyes stared straight ahead, his mouth opened agape, and his movements shaky before he dropped to the floor with a sickening thud.

Matt woke to the unfamiliar surrounding, with strange air and the companion of another's presence. He found himself almost naked, saved for his boxers, nestled between the warm sheets that definitely weren't the silk he used to. Despite its roughness, it was just as nice as his own, as it possessed your scent, earthy and soothing. Matt had grown to like it. A pleasant mix of you and his own blood, which he could sense as he moved to set his feet on the floor. Matt ran a hand through his face, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, and felt no resistance. He seemed to only recognize the missing safety of his mask now, and for a brief moment, he panicked. It was soon washed away when the gentle breeze carried something else in from the open window. A scent of moss, morning dews, and vines seemed to attach themselves to the brick exterior of the building, like soil after the rain. It reminded him of how you always blended in with your environment. And the thought eased his concerns. If you wanted him dead, he wouldn't be alive right now. But Matt was here, in your home. Hurt but alive, the rough gauze on his thigh reminded him.

Matt took a few unsteady steps as he oriented himself, getting familiar with the surroundings. The search for the door was a success, and he opened it to step into a different world. A different feel. The space was warm and pleasant, with sunlight coming from the right side, and the aroma that hung in the air felt homey. Upon further inspection, Matt could smell freshly chopped parsley, rice, and chicken. In the midst of everything were you and your ever-steady heartbeat.

Without turning around, you directed him.

"Take a seat. Food is almost ready."

As soon as the words left your mouth, you bit onto your bottom lip, feeling a little out of place. There was something strangely domestic about the way you told him to make himself comfortable. Even though you did try to kill him just a few hours before.

Matt searched for the seating and sat down, his back resting nicely against the cushion. He closed his eyes, soaking in the warm sun. You let yourself look at him from where you were standing, taking in how peaceful he seemed. How at ease. He seemed different, yet still the same as the person who had followed you, matching your violence with his own just to urge you to turn the other way. Realizing that you had been staring at him for perhaps too long, you whirled around to tend to the steaming food. With the porridge done, you turned the stove off before pouring a good portion of the hot dish into two bowls and sprinkling some parsley on top.

You put the bowl in front of him with a soft thump, and his eyes lazily slid open. The spoon made a small clang on the wooden table as you set it down on his right before going to your seat. Matt picked up the spoon, taking in the dish before him. It was steaming hot with a savoury aroma of rice, chicken, herb and seasonings.

"I didn't poison it, don't worry."

Matt huffed a soft chuckle.

"I trust you."

"You're way too trusting considering what you do."

That made him smile. Matt took a spoonful of the food, blowing it for good measure before giving it a taste. A pleasant and hot feeling engulfed his tongue before it smoothly chased down his throat. The taste was delectable, flavourful and wholesome. It warmed him inside out.

"Seasonings are on your right. Just reach your hand out a little."

That made Matt pause for a moment, but he didn't say anything. You continued your meal in silence, and the air between didn't feel tense or forced. Outside of the enclosed space, New York was a bustle of sounds.

Your spoon made a small clang on the side of the bowl, and it seemed like you decided it was more than enough to start a new conversation.

"I'm guessing from the way you are not panicking or overwhelmed or freaking out, you've been blind for a long time?"

No beating around the bush. He liked that. People walked on eggshells around him, around his disadvantage, for a good reason. But Matt didn't need coddling. He definitely didn't need protecting, either.

"Since I was nine. Freak accident."

"Freaky indeed."

Those two words marked the end of your conversation. Matt occasionally felt your intense gaze, watching him carefully as he cleaned the bowl. Once his and your hunger were satiated, you put the dishes away in the empty sink. Matt stood up to help, but his good intention was quickly forgotten as he hissed lowly in pain. He touched the area around the wound, feeling its mouth crack, allowing the blood to seep into the gauze. Matt winced, and it didn't escape your watchful eyes.

Rummaging around your kitchen, you poured him a glass of water and set two pills in his palm.

"Take these. Or don't. I don't care."

Your halfhearted concern warmed his heart. He knew your intention behind it, and the little spike in your heart never lied. Matt took the pills as you walked away, fetching the medical kit.

"Can I see your wound?"

He nodded after a brief moment. You dragged your chair to settle beside him, and your thighs exchanged accidental brushes. Your touch was careful and tender as your hands worked on his broad thigh to unwrap the bloodied bandage. Matt's jaw clenched, holding back a pained groan as you pressed gently around the tender area. You cleaned up the blood with a clean cloth, precise and swiftly. Not a word passed between you as you secured the wound with a sterile bandage until you asked if you could see the injury on his side. There was something serene, tender and peaceful about the way you took care of him, as if you had done this many, many times before. As if you had known each other for a lifetime.

Once finished, you pulled away with a gentle squeeze on his knee before working on your injured hands. You sighed in exasperation as you undid the hand wraps. The torn skin on your knuckles was red and angry, staring back at you as they throbbed a warning melody, giving you no choice but to listen. You would have to take it easy for the time being.

Lost in your thoughts, your hands pulled on another roll of gauze when Matt's warm hand on your wrist startled you, sending a pleasant prickle to your skin. Your eyes widened as Matt extended an open palm, wordlessly offering to help you dress your wound. You stared at him, your eyes flicked at the upward motion of his brow. Tentatively, you passed the white fabric to him. Matt held you in his hands and quickly assessed your knuckles. Your hands were colder than his, calloused and scarred, like a written memoir of your past that you carried all the time. He tried not to think about the smaller, barely-there scars you probably obtained from your younger years. You were older now, yet, your fight hadn't ended. The path you walked on only led you further into the woods like a prisoner who still fought even though their chains were broken, their prison door unlocked. He wanted to focus on the now, where you were safe, alive and with him.

Judging by the echo of your apartment, it was spacious, cozy and most likely expensive. It was a bold move, living in the heart of Manhattan. You were almost fearless, that much he knew. Matt had no doubt that you knew what you were doing, considering your profession. Maybe your name on the lease was fake, or someone owed you a favour. A very big one.

"How do you afford this apartment?"

Matt kept his voice light, distracting you from the sting of disinfectant.

"How do you?"

You asked him with just as much airiness, if not more. He chuckled softly, shaking his head as you found yourself smiling with him. You continued as the crinkles around his eyes deepened in amusement, remembering that you probably knew where he lived.

"I kill for a living. Sometimes. I'm pretty good at my job, remember?"

Matt took a deep and sharp breath, and you bit your tongue. It was too much, and you felt stupid for making that joke.

"I only take on jobs that target the Stromwyn. Nothing beyond that. Anyone with mutual interest benefits me."

"I know."

"Do you now, smartass?"

Matt could hear a slight smirk in your voice. It was refreshing to see you so relaxed, so … different from what he had known of you. But then, you were full of surprises. Silence fell over you like a thin veil; the only sound left was his movements, wrapping the bandage around your hand.

"Don't you get tired of it?"

The strokes of his hands were soft, certain as he wrapped himself around you. His warmth spread to your hands, making you shiver. Just slightly. You took a long moment to yourself, mulling over what he said.

"I do. But I can't stop. They're still doing it to children, to little kids like … like I once was. I'm a result of them, and I won't be the last."

His grip on your hands tightened, careful of your injuries. Matt brought your intertwined fingers closer to his chest, urging you to look into his unsighted eyes. Upon the near distance, you noticed the hazel gleaming in the bright light of your kitchen, holding more than just your attention.

"What they did to you is not who you are. They don't get to make you into someone you don't want to be."

His words were kind, his touch was soft, and they suffocated you. You jerked your hands out of his as if his touch burned you. A reflection of hurt took shape on his furrowed brows and curved lips, and you felt sorry for pulling away. When did you turn so soft for a man you barely knew?

"My firm can bring attention to their organization. With a big case like this, it can't stay under wraps forever. I have connections, and I can assure you that there will be people looking into this. We can work together. I can help you. Let me. Please."

You swallowed hard, feeling queasy in your seat. You stood up, and Matt followed, but he gave you space when you started pacing. You had known for a long time that you wouldn't be able to do this by yourself. The Stromwyns' influence ran deep. It would take more than an assassin with a want for vengeance infused in her blood to uproot that. To completely dismantle their organization, you would need a miracle. And Matt just might be that miracle you need. You sighed heavily, bringing your nervous pacing to a stop. You held his unseeing gaze, more for your sake than his, as if to seal your fate.

"Fine."

Matt offered a hand to you, initiating a physical agreement. After a brief moment of fleeting contemplation, you held his offering hand and shook. He pulled you closer to him by your skin-on-skin attachment, making you take a sharp breath as the sudden movement grazed your wounded skin.

"No killing."

You tugged on his firm clasp, and he wouldn't let go.

"Fine. No killing."

Matt only released you then, and you were all too eager not to have his hands on you again. That was what you told yourself, even though your heart thrashed unhappily at the traitorous thought. The tingling feeling on your fingers was back, and your mind raced with the possibilities of an uncertain future and foreign feelings.

Matt delivered on his promise. It was a long fight, stretched over two years, but the outcome was victorious and sweet. Nelson, Murdock and Page investigated and gathered evidence with witnesses, bringing the case to New York's district attorney. The ordeal was blown up, which brought in law enforcement from the higher-up. The news of the Stromwyns controlling important assets throughout New York, infesting neighbourhoods with gangs and criminals to secretly collect "protection money" from the residents, was brought to the media, pulling the attention of the whole country. When things began to come to light, the Stromwyns issued a bomb threat in an attempt to bury the whispers. It backfired as the warning was proven real by you and Matt on your investigation at night. The FBI quickly acted on the lead, making arrests for the whole family. The Stromwyns were forced to liquify their assets, and their accounts in foreign countries were seized and frozen by the CIA. Unfortunately, before law enforcement could put all of them in cuffs, some members of the family had already fled to Europe, according to the intel you obtained illegally.

It amazed you how a team of three managed to make such an impact, how relentlessly and tirelessly they worked to get people involved. You were also a part of that team; Matt told you no matter how hard you denied it. He introduced you to his friends and partners, Foggy and Karen. Even though they were skeptical of your relationship with Matt, they took your intel seriously and worked with you. You kept your distance, knowing they weren't comfortable being in the same room with an experienced assassin as in Matt's past, and you were fine with that. You had a working association with them, striving for the same outcome. You weren't there to make friends.

You weren't sure what to make of your relationship with Matt. Something had changed, but you didn't want to acknowledge it. You couldn't. It wouldn't be fair to him when you had to leave eventually. You had each other's back when you scouted for new information, when you infiltrated the Stromwyn's warehouses. Those fights didn't often result in grave injuries; when they did, you took care of each other. Small and big damages. Matt ensured that you looked after yourself and wouldn't agonize over your past. He was there to soothe you in his secure embrace when you had a nightmare. It was almost as if his arms and hands had morphed around your frame, embracing you, making you feel at ease when your grief was too much. You would wake up thrashing in his arms when the needles were too close; the stiffness paralyzing your body felt too real. Eventually, your place or his wasn't a matter since you would always end up in the same bed at the end of everything, whether due to exhaustion or nightmare-filled nights into early mornings. Whenever you woke with a headache, he would have his special tea readied, along with medicine at your request. You were afraid that he would spoil you rotten, and if you got used to his affection and care, you would never be able to leave. You couldn't stay, couldn't allow yourself that one thing. You had shared too much of yourself with him, and you were afraid you would be left with nothing if you kept on giving. You knew you didn't deserve him. So you packed your stuff up and booked a flight to Germany, following the trail of the scattered Stromwyns. You decided to leave without a word, but Matt had another idea.

"Don't do this to me."

Call you sentimental, but you had come to the rooftop of your building one last time to soak in the sound, the feel, and the air of this city. There was nowhere else quite like it, and the reason wasn't entirely due to the man standing behind you. You didn't have to turn around to know it was Matt. Your apartment was empty now, doused in the warm late afternoon light. Matt stood before you, his dress shirt creased, his tie crooked, his hair ruffled, and his face flushed from exertion. He must have run from his office in Hell's Kitchen to your apartment in Midtown Manhattan. You extended your gratitude to Karen and Foggy in person for helping you with the case before Matt got there, nothing else. You guessed they were suspicious of that and told him, even though you didn't show anything out of place. You wanted to get this over with.

"Do what?"

"Leave. Leave New York. Leave me."

The wounded edge in his plea twisted the knife that was already embedded in your heart.

"I told you. I can't rest when they're still out there."

"Let the authority take care of that. Don't be reckless."

The tone in his last sentence was stern, reprimanding as if you were a child out of line.

"Me? Reckless?"

You turned to face him, appalled at his audacity.

"I followed your 'no killing' rule. These bastards are still free because of it."

Your hands helped enunciate each word you threw at him, even though it was fruitless. You were making a point for yourself. An excuse to leave.

"They can't run forever. You've done your part. You've suffered enough."

Matt erased the distance between you, getting close enough that you didn't want to step back. You would miss his warmth.

"Stay. You have friends here."

His tender intention thrummed on your nerves, coaxing your guard like the sweet honey he always put in your tea. His words were so convincing that you felt like you could be fooled.

"No, I don't. I don't have anyone."

You stubbornly turned your head away, unable to look at him.

"You have me. Foggy and Karen, too. They don't say it but they do care about you. And I do, too."

"You don't mean that."

"Yes, I do."

He said it with so much conviction. You wanted to believe him.

"I can't, Matt. I don't know who I am without this."

The constant running, following, chasing. The continuous shutout from people, shielding yourself until you were isolated and all alone. In a way, your violence, pain, and loneliness were a way for you to punish and protect yourself. That was how you stayed anchored to reality, never strayed too far from your cruel fate, and never looked at what you could have been.

"You're still you. The strongest, most stubborn person I know. Even when you don't know yourself, you'll get there eventually. Stop running and allow yourself a chance to live the life that you deserve. To be who you want to be."

"I'm still a murderer. That's all I am and all I'll ever be. I'm only capable of that, and I will only bring you down with me by merely being in your life."

He shook his head.

"Yes, I will, Matt. Nothing good comes with me. Why don't you just let me go?"

Your throat hurt with the stricken cry that was torn from your chest. Your eyes were wide, watching Matt through the thin veil of your tears.

"I love you."

"What?"

"I love you. Everything about you."

Matt inched even closer, and you let him step into your space, knocking down your crumbling barrier. You weren't strong enough to back away. To run. You were exhausted from it.

"Please …"

You had always been careful, five steps ahead of most things. But not everything. You didn't expect to fall for Matt, yet, you did. This was his desperate plea for you to stay, to live your life instead of hiding in the shadows, being a ghost of who you truly were. He had whittled away your defence wall, brick by brick, over the span of time you knew each other. He taught you there was safety in letting go. And you did.

In a swift and clumsy motion, you slammed your lips against Matt's, accepting his promises, love, and everything in between. His full lips were soft and addictive, parting easily to deepen the kiss. Your tongues tangled in a fiery dance, and you felt like you could get drunk on his taste alone. Like the barest hint of salt, a touch of cinnamon spice, and something else that only belonged to him. His hand tangled in your hair, bringing you closer as if it was possible. When he was finally satisfied with the absence of space in between, his hand trailed down to the column of your throat in a soft caress, before stopping at the coursing, delicate pulse. Matt pressed in with his fingertips, acting on the overwhelming need to feel you, to feel the proof as if your woven bodies and intertwined tongues weren't enough. That you were real, and you were here with him. You only parted when you felt like your body could slip away from your consciousness. You heaved hard, feeling the gasps of air on your lips as Matt touched his forehead to yours. He whispered against your lips.

"Please. Stay with me."

You closed your eyes. You were tired of running, of letting your rage consume you. You and Matt were two flames. Similar to a fault, but he brought balance to you in his own way. He soothed that anger inside you and showed you that there was more to you than your past, the deadly intents you carried in the company of your wrath. You had a chance to start over with a future that wouldn't end in solitude, with the man who had so much trust in your potential when you didn't. At last, you weren't afraid to take it for yourself, as long as Matt was with you. You nodded; your face bore joyous tears and a genuine smile.

"I'm all yours."

*Likes, reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated!*

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mediocre-writerr · 3 years

Text

who do you love [lexi howard]

lexi howard x reader

requested: Hiii! I just discovered your page while looking for Euphoria fics. I saw that you don’t have any Lexi Howard fics. Could I request a fic where Reader is partnered up with Cassie for a project or something and they meet Lexi and develops a crush on her, but Lexi is clueless and thinks reader has a thing for Cassie? Fluff please. Also your works are absolutely amazing!

a/n: italicized are rue's voiceover

*not my gif*

Lexi has always lived in the shadows of her sister. Every guy or girl she liked just never fell for her. They always fell for her sister. Cassie was the one in the spotlight and Lexi was just the background character.

You sat there with your earbuds in as your teacher went on and on about some project you guys had to do. But again, you weren't exactly listening.

Until he came over and ripped your earbuds out of your ear. You looked up at him with innocent eyes, "Ms. Y/L/N, you're partnered with Ms. Howard. Hopefully, she'll be able to fill you in since you weren't paying attention,"

You sent him a small smile before trudging your way over to Cassie. You heard a lot of things about her, but you didn't really care what everyone thought around here. Most of them were assholes anyway.

"So were you paying attention to anything he was saying?" you asked as you plopped down into the seat next to her.

"Not a word, but my friend Kat heard all of it. If you want you can come over tonight, we can start working on it, getting it over with," she offered and you nodded.

“Sounds great,”

You see this was the start of a beautiful friendship for Y/N and Cassie. They became as thick as thieves. Everyone thought that Y/N and Cassie would eventually get together, but the entire time Cassie was just trying to get her newly found best friend to admit feelings for her sister.

And those feelings started, cheesy to say, but at first sight.

You knocked on the Howard’s door, bouncing on the balls of your feet. You didn’t really know how to feel, Cassie was popular and well you? Not so much.

The door swung open and you swore your jaw dropped all the way to the floor. You were met with the younger Howard sister. She was beautiful. Her beautiful brown hair fit perfectly with her fair skin.

“You must be Y/N?” she says, snapping you out of your daze.

“Yeah, that’s me. Hi, Lexi, right?” you asked, stepping into the house as she held the door open.

“Yeah. Cassie went out with Maddy, but she texted me and said she’s on her way back. You can come in, you don’t have to wait outside like a dog,” she joked and you laughed together softly.

The two of you sat together on the couch. Your eyes gazed to the TV to see her watching Crazy Rich Asians. One of your favorite movies of all time. The screen was showing the montage of Rachel trying on all the different dresses for the wedding.

“This movie is a masterpiece,” you tell her.

She nods, “This is my first time watching it and I’m completely sold,”

“Oh, you haven’t even gotten to the best part yet. The wedding scene is-” you put your fingers to your lips and kiss them, “Chef’s kiss!”

“Hmm, I’ll have to take your word for it,” she said.

You continued watching as the wedding scene started. Lexi’s eyes were glued to the TV, but yours kept drifting towards Lexi. The way she watched intently as Kina Grannis started singing “Can’t Help Falling In Love”.

The scene ends and she looks at you, tears boarded at her eyes, “Why am I going to cry?” she laughed.

“Because it’s one of the most beautiful scenes in history,” you told her.

The two of you just stared at each other. Her doe brown eyes were captivating and you couldn’t help your eyes from drifting down to her lips. There was a moment where you thought she did the same thing.

The door bust open filled with laughter and Cassie and Maddy’s eyes landed on the two of you, “Hey Y/N, sorry I’m late. I see my sister was able to keep you company,”

“Oh yeah, Lexi was great. It was nice meeting you, I’ll see you around,” you told her.

You see, my best friend Lexi developed a crush on Y/N right after that. But despite me and Jules telling her constantly that she felt the same way, Lexi still thought that you fell for her blonde sister and not her.

“Cassie! I am not telling your sister that I like her. She does not feel the same way that I do. I am not going to risk my friendship that I’ve built with her and you,” you told her as the two of you laid on the bed in her bedroom.

She looked at you with her blue eyes like you were on drugs, “Are you kidding me right now? You sound like you just bought something from Fez. I’ve never seen my sister look at anyone the way she looks at you. You need to stop being a fucking coward and just tell her how you feel,”

“Okay, what if she does want to be my girlfriend? What if something bad happens? I lose the both of you and I can’t do that. I don’t want you to choose between me and your own sister,” you whispered.

Your heads were slightly tilted towards each other as you just stared at her, “I think you need to take advice from your favorite movie: you’re not playing to win, you’re playing to not lose. So play to win. Don’t think about the what if’s and even if things go south with my sister, I found a sister in you. You’re not gonna lose me either,” she said, “You’re one of my favorite people in the entire world, possibly my favorite, don’t tell Maddy that though. I love you so much Y/N,”

Little did the two of you know that Lexi was at the door way. She didn’t hear anything besides that you’re Cassie’s favorite person and that she loves you.

“Awww someone loves me,” you nudge her shoulder, “But I’m for sure going to tell Maddy that I’m your favorite person. She’ll have a field day with that one,”

She pushed your face away from her, “You will not! I’ll just tell Lexi myself then,”

You gasped, “You wouldn’t dare!”

“Then you do it!” she exclaimed.

Lexi avoided Y/N after that day. She also avoided Cassie. The two girls didn’t know why the brunette Howard was avoiding them. All they knew was that she avoided them every chance that she got.

It broke Y/N’s heart. She was finally ready to tell Lexi how she felt. And now, she wants nothing to do with her. No more movie nights. No more random ice cream days. But rather, Y/N going over to visit Cassie and being disappointed when their mom would answer the door and not Lexi.

You finally caught up to her as she was trying to sprint past you in the hallway. You grabbed her wrist and she looked back at you. The first time actually seeing those beautiful eyes of hers in weeks.

“What did I do? I understand if you don’t want to talk to me. I understand if you don’t want to be my friend, but please just tell me what I did. That’s the least I deserve,” you whispered, your voice breaking at the thought of losing one of your best friends.

She shook her head, “Nothing, you didn’t do anything,”

“I obviously did something, you’re not talking to me!” you exclaimed.

Lexi broke free of your grasp, “You don’t need me Y/N. You have my sister. Cassie always wins. She’s always been in the spotlight. She always gets the guys and girls. Everyone I’ve ever liked, she went for them. And she always wins. I just thought for once that I mattered. That for once, the person I fell in love with chose me, but I guess I was wrong,”

She stormed away and you were left with your mouth agape. Everything she said twirling in your brain. You immediately told Cassie all of it and your brain worked together to try and figure out a way to win her back. Until it all finally clicked.

You stood outside in the backyard of the Howard’s house. A slip n slide was in the path leading to you, switch on candles. You sat on the opposite side with a guitar in your hand. Luckily, you can play.

Singing on the other hand, well let’s just hope it goes well.

“Cassie, I already said I don’t want to talk to you! You can’t bribe me with Bob Ross tutorials!” Lexi’s voice echoed as she closed the backyard door.

She spotted you sitting there and she was immediately about to go inside when you yelled out to her, “Lexi please! Just let me explain, it’ll take maybe three or four minutes of your time,”

Lexi walked down the slip n slide, but not before falling on her butt and sliding towards you. You let out a roar of a laugh as she finally reached down to you. She tried hard to fight off a laugh and a smile, but you could see it faintly.

When you finally came down from your high she looked at you with raised eyebrows, “Well, I’m waiting,”

You started playing the guitar. The melody you learned just hours before playing from the guitar. You took in a deep breath as you started singing the infamous song that got you to fall in love with her in the first place.

“So, take my hand, take my whole life too. For, I can’t help falling in love with you. For, I can’t help falling in love with you,” you finish the song.

The two of you look at each other as you place your guitar down next to you, “You do matter to me, Lexi. More than you know. I’m sorry it took me so long to tell you, but ever since the first night I met you I’ve always been in love with you,”

“Cassie actually told me that I need to play to win. And if I had to slip on my ass a thousands times trying to set up this low budget recreation of the wedding scene in Crazy Rich Asians, I would. I did it because I need to win your heart, because Lexi, you already have mine,”

A small smile breaks out onto her face as she closes the distance between the two of you. She kissed you ever so softly as you tasted the sweet taste of her lips.

“And you have mine,”

#lexi howard #lexi howard x reader #lexi howard imagines #euphoria #euphoria imagines

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gaiuswrites · 3 years

Text

King of Cups || Chapter 4

Chapter 4: Page of Swords

Archive: ao3 | masterlist | three

Pairing: Din Djarin x fem!Reader

Summary: You attempt a new skill. Mando attempts to teach you.

Word count: 4.7k~

Rating: Mature

Warnings/tags: gun usage/mentioning throughout, mature language, pining, more dirty thots-ish, angst because why not, does this count as fluff? sure, gun kink if you squint w/o your glasses

Notes: As the reader (you/us) begins to become more familiar with Mando, his perspective starts bleeding in to the narrative, without a blocked off POV. Also, the reader’s past will start weaving (incoherently?) into the story as well. The large italicized chunks denote past tense interactions (which is probably obvious but who knows any more). Cheers x (gif credit: @djarinsgf)

A shot rings out.

Birds explode from the canopy with offended squawks, squalling in a winged flurry to scatter every which way until they recede again into the green, disappearing back into their hiding places. You groan. You thought you’d be better at this.

It’s not that you thought you were some sort of savant, you just didn’t expect to be this bad. Honestly, it’s embarrassing—you’re embarrassingly terrible— like statistically, you should have hit something by now, but you just keep missing—a crowded tree line in front of you, and not a scratch in sight—nary a singed branch nor a bullet holed trunk. It’s almost impressive how poor of a shot you are—and you would be, if you weren’t so damn exasperated with the whole affair. With a frustrated grunt, you throw your hands up, brandishing the weapon haphazardly.

“Careful,” Mando warns slyly, “you could hurt someone with that thing.”

“Yeah, well at least I’d hit something,” you grumble.

The kid had been fussy - almost unbearably so - in the weeks that followed your short stint on Bajic, and your party was itching for some time off the Razor Crest. After his third tantrum in a day, Mando decided to land on some unknown planet you couldn’t even spell to stretch your legs and take a breather.

You had almost sobbed when you saw him drag his menagerie of weaponry over. You knew what this meant, you knew what came next—his weekly, routine buff.

You think he’s doing it on purpose.

Ever since the first time, when you damn near had a conniption ogling him, you swear it’s like he’s doing it just to mess with you. He isn’t—of course he isn’t, rationally you knew that, in fact there was plenty of evidence to the contrary. He’s a Mandalorian—weapons are apart of his religion for kriff’s sake—but Maker does it seem intentional. Premeditated. It’s like you can feel the blistering ray of his gaze on you as he takes his time, roving a leathered hand over the bulge of the shaft—greasing it, stripping it, part by metal part…

It’s all in your head, you told yourself. It’s all in your fucking head and you need to get a grip.

Immediately you sprang into action, busying yourself with anything you could get your stupid, little hands on—in this case, being one of his many blasters.

“I wanna give it a go,” you said.

He let you, surprisingly. He hesitated, at first, his helmet tipping at a disbelieving angle. But he gave in—it took less effort on your part than you’d figured—and Mando conceded. He obliged.

How hard could it be? You thought.

Famous last words.

He’s parked there, settled on a throne of crates pushed flush to the Crest, slouched against the outer hull of the ship as he cleans, from the looks of it, every item in his arsenal—a front row seat to your pathetic endeavor and you’re failing—epically, ridiculously—shot after errant shot.

You line yourself up, scrunching your face in concentration as you bare the blaster in your hands. Maybe this time…

You fire off a round and an animal scampers scared in the thicket. Nothing. Another sublime miss.

You hear a noise come from Mando’s direction, something subtle like a blip of static through his helmet - Maker, he’s laughing at you - and you pivot around to him.

“What,” you ask, although it's less of a question and more of a griping pout. He replies with silence, that fickle language he's mastered to perfection all on his own, his focus pitched down to the bristled rod he’s driving in and out of his rifle, scouring out the residue from the inner barrel. “Ugh, what Mando?” you say, just shy of a whine, one hand slotted on your hip, the other dangling by your side, the pistol foreign and cumbersome in your grasp.

“Didn’t say anything,” he replies with a half shrug, his pauldrons shifting so imperceptibly you almost miss it. You pause, hurling him a look that misses him completely before you heave a frustrated sound.

“Fine, you show me how it’s done then.”

The T of his visor finds you. Its cold and unknowable as he rolls his helmet, tilting it up to you, hands slowing their ministrations to a rest. He’s wears a glare, carved into the steel hollow of the plates—unamused and smoldering—and with it, you feel small; microscopic and withering under his pointed gaze— suddenly too exposed in the open patch of jungled wilderness they’ve landed in and your mouth tweaks, teeth grazing the plush there. You assume he won’t do it. There’s no way he’ll rise to such obvious of a challenge, but he’s sighing—you can see it in the slant of his armor—and marching towards you before you can take it back, drawing closer and closer until Mando’s slated in front of you, expectant and postured and you forget— like the skip of a record, you forget why he’s even there— not a foot before you— and your eyes dance across his helm, flickering back and forth.

“May I?” he nods down to the pistol in your hand and you start - oh, shit - and offer it to him clumsily.

Mando squares off against the untamed green. The air lays hot and sticky around them. There is no trace of wind, no glimmer of breeze, and his cape hangs mute down his back. You’d never seen him fire his weapon. He surrounded himself with them, sure, always had at least two strapped to him at all times— probably even slept with one, you reckon— but you’ve never seen him use one.

With one solid movement, he cranes his arm, taking aim.

Now, you aren’t one to condone violence, but he just looks right doing it; an extension of himself with how natural it is, how innate— an added appendage, born unto him. The pistol looks good in his fist, like it couldn’t possibly belong anywhere else, the orange tips of his glove curling around the hilt, looping over that sensitive release.

He has practiced hands. Methodical. Sturdy. It’s sensual, to watch him like this. Pornographic even— sacrilege in a way. A part of you wants to look away and turn your gaze, grant him privacy as he handles the blaster— delicately, confidently. It’s intimate.

The pistol croons in his palm. She bends, supple and lilting. He knows just where to touch, where to stroke— she does anything he tells her. She melts for him.

Warmth pools in your mouth. Mando pulls the trigger.

He lands an impressive shot onto an impossibly narrow tree trunk nestled further in, and your features contort with amazement. Maybe you want to see it again—like a nosy neighbor peeping in through drawn curtains. Maybe you’re being reckless and smarmy, and maybe you know it. A Mandalorian’s got a gun in his hand and you’re prodding him - brilliant strategy, top marks - but your adrenaline is pumping something fierce and you feel yourself grow bold with each seize of your heart.

“Lucky shot,” you huff.

He pans to you, lolling his head, visor locked onto your face. Without flinching, without gracing you with a remark, he raises his arm and fires— doesn’t even have to kriffing look. The scorch mark sizzles - haughtily, jeering - no more than a few inches away from the first. You nearly choke on the arrogance of it— the lazy, smug performance— like he can’t be bothered with any of it, as if your taunts are all so beneath him.

You have to bite down on your lip to stop it from snaking into a wicked grin.

Mando offers the pistol back to you, flipping it grip-side up in a fancy flourish before striding - strutting - back to his post. You shake your head, a determined set to your jaw and you retake your aim, squinting in the hazy afternoon light, pulling the trigger— and nothing happens.

Again, click. Nothing, click after fruitless click. You make a face, pinching—

“Safety’s on.”

You flush, thanking the Maker that your back is towards him, and switch it down with your thumb. “Right,” you mumble sheepishly, wetting your lip. You align your sights, bracing yourself for the impact—

“It’s your stance.”

Three words.

Three words, the only solace Mando provides before devoutly returning to his work.

You wait for him to elaborate, to edify you— for any manner of sage advice— but the explanation never comes; he leaves you like this, marooned with three fucking words and you have to screw your eyes shut. This man is baffling— maddeningly unhelpful— infuriatingly sparse. It makes you want to howl and rip your hair out— and you whip around violently.

“What about my st-”

Your question comes scampering to a halt, tail between your legs, throat gone dry. Mando has planted himself directly behind you— standing so close you can see your reflection in his beskar, see the blush blurring your cheek under the alien sun.

“What uh, what about my stance?” you ask, mousier now, swallowed up by the sheer size of him so near to you.

“It’s not wide enough.”

You glance down at your feet before looking back up to him. “What do you mean?”

“Turn around,” he says.

You quirk your brow at him before he repeats himself. “Turn around and spread your legs. Hips distance apart.”

Fuck, he has no business sounding like that— like bourbon and smoke and iron tang—but you do as he says. You’re shakier than you want to be— you wish you could be cool and collected but you’re not. You’re anything but, and you’re nervous. Maker, Mando makes you nervous— it’s not just the weapon in your hand, it’s him— setting you off and giving you butterflies like you’re some sort of forlorn schoolgirl. You’re a grown woman, and this is what he’s rendered you to— jittery, molten mush. It’s embarrassing. Fucking mortifying.

You guess it’s the day for it.

He doesn’t touch you, but it hardly matters; you can sense him there all the same, a shadow in your peripheral. He leaves a thick breath of space between your bodies and with your back towards him, you can feel the waves of heat radiate off the bounty hunter, pulsing out out out from him and it’s almost intolerable— as if you’ve flown too close to the sun, waxed wings melting in pearled streaks down your spine.

You scuttle your feet open, parting just outside your hips.

“Arms up,” he says, and you hoist them into position. You’re sure you look as awkward as you feel, if not more, all the angles of your body feeling perfectly wrong and misplaced. “Relax your elbows,” he adds, and you do— you try to, at least.

“Too much. Somewhere in between.”

You try again, strengthening through your triceps and down your forearms.

“Better,” Mando gives. You think you feel him nodding approvingly behind you. “The important-”

Kriff, you panic.

You spin towards him, dropping your form and cutting him off with a humbled, worried look, throwing up barricades and hurdles— landmines for him to dodge. Or step on.

“Wait hey Mando, you don’t- I don’t want to take up your time,” you begin.

“You aren’t.”

“I’m serious, I don’t want to bother you with this.”

“You’re not.”

You blink.

“If you’re going to do this, you’re going to do it right.”

He speaks so plainly, unvarnished and matte— unflinchingly earnest in a way that gives you pause. It leaves no wiggle room for interpretation and you sigh, defeated, shoulders slumping as you haul yourself back around.

“Arms up,” he reiterates, but there’s no malice there; he sounds kind— untroubled. It always surprises you how mild he can be— Mando should be anything but, he’d have every reason to, but he’s calm. Patient. You wonder if he even realizes it, if he even recognizes the tenor of his own voice— how gentle it can be— under the helmet. Despite it.

“Think of your posture as firm, without tensing,” Mando explains. “Soften your knees, don’t lock them— same goes for your arms— don’t stiffen against the recoil, let your body absorb it.”

You mirror what he coaches, shooting him a curious, hopeful look over your shoulder.

“There. Good,” he says. “Now, which is your dominant eye?”

Your arms fall down to your sides. “My what?”

“Dominant eye.”

You give him a baffled look like he’s speaking another language - in all fairness, he is - and Mando emits another puff of air through his modulator, chortling.

“Eye dominance. We’re all either right handed or left handed. Eyes work the same— right eyed or left eyed. We favor one or the other— you’ll focus that one to aim.”

Oh, huh.

You still appreciatively, basking in the novelty of the information. “Really? I didn’t know that. That’s- that’s actually pretty interesting,” you muse. “Brains and brawn, huh?” You flash a cheeky grin back at him.

Mando grunts, nondescript and unaffected and robotic but he swears he can feel pink creep over his clavicle, tainting the tan of his skin concealed there.

He fits his gloved hand over yours, if only for a second, and you do your best to ignore the rough patch of his leather grazing against the thin flesh there. You try to ignore the chill that sweeps across the curve of your waist, how the peach fuzz prickles up, electrified and magnetized, as he unfurls your fingers from the gun, letting it slip from your grasp. He tucks it under his arm, keeping it pinned there with his bicep.

“Hold your hands out like this.” Mando shows you, creating an oval with his fingers— like a view finder or a scope. You mimic him, feeling like every bit of an idiot, but you don’t contradict him— you do as he does. “Now, set your focus out on a fixed point through your hands,” he instructs and you do, setting your sights on a gnarled tree branch.

“Got it?” he asks.

“Got it,” you respond.

“Now alternate closing each eye. The image should stay in the frame with one, and then shift out of it with the other.”

You frown, concentrating, and close the right before blinking over to the left— kriff, he’s right.

“Oh shit,” you mumble. “My left. It’s my left eye.”

“You sure?”

You check again, squinting through either eye, the tree bouncing in and out of the frame of your fingers. “Mhm. Yeah, my left eye keeps it centered.”

He makes a thoughtful sound. “Left eyed but right handed. Interesting,” Mando murmurs.

You glance up to him, dropping your hands. “Why is that interesting?”

“Not common. The brain’s typically wired the same way all the way down— one side of the body will be dominant. It’s not usually split.”

“You telling me my brain doesn’t work properly, Mando?” you quip dryly.

“You said it, not me.”

He holds the blaster out to you and you swipe it from him with a huffed snort, returning towards the tree line and stars your face hurts. Your face hurts and it’s burning with this asinine smile that’s digging mercilessly into your cheeks. It makes you want to massage your jaw, get the damn thing to relax. Honestly, it makes you want to give yourself a slap.

“Make sure to cross your center with it. Line it up towards the left.”

“Maker, do you think about all this every time you shoot?” you ask, mystified, as you fix your aim.

“Muscle memory takes over eventually. You’ll get there with enough practice.” Mando replies gruffly and you guffaw, loud and wonderfully ugly. You seriously doubt it.

After a series of very near misses— you are getting closer, you’ll give yourself that— your arms grow tired; the joints and muscles protest as you extend them out from your body, taut and tense— the gun dead weight in your wobbly hands.

Your shoulder smarts where you injured the tendon in the explosion. You roll it out, earning snaps and pops as it notches over the bone there. They told you you were lucky. They congratulated you - it’s not a complete tear! - and it’s on the mend well enough, but it’s weak. It doesn’t matter the weight of the object.

The longer you hold anything, the heavier it feels.

You suppose you could throw in the towel at any point, but the fact of the matter— as terrible and true as it may be— is you want to impress him. That awful, nagging feeling— you want to impress the Mandalorian. You want him proud of you— you want to be nice and shiny for him to admire, like one of the guns he polishes until it’s sparkling, until he can mount it on display and show it off. It’s absolutely nauseating— but you couldn’t stop it even if you wanted to, and you don’t. You don’t want to.

He isn’t blind to it. He sees the exertion, the tax— how beads of sweat congress around your temples, dampening the base of your scalp, butterfly kissing your skin with a sheen. A trail of wet salt, one lone pilgrim, ventures down the back of your neck, wandering lower and lower, past the hem of your shirt, disappearing into the soft valley of your spine where Mando can’t follow. His throat bobs rough against his cowl.

Transferring the pistol into one hand, you shake out the other, flexing through it and relaxing your grip.

“Wait,” he says and you cock your head back at him. Mando’s retreating to his pile of guns, rifling through the metal anthill before selecting something sleek and chrome. “Here,” you exchange pistols, giving him back the bulkier of the two. Immediately you feel the relief of this new one— it’s lighter and smaller, slighter in your grasp, too— and you turn it over in your hands, noting the way the nozzlelike barrel glitters in the sun.

You’d almost consider it pretty if it weren’t a literal killing machine.

“That’s a CDEF model. Lightweight, reliable, Dedlanite casing, standard issue for CorSec officers.”

You nod along, as if you have any clue what he’s talking about— you don’t. You really, truly don’t.

“Should be easier.”

“Mm,” you hum out in ignorant agreement, slotting your arms back up into position.

“Don’t put your finger on the trigger until you’re ready to fire.” You rest it against the slide of the barrel, hovering nearby.

Mando shifts closer towards you, the grass grinding under his feet as he takes a half step in to your backside.

“Breathe. Don’t hold it in. Let me hear it.”

Fuck, this feels like a sin; this small gap of distance he’s erected between you as tense, as strained and feverish, as whispered confessions in the dark. Like sneaking back into your parent’s house late at night— the morning moon peering down at you with a heavy lidded gaze— knowing, knowing, keeping your secrets to herself, pressing them to her chest, winking sleepily.

It would be so much easier, so much simpler, if he just put his hands on you. Placed your body where he knows it should be, force you into the shapes and positions he’s so intimate with himself, but he doesn’t. He draws it out. He respects your space and autonomy and it makes it worse. Your imagination fills the void separating you two, and it’s running wild and rampant and depraved and—

“Focus,” he utters, his voice no louder than a purr. You’ve never heard something so mechanical make a sound so deliriously smooth, and you have to suppress a nervous scoff. Focus, he says, as if he isn’t suffocating you with how close he’s standing— as if you aren’t enjoying it— as if you aren’t vibrating down to your very bones at the proximity of the bounty hunter—so close, you bet he can hear them, rattling and slapping against each other deep beneath your skin.

“Remember what I said about your posture,” he suggests quiet-like and murmured, without a trace of condescension there—a harmless reminder. You make the adjustment, fixing your shoulders down your back, and release the stress in your arms.

“Firm without tensing,” you respond under your breath—more for your sake than his— striking it from your mental checklist.

“‘Atta girl.”

No.

No no no, Maker, you feel it. You can fucking feel it—how something low and resonant spasms beyond your belly, the clench of your empty cunt at the encouragement—the heady praise of it all.

Atta girl.

He said it softly - rudely husky - just above a whisper, something tailored specifically for you—almost like it slipped from his lips and he didn’t even notice its passing. It meandered out of him, so easy—too easy. It practically sauntered.

You’re trembling— stars, you hope Mando doesn’t see it. It’s humid and muggy and yet you’re shaking as if it’s freezing, as if you’ve got icicled snot dripping from your nose, and your nerves go haywire, fraying in every direction as you sip in a whistled breath.

You can do this. You can do this. Focus.

“Take the shot,” he orders.

Focus.

Pressing into the slope of the trigger, you fire.

You gasp excitedly— a surprised, whooping laugh tearing through you and you whip around, giddy and beaming - bright, beautiful - a lock of hair sticking to your lip. It’s the youngest, the freest, Mando’s ever seen you; maybe the happiest, too, and his stomach twists at the sight, a tourniquet cinching around him, winding and coiling until he’s convinced it’ll burst. His fingers twitch, every instinct begging him— demanding him— to reach out and return the stray strand behind your ear alongside the others but you beat him to it. Deftly, you flit it away yourself instead, and he’s relieved.

Devastated, too. Gutted.

“Did you see that?” you ask, gleeful as a child.

He pries himself off you, dragging his gaze over your shoulder to where you struck the trunk, a coaled mark charred there into the bark, before returning his attention back to you. You meet his eyes, despite the blackness of his helm— you hold them, for a breathless, ageless moment, you hold him there.

“Not bad.”

He can’t muffle the jolt of his heart as it rumbles through his chest, breaking his mouth wide open into an aching smirk. He doesn’t know if you hear it. He fears you might.

He prays you do.

///

“Cooling vents,”

Metal scrapes against the table as you place the delicate bits down, deconstructing the blaster. The Mandalorian nods, silent as a specter.

“Gas refill valve,”

Another clunk.

“Actuating blaster…” You turn over a particularly knobby bulb before peeking up at Mando through your lashes, a wry grin tugging rosy and coy at your lips. “… thing-”

“Module,” Din corrects.

“Module, right, that’s what I said.”

He sits across the galley from you, arms folded over his chest as he eases back against the hull of the ship, overseeing as you take apart the blaster, the slender little thing he gave to you - he rarely uses it anyways - as you name the pieces and parts just like he’s taught you.

“Keep it,” he told you.

You resisted. You fought it, laughed it off incredulously— stubborn to the end— argued you wouldn’t even have a need for it.

“What am I gonna do with a gun, Mando?” you balked, and Maker he’d hoped you’d never have to use it, would never have to see a firefight in your damn life let alone be in the middle of one, but he wants you to have it— have a part of him, strapped to your hip— the closest he’ll get.

He’s selfish. Din is a greedy, selfish man. He wants to see himself on you, wants you to carry him around like a souvenir from something unforgettable— something irreplaceable— a memory like warm bathwater you dip into long after it passes, and he’ll take whatever he can get— just like you, hungry for anything you’re gracious enough to feed him. And fuck, if he doesn’t hate it— doesn’t want to bury that feeling, cold and lifeless, six feet under the earth. No ceremony. No elegies. Dead and gone, returning to the dust from whence it came, crawling back into the ribcage it sprung from.

Din said your name. Firm— gentle, too.

“Keep it.”

They’ve been at this ever since you managed to hit the target that first time. Hours have passed, dawdling by on the fat little legs of a toddler, plodding and slow. The sun had set, and winged bugs the length of your palm had taken up residency in the dark rainforest, making themselves known with a haunting tune, screeching and singing into the lush wood. After the child had tried making a pass at one, no doubt in the mood for a quick snack - isn’t he always - you had agreed to retire back inside the Crest.

You were so excited, your whole face lit up— like fireworks he remembered once, through the eyes of a boy in the summered night— and you wanted more; like a sponge, sopping up all you could, sucking Din in and ringing him out for it and fuck, he couldn’t say no.

He can’t say no to you.

You start prattling out questions about everything and nothing - what blaster do you prefer, do you have a favorite rifle, what’s the difference between plasma and gas charges, you have a flamethrower on your wrist? - and before long you get him lecturing, going on about weapon safety and trigger discipline and slide bites and ammunition rounds and gun brands and serial numbers and Din knows this isn’t you. You’re a borderline pacifist for kriff’s sake— he’s almost certain that if push came to shove, you’d rather lay down your life than take one. You’re no gunslinger, and you don’t hold any aspirations to become one.

But here you are, fist tucked under your chin and leaning in to him, hanging off his every word.

You have no personal interest in weapons. Frankly you’d be pleased if you never held a gun again in your life. No, and whether Mando realizes it or not, you want to know because it’s him. You want to know him. And maybe it’s because its the most he’s given to you since you stepped foot aboard the Razor Crest— almost a month, and what you’ve gotten from him today alone has been more than he’s given in weeks— not a door so much as it is a window into his life, an allowance, a glimpse behind the beskar. Its more attention, more words and insights, more tiny gestures and maybe you’ve been a little starved for it— maybe you’ll eat up any scraps Mando tosses with a calloused glove, molded and rotting, from his plate.

Even if it’s this, even if its fucking firearms.

You want to know.

It’s who you are: it doesn’t matter what someone’s passionate about, you’re interested in their interests. You care what they care about. If they matter, then it matters. It’s who you are, webbed and weaved into the innermost fabric of your being, and you can’t pretend to be anything else; you don’t know how to unbecome.

You’re splayed before him— a bleating heart, kaleidoscoping and blooming and twisting in his hands. If only you could pry open your chest— turn yourself inside out at the seams, spill yourself to splatter, sanguined and slippery right there on the deck. You’d do it, if you could.

Am I loving enough Am I giving enough Have I paid my debts Am I worth this now, finally— Worth that which I offer, have I earned it back

So effortless, this vignette, seated here in his galley, dismembering a blaster and labeling the parts, terminology klutzy on your tongue— tripping over yourself just to get it out— looking to him for hints and clues, fluttering your doe eyes with cartoonish bats.

He answers. You laugh. He smiles.

The kid is in his pram, entranced by all the shiny baubles and bobbins just out of his reach - thank the Maker - and giggles at their little game— happy, for once, just to watch.

You and me both kid, Din thinks. You and me both.

209 notes · View notes

semisgroupie · 4 years

Text

The Woman Who Used to be Mrs. Jones

Genre: smut, fluff (kinda at the end?), angst

Pairing: Aoi Todo X F!Reader

Word Count: 6.4k words

Warnings (some of the content can be triggering so please read through the warnings before reading this): cheating (in this Todo is the other man/reader is in a loveless marriage where her husband cheats on her/her husband is just a huge asshole), toxic relationship, sexual scenes, unprotected sex (don’t be silly wrap your willy), oral sex (f! and m! receiving), dirty talk, multiple creampies, bathroom sex, praise, risky sex (they fuck at a party the reader and her husband is hosting), mention of a small altercation between Todo and reader’s husband, mention of a child & brief mention of pregnancy (not detailed), if I missed anything let me know

A/N: I do not condone, support or encourage cheating! It is not good, don’t do it! The song Me and Mrs. Jones by Billy Paul helped me with creating this piece so I recommend listening to it while reading this. This has depicted sex within this so MINORS DNI (I’m not gonna cry bc I don’t cry but I am not afraid to beat some ass) So I hope you all enjoy it, comments/reblogs are very appreciated!!! I also apologize in advance if formatting is weird on mobile :/

Flashbacks are bolded & italicized! Also separated by a border!

Todo walks up to the counter of the cafe and orders the usual for the both of you. He came early since he was done with work earlier than usual so after paying for the drinks he carried them to the special spot you two shared. Once seated he takes his phone out to check the time while taking a sip from his drink.

The time read 5:45. You got out fifteen minutes ago and your job wasn’t too far from the cafe, so you’d be there soon. The bell chimed to the cafe and Todo looked up to see you walk in.

His heart pounded in his chest, you looked as beautiful as you did the first day he met you all those years ago in high school. Once you two made eye contact you flashed him a smile and made your way over to him.

“Hey baby, I didn’t think you’d be here before me.”

He felt his cheeks flush at the pet name. You leaned down to hug him and give him a kiss, placing your hands on each side of his face caressing him as your lips met. Once you pulled away you sat down and started talking about your day at work.

He couldn’t help but lose focus as to what you were saying. He knew your day was tough from how your hair looked a bit disheveled from running your hands through it, a habit you had picked up when you were extremely stressed.

Time passed as the two of you spoke about each other’s days and then you were both done with your drinks.

“Wanna go home now Aoi? As much as I love it here I found this new recipe online that I would really like to try out!”

He nodded as you both got up, tipped the cashier one last time before heading to your shared home. The distance was short from where you both were currently and when you two were together even one hundred miles would feel like two blocks.

As Todo put the key in to unlock the door he sighed in content. Once you both were inside he took your jacket off and put it away. He leaned on the kitchen island while you started taking out ingredients for dinner.

“This isn’t a dream right Y/N?”

It just felt so unrealistic to him he just had to be dreaming. Your laughter filled the air as you walked towards him. You wrapped your arms around his body and looked up at him.

“While we did this in the most unconventional way it is very much real” you removed your left hand from his body to put your hand close to his line of view, “this ring you gave me a few months ago is proof of our love and the ring I gave you on your left ring finger is also proof of my love and dedication to you.”

Unconventional? Was that even the right word to explain the events that led you both to where you are now?

You started your arrangement with him two years ago. You became “Mrs. Jones” a year before that. A happy marriage was wished to the both of you, but your marriage was anything but that. Six months after you both said your I do’s you found your husband in bed with his boss. They didn’t even think about trying to conceal their affair.

To say it broke your heart was an understatement. You felt like he ripped your heart out of your chest and destroyed it slowly as you watched. Soon there were lonely nights filled with you drinking and crying yourself to sleep. Soon after you just became numb, you got used to putting up a facade whenever your friends or family asked how married life was.

The only one who knew of the affair and how horrible your marriage actually was, was your best friend Valerie. When she first found out you had to hold her back the next time she saw him because she was just filled with rage. You were trying to find a good divorce attorney, but you just didn’t have enough money yet, so you were stuck for the time being. Then it was time to plan how to celebrate one year since the day you married him.

Valerie said that she would bring a special surprise for you, but you just pushed it to the side. You settled on hosting a party at your parent’s house since it was big enough. The fake smile you had plastered on your face burned your soul more than the cheap ring on your finger. A cheap ring that meant the entire world one moment but now means absolutely nothing.

You were leaning on the wall, holding a glass of champagne, next to your husband as Valerie approached you.

“Y/N! You look absolutely stunning!” she gave your husband a side glance as she begrudgingly said his name, “Declan... anyways I have your surprise so come with me to the backyard!”

Before you could say anything she grabbed your hand and weaved both of you through the crowd of people. She opened the door and you almost dropped your glass at the sight.

“Aoi? I thought you were away in Sweden?”

Todo brings a hand to his neck.

“I was but my job relocated here, and Valerie told me everything. As much as I’d love to say congratulations, I can’t.”

Your body moves on its own as you approach him and hug him. He holds you on instinct and all that is heard is sniffles. You move back and quickly apologize for your abrupt actions.

“Hey, don’t apologize pretty girl” he brought his hands to cup your face and wiped the tears from your face, “Declan should be the one apologizing, how could he take someone like you for granted. I know you might not believe me, but you look just as beautiful as you did when we were in high school.”

The two of you were high school sweethearts but got accepted into different colleges. The inevitable happened and you both broke up, heading your separate ways losing contact. The last thing you heard about him was he had a job in Sweden and that was it. After college you met Declan and he seemed like a knight in shining armor, but it was too late for you to realize he was the devil in disguise.

You leaned into his touch as if you two were the only ones there. Only if he was the one you married; you both would be so happy. You wouldn’t have to worry about any mistresses or affairs because even in this moment you felt all his love. Todo moved in and before you knew it you felt his lips on yours.

You melted into the kiss immediately kissing him back until he abruptly pulled away.

“I am so sorry Y/N. I didn’t mean to you’re still married, and this is the anniversary party and he’s inside—”

“I don’t care about Declan. The only one I care about is you. Valerie always says I should be a little selfish and now is the time. I still care about you Aoi, I still love you. The piece of my heart that left with you is now back and I’m whole again. I understand if you’re not comfortable with this, I am trying to find a lawyer and once I get the promotion at my job I can finally pay for one.”

You looked up at him hoping he would indulge you in one last kiss even if it would be the last one you two ever shared. You watched as a smile grew on his handsome face.

“I love you too Y/N, I always had and I always will. When Valerie told me about everything I cannot explain the anger I felt not only at him but also myself. If I never left then you wouldn’t be in this situation. Maybe you would’ve been with me.”

He leaned down and placed another kiss on your lips. Before it could continue Valerie ran out to the both of you.

“Hey lovebirds as much as I love seeing you two together Declan is starting a toast and wants his wife by his side.”

She rolled her eyes as your husband’s name left her lips. You took a deep breath and turned inside, Valerie and Todo following you. You took another deep breath as you made your way to your husband putting up the fake smile. He handed you a glass of champagne and started the toast.

“This past year with my beautiful wife by my side has been the best year of my life. Waking up next to her every morning is what fuels my fire. I love this woman so much and marrying her was the best decision of my life. Thank you all for coming and supporting us. Here’s to a happy, healthy marriage and for many more years to come!”

As glasses clinked and cheers filled the room you were filled with disgust at his words. How could he spew such garbage knowing it meant absolutely nothing?

“Come on honey, you can do a better job with that fake fucking smile. Make everyone believe that we’re in love and that I haven’t fucked almost every single one of my coworkers. Maybe I’ll even indulge in you tonight.”

“Fuck you Declan, you piece of shit.”

You excused yourself to the bathroom shoving your heel into his foot making him wince in pain. Todou followed you upstairs a few minutes afterwards hearing your sobs. He knocked on the door once, twice until your shaky voice responded.

“Hey it’s me, I wanted to check on you.”

He waited hearing your heels click on the ground until you reached the door to open it. You looked up at him with tear stained cheeks, eyes puffy from all the rubbing and wiping your tears away. Todo looked at you with so much love it was as if Eros struck him with his bow.

He quickly placed his lips on yours, the kiss feverish but also very loving. As if he was telling you how much he loved you each time his lips met yours. He picked you up and placed you on top of the bathroom sink, quickly running to shut and lock the bathroom door.

“Please let me make you forget about him. Please let me show you what it is like to make love and not fuck. Please Y/N.”

All you did was nod before placing your lips back on his allowing your hands to slide down and undo his belt. He allowed you to undo his belt and pants letting them hit the ground while he was lifting the skirt of your dress up.

“As much as I’d love to take my time worshipping your body we have to make this pretty quick beautiful. But please if you want to stop at any time stop me.”

You nodded at him as you felt his hand lightly graze your clothed pussy. He moved your panties to one side as he slipped a finger in, slowly moving it then inserting a second finger moving it just as slow but each movement made you moan and shiver. You started getting impatient and you grabbed his wrist.

“Please Aoi, please make love to me.”

He slotted his lips against yours again as he removed his cock from his boxers. Moving the tip against your folds making you both moan in the kiss. Once he entered you, slowly and gentle, you broke away from the kiss to throw your head back and moan. Once you gave him the okay he started thrusting.

“Fuck, you’re so tight baby. Just holding me like you don’t want me to let go.”

He moved faster hitting all the right spots. It was as if his cock was designed to fit inside your pussy. Both of your moans and groans filled the small bathroom. It quickly became heated as the mirror started to fog up. He started thrusting into you faster and harder making you throw your hands on the mirror for stabilization.

He placed sloppy kisses along the column of your neck. He lifted himself from your neck to lick two of his fingers and place them on your clit, moving them in small tight circles.

“Come on baby cum for me. Cum all over my cock and I will fill you up. I’ll make this pretty little pussy so fucking messy with my cum and you’ll walk around in that party filled with it. You look so fucking gorgeous baby. I love you so much.”

That sent you off the edge, creaming on his cock with a high pitched moan of his name. He continued pounding your pussy through your orgasm as he was nearing his own. You pulled him in for another kiss running your nails up and down his clothed chest. Feeling your nails against him made him reach his own peak, filling you completely with his cum.

Todo peppered kisses along your lips, swollen and puffy from kissing so intensely, as you both came down from your highs.

“I’m going to pull out now okay?”

“Okay that’s fine.”

You didn’t need to tell Todo to be gentle, he was already treating you like fine glass. He slowly pulled out and quickly moved your underwear to cover your cum filled pussy. A low chuckle left his lips.

“Don’t want you leaking cum all over the place.”

He lifted you off the bathroom sink after picking up both his pants and boxers. Before you could even smooth out your dress Todo did it for you, fixing any flyaways in your hair and placing one last kiss on your lips. He unlocked the door and helped lead you to the stairs.

“We should head down at separate times so we don’t look so suspicious.”

You nodded, placing one last kiss one his lips.

“I love you Aoi.”

“I love you too Y/N.”

You went downstairs and walked to your parents. You had a small limp and it filled both Aoi and yourself with joy seeing how your husband stared, completely confused at you. Valerie leaned next to you close to your ear.

“I already gave Aoi your phone number, go get that dick again.”

She lightly smacked your ass, a small yelp leaving your lips. The party went on for a couple more hours, lingering glances shared between you and Todo. When the party ended you had to figure out a ride situation since your husband drank way too much and you were a little tipsy.

Declan’s brother offered to take him back and before he could offer you a ride Todo came up and offered to take you home, to which you immediately agreed. The ride was filled with laughter and talk of memories. Also, when Todo parked at a secluded area near where you live you thanked him for the ride with a mind blowing blowjob.

He dropped you off in front of your place, being the gentleman he is, he walked you to the front door giving you one last kiss.

“I hope to see you again soon beautiful angel.”

“How about tomorrow? We could go get drinks or dinner.”

“There’s a cafe near my job, I’ll text you the address. Meet me there tomorrow when you’re done with work.”

You nodded as you fished your keys out of your purse. Taking a deep breath you unlocked the door and put your things away, heading straight to the guest bedroom because you refuse to sleep in the same bed Declan had all his whores in.

You thought he went to sleep until you heard a groan of your name. You rolled your eyes and continued going to the guest bedroom, ignoring him until you felt a hand grab your wrist.

“What do you want Declan?”

“What, I can’t touch my wife? You looked really sexy tonight so I thought I might do you the favor of fucking you.”

Fire burned in your veins. Every time you tried to pull yourself away from his hold, his grip got tighter.

“Declan, you’re drunk, and I hate you. Even if I was drunk I still wouldn’t go to bed with you, so make good friends with your hand or call one of your whores up because I will never sleep with you again.”

He turned you around.

“Listen here you bitch, you will never talk to me like that ever again. I did you the fucking favor of marrying your sorry ass now you treat me like this? I haven’t touched you in fucking months and this is what you tell me? Fuck you.”

“My sorry ass? Did me a favor? Did you also do me a favor by cheating on me over and over again? Did you do me a fucking favor then Declan? Rubbing it in my face that you didn’t love me the way I loved you, fucking anything that had tits and bringing them back here. I. Fucking. Hate. You. Rot. In. Hell. I don’t know what those girls see in you anyways, I had to fake almost all my orgasms and your dick has a weird curve, you should go see a doctor for that actually. I can’t wait until I have the money to divorce you and properly leave your sorry ass in the dust.”

You snatched your arm from his grip and locked yourself in the guest bedroom. You took off the heels and unzipped your dress letting it hit the ground as you made your way to the bathroom that was connected to the room. You took off the ring on your left hand flushing it down the toilet.

“That’ll be the last I see of you.”

You turned on the shower letting the water run, steam filling up the bathroom fogging up the mirror. You slipped your panties off the memory of your time with Aoi in the bathroom of your parents’ house filling your mind as you picked up the cum stained panties and put them in the laundry basket.

You entered the shower letting the water run over your body. After your shower you put your pajamas on and sent a goodnight text to Todo setting up the time for meeting at the cafe tomorrow. The next morning you woke up to an empty house, you let out a sigh of relief not wanting to deal with Declan after the stunt he pulled last night.

Your day at work went fairly quickly then it was the end of your workday. Inputting the address Todo gave you into the GPS you realized the drive was going to be pretty short. Once you found parking you walked into the cafe, the little bell on the door chiming with the movement. You looked around and saw Todo sitting at a corner side table, isolated from most of the crowd.

That’s when you started the arrangement. He was fine with being the sideman for now until he could properly have you to himself. Little dates and mind blowing sex filled your lives for the next four months.

~Four Months Later~

Todo was sitting at the table that basically became the unofficially assigned table for you both as he heard the chime to the door. His head shot up expecting you to come through the doorway. It was just an elderly couple. He checked his phone again, checking for any new messages from you and nothing. Just the last message that read: “I’ll see you soon my love”.

Today was the day you would find out if you got the promotion. With the promotion you would get a huge increase in your salary and a $2,000 advance once it was official. $2,000 was the amount you needed to finally afford the divorce lawyer.

Ten minutes passed and Todo ordered another drink for himself. To say he was nervous for you would be an understatement. He was fidgeting like crazy. He received the drink and sat back down at the table. The door chimed again and he looked up to finally see you.

You waved at him and gave him a small smile. Worry filled him and he was afraid to ask you how everything went.

“There’s no way she didn’t get the promotion. She has the best relationship with her boss and she works so hard.” He thought to himself.

You greeted him with a kiss on his head and sat down. He stood silent watching you.

“So I should tell you about what happened at work right Aoi?”

“You don’t have to honey, it’s fine.”

A smile graced your face, a genuine smile, the only type of smile that you shared with Todo since he filled you with genuine happiness.

“I got the promotion.”

Todo sat there in shock.

“What? What did you just say?”

“I got the promotion. I just came back from meeting the divorce lawyer to fill out necessary paperwork, that’s why I came so late.”

He got up from his seat and lifted you up into his arms.

“I’m so happy. I could yell from the rooftops.”

So he did the next best thing, he yelled about your promotion to the entire cafe. The people inside applauded you and gave you words of encouragement. The elderly man approached the both of you after Todo put you down.

“Congratulations to you young lady. This young man seems to be extremely proud of you. I didn’t mean to interrupt the celebration but it’s just that the both of you remind both my wife and I of us when we were younger. While we met under unconventional circumstances we have spent the past 30 years together. I wish you both a happy, healthy relationship.”

You both thanked the old man and watched him walk back to his wife.

“Do you think we’ll be like them one day Aoi?”

He pulled you close to him.

“I don’t think we will, I have a feeling I know we will. Now let’s go pick up your things and bring you back to my place to properly celebrate.”

He drove you to your house and walked with you inside to pack your clothes. In the midst of packing things you both heard the front door slam shut, meaning one thing: Declan was home.

“Care to explain the car in front Y/N? I know you don’t have enough money to afford a new one.”

You sighed and continued packing with Todo.

“I was asking you a fucking question -- oh who’s this? Why are you packing? Oh I get it now, finally got a new guy to deal with your shit? Good luck buddy--”

Before Declan could get another sentence out Todo walked over and shoved him against the wall.

“Don’t you ever speak to Y/N like that again asshole. For your information, she’s leaving you and coming with me. A guy who actually loves her.”

Declan stood there shocked that someone stood up to him. Once you zipped up your bag Todo left Declan to help you. Todo walked behind you with your bag in his hand. You turned one last time to Declan.

“Oh by the way I’ve been having sex with Aoi for the last four months and the first time was at the anniversary party. The reason I was limping was because of him not because of my heels. And you’ll be getting my divorce papers soon, go fuck yourself Declan.”

You walked with Todo to his car and he drove you back to the cafe so you could bring your car to his place. Once you entered through the front door he was on top of you. Placing sloppy kisses all over your lips and neck.

“You looked so fucking sexy there Y/N.”

He picked you up and brought you to his bedroom while you were peppering kisses along his neck. He put you on the bed and started stripping, you followed suit until you were left in your bra and panties and he was left in his boxers.

He pushed you down on the bed and crawled over you. Placing kisses down your body, removing your bra once he got to your chest and removing your panties once he got to your hips. Not one inch of your body was left untouched by his lips except your pussy. The place you needed him most.

“Aoi please.”

“Please what baby? Tell me what you want.”

“Need you—your mouth on my pussy please.”

He wasted no time. He licked from your leaking entrance to your engorged clit. Making you throw your head back.

“I don’t know how but you taste better every time. I’m fucking addicted to how you taste.”

He dove back in, wrapping his lips around your clit and using a finger to tease your entrance. He was alternating between light sucks and harsh sucks making you buck your hips against his mouth.

“Aoi please fuck me. Wanna cum on your cock please.”

He gave your clit one last suck and took the finger he used to circle your entrance and put it in your mouth. The feeling of your tongue swirling around his finger made him even harder if that was possible. He stood up and took off his boxers, throwing them to a random area in the room.

He spit on his hand and pumped himself a few times as he made his way back on the bed.

“Are you ready my love?”

You spoke breathlessly “yes Aoi, please.”

He aligned himself and entered you slowly, going inch by inch until he bottomed out inside you. A moan leaving both of your lips.

“And correction my love, I don’t fuck you” you furrowed your brows but that expression quickly changed when he pulled himself back until only the head of his cock was inside you and he bottomed out again in a swift movement, “I make love to you.”

He leaned down placing his forearms on either side of your head slotting his lips against yours. His thrusts slowly increase in speed. He breaks the kiss to praise you.

“My beautiful girl is so talented. You look so gorgeous right now. So fucking beautiful, I love you Y/N. I love you so much.”

“Aoi, feels s’good. Please I’m gonna cum soon. You fill me so good, like you were made for me.”

You wrap your legs around his waist and he slides his hand down between the two of you to rub circles around your clit. Your moans start increasing in pitch signaling that you’re going to cum. You bring your hands to his back and rake your nails down, digging into his skin, sure to leave marks. His ruts increased in speed bringing you to your orgasm.

“Fuck baby you’re clenching my cock so tight. I’m gonna cum so deep in your pussy baby. I’m gonna fill you up every single day because now you are mine.”

He emphasized each word with a hard thrust. He buries his face in the crook of your neck. Once he cums he sinks his teeth in trying to conceal the guttural moan that leaves his mouth. Coming down from his high he lifts his head up.

“I��m sorry baby I didn’t mean to—”

“There’s no need to apologize Aoi, I’m sorry about the scratches on your back.”

“Don’t apologize pretty girl, with how often we’re going to be making love I’ll get used to it.”

He slowly pulled out and you felt the cum leak out of you. He picked you up and carried you bridal style to the shower. Let’s just say both of you were lucky that the neighbors were gone for the night.

~1 year later~

The both of you have been together for a year and four months. Todo was by your side the entire time throughout the divorce preceding. Comforting you and supporting you the entire time. Once your divorce was finalized your relationship received an official title.

Both of you were extremely happy but there was the voice in the back of Todo’s head that gave him doubts. When he went to go engagement ring shopping with Valerie the voice was there.

As he picked out the perfect ring for you the voice was there. His head was filled with doubts. Of course he loved you, he loved you more than anyone or anything in the world. He knew you loved him. His love for you was immortal, unconditional but he wasn’t so sure if it was the same for you.

That voice in his head hammering doubts over and over again it made him nervous. He started to wonder if he should bring the ring back. If he should change his mind. It was that voice.

“What if she gets tired of you like her husband did with her? What if she finds someone better than you? What if she doesn’t love you as much as you love her? Could you handle the heartbreak Aoi? Could you?”

He started getting distant from you, less kisses in the morning, leaving without saying goodbye, barely initiating sex, it made you worried. What if he’s getting tired of you like Declan? You texted him wanting to meet at the cafe after work. He just sent back a simple “okay”.

Reading it made you even more nervous than before. When you were done with work you drove as slow as you possibly could to the nearby parking lot. You opened the door to the cafe and once you looked around you saw Todo there, fidgeting.

“Is he going to end things with me? We were supposed to move to the new house next week.” You wondered to yourself, you both had so many plans for the future but the future is uncertain.

You sat down and it was silent. He nudged your drink over to you and that was the most interaction you got from him since you got there. It killed you to not talk to him and it was killing him too.

“Y/N, I’m scared.”

You looked into his eyes and saw the fear within them. But what could he possibly be scared about?

“Aoi, what’s wrong? What’s scaring you?”

“What if you get tired of me? What if you meet someone better than me? What if—”

“Aoi. Stop that please” your voice started shaking, it broke your heart to see the man you love being plagued with such fears.

“Aoi, I love you. I love you more than anything in the world. You’re my love. You’re my soulmate. You make me happier than anyone in this world. You brighten up my day, the small things you do make me fall even more in love with you.”

You got up and bent down to hug him. You pulled back holding his face in your hands.

“Aoi I will never get tired of you. I let you leave me once and I never plan on doing it ever again. I love you Aoi Todo, I will love you until my heart stops beating and I will love you long after that. In every life I will look for you to recreate this love over and over again. If I had to go back in time I would go through this all over again just to be right here with you.”

Tears were falling down both of your faces by the time you stopped speaking. You wiped his tears away and he lifted his hands to wipe yours away. He pulled your face closer to his and kissed you.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry I’m so so sorry.”

He muttered apologies against your lips and when you both pulled away it was his turn to speak. You sat back down holding his hands above the table.

“I just got scared Y/N. I love you so much and I just can’t imagine my life without you. I look forward to the future with you, I want you by my side through every single endeavor. You’re my everything. You’re the sun that brightens my day. You’re the stars that shine through my night sky. You’re the air that I breathe. I love you.”

You stood up and pulled him along with you as you both walked out of the cafe. You drove the both of you home and once you entered you led him to the bedroom. Once you entered you undid his work shirt and pants stripping him to his underwear. You led him to the bed and sat him down.

“I never want you to question my love for you ever again.”

You kissed him and placed kisses down his body. Little nibbles along his pecs, a flick of your tongue along his nipples, slow sensual kisses until you reached the waistband of his boxers. You tugged at the waistband and he lifted his hips to help you properly take them off.

His cock slapped against his abdomen. You took it in your hand and gave it a few gentle strokes. You placed featherlight kisses from the head of his cock to the base. You took his head into your mouth swirling your tongue around it and letting it go with a pop.

You took your hand and spit on it using it to lube his cock for you and you started to take more of him into your mouth. His moans and groans filling the room along with the sounds of you gagging yourself on his cock.

When you popped up for air looking at him he could swear he just saw a goddess in front of him. Even with your saliva and tears coating your face he has never seen anyone more beautiful than you. Even Aphrodite herself could not even come close to your beauty.

You got up and stripped off your clothing. You pushed him back gently to lay on the bed as you straddled him aligning his cock with your pussy. You sunk yourself down onto him, he tossed his head back into the bed feeling your warm slick walls welcome him in.

You started moving up and down slowly before gaining a rhythm bouncing on his cock. You moved your upper body close to his grabbing his face and making eye contact.

“I love you—ah fuck—Aoi. I love you so much. You fuck me so good. You are so handsome. Thank you for loving me.”

You felt his arms reach around your waist as planted his feet on the ground to pound into you. Once he started jackhammering into you repeatedly hitting your g-spot you felt yourself cumming around him over and over again.

He used this position to pull as many orgasms as he could from you until he had his own and with how tight you were around him it would be extremely soon. You felt his cock twitch inside you.

“Please cum inside me Aoi, please please please. I need you to fill me up please I need your cum.”

He pulled you down and his hips lifted bottoming out inside you, filling you with his cum. You let your full weight go onto him as you were catching your breath. Hard breaths filled the room. You looked at him and kissed him again.

“I love you Aoi.”

“I love you more Y/N.”

The following week you both moved into your forever home. Todo made dinner and ordered your favorite dessert to celebrate the move. It was also the day that he was going to propose. He knew how much you hated public proposals and receiving unnecessary attention so why not do it at home?

When you were doing the dishes making small conversation on how you saw a documentary about female serial killers he got the ring and went on one knee.

“So all of her victims were just random men who had green eyes, isn’t that—”

“Y/N.”

You turned around and dropped the sponge in your hand. Your jaw drops at the sight of the man you love and the most beautiful ring you have ever seen.

“Y/N, you have made me the happiest man the past year and four months. Time with you has been amazing. You make me feel like I have been floating on air and I never want to come down. I love you so much. Will you continue this journey of life with me, as my wife?”

“Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes!”

You bent down to kiss him and he slipped the ring on your left finger. A few seconds later Valerie called, already aware of what Todo was planning to do. You set the date of the wedding six months from the day of the proposal.

The wedding was small and filled with only close friends and family. It was the happiest day of your life and everyone preferred Todo over your ex husband, even your father, who never liked any of your boyfriends.

“I like this guy a lot Y/N, I mean I’ve always liked him.”

“Dad you threatened to hunt him down when we first started dating in high school.”

“Oh honey it’s just dad stuff but that was a promise and it still stands.”

“Dad! He’s not like that, he makes me feel like I’m the only woman in the world and like I’m a precious gem.”

You both looked over at Todo sharing a dance with your mom and when he looked at you, you could see your future in them. Wherever he would go you would be there beside him as his wife.

“this ring you gave me a few months ago is proof of our love and the ring I gave you on your left ring finger is also proof of my love and dedication to you.” Todo leaned forward and kissed you holding you in his arms.

“I never thought that one person could make me feel so loved and make me feel so much love for them Y/N.”

Now married life was doing the both of you well. Nothing could tear the both of you apart. Not even the news on your one year anniversary that you both were going to have your first child. If Todo felt like he was on cloud nine before then holding your beautiful, healthy son in his arms made him feel he was in seventh heaven.

A/N pt2: thank you all for reading this, I’m really excited about how this work turned out I hope you all enjoyed it. This is by far my longest fic so I really appreciate you reading it through. I have much more on the way, if you have any requests my ask is open! Again thank you so much for reading I appreciate you all! — D <3

#aoi toudou x reader #aoi todo x f!reader #jujutsu kaisen angst #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen fluff #x female reader #tw cheating #tw toxic behavior #tw toxic relationship #tw unprotected sex #Aoi todo smut

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andromedasstarship · 4 years

Text

in the stars - chapter 2

photo credits - @ssahotchnerr

pairing - aaron hotchner x reader

warnings - canon-typical criminal minds violence, show rating 16+ for reference. depictions of violence, stalking, murder, angst, age gap couple, language

summary - You and Aaron reunite, but it’s not exactly anything to celebrate over. The case moves forward, but you really wish it hadn’t like this.

a/n - no one is allowed to call me out on my lack of LA/california geographical knowledge. ive also started including readers mental thought train which is italicized (flashbacks will also be in italics, but ill always properly mark a flashback). if you arent tagged but asked, just send another ask/reply! i mustve missed it on accident.

blog rules

masterlist // read it on ao3 here

chapter 1 // chapter 3

-----

Chapter 2

Aaron Hotchner was standing in front of you. Impeccable, not even a slight crease in his shoes and suit pressed to perfection. He still smelled faintly like cedar, a thought you quickly tried to send away; it was too late though, already remembering how pitiful it was post breakup, when you would smell the shirts he left at your house, a desperate attempt to remember that he existed in your life. You’d spent hours, days even, thinking about how you’d react if you were ever to see Aaron in person again. At the top of the list was screaming at him, really giving him a piece of your mind for leaving the way he did. Or, maybe you’d be cool and composed, the epitome of maturity and ‘I’m Totally Over You’. You’d even considered completely ignoring him, not even giving him a second glance. Instead you were frozen to the spot, staring up at the man who broke your heart.

Pulling your eyes away from him, they darted towards the gap between his body and outside, internally debating if you’d be able to somehow sneak around him. As if he could read your mind, not like you had been particularly subtle, he moved to close the gap before you had the chance to fully formulate an escape.

“Y/N,” he tried again, voice a bit firmer this time around. It’d be better if he couldn’t speak. But then again he had such a beautiful voice-. No, you mentally clamped down on that thought before it could lead you down another rabbit hole. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Tell you, uh, what?” You asked, hyper aware of how mousy you must’ve sounded.

“That someone was murdering women that looked like you. You should’ve called my team sooner, it was irresponsible to put yourself at further risk of-”

“Are you trying to imply that this is somehow my fault, Agent Hotchner?” The words felt bitter on your tongue. It wasn’t like you, to suddenly be so quick to anger. Years in the spotlight had taught you to hold your tongue, but Aaron’s words managed to cut right through.

“That’s not what I’m saying, you know that-,” he tried to interject, but you weren’t going to back down so easy.

“I know what Agent? Please, tell me the acceptable response to this situation,” you spat out at him, finding a brief enjoyment in the way his face scrunched up ever so slightly. “The police were working on the case, I’ve dealt with weirdos before.” Aaron opened his mouth again as if to speak, but you weren’t finished, “You really think I believed you’d answer if I called?”

His face fell at that and you felt some form of internal victory swell in your chest. Y/N 1 point, Aaron Hotchner 0. The victory was short lived though, as you came to the realization that the two of you were still in a very public setting.

“I’m not going to fight with you Agent, I suggest you get back to your team.” With that you shoved your way past him, stomping the entire way to your car. It was a shame, the way the anger and sadness was consuming you, maybe if it hadn’t, this time you would’ve noticed the clicking coming from the tree line.

----

Hotch wished you had been angry; it would’ve been easier to handle you if you had been screaming in his face or throwing low-blow comments his way. He could deal with anger. It’d be easier if he could pretend that you were being completely out of line and could warrant being ignored for the rest of the case.

That wasn’t you though, and he knew this. He didn’t have to be a profiler to see and hear the way you struggled to hold yourself together. He didn’t need to be a profiler to feel how disappointed you were with him. Hotch didn’t know how to deal with this or you. Even though it had been months, had he truly fallen so far from your graces; was your opinion so lowly of him now?

Hotch wasn’t sure which was worse to stomach, the fact that you had such little faith in him or the deep rooted feeling in his gut that told him you were right- had you called him unannounced two months ago, he wouldn’t have picked up the phone.

----

You sat in your car for twenty minutes, at least. It was pitiful, the way you were crying in your car, to a sad playlist, over a guy who hurt your feelings; it felt like high school all over again. In the moment, you had felt good, the way you watched Aaron’s face twist and fall at your words giving you some sick form of satisfaction.

It’s not like you had lied to him or anything. You hadn’t even stretched the truth for ultimate impact. The whole overly formal ‘Agent’ thing was definitely on purpose though. No, you had meant every word you said to Aaron, especially about not believing he’d answer if you called. What would you have even said if you called and he did pick up? Hi Aaron, remember me? Good, anyway hope you’re doing well but I think I have a murderous stalker, can you help? Actually, that’s probably exactly how the conversation would’ve gone, but that’s beside the point.

The point was that even if you could trust the Unit Chief of the BAU to do his job, you weren’t sure you could trust Aaron Hotchner anymore.

----

When you finally did muster up the courage to return to the conference room, you really wished you hadn’t. You should’ve just turned your car on and left. Was it possible to ghost the FBI? You’d heard enough stories from Aaron about how their tech wizard had found people with just a single loose thread, there was definitely no way you were going to make some spy like disappearance.

Aaron wasn’t in the room, something you were grateful for in the moment. But what you weren’t grateful for was how the team had managed to set up multiple bulletin boards in your absence; filled with your photo, crime scene photos, the dead women and your personal least favorite, the dead women’s bodies.

Of course, you knew what was going on, you were a big girl, well old enough to understand and process the gravity of the situation. But you’d only seen photos of the women alive, with personality and humanity; something about that made them look less like you and more like them. Looking at them now- dead, eyes closed, faces tilted away from the camera- these women didn’t just look like you, they were you.

You hadn’t even realized you were drifting closer to one of the boards until you felt a hand pull at the crook of your elbow. Turning your head ever so slightly you saw JJ, giving you one of her nice looks again.

“Y/N, you don’t need to see these,” JJ started, already pulling you in the opposite direction. You were about to agree, head already halfway to a full nod when you noticed something from the corner of your eye.

“Wait!” You exclaimed, pulling your arm back and getting right in front of a photo of victim #2. You very gently pulled the photo of the wall and held it closely in front of your face. Were you allowed to move it? Oh well. You felt the rest of the team’s eyes burning holes through your back so you turned to face them. “I, um, I’m pretty sure the sweater she’s wearing is mine.” You said, voice coming out as a whisper.

The team certainly seemed to liven up at that statement. Even though they hadn’t even been in LA for a full 24 hours yet, it was obvious from the start that LAPD hadn’t been lacking on the case, rather the unsub was just that good. They reported no evidence from any dump sites,- and now those sites had been contaminated far too much to double check- there had been no witnesses for any of the abductions, and the unsub hadn’t attempted any contact with Y/N; all in all, they had nothing.

“Y/N, are you sure?” Emily asked, she was quickly pulling photos of the other three women down, bringing them over to the roundtable. “Are the women in these photos wearing anything else you recognize?”

“Yeah, yeah I’m sure. There’s a little hole right there, on the side, the threads were pretty loose and I got stuck on a doorknob once, ripped it right open. I couldn’t find it when I went to fix it, just assumed I threw it away and forgot.” You said quietly, moving your way to the table. Your brain wasn’t working properly, hadn’t quite yet come to the conclusion that the rest of the agents already reached. He had gotten into your house. “Oh my god.” You whispered, voice shaking. “He was in my house, wasn’t he?”

The agents all looked down at you with sympathetic gazes before Emily finally spoke up again. “We can’t be sure just yet, but I need you to look at these photos and tell me if you recognize anything else okay? Can you do that for me?”

You nodded, making your way over to the table and taking a seat. You were well aware one of the agents just called for Hotch, but you couldn’t be bothered with that right now.

----

“Hotch,” Derek said, his voice urgent as he rounded the corner, interrupting whatever conversation Hotch was having with a random officer, “Y/N recognized the sweater victim #2 was wearing at the dumpsite as hers. Emily’s showing her the rest of the photos and it’s looking like the unsub left something of hers on each one.”

That certainly got Hotch’s attention. He didn’t need Derek to fill in the blank, the unsub had been in your house. His fists tightened at his side and he couldn’t help the way his face twisted in anger. In this state, Derek knew better than to question this unusually personal reaction, instead just angling his body back towards the conference room. He didn’t even have a chance to open his mouth before Hotch brushed past him, making his way back to you.

----

Starting with a photo of victim #1, you very slowly pulled it closer in front of you. Oh my god, her neck. Obviously, you’ve seen bruises before, been on a whole bunch of film sets that used makeup to create some pretty gory pieces, but nothing like this. The unsub didn’t just stangle these women, it was like he wanted to completely crush their throats.

One of the agents behind you was questioning your ability to stomach this, so you quickly forced yourself to focus. It was the least you could do for these poor women, just give them your undivided attention for ten minutes, and then you could deal with everything else later.

Your finger traced over the bracelet victim #1 was wearing. “This is mine. There’s a singular heart engraved on the back of the third diamond’s plating. I bought it for myself after I got cast in my first big role, cried for weeks when I ‘lost’ it.”

“And what about this one?” Emily asked, gently pulling victim #1’s photo away from you and replacing it with #4. You didn’t miss the way she turned the photos you’d already looked at upside down, as if to further shield you from them. Nor did you miss that she was technically skipping victim #3.

It didn’t take you long to notice what was yours on victim #4. “It’s the dress, it’s really comfy, I used to wear it a lot, like a lot a lot. I brought it with me so often on trips I just assumed it got left in a hotel room somewhere.”

Emily nodded, taking back that photo and turning it over as well. You could see her hesitation in showing you victim #3, but she slid it across the table to you as well. Her fingertips ghosting on the edge of the photo, ready to pull it back as soon as you gave an answer.

Victim #3 was tough. She looked the most like you, both when she was alive and certainly the way she looked now.

You took a sharp intake of breath as you looked down at her the first thing that caught your eye was the necklace. Most certainly yours and most certainly the one that Aaron had given you for your three year anniversary. You realized it was lost a few months after the breakup and nearly tore your house apart looking for it; you didn’t have many things from your relationship with Aaron to prove he was once part of your life, making the few things you did have all the more important. “The necklace, there’s an A engraved on the back and I’m pretty sure those shoes are mine too.” Emily swept the photo back and out of view as soon as the last words left your lips.

“JJ, get those items out of evidence immediately so we can be absolutely sure,” Hotch ordered. Aaron. You hadn’t even realized he had walked into the room, you turned to look at him, eyes wide with sadness and fear. The tears that were beginning to form tugged viciously on his heart. “Miss L/N, my team and I are going to escort you back to your home and we’re going to need to canvas it for signs of entry and identify if anything else is missing. Is that okay?” He asked, his voice soft with something most of the members couldn’t place.

You simply nodded at that, glad that you wouldn’t have to be alone, “Do you need my address, or will you just follow my car?” There was definitely humor in that, Aaron already knew exactly where you lived and the code to get through the gates.

“Your address is already in our files, but for your safety we’ll be following close behind.” He assured you. The rest of the team was jumping into action, grabbing their personal belongings along with copious amounts of gloves and bags you assumed would be for potential evidence.

As you all exited the building and entered your respective vehicles, it was Reid who realized where he’d heard that softness in Hotch’s voice before. It was the same tone he used to use with Hayley, back when things were good.

----

Your house wasn’t far and it was a drive you knew well; grateful for the ability to somewhat distract yourself on the road. The gatesman to your development gave you a real odd look when you told him the two black SUV’s filled with FBI agents were with you, but you couldn’t care less about which neighbor he might spread that info too. Did you see? L/N brought in the FBI, wonder what she’s caught up in. At least all the neighbors and workers had signed airtight NDAs, no one was allowed to talk to any outsiders about the personal happenings of their fellow residents.

Your house was towards the top of the hill, with a great overlook to the ocean. You had only been 20 when you bought the house and you viewed it as the ultimate achievement of all your hard work and determination. You couldn't shake the bad taste in your mouth as you pulled up the driveway. The house felt tainted now, something you were never sure you’d be able to shake.

----

Once again, not exactly how you imagined the entire team entering your house for the first time. Your house was extensive, as were the grounds; the team quickly realized they would probably be here for the rest of the day and well into the night.

You were standing awkwardly in the middle of your foyer, unsure of how to exactly approach this situation. “So, there’s about 10 rooms in the house, not including the kitchen and general living spaces, as well with the basement which is technically one big room. I made maps once as a joke, I think I have some in the office, if you wanted those? Or we could do one big house tour and you can break off that way,” you were so rambling, but them being in your house and why they were in your house was setting in, “or you can just go off however you want-”

“Miss L/N,” JJ said, there was that nice look again, “why don’t you show me around the house so I can get a base level understanding of everything there is. The rest of my team will go start a basic canvas of the inside and the grounds as well.” Thank you JJ.

You nodded at this, glad that someone else was taking control of the situation. Before you could lead JJ towards the kitchen, your phone started to ring, startling you. When did you get this skittish?

“My friend is calling,” you said, holding up your phone, “I gotta take this, I was supposed to meet him for coffee a few minutes ago.” You excused yourself, quickly making your way to an empty room away from the rest of the team. Your friend was annoyed at your more than last minute cancellation, but luckily he didn’t pry too hard and accepted your flimsy “I’m not feeling too well’ excuse on the first go.

“I know, I’m sorry, but I promise I’ll make it up to you as soon as I feel better. Yeah, I love you too. I gotta go, bye.” As you hung up, you could feel a gaze burning into the back of your head. Turning around, you found Aaron staring down at you from the doorway. How long had he been there?

“You should have told us about your boyfriend sooner. Trying to protect him from questioning will only-”

“I don’t have a boyfriend,” you exclaimed, a bit too hurriedly, “I, uh, I’m not seeing anyone at all actually, haven’t in a while.” Smooth.

Aaron was smart enough to read through the lines and understand what you had left unsaid. His gaze didn’t give up, but you could’ve swore you saw relief somewhere in his eyes. You weren’t sure if you were supposed to say something, or if he was supposed to say something, or should you walk out, or-

“Neither have I.” Hotch’s voice broke through your thoughts, but just as quickly as he said it, he turned on his heel and left you alone in the room.

----

a/n - if anyone is wondering ive 100% cried multiple times at how kind and supportive everyone has been with me about this story. we’re only 2 chapters in but im already sad for it to end. yes i 100% have a bunch of other wip ideas for hotch. anywaaaaaaay, replies/asks/comments/reblogs/likes always appreciated! thank you so much for reading

Taglist: @mac99martin @iwaizumiee @kylorendrip @hqtchner @lieswithoutfairytales @ssahoodrathotchner @midsummernightdream @weasleylovers @evans-dejong @itsmytimetoodream @yoshigguk @28cnn @cuddlyklaus @hotch-meeeeeuppppp

no permission is given to republish or upload my fics anywhere else. if you see this story not on my tumblr or ao3 it is stolen work. i do not own criminal minds or any of the characters involved

#aaron hotchner x reader #hotchner x reader #hotch #aaron hotchner #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds #'stori writes #in the stars

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khoicesbyk · 3 years

Text

Dark Pleasure.

A/N: This AU is between my two all time favorite books Bloodbound and The Royal Romance! It is the crossover to end all crossovers.

A/N 2: Tristan Rys is a ruthless drug lord. Latisha Tucker is a reporter for The Washington Post. What could possibly go wrong when she falls into his dangerous world?

A/N 3: This fanfic will be dark! And sexy! And violent! And delicious! And will quickly become your guilty pleasure.

Rated: Mature. | Contains sexual content and strong language. (You know? The usual from me. 😁) | Bolded and/or italicized words are conversations and thoughts of the characters. | Main Characters: Tristan Rys (LI) and Latisha Tucker (MC) x Adrian Raines and Tiana Reynolds-Raines | All Characters and names: (except MC and original characters created by me) are property of Pixelberry.

Current Word Count: 3.550 words. (more or less. I stop counting after editing and re-editing. 🤷🏾‍♀️)

Tag List: @shewillreadyou @rideordiechronicles @twistedjaee @nina01040 @storyflirting @secretaryunpaid @aussieez @pixie88 @txemrn @kingliam2019 @tessa-liam @lucy-268 @prettyvintageafternoon @choicesficwriterscreations

Missing a chapter or want to read a chapter again? I got you covered! Click ——> Here!

If you’d like to be added to my tag list. Just reblog or dm me and I will gladly add you! 😁😘

TW: drug use, violence, murder, mentions of torture, prostitution.

This series is rated Mature. It is NOT reading material that is safe for those under 18. Reader discretion is STRONGLY advised!

Chapter 10.) In A New York Minute.

Tisha stood still as she gawked at the private plane in front of her. She still couldn’t believe that she was going to dinner in New York City of all places. But according to the text message she got from Tristan that's exactly where she was headed. Until she heard a certain someone over her shoulder.

“Impressive isn't she?”

Tisha turned around to see Tristan's signature smirk.

“She's great. Her owner on the hand…the jury is still out on him.”

“Hardy har har.”

Tisha snickered.

“So Ms. Tucker, are you ready for what promises to be a fabulous evening?”

“…I guess.”

“Don't be so glum! I promise I don't bite!…unless you’re into that.”, he said as he wagged his eyebrows and smirked.

“You're gonna be like this the whole time aren't you?”

“Every single solitary second.”

Tisha rolled her eyes then groaned.

“Now shall we? I'm sure our food is getting cold.”

Tisha shrugged before turning towards the plane and boarding with Tristan. She was impressed with his jet but didn't want to admit it to him.

“You look like a VERY impressed woman.”

Tisha rolled her eyes as she took her seat.

“Champagne? Wine? Sparkling water? Or straight liquor?”

“Vodka and Sprite is fine.”

“One Vodka and Sprite coming up!”

Tristan deftly poured then handed Tisha her drink.

“Cheers Mr. Rys.”

“Salud Ms. Tucker.”

The flight took less than 90 minutes. And when they landed at LaGuardia, they were whisked to the high rise where their dinner would take place. On their way up to the condo, there was an awkward silence between them.

“So…”

“Yes?”

“Is it always going to be this awkward between us?”

“I'm not used to having dinner in a New York high rise.”

Tristan cocked his head to the side as he took her in.

“Let's just say I like to keep you guessing.”

“Uh-huh.”

“As I said, I don't bite.”

Tisha cocked an eyebrow at him.

“Unless I ask you for it right?”

Tristan smirked before he stopped the elevator.

“What are you doing?”

“Shut up and hold still!”

Before she could say anything more, his lips were on hers. He kissed her into a stunned silence. The moment between them was powerful, sensual, and had her floating. When the kiss ended she felt drunk.

“What was that?”

“A preview of what's in store for you.”

“What kinda things?”

He smirked as he ran his thumb across her bottom lip.

“You'll find out soon enough.”

“There’s not gonna be a dinner, will there?”

“Of course there will be. I'm positively famished. The continuation of that kiss will be tabled until after dessert. Say over drinks on the terrace?”

“There's a terrace?”

“And a pool, as well as 4 bedrooms, 4 full and 3 half bathrooms, a chef's kitchen, an open floor plan, a master closet that will make your panties drop, and the piece de resistance: the greatest nighttime view of one Lady Liberty.”

“Liar!”

Tristan raised his eyebrow.

“Is that a challenge Ms. Tucker?”

Tisha shrugged.

“Maybe.”

“You are full of surprises aren't you?”

“If ‘two can play that game’ was a person it’d be me.”

“I'm beginning to think that you’re right Ms. Tucker.”

Tristan stepped back and started the elevator again. As they ascended to the penthouse, he never took his eyes off of her. She was breathtaking in her dress and after tonight she would be his new favorite plaything.

As they stepped off the elevator, Tisha’s jaw dropped. Tristan was right.

“Told you.” he whispered in her ear.

Tristan gave her a tour of the inside and introduced her to the private chef for the evening.

“Okay! Okay! I'm impressed! Now can we eat? I'm starving!”

“Of course my dear.”

Tristan snapped his fingers and had the chef present them with a lavish 5-course meal in the main dining area. Tisha couldn't get enough of the food. Everything was perfect.

“Oh! My! God! That was excellent! I loved every morsel.”

“Wonderful! I'm so glad you loved it. Now I do believe that I promised drinks on the terrace?”

“All of the yes!”

Tristan stood up and offered her his arm. They walked out onto the terrace and Tisha’s breath hitched. She couldn't believe how beautiful the terrace was. And as promised she got a great view of Lady Liberty herself. Tristan took pleasure in her being so awestruck.

“Did I deliver or did I deliver?”

“You are so damn smug.”

“Part of the charm, love.”

Tisha rolled her eyes at him and continued to take in the view. He watched as the wind blew through her hair. She was beautiful and delicious and the more he looked at her the hungrier he got.

“So how have I done so far?”

She turned from the view to him.

“As much as it pains me to admit it…you've done well so far.”

“You wound me!”

“Someone has to help you bring your head outta your ass. And well, I'm happy to make that noble sacrifice.”

“I will throw you off this terrace…”

Tisha smirked.

“And miss what I may or may not be wearing underneath this dress?”

Tristan huffed.

“Damn! You’re good.”

“Admission is the first step to recovery.”

Tristan rolled his eyes before pouring them both a glass of bourbon.

“Truce?”

Tisha accepted a drink with a smirk.

“That smirk is both annoying and adorable.”

“Any time I do something that annoys you, an angel gets its wings.”

“You're going to be like this all night, aren't you?”

Tisha shrugged innocently.

“What you see is what you get.”

“For the record: I did NOT ask for this!”

Tisha winked at him as he poured them another drink.

“So I believe that I promised to answer questions from you.”

“That you did Mr. Rys.”

“Very well then. Ask and you shall receive.”

“On the record?”

“No!”

Tisha huffed as she rolled her eyes.

“Fine.”

She took a thoughtful sip of her drink.

“How did you get into dealing cocaine?”

Tristan let out a low whistle.

“You don't pull punches do you?”

“Answer the question.”

“I'm in the hospitality industry. If my clientele demands it then I have to supply it. It started small, a few rich pricks here and there looking for a high, but then I realized that there's a lot of money to be made in dealing. So I got in with a small cartel in Bogota. We had small labs all over Venezuela. But it wasn't until we opened up in Brazil that I hit pay dirt.”

“And you've been a kingpin ever since?”

Tristan smirked.

“Everyone has an addiction, sweetheart. Mine is power, control, and money.”

“And sex and women and fast cars and–”

“Alright! I get it! I'm a pig! Ya happy now?”

“Slightly.”

Tristan rolled his eyes and poured another drink.

“What else do you want to know?”

“Why are you really in D.C.?”

“Geez, you’re nosy as hell.”

“Job remember?”

“D.C. is a hub of power. Much like here in New York. I want that power. I want to control the streets and the product that is sold on them. I want to have very powerful people owing me favors for the rest of their lives.”

“So you’re an egomaniac?”

“I prefer the term businessman, thank you.”

“Where does Adrian Raines fit in?”

“What better way to control D.C. than to control the presidency?”

“Is that why you’re funding his reelection campaign?”

“Part of it, yes. The other reason is Tiana. That woman is the single most powerful being in any universe. Think of what she can do to the world with just a thought. Let alone the snap of her fingers.”

“Adrian told me that she's scary and powerful.”

“Oh yeah! And some of the best sex in the world.”

“Don't think I needed to know that but okay.”

“You want to know everything about me don’t you, Ms. Tucker?”

“Maybe some of your skeletons can stay buried in your closet.”

“How gracious of you my dear.”

“Can I ask you a personal question?”

“Go for it.”

“What happened to your mother?”

Tristan froze and the grip on his glass tightened.

“Why do you care?” he asked in a flat voice.

“Call me curious.”

“You know curiosity killed the cat right?”

“Well, call me Tom. As long as you answer the question, Jerry.”

Tristan downed his drink in one gulp before pouring another.

“She was killed by an old competitor of mine.”

“What happened Tristan?”

Tisha watched a muscle in his jaw work.

“She was coming home from her favorite outdoor market when she was approached by two men. They grabbed her and dragged her inside where they killed her.”

“Where were you?”

“Passed out in my bed with two women that they sent to distract me.”

“Is it true that you’re the one who found her?”

Tristan went quiet.

“Yes. When she didn't answer my call, I went to check on her. That's when I found her. She was lying face down in a pool of her own blood.”

“Oh my God! I'm so sorry.”

“When I found out who was responsible I made it my mission to end their existence.”

“Why didn't you let the authorities handle her murder investigation?”

“Because if anyone was going to do my mother justice it was going to be me and me alone. That's why!”

Tisha picked up on the agitation in his tone. But she couldn't tell if it was because he was getting drunk or if he was genuinely getting upset.

“I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you.”

Tristan scoffed as he drank again. Tisha took that as a cue to back off for now. She finished her drink before setting the glass down and walking over to the edge of the pool.

Tristan watched as she slipped off her heels and sat down before sticking her feet in the water.

“This penthouse is incredible. I wish I could live here.”

“Sweetheart, I've seen the apartment building you live in now. I can assure you that you could never afford the rent or utilities on a place like this every month.”

Tisha scoffed.

“Ouch! Thanks for calling me broke by the way.”

“You're welcome.”

Tisha looked out at the skyline

“What do you see Ms. Tucker?”

“Opportunity. New York is a beautiful city. Especially at night.”

“That it is. That's why it's one of my favorite places in the world.”

When Tisha looked up Tristan was standing over her.

“Creepy much?”

“Sorry.”

When he looked down at her, he noticed the bite marks on her neck.

“What’s that?”

“What’s what?”

“On your neck.”

“You mean the bite marks?”

“That bastard…” Tristan sneered.

“What?”

“How did he get to you?”

“Why?”

“Just answer the fucking question.”

“He came to see me before I met with you.”

“And you let him feed off you?”

Tisha simply shrugged.

“You jealous?”

Tristan scoffed.

“Hardly.”

“Then why do you care?”

“Call me curious.”

Tisha raised an eyebrow at him.

“What did you just say about the cat and curiosity?”

Tristan rolled his eyes before standing up Tisha joined him.

“I'm getting another drink. You want one?”

“Sure.”

He walked over to the bar and poured them a drink.

“Thanks.”

“Salud.”

“I'm surprised that you’re still standing.”

“I'm not a lightweight.”

“No, you're just jealous.”

“You must be deaf. I told you I'm not jealous.”

“I can't tell. You seemed pretty upset that Adrian came to see me earlier.”

“How did he get your address?”

“His wife told him. And it doesn't take a rocket scientist to know how she got it.”

“What did you two talk about?”

“You, Tiana, him and the fact that my best friend are sleeping together.”

“He's banging your best friend?”

“For months according to both of them.”

“Who isn't he sleeping with?”

“Pot meet kettle.”

“Touché.”

“But that was all we discussed. He said something about getting me an interview with Tiana.”

“Interesting.”

“More like terrifying.”

“She's not so bad.”

“You're sleeping with her. Of course, you'd say that.”

“I wasn’t saying that because we’ve slept together. She's not this raging monster that the world wants you to believe she is Ms. Tucker. She does have emotions and feelings you know.”

“You sound like a Tiana Raines fanboy.”

“Says the Adrian Raines fangirl.”

“I am not a fangirl.”

“Yes, you are. It's in your eyes.”

“Whatever.”

Tisha rolled her eyes and went to walk past Tristan. That's when he pushed her into the pool. When she reached the surface she glared at him.

“WHAT THE FUCK?!”

Tristan smirked.

“You said you liked the water.”

“You asshole!”

Tristan snickered.

“You ruined my hair and my dress!”

“It's an improvement if you ask me. It just means you'll be out of those clothes sooner.”

Tisha wanted to murder him.

“GET ME OUT OF THIS POOL!”

Tristan rolled his eyes.

“Fine. Fine.”

When he went to offer her a hand she pulled him in with her. When he surfaced and faced her she was cackling.

“That's what you get!”

He flashed an evil grin.

“Ohhh…you're a dead woman.”

“Prove it asshole!”

She took off in a swim with him behind her. She was just about to the other end when he grabbed her ankle and pulled her underwater. They wrestled until they had to resurface for air. And when they did both were breathless.

“You don't play fair.”

“I'm done playing.”

“Scary.”

“Get out of my pool and those clothes.”

Tristan had a look in his eyes that both terrified her and turned her on. She climbed out of the pool and soon had her wet clothes deposited in a wet squishy pile on a lounge chair. He arched an expectant eyebrow at her. Causing her to roll her eyes and twirl slowly for him.

“Better?”

“Much. Now, why don't we skip the pleasantries and get down to why you’re here?”

“I'm only here for dinner and an interview.”

“Wrong answer.”

That's when Tristan grabbed the back of her neck and brought her lips to his. The kiss was hot, heavy, and intense.

“Why are you here Ms. Tucker?”

“Because of your massive fucking ego.”

“You're half right.”

“And well…let's say you've piqued my interest.”

“Have I now?”

“Hey. If you can't beat’em join’em.”

Tristan shook his head.

“Americans…buncha cowboys.”

“You love us.”

“Nah. I just love fucking you. That's all.”

“But you haven't.”

“Not yet.”

The wind blew causing Tisha to shiver.

“Cold Ms. Tucker?”

“A little bit.”

“Why don't we take this inside? The master bedroom is right there.” he said as he pointed to a pair of French doors. Who was she to argue?

Tisha wanted him in the worst way possible. She was hungry for his dick and the same could be said for Tristan.

He grabbed her hand and led her into the bedroom. Once inside the bedroom, he grabbed her and threw her on the King Sized Bed. It didn't take long for him to remove his clothes under her watchful eye. Before she had a chance to react to seeing him naked, he was on top pinning her to the mattress.

“Hello, beautiful.”

“Hello, yourself.”

“Shall we indulge?”

Tisha wanted to get an exclusive with him and she was about to get it.

Tristan stood at the edge of the bed and marveled at the woman laying before him. This was about to be so worth it.

“You never did answer my question, Ms. Tucker.”

“How rude of me! Sure, let's indulge.”

He placed her legs on his shoulders and began to kiss her calves. He continued to do this for several minutes. Slowly he moved upward to her thighs doing the same to them as he did her calves. Her wetness and anticipation were building. She wanted his mouth but he had other ideas first. He wanted her orgasm to be huge so he just took his time.

The closer he got to her core the more shallow her breathing became. He licked his lips right before he dived right in.

She arched her back and grabbed the sheets beneath her when he took her clit into his mouth. He licked and sucked on her clit like his life depended on it. Doing so made her squirm in pleasure.

"Yes! More! Give it to me!" she moaned.

He was happy to acquiesce her request. He drove his tongue inside her causing her to nearly jump off the bed. She grabbed his head and smothered his face to keep him in place. This went on for what seemed like forever to her. And just as she was about to hit her peak he stopped.

“What the fuck are you doing?!"

“Patience young grasshopper. Patience.”

At that point he flipped her over onto her stomach and went back to feasting on her. It felt so good. He made sure to alternate between his tongue and the fingers of his right hand. He took his left hand and pulled her head back. This was driving her insane. She was about to lose it and he knew it. But that's not what he wanted, at least not yet. He wanted to torture her as much as possible. And when he stopped again, she wanted to kill him.

“No! No! No!”

Tristan rolled his eyes before slapping her ass.

“Calm down! And don't move.”

Tisha groaned impatiently but didn't move. Soon she heard the small rip of foil and felt his chest against her back as the mattress dipped slightly. She knew then he had returned and fun would begin.

“Good girl. Nice to see that you can take direction. Now, what do you say we finish this?”

“You talk too damn much!”

“I like to hear my own voice.”

“Ugh!”

“Now face down and ass up.”

He kissed the back of her left shoulder before he mounted her.

“I am going to thoroughly enjoy this…”

He lined himself up perfectly with her entrance then easily slid inside her. She was warm, she was inviting, she was tight, she was about to be his. The room was soon filled with their combined moans and groans. He started out slowly, so she would have a chance to get used to him being inside her. But soon he found it be too slow and annoying.

With his right hand flat against the small of her back and his left hand on her corresponding hip, he had her pinned. He rammed into her relentlessly. He would pull out then slam back in.

"Yes! Yes! Yes! Fuck me!" she screamed as his took her.

The fingers of his left hand dug into the skin of her hip and his right hand tangled in her hair as he began to plunge himself deep into her. He watched her as she dug her nails into the sheets.

“Yes! Yes! Yes! Give it to me!”

“That's it, baby girl! Tell you that want it!”

Tisha was in heaven. He felt amazing. And the deeper he went the better it felt. He was hitting her G-spot with every stroke. The sex was powerful, it was intense, and it was satisfying to them both.

“Don't! Stop! Give! It! To! Me!”

He heard her and fucked her harder and harder. The sounds of their bodies coming together drowned out their moans. He was getting closer to his breaking point. So he brought her to her knees so that her back was flush with his chest.

“Is this what you wanted love?”

“Yes…”

“Do you want to cum?”

“Yes!”

“Good. Only one way to make you do that.”

He rolled over onto his back waiting for her to ride him. She climbed on top of him and bounced up and down. He had a firm grip on her ass while she rode him. She soon reached her peak and couldn't back.

"Oh shit! I'm gonna cum! Oh fuck! Its coming! Yes! Yes! Yes! I–” she screamed as her orgasn took over and she exploded all over him.

That was all he needed to hear.

"Cum for me baby girl! Here it comes! And it's all for you!” he shouted before he brought her down on him one last time. He shuddered as he held her close and released into the condom.

Both were spent and soon drifted off to sleep.

The next morning Tristan found himself looking at Tisha’s sleeping form. He almost didn’t want to wake her up. He gently roused her from some of the deepest sleep she'd gotten in years.

“Wakey! Wakey!”

She groaned sleepily.

“Come on sleeping beauty! Time to see the sunshine!”

“Whaaaaat?!”

Tisha slowly opened her eyes.

“There we go! There's that pretty face with those gorgeous eyes!”

“What time is it?”

“Well, it's Sunday morning. And it's not quite 8:45 am.”

Tisha groaned before rolling back over.

“Oh no, you don't! You’re getting the fuck outta my bed!”

“You don't even own this penthouse!”

“I do until midnight tonight. Besides, you have to get dressed. Your car will be here soon.”

Tisha sat up and glared at him.

“Where am I going?”

“Raines Corp. You have a one-on-one interview with Tiana.”

“Today?”

“I didn't stutter and you aren't deaf. Tiana is waiting so get dressed babe. You got 30 minutes.”

#khoicesbyk #choices #choices stories you play #pixelberry #choices fanfiction #fanfic #dark writing #dark au #dark pleasure #tristan rys #adrian raines #bloodbound #senator raines #clan raines #choices fic writers creations #fics of the week

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heymacy · 3 years

Text

Fic Writer Interview

I was tagged by: the lovely caitlin (ilysm) 💞 @sweetcresta

Name: macy, very creatively named macymacymacy on ao3

Fandoms: just Shameless at present, but i (embarrassingly 🤦🏻‍♀️) wrote Twilight fanfiction when i was a teenager, which has long been deleted from the whole internet, so don’t even ask lmao. and yes it was Alice/Bella fanfic, shut up

Two-shot: of vodka?

Most popular multi-chapter: my only multi-chapter as of now lol, the appropriately titled “teenage dirtbag” (TD)

Actual worst part of writing: motivating myself to write at all. sometimes i’ll go long stretches of time, weeks even, without writing a single word, not even opening the document or anything. i’ve struggled with motivation and time management my entire life (turns out it’s because of adhd, who’d’a thunk it?) and it’s what hinders me the most, as a human and a writer, even to this day.

How do you choose your titles: it varies! the idea for TD came to me when @prettyboy-ian made a post about a “teenage dirtbag” inspired fic, so of course that became the title. the name of the song and the song lyrics themselves largely inspired the plot of the story, so they’re pretty synonymous. for my one shots i either use song lyrics or like, some sort of pun/pop culture reference.

Do you outline: yes, but i was also cursed with an incredibly scattered brain. i always outline the story as a whole, and then each individual chapter, and i make a fuck load of lists alllll the time, but things will change at a moment’s notice. i’ll get an idea, or see a photo, or hear a song, and something will click in my head and the story will shift. the overall trajectory is usually pretty consistent, but certain elements can change.

Ideas I probably won’t get around to but wouldn’t it be nice: i’m absolutely dying to write a “The Good Place” au with Ian and Mickey as Chidi and Eleanor, respectively, where Mickey winds up in The Good Place despite not being a super great person on earth lmao. and Ian, of course (being some sort of do-gooder on earth) decides to help him out, so he can avoid being sent to The Bad Place. oh! and also, they’re soul mates. whoops! i WILL write this fic, i just don’t know when. my plan was to follow up TD with the first update of my next multi-chapter, but now i sorta wanna write this as a little ✨treat✨ to myself. the only thing is that idk if it would work better as a long ass one shot or a short multi-chapter with relatively small sections, like 3-7k words per chapter at most. idk. we’ll see!

Callouts @ me: learn when to shut the fuck up. self-control is self-care. comparison is the thief of joy. your friends aren’t lying to you. take your meds, bitch! oh, and stop waiting until the last second to do important shit. and eat a fucking vegetable once in a while. and take a tolerance break. also, the door dash fees aren’t worth it.

Best writing traits: oh boy. okay macy, you can do this. alright, for starters, i think i have a pretty decent handle on descriptive language and scene settings. it’s wordy the way i write those parts, i know, but i think (hope) they’re still easy to understand and visualize. i think i write decent dialogue (i read everything i write out loud, with the inflections on the italicizations and everything). and one time someone told me that my writing was “cinematic”, and it’s the best compliment i’ve ever received. i think about it every single day 🥺

Spicy tangential opinion: okay i’m interpreting this as controversial (spicy) random (tangential) opinion, so like, an unpopular opinion. i have many, but i’ll just pick a few that aren’t too terribly polarizing: only talking about things that you hate is boring as fuck, pineapple does not belong on pizza, and “the L word” is positively insufferable 💀 and i know that i can have my lesbian card revoked for saying that, but it’s the truth. i wish i was sorry i really do.

I'm tagging @arrowflier @gardenerian & @iansfreckles (if you guys already did this i’m sorry, i feel like i missed a lot on my dash the last few days 😭)

#about me #fic writer interview #tag games #fic writing #thank you caitlin!! 🥰💖

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klutzyzombie · 4 years

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Summary: From a young age, Bakugou Katsuki is told his hearing will continue to fade with use of his explosive quirk. He's given hearing aids to help when he reaches high school but refuses to wear them because what pro hero wears those? It takes some red-headed courage to convince him otherwise. Characters: Bakugou Katsuki, Eijirou Kirishima, Ashido Mina, Denki Kaminari, Sero Hanta Pairing: Bakugou Katsuki & Kirishima Eijirou (KiriBaku) Rating: General Warnings: N/A Words: 6,701 Notes: So this is my first official fic for this fandom and I don't exactly have anyone to proofread this so I sincerely apologize if it's out of character and for the errors! This was written from my own experiences with going deaf and requiring hearing aids and how I felt about it when I was first told. It seemed like something Bakugou may have also felt so you'll have to excuse me projecting~

**Please note that when a character is signing, it will be italicized.

Ao3: [click here!]

He started losing his hearing in grade school. He had been about eight when his family took him to get his ears checked when his grades slipped and he continued to miss things said at home. From there he was bounced from doctor to doctor but the general consensus was the same; his quirk was causing him to go deaf. It made sense really; continued exposure to loud constant boom’s. Like playing a rock concert next to the amp turned up all the way. It was bound to happen the second his quirk manifested and the decision to be a pro hero was made.

They recommended easing down on use of his quirk unless the situation called for it to try and put off the inevitable, but that wasn’t about to happen. Pro heroes in training needed to have master over their own quirks! So they also suggested hearing aids which Katsuki was against. What pro hero wore those tacky things?! For now, his hearing loss was manageable, but if Katsuki was keen on becoming a hero (and he was; even eight year old Katsuki knew this) then the doctors expected his hearing to be practically gone by the time he was in his late teens.

So the Bakugou family learned sign language as a safety net and as he grew, his hearing faded more and more as expected. It became Katsuki’s new normal for things to be a little jumbled and almost like people were talking underwater if they weren’t close enough or if they soft spoken. Maybe that was why as got older he had a tendency to yell constantly, his voice growing a little more gruff with age as well. He’d also picked up on lip reading which was immensely helpful in middle school as he refused to tell a teacher he couldn’t hear them or ask to sit in the front. It wasn’t going to be the future he imagined when he was a kid, but hey, he was Bakugou fucking Katsuki! He wasn’t about to let something like hearing loss stop him from becoming the next number one hero! He was nothing but goal driven from a young age, refusing to tell anyone about what he deemed to be his biggest weakness, preferring to make due with his lip reading. When his acceptance into U.A. was announced, his parents made a decision and while he fought tooth and nail – literally – he was fitted for a pair of hearing aids.

U.A. was everything he had hoped it would be as a child (though he could have done without the damn nerd also getting in and sitting right behind him) and much to his utter chagrin, he even made a few friends despite the fact that he’d never refer to them as such. They were more like a few idiots who wouldn't know how to fuck off if their lives depended on it. One such of these idiots and the biggest offender was Kirishima who, from day one, seemed to latch on to Katsuki. It was annoying at first; sure he had ‘friends’ in middle school but they were more afraid of him and only followed him as some sort of leader or popularity magnet. Kirishima just- liked him. For him! There wasn’t any fear and he damn sure wasn’t getting popular by hanging around Katsuki. If anything that was reversed since the stupid idiot seemed to be friends with just about everyone to varying degrees.

And Katsuki wanted to hate it- hate HIM because he didn’t need friends let alone overly enthusiastic idiot friends and with Kirishima deeming him ‘friendly’, the rest of the idiot brigade followed suit. Before Katsuki knew what had happened, Kaminari had wormed his way into his and Kirishima’s study sessions, Ashido had started tugging on his arm in her bubbly excitement at something or another, and Sero had taken too confining in him about whatever trouble had been on his mind. Bakugou Katsuki had actual honest to god friends and it was Kirishima’s fault. It hit him one night after moving into the dorms after he’d been dragged to watch a movie in Kirishima’s room. Like, forcefully dragged and as they sat there, watching as Iron Man and Captain America did some epic team up move on some aliens, he realized he was actually enjoying himself around these idiots.

He wasn’t supposed to be fond of the dunces. He didn’t need anyone and after the hero exam he and Todoroki failed, he tried to go back to how things were. Katsuki didn’t need friends and Kirishima and Kaminari passing while he failed was proof of that. So he separated himself from them. Well, he tried to at least. It wasn’t easy to do since the clingy idiots couldn’t take a hint if he stapled it to their faces. It was exhausting and when he did finally manage it, about a week into his granted alone time he was miserable and angry and ended up back on Kirishima’s bed while he and Kaminari played some game on Kaminari’s Switch.

He couldn’t shake the idiots he unwillingly befriended and he whole heartedly blamed Kirishima for all of it. On a rare weekend home, he was bitching to his mom about the annoyances who kept blowing up his phone with their stupid ‘Bakusquad’ group text. Mitsuki was sitting at the kitchen table with designs and fabrics spread out while Katsuki ranted on. She hadn’t known her comment about him being popular due to his phone’s continued dinging would lead to this, but now it was hard to stop the small smile building as he went on and on about them. Something he pointed out to her with annoyance.

‘Sorry, it’s just nice to know you have actual friends! Finally.’

“I can fuckin’ hear you, hag!” Katsuki snapped.

‘Are you sure? I don’t see your hearing aids in.’

His response to that was to simply flip her off as he marched out of the room. “I’m not going to wear those fuckin’ things.”

“Katsuki!” They had this argument so many times now he could almost recite it word for word. It was what she always said since the moment they picked up the stupid devices. 'Wear them!' 'Are you wearing them?' 'How is training with the hearing aids working out?' Every damn time she called it was the same song and dance and it was getting more and more irritating every time she brought the damn things up! He could picture her pushing away from the table and marching after him so it wasn’t a surprise when her raised voice shouted after him. “We spent good money-“

“’-on those things so the least I could do is wear them’! Get a new speech! I don't fuckin' need them because I can still hear just fine!” There was an uncharacteristic pause after that and he wheeled around to glare at her, to see what she was trying to prove, only to see Mitsuki giving him a pointed look. “What?!”

‘I said if that was true, then you would be able to hear me.’ She signed while speaking. Well, he assumed she was. Her lips were moving and he could hear a faint sound that was in teh same tone as her voice, but couldn't quite make out the words. Katsuki stood there, red eyes narrowed at her which was a look she was mirroring back at him for all of a few seconds before she sighed, expression softening. ‘Katsuki, it’s gotten worse since you started high school. I’ve been practically yelling at you just so you’d hear me since you got home.’ The look on his face must have been horrified because his mom’s melted from fond annoyance to one of almost-pity. She lifted her hands to sign something else but he quickly turned and marched back up to his room to finish getting ready to head back to the dorms. He hated that look on her. Hated that look on anyone and he didn't need her to see that she was right. That his hearing really had gotten worse. It would make sense that it had, he guessed. He went from only training with his quirk a few times a week to preserve his hearing to using it about daily for hours on end.

So then why hadn’t he noticed it?

He guessed the whole ‘it’s a gradual process’ thing could be a factor and if he thought about it, he was having a harder time hearing Aizawa now. Deku’s muttering had also seemed to bother him less as of late and it damn sure wasn’t because the nerd had suddenly stopped the habit he’d had since they were kids. His hearing really had faded drastically in just under a year and that was a reality check.

One he also apparently wasn’t great at hiding because a few days back in school had Kirishima draping an arm across his shoulders in the locker room. He had a habit of doing that no matter what murderous look was on Katsuki's face and today when he went to shoot a glare at the red head - one he knew would just be ignored- he was met with a concerned look on Kirishima's face. “Yo man, you good? You’ve seemed kinda…”

“Extra murder-y.” Kaminari supplied.

Katsuki and Kirishima shot him a look, Katsuki’s much more threatening, but he went on. “Is everything alright? You know you can always talk to me!”

“Fuck off, I’m fine.” Was his eloquent reply and he knew Kirishima wasn’t convinced, but the red head knew enough about him to know to drop it. The look that now shifted across his face was proof he knew something was up, but he turned back to talking about some new show with Kaminari and Sero to make sure nobody else tried to take the opportunity to ask Katsuki about his oh so chipper mood. Kirishima was good at reading him like that. He seemed to always know what Katsuki meant or needed in the moment. It would be endearing if it wasn’t also equal parts annoying. Sometimes he wished the idiot would remember how damn powerful Katsuki was! But then again, Kirishima was also the perfect foil to him.

He watched as said boy grinned and laughed at something Kaminari had said, head tilting back slightly from the force of it. He was so stupidly friendly and he seemed to really want to be Katsuki’s friend if not his best one. He liked to proclaim as such at least and he guessed it was true to a degree. Kirishima knew him better than anyone else probably did and just how that happened should be concering. Just when had he allowed the idiot to figure him out so well?

Katsuki looked back at his locker with a huff, not about to give Kirishima another reason to ask about his mood again. He looked at his mask and the orange and black wing tips behind it. Looked at the orange X crossing the otherwise all black uniform. Looked at the matching heavy-duty boots and belt that housed mini versions of his quirk. Looked at how the entire ensemble represented everything he wanted to become and how his stupid hearing was likely to take all of that away.

He slammed the locker shut with more force than needed, meeting Kirishima’s gaze as he glanced over at the sound. “Meet me after dinner.” He said simply, walking off before he could see or hear the red head’s reaction.

---

Katsuki was a proud person and that was a fact that was well know. He never needed and never asked for help. He was self-sufficient and refused to lean on others to get to where he wanted to be. So reaching out to Kirishima about this was going to be a challenge. Said teen had been in his room for going on ten minutes, silently watching and waiting, sitting in his deskchair backwards as Katsuki glared daggers at the ground. It would be unnerving to have the talkative bastard so quiet if it wasn’t once again proof how well Kirishimia knew him; knew whatever was on his mind was heavy enough to make him clearly agitated and extra moody. This fact had him glance up so red eyes could meet red and at Kirishima’s concerned but patient face, he sighed and looked away.

“I can barely fuckin’ hear.” He admitted like it was the biggest secret he’d ever be forced to admit because to him, it was.

“Yeah?” Kirishima sounded confused but not in the way he had been anticipating. He was confused like you had just told him Ashido’s favorite color was pink. Like what Katsuki had just said was common knowledge.

This had Katsuki whipping his head back to look at him. “’Yeah’?! The fuck does that mean?!”

Kirishima tilted his head like he did when he could tell Katsuki was upset with him but didn’t know why. “It means yeah? Like, yeah I know?”

It was Katsuki’s turn to be confused now. “You know?”

“Dude, if it was supposed to be a secret, your awful at hiding it!” Kirishima laughed and he glared at him for it. This was supposed to be his close kept secret! His weakness nobody, except for maybe Deku, knew! Kirishima seemed to understand his inner turmoil (because of course he would) and gave the teen a small smile, moving to rub the back of his neck. “Well, maybe it just was to me? I dunno, man. I noticed from the quirk assessment we had on the first day.”

“How?!” His voice sounded more confused than annoyed.

Kirishima shrugged and moved his toe against the floor a bit to slightly spin the chair he was sitting on. A nervous habit he’d get when he was the center of attention, Katsuki noted. “You just weren’t responding to anyone. First I thought you were just kinda an asshole and ignoring people, ya know?” He looked back up at him with a grin. “But then when Aizawa-Sensei would repeat something louder and you’d respond and I saw your quirk in action, I guess I just put two-and-two together. I didn’t know it was some big secret though.”

“It’s not!” Katsuki was quick to snap but that wasn’t really true. It clearly was or his heart wouldn’t have dropped when he realized Kirishima had figured it out within hours of meeting him. He huffed to himself, not wanting to snap at Kirishima over his own overlook and looked away again, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Does anyone else know?”

Kirishima hummed in thought, looking up at the ceiling. “I think all of us kinda know somethings up to varying degrees.” He must have heard the speed at which Katsuki whipped his head around because Kirishima quickly clarified, “I mean those of us in the squad. Kaminari talks louder when he’s around us. Ashido and Sero started too as well after they hung out with us for a while. I suppose it also helps that the four of us are naturally loud anyway, but they definatley talk up and more clear when they're with us.”

Katsuki just looked at him stunned. They had all figured it out? And they hadn’t ever commented on it? Made it a point to make a joke about it? Tease him about it like they endlessly teased him about everything else? They had just started to talk louder for his sake?! Here he thought they were just obnoxious assholes…

Kirishima seemed to notice his lack of anger and response and crossed his arms over the back of the chair he was sitting on, resting his head on them as he studied Katsuki carefully. “Is this what’s been bothering you?”

Katsuki shot him a glare before huffing and looking away again. A nonverbal yes before he sighed, eyes closing. His mind was still reeling from the knowledge that not only did the other idiots figure it out, but that they had all apparently silently just decided to not talk about it and simply speak up and clearer so he could hear them all better. He had a plan going into this. He was going to tell Kirishima he was hard of hearing, tell him he’d known it was coming, and how he was supposed to wear hearing aids. He had planned for questions and for almost snapping at Kirishima for giving him a pitying look before quickly covering it up because Kirishima knew he hated pity. He had expected this conversation to go the opposite direction it had gone and now he was at a loss.

“They…" How was he supposed to proceed now?! "I’m supposed to wear hearing aids.” He blurted out quietly, almost hoping Kirishima didn’t hear him.

But of course he did. “So why don’t you?”

“Are you stupid?!” Kirishima frowned. It wasn’t pity on his face but almost like disappointment? That look was somehow worse and Katsuki quickly looked away from him again. “I can’t be number one like that.”

“So you’d rather just not be at your best then?”

Wellp. Anger was back. Least that was familiar over the weird sensation knowing his friends never brought up his hearing had left him with. He jerked back to face Kirishima, on his feet before he even registered he’d moved. Kirishima just looked at him with same look he had on earlier. “What?!”

“You can’t be your best if you aren’t even going to work with something that improves your skills.” Kirishima repeated, apparently oblivious to the absolute inferno of anger his words had lit. “Dude, you can’t stand there and tell me with a straight face you’d be at your absolute best going into situations as you are when you could be going in with your senses heightened. That would be like fighting with one hand tied behind you back all the time! It doesn’t make any sense, man!”

Katsuki stood where he was, keeping Kirishima’s gaze which had narrowed. It wasn’t anger, but the look he got when determination had set in and he wasn’t about to even think about budging on something. Katsuki liked to imagine it was the look he had when he tried to convince their classmates to come to Kamino Ward. What made it worse this go around was that, well, Katsuki knew he was right. “Tch.” He turned and stalked back to his bed before slumping down on it, glaring up at the ceiling as if it had personally wronged him. “What pro hero do you know wears hearing aids, shitty hair?”

“You?” That answer had Katsuki turn to shoot him a ‘stop bullshitting’ look but Kirishima’s face was so purely earnest the words died on his tongue. “Sure none of the current pros do, but that doesn’t mean you can’t be the first! I bet they’ll even make some with little orange X’s on them! That would be so cool!” He gave Katsuki one of those toothy grins that rivaled the sun in brightness and it took all Katsuki had not to smile at him in return.

He scoffed and looked away instead. “You’re an idiot.”

“Maybe, but I’m right about this!” Kirishima stood up and moved to sit beside his feet on the bed. “You always are the first and best at everything. Wouldn't it be super manly to be the representation to little kids you want now?” Katsuki didn’t say anything, afraid speaking might betray how hot his face was starting to feel at Kirishima’s unbridled admiration. “Besides think of all the cool ways you could make them look! I bet you could get them like, orange to match your uniform or-!”

“They’re already orange.” Kirishima turned to look at him and Katsuki rolled his eyes at the awe on the red heads face. He knew what was coming without Kirishima even asking so he sat up to pull a small box from the far corner of his nightstand. He tossed it to Kirishima who caught and opened it, eyes growing wide.

“Dude, these look so cool!”

“No they fuckin’ don’t. Don’t lie to me-“

“I’m not, man! Dude, picture this.” He picked one of them up and held it so Katsuki could see before splaying his other fingers out behind it. “You could have them as part of you mask! I bet support could even make some super badass ones that could have another dual factor! Maybe even like Mic’s speaker thing? No, I guess that wouldn’t make sense. But maybe they can block out certain things? Like Shinsou’s quirk! Oh man, you’re an even better match for him now! Just turn them off and you can’t even hear him!” Kirishima went into a rant about all the things he thought the stupid device in his hand could be used for and honestly Katsuki wasn’t hearing any of it but not because of the hearing loss. He just watched the idiot talk, watched his lips move and hands gesture. Watched as he’d occasionally laugh at something he’d thought of and how his smile reached his eyes when he did. How he was so excited just to sit here and come up with dumb ideas and how happy he was that Katsuki was potentially going to be an even better hero.

That thought alone made Katsuki’s heart jump again. Kirishima had really meant it about being an example. He really did think wearing the stupid devices would make him a better hero. Didn’t think it would make him any less of a person or any less of a pro. Kirishima genuinely didn’t think less or pity him for it and it actually seemed like he was furious that Katsuki would risk throwing his own dream of being a hero away just because of two tiny devices that would help him.

It was almost too much for him.

“You’re an idiot.” He repeated. Kirishima stopped talking and looked at him. He was still smiling and Katsuki was willing to bet that he was too if the slight tug at his lips was any indicator. “Fuckin’-! Fine, you rambling moron. I’ll wear the damn things tomorrow.”

The grin he got in return had to rival the brightest light in the galaxy and before he could open his mouth to warn against it, Kirishima tackled him back on the bed. The curses and explosions he sent in return were simply laughed off and otherwise ignored.

---

True to his word, Katsuki stood in front of his mirror with the small devices in his hand. He looked at his reflection without them, took in the way he looked one last time as if he could never go back to this look before sliding them in and turning them on as he remembered the doctor demonstrating. He winced at the resistance he was met with as they flickered to life but looked back at his reflection once they were snugly in and properly adjusted. His hair hid them for the most part, ash blond strands hanging low enough that unless he really looked, he couldn’t see them. Maybe that meant nobody else would since he was actually looking for them. He let out a sigh and turned to grab his bag. He doubted that severely. He swore quietly to himself, ignoring how it actually wasn't as quiet as he thought, and started the trek to class.

The walk out of the dorms and into the school was… different? He could hear things he hadn’t otherwise heard before. He could hear birds chirping in the trees he walked under, bits and pieces of conversations of the people he passed, that one weirdo from 1-B saying something and even the faint smack that followed as that orange haired chick apologized for him. It was almost like he’d been listening to the TV volume only turned up to 2 and now suddenly it was changed to 10. It would be overwhelming if he were anyone else, he guessed. Katsuki imagined this is what those videos of colorblind people wearing those special glasses was like. To experience the world with a sense that was dulled for so long only to be informed that said sense could be much better.

He’d spent so much time glaring at the stupid things and then fiddling with them to get them adjusted that he’d been beaten to class by the self proclaimed ‘Bakusquad’. Kirishima was sitting on Sero's desk facing the door and when he spotted Katsuki, broke back out into that same grin he did that rivaled the light flickering in from the windows. “Hey, Bakugou!” He raised an arm in greeting, grabbing the attention of the other idiots who all turned to greet him though not as enthusiastically as Kirishima. Not much of a surprise considering the red head was very clearly the only morning person among them.

Katsuki tsk'ed in greeting but Kirishima seemed to be studying him harder than usual and it was pretty clear what he was searching for. So with a roll of his eyes, Katsuki turned his head slightly so Kirishima could see the small bit of orange poking out from under his hair and if the smile he was greeted with was bright, this one was blinding. He didn’t say anything much to Katsuki's relief, just looked back at Kaminari despite his grin not fading as Katsuki walked over to his desk and tossed his bag down. Such a stupid little thing and Kirishima was grinning like he'd won the lottery.

Class was almost night and day.

He could hear Aizawa’s lazy tone easily, better than he had ever remembered being able to. He didn't need to rely on his handouts and the board to take notes. It was considerably easier to understand Ectoplasm now too and, much to his sheer and utter annoyance, he could hear Deku muttering to himself again. It was annoying, sure, and he almost considered taking the stupid things out to prevent it, but the fact that he actually could stopped him. Even Deku's muttering couldn't quite distract from the almost wonder he had. He could also pick up on Kaminari and Kirishima whispering though he coldn't make out what. (Probably about the math problem Ectoplasm just wrote down.)

The lunchroom was another experience. He hadn’t ever heard it this loud and he muttered to Sero if something special was happening because of the noise before Sero eyed him confused and said it was always this loud. Huh. He knew it should be considering the amount of teenagers cramed into it, but the thought hadn't really ever crossed his mind just how loud it should be. It was almost painful. Their usual table was at least a little quieter since it was in the far back. Katsuki was actually able to hear Kaminari approaching without relying on the slight ting of electricity in the air that usually was his give away. He looked up and watched as he and Kirishima stepped over towards them, caught up in some conversation about something, only stopping when Kirishima moved away and took his usual spot beside Katsuki while Kaminari went to sit in front of him.

“Hey, Bakubro! You look-“

Katsuki winced. “Fuck, can you maybe not talk so damn loud?!” He brought his hands up to his ears, wincing as they gave off feedback which he assumed was due to the mentioned static Kaminari gave off. Maybe he really should speak to support about upgrading them if he was going to start using them more. Wait, was that going to be a thing? He'd told Kirishima he'd wear them today; not from then on. When had he decided this was going to be a permanent thing?

He was lost in his own thoughts about if this so he missed the way Sero, Ashido, and Kaminari looked at each other, then at him, then back to one another. “Uh? He’s talking like he usually does. Which yeah, it’s loud, but it’s his usual volume.” Sero defended, looking all the world like Katsuki had just started sprouting a second head.

Shit.

Katsuki huffed and looked down pointedly at his lunch, taking a bite of rice to further avoid meeting their gaze. “Well tone it the fuck down, dunce-face.”

Kirishima was pointedly quiet while the three others sat in silence for a joyous and nerve wracking moment. He wondered briefly if they would just drop it, but no, he was never that lucky. He heard a gasp, knew it was Ashido, and jerked his gaze back up just as she leaned across the table and reached over to move his hair aside. “You got hearing aids!”

“Fuckin’-! Don’t touch me!” He swatted her hand away but the damage was done.

She was grinning from ear to ear and practically bouncing in her seat. “Oh my gosh, they look so good! That color is going to match your uniform perfectly!”

“Nice, dude! When did you get those?”

“Does this mean you’ll answer when I ask you for help now?”

“I think he was just always ignoring you, Kami.”

"What? No! Why would he do that?"

"Because you ask him for answers on every problem rather than how to solve it?"

Bakugou watched the three teens in front of him suddenly turn on Kaminari, laughing at the other blond’s expense. They hadn’t even flinched at him wearing them! No jokes, no sympathetic looks, nothing! They just took it in stride as if he’d said the weather outside was cool. He looked over at Kirishima to get confirmation that he wasn’t insane and they had really found out what he deemed his weakness. Kirishima met his gaze with a knowing grin and a shrug of his shoulders, a silent ‘I-told-you-it-wasn’t-a-big-deal’ look on his face. Katsuki shot him a glare but turned back to his meal to try and hide the smile he knew would betray any small amount of anger it may have had.

They didn't seem to care. He'd spent so much of his life dreading the day he'd have to wear these stupid things. Dreading the way people would look at or perceive him. He was Bakugou Katsuki and the only way he should be looked at was with admiration or fear; not pity or sympathy, and he whole heartedly believed that was going to be the outcome wearing these would bring. He expected the three idiots in front of him to make a huge ordeal about it, but they just seemed relieved and excited. Just like Kirishima had been.

Maybe having friends wasn’t such a bad thing after all.

---

After that, Katsuki wore them daily. They became second nature from then on and he wanted to be surprised that nobody seemed to even flinch at them, but after seeing his friend’s reactions, he really wasn't. What was supposed to be a weakness was nothing more than another area he could work with. Something Katsuki could train and hone like his quirk. He’d even followed Kirishima’s idea and got a pair that would work with his mask. They got upgraded to protect his remaining hearing from his explosions while enhancing it. His regular ones got an upgrade as well so they’d stop sending him feedback every time Kaminari got within a foot of him which spared Kaminari getting threatened and snapped at so it was a win for him as well. (Both pairs were returned black with an orange X printed on them and Kirishima swore he knew nothing about it.)

Months passed and it was hard to imagine he’d ever put up such a fight to wear the stupid things. They really did make a difference and it was even better knowing nobody felt the need to shout at him. Part of him wondered just how many people did but also didn’t think his pride could risk asking. It was like nothing had changed and while he wouldn’t ever admit it, it was apparent he had worried and put this off for absolutely no reason. His friends rolled with it like nothing had happened and that alone, while he refused to admit it, was the real reason he continued to keep it up after the first day. The idiots seemed to be full of surprises, especially Kirishima.

So it really shouldn’t have been a surprise what happened one night during the middle of their second year. The pair were up late in Bakugou’s room going over the latest math homework they’d been given. Well, more like Katsuki was going over Kirishima’s since his was already finished. At some point he’d taken his hearing aids out figuring he wouldn’t really need them in the quiet of his room.

He marked one last problem Kirishima needed to look over and handed the paper back. The red head took it then asked ‘Do you want to go get something to eat?’

“Yeah sure.”

He pushed himself up and brought an arm back behind his head to stretch it out and then it dawned on him. Kirishima hadn’t spoken. His lips hadn’t moved.

“What?!”

Kirishima startled at his yelling. “I asked-“

“I know what you asked!” Katsuki was pretty sure he must look strange because Kirishima was looking at him with sheer, utter confusion. “It’s- it’s how you asked it!”

The red head blinked at him in confusion, clearly not understanding why Katsuki was suddenly so upset. “What about it?”

“You signed!”

“Yeah?” He held the ‘ea’ sound out as if the pause would help him figure out what had happened. Katsuki could feel his face heating up. “Dude, I’m so confused right now. What’s wrong?”

“You-! You fuckin’ signed to me!”

“Yeah, you covered that part. What about it?”

“When the fuck did you learn it?!”

Kirishima still looked at him baffled. “Dude, I’ve known for years. My mom is hard of hearing.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?!”

“Because I didn’t think I’d need to? I sign to you all the time, man!” Now it was Katsuki’s turn to look lost. He looked at the red head for a few minutes as if he’d just told him some world altering view, which he kinda did. “You good, bro?”

“No I’m not ‘good’! When the fuck have you ever signed to me?!” Though as the question left his lips, memories started replaying in his head. One’s of Kirishima casually signing ‘lunch?’ while verbally saying they should head to grab a bite to eat. Memories of Kirishima signing ‘that was awesome!’ after Katsuki did some impressive move in training. Of Kirishima’s fingers moving to ask him to pass his notes back over. Vision after vision of Kirishima slipping it into such casual setting from the first weeks he knew him and wow, okay that did something to his heart.

Why hadn’t he ever noticed it before? When the hell had Kirishima become such a casual part of his life that him speaking in a language hardly anyone knew became second nature? How had he learned so much about Katsuki without him ever knowing the red head was close enough to figure him out? Why did he decide to dedicate so much of his energy and time to be around him?!

“Dude?” He looked over at Kirishima who was now looking at him worried. “I was kinda kidding when I asked if you were good but now I’m actually worried. Are you alright? You look, like, sick."

Katsuki dropped to his knees in front of the red head who was looking even more concerned now. He opened his mouth, probably to once again ask if Katsuki was okay, when Katsuki put his hands on either side of his head and pulled him into a kiss. It wasn’t anything spectacular on the outside, just a chaste kiss, but it was an awakening for Katsuki who avoided feelings and distractions. Katsuki who had mentioned romance was the furthest thing on his mind when Ashido asked him back in first year if he was interested in anyone. So yeah, it wasn’t the most romantic of kisses as Katsuki hadn’t exactly kissed anyone aside from one or two people back in middle school and Kirishima hadn’t exactly moved or leaned into it let alone reacted.

Wait, shit. Kirishima hadn’t reacted.

That thought had him pulling back immediately, apology already forming but going unspoken as Kirishima mirrored the gesture of grabbing his face and pulling him into a kiss. Now it was Katsuki’s turn to be shocked but it faded in seconds, eyes closing on instinct as he moved to rest his hands on Kirishima’s hips. Kirishima in turn gently cupped the side of his face, guiding Katsuki’s head to tilt to the side slightly so he could deepen it. Alright, this one was much better than the pitiful one Katsuki had just done. Kirishima’s lips slid against his like they were meant to be connected and his hands lit Katsuki’s skin on fire. The feeling was like wearing his hearing aids for the first time. Like reawakening a sense that had been muted for years. He didn’t want it to end but after one last slow kiss, Kirishima pulled back, lips parted as he breathed.

Katsuki opened his eyes and blinked down at him, no doubt looking as kiss-drunk as the red head. Kirishima beamed back up at him, cheeks tinted red which Katsuki could feel his own face mimicking. He glanced away as if that would hide it, ignoring the way his heart rate picked up when Kirishima’s arms moved to wrap around his waist, head resting against his chest. He had about a billion things he wanted to say, knew Kirishima had about a billion he probably wanted to ask, but of course the red head knew him well enough to know he needed a minute before he spoke. Kirishima knew him so well. How did he not ever connect these dots and do this sooner?!

“So you like me.”

Alright, maybe not the elegant response he wanted but he earned a laugh from Kirishima. He shrugged and looked up at him so Katsuki could see his lips, smile still present. “What finally gave that away?”

Katsuki could feel his face flush anew. “’Finally’?”

“I haven’t exactly been trying to hide it from you.”

“You never fuckin’ said anything!”

“Again, never thought I’d need to.”

And alright, that was fair if he thought about it. He frowned but it was more at himself than at Kirishima and he ducked his head down to rest against the red head’s shoulder, the red head pulling him close. “You have awful taste.” He muttered to which Kirishima just hummed, lightly resting his head against the side of Katsuki’s.

They stayed like that for a while longer before Kirishima’s stomach made them remember what had started this whole ordeal in the first place. As they stood up and started to head out, Katsuki paused and turned grabbing his hearing aids and sliding them into place, ignoring the way Kirishima’s face lit up at the simple motion. He didn’t comment on it though, only taking Katsuki’s hand for a whole second before dropping it. Katsuki arched a brow, about to ask what was wrong.

‘I really, really like you, Katsuki.’

Katsuki was pretty sure his face was currently redder than the idiot in front of him’s hair and mumbled a quiet “Fuck you” as he lightly punched his shoulder. Kirishima laughed and caught Katsuki’s hand before it fell away. He went to lace their fingers together and tug him down the hall but Katsuki stayed rooted to the spot. Kirishima looked back at him, head tilting in the ‘whats-up’ way he did before Katsuki pulled his hand back.

‘You are an idiot, but I like you too.’

It shouldn’t be a surprise the way Kirishima’s eyes lit up. It shouldn’t be breath taking the blinding smile such a simple statement was met with. It shouldn’t make his heart skip when he was rewarded with another kiss. None of it should be but here Katsuki was, arms wrapped around this dumb, red headed ray of sunshine who managed to do the impossible.

#KiriBaku #Bakugou Katsuki #Kirishima Eijirou #BakuShima #Deaf Bakugou #Bakugou #Kirishima #BNHA #Boku no Hero Academia #My Hero Academia #MHA #klutzys writing

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halstudandruz · 4 years

Text

Withdrawal (NSFW)

*Not my gif*

Pairing: Will Halstead x Reader

Requested: Yes

Prompt: Dirty texts lead to a horny Halstead

Warnings: Smut (18+), swearing, sexting

A/N: Will’s texts are bolded, yours are italicized

It had been too long, way too long since you’ve had the time to be with your boyfriend. You flew home for your mother’s birthday and ended up staying a couple more days than you had originally planned. On top of that your flight had gotten delayed twice thanks to a storm rolling through so instead of getting to spend a few hours with Will before his shift you had gotten home an hour after he already left, and man were you going through some withdrawal. Walking in your shared apartment you dropped your luggage in the living room exhaustion hitting a little. You decided to take a nap knowing full well your boyfriend wouldn’t be home for at least a minimum of 12 hours and would likely be even longer than that. Falling into your bed Will’s minty scent took over instantly relaxing you. Pulling out your phone you pulled his name up typing a quick message informing him you were home safety before drifting off.

Waking up you huffed at the clock not appreciating the time that still stood between you and Will. Dragging yourself out of your bed and into the shower you let the water cascade over your body. A smirk formed on your face as the idea popped in your head. Stepping out from under the water you dried your hands before leaning to grab your phone off the shelf. Pulling Will’s messages back up you began to type,

“The things I would give to be pushed against this shower wall right now is outrageous.” Accompanied by a very tasteful picture.

Setting your phone back down you finished showering wrapping your towel around your body heading towards your bedroom. While getting dressed you heard your phone ping from the bathroom. Smiling you headed to grab it opening Will’s text,

“Holy hell baby. I’m feeling tortured enough. How am I supposed to focus after that? I may have to sneak off to the bathroom here for a second.”

“Don’t you dare. I want it saved all for me. I don’t know how you were focusing before that all I can think about is you.” You replied.

“I miss my girl so much. I can’t wait to get home to you. I have a whole list of things I need to do to you.” Will answered.

“Is that so? Feel free to paint me a picture.” You teased.

“How would that be fair? You’re home all alone able to do whatever you want.” He retorted.

“Alright then..let me paint a picture for you?”

“Baby I’m working and I’m already on the brink of insanity..” Will pleaded. You gave in feeling a little bad imagining him suffering at work between patients. However, an hour later the guilt had faded as you pulled up the texts again to continue the teasing.

“I thought about it and I realized I wouldn’t be a good girlfriend if I didn’t give you a heads up to what’s gonna happen tonight.” A few minutes had passed before you had gotten a reply,

“Well...I wouldn’t want you to think you’re a bad girlfriend or anything.” He answered making you laugh.

“Oh man baby I cannot wait to jump on you. I miss your smell, your lips, your taste, your touch so much. Can’t wait to have my lips on yours, on your chest, on your abs, and most importantly wrapped around your cock. I want your dick shoved down my throat, so rough I won’t be able talk tomorrow.” You started.

“You have absolutely no idea how bad I want that. You’re such a pro at sucking this dick.”

“Practice makes perfect and I think I may be a little out of practice so I better get to work. Can’t wait to tease you a little. Feeling you up outside of your jeans, love feeling your dick go hard in my hand. Use my teeth to pull your zipper down just so you can feel my breath. Want you begging for my mouth baby. Twitching in my hand before it even gets there. Not sure whether I should swallow or not though. Love the taste of you filling up my throat, but also love watching you cum all over your stomach and licking it all up after kinda the best of both worlds..what do you think?”

“Fuck babe...I’m so hard how am I supposed to hide this?”

“Maybe you shouldn’t..let everyone know how bad you need me...especially Natalie…” You couldn’t help but tease him a little knowing you’d probably get at least a small laugh out of him.

“Don’t want her. Only you and that perfect pussy of yours. Can’t wait to get home and eat you up because believe me I’m starving.”

“I’m more than ready. Can’t wait to have that handsome face of yours shoved in my pussy making me feel so fucking good.”

“Hell babygirl. I don’t know how I’m going to make it through this shift. I’m going to absolutely wreck you when I get home.” He replied after a while.

“Is that a promise?” You teased.

“You better fucking believe it.” He texted.

You had finally decided to leave your boyfriend to work turning Netflix on. Drowning the hours away until you finally heard the door of your apartment click. Turning your head to see your boyfriend walking in, dropping his bag at the door, pushing it closed before turning to face you. A smile immediately surfaced on your face, heart thumping faster. It had only been 2 weeks but you swear you had almost forgotten what he looked like. Realizing long distance couples should get all the props in the world. Jumping up off the couch you launched yourself into his arms wrapping yourself around his body. You felt him laugh, wrapping his arms around you to pull your tighter against his body.

“Hi baby.” He whispered into your ear kissing your cheek softly.

“I missed you sooo much.” You whined nuzzling your face into his neck relaxing at his scent too easily.

“You’re telling me.” He smiled pulling your face up to meet his lips, humming at the feeling. Your hand instinctively wrapped around his neck pulling him down enough to your height to deepen the kiss. Biting your bottom lip, his hands moved down to your thighs, getting the hint you jumped letting him support you as you wrapped your legs around his waist. Moving his lips down your jaw to your neck he pressed you up against the nearest wall nipping at your collarbone in the process.

“Not wasting any time are we?” You teased starting to unbutton the front of his shirt.

“I may actually explode if I wait any longer. Which is all your fault. Thinking you’re so clever making me suffer at work all day. I had to hide my hard on for hours.” He admitted tugging at the hem of your shirt, before you discarded it on the floor leaving you left in only your panties. “As gorgeous as ever.” He smirked lips moving to your breasts making you moan softly at the contact as he circulated between your nipples. Taking it in and enjoying it for a second before reaching between the two of you working on his belt and jeans, struggling at first in the position but not too long after getting them pushed down along with his underwear. He adjusted his grip on you stepping out of them and kicking them to the side before moving his hand down to your core, gently rubbing on the outside of your panties. Whimpering you tried to push your hips stronger against his fingers making him chuckle. “And I’m the impatient one.” He joked leaning in to capture your lips with his, moving your panties to the side to properly rub at your clit before slowly inserting a finger into you. Moaning into his mouth he took this advantage to sneak his tongue in quickly taking dominance of the kiss. Curling his finger up to hit your sweet spot before inserting another, working you open again. Looking down between you, you see his dick upright, tip swollen red with precum already dripping out.

“I haven’t even touched you yet, what is this?” You smirked collecting the precum on the tip of your finger before putting it in your mouth to lick it off, chucking at Will’s whimper as he watched. Pulling his hand away from you, you gave his shaft a few tugs before moving your panties to the side again rubbing his tip up and down your slit a few times to collect the wetness before slowly starting to push him into you. Will’s eyes closed at your movement, breath trying to steady as you let him take over. Regaining control his nails digged into your thighs watching your face as he slowly pushed into you letting you adjust every couple seconds. Bottoming out his face moved to the crook of your neck before starting to set a steady pace as your hands rested at his shoulders trying to keep yourself up. Feeling the pleasure start to course through your body your head fell back against the wall, moaning out loudly without shame. “Man did I miss you and your dick.” You whined.

“I missed this pussy baby. Always so fucking good.” Will grunted into your ear tugging at your earlobe making you bite your lip sighing heavily, but quickly yelling out whenever he hit your g spot after adjusting slightly.

“Mmm, right there babe.” You informed nails digging into his shoulders. Your muscles were starting to burn so you could only imagine how Will was feeling but you were into much pleasure to care as his thrusts started to speed up, small grunts and moans filling your ear. Feeling your pleasure building you reached down between the two of you starting to rub your clit in time with his thrusts taking you to a whole other level. As you felt the knot in your stomach grow stronger and stronger you pulled Will in closer to your body raking your nails from your free hand down his chest leaving marks, crying out with every thrust.

“Come on baby, let go for me.” Will huffed out between ragged breaths. Seconds later you gave in screaming out Will's name, trying to grasp for him as your limbs shook, white covering your vision, going almost completely limp in Will’s hold. Coming back to reality just in time to hear Will screaming your name accompanied by a few curse words, muffled into your shoulder, his cum filling you completely. Will took a few deep breaths trying to regain control before slowly pulling out and gently sitting you back down on your feet where you grasped onto his biceps still wobbly on your feet. Chuckling he swiftly picked you back up bridal style before walking over and dropping you on the couch where you pulled him down with you. “In hindsight probably would’ve been less physically exhausting to just do it here but hey desperate times call for desperate measures.” He joked kissing your cheek and making you giggle.

“Can always be put to use in round 2.” You shrugged smiling up at him.

“I missed you so much.” He laughed, shaking his head, and grabbing your face between his hands to kiss you. There were quite a few different surfaces put to use that night.

#will halstead x reader #will halstead #willhalsteadxreader #will halsteadxreader #chicago med x reader #chicago med #chicago med imagine #chicago med smut #will halstead imagine #will halstead smut

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ot3tropetober · 4 years

Photo

Eliot and Hardison are travel journalists for rival publications who keep showing up in the same places

Fic for this (~3500 words) is below the read more! Some notes:

[backstory on why Hardison is writing these comes from this post]

[Eliot, Parker, and Hardison are all commenting on this document, think of it like the chat in Google drive? In-document comments from Eliot are italicized, from Hardison are in bold, and from Parker are plain text]

By the time Will Coffey stepped off the plane in Dallas, all he wanted was a nice long shower and to sleep in his own bed for once. Being a travel journalist for a leading travel magazine had its perks– a month-long trip across Mexico, for example, all expenses paid or at least reimbursed – but after a month on the road he was dead tired and ready to be home.

Is this supposed to be me? Why am I living in Dallas?

Yes, and also, you don’t actually live in Dallas, Eliot, you live here, in Portland, with us.

I know that, I just– you know what, never mind.

Well, Will Coffey likes Dallas.

I am Will Coffey!!

That’s the spirit.

The other thing about being on the road for a living was that sometimes it felt kinda lonely, and as relieved as he was to be home, the first couple of minutes after he walked in, turned on the lights, and looked around at an empty place, that was always a little bittersweet. But the only other person he’d really seen in any kind of serious capacity the whole time he’d had this gig was a fellow traveler who spent just as much time on the road as he did, so it just kinda was what it was. He set his keys and his bag down and headed to the kitchen for a beer, but he hadn’t even opened his fridge when his phone buzzed a couple times. It was a text from Sarah, his editor. He’d known her forever– they shared a couple classes in college. Now they shared the stress of managing a print publication in an increasingly digital world.

“Did you see this?” she had written. There was a link in the next message. “How does this guy get this stuff up so fast?“

Will already knew what he was gonna find before he clicked the link, and sure enough, it directed him to a popular travel blog called The Travel Geek, which was a ridiculous name for a travel blog but people absolutely went wild for it. Will liked it too, not that he would ever really admit it, but that probably had more to do with the guy who ran it than anything else. They had…not a thing, exactly? It was hard to explain whatever was going on with Jeremy Edwards, who by rights Will should probably hate for stealing his stories and his audience. But the problem with that was mainly that the guy was so goddamn likeable.

I’m guessing that’s you.

You would be correct.

You think I think you’re likeable?

No, I know it.

he is pretty likeable

Yeah, yeah.

Will had met Jeremy a couple of years ago, right when he was just starting out with his blog. Jeremy said he’d been reading Will’s stuff for a while and would love some advice from a pro. It wasn’t like Will didn’t know it was a little bit of flattery, and it wasn’t like he didn’t know it was a little bit of flirting, either. It also wasn’t like Jeremy was bad to look at. So Will said sure, he’d be glad to, and they were in Belgium, so they shared some beers, ate fries from a baraque at one in the morning on a park bench, shoulders pressed together, while Will tipsily rhapsodized about gaufre de Liège while Jeremy laughed and laughed.

I have never *rhapsodized* about anything in my damn life.

Have you heard you talk about food? This is not a criticism. I could listen to that all day.

Nothing really happened, in the end, just a good conversation and the promise to keep in touch. That turned out to be easier than it should have been, because they started covering the same damn things, all the time. One big world, and somehow they were always sharing part of it: Will was in India on a camel safari through the Thar Desert, and Jeremy was there, keeping Will up at night tappity tapping on his keyboard. Or Will was in Oatman, Arizona, for a piece on Route 66, and there was Jeremy, taking selfies with the wild burros roaming the streets of the town. Or Will was traveling around Japan, doing a feature on onsens, and Jeremy was there, too, acting like he wasn’t looking in Will’s direction while they sat, very naked, in the soothing hot water. It went on like that for a while until finally one night in Barcelona, in front of Sagrada Familia, he looked at Jeremy, tall and handsome in this absurd brightly patterned scarf, and said, “This is ridiculous, man,” and pulled him in for a long, lingering kiss.

Do you honestly think it would have taken me that long?

I don’t know, baby, it took your cowboy ass five years in real time, so Will’s doing a lot better than you.

OoooooooOooo

We had a lot goin on!!! And what is that supposed to be, parker? are you some kind of ghost?

it made more sense in person

I’ll take your word for it.

It wasn’t a relationship, exactly. It was just something they did, sometimes, if they happened to run into each other on the road. It wasn’t like he was getting invited home for the holidays, or anything, and he was fine with that, really. The long and short of it was, they’d basically been circling each other for years now, professionally, personally, whatever, but the professional stuff was definitely getting in the way of anything else. Because Will would sit down and write out his long, detailed articles with carefully selected photographs that would look just right on the page, while Jeremy had already turned out quick blog entry after quick blog entry, listing off places people should visit with witty little one sentence summaries, and people just ate it right up with a spoon while Adventure., Will’s magazine, slowly saw its sales circling the drain. It stung a little. Maybe more than a little. It wasn’t like he could say the guy wasn’t working hard, but damn. Hell, the best selling issue they’d had in a couple years was the one where Sarah had masterminded a collaboration between Will and Jeremy. Blogging was definitely here to stay.

That night in Belgium was five years ago, and at the time it seemed impossible that the internet would ever really fully overtake print. But bloggers and phones had both gotten smarter over the last five years, and now everyone wanted their news in little chunks that they could read on a screen during their commute, so travel blogs were the hot new thing. Will grimaced as he looked at the blog entries Jeremy already had up from Mexico, where they’d run into each other at least half a dozen times.

Five Reasons You Need to Visit Mexico City Right Now; What You’re Missing Because You’re Not in Monterrey; Everything You Wanted to Know About Agave But Were Too Afraid to Ask

“You gotta be kidding me with this,” he muttered, staring at his phone and thinking about the half-written article he had saved on his laptop detailing the history of agave and how to experience Jalisco as more than just the birthplace of tequila.

He pulled up Sarah’s number and dialed.

“I don’t know how we can compete with this,” he sighed, when she picked up.

“We’re going to have to adapt,” she said. “You know that. I can hear you making a face."

"I don’t want to blog,” he complained. “I like print."

"I know,” she sighed. “I’m working on it. Anyway, I’m glad you called, I was going to call you. I need you to go to Italy. Flight leaves tomorrow."

"No way. Not interested,” he told her. “I just got back to my apartment, Sarah, I’ve been in Mexico for a month. I’m beat."

"It’s not my fault that you spend half your time on extracurricular activities,” she teased.

“You can just say sex,” he said. “I won’t be offended. And it’s not half my time. Like, maybe twenty-five percent. Anyway, I get the job done."

"Yeah, and you’re very good at it, which is why I need you to go to Italy,” she said.

“I’m not saying yes,” he told her, “and I’m not interested. But what’s in Italy that’s so important for me to get to?"

"You’ll love this one,” Sarah promised. “It’s a food festival."

Okay, maybe he was a little interested. "Oh?”

“Yeah,” she said. His phone buzzed in his ear. “I just emailed you the details. Including your flight info."

"Dammit, Sarah–"

"Oops, emergency, the printer’s on fire, gotta go!” she chirped, and the line disconnected.

Yeah okay that’s Parker huh

Yep!

I do know y'all a little bit.

“Dammit,” Will said again, and opened Sarah’s email to read up on his next destination.

The food festival turned out to be a week long international celebration of local food from around the world. It only happened once every few years in October, when a world of people descended on the city of Torino, and more specifically the park by the River Po, where they set up tents and stands and served pretty much every kind of food you could imagine, and Will loved food and could imagine a lot, so that was saying something. It was pretty cool, seeing all these people from all over the planet showing off food that was important to them, sharing it with strangers. It really was the whole planet, too, the way the park was set up you could walk through a continent at a time, with all the countries on it represented at their own space. He figured he’d pay his respects to the hosts first and start with Italy, which was definitely the largest section. Halfway through the displays he found a stall with some folks from Campania selling fresh mozzarella di bufala the size of his fist for a Euro. It was speared on a stick like a candy apple so he could walk around with it, nibbling on the sweet cheese as he checked out the festival’s other offerings. Aged cheeses covered in mud and straw from a little town in France. A swanky tent with wood plank floors where the Filipino agriculture offices had a set up with big displays dedicated to traditional food and heirloom crops. Six different kinds of wild rice were layered in a glass display bottle in the booth dedicated to Indigenous agriculture in North America. There were folks from the Yucatan peninsula displaying cured meats and wild honey. There was a whole series of displays about preserving, protecting, and raising Maasai red sheep, from Kenya. The whole event was really impressive, actually, and even though his body had no idea what time zone he was in, he didn’t feel too tired– although that might have been more because he’d been downing every cup of coffee from anyone selling it.

Okay, this actually sounds pretty cool. But now you gotta fake a whole food festival like this if we ever use these aliases.

I don’t have to. That’s a real thing. Happens every couple of years. I was gonna ask if you wanted to go to the next one. Parker can probably find us a job after, anyway.

I’d love– like that.

Hardison. HARDISON.

Why isn’t this deleting the things I tell it to delete???

Ooh, forgot to tell y'all, this chat records your keystrokes? You know. Just in case you happen to type something sappy about how much you love me, and then delete it before you send it in the chat. Pretty much exactly what just happened.

Dammit Hardison I’m gonna delete YOU

Baby, that doesn’t even make any sense.

im w hardison on this 1. it’s ok if u love things eliot. especially food . or us

Just let me finish reading Hardison’s make believe story so I can get back to dinner prep, ok?

(he loves us)

I know :)

Will strolled around the park, snapping photos here and there, jotting down notes. He talked to folks from all over who came here to run their country’s booths, locals who had come out to enjoy the day, and people who had traveled long distances to be there. After a couple of hours and a really good lunch, he found an unoccupied bench near the river and posted up there for a while, notebook open next to him as he flipped through photos on his phone, the story he could tell about this event already starting to take shape in his head, and he had to admit, at least to himself, that Sarah had been right about this one. Nobody else on their staff knew food enough to get this right. But even though he had a good idea where to start, he couldn’t help feeling a little overwhelmed, too. You could spend two weeks here and still not talk to everybody, and it seemed important to try, somehow.

“Well, well, well,” said a voice, and Will looked up from his phone and his notes to see the tall form of none other than Jeremy Edwards.

“Dammit, Edwards,” Will swore. “You’ve gotta be kidding me. Again?"

Yeah it’s pretty much EXACTLY like that every time

Mmmhmm. You talk a big game, man, but no one here believes you.

What he said ur like that stuff u put on the dessert u made 4 us last wk

Stuff on dessert– the Italian meringue? You really comparing me to Italian meringue?!

Is that the stuff that was kinda hard and crunchy on the outside but actually really soft and sweet inside?

Yep that’s the stuff

This is the worst conversation we’ve ever had.

It’s weird how I can hear you smiling right now, though.

Shut up, Hardison, I’m reading.

Got him! XD

"Looks like it,” Jeremy said. He took a seat next to Will on the bench, despite the fact that Will had absolutely not fucking offered it to him. He grinned. Will looked back at his notes before he smiled back. “We’ve really gotta stop meeting like this."

"Yeah, well, trust me, I’m working on it,” Will grumbled, and risked a look at Jeremy again. Still handsome, and still smiling, unfortunately. He thought about the blog a little and made himself frown. “So, you’re here to blog about this, huh? How many blog posts have you done already?"

"None so far,” Jeremy said, scratching his chin, “but I am working on one right now. Tentative title, How to Tell The Guy You’re Casually Seeing And Have Been Chasing All Over the Globe That His Boss Sent Me Here To Work With Him."

Well, there was a lot of information there, but Will decided maybe sticking with the professional stuff was better for now. "I’m sorry, you’re here for what?"

Jeremy shrugged. "Sarah really liked that collaboration thing she got us to do last year, I guess, wanted to try it again for this. I said yes. It’s good for your magazine and it gives my blog some credibility with all you snooty print folks."

"We’re not snooty,” Will said, although that wasn’t exactly true. Maybe they were, a little. He unlocked his phone and saw the email from Sarah, the subject line of which read: “DON’T ARGUE IT WILL BE GOOD FOR YOU/US/THE MAGAZINE.” He sighed and looked back at Jeremy. “I can’t believe she sent you to a food thing."

"I’m offended,” Jeremy said, although it didn’t much sound like it. “I know food."

"Oh really? So last year when we were in Beijing and you were looking for a McDonald’s that was just you knowing food, huh,” Will drawled.

“Sometimes you just really want a Happy Meal,” Jeremy joked, and Will just shook his head.

“I guess we should figure out what we’re doing, then,” he said, and Jeremy raised his eyebrows.

“About the story,” he said, “right?"

"Yeah, about the story,” Will grumbled.

“Whatever you say,” Jeremy said affably, just like always.

It was actually pretty easy to figure out how to cover the festival now that he had a partner in crime. They worked out a plan that afternoon, sketched out a couple of pieces, a collab for Adventure., a short guest piece for Will on The Travel Geek, and a short story in the magazine for Jeremy. Sarah signed off on everything from afar– “What time is it where she is? Does that woman ever sleep?” Jeremy asked, as they both got email after email. “I don’t think she does, man,” Will laughed– and they got to work pretty quick. There was plenty to do and they were both here for a few days, so they wandered through the park as they worked, stopping occasionally to sample food or take photos. Eventually they walked all the way out of the park and into the city, up to a big plaza, Piazza Castello, in the center of the historic part of town. They got gelato from one of the many carts set up nearby for the festival, and sat outside, eating and talking as the sun set.

It was nice. It was always nice, when they ran into each other. That wasn’t the problem. But they’d been stuck in the same routine for years now: they’d find themselves in the same place, Jeremy would laugh, Will would pretend he was annoyed, and then they’d spend a good chunk of their time together enjoying each other’s company in as many ways as they could find, and then they’d head to the airport and go their separate ways. And that was that. This shouldn’t be any different, but somehow it was. Maybe it was the sunset lighting up Jeremy’s skin, or maybe he’d just been lonely too long, but maybe they needed to figure out what they were doing with more than just the stories they were here to tell.

“You wanna get dinner?” Will said, before he could talk himself out of it.

“Yeah,” Jeremy said, smiling again, and this time Will let himself smile back. Just a little.

They asked around for recommendations and ended up at a little restaurant in the city, a few blocks from the Piazza. They split a bottle of wine, a margherita pizza, and some perfectly fried fish, and they didn’t really talk about work at all.

“You know,” Jeremy said, about halfway through the wine, “not for nothing, but I’ve gotta say, this looks and feels a lot like a date."

"I wasn’t under the impression that you’d be opposed to that,” Will said.

“Oh, I’m not opposed,” Jeremy told him, “I’m just a little surprised you’re asking. I figured at this point it was gonna have to be me who said something."

Will eyed him carefully, thought back to a lot of nights on a lot of trips. "How long exactly have you been waiting around?"

"I mean, don’t get the wrong idea, here, I haven’t been pining away for you like some Victorian in a bad novel,” Jeremy said, and Will snorted. “But yeah. I played a long game, man. I gotta say, though, after that fishing boat incident in Guyana I really thought you figured out we had a thing."

"Yeah, well, I didn’t have time to notice, I was too busy taking pictures of you hiding behind that skinny British guy when that big old fish jumped out of the water,” Will snickered.

“Big old– that thing was two-hundred and thirty-four pounds of ichthyological torpedo headed straight for yours truly,” Jeremy said, and Will chuckled. “Big doesn’t really describe it.”

“Hmm. It was kinda wild he thought we were gonna get in the water with it,” Will mused. He winked. “Glad you finally remembered you owed me dinner for keeping him from pushing us into the river."

"Ha. You know Sarah wants us to work with that guy again, right?"

"Aw, hell,” Will said. “Really?"

"Yeah,” Jeremy confirmed. “She said she was gonna talk to you about it when we got back from this. Canada this time, so when Mister Fisherman tries to throw me in the water at least the hypothermia will probably get me before the monster fish does."

"Nah,” Will said. “Don’t worry about that. Nobody throws you off a fishing boat. Except maybe me. No. Well. Maybe. No,” he concluded.

Hah. I mean, okay, that does sound like me.

Oh, I am aware, trust me.

“Sarah maybe also mentioned we might do a few more of these little…collaborative things,” Jeremy said, drawing invisible circles on the table. “Maybe even in a more formal capacity."

Will raised his eyebrows. "No way she talked you into giving up the blog."

"Oh, definitely not,” Jeremy said. “But funnily enough, people keep sending me emails about wanting a print version of some of my photographs? But I don’t really have the publishing connections. A magazine, though…” he shrugged. “Me and Sarah figured we might come to some kind of mutually beneficial arrangement, somehow. Might be seeing more of you, is what I’m trying to say."

"Can’t say I mind that,” Will said, and reached out across the table to cover Jeremy’s hand with his.

“I was hoping you’d say that,” Jeremy answered, and this time Will didn’t try to hide his smile.

/end

Okay?

Okay, what?

Well where the hell is the rest of it?

What rest of it? It’s clearly implied that they’re dating now. They’re dating, they’re happy, they’re gonna work together for real, happily ever after, et cetera.

they should have at least kissed. i would be into that

This is what I’m saying. Where’s the resolution, here?

Baby, anytime you want a kiss, you know where to find me.

What I want is for you to take this seriously since you’re making us read all of it.

Wow, okay. Here:

They walked around the city for a long time after dinner, still holding hands, and the kiss they shared later under the moonlight felt like a promise. The Actual End.

Y'all happy?

too sappy 4 me but idk what eliot thinks

Not your best work but it’ll do, I guess.

Are you still in the kitchen?

Yeah, why?

I’m gonna come give you a demonstration of my best work, that’s why.

Bring it on, man.

do i get a demo too

You know it.

#author: coffeesuperhero #leverage ot3 #parker x hardison x eliot #hardison x eliot #leverage #ot3tropetober #submission

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subtlereferencetomyinterests · 4 years

Text

I Taste Honey but I Haven’t Seen the Hive - Chapter Seven

Ao3, Masterpost, C.1 C.2 C.3 C.4 C.5 C.6

Relationships: eventual queer-platonic intruality, platonic dlampr.

okay. so. last time we heard anything out of me was *New Years*, Literally, and maybe i should’ve mentioned that I was taking a little hiatus, but oh well. i’m back now and i’m gonna post the last three chapters of this fanfiction as soon as I possibly can (so probably like all of them will be up by tmrw at the latest!!) to make up for my absence. but jokes on you, cuz I did actually finish this thing!!! >:P

(oh yeah, and there are no italics, thanks to tumblr’s copy/paste bulls//t. i continue to be lazy :3 if anything sounds stilted just imagine that theres an italicized word there and yeah.)

Warnings: cursing, sexual innuendo, discussions of sexuality, misunderstandings, Emotional Conversations, sharing a bed, mild body horror (remus’ existence lol), stress, h/c.

Word count: 7,967

The hallway was cold, and dark. It had been long-since abandoned of any life, with every door shut and each light dimmed- even Virgil’s. That day- the day of the meeting- had exhausted everyone enough to send them right to sleep mode.

Everyone except Remus and Patton.

Their heart-to-heart in the kitchen had dragged on a little longer than either had expected, letting night descend fully over the Mindpalace. Patton was the one to notice the time eventually, and drag his less-than-restful friend up the stairs with him- he could tell that the other was dead tired, though. His stubborn determination not to end the conversation didn’t sit well, but Patton couldn’t think what to make of it, and they really did need some sleep.

They reached Patton’s door first. He stopped in front of it, when Remus tugged his hand back insistently. He turned to him, letting out a confused hum, and was met with a scowl and a sigh.

Remus was looking even more resigned than he had when they first started talking that night. Patton waited, worried.

“This isn’t, um,” Remus exhaled, ragged around the edges. “This isn’t a pick-up line, okay, and I know that it’ll sound that way and I know that it’s me but. I really don’t wanna be alone tonight.”

Oh.

Patton’s heart ached- and his heart was big, it took up most of him. He felt the pain spread out from his center and into his fingertips and toes, hot and empathetic. Because how could he hear something like that, and not want to spend the rest of the night doting on the creature in front of him until that voice never sounded so small again, till he was as big and confident as he was meant to be?

“I don’t think I want to be alone, either,” Patton said.

Remus stared, his big scarlet eyes casting a faint glow in the dark. They were wide, cautiously hopeful.

“Yeah?” He muttered.

“Yeah.”

Patton opened the door, and led them both inside.

Remus shuffled around on the other side of the bed, but Patton was still, however much he wanted to squirm.

“Um.”

The movement stopped, and he flushed at the feeling of being watched in the dark. There really was no un-awkward way to say it, was there?

“Remus, since you’re staying, do you- um, do you mind doing me a favor?”

Remus, little more than a silhouette, propped himself up on his elbow, a tilt to his head. “A favor? Of course, anything for you, Pat,” his words were a purr, and Patton could envision the suggestive smirk on his face in perfect clarity. Patton felt another well of discomfort bubble in his stomach.

“Could you at least wear some clothes, please?”

There was a beat. Remus laughed, short and good-natured.

“Yeah, I sorta figured I would. It’s no problem.”

“Thank you,” Patton sighed, relieved.

“Don’t worry about it,” he paused, and that really would’ve been the end of it, but Patton had learned by then when Remus was about to make a joke. He took a little breath while the words were still clicking together in his head, and a grin crept into his voice. “There’s always tomorrow night to try this clothesless, eh?”

“I’m asexual,” Patton blurted, and he could feel the heat radiating from his face, though he didn’t even know why he was so uncomfortable. It was a joke, Remus was just joking. They were friends and Patton should’ve been used to it- but he’d already gotten so sensitive that night, and jokes like that always hit just a little different than the violent ones or the curses. It must have been a breaking point, or something.

Remus shifted again, laying on his back. Patton wondered if he’d made things awkward.

“Oh,” Remus said, “Oh wow, that makes so much sense!”

“It- It does?” Patton sat up, staring at the other with a mix of surprise and relief. Remus blinked up at him, nodding.

“Well, yeah, that explains why you get so squirmy whenever anybody even implies something to do with sex. I always thought you were just, like, a prude.”

Patton ran his hands over the comforter that pooled around his legs, shrugging. He wasn’t nervous, so much as he was fidgety. “Well, maybe it was some of that, too,” he joked.

Remus snorted, rolling onto his side and catching one of Patton’s hands in his own. He held it, playing with Patton’s fingers like he was trying to focus.

“Hey,” he sighed, heavy, “Sorry.”

“Huh? What for?”

“C’mon, you know,” Remus gestured around with his free hand, “All the jokes, and all the times I hit on you, like, graphically. I was kidding, obviously, it was just that you always had the best reactions. If I’d known why, I mean. I don’t know if I’d have actually stopped, but whatever. Different time, different me. I’m stopping now, kay?”

Patton’s eyes went wide. He hadn’t- He wasn’t trying to make Remus stop, that wasn’t fair. He knew how important staying true to himself was to Remus, and if he’d actually managed to guilt-trip any of that away, he didn’t think he’d forgive himself.

“Oh, it’s really okay, I mean- I know you like talking about stuff like that, who am I to say you shouldn’t?”

“You never said that, actually.”

Patton nodded, even if Remus couldn’t see him, and even if he was pretty sure they were on different pages. “Exactly. You shouldn’t go changing just to make me comfortable, I’ll get used to the jokes! I guess I just wanted to know that they were, which, obviously yeah, but… um, I’m bad with knowing what tone is which, sometimes, so-”

“Ugh, Patton,” Remus was laughing, leaning up and grasping tighter around Patton’s hand, with a tone that said plainly: please shut up. Patton did, biting the inside of his cheek. “Look,” Remus huffed, “I know what you’re trying to say, and it’s real sweet that you’re so worried about this, but it’s not exactly like I’m telling you that I’m reinventing myself. I’ll definitely keep saying plenty of horny shit, trust me, I can just drop it with the comments about ya. It wouldn’t even be funny anymore; fucking with people is cool, right, but making someone I actually like feel ‘icky’, or whatever, isn’t really the same thing. It’s no big sacrifice trying to make you feel safer with me, got it?”

Remus’ eyes were on his, glowing with concern. Patton felt his face flush for an entirely new reason, nothing to do with embarrassment.

“You want to make me feel safe?” Patton grinned, just this side of giddy. “That’s a new one.”

Remus made a vague grumbly sound; it shouldn’t have been as cute as it was. “Yeah, okay, so what if I do?”

“It’s okay if you do. It’s sweet.”

“Maybe it is. Besides, you aren’t the only aspec side around,” he shrugged, “I’m not too big on the dating side of things, myself.”

Patton’s smile widened. “Thank you. I mean, for understanding, and… getting me out of my own head about all this.”

“I gotcha,” a claw traced over Patton’s knuckles, idly, “No need for thanks.”

“I’ll give it anyway, you know that.”

Remus snorted. “Mhmmm.”

With the remains of embarrassment finally fading away, Patton yawned, and remembered just how tired he was. He laid himself down finally, relaxing as his back hit the mattress. No sooner after he’d done so, Remus was letting go of his hand in favor of curling around him and setting his head on Patton’s chest.

Patton would be lying if he said it wasn’t a relief, feeling the other unhesitant to curl up against him still. He looped his own arms around the smaller figure, practically on top of him, and traced patterns against Remus’ back.

In hindsight, Patton couldn’t remember ever falling asleep so easily.

The morning after, there was a crisis. A Thomas-crisis, and an emotional one, which set Patton up for a busy, busy day (or morning-through-afternoon, but it was well more than enough work for one day). The one upside to the whole mess was that he didn’t have to deal with it alone, because emotional distress fell neatly into Virgil’s area of expertise as well as his own.

At some point, you’d think they’d get numb to the endless dilemmas every other day, but with each new outing it got clearer and clearer that panic was just a part of life. Most weeks had at least one incident; there would be a mistake at the post office that needed to be worked out in person (which Patton didn’t mind, really, but Virgil hated, and Roman thought was a waste of time), there was an event for a friend of a friend that for some reason they were socially obligated to go to (which no one liked but Roman, who always thought they were one person away from being ‘discovered’), or- the present situation- there were pre-established plans that all the sides had somehow forgotten about until they were shoved into it at the last second.

Patton jolted awake with a gasp, the urgency of his human throwing him out of sleep. It was a full two hours later than he usually woke up, something he would’ve loved to appreciate on any other day. His bed was already empty- the warmth of another person still there, the covers still scrunched, but empty- which did serve to make his morning routine quicker. He dressed with a fervor that he couldn’t even place, manic exhaustion already soaking into him and making plans to stay there all day. It was going to be a rough one, being around people.

But, Patton knew it wouldn’t be hard to ignore all that, for a little bit at least. There was still a bright side, and that side was Virgil! Who he got to spend all day with! Working, sure, but still- work done with a loved one is never work at all.

“Yeah, I don’t know if that rings true, Pat,” was Virgil’s response to the sentiment, when Patton told him.

“You’re smiling,” Patton said, because he was.

“What?” Virgil covered his mouth, “No, I’m not- shut up.”

“You believe me, I know you do. You looove me.”

“Says you,” his mouth may have been covered, but the crows feet under his eyes creased more. His shoulders were just a little less tense, too, enough to tell Patton he was right.

That morning wasn’t great, but, they made it better.

Remus had woken up in a lot of places that were decisively not his bed. The floor? Sure. The imagination? Oh, absolutely. Underneath furniture, on top of furniture, and on counters- anywhere lie-down-able, been there and done that. Just for the fun of it, really, and a nice shock to whoever found him curled up in the sink or beneath cabinets. He was used to a crick in the neck or a splotch of red, rough carpet print on the side of the face.

So he didn’t really know why, waking up in someone else’s bed, he jolted out of it so quick, he looked like he’d been electrocuted. Or why, after scrambling out of Patton’s arms with whatever carefulness he could manage, he bolted from the scene entirely.

Remus began the slow process of piecing it together after he all but slammed the door behind him, trembling and cursing his way down the hall. He dragged away from Patton’s room and let his back hit the wall, sliding to the floor with a kind of hysteria he could only describe as itchy-vomity-terrifying-amazing.

He did itch at his skin, he was feeling a bit sick, a bit scared, but he thought he might’ve been grinning anyway, so the description fit well enough. Except, nothing was fitting actually well, right then.

The closeness. The attention. The fact that he’d spent eight hours of sleep getting a full dosage of both those things. The fact that it had been more of both of them than he could remember getting, ever. Of course he’d scrambled away- how else could he react!?

Remus didn’t get overwhelmed. Except, apparently he did! What another fun surprise!

A door creaked open down the hall (thank God not Patton’s). Remus felt the eyes on him, and looked up- manically, he looked well and truly manic.

Logan blinked at him. He looked a lot like an owl in the mornings, Remus noted. One of those smart ones, obviously, not one of the ones that fucks around counting licks on a lollipop.

Logan cleared his throat.

“Remus? Is everything alright?”

Remus shrugged, grinning. “Maybe! Who knows, though, right? It’s a lot, you know?”

Logan did not know, and said as much. Remus only laughed, letting his head hit back against the wall in the process.

He still felt warm, inside and out, after all that cuddling. It was weird, good-weird, but still so new. And, like he said, a lot. He’d felt that kind of warmth before, but definitely not as much- and he knew he needed to distract himself before he went crazy. Or, before his rattrap of a brain ruined the maybe-possibly good feelings for him.

“Hey, any chance you’re busy today?”

Logan hovered in his doorway for a minute before ultimately deciding to step out, probably determining the interaction as a prolonged one. He didn’t look too put-off about it, though.

“A very high chance,” he said, “But for now I am not. Is there something you need?”

“A distraction.”

“Ah.”

“So, you up for it?” Remus pulled himself up from the floor, popping a few joints. “At least for the morning, yeah, Geek?”

“Of course,” he smirked, “Provided you can call me by actual name at least once in this conversation.”

Remus grinned, probably coming off more relieved than he intended. “Eh, we’ll see about that one, Dweeb.”

Logan met him halfway down the hall, not looking at all surprised by the response. He looked, if anything, amused. Remus found himself remembering very abruptly that the two of them got along, were probably friends, and somehow that fact was still novel to him. Or maybe it was the mood. Probably both.

“Well, it was worth a try,” Logan reasoned.

“Oh, sure.”

“What were you thinking we should do, anyway?”

Remus raised his eyebrows suggestively.

“I’m afraid that’s off the table,” Logan told him.

“Aw, fine. Surprise me, then.”

“That will be hard.”

Remus laughed, unsteady and shrill.

“C’mon, I know you’ve got it in ya.”

Logan smiled, just-nearly-almost mischievous. “Well. I’ll see what I can do.”

And for just a second, some of the panic slipped away, leaving behind that strange warmth.

Patton didn’t exactly let Janus know he was coming by. It had been a long day- or, a long five hour period between ten in the morning and three in the afternoon, but still, the idea that there was any day left at all made Patton want to melt into the nearest soft object and never get up.

When Patton needed to melt, he went to Janus’. Maybe it was the big armchairs; maybe it was the comforting, gooey little white-lies that soaked the atmosphere of his room; maybe it was the fact that his voice was so very easy to fall asleep to. Most likely, at least part of it was because he always seemed to enjoy taking care of people, anyway.

It was a nice combination, and exactly what was needed. Patton could apologize for not knocking later, ideally when he wasn’t falling asleep where he stood.

“Janusss,” he groaned, by way of greeting, and promptly collapsed onto the nearest soft surface while the door swung shut behind him.

Janus blinked at him from across the room, surprise lasting for approximately three seconds. He turned around, and sighed.

“Well, hello to you, too.”

Patton hummed, drearily.

“You look cheery,” Janus quipped, “Anything you’d like to talk about?”

The question was spoken lightly, but not insincere. Patton lifted his head enough to smile tiredly at the snake. He shrugged, for the room was working it's magic already, as was the easy company to be found there. Stress was easing away, in small bits, evaporating into warm shimmers under his skin. He had no doubt that Janus was doing some of it on purpose, as soon as he’d noticed the mood Patton was in, giving him a blanket of speckled reassurances (which were, as Janus insisted to him time and time again, just a tiny, harmless breed of pleasant lies) in an almost-literal way.

Most things about the sides’ rooms were like that. Almost-literal; concepts that crept their way into the physical world, if only slightly. Janus was the best at those kinds of things, though.

“’S just been a tiring day, y’know?”

Janus sat beside him, toying with some spare yellow strings, weaving and unweaving them almost carelessly. “I do.”

“A tiring night, too,” Patton added, an afterthought, but he found as he said so that it was true. Long in a good way. An impactful way. It felt like something important had happened, something that changed, but he didn't quite know what. It was still just as draining, though.

Janus raised an eyebrow, but he did not pry (even if he most likely wanted to).“So, you’ve come here.”

“Do you mind if I just rest in here for a bit?” He said, as he’d already gotten quite comfortable.

“Why don’t I do you one better?”

Patton hummed confusedly, but Janus had already begun urging him to sit up. The snake waved a hand, filling the room with light, swirling piano music. At once the air seemed to grow fuzzy, spicks and specks of what looked like golden glitter floating around- not unlike from the distortion Patton’s own room gave him when he was happy. Janus smiled down at him, summoning a neat little tea set on a tray and fixing them each a cup of the swirling, caramel-colored liquid.

Patton sighed happily, taking the teacup he was proffered and thanking the lord for whatever he’d done to deserve a friend like Janus.

Janus sat beside him, balancing the tea tray on an end table, and let their shoulders bump. He wasn’t a touchy person, exactly, but he allowed for a conservative amount of casual intimacy. Occasionally, and in an unspoken way, but still.

The atmosphere had exactly the intended effect. Patton felt paradisiacal.

“Gosh, what would any of us do without you?”

Janus hummed. “You’d most certainly perish.”

Patton laughed, his chest lighter already.

Remus felt good for about ten seconds after leaving Logan’s room and letting the guy get to work, fresh off the good morning he’d had. Then, very promptly, the weight that the remaining hours of daylight carried dropped onto his shoulders, and he would’ve been perfectly willing to claw his brain out to get a moment of reprieve from the whole barrage of irrational terror worming around in it.

Remus didn’t know why it was so bad that day (well- he had a guess, but thinking about it obviously made it suck worse, so). What he did know was that he needed someone to keep fucking distracting him, and that someone could under no circumstances be Patton.

Luckily, avoiding him wasn’t hard- he was still busy, and Remus had a feeling he’d need a rest once Thomas’ crisis was over, anyway- but that didn’t do much to solve the other half of Remus’ problem.

He needed something big, loud, and most importantly, not solo. He needed someone that could take up a whole room just as easily as himself, with endless energy to bounce back and forth, back and forth, until neither of them would ever worry about anything other than the moment and whatever it was they would do together…

Oh, god fucking dammit.

Remus sunk out to the Imagination. No, not his. The opposite half.

He rose up into more than a blank canvas, but less than a finished work; a vibrant world with gaps and white spots. He might’ve taken the time to look around, but- unsurprisingly- his brother was in front of him, accosting him, immediately. Seriously, it was like he’d teleported.

“What are you doing here?” Roman snapped, his hands, still splattered with ink, landing on his hips.

“Aw, so now I’m not even allowed to visit my own flesh and blood, and other various parts?”

Roman scrunched his nose up. “No, you aren’t allowed. This is my room!”

Remus- as he always did when someone said he couldn’t do something- cackled.

“I’m serious!” Roman whined, “I’m busy!”

Now, he said that, but Remus knew from personal experience that if Roman wanted him gone, he could’ve forced him out without too much issue- or worse yet, attacked him outright. He didn’t seem to be about to spring, though, not looking any worse than annoyed, so Remus happily decided that this interaction fell into the normal-and-healthy-sibling-bickering category instead of the unfortunately familiar would-genuinely-commit-fratricide-if-possible category.

He grinned. “Yeah, and I’m bored!”

“Not my problem, and you’re still in my room.”

“What, worried I’ll gunk up all your magic ponies and Yellow Brick Roads, or whatever it is you like to play with around here?”

“Yes, I am!” Roman scowled, but it looked a lot like he was straining his jaw not to laugh. “And you know I don’t make those, you fiend, I made a unicorn once and that was only because Logan wanted one.”

“You’re shitting me if you say that you weren’t the kid who always wanted a pony, Ro.”

“Well, how’s a pony any better than a thestral, which I seem to remember someone getting all excited about when we first read the-books-that-shall-not-be-named?”

“Ooh! Good idea, we should abso-fucking-lutely make those!” Remus wandered past his brother, looking around at the half-finished scene that he’d walked in on. It was sunny, pleasant- all around very vanilla, but there was at least a sense of adventure thrumming under it that gave the place a kick. With some work, it could actually be, like, fun! “Ever see somebody die? Don’t worry, I can help with that.”

Roman turned to him, looking hilariously incredulous with what was happening.

“Um? Excuse me? This is my domain,” he blinked, and a smug smirk crossed his lips. “Which means that you don’t have the power to make anything here! So, ha!”

Oh, right. That made a lot of sense, actually. How had he forgotten that? It wasn’t like this was the first time he’d tried to make something with his brother, right?

…Wow. That had no business hurting as much as it did.

“Uh- Remus?”

His head snapped up, a smile with too-many teeth already strained across his face. Remus’ head was scattered enough, coming here wasn’t supposed to make it worse.

“Sure, okay- there’s gotta be some way for us to build stuff together!”

Roman stared appraisingly at his sibling, apparently thinking before he argued for the one and only time in his life. He tilted his head in confusion, perhaps worry.

“I- well-” Roman glanced at what he’d been making, and down at his hands. “I’m sure I could, perhaps, let you have power here. Just this once.” He huffed. “It’s my room, right? So there’s no reason why I couldn’t do that, if I wanted.”

“Do you?”

“Ugh.” Roman rolled his eyes, perfunctorily. “Fine. I don’t know what’s up with you, but I’d rather you be your normal weird-self than… whatever this is,” Roman stuck his hand out, his chin raised like it was a challenge. “Good?”

Remus grabbed his hand (and did not buzzer him, or slime him, even though it would have been so easy- because they were having A Moment and even he could appreciate the sanctity of something like that).

“Yeah,” he said. “We’re good.”

Roman, as it turned out, was able to tolerate Remus for a whopping six hours, right up until five p.m., and only shooed him away in order to finish the project that he’d more-or-less happily dropped when Remus stopped by. So Roman wasn’t the worst brother in the world, Remus acknowledged. He then resolved to never, under any circumstances, say that to Roman’s face.

The door to the Imagination shut with a click. The sound matched almost perfectly with another, sharper one down the hall, what Remus recognized as Janus’ door closing. He glanced up with a grin, wondering if he could maybe get Snakey to distract him for a while- only to lock eyes with precisely what he needed distracting from.

Patton smiled at him. He looked tired, relaxed, and raised a hand in some semblance of a wave. It would probably be a great opportunity to unwind together, talk stuff out, and definitely curl into each other on the couch.

Remus wasn’t going to take that opportunity, though.

Remus stared back at Patton for all of three seconds, the grin sliding off his face, before barging through the nearest door and slamming it behind himself.

Shit. Fuck. What the hell did he do that for? It was just Patton, Remus knew Patton; there was no reason to be jittery enough to bolt from him twice. There was no way Patton wouldn’t think he was mad- which he wasn’t, even if he barely understood why he was losing it, he knew it wasn’t anger. But Patton wouldn’t know that, and he’d cry, probably, and Remus wasn’t sure if he was good enough at comforting people to fix it after. Christ, maybe he couldn’t fix it, maybe he’d still be too keyed up to talk to Pat, even if he started bawling!

“Hey? What the fuck?”

Remus spun around, and yeah, he could’ve guessed whose room he ended up in without the gravelly voice to give it away, given that little spiral. A surprised-looking Virgil stared up at him, sitting cross-legged on a spiderweb bedspread.

Remus ignored the thin layer of anxiety still rolling under his skin (now that he could place it), and shrugged, sliding until he sat on the floor.

“Oh, hi,” he said.

“Yeah, hi to you too, but my question still stands:” Virgil clapped his hands together, “What. The fuck?”

Remus considered a few possible snarky responses, but found that most of them were pretty pathetic. Besides, evading vulnerable situations was more of Janus’ thing, and Remus didn’t want to steal his bit.

“I’m hiding like a little bitch, so don’t kick me out, or I’ll maul you.”

Virgil’s eyebrows went up, but the surprise in his face was being replaced, slowly, by confused resignation. “Okay, cool. Why here, and why me?”

“First door.”

“Yeah, that’s about my luck,” he blew his bangs out of his face, “So like, you’re not gonna go anywhere else?”

Remus thought about it, but it was an easy choice. If he was gonna whine to anybody about something like this, he decided, it’d probably be Virgil. Virgil was good with fear, he was good with Patton, and he was good at making fun of shit if a conversation got too serious.

“Nah. Sorry, Emo Boy, but I’ve already annoyed Logan and my dipshit brother today. Looks like it’s your turn!”

“What about Janus?”

“Eh, he’s a live-in therapist for the rest of you already. I think I’ll give him the day off.”

Virgil rolled his eyes, sighing with all the exasperation of a teenage burnout and not a thirty-year-old metaphysical humanoid.

“Okay, okay- and why’s Patton off the table? He, like, actually enjoys helping people,” Virgil glanced down, scuffing the carpet with the side of his foot. “He’s good at it, too.”

“Yeahhhh,” Remus locked his teeth together, inhaled through them, “About that.”

“What, aren’t you two all close now?” Virgil frowned, “I fuckin’ saw you guys at the meeting yesterday, you were so on top of each other, I feel like I forgot that you were two separate sides,” to anybody who didn’t know him, the way he talked about it would sound harsh. Remus, however, knew exactly how soft Virgil really was- the fucking poser- and that that shit? That was pure encouragement, raw as a bloody, bloody steak.

Which, of course, only made Remus wince again.

He flopped sideways onto the floor, groaning. “Yeah, we’re close. That’s- I think that might be the problem?” That sounded right, almost, but just wrong enough to feel icky and annoying. “Ugh, I don’t know. So I just ran!”

There was a beat.

“Wait a second,” Virgil’s voice was tight- oh that bitch, he was laughing! “You’re hiding from Patton?”

Remus huffed. Okay, so maybe it was a little funny, he could appreciate that- but! He was still upset about it!!

“I mean, what has he done to scare you off?” Virgil pressed, “Too many compliments? Did he hug you too hard? I know the dude can be a lot sometimes, but-”

“Okay, ok-ay,” Remus couldn’t help it, he managed a laugh at it, too. “It’s ridiculous! It’s fucking ridiculous and he’s not even the problem!”

“Then what is the problem?” Virgil was snickering, “And don’t say that it’s you, dude. At least one of us around here has to not hate himself to hell and back, and you’ve defended that title for too long to lose it,” he cleared his throat right after he said it, sitting up straighter and trying to look like he hadn’t just been laughing like a huge dork. “Not that I’m, like, worried about you or anything.”

“Aw, you so are,” Remus stared up at the ceiling, grinning despite the ache in his chest. “But no, it’s not that. He thinks I’m awesome and he’s right, so don’t worry.”

Virgil leaned over him, staring upside-down at Remus. He squinted.

“Hey, this a serious problem?”

“I guess so. You can joke about it, though.”

“Cool. Um,” Virgil pulled away. Remus sat up, watching the trait cross one leg over the other, flip them, then tap his knee one-two-three-etc. times. He chewed on his lip. The whole nine yards of a classic Focused-Virgil Face. “Okay. You can tell me about it, seriously. I’ll try to help, or whatever.”

Remus blinked at him.

“Don’t- Jesus- don’t make a big deal out of it, dude-”

“Oh, I am.”

“I don’t even have a choice, okay, you’re the one who-”

“You’re so sweet, Virgey!”

“Remus, I swear to God, repeat that to anyone and I…”

Virgil trailed off. Remus pouted at him, dramatically, his eyes practically glowing with mischief. “C’mon, aren’t you going to threaten me?”

“I was, and then I remembered that you’re like, actually into that kinda stuff, so. No. Nope, I’m good.”

“Fine,” he shrugged, “Looks like you’re resigned to just hearing about my feelings, instead!”

Virgil rolled his eyes again- of course he did- but there was no hiding the way he went quiet, patient, you could even call it attentive.

It was an offering, one that Remus didn’t hesitate to take.

Patton left Janus’ room in a good mood.

He was in a considerably less good mood when, as soon as he’d left, Remus saw him and scrambled away like Patton was about to attack him where he stood- wide-eyed with fear and everything.

Patton swayed in the hallway for seconds after, uncertain about a lot of things suddenly.

The room Remus had run into had definitely been Virgil’s, not his own, and for a moment Patton entertained the idea of just going up to knock. He dropped that thought quick, realizing that if he really wasn’t wanted, then he definitely didn’t want to confirm that he wasn’t wanted.

He might have gone back to Janus- Janus was smart, Janus knew how to explain things and solve problems and comfort people- but that was scrapped, too. He’d taken up plenty of the snake’s time already, firstly, and secondly… No, yeah, Patton already knew just who he needed to see for something like this.

Logan set aside his laptop as soon as Patton walked into the common room, a surprisingly perceptive gesture for someone who claimed to be bad with feelings. Or maybe Patton had just gotten rusty at hiding them.

“Hi,” he greeted, wobbly.

“Hello,” Logan said, “You look upset.”

Patton stared at the wall just above his friend’s head, and nodded.

“Can I help?”

He paused. It was a bad habit- one of many!- but feeling unwanted by one side made him wonder if, maybe, he was unwanted by everyone. The thought formed a lump in his throat and had guilt pooling in his gut, but this was Logan. His best friend, the person he had gone to because he always knew just where he stood with him. If Logan didn’t want to help- no, because he always wanted to- if he couldn’t handle helping, then he would tell Patton that. He always did.

“I think Remus is upset with me,” Patton blurted it out quickly, just so he didn’t have to hear them. Logan vanished his laptop at once, gesturing to the spot beside him on the sofa. Patton sat with him, smiling feebly.

“Has he said anything of the sort?”

“No,” Patton picked at the sleeve of his sweater, “He didn’t really have to. He kind of… ran away from me?”

Logan’s eyes widened behind his frames, almost imperceptibly. “I see.”

“I don’t even know what I did,” Patton flushed with the admission, because of just how true it was. He had no idea what he did, and still he felt blame settling over him like a well worn blanket, and all that he could do was hope it wasn’t as bad as the last time. “I feel like I should know this stuff by now, shouldn’t I?”

There was a pause, as Logan processed the words carefully, seemed to turn them over in his head.

“Be careful not to jump to conclusions, Patton. He typically freely expresses how he is feeling at any given time, so even if his actions seem to say otherwise, it’s entirely possible that he’s not upset with you,” Logan smiled reassuringly. “I find that most of his actions are meaningless. He’s a very weird creature.”

Patton managed to laugh at that. Logan leaned their shoulders together, a little pride flashing in his eyes, as he continued. “He did seem to be ‘out of it’, in a manner of speaking, when we spoke earlier today. It would make sense if that had worsened over the past few hours, and now he’s just particularly flighty. All in all, I wouldn’t read too much into it, if I were you.”

Patton nodded, resolutely not mentioning that they’d spent the night together, however relevant that was. He knew it would sound paranoid to imply that their intimacy had backfired, or come too quick- because Patton was paranoid, and certainly a little neurotic, and the less he voiced it the better.

Instead, he followed the advice he didn’t believe, and let himself rest against his friend. Logan had laced their fingers together; it wasn’t as comforting as it usually was.

Logan was only so touchy when it was for the sake of others, and almost always that ‘other’ was Patton. A fact that made the needy trait feel amazingly special most of the time, but on nights like that… More than anything, he felt greedy.

“I’ll ask him about it,” Patton promised, because he knew that was what Logan would suggest (even if the idea made him more than a little dreadfilled). “Maybe I overwhelmed him. He’s been cuddly, so I thought…” Patton shook his head, bile hitting the back of his throat as the realization collapsed upon him. “That’s probably it. I must have took it too far.”

Logan didn’t pry, but Patton could feel his concern mount just as well as he could see the frown on his face.

“Talking to him will be the best course of action,” he said plainly. “For the time being, though,” he released Patton’s hand, wrapping his arm loosely around Patton’s waist and leaving it there. “It might be beneficial for you to receive more reassurance. Is this alright?”

“Yes,” Patton ducked his head, knowing full well how obviously relieved he sounded, “Thank you.”

“There’s no need to thank me, I’m happy to help,” Logan told him, and he had no doubt that it was true. Still, it always surprised him anyway- and that at least was a good thing about a friend who was so reserved. The pleasant surprises.

Patton sat up enough to rest his head on top of Logan’s, a position that was almost but not quite cuddling.

“I sincerely hope,” Logan muttered, “That everything will be alright for you.”

Whether he was speaking only about the Remus situation or not was unclear.

“Me too.”

“If it’s any consolation, it’s very difficult to stay upset with you, if he truly is so. In my experience, at least.”

Patton sighed. “Thanks, buddy.”

“Of course. Your happiness is-... you, are very important to me, and I can only hope that you’ve made a friend that values you as much as I do.”

Patton knew what he meant by it. Both he and Logan were acutely aware of how different they were, and how little they matched with each other. Patton couldn’t understand him- not wanting to be showered in love, enjoying silence and a little bit of alone time, needing space. He knew that Logan didn’t get him, either- didn’t know why he cried all the time, or why nothing ever seemed to fix him for good, or why he said so many things that went without saying. They still struggled with each other’s languages, sometimes, but they’d gotten miles and miles better with it over the years. Sometimes Patton thought that the only way they’d become so close was sheer willpower, pushing past each misunderstanding and argument just because they liked the challenge of it. Determination was always a common thread between them, whatever differences they had.

They had to have boundaries, then. Logan might not hold Patton on his worst days, but he’d give him notes and gifts and bring him water, food, things that he neglected for himself. Patton didn’t have any of the right words to talk Logan down when things got bad, but he was always there to cheer him back up when he was ready again. Neither of them understood each other, and maybe they never would, but they cared. Even if they couldn’t be what the other needed, they cared, and that was all they had to do.

So even if Logan couldn’t fix things, Patton thought, he still did a hell of a good job patching them up.

“Hey. Hey!”

Patton turned around with a jolt, his fingers going tight in the blanket about his shoulders. How long he’d been downstairs, he didn’t know- but he knew that he was really, very tired, and now was left blinking and confused at the person accosting him with so much energy.

“Um, hi,” Patton tried.

Remus had run up to him at once, and was just as suddenly seizing both of his hands. Patton might have taken a moment to appreciate the touch, but with just one sentence that positivity crumbled:

“I need to talk to you.”

Patton shoved a plastic smile onto his face. He always felt a little icky to be faking it, but with Remus, the shame was especially thick. Still, it was only instinct.

“Okay.”

Patton opened the door; the Duke marched in without waiting for invitation, and he followed.

Dread dripped down his spine like melting ice cubes. This is fine, Patton told himself firmly, once they were both sitting feet apart on the bed. He refused to think too hard about what the distance meant- if it meant anything at all, or if he was only being ridiculous.

“Sorry about today,” Remus began, “Really. I was freaking out for the stupidest fucking reason. You’ll laugh when I tell you!”

Patton didn’t laugh, but he smiled a little more wholly. If Remus was upset with him, the apology must’ve meant at least some of that had faded away. Probably.

“It’s okay, Mess,” the nickname rolled off his tongue easily. Remus grinned at him, but it was somehow more manic than usual.

“I probably got you all worried over nothing, bolting on you before you could wake up- and then again earlier, right?”

There was a pause, as Patton tried to decide if the question was rhetoric or not. When the silence stretched on uncomfortably, he found himself nodding.

Remus huffed out a breath, rocking back and staring up at the ceiling. “Yeah, I- I’m still working at the whole self-improvement thing, ya know? That probably doesn’t make it better, but- I’ve never really had a reason to try and be, uh, considerate. Janus never really cared if I was a bitch, and nobody else ever mattered, and that- yeah, that’s kind of what I wanted to talk about.”

His voice was raspy, low and thick in a way that it almost never was. Patton tipped his head to the side, confused. Remus looked- and sounded- awkward, an expression that was not at home on his face.

“Wait, um- so it wasn’t anything I did? You’re not upset with me?”

Remus looked at him like he was crazy (ironic, that).

“Upset with you?” He crowed, “Why the fuck would I be upset with you?”

Patton flushed; he laughed embarrassedly, or maybe in relief; he toyed with the sleeves of his sweater.

“I didn’t really- I don’t know, but I was worried that I’d, um, overstepped some boundaries last night, and maybe made you uncomfortable.”

He was only kind of looking at his friend, from out the corners of his eyes. It was still easy to see the way Remus went from confused to amused, and then burst into cackles.

“You- You- Me? Morey, please, it takes a lot to make me uncomfortable- if that’s even possible, actually- and you sure as shit haven’t figured out how to pull it off yet. Sugar, I asked to stay with you!”

The relief flooded Patton all in a rush, and he felt himself finally relax. With Remus laughing and joking and being his usual (sweet, impressively sweet, surprisingly so) self again, it all started seeming a little silly. Remus must’ve seen him coming untense, folding down the same way accordion-pressed paper sprawled out when it was released from a bored student’s hand, because his gaze went warm, like something had finally clicked into place in his head. A problem solved, and what a wonderful solution it had come to- that’s what the look said.

Patton met the smile just as brightly when the Duke shifted over some of the distance between them, taking up both of Morality’s hands in his own yet again.

“Well, since it wasn’t something I did,” Patton said, “Then what was the actual problem?”

Remus didn’t look too upset at the question, but he was glancing down, up, sideways- his pupils flitted around the room without really touching on anything for too long; it wasn’t often that he was so obviously thinking something through. His fingers flexed, face a little pink, and he hesitated before answering:

“Okay, it’s like I said, right? I don’t- I’ve never needed to try to be anything for anybody before. I mean that I never wanted to do things in a conform-y way, obviously, but, I never wanted to be considerate, either,” he smirked down at their tangled hands, shrugging. “I don’t think I’m doing too bad for a first try, to be honest- but that’s not the point, the point is- this is… new.”

Patton opened his mouth, reassurances rushing to the tip of his tongue before he was hastily shushed.

“No, look, there’s a difference between being a pushover and just being fucking nice to the people you care about. That’s the problem- or I thought it was a problem, in my dipshit lizard-panic brain this morning- right? I’ve never wanted to do anything for people, because I didn’t need them anyway. I figured I didn’t, I guess, cuz I could survive without ‘em- it wasn’t like I had a choice, but I got on fine. Not to be too… I don’t know, pathetic? Who cares, but- I never knew anything different.”

Patton’s eyes went wide and watery, like the blue of his irises were soaking into everything else and leaking, leaking, leaking. He was squeezing Remus’ hands a little too tight, certainly, and he just wanted to hug him so bad- but despite his words, Remus didn’t even seem to need it. He looked back at Patton, huffed a sigh, looking just plain amused.

“So this hit me when I was talking to Virgil, about ten minutes ago,” he started, “That I woke up today, with you, and I had this thought like… Fuck, I don’t ever wanna move again. I could starve and then start to decompose and probably rot into bloody mush, but I’d probably still be perfectly happy- which is weird, because starvation is easily one of the boringest ways to die, I could go out so much cooler- but, it was more the fact that I was with you, and uh. So, so I thought that- which is so dumb and sappy- and it surprised me so bad that I just ran. And after I had, I was so freaked out, I didn’t even remember why for!”

He took a deep breath, something that he hadn’t done for that entire ramble. Patton got the sense he still wasn’t finished though, and waited patiently.

“I never needed anybody caring about me for me to be okay- the screaming and the fleeing and all that was fine, it was still a reaction. But I think I just realized that I couldn’t go back to that, now.

“Because of you. I knew I liked you, but it never clicked that things would probably suck without you by this point. More than that, I guess- it hit me that just because I can take care of myself, it doesn’t mean that it doesn’t fucking blow. That I don’t- I don’t want to be so independent again, okay? That I don’t wanna be alone anymore.”

And he couldn’t help it at all; Patton did hug him, then. He pulled him against his chest as soon as he noticed the words going choppy, choked, and halting. He let go of Remus’ hands, in favor of tangling his fingers in the Duke’s hair and carding through it.

Remus met the embrace with just as much fervor, curling up into the bigger trait. Yet somehow, he wasn’t crying yet.

“Hey, hey, I’m alright,” he murmured, “I mean, don’t let go, obviously- but I’m okay. I had all day to panic! Which I definitely did, by the way, because my whole worldview got screwed over. Finally know how you feel, I guess,” He was joking, Patton could hear his smile. He laughed. “But I got it out of my system, and ya know what I realized after that?”

Patton hummed attentively, letting Remus pull back just enough to see his face.

“I said, ‘okay, I’m processing that, and it doesn’t matter.’ It doesn’t matter because I only realized that maybe I need people once I already had them, and- no offense- but you don’t really seem like the abandoning type. The opposite, that’s what you are.”

Patton beamed.

“Of course not,” he swore, pressing the words out as though intensity alone could make them more true, more pure. “Never, not ever.”

“Good,” Remus said, “Cuz I’m hanging on to ya, Pat. As long as I can.”

Chapter Eight

Taglist: @shrimp-crockpot @glitter-skeleton-uwu @donnieluvsthings @intruxiety @thefivecalls @did-he-just-hiss-at-me @gayformlessblob

#sanders sides #ts #intruality #my writing #qpr intruality #remus sanders #patton sanders #ts fanfic #sanders sides fanfiction

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vanchlo · 4 years

Text

The Firsts / #2 “The First Time Bringing Him Home”

*not my gif*

---> NEXT BLURB: I hope that I can put it out on October 19th, following the every other week rule, but I’m not sure with my busy schedule. Keep an eye out for updates on the series masterlist!

---> READ BLURB #1

READ THE ASSISTANT, AKA WHAT CAME FIRST

SERIES MASTERLIST

READ ON WATTPAD

-> SHOULD I CREATE A TAGLIST FOR THIS SERIES? IF YOU’D LIKE TO BE ADDED, LET ME KNOW! :)

LEGEND:

+ : a break in the story; a time jump.

italicized words : a flashback.

WARNINGS: None

WORD COUNT: 10.7k words (!!!)

SONG: And I Love Her by The Beatles (CLICK TO LISTEN)

* SNEAK PEEK, DUH BC ALWAYS *

“A tear collects at the corner of my eye, reminding me that at times like these, I expect to blink and it’ll all be gone. I wait for myself to wake up from the dream, and to have him ripped away from me, just like all of those other times he was. But it doesn’t, because how could my dreams beckon for me when my life was finally better than anything I could dream about?“

“She thinks that there’s one soul out there, just for her. One that will stay by her side forever and that someday, she’ll find it.”

- Kazuya Kujō, GOSICK -ゴシック-

“Are you kidding me?”

Groaning, I drop my purse in the doorway where it falls with a thud, and my quick steps echo down the hallway. “Harry Edward, I swear to God,” I mutter under my breath, narrowing my eyes at his laughing figure at the other end, but the happy sound only grows further and further away.

“What would you ever do without me?” I ask nobody aloud, coming to a stop in a patch of sunlight dancing through the tall window. Rounding his desk, I find his brown messenger bag that I still smile at every time, and begin to pack his stuff up.

Pulling open a drawer, I find his Macbook charger that I may or may not be stealing for the tenth or twelfth time. After the last of the unwrapped cord comes out, something pink flutters to the marbled floor. Huffing, I shove the charger into his bag and bend down to pick it up, smoothing down the end of my skirt against my bottom. The thought of standing back up comes to my mind, but as a hint of his recent Sage and Citrus candle trickles through the air, I stop at the words I see.

“Huh,” I sigh, my lips curling into my cheek as the writing on the Post-It clears before my eyes. A certain somebody’s handwriting that I could recognize instantly, but my noggin takes a moment to rouse the reason for this very note.

I hope your case went well today, Harry, and I’m sure it did because you’re so good at what you do. I just wanted to let you know that I really like working with you, and I’m so glad that I found this job, and more importantly, you. You’re one of my best friends, Harry, so thank you a lot for that.

Your Becks xxx

The space between my eyebrows softens when the jigsaw pieces click inside my head, but then it’s followed by the smallest of tears in my chest when I notice that my name is smudged. The paper all over has smudge marks, and looks almost crinkled, as if somebody spilled something on it . . or shed tears onto it.

“Oh, Harry. I hate to think what you did do without me,” I whisper, brushing my thumb over the note I wrote so many years ago, and yet, he still clung onto it. Standing back up, I clear my itchy throat and tuck the note back into the drawer where it sat in the little divider surrounded by coins and pink erasers.

“Can I help you with sumthin’?” a voice teases from the doorway. I almost jump when I hear it, the sleek wooden drawer closing without a sound.

“Yeah, you can stop making us late.”

“What, we’re not gonna be late, Becks.”

“We will if you don’t stop it with your Minnesota goodbyes,” I quip, draping the cloth strap over my shoulder and stepping forward.

“Whatever tha hell that means,” he titters with knitted brows, that breathy laugh escaping his lips to grace the air. He closes the distance between us and I feel zings of electricity on my forehead where his lips touch. “Here, gimme. I was jus’ sayin’ me goodbyes t’ My’ t’ make sure we’re all set with bein’ gone t’morrow and Monday, and you as well.”

“If you say so,” I exhale, letting him take the bag from me. Somehow, it only makes him all the more attractive, clutching onto it across his chest, clad in a teal and black paisley suit with a button up the color of raven feathers beneath.

“C’mon, brat. Let’s get this show on tha road then,” he complains ever so annoyingly, making me roll my eyes.

“Hey! Watch it, you’re on thin ice, bud!” I exclaim, whipping around to find him giggling after pinching my ass.

“Oooo, ‘m so scared!”

“Harry, hurry up already! I don’t want to hit rush hour traffic! What more do you need to bring? It’s only a three-four day trip,” I call up the staircase, my hands slapping against my thighs in impatience.

“‘m comin’! Would ya chill yer tits, woman? My God,” Harry chuckles, appearing around the corner of the staircase a moment later. Shaking my head, I catch sight of the large box wrapped in floral paper. “Don’t smile now, Becks. Dontchu’ smile, babe.”

Stifling a giggle, I turn around fast and thread my fingers through the cloth handle, “Dammit, Harry, what do you have in this bag? It weighs a ton.”

“‘s yer birthday presents, bug.”

“It is?” I ask excitedly after an intake of air. His steps stop in front of me, but I ignore him and push aside the fabric of the large reusable cloth bag.

“They’re wrapped, silly. Hey, you were gonna cheat and take a peek, weren’t you?!” Harry exclaims. Looking up slowly, I press my lying lips into a line and shake my head. His own pair rise to pinch his cheeks and now, it’s his turn to shake his head. “Naughty, naughty, Becks. Hmm, maybe I should jus’ leave ‘em here and you can open ‘em when we get back on Monday. Fo’get ‘bout openin’ ‘em up t’morrow mornin’ on yer birthday.”

“Harry, no!” I almost shout, but his stern look dissolves into a giggle. A spark ignites on my cheek when his thumb brushes along it, hooking his fingers into my hair.

“Don’t worry, sweets. I can hardly wait t’ give ‘em t’ you, let alone anotha few days,” he winks, and I feel my shoulders relax when I breathe out. “Now, let’s go put this in tha boot, and get goin’. Yer dad’s expectin’ us soon,” he hums, bending forward to sponge a kiss under my eye. I can’t remember when he had started doing that, but I smile at the feeling of his warm lips on my birthmark.

“Hey, what’d I say earlier?!” I argue a moment later, almost jumping into the air after he pinched my bum.

“I don’t care. Yer gonna be tha one makin’ us late now, if ya don’t hurry that cute bum o’ yers along.”

Giggling, I open his glossy, black front door to step onto the front stoop. Humming a tune, Harry helps me to get the heavy bag into the boot of his Rover, fitting it and his large box amongst his suitcase and my own. Things are shoved to the side, including his windshield scraper, a jumper or two, and his bag of workout clothes with his highlighter yellow Nikes spilling out.

“Becks, I get t’ pick this time!”

“No, you don’t. I don’t even remember who picked last time, but I got to your phone first. That’s the rule,” I return with a mischievous grin pointed towards him. Huffing, he adjusts himself in the driver’s seat before pulling the seat belt across his chest.

“Pick sumthin’ good please, and would ya plug me phone in then?”

“Sure, and wait, what do you mean? I always pick good music!” I say, turning to look at him as he presses the button to start the car.

“I love ‘Dancing Queen’ and ‘Bohemian Rhapsody,’ babe, but please, can we have sumthin’ different t’day? ‘s a three hour drive, I don’t wanna be listenin’ t’ those songs or bloody ‘Hannah Montana’ tha whole way.”

“You’re no fun,” I groan, finding the words I had just said feeling heavy in my throat when I see his lock screen. A giggly picture of us from the other night fills it, the first time I’ve seen it. Smiling, I unlock it regrettably, and find his Music Library.

“Alright, Ms. GPS, where am I goin’ exactly? ‘s been awhile since ‘ve been up this way, y’know,” Harry says, adjusting the air conditioner until it flows softly.

“Thanks for driving,” I tell him first, squeezing his hand and watching his eyes scan over to me. They instantly fill with the smile that follows on his face.

“Welcome, babe. Take all tha time ya need with gettin’ back t’ it. But, y’know, ya should start lookin’ fer a new car.”

“I don’t wanna talk about this right now, Harry-,” I begin in an upset tone, scrolling through one of his playlists.

“Ya, but I do. I don’t see why you won’t lemme help you pay-.”

“Harry, I can afford it, I’ll be fine. The settlement money will be enough for a used one,” I disagree, settling on a Haim song just to have something to listen to already.

I just hope it’ll help me tune out this impending argument.

“Ya, a shitty used one, Becks. ‘m not gonna let you drive ‘round an unreliable car, I-.”

“Well, I don’t remember needing to have your permission before I did something,” I retort, setting his phone down above the radio on the little mat, noticing his fingers darting around on the touch screen.

“That’s not what I said, Becks, y’know that . . Ya don’t ever need me permission t’ do sumthin’, I can’t believe ya’d think that ‘bout me,” Harry sighs, stabbing at the screen one last time before backing away from his closed garage.

Closing my eyes, I let my head fall against the window, regret pooling inside of me darkly. I try to swallow, but the words I want to say sit there, unsaid.

“I don’t think that about you, Harry, I-.”

“Then why fookin’ say that, Becks?” he spits back, harshly switching gears before zooming along as the directions are spoken to him.

“Because I’m upset and people say things they don’t mean when they’re upset, and I’m tired of-.”

“Doesn’t fricken ‘scuse what ya said, actin’ like ‘m controllin’ when ‘m not like that. You know ‘m not,” Harry grumbles under his breath, stopping suddenly in front of a changing stoplight.

“I’m sorry.”

“Ya well, what have you said t’ me befo’, huh? ‘Sorry doesn’t always cut it,’ ‘cuz y’know, it doesn’t mean a whole lot when it gets overused all o’ tha time,” he continues, a bite in his voice. I soon taste blood in my mouth and release my tongue, unaware I was taking out my frustration on it, as well.

“I don’t want your help buying a car, Harry, why can’t you just accept that already?” I almost explode, wishing I wasn’t, but the words were shoved up and away before I could stop them.

His sigh is automatic and unavoidable, as is the click of his tongue, “‘Cuz we’ve argued ‘bout this how many times, and ya still won’t tell me why not.”

“Fine, because I don’t want to take your help- your money. I-It’s just how I was raised, I don’t know. It’d be so embarrassing, Harry . . ,” I trail off, my voice growing small and choked.

“Oh, Becks,” Harry says in an exhale, lacing his hand with mine and pressing a kiss to it. “Ya don’t hafta be embarrassed, love . . I know that you’d pay me back, and however long it takes ‘s fine.”

“Thanks, but . . I don’t know. I don’t like ‘talking money’ with you, no offense or anything. It’s just . . weird with you being my boss and signing my checks, like you say. You know how much I make, and I know you pay me a little more than an associate because you like me.”

“‘m sorry I give you shit ‘bout tha check thing, but y’know that other part’s a bit o’ an understatement,” he wheezes, squeezing my hand in his. Breathing in, I move my head to look at him and watch his eyes turn to me and soften. “It ‘s. I liked you afta a few weeks o’ knowin’ you at tha firm, then I really liked you, and then I loved you.”

“Harry,” I say with a sigh, looking away and finding our laced hands sitting on his thigh, right where he always places them.

“What, ya aren’t gonna reciprocate me love?” he giggles, and I remain quiet. “‘s okay, love, ya don’t always hafta.”

“I love you too, but-,” I start, but cut myself off, just in time. Or, so I think.

“But what?” he asks, his indicator making a ticking noise while he switches lanes. It takes me a few moments to notice the absence of the music. I think that he’s lowered the volume, but then, I gather that he’s turned it off altogether. “Becks, what’re you thinkin’ bout?”

“Bug? Yer scarin’ me, what’s tha matter?” he says, hurrying through his words. My lips are dry when I swipe my tongue over them, but the landscape outside my window is anything but that. It’s green in between the buildings and the hot sun shines high in the sky.

“I feel like a burden to everybody . . the last few months . . ,” I admit in a small voice, focused on the sensation of him twirling a ring around my finger. An old one I had found in a drawer the other day, from my uni days with Skye. “What are you doing?” I ask hurriedly when I notice he pulls off the road onto the shoulder, and parks.

“Becks,” Harry says firmly, pressing his thumb into my hand, but it doesn’t wake me up quite yet. “Rebecca Holte, listen to me. No, I need you t’ look at me too,” he continues, cupping the side of my face and pressing on it until I look into his eyes overwhelmed with something. “You are not a burden t’ anybody, let alone t’ me. I love you, Becks, mo’ than I thought I could ever love somebody. Hell, mo’ than ‘ve loved anyone. Yer never a burden t’ me, ‘ve told you this fer years, and I wish you’d believe it, love. I really don’t mind givin’ you lifts t’ work, and I know Skye doesn’t either. How else would I know that you secretly love Miley Cyrus’ music, or ya still jam t’ High School Musical or The Lion King? I love ridin’ t’ work and home with you ev’ry day, I honestly cherish gettin’ that extra time with you. Sure, ya drive me nuts sumtimes with yer odd music tastes, but I love you fer that. I love you for yer stubbornness, even with this bloody car issue, ‘cuz I dunno if we’d be t’getha if it weren’t fer yer stubbornness. I love you fer how good you are with yer money, tha effort you make fer those you love, like spendin’ tha weekend at yer Dad’s fer yer birthday with Robbie. I love you fer yer dedication t’ anythin’ and anybody that you love - throwing Asher a surprise birthday party tha other week, or organizing that baby shower fer Rose next week. Yer amazing, you blow me off me feet ev’ry day with sumthin’ new ya did. You could never be a burden t’ me, yer tha complete opposite, bug. You make tha world spin ‘round fer me, always done that, you have. Ya make me excited t’ get up in tha mornin’, t’ be a lawyer, hell . . t’ be a person, and mo’ importantly, yer boyfriend and best friend. I never wantcha t’ think yer a burden, ‘specially t’ me, ‘cuz that’s tha last thing you are t’ me. I love you mo’ than I could ever begin t’ tell you,” Harry divulges and not for the last time do I feel like The Grinch, because it feels as if my heart has grown another size, or two.

His warm laugh dances across my head when I fall into his arms and pull him against me for once.

“Dontchu’ cry on yer birthday weekend now, bug,” he jokes against my temple, his lips making a smacking noise against my flushed skin.

My favorite song in the world fills my ears as his words from before drunken my mind with their never ending meanings. I never thought I could love somebody this much, either. Sorry, Skye.

Sniffling, I brush my hand against my itchy nose and peer up. His greens brighter than the grass outside my window peer down at me, softer than can be.

“I love you too, Harry, so much. I don’t know what more I can say after that,” I croon with happiness plastered across my face. “But, thank you.”

“Ya don’t hafta say anymo’, that’s mo’ than enough fer me, sweets,” he assures me, pressing his lips to mine. “‘m sorry ya didn’t get mo’ settlement money, ya would have if it was me who fought yer case.”

“How many times do I have to tell you that it’s okay?” I giggle and he nods with those dimples on full display for me. He nibbles at his bottom lip, leaving short white imprints amongst the rosy color. I sometimes still amaze myself at getting to run my fingers through his hair whenever I want to, like now. The clean, citrus smell of his new shampoo wafts over me as he smiles down at me, making me think all of my dreams have come true. Almost all of them.

“I know, bug, but it was disappointin’, tha settlement.”

“Your friend at Williams and Knox did great, Harry, and you couldn’t have argued it with your connection to me. Nobody at the firm could, seeing as how I work with them,” I explain to him, my thoughts brushing over the redundancy of it all.

“‘ll tell ya what, I have an ol’ mate who works with cars, and I bet he could knock off a few grand fer me-.”

“Harry!” I begin to protest, but it’s soon whisked away by the softness of his lips against mine. Our giggles tickle the others, and his hand is cold against my hip when he slides up my shirt. “I don’t want you to-,” I start again after he pulled away, but he dives back in for another kiss. Now, I don’t really care if we happen to be late.

“Ya gonna stop arguin’?” he wheezes after ending the kiss, brushing the tip of his nose against mine. My lips part and he raises his eyebrows in response, making me nod moments later. “Good. Now, as I was sayin’, he owes me a favor so ‘ll see what I can do ‘bout gettin’ you a new car. Actually, I think a lease would be best fer you.”

“But, Harry, new cars are too expensive and the insurance as well, and-.”

“Hush,” he whispers against my lips, soon letting me taste his coconut chapstick for the third time in the last minute. Then again, time has seemingly gone out the window these last few minutes, and I couldn’t care if I tried. “I really do think ‘d be best. Ya, insurance would be higher, but then ya have a new car, guaranteein’ no problems, and if there are, tha dealer place fixes ‘em free o’ charge. Inna few years, ya can buy it, or trade it in and sign another lease.”

“Okay, Mr. Convincing Lawyer, you do have a few good points,” I at last agree, watching his sixty-watt smile only grow brighter at my surrender.

“Yer music t’ me ears, y’know that?”

“Ditto,” I say, smiling up at him.

“Maybe if ya continue t’ be good and give a li’l less lip at work, ya jus’ might get a raise when it comes t’ yer six month review next week,” he jests with a lift of an eyebrow, a shit-eating grin plastering his lips. “Reckon that’d help with tha car, bug.”

“Is that so, Mr. Styles?”

“Mmmhmm, it ‘s indeed, Ms. Holte,” Harry answers, but I ignore him and choose to get lost in his lips, and the baby curls on the back of his neck.

A Paul McCartney song hums around us, the soft twang of acoustic guitar filling the holes as buildings pass on by. Yawning, I shuffle my feet in front of me and tip my head against the window. The song comes to a gentle end before a Bowie song follows, and I find my thigh warmed by his touch. I lose myself in the lyrics as his thumb leaves circles through my jeans first above my knee, then higher, and higher. Turning away from the window, I peek a look at him to find him biting at his nails while focused on the road.

“Stop biting your nails,” I whisper, my hand falling onto his and dragging it back towards my knee. It’s difficult, but I hold back the grin begging at my lips when I watch him blink with emphasis.

“Stop movin’ me hand. Y’know what, it took me tha last ten minutes t’ get that high,” he retorts without moving his eyes from the traffic in front of us.

“Why are you trying to get so high, huh, Mr. Styles?”

“Yer not helpin’ things by callin’ me that. Y’know how I feel ‘bout you callin’ me it,” Harry sighs, his thumb falling from his lips, and he turns on his indicator. After switching lanes, he reaches into the middle compartment and offers me a stick of gum before shoving a piece into his mouth.

“And how do you feel about me calling you that?”

“Stop,” he says, turning his head to look me straight in the eyes when a light has turned red. “Playin’ dumb, Becks.”

I avoid his eyes with a giggle and peer out at the landscape where buildings soon become far and in between, knowing how it gets to him and in a good way. His tsking tickles my ears and I shove his hand away, sure I’ve only made matters worse. The next few songs tick Queen off the list, as well as The Stones, and Simon and Garfunkel before a Beatles song follows.

“Penny Lane is in my ears, and in my eyes,” the radio sings back to us while Harry cruises at a steady 68 miles per hour. His distracted humming along eggs me on, and without a thought more, I slide my hand across the divider and onto his thigh. If he noticed, he didn’t say anything, and when I glance over, he’s blowing bubbles between singing along. “And in his pocket is a portrait of the Queen. He likes to keep his fire engine clean . . ,” he nods to the words, and smacks loudly on his gum. I take the chance and slowly lift my hand from the warmth of his leg, and find another spot a little higher up.

“Yer cheatin’,” is all he says while sitting back further and adjusting his hand on the wheel.

Huffing, I look away guiltily and try my darnedest to hide the smile blooming on my lips, “I am not.”

“Yes, you are. Only slidin’, no liftin’, Ms. Holte. Start over, then.”

“Fine,” I groan, replacing my hand to above his knee where I had begun in the first place. His chuckle irritates me, but when he picks up my hand to press a kiss to, I find it hard not to melt next to him.

Throughout the next few songs featuring Jagger, Backstreet Boys, and McFly, I don’t get very far. I hardly beat my record when he picks up my hand and places it back at the starting point.

“Harry!” I exclaim in annoyance, turning to face him. His dimpled cheeks round out with a pink smile. “No fair, I almost won!”

“Ya, and ya were gettin’ a li’l too close t’ me junk, y’know.”

“That’s the point of the game, silly!” I argue but it only collapses into a laugh that he reluctantly echoes. “We don’t actually . . touch each other, you know that.”

“What’re you talkin’ ‘bout? You did jus’ tha other day!”

“Stop it!” I whine, crossing my arms over my chest and facing the window once more with hot cheeks. With my face smushed into a line, I find only a few bits of relief when my forehead meets the cool glass of the window, wishing I hadn’t heard those words. “Don’t,” I mutter when he pries at my stubborn arms that coax me back together.

“Babe, I was jus’ jokin’ with you. It was only an accident, ya don’t still hafta feel bad ‘bout that, Becks,” Harry insists, but the harmless giggle feels anything but that when it interrupts the new Busted song.

“I would if you’d stop bringing it up! You know that I’m never going to hear the end of it from Skye, and now, you too!”

“Bug, it was funny. We all agreed it was, ‘s nuthin’ t’ be ashamed of still, I promise you.”

“Oh, hush,” I say through gritted teeth, shaking off his hand only to hear his depressed sigh.

His voice grows low, and somehow, I let his hand remain when it graces the round of my knee, “I didn’t mind y’know, ‘s rather flatterin’ actually-.”

“Would you shut up about it, please? I touched your crotch the other day, I know because I was there, and it was in front of Skye. I almost died from embarrassment when it happened, and if you don’t stop bringing it up, I actually will die from embarrassment and it’ll be all of your fault.”

“Becks, chill out, babe,” he titters, the emphasis held in his hand that tries to rub the worries away, but I remain pouting. “Stop it with tha poutin’, love, ‘s not lost on me. It was an accident that ‘m sorry I keep givin’ ya grief fer. I like our li’l game, and I know ‘s harmless. Maybe one o’ these times ‘ll make it up t’ you and let ya win.”

“Stop talking already, you know I hate it when you let me win.”

“Young lady, ya better stop it with tha whining, cuz yer stuck with me for tha next three-four days, and ya best bet ‘m stealin’ all o’ tha covers,” he gripes, and I at last look at him with my body too.

“Harry Edward, you will not!”

“I will too, ‘specially if ya keep on poutin’ ‘bout that thing, ‘s not worth it,” he insists, pulling free one of my hands to lace with his one, and smatter the skin of with kisses. “I jus’ hope ya like what ya felt, but ya should know, ‘s mo’ impressive when ‘s hard.”

“Harry, would you stop it?!” I shout, yanking my hand away from him and shrinking against the window with a shiver. “You’re gross.”

“What, like ya haven’t thought ‘bout me dick befo’?” he wheezes with that breathy laugh I’m trying not to love right this moment. Sighing, I close my eyes and try to focus on the song, but it’s becoming too difficult as his words spring a leak in my mind.

This little ‘game’ of ours had started shy of a few weeks ago, and I can’t even remember why really. One of us had started laying our hands on the other’s thigh and as a joke one night, I think after some drinks, I got a little handsy and tried to see how far I could slide my hand without him noticing. It’s become a competition ever since and harmlessly, given the fact that a few steamy makeout sessions as of late hadn’t progressed to anything besides that. Running across some old photos the other night with Skye when backing up my phone made me realize again just how lucky I’ve gotten with him. The man I never thought I’d be able to love, and here I am, embarrassed because my boyfriend is talking about his dick that may or may not occupy my thoughts at times.

God, if I could tell Past Becky that sometime in the near future sh-we may get to see Harry naked, she wouldn’t believe me, or the fact I probably get to sleep beside him the next few nights with him wearing nothing but shorts. I can’t decide which outweighs the other, the excitement, or the fear of the f- that kind of future.

“No,” I whine, continuing to comb through the contents, despite the fact that I already know that it’s not there.

“Yer bedroom ‘s cute, y’know. Look at all these posters, I love ‘em. Bloody hell, ‘s that a Scooby Doo stuffie? Powerpuff Girls too?” he giggles from across the hallway, and I hear things being moved around. “Becks?”

“I know I packed it, what the heck?”

“What’s tha matter?” Harry coos, coming up from behind me and circling his arms around my waist.

“I forgot to pack a razor.”

Apparently, he finds that very funny, because within seconds he’s laughing, “Why ya frettin’ over a razor, bug? We’re only here three nights.”

“Because . . I didn’t want my legs to be prickly when we sleep together,” I reveal softly, and that sweet sound of his returns, soon muffled against my hair.

“I honestly don’t care if yer legs are hairy t’night, or t’morrow, or tha night afta that. I never have, love. But, if it really matters t’ ya, ya can borrow me razor. Lemme find it.” Facing him, I watch as he picks up his small, black toiletries bag and plucks a silver handled razor from it. “Here.”

“Uh, no thanks. Forget I asked,” I rush, occupying myself by grabbing my toothbrush and toothpaste from the bag to set on the counter beside his gray one.

“What, why ya look scared, Becks? Ya never used a safety razor befo’ or summat?”

“No,” I reveal slowly, untwisting the cap of the white tube, and squeezing a dollop of the blue gel onto my toothbrush.

“‘s really not that bad, I promise you. I like it better, doesn’t gimme razor burn and goofy bumps, or ingrown hairs as much.”

“I’m fine, no thanks,” I mumble with the toothbrush in my mouth as I move it around, scrubbing my teeth.

“Becks, c’mon. Really, ‘s not that bad. Hey, why dontchu’ help me shave t’night, and that way you’ll learn how t’ use it. Reckon ‘s easier t’ use on yer legs, not havin’ all tha contours o’ yer face and jaw t’ nick.”

“Really?” I ask, placing a hand against the cool countertop, and facing him. “Wait, but I like your stubble and it was just coming back after you had shaved.”

“I leave the upper lip area and chin, but tha cheeks get patchy, so I shave those. I guess yer gonna hafta put up with tha stache again.”

“That’s okay, you know I like it. You’d really trust me to shave your face?” I respond, turning on the sink and filling a cup with water.

He nods, and with an eager smile, fishes out the large tube of shaving gel from his bag.

“What if I cut you?” I almost whine moments later, with the heavy handle in my hands.

“Babe, ya won’t, and if ya do, I won’t be mad. Rememba, like I showed you - forty-five degree angle, short strokes, and tha lightest pressure. Rinse every few strokes under tha tap. You’ll be fine,” Harry insists with the emphasis placed in his rising eyebrows. “Promise you that I trust you.”

“Okay, I’ll try it a few times, but that’s it. If I don’t like it, I don’t want to continue. I don’t want to hurt you, Harry.”

“Ya won’t, bug. This ‘s how ya learn, anyways. Now, c’mon, give it a go,” he coos, pulling me closer to him by his hands pressed to my hips.

Exhaling, I lift my hand and leave a gap of air in between the safety razor and his cheek covered in the white foam. Tilting it like he had said to do, I wait for him to open his mouth to pull the skin taut. I go with the grain and pull the razor along with short strokes, listening to his encouragements as his cheeks slowly reappears before my eyes.

“God, you look like a baby like this. I’ve always wondered what you looked like as a teenager, I want to see more pictures.”

“Noted, ‘ll hafta have me mum bring some over next time,” he replies and I nod, being careful when his face slopes with his cheekbones, but I save the jawline for him to do.

Goodness, Becky, you’re shaving your boyfriend’s face. Sometimes, I still catch myself when I call him that, Harry.

“Bloody hell, ‘s yer dad good at cribbage. I thought I had that last game 'til tha end there,” Harry chortles from across the hallway. Nodding to myself, I flick off the bathroom light, and stop in the doorway to find him snuggled under the covers of my childhood bed. Talk about a sight for sore eyes.

“I told you that I learned from the best,” I reply, closing my door softly and then getting the light. Dashing across the room, I almost jump onto my bed.

“Come warm me up, bug, ‘m freezin’ with that fan on,” Harry says, his teeth chattering, but I wonder if it’s only for the comical effect. “And then, God, what he said when we brought our suitcases in.”

“What’d he say again?” I ask, burying myself underneath the plain, gray comforter, and draping the rainbow colored quilt on top.

“How could ya forget, Becks?” he chuckles from beside me, the sound surrounding me when I place my head on his chest. His laughs continue and grow deeper over the next several seconds whilst I get comfortable under the blankets and his arms find their way around me. “Hey, Dad, where should Harry sleep? Have him sleep with you in yer old bed, I’m not getting any younger y’know, I want some grandkids soon, and Robbie isn’t looking too promisin’.”

“I can’t believe he said that either, I could have died from embarrassment right then and there,” I comment, my laugh joining his to echo around the room. His chest and belly shake and then squeeze beneath me as I nuzzle my head into the middle of his chest.

Little old me had nearly all of her dreams granted after I kissed this fellow, including getting to feel his toned body any time I want to, or lay my head between his solid pecs. Christ Almighty.

“Once again, ev’rybody, but us, thinks we’re havin’ sex,” Harry says, his laugh seemingly not going anywhere. My cheeks warm at his words and I wish that I could bury my head deeper into him, but I only feel the lukewarm metal of his cross necklace against my cheek.

“Hey, that’s not too bad of a deal. We didn’t have to do anything, and people think we are.”

“You have a silly mind, li’l one. I mean, I don’t care what people think, but I wish our parents would stop askin’ fer grandchildren, seein’ as we’ve only been t’getha four months,” Harry giggles, and I nod, remembering my dad missing vague and going straight to obvious when he said he was traditionally named after his father. His elbow into my side didn’t help his case, either.

Suddenly, a disturbing thought whisks my laugh away and I don’t find the joke very funny, anymore.

“Why aren’t you laughin’, hmm? Here, then - it was funny when he hinted he wants a grandson named afta him. Our parents really are obvious, aren’t they?” Harry chirps, and I nod silently, only now noticing the callused tips of his fingers dancing along my arm. “‘m sorry, I overplayed tha joke, didn’t I? ‘s not too funny afta a few goes, ‘s it?”

“No, you’re fine,” I say, but the thoughts kicking up dust in my head don’t feel very fine. No, they don’t make me feel ‘fine’ at all.

Why is it that she always has to ruin everything, ever since I was little? Even now, with her well out of my life, she’s still there despite the fact she’s not . . here.

“What ‘s it, Becks? Did I say sumthin’ wrong, love?”

“No, it’s not you, Harry. I don’t know, just overthinking things,” I reveal, letting my hand rest on the curve of his bicep, wishing I could see his tattoos in the dark to trace them. I know that that wouldn’t make them go away, though.

“Wanna talk ‘bout it, or jus’ go t’ bed?”

“I dunno,” I almost laugh, wishing this was ironic and that it was still funny. But, it’s not. “It’s hard to think about being a mum and mine not being there for it. I know that’s how I’d want it to be, though. It’s just . . hard, knowing how much other mums rely on that and enjoy getting to share the experience with theirs.”

“Oh, love, ‘m so sorry. I didn’t mean it like that,” he pipes up, resting his head against mine, and I welcome the closeness.

“I know you didn’t, it was just my thoughts stirring up ‘what if’s.”

“Hey, ‘m sure when ya get t’ know me mum betta and Gemma, that me mum would be happy t’ step in fer that role, and me sister too. I already know with Gem that me mum would be all over my babies, and she’s a wonderful grandmother. I only wish she lived closer, but she’s always joked if I had kids, that that’s what would take her t’ move t’ London,” he says into my hair, and I nod into his smooth skin, my cheek tickled by his chest hair.

“Gemma must have been annoyed with that,” I titter and he agrees.

“‘ve thought ‘bout it too, y’know. Me dad‘s ‘round fer Harper and Ollie, but I dunno if ‘d ever want him ‘round my kids. He fooked up things with me, so why would I let him do tha same with me kids? I don’t want them wonderin’ why their granddad doesn’t come t’ their birthday party this time but did tha last, or t’ see us have a row . . It makes me sad, but y’know, ‘m glad we can relate t’ each other on this stuff, whatta load o’ rubbish it all ‘s.”

“Me too, Harry,” I breathe, tracing the shape of his necklace as his heartbeat thuds in my ear. “I can’t ever see things changing with my mum, but maybe it could with your dad someday . . It’s a good thing we’re not having kids anytime soon, huh?”

“Ya, reckon so, but ‘m already thirty, Becks. Time’s a tickin’ fer me in that father department,” he shares gently, and I wish I could see his eyes and lose myself in them, and maybe drag him along for the ride too. It’s all that I can think of to get rid of the sour remnants of this conversation, one that’s all of my fault.

“Oh, hush. My dad was thirty-four when he had Robbie and I, so you’ll be fine.”

“Ya, but I dunno, rather sure ‘d want kids soon afta gettin’ married,” he hums happily, a longing for the future in his voice. Boy, is it contagious. “Prolly within tha year.”

“Okay, would you chill it with the future talk? As you just said, it’s only been four months, Harry,” I laugh, nervously. A similar sound rumbles through his chest as he hugs me in his arms, smattering kisses along my head.

“Well, maybe four months will turn into forever one day, ya never know, bug,” he says with a lilt in his voice, teasing dripping from it. “C’mon, ya don’t know yet whether or not ya wanna be my Mrs. Styles one day?”

“I can tell what your answer to that question is,” my answer comes out in between apprehensive laughs, my cheeks surely scarlet against his skin.

“I never reveal me secrets, Becks,” he whispers, as if I don’t know it by now. “So, will ya marry me one day?”

“I’ll have to think about it . . ask again in a few months, weirdo.”

The streams of sunlight tease at my eyes while a sensation tickles my neck. Groaning, I shuffle my legs under the covers but they don’t get very far, knocking against another hairy pair.

“Wake up,” somebody coos softly into my ear, followed by a stream of gentle kisses down my face. I squeeze my eyes shut and try to pull the covers higher, but they don’t budge. “Becks,” they say, dragging out the sound of my name as they rub circles into my stomach.

I lay there for a little while longer, dipping in and out of sleep, amongst the sound of my name and indiscernible humming. The next time I open them, the sun is beating through the window and the standing fan whirs along. A pair of arms is secure around my waist, and although used to it, I feel somebody’s prickly stubble against my cheek. I smile into the soft kisses pressed along my face and then a last one to my nose. “Wake up, Boops, ‘s yer birthday. ‘s my baby Becks’ birthday t’day,” Harry croons and I feel his cheeks rounding out from a smile against mine.

“Mmmmm, my twenty-seventh birthday,” I reply, stifling a yawn. They reply with an ‘mmmhmm’ before they hide their face in my neck. “And I get to spend it all with you,” I hum, my thoughts waking me quickly. It’s black and white from my birthday last year, pining away for him as he loved somebody else and ignoring his presents.

No matter how hard I could try, I wouldn’t be able to remember how long it’s been since I’ve had a birthday as good as this one already is, and undoubtedly will be.

“‘m so glad I get t’, bug, ‘s ‘bout time,” he yawns from behind me, stirring under the covers. I whine when his leg moves away from mine and takes its warmth with him. “I didn’t imagine ‘d be wakin’ you up in yer childhood bed, but here we are,” he giggles. “Tha first o’ many birthdays spent t’getha, babe.”

“Yeah,” I reply distractedly, propelled back to this day last year and how robbed I felt of a day that was supposed to be all about me and being happy. That was the last thing I was, it seemed, and it’s like a different life to think about that while Harry kisses the hollow below my ear. My boyfriend, who kicks off a blanket with a groan, a laugh rising from my lips as he complains about being hot.

“‘ve taken off all tha clothes I can and ‘m still bloody boilin.’ God, Becks, could ya be any mo’ o’ a heater, love?” he sighs and I only reply with a loud laugh that grows when his hands roam my body to tickle me. I find his sleepy face painted with a smile when I turn around to face his naked upper half, and it makes me wonder how he could ever be any more perfect than he already is. “What? ‘m sweatin’ over here,” he wheezes, carding a hand through his mess of curls while his eyes shine back at me.

“Nothing, I just . . “

“You jus’ what, love?” he murmurs, threading his fingers into my hair and stroking it away from my face.

“I just, really love you,” I confess, watching the contentment blossom on his face to almost embarrassment.

“I love you too, Rebecca Ann,” Harry beams with that contagious smile again, dipping forward to peck me. “More.”

“No, I do!” I protest, fingering his gold cross necklace that’s warm in my fingers. “I love you most! There!”

“Okay, okay,” he titters, batting a hand at me before pulling me into his chest. “‘ll let you have it, but only cuz ‘s yer birthday, my love,” he coos, surrounding me with his arms and covering my head in kisses.

I silently roll my eyes but I know he hears my huff, “Don’t be a pout on yer birthday, jus’ be happy ‘m lettin’ you get yer way with e’rythin’,” he remarks, muffled against my cheek where his warm breath wafts over me.

“Everything, you say?” I tease, and his intake of air eggs me on.

“Oh, what d’ya want now?”

“Hey, it’s my birthday. I get whatever I want on my birthday, isn’t that what I told you on yours?”

“I don’t rememba those exact words, but yes, my girl can have whatever her heart desires on her birthday,” Harry responds softly, his eyelashes leaving butterfly kisses against me. “What ‘s that li’l brain o’ yers cookin’ up now, huh?”

A laugh peeks out from my lips and he groans in response as I ready my proposal, sure he’s falling back asleep in my arms.

“A baby,” I divulge, and begin to count the seconds after the words have met the air. 1 . . 2 . . 3.

“‘Scuse me?” Harry exclaims, pulling away from me and looking at me with a wild pair of eyes. I find it so hard to hold it back when his green eyes widen further, accompanied by a sudden pallor to his face. “Rebecca Ann-,” he begins adamantly, but the moment the chuckle pours from my lips, he stops. “Woman, I swear- Jesus Christ, ya really are gonna gimme a heart attack one o’ these days.”

“The look on your face, Harry! I wish you could’ve seen it,” I giggle profusely, only fed by the crimson appearance of his cheeks as he shakes his head.

“You li’l smart ass, you,” he tuts, swiftly flipping onto his back and pulling me on top of him. “Y’know, ya kinda hafta be havin’ sex in order t’ have a baby, love, sumthin’ that doesn’t quite exist fer us yet,” Harry remarks with the cutest double chin from below me. I adjust myself lying on top of him so I’m not crushing his lungs, or well, his baby making junk.

“Not yet, anyways,” I murmur with a smirk, enjoying the squirming he does at my words. He giggles and covers his face with both of his arms, exposing as well as hiding some of his tattoos.

Propping my chin on my hand, my elbow finds a place on the mattress as my finger finds its way to his chest. I trace the numbers in my handwriting above his heart, so entirely grateful for this year and mostly all that it’s brought along with it.

“Maybe one day I’ll have a baby with you.”

I hear his wheezy laugh and the happy sigh, because they live inside of me too. His greens are stuck on me from between his peeking hands when I look over and my smile brightens.

“If we’re havin’ kids, ‘s gonna be mo’ than one, ‘ll tell ya that right now, missy.”

Somehow, my lips spread even wider, “How many then, Mr. Styles?” I pose aloud with a raise of my eyebrows at him.

“Five.”

“Harry!” I exclaim and he giggles from behind his hands that his eyes peek out from. At last, he drops them and peers across at me, making me believe in the cuteness that is triple chins. “Five children? Five mouths to feed, lunches to pack, activities to put them in, bedrooms, pairs of shoes, car seats, bums to change, new school clothes and well, new everything every year, and five babies for me to push out of my crotch?”

That really gets him going and soon, a deep chuckle rumbles through his chest and from his lips, but I really couldn’t be complaining. It sparks one from mine too, and only makes me think of what it would be like to do this with him every morning. One day, with a swaddled baby lying to the side, or on his chest. What have I started now?

“Yes, five . . Five kids t’ cuddle, make memories with, take on adventures, introduce Harry Potter t’, bake and cook with, watch grow and do great things, have mosey into our bed at night, maybe teach guitar or piano t’ one or two, teach ‘em so many things, and I hope they all have yer eyes and yer laugh . . Can you imagine all that love, Becks?” Harry says, dreaming aloud with an effervescent look in his eye that I’ve only seen a few times before. “Hey, don’t you do that on yer birthday,” he tuts, but I’ve already started and go to sniffle into the crook of his neck. “Did I say sumthin’ wrong? ‘m sorry if ‘s too soon and-.”

“No, you said everything . . right,” I whisper against his neck, the absence of words letting me feel how it moves with every tick of his pulse. Gulping, I wait for him to answer, but I get it when he begins to hum our song amidst running races up and down my back with his hand.

“Maybe one day- Wait, no. Not ‘maybe,’ hopefully one day,” Harry coos as I stare into the darkness, but this time I’m not afraid or fleeing. I could never feel anything but safe in his arms, and I know our children would too. “Mmmm, ‘m lovin’ tha cuddlin’, but holy shit, am I warm!” he continues, our skin sticking together as he separates from me between our laughs.

After a few trips to the bathroom between us, Harry plops onto the bed and pulls me onto his lap. His lips sponge kisses along my cheek and his arms surround me, almost swallowing me with their span.

“Well, are ya jus’ gonna stare at ‘em or go and open ‘em, bug?” he coos, the hairs on the back of my neck lifting at his words tickling my neck. Turning my head, my excited eyes connect with his, and he nods. “Go already,” he says, kissing me before I leave his arms.

“Which one first?” I ask, crossing the bedroom to kneel in front of the line of gifts set before my dresser and our suitcases.

“Whichever yer li’l heart desires,” he answers. I grab one of the smaller ones and look over to him. “Savin’ tha biggest one fer last, I see.” He folds his hands together, his long arms already turning golden this early in the summer, and so are his legs that his arms drape across.

Giggling, I stand up and make a few trips to bring the presents to the bed.

“Openin’ ‘em up here, are we?” Harry asks with dumbfounded astonishment gracing his tired features.

“Mmmhmm,” is all I say as I settle onto his lap again, and relax when he wraps me up inside of his embrace. Tipping my head to rest on his shoulder, I stare down at the pink and purple flowers that branch across the crisp wrapping paper, and suddenly, it’s like for the second time.

I’m not going to let it happen again. No, not sitting on the floor with his presents before me, and him so far away, if only a few steps. His chest rises and falls with rhythmic breaths and I remain there, moving my ear until I hear the song his heart plays, needing this to feel all the more real. A tear collects at the corner of my eye, reminding me that at times like these, I expect to blink and it’ll all be gone. I wait for myself to wake up from the dream, and to have him ripped away from me, just like all of those other times he was.

But it doesn’t.

I blink and the tear falls, and his lips rest in my hair, waiting for me. His large hand leaves waves and blossoms against my back, and hopes and promises. I make them too, just as silently against him. I promise myself that I’ll never give up on him, and although he doesn’t know, I promise that to him too.

“Open it up, bug, what’re you waitin’ fer? ‘m dyin’ with anticipation here!”

Smiling, I lift my head and don’t waste any time finding his lips with my own, just because I can. He moans a sound against mine and holds onto me, and I know that he would never let me go, either.

No, not again.

“What was that fer?” he breathes half a minute later, staring deep into me.

“Just ‘cause,” I respond and he only smiles back at me, but then he tips his head to meet mine, resting his forehead on mine. He winks and brushes his nose against mine a few times in a different kind of kiss.

“I hope I get anotha one o’ those afta ya open yer presents.”

“We’ll have to see about that, Mr. Styles,” I grin and he amplifies it with a snort, bumping his shoulder against mine to remind me of the present I hold, and his affable impatience.

Wrapping paper still litters the floor, so do purple bows, and Amazon boxes. The shadows of our mingled laughs pepper the air as his hair falls through my fingers, and his slow breaths are whispers against my skin. I let my head fall and my hair dance across his skin before my lips do, ever so gently.

“Sweet dreams, love,” I barely whisper, careful to leave the bed without waking him. At the last second, I turn back and pull the comforter and quilt up his thighs covered in gray shorts, and past his bare shoulders. He’ll need it with his personal heater gone from his side, I think.

Tip toeing across the room, I take careful steps around the pile of presents still sat by our suitcases. The elation and disbelief comes over me in another wave when I see them one by one, starting with the lilac colored Kitchenaid mixer.

“Ya need it fer yer bakin’, love. I know tha kneadin’ part o’ recipes ‘s a bore, and yer handheld one was almost shot. We both know that. Maybe ‘m tellin’ you t’ bake fer me mo,’ I dunno,” he had laughed after my jaw had fallen to my chest, and his faced turned a proud crimson.

“We’re already halfway in, might as well make sure we have tha whole boxset fer when we wanna rewatch it,” Harry told me after I had opened the large box with the five Friends’ faces on it, assuring me that it was just as much a present for him as it was for me. He had kept making it known that that was the theme, so I would stop complaining about him spoiling me too much.

“I can’t take any credit fer that one, which ‘m quite sorry ‘bout, but mum wanted t’ knit ya sumthin’. Told her ya loved blankets, and here we are. Reckon I might have ya keep it at mine so I can steal it too,” runs through my head as I once again rub the chenille type yarn between my fingers at the end of the bed where the knit blanket lies. With a proud grin, I grab two corners and drape it over the sleeping man in my childhood, twin-sized bed, a dated McFly poster hanging over his head.

“This one’s jus’ as much fer me as it ‘s fer you, too,” he kept saying, then for Paul McCartney’s second show at the O2, and then for another pair of tickets to his daughter Stella’s fashion show in just a few weeks.

The same phrase, give or take a few words, flowed from his lips when the bag of candles graced my hands. He explained that we nick so many candles from each other’s offices that it was only natural that he bought me some, seeing as how he’d be stealing some here soon, especially the Tobacco Vanilla, Whiskey Cedar, Sage and Lemon, and the highly coveted Cinnamon Roll one.

The cribbage board was just a bonus, him claiming that he could finally bring his office one home and keep mine at work for us to play on.

What he couldn’t claim his rightful ownership to as well was the card full of unintelligible scribbles from Harper and Ollie, that thank the Gods, Gemma helped them write. The tears in my eyes since the first present grew and grew, and didn’t waver at the message of how Harper wanted to have a sleepover at Harry’s soon with me - nail painting, baking cookies, and all.

But, when I met his eyes with my sad, puppy dog pair, he melted right then and there.

“Harry, this is too much. I can’t accept all of this,” I had told him and he shook his head, lifting my own with his thumb to look in his eyes.

“Please, Becks. I-I hate t’ say it, but I have too much money than I know what t’ do with, and ‘ve been so excited to give you all of these. Don’t worry ‘bout tha money. Alright, my love?”

I gave in, and with the kisses he smothered me with, there was no way in hell I could say no to that face.

He stirs underneath the covers behind me, and so do my thoughts, but with a huff, Harry returns to snoring softly. I carefully open my suitcase and fish out my last clean outfit, and without a sound, walk across the hall and into the shower.

I thought I had made out like a bandit, but when I slip back into my room in search of Post-Its and a pen, I find that somebody else is awake.

“Where are you goin’, Becks?” they rasp, pulling themselves up to sit and the covers pool on his lap. Rubbing at his eyes, Harry cards a hand through his tousled curls, quickly yawning.

“Oh, just to run an errand quick. Go back to bed, I won’t be gone long.”

“Mmmm,” he groans, knuckling at his left eye. “Can’t it wait ‘til we leave this afternoon, bug? Y’know I can’t sleep without you, I get too cold, and miss havin’ you in me arms.”

“No, it can’t. I’m sorry . . You’ll fall right back asleep, Harry, I promise,” I shush him, stepping forward and pressing on his shoulder, but he doesn’t fall back in any of the ways that I’d hoped.

“I’ll come with, then. We can grab some pastries from that bakery you love fer brekky with yer dad.”

“It’s okay, I will if you want. Please, Harry, go back to sleep. You were up late, you must have a headache from all of those drinks with Robbie. I dunno why you pair had to have a shots competition,” I insist, and my distraction makes a raspy laugh fall from his mouth.

“I like yer brotha, y’know, he’s a funny git,” he drawls, rubbing his hands down his face once before pulling back the covers. “Can I come? ‘ll be mo’ awake after I have a shower.”

“I dunno,” I nervously laugh, tucking a wet lock of hair behind my ear. Huffing, I smooth down the floral skirt of my dress and sit on the edge of my bed. Thoughts whizz around in my head, flying to that destination and the next, but this one isn’t sure where to go.

“If ya really don’t want me t’, ‘s okay. ‘m sorry t’ pressure ya, babe.”

“It’s okay, Harry. I’d like you to come, but . . I dunno,” I reveal, toying with the ring and starting at the corner of my eye, I watch his hands still my pair that wring each other.

“Don’t hafta tell me if ya don’t wanna, I trust you y’know.”

Nodding, I wonder how I had ever gotten so damn lucky with this one. A split second giggle tickles at my lips, and then the toying turns into twirling, and then, telling.

“She would’ve been eighty-five today, I think,” the whisper fights to make itself known, and I can’t meet his eyes, but I think I hear it in his breathing when he connects the dots. The spinning of the ring, and the tracing of the flower, frozen in time. “I bring her flowers every year, just wildflowers I find on the side of the road. I’ve wanted to bring a cupcake and sing before blowing it out, but it seemed odd to eat it sitting there, when she can’t,” I continue, the frog jumping into my throat at the end there.

His words are absent, but they’re the least bit of that and so is my surprise when my head meets his shoulder, and his fingers trickle through my hair.

“You don’t have to come with, if you don’t want to,” I pipe up, grabbing hold of the smooth chain around his neck. The swallows beckon for me, and I trace their wings slowly, wondering how silky they’d feel if they were alive on his chest.

“I’d like t’ come with, if that’s okay with you.”

“Yeah, it’s more than okay,” I respond, my thumb and finger holding onto the cross when my arms go around his neck, and he lifts me onto his lap.

“I wish I coulda met her, yer Grandma Ann . . but bringin’ flowers t’ her grave sounds rather special too. Yer tha sweetest, Becks, y’know that?”

“So do I, she would’ve loved you,” I say, watching the tear glide down the slope of his back, and past the golden hairs lit by the sunrise behind the curtains.

“Does yer dad go with you?”

“Sometimes, maybe he will today.”

“‘d like that,” Harry coos, drawing the letters of my name, one by one, along my spine. I only know that because he’d told me last night when I couldn’t fall asleep, and he was happily buzzed.

I think that’s why I couldn’t, because how could my dreams beckon for me when my life was finally better than anything I could dream about?

“Ya mean it, tha best ever? In tha whole, entire history o’ birthdays, ever and ever?” they titter and its feeling against my cheek brings one forth onto my lips.

“You’re so silly, but yes. I had an amazing birthday, Harry. One to remember.”

“Good, bug. ‘m glad t’ hear. Only tha best fer me favourite girl,” he coos, dragging his nose along my cheek.

“Maybe next year for my birthday you can grow your hair out again for my birthday present.”

“Oh, really? That’s whatcha want? Hmm, I was thinkin’ o’ givin’ you a baby fer yer twenty-eighth,” he giggles, the rich smell of coffee hinting on his breath. Now, it’s my turn to giggle and I share it into his neck, our chests bumping when he pulls me closer. I steal a kiss from his swallow and nuzzle in deeper as he drapes the blanket his mum knitted for me over us, sinking further into his sofa.

“Stop it with the baby talk, marriage comes first, dumbo.”

“Fine then, ‘ll getchu a ring fer yer birthday,” he continues and I hide my reddening cheeks in the place between his shoulder and neck. Monica laughs at something on the TV behind us, but my focus darts to the melodic kisses he sponges along my neck, and his nose nudging at my shirt.

“Shush it, I’m not going anywhere,” I insist, revealing my scarlet cheeks to his smiling eyes.

“Better not, I dunno what ‘d do if ya did.”

“It’s a good thing neither of us have to worry about that, huh?” I return, tapping my finger on his nose. He nods and brushes his thumb under my eye where he often traces the imperfection that lives there.

“‘m lookin’ forward t’ mo’ weekends at yer Dad’s. It was loads o’ fun gettin’ t’ see where ya grew up, tha house ya grew up in, yer old schools, tha park at tha pond, and bloody hell, that night out back by tha bonfire,” he says, words falling into a sound of happiness. “I can’t remember tha last time I had so much Tequila. Fook, can that brotha o’ yers drink, and yer dad too. And that pizza yer dad made, ugh, ‘m gonna need anotha one o’ those soon. I miss playin’ board games so much like that, I see where ya get tha love o’ it from. I ‘specially loved playin’ on yer family piano with you, reckon we might make a good pair if we practice some mo’.”

Giggling, I agree with him as my fingers mingle with his necklace, “Yeah, it was a birthday to remember, that’s for sure.”

“Reckon so, and I couldn’t be gladder to hear that, bug. Remember last year’s wasn’t tha best, you’ve said. I hope they only get betta and betta, my love,” Harry croons, and I nod, sure that they will.

It all seems to be a hill that I get to climb by his side, but it’s the least bit tiring, and all the more exhilarating with every step that I take.

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samwrights · 4 years

Text

Growing Pains - Punk!AU [Makki]

Here is the last of the “first chapters” for each route. Each chapter is released in the order of the setlist which I will leave a link to down below. If you haven’t read the prologue, you can click right here to read Elixir. A link will also be provided at the end of the chapter. Artwork is not mine so if we find the artist, can someone let know so that I can properly credit them?

Lyrics that are italicized are sang by you and lyrics that are bold are sang by Makki.

WARNINGS: language, cheating, consumption of alcohol, use of nicotine and marijuana.

Word count: ~4.5k

Song(s) used: Growing Pains as well as one stanza of In Bloom by Neck Deep.

A complementary playlist can be found » here

I would give my left arm for Makki. I’m left-handed.

“Can we run Growing Pains again? I wanna try something different.” You ask hesitantly, looking at Hanamaki with a quirked brow. As the writer of the song, as well as a couple others, Makki made it a point to sing the songs he wrote. At first, you took offense to it, thinking that he didn’t have faith in your skills. Even to this day, he never did tell you why he preferred it as such, but he swore up and down that it had nothing to do to you.

“Oh yeah?” The tone of his voice isn’t suspicious, but almost full of wonder. Or as close as he could get to it with his lackluster drawl. “Watcha thinking?”

“Do you trust me enough to at least take more than twenty three fucking words in this whole damn song?” Makki gives a roll of his eyes before swatting at your head, goading you to just get on with it. “Just back for me until the second verse? After that, it’s all yours.” His left eyebrow, donning two, black hoops, shoots up in confusion but nevertheless, he shrugs its off. Of course he trusts you.

“Alright, Growing Pains it is,” Kuroo looks over to Terushima to make sure he’s ready to move before tossing a lazy, knowing grin to the bassist just to rile him up a tad. “Stupid name, by the way.”

“Oi, shut it, discount rooster.” Before the banter can continue, Kuroo starts with the opening shrill riff before the boys join in. Makki’s eyes are focused on you solely, watching to make sure you’re keeping time, giving you little tells to keep you on track with the pace by backing the tail end of every line. The way the bassist’s beady eyes lock onto yours is enough to make you lose focus for a moment, your mouth running the slightest bit too dry, causing your voice to waver slightly. Makki catches it, no matter how well you try to hide, his lips turning upward at the corners in a smirk. In an attempt to recover, your tongue just barely peaks out of the counter of your mouth before you swallow air back into your lungs.

I’ve got skeletons I hide In the back of my mind where I question myself I dwell on the past just like everyone else

It’s a challenge, trying to focus on the task at hand. You knew the words and the tempo, your surroundings and who is present in the room. Yet the only thing you can focus on is how Makki is looking at you with this glassy, stone grey eyes. Despite the bruising bags around them, thanks to the lack of sleep he’d been suffering lately thanks to his job, Hanamaki was truly a pretty man.

It takes everything in the fibers of your muscles to try to not read into his expression so as to fuel even more fantasies that maybe, just maybe, this isn’t unrequited love. But it’s a challenge considering he’s staring so intently as if he’s trying to tell you something through a telepathic link that’s been long severed. Quickly, you push down the thoughts again as the two of you round the chorus, layering over each other’s voice for a subtle drop of depth, worried that your mind will start to warp and you’ll delude yourself into thinking he’s singing directly to you.

When I’m away and you can’t sleep Just know that it’s the same for me.

What a ridiculous notion, you think, as Makki takes over the primary vocals and you switch to backing. And while you would never tell him this, you intentionally had Hanamaki take control back over the verse that you knew was written for his girlfriend. It wasn’t a challenge to figure out, considering he had included a sort of time stamp in the verse. But maybe, just maybe, as you harmonize the bridge, you can trick yourself for a moment that the one of the first ever romance-esque songs he’s ever written is about the woman to his right as opposed to the woman on the couch.

They don’t know what he share in the briefest of moments I’m head over heels for the smallest components

With Makki in control, your mind wanders again, along with your eyes as they finally pulled away from gloomy, glittering glaze. There’s a mix of emotions displayed on his girlfriend’s face—both pleasant and nonplussed at the same time—but you’re having difficulty pinpointing exactly what the expression is. Confusion passes at one point, as if she had never heard the song before and it was making her the slightest bit uncomfortable. All you can assume is that this is her first time actually hearing his words, despite having attended every practice since they first started dating back in December nearly a year ago. Her muddled expression clears a little, as if she was slowly letting go of silent resentment line by line, but her face fades out of your line of vision as your attention is brought back to Makki. You had a job to do and, unfortunately, the job doesn’t include staring at your best friend’s girlfriend, trying to psychoanalyze the emotions she’s experiencing.

Since we’ve meet it seems like we’ve crossed paths at the right time.

Instead, you avert your eyes to look back at your bassist, mimicking what he had done earlier by parroting the last word of every line to add some form of layering. You’re keeping up the with pace, or at least you think you are. Truly, you can’t tell because the only thing you’re focused are the beautiful, shale stones he has for eyes boring into your own like molten lava and the way his pearly whites that peek from behind his thin, pale lips in a subtle smile. It’s intense and bright, two traits that typically are not associated with the bassist at all. But you’re all too familiar to this look when it comes to Takahiro, regardless of how rare the momentous occasion.

The first time you saw it was when you announced to the boys that were you going to stay behind for two years to work and save money so that the four of you could attend university together. It was a distinct memory for you, as he was the first person you told about your plan. At the time, the two of you were laying together on the floor of your room back in your parent’s house—the only trouble plaguing you was the dichotomy of wanting climb the corporate ladder and wanting to chase your freedom and happiness with the boy to your left.

The only other time it showed was when the two of you went for a blunt cruise, something that had become a thing of the past, listening to songs that featured both a male and female vocalist that way the two of you didn’t even have to spare a second thought to harmonize, and he’d smoked just a little bit too much. Enough that you didn’t feel safe having him drive home for the night and he would crash at your parent’s house or your apartment, depending on the time frame. Sometimes you’d share a bed, trying to ignore the fact that the love of your life was inches away from you. Trying to ignore the fact that he always wound his arms right around you like you’d disappear into thin air if he let go. Sometimes, you’d end up sleeping on your couch for the evening, solely based on the fact that Makki’s head was resting in your lap and he was KO’d.

As Growing Pains comes to an end, you realize what a stupid decision it was for you to choose that song to re-rehearse. Sure, you’d had made small adjustments to it so that you were a bit more preoccupied in the beginning, but that did little for you to stop your mind from wandering. Hell, by the last chorus, when your mind had began to float into the metaphorical clouds, you had given up on looking at Makki and his stupid perfect lips serenading his girlfriend, and just laid on the floor between your friends. It was quite peaceful, actually, allowing the vibrations of all the amplifiers quaking your bones, lulling you in and out of your daydreams. “Sound better that time, princess?” Kuroo jokes, staring directly over you, allowing droplets of sweat to roll off of him onto you.

The way your guitarist looked at you was all knowing, his hazel eyes silently telling you he knew your truth—that you just wanted to hear Hanamaki sing a song that he wrote for a woman, whether it was about you or not. Rather than commenting on that, you spluttered obnoxiously as his sweat dropped over you, pretending to be disgusted though you didn’t actually care. “Gross, Tetsu!” You jeered, scrambling to your feet and pulling the bottom of your tee to wipe off both yours and now Kuroo’s sweat. It’s all jokes and theatrics, as always.

“Pfft, you’re so dramatic, [name].” The guitarist chided.

“Word, I’ll drink to that,” adds Makki, grabbing his beer can off his amp and stepping behind you to clink cans together with Kuroo.

“Ya know, I could just skip the entire song and let Makki do the whole thing. It wouldn’t sound any different.” It’s a light hearted dig at most and very typical of you. However, a glower pulls over the bassist’s expression, his gaze turning hard, but you keep going. “Maybe I’ll go run around in the crowd or something.”

“Yeah, it’s not like we need you to anything.” He didn’t mean it the way it sounded, you knew that he didn’t—there were very few things in his life that Takahiro Hanamaki was serious about and in the ten plus years you’d know him, genuinely rude comments to you was not one of them. But something was off, not that you could determine what—maybe his tone or how quickly he said it? Like he had wanted to say it for some time and he had just taken the opportunity and ran with it. Regardless of the reason, it stung.

Even more so when you were reminded that it was not just the four of you in the room as the girls sitting on the couch not ten feet from you laughed wholeheartedly at your expense. Rather than quipping back, you sucked on your teeth while bobbing and nodding your head. “Okay,” you started off slowly, searching for the words to say. “Okay, uh, fuck you, first of all.” You bit out sourly, all humor gone from your face. Before you can stop yourself, you hook your microphone back on it’s stand and quickly check your pockets to ensure your pack of smokes and lighter were still there. “Second off, I’m gonna go smoke. Feel free to carry on with practice since you don’t need me.”

“Hey, get back here!” Makki calls out with a hint of urgency, but it’s too late. You’re already over halfway up the stairs and you’re not turning back around until there’s chemicals and tar coating your lungs. Alone in the backyard, you make your way to the dead firepit, sitting once again on the dividing brick wall, the flame from your lighter making a crinkling noise as it lit the dried leaves.

What the fuck was that? Maybe a dose of reality, you figure. Maybe this was the nature of your guys’ relationship now. It made you angry. However, you couldn’t entirely blame everything on Makki, even if you wanted to. As much as you wanted to. But it wasn’t his fault you were such a coward and couldn’t tell him that you’d been pining over him pathetically for nearly ten years. It wasn’t his fault that, eventually, he was going to want companionship that you just couldn’t quite offer. It wasn’t his fault that he just didn’t see you that way.

Meanwhile, the boys remain inside, dumbfounded that you had just all but bolted out. “Goddammit, I hate how sensitive she is sometimes.” Kuroo rakes his inked fingers through his already messy mop, contemplating over whether or not he should go try to console you because he knows. He knows why you’re upset and he knows just how in love you are with Hanamaki and he knows that having the girls in such close proximity always bothered you and their presence certainly wasn’t helping your situation. Being the friend that he is, Kuroo makes the decision to start clearing house, looking back knowingly at his drummer while shifting his eyes towards the three women on the couch. With a nod, the two of them make their way over, telling the girls that they need to have a private band meeting and that it was probably best they left.

Hanamaki is upset, far too upset to say anything to his girlfriend who is now being gently ushered out of Terushima’s home. The only thought that’s going through his head is what the fuck?

You’d been so goddamn testy lately, he can hardly joke with you any more without you getting your feelings hurt. As much as he wants to be upset over the fact that you just stormed out in the middle of practice, he’s more concerned than anything else. Typically, you hardly crumbled or cracked from being teased or goaded, you were used to it, enjoyed it even. It was the foundation of this band for fuck’s sake! But he also knew that you only succumbed to pressure when it’s been building for long periods of time, similar to a volcano on the brink of eruption or the way pressure makes coal turn to diamonds. Makki likes the diamond analogy better, he decides. Diamonds were much prettier.

The bassist hears heavy thudding pounding down the stairs to reveal two of the three missing band members, Terushima and Kuroo harboring tight-lipped grimaces. Every cell in the skin of their face reeked with knowing. “Alright, spill.” Makki deadpans.

“What are you talking about, man?” Despite the question, Terushima sits a few steps from the bottom of the staircase, resting his elbows on his knees and he fidgets with his hands. He’s anxious.

“You two know something that you aren’t telling me.”

“Sorry, Makki. It’s not our place to tell.” Kuroo says firmly, folding his fully inked arms over his chest. Everyone held protective qualities over you, especially after a certain incident in college that was never to be mentioned again, and Makki was no different. However, he comes to the realization that they’re protecting you right now and he’s not and it sets him off.

“Just fucking tell me, dude.”

“We can’t.” Terushima presses.

“The fuck you mean, ‘you can’t’, [name] just threw a fucking temper tantrum—“ the creaking of the stairs in front of him stops Makki in his rant, his eyes locking with yours. He sees the rush of defeat wash over you and the way your shoulders slump and he knows that he never should have opened his mouth.

“Go fuck yourself, Takahiro Hanamaki.”

“Wait, [name], that’s not what I meant!” But Makki is calling out to nobody but the shutting of Terushima’s front door closing for the second time in just a matter of moments. “Shit.” The strawberry-brunette hisses, winding his thin, ring clad fingers in his hair out of frustration. What the fuck was going on? It’s quiet in the basement, each remaining member of Elixir wrapped up in their own thoughts before Makki let’s out a sigh, piquing the interest of the other two. “Guess this is good a time as any, but could you guys do me a solid?”

You weren’t sure what upset you more: the fact that Takahiro called you out on having a temper tantrum or the fact that you actually did have one? How embarrassing to be twenty-seven years old, throwing a fit because your muse made a fucking joke. Pathetic. Now you were left in your empty apartment, looking over old lyric sheets in a futile attempt to get some form of rehearsal in, considering you walked out. You’d need to apologize to Teru and Kuroo at some point tonight, but at the moment, the only thing you felt like doing was sitting on your stoop and chain smoking until either your wrist falls off or your teeth fall out; you can’t decide which option sounds more appealing, so you move to sit outside until you find out which is more pleasurable.

Before exiting your apartment once again, you grab a thick leather bound journal that always resided on your living room coffee table and a pen, knowing that all of the thoughts going on in your head were one day going to form a pretty stanza for a song. It was a vicious cycle in which you lived in—bask in what semblance of relationship that you had with Makki, get hurt over the fact that he didn’t return the feelings he didn’t even know you had, lash out because you’re hurt, go home and write potential lyrics down, and pretend it never happened. Lather, rinse, repeat.

With a beer resting on the same step as your feet, a freshly lit cigarette in your non-dominant hand, and the pen in the other, you opened to the next blank page in your leather lyric book. Nothing you’re writing even makes sense, you’re sure of it. Just spilling your guts and heart out with paper the being the only thing to catch the mess. A beat comes into your head—typical for you when it came to the songwriting process—and before you know it, you’re gently humming along to the words you’ve written down.

Stop calling me out, we’re never going to Put the pieces back together if you won’t let me get better

“It’s pretty.” The voice startles you, throwing you into a frenzy of shutting your journal and trying not to drop it in the process. Unfortunately, the buildup of ash on the end of your cigarette wavers at the sudden movement, throwing the burnt filter and cherry onto your arm. You hiss at the sudden burning of your skin.

“What the fuck are you doing here, Hanamaki?” More like how did he get here, considering his car was nowhere in sight. But for now, that wasn’t your concern. You knocked over your beer. “Ah, shit.” You mumble, grabbing whatever’s left of the can and the rest of your belongings before trying to head inside, choosing to not hear whatever explanation he had.

“Come on, [name], talk to me.” No, you think to yourself as you retreat into your apartment, closing the door on the bassist. Preemptively, you tucked your journal away with your movie collection, thinking it was hiding inconspicuously among the dusty cases. You knew what he was going to do next and you had enough. Hadn’t you wasted enough of your life wishing he would look at you the same way you thought you looked at him? What was the point of it all?

The turning of your deadbolt signals you that Makki did in fact do what you thought he would, using his spare key to open the door you locked seconds ago. Hearing the clinking of more beer bottles, he takes long strides to your kitchen after he takes his shoes off. He knows you hated it when people left them on. “I’m not in the mood, Hanamaki.”

“Yeah, I’ll fucking say.” The aforementioned man isn’t playing games anymore—he’s tired of it. But he’s never been one to fight fire with fire, no. Makki’s always been the one to smoke his problems away, letting them dissipate along with the tendrils of his preferred poison. “Let’s go for a drive.” He says finally, despite your back still being turned towards him as you chugged the ale over your kitchen sink. The word sends a wave of nostalgia through you, suddenly missing the way his large hand would rest on your thigh, his free one pressing a joint or blunt to his lips. Thinking of those days alone could make you cry.

At your silence, you hear the gentle padding of his footsteps migrate away from you before returning, a heavy thud hitting your island counter. Turning around at the sound, you notice Makki has a book.

The book.

The book that harbors all of your deepest, most meaningful prose that eventually made its way to becoming a song. “Hanamaki,” you grit out slowly, moving like a cat ready to snatch its prey. “Put it back.”

“You’ve always been such a poet,” he muses, not even the slightest bit threatened as he flipped through the pages, soaking in every word of your neat print. You pounce towards him, ready to snatch the book back. But instead, he yanks it away from you, holding it as far away as possible while he has you right in front of him with your chest resting on the counter trying to reach for it. “C’mon, let’s go for a drive.” You never could say no to him.

Though, in hindsight, you should have. While the actions are familiar with you nonchalantly weaving in and out of suburban neighborhoods and Makki’s god forsaken hand is on your thigh and the right music is playing, it’s not right. Nothing about the two of you feels right anymore and you can feel your heart shatter like glass from your chest and sink right into your stomach.

He feels it too. He can feel the density of the air around the two of you and no type of high can distract him from the fact. But he tries to fight through it with arms metaphorically swinging because he misses his best friend. “You know I was joking earlier, right?” Is what he settles on saying as he hands you the tightly rolled joint. Without a moment’s hesitation, you take it from him and take a big hit, deciding you need the calm right now before you run from this situation too.

“I know, Makki. I know.” And you did. You know you did but you are also very aware that you’ve been so on edge lately that a leaf falling on the top of your car could probably set you off for no reason other than it had happened.

“You know?” The strawberry-brunette repeats with caution, taking back the spliff. “You know, and yet you tell me to go fuck myself and run off. Why can’t you tell me what’s wrong when everyone else knows? I thought we were best friends.” Accusations aside, you can tell he’s a little hurt at being left out. Technically, it wasn’t your fault that your friends weren’t as dense as you thought. They figured out your issue without ever having to tell them.

“Thought?” You decide to echo. “Are you saying we aren’t anymore?”

“Don’t fucking do that. Don’t fucking blow up on me and run away from me and then twist my fucking words because I can’t take it anymore.” You’re so thankful you’ve parked at the very back of a grocery store, away from everyone else so that they can’t hear the two of you right now. There’s no way you would be able to focus on not accidentally hitting a pedestrian at the moment.

“I can’t either.” Shaky breath fills your lungs as you opt for a cigarette rather than entertaining the idea of even touching the man to your right to take the joint back. A brief pause passes as you light the stick before you continue with broken sobs causing hiccups in your words. “I can’t do this anymore, Hiro.”

Surely, you two aren’t talking about the same thing.

“Do what anymore?” Crying was always a weakness that Hanamaki couldn’t ignore and the moment you started, he unbuckles his seatbelt, turning to face you fully no matter how much discomfort was present because of his height.

“I can’t be around you anymore.”

“Bullshit.” He bites immediately, banishing the thought.

“Dude, I just can’t,” one more shaky breath passes your lips before you snap the bullet between your teeth. “Being in love with you for ten fucking years, writing stupid songs about you and pretending it doesn’t hurt? I can’t do it anymore.”

“Like it didn’t hurt me to write mine either? Who the hell do you think Growing Pains is about?” Despite your tear stained face and your red puffy eyes and how gross you probably looked at the moment, you stare at Makki completely dumbfounded.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“You’re so dumb sometimes, [name].” A few tears slipped past Hanamaki’s eyelashes, but he’s laughing. Laughing and covering his face with his lanky hands that are no longer sporting a roach. “Why do you think I insist on singing the songs I wrote?”

“Because you’re a control freak.”

“Okay, no,” he deadpans. “I do it so I can sing to you, idiot.” Unsure of what to do with yourself in the moment that you’re still crying, listening to his confession, you grip the steering wheel in front of you with a death grip, burying your face into the backs of your hands. Beside you, Makki is still laughing, but his tone is light and airy—downright angelic, even. “Ten years, huh? Man, we’re both stupid.”

He wasn’t wrong.

Ten years of stupid, mutual pining that had no reason for existing in the first place. Ten years of crying over one another, thinking it was a bad idea to even attempt a confession. Ten years of playing and teasing to only make tension grow worse. A year of fighting simply because, eventually, one of you got lonely. A year of loneliness because the other thought they had missed their chance ages ago. “We are stupid.” You agree, mumbling into your hands still. “But wait, we didn’t meet in December.” At the realization, recalling one of the verses that the two of you had rehearsed just hours ago, you snap up to face your...best friend? The word didn’t seem to fit him anymore. He’s now sporting a cigarette in his right hand that he’d stolen from you, the rings on his index and middle fingers crushing the filter between them.

“My hire date was December eleventh. I met Momoka in February earlier this year.” It takes you a minute to realize what he’s saying—to process and comprehend it all. That must have been the reason she looked so confused earlier, because she knew that the dates didn’t line up. And if they didn’t line up, then the song wasn’t about her. Oh, shit. That’s kind of awkward.

“You sneaky bastard.” But the name of his current girlfriend brings reality back to the both of you. “Wait, you have a girlfriend.”

“Nah, not for long.” He sings out, a suspicious lilt in his voice signaling he has a plan up his sleeve.

“Makki...” you chide warningly. But before you can continue, he interrupts you.

“I’ve had enough, princess. No more games, no more playing around with each other.” The cigarette between his fingers is now out the window and his hands are on your cheek and anchoring you in place. Not that you have any complaints—for the first time in a long time, you’re able to stare into those icy rocks you love so much and actually feel the reciprocation.

Takahiro Hanamaki is not messing around.

[ Elixir « Growing Pains » A Part of Me ]

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star-spangled-steve · 5 years

Text

His New Partner

Chapter 21: The Bridezilla

Series Masterlist

Previous Chapter

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Words: 3424

Warnings: A very distressed and angry Reader, sexual innuendos, cussing, fluff at the end.

A/N: This was honestly so much fun to write, I really hope that you guys like it too. And also, in case you couldn’t tell by now, the italicized words are flashbacks. Enjoy!

Y/N’s neck started to hurt from being hunched over her laptop for so long. The couch cushion underneath her butt began to get uncomfortable as well, but she was too concentrated on the numerous books, magazines, and checklists in front of her to really care.

Her computer’s battery charge was nearing 30%, and she knew that it wouldn’t be healthy to stay on it any longer. But each time she told herself that she would go back to bed, there was always one more thing to take care of. One more thing to research, pick out, plan, and organize for this damn wedding.

A knock on her and Steve’s bedroom door startled Y/N as she was laying on their bed, flipping through a bridal magazine.

“Ya?” The girl asked, not even looking up from the various chair covers on her page.

Natasha took a peak inside of the room before slowly opening the door, shaking her head at the scene in front of her. “J.A.R.V.I.S. called you to come down, why didn’t you answer?”

“I’m busy.” Y/N answered as she circled yet another item in the thin book.

“Well, it’s lunch time. The whole team is waiting for you, come on.” The assassin cocked her head in the direction of the elevator, urging her friend to get up.

“Not hungry.” The H/C haired girl told her blankly.

Natasha shook her head, stepping farther into the bedroom. “Ya? Then take it up with Steve. He says that you haven’t eaten all day, and he wants you down there. Now.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, switching from laying on her stomach to laying on her back. She held the magazine above her face, completely blocking out Natasha. “Tell him that I can take care of myself, please and thank you.”

“Well clearly not.” The red head stated, crossing her arms over her chest.

The actress finally sat up, closing her book in front of her. “What’s that support to mean?”

“Come on, N/N, look at you.” Natasha scolded. “You are obsessed with planning an event that’s like a year away!”

Y/N pouted, looking away from her friend. “10 and a half months.” She corrected under her breath.

“Oh, whatever!”

3:07 in the morning, her laptop read.

Nope, wait.

3:08 now.

Steve would most likely be up in about three hours, ready to go for his usual morning run. All the while Y/N continued to search through countless websites about dresses, and plate settings, and centrepieces galore.

She knew that she was being irrational. That it didn’t really matter whether the bridesmaid dresses had a halter neckline or a v-neck, whether the invitations were printed on pieces of white or cream coloured cardstock.

But this was something that she had been looking forward to ever since she was a little girl. Having a great big wedding filled with her amazing friends and family; a handsome groom waiting for her at the end of the aisle. And now she had all of those things. A group of people in her life that she adored more than anything, and a fiancé who she loved with her whole entire heart.

Y/N had all of the tools, all of the resources and support systems in order to pull off the fantastic wedding that’s she’s always wanted. But deep down, she knew that she should’ve been treating that support system better in the process.

“Alright,” Steve spoke as he sat down at the kitchen table, “what do you got for me?”

It having been about nine months until the big day, it was finally time for the couple to be testing out cake flavours. Y/N had ordered about twenty different kinds for them to try, and she could’ve not been more excited to get a taste of each and every one.

The girl put her hand on the refrigerator handle, giving her man a smile. “A ton of different options.” She opened up the fridge with a smile. “Let’s just say, you should be thankful for your fast metabolis-“

“What?” Steve asked, seeing Y/N frozen in her spot.

The girl’s eyebrows began to furrow as she went up and down, searching through all the levels of the Avengers shared fridge. “Where’s the rest of my cake?”

“Huh?”

“My cake.” She faced him, placing her hands on her hips. “Half of it’s gone.”

Steve stood up from his chair. “That’s impossible.” He met her at the refrigerator and began to look through it himself, only to see nothing as well.

Just in that moment, Tony and Bruce had walked into the kitchen, looking for a mid-science snack.

“Hey, guys, have you seen the other half of our cake samples?” The Captain questioned them, placing a hand on Y/N’s shoulder in hopes to calm her down.

Banner gave the group a shrug and turned to Tony, who looked pretty suspiciously guilty himself.

“What did they look like?” The billionaire asked, avoiding eye contact from the unhappy pair.

“Oh, you know,” the girl ground her teeth, beginning to get a little frustrated, “cake. Cut up into little. Sample. Sizes.”

“Hmm.” Tony pretended to ponder, even scratching his chin for show. “Well, I, uh...”

“Stark?” The Captain interjected, wanting to get to the bottom of this. He could tell that Y/N was getting angry, and he did not want this to cause another ‘episode’.

“I... may have eaten them.” Tony admitted, crossing his arms over his chest in uncharacteristic nervousness. But no one in the whole Tower could even blame him for being frightened. Scary bride Y/N was a very real thing.

“You what?” The girl fumed, shrugging away Steve’s hand and stepping a bit closer to Tony.

The brunette man gulped. “I’m sorry, N/N. I didn’t know that they were yours.”

“Oh. So the large white label that said ‘Wedding Cake Samples’ wasn’t a big enough hint to for you, Mr. Genius?”

The other scientist cleared his throat awkwardly. “I’m just going to go.”

“No.” The actress told Bruce, pointing a stern finger at him. “You stay right there, young man.”

Banner furrowed his eyebrows. “‘Young man’? You’re the youngest one here!”

Y/N gave him a pointed look; one that urged him to shut his mouth right away, one that was something a mother would only give to her misbehaving child.

“Do you realize, Tony, how important those little pieces of cake were to me?” She asked, looking the man dead in the eye.

“Look, I really do apologize, Y/N. I’ll just buy you guys new ones. You’ll have them within a couple of days!” He told her in hopes to lighten her spirits.

The Captain just stood there, not daring to get in the middle of this. Sure, he could get her on her knees with a couple of dirty words. And when he used his low sexy voice, she was practically putty in his hands. But right now in this moment, his usually delightful girl was scaring him shitless.

“That’s the problem, dumbass!” Y/N shouted, throwing her hands up in the air. “The baker who made these things is going to be in France for the next month and a half for some fancy cooking course!”

“Oh.”

“Ya.” She said in a not so polite way. “Are you just trying to piss me off? Is that it?”

“Wha-No! I swear, it was a simple mistake.” Tony told her. “Why were they even in the common fridge anyways?”

“Because the one on our floor wasn’t big enough to fit the whole tray. I never thought that one of you dummies would eat half the fucking pieces!”

“Woah!” Steve interposed, making the girl turn towards him. “Watch your mouth.”

“Oh shut up!” Y/N yelled back, sticking her tongue out at her fiancé. Him telling her to watch her mouth would usually turn her on in the bedroom, but now was really not the time.

“Y/N, you need to calm down.” The billionaire stated.

“Are you trying to not get invited to our wedding?” The furious girl questioned, crossing her arms over her chest. “Is that it? Because I will uninvite you so fast, Tony Stark.”

“I-I’m one of Steve’s groomsmen.” The man spoke with a confused look on his face. “You really can’t-“

“You know what? I don’t even care anymore, finish the whole goddamn tray if you want.” Y/N hissed. “I’m going to my room, and nobody is allowed in!” She stomped past Bruce and Tony and headed her way towards the elevator.

The three men sighed, seeing her click the button multiple times in frustration before finally marching on.

Once the doors were completely closed, so he knew that she couldn’t hear him, Tony let out a low whistle. “Good luck with that one, Cap.”

Gold napkin rings would look just beautiful with the theme of their wedding, Y/N thought to herself. But then again, the cutlery was silver, and it would definitely look silly together. Though, she could also just get gold cutlery. Too many decisions to make and too little time.

With her laptop’s battery nearing a measly 10%, she knew that she should just wrap things up for the night and finally join Steve back in their bed.

But for some reason, she couldn’t. It’s as if she was addicted. Each and every minute of her spare time was dedicated to planning this wedding. And unfortunately, anybody who tried to mess with that, did not come out with a smile.

“Can you please pass me the salad, Maria?” Pepper asked as the whole gang sat around the huge dining room table.

It was Saturday night and all of the Avengers had agreed to not make any other plans, choosing to eat dinner together instead. Meals as a whole were great for team bonding, and mostly everybody enjoyed each other’s company.

“Where’s my doll?” Steve questioned as he was the last one to arrive in the upstairs dining room. The man glanced around the table, only to see her usual spot empty.

“The little firecracker?” Tony spoke before pointing to the hallway opposite of the one that Steve walked in from. “Over there, talking some poor person’s ear off.”

The Captain glanced to where Stark had pointed and sighed at the scene in front of him. There his girl was, standing with her phone to her ear and the other hand on her hip. She was pacing around restlessly, and the look on her face was one of pure annoyance.

Steve slowly walked closer, not wanting to scare her, and placed both of his hands on her shoulders lightly. “Y/N, baby?”

“Ya, ya, just give me a second, Steve.” She continued with her call. “Now this is where I’m confused, Miss Jessica. You told me that they could be ready by July 18th. It is only January the 10th. Why do you need six whole months to make 80 personalized jewellery boxes?”

Steve raised his eyebrows, turning to the team with a ‘help me’ look.

“80 women is not that many!” Y/N continued, completely ignoring him. “What do you mean that you have ‘too many customers’? I ordered first, did I not?” She continued to walk back and forth in the corridor, as the rest of her friends ate their meal. “Well then you know what? I might just have to contact another company and get them to do this task for me, since you obviously can’t. Good day, ma’am.” The girl hung up her cellphone before shoving it in her pocket and running a hand down her face. “Shit.”

“You okay, darling?” Steve asked concernedly.

“I’m pissed off, that’s what I am.” She marched over to the dinner table and sat down in her respective spot; Steve taking his own to the right of her. “Pass me the chicken, please.”

Rhodes then held the dish out in front of her, watching as she angrily placed the chicken parmesan on her plate and messily cut it up.

“Thanks.” She puffed before just ultimately giving up on her food, slouching back in her chair.

“Sweetie, do you want to talk about what happened?” Natasha spoke up, something that the rest of the table was too scared to do. Nobody wanted to get yelled at.

“Well,” Y/N chuckled dryly, “remember those little jewellery boxes that we were looking at together? The ones that we can get engraved with everybody’s first name on them?”

Natasha, Pepper, and Maria nodded, having been there when Y/N was picking them out.

“Apparently the lady can’t make 80 of them in time for the bridal shower.” The passed off girl continued. “So either we reschedule it, or get something else.” She shook her head in frustration, absentmindedly balling her hands into fists.

“I’ll just get some Stark Industries workers to make them.” Tony said through a mouth full of food. “Problem solved.”

“Wait,” a look of pure bliss made it’s way on to Y/N’s previously mad face, “are you serious? They can do that for me?”

The billionaire just shrugged like it was no big deal. “They’re electrical and mechanical engineers. I’m pretty sure that they can handle a little woodshop.”

“Oh my goodness, thank you!” Y/N jumped up from her seat and ran around the table, giving Tony a big hug as he was still in his seat. “Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you!” She gave him a kiss on the cheek, suddenly feeling so much happier than she was before.

“Woah.” Clint chuckled. “Talk about a mood swing. Guess that it’s somebody’s time of the month.”

The whole room went silent.

“What did you just say to me?” Y/N asked slowly while nobody else in the room even dared to make a sound.

“I-It was just a joke.” Clint told her. “M’sorry, N/N.”

“It’s not my time of the month, okay? I’m just really stressed.” The girl explained, wrapping her arms around herself in embarrassment.

“We know, love.” Steve assured with a small smile. “Are you going to sit down and eat now, or am I ‘gonna have to airplane the food into your mouth?” He joked, but he could tell that Y/N was not in the mood.

“Actually, I guess that I’m going to have to take care of my ‘time of the month’.” She said with air quotes. “Have a nice night.” And with that she stormed out of the dinning room, leaving an awkward silence in her wake.

“Not pointing any fingers,” Maria spoke up after a long minute, “but that was totally your fault, Clint.”

“Babydoll?”

A voice broke Y/N out of her wedding day trance, making her turn towards the raspy sound.

“Steve? What we you doing awake?”

The man stood against the wall in a t-shirt, hoodie, and sweatpants; a typical pyjama set for a cold February night. The outfit made him look every bit like a big snuggly teddy bear, and Y/N would usually just want to cuddle into his chest, but right now she was too preoccupied.

“I reached out for you, but all that I was met with was cold sheets.” Steve told her, a frown very much evident on his handsome face. “But the real question is, what are you doing awake?”

“Couldn’t sleep.” She shrugged before turning back to her bouquet arrangement website.

“Hm, I see.” The man nodded, walking over to join her on their floor’s couch. “Actually, uh, before I realized that you were gone, I was having a dream.”

“Cool.” Y/N said, not even sparing him a glance. “What about?”

“Well,” Steve cocked his head, trying to put on his sexiest voice, “not much, not much. Just me fucking you so hard that you can’t even walk tomorrow.”

The girl didn’t even flinch. “Nice.”

“Ya.” He sighed, trying to get her to show any kind of emotion. Ever since they had gotten engaged, Y/N has been acting way differently. Steve was determined to break her out of this shell. “Did I ever tell you how much I like your new haircut, baby?”

“Yup.” She replied. “Multiple times.”

“Well, it’s very pretty.” He added.

Y/N continued to scroll through her website, making little check marks on her clipboard every now and then. “It’s just a couple of inches off the bottom.”

Steve smirked. “You know, if you come back to bed with me, I can be more than just a couple of inches into your bottom.”

The girl rolled her eyes and shook her head, beginning to get really annoyed with him. “Don’t even need anal right now, Steve. You’re already being a pain in my ass.”

“Wow.” He lightly chuckled, still attempting to turn on the charm. “What’s with the snarky attitude, baby girl? Do I need to take you over my knee again?”

“For the love of God, no, Steve.” Y/N fumed as she stood up from her seat, finally having enough of this. “Do you know what you need to do? What you need to do is go back to bed and leave me alone!”

Steve gulped at her coldness. This was Y/N, his girl. Within the two years and nine months that she had known him, she had never talked to him like that. Ever.

“I-I oh, goodness, Steve. I’m sorry, honey.” She saw water in his eyes and began to cry as well, all of the stress from last several months finally releasing itself. “So sorry, I didn’t mean that.”

The man stood up too and wrapped his thick arms around his fiancée, slowly bringing her closer to his warm chest. “It’s okay, doll.”

“No, no, it’s not okay.” Y/N began to sob while her hands grasped onto Steve’s muscular body, never ever wanting to let go. “You don’t deserve to be tr-tr-treated like that.” She sniffled.

“No, N/N, it’s fine. You’re so good to me, sweetheart.” He insisted, soothingly rubbing the expanse of her back with his hands.

“You’re so good to me.” Y/N told him, taking her face out of his chest and looking him in the eye. “All of you are. I-I’ve been so horrible lately. I yelled at Tony, Nat, Bruce, Pepper, Clint, Maria, Rhodes, my cousin, my mom, my other cousin, those three guys in the mail room that accidentally sent my package to the wrong floor, and now you. I’ve been a complete bitch.”

“Hey, no. I don’t ever want to hear you call yourself that again.” Steve shook his head. “You’ve just been under a lot of pressure lately.”

“It doesn’t excuse my actions.” She said before wiping her face of any leftover tears. “You guys are always under a lot of pressure, and you never take it out on other people.”

“No, I just take it out on Tony’s punching bags.” The man said, making Y/N’s lips quirk up just the slightest bit. “Is that a smile I see?”

The girl bit her lip sheepishly. “Maybe.”

“Think that I can give you another one?” Steve raised an eyebrow, a plotting look taking over his face. “I think that I can.” His hands slowly made their way down her sides, fingertips ghosting over the dip of her waist. “Maybe with just a little…”

“Stevie-Ah!” Y/N began to giggle at the feel of him tickling her. “O-O-Oh my god, Ste-e-e-eve! Sto-Stop it!” Her giggles soon turned into cackles, and she was squatted so low in hopes to get away, that her back was almost touching the carpet.

“See, there’s my girl.” The Captain beamed, finally finished with his attack. “You promise to stay happy now?”

Y/N nodded, still out of breath. “Only if you help me get off the floor.”

“Whatever you say, N/N.” And with that he scooped her off of the floor, beginning to carry her into their bedroom bridal style.

“Honey.” The girl said with a laugh.

“What?” Steve shrugged. “I’m just practicing for our wedding night.”

Y/N snuggled further into his body, tucking her face into the crook of his neck. “M’kay.”

“Looks like somebody is tired after all.” He pointed out, settling her on their shared bed and pulling the covers up over her body.

“I guess so.”

“I’ll tell you what,” Steve spoke, walking around to the other side and getting underneath the covers as well, “right now, we’ll go to sleep. But first thing tomorrow, you and I are hiring a wedding planner.”

Y/N was too fast asleep to even hear him, her dreams filled not with the wedding itself, but with the man that she was sharing it with.

And oh what a wonderful dream it was; not one bridal magazine in sight.

Next Chapter

Feedback is always welcome!❤️

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x y/n #chris evans x reader #steve rogers fanfiction #captain america x reader #steve rogers #captain america #chris evans #captain america x you #chris evans x you #captain america x y/n #chris evans x y/n #avengers x reader

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plumblossomkun · 5 years

Text

𝙲𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 3: 「𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍 𝚘𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚌𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚖𝚢 𝚗𝚊𝚖𝚎 / 𝙸 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚛 𝚒𝚝, 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚟𝚘𝚒𝚌𝚎 / 𝙸 𝚍𝚒𝚍𝚗'𝚝 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚑𝚘𝚠 𝚖𝚞𝚌𝚑 𝙸'𝚍 𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚜 𝚢𝚘𝚞」

word count: 3.2k

setting: student!Taeyong x writing assistant!Female Reader, University!AU

chapter summary: in which Taeyong finds out he’s in the class that y/n helps lead, and the sound of her voice is still his siren song.

a/n: this gif is exactly what i imagine when i think of what taeyong would look like at the end of the last chapter: a little lost and a little breathless and very much devastated. we’re starting at the timestamp in Chapter 2.5 where I link IRL part 5. thank you all so much for waiting ♥

warning[s]: none for this chapter. exposition time.

reminder: i will italicize flashbacks in their entirety & indicate any changes in scene or point of view in bold. and if you’re wondering where the chapter titles are from, they’re lyrics from the songs on the playlist below.

tags: @starxblossom, @nsheeteesmain, @cutehardcore, @bunny-doyounq, @namphyun, @ncttrinities ♥ send me an ask if you would like to be added to this list!

previous | next

9:08am—

—on the third floor of Kenna Hall, in room 306.

Taeyong stares at his hands and tries to steady his breathing. It comes out in staccato bursts, and each inhalation hurts just a little more than the one before, like something is slowly crushing his lungs.

I didn’t know she was still here.

Do she and Johnny still talk?

No, she was always closer to Ten than she was with Johnny.

He unlocks his phone and starts scrolling through his messages to find his last chat with Ten, then stops.

—Who was that boy?

The thought actually makes him wince, and he hangs his head over the desk. Of course you would have moved on, it would only be natural, but he hadn’t expected to see it firsthand, or this soon. From what he had been able to see through the window, the boy had been nothing out of the ordinary, nothing remarkable. Maybe.

But the thing that had pained him most wasn’t that.

Even a fool would have been able to see how you’d glowed, walking away with that boy’s hand in yours, how you’d laughed like you’d never cried a day in your life. And you’d smiled, and Taeyong hadn’t recognized the expression on your face.

How much has she changed, after all these years?

He curls his fingers around the edge of the desk and rests his forehead against the smooth surface as students continue to pour into the classroom, filling it with their laughter and heavy footsteps. His breathing speeds, though he fights the urge to crumple inwards into himself.

How much have I changed, really?

Back to that night 6 years ago—

“So, did you fuck?” Ten asks as soon as the three of them are safely inside the confines of Johnny’s room to wind down for the night, a devious grin crossing his face as he takes a seat at the desk in the corner. His gelled back hair is unkempt, like someone’s been running their hands through it over and over again— knowing him, he’d probably been making out with someone in the shadows at some point during the dance.

Taeyong laughs to cover up the rose-red hue flooding his cheeks. “What? No! I just met her.”

“Yongie likes a girl~” Yuta waggles his eyebrows suggestively, falling back onto Johnny’s bed with an oomph as he yanks the bowtie off of his collar. He smells faintly of alcohol, but tonight he’s a sleepy drunk, his head already lolling against his shoulder.

“I don’t!”

Johnny chuckles as he unbuttons his dress shirt and fans himself with a hand. “But did you get her number so you can, you know, get to know her better?”

“No…” Wringing his hands, Taeyong joins Yuta on the bed, who is dead asleep, chin dropping to his chest as he snores softly.

Ten folds his coat carefully over the back of his chair. “Who were you canoodling with?”

“I didn’t get her name.” Sighing, Taeyong throws his tie on the bed and kicks off his shoes. “And again, we weren’t canoodling.”

Ten drums his fingers against his chin with a cattish smile. “Dude, you never pay attention to girls,” he points out. “What’s so special about this one?”

“Do you find her physically attractive?” Johnny drawls, hand pressed to his forehead in a mocking faint. When Taeyong sends an icy glare his way, he amends himself with a chortle. “—I mean, is she your type?”

“I don’t know. She’s just…” He thinks of your wild eyes, how they’d scorched his with their intensity; he can scarcely remember much else, though, he’d been too dazed by the cold and the suddenness of it all. “I guess…?”

“Is she easy to talk to? Or can she hold a conversation?”

He bites the nail of his thumb absentmindedly, eyes unfocused as he tries to recall the words. What had you said— that if you could fly, you’d see if heaven existed? “You could say that.”

Ten’s lips purse, and he exchanges an exasperated look with Johnny. Both of them know a doomed man when they see one.

Taeyong stares down at his hands, at the little black flower on his left wrist, right at the juncture of the vein that splits off into the palm of his hand. You’d drawn it there in pen, on the bus ride to the Mexican store on the corner of Maple and Grand Avenue.

He just thinks you’re interesting, that’s all.

9:13am—

A couple of minutes later, nearly every seat in the room has been occupied, a handful of skateboards rest against the wall by the door, and Hydro Flasks clink loudly against the desks, while Taeyong massages his temples at the very back left corner of the classroom, just beneath the clock, pushing back the maelstrom whirling through his head. Through the blinds, sunlight flares its first, casting tiny beams of golden light and pricking his skin with faint warmth.

I hope Ten hasn’t told her I’m back.

The door clicks open again, and an older man, presumably the professor, steps into the classroom, a cup of coffee in one hand and a tote filled with books and folders slung over his shoulder. He is dressed smartly in khakis and a turtleneck, and rectangular glasses hang low on his nose as he scans the classroom with a good-natured smile.

After flicking on the lights, the professor looks over his shoulder at the two students on his heels and gestures widely at the whole room. “What do you guys think?”

Taeyong inhales sharply. The girl next to him eyes him curiously, but doesn’t comment.

It’s the boy from the other day, the one who’d had your hand in his— and now that Taeyong can see his face, he can’t help but glower at the kind, shining eyes, the chiseled jaw, lips plump and pink; he scrutinizes the dimpled smile and how he looks like every college girl’s magazine dream. He’s probably a nice guy, but the little green voice in the back of Taeyong’s head wants to drip venom.

How many guys has she dated since I left? It’s an ugly thought, one he doesn’t really deserve to be having, but it burns in his throat anyway. Guys like this?

“It’s alright,” the boy says, tossing his backpack onto an empty desk by the classroom projector’s control panel and leaning back against the windowsill as he scans the room. He rakes his lilac-grey hair back from his forehead and looks to the other student. “What do you think, angel?”

This time, Taeyong has to slap his hand across his mouth to keep himself from crying out. In fact, if he hadn’t been sitting, his knees would have given out, and he would have collapsed inward on himself. As it is, he simply deflates, exhaling all the air left in his lungs and then some, sliding down as far in his chair as he can.

Oh, god.

“I don’t know about this one, Juan. The energy of the classroom just isn’t the same when we’re not in O’Connor.”

It’s her.

A faint smile plays across your face as you stand next to the professor. You look so casually radiant that Taeyong’s heart falters, while the mere melody of your voice renders him unsteady.

“You good?” the girl next to him mouths, but he doesn’t have the wherewithal to answer, just sways in his seat like a ribbon caught in the throes of a windstorm.

The professor chuckles as he passes a stack of syllabi to the front. “I should clarify. Y/n is not saying that it’s your energy she dislikes— just the classroom itself.”

She’s…

You take the stool behind the computer at the front and lean over to talk to the boy with a giggle, and Taeyong has to look away. He doesn’t want to see how the pretty-boy plays with your hair, and the way your hand settles on his knee as the students pore over the course materials warily.

There is something lighter, less tethered about you, the skittish gleam gone from your eyes and replaced by a different shine. And then there’s him. In the blink of an eye, he feels like the same stupid teenage boy he was all those years ago. The only difference is that he knows with absolute certainty that he can’t just walk up to you and apologize.

You are not that forgiving.

The professor claps to get everyone’s attention. His voice bears a slight Spanish accent, and he speaks softly but with a quiet power, not unlike the force of a priest at his altar. “My name is Professor Juan Madrid; you can call me Juan. This is Life Writing. Is everyone in the right place?”

A murmur of confirmation ripples through the class.

“Good. These are my lovely peer educators, Jung Jaehyun and Y/n L/n.” Professor Madrid gestures to the corner where you and the pretty-boy sit. “They are warriors; they are also two of the best writers on this campus. Do you guys want to introduce yourselves and say a little something about the class? Maybe something you learned that you thought was valuable?”

“Sure. I’ll go first.” Jaehyun raises his hand and waves at the class, smiling.

It’s a bright, honest smile, no pride or arrogance, but Taeyong resents it anyway. “My name is Jaehyun, and y/n forced me to be a peer educator with her, but I love the written word. I think it’s a really powerful way to convey emotions, and taking classes with Juan has really helped me express myself better. You can just call me Jae.”

“Y/n, how about you?”

A dreamy, pensive smile curves your lips, and you— there is no better word for it— begin to glow. You look...

...happy.

“The best advice I can give you is that good writing starts with honesty. Anne Lamott, one of the authors you’ll be reading this quarter, calls it ‘radical vulnerability’. You might have to talk about the most devastating moments of your life, and some of the brightest, and you can’t do yourself justice if you censor yourself. There’s a lot of power in being honest.”

The professor nods in approval. “Very true. We’ll talk more about radical vulnerability in a week or two.”

I don’t know her. Taeyong stares down at the packet, not really seeing or processing the words. It seems like you are not just a whole new person, but part of a whole new world as well.

“—the final paper will involve the writing of a short autobiography that engages on your own notion of ‘self’—”

I spent four years discovering myself.

It’s only right that she did too.

“—we will work in small groups called familias. Raise your hand when I call your name, so y/n and Jae can see you, and so you can see who will be in your familia.”

He doesn’t see you slip out the door to use the bathroom, barely thinks to raise his hand when he hears his name called to be in Jae’s group. He looks out the window again, and in the face of the sunrise’s impending radiance, he closes his eyes and exhales.

He called her ‘angel’.

11:30am—

[11:46] Ten: soooooo...

[11:47] Ten: i heard from johnny that u saw she-who-must-not-be-named

[11:49] Ten: ngl, i completely forgot to warn u 😳

[11:51] Taeyong: are you sure you didn’t just choose not to?

[11:53] Ten: 🙄🙄🙄

[11:53] Ten: what kind of friend do u think i am???

[11:53] Taeyong: 😐

[11:55] Ten: OKAY but at least i didn’t tell her that ur back

[11:57] Ten: ….. yet 🤐

[12:02] Taeyong: please don’t

[12:02] Ten: she’s not exactly going to be happy ur back u know

[12:03] Ten: u basically ghosted her for like, four years

[12:03] Ten: u can’t just pop up n be like “hey guess what i’m a MAN now”

[12:07] Taeyong: yeah, you’re right

[12:07] Ten: damn straight i’m right 😤

[12:08] Ten: wait,,, ur not supposed to agree with me

[12:08] Ten: what happened

[12:08] Ten: spill the tea 😠

[12:08] Taeyong: i think she’s dating someone

[12:10] Ten: 😨

[12:10] Ten: well, i mean…

[12:10] Ten: how do u feel about it

[12:11] Taeyong: 🙃

[12:11] Ten: do u need cute puppy videos

[12:12] Taeyong: no

[12:12] Taeyong: i’m fine

[12:15] Ten: [link]

The morning after Winter Ball—

It’s an unspoken tradition for everyone to skip out on class the Monday after a dance, but Taeyong doesn’t realize his mistake until he walks into his first period class and the classroom is missing both the teacher and most of the students. Strangely enough, though, Ten is there, sitting slouched in the teacher’s chair at the front of the room and regarding the green apple resting on the desk with contempt. He nods in greeting, but doesn’t look up from the fruit. “Didn’t anyone tell you not to come to class today?”

“What about you?” he counters, clambering onto the nearest desk and discarding his backpack onto the seat. “Could’ve gone to the movies or slept in late.”

“AP Dance,” Ten says shortly, poking the apple distastefully. Then he leans back, resting both feet atop the desk and ignoring the papers that go scattering when he does so. “Mr. Richards went to go print some papers at the library.”

Then the door clicks, and creaks open. Taeyong turns to look, and behind him, he hears a squeak, clatter, and bang, along with a loud “oh, fuck!” as the teacher peeks his head through the door, eyes glistening with amusement behind his thin rectangular glasses. “He-llo?~”

“Good morning, Mr. Richards,” Taeyong says dutifully, glancing over his shoulder. Ten is gathering himself off of the floor along with the papers he’d dropped earlier.

“Good morning, boys,” the teacher says breezily, dropping a foot-tall stack of papers on his desk. Head tilted slightly, he smiles down at Ten like the boy hasn’t just been caught in his seat. “Hmm. Ten. That chair can be rather uncomfortable. Is that why you’ve fallen?”

Mutely, Ten picks up the chair and places it back in its original position.

“Oh, how kind of you.” Mr. Richards adjusts his tie, tilts his head again, and claps his hands

together. “Do you two have anything to do for this class period? Homework, maybe?”

“Nope.” Ten takes the seat next to Taeyong and slouches down as low as humanly possible.

“No?” Mr. Richards glances at the apple on his desk, ever so slightly out of place, and rotates it until it’s just right. “Mr. Lee, how about you?”

“Not really,” Taeyong replies, though he knows exactly where the teacher is going with this.

“Then you won’t mind helping me put these notes together for next class, when everyone is back from, ah… being sick.” He claps again, then slides a stapler towards Ten. “Thank you~”

A soft knock sounds at the door, and Mr. Richards lets out a little gasp. “That’ll be my favorite student with the rest of the papers~ Can one of you get the door, please?”

Ten groans. “There are more?”

“I’ll get it,” Taeyong volunteers, sliding out of his seat and tugging the door open. For a moment, the glare of the silver morning gloom makes him blink. And then his eyes refocus, and he looks right into the very same pair of eyes that had transfixed him the night before.

The girl looks almost offended by his attention, mouth set in a hard line as she stares up at him with a thick stack of papers threatening to teeter out of her arms. When he doesn’t budge, she nods jerkily at the door, expression shifting into mild annoyance. “Excuse me.”

“Oh. Ah. My bad.” He steps aside to let her in, and wonders why his cheeks heat when she sits on top of the desk beside his.

A smirk crosses Ten’s face as he looks between the two of them and connects the dots. “Hey, good morning.”

“Didn’t think you’d be here today, Ten. Hello to you too.” She drops the papers on his desk with a chuckle. Then she turns to the teacher. “Hello, Mr. Richards,” she says, waggling her fingers in greeting. “I heard I’m your favorite student?”

“Oh, it was just a joke. I think you need to submit your homework on time in order to be my favorite student.” Mr. Richards titters.

She laughs softly— then regards Taeyong with a curious look. Only then does he realize he’s been staring. She doesn’t address him, though, instead looks questioningly at Ten, who meets her gaze with a grin. He opens his mouth to speak, but Taeyong kicks him under the desk before he can.

And as his friend winces from the blow, he seizes his chance.

“Uh— it’s good to see you again,” he starts. “I had—um… it was fun last night.”

Ten cringes so hard that he bangs his knee against the bottom of the desk. With a yowl, he drops his stapler and cradles his leg.

The girl contemplates Taeyong, tilting her head as she studies his features, gaze running along the lines of his jaw up to his temples. And when she finally looks into his eyes, hers light up.

“Ah,” she hums, and there’s a world of understanding in that one sound that he doesn’t share. “You.”

He nods, fighting the urge to gulp. Even though her voice is soft, and she sits at ease atop her throne, he feels oddly small before the intensity of her gaze.

She watches him as he shifts his weight in his seat, then gestures at his arm. “Do you mind if I finish that?”

“Finish— what?”

She raises a brow and points at the almost-gone but faintly-still-there flower blooming on his wrist. Gingerly, he offers it to her, and she gives a tiny nod of approval, pulling a marker from her pocket. When her fingers meet his skin, the warmth spreads from his cheeks and echoes into his chest, and he shivers. He hadn’t even realized he was cold in the first place.

She traces the lines of his wrist, following the thin strands of blood vessels with the point of her marker, gripping his arm tight to keep him from moving.

“I’m sorry.” She says this so softly that he has to lean in closer to hear her better, her breath grazing his ear when she adds, “I never asked you for your name.”

“It’s Taeyong.” He holds back a laugh as her fingers scratch across his wrist and tickle him. “I didn’t ask for yours, either, so I’m just as bad.”

After a moment or two, she sits back, chewing on the cap of the marker thoughtfully. “Done.”

He looks down at his arm. Where there had only been the faintest outline of a little flower, there is now a bouquet of hibiscus blooming across the back of his hand, stems spiraling down his arm up until where his veins vanish, at which point they curl into little swirls.

Feeling the weight of her gaze on him once more, he looks up. Their eyes meet, and as if she’s dismissing some untoward thought, she shakes her head. Then she leans forward, and he feels his heart halt and stutter at her smile. It is easy, unlike everything else about her, and gentle. It perplexes him.

“Nice to meet you, Taeyong. I’m y/n.”

From here on out I will refer to the reader as ‘you’. I intended to keep it as ‘the girl’ and ‘she’ in flashbacks until the point at which they met properly, and this is it. Welcome to the true beginning.

a/n 2.0: what did you think of this chapter? it’s been in the works for so long that i don’t even know what to think about it tbh, so any feedback would be great, thank you for reading! ♥

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